Oh, a brand-new morning,
albeit a cloudy one. Out and about,
Bloodroot drives following his iPhone directions. I point out several helpful
“”Vicksburg Battlefield” signs. The
signs contradict the iPhone instructions.
“The iPhone knows all, Mom; the new generation, of which you are NOT a
member, eschews signs. We have mastered
technology!” Bloodroot proclaims, a rather portentous pronouncement for this
early in the morning. I fall silent,
easily defeated. Sanctimoniously, intent
upon the iPhone, Bloodroot drives up to the rear of the battlefield. We can’t
enter. I only snigger a bit up my sleeve as Bear opines, “Boy, iPhones really
suck.”
Irritated, Bloodroot speeds around
to the side of the battlefield. Driving Pearl rapidly (50 mph), Bloodroot
begins the Paul Distad tour of Vicksburg. (My OCD father would have toured
Vicksburg at least 50 mph, if not 70 mph, all the while shouting, “Did you see
it? Huh?
Huh? Did you see it?” I recall a
mid-1970s flyby trip through Yellowstone at 60 mph.) Finally, we find the Visitor Center,
precisely where the signs would have led us half an hour ago, had we bothered
to follow them.
Bloodroot parks Pearl. “Stop laughing at me!” he grumbles. Pearls winks at the three of us as we
exit. Entering the Visitor Center, we
learn about the Civil War campaign for the West and the Vicksburg battle
specifically.
The battle of Vicksburg pits
Confederate Lieutenant General John C. Pemberton against Union General Ulysses
S. Grant.
From the war’s start, both
sides recognized the Mississippi River’s strategic importance. Whoever controlled the Mississippi could move
their troops and supplies along it. The owner
of the Mississippi would win the war.
In 1863, the Union plans to
end the war by taking Vicksburg, cutting the South in half, beyond any hope of
resupply. Marching south from Illinois
and north from the Gulf, Grant handily defeats the Confederates at every turn, scattering the
inland Mississippi General Johnston’s forces.
Only Vicksburg stands between
Grant and total victory in the western field of war. By this time, the
Confederates claim a mere 250 miles of waterway, bounded by Vicksburg in the
north and Port Hudson, LA to the south. Vicksburg,
built high on a bluff overlooking the Mississippi, uses her artillery batteries
to defend the vital river. From this
vantage point, the Confederacy shells any and all Union traffic on the river.
Having earlier disposed of
various Confederate armies, Grant turns his attention to Vicksburg. He attempts conquest by digging a canal to
divert the Mississippi around the city’s artillery battery. He fails.
But now, Grant needs resupply. On
an April night in 1863, the US Navy runs the Vicksburg blockade, losing only
one transport ship to heavy Confederate fire.
Grant now has fresh men, food and materiel.
Seizing the day, Grant orders
two assaults on the fortress, uphill. Both fail. Refusing to lose more troops by storming the
city, in May 1863, Grant begins a formal siege.
Aside
from breaking the South’s back and leading directly to the end of the war, the Siege
of Vicksburg also marked the first time black Union soldiers defended something
of vital importance. During the siege, General Grant had left behind around 1,500
troops, almost entirely black, to guard his rear at a place in Louisiana called
Milliken’s Bend. These troops had no back-up or reinforcements, and many
received substandard guns and equipment, but the siege suddenly depended on
them in early June, 1863, when a Confederate force tried to smuggle food
supplies past them. Although their rifles sometimes broke after a few shots,
and although some troops, totally untrained, had only received firearms the day
before, the black troops at Milliken’s Bend held the line—mostly with bayonets
and earthen works, as it was all the Union had given them to work with. Their
success at preventing the relief of Vicksburg convinced the (racist) leaders in
the North that black troops could and would fight for their freedom; several
more black regiments were created. Even the Confederate commander admitted that
the troops at Milliken’s Bend had been “obstinate.”
In an eerie precedent to World
War I, Grant’s troops build zigzag tunnels, slowly crawling to the fortress. At
maximum, the tunnels creep to within ten feet of the fortress, primed to
undermine the walls.
The Confederates hope against
hope for another army (Johnston’s) to relieve and resupply them. They pray for Johnston to surround Grant and
lift his siege. In the Confederate dream world, Johnston would attack Grant
from the rear while Pemberton charged from the front, turning the Union siege into deadly Confederate pincers. Unfortunately for the South, Grant
previously chased Johnston’s Army out of Jackson, Mississippi, dispersing
Johnston’s men across the South. Johnston eventually regroups, but far past too
late.
