DECEMBER 24, 1862
And the angel said unto them, “Fear not: for, behold, I bring you good tidings
of great joy, which shall be to all people.” Where’s that angel now?
IT’S THE NIGHT before Christmas, and peace is hard to find in the hearts of men. The Yankees are coming like the Mississippi surging south, and there’s no stopping the raging current of blue and death. We hear steamer engines north of town safe from our batteries. We expect an attack any day now. I shiver but not from the cold.
I’ve heard nothing from Susannah or Mr. Gilmore for some time. I’m disappointed and worried. I’d hoped for packages to celebrate the holiday season. None came. I wanted a note from Susannah on our one year anniversary. I know if it was possible, it would be in my hands now. I’m pretty sure my letters aren’t getting through to her either. Damn Yanks.
It seems like only yesterday Susannah and I became husband and wife. It was only a year ago that Mr. Gilmore gave us Susannah’s freedom papers. It was only a year ago we talked and loved the night away in our marriage bed. I savor those happy thoughts standing picket down by the river. I wish I was home presenting Susannah a Christmas gift. Maybe a catalog ordered dress to adorn her shapely body or a locket to grace her smooth silky neck. I wish I was sitting by a warm fire in my own home sipping Mr. Gilmore’s special eggnog, preparing a roast goose with all the trimmings, and being with the people I love dearly. I wish.…
J.A. kicks the mud from his shoes. “No gifts or holiday party except solid shot, exploding shells, screamers, and firebombs.”
“Yeah, Merry Christmas, J.A.”
As Sherman makes his way downriver, Grant will try to draw off the bulk of our forces again to Grenada. It makes us nervous to be one of the few regiments left, leaving us lean on numbers if attacked. Sarge shifts us to different posts to keep us warm and awake. He positions J.A. and me on the corner of Crawford and Levee Streets between the Prentiss House and St. Paul’s Catholic Church.
A messenger races through the streets. “Merry Christmas, boys! General Van Dorn destroyed Grant’s supplies at Holly Springs, and General Pemberton is headed back this way!”
I turn to J.A. “There’s our Christmas gift.”
“Gettin’ your supply depot destroyed must throw a cold wet blanket on a warm Yankee Christmas celebration tonight.”
“Bet that cost them a pretty penny.”
“Merry Christmas, Lummy Tullos.”
Spies report Sherman’s troops are disembarking by the hundreds near the mouth of the Yazoo River west of town. Pemberton sends the returning regiments to Walnut Hills, stretching the line all the way from Vicksburg to Snyder’s Bluff on the Yazoo. Sherman wouldn’t attack with Grant’s supplies destroyed. He must not know. The Yanks don’t know the ground, and our boys are very well dug in. To our disappointment, the 27th Louisiana is ordered to stay in town.
Colonel Marks stops to encourage us. “Stay alert, men. The Yank invader is near. While there’s time, write a letter home. It’s Christmas, and your people need to hear from you. Write a good one, and we’ll send them all out tomorrow. Send a little of your pay home, too, if you got any left. I’m sure they can use it. Don’t dally. It might be a while before you get another chance.”
What he really means is, “This may be your last letter home, and you’ll be dead before you can spend the last bit of your pay.”
I take out one of the two envelopes I have left. Thankfully, the postage is paid on them. We haven’t been paid now for seven months. I hope Ma likes the envelope I picked that has our flag and a picture of Jefferson Davis printed on it. The letter will explain my choice. I find the stub of a pencil in my haversack and go to writing.
Vicksburg,
Christmas Eve, 1862
Ma, I hope things at home are as pleasant as you always made them for me. I think of you often and know the good Creator watches over your soul every day. Not much to tell except that we are on city guard duty now. We got that honor for bein first in Vicksburg and havin built a lot of earthworks. It was hard labor but not bad for a boy raised up on his pa’s farm.
You’re never gonna believe it, but President Davis and that tough old bear General Joe Johnston came for a visit. It had all the fanfare of a Jackson City parade. We dressed up in clean uniforms, and people came from all over. Ladies brought all kinds of sweets, one even a batch of chocolate fudge like you make. I’d rather had yours. Bein provost, we were inspected personally by these two great men of the Cause in front of the Prentiss House Hotel where we stay.
