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The Project Gutenberg eBook of WAR EXPERIENCES, by CAPT. J. J. KELLOGG/span>.
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<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40233 ***</div>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 489px;">
<img class="border" src="images/iCover.jpg" width="489" height="700" alt="Book Cover" title="Book Cover" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;">
<img src="images/i002.jpg" width="500" height="672" alt="" title="" />
<p class="caption">Capt. J. J. Kellogg</p>
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 493px;">
<img class="border" src="images/i003.png" width="493" height="700"
alt="WAR EXPERIENCES
And the Story of
The Vicksburg Campaign
From
"Milliken's Bend" to July 4,
1863
Being an accurate and graphic account of
Campaign Events taken from the diary of
CAPT. J. J. KELLOGG
Of Co. B, 113th Illinois Volunteer Infantry"
title="WAR EXPERIENCES
And the Story of
The Vicksburg Campaign
From
"Milliken's Bend" to July 4,
1863
Being an accurate and graphic account of
Campaign Events taken from the diary of
CAPT. J. J. KELLOGG
Of Co. B, 113th Illinois Volunteer Infantry" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<p class="cnobmargin">COPYRIGHTED BY</p>
<p class="cnomargins">CAPT. J. J. KELLOGG</p>
<p class="cnotmargin">1913</p>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<h2>THE DAY WE STARTED<br />
FOR WAR.</h2>
<h3>Recollections of Captain J. J. Kellogg.</h3>
<p class="indent">The day we left home for the war was an eventful
one, and the incidents crowded into that day will
never be effaced from my memory.</p>
<p class="indent">There was a rally that afternoon, upon which
occasion we added some important names to our
company roll. Some of the boys who then enlisted
in our ranks were prominent in our local society
and passed current in the ranks of our best young
people. Others came out of their obscurity for the
first time on that occasion, and were first known
and noticed on the day of their enlistment. I had
never intimately known Isaac Haywood, who was afterwards
my bunkmate, until that day. I first made
the acquaintance of Tom Wilson then, but it would
require too much space to name all the comrades
I then met. And when the great struggle finally
ended, how few of those fair-haired, bright-eyed
boys were permitted to return to their old homes.
Only a small squadron of lithe-limbed, bronze-faced
fellows came back. I loved Ike Haywood on
sight. I think I was mainly attracted towards Ike
because of his eccentric ways, odd manner of speech
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page4" id="page4"></a>[pg 4]</span>
and his wonderful good nature. Dame Nature had
gotten Ike up without especial regard to good looks,
but had braced, propped and generally supported his
irregular features with wonderful bones and sinews,
all contained in a close knit wrapper of inflexible
cord and muscle. Like other unusually powerful
men, Ike was usually the very soul of good nature;
but when fully aroused and forced on the aggressive
he was known and acknowledged to be a holy
terror. He had long powerful arms and hands,
broad shoulders, thick neck, surmounted by a bullet-shaped
head with small ears. He had thin red
hair, faded red mustache, was squint-eyed and wore
a half smile on his peach blossom face, and his under
lip sort of slouched down at one end. He looked
funny at all times, but more particularly was he
comical when he tried to be in sober earnest.</p>
<p class="indent">Tom Wilson, on the contrary, was a handsome
boy and a school teacher by profession, but I can't
waste time and space in extended personal descriptions
of my comrades.</p>
<p class="indent">The war excitement had fully aroused the patriotic
citizens of our city, and the simple message
which the gallant Major Anderson had sent under
the first flag of truce to Governor Pickens at Charleston
in which he asked, "Why have you fired
upon the flag of my country?" found an echo in
every loyal heart, and we young men found ourselves
asking in fierce, hot whispers, "Why have you fired
on the flag of my country?"</p>
<p class="indent">The fragment of a company had already been
enlisted there and forwarded to camp at Cairo, and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page5" id="page5"></a>[pg 5]</span>
that day the citizens had made a supreme effort to
fill its ranks at least to the minimum. I can describe
but faintly the patriotic turmoil of that day.
I only remember that along every highway leading
into town came overloaded vehicles in apparently unending
procession, bearing their burden of human
freight. Flags fluttered from windows, and business
fronts were swathed with patriotic bunting. The thundering
discharge of an old anvil seemed to jar the
universe at each discharge. At stated intervals the
brass band also played loudly and harshly from the
band stand, and the recruiting squad paraded the
streets with fife and drum. A reverend gentleman
spoke at the city hall, and as he waxed warm and
eloquent, more than a score of men walked up to
the desk and signed the enlistment rolls.</p>
<p class="indent">Tom and Ike and I subscribed our names on the
roll together. When Tom Wilson got up and declared
his intention to enlist everybody cheered
vociferously. In the little speech he made with
trembling voice he reminded his friends that he
must surrender to their care his aged and helpless
mother during his absence. That she gave her
husband and his father to the country in the Mexican
war, and he had hoped the privilege would have
been accorded him to tenderly care for her in the
decline of her life, and that he was the only slender
reed she had to lean upon in the world, etc., etc.
Ike and I followed Tom, and in turn several others
followed us. The crowd yelled and cheered themselves
hoarse, and coming forward irrespective of
rank or social position, cordially shook our hands and
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page6" id="page6"></a>[pg 6]</span>
spoke encouraging words to us. When the rally
ended we had our full complement of men, and were
ordered to be ready to go to the front when our
train which had been ordered should arrive that
night.</p>
<p class="indent">In the evening the citizens gave us a farewell
banquet with an interesting program. A glee club
sang patriotic songs; a student of the high school
declaimed "The Charge of the Light Brigade"; a
Mexican war veteran volunteered suggestions as to
the best means and methods of avoiding camp diseases
in active military service, and as to the best
and most approved treatment of severed arteries,
fractured limbs and contused heads. An old Mississippi
steamboat captain with a glow of ripe cherry
mantling his cheeks and nose, spoke at some length
recommending whiskey and quinine if obtainable,
but whiskey anyhow for river and swamp fevers,
and gunpowder and whiskey for weak knees. Though
strongly urged, neither Tom Wilson nor myself
spoke, but Ike couldn't excuse himself satisfactorily
when solicited, and though greatly against his
inclination, he was fairly lifted to his feet by his
new comrades, and as nearly as I can remember said
substantially, as follows:</p>
<p class="indent">"Feller citizens, the time has arrove when every
galloot that cares a tinker's darn for the Union
orter go to the front. I'm goin' fer one. I haint
got much book larn'n but I reckon I can soon larn
to cock a cannon or lug a musket 'round and in this
racket, I b'leve I've got edication 'nuf to know which
way to shute. I never have ranked very high in
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page7" id="page7"></a>[pg 7]</span>
this community, and don't 'spect to get much higher
than a brigadier in this war, but I'm goin' to
help our fellers drive them rebels from pillar to
post, and if necessary drive 'em right into the post,
but what we git 'em b'gosh. This supper you women
have given us was luscious, and I b'leve I shall
taste it clear through the war. I want to bid all the
folks and more specially you fellers who could go
to the war just as well as not and won't, goodbye. If
yer ever tackled in the rear while we're down there
in the front, let us know and we'll come up and help
you through."</p>
<p class="indent">At the conclusion of the banquet exercises, each
newly enlisted man hurried away from the hall to
arrange for his departure. The families and friends
of those living at a distance, were nearly all in
town to witness the departure of friends and loved
ones. The streets of the town were crowded with
excited citizens and visitors. There was the faithful
mother with tearful eyes and blanched cheeks clinging
to the arm of her soldier boy and bravely struggling
to calm the throbbings of her aching heart.
The sad eyed father and sorrowing brothers and
sisters were standing near, each vainly trying to
say encouraging words. A group of half tipsy recruits
joked and laughed and sang snatches of patriotic
songs with thick and wobbling tongues. Across
the street in the shadow of the maples, a boy and girl
paced to and fro with slow and measured steps. Maybe
afterwards that girl when her hair was frosted with
age remembered that last promenade with bitter
tears, and again maybe the grim old war kindly gave
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page8" id="page8"></a>[pg 8]</span>
back to her at the last her boy, lithe-limbed but
bronzed by the sulphurous breath of battle.</p>
<p class="indent">I saw Tom Wilson hurry home after the banquet,
and I knew he had gone to stay with his old
mother and assist her in preparing his meagre belongings
for departure, and I knew what the agony of
that parting would be when the supreme minute
of departure actually came. And when I called
for him on my way to the depot, I saw him unclasp
her loving arms from his neck and lay her almost unconscious
form tenderly upon the lounge. He kissed
her pale lips, and with a great sob hurried out across
the threshold of his humble home. At the gate
we met Mrs. Haywood, who, having bade her own
son goodbye, was making her way to the Wilson
home to try and comfort and be comforted in their
common sorrow. We bade Mrs. Haywood a tender
farewell, and we promised to watch over her boy
through the days of his absence, and she in turn
assured Tom that she would care for and protect
his dear old mother to the best of her ability. When
Mrs. Haywood had passed into the house, Tom turned
and watched the window anxiously until he saw
again the dear old face with its straggling gray
locks framed there, and then with our modest bundles
under our arms and hats drawn down over
our flushed, sad faces, we went slowly down to the
depot. And when almost to the depot, Tom could
still see that window with its precious living picture.
With streaming eyes she had watched him
drifting out of her life. Tom was her only child.
He was all she had on earth to cling to and love.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page9" id="page9"></a>[pg 9]</span>
For many years his meager earning had supported
the home. Ever since the death of his father the
boy had been her idol. And now in her old age, not
only was she to be deprived of his presence and
companionship, but also of the simple little income
his labor had produced. And she at last saw her
darling drifting away from the shores of her simple
life out into the blue depths of the Union army, maybe
never to return. She had given the country
the father, now the country had taken the only son.
