“We’ll hang Jeff. Davis on a Pride of China tree,

As we go marching on.”

CHAPTER VII.

On the 25^th of April, the long expected movement on Vicksburg began in earnest. Other troops had occupied positions opposite Warrenton and below before, but not so as to give the enemy a clear idea of our intentions, who still, doubtless, thought we were expecting to move in force, by the way of Steele’s Bayou, the Sunflower, Yazoo Pass, or some other opening above. Now the 17^th Army Corps, under McPherson, broke camp to move to the right of McClernand, and to be in turn rapidly followed by Sherman.

We left much of our baggage and all of our sick, Capt. Roach, of company I, being in command of our invalid camp; Col. Sloan, too, on account of sickness remained behind, Lieut. Col. Howe being in command.

In the best of spirits, and with our bands all playing, we struck away from the river into the interior of Louisiana, in gallant style, Quinby’s division in the advance. The day was warm, but the scenery was lovely, which made our marching easy. We soon struck willow Bayou, below Walnut, and passing down it by Tellula, a station on the demolished Vicksburg and Texas Railroad, crossed Roundaway Bayou, and went into camp near Richmond, having made a twelve mile march with comparative ease for the men, but not for the teams, as the road cut up very badly.

While we were much enjoying our camp, just at sundown, an unfortunate incident occurred. Col. Howe turned out his valuable horse, Rodney, which he had recently received from home, to play and graze. In some way he stumbled upon the rough ground, badly breaking his left fore shoulder, and had to be shot. It seemed such a pity to shoot the beautiful, noble fellow, and the Colonel and horse had the sympathy of the whole regiment.

Our Quartermaster had a little personal experience, which deserves to be told. He had received orders from brigade headquarters to remain with the surplus equipage, but being desirous to go with the regiment, and having a quantity of flour which the teams allowed could not carry---we had just drawn flour, after eating hard bread for a long time in camp----he loaded up an extra in the afternoon with flour and grain, disobeyed orders, and leaving Durley in charge of the stores, took “Charlie” Miles for body-guard, and with his teamsters slipped out. He expected to reach the regiment by night easily, having the whole road to himself. But he did not know what a whole army could do to Louisiana roads. Frequently they had to unload and roll the flour and carry the grain sacks past the bad places, in mud up to their knees. Night came on and no camp was reached, or likely to be. At last he left his team and pushed on with Miles. But it was no use; it was too dark and muddy to go through, so they camped in a blacksmith shop by the roadside, in which Reece fell over the anvil. That, in turn, fell upon his foot, and from its effects he has not recovered to this day. The next morning they rode through among the wagons, caissons and cannon that had been stuck the day before, and joined the regiment just as it was moving out again, and reported to Col. Howe, who kindly promised to intercede at brigade headquarters. Says Reece, “All the transportation of the 124^th was in its place that morning, which could not be said of any other regiment in our brigade.”

The 26^th we moved out again at seven o’clock, through a lovely country. Stopped to rest awhile at a fine plantation belonging to a Capt. Holmes, and went into camp early, just after a very heavy shower, having made about the same distance as yesterday. Firing towards the river was heavy a part of the day, and all night. The next day we pushed on by New Carthage in heavy rain and through horrid mud. Such a plastering, and so many stuck teams, we had never known before. How they ever all got through is a mystery still. We camped at Dunbar’s plantation, on Roundaway bayou. Our teams all came up, but too late, having been hindered by others on their way. We marched only about eight miles.

The 28^th we got off about ten o’clock, and after crossing the bayou had a fine levee road for a few miles. Passed by a Judge Perkins’ plantation and reached the river at a place called Ashwood Landing. Here we found the “Cheeseman,” “Forest Queen” and “Horizon,” that had run the blockade at Vicksburg, and Hovey’s division, of McClernand’s corps, embarking on them.

We expected to follow them, but instead were pulled out about midnight to march farther down. Our road was good, the night fine, and we rather enjoyed it. About daylight we had a halt and a cup of coffee, and then began to wind around Lake St. Joseph, through the richest and most delightful country we had yet seen. The residences of the planters were splendid; among them that of a Dr. Bowie, was conspicuous for its elegance and surroundings, and none the less so for its furniture. But it fell a prey to the flames before the army passed, though not by the hands of any of Logan’s division. We had all passed ere it was burnt, and learned of it with unfeigned regret; not that we cared for its owner, but it was a “thing of beauty” and deserved a better fate. The boys this day obtained quantities of cabbage, beets, onions, green peas, string beans and blackberries, but our march of twenty miles and upwards, in the heat, was very exhausting.

