The story of the Thirty Eighth regiment of Massachusetts volunteers

by George Whitefield Powers

Although very flattering to officers and men, it was afterward thought that this order did not contribute much to the comfort of the regiment when under the control of brigade officers whose own commands were thus unfavorably contrasted with it. At six o’clock, on the evening of the 13th, orders came to fall in; and the line was formed in front of the Theatre. Being on the left, the Thirty Eighth remained in line while the division moved by; and cheers were exchanged, as the various regiments which had been connected with the Thirty Eighth passed, the One Hundred and Sixteenth being loudly greeted. When the time came for the regiment to move, Gen. Dudley, whose quarters were opposite, addressed it in a few words, concluding with, “Men of the Thirty Eighth, keep cool, obey orders, and fire low.”

After leaving the city, and passing through the camps of Dudley’s Brigade, which formed the reserve, and which was not to move until the next day, the road led through dense woods, where the vines and creeping-plants wove the forest into an almost impenetrable barrier, which shut out every ray of light. The column made slow progress, and the innumerable halts were as tiresome as the marching; but about midnight, the bugles sounded a halt, and the army went into camp for the night in a corn-field. When the rear of the column reached the camp, the field was ablaze with camp-fires, and the fumes of the coffee were rising in the air. Up to this time, the company cook had done all the cooking, but each man had now to prepare his own rations, or go without. Upon going into camp, the troops were informed that the plantation belonged to a “Union man,” and that they were only to take the “top rails” for fires. This order became a standing one in the Nineteenth Corps, and, during the campaign, they made it a point to take only the top rails, as they found them. The men were too weary to pitch the new shelter-tents; and rolling their blankets round them, all except the camp and picket guard were soon asleep. The reveillé was beaten at two o’clock, and an early breakfast cooked. By this time, the “top rails” were more accessible than on going into camp.

At daylight, the march was resumed. The day proved to be a hot one; and the roadside was soon strown with blankets, overcoats, knapsacks, and other articles thrown away by the regiments in advance. It was apparent that the army was rapidly coming down to light-marching order. Contrabands hung on the flank and rear, picking up the cast-off garments. Some of the men, not yet having made up their minds to part with their overcoats, cut off the sleeves and skirts to lighten their loads. After marching about eleven miles, the column halted and went into camp in a cane-field, and stacked arms, a picket being thrown out. The sun came down hot, and the shelter-tents were found to be convenient. Toward night, the sound of heavy guns was heard in the vicinity of Port Hudson, and the cannonading continued through the night, while the shells from the gun-boats could be plainly seen bursting over the fort. The reveillé was beaten at four o’clock. The firing at Port Hudson had ceased; but a large mass of flame, which had been supposed to be some portion of the enemy’s works, set on fire by the guns from the fleet, began to move slowly down the river, accompanied, at intervals, by explosions. All eyes were fixed on the mysterious light, and many gloomy forebodings indulged in. Had Farragut been defeated, and the fleet been destroyed by some infernal machine? Or was this one of the marine abortions of the enemy, committing suicide? Suddenly, at daylight, the mass of fire seemed to leap high in the air, followed by a dense column of smoke. The spectators waited in breathless suspense, for a few seconds, for the explosion. Soon it came; and then every sleeper started to his feet. Orders were issued to put out all fires, and for every one to be equipped, and ready for action at a moment’s notice. It was the general opinion that there would be a brush with the enemy, if not a pitched battle; and the men were quiet, but determined. But the morning wore away without an alarm; and, at ten o’clock, the line was formed, and the column headed for Baton Rouge, in which direction the wagon-train had already moved. The troops were in ill-humor, the whole movement seeming incomprehensible to them. Soon an aide from the commander-in-chief rode up to Col. Gooding with an order, requesting him to announce to the third brigade that the “Hartford” and the “Albatross” had passed the batteries of Port Hudson, and that “the object of the expedition had been accomplished.” Gradually, the men recovered their accustomed spirits; and when Gen. Banks rode by the column he was heartily cheered. On the march back, the carcasses in the fields showed that the reserve brigade had been “living on the country.” The pontoon bridge was reached before night, but was not crossed, the brigade marching into the woods near the road, where they stacked arms and pitched tents. Soon after dark, it began to rain heavily, and the camping-ground became a swamp, while the water came through the new shelters, leaving few dry soldiers in camp that night. The next day, at noon, another expedition was undertaken. The roads were in a bad condition, and, in many places, it was necessary to go in single file, to escape being mired. After a four-mile march, a halt was made in a clearing, where the command remained during the night, ready to spring to arms at a moment’s notice, and, the next day, marched back to the bayou.

