CHAPTER XI.
Let us go back to the “White House” and Fort Hill in our front. The Shirley or White House was not far from Fort Hill, and being on a hill overlooked much of the field of operations, and was the frequent resort of Gen. Grant and other commanders during the siege. Several officers and men were shot in this house. A Lieutenant of Battery L went to Colonel Maltby of the 45th Illinois (whose camp was along the “White House”) and asked permission to use a room in the house for making out the battery pay rolls. “Why, certainly,” promptly answered Colonel Maltby, “walk right in; it’s a splendid place. I was shot in the leg here yesterday.”
It is of peculiar interest to the writer, as he was wounded in this house while in the line of duty on July 2, 1863. Mr. Shirley and family were living in this house when on May 18, 1863,the skirmishers of the Union army advanced along the Jackson road, pressed back those of Pemberton’s army into their main defensive line, so close at hand that the salient fort, known as Fort Hill to the Union army, but to the Confederates known as the Third Louisiana Redan, nearly west of the house and immediately north of the road, was not over 350 yards distant. As the building was an obstruction to the fire from the Confederate line, it was to have been destroyed; but, according to the story of Mrs. Eaton, the presence of her mother delayed carrying the order into execution so long that the Confederate soldier who came to do so, while holding a ball of blazing cotton to the building, fell under the fire of the advancing vanguard and was buried the next day upon the spot. As for Mrs. Shirley, she first had a sheet attached to a broomstick and hung from an upper window, which gave some respite from the fire of the Union troops. But their line soonreached the house itself and practically rested there, so that a steady firing upon it from the other side was inevitable. Notwithstanding this, Mrs. Shirley remained there for three days, much of the time sitting behind the large chimney for shelter. Having in the meantime learned of the situation of the Shirley’s, orders came from Gen. McPherson for their removal. They went accordingly, into a shallow cave hastily prepared in a nearby ravine. Here the family remained for a time, Mrs. Shirley having sickened from exposure and poor fare, but were soon after, by Gen. Grant’s personal direction, removed to a plantation three miles in the rear, where a negro cabin afforded temporary shelter. The Shirley’s were Union people and Mr. Lossing, the historian, says: “That the accomplished daughter kept a diary during the siege, each day’s record closing with the prediction that success would crown the efforts of the Union army.” The wish was father tothe thought; her patriotism was rewarded with the heart and hand of the gallant Gen. Eaton of the United States army, and they were married about the close of the war. They now reside in Washington, and if the facts of their courtship and betrothal, conducted amidst the exciting scenes of a terrible siege, were known, it would no doubt be a very interesting romance. But what of the ladies who are in the besieged city? Many of them have left their fine mansions and taken up their abode in the holes and caves of the hills in and around the city, and so universal was this mode of living that the city in its desolation looked like a “prairie dog’s village.” One of the residents of the city afterwards said: “It got to be Sunday all the time; seven Sundays in the week to us anyway. We hadn’t anything to do and the time hung heavy. Seven Sundays, and all of them broken up at one time or another in the day or in the night by a few hours of the awfulstorm of fire and thunder and iron and lead.” The caves were sometimes fearfully crowded, always hot and close. Oftentimes a cave had from twenty to twenty-five people packed in it; no turning room for anybody, and the air so foul, sometimes, you could not have made a candle burn. A child was born in one of these caves one night during the siege. Generally, there is considerable noise around when a baby is born, but this fellow was welcomed with the booming of cannon and the fierce shriek of the screaming shell. I’ll warrant, if he was like most boys, he tried to make all the noise he could. But he is no longer a baby, at least let us hope he is not, for he is old enough now to be a man all through, being at this time over 50 years of age. I have his picture and a fine-looking man he is. He writes on his picture: “I was born 12 feet under ground.” One night a shell burst in front of one of these caves and stopped up the hole to such an extent the occupantscame near smothering, and for a time there was some lively scratching of dirt for a breathing hole.
