Donaldsonville, La.
Leaving Port Hudson--Stop at Baton Rouge--At Donaldsonville--Living
on the fat of the land--How sugar is made--Hickory
Landing--Plaquemine--Baton Rouge.
_July 10, 1863._
PORT HUDSON, LA. _Friday._ The rebel troops are going off by the
boat-load. Guards have been placed over the sugar and molasses, also the
corn. As fast as the paroles can be made out the men are going to their
homes. They each swear they will not fight again until regularly
exchanged. One of the Rebs has showed me how to make johnny-cake. I have
made several, and while they don't taste like mother's used to, they are
really very good. One fellow, after filling up on it, said "What's the
use of women anyway? We cook our own victuals, wash and mend our own
clothes, make up our own beds--and what more could women do?" All the
same there is one woman I would awfully like to see, and I flatter
myself that same woman would like to see me.
We were surprised yesterday at the small number of small arms
surrendered, and wondered how they were able to stand us off so long
with them. To-day the secret has come out. The best arms were buried in
the ground and many of the newly-made graves in the graveyard contained
rifles instead of dead Rebels. I don't know how they were discovered,
but have been told that so many newly-made graves excited the suspicion
of a Yankee officer and he began prodding into them and struck iron.
_July 11, 1863._
_Saturday._ We have marching orders. It is said we go to Baton Rouge as
escort for the Vermont Gray Horse Battery. That means we will have to
take a horse's gait, and it is said to be twenty-five miles. We have
been swimming in the river and washing our clothes and are that much
better off anyhow. We have filled up on corn bread, and are waiting for
further orders. Our regiment seems to be the only one that is going, at
least we are the only one getting ready. I hope my clothes will get dry
before we start, for it is hard getting around in them now. I am almost
ashamed to say it, but we are lousy with all the rest. There are always
some who don't care for them and they always have them. When we get a
change of clothing, I'll bury or burn my old ones. We hope we are on the
way to Camp Parapet, where our tents and knapsacks are. Baton Rouge is
in that direction and that is the only good thing we have in sight.
_July 12, 1863._
BATON ROUGE, LA. _Sunday._ Here at last and about tired out. We left
Port Hudson about dark and were all night and until noon to-day getting
here. Many of the men gave out and slept by the side of the road. I
suppose they will be coming in all the afternoon. Some of them were
skylarking around Port Hudson and did not get any supper. We were all
hungry as bears when we got here, and my clean suit, that I felt so
proud of, shows no signs of its recent washing. It had not got dry and
the dust we picked up seemed to all settle on and stick to me. However,
we have had a feed and I have shook out the most of the dirt I brought
with me. We hear good news from down the river, that 5,000 Rebs were
captured at Donaldsonville. The boys that were wounded at Port Hudson
May 27 are here, and except those in the general hospital at New
Orleans, the company is together again. This is the capital of
Louisiana, and like most all southern cities, is built up of low wooden
buildings although there are houses of all patterns, sizes and shapes.
The streets are narrow and dirty, and the citizens mostly speak French
among themselves. Negroes are everywhere, little and big, some jet black
and some almost white. As we may have to stay here, I won't run down the
place or the people any more. We are already settling down for the
night, and hope for an all-night's sleep.
_July 13, 1863._
_Monday._ Nothing has happened to-day worth writing about. We slept
soundly all night, and late this morning. Some have gone at it again and
act as if they would sleep all day. We have been strained up so long, it
begins to tell on the toughest. I had my sick spell last winter and
spring, and since that I have been one of the toughest. Have not been
off duty a minute since I left the hospital and I can't think of another
man in the company that can say that. But then my duties have been light
as compared with theirs. Upon looking over my diary I find I did not
mention a talk we had with the prisoners at Port Hudson. We were telling
each other our adventures, when one of them asked what regiment it was
that came out to draw their fire on June 13. When told it was the 128th
New York, they allowed it was the "doggondest" piece of impudence they
ever saw. They told how they begged to fire on us and were not allowed
to do it. The rebel officers knew what it was done for and had rather
let us go than expose their position. I can't help thinking it was a
good thing for us they didn't shoot, but we told them they couldn't hit
the side of a barn, say nothing of so small a mark as a man. The firing
they did do comes pretty near proving that we told them the truth.
