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Back on July 4, 1863, General John C. Pemberton's rebel troops had, as instructed, laid down their arms and signed an affidavit not to take up arms again. The North, anxious to punctuate that Independence Day with garlands of victory, had offered the Confederates such generous terms (which included $25 U.S. dollars for each soldier), they could hardly refuse. Thus did Vicksburg come to belong to the Yankees. The Gibraltar of the South was of the North now. The Confederacy was split in two, with the North in complete control of the Mississippi River.
Twenty thousands brave Confederate soldiers had died defending Vicksburg against Grant's siege. For six weeks the city had been besieged, suffering day and night under constant cannon fire from both the Mississippi River gunboats and entrenched Yankees inland. The civilian populace had found shelter in hills dug into the Chicksaw bluffs at the edge of town. The soldiers had manned the defenses, to the best of their ability. Out of food, low and water; morale abysmal, the officers under General Pemberton had finally relented and agreed to the Yankees' terms of surrender.
There were no cheers when the truce was announced. If anything, the rebel troops slid into a despondent depression. Most would rather have died than surrender. The townsfolk were even more devastated. The soldiers were rebuffed, certainly; but they were free to go home and would see no more action for the duration. The people of Vicksburg, on the other hand, had lost their city, their slaves, and their favorite son as well - Major General Earl Van Dorn. The General, they had just found out, had been killed a few days after the siege had begun.
Van Dorn had been reassigned from Vicksburg, where he had been Pemberton's Calvary commander and had all by himself stalled the first Yankee campaign on Vicksburg six months previous. Van Dorn had been sent to Tennessee to serve under Bragg where he distinguished himself in several daring raids holding the 90,000 union forces at bay against Bragg's 45,000 Confederates at Chickamauga. The people of Vicksburg had expected him to be sent back home when the union forces began their second campaign on their city.
Grant had four famously talented generals - Sherman, McClernand, Banks, and McPherson - and Vicksburg had Pemberton, a northern born Yankee from Philadelphia with no previous combat experience. Van Dorn and his cavalry were sorely needed; moreover, because the union assault came from south of town through Port Gibson - Van Dorn's place of birth - through the kind of heavily forested land where cavalry is most effective.
Actually, Pemberton did OK until the North's best Cavalry commander Grierson made a raid, moving all the way from Baton Rouge to Vicksburg in two days time, keeping Pemberton from getting his soldiers in the most defensible position for Grant's three prong attack. Pemberton had begged the area commander, General Joe Johnston, first not to take Van Dorn and his horse soldiers; then to return them once hostilities were underway. Johnston had, in fact, rushed to Pemberton's aid but came too late to be of any use; they were blocked at Jackson 70 miles from Vicksburg and never made it to the city.
It was obvious to everybody that Van Dorn could have made it to Vicksburg faster with the kind of troops they needed, and been far more effective in defending against a Yankee assault through land well known to him. They were furious, and believed that Pemberton had sold them out. Surrendering the city on Independence Day, him being from the independence city Philadelphia itself, didn't ingratiate him to them any too much.
It wasn't until the day the siege had lifted that they got word that Van Dorn had been shot on May 7 in his office in Tennessee near the Chickamauga battle lines. (Grant's campaign began May 1st, and the siege began on May 21st.) Killed, by some doctor well known to the locals. The Confederate authorities said it was the act of a jealous husband, that Van Dorn had been having an affair with the doctor's wife. The timing was too unlikely for anybody in Vicksburg to accept that explanation. Van Dorn had been murdered; no, assassinated, the day the union assault on Vicksburg began.
It is likely that Johnston would have sent Van Dorn to help Pemberton; that Van Dorn would have been in the area to stop Grierson's cavalry raid from Baton Rouge; that a little extra confusion would have stalled the federal assault to give Pemberton enough time to position his soldiers properly; that Vicksburg would have survived the second campaign upon it's ramparts. All of this upset the citizens of Vicksburg very much, and it only made them more suspicious when the new federal authorities in town were so irrational in their support of the jealous husband theory.
More than a few of the soldiers at Vicksburg were upset as well. Four thousand of them, in fact, had volunteered to contribute their $25 to pay for somebody to investigate. They gave this money to the city leaders, who wired a former Colonel under Van Dorn as soon as the siege lifted on July 4, told him of their concerns, and got him riled up enough that he said he would have some men in Vicksburg ASAP.
As the people of Vicksburg waited for the Colonel, they tended to business. As the days passed, 30,000 Confederate troops straggled into the courthouse square and laid down their arms. The officers were allowed to keep their swords. Everybody got $25 when they signed an affidavit refusing to fight again. The soldiers were ragged, dirty, barely skin and bones skeletons. They had given everything; had been willing to give more. Likewise with the city folk.
Typically, the Confederate soldiers arrived in some semblance of military order to sign the papers, and straggled away still under their officer's command. Discipline was the only thing left them. They were not happy to be going home under a white flag. Feet dragged, shoulders drooped, and none of the formations walked in step.
The four thousand who had pledged their $25 to the City for an investigation of Van Dorn's demise were the last to leave town. They had been told the Colonel would arrive ASAP, but that was days ago. It seemed they have given up their money for nothing, and they were too spent to argue with the City, so they joined the long column of refugees and left town.
