TEXAS.

ON THE evening of Dec. 17th, we went aboard the transport "De Molay," and that night cut loose and steamed down the river. The next morning, early, we crossed the dividing line between the turbid waters of the Mississippi and the clear blue waters of the Gulf. And now ensued a scene comical in the extreme -- comical to the spectators, but not to the performers. The vessel heaved and rolled from side to side as she bounded over the waves -- now lifting her prow high in the air, and then plunging forward as if the noble ship would be engulfed in the trough of the sea. Many of the boys were seized with that peculiar nauseous feeling known as sea-sickness, and they employed their leisure time in what they called "heaving up Jonah," that is they vomited most majestically. Some would lean over the railing and deposit their morning meal in the Gulf; others, more timid, would cling with the tenacity of life to a post, and perform their part of the comedy with due solemnity. As some unlucky officer appeared on deck to contribute something to the entertainment, the boys, without the fear of shoulderstraps before their eyes, would call out, "There goes your fifty cents."
        We reached our destination -- Pass Cavello, Texas -- and went into camp on a dreary, desolate sand bank, known as DeCrow's Point. This is a peninsula lying between the waters of the Gulf and Matagorda Bay. While here we felt much inconvenience for want of rations. While vast stores of "hard-tack," and kindred luxuries were piled up at New Orleans, Gen. Banks, with a foresight for which his military administration was famous, failed to furnish his troops in Texas with the much-needed supplies. To add to the discomforts of the situation, the weather was exceedingly cold for a southern climate. At night the cold northwesters would howl across the sandy waste, and it was no uncommon thing to see the whole encampment lying prostrate on the sand. On one of these occasions, after the wind had been performing wild antics through the night, the lamented Col. Webb awoke in the morning to find his tent covering him as a blanket. He crawled from the ruins and looked with mute surprise upon the wrecks around him. At length, unable longer to control his feelings, he exclaimed in accents of solemnity, "Behold the ruins of Pompeii."
        For the most part, we had to depend for fuel on drift-wood gathered along the coast. This would not burn very well, especially when the wind was blowing, and that was nearly all the time. To obviate this difficulty, we dug holes in the ground, and in them built fires to do our cooking. Of course the wind would very generously sprinkle our rations with sand, which was gritty to the teeth and the taste. In fact we had "grit" enough and "sand in the craw" enough for any emergency.
        But these diversions were suddenly interrupted by the appearance of an enemy in the distance. We were now becoming too much attached to our new home to be driven from it without a struggle. We would "die in the last ditch" rather than surrender our firesides and our sand hills. No ruthless foe should ever invade the sacred precincts of our camp. With these thoughts animating our patriotic breasts, we marched out to meet the enemy. With colors flying, and burnished arms glistening in the sunlight, our lines advanced in splendid style. We met the enemy and they were ours. To parody the lines of the nursery rhyme,

"We charged upon a flock of sheep,
And put them all to flight,"

