VICKSBURG Chapter Eighty – Three

It was the afternoon of Friday, 25 June, 1863 - the 38^th day of the siege of Vicksburg - and Sergeant Morris was the last man in the tunnel. He felt the cold brass fittings of the navel fuses (above) in the dark, making certain the squib was nestled deep among the rough grains of black powder - in the bottom bag of 20 bags of black powder stacked in the chamber. The Ohio Sergeant ran his fingers along the twin wires running from the squib, out of the bag and across the dirt floor of the left forward gallery.  Feeling no break, and bent double, he struggled through the 4 foot high 3 foot wide passage for 15 feet toward the lantern.

The man in charge was a 25 year old captain of engineers, Andrew Hickenlooper (above).  And in an organization obsessed with rank and seniority, the Corps of Engineers was the only part where brains and education might preceded either.  Andrew had been born in August of 1837 in the east central Ohio coal town of Harding.  It was also the home to Levi Coffin, unofficial “President of the Underground Railroad”, which after the Fugitive Slave Act of 1850 secretly shepherded desperate people north to Canada.

At the apex of “Y” junction, the sergeant turned into the dark again. In the pitch black right forward gallery he repeated his squib and fuse check on it's 500 pounds of black powder. Then backing slowly to the junction, he made certain the squib and fuses for the 700 pounds of powder stacked here were secure. And only then did he pick up the lantern and retreat, moving faster now that the roof was 5 feet high, running the 6 wires loosely through his palm until, 45 feet later, he stumbled into daylight.

In Dutch-German Hickenlooper meant a hedge-hopper or runner and carried the vague connotation of a thief.  Andrew's father was honest and hard working but blessed with a lack of ambition. Looking for a more interesting job he moved his family to Cincinnati, where Andrew attended the Woodward Grammar School and Xavier College.   The Jesuits who ran both instilled more than enough ambition in young Hickenlooper. At 19 he went to work for the city surveyor, and 3 years later was elected to the job himself. He married and quickly had two children

Exiting the tunnel in a trench labeled “Logan's Approach” (above), Sergeant Morris was greeted by Lieutenant Thomas Russel, from Missouri. He took the loose bundle of wires,  all 6 cut to equal length, from Morris.  A work gang under the sergeant immediately began refilling the tunnel – leaving a crevice for the fuse wires to pass through cleanly.  As they did, the Missouri lieutenant carefully laid the wires along a wooden plank, and staked them firmly. Then the ends of the wires were stripped, and a musket cap placed upon the bare end of each wire. Lastly, a stick was tied down over all the caps.

On Sunday morning, 6 April, 1862, the 5^th Ohio light artillery, a 6 gun battery recruited and commanded by Lieutenant Andrew Hickenlooper, was surprised and almost overrun while in camp northwest of the Quaker “Shiloh Meeting House”.  The lieutenant managed to save all but 2 of his 6 pounders, and rushed them to support Union soldiers in what became known as “The Hornet's Nest” (above). “Then came the long triple lines of bristling steel,” Andrew wrote later, “whose stern face bearers...came pressing on, until our cannon's loud acceptance of their challenge...caused the assailants to hesitate, break in confusion and hastily retire". Over 8 hours Andrew and his 4 remaining cannon repelled as many as 8 attacks, until ordered to withdraw about 4:30 that afternoon.

Because of his courage and skill at Shiloh, Hickenlooper was promoted and made Chief Engineer for the XVII Corps.  Under Grant's Special Order Number 140, issued on 25 May,  Andrew was responsible for prosecuting the siege of Vicksburg to his front. 

He described the topography and his plans this way. “The highest point between the (Louisiana redan) and the (Shirley) House (above) was selected...to locate a battery (named Battery Hickenlooper)..."

"....covering the extensions of the sap beyond that point. Two 8-inch naval guns located in battery(Archer) south-east of this point...(silenced) the guns of the Confederate fort; thus leaving the Union soldiers exposed only to the ever vigilant sharp-shooters of the enemy...."

