At Ten O'clock, the Confederate army filed out of its line with colors flying. When the Southerners reached the checkpoints between the lines, they saluted their flags, neatly stacked their arms, and marched back to the city.
The Union troops stood along their trench line watching in silence. There was little cheering, and what could be heard was not in celebration, but rather in salute to a worthy adversary. It was not the time or place for gloating, not when the Yankees saw how weak and thin, how dispirited, the rebels were.
Shortly after the Confederate troops returned to the city, Gen. John Logan marched his division into Vicksburg to formally take possession. His men were parade-ground smart. They had blackened their boots, put on their best uniforms, and added their seldom-worn paper collars and white gloves. The division band played 'Hail Columbia' followed by 'The Star-Spangled Banner'. Many men broke into tears, but they straightened their backs and marched as if those dusty roads under the hot Mississippi sun were the site of a grand review.
Logan's soldiers did not cheer when they reached the center of town. They were too appalled by the physical appearance of the rebels. In sympathy, past animosities melted away. The Confederates were starving; the Yankees were well fed. Within minutes, the Northerners pulled hardtack biscuits from their haversacks and passed them around. An officer in the Quartermaster Corps broke open his wagons and emptied them of bread, real coffee, and sugar—luxuries the Confederates had not seen in many weeks.
The troops mingled easily. The Confederate soldiers wolfed down their food and joked with the men in blue. As General Grant put it, 'The men of the two armies fraternized as if they had been fighting for the same cause'….
Isaac Jackson recalled, 'I was talking with one who had been eating mule meat for four days and but one biscuit per day for over a week. This is a fact. It looked hard to see the poor fellows pitch in to our hardtack, which our boys gave them. We had plenty, and they carried them off by the armload. Poor fellows, they needed them.
The Most Glorious Fourth by Duane Schultz, W.W. Norton & Company New York. 2002. pp. 361-63