The Battle of Ponchatoula, La.
With Ponchatoula on my mind for
some time now, I decided to revisit an old writing about some action that took
place there. Edward Bacon was a soldier
in the Sixth Michigan Infantry. He was
its original Major and was later promoted to Lt. Colonel and then Colonel of
the Regiment. He wrote, in 1867, one of
my favorite books on the war, Among the Cotton Thieves. Bacon, by today’s standards, was a no-nonsense
Unionist and a person that could be counted on tell it like it was. He reveals in his book his displeasure with
many officers above him (ie. William
Dwight) and the very title of the book says much about his thoughts on the war,
that many of the Union officers were in this for the booty.
At any rate, he gives the best
account we have of an action that took place in the little railroad stop of
Ponchatoula in early 1863. Federal
forces sailed across Lake Maurepas to flank the small village as well as
marching straight up the railroad from New Orleans. I apologize to those that have read this
account but we have many readers who might not have seen this account by any
other source as the book has been out of print for quite a few years. We hope our readership will enjoy this unique
Federal account of the ravaging of a Louisiana town.
“At night, an old light draught steamer, the Savary, and a little iron-clad gunboat, the Barataria, with several schooners in tow, arrive, loaded with red-legged Zouaves, of the One Hundred and Sixty-fifth New York. Nothing can be done until morning. A chilly drizzling rain begins. The men pile up ties and pieces of plank for walls, and with their oil-cloths make roofs for shelter. Officers can do no better. We huddle together along the scanty and muddy embankment which fills the trestle work, and pass a miserable night. I am long kept awake by some of the most talkative of the company negroes, who are telling each other long stories of the old plantation life of their youth. My thoughts wander far back to my own home and youth, and then I think of the affairs which my colonel has laid before me during the afternoon. He showed me his instructions in writing from General Sherman, that he should send the Zouaaves up the railroad, to advance directly on Ponchitoula, while the rest of his command should go in sufficient vessels across Lake Maurepas, up the Tickfaw river, and landing at or near Wadesborough, about twelve miles up the stream, should proceed three miles through open pine woods, and make a flank attack on Ponchitoula, while the Zouaves attacked in front. A detachment of the Ninth Connecticut, with two field pieces, were to be left on Jones’
My colonel had heard something
of the Tickfaw river. It was a deep,
sluggish stream, so narrow that the enemy could fell trees before us or behind
us, so as to form the best of obstructions.
Every man who showed himself while we were on the river might consider
himself a target for the rifles of guerillas, securely sheltered by trees and
logs; and that the three miles we had to go over in order to take Ponchitoula
in the flank, might be a hard road to travel.
My colonel seemed to be somewhat
the worse on account of his potations when he showed me his instructions, and
told me that I was to command that part of the expedition which was to go up
the Tickfaw, and that he would go with those who were to proceed up the
railroad.
During the forenoon of the 23rd
day of March, we are making the embarkation.
The Zouaves are carried around the end of the island and landed, to
advance up the railroad, on the main land.
The rain has given place to a southern hurricane. The difficulty of bringing any vessels near
to our camp makes it necessary to carry the men in small boats across to the
opposite side of the pass, where the vessels lie, protected by the island from
the wind. Torrents of rain drench
us. We all have to go, one at a time,
over a long timber, extending about ten feet above the water to a point where
the boats can come. Some men have to be
steadied by their companions reaching out their rifles for them to take hold
of. At times the rain and wind compel
all to stop. I find it difficult to keep
my place on one of the bridge timbers, with the surging waves below me, and the storm driving against me. My oil-cloth and coat save me from being as
completely wet as are most of the men about me, but after going bounding over
the waves, and finding myself in the cabin of the Savary, I find a fire almost
as comfortable as if I had been exposed to one of the March rains of my own
country. The sky suddenly changes, and
lets down hot sunshine by intervals. The
wind has fallen. While we are
disentangling a schooner’s yard arm from a steamer’s smoke stack, partly
overturned in the storm, Sergeant Yaw, of Co. B, who was once a justice of the
peace in the county where I lived, is accidentally injured n the head. The old gentleman is carried bleeding past
me.
The expedition is on Lake Maurepas
Tuesday, March 24, 1863 – Our
vessels have, during the night, got clear of the snags, and as daylight appears
we enter the Tickfaw, which for two miles appears to be the only one of the
well known family of bayous. We see one
place where there happens to be dry footing for a few men among the moss-hung
trees and rotten logs. Here are the
remains of confederate picket fires, abandoned, apparently, for a long time by
the guards, who have been driven away by the dismalness of the place.
