Brian Carnell's Wiki

This page is read only. You can view the source, but not change it. Ask your administrator if you think this is wrong.
<html>
    <h1>
      ARMY LIFE IN A BLACK REGIMENT
    </h1>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h2>
      By Thomas Wentworth Higginson
    </h2>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      (1823-1911)
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br /><br />
    </p>
    <h3>
      Originally published 1869
    </h3>
    <p>
      <br />
    </p>
    <h4>
      Reprinted, 1900, by Riverside Press
    </h4>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <blockquote>
      <p class="toc">
        <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big>
      </p>
      <p>
        <br /> <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter 1. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Introductory
        <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter 2. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Camp
        Diary <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter 3. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Up
        the St. Mary's <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter 4. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Up
        the St. John's <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter 5. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Out
        on Picket <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter 6. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;A
        Night in the Water <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter 7. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Up
        the Edisto <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter 8. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;The
        Baby of the Regiment <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter 9. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Negro
        Spirituals <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter 10. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Life
        at Camp Shaw <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0011"> Chapter 11. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Florida
        Again? <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0012"> Chapter 12. &nbsp;&nbsp;</a>&nbsp;&nbsp;The
        Negro as a Soldier <br /><br /> <a href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter 13. </a>&nbsp;&nbsp;Conclusion
        <br /><br /><br />
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_APPE"> APPENDIX </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_APPEa"> Appendix A </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_APPEb"> Appendix B The First Black Soldiers </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_APPEc"> Appendix C General Saxton's Instructions </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_APPEd"> Appendix D The Struggle for Pay </a>
      </p>
      <p class="toc">
        <a href="#link2H_APPEe"> Appendix E Farewell Address of Lt. Col.
        Trowbridge </a>
      </p>
    </blockquote>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br /> <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <h2>
      Chapter 1. Introductory
    </h2>
    <p>
      These pages record some of the adventures of the First South Carolina
      Volunteers, the first slave regiment mustered into the service of the
      United States during the late civil war. It was, indeed, the first colored
      regiment of any kind so mustered, except a portion of the troops raised by
      Major-General Butler at New Orleans. These scarcely belonged to the same
      class, however, being recruited from the free colored population of that
      city, a comparatively self-reliant and educated race. "The darkest of
      them," said General Butler, "were about the complexion of the late Mr.
      Webster."
    </p>
    <p>
      The First South Carolina, on the other hand, contained scarcely a freeman,
      had not one mulatto in ten, and a far smaller proportion who could read or
      write when enlisted. The only contemporary regiment of a similar character
      was the "First Kansas Colored," which began recruiting a little earlier,
      though it was not mustered in the usual basis of military seniority till
      later. [<i>See Appendix</i>] These were the only colored regiments
      recruited during the year 1862. The Second South Carolina and the
      Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts followed early in 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      This is the way in which I came to the command of this regiment. One day
      in November, 1862, I was sitting at dinner with my lieutenants, John
      Goodell and Luther Bigelow, in the barracks of the Fifty-First
      Massachusetts, Colonel Sprague, when the following letter was put into my
      hands:
    </p>
    <p>
      BEAUFORT, S. C., November 5, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      MY DEAR SIR.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am organizing the First Regiment of South Carolina Volunteers, with
      every prospect of success. Your name has been spoken of, in connection
      with the command of this regiment, by some friends in whose judgment I
      have confidence. I take great pleasure in offering you the position of
      Colonel in it, and hope that you may be induced to accept. I shall not
      fill the place until I hear from you, or sufficient time shall have passed
      for me to receive your reply. Should you accept, I enclose a pass for Port
      Royal, of which I trust you will feel disposed to avail yourself at once.
      I am, with sincere regard, yours truly,
    </p>
    <p>
      R. SAXTON, <i>Brig.-Genl, Mil. Gov.</i>
    </p>
    <p>
      Had an invitation reached me to take command of a regiment of Kalmuck
      Tartars, it could hardly have been more unexpected. I had always looked
      for the arming of the blacks, and had always felt a wish to be associated
      with them; had read the scanty accounts of General Hunter's abortive
      regiment, and had heard rumors of General Saxton's renewed efforts. But
      the prevalent tone of public sentiment was still opposed to any such
      attempts; the government kept very shy of the experiment, and it did not
      seem possible that the time had come when it could be fairly tried.
    </p>
    <p>
      For myself, I was at the head of a fine company of my own raising, and in
      a regiment to which I was already much attached. It did not seem desirable
      to exchange a certainty for an uncertainty; for who knew but General
      Saxton might yet be thwarted in his efforts by the pro-slavery influence
      that had still so much weight at head-quarters? It would be intolerable to
      go out to South Carolina, and find myself, after all, at the head of a
      mere plantation-guard or a day-school in uniform.
    </p>
    <p>
      I therefore obtained from the War Department, through Governor Andrew,
      permission to go and report to General Saxton, without at once resigning
      my captaincy. Fortunately it took but a few days in South Carolina to make
      it clear that all was right, and the return steamer took back a
      resignation of a Massachusetts commission. Thenceforth my lot was cast
      altogether with the black troops, except when regiments or detachments of
      white soldiers were also under my command, during the two years following.
    </p>
    <p>
      These details would not be worth mentioning except as they show this fact:
      that I did not seek the command of colored troops, but it sought me. And
      this fact again is only important to my story for this reason, that under
      these circumstances I naturally viewed the new recruits rather as subjects
      for discipline than for philanthropy. I had been expecting a war for six
      years, ever since the Kansas troubles, and my mind had dwelt on military
      matters more or less during all that time. The best Massachusetts
      regiments already exhibited a high standard of drill and discipline, and
      unless these men could be brought tolerably near that standard, the fact
      of their extreme blackness would afford me, even as a philanthropist, no
      satisfaction. Fortunately, I felt perfect confidence that they could be so
      trained, having happily known, by experience, the qualities of their race,
      and knowing also that they had home and household and freedom to fight
      for, besides that abstraction of "the Union." Trouble might perhaps be
      expected from white officials, though this turned out far less than might
      have been feared; but there was no trouble to come from the men, I
      thought, and none ever came. On the other hand, it was a vast experiment
      of indirect philanthropy, and one on which the result of the war and the
      destiny of the negro race might rest; and this was enough to tax all one's
      powers. I had been an abolitionist too long, and had known and loved John
      Brown too well, not to feel a thrill of joy at last on finding myself in
      the position where he only wished to be.
    </p>
    <p>
      In view of all this, it was clear that good discipline must come first;
      after that, of course, the men must be helped and elevated in all ways as
      much as possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of discipline there was great need, that is, of order and regular
      instruction. Some of the men had already been under fire, but they were
      very ignorant of drill and camp duty. The officers, being appointed from a
      dozen different States, and more than as many regiments, infantry,
      cavalry, artillery, and engineers, had all that diversity of methods which
      so confused our army in those early days. The first need, therefore, was
      of an unbroken interval of training. During this period, which fortunately
      lasted nearly two months, I rarely left the camp, and got occasional
      leisure moments for a fragmentary journal, to send home, recording the
      many odd or novel aspects of the new experience. Camp-life was a
      wonderfully strange sensation to almost all volunteer officers, and mine
      lay among eight hundred men suddenly transformed from slaves into
      soldiers, and representing a race affectionate, enthusiastic, grotesque,
      and dramatic beyond all others. Being such, they naturally gave material
      for description. There is nothing like a diary for freshness, at least so
      I think, and I shall keep to the diary through the days of camp-life, and
      throw the later experience into another form. Indeed, that matter takes
      care of itself; diaries and letter-writing stop when field-service begins.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am under pretty heavy bonds to tell the truth, and only the truth; for
      those who look back to the newspaper correspondence of that period will
      see that this particular regiment lived for months in a glare of
      publicity, such as tests any regiment severely, and certainly prevents all
      subsequent romancing in its historian. As the scene of the only effort on
      the Atlantic coast to arm the negro, our camp attracted a continuous
      stream of visitors, military and civil. A battalion of black soldiers, a
      spectacle since so common, seemed then the most daring of innovations, and
      the whole demeanor of this particular regiment was watched with
      microscopic scrutiny by friends and foes. I felt sometimes as if we were a
      plant trying to take root, but constantly pulled up to see if we were
      growing. The slightest camp incidents sometimes came back to us, magnified
      and distorted, in letters of anxious inquiry from remote parts of the
      Union. It was no pleasant thing to live under such constant surveillance;
      but it guaranteed the honesty of any success, while fearfully multiplying
      the penalties had there been a failure. A single mutiny, such as has
      happened in the infancy of a hundred regiments, a single miniature Bull
      Run, a stampede of desertions, and it would have been all over with us;
      the party of distrust would have got the upper hand, and there might not
      have been, during the whole contest, another effort to arm the negro.
    </p>
    <p>
      I may now proceed, without farther preparation to the Diary.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 2. Camp Diary
    </h2>
    <p>
      CAMP SAXTON, near Beaufort, S. C., November 24, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yesterday afternoon we were steaming over a summer sea, the deck level as
      a parlor-floor, no land in sight, no sail, until at last appeared one
      light-house, said to be Cape Romaine, and then a line of trees and two
      distant vessels and nothing more. The sun set, a great illuminated bubble,
      submerged in one vast bank of rosy suffusion; it grew dark; after tea all
      were on deck, the people sang hymns; then the moon set, a moon two days
      old, a curved pencil of light, reclining backwards on a radiant couch
      which seemed to rise from the waves to receive it; it sank slowly, and the
      last tip wavered and went down like the mast of a vessel of the skies.
      Towards morning the boat stopped, and when I came on deck, before six,
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "The watch-lights glittered on the land,
  The ship-lights on the sea."
</pre>
    <p>
      Hilton Head lay on one side, the gunboats on the other; all that was raw
      and bare in the low buildings of the new settlement was softened into
      picturesqueness by the early light. Stars were still overhead, gulls
      wheeled and shrieked, and the broad river rippled duskily towards
      Beaufort.
    </p>
    <p>
      The shores were low and wooded, like any New England shore; there were a
      few gunboats, twenty schooners, and some steamers, among them the famous
      "Planter," which Robert Small, the slave, presented to the nation. The
      river-banks were soft and graceful, though low, and as we steamed up to
      Beaufort on the flood-tide this morning, it seemed almost as fair as the
      smooth and lovely canals which Stedman traversed to meet his negro
      soldiers in Surinam. The air was cool as at home, yet the foliage seemed
      green, glimpses of stiff tropical vegetation appeared along the banks,
      with great clumps of shrubs, whose pale seed-vessels looked like tardy
      blossoms. Then we saw on a picturesque point an old plantation, with
      stately magnolia avenue, decaying house, and tiny church amid the woods,
      reminding me of Virginia; behind it stood a neat encampment of white
      tents, "and there," said my companion, "is your future regiment."
    </p>
    <p>
      Three miles farther brought us to the pretty town of Beaufort, with its
      stately houses amid Southern foliage. Reporting to General Saxton, I had
      the luck to encounter a company of my destined command, marched in to be
      mustered into the United States service. They were unarmed, and all looked
      as thoroughly black as the most faithful philanthropist could desire;
      there did not seem to be so much as a mulatto among them. Their coloring
      suited me, all but the legs, which were clad in a lively scarlet, as
      intolerable to my eyes as if I had been a turkey. I saw them mustered;
      General Saxton talked to them a little, in his direct, manly way; they
      gave close attention, though their faces looked impenetrable. Then I
      conversed with some of them. The first to whom I spoke had been wounded in
      a small expedition after lumber, from which a party had just returned, and
      in which they had been under fire and had done very well. I said, pointing
      to his lame arm,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Did you think that was more than you bargained for, my man?"
    </p>
    <p>
      His answer came promptly and stoutly,
    </p>
    <p>
      "I been a-tinking, Mas'r, dot's jess what I went for."
    </p>
    <p>
      I thought this did well enough for my very first interchange of dialogue
      with my recruits.
    </p>
    <p>
      November 27, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thanksgiving-Day; it is the first moment I have had for writing during
      these three days, which have installed me into a new mode of life so
      thoroughly that they seem three years. Scarcely pausing in New York or in
      Beaufort, there seems to have been for me but one step from the camp of a
      Massachusetts regiment to this, and that step over leagues of waves.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is a holiday wherever General Saxton's proclamation reaches. The chilly
      sunshine and the pale blue river seems like New England, but those alone.
      The air is full of noisy drumming, and of gunshots; for the prize-shooting
      is our great celebration of the day, and the drumming is chronic. My young
      barbarians are all at play. I look out from the broken windows of this
      forlorn plantation-house, through avenues of great live-oaks, with their
      hard, shining leaves, and their branches hung with a universal drapery of
      soft, long moss, like fringe-trees struck with grayness. Below, the sandy
      soil, scantly covered with coarse grass, bristles with sharp palmettoes
      and aloes; all the vegetation is stiff, shining, semi-tropical, with
      nothing soft or delicate in its texture. Numerous plantation-buildings
      totter around, all slovenly and unattractive, while the interspaces are
      filled with all manner of wreck and refuse, pigs, fowls, dogs, and
      omnipresent Ethiopian infancy. All this is the universal Southern
      panorama; but five minutes' walk beyond the hovels and the live-oaks will
      bring one to something so un-Southern that the whole Southern coast at
      this moment trembles at the suggestion of such a thing, the camp of a
      regiment of freed slaves.
    </p>
    <p>
      One adapts one's self so readily to new surroundings that already the full
      zest of the novelty seems passing away from my perceptions, and I write
      these lines in an eager effort to retain all I can. Already I am growing
      used to the experience, at first so novel, of living among five hundred
      men, and scarce a white face to be seen, of seeing them go through all
      their daily processes, eating, frolicking, talking, just as if they were
      white. Each day at dress-parade I stand with the customary folding of the
      arms before a regimental line of countenances so black that I can hardly
      tell whether the men stand steadily or not; black is every hand which
      moves in ready cadence as I vociferate, "Battalion! Shoulder arms!" nor is
      it till the line of white officers moves forward, as parade is dismissed,
      that I am reminded that my own face is not the color of coal.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first few days on duty with a new regiment must be devoted almost
      wholly to tightening reins; in this process one deals chiefly with the
      officers, and I have as yet had but little personal intercourse with the
      men. They concern me chiefly in bulk, as so many consumers of rations,
      wearers of uniforms, bearers of muskets. But as the machine comes into
      shape, I am beginning to decipher the individual parts. At first, of
      course, they all looked just alike; the variety comes afterwards, and they
      are just as distinguishable, the officers say, as so many whites. Most of
      them are wholly raw, but there are many who have already been for months
      in camp in the abortive "Hunter Regiment," yet in that loose kind of way
      which, like average militia training, is a doubtful advantage. I notice
      that some companies, too, look darker than others, though all are purer
      African than I expected. This is said to be partly a geographical
      difference between the South Carolina and Florida men. When the Rebels
      evacuated this region they probably took with them the house-servants,
      including most of the mixed blood, so that the residuum seems very black.
      But the men brought from Fernandina the other day average lighter in
      complexion, and look more intelligent, and they certainly take wonderfully
      to the drill.
    </p>
    <p>
      It needs but a few days to show the absurdity of distrusting the military
      availability of these people. They have quite as much average
      comprehension as whites of the need of the thing, as much courage (I doubt
      not), as much previous knowledge of the gun, and, above all, a readiness
      of ear and of imitation, which, for purposes of drill, counterbalances any
      defect of mental training. To learn the drill, one does not want a set of
      college professors; one wants a squad of eager, active, pliant
      school-boys; and the more childlike these pupils are the better. There is
      no trouble about the drill; they will surpass whites in that. As to
      camp-life, they have little to sacrifice; they are better fed, housed, and
      clothed than ever in their lives before, and they appear to have few
      inconvenient vices. They are simple, docile, and affectionate almost to
      the point of absurdity. The same men who stood fire in open field with
      perfect coolness, on the late expedition, have come to me blubbering in
      the most irresistibly ludicrous manner on being transferred from one
      company in the regiment to another.
    </p>
    <p>
      In noticing the squad-drills I perceive that the men learn less
      laboriously than whites that "double, double, toil and trouble," which is
      the elementary vexation of the drill-master, that they more rarely mistake
      their left for their right, and are more grave and sedate while under
      instruction. The extremes of jollity and sobriety, being greater with
      them, are less liable to be intermingled; these companies can be driven
      with a looser rein than my former one, for they restrain themselves; but
      the moment they are dismissed from drill every tongue is relaxed and every
      ivory tooth visible. This morning I wandered about where the different
      companies were target-shooting, and their glee was contagious. Such
      exulting shouts of "Ki! ole man," when some steady old turkey-shooter
      brought his gun down for an instant's aim, and then unerringly hit the
      mark; and then, when some unwary youth fired his piece into the ground at
      half-cock such guffawing and delight, such rolling over and over on the
      grass, such dances of ecstasy, as made the "Ethiopian minstrelsy" of the
      stage appear a feeble imitation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Evening. Better still was a scene on which I stumbled to-night. Strolling
      in the cool moonlight, I was attracted by a brilliant light beneath the
      trees, and cautiously approached it. A circle of thirty or forty soldiers
      sat around a roaring fire, while one old uncle, Cato by name, was
      narrating an interminable tale, to the insatiable delight of his audience.
      I came up into the dusky background, perceived only by a few, and he still
      continued. It was a narrative, dramatized to the last degree, of his
      adventures in escaping from his master to the Union vessels; and even I,
      who have heard the stories of Harriet Tubman, and such wonderful
      slave-comedians, never witnessed such a piece of acting. When I came upon
      the scene he had just come unexpectedly upon a plantation-house, and,
      putting a bold face upon it, had walked up to the door.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Den I go up to de white man, berry humble, and say, would he please gib
      ole man a mouthful for eat?
    </p>
    <p>
      "He say he must hab de valeration ob half a dollar.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Den I look berry sorry, and turn for go away.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Den he say I might gib him dat hatchet I had.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Den I say" (this in a tragic vein) "dat I must hab dat hatchet for defend
      myself <i>from de dogs</i>!"
    </p>
    <p>
      [Immense applause, and one appreciating auditor says, chuckling, "Dat was
      your <i>arms</i>, ole man," which brings down the house again.]
    </p>
    <p>
      "Den he say de Yankee pickets was near by, and I must be very keerful.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Den I say, 'Good Lord, Mas'r, am dey?'"
    </p>
    <p>
      Words cannot express the complete dissimulation with which these accents
      of terror were uttered, this being precisely the piece of information he
      wished to obtain.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he narrated his devices to get into the house at night and obtain
      some food, how a dog flew at him, how the whole household, black and
      white, rose in pursuit, how he scrambled under a hedge and over a high
      fence, etc., all in a style of which Gough alone among orators can give
      the faintest impression, so thoroughly dramatized was every syllable.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he described his reaching the river-side at last, and trying to
      decide whether certain vessels held friends or foes.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Den I see guns on board, and sure sartin he Union boat, and I pop my head
      up. Den I been-a-tink [think] Seceshkey hab guns too, and my head go down
      again. Den I hide in de bush till morning. Den I open my bundle, and take
      ole white shut and tie him on ole pole and wave him, and ebry time de wind
      blow, I been-a-tremble, and drap down in de bushes," because, being
      between two fires, he doubted whether friend or foe would see his signal
      first. And so on, with a succession of tricks beyond Moliere, of acts of
      caution, foresight, patient cunning, which were listened to with infinite
      gusto and perfect comprehension by every listener.
    </p>
    <p>
      And all this to a bivouac of negro soldiers, with the brilliant fire
      lighting up their red trousers and gleaming from their shining black
      faces, eyes and teeth all white with tumultuous glee. Overhead, the mighty
      limbs of a great live-oak, with the weird moss swaying in the smoke, and
      the high moon gleaming faintly through.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet to-morrow strangers will remark on the hopeless, impenetrable
      stupidity in the daylight faces of many of these very men, the solid mask
      under which Nature has concealed all this wealth of mother-wit. This very
      comedian is one to whom one might point, as he hoed lazily in a
      cotton-field, as a being the light of whose brain had utterly gone out;
      and this scene seems like coming by night upon some conclave of black
      beetles, and finding them engaged, with green-room and foot-lights, in
      enacting "Poor Pillicoddy." This is their university; every young Sambo
      before me, as he turned over the sweet potatoes and peanuts which were
      roasting in the ashes, listened with reverence to the wiles of the ancient
      Ulysses, and meditated the same. It is Nature's compensation; oppression
      simply crushes the upper faculties of the head, and crowds everything into
      the perceptive organs. Cato, thou reasonest well! When I get into any
      serious scrape, in an enemy's country, may I be lucky enough to have you
      at my elbow, to pull me out of it!
    </p>
    <p>
      The men seem to have enjoyed the novel event of Thanksgiving-Day; they
      have had company and regimental prize-shootings, a minimum of speeches and
      a maximum of dinner. Bill of fare: two beef-cattle and a thousand oranges.
      The oranges cost a cent apiece, and the cattle were Secesh, bestowed by
      General Saxby, as they all call him.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 1, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      How absurd is the impression bequeathed by Slavery in regard to these
      Southern blacks, that they are sluggish and inefficient in labor! Last
      night, after a hard day's work (our guns and the remainder of our tents
      being just issued), an order came from Beaufort that we should be ready in
      the evening to unload a steamboat's cargo of boards, being some of those
      captured by them a few weeks since, and now assigned for their use. I
      wondered if the men would grumble at the night-work; but the steamboat
      arrived by seven, and it was bright moonlight when they went at it. Never
      have I beheld such a jolly scene of labor. Tugging these wet and heavy
      boards over a bridge of boats ashore, then across the slimy beach at low
      tide, then up a steep bank, and all in one great uproar of merriment for
      two hours. Running most of the time, chattering all the time, snatching
      the boards from each other's backs as if they were some coveted treasure,
      getting up eager rivalries between different companies, pouring great
      choruses of ridicule on the heads of all shirkers, they made the whole
      scene so enlivening that I gladly stayed out in the moonlight for the
      whole time to watch it. And all this without any urging or any promised
      reward, but simply as the most natural way of doing the thing. The
      steamboat captain declared that they unloaded the ten thousand feet of
      boards quicker than any white gang could have done it; and they felt it so
      little, that, when, later in the night, I reproached one whom I found
      sitting by a campfire, cooking a surreptitious opossum, telling him that
      he ought to be asleep after such a job of work, he answered, with the
      broadest grin, "O no, Gunnel, da's no work at all, Gunnel; dat only jess
      enough for stretch we."
    </p>
    <p>
      December 2, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      I believe I have not yet enumerated the probable drawbacks to the success
      of this regiment, if any. We are exposed to no direct annoyance from the
      white regiments, being out of their way; and we have as yet no discomforts
      or privations which we do not share with them. I do not as yet see the
      slightest obstacle, in the nature of the blacks, to making them good
      soldiers, but rather the contrary. They take readily to drill, and do not
      object to discipline; they are not especially dull or inattentive; they
      seem fully to understand the importance of the contest, and of their share
      in it. They show no jealousy or suspicion towards their officers.
    </p>
    <p>
      They do show these feelings, however, towards the Government itself; and
      no one can wonder. Here lies the drawback to rapid recruiting. Were this a
      wholly new regiment, it would have been full to overflowing, I am
      satisfied, ere now. The trouble is in the legacy of bitter distrust
      bequeathed by the abortive regiment of General Hunter, into which they
      were driven like cattle, kept for several months in camp, and then turned
      off without a shilling, by order of the War Department. The formation of
      that regiment was, on the whole, a great injury to this one; and the men
      who came from it, though the best soldiers we have in other respects, are
      the least sanguine and cheerful; while those who now refuse to enlist have
      a great influence in deterring others. Our soldiers are constantly twitted
      by their families and friends with their prospect of risking their lives
      in the service, and being paid nothing; and it is in vain that we read
      them the instructions of the Secretary of War to General Saxton, promising
      them the full pay of soldiers. They only half believe it.*
    </p>
    <p>
      *With what utter humiliation were we, their officers, obliged to confess
      to them, eighteen months afterwards, that it was their distrust which was
      wise, and our faith in the pledges of the United States Government which
      was foolishness!
    </p>
    <p>
      Another drawback is that some of the white soldiers delight in frightening
      the women on the plantations with doleful tales of plans for putting us in
      the front rank in all battles, and such silly talk,&mdash;the object being
      perhaps, to prevent our being employed on active service at all. All these
      considerations they feel precisely as white men would,&mdash;no less, no
      more; and it is the comparative freedom from such unfavorable influences
      which makes the Florida men seem more bold and manly, as they undoubtedly
      do. To-day General Saxton has returned from Fernandina with seventy-six
      recruits, and the eagerness of the captains to secure them was a sight to
      see. Yet they cannot deny that some of the very best men in the regiment
      are South Carolinians.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 3, 1862.&mdash;7 P.M.
    </p>
    <p>
      What a life is this I lead! It is a dark, mild, drizzling evening, and as
      the foggy air breeds sand-flies, so it calls out melodies and strange
      antics from this mysterious race of grown-up children with whom my lot is
      cast. All over the camp the lights glimmer in the tents, and as I sit at
      my desk in the open doorway, there come mingled sounds of stir and glee.
      Boys laugh and shout,&mdash;a feeble flute stirs somewhere in some tent,
      not an officer's,&mdash;a drum throbs far away in another,&mdash;wild
      kildeer-plover flit and wail above us, like the haunting souls of dead
      slave-masters,&mdash;and from a neighboring cook-fire comes the monotonous
      sound of that strange festival, half pow-wow, half prayer-meeting, which
      they know only as a "shout." These fires are usually enclosed in a little
      booth, made neatly of palm-leaves and covered in at top, a regular native
      African hut, in short, such as is pictured in books, and such as I once
      got up from dried palm-leaves for a fair at home. This hut is now crammed
      with men, singing at the top of their voices, in one of their quaint,
      monotonous, endless, negro-Methodist chants, with obscure syllables
      recurring constantly, and slight variations interwoven, all accompanied
      with a regular drumming of the feet and clapping of the hands, like
      castanets. Then the excitement spreads: inside and outside the enclosure
      men begin to quiver and dance, others join, a circle forms, winding
      monotonously round some one in the centre; some "heel and toe"
      tumultuously, others merely tremble and stagger on, others stoop and rise,
      others whirl, others caper sideways, all keep steadily circling like
      dervishes; spectators applaud special strokes of skill; my approach only
      enlivens the scene; the circle enlarges, louder grows the singing, rousing
      shouts of encouragement come in, half bacchanalian, half devout, "Wake
      'em, brudder!" "Stan' up to 'em, brudder!"&mdash;and still the ceaseless
      drumming and clapping, in perfect cadence, goes steadily on. Suddenly
      there comes a sort of snap, and the spell breaks, amid general sighing and
      laughter. And this not rarely and occasionally, but night after night,
      while in other parts of the camp the soberest prayers and exhortations are
      proceeding sedately.
    </p>
    <p>
      A simple and lovable people, whose graces seem to come by nature, and
      whose vices by training. Some of the best superintendents confirm the
      first tales of innocence, and Dr. Zachos told me last night that on his
      plantation, a sequestered one, "they had absolutely no vices." Nor have
      these men of mine yet shown any worth mentioning; since I took command I
      have heard of no man intoxicated, and there has been but one small
      quarrel. I suppose that scarcely a white regiment in the army shows so
      little swearing. Take the "Progressive Friends" and put them in red
      trousers, and I verily believe they would fill a guard-house sooner than
      these men. If camp regulations are violated, it seems to be usually
      through heedlessness. They love passionately three things besides their
      spiritual incantations; namely, sugar, home, and tobacco. This last
      affection brings tears to their eyes, almost, when they speak of their
      urgent need of pay; they speak of their last-remembered quid as if it were
      some deceased relative, too early lost, and to be mourned forever. As for
      sugar, no white man can drink coffee after they have sweetened it to their
      liking.
    </p>
    <p>
      I see that the pride which military life creates may cause the plantation
      trickeries to diminish. For instance, these men make the most admirable
      sentinels. It is far harder to pass the camp lines at night than in the
      camp from which I came; and I have seen none of that disposition to
      connive at the offences of members of one's own company which is so
      troublesome among white soldiers. Nor are they lazy, either about work or
      drill; in all respects they seem better material for soldiers than I had
      dared to hope.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is one company in particular, all Florida men, which I certainly
      think the finest-looking company I ever saw, white or black; they range
      admirably in size, have remarkable erectness and ease of carriage, and
      really march splendidly. Not a visitor but notices them; yet they have
      been under drill only a fortnight, and a part only two days. They have all
      been slaves, and very few are even mulattoes.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 4, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dwelling in tents, with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." This condition is
      certainly mine,&mdash;and with a multitude of patriarchs beside, not to
      mention Caesar and Pompey, Hercules and Bacchus.
    </p>
    <p>
      A moving life, tented at night, this experience has been mine in civil
      society, if society be civil before the luxurious forest fires of Maine
      and the Adirondack, or upon the lonely prairies of Kansas. But a
      stationary tent life, deliberately going to housekeeping under canvas, I
      have never had before, though in our barrack life at "Camp Wool" I often
      wished for it.
    </p>
    <p>
      The accommodations here are about as liberal as my quarters there, two
      wall-tents being placed end to end, for office and bedroom, and separated
      at will by a "fly" of canvas. There is a good board floor and mop-board,
      effectually excluding dampness and draughts, and everything but sand,
      which on windy days penetrates everywhere. The office furniture consists
      of a good desk or secretary, a very clumsy and disastrous settee, and a
      remarkable chair. The desk is a bequest of the slaveholders, and the
      settee of the slaves, being ecclesiastical in its origin, and appertaining
      to the little old church or "praise-house," now used for commissary
      purposes. The chair is a composite structure: I found a cane seat on a
      dust-heap, which a black sergeant combined with two legs from a broken
      bedstead and two more from an oak-bough. I sit on it with a pride of
      conscious invention, mitigated by profound insecurity. Bedroom furniture,
      a couch made of gun-boxes covered with condemned blankets, another settee,
      two pails, a tin cup, tin basin (we prize any tin or wooden ware as
      savages prize iron), and a valise, regulation size. Seriously considered,
      nothing more appears needful, unless ambition might crave another chair
      for company, and, perhaps, something for a wash-stand higher than a
      settee.
    </p>
    <p>
      To-day it rains hard, and the wind quivers through the closed canvas, and
      makes one feel at sea. All the talk of the camp outside is fused into a
      cheerful and indistinguishable murmur, pierced through at every moment by
      the wail of the hovering plover. Sometimes a face, black or white, peers
      through the entrance with some message. Since the light readily
      penetrates, though the rain cannot, the tent conveys a feeling of charmed
      security, as if an invisible boundary checked the pattering drops and held
      the moaning wind. The front tent I share, as yet, with my adjutant; in the
      inner apartment I reign supreme, bounded in a nutshell, with no bad
      dreams.
