On May 10, 1863, as Ulysses S. Grant moved his army into the Mississippi interior on his eventual way to Vicksburg, the the newspaper in the state capital, Jackson, attempted to bolster the flagging spirits of residents. “The prospect in Mississippi grows more encouraging from moment to moment,” The Mississippian proclaimed, more with gusto than with evidence.

“Every hour of delay and hesitation renders Grant’s situation the more precarious,” the paper wrote.

His very number embarrass him. Where is he to obtain his supplies? . . . Memphis is really his remote, his precarious base of supplies. His transports must steal down the Mississippi, like midnight thieves, past the grim and ever-watchful batteries of Vicksburg. . . .

Whilst he delays, General Starvation, General Disease, General Despondency, will marshal their fearful squadrons, and league with Confederates soldiery to carry out the decrees of Providence.

Two days later, on May 12, Grant would defeat a Confederate force in Raymond, and two days after that, on May 14, he would capture the state capital itself.

So much for the “decrees of Providence.” Starvation, disease, and despondency, though, would all make appearances in the days and weeks to follow, although those “fearful squadrons” would take a greater toll on Mississippians than on the Federals—as the siege of Vicksburg would demonstrate.

S.C. Miles as sketched for his biography of “Old Abe” the War Eagle

“There are some slight errors in history in regard to the capture of Jackson, which I will take opportunity to correct,” declared Samuel C. Miles, a veteran of the 8th Wisconsin Infantry, in a 1893 letter to the National Tribune. Miles was an inveterate letter writer, and among veterans of the regiment, he in particular loved to refight their old battles. Between 1893 and 1897, Miles took up his pen no fewer than 15 times to correspond with The National Tribune’s “Fighting Them Over” section, a column where veterans could refight with pen the battles they first fought with rifles.

In the summer of 1893, Miles turned his attention to the regiment’s action during the battle of Jackson, Mississippi. The Tribune printed the reminiscences as a two-part account on July 27 and August 3.

Miles’s hyperbolic writing style is, in its way, a delight to read. His accounts are expansive, grand, larger than life. Everything seems bigly.

Miles’s regiment, the 8th Wisconsin, served in Brig. Gen. Joseph Mower’s Second Brigade in Brig. Gen. James Tuttle’s Third Division in Maj. Gen. William T. Sherman’s XV Corps. The regiment had as its mascot a live bald eagle named “Old Abe,” named after the president of the United States, which gave the regiment and the brigade its “Live Eagle” nickname. Miles—in a biography he published of Old Abe, described the eagle as a “fine specimen of our national emblem . . . [who] so grandly shared all the privations, exposures and perils of the grand and triumphant campaigns and over thirty battles. . . .”

On the night of May 13, Sherman’s corps advanced northeast from Raymond, Mississippi, toward the state capital—“Fighting Joe Mower’s invincible Second (Live Eagle) Brigade in the lead, skirmishing with the enemy and steadily driving them toward Jackson,” crowed Miles. To the north, Maj. Gen. James McPherson advanced on Jackson from the northwest. The two wings of the army had coordinated closely to time their arrival in Jackson as simultaneously as possible.

Awaiting them were about 6,000 Confederates under the titular command of Gen. Joseph E. Johnston, recently arrived from his headquarters in Tennessee. But no sooner had Johnston disembarked from his train than he took one look at the situation and immediately set to work on plans to evacuate the city. As Johnston packed up, he appointed Brig. Gen. John Gregg to command of the defenses and buy as much time for Johnston and the army’s supplies to make their escape as possible.

Battle finally opened in earnest just after dawn. The day’s heaviest fighting occurred on McPherson’s front, but to read Miles’s account—told in a voice that would make later pulp novelists proud—Sherman’s men experienced the full drama and trauma of war. Just after dawn, the men in Sherman’s column could hear “the heavy booming of cannon away to the left, where McPherson was engaging the enemy,” Miles wrote, “with the shells bursting around us, the rapid fire of musktey [sic] and a storm of leaden hail sweeping by, blending with the almost incessant lightning and thunder crash of heaven’s artillery, with the down-pouring torrents from the clouds—all combine to make a scene of sublime but rather dismal grandeur.”

Confederates made a smart defense along a rain-swollen creek Sherman’s men could not cross, forcing a bottleneck at the bridge where the road crossed the stream. Sherman’s troops forced passage when the Confederates failed to torch the bridge, perhaps because the wood was too drenched from the storm. As Federals flooded across the span, the Confederates fell back to the works at the edge of town. A number of artillery pieces bolstered the works, manned by eager if slightly trained citizen volunteers.

Rather than attack head on, Sherman sent a flanking force that eventually made its way unopposed unto the city. At about this time, the skies began to clear, and the situation directly in front of the Confederate works looked clearer, too. “The rain is now over, and the bright sun begins to pierce the fast-fleeting clouds and cheer the thoroughly-drenched soldiers with his bright rays,” wrote Miles, apparently ebullient that his Vitamin D deficiency would soon be alleviated.

Despite the play of Confederate artillery, Mower, at the center of the Federal line, began to suspect that not all was as it appeared before him. Then came the sound of cheering from somewhere in the Confederate position—the huzzahs of the flanking force as it began to capture Confederate artillery positions from the rear. Gen. Tuttle decided to send his entire division—Mower, Matthies, and Buckland—forward.

“We meet the heavy artillery fire from the enemy’s line of city defenses along the ridges and high ground across the open fields,” Miles wrote, using present tense to underscore the immediacy of the action:

but without delay Fighting Joe issues orders to his regimental commanders to deploy in line as they advance under cover of the timbered ridges along the open fields. Above the battle’s din of booming cannons’ roar and bursting shell the command rings forth along the line, ‘Attention! Fix bayonets—Forward—Double-quick—Now, steady, boys! Keep your alignment—March!’ And now out upon the open field sweeps that invincible line of loyal blue and vengeful glistening steel . . . [toward] the unquailing, even line of valiant defenders. . . .

Mower’s four regiments made up the center of the attack. “[B]eneath one of those four stands of proudly-waving regimental banners,” recalled Miles, “the War Eagle Old Abe’s valiant form and spreading wings proclaim to that line of rebel gray that they are vainly resisting a foe who never knew defeat.” Another of Old Abe’s biographers (and there were a few, Miles among them) later described the eagle as “all spirit and fire. He flapped his pinions and sent his powerful scream high above the din of battle.”

In his account, Miles hits his stride during the sprint to the Confederate earthworks:

On sweeps the irresistible line of blue, undismayed and unchecked by the terrible storm of lead and iron which thins their ranks and strews the field with mangled slain. With their thundering Union cheer pealing clear above the battle’s horrid din, as their undaunted line sweeps up that last homestretch of bristling trench and parapet-crowned hights [sic], is it any wonder that when they leap over those defenses they find most of that chivalrous line in full flight for safer localities, while those brave men who choose to stay, either too brave to run away, that they may fight another day, or dare not leave the shelter of their trenches to turn their backs toward the charging foe, are gobbled within their defenses?

In fact, Confederates had largely abandoned the works already on Gregg’s orders, but that hardly mattered to Miles in his recollection of events. “Having cleared and captured the defenses of Jackson on the southwest,” Miles reported, “the Live Eagle Brigade pursues the retreating Confederates through the streets to the north . . . and the whole Confederate force is immediately in hasty retreat in the direction of Canton. . . .” By his account, the thundering success of Sherman’s assault, not Gregg’s orders, “compelled the hasty evacuation of those in front of McPherson’s Corps on the Clinton road. . . .”

The regiment’s route of march brought them to the Mississippi statehouse “where the Confederate flag is arrogantly waving above the State capitol dome,” Miles snarled. “It does not take the Color Guard of the Live Eagle regiment many minutes to enter the building and haul down the Secession rag, and . . . the Stars and Stripes of the 8th Wis. are proudly waving in its place.”

The Mississippi capitol

This incident, over time, became a source of great tension among veterans of the Army of the Tennessee. Many units claimed the honor of raising their flag over the city, and the National Tribune served as a key battleground for fighting over that particular distinction. Miles’s two-part piece was written as his salvo in the battle. “[A] capture of a State Capitol and a Confederate flag floating thereon was not a matter of such common occurrence as to be considered unworthy of record,” he insisted. Several other members of the regiment, in their own writings, corroborated Miles’s assertion, but no definitive proof has ever emerged.

