Interesting Reminiscences of Terrible Conflict Between States.
Horrors of War Graphically Told by General Thomas McManus, Who Was
Major of the Twenty-fifth Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers.
By request of Major Thomas McManus I will give a brief account of the
country of lower Louisiana and the battle of Irish Bend, as given by
him in an address at St. Patrick's Church, Collinsville, April 23,
1893, and published in the Hartford Post of the date of April 14, 1913,
being fifty years to a day after that terrible conflict:
Lower Louisiana is a marshy, swampy level stretch of country with an
imperceptible coast line. No one can tell where the solid ground ends
or where the sea begins. Approaching from the Gulf of Mexico, you find
your ship in muddy waters, and by and by you see here and there a speck
of mud itself, emerging above the surface, and barely large enough to
be noticed, and after a while these small islands grow together and you
begin to realize that there are distinctly defined banks each side of
the broad muddy channel through which you are sailing, intersected here
and there by other channels extending in every direction. Twenty miles
perhaps from the place where you first perceived indications of real
mud, the land will be firm enough to sustain a few piles supporting a
fisherman's cabin or pilot's hut. Ten miles further on and you may see
signs of life and cultivation. The river banks have risen to a height
of two or three feet above the level of the water. The whole
southwestern part of the state is a network of bayous or natural
canals, usually narrow and always deep. In summer they are mere
channels of drainage, but in spring they are full to the top and often
overflowing thus making a system of natural waterways that reach within
a mile or two of every plantation with currents strong enough to carry
the flat boats laden with sugar, cotton and corn to New Orleans,
Brashear or the ports on the coast. Here and there the yet unfilled
depressions in the soil form large but shallow lakes, that in the dry
season are mere marshes.
[Illustration: MAJOR THOMAS M'MANUS
Hartford, Conn.
Major of 25th Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers.]
This was the region where it was fated that the Twenty-fifth
Connecticut regiment should make its spring campaign in 1863. Early in
December we had taken possession of Baton Rouge on the Mississippi and
had employed our time in practically learning the art of war, and we
prided ourselves on our proficiency in drill and discipline. The winter
had been, to us who were accustomed to our rigorous climate here, very
mild, but we had begun to feel as early as the end of March, a
foretaste of that terrible enervation that the coming summer was to
bring to our men habituated to our bracing air of Connecticut. We were
somewhat hardened to the little outdoor inconveniences of Louisiana. We
didn't mind the mosquitoes, although they were ten times as big--a
hundred times as hungry and a thousand times as vicious as those we
raise here. We didn't mind the wood-ticks, and although we preferred
not to have moccasin snakes in our tents, they would come sometimes. We
had made a movement on Port Hudson early in March and the Twenty-fifth
was in the lead, seven miles in advance of the main army. We had built
a bridge over the Bayou Montecino, and had lain on our arms all night
awaiting orders to attack Port Hudson, when Farragut's fleet attempted
to pass the batteries. Only two of his ships, the Hartford and
Albatross, succeeded, while the Richmond was disabled and the
Mississippi was destroyed. We had engaged in a night skirmish with the
enemy at Montecino, and had lost one man in that affair. We had retired
from Port Hudson as rear guard to the column. Ours was the post of
danger every time, and we had encountered the worst storm and waded
through the deepest mud to be found on the continent and had bivouacked
in a field almost as dry as the bottom of Lake Ontario.
With these experiences we felt like veterans, but we didn't then know
how much we had to learn. On March 31, our regiment was transported to
Donaldsonville, fifty miles below Baton Rouge, from there we marched
beside Bayou Lefourche to Thibodeaux and then took the cars for Bayou
Boeuf, and after a few days' halt, marched over to Brashear. We knew
that something was going to be done, but didn't know what. We knew that
somebody was going to be hurt, but didn't know who. We knew that some
folks were going to get badly whipped, but it wasn't us. We were
certain of that. Our superior officer and officers couldn't tell us
anything or wouldn't tell us anything, and I have since come to the
conclusion that they were very much like some of the wire pulling
politicians of the present day. They didn't know themselves. It may be
wisdom sometimes in war and in politics, not to let your followers know
just what you intend to make them do, but it's mighty poor policy to
let your enemy know it first.
On Saturday, April 11, 1863, the Twenty-fifth Connecticut, less than
500 strong, embarked on the steamer St. Mary, a New York and Galveston
liner built to carry 500 passengers at a pinch, but loaded on this
occasion with 2,500.
We were crowded. We were just packed as close as the squares of
hardtack in the bread barrels, closer than sardines in a box. So close
that we didn't have room to sweat. We had to hold our haversacks that
contained three days' rations of sheet iron biscuit and salt pork, on
our heads. The decks were covered with a solid mass of humanity. We
cast off the lines and our ship slowly steamed up the Atchafalaya, now
and then rubbing the banks so closely that we could grasp the branches
of the magnolia and cypress that formed one green, unbroken fringe on
either side.
