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June 18th, 1861 AD (search for this): chapter 2.2
New Orleans before the capture. George W. Cable, Co. 1, 4th Mississippi Cavalry. The Confederate cruiser Sumter, Captain Semmes, leaving New Orleans, June 18, 1861. from a sketch made at the time. In the spring of 1862, we boys of Race, Orange, Magazine, Camp, Constance, Annunciation, Prytania, and other streets had no game. Nothing was in ; none of the old playground sports that commonly fill the school-boy's calendar. We were even tired of drilling. Not one of us between seven and seventeen but could beat the drum, knew every bugle-call, and could go through the manual of arms and the facings like a drill-sergeant. We were blase old soldiers — military critics. Who could tell us anything? I recall but one trivial admission of ignorance on the part of any lad. On a certain day of grand review, when the city's entire defensive force was marching through Canal street, there came along, among the endless variety of good and bad uniforms, a stately body of tall, stalwart
1862 AD (search for this): chapter 2.2
New Orleans before the capture. George W. Cable, Co. 1, 4th Mississippi Cavalry. The Confederate cruiser Sumter, Captain Semmes, leaving New Orleans, June 18, 1861. from a sketch made at the time. In the spring of 1862, we boys of Race, Orange, Magazine, Camp, Constance, Annunciation, Prytania, and other streets had no game. Nothing was in ; none of the old playground sports that commonly fill the school-boy's calendar. We were even tired of drilling. Not one of us between seven and seventeen but could beat the drum, knew every bugle-call, and could go through the manual of arms and the facings like a drill-sergeant. We were blase old soldiers — military critics. Who could tell us anything? I recall but one trivial admission of ignorance on the part of any lad. On a certain day of grand review, when the city's entire defensive force was marching through Canal street, there came along, among the endless variety of good and bad uniforms, a stately body of tall, stalwart
Americans (search for this): chapter 2.2
t, nervy. Their about march was four sharp stamps of their neatly shod feet--un, deux, trois, quatre--that brought them face about and sent them back, tramp, tramp, tramp, over the smooth white pavement of powdered oyster-shells. Ah, the nakedness of that once crowded and roaring mart! And there was a Foreign Legion. Of course, the city had always been full of foreigners; but now it was a subject of amazement, not unmixed with satire, to see how many whom every one had supposed to be Americans or citizens of Louisiana bloomed out as British, or French, or Spanish subjects. But, even so, the tremendous pressure of popular sentiment crowded them into the ranks and forced them to make every show of readiness to hurl back the foe, as we used to call it. And they really served for much. Merely as a gendarmerie they relieved just so many Confederate soldiers of police duty in a city under martial law, and enabled them to man forts and breastworks at short notice whenever that call s
Beauregard (search for this): chapter 2.2
now, as one tells of it; but the times were grim. Opposite the rear of the store where I was now employed,--for it fronted in Common street and stretched through to Canal,--the huge, unfinished custom-house reared its lofty granite walls, and I used to go up to its top now and then to cast my eye over the broad city and harbor below. When I did so, I looked down upon a town that had never been really glad again after the awful day of Shiloh. She had sent so many gallant fellows to help Beauregard, and some of them so young,--her last gleaning,--that when, on the day of their departure, they marched with solid column and firm-set, unsmiling mouths down the long gray lane made by the open ranks of those old Confederate Guards, and their escort broke into cheers and tears and waved their gray shakoes on the tops of their bayonets and seized the dear lads' hands as they passed in mute self-devotion and steady tread, while the trumpets sang Listen to the Mocking-bird, that was the last
Henry H. Bell (search for this): chapter 2.2
ough the gates of death those two men walked to the City Hall to demand the town's surrender. It was one of the bravest deeds I ever saw done. Later events, except one, I leave to other pens. An officer from the fleet stood on the City Hall roof about to lower the flag of Louisiana. In the street beneath gleamed the bayonets of a body of marines. A howitzer pointed up and another down the street. All around swarmed the mob. Just then Mayor Monroe--lest the officer above should be fired upon, and the howitzers open upon the crowd — came out alone and stood just before one of the howitzers, tall, slender, with folded arms, eying the gunner. Down sank the flag. Captain Bell, tall and stiff, marched off with the flag rolled under his arm, and the howitzers clanking behind. Then cheer after cheer rang out for Monroe. And now, I dare say, every one is well pleased that, after all, New Orleans never lowered her colors with her own hands. The Union fleet arriving at New Orlean
William H. French (search for this): chapter 2.2
t landing, our famous Levee, a superb body of Creoles drilled and paraded in dark-blue uniform. The orders were given in French; the manual was French; the movements were quick, short, nervy. Their about march was four sharp stamps of their neatly French; the movements were quick, short, nervy. Their about march was four sharp stamps of their neatly shod feet--un, deux, trois, quatre--that brought them face about and sent them back, tramp, tramp, tramp, over the smooth white pavement of powdered oyster-shells. Ah, the nakedness of that once crowded and roaring mart! And there was a Foreign Lh satire, to see how many whom every one had supposed to be Americans or citizens of Louisiana bloomed out as British, or French, or Spanish subjects. But, even so, the tremendous pressure of popular sentiment crowded them into the ranks and forced laughter. Food was dear; the destitute poor were multiplying terribly; the market men and women, mainly Germans, Gascon-French, and Sicilians, had lately refused to take the shinplaster currency, and the city authority had forced them to accept it.
