We arrived near the city in December, and the Union men were already planning to attack the rebels by surprise. I wasn’t sure how that would be possible, since the Confederates did have the higher ground and a clear view of all that land around them. But I wasn’t a Union general—it wasn’t any of my business. I went about my own work. We established the field hospital a little north and east of the city near a plantation called Peterson. I recognized the name and knew we weren’t far off from Holloway’s. I wondered right away whether I would see anyone from Holloway’s or whether anyone might recognize me, but I decided I shouldn’t think about it. I didn’t want to be distracted by the looking around and worrying. Besides, I figured, everyone else had a lot more to think about than me, a small and insignificant mixed-race nurse. And if I needed any reminding of that, I had only to see what was already around me. I was surrounded by a sea of soldiers, doctors, nurses, aides. The fight in this area was a massive undertaking, with troops numbering over seventy thousand. I’d never dreamed I’d ever see so many people in one place, bearing down with singular intention.
What I came to understand about the attack was that it was supposed to have an element of distraction. General Sherman and his men, over thirty thousand of them, were approaching Vicksburg from the river and would surprise the Confederates while they were engaged with General Grant’s men from the other side at another river. But there had been problems and miscalculations by both Sherman and Grant. Grant, for his part, simply wasn’t there. Grant had learned that his army’s stockpile of supplies had been raided by the rebels, and they didn’t have the food or the ammunition for a lengthy assault. He’d been forced to retreat to Memphis. Otherwise, his troops would starve. With Grant gone, the Confederates could fully engage with Sherman, something Sherman had not expected. To approach the bluffs, his men would have to cross swamp and bayou—unfamiliar landscape to a Northern army. And they would only emerge from there in open fields that would make them vulnerable to rebel gun batteries positioned on the hills. This was the circumstance I had speculated on when I’d first seen the bluffs. It played out all too well.
One night, right before I went to bed, Mother B. came to my tent and said General Sherman and the regiments had failed. They couldn’t take the city. She told me about General Grant’s men and how they were in full retreat.
“We will be here awhile,” she said. “The generals will have to rethink things. The port is vital. They won’t abandon the effort.”
“How long do you think?”
“Months. I wouldn’t be surprised if we were here well into the spring.”
And that was exactly what happened. The battles continued, and the noise was breathtaking, like the whole sky was going to fall on us. It was a mad dance, with advances, retreats, and circles. Fires too. Though I didn’t see an instance directly, I heard about the troops on both sides burning plantations. The Union soldiers were stripping the homes of all their supplies and valuables and burning the structures to the ground. The Confederates in Vicksburg destroyed them to improve sight lines along their front. I knew the soldiers, like Mr. Colchester, had been in Louisiana for months now, so similar destruction must have been happening there. I thought of what Silas had said and wondered what would be left of Catalpa Valley if I ever made it back.
That January, in 1863, President Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation became official. Finally. Exhilaration came over me, and I was so happy I wanted to do something crazy, like jumping on a horse and riding to the Holloway Plantation so I could spit and stomp on the ground in front of the big house. I know I wasn’t the only one wanting to celebrate, because the generals ordered a barbecue party. But first we had a kind of service where we all gathered together and a Reverend Grisholm prayed a thanksgiving prayer and then read the whole of President Lincoln’s proclamation out loud.
The phrase forever free sent a wonderful shiver across my shoulders. As Reverend Grisholm went on, though, the sensation faded. The language was confusing. It included a list that seemed to be the states in question. But why was the list necessary? Why couldn’t slaves just be free throughout the Union? Since Mississippi was on the list, I was certainly free. Louisiana was, too, but there were parishes excepted from the proclamation. They included New Orleans, so I figured these were the parishes that the Union Army, Mr. Colchester possibly among them, controlled. I didn’t have a chance to consider this, because once the reverend finished reading the proclamation, the celebration began. I suppose it was something, despite the imperfections. And something was better than nothing. We needed to celebrate.
The day was clear and not cold, so everyone delighted in being outside in each other’s company and enjoying the feast. Several hogs were roasted whole over large fires. Extra portions of coffee and bread went around. The soldiers who had recently returned from a march that had gone beyond the supply lines were especially eager for all the delicious food. They’d had nothing but water and hardtack for days. There was a lot of shouting and cheering. I don’t know where it came from, but someone had a fiddle and played the most joyous, foot-stomping tunes. I’m not one for dancing, but I clapped my hands and enjoyed the bursts of singing that went on throughout the day. Emotional spirits ran high, and the liquid kind was plentiful too. Those who imbibed were warm and delighted with drink. But I admit a few soldiers did get ornery, as some drunks will do. Their army brothers, though, kept them from getting into too much trouble.
Sometimes I think about that barbecue and how it really was a perfect gift wrapped up and handed to us like a holiday bauble. It was like it was meant to settle us and give us a nice memory to look back on when the fighting continued. You could remember the day and think about the fellowship and the happiness and the gratitude and know it was all about what the fight was for. And I don’t believe anyone that day was thinking about the fighting, even though it would have been easy to sit there and wonder who wouldn’t be alive in six months. But you can’t think that way and go on living. Wouldn’t last a week with all that in your mind.
After that barbecue General Grant set his men to work cutting a canal around Vicksburg. He thought he could divert the river and use the canal to transport supplies, but again, I didn’t see how that could work. For a different kind of river, maybe, like a smaller one. It seemed to me you’d have to dig deep and long to even make a dent in the Mississippi. And even then, with a river that big, you’d be more likely to cause a flood that might kill you. But they kept at it and, much to my disappointment, even got slaves from nearby plantations to help. While they were doing that, Mother B. and I were driven over to a hotel not too far away in a city that the Union soldiers controlled. We had to transform it into a hospital, where men would be taken once they had been stabilized at the field hospital. Mother B. had done this type of work before, and I followed her instructions. Being at the new hospital turned out to be a good place for us, because the rebels had turned the tables and taken to shelling the Union camps. At one point Colonel Eshton had all the nurses sent from the field hospital to the hotel hospital because the shelling was too close to their tents and he feared for their safety.