Thursday, 18th March, on board steamer Hastings,
Red River.
I resume, having no opportunity as yet to forward despatches. Having
destroyed fort and blown up magazines, am now en route for Alexandria.
Weather most charming, river winding through fertile, productive country. I
find it impossible to write, however, with any comfort, the machinery going;
shall close at Alexandria.
Arrived at Alexandria at this 6 P.M., after a pleasant passage without
incidents; discover upon our arrival that the enemy, some fifteen thousand
strong, have evacuated, leaving three field-pieces and an immense amount of
commissary stores, cotton, sugar and molasses. My fleet is moored on the east
side of the river, opposite the town, and I have debarked my troops, throwing
out heavy pickets, my scouts informing me that two thousand of the enemy's
cavalry are in my front, and propose to make a dash this night, a threat I
don't believe, but am ready for their reception. Have received a despatch
within a few moments, stating that General Lee, of General Banks's command, was
at Opelousas, on the 16th, with five thousand cavalry, and that General Banks,
with fifteen thousand infantry, was on the march. We are ahead of Banks some
five days. I am jotting down incidents as a sort of diary; hardly know whether
it will ever reach your eye.
You must be careful to trace me properly on the map. The children will
not be set back in their geography by following their father's footsteps in
imagination. I wish I had you all here this night. I have just been ashore
inspecting my troops, and rarely has the mellow moonlight fallen upon a more
romantic scene. The plain is level, covered with grassy sod, and studded with
clumps of underbrush, of a growth that at night I can not distinguish; there is
ample room to move about and sufficient verge for line of battle. The bright
arms glittering in the moonlight are stacked upon the color line, the soldiers
lie, each covered with his blanket, behind their arms; there are no camp-fires;
the videttes, far in advance, can be distinguished, dismounted, but each man at
his horse's head and ready at the blast of the bugle to mount; the moon is
clear and the stars all out, the atmosphere serene. The gunboats lie far above
and below, the transports between. One can scarcely look without a yearning for
the power of word-painting to convey a portion of his pleasure, as well as
regret that all the world, at least his friends in it, cannot share his
feelings. There is a peculiar fascination in this wild, dangerous life, a
continued exaltation and exultation; mine have been the joys of victor,
continuous and continued. I have never known defeat; onward and onward, victory
after victory, casting behind me, as my horse throws dust, clouds of prisoners.
Three hundred and thirty-four brave men I sent down under charge of one of my
lieutenant-colonels yesterday. This must change, sometime, doubtless. I may be
called to-morrow, to captivity in sackcloth and ashes. God give me strength to
bear, if the evil day comes. I write wildly and hurriedly to-night. To-morrow,
perhaps, I shall have leisure to give you something like a home letter. Did I
say I wish you were here? God forbid, except that you might be translated
straightway back.
SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby
Smith, p. 359-60