Robert H. Gray (search for this): chapter 2.2
d in Coliseum Place, standing or lying on the grass watching the dress parade of the Confederate guards. Most of us had fathers or uncles in the long, spotless, gray, white-gloved ranks that stretched in such faultless alignment down the hard, harsh turf of our old ball-ground. This was the flower of the home guard. The merchants, bankers, underwriters, judges, real-estate owners, and capitalists of the Anglo-American part of the city were all present or accounted for in that long line. Gray heads, hoar heads, high heads, bald heads. Hands flashed to breast and waist with a martinet's precision at the command of Present arms,--hands that had ruled by the pen — the pen and the dollar — since long before any of us young spectators was born, and had done no harder muscular work than carve roasts and turkeys these twenty, thirty, forty years. Here and there among them were individuals who, unaided, had clothed and armed companies, squadrons, battalions, and sent them to the Cumberla
John W. Jefferson (search for this): chapter 2.2
int, with their cold boilers and motionless machinery yielding to rust; the more powerful ones had been moored at the long wharf vacated by Morgan's Texas steamships; there had been a great hammering, and making of chips, and clatter of railroad iron, turning these tow-boats into iron-clad cotton gunboats, and these had crawled away, some up and some down the river, to be seen in that harbor no more. At length only the foundries, the dry-docks across the river, and the ship-yard in suburb Jefferson, where the great ram Mississippi was being too slowly built, were active, and the queen of Southern commerce, the city that had once believed it was to be the greatest in the world, was absolutely out of employment. There was, true, some movement of the sugar and rice crops into the hands of merchants who had advanced the money to grow them; and the cotton-presses and cotton-yards were full of cotton, but there it all stuck; and when one counts in a feeble exchange of city for country s
Albert Sidney Johnston (search for this): chapter 2.2
-set, unsmiling mouths down the long gray lane made by the open ranks of those old Confederate Guards, and their escort broke into cheers and tears and waved their gray shakoes on the tops of their bayonets and seized the dear lads' hands as they passed in mute self-devotion and steady tread, while the trumpets sang Listen to the Mocking-bird, that was the last time; the town never cheered with elation afterward; and when the people next uncovered it was in silence to let the body of Albert Sidney Johnston, their great chevalier, pass slowly up St. Charles street behind the muffled drums, while on their quivering hearts was written as with a knife the death-roll of that lost battle. One of those — a former school-mate of mine — who had brought that precious body walked beside the bier, with the stains of camp and battle on him from head to foot. The war was coming very near. Many of the town's old forms and habits of peace held fast. The city, I have said, was under martial law;
Mansfield Lovell (search for this): chapter 2.2
un-boat, moored near the spot where the lower coast packet landed daily, to which spot the crowd used to rush sometimes to see the commanding officer, Major-General Mansfield Lovell, ride aboard, bound down the river to the forts. Lovell was a lithe, brown-haired man of forty-odd, a very attractive figure, giving the eye, at firsLovell was a lithe, brown-haired man of forty-odd, a very attractive figure, giving the eye, at first glance, a promise of much activity. He was a showy horseman, visibly fond of his horse. He rode with so long a stirrup-leather that he simply stood astride the saddle, as straight as a spear; and the idlers of the landing loved to see him keep the saddle and pass from the wharf to the steamboat's deck on her long, narrow stageboys and mothers and sisters — and the newspapers. Had we not inspected the fortifications ourselves? Was not every man in town ready to rush into Major-General Mansfield Lovell, Commander of Confederate Department no. 1, with headquarters at New Orleans. From a photograph. them at the twelve taps of the fire-alarm bells? We
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