An Artilleryman’s Diary–Jenkin Lloyd Jones, 6th Battery, Wisconsin Artillery.

Before Vicksburg, Monday, June 15. Awoke to hear the rebel shells breaking the timber of the opposite hill, as they rushed by, they having opened with a piece of light artillery on the extreme right over their fort, throwing solid shot; kept it up all day, and occasionally a “whistling Jim” gave life to the cannonading that was not manifested when it was all one sided. Two more large guns mounted on the right. Battery wagon and forge moved over.

Before Vicksburg, Sunday, June 14. Watered and grazed horses and picked berries. Did not return to camp until after dinner. Sharp cannonading all day. The rebels opened with several pieces of artillery on the left, firing with zeal. Signed the pay-rolls in the afternoon. Received a letter from home. Had not heard from me since the 6th ult. Great anxiety for me. Could I but acquaint them of my condition, what a relief it would be.

Before Vicksburg, Saturday, June 13. A spirited day on both sides. Mortar from the secesh playing all day, the shells passing over our heads, two exploding over us, but did no damage. At 2 P. M. fell back to the foot of the hill to allow the rear batteries a freer play to shell the woods where the mortar was supposed to be. Kept it up for one hour. The long looked for Lieutenant Fancher returned after nearly a year’s absence. Caused no excitement.

Before Vicksburg, Friday, June 12. Watered and grazed my team while I picked a can full of blackberries, made a luxury for dinner. Called on guard at 1 P. M.—third relief. Visited by Sergt. J. Savage of the 23rd Wisconsin. Stayed nearly all the afternoon. Pleasant chat. Rebels opened fire at about 4 P. M. with a mortar, throwing three or four shells over us. Found to my sorrow that my needle book and Testament had dropped through my side pocket where I always carried them. Too bad, for they were gifts of two noble helpers, a mother and sister. I will much miss them.

Before Vicksburg, Thursday, June 11. Pleasant day. The air light and balmy. Dust settled by the rain of yesterday. Very steady and heavy cannonading all day. A nine-inch gun was brought into position on our right to-day and busily engaged in battering down the rebel wall. Its huge missiles would bury deep in the earth, then explode, tearing up many trees.

Before Vicksburg, Wednesday, June 10. A heavy rain storm came on early and continued all day. The dusty valley was converted into a bed of a wild rushing stream. Kept middling dry until evening, when we went to help bring a limber down the hill, it being too slippery for the horses. Got thoroughly drenched and slept in wet blankets and on the wet ground, but it is all the same for soldiers. What would folks at home think? It is well they are ignorant of it.

Before Vicksburg, Tuesday, June 9. A sharp engagement took place on our right last night which almost approached a battle. General Logan was advancing a cotton cased car under the enemy’s feet with the intention of running up in this a battery into the rebels’ works. He had been working on it for several nights and was progressing fine, but slow, as he had to dig by the sharp-shooters. Kept the rebs down by discharging frequent volleys in the dark, but last night they returned it with much zeal, and threw rockets over their works which accomplished its aim and burned the cotton to the ground. Our artillery soon made things quiet. The caisson gone to the landing this morning for ammunition. Geo. took his team for the 6th Wisconsin.

I am here all alone to-day, a thing unusual. For awhile I found ample company in reading the Monthlies, but my mind wanders way back to dear Wisconsin, and a strange feeling of lonesomeness comes over me as I lie here in this, what now looks like the hermit’s retreat.

Before Vicksburg, Monday, June 8. Unusually quiet during the day, our ammunition being scarce, none at the arsenal, and we used it sparingly for fear of an emergency. George Spencer, David Evans and myself remodelled our shelving, which, for want of something else is this: a shelf dug in the hillside, two feet deep above and long enough to lie down, covered with a double roof of cane-thatch. And this is what we call our home. Yes, it is filled with the dear ones here in mind if not in body.

Before Vicksburg, Sunday, June 7. Matters even here within hearing of the enemy’s voices are settling into a dull monotony. The crack of the sharp-shooters fails to make an impression on the accustomed ear, and the occasional roll of cannon is as a mother’s lullaby to drop us to sleep. Happily knapsacks at last arrived from Millikens Bend. The volume of Atlantic Monthlies sent me by Brother Thomas gave me much pleasure in perusing.