The departing troops lined a road leaving Vicksburg, winding through the densely wooded hills to the east of the city center at the cliffs overlooking the mighty Mississippi River. Some straggled out of their formations, whisking into the woods like waifs. Nobody talked. It took all their energy just to walk.
After a while the whole column eased to a halt. Brisk hoof prints were clattering in the distance. A cloud of dust made orange by the late afternoon sun rose into the crisp spring air. As the horse soldiers approached a shutter of pride echoed through the long column of troops, one echelon at a time.
Shoulders straightened perceptively, chins cocked up, and resolve replaced despair in the soldier's faces. A few even grimaced with a hatred of their northern enemy, welling up from deep within their wounded souls. Officers were the most marked in their transformation. One after the other, as they each in turn called their troops into close march half step parade order; the officers guided their men to the grass beside the road, gave their formations halt; then right faced them to front the graveled country road.
As the horse soldiers clattered past, each officer called his troops to order; they saluted, and the officer drew his ceremonial sword in glittering salute, respecting the cavalry troops spiriting past. It wasn't until the dust of their passage settled, and the horse steps had echoed into the background that the formations of soldiers were smartly called to rest.
When the cavalry passed that last group of men, entering the town square; as the last formation of troops was given parade rest by their officer... Well, a mighty cry erupted spontaneously from the assembled men. Hats flew into the air, often accompanied by bloody curses directed at the Yankees; hands clapped, and stanzas of Confederate battle hymns careened through the afternoon breeze. This otherworldly cacophony accompanied the cavalry troop, now entering the town square mounted upon their magnificent steeds.
The head of the forty odd cavalry troops passed the Stars and Bars to his second in command, then dismounted and approached the union officers assembled in the square to execute the terms of surrender. A Colonel's eagle glittered on the rebel leader's shoulders, and a crimson red sash was a dash of color to his tattered gray Confederate uniform.
The rest of the troop made as if to dismount themselves; but the Colonel turned and motioned them not to. The union officers immediately unholstered their weapons, as if to quell this last minute rebellion by these stalwart hold outs. The rebel Colonel strode forward, unfazed, and unflinching as if to say fire and I dare say you will immediately invoke the wrath of the Almighty. Your call.
Reaching the senior officer's make shift desk he asked the general politely if he would permit the cavalry troop to keep their arms and remain under their Confederate flag as they were to henceforth conduct a military investigation at the request of the City of Vicksburg. The general consulted with his staff, then gave reluctant approval. Van Dorn had been popular at West Point, and they were as anxious as the City to know the circumstances of his murder.
The Colonel remained behind to complete the paperwork, and motioned his men to immediately head out of town, to the north. They would not do so, but waited patiently for the formalities to be completed. At last the deed was done, and the Colonel stood, saluted, and turned to rejoin his men. He mounted up, took the Confederate battle flag from his top sergeant and the headed out of town, to set up their tents on a bluff north of town.
As the last cavalry trooper passed the group of union officers, one of the Yankees shouted out after them - who in hell's name are you men. No response. Then, who's the Colonel.
The name's Colonel J.O.B. Clark, saying the letters as one syllable ~ the Colonel being named alike the Biblical paragon who had a few words with God Almighty Himself. Then, with a start, the cavalry trooper let out a rebel yell as the rest of the troop went to a full, frothing gallop. They call us the Missouri Volunteers, the Rebel sergeant yelled out to the Yankee soldiers, rushing then to catch up to his friends.
A short while later, General Ulysses Grant showed up. To a man the Yankee surrender detail jumped to their feet. The General remained mounted, preferring to look down upon his subordinates. With a gruff voice he inquired about the battalion of reinforcements due from Arkansas, they were late and the men needed to be relieved for some much deserved rest and relaxation.
Just then a furious volley of gunfire erupted a few miles to the north of the encampment, so voluminous as to cause some of the soldiers in the city square to dive for cover. The General turned and quickly galloped to a nearby knoll, pulling field glasses out as he did so. A look of great consternation was upon his countenance.
Behind him the soldiers of the surrender detail were muttering amongst themselves. The officer in charge tracked down the soldier who had been seen talking to the departing Confederates, and inquired as to anything he had learned. The soldier told him.
Reiterated the officer in charge, sputtering; THE Colonel JOB Clark - "Vulture" Clark, with the Missouri Volunteers. You DAMN sure you heard them right soldier. Yes, sure. The officer in charge bleached white in the face, and stumbled over to seat himself upon a wooden bench. General Grant returned to camp right then, trotting right past the officer in charge; the junior staff officer didn't move a muscle he was so cataleptic.
The General called them to order and muttered something about extending duty call. Their relief was held up it seems. Then he told his next in command to send some men out to bring back the casualties in the brief engagement they'd just heard. Damn vultures are circling already, he said beneath his breath; never know how they do that so fast here down South.
The General, in departing, was most impressed that every Union soldier in town square had stood bolt upright, in rigid attention as he departed. Need more good discipline like that, he said to his self.
As the General trotted out of sight, the officer in charge - still collapsed on the bench - took a peak out of the corner of his eye, northward to spy the alleged vultures gathering. Sure enough, he grimaced; a veritable tornado of them was forming. It took every ounce of discipline he could muster to make is own way up to the knoll, to spy the situation in the field glasses. The ground was thick with dead and wounded, all in Yankee uniform.
Far in the distance a small billow of dust and smoke punctuated with the Confederate battle flag quickly retreated out of eye sight.