_July 14, 1863._
_Tuesday._ All kinds of stories are afloat concerning the fight at
Donaldsonville. Some say our folks got the worst of it and some say the
Rebs did. Between the two we are in the dark as to what was done. A
great many of the men are on the sick list. There seems to be a sort of
letting down all around. I begin to think active duty is the best for us
after all. I got hold of some boards to-day and have put them up to
sleep under, and to sit under. It is great, for it lets the breeze blow
through and at the same time keeps off the dew at night and the sun by
day. The boys are all getting fixed up, but they put their boards on the
ground and make fun of my overhead shelter.
_July 15, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Marching orders again. Donaldsonville is our destination.
They have undertaken a job down there without consulting the 128th New
York and consequently have got into trouble, which we have got to go and
fix up.
Dr. Andrus joined the regiment this morning and we cheered most as loud
as when Port Hudson surrendered. Dr. Cole came soon after and was
received in silence. We have not forgotten Corporal Blunt yet. He is a
murderer, pure and simple. How he can hold his head as high as he does,
I don't see. I hope he will get what he deserves some day, but such
people seldom do. I saw a New York paper to-day. It was full of the
fight at Gettysburg. From all I can make of it our forces got the worst
of it in the first day's fight, but as it was still going on when the
paper was printed the scale may have turned. I suppose the 150th was in
it, and I shall want to see another paper to know how it ended, and if
John was hurt.
_4 p. m._ On board the steamer St. Charles. We expect to make
Donaldsonville by eight to-night. The sail down the river is glorious.
Whatever comes when we reach our destination, we are having a regular
picnic now. Going with the current, the boat cuts the water like a
knife. There is too much to look at and to enjoy for me to waste the
time writing, so good-bye till to-morrow.
_July 16, 1863._
DONALDSONVILLE, LA. _Thursday._ We landed here about midnight last
night. A heavy shower overtook us on the way and wet us to the skin,
consequently what sleep we had was on wet ground and in wet clothes.
This has been a very pretty place. The levee hides it from view from the
river, but the place and the country around it is beautiful. It has been
fortified, and when the gunboats fought their way up the river a year
ago they were obliged to mar its beauty somewhat. There is a sugar mill
near by with lots of sugar and molasses in it. The best thing is an
immense cornfield right beside us, and the corn is just right to roast
or boil. It is the southern variety, great big stalks, with great big
ears on, and we can get a mouthful at every bite. There are a lot of
troops here--I should think at least 10,000. Just what we are here for
none of us have yet found out. The colored population is all I have yet
seen. I visited the sugar mill and from an old darkey learned all about
making sugar and molasses. There is a long shed, and under it is an
endless chain arrangement upon which the sugar cane is laid as it comes
in carts from the field. This carries the cane into the mill, where it
passes between heavy iron rollers, which squeeze the cane so dry that it
is used for fuel under the boilers that furnish steam to drive the
rollers. The juice runs into a big copper kettle, where it is boiled
awhile and then dipped into another and so on, until when it comes from
the last it is run into what I should call a cellar under the sugar
house. This is made tight in some way, probably with cement, and in it
the sugar settles to the bottom. I was told that the bottom of this
cellar slopes from the sides towards the center, so that the sugar
settles in the center. Over this cellar is a floor that slopes from the
sides to the center just as the cellar bottom does. The getting of the
sugar into hogsheads is the next operation. Hogsheads are placed on the
sloping floor, with one head open. Holes are bored in the lower head and
into these sugar canes are stuck before any sugar is put in. They have
immense great hoes, with long handles, and with these the men dig up the
sugar and dump it into the open-ended hogshead. The molasses drains out
through the holes in the bottom and runs back into the cellar, "vat," he
called it. The men are all barefoot, and when I asked him if they washed
their feet before beginning work, he said the molasses did that just as
well as water. The hogsheads are left as long as any molasses drains
out, when they are headed up and are ready for market. The molasses is
scooped up with long-handled scoops and the barrels filled, any waste
there may be running back into the vat.
It is said we are here to attract the attention of the Rebs until Grant
can get in their rear, and so force them to a fair field fight. A New
York paper has been going the rounds until it is worn out. When I got it
I made out that General Lee got the worst of it at Gettysburg, and that
he himself was wounded. Also that his line of retreat is cut off. Good
enough, if true, and I hope it is. But General Lee ought to pattern
after some officers I know and keep out of danger, when danger is near.
After the danger is past then he can come out and shout as loud as any.
_July 17, 1863._
_Friday._ Nothing new to-day, unless it be a new pair of government
pants which I was lucky enough to get, and which I very much needed. A
good swim in the river, and the new pants have made me feel like new.
The body of a man floating in the river was pulled out here and buried
to-day. He had no clothing on and it is not known whether he was a
native or a northern soldier. We are a lazy set here. We eat corn and
sleep and that leaves very little to write about.