General Emory's division of Banks' army had already moved up the west
bank of the Bayou Teche, fighting its way against the fresh active
troops of Dick Taylor. We were in General Cuvier Grover's division, and
were expected to sail up Grand Lake and disembark at Hutchins Landing,
where the Teche, by a sharp bend, comes within two miles of the lake;
and on this narrow strip was the only road (as we supposed) over which
an army and especially artillery and baggage wagons could pass. During
Saturday night, Sunday, and Sunday night we were crammed, stifled and
suffocated on the steamer's deck, as she slowly felt her way up through
the muddy and shallow water of Grand Lake. To have run aground would
have been disastrous failure to the whole expedition. Towing astern
were large flat bottomed scows, loaded with artillery and artillery
men. These were indispensable when on Monday morning we found that it
was impossible for our ship to approach within half a mile of the
shore, and the men were ferried from the steamer to the bank, where a
lively little skirmish was going on between some Confederate scouts and
Col. Dick Holcomb's First Louisiana. General Grover was ahead of us,
smoking as usual, and in his excitement he had lighted a second cigar
and was vigorously puffing and pulling at both corners of his mouth. He
grasped Colonel Bissell by the hands in welcome, as the colonel leaped
from the boat. No delay now, forward! A few hundred yards brought us to
the woods. Our skirmishers went through and we soon had orders to
follow. We halted at the open clearing on the other side and awaited to
hear from General Grover, who had gone ahead to reconnoitre. Off to the
southwest we could hear the artillery firing that told us that Emory's
forces were having a fierce fight with Taylor's, only a few miles away.
Another half mile advance, another halt and again forward. Just as the
sun was going down we crossed the Teche over a drawbridge and filed
into the main road and skirted the fertile plantation of Madame Porter.
This stately, handsome lady, surrounded by scores of fat, happy looking
and well clad slaves, stood in front of her elegant home and sadly
watched us as we passed. No farm in Connecticut, however carefully
supervised, could show better evidences of wise management than this.
The houses, fences, granaries, fields, slave quarters and everything,
were in perfect order--all were clean, whole, and systematically
arranged. The fertile soil seemed to proclaim audibly to our farmer
boys its readiness to give back a hundred and fifty fold for its seed
and care. The shades of night were falling fast when we filed into an
open ploughed field and moved by the right of companies to the rear
into columns. We halted, stacked arms, ate hardtack and raw pork, and
rested. The ground was soft alluvial; mist came with sundown and rain
came with the darkness, and the surface of the earth was soon
transformed into soft, deep mud. There was no noise, no music, no
laughter. Every man knew instinctively that the morrow's sun would
shine upon many a corpse. Our generals had believed, and we had hoped,
that as soon as Taylor would find this large force of ours suddenly
occupying the road in his rear, he would submit to the inevitable and
surrender, but he had not surrendered and would not surrender, and that
meant a fierce engagement for us. As soon as darkness had set in,
General Grover sent up rockets to apprise General Banks of our
position. Sleep was impossible. Colonel Bissell and I sat on a bread
box, back to back, our feet in the soft mud and our clothing gradually
absorbing the rain that fell steadily upon us. The hours dragged slowly
along, and before daybreak our men were aroused, made a hasty
breakfast, and in the grey of the morning we set out in advance of our
brigade that consisted of the Thirteenth and Twenty-fifth Connecticut,
Twenty-sixth Maine and One Hundred and Fifty-ninth New York, Colonel
Birge in command. We were all on foot, officers and men alike. Our
horses, baggage, and impediments had been left at Brashear to follow
the column of General Emory.
For a mile below Madame Porter's plantation the Bayou Teche runs to the
southeast and then turns sharply to the southwest towards Franklin, a
very pretty village, some five miles below. The road following the
sinuosities of the stream runs parallel to it, with a strip of a few
rods in width between. We enter an immense cane field, its furrows in
line with the road. On the west the field was bounded by a rail fence,
beyond which arose a dense wood of magnolias, cotton wood and
semi-tropical trees looking like a long green wall. Far in front arose
a transverse wall like to the first, and making at its intersection a
right angle. At this angle, the road entered the wood, near to the
ground this forest was absolutely impenetrable to the sight, by reason
of the suffocating growth of briars, vines, palmettos and underbrush.
We ought to have occupied these woods the night before, and have hemmed
the enemy in the open beyond. We now knew that the foe was in our
immediate front. We marched down the field, the right wing deployed as
skirmishers, the left wing in close battalion front following a few
rods in its rear. By and by a puff of smoke from the green wall in
front of us and a second or two afterwards the crack of a rifle. The
fight had begun; another puff, another crack then more and more,
multiplying as we approached. The bend in the road is now disclosed,
the enemy's skirmishers disappeared from our front to reappear in
greater numbers on our right. Our skirmishers were called in and we
changed front forward on first company, moved down towards the wood on
the right, and halting about 150 yards from the fence, we poured a
volley into the enemy's ranks. The One Hundred and Fifty-ninth New York
came down into line on our left, the Twenty-sixth Maine formed in our
rear, the Thirteenth Connecticut took position on our extreme left
occupying both sides of the road. The canes of the previous year's
sugar crop stood in the field and their volley firing didn't get our
range, and our lines were parallel with the furrows. The enemy's shot
rattled through the dry stalks, crackling like hail against the
windows. The enemy were armed with the smooth bores, every cartridge
charged with a bullet and three buck shot, while our regiment was armed
with Enfield rifles and so the Rebels, man for man were giving us four
shots to our one in return.