As any soldier who has only a glimpse of the action on his immediate front, Miles’s account of the battle of Jackson gives great weight to the fighting by Mower’s brigade, even to the short shrift of other brigades in the division (Buckland’s brigade, for instance, sustained heavy, straight-on artillery fire). However, McPherson’s corps, fighting along the Clinton road, bore the greatest brunt of the battle. The Federals suffered exactly 300 casualties, with 265 of them on McPherson’s front.

The Confederates, meanwhile, suffered some 845 casualties and the stinging loss of 17 guns, most of which were captured by Tuttle’s division as it swept into the works following Gregg’s withdrawal.

Although the May battle of Jackson was not as pivotal as, say, Port Gibson or Champion Hill, it provided Grant with much-needed breathing room by dispersing Johnston’s potential threat in the Federal rear. It also hampered the Confederacy’s ability to reinforce or resupply the army in Vicksburg by cutting one of the necessary rail lines for moving in troops or supplies. Finally, the fall of the state capital—the third to fall in the war—provided a shocking blow to morale throughout the South.

“[T]he city still stands,” Miles wrote in 1893, capturing in present tense the moment of his brigade’s departure in 1863 but reflecting, through his sense of drama, something larger, too, “and her magnificent capitol, with all its valuable records, where foul treason was first ordained, is left unharmed, as a monument of their outraged country’s forbearance and the generosity of their hated Yankees and conquerors, a monument to their shame. . . .”

At the very top of Champion Hill, a sign marks the peak of the “hill of death.”

ECW is pleased to welcome back Daniel A. Masters    

This extraordinary letter, written by former English army officer Stephen Edward Monaghan Underhill to his mother in Coldstream, Scotland in the waning days of the siege of Vicksburg, gives us an account of Underhill’s experiences during the campaign. At the time, Underhill was serving as an aide-de-camp to Brig. Gen. Stephen D. Lee. The 21-year-old Underhill had resigned his commission in the British army and entered the Confederacy through the blockade at Charleston, South Carolina in January 1863. From there, he journeyed to Mississippi and gained an appointment to Lee’s staff. Underhill gained favorable notice from Lee for his “gallantry and efficient service” during the Vicksburg campaign.

The letter had a rather twisted path to publication in the Guernsey Times of Cambridge, Ohio. Underhill wrote that he had entrusted the letter to a civilian in Vicksburg as he anticipated that the city would soon be captured and that his private communications would be limited. Underhill’s letter was evidently either found or intercepted by Lieut. John C. Douglass of the 78th Ohio Volunteer Infantry who was then serving as assistant adjutant general on Brig. Gen. Elias S. Dennis’s staff (Second Brigade, Third Division, XVII Army Corps). Douglass sent the letter home to Ohio, and the Guernsey Times ran Underhill’s letter in their August 20, 1863 issue.

Headquarters, Second Brigade, Stevenson’s Division, Trenches, Vicksburg, Mississippi

Sunday, June 28, 1863, 11 a.m. to 4 p.m., the 42nd day of the siege

Mrs. Underhill, Coldstream, my dear, dear mother,

It is with feelings of great doubt and uncertainty that I sit down to write this. To give you some idea of how matters have turned out as they have, I must go back until, say, the middle of April. General [Stephen D.] Lee and staff and troops had returned from the Deer Creek Expedition. The enemy, as usual, lay in force on the side of the river seven miles away and all was going on quietly and well, when one dark night six iron clad gunboats and as many transports well protected with cotton bales started to run down the river and past our guns. All were at their posts and all men could do was done. One iron gunboat was sunk, two others rendered disabled and helpless and two transports burned. The remainder, through frequently struck, got past. A few days after the enemy landed simultaneously at Snyder’s ten miles above us and at Bruinsburg 40 miles below. General Stephen D. Lee was sent to Snyder’s; he pronounced the landing a mere feint and returned to his own command. Next morning troops were dispatched to meet the enemy: Generals [John S.] Bowen and [Brigadier General Martin E.] Green’s Missouri brigades and General [Edward D.] Tracey’s Alabama brigade, numbering in all 6,000 men.

On the 1st of May our army 6,000 strong encountered that of the enemy which numbered some 30,000. This force had marched across the peninsula, had embarked opposite Warrenton to disembark at Bruinsburg on the opposite side from their point of embarkation and some 30 miles further down the Mississippi. The 1st of May, as I said above, saw a bloody fight at the small town of Port Gibson on a small creek called Bayou Pierre, where notwithstanding the overwhelming superiority of the enemy, they were held in check all that day. Our loss was frightfully heavy and included the death of General [Edward D.]Tracey, a young, brave, and able soldier whose loss is mourned universally. On the night of the 1st of May, our forces retreated meeting  [Brigadier General William E.] Baldwin’s and [Colonel Alexander W.] Reynolds’ brigades, say 3,000 men, coming to reinforce them, burning the bridges, and took up a strong position near Grand Gulf on this side of Bayou Pierre (General Lee was not with this army but I had ridden down to see the fight and General Lee had given me a letter to General Bowen, the senior brigadier in command).

On the evening of the 2nd of May, General [William W.] Loring arrived and took command and so did General [Lloyd] Tilghman with part of his brigade. General Loring, learning that the enemy had by means of a pontoon bridge crossed Bayou Pierre and flanked us, ordered a retreat which commenced at 1 a.m. on Sunday May 3rd. Our heavy batteries at Grand Gulf on the Mississippi River which had several times repulsed the Federal ironclads were blown up and abandoned and with the enemy only a short distance in our rear, we marched toward Big Black, a stream crossed by the railroad at Big Black Bridge, some 12 miles from Vicksburg. We met other reinforcements (Taylor’s and Barton’s brigades) and we then headed for Hankerson’s Ferry over the same stream but lower down and some 20 miles from Vicksburg. General Lee had been ordered out to take command of Tracey’s Alabamians, a fine brigade some 2,500 strong, consisting of five regiments and a battery (20th, 23rd, 30th, 31st, and 46th Alabama Infantry regiments, Waddell’s six-gun Alabama Battery). To our brigade, which I of course rejoined, was entrusted the duty of guarding the rear. We skirmished heavily with the enemy all the way and succeeded in procuring time for the passage of all wagons, stores, etc. when our brigade itself crossed over and destroyed the bridge all under the enemy’s fire.

From this time until the 10th the armies lay on either side of the river, the Federals constantly getting large reinforcements from below, while we, whose disparity of numbers was daily on the increase, were only able to hold the various fords and ferries and were quite unable to redress or avenge upon the enemy the destruction and devastation with which they visited the country they occupied. The enemy remained quietly opposite us recruiting their numbers and the health of the troops until on the 10th they moved off in the direction of Jackson, the capital of this state. We now heard that reinforcements were on their way from Charleston, South Carolina and Port Hudson, Mississippi to our relief and that General Joe Johnston himself was about to command us in person. We at once moved up on this side of the Big Black and crossed at the railroad bridge, following in the enemy’s track. On the 11th, the enemy tapped the railroad and cut the telegraph wires thereby cutting off all our communication.

On the 12th they came across Gregg’s brigade on its way up from Port Hudson at Raymond. It made a gallant resistance but after losing one half of its number, had to retreat to Jackson. The two days we lay in line of battle in strong position near Edward’s Depot awaiting the enemy. On the evening of the 15th we started toward Clinton where we heard the enemy had last been seen. Our division being in advance, General Loring’s division (Buford and Tilghman’s brigades) 5,000 strong came next, and then came Bowen’s and Green’s Missouri brigades. Smith’s division remained behind to guard. Lieutenant General [John C.] Pemberton now took command we brought our forced march of Friday evening May 15th to a close on Saturday about 2 a.m. when we bivouacked in an open field. We had no wagons with us, but the men were so exhausted that they soon forgot their hunger in sleep. By 4:30 next morning, a courier arrived from General [Joseph E.] Johnston directing us at once to make a junction with him and immediately afterward a scout came in to say the enemy was making a forced march to get in our rear and between us and Vicksburg. General Pemberton at once ordered a retreat. Our wagons, ordnance, hospital, trains, etc. were all sent off on the Vicksburg road while the troops after a five-mile march formed line of battle on a strong position near Baker’s Creek and Edward’s Depot on the Raymond and Clinton road, and there awaited the approach of the enemy.

