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

Lenoir, October 31st, 1863.

We are working like beavers, building our little houses. They are to be eight feet by ten, and will accommodate four persons. Nothing can be heard but the clatter of axes and the crash of falling timber. Only the First Division is stationed here. This is said to be the lower extremity of Burnside’s department. It is something like Fredericksburg, in this: Our pickets are stationed on opposite sides of the river within hailing distance. Colonel Leisure says a supply train is almost here. When it comes, our empty haversacks are to be filled and our rags exchanged for clothes. Everything is to be very precise and regular, as becomes an army of veterans.

Lenoir, October 29th.

Another letter from home last night, dated October 1 6th. Only four letters in two months; I find, too, my letters are quite as irregular.

I have just learned that Lieutenant Miller starts for home at 6 o’clock tomorrow morning. He will visit my loved ones and tell them all the news. I know not how to express myself in regard to our present situation. I am glad we were not forced to retreat. Still, I am certain we could have held those heights, and to leave without firing a gun! Oh, for a few Wolfords and Grants—men who are “here to fight.”

All sorts of rumors are afloat. “Bragg, with all his army, is advancing.” Longstreet is crossing the river six miles below Kingston to flank us on the right. Another heavy force is on our left, making for Knoxville. “Wilcox has been driven back from the east,” and a hundred others equally encouraging. We know not what to think of it, and yet must criticise and form conclusions. But it is all explained at last. We fell in at 1 o’clock today, marched about a mile to a beautiful grove near a large spring of never-failing water. Here our division formed in line and stacked arms, with orders to remain in line until further notice. Lieutenant Colonel Comstock soon called our regiment to “attention,” ordered company commanders in front of center, and then and there revealed to them the long-wished-for intelligence. All officers and men were taken by surprise. We were prepared to hear of some great calamity, but not for this. Nothing like it had ever before happened to the Ninth Army Corps. “Our fall campaign is closed. Prepare for yourselves comfortable quarters for the winter.” For a moment there was a silence that could be felt, then a shout went up that “rent the heavens and shook the everlasting hills.” Not simply because we were ordered to prepare winter quarters, but a mysterious movement had been explained—a weight of anxiety removed.

Lenoir, Tenn., October 28th, 1863.

I said yesterday that I was puzzled. I am more than ever today. I am confounded, disappointed, chagrined.

Our forces evacuated Loudon early this morning. The Rebels took immediate possession. Everything of value that could not be removed was destroyed. Only last night a locomotive was run across the river to be used on that side as we advanced. Four cars had been left there by the Rebels when they evacuated. As we had no time to remove them, the engineer put on steam and ran them off the embankment into the river. The Union people left with us. We have fallen back six miles and encamped for the night. A strong force is posted on the heights to prevent surprise.

I am simply stating facts as they occur. Of course, I cannot know the whys and wherefores of these movements. Perhaps they are part of the “original plan,” and not a retreat. We all have confidence in Burnside, but, if we do not see Knoxville between now and Sunday I am much mistaken. To my heated imagination the Cumberland Mountains loom up with wonderful distinctness.

October 27th.

Everything remains precisely as it was three days ago. We are not allowed to leave camp, at least beyond bugle call. Our guns must be kept in perfect order, ready for instant use. Artillery horses wear their harness night and day. In fact, we are ready for attack, advance or retreat at a minute’s notice. Each morning the cavalry goes to the front, skirmish with the enemy, watch their movements through the day and return to camp at night. Matters wear a strange aspect; the Rebels seem playing with us; now advancing, now retiring. I know not what to think of the way things are working.

Loudon, October 25th, 1863.

The storm has passed away, and the sun shines out warm and genial. The roads are in fearful condition, but getting better.

Yesterday all the teams, and everything, and everybody that could not fight, were sent to the rear. Every preparation was made to repel the expected attack; things packed and we lay all day behind our arms with all equipments on, ready for instant use. About 8 o’clock a strong force was sent out to reconnoitre, Toward night we could hear the dull boom of distant cannon, feeling for the enemy. Impatiently we awaited the result.

Loudon, October 23d, 1863, 7 p. m.

This has been a dismal day. It reminds me of the day we crossed the Potomac last fall. It began to rain at 5 o’clock this morning, and has rained all day, and there is every prospect of a wet night.

I never think of that fearful night without a thrill of horror. I marched all that day in the pelting rain, soaked to the skin, and when night came, weary as I was, I faced the fierce northern blasts until morning. I date all my suffering from that dreadful night. Although this storm reminds me of that day, and, under similar circumstances would have been quite as unpleasant, yet I have passed it quite comfortably. My comrade and I have a good tent, each of us a blanket and rubber ponchos, which enables us to keep dry and warm. These rubbers are very useful. If overtaken by a storm while on the march, not only is the person kept dry, but his blankets and haversack. At night we spread it on the ground, and no moisture can reach the person.

