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

City Point, August 31st, 1864.

I left the front at noon today, partly for a load of ice for the hospital, mainly to get my mail, if any had arrived, which I did not doubt. As to the first, I was successful, and hope to be with the latter tomorrow. It hardly seems the same place, so great have been the changes in two weeks. Nearly all the delegates have gone home. Men free to act—to come and go as they please—will not long endure the perils of this climate.

While the people at home are watching with eager eyes the progress of these armies, we, the members of these armies, are equally intent with the progress of events now transpiring in the North. The draft—the Chicago convention—the great conspiracy—all are subjects in which we take the deepest interest.

After all, I see more ground for hope than cause for fear in the immediate future. I do not believe the draft will be resisted to any extent. The conspiracy is rendered harmless by its publicity. The only fear 1 hear expressed is that the leaders may not be sufficiently punished. If the Administration is afraid to assume the responsibility at this critical period, let those leaders be persuaded to visit the army. I am quite sure they would be convinced it is poor policy to buy ammunition for traitors.

When I contemplate the present condition of the country, I am bewildered by the fearful magnitude of events now hurrying to completion.

August 25th, 1864.

We have sent away all our sick and wounded, and expect to follow in the morning. I do not like the idea of getting so far from our base, as it is likely to interfere with our rations. However, we will probably not remain very long. With field hospitals, change is the order; here today, there tomorrow. We have no patients; nothing to keep my mind from realizing its utter loneliness. At such times my heart reaches out to my family with unutterable longing. But, be still, fond heart. Two years of banishment are past, but one remains. God is good, and kind, and merciful. Let me gather consolation from tha past, and look with confidence and hope into the future.

I have said that I am lonely. I would be much more so were it not for the comradeship of my friend, Mr. Collier. We take long walks together, talking over old times and future plans until we get to some high point overlooking Petersburg and its fortifications. We then sit down for an hour or two and enjoy the cool evening breeze, and witness the grandest pyrotechnic display the mind can conceive of. I saw William Dunham today; he has been promoted to sergeant. There is no better or braver soldier in the Seventeenth Regiment than he.

Field Hospital, August 23d, 1864.

I left City Point about 5 p. m. of the 21st inst., and arrived here at 8 o’clock. It began to rain before we were out of sight of the hospital, and kept it up until morning. A little soaking, now and then, is more agreeable than otherwise, this hot weather, but not so the mud. Sacred soil is very adhesive.

Yesterday I went to the Point for a load of ice. The roads were so soft we were compelled to walk back. Darkness and a heavy rainstorm met us half way. To add to our enjoyment, we lost our way, and wandered around in mud and darkness until nearly midnight, expecting each moment to be picked up by our pickets. That gratification was denied us, and we were forced to furnish our own lodging. “All is well that ends well.” None of us are any the worse for our misadventure. We are to move our hospital this afternoon eight miles to the left, to near the Weldon Railroad. A great battle has been fought there and victory won. Many prisoners have been taken and many lost. This same railroad was once taken by the Sixth Corps, and afterward abandoned General Grant is very active, “butting,” now here, now there. At every move the Rebels get the worst of it.

August 20th, 1864.

I have visited the regiment, as I intended. I found them all well except Colonel Luce. He is suffering from injuries received at Spottsylvania and from fever. Preparations are being made to send him home. I had but little time to visit with the boys, as they moved that night. When I returned this morning I found great changes had taken place in the hospital. First, a new Surgeon is in charge, and, of course, new regulations. All the old incumbents have been removed and an entire new set installed. An order has been issued by General Meade forbidding any enlisted man helping in any of the hospitals or commissions, which throws me out of a job. As things are not to my liking here, I will report at once to the field hospital.

August 17th, 1864.

Lieutenant Sudborough has received a captain’s commission, and commands the regiment. Rath is in Michigan, recruiting. It is very sickly here; mostly confined to new regiments and recruits. Very little sickness among the veterans.

