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

January 5th, 1865.

We mustered for pay December 31st, and I have been very busy every day, and often far into the night, making out muster rolls. A muster roll is a sheet of paper two feet by three feet square, the space between the lines about two-thirds as wide as the ruling on legal cap paper. On the left is a column in which the names of the men are written in alphabetical order. Then follows a complete description—where, when and by whom enlisted; where, when and by whom mustered; when and by whom last paid; where he now is; why and how long he has been absent; if anything is due the Government, for transportation, fines, damages, etc., or if due the soldier for clothing not drawn, etc. It must all be stated.

Company G musters seventy-two men, present and absent. In order to get all this on six square feet of paper, I am forced to write as fine as possible, and frequently to interline.

Then, four of these papers are filled at each muster, corresponding in every particular, the least error in one spoiling the whole. We muster the last day of each alternate month, and the rolls must be completed within three days thereafter.

My rolls were in on time, and I have been at Headquarters all day, helping to compare and correct the regimental rolls, preparatory to sending them to Washington.

I have forced myself to write thus calmly of every day occurrences, when, in fact, my very blood is on fire, and every emotion of my soul is in a tumult of glad expectancy.

I am going home. My furlough has been approved and is now at Division Headquarters. It will reach me in a day or two. Then will I fly, on wings of steam, to my beloved one’s fond embrace.

Camp Seventeenth Michigan Infantry,

January 1st, 1865.

The storm is past; the sun shines out, bright and cheerful, giving golden promise of the coming years. My darling’s birthday, too. I had fondly hoped it might be my lot to be with her on that day. We have received no mail the last three days. A new arrangement has been made at the distributing office, in Washington, the mail being now distributed by brigades.

The Seventeenth could not be found in this great army, as we are not brigaded. A special dispatch was sent out instructing the mail agent to send our mail to First Division, Ninth Corps.

General Wilcox is in temporary command of the corps. The Rebels improve every opportunity to desert. All agree as to the scarcity of supplies and the hopelessness of their cause.

December 30th, 1864.

Company G has been relieved from detached duty and has rejoined the regiment. I left my snug little house this morning at sunrise. Rain fell thick and fast all the forenoon. In the afternoon it changed to sleet and snow, growing quite cold the while, until now, evening, it is quite winterlike. But I am already provided for until I can build a house of my own. I had no sooner arrived than a good Samaritan, by pity moved, opened his heart and door and bade me enter. I will soon have another house as comfortable as the one I left. I will now have one tent mate, as I cannot build alone. We sent our brick and lumber from Cedar Bottom yesterday. Monday we will get the logs and build our house.

December 22d, 1864.

I walked three miles and waited until 9 o’clock this evening, so sure was I of tidings from home. I waited in vain. I was disappointed but not disheartened. Surely tomorrow I will be more fortunate, and if not tomorrow, I will still wait patiently, trusting that all is well.

I do not know why it is. but I cannot feel downhearted of late. Whether it is owing to the buoyant health I now enjoy, the conviction that the crisis is passed and peace is about to smile upon our bloodstained land; or that the time is drawing nigh when I may return to my loved ones; whether it be either or all of these, I cannot tell, but so it is. I feel a lightness and buoyancy of mind and body that I have been a stranger to for years.

I do not forget, even for one moment, the sufferings to which my family are exposed this terrible winter, and I thank God for putting it into the heart of Brother Salmon to furnish them firewood and for other acts of kindness.

We are having cold weather here just now. It actually froze a little last night. Snow fell on the tenth, about an inch deep. In a day or two the sun came out and it fled from before the brightness of his face. Our winters here are about like Michigan, with December, January and February left out.

December 15th, 1864.

Another sweet messenger from home, dated December 4th. It seems to have been quite a long time on the way; ten days in a time of comparative quiet.

I do not know how it may be with those removed from these busy scenes of strife, but, with me, the mighty present swallows up the events of the past and almost obliterates them from memory. Movements which, in process of execution, claim all our attention and from which the grandest results are anticipated, become, when past, but as a “watch in the night.”

