On the March again—Co. F Detached to guard Bridge—Centreville—Battle
of Bisland—Pursuit of the enemy—Franklin—District of the
Tèche—Neutral Flags—A Day’s Rest—Fording a Bayou—Opelousas.
On the 11th of April, the division broke camp, and moved out on the
main road toward Centreville; the gun-boats shelling the woods from
the bayou, and the cavalry scouting in advance. Co. F was detached,
and ordered to remain behind to guard a bridge on the line of the
railroad, to prevent raids on the rear, while the army moved on.
The rebels were reported to be in large force near Pattersonville,
under the command of Gen. Dick Taylor, determined to stop the advance
of the Union troops through this portion of the Confederacy; and they
were reported to have erected strong fortifications at Camp Bisland.
After a dusty march over the turnpike, feeling its way along, the
army went into camp beyond Pattersonville; and soon the camp-fires
were blazing for miles around, lighting up the country, and giving
the enemy warning of the approach of the Union forces.
Co. F remained in its position, crouching behind the brakes, and
occasionally throwing sticks at the alligators in the ditches, and
all the while keeping a sharp look-out for the rebel pickets ahead,
until four o’clock, when it crossed the bridge, and struck out for
the army. Just beyond the bridge, a letter was picked up, addressed
to a woman in Texas, and bearing Confederate postage-stamps. It
purported to have been written on picket that day, and gave a
statement of the number of Confederate troops in the vicinity, with
some account of the movements of the Union forces. It was well
written, but had probably been dropped on purpose, with the intention
of misleading. Night found the company marching through the woods,
the rebel picket-posts by the roadside giving evidence of having been
occupied quite recently. No one in the company was acquainted with
the road; and the chances were even of bringing up in either camp;
but the orders were peremptory to join the regiment in the evening.
After a march of several hours, sometimes by the flank, sometimes in
single file, through ditches, hedges, and swamps, the camp-fires of
an army appeared in sight. Doubtful whether it were friend or foe,
Captain Rundlet sent out reconnoiterers, who soon ascertained that
all was right, and the company marched into the camp of the Second
Rhode Island Cavalry. The regiment was a mile further on, encamped in
a cane-field, beyond Pattersonville.
The owner of the plantation had fled; but many of the negroes still
remained, and were soon at work making corn-cakes for the soldiers,
out of massa’s meal.
About noon, the army advanced in line of battle. The march was
through a cane-field, the canes still standing; and, as they grew
thick and strong, it became difficult to keep a proper line. The
batteries were moving up to the front, shelling the woods as they
advanced; and a rifle-shot would be occasionally heard. After
marching in this manner for two miles, the regiment halted for
several hours, the cannonading still continuing. Between three and
four o’clock, it was announced that the fighting was over for the
day, and the march was resumed; but it was suddenly stopped by the
breaking out afresh of the artillery fire. Laying on the ground, in
cover of the standing cane, the regiment witnessed a sharp artillery
engagement. A large sugar-mill had been set on fire, and the flames
soon spread to the surrounding cabins. The bursting of the shells,
the volumes of flame and smoke issuing from the mill, the sharp crack
of the rifle, the galloping of aides over the field with orders, and
the bayonets glistening over the tops of the canes, as the brigades
manœuvred over the field, was a new experience to the Thirty Eighth.
The firing lasted about an hour, gradually ceasing as the batteries
fell back; the position of the enemy having been ascertained, and the
object of the reconnoissance accomplished. Fires were not allowed,
and the men went without their coffee for the first time. Equipments
were kept on, and the regiment bivouacked in rear of the stacks.
