In opening the subject of my experiences as a private in the War of the
Rebellion, I hardly know how to begin as this is the first time I have
attempted to write at length upon this subject. I earnestly hope that
all those who read this little book will excuse all grammatical errors.
Fifty years have come and gone and as my life has been spared to see
the fiftieth anniversary of my army life, and as I kept a diary during
my term of service in the War of the Rebellion, I thought it no more
than right and just to myself and descendants that I leave in book form
some of the many experiences I saw and passed through during that time.
It seemed to me that it was a grand opportunity on this the fiftieth
anniversary to do it, if I ever did. Hoping that this account of my
army life may be highly appreciated and prized by my children and
grandchildren and any others that may be interested, I will endeavor to
give a complete account as I saw and recorded events.
I was a Vernon Center boy but was working in the town of Glastonbury,
when the war broke out, with Hubbard and Broadhead at teaming and farm
work. At this time the gloom was deep but the people were not
discouraged. At the request of the governors of eighteen loyal states,
President Lincoln, on July 2nd, 1862, called out three hundred thousand
men for three years' service, and on August 4, ordered a call for three
hundred thousand men for nine months. At this time it was hard to tell
what one's duty was, but I had made up my mind to go and of course I
have never been sorry, as I look back and say with just pride that I
was one who went out to help save our Republic from dissolution and
preserve civilization itself on this Western Hemisphere from
destruction.
I fear I have been wandering from my subject already but I could not
help giving expression to the thoughts that were burning within me.
Yes, I was a Vernon Center boy, my father moving there when I was
sixteen years old. I enlisted September 2nd, 1862, in Company G,
Twenty-fifth Regiment, C.V. Our company met in Hartford, near the old
State House (what is now City Hall), on the morning of September 8th.
We marched down to camp before noon on that day, but instead of finding
tents to sleep in we found a string of barracks long enough for a
thousand men. I want to tell you how they looked as I remember them.
They resembled the cattle sheds that we see nowadays at our fairs,
except that they were built with three tiers, instead of one. The bunks
were made for two men, one above the other, about four feet wide. Of
course we had to have a little straw to lay over the "soft side" of the
boards. This building I believe we named "The Palace Hotel" because of
its "great beauty and comfort." I wonder if you can imagine how
tempting those bunks looked after leaving the good beds that we had
been accustomed to. I think there were some pretty homesick boys that
first night in our new quarters, if I remember correctly. But the food!
Well, I don't think I had better say much about that, for I had been a
farmer boy and I think I had the advantage over some of the boys, as I
knew what it was to rough it and go without my dinner in the winter
time when the days were short and I would be out in the woods all day
chopping, or drawing logs with an ox team.
We left our old camp ground on November 18, 1862, with flying colors,
to the tune of "Dixie" and "The Star Spangled Banner," and other
patriotic airs. But all this did not occur without many tearful eyes,
for the streets were crowded with friends and loved ones that were to
be left behind. We pulled out of the dock at the foot of State street
on the steamer City of Hartford about four o'clock in the afternoon. We
arrived at Williamsburg, L.I., early the next morning, and the good
people of that city treated us with all the sandwiches and coffee that
we wanted. We marched about ten miles, with a portable bureau or what
you might call a knapsack on our backs, before one o'clock that day, to
the Centerville race course. We pitched our tents and made things as
comfortable as we could for the night as you must know it was quite
cold weather, it being the last of November. There is no place that
reveals the real character of a man so quickly and so clearly as a
shelter tent in an army on the field. All there is in him, be it noble
or base, strong or weak, is brought to the front by the peculiar
experiences of the soldier. The life of a soldier in camp is tedious
and wearisome, but when a regiment starts for the field under a
government not prepared for war (ours was not), the real trials of the
soldier begin. When our regiment arrived at the camp at Centerville,
after a march of ten miles, we found that no provision had been made
for us,--and it now being the last of November. In the small hours of
the morning Colonel Bissell drilled the regiment on a double quick
movement on the race course to warm us up. The regiment was ordered to
embark on November 29. The Twenty-fifth regiment was to have started on
Saturday when lo! just as we were drawn up in line preparatory to a
start, General Banks' orderly gallops up, bringing an order for
Companies C, D, F, and G to remain behind and go with the Twenty-sixth
Connecticut. Here was a pretty fix, for tents, baggage, and everything
had already gone. To add to our troubles up came one of the hardest
rainstorms, such as only Long Island can produce. As there was no other
place, we were compelled to quarter in the old barn which was later
turned into a guard house, where we slept on bare boards. Not a wisp of
straw had we to lie on, for it was so rainy we could not gather any.
