Before Vicksburg, Thursday, June 25. Our curiosity was awakened this morning by an order to each piece to deposit all their slow-matches at Captain’s tent, we knew not for what purpose. But we soon learned that it was to convey fire to the blast placed under the big fort to our right (in Logan’s line). A drift 37 feet deep was run under it with chambers parallel to the fort. In this was deposited — lbs. of powder (by the trusty negro). Orders were given to the several sergeants to have the cannoneers at their posts at 2 P. M. at which time the fort was “to be blown up” and a general cannonading to be immediately opened.
As the hour approached, all hands were anxiously waiting, each desirous of witnessing the result. It was dull and very oppressive; all nature seemed drooping, and ominous silence prevailed on both sides; not a flutter of air, not a word was spoken, and you could hear naught but your own silent breath. All at once a dead heavy roll, a hundred shouts, and you could see nothing but a black cloud of dirt and powder smoke, throwing the earth 30 or 40 feet in the air, and about half of the wall rolled over the ditch as if turned by a ponderous plow. Instantaneous with this was the crack of a hundred cannon, as if they were all pulled off by one lanyard, and a furious cannonading answered, while the infantry advancing with a yell that none but soldiers can give, rushed up the breastworks, and a galling fire ensued between the rebs at the bottom and at the top. Our men tried hard to dislodge them and take possession of the fort, but it was too much. They lay on the ground until night, elevating their guns above their heads to shoot, while some obtained concealed positions, firing while those below were loading for them. A stand of colors was brought up and planted. Hand grenades were tossed back and forth with great briskness. Some were digging for a piece of artillery, an engagement in which valor and courage are signalized.