We went into camp at last near the east end of the horse-shoe lake, in a corn-field, said to contain 3,000 acres. It looked very large, even to an Illinoisan. The corn was upwards of knee high, and even as though it had grown by rule. It was a pity to see it punished as the camping ground of an army.

We were only a mile and a half from the landing about Grand Gulf, which many of us visited, weary as we were, before we slept. There had been a gunboat attack on the formidable rebel batteries there that day, and the shots were still occasional from our side, though eliciting no reply. While we were at the landing, our gunboats and transports suddenly wheeled into line and started down the river, past the batteries. We started for camp, but had not gone far before we heard from the rebels, and merry music they made of it, till our fleet had all passed, which was done in safety.

The next morning, April 30^th, we marched about five miles to a landing below, where we saw our whole fleet, transports and gunboats, loaded with troops, and steaming away down the river at our approach; or all except the “Tuscumbia,” which lay at the shore with no steam up. Having leisure, some of us went on board of her, and found her sadly disabled in the fight of the day before. She was in fact ruined, helpless; three out of four of her hog-chains had been let down by shooting off the stanchions, so that she was “hogged,” as sailors term it. Her smoke stacks had been riddled, her exposed wood work was in splinters, she having been struck eighty-two times, and her casing had been pierced in several places. Five men on board had been killed, and a much greater number wounded. The killed were lying in as many coffins, side by side, before us, with the flag for which they had died spread over them.

About three p.m. our turn came, and we went board the gunboat “Mound City,” fairly covering her up. We ran down the river about eight miles, and landed at Bruinsburg, on the Mississippi shore. Here we found the whole of McClernand’s corps, some of whom were falling in for a start as we landed. Our regiment and the 23d Indiana were in the advance of our division.

Bruinsburg was a delightful landing, innocent of any houses that we saw, but covered with a rich carpet of hitherto untrodden grass, that furnished a charming camping ground, with the river and its puffing steamers on one side, and the heavily wooded Mississippi hills on the other. No rebel had disputed our approach, and save for the ugly scars on the “Tuscumbia,” we could hardly bring ourselves to believe there was any foe intending to oppose us.

In the haste to cross the troops, the horses of the field officers had been ordered left behind. This was very rough on many officers that night and the next day or two, but Reece was on hand as usual, and smuggled over the horses of our officers, with those of a battery. He tried it the second time before succeeding. The first time he was detected and ordered off the barge, for which he was very thankful, as that barge sunk and many animals were lost. But he came out ahead the second time, and our officers were mounted for the march next day, which they all voted was better than leaving Reece at Milliken’s Bend.

Gov. Yates and E. B. Washburne addressed us again that evening. The Governor told of opening the boys covering themselves all over with glory. Of course it quickened the pulse of our patriotism somewhat, and under orders to march at four the next morning, we lay down under the peaceful heavens to rest, expecting ere another nightfall to meet the enemy..

Our sleep was troubled, as troops were moving out all night, and long ere the morning the sound of distant firing could be distinctly heard. We were moving early, and started about half-past six, having been detained some time for artillery to pass. We pushed up the river about two miles, and then wound into the hills, rather slowly at first, and then more rapidly, all the time listening to the firing. The day was hot, and as we moved faster we suffered greatly. The Mississippi sun almost roasted us. Blankets and overcoats were abundant by the roadside.

Soon we began to see signs of the fray. About eight miles out we met a large squad of rebel prisoners under guard, going to the river. Just after, we saw their wagons, left in their retreat, and knew that we had been driving them. A little farther on and the wounded of both sides began to appear, with occasionally a dead man. Then we reached a hospital by the roadside, to which they were bringing the wounded on stretchers. The next thing we were met by an Aid, and ordered to “unsling knapsacks,” which we did with three cheers for the Starts and Stripes, and moved rapidly to the front. It was then about one o’clock.

