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قراءة كتاب War Experiences and the Story of the Vicksburg Campaign from "Milliken's Bend" to July 4, 1863 being an accurate and graphic account of campaign events taken from the diary of Capt. J.J. Kellogg, of Co. B 113th Illinois volunteer infantry
تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"

War Experiences and the Story of the Vicksburg Campaign from "Milliken's Bend" to July 4, 1863 being an accurate and graphic account of campaign events taken from the diary of Capt. J.J. Kellogg, of Co. B 113th Illinois volunteer infantry
carefully over-stepping the sleeping forms that lay in his path. He carried a big satchel, and made manifest his mission when sufficiently near me. It was Ike, and he opened his remarks by saying "Thought 't was 'bout time we foddered up." He lounged down beside me.
"I was taking it pretty comp'table back yonder till the durned old engine just yanked me off my roost," he said.
He explored the inside of the old satchel, and brought out a goodly supply of provender. "The boys must have sung themselves to sleep," said I for want of something better to say.
"Yes," drawled Ike, as he sliced off two huge chunks of roast turkey breast. "They kept John Brown's body moulderin' in the grave till it seemed to me the corpse got mighty stale. I tell ye, Jack, we may fetch the rebs down with our muskets," he continued, "an frighten them with wild whoops, but we'll never charm 'em much with our singin', I reckon," he mused as he busied himself spreading our lunch on the opposite seat.
"I guess the boys had to do something extraordinary to overcome the sad sensations the parting engendered," said I.
"Prob'ble," said Ike, as he bolted a ponderous chunk of roast turkey. "I felt 'siderable like yelpin' myself, but couldn't see as 'twould add anything much to the infernal racket, so I jes held my yelp."
I partook freely of the tempting lunch thus offered, and blessed the careful forethought of Mrs. Haywood which had supplied us such a luxury. Eating revived my spirits amazingly, and though not depressed by parting with relatives, as my relatives were all far away, yet I was terribly saddened by the goodbye from my best girl.
"Who knows," said I, "but what the war will soon wind up without much more fighting and bloodshed and we within a few weeks will go rattling back home over this road all safe and sound?"
"I don't know," said Ike, "mor'n you do, but I can't get the igee out of my head that we will yet see some of the dog blastedest fightin' and killin' afore we fellers return home that ever jarred the gable end of this 'ere universe. I tell you, Jack Kellogg," he continued, as he hurriedly imported the lunks, chunks and slabs of provender into his capacious mouth, "ef ther ain't no blood on the moon fore long then my cackalation has jumped a cog. I tell you this here thunderin' fuss of ringing bells, blowin' whistles, drummin' and fifin' and shootin' great guns and husselin' a lot of us fellers off down here atween two days, aint none of Mrs. Winslow's soothin' syrup, by a gol durned sight. It all means bloody noses an' black eyes, I tell ye, and there'll be vacant cheers 'nuff t' seat a concert hall fore it' all done with, I tell ye."
This was a long speech for Ike to make, but he made it in such an earnest manner with such impressive gestures and vigorous delivery that I was greatly impressed with the belief that his statements were probably true.
At many of the stations through which our train passed straggling soldiers were waiting to go to their commands, and boarded our train. And under the dim light of the station lamp we saw the weeping mother hold her soldier boy close to her aching heart as they kissed the last long, good-bye kiss. Those affecting scenes so often re-enacted before us contributed in no small degree to intensify the solemnity of that hour. At one station standing on the depot platform was an ominous looking box, and in the few minutes we were delayed there we learned from an old gentleman that it contained the remains of his boy which he was taking back to mother and the old northern home for burial. His soldier boy had been killed in a skirmish with the rebels down in Missouri.
On the evening of the third day from home the train which bore our detachment pulled slowly into Cairo. In every direction as far as eye could discern, we saw an unbroken blaze of camp fires. An ear-splitting din of strange and unusual sounds filled the air. Mule drivers were haranguing their teams in blasphemous eloquence, as the poor creatures floundered through the bottomless roads, and liberally applied the merciless lash to the backs of those poor patient, overloaded creatures. The roll and beat of drums blended and echoed and swelled, filling the night with weird hoarse thunder. Distant headquarter bands were concerting noisily, and newly arrived commands went splashing along the muddy highways to some destination beyond the line of our vision. Staff officers and orderlies galloped their smoking steeds hither and yonder at wonderful speed. Black ambulances toiled slowly along the crowded tracks with their freight of the sick and suffering. Steamboats ablaze with signal lights coughed, whistled and wheezed out on the dark bosom of the Mississippi, while the volley of brays from the mule corral smote our ears like the concluding blasts of the very last trumpet.
"The hull United States seems to be goin' to roost down here," observed Ike as he leaned out of one of the car windows and observed the situation.
"Beats a camp meeting," chipped in somebody else.
"Don't seem to be much discipline in this end of the army," said another.
"I reckon they'll have to cheese this racket 'fore they catch any fish," another remarked.
And all these and many other comical remarks were made by our boys, as they contemplated the new situation from the cars and patiently awaited orders to go to camp.
It was indeed a great relief to us when an orderly bestriding a jaded, mud-bespattered horse finally rode up and informed us that he would take us to camp. Accordingly we disembarked, fell into line and set out for our campground.
After a deep wading, tiresome zigzagging along miserable roads, devious and uncertain paths and blind trails, across sloppy and splashy summer-fallows, for what seemed an interminable distance, we at last reached camp.
In anticipation of our coming, the camp boys had prepared us a regulation army supper consisting mainly of beans, bacon, rice and hard tack, with the usual black coffee accompaniment. Notwithstanding the rude coarse rations, the hungry recruits laid to and ate with a wonderful relish and offered no excuses. To be sure, as the supper progressed, many humorous observations were made by the boys, touching the kinds and quality of Uncle Sam's menu and the manner of its service. Notwithstanding the coarse rations offered and the fact that every mother's son of them had been continually gormandizing ever since we left home, each did ample justice to his first army supper. Haywood discovered the corpse of a lightning bug embalmed in his plate of beans, and another equally as observing and curious fished the remains of an unknown beetle out of his rice. A detachment of daddy long legs charged to and fro across the bacon platter, and divers bugs and insects swarmed around the sputtering candles. One recruit soaked his hard tack in his coffee until it bloated up like a toad, and Ike, while wrestling with a piece of swine belly, allowed he probably "wasn't the first feller that had had holt of that."
"Ike, how do you like the grub?" asked Tom, when he had lounged down beside a stump, after eating.
"Better'n I 'spected," said Ike, "Haint got used to them tacks yet, but the pepper'n salt was passable."
Then we stowed away our luggage, finding places for our traps and boxes, and selecting sleeping places. Observing that two blankets could be utilized by two persons bunking