"A favorite amusement of the soldiers was to place a cap on the end of a ramrod and to raise it just above the head-logs betting on the number of bullets which would pass through it within a given time.”

Then, on Monday, 21 June, Captain Hickenlooper put out a call for men experienced in mining. From those volunteers he picked 36 men, who he divided into a day and a night shift, with each shift broken into 3 “reliefs”.   Andrew later explained, “ On the night of the 22d these men, properly equipped with drills, short-handled picks, shovels...(began) driving a gallery...” Lieutenant Russel pushed the first shift 12 feet into the hill beneath the Louisiana redan. “  

Each relief worked an hour at a time, two picking, two shoveling, and two handing back the grain sacks filled with earth...The soil...(showed ) remarkable tenacity, (and was) easily cut and requiring but little bracing.” 

During Thursday, 24 June, the miners pushed the tunnel another 40 feet under the Confederate position.

“The powder was brought up in barrels and kept in the main sap at a safe distance....and there opened and placed in grain-sacks....” By “...the morning of the 25^th, the miners commenced depositing the powder,...” Captain Hickenlooper explained, “These were taken up on the backs of the miners, who made the run over the exposed ground...nearly one hundred trips with the dangerous loads, all were landed in the mine without a single accident.”

Informed that Hickenlooper expected everything to be ready by 3:00 p.m. that Friday, Grant ordered a powerful attack against the redan, lead by volunteers from the 31^st and 45^th Illinois volunteer regiments. But “follow on” regiments were no prepared. The attack, when it came, was to be of limited scope. However, Grant was there himself to witness the “remarkable” explosion. The entire army was in on the secret, and as 3:00 p.m. approached, the constant boom and snap of Federal artillery and sniper fire faded into an anticipatory silence.

At 3:15 p.m. Captain Hickenlooper gave the command. Lieutenant Russel slammed a hammer down on the board, and all six fuse lines crackled. A foot high plume of white smoke began to walk toward the wall of earth and rock which now blocked the tunnel's entrance. The crackling white smoke danced into the crevice and disappeared into hill side.   And now, other than the anxious stares and nervous body language of 50,000 Yankees outside of Vicksburg, there was no indication of the catastrophe which was about to come.

The lines had been cut to a 15 minute fuse. But 3:25 came and went with the redan still impassively towering over the Yankee saps and trenches. Then 3:26. Whispers began to scurry about the Yankee lines.   At 3:27, the miners began to ponder who was going to “volunteer” to crawl back into the dank tunnel, find the break in the fuses, repair and relight them.  If we are to believe what Andrew Hickenlooper wrote years later, he had no doubts. “Every eye was riveted,” he wrote, “upon that huge redoubt standing high above... 

"At the appointed moment it appeared as though the whole fort and connecting outworks commenced an upward movement, gradually breaking into fragments and growing less bulky in appearance, until it looked like an immense fountain of finely pulverized earth, mingled with flashes of fire and clouds of smoke, through which could occasionally be caught a glimpse of some dark objects,-men, gun-carriages, shelters, etc.”

The breech in the defenses of Vicksburg had been made. Or so it seemed.

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VICKSBURG Chapter Eighty – Two

Because of his experience in newspapers and his age, 26 year old Sergeant William Henry Tunard of company “K” of the Pelican Rifles, was transferred “to the commissary department...” William now helped feed and arm his 3^rd Louisiana regiment. But his other job was to keep the regimental diary. And in that capacity, on Monday, 8 June, 1863, in the trenches outside of Vicksburg, William noted,

“ The enemy's lines were slowly but surely approaching nearer to our own breastworks, and the struggle was daily becoming more fierce and deadly.” Four days later, the last rations of  meat were officially issued to the troops.