The enemy had an immense advantage in position and the conviction was
stealing over us that they had the advantage in numbers also. Our men
had warmed up to their work; every soldier had long before drained the
last drop from his canteen; the sun was rising high and hot and we
learned then that there is no thirst so burning and terrible as that
which seizes upon the soldier in battle. Every command given by the
Confederate officers was as distinctly heard by us as if given in our
own companies. Their lines already extended far beyond our flank and
their oft-repeated cheers told us how rapidly their ranks were being
increased by new arrivals. Suddenly a loud cheer from the Rebels; then
the thundering war of a field piece, and in an instant from overhead
came a crack, with a rain of iron fragments as a shell exploded right
over our line; another roar, a crack, and iron shower and we see to our
dismay two brazen guns admirably served, trained directly upon us
pouring shell grape and cannister into our ranks, while their musketry
fire grew hotter and fiercer than ever. Our men were nearing the end of
their supply of ammunition. If the Confederates had charged upon us at
this time they would have annihilated our brigade!
Wounded men were crawling to the rear, where Dr. Wood, with McGill and
his assistants, stood under their yellow hospital flag. Col. Bissell's
voice rang clear and cheerful as ever, but his face was anxious. Down
into the field came Bradley's battery at a gallop and very soon their
guns were answering the enemy's. Up went Bissell's sword, with a joyful
cheer, as he shouted to Lieutenant Dewey "There's music in the air!"
Our re-enforcements of artillery gave us renewed spirits but it was in
vain to hope for victory against a better posted and overwhelming
force.
Hurrah! At last, here comes Dwight's brigade. But suddenly, as if
evoked by magic, arose a long gray line of armed men. They had crawled
unperceived through the thick high canes and our first intimation of
their presence was a murderous volley raking our lines from right to
left. Bradley's battery was retreating to the rear, with nine of his
men dead or disabled on the ground. "Fall back!" shouted the Colonel.
Our right wing was in confusion and disorder. The left wing fell back
steadily but only for a few rods, the advancing brigade opened ranks to
let us pass and we halted and we formed in its rear and sank exhausted
on the ground anxiously watching the fate of our gallant supporters.
Ninety-five of our brave boys were dead or wounded, nine-tenths of them
by that terrible flank fire. In our last five minutes on the field lay
the lifeless bodies of Captain Hayden and young Lieutenant Dewey.
Arnold and Wilson lay dead. Lieutenant Oliver had been carried from the
field with a bullet in his head, to linger for six weeks before death
came to his relief. Lieutenant Waterman stood resolute at the head of
his company with his arm bandaged and bleeding. Lieutenant Harkness
limped painfully along disabled by a spent bullet. John H. Hunt of
Coventry had his side torn open by an explosion, and his sufferings
were intense. It was strange that he didn't die instantly, yet he
lingered for seven days. John Martin fell dead at the final volley from
the Rebels. Old Button was carried off the field, his shoulder mangled,
the bone splintered in the socket and with but a few days more of life
before him. Graham lay dead. Brooks, the tall young sapling whose
extraordinary height made him a conspicuous mark, had fallen pierced by
a dozen bullets. Sergeant Taft, with a shattered arm, was carried off
the field by his lieutenant. Brennan, Gray, Prindle, Lawton, Holden and
Carlos Bissell lay dead. Cook lay mortally wounded. Lieutenant Banning
was crippled for life. John Thompson of Ellington had a bullet hole
through his jaws, incapacitating him for further service. Goodwin,
Lincoln, and Avery Brown were also seriously injured in this battle, as
were also many others whom I cannot name.
* * * * *
April 16th. We started at seven o'clock, marching quite slowly through
the day. We were on the way to Newton or New Iberia, distance about 35
miles from Irish Bend,--where the battle took place. It was very hot
and dusty and the men were getting very foot sore; a good many had to
fall out by the road-side to rest. We had formed a junction with
Emory's division and Weitzel's brigade and were at this time in close
pursuit of the enemy, seven miles from New Iberia. We had taken a large
number of prisoners, three pieces of artillery and several caissons and
the Confederates fearful of the gunboats Diana and the Queen of the
West falling into our hands burned them. In addition to this the
Arizona engaged and blew up a Rebel gunboat. We were in hot pursuit of
the Rebels, our advance skirmishing with Rebel General Moulton's rear
guard.
April 17th. We were up at three o'clock, and started soon after getting
some hard-tack and coffee. Our division was alone, Emory's division
having taken a different route. We made a hard march of twenty miles. A
great many men fell out, but we pushed the Rebels hard. At 5 P.M. they
made a stand and an artillery duel ensued in which we lost a few men.
The Confederates then retired, burning the bridge over the bayou. We
then halted for the night, supposing that our next move would be
Alexandra, via Opelousas, which since the capture of Baton Rouge had
been the capital of the state of Louisiana.
April 19th, Sunday. This morning we had a hard thunder shower, arousing
us from our bunks and soaking us thoroughly. We started on the march at
eight o'clock. It was very muddy and we had to march very slow on that
account. We went into camp at night pretty well fagged out. About
midnight I was called up to go out quite a distance to an out-post on
picket. We had a very hard time of it, for we had to be up until
morning and stand by our arms.
April 20th. We marched rather slow on account of it being so
excessively hot. We forded quite a bayou where the Rebels had burned
another bridge. We went into camp at night at Opelousas, where we
expected to have a fight but on our approach, we found the Rebels had
retreated from the town, which was pretty good news for us.
Opelousas, April 21st. I will endeavor to give a few of my experiences
at this place. Here General Banks gave his worn and tired army a rest.
