VOLUME 20 SPRING 2014 ISSUE 1

The famous quote from Josiah Gorgas is often cited by histo-

rians as an indication of the “turning point” of the Struggle.

One can (and will) argue that viewpoint round or flat triggering

that old quandary of history (what happened) vs. memory (what

we think happened).

Still in all, the third of July 1863 is not a date nostalgically

remembered or celebrated in the South. Southern Arms experi-

enced two disasters on that day, one in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania,

and the other across the country in Vicksburg, Mississippi.

The Battle of Gettysburg is well-documented in many an his-

torical analysis … both accurate and not-so-accurate … and has

thus attained its prominence in the lore of the Struggle. One

might also suppose that it has something to do with Lincoln’s

“few appropriate remarks” delivered there on 19 November

1863, although there is no indication that contemporaneous, 1863

public opinion was moved to anywhere near the loving adoration

with which most now view it. There is also the fact that we

Tarheels identify more with the fabled Army of Northern Virginia

than we do with the Army of Tennessee. (But, didn’t the latter

surrender in North Carolina?)

The loss of Vicksburg did not blunt a Southern invasion of the

North as did Gettysburg. Comparing the two sites, one recog-

nizes that Vicksburg not only denied the Union commercial and

military use of the Mississippi River, but the city sat astride the

main west-east supply lines over which the Confederate armies

received food, medicine, clothing, weapons and fresh troops. The

fight at Gettysburg was simply an accidental meeting engage-

ment, unless one considers shoes vital to the Southern cause.

On balance, the defeat at Vicksburg was by far the more egre-

gious loss. It opened the Mississippi to the Federals. In truth, the

river had been closed to the Confederacy since the fall of New

Orleans the year before, so it was a stand-off of sorts.

Part of the reason that Vicksburg in particular and the Western

Theater of Operations in general is less known and studied is that

it was a part of the South that is (and was then) confusing, murky

and vague with place names as strange as Iwo Jima, Kwajalein

and Tinian of a later war. The real action was in the Eastern

Theater, the bloody venue of Robert E. Lee where a significant

portion of his forces were Tarheels.

Yet, there is a thread that connects us Tarheels with

Vicksburg, however tenuous and oblique. There were three North

Carolina regiments involved in the Vicksburg campaign … the

29th, 39th, and 60th North Carolina State Troops. Although they

were not in Vicksburg proper during the infamous 47-day siege,

they were part of Joe Johnston’s Army of Relief and as such are

properly designated as participants. There is even a monument in

the Vicksburg National Military Park remembering them.

US Park Rangers quickly point out that the Vicksburg

National Military Park is one of the most monumented parks in

the country with 31 states having monuments there. Clearly

someone thought Vicksburg was as important as Gettysburg and

that “someone” turned out to be Stephen D. Lee, the former

A Tarheel’s Thoughts on

VicksburgBy William Northrop

“Yesterday we rode on the pinnacle of success—today absolute ruin seems to be our portion.

The Confederacy totters to its destruction.”—JOSIAH GORGAS, Chief, Confederate Ordnance Bureau, 5 July 1863

The North Carolina Monument at Vicksburg.

way to the junction where the defenses turned south was the

Stockade Redan complex guarding the aptly named Graveyard

Road. Further to the south was the 3rd Louisiana Redan and the

Great Redoubt guarding the main road to the state capital, the

Jackson Road. Then in order further on, overlooking the

Baldwin’s Ferry Road, was the 2nd Texas Lunette. The Southern

Railroad of Mississippi entered the city south of the Baldwin’s

Ferry Road and was guarded by the Railroad Redoubt.

Other strong points continued in the line southward, termi-

nating in the redoubt known as the South Fort on the river. The

southern portion of the defenses played their own roles, but none

were attacked by the besieging Union forces.

It is interesting to note that in December of 1862, President

Jefferson Davis and General Joseph Johnston made an inspection

tour of Pemberton’s forces and the defenses of Vicksburg. These

two West Pointers came to surprisingly different conclusions as

to the likely military outcome of the Union’s efforts to take

Vicksburg. Davis drew comfort from the general dispositions,

concluding that Vicksburg and Mississippi could indeed hold.

Needless to say, he was shocked when the city fell to Grant the

following year. Johnston, on the other hand, fell back on the old

military axiom that the besieged normally capitulate. In hind-

sight, the variance of views goes a long way toward explaining

what eventually occurred.

Finally, one could spend years roaming the National Military

Park and still could not picture or understand the designs, arma-

ments and most importantly, the sequence of events during the

siege. Much akin to trying to understand “dark matter,” a layman

will be lost quickly, and if you are thinking that your trusty, old

FM 5-15 (Field Fortifications) is going to be helpful, forget it.

Aside from the obvious … construction of aircraft revetments

and emplacements for self-propelled artillery and tanks … one

quickly sees that, not surprisingly, there were completely differ-

ent standards for fortifications 150 years ago.

The best bet is one of those esoteric papers from CGSC or the

War College on Civil War Field Fortifications. A favorite is LTC

David Chuber’s “Field Fortifications during the American Civil

War,” his Master’s Thesis out of Leavenworth in 1996. (It also

helps that he’s a Tarheel.) Thus, one becomes re-familiarized

with redans, lunettes, tenaille heads, bastions, and redoubts,

which, like their names, were obviously influenced by

Napoleonic doctrine.

PAGE TWO RECALL

Confederate General, Vicksburg veteran, and first chairman of

the Vicksburg Park Commission.

Research and discussions, even with the park rangers, fall

short of giving one a true picture of the massive defense line

around the “Gibraltar of the Confederacy.” One indeed needs to

visit Vicksburg to understand the magnitude of what happened

there.

The Vicksburg Earthworks“We can take all the northern ports of the Confederacy,and they can still defy us from Vicksburg. It means hogand hominy without limit, fresh troops from all the statesof the far South, and a cotton country where they canraise the staple without interference.”

—ABRAHAM LINCOLN — 1862

The common description … the city on the bluffs above the

Mississippi … fails to do justice. Vicksburg is actually built on a

series of hills, surrounded by sharp, narrow ridges fronted by

steep ravines, is naturally defensible and the fortifications sur-

rounding the city brilliantly incorporate these natural obstacles.

The massive forests that now cover the hills surrounding the

city were not there in 1863 as the land not normally under culti-

vation, had been cleared by the defenders. Even the trees grow-

ing in the valleys were sacrificed to open fields of fire.

Major Samuel Lockett, USMA Class of 1859, was the archi-

tect of Vicksburg’s almost 9-mile,

semi-circular defense line, which sur-

rounded the city and was anchored

north and south on the river. Lockett

had over a year to build his defenses

and when they were completed,

Vicksburg was indeed the “Gibraltar of

the Confederacy.”

Lockett’s plan incorporated nine

major strong points sited to guard the

roads and the single railroad line into

the city. These strong points—redans,

lunettes and redoubts—were construct-

ed with earthen walls some fourteen

feet thick, able to withstand the fire

from field guns. Each strong point was

connected by rifle pits (as well as fac-

ing parapets with head logs) and

behind these were communication

trenches (traverses) running to the rear.

In front of the fortifications and para-

pets was a ditch six feet deep and eight

to twelve feet wide. The ditch was situ-

ated facing a small, natural valley into

which the defenders staked down

abatis normally of felled trees and

sharpened stakes often laced with tele-

graph wire (tangle foot).

As noted, Lockett located his pri-

mary fortifications to overlook the

approaches to the city. Anchoring the

defenses on the north up hard against

the river was Fort Hill. On the line to

the east along the Fort Hill Road all the

Lockett at West Point

In Confederate service

On Vicksburg Monument

SPRING 2014 PAGE THREE

badly outnumbered the Confederates under John Gregg, but

Pemberton—finally awakened to Grant’s plan—began rushing

forces down from Grenada via interior rail lines.

It was during Sherman’s attempt that the Union Ironclad, USS

Cairo, was lost. Running interference on the Yazoo River for the

Union landings near Chickasaw Bayou, north of the city, the iron-

clad gunboat ran afoul of two Confederate mines (then known as

torpedoes) and sank in six fathoms in a matter of minutes.

Interestingly, she was raised in 1964 and is now on display at the

Vicksburg National Military Park.

Sherman could not break the Vicksburg line at Chickasaw

Bayou try as he might. Not only were the Union forces repulsed,

but Stephen Lee led a counterattack with two regiments that net-

ted the Confederates 21 officers, 311 enlisted, 4 colors, and 500

stands of arms. So, by 31 December 1862, the Yankees had had

enough and called it quits. It had cost the Federal forces 1,776

casualties while the Confederates lost only 187 men.

Second Campaign

The water was high and the rains wereincessant. There seemed no possibility of aland movement before the end of March orlater and it would not do to lie idle all thistime. ULYSSES S. GRANT, Major General, USA

Commanding Federal Army of the Tennessee

Grant was still determined to take Vicksburg, but his direct

approach had proven disastrous. So in his second attempt from

Tennessee he moved his army down the Mississippi staying on

the Louisiana side fetching up at Milliken’s Bend. Confederate

forces on that side of the river were too sparse to offer any seri-

ous resistance. Having reached the general vicinity of Vicksburg,

albeit on the Louisiana side, mounting a cross-river attack was

not feasible since it was winter and the Mississippi was on the

boom. There was nothing else for it, so he kept his men busy.

To this end, he instituted a series of seven ill-fated efforts in

the bayous, including the digging of two canals across DeSoto

Point to divert the Mississippi River and bypass the guns of

Vicksburg.

Several interesting incidents were attendant to Grant’s second

campaign, which he would later characterize as “experiments”.

One of the DeSoto Point canals involved the employment of two

huge steam dredges (Hercules and Samson) to help dig, but both

were quickly damaged and driven away by cross-river

Confederate artillery fire. Still another effort was made to get

behind Vicksburg’s guns via the Yazoo River, but it was frustrat-

ed by the imposition of a small Confederate fortification—Fort

Pemberton—between the Tallahatchie and Yazoo rivers north of

the city.

By the end of March 1863, Grant seemed reduced in options

and politicians and the media back in Washington were clamor-

ing for his head. Not distracted, he was as determined as ever to

take Vicksburg. He decided to move his army south of the city,

cross the river and bring the fight to Pemberton within the

Mississippi interior east of Vicksburg. In order to do this, the

Union Navy had to get their transports south of the city, a rather

daunting task.

Meanwhile, Grant pushed his army south on the Louisiana

side with McClernand’s corps cutting and corduroying the road.

First Campaign

“I reached Vicksburg at the time appointed,

landed, assaulted and failed.”

WILLIAM T. SHERMAN, Major General, USACommanding XV CorpsFederal Army of the TennesseeJanuary 1863

Sitting in Grand Junction, Tennessee, east of Memphis, Grant

decided on the direct approach to Vicksburg in November 1862.

He pushed south into Mississippi with his Army of the Tennessee

headed for the city on the bluffs. With one column of 40,000

troops, he moved along the Mississippi Central Railroad hoping

to draw the Confederate defenders out of Vicksburg and into

northern Mississippi. Meanwhile, a second Yankee column of

32,000 troops under Sherman embarked by ship to make a water-

borne assault on the city in the absence of most of the defenders.

That was the plan.

Pemberton … not the sharpest tool in the shed … went for the

ploy and Grant’s grand scheme might have worked had it not

been for two unforeseen factors. Those two factors were Bedford

Forrest and Earl Van Dorn.

Grant’s army pushed south out of Tennessee headed toward

Grenada, Mississippi, where Pemberton was digging in his forces

along the south bank of the Yalobusha River. Slowly pushing

through Holly Springs and Oxford, the Union forces established

their main supply base on the railroad at the former, but there was

bad news in their rear.

Back in Tennessee, Bedford Forrest cut the Mobile & Ohio

Railroad on which Grant’s Union forces were dependent to feed

supplies into their logistics base at Holly Springs, Mississippi.

Then on 20 December 1862, Earl Van Dorn added insult to injury

by taking and destroying the Holly Springs depot. Grant was

forced to throw in the towel and return to Memphis with his

troops on half rations.

On the same day Van Dorn took Holly Springs, Sherman

embarked at Memphis headed toward Vicksburg in fifty-nine

transports escorted by seven gunboats. On Christmas Eve 1862,

Sherman landed his force just north of the city in front of the

Walnut Hills along Chickasaw Bayou. Initially, the Union forces

USS

Cairo

…then

…

and

now.

PAGE FOUR RECALL

Patrolling Confederate cavalry soon spotted the Yankees and sent

word back across the river. John Bowen, the Confederate com-

mander at Grand Gulf some twenty-five miles south of Vicksburg

dispatched two regiments on 4 April 1863 across to make contact

and keep an eye on the Yankees. Bowen then braced his com-

mand for a potential Union assault. At that point, however, there

were no Union naval units on the river south of Vicksburg, so

Bowen continued to watch and report to Pemberton.

During the night of 16 April 1863, Admiral David Dixon

Porter ran the guns at Vicksburg and at the cost of one transport

put a powerful portion of the Union fleet south of the fortress

city. As matters played out, the Confederate artillery on the bluffs

was improperly laid and most to their rounds flew high. They

soon corrected this and a subsequent Yankee run on the river fin-

ished with drastically different results.

In an effort to divert Pemberton’s attention, Sherman and his

XV Corps remained just north of Vicksburg on the Louisiana

side, threatening a crossing there, which the Confederate com-

mand fully expected. Reports coming in from Grand Gulf made

little impression on Pemberton’s mind-set, but the now-famous

cavalry raid of Ben Grierson had him talking in syllables.

A brief sidebar comment on Grierson’s cavalry raid is now

indicated. Part of the success of this raid, which covered some six

hundred miles in sixteen days, can be attributed to the Union

numbers … what Lincoln called “the arithmetic.” In January

1863, Earl Van Dorn and his 6,000 cavalry had been detached

from Pemberton and sent to Bragg in Tennessee putting them out

of the campaign. At the same time, Bedford Forrest was busy

tracking down and capturing a similar Union raid led by Abel

Streight that ended in Alabama. With so little cavalry left in his

command, Pemberton could not even find Grierson much less

stop him.

By month’s end, Grant had the entire XIII Corps and two

divisions of the XVII Corps, along with Porter’s gunboats at

Hard Times Landing on the Louisiana shore just to the north and

opposite Grand Gulf. He was ready for a crossing attempt on 29

April 1863 and Porter’s gunboats moved ahead to suppress the

Confederate forts prior to the infantry landing. But, after five

hours of dueling with John Bowen’s artillery, the Union fleet

came away the worst for it.