William Tunard (above) had been born in New Jersey in March of 1837, but was raised in Natchitoches Parish, where the Crane and Red rivers came closest to joining. It was a place where slaves outnumbered whites, 9,000 to 6,000. While the Tunards were not slave owners, William noted the regiment had been formed, "...numbering 1,085 men,” who were. “...young men, with the glow of health upon their features and the fire of a patriotic devotion and enthusiasm sparkling in their clear eyes; men who went forth actuated by a firm conviction of right, earnest adherents to principle...” The principle being defending human slavery.

On the 28^th day of the siege, Sunday, 14 June, William noted the weather was clear and warm, and the assault of lead “...continued unabated.” On a positive note, he added, “A courier reached the city with a large supply of percussion caps.” However, “The enemy were daily reinforcing their already tremendous army...” Then he ominously added, “They needed but to wait...” In a more typical event, “...William McGuinness, (of) company A....was shot through the right eye as he was looking...to observe the effect of his shooting....McGuinness recovered but lost his eyesight and a piece of the bone from the side of his face....”

In August of 1861, Sergeant Tunard had fought at Wilson's Creek, Missouri, and at Pea Ridge, Arkansas in March of 1862 – by which time sickness and causalities had reduced the regiment to 271 officers and men. Then in May came the First Battle of Corinth, Mississippi. That September, the regiment suffered 100 casualties blunting a Yankee attack at Iuka, Mississippi. Then in October the 3^rd were again thrown against Corinth, in a bloody 2 day offensive which, again, failed. The 3^rd was then pulled back to defend against Grant's moves against the northern approaches to Vicksburg. They ended up guarding the key ground at Snyder's Bluff. It was the 3^rd Louisiana which had been ordered to withdraw on 17 May, allowing the Yankee cavalry to capture the place without a fight

On Monday, 15 June, William noted the day was “...cloudy and threatened rain. The firing was very rapid and shot and shells flew into and over the place in every direction...the close of the day threatened rain...” However, the following morning, Tuesday, 16 June, “Dawned pleasant, light summer clouds...the firing continued all night...The place, as usual, was filled with rumors of succor. The rations furnished the men were...sufficient to keep away actual starvation, but not to satisfy the voracious appetites of the soldiers.”

The 3^rd Louisiana's new position was near the center of the Vicksburg line along the Jackson Road. Under Major David Pierson, they were defending a well constructed triangular redan, which had allowed them to easily reject the Yankee assault on 22 May. 

With their confidence boosted, the following day, each member of the regiment received a brand new weapon – the British made Pattern 1853 Enfield rifle, a 577 caliber muzzle loading rifled musket. They weighed 9 ½ pounds each and were 55 inches long.

Aand each came with a 20 inch ring bayonet, a weapon confederate soldiers did not always have. Their equally new Ely of Birmingham ammunition used 70 grains of finely ground black powder to send a minnie' ball out the barrel at 900 feet per second. Confederate ammunition was rarely as consistently reliable. And instead of turning in their old muskets, the rebels loaded them with buckshot, for close-in fighting in the redan.

On Wednesday, 17 June William recorded that the morning was cloudy “...but did not indicate rain...The enemy's lines were now so near, that scraps of paper could be thrown by the combatants into each other's ranks. Thus, a Yankee threw a "hard-tack" biscuit among the men of the regiment, having written on it "starvation.....". 

Thursday, 18 June was “Cloudy and warm.” The only notable event, besides the constant sniping and shelling was that “...The Vicksburg Wig published an extra, containing a few items regarding the siege of Port Hudson.” They were mostly wishful rumors. Friday 19 June was “Clear and warm. The firing was comparatively light.” But more important, rations were issued to the men – a quarter pound of flour, a quarter pound of rice,and a quarter pound of the dreaded peas. There was also a small portion of some thing called “rice sugar and salt”, and a quarter pound of “Tobacco and bacon.”.

