But no response was deigned by my darky visitor. I challenged again, and again, with the same result, the object still retaining its position, and regarding me with the same complacent look—when my comrade, who heard my first challenge came up, and inquired what the matter was, just as I was about bringing my piece to 'present' to fire. I pointed to the object of my challenging, who still kept his ground in the same position. He laughed at what he supposed was a joke I was trying to come on him—not being able to see anything in the spot I pointed out,—and resumed his beat. The thought then occurred to me for the first time that what I saw was not real. What then was it? I asked myself. Surely I am not troubled with that disease known as 'nigger on the brain!' And I again leaned against the trunk of the fallen tree to think the subject over, all the while keeping my eyes fixed upon the object of my thoughts, which stood the scrutiny unmoved. Now, I am notsuperstition by nature, and still less so by education and experience,—and so I viewed the apparition without a particle of fear or awe, and tried to account to myself for its appearance in the most natural and rational manner. I came to the conclusion there and then, that want of rest and the stimulation of the coffee and tobacco I had been indulging in unduly excited my brain, which produced the hallucination, on the same principle that it is produced in certain stages of drunkenness, called delirium tremens. This was a very fair deduction; but still in front of me stood the grinning darky, as plainly as before. I thought then I would test the unreality of the apparition in another way. If it were an optical illusion, the figure must recede as I advanced, or follow as I retreated. I accordingly advanced towards it; but, strange to say, it remained in the same spot, until I was within arm's length, when stretching forth my hand I grasped—nothing. I walked over the exact spot where the figure stood, and returned to my old stand, to be still more puzzled to see the figure in the same spot, with the same expression on its countenance, but withbotharms hanging down by its side this time. More puzzled still, I retreated to see if it would follow; but no—there it stood still gazing after me. I took three or four turns up and down my beat, and on each return to the fallen tree beheld the figure in the same position as last seen. I then halted, determined to watch if other changes would manifest themselves in shadowy being before me. My comrade came towards me again, and I reiterated my former tale of the apparition. Still he couldn't see it. But, as I was yet talking of it, and still persisting I saw it, the phantom darky disappeared—not suddenly, but seeming to melt away gradually.
"He vanished in the darkness, like a beamOf cold, gray moonlight in a wintry stream."
"He vanished in the darkness, like a beamOf cold, gray moonlight in a wintry stream."
This is the first and only ghost I have ever had the pleasure of seeing, or, more properly speaking, fancying I saw. Whatcaused its appearance I neither know nor care, and only relate the fact (or fancy) because I think it singular.
On a Sunday morning, about 10 o'clock, we started for Evans' Mills, to relieve Co. E, which had overstayed their time one week—doubtless from the fact that a large orchard of apple trees was upon the plantation, the fruit of which was a luxury they were loth to leave—small blame to them.
After a march of about two hours, we came out upon a clearing just beyond a continuation of the rebel line of defences to the right of the Beaufort railroad. Here we saw deserted houses, and a cotton gin; but no living creature of the human or brute creation, and the place looked solitary and deserted enough—its own sad elegy of war written plainly in the solitude which brooded over the absence of those who once gave animation to the scene, and made 'the wilderness blossom like the rose' with fields of cotton and gardens of bright flowers.
About a mile further on, after passing through a narrow belt of woods, we came out upon Evans' plantation. On our right was a field of some eighty acres, about half of which was covered with a young growth of apple trees. On the left was a field of about twenty acres, at the further end of which was the plantation house, with its negro huts, surrounded with the inevitable grove of elegant shade trees. Just opposite the front gate of the mansion, the road turned sharp to the right, and on looking ahead, we beheld a block-house, nearly completed, in the rear of which was the encampment, and our future abode. Upon reaching the block-house, the road took a turn to the left, down a short, steep hill, skirting the bank of a stream, which it crossed on a rude plank bridge, still turning toward the left. After crossing the bridge, a grist mill lay on the right, and about 60 yards on the left, on the dam of a magnificent pond of water stood a large saw mill, which ran two sets of saws when in operation. It was then idle, the dam having broke away. Theroad, after crossing the flume of the grist mill led on to the negro village—quite a collection of comfortable houses—built on each side of the cross road, which led to Pollocksville. Just before coming on to the Pollocksville road, in a field to the right was a large cotton gin and press. At the intersection of these roads was our outpost in the day time, the guard being drawn in to the mills at night.
The army wagons which accompanied, (with tents, cooking utensils, quartermasters' stores, company baggage, &c.,) arriving a few minutes after, the men soon had plenty to do in erecting tents, and fixing themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. There was a little board shanty with two bunks, lately occupied by the drummers of Co. E. To this my comrade and I 'froze'; and, having got our traps snugly bestowed—our guns and equipments slung up, and our blankets spread—we sallied forth in quest of plunder.
Our first raid was upon the orchard near by; but it had been picked bare. We, however, subjected every tree to a searching examination, and as the reward of our toil returned with about half a bushel of a apples. On our way back we passed through a small field of sweet potatoes, to which we returned with a sack, and soon were in possession of a bushel of very fine ones.
During our absence, foraging, the tents had all been put up, and the men were busy arranging their traps. Charley (our French cook) had not been idle meantime, and had a blazing fire, and coffee ready. Procuring from him a pot, we soon had the satisfaction of seeing some of the sweet potatoes, the fruits of our late raid, smiling upon us, and welcoming us to the feast. Giving the cook a couple of good ones for his accommodation, we retired to our cabin with our coffee, sweet potatoes and 'salt horse,' and made one of the most hearty and satisfactory meals I have ever known. Appetite was our best sauce, exercise had sharpened it, and the new and palatable food agreed so wellwith the disposition of the stomach, that it had ample satisfaction in embracing its best friend.
After eating, with pipe lit, I started forth to take a view of the mansion house, and its surroundings. On entering the front gate, I was struck with the size and beauty of an immense beech tree, whose wide extending branches covered a circle of over 100 feet in diameter—and, Yankee fashion, I immediately computed that if cut down it would make over five cords of firewood. It must have proved a cool and inviting shade for the planter and his family in the summer time. Approaching its huge trunk, I observed that the Yankee jacknife had been at work and covered it with the representative names of men from nearly every United States regiment that had ever been in the department. Besides the huge beech there were numerous other trees—elm, cedar, chaney—and the beautiful flowering althea.
The house was an ordinary two story one, containing about 7 rooms, set on brick blocks about three feet from the ground, and serving as a cool place of resort for the pigs, fowl, and youthful, curly-headed negroes, during the heat of the day. This, together with the plantation attached of some 10,000 acres, seven or eight hundred of which were cleared, together with the mills, and about 120 'head of darkies' (all of which excepting two old negroes and their wives, had been 'run up country'), belonged to a Mr. Evans, a son-in-law of Ex-Gov. Morehead, (after whom Morehead city had been named).
