LIBRARY 
 
 OF THE 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Class 
 
U 
 
m\m 
 
 The Color Guard; being a Corporal s Notes of 
 
 Military Service in the Nineteenth Army Corps. By Rev. 
 J. K. HOSMER, who volunteered as Private in the Fifty-second 
 Massachusetts, and went through the campaign. 12mo. $1.25. 
 
 It is undoubtedly the most piquant and readable sketch ever made of 
 the interior life of a~ great army in active service, and made from the inside, 
 by a hand entirely competent. 
 
 " His story,"" says the Daily Advertiser, " is written in a delightfully 
 graphic epistolary style, and is really one of the most sterling books that 
 the war has called into existence. It will be read with great interest by 
 soldiers everywhere, and by civilians with equal interest. It forms the 
 counterpart of DANA S * Two Years before the Mast, and ought to become 
 as popular." 
 
 Everybody should send a copy to some soldier in camp or hospital. 
 No gift can be more acceptable. 
 
 The Whip, Hoe, and Sword; or, The Gulf 
 
 Department in 63. By Rev. GEO. H. HEPWORTII. 12mo. $1.25. 
 
 Mr. HEPWORTH went out to New Orleans as Chaplain of the 47th 
 Massachusetts, but was subsequently commissioned by General BANKS as 
 First Lieutenant in the Fourth Louisiana Native Guards (colored). He was 
 detailed to superintend the plantations; and this volume is the result of his 
 experience more particularly in that department of duty. It throws a flood 
 of light upon the vexed question of paid labor upon the plantation?, and 
 abounds with interesting facts, anecdotes, and sketches of Southern life and 
 character. 
 
 Chaplain Fuller ; being a Life-Sketch of a New- 
 England Clergyman and an Army Chaplain. 12mo. Portrait. 
 Price $1.25. 
 
 This volume has a wide interest from the graphic picture of CAMP AND 
 FIELD LIFE which it presents, and the vast amount of important informa 
 tion on the subject or the conduct and progress of the war not elsewhere 
 obtainable. 
 
 The narrative of the remarkable duel between the MERRIMACK and the 
 MONITOR is the only full account in print from the pen of an actual eye 
 witness of the whole affair. 
 
 The New - York Tribune devotes three and a half columns to a favorable 
 review of the book. 
 
 The Methodist pronounces Mr. Fuller "a model army chaplain," and 
 adds, " He was one whose qualities it is good to commemorate; who in his 
 home and public life afforded constant examples of genial virtue and of ear 
 nest piety well worthy of the imitation of young Americans. The biogra 
 phy of a such a man is always a desirable gift to the reading public." 
 
 Ep* All these Books SENT FREE BY MAIL on receipt of the price. 
 
 WALKER, WISE, & CO., 
 
 245, Washington Street, Boston 
 
THE 
 
 COLO R-G U A R D: 
 
 BEING 
 
 A CORPORAL S NOTES OF MILITARY SERVICE 
 IN THE 
 
 JAMES K. HOSMER, 
 
 OT THE FIFTY-SKCOND EKGIMKNT MASS. VOLUNTEEBS. 
 
 " Till we called 
 
 Both fleld and city ours, we never stood 
 To ease our breasts with panting." 
 
 COKIOLANUS, Act II. Scene 2. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, 
 
 245, WASHINGTON STREET. 
 1864. 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 
 
 WALKER, WISE, AND COMPANY, 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 THIK1) THOVSAXD. 
 
 BOSTON I 
 
 STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SOW, 
 No. 5, Water Street. 
 
HALBERT STEVENS GREENLEAF, 
 
 LATE COLONEL OP THE FIFTY-SECOND REGIMENT MASS. VOLUNTEERS, 
 A Resolute Soldier and Noble Man, 
 
 Cfjts 53ooft is rcspcctfullg Enscn&cti 
 
 BY 
 
 ONE WHO. HAS WITNESSED HIS COURAGE, AND EXPERIENCED 
 HIS GOODNESS. 
 
 216588 
 

 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1863, by 
 
 WALKER, WISE, AMD COMPANY, 
 In the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts. 
 
 THIKD THOrSAXD. 
 
 BOSTON : 
 
 STEREOTYPED AND PRINTED BY JOHN WILSON AND SON, 
 No. 6, Water Street. 
 
-; 
 
 HALBERT STEVENS GREENLEAF, 
 
 LATE COLONEL OF THE FIFTY-SECOND REGIMENT MASS. VOLUNTEERS, 
 A Resolute Soldier and Noble Man, 
 
 fjts 23oofc is rcsprctfullg Enscrt&clJ 
 
 BY 
 
 ONE WHO, HAS WITNESSED HIS COURAGE, AND EXPERIENCED 
 HIS GOODNESS. 
 
 216588 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 As this volume sees the light at the instance of the 
 author s friends, and with much diffidence and reluctance 
 on his part, it may not be inappropriate for one of those 
 friends to give a brief statement of the history of the 
 work, and of the reasons why its publication has seemed 
 desirable. 
 
 In September, 1862, Rev. JAMES K. HOSMER, pastor 
 of the First Church in Deerfield, Mass., having but 
 recently entered on his chosen profession with ardor 
 and with rich promise of success, heard, in the needs of 
 his country, a higher call of duty ; and with every 
 motive of interest and personal feeling opposed to the 
 measure, but with a sense of obligation which his con 
 science would not set aside, he enlisted as a private in 
 the Fifty-second Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers. 
 He entered the service with the determination to evade 
 neither labor, hardship, nor peril; to devote whatever 
 there was in him of capacity and vigor to the public 
 cause ; and to do what he might, not as a clergyman, but 
 
VI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 as a Christian man, to minister to the physical and moral 
 welfare of his fellow-soldiers. His ability and culture 
 early procured for him the offer of a safe and easy post 
 in the military family of Gen. Banks. This he declined ; 
 accepting no preferment, save a place, in the fore-front 
 of peril, as one of the corporals intrusted with the 
 defence of the colors of his regiment. During his term 
 of service, he prepared letters, in the form of a journal, 
 with no thought of their publication, but solely for the 
 perusal of his father s family and of certain intimate 
 friends, to whom they were sent in turn. They were 
 read with vivid interest ; and there gradually grew, 
 among several of those through whose hands they 
 passed, a strong desire that the pleasure and benefit 
 derived from them should be extended to a larger circle. 
 It is in deference to their judgment that he consented 
 to revise the journal, and to commit it to the press. 
 
 We have urged the publication of this record on the 
 following grounds : It is the narrative of one who gave 
 every possible proof of disinterested patriotism. The 
 writer had large and varied opportunities of observation ; 
 and with them he possessed keen, quick, and accurate 
 discernment, and, as we think, a superior power of life 
 like description and narration. His journal gives a faith 
 ful picture of the privations, sufferings, and perils of 
 those whose living and dying sacrifice is the costly price 
 at which we are purchasing the redemption of our coun 
 try from dismemberment and ruin ; and it can hardly 
 fail to do its part in awakening the gratitude we owe to 
 those who have gone forth in the defence of our liber- 
 
INTKODUCTION. Til 
 
 ties and institutions. It commends our army to our 
 warmest sympathy, and to those offices of relief and 
 comfort by which we may lighten the burdens of our 
 soldiers, and solace those who return from the camp 
 or the battle-field maimed, crippled, and invalids. 
 It is also the journal of one who carried with him to the 
 service tender and humane fellow-feeling for his com 
 panions in peril ; and we prize it for the unostentatious 
 benevolence and kindness which it breathes, and which 
 made the author s life as a soldier parallel and congenial 
 with the quiet scenes of pastoral duty from which only 
 the imperative demands of a holy cause could have led 
 him to turn aside. While the work, on these grounds, 
 proffers high claims on the public regard, it is believed 
 that its literary execution is worthy of the reputation 
 which the author has already attained, and will hereafter 
 realize, in the sacred calling to which he has consecrated 
 his powers and his life. 
 
 Less than this we could not say ; more than this we 
 need not ; so much as this the author s modesty would 
 not suffer, were this Introduction to meet his eye before 
 it becomes indelibly a part of his book. 
 
 A. P. PEABODY. 
 
 CAMBRIDGE, Oct. 22, 1863. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 PAOB 
 9 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 The Tent Leaving Camp Miller. The Steamer. New York. 
 In the City Hall. Camp at Long Island. Discomforts. The 
 Rifle. Dress-parade. The Colors 12 
 
 II. 
 
 THE TRANSPORT. 
 
 Embarkation. The Fifty-second irate. Breakfast. Officers Ca 
 bin. Quarters of the "Non-Coms." Where the Privates go. 
 At Sea. Night in the Lower Deeps. Florida Seas. Burial at 
 Sea. Grumblers. Ship Island. The Ships assembled. New- 
 Orleans 20 
 
 in. 
 
 THE TWO LEADERS. 
 
 The "St. Charles." Gen. Banks. Gen. Butler. The Conquered 
 City. Nims s Battery. Baton Rouge. First Taste of War. . 89 
 
 ix 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 IV. 
 
 THE DAY OF CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 
 
 PAGE 
 Hospital-sights. Two Letters Home 48 
 
 V. 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 Three Dead Men. Some Mirth in the Regiment, in Spite of All. 
 Tibbs. Old Grimes. Cripps, the Drummer. Private Clout s 
 Opinions as to Honor and Chivalry. Head-boards. Battery- 
 drill. Rough Diamonds. Marching Orders. The Fleet. 
 The Review. 
 
 VL 
 
 "INTO THE LION S MOUTH." 
 
 The Start The Big Caterpillar. The Bivouac. There is Nothing 
 New under the Sun. We wilt. Expected Battle. The Cor 
 porals of the "Guard." The Wounded Colonel. The Hostile 
 Batteries. The Fight in the Night. The Loss of the " Missis 
 sippi." 84 
 
 VII. 
 
 FALLING BACK. 
 
 Despondency. The Rain. The Night in the Swamp. Pillage. 
 The Bayou Montecino. The Cotton Expedition. Used up. . / W 
 
 vni. 
 
 THE GARDEN OF LOUISIANA. 
 
 Donaldsonville. Assumpcion. Princely Estates. Beauty of the 
 March. Thibodeaux. A Morass. Bayou Boeuf. Brashear 
 City. A Half-drowned Country 110 
 
CONTENTS. H 
 
 IX. 
 
 VICTORY. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Writing to a Cannonade. The " St. Mary s." Packed like Slaves. 
 Joe Fray s Coffee. The Skirmish. The Mother s Petition. 
 The Rainy Night. The Bloody Fight 123 
 
 X. 
 
 PURSUIT. 
 
 The Forced March. The Swoon. " New Iberia." Too Much to 
 be borne. Bayou Vermilion. The Storm. The March in the 
 Mud. Opelousas 136 
 
 XI. 
 
 ON THE BAYOU COURTABLEAU. 
 
 Good Spirits. In " Durance Vile." The Cotton Mountain. Ma 
 rauding. Negro Camp. The distant Bombardment. Short off 
 for Skirts. The " Gobbler." 148 
 
 xn. 
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 Alligators. The Atchafalaya. Baton Rouge again. The Port- 
 Hudson Hospital. The Nurses. Tough Work. The Dreadful 
 Task. Night after the Battle. The Wounded General. The 
 " Iberville s " Voyage. The Crowded Pallets. Barclay. On 
 the March again 163 
 
 xm. 
 
 BATTLE. 
 
 Within Cannon-range. Clinton. The Naval Battery. Being 
 shelled. The Midnight Breakfast. The Cannonade. DaAvn 
 on tie Rebel Rampart. The "Leaden Rain." Wounds and 
 Death. , 183 
 
ill CONTENTS. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 THE WOLF AT BAY. 
 
 PAGB 
 
 The Vigil. The Flag of Truce. The " Jackson Skirmish." In 
 the Sap. Negro Engineer Troops. The Mine. Cyrus Stowell s 
 Death and Burial 196 
 
 XV. 
 
 TRIUMPH. 
 
 Fraternizing of the Two Armies." Old Thous n Yards." The Last 
 March. The Perilous Corner. The Citadel 216 
 
 XVL 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 Death of Spencer Phelps. Tragic Fate of Grosvenor. The River 
 Journey. " Egypt." Marion. Buffalo. At Home. Strategy 
 of the Campaign. First Movement upon Port Hudson. " Raid " 
 through the Back Country. Investment of Port Hudson. The 
 Two Assaults. The Siege. "Rough Characters." Concluding 
 Remarks 230 
 
THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 INTRODUCTION. 
 
 CAMP MILLER, GREENFIELD, MASS., Nov. 13, 1862. 
 
 DEAR P , To-night there are in the tent at least 
 
 fifteen men. There are three sets of men playing cards. 
 I sit at one end of our table, close under the shelving 
 edge of the tent, with head bent over to get rid of the 
 slant of the canvas. My seat is a heap of straw, cov 
 ered with a blanket. A kerosene lamp gives light to 
 me on one side, and to a set at whist on the other. It 
 is cold out of doors ; but the tent is in a sweat, with its 
 stove, and crowd of men. Slap go the cards on to the 
 table. Every moment comes up some point for debate. 
 Throughout the tent there is loud and constant talk 
 ing, sometimes swearing ; generally good-natured, some 
 times ill-natured. 
 
 You want to know why I. have left my pulpit and 
 parish, and enlisted. I had several reasons ; all plain, 
 simple, and sensible enough. I have believed in the 
 war from the first. The cause of the North, briefly, is, 
 to me, the cause of civilization and liberty. To help 
 this, I have preached, made speeches, and talked in 
 private. Ought I not to practise what I preach? 
 
 1* [9] 
 
10 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Ought I to shrink from encountering perils and hard 
 ships which I have urged others to encounter? 
 
 Then, again, having no family, I can go better than 
 many others in our village, men liable to be drafted, 
 whose means are straitened, and who have wives and 
 children to support. These are my main reasons ; but, 
 besides these, I confess to a love for adventure. More 
 over, I hope to gain new robustness from the exposure. 
 I own, also, to something of a military spirit. In 
 every honorable war since the settlement of the country, 
 I believe, some member of the stock from which I am 
 descended has taken part. Generally, these ancestors 
 of mine have been in very humble positions ; although 
 my great-grandfather held an important command among 
 the militia at Concord Bridge, and did much toward 
 keeping the "embattled farmers" firm on that day 
 before the British volleys. In our family traditions he 
 is an illustrious character, together with his brother, 
 "Uncle Ben," a sturdy husbandman, who fought faith 
 fully that day throughout the long pursuit, and afterward 
 carried a heavy old blunderbuss in many a hard cam 
 paign. I own, it is a sort of fame I covet, to have 
 my name go down in our modest family annals as the 
 parson, who, in his generation, went with rifle on shoul 
 der to Texas or Louisiana or the Carolinas ; doing his 
 duty in honorable fields, as did great-grandfather and 
 "Uncle Ben" of old. 
 
 I trust that the motives I have put first were the ones 
 that influenced me for the most part ; but these last, 
 too, have had their weight. 
 
INTRODUCTION. 11 
 
 Ed., my young brother, you know, has been made 
 first sergeant of the company. He goes round, there- 
 fore, with a broad stripe down each leg, and a blue 
 diamond, with a triple underscoring, upon each arm, 
 insignia upon which we poor privates and corporals look 
 with reverence. I am now one of the eight corporals 
 whose duty it is to guard the colors. I have a narrow 
 stripe running down each pantaloon, and a double bar, 
 or chevron, on each arm. Ed. and I button up to the 
 chin in our blue and brass ; and are a brilliant pair, I 
 assure you. 
 
 There seems to be no doubt now about our going with 
 Gen. Banks. We hope it will be soon ; for, although 
 we are decently comfortable here, we should prefer some 
 sweet-potato patch for a camp-ground, to this pumpkin- 
 field. 
 
 Yours very truly, 
 
 THE "CORPORAL." 
 
12 THE COLOK-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE THRESHOLD. 
 
 Nov. 23, 1862. I propose to keep a diary of my 
 soldiering, and am now making my first entry. Brother 
 Ed. and I are going to the war together. He is nine 
 teen, and leaves a clerk s desk in an insurance-office. I 
 am older, and leave a minister s study. It is the 52d 
 Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers. I am in our 
 little tent at Camp N. P. Banks, not far from Jamaica, 
 in Long Island. The tent is perhaps eight feet square, 
 and meant for seven soldiers. A leg of ham partly de 
 voured, with gnawed loaves of bread and some tin cups, 
 lies just at my right foot. Corporal Buffum, six feet 
 and two or three inches tall, is writing home, just at the 
 other foot. Joseph McGill is sleeping, wrapped up in 
 his rubber blanket. The floor of the tent, at the sides, 
 is covered with knapsacks, blankets, and soldiers furni 
 ture. Silloway, a black-whiskered, fine-looking soldier, 
 puts his head in, but, to my relief, does not enter ; for 
 where could I put him while I write ? 
 
 We left Camp Miller, where the Fifty-second organ 
 ized, two or three days ago. For the first time, the 
 knapsacks, full-loaded, were packed on, the canteens 
 
THE THRESHOLD. 13 
 
 were filled, the haversacks were crammed with two days 
 rations. It was a heavy load as we set off in a cold 
 November rain, nearly a thousand of us, bending over, 
 and with pants rolled up. It rained harder and harder : 
 but Greenfield streets were filled with people ; and the 
 nearer we came to the depot, the thicker the crowd. 
 Then came the last parting and hand-shaking : eyes were 
 full, and lips on a tremble. The heart came out grandly 
 in some of the fellows. 
 
 At midnight we reached New Haven, Ed. had been 
 on guard at the car-door in the drizzle, and now came 
 off duty. We trundled on to the steamboat-wharf, 
 climbed out, and formed in two lines ; many of the boys 
 turning round for their first sight and sniff at salt-water. 
 The " Traveller " was at hand, aboard which, rank after 
 rank, we marched, on top, between decks, into cabin 
 below, and saloon above. 
 
 The morning was gray and wet. It poured as we 
 stood on the forward deck ; but my rubber blanket shed 
 the rain, and my havelock, of the same material, kept 
 it off head and neck. On upper deck and lower deck, 
 and through every window, one could see the crowding 
 hundreds, curious faces, bearded and smooth ; dripping 
 blankets and caps ; the white string of the canteen 
 crossing the band of the haversack upon the breast. 
 Stout fellows they were, almost all ; the pick, for spirit 
 and strength, of two counties. You would not think 
 men were scarce ; but I remembered the poor old village, 
 and its Shakspeare Club of fifteen young girls, and only 
 one young fellow available as a beau. 
 
14 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Past great ships, past iron-clads fitting out at the 
 Novelty Works, past the Navy Yard, now down between 
 the two great cities and around the Battery, and stop at 
 a North-river pier, haversack on one shoulder, can 
 teen on the other. "Now, Silas Dibble, hook on my 
 knapsack, and I will hook on yours ; " rubber blanket 
 over all ; then helmet, with the long flap down on the 
 shoulders. The march begins. Dirty and hungry we 
 go through the muddy streets. I tread, almost, in old 
 tracks of mine ; no longer in broadcloth and patent 
 leathers, but with the iron heel of war well greased with 
 neat s-foot. Halt in the Park. 
 
 The boot-blacking business is stagnant. The " Astor " 
 is gray, hard, and inhospitable like the heavens. 
 "Times," "Tribune," and "World" look at us through 
 all their windows, as if they were hungry for an item. 
 It pours and pours. We wind in a long string across 
 the Park; then, in a long string, back again ; then, at 
 the end of all the purposeless winding, we come to a 
 purposeless halt. 
 
 Ankle-deep, at last, through the mud into the Park 
 Barracks, to breakfast on coarse but wholesome soup. 
 Did any thing ever relish so ? Then they take pity on 
 us, and let us go into the City Hall, whose stone cor 
 ridors we swarm through ; and before long the regiment, 
 in good part, is asleep. I go off with my back against 
 a marble pillar. By and by we must fall in again. Ed. 
 is irreverently screaming, "Fall in, Company D!" at 
 the top of his voice, through that echoing marble centre 
 of metropolitan splendor and dignity. The regiment 
 
THE THRESHOLD. 15 
 
 marches up Broadway, is cheered, and, I believe, 
 praised ; and climbs, at last, into the great barracks in 
 Franklin Street. 
 
 Next day we have a march before us of eight or nine 
 miles, through Broadway and Grand Street, over the 
 Ferry, into the suburbs ; through filth and splendor, mud 
 in the street, brown stone and marble at the side. The 
 drums at the head of the column hardly sound midway 
 down the regiment, through the roar ; but we keep our 
 step, and dress across in a tolerable line. Past factories, 
 where sooty faces crowd to the doors ; past sugar- 
 refineries, where men, stripped to the waist, come to 
 the windows ; past Dutch groceries by the hundred ; 
 into a district of cabbage-gardens at last ; then into a 
 chaos of brick-kilns, rope-walks, and desolate grave 
 yards. 
 
 We tramp in over the old Union race-track at length, 
 upon the enclosed grassy space, and .are at our camp 
 ground. Dreary, dismal, miserable. No overcoats ; 
 all perspiration with our march under the burden ; no 
 chance for. tea or coffee, or any thing warm: a sorry 
 prospect, boys, for comfort to-night. But never mind. 
 Behold how the Yankee will vindicate himself in the 
 face of the worst fortune ! Fences are stripped of rails ; 
 and we have blazing fires in no time, which make the 
 inhospitable, leaden sky speedily blush for itself. Rub 
 ber blankets are tacked together, and tents extemporized. 
 Corporal Buffum, Ed., and I, strike a solemn league. 
 We find two sticks and a long rail. We drive the sticks 
 into the ground for uprights, then lay the rail on top. 
 
16 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Buffum and I tack our blankets together with strings 
 through the eyelet-holes. We place the joining along 
 the cross-timber, letting the blankets slope away, roof- 
 fashion, on each side toward the ground, fastening them 
 at the edges with pegs, and strings straining them tight. 
 Then we spread Ed. s rubber on the ground underneath, 
 put our luggage at one end, and crowd in to try the 
 effect. We have to pack in tight, big Buffum and Ed. 
 not leaving much room for me ; but the closer the better. 
 The north-wind blows, and the air threatens snow. We 
 survey our wigwam with great admiration. I lie down 
 for the night with revolver and dirk strapped one on 
 each side, unwashed, bedraggled, and armed like Jack 
 Sheppard himself. We freeze along through the hours. 
 We get into one another s arms to keep warm as we can, 
 and shiver through till daylight. 
 
 When morning comes, all is confusion. The regi 
 ment looks as if it had rained down. It is clear, but 
 raw. No chance to wash now, nor all day long. Our 
 tents come. We pitch them in long rows, well ordered ; 
 floor them from fences near by ; and carpet them with 
 straw and marsh hay. Six or seven of us pack in here 
 like sardines in a box, lying on our sides, "spoon- 
 fashion." 
 
 Nov. 26. To-day is wretched enough. All night 
 long, whenever I woke up, it was pitter-patter on the 
 canvas ; and this morning it is a drizzle, which turns 
 the clay outside into putty ish mud, mud which plays 
 Damon ; my boot-soles appearing in the role of Pythias, 
 - 1 earnestly hope, for this occasion only ; for the friend- 
 
THE THRESHOLD. 17 
 
 ship is too fervent. No fire, or prospect of any ; for 
 the load of hard wood which was pitched off in front 
 of the tents yesterday is too wet to be kindled. We 
 have heaped the straw up to the sides of the tent, and 
 covered it with blankets. It makes a good seat for us ; 
 and four or five of us are writing here, our feet in the 
 central space. The whole thing is only a little larger 
 than an old-fashioned four-post bedstead. Our feet are 
 dove-tailed in among one another ; the boots all buff, 
 clear above the ankles, with sloppy clay. 
 
 Our guns were issued to us the other day, beautiful 
 pieces, of the most improved pattern, the Springfield 
 rifled musket of 1862. Mine is behind me now, dark 
 black-walnut stock, well oiled, so that the beauty of 
 the wood is brought out, hollowed at the base, and 
 smoothly fitted with steel, to correspond exactly to the 
 curve of the shoulder, against which I shall have to 
 press it many and many a time. Tht spring of the 
 lock, just stiff and just limber enough ; the eagle and 
 stamp of the Government pressed into the steel plate ; 
 barrel, long and glistening, bound into its bed by 
 gleaming rings, long and straight, and so bright, 
 that when I present arms, and bring it before my face, 
 I can see nose and spectacles and the heavy beard on 
 lip and chin, which already the camp is beginning to 
 develop. Then the bayonet, straight and tapering, 
 dazzling under a sun-ray, grooved delicately, as if it 
 were meant to illustrate problems in conic sections, 
 smooth to the finger as a surface of glass, and coming 
 to a point sharp as a needle. 
 
18 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 We have dress-parades now ; and, the other afternoon, 
 I was a spectator instead of taking part. The Fifty- 
 second is formed four deep. I have often seen them in 
 line at Camp Miller ; but now we have our arms, and 
 look more like soldiers. Four deep, and how long the 
 line is ! They are still as men can be at the parade rest. 
 Now, from the right flank, come marching the drums 
 down the line ; slow time ; every eye to the front ; the 
 colonel, hand upon sword-hilt, facing them all, tall, 
 straight, soldierly, his silver eagles on each shoulder. 
 The drums have reached the end of the line, and turn. 
 First a long, brisk roll, thrice repeated; then back 
 along the line with quicker time and step, round the 
 right flank again, past the adjutant ; the thrice-repeated 
 roll again sounding muffled, as it comes to me through 
 the now intervening line of men, a peculiar throb, as 
 if it were inside of the head. It is the adjutant s turn. 
 He is at his place in front of the line. " First sergeants 
 to the front and centre ! " Ten soldiers, strait, sash at 
 waist, march forward, and, one by one, report. It is 
 Ed. s turn now, tall, fine, bright-eyed soldier that he 
 is. His gloved hand gives the salute ; and I hear 
 him, through the music of other regiments, " Fourth 
 company all present or accounted for." Buttoned up 
 to the chin he is, in his dress-coat; his sash, with 
 bright revolver belt, outside ; his gun at his shoulder 
 with true martial poise. " First sergeants to your 
 posts ! " It is the turn of the commissioned officers. 
 They step out to the front, in full-dress uniform, a fine- 
 looking row of men ; then march forward, with brave, 
 
THE THKESHOLD. 19 
 
 unanimous step, in a brilliant, glittering line. It is 
 over, and visitors near step up to me to inquire about 
 the regiment. I feel proud of the men, proud of the 
 colonel, proud of the brilliant officers who have marched 
 forward to salute in concert, the white-gloved hands 
 simultaneously at the visor. Back go the . companies 
 into the streets of the camp, under the first sergeants. 
 I am proud to see how Ed. gets his company by the 
 flank, and promptly mano2uvres them. 
 
 We have had a flag presented to us ; but it is too 
 splendid and heavy for actual service. Our real flag, 
 for service, is more modest, and yet handsome ; of 
 silk, floating from a staff of ash ; the name of the regi 
 ment printed in gold upon one of the crimson stripes. 
 As the wind comes off the bay to us at battalion-drill, 
 the heavy silk brushes my cheek. We shall know each 
 other well during these coming months. I take off my 
 bayonet, -and invert it, that it may not wound the flag 
 it is to defend f So does jovial Bias Dickinson, the 
 corporal who is my file leader, and the rest of the 
 guard. We have also the white flag of Massachusetts, 
 the Indian and uplifted sword upon a snowy field ; plain 
 enough, when the breeze smooths it out, for the senior 
 captain to see from his post on the right flank, and 
 Sergt. Jones, right general guide, whose post is still 
 farther off. When drill is over, we must guard our 
 charge to the colonel s tent, roll the crimson and azure 
 folds carefully about the staff, and put them under 
 shelter ; then our day s work is done. 
 
20 THE COLOR-GUARD, 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 THE TRANSPORT. 
 
 Nov. 29. This is the steamer "Illinois," in the 
 stream, about half a mile off the Battery. The ship is 
 preparing to sail. Evening ; and by special courtesy, 
 the surgeon being absent, I am invited to sleep in his 
 berth to-night. No slight favor, you folks whose sheets 
 are clean, to have a mattress softer than an oaken-deck 
 plank ; and a place to lay one s head, sweeter than a 
 bundle of old rope, soiled by the muddy feet of 
 a trampling army. I stand up, portfolio in hand, half 
 sitting, half leaning, against the cabin-table, with back 
 toward the dim light. A throng of officers are writing, 
 talking, and hurrying past. Now I am luckier : I have 
 found a stool under a brighter light, and the cleanest 
 and best place I have had to write my journal in since 
 I began it. 
 
 Yesterday we marched to Brooklyn ; then went off 
 through lanterned vessels at dusk, past the glowing 
 city, until at last the "Illinois" threw over us the 
 shadow of her black hull and double stacks. We 
 waited an hour in the cold, on the lighter ; then another 
 on the open deck, among the gun-carriages of a battery 
 
THE TRANSPORT. 21 
 
 that was going with us. We were suffered at last to 
 crowd into the cabin, all grumblers. Ed. could hardly 
 make himself heard, though his lungs are good. 
 
 The wrath of the regiment vented itself in every form, 
 the oath, the deprecation, the remonstrance. Tom 
 Barker fairly blued the air about him with vocal 
 brimstone and sulphur, a most accomplished and 
 full-lunged blasphemer. From him, there was every 
 gradation down to a little fellow who remonstrated with 
 a gentle spill of milk and water. 
 
 Camp down, soldiers, where you can ! This cabin 
 is stripped of furniture and carpet : a mirror and the 
 white paint are the only things to remind one of the old 
 elegance of the packet. I glance at the glass as we 
 crowd in. Which am I among the bearded, blue-coated, 
 hustling men? I hardly know myself, sunburnt and 
 muddied ; the "52," on the cap top, showing out in the 
 lantern light. Sergt. Warriner, of Company A, 
 gentlemanly fellow, left guide, whose elbow rubs 
 mine at battalion-drill, offers me a place in a "bunk" 
 he has found empty in one of the staterooms. Bias 
 Dickinson, my wise and jovial file-leader, bunks over 
 me. There is room for another : so I go out to where 
 McGill is wedged into the crowding mass, and extract 
 him as I would a tooth. Gradually the hubbub is 
 quelled. The mass of men, like a river seeking its 
 level, flows into "bunk" and stateroom, cabin and 
 galley. Then the floors are covered, and a few misera 
 ble ones hold on to banisters and table-legs, and at last 
 the regiment swears itself into an uncomfortable sleep. 
 
22 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Nov. 30. We woke up the morning after we came 
 aboard, Warriner, Bias, and I. Company D woke 
 up generally on the cabin-floor. Poor Companies H 
 and F woke up down in the hold. What to do for 
 breakfast? Through the hatchway opposite our state 
 room-door, we could see the waiters in the lower cabin 
 setting tables for the commissioned officers. Presently 
 there was a steam of coffee and steaks ; then a long row 
 of shoulder-straps, and a clatter of knives and forks ; 
 we, meanwhile, breakfastless, and undergoing the tor 
 ments of Tantalus. 
 
 But we cannot make out a very strong case of hard 
 ship. Beef, hard-bread, and coffee were soon ready. 
 Bill Hilson, in a marvellous cap of pink and blue, cut 
 up the big joints on a gun-box. The "non-coms," 
 whose chevrons take them past the guard amidships, 
 went out loaded with the tin cups of the men to Hen. 
 Hilson, out through cabin-door, through greasy, 
 crowded passage-way, behind the wheel, to the galley, 
 where, over a mammoth, steaming caldron, Hen., 
 through the vapor, pours out coffee by the pailful. 
 Hen. looks like a beneficent genius, one of the 
 "Arabian Nights" sort, just being condensed from 
 the smoke and mist of these blessed hot kettles. He 
 drips, and almost simmers, with perspiration, as if he 
 had hardly gone half-way yet from vapor to flesh. 
 
 I have been down the brass-plated staircase, into the 
 splendors of the commissioned-officers cabin, really 
 nothing great at all ; but luxurious as compared with 
 our quarters, already greasy from rations, and stained 
 
THE TRANSPOKT. 23 
 
 with tobacco-juice ; and sumptuous beyond words, as 
 compared with the unplaned boards and tarry odors of 
 the quarters of the privates. Have I mentioned that 
 now our places are assigned ? The " non-coms " non 
 commissioned, meaning, not non compos; though evil- 
 minded high privates declare it might well mean that 
 have assigned to them an upper cabin, with staterooms, 
 over the quarters of the officers, in the after-part of the 
 ship. The privates are in front, on the lower decks, 
 and in the hold. I promise, in a day or two, to play 
 Virgil, and conduct you through the dismal circles of this 
 Malebolge. Now I speak of the cabin of the officers. 
 The hatches are open above and below, to the upper 
 deck and into the hold. Down the hatch goes a dirty 
 stream of commissary-stores, gun-carriages, rifled- 
 cannon, and pressed hay, within an inch or two of 
 cut-glass, gilt-mouldings, and mahogany. The third 
 mate, with voice coarse and deep as the grating of ten- 
 ton packages along the skids, orders this and that, or 
 bays inarticulately in a growl at a shirking sailor. 
 
 Five sergeants of our company, and two corporals 
 of us, have a stateroom together, perhaps six feet 
 by eight. Besides us, two officers servants consider 
 that they have a right here. Did any one say, " Elbow- 
 room " ? 
 
 Dec. 1. Each man now has his place for the voy 
 age assigned him : so, if you can climb well, let us go 
 down, and see the men below. It is right through the 
 damp, crowded passage at the side of the paddle-wheel 
 first. Here is a fence and a gate, impervious to the 
 
24 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 private ; but in his badge the corporal possesses the 
 potent golden bough which gains him ingress through 
 here into Hades. Just amidships, we go in through a 
 door from the upper deck. This first large space is the 
 hospital ; already with thirty or forty in its rough, 
 unplaned bunks. From this, what is half-stairway and 
 half-ladder leads down the hatch. A lantern is burn 
 ing here ; and we see that the whole space between 
 decks, not very great, is filled with bunks, three rows 
 of them between floor and ceiling, stretching away 
 into darkness on every hand, with two-feet passages 
 winding among them. " Hullo ! " from a familiar voice. 
 I look up and down, and off into the darkness. "Hul 
 lo ! " again. It is from overhead. Sile Dibble, 
 sure. 
 
 Here is another corner, behind a post, where is the 
 pock-marked face of little Hines. (The business of 
 Hines has been that of a " gigger : " puzzle over that, as 
 I did.) I hear the salutes of men, but cannot see their 
 faces ; for it is beyond the utmost efforts of the little 
 lantern to show them up. Presently I go on through 
 the narrow passage, with populous bunks, humming 
 with men, on each side, three layers between deck 
 and deck. I can only hear them, and once in a while 
 dimly see a face. At length we come to a railing, over 
 which we climb, and descend another ladder, into 
 regions still darker, submarine, I believe, or, at any 
 rate, on a level with the sea. Here swings another 
 lantern. Up overhead, through deck after deck, is a 
 skylight, which admits light, and wet too, from above. 
 
THE TRANSPORT. 25 
 
 It is like looking from the bottom of a well ; and pretty 
 uncomfortable is the truth that lies at the bottom of 
 this well. 
 
 As above, so here again, there are three tiers of 
 bunks, with the narrow passages among them. The 
 men lie side by side, with but two feet or so of space ; 
 but are in good spirits, though sepulchred after this 
 fashion. I should know this gray, knit cap, with its 
 blue button, McGill, in the top row, his toes within 
 easy reach of the beams above ; and Silloway comes 
 crawling over, from regions more remote, to shake 
 hands. Gottlieb, our small German, is in the centre 
 tier ; and in the lower row, just above the bolts of the 
 deck, is Gunn, the old campaigner. The air seems not 
 bad. It is dark in the day-time, except right under the 
 skylight. A fortnight or so from now, a poor, emaci 
 ated crowd, I fear, it will be proceeding from these 
 lower deeps of the "Illinois." I go back with an 
 uneasy conscience to our six feet by eight up above, so 
 infinitely preferable to these quarters of the privates, 
 though five big sergeants with their luggage share it 
 with me, and two waiters have no other home ; so that 
 we overflow through door and window, on to the deck 
 and floor outside. 
 
 Ed. and I turn in at half-past eight, lying on our 
 sides, and interrupting one another s sleep with, "Look 
 out for your elbow I" "I am going over the edge ! " 
 "You will press me through into the Company C 
 bunks !" This morning I took breakfast in the berth, 
 dining-room, study, and parlor, as well. There is 
 
 2 
 
26 
 
 THE COLOH-GUAKD. 
 
 room enough, sitting Turk-fashion, and bending over. 
 Sergt. Hannum carves the lump of boiled beef with my 
 dirk. " Jest the thing, I van ! " December spits at us 
 with miserable rain, like a secession lady. The steam 
 of the officers soup comes up ; but the gong does not 
 mean us. 
 
 Dec. 2. "Sail to-day!" That has been the 
 morning song aboard the " Illinois " ever since the Fifty- 
 second piled itself into its darknesses. It was so Satur 
 day, Sunday, and Monday. We came to believe it did 
 not mean any thing : so, Tuesday morning being fair, 
 Buffum and I got permission to go ashore, smiling at 
 the superb joke of the officer when he warned us to be 
 "back in a couple of hours, for we surely sail to-day." 
 But, when we came aboard again, the anchor was really 
 up; and the "Illinois," no longer twirled by the tide 
 about its thumbs, began to show a will of its own, and 
 was soon moving seaward with its deeply burdened 
 bosom and swarming decks. Our orders were sealed, 
 and the colonel could not open them until twenty-four 
 hours after sailing. We could not know, then, until 
 the morrow, whither the wheels, the tide, and the strong 
 stern-wind, were bearing us; but the prow was south 
 ward, and the Fifty-second was content. Distance 
 washes the spire of " Trinity " out of the northern sky ; 
 the Narrows, grim with forts and prisons, now grow 
 narrower ; and soon Sandy Hook, the beckoning finger 
 which the old Navesink hills fling out for ever to invite 
 inbound ships, lets us slide past its curving knuckle 
 fairly out to sea. All goes well, with no motion but 
 
THE TRANSPORT. 27 
 
 the throb of the engine. They light the lanterns on 
 the wheel-house and in the fore-top ; they light them 
 between-decks, swinging gently while a soldier reads 
 his Testament, or a party play cards. 
 
 I fear we are reduced to the condition of not having 
 a single unprincipled fellow in our present mess of non- 
 coms, a very dire calamity to a party of campaigners. 
 Rogers is a man of character and dignity, an 
 ex town-official ; round-faced Sergt. Brown is far too 
 exemplary to grumble much, or hook dainty morsels of 
 prog for himself and his " pals ; " Hannum never 
 swears, but only " vans " and " vums ; " while Grosve- 
 nor, the teacher, has walked in virtue so long before 
 his pupils, he is much too far gone ever to be developed 
 into your proper, easy-conscienced " soger-boy." When 
 beef is scarce, who shall bribe the cabin-waiters, or 
 steal tidbits from the galley ? Can we survive it, when 
 the coffee fails, not to have one at least to be mouthpiece 
 to the collective wrath of the company, through whom 
 we may vicariously pour our choler upon the commis 
 sary? 
 
 Dec. 3. I resolve I will try a night with the men 
 in the hold. Elnathan Gunn, the old soldier, invites 
 me to share his bed and board. Life on a transport 
 becomes so simplified, that bed and board become one ; 
 the soldier softening his plank with his haversack of 
 beef and biscuit for a mattress and pillow. 
 
 Tis half-past eight at night as I climb down in night- 
 rig, blouse and knit cap, with round button at the 
 top, like Charles Lamb s " great Panjandrum himself." 
 
28 THE COLOK-GUARD. 
 
 It is comfortable ; but Ed. s fraternal partiality turns to 
 disgust whenever I put it on. I stoop low, it is the 
 lowest tier of bunks, climb over two prostrate men, 
 then lie down sandwiched helplessly between two slices 
 of timber above and below, where I go to sleep among 
 the raw-head and bloody-bone stories of Elnathan Gunn. 
 I wake up at midnight hot and stifled, as if I were in a 
 mine caved in. " Gunn, give me my boots ! " Gunn 
 fishes them out of some hole in the dark. I tug at the 
 straps, half stifled, bump my head as I rise, grovel on 
 my stomach out over two or three snorers, and hurry 
 through the dark for the upper deck, thankful that, 
 being corporal, I can have quarters where I can see and 
 breathe. Through the cabin, over slumbering drums 
 and drummers, for the music, too, is privileged to 
 remain above, then in by the side of Ed. We 
 heard, at noon, we were bound for Ship Island ; and, 
 while I am hoping for plenty of air and good weather 
 the rest of the voyage, down shut the eyelids, and con 
 sciousness is guillotined for the night. 
 
 Dec. 8. I have had no heart or ability to make an 
 entry in my journal for days and days ; but, this morn 
 ing, sea-sickness is gone, the sea is smooth, the weather 
 is July for sun, with a soft, September wind breathing 
 just astern. It is entirely comfortable for me to sit in 
 my shirt-sleeves on the hurricane-deck. How sweet is 
 this calm and soft air ! The white, lighthouse, at the 
 southern point of Cape Florida, stands three or four 
 miles to the west of us. We slide on rapidly over 
 coral-reefs; the water blue as opal; a sail here and 
 
THE TRANSPORT. 29 
 
 there on the horizon ; and in the distance, like round, 
 green bosses, the thickly scattered Keys of Florida, 
 studs of chrysoprase, with which this sumptuous south 
 ern sea fastens the opal covering down over its pearl-lit 
 caves and coral groves. It is something rare, this color 
 ing of the sea. I have just raised my eyes to look 
 westward. Close at hand, the water is blue, with the 
 ordinary deep-sea tinge ; but just beyond, over a bar 
 of snowy sand it must be, it is green as malachite, 
 wonderfully clear and living. 
 
 Sunday morning, Brown, who rises early, came back 
 to us with the news of a death in the regiment during 
 the night. The soldier s body lay upon the hurricane- 
 deck, sewed up in his blanket, ready for its burial in the 
 sea. We do not reach Ship Island until Wednesday or 
 Thursday of this week, and shall make no port before. 
 
 It is noon when the funeral takes place. I am lying 
 in my berth, still weak, when I hear the voice of the 
 chaplain, on the deck just over me, beginning the fu 
 neral service. I hurry up. They swing the American 
 flag at half-mast just over the body, and as many of 
 the regiment as it is safe to admit to that part of the 
 ship stand around. The service is very impressive. A 
 choir of soldiers sing a hymn ; then a kinsman of the 
 dead man lifts the plank; down it descends, weighted 
 at the feet. Tropical fish play about the ship. The 
 northern breeze, right from home, breathes over the 
 ocean-grave ; the clear-green sea closes above, a 
 sepulchre of emerald, a sad and sudden end for the 
 poor Shelburne boy. 
 
30 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 The keel of the ship grates upon the bottom. The 
 captain jumps to the wheel, and it is about immediately, 
 until land fades again, and it is once more " one wide 
 water all around us." The sun sets gloriously behind 
 this land of romance. A soft crimson haze hangs over 
 the land, and smokes up zenithward like rich fume and 
 vapor from old Ponce de Leon s fountain of youth. 
 A splendor of cloud and light is thrown upon the 
 west, tall buttressed pillars glowing in the light, as 
 if the powers of the air had begun to paint there the 
 proud escutcheon of the Spanish kings. In another 
 moment, I shall behold the crowned shield and the 
 rampant lions ; but it fades, and now to the eastward 
 rises the moon. The sky to-night is vapory, with fine, 
 clear lines of azure running through the vapor, like 
 veins, veins how blue and deep ! as if filled with the 
 blue blood of the true Hidalgos of old Castile. 
 
