VICKSBURG Chapter Ninety

 

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, the filly's 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. Her husband had to be in the wagon.  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 a 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 to escape 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 for his own men only,  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 1^st 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 in withdrawal, 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 of Vicksburg, outside of Edward's Depot, with the wives of 2 of John's subordinates – Colonel Pembroke S. Senteny and Major Eugene Erwin of the 2^nd 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 3^rd 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 soldiers than did 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 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 been 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 be 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 Confederate 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 remained partners in her war.

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VICKSBURG Chapter Eighty - Eight

 

At about 10:00 a.m. on Friday, 3 July, 1863, a pair of rebel officers walked 100 yards to the Yankee trenches. Once safely below ground level they were introduced to the short and feisty commander of the 10^th division, XIII Corps, 48 year old regular army General Andrew Jackson Smith. (above). 

The junior Confederate officer, Colonel L.M. Montgomery, carried a letter from Lieutenant General John Crawford Pemberton, which read, “I have the honor to propose an armistice...with the view to arranging terms for the capitulation of Vicksburg. To this end, if agreeable to you, I will appoint three commissioners, to meet a like number to be named by yourself, at such place and hour today as you may find convenient. I make this proposition to save the further effusion of blood, which must otherwise be shed to a frightful extent, feeling myself fully able to maintain my position for a yet indefinite period....”

The letter went from General Smith to Major General James McPherson, and was read by those officers and discussed with their staffs. By the time it had reached Grant, the contents were common knowledge among staff officers, as was the identity of the senior rebel officer, 32 year old Major General John Stevens Bowen (above). He had been promoted to Major General after the Federal noose had cut Vicksburg off from the outside world, so the Confederate Congress was unaware of Pemberton's largess toward the man who had forced the court martial of General Van Dorn – Pemberton's predecessor. Bad feelings in Richmond might delay approval of Bowen's promotion. Still, few would have questioned his qualifications as displayed at Shiloh and Cornith and Champion's Hill.

Like Grant, John Bowen (above, pre war) had graduated West Point. And like Grant, he had been posted to the Jefferson barracks in St. Louis. Both men had married into prominent Missouri families. Transferred to duty in the west, both men were so miserable they resigned from the army. But Grant had then been forced to try his hand at farming, while Bowen could fall back on a family fortune. Bowen became an architect, and returned to St. Louis in the 1850's to open a successful firm with Charles Miller. When Grant was reduced to selling firewood on the street, the firm of Bowen and Miller bought their firewood from Grant. It was not a relationship designed to encourage camaraderie.

Grant's (above) reply to Pemberton reversed the path of the appeal, and was just as widely known. “Your note of this date is just received, proposing an armistice...The useless effusion of blood you propose...can be ended at any time you may choose, by the unconditional surrender of the city and garrison...I have no terms other than those...”

In retrospect Pemberton's note seemed to invite the repetition of Grant's terms from 16 February, 1862, at Fort Donaldson (above), “No terms except an unconditional and immediate surrender can be accepted. I propose to move immediately upon your works”. Once again Ulysses  Grant would become “Unconditional Surrender Grant" in the press. But Bowen, reading the response while still in the Yankee trenches decided he could not wait for gentlemanly formalities.

Bowen appealed directly to General Smith, requesting that he ask Grant if he would not at least meet with Pemberton in person, today. After a few moments wait a runner returned with Grant's agreement to meet between the lines in front of General McPherson's Corps, at a time of Pemberton's choosing. And then the pair of Confederates carried their rejected truce flag back to the Confederate lines.

Grant's harsh terms set off an animated discussion in Pemberton's headquarters (above) . Honor insisted  the rebels chose to fight rather than accept humiliation. It was insane, of course. There were already 10,000 men on rebel sick lists - 1/3rd of the army too disabled by diarrhea, disease and wounds to participate in a march let alone an attack to reach Johnston's Army of Relief. Then Bowen announced, “General Grant would like to negotiate this afternoon with General Pemberton.”

Grant, of course, had suggested no such thing. Bowen had suggested the meeting. But other than a momentary wonder that Bowen had waited to mention this, the Confederates were greatly relieved. What else could they think except that Grant's written demand was a mere publicity stunt and there were to be the very negotiations which Pemberton had offered in his note. Pemberton (above) quickly sent word through the Yankee lines that he and his negotiators would meet with Grant and his, at 3:00 p.m.

