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This morning I fired up my 30 year old Ford tractor so I could knock back another maze of lingering Labor Day debris from Hurricane Gustav. “Old Jubilee’s” diesel grumbled into life just after 8 a.m., belching a signature plume skyward and stuttered briefly before settling down into his trademark clatter. The smooth black hydraulic lines stiffened and sniffed at the load when I raised the front-end bucket and then the bush-hog. Goosin’ the throttle a little, I slid out the clutch and trundled off toward the target tangle.
I was working along a prong of Foster Creek known as Little Sandy when, clearing away fallen trees, brambles and honeysuckle, I stumbled across an old rifle pit. Little Sandy meanders beneath a 30 foot escarpment which overlooks the usually docile creek and faces west, toward the Port Hudson siege lines and the Mississippi River. 146 years ago, some Union sentry stood in the shallow depression behind that U-shaped lunette, rested his rifle on the earthworks and watched for Confederate pickets probing east away from the Mississippi to recon the Federal lines.
I live on an old battlefield and, amid the worldly clamor in my life, it’s easy to forget that sometimes.
I shut down General Early and lowered the bucket, leaned across the smooth, worn steering wheel and stared at the irregularly worn, now barely discernable rifleman’s position. The silenced Cummins ticked as it cooled.
It’s May, I thought to myself.
Springtime.
Blue-jays squawked from the water oaks along the creek. Carpenter bees hovered stationary, surveying where they might place their next perfect 7/16” hole. Crickets strummed. It wasn’t yet 9 a.m. and I could already feel the sun forcing sweat out of my skin. Make no mistake about it, summer was heading south. It was on a sultry, clear, hot Spring day just like this in 1863 that Captain Andre’ Cailloux (KAH-you) and Color Sgt. Anselmus Planciancois (Plonge-WAH) died, very nearly within sight of where I sat on the worn seat of the old Ford.
And, therein lies a story.
By May of 1863, the Federal Army under Gen. Nathaniel Banks had backed a vastly outnumbered Confederate brigade, commanded by Gen. Franklin Gardner, into intricate siege works at Port Hudson along the bluffs towering over the east bank of the Mississippi River. The Rebel lines described a large, jagged semi-circle with the "open end" pressed against the Mississippi. The Johnnys had placed numerous cannon along the river bluffs, denying the Union navy use of that segment of the majestic waterway. This well fortified position also secured the critical artery at that point for supplies crossing from the western part of the Confederacy –Texas, mostly—and into the heart of the states in rebellion.
The rebel guns on the river outlined one side of the position and their semi-circular works --which bowed out to the east away from the river and toward the property I now own--- bristled with artillery, dismounted troopers and entrenched infantry. All of the high points were well fortified. Ravines and practically impenetrable brambles and hardwoods protected the approaches, making any sort of sudden charge impossible. Rebel positions along the lines were ably stationed to provide enfilading (flanking) and other supporting fire to oppose any approaching Union force. Although fielding a much smaller army in the face of the Union encirclement, the Confederates had the benefit of interior lines and could shift forces nimbly within their works to meet the constant threat of assault. Over time, therefore, the sharp initial clashes had degenerated into a brutal contest of wills, marked by constant Federal thrusts which were repulsed at the works, often hand-to-hand.
A family named Slaughter owned a large segment of the property around the Confederate lines, including one parcel named Slaughter’s Field. Watching the Union Army through a glass as they assembled for such an attack, one Rebel officer noted: “This field will be well named before our day’s work is done.”
Outnumbering almost 5-to-1 the 6,000 Confederates commanded by Gardner, Banks had been acting on orders to sweep his 28,000-man army group north through Baton Rouge, quickly overwhelm Port Hudson, and then travel smartly upriver to Vicksburg, where he would reinforce Grant. Here’s an interesting “what-if” thought: Banks was senior to Grant in the United States Army and—had he been able to comply with those orders—upon his arrival at Vicksburg, he would have assumed command of the combined army group at that site. If that had happened, the ultimate honor of that victory would have gone to Banks and not Grant. That being so, and following the surrender of Vicksburg in July, Lincoln would not have called Grant to assume command of the eastern theater and, thus, he would have never faced Lee and perhaps never assumed the Presidency after the War and the course of history would have somehow unfolded differently.
But, Banks' line of march became tangled in vicious, unremitting trench warfare with the Port Hudson Rebels --- cruel, deadly work that would not end until several days after Grant had stolidly forced Pemberton’s surrender at Vicksburg. So, things turned out as we know they did.
On such a small point does history sometimes turn.
But, I digress upon such speculation, for that—as they say—is another story.
I mentioned in an earlier post that the very first time African-American soldiers were used by the U.S. Army in offensive operations occurred at Port Hudson – notwithstanding Denzel Washington and the story told in the movie Glory.
It happened here.
Not in South Carolina the next year, which is the 1864 story told in Glory, but here. Here where I sat, looking into the thick, living spring woods over an old Union rifle pit, an important and tragic part of our African-American brothers’ history unspooled on another May day in 1863.
May 27, 1863 to be exact.
And that brings us back to Capt. Cailloux and Color Sgt. Planciancois and THIS story.
Andre Cailloux, a former slave, was widely known as an excellent horseman and a skilled boxer before he volunteered for service in the Union Army. Possessed of pure African heritage, he referred to himself proudly as the “blackest man in America.” Those who wrote of him in the years after the Port Hudson siege remembered him as a magnificent man. Both he and Anselmus Planciancois served in the 1st Regiment of the Louisiana Native Guards, Company E. Cailloux was the Company Captain and, by all accounts, intensely devoted to the men of this all-black unit. His Color Sergeant, who had the honor of carrying Company E’s pennant in battle, was Planciancois, another volunteer.