 There has been no end to grumbling. We have all 
 been sea-sick, and responsibilities which the disor 
 dered stomach ought to shoulder have been thrown on 
 the food. This brings me to speak of what I have 
 noticed again and again since we became soldiers, that 
 the first to complain are those who have come from the 
 poorest circumstances. Those who at home have been 
 forced to live on the coarsest food are now first and 
 loudest in their outcries against the rations. 
 
 Before we left New York, McGill and I clubbed 
 together to buy Prof. Cairnes s book, "The Slave 
 Power ; " a purchase I am glad enough we made. I 
 have read the book attentively during the voyage, with 
 
THE TRANSPORT. 31 
 
 great interest, and feel now doubly strong to fight for 
 the Union cause. I respect England and her writers. 
 I have been accustomed to defer very much to English 
 thinkers ; and though, in the exercise of my most con 
 scientious judgment, I could not help thinking our 
 cause was right, yet I have not been able to feel quite 
 easy and satisfied when the voices of intelligent English 
 men seemed so generally against us. It was very 
 cheering when the "National" came, a few months ago, 
 with a fine article on our side ; then the " Westmin 
 ster," with Mill s strong presentation of our case. 
 Now here is this new book, by a writer, to be sure, 
 who seems to be only just rising into note, but evidently 
 a man of very fine powers, and sure to wield a profound 
 influence. How his analysis of the matter carries con 
 viction with it ! How plain it is that the hopes of 
 civilization depend upon the triumph of the North ! 
 There is a grand sentence, which Cairnes quotes from 
 De Tocqueville, to the effect, "that when a people are 
 striving for independence, whether the effort has right 
 or wrong on its side, depends upon what they want 
 independence for, whether to govern themselves, or to 
 tyrannize over others." " Down with slavery ! " though 
 I own my sympathies go as much or more with the suf 
 fering whites than the suffering blacks. I believe good 
 has come, and is coming, to the black serf through his 
 contact with the Anglo-Saxon, though it has been so 
 rough and harsh; and probably the suffering of the 
 race, great as it is, is not much greater than it would 
 have been if they had remained in unenslaved barbarism. 
 
32 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 But how terrible is the corruption which slavery brings 
 upon the master class ! Thanks to this good book ! 
 Now Dixie Ship Island is full in sight ; and I can 
 put my foot confidently upon its sand if we come to land, 
 buttressed in my feelings that I have right on my side, 
 though I come armed against its owners. 
 
 Dec. 14. We are in one of the passes of the Mis 
 sissippi, on our way to New Orleans. It is Sunday 
 again, our third aboard the ship, and a most lovely 
 day to be introduced to Louisiana. It is a perfect 
 summer day, with the bulging clouds and blue sky of a 
 hay-day at home, though there is breeze enough to keep 
 it from being oppressively hot. We only hope the 
 "rebs" are as much in the dark as to our destination as 
 the expedition itself and the people of the North gene 
 rally. 
 
 We left Ship Island yesterday, Saturday ; having 
 lain at anchor there since Thursday. Sergt. Hannum 
 went ashore there, and came back smacking his lips, 
 and telling great stories of a hoe-cake, with butter, 
 which he bought of a contraband. He must have had 
 a good supper, and became the pet and star of the 
 non-coms for that evening, who made him repeat his 
 story again and again, endeavoring, from the luscious- 
 ness of his descriptions, to realize the actual sensations 
 which the palate of the lucky sergeant had experienced. 
 
 On Saturday morning, in came huge steamer after 
 steamer; among them the "North Star," the flag-ship, 
 with Gen. Banks. Boats, with staff-officers , sped from 
 vessel to vessel, one to ours ; and news presently came 
 
THE TRANSPORT. 33 
 
 from the cabin, we were to sail again as soon as steam 
 could be raised. 
 
 All day long, transports, laden with troops, were 
 arriving, the swift " Matanzas ; " the immense " Ara- 
 go ; " at length the familiar "Atlantic," in which I once 
 took a voyage ; she and her consort the "Baltic," with 
 others, large and small. The decks of all are dark with 
 troops. We hear from some the drum and fife ; from 
 others the strains of a full band ; and, from every regi 
 ment, cheer after cheer as they round the point of the 
 island, pass in among the ships, and finally cast anchor. 
 A gunboat comes up ; lies-to off the point ; and present 
 ly up at the fore goes a string of flags, one over the 
 other, at the top, a red and white checker ; then a 
 blue, bisected by a white line ; then a red and white, 
 the line of division between the two colors running 
 diagonally from corner to corner. I turn my head 
 toward the men-of-war lying in the harbor, and see that 
 they, too, have strings of flags flying. They are talking 
 with those gay, fluttering tongues across the intervening 
 mile or two. What do they say? Presently the slate- 
 colored hull, with the black guns locking from its 
 sides, is cutting the water again, and she casts anchor 
 among the fleet. 
 
 There is no lack of excitement to-day. By noon, 
 there must be some twelve thousand troops at the 
 anchorage, on steamers large and small. 
 
 The "North Star," with the general, weighs anchor 
 again, the blue flag of pre-eminence flying at the fore ; 
 then the " Spaulding ; " then another and another ; 
 
 2* 
 
34 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 until, at length, our turn comes. Kound go the wheels 
 again : we pass the point, and are at sea, the " Arago " 
 following in our wake, and others, whose smoke only 
 we can see, far in the rear of her. 
 
 Night falls. There are moving lights ahead, behind, 
 and at each side, where the ships are finding their way. 
 Word comes up from the cabin that we are bound for 
 New Orleans, but not to stop ; and we remain as much 
 in the dark as ever about our final goal. It only leaks 
 out that the colonel has said, " No one yet has named 
 our true destination." Ed. and I sit on deck, as 
 night after night we have done. Arthur Sprague, 
 Lieut. Haskell, and one or two others, pour out far 
 over the sea some Saturday-night hymns, in which I am 
 glad to join. There I sit, and into my mind come 
 thoughts of the world s great expeditions, of Mar- 
 donius in a purple, Persian galley, with the other 
 satraps and their master Xerxes sweeping down to 
 where Themistocles and the line of Athenian triremes 
 waited for them at Salamis ; then of the great Duke of 
 Medina Sidonia leading his armada towards St. George s 
 Channel, while the Prince of Parma, on the Netherland 
 coast, impatiently watched for the signal for launching 
 forth with his brave Spanish infantry. Did the old 
 Medean spearmen sit, I wonder, with dangling legs, 
 looking as unromantic as Corporal Hardiker there, with 
 his greasy pantaloons half up to his knee? or did 
 bearded, old musketeers, in casques and burgonets, sing 
 longs of Aragon and Leon, as we sing the songs of 
 Tankee-land ? My thoughts are not auspicious, I fancy ; 
 
THE TRANSPORT. 35 
 
 for almost every expedition that comes to mind, as I sit, 
 goes out in a bad cause, and ends in disaster. I would 
 not yield my cause for any that man ever upheld, though 
 BO many would class us with Persia and Spain in 
 injustice. How full of romance are these seas, with 
 their great associations, Balboa and De Soto, galleons 
 with glittering adventurers, buccaneers, mariners of 
 Genoa and Portugal in gilded argosies ! 
 
 Ed. and I go below, to wake up toward daylight, 
 and find the engines still, and hear the hoarse shout of 
 the gruff third mate, " Watch ! " as he heaves the lead. 
 We are just off the Bar, at the mouth of one of the 
 passes ; and, when we come on deck, the pilot-schooner 
 is flying from one to another among the fleet of steam 
 ers, who, like us, are all lying-to, putting her 
 pilots here and there. We take on ours. In a mo 
 ment the heaving sea is behind us, its blue a thing of 
 the past ; and we breast the sallow current of the 
 Mississippi, with coarse, strange-looking sedges, ten 
 feet high, on the banks ; fish-huts here and there ; 
 spoonbills flying about in flocks ; and, as I live, a peli 
 can, symbolic bird, pocketing fish out of the river. 
 The bank gradually begins to look more firm ; though 
 often the sea stretches away close at hand beyond the 
 narrow ridge of earth, which is the only shore. To 
 ward noon, we reach the famous forts, whose walls are 
 low, but covered with formidable guns, one of which 
 gives us a salute as we come up. 
 
 In the course of the afternoon, we pass a plantation, 
 belonging, so the pilot says, to Judah P. Benjamin. 
 
36 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 It is one of the finest we see during the sail, with large 
 sugar-houses, comfortable cabins, and a stately mansion. 
 We go within a stone s-throw of the groves and balco 
 nies, sweet with aromas and soft breezes as the haunts 
 of Circe, the nursery-spots of hideous treason. A 
 crowd of negroes, of all sizes and both sexes, rush to 
 the bank to shout, and wave their hands. The only 
 expressions of joy we witness are from the blacks : 
 indeed, they are almost the sole population remaining 
 here. The mules in the cane-fields are driven by black 
 drivers, and blacks are the only figures we see about 
 the sugar-mills. The streets of negro cabins are often 
 populous ; but the master s mansion, almost invariably, 
 stands with no sign of life within its grove. 
 
 We go below for supper. When we return to the 
 deck, night has fallen ; and, in front, we can just begin 
 to see the lights of New Orleans. To the right of the 
 city, in the heavens, glares a conflagration, red, like a 
 great light we saw the night of our arrival at Ship 
 Island, said then to be toward Mobile, and perhaps the 
 signal-fire of the enemy. Ed. and I sit on the paddle- 
 box, watching the light, the hostile city, in chains 
 and under our cannon. Now we are close upon it. At 
 our side lies the " North Star ; " when plunge goes the 
 anchor, with its rattling chain, in twenty-five fathoms 
 water. All is mystery about us, except that, through 
 the night, the invisible city looks at us through its 
 blinking lights, eyes alone visible, like the wolf that 
 Putnam followed into its cavern. The " United States," 
 the "Boardman," and other vessels of the squadron, 
 
THE TRANSPORT. 37 
 
 come up. The fine band of the Forty-first, on the 
 "North Star," play, "Twinkling stars are laughing, 
 love," and other pieces, to the delight of all the trans 
 ports. One of our fellows offers to "swap our band 
 for yours ; " which goes for a great joke aboard the " Illi 
 nois," we being rather lame in point of music, a few 
 drums and fifes, with a most limited repertoire of tunes. 
 A certain creeper, the pest of camps from time imme 
 morial, has made its appearance on the "Illinois," as 
 was to be expected ; and been the staple horror of the 
 latter part of the voyage. Of course, some one must 
 yell out the inquiry, if the Forty-first know any thing 
 about them. The answer comes pealing back across the 
 water : " We ve got em with U. S. marked on their 
 backs." So go the jokes through the evening. 
 
 Dec. 15. Morning comes after a night almost 
 sultry. The air is dead ; and, although the stateroom 
 window has been wide open, we all awake in a perspi 
 ration. Daylight drags the wolf out of his cavern, 
 the city out to view. We find we are rather below it ; 
 opposite a pretentious building, which, I believe, is the 
 Marine Hospital. In the course of the morning, we 
 weigh anchor, and sail up a mile or so ; the straight 
 streets opening up as we go slowly by, looking quiet, 
 and, with the wharves and buildings along the Levee, 
 forsaken by business. We pass the Cathedral ; a fine 
 structure, so far as I can see, with a square in front, 
 and two buildings of a mediaeval appearance on each 
 side, convents, perhaps ; then long sheds and mar 
 kets. At length we are opposite the Custom House, 
 
38 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 which has the revenue-flag flying, an uncompleted 
 building of Quincy granite, which, they say, was prov 
 ing too heavy for the soil, sinking downward, until 
 they were forced to stop building. 
 
 Here are the great peace-keepers of the city. After 
 passing two French war-steamers, we come to frigate 
 after frigate, grim, dangerous, silent, our flag at the 
 stern ; with formidable batteries, all in perfect trim, and 
 trained straight against the city. Blue tars crowd the 
 decks ; watchmen, with spy-glasses, are in the tops. 
 Should secession grow rife again, and, in city or suburb, 
 the watch behold the dust arising from an emeute which 
 the soldiery could not repress, New Orleans would be 
 blown into shreds and splinters. We cast anchor again. 
 As the day goes by, we buy oranges, ripe and sweet, 
 from boats which come alongside ; while the hope of 
 being landed during the day, held out in the morning, 
 fades and fades. 
 
THE TWO LEADEKS. 39 
 
 CHAPTER in. 
 
 THE TWO LEADEKS. 
 
 DEC. 16. I am writing now among the great col 
 umns of the St. Charles Hotel, in New Orleans, in front, 
 detailed for special duty at head-quarters, in a clerkship 
 which Gen. B~\iks offered me this morning, and which 
 I have accepted on trial. It will give me a place close 
 by the general, and, I hope, a good opportunity for 
 observation and to be useful. I left the ship last 
 evening just at dusk, thinking I would settle the matter 
 at once, wait upon the general, present my letters 
 of introduction and credentials, and see what he would 
 do for me. The " Illinois " had hauled up to shore. I 
 loaded my revolver, climbed down the wheel-house, and 
 made my way up through the streets, toward the St. 
 Charles Hotel, to seek my fortune. It was a hostile 
 city : but the sense of insecurity which I had when I 
 landed soon wore off; for people were invariably polite 
 when I made inquiries ; and, had they not been, soldiers 
 of the Union passed me at every few rods ; and not 
 unfrequently I came upon sentinels posted in door 
 ways, on sidewalks, before places of amusement. Oc 
 casionally I passed buildings which seemed very fine in 
 
40 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 the dusk ; and at length the stately front of the St. 
 Charles threw its glare over me, as I ascended through 
 the gas-light into the rotunda. Shoulder-straps were 
 innumerable among the tall columns, double-breasted 
 colonels and majors, with eagles and leaves, and 
 slimmer captains and lieutenants, with the single row 
 of buttons. 
 
 The general was not in : so I was forced to wait until 
 this morning, though I ran the risk of losing the " Illi 
 nois," which might sail any hour, leaving me with my 
 fate undecided. Soon after eight this morning, forti 
 fied with a good breakfast, I went again to the St. 
 Charles. The general was at breakfast. I sent in 
 my name on a card, with my documents, and waited. 
 In half an hour, perhaps, an unpretending figure, in 
 blowze and loose pantaloons, with felt hat and shuf 
 fling slippers, crossed the marble floor just in front of 
 me. At first, I did not notice him. His appearance 
 was less distingue than that of the least second lieu 
 tenant among the columns ; in fact, I believe even the 
 corporal outshone him in his freshly brushed dress-coat. 
 As he passed opposite me, however, I saw it was the 
 general going to his rooms. 
 
 He is out of sight now, and I wait to be summoned. 
 Wait, wait. If he comes out again, I determine to 
 waive ceremony, and present myself. Here he does 
 come ! Up, courage, before he is swallowed by shoulder- 
 straps ! I touch my cap, give my name. He is very 
 polite, " was looking for me ;" and I presently feel at 
 my ease. The iron-gray moustache over the mouth is a 
 
THE TWO LEADERS. 41 
 
 grim and formidable archway, but from under it pro 
 ceed pleasant words. At present, he can only offer 
 this clerkship. I may take it, and wait for something 
 better to turn up. He leaves me to think about it ; 
 meantime inviting me into his parlor, where I sit among 
 eagles and stars, who come and go. 
 
 Colonels of regiments just arrived are here to report. 
 Major Yarnum reports : 
 
 " I am paymaster, sir. I have brought with me a 
 million dollars." 
 
 " Indeed ! " (the general, with a pleasant smile and 
 imperial bow :) " then we are all glad to see you, 
 major." 
 
 " Major So-and-so is coming with eight hundred thou 
 sand dollars more." 
 
 " Ah ! then we shall all be glad to see him, almost 
 as glad as to see you." 
 
 The general withdraws. I make up my mind then ; 
 take out my paper, and read, while the adjutant-general 
 and his clerks (who occupy this parlor for the time 
 being) write and write. The general appears again, 
 walks across the room, his hands behind him, and face 
 bent down, in deep thought. He is just about to meet 
 the municipal authorities of New Orleans, an impor 
 tant interview. As he approaches my corner, he looks 
 up, and smiles affably. I tell him briefly I will come 
 on trial, not to stay unless I choose. I am then in 
 troduced to the adjutant-general, and presently retire 
 to the shadow of these great columns of the portico : 
 but, before I go, I behold the general in full blaze, 
 
42 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 double star on each shoulder, double row of buttons in 
 front ; the sash of his office about his waist, which the 
 adjutant-general steps forward and adjusts. As I pass 
 out, the civic dignitaries are entering, a body of gen 
 tlemen of good bearing and substantial aldermanic 
 appearance. 
 
 I have also an opportunity, just at night-fall, to con 
 trast the setting with the rising sun. In the afternoon, 
 I pass the handsome mansion occupied by Gen. Butler 
 as his head-quarters. From the stoop I am hailed by 
 name, and look up to behold Callighan and Pat O Toole 
 of our company, who have got lost, and come to the 
 guard, before the door here at head-quarters, to be set 
 straight. I go up on to the roomy stoop ; and, as we 
 stand talking by the sentry, two gentlemen come from 
 within to the door, escorted by a third with portly figure 
 and thin hair. It is the verge of evening, and I cannot 
 see his face plainly. " Shall we say at half-past four, 
 then?" It is Gen. Butler, making an engagement 
 with his visitors for the next day. He goes in. I hear 
 a door close, and through the blinds I can see him in 
 an elegant parlor, alone, reading ; the gas-light falling 
 full on his large frame and rather sinister face. 
 
 Dec. 19. In camp, within the memorable town of 
 Baton Rouge. My clerkship at New Orleans was 
 short-lived. I found my associates were to be very 
 coarse men. I was to rub constantly with commis 
 sioned officers (many young and thoughtless, many of 
 them high in rank), among whom, in my position, it 
 would be hard to feel independence ; and I might be 
 
THE TWO LEADERS. 43 
 
 subjected to treatment hard for a man of any spirit 
 to endure, however Christian he might endeavor to be : 
 all this in a strange city, with not a soul to go to for 
 congenial companionship. I slept at night in a room 
 appropriated to the head-quarters clerks, half filled up 
 with a litter of confiscated furniture. Rising early, I 
 packed my knapsack, and saw my superior as soon as 
 possible ; not to report for duty, but to tell him I pre 
 ferred to remain with my regiment. 
 
 New Orleans I found a pleasanter city than I ex 
 pected. Many streets have fine blocks, and a few- 
 buildings are really handsome. The business of the 
 city must have been immense ; though now, in thorough 
 fares lined with stores, and once, evidently from the 
 look of the pavements, thronged with passers, one s 
 foot-step echoes hollow from deserted buildings. I 
 was treated with invariable politeness when I came into 
 contact with the inhabitants ; though I wore my loaded 
 revolver under my coat, and slept with it under my 
 pillow, not knowing what might occur. On St. 
 Charles and Canal Streets, I saw some of the ladies of 
 the city, at least, so I judged from their dress and 
 faces, but there was nothing insulting in dress or 
 manner ; and I was informed that demonstrations of 
 that character had long since ceased. Many of these 
 ladies were in deep mourning, probably for relatives 
 killed in the Confederate service. 
 
 One needs to have a long purse in New Orleans. I 
 believe this is always the case, but especially now, when, 
 the river being closed, the city depends solely upon its 
 
44 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 environs and the sea for its supplies. Even the fruits, 
 which we expected to procure very cheaply, cost a& 
 much as in New York, though orange-trees and the 
 banana, with its heavy plume-like leaf, grew in almost 
 every garden. 
 
 I proved it to be true, that there is no loneliness like 
 that of being alone in a great city, full of strangers ; 
 and was as happy as I care to be, when I found I could 
 depart. The "Illinois" had left, and, as I found out, 
 had gone with the regiment still further up the river, 
 to Baton Rouge. I was to take a river-steamer, the 
 "Iberville," chartered by the Government, and about to 
 carry up the river the famous Second Massachusetts 
 Battery, Capt. Nims, which first became noted at this 
 very point of Baton Rouge, in the battle of August, 
 1862. I bought some oranges, got my knapsack off 
 with the help of a brother-corporal of the battery, and 
 took my seat on the forward deck, just over the hubbub 
 of the embarkation, to see the polished pieces, the fine 
 stout horses, and the heavy caissons of ammunition. 
 In this battery, the orders all are communicated by the 
 bugle ; whose call, horses as well as men understand. 
 
 I sit on deck beneath a June-like sun. A crowd 
 have assembled on the Levee ; in large part, of contra 
 bands. Boys cry the papers with Gen. Butler s fare 
 well. My oranges are delicious ; more sweet and ripe 
 than we get them North. Behind me, in the river, lies 
 the "Hartford," with Admiral Farragut on board; the 
 "Mississippi," "Pensacola," and the smaller gun-boats. 
 In the distance, down stream, lie the two French war- 
 
THE TWO LEADEES. 45 
 
 ships, and the "Rinaldo " flying the cross of St. George. 
 Up stream lies a steamer with the flag of Spain, 
 swarthy watchmen on the paddle-boxes, the space over 
 the forecastle crowded with sailors of the same hue. 
 There are but few merchant-ships, and little appearance 
 of commercial bustle. Big artillery-men (artillery-men 
 always look strong) , Boston boys in red-trimmed jack 
 ets, wheel the light cannons aboard the ship. These 
 shining pieces are no dainty holiday affairs, that never 
 go out of arsenals except on Fourth of July or after an 
 election, and then only belch harmless discharges. 
 Each one, on the average, has probably killed its score 
 of men, and wounded perhaps two or three times as 
 many. Smooth, elegant, polished, quiet, they stand 
 on deck like elegant French swordsmen I have read of, 
 who go with dainty rapiers, almost plaything-like, soft 
 as silk, but dangerous as death. 
 
 By sunset, horses, men, and all, are aboard. Cal- 
 lighan and O Toole are safe at hand, glad as I am to 
 go to the regiment. The boat swings out just as Gen. 
 Banks is leaving the " Hartford " from a visit of cere 
 mony. His boat shoots forth rapidly, rowed by eight 
 skilful oarsmen ; and from the ports of the " Hartford," 
 now one side, now the other, roars the appropriate 
 salute of thirteen guns, the tremendous report making 
 the light scantling upper works of the steamer I am on 
 quiver like jack-straws. 
 
 We are moving rapidly up stream, the city under its 
 guard, the closed stores and crowd of negroes going 
 rapidly behind, while sugar plantations on both sides 
 
46 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 * 
 
 come into view above. Battery-men tell stories of the 
 Baton-Rouge fight, how this one had a horse shot un 
 der him, and that one had a man killed at his side. As 
 evening closes, the horizon before and behind is lit up 
 with immense fires, consuming the dried and crushed 
 stalks of the sugar-cane. Pat Callighan and their 
 w co-r-r-poral " sit under the stack on deck, the evening 
 being cool ; while an Irish sergeant of the First Louisi 
 ana, who has served in India, tells stories of the skill 
 of the Sikhs at Sobraon and Chillianwallah. 
 
 Before daylight, the boat is at Baton Rouge. I roll 
 out of my blankets on the cabin-floor, and go ashore. 
 Climbing up the Levee, and finding there Company D 
 just finishing breakfast, having slept on their arms all 
 night, I feel happy enough to be once more among the 
 fellows ; and throw my knapsack down by Ed. s, in one 
 corner of a tent, with much more satisfaction than I 
 should have taken in a carpeted parlor in New Orleans. 
 
 I hear of the warlike experiences of the day before. 
 It seems that the transports (several of which were in 
 company after leaving New Orleans) followed one 
 another in close line, protected by gun-boats. During 
 the night, which so6n fell, word went out, that, the next 
 day, there would probably be fighting. The rifles were 
 got out of the boxes in the hold, loaded, and each man 
 supplied with forty rounds^ of cartridges. There was 
 some anxiety in the regiment (for we are almost entirely 
 lacking in musket-drill), but, I believe, no unmanly 
 fear. By morning, the ships were opposite Baton 
 Rouge, held by a body of the enemy. The famous 
 
THE TWO LEADERS. 47 
 
 iron-clad " Essex " appeared, to re-enforce the squadron. 
 Some twenty shell were fired, mostly by the " Essex ; " 
 the Fifty-second, for the first time, having the opportu 
 nity to hear the booming of guns of large caliber and 
 the whistle of projectiles. The enemy retired imme 
 diately ; whereupon our troops were at once landed from 
 the transports, and posted within certain old intrench- 
 ments. These were thrown up last summer by Gen. 
 Williams, and run zig-zag through the town, without 
 respect to buildings, streets, or graveyards. 
 
48 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 "THE DAY or CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS." 
 
 JAN. 19. One by one, all the phases of military life 
 are passing before me. Camp and transport life I 
 know, picket and guard duty, and the routine of drill. 
 For a month, this has been our life, a tedious and 
 uneventful season, whose incidents it is idle to record. 
 The battle-field, so far, has kept aloof with its bloody 
 terrors ; but now I am face to face with a chapter of 
 the soldier s life, less hideous than the battle-field per 
 haps, yet full of sadness. Suddenly I come to see 
 hospital-service ; and, as I feel to-iiight, it is quite pos 
 sible I may see much of it : for while there is so much 
 sickness in the regiment, and I continue well, perhaps 
 I can best employ myself in nursing. I am writing 
 here at ten at night, in what the doctor calls my " ward ; " 
 a pleasant, airy chamber belonging to the officers of our 
 company, who, however, with great kindness, have given 
 it up to Ed. and Sergeant Grosvenor, who lie here sick 
 of fever. I snatch the intervals between the calls of my 
 two patients to write. Two of our men sleep here on 
 the floor, who are to watch part of the night. It will 
 be an hour or two before I go to bed ; and I may have 
 an opportunity to write a good deal. 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 49 
 
 My first visit to the hospital put me face to face with 
 its gloomiest spectacles. A mail had come, and it fell 
 to me .to distribute to the patients their letters. I had 
 been giving letters to well men, had my own pocket 
 full, was happy myself, and had come from among men 
 happy as men ever are ; for I have discovered the secret 
 of happiness to be hidden in mail-bags. I rushed up 
 the stairs leading to the second story of the building, 
 the rooms of which are used as part of the hospital. 
 Two or three doors were before me. I opened the 
 first, and found myself alone in the presence of a 
 corpse. It was the body of a man who had died the 
 night before. He lay in full soldier s dress, decently 
 brushed coat with military buttons, his " martial cloak 
 around him," and with a white cloth covering the 
 face. He was buried in the afternoon ; the regiment 
 drawn up in a hollow square, solemnly silent, while the 
 service was performed ; then standing reverently while 
 the body and its escort with the muffled drum moved 
 i^ *hs burial. I have heard of the " wail " of the fife, 
 but never made it real to myself until then, when across 
 the parade-ground, down the street, then from the dis 
 tance, came the notes of the " Dead March." 
 
 In the next room to the one in which lay the corpse, 
 the floor was covered with pale, sick men. Now they 
 have rough bedsteads, "bunks;" but then there was 
 nothing but the mattress under them, and sometimes 
 only the blankets. One or two attendants, as many as 
 could be spared from the regiment, had the care of the 
 whole ; but they were far too few. One poor man was 
 
 3 
 
50 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 in a sad way, with inflammatory rheumatism, which 
 made it very painful for him to stir ; and, at the same 
 time, with dysentery, so that he required to be lifted 
 every few minutes. Pale, forlorn men, away from 
 friends, tended by nurses who have no special interest 
 in them, and are overworked, crouching, wrapped up 
 in blankets over the fire, or stretched out on a floor. 
 God pity the world if it has sights in it more melancholy 
 than a military hospital ! 
 
 The hospital of our regiment is only in part located 
 in these rooms, of which I have been writing. Most 
 of the patients (I am sorry to write, they are very nu 
 merous) are in a larger building, once a hotel, which 
 lies a few rods outside the lines. Well do I know the 
 road thither now, by night or day, by storm or sun 
 shine ; for, after the doctor s visits, it is my work to go 
 to the hospital-steward after the medicines and comforts 
 for my sick men. How many times already have I 
 climbed the steep clay bank of the parapet, then slid 
 down into the ditch outside ! a hill of difficulty in bad 
 weather, when one s feet slip from under him in the 
 slimy soil. The old bar-room of the hotel is now the 
 hospital-kitchen and head-quarters of the surgeon and 
 steward. Above the bar is a flaring gilt sign, "Rain 
 bow Saloon ; " and below it, along the shelves which 
 once held the liquors, are arranged the apothecary 
 stores of the regiment. The steward is constantly busy, 
 one of the hardest-worked men in the regiment, I 
 
 O 
 
 believe ; for he prepares pills and powders by the thou 
 sand, and the rattle of his pestle is almost constant. 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 51 
 
 In the rooms above lie the sick men, and in one apart 
 ment the surgeon is quartered. Every morning, just at 
 light, " surgeon s call " is beaten ; and from each com 
 pany a sergeant marches off at the head of a long line 
 of sick men to be prescribed for. These are men unwell, 
 but not so badly off as to be obliged to leave their ordi 
 nary quarters for the accommodations of the hospital. 
 
 Let us go up stairs into this second story. At the 
 head of the staircase, the door of a room is ajar ; and I 
 see the bed on which generally is lying one of the sick 
 est patients of the hospital, some man near to death, 
 a comfortable, canopied bed, a death-bed for numbers. 
 To-night, poor Paine, of our company, who died a 
 little while ago, has just been laid out there. An 
 entry runs north and south, from which, on each side, 
 open the doors of other sick-rooms, where men with 
 fever and dysentery, with agues, and racking, lung- 
 shattering coughs, lie stretched on mattresses. Here is 
 one with ghastly fever-light in his eyes ; there, one pale 
 and hollow-cheeked. Wrapped to the chin in blankets, 
 some are ; some parched with the fire of disease, 
 their buttons and gay dress-coats, the finery in which 
 they used to appear at dress-parade, hanging forlornly 
 overhead. 
 
 The nurses, too, look jaded and worn : and no won 
 der ; for, with a dismal contagion, the torpor and weari 
 ness in the faces about will communicate itself to the 
 attendants and visitors, and the most cheerful counte 
 nance can hardly help becoming forlorn. Our chaplain 
 and colonel (both good, energetic, and useful men) 
 
52 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 make it part of their daily duty to go to every couch, 
 and befriend the poor fellows lying there ; and their 
 visits are the golden hours of the day at the hospital*, 
 waited and prayed for. The doctor s apartment is 
 large. In one corner are piled up the " stretchers," the 
 cots with handles (half-bed, half-bier) , which are meant 
 to carry wounded men off the field. At daybreak, each 
 day, this room is filled with the procession which 
 answers the surgeon s call. 
 
 Now I am a nurse in the hospital ; though in the 
 room, my "ward," I have only two patients, and can 
 make things more comfortable than in most of the 
 rooms. Only two patients : but they both have this 
 terrible fever ; and I fear (God knows how much I) 
 for this young brother. Yet I must veil my appre 
 hension. To-night, a letter must be sent North. My 
 heart is sinking ; but I must counterfeit light-hearted- 
 ness, lest they take alarm. 
 
 To the Parsonage in B. 
 
 DEAR P., We are lucky fellows. For a time, 
 you know, Ed. and I were perfectly well and hearty ; 
 and, now that Ed. has had to give up for a while, he is 
 probably better off than any sick man in the regiment, 
 and is doing as well as we can expect. I wrote a day or 
 two ago, that Ed. was sick ; thinking he would be bet 
 ter at once. It turned out differently ; and now he is 
 slipping smoothly through a fever, just about as 
 comfortably off as he needs to be, with every this 
 
 g so 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 53 
 
 far going well. It does seem at a distance an awkward 
 thing to be sick in camp, and generally, I suppose, it is a 
 hard thing for a soldier to be taken down ; but Ed. is 
 singularly fortunate. The chaplain offered him a place 
 in his room, which he thought would be more comfort 
 able than the hospital ; but the officers of the company 
 were so urgent in their invitation, that Ed. decided to go 
 to their room. So here we are to-night, he playing 
 patient ; and I, nurse. 
 
 Grosvenor is sick too, fine fellow, the graduate 
 of Amherst, whom I mention sometimes. He and Ed. 
 have the room together ; and the colonel has detailed me 
 temporarily for hospital-service, to have special charge 
 of this pair of sergeants. You know I am an old hand 
 at nursing. I find I take to i\ again with real zest, 
 like a fish to its pond. Ed. ai 1 Grosvenor are both 
 sleeping quietly now, each on his bunk comfortably 
 fitted up with a soft mattress of moss and all necessary 
 coverings. The surgeon is skilful, and close at hand 
 all the time ; the hospital-stores contain all the neces 
 sary medicines ; and, for comforts, you ought to see the 
 pile of oranges and lemons on this table here ! Or 
 anges, not such half-ripened, pale fellows as you see 
 North, but the " raal" article, pumpkins in color, and 
 almost in size. Ed. has just been smacking his lips 
 over some cold lemonade sucked up through a mint- 
 julep straw, and is looking forward to beef-tea ; a cup 
 ful of which, nicely made as can be by old Winders, 
 the hospital cook, who takes an interest in us, stands 
 on the bench yonder. Moreover, there is toast-water, . 
 
54 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 fine loaf-sugar, choice tea, right here at hand, and 
 gruel whenever it is wanted. Ed. sleeps on a feather 
 pillow which I managed to get ; and, as I said, sucks 
 his nourishment through a mint-julep straw : not be 
 cause he is obliged to, but because he prefers to take it 
 easy, lie flat on his back, or any way, and take his 
 dinner, which, under the persuasion applied by means 
 of the mint-julep straw, will pliantly mount any hill, or 
 turn any corner, to find that " right spot " to which we 
 like to have things go exactly. So you see Ed. is 
 about as well off as he could be anywhere, all things 
 considered ; and, in some respects, better : for he has 
 the mint-julep straw, an article which savors of the 
 " enemy," and which, therefore, never did profane, and I 
 presume would never be allowed to profane, the virtuous 
 precincts of the manse ; and yet an article (O our 
 friends !) to be cherished for its magic mastery over 
 lemonade and beef-tea. So you see Ed. is well doc 
 tored and well nursed. I am not afraid to say it. 
 For myself, my health is perfect ; and I take precautions 
 to keep it so, so far as I can. 
 
 Ed. has waked up. He sends much love, and talks 
 about Mark Tapley, the "jolly man ; " who, when he 
 was too sick to speak, wrote "jolly" on a piece of 
 paper. That appears to be about his frame of mind. 
 
 BATON ROUGE, Jan. 26. 
 
 DEAR P. , This evening is really the first time when 
 
 fatigue and work give me some respite, and I can begin 
 
 .to give you the sad particulars, how our much-beloved 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 55 
 
 Benjamin went from earth into the bosom of the Father. 
 Tears and convulsive sobbing are now over with. I 
 am calm, as I begin ; and perhaps I can go through the 
 detail with the gathering of no film and the trembling 
 of no nerve. I am left here forlorn ; my pride and joy 
 taken from my side. It is evening now. I still am in the 
 house where he died, a deserted house now ; its only 
 tenants to-night being Robert Bodwell (the good fellow 
 who helped me nurse him) and I. We are not in the 
 room where he died, but just across the hall, in the 
 chamber where we went after we had laid him out, that 
 we might watch close at hand, and yet not intrude upon 
 his solemn sleep in death. The clouds are dark, and 
 the wind blows damp and chill from the northward, 
 across the fresh turf upon his grave, then against -these 
 shutters. The last duty now is done. In the centra 
 of the floor stands the box in which I have packed his 
 things, knapsack and cap, clothing and canteen, and 
 soldier s blanket, all worn and marked as he wore and 
 marked them ; but they will be all the more precious 
 for the stain upen the woollen, the hole in the garment, 
 the rust upon the blade. 
 
 The first complaint of sickness which he made, I re 
 member, was a fortnight ago this very day. We were 
 ordered to stand under arms an hour before breakfast. 
 It was raw and dark ; and the companies, shivering and 
 with empty stomachs, were severely drilled. I recall, 
 that, when he came in, he sat down, the new morning 
 light showing his fatigue, and said, " It was too much 
 for him : the double-quick caused nausea, and almost 
 
56 THE ct>LOR-GUARD. 
 
 made liim vomit." Still, through that day he was 
 about his work, as usual, at every drill, and calling 
 the roll at night by his lantern s light, wrapped in his 
 blue overcoat. Tuesday he was too sick for duty. He 
 complained of weakness and dizziness whenever he 
 attempted to stand ; but his spirits were good, and I 
 never imagined it could be more than a temporary 
 illness, he has been so constantly well, "the stoutest 
 fellow in the company," as they said when he was sick. 
 He lay still on the floor of the tent all day, he and 
 Sergeant Grosvenor, who was sick in the same way, 
 his rifle just at his head, polished,, and ready for service ; 
 his constant companion, but henceforth to know him no 
 more, except during one brief half-hour, when, in the 
 midst of the uncovered and weeping regiment, it lay, 
 with his belts and crimson sash, upon his coffin-lid I 
 remember he was full of jokes even then ; and I did 
 not notice, as others did, that his cheek was unhealthily 
 flushed, and his breath too short. At night, as we lay 
 side by side, I threw my arm around his neck, and re 
 member now how hot and dry his face was, and how 
 short his breath. Hannum, who is an experienced 
 nurse, startled me in the morning. He thought Ed. 
 might have a fever. He was plainly sick, and our 
 company-officers sent for him to come at once to their 
 quarters. That Wednesday morning, Ed. and I to 
 gether left the tent, came slowly along the pleasant 
 river-bank, with the plantations beyond, his last little 
 walk on earth, climbed the stairs, and crossed the 
 threshold of the room now so hallowed. 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 57 
 
 Daily he became weaker and weaker. He was soon 
 unable to raise himself; and when, in the afternoon, the 
 fever ran high, and it was time to bathe him, it was 
 hard work to push up his solid young shoulders till he 
 sat upright, and then hold him propped against my 
 breast till he was arranged. Then the heat of the 
 fever ! I would pass the cloth, Vet with cooling spirit, 
 over his skin ; and presently it would flame with red, 
 as if, poor boy ! his life within him, beleaguered by dis 
 ease, threw out the crimson hospital-flag to win for 
 bearance. He became delirious too, though not often 
 wildly so ; sometimes calling the company to " fall in," 
 sometimes crying out " to save the colors," as if in 
 battle ; and I remember, too, he talked of all of you. 
 Still, there was less of delirium than stupor. His 
 hearing and sight grew dull, and his mind apathetic : 
 yet I believe he always knew me ; and he showed a 
 touching confidence that I would do just what was best, 
 which started the tears more than once. 
 
 The morning of the day before he died, I thought 
 there was great improvement. His mind was clear, 
 and he had passed a quiet night without an opiate. 
 His pulse, I thought, was slower and stronger ; and I 
 moved about him light-hearted. He asked again and 
 again to be bathed. He was not very feverish ; but the 
 doctor had told me to let his inclinations guide me : so 
 at length I yielded, and gave him a bath. Robert and 
 I had found a bedstead in another room, broader than 
 nis bunk, which I thought would be so much more com 
 fortable for him, that we took it. After his bath, he 
 
58 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 seemed so well, that we moved him to his new bed. 
 Then I tucked him in all clean and sweet, ready for the 
 doctor s visit ; feeling sure there would be encourage 
 ment. Ed., however, now began to show great ex 
 haustion ; and, when the doctor came, there was an 
 ominous silence. I feared we had done too much, with 
 the bathing and moving : but the doctor made light of 
 them, saying he had seen some symptoms, the night 
 previous, of a tendency to congestion of the lungs ; 
 which symptoms he now found much more -marked. 
 After the doctor left, Ed. grew rapidly more weak, 
 until, in my alarm, I sent for him again. He made 
 use, at once, of violent tonics and stimulants, quinine 
 and brandy, and had recourse to that expedient which 
 always seems to me so desperate, chest-blistering. 
 We wrapped his feet, too, in cloths soaked in mustard- 
 water. The extremities began* to grow cold and clam 
 my, and I felt that the dear boy s hours were numbered, 
 I went out a few minutes for the air, and wandered 
 helplessly along the river-bank, overwhelmed with 
 agony, he sinking away from me into a gulf; and, 
 though I reached and yearned after him with all my 
 love, it was no cord that could support him or draw 
 him back to me. About noon, the chill and torpor in 
 which he had lain some hours gave way to fever and 
 delirium. He laughed and shouted wildly with the 
 crowd of phantoms who came trooping to him in his 
 morbid dream, and clutched convulsively at the coverlid. 
 While Ed. had been sinking, Mr. Grosvenor had been 
 recovering ; so that now both Robert and I could be 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 59 
 
 constantly at his side. We gave him cooling drinks, 
 and the powerful medicines the doctor had prescribed. 
 Ed. showed no sign of pain ; and, though delirious, 
 recognized us when we spoke to him. His voice con 
 tinued to have its strong, vigorous sound. I could 
 hardly control myself sufficiently to keep at his bedside ; 
 but I choked back my grief. There was still hope : he 
 was young and strong, and might, after all, rally ; 
 but his breathing was very bad, and his galloping heart 
 could not keep its pace without soon being exhausted. 
 In the evening, a friend I could trust came in, and in 
 sisted I should go to bed while he took my place ; pro 
 mising to call me if there should be any change. I lay 
 down in this room where I am writing now, just across 
 the hall from his chamber. Once or twice in the night 
 I woke up, and could hear his voice, strong and firm, 
 through the closed door. 
 
 The morning of the fatal Saturday, Jan. 24, came 
 at last. I was in the room, refreshed by my night s 
 rest, at seven o clock. " I am glad to see you again " 
 was his greeting, spoken very earnestly. He was pale 
 and wasted, though his eye and countenance had the 
 old natural look. I lay down at his side, with my head 
 by his pillow ; a post I hardly left, except to give him 
 medicine or nourishment, until the last. About eight, 
 the doctor came, but saw little change from the night 
 previous. He continued the same treatment, and still 
 had hope. Ed. was uneasy, but in no apparent pain. 
 He would ask to be moved or lifted, or suggest some 
 thing he thought might give him comfort ; but, if it was 
 
fiO THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 impracticable, he would give it up, yielding most sweet 
 ly and tenderly to every suggestion of mine. " Oh ! 
 never mind ; just as you say," with a softness and trust 
 in his tone and look, I cannot think of without a sob. 
 
 And now ten o clock was approaching. I had thrown 
 open the windows and blinds to receive the summer air 
 of the day. The sun was just veiled by white vapor, 
 the river flowed calm and full, and the sound of bugles 
 and bands came in from the camps a mile away. I lay 
 at his side as before. Mr. Grosvenor, a fine man and 
 full of sympathy, now convalescent, sat before the fire 
 with Robert. The sick man became more quiet, and 
 his breathing changed. The hand of death was upon 
 him. I hastily put a cup of brandy to his lips, which 
 he swallowed with difficulty. I sent Robert at once for 
 the doctor ; and he had hardly left the room when the 
 dear boy s spirit went upward. There was no agony or 
 spasm ; one or two short, quick breathings, and all was 
 over, the minute-hand just pointing to the second 
 minute after ten. 
 
 He went from earth calm in mind, and composed, 
 painless, fearless, hopeful to the end. He sent you no 
 messages of love. I wish it had been otherwise ; but 
 the angels arms were around him ere we were aware. 
 After all, perhaps it was as well there should be no 
 parting pang, no disappointment as his hopes fell ; 
 though I believe he would have faced his fate with all 
 his noble courage, and with high faith and trust. 
 
 A short paroxysm of grief, and I was calm enough to 
 go forward with what was to be done. The chaplain 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 61 
 
 came in, full of the sympathy of a brother ; so the doc 
 tor. An experienced nurse came over from the main 
 hospital. I bathed the straight, sinewy limbs for the 
 last time. We clothed his tall figure in the familiar sol 
 dier s suit, the brave young limbs and shoulders in 
 their own loyal blue. I wiped his lips and cheeks, and 
 smoothed his locks. I took from his finger his little 
 ring. Presently the coffin came. I helped to bring it 
 up stairs and lay it by him. The captain came in, and 
 paid his tribute of tears above the corpse of his old right- 
 hand man ; then he, I, and a fellow-sergeant, lifted him 
 gently ; put his blouse, covered with a white cloth, for a 
 pillow ; then laid him tenderly in his coffin ; smoothing 
 softly his garments ; brushing with reverent care every 
 speck of dust away; putting in view his sergeant s 
 badge, the diamond trebly underscored, to which 
 office he did honor. 
 
