A Soldier’s Diary, The Story of a Volunteer, David Lane, (17th Mich. Vol. Infantry)

April 21st, 1864.

We received orders today to be ready to march at a minute’s notice, with five days’ cooked rations. I was prepared for an early move, but did not expect it quite so soon. I know not where we are going; care not, only as it takes me farther from my loved ones and renders communication more difficult. When we go is equally uncertain. We will not take the field immediately, unless the most urgent necessity requires it. Our A tents are to be sent in advance, which means we encamp at some other point. There is yet much to be done to render the corps effective. The work of reorganizing has hardly begun. Brigades and divisions are not formed. We have no supply train—no artillery—no ambulance. Few recruits have arrived, and those that have are neither armed or drilled. We have had no general inspection or grand review. No, there is not to be a general movement of the whole corps at present. As I read the signs, this is only a change of rendezvous.

The Eighth Michigan have struck tents and sent them to the depot. The second move tomorrow at 4 a. m.

April 15th, 1864.

Lieutenant Sudborough expects a short leave of absence, in a few days, to visit his home, and is in great haste to get his business in shape. It is my duty, as it is my pleasure, to assist him. He has been very kind to me, and I feel under great obligations to him. He is senior officer, and has command of the company. Company books have not been posted since the first of January, for, in their marches and countermarches in Tennessee, they could not be carried. Accounts of clothing, camp and garrison equipage, etc., were kept on slips, and must now be transferred to the books; each man’s account separately posted, his signature obtained and witnessed for each time he has drawn clothing. Then there are morning reports, monthly reports, invoices, inventories and receipts without number, with copies of each transaction. At these I have been busy, almost without intermission, since I rejoined my company.

Our company numbers an aggregate of ninety-three men and officers—sixty-five present for duty, twenty-six absent on sick leave. The weather is—April, and nothing else. Lieutenant Sudborough leaves for Michigan tomorrow, where most of the officers now are. He leaves all company business in my care. I take possession of his tent in the morning.

Annapolis, Md., April 8th, 1864.

There have been rumors in camp ever since we came here, and long before, for that matter, all tending homeward. The fond illusion is, at last, dispelled. Colonel Luce returned last night. He says Governor Blair and himself did all in their power to get the regiment home on furlough. They wrote the War Department, and were refused on the ground that we had not been out long enough to entitle us to one. I did not expect one from the regiment. All my hope was in the hospital. Only a bare possibility now remains. How fondly I had hoped to see my loved family before active operations were resumed was not fully realized until now. I try to bow submissively. I cannot forget that I still owe my best services to my country.

I have been blest with health such as I had not enjoyed for years while engaged in the peaceful and, to me, congenial, avocations of life. Mail facilities are good, and I will try and catch the few rays of sunshine it affords.

Annapolis, Md., April 6th, 1864.

We left Knoxville, with the sick and wounded of the Ninth Corps, on the twenty-second day of March, by way of Chattanooga, and were thirteen days on the road. From Knoxville to Loudon we rode in open cars. It was quite cold and snowed all day. Snow fell fourteen inches deep at Chattanooga. At Loudon we lay all night, awaiting transportation— slept in the basement of a large building that had been used for a stable. Although without fire, we were quite comfortable, having plenty of blankets and warm clothing. Early next morning we took cars for Chattanooga, where we arrived about 8 o’clock in the evening. We went to the Soldiers’ Home, and were served hot coffee, boiled ham and soft bread. About 10 p. m. we started for Nashville, where we arrived at 8 o’clock the next evening. Here we were taken to the barracks, where we stayed until nearly noon the next day, and were treated to warm supper and breakfast. We reached Louisville early Sunday morning and were given comfortable quarters. Monday morning we crossed over to Jeffersonville and took cars for Cincinnati. We rode in passenger coaches marked “M. C. R. R.” to Seymour, Ind., and it seemed like I was nearly home, and then to leave them and change direction, it cut me to the soul. At Seymour we were packed in “hog cars,” littered with straw, and so closely it was difficult for all to sit down. We expected to stay at Cincinnati until the regiment came up, but were disappointed, only staying over one night. Some of our sick were unable to go further, and I was until nearly midnight getting them into a hospital. We started early next morning and made no farther stops until we reached Annapolis about 10 p. m. of April 4th.

The next day we drew rations and tents. We got our tents pitched about sundown, just in time for a storm of rain, which soon began, and has continued with unabated fury until the present time. Our regiment arrived this morning, and I have rejoined my company. They marched over the mountains to Lebanon—one hundred eighty miles—in ten days. From Lebanon they came by rail, over the same route taken by us a few days before.