Battles Outside the Wire

“Detachments of fast-riding cavalry were

ordered eastward from Port Hudson and

Port Gibson—the latter a scant half dozen

miles from Grant's intended point of landing

at Grand Gulf …” —SHELBY FOOTE

The Beleagured City

Undeterred, Grant disembarked his 23,000 troops, marched

them five miles south, and on the following day began landing

them unopposed on the Mississippi shore at Bruinsburg. He

immediately pushed inland toward Port Gibson. Although Bowen

knew the Yankees had crossed the river, he did not know their

strength or where they were headed because of a lack of cavalry,

which was then out east looking for Grierson. So he put his 5,500

troops into a defensive position some four miles west of Port

Gibson, and on 1 May 1863, the Yankees showed up.

In spite of his 1-to-4 disadvantage, Bowen held his own ini-

tially. But, finally out flanked and overwhelmed by McClern-

and’s four-division assault, Bowen withdrew his men to the out-

skirts of Port Gibson and held off the blue hoards until nightfall

ended the fighting. Although it was clear that Bowen had suc-

cessfully held up Grant for an entire day, it was also clear he

would have to withdraw or be annihilated on the morrow. That

night Bowen withdrew back across Bayou Pierre burning the

bridges behind him.

The Yankees quickly rebuilt the bridges across the Bayou.

Meanwhile Bowen had been reinforced, bringing his total to

about 9,000 effectives, but so had Grant, bringing his total up to

about 30,000. Like an unstoppable flood, the blue forces soon

flanked Bowen forcing yet another withdrawal, this time across

the Big Black River, which abandoned the fortifications at Grand

Gulf, freeing up the Union naval forces on the Mississippi all the

way up to Vicksburg.

In making his threat analysis, Pemberton saw his opponent’s

key problem as logistics. Grant’s supply line was tied to his east-

bank base at Grand Gulf. Building up supplies there required the

use of the single make-shift road down the Louisiana side of the

river or, in the alternative, running the guns of Vicksburg on the

water. In order to take the city, Pemberton figured that Grant

needed a base of supply on the Yazoo north of Vicksburg. If

Grant moved east toward Jackson, his supply line from Grand

Gulf would be stretched to the breaking point, or so Pemberton

figured.

This was indeed Grant’s main problem, and the blue com-

mander knew it. Unlike Pemberton, however, he saw it as not

insurmountable. Based on the recent experience of Grierson, cut

loose from his supplies and living off the land, and Grant’s own

on his retreat back to Memphis the previous year, he was deter-

mined to do the same again, but on a much larger scale. Speed of

movement then became essential, both tactically and logistically.

By 8 May, Sherman brought his corps across the river and

Grant had nine of his ten divisions or about 45,000 men on the

east bank. Concentrating at Rocky Springs, he struck out on 12

May 1863 in three columns, one for each corps. He intended

McClernand’s Corps on the left to move north and cut the

Jackson-Vicksburg rail line. Sherman would move up the center

able to come to the assistance of either adjacent column, and

McPherson, on the right, was to move directly toward Jackson.

About 1100 hours, McPherson ran headlong into a dug-in

Tennessee brigade under John Gregg a couple of miles south of

the little town of Raymond, fifteen or so miles southwest of the

Mississippi capital. A serious fight broke out with neither side

knowing the strength of its opponent, but when Gregg finally

realized he was facing an entire Federal Corps, he expertly dis-

engaged and withdrew back through Raymond toward Jackson.

Enroute back, Gregg ran into General William Walker who was

rushing up 1,000 South Carolina reinforcements. They positioned

defensively and waited for the Yankees, but the boys in blue had

occupied Raymond and were done for the day.

The next day two things happened. The Battle of Raymond

indicated to Grant that the Confederates were concentrated at

Jackson, and so he shifted his corps to make the Mississippi cap-

ital his next objective. The second event was the arrival of Joe

Johnston in Jackson to take command of Confederate forces.

Grant spent 13 May 1863 gathering his forces and putting two

corps on the move toward Jackson while his third corps deployed

in his rear guarding the approach from Vicksburg.

SPRING 2014 PAGE FIVE

By 18 May 1863, Pemberton’s troops had completed their

withdrawal from the Big Black River crossings and were getting

snug in the prepared defenses of the city. Grant wanted an imme-

diate attack that gave the Confederates little recovery time, and

he set it for the afternoon of 19 May after an artillery preparation.

Grant’s plan of attack was simple enough and by necessity

based on approaches to the city. He would attack along three

axes: Sherman’s Corps (XV) would attack along the Graveyard

Road on the north, McPherson’s Corps (XVII) would attack

along the Jackson Road in the middle and McClernand’s Corps

(XIII) would attack along the Southern Railroad line on the

south.

Unfortunately for the Yankees, only Sherman’s XV Corps

was up and in position for the attack while Grant’s other two were

still deploying in front of the Confederate earthworks. On sched-

ule, Sherman threw two brigades of Frank Blair’s 2nd Division,

some nine regiments, down the Graveyard Road and against the

Stockade Redan complex. This consisted of three fortifications,

the 27th Louisiana Lunette on the west, the Stockade Redan in

the center, and Green’s Redan to the south.

The earthworks and environs were defended by three

Confederate regiments, the 36th Mississippi of Louis Hebert’s

brigade and the 1st and 5th Missouri of Francis Cockrell’s

brigade. As events unfolded during the afternoon of 19 May

1863, the badly outnumbered Confederates made short work of

the Federal assault. and Sherman could only withdraw the sur-

vivors after nightfall leaving the dead and wounded littering the

area fronting the fortifications. Union forces suffered almost

1,000 casualties in this attack.

Unhappy with the coordination of his first attack, but limited

to the approaches to the city, Grant scheduled a second for 22

May 1863 that would employ elements of all three corps simul-

taneously. It was the first time in history that an attack would go

in on watches synchronized the night before, but it was the same

plan as his 19 May assault, and there is some old military nega-

tive about expecting different results from the same effort.

After an all-night artillery bombardment on 21 May 1863

with Grant’s 220 tubes plus the navy’s 13-inch mortars out on the

river, Sherman’s boys hit the Stockade Redan complex once

again at 1000. After being repulsed on their first try, they gave it

Joe Johnston patiently listened to a briefing by General John

Gregg and without inspecting the defensive positions, wired

Richmond, “I am too late.” Then Johnston, with no Federal

troops in sight and their next objective unknown, ordered the

abandonment of Jackson, the capital of Mississippi.

According to the records, Johnston had at the time 6,000

troops at Jackson. The arrival of reinforcements, including the

60th North Carolina, that same afternoon brought his total up to

10,000 effectives and with the expected arrival of 3,000 addi-

tional troops on 16 May, would have given him a total of 13,000

men. That was too little and too late, of course, because Johnston

abandoned Jackson on 14 May after the graybacks symbolically

repulsed McPherson’s skirmishers.

If at that point, however, Johnston had managed to combine

his 13,000 effectives with Pemberton’s Army of Vicksburg, it

would have put the Confederates reasonably close to parity with

Grant’s three corps. But, that’s what might have been.

The next morning, McPherson was dispatched with his corps

toward Vicksburg to the support of McClernand’s Corps then fac-

ing Pemberton who had come out of the city and was concentrat-

ing on the Big Black River. Sherman’s XV Corps spent the day

looting and burning Jackson.

Grant soon had a windfall in a dispatch Johnston had sent to

Pemberton via a messenger who was a Union agent. Based on

this and other intelligence, Grant felt he knew

where Pemberton was, his strength and his plans.

Leaving one of Sherman’s divisions to complete the

destruction of Jackson, he hurried the rest of his

forces westward toward Vicksburg and the battle

that would be called Champion Hill, the bloodiest

day in the entire Vicksburg Campaign.

The battle was remarkable in several ways.

Pemberton’s three divisions held the high ground

and were attacked by McClernand and McPher-

son’s corps in a bitter, all-day fight. Finally, in late

afternoon, the Confederate left gave way and two

of Pemberton’s divisions retreated back across

Baker’s Creek toward the Big Black. The third

Confederate division under Tarheel-born William

Loring was cut off and eventually made its way

behind the Federals to Johnston’s Army of Relief

near Jackson.

The following day, 17 May 1863, Grant’s forces

chasing Pemberton’s two divisions forced a cross-

ing of the Big Black River at Edward’s Station. The Confederates

retreated into the works at Vicksburg. In the 18-day campaign,

Grant had marched 180 miles, fought and won five battles,

inflicted over 7,000 casualties, seized 50 tubes of field artillery

and 25 larger pieces spiked and abandoned. And now he had

Pemberton bottled up in “Gibraltar of the Confederacy.”

"Vicksburg or hell!"THOMAS HIGGINS, Color Corporal, 99th Illinois, USV

Federal Army of the Tennessee

Assaulting the 2nd Texas Lunette, 22 May 1863

A siege is long, tedious and boring, and Grant sought to avoid

it. And, while his tactical ability was far superior to that of John

Pemberton, he now faced the serious defenses conceived by yet

another West Pointer, Sam Lockett.

“First at Vicksburg” — a mythical depiction of the 19 May 1863 assault. In truth, no Union troops got anywhere near this close.

PAGE SIX RECALL

a second effort at 1500, but the results were the same only with a

heavier subtraction in casualties.

McPherson’s XVII Corps attacked to the south of Sherman

down the Jackson Road against the fortifications known as the

Great Redoubt and the soon-to-be-famous 3rd Louisiana Redan.

It became quickly evident that McPherson lacked the proper

reconnaissance or such was extremely faulty, because Sam

Lockett had laid out these strong points with interlocking fields

of fire. McPherson’s boys were caught in a crossfire that did not

allow them to break wind through cotton much less break

through the Confederate line. The best that can be said of this

attack is that it was over quickly.

The only “success”—if one might call it that—came on the

south end of the Union lines from the troops of McClernand’s

XIII Corps. Two Federal brigades under Benton and Burbridge

attacked the 2nd Texas Lunette held by that single Confederate

regiment and literally bounced off with heavy losses. There was

a breakthrough at the Railroad Redoubt … small, but nonetheless

a breakthrough. About a dozen men from the 22nd Iowa (Law-

ler’s Brigade) managed a toehold inside the massive fortification.

Surviving companies of the 30th Alabama contained the intrud-

ers until Stephen Lee sent in Waul’s Texas Legion and elements

of the 86th Alabama who overran and killed or captured the

Yankees involved. Thus, the breakthrough was sealed.

Grant learned the same lesson Robert E. Lee would learn on

3 July 1863 about a thousand miles away at Gettysburg. In those

days, it was rarely a good idea to frontally assault a fortified

enemy. Union losses for the 22 May attacks totaled 3,200 making

an exact grand total of 4,141 for both attacks on the Vicksburg

defenses. This 3-day total was almost as many casualties as Grant

had incurred on his 18-day campaign to reach the city, although

he quickly shifted the blame to others, as was his habit.

The Siege

“…rather an entrenched camp than a forti-fied place, owing much of its strength to thedifficult ground, obstructed by fallen trees toits front, which rendered rapidity of move-ment and ensemble in assault impossible.”

Staff Engineer — Union Army of the TennesseeVicksburg, 1863

There was nothing for it other than to invest Vicksburg, so the

Union Army of the Tennessee stacked their rifles and picked up

their shovels. They were then in the grips of the five formal

stages of a siege: investment, artillery attack, assault construc-

tion, breaching with artillery or mines, and final assault. Gun

positions—some 89 in all—and entrenchments along with the

mines; plus a second line out on the Big Black River to guard the

rear against Joe Johnston had to be dug and fortified.

Federal reinforcements and supplies poured in through

Grant’s newly-won supply base north of the city near Haines

Bluff on the Yazoo River. By mid-June, he had 77,000 effectives

in five corps on hand. Three corps were utilized investing

Vicksburg while two hunkered down out on the Big Black in case

Johnston found the manpower and the nerve to attempt a relief of

the siege.

Beyond the tedious monotony of siege warfare, the shelling

and the snipers, there were several isolated incidents that beg

Sherman’s attack on 22 May 1863.

McPherson’s attack on 22 May 1863.

McClernand’s Attack on 22 May 1863.

deep and eight feet wide and now known as “Logan’s Approach”

toward the 3rd Louisiana Redan. It was difficult and dangerous

work, but they finally arrived at the base of their objective on 23

June all the while braving improvised hand grenades and sniper

fire. At that point, they began tunneling having previously

learned the lesson of going toe-to-toe with the defenders.

By all accounts, the mine shaft was some forty feet long

extending under the front wall of the redan. They packed it with

2200 pounds of black powder and detonated it at 1530 on 25

June. It blew a crater some forty feet wide and twelve feet deep

in the front wall of the fortification. On signal, the 45th Illinois

under Jasper Maltby charged into the crater attempting to breach

the Confederate line, but were met head-on by hornet-mad

Confederates. Finally, Eugene Erwin, the grandson of Henry

Clay, led his 6th Missouri into the crater and sealed the breach at

the point of their bayonets. The fight had lasted 26 hours with

each side feeding in regiments until the Federals were finally

driven out.

Smarting over the defeat, the Yankees decided

to dig another tunnel under the position. This

shaft was completed on 1 July and packed with

1800 pounds of powder. It was detonated killing

six black laborers and tossing a slave named

Abraham out of the works and into the Union

lines. Abraham became an instant celebrity, but

was soon “emancipated” to work for the Union

quartermaster. There was no follow-up infantry

attack by the Yankees this time, so consensus has

it that this second mine explosion was done out of

pure meanness.

There is a small postscript to the story of the redan crater.

Jasper Maltby, who led the 45th Illinois into the crater, was badly

wounded in the fray. He recovered, was promoted and survived

the war. Ironically, he was appointed the first (reconstruction)

mayor of Vicksburg after the war. He died in office, and it was

not until World War II that the people of Vicksburg even thought

about celebrating the 4th of July again.

The Army of Relief

“I have every reason to believe that ten days

will bring relief in the person of General

Johnson (sic) and 50,000 men. God send

him quickly.”WILLIAM DRENNAN, Lieutenant, Ordinance Staff,

Featherston’s Brigade, Loring’s Division

Army of Vicksburg, Vicksburg Journal, 1 June 1863

On 9 May 1863, Confederate Secretary of War James Seddon

wired Joe Johnston in Tennessee giving him command of the

forces in Mississippi. At that point, the divergence of opinions

between Davis and Johnston came into play to favor Grant.

Davis, having finally realized the danger, dispatched Johnston to

Mississippi in an act of semi-desperation. With Pemberton bot-

tled up in Vicksburg unable to communicate with Richmond, an

“Army of Relief” was the only potential solution. Johnston, who

had apparently written off Vicksburg as already lost, arrived in

Jackson, Mississippi, on 13 May 1863.

In June of 1863, Richmond poured troops into Jackson, the

SPRING 2014 PAGE SEVEN

attention. The first was the burial truce in the afternoon of 25

May 1863 at which time a 2½ hour cease-fire was granted so that

the Union dead could be buried and the wounded removed from

in front of the Confederate works.