 As the day wore on, I went to the burying-ground, 
 where lie the dead soldiers of our regiment, to choose 
 the best spot for him. The ground lies a few rods east 
 of the old United-States Arsenal Buildings , and was once 
 a cemetery of the city, though now it is used for the 
 interment of soldiers. Five or six fresh graves lay in 
 a row, Roberts, Thomson, Culver, and last our own 
 Paine ; large, high mounds, and at the head an oaken 
 board with name, regiment, and date. The row begins 
 near the fence, and runs northward. The fence is of 
 wood, thi^yiy covered with a climbing rose ; a dense, lux 
 uriant, beautiful vine, full of bright-green leaves, with 
 the seed-vessels still remaining from the former blossoms. 
 
62 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 It wraps the palings so they can hardly be seen ; then 
 droops over upon the ground, and spreads its tendrils 
 toward the soldiers graves. Just over the fence, out 
 side, stands a thick, venerable tree (beech, I believe), 
 whose limbs are swathed heavily with the funereal gray 
 moss. From the foot of the graves, the ground goes 
 downward in a rapid slope. The spot has not the beauty 
 of a cemetery carefully cared for ; but it is not unlovely. 
 Perhaps it is not inappropriate, that a short distance off 
 runs the line of intrenchments, through embrasures in 
 which silent cannon watch day and night. I chose for 
 the grave a spot left vacant close by the fence, where 
 the vine could droop directly over it, and the rose-leaves 
 could fall upon it, and the tree, with its mossy harps, 
 could pour its sighing requiems above it. I marked the 
 spot ; and Sergeant Hannum, with four who loved him, 
 presently had dug his resting-place. 
 
 The funeral was to be on Sunday, at noon. I sat, in 
 the evening of the day he died, with Robert, when pre 
 sently came steps on the stairs ; then Capt. Morton, with 
 Sergeant Warriner and Arthur Sprague, both fine sing 
 ers, came in. They knew him, as the whole regiment had 
 known him ; and Capt. Morton, to do him honor, ten 
 dered the escort of his company, while the other two 
 begged to be allowed to arrange a fine choir with appro 
 priate music. I have not mentioned, that, during Ed. s 
 sickness, the camp of the regiment had been moved 
 from the river-bank into a wood in the subujjjs of the 
 town. The tents had gone from the river-bank, and 
 the officers had left the house ; so that, during the last 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 63 
 
 days of his life, Ed. and his watchers in the upper cham 
 ber were alone in the house. 
 
 Sunday came, fragrant and balmy. The heavens 
 were full of clouds, like angels wings ; no parching 
 heat, but grateful air, inspired with all sweet odors. 
 Spring birds sang in the trees. In solemn calm poured 
 the great river before the windows where he slept. In 
 good time, around the corner of the building, came 
 young first Sergeant Bertram, Ed. s familiar friend, 
 marching at the head of the escort ; all with burnished 
 arms. They halt in front of the house. Bias Dick 
 inson and Henry Morton come up stairs, and help me 
 arrange on his coffin-lid his equipments. Lie there, 
 eagle that he bore upon his broad breast ; and there, 
 shining badge with which he clasped his belt ; now his 
 well-kept gun, and here the sash and cap. For the last 
 time I smooth his hair, compose his limbs and dress, 
 that he may seem to his comrades truly to lie like a " war 
 rior taking his rest." Now replace the lid, and let eight 
 of your strongest lift the burden. 
 
 " Slow ; for it presses heavily : 
 It is a man ye bear!" 
 
 Down the stairway he had climbed a fortnight before, 
 with halting feet, through the garden in front ; now 
 into his hearse. His guard of honor stand with arms 
 reversed ; half to march in front, half behind ; broad 
 platoons of young soldiers, with downcast faces. Across 
 the parade-ground slowly now. How well it had known 
 his vigorous foot-beat ! Now through the rampart and 
 
64 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 the streets of the town, the bells of the Catholic church 
 meantime tolling for service, past the frowning peni 
 tentiary, into the shade of trees, until, at length, we 
 saw the tents of the regiment. A majestic temple we 
 had brought him to. Magnolias, with broad, rich foli 
 age, ever green, and trees hung with moss, formed lofty 
 aisles with intersecting branches : and within one of these 
 we placed him ; trembling shadows passing upon his 
 pall, his weapons and belts and badges of office lying 
 on the lid. I could not trust myself to look around : 
 but my eye fell upon field-officers, their eyes shaded with 
 their hands ; and from behind me, where our company 
 was arranged, I heard the sound of much sobbing. 
 How have you told me, comrades, that you loved him ! 
 Manly Rogers, happy-hearted Brown and Hannum, his 
 fellow-sergeants, from you, from captain and all, there 
 is no dearth of sympathy. 
 
 The service begins. The chaplain, with a broken 
 voice, reads the selections ; then came the grand hymn, 
 "Mourn not that his kin are far," Warriner and Brown 
 ing and young Cyrus Stowell and first Sergeant Arms 
 of B. The notes rose and swelled, and mingled with 
 sweet tree-whisperings and the sobs of soldiers. Their 
 voices choked, and they had to wipe the tears away to 
 see the words. " Warriner, let me have your copy." 
 Is it not a grand requiem for a young soldier ? 
 
 " Mourn not that his kin are far, 
 While we lay him in the grave ; 
 For his fellow-soldiers are 
 Loving brothers of the brave. 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 65 
 
 And his tender mother here 
 Shrouds him as a warrior thus : 
 Tis his country, loved so dear, 
 Mother, too, of all of us. 
 
 Sleeping soft, the youth shall lie 
 Calmly here beneath the sod, 
 Where, a living sacrifice, 
 He his body gave to God. 
 
 Now let martial music sound ! 
 Beat the dead-march for the brave ! 
 Lower him gently in the ground ! 
 Fire a volley o er his grave ! " 
 
 And now the prayer is said. Captain, take his arms 
 and belts. He is through with them. This little bunch 
 of Southern lilies, fragrant as his memory, I have further 
 use for. I take them into my hand from the pall. 
 Now, Grider, the blacksmith, and Prime, stout Pocum- 
 tuc farmer, and the rest, take him in your arms again, 
 and to his hearse. The wail of the dead-march and 
 the painful throb of the muffled drum ! I love him and 
 magnify him ; and it sounds to me like the agonized 
 heart-beat of the genius of his country who had lost 
 him. Slow through the glades of the forest : the sun 
 of noon strikes down, as we reach the street, upon the 
 shining arms of the escort, and the hundred young 
 men, the mourners who march behind. Slowly and 
 tenderly ; and now the little hill is climbed, into the ceme 
 tery, and the dead-march ceases. Lay him here on this 
 convenient tomb ; the last prayer ; then choir of youths, 
 w Calm on the bosom of thy God." How sweet ! how 
 soft ! We have taken off his coffin-lid again : straight 
 and tall he lies at full length. His head is turned a 
 
66 THE COLOK-GUARD. 
 
 little to one side, and his lips wear a soft and natural 
 smile. 
 
 " They that have seen thy look in death, 
 No more may fear to die." 
 
 His brothers in arms march in order to take the last 
 look : then it is my turn. Beautiful in death ! The 
 ghastliness of the fever is in great part gone. The 
 features are emaciated somewhat, and the mouth rather 
 more compressed than usual, giving to the nose a fine 
 Roman curve ; not enough to be unnatural, and yet 
 wonderfully dignifying the face, a faint foreshadowing 
 of the fine mien and presence into which the boy might 
 have matured. I know I am showing brotherly extrava 
 gance : but now the thought comes to me of the eager 
 youth leading his charge ; and, as heretofore, the passage 
 comes into my mind, from Henry IV. I think it is, "I 
 saw young Harry with his armor on ; beautiful as the 
 herald Mercury new-lighted on some heaven-kissing 
 hill ! " Something like that, I believe ; so lithe of limb ; 
 so free and strong and jocund ; a young winged god of 
 the Greeks ! I would rather have had him fall in bat 
 tle ; but I know him to be just as much a brave martyr 
 to exposure and faithful work in the cause : and hereaf 
 ter, if conflict is joined, and his old charge come face to 
 face with the foe ; when they stand with steady disci 
 pline, and overwhelm assault with rattling tide of fire, - 
 to him be in part the honor, though he lie cold in death ! 
 I have my lilies in my hand, now upon the pillow right 
 here by his cheek, one for each one of us ; then a deep, 
 warm kiss upon the brow, and the leave-taking is over. 
 
CLOUDS AND THICK DARKNESS. 67 
 
 They held aside the climbing vine, and lowered him in 
 his grave. Suddenly, at the word of command, a line 
 of shining barrels was levelled over him, then a loud 
 volley, telling through the camps and town afar that a 
 soldier was at rest. Three times it was repeated, send- 
 in o- echoes far over the river and back into the forest to 
 o 
 
 the outmost solitary vidette ; then all was done. 
 
68 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTEE V. 
 
 SUSPENSE. 
 
 AFTER the funeral, I felt much prostrated ; but it was 
 best to keep employed. Kobert and I kept our familiar 
 quarters, where at night we could be warm and dry : an 
 important matter now ; for at evening it grows very cold, 
 and much rain falls. Water was convenient, too, for 
 the washing which it was necessary to do ; and I could 
 pack at leisure the things I wished to send North. In a 
 few days, all this was done. I took my farewell of the 
 apartment where Ed. died, now stripped to its bare 
 walls ; and, not being quite in condition to go into the 
 woods to camp, I accepted the doctor s invitation, and 
 spent a day or two last week in his private room. In 
 one corner lay the stretchers, ready for the wounded 
 men ; in another, a patient sick of fever. By night, I 
 could hear the shouts of the delirious patients from the 
 corridors. 
 
 I saw three bodies lying together on the roof of the 
 veranda of the building, overlooking the street. A 
 little breath of air came ; and the covering was turned 
 down from the face of one, a member of our company, 
 his, and yet not his, a fine fellow, a favorite of Ed. s, 
 
SUSPENSE. 69 
 
 at whose feet he now sleeps. One of the others be 
 longed to us too, a boy I knew well. He will never 
 see again his pretty cottage-home under the trees by 
 the Connecticut. The chaplain was sick the day of the 
 funeral : so I conducted the service for these two at one 
 time, after dark, under the moon. We were forced to 
 bury them hurriedly, for it was late ; and I fear with less 
 of a feeling of solemnity than we once had at such oc 
 casions. I believe it is true, that the edge of sensibility 
 grows dull through use, even in the case of these sad 
 Experiences. Funerals have been so frequent of late, 
 sometimes three or four a day, that they lose their im- 
 pressiveness in part. 
 
 Pray Heaven the sickness is spending itself ! There 
 are signs that it is so. It has raged, for the most part, 
 among the youths under twenty, whose immature fibre 
 appears to afford more congenial harbor for the pesti 
 lence than the frames of the older men. Almost all 
 the deaths have been among the boys. The death-list 
 is really not as large as is often the case in camps. We 
 do not suffer as some Maine regiments are suffering 
 close by us ; but it is large enough to cast a shadow, 
 and make us all feel the insecurity of life. 
 
 My record has been almost entirely of deaths and 
 hospitals the last few weeks ; but now let me turn from 
 these things. We are, after all, not a gloomy set ; 
 though skies are so dull, and health so uncertain. The 
 spirits of the men are often high, and there is much fun 
 going forward. A great character in the camp is one 
 Tibbs, a fellow with many crotchets in his brain, too 
 
70 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 many for it to remain in a normal, healthy state, and 
 who really, perhaps, ought hardly to have been passed at 
 the medical examination ; but he is a fellow of infinite 
 jest, and his pranks and sayings keep up the. spirits of 
 the regiment. He has wit ; and when that fails, in his 
 blunt talk, he blunders often into capital hits, hitting 
 right and left, sparing no one, from the colonel down. 
 The other day, a large hollow tree had been cut down, 
 and a group of officers stood looking at the hollow. 
 Tibbs came up beside them, and peered with his queer 
 whiskered face into the hole. " That s a big hollow, 
 Tibbs," said one of the group of officers. "Well, 
 yes," said Tibbs ; " and next time we have the long roll, 
 if taint full of officers, I guess I ll come here and 
 hide." By all odds, the most amusing thing I have 
 seen since I became a soldier was Tibbs s parody of 
 Col. Birge, of the Thirteenth Connecticut, a veteran 
 regiment, which often went through its admirable drill 
 close by our camp, and whose commander at such times 
 threw himself with unusual energy into his work. I 
 heard great laughter and shouting on the parade-ground 
 one morning, and, looking out, saw Tibbs mounted on a 
 very lean and long-eared jackass, which he would cudgel 
 until the animal gave up his obstinacy and went off at 
 an ungainly gallop. Tibbs was excited by the motion, 
 and roared his orders in all parts of the field. Now it 
 was, "Close column by division, on second division, 
 right in front ! " Then whack would go the stick, and 
 Tibbs, eager as if in battle, would gallop off to the 
 other side of the field. " Head of column, to the left ! " 
 
SUSPENSE. 71 
 
 " Deploy column on first company ! " &c. , &c. It was 
 an admirable caricature of the efficiency of Col. Birge, 
 who was always at full gallop, keeping his regiment on 
 the double-quick. Tibbs drilled his imaginary command 
 for some time ; when some one, perhaps a sergeant, 
 shocked at the indecorum, started after him at full speed. 
 But Tibbs s time had not yet come. As the pursuer 
 approached, Tibbs s ungainly steed reared and brayed ; 
 and, while dodging his heels, the pursuer measured 
 his length in the mud, leaving Tibbs the cavalier, in his 
 shabby uniform, to go on caracoling, and shouting his 
 orders. 
 
 Feb. 18. The edge of the evening ; in the hospital. 
 At my feet is the stretcher on which I lie often, when I 
 am here on duty at night. It is a good couch ; iron 
 legs at each end ; two long, limber poles, of ash, 
 running lengthwise, with canvas between, and the ends 
 projecting into handles. As I write now, old Grimes, 
 the horse-shoer, a convalescent, is talking low, with a 
 sick sergeant, of an old flame of his, Chloe : 
 
 "I swan ! she was a pretty one, with curls all down 
 her neck." 
 
 " Was they white ? " asks the sergeant. 
 
 "No : kind o Morgan." 
 
 Certainly, Chloe was a lass to charm a young horse- 
 shoer. 
 
 For a wonder, I have a table to write on, a real 
 marauder s table, two handsome blinds from some 
 destroyed house, roughly nailed together, and set up on 
 four strips of plank. On the slats stand whiskey and 
 
72 THE COLOK-GUAKD. & 
 
 castor-oil; brown-paper parcels of butter; jelly, and 
 corned-beef from the sutlers ; vials of quinine ; sugar, 
 all in confusion. I sweep aside part of them to get 
 elbow-room. It is great to have conveniences. I could 
 write a whole history ; but, in the dearth of battles and 
 sieges, what can I put down? Nothing but little 
 accounts of those, who, I hope, some day will fight 
 battles and make sieges ; for sorrow be to the Fifty- 
 second, if we go straight home from this miserable 
 inactive camp. 
 
 I lean against the tent-pole, having just given Ives 
 his bath, and quieted the man with the measles with a 
 pill; and, therefore, am at leisure. Along comes 
 Cripps, the drummer, with a gridiron of blue tape on 
 his breast, jumping over the puddles, then stopping for 
 a little chat. I take an interest in the music. It used 
 to be none too good, and, according to a sharp friend 
 of mine, was the original cause of the dysentery* in the 
 camp ; but there has been an improvement. I ask 
 Cripps about a certain little musician in whom I take an 
 interest ; there is so much grace and sprightly rattle to 
 his rub-a-dub-dub as he marches in the line of drum 
 mers up and down before the regiment at dress-parade. 
 Cripps thinks this individual is a "nice boy," though 
 lately he has come to grief; having kicked out against 
 authority, and come to the shame of the "barrel" before 
 the whole regiment. In Cripps s opinion, however, this 
 youth, nimbly as he brandishes his drum-sticks, is not 
 the first artist in his line in the regiment : the tenor- 
 drum is a good deal of an instrument, and " Hodge is 
 
SUSPENSE. 73 
 
 the man who takes the rag rather. Now, Hodge alone 
 can make as much noise as all the rest on us put to 
 gether. Its astonishin , but some of these fellers can t 
 strike right. Taint no drummin to hit with the sticks 
 all over the head : you ought to hit right in the middle. 
 A tip-top drummer won t vary more n two or three 
 inches from both his sticks, hittin right in the middle 
 of the head." I know Hodge well enough, a stout, 
 straight boy. I have noticed the fine rhythm of his 
 almost invisible slicks, and the measured, vigorous 
 cadence of his feet as he beats time. There is poetry 
 about old Tyrtaeus, who, six centuries before Christ, 
 marched with his Dorian flute at the head of the war 
 like Spartan bands. I believe honestly too, that 
 Cripps and Hodge in their every-day uniforms, seen 
 through the haze of a few centuries, might be trans 
 formed into somewhat romantic characters. Cripps 
 says about the fifers, "Some on em play plain, and 
 some on em put in the fancy touches ; but I kind o 
 hate to see a man flourish. Why can t he play straight, 
 without fillin up his tunes ? " There is practical infor 
 mation about music. 
 
 Burke said the age of chivalry was gone, when he 
 heard the French had beheaded Marie Antoinette ; an 
 observation he would have been certain to repeat, could 
 he have heard .the recent remarks of Private Clout. 
 
 Scene. The hospital-tent, of a sunny afternoon j 
 private Clout, sensible, practical, but somewhat unheroic, 
 seated on the bunk of Grimes, who has gone out to 
 take an airing. Attendant, couched in the lair of 
 
 4 
 
74 THE COLOK-GUAKD. 
 
 Chape, opposite, cleaning gun and equipments, against 
 dress-parade. 
 
 Private Clout, loq. : "Heard the new rumor, now?" 
 
 " Goin down to New Orleans, p raps ; or, leastways, 
 can if we re a mind to and the colonel s willin ." 
 
 Attendant suggests, if we go to New Orleans, in all 
 probability we shall not go to Port Hudson, about to be 
 attacked. We shall only have to do the ignoble duty 
 of petty policemen, pick up the little boys who will 
 sing "The bonnie blue flag" in the streets, and the 
 naughty ladies who stick out their tongues at the 
 soldiers. We shall have to go home ignominiously, 
 without honor, without having struck a blow, and almost 
 without having run a risk, except from the weather and 
 climate. 
 
 Private C. : " Well, honor ! hem ! don t know 
 much bout that ; but know this : go to Port Hudson, 
 might get killed, that ain t comfortable; might get 
 your leg shot off. Putty sure of this, anyhow : if you 
 get hurt, after the first, no one cares about it but your 
 relations. If you hain t got none, like as not you die a 
 pauper. I ain t so fast for going to Port Hudson. 
 Down to New Orleans you get good quarters, good 
 livin , and not much to do. S pose I d go into swamps, 
 and where them dreadful careless cannon was pointin 
 my way, ef I was ordered ; but I d rather go where it s 
 safe and easy." 
 
 Private Clout is a representative man ; very sensible 
 and practical, but somewhat unheroic ; not given to illu 
 sions ; disposed to brush the dust off that makes the 
 
SUSPENSE. 75 
 
 patterns on the butterfly s wings, nothing but dust, 
 we all know, not good for any thing, but too pretty to 
 spare. 
 
 The other day a soldier came up to me, holding a 
 strip of board : 
 
 " I want you to carve out Elwood s name on this for 
 a head-board to his grave." 
 
 "But, Jim, I never did such a thing." 
 
 " Oh ! they say you can make letters." 
 
 At Camp Miller, for want of something to do, I set 
 to work marking clothes ; and did so much of it, I came 
 to be tolerably skilful. Now, this accomplishment had 
 brought me new work. I said I would try, and took 
 the board. I drew Elwood s name as well as I could ; 
 then carefully hollowed out each letter, until it was 
 done. It was a long and fatiguing task, carving hour 
 after hour : but it was pious employment, making a 
 memorial, however rude, for a comrade ; and I did it as 
 well as I could. 
 
 I have also done one for Ed. I chose my board, as 
 good a one as I could find ; outlined the letters ; then, 
 guarding carefully the knife from any improper slip, 
 I sank the name and office deep into the wood. It was 
 the work of days. And now the piece is being framed 
 into an upright, so that it will be the horizontal piece 
 of a cross ; and it will stand at the head of the dear 
 boy s grave. 
 
 Feb. 21. Suspense, suspense for ever. Every 
 day we expect news of a movement ; but it does not 
 come. They are signalling now ; they are signalling 
 
76 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 night and day from one of the half-ruined towers of the 
 capitol, by flag and fire. The old tower is perfectly 
 garrulous with the ships and the stations down the river. 
 Scarcely an hour of the day goes by but I hear volleys 
 of musketry, the cries of platoons of men as they 
 charge, " the noise of the captains and the shouting ; " for 
 drill goes vigorously forward. The streets of the town 
 are full of armed men. 
 
 The other day, I saw Nims s Battery at drill. The 
 cannons and caissons are all out. I pass in front of 
 thai muzzles as they are drawn up, hard things to 
 face. There, as usual, is the bugler, covered in front 
 with broad bars of red, like St. Lawrence escaped from 
 his broiling before his martyrdom was completed, he 
 is there ; but to-day Capt. Nims does his own bugling. 
 "Toot, toot," a chain of notes, and away they all go on 
 a gallop ; " toot, toot," now they halt and unlimber ; 
 " toot, toot," off again, by the right flank, swords wav 
 ing, harness jingling, horses kicking with excitement, 
 all done, to a little chain of clear bugle-notes. 
 Prompt they are, as if those notes were linked on in 
 some way to that great rattling battery ; and strong 
 enough to swing the whole affair right or left, horses, 
 guns, and all ; then jerk each man off his seat, as they 
 come to a halt, and bring him up standing. Rather 
 ungracious business, Capt. Nims, blowing your own 
 trumpet; but you do it very well. 
 
 I write on the cluttered-up table, the two blinds 
 nailed together. Where once, for all I know, some 
 sweet Southern belle sent glances through the slats, 
 
SUSPENSE. 77 
 
 now the quinine mixture of Private Grimes (accident 
 ally upset) strains through on to the floor. 
 
 In hospital-life I see the good and bad side of human 
 nature. There are shirks, but I believe I know one 
 or two, foul-mouthed often indeed, and altogether too 
 rough, one would think, ever to be fledged out with 
 angels plumage. They will go home from here (if 
 they live) to a bed on the straw in a barn-loft, or to a 
 cot in a shanty in the woods, where they are getting 
 out timber for some saw-mill ; but, in view of their 
 substantial goodness, I know not why, some night, these 
 surroundings should not "like a lily bloom," as well as 
 the chamber of Abou Ben Adhem, and an angel write 
 them down, as "those who love their fellow-men," near 
 the head of God s list, thoroughly unsanctified though 
 they seem, as judged by all conventional standards. 
 
 March 11, Wednesday. I was sitting in the chap 
 lain s tent Sunday evening, complimenting him on his 
 excellent sermon, which he had just preached in the 
 sutler s tent to a congregation of men sitting on molas 
 ses barrels, and boxes of almost every thing. Every 
 moment, a bearded face was thrust in at the door 
 with, 
 
 "When does the mail come?" or, "When does it 
 go?" 
 
 Presently in comes the sergeant-major. 
 
 "Two items of news." 
 
 Complimentary corporal becomes mute. Chaplain 
 turns. Inquirer at the door, or rather flap, of the tent, 
 listens attentively. 
 
78 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 "First, the Nashville is taken." (Intelligence re 
 ceived with due patriotic joy.) 
 
 " Second, orders to march have come at last ! " 
 
 We expect to march : but hours go by, days and 
 nights go by ; and now here it is Wednesday noon, 
 and we are still at the old ground, knapsacks packed, 
 canteens filled, rations ready. Our shelter-tents came 
 yesterday. They are simply pieces of cotton, about five 
 feet square, with buttons and button-holes on the sides, 
 so that they can be connected. We are expected to 
 get the necessary stakes from some fence or forest, 
 wherever we may be. Each soldier carries one of these 
 squares of cotton cloth. Four of us expect to go to 
 gether. At night we shall button up our house, and be 
 comfortable. 
 
 March 13. I have retreated to the outskirts of the 
 camp this superb morning, and have mounted a stump, 
 portfolio in hand, to record progress. I hope the gene 
 ral is not " up a stump " about his expedition ; but here 
 we still are. We have been under marching orders 
 four or five days. The cause of the delay is said to be 
 disagreement among the generals. It may or may not 
 be that. 
 
 But impressive preparations have been made for some 
 monster undertaking. Evenings, sometimes, I have 
 gone with my hospital-pass down to the river-side to 
 see Admiral Farragut s fleet (capable, they say, of 
 throwing four tons of iron a minute). The "Rich 
 mond " lies farthest up the stream, whose grim, dark 
 broadside we have become so familiar with. Farther 
 
SUSPENSE. 79 
 
 down is the "Mississippi," powerful, noble old frigate, 
 which I remember being taken to see when I was a 
 young child. She is a Cromwell among the fleet ; 
 never doing any thing but peaceful work all through 
 early life on to middle age ; then suddenly plunging into 
 fiery warfare, and making an immortal name for her 
 self. Stained and warty and wrinkled is her old hull, 
 as was the face of Cromwell ; moreover, painted a 
 shade of gray, so that she looks hoary, blistered from 
 tropic exposures, scraped and scarred from ice-floes, but 
 stanch yet to the keel, and perhaps the most reliable 
 member of the squadron. 
 
 The "Hartford" lies below, whose battery I heard 
 thunder at New Orleans. The "Essex" is drawn close 
 up in shore. I lean against the wheel of a powder- 
 wagon, and look, at my leisure, at her formidable 
 plating; her pipes rising from the hard shell like a 
 pair of snail s horns ; the big guns showing their muz 
 zles through the ports, like dogs that want to be petted. 
 To her present fame, what new glory is she about to 
 add? The mortar- vessels are stretched in a line below, 
 and close to the Levee lies the trim gunboat "Kineo." 
 
 It is late twilight now. I sit on the embankment, 
 looking at the pale, yellow sky westward, between 
 which and my sight intervene the masts and rigging 
 of one of these mighty gladiators of the deep. She lies 
 far enough distant to make it impossible for me to hear 
 any sounds from her deck, except most faintly ; but I 
 can dimly see the back of the great eleven-inch Dahl- 
 gren above the bulwarks, like a saurian crouching 
 
80 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 upon her deck, and the watch on the forecastle, 
 a well-formed, square-shouldered sailor pacing to and 
 fro. Twilight is deepening in the far heavens beyond, 
 a clear, pale space within a frame of clouds ; just the 
 back-ground upon which might be displayed such a 
 heavenly sign as appeared to Constantine of old, the 
 flaming cross, the harbinger of victory. I see nothing 
 but the bright evening-star, just over the head of the 
 sailor on the forecastle. 
 
 Yesterday morning, we thought we were certainly 
 off at last. Word came to be ready to fall in at nine 
 o clock. Every thing was prepared. I had my forty 
 rounds in my cartridge-box, and twenty additional in 
 my trousers-pocket. For the last, down came the 
 shelter-tent. Bivins packed away his piece, and I 
 mine ; and, when the drum sounded, I was promptly 
 with the cok>r-guard. Bias Dickinson is once more at 
 my shoulder. We thought we were off; but we were 
 only to be reviewed. It was as brilliant as one can 
 conceive. Two divisions, brigade beyond brigade; yet 
 Austrian troops in white, or British troops in red, must 
 be more brilliant. Our blue is but a dull hue ; yet still 
 ten thousand men together is a sight to behold, in 
 uniform, in regular formations, lying long across a 
 field, like wave behind wave, with a foam of bayonets 
 lit up by sun s rays cresting each. 
 
 Gen. Banks comes up with a multitudinous staff. 
 Now is the time for splendid steeds, coursers fitted 
 for an Homeric chariot ; the war-horse of Job, his neck 
 clothed with thunder; arching necks, prancing limbs, 
 
SUSPENSE. 81 
 
 fetlocks spurning the furrow; bays, blacks, and gra^rs, 
 prancing and rearing from well-filled bins (for each 
 horse has had his nose in a government-crib). In full 
 dress, in front of the whole, on his coal-black stallion, 
 rides the general. The brigades, one behind another, 
 see him from afar : the brigadiers bring swords to chin, 
 then sweep the point through the air groundward ; ban 
 ners droop, drums (near and far .away) roll a salute. 
 The general removes his cap. He is splendid, his 
 staff behind him splendid, glittering with bullion 
 and lace, with buttons and steel. All is splendid ; but 
 the color-guard thinks it is tough work to look at a 
 spectacle in heavy marching order. 
 
 Each half-hour puts a new pound into my knapsack ; 
 yet I feel like little Tom Brown when he goes to Rugby 
 for the first time on the stage, riding at night, his legs 
 dangling (too short to reach the support) and tingling 
 in the cold. It hurts ; but Tom finds a pleasure in en 
 during. It hurts me ; but I find a kind of pleasure. 
 * Then, too, I have company enough in my misery ; and 
 do not care much, so long as the sergeant and Bias 
 and Hardiker find it just as hard as I do. 
 
 Down the line, on a full canter, now come the gene 
 ral and his brilliant staff. See the bluff captains and 
 commodores from the fleet! Bump, up and down! 
 Winnowing the air may be graceful work for the wings 
 of a swallow, but not for the elbows of a commodore. 
 Trip goes a horse into a ditch, and an aide goes down. 
 Down the front of the line, then behind. Then we 
 must march by, first Gen. Grower, commanding the 
 
82 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 
 
 division, in buff sash and yellow belt, with the division- 
 flag at his side, carried by an orderly, red field, with 
 a star of white ; then the brigadier of the first brigade, 
 with his flag (blue, white, and blue) behind him ; then 
 regiment behind regiment, drooping its "good-morn 
 ing" to the general, in the dipping-colors, as the lines 
 wheel and pass before him, receiving a wave of the cap 
 in return, horn and bugle, drum and fife, filling the 
 air with glorious sound, the great host with rhythmic 
 foot-beat moving mightily onward. Now it is over. 
 We march back to the old camp ; and, for the first thing, 
 reduce our baggage. We thought, before, we were 
 peeled down to the last rind ; but more still must go, or 
 we shall never see Port Hudson. Most of the men 
 resign woollen blankets : but I give up my overcoat ; I 
 can spare that best. 
 
 The other day I went to Edward s grave, with a 
 spade, to repair and re-turf the mound, which had sunk 
 a little during the rainy weather. This week I have 
 placed the cross, which is to stand at the head. It is 
 simply of wood, painted white, with his name and office 
 deeply carved into the horizontal bar ; and, beneath, the 
 date of his death. Of all the soldiers graves, none is 
 so neat now, in its memorial, in its turf, or location, 
 as his. 
 
 They write me, they hope I am still in the hospital ; 
 but I am not. There are plenty of invalid or conva 
 lescent soldiers, unfit for field-duty, who can tend the 
 sick. I am well able to do soldier s work. If it is 
 God s will, I shall some day go home. The time has 
 
SUSPENSE. 83 
 
 come to the young men of this country, when the motto, 
 "Death, or an honorable life," tries more sharply the 
 manhood of him who adopts it than once. Sometimes 
 one can lead an honorable life, and run no risk. I could 
 not be honorable without going into the army. The 
 path of honor for me now is to go with the color-guard 
 into the fire of the Port-Hudson batteries. I would 
 have my life honorable, or go with Ed. 
 
84 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 "INTO THE LION S MOUTH." 
 
 MARCH 14. On my side, in a corn-field, about thir 
 teen miles from Baton Rouge, on the Port-Hudson road, 
 with Port Hudson from five to seven miles away. Off 
 for war at last, as sure as we live. It is the noon halt. 
 Grover s division, far as I can see, lies in lines, one line 
 behind another, in each about one regiment ; arms all 
 stacked, with the men behind; some sleeping, some 
 eating, some inspecting feet becoming blistered. Last 
 evening, we left our old camp in good earnest. We 
 marched out half a mile to the camp of the Ninety-first 
 New York, with which we are brigaded ; then waited for 
 the army to assemble ; from street and path a stream of 
 troops, coming like runnels into a larger stream; until 
 at last Gen. Grover himself, with the red flag and white 
 star of the fourth division, went to the head of the col 
 umn. A furlong or so in front of us, young Col. van 
 Zandt, our brigadier, took his station with the blue white 
 and blue ensign of the second brigade. We are all in 
 heavy order, each one of us b^irns- though, since the re 
 view of yesterday, essential things have undergone a won 
 derful diminution ; an effective-looking crowd, though 
 not exactly smooth and neat. We are soon on the point 
 
"INTO THE LION S MOUTH." 85 
 
 of starting. Our colonel comes riding back from the 
 general, with the resolute, pleasant smile he usually 
 wears, a little more expanded than common. The 
 colonel whispers to Capt. Morton ; whereat the captain 
 catches the smile, and he comes back toward his com 
 pany , the color-company, you know. w Gen. Grover 
 says the Fifty-second is the best nine months regiment 
 in the service." A little butter of that sort will help 
 hard fare and tough marching ; that the general knows. 
 
 Ahead ride the cavalry, yellow trimmings about their 
 cojlars, yellow welts about the seams of their jackets 
 at the back, and stripes down the pantaloons. Artillery 
 come up. Their trimmings are red ; in fine order every 
 body; horses prancing, cannon polished, muskets in 
 the finest order ; an untried army, but of the finest ma 
 terial, and as well equipped, I suppose, as any country 
 through all history has ever equipped her warriors. 
 The march begins, out past the spots where we have 
 stood on picket. I see that the fence-post, against which 
 I leaned all one night, has gone to the coals. We come 
 to two roads branching off from the one on which we 
 are marching : one to Clinton, twenty-five or thirty miles 
 away ; the other to Port Hudson. This last road we 
 take. Soon we are beyond the outmost picket-stations, 
 and push forth into unknown regions. 
 
 The weather is grand. We are in a heavy magnolia 
 forest : the sun s rays, now nearly level (for it is late in 
 the afternoon) , cannot reach us. We go mile after mile. 
 The road is just what it should be, not muddy, not dry 
 enough to be dusty ; but smooth and soft enough for 
 
86 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 the foot to feel it like a cushion, yet not so soft as to 
 take the foot in too deep. It is just wide enough for 
 the regiment to march comfortably by the flank, in sec 
 tions four deep. Sometimes we go over a hill : then, 
 far ahead and far behind, I can see the big column of 
 infantry, a huge caterpillar eating its way through the 
 woods, jointed along his back where the sections are 
 separated, spiny as a caterpillar s back is, with the 
 hundreds of muskets sticking out at various angles. 
 The night settles down, a night of stars ; and from the 
 westward, as the glow fades, rockets go darting up, 
 signals from the fleet, out of sight, in the river, ascend 
 ing like us, loaded with death against the great fortress. 
 Shall we march all night? No one knows, not captain 
 or colonel, only Gen. Grover apparently ; but at eight 
 o clock, or about that, eight miles on our journey, comes 
 the order to bivouac. A pause in the march, then a 
 quarter of an hour of intermittent progress, then horse 
 men dimly seen in the starlight ; the order to " file 
 right," and I follow the tall color-sergeant over the rails 
 of a destroyed fence into a ridgy corn-field, across 
 which the regiment advances in line, guiding on the 
 centre as well as it can see, then halts ; the Ninety-first 
 thirty or forty paces in front, the Twenty-fourth Con 
 necticut about the same distance behind. Stack arms, 
 then camp for the night. 
 
 I go back from my place on the left of Co. A to Co. 
 D, and shout through the dark for Bivins. We find 
 a soft plaqe among the furrows : two rubber blankets 
 over a soft ridge make our mattress ; then two woollen 
 
87 
 
 blankets over ; and last the shelter-tents, not pitched, 
 but on top by way of counterpane, to give a finish to 
 the bed. Lie down now, boys, loaded pistol still at the 
 belt, every arm where it can be caught in an instant ; 
 for Port Hudson may send out fellows to stir us up dur 
 ing the night. " Corporal Buffum, under the stump 
 there, is your bedroom well aired?" Buffum thinks he 
 shall make out not to suffocate. The night-wind blows 
 over us, the stars shine as only Southern stars do, 
 and in a few minutes fancy runs northward and home 
 ward through a thousand dreams. 
 
 The morning comes at last. Is it D or B? The 
 mind gradually gathers itself. Is it the camp by the 
 river, or under the magnolias ? Ah ! now I have it, 
 the tall naked trees, the furrows bristling with dry 
 stalks and partially covered with short grass, the army 
 rising like a brimming colony of ants from the ground. 
 Now, as I roll over, my pistol hits me in the ribs, and 
 slap against my legs hits the heavily-weighted cartridge- 
 box. It will make my thigh black and blue, I believe. 
 I have slept as well as I ever did. No one knows ex 
 actly when we shall be ordered into line. 
 
 At any rate, the canteens must be filled : that is the 
 first thing. Bivins and I draw cuts, and it falls to 
 me : so Cyrus Stowell and I start off, hung round with 
 a maze of white canteen-strings, as if somebody had 
 thrown a net over us. We gat back to camp just as 
 the cry " to fall in " is being shouted by the first ser 
 geants. The brigade files out of the corn-field, and is 
 on the road again. 
 
88 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 "The thing that hath been, it is that which shall be ; 
 and there is no new thing under the sun." I think of 
 that as two companies from the regiment are detailed as 
 flankers. They go off into the woods, fifteen or twenty 
 rods from the road on each side ; and throughout the 
 march we see these two lines guarding the main body 
 against ambuscade, through stumps and stalks, 
 through old sugar-fields, plantation barn-yards, and 
 wild swamps. I remember to have read, that just so 
 Lord Percy, on the retreat from Concord, threw out 
 flankers to protect his harassed party. Probably the 
 children in the houses we are passing, fifty years from 
 now, will tell how Banks went by to Port Hudson, as 
 the old people along the Lexington road recall their 
 great reminiscence. 
 
 When I was studying-up the old Assyrians once, I 
 found out that the soldiers of Sennacherib were prepared 
 against the Jewish horsemen with almost the same 
 tactics which the French were to employ against the 
 Mameluke cavalry, ages after, in the same region, fcio 
 Lord Clyde, in India, once circumvented an army of 
 mutinous Sepoys with the same strategy, particular for 
 particular, which the old Hebrew leader Joshua used 
 against " the men of Ai," in the days when the sun and 
 moon stood still. I dare say, in spite of improvements, 
 we look very much like these old soldiers of the past, 
 as the features of our warfare are similar. In clothing 
 and equipments, we are reduced to what is simply con 
 venient and easy. The pattern of our garments and 
 their quantity, the fashion of weaptms arid trappings, 
 
* 
 
 "INTO THE LION S MOUTH." 89 
 
 every thing is fitted for convenient use. What is con 
 venient now, was, no doubt, convenient a thousand 
 years ago. Probably, after all, we do not look much 
 unlike the spearmen of Nineveh, the legionaries of 
 Rome, or the halberdiers of Alva, when they put off 
 holiday things, and undertook the active work of 
 war. 
 
 The morning deepens toward noon. Fewer soldiers 
 now leave the line to forage among hen-roosts ; and 
 the plunder, collected in the cool of the morning, is 
 thrown away as the sun begins to burn. Only the 
 negroes, a half-dozen or so of whom go with each com 
 pany, stick to their prizes of chickens and turkeys. The 
 Fifty-second grow red, and sweat ; and now, along the 
 roadside, we begin to see what, I believe, is always 
 seen when an army is on the march knapsacks, some 
 times full and sometimes empty, blankets, shelter-tents, 
 all the articles of a soldier s kit, thrown away for relief. 
 Occasionally we stop, when the stream of men rushes 
 from the roadway to the grass at the side, and in a 
 moment every man is flat on his back. It is a good 
 way to rest, though a dirty one : the pack behind sup 
 ports you at a comfortable incline. Sometimes you sit 
 in the dust, sometimes in the dew : one is not over par 
 ticular when each pore spouts hot perspiration like a 
 perfect geyser. In one of these pauses, we hear cheer 
 ing far behind us, that comes rolling nearer ; when word 
 passes from mouth to mouth, "The general, the gene 
 ral ! " In a moment, a clatter of hoofs, and then past 
 us sweeps the "iron leader," at full gallop and bare- 
 
90 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 headed, with his staff behind him, on his way to the 
 front of the column. 
 
 Men now begin to fall out. They lie panting by the 
 roadside, in fence-corners, under bushes, with heads 
 resting against logs, a sorrowful sight, though not so 
 bad as if we were on a retreat, and a howling enemy 
 were to pick them up instead of friendly baggage- 
 wagons in the rear. Sometimes there is a momentary 
 hitch as the column picks its way around a mud-hole. 
 I find some relief then for my shoulders in stooping 
 over, and hitching the weight of the pack on to my 
 back. It is robbing Peter to pay Paul ; but poor Paul 
 has so much the hardest time, that Peter ought to be 
 willing to give him a lift. 
 
 Fortunately, the day is very fine ; a grand breeze 
 comes blowing up behind us : it is sunny, but cool ; and 
 the vines from the roadside wave white roses at us as 
 we go by, as if the hedges were in for the North, how 
 ever it might be with the people who lived behind them. 
 Thank fortune ! so far as my body goes, it is a good 
 one. Heavy, muscular fellows are pitching away their 
 knapsacks, or lying swollen and panting by the road 
 side : but, in my case, there is no headache yet ; heart 
 works smoothly and healthily in the left side, and liver 
 under the diaphragm ; legs swing to and fro without a 
 painful chord, and feet are fully up to their responsibili 
 ties. 
 
 True, it is hard. Whenever the column halts, I am 
 flat on my back, and in the dirt at once. If there is a 
 pool near, I must dowse my hot head, and re-wet the 
 
"INTO THE LIONS MOTJTII." 91 
 
 handkerchief in my cap ; but so it is with us all. It is 
 a good thing, when all favors, to be big and imposing, 
 like Corporal Green here, and the rest of our fine, 
 grenadier-looking soldiers ; but, for actual work, the 
 little, light-weighted fellows are even with them. 
 
 We have come now some six or seven miles. The 
 forenoon draws to its close : true as the needle to the 
 pole, the belly turns dinnerward. The fence is down, 
 here to the left ; and the long column, filing into just 
 such an old cornfield as we camped in the night before, 
 rules it across with long, blue lines of soldiery at regu 
 lar intervals, and proceeds to write it over with such 
 confusion as some thousands of reckless, hungry men 
 would be likely to make. Here it is, that, a dried 
 herring or two and some hard-tack and cheese being 
 promptly put away, the color-corporal, under the lee 
 of the stacked arms of the guard, pitches off his traps, 
 lies down under the folded colors, and writes. 
 
 March 18. In camp on the Bayou Montecino, 
 between Port Hudson and Baton Rouge. You may 
 see the place on a large map of Louisiana, a sudden 
 bend in the river above Baton Rouge. On Lloyds 
 military map, which we happen to have, the bend and 
 the bayou are both plain. 
 
 Bivins and I have buttoned up our house over the 
 furrows of an old cotton-field : it is open at both ends ; 
 but the evening air is so mild to-night, we can stand 
 all that. 
 
 Our rubber blankets are spread on the damp ground. 
 The point of a bayonet is stuck in the ground, and in 
 
92 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 the bayonet-socket Is a candle which gives us light. 
 The State flag of the regiment, its white silk covered 
 from the weather, lies along the ridge-pole of the tent. 
 From the ends of this hang our equipments, in as 
 apple-pie order as circumstances will permit in a coun 
 try where there are neither apples nor pie-crust. The 
 cartridge-boxes are well loaded down with powder and 
 ball ; for rebs of the most truculent sort come down to 
 within a mile or two of us, and we may hear the long- 
 roll any minute. 
 