On the evening of the fourth of December, we received marching orders,
and at about 8 o'clock, we were very glad to get away from this
forsaken place, which we did in a hurry. We arrived in Brooklyn about
12 o'clock that night and I assure you it was no easy matter to find a
place to stay till morning. It was a long cold December night. The men
got places wherever they could find them. I and several other comrades
stayed with a Doctor Green. We were up early in the morning and the
doctor wanted us all to stay and have breakfast with him, an invitation
which we accepted with thanks. I wrote a letter to my mother while
there.
On the morning of the fifth of December we embarked on the steamer
Empire City with the Twenty-sixth Connecticut Regiment. The men of the
Twenty-sixth were in the hold of the vessel while the Twenty-fifth men
took a deck passage which we didn't appreciate especially at this
season of the year, December 6th. We left the Atlantic Dock, Brooklyn,
at six o'clock that morning. We hadn't been out long before the water
became quite rough and the steamer plunged and rolled dreadfully which
made the soldiers very sea-sick.
December 7th was dark and boisterous and the good old ship creaked and
swayed on the mighty deep. By the way, I hadn't been sea-sick since we
left the Atlantic dock, but I could not help laughing, the first day we
were out, to see the guards of the vessel from stem to stern lined up
with anxious sea-gazers, their knees knocking together, their
countenances ashen and a very intimate connection evidently existing
between the stomach and the mouth. Even my risibiles were aroused
though myself not entirely insensible to the attractions of Neptune.
December 8th. It was Sunday and when daylight came it brought with it a
calmer sea and a more jolly set of soldiers, although the water was
several inches deep on deck. That day was spent, as all others, without
any religious exercises so we had nothing to do but watch the
porpoises, of which there had been a great many in sight all day.
We had been out of sight of land since the previous day at noon. Well,
we had found out where our expedition was going. It was going to sea.
One thing was certain, we were going pretty far south.
December 9th. The weather had become quite fine. The boys had, most of
them, gotten over being sea-sick. As the Twenty-sixth boys began to
feel as though they had rather be on deck than down in that dirty hole,
we were in pretty close quarters, for I think there were as many as
twelve hundred men on this old unseaworthy ship which had been used as
a transport in the California trade for a great many years. So I was
told by Harlan Skinner, who went out as Sutler's clerk of the
Twenty-fifth Regiment. (He was a brother of Town Clerk Francis B.
Skinner of Rockville and went to California on board of her in 1849.)
December 10th. We were still out of sight of land. Some of us might be
imagined reading the Bible or some other interesting book and others
were lying asleep on deck, while the rest were watching and wondering
where we were going to land, I suppose.
December 11th. It was much warmer, and very pleasant. We were still out
of sight of land. Spying an English vessel, we ran up the Stars and
Stripes and they ran up their flag to let us know that all was right.
Some of the boys sang out, just for a little fun, that the old Rebel
gunboat Alabama was in sight.
December 12th we came in sight of the coast of Florida. We had seen the
trees and the snow white beach about all day. We also saw several
lighthouses. The porpoises and flying fish attracted a great deal of
attention and when a school came in sight, all eyes were turned upon
them.
December 13th. It has been very pleasant and there has been a smooth
sea, consequently we have had a very pleasant day's sail, with a cool
breeze. We have been out of sight of land all day, and we long to be on
shore once more. As we are so dove-tailed in, when we try to lie down
at night, we get very little sleep.
December 14th, Sunday. We were now in the Gulf of Mexico and there had
not been a living thing in sight all day. We had a sermon preached on
deck. The text was, "Thou shall not take the name of the Lord, thy God,
in vain."
December 15th. We arrived at Ship Island at noon and found about the
most God forsaken, miserable hole, man ever got into. The sand was
ankle deep everywhere. And such a lot of Negroes; shiftless, lazy dogs,
black as the ace of spades and twice as natural. But the little "nigs"
kill me outright, they looking so much like a lot of monkeys, I know of
nothing so comical. I could sit half the morning watching them and
hearing them jabber.
December 16th. We arrived at the mouth of the Mississippi River. A
pilot came aboard and took us over the bar in the river in compliance
with the rules of navigation. We had a very pleasant day's sail coming
up the old Mississippi. We saw many half clad slaves on the banks who
seemed much pleased to think that Massa Lincoln's soldiers were coming
to set them free. We arrived in New Orleans, La., on the 17th of
December and got our fill of oranges and victuals before the peddlers
were stopped from supplying us.
I want to tell you here what a beautiful sight a sunrise and sunset is
at sea. There is something very fascinating about it.
We arrived at Carrollton, just above New Orleans, and went ashore at
Camp Parapet, on the morning of December 18. We pitched our tents in
the afternoon and were very glad to be on land once more and have room
to lie down at night.