The Twenty-fifth Connecticut took position about seven miles east of
headquarters, at Barre's Landing. While we privates were enjoying a
suspension of active operations, the officers were unusually busy, as
their numbers were greatly reduced by resignation, sickness and death.
We were still wondering why that long looked for paymaster had not
blessed us with his appearance and we were still in despair about it.
Since the battle of Irish Bend we pressed the Confederates hard all the
way to Opelousas, fighting their rear guard and taking prisoners every
day. Our cavalry made a fierce charge at New Iberia. With sabers drawn
they charged into the Texicans, scattering them in every direction. We
were then at the port of Opelousas and shipping cotton at a great rate.
We had shipped some two thousand bales; there was still a large
quantity at the landing and more coming in hourly. We had to all take
hold and help load it on the boat. While we were out on picket one day
we had the good luck to come across one hundred and thirty bales.
Opelousas was a very pleasant little city of several thousand
inhabitants. There were some splendid mansions with grounds laid out in
fine style. There was a small foundry in the place and two magazines;
one of its three churches was stored with powder and ammunition,
abandoned by the Confederates in their flight. The people were more
Union than any we had previously seen and were of a better class.
Provisions were sold at fabulous prices; eggs fifty cents a dozen,
coffee five dollars a pound, and flour fifty dollars a barrel, and
scarcely any at that. We learned from some of our Rebel prisoners how
their soldiers lived. They had only one commissary wagon drawn by three
yoke of oxen for an army of five thousand men. They lived principally
upon the plantations as they passed along, as we had done.
The slaves appeared to me, all the way through this long march, to be
contented and happy with their families in their cabins. I think they
lived principally on corn which they ground by hand power and made into
corn bread and hoe cake, with plenty of sweet potatoes which grew
abundantly in Louisiana. I think they must have gotten along pretty
well. At many plantations where the Union soldiers would stop at
nightfall for chickens, the slaves would come out of their cabins and
plead with us to let them be. This, our boys were very loath to do, and
I don't know as anyone could blame them, for a good chicken was a great
temptation after a long hard day's march.
May 5th. We started on our return march this morning very early. We
came through a little village by the name of Washington. We marched
twenty miles and went into camp for the night very tired and some very
foot-sore. I was sick all day but managed to keep up with the regiment.
It was very hot and dry.
May 7th. This morning I was sick and got a pass from Doctor Wood, our
army surgeon, to go on to the ambulance wagon. But found on
investigation that there was no room for me, as the wagons were full of
sick men unable to sit up. Therefore I was obliged to ride on a baggage
wagon all day. Went into camp at night feeling some better. Went out
with other comrades and bought some chickens of the darkies. About this
time the paymaster arrived. It was a time of great interest to the men,
as we had not been paid for more than four months. A great many wanted
to send money to their families and friends who, in some cases were in
great need. But we were about two hundred miles from New Orleans, the
nearest point from which money could be sent with safety. There were no
Confederates in arms between us and New Orleans but the country was
full of men who had broken all laws and who held any human life very
cheap, when money was at stake. How to send home the money the soldiers
could spare was a very important question. In a chapter printed
elsewhere in this book, entitled "How the Pay of the Regiment was
Carried to New Orleans by Lieutenant Henry Hill Goodell," it will be
told how it was accomplished.
On May 21st we received marching orders and about noon we embarked on
board the little steamer Empire Parish along with the One Hundred and
Fifty-ninth New York and the Thirteenth Connecticut. I wonder if anyone
can imagine how crowded we were, also taking into consideration that a
good many of the soldiers were inclined to be troublesome. Colonel
Bissell was taken quite sick at about this time and had to find a place
to lie down. Soon after 3 P.M., while the rest of the boats were being
loaded we shipped from the dock and away up the Atchafalaya to the Red
River where we passed the Switzerland and another little boat watching
for Rebel craft. Here we slipped down the Red River to the Mississippi,
where we came upon the grim old Hartford, Rear Admiral Farragut's
flagship. The Thirteenth Connecticut band saluted her as we passed,
with "The Star Spangled Banner" and "Yankee Doodle." At about midnight
we went ashore at Bayou Sara, sixteen miles from Port Hudson. A portion
of our brigade marched on and left our regiment to unload the boats. It
was after 2 A.M. before we had any chance to lie down.
May 22nd, at about four o'clock, we started, breakfastless, to overtake
the rest of our brigade. Colonel Bissell was left at a house with a
guard. Major McManus assumed command of the regiment. We marched a
short distance and found the remainder of our brigade encamped at St.
Francisville, which was upon a hill the first we had seen since coming
to Louisiana. Soon after eight o'clock our column was set in motion,
the Third brigade in advance. As we passed through the village of St.
Francisville the people thronged to the doors. Some would curse and
swear, while others seemed glad to see us. One woman in a spiteful tone
called out to another woman: "Come in, for God's sake, and don't stay
there looking at those Yankee devils." The manners of these Southern
women were astonishing. They would curse and call us vile names and
call upon God to save a just cause. We had a hard march climbing up
hill between magnificent hedges of jessamine in bloom, the flowers of
which were very beautiful. We advanced very slowly for it was quite
warm and the dust was stifling. To add to all this it was a terrible
country to skirmish through. We had two men seriously wounded during
that day. At about 4 o'clock we halted and our regiment was ordered to
the front as advance picket for the night. We deployed into a field
near a beautiful creek,--Thompson's,--where the water was knee-deep and
very clear. Our forces were ordered across the creek to the edge of the
adjoining woods. After a short skirmish we succeeded in accomplishing
our object. It rained quite hard and we had to be upon the watch most
of the night.