But why had Bowen waited to announce Grant's acceptance of a  meeting? And why had he created the impression that Grant sought negotiations? Bowen knew that with Johnston's army at the Big Black River,  Grant was motivated to drop his demand for unconditional surrender - as he had at Fort Donaldson.   Bowen also knew that most rebels paroled from Vicksburg could re-enter the fight – and they would do that Atlanta in 1864.   But in trying to manipulate Grant and Pemberton into a quicker resolution, the risk was that when Bowen's ruse would be discovered, as it must be, both men would feel cheated, and their anger could result in a slaughter. Why was Bowen running such a risk?

Like every one inside Vicksburg, Bowen was exhausted and near a physical and emotional collapse. Suffering already from the malady which would soon kill him, Bowen may have felt he had not the strength to wait for the slow witted Pemberton to face reality, or for Grant to accept the victory he was being offered, instead of the one he wanted. Bowen may have felt the situation had to be forced. Or he may just been a tired sick man, slowly losing control of his mind and body.

They met at 3:00 p.m under one of the few trees still standing near the rebel trenches (above). Pemberton, ever the gentleman, began by seeking to make Grant's come-down as easy as possible. He said he understood the Yankee had asked for this personal interview. Surprised, Grant honestly answered that he had not. Shaken, but determined, Pemberton then asked what other terms might Grant be willing to offer. Grant replied there were none. And for a moment Pemberton stood silent, feeling as if he had been slapped on the face. Ever the gentleman, he now said stiffly, “Then, sir, it is unnecessary that you and I should hold any further conversation; we will go to fighting again at once.”

And it was now, according to Grant, that John Bowen stepped forward. He began by saying he was anxious that the surrender be consummated right here, and now. He suggested that he and Yankee General Andrew Smith negotiate between themselves. In Pemberton's version, he was the one who made the suggestion. 

In any case, while Grant (above) and Pemberton small talked about the Mexican War, while Smith and Bowen agreed to a cease fire until final terms were decided. Then Bowen suggested Vicksburg would surrender while the Army of Mississippi would simply leave. Presumably Grant would believe they presented no threat because of their physical condition. Grant killed that idea out right. The General from Galena was now so frustrated he ended the meeting.  He accepted the cease fire, and said he would counter Bowen's offer by 10:00 p.m. that night.

It must have been an interesting evening meal in Pemberton's headquarters. The food, what there was of it, was at least warm.  Maybe John Pemberton was too ill to accuse Bowen of duplicity.  But the emotional roller coaster day of that had left them all exhausted. The Gentlemen from the south must have known, no matter what terms Grant offered, they had little choice but to accept them.

Grant must have been struggling with his temper. He'd been lied to. But once he got over that anger, as usual, he saw the situation with clarity. At 10:00 p.m. a white flag appeared over Smith's trench line, heralding a letter addressed to Pemberton – not Bowen. It was a not a negotiation, but a statement of intent. 

“ I will march in one division as a guard and take possession at 8 A.M. tomorrow. As soon as paroles can be made out and signed by the officers and men, you will be allowed to march out of our lines, the officers taking with them their regimental clothing, and Staff, Field and cavalry officers one horse each. The rank and file will be allowed all their clothing, but no other property...any amount of rations you may deem necessary can be taken from the stores you now have...You will be allowed to transport such articles as cannot be carried along. The same conditions will be allowed to all sick and wounded officers and privates as fast as they become able to travel...”

At dawn on Saturday, 4 July, 1863, Pemberton sent his reply. He sought 2 small face saving addendum. First, his men would stack their own arms and colors in front of their current positions, and second they would evacuate their trenches at 10:00 a.m. without turning them over to the Yankees.  Since Grant voiced no objections, that was the way it would be done.

The only thing left for Pemberton to do was to sign his parole and leave town.

Vicksburg had fallen.

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VICKSBURG Chapter Eighty-Eight

 

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, the filly's 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. Her husband had to be in the wagon.  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 a 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 to escape 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 1^st 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 2^nd 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 3^rd 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 soldiers than did 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 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 be 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 Confederate 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 remained partners in her war.

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