Evans was, as I afterwards found, a very influential man in that part of the country, and had early become a convert to the doctrine of secession. He raised a company of cavalry, and equipped them at his own expense. He took part in the battle of Newbern, and it must have been a bitter trial for him to leave so fine a property, though I believe he had another plantation in the upper part of the State. The regiment to whichhis company was attached, remained for some time in the State, and had more than one encounter with our cavalry. They were, however, finally ordered to join the army of Virginia, and were, no doubt, engaged in all its conflicts with our army. At the battle of Gettysburg, Evans, who had become a colonel, was wounded, taken prisoner, and died shortly after in hospital at Baltimore.
Such has been the fate of an infatuated man, who, like thousands of others, left a prosperous and comfortable home to plunge in the suicidal fray against the Government under which he was reared and had prospered. He may have repented his folly when too late; but I doubt it. Such men are as little given to repentance as they are to truth, justice and reason.
At the back of the mansion house were two negro huts, where those who were domestics lodged. The body of the negroes were lodged in the village before mentioned about a mile away. Doubtless there was design in this—as the master of bondmen must have lived as insecure amongst his slaves as the tyrant in the midst of his vassals.
Adjoining the negro-huts attached to the mansion were the various outhouses and stables, behind which the land sloped to waters of the tortuous stream which emptied into the mill-pond further down.
To my view Evans' Mills at first appeared a lonely place; but a further acquaintance with it materially altered my opinion. Were it not that the restraints which discipline imposes upon the soldier, living in this place would be quite agreeable. There was no lack of game of all kinds, from the red deer, the nocturnally rambling coon and possum, to the partridge, wild pigeons, grouse, waterfowl, and fish. The latter were the only legitimate sport for the soldiers (and many a finny inhabitant of those sluggish streams—though shy at times—graced his tin platter), as the necessities of war forbid the use of fire-arms upon anyother game than men (butternuts—and some of them mighty hard nuts at that). Occasionally, however, the negroes, and such of the white inhabitants as were left behind 'when the rush of war was past,' with their coon dogs, and well provided with pine knots to guide them, would sally forth of a night and traverse the banks of the numerous streams and branches, and rarely would they proceed far until the peculiar bay of the dogs denoted that they had lit upon the track of a wary possum or coon, in the direction of which the hunters would hasten, to find the 'critter treed,' and if the tree was too large to cut down, one climbed, and with a club killed or dislodged him. A coon hunt has rarely been unsuccessful, from the great number of the 'animals' abounding, and the excellent training of the dogs, which seem to take after this kind of game as naturally as a cat takes after mice.
The streams are generally belted with fine groves of cedar, gum, black walnut, locust, and ash trees, intermixed, the whole bearing their proportion of parasites, some of which entwine themselves so closely round the trees they select to climb on as almost to become incorporated with them in the process of time, and look like huge serpents endeavoring to crush out their life but they look beautiful in the summer time, covered with leaves and fruit (for they are not all poisonous or profitless), and many a bunch of rich, purple grapes has the writer purloined from the midst of those masses of tangled creepers. This intermingling of hardwood trees with the evergreen pines had a pleasing effect upon me, as it recalled the remembrance of the northern forests where the pine, hemlock and spruce were often in the minority.
Occasionally, however, the explorer of these Southern woods, would suddenly come upon a cypress swamp, and he would there behold the incarnation of all that is dismal in a landscape,—especially if, as when I first beheld one, the time was justbefore twilight, and the slanting rays of the sun had ceased to penetrate the masses of the forest foliage. A picture, however finely wrought, would fail to give an idea of the utter gloom and funereal solemnity of such a scene; and if any lover or hater of humanity should wish to seek a solitude where, unmolested, he could mourn over the wickedness and folly of mankind, and make himself thoroughly miserable, I would advise him to select a spot in full view of a cypress swamp,—and if he will not suffer enough, do enough penance, and weep enough to wash out and atone for the world's sins—his own included,—in the space of the twelve months, then it will not be the fault of the swamp, I can vouch. I do not wonder that the ancients, even aside from their superstitions, selected the cypress as an emblem of death and mourning—for no one can behold that tree in its native solitude and state without thinking of all the friends he had lost, and would be likely to lose for the next hundred years.—Picture to yourself, gentle reader, the bed of a sluggish stream, enriched by the accumulations of vegetable mould for unknown ages, until the water forced itself through a deep, narrow channel, winding hither and thither; that at a former indefinite period, the seeds deposited on this mould germinated, and there arose from its slimy depths, like ghosts that had 'burst their cerements,' the mighty cypress trees; that they continued to grow slowly upward, but toward the base the trunks swelled to undue proportions like the paunches of gluttons—and undoubtedly the cypress is the glutton among trees, as its huge cone-shaped roots are well adapted to the ravenous absorption of air, and the rich liquified food that is forever in process of formation around and above them. And thus they tower up in the midst of their slimy abode, huge, bilious and bloated, and look like a grim array of fallen spirits, which, having attempted to cross into daylight, got stuck in the mud of their mythical Styx.
Such is a cypress swamp.
In nationality the men of Co. K comprised Americans, Canadians, Provincials, English, Irish, Scotch, French and Germans. In disposition and character, they were nearly as diverse as their nationality; but taken as specimens of the countries they represented, were about as intelligent and respectable a body of men as could well be expected from such material.
The Captain, Joseph R. Simonds, (for many years a bookbinder in Spring Lane, Boston,) was a thoroughly patriotic and honest man, a good soldier, with many virtues, and a few faults and foibles (and what man has not these to a greater or less extent.) He took great pride in the well-being and efficiency of his company; and its good name, and the praise of his superiors for cleanliness, superiority in drill, or having a small sick-list, were to him matters of just pride and gratulation,—and frequently, after a creditable performance on drill or parade, he would snap his fingers with delight, and, after dismissal, invite them all to his quarters for a treat. He was careful about the quality of their food, and whenever he could (which was not often) would procure such articles of luxury and dietic change as would be most likely to promote health. He was uniformly kind, obliging and considerate, and did not look upon his men as mere pieces of mechanism that moved when he pulled the wires. He considered themmen,—socially his equals, though in reality under his command, and, to a certain extent at his mercy. He rarely abused his authority—never maliciously; and though he occasionally did injustice to some deserving men—it was, I think, more from an error of judgment than through design. Yet he was popular and unpopular with the men. Soldiers like sailors will grumble, and it is a privilege they often abuse; but, the fit over, they all invariably acknowledged his worth, and disposition to treat them well.
