Letter from the New York 114th Regiment
Chenango American, September 10, 1863
Headquarters 114th Reg.
2d Brigade, Thibodeaux, La.
Friday, Aug. 1, 1863
Dear American: My last letter was broken off very abruptly by orders to march, but after preceding a couple of miles towards our base of supplies, Springfield Landing, an orderly met us with papers countermanding the order, so we returned to our bivouacking ground in the ravines back of Port Hudson. From this time, 2d July, to the -- of the same month, no very exciting events transpired, but the steady work of the space went on. Towards evening of the 7th, copies of Gen. Grant's dispatch of the surrender of Vicksburg were sent to the headquarters of each regiment with instructions to draw the men up in line and give cheers in honor of the glorious victory, and soon , from right to left, the grand old woods echoed and re-echoed the shouts that went up from glad hearts, and mingled with the thunder of a hundred guns. The rebels must have been astonished at receiving such a cannonade with nary a shot or shell. Soon, however, they became aware by the shouts from our lines that Vicksburg had fallen, yet it was hard for them to believe it. On the 8th, terms of surrender were agreed to and on the 9th our little army marched into the "Key of Vicksburg" as Port Hudson has been called.
The writer did not have but a few moments time to look about, but what he saw on the river front of the capitulated place convinced him that had there been a force of 20,000 men sent here by the rebel leaders, and supplies sufficient for their use, no force that Banks could have brought would ever have prevailed against them. For miles along the river front the bluffs are a hundred feet in height, and perpendicular at that, and the great guns on these bluffs were almost fatal to any ship that came within their range. I have already told you of the rear defenses of Port Hudson. The only things lacking to make the place invulnerable were men and munitions.
We entered Port Hudson at 9 a.m., and at 3 p.m. Weitzel's brigade, with three others, took steamers for Donaldsonville, where a rebel force had collected with the avowed purpose of taking Fort Butler. After a day's skirmishing, on the 13th July, the rebs withdrew, and returned to the "pines" of Texas.
Donaldsonville, once a beautiful place, is now a heap of ruins. The fire and the sword have twice visited the town since treason first stalked its streets, and now, nothing but its market, its convent, its churches, and a few scattering hovels are left to mark where it stood, save the ruins of its stores and dwellings. When Butler came here, a rebel battery disputed his passage up the river, and for this, shot and shell soon brought the authorities at his feet. A few buildings were destroyed, but the main portion of the village was left. After the recent attack by the rebs on Fort Butler (a few days previous to our arrival) the Major in command, hearing that a larger force was preparing for another attack, ordered all buildings to be burned to prevent their being used as covers for the rebel riflemen. It was a "military necessity," and thus a town, once the home of affluence is blotted out of existence.
On the 30th July, our brigade had orders to go into summer quarters at Thibodeaux, and accordingly we took up our march for this place, which we reached on the 1st inst., We have a very quiet, but for Louisiana, a healthy abiding place for a few months.
Night before last, at half past six, our regiment had its first "dress parade" for several months, and being on other duty I had an opportunity of witnessing the display. As I looked upon the line drawn up in military precision, I tho't of that other line that used to be the pride of Baltimore and the glory of Chenango and Madison. I thought of the contracting influence of disease and the battlefield. I thought of homes made desolate by the iron hand of war, and I thought of other homes that are yet to mourn over loved ones whose lives are to be laid down for their country. Even now, as I write, my mind is filled with a vision of one.
"Weary, and worn to a skeleton form,"
who, perhaps, e'er this reaches you will be found
"At home in the City of God"
for he is a Christian boy, and his mind is as calm as a summer evening. I thought of friends and neighbors, and of the aged father and brothers and sisters who will mourn for Robert*, whose feet will never again echo in
"the home of his childhood's play"
and I thought of the thousands, aye, the hundreds of thousands, who have laid down their lives with this glorious watchword upon their lips:
"Our glorious Union, now and e'er--
For God And liberty!"
yet it is meet for freeman, when traitors conspire and raise up in arms to tear from them their liberties and their domain, to emulate the deeds
"Of patriots true and brave,"
whose blood bought this land from the tyranny of the English crown, and it is equally patriotic for the aged father and mother, and wife, to give up their sons and husbands for their country's sake, as it is for those sons and husbands to take their lives in their hands and offer them upon the battlefield for their country's rights
Truly, &c, A.
*Robert Wedge died the 28th day of July of heart disease, in the hospital at Baton Rouge, Louisiana.
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