    </p>
    <p>
      In all pleasant weather the outer "fly" is open, and men pass and repass,
      a chattering throng. I think of Emerson's Saadi, "As thou sittest at thy
      door, on the desert's yellow floor,"&mdash;for these bare sand-plains,
      gray above, are always yellow when upturned, and there seems a tinge of
      Orientalism in all our life.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thrice a day we go to the plantation-houses for our meals,
      camp-arrangements being yet very imperfect. The officers board in
      different messes, the adjutant and I still clinging to the household of
      William Washington,&mdash;William the quiet and the courteous, the pattern
      of house-servants, William the noiseless, the observing, the
      discriminating, who knows everything that can be got, and how to cook it.
      William and his tidy, lady-like little spouse Hetty&mdash;a pair of wedded
      lovers, if ever I saw one&mdash;set our table in their one room, half-way
      between an un glazed window and a large wood-fire, such as is often
      welcome. Thanks to the adjutant, we are provided with the social
      magnificence of napkins; while (lest pride take too high a flight) our
      table-cloth consists of two "New York Tribunes" and a "Leslie's
      Pictorial." Every steamer brings us a clean table-cloth. Here are we
      forever supplied with pork and oysters and sweet potatoes and rice and
      hominy and corn-bread and milk; also mysterious griddle-cakes of corn and
      pumpkin; also preserves made of pumpkin-chips, and other fanciful
      productions of Ethiop art. Mr. E. promised the plantation-superintendents
      who should come down here "all the luxuries of home," and we certainly
      have much apparent, if little real variety. Once William produced with
      some palpitation something fricasseed, which he boldly termed chicken; it
      was very small, and seemed in some undeveloped condition of ante-natal
      toughness. After the meal he frankly avowed it for a squirrel.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 5, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      Give these people their tongues, their feet, and their leisure, and they
      are happy. At every twilight the air is full of singing, talking, and
      clapping of hands in unison. One of their favorite songs is full of
      plaintive cadences; it is not, I think, a Methodist tune, and I wonder
      where they obtained a chant of such beauty.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
 "I can't stay behind, my Lord, I can't stay behind!
  O, my father is gone, my father is gone,
  My father is gone into heaven, my Lord!
    I can't stay behind!
  Dere's room enough, room enough,
  Room enough in de heaven for de sojer:
    Can't stay behind!"
</pre>
    <p>
      It always excites them to have us looking on, yet they sing these songs at
      all times and seasons. I have heard this very song dimly droning on near
      midnight, and, tracing it into the recesses of a cook-house, have found an
      old fellow coiled away among the pots and provisions, chanting away with
      his "Can't stay behind, sinner," till I made him leave his song behind.
    </p>
    <p>
      This evening, after working themselves up to the highest pitch, a party
      suddenly rushed off, got a barrel, and mounted some man upon it, who said,
      "Gib anoder song, boys, and I'se gib you a speech." After some hesitation
      and sundry shouts of "Rise de sing, somebody," and "Stan' up for Jesus,
      brud-der," irreverently put in by the juveniles, they got upon the John
      Brown song, always a favorite, adding a jubilant verse which I had never
      before heard,&mdash;"We'll beat Beauregard on de clare battlefield." Then
      came the promised speech, and then no less than seven other speeches by as
      many men, on a variety of barrels, each orator being affectionately tugged
      to the pedestal and set on end by his special constituency. Every speech
      was good, without exception; with the queerest oddities of phrase and
      pronunciation, there was an invariable enthusiasm, a pungency of
      statement, and an understanding of the points at issue, which made them
      all rather thrilling. Those long-winded slaves in "Among the Pines" seemed
      rather fictitious and literary in comparison. The most eloquent, perhaps,
      was Corporal Price Lambkin, just arrived from Fernandina, who evidently
      had a previous reputation among them. His historical references were very
      interesting. He reminded them that he had predicted this war ever since
      Fremont's time, to which some of the crowd assented; he gave a very
      intelligent account of that Presidential campaign, and then described most
      impressively the secret anxiety of the slaves in Florida to know all about
      President Lincoln's election, and told how they all refused to work on the
      fourth of March, expecting their freedom to date from that day. He finally
      brought out one of the few really impressive appeals for the American flag
      that I have ever heard. "Our mas'rs dey hab lib under de flag, dey got
      dere wealth under it, and ebryting beautiful for dere chilen. Under it dey
      hab grind us up, and put us in dere pocket for money. But de fus' minute
      dey tink dat ole flag mean freedom for we colored people, dey pull it
      right down, and run up de rag ob dere own." (Immense applause). "But we'll
      neber desert de ole flag, boys, neber; we hab lib under it for eighteen
      hundred sixty-two years, and we'll die for it now." With which
      overpowering discharge of chronology-at-long-range, this most effective of
      stump-speeches closed. I see already with relief that there will be small
      demand in this regiment for harangues from the officers; give the men an
      empty barrel for a stump, and they will do their own exhortation.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 11, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      Haroun Alraschid, wandering in disguise through his imperial streets,
      scarcely happened upon a greater variety of groups than I, in my evening
      strolls among our own camp-fires.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beside some of these fires the men are cleaning their guns or rehearsing
      their drill,&mdash;beside others, smoking in silence their very scanty
      supply of the beloved tobacco,&mdash;beside others, telling stories and
      shouting with laughter over the broadest mimicry, in which they excel, and
      in which the officers come in for a full share. The everlasting "shout" is
      always within hearing, with its mixture of piety and polka, and its
      castanet-like clapping of the hands. Then there are quieter
      prayer-meetings, with pious invocations and slow psalms, "deaconed out"
      from memory by the leader, two lines at a time, in a sort of wailing
      chant. Elsewhere, there are <i>conversazioni</i> around fires, with a
      woman for queen of the circle,&mdash;her Nubian face, gay headdress, gilt
      necklace, and white teeth, all resplendent in the glowing light. Sometimes
      the woman is spelling slow monosyllables out of a primer, a feat which
      always commands all ears,&mdash;they rightly recognizing a mighty spell,
      equal to the overthrowing of monarchs, in the magic assonance of <i>cat,
      hat, pat, bat</i>, and the rest of it. Elsewhere, it is some solitary old
      cook, some aged Uncle Tiff, with enormous spectacles, who is perusing a
      hymn-book by the light of a pine splinter, in his deserted cooking booth
      of palmetto leaves. By another fire there is an actual dance, red-legged
      soldiers doing right-and-left, and "now-lead-de-lady-ober," to the music
      of a violin which is rather artistically played, and which may have guided
      the steps, in other days, of Barnwells and Hugers. And yonder is a
      stump-orator perched on his barrel, pouring out his exhortations to
      fidelity in war and in religion. To-night for the first time I have heard
      an harangue in a different strain, quite saucy, sceptical, and defiant,
      appealing to them in a sort of French materialistic style, and claiming
      some personal experience of warfare. "You don't know notin' about it,
      boys. You tink you's brave enough; how you tink, if you stan' clar in de
      open field,&mdash;here you, and dar de Secesh? You's got to hab de right
      ting inside o' you. You must hab it 'served [preserved] in you, like dese
      yer sour plums dey 'serve in de barr'l; you's got to harden it down inside
      o' you, or it's notin'." Then he hit hard at the religionists: "When a
      man's got de sperit ob de Lord in him, it weakens him all out, can't hoe
      de corn." He had a great deal of broad sense in his speech; but presently
      some others began praying vociferously close by, as if to drown this
      free-thinker, when at last he exclaimed, "I mean to fight de war through,
      an' die a good sojer wid de last kick, dat's <i>my</i> prayer!" and
      suddenly jumped off the barrel. I was quite interested at discovering this
      reverse side of the temperament, the devotional side preponderates so
      enormously, and the greatest scamps kneel and groan in their
      prayer-meetings with such entire zest. It shows that there is some
      individuality developed among them, and that they will not become too
      exclusively pietistic.
    </p>
    <p>
      Their love of the spelling-book is perfectly inexhaustible,&mdash;they
      stumbling on by themselves, or the blind leading the blind, with the same
      pathetic patience which they carry into everything. The chaplain is
      getting up a schoolhouse, where he will soon teach them as regularly as he
      can. But the alphabet must always be a very incidental business in a camp.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 14.
    </p>
    <p>
      Passages from prayers in the camp:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me so lib dat when I die I shall <i>hab manners</i>, dat I shall know
      what to say when I see my Heabenly Lord."
    </p>
    <p>
      "Let me lib wid de musket in one hand an' de Bible in de oder,&mdash;dat
      if I die at de muzzle ob de musket, die in de water, die on de land, I may
      know I hab de bressed Jesus in my hand, an' hab no fear."
    </p>
    <p>
      "I hab lef my wife in de land o' bondage; my little ones dey say eb'ry
      night, Whar is my fader? But when I die, when de bressed mornin' rises,
      when I shall stan' in de glory, wid one foot on de water an' one foot on
      de land, den, O Lord, I shall see my wife an' my little chil'en once
      more."
    </p>
    <p>
      These sentences I noted down, as best I could, beside the glimmering
      camp-fire last night. The same person was the hero of a singular little <i>contre-temps</i>
      at a funeral in the afternoon. It was our first funeral. The man had died
      in hospital, and we had chosen a picturesque burial-place above the river,
      near the old church, and beside a little nameless cemetery, used by
      generations of slaves. It was a regular military funeral, the coffin being
      draped with the American flag, the escort marching behind, and three
      volleys fired over the grave. During the services there was singing, the
      chaplain deaconing out the hymn in their favorite way. This ended, he
      announced his text,&mdash;"This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him,
      and delivered him out of all his trouble." Instantly, to my great
      amazement, the cracked voice of the chorister was uplifted, intoning the
      text, as if it were the first verse of another hymn. So calmly was it
      done, so imperturbable were all the black countenances, that I half began
      to conjecture that the chaplain himself intended it for a hymn, though I
      could imagine no prospective rhyme for <i>trouble</i> unless it were
      approximated by <i>debbil</i>, which is, indeed, a favorite reference,
      both with the men and with his Reverence. But the chaplain, peacefully
      awaiting, gently repeated his text after the chant, and to my great relief
      the old chorister waived all further recitative, and let the funeral
      discourse proceed.
    </p>
    <p>
      Their memories are a vast bewildered chaos of Jewish history and
      biography; and most of the great events of the past, down to the period of
      the American Revolution, they instinctively attribute to Moses. There is a
      fine bold confidence in all their citations, however, and the record never
      loses piquancy in their hands, though strict accuracy may suffer. Thus,
      one of my captains, last Sunday, heard a colored exhorter at Beaufort
      proclaim, "Paul may plant, <i>and may polish wid water</i>, but it won't
      do," in which the sainted Apollos would hardly have recognized himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Just now one of the soldiers came to me to say that he was about to be
      married to a girl in Beaufort, and would I lend him a dollar and
      seventy-five cents to buy the wedding outfit? It seemed as if matrimony on
      such moderate terms ought to be encouraged in these days; and so I
      responded to the appeal.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 16.
    </p>
    <p>
      To-day a young recruit appeared here, who had been the slave of Colonel
      Sammis, one of the leading Florida refugees. Two white companions came
      with him, who also appeared to be retainers of the Colonel, and I asked
      them to dine. Being likewise refugees, they had stories to tell, and were
      quite agreeable: one was English born, the other Floridian, a dark, sallow
      Southerner, very well bred. After they had gone, the Colonel himself
      appeared, I told him that I had been entertaining his white friends, and
      after a while he quietly let out the remark,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Yes, one of those white friends of whom you speak is a boy raised on one
      of my plantations; he has travelled with me to the North, and passed for
      white, and he always keeps away from the negroes."
    </p>
    <p>
      Certainly no such suspicion had ever crossed my mind.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have noticed one man in the regiment who would easily pass for white,&mdash;a
      little sickly drummer, aged fifty at least, with brown eyes and reddish
      hair, who is said to be the son of one of our commodores. I have seen
      perhaps a dozen persons as fair, or fairer, among fugitive slaves, but
      they were usually young children. It touched me far more to see this man,
      who had spent more than half a lifetime in this low estate, and for whom
      it now seemed too late to be anything but a "nigger." This offensive word,
      by the way, is almost as common with them as at the North, and far more
      common than with well-bred slaveholders. They have meekly accepted it.
      "Want to go out to de nigger houses, Sah," is the universal impulse of
      sociability, when they wish to cross the lines. "He hab twenty
      house-servants, an' two hundred head o' nigger," is a still more degrading
      form of phrase, in which the epithet is limited to the field-hands, and
      they estimated like so many cattle. This want of self-respect of course
      interferes with the authority of the non-commissioned officers, which is
      always difficult to sustain, even in white regiments. "He needn't try to
      play de white man ober me," was the protest of a soldier against his
      corporal the other day. To counteract this I have often to remind them
      that they do not obey their officers because they are white, but because
      they are their officers; and guard duty is an admirable school for this,
      because they readily understand that the sergeant or corporal of the guard
      has for the time more authority than any commissioned officer who is not
      on duty. It is necessary also for their superiors to treat the
      non-commissioned officers with careful courtesy, and I often caution the
      line officers never to call them "Sam" or "Will," nor omit the proper
      handle to their names. The value of the habitual courtesies of the regular
      army is exceedingly apparent with these men: an officer of polished
      manners can wind them round his finger, while white soldiers seem rather
      to prefer a certain roughness. The demeanor of my men to each other is
      very courteous, and yet I see none of that sort of upstart conceit which
      is sometimes offensive among free negroes at the North, the dandy-barber
      strut. This is an agreeable surprise, for I feared that freedom and
      regimentals would produce precisely that.
    </p>
    <p>
      They seem the world's perpetual children, docile, gay, and lovable, in the
      midst of this war for freedom on which they have intelligently entered.
      Last night, before "taps," there was the greatest noise in camp that I had
      ever heard, and I feared some riot. On going out, I found the most
      tumultuous sham-fight proceeding in total darkness, two companies playing
      like boys, beating tin cups for drums. When some of them saw me they
      seemed a little dismayed, and came and said, beseechingly,&mdash;"Gunnel,
      Sah, you hab no objection to we playin', Sah?"&mdash;which objection I
      disclaimed; but soon they all subsided, rather to my regret, and scattered
      merrily. Afterward I found that some other officer had told them that I
      considered the affair too noisy, so that I felt a mild self-reproach when
      one said, "Cunnel, wish you had let we play a little longer, Sah." Still I
      was not sorry, on the whole; for these sham-fights between companies would
      in some regiments lead to real ones, and there is a latent jealousy here
      between the Florida and South Carolina men, which sometimes makes me
      anxious.
    </p>
    <p>
      The officers are more kind and patient with the men than I should expect,
      since the former are mostly young, and drilling tries the temper; but they
      are aided by hearty satisfaction in the results already attained. I have
      never yet heard a doubt expressed among the officers as to the <i>superiority</i>
      of these men to white troops in aptitude for drill and discipline, because
      of their imitativeness and docility, and the pride they take in the
      service. One captain said to me to-day, "I have this afternoon taught my
      men to load-in-nine-times, and they do it better than we did it in my
      former company in three months." I can personally testify that one of our
      best lieutenants, an Englishman, taught a part of his company the
      essential movements of the "school for skirmishers" in a single lesson of
      two hours, so that they did them very passably, though I feel bound to
      discourage such haste. However, I "formed square" on the third battalion
      drill. Three fourths of drill consist of attention, imitation, and a good
      ear for time; in the other fourth, which consists of the application of
      principles, as, for instance, performing by the left flank some movement
      before learned by the right, they are perhaps slower than better educated
      men. Having belonged to five different drill-clubs before entering the
      army, I certainly ought to know something of the resources of human
      awkwardness, and I can honestly say that they astonish me by the facility
      with which they do things. I expected much harder work in this respect.
    </p>
    <p>
      The habit of carrying burdens on the head gives them erectness of figure,
      even where physically disabled. I have seen a woman, with a brimming
      water-pail balanced on her head, or perhaps a cup, saucer, and spoon, stop
      suddenly, turn round, stoop to pick up a missile, rise again, fling it,
      light a pipe, and go through many evolutions with either hand or both,
      without spilling a drop. The pipe, by the way, gives an odd look to a
      well-dressed young girl on Sunday, but one often sees that spectacle. The
      passion for tobacco among our men continues quite absorbing, and I have
      piteous appeals for some arrangement by which they can buy it on credit,
      as we have yet no sutler. Their imploring, "Cunnel, we can't <i>lib</i>
      widout it, Sah," goes to my heart; and as they cannot read, I cannot even
      have the melancholy satisfaction of supplying them with the excellent
      anti-tobacco tracts of Mr. Trask.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 19.
    </p>
    <p>
      Last night the water froze in the adjutant's tent, but not in mine. To-day
      has been mild and beautiful. The blacks say they do not feel the cold so
      much as the white officers do, and perhaps it is so, though their health
      evidently suffers more from dampness. On the other hand, while drilling on
      very warm days, they have seemed to suffer more from the heat than their
      officers. But they dearly love fire, and at night will always have it, if
      possible, even on the minutest scale,&mdash;a mere handful of splinters,
      that seems hardly more efficacious than a friction-match. Probably this is
      a natural habit for the short-lived coolness of an out-door country; and
      then there is something delightful in this rich pine, which burns like a
      tar-barrel. It was, perhaps, encouraged by the masters, as the only cheap
      luxury the slaves had at hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      As one grows more acquainted with the men, their individualities emerge;
      and I find, first their faces, then their characters, to be as distinct as
      those of whites. It is very interesting the desire they show to do their
      duty, and to improve as soldiers; they evidently think about it, and see
      the importance of the thing; they say to me that we white men cannot stay
      and be their leaders always and that they must learn to depend on
      themselves, or else relapse into their former condition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Beside the superb branch of uneatable bitter oranges which decks my
      tent-pole, I have to-day hung up a long bough of finger-sponge, which
      floated to the river-bank. As winter advances, butterflies gradually
      disappear: one species (a <i>Vanessa</i>) lingers; three others have
      vanished since I came. Mocking-birds are abundant, but rarely sing; once
      or twice they have reminded me of the red thrush, but are inferior, as I
      have always thought. The colored people all say that it will be much
      cooler; but my officers do not think so, perhaps because last winter was
      so unusually mild,&mdash;with only one frost, they say.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 20.
    </p>
    <p>
      Philoprogenitiveness is an important organ for an officer of colored
      troops; and I happen to be well provided with it. It seems to be the
      theory of all military usages, in fact, that soldiers are to be treated
      like children; and these singular persons, who never know their own age
      till they are past middle life, and then choose a birthday with such
      precision,&mdash;"Fifty year old, Sah, de fus' last April,"&mdash;prolong
      the privilege of childhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am perplexed nightly for countersigns,&mdash;their range of proper names
      is so distressingly limited, and they make such amazing work of every new
      one. At first, to be sure, they did not quite recognize the need of any
      variation: one night some officer asked a sentinel whether he had the
      countersign yet, and was indignantly answered, "Should tink I hab 'em, hab
      'em for a fortnight"; which seems a long epoch for that magic word to hold
      out. To-night I thought I would have "Fredericksburg," in honor of
      Burnside's reported victory, using the rumor quickly, for fear of a
      contradiction. Later, in comes a captain, gets the countersign for his own
      use, but presently returns, the sentinel having pronounced it incorrect.
      On inquiry, it appears that the sergeant of the guard, being weak in
      geography, thought best to substitute the more familiar word,
      "Crockery-ware"; which was, with perfect gravity, confided to all the
      sentinels, and accepted without question. O life! what is the fun of
      fiction beside thee?
    </p>
    <p>
      I should think they would suffer and complain these cold nights; but they
      say nothing, though there is a good deal of coughing. I should fancy that
      the scarlet trousers must do something to keep them warm, and wonder that
      they dislike them so much, when they are so much like their beloved fires.
      They certainly multiply firelight in any case. I often notice that an
      infinitesimal flame, with one soldier standing by it, looks like quite a
      respectable conflagration, and it seems as if a group of them must dispel
      dampness.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 21.
    </p>
    <p>
      To a regimental commander no book can be so fascinating as the
      consolidated Morning Report, which is ready about nine, and tells how many
      in each company are sick, absent, on duty, and so on. It is one's
      newspaper and daily mail; I never grow tired of it. If a single recruit
      has come in, I am always eager to see how he looks on paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      To-night the officers are rather depressed by rumors of Burnside's being
      defeated, after all. I am fortunately equable and undepressible; and it is
      very convenient that the men know too little of the events of the war to
      feel excitement or fear. They know General Saxton and me,&mdash;"de
      General" and "de Gunnel,"&mdash;and seem to ask no further questions. We
      are the war. It saves a great deal of trouble, while it lasts, this
      childlike confidence; nevertheless, it is our business to educate them to
      manhood, and I see as yet no obstacle.
    </p>
    <p>
      As for the rumor, the world will no doubt roll round, whether Burnside is
      defeated or succeeds.
    </p>
    <p>
      Christmas Day.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
    "We'll fight for liberty
  Till de Lord shall call us home;
    We'll soon be free
  Till de Lord shall call us home."
</pre>
    <p>
      This is the hymn which the slaves at Georgetown, South Carolina, were
      whipped for singing when President Lincoln was elected. So said a little
      drummer-boy, as he sat at my tent's edge last night and told me his story;
      and he showed all his white teeth as he added, "Dey tink <i>'de Lord'</i>
      meant for say de Yankees."
    </p>
    <p>
      Last night, at dress-parade, the adjutant read General Saxton's
      Proclamation for the New Year's Celebration. I think they understood it,
      for there was cheering in all the company-streets afterwards. Christmas is
      the great festival of the year for this people; but, with New Year's
      coming after, we could have no adequate programme for to-day, and so
      celebrated Christmas Eve with pattern simplicity. We omitted, namely, the
      mystic curfew which we call "taps," and let them sit up and burn their
      fires, and have their little prayer-meetings as late as they desired; and
      all night, as I waked at intervals, I could hear them praying and
      "shouting" and clattering with hands and heels. It seemed to make them
      very happy, and appeared to be at least an innocent Christmas dissipation,
      as compared with some of the convivialities of the "superior race"
      hereabouts.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 26.
    </p>
    <p>
      The day passed with no greater excitement for the men than
      target-shooting, which they enjoyed. I had the private delight of the
      arrival of our much-desired surgeon and his nephew, the captain, with
      letters and news from home. They also bring the good tidings that General
      Saxton is not to be removed, as had been reported.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two different stands of colors have arrived for us, and will be presented
      at New Year's,&mdash;one from friends in New York, and the other from a
      lady in Connecticut. I see that "Frank Leslie's Illustrated Weekly" of
      December 20th has a highly imaginative picture of the muster-in of our
      first company, and also of a skirmish on the late expedition.
    </p>
    <p>
      I must not forget the prayer overheard last night by one of the captains:
      "O Lord! when I tink ob dis Kismas and las' year de Kismas. Las' Kismas he
      in de Secesh, and notin' to eat but grits, and no salt in 'em. Dis year in
      de camp, and too much victual!" This "too much" is a favorite phrase out
      of their grateful hearts, and did not in this case denote an excess of
      dinner,&mdash;as might be supposed,&mdash;but of thanksgiving.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 29.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our new surgeon has begun his work most efficiently: he and the chaplain
      have converted an old gin-house into a comfortable hospital, with ten nice
      beds and straw pallets. He is now, with a hearty professional faith,
      looking round for somebody to put into it. I am afraid the regiment will
      accommodate him; for, although he declares that these men do not sham
      sickness, as he expected, their catarrh is an unpleasant reality. They
      feel the dampness very much, and make such a coughing at dress-parade,
      that I have urged him to administer a dose of cough-mixture, all round,
      just before that pageant. Are the colored race <i>tough?</i> is my present
      anxiety; and it is odd that physical insufficiency, the only
      discouragement not thrown in our way by the newspapers, is the only
      discouragement which finds any place in our minds. They are used to
      sleeping indoors in winter, herded before fires, and so they feel the
      change. Still, the regiment is as healthy as the average, and experience
      will teach us something.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * A second winter's experience removed all this solicitude, for they
      learned to take care of themselves. During the first February the
      sick-list averaged about ninety, during the second about thirty, this
      being the worst month in the year for blacks.
    </p>
    <p>
      December 30.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the first of January we are to have a slight collation, ten oxen or so,
      barbecued,&mdash;or not properly barbecued, but roasted whole. Touching
      the length of time required to "do" an ox, no two housekeepers appear to
      agree. Accounts vary from two hours to twenty-four. We shall happily have
      enough to try all gradations of roasting, and suit all tastes, from Miss
      A.'s to mine. But fancy me proffering a spare-rib, well done, to some fair
      lady! What ever are we to do for spoons and forks and plates? Each soldier
      has his own, and is sternly held responsible for it by "Army Regulations."
      But how provide for the multitude? Is it customary, I ask you, to help to
      tenderloin with one's fingers? Fortunately, the Major is to see to that
      department. Great are the advantages of military discipline: for anything
      perplexing, detail a subordinate.
    </p>
    <p>
      New Year's Eve.
    </p>
    <p>
      My housekeeping at home is not, perhaps, on any very extravagant scale.
      Buying beefsteak, I usually go to the extent of two or three pounds. Yet
      when, this morning at daybreak, the quartermaster called to inquire how
      many cattle I would have killed for roasting, I turned over in bed, and
      answered composedly, "Ten,&mdash;and keep three to be fatted."
    </p>
    <p>
      Fatted, quotha! Not one of the beasts at present appears to possess an
      ounce of superfluous flesh. Never were seen such lean kine. As they swing
      on vast spits, composed of young trees, the firelight glimmers through
      their ribs, as if they were great lanterns. But no matter, they are
      cooking,&mdash;nay, they are cooked.
    </p>
    <p>
      One at least is taken off to cool, and will be replaced tomorrow to warm
      up. It was roasted three hours, and well done, for I tasted it. It is so
      long since I tasted fresh beef that forgetfulness is possible; but I
      fancied this to be successful. I tried to imagine that I liked the Homeric
      repast, and certainly the whole thing has been far more agreeable than was
      to be expected. The doubt now is, whether I have made a sufficient
      provision for my household. I should have roughly guessed that ten beeves
      would feed as many million people, it has such a stupendous sound; but
      General Saxton predicts a small social party of five thousand, and we fear
      that meat will run short, unless they prefer bone. One of the cattle is so
      small, we are hoping it may turn out veal.
    </p>
    <p>
      For drink we aim at the simple luxury of molasses-and-water, a barrel per
      company, ten in all. Liberal housekeepers may like to know that for a
      barrel of water we allow three gallons of molasses, half a pound of
      ginger, and a quart of vinegar,&mdash;this last being a new ingredient for
      my untutored palate, though all the rest are amazed at my ignorance. Hard
      bread, with more molasses, and a dessert of tobacco, complete the festive
      repast, destined to cheer, but not inebriate.
    </p>
    <p>
      On this last point, of inebriation, this is certainly a wonderful camp.
      For us it is absolutely omitted from the list of vices. I have never heard
      of a glass of liquor in the camp, nor of any effort either to bring it in
      or to keep it out. A total absence of the circulating medium might explain
      the abstinence,&mdash;not that it seems to have that effect with white
      soldiers,&mdash;but it would not explain the silence. The craving for
      tobacco is constant, and not to be allayed, like that of a mother for her
      children; but I have never heard whiskey even wished for, save on
      Christmas-Day, and then only by one man, and he spoke with a hopeless
      ideal sighing, as one alludes to the Golden Age. I am amazed at this total
      omission of the most inconvenient of all camp appetites. It certainly is
      not the result of exhortation, for there has been no occasion for any, and
      even the pledge would scarcely seem efficacious where hardly anybody can
      write.
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not think there is a great visible eagerness for tomorrow's festival:
      it is not their way to be very jubilant over anything this side of the New
      Jerusalem. They know also that those in this Department are nominally free
      already, and that the practical freedom has to be maintained, in any
      event, by military success. But they will enjoy it greatly, and we shall
      have a multitude of people.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 1, 1863 (evening).
    </p>
    <p>
      A happy New Year to civilized people,&mdash;mere white folks. Our festival
      has come and gone, with perfect success, and our good General has been
      altogether satisfied. Last night the great fires were kept smouldering in
      the pit, and the beeves were cooked more or less, chiefly more,&mdash;during
      which time they had to be carefully watched, and the great spits turned by
      main force. Happy were the merry fellows who were permitted to sit up all
      night, and watch the glimmering flames that threw a thousand fantastic
      shadows among the great gnarled oaks. And such a chattering as I was sure
      to hear whenever I awoke that night!
    </p>
    <p>
      My first greeting to-day was from one of the most stylish sergeants, who
      approached me with the following little speech, evidently the result of
      some elaboration:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "I tink myself happy, dis New Year's Day, for salute my own Cunnel. Dis
      day las' year I was servant to a Gunnel ob Secesh; but now I hab de
      privilege for salute my own Cunnel."
    </p>
    <p>
      That officer, with the utmost sincerity, reciprocated the sentiment.
    </p>
    <p>
      About ten o'clock the people began to collect by land, and also by water,&mdash;in
      steamers sent by General Saxton for the purpose; and from that time all
      the avenues of approach were thronged. The multitude were chiefly colored
      women, with gay handkerchiefs on their heads, and a sprinkling of men,
      with that peculiarly respectable look which these people always have on
      Sundays and holidays. There were many white visitors also,&mdash;ladies on
      horseback and in carriages, superintendents and teachers, officers, and
      cavalry-men. Our companies were marched to the neighborhood of the
      platform, and allowed to sit or stand, as at the Sunday services; the
      platform was occupied by ladies and dignitaries, and by the band of the
      Eighth Maine, which kindly volunteered for the occasion; the colored
      people filled up all the vacant openings in the beautiful grove around,
      and there was a cordon of mounted visitors beyond. Above, the great
      live-oak branches and their trailing moss; beyond the people, a glimpse of
      the blue river.
    </p>
    <p>
      The services began at half past eleven o'clock, with prayer by our
      chaplain, Mr. Fowler, who is always, on such occasions, simple,
      reverential, and impressive. Then the President's Proclamation was read by
      Dr. W. H. Brisbane, a thing infinitely appropriate, a South Carolinian
      addressing South Carolinians; for he was reared among these very islands,
      and here long since emancipated his own slaves. Then the colors were
      presented to us by the Rev. Mr. French, a chaplain who brought them from
      the donors in New York. All this was according to the programme. Then
      followed an incident so simple, so touching, so utterly unexpected and
      startling, that I can scarcely believe it on recalling, though it gave the
      keynote to the whole day. The very moment the speaker had ceased, and just
      as I took and waved the flag, which now for the first time meant anything
      to these poor people, there suddenly arose, close beside the platform, a
      strong male voice (but rather cracked and elderly), into which two women's
      voices instantly blended, singing, as if by an impulse that could no more
      be repressed than the morning note of the song-sparrow.&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "My Country, 'tis of thee,
  Sweet land of liberty,
  Of thee I sing!"
