FEBRUARY 2017

FEBRUARY  2017
The same old bullshit, for 2 hundred years. First it was the Catholics - German, Italian and Irish - and then Asians, and then Jews. Whose next?

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Friday, September 16, 2011

THE FIRST DISSENTER

I suppose someone had to be first, and John Billington was as  likely a choice as any other man. Rumor has it that John left England in 1620 to escape his creditors. That would not have been unusual in a time when debt was a crime. Still, if he was a Catholic, as others rumors indicate, that would have been enough to drive John Billington to abandon the world he knew for the dangers of a distant, unsettled shore, looking for what was to be a basic American trait, religous freedom. He did not find it. What we know as fact, is that of all the voyagers who sailed on board the Mayflower, only forty could have been called "Puritans", or "Pilgrim Fathers". The majority, sixty-one men, women and children, were Anglicans or Catholics, who seem to have been dispised by their dispised shipmates.
John Billington was also middle aged, about 40 years old, rather ancient for an adventurer. He brought with him a wife, Eleanor, and their two young sons, John Jr. and Francis. And together their family was beginning a great adventure they were not welcomed upon.
The voyage had been organized by a group who called (and saw) themselves as “The Saints”. And they were not pleased to find the financial investors in their dream, interested only in profit,  had betrayed them, leaving "The Saints" in a minority to “The Strangers”, as they immediatly began calling their new shipmates.
"The Saints" found themselves stuffed aboard a leaky ship, just 90 feet long by barely 24 feet wide, giving them 2,160 square feet of living space (a moderate sized two bedroom house) for 102 passengers and a twenty man crew. Instead of escaping the horrors of a multi-faith nation, "The Saints" found themselves imprisoned with one, dragging it along with them. And they found the burden oppressive.
After two and a half months of living hell on storm tossed seas the Mayflower anchored at the edge of the New World, sheltered by a sandy spit of land. And it was here that "The Saints" faced with what they called a “mutiny”. Through the myopia of history, we choose to describe it as 'the birth of democracy'." It was unwelcome. You see, "The Strangers" were not being landed where they had been promised, in the established colony of Virginia, but on unexplored and unprepared ground far to the north. And "The Strangers" were suspicious that this had been the intention of "The Saints" all along. And indeed that seems to have been the truth. Just to get "The Strangers" to disembark and to agree to work together in this unknown land "The Saints" were forced to compromise their faith, right on the edge of their religous paradise, and to sign the Mayflower Compact with "The Strangers", pledging to “…combine ourselves into a civil Body Politic…”
"The Saints" had thus been forced to create a civil government in this new land, and not the religious domain they had intended to establish. And one of the signatures bought by that accursed compromise had been that of John Billington.
As if in punishment for this compromise of their religious purity, only fifty-three souls survived that first winter. Amazingly, in spite of their sinful Godlessness, John Billington’s family of "Strangers" survived intact – including Eleanor, who was one of only five adult women in the entire colony who lived to see the spring. Both of John's sons also survived, another insult to the devotion of "The Saints", many of whom had buried children and wives over the bitter winter.  The Billington clan had become a daily reminder that God’s Chosen were not always chosen. More evidence was to follow.
In the spring of 1623, the second full year the colonists had been ashore, pressure from the "Strangers" forced the Governor, William Bradford (a "Saint", of course) to divide all property equally amongst the survivors, one acre per family member, no matter what their religous affiliation. And thus the Billington clan received four acres of the best land, “…on the South side of the brook to the Bay wards”. It was yet another reminder of the success of "The Strangers", while so many of "The Saints" had not prospered and had even died. These insults to the faith of "The Saints" would not be forgotten.
Meanwhile, "The Saints" back in England had begun spreading rumors about the failure of the Plymouth Bay Colony, to drive down the value of the stock,  making it easier for "Saints" to buy a controling interest in the company. And with each year they sent more "Saints" across the Atlantic, meaning to overwhelm "The Strangers" in Massachuttes Bay.  By 1624, the colony had grown to over 180 people. But two of the new arrivals, meant to build a Saint's majority, had in fact fed the growing tensions.