May 23rd. We started on the march, our men pretty well tired out by two
nights' duty. But we had no mercy shown us. The Twenty-fifth regiment
was ordered to take the advance as skirmishers and a hard time we had
of it, forcing our way through bamboo brake, pushing over vine and
bushes, wading through water, scratching and tearing ourselves with
thorns and stumbling over ploughed fields. It was very hard work and
many a strong man gave out with fatigue and exhaustion. At 10 o'clock
A.M. we met the advance of Colonel Grierson's cavalry. Our wearied
column of soldiers were called in, therefore we were very much pleased
to see them. We advanced a short distance and halted near a well of
delicious cool water, some two miles from Port Hudson. In a few
minutes, General Augur rode up and held a conference with General
Grover.
At 7 P.M. I was detailed to go on picket. Rather rough on a fellow to
be two days and nights on duty. But a soldier's first duty is to obey
without grumbling and so I went, but I could hardly keep from going to
sleep. It was a beautiful moonlight night and I stood and watched the
bombs from the mortar boats curling around in the sky and bursting in a
fiery show, making a splendid sight. The night passed quietly, save for
a couple of false alarms. At about 5 o'clock A.M., Jared Wells, my old
tent mate, and I went out blackberrying. In a little while we had
enough for a good meal for ourselves and some for the boys in camp.
This was the 24th of May, under the guns of Port Hudson. We got back
into camp about 9 o'clock and commenced making preparations for a
Sunday advance on the fortifications. The Second Brigade was in advance
and the Twenty-fourth Connecticut lost a few men; at about noon the
first earthworks were taken and we deployed into the woods on our
right. We lay here for two long hours while shells burst all around us,
but we were mercifully preserved, though in great danger.
Soon after 4 P.M., our regiment was ordered out as picket-skirmishers
and we were stationed behind trees all through the woods to keep the
enemy back. On our right was the Thirteenth Connecticut and on the left
was the One Hundred and Fifty-ninth New York. This was the third night
that we had been on duty and we were pretty well tired out but it seems
they hadn't got through with the Twenty-fifth yet.
May 25th. At about 9 A.M. we were relieved and called in. As we were
being relieved by the Twelfth Maine we had to pass over a place
commanded by the sharpshooters of the enemy. The bullets whizzed most
unpleasantly near, killing one man of the Thirteenth Connecticut. We
thought that after being relieved we should get some rest. But about as
soon as we got into camp we were ordered to fall in again. We marched
out of the woods, over the hill and the entrenchments taken the day
before, immediately coming under a sharp fire from the Rebel
sharpshooters. We were immediately ordered to fire upon them and drive
them out. After a sharp skirmish of half an hour we drove them clear
out of the woods and into their rifle-pits. We then occupied the woods,
and we kept up such a sharp fire upon them that not one of the rascally
Rebs dared lift his head above the works. We were just in time to save
the Twelfth Maine from being flanked and cut to pieces.
About 3 P.M. General Weitzel's brigade attacked, and after a severe
fight, drove the Rebels out of the woods. While this was going on our
right, we could hear the yells, hurrahs and the crackle of musketry,
roar of artillery and many other concomitants of the fight, but could
see but little. Consequently we stood and fidgeted round not knowing
when our turn might come.
May 26th. Our regiment remained on the reserve till 5 P.M., when the
four right companies were ordered to the front. We had a splendid view
of an artillery duel. The work of Nim's battery was perfect. Our
artillery unlimbered two or three guns and their fire was so sharp, the
Rebel gunners did not dare load their pieces.
May 27th. We were relieved at about 6 P.M., by the Twelfth Maine
regiment, but we were almost immediately ordered out to the support of
Nim's battery which had just been put into position. Here we lay five
or six hours while the enemy's shells burst in most unpleasant
proximity. Then our regiment and the One Hundred and Fifty-ninth New
York were ordered out to the support of General Weitzel on our right.
We marched on the double-quick down through the woods, when we were
ordered by General Grover to advance to the front and carry the
earthworks. We were informed that there were hardly any Rebels there.
Major Burt of the One Hundred and Fifty-ninth, who was in command, was
told that his regiment alone would be able to carry the works and to
send back our regiment if it wasn't needed. But we found out very soon
that our assistance would be necessary to carry the earthworks. We
rushed on through the woods and down a hill, swept by the enemy's
artillery. Here we turned to the right and emerged on to a plain. I
shall never forget that sight. The valley was filled with felled trees,
and heavy underbrush, while thick and black rolled the battle-smoke.