The measure of her sacrifices was more than full
and almost more than she could bear.</p>
<p class="indent">Arriving at the depot, many farewells were said
to us by both friends and strangers, as the processions
of men, women and children swept along the
platform ere the coming of our train. The queenly
Miss Frankie Bell, whom we young fellows had always
considered with her wealth and beauty too
high and mighty to ever deign to notice one of us
common fellows, actually sobbed when she pressed
our hands, and pledged poor Tom Wilson that his aged
mother should be her especial charge during his absence
and should want for no comfort which her means
could obtain. And when I saw the glad look her assurances
had brought out on Tom's face, and knew
so well her ability to do all she promised, she
all at once became in my estimation the grandest
and most angelic woman I had ever beheld. And
at last the low rumble of our train was heard in
the distance, and the click of the strumming rails
warned the anxious waiting friends that the final
farewells were now in order and must be said
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page10" id="page10"></a>[pg 10]</span>
quickly. Ike at the last moment appeared upon
the scene, actually staggering under his great load
of boxes and bundles. He was sweating and puffing
like a porpoise, and said as he came up to us,
in his usually droll way. "Got a few things here
mother fixed up for us to chaw on the way down
to war."</p>
<p class="indent">We had to laugh at him. On his shoulder he
carried a dry goods box crammed full. From
his waist belt dangled an old battered coffee pot
and cracked skillet. In his left hand he carried a
mammoth cloth satchel wadded so full that ghastly
stumps of a roast turkey were protruding from its
gaping mouth. To the smiling bystander he said
with a comical squint, "The feller who won't provide
for his own household is wus than an infidel,
b'gosh." It was plain to be seen that Ike had fully
anticipated and provided for his most pressing wants
during our trip to the front. As the train came
wheezing up to the platform, the perfect shower
of goodbyes, farewells, Godspeeds and kisses,
hugs and hand pressures were hastily enacted, the
locomotive tolled mournfully for a brief space, the
conductor shouted, "All aboard," the engine began
to wheeze and cough, and the train crawled slowly
away into the shadows of the night. The citizens
cheered the vanishing cars, and we sent back an
answering cheer, which hardly rose above the rumble
of the receding train. We watched the lights
of the old home town until they were finally quenched
in the thick midnight gloom, as we were whirled
away toward the scene of conflict. We were destined
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page11" id="page11"></a>[pg 11]</span>
for Cairo, where the other part of our company
awaited us. When we had gotten out beyond the
limits of the old home town we suffered a reaction,
and those who had so recently wept now talked and
laughed excitedly. The long faces began to broaden,
and the compressed lips curl into smiles. Some one
led off with "John Brown's Body, etc., etc." and by
the time they got his body mouldering in the grave
everybody was singing and they sang hysterically and
wildly.</p>
<p class="indent">When all had howled themselves hoarse, they
raided their well-filled lunch baskets and ate like
famished wolves, notwithstanding the fact that every
soul of them had been crammed and wadded with
food at the banquet that evening. If the mothers
and friends of those boys could have seen them in
their wild carousal they would have thought them
heartless and dissembling wretches but such judgment
would have been wholly unjust. This line of
action was the result of the relaxation of the overwrought
nerves and muscles. Every old veteran of
the civil war will recall many occasions where the
relaxation of overwrought nerves made him act
very foolishly.</p>
<p class="indent">The effect of that hour of final leave taking upon
the depot platform upon our boys was not wholly
unlike that afterwards sustained on the battle line
just preparatory to an engagement, when an occasional
double leaded message jarred the sensitive
membrane of a fellow's ears as it scooted by with a
cold hiss or a shell shrieking and seething in its mad
flight through the upper air; such occasions not only
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page12" id="page12"></a>[pg 12]</span>
try men's nerves, but they try men's souls. Finally
things settled down and everyone sought repose
and some manner of rest. I watched from the car
window, the lights flitting past as the train
forged steadily ahead. Station after station had
been passed while we caroused and slept. For
the men were sprawled out through the coaches
in every conceivable position, now forgetful in their
heavy slumber of both home and friends. Late in
the night a sudden jerk of the engine tumbled me
off my seat, and this was the first knowledge I
had that I had actually been asleep. As I rubbed
my sleepy eyes, I saw the outlines of an angular
form picking his way towards me, and carefully
over-stepping the sleeping forms that lay in his
path. He carried a big satchel, and made manifest
his mission when sufficiently near me. It was Ike,
and he opened his remarks by saying "Thought
't was 'bout time we foddered up." He lounged down
beside me.</p>
<p class="indent">"I was taking it pretty comp'table back yonder
till the durned old engine just yanked me off my
roost," he said.</p>
<p class="indent">He explored the inside of the old satchel, and
brought out a goodly supply of provender. "The
boys must have sung themselves to sleep," said I
for want of something better to say.</p>
<p class="indent">"Yes," drawled Ike, as he sliced off two huge
chunks of roast turkey breast. "They kept John
Brown's body moulderin' in the grave till it seemed
to me the corpse got mighty stale. I tell ye,
Jack, we may fetch the rebs down with our muskets,"
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page13" id="page13"></a>[pg 13]</span>
he continued, "an frighten them with wild
whoops, but we'll never charm 'em much with our
singin', I reckon," he mused as he busied himself
spreading our lunch on the opposite seat.</p>
<p class="indent">"I guess the boys had to do something extraordinary
to overcome the sad sensations the parting engendered,"
said I.</p>
<p class="indent">"Prob'ble," said Ike, as he bolted a ponderous
chunk of roast turkey. "I felt 'siderable like yelpin'
myself, but couldn't see as 'twould add anything
much to the infernal racket, so I jes held my
yelp."</p>
<p class="indent">I partook freely of the tempting lunch thus offered,
and blessed the careful forethought of Mrs.
Haywood which had supplied us such a luxury.
Eating revived my spirits amazingly, and though
not depressed by parting with relatives, as my relatives
were all far away, yet I was terribly saddened
by the goodbye from my best girl.</p>
<p class="indent">"Who knows," said I, "but what the war will
soon wind up without much more fighting and bloodshed
and we within a few weeks will go rattling
back home over this road all safe and sound?"</p>
<p class="indent">"I don't know," said Ike, "mor'n you do, but I
can't get the igee out of my head that we will yet see
some of the dog blastedest fightin' and killin' afore
we fellers return home that ever jarred the gable
end of this 'ere universe. I tell you, Jack Kellogg,"
he continued, as he hurriedly imported the lunks,
chunks and slabs of provender into his capacious
mouth, "ef ther ain't no blood on the moon fore long
then my cackalation has jumped a cog. I tell you
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page14" id="page14"></a>[pg 14]</span>
this here thunderin' fuss of ringing bells, blowin'
whistles, drummin' and fifin' and shootin' great
guns and husselin' a lot of us fellers off down here
atween two days, aint none of Mrs. Winslow's soothin'
syrup, by a gol durned sight. It all means bloody
noses an' black eyes, I tell ye, and there'll be vacant
cheers 'nuff t' seat a concert hall fore it' all
done with, I tell ye."</p>
<p class="indent">This was a long speech for Ike to make, but he
made it in such an earnest manner with such impressive
gestures and vigorous delivery that I was
greatly impressed with the belief that his statements
were probably true.</p>
<p class="indent">At many of the stations through which our train
passed straggling soldiers were waiting to go to their
commands, and boarded our train. And under the
dim light of the station lamp we saw the weeping
mother hold her soldier boy close to her aching
heart as they kissed the last long, good-bye kiss.
Those affecting scenes so often re-enacted before us
contributed in no small degree to intensify the
solemnity of that hour. At one station standing on
the depot platform was an ominous looking box,
and in the few minutes we were delayed there we
learned from an old gentleman that it contained
the remains of his boy which he was taking back
to mother and the old northern home for burial. His
soldier boy had been killed in a skirmish with the rebels
down in Missouri.</p>
<p class="indent">On the evening of the third day from home the
train which bore our detachment pulled slowly into
Cairo. In every direction as far as eye could discern,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page15" id="page15"></a>[pg 15]</span>
we saw an unbroken blaze of camp fires. An
ear-splitting din of strange and unusual sounds
filled the air. Mule drivers were haranguing their
teams in blasphemous eloquence, as the poor creatures
floundered through the bottomless roads, and
liberally applied the merciless lash to the backs of
those poor patient, overloaded creatures. The roll
and beat of drums blended and echoed and swelled,
filling the night with weird hoarse thunder. Distant
headquarter bands were concerting noisily, and
newly arrived commands went splashing along the
muddy highways to some destination beyond the
line of our vision. Staff officers and orderlies galloped
their smoking steeds hither and yonder at
wonderful speed. Black ambulances toiled slowly
along the crowded tracks with their freight of the
sick and suffering. Steamboats ablaze with signal
lights coughed, whistled and wheezed out on the
dark bosom of the Mississippi, while the volley of
brays from the mule corral smote our ears like
the concluding blasts of the very last trumpet.</p>
<p class="indent">"The hull United States seems to be goin' to
roost down here," observed Ike as he leaned out of
one of the car windows and observed the situation.</p>
<p class="indent">"Beats a camp meeting," chipped in somebody
else.</p>
<p class="indent">"Don't seem to be much discipline in this end of
the army," said another.</p>
<p class="indent">"I reckon they'll have to cheese this racket
'fore they catch any fish," another remarked.</p>
<p class="indent">And all these and many other comical remarks
were made by our boys, as they contemplated the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page16" id="page16"></a>[pg 16]</span>
new situation from the cars and patiently awaited
orders to go to camp.</p>
<p class="indent">It was indeed a great relief to us when an orderly
bestriding a jaded, mud-bespattered horse finally
rode up and informed us that he would take us to
camp. Accordingly we disembarked, fell into line
and set out for our campground.</p>
<p class="indent">After a deep wading, tiresome zigzagging along
miserable roads, devious and uncertain paths and
blind trails, across sloppy and splashy summer-fallows,
for what seemed an interminable distance, we
at last reached camp.</p>
<p class="indent">In anticipation of our coming, the camp boys
had prepared us a regulation army supper consisting
mainly of beans, bacon, rice and hard tack, with the
usual black coffee accompaniment. Notwithstanding
the rude coarse rations, the hungry recruits
laid to and ate with a wonderful relish and offered
no excuses. To be sure, as the supper progressed,
many humorous observations were made by the
boys, touching the kinds and quality of Uncle Sam's
menu and the manner of its service. Notwithstanding
the coarse rations offered and the fact that every
mother's son of them had been continually gormandizing
ever since we left home, each did ample
justice to his first army supper. Haywood discovered
the corpse of a lightning bug embalmed in his
plate of beans, and another equally as observing and
curious fished the remains of an unknown beetle
out of his rice. A detachment of daddy long legs
charged to and fro across the bacon platter, and
divers bugs and insects swarmed around the sputtering
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page17" id="page17"></a>[pg 17]</span>
candles. One recruit soaked his hard tack
in his coffee until it bloated up like a toad, and Ike,
while wrestling with a piece of swine belly, allowed
he probably "wasn't the first feller that had had holt
of that."</p>
<p class="indent">"Ike, how do you like the grub?" asked Tom,
when he had lounged down beside a stump, after
eating.</p>
<p class="indent">"Better'n I 'spected," said Ike, "Haint got used
to them tacks yet, but the pepper'n salt was passable."</p>
<p class="indent">Then we stowed away our luggage, finding places
for our traps and boxes, and selecting sleeping
places. Observing that two blankets could be utilized
by two persons bunking together better than
one blanket could serve one lone person, they paired
off and mated up like spring geese. As might naturally
be supposed, Ike and I bunked together. We
spread our blankets at the roots of a tree where Haywood
allowed we would be a little above high-water
mark, and by the time the numerous regimental
bands and bugles were sounding tattoo, we were
well tucked away for the night, and though this
was an entirely new experience to us, we were only
too glad to stretch ourselves out in the open air
between two coarse army blankets. As we pulled
the drapery of our couch about us, Ike got a sniff
of carbolic acid upon our blankets and asked me if
I "catched onto the deathly fragrance of our bed
clothes." I told him I noticed a peculiar smell.</p>
<p class="indent">"Smells like a woodpecker's nest," continued
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page18" id="page18"></a>[pg 18]</span>
Ike. "Guess they've been packing limberger cheese
'r suthin' in 'em.</p>
<p class="indent">"No," said I, "but I suppose the blankets have
been treated with some preparations of disinfection."</p>
<p class="indent">"Took us fer a lot of lepers, I spose," said Ike.</p>
<p class="indent">"Hardly that," I replied, but I explained to him
that it was my understanding that all army blankets
were perfumed in this way for protection against
moths and perhaps for sanitary reasons.</p>
<p class="indent">"Prob'ble," Ike murmured drowsily, and his next
breath was a hoarse snore.</p>
<p class="indent">I was very tired, but could not at once go to
sleep, and for some time I remained awake amid my
strange surroundings and looked out into the
night and listened to the wild weird noises of the
camp. Above me, through the tangle of twigs and vines
appeared the starlit sky; the campfires shone on
either hand far out into the night, and away over
the fields and forests came the good night bugle
calls, the soldier's lullaby, softly saying "go-to-sleep,
go-to-sleep, go-to-sleep, soldier, sleep, go-to-sleep."