The Reverend John Lyford and Mr. John Oldham were both nominally "Saints". In fact Lyford had been sent out as the official priest for "The Saints" in the colony.
But Lyford's willingness to conduct an Anglican baptism for the new child of "Stranger" William Hilton offended "The Saints". These chosen by God saw no reason to tolerate religious tolerance for anyone but themselves. And Governor Bradford became convinced that Lyford and Oldham were both secretly corresponding with the stockholders back in England, contradicting the false rumors the English Saints had been spreading.
Bradford was able to intercept some of those letters, and confront the traitorous "Saints", catching them unprepared at a public hearing. Both Lyford and Oldman were banished from the colony that very night. At the same meeting there was an attempt to also charge John Billington with being a member of the same "conspiracy", but there was little evidence against Billington, and since he was popular, (although it seems unclear how he could have been so, given the negative descriptions of him that survive) "The Saints" were forced to retreat and bide their time, yet again.
The following year, 1626, James I of England died, and Charles I, a militantly devout Catholic, took the throne. The trickle of "Saints", escaping now from real religious oppression in England, bcame a steady flow.  John Billington still had allies in Plymouth, such as John Cannon and William Tench, but the pressures brought on by the constant arrival of new "Saints" drove both those men to leave the colony by 1627.
And in 1629 John Billington's eldest son died of illness. With his death, some of the flame went out of the old man. He was fifty years old now, and weary of the constant political fighting for his families' rightful place in the colony. By January of 1630 there were almost 300 citizens in Plymouth colony, the vast majority of whom were now, finally, "Saints". John Billington had become isolated.
In the late summer of 1630 a man’s body was found in the woods near John Billington’s property. The body was identified in Governor Bradford’s correspondence only as "John New-come-er”. No rational for Billington to have murdered this mysterious man was ever offered on the record. Instead surviving documents allege that the motive was the result of “an old argument between the two men”. But this would seem to have been unlikely, given that the dead man was, by every account, a literal “New-come-er”".
Dispite this glaring omission of motive, a Grand Jury was quickly convened and John Billington was charged with shooting the man in the shoulder with a blunderbuss, thus causing his death. Since a blunderbuss was generally loaded with whatever material was handy, rocks or metal, and was used as a short range (and still highly inaccurate) shotgun, using it as a weapon for an assination would have have been doubtful in the extreme.
But by this time there was little patience left in the colony for reason where the Billingtons were concerned. A trial jury wasted little time in finding John guilty of murder. And yet despite the singularity of this crime and possible punishment - Billington was the first Englishman in the colony charged with murder, and would be the first colonist to be sentenced to death - there is no record of any defense arguments offered on his behalf. "The Saints" had won their war against John Billington, and they would write his history. And yet because there was a lack of any apparent motivation for the crime, Governor Bradford sought the approval for the execution of this "Stranger" from his own fellow "Saints" in the younger, larger and more purely Saintly Massachusetts Bay Colony, centered on Boston. Such approval was instantly supplied.
On September 30, 1630, fifty year old John Billington was hanged according to the methods of the day. He climbed a ladder. The rope was placed around his neck and the noose pulled tight. The ladder was kicked away. And slowly the life was strangled out of him as he danced at the end of the rope. The drop that quickly broke the neck would not become standard in hanging for another two hundred years. Plymouth Colony was thus finally rid of its most troublesome "Stranger" in a conregation of "Saints". The only even mildly generous epitaph written for John Billington came from the poison pen of Thomas Morton, another man who irritated "The Saints" who surrounded him. Morton wrote, “John Billington, that was chocked at Plymouth after he had played the unhappy marksman...was loved by many.” And that is a piece of information not even hinted at in the history written by "The Saints" - that John had been loved by many.
Sixty years later the "Saints" would have to clean house again, this time in the village of Salem, and this time against their fellow "Saints" who were not saintly enough. Fourteen women and five men were hanged this time. Five others died in prison. All had been charged with being witches. What this re-occurance of justice from "The Saints"  showed, was that even before there was religous freedom in America, there was religous hypocracy.