</pre>
    <p>
      People looked at each other, and then at us on the platform, to see whence
      came this interruption, not set down in the bills. Firmly and
      irrepressibly the quavering voices sang on, verse after verse; others of
      the colored people joined in; some whites on the platform began, but I
      motioned them to silence. I never saw anything so electric; it made all
      other words cheap; it seemed the choked voice of a race at last unloosed.
      Nothing could be more wonderfully unconscious; art could not have dreamed
      of a tribute to the day of jubilee that should be so affecting; history
      will not believe it; and when I came to speak of it, after it was ended,
      tears were everywhere. If you could have heard how quaint and innocent it
      was! Old Tiff and his children might have sung it; and close before me was
      a little slave-boy, almost white, who seemed to belong to the party, and
      even he must join in. Just think of it!&mdash;the first day they had ever
      had a country, the first flag they had ever seen which promised anything
      to their people, and here, while mere spectators stood in silence, waiting
      for my stupid words, these simple souls burst out in their lay, as if they
      were by their own hearths at home! When they stopped, there was nothing to
      do for it but to speak, and I went on; but the life of the whole day was
      in those unknown people's song.
    </p>
    <p>
      Receiving the flags, I gave them into the hands of two fine-looking men,
      jet black, as color-guard, and they also spoke, and very effectively,&mdash;Sergeant
      Prince Rivers and Corporal Robert Sutton. The regiment sang "Marching
      Along," and then General Saxton spoke, in his own simple, manly way, and
      Mrs. Francis D. Gage spoke very sensibly to the women, and Judge Stickney,
      from Florida, added something; then some gentleman sang an ode, and the
      regiment the John Brown song, and then they went to their beef and
      molasses. Everything was very orderly, and they seemed to have a very gay
      time. Most of the visitors had far to go, and so dispersed before
      dress-parade, though the band stayed to enliven it. In the evening we had
      letters from home, and General Saxton had a reception at his house, from
      which I excused myself; and so ended one of the most enthusiastic and
      happy gatherings I ever knew. The day was perfect, and there was nothing
      but success.
    </p>
    <p>
      I forgot to say, that, in the midst of the services, it was announced that
      General Fremont was appointed Commander-in-Chief,&mdash;an announcement
      which was received with immense cheering, as would have been almost
      anything else, I verily believe, at that moment of high tide. It was
      shouted across by the pickets above,&mdash;a way in which we often receive
      news, but not always trustworthy.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 3, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      Once, and once only, thus far, the water has frozen in my tent; and the
      next morning showed a dense white frost outside. We have still
      mocking-birds and crickets and rosebuds, and occasional noonday baths in
      the river, though the butterflies have vanished, as I remember to have
      observed in Fayal, after December. I have been here nearly six weeks
      without a rainy day; one or two slight showers there have been, once
      interrupting a drill, but never dress-parade. For climate, by day, we
      might be among the isles of Greece,&mdash;though it may be my constant
      familiarity with the names of her sages which suggests that impression.
      For instance, a voice just now called, near my tent,&mdash;"Cato, whar's
      Plato?" The men have somehow got the impression that it is essential to
      the validity of a marriage that they should come to me for permission,
      just as they used to go to the master; and I rather encourage these little
      confidences, because it is so entertaining to hear them. "Now, Cunnel,"
      said a faltering swam the other day, "I want for get me one good lady,"
      which I approved, especially the limitation as to number. Afterwards I
      asked one of the bridegroom's friends whether he thought it a good match.
      "O yes, Cunnel," said he, in all the cordiality of friendship, "John's
      gwine for marry Venus." I trust the goddess will prove herself a better
      lady than she appeared during her previous career upon this planet. But
      this naturally suggests the isles of Greece again.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 7.
    </p>
    <p>
      On first arriving, I found a good deal of anxiety among the officers as to
      the increase of desertions, that being the rock on which the "Hunter
      Regiment" split. Now this evil is very nearly stopped, and we are every
      day recovering the older absentees. One of the very best things that have
      happened to us was the half-accidental shooting of a man who had escaped
      from the guard-house, and was wounded by a squad sent in pursuit. He has
      since died; and this very eve-rung another man, who escaped with him, came
      and opened the door of my tent, after being five days in the woods, almost
      without food. His clothes were in rags, and he was nearly starved, poor
      foolish fellow, so that we can almost dispense with further punishment.
      Severe penalties would be wasted on these people, accustomed as they have
      been to the most violent passions on the part of white men; but a mild
      inexorableness tells on them, just as it does on any other children. It is
      something utterly new to me, and it is thus far perfectly efficacious.
      They have a great deal of pride as soldiers, and a very little of severity
      goes a great way, if it be firm and consistent. This is very encouraging.
    </p>
    <p>
      The single question which I asked of some of the plantation
      superintendents, on the voyage, was, "Do these people appreciate <i>justice</i>?"
      If they did it was evident that all the rest would be easy. When a race is
      degraded beyond that point it must be very hard to deal with them; they
      must mistake all kindness for indulgence, all strictness for cruelty. With
      these freed slaves there is no such trouble, not a particle: let an
      officer be only just and firm, with a cordial, kindly nature, and he has
      no sort of difficulty. The plantation superintendents and teachers have
      the same experience, they say; but we have an immense advantage in the
      military organization, which helps in two ways: it increases their
      self-respect, and it gives us an admirable machinery for discipline, thus
      improving both the fulcrum and the lever.
    </p>
    <p>
      The wounded man died in the hospital, and the general verdict seemed to
      be, "Him brought it on heself." Another soldier died of pneumonia on the
      same day, and we had the funerals in the evening. It was very impressive.
      A dense mist came up, with a moon behind it, and we had only the light of
      pine-splinters, as the procession wound along beneath the mighty,
      moss-hung branches of the ancient grove. The groups around the grave, the
      dark faces, the red garments, the scattered lights, the misty boughs, were
      weird and strange. The men sang one of their own wild chants. Two crickets
      sang also, one on either side, and did not cease their little monotone,
      even when the three volleys were fired above the graves. Just before the
      coffins were lowered, an old man whispered to me that I must have their
      position altered,&mdash;the heads must be towards the west; so it was
      done,&mdash;though they are in a place so veiled in woods that either
      rising or setting sun will find it hard to spy them.
    </p>
    <p>
      We have now a good regimental hospital, admirably arranged in a deserted
      gin-house,&mdash;a fine well of our own digging, within the camp lines,&mdash;a
      full allowance of tents, all floored,&mdash;a wooden cook-house to every
      company, with sometimes a palmetto mess-house beside,&mdash;a substantial
      wooden guard-house, with a fireplace five feet "in de clar," where the men
      off duty can dry themselves and sleep comfortably in bunks afterwards. We
      have also a great circular school-tent, made of condemned canvas, thirty
      feet in diameter, and looking like some of the Indian lodges I saw in
      Kansas. We now meditate a regimental bakery. Our aggregate has increased
      from four hundred and ninety to seven hundred and forty, besides a hundred
      recruits now waiting at St. Augustine, and we have practised through all
      the main movements in battalion drill.
    </p>
    <p>
      Affairs being thus prosperous, and yesterday having been six weeks since
      my last and only visit to Beaufort, I rode in, glanced at several camps,
      and dined with the General. It seemed absolutely like re-entering the
      world; and I did not fully estimate my past seclusion till it occurred to
      me, as a strange and novel phenomenon, that the soldiers at the other
      camps were white.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 8.
    </p>
    <p>
      This morning I went to Beaufort again, on necessary business, and by good
      luck happened upon a review and drill of the white regiments. The thing
      that struck me most was that same absence of uniformity, in minor points,
      that I noticed at first in my own officers. The best regiments in the
      Department are represented among my captains and lieutenants, and very
      well represented too; yet it has cost much labor to bring them to any
      uniformity in their drill. There is no need of this; for the prescribed
      "Tactics" approach perfection; it is never left discretionary in what
      place an officer shall stand, or in what words he shall give his order.
      All variation would seem to imply negligence. Yet even West Point
      occasionally varies from the "Tactics,"&mdash;as, for instance, in
      requiring the line officers to face down the line, when each is giving the
      order to his company. In our strictest Massachusetts regiments this is not
      done.
    </p>
    <p>
      It needs an artist's eye to make a perfect drill-master. Yet the small
      points are not merely a matter of punctilio; for, the more perfectly a
      battalion is drilled on the parade-ground the more quietly it can be
      handled in action. Moreover, the great need of uniformity is this: that,
      in the field, soldiers of different companies, and even of different
      regiments, are liable to be intermingled, and a diversity of orders may
      throw everything into confusion. Confusion means Bull Run.
    </p>
    <p>
      I wished my men at the review to-day; for, amidst all the rattling and
      noise of artillery and the galloping of cavalry, there was only one
      infantry movement that we have not practised, and that was done by only
      one regiment, and apparently considered quite a novelty, though it is
      easily taught,
    </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;forming square by Casey's method: forward on centre. It is really
      just as easy to drill a regiment as a company,
    </p>
    <p>
      &mdash;perhaps easier, because one has more time to think; but it is just
      as essential to be sharp and decisive, perfectly clearheaded, and to put
      life into the men. A regiment seems small when one has learned how to
      handle it, a mere handful of men; and I have no doubt that a brigade or a
      division would soon appear equally small. But to handle either <i>judiciously</i>,
      ah, that is another affair!
    </p>
    <p>
      So of governing; it is as easy to govern a regiment as a school or a
      factory, and needs like qualities, system, promptness, patience, tact;
      moreover, in a regiment one has the aid of the admirable machinery of the
      army, so that I see very ordinary men who succeed very tolerably.
    </p>
    <p>
      Reports of a six months' armistice are rife here, and the thought is
      deplored by all. I cannot believe it; yet sometimes one feels very anxious
      about the ultimate fate of these poor people. After the experience of
      Hungary, one sees that revolutions may go backward; and the habit of
      injustice seems so deeply impressed upon the whites, that it is hard to
      believe in the possibility of anything better. I dare not yet hope that
      the promise of the President's Proclamation will be kept. For myself I can
      be indifferent, for the experience here has been its own daily and hourly
      reward; and the adaptedness of the freed slaves for drill and discipline
      is now thoroughly demonstrated, and must soon be universally acknowledged.
      But it would be terrible to see this regiment disbanded or defrauded.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 12.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many things glide by without time to narrate them. On Saturday we had a
      mail with the President's Second Message of Emancipation, and the next day
      it was read to the men. The words themselves did not stir them very much,
      because they have been often told that they were free, especially on New
      Year's Day, and, being unversed in politics, they do not understand, as
      well as we do, the importance of each additional guaranty. But the
      chaplain spoke to them afterwards very effectively, as usual; and then I
      proposed to them to hold up their hands and pledge themselves to be
      faithful to those still in bondage. They entered heartily into this, and
      the scene was quite impressive, beneath the great oak-branches. I heard
      afterwards that only one man refused to raise his hand, saying bluntly
      that his wife was out of slavery with him, and he did not care to fight.
      The other soldiers of his company were very indignant, and shoved him
      about among them while marching back to their quarters, calling him
      "Coward." I was glad of their exhibition of feeling, though it is very
      possible that the one who had thus the moral courage to stand alone among
      his comrades might be more reliable, on a pinch, than some who yielded a
      more ready assent. But the whole response, on their part, was very hearty,
      and will be a good thing to which to hold them hereafter, at any time of
      discouragement or demoralization,&mdash;which was my chief reason for
      proposing it. With their simple natures it is a great thing to tie them to
      some definite committal; they never forget a marked occurrence, and never
      seem disposed to evade a pledge.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is this capacity of honor and fidelity which gives me such entire faith
      in them as soldiers. Without it all their religious demonstration would be
      mere sentimentality. For instance, every one who visits the camp is struck
      with their bearing as sentinels. They exhibit, in this capacity, not an
      upstart conceit, but a steady, conscientious devotion to duty. They would
      stop their idolized General Saxton, if he attempted to cross their beat
      contrary to orders: I have seen them. No feeble or incompetent race could
      do this. The officers tell many amusing instances of this fidelity, but I
      think mine the best.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was very dark the other night, an unusual thing here, and the rain fell
      in torrents; so I put on my India-rubber suit, and went the rounds of the
      sentinels, incognito, to test them. I can only say that I shall never try
      such an experiment again and have cautioned my officers against it. Tis a
      wonder I escaped with life and limb,&mdash;such a charging of bayonets and
      clicking of gun-locks. Sometimes I tempted them by refusing to give any
      countersign, but offering them a piece of tobacco, which they could not
      accept without allowing me nearer than the prescribed bayonet's distance.
      Tobacco is more than gold to them, and it was touching to watch the
      struggle in their minds; but they always did their duty at last, and I
      never could persuade them. One man, as if wishing to crush all his inward
      vacillation at one fell stroke, told me stoutly that he never used
      tobacco, though I found next day that he loved it as much as any one of
      them. It seemed wrong thus to tamper with their fidelity; yet it was a
      vital matter to me to know how far it could be trusted, out of my sight.
      It was so intensely dark that not more than one or two knew me, even after
      I had talked with the very next sentinel, especially as they had never
      seen me in India-rubber clothing, and I can always disguise my voice. It
      was easy to distinguish those who did make the discovery; they were always
      conscious and simpering when their turn came; while the others were stout
      and irreverent till I revealed myself, and then rather cowed and anxious,
      fearing to have offended.
    </p>
    <p>
      It rained harder and harder, and when I had nearly made the rounds I had
      had enough of it, and, simply giving the countersign to the challenging
      sentinel, undertook to pass within the lines.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Halt!" exclaimed this dusky man and brother, bringing down his bayonet,
      "de countersign not correck."
    </p>
    <p>
      Now the magic word, in this case, was "Vicksburg," in honor of a rumored
      victory. But as I knew that these hard names became quite transformed upon
      their lips, "Carthage" being familiarized into Cartridge, and "Concord"
      into Corn-cob, how could I possibly tell what shade of pronunciation my
      friend might prefer for this particular proper name?
    </p>
    <p>
      "Vicksburg," I repeated, blandly, but authoritatively, endeavoring, as
      zealously as one of Christy's Minstrels, to assimilate my speech to any
      supposed predilection of the Ethiop vocal organs.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Halt dar! Countersign not correck," was the only answer.
    </p>
    <p>
      The bayonet still maintained a position which, in a military point of
      view, was impressive.
    </p>
    <p>
      I tried persuasion, orthography, threats, tobacco, all in vain. I could
      not pass in. Of course my pride was up; for was I to defer to an untutored
      African on a point of pronunciation? Classic shades of Harvard, forbid!
      Affecting scornful indifference, I tried to edge away, proposing to myself
      to enter the camp at some other point, where my elocution would be better
      appreciated. Not a step could I stir.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Halt!" shouted my gentleman again, still holding me at his bayonet's
      point, and I wincing and halting.
    </p>
    <p>
      I explained to him the extreme absurdity of this proceeding, called his
      attention to the state of the weather, which, indeed, spoke for itself so
      loudly that we could hardly hear each other speak, and requested
      permission to withdraw. The bayonet, with mute eloquence, refused the
      application.
    </p>
    <p>
      There flashed into my mind, with more enjoyment in the retrospect than I
      had experienced at the time, an adventure on a lecturing tour in other
      years, when I had spent an hour in trying to scramble into a country
      tavern, after bed-time, on the coldest night of winter. On that occasion I
      ultimately found myself stuck midway in the window, with my head in a
      temperature of 80 degrees, and my heels in a temperature of -10 degrees,
      with a heavy windowsash pinioning the small of my back. However, I had got
      safe out of that dilemma, and it was time to put an end to this one,
    </p>
    <p>
      "Call the corporal of the guard," said I at last, with dignity, unwilling
      to make a night of it or to yield my incognito.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Corporal ob de guard!" he shouted, lustily,&mdash;"Post Number Two!"
      while I could hear another sentinel chuckling with laughter. This last was
      a special guard, placed over a tent, with a prisoner in charge. Presently
      he broke silence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Who am dat?" he asked, in a stage whisper. "Am he a buckra [white man]?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Dunno whether he been a buckra or not," responded, doggedly, my Cerberus
      in uniform; "but I's bound to keep him here till de corporal ob de guard
      come."
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet, when that dignitary arrived, and I revealed myself, poor Number Two
      appeared utterly transfixed with terror, and seemed to look for nothing
      less than immediate execution. Of course I praised his fidelity, and the
      next day complimented him before the guard, and mentioned him to his
      captain; and the whole affair was very good for them all. Hereafter, if
      Satan himself should approach them in darkness and storm, they will take
      <i>him</i> for "de Cunnel," and treat him with special severity.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 13.
    </p>
    <p>
      In many ways the childish nature of this people shows itself. I have just
      had to make a change of officers in a company which has constantly
      complained, and with good reason, of neglect and improper treatment. Two
      excellent officers have been assigned to them; and yet they sent a
      deputation to me in the evening, in a state of utter wretchedness. "We's
      bery grieved dis evening, Cunnel; 'pears like we couldn't bear it, to lose
      de Cap'n and de Lieutenant, all two togeder." Argument was useless; and I
      could only fall back on the general theory, that I knew what was best for
      them, which had much more effect; and I also could cite the instance of
      another company, which had been much improved by a new captain, as they
      readily admitted. So with the promise that the new officers should not be
      "savage to we," which was the one thing they deprecated, I assuaged their
      woes. Twenty-four hours have passed, and I hear them singing most merrily
      all down that company street.
    </p>
    <p>
      I often notice how their griefs may be dispelled, like those of children,
      merely by permission to utter them: if they can tell their sorrows, they
      go away happy, even without asking to have anything done about them. I
      observe also a peculiar dislike of all <i>intermediate</i> control: they
      always wish to pass by the company officer, and deal with me personally
      for everything. General Saxton notices the same thing with the people on
      the plantations as regards himself. I suppose this proceeds partly from
      the old habit of appealing to the master against the overseer. Kind words
      would cost the master nothing, and he could easily put off any
      non-fulfilment upon the overseer. Moreover, the negroes have acquired such
      constitutional distrust of white people, that it is perhaps as much as
      they can do to trust more than one person at a tune. Meanwhile this
      constant personal intercourse is out of the question in a well-ordered
      regiment; and the remedy for it is to introduce by degrees more and more
      of system, so that their immediate officers will become all-sufficient for
      the daily routine.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is perfectly true (as I find everybody takes for granted) that the
      first essential for an officer of colored troops is to gain their
      confidence. But it is equally true, though many persons do not appreciate
      it, that the admirable methods and proprieties of the regular army are
      equally available for all troops, and that the sublimest philanthropist,
      if he does not appreciate this, is unfit to command them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Another childlike attribute in these men, which is less agreeable, is a
      sort of blunt insensibility to giving physical pain. If they are cruel to
      animals, for instance, it always reminds me of children pulling off flies'
      legs, in a sort of pitiless, untaught, experimental way. Yet I should not
      fear any wanton outrage from them. After all their wrongs, they are not
      really revengeful; and I would far rather enter a captured city with them
      than with white troops, for they would be more subordinate. But for mere
      physical suffering they would have no fine sympathies. The cruel things
      they have seen and undergone have helped to blunt them; and if I ordered
      them to put to death a dozen prisoners, I think they would do it without
      remonstrance.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet their religious spirit grows more beautiful to me in living longer
      with them; it is certainly far more so than at first, when it seemed
      rather a matter of phrase and habit. It influences them both on the
      negative and the positive side. That is, it cultivates the feminine
      virtues first,&mdash;makes them patient, meek, resigned. This is very
      evident in the hospital; there is nothing of the restless, defiant habit
      of white invalids. Perhaps, if they had more of this, they would resist
      disease better. Imbued from childhood with the habit of submission,
      drinking in through every pore that other-world trust which is the one
      spirit of their songs, they can endure everything. This I expected; but I
      am relieved to find that their religion strengthens them on the positive
      side also,&mdash;gives zeal, energy, daring. They could easily be made
      fanatics, if I chose; but I do not choose. Their whole mood is essentially
      Mohammedan, perhaps, in its strength and its weakness; and I feel the same
      degree of sympathy that I should if I had a Turkish command,&mdash;that
      is, a sort of sympathetic admiration, not tending towards agreement, but
      towards co-operation. Their philosophizing is often the highest form of
      mysticism; and our dear surgeon declares that they are all natural
      transcendentalists. The white camps seem rough and secular, after this;
      and I hear our men talk about "a religious army," "a Gospel army," in
      their prayer-meetings. They are certainly evangelizing the chaplain, who
      was rather a heretic at the beginning; at least, this is his own
      admission. We have recruits on their way from St. Augustine, where the
      negroes are chiefly Roman Catholics; and it will be interesting to see how
      their type of character combines with that elder creed. It is time for
      rest; and I have just looked out into the night, where the eternal stars
      shut down, in concave protection, over the yet glimmering camp, and Orion
      hangs above my tent-door, giving to me the sense of strength and assurance
      which these simple children obtain from their Moses and the Prophets. Yet
      external Nature does its share in their training; witness that most poetic
      of all their songs, which always reminds me of the "Lyke-Wake Dirge" in
      the "Scottish Border Minstrelsy,"&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "I know moon-rise, I know star-rise;
    Lay dis body down.
  I walk in de moonlight, I walk in de starlight,
    To lay dis body down.
  I'll walk in de graveyard, I'll walk through de graveyard,
    To lay dis body down.
  I'll lie in de grave and stretch out my arms;
    Lay dis body down.
  I go to de Judgment in de evening ob de day
    When I lay dis body down;
  And my soul and your soul will meet in de day
    When I lay dis body down."
</pre>
    <p>
      January 14.
    </p>
    <p>
      In speaking of the military qualities of the blacks, I should add, that
      the only point where I am disappointed is one I have never seen raised by
      the most incredulous newspaper critics,&mdash;namely, their physical
      condition. To be sure they often look magnificently to my
      gymnasium-trained eye; and I always like to observe them when bathing,&mdash;such
      splendid muscular development, set off by that smooth coating of adipose
      tissue which makes them, like the South-Sea Islanders appear even more
      muscular than they are. Their skins are also of finer grain than those of
      whites, the surgeons say, and certainly are smoother and far more free
      from hair. But their weakness is pulmonary; pneumonia and pleurisy are
      their besetting ailments; they are easily made ill,&mdash;and easily
      cured, if promptly treated: childish organizations again. Guard-duty
      injures them more than whites, apparently; and double-quick movements, in
      choking dust, set them coughing badly. But then it is to be remembered
      that this is their sickly season, from January to March, and that their
      healthy season will come in summer, when the whites break down. Still my
      conviction of the physical superiority of more highly civilized races is
      strengthened on the whole, not weakened, by observing them. As to
      availability for military drill and duty in other respects, the only
      question I ever hear debated among the officers is, whether they are equal
      or superior to whites. I have never heard it suggested that they were
      inferior, although I expected frequently to hear such complaints from
      hasty or unsuccessful officers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of one thing I am sure, that their best qualities will be wasted by merely
      keeping them for garrison duty. They seem peculiarly fitted for offensive
      operations, and especially for partisan warfare; they have so much dash
      and such abundant resources, combined with such an Indian-like knowledge
      of the country and its ways. These traits have been often illustrated in
      expeditions sent after deserters. For instance, I despatched one of my
      best lieutenants and my best sergeant with a squad of men to search a
      certain plantation, where there were two separate negro villages. They
      went by night, and the force was divided. The lieutenant took one set of
      huts, the sergeant the other. Before the lieutenant had reached his first
      house, every man in the village was in the woods, innocent and guilty
      alike. But the sergeant's mode of operation was thus described by a
      corporal from a white regiment who happened to be in one of the negro
      houses. He said that not a sound was heard until suddenly a red leg
      appeared in the open doorway, and a voice outside said, "Rally." Going to
      the door, he observed a similar pair of red legs before every hut, and not
      a person was allowed to go out, until the quarters had been thoroughly
      searched, and the three deserters found. This was managed by Sergeant
      Prince Rivers, our color-sergeant, who is provost-sergeant also, and has
      entire charge of the prisoners and of the daily policing of the camp. He
      is a man of distinguished appearance, and in old times was the crack
      coachman of Beaufort, in which capacity he once drove Beauregard from this
      plantation to Charleston, I believe. They tell me that he was once allowed
      to present a petition to the Governor of South Carolina in behalf of
      slaves, for the redress of certain grievances; and that a placard,
      offering two thousand dollars for his recapture, is still to be seen by
      the wayside between here and Charleston. He was a sergeant in the old
      "Hunter Regiment," and was taken by General Hunter to New York last
      spring, where the <i>chevrons</i> on his arm brought a mob upon him in
      Broadway, whom he kept off till the police interfered. There is not a
      white officer in this regiment who has more administrative ability, or
      more absolute authority over the men; they do not love him, but his mere
      presence has controlling power over them. He writes well enough to prepare
      for me a daily report of his duties in the camp; if his education reached
      a higher point, I see no reason why he should not command the Army of the
      Potomac. He is jet-black, or rather, I should say, <i>wine-black</i>; his
      complexion, like that of others of my darkest men, having a sort of rich,
      clear depth, without a trace of sootiness, and to my eye very handsome.
      His features are tolerably regular, and full of command, and his figure
      superior to that of any of our white officers,&mdash;being six feet high,
      perfectly proportioned, and of apparently inexhaustible strength and
      activity. His gait is like a panther's; I never saw such a tread. No
      anti-slavery novel has described a man of such marked ability. He makes
      Toussaint perfectly intelligible; and if there should ever be a black
      monarchy in South Carolina, he will be its king.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 15.
    </p>
    <p>
      This morning is like May. Yesterday I saw bluebirds and a butterfly; so
      this whiter of a fortnight is over. I fancy there is a trifle less
      coughing in the camp. We hear of other stations in the Department where
      the mortality, chiefly from yellow fever, has been frightful. Dr. &mdash;&mdash;
      is rubbing his hands professionally over the fearful tales of the surgeon
      of a New York regiment, just from Key West, who has had two hundred cases
      of the fever. "I suppose he is a skilful, highly educated man," said I.
      "Yes," he responded with enthusiasm. "Why, he had seventy deaths!"&mdash;as
      if that proved his superiority past question.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 19.
    </p>
    <p>
      "And first, sitting proud as a lung on his throne, At the head of them all
      rode Sir Richard Tyrone."
    </p>
    <p>
      But I fancy that Sir Richard felt not much better satisfied with his
      following than I to-day. J. R. L. said once that nothing was quite so good
      as turtle-soup, except mock-turtle; and I have heard officers declare that
      nothing was so stirring as real war, except some exciting parade. To-day,
      for the first time, I marched the whole regiment through Beaufort and
      back,&mdash;the first appearance of such a novelty on any stage. They did
      march splendidly; this all admit. M&mdash;&mdash;'s prediction was
      fulfilled: "Will not &mdash;&mdash; be in bliss? A thousand men, every one
      as black as a coal!" I confess it. To look back on twenty broad
      double-ranks of men (for they marched by platoons),&mdash;every polished
      musket having a black face beside it, and every face set steadily to the
      front,&mdash;a regiment of freed slaves marching on into the future,&mdash;it
      was something to remember; and when they returned through the same
      streets, marching by the flank, with guns at a "support," and each man
      covering his file-leader handsomely, the effect on the eye was almost as
      fine. The band of the Eighth Maine joined us at the entrance of the town,
      and escorted us in. Sergeant Rivers said ecstatically afterwards, in
      describing the affair, "And when dat band wheel in before us, and march
      on,&mdash;my God! I quit dis world altogeder." I wonder if he pictured to
      himself the many dusky regiments, now unformed, which I seemed to see
      marching up behind us, gathering shape out of the dim air.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had cautioned the men, before leaving camp, not to be staring about them
      as they marched, but to look straight to the front, every man; and they
      did it with their accustomed fidelity, aided by the sort of spontaneous
      eye-for-effect which is in all their melodramatic natures. One of them was
      heard to say exultingly afterwards, "We didn't look to de right nor to de
      leff. I didn't see notin' in Beaufort. Eb'ry step was worth a half a
      dollar." And they all marched as if it were so. They knew well that they
      were marching through throngs of officers and soldiers who had drilled as
      many months as we had drilled weeks, and whose eyes would readily spy out
      every defect. And I must say, that, on the whole, with a few trivial
      exceptions, those spectators behaved in a manly and courteous manner, and
      I do not care to write down all the handsome things that were said.
      Whether said or not, they were deserved; and there is no danger that our
      men will not take sufficient satisfaction in their good appearance. I was
      especially amused at one of our recruits, who did not march in the ranks,
      and who said, after watching the astonishment of some white soldiers, "De
      buckra sojers look like a man who been-a-steal a sheep,"&mdash;that is, I
      suppose, sheepish.
    </p>
    <p>
      After passing and repassing through the town, we marched to the
      parade-ground, and went through an hour's drill, forming squares and
      reducing them, and doing other things which look hard on paper, and are
      perfectly easy in fact; and we were to have been reviewed by General
      Saxton, but he had been unexpectedly called to Ladies Island, and did not
      see us at all, which was the only thing to mar the men's enjoyment. Then
      we marched back to camp (three miles), the men singing the "John Brown
      Song," and all manner of things,&mdash;as happy creatures as one can well
      conceive.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is worth mentioning, before I close, that we have just received an
      article about "Negro Troops," from the <i>London Spectator</i>, which is
      so admirably true to our experience that it seems as if written by one of
      us. I am confident that there never has been, in any American newspaper, a
      treatment of the subject so discriminating and so wise.
    </p>
    <p>
      January 21.
    </p>
    <p>
      To-day brought a visit from Major-General Hunter and his staff, by General
      Saxton's invitation,&mdash;the former having just arrived in the
      Department. I expected them at dress-parade, but they came during
      battalion drill, rather to my dismay, and we were caught in our old
      clothes. It was our first review, and I dare say we did tolerably; but of
      course it seemed to me that the men never appeared so ill before,&mdash;just
      as one always thinks a party at one's own house a failure, even if the
      guests seem to enjoy it, because one is so keenly sensitive to every
      little thing that goes wrong. After review and drill, General Hunter made
      the men a little speech, at my request, and told them that he wished there
      were fifty thousand of them. General Saxton spoke to them afterwards, and
      said that fifty thousand muskets were on their way for colored troops. The
      men cheered both the generals lustily; and they were complimentary
      afterwards, though I knew that the regiment could not have appeared nearly
      so well as on its visit to Beaufort. I suppose I felt like some anxious
      mamma whose children have accidentally appeared at dancing-school in their
      old clothes.
