WEARY--THE COURIERS FROM GENERAL JOHNSTON--DANGEROUS PASTURAGE--MULE
MEAT--LOCAL SONGS--MISSED BY A MINIE BALL.
I am told by my friends, who call, that I am looking worn and pale, and
frequently asked if I am not weary of this cave life. I parry the question
as well as possible, for I do not like to admit it for M----'s sake; yet,
I _am_ tired and weary--ah! so weary! I never was made to exist under
ground; and when I am obliged to, what wonder that I vegetate, like other
unfortunate plants--grow wan, spindling, and white! Yet, I must reason
with myself: I had chosen this life of suffering with one I love; and what
suffering, after all, have I experienced?--privations in the way of good
and wholesome food, not half what the poor people around us are
experiencing.
A fear of those that can kill the body, and after that have no more that
they can do! I will not be unnerved--I have no right to complain.
Wherever He hath placed me, there will I be found in His strength; and
hereafter I will be brave and steadfast.
To reason with myself in this time of danger was one of the chief
employments of my cave life. Time passes on, and all say the siege cannot
last much longer; and still we are here--and still the deafening noise of
shells--and the variety of missiles that are thrown fall, scattering death
in all directions.
About this time, the town was aroused by the arrival of a courier from
General Johnston, who brought private despatches to General Pemberton, the
nature of which did not transpire; yet, from the very silence of General
Pemberton, the officers augured the worst.
The courier brought many letters to the inhabitants from friends without.
His manner of entering the city was singular: Taking a skiff in the Yazoo,
he proceeded to its confluence with the Mississippi, where he tied the
little boat, entered the woods, and awaited the night. At dark he took off
his clothing, placed his despatches securely within them, bound the
package firmly to a plank, and, going into the river, he sustained his
head above the water by holding to the plank, and, in this manner, floated
in the darkness through the fleet, and on two miles down the river to
Vicksburg, where his arrival was hailed as an event of great importance,
in the still life of the city.
The hill opposite our cave might be called "death's point" from the number
of animals that had been killed in eating the grass on the sides and
summit. In all directions I can see the turf turned up, from the shells
that have gone ploughing into the earth. Horses or mules that are tempted
to mount the hill by the promise of grass that grows profusely there,
invariably come limping down wounded, to die at the base, or are brought
down dead from the summit.
A certain number of mules are killed each day by the commissaries, and are
issued to the men, all of whom prefer the fresh meat, though it be of
mule, to the bacon and salt rations that they have eaten for so long a
time without change. There have already been some cases of scurvy: the
soldiers have a horror of the disease; therefore, I suppose, the mule meat
is all the more welcome. Indeed, I petitioned M---- to have some served
on our table. He said: "No; wait a little longer." He did not like to see
me eating mule until I was obliged to; that he trusted Providence would
send us some change shortly.
That very afternoon I was looking out on the opposite hill, where the
shells were falling frequently. I noticed a very large, fine cow slowly
grazing on the side, and ascending higher and higher as she moved.
It was a matter of wonder with me where she came from, for beef cattle of
all kinds had disappeared from Vicksburg. The cow was in fine condition;
and I thought: Poor creature, you are not prudent in eating such dangerous
grass. A short time before tea, M---- came up laughing, and said:
"Providence has indeed sent you fresh meat, so that you will not have to
depend upon mule. A fine cow has been killed by a shell on the opposite
hill. The General has taken the meat, and a large share has been sent to
you."
I regretted the fate of the animal that I had so lately seen vigorous with
life; yet now, "since fate was so unkind," I gladly received my portion,
thinking of the old saw, "it's an ill wind," &c. George and some of the
boys in the camp cut the meat in strips; and I was able to send some soup
meat to the courier that rode continually among the shower of balls, and
to a poor humped-back soldier, whose strength was giving way from the
privation he had undergone: the remainder was rubbed with saltpetre,
strung on canes laid across frames, with a slow fire underneath; and the
heat of the sun and the fire combined jerked it nicely for future use.
I laughed heartily at the appearance of the cave a day or two after the
process. The logs of the roof were hung with festoons of jerked meat, that
swung gracefully and constantly above us; and walking around under it, I
felt, quite like an Indian, I suppose, after a successful chase, that
starvation for a while was far in the background.
It was astonishing how the young officers kept up their spirits,
frequently singing quartets and glees amid the pattering of Minie balls;
and I often heard gay peals of laughter from headquarters, as the officers
that had spent the day, and perhaps the night, previous in the rifle pits,
would collect to make out reports. This evening a gentleman visited us,
and, among other songs, sang words to the air of the "Mocking Bird,"
which I will write:
"'Twas at the siege of Vicksburg,
Of Vicksburg, of Vicksburg--
'Twas at the siege of Vicksburg,
When the Parrott shells were whistling through the air
Listen to the Parrott shells--
Listen to the Parrott shells:
The Parrott shells are whistling through the air.
"Oh! well will we remember--
Remember--remember
Tough mule meat, June _sans_ November,
And the Minie balls that whistled through the air.
Listen to the Minie balls--
Listen to the Minie balls:
The Minie balls are singing in the air."
Songs of every description are composed in honor of narrow escapes,
unlucky incidents, brave deeds, &c.; songs--humorous, pathetic, and
tragic--are sung in every manner of voice. Sometimes hoarse, with
surprising loudness and depth; again, with richly modulated tones and much
soft volume and melody--all sing, according to differently accustomed
tastes.
I heard, one night, a soldier down the ravine singing one of the weird,
melodious hymns that negroes often sing; and, amid the firing and crashing
of projectiles, it floated up to me in soft, musical undertones that
were fascinating in the extreme: the wailing of the earthly unrest--the
longing for the glorious home that the warm imagery pictures to be
glorious in golden lights and silvery radiance--of song and brilliant
happiness! The voice was full and triumphant. Then the rapid change, in
low and mournful cadence, to the earth, the clay, the mire--to dearth, to
suffering, to sin! "I wonder, Lord, will I ever get to heaven--to the New
Jerusalem?" came with the ending of every verse. I bowed my face in my
hands. Yes! heaven was so far off! Yet--"he that cometh to me, I will in
nowise cast out"--our grasp is firm, but our eyes are blind. Some day,
after the earthly longings are stilled, we will know the exceeding glory.
Though singing songs of every description, yet how often we are made to
feel that any moment the summons may come!
I was sewing, one day, near one side of the cave, where the bank slopes
and lights up the room like a window. Near this opening I was sitting,
when I suddenly remembered some little article I wished in another part of
the room. Crossing to procure it, I was returning, when a Minie ball
came whizzing through the opening, passed my chair, and fell beyond it.
Had I been still sitting, I should have stopped it. Conceive how speedily
I took the chair into another part of the room, and sat in it!