Major-general Franklin.--Sabine Pass.--Collision at Sea.--March
through Louisiana.--Rebel Correspondence.--"The Gypsy's Wassail."
--Rebel Women.--Rebel Poetry.--A Skirmish.--Salt Island.--Winter
Climate.--Banks's Capua.--Major Joseph Bailey.
Early in the fall of 1863, Major-general Franklin was put in command
of the military part of an expedition which had been planned against
Sabine Pass, on the coast of Texas. The arrangement was for the navy
to enter the port at night, get in the rear of the work, and capture
it; whereupon the troops were to land, garrison the place, and hold
it as a base for future operations in Texas. The plan failed. The
expected signals were not displayed. The gun-boats made the attempt
in broad daylight, got aground in the shallow and winding channel,
and were captured. Many of the sailors jumped overboard, swam ashore,
ran down through the marsh, and were picked up by our boats. The plan
had failed, and there was nothing for the troops to do but to return.
That night we had a collision between one of our large sea-going
steamers and our light river boat used for head-quarters. Our
side was apparently smashed in. A panic seized the crew; captain,
pilot, engineer, hands, all rushed for the steamer. Most of our
head-quarters company and officers followed the example. I was
reading in the cabin when the collision occurred. The crash and the
cries attracted my attention. I went upon deck, and tried for a
moment to restore order, but in vain. The soldiers on the steamer
shouted, "Come on board! come on board! You're sinking! there's a
great hole in your side!" The waves dashed our little boat against
the sides of the steamer, and the light plank of the wheel-house
was grinding and crashing. I can easily understand how contagious
is a panic. It was with a great effort I could restrain myself from
following the example set me. I knew, however, that my place was
with the general, and I went in search of him. I found him on the
hurricane-deck, seated on the sky-light, quietly smoking his cigar.
I said, "General, are you not going to leave her?" "I don't believe
she'll sink," he replied. "But she is an abandoned ship, sir; every
one has left her." "Have they? are you sure?" "I'll make sure," I
replied; and, going to the wheel-house, found it deserted. Then I
looked into the engine-room--I remember the engine looked so grim
and stiff in its solitude. Franklin then consented to go. We found a
quiet place aft where there was no confusion; and as the waves tossed
up our light vessel to a level with the steamer, he sprung upon her
deck. As soon as he had jumped, I attempted to follow, but the vessel
was not tossed high enough. So I watched my chance, and plunged
head foremost into a port-hole, where friendly hands caught me, and
prevented my falling on the deck.
But our little steamer would not sink. Franklin at once ordered out
the boats, secured the captain and crew, and returned on board. We
found that the outer shell of the boat was crushed in, and that she
was leaking badly; but the inner ceiling was unhurt. We easily kept
her free with the pumps until we had repaired damages. I do not think
that the general ever quite forgave me for persuading him to leave
her.
As we had failed by sea, we next tried the land, and with better
success. We marched to Opelousas, driving the rebels before us. A
pleasant incident happened on this march, one of those trifles which
soften the horrors of war. I had known at New Orleans a charming
rebel creole whose husband was a general in the Confederate army. I
had had an opportunity to render the family some trifling service.
One day we intercepted a courier bearing a letter from General
---- to General Miles, commanding the district. He wrote that he
had fallen upon the rear of our column and picked up a number of
stragglers, and that he should send them next day to head-quarters.
Of course we laid our plans, captured the escort, and recaptured
our own men. With the general's assent, I sent the letter to the
lady in question, with a line to the effect that she probably had
not seen her husband's handwriting for some time, and might be
gratified to learn from the inclosed letter that he was well. She
would regret to learn, however, that our men had been retaken and
the escort captured; that I should spare no pains to capture the
general himself, and send him to his wife; and that if he knew what
fate was in store for him, I was sure that he would make but a feeble
resistance. She replied in the same spirit, that with such generous
enemies war lost half its terrors.
