The Red River Retreat
Guarding the pontoon train--Sleeping on feathers--Killing the
goose--Forced marching--The fight at Yellow Bayou--Crossing the
Atchafalaya--Another forced march--A raw beef supper--Footsore and
weary.
_May 14, 1864._
_Saturday._ Reveille at 3.30 A. M., breakfast at 4.00, and at 4.30 we
were off. The road followed the river, which is very crooked, making it
nearly double the distance it would be in a straight line. About 9 A. M.
the cavalry got into a fight on our right. We halted, and for the first
time had the men load their guns. The enemy had come out from the woods
and charged a squadron of our cavalry as it was passing, and for a time
it was hard to tell which was getting the best of it. One of our men was
shot from his horse, but the horse kept his place in the line as if
nothing of the kind had happened. When the Rebs were finally routed and
driven through the woods, the riderless horse kept his place and
distance as long as they were in sight. Before leaving Alexandria I had
traded my horse for a mule that had no brand on him, and I had let a man
who was not feeling well ride until now. In the skirmish just noted one
of the mules in the quartermaster's team got hit and the quartermaster
took my mule to put in his place, putting his rider in the wagon. That
left me to walk whether I wanted to or not, but as I had plenty of
company I didn't so much care. We kept going at a lively gait until
noon, when we halted for hard-tack and coffee. The men on the boats kept
exchanging shots with the Rebs on the opposite shore, but with what
result I don't know.
Soon after dinner we came to a sharp turn in the river where the road
ran close up to the river bank, and while rounding this on a
double-quick we got the first attention from the other side that had
been paid to us direct. A volley came from a thicket on the other side,
the most of which went over our heads. One shot, however, went through
the haversack of the man next to me and spoiled his tin cup. The shot
came as close to me as it did to him, but I have nothing to show for it,
while he is prouder of his battered cup than he ever was before. About 2
P. M. the advance had a sharp skirmish with the enemy, losing ten men
killed and forty wounded. The wounded were put on a boat and a detail
left to bury the dead, after which they must catch up as best they can.
About dark we passed Wilson's Landing, said to be twenty-five miles from
Alexandria. Soon after we overtook the pontoon train and halted for the
night. We are detailed to guard the pontoon train on the trip and have
nothing to do but keep up with it unless it is attacked. I found the
128th close by, and after comparing notes with the boys of Company B,
crawled behind a log and went to sleep.
_May 15, 1864._
_Sunday._ I was lying behind the log this morning, rubbing my eyes open,
when a horseman rode right over it. The horse missed me and that was
about all, but a miss is just as good as a mile. I found we were right
by the wreck of the John Warner, her burned hull showing above the
water. The letters that Sim carried were scattered over the ground, the
wind having distributed them over several acres. I looked for some of my
own, but did not find any. Some of those I read were curiosities, and
possibly mine were carried off as such.
The train did not start until noon, and without any startling adventures
we reached Marksville at 8 P. M. I wondered if this is the Marksville
mentioned in "Uncle Tom's Cabin." At any rate, it doesn't seem to be
much of a place. The Rebs are said to be at Avoyelles Plains[10] in
force, only a little way from here. Sergeant Nace of the 176th New York
appeared to me again, having lost his regiment, as he said. I thought it
a queer thing for a sergeant to lose on a trip like this, and I made up
my mind he was a shirk and was beating his way through. However, I
invited him to share my bed and board for the night, and while he went
after water I hunted for something to eat. He soon after came back,
lugging a big feather bed, which he said he found at the house where he
went for water and brought it along for a keepsake. After supper we
planted ourselves on it and slept so sound that nothing short of a
general engagement could have roused us.
_May 16, 1864._
_Monday._ Reveille at 3.30 did not awaken the feather-bed brigade.
Colonel Parker pulled me off just in time to fall in line, and without a
mouthful to eat or drink I started on another hard day's tramp. Passing
through Marksville, which I found to be much more of a place than I
thought last night, we found the artillery stationed on a rise of
ground, beyond which was a hollow and thick woods beyond it. We passed
the artillery and were in the hollow beyond when the Rebs opened fire
from the woods, and soon a big gun fight was on, the shot and shells
passing directly over us, but doing us no harm. We parked the train and
formed in front of it. Soon after the lines were pushed forward, and
again the enemy opened on us and the same performance was gone through
with. As we lay on the ground in front of the train, a goose, from no
one knows where, came squawking down the line in front of us and I
captured it. I cut its throat with my sword, and as it was the first
blood drawn by the 90th I let the blood dry on. Aside from the goose,
the only casualty I know of was the killing of four artillery horses.
They were all killed instantly by the same shot. Two pairs happened to
be standing side by side and broadside to the enemy, when what must have
been a three-pounder went through three of them and stopped in the
fourth one, dropping the four dead in their tracks. The men behaved
splendidly. The shots that missed the rise of ground behind us went on
in the direction from which thousands were coming, but I don't know what
harm they did.