excepting what we killed and brought into camp. But in spite of these alarms, and in spite of all our surroundings on this inhospitable coast, we had one consolation left, and that was, our stay would be short. Gen. Banks, in the regular order of things, would soon order us back to our "base" to take a fresh start.
        At this time a good deal of interest was felt about a new organization of troops which had been christened the "Corps d'Afrique," or as some of the baser sort among us called it, the "Corps de Nigger." Many were the aspirants for military honors in this new enterprise. Dreams of promotion, shoulder straps and increased pay floated through the imaginations of thousands.  Many of the non-commissioned officers and privates in the different regiments, who had hitherto performed their duties creditably, became dissatisfied with their present condition, and applied for commissions. The epidemic swept through the Seventy-Seventh. About a dozen of our boys were successful in their aspirations for fame; but, as is always the case in a grand rush for office, there were a few appointments, and many disappointments. Some of those however, who did succeed, put on more style than a Major General. It was a common thing in those days to see a brand new Second-Lieutenant strut the streets of Now Orleans, with head erect, shoulders thrown back and stately tread, as much as to say, "Clear the track, look out there, I'm coming."
        Before receiving a commission in the Corps d'Afrique, it was necessary for the applicant to pass an examination before a Board of Examiners, appointed to try the merits of the case. A gentleman who passed -- or rather failed to pass -- the examination, thus reports the results:
        Colonel. -- What is the position of a soldier?
        Candidate. -- About the same as that of a deck hand on a steamboat.
        Col. -- How do you form company?
        Can. -- Get out big handbills offering $13 a month, $100 bounty, $25 down, a month's pay in advance and $2 premium. Say something about our glorious country, free institutions and Fourth of July, and you will soon have your company formed.
        Col. -- When you have formed your company, what do you do then?
        Can. -- Wear shoulder straps and draw $129 a month.
        Col. -- How do you instruct your men to mark time?
        Can. -- By cutting a notch in a stick for each day -- two notches for Sunday.
        Col. -- After marking time, what comes next?
        Can. -- March.
        Col. -- What next after march?
        Can. -- April.
        Col. -- How do you open ranks?
        Can. -- Fire a cannon ball into them.
        Col. -- Who are the highest military officers?
        Can. -- Generals.
        Col. -- Why are they called generals?
        Can. -- Because they are nobody in particular.
        Col. -- Very well. What education have you had? What branches are you familiar with?
        Can. -- Beech branches mostly, as I lived in Indiana during my school days.
        Col. -- Do you consider yourself capable of instructing a company of American citizens of African descent?
        Can. -- I think, sir, I can teach the young idea how to shoot.
        Col. -- What would be your principal aim and end be in such instructions?
        Can. -- My principal aim would be at the rebels -- my end, the end of the war.
        Here the examination closed, but as there was no vacancy just then, the applicant did not receive a commission.
        As our highly esteemed Chaplain, the Rev. W. G. Pierce, had resigned and gone home, we now had to depend upon ourselves and the generosity of other regiments for religious instruction and entertainment. On the latter we depended not in vain. The Rev. Mr. Chittenden, of the 67th Indiana was, emphatically, the right man in the right place, and the boys of the 77th can never forget his kind services. He was faithful in season and out of season -- faithful all the time. But still we had no Chaplain that we could call our own, and we felt lost without one. We missed the christian ministrations of Mr. Pierce, which we had so much enjoyed in other days. It is true that the Sunday and Wednesday evening prayer meetings were kept up and well attended. At one of these meetings, Captain McCulloch proposed that it be made a matter of public and private prayer, that God, in his own good time, would send us a Chaplain to go in and out before us. And that prayer was answered in due time, by the arrival in the Regiment of the Rev. John S. McCulloch, who was mustered as Chaplain on the 5th of April, 1864. It is a great mistake to suppose that soldiers, as a rule, have no respect for religion or religious teachers. On the contrary, a conscientious, God-fearing, faithful Chaplain, is regarded by saint and sinner alike, as a great acquisition to any Regiment.
        And such was Rev. L. S. Chittenden of the 67th Indiana. His work was not confined to his own Regiment, but throughout the camp -- wherever a soldier, whether sick or well, or dying, needed his service, he was there at the post of duty. With a smile and cheerful greeting, "Well, boys, how do you do?" and a warm, fraternal grasp of the hand, be scattered sunshine wherever he went. And his name will be held in grateful remembrance, while an inhabitant of that desolate camp remains on the earth.
        Among other things, he procured a large tent, in which be held religious services, and here hundreds assembled for worship. The Chaplain conducted a series of revival meetings, which resulted in the conversion of about five hundred. And many of these converts were taken to the quiet waters of the Matagorda Bay, and consecrated in the ordinance of baptism. One scene was impressive and beautiful. Twenty-five of the new recruits had chosen immersion, as the mode of baptism which they preferred. Accordingly, one beautiful day, with the Chaplain at their head, the candidates joined hands and marched into the gently deepening water, perhaps a hundred yards from the shore, and there, while the thousands of spectators sang an old familiar hymn, the rite of baptism was performed, after which the company rejoined hands and came singing to the shore.
        The Chaplain also organized what he called an "Army Church," in which were associated the religious elements of the different Regiments, without doing violence to past affiliations or beliefs. He was also an earnest worker in the temperance cause. In these labors he was ably seconded by Prof. Mathews of the 19th Kentucky, and by other devoted Chaplains. As a result of their joint labors, hundreds were led to adopt lives of uprightness and sobriety. It is perhaps not saying too much to assert, that many a soldier can date the beginning of a new life, from his sojourn among the sand hills of Texas.
        "Because of his eminent services, Adj't Gen. Swain, of Chicago, then serving on the corps staff, made diligent effort to have created the office of Chaplain General -- an office having supervision of all the Chaplains of the army, and of having Chaplain Chittenden raised to that rank. It would have been a worthy act bestowed upon a worthy man."
        While here Major General N. J. T. Dana issued his famous manifesto, saying, "This army shall fight on foot and not on wheels," and we did fight on foot to some purpose, as witness our successful assault on the sheep. The Fourth Division was now in command of Brig. Gen. T. E. G. Ransom, formerly Colonel of the Eleventh Illinois Infantry, a brave officer and one beloved by all the troops under him. The Brigade which had formerly been led to victory by that gallant Kentuckian, Burbridge, was now presided over by one who was no less qualified, no less daring, Col. Landram of the 19th Kentucky.
        Up to this time our experience in the Department of the Gulf, had not been very pleasant or agreeable. We had spent a month or more in camp at Carrollton. We had marched up the Bayou Teche, and then -- marched down again. And now, to cap the climax of our disquietude, we were banished to the dreary coast of Matagorda Bay. But it was not to be expected that we would be allowed to remain long in idleness, even on this desert shore.
        On the 22d of February, the Regiment embarked on the steamer "St. Mary," and turned their faces in the direction of the Mississippi River. The 19th Kentucky and a part of the 67th Indiana, were on the same vessel. This trip was but a repetition of the other. The same "heaving up of Jonah" on the part of the men; the same "throwing up of commissions" on the part of the officers. At night, on the 24th, the Regiment reached the landing at Algiers, and the next day proceeded to Brashear City, and thence began the forward movement along the Bayou Teche.
 

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