It was now about 7 a.m. The men were completely broken down by hard marching and none had had anything to eat for nearly 36 hours. Under these auspices we awaited battle on a glorious May morning. General Loring’s division was on the right; Stevenson’s on the left extending nearly to Baker’s Creek and our brigade (Lee’s) was on the extreme left of our division (Stevenson’s). General Bowen’s division was in reserve and General Pemberton commanded in person. The battle commenced about 7:30 with heavy skirmishing on the right. It gradually rolled round to the left, however, and came to us, ceasing on the right entirely. By 9 o’clock the enemy had massed large bodies of troops in our front and Cumming’s on our right. General Lee had, six different times, moved his brigade that it might not be outflanked by the overwhelming numbers of the enemy. Five separate times did I gallop at top speed upward of a mile and back bearing the same message from General Lee to General [Carter L.] Stevenson to the effect the enemy were outflanking him. Five times did I bring the reply, “Tell General Lee I know it and am moving my division accordingly.” Five times did we take a new position on our left, but the cry was “still they come.”

At this time the enemy seemed to have completed their arrangements for they made a simultaneous and vigorous attack along our lines. They advanced in three lines and to each of our little brigades they opposed at least a division. We could only bring two brigades into the fight at this time for the others were guarding and holding important positions. At first our men stood up the work gallantly and vigorously returned the deadly fire than thinned their ranks. They went down by dozens before the Yankee artillery and musketry, but many a Yankee bit the dust. There were two distinct lines respectively of blue and brown, marking where the dead of either army lay where they had fallen when the fray began. This unequal contest lasted several hours but though wearied almost to death and though pressed by overwhelming odds, the Second Brigade still held out, patiently awaiting the arrival and aid of our other two brigades or those of Loring or Bowen. It did not come, however, and one of Cumming’s Georgia regiments being hard pushed broke and took shelter in the woods. It was like a bank crumbling away before the action of a torrent to watch our lines at this juncture. The panic seemed contagious and as it ran down the lines, regiment after regiment caught it till both brigades were in full retreat, leaving all their artillery and all dead and wounded in the enemy’s hands.

With some trouble the fugitives were rallied on the crest of a hill and again faced the now victoriously advancing enemy. Once more the men from Alabama and Georgia sent their missiles into the ranks of Indiana, Wisconsin, Illinois, and Ohio, and the death yell of the Western men rang loudly out under the luxuriant magnolia groves in which they fought. Again, the Southern troops showed signs of wavering and General Lee, seizing the banner of the 30th Alabama and followed by his staff, rode down the line and led it to the charge. New life seemed to have been infused into the Southern troops. They rushed on with leveled bayonets, cheering wildly. The Northerners rapidly though steadily retiring and pouring volley after volley into their pursuers. At length a shout announced some triumph for the enemy who in a moment rallied and halted, as did also our men, and sure enough there lay General Lee upon the ground. Before any of us could reach him he had disengaged himself from his dead horse and mounting another once more led the charge. We were now passing over our old position when once more did Lee’s horse fall dead, amidst a triumphant shout from the enemy. This time our troops fairly broke and ran notwithstanding every effort and all example. General Lee stood for a moment in despair. A ball, and then a second, both fortunately spent, struck his left sleeve, penetrating it and bruising his arm but doing no further damage. Captain Elliott of our staff had his horse shot and a ball broke his sword. I escaped.

General Lee now mounted a third horse and followed his brigade which was once more formed in the magnolia wood upon the hill. He sent me to General Barton to ask for reinforcements. I took a short cut and the first thing I knew I was amongst a number of Yankee sharpshooters who demanded my surrender. I declined, and spurring my horse in another direction, some of them fired and killed my horse. I then jumped into a ravine. At the bottom I met a wounded Federal officer who when I wouldn’t yield, fired three shots of his Colt at me but would not face me with his sword. I got into a rye field and ran up it. Some of our men were at the top and fired several shots at me ere they discovered their mistake. When I got up to the road I caught and mounted a loose horse (which by the way died last week of the sixth shot, five balls having failed even to maim him), saw several aides riding about who all told me the day was lost. Barton’s brigade had been demolished and Green’s wild Missourians, after having completely routed one Yankee division, retaken all our artillery and made 560 Yankees prisoners, had been surrounded by two other divisions and had only cut its way out with frightful loss. General Tilghman had been killed by a chance shot and General Pemberton had ordered a retreat to Big Black Bridge. I tried to get back to General Lee but the Yankees intervened. I tried to get around them, lost myself in a wood, got fired at again, and finally escaped by swimming Baker’s Creek.

I was so hot, hungry, and tired to death that life was hardly endurable, but I rode sadly on with the tide of wagons and fugitives that poured along the road. At last, I came up with our headquarters wagon, hauled it on one side, and enjoyed a wash and some flour scorees and a drink of water. I now asked if it was near noon and was thunderstruck to find it was past six. At Big Black Bridge I saw General Pemberton, but he could tell me nothing. I heard General Lee was killed and his brigade taken and was in despair. From a gentle eminence I could see Edwards’ Depot and the fine plantations and country seats in a blaze, showing too plainly the advance of the pursuing foe. I had nothing to do at the bridge, so I rode on to Vicksburg, got there at midnight, and put up at our own headquarters. So ended the battle day.

Our army was thoroughly beaten. Our junction with Johnston was prevented and we lost 18 guns and several thousand stand of small arms and some 5,000 killed, wounded, and prisoners. Our own brigade suffered frightfully. Naturally Vicksburg was in great alarm. I heard that General Lee had been surrounded, lost one regiment, and had cut his way out with the remainder of his brigade; that our whole army, except Loring’s division, had crossed to this side and we held the Yankees at bay at our breastworks on the other side until 8 o’clock, though there was some very severe fighting when Vaughn’s brigade broke and run. Upwards of 2,000 of them were taken as well as a number of Missourians who could not get away. The enemy took 21 more guns, making our two days’ loss in artillery amount to some 39 pieces. We were obliged to burn the bridge, a very fine one, which with its trestlework extended nearly a mile.

I wrote you on Friday by a Federal prisoner going out and I hope you will get it soon. I will write you as soon as I can. I am naturally down spirited, so you must not expect me to say more. Before this reaches you the papers will have told you whether my hopes or fears will have been realized. Give my love to dear father. I was going to write him separately, but feel too sick and tired.

Love to dear Emily, Sarah, and Joe, and believe me my dear, dear mama, ever your affectionate son, S.M. Underhill, Lt. and A.D.C. to Gen. S.D. Lee, Second Brigade, Stevenson’s Div., Dept. Miss. & E. La.^[1]

Lieutenant Underhill did get an account of the Vicksburg campaign into the hands of his family. A similar missive to the one captured by Lieutenant Douglass appeared in an August issue of the Edinburgh Scotsman in Scotland, which was later picked up and re-published by the New York Evening Post on September 7, 1863.

Following his parole at Vicksburg, Lieutenant Underhill was commissioned as a first lieutenant of cavalry and eventually became colonel of the 65th Alabama Infantry, serving in the defenses of Mobile until the end of the war. Underhill elected to remain in the United States, becoming a resident of Mobile and serving for a time as the city’s chief of police. He later moved to Austin, Texas where he died on February 6, 1904 at age 62.

————

^[1] Stephen Edward Monaghan Underhill to Mrs. Underhill, Letter, in Guernsey Times, August 20, 1863.

Hindsight often obscures our understanding of how events unfolded and their results became apparent. Because we know how it went, we lose something of the immediate perspective that both sides had, not to mention the fog of war.

To illustrate what I mean, take a look at this map of U.S. Grant’s advance on Vicksburg in 1863:

Seems neat and precise, right? Perhaps also inevitable?

Now go back and look at the map and imagine it unfolding day to day – the running of the batteries, the movement of the armies, the crossing of the river, then the plunge into Mississippi followed by a thousand daily decisions and considerations as Grant orchestrated this advance. Or look at it from J. C. Pemberton’s Confederate perspective, as this movement unfolds slowly and generates confusion about Grant’s destination and route. Neither commander got all their information at once, or knew exactly how things would progress. Their decisions were made based on their character and experience combined with the best available information. The campaign could have ended myriad ways, but combination of their choices over several weeks produced this exact drama and result.

Military operations (and many other events) unfold day by day – not, as hindsight tries to tell us, all at once. We should keep this in mind as we consider history and the perspectives of the participants.

