Showing posts with label Sharpshooter. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Sharpshooter. Show all posts

Monday, November 2, 2020

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: June 19, 1863

Whitworth Projectile
For a month we have been watching our enemy vigilantly, and a panorama, consisting of a great variety of war scenes, has, during that time, passed before us. We have had charging, digging rifle-pits, blowing up forts and firing all sizes of cannon, to say nothing of percussion shells, spherical case shot, time shells, parrot, grape, cannister, shrapnel, etc., the memory of which will be vivid to all, both blue and gray, who have seen the show around Vicksburg. The terrible noises, too, that have rung in our ears, must echo for years to come. I may add our endurance of this southern sun, at times being short of rations, and at no time out of danger, yet all the time nearly uncomplaining-every one trying to make the best of it, and all as merry as the situation would admit. Each day some of the Boys have come in relating new discoveries on reconnoisance, and I do not think there is a foot of ground about these hills that has not been explored, a well or spring that has not been tested, or a single object of interest of any kind that has not been worked until it was stale.


SHELL WITH FUSE.—The fuse is graduated on the outside into equal parts, representing seconds and quarter-seconds. In the bottom of this channel is a smooth layer of a composition of lead and tin, with a piece of wick or yarn underneath it. On this is placed a piece of metal. When ready for firing, the dial is gauged at the proper point at which the fuse is to burn through into the shell.

Then each man has had his peculiar view of how a siege like this ought to be conducted—that is, from the standpoint of rank and file. However, we are all agreed that the quiet man in command of our forces is still able to anticipate the requirements of our situation. I call him quiet, for that is just what he is. There is no dash or glitter about him, but he is marked by a steady nerve, and piercing glance that seems to be always on the alert. Many a second lieutenant has fallen a victim to the sharpshooter because of his fresh uniform, while officers of more experience have escaped under slouched hats and old blouses. There seems to be no limit, however, to the experience of some of them.

A cook of the 96th Ohio happened to be cooking beans the other day, when Gen. A. J. Smith, commanding a division of the 13th Army Corps, came around on camp inspection. After being properly saluted by the cook, the general began a colloquy as follows:

Gen. Smith.— What are you cooking?
The Cook. —Beans, sir.
General Smith. —How long do you cook beans?
The Cook. —Four hours, sir.
Gen. Smith (with a look of withering scorn).—Four hours! You cook 'em six hours!

That cook’s beans were tender enough that day.

"Once again the fire of hell
    Rained the rebel quarters,
With scream of shot and burst of shell,
    And bellowing of the mortars.”

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 58-9