We soon came to a section of a battery, playing rapidly upon some frame houses in the distance, about which we could see the shells burst, but saw no enemy. We were filed to the left from the road and halted; but before we did so a few Minnie balls “zipped” over our heads, though from where we could not tell, and the while resting an answering shell or two came back form the Johnnies, striking near our guns. We saw the 23d Indiana move down toward a skirt of timber on our right front, and were told we were to support them. But soon it was whispered that Col. Sanderson, their commander, had said he did not want us to support him, as we were an untried regiment, but that Col. McCook, of the 31^st Illinois, had said, “Let them support me.” Certain it is that the 31^st were deployed as skirmishers, and we went to their support, though probably Col. Sanderson said no such thing, as he stoutly denied it. We found ourselves in an old plowed field, in front of our artillery, and were ordered to lie down; an order which we very promptly obeyed. Our ground was slightly descending toward the direction of the enemy. From the woods in front of our right the balls began to whiz quite unpleasantly, but no enemy appeared. We were confident the 45^th were in the woods, for we had seen them enter, therefore our friends must be between us and the rebels. Still the balls struck uncomfortably close, and often made us cringe, as the little puffs of dust would rise from the ground where the bullets entered. Another minute and Capt. Potter, of company F, was wounded in the heel, the first man hit in the “Hundred and two dozen,” Capt. Bedford, on the brigade staff, ordered the Chaplain and musicians to accompany Capt. Potter to the rear, and we wondered who, and what next. In a few minutes a real artillery duel began, and the rebels answered back in earnest, just clearing our right. We moved forward and halted again, while the firing of the 45^th in the timer rattled merrily. Shortly a short was heard, the 31^st were all on their feet and closing up in front of our left, and we were ordered forward in time to fire two volleys at the retreating greybacks. Col. McCook shouted, “Give it to them,” and forward we went with a will, but they were fleeter than we. So much for Thompson’s Hill, where we first smelt powder in the presence of the foe. Our only loss was Capt. Potter, who never fully recovered from the effects of his wound, and resigned the 7^th of August, following. Our forces lost but few compared with the enemy, whose loss in prisoners was nearly a thousand, with Gen. Tracy killed.

We soon came to a halt, with the ground quite plentifully strewn with the knapsacks and blankets of the retreating foe. We noticed, with interest, that the former were marked “Alabama,” “Mississippi,” “Louisiana,” etc. Some of our boys replaced the blankets thrown away on the march in the forenoon, but these were usually very poor compared with ours. Trinkets, letters and keepsakes from the emptied knapsacks passed rapidly from hand to hand. It was all very strange to us. While at a halt, Gen. Grant came riding by alone, and said, so quietly and naturally, “I never want soldiers to do better,” and, “You have behaved yourselves well,” that it did us good, though we knew we had done very little.

We followed the rebels until dark, having a slight brush with them as a parting salute, in which we mortally wounded the Adjutant of the 31^st Alabama, who was left to die in our hands. His name was McAfee, and was shot through the bowels. Poor fellow, his groans were distressing, but the next morning put an end to his sufferings. We lay on our arms all night without any fire, and as the night was cool and our blankets few, our condition, following the heat and relaxation of the day, may well be imagined. We were not loth to leave our pillows at the earliest instant.

Off at six and passing several dead rebels, we pushed on rapidly to the pretty village of Port Gibson, which we reached to find the enemy had left in hot haste, burning the bridge over the Little Bayou Pere behind them. We entered the place in fine style, and stacked arms in one of the principal streets. Having a little conversation with some of the surprised citizens, we found there were those among them who had really thought Yankees had horns, and were in doubt as to our being the genuine article, because those appendages seemed to be wanting. We soon resumed our march, and treated them to “Down with the traitors, and up with the starts,” in full chorus, as we passed through the streets. We made a detour to the southeast after leaving the village, on account of the burnt bridge, and waded a beautiful running stream some miles away, which we think was the same Little Bayou Pere. It was several yards wide and about half leg deep. We stripped off our shoes and stockings and went into it with a relish. It was truly grateful to our sore and heated feet. After leaving Port Gibson we found the road lined with gaping darkies, all ready to welcome us. Some of them joined us that day to share the fortunes of war with us to the end. We passed some very pretty places, and moved in all about fifteen miles, camping at last near the Big Bayou Pere, northwest of Port Gibson, about half past nine at night. We were certainly tired enough to rest, after the excitement of the two days, and the experience of the previous night.

The country through which we had come from the river was to us a wonder. Without mountains or rocks, it was the most rugged we had ever seen, being a continual succession of sharp pitches from fifty to a hundred feet high. It was up and down for a while, through cuts in the hills that were almost defiles, with the stiff clay forming perpendicular walls on either hand, and then winding along on the surmounted crest of one of those zigzag, dirt waves, or hog’s backs, for as much longer, to dip for a transverse section at last, with but little gained for all toiling.