The first Lieut (J. A. Greeley) was of a quiet disposition, a strict (but not over strict) disciplinarian, and a man of considerablegenius in engineering (he subsequently had the planning and superintendence of several fortifications near Newbern). He was a strict temperance man, and wished the men to practice this virtue also. He has since been detached from the regiment, and commissioned captain in the 2d regiment of Heavy Artillery.
But I cannot enumerate the names of all the company,—and will content myself with mentioning a few of the 'characters'—and the first that occurs to my mind is "old Jesse Hitchings" (forgive me, Jesse, for putting your name in print; but you need be no more ashamed of it than you were of your old cap riddled by the enemy's bullets). Jesse was a character—a tall, thin old bachelor of over fifty—of a pleasant, benevolent disposition, a good soldier, an uncompromising patriot (no compromiseswith the rebels, was his motto)—and a successful hand at poker. It is related of Jesse, that when the company was doing picket duty at the Deep Gully, he lit a fire one night at the outpost, and when his time came to mount guard, leisurely walked up and down in front of the fire, giving the enemy's pickets a fair chance, if so disposed, to pick him off—and upon being warned of his danger, coolly replied—
"Well, if I'm to be shot I'll be shot, I suppose—what's the odds."
In camp, on guard, in the bivouac of the battle-field, wherever there was a fire, Jesse could be seen at any hour of the night bending over the same, his chin resting between his knees, warming his long skinny hands—sometimes asleep; but mostly half awake or dozing. Poor Jesse—he is one of the few sterling men who act well their part without ostentation, and are rarely noticed for their real worth.
Another character was "Billy Patterson" (he was called "Billy," though his name was James). He was a hard-working, rough-spoken fellow (his general salutation being "G' along tillhaal wi' ye!") Billy, though a good soldier, and brave in action, did not like guard or picket duty—and, being an excellent cook, generally contrived by a species of finesse—not always of an unexceptionable character—to work himself into a good berth, with pots for his jolly companions. Charley (our French cook) shortly after going to Evans' Mills fell sick, and Billy took his place—which he held afterwards for a long time, and flourished and bullied when sober, and when drunk abused every one—and gave the mess very good dinners.
Sam Kenny was another whom I considered a character. He was nicknamed 'Dickens,' being a great admirer of that author. 'Dickens' was an intelligent man, but fond of whiskey; and whenever he imbibed too much was sure to get in to some scrape or other, which generally ended in depositing him in the guardhouse. It is related of him, that being one night in Newbern, on a 'bender,' he applied for admission into a house (where he was acquainted), but the lady noticing his condition, refused; when, after repeated failures to get in, becoming convinced of the uselessness of any further trial, and by way of revenge, he put his mouth to the keyhole, and shouted—
"I say, madam, do you chew snuff?"
Now be it known that snuff chewing is quite a common practice among the women in and around Newbern, and for aught I know is a regular Southern institution; but those of any pretension to refinement never use it, or if they do, it is on the sly—and a greater insult could not be offered a woman than to ask her if she chewed snuff. 'Dickens,' no doubt, had his revenge.
A young fellow, named J. E. Mills, had a mania for cutting his autograph upon trees, walls, fences, and objects in every place he visited. It is related that during a freshet, when a lot of logs in the river above the dam broke loose, every one of them contained one or more inscriptions of "J. E. M.," cut in with an axe or knife.
William Stack 'was a soldier every inch of him.' He had been in the British service over ten years, and served in India. His peculiarities were numerous; but were redeemed by a strict integrity, a love of duty and a thorough knowledge of his business. I often wondered why men, his inferiors in many of the most essential qualifications of a soldier, were promoted over him, while he remained a private. He entertained a great veneration for the British army—and thought the British soldier not only superior, but better paid, better clothed, and better cared for than the American soldier. He had a good memory, a rich fund of anecdote, and many a weary hour has he beguiled by the relation of scenes and adventures in 'the land of the palm and the poppy.'
John Smith was another who had served in the British army. He was a good soldier, an unpretending man, and the pertinacity with which he defended the government, (there are two parties in the army as well as here), his strong anti-slavery sentiments when nearly all were down on the poor negro, and the confidence he felt in the ultimate success of our cause, even in the darkest hours when the general opinion prevailed that we could never whip the South, might well put to shame many of his American comrades, who often seemed to lose in their desire for peace, the consciousness that it was theirs to dictate the terms to a beaten foe. The poor fellow has been taken prisoner—and is now in Dixie.
Smith had a brother who was nicknamed 'Ben-Doza.' 'Ben' was discharged in March, 1863, and I gave him a curious stick which I cut in one of the swamps to bring home for me. If this should meet his eye, I wish he would hasten to 'fork it over.'
But lest I should become tedious and uninteresting, I will drop the biographical and take up the chronological thread of my yarn, noticing the different individuals as they may be brought by circumstances into future scenes. It is true that inspeaking of the mere rank and file of the army, I do not write of men known to fame. There is, indeed, little of romance connected with the private soldier—that peculiar species of flummery (which makes the heart of the dreamy damsel of sixteen flutter so) being, as it were by right divine, the speciality of the ideal mustached, lightning-eyed, and so forth young men of the shoulder straps. Those I write of principally occupy, many of them, the humblest (though the most useful) position in our grand army. It is such men who do the real fighting, and have to take and give the hardest knocks—and if a score of those brave hearts are laid low by the hand of war, it creates not half as much public sensation as the destruction of an old barn by fire, or the escape of a negro from rebeldom. Their biography is written by the orderly sergeant in a few words, and their requiem sung by the turkey-buzzard out on a foraging expedition. Their names, it is true, are on the rolls of fame; but who cares for these, except it be their immediate friends and relatives—and the clerks in the pension-bureau, who mayhap think it particularly unkind in privates A. B. or C. to die at all, and thus give them so much additional labor.
Two brothers, named Tibbetts, living about three miles beyond our outpost, lost some hogs and cattle in a very mysterious way, and came into our lines to inquire if we knew anything of them. Of course we didn't, and Billy Patterson's pots never told tales. I entered into conversation with one of the brothers, who appeared to be a civil sort of a man, and who invited me among others to visit his house, saying that he had plenty of eggs, &c., and could get up a very good dinner for us.
I remembered Tibbetts' invitation, and a few days after, accompanied by a companion, started out to see him. He lived in a miserable log cabin, about 20 feet square, without windows, having shutters to supply their place at night, which were opened in the day time to admit light and air. A field of about25 acres surrounded the domicile, partly planted in corn and peas, with about three acres of sweet potatoes. And these, with a few pigs, and a small garden, constituted this family's whole 'visible means of support.' The family consisted of a sallow, bilious-looking wife (all women thereabouts, as well as men, look alike) and a half-dozen sallow, bilious-looking children. (Nearly all the natives of that level, swampy region are thin, and have a shaky appearance.)
