GROUP ONE:
May 17, 1863  8:30 in the morning.

Leonard and I were having breakfast this morning when the door bell rang.  
It was our neighbor, Mr. Jessup, out of breath and looking wild-eyed.   
"Mr. Jackson, they are upon us!  The Yankees will be here by this evening."

"What do you mean?" Leonard barked.

"Pemberton has been whipped at Baker's Creek.”

“Oh no!” I gasped.  I dropped the cup I had been holding.

“Yes,” Mr. Jessup nodded, almost gleefully.  “And the Confederate army is running 
back here as fast as they can come and the Yanks are after them.”

The dog seemed to know something was happening and whined as he cowered 
beneath the couch.  

“Mrs. Jackson, Ma’am, I don’t think anything can stop them.”  Just then we heard 
the sound of gunfire, far away.

“Mercy!” I cried.  “The Yankees are coming!”  We slammed the door and locked it tight.  

May 17, 1863  3:00 in the afternoon

That afternoon, three worn-out-looking men sat with a thud down 
underneath our window.  

"What is the news?" I inquired.

"Ze army.  She is in retreat.  Retreat!" they said, in broken English--
they were from Louisiana.

Soon after, the men began marching into town.  Ragged men came limping along, 
dragging broken guns in the dirt behind them.  Wheezing through lungs that had 
breathed cannon smoke for too many days, the ragged, footsore men begged 
for any food we might have to share.  Behind them came the crunch of wagon wheels, 
bringing ambulances full of the moaning wounded, cannons that had fired the last 
of the ammunition, wagons piled high with Confederate dead.  At twilight a band 
somewhere began playing Dixie in a mournful, off-key way.  We could hear drums 
beating all around the city, calling the scattered army back to their posts.  

GROUP THREE
June 20, 1863  Noon

For weeks now, the siege of Vicksburg has dragged on.  We are utterly cut off from the world, surrounded by a circle of fire. The fiery shower of shells goes on day and night.

Leonard cannot go into work as his office is closed.  So, he sits all day, rocking in his chair and smoking his cigars. 

No one knows what to do.  People do nothing but eat what they can get, sleep when they can, and dodge the shells.  No one has seen the dog for days.  Just now a shell struck our yard and felled the old willow that’s been there for 200 years.  When will the Yankees stop?

Every day, three times a day, we know we will have some peace.  About eight in the morning, at noon – just now – and again in the evening, the shelling stops.  Perhaps the gunners are eating or cooling their guns.  Then we have an eerie quiet and can go outside to bring in what food there is left.  But there is not much left. 

Ah!  The shelling starts again.  My nerves are shattered.  I fear it will not be long until all of Vicksburg is out of food and there is nothing left but to surrender.