_July 18, 1863._
_Saturday._ The weather continues hot. What would we do if our old
friend, the Mississippi, should dry up? We wash in it, swim in it, drink
from it, and boil our dinners in it. To-day I borrowed a washtub from a
native and washed my clothes. I had soap and I gave them the first good
one they ever had. My shirt is more like a necklace than a shirt. I
hardly know myself to-night. We have been cutting each other's hair. One
of the boys borrowed a pair of shears and I guess they will wear them
out. The best thing though was a fine-tooth comb, which has been in
constant use to-day. That too was borrowed. I am ashamed to tell it, but
when I got the comb I pulled out five lice from my hair the first grab.
Strange as it may seem, I got no more, and now that my hair is cut close
to my scalp the most careful search does not show any signs of others. I
guess they must have been having a picnic in some favorite grove and all
got caught at one haul. Body lice we don't care for. We just boil our
clothes and that's the end of them. Their feeding time is when we are
still for a while, but at the first move they all let go and grab fast
to our clothing. But the head lice are more difficult to deal with
unless it be the kind that I had, which all attend one church and at the
same time.
_July 19, 1863._
_Sunday._ Mail came to-day. We have dodged about so lately the mail
could not find us. I got two. All well at home. I dread to hear, for
fear I will hear father or mother are sick, and yet I am all the time
hoping to get a letter. Some stamps too. If I only had some place to
keep them. I must hurry up and write to every one while they last. How
different a letter from home makes the world seem. Dear ones, how good
you are to me and what a debt I shall owe you when this is all over
with! We are expecting our pay every day. Some of the troops have
theirs, and our turn will come. We get all sorts of news from the North.
First a victory, and then a defeat. We are sure of two places, Vicksburg
and Port Hudson, and we have almost forgotten them. A great many are
sick. I am sick myself of corn and have gone back to hard-tack. I wish
we might go back to Camp Parapet, or else our things be sent us. A
letter from Walt Loucks says he expects a discharge. Several have been
discharged on account of disability. From his letter though he is in
good spirits and says he will come up and see me before he goes home.
Poor Walt, he has seen the hard side of soldiering, and I hope he will
be sent home.
_July 22, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Sunday, Monday and Tuesday all passed without a thing
happening worth recording. Except the regular detail for guard duty
there has been little going on except sleeping and eating. It seems as
if I would never get sleep enough, now that there is no excitement to
keep me awake.
_P. M._ Have just received a Pine Plains paper which says John Van
Alstyne was killed at the Gettysburg fight. Dear me, what will father
and mother do now? George Wilson of the same company and regiment is
reported wounded. I have seen another paper giving the list of killed
and wounded in the regiment and John's name was not in the list. On this
peg I hang my hopes of a contradiction of this sad piece of news, and
shall feel very anxious until I know the truth. John Thorn, who deserted
before we left Hudson, reached us to-day. He says he gave himself up,
but more likely some one gave him up, as they ought to. He has missed
some hard knocks, and some fun, but he will get his share of each from
this on.
_July 23, 1863._
_Tuesday._ Have written four letters to-day. At first I thought I was
going to join the sick squad, but writing the letters has cured me. A
great many are sick; quite a number from each company attend sick call
every morning. Dr. Andrus and I play some desperate games of checkers
these days. I shall try hard to keep out of his hands otherwise, for if
I should get down now our folks would have me to worry about, and if the
news about John be true, they have plenty of trouble now. The man Thorn
has been transferred to Company F. I am glad of it. Company B has no
room for him.
New Orleans paper dated 18th says General Lee is not yet out of danger
from General Meade. How I hope the next paper from the North will tell
of the capture of his whole army.
I have got mixed up on time some way and find this is Saturday, July 26.
I have let my diary go for some days. For one reason, there was only the
usual routine of camp life to write of, and another reason is I have
been too lazy. I just lay around and rest, or play checkers with the
doctor. We have showers most every day, and are either getting wet, or
getting dry again nearly all the time. We have a great deal of what
farmers call catching weather. The sun shines clear and bright, and the
next thing you know down comes the rain in torrents. The only good thing
about it is that it is warm. Our old sutler, John Pulver, has come back
and set up his tent. His stock is mostly gingerbread and plug tobacco,
with some currant wine and live cheese for a change. He trusts everybody
and his stock will soon vanish. But pay day will come, and his debtors
will have to settle whether it takes all or only a part of their pay.
Some of the troops have already been paid, but Major Vedder, who pays
the New York troops, has not yet put in an appearance.