- 30 -

Wednesday, September 14, 2011

A BLACK DAY FOR BASEBALL

I am writing this on yet another oppressive August afternoon. It is baseball weather, when all Americans should be surrounded by the comradely of strangers in shirtsleeves, with a penciled box score in hand and green pastures before them, a land upon which time dare not intrude. Baseball in August is an endless limitless existence,  from which other realities retreat, and which may be savored patiently until the final out is called.  And on such afternoons my mind floats back to one particular afternoon, almost a century before this August, the hot and humid afternoon of August 16, 1920. In my mind's heart I am at the Polo Grounds, a bathtub shaped ballpark along the Harlem River, at the very northern tip of Manhattan. It is home to the National League New York Giants, but since 1913 the American League Yankees have also leased time on the field. And as fans gather in the Coogans Bluff stands beyond right center field, we are witness to a battle of the two best teams in the league. For the Yankees are hosting the powerful Cleveland Indians. And time is about to pause, to catch its breath, to teeter, balanced for a micro-second between one era and another. And as the fifth inning begins, this is the instant of transistion.
The Yankees are using their best pitcher, the crafty right hander Carl Mays. He once praised another pitcher, saying, “That fellow has no friends and doesn’t want any. That’s why he’s a great pitcher.” The friendless Carl Mays may be the greatest pitcher in baseball at this moment. He was part of the Boston Red Sox dynasty that dominated baseball in the first two decades of the 20th century. But in 1919 he demanded to be traded. The Yankees paid $40,000 and gave up two players to be named later to put Carl in Yankee pinstripes. They wanted his “submarine” (underhanded) pitch, his blazing sidearm delivery, his un-hitable spitball, and his reputation for brushing back batters who crowded the plate. He was on his way to a 26 win -11 loss record with six shutouts in 1920. Today, August 16th,  he is pitching out of rotation because the game is so important and because Carl Mays is going for his 100th major league win.
The batter is the top of Cleveland's order, the veteran Indian speedster, short stop Ray Chapman. The cheerful songster is fondly known around the league as “Chappie”. After nine seasons in the Majors he is at the very top of his game. So far this season he is batting .303, and he has a lifetime 93 runs scored and 671 runs batted in. Chappie also has 233 stolen bases and he wields one of the finest defensive gloves in the league. But he made his reputation laying down the bunt. He crouches down, huntched over the plate, at the very back of the batter's box, thus leaving the pitcher with almost no strike zone to aim for. It is this stance, and his blazing speed to first base - he once rounded the all four bases in 14 seconds - that have given Chappie an impressive on-base average of .358. But only a few close friends know that Chappie is planning on getting out while he is on top. He was married the year before, and has made plans to go into business with his new father-in-law. And some World Series earnings would certainly smooth his way to retirement.
As Chappie steps to the plate at the top of the fith inning, it is a humid 82 degrees under a cloudless blue sky. The 24,000 fans lean forward in their seats. When Chapman is at the plate, things happen. In the first inning Chapman had laid down his 34th successful bunt of the season. Thanks in part to Ray's speed on the base path, Cleveland is now leading the game, 3 – 0. In the third inning Chapman had popped up. And now, as the fifth inning begins, Ray steps into the batters’ box and digs in.
On his very first pitch Carl Mays delivers a winding, rising, side armed fast ball bullet. With extraordinary velocity the spinning ball hurtles toward the plate, almost faster then the eye can register it. And in that second of time, between the ball leaving Carl's fingertips and it's arrival at the plate, baseball changes forever -  an era ends and an era begins - what might have been becomes what once was, what used to be. It is the blink of an eye. It is the passing of a shadow through a life. 
There is a loud ringing thud. As Mays steps out of his delivery he sees the ball is rolling quickly back toward the mound. Thinking Chapman has hit it with the handle of his bat, Mays adroitly retrieves the ball and throws a peg down the line to first base. And only then does Carl Mays realize that Ray Chapman is crumpled on the ground. 
