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Southern Historical Society Papers
Volume XI. pg. 223-227. Richmond, Va., April-May, 1883. Nos. 4-5. Reminiscences of the Siege of Vicksburg. By Major J.T. Hogane of the Engineer Corps. PAPER NO. 1. Let us revive from the forces of memory the particulars of a scene, remarkable for being an example and expression of weakness. On the west bank of the Big Black river, in the State of Mississippi, on a day of May, 1863, might have been seen General J.C. Pemberton and a group of disheartened staff and line officers. The surroundings and foil to this weary, discouraged group were the defeated troops just escaped from the field of combat at Champion Hills and Big Black river; the sluggish river; the blazing timber; the smoke of battle. General Pemberton with head hung down and despair written over the lineaments of his face, gave utterance to the honest sentiment of his heart when he remarked to Colonel Lockett, the Chief Engineer of the army, that "thirty years ago, today, I commenced my career as a soldier, and today ends it." What a confession of failure these pathetic worlds conveyed to his listeners. In a house at Oxford, Miss., the night of the retreat from the splendidly fortified position of the Tallahatchie river, near Abbeyville, might have been seen General Pemberton and General "Pap" Price. General Price told the Commander in Chief that a Federal force was marching south by way of Hernando, and offered, with a confidence, that his outspoken, brave, cheerful tones showed he believed in, to capture or defeat them if a sufficient force was given him to do so. General Pemberton refused to detach the troops asked for, though he knew that General Grant's could not make any serious demonstration on his front, owing to Grant's communication with his base of supplies being destroyed by the writer of this burning a mile of railroad trestle work. General Price respectfully suggested a certain movement asking only his Missourians to carry it out. The General again refused to strike a blow, preferring the easier generalship of retreating; stating as his reason, however, that "he did not know where the enemy was." The first time I ever saw Vicksburg was in April before the siege. As the engineer officer in charge of the fortification at Snyder's and Hayne's bluffs, I had been making requisitions on Mobile and other points through Generals Lee and Stevenson, for materials to secure the immense raft constructed across the Yazoo river, opposite the seige guns of Snyder's Bluff. The raft was about to give way from the pressures of at least 6,000 tons of driftwood accumulated on its upper side. In my anxiety to secure the raft I resolved upon a personal interview with General Stevenson, so ordering my horse, a rapid ride brought me to headquarters in the now famous city. The air was full of rumors of the great strength and scientific dispositions of the defenses of Vicksburg, and with faith I accepted the statement that no force could take the city. About the middle watch of the night the belching of a cannon in one of the water batteries awoke the city from its easy slumbers. Officers and men rushed to the river front to gaze upon the Yankee gun boats slowly steaming down the river; nearer they came with almost a death like motion, slow, and in harmony with the black, lithe, sinuous gliding of the river. The sparkle of the battle lights betokened the life that lay prone behind their iron clad covering. Men stood behind that iron coat ready to drive the missiles of death into the Confederate batteries; stood ready as volunteers, and from a scene of honor to dare death in a combat for success. There was no flickering among the veterans who manned the guns of the fated city. The artillerymen of the South, in the full glare of the red light of bonfires built in their rear, aimed their guns with the precision of parade practice, but it seemed with no effect, for boat after boat kept on with steady thud passing gun after gun that opened singly one after the other upon them. The effect of the firing on moving objects by single guns, proved itself, as it did in other instances, a failure, and confirmed the opinion that I had always held, that concentrated mass firing is the only effective way to destroy iron clad vessels of war. If the engineer officer in charge of construction in Vicksburg had arranged his guns in groups, so that the fire could have been thrown to a common point, with a weight of metal that, united in its impingement, would have been irresistible, it would not have gone into history that men lived to run the batteries of Vicksburg. After the duel between the portable marine batteries and the fixed shore heavy guns, there was nothing to do but seek consolation on the hard couch of a soldier or bewail the half way manner of doing things customary in the Western Army of the Confederate States. About the gray of day next morning I received a rude shaking up from Colonel Lockett -- my chief in the engineer department -- that dispelled the sweet repose induce by a complete non responsibility. "Do you know that the gunboats are attacking Snyder's Bluff!" "No." "Report at once to your headquarters; your place is there." "All right, I'll go." An hour's hard riding and I was climbing the hill upon which General Hebert and staff were standing or sitting intently observing the movements of