I find the men very bitter toward General Wilcox. The report is current that he is the cause of our men not being paid before leaving Tennessee; that he feared they would buy whisky if they had the money —as, doubtless, they would have done. The men believed these reports, and were very angry, and, as a retaliatory measure, swore they would steal “everything they could lay their hands on.” Most disgrace’ fully did they keep their oath.

We have received about one hundred recruits, mostly French from near Monroe. We are encamped on an inclined plane half a mile from the city. The soil is light sand. Our tents are eight feet square, and will accommodate four or five persons.

March 13th, 1864.

I received a bundle of Northern papers today. The Tribune thinks the Rebels and their Northern allies will exert themselves to prolong the war until after the next election. I fully agree with it, and think it better for the cause of freedom that they do so. Every day the war continues is another guaranty of the downfall of slavery. The time is not far distant when every Northern man will become an Abolitionist. Look at the Woods, the Brookses, the New York Herald, the New York World and all the leading pro-slavery men and journals of the North. Already are they trying to disengage themselves from the fetid carcass of their dead ally. I do not know as it matters where the final struggle takes place. It may be here, but I think not. Lee and his army will never forsake their native state. There they will fight, and there they must be met and conquered. That done, the rest is comparitively easy. My health is improving. I think I might now take charge of my ward, but the Doctor will not permit it yet.

I am overwhelmed with joy at so favorable report of my only son. God bless my faithful, patient, persevering boy. May he be kept from deception and craft, his lips from guile.

March 9th, 1864.

The beautiful weather of the past week terminated in a violent storm of rain, which continued without interruption forty-eight hours. The roads, before in good condition, are now a sea of mud, almost impassable; consequently that thirty days’ expedition, of which we have heard so much, is indefinitely postponed. But the sky is once more clear, and the soil here soon dries out. Perhaps, in another week, they may make a start. I have been suffering lately from what the Doctor calls periodical neuralgia. It comes on at regular intervals, and is very painful. I am anxious to get around again. The men are very kind, nurses and convalescents, but everything seems to go wrong. It takes two men to do my work, and then, of course, they do not do it as I would. It is much like managing a school of unruly boys. It requires the same tact, and the gift of government which few possess. The Inspector complimented me on the neatness and general appearance of my ward. Our ward Surgeon told him I kept it fit for inspection every day.

March 3d.

I have been a little “off my feed” for three or four days past. Not sick—only a little overworked. A patient by the name of Hooper was assigned to my ward on the 15th of last month. His disease was typhoid fever of a virulent type. He was “out of his head” and very violent. He required the constant attention of two strong men. I dared not leave him to the doubtful care of nurses, consequently for twelve days and nights my eyes were seldom off him, or them. No one—not even the Doctor—thought he could live; but God was pleased to spare him “yet a little longer.” The twelfth day he slept, for the first time, and when he awoke, after a few hours of quiet sleep, he awoke to reason—but oh, so weak. His poor, worn-out body scarcely retained the breath of life. Carefully I watched each fluttering pulsation, administering stimulants as required, and by morning felt that he would live. All he needed now was care, and for three days more I watched and waited, until the Doctor pronounced him out of danger.

Then, when I would have slept, I could not. For three nights I hardly slept at all, and I tried so hard.

Yesterday I took plenty of quinine, and had a good night’s rest last night, and awakened this morning much refreshed.

Knoxville, Tenn., February 25th, 1864.

Another of my patients leaves for his home tomorrow morning on furlough. His name is Joseph Spalding, of our company. He was wounded and taken prisoner at Campbell Station, but, being unable to walk, was left, with about three hundred of their own men, when the siege was raised. He enjoyed their hospitality about three weeks, and was satisfied. He says, however, they treated him as well as they did their own men. Our forces are still searching for Longstreet, the Ninth Corps in advance, as usual.

I learn they crossed the Holston today at Strawberry Plains. How far our boys will follow I do not know; certainly not farther than the cars can carry their supplies, for they have no mule train. They may go as far as Morristown, then strike across by way of Cumberland Gap. The officers’ horses, that were sent to Kingston some time ago on account of forage, are ordered back. This means change of locality. The fact may seem of small significance, but I have learned to judge of movements by what I see, not by what I hear.

February 24th, 1864.

Another of our boys has drawn a prize, and leaves for home tomorrow on twenty days’ furlough. A batch of names goes in tonight that will take all the wounded from my ward. There is great excitement here today. The enemy has disappeared from our front, our troops are again at Strawberry Plains. Where they have gone, even rumor saith not. All we know of him is, he has disappeared. Our Provost Marshal’s office is literally besieged by citizens who want passes to their homes.

Perhaps the Ninth Corps can be spared now. The general impression is they will start in two or three days. The Washington papers say we are to be at Newport News by the first of May; a little over two months, which will give us at least six weeks in Michigan, should we be so lucky as to get there. But time is precious. My mind is so fixed on going home —if only for a few days—I can think of little else.