 To resume my diary. The Fifty-second had stopped 
 for its dinner last Saturday noon. I lay, as I have 
 written it, on my side, pencil in hand ; then I snoozed ; 
 then I looked across the furrows, through the sweet, 
 sunny, blossom-scented air, to the long line of the 
 Ninety-first, their colors exactly opposite ours. Half 
 a dozen pigs ran down between the regiments ; a gaunt 
 let, I believe, not one survived : and before night they 
 were eaten with much gusto ; for, during our stay at 
 Baton Rouge, we have very rarely tasted fresh meat. 
 
 Boom, boom ! big guns from the river. We can 
 hear, too, the cough of high-pressure transport steam 
 ers, and know now that the fleet are, at least, as near 
 old Port Hudson as we are ; and we are only four or 
 five miles away. At length, " Fall in, men, at once ! 
 An aide has come galloping up to the colonel, who is on 
 horseback in a moment. "We shall probably have sharp 
 work before we come back." "Keep cool, and do not 
 waste your fire." So Capt. Morton and the rest give 
 such caution to their men as is needful on the eve of 
 
"INTO THE LION S MOUTH." 93 
 
 battle. " Leave knapsacks here : the footsore men will 
 guard them," poor Hines, and the like of him, whose 
 feet these real secesh roads have beaten and bruised 
 with true rebel violence. 
 
 How do we feel ? We are going out to meet the 
 enemy, we all fully believe, and so do our officers : and 
 even staff-officers of the general, who are friendly to 
 us, look pityingly after, as we march on; for they 
 know, though we do not, that we are to be pushed up 
 in front of the whole army, into close range of the can 
 non upon the fortress-walls. The Fifty-second is cool, 
 and yet eager ; and not a man, that can limp at all, 
 wants to stay. For the last thing, " Load ! " Open 
 cartridge-box ; tear the tough paper from the powder 
 end, there it goes down the barrel ; and now the ball ; 
 half-cock, then cap the cone, and all is done. If I 
 have to fire, it will be for the cause. Scruples, now, 
 are mere squeamishness. Now, "By the right flank, 
 forward ! " Hardiker carries the white State-flag ; the 
 tall sergeant, the stars and stripes. Old flag, you are 
 woven of no ordinary stuff! Rank and file and 
 shoulder-straps, it is a sacred thing ! It has for a 
 warp, liberty; and for a woof, constitutional order; 
 and is dyed deep in tints of love and justice. Between 
 Hardiker and the sergeant marches Wilson, a fine- 
 looking corporal, with a military face, eye, and figure ; 
 moustached, bearded, eager, such a face as I have 
 seen in Horace Yernet s battle-pieces. A good marks 
 man, too, is Wilson ; for many years the terror of 
 squirrels in the woods of E . Prince and Claypole 
 
94 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 cover Hardiker and Wilson ; while I march behind 
 the sergeant, right in the folds of the great flag. 
 Alongside, in the line of file-closers, go West, and 
 lisping, light-haired Wiebel, the German ; and, last, the 
 ever sage, serene, and satisfactory Bias Dickinson. 
 
 I almost cheered when Bias came back to the color- 
 guard (from which he has been absent for a time, funny 
 fellow ! ) from the jury-room down at the Court House 
 of Baton Rouge, whilom his headquarters. Did I not 
 dine there once with him, on stewed pigeons? when 
 Bias, a prime confiscator, had got hold of a hand-organ, 
 with which, after dinner, he soothed and gratified his 
 guest by grinding out tune after tune ; assuaging the 
 perturbed spirits of the muddy fellow from the camp, as 
 if he were a Saul in all his purple, an entertainment 
 most gracefully bestowed, with sage, silent, and serene 
 demeanor, and hand turning untiringly at the handle. 
 
 So we go out of the field into the road, in the" centre 
 of the long column, with banners waving, and, I hope, 
 the true light of battle upon our faces, soldiers in a 
 noble cause, farmer and mechanic, merchant and 
 preacher, shoulder to shoulder. " Boom ! " go the far 
 away guns. We are moving rapidly to the front : so the 
 other regiments and the stout battery-men and the yel 
 low cavalry-men give way for us, cheering us on. 
 Down a cross-road toward the river, a sweet south 
 wind shaking white cloud-favors out of every window 
 in heaven at us ; the sun smiling God-speed, and the 
 lady rose-bushes, fyom fence-corners like balconies, 
 showing their blossom-handkerchiefs. 
 
"INTO THE LION S MOUTH." 95 
 
 A sweet woodland by-road ! We rush forward at 
 double-quick. Ah, here is war indeed ! a colonel on 
 the general s staff, just wounded by the retreating rebel 
 pickets, lying by the roadside. I catch a glimpse of 
 him on an extemporized litter of rails, as he lies under 
 the surgeon s hands. We rush by, tramp, tramp, at 
 the double-quick ; and he pushes himself up a little 
 with his hands, so that we can see his pale face, just 
 wounded ahead here in the road where we are going. 
 
 Cautiously, boys ! A few steps, and we stumble over 
 the handsome horse of the wounded colonel, dead in the 
 middle of the road, with eight bullets through him. 
 There, too, is the bloody boot of his rider, hastily cut 
 off after the wounding was accomplished. A company 
 are detailed as flankers ; and, as they go through the 
 wood a few rods distant from the road, they hear the 
 groans of other wounded men. They cannot go to 
 them ; for to stop would be to expose the whole flank 
 of the column to danger. 
 
 Now we pass other dead horses belonging to cavalry 
 men, which were shot in the road by the retreating rebel 
 pickets. At length, we reach a fork where is a regiment 
 drawn up, and Gen. Grover sitting on horseback with 
 his staff, a light-haired man, with face sufficiently 
 resolute, his beard cut in a peak, and wearing a cava 
 lier hat. We halt only for a moment. The general s 
 pointing hand indicates the direction we are to take : so 
 down we go through a wooded road, driving before us 
 the enemy s pickets ; our flankers in the woods seeing 
 them mount their horses and gallop off as we come 
 
96 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 within musket-range. Presently we go by their camps, 
 where they have cut on trees some defiance or warning 
 to us : " Beware, Yankee ! this is a hard road to tra 
 vel." 
 
 By the side of the column rides an officer of engineers, 
 who stops every now and then to note a by-path or 
 prominent knoll, or draw a rough plan of the wood. 
 The dust has hardly settled yet along the road from the 
 tramp of their retreating infantry. We press on close 
 behind, until at length the column halts close within the 
 range of the Port-Hudson batteries. 
 
 It is now just after sunset. I hitch my cartridge- 
 box a little off my shoulder for relief, and bathe my 
 head and face in a roadside pool. At the head of the 
 column, spy-glasses are being passed from hand to hand 
 among the officers. What is it they and the skirmish 
 ers see to the northward and westward, from the bend 
 in the road? If we camp here for the night, we rank 
 and file will go forward to see for ourselves. They are 
 the outer earthworks of the rebel stronghold. As the 
 dusk deepens, the column turns, and back we go, we 
 fellows in the very heart of it ; the crimson stripes of 
 the standard leaping and flowing out above us like cur 
 rents of arterial blood. 
 
 We fell back that Saturday night two or three miles, 
 then camped in the woods. Later, a battery went for 
 ward to a position near that to which we advanced, and 
 fired shells for a while toward the rebel intrenchments. 
 Our blankets and baggage were four miles behind. We 
 hung equipments and haversacks on the gun-stocks ; 
 
"INTO THE LION S MOUTH." 97 
 
 and, wet with sweat, lay down in our clothes, without 
 covering. Wilson and I laid rails on the ground ; then 
 made a sloping roof of rails overhead, which was some 
 protection against the damp. 
 
 The eyelids shut together like a pair of scissor-blades, 
 and cut the thread of consciousness ; but, in the midst of 
 my dreaming, crash after crash broke upon my ear like 
 the chorus of doomsday. We all jumped to our posts ; 
 for we thought the hour of battle had come. I looked 
 at my watch by the light of a few embers. It was half- 
 past eleven. At the time, we were in complete igno 
 rance of the events that were transpiring. We know 
 now that it was the fleet just passing the batteries, and all 
 this was the uproar of the bombardment. Through the 
 trees to the westward arose the flashes, incessant, like 
 the winking heat-lightning of a hot summer evening. 
 Through the air rolled reports, now isolated, now 
 twenty combining in a grand crash, now a continuous 
 roll of them, a thundering rub-a-dub, as if the giants 
 were going to storm heaven again, and were beating a 
 reveille to summon every gnome and all the genii and 
 each slumbering Titan to fall in for a charge. The cen 
 tre of the regiment, the color-guard, rested in the road. 
 The pickets, four or five rods off, could see the falling 
 of bombs, the streams of comet-like rockets, and the 
 outlines of the shore-batteries lit up by the cannon- 
 flames. It went on, and we sat listening with our 
 hands close at our guns. Then, at last, the heavens 
 reddened high and far, with a fiercer and steadier glare, 
 that moved slowly southward, crimsoning in turn 
 
 5 
 
 
98 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 the moss and old scars on the north, on the west, on the 
 south-west, of the tree-trunks. Meantime came up the 
 boom of cannon, slowly receding in the same direction. 
 So we heard the swan-song of the stern old "Mississippi," 
 abandoned, beaten with shot, ragged through her 
 whole frame where shells had torn and burst. On that 
 night, a freight of dead men were on her deck, and the 
 bodies of drowned men floated about her hoary hull for 
 retinue! Then came a crash, a light making all 
 bright, flung back from the burnished gun-stocks, from 
 the pool by the roadside, revealing the watching soldiers 
 and the slain steeds fallen headlong in the road in the 
 midst of the camp. So passed the veteran ship through 
 fire and earthquake-shock to an immortality in history. 
 
 
FALLING BACK. 99 
 
 CHAPTER 
 
 FALLING BACK. 
 
 SUNDAY morning came. We had expected confidently 
 all through the night to be ordered into battle : when 
 light broke, with the dawn, we expected to hear the 
 shots of the advancing rebels. All was still, however. 
 We made fires, and cooked our coffee and beef. I took 
 out my portfolio from the pocket of my blouse, and 
 wrote a sheet or two ; then, finding a clean pool in 
 the woods, I took off every thing, and had a bath. The 
 whole forenoon wore away with no sign of activity. 
 The general was giving us a rest before a very tough 
 march. Toward noon, one of Grover s aides came up 
 with word to fall back. To fall back ! were we going 
 to retreat, then? Back we go, over the same road as 
 yesterday. As we pass the bridges, we see parties of 
 men, and fuel prepared. " The enemy s cavalry will 
 soon be after us ! " I hear a field-officer say. The bridges 
 are to be burned as soon as we have crossed them. In 
 an hour or two, we are back at the encampment of Sat 
 urday noon, passing, as we march, signs of a hasty 
 retreat ; among them, a baggage-wagon on fire. We 
 sling our knapsacks where we left them, swallow a few 
 mouthfuls, and are once more on the road. 
 
100 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 We have found out now the loss of the "Mississippi ; " 
 and the impression spreads that we have met with great 
 disaster, and are retreating in disgrace. There is no 
 elasticity now, or mirthfulness. It is hard work to 
 carry the knapsacks, and the men are sullen. Retreat 
 ing without firing a shot ! 
 
 Yesterday we felt sure of a battle ; but the enemy fell 
 back before us. Now, why were we falling back before 
 them? We halt, every half-hour or so; when every 
 one is on his back in a moment. As I noticed the day 
 before, the road becomes strewn with knapsacks and 
 blankets ; but fewer men fall out, for they fear capture 
 by the enemy. In the middle of the afternoon, it begins 
 to rain. I never knew it rain so hard : there was a gene 
 ral uncorking among the clouds. The road becomes 
 a deep pudding, and the gutters are rivers. We are 
 wet to the skin. I throw my left arm against my 
 breast-pocket to shield (as much as I can) my port 
 folio, which has my precious paper and pencils. By 
 great care, I partly succeed; but every thing else is 
 soaked. Boots become filled w^ith water that runs from 
 the clothes into them. The army splashes on through 
 the rain, dreary and disheartened. Some of the officers 
 give up their horses to tired soldiers, and shoulder mus 
 kets. 
 
 At five o clock we reach a field, where we are to en 
 camp. Gen. Banks assigned it when he passed in the 
 morning. Since then, creation has put on a new face ; 
 but we must obey orders. In we turn, therefore, into 
 a swamp, to pass the most tedious night of our lives. 
 
FALLING BACK. 101 
 
 A dreary Louisiana swamp ! The space had been 
 cleared, and was full of charred stumps and logs, half 
 floating, half lying in the mud. There was a terrible 
 exhibition of democratic licentiousness. The rain had 
 been so violent, that the pools the " lower ten mil 
 lion " had become multiplied ; had outvoted the 
 little green patches of terra firma that held themselves 
 higher ; and, with small respect to the minority, were 
 proceeding fast to reduce the whole thing to a lake. 
 We waded and stumbled forward to the middle of this 
 dreary quagmire. Could we stop here for the night? 
 We had marched very rapidly ten or twelve miles, 
 most of the way in heavy order ; and were exhausted. 
 The roads were almost impassable : moreover, the gene 
 ral had left orders for us to stay here. We had no 
 choice. 
 
 Wet to the skin, I threw off my knapsack and equip 
 ments into the mud, too tired to hold them. We man 
 aged, as night fell, to get a fire started in a charred 
 stump ; then, through the evening (which was dark as 
 pitch), we went stumbling about in the bog to find 
 sticks for fuel, fishing out of mud-holes such half- 
 burnt branches and trunks as we could lift. Fre 
 quently the rain would pour in sheets ; when the fire, 
 in spite of all we could do, would dwindle down to a 
 mere spark. 
 
 About ten o clock, I managed to make a little coffee. 
 Then putting my knapsack into the mud, in the highest 
 and dryest spot I could find, drawing my two blankets 
 about my shoulders, and my rubber havelock over my 
 
102 THE COLOR-GUAttD. 
 
 ears, I sat down for the night. As I sat on my knap 
 sack, it settled down into the mud until it just kept me 
 out of the pool. My boots sank into the mud half-way 
 to the tops. I rested my elbows on my knees, and 
 chewed the cud of misery. Once in a while, some 
 one waded forth after wood. On every stump and 
 log were figures wrapped up in rubber blankets, trying 
 to sleep. I mistook Silloway, thus enveloped, for 
 a charred stump, and began to haul him to the 
 fire ; when a feeble and dismal voice proceeded 
 forth. 
 
 Nothing was ever more wretched ; and, when morn 
 ing came at last, swimming up through the pouring 
 heavens to us, such a half-drowned, haggard, bedrag 
 gled set as the regiment was, horses and men ! We 
 had the consolation of thinking we had touched the 
 bottom of misery, at any rate. Any lower deep there 
 surely cannot be. Snakes and crabs, no proper food 
 or drink, wet to the skin, the deadly vine weeping its 
 "venomous dew" upon us, there could be nothing 
 farther down. Mildewed, frowzy, horrible ! 
 
 Still there was a very fair amount of good-nature. 
 One rather portly officer had tumbled off his log during 
 the night into the mud, which made a great laugh. 
 Poor Corporal Wright came to our fire in the morn 
 ing. 
 
 " How are you now, old fellow ? " 
 
 " Oh ! gay and festive, more than How are you ? 
 It don t express it " (delivered with a feeble and dismal 
 smile). 
 
FALLING BACK. 103 
 
 * 
 
 There is spunk in the regiment yet. We have 
 scarcely any thing to eat. Nobody wants to eat much 
 of any thing ; but the foragers go out. 
 
 This matter of foraging is a hard one. I have seen 
 now what a scourge to a country an invading army is. 
 We were turned loose. As I shall presently record, 
 the Government, under our guns, collected a large 
 amount of cotton ; and we were suffered to kill cattle, 
 pigs, and poultry. All this marauding went on ruth 
 lessly and wastefully. We left the road behind us 
 foul with the odor of decaying carcasses. Cattle were 
 killed, a quarter or so taken out of them, and the 
 remainder left to the buzzards. So with sheep and 
 poultry. Pigs were bayoneted, sugar-houses plundered 
 of sugar and molasses, private dwellings entered ; and, 
 if any resistance was offered by the owner, his arms 
 were wrested from him, and he overmastered. To be 
 sure, there can be no manner of doubt of the sympathy 
 of all these people with the rebel cause. We saw 
 nothing of any young white men, only old men, 
 negroes, and women left behind by the young men 
 when they entered the Confederate army. I have not 
 heard that any were actually slain in these marauding 
 expeditions, or that insult was offered to any white 
 woman ; but property was handled, destroyed, or taken, 
 without scruple. 
 
 I took no part in any active foraging, though I own 
 I was more than once a partaker in the booty. It was, 
 in fact, our only way to live. Government-bread and 
 poor bacon were really insufficient to support strength 
 
104 THE COLOK-GUAKD. 
 
 g 
 
 under our work and exposure. When Bias offered me 
 some fine cutlets, Sunday morning, from a calf he had 
 just killed, I took them without much reluctance ; and 
 so, when Sile Dibble brought in steaks almost by the 
 armful, and canteens of molasses, and haversacks of 
 sugar, I was glad, hungry and tired as I was, to take 
 the share he offered me. If I did no active foraging, 
 it was, perhaps, more due to want of enterprise, and 
 because there were enough others to do it, than because 
 my conscience stood in the way. Am I demoralized? 
 But it was the only way to live. Our rations were 
 insufficient, and the commissary-department seemed to 
 expect we should find a good part of our food for our 
 selves. It is, indeed, sad; and there was enough that 
 was pathetic. War is horrible, and this feature of 
 plunder is one of its horrors. 
 
 All this had humorous features too. To see Bias 
 knowingly and amiably dissect a stolen calf, was a 
 cheerful sight; so, too, Sile Dibble, mounted on a lean 
 horse which Gottlieb had stolen, careering across the 
 lines with geese and chickens held by the legs, flutter 
 ing and screaming, in one fist, and a bag of meal in the 
 other ; so Pat O Toole, our wild Irishman, tearing 
 through the camp, after having shot eight cows, without 
 his hat, screaming to the " bys to coom afther his coos 
 afore thim spalpeens of batthery-men had tuck thim 
 intirely." These were humorous features ; but there 
 was more to grieve over than to laugh about, and I 
 fear it will be thought to speak ill for our New-England 
 men that they take so easily to this habit of " loot." 
 
FALLING BACK. 105 
 
 March 21. We staid in the swamp through Mon 
 day forenoon. At noon came the order to pack up, 
 which was done with thanksgivings ; and we waded and 
 paddled out to the road, just as the sun appeared once 
 more through the clouds. We marched, for the dis 
 tance of about a mile, through a lane running westward ; 
 coming, at last, to an elevated field on the river-bank, 
 at the Montecino Bayou, a pleasant, well-drained 
 spot, where we camped at once to dry and rest 
 ourselves ; the stacks of guns, as usual, running in a 
 long line, with the shelter-tents behind them ; the two 
 flags, in their glazed cases, crossed on the middle stack, 
 indicating the centre of the line. The powerful sun 
 soon dried our outer clothing ; and, content with that, 
 at nightfall we lay down to sleep ; willing enough to 
 postpone, until another day, the drying of shirts and 
 drawers and the contents of our knapsacks. 
 
 We had come to a very pretty spot, and in such 
 contrast to the camp we had just abandoned ! I re 
 member, Ruskin says, somewhere, that a picture, and, 
 I believe, a natural landscape, has a shut-up, stifled 
 look, unless there is water in it. I have felt that, I 
 think ; and now it seemed as if we were free again, 
 with our fine prospect southward down the broad river. 
 To the east of the camp was a grove of young trees, 
 hung about with tassels of moss, and heavy cordage of 
 strange vines ; the trees just leaving forth under the 
 influence of the Southern spring. In the edge of this 
 grove, at the bottom of a ravine, ran a little brook. 
 From the trees we could gather moss and leaves to 
 
 5* 
 
106 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 make our beds more soft, and in the brook we could 
 bathe. Moreover, a few rods southward from the 
 camp was a broad, deep bayou, approached by green, 
 sloping banks, where we could swim as far and deep as 
 we chose. It was luxury itself, Tuesday morning, to 
 strip off our mouldy garments, and, while they lay sun 
 ning on the grass, wash the stiff muscles , and blistered, 
 parboiled feet, in the brook, dappled darkly by the 
 shadows of the boughs and leaves. 
 
 Our respite, however, was a short one. The night 
 we arrived at this pleasant camp, the colonel passed 
 down through the tents to see what our condition was. 
 He stopped at Capt. Morton s tent, which was close by 
 ours ; and the captain brought out a bottle of currant 
 wine, just from home, calling me up to have a sip also. 
 
 The colonel spoke very feelingly of the discomfort to 
 which we had been exposed, and added, "At any rate, 
 now we shall have a rest for a day or two." Tuesday 
 forenoon, therefore, I paddled about in the brook at my 
 leisure, feeling sure of ample time. At noon, however, 
 the drum sounded once more ; and the order came to 
 pack every thing again, and fall in at once. Sudden 
 orders had come, to march. This time, we were to 
 go out to protect a heavy train of wagons, about 
 to proceed out along the Port -Hudson road to 
 gather the cotton stored everywhere in the planters 
 barns. Our march was along the same road we had 
 previously traversed, and with similar incidents, though 
 at first with less excitement ; for it was no new thing 
 now. The regiment was footsore, jaded, and suffering 
 
FALLING BACK. 107 
 
 for the want of sleep. Both my collar-bones turned 
 peace-democrats ; and in every cell, with an ache for a 
 tongue, protested against a further prosecution of hos 
 tilities. We toiled along, however ; at every planta 
 tion, as we passed, seeing mule-teams loaded with 
 cotton, and quantities of the snowy product tumbling 
 from the windows and doors of sheds and barns. 
 
 We marched out seven or eight miles before we 
 halted. As we advanced, we began to hear reports of 
 the enemy from negroes ; and at length reached a plan 
 tation from which a rebel force had just retreated. The 
 rebels were hardly out of sight as we came up, and we 
 followed close after them down the road. At length, 
 within about five miles of the batteries, we came to a 
 halt, and encamped in the edge of a grove, for the 
 night, as we supposed. Many of the men were much 
 fatigued, and sadly footsore. The march had been a 
 hard one for me ; for the sun, during the afternoon, was 
 most oppressive : but I made a cup of coffee, and 
 cooked a dish of meat on my plate, and felt better. 
 The men, generally, threw themselves on the ground at 
 once, under the trees. Bivins, however, went to bathe 
 in a brook near ; and I took my seat to watch the bag 
 gage. It had just grown dark, when word was passed 
 along the line, in a low tone, to be up and off at once. 
 
 It was hard enough ; but it would have been the 
 height of imprudence two isolated brigades as we 
 were to spend the night within so short a distance of 
 a powerful army of the enemy, perfectly aware of our 
 being in the neighborhood. The grove, therefore, gave 
 
108 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 up its sleepers. In five minutes, the line was moving 
 out of the shadow into the road, and, under the star 
 light, marching silently and rapidly back. 
 
 I like a night-march : the air is more bracing, the 
 roads less dusty, and there is far more scope for ro 
 mance. In the afternoon, I had had a severe time ; but 
 the night-march home was an easy one. I could carry 
 easily all my own baggage, though we were in heavy 
 order ; and occasionally spell the sergeant, who almost 
 gave out with lameness, by shouldering the big flag. 
 There was ample room for the play of fancy. The 
 rebel scouts, no doubt, had already crept into the camp 
 we had just abandoned, looking at the embers where 
 we cooked our suppers to judge how long we had been 
 gone ; while the cavalry swept forward to occupy the 
 road as we retired. The regiment, in general, however, 
 suffered sadly. Many marched with bare, bleeding 
 feet, and, toward the end of the route, sank to the 
 ground with fainting limbs, to pass the night by the 
 roadside. We reached our camp of the morning at 
 midnight, the colonel straight on his horse, sitting up 
 in the starlight, at the entrance, to direct the column ; 
 his voice, as he gave the last orders, full of sympathy 
 with his way-worn command. We only had strength 
 to spread our rubber-blankets, and fling ourselves upon 
 the ground. 
 
 Next morning, the regiment were a poor, languid 
 crowd of hobbling cripples, putting up shelter-tents 
 with stiffened bones, crawling around fires to cook coffee, 
 and fry, on their tin plates, pillaged meat and potatoes. 
 
FALLING BACK. 109 
 
 During the whole forenoon, those who gave -out the 
 night before came straggling in. This chronicler was 
 tired and stiff; but he made out to wash his shirt and 
 himself, two undertakings requiring some degree of 
 resolution. At night, however, I own, I was used up. 
 I felt feverish, and next morning dosed strongly with 
 quinine, which put Niagara Falls into each ear. Dur 
 ing that day, I was on the sick-list. The next day, the 
 regiment was ordered back to Baton Rouge. With 
 some mortification, I left the regiment to march ; and, 
 with several scores of used-up men, made the passage 
 down on a steamer. 
 
 I write now in the old camp, under the magnolias 
 (which has become home to us), ragged, dirty, con 
 tented, burnt like an Indian, unkempt, unshaven, but 
 about ready now for another start. During the week, 
 we have marched fifty miles, heavily weighted, through 
 mud, dust, heat, and a deluge of rain. We were on 
 the brink of an engagement, having driven the enemy 
 into the Port-Hudson intrenchments, following them 
 to within easy rifle-range of the batteries. We find it 
 was not the intention of the general to fight a battle, 
 unless himself attacked. W"e simply made a demon 
 stration in aid of the fleet, a portion of which succeeded 
 in passing up the river. 
 
110 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER Yin. 
 
 THE GARDEN OF LOUISIANA. 
 
 MARCH 29. This forenoon, we are encamped at 
 Donaldsonville, a point fifty or sixty miles below Baton 
 Rouge, on the western bank of the great river. It is 
 the pleasantest camp we have ever had. The neigh 
 borhood of this town, and the country along the bayou 
 La Fourche, which here opens out of the Mississippi, 
 is said to be the garden of Louisiana. 
 
 The landscape just about the camp here must be 
 very like Holland. The tents are pitched in a perfectly 
 level field, stretching, without a fence, far and wide, 
 with only here and there a tree. Along one side of the 
 field runs the bayou, behind its Levee. The water 
 now brims up nearly to the edge of this Levee, though 
 on the land side there must be a slope of six or eight 
 feet from the top of the bank to the surface of the land. 
 If an opening were made in the Levee, our camp would 
 be instantly drowned by the rush of waters. Sloops 
 and schooners of considerable tonnage sail up and down 
 the bayou, and one full-sized clipper-ship lies at anchor 
 just opposite us. To see these craft, we are obliged 
 to look up. The water-line of the bayou is about on 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOUISIANA. Ill 
 
 a level with our eyes ; so that the hulls and rigging of 
 the vessels are in the air, over our heads. At the mouth 
 of the bayou is a fort, with pointed angles, smoothly 
 cut, and turfed with green. It is very regularly built, 
 with ditch, counterscarp, bastion, and berme. This 
 again, I imagine, is a feature which this landscape has 
 in common with that of the Low Countries. Vauban 
 himself might have built this little fort ; and Marlbo- 
 rough and Villars would feel quite at home manoeuvring 
 here. 
 
 Of course, we have very little idea where we are 
 going, or what we are to encounter ; for we are the sol 
 diers of a general who keeps his own counsel. In a 
 day or two, we expect to march from here to Thibo- 
 deaux, and thence onward to Berwick Bay. We have 
 left Baton Kouge, probably not to see it again during 
 our term of service. We marched in the moonlight 
 aboard the transport that was to bring us here, two or 
 three nights ago. I lay on the upper deck, propped up 
 by my knapsack, and took my farewell of the buildings 
 on the Levee. I have taken my farewell of Ed. s 
 grave. I have done my best for it. The cross stands 
 firm and straight at the head : the mound above it is high 
 and smooth, and green with clover. The vine above, 
 now full of blossoms, has snowed down upon the turf 
 a whole deep drift of white petals ; and sweet baby-buds, 
 cradled among the whispering leaves and sprays, rock 
 to and fro over it constantly in the wind of spring. 
 
 March 31. At Assumption (I guess at the spell 
 ing) . Charming, perfectly charming, day, place, 
 
112 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 sensations. We have marched twelve or thirteen miles 
 since nine o clock this morning, through the sweetest 
 of regions, with the sweetest of air. Now we pause 
 for the night, the landscape still the mild, verdant, 
 level expanse which made me think of Holland at Do- 
 naldsonville, the grand bayou, deep and swift, riding 
 along above the heads of the people. Here and there, 
 the current, eating into the bank, leaves only a mere 
 spadeful between the rush of the stream and the plain 
 below it. The army began its march this morning at 
 half-past seven. Punctually at the time, we had cooked 
 and eaten breakfast. Our knapsacks were to go in 
 baggage-wagons, we carrying only blankets, equip 
 ments, and weapons. Among our indispensables, how 
 ever, a few of us carry certain new arrangements. At 
 McGill s suggestion, we have bought a coffee-pot, a 
 frying-pan, and a kettle for boiling. Wivers carries 
 the coffee-pot slung at his side : Sergeant Bivins car 
 ries the frying-pan strapped on his back, handy, 
 rather ; for when the excellent sergeant, at a halt, under 
 the hot noon, shall throw himself backward on the sod, 
 as soldiers do, he shall broil himself in an appropriate 
 dish. I have, strapped to my belt, the boiler ; its 
 crocky bottom painting thunder-clouds on the blue of 
 my right thigh, as it swings to and fro. It will hold 
 two or three quarts, and is up to flour, meal, eggs, 
 oysters, or any thing which shall come to the omnive- 
 rous haversack of the campaigner. 
 
 We have been brigaded anew ; being still in the 
 second brigade of Grover s division, but with the Twelfth 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOUISIANA. 113 
 
 Maine associated with us, instead of the Ninety-first 
 New York. Col. Kimball, of the Twelfth Maine, is 
 now our brigadier. 
 
 The conditions for marching to-day are excellent. 
 Never did foot of military patriot press the broad sole 
 of Uncle Sam s army-shoe into road at once so softly 
 yielding, yet so firmly resisting ; and, for air, certain it 
 is, that through scores and scores of leagues, in States 
 openly or secretly secesh, Mississippi, Tennessee, 
 Kentucky, certain it is, that over all this distance, 
 this 31st of March, a levee of atmosphere of equa 
 torial fervor had been built up. But, lo ! the cur 
 rents of northern air broke through it in a perfect 
 crevasse of coolness, inundating all these Louisiana 
 lowlands with its refreshing tide; so that, although 
 we marched fast, the drops of sweat were beaten back, 
 and the locks of the soldier, not plastered to his fore 
 head, danced in a jolly manner in the breeze of home. 
 
 I have seen this day what I have not seen before, 
 estates which come up to what I have imagined about 
 the homes of princely planters, two or three of them. 
 The first we came upon was on the opposite side of the 
 bayou. I was marching, not in the road, but along 
 the ridge of the Levee, whence I could overlook the long 
 column, the sugar-fields, and the distant wood, a 
 wood as romantic in its dim blueness as if I looked at 
 ft, not through a league or so of space, but through 
 time, and beheld the Forest of Ardennes or the Grove 
 of Cicero by the Fibrenus. While thus marching, 
 the bayou a foot or two from my path on one side, the 
 
114 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 road six or eight feet down on the other, I caught 
 sight of thick shrubbery, a chenille embroidery of green 
 tufting the bare level plain. Then came into view a 
 towering roof, and the stately palings of an enclosure 
 befitting a princely domain. As we came opposite, 
 down a long avenue, the perspective led the eye within 
 the open portal of a splendid mansion ; from whose hall, 
 ladies and children looked across at the marching army. 
 Meantime, the air was full of sweet scents : for tropic 
 plants, like Eastern princes, stretched forth their arms 
 from the enclosure, and with odorous gifts flattered the 
 passers-by ; and a tree full of bell-shaped blossoms 
 the airy " campanile " of the garden showing rows on 
 rows of little purple chimes "tolled incense" to us. 
 One or two domains like this I saw, and many more 
 less splendid, yet which were neat and pretty. 
 
 Toward noon, it grew hotter again. The " crevasse " 
 by which the north wind flowed in upon us was stopped 
 up, and the hot, unfriendly air of the South had its own 
 way with us. We were in light marching order ; but 
 the burden bore heavily down. I remembered how 
 Don Fulano talked to John Brent on the ride to deliver 
 Ellen Clitheroe. 
 
 " Courage, noble master ! You ride me hard ; but I 
 have a great reservoir of strength here in my loins and 
 limbs. Never fear, you can draw on me without 
 danger." 
 
 Something like that. I bestrode a more humble 
 beast : " Shanks s horse " we used to call it, when we 
 were boys. He made no such fine speeches. In fact, 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOUISIANA. 115 
 
 sometimes I feared he might give it- up ; but somehow 
 the sinews and fibres always had a little more try in 
 them. 
 
 The bands of the division are playing now at " tat 
 too." They have been playing during the evening with 
 great vigor, particularly one bass-drum. The drum 
 mer, I believe, had to fall out to-day, on account of 
 his ponderous instrument ; and to-night is wreaking 
 vengeance upon it, until it bellows through the camps 
 far and wide. Bivins, who sits just the other side of 
 the candle from me, believes "the boys are killing pigs, 
 and have hired the bands to play to drown the squeal 
 ing." 
 
 April 3. We are in camp this morning, about 
 three miles south of Thibodeaux, at Terre Bonne, 
 which we reached yesterday afternoon. The railroad 
 from New Orleans to Brashear City is a few rods north 
 of us, a road which our forces hold, and along 
 which, this forenoon some time, when the engines can 
 get to it, the second brigade expects to take its first car- 
 ride in Louisiana. 
 
 We shall carry home a much more favorable impres 
 sion as to the resources and civilization of this State 
 than we should have had if we had not passed through 
 this country of the La Fourche. From Donaldsonville 
 to Terre Bonne, a distance of nearly forty miles, the 
 aspect of the country varies but little. It is thickly 
 peopled ; the plantations succeeding one another as do 
 the farms in any populous agricultural region of the 
 North. 
 
116 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Seldom does an army march under circumstances so 
 delightful. The miles were not weary ones ; for the 
 same really remarkable conditions made our progress 
 comparatively easy from first to last, a bright sky 
 and sun, but a cool northern breeze, and a road, for the 
 most part, in perfect condition to receive the soldier s 
 foot-fall. On one side rose the slope of the Levee ; 
 ten or twelve feet high from the road, two or three 
 from the water on the other side. TVTien the column 
 halted, we could run up the slope, then stoop to the 
 cool bayou to drink, or to wash face, hands, and feet. 
 On our right, as we marched, we passed, now houses 
 of moderate size, bare of elegance sometimes even 
 squalid in appearance ; now, again, mansions of com 
 fortable look ; and, not unfrequently, beautiful seats, 
 set up high to preserve them from danger in case of a 
 crevasse, with colonnades ornamented tastefully with 
 orange-groves and the glorious live-oak, with irees full 
 of roses instead of bushes. 
 
 Plantation after plantation ! Along the road were 
 white palings, or often the pleasanter enclosure of a 
 rose-tree hedge, with white roses all out, and the green 
 of a richer depth than we know it. Sometimes the 
 planter and his family looked out at us from behind a 
 ff protection " posted before them on the gate, seated 
 upon the broad portico under the wide roof, beneath 
 wide-spreading awnings, with open doors and windows 
 behind. Then, between house and hedge, these mar 
 vellous gardens ! Tall trees overhung them ; with 
 vines, sometimes nearly as tliick as the trunks, twining, 
 
TEE GARDEN OF L/OOSULSA. 11 T 
 
 supple as serpents, from root to topmost bough, 
 twining, 1 ging in loops, knotted into coils. The*, 
 mfrr A, flowers white and delicate, adaaai wfrk 
 dewy jewels, scented with odors incomparable ; flowers 
 uncouth and spiny ; the u*lim,*f* here exotic, bnt to 
 the manor born/ite gnarled and pricHy stem thickly set 
 with pnrple buds. He air would be pungent with 
 sweetness as. the column marched part. 
 
 Such tropic luxury of air and vegetation! These 
 scents and zephyrs; the bbd^ongs we heard; the 
 sunuBnvlte of the heavens; the broad palm4eavea aft 
 the planter s portico ; these blossoms of crimson and 
 saffron and white ; this Jba , * so tailfBlj 
 and laboring under its freights of perfume, aU these 
 
 ; afl these, and I 
 of the 
 
 u II iiji rTir- -" ^^ * 
 
 the garden was pMnrd f gneraDy we came to a 
 huge gate, upon and about which would be dnstered 
 the negro fine of the whole estate, old and young. 
 From this a md BH, dwm wfciA, at 40 *tawof a 
 quarter of a mile perhaps , we could see Ae white 
 chimneys of die sugar-mai: the village rf negro caKns ; 
 cr^ on aciCT of cwirH, stretching cfar to the 
 five* on 4e Terge of Ae komon. 
 At noon of yesterday, we came to TUadean. As 
 we entered the village, die drums struck up. lie. 
 footsore men forgot to hobble ; die melting men forgot 
 We were aU strait and solfierrj; for die 
 
118 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 march was nearly finished. The streets of the village 
 were full of people, upon whom it became us to make 
 an impression ; and the sound of the drum and fife is a 
 spur to the soul. We were dusty and sweaty ; but I 
 think we made a good appearance. The colonel was on 
 his horse again ; the day before, and to-day, he had 
 walked more than half the route, giving his horse to 
 tired privates : so the chaplain, who has carried a gun 
 and knapsack, besides going on foot. We unfurled 
 the two flags, and set them upright. The road, as we 
 approached Thibodeaux, had been growing even more 
 lovely ; and now, in the village, the climax of beauty 
 was reached. 
 
 To go from Baton Rouge to Thibodeaux is like 
 changing from the outer petals to the heart of a full 
 blown rose. Baton Rouge, once fresh and pretty, 
 is now curled up and withered by the heats of war ; but 
 the blossom grows fresher, and here in the centre is the 
 reservoir of honey, the place where the bee sucks. 
 Each little cottage had its garden ; every gable was 
 embowered ; every window and pilaster buried in 
 vines ; every garden gilt-edged with ripe oranges along 
 the borders. Puffs of wind, like scented exquisites, 
 sprang out over the blossoms, the gayest sprites that 
 ever were, and, seizing for partners our two colors, 
 rather faded and dishevelled belles, danced them 
 up and down in a brisk measure. The streets of the 
 village were full of its hybrid population. Very few 
 jet-black ones there were, and not many thoroughly 
 white, but throngs on throngs of mixed-blood, from 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOUISIANA. 119 
 
 deep mulattoes, up through quadroon and octoroon, to 
 fair boys and girls with complexion just made rich and 
 vivid with a dash of the tiger-lily. Not a pleasant or 
 creditable story is it, this tale of corruptness which 
 we can read in the faces of the population whenever we 
 pass through a village, or scan a crowd of plantation- 
 hands gathered on a fence or under a hedge to look at 
 us as we pass. 
 
 April 5. At the "Bayou Boauf." The bayou is 
 one of those characteristic Louisiana water-courses 
 which do so differently from water in other parts of the 
 world, riding over a district, instead of boring its way 
 through it. The land slopes back from the river-bank ; 
 so that the drainage of our camp is toward the swamp, 
 a short distance in the rear, instead of toward the 
 bayou. It is a dreamy afternoon. A heavy haze 
 buries the distance, and veils even the trees and planta 
 tions a little way off on the other side of the stream. 
 I sit on the huge root of a live-oak, whose heavy top 
 hangs far out over the water, giving me a dense shade, 
 me and the brilliant little minnows that I see swimming 
 up in shoals in the quiet water, as I raise my eyes. 
 
 We did not leave Terre Bonne until yesterday fore 
 noon ; making the whole time of our stay there a day 
 and a half. We were piled, thick as we could sit, upon 
 platform-cars, and then brought eighteen miles to this 
 point. The road was a level, broad-gauge track, over 
 which the engine drew us rapidly. We had the best 
 opportunity we have yet had of seeing a wild Louisiana 
 morass. For u long distance, we went through a dense 
 
120 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 cypress-swamp, such an one as we have not seen 
 before, a dense growth of cypresses, with a very 
 heavy undergrowth between the tall trunks, and, be 
 neath that, a thick mat of water-plants lying upon the 
 surface of the fen. It was like a wall of vegetation, 
 almost, on each side ; through which, occasionally, we 
 could see deep, dark bayous flowing, and black pools. 
 Alligators several feet long lay on logs, or in the 
 water, with their backs just rising above ; and, on 
 floating timbers and little islands of earth, snakes, 
 single or in coils, lay basking in the sun. Later in the 
 season, I suppose, we should have seen even larger 
 numbers of this agreeable population. Huge vines, 
 coiled into knots, bound the cypress-trunks and other 
 growths into one mass of vegetation. We saw, too, 
 numbers of palms ; which here grow short, by stumps 
 and pools, spreading abroad their wide-divided leaves, 
 as if they were showing hands at cards. 
 
 April 10. We have made another move, and are 
 now at "Brashear City," on the embouchure of the 
 Atchafalaya, a city which consists of a wharf and a 
 railroad-depot, and but little besides. My feet rest in 
 the crushed clover, upon which our blankets were 
 spread as we slept last night ; and through the opening 
 of the tent, just far enough off to prevent our being 
 swept away by the tail of some enterprising alligator, 
 I see flowing the bayou, with sugar-houses on the 
 opposite shore, and cypresses behind, the tall, dark 
 trees that tell of swamps. 
 
 We are close on the enemy again. A strong fort, 
 
THE GARDEN OF LOUISIANA. 121 
 
 in their hands, is only seven miles distant; and yester 
 day afternoon we marched to the sound of distant firing 
 from WeitzePs advanced corps. During the night, too, 
 the air was pervaded with the sublime shiver and boom 
 of distant cannonading. I sit in clover, for the time 
 being : but every minute I expect the drum-call ; for 
 we are here only temporarily, in light order, and 
 expecting rapid and severe movements. 
 
 We took up the line of march yesterday under cir 
 cumstances which I have several times described, 
 brilliant enough, but becoming now an old story ; 
 
 though I own I am not so hardened that I was not 
 
 o 
 
 thrilled to hear a fine, full band play, " The dearest 
 spot on earth to me is home," followed by a regiment 
 stepping strongly to the air. It proved to be, by 
 all odds, our hardest march for me ; although it was 
 only about nine miles. The sun was bitterly hot, and 
 the dust heavy. For the first time in my soldiering, 
 with a red face and blistered feet, I was obliged to turn 
 aside from the regiment, and stop under a tree to throw 
 away part of my load. It was not, however, until men 
 in whole sections had been wheeling up, and stopping by 
 the roadside for a long time ; so that I had a good part 
 of the regiment for company in my first falling-out. 
 
 I have now seen numbers of streams and much 
 country, and am familiar with the strange aspects of a 
 Louisiana landscape. Of course, we know, that, on 
 this globe, water plays the principal part, and land is 
 secondary. As Northerners know nature, however, it 
 is land that is most exulting, bounding, as it does, 
 
 6 
 
122 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 into hills, standing kingly in mountains ; while water, 
 more humble, hides in glens, or flows in submissive 
 rivers before the feet of lordly ranges. Here, however, 
 water bears itself arrogantly, floating sometimes 
 above the level of the soil ; sometimes just even with 
 it, as here, where the ripples of the brimful stream 
 threaten the clover-flowers, which are scarcely above 
 them. Meanwhile, a furlong or so in the rear, is the 
 swamp, as ever, close at hand, the traitor in the 
 heart, ready to help the foe outside. Water is thus 
 haughty and encroaching ; while land is a poor, cowed, 
 second - fiddle - playing creature , only existing , appa 
 rently, that water may have something to pour itself out 
 over and exhibit itself upon. 
 