A second curious incident climaxed two days later on 27 May

1863. Union Army Intelligence (I see hoof prints in, but none

coming out) perceived that the Confederates were moving some

of their big guns from their upper water batteries to positions

inland. In order to test this analysis, David Porter was asked to

send a probe against the suspect positions and to this end, he dis-

patched the USS Cincinnati, a City-class ironclad. Interestingly,

the Cincinnati was previously sunk at Fort Pillow on 10 May

1862 but raised and put back into service.

At 7 a,m,, the Cincinnati moved down river and by 10 a.m.

the matter had been clarified by the sinking of the ill-fated, Union

ironclad for the second time in her career. The loss of 40 of her

crew settled the old notion that holds Military Intelligence is to

Intelligence what Military Music is to Music.

On 6 June, Grant left his headquarters and headed up the

Yazoo for Satartia aboard the steamer Diligent. He went on a 2-

day bender at Haines Bluff confirming the whispered rumor that

he was a “soak” … he was.

On 7 June 1863, Confederate General Richard Taylor, operat-

ing on the west bank of the Mississippi under orders from Kirby

Smith, simultaneously attacked Young’s Point and Milliken’s

Bend in an effort to sever Grant’s supply line from the north. He

was disappointed to learn that these “vital” Union bases had been

abandoned a month before in favor of Grant’s new base at Haines

Bluff on the Yazoo River, and Taylor had no way of reaching that.

One refrains from mentioning the efficacy of Military Intelli-

gence once more.

Finally on 18 June, Grant was able to relieve the politically-

appointed John McClernand, an act he had been plotting for some

months. Washington supported his decision, and command of the

XIII Corps was taken over by Edward Ord. Four days later,

Sherman was moved from command of the XV Corps to com-

mand of the rearward line—in essence two corps—on the Big

Black River.

The mining of the 3rd Louisiana Redan on 25 June 1863 was

probably the most well known and exciting event of the siege.

The Jackson Road was the main thoroughfare into Vicksburg,

and it was guarded by the 3rd Louisiana Redan (identified by the

occupying unit) and by the Great Redoubt slightly to the south.

The besieging Yankee unit assigned to the area was John

Logan’s Third Division of McPherson’s XVII Corps. After dig-

ging in their artillery, constructing their dugouts and trenches,

Logan’s boys began an approach trench or sap some seven feet

USS Cincinnati

PAGE EIGHT RECALL

they heard the news of Vicksburg’s surrender. Johnston had fid-

dled around until it was too late, at which point he pulled back

from the Big Black to Jackson followed by two Federal corps

under Sherman. Johnston defended Jackson for a week before

abandoning the city once again on 16 July 1863.

There is a short footnote: All three North Carolina regiments,

the 29th, 39th, and 60th, would be assigned to Davidson’s

Brigade and fight together at Chickamauga.

Disaster Times Two

"I have no heart to write.Vicksburg has fallen".Catherine Ann Devereux Edmondston, Journal of a Secesh Lady

The numbers of combatants involved in the Vicksburg

Campaign are still in contention some 150 years after events. The

figures for Grant’s Army of the Tennessee are reasonably static at

77,000 in 15 divisions including later-arriving reinforcements.

On the Confederate side the numbers are unfocused, mainly

because Joe Johnston was continually whining to Richmond for

more troops and reporting various strength figures. By the first

week of June 1863, Johnston’s Army of Relief numbered approx-

imately 32,000. Once again we make a futile calculation:

Combined with Pemberton’s Army of Vicksburg and accounting

for battle subtractions, the Confederate total was somewhere

close to 62,000 men in 9 divisions, superior to Grant’s forces at

that point.

The obvious problem was in the unimaginative Confederate

leadership. Grant outgeneraled Pemberton in his five battles to

reach Vicksburg. Joe Johnston was always meticulous in his

preparation before a movement, but his movements were always

retrograde in nature. In truth, any Union general who faced Joe

Johnston could count on the Confederate abandoning his defens-

es. In retrospect, it is clear that Johnston, despite current admir-

ers, had no real stomach for a fight. He had abandoned Harpers

Ferry at the beginning of hostilities, had almost abandoned

Richmond in 1862, and would abandon Atlanta after he aban-

doned Vicksburg and Jackson. There were always excuses, of

course, but a critical view of his actions as a Confederate com-

mander leaves a Monday-morning quarterback cold with his

missed opportunities.

In the public’s mind today, Gettysburg is the more important

of these two disasters mainly because of the high casualties.

Robert E. Lee took 70,000 men into Pennsylvania, some 37

brigades. His famous charge against the Union center on 3 July

involved only 8 of his brigades. Overall, he lost a little over

20,000 men or roughly a 28% subtraction to his forces, which

capital of Mississippi, for Johnston’s

Army of Relief from as far away as the

east coast. This was while Lee had the

Army of Northern Virginia enroute to

Pennsylvania. At the time, Johnston’s

34,000 and Pemberton’s 50,000 gave the

Confederates a numerical superiority

over the Union forces. Johnston failed to

move, however, and by the time he

cranked up to threaten the siege, Grant

had been massively reinforced and

Pemberton had thrown in the towel.

Richmond had scrambled to send

units to Johnston in Jackson. A three-brigade division under John

Breckinridge arrived, and one of the regiments was the 60th

North Carolina under Washington Hardy, which was attached to

Stovall’s Florida Brigade. An “orphan” regiment, the 60th had

been organized at Greenville, Tennessee, by adding four compa-

nies to the former 6th North Carolina Battalion in the summer of

1862. Most of its troops came from the Asheville area and Polk,

Buncombe, and Madison counties. It also had a sprinkle of

Tennesseans.

The 60th was one of the first regiments to arrive in Jackson,

probably around 13 May 1863, and had been sent from Bragg’s

army in Tennessee. We believe it had approximately 270 effec-

tives and there are indications that they skirmished briefly in the

defense of Jackson before retiring northward with Johnston on 14

May.

There are indications that this regiment marched to the relief

of Vicksburg during the first week of July, and that it retreated

with Johnston back to Jackson. On the way, these Tarheels appar-

ently skirmished with Sherman’s boys at Clinton where records

indicate they sustained one WIA.

* * * *

The 29th North Carolina was an older regiment first organ-

ized at Camp Patton near Asheville back in July of 1861. It con-

tained men from the mountain counties of Cherokee, Yancey,

Buncombe, Jackson, Madison, Haywood, and Mitchell, and it

was a veteran outfit by the time it was ordered to Mississippi on

12 May 1863.

Arriving from Shelbyville, Tennessee, on 18 May 1863, two

days after Sherman’s boys evacuated the Mississippi capital, the

regiment detrained and force-marched thirty miles to Canton to

join Joe Johnston’s forces. It was then ordered to Vaughan’s

Station. Once there, it was attached to Wilson’s Georgia Brigade

of William Walker’s Division. They were assigned to guard and

garrison duty at Yazoo City and Vernon. The regiment evacuated

Yazoo City to Morton, Mississippi on 13 July 1863. Conse-

quently, they spent their time in-theater pretty much out of the

fight.

* * * *

Shipping out of Shelbyville with the 29th North Carolina was

its sister regiment, the 39th North Carolina. It also arrived in

Jackson on 18 May and marched thirty miles to Canton. The 39th

was attached to Evander McNair’s Arkansas Brigade at Brandon,

Mississippi. From Brandon, they moved west with French’s divi-

sion to the Birdsong Farm on the east bank of the Big Black until

SPRING 2014 PAGE NINE

equaled Confederate losses at Shiloh plus Antietam. He also lost

two guns … caught in the mud … and suffered serious losses in

his leadership that could not be replaced. As usual, Lee was heav-

ily outnumbered and left the field damaged, but tactical. Indeed,

it is clear that Lee survived with his reputation intact. Reviewing

Union losses, Lee predicted that the Army of the Potomac would

not be ready for another engagement for six months. It would

actually be ten months.

Grant had little or no respect for John Pemberton. He viewed

Pemberton, a northern man, as one who had simply fallen in with

bad company. When Joe Johnston arrived in Jackson to relieve

Vicksburg, Grant was similarly underwhelmed. The only Con-

federate General who scared the Union commander was the

wholly unpredictable and free-ranging Bedford Forrest.

After Vicksburg, Pemberton was no longer a player. With an

army of 50,000 initially, he was completely out-generaled by

Grant. Out in the open, Grant’s tactical ability and numerical

superiority combined with Confederate leadership incompetence

led to Union victories outside the Vicksburg defenses and its

eventual fall to siege. Pemberton’s losses amounted to 172 guns,

50,000 small arms and almost 30,000 troops.

While in retrospect, the twin disasters of Vicksburg and

Gettysburg, while bad, did not alter the war that much. One can

argue whether or not either one or both were the “turning point”

of the American Civil War. Grant’s victory at Vicksburg, along

with his later victory at Chattanooga, positioned him to take over

command of all the Union Armies. It was this, one can argue, that

was the “turning point.”

Imust confess that I have been some-

what distraught since I heard the news

a few years ago of the Army’s ban on

cuss’n. Cuss’n has been a part of our her-

itage since the formation of the U.S.

Army, and I distinctly remember my

introduction to this custom during Basic

Training at Fort Bragg in the fall of 1967.

My drill sergeant was a master of cuss’n,

and I was convinced that cuss’n had to

have been a part of Drill Sergeant’s

School as he excelled in it so well. I mean

my father, a WWII veteran, cussed some,

but next to Drill Sergeants of old E-1-1,

he was strictly an amateur. I noticed too,

that Platoon Sergeants cussed better than

Staff Sergeants who in turn cussed better

than Sergeants, so in my mind, promotion

depended to some degree on one’s cuss’n

ability. Never hearing the First Sergeant

cuss probably meant that he evaluated the

lower NCOs and perhaps helped them

hone their cuss’n abilities during after-

hours training sessions. During AIT, I

observed the Drill Sergeants didn’t cuss

as much which meant they had not

expanded their vocabulary sufficiently to

be in charge of basic trainees or perhaps

had been recycled back to bring their

cuss’n up to par.

Looking back into history, it’s impor-

tant to note that NCOs weren’t the only

ones who could cuss for effect as the offi-

cer corps also possessed some good curs-

ers and though the officers were fewer in

numbers than NCOs, they produced some

legendary cussers.

Perhaps the most notable was General

George Patton whose cuss’n was the stuff

of legends and if it’s true that if one pic-

ture is worth a thousand words, then his

thousands of cuss words are enough to fill

an entire art museum.

Though not as eloquent as Patton,

Confederate General Nathan Bedford

Forest was able to cuss subordinates and

superiors with equal fervor, and he cussed

two superior not only with fervor but with

threats of death if they continued to cross

his path. His tirades were so convincing

not only did they steer clear of him, they

never charged him with insubordination.

While some officers were too pious to

resort to cuss’n, they never-the-less

would use the words of fellow officers to

make their point. Consider North

Carolina native Leonidas Polk, Episcopal

Bishop and Confederate General. During

the Battle of Perryville, it is said General

Benjamin Cheatham in a furious charge

loudly exhorted his troops to “drive the

Yankees to Hell!” Unable to bring him-

self to use such colorful language,

General Polk shouted for his troops to

“…drive them where General Cheatham

told you to!”

General Jubal Early’s peers stated that

among his other attributes he was “…a

great swearer with imaginatively profane

speech,” so much so General Lee called

him, “my bad old man.”

On the other side, General Sherman

had a wonderful salty vocabulary as

General Meade was also said to possess,

Cuss’n in the ArmySFC (Ret) John R. Winecoff

but they still ranked well below their

Confederate contemporaries in the cuss’n

department.

Perhaps cuss’n in the U.S. Army can

be traced back to the Continental Army’s

1778 stay at Valley Forge, with the arrival

of a former Prussian Army officer-

Friedrich Wilhelm Ludolf Gerhard

Augustine Baron von Steuben, who

became known as the “drillmaster of

Valley Forge” and who is still considered

to be the father of all Army drill ser-

geants. Von Steuben first shocked the

troops by dismounting his horse to drill

them. For an officer to dismount and drill

troops was almost unheard of and such a

deed elevated him to the rank of sergeant,

at least within the enlisted ranks, but what

really raised him to his title of drill mas-

ter of Valley Forge was his cuss’n. When

some movement or maneuver was not

performed to his satisfaction by the

troops, he began to swear, but since his

knowledge of English was limited, he

swore in German, then in French, and

then in both languages together. When he

had exhausted his artillery of oaths, he

would call for one his aides to come for-

ward and swear for him in English until

the task was successfully accomplished.

Perhaps some of von Steuben cuss’n

ability rubbed off on General Washington

for an incident that occurred during the

Battle of Mammoth Court House.

General Charles Lee (no relation to

Robert E.) had failed to carry out

Washington's orders to fight the British,

RECALLPAGE TEN

choosing retreat instead. He had been a

pain in Washington’s derriere for some

time and upon confronting him on the

battlefield Washington’s famed temper

burst forth. Here, historians still debate

what Washington actually said, but

General Charles Scott of Virginia, a con-

noisseur of cuss’n himself, recalled that

Washington, “… swore on that day till the

leaves shook on the trees…on that ever-

memorable day he swore like an angel

from Heaven.”

Perhaps the best live performance by

a commissioned officer I personally

observed was in the field at Fort Bragg a

number of years ago. My whole platoon’s

performance was not up to standards and

was most unsatisfactory in our major’s

opinion. Assembling the whole platoon,

he launched into one of the best cuss’n

outs I ever observed—not only observed,

I was one of the recipients. He questioned

our ancestry, our performance, our worth

to society in general and the Army and

National Guard in particular and no one

could feel forgotten. The platoon leader,

platoon sergeant, and squad leaders

received special attention for their

actions—or inactions—since the begin-

ning of annual training. All of this deliv-

ered in a voice so quiet at times you had

to strain to hear, but hear we did, and

when it was over I realized I had been in

the presence of a master, a little like the

“Sermon on the Mount”, but in a different

direction, if you get my meaning.

Perhaps that inspired me to give what

I consider my best performance, also

delivered at Fort Bragg. At “0 dark-thir-

ty”, we had to respond to a threat by

manning our fighting positions in full

MOPP gear. As platoon sergeant now, I

awakened members of my platoon, a

squad leader and one of his members

The following is a description of the birth of the U.S.

