Vicksburg: "Our Fate Seems To Stare Us In The Face"

Excerpts from a lengthy letter written by Chaplain William Lovelace Foster of the 35th Mississippi Infantry Regiment during the Siege of Vicksburg. These selections focus on the hopes that a Confederate army under General Joseph E. Johnston would come to Vicksburg and end the siege and how those hopes faded. General Pemberton and the Confederates at Vicksburg surrendered on July 4, 1863. 

Second Week of Siege

It was during this week that the first courier from Gen. Johnston reach our lines, after much difficulty—danger. He came down the Yazoo in a small canoe—then down the Mississippi river—having been fired upon frequently. He brought the intelligence that Gen. Johnston was organizing an army at Canton—that he would soon come to our relief. Their news was extended down the whole lines by order of Gen. Pemberton. How it cheered the hearts of our brave soldiers. Already were they encouraged—greatly lifted up by their repeated victories over the assaulting enemy. Now they felt deliverance was at hand.

Fourth Week of Siege

Another week draws to a close—no relief for Johnston. Our men are weak from constant fasting—long continued confinement. Some become disheartened—begin to fear that Johnston will not come at all. How long will our rations last. Some say not more than another week. Then we hear there is enough to hold out to the forth of July.

Sixth and Seventh Weeks

An awful explosion takes place. The hill is shaken as if by an earthquake. Louder the thunders of heaven rolls on this mighty sound. It seems like the earth is moved— The hill is torn up, the fort is demolished—ruin is spread all around. Now they make another charge before the clouds of dust—smoke disappear. The noble 3d Louisiana receives it with their wonted courage. They drive back the foe with dreadful slaughter, sustaining a heavy loss themselves. The sixth week had now closed—nothing from Johnston. Our fate seems to stare us in the face. Still we hear rumors that he is coming with a mighty army. O that we could hear his cannon thundering in the rear! What a welcome sound. Cant our government send us relief. Shall Vicksburg fall for the want of energy on the part of our government? Will all the blood shed be spilled in vain? For the first time dark doubts would cross my mind.

July 4th

I arose by the dawn of the day, I listen for the usual sharpshooting— The crack of rifle is not heard...The bright sun rises. The sound of firearms is no more heard....Darkness settles over my mind. Upon looking up the street I behold a sight that I fondly hoped never to see. A Yankee officer, in blue uniform, galloping down the streets of Vicksburg. This too on the 4th of July. Here comes those hateful gunboats. They can now pass our batteries with impunity... They now rejoice, while we weep—lament. At twelve o-clock the sound of music greets our ears. Here comes the victorious army with flying banners—joyful music. They are covered with dust—for clouds of it rise as they march. They did not seem to exult much over our fall, for they knew that we surrendered to famine, not to them. The streets are now filled with their soldiers— They break open stores—closed houses—pillage—destroy the contents...They invited our men to share in the booty—they feel no reluctance in participating. Now the steamers come pouring down the river as by magic. Ten or twelve can be seen landing at the same time. At the close of the day, I visit once more Sky-Parlor. How changed the scene. Spread before me are the splendid steamers of the enemy, exhibiting the riches—power of our strong—wealthy foe. As I looked upon the scene—reflected upon the might blow we had just received—upon a long-protracted war that now awaited us—upon the streams of blood yet to be shed—upon the slaughter of our young men—the carnage—desolation—destruction which should sweep over our beloved South, tears of bitter anguish fell from my eyes—a cloud of darkness—gloom settled upon my mind. Farewell ye might hills, upon whose rugged peaks, I have often stood—with solemn awe admired—adored the power of the Almighty to who belongs the strength of the hills—deep valleys... And, thou great Father of Waters, upon whose lovely banks I have stood as sentinel in the silent watches of the night...

Source:

Vicksburg: Southern City Under Siege by William Lovelace Foster.