The FReeper Foxhole Remembers The Siege of Port Hudson - 1863

Port Hudson:
Site of the Longest Battle of the Civil War

The date was May 23, 1863. Just 14 miles north of Baton Rouge, roughly 30,000 Union troops faced 6,000 Confederates at the last Confederate stronghold on the Mississippi River, in what would turn out to be the longest battle of the Civil War.

On that day in the woods at Port Hudson, the weather must have been much the same then as now -- hat and humid. The trees must have been dripping caterpillars down the backs, under the uniforms, in the hair of young men about to kill and be killed.

While moisture hung in the heavy air, mosquitoes hummed and the sweet aroma of honeysuckle and wild Carolina jasmine mingled with the green and damp smell of the forest. The mysterious sounds of the woods preyed on the nerves of the jumpy soldiers -- a cracking and falling limb, a scurrying rabbit, a opossum foraging for food nearby. Fallen trees in the ravines cast eerie shadows and formed all manner of goblin shapes in the tense imaginations of the waiting boys and men.

Then the siege began, and the antebellum era exploded in its fury. The Union army launched ferocious attacks against the four and a half miles of fortifications protecting the river batteries near Port Hudson. Some of the bloodiest fighting of the Civil War.

Why Port Hudson?

Port Hudson was situated high on the bluffs overlooking a significant bend in the river which required ships heading downstream to reduce speed. Fighting the current upstream was always a slow, painstaking process. The terrain along the east bank with its abundance of natural ravines, could easily be adapted as a defensive perimeter, and earthworks joining the ravines could be constructed so as to make the place virtually impregnable. The Southern troops used everything at their disposal for defense. It was in this setting that Confederate forces hoped to retain control of the river after the fall of Baton Rouge in August 1862.

The guns overlooking the river were formidable, well placed, and presented a serious threat to the ships of the Union Navy. The Navy could cut the Confederacy in two if it could control the entire river, not only dividing her forces, but halting transportation of vital supplies, such as salt, cattle, and horses.

An 1863 etching shows Springfield landing during the siege of Port Hudson.

As the siege continued into July, the Confederate forces were beginning to starve, and were reduced to eating mules, horses and rats. Many casualties on both sides were attributed to disease and sunstroke, some 4,000 Union and several hundred Confederate.

There was no hope of relief; the situation was desperate. The Confederates were overwhelmingly outnumbered still. Their commander, Maj. Gen. Franklin Gardner, learning of the surrender of Vicksburg, realized that nothing could be gained by continuing the defense of Port Hudson. Surrender terms were negotiated, and on July 9, 1863, after 48 days and thousands of casualties, the Union army entered Port Hudson. The longest siege in American military history was over.

The significance of the siege of Port Hudson lies in its being the last stronghold on the Mississippi River, the control of which was a primary and critical goal of both sides, and for those 48 consecutive days, the garrison withstood the hardships with no help from the outside. It was also here that black soldiers in the regular U.S. army first participated in an assault.

A History Hike

On the trail to Fort Desperate, above the ravines, the wood air is heavy with that same humidity, honeysuckle and wild jasmine, the same damp smell of forest decay of a century ago. Guarding the battlements in a woolen uniform, in the heat, in the mud, and certainly in the fear of imminent death, must have been torture. Roaches, snakes, mosquitoes, hundreds of unidentifiable crawling things increased discomfort, and once the battle started, smoke and smell of gunpowder and death, the dire and hopeless situation must have quickly provided the name for the fort. Perhaps whoever named it knew no stronger word than "desperate."

The quiet of the woods is deafening as the imagination contrives and works out the scenario. Sticks crack as soldiers crawl through the underbrush and try to climb the steep sides of the bluffs. Mockingbirds and cardinals calling from the tulip trees and wild magnolias lull the tense waiting defenders. When the battle is joined, the smoke is blinding, fills the nostrils, the noise is indescribable and they no longer can be sure who is shooting, or at whom. The stench of disease, blood, and death, or rotting animal carcasses is violent in its strength. And yet, this must be a mild description of the way it really was. Conditions were so primitive that we cannot begin to imagine how the soldiers who survived did so.

The Final Blow

The surrender of the garrison ended a week of crushing defeat, as week of catastrophe for the Confederacy. Gen. Robert E. Lee's second invasion of the North was turned back at Gettysburg on July , and the following day Vicksburg surrendered, halting the Confederate drive through Arkansas at Helena. Port Hudson fell five days later.

It was the beginning of the end; the Confederacy would never recover. With the fall of Vicksburg, Confederate hopes of securing foreign recognition and aid to help finance the war were ended. In 1864, Gen. Ulysses S. Grant, supreme commander of the Union forces, turned to the conquest of Richmond, capital of the Confederacy, and William Sherman undertook his famous march to the sea.