Army from Robert Wright, The Continental Army

(Washington, D.C.: Center of Military History,

1983), pp. 23-24:

The 14 June date is when Congress adopted ‘the American

continental army” after reaching a consensus position in The

Committee of the Whole. This procedure and the desire for secre-

cy account for the sparseness of the official journal entries for the

day. The record indicates only that Congress undertook to raise

ten companies of riflemen, approved an enlistment form for

them, and appointed a committee (including Washington and

Schuyler) to draft rules and regulations for the government of the

army. The delegates’ correspondence, diaries, and subsequent

actions make it clear that they really did much more. They also

accepted responsibility for the existing New England troops and

forces requested for the defense of the various points in New

York. The former were believed to total 10,000 men; the latter,

both New Yorkers and Connecticut men, another 5,000.

At least some members of Congress assumed from the begin-

ning that this force would be expanded. That expansion, in the

form of increased troop ceilings at Boston, came very rapidly as

better information arrived regarding the actual numbers of New

England troops. By the third week in June delegates were refer-

ring to 15,000 at Boston. When on 19 June Congress requested

the governments of Connecticut, Rhode Island, and New

Hampshire to forward to Boston “such of the forces as are

already embodied, towards their quotas of the troops agreed to be

raised by the New England Colonies,” it gave a clear indication

of its intent to adopt the regional army. Discussions the next day

indicated that Congress was prepared to support a force at Boston

twice the size of the British garrison, and that it was unwilling to

order any existing units to be disbanded. By the first week in July

delegates were referring to a total at Boston that was edging

toward 20.000. Maximum strengths for the forces both in

Massachusetts and New York were finally established on 21 and

22 July, when solid information was on hand. These were set,

respectively, at 22,000 and 5,000 men, a total nearly double that

envisioned on 14 June.

The “expert riflemen” authorized on 14 June were the first

units raised directly as Continentals. Congress intended to have

the ten companies serve as a light infantry force for the Boston

siege. At the same time it symbolically extended military partic-

ipation beyond New England by allocating 6 of the companies to

Pennsylvania, 2 to Maryland, and 2 to Virginia. Each company

would have a captain, 3 lieutenants, 4 sergeants, 4 corporals, a

drummer (or horn player), and 68 privates. The enlistment peri-

od was set at one year, the norm for the earlier Provincials, a peri-

od that would expire on 1 July 1776.

Responsibility for recruiting the companies was given to the

three colonies’ delegates, who in turn relied on the county com-

mittees of those areas noted for skilled marksmen. The response

in Pennsylvania’s western and northern frontier counties was so

great that on 22 June the colony’s quota was increased from six

to eight companies, organized as a regiment. On 25 June the

Pennsylvania delegates, with authority from the Pennsylvania

being the first to receive the call. I saw them

putting their gear on, and then moved to

check the rest of the platoon. Returning a

short time later, I was incensed that the two

not only took off the gear I had seen them

putting on, they had gone back to bed. I then

launched into what I still consider my mas-

terpiece. It was not given in the quiet man-

ner of the major, but neither was it a

screaming and hollering affair, and it con-

tinued as they dressed in rapid time. So

good was it that the sergeant finally man-

aged to interject in a meek voice, “Sergeant,

please don’t cuss us no more.”

I ceased my tirade and continued about

my duties, satisfied that had the major wit-

nessed this performance, he would have

been pleased at my desire to inspire the

troops, and somewhere in the great beyond

the drillmaster of Valley Forge smiled.

June 14th: The birthdayof the U.S. Army

PAGE ELEVEN

Assembly, appointed field officers for the regiment. Since there

was no staff organization, company officers and volunteers per-

formed the necessary duties. On 11 July delegate George Read

secured the adoption of a ninth company that his wife’s nephew

had organized in Lancaster County. In Virginia Daniel Morgan

raised one company in Frederick County, and Hugh Stephenson

raised another in Berkeley County. Michael Cresap’s and Thomas

Price’s Maryland companies were both from Frederick County.

All thirteen companies were organized during late June and early

July. They then raced to Boston, where their frontier attitudes cre-

ated disciplinary problems.

Selection of Commanders

The inclusion of troops from outside New England gave a

continental flavor to the army at Boston. A desire to broaden the

base of support for the war also led John Adams to work for the

appointment of a southerner as the commander of all the conti-

nental forces, raised, or to be raised, for the defense of American

liberty. On 15 June Congress unanimously chose George Wash-

ington. Washington had been active in the military planning com-

mittees of Congress and by late May had taken to wearing his old

uniform. His colleagues believed that his modesty and compe-

tence qualified him to adjust to the “Temper & Genius” of the

New England troops. Washington was given the rank of General

and Commander in Chief.

Congress clearly respected Washington, for it granted him

extensive powers which combined functions of a regular British

commander with the military responsibilities of a colonial gover-

nor. His instructions ·on 20 June told him to proceed to

Massachusetts, “take charge of the army of the united colonies,”

and capture or destroy all armed enemies. His was also to prepare

and to send to Congress an accurate strength return of that army.

On the other hand, instructions to keep the army obedient, dili-

gent, and disciplined were rather vague. The Commander in

Chief’s right to make strategic and tactical decisions on purely

military grounds was limited only by a requirement to listen to

the advice of a council of war. Within a set troop maximum,

including volunteers, Washington had the right to determine how

many men to retain, and he had the power to fill temporarily any

vacancies below the rank of colonel. Permanent promotions and

appointments were reserved for the colonial governments to

make.

Although sectional politics were involved in Washington’s

selection, in strictly military terms he was in fact the best-quali-

fied native American. He had begun his military career in 1752 in

the Virginia militia as one of four regional adjutants responsible

for training. During the first phase of the French and Indian War,

he served with gallantry as Edward Braddock’s volunteer aide at

the battle of the Monongahela, and later as the commander of

Virginia’s two Provincial regiments defending the colony’s fron-

tiers. In 1758 he commanded a brigade composed of Virginia,

Maryland, and Pennsylvania units on John Forbes’ expedition

against Fort Duquesne. Washington was the only American in

that war to command so large a force. The experience of these

years taught him the importance of discipline, marksmanship,

and professional study. Exposure to Forbes’ ideas on adapting

European tactics to the American wilderness also contributed sig-

nificantly to his military education. Above all, he came to the

conclusion that only unyielding commitment to hard work and

attention to administrative detail could keep troops in the field.

On 16 June, the day after Washington’s appointment,

Congress authorized a variety of other senior officers for its new

army. Details were again settled by the Committee of the Whole.

Positions for five major staff officers were established: an

Adjutant General, a Commissary of Musters, a Paymaster

General, a Commissary General, and a Quartermaster General.

These officers were expected to assist the Commander in Chief

with the administration of the “grand army.” The forces allocated

to New York already were considered a separate department and

were authorized their own deputy quartermaster general and

deputy paymaster general. A military secretary and 3 aides for

Washington, a secretary for the separate department, and 6 engi-

neers (3 for each force) completed the staff. Congress also creat-

ed the ranks of major general and brigadier general. The number

of generals remained uncertain for several days as Congress

debated. Between 17 and 22 June it finally decided on 4 major

generals, each having 2 aides, and 8 brigadier generals. These

totals allowed each colony raising troops to have a share of the

patronage. Congress then took steps for issuing paper money to

finance the army, and on 30 June it adopted the Articles of War.

Selection of the subordinate generals and senior staff officers

led to political maneuvering as delegates sought appointments for

favorite sons. On 17 June Congress elected Artemas Ward and

Charles Lee as the first and second major generals and Horatio

Gates as the Adjutant General. Ward received seniority because

he was in command at Boston and because Massachusetts had

furnished the largest contingent of troops. Ward was a Harvard

graduate with many years of political experience. After two years

of active duty as a field officer in the French and Indian War, he

had compiled an excellent record as a militia administrator. Lee

and Gates were professional English officers in their forties who

were living in Virginia on the half-pay (inactive) list. Both had

served in the French and Indian War and were associates of

politicians in England and America who opposed British policies.

Lee had also seen service in Portugal and in the Polish Army.

Gates had ended the Seven Years' War as a major in the

Caribbean. His appointment as Adjutant General (with the rank

of brigadier general) reflected Congress' hope that his staff expe-

rience would enable him to provide Washington with strong

administrative assistance.

On 19 June two more major generals were appointed to satis-

fy other colonies’ contributing large troop contingents. Philip

Schuyler, a New York delegate with close ties to Washington,

was expected to take command of the troops in his colony. A

member of one of New York’s leading families, the 42-year-old

Schuyler had been a major in the French and Indian War, spe-

cializing in logistics. His experience, political connections, and

extensive business interests in Albany were particularly valuable

in his new command. Connecticut’s delegation could not agree

on a nominee for that colony’s major general. In the end Israel

Putnam’s status as a folk hero outweighed consideration of sen-

iority, and he received the appointment. Putnam, at 57, had seen

extensive service in the French and Indian War, rising to the rank

of lieutenant colonel. He had also been an early, vocal leader of

the Connecticut Sons of Liberty. The process of selecting

brigadier generals on 22 June was the product of a compromise.

Congress allotted these appointments in proportion to the number

of men contributed by each colony and followed the recommen-

SPRING 2014

RECALLPAGE TWELVE

dations of the colony’s delegates in the actual selection.

Congress, however, created problems by ignoring seniority and

status. When it elected Massachusetts’ Seth Pomeroy, William

Heath, and John Thomas as the first, fourth, and sixth brigadier

generals, respectively, Thomas felt he had been slighted. The sit-

uation was resolved when Pomeroy declined the appointment,

citing age, before Washington handed out the commissions.

Congress then made Thomas the first brigadier general, although

it did not fill the vacancy created by Pomeroy’s withdrawal.

Thomas, a surgeon militiamen, and former Provincial born in

1724, had gained combat experience primarily in medical roles.

Heath, 13 years younger, was strictly a product of the militia. ·

Richard Montgomery of New York became the second rank-

ing brigadier general. Born in Ireland in 1738 and educated at

Dublin’s Trinity College, he had entered the British Army in

1756. After combat service in North America and in the

Caribbean, he resigned in 1772 when he failed to receive a pro-

motion to major. He moved to New York, married into the pow-

erful Livingston family, and in 1775 won election to the New

York Provincial Congress. Montgomery’s appointment was

intended to complement Schuyler’s logistical and administrative

skills with combat experience. David Wooster and Joseph

Spencer of Connecticut became the third and fifth brigadier gen-

erals. Born in 1711 and educated at Yale, Wooster had served in

Connecticut’s navy during King George’s War. He later com-

manded a regiment in the French and Indian War. Spencer, three

years younger, had also served in both wars. The two men ini-

tially refused to serve under Putnam, disputing his seniority. They

had to be coaxed into accepting their commissions. Delegate

John Sullivan of New Hampshire, a 35-year-old lawyer, became

the seventh brigadier general instead of Nathaniel Folsom.

Nathanael Greene of Rhode Island completed the list.

In retrospect, the June 1775 decision of the Continental

Congress to create the Continental Army seems remarkably free

from political strife. Delegates of all shades of opinion supported

each step, and arguments largely concerned technical details.

Unanimity resulted from a conviction that British actions

required defensive measures and from carefully worded compro-

mises. Those individuals committed to the ideal of the citizen-

soldier saw Congress’ adoption of the short-term New England

force as an acceptance of a yeoman army. Others, remembering

practical lessons of the colonial wars, believed that they were

forming an army based on the Provincial model. Officer selection

was another area of compromise; the fact that Washington and

Schuyler were given blank commissions from Congress to dis-

tribute to the regimental officers confirmed local selections while

retaining a nominal national level of appointment.

I fly for vengeance!The following article appeared in the popular magazine, Saturday Evening Post, (copyright 1942). It details the action in the air over PearlHarbor during the attack by the Japanese on December 7, 1941. William c. Miller of Thomasville was a Navy gunner on Lt. Clarence E.Dickinson's plane. Miller was killed that day, one of two Davidson County servicemen lost the '”day of infamy” that signaled the beginning ofWWII for America. The other Davidson County veteran lost that day was Harold Tussey, who went down with 1,176 others on the U.S.S. Arizona.

By LT. CLARENCE E. DICKINSON, U.S.N.

In Collaboration With Boyden Spar

You would damn well remember Pearl Harbor if you had seen

the great naval base ablaze as we of Scouting Squadron 6

saw it from the air, skimming in ahead of our homeward-bound

carrier. The shock was especially heavy for us because this was

our first knowledge that the Japs had attacked on that morning of

December seventh. We came upon it stone cold, each of us look-

ing forward to a long leave that was due him.

It wasn’t that we pilots didn’t sense the tension that gripped

the Pacific. You could feel it everywhere, all the time. Certainly

the mission from which we were returning had the flavor of

impending action. We had been delivering a batch of twelve

Grumman Wildcats of Marine Fighting Squadron 211 to Wake

Island, where they were badly needed. On this cruise we had

sailed from Pearl Harbor on November 28 under absolute war

orders. Vice Admiral William F. Halsey, Jr., the commander of

the Aircraft Battle Force, had given instructions that the secrecy

of our mission, was to be protected at all costs. We were to shoot

down anything we saw in the sky and bomb anything we saw on

the sea. In that way, there could be no leak to the Japs,

There was no trouble at all, and we headed back from the

Wake errand with a feeling of anticlimax—all of us, that is,

except one young ensign. The Wildcats had taken off for Wake at

a point about 200 miles at sea, escorted by six scout dive

bombers, and this ensign was in the escort. The mist was heavy,

and once, looking down through it, he saw three ghostlike shapes

that resembled ships. Immediately the scouting line closed in for

a search, but found nothing. However, the ensign, rightly or

wrongly, was convinced to the end of his life—not many days

away—that what he had seen was Japanese warships. If he did,

and if mist hadn't hampered the search, the course of history

might have been changed. As we steamed back toward Pearl

Harbor, the rest of us gradually came to look upon the incident as

just another scare.

Bad weather delayed us and we were getting home on Sunday

instead of on Saturday, as planned. While the engines were being

warmed up on the flight deck early on Sunday morning, my rear-

seat gunner and radioman, W. C. Miller, a lad of twenty-one or

twenty-two, had a word for me as he stood on the wing and

helped adjust my radio cord. He said that his four-year tour of

duty was to end in a few days and that there was “something

funny” about it.

“Mr. Dickinson,” he went on, “out of twenty-one of us fel-

lows that went through radio school together, I’m the only one

that hasn’t crashed in the water. Hope you won’t get me wet

today, sir.”

“Miller,” I replied, “next Saturday we all go home for five

SPRING 2014 PAGE THIRTEEN

months, so probably this will be our last flight together. Just stick

with me and the first thing you know we11 be on the Ford Island

runway. That’s all we’ve got to get by—this morning’s flight.”

Miller and I were both North Carolinians, and had been fly-

ing together since I joined the squadron in April 1941. He was

dependable and cool, the kind of man I like to have at my back

when I’m in the air.