    </p>
    <p>
      General Hunter promises us all we want,&mdash;pay when the funds arrive,
      Springfield rifled muskets, and blue trousers. Moreover, he has graciously
      consented that we should go on an expedition along the coast, to pick up
      cotton, lumber, and, above all, recruits. I declined an offer like this
      just after my arrival, because the regiment was not drilled or
      disciplined, not even the officers; but it is all we wish for now.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "What care I how black I be?
  Forty pounds will marry me,"
</pre>
    <p>
      quoth Mother Goose. <i>Forty rounds</i> will marry us to the American
      Army, past divorcing, if we can only use them well. Our success or failure
      may make or mar the prospects of colored troops. But it is well to
      remember in advance that military success is really less satisfactory than
      any other, because it may depend on a moment's turn of events, and that
      may be determined by some trivial thing, neither to be anticipated nor
      controlled. Napoleon ought to have won at Waterloo by all reasonable
      calculations; but who cares? All that one can expect is, to do one's best,
      and to take with equanimity the fortune of war.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 3. Up the St. Mary's
    </h2>
    <p>
      If Sergeant Rivers was a natural king among my dusky soldiers, Corporal
      Robert Sutton was the natural prime-minister. If not in all respects the
      ablest, he was the wisest man in our ranks. As large, as powerful, and as
      black as our good-looking Color-Sergeant, but more heavily built and with
      less personal beauty, he had a more massive brain and a far more
      meditative and systematic intellect. Not yet grounded even in the
      spelling-book, his modes of thought were nevertheless strong, lucid, and
      accurate; and he yearned and pined for intellectual companionship beyond
      all ignorant men whom I have ever met. I believe that he would have talked
      all day and all night, for days together, to any officer who could
      instruct him, until his companions, at least, fell asleep exhausted. His
      comprehension of the whole problem of Slavery was more thorough and
      far-reaching than that of any Abolitionist, so far as its social and
      military aspects went; in that direction I could teach him nothing, and he
      taught me much. But it was his methods of thought which always impressed
      me chiefly: superficial brilliancy he left to others, and grasped at the
      solid truth.
    </p>
    <p>
      Of course his interest in the war and in the regiment was unbounded; he
      did not take to drill with especial readiness, but he was insatiable of
      it, and grudged every moment of relaxation. Indeed, he never had any such
      moments; his mind was at work all the time, even when he was singing
      hymns, of which he had endless store. He was not, however, one of our
      leading religionists, but his moral code was solid and reliable, like his
      mental processes. Ignorant as he was, the "years that bring the
      philosophic mind" had yet been his, and most of my young officers seemed
      boys beside him. He was a Florida man, and had been chiefly employed in
      lumbering and piloting on the St. Mary's River, which divides Florida from
      Georgia. Down this stream he had escaped in a "dug-out," and after thus
      finding the way, had returned (as had not a few of my men in other cases)
      to bring away wife and child. "I wouldn't have left my child, Cunnel," he
      said, with an emphasis that sounded the depths of his strong nature. And
      up this same river he was always imploring to be allowed to guide an
      expedition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Many other men had rival propositions to urge, for they gained
      self-confidence from drill and guard-duty, and were growing impatient of
      inaction. "Ought to go to work, Sa,&mdash;don't believe in we lyin' in
      camp eatin' up de perwisions." Such were the quaint complaints, which I
      heard with joy. Looking over my note-books of that period, I find them
      filled with topographical memoranda, jotted down by a flickering candle,
      from the evening talk of the men,&mdash;notes of vulnerable points along
      the coast, charts of rivers, locations of pickets. I prized these
      conversations not more for what I thus learned of the country than for
      what I learned of the men. One could thus measure their various degrees of
      accuracy and their average military instinct; and I must say that in every
      respect, save the accurate estimate of distances, they stood the test
      well. But no project took my fancy so much, after all, as that of the
      delegate from the St. Mary's River.
    </p>
    <p>
      The best peg on which to hang an expedition in the Department of the
      South, in those days, was the promise of lumber. Dwelling in the very land
      of Southern pine, the Department authorities had to send North for it, at
      a vast expense. There was reported to be plenty in the enemy's country,
      but somehow the colored soldiers were the only ones who had been lucky
      enough to obtain any, thus far, and the supply brought in by our men,
      after flooring the tents of the white regiments and our own, was running
      low. An expedition of white troops, four companies, with two steamers and
      two schooners, had lately returned empty-handed, after a week's foraging;
      and now it was our turn. They said the mills were all burned; but should
      we go up the St. Mary's, Corporal Sutton was prepared to offer more lumber
      than we had transportation to carry. This made the crowning charm of his
      suggestion. But there is never any danger of erring on the side of
      secrecy, in a military department; and I resolved to avoid all undue
      publicity for our plans, by not finally deciding on any until we should
      get outside the bar. This was happily approved by my superior officers,
      Major-General Hunter and Brigadier-General Saxton; and I was accordingly
      permitted to take three steamers, with four hundred and sixty-two officers
      and men, and two or three invited guests, and go down the coast on my own
      responsibility. We were, in short, to win our spurs; and if, as among the
      Araucanians, our spurs were made of lumber, so much the better. The whole
      history of the Department of the South had been defined as "a military
      picnic," and now we were to take our share of the entertainment.
    </p>
    <p>
      It seemed a pleasant share, when, after the usual vexations and delays, we
      found ourselves (January 23, 1863) gliding down the full waters of
      Beaufort River, the three vessels having sailed at different hours, with
      orders to rendezvous at St. Simon's Island, on the coast of Georgia. Until
      then, the flagship, so to speak, was to be the "Ben De Ford," Captain
      Hallet,&mdash;this being by far the largest vessel, and carrying most of
      the men. Major Strong was in command upon the "John Adams," an army
      gunboat, carrying a thirty-pound Parrott gun, two ten-pound Parrotts, and
      an eight-inch howitzer. Captain Trowbridge (since promoted
      Lieutenant-Colonel of the regiment) had charge of the famous "Planter,"
      brought away from the Rebels by Robert Small; she carried a ten-pound
      Parrott gun, and two howitzers. The John Adams was our main reliance. She
      was an old East Boston ferry-boat, a "double-ender," admirable for
      river-work, but unfit for sea-service. She drew seven feet of water; the
      Planter drew only four; but the latter was very slow, and being obliged to
      go to St. Simon's by an inner passage, would delay us from the beginning.
      She delayed us so much, before the end, that we virtually parted company,
      and her career was almost entirely separated from our own.
    </p>
    <p>
      From boyhood I have had a fancy for boats, and have seldom been without a
      share, usually more or less fractional, in a rather indeterminate number
      of punts and wherries. But when, for the first time, I found myself at sea
      as Commodore of a fleet of armed steamers,&mdash;for even the Ben De Ford
      boasted a six-pounder or so,&mdash;it seemed rather an unexpected
      promotion. But it is a characteristic of army life, that one adapts one's
      self, as coolly as in a dream, to the most novel responsibilities. One
      sits on court-martial, for instance, and decides on the life of a
      fellow-creature, without being asked any inconvenient questions as to
      previous knowledge of Blackstone; and after such an experience, shall one
      shrink from wrecking a steamer or two in the cause of the nation? So I
      placidly accepted my naval establishment, as if it were a new form of
      boat-club, and looked over the charts, balancing between one river and
      another, as if deciding whether to pull up or down Lake Quinsigamond. If
      military life ever contemplated the exercise of the virtue of humility
      under any circumstances this would perhaps have been a good opportunity to
      begin its practice. But as the "Regulations" clearly contemplated nothing
      of the kind, and as I had never met with any precedent which looked in
      that direction, I had learned to check promptly all such weak
      proclivities.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Hallett proved the most frank and manly of sailors, and did
      everything for our comfort. He was soon warm in his praises of the
      demeanor of our men, which was very pleasant to hear, as this was the
      first time that colored soldiers in any number had been conveyed on board
      a transport, and I know of no place where a white volunteer appears to so
      much disadvantage. His mind craves occupation, his body is intensely
      uncomfortable, the daily emergency is not great enough to call out his
      heroic qualities, and he is apt to be surly, discontented, and impatient
      even of sanitary rules. The Southern black soldier, on the other hand, is
      seldom sea-sick (at least, such is my experience), and, if properly
      managed, is equally contented, whether idle or busy; he is, moreover, so
      docile that all needful rules are executed with cheerful acquiescence, and
      the quarters can therefore be kept clean and wholesome. Very forlorn faces
      were soon visible among the officers in the cabin, but I rarely saw such
      among the men.
    </p>
    <p>
      Pleasant still seemed our enterprise, as we anchored at early morning in
      the quiet waters of St. Simon's Sound, and saw the light fall softly on
      the beach and the low bluffs, on the picturesque plantation-houses which
      nestled there, and the graceful naval vessels that lay at anchor before
      us. When we afterwards landed the air had that peculiar Mediterranean
      translucency which Southern islands wear; and the plantation we visited
      had the loveliest tropical garden, though tangled and desolate, which I
      have ever seen in the South. The deserted house was embowered In great
      blossoming shrubs, and filled with hyacinthine odors, among which
      predominated that of the little Chickasaw roses which everywhere bloomed
      and trailed around. There were fig-trees and date-palms, crape-myrtles and
      wax-myrtles, Mexican agaves and English ivies, japonicas, bananas,
      oranges, lemons, oleanders, jonquils, great cactuses, and wild Florida
      lilies. This was not the plantation which Mrs. Kemble has since made
      historic, although that was on the same island; and I could not waste much
      sentiment over it, for it had belonged to a Northern renegade, Thomas
      Butler King. Yet I felt then, as I have felt a hundred times since, an
      emotion of heart-sickness at this desecration of a homestead,&mdash;and
      especially when, looking from a bare upper window of the empty house upon
      a range of broad, flat, sunny roofs, such as children love to play on, I
      thought how that place might have been loved by yet Innocent hearts, and I
      mourned anew the sacrilege of war.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had visited the flag-ship Wabash ere we left Port Royal Harbor, and had
      obtained a very kind letter of introduction from Admiral Dupont, that
      stately and courtly potentate, elegant as one's ideal French marquis; and
      under these credentials I received polite attention from the naval
      officers at St. Simon's,&mdash;Acting Volunteer Lieutenant Budd, of the
      gunboat Potomska, and Acting Master Moses, of the barque Fernandina. They
      made valuable suggestions in regard to the different rivers along the
      coast, and gave vivid descriptions of the last previous trip up the St.
      Mary's undertaken by Captain Stevens, U.S.N., in the gunboat Ottawa, when
      he had to fight his way past batteries at every bluff in descending the
      narrow and rapid stream. I was warned that no resistance would be offered
      to the ascent, but only to our return; and was further cautioned against
      the mistake, then common, of underrating the courage of the Rebels. "It
      proved impossible to dislodge those fellows from the banks," my informant
      said; "they had dug rifle-pits, and swarmed like hornets, and when fairly
      silenced in one direction they were sure to open upon us from another."
      All this sounded alarming, but it was nine months since the event had
      happened; and although nothing had gone up the river meanwhile, I counted
      on less resistance now. And something must be risked anywhere.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were delayed all that day in waiting for our consort, and improved our
      time by verifying certain rumors about a quantity of new railroad-iron
      which was said to be concealed in the abandoned Rebel forts on St. Simon's
      and Jekyll Islands, and which would have much value at Port Royal, if we
      could unearth it. Some of our men had worked upon these very batteries, so
      that they could easily guide us; and by the additional discovery of a
      large flat-boat we were enabled to go to work in earnest upon the removal
      of the treasure. These iron bars, surmounted by a dozen feet of sand,
      formed an invulnerable roof for the magazines and bomb-proofs of the fort,
      and the men enjoyed demolishing them far more than they had relished their
      construction. Though the day was the 24th of January, 1863, the sun was
      very oppressive upon the sands; but all were in the highest spirits, and
      worked with the greatest zeal. The men seemed to regard these massive bars
      as their first trophies; and if the rails had been wreathed with roses,
      they could not have been got out in more holiday style. Nearly a hundred
      were obtained that day, besides a quantity of five-inch plank with which
      to barricade the very conspicuous pilot-houses of the John Adams. Still
      another day we were delayed, and could still keep at this work, not
      neglecting some foraging on the island from which horses, cattle, and
      agricultural implements were to be removed, and the few remaining colored
      families transferred to Fernandina. I had now become quite anxious about
      the missing steamboat, as the inner passage, by which alone she could
      arrive, was exposed at certain points to fire from Rebel batteries, and it
      would have been unpleasant to begin with a disaster. I remember that, as I
      stood on deck, in the still and misty evening, listening with strained
      senses for some sound of approach, I heard a low continuous noise from the
      distance, more wild and desolate than anything in my memory can parallel.
      It came from within the vast girdle of mist, and seemed like the cry of a
      myriad of lost souls upon the horizon's verge; it was Dante become
      audible: and yet it was but the accumulated cries of innumerable seafowl
      at the entrance of the outer bay.
    </p>
    <p>
      Late that night the Planter arrived. We left St. Simon's on the following
      morning, reached Fort Clinch by four o'clock, and there transferring two
      hundred men to the very scanty quarters of the John Adams, allowed the
      larger transport to go into Fernandina, while the two other vessels were
      to ascend the St. Mary's River, unless (as proved inevitable in the end)
      the defects in the boiler of the Planter should oblige her to remain
      behind. That night I proposed to make a sort of trial-trip up stream, as
      far as Township landing, some fifteen miles, there to pay our respects to
      Captain Clark's company of cavalry, whose camp was reported to lie near
      by. This was included in Corporal Sutton's programme, and seemed to me
      more inviting, and far more useful to the men, than any amount of mere
      foraging. The thing really desirable appeared to be to get them under fire
      as soon as possible, and to teach them, by a few small successes, the
      application of what they had learned in camp-.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had ascertained that the camp of this company lay five miles from the
      landing, and was accessible by two roads, one of which was a lumber-path,
      not commonly used, but which Corporal Sutton had helped to construct, and
      along which he could easily guide us. The plan was to go by night,
      surround the house and negro cabins at the landing (to prevent an alarm
      from being given), then to take the side path, and if all went well, to
      surprise the camp; but if they got notice of our approach, through their
      pickets, we should, at worst, have a fight, in which the best man must
      win.
    </p>
    <p>
      The moon was bright, and the river swift, but easy of navigation thus far.
      Just below Township I landed a small advance force, to surround the houses
      silently. With them went Corporal Sutton; and when, after rounding the
      point, I went on shore with a larger body of men, he met me with a silent
      chuckle of delight, and with the information that there was a negro in a
      neighboring cabin who had just come from the Rebel camp, and could give
      the latest information. While he hunted up this valuable auxiliary, I
      mustered my detachment, winnowing out the men who had coughs (not a few),
      and sending them ignominiously on board again: a process I had regularly
      to perform, during this first season of catarrh, on all occasions where
      quiet was needed. The only exception tolerated at this time was in the
      case of one man who offered a solemn pledge, that, if unable to restrain
      his cough, he would lie down on the ground, scrape a little hole, and
      cough into it unheard. The ingenuity of this proposition was irresistible,
      and the eager patient was allowed to pass muster.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was after midnight when we set off upon our excursion. I had about a
      hundred men, marching by the flank, with a small advanced guard, and also
      a few flankers, where the ground permitted. I put my Florida company at
      the head of the column, and had by my side Captain Metcalf, an excellent
      officer, and Sergeant Mclntyre, his first sergeant. We plunged presently
      in pine woods, whose resinous smell I can still remember. Corporal Sutton
      marched near me, with his captured negro guide, whose first fear and
      sullenness had yielded to the magic news of the President's Proclamation,
      then just issued, of which Governor Andrew had sent me a large printed
      supply;&mdash;we seldom found men who could read it, but they all seemed
      to feel more secure when they held it in their hands. We marched on
      through the woods, with no sound but the peeping of the frogs in a
      neighboring marsh, and the occasional yelping of a dog, as we passed the
      hut of some "cracker." This yelping always made Corporal Sutton uneasy;
      dogs are the detective officers of Slavery's police.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had halted once or twice to close up the ranks, and had marched some
      two miles, seeing and hearing nothing more. I had got all I could out of
      our new guide, and was striding on, rapt in pleasing contemplation. All
      had gone so smoothly that I had merely to fancy the rest as being equally
      smooth. Already I fancied our little detachment bursting out of the woods,
      in swift surprise, upon the Rebel quarters,&mdash;already the opposing
      commander, after hastily firing a charge or two from his revolver (of
      course above my head), had yielded at discretion, and was gracefully
      tendering, in a stage attitude, his unavailing sword,&mdash;when suddenly&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a trampling of feet among the advanced guard as they came
      confusedly to a halt, and almost at the same instant a more ominous sound,
      as of galloping horses in the path before us. The moonlight outside the
      woods gave that dimness of atmosphere within which is more bewildering
      than darkness, because the eyes cannot adapt themselves to it so well. Yet
      I fancied, and others aver, that they saw the leader of an approaching
      party mounted on a white horse and reining up in the pathway; others,
      again, declare that he drew a pistol from the holster and took aim; others
      heard the words, "Charge in upon them! Surround them!" But all this was
      confused by the opening rifle-shots of our advanced guard, and, as clear
      observation was impossible, I made the men fix their bayonets and kneel in
      the cover on each side the pathway, and I saw with delight the brave
      fellows, with Sergeant Mclntyre at their head, settling down in the grass
      as coolly and warily as if wild turkeys were the only game. Perhaps at the
      first shot a man fell at my elbow. I felt it no more than if a tree had
      fallen,&mdash;I was so busy watching my own men and the enemy, and
      planning what to do next. Some of our soldiers, misunderstanding the
      order, "Fix bayonets," were actually <i>charging</i> with them, dashing
      off into the dim woods, with nothing to charge at but the vanishing tail
      of an imaginary horse,&mdash;for we could really see nothing. This zeal I
      noted with pleasure, and also with anxiety, as our greatest danger was
      from confusion and scattering; and for infantry to pursue cavalry would be
      a novel enterprise. Captain Metcalf stood by me well in keeping the men
      steady, as did Assistant Surgeon Minor, and Lieutenant, now Captain,
      Jackson. How the men in the rear were behaving I could not tell,&mdash;not
      so coolly, I afterwards found, because they were more entirely bewildered,
      supposing, until the shots came, that the column had simply halted for a
      moment's rest, as had been done once or twice before. They did not know
      who or where their assailants might be, and the fall of the man beside me
      created a hasty rumor that I was killed, so that it was on the whole an
      alarming experience for them. They kept together very tolerably, however,
      while our assailants, dividing, rode along on each side through the open
      pine-barren, firing into our ranks, but mostly over the heads of the men.
      My soldiers in turn fired rapidly,&mdash;too rapidly, being yet beginners,&mdash;and
      it was evident that, dim as it was, both sides had opportunity to do some
      execution.
    </p>
    <p>
      I could hardly tell whether the fight had lasted ten minutes or an hour,
      when, as the enemy's fire had evidently ceased or slackened, I gave the
      order to cease firing. But it was very difficult at first to make them
      desist: the taste of gunpowder was too intoxicating. One of them was heard
      to mutter, indignantly, "Why de Cunnel order <i>Cease firing</i>, when de
      Secesh blazin' away at de rate ob ten dollar a day?" Every incidental
      occurrence seemed somehow to engrave itself upon my perceptions, without
      interrupting the main course of thought. Thus I know, that, in one of the
      pauses of the affair, there came wailing through the woods a cracked
      female voice, as if calling back some stray husband who had run out to
      join in the affray, "John, John, are you going to leave me, John? Are you
      going to let me and the children be killed, John?" I suppose the poor
      thing's fears of gunpowder were very genuine; but it was such a wailing
      squeak, and so infinitely ludicrous, and John was probably ensconced so
      very safely in some hollow tree, that I could see some of the men showing
      all their white teeth in the very midst of the fight. But soon this sound,
      with all others, had ceased, and left us in peaceful possession of the
      field.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have made the more of this little affair because it was the first
      stand-up fight in which my men had been engaged, though they had been
      under fire, in an irregular way, in their small early expeditions. To me
      personally the event was of the greatest value: it had given us all an
      opportunity to test each other, and our abstract surmises were changed
      into positive knowledge. Hereafter it was of small importance what
      nonsense might be talked or written about colored troops; so long as mine
      did not flinch, it made no difference to me. My brave young officers,
      themselves mostly new to danger, viewed the matter much as I did; and yet
      we were under bonds of life and death to form a correct opinion, which was
      more than could be said of the Northern editors, and our verdict was
      proportionately of greater value.
    </p>
    <p>
      I was convinced from appearances that we had been victorious, so far,
      though I could not suppose that this would be the last of it. We knew
      neither the numbers of the enemy, nor their plans, nor their present
      condition: whether they had surprised us or whether we had surprised them
      was all a mystery. Corporal Sutton was urgent to go on and complete the
      enterprise. All my impulses said the same thing; but then I had the most
      explicit injunctions from General Saxton to risk as little as possible in
      this first enterprise, because of the fatal effect on public sentiment of
      even an honorable defeat. We had now an honorable victory, so far as it
      went; the officers and men around me were in good spirits, but the rest of
      the column might be nervous; and it seemed so important to make the first
      fight an entire success, that I thought it wiser to let well alone; nor
      have I ever changed this opinion. For one's self, Montrose's verse may be
      well applied, "To win or lose it all." But one has no right to deal thus
      lightly with the fortunes of a race, and that was the weight which I
      always felt as resting on our action. If my raw infantry force had stood
      unflinchingly a night-surprise from "de boss cavalry," as they
      reverentially termed them, I felt that a good beginning had been made. All
      hope of surprising the enemy's camp was now at an end; I was willing and
      ready to fight the cavalry over again, but it seemed wiser that we, not
      they, should select the ground.
    </p>
    <p>
      Attending to the wounded, therefore, and making as we best could
      stretchers for those who were to be carried, including the remains of the
      man killed at the first discharge (Private William Parsons of Company G),
      and others who seemed at the point of death, we marched through the woods
      to the landing,&mdash;expecting at every moment to be involved in another
      fight. This not occurring, I was more than ever satisfied that we had won
      a victory; for it was obvious that a mounted force would not allow a
      detachment of infantry to march two miles through open woods by night
      without renewing the fight, unless they themselves had suffered a good
      deal. On arrival at the landing, seeing that there was to be no immediate
      affray, I sent most of the men on board, and called for volunteers to
      remain on shore with me and hold the plantation-house till morning. They
      eagerly offered; and I was glad to see them, when posted as sentinels by
      Lieutenants Hyde and Jackson, who stayed with me, pace their beats as
      steadily and challenge as coolly as veterans, though of course there was
      some powder wasted on imaginary foes. Greatly to my surprise, however, we
      had no other enemies to encounter. We did not yet know that we had killed
      the first lieutenant of the cavalry, and that our opponents had retreated
      to the woods in dismay, without daring to return to their camp. This at
      least was the account we heard from prisoners afterwards, and was
      evidently the tale current in the neighborhood, though the statements
      published in Southern newspapers did not correspond. Admitting the death
      of Lieutenant Jones, the Tallahassee Floridian of February 14th stated
      that "Captain Clark, finding the enemy in strong force, fell back with his
      command to camp, and removed his ordnance and commissary and other stores,
      with twelve negroes on their way to the enemy, captured on that day."
    </p>
    <p>
      In the morning, my invaluable surgeon, Dr. Rogers, sent me his report of
      killed and wounded; and I have been since permitted to make the following
      extracts from his notes: "One man killed instantly by ball through the
      heart, and seven wounded, one of whom will die. Braver men never lived.
      One man with two bullet-holes through the large muscles of the shoulders
      and neck brought off from the scene of action, two miles distant, two
      muskets; and not a murmur has escaped his lips. Another, Robert Sutton,
      with three wounds,&mdash;one of which, being on the skull, may cost him
      his life,&mdash;would not report himself till compelled to do so by his
      officers. While dressing his wounds, he quietly talked of what they had
      done, and of what they yet could do. To-day I have had the Colonel <i>order</i>
      him to obey me. He is perfectly quiet and cool, but takes this whole
      affair with the religious bearing of a man who realizes that freedom is
      sweeter than life. Yet another soldier did not report himself at all, but
      remained all night on guard, and possibly I should not have known of his
      having had a buck-shot in his shoulder, if some duty requiring a sound
      shoulder had not been required of him to-day." This last, it may be added,
      had persuaded a comrade to dig out the buck-shot, for fear of being
      ordered on the sick-list. And one of those who were carried to the vessel&mdash;a
      man wounded through the lungs&mdash;asked only if I were safe, the
      contrary having been reported. An officer may be pardoned some enthusiasm
      for such men as these.
    </p>
    <p>
      The anxious night having passed away without an attack, another problem
      opened with the morning. For the first time, my officers and men found
      themselves in possession of an enemy's abode; and though there was but
      little temptation to plunder, I knew that I must here begin to draw the
      line. I had long since resolved to prohibit absolutely all indiscriminate
      pilfering and wanton outrage, and to allow nothing to be taken or
      destroyed but by proper authority. The men, to my great satisfaction,
      entered into this view at once, and so did (perhaps a shade less readily,
      in some cases) the officers. The greatest trouble was with the steamboat
      hands, and I resolved to let them go ashore as little as possible. Most
      articles of furniture were already, however, before our visit, gone from
      the plantation-house, which was now used only as a picket-station. The
      only valuable article was a pianoforte, for which a regular packing-box
      lay invitingly ready outside. I had made up my mind, in accordance with
      the orders given to naval commanders in that department,* to burn all
      picket-stations, and all villages from which I should be covertly
      attacked, and nothing else; and as this house was destined to the flames,
      I should have left the piano in it, but for the seductions of that box.
      With such a receptacle all ready, even to the cover, it would have seemed
      like flying in the face of Providence not to put the piano in. I ordered
      it removed, therefore, and afterwards presented it to the school for
      colored children at Fernandina. This I mention because it was the only
      article of property I ever took, or knowingly suffered to be taken, in the
      enemy's country, save for legitimate military uses, from first to last;
      nor would I have taken this, but for the thought of the school, and, as
      aforesaid, the temptation of the box. If any other officer has been more
      rigid, with equal opportunities, let him cast the first stone.
    </p>
    <p>
      * "It is my desire to avoid the destruction of private property, unless
      used for picket or guard-stations, or for other military purposes, by the
      enemy.... Of course, if fired upon from any place, it is your duty, if
      possible, to destroy it." Letter of ADMIRAL DUPONT, commanding South
      Atlantic Squadron, to LIEUTENANT-COMMANDER HUGHES of United States Gunboat
      Mohawk, Fernandina Harbor.
    </p>
    <p>
      I think the zest with which the men finally set fire to the house at my
      order was enhanced by this previous abstemiousness; but there is a fearful
      fascination in the use of fire, which every child knows in the abstract,
      and which I found to hold true in the practice. On our way down river we
      had opportunity to test this again.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ruined town of St. Mary's had at that time a bad reputation, among
      both naval and military men. Lying but a short distance above Fernandina,
      on the Georgia side, it was occasionally visited by our gunboats. I was
      informed that the only residents of the town were three old women, who
      were apparently kept there as spies,&mdash;that, on our approach, the aged
      crones would come out and wave white handkerchiefs,&mdash;that they would
      receive us hospitably, profess to be profoundly loyal, and exhibit a
      portrait of Washington,&mdash;that they would solemnly assure us that no
      Rebel pickets had been there for many weeks,&mdash;but that in the
      adjoining yard we should find fresh horse-tracks, and that we should be
      fired upon by guerillas the moment we left the wharf. My officers had been
      much excited by these tales; and I had assured them that, if this
      programme were literally carried out, we would straightway return and burn
      the town, or what was left of it, for our share. It was essential to show
      my officers and men that, while rigid against irregular outrage, we could
      still be inexorable against the enemy.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had previously planned to stop at this town, on our way down river, for
      some valuable lumber which we had espied on a wharf; and gliding down the
      swift current, shelling a few bluffs as we passed, we soon reached it.
      Punctual as the figures in a panorama appeared the old ladies with their
      white handkerchiefs. Taking possession of the town, much of which had
      previously been destroyed by the gunboats, and stationing the color-guard,
      to their infinite delight, in the cupola of the most conspicuous house, I
      deployed skirmishers along the exposed suburb, and set a detail of men at
      work on the lumber. After a stately and decorous interview with the queens
      of society of St. Mary's,&mdash;is it Scott who says that nothing improves
      the manners like piracy?&mdash;I peacefully withdrew the men when the work
      was done. There were faces of disappointment among the officers,&mdash;for
      all felt a spirit of mischief after the last night's adventure,&mdash;when,
      just as we had fairly swung out into the stream and were under way, there
      came, like the sudden burst of a tropical tornado, a regular little
      hail-storm of bullets into the open end of the boat, driving every gunner
      in an instant from his post, and surprising even those who were looking to
      be surprised. The shock was but for a second; and though the bullets had
      pattered precisely like the sound of hail upon the iron cannon, yet nobody
      was hurt. With very respectable promptness, order was restored, our own
      shells were flying into the woods from which the attack proceeded, and we
      were steaming up to the wharf again, according to promise.
    </p>
    <p>
      Who shall describe the theatrical attitudes assumed by the old ladies as
      they reappeared at the front-door,&mdash;being luckily out of direct
      range,&mdash;and set the handkerchiefs in wilder motion than ever? They
      brandished them, they twirled them after the manner of the domestic mop,
      they clasped their hands, handkerchiefs included. Meanwhile their friends
      in the wood popped away steadily at us, with small effect; and
      occasionally an invisible field-piece thundered feebly from another
      quarter, with equally invisible results. Reaching the wharf, one company,
      under Lieutenant (now Captain) Danil-son, was promptly deployed in search
      of our assailants, who soon grew silent. Not so the old ladies, when I
      announced to them my purpose, and added, with extreme regret, that, as the
      wind was high, I should burn only that half of the town which lay to
      leeward of their house, which did not, after all, amount to much. Between
      gratitude for this degree of mercy, and imploring appeals for greater, the
      treacherous old ladies manoeuvred with clasped hands and demonstrative
      handkerchiefs around me, impairing the effect of their eloquence by
      constantly addressing me as "Mr. Captain"; for I have observed, that,
      while the sternest officer is greatly propitiated by attributing to him a
      rank a little higher than his own, yet no one is ever mollified by an
      error in the opposite direction. I tried, however, to disregard such low
      considerations, and to strike the correct mean between the sublime patriot
      and the unsanctified incendiary, while I could find no refuge from weak
      contrition save in greater and greater depths of courtesy; and so
      melodramatic became our interview that some of the soldiers still maintain
      that "dem dar ole Secesh women been a-gwine for kiss de Cunnel," before we
      ended. But of this monstrous accusation I wish to register an explicit
      denial, once for all.