By July 15, 1863, Gen. Joe Johnston’s “Army of Relief” suddenly found itself in need of relief of its own. Johnston’s impotent posturing during most of the Vicksburg Campaign had done little to alleviate Confederate misfortunes inside the besieged city, and following Vicksburg’s surrender, Federal commander Ulysses S. Grant decided to turn his full attention toward the pesky Johnston lurking vaguely in the Federal rear. Grant sent his pitbull, Maj. Gen. William T. Sherman, to deal with Johnston’s “Army of Relief” once and for all.

Sherman, with 40,000 men from his own XV Corps bolster by the IX and XIII Corps, moved eastward toward the Mississippi state capital, Jackson, where Johnston holed himself up with his 30,000 men. “Instead of attaching as soon as it came up, as we had been hoping, the Federal army intrenched itself, and began to construct batteries,” Johnston later wrote, somewhat defensively.[1] Johnston’s own fortifications invited a siege.

Siege of Jackson, Mississippi

Beginning on July 10, Sherman began to lob artillery shells into the city, hoping to demoralize and dislodge his adversary—but he quickly realized he was going to need more ammunition. “[W]e carried with us a good supply of ammunition, sufficient for an open field battle, but not for a siege,” Sherman reported; “and the moment I saw a siege was inevitable, I dispatched Captain McFarland, of my staff . . . to bring up a supply for such an event, and in the mean time our batteries were restricted in their use of ammunition so as to reserve at all times a sufficient quantity for an open field fight or a sally.”[2]

Sherman estimated that his artillerists used about 3,000 rounds over the two days of July 12-13, “all of which did great execution.”[3]

“I then only awaited the arrival of the ammunition train to open a furious cannonade on the town from all points of our line,” Sherman said.

Those supplies were soon in coming. On July 14, Johnston got wind that “a large train, loaded with artillery-ammunition, had left Vicksburg by the Jackson road,” he later wrote. “The enemy was observed to be actively employed in the construction of batteries on all suitable positions.”[4]

Johnston summoned Brig. Gen. William “Red Fox” Jackson to lead a cavalry force into the Federal rear “to endeavor to intercept and destroy the ammunition-train. . . .”[5] Jackson set out with a brigade of Texans, reinforced on the 15th by two additional regiments, and managed to get themselves into position for a strike.

And herein arises an interesting little puzzle.

“A man has just come into our lines from the rear, named A. Leroy Carter, representing himself to be of the Third Iowa Infantry, and just escaped from Jackson’s cavalry,” wrote IX Corps commander Maj. Gen. John Parke in a dispatch to Sherman.

The appearance of the Hawkeye was startling. His alibi? “This man states that he has been a prisoner since January 4, and detained because he was caught plundering,” Parke wrote. “He has since been kept under guard, and attached to the blacksmith’s or farrier’s department for Jackson’s division.”[6]

Even more startling than Carter’s appearance was the news he passed along to Parke: “He says Jackson is headed this way, and the idea among the men was that he would attack our rear, so that they could make a sortie simultaneously on our front.” Carter even provided details troop strengths of Jackson’s force.

“Certainly a bold scheme,” Parke decreed.

While the details Carter offered Parke proved accurate—and his report did allow Federals to foil Jackson’s planned attack—Carter’s alibi seems more suspect. As a captive farrier in the Confederate cavalry, possessing such key details seemed “quite an accomplishment for a prisoner serving in a support role,” notes historian Jim Woodrick.[7]

Woodrick confirms that a soldier by the name of Leroy Carter had, indeed, served with the 3rd Iowa.[8]

However, a July 18, 1863, report from Confederate scout Sam Henderson offers a strangely complementary tale.

On July 15, two scouts under Henderson’s command were waylaid by an ambush of “15 Yankees,” and while most of the Federal gunfire “fortunately missed,” one shot at least hit the horse of one of the scouts. “[T]hey overtook and captured him,” wrote Capt. Henderson, in charge of the scouts; “a very serious loss to my command—one of the best men I ever knew.”[9]

The name of the scout: Leroy Carter.

“Whether just an amazing coincidence, or whether Carter was an incredibly observant prisoner, a trusted scout or a Union spy may never be known,” Woodrick has concluded. “The fact is, however, a man named Carter provided incredibly detailed and important information at just the right time to Sherman. . . .”[10]

The foiled plan, lamented Johnston, allowed the ammunition train to safely reach Sherman, who later wrote that he used his artillery “pretty freely.”[11]

“This made it certain the abandonment of Jackson could be deferred little longer,” he concluded—and by July 17, he and his forces had (again) abandoned the Mississippi capital.[12]

“This seems to me a fit supplement to the reconquest of the Mississippi River itself,” Sherman later wrote.[13] And it might all be attributed to the puzzling appearance of an Iowan by the name of Leroy Carter—if, indeed, that’s who he really was.

————

[1] Joseph E. Johnston, Narrative of Military Operations, Directed, During the Late War Between the States, by Joseph E. Johnston, General, C.S.A. (New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1874), 206.

[2] Sherman, report, O.R. XXVI, Pt. 2, 535.

[3] Ibid.

[4] Johnston, 208.

[5] Ibid.

[6] Parke to Sherman, 15 July 1863, O.R. XXVI, Pt. 2, 554-555.

[7] Jim Woodrick, The Civil War Siege of Jackson, Mississippi (Charleston, S.C.: History Press, 2016), 83. I want to give a shout-out to this great little book, which is packed with excellent details about the entire siege. The action was a coda to the Vicksburg Campaign, but it’s often overlooked. Jim’s book does the story real justice.

[8] Woodrick, 82-83.

[9] Henderson to Johnston, 18 July 1863, O.R. XXVI, Pt. 3, 1015.

[10] Woodrick, 83.

[11] William T. Sherman, Memoirs of General William T. Sherman (New York: D. Appleton & Co., 1875), 331.

[12] Johnston first abandoned Jackson on May 14, 1863, just hours after arriving in the city from Tennessee.

[13] Sherman, report, 537.

An ECW colleague emailed me a note the other day: “I’m reading the Vicksburg/Tullahoma book, and really enjoyed your article about visiting Vicksburg. I’ve never been and I’m more motivated now than ever.”

The article he mentioned was based on this blog series­, which I wrote in 2018 while on a video tour of the Vicksburg campaign with Kris White for the American Battlefield Trust. It was the 155th anniversary of the campaign, and it was my second time in Vicksburg. My only previous visit had been in 2015 on a trip with my daughter and Dan Davis (see here and here). The heat and humidity on that first day left me as depleted as any battlefield experience in my life.

I was pleased to hear of my colleague’s renewed motivation to visit Vicksburg. It’s a fantastic park, every bit as inspiring and intricate as Gettysburg, which seems to be the benchmark most Civil War buffs have as a point of comparison. I particularly love Grant’s overland campaign through Mississippi before he even gets to Vicksburg, which opens up all sorts of additional realms of exploration. There are battlefields and associated sites to see at Port Gibson, Grand Gulf, Raymond, Jackson, and Champion Hill, with a historic driving trail connecting them all. There are also sites on the west bank of the Mississippi.

As I thought of my colleague’s email, the first word that came to mind was  “overwhelming.” There was so much to see in the park and on the campaign trail that it was overwhelming. But I had to check that thought. It was almost overwhelming. I add that caveat because the fault was mine, not the park’s. Prior to 2015, I had only a cursory knowledge of the Vicksburg Campaign, so trying to take it in on a single-day’s visit was like drinking from a fire hose. I was much-better prepared for my return visit in 2018, and I have been slowly falling in love with Vicksburg ever since. I returned just last August, and thanks to the patient guidance of Jim Woodrick, I really had a wonderful, immersive experience in Mississippi. (We have a playlist of videos from that trip on the ECW YouTube page, with more to come later this year).

Some people find it funny that I should fall in love with a battlefield halfway across the continent when I have five perfectly spectacular battlefields around me. I mean, the Chancellorsville battlefield is literally in my front yard. My wife’s family owns a gorgeous chunk of the Spotsylvania battlefield. We also have Fredericksburg, Mine Run, and the Wilderness within a stone’s throw. I will always love these battlefields, and they will remain my core subjects of study for the rest of my life. But I also believe that it’s vital for Civil War students to stretch beyond their comfort zones and learn about parts of the war that aren’t their “usual.” I know a lot of Gettysburg folks, for instance, who can hardly even talk about Chancellorsville even though the May battle laid a tremendous amount of groundwork for the July battle. That wider context is essential.