thirteen Federal gunboats and the landing of about three thousand troops. About half way from the bluff to the river, in an open field, a thin line of skirmishers represented the Southern side; on the road in the rear of the General, laid, perdue, the Southern boys, in line of battle. The Yankees landed and took their time to come into action. Squads of officers rode here and there, knotting and unknotting with the grace that staff officers so well know how to display. A puff of regular heavy artillery, a shell bursting in the midst of it, untied one of the knots double quick, and strange to say consultation were put an end to by spread eagleism hunting the grass. Then the gunboats opened fire, concentrating on the Frenchman, until 180 shots, by count, had tried to silence the plucky eight inch shell gun. At last the barbette of the shell gun was struck, and the gun dismounted, but soon mounted again and made ready for action. In the meantime, a general firing from battery and gunboat made the honors of noise about even, until a ten inch Columbiad sent her solid shot into the iron clad Chickasaw, killing and wounding, according to northern account, her captain and sixty of her men. Night, discretion and getting the worst of the fight induced the Commodore and Commander to run back the troops and leave for safe quarters at the mouth of the Yazoo. I learned two things by this fight -- that counter sunk batteries located below the sky line are safe batteries for gunners, and that guns located or radiating lines from the attack center, fixing the distances according to calibre and kind of gun, do the maximum of efficient service. This action; the running the batteries at Vicksburg; the attempt to take Vicksburg in the rear by the march of General Grant through Mississippi by the way of Holly Springs. Abbeyville and Grenada; the trying to force the Yazoo river -- ought to have opened General Pemberton's eyes to the fact that Grant was trying to kill two birds with one stone, viz., open the Mississippi river and shut up in Vicksburg, Pemberton, and, what was of real consequence, the army he commanded. Sherman had tried the same game when he made the attack on the north side of Vicksburg at Chickasaw bayou, but having more ambition and audacity in planning in the tent, than he had knowledge of the field of operation, he was beat off by a few troops of the line and citizens armed with their shotguns. The veriest tyro in war would have reasoned out the problem to this result -- that concentration with General Johnston was the proper thing, and that a living and moving army in the field is better than a cramped and half dead army inside of a ring of earthworks. Earthworks are good in modern was only as a shield to active field troops. The bull hide shield of the ancient warriors is the prototype of the use that fortifications and breastworks are to the armies of today -- of use only on occasion of active fight on an open field. One quiet afternoon General Hebert informed me that Snyder's and Haynes' Bluffs were to be evacuated, and shortly after left with his command. My instructions were to get off all guns, on wheels, to Vicksburg; prepare powder trains to the service magazines, preparatory to blowing them up at midnight, if no further orders were received, and blow up all guns not moveable. Further orders to sink all steamboats in the Yazoo river completed the programme of destruction. With the celerity born of necessity the road to Vicksburg was in a few hours jammed with munitions of war and guns -- six pounders, cofraternals with the stylish twenty four pound Parrott guns, wagons, mules, troops, camp followers, with their loads of plunder, the menage of the camps they had lately occupied. So crowded was the road to Vicksburg that daylight found us under the bluff where General Sherman got his quietus in the January preceding, and so close did the fire of the attack on our left sound that I expected the trains to be captured; but this idea was premature for the wagons made several trips during the day to Haynes' Bluff to get corn from the piles of it that lay on the bank of the river, measuring thousands of bushels to the heap. No doubt the collected breadstuff and horse feed did the Federal quartermaster and commissary officers great service; it would have done us more service in Vicksburg if it had been there. Vicksburg absorbed the troops from the Yazoo, as it did those from Big Black, Warrenton, and Champion Hills. The dead body of the brave Tilghman, whose heart was shattered by the fragment of a shell, the troubled rank and file whose faces showed the shame of defeat, betokened the result of the plans to save Vicksburg, inaugurated by the Commander in Chief. There was one man of sense -- General Loring. He absolutely refused to go into Vicksburg, and declared to General Pemberton that he would not obey his orders, and he did, about 10,000 men, cut his way out in spite of General Grant's cordon. That sturdy lion, General Johnston, pertinaciously urged Pemberton to join him, and not allow himself to be shut up in Vicksburg fortifications. If the evidence of all the events transpiring at this time could be laid before an intelligent jury, the verdict would not be flattering to the General of the Army of the Mississippi. There are very few Vicksburg soldiers who do not believe that General Grant was permitted to cross the river