VICKSBURG Chapter Twenty - Six

 

It was no accident they paid the battle hardened men of the 12th Division at 5:00am, Thursday, 30 April, 1863. And then they fed them breakfast. It put the troops in a good mood, and it did small harm. They had little opportunity to gamble or buy alcohol as they then went through the tedious procedure of being loaded on to the river transports. 

A private in the 33rd Illinois Volunteers, Charles Wilcox,  described the morning in extraordinary terms.  "The sun arose throwing an impressive splendor....Every heart here is full of anxiety and emotion; wondering eyes... not altogether tearless, gaze upon the...troops whose courage and valor are sufficient...to redeem this lovely valley of the Mississippi from fiends and traitors who are desecrating it.” 

By 8:30am the entire division was steaming south on the Mississippi River. About 11:00am, they arrived off the run down dock of the "ghost town" of Bruinsburg Landing. It was an extraordinary moment in American history.

As 30 year old Lieutenant Commander James Agustin Greer guided the 200 foot long, 633 ton ironclad USS Benton (above) to the landing,  there was not a rebel in sight. Wirt Adam's cavalry, which ought to have been picketing the place, was 80 miles away trying to ambush the Illinois cavalry of Colonel Greirson.   In their place were one or two scouts. Meanwhile, floating in the mile wide Mississippi river were six ironclads and six riverboat transports loaded with 40 year old Brigadier General Peter Joseph Osterhauser's 12th Division of 4,000 men.

There was no preliminary bombardment. That would have simply alerted General Bowen in Grand Gulf 12 miles upstream.  There was however a band, playing "The Red, White, and Blue " - "Thy mandates makes heroes assemble, When liberty's form stands in view; Thy banners make tyrants tremble, When borne by the Red, White and Blue." The first men to step off the gangplank were Germans of the 46th Indiana Volunteer Infantry. These Hoosiers had formed up in Logansport in December of 1861, and had proven their bravery by carrying enemy works during the Arkansas Post expedition in January, and the failed assault against Fort Pemberton in March.

They were followed by the 24th Indiana Volunteers, organized in the old territorial capital and Wabash River town of Vincennes , back in September of '61. They had proved their courage during the second day of Shiloh, in April of 1862, where their beloved Lieutenant-Colonel John Gerber was killed by a cannon ball. Said fellow Hoosier and future author from Crawfordsville, General Lew Wallace, "Nobody died a more glorious death than Gerber. Yet, at Shiloh so many brave men died, and still so many glorious deeds were performed!”

Next off the USS Benton was the commander of the Army of the Tennessee, Lieutenant General Ulysses Grant (above). His precipitous action betrayed his anxiety. He had reached the fulcrum of his gamble. If there was no road up the bluffs to Port Gibson and Grand Gulf as reported, then Grant's gamble had gone bust. Usually when under stress Grant was afflicted with migraines. He had one this morning. But a slave watching the federal army rush ashore confirmed there were two roads that climbed the bluff; the left one led directly to Grand Gulf and to the right, the Rodney Road, led 20 miles north to Port Gibson on Bayou Pierre.

The 1,300 Hoosiers climbed the bluffs before pausing to eat their lunch under the shade trees in the front yard of perhaps the most magnificent and expensive planter's home in the south, Windsor House (above). The crown of a 2,500 acre plantation, the 4 story, 25 room Italianate and Gothic mansion had been constructed by slaves under the direction of artisans. It even had indoor plumbing, with a rain filled rooftop storage tank. And every room had its own fireplace.

This pinnacle of antebellum southern wealth, resting on the labor of thousands of human slaves, was the home of Smith Coffee Daniel II, and his wife and cousin Catherine Skinner Freeland. It had taken 3 years to build, and within months of its completion in 1861, the war exploded and Smith Coffee Daniel had died. He was just 34 years old. His widow and 3 children were still living here, when the Union Army landed on their doorstep. They retreated upstairs, leaving the first floor to the Federals. But it turned out, they Yankees were not staying long.

