July 3, 1863, The New York Herald
Mr. John J. Fitzpatrick’s Letter.
NEAR VICKSBURG, June 22, 1863.
Without touching upon forbidden topics there is little to write concerning our operations for the reduction of the great rebel stronghold on the Mississippi. The siege is progressing with that deliberate energy which characterizes such a work, and, while our advance is slow and sure, the resistance of the rebels is as steadfast and obstinate. They contest every inch of the ground, and every spadefull of earth is turned by the besieging forces amid showers of bullets. Their artillery fire, however, has almost entirely ceased, which fact has created the impression that they are nearly devoid of that arm, or are conserving their ammunition for the final and grand assault.
A TOUR AROUND THE LINES.
In company with a confrere of the HERALD, I have just concluded a tour of our lines, by which, as we are new arrivals here, we obtained quite an insight into the position of matters in this vicinity. We started from the Yazoo river at a point locally known as “Lake Land,”… the direction of the army was soon indicated to us by the long lines of army wagons which, enveloped in clouds of dust, were rumbling and rattling along the rugged ground. Following the road thus indicated, we traversed a bottom land, with the Chickasaw bayou on our left, until we struck the forks of that stream, where the country began to rise, and we soon found ourselves ascending one of those steep bluffs which have been rendered so famous in the history of this site. A ride of about an hour and a half, which was accomplished with no little labor by our horseflesh, unfolded to our comprehension the topographical and picturesque features of the vicinity. The roads — which for the most part are army roads, intersecting the encampments at every point and forming a network through and around the whole army — run the greater portion of their length along the very summits of the various ridges, and are so narrow in places that two wagons can with difficulty pass each other. To obviate this trouble, however, all vehicles are required to take the right hand roads in going to and the right in returning from the landing, the enforcement of which rule forms part of the duties of the guards and pickets. The nature of road varies as the distance. Traversing as it does a series of ridges, it is at one time steep and precipitous, and again, when the tops of the bluffs are but elevated table lands (small as they may be in extent), it is smooth and as level as a road in a park. The dust, which almost envelops the view, does not, however, prevent a due appreciation of the beauties of nature, a bountiful supply of which seems to have been afforded to this State. The vegetation is of the most luxuriant kind. The large pettalled magnolia wafts its perfume with every breeze, its white flowers forming a bright contrast to the darker timber with its pendant festoons of Spanish moss, while the ravines and gorges are but dense canebrakes surmounted with the feather-like foliage of the bamboo, spots where old Ike Walton would have gloried to cut a fishing rod, bright, green and plaint from its native soil.
Our ride terminated with daylight, and we bivouacked for the night.
LIFE IN THE TRENCHES.
On inquiry next morning we found we were near the centre of our lines, the point to which the rebels direct their almost entire attention, and where their works are most advanced from the city. To give details of our operations at this, perhaps the busiest part of the line, would no doubt be imprudent; but there are many little accidents transpiring outside of the strategical operations of the siege well worthy of notice.
As a general thing, there is but little firing before the breakfast ration is eaten. Then hostilities commence, but not without a notification from either side of the resumption of a hostile attitude. In this particular I refer to the sharpshooters who fill the rifle pits along either line of works, whose business it is to annoy their opponents while they protect the operations of their friends. The artillerists keep up a desultory fire upon the city, or the more salient points of the fortifications. The sharp shooters, in the early part of the morning, recline on the edges of the rifle pits or the fringes of the breast works, and keep up a running conversation with each other, during which to fire a shot would be considered highly dishonorable. This entenle cordiale is finally broken, and generally by our side first. One of our men calls out, “Back to your holes, you damned rebels,” and forthwith both parties skedaddle into the pits, when the ball opens in earnest. From that time until after nightfall the ramparts are lined with little blue curls of smoke, while the air is broken by the sharp, […..] bing” of the rifles, and is melodious with the singling of the bullets.
One of the characters of this portion of the field of operations is an individual familiarly known as “Coonskin,” and designated by the rebels “Good Shot,” on account of his unerring aim with the rifle. He is our lookout, and is stationed on top of a log observatory, where, with glass in hand, he watches the motions of the rebels with an utter indifference to the leaden compliments which they send him in no small quantity. They have endeavored to razee his observatory with artillery, but, owing to some difficulty about obtaining the range, have been so far unsuccessful.
Continuing our journey to the extreme left, we came upon a small party of prisoners, a rebel picket, who had been captured the night before in a novel manner. A detachment of our picket guard had penetrated unknowingly the rebel lines, and, in returning by a different route from that by which they had proceeded, came in the rear of the rebel picket, whom they captured and brought to headquarters, where they sullenly refused to answer any questions about the sate of affairs in the city, but gave unmistakable evidence of a desire not to return to it.
Among the staff officers of the general commanding on the extreme left, I found an old friend — Major White, son of Judge White, of New York.
Having completed our tour, we returned to General McPherson’s headquarters, where we were most hospitably entertained by that officer and his staff.
Another Fight on the Big Black.
NEAR VICKSBURG, June 23, 1863.
Reports from the left of our line state that heavy fighting is going on in the vicinity of the Big Black bridge. Our forces are holding their ground, though the attack is supposed to be made with great numbers. Our loss is said to be very large. It is conjectured that Johnson has massed his forces on our left, as a recent reconnoissance to Clinton showed but a few regiments in that vicinity.
The present fight, whatever its results, cannot interrupt the siege of Vicksburg.