There was a hill on our left, strongly entrenched and from here loomed
up a big gun. Just below on a little bridge was planted a stand of the
Stars and Stripes, the glorious old banner, and gathered around it
stood a handful of brave men firing a stream of bullets upon that
piece. For six long hours the gunners did not dare approach to load and
that wicked looking gun was kept silent. It was here that we had a
taste of real war in all its horrors. It was a sort of a floating
panorama that passed before me, a hideous dream. There was a roaring
and crashing of artillery, bursting of shells and the rattle of
muskets, with hissing and whistling of minie balls and battle-smoke
lowering down upon us. There were men dropping here and there and all
the horrid experiences of war. Still we kept on; there was a short turn
to the right and in single file we commenced ascending through a deep
ravine. Wading through water, stumbling over and under fallen trees, we
finally came to a pit about six feet deep; when we had gotten out of
that we were on the side of the hill where we had to prepare to make a
charge. It was a wicked place to charge. The nature of the ground was
such it was impossible to form in battle line, so to make the attack in
three columns over felled trees which were cris-crossed in every shape
imaginable. We waited here for a few moments with beating hearts,
waiting for the forward charge. The word came and with a terrifying
yell we rose to our feet and rushed forward. It was a terrible time,
when bounding over the last tree and crashing through some brush we
came out within a short distance of the enemy's entrenchments, and it
seemed as though a thousand rifles were cracking our doom. This fire
was too deadly for men to stand against. Our brave fellows, shot down
as fast as they could come up, were beaten back. Then occurred one of
those heroic deeds we sometimes read about. The colors of the One
Hundred and Fifty-ninth were left on the hill, their color sergeant
having been killed. Corporal Buckley of our regiment calmly worked back
in that terrific fire, picked up the dear old flag and brought it in,
turned to pick up his gun and was killed. He was a noble fellow and
much beloved in the regiment.
Resting here a short time, we made a second charge with the same deadly
results. Our regiment and the One Hundred and Fifty-ninth New York lost
80 men killed and wounded. It was a terrible position we were in.
Sharpshooters on the left picking us off; sharpshooters on right giving
it to us and the rifle pits in front. Here we had to stay till after 10
o'clock that night when the order came to fall back, which we did,
bringing off our wounded. I was so tired I fell asleep and barely woke
in time to get away. We had several killed and wounded in our regiment.
I will say here that our little company was not entirely dissolved at
this time though reduced to less than 20 men. Our colonel we missed
sadly, but earnestly hoped to welcome him back soon. Our regiment
numbered 162 men and eight officers at this time.
May 28th. There was lively firing this morning on the picket lines, but
the cannons were quiet. We were expecting reinforcements and we needed
them if we were ever to take Port Hudson. This was the seventh day of
the siege and we were pretty well fagged out. We had to fight for every
foot of ground. But we had carried the first two earthworks by storm.
It had been one continual fight since we started in but there was a
cessation of hostilities for a short time, and the lull was a great
relief, for my ears had been half-deafened by the awful roar of
artillery and cracking of musketry. There were three men killed and
about twenty wounded, and thirty in our regiment missing. Again in our
little company we had several wounded, one fatally. So I think that I
must have been in great danger several times, but I felt that a kind
Providence watched over me, and brought me out safely. The regiment at
this time was under the command of Major McManus, Colonel Bissell being
sick with remittent fever at Bayou Sara and the lieutenant-colonel
prostrated at New Orleans. The colored regiments fought bravely and
made some splendid charges.
May 31st. There has been some firing by the infantry and artillery
during the day. About ten o'clock last night we withdrew our forces
very cautiously, bringing away all the wounded we could reach, but
there were some poor unfortunates lying up under the breastworks that
it was impossible to reach. Every time we tried to get to them the Rebs
would fire on us. We threw them canteens of water but it was of little
use. We marched back and lay upon the battlefield of the preceding day.
June 1st. We marched back into the woods and were there in support of a
battery. It was very trying for us. The Rebs had a perfect range on us
and several times a day they would throw those immense twelve-inch
shells right into our midst. We could hear them coming for several
seconds and we all stood close to the trees for protection. There must
have been a large number killed that day. The next day there was a
cessation of hostilities to bury the dead. At about seven o'clock the
enemy made a terrible onslaught on our right but they were repulsed
with heavy loss. We fell into our places expecting to be called into
action but we were spared for once. We remained there until the 7th
when Lieutenant-Colonel Weld came up from New Orleans and assumed
command.
June 7th. We were ordered to the front to relieve the One Hundred and
Fifty-ninth New York in the rifle-pits. We went out in the night as the
enemy's sharpshooters rendered it very dangerous to go in the daytime.
We had rifle pits dug about two hundred yards from the rifle-pits of
the Rebs, and we had loop-holes made from which to fire. About one
hundred yards back of us was planted one of our batteries and as they
fired over our heads anyone might imagine what a deafening report rang
in our ears. We boys got the range of the rifle-pits of "Mr. Secesh"
opposite, perfectly, consequently they didn't dare show their heads.
Though from their hiding place they annoyed us all day. After dark we
usually held some conversation with the Rebs across the ravine. We
would ask them if they wanted any soft bread. If they did we would put
some in a mortar and send it over. They said they didn't care to have
any sent that way and as we didn't have much to spare we didn't send
any. Our bean soup and coffee and such other food as might be handy was
sent out before daylight in the morning and after dark at night. We
were here in this trench or pit for three long days and nights and one
can imagine how we suffered from heat and thirst. We were relieved on
the tenth by the One Hundred and Fifty-ninth New York. We returned to
our old camp-ground June 11th between 12 and 1 A.M. A general assault
was planned but owing to some misunderstanding the plan failed.