Reports survive of Planciancois’ receipt of the Company’s colors from the brigade colonel ---a white officer named Stafford--- who presented them before the assault on the 27th of May. During the ceremony, Colonel Stafford exhorted Anselmus to NEVER surrender his colors to the enemy. Planciancois replied: “Colonel, I will bring back these colors in honor or report to God the reason why.”
The 1st Louisiana Native Guards were attached to a Federal division brigade in Banks’ army group commanded by Brigadier General William Dwight, Jr., a man whose reputation primarily swirled around a fondness for drink and shady financial dealings. During prior action around Port Hudson, he was seen to be intoxicated by eyewitnesses. Filling a primary role as part of the attack on May 27th, this division was ordered to assault the Rebel works on the extreme right or upriver side of the Confederate position, near a densely wooded salient that would earn the name “Fort Desperate” because of the savage fighting occurring there. The two other division brigades were comprised of white New Englanders. The third brigade consisted of the 1st and 3rd Louisiana Native Guards – all black units.
Dwight had specifically asked that the Negro units be assigned to him. In a surviving letter to his mother, written the evening before the May 27th attack, Dwight wrote: “I have had the Negro regts. longest in the service assigned to me, and I am going to storm a detached work with them. You may look for hard fighting, or for a complete run away…The Negro will have the fate of his race on his conduct. I shall compromise nothing in making this attack, for I regard it as an experiment.”
The Union assault on this day was poorly coordinated and abysmally led. Proper recon of the Rebel lines sheltered behind the thick woods and treacherous ravines had been criminally ignored. The rising Mississippi River –running near its ultimate crest-- had flooded the low areas, forcing assaulting Federal troops to cross deep backwaters, stunting the speed of any attack. Moreover, one Union officer – Col. Edward Bacon of the 6th Michigan—would report that General Dwight was drunk “before breakfast” on the 27th of May.
The initial morning assault was spearheaded by the white brigades and ran into frightening difficulty quickly. The deadly, massed Rebel infantry fire, along with shattering canister from the hidden artillery, absolutely dissolved the Union advance with great loss of life. By 9:30 a.m. any realistic chance of a successful advance on the Confederate lines was a military impossibility, let alone any penetration of the works.
Having received word that his major attack had faltered within moments, Dwight ordered his black units from their support positions and into the “hole” left by the disintegrating spearhead brigades. Anxious to have the opportunity to fight for their country and against their oppressors, the African-American units filed into line of battle. Cailloux moved among his men and soothed them, speaking both French and English fluently. Shortly before 10 a.m., and upon the order, the black units leapt from their positions and charged toward the Rebels, covering the first 200 yards at a quick trot, Planciancois holding the colors aloft in lieu of a weapon.
Still well away from their ultimate objective, the black troops were smothered by an overwhelming leaden rain, fueled by no less than 6 Confederate field pieces which operated in good order and pumped grape and canister into the massed regiments. The attack staggered and slowed and, those who had not been wounded or killed, ducked for cover in the direct face of the Rebels. Shielded by their earthen works, the Confederates continued to pour a murderous fire into the area of the trapped Federals, preventing either advance or retreat.
A aide reported the stalled advance to Dwight at brigade headquarters in the rear, stating that the initial loss of life among the Negro regiments was so frightful as to prevent any orderly reformation. General Dwight thundered to the startled aide: “Charge again and let the impetuosity of the charge counterbalance the paucity of numbers.”
The order went forward to the scene of the carnage. One of the stunned battle commanders, a white colonel named Finnegass, returned from the front to report the impossibility of the current order to Dwight’s adjutant, a Col. Nelson. A screaming confrontation ensued between the two officers amid the smoke on the battlefield, ultimately resulting in Finnegass’ angry refusal to accept the order. In the midst of this escalating argument, additional written orders from Dwight for the African-American units were brought up on the run by a messenger. They said: “Tell Col. Nelson to keep charging as long as there is a corporal’s guard left. When there is only one man left, let him come to me and report.”
Staring in disbelief at the bizarre order, Nelson wilted. After a pause, he quietly told Finnegass to return to the front and have the negroes continue firing, but remain hidden in place. As long as Dwight heard firing, he would think that the suicidal attack he had demanded was still underway. When darkness came, they would withdraw as safely as they could. For the remainder of that long day, though, the trapped remnants of the regiments held in place upon that stifling, deadly field -- wounded, thirsty, dying and under fire.
Tragically, the decision to halt the advance came too late for Andre’ and Anselmus. Their volunteer service for the United States ended on 27May.
Cailloux, at the head of the advance, was struck in the left arm by an artillery round, destroying the limb. Survivors would recollect that he continued forward at the head of the slowing blue surge of men, until they were almost 200 yards from the Rebel lines. At that moment he was struck by a round and killed.
Color Sergeant Planciancois, following Cailloux’s lead with the company’s ensign, took an artillery round to the head, spattering with his own blood, brain matter and gore the colors Anselmus had vowed to defend. His death was instant and one can only assume that he surely did report to God that morning, as he’d promised.
A white lieutenant in one of the New England brigades would later write of the black troops he observed making that fearful assault -- men like Cailloux and Planciancois. Before the advance on May 27th, 1863 he had "entertained some fears as to their pluck..." but added that he "had none now."
"Valiantly did the heroic descendants of Africa move forward," he wrote, "cool as if marshaled for dress parade."
But, it was hardly a dress parade. And it happened here.
Honey bees work the clover blossoms steadily around my tractor. It is quiet and I note it’s getting on to 10, just about the same time Company E of the 1st Louisiana Native Guards stepped off with a shout and in good order on that May morning so many years ago. Staring at the thick woods along my creek next to a long abandoned Union rifle pit, I sit for a time in the sun and listen to the wind.
---J.R.
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