I noticed, to my surprise, upon my first introduction to Madam Tibbetts, that a small stick protruded about two inches from her mouth, and that ever and anon she spat out what seemed marvellously like tobacco juice. I watched her movements for some time during our conversation, and I noticed that she occasionally removed the stick from her mouth, and, one end being made soft by chewing, dipped the same into a box of snuff, replaced it again, and ran it around her gums and teeth in the same manner as one would use a tooth-brush. I found that neither Tibbetts or his wife, nor his brother or sister (the latter a smiling old maid) who afterwards joined us, could read or write—in fact it was considered quite out of their line altogether, though they seemed to regret that their children could not have some education. They were a fair specimen of that class of settlers at the South known as 'poor whites.'
Being allowed, when off duty, a free range within the lines, our visits were made in all directions—sometimes (often, I confess) transgressing our orders, we went beyond, especially towards the abodes of the Messrs. Tibbetts—and we frequently stumbled upon a quiet household of 'poor whites,' who received us civilly, though by no means graciously. All of these were, however, strongly 'secesh' in feeling, having had their minds pretty thoroughly poisoned with the false tales told them by their late 'superiors' of Yankee injustice and cupidity.
In conversation with the elder Tibbetts, I learned that thehoney-bees often selected the trunks of hollow trees in which to gather immense deposits of honey, and that in going up a creek lately he had discovered a tree, which he intended visiting some time. The idea of a 'bee hunt' was novel to me, and I determined to join him; and, a few days after, with a comrade, started for Tibbetts' house, who readily undertook to pilot us upon our saccharine expedition.
We were successful in getting a considerable amount of honey; but staid out so late that the officers became alarmed at our absence, thinking we were 'gobbled up' by the 'rebs,' and doubled the guard, served out extra ammunition, &c.,—and when we did come in at last, reprimanded us for staying out so long, and forbid any of the men going beyond the lines in future.
Time wore on. At first we expected a recall at the end of each week after our time had expired, but no such order came, and as the season was beginning to wear the sear and yellow leaf in its garments, and the indications of cold weather warned us that the time was at hand when
"The wild deer and wolf to their covert" must "flee,"
we bethought us that the negro village might abound in material of which shanties might be erected, and, as Billy Patterson elegantly expressed it, "be a d—d sight more comfortable than miserable." This bright thought was slow in spreading, and it was not until three or four men of a mess erected a snug shanty, that it took root and flourished—and then there was a rush for the 'diggins.'
The shanties at the outpost, once the shelter of the humble household gods of many a smoky descendant of Ham, were threatened with disembowelment—until the fury of the onslaught was turned upon the cotton gin, which soon presented a skeleton appearance. The plundered boards and scantling had to be carried by the men half a mile. But they set to workwith a will. For at least two weeks nothing could be heard around the camp, from sunrise to the going down thereof, but hammer and saw, and saw and hammer, and from the promiscuous heaps of purloined boards and scantling there arose in due time one of the most curious villages that could be met with outside of negrodom; but they were as comfortable as could be desired, and well laid out with bunks, gunracks, &c. Each had a flue or chimney for a stove or fireplace, the bricks to build which had to be carried on the back, or wheeled by hand from a mile and a half to two miles; and as wood was plenty, we never lacked for good fires. Thus comfortably situated, it was no wonder that we became attached to Evans' Mills.
It being designed to erect permanent barracks in the vicinity of Newbern, and the steam saw mill in that city proving insufficient to supply enough lumber—workmen being plenty, a detail from any of the New England regiments supplying any number needed—it was resolved to repair the broken dam at Evans' Mills. A detachment of about sixty contrabands, under the superintendence of a sort of Baron Munchhausen chap, a private in a New York artillery regiment—was sent to make the necessary repairs.
The dam had broke away at the waste water gate—and the genius who was sent to repair it, commenced by filling in the waste gate with brushwood and earth—and, after a month's labor, (costing the Government over $1,500), he succeeded in partially stopping the water, so that a few thousand feet of boards could be sawed; but the first rain-storm swelled the dam so much that, having no proper outlet for the superabundant water to escape, it gave way, and the blundering fool and his work departed about the same time—the former to hospital sick, and the latter to be distributed along the oozy bottom of the tortuous creek which emptied into the Trent River.
When the rebels were defeated at Newbern, Evans, likeother large planters, sent all his slaves to a plantation which he owned in the upper part of the State—that is, all who were worth sending, for he left two old negroes and their wives behind to 'take charge' of the plantation. These, in process of time, and the occupation of the place by our forces, were joined by others, until the negro population at the time our company went there, amounted to about ten, including picaninnies. The old negroes alluded to were called respectively, Old (Uncle) George, and Indian Joe. The former venerable old patriarch was "eighty-five, sar," communicative and religious, and the latter a cross between the Negro and Indian—retaining a good deal of the aboriginal physique and character—respectful, but retiring in his manner; and, though said to be fully as old as George, was spry and supple, a good hand at a tar-kiln, and a keen sportsman, never going to the woods without being accompanied by his dogs and an old Harper's Ferry musket—
"For you know de coons come out sometimes 'fore dark, and de deer dey stray off up dar down here in de day, and dey's good eatin', I reckon, is dem deers."
"I suppose you would not hesitate to pink a rebel if he should come across you instead of a deer, Joe?"
"Lor, yes—no—reckon—(scratching his head). O yes—right good day, sar—good morning, sar."
I think he'd shoot—if the alternative was to shoot or be taken.
The other contrabands were mostly runaways. One of them, a mulatto, was a good carpenter, a man of some intelligence, and interested me much. His story was simple, and illustrated the atrocious system, which subverts honor, and makes conscience a tool to be used as interest may dictate. He was 'raised' (that is the term, and sounds odd when applied to human beings) up country, and when his old master died he left him free; but the son and heir not liking to lose a 'rightsmart boy' of his description, would not give him his freedom, but kept him as a slave, treating him precisely like the other bondmen. When the war broke out, his master, who resided or did business at Wilmington, joined the navy, as captain of a gunboat, and took this slave with him as his servant. After the battle of Roanoke, when our gunboats followed up and destroyed the rebel fleet, his master, when one of our gunboats ran into the one he commanded, deserted him, jumping overboard, to escape capture; but, while in the water, a stray shot struck him, and he 'sank to rise no more.' The mulatto, glad of the change that gave him his liberty, accompanied our forces to Newbern, and there remained, entered the employ of the Government, and performed his part in a skillful and faithful manner.