From the mule corral came volley upon
volley of subdued, tongue-tied braying, and the old
steamboat engines coughed down at the river landing.
Those strange sounds at last sent me also to
dreamland, but I believe my last sleepy thoughts
were tapping at the window of my old northern
home.</p>
<p class="indent">I have already related in this article more than
one day's experience in my war life, unlike what I
intended to do at the onset, but all is so closely
linked together that I felt I must add the first
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page19" id="page19"></a>[pg 19]</span>
night in camp to the article to make it complete,
and so I have added more.</p>
<p class="indent">The reveille on the succeeding morning brought
us tired fellows out all too soon. It seemed that
scarcely ten minutes had elapsed since retiring,
when the wild blasts of bugles, jarring drums and
screaming of fifes aroused us from slumber. Ike
rolled up onto his elbow and remarked to me, "Them
fellers out there are jovial cusses, aint they, pounded
their drums and things all times of the night."
I told him I guessed this was one of the calls.</p>
<p class="indent">"Might have waited 'till we got fixed up a little
fore they called," said Ike, sitting up on the blanket.
"I supposed we come to stay all night," with a
questioning squint at me.</p>
<p class="indent">"No," I told him, "this is a different kind of a
call. The thundering they gave us last night
just as we went to bed was what they call tattoo,
and meant to go to bed. The few whacks of the drum
and snorts of the bugle afterwards meant to put out
the lights, and this racket means to fall in for roll
call."</p>
<p class="indent">"Wal, I swow," said Ike, pulling on one of his
boots. "They treat us like a lot of kids, don't
they? But I say, you don't pretend to imagine if a
feller should take a cramp 'r some other pain in
the night, he couldn't strike up a light to find his
pills nor nothin', do ye?"</p>
<p class="indent">I told him I thought not, because in war times,
if every soldier was allowed to fire up in the night
at will the enemy could shoot us just as well as in
the day time.</p>
<p class="indent">
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page20" id="page20"></a>[pg 20]</span>
"B'gosh, there's sense in that," replied Ike, as
we fell in for roll call.</p>
<p class="indent">That day we elected our officers.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/i022.jpg" width="300" height="78" alt="" title="" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page21" id="page21"></a>[pg 21]</span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER I.</h2>
<h3>SCENES ENROUTE.</h3>
<p class="indent">IT was May 7, 1863 when Company B, 113th
Illinois Vol. Infantry, to which I belonged,
started from Milliken's Bend, La., with the
balance of Grant's army for the rear of
Vicksburg. That day we marched 14 miles
and at night camped on a beautiful plantation
and procured raw cotton from a nearby
gin to sleep on.</p>
<p class="indent">By noon of the 8th we had reached the banks of
Woody Bayou and halted there for dinner. That
night we had arrived at the plantation of Confederate
General Fiske and appropriated some of his
fresh beef for supper. We made 19 miles that day.</p>
<p class="indent">The 9th we pursued our march along Roundaway
Bayou through a beautiful fertile country covered
with vast fields of corn and other crops, and
splendidly built up. We crossed some streams upon
pontoon bridges, and saw our first alligators in that
bayou. We also saw scattered along the roadside
many dead horses and mules, and passed the smoking
ruins of many plantation buildings. We ate our
dinner on the grounds of Confederate Judge Perkins.
We passed through magnolia groves in full
bloom, and along miles of blossoming rose hedge;
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page22" id="page22"></a>[pg 22]</span>
beautiful and fragrant beyond description. At night
we arrived at Lake St. Joseph and camped on its
shores. All along our route the houses were deserted
by all whites and able bodied colored people,
only the sick, the aged and decrepit remained.</p>
<p class="indent">On the 10th we continued our march along the
shores of Lake St. Joseph. Out on the surface of
the lake numerous old gray-backed alligators lay
sleeping, and ever and anon a musket would crack
and one of those old gators would clap his hand
on his side and go out of sight with a splash. A
number of dead gators with bullet holes in their
bodies had floated ashore. Today we passed immense
fields of grain, one corn field comprising
1,400 acres; and also passed the smoking ruins of
plantation houses more frequently. At 4 o'clock we
got to Hard Times Landing, on the Mississippi river,
opposite Grand Gulf and encamped for the night.</p>
<p class="indent">The 11th until 4 o'clock we laid off waiting for
ferryage across the river and while some
went fishing, others spent the time in any
amusement or recreation they chose, but at that
hour a gunboat arrived and we fell in and went on
board of gunboat Louisville and were ferried across
to Grand Gulf, where we went into camp with our
brigade at the foot of the high bluff. The camp was
full of happy contrabands who patted juba and
danced nearly all night to the music of a cane instrument
unlike any other musical instrument I
ever saw.</p>
<p class="indent">At an early hour on the 12th we marched away
over the hills for Rocky Springs. This country was
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page23" id="page23"></a>[pg 23]</span>
rough and sterile and not nearly as productive as
Louisiana. At the end of 18 miles we went into
camp for the night in a beautiful grove on a hill
close to a spring of pure, cold water. We killed
some sheep and chickens for supper, but where
they came from only the Lord and some of our boys
knew.</p>
<p class="indent">The 13th we continued our march through Rocky
Springs, across Big and Little Sandy creeks, and
through a vastly finer country than yesterday. We
arrived at the town of Cayuga that night and made
our quarters in a church, and when the church bell
rang furiously about midnight, we were told No. 10
wanted the Corporal of the guard.</p>
<p class="indent">The 14th we got a very early start but it soon
began to rain and very soon we were wading in red
sticky mud. We ate our dinner, well sheltered from
the rain, in another country church, and at night
we got quarters in a deserted plantation house.
There we got supper and made our coffee in an old
fashioned fireplace. We also, at least two of us,
slept on a bedstead like white folks that night, but
the bed bugs perforated us numerously. We were
then 30 miles from Jackson and 14 miles from the
advance of Grant's army. During the night the
enemy molested our pickets and we got out to the
tune of the long roll, but no blood was shed.</p>
<p class="indent">The 15th we continued our march to Raymond,
arriving there at 2 o'clock p. m. There we halted
an hour and visited our wounded friends and acquaintances
of the 20th Illinois, then at that point,
who had been wounded that day in the battle of
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page24" id="page24"></a>[pg 24]</span>
Raymond, after which we pushed on 8 miles farther
to Clinton and made our camp in the college grounds
on the hill. At Clinton we found and paroled a large
number of rebel sick in hospitals. Our boys visited
the sick and wounded rebels in these hospitals and
gave them crackers, tobacco and coffee or any little
delicacies they happened to have, the same as they
would have treated their own comrades, and many a
poor sick Johnnie's eyes grew moist in those rebel
hospitals because of the kindness of the Yanks
to them that day.</p>
<p class="indent">The 16th we remained in camp at Clinton until
noon, and then in compliance with orders, when
Steel's division came through from Jackson, we fell
into his line of march and marched away towards
Boulton, and camped that night within a mile of that
town. I desire to mention here that in the early
morning today General Grant with a few mounted
attendants went through Clinton at a rapid pace
towards Black river or Champion Hills.</p>
<p class="indent">The 17th we proceeded towards Black river with
Steel's division, passed through Boulton at 10 a. m.,
and shoved so close to a body of the enemy that our
commander threw us into line of battle with ambulances
close on our heels and trains trailing in the
rear. But a few scattering shots resulted, however,
and we arrived at Black river at 7 p. m., and there
rejoined our brigade. We crossed Black river on a
pontoon bridge, proceeded 2 miles farther towards
Vicksburg and camped in the woods by the roadside.</p>
<p class="indent">Early the 18th we resumed our march for Vicksburg,
24 miles away, and when within 4 miles of said
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page25" id="page25"></a>[pg 25]</span>
city we rubbed against a rebel force, and in line of
battle pushed them gently back to their works, behind
which they disappeared. We then went into
camp on one of the walnut hills behind our heavy
picket line. And what a noisy night was that, my
countrymen! The pickets on both sides kept up a
steady fusilade throughout the night. I undertook
to pool my blankets with our Major (Williams) that
night, and we made our bed on the exposed slope
of the hill. Hardly had we get cleverly stretched
out for a snoose when a rebel bullet struck the
cold clammy earth just about three-fourths of an
inch northeast of the lobe of my left ear. Some
Mississippi soil was precipitated into my face thereby.