 Then, too, the painful sycophancy of the vegetable 
 kingdom ! It owes its whole existence and consequence 
 to land, if any thing does ; yet here, like a set of false 
 hearted flatterers, trees and w r eeds go toadying the ruling 
 power. The forests are watery : old trunks robe them 
 selves in moss, counterfeiting the appearance of dis 
 colored growths of coral ; and, along the brinks of 
 bayous, stout-hearted live-oaks even, that ought to be 
 ashamed of themselves, bend almost horizontally over 
 the currents, or indeed, sometimes, as in one case right 
 here in our camp, hold on by the roots, and grow 
 downward almost, letting the water flow around and over 
 them, just raising their tops above the stream, a rod or 
 two out from shore, all this fawning and hanging-on, 
 instead of growing straight up, and flinging out their 
 tops like independent and self-respecting growths ! 
 
VICTORY. 123 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 VICTORY. 
 
 APRIL 13. Rather a stirring accompaniment to 
 your scribbling pencil to have a furious cannonade going 
 on within two or three miles, to have fresh in your 
 memory the sharp skirmish which took place on the very 
 spot where you are seated, only a few hours- ago ; and 
 all the time to have the Second Massachusetts Battery 
 harnessed up in the road, with the men on the horses 
 and seats ; to know that when they whip up we shall be 
 ordered in, and that our business will be to support this 
 battery through thick and thin, the thick, just at the 
 present, being most probable. It is early in the after 
 noon. The hot sun beats down upon us, who have 
 stacked our arms here in this shadeless cane-field, and 
 seated ourselves among the furrows. Perhaps we shall 
 have time to eat a hard tack and make a hasty cup of 
 coffee before we start. 
 
 To-day is Monday. Saturday, we embarked at Bra- 
 shear City, leaving a fine, airy, roomy camp for 
 
 " Fall in ! " 
 
 April 14. This day I have seen a bloody battle 
 fought, and now write sitting among furrows cut up by 
 
124 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 the wheels of the batteries. A little way to the right, 
 in the edge of the wood, lie the unburied dead. There, 
 too, lie the castaway guns and all the wreck and waste 
 v:f such a field. A few rods to the left, the surgeons, 
 all this forenoon, have been dressing wounds. The pur 
 suit of the enemy is going forward. We only wait the 
 order to advance. Occasionally the strong, fresh south 
 wind brings to us the crash of a volley, or an explosion 
 in the advance. A huge vapory column builds itself up 
 into the air ; then the breeze dissipates the unsubstantial 
 tower from base to cornice. 
 
 April 17. I have to drop and catch my pencil as I 
 can ; for we are doing tremendous work. O people 
 who clamor for rapid movements ! if you only knew 
 what forced marches after a flying enemy cost us poor 
 fellows, who have to make them ! the burden being so 
 heavy, the roads so dusty, and the noon-sun so burning 
 hot. It is Saturday morning. Since Wednesday morn 
 ing, we have pursued the flying rebels fifty miles. I 
 have just seated myself, with my stiff limbs stretched 
 on the grass, under the shadow of a rough stable belong 
 ing to a miserable plantation in these back regions of 
 Louisiana. I only make this little note ; for the pursuit 
 is not ended, and I ought to use this respite for sleeping 
 and eating rather than writing. 
 
 April 21. As you see, during the past week or so, 
 I have occasionally caught up my pencil among the 
 most tremendous and unspeakable exertions, simply to 
 record my whereabouts, and that I lived. We are in 
 camp now at Opelousas, far toward Texas, in the back 
 
VICTORY. 125 
 
 regions of Louisiana ; having pursued the retreating ene 
 my seventy-five miles. Remember, we have made this 
 distance on foot, under a heavy burthen. Thank God 
 with all my heart, I am perfectly well after the march, 
 though I have been fearfully tired, and once was at the 
 lowest point of exhaustion. We understand that we are 
 to rest here, and prepare for a still further advance ; but 
 our forced marching, I presume, is for the present 
 over. 
 
 I have now leisure to go back, and give the details of 
 this experience of hardship. 
 
 On Saturday, April 11, Grover s division embarked 
 at Brashear City. Our brigade left a delightful camp 
 for the transport " St. Mary s," a beautiful vessel, but 
 one aboard which we underwent a packing, to which the 
 stowage aboard the " Illinois " was nothing, and which 
 certainly nothing could parallel but the packing of a 
 slaver. Our boat carried three regiments, the horses 
 and greater part of the men of a battery, and I know 
 not how many more. I only know I took my post on 
 a little rise in the deck, between the smoke-stack and 
 engine, built up to cover the machinery. I was there 
 with about ten others, and hardly left it from that Sat 
 urday night until near noon of Monday ; not because I 
 was shackled to the spot exactly, but because I could 
 hardly take a step without treading on some one. By 
 daytime, we sat with our legs curled under us, under a 
 blazing hot sun, under which we almost popped out on 
 the deck like kernels of corn on an iron plate. By 
 night, we tried to sleep, with the plunging piston with- 
 
126 THE COLOR-GUAKD. 
 
 in reach of the hand. I lay with my head lower than 
 my feet, my head on my knapsack, my feet passed up 
 over the shoulders of Grider and another of our fellows, 
 with Callighan s elbow in one side, and Bivins s head 
 upon my breast. How dreary was Sunday ! I awoke 
 unrefreshed. There was water all about us, but none 
 to be had for washing, and not much to drink. Toward 
 noon, I managed to buy some fine oranges of a cabin- 
 waiter, which helped my poor dinner of the hardest 
 biscuit and coarsest salt beef. We were in a great 
 strait for coffee, which, for a long time, seemed utterly 
 out of the question. At length, however, Joe Pray, a 
 " cute " genius, was inspired. Just in front of my place 
 rose the escape-pipe of the steamer, ten or twelve feet 
 above the deck : from this, hot steam was constantly 
 issuing. Joe was seen to eye this, to grow thoughtful, 
 then to pour a handful of ground coffee into his can 
 teen, partly filled with water. With this he came to 
 the foot of the pipe ; and, after a few efforts, he tossed 
 the canteen clear over its edge into the current of steam, 
 holding it by its long white string. It was an entire 
 success. Joe withdrew in a few minutes with a canteen 
 full of hot, well-steeped drink. As he squeezed his 
 way back to his place, there was a crowd to profit by 
 his experiment. The old pipe puffed away, and many 
 were the coffee-makers who invoked blessings upon the 
 head of Joe Pray. 
 
 Night came again, and I slept as before, with men 
 crowding everywhere ; and, beneath me, four or five mus 
 kets not covered over. I got up in the morning tattooed 
 
VICTORY. 127 
 
 like a Carib, where the steel projections of the muskets 
 had pressed into my back and legs. 
 
 Meantime the sail was monotonous and uninteresting. 
 We ploughed along, stirring into waves the sallow tor 
 por of the bayou, the low shores on either hand 
 walled up with the massive vegetation of the climate. 
 At length, we emerged into a broad lake, the " Grand 
 Lake," environed by what seemed to us only wilderness. 
 The grim, battered old gunboat that bossed the expedi 
 tion went ahead with cannon run out, examining nar 
 rowly each point for masked batteries. 
 
 At last, it was Monday morning. When the fog 
 lifted, a regiment or two were put ashore from the fleet, 
 and found a body of rebels on hand to oppose the land 
 ing in a sharp skirmish. " Bang ! " went a field-piece 
 on shore, which brought us all to our feet. Then fol 
 lowed a roll of musketry ; then presently, with a heavier 
 boom, the gunboat put in its word, a puff of smoke 
 ascending quickly from its rusty ports ; then the crash 
 of the explosion, a long whistle from the flying shell, 
 presently a jet of fire against the dark thickets on 
 shore ; and, in a minute or two, the sound of the burst 
 ing coming faintly to us from afar. A planter s mansion, 
 with sugar-house and negro-cabins, stood on the shore ; 
 behind which buildings we could see columns of men in 
 motion, under the white smoke of the skirmish, which 
 now rose to the tall tree-tops. The grim gunboat, the 
 " Clifton," guided by signal-flags on shore, sent out, 
 now a solitary puff, now three or four nearly together ; 
 while, in the pauses between these heavier firings, came 
 
128 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 - 
 
 from the shore the fainter fusillade, linking the peals 
 into an uninterrupted concert. At length, it ceased. 
 The enemy retired, and we had opportunity to land. 
 
 We inarched back from the river into the cane-field, 
 where I had time to write a line or two in my journal. 
 A few regiments and batteries pushed ahead at once ; 
 but we remained long enough to have pailfuls of coffee 
 made and passed from man to man, delicious enough 
 under the circumstances. Under the roof of the sugar- 
 house, Gen. Grover walked to and fro with his hands 
 behind him, and head bent forward in anxious thought. 
 Two rebel prisoners were under guard close by ; and, 
 from the vessels, horses and stores were being landed 
 in all haste. It was a critical moment. We had come 
 upon the rebels unexpectedly, and the general meant to 
 profit by the surprise. One of the transports, however, 
 with a brigade aboard, which could not be spared, was 
 hard aground a league back in the lake. After some 
 delay, however, it was afloat again, and came up. 
 
 In the early afternoon, we were on the march. We 
 plunged into a tall forest, where there was a dense 
 undergrowth of canes ; the under and upper growth 
 striking hands together to keep the sun out, and have 
 the road underneath a perpetual quagmire. The road 
 was heavy, and cut deep with artillery- wheels, through 
 whose ruts we waded and jumped, with every now and 
 then the sound of cannon (to stimulate us) from the 
 advance. To the wood, a broad open space succeeded, 
 on which were drawn up the regiments thrown forward 
 in the morning. Here signs of strife appeared, two 
 
VICTORY. 129 
 
 wounded cavalry-men ; one hurt in the leg, the other 
 more dangerously wounded, muffled in his blanket upon 
 a stretcher. We could look forward now a mile or 
 two ; and, when the reports came back, could see before 
 hand the white smoke of the discharge. "We thought 
 we had come into a savage region, so wilderness-like 
 had been the shores of the bayou and the lake ; but, once 
 through the belt of woods, we found ourselves in a 
 smiling land again. Presently we struck the Teche, 
 here not more than fifty yards broad, flowing between 
 banks, that, for a delightful wonder, sloped down from 
 higher land on each side to the surface of the stream, 
 banks, with clumps and groves of trees, with sugar- 
 houses to be seen here and there in the distance, and 
 handsome mansions. 
 
 We were passing on in the direction of the firing, 
 which gradually advanced as we pushed forward ; not 
 so fast, however, as to prevent our gaining upon it. 
 At length we crossed the Teche by a bridge which had 
 its timbers charred in several places. The advance 
 found it in flames, and just saved it. The embers were 
 hardly cold. Companies of the Fifty-second now de 
 ployed as skirmishers. A section of the Second Mas 
 sachusetts Battery went out across a field, under charge 
 of a straight, finely riding lieutenant ; and presently they 
 were at it, throwing shells into clumps of trees where 
 there were suspicious signs. The skirmishers opened out 
 into a long line, with intervals of two or thrjee yards 
 between the men ; then advanced cautiously toward the 
 buildings and fences. As the colonel galloped by, 
 
130 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 " I have one man wounded," said the captain of the 
 company behind the colors. "A shot just grazed his 
 arm." 
 
 We were close upon them, and came to a halt. It 
 was nearly nightfall, and we could not advance in the 
 darkness. Over the fence, in front of our line, twenty 
 rods or so, was our line of skirmishers ; and beyond 
 them, in the gathering dusk, across the wide plain we 
 strained our eyes to see the little moving spots, the 
 pickets of the enemy. A squad of rebel prisoners went 
 by us, just taken, under convoy of cavalry. They were 
 stout, well-fed men, some in the butter-nut dress, 
 some in gray. Their clothing looked serviceable* and 
 was in as good condition as the clothing of soldiers is 
 likely to be during a hard campaign. 
 
 Here is something even more interesting. A short 
 distance behind us, we noticed a very handsome plan 
 tation and mansion, down the road from which comes 
 now, in haste and in much agitation, a stately lady. 
 She is a matron of fine bearing, elegantly attired. Her 
 face is full of character ; she is bareheaded ; in age , 
 perhaps forty-five or fifty, but with hair still jet-black 
 and abundant. She sweeps by us hastily, with the 
 majesty of a noble mother of Rome, and stops at the 
 stirrup of Gen. Grover, who has halted at the cross 
 roads, just beyond where I am standing. She has 
 come to intercede with the general for her son, who has 
 just been taken prisoner, a fine, fierce boy of nine 
 teen or twenty, who stands, haughty and tall, close 
 by, among a group of captive rebels. 
 
VICTORY. 131 
 
 "Do let him go, general: he is all I have!" (re 
 peated again and again.) 
 
 Most earnest and stately intercession ! But the boy 
 has been taken in arms ; and the general, I believe, 
 refused to listen. The negroes say this matron owns 
 two miles square of country here, and four hundred 
 slaves. 
 
 We camp, as we often do, in a ploughed field. We 
 are sadly in want of sleep ; for, during the two previous 
 nights, we have had almost none. We do not stop to 
 pitch tents, but lie down on the furrows, trying to make 
 provision against the impending rain. Down it comes 
 at midnight, then at intervals until morning. Mean 
 time, the wind blows fresh, and the rubber-blankets go 
 flying off from us into the mud, leaving the water to 
 pelt us as it chooses ; another tough and almost sleep 
 less night. Our equipments, of course, are all on, and 
 our loaded guns at our sides, to guard against a night 
 surprise. At four o clock in the morning, wet and un- 
 refreshed, we are on our feet again. There- is no time 
 for making coffee ; we are ordered into line at once, 
 and march forthwith into fearful scenes. 
 
 It appears now, that, when we landed from the trans 
 ports, we were not many miles from a strong force of 
 rebels posted near Franklin, which force Grover s divi 
 sion was to assail on the flank or rear. Banks, with 
 the main body of the army, had advanced up the Teche 
 toward the same point, had driven back the rebels in our 
 direction, and now the two Union armies were about to 
 effect a junction ; not, however, without sacrifice. 
 
132 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Day broke, as we marched out into the road, a 
 listless, half-exhausted body of men. During the three 
 previous nights we had had little sleep, and but little 
 food since the Saturday before. It was now Tuesday. 
 We were all more or less drenched with the rain, and 
 the blankets and clothing weighed double with the 
 moisture. As the sun came up, however, and the 
 morning damps steamed off, we felt better, and had 
 our senses open a little to the beauty of the road, the 
 sweetness of the blossoms, and the verdure of the 
 slopes. 
 
 Presently we hear the sound of firing. 
 
 " They have found them again," I say to the color- 
 sergeant ; and we look off over the woods to where the 
 white cloud of the discharge can be seen rising among 
 the trees. As we sweep along the road toward the 
 firing, the day each minute becomes more and more 
 beautiful. Each minute, too, the roar of cannon is more 
 frequent, and becomes mingled at last with sharp, rat 
 tling volleys of small-arms. 
 
 We come, at last, into full view of the scene. We 
 halt in the road ; and leaning against a fence, looking 
 southward through the rails, the whole combat is visible 
 to us, who are now within cannon-range. We look 
 down a gentle slope. To the left we can see a battery 
 posted, which fires very vigorously ; then bodies of 
 infantry, in long, dark lines, moving upon an open 
 field in front of a wood. In the lines are gaps, which 
 may be caused by moving over rough ground, or by 
 the plunge of shot and shell. To the right, again, we 
 
VICTORY. 133 
 
 can see bodies of troops, and batteries. Hear that long 
 crash of musketry ! each individual discharge so blending 
 into the others, that we can only hear one long sound, 
 like the slow fall of some huge tower. It is a rebel 
 volley, terribly effective, as we afterward hear ; and, 
 while the wind bears it to us, we are ordered forward, 
 and presently are on the very field. 
 
 Ambulance-men, with stretchers, are hurrying across 
 the field to a sugar-house in the rear, where a hospital 
 is established. On each stretcher is a wounded man, 
 and the number of these makes it certain to us that the 
 engagement has reached the sad dignity of a pitched 
 battle. We are passing ammunition wagons now; 
 now* a tree, beneath which is a surgeon at work ; and, 
 close where he stands, on his back, stiff and stark, dead, 
 a tall, broad-chested man, with closed eyes. The col 
 umn files to the right, out of the road ; and we stand in 
 line of battle just in the rear of the action, within rifle- 
 range of the .woods where the enemy lie concealed, 
 expecting every moment the order to advance. The 
 firing, however, slackens ; and presently word comes 
 that the enemy are withdrawing. 
 
 Between the color-company and the next company, 
 through the centre of our line, runs the cart-track down 
 into the field, along which now is constantly passing a 
 stream of wounded men, on stretchers, or supported by 
 comrades, and lines of rebel prisoners. I am close 
 by, and can hear the talk of a sergeant, bloody, but 
 able to walk, who is glad he has had a chance to do 
 some service. I look, too, upon the ghastly head of a 
 
134 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 young lieutenant, who is dying upon his stretcher, and 
 upon many others. Prisoners come by in squads, 
 sometimes five or six, sometimes twenty or thirty ; some 
 in gray, some in blue, some in faded brown. Once in 
 a while, there is an intelligent, good-looking face ; more 
 often the features are unintelligent, the brutish face 
 of that deteriorating class, the white trash. Thus we 
 stand close at hand to suffering and death. 
 
 The pursuit is being continued down the road. Hours 
 pass, and we still remain in line. We cook, eat, and 
 sleep. I get out my portfolio, and write a little. In 
 the course of the day, up into the blue, calm sky go 
 mighty columns of smoke, with deep reports, the 
 explosions of rebel gunboats and transports, overtaken 
 in the Teche by the victorious army, and blown up by 
 their crews as they flee. Within half a dozen rods of 
 our line is a field-hospital, where lie, of one New- York 
 regiment, the wounded colonel, the dead lieutenant-colo 
 nel, adjutant, and other officers and men. Of other 
 regiments, too, are many wounded, federal and rebel, 
 some dying under the surgeon s hands. I go over 
 and see the writhing wounded, and the hospital attend 
 ants laying out the dead. An Irish private lies close by 
 the straight young adjutant, whose face is reverently 
 covered ; and not far off is a rebel, covered thick with 
 his own gore. Before death go down all distinctions 
 and animosities. 
 
 Does it not seem, when the experiences are so out of 
 the common course and so dreadful, as if there ought 
 to be some change in outward circumstances to make 
 
VICTORY. 135 
 
 them correspond ? But no : it was a perfect summer 
 day, an almost cloudless sky, with a cool, sweet wind 
 coming from the woods where the rebels had been hid 
 den ; the woods green and fresh and innocent, as if 
 they were only a haunt for fairies. 
 
 Toward night, I go down the cart-path to the actual 
 field, and see the broken muskets, the scattered knap 
 sacks and clothing, the furrows where the enemy lay, 
 the bloody pools where the dying fainted, the burial 
 parties, and the piles of distorted corpses lying by the 
 trenches just dug to receive them. I have wished, that, 
 so long as Ed. was to die, he might have met his death 
 in the front of battle, with a manly shout upon his lips, 
 and the light and ardors of the conflict shining forth 
 upon his face : but it is more dreadful than I had be 
 lieved ; and now I thank God that we could lay his fair 
 young body in the grave, undesecrated, with the limbs 
 unbroken, with no gash upon his youthful brow, nor 
 gory stain upon his noble breast. 
 
 They say we lost in the neighborhood of four hun 
 dred. Only one brigade was engaged. It was a bloody 
 strife. 
 
136 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 PURSUIT. 
 
 As the shadows grew long, we were ordered into line 
 again. I had just returned from the edge of the woods 
 where the conflict had been severest, and the dead were 
 being buried. I cast a farewell glance at the fence, 
 along the rails of which the rebels had rested their 
 pieces in the morning ; at the dense trunks filled in with 
 broad palms and thick standing canes that had been 
 their cover ; at the group burying the dead, a rebel 
 prisoner standing at the elbow of the sergeant in charge, 
 giving him the names of a pile of the enemy about 
 to be interred ; then we marched off. As we passed 
 the sugar-house, amputations and other severe surgical 
 operations were being performed. We went only a 
 short distance, then encamped in a broad field sloping 
 down to the Teche. Permission was given to get from 
 the neighboring plantations what was needed in the way 
 of food ; and, after an exciting day, the regiment was 
 SQon at rest, rest we had earned by the hardships of 
 the three or four previous nights, and which was invalua 
 ble to us as we came to undergo the privations and 
 labors of the following days. 
 
PURSUIT. 137 
 
 The camp was early astir on Wednesday. "We 
 bathed in the Teche, and watched the " Clifton," our 
 old, grim friend, which came steaming up ; the coast 
 being now clear for her through the explosions of the 
 day before. As soon as she had passed, it was time for 
 us to go ; for word spread that the rebels were retreat 
 ing into the interior, that we were to follow them at 
 once, and that this gunboat in the bayou, which gene 
 rally flows near the road, was to guard the flank of the 
 pursuing column. 
 
 The march was most fatiguing ; though in a proper 
 conveyance, that glorious day, the road would have 
 been very fine. Through some mistake, we had re 
 tained our knapsacks, and so were in heavy order, 
 although the army in general only carried the lightest 
 possible load. We passed the mansion of the stately 
 lady who pleaded for her son, where, a few days before, 
 it was said, the Confederate generals had been enter 
 tained at a splendid ball. The road here was bordered 
 by a hedge of orange-trees, whose fruit the soldiers 
 could pick as they passed. We saw signs everywhere 
 along the road of great wealth. The country of the 
 Teche, like that of the La Fourche, is a garden region ; 
 fine plantations succeeding each other continually ; the 
 sugar-houses looming large back on the estates ; the ne 
 groes gathering upon the fences and gates by the road 
 side, of all shades, of all degrees of ugliness and 
 beauty. Sometimes a hedge bordered the road, of 
 heavy, opulent foliage ; sometimes rich fields spread 
 away beyond the fences ; sometimes the bayou opened a 
 
138 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 few rods away, the current flowing between the sloping 
 oak-dotted banks. When the bayou was concealed, we 
 could often hear the regular clank of the " Clifton s " 
 machinery, steadily keeping pace with us, as we 
 plunged deeper and deeper into the heart of Rebeldom. 
 
 We came to a spot where the negroes say the rebels 
 meant to make a stand, then thought better of it. 
 We imagined the sallow, haggard hosts waiting in 
 their butternut-coats behind the fences ; then panting 
 forward again, as the hoof-beats of the Federal cavalry 
 came within hearing. The day grew burning hot. 
 We marched rapidly on, stopping occasionally to catch 
 our breath. Under every tree lay a group of panting 
 men. It was a forced march. Gen. Banks knows 
 every commander has been censured for not following 
 up successes ; and now the successes were to be followed 
 up. Right that it should be so ! Honor to our 
 leader s energy ! But, you people who clamor for rapid 
 movements, how little do you know what these things 
 cost the poor infantry-soldier ! This day I felt well, 
 and marched with the best ; though, when it grew to be 
 late afternoon, there was something cruel about the 
 steadfastness with which the blue-and-white brigade-flag 
 kept the road in advance. It was long before we saw 
 it waver, then turn into a field to the right, where was 
 to be our bivouac. We accomplished, that day, twenty- 
 five miles, by universal agreement; marching from 
 seven in the morning until near sunset, with an occa 
 sional rest of from two to fifteen minutes. 
 
 The trouble is, that, when the halt comes, you can- 
 
PURSUIT. 139 
 
 not begin your rest for a long time. First, wood must 
 be got. The load must be unslung from the back and 
 waist ; then, no matter how weary you may be, your 
 only chance is to run at full speed, with the rest, to the 
 fence designated to be used for fuel. Then there is a 
 tug for that ; in which your temper must be chained to 
 you, if it is not lost. Then the tent must be pitched ; 
 fresh water got ; rations drawn ; supper cooked ; and 
 perhaps, as happened to me this day, you have to sit up 
 till midnight to get the company s share of the beef 
 that is being killed during the evening. 
 
 During the night, the enemy fled again ; and early in 
 the morning we were in pursuit. The road was still 
 beautiful; the plantations, as before, rich with sugar- 
 houses, gardens, and well-filled poultry-yards, which 
 stragglers and negroes, who follow the army in hun 
 dreds, made free with. The heat became most oppres 
 sive. I have never found marching so difficult. Men, 
 by platoons almost, exhausted by the rapid walk of the 
 regiment, were turning in under hedge and bush. 
 Some, too, not exhausted, put on the pretence of it, 
 and fell behind, only to have opportunity to pillage when 
 the army had passed. I was determined to stand it 
 while I could : but hotter^rew the sun ; the dust filled 
 the stifling air; the rests seemed infrequent. I was 
 at the last point of exhaustion. I turned aside under a 
 clump of bushes, and had just time to fling open my 
 belts and straps, when my brain swam. I reeled, and 
 had just consciousness enough to direct my fall so as 
 to have my knapsack for a pillow ; then down I went, 
 
140 THE COLOK-GUARD. 
 
 every pore a fountain, completely used up. I lay 
 in a stupor thus, half conscious, half fainting by the 
 roadside, in the shade, while within a few feet rolled 
 and rumbled onward the advancing and victorious army. 
 Now the tramp of infantry ; now the sound of battery- 
 wheels ; now the white-covered wagons. "Yah moole ! " 
 
 I heard the darkey-drivers say to their mules, "I 
 knows you s tired an weak." But there was no rest for 
 man or beast. On they went, while I, lying there, half 
 gave my mind to the passing host, half dreamt of sweet 
 places, home, and my cool, quiet study, far away. 
 
 Oh ! well, it was soon over ; and one ought to be 
 willing to march, even till he faints, to make a victory 
 gained in this cause more decisive. At length, mem 
 bers of the regiment began to come up, farmers and 
 farmers boys. These sat down in my nook to "vow" 
 and "vum"and "van," in the most solemn manner, 
 that no hay-field or harvest experience ever came near 
 this. So we rested. A negro came by with chickens 
 and ducks slung on a pole. I got a duck from him ; 
 then, from another, I got a handful of onions to flavor 
 the stew. Then we went leisurely forward, and soon 
 were in the pleasant street of New Iberia ; by the side 
 of which, opposite a stately mansion, we found the 
 regiment again. 
 
 Not far from here is a salt-mine ; and a portion of 
 our brigade was detached at once, and sent to destroy 
 the works. Meantime, we picked my duck, under the 
 thick shade that bordered the Teche ; then bathed in 
 the dark, smooth stream, among the empty whiskey- 
 
PURSUIT. 141 
 
 barrels, which the rebels, only a few hours before, had 
 staved by the score, and emptied into the water. 
 
 We supposed we were to halt for a day or two in this 
 pretty village ; but the enemy fled fast : so the next 
 morning, early, we set out on another tedious march, 
 the order to "fall in" coming so suddenly, that we 
 had no time to make coffee or take any breakfast. 
 The drums beat as we went with conquering flags down 
 the village street, past the few rich mansions ; past 
 the Union Hospital (for we leave a hospital full of sick 
 and worn-out men wherever we stop) ; past the hospi 
 tal the rebels left behind them, with a pink flag at the 
 gate ; past Capt. Morton and the four companies of the 
 Fifty-second, which we left behind as provost-guard. 
 Soon we were beyond the village ; and, after a mile or 
 two, came to a turn in the road, where the advance, a 
 little while before, had had a sharp skirmish. Six or 
 seven dead horses lay in the road : one poor fellow, in 
 butternut, lay stretched on the sod, the morning 
 light, bright and unpitying, on his dead, uncovered 
 face. Five or six more were in a gully close by. 
 There had been no time yet to bury them. We, the 
 living, had not even time to eat ; and were sweeping 
 onward, without food, in our pursuit. We halted a 
 few moments in front of a plantation. Toussaint, a 
 monkey-faced negro attached to Company D, came out 
 with a basket full of elegant tapers ; and soldiers, who 
 left the ranks to fill their canteens., brought out word 
 of the splendor of the furniture, and the pillage it had 
 undergone. 
 
142 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 The character of the country changed soon after. 
 We found no- longer rich plantations, but came into a 
 region broad and prairie-like, where, on the far-stretch 
 ing plains, were feeding vast herds of cattle. The 
 broad pastures of Texas, now, were not very remote ; 
 and this region must resemble the land of the ranch and 
 lasso. The habitations became fewer, and of a much 
 poorer character. We had no longer the bayou to run 
 to for water ; and could only fill our canteens at stag 
 nant slimy pools, or stand and fight, at the few wells 
 we came to, by the half-hour, for a drink, while the 
 army hurried on. It was dreadfully tedious and hot. 
 We marched, by the hour together, over the flat, dusty 
 plains, under the burning sun. How intolerable it 
 was ! It was noon ; but we were still without breakfast. 
 The cartridge-box on one side, and haversack on the 
 other, pulled very heavily ; and gun and blankets 
 doubled their weight. 
 
 It is now two o clock, and we have sweltered and 
 hobbled on some fourteen miles. I am sadly footsore 
 at last ; though, until now, I have had no trouble. I do 
 not want to do myself permanent injury, nor bring 
 on premature age and breaking-down ; which I fear 
 I shall do, if I make a regular thing of marching until I 
 faint. " Mr. Grosvenor, will you fall out if I will ? " 
 Grosvenor is sick and weary, not yet fully recovered 
 from his fever in the winter, and only borne up by a 
 most unconquerable spirit. He is more nearly spent 
 than I am, and assents. We have half the regiment 
 for company, strewn along the whole line of our march. 
 
PURSUIT. 143 
 
 Pat O Toole remarked the other night, referring to me, 
 " Och ! the cor-r-piral, shure, is tougher than a biled 
 owl ! " I shall lose such commendations in future, I 
 fear. 
 
 Now that we have stopped, and left the dust and 
 crowd of the column, the breeze blows cool. We lie 
 and sleep under a little clump of trees for an hour or 
 two, then make coffee in my boiler, my dirty but 
 invaluable utensil. I happen to have part of a fine 
 chicken and some raw salt pork in my haversack. 
 We find some onions in a garden near. At a poor 
 house, close by, we fill our canteens at a well, among 
 a struggling crowd of worn-out soldiers. The master, 
 poor man ! has lost almost every thing. We pity him 
 and his little children, all they have a prey to this 
 thirsting and hungry soldiery. Grosvenor and I build 
 our fire by ourselves, and presently we have a delicious 
 soup bubbling. Grosvenor has salt and pepper ; and, 
 at the end of the afternoon, we have a grand dinner, 
 steaming hot, the first meal we have eaten during the 
 day. 
 
 Sunset is not far off when we finish. We are now 
 in better condition to move again, after our meal and 
 sleep, though Grosvenor is really too sick and weak to 
 stir. Two men, of a Maine regiment, come by with a 
 handcart they have " confiscated." We get permission 
 to throw in our burdens, if we will help draw the cart. 
 In this way we pull and push forward a mile or two, 
 our blistered feet making us limp at every step. Then 
 we come to a wide plain, where the road is swallowed 
 
144 TIIE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 up ; and every trace of the army disappears. I am for 
 pushing on during the twilight, which is now falling, 
 though we run the risk of being lost ; but Grosvenor is 
 too ill. The Maine men are worn out ; and the vote is, 
 to stay until the next morning in a deserted house used 
 to store cotton. We spread the cotton on the floor for 
 a bed. During the evening, other stragglers arrive, 
 Billy Wilson s men, Irishmen, negroes, so that, by 
 dark, the little house is full. One fellow has stolen a 
 fiddle, on whose broken strings he manages to scrape 
 out tunes. We listen to the fiddle a while, and wonder 
 where the army is ; but sleep comes very soon. 
 
 Next morning, we felt sure we had not far to go. 
 We went two or three miles over the plain, guessing at 
 the direction ; and at length struck a road, along which 
 it was plain an army had passed. Grosvenor fell by 
 the roadside, too ill to go farther ; while I set off to 
 find water. I could find nothing but filthy pools of 
 stagnant water, in which swine w r ere wallowing, and into 
 which bull-frogs large as chickens went floundering as 
 I came up. The circumstances were forlorn enough 
 for a sick man. At length, a train of battery-wagons 
 passed. We "cheeked" it with a negro-driver, and 
 jumped in over the tail-board of a forage-wagon, where 
 we rode until we were ignominiously expelled by a ser 
 geant. We had, however, reached the headquarters 
 of Paine s brigade, Emory s division ; and learned that 
 Grover was just ahead, in the advance. 
 
 We managed to get hold of some beef and a spider, 
 and cook a breakfast ; Gen. Paine, in his spectacles, 
 
PURSUIT. 145 
 
 writing on the porch of a house close by. Then we 
 tried to go forward again ; but Grosvenor dropped after 
 a few rods. I left him under a tree, and rushed back 
 along the road to an approaching cart : " A sick ser 
 geant ; cannot walk ; must join the regiment ; will not 
 take No for an answer." So at last they took us both 
 in. They were three soldiers of the One-hundred-and- 
 fourteenth New- York, who had confiscated a good 
 horse and a two-wheeled cart. They turned out to be 
 good fellows ; and now we got forward rapidly. 
 
 Gen. Banks and his staff went by us from the front. 
 They all eyed us sTiarply, and we feared they had de 
 signs on our horse. The New- York men had had 
 hard work to keep it out of the clutches of the cavalry ; 
 but this danger was passed like the previous ones. I 
 watched the general s cool, resolute face, for signs of 
 exultation. He had beaten the enemy in three battles ; 
 was driving them pell-mell before him, and possessing 
 himself of a vast region of country full of wealth 
 of every kind. I remembered Napier s description of 
 Wellington after the battle of Salamanca, and looked 
 to see a similar light on the countenance of our leader. 
 He looked happy, certainly, and like a conqueror ; 
 though he was dirty and imbrowned, like the rest of 
 us. 
 
 Soon after this, we halted in a grove, where were a 
 large number of rebel prisoners under guard. Our 
 companions cooked dinner, and I got out my portfolio. 
 Sweat and rain had penetrated the pasteboard, and 
 my little stock of paper was damp and discolored. I 
 
 7 
 
146 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 managed to write a few legible lines. From here it 
 was only about a mile to the camp of the regiment, 
 which had marched eighteen miles the day before. 
 They were in a grove, on the Bayou Yermilion. So 
 close were they the night before to the flying remnant 
 of the rebel column, that the bridge here was still in 
 flames, just becoming impassable. As they stacked 
 arms, a huge round shot came tossing in from the oppo 
 site bank, knocking down the guns, and causing a great 
 scattering among the men. Of Company D, only four 
 were left besides the captain, and Rogers, the first ser 
 geant ; the rest having all fallen out. Of the color- 
 guard, none were left ; the adjutant getting off his 
 horse, and bringing in the flags. Of the whole regi 
 ment which left Baton Rouge, about five hundred 
 strong, there were left that night, I think, only fifty- 
 nine. 
 
 It was hard. Remember our packing aboard the 
 " St. Mary s," when rest was almost impossible, our 
 exposure to the storm the night after we landed, and 
 then the marches. Our food was poor and insufficient. 
 We were in what is called "heavy order." After the 
 early morning, the sun became very hot ; and the tread 
 ing of the long columns soon beat the roads to dust. 
 Wednesday, we accomplished twenty-five miles ; Thurs 
 day, twelve or thirteen ; Friday, without an opportu 
 nity to cook any thing, eighteen or nineteen. 
 
 There was more to be done, however. 
 
 "Which is best," said the colonel, "to undergo all 
 this fatigue and labor, or to fight bloody battles, and 
 
PURSUIT. 147 
 
 lose half the regiment, besides giving the enemy time to 
 prepare everywhere for our coming ? " 
 
 Banks had the alternative to follow by forced marches 
 on the very heels of the rebels, or to fight battles. If 
 we had gone more slowly, they would have stopped and 
 fortified, and been prepared to fight us again and again. 
 Saturday night, the bridge was rebuilt. The Fifty- 
 second was ordered across in advance of every thing, to 
 guard it. We lay down after dark on the opposite 
 bank, and presently were drenched by torrents of rain 
 in a furious tempest. We lay in the pools, under the 
 storm, until morning ; then, with all our baggage 
 weighing double, we started off through deep mud for 
 Opelousas ; accomplishing the march of about twenty- 
 five miles during Sunday and Monday. Have we not 
 earned our present rest? 
 
 I have just had a glance at a map. How little one 
 can tell ! Louisiana is done up neatly in pink. There 
 is a cool-looking sheet of water, that dismal grand 
 lake, where we came so near " going up," all of us, 
 aboard the " St. Mary s." From Franklin to New 
 Iberia is a little stretch-up through the pink. How- 
 small ! with not a hint of those choking, dusty leagues, 
 along which we almost left our lives as we limped over 
 them. Nor toward Opelousas is there any suggestion 
 of those parched and dreary plains. It is unsatisfactory ; 
 but catch us forgetting what ache and sweat and hun 
 ger that distance cost us ! 
 
148 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTEK XI. 
 
 ON THE BAYOU COURTABLEAU. 
 
 APRIL 29. This is the Bayou Courtableau, a spot 
 called Barre s Landing, about eight miles from Opelousas, 
 whence we marched last Sunday. We are glad of the 
 change. Water could only be got at our Opelousas 
 camp by going a respectable pedestrian journey. More 
 over, at our first coming, creatures by the score fell 
 victims to our hunger. Parts of the carcasses of these 
 had been left, and were tainting the whole neighborhood. 
 We were not sorry, therefore, when the order came to 
 march here, a march we accomplished in a leisurely 
 fashion, taking most of the day for it; mourning, 
 some of us, that the day must go by without observ 
 ance, like so many previous Sundays : but, on the 
 whole, not an unhappy company ; for we were rested 
 now ; and a night or two before, at dress-parade, we 
 had heard Gen. Banks s congratulatory order, which told 
 us we had done something, taken a large number of 
 prisoners, beaten the enemy in three or four battles, 
 destroyed several gun-boats and transports, &c. 
 
 Opelousas was a dreary little place, where we found 
 vegetating a population of French Creoles, old men, 
 
ON THE BAYOU COURTABLEAU. 149 
 
 women, and children. The younger men are probably 
 all in the rebel army. McGill and I, one day, got 
 leave to walk about the streets. McGill was brought 
 up in Canada, and his patois appeared to serve him as 
 well with^these Creoles as if he were in Quebec. Pro 
 fessions of loyalty were plenty enough ; but we imagined 
 they talked in a different strain a morning or two before, 
 when the wreck of the rebel army came panting through, 
 and the Texans took horses to escape to their own 
 State. 
 
 My arrest was my most noteworthy adventure at 
 Opelousas. It was the fourth or fifth day of our stay 
 there. I was tired of lying with the lizards under the 
 shelter-tent : so, as Bivins and two of the corporals were 
 going off on a sugar expedition, I joined them. We 
 went to the " Swayze Place," where my companions 
 had been before. They had given such accounts of its 
 elegance as to arouse our interest. We made our way 
 through a forest (killing a rattlesnake in our course) , 
 entered the plantation gate, passed through a rather 
 squalid purlieu of negro huts, then came to the man 
 sion itself, a one-story dwelling, with neat veranda 
 and some marks of taste, though house and surround 
 ings lacked finish. The garden was a wreck; and 
 through this we passed without hinderance, by the open 
 door, into what had been elegantly furnished apart 
 ments. One had been a library ; and the floor was 
 strewn with a litter of valuable books. One had been 
 a dining-room, at one side of which stood a handsomely 
 carved sideboard. In the parlor was a rich piano, and 
 
150 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 other furniture in keeping, all overturned, scattered, 
 and marred. We went into bedrooms, where were 
 handsome canopied beds, and heavy furniture of rose 
 wood. In one was a large mirror, in which I caught 
 sight of a very swarthy and travel-stained warrior, 
 whom I should never have recognized. 
 
 I hurried out with an uncomfortable feeling. The 
 pillage and destruction were due in part to our soldiers, 
 in part to the negroes. It was discreditable and pain 
 ful. At the sugar-house was sugar going to waste. 
 My companions took what they could carry in their 
 blankets, and I took from the deserted garden a handful 
 of onions, articles really necessary, short of rations 
 as we were, and which we had been instructed we might 
 take. Then we washed and filled our canteens from 
 the broken bucket of the old well ; then going forward, 
 on our way back we met a company of men coming 
 through the gate. 
 
 "Is it a picket, or what?" said we unsuspectingly; 
 but, as they came up, they wheeled around us. 
 
 " Fall in as prisoners ! " said the lieutenant in charge ; 
 and in we were forced to go, my companions with their 
 sugar, and I with my fragrant burden. 
 
 First they marched us back, while they picked up 
 cavalry-men and others prowling about as we had 
 been. Then, with the arrested culprits, the guard set 
 off through the woods for the camp. 
 
 We learned, in one way and another, that grave 
 misdemeanors had been committed on the estate ; that 
 complaint had been made to Gen. Grover, and that the 
 
ON THE BAYOU COUKTABLEAU. 151 
 
 guard had been despatched at once to arrest all they 
 could find. We passed the brigade in ignominious 
 procession. What was to become of me ? Word had 
 gone back to my excellent parishioners at the North once 
 before, that their minister and his comrades, when likely 
 to go into danger, fortified their courage with doses of 
 gunpowder and rum ! Now he was arrested as a " me- 
 rooder." Would it not be the last of me? 
 
 We reached the general s tent at last ; the general, 
 as is his habit, pacing thoughtfully up and down in front 
 of it. " File right, file left ; halt ! " We are in the 
 presence. One of the culprits was very distingue in a 
 white shirt, a " clean biled shirt," in campaigning 
 parlance. This, it seems, he had stolen. 
 
 " Tie the man that stole the shirt to the fence here. 
 Take the others to your camp, and keep them without 
 food or drink until further orders." 
 
 On his heel again swings the general. " Eight about, 
 and forward ! " to us. 
 
 In a dismal field we .are left, with our feet in a 
 ditch ; the sun pouring down, and no shade. A bayo 
 net, with a full-blown Paddy to manage it, blocks every 
 avenue of escape. Toye and Stowell are hungry and 
 wrathy ; I am rueful ; but Bivins makes light of his 
 misfortunes. If the sergeant knew the words, I am 
 sure he would repeat, " Stone-walls do not a prison 
 make." As it is, he sports with his chains, and, so to 
 speak, makes his dungeon ring with derisive laughter. 
 We are in our shirt-sleeves, and dread the cold as night 
 approaches. Toward dusk, I catch sight of a friend, 
 
152 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 just within hail, who is summoned with loud shoutings, 
 and sent off with a message to the colonel. In about 
 an hour, enter the colonel, on horseback, into the 
 circle of firelight where we are sitting. 
 
 "Well, well! how is this?" 
 
 We tell him our story. We are ignorant of having 
 broken any regulation. We are confined without judge 
 or jury. 
 
 " Cannot you get us out ? We want our hard tack ; 
 we wa^it to go to bed." 
 
 The colonel has made strong representations to the 
 general, to no purpose. 
 
 " Culprits are generally the most moral and orderly 
 men in a regiment, according to their officers showing. 
 At any rate, your men were in very bad company, and 
 must stand it." 
 
 All the colonel, even, can do, is to pass sympathy, as 
 it were, through our dungeon-grate, and order over our 
 blankets from the camp. 
 
 My friend who carried the message comes up again, 
 when it is dark enough, and tips me the wink ; and, while 
 we engage apparently in indifferent conversation (to 
 delude the vigilant guard) , a cold chicken is slipped from 
 his blouse under my vest, and a pile of hard bread 
 secreted under the blanket. In this transaction, however, 
 we are detected by Corporal Billy Mulligan, the amiable 
 functionary in charge. He, however, stooping, whis 
 pers, 
 
 " Only kape thim from the liftinant, an niver a 
 word ll I say." 
 