We waited six hours, but when the President and General finally arrived, oh how proud we was to show ourselves true loyal southern soldiers. We all laughed when a man said President Davis was the ugliest hatchet-faced man he ever saw. General Joe was a picture perfect soldier.
President Davis walked the line sayin encouragin words. Then he stopped right in front of me and straightened my gun. He asked where I was from. My chest swelled up. I told him Winn Parish, with the 27th Looseana Winn Rebels, but that I was born near Greensboro Missip. He grinned. I said I heard him speak back in May of ’51 when he ran for governor. I said Pa voted for him and the States Rights party.
President Davis grinned, “So you must know I’m a Mississippi man and got a place just south of here.” I was nervous as a schoolboy recitin poetry at school. He popped me on the shoulder. “Ready to fight Missip boy turned Looseana man?” I yelled, “Yassuh! Ready to kick some blue coat Yankee ass, suh.” The President slapped me on the shoulder again and said, “That’s the spirit son.” The boys howled til Old General Joe growled like a bear. “Attention in the ranks.”
President Davis nodded at the General but winked at me. “Glad to have you with us son. Give em hell when they come.” Pa would have been proud. Sorry I cussed, but it fit the occasion, me speakin for all the boys of the 27th Looseana.
The best news I saved for last. Jasper and James are here in Vburg somewhere. I saw them get off a train back at the first of the month. I haven’t got to be with them yet, but it’ll happen soon. I’m glad we here together. I ain’t got paid all these months, but I hope this little bit helps. I pray for you Ma, Elihu, and the girls, and George in wherever he’s fightin. Tell the folks makin boots at the shoe factory in Bankston to send us brogans. We need them bad. Say lots of prayers, the Yankees are close.
Stay strong, Ma. Don’t ever think any of us won’t come home after this is over.
Your lovin, obedient son,
Lummy.
I don’t expect Ma to get this letter for some time, if ever.
———————————
EARLY CHRISTMAS MORNING as the sun rises, I step outside to breathe in the cold, foggy, fresh air. Somebody whispers, “Shut that damned pneumonia hole up.”
I slip out quickly to help keep the heat in the room. Getting out of that cramped, smoky room is a good shock to wake me up. I lean on the rail. Granville sits on a boar’s head smiling.
“C’mon down, Mistuh Sleepy Head, got somethin for you.”
I pull my pants on over my long handles and ease down two flights of stairs. I meet Granville perched on the rail by the steps.
“What’s got you grinnin’ like a possum this mornin’, Granville?”
He proudly holds out a small wooden box that has squares checkered in black and white, top and bottom. “Merry Christmas, big brother.”
Then I remember. “The chess set? When did you find the time?”
“Told you I’d have it ready for Christmas, didn’t I?”
I unhook the small latch to open the neatly hinged box. I find thirty-two carefully carved minie ball chess pieces in the box.
“Lay the box open and flat. You can play your game on it.”
I turn away, tears spilling over my cheeks.
Granville puts a hand on my shoulder. “Lummy, you kept me from doin’ somethin’ really stupid. Makin’ this chess set kept my mind off of my troubles. I’ll never forget what you did. You’ll always be my big brother.” He bear hugs me.
“But I ain’t got nothin’ for you.”
“You like it, that’s enough for me. You already gave me yours.” He turns on his heels like in a marching maneuver. “I best get back to camp before my sergeant thinks I run off. See you soon.”
I hold the most precious gift I’ve received since leaving Winn Parish, save the tintype of Susannah. I ease back up the stairs to the third floor porch and sit on a box. J.A. steps out of our room scratching the back of his head with one hand and his privates with the other.
“What was that all about?”
I hold up the chess set.
“Dang, boy, who brought you that?” I tell him the story and he whistles. “That boy’s got some talent. Can you play?”
“Mistuh Gilmore taught me. It takes a fair amount of thinkin’, but it works your brain good.” I admire the chess set and count my blessings.
Sarge lets us have Christmas Day free. After a party the officers put together, General Smith calls all regiments to arms and alerts those guarding Walnut Hills to be ready. We’re ordered to evacuate the good citizens after General Pemberton urges all non-fighting folks to safety. The 27th Louisiana is ordered to protect the city in case of a breakthrough and guard Yank prisoners taken in the battle.