During those long, boring and dangerous June days and nights, William recorded that a Missourian nicknamed “Shanghai” began conversing with the Yankees a few yards away, and discovered relatives in the enemy camp. Eventually they tendered an invitation to dinner. According to Tunard, “He was cordially welcomed, and all the delicacies...which the Federals possessed in such profusion, were furnished him. After a feast, accompanied with a sociable chat and several drinks, he was permitted to return, very favorably impressed with the generosity of the Yankees.” Come morning they went back to methodically killing each other.

At dawn of the thirty-third day of the siege, Saturday, 20 June, 1863, Sergeant Tunard reported that every Yankee gun “...along the line suddenly opened, keeping up a rapid and continuous fire. All concurred in the opinion that such a tremendous cannonading had never been equaled in their experience, and the volume of sound surpassed anything yet heard. It seemed as if heaven and earth trembled under the heavy concussion.” The purpose of the sudden bombardment seemed unclear, but the soldiers of the 3^rd Louisiana eventually assumed it had been made to mask the tunneling which had just begun beneath their redan.

After weeks of watching the relentless advance of the Yankee zig – zag sap lines crawling toward their secure fort, the boys from Louisiana began hearing the disconcerting muffled thumps of picks and shovels, an indistinct grumbling and grunting percolating up from the ground beneath their feet. It was like hearing the Yankee devils digging rebel graves. Most times the sounds were so faint you could doubt your own senses. But then would come the sharp clink of metal and the panic would seize your soul. Then the sound would fade again. A man could easily imagine the gates of Hades were about to swing open and swallow him whole. It was enough to drain the courage out of brave men. And it did.

Under Major Pierson's direction, the Louisiana boys began strengthening the trenches at the rear of the fort, and moving artillery into that position.  The rebels also tried sinking counter tunnels. But they never seemed to come close to the sounds. Then on Friday morning, 25 May, the muted efforts abruptly ceased. The sudden silence was ominous. And hour later Major Pierson ordered most of the regiment back to the trenches. And those left behind, dug in as deep as they dared, and waited.

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AIR HEADS Chapter Twelve

I wonder how many people worked in the advertising department at the Cole Motor Company in Indianapolis in 1911? Besides supporting Bob Fowler’s “Cole Flyer” transcontinental flight, they also had a big balloon that made appearances at county fairs, and they contributed a share in the founding of the Indianapolis Motor Speedway. As their slogan went, “There’s a Touch of Tomorrow in All Cole Does Today”. Well, the touch was not to last forever. Joe Cole (above) had built a fortune in horse buggies before he borrowed enough cash from Harvey Firestone to start his auto company in 1909. He ordered the parts from other manufacturers and assembled them in the Cole building. “A man’s car any woman can drive.”

Joe offered such innovations as “adjustable door glasses” (i.e., removable windows) a 15 foot long dashboard light and a speedometer that read up to 75 mph; unfortunately the car only went up to 45 mph. Bigwigs at General Motors wanted to buy out Cole, and when Joe wouldn’t sell they just bought up his suppliers and gradually cut him off. With the post war recession of 1920-21 Joe realized the jig was up and began a careful liquidation of his company. In 1924, after he closed up his firm, Joe died suddenly. His family rented out the building (above) in Indianapolis and kept the name, "the Cole Building" into the 1970’s; thus fared the man who sponsored Bob Fowler's flight. 

After he reached El Paso in 1911, it took Bob Fowler(above) a month just to escape Texas. He crash landed in a rice field outside of Seixas, Louisiana, on Christmas Eve. He landed in New Orleans at about 3 p.m. on New Year’s Eve. It took him until February of 1912 to reach Florida. He landed on the sand at Jacksonville Beach on 12 February 1912 -  not that anybody noticed, what with the Titanic going down just two months later.

Bob would later observe with understatement, “I was the first to start and the last to finish.” It had taken him 116 days and 72 hours of actual flight time to cover the 2,800 miles across America. The very next year Bob Fowler made the first non-stop transcontinental flight – and the shortest. Just 36 miles across the Isthmus of Panama. Bob Fowler was a pretty crafty fellow.