ON THE BAYOU COURT ABLE AU. 153 
 
 So we have a comfortable supper, in spite of Gen. 
 Grover ; then stretch ourselves across a furrow in the 
 starlight. Morning does not bring us release, nor yet 
 noon. Corporal Mulligan prophesies disgrace. Allud 
 ing to our badges as sergeants and corporals, it is, 
 
 "Och, bys ! but they ll be afther takin thim stripes 
 aff ye." 
 
 la the afternoon, we rig up a little canopy to keep 
 off the sun. A grand review takes place. The Fifty- 
 second marches by, little Claypole carrying the flag; 
 Company D looking across the field to see their captured 
 comrades. We wave our coats and caps, like men 
 wrecked on a desert island to a passing ship. Grosve- 
 nor has got" well, and waves back to us ; so the others. 
 At sundown, however, deliverance comes. Corporal 
 Mulligan bids us an affectionate adieu. 
 
 o 
 
 "Be gorra ! it s not mesilf that wanted to hould ye." 
 
 Gen. Grover vouchsafes no explanation of arrest or 
 release. The dungeon yawns, and the oppressed go 
 free. 
 
 Officers and men enjoy getting off sly jokes at me 
 about my scrape ; but, on the whole, I look back upon 
 it with pleasure, as helping to round the cycle of my 
 military experiences. 
 
 May 2. We begin to see the wisdom of our rapid 
 marching. We not only prevented the enemy from 
 making a stand and fortifying, but we completely 
 demoralized and dissipated his force, taking a large 
 part prisoners. This chain of narrow bayous too, and 
 shallow lakes, which we must hold unobstructed for 
 
154 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 navigation, if the country is to be held, could never 
 have been gained but by our hasty marches. A night s 
 intelligent work, by a few score of men, would put 
 obstacles in the channels, which could not be removed 
 for a long time ; but, so rapid and overwhelming was 
 our rush, there was no time to accomplish even this. 
 Then, too, there was no time for the destruction of 
 property ; so that steamers now can come from New 
 Orleans and Brashear City to this remote landing, 
 bringing supplies to the army, and go back loaded to 
 the water s edge with cotton and sugar. These pro 
 ducts are found in great quantities, stored everywhere. 
 A mountain of bales is piled up on the river-bank, to 
 which hundreds of teams are continually adding. We 
 are stationed here, with two or three other regiments, 
 to serve as a guard while this property is being gath 
 ered. Is this hard? It is the Government policy, and 
 would be thus defended. The owners of all this are 
 rebels, who have fled at our approach, not waiting to 
 take the oath of allegiance. It is right, therefore, 
 to confiscate their property. It is a hard thing ; but it 
 seems much less hard when you think that the wealth 
 thus taken was accumulated b^the unrequited labor of 
 negroes. I remember the axiom at the foundation 
 of the science of political economy, that the basis of 
 wealth is human work and sweat. Who should enjoy 
 the benefits of the wealth, but those who work and 
 sweat? It is right to take this, and use it in defraying 
 our expenses in this war ; for in our triumph is coming 
 the time of jubilee to these unpaid blacks. 
 
ON THE BAYOU COURTABLEAU. 155 
 
 Great barbarities, however, I fear have been com 
 mitted. They say ear-rings have been torn from the 
 ears of women, and brooches from their bosoms, while 
 they sat with children in their arms. At Opelousas, 
 an order of Gen. Banks was read, speaking of the con 
 duct of the stragglers as bringing the deepest disgrace 
 upon us, disgrace so deep as almost to cancel the 
 glory of the success. Of these enormities, I myself 
 have seen but little. They were committed by strag 
 glers ; and except on one occasion, when I remained 
 to take care of Sergeant Grosvenor, I did not spend a 
 night away from my place in the regiment. 
 
 I have spoken of the fine mansion just this side of 
 New Iberia, out of which Toussaint brought the hand 
 some tapers. I did not go in ; but men came out telling 
 of the smashing of mirrors and furniture, and other 
 ruthless vandalism. The destruction upon the Swayze 
 Estate I saw after it was accomplished. I am glad 
 that our regiment cannot be held guilty of any thing of 
 this sort. There is a public sentiment among us which 
 reprobates such acts. There are a few in each company, 
 perhaps, who might take advantage of an opportunity, 
 and be savages ; but they do not represent us. Any 
 thing necessary to our support we did take, and with 
 the permission of our leaders. The wagon-trains were 
 often far behind : we could not carry much in our haver 
 sacks ; and, at any rate, coffee, hard bread, and salt 
 pork, were pretty much the only food furnished. To 
 support our exertions, we needed more abundant and 
 palatable food. We made free, therefore, with herds, 
 
156 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 hen-coops, and plantation-stores, which were going to 
 waste. Let me own up frankly to pillaging, to 
 having stolen onions in the Swayze Garden ; to having 
 assisted in the robbing of sugar-casks ; to having held 
 the candle while a lot of purloined cattle were being 
 butchered. All this, however, I claim, was unavoidable ; 
 and it was certainly permitted. For the other unneces 
 sary robbery, I disclaim, for the Fifty-second Massachu 
 setts, all connection with it. It is bad enough; but I 
 believe it is foolish to call it unparalleled, as some do 
 call it. I have read enough of war and siege, of 
 Magdeburg, of Badajos, of San Sebastian and Cri 
 mean outrages, to know that such things are only the 
 usual accompaniments of a great struggle. But how 
 dreadful is war ! how inexcusable, except when it is the 
 only way to maintain goodness and refinement and 
 truth against aggressive barbarism ! 
 
 Our camp now is beautiful. Who is it (one of the 
 Brontes ?) who is so eloquent about her love for midsum 
 mer, with its white, opulent cloud-masses and superb 
 verdure? This is the weather we have. Glorious 
 heavens, and a glorious earth in forest and plain ! and 
 all night long the moon walks in splendor, transfiguring 
 the soldier s brown face as he lies with his tent open to 
 the wind, and his burnished weapons at his hand. 
 
 May 14. A gentle rain is pattering on the tent- 
 roof, grateful to us now as a shower in August in 
 Northern city or hamlet. To its soothing music the 
 other men have gone to sleep ; while I sit here with my 
 back to the tent-pole, writing words to this pretty pat- 
 
ON THE BAYOU COUKTABLEAU. 157 
 
 tering tune. May is going ; and we are, generally 
 speaking, as idle here as during the previous month 
 we were active. It is nearly three weeks since we 
 encamped on the Courtableau, weeks of glorious 
 summer. Day and night, along the bayou, the mock 
 ing-bird " shakes from his little throat whole floods of 
 delirious music ; " and over the stream, from the boughs 
 of the big trees, hang the ladders of moss, the Jacob s 
 ladders, on which " the angels, ascending, descending, 
 are the swift humming-birds." The distant forest line 
 is blue to the eye, and of impenetrable density. What 
 enchanter s incense is this sweet blue haze ! lulling the 
 outer sense, stimulating the fancy ; so that I sit under 
 our booth, my eyes upon the far-away woods, dreaming 
 of romance, just now of the "wood of Broceliande," 
 and Vivien charming Merlin with her spells " of woven 
 paces and of waving arms." O sweet "Idyls of the 
 King " ! is there any poetry like you ? It is all beau 
 tiful. But our sojourn here is inglorious. Instead of 
 being left behind to guard cotton, I would have pre 
 ferred to march with Banks to the Red River : a cup 
 of fatigue and hardship it would have been, but glori 
 ously dashed with excitement. 
 
 The pile of cotton is a mountain on the landing. All 
 day long, every day for weeks, teams have brought 
 it in, until it almost seems worth while to build here the 
 factories that are to work it up into fabric ; but, since 
 Mahomet will not come to the mountain (to set on its 
 head the saying) , the mountain is going to Mahomet. 
 Down it goes, piecemeal, through the bayou, on little 
 
158 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 steamers padded out like lank belles, at every available 
 place, into portentous embonpoint. They say our 
 business here will be finished when the cotton is carried 
 away : so we watch the slow decrease of the pile, hear 
 the mocking-birds, wash lazily in the bayou in contempt 
 of alligators, and live along. 
 
 Along the bank of the stream is an immense camp 
 of negroes. They have come by thousands from the 
 whole country round. Generally, their masters appear 
 to have fled ; and the negroes, harnessing up the mules, 
 loading in their families together with their own and 
 their masters goods, have come crowding in to us. 
 They come trustingly, rejoicing in their freedom. By 
 night, until long past midnight sometimes, we can hear 
 them shout, pray, and sing. Gen. Ullman has been 
 here, and the able-bodied men are to become soldiers. 
 The women and older men, and all not fit for military 
 duty, are to go on to plantations taken by the Govern 
 ment or by loyal men. They are to receive wages, and 
 be well cared for. No doubt, their condition will be 
 distressing in many cases. For them, it is a most 
 momentous period of transition, a crisis which they 
 can hardly pass without suffering ; but it will be tem 
 porary, and a bright future lies before them. 
 
 The other day, on the bank of the bayou, I found a 
 man, born, as he said, in New Jersey. He came South 
 as steward of a ship, and was coolly sold by his captain 
 into slavery at New Orleans. From there he became a 
 plantation-hand, and for fifteen years had been in 
 bondage. 
 
ON THE BAYOU COURTABLEAU. 159 
 
 Last week, there came shivering through to us from 
 Port Hudson, forty miles away, the boom of a mighty 
 bombardment. We heard them, Friday and Satur 
 day, getting the range ; then Saturday night, it was 
 starlight, and all calm as an infant s sleep, that night 
 we heard the roar of the real attack, continuous 
 thunder from the far north-east. We could tell the 
 sharp reports of the Parrotts, the heavier boom of 
 Dahlgren, the long-drawn crash of mortar. The 
 whole air listened ; and the land trembled, as if it par 
 took in the guilt of its inhabitants, and quailed beneath 
 the blasting and thunderous retribution that was falling. 
 We felt it, rather than heard it, all through the long 
 night, coming through desolate fen and over plain, 
 through wood and over stream ; imparting tremor to 
 every foot in those dreary, intervening leagues, as if the 
 Genius of the conquering North were making the land 
 feel everywhere the -indignant stamp of her resistless 
 heel! 
 
 So we live and listen and wait. I am reduced now 
 to about the last stage. My poor blouse grows rag- 
 geder. My boots, as boys say, are hungry in many 
 places. I have only one shirt ; and that has shrunk 
 about the neck, until buttons and button-holes are irre 
 trievably divorced, and cannot be forced to meet. 
 Washing-days, if I were anywhere else, I should have to 
 lie abed until the washer-woman brought home the shirt. 
 Now I cannot lie abed, for two reasons : first, I am 
 washer-woman myself; second, the bed is only bed at 
 night. By daytime, it is parlor-iloor, divan, dining- 
 
160 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 table, and library, and therefore taken up. I button 
 up in my blouse, therefore ; and can so fix myself, and 
 so brass matters through, that you would hardly 
 suspect, unless you looked sharp, what a whited sepul 
 chre it was that stood before you. I have long been 
 without a cup. Somebody stole mine long ago ; and I, 
 unfortunate for me, am deterred, by the relic of a moral 
 scruple which still lingers in my breast, from stealing 
 somebody else s in return. My plate is the original 
 Camp-Miller tin plate, worn down now to the iron. I 
 have leaned and lain and stood on it, until it looks as 
 if it were in the habit of being used in the exhibitions 
 of some strong man, who rolled it up and unrolled it 
 to show the strength of his fingers. There is a big 
 crack down the side; and, soup-days, there is a great 
 rivalry between that crack and my mouth, the point 
 . of strife being, which shall swallow most of the soup ; 
 the crack generally getting the best of it. 
 
 Rations pall now-a-days. The thought of soft bread 
 is an oasis in the memory. Instead of that, our 
 wearied molars know only hard-tack, and hard salt 
 beef and pork. We pine for simple fruits and vegeta 
 bles. The other day, however, I received a gift. An 
 easy-conscienced friend of mine brought in a vast 
 amount of provender from a foraging expedition, and 
 bestowed upon me a superb turkey, the biggest 
 turkey I ever saw ; probably the grandfather of his 
 whole race. His neck and breast were decorated with 
 a va st number of red and purple tassels and trimmings. 
 He was very fat, moreover ; so that he looked like an 
 
ON THE BAYOU COURTABLEAU. 161 
 
 apoplectic sultan. I carried him home with toil and 
 sweat ; but what to do with him for the night ! If he 
 had been left outside, he would certainly have been 
 stolen : so the only way was to make a bedfellow of 
 him. Occasionally he woke up, and "gobbled;" and 
 I feared all night long the peck of his bill and the im 
 pact of his spurs. In the morning, we immolated him 
 with appropriate ceremonies. The chaplain s coal -hod, 
 the best thing in camp to make a soup in , was in use ; 
 but I found a kettle, and presided over the preparation 
 of an immense and savory stew, the memory whereof 
 will ever steam up to me from the past with grateful 
 sweetness. 
 
 In spite of hard fare, I appear to flourish. The 
 other day, I thought I was afflicted with some strange 
 and terrible disease. I was growing short-winded, and 
 had a novel fulness about the waist, which tightened 
 my vest-buttons. Yesterday, however, I was weighed, 
 and found myself fourteen or fifteen pounds beyond my 
 usual weight. I was short-winded only because I was 
 pursy ; and the protuberant stomach was simply adipose. 
 My gait, too, I thought was affected. Alas ! is it 
 simply that I waddle? 
 
102 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 IN THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 JUNE 1. A fortnight ago to-day, having obtained 
 the requisite permit ; having washed off the stains 
 which rough work had left, and drawn a new blouse, 
 with the chaplain and surgeon, I embarked on the Cour- 
 tableau for Brashear City. We left the Fifty-second 
 under marching orders for the same point, a long, 
 tedious, fatiguing piece of work. I felt a little uncom 
 fortable, hearty as I was, at riding down at my ease, 
 while sick men must march it ; but the errand upon 
 which I was bound, I felt to be of the first importance. 
 
 The little steamer was loaded almost to sinking with 
 cotton, contrabands, and soldiers of the brigade too 
 feeble to endure the march of one hundred and thirty 
 miles. We had for pilot a smart negro, who told me 
 about the Red -River raft and the former difficulties of 
 the Atchafalaya ; through which stream he claimed to 
 have been the first man to navigate a steamboat. The 
 Courtableau was narrow and winding ; densely wooded 
 on both sides ; the channel often running close to the 
 boughs : so that, all the way down the stream, upon 
 the branches had caught shreds of cotton from the bales 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 163 
 
 aboard the steamers, as people carried into captivity by 
 the Indians, in old times, left pieces of their dress to 
 mark a path for pursuing friends. Alligators were 
 numerous as turtles in a Northern mill-pond in hot 
 weather, sunning themselves on logs or slimy banks, or 
 swimming in the stream, scaly, ungainly objects ! a 
 race left over from the pre- Adamite world, which ought 
 to have received its quietus with the pterodactyls ; yet 
 a race not out of place in the swamp-country of Loui 
 siana, which seems at least one whole geologic age 
 behind the rest of the world. 
 
 The Atchafalaya, which receives the Corn-tableau, is 
 scarcely wider than its tributary. The current we 
 found very swift, and the river sometimes almost doubled 
 backward. My black friend in the pilot-house, how 
 ever, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the 
 engine-bell, was equal to every crisis. We passed into 
 snaggy lakes at last ; then into the Grand Lake, where 
 we saw the landing, from which, about a month before, 
 we had advanced toward Franklin. In due time, we 
 reached Brashear City ; whence, the next day, we took 
 the train for New Orleans. 
 
 I bought a handsome slab of marble, and caused it 
 to be suitably inscribed for Edward s grave ; and, when 
 it was done, I took passage on a Government-transport 
 for Baton Rouge. We left Baton Rouge early in 
 April, full of troops ; but now, with the exception of a 
 few pale convalescents and a negro regiment, the streets 
 were as innocent of drum-music and soldiers tramp 
 as if peace had come. The works near the cemetery 
 
164 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 had been built, during our absence, into a formidable 
 citadel, frowning upon the eastern woods, and upon the 
 river to the west, with mailed and weaponed brows. 
 The grave, however, was unchanged ; the cross, white at 
 the head; the vine covering it deep, and still bearing a 
 few late blossoms. I reared the marble in the early 
 morning sunlight, to stand a pure and enduring sentinel 
 until we can bring his ashes to rest nearer home. 
 
 At Baton Eouge, we heard first of the sudden invest 
 ment of Port Hudson by Gen. Banks ; and that every 
 day, in front of the beleaguered fortress, such a battle 
 was threatened as the department had never known. 
 The transports were all detained to wait for this struggle ; 
 and even the sick had been sent up from the hospitals 
 to do duty with the ambulances. There would be no 
 opportunity to rejoin the regiment for some days ; so I 
 went to the medical director : "I am so-and-so, doctor, 
 on leave of absence. If I can be of service, send nie 
 up as a nurse till I can rejoin my regiment." That 
 night I went to " Springfield Landing," three miles 
 below the grim, hostile batteries, as near as peaceful 
 vessels dare go. As we touched land at midnight, the 
 air was full of thunder ; and whirling among the stars 
 went the lighted fuses of the slow-revolving bombs, 
 high up toward the zenith, then dropping through a 
 long, fire-lit arc to a deep explosion, all this now 
 close at hand : what we had been hearing on the remote 
 bayou, fifty miles away. 
 
 Here began my week of hospital- work, a week 
 of most profound and soul-touching experiences, a 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 165 
 
 week when work went on from day-dawn to day-dawn 
 almost without intermission ; when new resources and 
 new strength were developed in all who were there. 
 
 Without mattress or covering, I had been sleeping 
 on the bare boards of the cabin, when the halting of 
 the boat, and the roar of the fleet-guns in the river 
 just ahead, awakened me. As the bow touched the 
 shore, a slight, pleasant-faced gentleman, with nothing 
 to denote his connection with the army but a little badge 
 on his Panama-hat, came up the cabin-stairs. 
 
 "Where can I find Dr. L , sir?" 
 
 " I am Dr. L ," was his answer ; and I presented 
 
 my credentials. The doctor was in charge of the hos 
 pital at the landing. There were tents pitched ; but 
 they were filled with stores or with other men : so, for 
 the night, I remained aboard the steamer ; and, in spite 
 of the cannonade, slept well. 
 
 I arose at dawn, it was Sunday, the 24th of May, 
 and took the first view by daylight of my new loca 
 tion. The river, I found, was here divided, Prophet 
 Island standing between the two branches of the stream. 
 I could see the " Richmond " at the distance of about a 
 mile and a half up the river, and was told that the 
 remaining vessels of the fleet lay near her. Beyond 
 the "Richmond" lay the threatening line of bluffs, on 
 which were planted the rebel batteries ; but from that 
 distance they could not be seen. 
 
 Close at hand, the shore was so low as evidently to 
 be covered by the river at high water. The soil gave 
 evidence of having been lately submerged, though now 
 
166 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 it was dry. Dr. L s tents, two or three in num 
 ber, were pitched in a grove of young saplings, in the 
 rear of a great pile of ammunition and subsistence. 
 Back of these, again, ran the road by which communi 
 cation was maintained with the army. The " Kineo " 
 lay at anchor a rod or two from shore ; and up the 
 bank a little way were tents, and three or four Parrott 
 siege-guns of the largest caliber I have ever seen on 
 wheels. The only building near was an old warehouse, 
 which we tore to pieces for fuel. 
 
 Breakfast was cooked among the saplings ; and there I 
 first met my fellow-nurses. There were two stout cor 
 porals of a Maine regiment, good-natured and bovine ; 
 a round-faced corporal of another regiment ; a stout 
 battery-man an ex-teamster from the Quincy quarries 
 of the Fourth Massachusetts regiment ; the skipper 
 of a West -India trading -brig, who had come from 
 Bangor to try his hand at war ; &c. Most of them 
 were convalescents from Baton Rouge, not yet recovered 
 enough to rejoin their regiments, but considered fit for 
 hospital-duty. So great was the want of men, that the 
 sick were almost taken from their beds and set to work. 
 There was also a hospital -steward, a good-looking, 
 capable fellow, with his golden caduceus, embroidered 
 upon green, just above his elbow. There was, besides, 
 a functionary whom we called the commissary, whose 
 business was to guard and deal out the stores. 
 
 A great battle might happen at any hour. Already 
 many wounded had been brought in, and despatched to 
 Baton Rouge, from the preliminary skirmishes ; and it 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL* 167 
 
 was high time for the doctor to complete his prepara 
 tions. He collected us in line before him, and gave us 
 his instructions. We were not to go from the landing : 
 we were to pay most careful attention to the comfort of 
 the wounded ; and, if we were detailed to go to Baton 
 Rouge with boat-loads of them, there must be perfect 
 kindness and faithfulness. 
 
 There was plenty to be done. We could hear the 
 sound of heavy guns at the front ; and all the morning we 
 were very busy pitching new tents, sweeping and police- 
 ing about the hospital, collecting fuel, and chopping 
 down inconvenient trees. When I am with the regi 
 ment, owing to my profession, which is generally known, 
 I am treated with some deference. Things have been 
 made easy for me by the kindness of friends ; and I am 
 spared many of the rough knocks to which the rank and 
 file in general are exposed. Here, however, I was 
 unknown. I stood among the rest simply a corporal 
 of infantry. No one knew me as a clergyman ; we 
 none of us knew each other s antecedents and expecta 
 tions. We were briskly ordered here and there. I 
 was glad to see that I passed among the others for a 
 pretty stout fellow ; being set with the strongest to chop 
 and dig and clean. I worked with a will ; and believe 
 I established myself that first day, in the good opinion 
 of the doctor and the steward, as a pretty tolerable 
 hand. Most of the nurses being convalescents, a good 
 deal fell to the share of the two or three of us who 
 called ourselves well. 
 
 At noon, a number of sick arrived from the front. 
 
168 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 We heard sharper firing. The "Kineo," weighing an 
 chor, her crew, who all the morning had been on 
 deck, in clean, fresh dresses, stripping off their shirts, 
 began to make headway up stream to go into action. 
 Presently we heard her eleven-inch gun close up under 
 the batteries. During the afternoon, long trains of 
 army-wagons took off commissary and ordnance stores ; 
 the useful mule-teams dragging through the light soil 
 loads that would soon use up the stoutest horses. At 
 the end of the afternoon, the medical director came 
 
 up with Dr. F , who is to be associated with Dr. 
 
 L in the conduct of the hospital. With these 
 
 gentlemen came ice, lemons, soft bread, wine, &c. ; 
 which we got up to the tents, then went to work vigor 
 ously on ice-houses. The medical director went to the 
 front, and brought back word, at dark, that the "news 
 is good ; we are closing in on them ; the assault is im 
 pending, and we must be ready." 
 
 Next day we finish our ice-houses. We get through, 
 too, with our tent-pitching, putting up two large 
 pavilions, capable of holding about sixty wounded, 
 stretched out at length, with comfort, and more than 
 that with crowding. At noon came in more of the sick, 
 and the first wounded man since my arrival. We carry 
 him on his stretcher out under the trees, where it is 
 shady and cool ; and I, anxious to be broken in as soon 
 as possible, kneel down by the side of the hospital 
 steward to learn the operations of dressing. This man 
 had been shot through the leg in a skirmish ; not a 
 severe hurt, as compared with wounds often received. 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 169 
 
 I moisten the bandages, dry and stiff with blood, until 
 they unwind easily. We lay bare and gently wash the 
 bullet-holes through the limb, apply fresh lint and clean 
 bandages, and bring the man to rest under the tent. 
 In the afternoon, we have arrivals of thirty or forty 
 sick or wounded. The ambulances stop in the road ; 
 and we go down with stretchers, four men to each. 
 Generally, the wounded are sadly wearied and jolted 
 by the long ride over a rough road. They come with 
 various hurts, shot in body, head, legs, and arms. 
 As gently as we can, we move them from the wagons 
 to the stretchers ; then from the stretchers again to the 
 pallets on the floors of the tents. 
 
 It grew dark while they were arriving. We moist 
 ened their bandages, gave them iced lemonade and 
 punch, and brought them toast and tea from the cook s. 
 One was a stout German sergeant, shot through the 
 foot accidentally by a comrade. We had numbers of 
 such cases. Several had lost an arm, the stump being 
 done up in bloody bandages ; many had had a hand or 
 foot badly shattered. By candle-light, the surgeons 
 made their rounds. At this depot, all that was intended 
 was to refresh the patients, and transfer them comforta 
 bly to the boats for Baton Rouge. There convenient 
 hospitals were prepared, and surgeons to attend them. 
 Here it was the design only to dress such wounds as 
 needed it at once, and perform such operations as were 
 immediately pressing. 
 
 This night, I saw a wound probed for the first time. 
 The bullet had entered just above the knee. Dr. F. 
 
 8 
 
170 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 came in with his probe, a fine instrument of steel, with 
 a small ball of ivory at the end. I shrank from seeing 
 it done, but thought I must accustom myself to it, or I 
 should be able to do nothing at all. The patient was a 
 brave, easy fellow, who started coolly, in the operation, to 
 hold the light for the doctor, himself. The pain was too 
 great for that : but still he was smiling and unflinching 
 through the whole of it ; straightening up on his hands 
 from his couch, and offering his leg to the instrument. 
 
 From evening it becomes night. The surgeons re 
 tire ; and one by one the nurses drop off, until at length, 
 long past midnight, only two or three of us are left. 
 The candles burn low; the wounded sleep, or groan as 
 their smarts and aches drive away slumber. Carefully 
 and quietly we step frcmi one to another, and soothe 
 them as tenderly as we can. At last, we wake up 
 some of the nurses who have slept ; and, expecting a 
 hard day when the sun rises, lay down for a few hours 
 rest ourselves. 
 
 Tuesday morning, after all, opened with little to be 
 done. Before I rose, the wounded we had been tend 
 ing had been moved aboard a steamer, and were on 
 their way to comfort. The ice-houses now were all 
 filled. Among the stores were quantities of whiskey, 
 wine, lemons, soft bread, lint, bandages, &c. The 
 surgeons had their instruments in readiness ; the cooks 
 had convenient kitchens, and huge boilers for making 
 soup, tea, and coffee. Negroes were procured to sweep 
 out the great tents, clear out the bloody bandages and 
 cotton, and lay beds, sweet and fresh, for the next lot 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 171 
 
 of sufferers. The doctors were kind, and wished us to 
 rest while we could. During the forenoon, I slept ; at 
 noon, dined light on soft bread and tea (for, during this 
 whole week, our fare was rather light for our work) ; 
 got a drink of ice-water from a barrel in front of the 
 commissary s, and was entirely fresh again. Bed-ticks 
 in great quantity were on hand. From the quarter 
 master we got bales of hay, and stuffed the ticks ; 
 heaping up a great pile to use from. We got out mos 
 quito-bars to protect the wounded from the flies ; had 
 pails, wash-basins, and sponges all in readiness ; and, 
 soon in the afternoon, the ambulances began to arrive. 
 
 The battle has not yet been fought. These are still 
 only the victims of the preliminary skirmishes, and those 
 who have been accidentally injured. The beds are 
 spread in rows. The great hospital-tents stand one 
 behind the other ; the canvas between them, .and, at 
 either end, looped up high, so that the air can draw 
 freely through. The beds lie in four long rows on the 
 ground, from end to end, the outermost rows close 
 down under the eaves, an aisle running down between. 
 Beside ourselves, we have our stout negroes for help ; 
 and, one by one, the ambulances are emptied. 
 
 "Take them carefully, boys! Ambulance-driver, 
 you are used to handling them. Get over from your 
 seat in front, and manage the head of the poor pros 
 trate fellow. Let one take the feet, as we slide him 
 out ; now a stout one, to catch him at the hips. Care 
 fully, down upon the canv-as I Stop groaning ! Poor 
 fellow ! it is over." 
 
172 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Here is one with foot mashed by a piece of shell. 
 This one is struck in the calf. Here is one whose leg is 
 gone. The bloody swathings are hot and stiff. We 
 will moisten them with ice-cold water. Here is one 
 struck in the groin : the ball has gone through, and 
 been cut out of the haunch behind. He lives, is bright, 
 and may get well. This cavalry-man is shot clear 
 through, from hip to hip. He is stripped, and the 
 bullet-holes on each side are plain. He lives too. 
 What will not the human body endure ? A solid shot 
 has struck this cannoneer in the bowels. Mortally 
 wounded he is. The doctor takes off the broad piece 
 of cloth that covers the hurt, revealing the horrible 
 mangling ; then replaces it. There is nothing for him 
 but a dose of nfbrphine to deaden the pain. They 
 have been hit everywhere. Hardly a muscle or bone 
 or fibre of the human body but has been struck in 
 one or another of this unfortunate company, lungs, 
 shoulders and chest, arms and hands, neck, face, eyes ; 
 and, while I am moving a tall Zouave in his brilliant 
 dress, the cloth upon his head drops off, as his shoul 
 ders are in my hands. The skull is cleft by a fragment 
 of shell, apparently, deep down into the brain, whose 
 inmost recesses are revealed in the bright sun. Yet he 
 lives too ! 
 
 All now are in the two tents. The ambulance- 
 drivers go back to the cooks for their suppers ; but our 
 work is only begun. The doctors go rapidly from man 
 
 to man. I follow Dr. L with a pail of water, 
 
 soon red and thick with blood, with which to moisten 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 173 
 
 the dressings. Quickly, but pleasantly and quietly, he 
 lays bare the most hideous hurts. I catch the lesson 
 from him. Do not let the patient see an over-anxious 
 face, nor hear too deep sympathy in the voice, lest it 
 should alarm. Be cheerful and tender, and let tone 
 and look give as much encouragement as possible. 
 
 Dr. L has another assistant, a gentleman in 
 
 citizen s dress, of intellectual face, fiill of nerve, and 
 ready-handed, who kneels at one side of the doctor, 
 as I do at the other, holding the instruments. The light 
 is not bright, and I have little leisure for any thing but 
 the wounds ; yet I find time to study this man some. 
 He is Barclay, a young minister ; here as a delegate of 
 the Christian Commission. In a day or two, I know him 
 better. So we go from bed to bed, stepping carefully 
 among bandaged shoulders, and bloody stumps of legs 
 and arms, and faces pale as the swathings that wrap the 
 head above. Generally, the most severe wounds are 
 not apparently painful ; the sufferer lying benumbed, I 
 suppose, by the severing of important nerves. Lacera 
 tions of the hands and feet appear to cause most agony. 
 Again we work on, until the candles burn low ; holding 
 ice here, bathing a limb or back there, or holding tea to 
 pale lips here. It is morning again, when I arouse a 
 sleeper to take his turn, and give me a chance to sleep. 
 
 Through Wednesday morning, we hear a fiercer can 
 nonade than before. A few sick come in from the front 
 during the forenoon; but these, and the wounded we 
 had the night previous, are speedily sent to Baton Rouge. 
 I catch a little sleep after dinner; and, when I awake, 
 
174 THE COLOK-GUARD. 
 
 am set upon a dreadful task. It is to watch the can 
 noneer, wounded in the bowels. He was struck on 
 Saturday. It is Wednesday evening, and he is still 
 alive, but with his wound and whole body in a condi 
 tion not to be described. He lies stripped for greater 
 coolness, only covered with a netting. Somebody must 
 watch beside him. He is delirious, but wants water 
 and to be fanned ;. and, loathsome as he is, an attendant 
 must be at his side. He tears the cloth from his hor 
 rible wound, and I must replace it. I must stand ready 
 to catch his hands. He is decomposing like a corpse, 
 although life yet remains. Toward midnight, he receives 
 a still heavier dose of morphine, and I can leave. I 
 hear that he died before morning. 
 
 While I have been at this task, much has been doing. 
 Early after dark, word comes from the front, of the 
 repulse and terrible loss of the storming party ; and 
 the surgeons are warned of the approach of a large 
 number of wounded. We hear of the fall of generals 
 and colonels, and rank and file without number ; and 
 close upon the heels of the intelligence follow the 
 ambulances, loaded as never before with hastily dressed 
 wounded from the field-hospitals in front. It is about 
 ten o clock when I go aboard the "Iberville" at the 
 landing ; to which the ambulances are transferring their 
 loads at once, instead of leaving them first in our tents. 
 As I enter the cabin-door, the long, handsome saloon, 
 from end to end, is filled with the victims of the battle 
 just fought. From the rich, bronze chandeliers, light 
 falls upon a ghastly sight, all the ghastlier from con- 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 175 
 
 trast with the elegance about. I can hardly step among 
 the prostrate and gory company. And so they lie all 
 through the long perspective, the great mirror at the 
 farther end repeating it all anew ; the stains upon their 
 wrappings, about heads and limbs and bodies, red as the 
 figures of the rich carpet upon which they lie. 
 
 At the farther end, just in front of the mirror, lie a 
 Zouave major, two colonels, an adjutant of a Maine 
 regiment, then the brave and unfortunate young colonel 
 of the Massachusetts Forty-ninth. He lost a leg at 
 Ball s Bluff. Now he is shot through the other foot 
 and through the wrist. Only twenty-three ! I watch 
 his face and figure, and think how Dr. Holmes would 
 write him down a Brahmin of the Brahmins. There is 
 no sign of suffering upon his well-cut, knightly features. 
 He meets pain with calm dignity. His tall, slight figure 
 is stretched at length upon his couch, the slender, 
 white foot showing out, bandaged up about the instep. 
 The officers all are patient and brave. One colonel is 
 shot through the face, the other through the arm and 
 back, the adjutant in the knee, the Zouave in the body. 
 Their fine uniforms are stained with battle-gore, and 
 ruffled by the long ambulance-ride, gold lace and 
 brilliant trimmings all torn and cut to reach the hurt. 
 
 There is much to be done. Dr. L and Barclay 
 
 are there, and but few others. There are many thirsty 
 ones, many whose wounds feel as if a burning brand 
 were being applied, and who call for water. Barclay 
 is attending to these wants ; and, besides, is applying 
 the stores of the Sanitary Commission, of which he is 
 
176 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 also an agent. I do not know where he keeps them ; 
 but it seems as if he must have them in some way com 
 pressed into his pocket, so readily does he produce clean 
 white garments, pillows, and towels, whenever they are 
 needed. 
 
 Here on a pallet lies a German corporal Philbert 
 his name belonging to a New- York regiment. An 
 officer near says he is the literary man of the regiment, 
 a refined scholar and gentleman, who has gone into the 
 ranks to help his adopted country. He lies with a 
 painful wound through his wrist, brave, cheerful, and 
 modest. He tells how he carried a fascine in the first 
 line, in front of the stormers ; and how all were swept 
 down in the whirlwind of canister and grape they met 
 as they came within range. Some are benumbed and 
 stupefied, some groaning in great pain ; but often I find 
 cheerful, smiling faces. 
 
 The drink gives out, and I go ashore to refill the 
 pails. Just as I step out into the open air, I hear loud 
 shrieks and cries. I hurry on to the Levee. The moon, 
 nearly full, is now low in the west ; and I see clearly by 
 its light an ambulance, just arrived, about which an 
 escort of Zouaves in uniforms of white and scarlet, 
 set off with silver lace are hurrying. In the throng, 
 too, are more soberly-dressed ambulance-men, all 
 covered with dust. A wounded man is just being taken 
 out. I hurry to the spot, finding Barclay there, of 
 course ; for he is always where there is suffering. He 
 whispers to me that it is a famous general of division. 
 Dr. F , who is directing matters, catches my eye in 
 
IX THE HOSPITAL. 177 
 
 the crowd, and sends me off for a stimulant. It is 
 put to the general s lips ; and I follow the litter aboard 
 Admiral Farragut s despatch-steamer, which is to convey 
 him to New Orleans. I catch sight of his agonized 
 face in the moonlight, and recognize him as the same 
 general in whose tent I had sat on one occasion, rather 
 more than a year before, in the camp at Port Royal. 
 
 I left him groaning and shrieking beneath the awning 
 on the deck of the little steamer, and went up again to 
 the tents to procure the refreshments and other articles 
 I was in search off; then returned to the cabin of the 
 "Iberville." It was now far toward daylight. The 
 surgeons had all retired, except one who had volun 
 teered for the time from one of the ships of the fleet. 
 There was still plenty to be done ; but I waked up some 
 of the sleepers, and lay down for a few hours rest. 
 
 I could not sleep long; and, soon after sunrise, was 
 about again. I ate my light breakfast of bread and 
 tea, and went again to the " Iberville s " cabin. She was 
 loaded above and below now, and about to start upon 
 her voyage ; but, while she waited, the surgeons and 
 nurses were at work. Ambulances were from time to 
 time arriving, bringing now many of the fine black 
 fellows of Nelson s regiment, which had passed the 
 great test so well the day before. 
 
 The attempt to storm Port Hudson w^as unsuccessful ; 
 but something was done then to forward our cause, be 
 cause it was on this day that black soldiers underwent 
 their ordeal. Side by side with white troops, they were 
 exposed to a hot fire, and bore themselves well. Col. 
 
178 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Higginson, in South Carolina, has had his men undei 
 fire, to be sure ; but his fighting has been of an irregu 
 lar sort. Here, for the first time, they were exposed 
 in a pitched battle ; and their praise is in every mouth. 
 I am glad I can write that the wounded blacks re 
 ceived all possible attention. They lay about the 
 steamer wherever it was airy and pleasant. The sur 
 geons were attentive. Barclay poured out the stores 
 of the Sanitary and Christian Commissions without 
 stint, and we nurses did all we could. I moistened 
 many a black fellow s wound ; and where, as sometimes 
 happened, they were stripped, that the surgeons might 
 more readily reach their injuries, I adjusted the screens 
 that kept off insects and the sun. They were never 
 otherwise than full of patience and gratitude. 
 
 I also washed the wounds and the faces of the officers 
 at the end of the cabin, and happened to be on hand to 
 help in a very trying surgical operation. I held the leg 
 
 of the young adjutant while Dr. L cut a bullet out 
 
 of the bones of the knee, in which it had become deeply 
 embedded. It was a painful and critical operation. 
 A few days before, I should have fainted at the sight ; 
 but, in such scenes, the sensibilities become blunted. 
 
 Every available foot of space now aboard the " Iber 
 ville," above and below, was filled with wounded men ; 
 and four nurses, I for one, were detailed to go with the 
 boat to Baton Rouge. All were fed, above and below. 
 We stood at hand with wet sponges and cooling drinks ; 
 and, meantime, the steamer with her sad freight slipped 
 rapidly down the fifteen miles to Baton Rouge. Hos- 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 179 
 
 pitals were prepared at the old Arsenal Buildings ; and, 
 as the boat rounded to, the intrenchments and banks 
 everywhere were crowded with people. 
 
 The boat was soon emptied of its freight. I piled up 
 the beds, as they were vacated, on one side of the cabin ; 
 and then had a little leisure to go ashore, and see a 
 room or two of the permanent hospital. They looked 
 neat and comfortable. The rooms were airy ; the beds 
 clean, and protected by mosquito-bars ; the patients soon 
 washed, and provided with food and fresh clothing. 
 The steamer was presently on her way back. I man 
 aged to get a good dinner aboard ; then spread a bed on 
 the cabin-floor, and got an hour or two of welcome and 
 needed sleep. I had worked very hard, and, I believe, 
 gained the good-will of the surgeons. Besides, one or 
 two old patients of mine, whom I had nursed in typhoid 
 fever, had been at the landing, and, I believe, had spoken 
 a good word for me. More and more responsibility 
 was put upon me. 
 
 As soon as I had returned, the hospital-steward told 
 me I was to take charge of removing a large number 
 of wounded to the boat from the tents , who had been 
 brought down from the field during our trip. Here 
 were my negroes, here the nurses I could have, and 
 here the stretchers. I went right to work. I had 
 gained confidence, found my strength was good, and 
 therefore was not afraid to handle even the worst cases. 
 I dared to take hold of the stumps when it was necessary, 
 the pierced hips, and lacerated shoulders. I had found 
 that a quick, steady movement caused the least pain. 
 
180 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 About dark, this was Thursday, the task was 
 accomplished, but only to make room for another ; for 
 now a longer string of ambulances than ever had come. 
 The surgeons had gone to bed exhausted, and could not 
 be disturbed. The hospital-steward was not to be found ; 
 and upon me came the responsibility of getting them all 
 housed, fed, and cared for during the night. I had the 
 beds laid in as good order as possible, working as I 
 never worked before ; then superintended, as well as 
 I could, the removal of the men from the ambulances 
 to the pallets upon the ground. It seemed as if we 
 never had received a lot so dreadfully mangled : we 
 certainly never received so many. With as much de 
 spatch as possible, I assigned to each his place. Commis 
 sary-teams were waiting for the ambulances to get out 
 of the way ; and we had almost to jump and run among 
 the closely packed crowd on the floor, in the dim candle 
 light. Outsiders, some of them officers, came in, but 
 often hindered more than they helped, by misplaced 
 sensibility, or unreasonable assumption of authority. 
 The lightly wounded were to be put in the less acces 
 sible places under the eaves, as requiring least atten 
 tion ; the graver cases were to have the airiest beds ; 
 and the bodies of those who had bled to death in the 
 ambulances had a place assigned to them in a tent out 
 side. Barclay was at my right hand ; a good man indeed. 
 Together we took hasty counsel as to moving and making 
 comfortable the more desperately injured. How could 
 we take hold here so as not to jar the shattered lungs ? 
 and how, with this heavy, tall fellow, terribly hurt in the 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 181 
 
 groin, how could I get my hands under the hips, so 
 as to lift him most easily ? We worked hour after hour, 
 the sweat starting from every pore, that hot, moon-lit 
 night, until every inch of available space was packed, 
 and all were fed. 
 
 I do not know how many regiments were represented. 
 There were officers of all grades. A colonel shot 
 through the hand ; a captain shot in the neck ; and 
 another, a gentleman, in the midst of his suffering, 
 his elegant dress dusty and gory. I was hoarse with 
 giving directions in the hubbub, and worn out with 
 want of sleep. Toward daylight again, I found a 
 place to lie down. 
 
 I happened to lie down in the tent where Barclay 
 kept his stores ; and, when I awoke in the morning, he 
 was there. He never appeared to need sleep. We 
 had an interesting half-hour s talk. I told him about 
 watching with the cannoneer, whose whole body was 
 far gone with decay, and full of worms, although life 
 yet lingered. Was it not almost a barbarity not to 
 put him into the final sleep ? Then came up the case 
 of Napoleon, and the fever patients of his army in 
 Syria. They, too, were sick to death ; sure to become 
 a prey to the Turk : was it so monstrous for him to 
 propose to put them quickly and smoothly out of life ? 
 From that we got on to the question of suicide, and 
 spoke of Godwin and French thinkers, and of Epic- 
 tetus, and sages of old, who permitted such flight 
 from life. "If the house smokes, leave it." We 
 thought life was too sacred a thing for man to 
 
182 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 touch. God gave it : let him take it away, when it 
 is time. 
 
 I got up from the ground before Barclay, soaked 
 with sweat, and with dust and blood adhering every 
 where. I apologized for my appearance ; for it was my 
 only shirt. He gave me another out of the Sanitary- 
 Commission stores, in which I once more felt decent. 
 
 This was Friday, a day much Eke the previous 
 ones. Besides the "Iberville," there were two or three 
 other steamers to take the wounded ; and, one after 
 another, they went down stream freighted. During the 
 day, we had a fine shower, which cooled the air. To 
 dress a wound is no slight operation. To undo gaping 
 injuries, wash them, stanch the blood ; then do them 
 up neatly, and feel they are safe, all this, one does 
 not reach at once. 
 
