The
tall, thin, dark haired woman with the lantern jaw raised a flat hand
to shade her eyes from the setting sun. She watched the creaking sad
wagon pulled slowly on wobbly wheels by the long shadow of a weary
mare. Like so many beasts this summer, her ribs showed through her
dust covered hide.
Mary's heart rose and then fell when she
recognized the familiar hulk of Father John O'Bannon (above) holding the reins. It
had to be her husband. The priest had brought John to her. In the back of
an ambulance.
A
commission of officers from both armies (above) had drawn up and supervised
the signing of paroles for every rebel soldier in Vicksburg. With
that slip of paper soldiers could justify their absence from the
battlefield, back home or in transient to home.
Such valued prize (above) brought out the
31,000 who surrendered over the 18 to 20,000 'effectives' Pemberton
had mustered to defend the city. That 'missing third' of
Pemberton's army were the flotsam that collects around any army,
particularly a losing one, particularly a badly run one, trapped in
an urban area.
The
400 structures of Vicksburg (above) offered deserters and malingers 400
places to hide. It was relatively easy for men seeking escape from the constant
shelling and sniping to find a quiet place to sleep, or even a meal away from the trenches.
Considering the quality of the official rations, there was little
advantage to staying with their units. Most did, but at least a
third chose to fend for themselves. Once surrendered, the starving
Army of Mississippi was kept alive by the Yankees, but as soon as
they marched unarmed out of Vicksburg, they were consuming their own
food again. And Grant's goal was to reclaim his supply lines as quickly as
possible.
Finally,
at nine on the morning of Saturday, 11 July, 1863, 7 days after the
surrender, the garrison of Vicksburg, “...waved a parting adieu to
the scene of that terrible and bloody drama...”, or so remembered
21 year old private Epram McDowell Anderson. There was the humiliation of spot searches as they left the city, to be certain they took no weapons with them. But after that brief reminder of their helplessness, the Army of Mississippi was sent on their way, Private's Anderson's 1st
Missouri infantry were the lead regiment on the march, and he
wrote, “Never was an army more grateful than ours on leaving
Vicksburg. It was like a prisoner who has been unshackled in his cell
and turned lose to breath again the pure air....rejoicing in a sense
of freedom....”
General Grant had offered rebel General John
Stevens Bowen (above) the option of staying in the city until he had fully
recovered, but the southern gentleman insisted on accompanying his
regiment, at least in part because, as private Anderson pointed out,
“The first day's march brought us to Edwards.”
That
winter Mary Lucrecia Preston Kennerly Bowen (above) was 28 years old and
about to deliver her third child. With an infant mortality rate of
20% under favorable conditions, she had chosen to hole up on the
plantation of “friends” 17 miles to the east, outside of
Edward's Depot, with the wives of 2 of John's subordinates –
Colonel Pembroke S. Senteny and Major Eugene Erwin of the 2nd
Missouri regiment - as her midwives.
A
native of St. Louis, Mary was an army brat and a fierce daughter of
the south - her three brothers were fighting for the Confederacy. In
the spring of 1862 Mary had left her children in her mother's care
and rushed to Tennessee to nurse John after the general had been
wounded at the Battle of Shiloh. John's recovery was confirmed when
the couple conceived their 3rd
child. Mary then followed John to his new posting at Grand Gulf,
Mississippi. She stayed there until March of 1863, when her “time
came”. But on that July evening, Mary already knew that both of
her midwives were now widows. And when reunited with her husband that
Sunday evening, she came face to face with the war so many of
her generation had sought.
In
Vicksburg, John Bowen (above) had consumed contaminated water or food touched by
the contaminated hands of another. This had infected him with an
alien bacteria, which had then killed most of the native bacteria
which digested his food. After that, nothing he consumed reached his
cells, but dehydration would kill him long before he starved to death.
John's eyes were sunken. His mouth was dry, his lips cracked. He had
a fever so high he kept passing in and out of conciseness. His belly
was bloated. Most of the food and water he forced down was quickly
vomited back up. He had little energy to even sit up. His gut kept cramping and he was
plagued by the constant urge to defecate. When he did his stools
were watery with blood and mucus. It was called the flux, or the
bloody flux. In modern vernacular it was diarrhea, and it killed far
more people guns.
Sunday
morning the Confederate army resumed their march, forced south to
avoid fouling Sherman's supply lines as he advanced again on Jackson. After 2 miles the Raymond Road dropped off the high ground and
forked, with the right passage leading another 14 miles to Raymond.
But Father O'Bannon realized his patient could go no further. He
sought assistance at the Morrison plantation along the Raymond Road,
but was informed by the overseer that all the slaves had marched off
to Alabama, leaving no one to help the General. The man suggested
they should take the south fork, down the Mount Moriah Road, another
2 miles to home of John Walton.
The
single story house was called Valley Farm (above), and had been occupied by
John Walton Jr. and his wife Margaret since at least 1850. After
they carried the general into the house, Father O'Bannon wrote in his
notebook, “July 12, General Bowen was too sick to move any
further.” It would have been an ugly night. Every hour John became
weaker.
By midday on Monday, 13 July, 1863, Major General John
Stevens Bowen was dead. Neighbor Robert Dickson supplied a coffin of
rough wood. And one of the best hopes the Confederacy had for a
second generation of military leaders was buried in Mr. Walton's
garden, while Mary sobbed quietly at the graveside.
Monday
morning, 13 July, the rebel army continued their march east, fading
away a little bit more with every man who, hearing the gun fire from
Jackson, and clutching his parole (above), fell out of the line and started
for home. Many would return when they were exchanged for captured
Yankees. But many would not. On Wednesday, 16 July, the Army of
Mississippi reached the Pearl River 10 miles below Jackson, and
crossed into Alabama, back into southern held territory.
Mary
Kennerly Bowen stayed on in Raymond, to remain close to John. Come
the cooler months, she saw that John's body was moved to
consecrated ground in the nearby Bethesda Presbyterian Church
Cemetery (above). Then, Mary followed
the rebel army, this time to Atlanta. She served as a nurse during
that campaign, and was even wounded in the Battle of Altoona.
In
September of 1864, when Atlanta was captured by General Sherman, the
red headed Yankee offered an escort to see Mrs. Bowen back to her
children in St. Louis. But the unrequited rebel proudly refused. And
so her children became partners in her war.
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