About noon the enemy was driven out of the woods and we went on, I
picking my goose as we went. While going through the woods we came to a
sluggish stream too deep to cross without a bridge and a halt was made
for some pontoons to be put across. I gathered some kindlings and made a
fire to cook my goose, and was swinging it around my head to let all see
what a prize I had, when a cavalry officer riding past caught it by one
leg and riding on, took me and the goose with him. The leg I had hold of
finally pulled off and the rascal went on with all the rest of it. While
it was roasting, I washed my pocket handkerchief in the stream, and was
holding it by two corners, dipping it up and down in the water to rinse
it, when, as I pulled it up the head of a great big snake came up after
it as if he wanted to get hold of it, or perhaps to see what it was. He
went right back and I saw no more of him. Just then "Attention" sounded
and I grabbed the goose leg and tried to eat it. Hungry as I was, raw
goose was too much for me. I went around begging a hard-tack here and
there and in that way got quite a meal, and also got the goosey taste
out of my mouth. I no longer begrudged the fellow that stole my goose,
but did wish he had to eat it raw.
The troops were all across at 9 P. M. and the pontoons were soon emptied
and loaded on the wagons. Then began such marching as we never before
had done. No attention was paid to the files. Those that could keep up
did so, and the rest fell out by the way. The whole army was ahead of us
and we must get to the front for the next crossing. We went on until
midnight and then halted for an hour. "Fall in" again sounded and away
we went, passing the thousands upon thousands of sleeping men and
beasts. At 3 A. M. we reached Yellow Bayou, the biggest stream we had so
far met with. Excepting in the traveled path, men were sleeping all over
the ground. My blanket was on some wagon, but I was too tired to look
for it. Crawling in between some men who were sleeping on a blanket, I
made out to get my body out of the wet grass and was soon sound asleep.
When I awoke the sun was shining in my face. My bedfellows had gone and
taken the bed with them. Whether they pulled me off the blanket or
pulled it from under me, I shall never know. The heavy dew and the chill
night air had gone through my clothing, which was already wet with
sweat, and I found myself about helpless, so sore and stiff were my
joints.
As soon as I got my stiffened joints working, I looked around for the
90th and found them across the bridge on the bank of the bayou. More
than half our men were missing, having fallen out by the way and been
left to sleep it off. A detail was at the bridge to pick up stragglers
and direct them where to go. Tony was among the first to get in and was
dreadful sorry he had missed me in the night. I started right in for
another nap and was next awakened by Tony, who had found a chicken that
the others had missed and had it cooked. As soon as that was disposed
of, I continued my nap, sleeping until night, when I was sent to the
bridge to pick out our men as they came straggling in. I had five
sergeants, and posting one at each end of the bridge, I went and sat
down on a knoll to watch them work. I finally lay down and in spite of
myself dropped off again and slept all night. The sergeants had relieved
each other and had gathered in nearly or quite all of our missing men.
The troops were still crossing the bridge in a steady stream and the end
was not yet in sight. We of the 90th had nothing more to do but wait for
the troops to pass and then hustle for the front again. But we were
rested and ready for it, and put in the day talking about our first
experience on a forced march. The opinion was that if the next was any
worse than this had been we wouldn't all be there to tell about it.
_May 18, 1864._
_Wednesday._ The rear guard was just coming in sight this morning when
we heard firing at the rear. Soon aides came riding down the line,
halting some and turning others out of the way. They raced across the
bridge and in a little while troops were hurrying back across the bridge
from the front. It beat all how soon the scene was changed. The firing
in the rear kept increasing and grew plainer to hear. The 90th stood at
attention on the bank, which overlooked the whole plain where the
trouble seemed to be centering. Unless the bridge was attacked we had
only to look on, and it was a sight worth a lifetime to see. The ground,
except where worn down by the passing army, was covered with weeds and
bushes, which hid the skirmish line from our view until they rose up and
fired almost in each others' faces. Smoke soon hid the battleground.
There was no wind and the smoke rose up like a cloud instead of
spreading. The smoke came nearer and it began to look as if our turn
would soon come, but by and by it stood still and then began to move
back. By noon it was plain to see that the fight was ours, for the smoke
cloud went faster and the firing grew less. By 4 P. M. it was over and
the troops began recrossing toward the front. The surgeons had their
shop under a big tree near the bridge. I heard one of them say to
another that he had never seen so few slight wounds among so many. Most
of those that were hit were either killed outright or mortally wounded.
Only a few legs or arms were cut off. The saddest sight I saw was the
killing of a boy, son of a colonel somebody, whose name or regiment I
could not get. I had often seen the boy while at Alexandria and wondered
why such a child should be in such a place. He rode a handsome bay
pony, and wore the infantry uniform, even to a little sword. When the
fight began he was somewhere in the advance, and came riding back at the
head of his regiment by the side of his father. They went into the cloud
of smoke and in a few minutes a man came leading the pony back with the
little fellow stretched across the saddle, his hands and feet hanging
down on either side. He was taken back toward the front and I suppose
his body will be sent home. What must that father have felt, and what
will the mother feel when she knows of his death! It was such a useless
sacrifice from my point of view. Nothing bigger than bullets came our
way and they either went over our heads or struck in the bank of the
bayou below us.
