April 29.—This is the Bayou Courtableau,—a spot called Barre’s Landing, about eight miles from Opelousas, whence we marched last Sunday. We are glad of the change. Water could only be got at our Opelousas camp by going a respectable pedestrian journey. Moreover, at our first coming, creatures by the score fell victims to our hunger. Parts of the carcasses of these had been left, and were tainting the whole neighborhood. “We were not sorry, therefore, when the order came to march here, — a march we accomplished in a leisurely fashion, taking most of the day for it; mourning, some of us, that the day must go by without observance, like so many previous Sundays: but, on the whole, not an unhappy company; for we were rested now; and a night or two before, at dress-parade, we had heard Gen. Banks’s congratulatory order, which told us we had done something, — taken a large number of prisoners, beaten the enemy in three or four battles, destroyed several gun-boats and transports, &c.
Opelousas was a dreary little place, where we found vegetating a population of French Creoles, — old men, women, and children. The younger men are probably all in the rebel army. McGill and I, one day, got leave to walk about the streets. McGill was brought up in Canada, and his patois appeared to serve him as well with these Creoles as if he were in Quebec. Professions of loyalty were plenty enough; but we imagined they talked in a different strain a morning or two before, when the wreck of the rebel army came panting through, and the Texans took horses to escape to their own State.
My arrest was my most noteworthy adventure at Opelousas. It was the fourth or fifth day of our stay there. I was tired of lying with the lizards under the shelter-tent: so, as Bivins and two of the corporals were going off on a sugar expedition, I joined them. We went to the “Swayze Place,” where my companions had been before. They had given such accounts of its elegance as to arouse our interest. We made our way through a forest (killing a rattlesnake in our course), entered the plantation gate, passed through a rather squalid purlieu of negro huts, then came to the mansion itself, — a one-story dwelling, with neat veranda and some marks of taste, though house and surroundings lacked finish. The garden was a wreck; and through this we passed without hinderance, by the open door, into what had been elegantly furnished apartments. One had been a library; and the floor was strewn with a litter of valuable books. One had been a dining-room, at one side of which stood a handsomely carved sideboard. In the parlor was a rich piano, and other furniture in keeping, — all overturned, scattered, and marred. We went into bedrooms, where were handsome canopied beds, and heavy furniture of rosewood. In one was a large mirror, in which I caught sight of a very swarthy and travel-stained warrior, whom I should never have recognized.
I hurried out with an uncomfortable feeling. The pillage and destruction were due in part to our soldiers, in part to the negroes. It was discreditable and painful. At the sugar-house was sugar going to waste. My companions took what they could carry in their blankets, and I took from the deserted garden a handful of onions, — articles really necessary, short of rations as we were, and which we had been instructed we might take. Then we washed and filled our canteens from the broken bucket of the old well; then going forward, on our way back we met a company of men coming through the gate.
“Is it a picket, or what?” said we unsuspectingly; but, as they came up, they wheeled around us.
“Fall in as prisoners!” said the lieutenant in charge; and in we were forced to go, my companions with their sugar, and I with my fragrant burden.
First they marched us back, while they picked up cavalry-men and others prowling about as we had been. Then, with the arrested culprits, the guard set off through the woods for the camp.
We learned, in one way and another, that grave misdemeanors had been committed on the estate; that complaint had been made to Gen. Grover, and that the guard had been despatched at once to arrest all they could find. We passed the brigade in ignominious procession. What was to become of me? Word had gone back to my excellent parishioners at the North once before, that their minister and his comrades, when likely to go into danger, fortified their courage with doses of gunpowder and rum! Now he was arrested as a “merooder.” Would it not be the last of me?
We reached the general’s tent at last; the general, as is his habit, pacing thoughtfully up and down in front of it. “File right, file left; halt!” We are in the presence. One of the culprits was very distingue in a white shirt, — a “clean biled shirt,” in campaigning parlance. This, it seems, he had stolen.
“Tie the man that stole the shirt to the fence here. Take the others to your camp, and keep them without food or drink until further orders.”
On his heel again swings the general. “Right about, and forward!” to us.
In a dismal field we are left, with our feet in a ditch; the sun pouring down, and no shade. A bayonet, with a full-blown Paddy to manage it, blocks every avenue of escape. Toye and Stowell are hungry and wrathy; I am rueful; but Bivins makes light of his misfortunes. If the sergeant knew the words, I am sure he would repeat, “Stone-walls do not a prison make.” As it is, he sports with his chains, and, so to speak, makes his dungeon ring with derisive laughter. We are in our shirt-sleeves, and dread the cold as night approaches. Toward dusk, I catch sight of a friend, just within hail, who is summoned with loud shoutings, and sent off with a message to the colonel. In about an hour, enter the colonel, on horseback, into the circle of firelight where we are sitting. “Well, well! how is this?”
We tell him our story. We are ignorant of having broken any regulation. We are confined without judge or jury.
“Cannot you get us out? We want our hard tack; we want to go to bed.”
The colonel has made strong representations to the general, to no purpose.
“Culprits are generally the most moral and orderly” men in a regiment, according to their officers’ showing. At any rate, your men were in very bad company, and must stand it.”
All the colonel, even, can do, is to pass sympathy, as it were, through our dungeon-grate, and order over our blankets from the camp.
My friend who carried the message comes up again, when it is dark enough, and tips me the wink; and, while we engage apparently in indifferent conversation (to delude the vigilant guard), a cold chicken is slipped from his blouse under my vest, and a pile of hard bread secreted under the blanket. In this transaction, however, we are detected by Corporal Billy Mulligan, the amiable functionary in charge. He, however, stooping, whispers, —
“Only kape thim from the liftinant, an’ niver a word’ll I say.”
So we have a comfortable supper, in spite of Gen. Grover; then stretch ourselves across a furrow in the starlight. Morning does not bring us release, nor yet noon. Corporal Mulligan prophesies disgrace. Alluding to our badges as sergeants and corporals, it is, —
“Och, bys! but they’ll be afther takin’ thim stripes aff ye.”
In the afternoon, we rig up a little canopy to keep off the sun. A grand review takes place. The Fifty-second marches by, little Claypole carrying the flag; Company D looking across the field to see their captured comrades. We wave our coats and caps, like men wrecked on a desert island to a passing ship. Grosvenor has got-well, and waves back to us; so the others. At sundown, however, deliverance comes. Corporal Mulligan bids us an affectionate adieu.
“Be gorra! it’s not mesilf that wanted to hould ye.”
Gen. Grover vouchsafes no explanation of arrest or release. The dungeon yawns, and the oppressed go free.
Officers and men enjoy getting off sly jokes at me about my scrape; but, on the whole, I look back upon it with pleasure, as helping to round the cycle of my military experiences.