On July 4, 1863, forty-seven
days after the siege began, Pemberton assesses his situation. Viewing his exhausted food and medicine
supplies, Pemberton surrenders. Vicksburg is the battle that ends the
Confederacy, not Gettysburg. The loss of
Vicksburg opens the Mississippi to Northern shipping as Pemberton surrenders
his army of 29,500 men, 60,000 small arms, 200 canon and tons of ammunition,
all irreplaceable by the agricultural South.
120,000 people fought here,
each side losing 10,000 troops.
Following Pemberton’s surrender, Grant takes the Confederate soldiers’
weapons and sends them home, most heading to states west of the Mississippi.
Leaving the Visitor Center,
we return to Pearl, waking her up to begin touring the battlefield. We begin with the Union side. The tour takes us through many stops, showing
us the back-and-forth of the siege. The
boys find this far more interesting than I do, but I am patient and have
reading material. Our tour continues on the Confederate side, the boys jumping
out of Pearl at every designated stop.
As we drive about, we find
ourselves following an ROTC group of college students. We ask which college they attend. They reply
in strongly accented black rural speech, “Northwestern” with some
unintelligible word appended to it.
“Northwestern in Chicago?” we think, puzzled. Listening more closely, we hear Northwestern
State University (NSU), a college indeed located in Louisiana, near Shreveport.
At each stop, a different NSU
student gives a report, augmented by their ROTC sergeant. The sergeant speaks of the importance of
“unity of command”, meaning that a command issued top side would be obeyed down
to the very last private. We take this as inherently obvious now. But 150 years ago… Strongly eschewing advice,
relishing slavery, independence and states’ rights, the Confederate side sorely
lacked unity of command. We learn that
Jefferson Davis, not on site, issued battle commands from his porch, only to
find his incompetent orders routinely ignored. The ROTC sergeant speaks of
lieutenants ignoring generals, and everyone doing their own thing. Lincoln had the sense to stay out of Grant’s way.
The clouds portentously grow darker,
building as we observe a battlefield littered with monuments to each group of
people who fought. The Illinois monument has a long formal staircase leading up
to a large rotunda (in reality a scaled-down Pantheon) with an eagle standing
guard over the monument’s entrance.
Situated between the Union
and Confederate lines, Kentucky’s memorial contains life-size bronze statues of
Lincoln and Davis, both Kentucky natives. Behind the two men we find quotes
from each supporting the Union.
Both Barkley and Bear, Pennsylvania
natives, solemnly pose for photos at their state monument. The Union side has
many monuments to Ohio regiments, but no Ohio Monument overall. As a person born
in Ohio, I feel we disrespect our fighters, probably for budgetary
reasons. I am embarrassed.
The clouds, having gathered
sufficient strength, begin dropping rain.
Fortuitously we finish touring the outdoor battlefield. Pearl motors up
to the USS Cairo museum (pronounced like Karo, the corn syrup).
By January 1862, the Union,
flexing its industrial muscle, constructs seven ironclad ships for the war
effort, naming each ship for a northern city, including one for Cairo,
Illinois. Later that year, the Cairo,
while working on clearing the Yazoo River of mines, hit two of the “infernal
machines” and sank in the resultant explosion, becoming the first ship ever
sunk by electric torpedoes. One hundred
years later, people raised the sunken ship, giving it to the National Park
Service as a museum piece.
The ship itself indeed rests
outside, covered by a large tent-type structure that resembles the multi-peaked
tent roof at DIA (Denver airport).
Remaining dry, we explore the ship, impressed by the technology. I often think of the Civil War being so far
removed from today. But even 150 years
ago, we built a steam-powered, armored watercraft bristling with cannons. The boys closely examine the boilers and
engines as we wander about the craft.
We walk into the indoor
museum adjacent to the ship. The Cairo
sank quickly and lay undisturbed for 100 years, creating a time capsule. From various displays, we learn about life
aboard the ship. We see lanterns, cooking
equipment and “irons”—hand and leg cuffs used on recalcitrant crew
members. Medical equipment includes
scary surgical items as well as myriad bottles of medications. Hastily
abandoning ship, people left behind their personal goods. The museum houses the forsaken shoes, shaving
gear, and most movingly, photos of loved ones.
As much as I enjoy exploring
daily lives of people born long before me, by late afternoon hunger ambushes me. Hoping for some sustenance, I enter the
museum restaurant. Disgusted by the
smells of horrendous Sysco-truck quasi-food substances, I begin to melt down. The boys, alarmed by my predicament, appease me
by cooking real food in the parking lot in the rain. I am fortunate to have such caring animals in
my life.
Finished with the Cairo and
Vicksburg National Military Park, we return to our hotel. I find my feet swelling and begin legs-up-the-wall
exercises. Exhausted, I fall into a
dreamless sleep. Tomorrow, we explore a
wee bit more of Mississippi.
No comments:
Post a Comment