With the leaves off the cottonwoods and willows, it’s easy to see the Yankee troop buildup on the banks of the big river where Chickasaw Bayou spills into the Yazoo River. I want to join in the coming fray, but we are the provost, and we have a job to do.
———————————
THREE DAYS AFTER Christmas, the Yanks shell the earthworks seven hours. Colonel Winchester Hall of the 26th Louisiana sends a reconnaissance team to locate the enemy. They send the bluecoats running like scared rabbits.
But today, December 29th, Sherman attacks with fury. They face the wrath of men in gray but also confront God’s creation too. The Yanks try to trick our boys by bombarding the left end of our line to push it to the center. It doesn’t work. Our men are dug in along the bluffs. The Yanks cross ditches with water up to their chests and climb over felled trees. The land defeats the Yanks as much as the rifle. The 26th Louisiana men bring us prisoners.
A young private cries. “They just keep on comin’. It’s awful. All them Yanks died without firin’ a shot. When they can’t run back to their lines, they hide behind stumps and under logs.”
The Yanks make a valiant attempt, but when they get pushed back, General Stephen D. Lee orders the 17th and 26th Louisiana regiments to counterattack. They capture twenty-one officers, 311 enlisted men, and four battle flags. It takes all of Company F to walk the prisoners to the Warren County Courthouse, feed them, and allow the doctors to tend their wounds. We move those with no wounds to the Warren County Jail. They sit dejected.
One keeps repeating to himself rocking back and forth, “Never should’ve tried it, never….”
I grab his hands. His fingers are bloody. “What happened to this man?”
Another Yank, chewing on a piece of bread, says, “He got left after his company retreated. He tore the meat off his fingertips diggin’ in the frozen ground tryin’ to hide. He lost his mind.” Nobody says anything.
The Yank with the bloody fingers finally comes to his senses. “I just want to go home to my wife and three little girls.” The batteries fire off again, and the Yank prisoners duck.
I hand him a cup of hot water. It’s all we have to offer. “We all wish this damn thing was over. But it ain’t. Good boys like us and those layin’ out there in the mud and the cold ain’t got no choice.” I’ve never talked with a Yank before. He’s not the evil dark demon newspapers make him out to be. He’s human enough.
“Sherman told us we’d just have to raise our rifles, and you’d scamper away without a shot. You boys sent us scurryin’ like rats out of a burnin’ barn.”
I lean forward. “We heard the shouts of the 26th Looseana, their rifles, your screamin’, and Porter’s gunboats shellin’ our boys on the bluffs. We were just too ready for you, I reckon.” I stand straighter. “And the 27th Looseana are just itchin’ to get in this fight.”
The Yank looks up and stops chewing. “You don’t want that. It’s like Hell busted open, and all Satan’s demons have been set loose. I don’t care which color you wear—you don’t want it.”
The Yank chews on his bread and starts to say something, but hesitates to see if it’s safe to ask his question. I nod.
“I want no trouble, Reb, but why don’t you just let the damned darkies go? Most of this would already be settled. All of you can’t want slaves. Heck, you wouldn’t even be here if you owned slaves. And besides, blacks are as human as you, even if you don’t want to believe it.”
A guard slaps him on the back of his head. “Shut up, niggah lover, or I’ll swat your ass again.”
The Yank shakes his head, whispering, “Lord, open their eyes so they may see.” My anger flares—not at the Yank, but at the Reb who hit him. I glare at him. He was wrong for that.
Am I wrong wearing the gray suit? Damn Yank factories are just as happy to buy slave-picked cotton as the South is to sell it. That dog won’t hunt. Reasons for this damn war have gone way beyond men in fancy suits smoking expensive cigars so greedy and so willing to sell their souls for worthless trinkets of this world. It’s not about profit. It’s about human beings. They just don’t know it.
I want to be on the side that sets Susannah free to be the human being God created her to be. I want Old Bart to have the right to come and go as he pleases, just like me. I want poor departed Lucille to be able to buy her own pepper for her popcorn with her own money.
Am I fighting for the wrong cause? I’ve never felt this strong about it. But why shouldn’t I, loving my Susannah, black as coal? Tonight the gray uniform looks different. Is gray the darkness blinding my eyes though my heart has changed?