_May 19, 1864._
_Thursday._ Our dead were picked up and brought to the bayou, where they
were laid in rows on the ground. Those that were identified were buried
in separate graves, and the others put crosswise in a wide ditch, with
blankets spread under and over them. Our loss was estimated at 500 and
that of the Rebs at 800. That must mean killed and wounded, for no such
number was buried. The rebel dead were buried in the field, I suppose,
for none of them were brought in.
_Later._ A couple of our men are sick and Dr. Warren called in another
doctor to look at them. They called it smallpox, and the men were put in
a wagon and carted off right away. When the team came back the driver
said they were put in the first house they came to, and a man who has
had the disease was left to give them medicine. By night everything but
the rear guard was across the bridge, and we had orders to be ready to
march. We settled down to get some sleep if we could, but the long roll
soon sounded and we sprang to our places. No enemy appearing, we built
fires and made coffee, and then sat round nodding our sleepy heads until
4 o'clock in the morning.
_May 20, 1864._
_Friday._ By 4 A. M. the troops were across and the pontoons loaded. We
marched at quick time and at 6 o'clock were at Simmsport, where we
stopped for breakfast of hard-tack and coffee. While at it a man rode in
saying the Rebs were already bridging Yellow Bayou. Simmsport is on the
Atchafalaya River, and the same Colonel Bailey who planned the dam at
Alexandria had built a bridge of boats for us to cross over. Twenty-four
steamboats were lashed together side by side, and reached from shore to
shore. Across the bows of these the artillery, cavalry and wagons were
passing in a continuous stream, and infantry was crossing through and
among them as best they could. Other boats were busy ferrying the
troops, and such getting across a river I never saw. The Liberty took us
across and we marched down the opposite side for an hour, and halted for
the line to straighten out. And so the whole day went, first starting
and then stopping again, but expecting every minute to set out for good.
The time we were waiting, if all put together, would have given us a
good rest, and the marching we did would have been good exercise. But as
it was, we had a hard day of it. It was pitch dark when we finally
started. We came to woods and the darkness could be felt. The train got
stalled in the narrow road and then another wait. I was so dead sleepy
that twice I fell flat on the ground as I was walking along. The fall
woke me up each time and I kept going some way. Men had given out and
were sleeping all along beside the road like dead men. Daylight never
seemed so long coming. We got through the woods and could see much
better. My naps as we walked along, and the falls I had in consequence
of them, helped to drive off the dreadful drowsiness and by daylight I
was wide awake.
_May 21, 1864._
_Saturday._ When daylight came we were passing the mouth of the
Atchafalaya and were again on the banks of the Red River. About sunrise
we halted. Lieutenant Moody and I sat down and began to figure up how
long we had been awake, when we both tumbled over on the ground and were
sound asleep. The next thing I knew Moody was shaking me and asking if I
was hurt. His face was bloody and I supposed he had been shot. But we
soon found that a horse had ran over us, his hoofs striking between our
heads and scraping the skin off Moody's forehead as he picked them up.
We soon after started again, and at 8 o'clock stopped for breakfast,
after which we took a livelier gait than ever. The day was hot. The
horses and mules showed the strain as well as the men. Soon the men
began to give out, dropping like dead men, and it was impossible to
rouse them from the deathlike sleep that had overtaken them. There was
nothing to do but pull them out of the road and leave them, for every
horse and vehicle was loaded with all it could carry. No stop was made
for dinner. On we went, and by 6 o'clock men were lying all along by the
roadsides. Teams gave out and were left panting, their sides showing how
cruelly they had been whipped to get the very last effort out of them.
My feet were blistered, I knew by the feeling, though I had no time to
see or attend to them. The pain each step gave me was, I think, the only
thing that kept me awake and going.
About sundown we passed a little village and turned from the road across
the country, which was said to be the nearest way to the Mississippi. It
was a beautiful country, much like the Teche country, which is sometimes
called the "Garden of Louisiana." There were some cattle, and a drove of
them was gathered and driven along for our supper. In passing round a
body of water that came in our way, a huge snake lay floating on it and
was shot by some of the passing throng. Several small snakes lay across
the big one, and I suppose it was a mother and children taking a bath.
Some thought the old one was twelve feet long, but it flopped about so
it was hard to give a close guess. It was the nearest approach to my
Port Hudson snake that I have seen.
At 9 P. M. we reached the Mississippi at Morgan's Bend, or Morganzia.
The cattle had been shot down and were lying as they fell. It was
everyone for himself. Chunks were cut out and were being eaten before
the animal was done kicking. A pack of wolves never acted more ravenous
and bloodthirsty. I managed to get my hand between the ribs of one and
hold of the liver. I couldn't pull my hand out without straightening the
fingers and so only got shreds, but I kept it up until I had taken the
edge off my appetite and then lay over on my back and was sound asleep.
I suppose a hundred men stepped over me and maybe on me, but nothing
disturbed my slumbers. I slept like a dead man.
FOOTNOTES:
[10] Better known as the Plains of Mansura.