On the 2d of May Butler landed and took quarters at the St. Charles. There has been much idle gossip about attempts to assassinate him, and his fears of it. In regard to the latter, he landed in New Orleans, and drove a mile to his hotel, with one staff officer, and one armed orderly only on the box. When his wife arrived in the city, he rode with one orderly to the levee, and there, surrounded by the crowd, awaited her landing. As regards the former, we never heard of any well-authenticated attempt to assassinate him, and I doubt if any was ever made.
That afternoon Butler summoned the municipal authorities before him to treat of the formal surrender of the city. They came to the St. Charles, accompanied by Pierre Soulé as their counsel. A mob collected about the hotel, and became turbulent. Butler was unprotected, and sent to the Custom-house for a company of "Massachusetts" troops. The only Massachusetts troops there were the Thirty-first, a newly raised regiment. They afterward became excellent soldiers, but at that time they were very young and very green. It so happened, too, that the only company available was composed of the youngest men of the regiment. They were ordered out. The officer in charge did not know the way to the St. Charles. No guide was at hand, so I volunteered to accompany them. We drew the troops up on Common Street, and I entered the hotel to report them to Butler. I found him engaged in a most animated discussion with Soulé. Both were able and eloquent men, but Butler undoubtedly got the better of the argument. Perhaps the fact that he had thirteen thousand bayonets to back his opinions gave point to his remarks. Interrupting his discourse for a moment only, he said, "Draw the men up round the hotel, sir; and if the mob make the slightest disturbance, fire on them on the spot," and went on with the discussion. Returning to the street, I found the mob apostrophizing my youthful soldiers with, "Does your mother know you're out?" and like popular wit. It struck me that the inquiry was well addressed. I felt disposed to ask the same question. I reported the matter to Williams, and he thought that it would be well to counteract the effect. That evening he sent the band of the Fourth Wisconsin to play in front of the St. Charles, with the whole regiment, tall, stalwart fellows, as an escort. In a few minutes the mob had slunk away. An officer heard one gamin say to another, "Those are Western men, and they say they do fight like h——." One of the officers told me that his men's fingers itched to fire.
I suppose that all mobs are alike, but certainly the New Orleans mob was as cowardly as it was brutal. When we first occupied the Custom-house, they collected about us, and annoyed our sentries seriously. The orders were to take no notice of what was said, but to permit no overt act. I was sitting one day in my office, the general out, when Captain Bailey, the officer who distinguished himself so much afterward in building the Red River dam—and a gallant fellow he was—rushed in, and said, "Are we to stand this?" I said, "What's the matter, Bailey?" He replied that "One of those d——d scoundrels has taken his quid from his mouth, and thrown it into the sentry's face." I said, "No; I don't think that we are to stand that: that seems to me an 'overt act.' Arrest him." Bailey rushed out, called to the guard to follow him, and, jumping into the crowd, seized the fellow by the collar, and jerked him into the lines. The guard came up and secured him. The mob fell back and scattered, and never troubled us from that day. The fellow went literally down upon his knees, and begged to be let off. We kept him locked up that night, and the next day discharged him. He laid it all to bad whisky.
As the course of this narrative will soon carry the writer from New Orleans into the interior, he takes this opportunity to say that he has often been assured by the rebel inhabitants, men and women of position and character, that never had New Orleans been so well governed, so clean, so orderly, and so healthy, as it was under Butler. He soon got rid of the "Plug-uglies" and other ruffian bands: some he sent to Fort Jackson, and others into the Confederacy. There was no yellow fever in New Orleans while we held it, showing as plainly as possible that its prevalence or its absence is simply a question of quarantine. (Butler had sworn he would hang the health officer if the fever got up.) Before we arrived there, the "back door," as it was called—the lake entrance to the city—was always open, and for five hundred dollars any vessel could come up. In 1861, when our blockade commenced, and during the whole of our occupation, yellow fever was unknown. In 1866 we turned the city over to the civil authorities. That autumn there were a few straggling cases, and the following summer the fever was virulent.
[CHAPTER III.]
Vicksburg.—River on Fire.—Baton Rouge.—Start again for Vicksburg.—The Hartford.—The Canal.—Farragut.—Captain Craven.—The Arkansas.—Major Boardman.—The Arkansas runs the Gauntlet.—Malaria.
Admiral Farragut was anxious, after the capture of New Orleans, to proceed at once against Mobile. I heard him say that, in the panic excited by the capture of New Orleans, Mobile would fall an easy prey. The Government, however, for political as well as military reasons, was anxious to open the Mississippi. Farragut was ordered against Vicksburg, and Williams, with two regiments and a battery, was sent to accompany and support him. When one reflects upon the great strength of Vicksburg, and the immense resources it afterward took to capture it, it seems rather absurd to have sent us against it with two regiments and a battery. The excursion, however, if it is to be looked upon in this light, was delightful. We had two fine river boats. The plantations along the banks were in the highest state of cultivation; the young cane, a few inches above the ground, of the most lovely green. Indeed, I know no more beautiful green than that of the young sugar-cane. Our flag had not been seen in those parts for over a year, and the joy of the negroes when they had an opportunity to exhibit it without fear of their overseers was quite touching. The river was very high, and as we floated along we were far above the level of the plantations, and looked down upon the negroes at work, and into the open windows of the houses. The effect of this to one unused to it—the water above the land—was very striking. Natchez, a town beautifully situated on a high bluff, was gay with the inhabitants who had turned out to see us. The ladies, with their silk dresses and bright parasols, and the negro women, with their gaudy colors, orange especially, which they affect so much, and which, by-the-way, can be seen at a greater distance than any other color I know of.
One often hears of "setting a river on fire," metaphorically speaking: I have seen it done literally. The Confederate authorities had issued orders to burn the cotton along the banks to prevent its falling into our hands. But as the patriotism of the owners naturally enough needed stimulating, vigilance committees were organized, generally of those planters whose cotton was safe at a distance. These men preceded us as we ascended the river; and burned their neighbors' cotton with relentless patriotism. The burning material was thrown into the stream, and floated on the surface a long time before it was extinguished. At night it was a very beautiful sight to see the apparently flaming water. We had to exercise some care to steer clear of the burning masses.