Behind the Hoosiers, the rest of General Osterhaus' division was unloaded, while one steamboat returned to Disharoon to pick up 2 days rations for the men. It seems the corps commander, Major General McClernard,  had forgotten to issue rations before boarding his troops,  Not until the hard tack and biscuits were distributed, about 4:30 that afternoon, did the march resume, This time the men of the 21st Iowa regiment were  in the lead. When they reached the small white Bethel Church, the column took the southern fork,  which led inland, toward Port Gibson.

One soldier from Illinois remembered the road led, “...by quiet farmhouses and cultivated fields, through pretty wooded groves and up quiet lanes, all bearing the marks of peace."  At about 7:00pm, with darkness falling, two companies of  the 21st Iowa were sent forward  under Lieutenant Colonel Cornelius W. Dunlap, as a screen for the regiment, which followed close behind with artillery. 

Just four years earlier the young Mr. Dunlop had been the editor of the new "Mitchell Gazette". The newspaper proved successful, but in 1861 Cornelius felt compelled to leave town. The young man then volunteered to defend the union.  And his orders this night were to keep his men moving toward Port Gibson and the bridge over Bayou Pierre or "until fired upon."  

Just about midnight, Friday, 1-2 May, 1863 the column crossed Willow Creek, and began a long climb up the slope of Thompson's Hill. As they neared the crest  a 5 minute break was called and the weary Hawkeyes fell back on their packs in a narrow road cut.  Standing in the road, the regimental surgeon, Dr. William L. Orr , was talking quietly with Colonel Samuel Merrill. Their conversation was cut short by a sudden crack of muskets from the crest of the hill. Instantly, Merrill threw his men into a quick line, and returned fire. They then pushed up the road at the double quick, They rebels had disappeared, but as the ground leveled out, they came upon a white 2 story farm house     

It was the home of  Abram Keller  "A.K." Shaifer. Born in Maryland in 1774, he had once been a Justice of the Peace in Tennessee, a "trader" up and down the big river, and one time county sheriff. The old man had died in April of 1860, at the age of 89.  His 60 year old widow Elizabeth still lived in the home with 5 children, the eldest of whom, 26 year old Abram Keller junior, was away serving in the Confederate army. 

As the Federal soldiers came stomping into the clearing, four women ran out of the front door and  threw themselves into a carriage, before rushing off toward  Port Gibson. And for the next 3 hours, Federal and rebel soldiers exchanged shots and artillery shells in the dark,  Commanders on both sides fed men into the fight, extending battle lines, leading charges and retreats because of perceptions rather than tactical knowledge. The fight was confused, loud and deadly, complicated because most of the men involved had no idea what their battlefield looked like. It was not until after 3:00am that things began to quiet down, and Colonel Merrill and Lieutenant Colonel Dunlap and their Hawkeyes could get their first sleep in 24 hours.

Meanwhile, back on the river, the transports returned to Disharoon to load the men of 34 year old Brigadier General Eugene Asa Carr's division. By nightfall they would be joined in Mississippi by the division of 41 year old lawyer and Brigadier General Alvin Peterson Hovey - putting a total of 17,000 soldiers and 60 cannon ashore in a single day. It was a record not to be equaled by the U.S. Army until the invasion of French Morocco and Algeria in November of 1942.   But after being constrained for so long, Grant rushed the transfer of men and equipment to Bruinisburg, ordering that operations continue even after night fall.

At about 3:00am on Friday, 1 May, 1863, just as the shooting was quieting down around the Shaifer house,  the 315 ton, 150 foot long steamboat Horizon, captained by Richard Calhoon, was heading downstream for Bruinsburg, carrying the Swedes of Captain Frederick Sparrestrom's Battery G, 2nd Illinois Light Artillery, and towing a barge loaded with the batteries' ammunition caissons. At the same time, struggling upstream for Disharoon, was the empty 231 ton Monerator, captained by Mr. O. C. Williamson. Pressed into service despite her steering having been damaged by the Vicksburg guns on 22 April, the Monerator was barely being controlled against the swirling currents.  And because the shoreline between the two landings was still in rebel hands, both ships were operating without running lights. About halfway between the two landings, the inevitable occurred.