All eyes are now turned on Sherman, awaiting news of him in breathless suspense. At the same time movements are on foot here that will eventually compel the evacuation of Petersburg.

Unfavorable weather has caused a short delay, but the storm is over and our troops are on the march again. Meanwhile, I can wait, feeling that “the night is far spent and the dawn is at hand,” doing the little I can for my fellows and my country; ambitious only that I may be worthy the good opinion of my loving wife, so tenderly, confidingly expressed in this, her last letter. Courage, dear one; yet a little longer must we toil and struggle on. Our paths are now converging; they soon will meet, in blissful union; then, hand in hand, together will we pass down the declivity of life, purified and made better by these sore trials.

So we are to have another dinner—a Christmas dinner—prepared by the kind friends at home expressly for the Seventeenth Regiment, the whole to be superintended by Mr. Winegar, of Grass Lake. Mortimer has rejoined his regiment. I heard of the event last night, and early this morning started in quest of him. His regiment is in the inner line of works, about five miles from here, near a large fort called the Crater, from the manner in which it belches fire and smoke and iron missiles from its huge guns. I found him looking well, though a little thin, and was glad to see him, for had he not just returned from home—my home? Had he not seen and conversed with my loved ones, only a few days instead of years ago? And then, those little articles of comfort, direct from home; precious mementoes of a wife’s devotion and tender remembrance. Is it any wonder as I clasped his hand, my eyes were dim with the mists of pleasing memories?

I will not attempt to picture the pleasure I experienced as I looked on that on which my wife’s dear eyes had rested, watered, perhaps, with bitter tears; in handling that which was fashioned by her hands. And those towels! Soon as I returned I hung one beside the door of my little house. How homelike it did look! And then I washed me very carefully, lest I stain its snowy whiteness and dried me on her towel, as I used to do at home. Can I ever wear those stockings? For her dear sake I will, although it seems like sacrilege.

I could only spend two hours with Mortimer, but we made the best possible use of the time. During that time I heard more gossip than in the past two years.

He told everything “I said and they said,” with the variations; some agreeable, some otherwise. I asked him what he thought of our darling baby, Nell. “Oh, it’s quite a decent-looking young one, but no better than other folks’s.” He said: “Aunt Sene asked me if she wasn’t the handsomest grandchild they had, and I told her ‘No, Flora was.'” Then, fearing he had shocked my sensibilities, he apologized by saying: “Flora has got to be a darned purty girl; you never see anybody change as she has.”

I saw Billy Richardson. He says he can go on picket and fire his “hundred rounds” at nothing as well as anybody.

December 6th, 1864.

I find, on inquiry, the time has not yet come for me to visit my loved home. Since the fourteenth of last month, furloughs have only been given in extreme cases. They are now entirely suspended, for a brief period, in the Ninth Corps.

Grant is concentrating his forces. The Sixth Corps has just arrived, and is moving to the left. The Nineteenth Corps is on the way. Porter is collecting his fleet of ironclads in the vicinity of Dutch Gap. Butler’s canal is nearly completed. Should this canal prove to be a success, Porter may make a desperate attempt to reach the Rebel Capital, the land force co-operating on the right and left. But this move, whatever it may be, is not the cause of furloughs being withheld, for the order is confined to the Ninth Corps. Men are going, every day, from other portions of the army. General Burnside was here on Saturday, and returned to Washington on Sunday. On Monday the order was issued: “No more furloughs from the Ninth Corps until further orders.”

Lieutenant Colonel Swift is trying to get leave to take the regiment to Michigan to recruit. General Wilcox tells him the old members have seen more than their share of hard service, and advises him to let them remain where they are until their term of service expires. Swift is ambitious, and has an “itching palm” to wear the silver eagle.

Cedar Bottom, Va., December 3d, 1864.

I have just settled in my new quarters with Captain Sudborough’s detachment. We are three miles from the regiment and five from City Point. The men are well pleased with this kind of soldiering. They have good quarters, plenty of rations, light duty, and are out of reach of Rebel bullets; the first time in seven months. There are sixty men on duty here.