I called the major's attention to the fact and
proposed a change of base to the other slope of the
hill about 10 rods away. The major made light of
my proposition and said, "Lie still and go to sleep
and you won't hear 'em strike." I waited a few
minutes longer until a few more bullet chugs smote
upon my ear, when I got up hastily and with my
blanket went and lodged on the other slope of the
hill. I'm no coward, but I didn't want to be accidentally
killed without knowing something about it.</p>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page26" id="page26"></a>[pg 26]</span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER II.</h2>
<h3>THE CHARGE OF MAY 19.</h3>
<p class="indent">ON the 18th of May, 1863, Vicksburg was completely
invested. A year before the first attempt
was made against this fortified city, and in reply
to a demand of surrender at that time the rebels
said: "Mississippians did not know and refused to
learn how to surrender to an enemy." Now we'uns
had arrived and proposed to teach them how to surrender
to an enemy.</p>
<p class="indent">Some time before daylight on the morning of the
19th we were quietly aroused and instructed to prepare
our breakfasts without noise or unnecessary
fire or light. Every man of my company proceeded,
by the aid of twigs and dry leaves, to make just
fire enough on the protected slope of the hill, to
boil his tin cup of coffee and broil a slice of diaphragm
um et swinum for the morning meal. We
did not at first know what the program for the day
was, but before we had dispatched our breakfast
it was whispered to us by those who claimed to
have access to headquarters that we were scheduled
to charge the enemy's works in the early morning.
I hadn't had a good view of the Vicksburg fortifications
the day before, and now in the first faint light
of the morning, while the men were eating and making
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page27" id="page27"></a>[pg 27]</span>
preparations for the charge, I crept cautiously
out on the crest of the hill, and so far as I could
without exposing myself, contemplated the defenses
against which we had to charge. Three strong bastioned
forts on the right, center and left on high
grounds within a line of entrenchments and stockades
confronted us. It required but a brief inspection
to satisfy me that more than likely we wouldn't
go into town that day. I confess that my observations
did not in any great measure increase my confidence
in our ability to take the place by assault.
When I returned to my company I saw many of the
boys entrusting their valuables with hasty instructions
to the few lame and sick ones, who must needs
stay behind and care for the company effects while
we were gone. I felt like turning over my stuff also,
but happened to recollect I had no valuables. From
the outlook I was satisfied very many of us would
not answer to roll call that night, and I felt that I
might be one of the silent ones. A more beautiful
May morning than that of the 19th I had never seen.
The pickets had ceased firing, the birds sang sweetly
in the trees, and the cool morning breeze was
fragrant with the perfume of flowers and shrubs.
It was hard to believe that such a beautiful morning
as that would bring such an eve as followed it.
When the sun was well up then the various bodies
of our troops were quickly marched to their respective
positions in what was to be the charging
line. My regiment was marched forward and to the
right of our night's position, to the base of the last
range of the Walnut hills, and we were instructed
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page28" id="page28"></a>[pg 28]</span>
then that when all of our batteries fired three volleys
in rapid succession our whole assaulting column was
to move forward and charge the enemy's works. The
space intervening between our line and the enemy's
fortification over which we must pass was badly
cut up by ravines and hills and covered by brush
and fallen trees. When the signal for the general
assault came my regiment, the 113th Illinois, belonging
to Giles A. Smith's brigade of Blair's division
and Sherman's army corps, was among the
first to make a determined attack. While awaiting
the signal to go in we had been practicing, over a
big sycamore log behind which we were crouching,
a few long range shots at the rebel stockade, but
when the three rapid artillery discharges came we
first stood up, then we scaled the log and pushed forward.
On our immediate right was the 6th Missouri,
and I being on the right of our regiment went in
side by side with the men of their left. A lieutenant
on the left of that regiment was in his shirt sleeves
and wore a white shirt; he and I went side by side
for several steps, when he lunged forward upon
the ground, and in the quick glance I gave him I
saw a circle of red forming on his shirt back. The
leaden hail from the enemy was absolutely blinding.
The very sticks and chips scattered over the ground
were jumping under the hot shower of rebel bullets.
As I now recall that experience I can but
wonder that any of us survived that charge. The
rough and brush strewn ground over which we had
to charge broke up our alignment badly, and every
soldier of our command had to pick his own way
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page29" id="page29"></a>[pg 29]</span>
forward as best he could without regard to touching
elbows either to the right or left.</p>
<p class="indent">When about two-thirds the way across the field I
found myself with one corporal of my company considerably
in advance of the rest of our men, and we
two knelt down behind a fallen tree trunk to watch
and wait their coming. When thus on our knees
a canister shot entered the bottom of the corporal's
shoe and lodged in his ankle joint, and while I
was assisting my comrade in cutting off his shoe
and prying out the bullet, most of our company
passed by us. When I again stood up, I could see a
fragment of our line only, to my left, with which I
recognized our colonel and regimental colors. I
started towards our flag, but had gone only a few
steps when one of the enemy's shells exploded in
front of me, and when the smoke had lifted a little
I saw that our regimental flag and the colonel had
gone down. From under the end of a log beneath
where the shell had exploded rose up a comrade,
Darrow by name, his red shock of hair powdered and
plastered with the dust and dirt of the explosion
and his eyes flashing with indignation. "Ain't it
awful?" said I to Darrow, and the profane wretch
replied indifferently, "They're shootin' damn careless."</p>
<p class="indent">I went on towards the enemy's works looking for
the men of my company and when within half gunshot
of the rebel stockade, in a shallow gulley where
the freshets had some time worn a little ditch, I
found a squad of seventeen of my regiment hugging
the ground and keeping up a steady fire on the rebel
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page30" id="page30"></a>[pg 30]</span>
works. I lay down with them at the upper end of
the line where the cover was the least, because it
was the only place left for me, and I thought of
the words of old French General Blucher, who was
a veritable giant and always stuck up half his height
above the entrenchments, Napoleon said to him one
day when under fire, "Now, Blucher, you can afford
to stoop a little?" "Damn your bit of a ditch," said
Blucher, "it ain't knee deep!"</p>
<p class="indent">And there lying flat on our backs and loading
our pieces in that position, with the merciless sun
blistering our faces, we passed that day of dreadful
fighting. Once during the day, when some of our forces
made an advance demonstration off to our right,
we saw the slender blue line advance for a distance
and then, repulsed, retire, leaving the field thickly
strewn with the blue sheaves Old Death had gathered
so quickly. Then a rebel battery was run up behind
the enemy's work in our front and enfiladed our lines.
Then how gloriously our little squad did pepper that
battery when they would run it up in sight. We silenced
the battery, but by our carelessness we lost
one of our number killed, shot in the center of
the forehead, and five others wounded. Often that
day the bullets from front and rear passed so closely
above our prostrate bodies that the short cane stalks
forming a part of our cover, were cut off by them
and lopped gently over upon us.</p>
<p class="indent">But we fared better than other regiments of our
brigade. On our left Sherman's regiment, the 13th
regulars, lost 77 out of a total of 250 men; their
commander, Captain Washington, was mortally
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page31" id="page31"></a>[pg 31]</span>
wounded and every other officer of the regiment
more or less severely wounded. Also, the 83rd Indiana
and the 127th Illinois on our right suffered
more than we, but such a long dreadful day it
was without food or water, under the excessive heat
of the sun, lying flat in that old gully, but hardly
daring to move a limb or change our position for
fear of attracting a rebel volley. As the sun sank in
the west and we saw night approaching, our fears
were excited for our safety. We well knew if we remained
where we were until nightfall the enemy
would sally out of their works and capture us, so
we held a parley and agreed that at a given signal
all of us who could would scatter and run for some
near cover in the rear, where resting briefly we would
run on to other covers still further to the rear, until
the dusk of approaching night would finally shield us,
and we carried out that program so faithfully that
all who made the run escaped unscathed. My first
sprint took me to an old dry sycamore stump a
few rods away, behind which I threw myself just in
time to escape being numerously punctured. When
I got good and ready I ran again, and again, until
I could no longer discern through the gathering
shadows the long long line of rebel stockade behind
me, and then I stopped and took one long breath—bigger
than a pound of wool. Not one of my comrades
could I then see. They had scampered away
like a bevy of partridges and were swallowed up in
the gloom of night. When I was making my way
rearward through a patch of cockleburs up the slope
of the hill, I heard a wounded man groaning nearby,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page32" id="page32"></a>[pg 32]</span>
and I went to his assistance. He was shot
through the leg above the knee, and I had to stop
some of the incoming stragglers to assist me in taking
him back to the field hospital. When we got
him down into the first ravine, he begged so piteously
for water we laid him down and with my canteen I
groped along in the darkness until I heard the trickling
of a spring and managed to catch enough water
to stay the poor fellow's thirst until we got him
back to a surgeon. Then it was night, in the shadow
of those great forest trees, of the blackest description.
None dare make a light or fire. In every
direction could be heard soldiers calling for their
comrades without responses. I didn't know where
the headquarters of my regiment was, and I could
find no one who could tell me. I was both thirsty
and hungry. I was heartsick and tired. It was getting
awfully cold. I sat down at the roots of an old
forest tree and tried to sleep. All night long I heard
the stretcher bearers bringing in the wounded, and
I thought I would freeze before morning.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 138px;">
<img src="images/i032.jpg" width="138" height="130" alt="" title="" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page33" id="page33"></a>[pg 33]</span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER III.</h2>
<h3>SHARPSHOOTING FROM WALNUT HILLS.</h3>
<p class="indent">WITH the first faint flush of day the morning
of the 20th, I was up and taking soundings
for the locality of my company headquarters.
