DECEMBER 1, 1862
War never makes sense until you’re in it. Then it doesn’t have to.
THE UP AND down motion of the train ride turns my stomach. I hope we’ll stop before we go north to Grenada and get our guts back. I try to get my mind off my rolling stomach.
“J.A., we couldn’t have gotten into our new winter quarters any sooner.”
He laughs. “Yeah, that tent was holier than all the apostles, saints, and angels put together.”
It’s been cold and windy, but our little cabins keep us dry at night. Our captain suggested we dig into a bank and construct the walls, floor, and roof with three sides protected by dirt. With only the front exposed to the wind, our new home is warm. I’ll be ready to hunker down in new issue wool blankets when we get back from fighting Grant at Grenada.
Adding to the misery of the pukey train ride, Sarge says we won’t be paid. We’re six months behind, and some boys threaten to desert. I try not to complain. I don’t, except under my breath.
Sarge announces, “Grant just don’t seem to run out of plans for takin’ Vicksburg. He’s like your Ma checkin’ the henhouse for new chicks hatchin’ or eggs for your breakfast every mornin’.”
I hate to hear that. Not the part about the Yanks, but Ma’s breakfast that sends a man out the door ready for a day’s work. I lay it on thick for the men.
“Yeah boy, hot buttered bi-i-i-scuits with blackberry ja-a-am, sugah cured ha-a-a-m, red-eye gravy, fried eggs, hot coffee with fresh cream.”
Isham yells, “Shut up, Lummy. That’s enough to make a man run home!”
“Yeah, but the tellin’ is almost as good as the eatin’. Almost.”
A short, stocky man grumbles, “I ain’t had a bite since yesterday. We didn’t get to cook rations before we left.”
Grumbling disappears when Colonel Marks comes by at our first water stop. “We’re finally gonna get at them boys in blue. Anybody want to take a shot at ole General Grant?”
We yell, “Hell, yeah!”
Corporal Willy Miller boasts, “I’d like to shoot that big ole cigar right out of his big mouth.”
Another man laughs. “Willy can pluck a fruit fly off a twitchin’ bobcat tail at a hundred yards.”
Big talk hopefully builds big courage. Those who are the most scared do the loudest talking.
Sarge pulls the boxcar door closed as we take off. “Just get him some fine moonshine. That’ll keep ’em goin’ in circles. Yank papers say he stays drunk all the time, anyway.”
We pull into Jackson, cold and shivery but ready to go to Grenada. We jump off the train cars to walk around and warm up. A captain from G Company reports, “Don’t know the details, but we got a change in plans.”
Colonel Marks gathers us up. “Wouldn’t you know it, false alarm. We got counter-ordered. Better to be sharp and ready than good and deady, huh?” We laugh half-heartedly.
Sarge barks, “No sense whinin’ about it. You’ll eat when we get there. No spare rations here. The supply train will sit tight in Vicksburg ’til we get back.”
The weather worsens as do our spirits waiting in line to board. We’re hungry and cold. Everyone’s grouchy, so it’s best to keep quiet. I share the food I brought. Others do the same.
Edrow chews on a piece of bread. “Heck, Lummy, you bein’ the preachin’ kind and all, do a miracle and feed the five thousand like Jesus did.” I laugh, but I’m in no mood to joke.
We roll back into Vicksburg, cook our rations, and retire to our cabins to dry out. It’s never as bad as we make it out to be once it’s over. We’re way too wet, cold, and tired to complain. Sarges gives us the morning off to rest.
Colonel Marks stops by our cookfire. “Who in the hell would know what a good soldier is if he ain’t got at least one good gripe?” We all half laugh, mostly out of respect.
Marks squats beside our fire in the misty rain. “Boys, let you in on a little secret. With Grant pokin’ around this close, the 27th Louisiana Regiment has been assigned police duty in town for the next few months.” We lean closer.
Marks whispers, “You men will stay in the Prentiss House Hotel down by the river. Spread the word, but don’t let it get outside our regiment. Just thought you boys could use a little cheerin’ up.”
We thank the colonel as he goes to the next gathering of men down the way.
Edrow rubs his hands together. “Ain’t never stayed in no hotel and never been a policeman neither. What’s it gonna be like?”
I wrap my rain slicker close. “Pretty borin’ standin’ guard all day. But at least we’ll get to see the pretty girls, huh, Isham?”
“Damn straight, a damn sight better than what these eyes have had to look at lately.”
It takes two days to finally get dried out. Some men get sick from the cold train ride and go to the hospital. Others get simple colds, but it adds to the misery. Sitting in my cozy little cabin nestled in a new woolen army blanket, I write Susannah a letter.
Winter Quarters, Vicksburg December 15, 1862
Dearest wife, things are so slow here now. We went on a train ride lookin for the Yanks but turned out to be a false alarm. We been ordered to move in town to guard military supplies and the town folk who fear the Yanks comin. They run and hide every time a gunboat sticks its nose out from behind a willow tree. I have had no letter from you in a long time. I pray for your good health and that no misfortune befalls you. There’s not much to eat here now with the Yanks squeezin us like a snake. President Davis and General Johnston will visit soon. Hope we make a good showin. Susannah, please write. This picture only comforts a soul so much. I send my love and devotion to you on wings of angels. I hope you get this letter. I love you.
Lummy
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FOR BEING THE first regiment to arrive in Vicksburg and having done more than our fair share in the earthworks, we receive the honor to serve as provost guard for the city. We’ll serve as military police with Colonel Marks as our Commandant of Post. Staying in town will certainly beat tree cutting, trench digging, and stockade building. We pack our meager belongings for the march into town.
Colonel Marks announces before we go, “Because of your faithful work, the earthworks just west of the Stockade Redan on the Graveyard Road will be named the 27th Louisiana Lunette.”
I whisper to J.A., “Sounds good now, but it won’t when the Yanks rain shells down on our heads, charge with bayonets, and shoot minie balls at us.”
He elbows me. “Shut up, boy, if Colonel Marks hears you, Sarge’ll give you extra duty.”
“What’s that, soldier?” Sarge yells.
I pipe up. “Oh nothin’, Sarge, just sayin’ how nobody best not say a dang word about that fine piece of earthworks.”
Sarge nods his head with a jerk. “Damn straight. Now get your stuff.”
J.A. bumps me with his shoulder and sticks his tongue out.
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IT’S A COOL crisp day this morning, December 19th. We line up to march in good order on the Graveyard Road. You’d think we’re headed to a firing squad with all the complaining. While some men are happy to go into town, many are disappointed about leaving their comfortable little cabins. They’ve become home to us.
Down in the mouth Johnny Bond marches by, squawking like a jaybird. “Why don’t they move them regular troops who ain’t got no cabins and let us stay here? Heck, we gonna lose all our quiet and hear nothin’ but Cajuns jabberin’ who can’t talk English.”
A wagon master sergeant cracks his whip on the back of a mule. “Shut up, boy, or I’ll jerk a knot in your ass. Move on and shut your damn mouth.”
“Yassuh.”
Sarge barks, “Company F, at the quick step. Make a good impression on the citizens.”