But this storm; what will be its effect on military operations here? I confess to a feeling of anxiety; I fear we are to be again “stuck in the mud,” as at Fredericksburg. If this is really the beginning of the rainy season, we can do but little more. And so much remains to be done. We must occupy and hold this railroad, or evacuate East Tennessee, and that right speedily. We can get supplies in no other way. There are not mules enough in the United States to haul our supplies over the mountains in the winter. In fact, now, when the roads, are comparatively good, it cannot be done. We have been on half rations ever since we crossed the mountains.

But away with such gloomy thoughts, and let faith and hope prevail. Tomorrow may bring forth light from this pall of darkness.

October 22d.

Active warfare is said to be like a game of chess, and it is sufficiently active in West Tennessee just now. An unexpected counter move has brought us to this place. The force that attacked Wolford turns out to be the advance of a large army under Longstreet. Strange that, after marching so many thousands of miles, as we have done this summer, the fortunes of war should again throw us together.

Loudon, Tenn., October 21st, 1863.

We left Knoxville yesterday at 3 a. m. and took up o«r line of march for Kingston, forty miles distant, expecting to make it in three days. We took it leisurely and halted at 1 o’clock for dinner, having made twelve miles. We rested two hours and dined on hardtack and coffee. In the afternoon we marched six miles further and encamped for the night. The weather is delightful and roads good, which makes eighteen miles a day only gentle exercise. Very much depends on this. It is more tiresome to march ten miles when the roads are wet and slippery than twice that distance when dry and firm. We had hardly arrived in camp before the report of a dozen rifles told us the work of slaughter had begun.

Before dark good, fat beef was issued, and we supped on coffee, hardtack and beef. We have drawn nothing else, except sugar, since leaving Crab Orchard, and now we are getting only half rations of coffee and sugar. This morning we were aroused at 3 o’clock, two hours earlier than the usual time when on the march, but we “tumbled out,” made coffee, fried beef, ate our breakfast, dried and rolled up our tents and blankets, and at 4 o’clock were ready for business. At 5 o’clock the bugle sounded “fall in,” and in fifteen minutes the whole division was in motion. But not toward Kingston. I soon learned that Colonel Wolford was in a “fix,” and we were on the way to help him out. Cannonading could be heard in the direction of Loudon Bridge, which served as a stimulant, and away we dashed, making fifteen miles by 11 o’clock. We were now within two miles of the bridge, and halted in a piece of timber. Here we learned that the crisis had passed, and Colonel Leisure told us to make ourselves comfortable as possible until morning.

Loudon bridge crosses the Holston a short distance above its junction with the Clinch. These two form the Tennessee. The railroad from Bristol to Loudon is entirely in our possession. From this place to Cleveland the rebels have small forces at different points. We have strong fortifications on this side the river, occupied by the Twenty-third Corps, who have just completed a pontoon bridge. Wolford, with a brigade of cavalry and mounted infantry crossed this bridge, advanced about six miles and began to fortify. One regiment was sent out to look for the enemy. Forage being scarce and hard to get, another was sent off with a train to gather forage. Just at this critical moment, when he was least prepared, the Rebels threw a force of five thousand troops between him and the bridge, thus cutting off his retreat, and summoned him to surrender. To oppose them Wolford had two regiments of cavalry, a battery of six pieces, but no ammunition. What was to be done—surrender? His case looked desperate; some might have considered it hopeless; but “Wolf” was only indignant. He bared his teeth and growled, “What! me surrender? Why, man, I’m here to fight. Go back and tell your people I’ll call on them directly.” He spiked his useless cannon and abandoned them; put himself at the head of his brave followers and hurls them like an avalanche upon the enemy’s center; cuts his way through their line, taking ninety prisoners, reached the bridge with little loss, while our artillery on this side made pursuit impossible. This took place yesterday. This morning, having been reinforced, he crossed the river to offer them battle. He found them but two miles away, and immediately engaged them. When we arrived here the roar of artillery could be distinctly heard, but gradually it grew faint and fainter, until at sundown it had died away in the distance.

Knoxville, Tenn., October 18th, 1863.

Once more have my eyes been gladdened and my heart made to rejoice by the reception of love’s sweet messengers—letters from home. How anxiously have I watched and waited, and what a load has been removed by those grateful words, “Well as usual.”

But eighteen days is a long time to await tidings of those we love. Arrangements are being made to have our mail carried over the mountains on pack mules. When these arrangements are completed I think there will be more regularity.

We are encamped again near the city, awaiting whatever may turn up. The regiment is in excellent health and spirits. We have become accustomed to soldiers’ fare; nothing seems to affect us. There is a striking contrast between old troops and new. When in pursuit of the Rebels beyond Greenville, Wilcox’s men tired out and were withdrawn from the chase, while we pursued ten miles further. They are six and nine months men from Indiana.

I see by Northern papers that Rebel sympathizers hope to carry Ohio, New York and Pennsylvania in the coming election, and this hope nerves the Rebel leaders to make the most desperate efforts to hold out yet a little longer. They are doomed to disappointment. These states will give an overwhelming majority for the Union.