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

October 12th, 1863.

We left Knoxville at 9 a. m. of Saturday and arrived -within ten miles of Greenville about sundown. The hills and valleys were covered with troops, those in front in line of battle. Artillery and musketry could be heard about two miles in front, and we were told there had been skirmishing in front nearly all day. It was nearly dark, and our brigade, being in front, we marched about half a mile and encamped for the night. Before it was fairly light the next morning we joined our brigade, which was in the extreme front, supporting a battery. Every preparation had been made for a “big fight,” and our boys awaited the attack with eager anticipation. Skirmishers were thrown out to ascertain the position of their infantry, that our batteries might open the ball by a salute at sunrise. Our skirmishers soon returned—they had found no enemy. Instantly away dashed a regiment of cavalry in hot pursuit, followed by the First Division—the Seventeenth in advance. We did some fast marching for about two hours, when we halted for two mounted brigades to pass. Here we learned the Rebels passed through Greenville about daylight, and were some ten miles ahead, making the best time possible. But Foster’s cavalry had been sent around to intercept them should they retreat.

He was expected to cross the river at a ferry fifteen miles above Greenville and intercept them in a ravine about five miles beyond. But the ferry boats had been destroyed, and he was compelled to go several miles to a ford, which caused so much delay he did not arrive in time. We followed several miles and gave up the pursuit.

October 7th, 1863.

Colonel Luce is going home again, on furlough, to recruit. He takes with him three officers of the line and ten Sergeants—one from each company. They are to be gone sixty days. If enlisting is “played out,” as many claim, sending men from active service for the purpose of soliciting enlistments is the height of folly. Perhaps there is so little for us to do just now, we may as well be in Michigan as Tennessee. If that is so, why not send all of us home?

October 3d.

Our trap is sprung at last. For three long, weary days and sleepless nights we patiently awaited the coming of that “flanking column” which we were to capture or annihilate. First they were reported crossing at Tennessee Ford, twenty miles below, thirty thousand strong, to sweep the “Northern vandals” from this fair valley and open up a way for supplies to reach Richmond. Next their advance had reached Marysville, fourteen miles from this place. Citizens came flocking in all day Thursday, telling sickening tales of outrage perpetrated by their “advance” on unoffending “Union people.” Some reported them four hundred strong, others fifteen or twenty thousand.

Yesterday it was reported ten thousand of our cavalry had gone out to reconnoitre. They visited the Ford no “raid” had been there—Rocksville; no cavalry had been there—to Loudon; no guerillas had been there. A council of war was held, and they decided to return by the way of Marysville. There the enemy had been seen. Cautiously they advanced to beleaguer the devoted town. A short distance from the town a halt was called and scouts sent out to reconnoitre. They found the city “occupied” by a force of—eight bushwackers. These were captured “without the loss of a man on our side.”

Knoxville, Tenn., October 2d, 1863.

We are shut out from all intercourse with the rest of the world. Even Dame Rumor has retired behind the scenes, exhausted, doubtless, by the herculean efforts she has put forth the last few days. By the last and only mail we have had since we came here, we received a bundle of Detroit Tribunes, dated September 15th. Since then the silence of isolation has enveloped us. There is a tiny sheet published daily at Knoxville. It is silent on all except local subjects, and nearly so on them. I notice, in yesterday’s edition, a convention has been held by the people of this county to nominate delegates to a state convention, to be held at Nashville, for the purpose of nominating a state ticket. The delegates pledge themselvs to support no candidate who is not truly loyal. Thus, while politicians and demagogues are wrangling over “reconstruction and territorial admission,” the people are solving the most difficult problem by the most simple process.

October 1st. 1863.

We have pitched our tents in rear of our guns and still occupy the same position. Our trap was set for a band of guerillas who have been operating a few miles south of us. Our cavalry—sent out to drive them in—encountered them yesterday, killed several, took a few prisoners, and are in pursuit of the remainder. We busy ourselves by arresting everything and everybody that comes our way. Citizens are all taken before Acting Brigadier General Leisure, who asks them all sorts of questions, gathering, in this way, much valuable information—administers the Oath of Allegiance, grants protection papers, etc. Deserters are constantly coming in, mostly from Bragg’s army. I saw two North Carolinians last evening.

They say Beauregard and Longstreet are at Chattanooga—also that the Rebels burned Charleston and evacuated. We are kept very close, no man—not even officers’ cooks—being allowed to cross over to the city. From the best information I can get, I conclude Bragg has sent a force to operate on Rosa’s rear, threatening this place in their course. Nine bushwhackers were brought in last night and were taken to headquarters.

These wretches are being hunted from their hiding places in the mountains with untiring zeal by the Home Guards.

September 29th.

