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on the rampart, and outside the fields stands the mounted picket, the cavalry reserve, or "deserve," as my overseer called it, being concealed in the thicket close at hand. The old plantation-songs are heard, and some of the hands, who claim to have always taken the leadrow at home, and are wise in cottoncraft, begin to talk of our making a thousand bales of cotton.

Business called me to New Orleans on the 10th of May. My wife accompanied me. Early the following Sunday morning, as I was leisurely passing by headquarters, Captain Buckley asked me into his office. His nervous manner foreboded trouble. Putting himself in connection with the Port Hudson operator, he began slowly to read, as the electricity clicked the words, "Five hundred rebels just attacked Mt. Pleasant-mill and plantation buildings in flames-many hands killed, and rest prisoners-rebels have got off with plunder our cavalry in pursuit "when the line broke, and I-drew breath.

Hour after hour I waited for a message, hoping the disaster had not been so terrible, and anxious for a word to relieve my suspense. It was in vain. The rebels had cut the wire between Baton Rouge and Port Hudson. Mt. Pleasant was a hundred and fifty miles from New Orleans, and the road, if not actually held by the enemy, was infested with guerillas. I could only wait for the Tuesday evening Vicksburg packet.

Wednesday afternoon the Albert Pierce brought me in sight of Mt. Pleasant. Nothing was to be seen but a column of smoke and the tall brick chimney of the mill-the first erected below Cairo after the beginning of the war. As I contrasted the latter with the chimneys that rose grimly above the ruins of the great sugar-mills on the opposite side of the river, I was reminded that my misfortune was but one of the accidents of war. Just six months previously, to a day, an agent of Jefferson Davis, who afterwards received six thousand dollars in gold from his chief for his devilish work, VOL. II-4

had set fire to the steamboat Tecumseh, and in half an hour forty thousand dollars of my property were in ashes, with half a million dollars' worth of cotton belonging to other parties. Confederate hatred could hardly ask for more than this second disaster on almost the same spot, involving far greater loss than the first, and accompanied by circumstances of shocking barbarity.

When I landed not a soul was to be seen, and nothing remained of the pleasant hamlet but piles of smouldering ruins. The stockade-fort was abandoned, and even my wife's little flowergarden had been trodden under foot by the rebel cavalry. I had scarcely looked around, however, before my bookkeeper suddenly appeared, with the utmost terror pictured on his countenance. They had come out of the fort to bury one of the men killed Sunday morning, and were about to lower the body into the hastily dug grave, when the Confederates again made their appearance. He and his companions had taken to the ravine. He urged me to hasten to Port Hudson: there was not a moment to be lost.

Just then also my Irish overseer came rushing down the hill, himself and horse covered with blood and foam. The brave fellow, who had been in Japan with Commodore Perry, had often ventured alone, miles inside the Confederate lines, and had recently risen from an attack of typhoid, thought he had received a mortal wound, and I could not restrain a smile at his almost disappointment in finding that the rebel bullet, fired at him but a few paces dis tant, had taken effect only in his horse's neck, from which a purple stream still flowed. Recovering in part his composure, "I've had," said he," the newmoonia and the typhoon faver, but niver the likes of this!"

We hastened towards Port Hudson, and before reaching the sally-port were so fortunate as to overtake Mr. Ewho had come out with my bookkeeper and overseer to bury their comrade. His clothes had been torn by the thorns, and it seemed incredible that he

should have found his way through the dreadful ravines and thickets. His vacant, pitiable expression-a blending of terror and despair-told me plainly that the fright he had just received, his fatigue, and the dreadful sufferings of Sunday morning, had unsettled his mind. He had come out from the North only a month previous to assist me, but never recovered from the terrible shock.