nearly unmolested, while the Southern army was kept blinded by preparing forts at Big Black railroad bridge and other point d'appiu surrounding the city of the hills. It was a regular give away when General Bowen, with a few troops, a mere reconnaissance detail, inadequate to the duty of checking Grant, tried to keep the Federal army back. If common direction had been exercised, the responsibility and the evils of the catastrophe that fell upon Pemberton afterward would have been averted. The whole series of fights from the time that Grant crossed the river until surrender of Vicksburg was a fatal blunder, no matter who it was planned by or who sanctioned it. Concentration at the point of Grant's crossing, and defeat to him there, or, if that was impossible, concentration in the interior, and a fight before he captured the Jackson and Vicksburg railroad was the thing to have placed him at his worst advantage both with regard to his supplies and reinforcements. The action of May 1st was only a skirmish instead of being a vital fight, and all subsequent management being based on the protection of Vicksburg partook of the same error of judgment that led to the battles of Edwards Station or Champion Hills, Big Black, and the sufferings of Vicksburg.
Southern Historical Society Papers
Volume XI. Pg 291-297 Richmond, Va., July, 1883. No. 7. Reminiscences of the Siege of Vicksburg. By Major J.T. HOGANE, of the Engineer Corps. PAPER NO. 2. The first man killed in Vicksburg was a Major of infantry belonging to General Vaughn's command. I had just reported to General Vaughn for duty as engineer officer of the line under command of Major General Smith, and as a social recognition, he told me the news of the Major's death, how that the had crept between the opposing lines to relieve a wounded man, and there met his death. The angel of charity certainly had not far to come to meet him and to offer him the hand of fellowship. This fight was on the north side of Vicksburg, and outside the works proper. In company with a Lieutenant of engineers, I inspected the line of works to which I had been assigned, and was pleased with the strength of the natural position until I came to a depression in the line commanded by adjoining points. I asked the officer if he thought we could hold that position. "Why not?" he asked, and a smile irradiated his face. Asking the question more strongly and more to his personal satisfaction, I told him that if there was any other line I would like to see it, and so we rode to what he designated as the Fort Hill line. After a careful inspection, I decided that it was the strongest position, and though only provided with a stockade and three lunettes, yet it was better to build new works than take the rain of bullets in rifle pits to protect the troops. Accordingly, and in consequence of the urgency of the case, I sent a dispatch to General Pemberton direct, recommending the second line. At midnight, the order to fall back was issued, and the troops fell into line of battle on the Fort Hill ridge. I rode along the line, asking out in a hurried manner the line of the rifle pits, telling the men we would rectify mistakes another time. The gray dawn, pleasant thoughts. It tempted my mind to wandering in memory into the meadows and gardens of old Missouri, where home and home interests, had made life an enchantment. War was forgotten, there was such contentment in the spring air, the winter had passed away, the plumes of the blue green grass waved in the bright sunlight in harmonic swaying with the delighted nerves. The toil of infantry service, the mind's review of foregone sieges with all their horrors and rigorous sufferings passed from the heart. I was brought back to the present by an admonition from an officer that the yanks were going to open fire. On casting my eye over the distant ridge, just abandoned, I could see the deploying Federal troops pursuing the advantage they supposed they had gained. Soon, firing commenced on the fatigue details sent out over our line to secure some tools with had been brought from Snyder's Bluff. By night the artillery was placed in position, and the rifle pits were dug to the right depth, and on proper lines to suit the ground. Next day the United States troops formed a close investment; we were really besieged, and the outer world became a sealed treasure to the sixteen thousand unfortunate Confederates inside of Vicksburg. It was lucky for the "amour propre" of our General in Chief, that his peer, Grant, did not mass his troops into columns of attack, and walk right in on the Jackson road the second day he drew up his sixty thousand men before the city, which he could have done if he had pushed his artillery in to take our works in reverse. Of course he would have had to sacrifice men, but not near as many as he lost in his charges on the Jackson road, and met a soldier, about fifty years old, shot through both cheeks; the blood had clotted his long beard, and he was then trying to staunch the flow of the crimson flood. In his disengaged hand he carried a shotgun that had been struck by a ball, and the barrels splintered by it. I condoled with him about his would, and asked him where he was going. He replied that he was going to get another gun. Of such was the Southern soldier made. A little way further up the valley I came across a Missouri Major trying to get a piece of artillery