The Christian delegation is very low; less than half as many as three months ago. Many become scared the first week and leave for their homes. Delicate looking ladies endure the heat, fatigue and malaria much better than the men.

City Point. Va.. August 12th, 1864.

Today is the second anniversary of my enlistment. I have been trying to look backward and compare the present with the past. I find the task a difficult one. The past two years appear like a dark chasm, into which the most startling events have been compressed; during this time the present has absorbed my attention; its hopes and fears; its prospects and bearings on the future. What a striking resemblance the past bears to the present. Then, as now, the war was nearly ended. Then, as now, the Rebels were on “short rations,” and would soon be “starved out;” then, as now, a blow was about to be struck that “would break the back of the rebellion.” Six hundred thousand men were needed to “close up the rebellion.” “One short campaign would end the rebellion.” Today five hundred thousand men are needed for the same purpose. We are whistling that same old tune today, with as much gusto, and for the same purpose—”to keep our courage up.”

Should this nation act as foolish as our editors and politicians talk, we will be the “laughing stock” of the world. In view of the past, humility would be more becoming than arrogance. I do not believe this Nation will be dissevered and a slave oligarchy built upon the ruins of Liberty. I do not believe that a people, with almost unlimited resources, and that can muster three millions of men to fight its battles, will ever succumb to treason. Much as I love peace and hate, even to loathing, everything that pertains to war, never would I give up the struggle. At first, before the war began, I was in favor of a convention of the people to decide the vexed question of secession, and, if the people of the South desired it, I was ready to bid them go in peace, and enjoy, to the full, their sin and shame.

As much has been said of Grant’s genius for strategy, and the skill and secrecy with which he executes his movements, I will record a specimen. The night before last, at dusk, the Christian Commission was notified that six hundred sick from the Second Corps would soon arrive. In the morning the entire corps made its apearance at the Point. A fleet of transports was in waiting to take them somewhere. It was night before all had embarked, and during the day many officers and men came here for food.

All said they were going to catch Early. At dusk they steamed down the river a few miles, and anchored until the moon went down. Then they turned around and steamed up the river to Drury’s Bluff, where, at daylight, the sharp report of their rifles could be heard.

City Point, August 9th, 1864.

A fearful tragedy was enacted here today. A barge, laden with ammunition, was blown to atoms, scattering death and destruction around. How it happened will forever remain a mystery, as not one that was on board lives to tell the tale. Near as can be ascertained at this time, about two hundred were killed and wounded. A vast amount of property was destroyed. Blocks of timber, shells, grape shot and other missiles were thrown over a mile. We are situated about a mile and a half from the landing. I was on my way to the Point; had covered, perhaps, one-half the distance. As I looked toward the landing I saw a lady, mounted on a white horse that belonged to the Commission, ride up the bank from the river and turn in the direction of Grant’s head quarters. I recognized her as a member of the Michigan Relief Society. The horse was a spirited one, and I could but admire the ease and grace with which she restrained him and compelled him to do her bidding. He tossed his beautiful head and spurned the ground beneath his feet as he lightly galloped over the plain.

They had reached a point perhaps half a mile from the landing, when a violent concussion rent the air. From the landing fire, smoke and innumerable missiles were being hurled upward, in a whirling eddy, as from the mouth of a volcano. Heavy timbers and other debris flew over and around me. I looked for the lady on horseback. For an instant I could see nothing in that direction but a swirling cloud of dust; in another instant I saw, through the dispersing gloom, a white horse clearing the ground with rapid strides, and on his back, cool and erect, a lady.

I was afterward informed the lady was Mrs. Wheelock, of Jackson, Michigan, a member of the Michigan Relief Society.

August 7th, 1864.