In a slight flog the two ships stumbled into each other with a shock and splintering of wood. The Horizon was the larger ship, and traveling close to 10 knots at the moment of impact. The limping Monerator, making perhaps 2 or 3 knots at best, but riding empty and high, suffered no fatal injury.  The heavily loaded Horizon was not so fortunate. Her engine compartment was breached and fire quickly spread throughout the ship 

The burning Horizon was able to run herself aground near the mouth of Bayou Pierre. The entire crew were able to escape, as did all the Iowa men except for two privates. Nicolas Carlson and Francis Linderbeck. They drowned when the current eventually pulled the Horizon into deeper water before rolling her over and sending her 30 feet to the bottom of the river  About 60 horses and mules also drown. Tents, cooking utensils, books, records and paperwork, cannons and caissons were all lost. After this disaster -  the deduction of 20% of Grant's ferrying capacity -  the remaining transports operated only during day light, slowing the buildup of Federal forces on the Mississippi shore.

But that did not stop Grant. He kept pushing his few men in Mississippi north, determined to capture Port Gibson and the vital bridge over Bayou Pierre.

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VICKSBURG Chapter Twenty - Five

 

The Illinois and Iowa horsemen broke camp at about 6:00am, Sunday, 26 April, 1863. They paused long enough in Raleigh, Mississippi to capture the local sheriff and seize $3,000 in Confederate currency. It began to rain heavily in the afternoon, but Colonel Grierson drove his men on until they had reached the Strong River, outside of Westville, 40 road miles from their starting point that day.

As the rest of the command tried to find a dry spot to make camp, 4 companies were mounted on the freshest horses available and sent off into the wet dark. The man leading this group might have led the Grierson raid if Grierson had not made it back in time - 31 year old lawyer Colonel Edward Prince. His orders were to capture and hold the ferry across the Pearl River.  But for Colonel Grierson, the question,  now that the Vicksburg to Jackson railroad had been hit hard, was where to go after the ferry.

It seems obvious to me that it was obvious to Colonel Grierson that Lieutenant General Ulysses Grant was intending to launch a major assault against Vicksburg before the end of April. If not now, why the rush? Grierson had been urgently recalled from leave in Illinois to command the raid, arriving less then 24 hours before it was launched. And why send Grierson down the rebel right flank, unless Grant was intending on attacking the rebel left flank, probably in the region of Grand Gulf? So,  although no explicit orders had been issued, it seems obvious to me that Grierson was riding to meet Grant somewhere in the vicinity of Grand Gulf.

After a few hours sleep, Grierson got his weary men and horses moving again about midnight, Monday, 27 April. They crossed the Strong River bridge, which they burned behind them. Just about dawn, they arrived at the Pearl River. Although crossing the captured ferry took several hours, once again Grierson sent Colonel Prince ahead, this time to Hazelhurst. As they approached that village, on the north/south New Orleans, Jackson and Great Northern railroad, Prince decided on new bit of chicanery. He wrote out a dispatch addressed to General Pemberton in Jackson, 40 miles to the north. In it he claimed that the Pearl River ferry had been destroyed before the Yankees had arrived, and that they were last seen heading northeast, as if intending on hitting the Southern Railroad again, before joining with the Yankees out of Greenville.

The message was delivered by two "scouts" dressed in stolen rebel uniforms, and they watched as it was telegraphed to Pemberton. Shortly there after, Colonel Prince's tiny command captured the station, and almost took another train as well. However the engineer spotted a blue clad trooper and was able to reverse his engine back toward Jackson. And as it left the station, so did Colonel Prince's clever deception plan. 

He was forced to satisfy himself with burning a box car filled with artillery shells. And once again the sound of exploding shells drew the rest of Grierson's command to race into town, only to discover there was no battle. So the Yankees spent the rest of the day, tearing up track, burning the cross ties to heat the rails and bend them until they were useless.

Having finally received confirmation of Grierson's location from the observant engineer, Pemberton ordered the 6,500 infantrymen of General William Wing Loring's division down the rail line to Edward's Station to defend the all important Southern Railroad, and moved to encircle the Yankees with what little cavalry he had. The regiment under 49 year old lawyer and state representative Colonel William Wirt Adams (above)  rode out from Grand Gulf with instructions to close in from the west. 

