History of the Forty-Eighth Regiment M. V. M. During the Civil War

by Albert Plummer

February 1, Sunday, at 3 A. M., we reached New Orleans and anchored opposite the central part of the city, where we remained during the next day. Looking at New Orleans at that time, it was hard to realize that just previous to the opening of the war it had the largest export trade of any city in the world. Its stores closed, its fine business blocks deserted, its levee which had once groaned with the burden of a great commerce empty and desolate, the great metropolis of the Southwest lying under the guns of our ships of war was a mute but vivid witness of the folly of rebellion.

Leaving New Orleans on the 3rd at 11.45 A. M. we proceeded up the river. Above New Orleans the desolation became more marked. War had written his autograph over the whole face of the country. Crops of sugar cane which should have yielded thousands of pounds of sugar were still standing in February, when they should have been gathered months before. No hope of saving them, for the frost had been at work upon them. Moreover, the planter’s negroes had left him, his horses had been stolen, his mules and teams confiscated by the Government. Defiant amid the general wreck, the planters were said to be bitterly cursing President Lincoln and praying for the destruction of the Union armies.

The village of Donaldson, the first place of importance above New Orleans, presented a sorry sight. Its inhabitants had had the bad habit of firing on our weaker steamers as they passed up and down the river. Farragut bore the outrage until forbearance ceased to be a virtue, and then assured the people that if the outrage were again repeated he would shell the town. It was again committed and Farragut, true to his word, bombarded the place until only about half of the original town was left.

Approaching Baton Rouge, 125 miles above New Orleans, on the morning of the 4th, the first thing that attracted our attention was the ruined Capitol of the State, grim and ghastly in the morning light. This fine building was fired when our forces took possession of the town, by whom will never be known. The rebels charged the Unionists with doing the deed when they entered the place, and the Unionists as stoutly asserted that it was the last act of the rebels before leaving. The magnificent library, fine furniture and works of art were all destroyed. Only Powers’ statue of Washington, the work of Northern genius, was rescued from the flames.

Our steamer drew up to the levee at Baton Rouge just as the sweet notes of the reveille were sounding from camp to camp, bugles echoing bugles, fifes warbling, drums beating, while here and there from a distant camp came the rich swell of a full band.

It was with the greatest delight that we disembarked, for we had already learned what it was to suffer. Confined for six weeks on an old hulk for which the Government was paying more every week than the ship was worth, we had not escaped the ravages of disease. The transport on which we had made the trip from New York had formerly been an emigrant ship. The seeds of disease were lurking in her timbers. While we were on the Atlantic a fatal disease—a spotted fever—broke out, and in a few days several of our boys had fallen victims and were consigned to a watery grave.

And now once again on terra firma our spirits rose accordingly, and there was a general feeling of hopefulness and cheer in our ranks as we marched over the bluff to a plain about two miles from the village, where we pitched our tents on a spot which was to be our home for several weeks. Our camping ground had once been occupied by the rebels for the same purpose. It was a part of the field on which the battle of the previous year had been fought. The trees in the vicinity still showed the effects of the shot and fragments of shell, the bones of animals and soldiers’ graves showed that our troops had gained no bloodless victory.

Picket duty, guard duty, and the routine of drill was our life for several weeks. The battlefield with its terrors had thus far kept aloof but we were brought face to face with a chapter of army life hardly less sad.

Though Baton Rouge and the country northward is much more healthful than the fever level below, still there is no place in all that region where one can lead the exposed life of a soldier with impunity. Many of our most rugged men yielded to the fatal miasm with which the night air is laden, and those who had never known a day’s sickness in their lives went daily at the surgeon’s call to get their dose of quinine. Death came and mustered out many. Funerals were of daily occurrence and sometimes it seemed of almost hourly occurrence. The notes of the dead march, the sad, sad wailing of the fife, the mournful throb of the muffled drum, the march with downcast eyes and arms reversed, the parting volley above the grave, and then the return march, quick time, arms at the right shoulder, fifes warbling like birds in springtime, and drums beating merrily—these sights and sounds were far too common.

Our sojourn at Baton Rouge was a period of waiting expectancy. We were learning that to wait is one of the chief duties of a soldier as it is indeed one of the most irksome.