He climbed into the rear cockpit, faced the tail in his regular

position, and the squadron was off; eighteen planes flying in nine

two-plane sections; seventy-two eyes to scrutinize a 100-mile-

wide corridor of ocean through which our carrier and its accom-

panying destroyers could, follow safety. It was 6:30 a.m. When

the squadron reached 1000 feet, the prows of the vessels seemed

to be making chalk-white v’s on slate. As we took off, the task

force was 210 miles off Barber’s Point, which is at the southwest

tip of the island of Oahu. Barber’s Point is about ten miles west

of Peart Harbor.

Flying Straight Into History

Several times on the way in I had Miller take a bearing with

his direction finder on a Honolulu radio station, to be sure we

were on the prescribed course. The last time he did it, it was

about five minutes past eight and we were twenty-five miles or

so off Barber’s Point. It seems amazing now, but they were still

broadcasting Hawaiian music from Honolulu .

. I noticed a big smoke cloud near my goal, then saw that it

was two distinct columns of smoke swelling into enormous cloud

shapes. But I paid little attention. Smoke clouds are familiar parts

of the Hawaiian landscape around that season, when they burn

over vast fields after harvest.

Four ships lay at the entrance to Pearl Harbor, one cruiser and

three destroyers. I could tell they were ours by their silhouettes.

Ahead, well off to my right, I saw something unusual—shell

splashes in the water, recklessly close to shore. It couldn’t be tar-

get practice. This was Sunday, and anyway the design they made

was a ragged one. I guessed some coast-artillery batteries had

gone stark mad and were shooting wildly.

I remarked to Miller, through my microphone, “Just wait!

Tomorrow the Army will certainly catch hell for that.”

When we were scarcely three minutes from land I noticed

something that gave a significant and terrible pattern to every-

thing I had been seeing. The base of the biggest smoke cloud was

in Pearl Harbor itself. I looked up higher and saw black balls of

smoke; thousands and thousands of them, changing into ragged

fleecy shapes. This was the explanation of the splashing in the

water. Those smoke balls were antiaircraft bursts. Now there

could be no mistake. Pearl Harbor was under air attack.

I told Miller and gave him the order, “Stand by.” Ensign

McCarthy’s plane was three or four hundred yards to my right. I

zoomed my ship as a signal. As Mac closed in, I was charging my

fixed guns. I gestured and he charged his. Mac signified, by

pointing above and below, that he understood the situation.

When we were probably three miles from land, we saw a

four-engined patrol bomber that we knew was not an American

type. It was a good ten or twelve miles away.

Mac and I started for him as fast as we could go, climbing. We

were at 1500 feet, he was at about 6000 feet. He ducked into the

smoke cloud which loomed like a greasy battlement.

We darted in after him and found ourselves in such blackness

we couldn't see a thing. Not even then were we aware that the

source of the smoke in which we hunted was the battleship

Arizona.

Mac and I came out and headed back for Barber’s Point for

another look. In a few minutes we were over it at 4000 feet, fly-

ing wing to wing. A glance to the right at McCarthy’s plane was

almost like seeing Miller and myself in a mirror—there they

were, in yellow rubber life jackets and parachute harnesses, and

almost faceless behind black goggles and radio gear fixed on

white helmets. Mac’s gunner, like mine, was on his seat in his

cockpit, alert to swing his twin machine guns on the ring of steel

track that encircled him.

Things began happening in split-second sequences. Two

fighters popped out of the smoke cloud in a dive and made a run

on us. Mac dipped his plane under me to get on my left side, so

as to give his gunner an easier shot. But the bullets they were

shooting at me were passing beneath my plane. Unlucky Mac ran

right into them. I put my plane into a left-hand turn to give my

gunner a better shot, and saw Mac's plane below, smoking and

losing altitude. Then it burst into yellow flame. The fighter who

had got Mac zipped past me to the left, and I rolled to get a shot

at him with my fixed guns. As he pulled up in front of me and to

the left, I saw painted on his fuselage a telltale insigne, a disk

suggesting, with its white background, a big fried egg with a red

yolk. For the first time I confirmed what my common sense had

told me; these were Jap fighters, Zeros.

I missed him, I’m afraid.

A Casualty of the Zeros

Those Zeros had so much more speed than I did that they

could afford to go rapidly out of range before turning to swoop

back after McCarthy. Four or five more Zeros dived out of the

smoke cloud and sat on my tail. Miller was firing away and was

giving me a running report on what was happening behind me.

It was possibly half a minute after I had seen the Jap insigne

for the first time that Miller, in a calm voice, said, “Mr.

Dickinson, I have been hit once, but I think I have got one of

them.”

He had, all right. I looked back and saw with immense satis-

faction that one of the Zeros was falling in flames. In that inter-

val, watching the Jap go down, I saw McCarthy’ flaming plane

again, making a slow turn to the right. Then I saw a parachute

open just above the ground. I found out later it was Mac’s. As he

jumped he was thrown against the tail surface of his plane and his

leg was broken. But he landed safely.

Jap fighters were behind us again. There were five, I should

say, the nearest less than 100 feet away. They were putting bul-

lets into the tail of my plane, but I was causing them to miss a lot

by making hard turns. They were having a field day—no forma-

tion whatever, all of them in a scramble to get me, each one wild-

ly eager for the credit.

One or more of them got on the target with cannon. They were

using explosive and incendiary bullets that clattered on my metal

wing like hail on a tin roof. I was fascinated by a line of big holes

creeping across my wing, closer and closer. A tongue of yellow

flame spurted from the gasoline tank in my left wing and began

spreading. “Are you all right, Miller?” I yelled.

“Mr. Dickinson, I've expended all six cans of ammunition,”

he replied.

Then he screamed. It was as if he opened his lungs wide and

just let go. I have never heard any comparable human sound. It

RECALL

was a shriek of agony. When I called again, there was no reply.

I’m sure poor Miller was already dead. I was alone and in a sweet

fix. I had to go from a left-hand into a right-hand turn because the

fast Japanese fighters had pulled up ahead of me on the left. I was

still surprised at the amazing maneuverability of those Zeros. I

kicked my right rudder and tried to put my right wing down, but

the plane did not respond. The controls had been shot away. With

the left wing down and the right rudder on and only eight or nine

hundred feet altitude, I went into a spin.

I yelled again for Miller on the long chance that he was still

alive. Still no reply. Then I started to get out. It was my first jump,

but I found myself behaving as if I were using a check-off list. I

was automatically responding to training. I remember that I start-

ed to unbutton my radio cord with my right hand and unbuckle

my belt with my left. But I couldn't unfasten my radio cord with

one hand. So, using both hands, I broke it. Then I unbuckled my

belt, pulled my feet underneath me, put my hands on the sides of

the cockpit, leaned out on the right-hand side and shoved clear.

The rush of wind was peeling my goggles off.

I had shoved out on the right side, because that was the inside

of the spin. Then I was tumbling over in the air, grabbing and

feeling for the rip cord’s handle. Pulling it, I flung my arm wide.

There was a savage jerk. From where I dangled, my eyes fol-

lowed the shroud lines up to what I felt was the most beautiful

sight I had ever seen--the stiff-bellied shape of my white silk

parachute. I heard a tremendous thud. My plane had struck the

ground nose first, exploding. Then I struck the ground; feet first,

seat next, head last. My feet were in the air and the wind had been

jarred out of me. Fortunately, I had jumped so low that neither the

Japs overhead nor the Marines defending Ewa Field had time to

get a shot at me.

I had come to earth on the freshly graded dirt of a new road,

a narrow aisle through the brush to the west of Ewa Field, and

had had the luck to hit the only road bisecting that brush area for

five miles. Except for a thorn in my scalp, my only injury was a

slight nick on the anklebone, where machine-gun bullets had

made horizontal cuts in my sock. My main worry was to get out

of the parachute tangle and on to Pearl Harbor to stand by for

orders. As I got clear, a big red automobile van appeared, headed

toward Barber’s Point. I flagged it and the driver stopped and got

out. He was a Japanese, excited almost to incoherence.

I yelled to him that he must turn around in a hurry and take

me to Pearl Harbor. In good English he protested, with a show of

white teeth, that he had to “pick up a friend down by the point.”

“Listen, I can’t waste a minute,” I said. “You’ve got to take

me to Pearl Harbor. Understand? I’ve commandeered your

truck.”

I was striding toward him. He began to run. He scampered up

into the cab and roared away before I could grab him. My .45

Colt automatic on this, my first day of war, was miles off at sea,

aboard the carrier. I couldn’t shoot him. So I cursed him, feeling

pretty futile.

This is guessing, but I suspect the assignment of that Jap in

the red moving van was to pick up Japanese who had parachuted

near Barber’s Point—there were two or three, it later developed.

It is also possible that he had been assigned to patrol the roads in

the vicinity of Ewa Field and, sighting my parachute, had sup-

posed it was Japanese.

I walked and ran for about a quarter of a mile to the main

road, bordered by cane fields. I knew this was the way to Pearl

Harbor. There were curious tremors underfoot. Those were the

bombs. It seemed, too, as if many carpets were being beaten. That

was machine-gun fire. Heavier overtones came from antiaircraft

batteries not far off. I could orient myself by the smoke obscur-

ing much of the sky. The nearer and smaller column tapered to

earth near by. So I knew that there on my right hand, possibly two

miles away, was Ewa Field, the Marine air base. But five miles

ahead everything was blackly curtained by smoke.

The first automobile that came along, a blue sedan about two

years old, was headed my way. I stepped out and signaled by

waving my white helmet. The car rolled to a stop where I stood.

A nice-looking gray-haired man was driving. The woman beside

him, wearing a blue-and-white polka-dot dress, was stout, cheer-

ful and comfortable looking. They smiled cordially.

“I'm sorry, sir,” I said, “but I must have a lift to Pearl Harbor.

I’ve just been shot down.”

The man accepted the urgency in my voice without, I think,

really grasping the significance of what I had said. He reached

behind him and opened a door. I got into a back seat crowded

with picnic things—a wicker basket brim-full of wax-paper pack-

ages; a vacuum bottle, and a brown paper bag of bananas. On the

floor was a bottle wrapped in a clean dish towel.

The woman was speaking as much to her husband, I thought,

as to me, when she half turned her head and said that it was too

bad they wouldn’t have time to take me to my destination,

because they were going on a picnic.

Mars at a Picnic

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” I said, “but you have got to take me to

Pearl Harbor.”

“But we turn, up here, and go to Fort Weaver. Our friends are

waiting for us. We are bringing the potato salad and they have the

chicken.”

The husband was driving slowly, still unable to believe what

I had been telling him—that the noises we were hearing were

from bombs dropped by Japanese, that the guns were our own

guns shooting back. He continued to be concerned about his

wife’s state of mind. It seemed to me he was trying to smooth her

fur, to lead her out of her normal world as gently as he could. She

was insisting that her husband was spoiling the picnic and being

unforgivably rude to their friends.

Japanese planes droned overhead. Taking a hand myself, I

told her to look. “Japanese planes? Those?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Suddenly she became tender and solicitous. Had I really been

shot down? Was I hurt? Would I like something to eat? I told her

I was thirsty. That was true enough. My mouth was so dry it was

an effort for me to speak. But all they had was a bottle of whisky-

it was what was wrapped in that dish towel. I didn’t take any

because I figured I would have to fly again that day. By this time

we were approaching a few houses and a general store in the cane

fields. As far as I was concerned, the war was going to have to

wait until I had a coke. We stopped.

There are hundreds of stores like it scattered over the

Hawaiian Islands, shopping places for Jap and Filipino laborers

of the cane and pineapple plantations. There was no door; the

entire front end was open, draped with dried fish and with

papayas stacked in mounds in a wide bin. There were thirty or

forty Japanese women inside, with babies in their arms and big-

PAGE FOURTEEN

SPRING 2014 PAGE FIFTEEN

ger children clutching at their mothers’ brownish, sack-like

dresses. These straw-sandaled women were sorrowful and silent.

But the kid in charge of the store, who was about nineteen, was

looking up at the Jap planes and laughing. He turned a smirking

grin on me.

Pearl Harbor Drama

I asked for a coke twice before he moved. He fiddled around

and half opened the lids of two chests, pretending he didn’t have

what I wanted. I looked in the first box. There, in plain sight,

were several bottles. Scowling, I seized one, wrenched off the

cap and started out. He was just behind me at the front when I

whirled on him and shook the bottle in his face.

“This one,” I said, “is on the house.”

As we started off again, the owner of the blue sedan identified

himself to me as a civilian government official. He seemed to feel

that by reason of his office he was in duty bound to assist me

without regard to personal hazard, let alone inconvenience. His

wife agreed and refused to be left behind, for safety’s sake.

Jap planes were strafing the road with machine guns and can-

non. Through the rear window I could see a low-flying Jap, his

guns winking like malefic jewels. He missed us, but hit a sedan

fifty feet in front of us, in which another couple was riding.

Riddled with tiny holes and jagged cannon slashes, the sedan

careened, turned over and landed in a ditch in a cloud of yellow

dust. As we sped on, we saw other bullet-torn automobiles that

had either rolled or been pushed into ditches and fields along the

way.

We got to Pearl Harbor just in time to see the big dive-bomb-

ing attack that was going on about nine o’clock in the morning.

It was just fifty-five minutes since Miller had taken that final

bearing by tuning in on the Honolulu radio station. The leaning

column of smoke I had seen then was now close enough for us

really to see its source.

There was so much smoke the sun was obscured and lemon-

yellow gun flashes pierced the somber backdrop. Except for the

fiercely burning Arizona, all the ships were letting go with every-

thing they had--battleships, cruisers, destroyers, submarines and

little boats. The whole system of shore defenses was in action.

From Fort Weaver, clear on the other side-- where this couple

with me had planned to spend a lazy day--the Army had angry

guns shooting at the darkened sky. But where were all our planes,

Navy and Army? When we reached the southeast segment of the

harbor, at the entrance of Hickam Field, I left the blue sedan and

that admirable couple. I hope I thanked them adequately in my

hurry. All over Hickam Field there were fires-answers to the

questions in my mind about our planes. Rows of planes were

blazing on the field. So were hangars, barracks and other build-

ings. Guns were rattling and pounding around the field. Men

were fighting fires.

I ran a quarter of a mile to the entrance gate of the Navy

reservation, a shore entrance to everything we mean when we

speak of Pearl Harbor. It was in a smoking uproar. A few hundred

little brown men with shoe-button eyes were having themselves

a time in the air above and around us. Specialists were needed for

this situation—flying specialists in squadrons. As I was such a

specialist, I was in a frantic hurry. The Navy had spent years

training, forging me; and I felt tardy.