I obtained a tent for myself and such of my people as could be found, and during the evening learned the particulars of the raid. Just at the gray dawn of Sunday morning five hundred mounted rebels, yelling like demons, dashed upon Mt. Pleasant, a deep ravine winding back into the forest having concealed them until within a few rods of the stockade. They had doubtless spent the night near by, as the freedmen afterwards declared that a strange person, dressed in blue, had come into their meeting Saturday night whom they recognized next morning among the raiders. Part of them immediately overpowered the stockade-guard and made the lieutenant prisoner, while the others rushed among the buildings and fired upon the terror-stricken people, not one of whom was armed or offered any resistance. Two of my employeesfaithful, loyal men, who had lived many years in the South, were shot down, yet not until they had almost reached, in attempting to escape, the foot of the citadel of Port Hudson. It was the work of but a few minutes to plunder my house, set fire to the buildings, and, gathering up prisoners and mules, dash off into the forest. Two of my white men were mounted bareback on a powerful mule with a colored man between them. Another was hurried along half running, half dragged by a stalwart rebel hold of his collar. The best mounted rebels ordered negroes, both men and women-perhaps their former slaves-to get on behind them, and a few even carried off small children. They rushed through the forest at full speed, where an ordinary rider would have to pick his way. A small detach

ment, with seventy of my mules and horses, took another obscure path into the woods.

But the Federal cavalry, a splendidly mounted Illinois regiment, were soon thundering up in pursuit. The chase was magnificent. Had not Colonel Fonda been informed by a negro, who halted him just as they reached the open country, that a large rebel force was in ambush ahead, scarcely one of the enemy could have escaped. The rear of the pursued and the van of the pursuers were soon mingled, and sabres and revolvers were freely used, several of the rebels being killed.

One by one the prisoners let go their hold, slipped off, and got out of the way. The stalwart rebel who had put my man through nine miles quicker than they were ever made by the swiftfooted Achilles, had to let go his hold. A bolt of Sprague's prints proved the ruin of a raider who had fastened one end of it to his saddle. It unrolled and streamed along in the wind, and before he could disengage it the Yankees were upon him. During the running-fight a Federal and Confederate got separated from the others. They unloaded their revolvers upon each other, tried their sabres, finally halted, dismounted, and clinched for very life. The Yankee had lost a thumb in the mêlée, and was getting worsted, when a comrade rode up. "Surrender!" cried the latter.

"Go to h-1!" was the only response. "I'll teach you how to raid plantations!" replied the Yankee, in equally forcible language, as he split him down with a single stroke of his sabre.

The rebels, however, got off with the stock and a few prisoners. Among the latter was the poor lieutenant. I was afterwards told, that when the Confederates encamped that night, they put him one side while holding a parley. A negro crawled up to the officer in the dark, and asked him if he had any message to send: that was the last ever heard of him. The leader of the raiders has never ventured to show himself in the vicinity of Port Hudson since the

war.

But my freedmen. Those not captured Sunday morning had taken to the ravines between Mt. Pleasant and Port Hudson. Most of those carried away had also managed to get back. I asked the commanding general for permission to bring them inside the Federal works. He would not even consider the request. General Banks' Red River failure had emboldened and let loose the rebels; Johnston, they said, was marching down through Mississippi, and would besiege Port Hudson within ten days; I must leave; he would order a steamboat to transport the freedmen to New Orleans.

Times were indeed gloomy, and the general no doubt had the interests of the service at heart, but I was satisfied that the reports of Johnston's movements were unfounded. At least, no rebel general would venture to hurl his columns against the great earthworks of Port Hudson, mounted with so many guns, and defended by several thousand braye men.

Three successive days I urged my case with every argument at my command. I had invested almost a fortune in this enterprise; the Government, in granting me permission to plant, and in approving my contracts, had by implication, at least, promised me its protection, when such protection did not interfere with the service. These hundred and fifty freedmen were also entitled to consideration. My efforts were in vain.

At last the general yielded so far as to permit me to bring fifty of my hands inside the works at night, the remainder to be kept outside. I repaired immediately to the freedmen still hidden in the ravines, trembling with terror, and utterly disheartened. Collecting them near the spot where during the siege the great naval battery had thundered against Port Hudson, I told them my plans: that I had established myself at Port Hudson to make a crop of cotton, and intended to do it; the rebels doubtless congratulated themselves upon having broken up Mt. Pleasant, and might not return in a long time; I asked no one to go where I did not lead; that a

price having been set on my head by the enemy, I ran a far greater risk than any of them; if any of them wished to go away, they had only to step forward and get their wages and a release from their contracts.