Another of the contrabands was a full-blooded African negro, bearing the classical name of Nero. He was from Duplin County, some ninety miles north of Newbern, and near the Virginia line, and had run away from a cruel master, as numerous scars on his person testified, travelling the entire distance on foot through woods and swamps, and subsisting upon an occasional ear of corn, for which he ventured into the fields only at night, eluding the rebel patrols and pickets, and, finally, almost exhausted and worn out, he arrived, with about five or six others from the same place, inside our picket lines, and gave himself up. He left behind him a wife and six children; but notwithstanding this, and the stories he had heard of Yankee barbarity to runaway negroes (the slaves being generally told that the Yankees placed iron rigs through the shoulder-blades of the darkies, and sold them off to Cuba), he was willing to run all risks for the bare chance of obtaining his liberty; and, he said, if the other slaves knew how well the contrabands were treated, they would come in in greater numbers. His simple story would fill an interesting volume. When Wild's brigade was subsequently organized, he joined the first regiment, and, Ihave no doubt, has proved himself a capital soldier. Wo to the rebels that fell in his power. He had many wrongs to avenge, and would avenge them, if opportunity offered.
Uncle George was a good specimen of the ideal negro—fat, good-natured, and seemingly contented.
"Well, uncle," I said, "how do you like the Yankees?"
"Right well, sar—dey's bery fine people, sar!"
"Would you sooner be with the Yankees than the rebs?"
"O yes, sar; (my name's George, sar); 'cause I'se a free man now, and dat's what I am now, sar."
"You think you are free now, and that the Yankees made you free, do you?"
"O yes, sar," he replied, and then added, in a deeply impressive voice—"and I tank de Lord and you Yankees for dat. De ole man hab worked for many years—de good Lord he send me and the ole woman six sons and five daughters, and massa, he sell some off afore de war, take some away when de Yankees come—and now, de poor ole man and de poor ole woman am left all alone in de world; but de good Lord send de Yankees, and dey make us free afore we die, and dat am payment enough for all ole George's work—bress de Lord, amen."
George finding, I suppose, that I took an interest in him, and did not treat him as it might be inferred many would from their salutation of "Hello, old nig—how dyedo," often visited our shanty at dinner-time, and we had always plenty of crackers and 'salt horse,' and an occasional pint of soup or coffee to spare him; but the cook (Billy Patterson,) perhaps from pure good nature, took a fancy to old George, and he soon forsook our more humble board for the savory flesh-pots of Billy's cookhouse, perfectly satisfied to be addressed as you 'd—d old nigger,' so long as he had his revenge in the shape of a plentiful supply of good grub.
I stated before that the outpost guard was drawn in at nightto the mills (the day-guard at the mills being camp-guard at night). A few darkies, who worked for the government making tar and cutting saw logs, lodged in the mill. Without education enough to read, without the knowledge of the commonest accessories of amusement, it cannot be wondered that the time hung heavily upon their hands; but their naturally elastic temperaments stood them in good need, and suggested a species of amusement to pass away the time that was best suited to their capacity, viz.: dancing and its promoter, 'jigging'—a species of vocal and pantomimic music almost peculiar to the African race. At first their levees were attended only by gents of color; but, by and by, the spirit of their performances began to spread, and soldiers from the relief guard and the camp visited them, and enjoyed hugely the sight of the dancing, sweating darkies, (encouraging and applauding the most expert—and there were many supple legs and nimble feet among them), and the equally sweating and nimble 'jiggers' or time-beaters. The 'jiggers' did not always depend upon the voice, but used it as a sort of auxiliary or flourish to their time-beating, which latter was performed by striking the open hands upon the thighs, legs and breast, and together in rapid succession, and in admirable measure, so that the tune thus beat could be followed by the dancer as precisely as if played upon a full band.
We had a Maryland negro in our company, who ran away from his master, and became attached to the regiment in Baltimore. He was called 'Pomp'—a lithe, supple fellow—and, with a few months training, I have no doubt, would equal, if not surpass, some of the clog-dancers of our friends the Morris Bro's. It was amusing to note the patronizing airs he adopted towards the North Carolina 'nigs,' and, I presume, the circumstances of his having come from Maryland, and being so long in the army, added not a little to obtain for him a certain kind of prestige among his simple sable brethren. The soldiers foramusement taught him the manual of arms, and so naturally did he take to the business that it was a common remark among the men that there were few better drilled men in the command than Pomp. But Pomp became lazy and independent, and left the company shortly after we went to Evans' Mills to work for Government. But his mind was not in work, and after a few weeks labor he went to Newbern, and there became attached to a company of the 43d Mass. regiment, as Captain's servant. This captain (I know not his name, or I should record it, to his credit), taught him as well as some other negroes, to read and write; and, when the policy of the Government, directing the enlistment of the blacks, reached North Carolina, Wild's brigade began to be formed, Pomp was among the first to enlist, and, for his proficiency in drill, and quickness for military duty, he was made a sergeant in the North Carolina colored regiment.
"I've been made free by de President of my country," he said to me, when I met and congratulated him upon joining the army, "and I tink it is my duty to fight for de country dat makes me a free man."
This regiment afterwards bore a prominent part in the unfortunate battle of Olustee, Florida. I wonder if poor Joe (he changed Pomp to Joseph) escaped.
On the 28th of August, the 17th reg't embarked on transports for the purpose of capturing Plymouth; but upon arriving opposite that town, found the place too well defended to warrant a landing, and they returned without disembarking.
On the 30th of October, the 17th regiment left Newbern on board steamers, and proceeded up the Neuse River about eight miles, where they were joined by cavalry, artillery, and a large baggage train, the whole under command of Colonel Amory. They landed and marched to Swift Creek, a small settlement eight miles distant, which was reached at sundown. Here theywere fired upon by the rebel cavalry picket, who had destroyed the bridge over the creek. They fled upon our approach. The following forenoon was employed by our forces in building the bridge, and at noon the column was again in motion towards Washington, N. C., which our forces reached on the evening of November 1st, without molestation.
November 2d, the line of march was again continued, (our forces being augmented by the addition of several thousand infantry,) in the direction of Williamston. Towards sundown the advance came up with the enemy; posted behind entrenchments, at a place called Rawle's Mills, who disputed their passage; but our forces soon compelled them to retreat, and the following morning the advance again continued on to Williamston, which place the column reached at noon, having marched a distance of twenty-three miles from Washington. Leaving the sick and foot-sore on board the gunboats in the river, the troops marched out of the town about three miles, and bivouacked for the night.
November 4th, they took up the line of march for Hamilton, within two miles of which they were obliged to halt for several hours to build a bridge, near which was a deserted breastwork, leading from the woods across the main road to a fort on the river bank. Hamilton was reached about sundown, and, like Williamston, was found entirely deserted. The town being set on fire by the troops, the sick were placed on board gunboats, and the expedition marched out of Hamilton several miles, and bivouacked for the night.
