We have now arrived through the vicissitudes and chances of
this siege, to another day that will ever be memorable, not for the amount of
good or for important victories gained on that day, but for reasons quite the
contrary. It will be remembered by the actors in that drama for the desperate
encounters of a “forlorn hope,” and for the terrible and useless slaughter of
human lives. At 12 o'clock midnight, we were ordered in line of battle. The
night was dark, but the soldiers groped their way through the forest, two miles
and a half, towards the left. Here we found eight or ten regiments ready to
move. But before we did so it had begun to be daylight. We passed over a
bridge, across Thompson's creek, up the bluff, and halted. A line of
skirmishers had been sent out to drive in the enemy's pickets, so that the
infantry could pass through the trenches without annoyance or discovery. But
while we were waiting for this the enemy opened on us from the fortress with
heavy guns, firing every conceivable thing they could get into them — pieces of
railroad iron, old horseshoes, nails, spikes, etc.—but they flew harmlessly
over our heads. A bullet flew uncomfortably near me and wounded a man directly in
my rear. It hit his leg, and I heard the bones crash.
But the order soon came to march. A road had been cut
through the fallen timber for about half a mile. It wound among the hills in
such a manner that no part of it was exposed to the fire from the fort. This
was continued up to within two or three hundred yards of the works. The
terminus was protected by a pile of cotton bales. To the left and running
parallel to the enemy's breastworks, was a line of hills. We filed to the left
and formed in line of battle behind these. During the whole of this time I was
ignorant and so was everyone else around me, of what we were about to do. There
was a vague notion, however, that there was to be a charge somewhere on the
enemy's works. Whoever planned these defences seemed to have understood his
business. The timber was cut back three-fourths of a mile from the embankments,
tree tops interlacing with each other formed almost an impregnable barrier.
Between us and the fortification was the hill or ridge of land, behind which
the line of battle was formed, and a hollow between this and the fort. This
last was full of deep gullies and fallen timber, rendering it almost
impassable. Colonel Holcomb was acting Brigadier General that day. He was a
brave man and a good officer. Our bayonets were fixed, and the Colonel gave the
command, “Forward! double quick, march.” The first Louisiana gave a yell, and
up the hill they went. But no sooner had they come in range of the guns on the
breastworks than they were met by one of the most withering fires ever seen by
mortal man. In crossing a level piece of ground on the top of the hill I cast
my eye around and saw that almost every man had fallen. I halted, and thought, “Well,
what does this mean? I do not believe I can take Port Hudson alone and guess
I'll fall down too.” There was a white oak tree about a foot through lying on
the ground in front of me, so I pitched down, and laid on my face as close to
the log as I could get. And I did not get down any too soon, for the bullets
began to come, cutting the bark on the top of the log, and striking the ground
two or three feet beyond me, but they could not hit me; so I lay there until
they got through firing. I then ventured to lift my head to see what was going
on, as I supposed Colonel Holcomb would give the command to go forward again.
The ground was covered with men as far as I could see, and it seemed as though
it was a half a mile. Soon after falling down behind the log, I heard Col.
Holcomb say, “13th Connecticut, why don't you move forward?” The 13th gave a
faint yell, and came up the hill sharing the same fate as the First Louisiana
did. They were on our left. Those were the last words I heard the Colonel
speak. After looking as long as I dared, I laid my head down again behind the
log: but the rebels had seen me, and began firing again, so I laid still till
they got through, and then I gave another look. The men lay there just as they
were when I looked before. I thought, “why don't they crawl down the hill and
get out of the range of the rebel's guns?” I looked once more and the truth
flashed on my mind, that they were all dead or wounded, and they could not get
away.
The sun was awful hot, and I had played “hide and go seek”
long enough with “my friends the enemy;” besides, I did not see any further
prospect of taking Port Hudson that day, so I thought I might as well get out.
In coming up the hill I noticed a deep gully on the right, with two logs across
it. A young soldier, in a sargeant's uniform, stepped up on the logs, and was
crossing, but all at once he stopped, turned round, and fell on his face. He
lay there until we got by. Now I thought that would be a good place to get into
out of the way of the sun and rebel bullets. So I crawled down the hill,
keeping the log between me and my friends until out of the reach of the guns of
the fort and got into the gully. The boy still lay there sleeping his last
sleep, and I presume his mother never found out where he was. I found Lieut.
Gardner in the gully with three or four more of Co. E, First Louisiana. It was
quite cool and comfortable there, but the canteens were all empty and no water
to be had. The wounded must have suffered terrible agonies lying there in the
hot sun. If they stirred a hand or foot the rebels would shoot at them. The
groans were something awful. “And there shall be the weeping,” came forcibly to
me. It was sure death to undertake to bring one away.
We laid in the gully until 3 o'clock when Lieut. Gardner
requested me to go to the rear and gather up the stragglers and bring them back
to the gully, as we supposed we were to remain there over night. I thought it
prudent to move as fast as convenient, for no sooner had I emerged from the
cover than the bullets commenced to fly as thick as bees about a hive on a hot
summer's day. I made some pretty long strides down the hill, and was soon out
of harm's way. On the way to the bridge I found several of my company and took
them along with me. I found the company's cook at the bridge with hot coffee,
hard bread, and boiled salt junk. This was a source of rejoicing to the
physical man; for the contents of my haversack and canteen of water, brought
out at midnight, had been shared at early dawn with my less considerate
comrades, and I had not seen food and but little water since that time. I
dispatched some men with food to the men on the battle ground. While discussing
my coffee I learned that Col. Halcomb, Lieut. Hill, of Co. H, and several other
officers and men with whom I had been on terms of intimacy for months past, had
been killed. Colonel Halcomb and Lieut. Hill fell nearly at the same time, — the
former killed outright and the latter mortally wounded. The Colonel met his
death at the moment he ordered the 13th forward, and the words I heard, as
related above, were about the last he ever spoke He was struck twice, once in
the breast and in the second the ball passed through the brain. This last, of
course, was fatal; and I was told by those near him when he was killed, that as
soon as the ball struck him he threw up his hand exclaiming, “Oh, G—” (the
power of utterance ceasing before the words were articulated) and fell. His
body was taken from the field and sent to his family in Connecticut. Lieut.
Hill was wounded in the breast and died several weeks later in the hospital at
New Orleans. On the way through the woods in the morning his manner was
singular. He conversed with me much, and it was about his people at home, and
it was of a melancholy nature. He was a brave officer and everybody loved him.
The news I learned that night was sad indeed. We dispatched
our supper as soon as possible and started on the return. We had not gone far,
however, when we met some men of our regiment who reported that the troops were
all coming out. On hearing this we halted by the roadside, and soon Major
Grosvenor appeared at the head of all that remained of the First Louisiana. We
fell in and marched back to the bridge. Here we compared notes, and while some
were lamenting the noble slain others were rejoicing that some were left alive.
The night was dark, and Lieut. Jenner and I sat on the ground talking over the
events of the day. We did not observe that our companies had gone, but they
had, so we started in pursuit, but so many paths led through the woods that we
soon discovered that we were lost — lost in the woods in face of a mortal foe,
in the night. “All right, let it be so. But I'll tell you what I am going to
do. I am going to camp right here. If we wander around here in the dark we will
run on to the rebel pickets, and fetch up in Andersonville prison.” Lieut.
Jenner agreed I was right. So, happening to be under a large Magnolia tree, I
selected a big root for a pillow, and we went to bed. I believe I exchanged the
root for my canteen during the night, otherwise the night passed without any
molestation.
SOURCE: Abstracted from George G. Smith, Leaves from
a Soldier's Diary, p. 69-77
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