The forests, which were abundant, were luxurious and brilliant. We noticed the oak in upwards of twenty varieties, from the shrub like chincapin, to the lofty yellow and Spanish. The poplar, or tulip tree, in full bloom, was everywhere in its majestic beauty. The chestnut, beech, maple, linden, elm, ash, cottonwood, hickory, pecan, black walnut, sycamore, sweet and black gum, pine, mulberry, hackberry, hornbeam, dogwood, persimmon, sassafras, holly and bay were abundant, with the splendid magnolia grandiflora, and the wonderful umbrella tree, both in blossom. The flowers of the latter, of the purest white, were nearly a foot across. Add to these the monstrous grapevines, and the many shrubs unknown to us, with which the woods were filled, and the picture of vegetation is large enough, if not complete. The cultivated fields were for the most part side hills, plowed and planted in water tables, to keep them from washing, but the corn and cotton were fine, showing that the soil was productive, and that industry whether black or white, was sure to be rewarded here. Only man is at fault in all this southern land.

The morning of May 3d we crossed the Big Bayou Pere just after daylight, on a suspension bridge, which the enemy had tried to burn, but which we had repaired the night before. It swung some and looked scary, as we passed over the charred timbers, but the cables were all right, and we crossed safely to find plenty of rebel “sign.” Their picket-fires were yet smouldering within a few rods of the bridge. Our brigade was in the advance, and we pushed along briskly for about a mile, when “bang” went a cannon on a hill in front of us, followed by the bursting of a shell and a puff of smoke almost directly over our heads. This was followed by another and another very soon.

We were easily halted and soon formed in line of a battle, our regiment to the left of the road in an orchard. After waiting a little for our artillery, we commenced advancing through the corn fields, cane brakes, briar patches and woods, and over the fences, in the broiling sun, in hopes to catch a handful of saucy rebels, who were covering their retreat, and trying to keep us from intercepting their forces, which were just then evacuating Grand Gulf.

We moved in this way about three miles, to our great disgust, during which there was a little skirmishing, but we did not share in it. We then resumed our flank movement in the dust and heat, and kept it up till ten at night, when we camped within three miles of Big Black river, above Grand Gulf, to find the enemy had crossed at three o’clock that afternoon. About seventy stragglers were taken by our forces, and we picketed the river that night, across which a bullet occasionally straggled when we talked too loud. This was a very trying day’s march for us, having been upwards of twenty miles, of which three were in line of battle. But we should not have cared had not the Johnnies slipped through our fingers so easily.

The next three days we moved only a few rods to get a better shade, and spent our time mostly in resting, which we much needed. On the night of the 4^th we were roused from slumber, and compelled to sit up by a heavy rain, to keep our blankets dry, which could not be carried if wet. A vision of a Lieutenant is before our eye as we write to-day, who, after rolling up his blanket and shawl, and getting them under either arm, with his rubber about his neck, sat down on a log on a steep hillside, where he got to sleep, fell off on the lower side of the log, and rolled nearly to the bottom of the hill before he could stop. The next day our tents came up, by the way of Grand Gulf, which put an end to such soldiering. Our communication was now open with the whole outside world again, and our mails were large. Gen. Sherman’s corps passed us while lying here, and about this time Col. Sloan overtook us and assumed command, while Col. Marsh left us forever, and was succeeded by Brig. Gen. John E. Smith, formerly of the 45^th Illinois.

On the 7^th we were in motion again, and went about five miles, when we halted for McClernand to pass us, which he did, evidently moving rather to the left, nearer the Big Black than we. He was so long in passing that we pitched our tents for the night, and occupied them the next day and night. On the 8^th we had our last dress parade till after the fall of Vicksburg. We also received congratulatory general orders from Grant, on crossing the river and effecting a secure lodgment in the enemy’s territory. The 9^th we struck tents about one in the afternoon, and marched about seven miles, passing the little hamlet of Rocky Springs. A part of the way we had a delightful road, on a ridge heavily shaded with towering pines.

Sunday, the 10^th, we were astir early but did not move till after one, when we made about eight miles, passing through the badly used up village of Utica, and camping by a tannery, some two miles beyond. Here special orders were issued for each regiment to be in line of battle, fully equipped, one hour before daybreak every morning, and to have no music till further orders. The latter was literally obeyed for nearly two months. Not a note of music was heard in the whole command till the surrender of Vicksburg.

From the book History of the Illinois 124^th by R. L. Howard Chaplain

Copied by Nancy Ouart

The poor spelling and grammar was left just the way it was in the book.