This completes my narrative of our sea voyage which I certainly have
never forgotten, after having such an experience as I had on a vessel
crowded to its utmost capacity and a deck passage at that.
December 19th. We have cleaned up, washed our clothing and are drying
it upon our backs, thereby saving the trouble of hanging it on the
bushes to dry.
December 20th. We received our rifles and now I suppose we shall have
to put on our accoutrements and get right down to drilling in the
manual of arms.
December 21st. I was on guard for the first time at Camp Parapet. I am
beginning to find out that camp life in Hartford, Connecticut, was
quite different from camp life of instruction at Camp Parapet, La.
From this date I shall omit many of the dates and unimportant events of
camp life, as one day we drill the next have inspection, so every day
brings us many troubles.
Christmas Day. We don't expect a very elaborate dinner. No doubt we
shall be thinking of the good things our friends and loved ones are
having at home. Such was a soldier's life fifty years ago.
December 30th. Wrote a letter to mother and put some small magnolia
leaves, a magnolia bud, a live oak, a cypress and several other
varieties into it which I have in my possession to this day. I had an
exquisitely fine sympathy with vegetable life in all its forms and
especially with trees.
I wrote at that time: "The country charms me with its magnificent lemon
and orange groves. The trees are perfectly bowed down with their weight
of fruit. Upon my word, I am in love with the Sunny South. I think when
this cruel war is over and I can find my affinity, I shall settle down
in this beautiful country for life. But I am not thinking much about
that just now, for the girls are not much in love with the Union
soldiers. The ladies here wear secesh cockades in their bonnets and it
is really amusing to see the curl of the lip and the contempt of
countenance with which they sweep by us. Of course it is no wonder,
when we take into consideration the way they have always lived, and
thought that they were fighting for a just cause."
The object of our expedition was to cooperate with General Grant in the
reduction of Vicksburg, but General Banks did not know until he arrived
at New Orleans that Port Hudson was fortified and manned by almost as
large a force as he could bring against it, or that fifty miles west of
New Orleans was a force of five or six thousand men ready to move on
the city and cut his lines of communication the moment he moved up the
river. In addition to this he was furnished with transportation for
only one division of his army and instructions from General Grant.
There was only one thing that could be done and that was to destroy the
Confederate Army west of the Mississippi; before he could, with safety,
leave New Orleans in the rear, and advance on Port Hudson. Therefore,
concentrating his army at Donaldsonville, we marched across the country
to Burwick's Bay and followed up the Bayou Teche to Alexandra, on the
Red River, to the Mississippi. We advanced upon Port Hudson from the
north.
On the 15th of January, 1863, our regiments at New Orleans were sent up
the river. We went on board a little steamer, called the Laurel Hill at
about eight o'clock in the evening. We arrived in Baton Rouge about one
o'clock on the sixteenth of January and had our tents pitched before
night. We were brigaded with the Thirteenth Connecticut, the
Twenty-sixth Maine and the One Hundred and Fifty-ninth New York, under
Colonel H. W. Birge as brigade commander. These regiments formed the
Third Brigade of the Fourth Division of the Nineteenth Army Corps,
General Grover division commander.
January 25th. We were now in the presence of the enemy and the position
assigned to the Twenty-fifth was on the extreme left in advance and we
were getting our first taste of active service.
January 26th. Our camp was about half a mile from the town, just on the
edge of a dense forest and cypress swamp. Last night I went out on
picket duty for the first time in Baton Rouge. General Payne warned us
that we must look out for the enemy. In the afternoon the officer of
the day came running his horse out where we were on picket and ordered
us to stand by our arms for there was danger of an attack. Toward night
we had a man badly wounded and he was sent to the hospital. During the
night there was a great deal of firing upon the out-posts. We certainly
thought there was going to be an attack and half the camp was up all
night.
January 27th. I came in from picket in the morning. We were relieved by
the Twenty-sixth Maine. We fired off our rifles at a target and started
for camp. We thought sometimes that Louisiana was a very "quare
country," as the Irish man said when he got lost in the woods, and ran
up against an owl in a tree, and thought it was a man calling to him.
The woods were plentifully stocked with game and we could hear most
every sound from the hooting of the owls, growling of wild hogs, to the
snarl of the wild-cat and cry of the opossum. It was also a strange
sight to see the limbs festooned from tree to tree. Some of them were
gigantic. The trees were covered with moss or vines that encircled
them. Strange as it may seem, we gathered this moss for bedding. I
wonder it didn't kill the whole lot of us, but I think the country
agreed with me, for I could sleep right on the ground under the
magnolia trees with nothing but a log for a pillow, while some of our
sentry kept watch.
