e was too strong, and the attack was repulsed,
with heavy loss. Grant then settled down to a siege, and Lincoln and
Halleck now sent him ample reinforcements. He no longer needed to ask
for them. His campaign had explained itself, and in a short time he
had seventy thousand men under his command. His lines were soon made so
strong that it was impossible for the defenders of Vicksburg to break
through them, and although Johnston had gathered troops again to the
eastward, an assault from that quarter on the National army, now so
largely reinforced, was practically out of the question. Tighter and
tighter Grant drew his lines about the city, where, every day, the
suffering became more intense. It is not necessary to give the details
of the siege. On July 4, 1863, Vicksburg surrendered, the Mississippi
was in control of the National forces from its source to its mouth, and
the Confederacy was rent in twain. On the same day Lee was beaten at
Gettysburg, and these two great victories really crushed the Rebellion,
although much hard fighting remained to be done before the end was
reached.

Grant's campaign against Vicksburg deserves to be compared with that of
Napoleon which resulted in the fall of Ulm. It was the most brilliant
single campaign of the war. With an inferior force, and abandoning
his lines of communication, moving with a marvelous rapidity through a
difficult country, Grant struck the superior forces of the enemy on the
line from Jackson to Vicksburg. He crushed Johnston before Pemberton
could get to him, and he flung Pemberton back into Vicksburg before
Johnston could rally from the defeat which had been inflicted. With an
inferior force, Grant was superior at every point of contest, and he won
every fight. Measured by the skill displayed and the result achieved,
there is no campaign in our history which better deserves study and
admiration.

ROBERT GOULD SHAW

Brave, good, and true,
I see him stand before me now,
And read again on that young brow,
Where every hope was new,
HOW SWEET WERE LIFE! Yet, by the mouth firm-set,
And look made up for Duty's utmost debt,
I could divine he knew
That death within the sulphurous hostile lines,
In the mere wreck of nobly-pitched designs,
Plucks hearts-ease, and not rue.

Right in the van,
On the red ramparts slippery swell,
With heart that beat a charge, he fell,
Foeward, as fits a man;