Colonel Marks makes sure we treat the Yank prisoners with respect. They’re just human beings now, beaten and discouraged, worrying about what we’ll do with them next. I’m sure they think the worst. I would.
The battle is over two days before New Year’s. Colonel Marks reports the Yanks lost 1776 men besides twenty-one officers and 311 enlisted men as prisoners of war. We capture 500 rifles and four battle colors. Colonel Marks begged to let us fight, but General Stephen D. Lee refused.
We lost only 187, but that’s men who won’t see spring plowing. What a damn shame. I’ve only fired a few shots at the enemy, killed one Yank sailor, and already understand the futility of believing this war will solve the gray and blue disagreement. I’m glad General Lee turned us down, but it only prolongs the inevitable—I will kill more men if I want to stay alive. I’m not afraid to fight, just of losing my soul in it.
Granville sits down on the bench beside me. “Lummy, I ain’t goin’ home ’til this war is over. If I get killed, it’ll be facin’ the enemy, not gettin’ a bullet in my back from runnin’. Before this war is over, I want to kill just one Yankee and be done with it.” Big talk for a naïve young man.
“You’ll get your chance soon enough. Ole Shermy will be back.”
The young man squirms. “Really, he might come back?”
I feel his fear. “Just do your best to stay alive. There’s a big fight comin’, and we’re all gonna be in it. When you shoot that first Yank, don’t look him in the eyes. You’ll see him every night when you close your eyes to sleep if you do. Believe me, I know.”
Reports come in that Sherman wants to try again, but fog and rain stop him. God’s good creation is at work for us once more. I bet he’s fit to be tied after losing the battle. The Yanks fall back to their boats, and who knows what their next half-baked plan will be. They’ll be more determined now than ever to take Vicksburg. A captured captain said Grant vows there’ll be no turning back until Vicksburg is under his control.
The battle being over brings little relief to poor widows and orphans who lost husbands and fathers. I sit on a bench outside a prisoner’s cell in the Warren County Jail trying to stay awake. It’s just after midnight, and though I’m glad the battle is over, I hurt for so many wasted lives.
“Glad tidings? Hell, is victory over men lyin’ out there rottin’ in the swamps anythin’ good to tell? Ain’t no joy in that. Where’s the Christmas angel now? I’ve only seen the Death Angel.”
A small voice whispers from a dark corner. “Amen, friend.”
The man wears a blue cap.
———————————
FOR A DAY or so, there’s little action around Vicksburg except for an occasional steamer passing our big guns. The 26th Louisiana guards the port on the river in case the Yanks try a frontal attack. They assure us that no amount of Yank infantry will get to shore.
One yells, “And besides, the 27th Looseana is right here behind us, sleepin’ in that warm hotel.” They give us good natured hell about that. Anyway, we feel fairly safe for now. Still, we’re watchful as a momma doe over her newborn fawn.
Grant tries running supply barges down river. Our batteries open fire, and the Yanks return with blasts from their decks. Smoke, flames, shot, and shell fill the air in a tremendous fireworks show. The 26th Louisiana men just keep their heads down. Rifles can’t do anything against that shower of death.
We watch from the safety of barricades we’d built in front of the Prentiss House. Sarge sends men across to DeSoto to fire the houses to light up the river to help our batteries shoot more accurately. The blazes make the river like daytime. Our artillery boys disable some boats but only sink one tug. The Yanks cut the barges loose, so we capture prisoners and grab supplies from the boats scuttled near the 26th position.
Running to the water’s edge, I find one of the boys who’d just returned from firing the shacks in DeSoto. I throw a blanket around the shivering soldier. I ask about Annie Fanny.
“Naw, didn’t see nobody. They either run off or been killed.” His teeth rattle as I rub his shoulders to warm him up. He thanks me for the blanket.
“That house over there, sure you didn’t see nobody there?”
“Yeah, now that you mention it. A big ole gal was hidin’ under a porch. We tried to get her out, but she was stuck, too scared to move and too big to budge. Before we could get her out, a shell caught the house on fire. Nobody could’ve gotten out alive, especially her. You know her?”
“Just a friend from way back, that’s all.”
Annie Fanny is dead. A part of me dies, too.
I slip around a corner and cry.