But two or three of the faithful freedmen left me. Having procured fifty condemned tents from the quartermaster, we pitched part of them in a deep ravine near the new works, and the balance in a similar ravine just outside the old Confederate line, where they were effectually concealed from sight to a person a few yards distant.

I had remaining but a few brokendown animals. Fortunately, many of the freedmen about Port Hudson were in possession of a horse or a mule picked up as worthless just after the siege, but now again become serviceable. The provost marshal permitted me to use these unemployed animals for a stipulated sum per week, and many a faithful charger, or artillery war-horse, harnessed to an ignoble plough, afterwards pricked up his ears and quickened his gait at call of bugle or boom of cannon from the fort. Just nine days from the terrible morning of the raid we ventured out into the fields to resume work.

The stockade-guard at Mt. Pleasant having been discontinued, and the cavalry pickets drawn in, I was obliged to abandon three hundred acres of young cotton. It was the most promising part of the crop. The hands had finished "scraping" it the day before the raid. To abandon it involved a greater loss than mill, stock, and plantation buildings together; there was no help for it. Could we save the remaining seven hundred acres?

The freedmen were very shy, and daily turned many a nervous glance to the deep woods bordering the fields. A point which they particularly dreaded came to be called "Reb' Corner." One day there was artillery practice at the fort, and the officer of the day having forgotten to inform me of the order, the hands were frightened out of their senses by the bursting of huge shells over their heads. On another occasion

a false alarm was raised by the commanding general. The drums beat to arms, bugles sounded, and the great guns on the earthworks opened a tremendous cannonade upon the woods at the left. As the cavalry and the batteries of light artillery rushed out of the sally-port in the direction of the fields, the hands were sure the rebs were about to fall upon them, and broke for the fort in a general stampede. Our camps were so situated in the ravines that the shells flew harmlessly over them, and at night all our animals were taken inside. With the exception of these, sometimes ludicrous, incidents, there were no serious interruptions, and in the course of a few weeks we regained our former sense of security.

Scarcely a drop of rain fell from March until nearly the end of May. The cotton-plant, when it has attained some size, does not require much moisture, and is oftener injured by the excessive rains than by the long droughts, both of which so frequently occur in the Gulf States. Copious showers fell on the deserted plantations across the river; the young and tender cottonplants on my fields seemed on the point of perishing. At last the windows of heaven were opened, and rain fell almost every day for several weeks, with tropical violence. As the season advanced the weather became excessively hot, but the nights, owing to the breezes from the Gulf and the heavy dews, were cool and agreeable. However distressing the heat of midday, one could rise refreshed in the morning. To this fact may no doubt be attributed, in great part, the good health which, with temperance and habits of regularity, may usually be enjoyed in the South.

To my utter consternation the smallpox broke out among my hands in June. In a few days thirty of them were prostrate with the disease. We had survived the terrible raid upon Mt. Pleasant, but here were disaster and threatening death in a more dreadful form. The fiery drought of May and the torrents of rain in June had done comparatively little harm, and the vigi

lant cavalry seemed to insure protection against further molestation from the enemy; but of what avail were picketlines against this terrible infection? A panic, I feared, would drive the freedmen from the plantations. For several days the success of my enterprise again hung trembling in the balance. I was surprised to find, however, that the disease was neither so contagious nor so fatal as among the whites. Separate quarters were provided for the sick. But two of them died.