They were joined by 2 irregular units - Porter's Partisans' marching from Jackson under Captain W.W. Porter, and coming in from the south was the First Tennessee Rangers under 42 year old Memphis lawyer, Colonel Robert Vinkler Richardson. And 28 year old Ohio native Colonel Clark Russell Barteau was ordered to slam the back door on Grierson by moving his 22nd Tennessee regiment of cavalry to Hazelhurst.

Colonel Grierson (above, center) did not know the trap was closing, but did not wait to find out. At 6:00am, Tuesday, 28 April his men and their weary mounts hit the roads again. Thankfully the roads were now dry, and the units made good time. 

About four hours later the Colonel dispatched 4 more companies of the 7th Illinois south to strike the New Orleans, Jackson railroad again, again burning rail cars, the depot and a bridge in the lumber town of Bahala, known locally "for the number and size of its saloons".  Meanwhile Grierson's command continued south west, to the village of Union Church - so named because when the village was founded around 1805, the few Methodists in the group had to worship in union with the majority Presbyterians.

Grierson and his 950 troopers were now within 60 miles of Grand Gulf. The Colonel could expect to hear of Grant's crossing the Mississippi somewhere close to that landing, today or tomorrow, or maybe the day after. But Grierson's union with Grant was not to be. About 1:00am, on the morning of Wednesday, 29 April, two "scouts" screening the 4 companies of the 7th returning from their raid stumbled into pickets for Wirt Adam's 400 troopers and militia, with artillery support, marching out from Grand Gulf. Thinking they were speaking with fellow rebels, the pickets revealed they were expecting to ambush the damn Yankees come morning, outside of Union Church.

At 6:00am that morning, Grierson rode out of Union Church headed west, as expected. But less than a mile later the majority of the command suddenly took a side road eastward, while leaving 4 companies at the cross roads, skirmishing with any curious rebels who got too close. 

It was hours before Wirt Adams pressed the skirmishes hard enough that they melted away into the Mississippi haze. Realizing at last that the Yankees had dodged his trap, an infuriated Adams gathered his men and set off in pursuit.

The morning was infuriating for both sides. As Grierson's men road east toward Brookhaven, Mississippi, they could hear behind them the thundering of Admiral Porter's ironclad's pounding the forts at Grand Gulf. The junction, and security, seemed so close. And the twisting back roads of Mississippi confused the troopers so much that Corporal Sudby would later write, " I do not think we missed traveling toward any point of the compass."

That afternoon Grierson's men galloped into the surprised railroad town of Brookhaven, destroying another dozen freight cars filled with arms and ammunition, tearing up more track, burning another bridge and capturing and paroling another 200 soldiers, either wounded and home on leave, or on recruiting duty. But there was a surprise here as well - hundreds of able bodied men seeking a parole of their own, which would exempt them from being drafted into the Confederate army until exchanged for civilians in northern states. In fact the people of Brookhaven were so friendly, Grierson camped there for the night, completing another 40 mile day.

Two miles south down the New Orleans, Jackson rail line was the little town of Bogue Chitto, which Colonel Grierson's raiders captured early on the Thursday morning of 30 April. They burned 25 more box cars and destroyed more track. And here once again, deep in Mississippi, they found strong pro union sentiment. By nightfall the exhausted troopers had reached Summit, Mississippi.

Nine hours behind the Yankees were the First Tennessee Rangers under Colonel Richardson. Sensing they were gaining, Richardson pushed his men to march through the night. Much closer that evening, just 5 miles to the west of Grierson, were the 400 troopers under Colonel Wirt Adams. Both Richardson and Adams planned to attack the Yankees 22 miles further south, the next stop on the New Orleans rail line - a little village of 400 just north of the Louisiana border, Osyka, Mississippi.

The Louisiana Legion under 50 year old lawyer, Colonel William R. Miles, marching northeast out of Port Hudson, was heading for the same location. And 39 year old Lieutenant Colonel George Gnatt, leading the 7th Tennessee Cavalry Battalion, was also converging to the same spot. Like a magnet the 950 union troopers of the 6th and 7th Federal Cavalry Regiments were drawing every rebel cavalry unit in Mississippi toward the little railroad town of Osyka.