    </p>
    <p>
      Dropping down to Fernandina unmolested after this affair, we were kindly
      received by the military and naval commanders,&mdash;Colonel Hawley, of
      the Seventh Connecticut (now Brigadier-General Hawley), and
      Lieutenant-Commander Hughes, of the gunboat Mohawk. It turned out very
      opportunely that both of these officers had special errands to suggest
      still farther up the St. Mary's, and precisely in the region where I
      wished to go. Colonel Hawley showed me a letter from the War Department,
      requesting him to ascertain the possibility of obtaining a supply of brick
      for Fort Clinch from the brickyard which had furnished the original
      materials, but which had not been visited since the perilous river-trip of
      the Ottawa. Lieutenant Hughes wished to obtain information for the Admiral
      respecting a Rebel steamer,&mdash;the Berosa,&mdash;said to be lying
      somewhere up the river, and awaiting her chance to run the blockade. I
      jumped at the opportunity. Berosa and brickyard,&mdash;both were near
      Wood-stock, the former home of Corporal Sutton; he was ready and eager to
      pilot us up the river; the moon would be just right that evening, setting
      at 3h. 19m. A.M.; and our boat was precisely the one to undertake the
      expedition. Its double-headed shape was just what was needed in that swift
      and crooked stream; the exposed pilot-houses had been tolerably barricaded
      with the thick planks from St. Simon's; and we further obtained some
      sand-bags from Fort Clinch, through the aid of Captain Sears, the officer
      in charge, who had originally suggested the expedition after brick. In
      return for this aid, the Planter was sent back to the wharf at St. Mary's,
      to bring away a considerable supply of the same precious article, which we
      had observed near the wharf. Meanwhile the John Adams was coaling from
      naval supplies, through the kindness of Lieutenant Hughes; and the Ben De
      Ford was taking in the lumber which we had yesterday brought down. It was
      a great disappointment to be unable to take the latter vessel up the
      river; but I was unwillingly convinced that, though the depth of water
      might be sufficient, yet her length would be unmanageable in the swift
      current and sharp turns. The Planter must also be sent on a separate
      cruise, as her weak and disabled machinery made her useless for my
      purpose. Two hundred men were therefore transferred, as before, to the
      narrow hold of the John Adams, in addition to the company permanently
      stationed on board to work the guns. At seven o'clock on the evening of
      January 29th, beneath a lovely moon, we steamed up the river.
    </p>
    <p>
      Never shall I forget the mystery and excitement of that night. I know
      nothing in life more fascinating than the nocturnal ascent of an unknown
      river, leading far into an enemy's country, where one glides in the dim
      moonlight between dark hills and meadows, each turn of the channel making
      it seem like an inland lake, and cutting you off as by a barrier from all
      behind,&mdash;with no sign of human life, but an occasional picket-fire
      left glimmering beneath the bank, or the yelp of a dog from some low-lying
      plantation. On such occasions every nerve is strained to its utmost
      tension; all dreams of romance appear to promise immediate fulfilment; all
      lights on board the vessel are obscured, loud voices are hushed; you fancy
      a thousand men on shore, and yet see nothing; the lonely river,
      unaccustomed to furrowing keels, lapses by the vessel with a treacherous
      sound; and all the senses are merged in a sort of anxious trance. Three
      tunes I have had in full perfection this fascinating experience; but that
      night was the first, and its zest was the keenest. It will come back to me
      in dreams, if I live a thousand years.
    </p>
    <p>
      I feared no attack during our ascent,&mdash;that danger was for our
      return; but I feared the intricate navigation of the river, though I did
      not fully know, till the actual experience, how dangerous it was. We
      passed without trouble far above the scene of our first fight,&mdash;the
      Battle of the Hundred Pines, as my officers had baptized it; and ever, as
      we ascended, the banks grew steeper, the current swifter, the channel more
      tortuous and more encumbered with projecting branches and drifting wood.
      No piloting less skilful than that of Corporal Sutton and his mate, James
      Bezzard, could have carried us through, I thought; and no side-wheel
      steamer less strong than a ferry-boat could have borne the crash and force
      with which we struck the wooded banks of the river. But the powerful
      paddles, built to break the Northern ice, could crush the Southern pine as
      well; and we came safely out of entanglements that at first seemed
      formidable. We had the tide with us, which makes steering far more
      difficult; and, in the sharp angles of the river, there was often no
      resource but to run the bow boldly on shore, let the stern swing round,
      and then reverse the motion. As the reversing machinery was generally out
      of order, the engineer stupid or frightened, and the captain excited, this
      involved moments of tolerably concentrated anxiety. Eight times we
      grounded in the upper waters, and once lay aground for half an hour; but
      at last we dropped anchor before the little town of Woodstock, after
      moonset and an hour before daybreak, just as I had planned, and so quietly
      that scarcely a dog barked, and not a soul in the town, as we afterwards
      found, knew of our arrival.
    </p>
    <p>
      As silently as possible, the great flat-boat which we had brought from St.
      Simon's was filled with men. Major Strong was sent on shore with two
      companies,&mdash;those of Captain James and Captain Metcalf,&mdash;with
      instructions to surround the town quietly, allow no one to leave it,
      molest no one, and hold as temporary prisoners every man whom he found. I
      watched them push off into the darkness, got the remaining force ready to
      land, and then paced the deck for an hour in silent watchfulness, waiting
      for rifle-shots. Not a sound came from the shore, save the barking of dogs
      and the morning crow of cocks; the time seemed interminable; but when
      daylight came, I landed, and found a pair of scarlet trousers pacing on
      their beat before every house in the village, and a small squad of
      prisoners, stunted and forlorn as Falstaff's ragged regiment, already hi
      hand. I observed with delight the good demeanor of my men towards these
      forlorn Anglo-Saxons, and towards the more tumultuous women. Even one
      soldier, who threatened to throw an old termagant into the river, took
      care to append the courteous epithet "Madam."
    </p>
    <p>
      I took a survey of the premises. The chief house, a pretty one with
      picturesque outbuildings, was that of Mrs. A., who owned the mills and
      lumber-wharves adjoining. The wealth of these wharves had not been
      exaggerated. There was lumber enough to freight half a dozen steamers, and
      I half regretted that I had agreed to take down a freight of bricks
      instead. Further researches made me grateful that I had already explained
      to my men the difference between public foraging and private plunder.
      Along the river-bank I found building after building crowded with costly
      furniture, all neatly packed, just as it was sent up from St. Mary's when
      that town was abandoned. Pianos were a drug; china, glass-ware, mahogany,
      pictures, all were here. And here were my men, who knew that their own
      labor had earned for their masters these luxuries, or such as these; their
      own wives and children were still sleeping on the floor, perhaps, at
      Beaufort or Fernandina; and yet they submitted, almost without a murmur,
      to the enforced abstinence. Bed and bedding for our hospitals they might
      take from those store-rooms,&mdash;such as the surgeon selected,&mdash;also
      an old flag which we found in a corner, and an old field-piece (which the
      regiment still possesses),&mdash;but after this the doors were closed and
      left unmolested. It cost a struggle to some of the men, whose wives were
      destitute, I know; but their pride was very easily touched, and when this
      abstinence was once recognized as a rule, they claimed it as an honor, in
      this and all succeeding expeditions. I flatter myself that, if they had
      once been set upon wholesale plundering, they would have done it as
      thoroughly as their betters; but I have always been infinitely grateful,
      both for the credit and for the discipline of the regiment,&mdash;as well
      as for the men's subsequent lives,&mdash;that the opposite method was
      adopted.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the morning was a little advanced, I called on Mrs. A., who received
      me in quite a stately way at her own door with "To what am I indebted for
      the honor of this visit, Sir?" The foreign name of the family, and the
      tropical look of the buildings, made it seem (as, indeed, did all the rest
      of the adventure) like a chapter out of "Amyas Leigh"; but as I had
      happened to hear that the lady herself was a Philadelphian, and her
      deceased husband a New-Yorker, I could not feel even that modicum of
      reverence due to sincere Southerners. However, I wished to present my
      credentials; so, calling up my companion, I said that I believed she had
      been previously acquainted with Corporal Robert Sutton? I never saw a
      finer bit of unutterable indignation than came over the face of my
      hostess, as she slowly recognized him. She drew herself up, and dropped
      out the monosyllables of her answer as if they were so many drops of
      nitric acid. "Ah," quoth my lady, "we called him Bob!"
    </p>
    <p>
      It was a group for a painter. The whole drama of the war seemed to reverse
      itself in an instant, and my tall, well-dressed, imposing, philosophic
      Corporal dropped down the immeasurable depth into a mere plantation "Bob"
      again. So at least in my imagination; not to that person himself. Too
      essentially dignified in his nature to be moved by words where substantial
      realities were in question, he simply turned from the lady, touched his
      hat to me, and asked if I would wish to see the slave-jail, as he had the
      keys in his possession.
    </p>
    <p>
      If he fancied that I was in danger of being overcome by blandishments, and
      needed to be recalled to realities, it was a master-stroke.
    </p>
    <p>
      I must say that, when the door of that villanous edifice was thrown open
      before me, I felt glad that my main interview with its lady proprietor had
      passed before I saw it. It was a small building, like a Northern
      corn-barn, and seemed to have as prominent and as legitimate a place among
      the outbuildings of the establishment. In the middle of the door was a
      large staple with a rusty chain, like an ox-chain, for fastening a victim
      down. When the door had been opened after the death of the late
      proprietor, my informant said, a man was found padlocked in that chain. We
      found also three pairs of stocks of various construction, two of which had
      smaller as well as larger holes, evidently for the feet of women or
      children. In a building near by we found something far more complicated,
      which was perfectly unintelligible till the men explained all its parts: a
      machine so contrived that a person once imprisoned in it could neither
      sit, stand, nor lie, but must support the body half raised, in a position
      scarcely endurable. I have since bitterly reproached myself for leaving
      this piece of ingenuity behind; but it would have cost much labor to
      remove it, and to bring away the other trophies seemed then enough. I
      remember the unutterable loathing with which I leaned against the door of
      that prison-house; I had thought myself seasoned to any conceivable
      horrors of Slavery, but it seemed as if the visible presence of that den
      of sin would choke me. Of course it would have been burned to the ground
      by us, but that this would have involved the sacrifice of every other
      building and all the piles of lumber, and for the moment it seemed as if
      the sacrifice would be righteous. But I forbore, and only took as trophies
      the instruments of torture and the keys of the jail.
    </p>
    <p>
      We found but few colored people in this vicinity; some we brought away
      with us, and an old man and woman preferred to remain. All the white males
      whom we found I took as hostages, in order to shield us, if possible, from
      attack on our way down river, explaining to them that they would be put on
      shore when the dangerous points were passed. I knew that their wives could
      easily send notice of this fact to the Rebel forces along the river. My
      hostages were a forlorn-looking set of "crackers," far inferior to our
      soldiers in <i>physique</i>, and yet quite equal, the latter declared, to
      the average material of the Southern armies. None were in uniform, but
      this proved nothing as to their being soldiers. One of them, a mere boy,
      was captured at his own door, with gun in hand. It was a fowling-piece,
      which he used only, as his mother plaintively assured me, "to shoot little
      birds with." As the guileless youth had for this purpose loaded the gun
      with eighteen buck-shot, we thought it justifiable to confiscate both the
      weapon and the owner, in mercy to the birds.
    </p>
    <p>
      We took from this place, for the use of the army, a flock of some thirty
      sheep, forty bushels of rice, some other provisions, tools, oars, and a
      little lumber, leaving all possible space for the bricks which we expected
      to obtain just below. I should have gone farther up the river, but for a
      dangerous boom which kept back a great number of logs in a large brook
      that here fell into the St. Mary's; the stream ran with force, and if the
      Rebels had wit enough to do it, they might in ten minutes so choke the
      river with drift-wood as infinitely to enhance our troubles. So we dropped
      down stream a mile or two, found the very brickyard from which Fort Clinch
      had been constructed,&mdash;still stored with bricks, and seemingly
      unprotected. Here Sergeant Rivers again planted his standard, and the men
      toiled eagerly, for several hours, in loading our boat to the utmost with
      the bricks. Meanwhile we questioned black and white witnesses, and learned
      for the first tune that the Rebels admitted a repulse at Township Landing,
      and that Lieutenant Jones and ten of their number were killed,&mdash;though
      this I fancy to have been an exaggeration. They also declared that the
      mysterious steamer Berosa was lying at the head of the river, but was a
      broken-down and worthless affair, and would never get to sea. The result
      has since proved this; for the vessel subsequently ran the blockade and
      foundered near shore, the crew barely escaping with their lives. I had the
      pleasure, as it happened, of being the first person to forward this
      information to Admiral Dupont, when it came through the pickets, many
      months after,&mdash;thus concluding my report on the Berosa.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the work at the yard was over the pickets reported mounted men in
      the woods near by, as had previously been the report at Woodstock. This
      admonished us to lose no time; and as we left the wharf, immediate
      arrangements were made to have the gun crews all in readiness, and to keep
      the rest of the men below, since their musketry would be of little use
      now, and I did not propose to risk a life unnecessarily. The chief
      obstacle to this was their own eagerness; penned down on one side, they
      popped up on the other; their officers, too, were eager to see what was
      going on, and were almost as hard to cork down as the men. Add to this,
      that the vessel was now very crowded, and that I had to be chiefly on the
      hurricane-deck with the pilots. Captain Clifton, master of the vessel, was
      brave to excess, and as much excited as the men; he could no more be kept
      in the little pilot-house than they below; and when we had passed one or
      two bluffs, with no sign of an enemy, he grew more and more irrepressible,
      and exposed himself conspicuously on the upper deck. Perhaps we all were a
      little lulled by apparent safety; for myself, I lay down for a moment on a
      settee in a state-room, having been on my feet, almost without cessation,
      for twenty-four hours.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly there swept down from a bluff above us, on the Georgia side, a
      mingling of shout and roar and rattle as of a tornado let loose; and as a
      storm of bullets came pelting against the sides of the vessel, and through
      a window, there went up a shrill answering shout from our own men. It took
      but an instant for me to reach the gun-deck. After all my efforts the men
      had swarmed once more from below, and already, crowding at both ends of
      the boat, were loading and firing with inconceivable rapidity, shouting to
      each other, "Nebber gib it up!" and of course having no steady aim, as the
      vessel glided and whirled in the swift current. Meanwhile the officers in
      charge of the large guns had their crews in order, and our shells began to
      fly over the bluffs, which, as we now saw, should have been shelled in
      advance, only that we had to economize ammunition. The other soldiers I
      drove below, almost by main force, with the aid of their officers, who
      behaved exceedingly well, giving the men leave to fire from the open
      port-holes which lined the lower deck, almost at the water's level. In the
      very midst of the <i>melee</i> Major Strong came from the upper deck, with
      a face of horror, and whispered to me, "Captain Clifton was killed at the
      first shot by my side."
    </p>
    <p>
      If he had said that the vessel was on fire the shock would hardly have
      been greater. Of course, the military commander on board a steamer is
      almost as helpless as an unarmed man, so far as the risks of water go. A
      seaman must command there. In the hazardous voyage of last night, I had
      learned, though unjustly, to distrust every official on board the
      steamboat except this excitable, brave, warm-hearted sailor; and now,
      among these added dangers, to lose him! The responsibility for his life
      also thrilled me; he was not among my soldiers, and yet he was killed. I
      thought of his wife and children, of whom he had spoken; but one learns to
      think rapidly in war, and, cautioning the Major to silence, I went up to
      the hurricane-deck and drew in the helpless body, that it should be safe
      from further desecration, and then looked to see where we were.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were now gliding past a safe reach of marsh, while our assailants were
      riding by cross-paths to attack us at the next bluff. It was Reed's Bluff
      where we were first attacked, and Scrubby Bluff, I think, was next. They
      were shelled in advance, but swarmed manfully to the banks again as we
      swept round one of the sharp angles of the stream beneath their fire. My
      men were now pretty well imprisoned below in the hot and crowded hold, and
      actually fought each other, the officers afterwards said, for places at
      the open port-holes, from which to aim. Others implored to be landed,
      exclaiming that they "supposed de Cunnel knew best," but it was "mighty
      mean" to be shut up down below, when they might be "fightin' de Secesh <i>in
      de clar field</i>." This clear field, and no favor, was what they
      thenceforward sighed for. But in such difficult navigation it would have
      been madness to think of landing, although one daring Rebel actually
      sprang upon the large boat which we towed astern, where he was shot down
      by one of our sergeants. This boat was soon after swamped and abandoned,
      then taken and repaired by the Rebels at a later date, and finally, by a
      piece of dramatic completeness, was seized by a party of fugitive slaves,
      who escaped in it to our lines, and some of whom enlisted in my own
      regiment.
    </p>
    <p>
      It has always been rather a mystery to me why the Rebels did not fell a
      few trees across the stream at some of the many sharp angles where we
      might so easily have been thus imprisoned. This, however, they did not
      attempt, and with the skilful pilotage of our trusty Corporal,&mdash;philosophic
      as Socrates through all the din, and occasionally relieving his mind by
      taking a shot with his rifle through the high portholes of the
      pilot-house,&mdash;we glided safely on. The steamer did not ground once on
      the descent, and the mate in command, Mr. Smith, did his duty very well.
      The plank sheathing of the pilot-house was penetrated by few bullets,
      though struck by so many outside that it was visited as a curiosity after
      our return; and even among the gun-crews, though they had no protection,
      not a man was hurt. As we approached some wooded bluff, usually on the
      Georgia side, we could see galloping along the hillside what seemed a
      regiment of mounted riflemen, and could see our shell scatter them ere we
      approached. Shelling did not, however, prevent a rather fierce fusilade
      from our old friends of Captain dark's company at Waterman's Bluff, near
      Township Landing; but even this did no serious damage, and this was the
      last.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was of course impossible, while thus running the gauntlet, to put our
      hostages ashore, and I could only explain to them that they must thank
      their own friends for their inevitable detention. I was by no means proud
      of their forlorn appearance, and besought Colonel Hawley to take them off
      my hands; but he was sending no flags of truce at that time, and liked
      their looks no better than I did. So I took them to Port Royal, where they
      were afterwards sent safely across the lines. Our men were pleased at
      taking them back with us, as they had already said, regretfully, "S'pose
      we leave dem Secesh at Fernandina, General Saxby won't see 'em,"&mdash;as
      if they were some new natural curiosity, which indeed they were. One
      soldier further suggested the expediency of keeping them permanently in
      camp, to be used as marks for the guns of the relieved guard every
      morning. But this was rather an ebullition of fancy than a sober
      proposition.
    </p>
    <p>
      Against these levities I must put a piece of more tragic eloquence, which
      I took down by night on the steamer's deck from the thrilling harangue of
      Corporal Adam Allston, one of our most gifted prophets, whose influence
      over the men was unbounded. "When I heard," he said, "de bombshell
      a-screamin' troo de woods like de Judgment Day, I said to myself, 'If my
      head was took off to-night, dey couldn't put my soul in de torments,
      perceps [except] God was my enemy!' And when de rifle-bullets came
      whizzin' across de deck, I cried aloud, 'God help my congregation! Boys,
      load and fire!'"
    </p>
    <p>
      I must pass briefly over the few remaining days of our cruise. At
      Fernandina we met the Planter, which had been successful on her separate
      expedition, and had destroyed extensive salt-works at Crooked River, under
      charge of the energetic Captain Trowbridge, efficiently aided by Captain
      Rogers. Our commodities being in part delivered at Fernandina, our decks
      being full, coal nearly out, and time up, we called once more at St.
      Simon's Sound, bringing away the remainder of our railroad-iron, with some
      which the naval officers had previously disinterred, and then steamed back
      to Beaufort. Arriving there at sunrise (February 2, 1863), I made my way
      with Dr. Rogers to General Saxton's bedroom, and laid before him the keys
      and shackles of the slave-prison, with my report of the good conduct of
      the men,&mdash;as Dr. Rogers remarked, a message from heaven and another
      from hell.
    </p>
    <p>
      Slight as this expedition now seems among the vast events of the war, the
      future student of the newspapers of that day will find that it occupied no
      little space in their columns, so intense was the interest which then
      attached to the novel experiment of employing black troops. So obvious,
      too, was the value, during this raid, of their local knowledge and their
      enthusiasm, that it was impossible not to find in its successes new
      suggestions for the war. Certainly I would not have consented to repeat
      the enterprise with the bravest white troops, leaving Corporal Sutton and
      his mates behind, for I should have expected to fail. For a year after our
      raid the Upper St. Mary's remained unvisited, till in 1864 the large force
      with which we held Florida secured peace upon its banks; then Mrs. A. took
      the oath of allegiance, the Government bought her remaining lumber, and
      the John Adams again ascended with a detachment of my men under Lieutenant
      Parker, and brought a portion of it to Fernandina. By a strange turn of
      fortune, Corporal Sutton (now Sergeant) was at this time in jail at Hilton
      Head, under sentence of court-martial for an alleged act of mutiny,&mdash;an
      affair in which the general voice of our officers sustained him and
      condemned his accusers, so that he soon received a full pardon, and was
      restored in honor to his place in the regiment, which he has ever since
      held.
    </p>
    <p>
      Nothing can ever exaggerate the fascinations of war, whether on the
      largest or smallest scale. When we settled down into camp-life again, it
      seemed like a butterfly's folding its wings to re-enter the chrysalis.
      None of us could listen to the crack of a gun without recalling instantly
      the sharp shots that spilled down from the bluffs of the St. Mary's, or
      hear a sudden trampling of horsemen by night without recalling the sounds
      which startled us on the Field of the Hundred Pines. The memory of our
      raid was preserved in the camp by many legends of adventure, growing
      vaster and more incredible as time wore on,&mdash;and by the morning
      appeals to the surgeon of some veteran invalids, who could now cut off all
      reproofs and suspicions with "Doctor, I's been a sickly pusson eber since
      de <i>expeditious</i>." But to me the most vivid remembrancer was the
      flock of sheep which we had "lifted." The Post Quartermaster discreetly
      gave us the charge of them, and they rilled a gap in the landscape and in
      the larder,&mdash;which last had before presented one unvaried round of
      impenetrable beef. Mr. Obabiah Oldbuck, when he decided to adopt a
      pastoral life, and assumed the provisional name of Thyrsis, never looked
      upon his flocks and herds with more unalloyed contentment than I upon that
      fleecy family. I had been familiar, in Kansas, with the metaphor by which
      the sentiments of an owner were credited to his property, and had heard of
      a proslavery colt and an antislavery cow. The fact that these sheep were
      but recently converted from "Se-cesh" sentiments was their crowning charm.
      Methought they frisked and fattened in the joy of their deliverance from
      the shadow of Mrs. A.'s slave-jail, and gladly contemplated translation
      into mutton-broth for sick or wounded soldiers. The very slaves who once,
      perchance, were sold at auction with yon aged patriarch of the flock, had
      now asserted their humanity, and would devour him as hospital rations.
      Meanwhile our shepherd bore a sharp bayonet without a crook, and I felt
      myself a peer of Ulysses and Rob Roy,&mdash;those sheep-stealers of less
      elevated aims,&mdash;when I met in my daily rides these wandering trophies
      of our wider wanderings.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 4. Up the St. John's
    </h2>
    <p>
      There was not much stirring in the Department of the South early in 1863,
      and the St. Mary's expedition had afforded a new sensation. Of course the
      few officers of colored troops, and a larger number who wished to become
      such, were urgent for further experiments in the same line; and the
      Florida tax-commissioners were urgent likewise. I well remember the
      morning when, after some preliminary correspondence, I steamed down from
      Beaufort, S. C., to Hilton Head, with General Saxton, Judge S., and one or
      two others, to have an interview on the matter with Major-General Hunter,
      then commanding the Department.
    </p>
    <p>
      Hilton Head, in those days, seemed always like some foreign military
      station in the tropics. The long, low, white buildings, with piazzas and
      verandas on the water-side; the general impression of heat and lassitude,
      existence appearing to pulsate only with the sea-breeze; the sandy, almost
      impassable streets; and the firm, level beach, on which everybody walked
      who could get there: all these suggested Jamaica or the East Indies. Then
      the head-quarters at the end of the beach, the Zouave sentinels, the
      successive anterooms, the lounging aids, the good-natured and easy
      General,&mdash;easy by habit and energetic by impulse,&mdash;all had a
      certain air of Southern languor, rather picturesque, but perhaps not
      altogether bracing. General Hunter received us, that day, with his usual
      kindliness; there was a good deal of pleasant chat; Miles O'Reilly was
      called in to read his latest verses; and then we came to the matter in
      hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jacksonville, on the St. John's River, in Florida, had been already twice
      taken and twice evacuated; having been occupied by Brigadier-General
      Wright, in March, 1862, and by Brigadier-General Brannan, in October of
      the same year. The second evacuation was by Major-General Hunter's own
      order, on the avowed ground that a garrison of five thousand was needed to
      hold the place, and that this force could not be spared. The present
      proposition was to take and hold it with a brigade of less than a thousand
      men, carrying, however, arms and uniforms for twice that number, and a
      month's rations. The claim was, that there were fewer rebel troops in the
      Department than formerly, and that the St. Mary's expedition had shown the
      advantage possessed by colored troops, in local knowledge, and in the
      confidence of the loyal blacks. It was also urged, that it was worth while
      to risk something, in the effort to hold Florida, and perhaps bring it
      back into the Union.
    </p>
    <p>
      My chief aim in the negotiation was to get the men into action, and that
      of the Florida Commissioners to get them into Florida. Thus far
      coinciding, we could heartily co-operate; and though General Hunter made
      some reasonable objections, they were yielded more readily than I had
      feared; and finally, before half our logical ammunition was exhausted, the
      desired permission was given, and the thing might be considered as done.
    </p>
    <p>
      We were now to leave, as we supposed forever, the camp which had thus far
      been our home. Our vast amount of surplus baggage made a heavy job in the
      loading, inasmuch as we had no wharf, and everything had to be put on
      board by means of flat-boats. It was completed by twenty-four hours of
      steady work; and after some of the usual uncomfortable delays which wait
      on military expeditions, we were at last afloat.
    </p>
    <p>
      I had tried to keep the plan as secret as possible, and had requested to
      have no definite orders, until we should be on board ship. But this larger
      expedition was less within my own hands than was the St. Mary's affair,
      and the great reliance for concealment was on certain counter reports,
      ingeniously set afloat by some of the Florida men. These reports rapidly
      swelled into the most enormous tales, and by the time they reached the New
      York newspapers, the expedition was "a great volcano about bursting, whose
      lava will burn, flow, and destroy," "the sudden appearance in arms of no
      less than five thousand negroes," "a liberating host," "not the phantom,
      but the reality, of servile insurrection." What the undertaking actually
      was may be best seen in the instructions which guided it.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * HEAD-QUARTERS, BEAUFORT, S. C.,
    </p>
    <p>
      March 5, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      COLONEL,&mdash;You will please proceed with your command, the First and
      Second Regiments South Carolina Volunteers, which are now embarked upon
      the steamers John Adams, Boston, and Burn-side, to Fernandina, Florida.
    </p>
    <p>
      Relying upon your military skill and judgment. I shall give you no special
      directions as to your procedure after you leave Fernandina. I expect,
      however, that you will occupy Jacksonville, Florida, and intrench
      yourselves there.
    </p>
    <p>
      The main objects of your expedition are to carry the proclamation of
      freedom to the enslaved; to call all loyal men into the service of the
      United States; to occupy as much of the State of Florida as possible with
      the forces under your command; and to neglect no means consistent with the
      usages of civilized warfare to weaken, harass, and annoy those who are in
      rebellion against the Government of the United States.
    </p>
    <p>
      Trusting that the blessing of our Heavenly Father will rest upon your
      noble enterprise,
    </p>
    <p>
      I am yours, sincerely,
    </p>
    <p>
      R. SAXTON,
    </p>
    <p>
      Brig.-Gen., Mil. Gov. Dept. of the South. Colonel Higginson, Comdg.
      Expeditionary Corps.
    </p>
    <p>
      In due time, after touching at Fernandina, we reached the difficult bar of
      the St. John's, and were piloted safely over. Admiral Dupont had furnished
      a courteous letter of introduction.* and we were cordially received by
      Commander Duncan of the Norwich, and Lieutenant Watson, commanding the
      Uncas. Like all officers on blockade duty, they were impatient of their
      enforced inaction, and gladly seized the opportunity for a different
      service. It was some time since they had ascended as high as Jacksonville,
      for their orders were strict, one vessel's coal was low, the other was in
      infirm condition, and there were rumors of cotton-clads and torpedoes. But
      they gladly agreed to escort us up the river, so soon as our own armed
      gunboat, the John Adams, should arrive,&mdash;she being unaccountably
      delayed.
    </p>
    <p>
      FLAG SHIP WABASH,
    </p>
    <p>
      PORT ROYAL HARBOR, S. C., March 6, 1863. SIR,&mdash;I am informed by
      Major-General Hunter that he is sending Colonel Higginson on an important
      mission in the southerly part of his Department.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have not been made acquainted with the objects of this mission, but any
      assistance that you can offer Colonel Higginson, which will not interfere
      with your other duties, you are authorized to give.
    </p>
    <p>
      Respectfully your obedient servant,
    </p>
    <p>
      S. F. DUPONT, Rear-Adm. Comdg. S. Atl. Block. Squad.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the Senior Officer at the different Blockading Stations on the Coast of
      Georgia and Florida.
    </p>
    <p>
      We waited twenty-four hours for her, at the sultry mouth of that glassy
      river, watching the great pelicans which floated lazily on its tide, or
      sometimes shooting one, to admire the great pouch, into which one of the
      soldiers could insert his foot, as into a boot. "He hold one quart," said
      the admiring experimentalist. "Hi! boy," retorted another quickly, "neber
      you bring dat quart measure in <i>my</i> peck o' corn." The protest came
      very promptly, and was certainly fair; for the strange receptacle would
      have held nearly a gallon.
    </p>
    <p>
      We went on shore, too, and were shown a rather pathetic little garden,
      which the naval officers had laid out, indulging a dream of vegetables.
      They lingered over the little microscopic sprouts, pointing them out
      tenderly, as if they were cradled babies. I have often noticed this
      touching weakness, in gentlemen of that profession, on lonely stations.