[_January 28, 1913. It is with great sorrow that I sit down to
resume this narrative of my army life, for since my last writing I
have lost a dear son by death. He died on the morning of January
7th, after a long and painful illness of seventeen weeks, and was
laid to rest in Grove Hill cemetery on the afternoon of January
9th. Strange that this affliction should come on the fiftieth
anniversary of my hardships in the Civil War, but I thought that I
couldn't proceed until I had made mention of this sad trial._]
And now I must resume my story as best I can. For some weeks we had
been very busy doing picket and guard duty, and acquiring the use of
fire-arms. Everything seemed peaceful and quiet, but it was fearfully
cold. It was very singular weather. Following every rain-storm it
cleared intensely cold for several days; then it became very hot again;
next we had another storm to subdue the intense heat. I don't think
these sudden changes agreed with the men for we had a large number on
the sick list. Our ranks were very much reduced by sickness. Some of
the companies dwindled down to about half their original number. The
result was we had to work very hard; every day we had to have a large
number for picket and guard duty. It was a comical sight to see the men
going out on picket. First we had our overcoats and fixings, then our
cartridge box and belt, then in a sling a good sized blanket and a
rubber blanket, then the haversack with a day's rations and lastly the
coffee cup and canteen. The boys got up some fine dishes, although we
hardly knew how to name some of them, but they were fine. I managed to
get hold of some fish and made a delicious fry. Soaked it over night
with some hard tack and the next morning threw the pieces into a frying
pan (that our company had confiscated) along with a little salt pork;
to this I added a little concentrated milk that I happened to have;
next toasted some bread and poured the whole over it; why it was a dish
fit for anybody. We were glad to be able to get some soft bread; at
first we couldn't get anything but hard tack and very little of that.
Fresh meat we hadn't tasted since we landed till one day, when out on
picket, one of our boys caught a pig and we forthwith skinned and
roasted it. You can imagine that that pig tasted pretty good after
going without meat for over a month. The next day when we were out on
picket, a contraband brought us some fresh eggs and sweet potatoes, but
such instances were not very common. Why I became a nine-days' wonder
on returning to camp and relating my experience. We managed to get some
fun out of camp life, and my health was good (about this time I was
flourishing like the owl of the desert and the pelican of the
wilderness). One thing we missed was books. The only books we had were
our Testaments which I enjoyed reading very much, for I meant to read
some of it every day. The Testament I had was presented to me, about
the time we left Hartford for the seat of war, by a Vernon lady, and I
have it in my possession yet. I prize it still as a great treasure.
February 22d, Sunday, Washington's Birthday. Had inspection in the
forenoon and in afternoon we had a sermon preached to us by our
chaplain, Mr. Oviate, whom some might remember when he preached in
Somers, Connecticut.
February 23rd. I was detailed to go on guard duty this morning for 24
hours. The day was celebrated as Washington's Birthday and the boys had
a ball game. At sunset we had a dress parade and brigade review. Most
of the boys were getting pretty short of money, and if we sent any
letters home we had to have them franked as soldiers' letters. This
means that soldiers' letters can be sent without a stamp.
February 24th. Came off guard this morning; had the forenoon to myself;
in the afternoon we had a brigade drill under General Birge in the
unpleasant duty of reversed arms and rest, a duty which we were called
upon to perform quite often those days.
February 25th. I went to the hospital with Sergeant Sam Harding of our
company. It was a sickening sight to go over the hospital and see the
thin and wasted sufferers, many of them stretched on the floor with
only a blanket and scarce a comfort, let alone a luxury of any kind;
many of them stricken down in their strength by swamp fever; and one by
one they dropped off. They had not even seen the enemy. Poor fellows!
February 26th. It was a very rainy day and we stayed in our tents and
cleaned our muskets. Mortar and gunboats are daily arriving at this
port. We have six of the former and four or five of the latter. The
Confederate gunboats are continually making reconnoissance up the river
and occasionally give Port Hudson a taste of their shells. But most of
them give her a wide berth and I think they had better. By the way I
want to tell you how hard it was for us poor boys to get reading
matter. When the New York papers arrived they commanded 25 and 30 cents
apiece. You can see that we fellows had to go without, for we had not
received a cent of pay since arriving here. You can't imagine what it
is to be cut off from all communication from the outer world for a week
or ten days at a time as we were and during that interval hear nothing
but discouraging rumors and false reports circulated by the Rebels.
February 27th. Came off guard in a soaking rain, in a very cross state
of mind, but being neither sugar nor salt didn't melt away; but I felt
that I could stand it awhile longer if our hard-tack and salt horse
held out as well as it had and I felt it would, for I noticed that it
stood by pretty well.