I was as stiff as an old foundered horse, and my head
ached and felt swelled. The battle was still being
waged by the advance pickets of the contending
forces, but the fearful rumble of yesterday's battle
had subsided entirely. Nothing appeared in that
early morning, at first, to recall the horrors of yesterday,
but as the daylight began to pour in amongst
the trees, and the mists of night lifted, some evidences
of the fray came into sight. The smoke that
filled the heavens during that conflict had rolled
together into one great windrow and hung away out
on the rim of the horizon. The light breath of wind
wafted from over the battlefield, it seemed to me,
savored of blood. At the rear of the field hospital
a score of legs and arms were stacked up awaiting
burial and some blood stained stretchers laid where
the tired stretcher bearers had carelessly abandoned
them. The faithful surgeons had plied the knife,
and worked on, ever since the assault began, and now
at the dawn of another day were not nearly done.</p>
<p class="indent">Old Sol was splashing his crimson and gold over
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page34" id="page34"></a>[pg 34]</span>
the blue of the eastern concave when I finally found
my company quarters, and the men were already
blazing away at the enemy from the crest of the
nearby hill. In the headquarters tent I found three
delicious smoked hams, from which I at once carved
three or four slices and ate them raw. From the
lacerated appearance of those hams it was apparent
that other famishing men had dined there before
me. Think of making a meal on raw smoked ham
and water. I hadn't a mouthful of bread or anything
that would take the place of bread, not even slippery
elm, to chuck in with that ham. We were hungry
when we got to Vicksburg on the 18th, because we
had been living on half rations and what we could
cramp on the march ever since we left Grand Gulf.
I had one last hardtack when I got to Vicksburg
that I saved and carried for several days, and it
looked like a medallion off a prize cook stove. The
luster arising from the sweat and grime on that
hardtack was too dazzling for anything. The worms
lurking within it came out occasionally and admired
their reflections mirrored upon its surface. Men
got very hungry on that march to the rear of Vicksburg.
It will be remembered that Grant cut loose
from his base of supplies when he left Grand Gulf.
I heard men say that they partially subsisted by
chewing newspaper advertisements of provisions.
Such a delicious breakfast as that raw ham I never
ate before nor since. I was never more thankful
for a meal. I blessed the hog that furnished the
ham and the swain who salted and smoked it.</p>
<p class="indent">My breakfast dispatched, I joined my company behind
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page35" id="page35"></a>[pg 35]</span>
a slight breastwork on the crest of the hill,
where we blazed away at the rebel stockade with
little, if any, intermission all day long. Heavy ordnance
was brought into play as well as muskets, and
gave and took solid shot and shell to our heart's
content. All that day our army was hurrying up
additional heavy ordnance onto the besieging line
its whole extent, and each new piece, as it came up
to its position joined its hoarse bark to the din of
all our other war dogs. Such a jolly old racket
it was to be sure!</p>
<p class="indent">All day long the loopholes in the rebel stockade
were spitefully spitting red fire in our faces, which
fire we returned with a vengeance. We made a good
deal of noise all that day and the next with very
little execution, because both the enemy and ourselves
were under cover. Some funny things happened
in those first days of the investment. When
we arrived at the rear of Vicksburg on the afternoon
of the 18th a picnic party of about thirty ladies,
mostly rebel officers' wives, was intercepted and
forbidden to return to the beleaguered city. They
plead and threatened, tearfully, scornfully, impertinently,
to effect their release, but all to no purpose.
They were informed that the city was then besieged,
that the lid, as it were, was on, that none could
now go in but armed men, and none could
come out but prisoners. What could they do
but submit? We were 30,000 strong. They
were three ciphers less. We outnumbered them by
a crushing majority. General Grant ordered them
to be quartered in a large furnished double house,
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page36" id="page36"></a>[pg 36]</span>
which the owners had abandoned upon our coming,
and there under a safety guard they drew their U.
S. army rations from day to day during the forty-two
days of the siege and raised Ned generally.
An old discordant piano happened to be in their
prison, and they pounded the poor old thing until
it would bellow like the bull of Bashon. One day
General Grant and an adjutant general rode up in
front of the house, and while there upon their
horses, one of the ladies, who was promenading
backward and forward across the piazza, observing
that Grant was smoking a cigar, said to him, "Soldier,
give me a cigar." "With pleasure, madam,"
said the General, handing her a weed. Adjutant
General Robbins, understanding that the little lady
was wholly unacquainted with the name or rank
of the distinguished individual whom she was so
flippantly addressing, said: "Madam, allow me to
make you acquainted with General Grant, of the
United States army." The poor frightened woman
turned pale, stared wildly at the General, dropped
her cigar, and fled inside the house. As the officers
rode away, about thirty noses were flattened
against the windows as those beautiful captives
peered fearfully out to catch a glance of that terrible
General whom the south feared most "of all."</p>
<p class="indent">When the Waterhouse battery was throwing an
occasional shot or shell against the stockade trying
to effect a breach in it, a voice behind the enemy's
works would call out at every shot, "A little
more to the right," or "A little more to the left,"
as the case might be, evidently trying to make light
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page37" id="page37"></a>[pg 37]</span>
of our shooting. The battery officer thought he
pretty nearly located the owner of the voice, and
trained his gun for the next shot upon that point.
After firing for several seconds nothing was heard,
and just as we had about made up our minds the
derisive cuss was killed he yelled, "For God's sake
cease firing." He had evidently had a close call.</p>
<p class="indent">On the night of May 21st we were informed that
tomorrow morning we would again assault the
works by the engagement of the whole line. It was
arranged for the assault to take place at precisely
10 o'clock on the morning of the 22nd. So determined
was Grant to have the attack by the various
corps simultaneous that he had all of the corps
commanders' watches set by his own.</p>
<p class="indent">When we were formed in the line of assault
and my company, B, 113th Illinois Volunteer infantry,
was at rest in place, an officer of Grant's staff
came to us with the proposition that any three men
who would volunteer to go in the storming party,
then forming to be sent in advance against the enemy's
works, should have sixty days furlough home.
We looked into each others faces for some seconds.
We were speechless and felt a dread of what might
develop. We knew that as a general thing the man
who volunteers and goes into the storming party
"leaves all hope behind." It means nearly sure
death. Like the Irishman I didn't want to go "and
leave my father an orphan." Finally there was a
movement. Old Joe Smith, white headed, rough
visaged and grizzled by the storms of a half century,
stepped to the front and calling back to his
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page38" id="page38"></a>[pg 38]</span>
bunkmate said, "Come on, Lish," and Elisha Johns
filed out by his side. Then after a brief interval
Sergt. James Henry volunteered for the third place.
Company B's quota was now complete, and those
brave fellows hurried away to take their places in
the ranks of the storming party. Some reader of
these lines may ask, "Why didn't General Grant
detail men for the storming party?" Because, when
soldiers enter upon a service that gives them only
one chance in a hundred to survive it, the commander
doesn't like to bear the responsibility of their
deaths, and tenders them the precious privilege of
voluntarily dying for their country. We looked upon
our three comrades as already dead or wounded
men, but strange to relate, although a majority
of that gallant band fell in that action, not one of
our brave fellows was injured by the missiles of the
enemy, and all of them received from General
Grant their furlough home as promised.</p>
<p class="indent">This storming party, provided with boards and
rails to bridge the ditch outside the stockade when
they got to it, led the advance or attacking column.
And while we stood in line breathlessly awaiting
the order to move forward ourselves, I watched
that little force of 150 men rush forward towards
the battlements of the enemy. How they scurried
forward, leaping over the logs and brush lying
in their pathway as they pushed on through that
leaden and iron hail of death! A scattering few
seemed to reach the salient of the bastion and laid
down against their works in time to preserve their
lives, but as it appeared to me through the clouds
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page39" id="page39"></a>[pg 39]</span>
of sulphurous smoke a greater part of the blue
forms were scattered along their line of advance
stretched upon the earth motionless in death. It
had come our turn now to face the lead, and we
were ordered to fix bayonets.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;">
<img src="images/i041.jpg" width="271" height="271" alt="" title="" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page40" id="page40"></a>[pg 40]</span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER IV.</h2>
<h3>CHARGE OF MAY 22D.</h3>
<p class="indent">WHILE waiting the charge of the storming party
and watching their progress across the
field to the enemy's works, I noticed a group
of general officers close to our left, composed of
Grant, Sherman and Giles A. Smith, with their
field glasses, watching the little storming party
painting a trail of blood across that field. Those
distinguished commanders, unlike ourselves, were
standing behind large trees, and squinted cautiously
out to the right and left, exposing as little of their
brass buttons as possible, and I think I saw them
dodge a couple of times. I thought of the convincing
speech the officer made to his command
on the eve of the battle, when he assured them that
he might be killed himself, as some balls would
go through the biggest trees.</p>
<p class="indent">General Ewing's brigade led the assault after
the storming party had sped their bolts, and advanced
along the crown of an interior ridge which
partially sheltered his advance. This command actually
entered the parapet of the enemy's works
at a shoulder of the bastion, but when the enemy
rose up in double ranks and delivered its withering
fire his forces were swept back to cover, but the
brave and resourceful old Ewing shifted his command
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page41" id="page41"></a>[pg 41]</span>
to the left, crossed the ditch, pressed forward,
and ere long we saw his men scrambling up the outer
face of the bastion and his colors planted near
the top of the rebel works.</p>
<p class="indent">Our brigade was formed in a ravine threatening
the parapet, 300 yards to the left of the bastion, and we
had connected with Ransom's brigade. From
that formation we fixed bayonets and charged point
blank for the rebel works at a double quick. Unfortunately
for me I was in the front of the rank and
compelled to maintain that position, and a glance
at the forest of gleaming bayonets sweeping up from
the rear, at a charge, made me realize that it only
required a stumble of some lubber just behind me
to launch his bayonet into the offside of my anatomy,
somewhere in the neighborhood of my anterior
suspender buttons. This knowledge so stimulated
me that I feared the front far less than the rear,
and forged ahead like an antelope, easily changing
my double quick to a quadruple gait, and most emphatically
making telegraph time. During that run
and rush I had frequently to either step upon or jump
over the bodies of our dead and wounded, which were
scattered along our track. The nearer the enemy we
got the more enthusiastic we became, and the more
confidence we had in scaling their works, but as
we neared their parapet we encountered the reserved
fire of the rebels which swept us back to
temporary cover of a ridge, two-thirds of the way
across the field, from which position we operated
the rest of the day. When we got back there we
had been fighting and maneuvering for more than
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page42" id="page42"></a>[pg 42]</span>
three hours. Once during the assault I remember
the 116th Illinois was on our left. Gen. Giles A.
