was again committed and Farragut, true to his word, bombarded the place until only about half of the original town was left.
Approaching Baton Rouge, 125 miles above New Orleans, on the morning of the 4th, the first thing that attracted our attention was the ruined Capitol of the State, grim and ghastly in the morning light. This fine building was fired when our forces took possession of the town, by whom will never be known. The rebels charged the Unionists with doing the deed when they entered the place, and the Unionists as stoutly asserted that it was the last act of the rebels before leaving. The magnificent library, fine furniture and works of art were all destroyed. Only Powers' statue of Washington, the work of Northern genius, was rescued from the flames.
Our steamer drew up to the levee at Baton Rouge just as the sweet notes of the reveille were sounding from camp to camp, bugles echoing bugles, fifes warbling, drums beating, while here and there from a distant camp came the rich swell of a full band.
It was with the greatest delight that we disembarked, for we had already learned what it was to suffer. Confined for six weeks on an old hulk for which the Government was paying more every week than the ship was worth, we had not escaped the ravages of disease. The transport on which we had made the trip from New York had formerly been an emigrant ship. The seeds of disease were lurking in her timbers. While we were on the Atlantic a fatal disease—a spotted fever—broke out, and in a few days several of our boys had fallen victims and were consigned to a watery grave.