Major Bostwick came down from Port Hudson to-day to settle up his
accounts with Company B. He stays in camp to-night and is then going to
New Orleans. His regiment has remained at Port Hudson since the
surrender, doing guard duty.
_July 26, 1863._
_Sunday._ Went to church to-day. It was a Catholic church and the sermon
was in Latin, so I don't know whether he prayed for or against us. There
were a great many Sisters of Charity there. In fact they are everywhere.
Black and white people were all mixed up and so far as I could see were
all treated alike. I was ashamed of my clothes, but they were my best,
and none of them could say more than that.
We drew a ration of flour to-day and had quite a time making pancakes.
Lieutenant Pierce took supper with us. I mixed up the stuff and Mitchel
did the baking. I got some saleratus for I remembered mother used that,
but I did not remember that she also used salt, so I didn't think of it.
They didn't look much like mother's, and when we came to eat them they
didn't taste much like them. But it was a change, and that is something
we are always glad to get.
Our tents have just overtaken us, and we sleep under cover to-night for
the first time since we left Camp Parapet.
_July 27, 1863._
_Monday._ We have been put in the Third Brigade, in the Fourth Division,
under Emory. There seems to be a regular reorganization going on. I
suppose things are being arranged for another campaign. The darkeys had
a dance in the road last night. I had gone to bed, but there was so much
noise I got up and went to the ball. They had no music, but one of them
patted his hands on his leg, at the same time stamping his foot, and it
answered every purpose. Half the regiment was there looking on and there
was lots of fun. They were in dead earnest too, and there are some
right down good dancers among them. The dignity of it all, and their
extreme politeness to the ladies, would shame some white dances I have
attended.
A New Orleans paper says General Lee has got safely back into Virginia.
We hoped for a different report from that. But there is no such thing as
suiting both sides in this business. It also tells of a riot in New York
City on account of the draft. Here comes the mail man, so good-bye.
_Later._ I have a letter from Jane and have read it. John is dead,
killed at the first fire that came his way. The 150th marched thirty-six
miles to get there, and were put right in as soon as they reached the
field. Poor John! I'll bet he was in the front ranks, for he always was
in anything he undertook. He was instantly killed. To know he did not
suffer as some have to, is a great relief. I had hoped the Pine Plains
_Herald_ report was not true, but I can hope no longer. I feel so for
father and mother. I must write them oftener now, for they will feel
more than ever anxious to hear from me. Jane says they are brave, but I
know that sort of bravery cuts like a knife. Colonel Ketcham wrote them
a nice letter, telling what a good soldier John had been, and how he
sympathized with them in losing him. I suppose his body can sometime be
brought home, that is, if it can be identified. If many were killed they
were probably tumbled into a long ditch together, for that is the way it
is usually done.
Through rebel sources we hear General Dow is in Libby Prison. Also that
Charleston is taken. Also that Lee, with his army, is safe in Virginia.
How I wish I knew more about the Gettysburg fight. How it came about,
and how it came out. How Lee and his army came to be in Pennsylvania.
Why he was allowed to go so far north without a move being made to stop
him. For all we know or can find out, he dropped right down from the
clouds, and then our forces were gathered about him, some of them from
long distances, and were just able to drive him back into Virginia.
_July 30, 1863._
_Thursday._ Tuesday and Wednesday I spent writing letters, that is, all
the time I could get. The heat is something awful. It is almost as bad
in the shade as right out in the sun. The only comfortable place is in
the river. Several have given out and if it continues many more will do
so. We have signed the pay rolls for March and April, and hope to get
the money to-day or to-morrow. If we do I am going to eat something off
the top of a table, if it takes the whole two months' pay. The story is
we are to go back to Baton Rouge, but what for, or when, has not yet
been told.
_July 31, 1863._
_Friday._ Pay day. As I was at the quartermaster's this morning, drawing
rations, I was sent for to fall in for pay. If there is anything good to
eat in this town I am going to fill up. Seems to me I never had such a
dislike for army fare as has lately come upon me.
_August 1, 1863._
_Saturday._ A year ago to-day I cradled rye for Theron Wilson, and I
remember we had chicken pie for dinner with home-made beer to wash it
down. To-day I have hard-tack, with coffee for a wash-down. Have I ever
described a hard-tack to you? If not I will try, but I am doubtful of
being able to make anyone who has not used them understand what they
are. In size they are about like a common soda cracker, and in thickness
about like two of them. Except for the thickness they look very much
alike. But there the resemblance ends. The cracker eats easy, almost
melts in the mouth, while the hard-tack is harder and tougher than so
much wood. I don't know what the word "tack" means, but the "hard" I
have long understood. We soak them in our coffee and in that way get off
the outside. It takes a long time to soak one through, but repeated
soakings and repeated gnawing finally uses them up. Very often they are
mouldy, and most always wormy. We knock them together and jar out the
worms, and the mould we cut or scrape off. Sometimes we soak them until
soft and then fry them in pork grease, but generally we smash them up in
pieces and grind away until either the teeth or the hard-tack gives up.