to the stockade; he had got the run in a ditch, and from want of concert between Major, mules drives, and drink, that all hands seemed to be filled up with, it seemed likely that the gun would remain in statu quo. I volunteered to assist; the Major met me halfway by offering the bunghole of his little keg of whisky. As an amendment, I proposed to lubricate the mules by giving the drivers a drink, which was agreed to. After getting the mules stretched out into line, I instructed the drivers to whip up when the Major sounded his yell, and never to stop until the gun landed in the rear of the works. One old white haired darkey, whose temples sported a silk plug hat, who was riding the lead mule, allowed "he'd go with that dar gun to them folks fighting sure." Well, he did it, but just as he got to the works the gun upset, and niggers, Major and Engineer officer "dissolved into thin air;" that is, they ceased putting on any heroic airs. It was hot at that point, for the Federals were making their second charge on the stockaded breastworks built across the valley of death. The rattle of minnie balls, the bursting of shrapnel shells was sharp and continuous. The dust flew in specks where the leaden messengers hit the ground, the whole air was full of excitement. I saw but one <shv11_294>place where things and men looked cool, that was where the men lay behind the works systematically shooting through the crevices of the timbers, so I lay for a spare interval, and went down on my knees with the rest of the boys. Blood being up I borrowed my neighbor's gun and covered the coat of blue in the ravine below me, but was suddenly thrown out of employment by the owner of the gun claiming his property. Poor fellow, it was the last sound of his voice that ever vibrated the air, for when he again took aim a crimson spot in the centre of his forehead gave exit to, and set the imprisoned spirit free to enter upon the work of peace instead of the work of hater and war. General Grant had missed his chance. If he had pushed pellmell into Vicksburg with Pemberton's rear guard, the contractors might have suffered, but his reputation or his men would not. There were many funny incidents that occurred in spite of the increasing stringency and restrictive orders about food and work on the fortifications. On that part of the line in charge of Brigadier General Baldwin, a Mississippi militia company was on duty, commanded by no less than a General officer. This company, either from zeal or inexperience, kept on night after night, adding depth to the rifle pits it defended, until, in the glooms of night if you wanted an officer you had to telegraph, by voice, to the far deep. After a few nights' work, I instructed the General to employ the energy of his men in filling up the caverns, hinting that, in the far bowels on the earth he might find it as hot as on the surface. After they took a rest there was less complaint about the disappearance of tools. The field of observation of any one man on a battleground is necessarily limited and however violent and momentous the action may be as a whole, he can only act as the historian of what he individually sees or hears. In a siege, prolonged over considerable time, the mental impressions of the acts seen, are of those salient transactions distinctly important, or that have the elements of tragedy or of fun in them. One part of the fun was to stand by a member of the signal corps and let him tell you that "they," the feds, were telegraphing by their flag signals. On Fort Hill we had a signal corps operator who was very skilled in reading the signal messages of Commodore Porter's fleet to General Grant's headquarters and vice versa; in fact, there seemed to be no difficulty in interpreting the intentions of the Federals at any of the signal stations. He reported that it was a part of Grant' plan to make a charge up the river road that ran between Fort Hill and the water batteries. So to make our outside friends comfortable and give them a warm reception, I had caused to be constructed three deep ditches across the road, the bottom of each chasm being armed with chevaux de frise, and the intervals filled with mines. Field guns to enfilade the gorge and batteries with cotton bales for epaulments, were rapidly build to maintain our supremacy in the coming fight. After all, the Federal battalions did not risk defeat by another course of charges, but contented themselves by burning up the cotton walls of the advanced open lunette. This was one of the great events that "Old Father Time" placed back in his rear pocket, thinking perhaps that it was better to put an entire new play on the stage. The only one graceful favor that General Pemberton had the power to render was the consent he gave to a truce to bury the "braves" who had fallen in the charges upon our lines. The time was given and the dead were put out of sight. They had lain thickly where they fell, so much so that the ground took the color of the Federal uniform. " 'This pity, pity 'tis, 'tis true." The burning of the building in which was stored was material and provisions, was one of the most exciting events of the investure. It rose to a point of being sublime, for it was a strife between puny man and the raging elements of nature on a grand scale, and added to this a first class battle. It rose from an incipient fire to a light sheet that blinded the