Colonel Luce has resigned and starts for home next Monday. His reasons are given out as “broken health, ruined fortunes,” and a kindly regard for his men, whom he loves as a father loves his children. Had he remained, his rank would have forced us into the line, as the Second Brigade is now commanded by a Lieutenant Colonel.

He is one of the most kindly men I ever met, and we will miss him sadly. I am living alone, away from the noise and turmoil of my boisterous companions. I prefer thus to live, where I can work without interruption, and, when my task is done, can revel in my own small “world of thought.”

I will apply for a furlough next Monday. It will be detained five or six days in the “Circumlocution Office.” which will bring me home about the fifteenth, if successful.

Camp near Petersburg, Va.,

November 30th. 1864.

“Be ready to march tomorrow morning.” This is the order that greeted us the night before last at 10 o’clock. It was a surprise to us, as we had seen no indications of such an order; not even an order to draw extra rations.

In the morning we learned the Ninth Corps was to relieve the Second Corps in front of Petersburg. At 10 o’clock the next morning we were under way. The day was cloudless, the roads in fine condition, and we made the sixteen miles at 3 o’clock in the afternoon.

We halted within two miles of our destination until dark, as the rest of the way was in range of Rebel guns, and in plain view. In the interval we treated ourselves to coffee and hardtack, the first since morning. Soon as it was fairly dusk we resumed our march, and brought up, a little after dark, on the right of Petersburg, near the Appomattox River. It seems like meeting old acquaintances, after weeks of separation. This part of the line is nearest the city, and is the scene of the “usual amount of firing” mentioned in every daily paper. Many is the evening Mr. Collier and I have visited these hills and listened to the thunders of artillery that threatened to shake them from their foundations. Too tired to pitch my tent, I spread my blankets on the ground, and, undisturbed by the roar of cannon, sweetly slept until morning. This morning we relieved the Thirty-sixth Wisconsin, and took possession of their quarters, which are very comfortable.

We are encamped on a high hill that overlooks the city, and the Rebel lines are in full view, far to the right and left. Close by is a fort that mounts “thirty-two-pounders.”

Eighty of our men are permanently detailed at General Wilcox’s headquarters; the rest are scattered on temporary details.

Captain Sudborough is in command of a detachment on the railroad near City Point. I will report to him tomorrow.

November 26th, 1864.

Thanksgiving Day came bright and beautiful, as though Nature smiled approval, and accepted the thank offering which kind friends, with a degree of liberality never equaled, have sent to cheer the hearts and make glad the stomachs of their “brave defenders.” I am sorry to be compelled to say the kind intentions of our friends were, in a measure, thwarted by circumstances beyond their control. The transports that brought them to City Point were delayed by a storm and did not arrive until Friday evening. Then the work of unloading and distributing to the different corps occupied all the time until Thanksgiving morning. The first installment, designed for the Ninth Corps, did not reach this station until noon of that day. The afternoon was consumed in issuing to divisions, and from them to regiments. We must wait until morning for our dinner.

Doubtless all have seen, in newspapers, an estimate of articles sent to this army. From it, and the time consumed in distribution, some idea can be formed of the amount of food consumed by an army in one day, and the necessity of keeping its line of supplies in working order.

November 26th, 1864.

A dinner of roast turkey in the army! I am inclined to think it unparalleled in the annals of warfare. There were liquors of almost every brand; turkeys both roast and raw; chickens with rich dressings; pies, cakes, fruits and sweetmeats—enough, as intended, for every soldier in the army.

Now for the result.

We drew, for thirty-three men in Company G, twenty pounds roast turkey; thirty green apples; four pounds potatoes; seven cookies; three doughnuts; seven papers line cut tobacco; three papers smoking. The regiment drew in proportion.

We will not measure our thanks to the generous donors by what we received. The effort on their part is appreciated by us, and will be cherished as an expression of sympathy and good will.