I know now why Dr. Cole examined our teeth so carefully when we passed
through the medical mill at Hudson. I tried some of the southern cooking
to-day and am better contented with army fare than I have been for some
time. Marching orders. Must get the commissary stores ready right away.
Good-bye till next time.
_August 2, 1863._
_Sunday._ My twenty-fourth birthday. We left Donaldsonville about nine
last night and marched up the river until midnight. We slept in the road
until four this morning, when we started and marched at quick time till
9 o'clock, when the men began to fall out with the heat, and we halted
for the stragglers to come up. It is a very warm day, even for this
country. The doctor is patching up those who gave out, and I see no
signs of going any farther to-day.
_P. M._ We have pitched what few tents we have with us, which means a
stay of some length. There is a large plantation here, said to be owned
by a man who has remained loyal to Uncle Sam, and from what I can learn
we are to protect him from his rebellious neighbor. Big thing that, for
the crack regiment of Sherman's division. I have been thinking of my
last birthday, and remember that John Loucks and I went fishing on Long
Pond, above Sharon.
_August 3, 1863._
_Monday._ We killed an ox this morning, and are full. The hide, horns,
head, legs and every other part of that ox that we didn't divide up
among the companies was seized upon by the darkies and is as completely
gone as if it had never existed. A swarm of flies over the place where
the tragedy took place is all there is left to tell of it.
_August 5, 1863._
_Wednesday._ The sick we left at Donaldsonville have been brought on,
and I suppose the rest of the stuff will come sometime. Landon P. Rider
of our company died last night, and we buried him in a little graveyard
here. It is the first man we have laid away in such a place since we
came south. It is a pretty little plot, and for his parents' sake I am
glad we happened here at this time. Curtis L. Porter, whom we left sick
at Baton Rouge, died on July 23. So we go! These last two men were among
our toughest and best men. We gave Landon a military funeral, and it
went off without a hitch, even if I did have charge of it. That was my
job before I was sick at Camp Parapet, and since that this is the only
time we have done anything more than dig a hole and put them in.
_August 6, 1863._
_Thursday._ We drew five days' rations to-day, the first time in most
three months that we have drawn rations in bulk. Company savings
commence to-day. (Note. I don't remember what this statement refers to.
L. V. A.). This will add to the duties of commissary sergeants. Their
accounts must agree with the regimental commissary, his with the brigade
commissary, and so on through each department up to the quartermaster
general. If errors are found it is safe to say they will come back to
the company commissary, for he has no one below him to pass them along
to.
Walter Loucks came back to the regiment this morning. His discharge was
not granted and he is greatly disappointed. He looks as if he had lived
in the shade, he is so white. Our faces are so black it don't seem as if
we would ever be called white again. Poor Walt, he has had the best of
it lately, but he suffered enough last winter and spring to make up for
it. Now he will have to take it with the rest of us and it will be hard
on him for a while. The mail leaves to-day. I have four letters, and
some money for father, to go.
_August 7, 1863._
_Friday._ We have moved our camp across the road to higher and dryer
ground. We have the prettiest place for a camp we have yet had. We have
a fine view of the river, up and down, for miles. The river falls every
day, and grows narrow. I don't think the water is over three-quarters of
a mile wide. The natives say it will not get much narrower, though it
may get lower. It is about all channel now. It don't seem possible it
could ever fill up to the levee. One gets some idea of the amount of
water it sometimes carries by looking across it and imagining it full
from levee to levee. As fast as the water falls, the mud dries up, and
in a few days grass sprouts up, and so it is green almost to the water's
edge. We have some glorious swims. The water is always muddy but it
loosens up the dirt, which runs off with the water when we come out. The
callouses on our hips show most as far as the man. They are a redder red
than the rest of the body, and are about as wide as my hand and nearly
twice as long. They show how hard have been the beds we have slept on.
_August 10, 1863._
_Monday._ Saturday was a wet one. A tremendous shower with thunder and
lightning and high winds came up about noon, and swept everything before
it. It blew over before night and left it cool and pleasant. It doesn't
seem possible that dame Nature could change her face as she did in a few
hours this afternoon.