The tall and heavy trees lean
over us from both sides. A few hours of
labor by a few guerillas, with axes, ought to have stopped us for days. Everywhere is the most perfect cover for
sharpshooters. Not a tree has been
fallen into the stream, and now not a rifle shot is fired nor a guerilla yell
heard. We hurry from our schooner over
the decks of the rickety old Savary, and spring upon the shore, man after man,
till the companies are formed, and then moved up to their places in the
regimental line. News from the Zouaves
is eagerly sought, for in any natural course of events they ought to have taken
Ponchitoula or to have been beaten back by noon yesterday. We know that they have had a fight.. We are moving four abreast up the road,
Companies A and B advancing into the pine woods before us, and out on our flanks,
scattering themselves among the trees to protect our march.
One rifle shot is heard in front
– another, and another. Are we to have a
fight, or is this firing on account of some fugitive making off through the
woods? But a dozen rifles are fired in
quick succession, and seem to be answered by a dozen more further off. We go along by the flank. Our skirmishers seem willing that we should
get closer to them. Firing breaks out
from twenty rifles in a volley, and runs along most of the skirmish line in
front and on our right.
We file right, halt, face to the
front. About two companies of the
Eastern troops have been left at Wadesborough to guard all our water craft that
lies in the Tickfaw, waiting for the cotton; two more eastern companies are
with us. “Battalion – forward march!”
and I move my line forward, finding it no easy matter to march a line of battle
through woods as open as these. The
firing is incessant, a thousand echoes adding to the sound. An officer from the skirmishers returns to
us. “What have you seen of the enemy?”
is asked of him. “Nothing but rebel
cavalrymen,” is his answer. “How many do
there seem to be of them?” “There are a
good many,” he says. Company E is sent
to reinforce our advance, and as we move along the whiz of bullets is heard
above our heads, and a hostile line of skirmishers are firing as briskly as our
own.
I see many serious faces. I get the line in as good order as possible,
for the report comes from the front that the enemy are growing more numerous
and obstinate, especially on our left, and that part of our line slackens pace,
so as to change front gradually that way.
We may, for aught we know, behold a rebel line of infantry rise up on
our front, or on our left flank, not far from which runs a highway from
Ponchitoula to Springfield
The firing ceases; the coast is
clear. We are within a mile and a half
of our destination, but we march cautiously, keeping in line of battle in spite
of fences or ravines, and keeping our skirmishers and patrols for fear of an
ambush or surprise. At a distance, we
see white buildings. That is
Ponchitoula. We enter the panic-stricken
little town, our line of battle sweeping destructively through garden fences
and door yards, terrified children running into hiding places in the houses,
while frightened women, cheaply clad and ill-looking, try to beg for
protection. We cannot stop to hear them,
and do not halt until we come to the railroad, across which we form a line,
sheltering our flanks by buildings, which afford good cover for riflemen, our
front being partly covered by fences, the scantiness of the town leaving before
us a good field of fire up the railroad.
No enemy is to be seen or heard of.
From the time we entered the town sounds and sights at every house tell
that the work of making the enemy feel the significance of our confiscation
laws, has been going on. It now becomes
apparent that our colonel finds the temptation more than he can bear. He can hardly wait to make an inquiry
concerning the Zouaves, and on hearing that the enemy have until this morning
prevented our friends from getting across a great marsh two miles from town, a
sergeant and eight men, with a white flag, are sent down the railroad in search
of them. And now it seems the main
intention is to secure the plunder before the Zouaves get here. I see what an opportunity is given to the
enemy. One well-handled company of
horsemen might take advantage of our confusion, excitement and plundering, and
rout us. I endeavor to place men of Co.
G at the windows of a large tavern building, where our right rests, so as to
make this building a sort of fortification, but an order comes from my colonel
for this regiment to go out as pickets.
Nearly half the regiment are sent as pickets to the open woods
surrounding the unprotected town. Two
companies of eastern men are sent up the railroad to find and burn the first
large bridge, and now the work in Ponchitoula goes bravely on.
All appearance of a battle line
is gone. I can hardly keep enough arms
stacked to indicate the rallying place of companies. My last effort to keep a few men together is
a distribution of a large quantity of excellent tobacco, but while this is
going on a demijohn of Louisiana New
York