The city was defended by the forces locally available, about 7,000 men, and besieged by a corps that eventually totaled 40,000.

Banks lost about 5,000 men, but captured the garrison of about 7,200.

In cooperation with Ulysses Grant’s offensive against Vicksburg, Banks’ army was moving upriver. His objective was the Confederate stronghold at Port Hudson; even if Vicksburg withstood Grant’s latest attack, Union control of Port Hudson would be a major victory because it would severely reduce Confederate supply shipments from the Trans-Mississippi. That was the plan as early as March 1863, but Banks felt he had to sweep through parts of Louisiana west of the Mississippi to clear out Confederate troops – a diversion which pleased Kirby Smith (Confederate commander of the Trans-Mississippi theater) as much as it dismayed strategists in Washington. They couldn’t understand how heading so far away from Vicksburg would speed up the campaign.

Assault of the Second Louisiana (Colored) Regiment on the Confederate Works at Port Hudson, May 27th, 1863

It wasn’t until mid-May that Banks brought his men back, but then they moved fast and by May 21 Port Hudson was isolated. Banks suspected the Confederates only had brigade in the fort, and thought he could overrun it without much trouble. So he started a bombardment, probed the defenses in one place, and then launched an attack on May 27. The Confederate defenses were too long for the garrison they had available – they were designed for about twice as many men – and also in the wrong place. The expectation was attacks on the southern end of the defenses, but Banks wrapped all the way around, and the Confederates were frantically digging deeper and moving guns to new positions.

It was enough; the attack was a disaster. Banks wrote long orders, but neglected vital parts, like setting a common time for the attack and making sure his subordinates would all work together. The attack on the left-center started first, with 6,000 men aiming at only 1,200 Confederates. Confederate outworks were pushed back, but the initial fighting, difficult terrain, and oppressive heat and humidity sapped the attacking Union troops. They reformed for phase two of the attack, where they had to go down through an obstacle-choked ravine, then up the far side to reach the trenches – all the time under fire. They started bravely, but only a few men reached the Confederate trenches and they were ejected by a counter attack. 14 regiments had failed; next the Union commanders tried with dribs and drabs of men. Two regiments charged, then another two, then three. A few men got as close as 50 yards before falling back – or being felled by the intense fire. Several hours later Banks finally started an attack on the Confederate right; another 5,000 men attacked, and they made good progress. But the Confederates were holding their fire; at 200 yards the artillery fired and checked the assault. Renewed efforts only raised the casualty total: about 1 in 5 of the attackers fell.

Banks had achieved next to nothing, except kill a lot of his men (about 2,000 casualties against under 250 Confederate losses). But the attack had proved something. Two of the regiments thrown carelessly forward were African-American troops, and it was the first test in battle of any African-American units. Whites hadn’t really trusted them, mainly used the volunteers as laborers, and paid them less than their White comrades. How would they react in battle? They charged through a thicket, against an intact Confederate defense. It was an invitation to suicide, but they didn’t hesitate and charged. They didn’t capture the position, but they proved to themselves, their officers, and through newspapers to the country and the world that African-Americans would fight just as bravely as anyone. There were still doubters (North and South) but most accepted the facts. It was a tremendous boost for African-American recruitment, and meant that a number of other units would have their opportunity for combat, to fight for the liberation of their race.

That was important for the future, but Banks still had the problem of Port Hudson. After a few days rest for the men, he started the siege in earnest, digging batteries and trenches, starting a constant bombardment, and continual sniping. He also pled with Grant for reinforcements, and also stripped his own Department of minor garrisons; he was enough of a strategist to know that if he bagged the Confederate forces at Port Hudson he could easily recover any particular post that was temporarily abandoned. He pulled in nine further regiments, and his strength reached 40,000, although with water short and the weather hot, the sick list meant many fewer were available for duty.

The Confederates were doing what they could to raid the Union lines. Clearly the outnumbered garrison could spare few men for sorties – especially against Banks’ sturdy siege lines. But Confederate cavalry outside the fortifications harassed foraging parties and raided camps. Banks lost 1,200 men in May and early June, which prompted him to send Benjamin Grierson out with 1,200 horsemen to sweep away the Rebels. Grierson was bushwhacked, and galloped back reporting the rebels were stronger than he was. Banks had enough of that, and sent Grierson back with an infantry division in support to smash the Confederate base at Clinton, Louisiana. They duly tore up Clinton, but a few weeks later the raids resumed with the burning of $1 million of stores at a river landing a few miles below Port Hudson.