The Federals stopped for the night of Thursday, 30 April, 1863, 15 miles south of Summit Mississippi, and 7 miles north of Osyka, Colonel Grierson (above) decided that since he had not yet heard of Grant's army crossing the river, come morning - Friday, 1 May, 1863, he would head for the Federal lines outside of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, 100 miles to the southwest.

Of course,  on that very day,  Grant arrived on the Vicksburg side of the Mississippi River.

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SIYSPHUS ON THE WABASH

 

I want to take you back to a time when there were just two million Hoosiers in the whole wide world, and yet Indiana had 13 seats in the United States House of Representatives and 15 electoral votes.  And there arose upon that mole hill an ego determined to push those 15 votes up Mount Olympus and to sacrifice his reputation and the sanity and security of the entire state in the effort.

Indiana was and is the smallest state west of the Allegheny mountains but was also a crucial "battleground" state, oscillating like a bell clapper, clanging first Republican and then ringing Democratic, changing six times between 1876 and 1888, swinging each time at the whim of some 6,000 reasonably fickle independent voters. And upon that oscillating foundation stood our anti-hero.

The impeller of these rhythmic revolutions came in the winter of 1885 when the dynamic Democratic Governor Isaac Gray (above), dreamed of becoming President of the whole United States. Now, such ambition was not an impossible dream, as another Hoosier politician would shortly prove – Republican Benjamin Harrison.  First step for both men was  to become a United States Senator.   And since at the time Senators were elected by the state legislature, which was split pretty evenly along party lines, Governor Gray came up with a clever plan to ensure himself  the initial stepping stone of U.S. Senator. 

First the Democratic Governor jammed through a gerrymander redistricting of the state legislative offices, re-designing ten traditionally Republican state assembly seats so they would more likely elect Democrats instead. This would prove to be such an outrageous power grab, a Federal court would finally declare it unconstitutional in 1892.  But Gray's knew the voters would take their revenge far sooner than the courts.

So, in the summer of 1886, Grey convinced his Democratic Lieutenant Governor, Mahlon Manson (above) to take early retirement. Then Grey scheduled a special election to refill the post that fall, along with the General Assembly election, 

And as Gray had expected, the Republican base was so energized by the Democratic gerrymander, that their party was swept back into power that November with a 10,000 vote majority, recapturing seven of those redistricted Assembly seats that were supposed to go Democrats.  (The state Senate, remained unchanged at  31 Democrats and 19 Republicans.)  

But more importantly for Governor Gray, the newly elected Lieutenant Governor was a Republican, Robert Robertson (above).  Thus, should Democrat Gray offer his resignation as Governor in exchange for his election as U.S. Senator, the Republican dominated General Assembly would probably go along because that would make the Republican Robertson the new Governor. Clever. Complicated, but clever.

Yes, Grey (above) was clever enough to be worthy of Machiavelli. But his plan faced one insurmountable hurdle. Governor Isaac Grey was without doubt the most hated Democratic governor among Democrats, in the entire history of the state of Indiana. He was the original DINO -  a Democrat in Name Only.

Twenty years earlier, at the close of the Civil War, this same Isaac Grey,  had been the Republican Speaker of the state Assembly (above).  To pass the 13th, 14th and 15th Amendments to the U.S. Constitution, making ex-slaves American citizens, and giving black males the right to vote, Speaker Grey had literally locked the doors, preventing Democrats from bolting the building and thus denying a quorum to the Republican majority. While the trapped Democrats sulked in the cloak room, Speaker Grey staged successful votes for the three Constitutional Amendments. It had been a brutal scheme, again worthy of Machiavelli, - and like Gray's latest plot. But the Democrats never forgot Grey had counted them as "present but not voting",  even after he had switched to the Democrats and gave them the Governorship.  And as the Assembly session for 1887 opened, these hard liners were willing to set the state on fire if they could also burn up their Governor's Presidential dream boat.