    </p>
    <p>
      We wandered among the bluffs, too, in the little deserted hamlet called
      "Pilot Town." The ever-shifting sand had in some cases almost buried the
      small houses, and had swept around others a circular drift, at a few
      yards' distance, overtopping then: eaves, and leaving each the untouched
      citadel of this natural redoubt. There was also a dismantled lighthouse,
      an object which always seems the most dreary symbol of the barbarism of
      war, when one considers the national beneficence which reared and kindled
      it. Despite the service rendered by this once brilliant light, there were
      many wrecks which had been strown upon the beach, victims of the most
      formidable of the Southern river-bars. As I stood with my foot on the
      half-buried ribs of one of these vessels,&mdash;so distinctly traced that
      one might almost fancy them human,&mdash;the old pilot, my companion, told
      me the story of the wreck. The vessel had formerly been in the Cuba trade;
      and her owner, an American merchant residing in Havana, had christened her
      for his young daughter. I asked the name, and was startled to recognize
      that of a favorite young cousin of mine, besides the bones of whose
      representative I was thus strangely standing, upon this lonely shore.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was well to have something to relieve the anxiety naturally felt at the
      delay of the John Adams,&mdash;anxiety both for her safety and for the
      success of our enterprise, The Rebels had repeatedly threatened to burn
      the whole of Jacksonville, in case of another attack, as they had
      previously burned its mills and its great hotel. It seemed as if the news
      of our arrival must surely have travelled thirty miles by this time. All
      day we watched every smoke that rose among the wooded hills, and consulted
      the compass and the map, to see if that sign announced the doom of our
      expected home. At the very last moment of the tide, just in time to cross
      the bar that day, the missing vessel arrived; all anxieties vanished; I
      transferred my quarters on board, and at two the next morning we steamed
      up the river.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again there was the dreamy delight of ascending an unknown stream, beneath
      a sinking moon, into a region where peril made fascination. Since the time
      of the first explorers, I suppose that those Southern waters have known no
      sensations so dreamy and so bewitching as those which this war has brought
      forth. I recall, in this case, the faintest sensations of our voyage, as
      Ponce de Leon may have recalled those of his wandering search, in the same
      soft zone, for the secret of the mystic fountain. I remember how, during
      that night, I looked for the first time through a powerful night-glass. It
      had always seemed a thing wholly inconceivable, that a mere lens could
      change darkness into light; and as I turned the instrument on the
      preceding gunboat, and actually discerned the man at the wheel and the
      others standing about him,&mdash;all relapsing into vague gloom again at
      the withdrawal of the glass,&mdash;it gave a feeling of childish delight.
      Yet it seemed only in keeping with the whole enchantment of the scene; and
      had I been some Aladdin, convoyed by genii or giants, I could hardly have
      felt more wholly a denizen of some world of romance.
    </p>
    <p>
      But the river was of difficult navigation; and we began to feel sometimes,
      beneath the keel, that ominous, sliding, grating, treacherous arrest of
      motion which makes the heart shudder, as the vessel does. There was some
      solicitude about torpedoes, also,&mdash;a peril which became a formidable
      thing, one year later, in the very channel where we found none. Soon one
      of our consorts grounded, then another, every vessel taking its turn, I
      believe, and then in turn getting off, until the Norwich lay hopelessly
      stranded, for that tide at least, a few miles below Jacksonville, and out
      of sight of the city, so that she could not even add to our dignity by her
      visible presence from afar.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was rather a serious matter, as the Norwich was our main naval
      reliance, the Uncas being a small steamer of less than two hundred tons,
      and in such poor condition that Commander Duncan, on finding himself
      aground, at first quite declined to trust his consort any farther alone.
      But, having got thus far, it was plainly my duty to risk the remainder
      with or without naval assistance; and this being so, the courageous
      officer did not long object, but allowed his dashing subordinate to steam
      up with us to the city. This left us one naval and one army gunboat; and,
      fortunately, the Burn-side, being a black propeller, always passed for an
      armed vessel among the Rebels, and we rather encouraged that pleasing
      illusion.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had aimed to reach Jacksonville at daybreak; but these mishaps delayed
      us, and we had several hours of fresh, early sunshine, lighting up the
      green shores of that lovely river, wooded to the water's edge, with
      sometimes an emerald meadow, opening a vista to some picturesque house,&mdash;all
      utterly unlike anything we had yet seen in the South, and suggesting
      rather the Penobscot or Kennebec. Here and there we glided by the ruins of
      some saw-mill burned by the Rebels on General Wright's approach; but
      nothing else spoke of war, except, perhaps, the silence. It was a
      delicious day, and a scene of fascination. Our Florida men were wild with
      delight; and when we rounded the point below the city, and saw from afar
      its long streets, its brick warehouses, its white cottages, and its
      overshadowing trees,&mdash;all peaceful and undisturbed by flames,&mdash;it
      seemed, in the men's favorite phrase, "too much good," and all discipline
      was merged, for the moment, in a buzz of ecstasy.
    </p>
    <p>
      The city was still there for us, at any rate; though none knew what perils
      might be concealed behind those quiet buildings. Yet there were children
      playing on the wharves; careless men, here and there, lounged down to look
      at us, hands in pockets; a few women came to their doors, and gazed
      listlessly upon us, shading their eyes with their hands. We drew momently
      nearer, in silence and with breathless attention. The gunners were at
      their posts, and the men in line. It was eight o'clock. We were now
      directly opposite the town: yet no sign of danger was seen; not a
      rifle-shot was heard; not a shell rose hissing in the air. The Uncas
      rounded to, and dropped anchor in the stream; by previous agreement, I
      steamed to an upper pier of the town, Colonel Montgomery to a lower one;
      the little boat-howitzers were run out upon the wharves, and presently to
      the angles of the chief streets; and the pretty town was our own without a
      shot. In spite of our detention, the surprise had been complete, and not a
      soul in Jacksonville had dreamed of our coming.
    </p>
    <p>
      The day passed quickly, in eager preparations for defence; the people
      could or would give us no definite information about the Rebel camp, which
      was, however, known to be near, and our force did not permit our going out
      to surprise it. The night following was the most anxious I ever spent. We
      were all tired out; the companies were under arms, in various parts of the
      town, to be ready for an attack at any moment. My temporary quarters were
      beneath the loveliest grove of linden-trees, and as I reclined,
      half-dozing, the mocking-birds sang all night like nightingales,&mdash;their
      notes seeming to trickle down through the sweet air from amid the
      blossoming boughs. Day brought relief and the sense of due possession, and
      we could see what we had won.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jacksonville was now a United States post again: the only post on the
      main-land in the Department of the South. Before the war it had three or
      four thousand inhabitants, and a rapidly growing lumber-trade, for which
      abundant facilities were evidently provided. The wharves were capacious,
      and the blocks of brick warehouses along the lower street were utterly
      unlike anything we had yet seen in that region, as were the neatness and
      thrift everywhere visible. It had been built up by Northern enterprise,
      and much of the property was owned by loyal men. It had been a great
      resort for invalids, though the Rebels had burned the large hotel which
      once accommodated them. Mills had also been burned; but the
      dwelling-houses were almost all in good condition. The quarters for the
      men were admirable; and I took official possession of the handsome brick
      house of Colonel Sunder-land, the established head-quarters through every
      occupation, whose accommodating flag-staff had literally and repeatedly
      changed its colors. The seceded Colonel, reputed author of the State
      ordinance of Secession, was a New-Yorker by birth, and we found his
      law-card, issued when in practice in Easton, Washington County, New York.
      He certainly had good taste in planning the inside of a house, though time
      had impaired its condition. There was a neat office with ample bookcases
      and no books, a billiard-table with no balls, gas-fixtures without gas,
      and a bathing-room without water. There was a separate building for
      servants' quarters, and a kitchen with every convenience, even to a few
      jars of lingering pickles. On the whole, there was an air of substance and
      comfort about the town, quite alien from the picturesque decadence of
      Beaufort.
    </p>
    <p>
      The town rose gradually from the river, and was bounded on the rear by a
      long, sluggish creek, beyond which lay a stretch of woods, affording an
      excellent covert for the enemy, but without great facilities for attack,
      as there were but two or three fords and bridges. This brook could easily
      be held against a small force, but could at any time and at almost any
      point be readily crossed by a large one. North of the town the land rose a
      little, between the river and the sources of the brook, and then sank to a
      plain, which had been partially cleared by a previous garrison. For so
      small a force as ours, however, this clearing must be extended nearer to
      the town; otherwise our lines would be too long for our numbers.
    </p>
    <p>
      This deficiency in numbers at once became a source of serious anxiety.
      While planning the expedition, it had seemed so important to get the men a
      foothold in Florida that I was willing to risk everything for it. But this
      important post once in our possession, it began to show some analogies to
      the proverbial elephant in the lottery. To hold it permanently with nine
      hundred men was not, perhaps, impossible, with the aid of a gunboat (I had
      left many of my own regiment sick and on duty in Beaufort, and Colonel
      Montgomery had as yet less than one hundred and fifty); but to hold it,
      and also to make forays up the river, certainly required a larger number.
      We came in part to recruit, but had found scarcely an able-bodied negro in
      the city; all had been removed farther up, and we must certainly contrive
      to follow them. I was very unwilling to have, as yet, any white troops
      under my command, with the blacks. Finally, however, being informed by
      Judge S. of a conversation with Colonel Hawley, commanding at Fernandina,
      in which the latter had offered to send four companies and a light battery
      to swell our force,&mdash;in view of the aid given to his position by this
      more advanced post, I decided to authorize the energetic Judge to go back
      to Fernandina and renew the negotiation, as the John Adams must go thither
      at any rate for coal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile all definite display of our force was avoided; dress-parades
      were omitted; the companies were so distributed as to tell for the utmost;
      and judicious use was made, here and there, of empty tents. The gunboats
      and transports moved impressively up and down the river, from time to
      time. The disposition of pickets was varied each night to perplex the
      enemy, and some advantage taken of his distrust, which might be assumed as
      equalling our own. The citizens were duly impressed by our supply of
      ammunition, which was really enormous, and all these things soon took
      effect. A loyal woman, who came into town, said that the Rebel scouts,
      stopping at her house, reported that there were "sixteen hundred negroes
      all over the woods, and the town full of them besides." "It was of no use
      to go in. General Finnegan had driven them into a bad place once, and
      should not do it again." "They had lost their captain and their best
      surgeon in the first skirmish, and if the Savannah people wanted the
      negroes driven away, they might come and do it themselves." Unfortunately,
      we knew that they could easily come from Savannah at any time, as there
      was railroad communication nearly all the way; and every time we heard the
      steam-whistle, the men were convinced of their arrival. Thus we never
      could approach to any certainty as to their numbers, while they could
      observe, from the bluffs, every steamboat that ascended the river.
    </p>
    <p>
      To render our weak force still more available, we barricaded the
      approaches to the chief streets by constructing barriers or felling trees.
      It went to my heart to sacrifice, for this purpose, several of my
      beautiful lindens; but it was no time for aesthetics. As the giants lay on
      the ground, still scenting the air with their abundant bloom, I used to
      rein up my horse and watch the children playing hide-and-seek amongst
      their branches, or some quiet cow grazing at the foliage. Nothing
      impresses the mind in war like some occasional object or association that
      belongs apparently to peace alone.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among all these solicitudes, it was a great thing that one particular
      anxiety vanished in a day. On the former expedition the men were upon
      trial as to their courage; now they were to endure another test, as to
      their demeanor as victors. Here were five hundred citizens, nearly all
      white, at the mercy of their former slaves. To some of these whites it was
      the last crowning humiliation, and they were, or professed to be, in
      perpetual fear. On the other hand, the most intelligent and lady-like
      woman I saw, the wife of a Rebel captain, rather surprised me by saying
      that it seemed pleasanter to have these men stationed there, whom they had
      known all their lives, and who had generally borne a good character, than
      to be in the power of entire strangers. Certainly the men deserved the
      confidence, for there was scarcely an exception to their good behavior. I
      think they thoroughly felt that their honor and dignity were concerned in
      the matter, and took too much pride in their character as soldiers,&mdash;to
      say nothing of higher motives,&mdash;to tarnish it by any misdeeds. They
      watched their officers vigilantly and even suspiciously, to detect any
      disposition towards compromise; and so long as we pursued a just course it
      was evident that they could be relied on. Yet the spot was pointed out to
      me where two of our leading men had seen their brothers hanged by Lynch
      law; many of them had private wrongs to avenge; and they all had utter
      disbelief in all pretended loyalty, especially on the part of the women.
    </p>
    <p>
      One citizen alone was brought to me in a sort of escort of honor by
      Corporal Prince Lambkin,&mdash;one of the color-guard, and one of our
      ablest men,&mdash;the same who had once made a speech in camp, reminding
      his hearers that they had lived under the American flag for eighteen
      hundred and sixty-two years, and ought to live and die under it. Corporal
      Lambkin now introduced his man, a German, with the highest compliment in
      his power, "He hab true colored-man heart." Surrounded by mean, cajoling,
      insinuating white men and women who were all that and worse, I was quite
      ready to appreciate the quality he thus proclaimed. A colored-man heart,
      in the Rebel States, is a fair synonyme for a loyal heart, and it is about
      the only such synonyme. In this case, I found afterwards that the man in
      question, a small grocer, had been an object of suspicion to the whites
      from his readiness to lend money to the negroes, or sell to them on
      credit; in which, perhaps, there may have been some mixture of
      self-interest with benevolence.
    </p>
    <p>
      I resort to a note-book of that period, well thumbed and pocket-worn,
      which sometimes received a fragment of the day's experience.
    </p>
    <p>
      "March 16, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course, droll things are constantly occurring. Every white man, woman,
      and child is flattering, seductive, and professes Union sentiment; every
      black ditto believes that every white ditto is a scoundrel, and ought to
      be shot, but for good order and military discipline. The Provost Marshal
      and I steer between them as blandly as we can. Such scenes as succeed each
      other! Rush of indignant Africans. A white man, in woman's clothes, has
      been seen to enter a certain house,&mdash;undoubtedly a spy. Further
      evidence discloses the Roman Catholic priest, a peaceful little Frenchman,
      in his professional apparel.&mdash;Anxious female enters. Some sentinel
      has shot her cow by mistake for a Rebel. The United States cannot think of
      paying the desired thirty dollars. Let her go to the Post-Quartermaster
      and select a cow from his herd. If there is none to suit her (and, indeed,
      not one of them gave a drop of milk,&mdash;neither did hers), let her wait
      till the next lot comes in,&mdash;that is all.&mdash;Yesterday's
      operations gave the following total yield: Thirty 'contrabands,' eighteen
      horses, eleven cattle, ten saddles and bridles, and one new army-wagon. At
      this rate we shall soon be self-supporting <i>cavalry</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Where complaints are made of the soldiers, it almost always turns out
      that the women have insulted them most grossly, swearing at them, and the
      like. One unpleasant old Dutch woman came in, bursting with wrath, and
      told the whole narrative of her blameless life, diversified with sobs:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Last January I ran off two of my black people from St. Mary's to
      Fernandina,' (sob,)&mdash;'then I moved down there myself, and at Lake
      City I lost six women and a boy,' (sob,)&mdash;'then I stopped at Baldwin
      for one of the wenches to be confined,' (sob,)&mdash;'then I brought them
      all here to live in a Christian country' (sob, sob). "Then the blockheads'
      [blockades, that is, gunboats] 'came, and they all ran off with the
      blockheads,' (sob, sob, sob,) 'and left me, an old lady of forty-six,
      obliged to work for a living.' (Chaos of sobs, without cessation.)
    </p>
    <p>
      "But when I found what the old sinner had said to the soldiers I rather
      wondered at their self-control in not throttling her."
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile skirmishing went on daily in the outskirts of the town. There
      was a fight on the very first day, when our men killed, as before hinted,
      a Rebel surgeon, which was oddly metamorphosed in the Southern newspapers
      into their killing one of ours, which certainly never happened. Every day,
      after this, they appeared in small mounted squads in the neighborhood, and
      exchanged shots with our pickets, to which the gunboats would contribute
      their louder share, their aim being rather embarrassed by the woods and
      hills. We made reconnoissances, too, to learn the country in different
      directions, and were apt to be fired upon during these. Along the farther
      side of what we called the "Debatable Land" there was a line of cottages,
      hardly superior to negro huts, and almost all empty, where the Rebel
      pickets resorted, and from whose windows they fired. By degrees all these
      nests were broken up and destroyed, though it cost some trouble to do it,
      and the hottest skirmishing usually took place around them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Among these little affairs was one which we called "Company K's Skirmish,"
      because it brought out the fact that this company, which was composed
      entirely of South Carolina men, and had never shone in drill or
      discipline, stood near the head of the regiment for coolness and courage,&mdash;the
      defect of discipline showing itself only in their extreme unwillingness to
      halt when once let loose. It was at this time that the small comedy of the
      Goose occurred,&mdash;an anecdote which Wendell Phillips has since made
      his own.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the advancing line of skirmishers, usually an active fellow enough,
      was observed to move clumsily and irregularly. It soon appeared that he
      had encountered a fine specimen of the domestic goose, which had
      surrendered at discretion. Not wishing to lose it, he could yet find no
      way to hold it but between his legs; and so he went on, loading, firing,
      advancing, halting, always with the goose writhing and struggling and
      hissing in this natural pair of stocks. Both happily came off unwounded,
      and retired in good order at the signal, or some time after it; but I have
      hardly a cooler thing to put on record.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, another fellow left the field less exultingly; for, after a
      thoroughly courageous share in the skirmish, he came blubbering to his
      captain, and said,&mdash;"Cappen, make Caesar gib me my cane." It seemed
      that, during some interval of the fighting, he had helped himself to an
      armful of Rebel sugar-cane, such as they all delighted in chewing. The
      Roman hero, during another pause, had confiscated the treasure; whence
      these tears of the returning warrior. I never could accustom myself to
      these extraordinary interminglings of manly and childish attributes.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our most untiring scout during this period was the chaplain of my
      regiment,&mdash;the most restless and daring spirit we had, and now
      exulting in full liberty of action. He it was who was daily permitted to
      stray singly where no other officer would have been allowed to go, so
      irresistible was his appeal, "You know I am only a chaplain." Methinks I
      see our regimental saint, with pistols in belt and a Ballard rifle slung
      on shoulder, putting spurs to his steed, and cantering away down some
      questionable wood-path, or returning with some tale of Rebel haunt
      discovered, or store of foraging. He would track an enemy like an Indian,
      or exhort him, when apprehended, like an early Christian. Some of our
      devout soldiers shook their heads sometimes over the chaplain's little
      eccentricities. "Woffor Mr. Chapman made a preacher for?" said one of
      them, as usual transforming his title into a patronymic. "He's <i>de
      fightingest more Yankee</i> I eber see in all my days."
    </p>
    <p>
      And the criticism was very natural, though they could not deny that, when
      the hour for Sunday service came, Mr. F. commanded the respect and
      attention of all. That hour never came, however, on our first Sunday in
      Jacksonville; we were too busy and the men too scattered; so the chaplain
      made his accustomed foray beyond the lines instead.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Is it not Sunday?" slyly asked an unregenerate lieutenant. "Nay," quoth
      his Reverence, waxing fervid; "it is the Day of Judgment"
    </p>
    <p>
      This reminds me of a raid up the river, conducted by one of our senior
      captains, an enthusiast whose gray beard and prophetic manner always took
      me back to the Fifth-Monarchy men. He was most successful that day,
      bringing back horses, cattle, provisions, and prisoners; and one of the
      latter complained bitterly to me of being held, stating that Captain R.
      had promised him speedy liberty. But that doughty official spurned the
      imputation of such weak blandishments, in this day of triumphant
      retribution.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Promise him!" said he, "I promised him nothing but the Day of Judgment
      and Periods of Damnation!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Often since have I rolled beneath my tongue this savory and solemn
      sentence, and I do not believe that since the days of the Long Parliament
      there has been a more resounding anathema.
    </p>
    <p>
      In Colonel Montgomery's hands these up-river raids reached the dignity of
      a fine art. His conceptions of foraging were rather more Western and
      liberal than mine, and on these excursions he fully indemnified himself
      for any undue abstinence demanded of him when in camp. I remember being on
      the wharf, with some naval officers, when he came down from his first
      trip. The steamer seemed an animated hen-coop. Live poultry hung from the
      foremast shrouds, dead ones from the mainmast, geese hissed from the
      binnacle, a pig paced the quarter-deck, and a duck's wings were seen
      fluttering from a line which was wont to sustain duck trousers. The naval
      heroes, mindful of their own short rations, and taking high views of one's
      duties in a conquered country, looked at me reproachfully, as who should
      say, "Shall these things be?" In a moment or two the returning foragers
      had landed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Captain &mdash;&mdash;," said Montgomery, courteously, "would you allow
      me to send a remarkably fine turkey for your use on board ship?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Lieutenant &mdash;&mdash;," said Major Corwin, "may I ask your acceptance
      of a pair of ducks for your mess?"
    </p>
    <p>
      Never did I behold more cordial relations between army and navy than
      sprang into existence at those sentences. So true it is, as Charles Lamb
      says, that a single present of game may diffuse kindly sentiments through
      a whole community. These little trips were called "rest"; there was no
      other rest during those ten days. An immense amount of picket and fatigue
      duty had to be done. Two redoubts were to be built to command the Northern
      Valley; all the intervening grove, which now afforded lurking-ground for a
      daring enemy, must be cleared away; and a few houses must be reluctantly
      razed for the same purpose. The fort on the left was named Fort Higginson,
      and that built by my own regiment, in return, Fort Montgomery. The former
      was necessarily a hasty work, and is now, I believe, in ruins; the latter
      was far more elaborately constructed, on lines well traced by the Fourth
      New Hampshire during the previous occupation. It did great credit to
      Captain Trowbridge, of my regiment (formerly of the New York Volunteer
      Engineers), who had charge of its construction.
    </p>
    <p>
      How like a dream seems now that period of daily skirmishes and nightly
      watchfulness! The fatigue was so constant that the days hurried by. I felt
      the need of some occasional change of ideas, and having just received from
      the North Mr. Brook's beautiful translation of Jean Paul's "Titan," I used
      to retire to my bedroom for some ten minutes every afternoon, and read a
      chapter or two. It was more refreshing than a nap, and will always be to
      me one of the most fascinating books in the world, with this added
      association. After all, what concerned me was not so much the fear of an
      attempt to drive us out and retake the city,&mdash;for that would be
      against the whole policy of the Rebels in that region,&mdash;as of an
      effort to fulfil their threats and burn it, by some nocturnal dash. The
      most valuable buildings belonged to Union men, and the upper part of the
      town, built chiefly of resinous pine, was combustible to the last degree.
      In case of fire, if the wind blew towards the river, we might lose
      steamers and all. I remember regulating my degree of disrobing by the
      direction of the wind; if it blew from the river, it was safe to make
      one's self quite comfortable; if otherwise, it was best to conform to
      Suwarrow's idea of luxury, and take off one spur.
    </p>
    <p>
      So passed our busy life for ten days. There were no tidings of
      reinforcements, and I hardly knew whether I wished for them,&mdash;or
      rather, I desired them as a choice of evils; for our men were giving out
      from overwork, and the recruiting excursions, for which we had mainly
      come, were hardly possible. At the utmost, I had asked for the addition of
      four companies and a light battery. Judge of my surprise when two infantry
      regiments successively arrived! I must resort to a scrap from the diary.
      Perhaps diaries are apt to be thought tedious; but I would rather read a
      page of one, whatever the events described, than any more deliberate
      narrative,&mdash;it gives glimpses so much more real and vivid.
    </p>
    <p>
      "HEAD-QUARTERS, JACKSONVILLE,
    </p>
    <p>
      "March 20, 1863, Midnight.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For the last twenty-four hours we have been sending women and children
      out of town, in answer to a demand by flag of truce, with a threat of
      bombardment. [N. B. I advised them not to go, and the majority declined
      doing so.] It was designed, no doubt, to intimidate; and in our ignorance
      of the force actually outside, we have had to recognize the possibility of
      danger, and work hard at our defences. At any time, by going into the
      outskirts, we can have a skirmish, which is nothing but fun; but when
      night closes in over a small and weary garrison, there sometimes steals
      into my mind, like a chill, that most sickening of all sensations, the
      anxiety of a commander. This was the night generally set for an attack, if
      any, though I am pretty well satisfied that they have not strength to dare
      it, and the worst they could probably do is to burn the town. But
      to-night, instead of enemies, appear friends,&mdash;our devoted civic
      ally, Judge S., and a whole Connecticut regiment, the Sixth, under Major
      Meeker; and though the latter are aground, twelve miles below, yet they
      enable one to breathe more freely. I only wish they were black; but now I
      have to show, not only that blacks can fight, but that they and white
      soldiers can act in harmony together."
    </p>
    <p>
      That evening the enemy came up for a reconnoissance, in the deepest
      darkness, and there were alarms all night. The next day the Sixth
      Connecticut got afloat, and came up the river; and two days after, to my
      continued amazement, arrived a part of the Eighth Maine, under
      Lieutenant-Colonel Twichell. This increased my command to four regiments,
      or parts of regiments, half white and half black. Skirmishing had almost
      ceased,&mdash;our defences being tolerably complete, and looking from
      without much more effective than they really were. We were safe from any
      attack by a small force, and hoped that the enemy could not spare a large
      one from Charleston or Savannah. All looked bright without, and gave
      leisure for some small anxieties within.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the first time in the war (so far as I know) that white and black
      soldiers had served together on regular duty. Jealousy was still felt
      towards even the officers of colored regiments, and any difficult
      contingency would be apt to bring it out. The white soldiers, just from
      ship-board, felt a natural desire to stray about the town; and no attack
      from an enemy would be so disastrous as the slightest collision between
      them and the black provost-guard. I shudder, even now, to think of the
      train of consequences, bearing on the whole course of subsequent national
      events, which one such mishap might then have produced. It is almost
      impossible for us now to remember in what a delicate balance then hung the
      whole question of negro enlistments, and consequently of Slavery.
      Fortunately for my own serenity, I had great faith in the intrinsic power
      of military discipline, and also knew that a common service would soon
      produce mutual respect among good soldiers; and so it proved. But the
      first twelve hours of this mixed command were to me a more anxious period
      than any outward alarms had created.
    </p>
    <p>
      Let us resort to the note-book again.
    </p>
    <p>
      "JACKSONVILLE, March 22, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It is Sunday; the bell is ringing for church, and Rev. Mr. F., from
      Beaufort, is to preach. This afternoon our good quartermaster establishes
      a Sunday-school for our little colony of 'contrabands,' now numbering
      seventy.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sunday Afternoon.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The bewildering report is confirmed; and in addition to the Sixth
      Connecticut, which came yesterday, appears part of the Eighth Maine. The
      remainder, with its colonel, will be here to-morrow, and, report says,
      Major-General Hunter. Now my hope is that we may go to some point higher
      up the river, which we can hold for ourselves. There are two other points
      [Magnolia and Pilatka], which, in themselves, are as favorable as this,
      and, for getting recruits, better. So I shall hope to be allowed to go. To
      take posts, and then let white troops garrison them,&mdash;that is my
      programme.
    </p>
    <p>
      "What makes the thing more puzzling is, that the Eighth Maine has only
      brought ten days' rations, so that they evidently are not to stay here;
      and yet where they go, or why they come, is a puzzle. Meanwhile we can
      sleep sound o' nights; and if the black and white babies do not quarrel
      and pull hair, we shall do very well."
    </p>
    <p>
      Colonel Rust, on arriving, said frankly that he knew nothing of the plans
      prevailing in the Department, but that General Hunter was certainly coming
      soon to act for himself; that it had been reported at the North, and even
      at Port Royal, that we had all been captured and shot (and, indeed, I had
      afterwards the pleasure of reading my own obituary in a Northern
      Democratic journal), and that we certainly needed reinforcements; that he
      himself had been sent with orders to carry out, so far as possible, the
      original plans of the expedition; that he regarded himself as only a
      visitor, and should remain chiefly on shipboard,&mdash;which he did. He
      would relieve the black provost-guard by a white one, if I approved,&mdash;which
      I certainly did. But he said that he felt bound to give the chief
      opportunities of action to the colored troops,&mdash;which I also
      approved, and which he carried out, not quite to the satisfaction of his
      own eager and daring officers.
    </p>
    <p>
      I recall one of these enterprises, out of which we extracted a good deal
      of amusement; it was baptized the Battle of the Clothes-Lines. A white
      company was out scouting in the woods behind the town, with one of my best
      Florida men for a guide; and the captain sent back a message that he had
      discovered a Rebel camp with twenty-two tents, beyond a creek, about four
      miles away; the officers and men had been distinctly seen, and it would be
      quite possible to capture it. Colonel Rust at once sent me out with two
      hundred men to do the work, recalling the original scouts, and
      disregarding the appeals of his own eager officers. We marched through the
      open pine woods, on a delightful afternoon, and met the returning party.
      Poor fellows! I never shall forget the longing eyes they cast on us, as we
      marched forth to the field of glory, from which they were debarred. We
      went three or four miles out, sometimes halting to send forward a scout,
      while I made all the men lie down in the long, thin grass and beside the
      fallen trees, till one could not imagine that there was a person there. I
      remember how picturesque the effect was, when, at the signal, all rose
      again, like Roderick Dhu's men, and the green wood appeared suddenly
      populous with armed life. At a certain point forces were divided, and a
      detachment was sent round the head of the creek, to flank the unsuspecting
      enemy; while we of the main body, stealing with caution nearer and nearer,
      through ever denser woods, swooped down at last in triumph upon a solitary
      farmhouse,&mdash;where the family-washing had been hung out to dry! This
      was the "Rebel camp"!
    </p>
    <p>
      It is due to Sergeant Greene, my invaluable guide, to say that he had from
      the beginning discouraged any high hopes of a crossing of bayonets. He had
      early explained that it was not he who claimed to have seen the tents and
      the Rebel soldiers, but one of the officers,&mdash;and had pointed out
      that our undisturbed approach was hardly reconcilable with the existence
      of a hostile camp so near. This impression had also pressed more and more
      upon my own mind, but it was our business to put the thing beyond a doubt.
      Probably the place may have been occasionally used for a picket-station,
      and we found fresh horse-tracks in the vicinity, and there was a quantity
      of iron bridle-bits in the house, of which no clear explanation could be
      given; so that the armed men may not have been wholly imaginary. But camp
      there was none. After enjoying to the utmost the fun of the thing,
      therefore, we borrowed the only horse on the premises, hung all the bits
      over his neck, and as I rode him back to camp, they clanked like broken
      chains. We were joined on the way by our dear and devoted surgeon, whom I
      had left behind as an invalid, but who had mounted his horse and ridden
      out alone to attend to our wounded, his green sash looking quite in
      harmony with the early spring verdure of those lovely woods. So came we
      back in triumph, enjoying the joke all the more because some one else was
      responsible. We mystified the little community at first, but soon let out
      the secret, and witticisms abounded for a day or two, the mildest of which
      was the assertion that the author of the alarm must have been "three
      sheets in the wind."