November 5th, they started early in the morning, taking the road to Tarboro'—marched until night, when they came to a halt, and bivouacked within nine miles of Tarboro'. The following morning they commenced their return march, not having met with the enemy in any force. A heavy rain having set in, the roads were in a bad condition, and the marching muchharder than it had been previously. The expedition reached Hamilton late in the afternoon, and took up their quarters for the night in the deserted dwellings.
November 7th, a violent snow storm raged in the morning, but it did not delay the march, which was continued for Williamston, by a road leading near the river, and which they had not travelled before. No force of the enemy appeared to interrupt the march, and the expedition reached Williamston in the afternoon, where it remained until the morning of the 9th, when the line of march was taken up for Plymouth, N. C., a distance of twenty-three miles. They reached the latter place the next morning, 10th, and Newbern on the 11th, at noon, having been absent thirteen days, and having marched about 150 miles. The expedition captured about 50 prisoners, 400 horses and mules, and about 100 teams.
The failure of this expedition, and the causes of its failure, are pretty well known, and need no comment from me, save that it caused much hardship to the troops comprising it, and left Newbern in an almost defenceless state. The rebels, judging that the garrison of the city had been largely drawn upon (but never dreaming that this was the case to so great an extent), to divert, perhaps, whatever after purposes our commanders had, and to make them recall the troops as fast as possible, sent a weak force to demonstrate in front of Newbern. This drove in our pickets, and created the utmost apprehension in the city. The case seemed critical, and every available man was called inside the defences to await the onslaught of the enemy.
Our company (the remainder of the regiment being in the expedition,) received hurried orders to report in Newbern, and rumors coming in heralded the enemy as advancing upon the city in large numbers. The order to pack up and be ready to march at a minute's warning, was received by us just as we were 'turning in,' and was not very welcome news you may besure, but to hear was to obey; and in half an hour we were ready for the road, and some talked of the morrow, what the 'row' was all about, whether we should have a fight, and others (myself among the number) went to bed and slept. About three o'clock in the morning I was aroused from a pleasant sleep by my comrades, and heard all around me the hurried tramp of men. Hastily putting on my knapsack, I seized my gun, and went forth to take my place in the line. The night was foggy, and a feeble moon, while it brightened the obscurity a little, lent to the half distinct scene a dreary and confused appearance. A few men had been detailed to destroy the bridge; and the strokes of the axe, the falling of the planks and beams into the water, the hum of the camp—its lights glancing to and fro, contrasted with the solemnity of the surrounding silence (which only echoed noises of our hasty departure, or the hoot of the owl) left a cheerless impression on my mind.
After a march of two hours, we reached our old camp tired and exhausted, to be refreshed by a good dipper of coffee.
The morning advanced but the rebels came not; and as reinforcements arrived by the railroad from Beaufort, all apprehensions of the result of an attack upon the city died out, and the day wore away without any demonstration being made against any part of our lines. Indeed, word came in from our scouts, that the rebels had fallen back, satisfied, no doubt, with having carried out their design of creating a diversion, which would serve to hasten the recall of the expedition.
In the evening we received orders to return to Evans' Mills, which place we reached by nightfall.
What must have been the surprise and dismay of the darkies to work on the mill-dam (who knew nothing of our departure during the night, although we made noise enough to rouse the 'seven sleepers') upon waking in the morning to find the bridge destroyed and the camp deserted. We were told that they nosooner heard of our departure—and the reports, greatly exaggerated, no doubt, of a rebel attack upon Newbern—than, considering it was 'all up' with them, they scattered, and made for the woods—'every man for himself, and the devil take the hindmost.' Some of them turned up in the vicinity of Newbern, others made their way to Morehead City and Beaufort, while others were never heard from, and these, it was thought likely, being too frightened to venture out in the clearings, supposing the whole country again in possession of the rebels, were starved to death, or lost their way, and came out somewhere in Dixie—no doubt into the lion's mouth they were trying to avoid.
Poor unfortunates, the sport of every varying breeze of fortune, good or ill. The best fortune for them is as yet but indifferent, while ill fortune is death. They are, alas, no 'chosen people of God.' They have no Moses to organize and lead them out of their land of bondage; no cloud by day or pillar of fire by night to guide them; no ark of their freedom's covenant around which to rally [yes, the starry flag is their ark, and, thank Heaven, wherever it waves over them they are free!] No miracles are vouchsafed for their preservation; no manna from heaven; no quails; no water gushing from the rock to assauge their thirst. Alas! alas! that their pathway to freedom should be beset with so many dangers—that its course should so often lead them through the valley of the shadow of death! Poor creatures! heaven help them through the fiery ordeal in which they are passing!
The old darkies, however, belonging to the mill, together with the others who had not been there when we came, did not skedaddle; but, by turns, kept a good look-out on the Pollocksville road, ready, of course, to leave at the approach of the rebels, though determined not to do so until they hove in sight. Old George took charge of our camp, closed every door, and when we returned, every article we were forced to leave behind, evento the smallest and most trivial, remained just as we had left it.
Back once more in our comfortable quarters, and resuming our old routine of duty, we began to think that we were as good as settled for the winter. Our old pastimes were revived—rambling, fishing, quoit pitching, playing cards, backgammon, and draughts. The same huge fires were kindled and burned brightly in front of our quarters, and at the outposts, for the guards to warm themselves by in the dreary watches of the chilly night, around which, before retiring to rest, groups of smoking men assembled, and spun many a yarn of strange adventure in all lands, from the orient to the Occident, and from the frozen regions of the north to the trackless southern seas—mostly true, I believe, but surely entertaining.
This state of affairs lasted a few weeks longer, when suddenly we received orders to rejoin the regiment, which took the place of the Mass. 23d in doing the provost duty at Newbern. This was about the 20th of November. To some this change was delightful, while to others (and I was one of these) it was not a welcome change. But we packed up—this time with more deliberation—and the next morning when Co. A, 23d regiment, Captain Brewster, came to relieve us were ready to evacuate, leaving everything connected with the camp to our successors, in apple-pie order. I wish they could (or did) return the compliment; but they did not, and were so 'put out' about being put out of Newbern, that they vented their spleen upon the luckless houses occupied by them as quarters, smashing up every thing that might conduce to the comfort of their successors.
Our quarters were on Pollock street, near the market and the office of the Provost Marshal. Co. B's quarters adjoined ours, and F occupied quarters on the other side of the street nearly opposite. After considerable labor in sweeping, scrubbing, making bunks, &c., we became settled down once more,comfortable enough. But our duty was no child's play. We were on guard every second day—the intermediate one being filled up (twice a week) by a march of six miles and a brigade drill of three hours or more. This did not leave much time to ourselves, after cleaning boots, polishing brasses and buttons, and brushing clothes, for we had to appear neat and tidy while on duty.