eyes. It showed the mastery of man over himself and nature. The flashing of the Yankee guns at quick intervals brightened the glare of the flaming buildings. The rain of iron fell with a clang on the paved streets, starling the men who were running, laden with a burden of provisions or ammunition, from the burning commissary depot to a more safe place of deposit for the supplies. Like a swaying pendulum, in automatic precision, the details ran to and for amidst the squares that shot and shell made, indifferent to danger, only intent to obey the orders of the officers, and do the duty set before them. The tempest of battle gathered force as the heat of the flames grew greater. The heat scorched the devoted soldiers, the light increased until it was as the light of day, and the men showed only as dots on the field of conflict. After awhile the blazing embers fell, the starlight alone to relieve the gloom, made darker by contrast. The worn men staggered to their wretched quarters in the trenches or sand hills, to suffer, to sleep the sleep of exhaustion, utterly indifferent to the blazing worlds overhead, the fluttering haze rising from the river, or the still threatening guns that kept up a fire on the iron swept area of the now consumed depot. Of all the cannonading that General Grant ordered, the least effective, for the cost, was the bombardment by the fleet of mortar boats. When the fleet commenced throwing the thirteen inch shells, it dwarfed all other menaces to our lives; but we soon became used to watching the course of the shells as shown by the glow of fire made by the fuse, and learned to dodge the spot where it would fall. They did more damage to houses than to the citizens or people. My first notice of the thirteen inch shell practice was brought about by a practical joke played on me by the boys. Mrs. Captain Winters had cooked a first class dinner for a few of us, form material that we had clubbed together out of our scanty resources. In the midst of the eating it was reported that curious to see such a close shave, I ran out to investigate. I found one ear of the quadruped tied down with a string. I also found on the return trip, my share of the sweet potato pie eaten up. I was shelled out in earnest. A few days after that, Captain W. and his accomplished lady were sitting in a room of the engineer headquarters; two of their children were eating a lunch in the dining room. Without warning, a thirteen inch shell burst through the ceiling and partitions, and exploded in an adjoining parlor, throwing the plaster debris over the children When I got to the spot, Mrs. W. was backing out from under the table with her children, unhurt. It was no unusual thing for the fronts of houses to be blown out by the explosion of these shells, but I knew of but one instance where life was lost. It occurred one evening about dusk. The mortar had been evidently trained to throw its shell to the court house, but falling to the South, struck an iron balcony of the hospital building, that was crowded with wounded convalescents. It was distressing to hear the cries of the poor fellows as they feel to the ground, victims of a cruel and spiteful fate. The horses and mules soon learned to calculate, from the sound the shell made, where they were going to fall, and gave a wide berth to exploding missiles. Lucky was the officer who had a servant sufficiently courageous to lead his favorite horse to spots of comparative safety, between extreme danger line and absolute protection from the breast works, and where the Bermuda grass flourished. It was a picture of content to see nigger and horse in the evening -- one having got his fill of grass, the other his fill of sunshine and rest. After all the care and devotion I gave to my steed, one of Grant's pilferers borrowed him the day of the surrender. If the mules had a hard time to make a living, it was worse for the men. The animals got little, but it was natural food; the men got little, and it was of a kind disgusting to the sharp set hunger, that insufficiency both in quality and quantity made chronic. With the fertile valley of the Mississippi and Yazoo to draw from, millions of bushels of corn could have been stored in Vicksburg -- abundant rations for the army and its animals equipment, and of a wholesome kind. Two days after we were closed in, Federal prisoners and our surplus mules were driven out because corn was scarce, and as time wore on, the bread of the period, issued to the men, was a cold glutinous paste, a compound of pea meal and flour. Was finish the query with reference to General Pemberton or his Commissary General, to suit your own fancy. A personal loss was felt by every Missourian the day that General Green was killed. He had been cautioned not to expose himself several times, and, a few minutes before he was hit, had remarked that the bullet was not moulded that would kill him. His death put another name upon the tablet of eternity that was already emblazoned with the names of thousands who had died for love of country. When the Yankees blew up the mine in which so many Missouri troops lost their lives, the severed lines of others of their comrades kept back the surging numbers that mounted the parapet of the works. Like the knights of St. John, led by the grand master at Rhodes, they were in every gap and point of danger, making successful resistance the master of danger. |