The First was the noted regiment called “The Native Guard,” which General Butler found when he entered New Orleans, and which so promptly offered its services to aid in crushing the Rebellion. The line-officers of this regiment were all colored, taken from amongst the most wealthy and influential of the free colored people of New Orleans. It was said that not one of them was worth less than twenty-five thousand dollars. The brave, the enthusiastic, and the patriotic, found full scope for the development of their powers in this regiment, of which all were well educated; some were fine scholars. One of the most efficient officers was Captain André Callioux, a man whose identity with his race could not be mistaken. This regiment petitioned their commander to allow them to occupy the post of danger in the battle, and it was granted.
As the moment of attack drew near, the greatest suppressed excitement existed; but all were eager for the fight. Captain Callioux walked proudly up and down the line, and smilingly greeted the familiar faces of his company. Officers and privates of the white regiments looked on as they saw these men at the front, and asked each other what they thought would be the result. Would these blacks stand fire? Was not the test by which they were to be tried too severe? Colonel Nelson being called to act as brigadier-general, Lieutenant-Colonel Finnegas took his place. The enemy in his stronghold felt his power, and bade defiance to the expected attack. At last the welcome word was given, and our men started. The enemy opened a blistering fire of shell, canister, grape, and musketry. The first shell thrown by the enemy killed and wounded a number of the blacks; but on they went. “Charge” was the word.
At every pace, the column was thinned by the falling dead and wounded. The blacks closed up steadily as their comrades fell, and advanced within fifty paces of where the rebels were working a masked battery, situated on a bluff where the guns could sweep the whole field over which the troops must charge. This battery was on the left of the charging line. Another battery of three or four guns commanded the front, and six heavy pieces raked the right of the line as it formed, and enfiladed its flank and rear as it charged on the bluff. It was ascertained that a bayou ran under the bluff where the guns lay,—a bayou deeper than a man could ford. This charge was repulsed with severe loss. Lieutenant-Colonel Finnegas was then ordered to charge, and in a well-dressed, steady line his men went on the double-quick down over the field of death.
No matter how gallantly the men behaved, no matter how bravely they were led, it was not in the course of things that this gallant brigade should take these works by charge. Yet charge after charge was ordered and carried out under all these disasters with Spartan firmness. Six charges in all were made. Colonel Nelson reported to General Dwight the fearful odds he had to contend with. Says General Dwight, in reply, “Tell Colonel Nelson I shall consider that he has accomplished nothing unless he take those guns.” Humanity will never forgive General Dwight for this last order; for he certainly saw that he was only throwing away the lives of his men. But what were his men? “Only niggers.” Thus the last charge was made under the spur of desperation.
The ground was already strewn with the dead and wounded, and many of the brave officers had fallen early in the engagement. Among them was the gallant and highly-cultivated Anselmo. He was a standard-bearer, and hugged the stars and stripes to his heart as he fell forward upon them pierced by five balls. Two corporals near by struggled between themselves as to who should have the honor of again raising those blood-stained emblems to the breeze. Each was eager for the honor; and during the struggle a missile from the enemy wounded one of them, and the other corporal shouldered the dear old flag in triumph, and bore it through the charge in the front of the advancing lines.
Shells from the rebel guns cut down trees three feet in diameter, and they fell, at one time burying a whole company beneath their branches. Thus they charged bravely on certain destruction, till the ground was slippery with the gore of the slaughtered, and cumbered with the bodies of the maimed. The last charge was made about one o’clock. At this juncture, Captain Callioux was seen with his left arm dangling by his side,—for a ball had broken it above the elbow,—while his right hand held his unsheathed sword gleaming in the rays of the sun; and his hoarse, faint voice was heard cheering on his men. A moment more, and the brave and generous Callioux was struck by a shell, and fell far in advance of his company.
The fall of this officer so exasperated his men, that they appeared to be filled with new enthusiasm; and they rushed forward with a recklessness that probably has never been surpassed. Seeing it to be a hopeless effort, the taking of these batteries, the order was given to change the programme; and the troops were called off. But had they accomplished anything more than the loss of many of their brave men? Yes; they had. The self-forgetfulness, the undaunted heroism, and the great endurance of the Negro, as exhibited that day, created a new chapter in American history for the colored man.
Many Persians were slain at the battle of Thermopylæ; but history records only the fall of Leonidas and his four hundred companions. So in the future, when we shall have passed away from the stage, and rising generations shall speak of the conflict at Port Hudson, and the celebrated charge of the negro brigade, they will forget all others in the admiration for André Callioux and his colored associates. General Banks, in his report of the battle of Port Hudson, says: “Whatever doubt may have existed heretofore as to the efficiency of organizations of this character, the history of this day proves conclusively to those who were in a condition to observe the conduct of these regiments, that the government will find in this class of troops effective supporters and defenders. The severe test to which they were subjected, and the determined manner in which they encountered the enemy, leaves upon my mind no doubt of their ultimate success.”
The splendid behavior of the blacks in the valley of the Mississippi, was soon equalled by the celebrated Fifty-fourth Massachusetts Regiment, commanded by the lamented Robert G. Shaw.
On the sixteenth of July, the Fifty-fourth Regiment (colored), Colonel R. G. Shaw, was attacked by the enemy, on James Island, in which a fight of two hours’ duration took place, the Rebels largely out-numbering the Union forces. The Fifty-fourth, however, drove the enemy before them in confusion. The loss to our men was fourteen killed and eighteen wounded. During the same day, Colonel Shaw received orders from General Gillmore to evacuate the Island. Preparations began at dusk. The night was dark and stormy, and made the movement both difficult and dangerous. The march was from James Island to Cole Island, across marshes, streams, and dikes, and part of the way upon narrow foot-bridges, along which it was necessary to proceed in single file. The whole force reached Cole Island the next morning, July 17, and rested during the day on the beach opposite the south end of Folly Island. About ten o’clock in the evening, the colonel of the Fifty-fourth received orders directing him to report, with his command, to General George C. Strong, at Morris Island, to whose brigade the regiment was transferred.