A provost guard is a kind of police-soldier, and his duties are as multifarious as the character of his office and power is indefinite. His instructions vary in detail from day to day; and, before he goes on duty for the day has a string of orders and regulations, as long as the laws of the Medes and Persians, read to him, often couched in language that could be defined to mean one thing or another, or nothing at all in particular. For example, the guard is told to examineallpasses and saluteallofficers; to permit no fast driving; to allow no soldier or man-o'-war sailor to go by him unless provided with passes properly countersigned; to allow no citizen to pass after a certain hour, without a special permit from the provost marshal; to 'jug' every negro found out after 9P.M.; to allow no citizen or negro to be abused; to allow no breach of the peace; to permit no horses to be tied to trees; to stop all disturbances whatever indoors or out of doors; to, in fact, keep his eyes 'peeled,' and be continually on the alert, and, if possible, do all the impossible things required of him. Four hours on post (and twice posted) performing this delightful duty, was required of the man detailed for guard. The accommodations at the guard-houses were abominable. The windows were broken, the bunks smashed up, poor fires, and the floors so dirty, and the cricks and crevices around so filled with vermin that one night's experience in the endeavor to get rest in them was generally sufficient to deter most of those who still retained the idea that cleanliness was a virtue from ever attempting the like again.
Major Frankle of the 17th regiment was Provost Marshal, and was a worthy successor of Col. Kurtz, of the 23d (now Chief of Police in Boston.)
I cannot enter into a relation of all the incidents which enlivened the monotony of our provost duty in Newbern, not from lack of good material—that would, perhaps, make thirty or forty pages of readable matter, but want of space admonishes me that it will not pay. Suffice it to say that, with forty or fifty thousand men in the department, a large proportion of whom were in the vicinity of Newbern—the 17th had their hands full, and the lock-up often became overcrowded, as did the jails in time. We had drunken men to arrest—street rows to quell, horse-racings, shootings and stabbings to look after—brawls in bad houses to put a stop to, and arrest drunken and half-crazed men armed to the teeth, and other duty of a no less dangerous character to perform. But I believe we did things 'up to the handle;' in fact I'm certain we did—notwithstanding there were many complaints (as there always must be in such cases) and criticisms of our method of procedure.
To add to our already heavy labor, shortly after we were in the city, the marine battalion (which I have before incidentally spoken of,) had refused to do further duty, and were placed in our custody. These gallant fellows had been shamefully used. When enlisted in New York city, they were promised $18 per month for the privates, or sailors, and pay in proportion for the petty officers. They had been in the service over a year, had not received any pay, clothing, or allowances for the same, and were informed that they would not be recognized in any other capacity than soldiers, with whom they must consider themselves on an equal footing in pay, as in all other respects. Considering this a violation of agreement, they refused as a body to shoulder a musket or do any kind of duty, and thus passively mutinied. The men of the 17th pitied the poor fellows, andshowed them many acts of kindness. The Major, too, while he had to enforce their imprisonment, sympathized with the marines, and, I have reason to believe, did all in his power to have their just claims considered, and their wrongs righted; but the knot on the 'red tape' which bound the poor fellows could not be opened, and it was not cut. So, after a two month's imprisonment, they were given the choice of servitude in the forts as criminals, or the alternative of enlisting in the navy, and they wisely accepted the alternative. I think theirs was a case of peculiar hardship. Some of those human kites which abound in large cities started the project of their enlistment, without the approval of the Government, made money out of the affair, and left their victims to curse them for many a weary heartburn, many an anxious, hopeless thought of home, and of a perhaps destitute family.
One of Co. K's men, named Finn, at one time a guard over the marines, allowed two of them to go out to purchase something at the market, but the Major, somehow, discovered the charitable error, and rushing up to the guard, said:
"Vat for you let ze marines go away?"
"But they'll come back again, sir."
"O—fool—fool—I vill have you put under arrest and court-marshal!"
Soon after the marines returned, and Finn, who caught sight of the Major passing, sung out—
"They're back again, Major! The marines"—
But the Major, who was in a hurry, passed him by, angrily exclaiming—
"O fool—fool—o-h block-head!"
"Be jabers," said Finn, looking after the Major, but taking care he was not heard by that officer,—"ye're the first man that ever called me so far out of my name that I didn't lay on the broad of his back!"
There were four other Massachusetts regiments in the department, viz:—the 23d, 24th, 25th, and 27th.
The 23d regiment, Col. Kurtz, was recruited in Lynnfield, which place it left for Annapolis, Md., on the 11th of November, 1861, and reached there on the 16th; and on January 6th, 1862, embarked upon transports as a portion of Gen. Burnside's Expedition to North Carolina.
The regiment, after encountering the fearful storms off Hatteras, was among the first to land on Roanoke Island, and in the engagements which followed bore a conspicuous and honorable part. It then accompanied the expedition up the Neuse, and took an active part in the battle of Newbern (March 14th, 1862), where it lost ten killed (including its Lieut. Colonel, Merritt) and forty-one wounded.
The 23d afterwards did picket duty, and took part in nearly all the expeditions into the interior and along the sea-coast.
On May 7th, the 23d relieved the 25th Mass. regiment doing provost duty in Newbern, where it continued until Nov. 20th, when it was in turn relieved by the 17th.
In January, the 23d formed part of the expedition to South Carolina, but did nothing, owing to a misunderstanding between Gens. Foster and Hunter, and returned, in April to North Carolina, and encamped at a place called Carolina City, near Morehead City.
Later it was transferred to Norfolk, and, I believe, is at present in that portion of the department.
The 23d bears the reputation of being a good regiment, and stands high on the roll of honor. Success to the old 23d.
The 24th Mass. regiment, Col. Stevenson, was recruited at Readville, and formed part of the Burnside expedition to North Carolina, and in the battles of Roanoke Island and Newbern, acted a conspicuous and noble part. This regiment, in common with others, had its share of marching on expeditions and doingpicket duty (in which it had several sanguinary engagements with the enemy, who were invariably defeated). It accompanied Gen. Foster to South Carolina, where it has added fresh laurels to its name, as well as in Florida, where it remained until April last. The 24th is a splendid regiment. It is now in the army of the Potomac, and has shared in the triumphs which have at length rewarded that long-suffering but noble and brave army—that has at length came 'out of the wilderness.'