 My hospital-service, however, was coming to a close. 
 Saturday morning, began to arrive the Fifty-second 
 Regiment. During the fortnight I had spent on my 
 journey, and at Springfield Landing, they had per 
 formed a march of one hundred and thirty miles ; being 
 part of the guard of the immense train in which the 
 negroes and a vast portion of the wealth of the Teche 
 and Opelousas neighborhoods were brought to the sea 
 board. That work had been accomplished ; and now, 
 at the end of May, they had been hurried up the river to 
 re-enforce the besieging army. Saturday afternoon, 
 when the regiment passed the hospital on its way to the 
 front, I bade Barclay and my old mates good-by, and 
 fell in with the colors in my old place. 
 
BATTLE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 BATTLE. 
 
 JUNE 2, 1863. Before Port Hudson, within easy 
 cannon-range. This morning, we are not marching or 
 fighting. We lie encamped in a wood, at the edge of a 
 clearing, across whicji the rebel works are in plain sight, 
 at the distance of a few hundred yards. The boys, 
 who venture only a few rods from here to the edge of 
 the clearing, find the shots of the rebel sharpshooters 
 falling about them : their shells frequently strike in and 
 about our camp. A piece of one has fallen within a 
 few yards of me, breaking three muskets out of a stack 
 that stood in the line. Day and night, our batteries 
 are firing. Every few minutes, and at times more fre 
 quently, the earth-shaking roar of pieces of very large 
 caliber makes the whole region tremble. Hardiker and 
 I have built a little booth of boughs, whose roof may be 
 taken off at any moment by a rebel missile. Two or 
 three times last night, the earth flew to the right and 
 left of the dead tree-trunk at whose foot we were rest 
 ing. 
 
 June 11. We feel perfectly at home now in these 
 woods. We were here some days, once in a while shift- 
 
184 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 ing our camp to avoid the shells ; then came the episode 
 of the march to Clinton and back. I do not mean to 
 write much about this ; for the readers and the inditer 
 of these notes have had enough of hard marching. Let 
 these few words suffice. A body of our cavalry had 
 been attacked, and very roughly handled, in the neigh 
 borhood of this place of Clinton ; and Gen. Paine was 
 sent out with a force to catch and chastise this body, if 
 possible. 
 
 The force, consisting of regiments detached from this 
 and that brigade, with some artillery and a large body 
 of cavalry, left camp in the forest here about four o clock 
 one morning. How hot and dusty it grew ! We began 
 by taking the wrong road, which gave us extra distance 
 of five or six miles ; then, in the end, we went by the 
 longest route. The first day, at noon, the heat became 
 perfectly intolerable. Several were nearly killed by its 
 power, and we were forced to halt until night. Thence 
 forth we marched for the most part at night ; but the 
 dust was deep, the nights hot, and the water often poor. 
 At length, at dawn one morning, we halted within two 
 or three miles of Clinton, to hear from the cavalry in 
 advance that the foe had fled. Back we came, therefore, 
 dragging wearily into our old camp through all the dust 
 and heat, tired in every bone, every fibre of clothing 
 soaked and resoaked in perspiration ; having, in the 
 course of four days, gone some fifty or sixty miles. We 
 hope it was our last march. God send it may be so ! 
 for it is too much for men. 
 
 After our return, we gave a day or two to grateful 
 
BATTLE. 185 
 
 rest. Abundant rations were drawn, among them a 
 quantity of soft bread, nothing but dry and rather 
 sour flour-bread ; but how we jumped at it ! 
 
 We are waiting now in the woods for something else. 
 The sound of guns is constant to us here ; and, at the 
 " front" (a short walk from us), scarcely a minute passes 
 without a report : for there you can catch the cannonade 
 of the fleet, and that from the other approaches of the 
 army. In the evening, from every quarter, can be seen 
 the dropping of shells into the rebel works, the fuses 
 of the bombs whirling through the air, and the sud 
 den ligh ting-up of the explosions. 
 
 A formidable battery of ship s guns has opened, with 
 in a few days, not far from us. My first visit to it 
 was in the evening. Bivins and I slung our Canteens 
 (for we never miss an opportunity of going for water) , 
 and started down the blind, obstructed cart-track which 
 leads out of the woods. Every few minutes came in 
 the heavy crash of the Dahlgrens we were going to see ; 
 that and the lighter reports of guns farther off. We 
 were soon out on the plain, where the battery is placed. 
 To the right of it ran a hedge ; behind which, screened 
 from the rebel riflemen, lay a regiment, stationed there 
 to protect the guns against a sudden dash of the enemy. 
 
 It is now quite dark ; but, in the starlight, we can see 
 the outlines of the sand-work, behind which the guns 
 are ranged. The rebel intrenchments are, from quarter 
 to half a mile away, in front of us. We can see three 
 or four large fires burning within them. Volumes of 
 flame and smoke roll up among the trees, and the sol- 
 
 r v* ! 
 
 c<>* J 
 
186 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 diers about us think they can make out the figures of 
 men standing by the glare. As often as once a minute, 
 from the east, where lies a huge New-York battery ; from 
 the right, which Weitzel holds ; or over on the opposite 
 side from us, where lies the fleet in the river, as often 
 as once in a minute, like heat-lightning, flashes a can 
 non ; then, in a few seconds, comes the roar; then 
 another light within the fortress, as the shell explodes. 
 
 Now a " Dahlgren " in our battery here is discharged. 
 How fierce and sullen ! I must have a nearer view : so 
 I make my way in behind the earth-work itself, and 
 stand with the sailors, who are detached from duty on 
 ship-board to manage these great fellows. Each gun 
 stands on a broad platform, sloping from rear to front 
 to prevent the recoil of the piece from sending it too far 
 back. They are part of the broadside of the ff Rich 
 mond ; " and have already done good service at the tak 
 ing of the forts, and the running of the Port-Hudson 
 batteries in March. 
 
 "Ready there at No. 2 ! " says the officer in charge. 
 The crew of " No. 2 " stand back, and I brace myself 
 for the concussion. A sailor jerks a lanyard, and it is 
 done. It is no light field-piece, remember ; but one of 
 war s grimmest monsters. "Clash go my teeth together, 
 my bones almost rattle ; then follows the hungry, raven 
 ing shriek of the shell, which breaks forth like a hor 
 rible bird of prey to devour the whole world. It sweeps 
 hoarsely toward the enemy s line ; then I hear it go 
 " thud-thud ! " through some obstruction. In a moment, 
 the air beyond is lit up with its bursting ; and the sound 
 
BATTLE. 187 
 
 roars back to us, to us, now enveloped in the sulphur 
 ous cloud that wraps the whole neighborhood. 
 
 The rebels now very seldom answer our artillery. 
 Before we went to Clinton, occasionally they opened on 
 us with shell. If we lighted fires at night, betraying our 
 position in the woods, presently we could hear the shells 
 come humming toward the light like great dor-bugs of 
 a summer-night. Hum-m-m ! then a burst, and a dash 
 of heavy iron, "thump" upon the ground in the midst of 
 the camp. Lately, however, there has been no firing, 
 except by their riflemen. 
 
 June 16. I write in a corner of a ravine, close 
 within rifle-range of the works at Port Hudson. The 
 Fifty-second Regiment are holding an advanced position 
 here, and, ever since daylight of the morning of the 
 14th, have lived in the midst of a rain of rifle-balls. 
 At the bottom of the little ravine, I am secure ; but if I 
 should put my head up to the surface, climbing up the 
 bank six or eight feet, I should be in the midst of flying 
 bullets, and a fair mark for the rebel sharpshooters who 
 are close at hand. Our brigade is thrown out into the 
 very teeth of the enemy, on ground our troops have never 
 before occupied. This little corner is occupied by the 
 color-guard. If I go to the company, I must go stoop 
 ing or crawling on my stomach ; I must run from a stump 
 to a trunk, and from that to a clump of bushes, and hear 
 all the time the " zip " and " hum " of the rifle-balls. 
 
 We have had a battle. Not quite a week ago, we 
 began to hear of it. TSome of the regiments which were 
 to be engaged were told of it; and Gen. Paine, who 
 
188 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 was to have an important command, made speeches 
 among his men, and instructed them in the use of hand- 
 grenades. In the woods, parties of men were busy, 
 cutting fascines ; and bags of cotton, as large as a man 
 could comfortably carry, were piled up near the ap 
 proaches % to the enemy s works. We knew nothing 
 certain, however, until Saturday. (It is now Tuesday.) 
 Toward the end of that afternoon, the explicit orders 
 came. The assault was to be made the next morning, 
 and our regiment was to have a share in it. We were 
 not to go home without the baptism of fire and blood. 
 
 Before dark, we were ordered into line, and stacked 
 our arms. Each captain made a little speech. " No 
 talking in the ranks ; no flinching. Let every one see 
 that his canteen is full, and that he has hard bread 
 enough for a day. That is all you will carry beside gun 
 and equipments." We left the guns in stack, polished, 
 and ready to be caught on the instant ; and lay down 
 under the trees. At midnight came the cooks with cof 
 fee and warm food. Soon after came the order to move ; 
 then, slowly and with many halts, nearly four hundred 
 strong, we took up our route along the wood-paths. 
 Many other regiments were also in motion. The forest 
 was full of Rembrandt pictures, a bright blaze under 
 a tree, the faces and arms of soldiers all aglow about it ; 
 the wheel of an army-wagon, or the brass of a cannon, lit 
 up ; then the gloom of the wood, and the night shutting 
 down about it. 
 
 At length, it was daybreak ; -and, with every new 
 shade of light in the east, a new degree of energy was 
 
BATTLE. 189 
 
 imparted to the cannonade. As we stood at the edge 
 of the wood, it was roar on all sides. In a few minutes, 
 we were in motion again. We crossed a little bridge 
 over a brook thickly covered with cotton to conceal the 
 tramp of men, and noise of wheels ; climbed a steep pitch, 
 and entered a trench or military road cut through a 
 ravine, passing some freshly made rifle-pits and bat 
 teries. We were now only screened from the rebel 
 works by a thin hedge. Here the rifle-balls began to 
 cut keen and sharp through the air about us ; and the 
 cannonade, as the east now began to redden, reached its 
 height, a continual deafening uproar, hurling the air 
 against one in great waves, till it felt almost like a wall 
 of rubber, bounding and rebounding from the body, 
 the great guns of the "Kichmond," the siege-Parr otts, 
 the smaller field-batteries ; and, through all, the burst 
 ing of the shells within the rebel lines, and the keen, 
 deadly whistle of well-aimed bullets. A few rods down 
 the military road, the column paused. The work of 
 death had begun ; for ambulance-men were bringing 
 back the wounded : and, almost before we had time to 
 think we were in danger, I saw one of our men fall 
 back into the arms of his comrades, shot dead through 
 the chest. The banks of the ravine rose on either side 
 of the road in which we had halted : but just here the 
 trench made a turn ; and in front, at the distance of five 
 or six hundred yards, we could plainly see the rebel 
 rampart, red in the morning-light as with blood, and 
 shrouded in white vapor along the edge as the sharp 
 shooters behind kept up an incessant discharge. I 
 
190 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 believe I felt no sensation of fear, nor do I think those 
 about me did. Wilson and Hardiker carried the flags, 
 and their faces were cheerful and animated. I thanked 
 God that Sunday morning that I was in perfect strength 
 in every limb for that day s most solemn service, ser 
 vice not to be rendered in any peaceful temple, but amid 
 grime of powder, and sweat of blood : nevertheless His 
 service, and that which should bring about for Him the 
 acceptable things. 
 
 Our brigadier is with us at the front ; and now, call 
 ing the colonel, the two soldierly figures climb the bank 
 of the ravine, and take a narrow survey of the ground. 
 In a moment, the order comes. We are to move up 
 this rough path to the right, then advance out from the 
 shelter of the trees into the open space before the fortifi 
 cations ; deploying as skirmishers meanwhile, and mak 
 ing our way through the fire to a closer position. We 
 climb up the path. I go with my rifle between Wilson 
 and Hardiker ; keeping nearest the former, who carries 
 the national flag. In a minute or two, the column has 
 ascended, and is deploying in a long line, under the 
 colonel s eye, on the open ground. The rebel engineers 
 are most skilful fellows. Between us and the brown 
 earth-heap which we are to try to gain to-day, the space 
 is not wide ; but it is cut up in every direction with ra 
 vines and gullies. These were covered, until the para 
 pet was raised, with a heavy growth of timber ; but now 
 it has all been cut down, so that in every direction the 
 fallen tops of large trees interlace, trunks block up every 
 passage, and brambles are growing over the whole. It 
 
BATTLE. 191 
 
 is out of the question to advance here in line of battle ; 
 it seems almost out of the question to advance in any 
 order : but the word is given, "Forward ! " and on we go. 
 Know that this whole space is swept by a constant patter 
 of balls : it is really a " leaden rain." We go crawling 
 and stooping : but now and then before us rises in 
 plain view the line of earth-works, smoky and sulphur 
 ous with volleys ; while all about us fall the balls, now 
 sending a lot of little splinters from a stump, now knock 
 ing the dead wood out of the old tree-trunk that is shel 
 tering me, now driving up a cloud of dust from a little 
 knoll, or cutting off the head of a weed just under the 
 hand as with an invisible knife. I see one of our best 
 captains carried off the field, mortally wounded, shot 
 through both lungs, straight, bright-eyed, though so 
 sadly hurt, supported by two of his men ; and now 
 almost at my side, in the color-company, one soldier is 
 struck in the hand, and another in the leg. "Forward ! " 
 is the order. We all stoop ; but the colonel does not 
 stoop : he is as cool as he was in his tent last night, 
 when I saw him drink iced lemonade. He turns now 
 to examine the ground, then faces back again to direct 
 the advance of this or that flank. Wilson springs on 
 from cover to cover, and I follow close after him. It is 
 hard work to get the flag along : it cannot be carried in 
 the air ; and we drag it and pass it from hand to hand 
 among the brambles, much to the detriment of its folds. 
 The line pauses a moment. Capt. Morton, who has 
 risen from a sick-bed to be with his command, is coolly 
 cautioning his company. The right wing is to remain 
 
192 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 in reserve, while the left pushes still farther forward. 
 The major is out in front of us now. He stands upon 
 a log which bridges a ravine, a plain mark for the 
 sharpshooters, who overlook the position, not only from 
 the parapet, but from the tall trees within the rebel 
 works. Presently we move on again, through brambles 
 and under charred trunks, tearing our way, and pulling 
 after us the colors ; creeping on our bellies across ex 
 posed ridges, where bullets hum and sing like stinging 
 bees ; and, right in plain view, the ridge of earth, its 
 brow white with incessant volleys. 
 
 Down this slope, and it will do. The color-guard is 
 some rods in advance of the company, and may pause. 
 I hear cheering. A ridge hides the space in front of 
 the works from which it comes ; and I tell Wilson I 
 must creep up, and see the charge. 
 
 " Better not," he says. M We will go where our duty 
 lies ; but we had better run no risk beyond that." 
 
 He is wiser than I. While he speaks, I have par 
 tially raised myself to climb forward to the point of 
 view. Balls are striking close by me. I have become 
 a mark to sharpshooters in the trees, and lie down again 
 to be safe. The color-guard are under orders not to 
 fire, except when the colors are especially threatened. 
 My piece is loaded and capped ; but I can only be shot 
 at, without returning the discharge. Oown into our 
 little nook now come tumbling a crowd of disorganized, 
 panting men. They are part of a New- York regiment, 
 who, on the crest just over us, have been meeting with 
 very severe loss. They say their dead and dying are 
 
BATTLE. 193 
 
 heaped up there. We believe it ; for we can hear them, 
 they are so near : indeed, some of those who come 
 stumbling down are wounded ; some have their gun- 
 stocks broken by shot, and the barrels bent, while they 
 are unharmed. They are frightened and exhausted, and 
 stop to recover themselves ; but presently their officers 
 come up, and order them forward again. From time 
 to time, afterwards, wounded men crawl back from their 
 position a few yards in front of where we are, one 
 shot through the ankles, who, however, can crawl on 
 his hands and knees ; one in the hand ; one with his 
 blouse all torn about his breast, where a ball has struck 
 him, yet he can creep away. Looking up toward the 
 top of our little ravine, I had seen Company D climb 
 ing forward ; the well-known heads and faces coming 
 into sight for the moment as they climbed over an 
 obstruction, then going down again into the bushes, 
 Wivers active as a squirrel ; McGill with his old 
 black hat pulled down about his ears, as if it were 
 a snowstorm he was out in. They disappear ; but 
 soon I see the head of Bivins making rapid way back 
 ward. 
 
 "What is the matter, Bivins?" 
 " " Sergt. Rogers is shot." 
 
 "Killed?" 
 
 " No : through the thigh, well up ; but, we think, not 
 fatally. I am going for a stretcher." 
 
 " Look out for yourself meantime ! " I shout to him ; 
 thinking of his bright young wife and little boy, who 
 would come to sad grief enough, if that honest head, 
 
 9 
 
194 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 appearing and disappearing among the tangled thickets, 
 should be brought low by a rebel marksman. 
 
 It is now noon and after. The sun is intolerably hot, 
 and we have no sufficient shade. That, however, is 
 nothing for us who are unhurt ; but we hear of poor 
 wounded men lying without shelter, among them Gen. 
 Paine, whom the ambulance-men cannot yet reach on 
 account of the enemy s fire. We begin to know that 
 the attack has failed. Toward the end of the after 
 noon, at considerable risk, I make my way to Company 
 D. They are on the brow of an eminence, on a flat 
 plateau, just even with the rebel gun-barrels, almost 
 without shelter ; all lying flat on their backs and 
 stomachs, the flying balls keeping up a constant drone 
 and hum just above them. Rogers ventured to stand 
 up, and was shot almost at once. The men told how 
 they had looked over the hill-brow, and seen the charge, 
 the fruitless dash at the impenetrable obstacles, 
 the volley from the breastworks, the fall of scores. 
 We know nothing certainly. There are rumors, thick 
 as the rifle-balls, of this general killed, that regiment 
 destroyed, and successful attempts elsewhere. The sun 
 goes down on this day of blood. We have lost several 
 killed, and several more wounded, and have done all 
 we were called upon to do. The colonel tells us we 
 have been cool, prudent, and brave. We have not 
 been as much exposed as some other regiments, and 
 our loss has not been large. The fire, however, seemed 
 very hot, and close at hand ; and the wonder to us all 
 is, that no more fell. Darkness settles down ; shots are 
 
BATTLE. 195 
 
 received and returned, but only at random now ; and, 
 ever and anon, from the batteries goes tearing through 
 the air a monstrous shell, with a roar like a rushing 
 railroad-train, then an explosion putting every thing 
 for the moment in light. 
 
 At dusk, I creep back to the ravine, where I am to 
 sleep. I have been awake since midnight, and almost 
 every moment since has been one of excitement ; first 
 the anticipation, then the reality, of a pitched battle. 
 What a day for these remote plains and woods ! The 
 little frightened birds I have seen fly to and fro, pain 
 fully shaken, I must believe, in their delicate frames by 
 the concussion of the air during the cannon volleys ; for 
 I have felt it sensibly. So the green, harmless lizards, 
 whose beauty and lithesome movement I have loved to 
 watch, these I have seen to-day, when I have looked 
 up from my covert, peering about curiously, and run 
 ning to and fro to find out the occasion of this uproar 
 and jar, so suddenly come to disturb their haunts. For 
 food to-day, I have had two or three hard crackers and 
 cold potatoes. We have no blankets : so down I lie to 
 sleep as I can on the earth, without covering ; and, 
 before morning, am chilled through with the dew and 
 coldness of the air. 
 
196 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE WOLF AT BAY. 
 
 OUR brigade is thrown forward, as Gen. Banks says, 
 "upon the threshold of the enemy s fortifications," and 
 have it for their duty to maintain an incessant skirmish, 
 day and night, with those sharp-eyed fellows just oppo 
 site. 
 
 Monday the heat is intense, and we have but little 
 shelter. I fare hard ; for I must draw rations with 
 my company, and yet must remain with the colors, 
 which are still in the ravine. Toward the evening of 
 Monday, I work my way out to our cooks. One 
 must go cautiously, stooping and creeping, and, when 
 the balls whistle sharp, hiding till the riflemen look 
 some other way. I gain, at length, the shelter of the 
 woods behind, where lie unburied dead from the field, 
 and piles of stretchers yet bloody with their burdens 
 of wounded men. Each one of the color-guard to 
 night must watch. My watch is at midnight. I pro 
 fess to love Nature, and in that love "hold communion 
 with her visible forms." " For my gayer hours," I have 
 indeed found that she has a " voice of gladness." To 
 night, my musings are darker. Certainly, O outer 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 197 
 
 world ! with a smile and deep eloquence of beauty do 
 you glide into the soldier s musings, and steal away 
 their sharpness. 
 
 I climbed up from the ravine, and sat alone, upon the 
 hill on the field, under the starlight. It was a sweet 
 night, and only once or twice came to my sense the 
 taint of unburied slain. For the rest, all was pure. 
 In a half-comic way, the whippoorwill changed his song 
 into "Whipped you well, whipped you well!" I will 
 never believe the bull-frogs that night croaked any thing 
 but "Rebs, rebs ! " and the jeering owls hooted out 
 from the tree-tops, "What can you do-o-o?" All 
 about the horizon, fringing the starlit space of blue, 
 a storm was gathering; and behind the black clouds 
 shook the lightning, like the menacing finger of an 
 almighty power threatening doom to this obstinate 
 stronghold. Twas like that, and twas like the vision 
 seen, in days of romance, by King Arthur, the sword 
 "Excalibur" brandished by the phantom arm out of 
 the lake. 
 
 June 17. We are still in the front of the advance, 
 living in dens and caves of the earth, maintaining our 
 incessant skirmish, and occasionally losing men from the 
 regiment. We go unwashed, uncombed, unshaven, 
 creeping and stooping, with no baggage but the clothes 
 on our backs, and they torn everywhere by brambles, and 
 sometimes by shot. My only portfolio now is my car 
 tridge-box, where I find room for a few sheets, and my 
 pencil, among my sixty rounds, writing my record upon 
 its broad leathern flap. This afternoon, there has been a 
 
198 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 flag of truce ; during which they have buried dead, and 
 even removed wounded men, who have lain on the field 
 since Sunday ! It is now Wednesday. Company D 
 has assisted in burying a hundred and fourteen corpses. 
 I have just seen Cyrus Stowell, who tells me a terrible 
 story. The decomposition of the bodies was so ad 
 vanced, that the flesh slipped from the arms as our 
 men tried to raise them, the heads fell away from the 
 trunks sometimes, and the worms crawled from the dead 
 upon the hands of the living ! Unspeakably dreadful ! 
 
 The rebels now use little artillery against us, but 
 mostly rifles. Tremendous fellows they are. During 
 the flag of truce this afternoon, plenty of them have been 
 in plain sight slovenly-looking butternuts about the 
 few tents and clumps of old buildings inside their para 
 pet, and, indeed, in the open space between the two 
 armies. 
 
 I have written about the assault of the 14th inst. 
 Never come to a private soldier to pass judgment on a 
 military act ; for his horizon is too circumscribed to com 
 prehend the circumstances. But the judgment of us, 
 the rank and file, upon the matter, is this, let it go 
 for what it is worth, that the men did their part : they 
 showed willingness and bravery, but it was misdirected. 
 On*- me n could see the charging regiments begin their 
 rush, way back by an old chimney to our left here, 
 too far, too far, by a long distance, considering the 
 difficult nature of the ground to be traversed. We 
 heard the poor fellows cheers as they started ; but the 
 rebs heard it too, and could be seen rushing; to the 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 199 
 
 point of their works, against which the assaulting regi 
 ments were to dash. Their attention was attracted by 
 our unnecessary demonstrations, and our men received 
 more terrible volleys. The result was, about fifteen 
 hundred lost to us, by the last accounts. 
 
 We advanced in the battle as skirmishers, as I have 
 written ; and when the roar and heat were over, and the 
 tide of Federal energy and valor had ebbed again from 
 off the field, leaving it wet with red pools, and strewn 
 with bloody drift, it was given to our brigade to stay 
 in our steps, to hold the tangled ravines and slopes 
 we had conquered, under the daily and nightly volleys 
 of the Mississippi, Alabama, and Arkansas regiments, 
 who, we hear, hold the breast- work in our front. 
 Now and then we lose a man, killed or wounded ; but 
 we believe our loss would have been quadrupled, were 
 it not that our colonel has handled his command so 
 prudently and skilfully. 
 
 So far, my hands have no stain of human blood upon 
 them. Our rifles are always close at hand, loaded, to 
 be ready against any sortie, or if we should suddenly 
 have to charge. The regiment, generally, have prac 
 tised much against the sand-bags and loop-holes of the 
 enemy s parapet ; but we do not fire until some hostile 
 hand seems likely to get the flag out of Wilson s grasp. 
 
 Until within a day or two, my situation has been 
 hard. I draw my rations with Company D, and they 
 have been posted at some distance from the ravine of 
 the color-guard. I could not always go for my food 
 at the right time, sometimes could not go at all : at 
 
200 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 any rate, it was always at a risk ; for the only path waa 
 the obstructed, bullet-swept track leading from our 
 ravine to the woods in the rear. Irregularity in eating, 
 abstinence, exposure to the heat of burning days and 
 the night-damps, have rather affected my condition. 
 To the sights of war we have all become used, and can 
 see the worst without sickening. Every day, gaping 
 wounds and mangled death are borne past us, on 
 stretchers, out of the rifle-pits and trenches. The sur 
 geons and chaplain remain at the old camp in the 
 woods which we left the midnight preceding the as 
 sault, and that has become a city of refuge for the sick. 
 One tired boy after another has gone there, from the 
 heat and damp at the front, until the companies have 
 grown smaller than ever. The march from the Cour- 
 tableau to Brashear City brought down numbers. 
 Numbers have fallen sick here, so that our company 
 has scarcely more than twenty on duty ; and other com 
 panies are nearly as much reduced. 
 
 Though we are sick and worn, the general is deter 
 mined we shall work while we remain. Early, Satur 
 day the 20th, just before daylight, word came to us 
 to march ; whither, we knew not. We stole out qui 
 etly, so as not to attract the attention of the enemy ; 
 and marched to the general s head-quarters, some three 
 miles in our rear. It turned out that a train of one 
 hundred and forty wagons was going into the country 
 for forage. We were to be its escort ; and, while we 
 stood in line, two pieces of light artillery and a body of 
 cavalry came up, who were to help us. 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 201 
 
 On any large map, a short distance from Port Hud 
 son, to the north-east, you will see a little village called 
 Jackson. It was near that village that we halted at 
 noon. Here two well-travelled roads crossed each 
 other, near which were situated the two plantations 
 from which the forage was to be taken. The colonel 
 rode out to see the barns, and to post his guards to 
 prevent surprise. We stacked arms near the crossing 
 of the roads, and went into the shade close by to eat 
 our scanty dinner. We found we had come to a pleas 
 ant region. The land rolled up into fine swells, which 
 had been cleared of forest in great part, giving place to 
 wide-spreading corn-fields, where the corn was already 
 tall, and with ears large and well filled out. The land 
 scape had a rich, cultivated aspect ; looking not unlike 
 a farming region in New York in August. 
 
 The colonel soon made his dispositions. Half a mile 
 to the left, half the train of wagons waited their turn 
 to load up ; their white tops in plain view across the 
 intervening fields. To the right, about the same dis 
 tance from us, the remainder of the train stood upon 
 another farm. We had just begun to open our haver 
 sacks, when " crack, crack ! " we began to hear a heavy 
 volley of rifle-shots. The Philistines were upon us. In 
 an instant came the summons, "Battalion!" and we 
 flew to our pieces. Pickets came galloping in from the 
 outposts. The story is, that two rebel regiments and 
 a body of horse bivouacked the night before at the farm 
 on the right, where the teams are loading. The artillery 
 men are at their pieces ; and all over the field, to the 
 
 9* 
 
202 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 skirts of the distant woods, squads of cavalry are seen 
 on the gallop, most of them Grierson s famous men. 
 Presently the wagons come back in the wildest confu 
 sion, pell-mell, helter-skelter. The mules are in full 
 gallop, some with, some without drivers ; over ditches 
 and fences, crash through groves of young pines, over 
 logs and stumps. Sometimes the body is jarred off 
 the wheels ; sometimes one mule has broken loose, 
 leaving three behind, with the broken harness dragging 
 about them. The negro-drivers yell, and brandish 
 their whips. All is perfect uproar and panic. 
 
 The enemy appear in considerable numbers, swarm 
 ing about the house and barns of a plantation. From a 
 little knoll, close by our position, the artillery open 
 a brisk fire of shell upon them, which does them great 
 damage, and throws them into as much disorder as the 
 wagons they have sought to seize. Two of our com 
 panies, thrown out as skirmishers, keep up a firing of 
 rifles, the colonel, meantime, on the knoll, close at 
 hand to the battery, and the main body of the regiment, 
 which is supporting it, is surrounded by cavalry-men 
 and officers, who gallop up and away every instant. 
 His face has as cool and pleasant a look as ever, the 
 calm and undisturbed spot in the midst of the panic. 
 We stand leaning on our pieces, ready for any thing 
 that may turn up. 
 
 Wouvermans, the old Dutch painter, used to take 
 battles for his favorite subjects. I have looked over 
 plates after his pictures ; and this scene was precisely 
 one of Wouvermans skirmishes, the same confusion 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 203 
 
 and panic, a similar landscape, a lovely summer s day, 
 and the encounter in the midst ; infantry skirmishing, 
 cavalry charging with drawn sabres, the snap of rifles 
 from the distant woods, the rush of animals and fugi 
 tives to get out of danger. It was soon over. Some 
 eight or ten fell on our side among the cavalry ; and we 
 have heard that a considerably larger number of the 
 enemy were slain by the cannon. These were extremely 
 well served, and probably saved us from being over 
 powered by a superior force. 
 
 The colonel judged it prudent to return at once. A 
 few of the wagons had had time to load ; some were 
 broken, some had gone galloping on toward the Fede 
 ral camp. The outposts were recalled, and we took 
 up a backward line of march. We had proceeded five 
 or six miles ; when suddenly it was " halt " again, and 
 word came back that the column was beset front and 
 rear. Of the infantry, four men were detailed for a 
 guard to each wagon ; while the cavalry and cannon 
 hastened forward to the front, from which we began to 
 hear firing. It looked critical. Our term of service 
 was within three weeks of its expiration, and we were 
 all in danger of being taken prisoners. The impertur 
 bable colonel rides along with cavalry and battery 
 officers. " Can we not get a courier in for re-enforce 
 ments ? " I hear one say. " We shall be enough for 
 them, I guess, if we can only concentrate." We all 
 feel confidence, make sure of our guns, put on fresh 
 caps, and leave the hammer at half-cock. Then we go 
 forward, and that is the last of it. 
 
204 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 In the evening at ten o clock, after we are in the 
 camp once more in a grove of trees, I hear the colonel 
 give results. It seems the rebs did capture some sixty 
 of our wagons in the last attack. Their drivers were 
 frightened, and had not obeyed orders. Moreover, the 
 cavalry were unmanageable ; and mules and wagons fell 
 an easy prey, when a smart body of rebs dashed out of 
 an ambuscade, and swept like a whirlwind through our 
 long, straggling line. They had nothing to match 
 our cannon. If it had not been for them, we might all 
 have been on the way to Richmond. 
 
 Tired to death, almost worn out to start with, cov 
 ered with a paste of perspiration and dust, it was hard 
 to be waked up at midnight, just after we had fallen 
 asleep, and be marched right back again into the trenches 
 and rifle-pits, to press on the siege. 
 
 June 25. The next day, Sunday, when we 
 found life enough to open our dust-filled eyes and crawl 
 about a little, we found the engineers, during the pre 
 vious twenty-four hours, had been pushing matters. 
 Just by us here is a bank, covered with trees and 
 bushes, and really very much exposed to the enemy s 
 fire. We often venture to pause, however, in the 
 brush, and look at their earthworks, which can be seen 
 from this point to advantage. Here I stopped on Sun 
 day, and saw to my surprise, on a hill just opposite the 
 enemy, that a deep, broad trench had been run within a 
 few rods of them. In the sap were negroes digging it 
 on still closer ; and a company of infantry, returning, 
 close at hand, the fire of the rebs. While I was taking 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 205 
 
 my observations, suddenly Bivlns turned up at the foot 
 of the bank, cutting poles to pitch his shelter-tent with ; 
 and from him I learned that it was no other than our 
 old Company D that I could see loading and firing ; 
 pushed up, to say the least, among the very whiskers 
 about this old lion s active and well-armed jaws. 
 
 You shall go with me into this outmost sap, and 
 know what sights and sounds it is our business now to 
 be familiar with. Into this sap I am obliged to go three 
 times a day for my rations, out of the retreat of the 
 colors. First we must creep out of our ravine, through 
 the top of this prostrate tree, whose boughs catch our 
 clothing ; then up by the charred trunk, the feet slipping 
 in the mud. Your head now comes within the range 
 of riflemen in the trees over there. Sometimes they are 
 in the trees, though not always. A few steps more, and 
 we come within full range from the parapet ; but do not 
 stop to look. Stoop as low as you can, and run. This 
 stump will shelter you ; pitted with the striking of balls 
 against it, as if it had the small-pox when a sapling. 
 When you have caught your breath, run for that trunk, 
 It is an ugly one to get over ; for it is breast-high, 
 and one s whole body has to come into the enemy s view. 
 Once over this, and the road is smoother. We soon 
 gain the cover of the woods, and are comparatively safe. 
 The other day, I was twice shot at while passing the 
 space we have just been over. I do not know how near 
 the bullets came ; only the first seemed as if it were 
 sweeping my legs off at the knee with its sharp rush. 
 I stooped, and labored through the brush ; when the 
 
206 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 second came cold along the length of my spine, just 
 above the vertebrae. We are to have a better road, 
 however. One of Company E has just been shot through 
 the head dead in an instant here, and we are to 
 have a protected passage-way. 
 
 Down this little gully, and we enter the beginning of 
 the sap, at the end of the military road. Behind the 
 angle, just back there, is the station of the ambulance 
 men. They wait there, day and night, with stretchers 
 ready. These stretchers are now all blood-stained. 
 Three or four a day, out of the brigade and working- 
 party, are carried out. The ambulance-corps is made 
 up largely of the musicians : but music ! we never hear 
 it now, not even the drum and fife. It is too stern a 
 time for that. 
 
 We pass out into the sap. Here is the most danger 
 ous point of all, just at the entrance, where the first man 
 from our regiment was killed the day of the assault. 
 You see how the rebel parapet commands it. We are 
 going considerably nearer to it ; but we shall be better 
 sheltered. Tis just in front, with an old shot-pierced 
 building behind it, and white sand-bags lying on top of 
 the tawny slope. That old building mighl, be a ruinous 
 mill, and those bags might be grist, laid out there along 
 the wall until the miller was ready for it ; but, every bag 
 or two, there is a sharp-eyed Mississippian with his rifle 
 pointed through some chink. Let us" go at a good pace, 
 so that no one of those fellows will have a chance to 
 draw a -bead on either of us. The trench goes under a 
 large trunk, stretching from bank to bank; and from 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 207 
 
 here we are tolerably safe. Only tolerably : for the 
 other day, close by here, one of our company was hit in 
 the face by a glancing ball ; and Sergt. Bennett, of 
 Company K, was mortally wounded by a fragment from 
 one of our own shells, which flew back into our lines 
 from over the rebel parapet, where the shell exploded. 
 We are coming close, you see. Climb a steep pitch 
 now, and we reach the station of Company D. The 
 sap is here about six feet wide and four deep, dug out 
 of the hard soil, the dirt being thrown out on the side 
 toward the enemy ; forming a bank rising about five feet 
 from the surface, and therefore about nine feet above 
 the bottom of the trench. Here now are our boys, the 
 few that are left, barely twenty. Along the top of the 
 ridge of earth, logs are placed ; into the under side of 
 which, notches are cut at intervals of three or four feet ; 
 leaving, between the earth below and the timber above, 
 a loop-hole, four or five inches in diameter, for the men 
 to fire through. McGill has just sprung down, after 
 discharging his piece. Before he loads again, let us 
 climb up, and take a view of the world through the hole. 
 Carefully ! Lay your body up against the steeply sloping 
 bank, resting the feet on the edge of the sap. By all 
 means, take care that the top of your head does not pro 
 ject above the narrow timber. Your face is at the hole 
 now. From the outside, a groove runs along the top 
 of the thick bank ; then comes the open air ; and oppo 
 site you, within call easily enough, is the deadly ridge ; 
 the two or three tents behind it ; the old, ruinous chim 
 neys, the one or two shattered buildings, so near, you 
 
208 THE COLOR-G.UARD. 
 
 can plainly see threads and bricks and splinters. Do 
 not look long. Every yard, perhaps the intervals are 
 less, behind the sand-bags, there is a rifleman. Mellen, 
 of Company F, has just been shot while aiming his 
 piece through one of these holes. The ball entered 
 through the hole, hit the band of his gun, then the lock, 
 splintering wood and steel, then crashed in through his 
 chest. 
 
 McGill is capping his gun. Try one more look be 
 fore he jumps up for another shot. Can you see any 
 one? No head, I ll warrant ; for, though they are brave 
 enough over there, they are not often careless. The 
 most you will be likely to see will be a hand put up for 
 a moment, with a ramrod, as the charge is pushed 
 home ; or a glimpse of butternut as a fellow jumps 
 past some interval in the sand-bags. Now let McGill 
 and Buffum and Wivers and the others, whose place it 
 is, blaze away at whatever they can see. Little Gott 
 lieb offers me his piece to try a few shots : but I am not 
 anxious to kill a man ; and, so long as it is not in my 
 place to fire, I decline it. 
 
 You duck your head now as the balls whistle over. 
 It is a nervous sound ; but you would soon get over that 
 here. They go with a hundred different sounds through 
 the air, according to the shape, size, and velocity of the 
 projectile. Two strike the bank. It is like two quick 
 blows of a whip-lash. That went overhead, sharp as 
 the cut of a cimeter ; another goes with a long moan, 
 then drops into the earth with a "thud." It comes 
 from some more distant point, and is nearly spent. A 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 209 
 
 shot comes from some great gun in the rear, an earth 
 quake report ; then the groaning, shuddering rush of 
 the shell, as if the air were sick and tired of them, and 
 it was too much to be borne that they should be so con 
 stantly sent. 
 
 Sit on the edge of the trench now, with your feet 
 hanging down, and your back leaning against the pile 
 of earth. The boys have built shelters of boughs, just 
 on the other side, to keep off, a little, the intolerable 
 sun. A line of men goes along the sap, each carrying 
 a fascine. Then comes a party rolling hogsheads filled 
 with cotton. These are built into the bank beyond to 
 give it strength. Steve and Tom, the cooks, come up 
 with dinner, which is cooked back in the woods to the 
 rear. Coffee and stewed beans to-day. There ! a 
 shower of dirt falls over us, dinner and all, from a ball 
 that hit near the loop-hole : but to dirt and balls alike 
 we are growing indifferent ; so we only laugh. 
 
 But let us go out to the end of the sap. We pass 
 the young captain of engineers, who is in charge here ; 
 a pleasant, active young fellow, who nods back to us as 
 we give him the salute, make several turns, and pre 
 sently are at the end. Negroes are making the trench 
 here wider. We push through them to the cotton- 
 stuffed hogshead at the extremity. They roll this for 
 ward a foot or two, then dig out behind it, and so on. 
 A lieutenant of engineers, and a negro, have just been 
 shot here. From this crevice we can get a peep. Is 
 it not near? You can easily throw a hard-tack across. 
 Looking back on to a side-hill, we can see some of the 
 
210 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 old wreck of the assault, a rusty gun or two, mouldy 
 equipments, and there a skeleton. Some regiments got 
 very near on the 14th. Close by runs the little, disused 
 path, among weeds and wild-flowers, along which, be 
 fore we came, the garrison used to go from their works 
 to the road. It looks innocent as the path up Pocum- 
 tuc ; but what a way of death it would be to him who 
 should get out of the sap, and try to walk in it ! Our 
 boys in the sap here have distinguished company. Al 
 most every day, Gen. Banks comes through, some 
 times with quite a retinue, sometimes only with Gen. 
 Stone. 
 
 "Well, boys, how do you stand it?" said he, the 
 other day, to our men. 
 
 " Arrah, now, your honor," said Pat O Toole, ff we re 
 most dead intirely for the want of whishkey." 
 
 We wait and watch. When night comes, I climb 
 out of the ravine on to the hillside, where the air is 
 fresh. There is a bright moon now, and my vigil is 
 sure to be well lit. I am often there at midnight ; and 
 on the rebel side, faint and far along distant roads, I 
 hear the low rattle of wheels, and call of drivers ; and 
 the sound of the active mill too, whose location the bat 
 teries are crazy to know, that they may seal its doom. 
 
 July 6. The interest of campaigning I find to be 
 of a spasmodic sort, a few days of excitement and 
 intense labor, then long periods of tedious inactivity. 
 The interval since the skirmish near Jackson has been 
 an uninteresting period, because its experiences are of a 
 sort to which we have become accustomed, and of 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 211 
 
 which we have grown tired. Our life is a monotony 
 of perilous exposure. The regiment remains in its 
 advanced position, constantly under fire, and occasion 
 ally losing a member, killed or wounded. Meantime, 
 the engineers have been pushing forward their work. 
 What would have become of us, if the work of siege 
 had fallen to us to do, I do not know : or, rather, it is 
 easy to see what would have become of us, hundreds 
 and hundreds in hospitals, or silent under brown 
 mounds ; mounds which, as it is, have become numerous 
 on hillsides, and wherever the ground is open and at 
 all easy to the shovel. 
 
 Sambo, however, has saved us many lives. These 
 big black fellows, with arms like our legs almost, and 
 with muscle piled in great layers about rib and back, 
 have done the main work. The soil through which the 
 sap runs is very hard, a tough, unyielding clay, upon 
 which a shovel makes but little impression. 
 
 Almost every crumble of it, it has been necessary to 
 hew out with a pickaxe. Sambo, however, is equal to 
 it. He has the courage to stand close to the rebel rifle- 
 pits all the time, and the strength to handle this un 
 yielding earth. 
 
 Every morning and every night, the long fatigue-par 
 ties from the black engineer troops relieve each other ; 
 and day by day, as we lot>k out from our hiding-places, 
 we can see that the line of our sap runs farther and 
 farther. Two " cavaliers " have also been constructed. 
 These are elevations, built up of hogsheads, tier above 
 tier, designed to give sharpshooters a position from 
 
212 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 which they can fire well within the parapet. The brunt 
 of the work the negroes do. There are white over 
 seers ; and fatigue-parties, too, are detailed from white 
 regiments : but, for the most part, we have had it for 
 our work to keep sharp watch from our cover, and 
 never allow a rebel head to appear above the opposite 
 parapet, without a pointed leaden hint to withdraw, 
 insinuated without ceremony through a loophole. 
 
 We keep hearing of the new assault. The army 
 began to prepare for it at once, after the 14th of June. 
 It was then supposed it would take place almost imme 
 diately ; but it has been deferred. Tuesday evening, 
 June 30, I had been for an hour or two at the camp, 
 in the woods back from the front, where the convales 
 cents of the regiments are quartered. Returning to my 
 post about sunset, I found the road full of troops. A 
 division had assembled to hear a speech from the com 
 manding general. The gloss of military show had all 
 worn off. The men were brown , attired as they 
 chose to be, shaggy and stained with their bear-like 
 life in ravines and behind logs. There were no flags 
 or music, no shining brass or glossy broadcloth and 
 lace. If glory lies in these things, " Ichabod " was 
 written in deep, emphatic lines on the whole com 
 pany. 
 