The Polo Grounds gasp as if a single soul. The umpire, Tommy Connolly, sees blood coming out of Chapman’s right ear and nose. He asks Ray if he is alright. Receiving no reply he calls into the crowd for a doctor. At that shout, Ray opens his eyes and staggers to his feet. A few people in the crowd began to applaud. But after taking only a few steps down the first base line, Ray Chapman collapses again, in a broken heap. His teammates carry Ray into the club house where he mumbles a request for his wedding ring, which he’d given to a trainer for safe keeping. Feeling the ring in his hand seems to comfort Ray.
Meanwhile, on the field and with a new ball, the game resumes. Mays retires the next nine batters in a row and the Yankees fight back to tie the game at 3 - 3. It is a Yankee relief pitcher who gives up the winning Cleveland run; 4 – 3. Called in Cleveland, Ray’s wife, Katie, boards the next train for New York City.
Hospital X-rays show Chapman has a depressed fracture of his skull. The doctors operate and remove a 3 ½” section of Ray's cranium to lessen the pressure on his brain. The surgeon tells the Cleveland manager that not only is the right side of Ray's brain lacerated from the impact with the ball, but so is the left side, where it  bounced off the other side of his skull.  At 4:40 the next morning Ray Chapman is declared dead, the only person to ever die while playing a Major League Baseball game. A family friend met Katie’s train from Cleveland at 10:00 am that morning. But she does not tell the young woman of her husband’s death until they got to the hotel. Once behind closed doors, and told the horrible news, Katie collapses in a faint.
That one pitch can stand as the unofficial end of the "Dead Ball Era", when the game was hit and run, steal and bunt, when the leather was mightier than the wood. It was a time when the game was more strategy than brute force, more brains than brawn, more spunk and more a team sport than it is today. It was a time when  baseballs' greatest slugger was Cliford "Cactus" Gravath,  who in 1915 hit a record 24 home runs, 11 more than his closest rival.  It was not unusual for a league batting champion to have fewer than 10 home runs in a single season. It was a  time when Owen "Chief" Wilson, playing for Pittsburgh, set a record of 35 triples in a single season  - a record which still stands today, a century later.
And then, in 1920 the New York Yankees decided that their new $100,000 acquisition, Babe Ruth, who had earned fame as a pitcher, should stick to batting. In 1920, his first year as a Yankee, "The Sultan of Swat" hits a record 54 home runs, more than all but one of the other entire teams in baseball combined.  He also batted for a .376 average, and his .847 slugging average (total bases earned divided by total at bats) was a Major League record until 2001. The game had changed in a fundamental way after 1920, and the tipping point had come at the moment between Carl Mays releasing the ball, and it impacting Ray Chapman's skull.
Wearing black arm bands in Chappies’ honor, The Cleveland Indians beat out the New York Yankees for the pennant that year, and went on to win the World Series. The Yankees finished a distant third. The Cleveland team voted Katie Chapman a full share of the winners’ purse, about $4,000 (worth $45,000 today). Six months after Chappie's death, Katie gave birth to his daughter and named her Rae. A few years later Katie remarried, to businessman J.F. McMahon and he moved them to California. But she still morned Chappie. In 1926 Katie committed suicide by drinking cleaning fluid. Three years later little Rae contracted German measles and died as well. Both bodies were brought back to Cleveland,  to be buried in Calvary Cemetery under the name “Chapman”. Ray is buried alone about five miles away in Lake View Cemetery, where fans still leave baseballs, bats and memorabilia against his tombstone. If you have a chance, you should do the same.
Carl Mays played for the Yankees for only one more season. In 1921 he won 27 games and lost only 9. And he  batted .343, unheard of for a pitcher in any era of the game. Despite that achievement, part way through the 1922 season he was traded to the National League Cincinnati Reds, where he went 20 and 9, making him the first pitcher to win 20 games in both leagues.
Carl Mays spent 15 years in the majors, earning 208 wins and 31 saves against a mere 126 losses, with an amazing 862 strikeouts in 490 games. His lifetime batting average of .268 also makes him one of the best hitting pitchers of all time. And yet, despite what are clearly Hall Of Fame statistics Carl Mays has received only 8 votes for that honor. Some may believe in the absurd story that he fixed a World Series game in 1922. But the facts deny that. No, what haunted Carl Mays until his death in 1971,  what kept him out of the Hall of Fame, was that one pitch out of the thousands of pitches he threw over his career, the one pitch he threw in the August heat of the 1920 pennant race. It is something to ponder, as the dog days of summer come to a close once again, and the finality of September hints at the winter soon to envelope us all. 
