Thereupon the green Opelousans would pour their Confederate wealth into Prince's broad palms, simply inquiring how they should know General Banks when he appeared.
"Oh, you'll know him right easy," answered Prince. He's a mighty good lookin' young man, and wears specs."
This was a sufficiently accurate description of Lieutenant-Colonel Frank Peck, the handsome commandant of the Twelfth Connecticut. Accordingly, the lieutenant-colonel was much puzzled by the number of negroes who approached him on the march, knuckling their heads respectfully, and inquiring: "Massa, has you brought our money?"
Prince's rascality was exposed to me by George. Devourer of plundered chickens as I was, I felt indignant at such needless roguery, and turned the venerable humbug out of camp with public opprobrium. It must be understood that Confederate money was at this time worth thirty or forty cents on the dollar, or, at least, could be secretly exchanged at that value among the secession brokers of New Orleans. Prince had collected a roll of it as large as my fist.
At Opelousas our pursuit of Mouton ceased for a few days. Even to this moment I am grateful for that halt, and smile with pleasure over the recollection of it. Our provisions were out, and we thanked heaven for it, seeing starvation on the morrow to be pleasanter than marching to-day. So, until the Teche could be cleared of sunken gunboats, and the transports could come up with additional salt beef and hard-tack, we rested in the green Opelousas. Oh, rest! oh, sleep! Three days and nights of solid sleep! It was better than kingdoms and the glory thereof. Except when I was on duty, or eating, I did little but lie folded in slumber. The hard ground was miraculously softened, and fitted my weary limbs like down. No one can imagine the luxury of rest to the utterly weary; it is like the first draught of water to one who has pined with thirst; it must be proven to be comprehended.
For one poor fellow of my company there was no repose, even now. Sick at Brashear City, he had voluntarily left hospital for the sake of fighting; had behaved nobly at Camp Beaseland, but failed rapidly under the severities of the pursuit. During this last day he staggered along between men detailed to support him, agonized with fever, and half delirious, moaning: "We never rest! Oh, when shall we ever rest?" Now, with no bedding but his blanket, he lay on the ground, quite out of his head, and muttering constantly: "Fall in!" as if he were still on the march. Ambulances we had none in the army, but he was sent in a country cart to hospital, and, after a long sickness, recovered.
On the arrival of the regiment it had been placed on picket, two miles north of the town; and when, next day, an order came to relieve it, men and officers begged to be allowed to remain undisturbed. Watching and the chance of fighting were trifles compared with even two miles of marching on those unhealed blisters. The petition was granted, and the Twelfth continued its picket duty, looking contentedly out over the great bare plain which led northward. No one would have wondered at our choice who had seen the plight in which the regiment reached this blessed bivouac. Seventy-five men and officers dragged along with the colors, while four hundred others lay gasping by the roadside for miles rearward, fagged nigh unto death with speed and the scorching rays of the Louisiana sun. In the whole history of the Twelfth, before and after, there never was such another falling out—not even when it was following Early up the Shenandoah, under cavalry Sheridan. The truth is, that Banks was the most merciless marcher of men that I ever knew.