The Indiana State Senate (above)  was about to come into session at  9:35 on the morning of Saturday 24 February, 1887, when Republican Lt. Governor Robertson entered the second floor chambers to take his seat as the new President pro tempore of the Senate.  But a flying squad of Democrats physically blocked him from reaching the dais. He shouted from the floor, "Gentlemen of the Senate, I have been by force excluded from the position to which the people of this state elected me.” 

But at this point the out going President pro tempore, Democratic State Senator Alonzo Smith, ordered doorkeeper Frank Pritchett, to remove the Lt. Governor, “...if he don't stop speaking.”

As the doorkeeper and his assistants advanced on Roberts, the duly elected president pro tempo announced, “They may remove me. I am here, unarmed.” Smith testily responded, “We are all unarmed. We are fore-armed, though.” 

That belligerent mood was now general in the chamber. Lawyer, and founder of a law school, Republican State Senator Mark Lindsey De Motte (above) from Porter county shouted something from the floor, and acting President Smith ordered him to take his seat. Responded DeMotte, “When he gets ready, he will.”

Doorkeeper Bulger caught Robertson "...by the throat, and with the other hand by the shoulder" and threw him, "...some fifteen (or) twenty feet from the steps of the chamber's dais"  As he did a Republican State Senator shouted that if he went, all the Republicans were going with him. Past and current Rebel President Pro tem Smith shouted back, “They can go if they want to. They will be back, ” he predicted. 

At this point Republican State Senator Henry Underwood Johnson (above) challenged the chair directly, telling him, “No man will be scared by you.” “You're awfully scared now, “ said the Democrat. “Not by you”, answered Johnson. It sounded like children had taken over the state senate.

A general fight now broke out in the Senate chamber, with the outnumbered Republicans giving such a good account of themselves that one Democrat drew a pistol and – BANG! - shot a hole in the brand new ceiling of the still unfinished statehouse. Into the acrid gun smoke and sudden silence this unnamed Democrat announced that he was prepared to start killing Republicans if they kept fighting.

With that, Lt. Governor Robertson was thrown out of the Senate and the doors were locked and bolted behind him. As the official record notes those were “...the last words spoken by a Republican Senator in the 55th General Assembly.” The Indiana Senate then tried to get back to business, appropriately taking up Senate bill 61, setting aside $100,000 for three new hospitals for the mentally insane. It was decided it was self evident the state was going to need them, and the measure was approved by a vote officially recorded as 31 Ayes, 0 nays and 18 “present but not voting”. Ah, revenge must have seemed sweet for the Democrats – for about half an hour.

Outside in the central atrium (above), the gunshot had attracted a crowd, mostly from the Republican controlled House on the East side of the capital. Faced with a bruised and enraged Robertson, the Republicans caught his anger. Similar fights sparked to life in the chamber of the General Assembly  and a “mob” of 600 angry Republicans descended upon every wayward Democrat in the building, punching and kicking them, and, if they resisted, beating them down to the marble floors of the brand new “people's house”.

Eventually, the pandemonium returned to its source; the Republicans laid siege to the Senate chamber. They beat against the doors, and smashed open a transom. Vengeful Republicans poured in and the haughty Democrats were assaulted in their own chamber and thrown out of it. By now Democrat Governor Grey, down in his offices on the first floor, had heard the ruckus upstairs, and had called in the Indianapolis Police. Four hours after the legislative riot had begun, order was restored to the capital of Hoosier democracy. History and many newspapers would record it as the “Black Day of the Indiana Assembly.”

The following Monday the triumphant Republican dominated Assembly dispatched a note to the battered Democratically controlled Senate, that the Repubs would have no further correspondence with the Dems. Snap of finger dismissal. The Senate counter-informed the lower house, ditto, and same to you.. State government in Indiana ground to a halt. Lt. Governor Robertson never presided over the Senate, and Governor Gray never served as a Untied States Senator. 

He came to be known as the “Sisyphus of the Wabash”, after the legendary Greek king, renown for his avariciousness and deceit, punished by the gods with pushing a rock up a hill he never summited.  A few years later Hoosiers elected to choose their Senators by popular vote,  I suppose under the theory that the general population of drunks and lunatics could do no worse then the professional politicians had already done.  And they were most certainly correct.

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