Meanwhile the siege was wearing down the Confederates. They were short of food and short on drinking water, in the middle of a drought. Sickness and hunger led to desertions, and by mid-June Banks had excellent intelligence about the Confederate positions and strength. He decided to launch another attack, but didn’t plan this well either. Orders were sent out at the last minute, which essentially guaranteed that coordination would be bad. And it was: the first two attacks were side by side, but four hours apart. The Union infantry ran into fierce resistance, and reinforcements wouldn’t advance through the stragglers of previous attacks. There was a distinct lack of leadership – division and brigade commanders weren’t leading their men, they were ordering them forward. And the soldiers resented it. Another attack, again isolated in time and place, on the south end of the Confederate line also failed. So Banks had lost another 1,800 men and achieved nothing: the Confederates lost barely 50.

A gully used by Federal troops as a siege camp. The horizontal line at the base of the standing trees is a series of Confederate earthworks.

It was back to siege warfare, this time pressed with more vengeance than before. The infantry dug and sniped, the artillery dismounted every Confederate gun at least once. Engineers dug mines below rebel salients, preparing to blow them to kingdom come as part of a final assault. The only Confederate hope was Joe Johnston, who was hovering east of Vicksburg trying to save the day there. If he could get down to the Port Hudson area he probably could have beaten Banks’ weakened (and ill-led) army. But Vicksburg was a higher priority, and the supply routes down to Louisiana were terrible – that was part of Grant’s objective in capturing Jackson Mississippi before encircling Vicksburg. Banks planned his final attack for July 11, but Vicksburg fell on the 4th. News arrived on the evening of the 7th, and the Union cheers and bands playing told the Confederates what had happened. But Gardner was made of stern stuff, and wanted to see proof; Banks showed him Grant’s dispatches and it was enough. After 48 days of siege, the longest siege in America, the Confederate flag was lowered. Banks paroled all the enlisted men, but kept the officers as prisoners for later exchange.

The battle and the campaign were over. After over two years the Mississippi was opened for the Union, and closed to the Confederacy. There was still plenty of fighting ahead, but the South had been dealt a crippling blow.

Henry T. Johns was a private in Company C, 49th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment. His letters to relatives and friends back in Pittsfield were printed in Life with the Forty-ninth Massachusetts Volunteers (Pittsfield, Mass., 1864), from which this account is taken (pp. 252-55).

At last we were ordered to fall in. The fascine-bearers [fascines were bundles of sticks used to fill the ditches in front of earthworks so attackers could cross] were in advance. General [Christopher C.] Augur said: "Now, boys, charge, and reserve your fire till you get into the fort; give them cold steel, and as you charge, cheer! Give them New England! A Connecticut regiment is inside, but they have exhausted their ammunition. In fifteen minutes you will be there. Press on, no matter who may fall. If ten men get over the walls the place is ours." We answered only by grasping tighter our guns.

Lieut.-Col. O'Brien appeared in a state of intense excitement: "Come on boys; we'll wash in the Mississippi to-night." We emerged from the woods, turning to the right up a main road. A small belt of timber to our left hid us from the foe. The artillery had ceased firing; all was quiet till we passed that small belt and came in full view of the rebels. Then bullets, grape, and canister hurtled through the air, and men began to fall, some crying, "I am hit!" and one, "Oh, God, I'm killed!" Advancing a few yards, we wheeled by the right flank and started across the fatal field. Then we could see our work.

Full two-thirds of a mile distant we saw the parapet lined with rebels, and great volumes and little jets of smoke, as muskets and cannon bade us defiance. For a few yards the field was smooth, but difficulties soon presented themselves. A deep ditch or ravine was passed, and we came to trees that had been felled in every direction. Over, under, around them we went. It was impossible to keep in line. The spaces between the trees were filled with twigs and branches, in many places knee-high. Foolishness to talk about cheering or the "double-quick." We had no strength for the former, aye, and no heart either. We had gone but a few rods [a rod is 16.5 feet] ere our Yankee common sense assured us we must fail.

You could not go faster than a slow walk. Get your feet into the brush and it was impossible to force them through, you had to stop and pull them back and start again. As best we could we pressed on; shells shrieked past or bursted in our midst, tearing ground and human bodies alike; grape and canister mowed down the branches, tore the leaves, or lodged in trees and living men. Solid shot sinking into the stumps with a thumping sound or thinning our ranks, minie balls 'zipping' past us or into us, made our progress slow indeed. As the storming party was less heavily loaded than the fascine-bearers, we would get ahead of them and had then to tarry until they got in advance. They were our bridge. If they failed or fell, we were helpless.

With anxiety and despairing sorrow we saw them fall, some from bullets and some from sheer exhaustion. Seeing Callender down, I said: "For God sake, up, my boy! We can do nothing without you." He cried, "Go on! go on! I'm wounded." Turning my eyes I saw Lieut. Siggins drop his sword and put his hands to his mouth, from which the blood was gushing in torrents. It was no time to help him, so on we pressed. Soon a bullet came tearing through the left sleeve of my blouse. I thought but little of it. My one thought was, will enough of the fascine-bearers be spared to bridge the ditch? Again we had got in advance of them. They looked more like loaded mules than men.