Having a prisoner consigned to my tender mercy to be fed on the bread
of affliction and waters of repentance until further orders, this same
prisoner did at dead hour of night break from the guard-house and
abscond to his quarters, did there fare sumptuously on hard-tack and
salt-horse. This coming to the ears of the colonel he did get angry
with the officer of the guard and sending this same officer of the
guard a pair of hand-cuffs, did order to arrest this delinquent and
confine him in close quarters and in this performance a spirited
encounter did thereupon take place in which the offender did get upset
in one corner and the officer very nearly in the other; this criminal
being finally secured did create such a row he was forced to be gagged
and bound hand and foot.
That the weather hath proved very unpleasant for some time raining hard
most of the time when your humble servant did hope to go round and view
the pretty maidens of Baton Rouge and now that our three commissioned
officers not knowing better than to all fall sick at once and go to the
hospital, it bringeth us many cares when we had to have Lieutenant
Goodell of Company F detailed to take command of our company and that
the paymaster, (that much desired individual), hath again disappointed
us and we are here as usual without a cent to buy anything for our
comfort or luxury of any kind.
March 7th. However, this camp life was not to last. Admiral Farragut
wished to run his fleet past the batteries of Port Hudson so that we
might intercept the Red River traffic and cooperate with General Grant
at Vicksburg. Therefore he asked General Banks to make a demonstration
behind the fortress. This movement was intended to divert the attention
of the enemy. General Banks at once put his army in motion, and our
army, with a squadron of cavalry and a battery of regular artillery
men, commenced the advance.
March 9th. Had marching orders this morning and struck our tents about
seven o'clock. And we have been here all day waiting for orders to
start.
March 10th. We had marching orders this morning and left camp about
five o'clock; when we got outside the picket lines, our regiment was
detailed to do skirmish duty and we immediately deployed on both sides
of the road and into the woods, when we came to the remnants of a
bridge that had been destroyed by the Confederates. We halted here and
our regiment was sent out on picket duty for the night.
March 11th. This morning we had a sharp skirmish with the enemy. One
man was killed in Company I. His name was Rockwell.
March 12th. Last night one-half of our regiment stood by our arms for
fear of an attack. Sergeant Benjamin Turner and myself were up together
on the same post. Our army at this time was within cannon shot of the
Confederate works, but they could not get their guns up in time to be
of any service. We were witnesses of a terrible scene, at 1:20 A.M. Two
rockets burst into the air and in an instant all the guns of the
fortress lit up the darkness with the flash of their firing. The fleet
replied and until half past one, the roar of one hundred and fifty guns
was incessant. To add terror to the awful scene, the U.S. Frigate
Mississippi, which had grounded, was set on fire to save her from
capture. She was soon wrapped in flames and lighted up the sky for
miles around. This good old gunboat which had been in so many battles
went up with a terrific explosion. This desperate enterprise consisted
of four ships, and three gunboats, the latter being lashed to the port
side of the ships. But only the Hartford, which flew the Admiral's
dauntless blue, and her consort, the little Albatross, succeeded in
running past the batteries. The other ships were disabled by the
enemy's fire and dropped down stream. The Mississippi, which had no
consort, grounded and to save the lives of her men was abandoned and
fired.
March 15th. We started at two o'clock on our return march for Baton
Rouge. When we had been on our way a short time, a hard thunder shower
came up, and it rained hard until we halted for camp about eight miles
from Baton Rouge. It was a wet, muddy place, and we named it Camp
Misery. It was very dark and it continued to rain at times during all
that long dreary night. Our quartermaster, John Ives, furnished us with
coffee which he brought from Baton Rouge. I think that we must have had
it about every hour during the night.
[Illustration: DR. ALDEN B. SKINNER
Deceased
1st Surgeon 25th Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers, who
enlisted at the age of 62.]
I cannot refrain from speaking right here of our first surgeon, Dr.
Alden Skinner, who went out with the Twenty-fifth Regiment. For it was
at Camp Misery that Dr. Alden Skinner, father of Town Clerk Francis B.
Skinner, contracted a cold that developed into pneumonia and resulted
in his death a short time later. Dr. Skinner, after whom the Rockville
Sons of Veterans named their camp, was a highly respected Rockville
physician, who went with us down into that Rebel stronghold in 1862, as
many in town will remember. He was a man of many noble qualities. I
knew him personally, for I had lived with him one winter when I
attended school in Rockville. I felt it a great personal loss, as well
as a loss to the regiment when he died. I desire to express myself at
some length relative to this good man who gave his life for our
country's cause fifty years ago about March 30th, 1863. He was very
kind to me when we were encamped at Baton Rouge and especially when
that thunder shower came up, as we were marching back from our first
advance on Port Hudson. This experience was on Sunday, March 15, 1863.