Friday, the line was again formed, and the brigade marched into Baton Rouge, and through the city to a magnolia grove, a mile beyond. The place was alive with mosquitoes, wood-ticks, and similar insects, and the nimble lizards glided about, making themselves familiar; but the men were too weary to study natural history, and were soon sleeping soundly, in spite of such annoyances. The next day was devoted to bathing, washing clothes, and resting. On Sunday morning (22d), the regiment started again; and, after marching through all the swamps, cane-fields, and hedges, bounding that part of the town, halted in one of the most forbidding looking spots in Baton Rouge, about a mile from the river, near the “Perkins Road.” A camp was laid out, company streets staked off, and fatigue parties detailed to clear away the rubbish, dig up the stumps, and fill the bog-holes. The tents were pitched just in time to afford partial shelter from a rain-storm. The men at this time had the impression that Sunday was the day especially selected in the Nineteenth Army Corps, on which to begin new movements, or do extra fatigue duty. In a day or two, the regimental and company baggage that had been packed was returned, and the A tents again pitched.

Saturday, March 29th, the regiment took its turn at chopping down the forests in the vicinity of Baton Rouge, so that the guns from the fort might have a free range, in case of an attack from the enemy. Some could use the axe professionally; and all tried their hands on the lofty oaks, beeches, and magnolias, whose fall resounded through the forest, until the sound of the recall, at four o’clock, when the regiment returned to camp, tired, but in great good-humor. Drill was resumed, and the old routine of camp duties began; but this did not last long, however; for the first day of April found the regiment on board of a transport, again steaming down the Mississippi. Landing at Algiers (opposite the city of New Orleans), a new camp was laid out, the tents again pitched, and drilling went on as usual. Regiments continued to arrive every day; and soon the plains of Algiers were white with the tents of Emory’s division.

Here, for the first time since its organization, the regimental camp-guard was dispensed with, and the men allowed a little liberty to look around, and see the country they were fighting for. That they did not abuse the confidence thus reposed in them by their officers, may be inferred from the fact, that no regimental guard was placed around the Thirty Eighth after that time; and when other regiments were confined to strict camp-limits, Lieut.-Col. Richardson allowed his command, when off duty, to roam anywhere within sound of the bugle, and, when stationed near a town or city, freely gave leave of absence when it did not conflict with orders from higher authorities.

At this time, the Forty Seventh Massachusetts was doing garrison duty in New Orleans, and, having many acquaintances in the Thirty Eighth, visited them often. The contrast between the nicely-fitting, home-made uniforms of the Forty Seventh boys, and the shoddy affairs furnished by the contractors to the Thirty Eighth, was a source of much amusement to the members of the latter regiment. In the field, clothing was a matter of little importance; but when a haversack strap or a knapsack buckle broke at the beginning of a long march, or the sole came off a shoe at a slight stumble, which very often happened, the comments on the patriotism of those who provided for the wants of the army were more expressive than elegant.

Although New Orleans and Algiers had been in the Union hands for over a year, the feeling was still bitter toward the North. The following incident will illustrate this feeling. The day before Easter, the writer of this sketch had a few hours of leisure, and was strolling through the streets looking at the objects of interest, when, passing a small church, the sound of Easter hymns floated out on the air. Not having been inside of a church for many months, the sweet music brought memories of home to the mind; and, stepping noiselessly inside, he stood near the door, listening respectfully. The choir was engaged in a rehearsal, under the direction of a gentleman whose white cravat and clerical air bespoke the minister. Suddenly, the singers caught sight of the blue uniform, and the music instantly ceased. Upon following the direction of their glances, the clergyman cast what he evidently intended to be a withering look on the unwelcome spectator. A silence of a few moments ensued, when the soldier asked if he was intruding. “Yes,” was the reply, in a very curt tone. Apologizing for the unintentional intrusion, the visitor retreated, followed to the door by the chivalrous clergyman, who probably took precautions to prevent his choir from being shocked by the presence of any more blue uniforms, while singing the anthems of “Peace on earth, and good will to men.”

Labor being scarce in Algiers, several regiments were called upon to furnish fatigue parties to assist in raising a gun-boat on the ways in the dry-dock; and, on the 8th of April, the Thirty Eighth took their turn, and completed the task.

The regimental baggage was again packed away; and all personal property, with the exception of a rubber blanket, overcoat, and change of clothing to each man, was packed in the knapsacks, and nailed up in large boxes; and at two o’clock, on the morning of the 9th, the reveillé woke the sleeping camp, the tents were struck, and, by seven o’clock, the regiment was on board of the cars, bound for the interior of Louisiana. For eighty miles, the road ran through a low, swampy country. The ditches beside the embankment on which the track was laid were full of alligators, who swam lazily through the green, stagnant waters, or basked in the sun on the banks; nearly every floating log or stick was tenanted by a repulsive water-moccasin; and frogs of huge proportions plumped into the water as the train went by. These specimens of the animate life of Louisiana were regarded with much interest by the regiment, as they were to be intimate neighbors, possibly, in the future.