Sunday, yesterday morning, a boat landed about a half mile below us, and
unloaded our camp equipage. There were about forty loads of it, and it
kept us busy most all day. The things were all mixed up and we pulled
and hauled the piles over as fast as they came, looking for our
individual belongings. We put up all the tents that were needed. We
don't need as many as we did once.
Marching orders have come. Just as we have got settled down in the
finest location we have yet had, we must pull up and leave for some
other. It is too bad, but it is a part of the bargain and it does no
good to complain. We are all torn up and ready to go when the word
"march" is spoken. The quartermaster's teams have not returned from
Donaldsonville, where they went for rations. The gunboat Essex has
dropped anchor opposite us, also another gunboat which I cannot make
out. A part of the regiment is on picket, and until they come in we
shall probably remain as we are. Eph. Hammond and Will Haskins are quite
sick in the hospital tent and quite a number are about half sick in the
quarters.
_August 11, 1863._
HICKORY LANDING, LA. _Tuesday._ No move yet. We stuck up some tents in
the night and crawled in. Fresh orders this morning are to keep one
day's rations cooked ahead, and be ready to go at a moment's notice.
Eph. Hammond is dreadful sick to-day. He is our acting orderly and one
of the best fellows that ever lived.
_Later._ Eph. is dead. Whatever it was that struck him it took him quick
and nothing the doctor could do seemed to help him. Poor Eph., we shall
miss him. He was a leading spirit in any deviltry that was going on, but
was one of the sort that no one could find fault with. He was a general
favorite. There are a dozen others that would not be missed as he will.
John Pitcher, the same John who helped me get the honey at Port Hudson,
was taken to the hospital to-day. We have just buried Hammond. I have
marked some boards for his grave and Rider's, for it is possible they
will be sent for. What hardened wretches we have become. The word came,
"Eph. Hammond is dead, hurry up and make a box for him." He was one of
the best-liked men in the regiment. Yet not a tear was shed, and before
his body was cold he was buried in the ground. We will talk about him
more or less for a day or two and then forget all about him. That is
what less than a year has done to us. At that rate two years more and we
will be murdering in cold blood. The day has been sultry hot, but for a
wonder we have had no shower. Good-bye, before I get another chance to
write we will be somewhere else.
_August 12, 1863._
_Wednesday._ What a poor prophet I am! We are here yet. So many are
sick, the colonel has decided to wait for a transport to take us to
Plaquemine, about twenty-five miles above here. The doctor says anything
like a hard march would add greatly to the sick list. The plan just now
is to wait until the heat of the day is over, and if no boat comes along
to start and march by easy stages through the night, and then rest up
to-morrow. Company B has but thirteen men now that are not sick or
ailing.
_August 13, 1863._
PLAQUEMINE CITY, LA. _Thursday._ Twelve miles below Baton Rouge and on
the opposite banks. Last night about five we were all packed up for a
start on foot, and while in line waiting for the word to start, a boat
came in sight and was hailed. She swung up against the bank and in less
than an hour we were on board. The well ones took to the upper deck and
had a delightful sail by moonlight. We reached here about 11 P. M. and
had a good nap before our wagon train came in.
We have laid out our camp near the river, where we get the breezes if
any there are. The officers' tents are up and everything we possess is
given over to us again, which leads us to think we may stay here for
some time to come. We are too lazy to do more than loaf to-day, but
to-morrow I mean to look about and see what Plaquemine City looks like.
_August 14, 1863._
PLAQUEMINE, LA. _Friday._ Plaquemine is quite a place, in spite of its
name. There are several stores with quite a decent assortment but the
prices are way out of reach. I was going to buy a paper of tobacco, such
as we used to buy at home for a shilling, but when I found it was $1.50
I decided to wait until our sutler got here and get it for half that. A
fine large house which was furnished, but not occupied, has been taken
for a hospital. Colonel Smith is acting brigadier general and
quartermaster. Mace is acting brigade commissary. Several wrecks of
steamers lie near the mouth of a bayou that enters the river here. I
suppose they were destroyed by our folks last spring or else by the Rebs
to keep them from being captured. The people are civil, but not real
friendly. They do full as well as I could if the conditions were
reversed.
_August 15, 1863._
_Saturday._ We have drawn five days' rations and are settling down for
real living again. A general improvement in the sick shows already,
probably on account of such good quarters. We hear to-day that Major
Bostwick has been promoted and is now colonel of the Ninetieth United
States Colored Infantry. I did not suppose there was more than half a
dozen colored regiments in the field. Lieutenant Pierce has gone to Port
Hudson to see him. All sorts of stories are afloat about it, and one is
that Colonel B. will have the privilege of choosing his regimental staff
from the 128th New York. The weather keeps hot and seems to get hotter.