It was rumored this morning that we march tomorrow at 5 a. m. Little attention was paid to this, however, and the men were enjoying themselves as usual, gathered in groups around their camp fires, which the cool mountain breezes rendered grateful, singing songs, spinning yarns or writing letters to loved ones at home. About 9 o’clock the official order came: “Reveille at 3; march at 5.” Rations were to be drawn, which occupied us until nearly midnight, and left little time for sleep. Again was there a change of program, and we were notified that reveille would sound at the usual hour. At last w: retired to rest, thinking to get two or three hours of quiet sleep. Alas, the “glorious uncertainties of war,” I had hardly closed my eyes in sleep—or so it seemed to me—ere our Orderly Sergeant came around to every tent—”Fall out, boys; pack up; we are off immediately.” We have soldiered too long to stop and ask questions, be our curiosity ever so great, so out we fell, packed our traps in silence, and awaited orders.

We had not long to wait. Colonel Luce soon came around to each company and said, in his mild, quiet way, “Put on your things, men, and fall in on the color line without further orders.”

In less than fifteen minutes from the time we were first aroused our brigade was in motion, filing down the ravine silently as a band of Indians upon the warpath. We marched directly to the ferry, south of the city, crossed over, and a little after daylight formed in line about two miles from the landing.

The road from the city followed a ravine running south about a mile, then turned abruptly to the right, winding around the hills in a southwesterly direction. At or in rear of this angle a cannon was placed in position to sweep the road for about half a mile. This piece was supported by the Twentieth Michigan. In advance half a mile, and on the left of the road, the Second Michigan was concealed in a cornfield, while on the right, and a little in advance of them, another gun was masked and supported by the Seventeenth. Still further on, and to the left, were two more pieces of artillery, supported by the One Hundredth Pennsylvania. Not a sign of these movements could be seen from the road. Here, then, is a most ingeniously contrived trap. Where is the game? And what?

Knoxville, Tenn., September 27th, 1863.

We are again under marching orders. It is rumored we go to Rosecrans’ support tomorrow morning. Our boys are quite as enthusiastic as when they first left home, and for the same reason. They are ready to go anywhere—do anything—to hasten the end. They have borne with wonderful fortitude the excessive fatigue of marching through a mountainous country. Burnside does not like to spare them—will not unless absolutely necessary. He owes something to the Ninth Army Corps. Those stars upon his epaulets that shine so brightly, and which he wears so jauntily, were won for him by the Ninth Army Corps. General Burnside is truly a noble man. We respect him for his honesty and frankness in acknowledging his mistakes as well as for his great administrative ability.

Our orders to march have just been countermanded. General Burnside told Colonel Luce he had received a despatch from Rosecrans that we are not needed at present. That seems to confirm the rumor of his success. We are having delightful weather, clear and cool.

September 25 th.

The Fair Ground, on which we are encamped, is simply a clearing in the wood, without buildings, fence or shade. But it is a pleasant place, near a spring of good water, and bordering on the Holston River. I have just returned from the city, where I have spent most of the day. These are glorious days for the people of Knoxville. They tell me the day of their deliverance has come at last. The story of their sufferings has been but feebly told. Even a Brownlow cannot do it justice. Hundreds of citizens followed us to their homes, from which they had been driven a year or more ago. They are flocking in by fifties and by hundreds and are organizing for their own defense. We have given them the oportunity, and they are eager to embrace it. One lady told me it was with difficulty she could repress a shout of joy as she saw our blue coats filing down the streets. Loyalty here is pure and unalloyed, as proven by the sacrifices they have made.

We are objects of much curiosity. An old gentleman, a preacher, walked six miles to see us. We were the first Northern men he ever saw. He said he could not express his gratitude to us for their timely deliverance.

Parson Brownlow is expected here soon. I saw his son today. He is a noble-looking fellow, about 21 years of age; is Lieutenant Colonel of a regiment that has been raised since Burnside came here. Burnside is the hero of the hour in East Tennessee.

It is twenty days since I received my last mail. During all that time I have not seen a newspaper, therefore am totally ignorant of what is taking place in other parts of the world.

Knoxville, Tenn., September 24th, 1863.

We left the Gap on the twenty-first and made twenty miles, climbing up one side of a mountain two or three miles, then down the other side. It was a toilsome march, and, when we halted at night, my feet seemed pounded to a jelly. We reached Morristown the twenty-second, and immediately took cars for Knoxville, as we supposed, but the engine coupled to the wrong end of the train, and away we dashed to Greenville, thirty miles up the valley. We arrived there about sundown, stacked arms, unslung knapsacks, made a dash for rails with which to build our camp fires, but, while we were engaged in making them fly again, the bugle sounded “fall in”—the rails were abandoned, we were ordered on board the cars, and took the back track for Knoxville. We arrived here at 4 o’clock this morning and marched directly to the Fair Ground, three-fourths of a mile from the city, where we are now encamped.

The boys are somewhat worn by heavy marches, and a few days’ rest will do them good.