BATTLE OF VICKSBURG. MAY 22, 1868. • « Heroic Charge of the 1st Brigade. MINIE, GRAPE, CANISTER, AND SHELL.-A SCORCHING C. D. MORRIS, Company E, 33d Illinois. HE 22d of May, 1863, is a dark spot in the memory of many, and there is scarcely one of the old guard who either does not carry a reminder of it on his person or points to that fatal day as the last on earth of some cherished comrade. Carr's division had hot work on the 21st in moving into position near the railroad. Every move was greeted with storms of grape and canister and the ever-present song of the minie. The 1st Brigade, consisting of the 33d Ill., 8th and 11th Ind., and 99th Ill., commanded by Brigadier-General Benton, was moved up to within three hundred yards of the enemy's works the evening of the 21st, and passed the night under the shelter of an abrupt hill. We had muskets as bed-fellows, and empty stomachs and full cartridge-boxes, with which to dream of the morrow. Those of us who had been sharpshooting until daylight of the 22d knew something of what was before us, and when another company came and relieved us at dawn of the 22d, so that we might lead the charge that day, the gallant Major Elliott said that he appreciated the compliment, but that many a brave boy would fall that day. A spirit of solemnity seemed to pervade the brigade as it massed in view of the enemy. Men congregated in little groups conversing in undertones. Letters conveying a last farewell were hurriedly written, messages and keepsakes were given to comrades by those who knew this was to be their last charge. Yet they did not hesitate; and to my personal knowledge their sad presentiment was verified in almost every case. Officers, outwardly calm, moved aimlessly about, anxiously consulting their timepieces. Aides from brigade headquarters came and went, running the gantlet, and dodging the shells that came shrieking down the ravines. As the hour of ten drew nigh the four colonels-Lippencott of the 33d, Washburne of the 18th, Schenck of the 8th, and Baily of the 99th-held a consultation, and, to see who should lead the brigade, cast lots for position. It was won by Colonel Baily of the 99th; the 33d next, then the 18th and 8th. Our artillery were emptying their limber-boxes as fast as muscle and powder could do it, and as the decisive moment approached, it seemed as though their exertions were redoubled, and that the sulphurous blast of flame and smoke, and the murderous roar would stifle and crush us. Men sprang to their feet, grasping their muskets with a grip of iron. Officers tightened their belts, and in quick, fiery words gave the command, "Fall in!" In an instant the brazen mouths that for three hours had spoken, were for the first time, silent. The men forming Grant's army crouched with nerves of steel, ready to spring upon their foe. They came as conquerors, and were anxious to try issues with their enemy, even in his stronghold. Colonel Baily-divested of coat and vest, and with arms bared to the elbow-sprang to the head of his regiment, and with the single word, "Forward!" sent the hot blood tingling through our veins. The hour of nervous waiting-the hardest part to bear in patience-was over. Our course was around the base of a hill and up by the right flank, through a narrow defile, until the crest was nearly reached, and there, as we swung into line, not one hundred yards away, burst a withering, scorching sheet of flame, unmerciful in its intensity, sent forth by desperate men. Hundreds went down. The gallant Baily fell grievously wounded. The 99th could go no further. The 33d, charging over the same ground, fared not even so well, for as we came into line the same fearful blast struck and virtually annihilated us; for in that day's work, out of nearly sixty men there were only seven or eight to report for duty the next morning, and some of these were bruised and wounded. The 18th and 8th, coming up quickly, met much the same fate; some of them, with scattering ones from the two preceding regiments, turned to the right, and Colonel Washburne, of the 18th, found partial shelter in an angle of their works, and there, with the missiles of death raining around, the hot sun pouring down, amidst the wail of the wounded, the fierce yell of the victors, the incessant roar of musketry, we kept them down in our front; death stared us in the face if we remained or if we attempted to get down. Some of our colors were planted on the walls of the fort. Washburne's ringing voice could be heard above the din, shouting