A Jap plane was flying low and strafing the Marines on guard

duty at the entrance. But you can’t strafe Marines without having

them strafe back. I saw one of the Marines standing, feet wide

apart, steadying his aim with his elbow fixed in the gun-sling

strap. Firing as coolly as if on the rifle range, he emptied a clip

into the Jap plane. It crashed into a near-by hill. I am sure that this

was the plane the Marines on guard at the gate claimed afterward.

Hitch~htiking to War

My saffron life jacket and my white helmet were like a signal

to a naval officer who was passing in a station wagon—a lieu-

tenant commander who was hurrying back to the Detroit. He

picked me up and drove me a mile farther, to Officers’ Club

Landing. He must have had more than a dozen men stuffed into

that car. Some were civilian employees. These people were

responding to a Navy broadcast in which they had been asked to

come and man their posts. They weren’t obliged by discipline,

but apparently they were obliged by something in their hearts. So

they were swarming to their work, wherever it might be in that

noise and smoke.

I got out of the station wagon and resumed running, toward

Hospital Landing, which was some three miles farther on. At that

landing I hoped to get a boat and be ferried across the channel to

Ford Island, where the naval air base was located. While short-

cutting across a park-like area, I came upon another Marine who

was calmly taking aim and shooting his rifle at Jap targets over-

head. He was standing in grass littered with his own cartridge

shells. He was wearing his thin steel helmet, and I envied that

because just as I was running past him we two were showered

from the sky by fragments of 5-inch antiaircraft shells.

I got another hop in a station wagon from a Filipino clad in

sailor whites. Apparently he was a steward for some captain and

had been sent ashore the day before to do some marketing. The

floor of the station wagon was loaded with vegetables, and piled

on top of them were about as many men as could squeeze in. All

of us jumped out at Hospital Landing, except the driver, and

joined a throng of a hundred or so soldiers, sailors, Marines and

civilian employees on the channel edge. What we saw then was

so overwhelming that I felt as if something had me by the throat.

Thirty yards out in the channel, and seeming to tower over us,

moved the vast gray bulk of an old-type battleship. She was trav-

eling slowly, and on her deck stretcher bearers were rushing to

carry away the wounded, while steel was roaring skyward from

her 5-inch antiaircraft: weapons, her lesser cannon and machine

guns. Beyond her, at the far end of Battleship Row, lay the

Arizona, the blackest sort of smoke belching from her broken,

twisted wreckage amidships and forming fantastic, ominous

shapes in the sky. One fighting top and tripod mast canted out of

this incredible shambles. On all the ships in that double two-mile

lane guns were blasting at the planes. Yet all the terrific power of

the biggest guns on those battleships was ineffective now. They

were made to fight monsters like themselves, not a swarm of gad-

flies.

The ship near us was trying to get out to sea, and the Japs

were trying to sink her in the channel, where her 29,000 tons of

steel hull, machinery and guns would choke Pearl Harbor and

bottle up the fleet. There was a tremendous ear-splitting explo-

sion. A bomb had struck on her deck close to one of her antiair-

craft guns. Thirteen hundred men, I guess, were aboard the ship.

Some were killed, more were hurt, but only one antiaircraft gun

stopped firing. Everywhere I could see, the crew was well under

control. For the first time in my life I was seeing a naval vessel

PAGE SIXTEEN RECALL

in action, and I was just watching in that helplessness in which

you find yourself caught sometimes in dreams. But this was real

enough, and what was striking at the battleship was a newer

weapon, my kind of weapon. Dive bombers.

All the time I was watching the attack I was trying to evalu-

ate the ability of the Japanese as dive bombers. They had con-

centrated at least the equivalent of one of our own dive- bomber

squadrons in an effort to knock out the ship. Eighteen, possibly

twenty, planes took part, going at it one by one. They were so

eager that bombs fell first on one side of the old battle wagon and

then on the other. We on the landing had to throw ourselves flat

before each explosion because the concussion was terrific. If

caught standing, you would be knocked flat. Lying down on the

concrete or on rocky earth, I had a frantic impulse to claw myself

into the round.

Dodging Death

For years I had been questioning statements I heard about

how a man could dodge a bomb dropped from an airplane. And

there we were, doing it! We would see one leave a Jap plane pos-

sibly 1500 feet above ground. Each time we stood, bewitched by

the sight. Suddenly the bomb would appear to be swelling.

Slanting toward us in its fall, it would seem to grow bigger and

bigger. At some point in its fall we would have to make up our

minds whether it would fall on our side of the battleship or

beyond it; if beyond, we would stand and watch.

The battleship got clear of the channel all right, and rounded

on a point of land opposite the hospital. Just at that time I had

turned about to watch the bombing attack on the destroyer Shaw,

which was going on behind us. As I watched, a bomb tipped her

bow, and after the explosion fire broke out.

Just then a motor launch picked us all up and shuttled us

across to Ford Island. A lot of damage had been done there. Three

or four squadrons of PBY’s, which are big patrol planes some-

times called Catalinas, had been massed on the point of the

island. Only charred remains were left. I could distinguish the

stumps of their tails.

One PBY was afloat in the channel and its crew was strug-

gling to taxi it to a cradle in which it might be pulled by tractor

out of the water onto the ramp, before it could sink. It was full of

just such big jagged holes as I had seen made in my own wing,

and again in that automobile on the road. Only one engine was

working and the pilot and crew were having a difficult time.

I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. Hangars were afire

and their glass-wall fronts were black with holes. In front of the

nearest hangar was the appalling wreckage of those Catalinas.

There was nothing shipshape anywhere in sight. As we watched

from the concrete ramp, there was a great flare across the chan-

nel, and a tremendous blast. The destroyer Shaw had blown up.

Fire had reached her magazine. I saw a big ball of red fire erupt

from her. It shot up like a rocket to about four or five hundred

feet. Spellbound, I saw it burst open from the middle. It was like

a rotten orange exploding, I was thinking, when the concussion

knocked me on my face.

Someone yelled, “Here comes a Jap plane!” We swarmed into

the undamaged hangar. Not one but a number of planes roared

across Ford Island with their guns going. I was behind a steel col-

umn in that hangar.

In a few minutes I was on my way again, to the other side of

the air field, where the carrier planes are based. The island is a lit-

tle more than a mile long, and in places about three quarters of a

mile wide. Right down its middle is a runway. Sprinting on that

stretch of concrete I saw that it was strewn with pieces of shrap-

nel, misshapen bullets from Jap machine guns and empty car-

tridges that had fallen from their planes. I could guess, from the

quantity of this stuff, that they had done a lot of systematic straf-

ing here to keep our fliers on the ground. They love to strafe. It

seems to be characteristic of them, a thing that has been noticed

in many of the battle areas.

Marines at Ewa Field told me they saw a Jap gunner quit fir-

ing long enough to thumb his nose at them. Another Jap, while

strafing the Marines, was moved to let go the handles of his gun,

clasp his hands high above his head and shake them in that greet-

ing with which American prize fighters sa1ute their fans. Then he

grabbed his guns and shot some more. This will help to explain

why the United States Marines could hardly wait.

The Ties of Conflict

When I reached the other side of the air field, could find only

three of the eighteen pilots with whom I had left the carrier about

three hours before. Communications were pouring into the com-

mand center. I went to find out if the Japanese carriers had been

located. My commanding officer, Lt. Comdr. H. L. Hopping, was

there. He had been able to get in with just a couple of bullet holes

in his plane. Others of our squadron trickled in until we had about

half our planes and pilots on the ground.

We were all so glad to see one another alive that it was a

deeply touching scene. It was not until afterward that I began to

realize that some of those men previously had not been especial-

ly good friends. In some cases they had not even liked one anoth-

er. There were one or two older officers regarded by younger men

as unbending, crotchety martinets. I had such feelings about one

older officer. But when I came face to face with him that day, he

shook hands and put an arm around me as if I were his son, and

I could scarcely believe he was talking to me when he said, “Boy,

I am glad to see you! Thought you were a goner!” Well, I was just

as glad to see him, and then, to make it better still, he pulled a

nickel from his pocket and said, “Somebody go and get this offi-

cer a cup of coffee—or a coke.” (Two nights later, when again we

met, he was his austere self again.)

All over the island, after the first attack, guns had been taken

out of damaged planes and set up on tripods hastily improvised

out of pipe. Sandbags had been piled around some of these. As a

consequence, lots of Jap planes were shot down when they came

back at nine o’clock.

Out of the Ashes

It must have been about half past nine when, with a whoop of

delight, I saw Earl Gallaher walk into the command center, to

report for instructions. Lieutenant Gallaher was the executive

officer of Scouting Squadron 6. As flight officer, I was third in

the squadron—that is, next to Gallaher, who was second in com-

mand. We shook hands in an effusive greeting and then just stood

there for a few seconds, grinning at each other. There wasn’t time

to say much. We were expecting to be sent after those Jap carri-

ers as soon as they were located. So we went back to see what

planes we could find, and managed to get together nine planes

that we could man. We had bombs put on them and the rear guns

manned. There were still a lot of Jap planes overhead.

Lieutenant Commander Hopping came over from the com-

mand center and prepared to take off.

SPRING 2014 PAGE SEVENTEEN

He was going on a scouting flight himself to run down a

report that Japanese troop transports had been sighted twenty

miles off Barber’s Point. The air was filled with false tips. Japs in

the islands were sending out confusing messages from secret

radio stations. We had several planes tuned up, so the generators

would work and had manned the radios. So we heard these mes-

sages on American frequencies; carriers sighted here, carriers

sighted there, troop transports and carriers approaching this

place, transports just off that point.

Well, our squadron knew positively that there simply could

not be Jap transports twenty miles off Barber’s Point. We had

flown in from the west, scouting over an area so wide that no ship

could have moved across it since we had seen it. Hopping was an

extremely courageous man. Unwilling to tell us to go on what he

considered a useless flight, he went alone—and nearly got shot

down by our own people.

As soon as his plane was off the runway, it seemed as if all the

ships and men with guns in Pearl Harbor were trying to bring the

skipper down. There was a kind of contagion about it. Somebody

manning a machine gun on a destroyer was the first; after that,

others simply took it for granted that the plane trying to get in the

air was a Jap.

I was listening on the radio and heard the skipper reporting as

he searched an area thirty or thirty-five miles off the island. He

said he had sighted nothing. He got back about eleven, and an

hour later our patched- up, half-strength squadron of nine planes

was in the air. Our orders were to search for the Jap carriers. We

were in three sections, three planes each. The skipper had one

section, Gallaher had one, and I had one. Seven of the planes

were our own; we also had two from Bombing Squadron 6. In the

rear seat of a borrowed plane, in Miller’s place, I had a volunteer,

a man named Young. We headed north-northwest. Although we

went out to sea about 200 miles and searched for four hours, we

saw no trace of the Jap fleet.

As we neared home, we saw a solitary Army plane. From the

haste with which he started climbing as soon as he saw us com-

ing, we knew that he was going upstairs to attack us. Fortunately,

before he started his run he recognized us as friendly. As we were

flying by Wheeler Field, a couple of their machine guns opened

up on us. There was no general barrage of big stuff, and the

machine guns did no damage except to our nerves and tempers.

After reporting, we were on the field, standing by until dark for

any further orders. Everywhere we heard fantastic rumors.

Those of Scouting Squadron 6 who were present and

accounted for finally decided to get a little sleep. We had our

orders: to be up and standing by at four o'clock the next morning.

We picked our way over to the new Bachelor Officers' Quarters,

only to find it had been transformed into a combination hospital

and nursery. All the children on the island had been corralled

there, on the second floor. This was the only concrete structure on

the island and it did offer a little protection from bomb splinters

and machine-gun bullets. The rest of the building was jammed

with survivors from the Arizona, many of them burned, some ter-

ribly. The hard-pressed doctors and hospital corps men were

being assisted by just about all the wives of the officers stationed

on the island.

The Arizona men who were rated ambulatory cases were run-

ning about as if at a masquerade. Practically all of them had been

brought ashore without clothing, so the various officers’ wives

had scattered to their homes to ransack closets. Not even bache-

lor officers’ wardrobes had been sacred. Even so, there was a

Jack of garments.

We went to sleep on cots. The next thing I knew, it was four

a,m., and I was dressing in the dark.

We got orders to take off immediately and fly out to the car-

rier. We didn’t think much of that idea. We thought considerably

less of it as somewhere a gunner began shooting red-hot pin

points into the overcast sky. He was directing his tracer bullets at

the only point of light he could see overhead. Then it seemed as

if every gun within a ten-mile radius was being fired. That lasted

about ten minutes, until, one by one, they discovered they were

shooting at a star.

Mr. Hopping was impatient to take off. Happily for us, it was

daybreak by the time we started down the runway, and men on

the destroyers down that way could see who was aloft. After fly-

ing in absolute radio silence some eighty miles to a rendezvous at

sea, we found our carrier.

She was out there with the task force, of course, and she was

flying the biggest American flag that I had ever seen on a ship. It

was her battle flag, flown only in battle. Seeing her out of sight

of land, in fighting trim, we were more than ever grateful for the

bad weather that had delayed our return from Wake.

Under normal conditions she would have been at her dock by

six o’clock on Saturday night—and so would another carrier, the

Lexington. On the maps of the harbor carried by the Japs the data

were so nearly up to the minute that the two carriers were shown

where we ourselves had expected them to be-—until that bad

weather delayed us.

I have been attached to one ship or another for about a fourth

of my life. Almost invariably you develop a warm feeling for

your ship, but for a carrier the feeling is deeper. When you fly as

one of the air group of a carrier, you fly a land plane over water.

No matter how confident you are of your ability as navigator,

each time you actually find your carrier on an otherwise empty

sea your heart sings a little.

Everyone on the carrier was wild with curiosity, and the expe-

riences of each of us were heard over and over, with flattering

attention. We got a few scraps of information on what had hap-

pened to other members of our squadron. One had jumped a Jap

fighter about the same time I was shot down and in the same area,

near Barber’s Point. The Marines at Ewa Field had witnessed the

action. Apparently, our man was doing a fine job and was getting

the best of the Jap—a real test of his skill, because our scout

bombers weren’t designed to outmaneuver fighters. He was so

intent on keeping his fixed guns pouring bullets into the rear of

his adversary that when the Jap pulled up the nose of his plane—

possibly there was a dead pilot at the stick—and it lost forward

speed, our man’s plane collided with it. Pilot and rear-seat man

both jumped. But there wasn’t sufficient altitude, and their para-

chutes failed to open in time.

As we listened to stories like this one, a pattern of under-

standing soon formed and we realized that revenge was going to

be our job. We would have to get those Jap carriers somehow,

somewhere, someday, and not waste time and hurt our personal

efficiency by brooding over the deaths of our friends. We knew

our job was being shaped for us when our skipper, Hopping, and

Earl Gallaher went high up in the island—the superstructure—to

tell the admiral what they had seen ashore.