    </p>
    <p>
      Another expedition was of more exciting character. For several days before
      the arrival of Colonel Rust a reconnaissance had been planned in the
      direction of the enemy's camp, and he finally consented to its being
      carried out. By the energy of Major Corwin, of the Second South Carolina
      Volunteers, aided by Mr. Holden, then a gunner on the Paul Jones, and
      afterwards made captain of the same regiment, one of the ten-pound Parrott
      guns had been mounted on a hand-car, for use on the railway. This it was
      now proposed to bring into service. I took a large detail of men from the
      two white regiments and from my own, and had instructions to march as far
      as the four-mile station on the railway, if possible, examine the country,
      and ascertain if the Rebel camp had been removed, as was reported, beyond
      that distance. I was forbidden going any farther from camp, or attacking
      the Rebel camp, as my force comprised half our garrison, and should the
      town meanwhile be attacked from some other direction, it would be in great
      danger.
    </p>
    <p>
      I never shall forget the delight of that march through the open pine
      barren, with occasional patches of uncertain swamp. The Eighth Maine,
      under Lieutenant-Colonel Twichell, was on the right, the Sixth
      Connecticut, under Major Meeker, on the left, and my own men, under Major
      Strong, in the centre, having in charge the cannon, to which they had been
      trained. Mr. Heron, from the John Adams, acted as gunner. The mounted
      Rebel pickets retired before us through the woods, keeping usually beyond
      range of the skirmishers, who in a long line&mdash;white, black, white&mdash;were
      deployed transversely. For the first time I saw the two colors fairly
      alternate on the military chessboard; it had been the object of much labor
      and many dreams, and I liked the pattern at last. Nothing was said about
      the novel fact by anybody,&mdash;it all seemed to come as
      matter-of-course; there appeared to be no mutual distrust among the men,
      and as for the officers, doubtless "each crow thought its own young the
      whitest,"&mdash;I certainly did, although doing full justice to the eager
      courage of the Northern portion of my command. Especially I watched with
      pleasure the fresh delight of the Maine men, who had not, like the rest,
      been previously in action, and who strode rapidly on with their long legs,
      irresistibly recalling, as their gaunt, athletic frames and sunburnt faces
      appeared here and there among the pines, the lumber regions of their
      native State, with which I was not unfamiliar.
    </p>
    <p>
      We passed through a former camp of the Rebels, from which everything had
      been lately removed; but when the utmost permitted limits of our
      reconnoissance were reached, there were still no signs of any other camp,
      and the Rebel cavalry still kept provokingly before us. Their evident
      object was to lure us on to their own stronghold, and had we fallen into
      the trap, it would perhaps have resembled, on a smaller scale, the Olustee
      of the following year. With a good deal of reluctance, however, I caused
      the recall to be sounded, and, after a slight halt, we began to retrace
      our steps.
    </p>
    <p>
      Straining our eyes to look along the reach of level railway which
      stretched away through the pine barren, we began to see certain ominous
      puffs of smoke, which might indeed proceed from some fire in the woods,
      but were at once set down by the men as coming from the mysterious
      locomotive battery which the Rebels were said to have constructed.
      Gradually the smoke grew denser, and appeared to be moving up along the
      track, keeping pace with our motion, and about two miles distant. I
      watched it steadily through a field-glass from our own slowly moving
      battery: it seemed to move when we moved and to halt when we halted.
      Sometimes in the dun smoke I caught a glimpse of something blacker, raised
      high in the air like the threatening head of some great gliding serpent.
      Suddenly there came a sharp puff of lighter smoke that seemed like a
      forked tongue, and then a hollow report, and we could see a great black
      projectile hurled into the air, and falling a quarter of a mile away from
      us, in the woods. I did not at once learn that this first shot killed two
      of the Maine men, and wounded two more. This was fired wide, but the
      numerous shots which followed were admirably aimed, and seldom failed to
      fall or explode close to our own smaller battery.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was the first time that the men had been seriously exposed to artillery
      fire,&mdash;a danger more exciting to the ignorant mind than any other, as
      this very war has shown.* So I watched them anxiously. Fortunately there
      were deep trenches on each side the railway, with many stout, projecting
      roots, forming very tolerable bomb-proofs for those who happened to be
      near them. The enemy's gun was a sixty-four-pound Blakely, as we afterward
      found, whose enormous projectile moved very slowly and gave ample time to
      cover,&mdash;insomuch, that, while the fragments of shell fell all around
      and amongst us, not a man was hurt. This soon gave the men the most
      buoyant confidence, and they shouted with childish delight over every
      explosion.
    </p>
    <p>
      *Take this for example: "The effect was electrical. The Rebels were the
      best men in Ford's command, being Lieutenant-Colonel Showalter's
      Californians, and they are brave men. They had dismounted and sent their
      horses to the rear, and were undoubtedly determined upon a desperate
      fight, and their superior numbers made them confident of success. But they
      never fought with artillery, and a cannon has more terror for them than
      ten thousand rifles and all the wild Camanches on the plains of Texas. At
      first glimpse of the shining brass monsters there was a visible wavering
      in the determined front of the enemy, and as the shells came screaming
      over their heads the scare was complete. They broke ranks, fled for their
      horses, scrambled on the first that came to hand, and skedaddled in the
      direction of Brownsville."<i>New York Evening Post</i>, September 25,
      1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      The moment a shell had burst or fallen unburst, our little gun was
      invariably fired in return, and that with some precision, so far as we
      could judge, its range also being nearly as great. For some reason they
      showed no disposition to overtake us, in which attempt their locomotive
      would have given them an immense advantage over our heavy hand-car, and
      their cavalry force over our infantry. Nevertheless, I rather hoped that
      they would attempt it, for then an effort might have been made to cut them
      off in the rear by taking up some rails. As it was, this was out of the
      question, though they moved slowly, as we moved, keeping always about two
      miles away. When they finally ceased firing we took up the rails beyond us
      before withdrawing, and thus kept the enemy from approaching so near the
      city again. But I shall never forget that Dantean monster, rearing its
      black head amid the distant smoke, nor the solicitude with which I watched
      for the puff which meant danger, and looked round to see if my chickens
      were all under cover. The greatest peril, after all, was from the possible
      dismounting of our gun, in which case we should have been very apt to lose
      it, if the enemy had showed any dash. There may be other such tilts of
      railway artillery on record during the war; but if so, I have not happened
      to read of them, and so have dwelt the longer on this.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was doubtless the same locomotive battery which had previously fired
      more than once upon the town,&mdash;running up within two miles and then
      withdrawing, while it was deemed inexpedient to destroy the railroad, on
      our part, lest it might be needed by ourselves in turn. One night, too,
      the Rebel threat had been fulfilled, and they had shelled the town with
      the same battery. They had the range well, and every shot fell near the
      post headquarters. It was exciting to see the great Blakely shell, showing
      a light as it rose, and moving slowly towards us like a comet, then
      exploding and scattering its formidable fragments. Yet, strange to say, no
      serious harm was done to life or limb, and the most formidable casualty
      was that of a citizen who complained that a shell had passed through the
      wall of his bedroom, and carried off his mosquito curtain in its transit.
    </p>
    <p>
      Little knew we how soon these small entertainments would be over. Colonel
      Montgomery had gone up the river with his two companies, perhaps to remain
      permanently; and I was soon to follow. On Friday, March 27th, I wrote
      home: "The Burnside has gone to Beaufort for rations, and the John Adams
      to Fernandina for coal; we expect both back by Sunday, and on Monday I
      hope to get the regiment off to a point farther up,&mdash;Magnolia,
      thirty-five miles, or Pilatka, seventy-five,&mdash;either of which would
      be a good post for us. General Hunter is expected every day, and it is
      strange he has not come." The very next day came an official order
      recalling the whole expedition, and for the third time evacuating
      Jacksonville.
    </p>
    <p>
      A council of military and naval officers was at once called (though there
      was but one thing to be done), and the latter were even more disappointed
      and amazed than the former. This was especially the case with the senior
      naval officer, Captain Steedman, a South-Carolinian by birth, but who had
      proved himself as patriotic as he was courteous and able, and whose
      presence and advice had been of the greatest value to me. He and all of us
      felt keenly the wrongfulness of breaking the pledges which we had been
      authorized to make to these people, and of leaving them to the mercy of
      the Rebels once more. Most of the people themselves took the same view,
      and eagerly begged to accompany us on our departure. They were allowed to
      bring their clothing and furniture also, and at once developed that insane
      mania for aged and valueless trumpery which always seizes upon the human
      race, I believe, in moments of danger. With the greatest difficulty we
      selected between the essential and the non-essential, and our few
      transports were at length loaded to the very water's edge on the morning
      of March 29th,&mdash;Colonel Montgomery having by this time returned from
      up-river, with sixteen prisoners, and the fruits of foraging in plenty.
    </p>
    <p>
      And upon that last morning occurred an act on the part of some of the
      garrison most deeply to be regretted, and not to be excused by the natural
      indignation at their recall,&mdash;an act which, through the unfortunate
      eloquence of one newspaper correspondent, rang through the nation,&mdash;the
      attempt to burn the town. I fortunately need not dwell much upon it, as I
      was not at the time in command of the post,&mdash;as the white soldiers
      frankly took upon themselves the whole responsibility,&mdash;and as all
      the fires were made in the wooden part of the city, which was occupied by
      them, while none were made in the brick part, where the colored soldiers
      were quartered. It was fortunate for our reputation that the newspaper
      accounts generally agreed in exculpating us from all share in the matter;*
      and the single exception, which one correspondent asserted, I could never
      verify, and do not believe to have existed. It was stated by Colonel Rust,
      in his official report, that some twenty-five buildings in all were
      burned, and I doubt if the actual number was greater; but this was
      probably owing in part to a change of wind, and did not diminish the
      discredit of the transaction. It made our sorrow at departure no less,
      though it infinitely enhanced the impressiveness of the scene.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
     *"The colored regiments had nothing at all to do with it;
     they behaved with propriety throughout" <i>Boston Journal</i>
     Correspondence. ("Carleton.")
</pre>
    <p>
      "The negro troops took no part whatever in the perpetration of this
      Vandalism."<i>New York Tribune</i> Correspondence. ("N. P.")
    </p>
    <p>
      "We know not whether we are most rejoiced or saddened to observe, by the
      general concurrence of accounts, that the negro soldiers had nothing to do
      with the barbarous act" <i>Boston Journal</i> Editorial, April 10, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      The excitement of the departure was intense. The embarkation was so
      laborious that it seemed as if the flames must be upon us before we could
      get on board, and it was also generally expected that the Rebel
      skirmishers would be down among the houses, wherever practicable, to annoy
      us to the utmost, as had been the case at the previous evacuation. They
      were, indeed, there, as we afterwards heard, but did not venture to molest
      us. The sight and roar of the flames, and the rolling clouds of smoke,
      brought home to the impressible minds of the black soldiers all their
      favorite imagery of the Judgment-Day; and those who were not too much
      depressed by disappointment were excited by the spectacle, and sang and
      exhorted without ceasing.
    </p>
    <p>
      With heavy hearts their officers floated down the lovely river, which we
      had ascended with hopes so buoyant; and from that day to this, the reasons
      for our recall have never been made public. It was commonly attributed to
      proslavery advisers, acting on the rather impulsive nature of
      Major-General Hunter, with a view to cut short the career of the colored
      troops, and stop their recruiting. But it may have been simply the
      scarcity of troops in the Department, and the renewed conviction at
      head-quarters that we were too few to hold the post alone. The latter
      theory was strengthened by the fact that, when General Seymour reoccupied
      Jacksonville, the following year, he took with him twenty thousand men
      instead of one thousand,&mdash;and the sanguinary battle of Olustee found
      him with too few.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 5. Out on Picket
    </h2>
    <p>
      One can hardly imagine a body of men more disconsolate than a regiment
      suddenly transferred from an adventurous life in the enemy's country to
      the quiet of a sheltered camp, on safe and familiar ground. The men under
      my command were deeply dejected when, on a most appropriate day,&mdash;the
      First of April, 1863,&mdash;they found themselves unaccountably recalled
      from Florida, that region of delights which had seemed theirs by the right
      of conquest. My dusky soldiers, who based their whole walk and
      conversation strictly on the ancient Israelites, felt that the prophecies
      were all set at naught, and that they were on the wrong side of the Red
      Sea; indeed, I fear they regarded even me as a sort of reversed Moses,
      whose Pisgah fronted in the wrong direction. Had they foreseen how the
      next occupation of the Promised Land was destined to result, they might
      have acquiesced with more of their wonted cheerfulness. As it was, we were
      very glad to receive, after a few days of discontented repose on the very
      ground where we had once been so happy, an order to go out on picket at
      Port Royal Ferry, with the understanding that we might remain there for
      some time. This picket station was regarded as a sort of military picnic
      by the regiments stationed at Beaufort, South Carolina; it meant
      blackberries and oysters, wild roses and magnolias, flowery lanes instead
      of sandy barrens, and a sort of guerilla existence in place of the camp
      routine. To the colored soldiers especially, with their love of country
      life, and their extensive personal acquaintance on the plantations, it
      seemed quite like a Christmas festival. Besides, they would be in sight of
      the enemy, and who knew but there might, by the blessing of Providence, be
      a raid or a skirmish? If they could not remain on the St. John's River, it
      was something to dwell on the Coosaw. In the end they enjoyed it as much
      as they expected, and though we "went out" several times subsequently,
      until it became an old story, the enjoyment never waned. And as even the
      march from the camp to the picket lines was something that could not
      possibly have been the same for any white regiment in the service, it is
      worth while to begin at the beginning and describe it.
    </p>
    <p>
      A regiment ordered on picket was expected to have reveille at daybreak,
      and to be in line for departure by sunrise. This delighted our men, who
      always took a childlike pleasure in being out of bed at any unreasonable
      hour; and by the time I had emerged, the tents were nearly all struck, and
      the great wagons were lumbering into camp to receive them, with whatever
      else was to be transported. The first rays of the sun must fall upon the
      line of these wagons, moving away across the wide parade-ground, followed
      by the column of men, who would soon outstrip them. But on the occasion
      which I especially describe the sun was shrouded, and, when once upon the
      sandy plain, neither camp nor town nor river could be seen in the dimness;
      and when I rode forward and looked back there was only visible the long,
      moving, shadowy column, seeming rather awful in its snake-like advance.
      There was a swaying of flags and multitudinous weapons that might have
      been camels' necks for all one could see, and the whole thing might have
      been a caravan upon the desert. Soon we debouched upon the "Shell Road,"
      the wagon-train drew on one side into the fog, and by the time the sun
      appeared the music ceased, the men took the "route step," and the fun
      began.
    </p>
    <p>
      The "route step" is an abandonment of all military strictness, and nothing
      is required of the men but to keep four abreast, and not lag behind. They
      are not required to keep step, though, with the rhythmical ear of our
      soldiers, they almost always instinctively did so; talking and singing are
      allowed, and of this privilege, at least, they eagerly availed themselves.
      On this day they were at the top of exhilaration. There was one broad grin
      from one end of the column to the other; it might soon have been a caravan
      of elephants instead of camels, for the ivory and the blackness; the
      chatter and the laughter almost drowned the tramp of feet and the clatter
      of equipments. At cross-roads and plantation gates the colored people
      thronged to see us pass; every one found a friend and a greeting. "How you
      do, aunty?" "Huddy (how d'ye), Budder Benjamin?" "How you find yourself
      dis mor-nin', Tittawisa (Sister Louisa)?" Such saluations rang out to
      everybody, known or unknown. In return, venerable, kerchiefed matrons
      courtesied laboriously to every one, with an unfailing "Bress de Lord,
      budder." Grave little boys, blacker than ink, shook hands with our
      laughing and utterly unmanageable drummers, who greeted them with this
      sure word of prophecy, "Dem's de drummers for de nex' war!" Pretty mulatto
      girls ogled and coquetted, and made eyes, as Thackeray would say, at half
      the young fellows in the battalion. Meantime the singing was brisk along
      the whole column, and when I sometimes reined up to see them pass, the
      chant of each company, entering my ear, drove out from the other ear the
      strain of the preceding. Such an odd mixture of things, military and
      missionary, as the successive waves of song drifted byl First, "John
      Brown," of course; then, "What make old Satan for follow me so?" then,
      "Marching Along"; then, "Hold your light on Canaan's shore"; then, "When
      this cruel war is over" (a new favorite, sung by a few); yielding
      presently to a grand burst of the favorite marching song among them all,
      and one at which every step instinctively quickened, so light and jubilant
      its rhythm,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "All true children gwine in de wilderness,
  Gwine in de wilderness, gwine in de wilderness,
  True believers gwine in de wilderness,
  To take away de sins ob de world,"&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      ending in a "Hoigh!" after each verse,&mdash;a sort of Irish yell. For all
      the songs, but especially for their own wild hymns, they constantly
      improvised simple verses, with the same odd mingling,&mdash;the little
      facts of to-day's march being interwoven with the depths of theological
      gloom, and the same jubilant chorus annexed to all; thus,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "We're gwin to de Ferry,
    De bell done ringing;
  Gwine to de landing,
    De bell done ringing;
  Trust, believer
    O, de bell done ringing;
  Satan's behind me,
    De bell done ringing;
  'T is a misty morning,
    De bell done ringing;
  O de road am sandy,
    De bell done ringing;
  Hell been open,
    De bell done ringing";&mdash;
</pre>
    <p>
      and so on indefinitely.
    </p>
    <p>
      The little drum-corps kept in advance, a jolly crew, their drums slung on
      their backs, and the drum-sticks perhaps balanced on their heads. With
      them went the officers' servant-boys, more uproarious still, always ready
      to lend their shrill treble to any song. At the head of the whole force
      there walked, by some self-imposed pre-eminence, a respectable elderly
      female, one of the company laundresses, whose vigorous stride we never
      could quite overtake, and who had an enormous bundle balanced on her head,
      while she waved in her hand, like a sword, a long-handled tin dipper. Such
      a picturesque medley of fun, war, and music I believe no white regiment in
      the service could have shown; and yet there was no straggling, and a
      single tap of the drum would at any moment bring order out of this seeming
      chaos. So we marched our seven miles out upon the smooth and shaded road,&mdash;beneath
      jasmine clusters, and great pine-cones dropping, and great bunches of
      misletoe still in bloom among the branches. Arrived at the station, the
      scene soon became busy and more confused; wagons were being unloaded,
      tents pitched, water brought, wood cut, fires made, while the "field and
      staff" could take possession of the abandoned quarters of their
      predecessors, and we could look round in the lovely summer morning to
      "survey our empire and behold our home."
    </p>
    <p>
      The only thoroughfare by land between Beaufort and Charleston is the
      "Shell Road," a beautiful avenue, which, about nine miles from Beaufort,
      strikes a ferry across the Coosaw River. War abolished the ferry, and made
      the river the permanent barrier between the opposing picket lines. For ten
      miles, right and left, these lines extended, marked by well-worn
      footpaths, following the endless windings of the stream; and they never
      varied until nearly the end of the war. Upon their maintenance depended
      our whole foothold on the Sea Islands; and upon that again finally
      depended the whole campaign of Sherman. But for the services of the
      colored troops, which finally formed the main garrison of the Department
      of the South, the Great March would never have been performed.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was thus a region ten or twelve miles square of which I had
      exclusive military command. It was level, but otherwise broken and
      bewildering to the last degree. No road traversed it, properly speaking,
      but the Shell Road. All the rest was a wild medley of cypress swamp, pine
      barren, muddy creek, and cultivated plantation, intersected by
      interminable lanes and bridle-paths, through which we must ride day and
      night, and which our horses soon knew better than ourselves. The regiment
      was distributed at different stations, the main force being under my
      immediate command, at a plantation close by the Shell Road, two miles from
      the ferry, and seven miles from Beaufort. Our first picket duty was just
      at the time of the first attack on Charleston, under Dupont and Hunter;
      and it was generally supposed that the Confederates would make an effort
      to recapture the Sea Islands. My orders were to watch the enemy closely,
      keep informed as to his position and movements, attempt no advance, and,
      in case any were attempted from the other side, to delay it as long as
      possible, sending instant notice to head-quarters. As to the delay, that
      could be easily guaranteed. There were causeways on the Shell Road which a
      single battery could hold against a large force; and the plantations were
      everywhere so intersected by hedges and dikes that they seemed expressly
      planned for defence. Although creeks wound in and out everywhere, yet
      these were only navigable at high tide, and at all other times were
      impassable marshes. There were but few posts where the enemy were within
      rifle range, and their occasional attacks at those points were soon
      stopped by our enforcement of a pithy order from General Hunter, "Give
      them as good as they send." So that, with every opportunity for being kept
      on the alert, there was small prospect of serious danger; and all promised
      an easy life, with only enough of care to make it pleasant. The picket
      station was therefore always a coveted post among the regiments, combining
      some undeniable importance with a kind of relaxation; and as we were there
      three months on our first tour of duty, and returned there several times
      afterwards, we got well acquainted with it. The whole region always
      reminded me of the descriptions of La Vende'e, and I always expected to
      meet Henri Larochejaquelein riding in the woods.
    </p>
    <p>
      How can I ever describe the charm and picturesqueness of that summer life?
      Our house possessed four spacious rooms and a <i>piazza</i>; around it
      were grouped sheds and tents; the camp was a little way off on one side,
      the negro-quarters of the plantation on the other; and all was immersed in
      a dense mass of waving and murmuring locust-blossoms. The spring days were
      always lovely, while the evenings were always conveniently damp; so that
      we never shut the windows by day, nor omitted our cheerful fire by night.
      Indoors, the main head-quarters seemed like the camp of some party of
      young engineers in time of peace, only with a little female society added,
      and a good many martial associations thrown in. A large, low, dilapidated
      room, with an immense fireplace, and with window-panes chiefly broken, so
      that the sashes were still open even when closed,&mdash;such was our home.
      The walls were scrawled with capital charcoal sketches by R. of the Fourth
      New Hampshire, and with a good map of the island and its wood-paths by C.
      of the First Massachusetts Cavalry. The room had the picturesqueness which
      comes everywhere from the natural grouping of articles of daily use,&mdash;swords,
      belts, pistols, rifles, field-glasses, spurs, canteens, gauntlets,&mdash;while
      wreaths of gray moss above the windows, and a pelican's wing three feet
      long over the high mantel-piece, indicated more deliberate decoration.
      This, and the whole atmosphere of the place, spoke of the refining
      presence of agreeable women; and it was pleasant when they held their
      little court in the evening, and pleasant all day, with the different
      visitors who were always streaming in and out,&mdash;officers and soldiers
      on various business; turbaned women from the plantations, coming with
      complaints or questionings; fugitives from the main-land to be
      interrogated; visitors riding up on horseback, their hands full of jasmine
      and wild roses; and the sweet sunny air all perfumed with magnolias and
      the Southern pine. From the neighboring camp there was a perpetual low
      hum. Louder voices and laughter re-echoed, amid the sharp sounds of the
      axe, from the pine woods; and sometimes, when the relieved pickets were
      discharging their pieces, there came the hollow sound of dropping
      rifle-shots, as in skirmishing,&mdash;perhaps the most unmistakable and
      fascinating association that war bequeaths to the memory of the ear.
    </p>
    <p>
      Our domestic arrangements were of the oddest description. From the time
      when we began housekeeping by taking down the front-door to complete
      therewith a little office for the surgeon on the <i>piazza</i>, everything
      seemed upside down. I slept on a shelf in the corner of the parlor,
      bequeathed me by Major F., my jovial predecessor, and, if I waked at any
      time, could put my head through the broken window, arouse my orderly, and
      ride off to see if I could catch a picket asleep. We used to spell the
      word <i>picquet</i>, because that was understood to be the correct thing,
      in that Department at least; and they used to say at post head-quarters
      that as soon as the officer in command of the outposts grew negligent, and
      was guilty of a <i>k</i>, he was ordered in immediately. Then the
      arrangements for ablution were peculiar. We fitted up a bathing-place in a
      brook, which somehow got appropriated at once by the company laundresses;
      but I had my revenge, for I took to bathing in the family washtub. After
      all, however, the kitchen department had the advantage, for they used my
      solitary napkin to wipe the mess-table. As for food, we found it
      impossible to get chickens, save in the immature shape of eggs; fresh pork
      was prohibited by the surgeon, and other fresh meat came rarely. We could,
      indeed, hunt for wild turkeys, and even deer, but such hunting was found
      only to increase the appetite, without corresponding supply. Still we had
      our luxuries,&mdash;large, delicious drum-fish, and alligator steaks,&mdash;like
      a more substantial fried halibut,&mdash;which might have afforded the
      theme for Charles Lamb's dissertation on Roast Pig, and by whose aid "for
      the first time in our lives we tested <i>crackling</i>" The post bakery
      yielded admirable bread; and for vegetables and fruit we had very poor
      sweet potatoes, and (in their season) an unlimited supply of the largest
      blackberries. For beverage, we had the vapid milk of that region, in
      which, if you let it stand, the water sinks instead of the cream's rising;
      and the delicious sugar-cane syrup, which we had brought from Florida, and
      which we drank at all hours. Old Floridians say that no one is justified
      in drinking whiskey, while he can get cane-juice; it is sweet and
      spirited, without cloying, foams like ale, and there were little spots on
      the ceiling of the dining-room where our lively beverage had popped out
      its cork. We kept it in a whiskey-bottle; and as whiskey itself was
      absolutely prohibited among us, it was amusing to see the surprise of our
      military visitors when this innocent substitute was brought in. They
      usually liked it in the end, but, like the old Frenchwoman over her glass
      of water, wished that it were a sin to give it a relish. As the foaming
      beakers of molasses and water were handed round, the guests would make
      with them the courteous little gestures of polite imbiding, and would then
      quaff the beverage, some with gusto, others with a slight afterlook of
      dismay. But it was a delicious and cooling drink while it lasted; and at
      all events was the best and the worst we had.
    </p>
    <p>
      We used to have reveille at six, and breakfast about seven; then the
      mounted couriers began to arrive from half a dozen different directions,
      with written reports of what had happened during the night,&mdash;a boat
      seen, a picket fired upon, a battery erecting. These must be consolidated
      and forwarded to head-quarters, with the daily report of the command,&mdash;so
      many sick, so many on detached service, and all the rest. This was our
      morning newspaper, our Herald and Tribune; I never got tired of it. Then
      the couriers must be furnished with countersign and instructions, and sent
      off again. Then we scattered to our various rides, all disguised as duty;
      one to inspect pickets, one to visit a sick soldier, one to build a bridge
      or clear a road, and still another to head-quarters for ammunition or
      commissary stores. Galloping through green lanes, miles of triumphal
      arches of wild roses,&mdash;roses pale and large and fragrant, mingled
      with great boughs of the white cornel, fantastic masses, snowy surprises,&mdash;such
      were our rides, ranging from eight to fifteen and even twenty miles. Back
      to a late dinner with our various experiences, and perhaps specimens to
      match,&mdash;a thunder-snake, eight feet long; a live opossum, with a
      young clinging to the natural pouch; an armful of great white, scentless
      pond-lilies. After dinner, to the tangled garden for rosebuds or early
      magnolias, whose cloying fragrance will always bring back to me the full
      zest of those summer days; then dress-parade and a little drill as the day
      grew cool. In the evening, tea; and then the piazza or the fireside, as
      the case might be,&mdash;chess, cards,&mdash;perhaps a little music by aid
      of the assistant surgeon's melodeon, a few pages of Jean Paul's "Titan,"
      almost my only book, and carefully husbanded,&mdash;perhaps a mail, with
      its infinite felicities. Such was our day.
    </p>
    <p>
      Night brought its own fascinations, more solitary and profound. The darker
      they were, the more clearly it was our duty to visit the pickets. The
      paths that had grown so familiar by day seemed a wholly new labyrinth by
      night; and every added shade of darkness seemed to shift and complicate
      them all anew, till at last man's skill grew utterly baffled, and the clew
      must be left to the instinct of the horse. Riding beneath the solemn
      starlight, or soft, gray mist, or densest blackness, the frogs croaking,
      the strange "chuckwuts-widow" droning his ominous note above my head, the
      mocking-bird dreaming in music, the great Southern fireflies rising to the
      tree-tops, or hovering close to the ground like glowworms, till the horse
      raised his hoofs to avoid them; through pine woods and cypress swamps, or
      past sullen brooks, or white tents, or the dimly seen huts of sleeping
      negroes; down to the glimmering shore, where black statues leaned against
      trees or stood alert in the pathways;&mdash;never, in all the days of my
      life, shall I forget the magic of those haunted nights.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had nocturnal boat service, too, for it was a part of our instructions
      to obtain all possible information about the enemy's position; and we
      accordingly, as usual in such cases, incurred a great many risks that
      harmed nobody, and picked up much information which did nobody any good.
      The centre of these nightly reconnoissances, for a long time, was the
      wreck of the George Washington, the story of whose disaster is perhaps
      worth telling.
    </p>
    <p>
      Till about the time when we went on picket, it had been the occasional
      habit of the smaller gunboats to make the circuit of Port Royal Island,&mdash;a
      practice which was deemed very essential to the safety of our position,
      but which the Rebels effectually stopped, a few days after our arrival, by
      destroying the army gunboat George Washington with a single shot from a
      light battery. I was roused soon after daybreak by the firing, and a
      courier soon came dashing in with the particulars. Forwarding these
      hastily to Beaufort (for we had then no telegraph), I was soon at the
      scene of action, five miles away. Approaching, I met on the picket paths
      man after man who had escaped from the wreck across a half-mile of almost
      impassable marsh. Never did I see such objects,&mdash;some stripped to
      their shirts, some fully clothed, but all having every garment literally
      pasted to them&mdash;bodies with mud. Across the river, the Rebels were
      retiring, having done their work, but were still shelling, from greater
      and greater distances, the wood through which I rode. Arrived at the spot
      nearest the wreck (a point opposite to what we called the Brickyard
      Station), I saw the burning vessel aground beyond a long stretch of marsh,
      out of which the forlorn creatures were still floundering. Here and there
      in the mud and reeds we could see the laboring heads, slowly advancing,
      and could hear excruciating cries from wounded men in the more distant
      depths. It was the strangest mixture of war and Dante and Robinson Crusoe.
      Our energetic chaplain coming up, I sent him with four men, under a flag
      of truce, to the place whence the worst cries proceeded, while I went to
      another part of the marsh. During that morning we got them all out, our
      last achievement being the rescue of the pilot, an immense negro with a
      wooden leg,&mdash;an article so particularly unavailable for mud
      travelling, that it would have almost seemed better, as one of the men
      suggested, to cut the traces, and leave it behind.