In the evening, a call was made for sharpshooters, to pick off the
gunners of the Diana, in case she should come down the bayou; and
the number required reported at once. There was no alarm during the
night; and, in the morning, the army again moved forward. A bridge
had been thrown across the bayou; and the third brigade crossed
over, a rebel shell occasionally dropping into the water, near the
bridge, sending up the spray, and facilitating the passage of the
troops, who wished to do their fighting on firmer footing than the
swaying bridge afforded. The artillery were at work on both sides,
and it was evident that the long-expected battle was about to take
place. While the brigade was getting into line, after having crossed
the stream, Gens. Banks and Emory passed, and were enthusiastically
greeted. Marching up the road, the brigade filed into a cane-field,
in front of a portion of the rebel works. The Thirty First
Massachusetts were in advance, the Thirty Eighth following, with
the Fifty Third Massachusetts in the rear; and the One Hundred and
Fifty Sixth New York were sent toward the woods on the right. The
cane-field was intersected with broad, deep ditches, now entirely
dry, and their sides lined with blackberry bushes. The Thirty First
deployed, and moved forward in a skirmish-line part way across the
field, until within gunshot of the enemy, when they halted in one of
the ditches, and began to fire, the rebels occasionally returning
the shots, from behind the breastworks. The Thirty First retained
their position during the forenoon, losing two or three men, who
were carried to the rear past the Thirty Eighth, which remained in
reserve, picking blackberries, watching the fight, and getting their
ears accustomed to the shrieking of the shells, and the discharges
of musketry. The One Hundred and Fifty Sixth, in the meantime, were
gradually working their way into the woods on the right flank. The
heavy firing on the left of the bayou told that the other brigades
were also at work.
While Gen. Emory’s division and Weitzel’s brigade were confronting
the enemy, and engaging their attention, Gen. Grover’s division,
which had crossed the country through the La Fourche district, was
endeavoring to come in their rear, and thus, by enclosing them
between the two portions of the army, cut off all retreat, and compel
the surrender of the entire force. Having this programme in view,
it had not been the policy of Gen. Banks to bring on a decisive
engagement until Grover was ready to “close up the bag.”
At noon, the ammunition of the Thirty First being exhausted, it was
relieved by the Thirty Eighth. This position was occupied but a short
time, when the order was given to advance. Keeping the exact distance
they had been taught in the drill, in a well-dressed skirmish-line,
the men moved steadily toward the breastworks. The right companies
soon began to receive shots from the woods; but were instructed not
to fire in that direction, as the One Hundred and Fifty Sixth held
the position. Obeying orders, they reserved their fire until the
rebel gunners were plainly visible working the batteries. A piece of
cane had been left standing near the line of earthworks; and, just
before the advance reached its cover, the rebels opened a rapid fire
of artillery and musketry. The skirmishers were ordered to lie down,
while the shells and bullets screamed and whistled over their heads.
But they were not long inactive. Taking advantage of stumps, ditches,
furrows, and canes, they poured a rapid fire into the enemy’s works.
The gunners were picked off; and the traditional “officer on the
white horse” was made an especial target. While the right was more
exposed to the enemy’s rifles, the centre and left suffered from
their artillery, the colors being a prominent mark. Color-corporal
Trow, of Co. D, was instantly killed by a solid shot; and Cos. A and
G suffered particularly from shells. By one of these explosions,
Capt. Gault, of the former company, had his leg badly shattered, and
died in a few hours; and a number of men were wounded.
The battle lasted all day on both sides of the bayou. As evening
drew near, the ammunition of the Thirty Eighth gave out. Many men
had fired all their cartridges, and were trying to borrow from
their more economical comrades. The wounded had been taken to the
rear, and attended to in the field hospital. And now the Fifty Third
came forward, and relieved the Thirty Eighth, who fell slowly back
under fire, till they reached the place selected as quarters for the
night,—a deep, dry ditch, near the centre of the field. Of course, no
fires were allowed, and supper was made of hard-tack and water.
Partly filling the ditch with dry canes, and wrapping their blankets
around them, with the guns of the First Maine Battery beating the
tattoo a few yards in their rear, the men laid down, their rifles
by their side, and their equipments on, ready to fall in line at
the first call. Contrary to expectation, there was no alarm during
the night. In the morning, a portion of the field was searched
for missing men. Thomas W. Hevey, of Co. I, was brought in, dead,
the stem of his pipe firmly fixed in his teeth. He was smoking
when struck by the fatal bullet, and fell on his face. During the
engagement, six had been killed and thirty wounded, a complete list
of whom will be found in another portion of the work.
Fires were now allowed to be built, and coffee made, after which
the regiment moved forward in line. The Fifty Third had remained
all night in the front, and its flags were seen near the works, the
regiment advancing in line of battle. The Thirty First was also
moving on. All was quiet behind the earthworks; and soon the report
came that the enemy had evacuated their position during the night,
and were in full retreat, three miles ahead. At this time, Gen.