Dr. Skinner was on horseback and I can see him now in memory, as he was
in that drenching rain, wet to the skin, as all were. That was the last
time I ever saw Dr. Skinner, for he died a few days after in the
hospital at Baton Rouge. He was brought home and was laid to rest in
our beautiful Grove Hill Cemetery.
March 16th. It cleared off very pleasant this morning. Had breakfast of
hard-tack and coffee. We had orders to march, about three o'clock in
the afternoon. We marched about ten miles and went into camp on the
bank of the Mississippi River. We managed to get some fence rails,
build a fire and dry off, I was so drenched it took me nearly all day
to get thoroughly dry. I felt much happier upon this old cotton
plantation, for it was about as pleasant a place as I had seen in
Louisiana. We were situated on a high bluff overlooking the Mississippi
River, which spread out before us like a broad lake. The banks were
lined with live-oak, and back of us were dense forests. Hardly had we
arrived when I was detailed to go on guard duty. Pretty rough on a
fellow who hadn't slept any for about forty-eight hours, but most of us
were in the same predicament. We were a pretty sleepy set to go on
guard but we had to stand it, two hours on and four off, until morning,
when our cavalry were driven back upon us without loss. At three
o'clock, I was relieved and lying down on the ground I slept like a
stone till eight o'clock when the new guard came on. Here let me say,
that the thunder storm we had on a Sunday afternoon was very likely the
means of saving many lives, as the Confederates, when they found that
we were retreating, turned out infantry, cavalry and artillery and
pressed hard upon us but the rain Providentially deterred them. The
Thirteenth and Twenty-fifth Connecticut Regiments covered the
retreating column.
March 17th found us still in Camp Alden, for so we had named our new
camp ground. In the afternoon a half dozen of us went out on a foraging
expedition. We spotted a cow, which a bullet soon laid low. When we got
her dressed, we started for a sugar plantation, a short distance away.
We found it entirely deserted but lots of sugar and molasses, as this
had not been confiscated by the United States government. We helped
ourselves and managed to get a small quantity of the sweetening
ingredient up to camp, where we received a warm reception. We were all
out of sugar for our coffee and also meat for soup. That was about all
the old cow was fit for. We held dress parade at sunset in marching
costume. I was quite ragged by this time, having torn the legs nearly
off my trousers, and my blouse had been badly torn while skirmishing
through the woods and cane brakes.
March 18th. Spent most of the forenoon mending the holes in my
breeches. In the afternoon visited the Twelfth Connecticut regiment for
the first time in Louisiana. Saw some of the Hartford boys and had a
good time generally. After dress-parade went out on a foraging
expedition, with several others, after fence rails, as we had to have a
fire to keep warm, also to make coffee and soup. I am sure the Rebs had
good reason to bring "railing accusations" against us, for I am quite
certain there wasn't a rail left within several miles of Baton Rouge.
March 19th. There was an order for inspection of arms this morning.
While waiting I, with several others, was detailed to go out foraging
after corn. Went out a short distance and got all that we could bring
into camp. We received marching orders at nine o'clock in the evening.
March 20th. We were up early and on our way at four o'clock this
morning. After a weary, hot march we reached our old camp-ground at
Baton Rouge at seven o'clock. As we marched past General Banks'
headquarters he came out and saluted, while the bands of the different
regiments played and we marched past at shoulder arms. That night we
lay on the ground again for it was too late and the men were too tired
to pitch the tents.
March 21st. In the morning we pitched our tents, cleaned up and put our
old Camp Grover in order once more.
March 22nd, Sunday. We were ordered to be ready for inspection but
there was none on account of some of the rifles being loaded. Toward
night we were ordered to be ready for marching, and have such things as
we could get along without, packed in boxes. It was raining as we were
getting ready for another start. Horace Newbury of our company died
last night and we laid him to rest this morning under a beautiful
magnolia tree.
March 24th. In the forenoon we worked on our guns and in the afternoon
we had inspection and dress-parade.
March 25th. I was detailed to go on picket duty this morning.
Lieutenant Gorman was officer of the picket. The night was cool and
clear and everything was quiet all along the lines.
March 26th. A beautiful morning with the birds singing merrily. I got
into camp about eleven o'clock. We had orders about nine o'clock in the
evening to be ready for marching. It was very rainy weather and there
was very little done in camp.
March 27th. We had orders to march and all was packing and confusion. I
was ordered to help put our tents and baggage aboard the boat, the St.