PAGE EIGHTEEN RECALL

By Tuesday morning, after the task force had dropped into

Pearl Harbor for oil and provisions, the hunt started again. The

task force was in charge of Vice Admiral Halsey, who believes in

action, and we knew we would do some real punching. We did-

n’t catch the carriers on this jaunt, but the area was infested with

long-range Jap submarines and we potted plenty of them.

The Wednesday-morning scouting flight turned up several

subs, and we were sent out to get them. I took off after one of

them around noon, when our carrier was 200 miles north of Pearl

Harbor. As my rear-seat man I took along a lad named Merritt,

who was about twenty-one years old. He turned out to be an

extremely reliable radioman and gunner.

The sub had been seventy-five miles to the south when seen

at six a.m. and naturally had had time to move elsewhere in the

interim. I flew a big rectangle over the probable area. After about

an hour I spotted her, lying on the surface, about fifteen to eight-

een miles distant.

I headed for her, meanwhile radioing the carrier: “This is Sail

Four [or something of the sort]. Have sighted submarine. Am

attacking.”

I was about 800 feet off the water, and to make a good dive-

bombing attack I would have to start from 5000 to 6000 feet, at

least. So I began climbing, too, desperately hoping the sub

wouldn’t submerge before I could unload. She didn’t, and as soon

as I was within range, her deck guns began throwing shells at me.

“Is the bomb armed, Mr. Dickinson?’ Merritt kept asking me.

He was referring to the removal of the arming wires, which pre-

pare the bomb to explode on contact. It is the pilot’s job to do this

and the gunner’s job to remind him, lest the bomb fall a dud. This

kid Merritt was getting his first chance for revenge and he was

determined not to have a failure on his hands.

“Look here,” I finally said. “The bomb is armed. For God’s

sake, relax. Maybe we can get this sub. Take my word for it, the

bomb is armed.” At the same time, the carrier was calling me for

a progress report. I replied that I would call in after dropping my

bomb.

The Jap’s two deck guns fired at least twenty-five antiaircraft

shells at me. I had had him in sight for almost eight minutes. Yet

he had made no attempt to submerge. All he was doing was turn-

ing to the right a few degrees. Obviously, there was something

wrong with him. The plane from our carrier that had found him

at six o'clock in the morning and had dropped a bomb fairly close

to him. So probably he was unable to submerge.

Now the Japs were firing a couple of machine guns, too. The

explosions from the antiaircraft guns occasionally washed a

slight tremor into the plane. I was getting nicely set when my

gunner spoke again, “Is the bomb armed, Mr. Dickinson?” I

dived. All the way down I could see those heathen still shooting.

When I was about thirty stories higher than the Empire State

Building I yanked the bomb-release handle. By the time I was

able to pull out of the dive, and turn so as to get my plane’s tail

out of my line of vision, it was probably fifteen seconds after the

bomb struck. It dropped right beside the submarine, amidships.

Only one of her two big guns was still firing. The bomb

explosion had apparently killed the Japs at the other gun. In a few

seconds I had the plane turned and was flying back toward the

sub. It had stopped, had no perceptible headway and had started

to settle--as nearly as I could tell, on an even keel. The fact that

she had no forward motion satisfied me right then that this was

not a dive. She was really settling! In about three quarters of a

minute after my bomb struck, the sub had gone under.

Right after she disappeared, from her amidships, as near as I

could tell, there was an eruption of oil and foamy water, like the

bursting of a big bubble. Seconds later, fifteen or twenty, I sup-

pose, there was a second disturbance. Another bubble-like erup-

tion of foam and oil churned to the white-capped surface of the

sea. This time I saw some debris. I reported to the carrier what I

had done and what I had seen. But I was careful to say that “pos-

sibly” the submarine had been sunk. You simply can’t be sure on

such evidence.

with a song in my heartPop and country music helped us through the difficult times of WW2

By Barrie DavisColonel (retired), NCARNG

It seems that a majority of Americans look at our war in

Afghanastan as an inconvenience rather than a battle with

killers who, if they have their way, would destroy our country.

Those who lived during the 1940s when we were in a life-or-

death struggle against Germany, Italy, Japan, and their allies

sometimes wonder about the difference in the attitude of today’s

generation which seems reluctant to be involved in our battle

against evil.

What’s different?

It could be that today’s music world gives no attention to the

heart break that comes when over 2,000 of our finest are killed by

an enemy that would bring death to all of us if they found it pos-

sible. During World War II, pop and country music both kept our

spirits high and helped us through difficult times.

What happened back in World War II?

“We’ll Meet Again” is a 1939 song made famous by British

singer Vera Lynn with music and lyrics written by Ross Parker

and Hughie Charles. The song is one of the most famous of the

Second World War era and resonated with soldiers going off to

fight and their families and sweethearts. The assertion that “we’ll

meet again” is optimistic, as many soldiers did not survive to see

their loved ones again. The meeting at some unspecified time in

the future would have been seen by many who lost loved ones to

be heaven.

So, will you please say hello

To the folks that I know.

Tell them I won’t be long.

They’ll be happy to know

That as you saw me go

I was singing this song.

SPRING 2014 PAGE NINETEEN

We’ll meet again,

Don’t know where,

Don’t know when;

But I know we’ll meet again

Some sunny day.

Keep smiling through

Just like you always do

’Till the blue skies

Drive the dark clouds far away.

Young men marched off to war leaving their sweethearts

behind. They knew the separation would be tough on their girl-

friends, and they pled:

I just got word from a guy who heard

from the guy next door to me.

A girl he met just loves to pet, and she fits you to a T.

So…

Don’t sit under the apple tree with anybody else but me

’Til I come marching home.

“I’m Getting Tired So I can Sleep” was written by Irving

Berlin. It was about a soldier who longs to sleep so he can dream

of his girl back home. Songs like these gave hope of GIs and to

home folks that a reunion would be possible some day. I recall

the words went something like this:

I’m getting tired so I can sleep.

I want to sleep so I can dream.

I want to dream so I can dream of you.

I’ve got your picture by my bed.

T’will soon be placed beneath my head

So I can dream of you.

“Lalapaluza Lu” came out in 1942, performed by Sammy

Kaye and the Glee Club. Emily Donahue said, “This is a humor-

ous song about a girl named Lu. All the men wanted to join the

military to win the war for her. It is a song of pure entertainment

but has a message that rang true to many military men. The

women in their lives had a great impact and were reason enough

to fight in the war.”

“Saga of the Sad Sack.” came out in 1945 near the end of

WW2. Sad Sack was a character drawn by Sgt. George Baker, It

appeared in in the weekly Yank magazine. No matter how rough

it was on real GIs, poor Sad Sack had it worse. Americans proved

able to laugh at themselves no matter how dire the circumstances.

“There’s a Blue Star Shining Bright” first was sung by Red

Foley in 1943. It explained the blue stars hung in windows all

across the USA. A blue star on a banner in a home or work place

indicated that a family member or employee was proudly serving

their country in the military.

We lost over 6,000 Marines capturing Iwo Jima Isle from the

Japanese. It was a costly victory, and Bob Wills and his Texas

Playboys noted it in a song you could find on most juke boxes.

Here are some of the words:

When the Yanks raised the Stars and Stripes on Iwo Jima Isle

There were tears in their hearts tho’ they smiled.

When the Yanks raised the Stars and Stripes on Iwo Jima Isle

Ev’ry heart could sing once again

And the sight of Old Glory over Iwo Jima Isle

Swelled the hearts of our fighting men.

In the dark days when we realized we could lose the war, pop

music boosted our spirits. Vera Lynn sang:

When the lights go on again all over the world

And the ships will sail again all over the world

Then we’ll have time for things

like wedding rings and free hearts will sing

When the lights go on again all over the world.

The music world did not overlook humor. One way we raised

our spirits was ridiculing the enemy, and Spike Jones came out

with a ditty that had us laughing at Hitler: Some of its words:

When der fuehrer says we is de master race

We heil heil right in der fuehrer’s face.

Not to love the fuehrer is a great disgrace,

So we heil heil right in der Fueher’s face!

Is this nutsy land so good?

Would you leave it if you could?

Ja this nutsy land is good.

We would leave it if we could.

We bring the world to order.

Heil Hitler’s world disorder.

A song once believed to be of Romanian origin was com-

posed by a German in 1917. It told of the love of a soldier for his

sweetheart and became popular again during WW2 with the

Germans and then with every army fighting in Europe. We lis-

tened to Axis Sal play “Lili Marlene” on our low frequency

radios as we fought air battles with the Luftwaffe.

Underneath the lamp post by the barracks gate

Standing all alone, every night you’ll see her wait.

She waits for a boy who’s gone away,

And though he’s gone, she hears him say,

Oh promise you’ll be true.

Fare thee well, Lili Marlene,

’Til I return to you,

Fare thee well, Lili Marlene.

In 1943, the British were taking a tremendous beating from

the German Luftwaffe. The situation seemed hopeless as Hitler

prepared to invade the British Isles. But hopeful words and a

beautiful melody boosted our spirits.

There’ll be bluebirds over

The white cliffs of Dover

Tomorrow.

Just you wait and see.

There’ll be love and laughter

And peace ever after

Tomorrow

When the world is free.

Today’s music world is infatuated with “rap” chanted loudly

and with no melody. We like the feel of percussion instruments

that impart a strong beat but no sentiment. It’s a different gener-

ation and a different life style. Rap just does not express the sen-

timent as does music.

The losses we suffer in Afghanistan and Iraq are as real as

those that saddened us during WW2, and those in the military

who pay with their lives are just as dead. Unless it’s a family

member or very close friend who is gone, the losses appear to

many Americans as little more than an inconvenience, and too

soon life is back to “normal” again.

PAGE TWENTY RECALL

It was during the Vienam conflict, and members of the 30th

Infantry Division, an Army National Guard unit headquartered

in North Carolina with units in South Carolina and Georgia,

thought it would be ordered to provide Guard units to fight in that

unpopular war. Training was serious among all branches of serv-

ice, especially for the “Red Legs” of the artillery. A joint shoot on

the artillery ranges at Ft. Bragg was planned by XVIII Airborne

Corps to insure that active, Guard, and Reserve units could work

together.

A weekend was designated. The 30th Division's four artillery

battalions traveled early Saturday morning from their home sta-

tions. They took assigned positions on the vast Ft. Bragg reser-

vation. Surrounding the Tarheels were active Army, Reserve, and

Marine Corps artillery, ranging from 105mm howitzers to the

Marine’s 155mm guns with their extraordinarily long tubes.

The schedule called for firing all day Saturday with a goal

that all guns be registered and ready for a “time on target” shoot

at exactly 1130 hours Sunday. Registration was conducted with-

out incident, except that the Marines failed to note the hill that

stood between their long-barreled guns and the assigned target.

The first rounds fired by the Marines blasted the top off the hill,

much to the consternation of a host of safety officers. The guns

were relocated, and because no damage, other than loss of a hill-

top, was noted, no written report was made of the incident.

Sunday morning dawned sunny, clear, and beautiful. Last

minute registration of the guns confirmed all were laid accurate-

An artillery record to forget!Nobody talks about this record-setting time-on-target at Ft. Bragg

By Barrie Davis, Colonel NCARNG (ret)FORMER COMMANDER, 30TH DIVISION ARTILLERY

ly and were ready for the big shoot. Fire direction centers care-

fully computed time of flight for the projectiles from their guns.

This time would be subtracted from 1130 to determine when the

command to fire would be given for each weapon. Gun crews

waited impatiently for the fire command as 1130 approached.

The observation posts were crowded. Nearly every soldier

without an assigned task jockeyed for the best position to see

what would be the greatest number of artillery pieces to fire a sin-

gle time-on-target since WWII. It definitely was a big event!

The firing began, and exactly at 1130 on that Sunday morning

the entire top of the hill disappeared in a huge explosion, as hun-

dreds of artillery shells hit it within a split second. It was spec-

tacular!

But that was not the end of the story! Every church within 15

miles of Ft. Bragg vibrated and shook from shock waves from the

artillery barrage. Then the sound wave followed, rattling win-

dows and totally interrupting sermons. Very few members of the

congregations had experienced anything like it, and all of them

lost no time in advising the XVIII Airborne Corps commander

that they were not happy.

You never heard about that record-breaking shoot? It is not

surprising. The training was excellent. Time-on-target was per-

fect. The camaraderie was awesome. But the fall-out was enough

to make everyone concerned happy to put memories in moth

balls and forget about it.

Which we did. And now you know “the rest of the story”.

General Custer acquired his two favorite horses, Vic and

Dandy, soon after assuming command of the newly formed

7th Cavalry. Vic, the Kentucky thoroughbred, was his battle

horse. Vic, because of his speed and quickness became Custer’s

choice for the fast charges and maneuverings of battle. It was Vic

that carried his General into battle on the 25th of June 1876.

Libbie Custer and others claim Vic was killed on Custer Hill,

along with his master, perhaps used as a breastwork after being

mortally wounded during the fight. Others have listed Vic as a

“prisoner of war,” emerging from the battle under the ownership

of Walks-Under-The-Ground.

Where was Dandy during the battle? Dandy was with the

extra mounts kept with the pack train. Therefore, it is assumed

that Dandy survived the battle on Reno Hill. Much of what

became of him after the return to Ft. Lincoln is revealed to us by

Libbie Custer in her book, Following the Guidon.

She states that Dandy was acquired by Custer during the

Wichita campaign in Kansas during the winter of 1868 and 1869.

Apparently the 7th Cavalry was to be outfitted with new horses

for the upcoming campaigns. Five hundred horses were sent to

the 7th, and as Libbie tells it, the horses were paraded before

General Custer’s tent for review. Custer spotted a spirited bay

horse that he had selected out of the group, and after trying the

General Custer’s HorsesThey were beautiful, well mannered, and a nice to ride

Dandy

SPRING 2014 PAGE TWENTY-ONE

horse, decided to purchase the horse from the

government, for his personnel use. The horse

was described as being of good blood, though

not perfectly proportioned, and a little on the

small side. The name Dandy was supposed to

have been bestowed on the animal because of his

spirited manner, and the “proud little peacock

airs he never forgot except when he slept.”

Dandy soon proved that Custer had a keen eye

for horses. Dandy endured the harshest cold of

the plains winters, and even adapted to the lack

of forage in the snow covered plains by digging

for grass and eating the bark of the cottonwood

trees. This ability to survive in this manner sep-

arated the sturdier Indian ponies from the grain fed army horses

who would often whither away and die under these conditions. he

also survived the dehydrating heat and lack of potable water that

often occurred during the dry season. In other words, Dandy was

a “trooper.” Another characteristic of Dandy was his manner of

movement. According to Libbie, he “never walked, but went ...

with a little dancing trot that was most fatiguing” to the rider.