- 30 -

Sunday, September 11, 2011

GENIUS - THE THIRD WEEK IN MAY

FRIDAY, MAY 15, 1863
In the pre-dawn darkness on the outskirts of Edwards, Mississippi , 17,000 Confederate infantry in three divisions set out southward, for the crossroads of Dillion. Leading the force is General Pemberton himself. He is looking for the supply trains of Grant's army, which he knows must be strung out behind the site where Grant's army crossed the Mississippi River and the Mississippi state capital at Jackson. But a mile and a half out of Edward's Pemberton's three divisions are stopped at the ford over tiny Bakers Creek. The usually placid stream has been swollen by the downpour from the 13/14 May. The ford is so flooded, it is unusable. Because of a lack of simple scouting, Pemberton's little army is forced to backtrack 1 ½ miles on the Clinton Road to cross the same stream via the bridge of the Jackson/Vicksburg road. Then the collumn must detour another four miles south before rejoining the road south. Wirt Adam’s cavalry leads, followed by Loring’s and then Bowen’s Division, and finally Stevenson’s division,  followed by the army’s supply trains. Pemberton does not know it, but this is a lucky break for his army.
Also this morning, another 4,000 Confederate militia arrive at General Johnston’s position on the Canton Road, six miles north of Jackson. Johnston now has a force of 15,000 men, about a quarter the size of the Union Army in Mississippi. But together with Pemberton's force, the Confederates now have a numerical advantage over Grant's army. But Johnston's troops are not a single cohesive unit, and cannot be expected to fight an engagement with Grant’s veterans. So Johnston can only dig in and wait for word of what General
Pemberton is doing.
Meanwhile, in Jackson itself, two divisions of Sherman’s Corps begin their work destroying the industry and communications centers of the city. At seven,  McPherson’s Corps marches out of Jackson, led by Logan’s division, and bound for Clinton. Waiting for them out on the Vicksburg road is General McClernard’s Corps, now with orders to advance toward Edwards.  But McClernard is also cautioned by Grant not to bring on a general engagement, not just yet.
Grant (above) rides as far as Clinton, where he meets two captured workers from the Vicksburg and Jackson Railroad. They tell him that Pemberton is at Edward’s with 3 divisions. Having earlier captured one of the couriers carrying a copy of Johnston’s message to Pemberton, Grant thus expects there to be contact with Pemberton’s army this day near Edwards. He urges Sherman to hurry the destruction of Jackson and bring up his full Corps westward.
SATURDAY, MAY 16, 1863
Awakening in a house along the road near Dillion, Pemberton is confused. He was expecting to find this morning that he had Grant's supply trains in his grasp. But Wirt Adam’s cavalry reports from overnight that he finds no traffic on the Grand Gulf to Jackson road. Where are Grant's supply trains? The troops of Generals' Stevenson and Loring have been on the march past midnight, searching at every crossroads for evidence of the Yankee wagons. They have found nothing. Pemberton is adrift, and uncertain where to send his men next. What is Grant up to? Where is Grant?.
Then, at 6:30 am cavalry commander Wirt Adams reports in person that his pickets are skirmishing with Federal troops near the Raymond road. During Adam's report a messager arrives from Johnston, carrying a copy of Pemberton's message which Grant has already intercepted: “Our being compelled to leave Jackson makes your plan (to fall on the supply trains) impractical. The only mode by which we can unite is by your moving directly to Clinton..."
It is an ominous message. Pemberton is already out a limb, and suddenly he hears it cracking. He orders an immediate countermarch, so he can shift his axis of advance toward Clinton. Thus, at the very moment of contact with Grant, Pemberton is like a boxer, caught off balance, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.