Smith was between me and that regiment; Colonel
Tupper, its commander, was making a speech to his
men and advising them to take the works or die
in the attempt. I thought then, and I have had no
reason to change my mind since, that Tupper was
gloriously drunk. General Smith snatched off his
hat and yelled, "Three cheers for Colonel Tupper."
I caught off my cap and together we gave one full
grown "Hurrah" and about half another, when the
explosion of a monster shell inconveniently near us
adjourned the performance sine die. I saw also
at another time during the fight, a captain coming
back from the front on the run; he had been wounded
in the wrist. A man was trying to lead him off
the field, but couldn't keep up with the fleet footed
captain. He was vainly trying to clutch the wounded
man's coat tails as he pursued him, and though
under a deadly fire at the time, more than a hundred
of us who beheld the race, laughed heartily.
When we got behind the ridge we were ordered to
lie down, and it felt good to know that we had even
a little ridge of solid earth between us and the enemy's
bullets. We lay there on our backs and looked
back into the throats of the artillery as it shelled
the enemy's works over our heads. We could
see the balls distinctly as they were discharged
from the cannons, and they looked like bumble-bees
flying over us, only somewhat larger. While we
were thus watching the flight of the balls, one of
them struck and cut off the top of a tall sapling
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page43" id="page43"></a>[pg 43]</span>
standing between us and the cannon; the ball by
that means was depressed, and instead of going
over us came directly for us and into our midst.
Every one who saw it thought, as I did, that the
ball was coming straight at him. I rolled over to
avoid it; I heard the dull thud of its striking and a
scream of agony, and I stood up and looked. That
ball had struck and carried away the life of Morris
Bird, a private of Company H, and the only son of
a widowed mother. I saw a private of the 4th Virginia,
which regiment was sheltered there with us
also, rise to his feet to fire his gun, when one
of our cannon balls took off his head, and it was
a clean decapitation, too. The enemy shelled us incessantly
the rest of the day after we gained this
position, and it cost us many brave men.</p>
<p class="indent">One close call of an exploding shell knocked
me senseless and took off the right arm of Louis
Cazean, a private of my company. They told me afterwards
that poor Cazean, when he lifted up the
fragments of his shattered right arm dangling from
the white cords and tendons, said, "Boys, I'd give
five hundred dollars if that was my left arm instead
of my right." When I regained my senses I found
Sergeant Whitcomb of my company bathing my head
with water and trying to force some commissary
whiskey down my throat. He didn't have near as
much trouble getting the whiskey down me after
I came to and found out what it was. For a long
time the rumbling in my head was deafening and
painful, but gradually subsided and the concussion
left me a whole skin and with no deleterious effects.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page44" id="page44"></a>[pg 44]</span>
And the day wore on until night closed in upon
us, and then we lay down and slept on our arms
accoutered as we were.</p>
<p class="indent">Through some bungling, when the other regiments
were ordered to retire during the night to
the rear of the Walnut hills, my regiment was
omitted from the list, and when we received our
order to fall back in the morning we had to go out
under the fire of the 25,000 enemies. That blunder
cost us some brave men; for the rebels availed
themselves of the splendid opportunity to fire upon
our retiring lines. We had failed to take Vicksburg
by assault, notwithstanding the bravery of our men;
notwithstanding that many stands of colors were
planted on the enemy's works; Sergeant Griffith
with eleven men of the 22nd Iowa regiment entered
a fort of the enemy, and his men all fell in the
fort except the sergeant, who captured and brought
off thirteen confederate prisoners, and Captain
White of the Chicago Mercantile battery immortalized
himself by carrying forward one of his guns
by hand to the ditch, and double shotting it, fired
into an embrasure of the work, disabling an enemy's
gun in it and cutting down the gunners.</p>
<p class="indent">The rebels had more than 25,000 men behind
their works, and why they didn't kill every soul
of us I cannot imagine. How glad we were to
get back of the Walnut hills on the 23rd, and to go
into camp with the assurance that no more assaulting
efforts would probably be required of us. When
we sat around the campfire down in the ravine that
night we compared notes of experiences during that
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page45" id="page45"></a>[pg 45]</span>
bloody battle and talked about our dead and
wounded comrades. Old Joe Smith, who was one of
the storming party volunteers, said, "Boys, I had
sweet revenge on the brutes yesterday. I got right
into the crotch of a fallen tree close to their works,
so that I was protected in front and on both flanks,
and I laid my gun across the log so that I had constant
aim on their works, and when one of them
fellers got up to shoot I would see his gun barrel
come up first, and I would have a dead liner on him
when his head popped up and I could salt him every
time, pretty near." "But," said Joe, "there was
one feller kept gitting up right opposite me and
his face was so dumbed thin I couldn't hit 'im."
After supper we were detailed to dig rifle pits, and
had talks with rebels across the bloody chasm.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/i047.jpg" width="300" height="108" alt="" title="" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page46" id="page46"></a>[pg 46]</span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER V.</h2>
<h3>IN THE RIFLE PITS.</h3>
<p class="indent">WE failed to take Vicksburg by assault. We
not only failed to take it, but we failed to
break their lines of defense and make permanent
lodgment anywhere along our front, General
McClernand to the contrary notwithstanding.
For ten hours that day we fought the entrenched
enemy and had not won the battle. Our forces had
charged the parapets and bastioned forts valorously
but death was the sole reward of their great valor.
We lost 3,000 men while the sheltered confederates,
within their formidable works lost only 1,000. I desire
to add that Admiral Porter co-operated in the
assault, and shelled the water batteries and town
from his mortar boats stationed in the river, and
from his gun boats. So fierce was his attack on
the water batteries, which were engaged at 440
yards, and so great was the noise of his gun and
so dense the smoke that Porter heard and saw nothing
of our land operations.</p>
<p class="indent">We were quartered along one of the Walnut
hillsides after the assault of the 22nd, and we went
industriously to work fitting up our huts and bowers
in the best sheltered and most available spots
along the hill slope. I put in a half day of solid
work building me a cane palace which, when I had
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page47" id="page47"></a>[pg 47]</span>
it enclosed and nearly finished, was instantaneously
wrecked by a piece of rebel shell which an
overhead explosion precipitated into the top of my
beautiful enclosure ripping it downwards and
wrecking it completely. I took up what was left
of my bedding and belongings and built in a safer
locality.</p>
<p class="indent">On the 24th my company was detailed for picket
duty, and we occupied the advance rifle pits already
dug, and industriously dug others in advance
of those, under cover of the night. That night myself
and comrade went without orders onto the battle
field, armed only with spades, and buried three
of our dead comrades who were killed in the assault
of the 19th. It was a dangerous business, and only
the intense darkness protected us from the enemy.
We could only bury them by throwing dirt upon
the bodies just as they lay upon the ground. Five
days of exposure to the heat and sun had produced in
those bodies a fearful state of decomposition, and
the stench was dreadful, but we accomplished our
task after a fashion. After the surrender of Vicksburg
I went to the spot and beheld the partially
covered bodies of our comrades which we had tried
to bury in the darkness that night. Both feet and
heads were bare then. Whether we had so left
them, or whether the rains and winds had partially
resurrected them I could not tell. I never took part
in that kind of a job again. It was too dangerous,
for when we returned to our lines it was so dark we
could not determine the point where our men were,
and caused an alarm by coming out at the wrong
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page48" id="page48"></a>[pg 48]</span>
place. We were challenged and came near getting
shot at.</p>
<p class="indent">On the morning of the 25th the rebels sent out
a flag of truce and asked permission to bury their
dead, which was granted. Squads from both armies
were sent out, and for at least two hours the work
of burying the dead went on. The dead were buried
by simply throwing earth onto the bodies where
they had fallen. I walked out onto the battle
grounds and observed the victims lying scattered
over the field as far as the sight could reach. The
bodies were bloated and swollen to the stature of
giants. I saw some few men ripping open the
pockets of the dead with their jackknives and taking
therefrom watches, money and other valuable
things, reeking with putrefaction, and transferring
them to their own pockets. I picked up a photograph
or tintype of a woman and two children
which some soldier had lost, and I also found a
splendid Springfield rifle which I appropriated and
carried to camp. When it was dark enough that
night to safely do so we were relieved from advance
duty by other troops when we returned to
camp.</p>
<p class="indent">Today, May 26th, it was rumored in camp that
rebel General Johnson was approaching with a big
force to relieve Vicksburg, and that a large force
of the besiegers had gone out to meet him. Whatever
excitement the rumor caused was allayed by
the arrival of the northern mail. All the time our
artillery, now said to comprise 1,300 guns, kept
thundering away at Vicksburg.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page49" id="page49"></a>[pg 49]</span></p>
<p class="indent">On the morning of the 29th my regiment was
sent out to the Chickasaw Bayou to get some big
cannon. We found on arriving at the bayou four
32 pound parrots on the opposite side, which we
proceeded by means of ropes to pull across on temporary
pontoon bridges. Although we supplemented
the strength of the bridges with thick plank
laid lengthwise, and pulled the guns across on the
run, still their immense weight broke almost every
plank in the bridges as we snaked them across.
Had we allowed one of them to stop a second midway
on the bridge it would have crushed through
and gone to the bottom of the bayou. We got
the guns onto the firing line, as the darkeys would
say, "just in the shank of the evenin'." We supplied
large detail each night for digging rifle pits
for the first few days, and then on alternate nights.
Each tier of rifle pits brought the contending forces
closer together, so they could easily converse with
each other, and until prohibited by a general order,
the soldiers of the blue often met the gray between
the lines and swapped knives, buttons, papers and
tobacco in a most cordial and friendly way. One
day by mutual verbal agreement the rebel company
and union company opposite each other in the rifle
pits stacked arms and met in a good social way.
Pat, a union soldier was acting as guard of the
stacks of guns. All at once Pat laid down his gun,
snatched up a spade and sent it flying into the rebel
rifle pits. "What are you throwing that spade for,
Pat?" said our Lieutenant. "Because," said
Pat, "One of thim grayback divils hit me with a
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page50" id="page50"></a>[pg 50]</span>
clod." Night after night during the forty-two days
of that siege we furnished details to dig in the rifle
pits, until our lines of rifle pits got so close to
the enemy's that the dirt we cast out with our
spades was mingled with that cast out of their pits.
