Dec. 14. — We are in one of the passes of the Mississippi, on our way to New Orleans. It is Sunday again, — our third aboard the ship, — and a most lovely day to be introduced to Louisiana. It is a perfect summer day, with the bulging clouds and blue sky of a hay-day at home, though there is breeze enough to keep it from being oppressively hot. We only hope the “rebs” are as much in the dark as to our destination as the expedition itself and the people of the North generally.
We left Ship Island yesterday, — Saturday; having lain at anchor there since Thursday. Sergt. Hannum went ashore there, and came back smacking his lips, and telling great stories of a hoe-cake, with butter, which he bought of a contraband. He must have had a good supper, and became the pet and star of the non-coms for that evening, who made him repeat his story again and again, endeavoring, from the lusciousness of his descriptions, to realize the actual sensations which the palate of the lucky sergeant had experienced.
On Saturday morning, in came huge steamer after steamer; among them the “North Star,” the flag-ship, with Gen. Banks. Boats, with staff-officers, sped from vessel to vessel, —one to ours; and news presently came from the cabin, we were to sail again as soon as steam could be raised.
All day long, transports, laden with troops, were arriving, — the swift “Matanzas;” the immense “Arago;” at length the familiar “Atlantic,” in which I once took a voyage; she and her consort the “Baltic,” with others, large and small. The decks of all are dark with troops. We hear from some the drum and fife; from others the strains of a full band; and, from every regiment, cheer after cheer as they round the point of the island, pass in among the ships, and finally cast anchor. A gunboat comes up; lies-to off the point; and presently up at the fore goes a string of flags, one over the other, — at the top, a red and white checker; then a blue, bisected by a white line; then a red and white, the line of division between the two colors running diagonally from corner to corner. I turn my head toward the men-of-war lying in the harbor, and see that they, too, have strings of flags flying. They are talking with those gay, fluttering tongues across the intervening mile or two. What do they say? Presently the slate-colored hull, with the black guns looking from its sides, is cutting the water again, and she casts anchor among the fleet.
There is no lack of excitement to-day. By noon, there must be some twelve thousand troops at the anchorage, on steamers large and small.
The “North Star,” with the general, weighs anchor again, the blue flag of pre-eminence flying at the fore; then the “Spaulding;” then another and another; until, at length, our turn comes. Round go the wheels again: we pass the point, and are at sea, the “Arago ” following in our wake, and others, whose smoke only we can see, far in the rear of her.
Night falls. There are moving lights ahead, behind, and at each side, where the ships are finding their way. Word comes up from the cabin that we are bound for New Orleans, but not to stop; and we remain as much in the dark as ever about our final goal. It only leaks out that the colonel has said, “No one yet has named our true destination.” Ed. and I sit on deck, as night after night we have done. Arthur Sprague, Lieut. Haskell, and one or two others, pour out far over the sea some Saturday-night hymns, in which I am glad to join. There I sit, and into my mind come thoughts of the world’s great expeditions, — of Mardonius in a purple, Persian galley, with the other satraps and their master Xerxes sweeping down to where Themistocles and the fine of Athenian triremes waited for them at Salamis; then of the great Duke of Medina Sidonia leading his armada towards St. George’s Channel, while the Prince of Parma, on the Netherland coast, impatiently watched for the signal for launching forth with his brave Spanish infantry. Did the old Medean spearmen sit, I wonder, with dangling legs, looking as unromantic as Corporal Hardiker there, with his greasy pantaloons half up to his knee? or did bearded, old musketeers, in casques and burgonets, sing songs of Aragon and Leon, as we sing the songs of Yankee-land? My thoughts are not auspicious, I fancy; for almost every expedition that comes to mind, as I sit, goes out in a bad cause, and ends in disaster. I would not yield my cause for any that man ever upheld, though so many would class us with Persia and Spain in injustice. How full of romance are these seas, with their great associations, —Balboa and De Soto, galleons with glittering adventurers, buccaneers, mariners of Genoa and Portugal in gilded argosies!
Ed. and I go below, to wake up toward daylight, and find the engines still, and hear the hoarse shout of the gruff third mate, “Watch! ” as he heaves the lead. We are just off the Bar, at the mouth of one of the passes; and, when we come on deck, the pilot-schooner is flying from one to another among the fleet of steamers,— who, like us, are all lying-to, — putting her pilots here and there. We take on ours. In a moment the heaving sea is behind us, its blue a thing of the past; and we breast the sallow current of the Mississippi, with coarse, strange-looking sedges, ten feet high, on the banks; fish-huts here and there; spoonbills flying about in flocks; and, as I live, a pelican,— symbolic bird, —pocketing fish out of the river. The bank gradually begins to look more firm; though often the sea stretches away close at hand beyond the narrow ridge of earth, which is the only shore. Toward noon, we reach the famous forts, whose walls are low, but covered with formidable guns, one of which gives us a salute as we come up.
In the course of the afternoon, we pass a plantation, belonging, so the pilot says, to Judah P. Benjamin. It is one of the finest we see during the sail, with large sugar-houses, comfortable cabins, and a stately mansion. We go within a stone’s-throw of the groves and balconies, sweet with aromas and soft breezes as the haunts of Circe,—the nursery-spots of hideous treason. A crowd of negroes, of all sizes and both sexes, rush to the bank to shout, and wave their hands. The only expressions of joy we witness are from the blacks: indeed, they are almost the sole population remaining here. The mules in the cane-fields are driven by black drivers, and blacks are the only figures we see about the sugar-mills. The streets of negro cabins are often populous; but the master’s mansion, almost invariably, stands with no sign of life within its grove.
We go below for supper. When we return to the deck, night has fallen; and, in front, we can just begin to see the lights of New Orleans. To the right of the city, in the heavens, glares a conflagration, red, like a great light we saw the night of our arrival at Ship Island, said then to be toward Mobile, and perhaps the signal-fire of the enemy. Ed. and I sit on the paddlebox, watching the light, — the hostile city, in chains and under our cannon. Now we are close upon it. At our side lies the “North Star; ” when plunge goes the anchor, with its rattling chain, in twenty-five fathoms water. All is mystery about us, except that, through the night, the invisible city looks at us through its blinking lights,—eyes alone visible, like the wolf that Putnam followed into its cavern. The “United States,” the “Boardman,” and other vessels of the squadron, come up. The fine band of the Forty-first, on the “North Star,” play, “Twinkling stars are laughing, love,” and other pieces, to the delight of all the transports. One of our fellows offers to ” swap our band for yours; ” which goes for a great joke aboard the “Illinois,” we being rather lame in point of music, — a few drums and fifes, with a most limited repertoire of tunes. A certain creeper, the pest of camps from time immemorial, has made its appearance on the “Illinois,” as was to be expected; and been the staple horror of the latter part of the voyage. Of course, some one must yell out the inquiry, if the Forty-first know any thing about them. The answer comes pealing back across the water: “We’ve got ’em with U. S. marked on their backs.” So go the jokes through the evening.