Mary. We had all our things aboard this little craft about five o'clock
in the afternoon. At last, after being over a week packing up, waiting
for orders, we were on the move. We left Baton Rouge at five o'clock
and reached this place at nine, (as luck would have it) in a
rain-storm. Lay on the ground under the trees all night.
March 28th. We just received marching orders again. Where we were going
to nobody seemed to know. I supposed our destination was Brashear City
and Burwick Bay, but beyond that nothing was known. Rumor said, Texas
and Red River. We took tents and all our baggage and did not expect
again to see Baton Rouge.
Sunday morning, March 29th. Arrived in Donaldsonville about nine
o'clock last evening. Slept on the ground all night. In the morning had
some hard-tack and coffee. We received a mail. I got several letters,
one was from mother. I went to a Catholic meeting. Donaldsonville is an
exceedingly pretty place, very old-fashioned, shingled-roofed town. A
bayou extends through the center, some three hundred yards wide; it
runs to the gulf and is so deep that a frigate lies in it about a mile
from where it sets in from the Mississippi. The catalpa and China-bell
trees were in full blossom and the pecans were leafing out. There was a
Catholic church here that looked like a barn outside but quite pretty
inside, as I saw for myself, and thither the people who were mostly
French and Spanish, were flocking. We here enjoyed the luxury of seeing
ladies, in clean white petticoats, walking the streets. And really we
had to laugh, for actually those petticoats were the most home-like
things we had seen for some months. "Billy" Wilson's Zouaves, who were
in our division, were placed under arrest and had their arms taken from
them. They got very drunk coming down on the boat and mutinied.
March 30th. You can't imagine how beautiful the flowers were looking.
Cherokee roses, jessamines, jonquils, and a great variety of flowers
were in blossom. We lived out under the trees with the rain pattering
upon us. We were greatly bothered with vermin, which it is almost
impossible to pick off. Campaigning evidently agreed with me, for I had
gained several pounds since leaving New York.
April 1st. We were on the march very early. Our brigade went ahead as
skirmishers. We went through a very pleasant country. We started about
seven o'clock on the morning of April 2nd. Our company was guard of the
baggage train. We went through a place called Thibodeaux, a very pretty
village. We stopped "a right smart way," from Thibodeaux, as the
contrabands used to tell us when we inquired the distance of them. We
were there only a short time, when we were crowded on to some freight
cars like cattle and transported to Bayou Boeuf, arriving at ten
o'clock at night, pretty well fagged out.
We had some awfully hot and fatiguing marches and the boys were very
foot-sore. I held out wonderfully; did not so much as raise a sign of a
blister, though carrying a rubber blanket, a heavy overcoat, canteen
full of water, haversack, with two days' rations in it,--by no means a
small load as I found after a few miles' march. My nose and cheeks
underwent a skinning operation on our Port Hudson expedition and I felt
quite badly when I found that they were again peeling.
April 3rd. We have fixed up our shelter tents, and I helped unload our
baggage. The day was pleasant but Bayou Boeuf was a very unpleasant
place. A comrade came into our camp from the Twelfth Regiment, C.V.
His name was Wells Hubbard of Glastonbury, Conn.
April 5th, Sunday. On camp guard I was stationed in front of General
Grover's headquarters for the night. During the day we crossed over the
Bayou Lefourche to the main part of the town and spent some time in
exploring it. It must have been an exceedingly beautiful place before
the bombardment a short time before. Many of the houses were lying in
ruins. Then there was a very pretty cemetery embowered in red and white
roses which hung in clusters over the monuments. I saw on some of the
graves fresh wreaths of roses and pinks and on many pictures were
hanging showing the weeping survivors beneath a weeping willow. Blue
pinks seemed to be a favorite flower and were planted around a great
many of the graves. There were some old tombstones at that place. On
one was the following inscription:
"Affliction sore, long time I bore;
Physicians were in vain,
Till God did please, that death should come,
And ease me of my pain."
Again we were all packed up and on the move at about 8 A.M. The road,
in fact all the way to Thibodeaux, lay along the Bayou Lefourche, a
clear and cool stream, on which our steamers were passing bearing the
sick and baggage. As we wound along under the catalpa and China-ball
trees, the people were out on the piazzas watching us; this seemed to
be their occupation almost everywhere. Such a slovenly set you never
saw,--the women with frizzled hair and slipshod shoes. They were
evidently very poor. But, oh, the fine clover fields we passed. The
heart of a cow would have leaped with joy at the sight; and it was just
so all the way to Thibodeaux. It must have been a splendid farming
country. Sugar cane and cotton fields were also looking fine. After
marching about twelve miles we encamped at Paincourtville, pretty well
tired out. There were plenty of chickens, pigs, and sheep running loose
of which we were not slow to avail ourselves. About the last thing I
saw when I had lain down for the night was a porker squealing for all
he was worth and charging blindly among the camp-fires over bunks and
slumbering soldiers pursued by a band of shouting men discharging all
kinds of deadly missiles at him.