The first day of July I picked the first cotton-flower. The plants, so tender and unpromising in May, had of late grown with extraordinary rapidity. The flower, purple when it opens, but soon changing to white, resembles the bloom of the morning-glory, and contrasts beautifully with the deep verdure of the plants. In a little spot almost covered with the rusty fragments of exploded shells, I noticed that the flowers retained a deep-red color, just as in another instance I observed that the water-lilies grown over the sunken ruins of a rebel gunboat were scarlet instead of white. The ground was nearly covered with thrifty cottonplants that would have ornamented a lady's flower-garden. As I looked over the broad fields, the leaves glistening in the sunshine, and the purple and pearly bells swaying in the wind, I certainly thought I had never before seen so beautiful a rural prospect. The afterthought, also, that they ought soon to yield six hundred bales of cotton, already worth five hundred dollars per bale, did not sensibly diminish the pleasure afforded by the sight.

After an appropriate celebration of the Fourth of July with the freedmen, I again left for New Orleans. But I had scarcely landed when a telegram from my chief overscer informed me that the entire cavalry had been ordered away from Port Hudson, the infantry withdrawn from the old works to the new fort on the bluff, and that during the previous night the rebels had roamed undisturbed over my plantations and committed many depredations. A sin

gle stroke of General Banks' pen, with more absolute power than was ever swayed by the god Terminus, had instantly located my plantations far beyond the Federal lines, and within the rule of Rebeldom.

The freedmen, who had hitherto relied upon the protection afforded by the cavalry, were entirely disheartened at this turn of events. After the dreadful experience of the raid at Mt. Pleasant, it would have been cruel to ask, and useless to expect, them to expose themselves to the enemy. I was advised to arm them, and muskets were provided for the purpose. But aside from the inability of undisciplined freedmen to repel any serious attack, the musket and the hoe were incompatible. Moreover, most of the freedmen in my employment had belonged to planters in the vicinity, and I naturally hesitated to adopt a plan that would inevitably arouse the revengeful hostility of the latter. Nine or ten of the best and bravest of the freedmen were well mounted, and under the lead of my manager, who had shown himself to be a bold and efficient man, acted as a picket-guard for the others while at work in the fields. After the first feeling of timidity had worn off, they scoured the country for some distance in the rear of the plantations, and gave us timely notice of danger. Falstaff's ragged recruits could not have presented a more grotesque appearance than these dusky scouts, awkwardly flourishing their long muskets, but relying mainly upon the speed of their horses.

About this time General McNeill assumed command at Port Hudson. The reputation he had acquired from the summary disposal of guerillas in Missouri had preceded him. Had he fallen into the hands of the Confederates they would have treated him in an equally summary manner. Yet, with a small mounted escort from one of the lightbatteries, he boldly reconnoitred the country many miles in the rear of Port Hudson; and not until several weeks afterward, when the steamboat Empress, on which he was ascending the

river, was attacked by the Confederates, in consequence of information transmitted from below that he was aboard, and the boat and passengers were saved by his heroic conduct, was he seriously molested.

One day, General McNeill happening to get separated from his main escort, an officer of his staff rode up to a house at the fork of the roads, and inquired of the lean, scrawny woman who appeared at the door, vigorously plying the "dipping-stick," whether she had recently seen any cavalry.

"I don't know nothin' about calvary," said she, "but if you're after Capt'in Miller's critter company, they's jist done gone up that way."

The zeal of an old "piney woods" planter in pursuit of a fugitive slave led him so close to the Federal works that he was picked up by a scouting party. He seemed struck with the appearance of the cotton-fields, and, turning to me, remarked,

"You croppin'? Eh?"
"Yes."

"I reckon, you don't understand niggers?"

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"Well, here's a right smart chance of a crop, but I'll be-dogoned if you ever pick a pound of cotton. Why, you see our folks is perfectly willin' you should make the crop, but they's jist waitin' to see you begin to gether it."

This, then, was another reason why I had recently been so little molested.

The first day of August we picked the first opened boll of cotton, just four months after the seed had been planted. Before finishing the cultivation, or "laying by" the crop, we went over the fields four times with small ploughs and the hoe. After the process of "scraping," the earth was thrown toward the roots of the plants. The most untiring industry was required to keep down the grass which, especially during the hot and rainy months of June and July, grew with wonderful rapidity.

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