John Hay says of him: “All his faculties seemed sharpened by the emergency. There was nothing too large for him to grasp; nothing small enough for him to overlook.” He gave “direction to generals, sea-captains, quartermasters, commissaries, for every incident of the opening of the campaign, then mounted his horse and rode to his troops.” And then, for three weeks, in quick and dazzling succession, came staggering, stunning blows, one after the other—Raymond—Jackson—Champion’s Hill—The Big Black—until he stood with his army at the very gates of Vicksburg!
The government, hearing that he had left Grand Gulf for the interior of Mississippi without supplies or provision for communication with his base, telegraphed him in concern and alarm to turn back and join Banks at Port Hudson. The despatch reached him days after at the Big Black Bridge, while the battle there was in progress. The message was handed him. He read it; said it came too late, that Halleck would not give it now if he knew his position. As he spoke the cheering of his soldiers could be heard. Looking up he saw Lawler, in his shirt sleeves, leading a charge upon the enemy, in sight of the messenger who bore the despatch. Wheeling his horse, he rode away to victory and to Vicksburg, leaving the officer to ruminate as long as he liked upon the obsolete message he had brought.
I have spoken much of Grant. There is reason that I should. No campaign of the war is so insolubly linked with the personality of the commanding general as the Vicksburg campaign.
For three weeks he was the Army of the Tennessee. He dominated it absolutely. His personality, with its vigor and its action, was in all, through all, over all. His corps and divisions were commanded by great men, but, with a single exception, they were loyal and devoted and reflected his will, and sought the achievement of his purpose in every act and movement. During these days Sherman was his right arm, McPherson his left, and neither ever failed him. The whole army, officers and men, caught his spirit and shared his indomitable purpose. Nothing could daunt it or turn it aside. There was no service it did not perform, no need it did not meet. It had capacity for everything. Grant justly said: “There is nothing which men are called upon to do, mechanical or professional, that accomplished adepts can not be found for the duty required in almost every regiment. Volunteers can be found in the ranks and among the commanding officers to meet any call.” Every obstacle was overcome; every difficulty surmounted. When bridges were burned, new ones were built in a night, or the streams forded. In every event the light of the morning found his soldiers on the same side of the river with the enemy. If rains descended and floods came, they marched on though the roads were afloat with water. They fought and marched, endured and toiled, but they did not complain or even murmur. They, as well as their officers, understood the value of the stake for which they struggled. They knew they were marching and fighting and toiling under the eye of a great commander, one who knew where he was going and how to go; that there was no hardship which he did not share, no task from which he shrunk. Weary from much marching, they marched on; worn from frequent fighting, they fought on; all but exhausted from incessant toil, they toiled on, in a hot climate, exposed to all sorts of weather, through trying and terrible ordeals, watching by night and by day, until they stood in front of the rifle pits and of the batteries of the city, and even here they would not be content until they were led in assault upon the enemy’s works and had stood upon their parapets in a vain but glorious struggle for their possession.
What a story it is! How it stirs the blood! How it inspires to love of country! How it impels to high endeavor! And what a valorous foe they met! They were, and are, thank God, our countrymen—besiegers and besieged. In their veins flowed kindred blood—blood that leaps and burns in ours to-day. They differed. Differed until at last the parliament of debate was closed, and then, like men, they fought their differences out, in open war—on the field of battle—sealing the settlement with their blood and giving the world a new concept of human valor.
There were wounds. There was suffering. There was heartache. There were asperities. There was death. There was bereavement. These were inevitable. But there was a nobility about it all, that, seen through the intervening years, silences discord, softens hate, and makes forgiveness easy. To-day we laugh and weep together. Wounds are healed; asperities are forgotten; the past is remembered without bitterness; glory hovers like a benediction over this immortal field and guards with solemn round the bivouac of all the dead, giving no heed to the garb they wore. Their greatness is the legacy of all—the heritage of the Nation. Reconciliation has come with influences soft and holy. The birds build nests in yonder cannon. The songs of school children fill the air.
Indiana has come to Mississippi to dedicate monuments erected by her to the memory of her soldiers, living and dead, who struggled here; but she comes with malice toward none, with love for all. With you, sir, the Governor of this Commonwealth, and with your people she would pour her tribute of tears upon these mounds where sleep sixteen thousand of our uncommon common dead. Her troops were here with Grant. One of her regiments, the 6th, sought out the way for the army beyond the river yonder. They were the “entering wedge.” They were in every battle. At Champion’s Hill, Hovey’s division bore for hours the battle’s brunt. Fighting under the eye of the great general himself, they captured a battery, lost it, and recaptured it, and at night slept upon the field wet with their blood.
This gray-haired general here (General McGinnis) was with them. He is a member of the commission that erected these granite tributes, and has in charge these ceremonies. He has come to lend the benediction of his presence to this occasion, and to look again upon the ground where so many dramatic and tragic scenes were enacted—scenes in which he had honorable share—scenes that were burned into the very fiber of his young manhood’s memory, and which he would not forget if he could. His days have been long lengthened. We are glad and grateful that he is here. His associates on the commission were here; and so were these battle-scarred veterans standing here round about you. They give character and purpose to this occasion and a benediction to this service. Through them and their comrades, and the great Army in Gray with whom they contended, both we and you are beginning to understand the message and the meaning of the war. They have taught us charity and forgiveness. We are coming “to know one another better, to love one another more.” Here upon these hills and heights was lighted the torch of a national life, that to-day is blessing, enlightening, and enriching the peoples of the earth. Our prayer—a prayer in which we are sure your hearts are joined with ours—is, that this mighty Nation, grown great and powerful, may know war no more, forever; that it may walk uprightly, deal justly with its own people and with all nations; that its purpose may be hallowed, its deeds ennobled, its glory sanctified, by the memories of the crucible through which it came, and that in the future if war must come, its sword may be drawn only in Freedom’s cause, and that its soldiery in such case may acquit themselves as nobly as did those who struggled here.
Mr. Chairman and Gentlemen of the Commission, in the name of the State of Indiana and on her behalf, I accept these splendid monuments and these markers you have erected and which you have so eloquently tendered me, and in the name of the State and on behalf of her people, Captain Rigby, I now present them to you, as the representative of the National Government, and give them through you into its keeping, to be held and kept forever as a sacred trust—a reminder to the countless thousands that in the gathering years may look upon them, of the share Indiana had in the great campaign that ended here July 4, 1863.