April 7th. We were off at 7 A.M. Still among clover fields. On our
march we passed some beautiful plantations; one was especially so. It
was perfectly embowered in trees, had a smooth-cut lawn. There was a
fountain and some swans swimming in the pond in front of the house. On
the veranda there were two ladies working and some little children were
playing. It was the prettiest sight I had seen in Louisiana. It fairly
stilled the boys, seeing those children, and I heard more than one
tough fellow sing out "God bless them." At another little white cottage
we saw a lady whose husband had fallen in the army. She sent her slaves
out where we were with pails of cool water. It was a simple act but we
could not help blessing her for it.
And then we resumed our dusty way. The heat and dust were very intense;
not a breath of air was stirring. We marched fourteen miles to
Labadieville, and camped for the night on a sugar plantation, where we
just had sugar and molasses to our hearts' content. Early the next
morning we started in a flood of moonlight that silvered the grass with
dew-drops. There is something very fascinating in camping-out; the
camp-fires far and wide, the hum and bustle everywhere. It makes one
forget his troubles.
April 9th. We had marching orders this morning. We marched as far as
Brashear City, and camped for the night. It was the hardest day's march
of all. The men staggered over the road from fatigue and sore feet. We
felt better when we passed from the road into the clover field to lie
down. At 6 P.M. came the order to fall in and we were ordered on board
the little steamer, St. Mary. We stayed there all night,--expecting to
start every minute.
April 11th. Although it was a small boat, the Fifty-second
Massachusetts, the Twenty-fourth and Twenty-fifth Connecticut, and a
battery with horses, were just packed on board. Just imagine how we
must have been crowded together.
April 12th. We steamed out of the bay at 9 o'clock, the Clifton
flagship ahead, then the Calhoun, Arizona, Laurel Hill, and St. Mary,
also several tugs. We were now under convoy of these gunboats; they
were to pilot us up through the chain of lakes from Burwick Bay into
Grand Lake, where we arrived about 12 o'clock. It was an extremely hot
day for so many to be crowded together, and we slept but little.
April 13th. We went ashore at one o'clock. There was some firing on our
picket line at night. I was detailed to go back to the lake and help
bring up some rations where our forces were stationed. There was a
heavy thunder shower and we slept but little all night.
I want to say here that we landed our forces, after sending out a party
to reconnoitre under cover of the Calhoun, which shelled the woods
while we came ashore. Our object was to cut off the retreat of the
Confederates while Emory's and Sherman's division crossed Burwick Bay
to attack them.
April 14th. On this date came the hard-fought battle of Irish Bend. We
started out at daylight as skirmishers without any breakfast. When we
had gone about a mile, brisk firing commenced on both sides. We
advanced very fast, loading and firing as we went. When we had advanced
very near the Rebel batteries and supposed that everything was going
well, we were flanked by the enemy. We were immediately ordered to fall
back a short distance. The Thirteenth Connecticut took our places soon
in solid column, when the tune changed and the Confederates retreated
into the woods, whence they came. When our brigade got together and
formed in line of battle, we were again ordered to the front, where the
Rebels sent shells into our ranks from their gunboat Diana. They burned
her about two o'clock and retreated.
April 15th. This morning I thought I must write a little in my diary. I
think it was through the mercy of God that my life was spared through
the previous day's fight. It seemed a miracle that one came out alive.
I felt very thankful that I was able to come out of the Battle of Irish
Bend without a scratch, after hearing the horrible results. Our
regiment suffered severely. For about two hours we were under a hot
fire entirely unsupported. We went into the fight with 380 men and lost
83 killed and wounded and 14 missing. Our third brigade was about the
only one engaged and we lost in that short space of time over 300 men
killed, wounded and missing. Colonel Birge had his horse shot from
under him. We had two officers killed and four wounded. It seems almost
a miracle, when I think of it at this time, that so many escaped
without a mark. We started on the march on the morning of April 15,
about nine o'clock pursuing the Rebels very closely through the day. It
was a fine rich country that we passed through; the cane and cotton
fields were looking finely. We went into camp at night near a sugar
mill that had a quantity of sugar in it, to which we helped ourselves.
There was considerable firing through the day.
A more detailed account of the Battle of Irish Bend is here given by
Major Thomas McManus of the Twenty-fifth.