Our Last Camp in the South
Leaving Morganzia--In camp near New Orleans--Good-bye,
Dixie--Homeward bound.
Soon after the order to report at New Orleans for muster-out was
received, we left Morganzia and went into camp in the outskirts of New
Orleans. We unloaded our things on the levee one night after dark, and
in the rain. We felt our way down the embankment, and without the least
idea as to where we were, spread some tents on the ground and raising
others over them crawled in and made ourselves as comfortable as we
could. In the morning we arranged our camp in a more respectable order
and sat down to await the pleasure of the mustering officer. The men we
had with us were used for guards to keep up the semblance of a military
organization. Those that could afford it went into the city to board,
and the rest, I among the number, contented ourselves with army fare. I
had many invitations from my brother officers to live with them, and did
visit them frequently, sometimes staying for a day or two. So the time
passed until the 24th of August, when we were called before the
mustering officer and mustered out of the service.
We were to be paid in New York, and as I was in debt to many, I was
about to sell my pay to a broker in order that I might pay such as were
not ready to go home, when the quartermaster offered to lend me the
money and wait for it until we reached New York, thus saving me the
broker's commission. In due time we reached our homes and the eventful
life of the soldier was exchanged for the less eventful life of the
private citizen. The prophecy that the return of the soldiers would mark
the beginning of a reign of lawlessness in the North, did not come
true. As law-abiding citizens the returned soldiers have averaged well
with those who remained at home.
* * * * *
I must not close the book without a word about Tony, from whom I parted
with sincere regret. I am sorry I cannot recall his surname, which was
that of his owner, a planter in the Teche country.
From Tony's own account, he had had a good home and a kind master, in
fact, had had everything he could wish for except the one thing above
all others that he longed for, "freedom." Both he and his wife were
house servants, born and raised in "the house," not in "the quarters."
He was always careful to make this distinction. He had never been
whipped, and he had little sympathy for those who had, saying they most
always deserved all they got.
My acquaintance with him began while we were at Brashear City. He came
with others from the Teche country, and was looking for some one who
would write a letter to his wife and tell her how and where he was. I
wrote the letter and from that on he was all the time wanting to do
something for me. When the examination came, Tony was thrown out on
account of an injury once received from the kick of a horse. He then
came for me to take him to wait on me. More out of pity for him than
because I wanted any waiting on, I took him on, giving him the ration
allowed me by the government for such a purpose. From that time he was
my willing slave. My clothes were as clean and my boots as black as if I
had been General Banks himself. He was never in the way, and yet was
never out of the way when wanted.
I became more careful of my personal appearance by finding out that in
Tony's estimation my only failing was a little carelessness in that
direction. I accidentally overheard a conversation between Tony and his
chums as to the good and bad qualities possessed by the officers of the
90th, and when I found how little I lacked of perfection, I resolved to
be more careful. He was a very rapid talker, speaking both French and
English. When he was angry or excited he would mix the two together in a
way that was laughable. He loved horses and would talk to them as if
they were people and understood all he said. I shall never forget a
scolding he gave one while we were at Grand Ecore. Tony had taken a
wounded horse into the river and washed him clean. As he was leading him
back to hard ground, the horse dropped in the sand and rolled his sore
back full of grit. Tony looked at the horse in silence for a while, and
then began hurling such a mixture of French and English in his face as
no other horse ever heard. Everyone that heard it laughed. The horse
looked sober enough, but may have understood, for when he was washed
again he came through the sand without offering to lay down.
Tony was the best forager I ever knew. He could scent a chicken as well
as a pointer dog, and many a one he picked up where no one else could
find a feather. I never fully understood his devotion to me. It
certainly was not on account of the pay he got, for much of the time we
were together I was as poor as he. I have good reason to believe he
would have stood between me and danger, and perhaps death itself if the
opportunity had offered. It was little I could do for him beyond writing
letters for him to his wife, and teaching him to read words of one or
two syllables. I left him at New Orleans with money enough for immediate
needs, and suppose he went back to his plantation home.
Transcriber's Note:
Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. Archaic
and dialect spellings remain as printed.
End of Project Gutenberg's Diary of an Enlisted Man, by Lawrence Van Alstyne