Many cavalrymen hated this type of mount, that would bounce

them along for mile after dreary mile. However, the General,

likewise indefatigable, saw this as a sign of alacrity and

endurance, which Dandy clearly showed on many a long march.

Also, no matter how bad the conditions or how long the march,

Dandy was blessed with an unwavering good disposition, never

exhibiting erratic behavior. Dandy’s possessed an air of compet-

itiveness that did not allow him to march behind another horse.

He had to be in the front of the column, and was at times difficult

to keep abreast of other horses. It was customary when on the

march to tether the horses during the night, less they stray or be

frightened away by the enemy. Dandy was so devoted to his mas-

ter that he would often not be so restricted and would graze at

will, but keeping within the areas of Custer’s tent. Dandy also

passed another important test, he got along well, often playfully,

with Custer’s ubiquitous stag hounds. Dandy was about five

years old when acquired. He maintained his energetic style for

many years, but age finally began to creep upon him. Libbie stat-

ed that the General, preparing for the 1876 campaign, stated, 'I

must take an extra horse this summer in addition to Vic, for

Dandy must be favored a little; he begins to show a little let-down

in strength.” She goes on to say that Dandy was wounded during

the stay on Reno Hill. Specifics of the injury were not given.

After the battle, Dandy was sent to Mrs. Custer in Monroe,

Michigan, and she in turn gave the horse to Custer's father. “The

horse, so identified with the three sons he had lost, seemed to be

a wonderful comfort to him.” Mrs. Custer had some trepidation

THE TROOP MESS

Why do we call goodfood a ‘military mess?’

It is alleged that the term MESS originated in the Rev-

olutionary War. The term “Mess is Forth”, was used to signify

that it was time to serve. Also, the term, “Cook up a Mess” was

used. It became synonymous with the military kitchen ever since.

RECIPE: The following is a recipe for a Mess for one hun-

dred men. The term S.O.S. has several names that soldiers have

given to it over the years. One of them is not “Save Our Soul”.

S.O.S.25 pounds ground meat

1 pound chopped onions

1½ pounds sifted Flour

16 14½ ounce cans Evaporated Milk

2 gallons Beef Stock or water (for milk)

Salt to taste

¼ ounce (1 mess kit spoon) Pepper

100 slices Bread, toasted

1. Cook meat, stirring frequently.

2. Cook onions in bacon fat; add flour and mix thoroughly.

3. Mix milk and beef stock or water; heat.

4. Add hot milk to fat and flour mixture gradually. Heat to

boiling point; boil 1 minute, stirring constantly. Add salt and

pepper.

5. Pour sauce over meat; simmer until meat is well done ,but

not over cooked ..

6. Serve on toast.

Yield: 100 servings, 6 ounces each.

NOTE: Chopped green peppers or pimientos may be added to

sauce and simmered with meat.

about “father Custer” riding Dandy as the for-

mer was well into his seventies, and the latter

still had some of his bouncing gait. However,

whether Dandy had gotten settled in his old age,

or whether he exhibited some innate sense of

respect for the elder Custer, he “let him” (father

Custer) mount leisurely, an seemed instantly to

tame down in gait and manner. Dandy and his

new rider hit it off quite well, and soon it

became a custom for the two to appear in the

local parades and ceremonies. They once led the

grand procession at the Michigan State Fair.

Father Custer would allow no one to feed or

groom his horse, and as time went on, the "in

consequence of too many oats the graceful proportions of youth

were fast losing themselves in a real aldermanic outline.

Libbie quotes Father Custer as saying in a serious moment,

“I don't know how I could have lived without that horse. He's

been a comfort to me for thirteen long years.”

Then one day, no whinny of greeting met Father Custer as he

undid the stable door. “For the first time in all his twenty-six

years Dandy was ill.” In spite of the attempts of two veterinary

surgeons to save him, he died, constantly under a vigil by the

entire family. Dandy was apparently buried in an orchard on the

farm.

General Custer

Custer’s horses: Vic and Dandy.

PAGE TWENTY-TWO RECALL

North Carolina Military Historical Society

Civil War North Carolina, 1864Saturday, 10 May 2014 � 9:30 a.m.-4 p.m.

Museum of History; the NorthCarolina Museum of NaturalScience, adjacent to the Museum;the State Archives a half block tothe east of the Museum; or, remainat the Museum for a self-guidedtour of the North CarolinaMuseum of History’s first floor“Chronology” exhibit containingvarious military and civilian items,and its permanent North Carolinamilitary history gallery, “A Call toArms,” on the 3rd floor.

The Society will sponsor raf-fles throughout the day for donat-ed items. Funds generated fromthe sale of raffle tickets helpdefray the cost of the symposium,publication of the Society’s semi-annual magazine Recall, and sup-port the Society’s own NorthCarolina Military History Museumat Kure Beach. Donations for theraffle are greatly appreciated andmay include books, magazines,prints, figures, uniforms, artifacts,and like items. If you have itemsyou wish to donate they may behand-carried to the meeting, ormailed to/dropped off with theNorth Carolina Military HistoricalSociety, c/o Sion H. HarringtonIII, 503 South 11th Street, Erwin,North Carolina 28339-2715.Questions regarding potentialdonation items may be directed tothe Society via email at ncmilhist-soc@yahoo.com, or by calling(910) 897-7968.

Free parking is plentiful andadjacent to the museum.

A meeting of the Society’sBoard of Directors will follow theclose of the symposium.

The North Carolina MilitaryHistorical Society cordially invitesyou to attend our free symposiumand learn about the Civil War inNorth Carolina in 1864. Mark yourcalendar, and join us for a day ofinteresting speakers, fascinatinginformation, and good fellowship!

Andrew Duppstadt

Dr. Gary Freeze

Dr. Charles Fonvielle,

Morris Bass

Chris Meekins

The annual symposium and general membershipmeeting of the North Carolina Military HistoricalSociety is scheduled for Saturday, 10 May 2014 in in theLong Leaf Pine Room of the North Carolina Museum ofHistory, Raleigh. The symposium is free of charge toany who wish to attend, and no prior registration isrequired unless you wish to reserve a $5.00 sub-sand-wich lunch. Meals will be available only for those whoreserve one no later than Thursday, 1 May by emailingthe Society at ncmilhistsoc@yahoo.com, or calling theSociety President at 910-897-7968. Meals will bepayable at registration.

The theme of this year's symposium is “Civil WarNorth Carolina, 1864.” The meeting will last from 9:30a.m. until 4 p.m. and feature five outstanding speakersoffering presentations on various events in our State dur-ing the pivotal year of 1864. The ramifications of NorthCarolina’s participation in the defining American war ofthe Nineteenth Century continue to shape the history anddestiny of the United States to this day.

Though the attention of past historians has focusedon events in Virginia and the western theater in 1864,there were several battles and events taking place inNorth Carolina that were of major importance. Ourexcellent slate of speakers will guide us through theseand explain their significance.

Andrew Duppstadt, Assistant Curator of Educationwith the N.C. Division of Historic Sites, will speak onthe 1864 “Battle of New Bern and Seizure of the USSUnderwriter..” Chris Meekins, an Archivist with theN.C. Division of Historical Resources, will offer a pres-entation on “The Battle of Plymouth.” After lunch, Dr.Chris Fonvielle, Professor of History at the University ofNorth Carolina at Wilmington, will explore the sinkingof the iconic Tar Heel warship, the CSS Albemarle, andthe role of U.S. Navy Lieutenant William BarkerCushing in its demise. Next, Morris Bass, OperationsManager of the Governor Caswell/CSS Neuse HistoricSite, N.C. Division of Historic Sites, will discuss thebuilding and operations of another of North Carolina’sfamous ironclads, the CSS Neuse. The final presentationof the day will be by Dr. Gary Freeze, Professor ofHistory at Catawba College who will speak on the histo-ry of Salisbury Prison and how it influenced and wasinfluenced by the surrounding community.

Living historians of the 1861-1865 period will be onhand displaying uniforms, weapons, and accoutrements.They are an invaluable historical resource and will beable to discuss not only the recruitment, training, andfighting tactics of the day, but the life of the commonsoldier and sailor, as well.

Several potential lunch-time or post-symposiumactivities are available. Attendees may visit the CapitolBuilding built in 1840, across the street from the

SPRING 2014 PAGE TWENTY-THREE

North Carolina Military Historical Society

Class of Membership: o ANNUAL ($20.00 a year) o LIFE ($200 one time)

Amount enclosed: $_____________ for calendar year (Jan.-Dec. 2004)

o NEW MEMBER o RENEWAL

NAME ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

ADDRESS_________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

CITY ___________________________________________________________________________________ STATE ___________________________________ ZIP _________

TELEPHONES: (Office)__________________ (Home) ______________________

Please make check payable to NCMHS and mail to:NCHMS, 7410 Chapel Hill Road, Raleigh, NC 27607-5096

Schedule of Events9:00 a.m.- 9:30 a.m. Registration

9:30 a.m. - 9:35 a.m. Welcome

Administrative Announcements

9:35 a.m.- 10:00 a.m. Business Meeting

President’s Report, Treasurer’s Report, Membership Report, Old Business, New Business,

Election of Directors, Adjourn

1st Raffle

10:00 a.m. - 10:45 a.m. Andrew Duppstadt, Asst. Curator of Education, North Carolina Div.of State Historic Sites —

“The Battle of New Bern/Seizure of the USS Underwriter”

10:45 a.m. -11:00 a.m. 2nd Raffle

Break

11:00 a.m. - 11:45 a.m. Dr. Gary Freeze, Professor of History, Catawba College

“Salisbury Prison”

11:45 p.m.-12:00 p.m. 3rd Raffle

12:00 p.m. - 1:00 p.m. Lunch

1:00 p.m. - 1:45 p.m. Dr. Chris Fonvielle, Professor of History, UNC-Wilmington

“Cushing and the Sinking the CSS Albemarle”

1:45 p.m. - 2:30 p.m. Morris Bass, Operations Manager, Governor Caswell/CSS Neuse Historic Site,

North Carolina Division of State Historic Sites

“The CSS Neuse”

2:30 p.m. - 2:45 p.m. 4th Raffle Drawing

Break

2:45 p.m. - 3:30 p.m. Chris Meekins, Archivist, North Carolina Division of Historical Resources

“Battle of Plymouth”

3:30 p.m.- 3:45 Final Raffle

Closing Remarks.

4:00 p.m.- 4:30 Board of Director’s Meeting (Board members only)

Administrative Notes:• The NC Museum of History military exhibit "A Call to Arms" is open on the Third Floor of the Museum, as well as the new First Floor chronolo-

gy exhibit containing military items. • We extend a special welcome to the living historians of the Carolina Living History Guild.• Feel free to take breaks as needed. Enjoy refreshments in the refreshment area or meeting room, but please do not take them outside of these two

areas. Refreshments courtesy of Trudy Conrad.

ANNUAL MEETING AND SYMPOSIUMThe North Carolina Military Historical Society

May 10, 2014

Theme: “Civil War North Carolina, 1864”

This Recall story, “A Tarheel’s Thoughts on Vicksburg”, isone of the best articles since publication of this journal started in1995. Its author, William “Bill” Northrop, has done a fine job in

his research and writing. We thank you,Bill, for the article and your loyal Recall

support.Thank you, Barrie Davis, for hanging

with me for all these years. We still areable tocomplete an issue somehow.

Recall subscibers and other friends, weneed your help and support with articles.Last year, I said my cupboard was bare.Right now it is close to empty. Can any-

body write an article on operations in Iraq and Afghanistan? Wehave had some on Iraq but nothing on Afghanistan, where the warhas been going on for years. Someone should be willing to sharetheir experiences in that theater of battle.

The Annual Symposium and Membership Meeting of theNorth Carolina Military Historical Society (NCMHS) will beheld on May 10, 2014, at the North Carolina Museum of History,Raleigh, N.C. Please note the program and speakers on pages 22and 23 of the Recall.

I recommend that you consider membership in ArmyHistorical Foundation. The Foundation’s mission is to build theNational Buseum of the U.S. Army, which will be located at FortBelvour, Virginia. Despire the fact that it is the oldest branch ofthe Armed Forces, the Army is the only one without a NationalMuseam.

The Foundation magazine, On Point, is an outstanding mili-tary history publication. Your membership contributes tobuildingthe National Army Museau. You can find more information bycontacting the Army Historical Foundation, P.O. Box 96703,Washington, D.C. 20090-6703.

Murphy’s Laws of Combat:

1. Friendly fire isn’t.2. Anything you do can get you shot, including doing noth-

ing.3. The enemy is in range. So are you.4. If you are short of everything except the enemy, you are in

combat.

EDITOR’S TACK ROOMBy Richard M. Ripley

Contribute Articles to RecallReaders are invited to submit material to Recall. In choos-

ing material for publication, the editor of Recall will give prefer-ence to articles of unusual significance and transcripts orabstracts of difficult-to-locate records.

Material submitted for publication will be reviewed by per-sons knowledgeable in the areas covered for validity, signifi-cance, and appropriateness. All material will be edited for clarityand conciseness. Manuscripts should be sent to the Editor, 4404Leota Drive, Raleigh, N.C. 27603. Tel. 919-772-7688. E-mail:rripley@nc.rr.com.

In this issue …A Tarheel’s Thoughts on Vicksburg ........................... 1Cuss’n in the Army ..................................................... 9June 14th: The Birthday of the U.S. Army ................. 10I Fly for Vengeance .................................................... 12With a Song in My Heart ........................................... 18An Artillery Record to Forget ..................................... 20General Custer’s Horses ........................................... 20Why Do We Call Good Food a “Military Mess”? ....... 21N.C. Military Historical Society Symposium ......... 22-23

Photos, Interviews Sought to DocumentTar Heel Military Experience

In 1998, the N.C. Division of Archives and History began

Phase III of its effort to better document the state’s 20th century

military experience. Previous phases have focused on the period

from 1900 through the end of the Korean War. Though still

actively collecting and preserving items from this era, the

Archives is seeking to honor North Carolina veterans who served

North Carolina and the nation from 1954 through the present.

The Military History Collection Project also is engaged in an

extensive oral history program. People around the state are

encouraged to tape interviews with veterans of all time periods

and services for deposit in the Military Collection of the State

Archives. If you have items to share, please mail them to or con-

tact: Ken Simpson, Coordinator, Military Collection Project,

North Carolina Division of Archives and History, 109 East

Jones Street, Raleigh, N.C. 27601-2807; or call 919-807-7314.

The North Carolina Military Historical Society7410 Chapel Hill Road

Raleigh, North Carolina 27607-5096

or current resident

NONPROFIT ORG.

U.S. POSTAGE

PAIDCARY, NC 27511

Permit No. 551