The 25th regiment, Col. Upton, was raised in the western part of the State, and left Camp Lincoln, Worcester, to join Burnside, and take part in his expedition. Little need be said, save that this regiment has inscribed on its banners such names as 'Roanoke Island,' 'Newbern,' 'Kinston,' 'Whitehall,' 'Goldsboro,' &c., &c. This regiment did the first provost duty in North Carolina. The 25th has taken part—together with the 23d and 27th—in the late brilliant advance of Gen. Butler on Richmond, where it has come in for its share of glory and hard knocks.
The 27th, Col. Lee, was also raised in the western part of the State, and left Springfield Jan. 6th, and joined Burnside's troops at Annapolis, Md. The 27th shared in all the battles, marches, and picket-skirmishes in North Carolina. In fact, the history of one of these regiments is the history of the whole. All, alike, have a glorious record, and have earned the same by the hardest kind of fighting, marching and suffering.
In October, the first of the nine months regiments began to arrive. The 44th was, I believe, the first of these—a fine-looking body of men; but seeming more like a regiment of officers than soldiers. Their style of dress, though about the same as the 'regulation,' varied in being of a much finer texture, and containing, at least, two more buttons on the tails of their dress coats than the regulation allowed to privates. (Orders were issued during our stay in the city to cut off the extra buttons, and much ill-feeling was created by the remorseless cur-tail-mentpracticed by the men of the Seventeenth towards their fellow-soldiers of the 44th.) Some of the men, too, seemed to possess a consciousness of their superiority, induced, no doubt, by their fancied higher social standing at home, and passed the poor three-years men with the same patronizing and patrician air, their eye-glasses clasped upon their noses in the same manner, as when strutting amid their fathers' workmen in Massachusetts, or when promenading the thoroughfares, and ogling the girls (beg pardon, young ladies) at home. It is true they were civil, and mostly well-behaved young men; but their civility, though well intended, was bestowed with a hauteur which had an opposite effect, and left rankling in the minds of their less favored comrades (all soldiers are comrades) a feeling of envy and, perhaps, disgust. Undoubtedly, there were men in this regiment of a very high order of intellect; but there was a class among them composed of puny clerks and school-boys, whose notions of the world and what constituted a man were about as crude as those of any apron-string hero could be; and it was the influence of this class operating as the representative of that better and really respectable one whose good sense kept it in the background, which caused this regiment to be unjustly criticised and hated—and by none more than its co-nine months comrades of other organizations. To show how prejudice will jump at conclusions, it was confidently predicted they would never stand fire; but they did stand fire bravely, and acted in many respects in a most creditable manner for so new an organization. A story went the rounds, and which may not be true, to this effect:—On the Tarboro expedition, the 44th were in the advance, when the cavalry, after waking up the rebs, and finding them in large force ahead, fell back, and their lieutenant (Mix), seeing no one taking the necessary steps in such an emergency, rode up to the captain of an advance company of the 44th, and said:
"Deploy your men, captain; the rebs are close upon us!"
To which the captain replied—
"I don't know how!"
"Then," replied Mix, "right about, and run like hell, or you'll be gobbled up!"
Again, at the battle of Kinston, it was said that the 44th who were laying down, were ordered to charge the rebel line, which had begun to waver and show signs of weakness; that they refused, and the 10th Connecticut (three hundred strong) were ordered up, charged upon the rebels, and, in charging, had to walk over the prostrate 44th. I give this story without vouching for its truth; for, being in another part of the field, I had not an opportunity of witnessing the inception of the charge referred to, though, arriving with our regiment near the bridge by the flank ahead of the main charging column, I had an opportunity of seeing the 44th come up at the double-quick close on the heels of the flying rebels. But the story was told, and told, too, on the battle-field.
At Whitehall, however, no envious tongue could say aught against the conduct of this regiment; and I can here speak of what I saw of them, and can say they acted well under the murderous fire to which they were exposed.
Another anecdote of the 44th, and I have done with them; and, lest I might be accused of harboring any of that feeling towards them I have already alluded to as prevailing in the department, and which I most heartily condemn, I will state that I do not believe one word of it, and only give it a place here to show how far human malignity and envy will make men forget what is due to self-respect and to co-laborers in a good work. During the siege of Little Washington, it was stated that the rebels sent in a flag of truce, requesting the commander of the post to send the women and children,and the 44th, to a place of safety, as they were going to assault the town.
The 5th regiment came about the same time the 44th did. They were a fine, hardy-looking set of men, and participated with credit in all the expeditions undertaken during their term of service in this portion of the department.
The 45th regiment was the next—a fine body of men; but they, too, like the 44th seemed to assume too much importance, and came in for their share of ill-will; but, speaking from my own knowledge, I never knew of but one instance in their whole career where they did not seem to be up to the mark, and this time from no fault of the rank and file. The fault, if any, lay with the officers. I allude to a little affair at a place called Cole Creek, on the railroad towards Kinston, in May '63, where, by the Colonel of the 45th outranking our Lt. Col., the regiment had the advance, and when it came in sight of an earthwork manned by a few rebs, the Colonel anxious for his men, and not wishing to be precipitate, seemed to hesitate. Colonel Fellows riding up, asked him why he did not advance on the enemy's work, replied that he thought it too strong.
"Allow me," said Colonel Fellows, "and I will take it with my two flank companies."
The consent was obtained, and companies A and F of the 17th walked into the works, which had been hastily abandoned on their approach by the rebels. As I said before, this result was no fault of the rank and file of the 45th, whom I have seen marching in under fire, with ranks precisely dressed up, and acting with coolness and intrepidity.
The 43d seemed the favorite regiment with the three-years men, who regarded it as the best of the nine months men. They were, indeed, a fine lot of men, and, I have no doubts if circumstances placed them in the post of danger, they would prove themselves fully as reliable as the three-years troops. In saying this, it will, of course, be inferred, that I do not consider the nine-months men as reliable in an emergency as thethree-years men; and, I do not think them so, generally speaking—not because the men are inferior in regard to courage or endurance; but because they are not really soldiers but militia, and not so self-reliant as the three-years men.
Of the other nine months men I know but little, save that they were a fine lot of men, and if they did not do anything to distinguish themselves, it was no fault of theirs, but because they lacked the opportunity.
A few words in regard to the feeling of the three-years men towards the nine-months troops. The men of the old regiments, almost to a man (but there were some exceptions) seemed to regard them with a feeling of envy and dislike, and the frequent salutations of 'how are you, three hundred dollars and a bugle?' partly showed from whence the dislike came. I say partly, for the other reason was, that, besides receiving so high a bounty, they could return at the end of their time of service,—which to men who had already served eighteen months, and still had a year and a half to serve, seemed unfair. And certainly, looking at the matter with their eyes, the thing did not seem altogether right, though it might very properly be argued that as the three-years men went into the service with their eyes open, and agreeing to the terms of the Government, they had no right to complain.