Nearly all of them were behind. They could not keep up. As I watched I could see one after another drop, and round me voices moaned out, "O, God! O, God!" and bleeding men dragged themselves to the safe side of the felled trees. Some, too badly wounded, lay where they fell, all exposed to the deadly rain. I saw no more of the fascine-bearers, but, the white flag of Massachusetts passing by, I followed. It was the State colors of the Forty-eighth Massachusetts. Soon the standard-bearer was killed; an officer grasped the colors and waved them aloft. In less than half a minute his blood had dyed the white silk of the banner. We had then got within forty rods of the parapet. Save a few scattered soldiers, we were alone. Officers we saw none, so down we lay. Five of us together, and were congratulating each other on our safety. One poor fellow had just put down his canteen, from which he had been drinking, when a bullet passed through it into his leg. He sought the protection of the nearest log. In less than five minutes I was the only unwounded one of the party, and a bullet had rent my blouse right over the heart.

-- Pvt. Henry T. Johns
49th Massachusetts Infantry Regiment

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John William DeForest of Seymour, Connecticut, was a writer before the Civil War began. He joined the Union army and became captain of Company I, 12th Connecticut Infantry Regiment. The letters he wrote to his wife were published as A Volunteer's Adventures: A Union Captain's Record of the Civil War The following description of siege life is taken from that book.

Now came forty days and nights in the wilderness of death. Before we left that diminutive gully fifty or sixty men of the regiment had stained it with their blood, and several of the trees, which filled it with shade, had been cut asunder by cannon shot, while others were dying under the scars of innumerable bullets. The nuisance of trench duty does not consist in the overwhelming amount of danger at any particular moment, but in the fact that danger is perpetually present. The spring is always bent; the nerves never have a chance to recuperate; the elasticity of courage is slowly worn out. Every morning I was awakened by the popping of rifles and the whistling of balls; hardly a day passed that I did not hear the loud exclamations of the wounded, or see corpses borne to the rear; and the gamut of my good-night lullaby varied all the way from Minie rifles to sixty-eight pounders (a type of artillery gun).

In one respect our gully was detestable. Well covered in front, it was open at one end, and this end was exposed to the enemy. I often wished that I could turn the wretched hole around. From a distance of nearly half a mile the Rebel sharpshooters drew a bead on us with a precision which deserved the highest commendation of their officers, but which made us curse the day they were born. One incident proves, I think, that they were able to hit an object farther off than they could distinguish its nature. A rubber blanket, hung over the stump of a sapling five feet high, which stood in the centre of our bivouac [military encampment], was pierced by a bullet from this quarter. A minute later a second bullet passed directly over the object and lodged in a tree behind it. I ordered the blanket to be taken down, and then the firing ceased. Evidently the invisible marksman, eight hundred yards away, had mistaken it for a Yankee. Several men were hit upon this same hillock, or immediately in rear of it; and I for one never crossed it without wondering whether I should get safely to the other side.

Another fatal spot was an exposed corner in the narrow terrace which our men had made in the bank, as a standing place whence to fire over the knoll.

"Don't go there, Captain," a soldier said to me when I first approached the place. "That's Dead Man's Corner. Five men have been killed there already."

I understood that Hubbard and Wrotnowski of [Brig. Gen. Godfrey] Weitzel's staff both received their deathshots at Dead Man's Corner, on the 27th of May. Early on my first day in the gully, just as I had risen, smirched and damp, from my bed on the brick-colored earth, a still breathing corpse was brought down from this spot of sacrifice. A brave, handsome boy of our Company D, gay and smiling with the excitement of fighting, disdaining to cover himself, was reloading his rifle when a ball traversed his head, leaving two ghastly orifices through which the blood and brains exuded, mingling with his auburn curls. He uttered strong, loud gaspings; it seemed possible, listening to them, that he might yet live; but his eyes were fast closed and his ruddy cheek paling; in a few minutes he was dead.

We lost eight or ten men during that first day, partly from not knowing these dangerous localities, and partly from excess of zeal. Our fellows attempted to advance the position, leaped the knoll without orders, and took to the trees on the outer slope, and were only driven back after sharp fighting.

"Served me right. I'd no business there," said a suddenly enlightened Irishman, as he came in with a hole through his shoulder.

As the siege drew on and we found that there was plenty of danger without running after it, we all became more or less illuminated by this philosophy. It is a remark as old as sieges, that trench duty has a tendency to unfit men for field fighting. The habit of taking cover becomes stronger than the habit of moving in unison; and moreover, the health is enfeebled by confinement, and the nervous system by incessant peril.

-- John William DeForest
Captain Company I,
12th Connecticut Infantry Regiment

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