Many a night when it was so dark the rebel sharpshooters
could not discern me, have I gone out between
the lines and there perched on a stump, listened
to the remarks freely indulged in by both
Yank and Johnnie. At that time we were sapping
and mining digging under their forts and blowing
them up. On the 28th of June we blew up a fort
opposite McPherson's center to the left of the Jackson
road. The explosion threw down part of the
fort and threw up a good deal of the other half.
A negro was lifted gently from that fort by that
explosion over into a line of rifle pits occupied by
our troops. The boys picked up the frightened
darkey and some one said, "Where did you come
from?" "Dat fort over dar," he said. "Was a good
many blown up?" was asked him. "'Spec' dar was,
massa," he said, "I met a good many goin up w'en
I was comin' down." One night I heard a rebel
from their pits say to our men, "Say, Yanks, what
you'uns digging that big ditch for?" referring to the
sappers and miners zigzag ditch by which they approached
and blew up the rebel fort. A voice answering
from our pits said, "We intend to flood it
and to run our gunboats up that ditch and shell
h—l out of your old town." One night a voice said,
"Is any of the boys of the 6th Missouri in the rifle
pits over there?" "There's lots of 'em," was the
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page51" id="page51"></a>[pg 51]</span>
answer. "Is Tom Jones there?" "He is," said our
man, "Is that you Jim?" "Yes," came the answer,
"and say Tom, can't you meet me between the lines?
I've got a roll of greenbacks and I want to send
them to the old folks in Missouri?" And so Yank
Tom went out and met Rebel Jim, his brother, got
the greenbacks, and after a brief visit returned safely
to our picket quarters.</p>
<p class="indent">And every night during the continuance of that
long siege our numerous mortar boats down on the
Mississippi tossed their cargoes of bombshells into
the beleaguered city. When we watched them at
night we first heard the distant thunder of the discharged
mortar, and soon after saw the ponderous
bomb mounting up into the sky, spinning out its
fiery web along its wild track from its first appearance
until it stood still for a second, then gracefully
curved downward and dropped swiftly down,
down into the doomed city, then as you listened,
after a breath came the jarring report of its explosion.
A detail of two men was made from my
company one day to work on a mortar boat, and
assisted in the work of firing the mortar. After
charging the mortar they said all hands got into
a skiff and rowed away, where they awaited at a safe
distance until the gun was discharged by a time fuse
or slow match, and then returned to reload. One of
our men so detailed thoughtlessly laid his coat down
in one corner of the mortar boat, where it lay all
through the day, and when he picked it up at night
it was a mass of ribbons and shreds, absolutely torn
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page52" id="page52"></a>[pg 52]</span>
to pieces by the concussion of those fearful discharges.</p>
<p class="indent">As the siege progresses all sorts of rumors get
afloat in camp. One is that the Vicksburg people
are reduced to eating mule meat. I would have
kicked when it came to that. Also that Johnson was
coming with 50,000 men to raise the siege. But
the rumors made no difference; our 1300 cannon
kept pounding away, and we dug rifle pits continually.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/i054.jpg" width="300" height="80" alt="" title="" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<p class="indent"><span class="pagenum"><a name="page53" id="page53"></a>[pg 53]</span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VI.</h2>
<h3>THE CLOSING SCENES.</h3>
<p class="indent">IT was stated that within a week after the investment
of Vicksburg, its garrison was reduced to
14-1/2 ounces of food for each man a day. And
the rebel commander declared he would hold the
town until the last dog was eaten. I guess Pemberton
kept his word, for after their surrender I
don't remember of seeing a single dog in the city
of Vicksburg. How the tables were turned on poor
Fido to be sure—that the biter should not only be
bitten but eaten. A lieutenant on the 6th Missouri
who had been taken a prisoner during the assault of
the 19th, on June 5 was paroled by the rebs and returned
to us. He said the living over there when he
left was anything but invigorating; that good juicy
mule cutlets were eagerly sought for by the elite
of the city and brought fabulous prices; the tomcat-weinerwurst
was a luxury there that was seldom
enjoyed by the best families; that the squad in which
he was quartered while a prisoner on the day before
his parole had boiled victuals composed of a pair of
gumboots for meat, some croquet balls for potatoes
and an old green umbrella cover for greens; said he
didn't enjoy those extra dishes at all; and preferred
just common fare only. We used to twit the Johnnies
with eating mule meat in some of our games of blackguard
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page54" id="page54"></a>[pg 54]</span>
with them in the rifle pits, but until the surrender
we didn't know we had been twitting upon
facts. We had the advantage of the rebel garrison
in many ways because we were sheltered from the
blistering heat of the sun by the forest shade, and
had plenty to eat and the cool springs in the
ravines furnished us an abundance of pure water,
while the enemy was wholly unsheltered in their
defensive works, reduced to almost starvation rations
and a scarcity of good water. One day we
captured a Johnnie skulking down in the ravine
with a dozen canteens over his shoulder after water
for himself and comrades.</p>
<p class="indent">The prices of foodstuffs in Vicksburg before
the end of that siege were awful; flour was $1,000
a barrel; meal, $140 a bushel; beef, $250 a pound,
and everything else in proportion. It is a wonder
that poor people managed to eat at all. All the
while the beleaguered garrison was sustained in
their hardships and privations by the belief that
Johnson would surely come to their relief, which
belief was doomed to disappointment and sadly
misplaced. Though 'tis stated upon good authority,
that Johnson did finally march towards the Big
Black and actually dispatched a messenger to
Pemberton on the night of July 3rd notifying him
that he was then ready to make a diversion to enable
him to cut his way out. Before the messenger got
there Vicksburg had been surrendered. The days of
this long siege were kept from becoming monotonous
by a hundred and one duties we had to perform,
and innumerable exciting incidents that daily happened.
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page55" id="page55"></a>[pg 55]</span>
All the time the firing was continuous on
our side, and almost so on the part of the enemy.
Every minute, almost, a tick-a-ka-tick of minie bullets
was registered by the twigs and leaves above
and around us. Many of our boys were killed or
wounded in their bowers and beds by the stray bullets.
Referring to my journal, I find June 4, a man
of the 6th Missouri shot while lying in his bed; June
10, two of our men wounded at night in bed by
stray bullets; June 11, heavy picket firing, men
continually getting wounded in camp by stray bullets;
June 13, a man of Company A shot in rifle
pits, died while bringing him into camp; June 14,
three men wounded in camp; June 15, today walking
with my comrade, John Gubtail, over the crest
of a hill, suddenly fell prostrate at my feet. I
thought he was trying to act funny, but he got up in
a few minutes and showed me a bullet hole through
his cap and a shallow furrow across his scalp
where the bullet had ploughed. The rebel sharpshooter
had just missed his target partially. We went
down to lower ground then.</p>
<p class="indent">One day Mrs. Hoge, of sanitary fame, and the
mother of the colonel of my regiment, came into our
camp and after getting all the soldiers of my regiment
there not on duty, assembled for an audience, she
made a stirring speech. Among other things she
said, "Before you left Chicago we ladies presented
your regiment with a flag, and your colonel when
he received that flag pledged himself that it should
ever be defended, and sustained with honor. What
has become of that flag? I desire to see how well
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page56" id="page56"></a>[pg 56]</span>
you have kept that promise." The color sergeant
brought it to her. Said she, "There are suspicious
looking holes and rents in this flag. How is that?"
"That flag," said the color bearer proudly, "has
been many times carried in the front when we went
across the edge of battle, and those marks were made
by bullets and fragments of shell, and madam,
two men who carried it before me, fell with it in
their hands, and both are dead from the effects
of their wounds." "Enough," said the old lady, "You
have redeemed your pledge, and I will tell the women
of Chicago who presented that flag to you,
when I go back, how nobly your pledge has been
redeemed." Then she asked some of us who knew
the song, to come forward and sing with her "The
Star Spangled Banner." I was one who with others
thus volunteered, and amid the thunder of artillery
firing and the click of minie bullets over
our heads we sang that song with Mrs. Hoge, as
she held the flag in her arms.</p>
<p class="indent">One day when we had our men out in the rifle
pits at the extreme front we saw a union flag lying
in a slight ravine a little ways in front of our rifle
pits, which had been abandoned by some regiment
in one of the charges, and at the risk of his life
one of our boys crawled out and brought in the
flag. It proved to be the regimental colors of the 4th
Virginia, and when we were relieved from duty we
marched up to the colonel's tent of the 4th Virginia
and called him out, and I with a few simple, and I
thought well chosen remarks restored the lost colors
of his regiment to him and wound up by saying, "Take
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page57" id="page57"></a>[pg 57]</span>
back your flag colonel, and next time when you are in
battle hang on to it." He took the flag spitefully from
me, turning very red in the face, said nothing about
setting up the cigars or drinks and without thanking
us even, vanished into the bowels of his tent. We boys
were all mad, and if we had known how he was going
to act we would have left the flag out there on the
battlefield where they had abandoned it. I thought
afterwards, that perhaps my presentation speech
wasn't just to his taste.</p>
<p class="indent">On June 20th my regiment was changed in the
line to the mouth of the Yazoo river on the banks
of the Chickasaw Bayou. We established our new
camp at that point, little thinking at the time what
an unfortunate move it was for us. In the formation
of these new quarters my tent position came
down close to the waters of the stagnant bayou,
and when I was driving stakes for my new home, a
great green headed alligator poked his nozzle above
the surface of the bayou waters and smiled at me.
Upon examination of the ground along the bayou
shore, I discovered alligator tracks where they had
waltzed around under the beautiful light of the
moon upon a very recent occasion, so I built my
bunk high enough to enable me to roost out of
reach of those hideous creatures at night.</p>
<p class="indent">Though I had built high enough to escape the
prowling alligators I had not built high enough to
get above the deadly malaria distilled by that cantankerous
bayou. We soon learned what a loss we
had sustained in exchanging the pure cold springs
of the Walnut hills for the poisonous waters of our
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page58" id="page58"></a>[pg 58]</span>
new vicinity. At first the blue waters of the Yazoo
fooled us. It was as blue and clear as lake water,
and we drank copiously of it, but felt badly afterwards.