It is the Sabbath, and is so strangely quiet I am strongly reminded of home, where I have spent so many happy Sabbaths, in years gone by. With the army there is no Sabbath. Each day is like the preceding one, except on Sunday there is a little more cleaning of brasses, brightening of arms, polishing of equipments, etc., than during the week. Here, at the Commission, the Sabbath is observed as a day of rest; a day of worship. We have divine service at 10 a. m. and at 2 p. m., in the chapel, a tent large enough to seat one hundred persons. Besides this, the colored people hold prayer meetings in the afternoon and evening. I love to attend these meetings. The simple, earnest piety of these poor unfortunates is truly affecting. There is a large camp of them just outside the hospital grounds, who came in with Wilson, from the southwest of Petersburg, when he returned from his “great raid.”

The Rebels have blown up the “decoy” fort left them by Wilcox. They tried the experiment night before last—the 5th inst. A little after sundown a huge pile of dirt, with sixteen “Quaker guns,” and other rubbish, was lifted high in air. The smoke had not cleared away ere the Rebels charged, with yells demoniac, across an open field. Our artillery was massed a little in the rear, and to the right and left of the exploded mine, loaded to the muzzle with grape and canister, ready to welcome them to the feast of death. They were allowed to approach to within short musket range before a shot was fired. Suddenly they were met by a storm of iron hail that swept their ranks as with the “besom of destruction.” Mortals could not endure it. At the first discharge they wavered; the third sent them to cover. Our loss, none; the Rebels, “much greater.”

The quiet calmness of this Sabbath eve invites retrospection. Almost two years have passed since I enlisted to serve my country—two years where days have lengthened into weeks, weeks into months, months to an endless period of time. Two years of toil, compared with which all former labors have been pastime. Two years of suffering and exposure, burned by the consuming rays of a torrid sun, where thirst and hunger have striven for mastery. Worse than all this, yes, infinitely harder to be borne, two years of separation from my loved ones. Another year remains. Oh, may it quickly pass! During all this time my hope has never wholly failed. I never, even for one moment doubted that I would see their dear faces again; that the object for which I have sacrificed so much will be accomplished; that this Nation will, in due time, emerge from the darkness which now envelops it, “purified as by fire.”

City Point, Va., August 5th, 1864.

I see by the newspapers there is great excitement in the North over the rumor that the Rebels are about to attack Washington with an army of seventy-five thousand; also a conspiracy, embracing a half million men, is already organized in the North; and, worse than all else, the loyal people of the North are “disheartened;” to all of which I reply, “May God speed the right.”

The Seventeenth was not in the fight last Saturday. I hear that General Meade is held responsible for last Saturday’s failure, and is to be superseded by General Hooker; that he—Meade—thought it a favorable opportunity to “crush” a rival instead of the rebellion.

It seems the people at home think Grant’s position here a critical one. It is well to look matters squarely in the face; to know the worst, and prepare to meet it. I believe Grant’s position here to be impregnable. The Richmond papers say: “He has involved himself in a labyrinth of fortifications from which it would be almost impossible to extricate himself if undisturbed.”

Certainly, then, they cannot drive him out. Then, his base of supplies is as nearly safe as it is possible to make it, his communication being by water and under the protection of gunboats. But, can he take Petersburg with his present force? No, not by direct assault, and I think the “golden opportunity” to exhibit his “genius for strategy” passed with last Saturday’s failure. Lee will now be more than ever on the alert. Flank movements are also “played out,” and the idea of “sieging” has become ridiculous. What, then is to be done? Simply to hold his own until re-enforced by the new levy. This he can do and spare part of his forces to operate in other places, if necessary. But, while we are waiting, the opposing forces are not idle. No ant hill was ever more busy than they. Marching and countermarching, mining and countermining. This week General Wilcox discovered the Rebels were mining one of his forts.

The next night the guns were all removed and logs were put in their places. Another fort was built at a safe distance in the rear, and the old one was abandoned, without exciting suspicion. When they are ready, they will spring the trap they have so skillfully set for themselves.