as transported to
Donaldsonville, fifty miles below Baton Rouge, from there we marched
beside Bayou Lefourche to Thibodeaux and then took the cars for Bayou
Boeuf, and after a few days' halt, marched over to Brashear. We knew
that something was going to be done, but didn't know what. We knew that
somebody was going to be hurt, but didn't know who. We knew that some
folks were going to get badly whipped, but it wasn't us. We were
certain of that. Our superior officer and officers couldn't tell us
anything or wouldn't tell us anything, and I have since come to the
conclusion that they were very much like some of the wire pulling
politicians of the present day. They didn't know themselves. It may be
wisdom sometimes in war and in politics, not to let your followers know
just what you intend to make them do, but it's mighty poor policy to
let your enemy know it first.

On Saturday, April 11, 1863, the Twenty-fifth Connecticut, less than
500 strong, embarked on the steamer St. Mary, a New York and Galveston
liner built to carry 500 passengers at a pinch, but loaded on this
occasion with 2,500.

We were crowded. We were just packed as close as the squares of
hardtack in the bread barrels, closer than sardines in a box. So close
that we didn't have room to sweat. We had to hold our haversacks that
contained three days' rations of sheet iron biscuit and salt pork, on
our heads. The decks were covered with a solid mass of humanity. We
cast off the lines and our ship slowly steamed up the Atchafalaya, now
and then rubbing the banks so closely that we could grasp the branches
of the magnolia and cypress that formed one green, unbroken fringe on
either side.

General Emory's division of Banks' army had already moved up the west
bank of the Bayou Teche, fighting its way against the fresh active
troops of Dick Taylor. We were in General Cuvier Grover's division, and
were expected to sail up Grand Lake and disembark at Hutchins Landing,
where the Teche, by a sharp bend, comes within two miles of the lake;
and on this narrow strip was the only road (as we supposed) over which
an army and especially artillery and baggage wagons could pass. During
Saturday night, Sunday, and Sunday night we were crammed, stifled and
suffocated on the steamer's deck, as she slowly felt her way up through
the muddy and shallow water of Grand Lake. To have run aground would
have been disastrous failure to the whole expedition. Towing astern
were large f