June 14th, Sunday. The day was an eventful one in the siege of Port
Hudson, of which the Twenty-fifth Connecticut was engaged. We were
under way at an early hour, for we formed the reserve in the attacking
column. Colonel Birge was in command of the reserve. We were up at 3
A.M., had a little hard-tack and coffee and started under command of
Captain Naughton at 4. Suddenly we heard a terrifying yell and the
crash and roar of artillery and musketry. Soon the dead and wounded
began to be brought in. All kinds of conflicting stories were
circulated as to the success of our brave fellows. Very soon General
Payne was wounded, and Colonel H. W. Birge assumed command, we forming
the reserve. Soon we were ordered forward. On through the scene of our
first day's fight, then down through a ravine, where a road had been
cut. Here we halted at the foot of the hill where we formed in battle
line and made another charge right up over the hill, exposed to a
raking fire, as we went over the crest and down through the ravine
before we could reach the breastworks. There we lost two lieutenants. A
large number of men were killed or wounded. We arrived at the other
side of the hill in great confusion. I shall never forget that horrible
scene. There were parts of several regiments all mixed up together,
entangled among fallen trees. But after getting straightened out, and
the line once more formed, the order to charge was countermanded and we
had to lay up there in that fearful hot sun all day. I was taken sick
and had to rest for awhile but I soon got better and joined the
regiment. At about 10 P.M. we were ordered down into the outer ditch of
the breastworks. We were there but a short time, when we were ordered
to the right to our old position in the rifle-pits, which we reached at
midnight.
General Payne had been wounded in the leg in the forenoon, but we could
not get up where he was to give him any aid, consequently he had to lay
there in the burning sun till night, when he was brought away in
safety. It was a scorching hot day and a number were sunstruck, some
cases proving fatal. I was exhausted and had to lie down in the shade.
It was a miserable Sunday scrape and ended like all the rest that had
been started on a Sunday, disastrously. The loss of life was very
great.
We were relieved at night by the Twenty-eighth Connecticut and returned
once more to our old camp-ground, where, after the whizzing of the
bullets and the cracking of firearms had died away, all was still but
the groans that could be heard upon the bloody battlefield.
June 15th. The day after the second assault on Port Hudson, General
Banks issued a call for volunteers "for a storming column of a thousand
men to vindicate the Flag of the Union, and the memory of its defenders
who had fallen. Let them come forward, every officer and soldier who
shares its perils and its glory shall receive a medal fit to
commemorate the first grand success of the campaign of 1863 for the
freedom of the Mississippi River. His name will be placed upon the roll
of honor." The next day, June 16, the order was promulgated and two
days later, June 18, these "stormers," as they were called, were
gathered into a camp by themselves and put into training calculated to
promote physical strength and endurance. By every conceivable way they
prepared themselves for the work that they were expected to do. These
brave men knew that all the arrangements for their support had been
made but the expected order did not come. They had had three or four
dreadful experiences in charging earthworks and yet these men were
willing to assault those same earthworks again.
June 26th. There has been considerable bombarding on account of the
Rebels opening some big guns but I think they are doing very little
damage. We heard today that the enemy had driven our army across the
Potomac and that there was great excitement throughout the North. We
hoped that the report was false. Last night I was detailed to go on
picket being sent out to an outpost about a mile from the reserve. We
stood by our arms most of the time during the night. There was brisk
firing on our left most of the time.
June 27th. Came in from picket. Today we have been reviewed by
Major-General Banks. He made a temperance speech to us. I think he must
have thought that we were getting to be a pretty tough set of fellows.
I don't see how he could have thought that, when we couldn't get very
much that was intoxicating, only what quinine and whiskey Uncle Sam
issued to us when we came off picket duty.
July 1st. There has been a reason for my not writing in my diary for a
few days. We had been told that no soldiers' letters could be sent
North and I put off writing in the hope that I could record the fall of
Port Hudson, that Rebel stronghold. But still the siege drags slowly
along. Our days were divided between rifle-pits and making assaults.
The Rebs hold their rifle-pits and we advance ours or remain
stationary.
Yesterday, the colored brigade carried a hill by storm and have held
it, notwithstanding the great effort made by the Rebels to regain it.
Sunday, July 3rd. We attacked Port Hudson at two points, but were
beaten back with great loss. The battle still rages and omnipotence
still holds the scales in equal balance. This is the 25th day of the
siege and we are still stuck outside the fortification. Last Sunday we
made a general assault. We got inside three times but for want of
support were driven back. Men were mowed down on our right and left. It
was a wonder how I was preserved. I have been in four direct assaults
on the breastworks, several skirmishes and yet not a scratch have I
received.
Port Hudson, July 4th, (Independence Day). As will be seen, we had no
idea of what was going on more than two hundred miles up the river at
Vicksburg, or fifteen hundred miles at Gettysburg. At Vicksburg,
General Grant was quietly smoking a cigar when he wrote a dispatch to
be sent to Cairo to be telegraphed to the General-in-Chief at
Washington: "The enemy surrendered this morning. The only terms allowed
is their parole as prisoners of war." The same dispatch was sent to
General Banks at Port Hudson. At Gettysburg the army of the Potomac had
inflicted a terrible defeat on the army of Northern Virginia. I really
believe this is the quietest Fourth of July I have ever spent. Verily,
I don't believe there has been as much powder burnt here as in New York
or Boston. I wouldn't wonder if Hartford, with its swarm of boys, could
outstrip us. Every little while there's a bang, a boom and the bursting
of a shell, for we must keep the besieged from falling asleep and stir
them up occasionally. Now, the music is becoming lively, the gunboats
and the batteries are pitching in and altogether we are giving them
Hail Columbia to the tune of Yankee Doodle.
For the last few days we have been in a very enviable frame of mind,
expecting every day to be ordered to participate in another assault.