We didn't know we were drinking poisoned
water until an old colored citizen one day warned
us. Then we looked the matter up, and found that
the interpretation of the word Yazoo was "The river
of death," and that its beautiful blue waters were the
drainings of vast swamps and swails. We learned
too late, however, for the safety of our men, and lost
in the next few weeks nearly half of our regiment
from malarial or swamp fevers. In the meantime
Vicksburg was starving.</p>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/i060.jpg" width="300" height="269" alt="" title="" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="page59" id="page59"></a>[pg 59]</span></p>
<h2>CHAPTER VII.</h2>
<h3>SURRENDER OF VICKSBURG.</h3>
<p class="indent">MEANWHILE the siege was prosecuted with
vigor; no let up. Night and day the steady
pounding of the artillery went on, and the
bomb shells sailed up in flocks from the mortar
fleet on the Mississippi. General Grant daily watched
and directed the work of his mighty army, and
knew the great fortress was surely crumbling. Often
during those long hot days of June, I saw
General Grant, perhaps attended by one or two orderlies,
worming his quiet way through and along
our trenches, carefully noting all the operations
of our forces. None but those who personally knew
him would have recognized in that stubby form,
with its dusty blue blouse, the great General whose
mighty genius was running the whole job. Our
forces had erected in our lines a skeleton framed observatory,
which those properly authorized and who
knew how to safely mount it often ascended, and
with their field glasses made observations of the
enemy's works. In order to keep the common soldiers
and citizens from getting shot by the enemy's
sharpshooters, a guard was stationed at its base
to warn and compel people to keep down, but there
was so little for this guard to do that he got careless.
One day in the midst of his carelessness and inattention
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page60" id="page60"></a>[pg 60]</span>
he happened to look up at the observatory,
and there at the very top stood a soldier. The guard
was mad, and loudly and profanely commanded the
intruder to come down. He said, "What you doing
up there?" No answer. "You come down out of that,
you fool; you'll get shot." No answer. "If you
don't come down, I'll shoot you myself." Then the
soldier slowly and deliberately descended to the
ground, pretty vigorously cursed by the guard and
relegated to the fiery regions, as he descended, and
as the supposed trespasser when he reached the
ground, started away, a comrade said to the guard,
"You've played thunder, I must say." "What have I
done?" said the other. "You've been cussing General
Grant black and blue." "You don't say," said the frightened
guard, "I didn't know it was him. I will apologize,"
and he ran after and caught up with the General
and said, "I hope you will pardon what I said,
General. I didn't know you." "All right, my boy,"
said Grant, "but you must watch closely or some one
will get shot there."</p>
<p class="indent">When our division commander, Frank P. Blair,
went along our lines, unlike Grant, he was usually
attended by his whole staff and an escort of hundreds
of cavalry, and the dust they kicked up enshrouded
half of Vicksburg.</p>
<p class="indent">As soon as July 1st we began to hear rumors
of preparations in progress to assault the rebel
works again on the 4th of July, if the place was
not sooner surrendered. There was no denying
the fact, Joe Johnson had a tremendous big force
in our rear and might actually take a notion to
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page61" id="page61"></a>[pg 61]</span>
attack us, and the boys were getting tired of digging
rifle pits. We had all welcomed the rumor of another
contemplated assault on the 4th, but General
Pemberton himself forestalled our calculations.
Early on the 3rd the rebels sent a white flag outside
of their works and the rebel General Bowen
bore it to our lines. The news spread through our
midst like wild fire, and we had little doubt it had
something to do with the surrender of the post.
The bearer of this flag of truce was the bearer of
a letter from Pemberton directed to General Grant,
in which he proposed the appointment of three
commissioners by him to meet a like number from
Grant to arrange terms for the capitulation of Vicksburg.</p>
<p class="indent">General Grant wrote an answer to Pemberton,
in which he offered to meet him between the lines
to arrange such terms, but declined the appointment
of commissioners as Pemberton proposed. We, who
occupied our advance rifle pits, climbed up on the
edges and while we dangled our feet down in the
holes sat up straight and looked the Johnnies
square in their faces as they popped up above their
works. It all looked and seemed so funny to see
the widespread resurrection of both Yanks and
rebs. In many places the opposing lines of pits
were so close together that conversation was carried
on between us and the foemen during the armistice.
An old grizzly reb straightened up out of a nearby
pit. He sported long, gray Billy goat whiskers
and his shaggy eyebrows looked like patches of
hedge rows. Just opposite him on our side another
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page62" id="page62"></a>[pg 62]</span>
old graybeard stood up in his pit and the two old
warriors surveyed each other for several minutes;
then old Johnnie said, "Hello, you over thar!"
"Hello yourself," said old Yank. "Is that your hole
your stan'nen in over thar?" said Johnnie. "I reckon,"
said Yank. "Wal, don't you know Mister, I've
had some tarned good shots at you?" "I reckon,"
said Yank, "but s'pose ye hain't noticed no lead
slung over thar nor nothin'?" "Yes," said Johnnie,
"you spattered some dirt in my eyes now 'n' then."
"So'd you mine," said Yank. And in that strain
those two old veterans talked and laughed from
their respective roosts as though trying to shoot
each other was the funniest thing in the world.
About 3 o'clock that afternoon we saw some Union
officers go out of our lines and part way over to
the rebel works sit down under a tree on the grass.</p>
<p class="indent">We afterwards learned those men were Grant,
Rowlins, Logan, McPherson and A. J. Smith. A short
time afterwards some men in gray uniform came out
of the rebel works and met our men under the
tree. Those men were Pemberton, Bowen and a
staff officer, we also learned afterward. I was so
far from them that I could not discern their features
and could hardly tell their uniforms, but I watched
as did thousands of our men with intense interest
that long parleying, under that distant tree, until
the conference broke up and the parties returned
to their respective commands. That night we knew
the city had virtually capitulated and only
awaited the settlement of terms.</p>
<p class="indent">On the 4th of July at 10 o'clock a. m. the Confederate
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page63" id="page63"></a>[pg 63]</span>
forces marched out in front of their works,
stacked their arms, hung upon them all accouterments
and laid their faded flags on top of all. It
was one of the saddest sights I ever beheld, and I
can honestly say I pitied those brave men from the
bottom of my heart. Our brave fellows, though,
never uttered a shout of exultation during the whole
ceremony of surrender. We marched into the city
afterwards that day, raised the flag upon the court
house and gave ourselves a general airing in Vicksburg.
As our forces marched through the town the
rebel women scowled, made faces and spit at us,
but we survived it all and kept good natured. One
fat old colored woman was just jumping up and
down for joy, and she cried out as we marched by,
"Heah day come. Heah day is. Jes' you look at 'em,
none your little yaller faced sickly fellers, but full
grown men, wid blood in 'em," etc., etc. I saw
many Union men and Confederates walking and conversing
together, but the rebel officers generally held
aloof and acted as though they were miffed at something.</p>
<p class="indent">There were surrendered in men that day 15
generals, 31,000 soldiers, 172 cannon.</p>
<p class="indent">After the surrender I went over their works
and fields. I saw the great holes in the ground
where our bomb shells had exploded, big enough
to contain a two-story building. I saw caves
in the hillsides where people had lived during
the siege. I saw the ground in places so littered
with shot and unexploded shells from our batteries
that it was difficult to walk without stepping on
<span class="pagenum"><a name="page64" id="page64"></a>[pg 64]</span>
them. I saw the trees, many of them, actually
girdled by our shot. I picked up one little shell
and thought I would take it home with me as a
relic. It looked like a mammoth butterfly egg, but
it was heavy and had a sinister complexion. Many
of our men were injured by those shells, in picking
them up and dropping them carelessly onto their
percussion points, and so I improved the opportunity
one day to give mine to a relic hunter. After the
surrender my regiment was moved from the mouth
of the Yazoo up onto the Vicksburg hill, but we failed
to recover our health. Our men were dying daily,
and finally we were ordered to Corinth, Mississippi
July 29th, and embarked on transport "Silver
Wave" for our new destination, the well men in
the regiment not being sufficient and able to care
for the sick.</p>
<h2>THE END.</h2>
<div class="figcenter" style="width: 300px;">
<img src="images/i066.jpg" width="300" height="191" alt="" title="" />
</div>
<hr class="hr2"/>
<div class="tnote">
<h2>Transcriber Notes:</h2>
<p class="indent">Throughout the dialogues, there were words used to mimic accents of
the speakers. Those words were retained as-is.</p>
<p class="indent">Errors in punctuations and inconsistent hyphenation were not corrected
unless otherwise noted.</p>
<p class="indent">On page 4, "ond" was replaced with "and".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 4, "smille" was replaced with "smile".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 4, "Governer" was replaced with "Governor".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 6, "partiotic" was replaced with "patriotic".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 7, "departue" was replaced with "departure".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 7, "and and" was replaced with "and".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 8, "threshhold" was replaced with "threshold".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 8, "winodw" was replaced with "window".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 10, "had" was replaced with "hand".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 11, "over wrought" was replaced with "overwrought".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 13, "depresstd" was replaced with "depressed".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 15, "wierd" was replaced with "weird".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 17, quotation mark was added before "Better'n I 'spected".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 18, "wierd" was replaced with "weird".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 19, a closing quotation mark was added after "they called,".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 19, "of a of a" was replaced with "of a".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 27, a period was added after "MAY 19".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 30, a quotation mark was added before "Damn your bit".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 33, "windrow" was replaced with "window".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 36, a quotation mark was added after "With pleasure, madam,".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 36, "road" was replaced with "rode".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 37, "centtury" was replaced with "century".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 46, a period was added after "RIFLE PITS".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 48, "putrifaction" was replaced with "putrefaction".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 49, "parrotts" was replaced with "parrots".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 50, On page 50, a quotation mark was added after "of your old town.".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 53, a period was added after "THE CLOSING SCENES".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 54, "watter" was replaced with "water".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 60, a question mark was added after "What you doing
up there".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 60, a question mark was added before "What have I
done?".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 60, "dont" was replaced with "don't".</p>
<p class="indent">On page 60, a comma and a question mark was added after "I will
apologize".</p>
</div>
<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 40233 ***</div>
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