encouragement to us. McClernand, away in the rear, called loudly on Grant for help. We knew it was madness to send men there. Grant, as near to us as McClernand, thought as much. The rebel rifle-pits to our left could fire upon us, and every now and then some poor fellow would go down. The terrors of that day made men grow old. The appeal for help was answered. Boomer's brigade attempted to reach us, but they could get no nearer than two hundred yards. Boomer himself was killed. We then knew to stay longer was useless, and so, one by one, we stole away, running the gantlet for life and liberty. No one can describe that terrible day. Individual deeds of heroism would fill a volume. THE PLYMOUTH PILGRIMS. HOW THEY WERE CAPTURED. APRIL 20, 1864. ROBERT P. BLACK, Co. E, 103 P. V. V. (Plymouth Pilgrim). HE town of Plymouth lies on the right bank of the Roanoke river seven miles from the Albemarle Sound. At the time here mentioned, it was garrisoned by Wessell's brigade, consisting of the 85th and 96th N. Y., 101st and 103d Penn., and 16th Conn. Regts. There were besides two companies of the 12th N. Y. Cavalry, 2d Mass. Heavy Artillery, the 23d N. Y. Battery, 1st N. C. Union Vols., and some negro recruits. On the river were the gunboats Miami, Southfield, and White head. The effective land force was about 1,800 men. On Sunday evening, April 17, 1864, our cavalry pickets came in on the run, with the news that the rebs had driven in our picket line. A strong support was at once sent out, but they met a line of battle, four deep, backed by two batteries of artillery. This was at dark, and for nearly three hours a storm of shot and shell flew over us. The earth fairly shook, and the screaming of shot and shell was deafening. The rebs finally withdrew, taking only two whole guns out of the two eight-gun batteries that came into line three hours before. Their loss was terrible; ours, only trifling. The next morning, about an hour before daylight, they again charged our lines, and took the 85th N. Y. prisoners and turned their swivel gun on us. They took the 96th N. Y. about the same time, but the guns at the latter place did not do so much harm, owing to their peculiar position. There was steady picket firing all day, and another heavy charge after dark, which was met and repulsed with slight loss. The next morning (Tuesday) the rebel ram Albemarle came down the river and was on us before we knew it, sinking the gunboat Southfield, and driving the others down the river. The channel of the river had been obstructed with torpedoes, but owing to the high water the ram passed safely over them. Captain Flusser, of the Miami, lost his life by a rebound of a piece of one of his own shells. Had he lived, it is more than probable we would not have been taken prisoners. They were now in possession of our front, right, and rear. That forenoon (Tuesday) we formed and charged the rebs time and again, but each time we were driven back, and the 85th Penn. was captured by piecemeal. At each charge we lost ground, and a few more prisoners fell into the enemy's hands. Night came on with our position entirely surrounded, and during the night the 101st Penn. lost, as the 85th had during the day, a few of its men at a time. At daylight the 2d Mass. Heavy Artillery was also "gathered in,” and the sun arose over about as helpless and forlorn a garrison as can well be imagined. Our nearest forces were sixty miles distant, and the country between held by the enemy. Our commanding general, Brig.-Gen. H. W. Wessells, hoped against hope, and refused to surrender, as there was a bare possibility of re-enforcements coming up the river to our relief. The enemy had by this time got into houses in the town and compelled us to fight them from the front of our works. The swivel gun on the 85th N. Y.'s works annoyed us fearfully, doing us more harm than all the others. It killed Sergeant Logan, took Corporal Burtner's foot off, grazed my cap and ruptured my left fore-arm with a single shell. The 16th Conn. were taken, a few at a time, early in the morning; the few that were left of us fought from the wrong side of our works until about 11 A. M., when General Wessells, seeing that further resistance was useless-permitted the flag on Fort Williams to be lowered. We all realized that we were in a sad fix. Our captors, Generals Ransom and Hoke, allowed us to take our clothing and private property, but a little sneak of a reb, spying my watch chain, and, being at some distance from his superiors, declared |