_August 16, 1863._
_Sunday._ Whew, what a scorcher this has been! Not a breath of air
stirring. The river is as smooth as glass. The reflection from it is
almost blinding. Even the water in the river is hot. We have put in the
day trying to keep cool. It's too hot to even write about it.
_August 17, 1863._
_Monday._ We got cooled off before the day was over, yesterday. A shower
came up and a hard gale of wind with it. The rain soaked up the ground
so the tent pins pulled out, and one after another our tents went down
until only one was left that stuck and hung until a fellow crawled out
and started one peg, and then that went. We had to lie on our tents to
keep them from blowing away.
A darkey caught a catfish to-day that weighed twenty pounds and one he
called a buffalo fish that weighed ten pounds. We have spent a lot of
good money for hooks and lines, but so far have not had a bite. I got
fast to a log or something, and broke my hook. The weather is cloudy
to-day, and there is every sign of a real rain storm.
_August 18, 1863._
_Tuesday._ It doesn't rain yet, but it looks as if it would every
minute. The mud here is as slippery as grease. There is hardly a man
among us that has not wiped up one or more places with his clothes.
Never mind, we have plenty of water and plenty of time to wash up. A box
that was sent Major Bostwick last June has just reached camp. It had
found the major finally, and after taking out what was for him, he sent
it to the regiment, for several were remembered in it. I had four pairs
of socks, a shirt, a watch cord, some dried peaches and some preserved
cherries. Also some paper and envelopes. Bless their hearts, how good
they are to bother so much about us! I looked long at my bundle, and
thought of the dear hands that had so carefully wrapped it up. I wish
they could know how much I appreciate the gift, and how much more I
appreciate the givers.
_9 p. m._ Something is up. Companies C and H have been called out and
the others have orders to be ready at a moment's notice, but to avoid
all confusion and noise.
_August 19, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Nothing new. C and H have not reported yet and we are as
much in the dark as ever about their errand. There has been some talk of
a shift about among the non-coms. in the regiment and now it has come. I
am still in the commissary department. The new order of things, "company
savings," it is called, will give me more to do, and for this I am
thankful.
_August 20, 1863._
_Thursday._ Ration day again. Heretofore we have drawn what was needed,
whether it was full rations or half, and the quartermaster has credited
back what was not taken. Now things have changed. We must draw a full
ration for every man reported on the monthly roll. Some are in the
hospital and some are dead, but we draw for them just the same. The
extra rations we are expected to sell, and turn the money into the
company savings account. I suppose if we should all stop eating we would
soon be rich, that is, if the company savings ever do come back to the
men, as they are supposed to do. It is a queer arrangement, and I may
not understand the plan, but that is the way I now understand it.
_August 21, 1863._
_Friday._ The day has been hot. No hotter perhaps than some others, but
it has made us more miserable. Everyone is crabbed and cross, and
finding fault, not only with the weather, but with the way the war is
conducted, and everything in general. There are plenty of men in
Company B that believe they could have wound up the war before this
time, had they only been at the head of affairs, or even been consulted.
Time creeps along. The summer we dreaded will soon be gone, and then the
winter, which may be ten times more uncomfortable, will come. I suppose
we shall keep right on finding fault just the same, and it will do us
just as much good as it does now.
_August 22, 1863._
_Saturday._ A boat touched here this morning and we got some papers. The
_Era_ says General Franklin is to supersede General Banks and that
General Banks is to supersede some one else, and that a regular
cleaning-house time is about to come. The whole army of the Gulf
Department is to be reorganized. Regiments that are cut down below a
certain number are to be joined with some other, and the extra officers
mustered out and sent home. We have learned not to swallow anything
whole that we see in the papers, but there does seem to be some sense in
such an argument. The 128th has only a third of its original number, and
if three such regiments were put together there would be two sets of
officers that could be disposed of. If this is the case all through the
army, a tremendous saving could be made. But what of the good record the
128th has gained. If we lose our name and number our record would soon
be forgotten. Two regiments, one white and one black, have just gone
down the river.
_Night._ We have marching orders. There is a rumor now that a great
expedition is being made up at New Orleans to go and capture Mobile. Of
course they can't do it without us, and it may be there is where we are
to go.
