General Banks, with a substantial force, was at Port Hudson, two hundred and fifty miles down the river. The two armies were expected by the authorities at Washington to co-operate with each other in an attack upon Pittsburg or Port Hudson. Grant had heard from Banks that he could not come to him at Grand Gulf for weeks. Instantly his purpose crystallized. His resolve was made. He would not go to Banks at Port Hudson nor would he wait for him at Grand Gulf. Waiting meant delay. Delay meant strengthened fortifications and a re-enforced enemy. He would move independently of Banks. His army was inferior in numbers to the aggregate forces of the enemy, but he would invade Mississippi, fight and defeat whatever force he found east of Vicksburg, and invest that city from the rear. And he would not wait a day. He would move at once. He would go now—go swiftly to Jackson, destroy or drive away any force in that direction, and then turn upon Pemberton and drive him into Vicksburg. He would keep his own army a compact force—“round as a cannon ball,” and he would fight and defeat the enemy in detail before his forces could be concentrated. The concept was worthy of Napoleon in his best moments. It was remarkably brilliant, audaciously daring. It was the turning point in Grant’s career—a momentous hour, big with destiny for him, his army, and his country. In its chalice was Vicksburg—Chattanooga—Spotsylvania—Appomattox—national solidarity—and deathless personal fame. The decision was made without excitement, without a tremor of the pulse, in the calmness of conscious power. John Hay fancifully compares his action at this time “to that of the wild bee in the Western woods, who, rising to the clear air, flies for a moment in a circle, and then darts with the speed of a rifle bullet to its destination.” A long-established and universally accepted axiom of war—one that ought in no case to be violated—required any great body of troops moving against an enemy to go forward only from an established base of supplies, which, together with the communications thereto, should be carefully covered and guarded as the one thing upon which the life of the movement depended. The idea of supporting a moving column in the enemy’s country from the country itself was regarded as impractical and perilous, if not actually impossible. The movement he had determined upon would uncover his base and imperil his communications. Defeat meant irremediable failure and disgrace. The hazard seemed so great, and the proposal so contrary to all the accepted maxims of war and military precedents, that Sherman, seeing the danger, urged Grant “to stop all troops till the army is partially supplied with wagons, and then act as quickly as possible, for this road will be jammed as sure as life.”