Bob sold The “Cole Flyer” in 1912, and after being used in the movie business for a few years, it was sold again, this time for scrap. The engine is still on display at the Exposition Museum in Los Angles. In 1916 Bob started the “Fowler Airplane Corporation” in his home town of San Francisco. He modified and sold Curtis JN-4’s (“Jennys”) to the U.S. Army as trainers, and after WWI he started Bluebird Airways, a passenger service. He retired to San Jose and died in 1966, at the healthy old age of 82.

Jimmy Ward (above), the ex-jockey who had the good sense to drop out of the Hearst race, suffered a great tragedy.  His wife Maude Mae died in a hotel fire,  and Jimmy was so devastated he lost his mind and never got it back.  Eventually Glenn Curtiss helped him get admitted to a Florida mental hospital. He died there in 1923, at the age of 37.  He was buried in an unmarked paupers grave. Some of his fellow aviation pioneers collected money to give him a more respectful funeral, but I can find no record of that ever happening.

Cal Rodgers was testing a new airplane on Wednesday  3 April, 1912, just off shore of Long Beach, California, when he ran into a flock of sea gulls. The plane banked sharply 45 degrees and slid into the surf, crashing just feet from where Cal had posed grinning in the surf with the “Vin Fiz” the previous December.

The engine broke loose from its mounts and crushed Cal, breaking his neck. He was still breathing when swimmers pulled him from the water, but he died soon after. Cal Rodgers was the 127th death since the Wright Brothers flight in 1903, and the 22nd American aviator killed. Considering the number of people flying in 1912, those were still terrible odds.

Cal's mother, Maria (Rodgers) Sweitzer, took procession of her son’s body and had it shipped back to Pittsburgh. There Calbraith Perry Rodgers was buried in Allegheny Cemetery under an elaborate tombstone (above), marked with the words “I Endure, I Conquer.”

Cal’s brother John took procession of the “Vin Fiz Flyer” and had it shipped back to Ohio, to the Wright Brother's shops, to be repaired. He offered the Flyer to the Smithsonian, but they already had a Wright B, so instead, in 1917, the Flyer was donated to the Carnegie Institute in Pittsburgh. In 1934 the Smithsonian changed their minds and bought the “Vin Fiz Flyer”. Refurbished and rebuilt, that is the plane that hangs from the ceiling in the Air and Space Museum in Washington, D.C.

And little Maude was determined to endure and conquer as well. After lengthy court battles with her ex-mother-in-law in California, Maude was awarded legal possession of the “Vin Fiz Flyer”. How could this be? Wasn’t the Flyer back in Ohio, being rebuilt? It was. But the contents of the repair car of the “Vin Fiz Special” contained enough spare parts, many of which may have actually flown sections of the transcontinental voyage, to construct a second “Vin Fiz Flyer” and still claim it as an “original.”

Two years after Cal’s death, and after the court battles with Maria had finally been settled, Maude married Charlie “Wiggie” Wiggin, who had shown such faith and devotion to her Cal; two lonely souls who shared an adoration of another man. “Wiggie”, had, by this time, acquired his own pilot’s license. And Maude and Wiggie made a living for a few years barnstorming their “Vin Fiz Flyer” around the country. And then they quietly faded out of history.

It would be ten years later when Jimmy Doolittle would cross the continent in less than a day - 21 hours 19 minutes, with just one stop for fuel. And as you sit in your tiny passenger seat, crammed four to an aisle, held prisoner on the tarmac for endless hours, forced to use a toilet designed for a diminutive Marquise de Sade, charged extra for a micro-waved “snack”, a pillow, a blanket, a soda or a thimble full of peanuts, even the privilege of using the rest room...

...consider the sacrifices of those who suffered before you; landing in chicken coops, landing in tree tops, landing in barbed wire fences, landing in Texas for day after day. And remember the immortal words of Cal Rodgers; “I am not in this business because I like it, but because of what I can make out of it.” It has become the mantra of every airline passenger world wide.

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