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Sherman's men inflating rubber pontoon on which to cross Big
Black River.
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The army last night made pontoons, on which this morning the
Black River has been crossed. McClernand is on the left, McPherson in the center,
and Sherman on the right. In this position the three great corps will move to
Vicksburg by different roads. We are nearing the doomed city, and are now on
the lookout for fun.
As we crossed the river and marched up the bank, a brass
band stood playing national airs. O, how proud we felt as we marched through
the rebel works, and up to the muzzles of the abandoned guns that had been
planted to stay our progress. Every man felt the combined Confederate army
could not keep us out of Vicksburg. It was a grand sight, the long lines of
infantry moving over the pontoons, and winding their way up the bluffs, with
flags flying in the breeze, and the morning sun glancing upon the guns as they
lay across the shoulders of the boys. Cheer after cheer went up in welcome and
triumph from the thousands who had already crossed and stood in waiting lines
upon the bluff above. This is supposed to be the last halting place before we
knock for admittance at our goal—the boosted Gibraltar of the west.
Our division has made a long march to-day, and we have
bivouaced for the night without supper, and with no prospect of breakfast, for
our rations have been entirely exhausted. Murmurings and complaints are loud
and deep, and the swearing fully up to the army standard. General Leggett
walked into our camp, and in his usual happy way inquired, “Well, boys, have
you had your supper?” “No, General, we have not had any.” “Well, boys, I have
not had any either, and we shall probably have to fight for our breakfast.” “Very
well, General; guess we can stand it as well as you,” came the ready answer
from a score of us, and resignation settled back upon the features of tired and
hungry, but unsubdued, patriot soldiers.
“You may study the hopeful, bright
brows of these men,
Who have marched all day over hill
and through glen,
Half clad and unfed; but who is it
will dare
Claim to find on those faces one
trace of despair?”
SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story
of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 26-7
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