Yet the orders have not come and each night we have drawn a long breath
and exclaimed one more day of grace. Well, so it is, but while we are
getting uneasy for another fight we have a strong desire to avoid
charging on the breastworks again. We've been in three, and some of us
four, assaults on the Rebel fortifications and each time we have been
driven back. The first of July, General Banks made us a great speech
promising us that within three days we would be inside Port Hudson. But
the three days have passed and those rascally Rebs still persist in
keeping us outside. Although the fortifications could probably be
stormed any day, yet why waste life when a few days will bring them to
terms, as they are now reduced to mule-meat and a little corn.
Deserters are coming in fast. One day as many as one hundred and fifty
came in saying they couldn't stand mule-meat any longer. Now I am
feeling sure that within a few days I shall be able to record the fall
of Port Hudson. The Rebel cavalry are harassing our rear ranks
continually. They made a dash day before yesterday from Clinton and
Jackson, striking here and there and picked up some stragglers and
foraging parties. A few days ago they dashed into Springfield Landing
whence we draw our stores and ammunition, but our cavalry went after
them so quick they found pressing business in other quarters.
On the other side of the Mississippi quite a force came down. They
attacked Donaldsonville a few days ago demanding the surrender of the
town. But the provost-marshal gathered his forces together, amounting
to about two hundred, got inside his fortifications, and waited for
them to come up. The contest was kept up from midnight till daylight,
when the sudden appearance of a gunboat caused the Rebels to skedaddle,
leaving about one hundred dead on the field, several hundred wounded
and one hundred and twenty prisoners.
Now comes the great surprise of all. The confounded Rebs have got into
Bayou Boeuf and destroyed or captured the whole of our division
property stored there. Tents, baggage, knapsacks, company and
regimental books are all gone. At this time we were all as poor as
Job's turkey. Except for the rags that cover us, we haven't a thing.
Were I where I could, I should like to write a letter to the Soldiers'
Aid Society for some handkerchiefs, being reduced to the last shift, i.
e., the flap of an old shirt picked up in a deserted mansion. Word
comes from Colonel Bissell that he is slowly improving. We are hoping
that we shall see him with us again soon. But I really believe his
sickness saved his life, for it is doubtful if he would have come out
alive from the charge the regiment made on the 27th of May. We are
having some very hot weather. We are spending most of our time on
picket duty and trying to keep cool. You would have laughed if you
could have seen us at our meals wearing only shirt and drawers, while
our comical colored boy, Adam, squatted down on the ground in front of
us keeping the flies off. This Adam was a corker. Speaking of Mobile
one day, he said: "Reckon you couldn't fool dis nigga much in dat town.
Specks he was born and raised dar. Yah! yah! yah! Reckon he knows ebry
hole dar from de liquor-shops to de meeting houses."
July 8th. The dispatch from General Grant, previously referred to, was
received. The booming of big guns, the cheers and shouts of the Union
soldiers and the strains of patriotic music informed the besieged that
something had happened. They were not slow to find out the cause of the
rejoicing. General Gardner sent a flag of truce to General Banks to
know if the report that Vicksburg had surrendered was true and received
in reply a copy of General Grant's dispatch. The garrison had done
their duty with brave fortitude. The Union lines were already in some
places up to their breastworks. Starvation was staring them in the face
and taking everything into consideration about the only thing for
General Gardner to do was to surrender. Should the expected charge have
been made by the "stormers" it would have been a waste of life for they
could not expect to hold their position.
The 8th was spent in arranging terms for the surrender of the fortress
and on the 9th, the storming column led the advance as the victorious
army marched into Port Hudson to put the Stars and Stripes in the place
of the stars and bars.
President Lincoln's long-desired hope was realized and he could now
say: "The Father of Waters again goes unmolested to the sea." The time
of the nine-months' men was soon to expire and the Twenty-fifth
Connecticut left very soon for New Orleans, but was detained at
Donaldsonville for a few days.
[Illustration: SAMUEL KIMBALL ELLIS
This picture was taken at time of enlistment Sept. 12,
1863, at the age of 22. He enlisted as a private in
Company G, 25th Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers.]
About fifty years ago the people in the North were probably in a frenzy
of excitement. We soldiers in the South had learned to take things
cool. Vicksburg, the stumbling block, had fallen; Port Hudson had caved
in; Lee and his army had gone to one eternal smash; Port Hudson had
scarcely surrendered when we were called upon again to take the field.
Those confounded Rebels didn't know how to stay whipped, and General
Taylor, reinforced by General Magruder's Texicans, had again taken the
field. They attacked us at Donaldsonville with a much larger force in
proportion to ours but got soundly thrashed; we being strongly
reinforced, came out to meet them and got whipped, and so the matter
rested. The commanding officer of the brigade was flanked through
carelessness and they had to fall back with a loss of two cannon. Our
brigade was on the reserve. We fell in and rushed to the rescue but too
late, for they were in full retreat. A new line was formed, the
Twenty-fifth deployed as skirmishers and sent forward. After advancing
quite a distance through the corn we were ordered back and our whole
force fell back about half a mile, where we were still holding a strong
position. The Rebels meanwhile had left and fortified at Labordieville,
some twenty miles distant. The Twenty-fifth Connecticut regiment, after
one of the most trying campaigns of the war, was about to take another
sea voyage.
Here are a few verses which I have written on the siege of Port Hudson: