While this was going on, Mayor Monroe walked down into the street, where he placed himself ‘immediately in front of the howitzer pointing down St. Charles street.’ Here he continued, unmoving, until Lieutenant Kautz and Captain Bell had reappeared.
The sailors, at a word from their officers, drew their howitzers back into the square; after them marched the marines. With a rattle of steel, glitter of bayonets and rumble of wheels, the Northern pageant passed through the Southern crowd. As the last rifles were disappearing through the Camp-street gate, the crowd—so long silent in accordance with their mayor's request, threatened no longer. Instead, as Mayor Monroe turned toward the hall, they broke into cheers, which followed the retiring soldiers like a defiance. In her high fever, New Orleans had swayed to and fro with the symptoms. At times, her crowds, quivering with unrest of body and mind, showed the madness of a mob in delirium. Its excitement was of the fruitage of revolution. While matters remained undecided the mob spirit had been growing ugly. When, by the final act of surrender, formal authority had once been tardily accepted by the civil functionaries, in lieu of the Confederate status quo, the crowd found itself compelled to learn a new lesson of order under a fresh political dispensation.
On May 1, 1862, General Butler took formal possession of New Orleans. He at once ordered the disembarkation of his troops. One regiment, the Twenty-first Indiana, was stationed at Algiers. On entering the city, Butler prudently carried with him the remainder of his army.