Fort Hill is said to be the key to Vicksburg. We have tried often to turn this key, and have as often failed—in fact, the lock is not an easy one, but we soon shall try the burglar’s plan, and with the aid of powder blow the lock to “smithereens.” The sap or trench is run to the fort and the fort is mined, the boys digging the dirt and carrying it out in boxes. Great holes are dug underneath the fort, and miners from the Lead Mine, 45th Illinois Regiment, who understand tamping, have charged the 2,200 pounds of powder, and all is ready to light the fuse. June, the 25th, a heavy artillery fire opened all along the line, and at 2:30 p. m., the explosion takes place. Huge masses of earth were thrown in the air, and the ground was shaken as by an earthquake. As soon as the earth was rent, a bright glare of fire issued fromthe burning powder, but quickly died away, as there was nothing combustible in the fort. A few Confederate soldiers were hurled into the air, one or two of whom came down inside our lines, and some were buried in the fort, as was proven a few years after the war, when the fort was dismantled and turned into a cotton field, a few skeletons were found buried underneath. One negro boy fell among the men of our company. He gathered himself together, and looked around as though he thought the day of judgment had surely come. One of our boys asked him how far up he thought he had gone, and he replied: “Don’t know, Massa; ’bout free miles, I guess.” He believed it, for I never saw such a frightened look on any one’s face, and his eyes stood out and looked unnatural. When the smoke and dust had cleared away partly, a great saucer-shaped crater was seen, where before was the A-shaped Fort Hill. It was large enough to hold about 60 or 80 men. The 23rdIndiana and the 45th Illinois were in the trenches ready to charge; the command was given before the dust had fully settled; the 23rd Indiana charging to the left of the crater to the top of the works; the 45th Illinois up and into the crater. The enemy had come up behind the big pile of earth thrown out by the explosion, and as we went into the crater, they met us with a terrible volley of musketry, but on the boys went, up and over the embankment with a cheer, the enemy falling back a few paces to an inner or second line of breastworks, where are placed cannon loaded with grape and canister, and these cannon belched forth their death-dealing missiles, in addition to the heavy musketry fire, with such telling effect that many of the brave boys fall to rise no more; the line wavers, staggers, and then falls back into the crater. The enemy charge on us, but we repel them at the west bank of the crater, and a hand-to-hand conflict rages for hours; hand grenades andloaded shells are lighted and thrown over the parapet as you would play ball. These shells and hand grenades carry death, as many as a dozen men being killed and wounded at one explosion. It seems to me, in looking back, a wonder that any one in that hot place was left to tell the story. I have witnessed our men grab these shells, at the risk of their exploding, and fling them back. Many a brave hero laid down his life in that death hole, or, as we most appropriately called it, “Fort Hell.” The Chicago Tribune had its correspondent in the field and, in the issues of that paper on July 3 and 6, 1863, he speaks of the charge and fighting in the crater, saying: * * * “A wide embrasure in the embankment was made into which the noble Lead Mine Regiment, led by Colonel Maltby, rushed in and at once planted our banner amid a terrific fire from the enemy. The conduct of the 45th Illinois Regiment was grand in the extreme. Universal commendationis bestowed for the gallant manner that regiment performed the duty assigned it, and in no small degree upon the field officers who so nobly inspired the men by taking the advance and marching up to the muzzles of the enemy’s guns, so near that for a time it was a hand-to-hand fight. The colors of the regiment planted on the parapet of the fort are literally torn to pieces by the shots of the enemy. Two of the field officers, Lieut. Col. Smith and Major Fisk, are no more. Col. Maltby is still suffering from a severe wound.”
The 23rd Indiana and 45th Illinois Regiments charging Fort Hillafter the explosion of the mine June 25th, 1863, at the siege of Vicksburg.
We fought at close range with the enemy over that embankment of earth, many of the men receiving bayonet wounds. A cypress log, with port holes cut on the under side, was brought into the crater, and in helping to place it on the parapet, Col. James A. Maltby was severely wounded by splinters from the log. A solid shot from a cannon hit the log, hurling it with terrific force against the Colonel and his smallcommand. Gen. John A. Logan said of Col. Maltby, at the siege of Vicksburg: “He is the bravest man I ever saw on the field of battle.” He was in the Mexican War, badly wounded at Chapultepec, then at Fort Donelson in 1862 and then at Vicksburg. He was justly promoted to be a Brigadier General for his bravery. A detail of about two companies would hold the crater for two hours or more, their rapid firing causing the rifles to become hot and foul, and the men weary and worn out, when two other companies would slip in and take their places. Badeau, in his history of Gen. Grant, says: “Details from Leggett’s brigade relieved each other all night long, in their attempt to hold the crater.” I want to correct his history and say, as I have a right to say, for I was there and speak from what I know to be the facts, it was no “attempt,” it was an accomplished fact that weheld it, but to our great loss, until the order was received to give it up. What aterrible sacrifice it was to hold that little piece of ground. It probably was all right to have made the charge into the crater after the explosion and try to make a breech inside the enemy’s lines, but it surely was a serious mistake, either of Gen. Grant or Gen. McPherson, to cause that crater to be held for over 48 hours with the loss of brave men every hour. I remember, upon returning to the trenches, after having been relieved in the crater, of passing Gen. John A. Logan, surrounded by some of his aid-de-camp, and as they bore past him some wounded hero, he broke forth with vehemence, saying: “My God! they are killing my bravest men in that hole.” Some one suggested that the place be given up. He said in reply: “I can’t; my commanding officer orders me to hold every inch of ground.” The crater was at last given up and we resumed the ordinary duties of everyday life in the trenches and in camp.