Later that morning on the Confederate left flank, General Stevenson (above) has just reversed his march when, at about 7:00 am, he receives word of enemy skirmishers just beyond the Raymond road junction. Immediately he throws his own skirmish line across the road, and hurries (as best he can) the supply wagons back across the still flooded Baker’s Creek. He also throws his men to work building a defensive position three miles long across the hilltop farm of Matilda and Sid Champion. At about 9:30 am this morning Union General McClernand’s cavalry captures the tiny village of Bolton, and continues to press forward.
Pemberton arrives at  the Champion Hill battleground and finds he also faces Federal troops on his right flank, in front of Loring’s division, south of the Raymond road. Still, most of the firing seems to be coming from Champion Hill and north of the road. When Stevenson reports that he must be reinforced or lose the hill, Pemberton orders General Bowen’s (above) division to reinforce his left flank. But Bowen says he can not move until Loring gets out of his way. And Loring says he cannot do so because of Federal troops massing to his front. Frustrated, Pemberton convinces Bowen to send at least one brigade to Stevenson’s assistance by marching around Loring's men.
By 10:00 am Sherman’s men have finished their destruction in Jackson and are on the road toward the battle. Johnston’s troops do not follow the retreating Yankees. Instead they struggle to put out fires and resurrect the telegraph lines in Jackson.  At about the same time Grant arrives on the field before Champion Hill and orders an immediate assault by McPherson’s men on the right and McClernand’s Corp on the left. By 1:00 pm McPherson’s men have carried the Confederate works atop Champion's hill.
Frustrated by the behavior of both Loring and Bowen, General Pemberton has been reduced to feeding individual battalions of Bowen's men into the fight for Champions Hill -  piecemeal. Now, in reaction to the Union success, Col. Cockrell, the same man who had so harassed McClernand on the Louisiana shore, now leads a charge that retakes the captured works for the Confederates. But Pemberton knows the hill cannot be held if things continue as they have. He sends yet another order to Loring, instructing him to move to the left in support of Bowen and Stevenson. But Loring replies that the Federal troops to his front are moving to flank him. It is a reasonable argument, except that Pemberton hears no firing coming from that flank.
What Pemberton cannot know is that the Federal troops in front of Loring are commanded by General McClernand, who is showing no more inclination to force a fight than Loring has. Grant has chosen not to press McClernand, even though his inaction is in violation of direct orders from Grant. Instead the Union commander reaches out for Sherman’s leading units coming out of Jackson.  He throws these men into a counter attack on Champion Hill, retaking the crucial position by about 4:00 pm. At last Confederate General Stevenson’s division breaks under the pressure.
Confederate General Loyd Tilghman’s brigade fights the rearguard action until he is killed. Then, the Confederate forces retreat across Bakers Creek. Luckily the stream has now fallen enough to make the ford useful again, but this means it will also be useful for the following Yankees as well. Pemberton makes the decision to retreat all the way back to the Big Black River.
All that way, Pemberton expects General Loring (above) to act as his rear guard. But Loring has used the excuse of distant fire from Union cannon to retreat south along Bakers Creek, wandering for several days,  as if a petulant child resisting the call to come home for dinner. Eventually Loring turns north and east,  until he rejoins the Confederacy at Jackson, Mississippi. Johnston thus acquires yet another temperamental general, something he did not really need. Worse, in addition to combat losses suffered at Champion's Hill, Pemberton has lost one third of his little army by Loring's wanderings.
Champions Hill will prove to be the crucial battle of the entire campaign. The Union army (32,000 strong now) suffer 410 dead, 1,844 wounded and 187 missing (total casualties 2,441), while the Confederates, weaker at the start of the battle (just 17,000 men), have suffered 3,840 dead, 1,018 wounded and 2,441 missing (total casualties, 7,299). Pemberton has lost 13% of his strength, in addittion to the 1/3 under Loring who has declared independence. This proves that Pemberton chose the worst possible course of action. 
To have kept all five divisions behing the Vicksburg fortifications, as Davis had ordered, would have simply made Grant’s job that much easier. If Pemberton had brought all five of his divisions out to defeat Grant in battle, as Johnston has urged, Vicksburg might have been captured in his rear by a U.S. Naval landing force, just as had happened at Memphis and Grand Gulf. But Pemberton might have defeated Grant in the field, and then retaken the city at his leisure. Instead, by choosing not risk everything, he has lost everything. 