Grover was supposed by the men to have cut off all retreat, and the
army was in excellent spirits at the anticipated bagging of the whole
force; but it was soon learned that a hole had been left, and the
slippery foe had wriggled out of it. Crossing the cane-field, the
Thirty Eighth entered the rebel works. The killed and wounded men
had been removed; but the dead horses scattered about gave evidence
of the accuracy of the aim of the brigade in this its maiden fight.
The camp-fires were still smouldering inside of the works; and the
remains of the hasty breakfast of roasted ears of corn gave proof
that the rebels had not been long gone. Skirmishing a short distance
through the woods beyond the fortifications, and finding no enemy,
the line was again formed, and the brigade moved by the flank along
the road, until further progress was stopped by a bayou, the bridge
over which had been partially burned, and was still smoking. Here an
abandoned caisson was fished out of the stream, the first trophy of
the victory. The pioneers soon repaired the bridge, and the column
passed over, and halted a few hours, while the artillery and the
wagon-train were brought across.
It was a long, weary march that Gen. Dick Taylor led the Army of
the Gulf through this country of bayous and plantations. Had there
been a respectable cavalry force in the department, but few of those
who fought behind the fortifications of Bisland would have reached
Alexandria; but the delay caused in repairing bridges prevented the
Union army from coming up with its foes, and the majority of them
escaped, although completely demoralized, and deprived of the power
of acting on the offensive for several months.
An amusing incident occurred just after the march was resumed. A
man, apparently dressed in gray uniform, was seen running across
a corn-field, toward the woods. Although many hundred yards off,
a number of rifles were instantly levelled at him, and the minies
went whistling on their errand. He hesitated for a moment, and then
started on again, when another discharge took place, and the dust
was seen to fly near the mark. Making frantic signals, he faced
about, and came toward the road. A nearer inspection proved him to
be a harmless contraband, in the usual plantation suit. The fighting
of the day before had given the boys a liking for the sound of their
Enfields; and probably every gun in the regiment would have been
discharged if the fugitive had not halted. The poor fellow, no doubt,
came to the conclusion that the “day of jubilo” had not yet come.
The heat was intense during the day, and the men suffered a good deal
from the dust and from thirst, many falling out. But the commanding
general wished to give the enemy no time to throw up intrenchments.
Barely halting long enough for a hasty lunch at noon, the column
pushed on. A little while after dark, the brigade passed through
the pretty town of Franklin, and went into camp in a cane-field. No
one thought of pitching tents, or of cooking coffee. Eating a few
hard-tack, and washing it down with bayou water, each man (except the
unfortunate guard) selected as level a furrow as convenient, spread
his rubber, and was soon enjoying a well-earned rest. Just as the men
had settled themselves for the night, the commissary sergeant came
around with the information that fresh meat was ready. It was left
on the ground for the benefit of the plantation hands who swarmed in
the rear of the army.
Wednesday morning, April 18, the column moved at six o’clock, the
Thirty Eighth on the right of the brigade, making the marching a
little easier than on the day before. The country through which the
army was now passing, known as the Tèche district, was considered
the richest part of Louisiana previous to the war. Unable to get
their crops to market, the sugar and cotton-houses were filled to
overflowing. Large herds of cattle fed in the pastures, and the
woods were full of hogs. Nearly all of the able-bodied young men
were in the Confederate army; and, at the approach of the Union
troops, the old planters fled to the woods in many instances, and
hid until the column had passed by. No Northern soldiers had been
seen in that country before; and the long lines of infantry, the
numerous batteries, and the immense wagon-trains, were a source of
never-ending wonder to the crowds of slaves, who flocked to the
roadsides and climbed the fences to see Massa Linkum’s boys. “Bress
de Lord! We’se been lookin’ for ye dese twenty years, and ye’re
come at last!” exclaimed one well-developed old lady, who, clothed
in a very short dress, very full pants, and a broad plantation hat,
had mounted on a high rail-fence to get a good look at the Yankee
soldiers. These poor people had little means with which to gratify
their desires to serve those whom they looked upon as friends; yet
many of them baked their last mess of meal into corn-cake for the
hungry soldiers. The few white men that were seen in this region
had the appearance of having just thrown the musket aside, with the
intention of resuming it again as soon as the army passed, and before
the sun-marks should fade from their faces.