_August 23, 1863._
_Sunday._ The regiment was invited to attend church in a body and we
went. That is the rank and file did, and a few of the officers. I knew
there was a Catholic church here, but did not know of a Protestant
church. The church was in a shady grove, and in spite of the heat of the
day it was comfortably cool. The preacher was a middle-aged man, and he
appeared to favor the Secesh cause. At any rate he prayed right out loud
for it, but failed to get an Amen from us. He explained at great length
which cause was right, and then prayed that the right might prevail. The
congregation was mostly of the 128th, and for specially invited
attendants we got mighty little attention from preacher or people.
_August 24, 1863._
_Monday._ Through an interpreter I sold over ten dollars' worth of
rations to-day, to a Frenchman. Everyone here is French though the most
of them can talk United States. Sol Drake, the regimental commissary
clerk, sent for me to-day, and said a list of the names that Bostwick
wants to make up his official staff had been sent in and that he had
seen it. Also that his name and my own was among them. Just when we will
be transferred he doesn't know, nor does he know yet for certain that
the transfer will be made. I am to say nothing about it outside, nor
will he, until further developments.
Something is going on about here. About noon forty men were mounted on
confiscated horses and hastily left camp. They are probably on picket
duty some ways out, and will give us warning before trouble can reach
us. I presume it is some scattering guerrillas, such as gobbled General
Dow and George Story at Port Hudson.
_August 25, 1863._
_Tuesday._ The mounted men came in and reported no enemy in the
neighborhood. They brought in some beefsteak and have divided up
handsomely. They won't tell where they got it, but very likely they
robbed some butcher shop. They showed good taste in the selection, at
any rate.
_August 26, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Ration day again. As we drew five days' rations again it
looks as if we might stay some time yet. Mail came late last night. No
letters, but an old New York paper. No news good or bad. Everything
seems to have come to a stop. A darkey, named Jack, who has been
furnishing the cooks with wood, came in to-day with a log on his back
bigger than himself. When he threw it down a cottonmouth moccasin
crawled out of a hole in it. It made Jack almost turn white, he was so
scared. The log was full of holes as if mice had eaten their way through
it in every direction, and was most as light as cork. It is strange how
the negroes fear a cottonmouth, and yet they go everywhere barefoot, and
never seem to think of a snake until they see one. This is the first one
I have seen since we left Port Hudson. I thought we had got out of the
snake country.
_August 28, 1863._
_Wednesday._ Yesterday passed like any other day, trying to keep cool.
Nothing happened worth telling of. To-day a party has been mounted and
sent out to gather up the horses that are running loose all over the
country. They came in with quite a drove. They went toward
Donaldsonville. What the horses are for we do not know. Perhaps we are
to be made over into mounted infantry. A mail came in last night and I
was skipped again. I hope they have not forgotten me. Ransom White is
now our second lieutenant and Lieutenant Pierce is promoted to first
lieutenant. Second Lieutenant John Langdon of Company K is now its
captain. These are all good promotions. They are all deserving of them.
I suppose Tom Dutcher will be our captain as he is in line for it. He is
one of the very best of the whole lot, but has been on detached duty so
much of the time, we have almost forgotten him. A change has come over
the weather. It is cool and pleasant as it can be. For this we are truly
grateful. Lieutenant Pierce hinted to me about a change in fortune for
me, but would not let out what it was or when it would come. I expect it
is what Drake spoke of a few days ago. I hate to think of leaving the
128th, and yet I would hate to miss a better job.
_9 p. m._ Colonel Smith, who has been in New Orleans, came up on the
Thomas about 5 P. M. and soon after the Arago came up, having order to
report to Colonel Smith. This means a move, sure. We went right at it
and are all packed up and waiting. The Arago has anchored close to shore
and seems to be waiting for us. (Something wrong with dates here for the
next is Saturday and yet it appears to be a continuation of Wednesday,
August 28.)
_Saturday Morning._ (No date.) Reveille aroused us from an uneasy sleep
on the boards that had formed the floor to our tents, and before it was
fairly daylight, two days' rations were distributed, and the finishing
touches to our packing up had been made. At 9 A. M. we were once more on
board the Arago, that old prison that held us for those dreary six weeks
and killed off more of us than the Rebels have yet been able to. About
noon we unloaded at Baton Rouge and went into camp just back of the
Orphan Asylum. We are in a good place, in the city and yet out of it. We
can get into the city in a few minutes if we want to. A great many seem
to want to, for Lieutenant Pierce has been busy writing passes to go
down town. I guess I will go too and see what the place looks like. When
we were here before we were glad to lie and rest, and that is about all
we did.