To quote Bruce Catton on the subject, “Vicksburg was one of the places which the Confederate nation had to possess if it was to win its independence…But all the troops that could conceivably be brought in were urgently needed somewhere else…(However) To accept this argument was in effect to admit that the Confederacy was being tried beyond its strength, an admission Mr. Davis would never make.”(Catton, “Never Call Retreat” pp 3-4.)
SUNDAY,  MAY 17, 1863 
Pemberton’s battered army marches through the night. They now number less than 10,000 men. They have been exhausted, defeated and mishandled. And Pemberton decides he cannot stop at the Big Black River (above), but must reach the safety of the Vicksburg entrenchments, occupied by his remaining two healthy divisions. He leaves three brigades from General Bowen’s division behind, perhaps 2,000 men,  to slow the Union advance, and drives the rest of his weary men the final 20 miles to Vicksburg.
Bowen’s rearguard occupies positions prepared a week earlier, with their backs across the open mouth of  a "U" shaped bend in the Big Black river. The river at the bottom of the "U" is so narrow that a riverboat has been jammed between the banks, and is being used by the Confederates as a footbridge. The Vicksburg and Jackson railroad also bridges the river here, but the bridge can not be used by horses or wagons. Grant later describes the rebel position as once having been an old bayou “...grown up with timber, which the enemy had felled into the ditch. All this time there was a foot or two of water in it. The rebels had constructed a parapet along the inner bank...using cotton bales from the plantation close by and throwing dirt over them. The whole was thoroughly commanded from the height west of the river.”
Now General John McClernand’s Corps is in the lead again, and as Grant watches, Federal artillery begins firing on the rebel trenches while Union General Michael K. Carr’s division prepares to assault the Confederate works.
It is at this moment that (according to Grant) a staff officer arrives with instructions from General Halleck in far off Washington. The message is dated May 11 (a week earlier)  and orders Grant to immediately return to Grand Gulf and from there to proceed against Port Hudson. Only after the fall of Fort Hudson will Grant be "allowed" to return to his actions against Vicksburg. After reading the message Grant tells the messenger that if Halleck knew the present situation he would not insist on the order. The messenger insists that Grant must obey his instructions.
Just at this moment, with a bold charge, Irishman General Michael K. Lawler puts his military philosophy into practice (“If you see a head, hit it.”). His division storms the Confederate breastworks in the face of a withering fire. Union Secretary of War Charles Dana would later describe Lawler as “…brave as a lion,…and has as much brains”, but with this one dtermined charge the battle of the Big Black River is won. Allegedly Grant now turns to the messenger and says, “It may be too early to end this campaign.” Whatever Grant actually said (if anything),  he later wrote, “I immediately mounted my horse and rode in the direction of the charge, and saw no more of the officer who delivered the dispatch, I think not even to this day.”
As the Confederate troops began to flee, Confederate engineers set fire to the railroad bridge and boat, to deny their use by the Union. The Union could claim 1,751 Confederates killed, wounded and captured (out of the 2,000 man force), and an unknown number drowned when their bridges burned beneath their feet. Union losses are 39 killed, 237 wounded and 3 missing. The next day Pemberton will return to his original position inside the Vicksburg fortifications,  leading now less than half the 17,000 men he had on the morning of Saturday, May 16.
Also on this morning General Sherman rouses his men before daylight and spends the entire day marching up the Vicksburg/Jackson road. He finally calls a halt after 2:00 am.
MONDAY MAY 18, 1863
It is just 18 days since Grant's first troops crossed the Mississippi River below Vicksburg. This morning. Sherman’s Corps crosses the Big Black River some 11 miles above the point at which McCernand’s and McPherson’s Corps have thrown pontoon bridges across the river (above). By 8:00 am the pontoon bridges are open and Grant is one of the first to cross over them. He quickly moves cross-country to join the rapidly advancing Sherman's Corps.