I’m fortunate that, in my editorial capacities at ECW, I’m learning about aspects of the war that are new to me all the time as I help people with their projects. In a way, that, too, has been like drinking from a fire hose! But when I have a quiet moment and I’m looking for something beyond central Virginia to take my mind off things, I’ve been looking more and more to the Vicksburg campaign. (The May 14 battle of Jackson, Mississippi, has become a particular favorite if spectacularly random choice, based solely on the fact that my oldest son is named Jackson).

In the spirit of my colleague’s renewed motivation to visit Vicksburg, I wanted to take a few moments to share these thoughts so that, I hope, YOU might also be re-inspired to visit this amazing battlefield. In the meantime, I hope the links to the articles and videos will suffice (and, I hope, stoke the fires even more).

And, until you can get there in person, you can visit Vicksburg National Military Park online.

City-Class Ironclads off Cairo, Illinois 1862 (Naval History and Heritage Command)

Perhaps nothing is more identifiable with the Mississippi River valley’s naval campaigns as the city-class ironclads. With February 2022 marking the 160^th anniversary of the Fort Henry/Fort Donelson campaign, where these ironclads were first extensively used, it is worth collectively examining their overall performance and effectiveness. These seven warships, with their sloped casemates, protected paddle wheels, and single gun decks, exemplify the industrial capacity of the United States. They participated in some of the most pivotal battles along the Mississippi, Tennessee, Cumberland, White, Arkansas, Yazoo, and Red rivers. Though they developed a reputation for reliability and hard-fought victory, the city-class ironclads sustained a significant attrition rate that highlights the improvised nature and vulnerability of early ironclad warships.

Named for urban centers along the Mississippi and Ohio rivers, the city-class ironclads were envisioned, designed, and constructed by Mississippi River captain James B. Eads and naval architect Samuel Pook. They were constructed using a uniform design, four in Saint Louis, Missouri, and three in Mound City, Illinois. To better distribute weight and navigate shallow river waters, they featured wide hulls, resulting in a small six-foot draft. Iron plating two and a half inches thick protected against artillery and small arms. Each was armed with thirteen cannon, mounted on a single deck, three on the bow, two astern, and four in each broadside. A large paddle wheel encased in the protective armored hull gave each ironclad their distinctive look, along with their collective nickname: Pook Turtles.

City-Class Ironclads under construction in St. Louis, Missouri. These would become the ironclads Carondelet, Louisville, Pittsburgh, and St. Louis/Baron de Kalb (Navy History and Heritage Command)

In mid-January 1862, Flag Officer Andrew Foote, the naval officer assigned to command riverine naval forces, “accepted the gunboats from Mr. Eads” on behalf of the United States.[i] The organizational structure that utilized the city-class ironclads was an odd one. Technically, they were not naval warships, but army ships that the Navy Department manned and operated on behalf of the War Department. Once accepted, they formed the core of Foote’s Western Gunboat Flotilla.

Despite the awkward organization, the seven ironclads were completed just in time. They participated fully in the 1862 Mississippi River valley campaigns, with Pook Turtles contributing at the Battles of Forts Henry and Donelson in February, Island Number Ten in March and April, Plum Point Bend in May, St. Charles and Memphis in June, and Vicksburg in July and August. Their part in the campaigns was a decisive element in why the United States reclaimed control over so much of the Mississippi in 1862.

Though powerful, the Pook Turtles were not invincible. Of the seven city-class ironclads, four were sunk in battle or destroyed in some capacity during the war, and a fifth was disabled under enemy fire and struck its colors. Seventy percent of these ironclads were defeated in engagements or sunk by torpedoes (the contemporary term for underwater mines), though thanks to circumstances of battle, only two of the seven were permanently lost.

City-Class Ironclads Bombard Fort Henry, February 1862. (Library of Congress)

Ironclad warships are imagined as well-protected with armor capable of withstanding enemy artillery, but these new ships remained vulnerable. Iron armor was only installed in certain parts of each Pook Turtle, focused on the main casemate, with no protection on their decks, roofs, or below the waterline. U.S. naval officer Seth L. Phelps, who commanded numerous river warships in 1862, grew skeptical of their armored protection, calling them “‘Iron Clad’ but far from being such.”[ii] These exposed elements were exploited. Confederate General Lloyd Tilghman, who faced the Pook Turtles at Fort Henry, took note of their vulnerabilities: “Several shots passed entirely through Cincinnati, while her outer works were entirely riddled. … The immense area, forming what may be called the roof, is in every respect vulnerable to either a plunging fire from even 32-pounders or curved line of fire from heavy guns.”[iii]

Two city-class ironclads were partially sunk in battle, though the circumstances of their loss allowed each to return to the fight. Both the ironclads Cincinnati and Mound City were rammed by vessels of the Confederate River Defense Fleet at the Battle of Plum Point Bend on May 10, 1862. Three Confederate steamers, General Bragg, General Price, and General Sumter, “rushed like the wind,” successfully striking Cincinnati.[iv] The same happened to Mound City, when the ram General Van Dorn struck its side. Crippled, both ironclads hastily made their way to the shallow riverbank “in a sinking condition.”[v]

Maintaining control over the Battle of Plum Point Bend’s water space allowed U.S. engineers to quickly refloat both Cincinnati and Mound City, implementing hasty repairs to the ships, whose injuries were, as Flag Officer Charles Davis informed Navy Secretary Gideon Welles, “much more serious than at first reported.”[vi] Mound City “joined the Fleet again” on June 3, 1862.[vii] A fortnight later, it was again disabled at the Battle of St. Charles, Arkansas, on the White River, when artillery in hastily-built Confederate fortifications struck the ironclad “through the bluff of her bow,” entering the engineering spaces and exploding a steam drum.[viii] The ship was disabled, with 85% of its crew killed or wounded. Soon after, Cincinnati also quickly rejoined active operations.

A third city-class ironclad, Carondelet, was disabled on the Yazoo River by CSS Arkansas on July 15, 1862. The two ironclads closed to within two hundred yards, exchanging heavy fire. “Our shot seemed always to hit his stern and disappear” Lieutenant Isaac Brown, captain of CSS Arkansas recalled, while Carondelet’s return fire “were deflected over my head and lost in air.”[ix] Commander Henry Walke, commanding Carondelet, reported “very extensive damages in our hull and machinery,” and to spare his crew, lowered his flag in surrender.[x] Brown did not have time to officially accept the surrender however, and continued steaming on to engage more U.S. warships. Walke took this as a sign his surrender had not officially been accepted, and he repaired damage, quickly rejoining the U.S. squadron.

USS Cairo was destroyed by a torpedo in December 1862. It was later recovered and is on display at Vicksburg National Military Park. (Navy History and Heritage Command)

Two more city-class ironclads were permanently lost to torpedoes after the Western Gunboat Flotilla was transferred to Navy Department control in late 1862 and redesignated the Mississippi River Squadron. USS Cairo, on an expedition to clear torpedoes from the Yazoo River, was lost on December 12, 1862, after “two sudden explosions” struck near the ironclad.[xi] The ship went under in just twelve minutes. Seven months later, on July 14, 1863, USS Baron de Kalb, originally named St. Louis until its transfer to the Navy Department, was lost after striking another torpedo near Yazoo City, highlighting the continued effectiveness of torpedo warfare.

Two city-class ironclads, USS Louisville and USS Pittsburgh, were never disabled, defeated, or destroyed in combat operations. They each were decommissioned and sold at the war’s conclusion, as were the repaired USS Mound City, USS Cincinnati, and USS Carondelet.

The attrition rate of the Pook Turtles serves as a stark reminder that even armored warships were vulnerable in battle, but it also highlights the perseverance of naval architects and engineers in construction and maintenance programs. Though two ships were lost permanently to enemy action, three others suffered catastrophic damage that was repaired to allow ships to return to the fight. It goes to show that ironclads were far from the invulnerable behemoths that many believed them to be at the time. Ultimately, the city-class ironclads highlight the industrial capacity of the United States, its adaptability to meet a vision of modern ironclad warships with real-world circumstances, and the cooperation between military and naval forces to achieve victory across the Mississippi River valley.

Endnotes:

[i] Andrew H. Foote Endorsement, January 15, 1862, James Buchanan Eads Collection, 1776-1974, A0427, Missouri Historical Society Library and Research Center, St. Louis, MO.

