VOLUME 20 SPRING 2014 ISSUE 1 A Tarheel’s...
Transcript of VOLUME 20 SPRING 2014 ISSUE 1 A Tarheel’s...
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 [email protected], 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 [email protected], 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:[email protected].
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
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