 But these were the stout Fourth Wisconsin, and 
 Thirty-first Massachusetts, and other decimated regi 
 ments, that had faced rifle-muzzles in the two previous 
 deadly assaults, and had all the heart in the world for 
 another. If glory lies in that, every tanned and un- 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 213 
 
 combed platoon abounded in it. Presently there was a 
 stir, and the general rode up, iron as ever, in rough, 
 serviceable dress ; the gray moustache on his upper lip 
 cropping out like a ledge of the metal, almost pure. 
 He made a speech : 
 
 " We were close on another assault. It was sure to 
 be successful, if the army would do as well as it had 
 done. Then would come rest, and the campaign would 
 close in light." 
 
 Still we wait. A day or two after that, I walked 
 down one branch of the sap to Duryea s battery of 
 regulars, seven twelve-pounders, which had been 
 dragged in through the narrow trench to an advanced 
 point, where they threatened the rebels close at hand. 
 As I went along, a rebel shell exploded in the air over 
 head, the pieces falling here and there into the bushes 
 and into the dust. In the air where the shell burst, a 
 halo of white, compact smoke floated for a minute or 
 two, a round, perfect ring, from which depended a 
 fringe of less compact vapor, that floated longer and 
 longer, and swayed to and fro, beautiful as a bridal 
 veil hanging from a crown. The battery lay behind its 
 embrasures, silent. Before each piece, the embrasure 
 was hidden by a plate of iron, in which was a hole of 
 the size of the muzzle of a gun, temporarily covered 
 with a sand-bag. A rain of rifle-balls was being show 
 ered on the spot. I did not stay long ; for that morning 
 the battery-men told us they had lost three. They were 
 waiting and waiting, with their cartridges at hand, and 
 their fierce shells in piles, ready for their deadly flight. 
 
214 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 Another day, I went through another branch of the 
 sap to the mine. The passage was guarded against all 
 but workmen ; but, fortunately, I met the colonel near 
 the sentry, and he passed me in. I went through the 
 zigzag passages, passed piles of fascines, and a pontoon 
 bridge which lay ready to be put together across any 
 ditch, when the day shall come for the charge. 
 
 At last I came to a turn, and found the parapet 
 straight ahead. The sap ended in the mine, a hole 
 about four feet square, where a party of men were bur 
 rowing under the enemy s earthwork. I stooped, and 
 looked in at the mouth. Negroes, on their knees, were 
 working there by candle-light, excavating a place in 
 which are to be put kegs of powder. With these it is 
 designed to blow the parapet into the air, leaving a 
 passage for our troops. It was a perilous place. The 
 workmen all spoke in whispers, as they do in powder- 
 mills. Sometimes the rebs toss over hand-grenades. 
 Capt. Morton, with a squad, was at work there, placing 
 sandbags. A short time after, in this very place, his 
 lieutenant and some of his men were marked for life 
 by the explosion of a hand-grenade. 
 
 Still the days pass, and no order is given. We im 
 agined 4th of July would be the day ; but it was not. 
 Nor was it Sunday, the day following ; nor Monday, 
 to-day. The regiment is growing blue. This week, 
 our time is out ; and the idea is spreading, that there is 
 no going home for us till the place falls. There are 
 some insubordinate threats ; but many of us feel as if 
 our personal honor is concerned, and are determined 
 
THE WOLF AT BAY. 215 
 
 not to go till the place falls, no matter when it happens. 
 To-day, Port Hudson seems more impregnable than 
 ever. The space within those stubborn banks, gullied 
 by the rains and baked by the suns, so terribly edged 
 with fire, as yet is unapproached and unapproachable. 
 
 To-night, Company D have all been in tears. Cyrus 
 Stowell, the "pleasant corporal," so called for his un 
 failing amiability, on duty on our middle picket-post, 
 thrown out upon the very mouths of the rebel rifles, 
 suddenly, just at sundown, was shot through the head ; 
 his pure, sweet young life swept off in an instant. We 
 dug his grave late this evening, by the light of tapers 
 dimly burning, on the brow of a hill crowned by the 
 old rifle-pits of the enemy, out of which we had forced 
 them. Overhead was the clear light of stars. 
 
 On the horizon a tempest was gathering, swelling 
 accumulations of thunder -charged cloud lit up each 
 moment from within with sudden luminousness, and 
 rumbling with coming storm. Close at hand, through 
 the agitated air, hurtled the constant roar of the siege. 
 The body could not be brought out till after dark, as it 
 was necessary to pass several exposed places. 
 
 It came at last, late at night, upon a stretcher borne 
 by his comrades. We wrapped his young, tall figure 
 in his tent, and laid him to rest. As we stood uncov 
 ered, during the service, close overhead swept the rifle- 
 balls, until we thought there would be some new victim 
 to be buried beside him. 
 
216 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 TRIUMPH. 
 
 + JULY 8. The drama of Port Hudson I imagine 
 to be pretty much played out. Yesterday our company 
 had come out from the advance to rest. Suddenly 
 an orderly passed through a group of us sitting near the 
 colonel s quarters, hurrying with despatches to the dif 
 ferent commanders of the brigade. McGill rushed out, 
 and read the despatch as he carried it in his hand. It 
 was, " Vicksburg surrendered on the Fourth ! " Every 
 pale, haggard face lit up with a wonderfully jolly light. 
 Presently the brigadier hurried into the trenches ; and a 
 soldier, on duty at the mine, by his command, threw 
 the news over among the rebels. At noon, we had a 
 great firing of salutes. This morning, before light, we 
 heard that a conference of the generals was to be held 
 to agree upon the terms of surrender, and that a 
 truce was to begin at once. The major went off through 
 the dark to order the sharpshooters to stop firing ; while 
 we rubbed our eyes, wondering if the day had really 
 come, if our cause had really gained this great suc 
 cess, and we could go home with credit. 
 
TRIUMPH. 217 
 
 July 12. In Port Hudson at last ! There was no 
 false alarm. Yicksburg really fell on the 4th inst. On 
 the 8th, down went Port Hudson ; and the particular 
 work for which we came here was at last accomplished, 
 just as our term of service expired. Glory be to 
 God! 
 
 I write on the bold Port-Hudson bluff, within a step 
 or two of the precipice, which descends seventy feet to 
 the water s edge. My back is resting against the earth 
 work which protected one of the great cannon of the 
 rebels. Before me rolls the great river ; the bluff here 
 commanding a splendid reach of it, five or six miles up 
 toward Vicksburg. From the water and the green 
 woods that fringe it comes a cool breeze. Our work is 
 done ; our time has expired ; and now we only wait for 
 the sick of the regiment to be assembled, for the bag 
 gage to be collected, and for the arrival of the trans 
 ports to take us North. 
 
 I am weary and worn with the siege and hard fare ; 
 but the experiences of the last few days have been so 
 interesting, that I must make some record of them. 
 
 As I have written, before daybreak, the morning of 
 the 8th of July, the major went into the rifle-pits to 
 stop hostilities, as the conference of the commanding 
 generals was about to begin under a flag of truce. 
 About sunrise, I hurried down the military road, and 
 through the obstructed pathways, to the position of the 
 regiment. The ravines were empty. I climbed up past 
 the forsaken booths and caves to the outer picket-posts, 
 and found the men were all out in front. There was 
 
 10 
 
218 THE COLOlt-GUAKD. 
 
 no need, this morning, of crouching. The rebel works 
 were only a stone s-toss off; but the rebels themselves 
 were walking and standing in the plainest sight, and 
 free communication was going forward between the two 
 armies. 
 
 A most complete entente cordiale had just been 
 established between Company D and the Alabama and 
 Arkansas men who have been posted opposite to us. It 
 was rather embarrassing, at first, to come face to face 
 with the chaps, who, for a month back, have been 
 shooting at you night and day : but I wanted to study 
 the live "reb," and determine the category in natural 
 history under which he should come, whether "go 
 rilla," as some claim ; or " chivalry," as others ; or 
 something between. 
 
 I passed out from behind an uprooted tree, the 
 grass near the stump yet pressed down, where the body 
 of Stowell fell as he was shot ; then pushed on for a 
 hollow, about half way to the rebel works, having an 
 uncomfortable sense of insecurity as I walked upright ; 
 for it had become second nature to us to crawl and stoop. 
 It was only a few steps. Here they were, the real 
 truculent and unmitigated reb, in butternut of every 
 shade, from the dingy green which clothes the unripe 
 nut, to the tawny brown and faded tan which it wears 
 at other stages, butternut mixed with a dull charac 
 terless gray. There was no attempt at uniform, yet 
 something common, in the dress of the whole company, 
 a faded look, as if the fabric, whatever its original 
 hue, had felt the sun until all*life and brightness had 
 
TRIUMPH. 219 
 
 ... 
 , 
 wilted in the web and been killed out of the dye. Still 
 
 the clothing was whole ; and, upon closer inspection, 
 looked strong and serviceable, though very coarse. 
 
 A group of rebels were gathered in the hollow ; and 
 over the parapet others came jumping, coming in a 
 straggling line down the slope. I am bound to say, 
 they seemed like pleasant men. All were good-natured, 
 and met our advances cordially. They straightened up 
 as we did. " It was good to be able to stretch up once 
 more to the full height : they had not been able to do 
 it for a month." Several were free-masons ; and there 
 was mysterious clasping and mighty fraternizing with 
 the brethren on our side. Some had been in Northern 
 colleges, and were gentlemen; and even the "white 
 trash" and "border ruffians," who made up the mass of 
 them, were a less inhuman set than I should have 
 believed. 
 
 The officers, sometimes, wore a uniform of gray ; the 
 rank being indicated by badges upon the collar. Some 
 times there was nothing to distinguish them from pri 
 vates. They were brown and dusty ; though no more 
 so than we, who, like them, had lived in burrows, on 
 our backs and stomachs, for a month. We really 
 thought, that in condition they went ahead of us. The 
 climate and hard marching had sallowed and dug into 
 our cheeks and shaken us on our pins ; whereas they 
 were, though not fat, by no means gaunt and emaciated. 
 Still they hinted at rats, mule meat, and other hard 
 matters, they had been forced of late to come down to. 
 
 " Here comes Old Thous n Yards ! " said they, as a 
 
220 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 broad, tall Arkansian, with a beard heavy as Spanish 
 moss on an oak, and a quick, dark eye, came swinging 
 down from the parapet. They all made way for him 
 with some deference. He was "Old Thous n .Yards" 
 with every one, and turned out to be the great sharp 
 shooter of that part of the works. I inquired about 
 him, and found he was a famous backwoodsman and 
 hunter, who, with a proper rifle, was really sure of a 
 bear or buffalo at the distance of a thousand yards. 
 He came forward rather bashfully. On both sides, the 
 rifles were left behind ; and " Old Thousand Yards " 
 seemed to be as much troubled to dispose of his hands 
 as a college freshman at his first party. His left arm 
 would half bend into a hollow as if to receive the rifle- 
 barrel, and the right fingers work as if they wanted to 
 feel the touch of the lock. I borrowed a chew of 
 tobacco, and won the perennial friendship of "Old 
 Thousand Yards" by bestowing it upon him. Then I 
 bought his cedar canteen to preserve as a souvenir of Port 
 Hudson and its sharpshooter. I fear more than one of 
 our poor fellows has felt his skill ; but, for all that, he 
 was a good-natured fellow, with a fine frame and noble 
 countenance, a physique to whose vigor and mascu 
 line beauty, prairies and mountain-paths and wild chases 
 had contributed. 
 
 For the most part, these men of the Forty-ninth 
 Alabama and Fifteenth Arkansas seemed like honorable 
 fellows, firm to their cause ; disposed to be good-natured, 
 but declining to give communications likely to help us ; 
 and, although owning to great hardship, apparently 
 
TRIUMPH. 221 
 
 ready to fight on. They complimented our sharp- 
 shooting. It killed and wounded far more than our 
 shells had done ; though our shells had burned stables 
 here, a camp there, houses elsewhere, and dismounted 
 many guns. They told us their rifles were Belgian, 
 Enfield, and Springfield. They had no "target," or 
 Kentucky rifles, as we had imagined. They evidently 
 respected us, and we did them, so brown and 
 strong : some of them, indeed, with lack-lustre eyes, 
 soap-locks, and lank frames, according to the conven 
 tional type of the Southerner ; but plenty of them 
 hearty, bright, and frank. 
 
 I came back at last to our covert, took a drink of 
 rebel water out of " Old Thousand Yards " canteen, and 
 found my hostility to these fellows much mitigated. I 
 could see why commanders generally frown on this sort 
 of communication. It is likely to establish relations 
 altogether too brotherly for the purposes of war. The 
 great principle involved is liable to sink out of sight 
 before the personal friendship. 
 
 Meantime, the generals conferred. At noon, a hitch 
 was rumored, and we feared the re-opening of the tedi 
 ous and terrible siege ; but in the afternoon came better 
 news, and at sundown the regiments began to gather 
 from dens and caves, from thickets and ravines, far 
 and near, and burnish up a little for a triumphal 
 entry on the morrow. 
 
 The morrow came. We left the woods ; the filthy 
 little brook whose banks had been covered with the 
 cooking booths of whole divisions of men, and which 
 
222 THE COLOll-GUARD. 
 
 we had daily drunk almost dry; the graves and the 
 rifle-pits, the half-completed saps, and dreary ovens 
 in which the sun had baked us so long. We left them ; 
 henceforth, through long generations probably, to be 
 objects of historical interest, mementoes of the great 
 war. With the old flag, in Wilson s hands, spreading 
 its soiled and tattered fragments to the breeze, a sick 
 and diminished company, we marched through the gate, 
 over tracks marked out by our shell, through riddled 
 camps, past carcasses of horses, and new-made graves 
 of men ; then drew up in line, at last, on the brink of 
 the bluff, with the great, liberated river rolling before 
 us toward the sea. 
 
 " We were but warriors for the working-day : 
 Our gayness and our gilt were all besmirched 
 With rainy marching in the painful field. 
 There was no piece of feather in our host, 
 And time had worn us into slovenry ; 
 But, by the Mass ! our hearts were in the trim." 
 
 July 13. Since the army entered Port Hudson, I 
 have taken two long rambles : the first, to the corner 
 of the works opposite our " right centre," the point at 
 which we were stationed ; the other, to what is called 
 the " citadel," at the southern end of the defences on 
 the river-bank. It was only very strong curiosity that 
 drew me out for these walks. We all find ourselves 
 much debilitated. Our fare, always hard enough, has 
 lately been harder than ever. About the time of the 
 surrender, there was a period of some days during which 
 I tasted nothing but our hard-bread which now is 
 
TRIUMPH. 223 
 
 often wormy and our coarse coffee. Fat salt-pork, 
 indeed, was served out to us ; but that, for me, is out 
 of the question, in this climate. We are just finding 
 out, now, the strait we were in. The rebels had actually 
 blocked up the river at Donaldsonville, and destroyed 
 our communications \vith New Orleans, whence we 
 draw all our supplies, when Port Hudson surrendered. 
 The day after our entrance, however, I forgot my 
 weakness, so far as I could, and started with Grider 
 and McGill out upon the line of the Clinton and Port- 
 Hudson Railroad for the " works." I ought to say, that 
 we find Port Hudson to be a little cluster of perhaps 
 forty or fifty houses, on the edge of the bluff. The 
 line of rebel intrencliments extends about this in the 
 form of an irregular semicircle, beginning on the 
 river-bank, then running well back into the country, 
 and returning to strike the bluff two or three miles 
 below the village. The length of the line of intrench 
 ments is said to be about seven miles. As we left the 
 neighborhood of the little village, the country grew wild, 
 cut and crossed, like the ground we had occupied out 
 side, with ravines and little watercourses. The car 
 casses of animals were abundant, making the air foul ; 
 and often we came to old camps , rows of huts built of 
 logs and mud. Many of the huts were pierced by our 
 shot, which seem to have penetrated to every part of 
 the space within the enclosure. Every few steps, the 
 foot trod upon a fragment of exploded .shell, or a Par- 
 rott bolt, or round shot. Not far from the breastwork, 
 we came to a redoubt which contained a ruined cannon. 
 
THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 It was a large siege-piece, facing, through its embra 
 sure, one of our cavaliers, which contained, I remem 
 ber, a formidable Parrott gun. This poor cannon was 
 deeply dented here and there throughout its length, 
 its carriage splintered ; and it was turned on to its side, 
 so that the trunnions were vertical. The last shot of 
 our Parrott, so the rebels told us, had struck at the 
 muzzle, just splintering the Up of the piece, then fairly 
 entering the bore. We could feel an obstruction in the 
 bore of the gun, with the rammer, which we supposed 
 was the bolt. We were told that the shot struck just as 
 a brave and skilful officer was sighting the piece ; and 
 that a certain dark stain, still visible on the earth near 
 by, was his life-blood, poured out then and there. This 
 cannon was not upon the outer intrenchments. The 
 precision of our artillery-fire, the rebels assure us, was 
 something wonderful ; and we found ample evidence of 
 it. Every gun at all exposed was sure to be detected 
 by the sharp eyes of our cannoneers ; and then its fate 
 was sealed. At last, the rebels only dared to place 
 their guns in the rear, concealing their whereabouts as 
 much as possible : but then they were not safe, as in 
 the case of this piece. 
 
 From this point, we soon came to the memorable 
 angle where our sap approached. Every step, the evi 
 dences of the past storm became more numerous. The 
 trees had lost their tops, the shells had hollowed out 
 huge holes in the ground, and even weeds and bushes 
 showed where the fire had swept. We came fairly to 
 the outer works : and here the appearance of things was 
 
TRIUMPH. 225 
 
 as if a tornado had swept across, whose hail had had 
 the power to penetrate every thing; or rather as if 
 the spot had received such a fiery storm as fell upon 
 Sodom and Gomorrah. The few trees still standing 
 were splintered into match-wood up their sides, or had 
 lost their tops ; and, in some cases, the solid balls had 
 pierced them through and through, leaving them stand 
 ing, tall and thick, with perforated trunks ! The rough 
 buildings near, which we had been able to see so plainly, 
 were shattered in every way ; and hardly a square foot 
 could be found upon their timbers not marked by a bullet. 
 The surface of the earth was ploughed and seared ; 
 the sand-bags on the breastwork, that I have looked 
 at so often from our cover, were pierced and powder- 
 stained; and, in the old rifle-pits, bloody sacking toM 
 where there had been killed and wounded men. It 
 was very interesting to look over toward our approaches 
 and hiding-places. Here ran our sap, touching at last 
 the parapet ; there rose the outside of the towering ca 
 valier ; there was the pile of cotton-bales, protecting an 
 exposed part of the military road, behind which I had 
 often crept ; and there (how very close and plain !) was 
 the prostrate tree where Cyrus S to well was shot. I 
 must have stood in the very tracks of the riflemen who 
 did it. It was a little melancholy to think of the haunts 
 as abandoned that had held so much life ; where, for 
 twenty-five days, we had undergone peril and hardship. 
 We found the rebels had had no better cover than we, 
 and that our fire ha4 been more sharp and deadly even 
 
 titan theirs. 
 
 10* 
 
226 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 The preparations the rebels had been making against 
 our third assault were in plain view here. We knew 
 they had been hard at work. Mysterious sounds had 
 come over into our sap ; and a pickaxe or shovel would 
 occasionally be thrust up into view, over the parapet. 
 Where the breach was to have been made, a space of 
 ground was thickly planted with hard-wood stakes, 
 sharply pointed. A second parapet, for riflemen, had 
 been constructed, and a cannon posted to throw grape. 
 In the ground were buried enormous shell, ready to be 
 discharged. The wires connecting with these ran near 
 our feet, and we were forced to step with care. Had 
 Heaven been a little less kind, it would have been our 
 fate to charge at this very spot. 
 
 * The "Citadel," at the southern end of the intrench- 
 ments, was the goal of an excursion on the day 
 following. It was a walk of a mile and a half. 
 Here the siege operations had been of greater magni 
 tude than at our approach. The effects of the enor 
 mous artillery of the fleet appeared as they could not 
 be seen elsewhere. Here, too, the rebels had placed 
 along the bluff their most formidable guns, the mouths 
 that had spoken so thunderously the doom of the " Mis 
 sissippi," stranded on the shore opposite there, that 
 night in March, when we listened in the woods. We 
 found great cavities, where the large bombs had ex 
 ploded. If the earth was soft, it is not exaggerating 
 much to say that these were large enough for cellars to 
 small houses. If the earth was hard, they were large 
 enough to make rifle-pits for a soldier. We came to 
 
TRIUMPH. 227 
 
 smooth, round holes, a foot or so in diameter, bored 
 down into the earth out of sight. I thought, at first, 
 they were ventilators to some deep bomb-proof or sub 
 terranean passage of the enemy ; but they were too 
 numerous and too irregularly disposed for that. They 
 were made by descending shot. Presently we found 
 some projectiles, gigantic bolts of iron, two feet 
 long and eight inches thick, and cone-shaped at one 
 end. We could not begin to lift them, nor many of 
 the fragments of the exploded shells. 
 
 The shells were the missiles whose wonderful flight I 
 had watched so often, alone, at midnight, from the top 
 of the slope above the ravine of the color-guard. The 
 southern horizon would light up with the wide-spreading 
 glare of the discharge ; then came the majestic plane 
 tary sweep of the ascending bomb, revealed by its 
 revolving fuse, far into the zenith, the deep, swinging 
 roar, the stern music of the rushing sphere ; then the 
 awful fall from the perihelion of its tremendous orbit, 
 and the earthquake crash at last ! In such manner, 
 once perhaps, a circling world, with fire-charged heart, 
 burst into the asteroids ! 
 
 As we approached the southern defences, we found 
 them to be evidently of older construction and more 
 formidable character than the defences we had before 
 seen. The citadel was an outlying work, in front 
 of a double or triple line of parapets. Less than an 
 eighth of a mile opposite, across a depression, was a 
 seventeen-gun battery of ours, which had added its 
 force to that of the fleet. From this battery, toward 
 
228 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 the river, ran a trench, perhaps forty rods in length. 
 Opening from the trench, a zigzag sap approached the 
 citadel, so dug that troops could come up to its walls 
 without exposure. The approach touched the hostile 
 parapet, and ended in a mine, which was nearly com 
 pleted at the time of the surrender ; and ran a deep 
 resounding cavern far under the feet of the defend 
 ers. It was designed, by means of this, to blow this 
 whole part of the fortification into the air. 
 
 The clash of the hostile forces here had been tre 
 mendous. It was impossible to think of the Northern 
 power, except as a terrible fiery tide, which, responding 
 to some tempest-breathing of God, had hurled itself 
 upon this outpost. I came when the storm was gone, 
 and could see the mark of the sublime impact. The 
 sea had torn its ragged, zigzag way through the bosom 
 of hill and plain, dashed against battlement and cliff, 
 and roared at the base, until it had hollowed out for 
 itself deep-penetrating channels. Everywhere it had 
 scattered its fiery spume. Within the citadel lay siege- 
 guns and field-pieces, broken and dented by blows 
 mightier than those of trip-hammers ; wheels, torn to 
 bits ; solid oaken beams, riven as by lightning ; stub 
 born parapets, dashed through almost as a locomotive s 
 plough dashes through a snow-drift, these, and the 
 bloody garments of men. 
 
 A photographist was quietly taking pictures on the 
 parapet ; one or two soldiers were strolling about : but 
 the storm was gone, the sapper gone from the mine, 
 the gunner from beside his cannon- wheel, the rifleman 
 
TRIUMPH. 229 
 
 from his sand-bag, still smutched from the muzzle 
 of his piece. Then, as we came back, we saw the 
 fierce, gray-headed old colonel, now our prisoner, 
 who had commanded here, and breasted all this infer 
 nal force. 
 
230 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 CONCLUSION. 
 
 OUR work was done. The regiment languished for 
 two or three weeks, first upon the bluff; then upon 
 a hot, pestilential plain, far back within the fortress. 
 Day by day, men fell sick of fever, or worn out for the 
 want of proper food. Day by day, we laid away the 
 dead ; and it was plain more must die, unless we could 
 soon go northward. 
 
 At length, the forenoon of the 23d of July, while we 
 were burying poor Spencer Phelps, dead of terrible 
 fever just at the moment when relief was at hand, the 
 transport touched at the Levee, which was to take us 
 North. At dusk, we left the tents and the graves, the 
 long parapet with our rifle-pits beyond, and the barren, 
 sun-baked bluff. We marched aboard, a nerveless, 
 debilitated company, too weak and sick to show joy 
 even at going home. 
 
 Grosvenor, indeed, my good friend, a high-minded 
 patriot, whose great spirit had carried his feeble body 
 through all our exposures, though pale and haggard, 
 went from man to man, shaking- hands. He lay down 
 at night, spreading out his blankets with his old com- 
 
CONCLUSION. 231 
 
 rades. In the morning, his couch lay as he had spread 
 it ; but he was gone, and the eyes of no man have rested 
 upon him since. His was a brave and knightly soul. 
 No doubt he rose in the night, too. exultant, perhaps, 
 over the brighter prospects of our great cause, and 
 over the thought that hardship honorably borne was 
 soon to be over, to sleep. The moon, about full, floated 
 gloriously before him in the heavens, among the sum 
 mer clouds, as the " Sangreal, with its veils of white 
 samite," floated before Arthur s pure-souled knights. 
 A misstep with his- weak limbs, and he fell overboard 
 into the flood. So our good friend must have per 
 ished. 
 
 Steadily we pushed northward. A large space, 
 where it was most airy, was given up for a hospital, 
 and crowded with the sick. Here was my post at 
 night, from seven to one. One night, three worn-out 
 soldiers gave up the ghost ; but the wind, as we drew 
 forward, blew more cool, and the air of home began to 
 have its effect. 
 
 We looked off upon Natchez and battered Yicksburg ; 
 upon gunboats patrolling, and at anchor off dangerous 
 shores. Then came Memphis ; and in a day or two, a 
 week after we had begun our voyage up those long 
 leagues, we reached Island Ten and Columbus, the 
 hostile strongholds of two years before. 
 
 We left nearly a score of our more deathly sick to 
 the Sisters of Charity at Mound City ; then on through 
 * Egypt," where they did not care for us ; across 
 through loyal Indiana and Ohio, where they cheered 
 
232 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 and clasped us, and only blamed us because we had 
 sent no word of our coming. Flourish, little Marion ! 
 where every villager came running to us, who were so 
 worn and hungry, with a well-filled basket ; and bless 
 ings on generous Buffalo ! city of prodigious gains 
 and prodigious munificence, where, on Sunday morn 
 ing, a congregation and their shepherd held service at 
 the depot, ministering with tearful eyes to the sallow 
 and fever-smitten multitude. 
 
 And now we are nearing home. Hark ! it is my 
 own church-bell, ringing welcome. Here are the 
 familiar faces at last. Old Cruden and venerable 
 Calmet welcome their master from their shelves ; and 
 ere long, washed and refreshed, the soldier falls on his 
 knees, by the side of his own sweet, white bed, to 
 thank God for his mercies. 
 
 The Banks campaign of the spring and early summer 
 of 1863 is coming to be looked upon as a masterpiece 
 of strategy. As yet, but little has appeared in print 
 about it. It ought, however, to interest the military 
 student and the general public. Facts, I think, will 
 support the interpretation of the campaign, which I 
 propose to give. If the view about to be presented is 
 correct, to Gen. Banks, in addition to his former fame, 
 is due the glory of being a mighty leader of armies. 
 
 Gen. Banks was sent to Louisiana to hold and gov 
 ern the territory which had already been conquered by 
 Butler and Farragut, and to restore the Federal author 
 ity in regions still under the rebel domination. In the 
 
CONCLUSION. 233 
 
 way of offensive operations, the special task given him 
 to perform was to co-operate with Grant in re-opening 
 the Mississippi. Vicksburg and Port Hudson were the 
 two obstacles to be overcome. To Grant was intrusted 
 the reduction of the former; to Banks, the capture of 
 Port Hudson. 
 
 During the inclement weather of the winter, the army 
 was arriving. The regiments, as they came, went into 
 camp, and were vigorously drilled. In March, when 
 the heavy rains had ceased and military operations be 
 came possible, Banks was ready to take the field. His 
 force consisted only of the Nineteenth Army Corps. A 
 good part of this force were " nine-months men," whose 
 terms of service expired during the first part of the 
 summer. Whatever was done, must be done before 
 midsummer. 
 
 At this time, Gardner held Port Hudson with a force 
 equal to, or perhaps greater than, the army which Gen. 
 Banks could bring against him. To rush at once upon 
 the enemy, within his strong intrenchments, would have 
 been to incur certain and bloody defeat. It was an 
 occasion for strategy. Port Hudson could be i educed , 
 if Gardner could be led to send away a considerable part 
 of his garrison ; and if, at the same time, it could be so 
 managed, that the remnant left should be short for supplies, 
 so that protracted resistance would be impossible. How tc 
 accomplish this was the problem before the general, 
 in the beginning of March, when he prepared for active 
 operations. 
 
 The first operation of the campaign was directed 
 
234 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 toward cutting off the river communication of the gar 
 rison, by which they could receive supplies and re-en 
 forcements. The 13th of March, we set out from Baton 
 Rouge for Port Hudson. At dusk of the 14th, the 
 reader of the foregoing pages will remember, we were 
 pushed up to within easy cannon-range of the rebel 
 batteries ; while field-artillery fired and manoeuvred as 
 if a rush were to be made at once upon the parapet. 
 We expected a land-attack ; the enemy expected it. A 
 bright reb, whom I met, during the truce on the morn 
 ing of the capitulation, between their rampart and 
 our rifle-pits, told me, that, so confident were they 
 that night of a land-attack, the "cannoneers on the 
 bluff were off their guard. They did not see the fleet 
 stealing silently past, until the vessels at the head were 
 pretty much out of danger, up the stream. If they had 
 seen them, they could have kept them down as they did 
 the ships farther back." The next day, as I stood on 
 the bold Port-Hudson bluff, and saw the immense guns 
 which the rebels had planted on the brow, with delicate 
 sights just above the enormous muzzles, and well-stored 
 magazines, and ovens for hot shot close at hand, I could 
 not help believing what the rebel had told me. With 
 those cannon, hot shot and shell could be cast, almost 
 with the precision of rifle-balls, at objects passing below. 
 If the cannoneers had kept sharp watch, the "Hartford" 
 and "Albatross," both wooden vessels, could not have 
 passed. It was precisely that thing the general was 
 manoeuvring after, to induce the garrison to look for 
 a land-attack ; whereas the object he had in view was 
 
CONCLUSION. 235 
 
 to get these powerful vessels above the fortress to cut 
 off the river communication. It was the artifice, pre 
 cisely, of a skilful boxer, who makes a feint with his 
 right hand, then puts in the blow in earnest with his 
 left. The stratagem was successful. The general, no 
 doubt, wished to pass a stronger force of vessels above 
 the fortress ; but the two proved sufficient. The rebels 
 had nothing on the stream to cope with them in fair 
 fight, and Farragut was too sagacious and prudent to be 
 entrapped. The " Mississippi," indeed, was lost ; but 
 one old frigate was a small price to pay for so substan 
 tial an advantage. 
 
 The next operation of the campaign was to ma- 
 no2uvre in such a way as to induce the rebel commanders 
 to believe, that Port Hudson, after all, was not the 
 threatened point. Now that the river was in our pos 
 session, the great garrison at Port Hudson would soon 
 be embarrassed for supplies ; and, if Gardner and 
 Pemberton could be induced to believe that Banks had 
 some project elsewhere, it would be the natural thing 
 for them to withdraw a portion of the force from the 
 distressed stronghold, and send them, by land, where 
 they fancied the troops could be of more service. 
 
 Banks proceeded without delay. At the end of 
 March, we embarked on transports, and went southward 
 from the rebels, toward New Orleans. Landing at the 
 Bayou La Fourche, we marched westward, and, in a 
 week or two, began the raid through the back country, 
 from Brashear City to Alexandria on the Red River. 
 The inferior rebel force in this region was dissipated by 
 
236 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 our hasty rush ; a vast amount of cotton and sugar were 
 captured ; and supplies were seized, which might pos 
 sibly have found their way into Port Hudson, escaping 
 the vigilance of the "Hartford" and "Albatross." But 
 the most important end accomplished was this, and it 
 was, no doubt, the end which the general had mainly in 
 view, it completely misled the rebel generals as to his 
 real designs. 
 
 O 
 
 The young rebel colonel, chief of Gardner s staff at 
 Port Hudson, the night after the capitulation in July, 
 rides over to the Federal camp to see his old friend and 
 
 former companion-in-arms, Col. G , of the th 
 
 Mass. An old friend of mine, a distinguished young 
 officer of the regiment, is present at the interview, and 
 sits up himself with the rebel colonel, till midnight, 
 talking over past events. Next time I see my friend, 
 he tells me about his talk. One thing is this : This 
 officer says, that, when Banks was at Alexandria, it was 
 believed, on the rebel side, that Port Hudson was no 
 longer threatened ; that, at that time, Lieut-Gen. Pem- 
 berton sent word from Yicksburg, to his subordinate, 
 Gardner, that Port Hudson was not in danger, and that 
 lie might send elsewhere part of his army. Gardner 
 did so ; and, when he was weakened by sending off a 
 large portion of his force, suddenly Banks, on the Red 
 River, put his army upon transports, and Port Hudson 
 was invested, before a man of those who had been sent 
 away could be recalled. 
 
 " Oh," said the rebs to us when the fortress fell, " if 
 you had only attacked us when you came up in March, 
 
CONCLUSION. 237 
 
 when we were ready for you ! " But that was precisely 
 what Gen. Banks was too wise to do. Instead of that, 
 he had preferred to manoeuvre so as to induce the rebel 
 leaders to reduce the garrison, and to cut off their sup 
 plies of provisions 
 
 The field of all this manoeuvring was very extensive. 
 The Fifty-second Kegiment marched more than three 
 hundred miles while it was being done, and a portion 
 of the army accomplished still more. Well do we 
 remember what ache and sweat it cost us ! But it was 
 vigorous to the extent of human endurance, and 
 perfectly successful ; for at the end of May, when the 
 sudden investment of Port Hudson took place, the place 
 contained but a few thousand troops, with provisions for 
 only a few weeks. 
 
 The third and closing operation of the campaign was 
 the siege of Port Hudson. During this siege, two 
 assaults were made upon the rebel works, on the 
 27th of May and the 14th of June. Both were bloody ; 
 both were unsuccessful as assaults : and Gen. Banks 
 has been blamed sometimes for having " mismanaged " 
 them, sometimes for having suffered them to be made 
 at all. 
 
 As to the charge of mismanagement. It should be 
 remembered, that no military undertaking is more critical 
 than an assault upon a well-defended fortress. In 1811, 
 Wellington was twice repulsed at Badajoz, with prodi 
 gious loss ; and in 1799, at Acre, Napoleon himself 
 rushed seven or eight times in vain against the works 
 defended by the British and Turks. Certainly it would 
 
238 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 be rash to say, simply because an assault was unsuc 
 cessful, that it was mismanaged, The opinion of com 
 petent military critics is alone of value upon this point. 
 The writer is far enough from pretending to such a 
 character. We used to hear, at Port Hudson, that the 
 assaults failed from lukewarmness on the part of subor 
 dinates ; from the irremediable embarrassment arising 
 from the early and unexpected fall of officers holding 
 important commands ; and from the circumstance, that 
 portions of the attacking force lost their way. To say 
 the least, it is as probable that some such cause as this 
 prevented success, as that there was want of skill in 
 planning the attacks. 
 
 Gen. Banks has been blamed for having suffered the 
 assaults to be made at all. Since an assault is so criti 
 cal an affair, perhaps nothing is sufficient to justify one, 
 but some great strait in which a general is placed. A 
 siege is far safer and more certain, and ought, no doubt, 
 to be preferred, when there is time. Was Gen. Banks 
 in such a strait as to justify him in trying to storm 
 Port Hudson ? It is hard to see how a general can be 
 in a much closer corner than was Gen. Banks at the 
 end of May. At the outset of the campaign, his force 
 was small, in view of the objects to be accomplished. 
 The vigorous operations which took place at once had 
 diminished this force very largely. The hot season 
 had already begun ; during which, sickness was sure to 
 prevail. Moreover, the time of the "nine-months 
 men " was on the point of expiring. Is it strange Gen. 
 Banks felt driven to even desperate expedients ? 
 
CONCLUSION. 239 
 
 The assaults failed in their main object of taking the 
 fortress, but still secured us some advantages. Each 
 time, numbers of rebels fell, and important ground was 
 gained close under the hostile parapet. 
 
 The siege was pushed as operations had been pushed 
 from the beginning. Farragut kept watch above and 
 below on the river, and no food could reach the half- 
 starved garrison. From land and stream poured in a 
 constant fire of shot and shell, while sharpshooters sent 
 their volleys day and night. At length, the place fell. 
 It was high time : for the nine-months regiments were 
 beginning to mutiny ; New Orleans, which was held by 
 a small force, was seriously threatened ; and the whole 
 army, under the burning heats, was fast sinking away. 
 Out of our company of ninety, scarcely twenty were 
 on duty at last. The whole regiment was diminished in 
 the same proportion, and the men counted as effective 
 were generally far below the standard of health ; yet 
 there were few stronger regiments than ours. That the 
 fall of Vicksburg, which took place a few days pre 
 vious, only hastened the fall of Port Hudson by a day 
 or two, we have the testimony of the rebel leaders, and 
 the explicit declaration of Gen. Grant himself. The 
 Nineteenth Army Corps claim for their general the full 
 glory of the capture, a success accomplished with a 
 small comparative force, within a comparatively short 
 time, under unfavorable skies. We claim for our 
 leader the superlative merits of almost unexampled 
 vigor, sagacity, courage, and persistence. 
 
 The day after the surrender, I saw the general ride 
 
240 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 on his black steed, down the bluff, on his way to the 
 " Hartford," to exchange congratulations with his brave 
 and skilful coadjutor, the admiral. He was haggard 
 and pale, as were his men ; but strong and exultant. 
 So he rode, the foremost man of New England ; 
 perhaps the foremost man of the land : and so, I can 
 believe, rode Marlborough, after Blenheim ; and Prince 
 Eugene at Belgrade. 
 
 During the past year, I have seen much of human 
 nature, often a very rough side of it. In our own 
 regiment were a large number of men of such age and 
 character as are not usually found in the position of 
 private soldiers ; but we had, besides these, a propor 
 tion of "rough characters." Then, again, in organi 
 zations less favored than ours, with which we were 
 associated, there was ample opportunity of meeting with 
 those whom society calls very much debased. I met 
 such men under circumstances when many of the ordi 
 nary restraints of life were taken off, so that their true 
 natures could come out more fully. What have I 
 learned ? To put as much confidence in men as ever ; 
 to believe in the intrinsic goodness of the human heart. 
 Indolence, cruelty, sensuality, meanness, are the things 
 men invariably detest, and what they blame. Mercy, 
 liberality, truth, kindness, are what they invariably 
 commend. 
 
 Much evil there is among the rank and file, as there 
 is among those higher in position. I have seen want 
 of patience, want of honesty, want of temperance. I 
 
CONCLUSION. 241 
 
 have seen gambling and ill-temper, and know how foul 
 the air of a camp is with coarseness and blasphemy. 
 But this I have not seen : the man who liked or would 
 commend selfishness ; the man who disliked or would 
 blame unselfishness. One does not learn to think less 
 of human nature from contact with "rough men," how 
 ever it may be from contact with those at the opposite 
 social extreme. Often they do not imitate what they 
 admire ; often they do not avoid in their ow.n conduct 
 what they detest in others : but this is true, that the 
 human instincts are always fixed in a love for good, in 
 a hatred for bad. In the society of the low, as in every 
 human society, there is but one rule for securing en 
 during popularity, "Be unselfish." 
 
 I have known men, rough in language and manners ; 
 judged by our conventional standards, thoroughly un- 
 sanctified ; perhaps they hardly ever saw the inside of a 
 church, or breathed an audible prayer, though their talk 
 was full of oaths : yet they would do noble things. 
 They would help others generously ; they would bear 
 privation cheerfully ; and I have known them, in a time 
 of pestilence, to watch, day and night, with patients 
 sick of contagious diseases, when the camp was full of 
 death. They watched until they grew sick ; then, after 
 they were sick, until their lives were in peril. I have 
 heard the lips of dying men bless them. 
 
 The thought of the beautiful poem of "Abou Ben 
 Adhem " is, that, because he loves his fellow-men, an 
 angel writes his name at the head of the list of those 
 whom " love of God had blessed. * I know not why 
 
 11 
 
242 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 the names of some of these I speak of should not be 
 written there too, "rough" though they are. 
 
 Now that all is over, let me set down, briefly, the 
 light in which the great question lies before me after 
 this experience. I find my face set persistently as ever 
 against the threatening power. Near observation only 
 confirms what we hear of its strength, of its iniquity, 
 of its persistent hostility to what we hold sacred. Of 
 the benefits I have derived from this military experience, 
 it is not the least, that now I know, through my own 
 observation, what before was only hearsay. We have 
 heard that Southern society was ignorant ; that, at the 
 South, there was little regard for justice ; that the heart 
 of the slaveholder became cruel and hard; that the 
 marriage-tie was held in small respect. We have 
 heard, too, about the effect of slavery upon the negroes ; 
 that although it raised them, in a degree, above barba 
 rism 9 far enough to make them useful instruments, 
 forcing them into industry and into so much of order 
 and decency as improved them as tools, yet that there 
 it left them, and interposed iron barriers against their 
 mounting farther in the scale. We have heard, that, 
 under slavery, there can be but one form of industry, 
 the simplest agriculture ; that here the tools are coarse, 
 the methods rude, the operations so carried on as soon 
 to impoverish the earth ; that when the surface richness 
 is taken off, instead of replenishing its strength or sub- 
 soiling, the soil is simply abandoned, to become a 
 wilderness again, while the planter goes off in search 
 of virgin, inexhausted land. 
 
CONCLUSION. 243 
 
 All these things have been matters of hearsay ; but 
 now I can pile fact upon fact, from my own observa 
 tion, in confirmation. If slavery is to exist, it must 
 extend its area. There are inherent necessities which 
 force it to seek new and again new domain. How 
 lucidly and convincingly is this argued in " The Slave 
 Power " ! We must triumph, or, I believe in my heart, 
 we shall see the triumphant South extending its domi 
 nion southward and westward into Mexico ; thence, in 
 the future, forced by these inherent necessities, into the 
 other continent and the tropical islands, extending 
 its empire throughout the "golden circle" that sur 
 rounds the Gulf of Mexico. This territory, slavery 
 will blast as it has blasted the territory in its possession 
 to-day. It will debase the master-class into the cruelty, 
 the injustice, the corruptness, which we know now as 
 characterizing them. It will maintain the servile class 
 in a situation but little removed from their first bar 
 barism. 
 
 I know not how, to-day, any knightly and chivalrous 
 soul can do otherwise than burn to rush forth to prevent 
 this. As I write, the cause of the slave-power lan 
 guishes. It was otherwise up to the first days of July ; 
 or, rather, its decline was less marked than our safety 
 required. I remember well, how in the rifle-pits, 
 toward the end of June, I heard Grosvenor talk, who 
 is now no more. Justice and truth, he held, were in 
 peril as much as when we came forth ; and could we go 
 home, and leave it so ? Kather ought we to stay, though 
 amid hunger and fever and leaden rain, until light 
 
244 THE COLOR-GUARD. 
 
 came. Almost in that very hour came the dawning 
 of light. But if skies again darken, if through unfore 
 seen disaster or alien interference the good cause is again 
 imperilled, ought we not to thank God we have learned 
 to endure the march, to poise the rifle, to bear up 
 against the hot, shrill hail of war? So to live, in these 
 times, we feel is to live well ; and to die at the front is 
 to die well ; and, unto those who die thus, the voice of 
 Christ might say, 
 
 " Come, my beloved! e en as I was pained, 
 So art thou broken, and thy life outpoured : 
 Therefore I bless thee, and give thanks for thee." 
 
 THE END, 
 
 Boston: Printed by John WiUon and Son. 
 
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