September 7, 1863

September 7, 1863

---In Arkansas, as Gen. Frederick Steele’s Federals advance upon the river crossings that would give access to Little Rock, Gen. Sterling Price finds that his two principal commanders, Gen. Marsh Walker and Gen. John Marmaduke, are at odds with one another, all communication between the two wings of the Rebel force having broken down.  In explanation, Marmaduke reports that Walker habitually “avoided all positions of danger.”  Walker takes offense, and issues a challenge.  In spite of Price’s attempts to stop the duel, Marmaduke and Walker meet early this morning, each armed with a Colt revolver.  They each miss the first shot, and with his second, Marmaduke wounds Walker in the side, a wound from which Walker dies a few days later.  Walker sends a message to Marmaduke forgiving him.  Price wants to arrest Marmaduke, but lets him go, since he needs field commanders in the current emergency.

---Heavy shelling continues in Charleston Harbor, as Union forces prepare to assault Fort Sumter.

---The Richmond Examiner publishes an editorial on the coarse and rural baseness of Pres. Lincoln.  In our time, we have trouble figuring out what the fuss is about.  In case you miss the incriminating vulgarity, I put it in italics for you:

Whether ferocity, folly or beastly vulgarity is the predominating characteristic of the monstrous utterance with which Lincoln, the Yahoo President, to-day insults the human kind, is a question not easily decided. That such a creature should be the chief figure in such a period; that this compound of brute and buffoon should be master of the situation in one of the most awful convulsions remembered in history; is a fact not indeed unparalleled, but of rare occurrence.

 Cromwell was a joker, and Cæsar a filthy man, but they kept their jests and their lusts in chambers, and displayed their stupendous abilities and terrible power to the world. But the Representative Man of the model republic and its revolution delights to display the proportions of his mind, and the qualities of his heart undisguised, in official papers, as in barroom talks.

“Nor must Uncle Sam’s noble fleet be forgotten,” says the grog shop President. “At all the watery margins they have been present. Not only on the deep sea, the broad bay, the rapid river, but also up the narrow, muddy bayou, and wherever the ground was a little damp, they have been and made their tracks.”

Shade of Washington! is this thy successor? Can this be the man in whose hand rests the resources of the United States, and who controls a million of soldiers? . . .

Yet the reader will not smile, and disgust will vanish, before stronger sentiments when he has reflected on the intent and prospect revealed in this degraded language. . . . Such is the future of the war. Such is the man of destiny.

---Jenkin Lloyd Jones, of the 6^th Battery of Artillery from Wisconsin, writes in his journal of a foraging expedition:

                                                                                                                          Vicksburg, Monday, Sept. 7. To break the monotony of camp, Evie and myself obtained permission to go outside the lines. We mounted our steeds and passed through a port hole in the line to evade the guards, as we had no pass. We rode out about three miles before we saw a house.

   House No. 1, stopped to get a drink; three women, no men around. She had lost four cows and wanted to know who stole them, suspected a one legged nigger, she “would be dagged if she wouldn’t cut off his other leg.”

   House No. 2. We were looking for horses, examined one tied at the door. “The old woman came out haggling, excited, claiming protection by her papers. We told her it was all right and rode on, leaving her to hate the Yankees.

   House No. 3. Two fine looking young ladies there. Inquired for milk to drink. A little black girl brought us some buttermilk—good, tasted like home. Gave the blushing Confederate miss a quarter and left.

   House No. 4. Examined a negro, pretending him to be a suspicious character, but finally concluded he was all right. Pound plenty of nice tomatoes in the old secesh camp growing wild. Picked lots of muskatines and grapes, and returned via old position. Arrived in camp 3 P. M. tired but well pleased with our adventure. Company had received marching orders.