Under Franklin nothing was left undone that could properly be done
to soften the rigors of war to non-combatants. Often have his staff
officers spent weary hours over intercepted correspondence. It was
our duty to examine the correspondence in search of intelligence
that might be useful to us; but it was no part of our duty carefully
to reseal those letters which were purely on domestic or personal
matters, re-inclose the hundred odd little souvenirs they contained,
and send them under a flag to the rebel lines. And yet we did this
repeatedly. I wonder if the rebels ever did as much for us anywhere
in the Confederacy!
Speaking of intercepted letters, I remember that at New Orleans we
once seized a bag as it was about to cross the lake. Among other
letters, it contained one from a young lady to her brother-in-law
in Mobile. I have rarely seen a cleverer production. She gave an
account, with great glee, of a trick she had played upon a Boston
newspaper, perhaps the "Respectable Daily." She wrote that she had
sent them a poem called "The Gypsy's Wassail," the original in
Sanscrit, the translation of course in English, and all that was
patriotic and loyal. "Now, the Sanscrit," she wrote, "was English
written backward, and read as follows:
"'God bless our brave Confederates, Lord!
Lee, Johnson, Smith, and Beauregard!
Help Jackson, Smith, and Johnson Joe,
To give them fits in Dixie, oh!'"
The Boston newspaper fell into the trap, and published this
"beautiful and patriotic poem, by our talented contributor." But in a
few days some sharp fellow found out the trick and exposed it.
The letter was signed "Anna" simply, and no clue to the author was
given. Anna thought that she was safe. She forgot that in the same
bag was a letter from her sister to her husband, with signature and
address, in which she said, "Anna writes you one of her amusing
letters." So I had discovered who Miss Anna was, and wrote her
accordingly. I told her that her letter had fallen into the hands of
one of those "Yankee" officers whom she saw fit to abuse, and who
was so pleased with its wit that he should take great pleasure in
forwarding it to its destination; that in return he had only to ask
that when the author of "The Gypsy's Wassail" favored the expectant
world with another poem, he might be honored with an early copy. Anna
must have been rather surprised.
As may be supposed, there were constant trials of wit between the
rebels and ourselves, in which we sometimes came off second best.
But they had their women to help them, which gave them an immense
advantage, for in such matters one woman is worth a "wilderness" of
men. I recollect one day we sent a steamboat full of rebel officers,
exchanged prisoners, into the Confederacy. They were generally
accompanied by their wives and children. Our officers noticed the
most extraordinary number of dolls on board--every child had a
doll--but they had no suspicions. A lady told me afterward that every
doll was filled with quinine. The sawdust was taken out and quinine
substituted. Depend upon it that female wit devised that trick.
They attacked us in poetry too, generally written by young ladies,
and some of it decidedly clever. Strong, Butler's adjutant-general,
had stopped the service in one of the Episcopal churches, because the
clergyman prayed for Jeff Davis instead of for the "President of the
United States." This furnished a theme for some bitter stanzas. Banks
had sent a light battery to drive among a crowd of women and children
collected on the levee to see their friends off, and disperse them.
This furnished a fruitful theme for the rebel muse.
To return to our Opelousas campaign.
We followed the course of the Teche for several days through a lovely
country, the "Garden of Louisiana," and it deserves its name. The
names in this part of the country are French. I remember we had a
skirmish at a place called "Carrion-crow Bayou." It struck me as an
odd name to give to a stream. I made inquiries, and found that a
Frenchman had settled upon its banks, named Carran Cro.
Our march to Opelousas was without striking incident. The
Confederates once or twice came into position, as if to dispute our
progress, but they always gave way. Our return, however, was more
eventful. The rebels attacked an outlying brigade, and caught it
napping. It occupied a strong position, and could easily have beaten
cavalry off, the only force by which it was attacked. Two regiments,
however, were seized with a panic, and surrendered without firing
a shot. The alarm was given to the main body, and re-enforcements
quickly arrived, and drove off the rebels; but they carried off
many prisoners. Not long afterward we turned the tables upon them.
They encamped a regiment of Texas cavalry at a beautiful spot near
Iberville, called "Camp Pratt." Franklin organized an attack upon
them. One night he sent our cavalry to make a wide détour upon the
prairie and get into their rear. Then he attacked them in front
with infantry. They mounted and fled in disorder, and fell, nearly
to a man, into the hands of our cavalry. It was a well-organized
and well-conducted expedition, and reflected credit upon Lee, who
commanded the cavalry, and upon Cameron, who commanded the infantry.