On many of the houses, English and French flags were flying; the
inmates thinking their property might be more secure by claiming
foreign protection. During the entire march, private property was
respected to a degree never before shown by an army in an enemy’s
country; and guards were placed over many of the houses of prominent
rebels. It is true that less regard was shown to the occupants of
a poorer class of houses; and the immense number of contrabands
attached to the Army of the Gulf, in the capacity of officers’
servants, were not very scrupulous, and generally came into camp at
night pretty well laden with poultry and vegetables; but, as their
labor had produced these articles, perhaps they were entitled to
them. An indiscriminate liberty to forage would have been fatal to
the efficiency of the army, and might have defeated the object of the
campaign. Thus, while there was comparatively little foraging carried
on, these foreign flags were no safeguard. If an unlucky chicken or
pig had happened in the way, he would have been gobbled up, if he had
borne the private mark of Victoria or Napoleon.
Thursday night, the army went into camp before dark, beyond the
village of Indian Bend. The country hitherto had been perfectly
level, and, previous to the war, was mostly devoted to the culture of
sugar; but, in accordance with the advice of the Confederate leaders,
many of the plantations were now planted with corn.
On Friday, the aspect of the country changed, and rolling prairies
succeeded to the low plains. Herds of cattle roamed over these
prairies; the view of which caused some lively comments on the
starving-out theory indulged in by some of the good people at home.
Saturday, April 18, the entire force rested. It had been a full
week since leaving Berwick City; and the troops had been marching
or fighting continuously, sleeping nearly every night with their
equipments on. In addition to this, each regiment furnished its
proportion of the picket; and, after a march of from twenty to thirty
miles, those detailed had to sling their bundles again, go off half
a mile or a mile into the woods, and keep awake part of the night,
peering into the darkness, and making their supper of hard-tack and
water. It may, perhaps, be imagined how welcome this day of rest was
to both man and beast, under these circumstances.
A fine head of cattle was confiscated here; and a large portion of
the day spent in feasting. In fact, there was no lack of fresh meat
during the entire march through this country; but, as it was brought
into camp generally after the men had quartered for the night, little
of it was cooked. And then this was the first year in the field, and
that experience had not been acquired which makes the difference
between raw recruits and veterans.
Sunday morning, the 19th, the army was again in motion. The line was
just forming, when the clouds opened, and the rain and hail came
down in a manner peculiar to Louisiana. In a few minutes, every one
was wet to the skin; and, in this state, a long day’s march began.
The cavalry and artillery cut up the roads, so that the infantry
went into the soft mud to the ankles at every step. During the day,
the army marched through the village of Lafayetteville, in which
nearly every house had a white rag hung out as a token of peace.
These people had heard such stories of the Union army, that they
looked upon its approach with terror and apprehension; but the men
who enlisted in ’61 and ’62 were no desperadoes, and did not make war
on women and children. That night, the brigade encamped on a piece
of grassland, and found it much preferable to the usual cane-field
furrows. Starting again in the morning (April 20), a wide, shallow
stream was reached, which had to be forded. The horses went over
first, making numerous holes in the soft bottom; and it was an
amusing sight to see the infantry feel their way cautiously along,
half sliding, half walking, some unfortunate individual occasionally
missing his footing, and plunging headlong into the muddy stream.
About four o’clock, P. M., the bugles sounded a halt, and an
aide rode down from the front with an order to the effect, that
Opelousas, the Confederate capital of the State, had surrendered
unconditionally. This important announcement was received with
cheers; the ranks closed up; the colors were unfurled; the drums
beat; and, with a proud step, the column marched on. Passing a few
scattering houses, the open country was again reached, when the
inquiries became numerous as to the whereabouts of the capital. It
was learned that the army had marched through one of the principal
streets. This was not the first time they had been deceived by an
imposing name bestowed upon a handful of buildings; but it was hardly
worth while to make a parade of surrendering this little clearing,
if the travelling government of the State did make a transient stay
there.