It is early that afternoon that Sherman and Grant together reach the rear of the Confederate batteries atop Haynes Bluff’s. Below them Confederate troops are evacuating the position, and retreating inside Vicksburg's main defenses. And Grant is happy to allow them to leave. With Haynes Bluff in Union hands, supplies and reinforcements can now flow unimpeded to Grant’s army from naval units on the Mississippi. Grant later wrote, “(Sherman) turned to me, saying that up to this minute he had felt no positive assurance of success. This, however, he said, was the end of one of the greatest campaigns in history, and I ought to make a report of it at once. Vicksburg was not yet captured, and there was no telling what might happen before it was taken; but whether captured or not, this was a complete and successful campaign.”  Grant's response is to order a morning assault against the city's defenses. Then he sends the telegram.
Including the men from the two divisions he left behind, General Pemberton now has some 18,500 troops and 102 artillery pieces with which to defend the 6 ½ mile long fortification line facing Vicksburg's land side. The time spent improving the cities' defenses has been well used, digging trenches, forts and redoubts. The old addage about the defense multiplying defenders by a factor of three, is about to be put to the test.
TUESDAY MAY 19, 1863
At 9:00 am Union artillery opens fire on the northern flank of the Confederate fortifications, where the "Graveyard Road" enters the city. Then at 2:00 pm  Francis Blair's division throws itself against the Rebel line, and the Union troops are suddenly up against the terrain of Vicksburg. Approaching the "Stockade Redan", they are forced to descend a deep ravine, At the bottom their way is blocked by wooden stakes, wire entanglements, and disguised man traps. From the fort above, Rebel infantry rakes the Federal troops with musket shot and exploding cannon shells, rolled down the slope. Three times Blair's division throws itself against the Confederates and three times they are repulsed.  The firing is so heavy that the farthest advanced Union troops cannot be pulled back until after nightfall. Union casualites are about 157 dead, just under 800 wounded and 8 missing. The Confederates suffer less than 200 casualities.
WEDNESDAY  MAY 20, 1863
Grant now has some 35,000 troops in hand. It is not enough to invest the city, so he decides on a second, larger assault, and spends the day putting his troops to work finishing a road from Haynes Bluffs to the rear of his positions outside of Vicksburg. Meanwhile he sends officers forward to inspect the rebele positons and plan an attack for the day after tomorrow. As he is inspecting the camps, the chant of "Hardtack, Hardtack!" breaks out. For over a week now the the men have been marching and fighting while living off the three days rations they were issued in Port Gibson, and the foodstuffs they foraged from the Mississippi countryside. That night the Army dines on standard army fare of hardtack, beans and coffee brought up the new road from the Navy transports in the river. The obligation of a good General is that he give his soldiers the tools they need. Their obligation is to fight to kill and if need be, to die.
THURSDAY, MAY 21, 1863
April operations out of New Orleans  have cut the western shore Red River supply route for the Confederate fort at Port Hudson. Today, before dawn, newly promoted Brigadier General Benjamin Grierson and his now rested cavalry troopers, lead the 7,000 infantrymen under Major General Christopher Augurs north out of Baton Rouge. They are headed for a road junction just 12 miles north, occupied by a single two story building. The first floor contains a general store run by a family named Young, and the second floor contains meeting rooms for the Plains Masonic Lodge. The crosroads is called Plains Store. Five miles due east of this crossroads, overlooking the Mississippi River, are the cannon of Port Hudson (above). Occupying this insignificant crossroads will cut off the last communications and supply line for those rebel cannon.
As the Grierson's cavalry approaches the Plains Store crossroads this morning, they skirmish with 600 Rebel defenders. But the arrival of Union infantry brigades a few hours later force the Confederates to withdraw. The arrival of Confederate reinforcements a few hours after this the Union infantry to draw back. But numbers and determination eventually tell, and by the end of the day the Confederates are forced to withdraw inside their fortifications at  Port Hudson.  Union casualities are 100, while the Rebels lose 89. 
Over the next 48 hours, the rest of General Banks' (above) 40, 000 men cross from the Louisiana shore and take up positions on the land side of the 7,500 Rebels in the fortress of Port Hudson (below). Banks hopes to take the fortress quickly, and then transfer his men north, to take command of the siege of Vicksburg.  Grant has no intention of allowing him the opportunity.
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