[ii] Phelps to Whittlesey, June 23, 1862, Elisha Whittlesey Collection, MS 1200, Western Reserve Historical Society, Cleveland, OH.

[iii] Tilghman to Cooper, February 12, 1862. Official Records of the Union and Confederate Navies in the War of the Rebellion [ORN] (Washington: Government Printing Office, 1894-1922), series 1, Vol. 22, 560.

[iv] Donald J. Stanton, Goodwin F. Berquist, and Paul C. Bowers, eds., The Civil War Reminiscences of General M. Jeff Thompson, (Dayton, OH: Morningside Press, 1988), 156.

[v] Alexander Miller Diary, 1861-1864, May 18, 1862, MSS 296, Louisiana and Lower Mississippi Valley Collections, Hill Memorial Library, Louisiana State University.

[vi] Davis to Welles, May 16, 1862, “Letters Received by the Secretary of the Navy from Commanding Officers of Squadrons, 1841-1886” Year Range 9 May 1862-15 October 1862, Mississippi Squadron, M89, RG 45, US National Archives.

[vii] Katherine Bentley Jeffrey, ed., Two Civil Wars: The Curious Shared Journal of a Baton Rouge Schoolgirl and a Union Sailor on the USS Essex, (Baton Rouge, LA: Louisiana State University Press, 2016), 84.

[viii] Alexander Miller Diary, 1861-1864, June 17, 1862.

[ix] Isaac N. Brown. “The Confederate Gun-Boat ‘Arkansas’” in Battles and Leaders of the Civil War, (New York: The Century Co, 1887), Vol. 3, 574.

[x] Walke to Davis, July 15, 1862. ORN, series 1, Vol. 19, 41.

[xi] Selfridge to Walke, December 13, 1862. Ibid, series 1, Vol. 23, 549.

Tucked away in the collection’s storage at the University of West Florida’s Historic Trust is a simple artifact with a greater history than meets the eye. A brown stoneware jar, about

Jam jar brought home by Private Frederick Beaver, 23rd Wisconsin (courtesy of University of West Florida Historic Trust)

eight inches tall and four inches in diameter, its exterior polished with a raised band around the middle. The story of the jar is told on a scrap piece of paper, reading,

Private Frederick Beaver of the Wisconsin Volunteers found this jar when full of jam in a farm house just outside Vicksburg Miss. during the battle of Vicksburg. He carried it home and it remained in the family until December 1959

For a jar that traveled hundreds of miles to end up in Pensacola after nearly 160 years, it’s in great shape. The jar becomes more interesting, considering that it was commonly recommended that jam was stored in clear glass jars, not stoneware, so as to show any potential mold growing inside.[1] It’s more probable that this jar would have been used for pickling, which the tag (in picture) refers to as such, though other accounts state it was filled with jam instead. Secondly, in order for this jar to be full of jam, the cook would have had to use at least 4-5 pounds, if not more, of berries that were abundant in the Vicksburg area. This estimate is based on a raspberry jam recipe found in an 1879 cookbook that collected a multitude of recipes from American housewives across the country.[2] Seeing as this cookbook was endorsed by Mary Ellen McClellan – wife of former Union General George B. McClellan – and Rebecca Gordon – wife of former Confederate General John B. Gordon – I thought I’d give it a shot and immerse myself in the history behind the jar.

First, I searched for the most common berry found in Mississippi. Evidently there’s a lucrative industry in blueberries, which are easily purchased from the store in one-pound containers. Second, I searched for the easiest way to make blueberry jam that resembled the raspberry jam recipe found in the book, just to make sure I wasn’t about to make jam the historical way and give myself food poisoning in the process. Luckily, the recipe in the book mirrors that of a modern, no-pectin recipe for blueberry jam.

Making blueberry jam based on an 1879 jam recipe (author photo)

Start off with your chosen poundage of blueberries in a cooking pot with a little bit of water. Not a lot, just enough so the berries don’t burn on the bottom of the pot. Lightly mashing most of the berries to add juice to the mix, bring the concoction to a boil. Add one half a pound of sugar for each pound of berries. If it’s easier and you don’t own a kitchen scale, interchange with “cups.” A pound of berries comes out to two cups, therefore add one cup of sugar. It works out the same.

Stir in the sugar, lower the heat, and continually stir until the jam begins to thicken. This could take upwards of 20 minutes – it could be longer, depending on your batch size. Here’s a neat test to make sure your jam is ready: put a small plate in the freezer for about 5 minutes. Once it’s pretty cold, take it and dollop out a small bit of the jam. Let it cool and solidify for a moment, then nudge it (with a finger or a spoon). If the surface wrinkles, it’s ready!

Heat your glass jars with very hot water – either immerse them or pour in boiling water from a kettle. This is to prevent any cracking of the glass when you dish in the very hot jam. Use gloves or a dish rag to avoid burns. Two cups of uncooked berries produces about a half a pint of finished jam. For modern preservation purposes, one can still pressure-seal the jars either with a machine or through the boiling water technique.

1857 bread recipe with blueberry jam, scrambled eggs, and tea (author photo)

For extra authenticity, I tried my hand at baking, which is usually not a good idea. A recipe from 1857, found in Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, provided a relatively simple recipe that I still managed to get wrong.[3] Though the bread itself was pretty salty and it was impossible to slice, the added spread of blueberry jam improved it.

I tried to imagine what it would have been like for a Federal soldier to stumble across a jar full of this jam. How excited he must have been for something sweet to supplement his rations during the summer siege of Vicksburg. More precisely, I wanted to know the soldier who found it and brought it home as a souvenir of war.

Frederick Beaver was born on December 18, 1833 to Joshua Christian and Catherine Havice Beaver in Mifflin, Pennsylvania. He was one of 10 – potentially 13 – children. His family moved to Wisconsin and Frederick married Promelia Swanger in 1857. By 1860, he lived in Sauk, Wisconsin as a farmer with a real estate value of $300. They had two children before war broke out, young Sarah (age 2) and Robert (5 months). A third child, named after his father, was born in October of 1862, just two months after Frederick enlisted in the Union army.[4] By now, three of his brothers had already enlisted, Peter (36th Wisconsin, Company A), Thomas (2nd Wisconsin, Company H), Sampson (a gun corporal with the 6th Wisconsin Light Artillery), and Henry (23rd Wisconsin, Company G). Frederick and his brother, John, enlisted with Henry’s regiment, but were members of Company K. Shortly after the three Beavers enlisted in the 23rd Wisconsin, Thomas died on September 18 after he was wounded and captured at the Battle of Gainesville – also called Brawner’s Farm – which took place in August.[5]

General Stephen G. Burbridge (commanding brigade including 23rd Wisconsin) planting the Union flag after the capture of the post

The 23rd Wisconsin Infantry mustered under Colonel Joshua J. Guppey, previously of the 10th Wisconsin, and moved south to join the 13th Army Corps with General William T. Sherman in preparation for the Vicksburg Campaign. That December of 1862, the Wisconsin troops embarked from Milliken’s Bend where they had encamped, to the interior of Louisiana, destroying railroads and enemy communications. They also fought at the Battle of Chickasaw Bayou where Sherman failed to advance upon Vicksburg from the north. In January of 1863, Frederick and his brothers fought in the battle at Arkansas Post. Both Companies G and K led an advance that succeeded in capturing several blockhouses and occupied the Confederate forces, pushing them back into their works while the rest of the regiment attacked and carried the enemy rifle pits. The battle raged for three hours before Confederate Brigadier General Thomas Churchill surrendered. The 23rd Wisconsin sustained a loss of 6 killed and 31 wounded. Among the wounded was Frederick, though the nature of his wound is unknown. By family oral history and his military career, it can be suggested that this wound gave him trouble later in life.

The regiment engaged in some minor expeditions between February and March before following the 13th Corps south to Grand Gulf in General Ulysses S. Grant’s plan to attack Vicksburg from the rear. They crossed the Mississippi River on April 30 and served as reserves during the battle at Port Gibson on May 1. They took the advance of their division and supported the 17th Ohio Battery during an artillery bombardment at Champion Hill near the Coker House on May 16. His regiment charged an open field under heavy fire, taking shelter in a low rise before a road that ran parallel to the Confederate position. They held this dangerous position until the enemy retreated.