Tradition says that Dick Taylor, who commanded in that part of
Louisiana, swore "like our army in Flanders" when he heard of it.
There is a very curious salt island near Iberville, well worth a
visit, in a scientific point of view. Franklin wanted very much
to explore it, but he did not wish to take an army as an escort,
and he said it would be too absurd if he were captured on such an
expedition. It would not have been quite so absurd for me, however;
so I went, accompanied by Colonel Professor Owen, of the Indiana
University, and volunteers, and with our head-quarters cavalry
company as an escort. The island lies in the Gulf, and is perhaps
half a mile in diameter. In the centre is a hollow about a hundred
yards across, which has all the appearance of an extinct crater.
Here, a few inches below the surface, lies the salt, in an almost
perfect state of purity. For years our Southern brethren, who do not
shine as inventors, sunk wells, pumped up the water, evaporated it,
and so made their salt. At last it occurred to some one more clever
than his neighbors, "Why not blast out the salt itself?" And so it
was done. It seems scarcely possible, and yet I was credibly assured
that so scarce was salt in the Confederacy, that wagons came all the
way from Charleston, were loaded with salt, and returned to that
city. It must have been a journey of months.
We wintered at Franklin, preparing for a spring campaign to the Red
River. The climate of Louisiana is delicious in winter. I have tried
both the South of France and Italy, but know no climate equal to that
of Louisiana. The summer, _en revanche_, is intensely hot, and lasts
from May to October, the thermometer ranging from 86° at night to 96°
in the day-time. Yet the heat is not stifling. You feel no particular
inconvenience from it at the time; but two seasons affect the nervous
system seriously, and a white man must from time to time get the
Northern or the sea-air. Happily the sea-coast is of easy access from
New Orleans.
But while our command was under canvas, and preparing for the
approaching campaign, the cavalry was being mounted and drilled
amidst the allurements of a large city. Why Banks did not send it to
Thibodeaux, or to some other post where the prairie gave admirable
opportunities for cavalry exercise, is a question which was often
asked, but to which no satisfactory answer has ever been given.
Farragut said that he feared that New Orleans would prove Banks's
Capua. One of the consequences, as regards the cavalry, was, that
they started upon the campaign with "impedimenta" enough for an
army. Crossing a ford one day, Franklin spied a country cart drawn
by a mule, containing bedding, trunks, and a negro woman. He sent
the corps inspector to see to whom it belonged. It turned out to be
the property of a sergeant of a cavalry regiment. Needless to say
that the cart went no farther. After the rebels had captured their
Champagne, sardines, and potted anchovies, at Sabine Cross Roads,
they became excellent cavalry.
And now, fortunately for the navy, Bailey joined our staff. He had
done such good work at Port Hudson--built half our works, got out a
steamboat that lay high and dry in the mud, etc., etc.--that Banks
had promoted him to be colonel of the regiment, over the head of
the lieutenant-colonel. Banks had no right to do this. In so doing,
he had usurped the prerogative of the Governor of Wisconsin; and the
governor, as might be expected, resented it. Of course the governor
was sustained by the War Department. Bailey was, naturally enough,
annoyed and mortified, and wrote to me that he should leave the
service; indeed, he supposed that he was already out of it, for he
had been mustered out as major when he was mustered in as colonel;
and now he had been mustered out as colonel. I wrote to him not to go
off at half-cock, to write to the governor and ask in what capacity
he recognized him, and then to the adjutant-general and ask the same
question. He was answered by the governor that he recognized him as
lieutenant-colonel, and by the Government that they recognized him
still as major. He then wrote me that he would gladly remain in the
service if I could get him on Franklin's staff, but that, under the
circumstances, he could not return to his regiment. I spoke to the
general upon the subject, and mentioned all that he had done under
Sherman at Port Hudson and elsewhere. The general applied for him;
he was ordered to report to us, and was announced as "Military
Engineer of the Nineteenth Army Corps." Thus it happened that Bailey
was with us when his regiment was not, and the fleet on the Red River
consequently saved from destruction or capture.