Marker for the 23rd Wisconsin camp at Vicksburg, near the park entrance. Sign reads “23rd Wisconsin Infantry Camp May 19-July 4, 1863, in ravine below”

Outside Vicksburg, the 23rd Wisconsin was with Brigadier General Stephen G. Burbridge’s brigade on the south side of the battlefield, facing Brigadier General Stephen D. Lee’s brigade of Alabamians. They participated in the May 22 assault, but was unable to scale the walls of their fortifications. The regiment hunkered down into siege duty until the surrender of John C. Pemberton on July 4, 1863. The Confederate carrying the white flag of truce on their portion of the line was halted by Captain Ephraim Fletcher of Company K, Frederick’s company. It was at some point between May and July of 1863 that Frederick found the jar of jam.

The regiment went on to participate in the Red River Campaign in Louisiana, though Frederick transferred to the Veteran Reserve Corps on April 6, 1864, the same day that the regiment marched out from Natchitoches, Louisiana, and two days before the Battle at Sabine Crossroads. Frederick would also miss out on fighting in one of the last major battles of the war, which took place at Blakeley, Alabama opposite Mobile on Mobile Bay. The 23rd Wisconsin mustered out in Mobile on July 4, 1865. Out of their original strength of 994, the regiment suffered 289 killed during the war.[6]

In 1870, Frederick and his family moved to Brookfield, Iowa where they had four more children (Jene, Robert, Lewis, and Abigail), and continued work as a farmer.[7] On the 1880 census, the Beaver family was now in Danville, Iowa, with four more children listed (Erwin, Joal, Wallace, and Laura) making a total of 11 children.[8] Frederick died on June 28, 1894, in Danville. His name was crossed off the Iowa State Census of 1895, though his wife and a few children were listed.[9]

Flag of the 23rd Wisconsin Volunteers

The jam jar from his war days was passed down through the family until it came to a descendent in Pensacola, Florida. It was then donated to the T.T. Wentworth Museum (now Pensacola History Museum) where it is housed in their collections today. Through these artifacts of the war, we can learn more about not just the individuals who may have possessed them, but the role the objects played in the culture of the time. While the jar isn’t ideal for storing jam, one can imagine that it was used and reused for multiple purposes by the Beaver family after it was toted off the battlefield at Vicksburg. It might have sat on a shelf for decades, a subtle reminder of those couple of months spent in the Mississippi heat where armies lay siege to the port city of Vicksburg.

Endnotes

[1] Marion Cabell Tyree, ed. Housekeeping in Old Virginia, Louisville, John P. Morton and Company, 1879 p. 444

[2] Ibid, p. 452

[3] Sarah Josepha Hale, Mrs. Hale’s New Cook Book, Philadelphia, T.B. Peterson, 1857, p. 428 (online explanation of recipe: https://www.worldturndupsidedown.com/2011/09/civil-war-bread-recipe.html)

[4] 1860 U.S. census, population schedule. NARA microfilm publication M653, 1,438 rolls. Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Records

[5] Wisconsin. Adjutant-General’s Office. Roster of Wisconsin volunteers, War of the Rebellion, 1861-1865, Volume II (Madison, 1886), p. 253 (Frederick and John).; Ibid, p. 246 (Henry); Ibid, p. 579 (Peter); Volume 1, p. 223 (Sampson); Ibid, p. 368 (Thomas) –  Online facsimile at http://content.wisconsinhistory.org/u?/tp,35928

[6]E.D. Quiner, Military History of Wisconsin, chapter 31: 23rd Infantry, 1866, Clarke & Co, pp. 707-719, Online access: https://content.wisconsinhistory.org/digital/collection/quiner/id/16611 )

[7] 1870 U.S. census, population schedules. NARA microfilm publication M593, 1,761 rolls. Washington, D.C.: National Archives and Record

[8] 1880 U.S. Census, population schedule. Record Group 29NARA microfilm publication Roll T9, 1454 rolls. National Archives, Washington, D.C.

[9] Iowa, U.S., State Census Collection, 1836-1925 [database on-line]. Provo, UT, USA: Danville, Iowa, 1895 – Microfilm of Iowa State Censuses, 1856, 1885, 1895, 1905, 1915, 1925 as well various special censuses from 1836-1897 obtained from the State Historical Society of Iowa [access: http://search.ancestry.com/cgi-bin/sse.dll?db=iastatecen&h=5201591&ti=0&indiv=try&gss=pt ]; Find A Grave. http://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi: accessed 18 January 2013.

In researching my forthcoming book on the battle of Jackson, Mississippi—which took place on this date in 1863 as part of Grant’s campaign through Mississippi to take Vicksburg—I stumbled on a little bit of a mystery, although I didn’t know it at the time. My friend Jim Woodrick, a longtime historian for the Mississippi Department of History and Archives, picked up on it as he reviewed my manuscript, and we’ve both been scratching our heads over it since. It deals with a “prison bridge” over the Pearl River.

“Have you ever heard of such a thing?” Jim asked me.

“Aside from the one in Jackson, no,” I replied.

Neither had Jim—nor has he been able to run down any real info on it.

I first stumbled upon the bridge in the June 6, 1863, issue of Harper’s Weekly as I was searching for images I could use in the book. There, I found a sketch captioned “The prison over the Pearl River at Jackson, Mississippi, where Union prisoners have been confined.”

I knew there was a state prison in Jackson, and in my research, I found accounts where Confederate authorities released prisoners before the arrival of the Federal army and the freed convicts promptly set fire to all the prison’s buildings. I’d also found accounts of Federal prisoners being moved through Jackson a few days before the battle but no one who’d actually been kept there.

In the end, I wasn’t sure what to make of the prison bridge, so I skirted around it, although I used the image and captioned it with a good quote from one of Sherman’s men in the aftermath of the battle: “Pearl river bridge having been burnt by the enemy, its abutments were battered down by our artillery,” wrote Charles A. Willison of the 76th Ohio.

But were the Pearl River bridge and the prison bridge the same thing or different? Jim wasn’t sure what to make of it either, particularly because he knew of only one account of the prison bridge. It appeared in the old silver Time-Life book War on the Mississippi:

When Federal troops took Jackson, Mississippi, on May 14, 1863, they liberated fellow soldiers held captive in an unusual Confederate prison—the ruin of a covered bridge on the Pearl River.

One of the prisoners was Colonel Thomas Clement Fletcher, who drew the sketch in pencil on ruled paper—the only materials available. Colonel Fletcher, commander of the 31st Missouri Wide Awake Zouaves, had been wounded and captured that previous December during General Sherman’s ill-fated offensive at Chickasaw Bluffs.

Conditions for Fletcher, and for the 19 other officers and 380 enlisted men crowded within the rickety structure, were miserable. During the winter of 1862-1863, the prisoners had to endure the cold without benefit of beds or blankets. Afraid that the bridge might burn, the Confederates allowed no fires, or even candles, inside. Exposure and disease caused frequent deaths among the inmates. Almost every day, according to an account published in Harper’s Weekly, two or three were carried out dead, and sometimes the dead lay at the entrance of the bridge unburied for four days.

Col. Thomas Fletcher

According the Museum of Fine Arts in Boston, which has the original sketch by Fletcher, “The artist was confined here by the Confederates, February 1863. Reproduced in wood engraving in Harper’s Weekly, June 6, 1863.”

Fletcher’s account in Harper’s Weekly reads thus:

The Prison at Jackson, Mississippi

We illustrate on page 364 the Prison at Jackson, Mississippi, where many good Union men have been confined since the war broke out, and which lately was destroyed by General Grant. The gentleman who sends us the sketch adds the following account:

“On the 29th December last, at the gallant charge of Blair’s brigade upon the works of the rebels at Chickasaw Bluffs near Vicksburg, Colonel Thomas C. Fletcher, of the Missouri Wide Awake Zouaves, who was wounded and captured by the rebels, was with twenty other officers put in the jail at Vicksburg, where they were kept in the loathsome cells and fed upon the worst fare ever meted out to the vilest criminals for one month. They were then removed to Jackson, Mississippi, and thrust into the old rickety ruin of the bridge which was yet standing above water, the remaining part having fallen down. Here they were kept for another month in the coldest season of the year, without beds or bedding; no fire or lights were allowed them. Three hundred and eighty privates, also prisoners, were put into the bridge with them. Almost every day two or three were carried out dead, and sometimes the dead lay at the entrance of the bridge unburied for four days. The above is a sketch of the bridge made by Colonel Fletcher himself, and we have from his assurances of the correctedness of the statement of a cruelty and barbarity of treatment shown to him while wounded, and to his fellow-prisoners and brother officers, unequaled even by the rebels in the cruelty to our soldiers heretofore while in their hands.”

Colonel Fletcher appends the following certificate:

“The within statement is in all respects correct, but does not fully represent the barbarity of our treatment by the rebels.”

Thomas C. Fletcher,
Colonel, 31st Missouri Volunteers
Annapolis, MD, May 7, 1863 [1]

The author of the Time-Life piece made an assumption that Grant’s arriving army on May 14 freed the Union captives from the prison bridge, as suggested by the Harper’s Weekly article. However, I found no mention of that by anyone. Surely the would have shown up in official reports somewhere. On closer reading, though, Harper’s Weekly only says the bridge “lately was destroyed by General Grant,” with no mention of prisoners. Fletcher’s letter, dated from Annapolis on May 7—a full week before Grant ever arrived in Jackson—suggest the prisoners were released before Grant’s arrival and the Grant did the honors of dispatching the deserted prison.

By May 19, Fletcher had made his way from Annapolis to DeSoto, Missouri, south of St. Louis. Asked to give a speech, Fletcher again described conditions at the prison bridge:

At Jackson they were driven, like so many mules or cattle, into the ruins of an old bridge standing over the Pearl river, without blankets, straw or fire in the most inclement season of the year. They suffered there indescribable torture. A rebel officer, an old friend and clever fellow, brought him a blanket and give him some medicine while he was sick. His fellow prisoners suffered greatly, and several died from the exposure. A Confederate General … had the officers removed from the bridge to a house where they were comparatively comfortable. The men, poor fellows, were left there and died in great numbers.[2]

I did some further digging, which turned up an account from George Ady published in the Chicago Tribune on January 12, 1891, that confirmed the prisoners were exchanged. Ady’s account is interesting enough that I’ll include the bulk of it although he doesn’t get to the prison bridge until the second half:

The writer, who had received a severe wound, was placed in the Jackson (Miss.) hospital for treatment. He says that he had nothing to complain of in his personal experiences there, but he writes the following narrative of the cruel treatment inflicted on the Union prisoners collected there in the winter of 1862-’63. Finally in the spring all of the Union soldiers who remained alive and were able to stand the journey to New Orleans were exchanged. Mr. Ady gives this description of their arrival in New Orleans:

All old soldiers of the war can remember that January, February, March, and April, 1863, were the darkest days of the war. In December, ’62, Sherman had been defeated at Vicksburg and Burnside at Fredericksburg, while Rosecrans’ battle at Stones River was a draw, or at least a victory barren of results. Nothing our side had done had shown any results yet. Grant’s army was in the mud and swamps, on a campaign that was confidently expected by the Confederates to end in failure. Rosecrans was doing nothing apparently at that time, and the Army of the Potomac was stuck in the mud. Traitors at home were making as much capital as possible out of our failures, and urging the abandonment of the war, and the Confederates thought everything was going their way.

At this time, when there seemed nothing to keep up our faith in the ultimate success of the Union, R— and I had it intimated to us that if we would come over to the side of the South and take the oath of allegiance we could both have commissions in the Confederate army and meet with success among new friends. Of course we only laughed at such a proposition. I presume it was meant in earnest, but I do not remember that it made any impression on my mind at the time except that it was offered as a compliment by some who had formed a friendly feeling and some admiration for us. It never struck me at the time that any one would suppose us capable of doing such a thing as turn traitor to our country, but since studying the situation, thinking over the events and feelings of the times, I am led to think it was something of an astonishment to them that we should so lightly decline so much honor.

The Southern people at that time thought their independence already sure, and that everyone would, in a short time, recognize their power and want to be in favor with them.

Bad Quarters and Worse Food.

The winter passed along, slowly enough to us in the hospital, but more slowly still to the poor fellows who were kept prisoners in the old covered bridge over the Pearl River. There were about 350 prisoners in Jackson that winter who had been gathered up from various fights and skirmishes and forwarded there for safe keeping. Soon after R— and I came to Jackson the bridge over Pearl River had broken down under the weight of a battery of artillery, letting men, horses, and guns into the river. Some of the men were badly hurt and were brought to the hospital, and from them and other sources we learned at the time we were moving towards Coffeeville there had been a scare at Jackson, and the military commander had ordered the timbers of the bridge sawed, so that in case of a cavalry dash on the town they would break down and let men and horses into the river. It seemed that in the change of commander, or forces, this had been forgotten, and that the first heavy weight broke down the bridge under their own men.

The bridges was of wood, roofed over with shingles, but with nothing on the sides except the timbers. Into this bridge our prisoners were put, and kept there the balance of the winter. They were more easily guarded than in the empty store buildings, where they had been kept, and then it cost the Confederate Government no rent. Besides the advantages, it kept the men exposed but with little clothing all through the worst part of the winter to the cold, damp, miasmatic atmosphere arising from the sluggish muddy stream so that, in proportion to the ease and cheapness with which there were kept in the bridge, the number to guard and feed was decreased by the ravages of disease. The food, too, was of the poorest quality, very scant, and the medical attendance could scarcely be called by that name. Many of the prisoners were soon sick, and some in their delirium threw themselves into the river and were drowned. I did not know much about this at the time, but learned it afterwards when we were exchanged. None of the sick or wounded were ever brought from the bridge to the hospital. When they were sick, they fared no better, as to quarters, than when well. There were plenty of empty houses at the time in Jackson in which these brave men could have been sheltered.[3]

The rest of Ady’s account talks about the trip to New Orleans for exchange, which he dates as “that 13th day of March, 1863….”

These accounts provide enough clues to follow for additional research. For instance, I suspect the artillery crashing through the bridge, destroying half of it, would be something Jackson’s three newspapers would’ve covered. Perhaps they might have written about the conversion of the bridge ruins into a prison.2n

George Addy, 2nd Iowa Cavalry

I haven’t had the chance yet to confirm info on the writer, George Ady, Esq., but the Tribune says his piece was first published in the Denver Commonwealth Magazine. There was a George Ady in Co. G of the 2nd Iowa Cavalry who lived in Denver after the war. His record says he was wounded on December 5, 1862, in Coffeeville, Mississippi, (he mentions in his account that he was there). He was taken as a POW there and later paroled. I’ll have to spend some time trying to follow up.

Along similar lines, nearly every bio of Thomas Fletcher says he was captured at Chickasaw Bayou and taken to Libby Prison, with no mention of his infernal time on Jackson’s prison bridge, despite Fletcher’s published account otherwise. I need to run that down a bit more, too.

In any event, this still doesn’t let either Jim or I know where the prison bridge was located, but now we at least have some breadcrumbs to follow.

[1] Harper’s Weekly, June 6, 1863: https://archive.org/details/harpersweeklyv7bonn/page/362/mode/2up

[2] Daily Missouri Democrat, May 20, 1863, St. Louis, MO­—thanks to Kristen Trout for running down this source for me.

[3] “History of Pearl River Bridge from Witness,” Chicago Tribune, January 12, 1891, Chicago, IL: https://chicagotribune.newspapers.com/clip/63805957/history-of-pearl-river-bridge-from/

The Big Black River near the site of the May 17, 1863, fighting

Yesterday, May 17, marked the anniversary of the fight at the Big Black River bridge during Grant’s Mississippi overland campaign. The fight quickly flushed out the Confederates and gave Grant and his army access to the west back, with the gates of Vicksburg beyond. Grant would knock on the city’s door–too rashly–on May 19 and again on May 22 before settling into a siege.

Last year, historian Jim Woodrick was kind enough to spend a couple days tracing most of the Vicksburg Campaign with me, and we shot some videos together. It was a fantastic trip, and I’m grateful to Jim for his hospitality and knowledge, which he was kind enough to share with us–take a look!

The Battle of Grand Gulf:

The Battle of Port Gibson:

The Shaifer House at Port Gibson:

(We couldn’t hit Raymond, unfortunately….)

The Battle of Jackson:

The Old Capitol Museum in Jackson:

The Coker House @ Champion Hill:

The Battle of Champion Hill:

Battle along the Big Black River:

You can get more from Vicksburg by looking at the full Vicksburg playlist.