    </p>
    <p>
      A naval gunboat, too, which had originally accompanied this vessel, and
      should never have left it, now came back and took off the survivors,
      though there had been several deaths from scalding and shell. It proved
      that the wreck was not aground after all, but at anchor, having foolishly
      lingered till after daybreak, and having thus given time for the enemy to
      bring down then: guns. The first shot had struck the boiler, and set the
      vessel on fire; after which the officer in command had raised a white
      flag, and then escaped with his men to our shore; and it was for this
      flight in the wrong direction that they were shelled in the marshes by the
      Rebels. The case furnished in this respect some parallel to that of the
      Kearsage and Alabama, and it was afterwards cited, I believe, officially
      or unofficially, to show that the Rebels had claimed the right to punish,
      in this case, the course of action which they approved in Semmes. I know
      that they always asserted thenceforward that the detachment on board the
      George Washington had become rightful prisoners of war, and were justly
      fired upon when they tried to escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was at the tune of the first attack on Charleston, and the noise of
      this cannonading spread rapidly thither, and brought four regiments to
      reinforce Beaufort in a hurry, under the impression that the town was
      already taken, and that they must save what remnants they could. General
      Saxton, too, had made such capital plans for defending the post that he
      could not bear not to have it attacked; so, while the Rebels brought down
      a force to keep us from taking the guns off the wreck, I was also supplied
      with a section or two of regular artillery, and some additional infantry,
      with which to keep them from it; and we tried to "make believe very hard,"
      and rival the Charleston expedition on our own island. Indeed, our affair
      came to about as much,&mdash;nearly nothing,&mdash;and lasted decidedly
      longer; for both sides nibbled away at the guns, by night, for weeks
      afterward, though I believe the mud finally got them,&mdash;at least, we
      did not. We tried in vain to get the use of a steamboat or floating
      derrick of any kind; for it needed more mechanical ingenuity than we
      possessed to transfer anything so heavy to our small boats by night, while
      by day we did not go near the wreck in anything larger than a "dug-out."
    </p>
    <p>
      One of these nocturnal visits to the wreck I recall with peculiar gusto,
      because it brought back that contest with catarrh and coughing among my
      own warriors which had so ludicrously beset me in Florida. It was always
      fascinating to be on those forbidden waters by night, stealing out with
      muffled oars through the creeks and reeds, our eyes always strained for
      other voyagers, our ears listening breathlessly to all the marsh sounds,&mdash;blackflsh
      splashing, and little wakened reed-birds that fled wailing away over the
      dim river, equally safe on either side. But it always appeared to the
      watchful senses that we were making noise enough to be heard at Fort
      Sumter; and somehow the victims of catarrh seemed always the most eager
      for any enterprise requiring peculiar caution. In this case I thought I
      had sifted them before-hand; but as soon as we were afloat, one poor boy
      near me began to wheeze, and I turned upon him in exasperation. He saw his
      danger, and meekly said, "I won't cough, Gunnel!" and he kept his word.
      For two mortal hours he sat grasping his gun, with never a chirrup. But
      two unfortunates in the bow of the boat developed symptoms which I could
      not suppress; so, putting in at a picket station, with some risk I dumped
      them in mud knee-deep, and embarked a substitute, who after the first five
      minutes absolutely coughed louder than both the others united.
      Handkerchiefs, blankets, over-coats, suffocation in its direst forms, were
      tried in vain, but apparently the Rebel pickets slept through it all, and
      we exploded the wreck in safety. I think they were asleep, for certainly
      across the level marshes there came a nasal sound, as of the
      "Con-thieveracy" in its slumbers. It may have been a bull-frog, but it
      sounded like a human snore.
    </p>
    <p>
      Picket life was of course the place to feel the charm of natural beauty on
      the Sea Islands. We had a world of profuse and tangled vegetation around
      us, such as would have been a dream of delight to me, but for the constant
      sense of responsibility and care which came between. Amid this
      preoccupation, Nature seemed but a mirage, and not the close and intimate
      associate I had before known. I pressed no flowers, collected no insects
      or birds' eggs, made no notes on natural objects, reversing in these
      respects all previous habits. Yet now, in the retrospect, there seems to
      have been infused into me through every pore the voluptuous charm of the
      season and the place; and the slightest corresponding sound or odor now
      calls back the memory of those delicious days. Being afterwards on picket
      at almost every season, I tasted the sensations of all; and though I
      hardly then thought of such a result, the associations of beauty will
      remain forever.
    </p>
    <p>
      In February, for instance,&mdash;though this was during a later period of
      picket service,&mdash;the woods were usually draped with that "net of
      shining haze" which marks our Northern May; and the house was embowered in
      wild-plum-blossoms, small, white, profuse, and tenanted by murmuring bees.
      There were peach-blossoms, too, and the yellow jasmine was opening its
      multitudinous buds, climbing over tall trees, and waving from bough to
      bough. There were fresh young ferns and white bloodroot in the edges of
      woods, matched by snowdrops in the garden, beneath budded myrtle and <i>Petisporum</i>.
      In this wilderness the birds were busy; the two main songsters being the
      mocking-bird and the cardinal-grosbeak, which monopolized all the parts of
      our more varied Northern orchestra save the tender and liquid notes, which
      in South Carolina seemed unattempted except by some stray blue-bird. Jays
      were as loud and busy as at the North in autumn; there were sparrows and
      wrens; and sometimes I noticed the shy and whimsical chewink.
    </p>
    <p>
      From this early spring-time onward, there seemed no great difference in
      atmospheric sensations, and only a succession of bloom. After two months
      one's notions of the season grew bewildered, just as very early rising
      bewilders the day. In the army one is perhaps roused after a bivouac,
      marches before daybreak, halts, fights, somebody is killed, a long day's
      life has been lived, and after all it is not seven o'clock, and breakfast
      is not ready. So when we had lived in summer so long as hardly to remember
      winter, it suddenly occurred to us that it was not yet June. One escapes
      at the South that mixture of hunger and avarice which is felt in the
      Northern summer, counting each hour's joy with the sad consciousness that
      an hour is gone. The compensating loss is in missing those soft, sweet,
      liquid sensations of the Northern spring, that burst of life and joy,
      those days of heaven that even April brings; and this absence of childhood
      in the year creates a feeling of hardness in the season, like that I have
      suggested in the melody of the Southern birds. It seemed to me also that
      the woods had not those pure, clean, <i>innocent</i> odors which so abound
      in the New England forest in early spring; but there was something
      luscious, voluptuous, almost oppressively fragrant about the magnolias, as
      if they belonged not to Hebe, but to Magdalen.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such immense and lustrous butterflies I had never seen but in dreams; and
      not even dreams had prepared me for sand-flies. Almost too small to be
      seen, they inflicted a bite which appeared larger than themselves,&mdash;a
      positive wound, more torturing than that of a mosquito, and leaving more
      annoyance behind. These tormentors elevated dress-parade into the dignity
      of a military engagement. I had to stand motionless, with my head a mere
      nebula of winged atoms, while tears rolled profusely down my face, from
      mere muscular irritation. Had I stirred a finger, the whole battalion
      would have been slapping its cheeks. Such enemies were, however, a
      valuable aid to discipline, on the whole, as they abounded in the
      guard-house, and made that institution an object of unusual abhorrence
      among the men.
    </p>
    <p>
      The presence of ladies and the homelike air of everything, made the picket
      station a very popular resort while we were there. It was the one
      agreeable ride from Beaufort, and we often had a dozen people unexpectedly
      to dinner. On such occasions there was sometimes mounting in hot haste,
      and an eager search among the outlying plantations for additional chickens
      and eggs, or through the company kitchens for some of those villanous tin
      cans which everywhere marked the progress of our army. In those cans, so
      far as my observation went, all fruits relapsed into a common acidulation,
      and all meats into a similarity of tastelessness; while the "condensed
      milk" was best described by the men, who often unconsciously stumbled on a
      better joke than they knew, and always spoke of it as <i>condemned</i>
      milk.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had our own excursions too,&mdash;to the Barnwell plantations, with
      their beautiful avenues and great live-oaks, the perfection of Southern
      beauty,&mdash;to Hall's Island, debatable ground, close under the enemy's
      fire, where half-wild cattle were to be shot, under military precautions,
      like Scottish moss-trooping,&mdash;or to the ferry, where it was
      fascinating to the female mind to scan the Rebel pickets through a
      field-glass. Our horses liked the by-ways far better than the level
      hardness of the Shell Road, especially those we had brought from Florida,
      which enjoyed the wilderness as if they had belonged to Marion's men. They
      delighted to feel the long sedge brush their flanks, or to gallop down the
      narrow wood-paths, leaping the fallen trees, and scaring the bright little
      lizards which shot across our track like live rays broken from the
      sunbeams. We had an abundance of horses, mostly captured and left in our
      hands by some convenient delay of the post quartermaster. We had also two
      side-saddles, which, not being munitions of war, could not properly (as we
      explained) be transferred like other captured articles to the general
      stock; otherwise the P. Q. M. (a married man) would have showed no
      unnecessary delay in their case. For miscellaneous accommodation was there
      not an ambulance,&mdash;that most inestimable of army conveniences,
      equally ready to carry the merry to a feast or the wounded from a fray.
      "Ambulance" was one of those words, rather numerous, which Ethiopian lips
      were not framed by Nature to articulate. Only the highest stages of
      colored culture could compass it; on the tongue of the many it was
      transformed mystically as "amulet," or ambitiously as "epaulet," or in
      culinary fashion as "omelet." But it was our experience that an ambulance
      under any name jolted equally hard.
    </p>
    <p>
      Besides these divertisements, we had more laborious vocations,&mdash;a
      good deal of fatigue, and genuine though small alarms. The men went on
      duty every third day at furthest, and the officers nearly as often,&mdash;most
      of the tours of duty lasting twenty-four hours, though the stream was
      considered to watch itself tolerably well by daylight. This kind of
      responsibility suited the men; and we had already found, as the whole army
      afterwards acknowledged, that the constitutional watchfulness and
      distrustfulness of the colored race made them admirable sentinels. Soon
      after we went on picket, the commanding general sent an aid, with a
      cavalry escort, to visit all the stations, without my knowledge. They
      spent the whole night, and the officer reported that he could not get
      within thirty yards of any post without a challenge. This was a pleasant
      assurance for me; since our position seemed so secure, compared with
      Jacksonville, that I had feared some relaxation of vigilance, while yet
      the safety of all depended on our thorough discharge of duty.
    </p>
    <p>
      Jacksonville had also seasoned the men so well that they were no longer
      nervous, and did not waste much powder on false alarms. The Rebels made no
      formal attacks, and rarely attempted to capture pickets. Sometimes they
      came stealing through the creeks in "dugouts," as we did on their side of
      the water, and occasionally an officer of ours was fired upon while making
      his rounds by night. Often some boat or scow would go adrift, and
      sometimes a mere dark mass of river-weed would be floated by the tide past
      the successive stations, eliciting a challenge and perhaps a shot from
      each. I remember the vivid way in which one of the men stated to his
      officer the manner in which a faithful picket should do his duty, after
      challenging, in case a boat came in sight. "Fus' ting I shoot, and den I
      shoot, and den I shoot again. Den I creep-creep up near de boat, and see
      who dey in 'em; and s'pose anybody pop up he head, den I shoot again.
      S'pose I fire my forty rounds. I tink he hear at de camp and send more
      mans,"&mdash;which seemed a reasonable presumption. This soldier's name
      was Paul Jones, a daring fellow, quite worthy of his namesake.
    </p>
    <p>
      In time, however, they learned quieter methods, and would wade far out in
      the water, there standing motionless at last, hoping to surround and
      capture these floating boats, though, to their great disappointment, the
      prize usually proved empty. On one occasion they tried a still profounder
      strategy; for an officer visiting the pickets after midnight, and hearing
      in the stillness a portentous snore from the end of the causeway (our most
      important station), straightway hurried to the point of danger, with wrath
      in his soul. But the sergeant of the squad came out to meet him, imploring
      silence, and explaining that they had seen or suspected a boat hovering
      near, and were feigning sleep in order to lure and capture those who would
      entrap them.
    </p>
    <p>
      The one military performance at the picket station of which my men were
      utterly intolerant was an occasional flag of truce, for which this was the
      appointed locality. These farces, for which it was our duty to furnish the
      stock actors, always struck them as being utterly despicable, and unworthy
      the serious business of war. They felt, I suppose, what Mr. Pickwick felt,
      when he heard his counsel remark to the counsel for the plaintiff, that it
      was a very fine morning. It goaded their souls to see the young officers
      from the two opposing armies salute each other courteously, and
      interchange cigars. They despised the object of such negotiations, which
      was usually to send over to the enemy some family of Rebel women who had
      made themselves quite intolerable on our side, but were not above
      collecting a subscription among the Union officers, before departure, to
      replenish their wardrobes. The men never showed disrespect to these women
      by word or deed, but they hated them from the bottom of their souls.
      Besides, there was a grievance behind all this.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Rebel order remained unrevoked which consigned the new colored troops
      and their officers to a felon's death, if captured; and we all felt that
      we fought with ropes round our necks. "Dere's no flags ob truce for us,"
      the men would contemptuously say. "When de Secesh fight de <i>Fus' Souf</i>"
      (First South Carolina), "he fight in earnest." Indeed, I myself took it as
      rather a compliment when the commander on the other side&mdash;though an
      old acquaintance of mine in Massachusetts and in Kansas&mdash;at first
      refused to negotiate through me or my officers,&mdash;a refusal which was
      kept up, greatly to the enemy's inconvenience, until our men finally
      captured some of the opposing pickets, and their friends had to waive all
      scruples in order to send them supplies. After this there was no trouble,
      and I think that the first Rebel officer in South Carolina who officially
      met any officer of colored troops under a flag of truce was Captain John
      C. Calhoun. In Florida we had been so recognized long before; but that was
      when they wished to frighten us out of Jacksonville.
    </p>
    <p>
      Such was our life on picket at Port Royal,&mdash;a thing whose memory is
      now fast melting into such stuff as dreams are made of. We stayed there
      more than two months at that tune; the first attack on Charleston exploded
      with one puff, and had its end; General Hunter was ordered North, and the
      busy Gilmore reigned in his stead; and in June, when the blackberries were
      all eaten, we were summoned, nothing loath, to other scenes and
      encampments new.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 6. A Night in the Water
    </h2>
    <p>
      Yes, that was a pleasant life on picket, in the delicious early summer of
      the South, and among the endless flowery forests of that blossoming isle.
      In the retrospect I seem to see myself adrift upon a horse's back amid a
      sea of roses. The various outposts were within a six-mile radius, and it
      was one long, delightful gallop, day and night. I have a faint impression
      that the moon shone steadily every night for two months; and yet I
      remember certain periods of such dense darkness that in riding through the
      wood-paths it was really unsafe to go beyond a walk, for fear of branches
      above and roots below; and one of my officers was once shot at by a Rebel
      scout who stood unperceived at his horse's bridle.
    </p>
    <p>
      To those doing outpost-duty on an island, however large, the main-land has
      all the fascination of forbidden fruit, and on a scale bounded only by the
      horizon. Emerson says that every house looks ideal until we enter it,&mdash;and
      it is certainly so, if it be just the other side of the hostile lines.
      Every grove in that blue distance appears enchanted ground, and yonder
      loitering gray-back leading his horse to water in the farthest distance,
      makes one thrill with a desire to hail him, to shoot at him, to capture
      him, to do anything to bridge this inexorable dumb space that lies
      between. A boyish feeling, no doubt, and one that time diminishes, without
      effacing; yet it is a feeling which lies at the bottom of many rash
      actions in war, and of some brilliant ones. For one, I could never quite
      outgrow it, though restricted by duty from doing many foolish things in
      consequence, and also restrained by reverence for certain confidential
      advisers whom I had always at hand, and who considered it their mission to
      keep me always on short rations of personal adventure. Indeed, most of
      that sort of entertainment in the army devolves upon scouts detailed for
      the purpose, volunteer aides-de-camp and newspaper-reporters,&mdash;other
      officers being expected to be about business more prosaic.
    </p>
    <p>
      All the excitements of war are quadrupled by darkness; and as I rode along
      our outer lines at night, and watched the glimmering flames which at
      regular intervals starred the opposite river-shore, the longing was
      irresistible to cross the barrier of dusk, and see whether it were men or
      ghosts who hovered round those dying embers. I had yielded to these
      impulses in boat-adventures by night,&mdash;for it was a part of my
      instructions to obtain all possible information about the Rebel outposts,&mdash;and
      fascinating indeed it was to glide along, noiselessly paddling, with a
      dusky guide, through the endless intricacies of those Southern marshes,
      scaring the reed-birds, which wailed and fled away into the darkness, and
      penetrating several miles into the ulterior, between hostile fires, where
      discovery might be death. Yet there were drawbacks as to these
      enterprises, since it is not easy for a boat to cross still water, even on
      the darkest night, without being seen by watchful eyes; and, moreover, the
      extremes of high and low tide transform so completely the whole condition
      of those rivers that it needs very nice calculation to do one's work at
      precisely the right tune. To vary the experiment, I had often thought of
      trying a personal reconnoissance by swimming, at a certain point, whenever
      circumstances should make it an object.
    </p>
    <p>
      The opportunity at last arrived, and I shall never forget the glee with
      which, after several postponements, I finally rode forth, a little before
      midnight, on a night which seemed made for the purpose. I had, of course,
      kept my own secret, and was entirely alone. The great Southern fireflies
      were out, not haunting the low ground merely, like ours, but rising to the
      loftiest tree-tops with weird illumination, and anon hovering so low that
      my horse often stepped the higher to avoid them. The dewy Cherokee roses
      brushed my face, the solemn "Chuckwill's-widow" croaked her incantation,
      and the rabbits raced phantom-like across the shadowy road. Slowly in the
      darkness I followed the well-known path to the spot where our most
      advanced outposts were stationed, holding a causeway which thrust itself
      far out across the separating river,&mdash;thus fronting a similar
      causeway on the other side, while a channel of perhaps three hundred
      yards, once traversed by a ferry-boat, rolled between. At low tide this
      channel was the whole river, with broad, oozy marshes on each side; at
      high tide the marshes were submerged, and the stream was a mile wide. This
      was the point which I had selected. To ascertain the numbers and position
      of the picket on the opposite causeway was my first object, as it was a
      matter on which no two of our officers agreed.
    </p>
    <p>
      To this point, therefore, I rode, and dismounting, after being duly
      challenged by the sentinel at the causeway-head, walked down the long and
      lonely path. The tide was well up, though still on the flood, as I
      desired; and each visible tuft of marsh-grass might, but for its
      motionlessness, have been a prowling boat. Dark as the night had appeared,
      the water was pale, smooth, and phosphorescent, and I remember that the
      phrase "wan water," so familiar in the Scottish ballards, struck me just
      then as peculiarly appropriate, though its real meaning is quite
      different. A gentle breeze, from which I had hoped for a ripple, had
      utterly died away, and it was a warm, breathless Southern night. There was
      no sound but the faint swash of the coming tide, the noises of the
      reed-birds in the marshes, and the occasional leap of a fish; and it
      seemed to my overstrained ear as if every footstep of my own must be heard
      for miles. However, I could have no more postponements, and the thing must
      be tried now or never.
    </p>
    <p>
      Reaching the farther end of the causeway, I found my men couched, like
      black statues, behind the slight earthwork there constructed. I expected
      that my proposed immersion would rather bewilder them, but knew that they
      would say nothing, as usual. As for the lieutenant on that post, he was a
      steady, matter-of-fact, perfectly disciplined Englishman, who wore a
      Crimean medal, and never asked a superfluous question in his life. If I
      had casually remarked to him, "Mr. Hooper, the General has ordered me on a
      brief personal reconnoissance to the Planet Jupiter, and I wish you to
      take care of my watch, lest it should be damaged by the Precession of the
      Equinoxes," he would have responded with a brief "All right, Sir," and a
      quick military gesture, and have put the thing in his pocket. As it was, I
      simply gave him the watch, and remarked that I was going to take a swim.
    </p>
    <p>
      I do not remember ever to have experienced a greater sense of exhilaration
      than when I slipped noiselessly into the placid water, and struck out into
      the smooth, eddying current for the opposite shore. The night was so still
      and lovely, my black statues looked so dream-like at their posts behind
      the low earthwork, the opposite arm of the causeway stretched so
      invitingly from the Rebel main, the horizon glimmered so low around me,&mdash;for
      it always appears lower to a swimmer than even to an oarsman,&mdash;that I
      seemed floating in some concave globe, some magic crystal, of which I was
      the enchanted centre. With each little ripple of my steady progress all
      things hovered and changed; the stars danced and nodded above; where the
      stars ended the great Southern fireflies began; and closer than the
      fireflies, there clung round me a halo of phosphorescent sparkles from the
      soft salt water.
    </p>
    <p>
      Had I told any one of my purpose, I should have had warnings and
      remonstrances enough. The few negroes who did not believe in alligators
      believed in sharks; the sceptics as to sharks were orthodox in respect to
      alligators; while those who rejected both had private prejudices as to
      snapping-turtles. The surgeon would have threatened intermittent fever,
      the first assistant rheumatism, and the second assistant congestive
      chills; non-swimmers would have predicted exhaustion, and swimmers cramp;
      and all this before coming within bullet-range of any hospitalities on the
      other shore. But I knew the folly of most alarms about reptiles and
      fishes; man's imagination peoples the water with many things which do not
      belong there, or prefer to keep out of his way, if they do; fevers and
      congestions were the surgeon's business, and I always kept people to their
      own department; cramp and exhaustion were dangers I could measure, as I
      had often done; bullets were a more substantial danger, and I must take
      the chance,&mdash;if a loon could dive at the flash, why not I? If I were
      once ashore, I should have to cope with the Rebels on their own ground,
      which they knew better than I; but the water was my ground, where I, too,
      had been at home from boyhood.
    </p>
    <p>
      I swam as swiftly and softly as I could, although it seemed as if water
      never had been so still before. It appeared impossible that anything
      uncanny should hide beneath that lovely mirror; and yet when some floating
      wisp of reeds suddenly coiled itself around my neck, or some unknown
      thing, drifting deeper, coldly touched my foot, it caused that undefinable
      shudder which every swimmer knows, and which especially comes over one by
      night. Sometimes a slight sip of brackish water would enter my lips,&mdash;for
      I naturally tried to swim as low as possible,&mdash;and then would follow
      a slight gasping and contest against chocking, that seemed to me a perfect
      convulsion; for I suppose the tendency to choke and sneeze is always
      enhanced by the circumstance that one's life may depend on keeping still,
      just as yawning becomes irresistible where to yawn would be social ruin,
      and just as one is sure to sleep in church, if one sits in a conspicuous
      pew. At other times, some unguarded motion would create a splashing which
      seemed, in the tension of my senses, to be loud enough to be heard at
      Richmond, although it really mattered not, since there are fishes in those
      rivers which make as much noise on special occasions as if they were
      misguided young whales.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I drew near the opposite shore, the dark causeway projected more and
      more distinctly, to my fancy at least, and I swam more softly still,
      utterly uncertain as to how far, in the stillness of air and water, my
      phosphorescent course could be traced by eye or ear. A slight ripple would
      have saved me from observation, I was more than ever sure, and I would
      have whistled for a fair wind as eagerly as any sailor, but that my breath
      was worth to me more than anything it was likely to bring. The water
      became smoother and smoother, and nothing broke the dim surface except a
      few clumps of rushes and my unfortunate head. The outside of this member
      gradually assumed to its inside a gigantic magnitude; it had always
      annoyed me at the hatter's from a merely animal bigness, with no
      commensurate contents to show for it, and now I detested it more than
      ever. A physical feeling of turgescence and congestion in that region,
      such as swimmers often feel, probably increased the impression. I thought
      with envy of the Aztec children, of the headless horseman of Sleepy
      Hollow, of Saint Somebody with his head tucked under his arm. Plotinus was
      less ashamed of his whole body than I of this inconsiderate and stupid
      appendage. To be sure, I might swim for a certain distance under water.
      But that accomplishment I had reserved for a retreat, for I knew that the
      longer I stayed down the more surely I should have to snort like a walrus
      when I came up again, and to approach an enemy with such a demonstration
      was not to be thought of.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly a dog barked. We had certain information that a pack of hounds
      was kept at a Rebel station a few miles off, on purpose to hunt runaways,
      and I had heard from the negroes almost fabulous accounts of the instinct
      of these animals. I knew that, although water baffled their scent, they
      yet could recognize in some manner the approach of any person across water
      as readily as by land; and of the vigilance of all dogs by night every
      traveller among Southern plantations has ample demonstration. I was now so
      near that I could dimly see the figures of men moving to and fro upon the
      end of the causeway, and could hear the dull knock, when one struck his
      foot against a piece of limber.
    </p>
    <p>
      As my first object was to ascertain whether there were sentinels at that
      time at that precise point, I saw that I was approaching the end of my
      experiment Could I have once reached the causeway unnoticed, I could have
      lurked in the water beneath its projecting timbers, and perhaps made my
      way along the main shore, as I had known fugitive slaves to do, while
      coming from that side. Or had there been any ripple on the water, to
      confuse the aroused and watchful eyes, I could have made a circuit and
      approached the causeway at another point, though I had already satisfied
      myself that there was only a narrow channel on each side of it, even at
      high tide, and not, as on our side, a broad expanse of water. Indeed, this
      knowledge alone was worth all the trouble I had taken, and to attempt much
      more than this, in the face of a curiosity already roused, would have been
      a waste of future opportunities. I could try again, with the benefit of
      this new knowledge, on a point where the statements of the negroes had
      always been contradictory.
    </p>
    <p>
      Resolving, however, to continue the observation a very little longer,
      since the water felt much warmer than I had expected, and there was no
      sense of chill or fatigue, I grasped at some wisps of straw or rushes that
      floated near, gathering them round my face a little, and then drifting
      nearer the wharf in what seemed a sort of eddy was able, without creating
      further alarm, to make some additional observations on points which it is
      not best now to particularize. Then, turning my back upon the mysterious
      shore which had thus far lured me, I sank softly below the surface, and
      swam as far as I could under water.
    </p>
    <p>
      During this unseen retreat, I heard, of course, all manner of gurglings
      and hollow reverberations, and could fancy as many rifle-shots as I
      pleased. But on rising to the surface all seemed quiet, and even I did not
      create as much noise as I should have expected. I was now at a safe
      distance, since the enemy were always chary of showing their boats, and
      always tried to convince us they had none. What with absorbed attention
      first, and this submersion afterwards, I had lost all my bearings but the
      stars, having been long out of sight of my original point of departure.
      However, the difficulties of the return were nothing; making a slight
      allowance for the floodtide, which could not yet have turned, I should
      soon regain the place I had left. So I struck out freshly against the
      smooth water, feeling just a little stiffened by the exertion, and with an
      occasional chill running up the back of the neck, but with no nips from
      sharks, no nudges from alligators, and not a symptom of fever-and-ague.
    </p>
    <p>
      Time I could not, of course, measure,&mdash;one never can in a novel
      position; but, after a reasonable amount of swimming, I began to look,
      with a natural interest, for the pier which I had quitted. I noticed, with
      some solicitude, that the woods along the friendly shore made one
      continuous shadow, and that the line of low bushes on the long causeway
      could scarcely be relieved against them, yet I knew where they ought to
      be, and the more doubtful I felt about it, the more I put down my doubts,
      as if they were unreasonable children. One can scarcely conceive of the
      alteration made in familiar objects by bringing the eye as low as the
      horizon, especially by night; to distinguish foreshortening is impossible,
      and every low near object is equivalent to one higher and more remote.
      Still I had the stars; and soon my eye, more practised, was enabled to
      select one precise line of bushes as that which marked the causeway, and
      for which I must direct my course.
    </p>
    <p>
      As I swam steadily, but with some sense of fatigue, towards this
      phantom-line, I found it difficult to keep my faith steady and my progress
      true; everything appeared to shift and waver, in the uncertain light. The
      distant trees seemed not trees, but bushes, and the bushes seemed not
      exactly bushes, but might, after all, be distant trees. Could I be so
      confident that, out of all that low stretch of shore, I could select the
      one precise point where the friendly causeway stretched its long arm to
      receive me from the water? How easily (some tempter whispered at my ear)
      might one swerve a little, on either side, and be compelled to flounder
      over half a mile of oozy marsh on an ebbing tide, before reaching our own
      shore and that hospitable volley of bullets with which it would probably
      greet me! Had I not already (thus the tempter continued) been swimming
      rather unaccountably far, supposing me on a straight track for that
      inviting spot where my sentinels and my drapery were awaiting my return?
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly I felt a sensation as of fine ribbons drawn softly across my
      person, and I found myself among some rushes. But what business had rushes
      there, or I among them? I knew that there was not a solitary spot of shoal
      in the deep channel where I supposed myself swimming, and it was plain in
      an instant that I had somehow missed my course, and must be getting among
      the marshes. I felt confident, to be sure, that I could not have widely
      erred, but was guiding my course for the proper side of tie river. But
      whether I had drifted above or below the causeway I had not the slightest
      clew to tell.
    </p>
    <p>
      I pushed steadily forward, with some increasing sense of lassitude,
      passing one marshy islet after another, all seeming strangely out of
      place, and sometimes just reaching with my foot a soft tremulous shoal
      which gave scarce the shadow of a support, though even that shadow rested
      my feet. At one of these moments of stillness it suddenly occurred to my
      perception (what nothing but this slight contact could have assured me, in
      the darkness) that I was in a powerful current, and that this current set
      <i>the wrong way</i>. Instantly a flood of new intelligence came. Either I
      had unconsciously turned and was rapidly nearing the Rebel shore,&mdash;a
      suspicion which a glance at the stars corrected,&mdash;or else it was the
      tide itself which had turned, and which was sweeping me down the river
      with all its force, and was also sucking away at every moment the
      narrowing water from that treacherous expanse of mud out of whose horrible
      miry embrace I had lately helped to rescue a shipwrecked crew.
    </p>
    <p>
      Either alternative was rather formidable. I can distinctly remember that
      for about one half-minute the whole vast universe appeared to swim in the
      same watery uncertainty in which I floated. I began to doubt everything,
      to distrust the stars, the line of low bushes for which I was wearily
      striving, the very land on which they grew, if such visionary things could
      be rooted anywhere. Doubts trembled in my mind like the weltering water,
      and that awful sensation of having one's feet unsupported, which benumbs
      the spent swimmer's heart, seemed to clutch at mine, though not yet to
      enter it. I was more absorbed in that singular sensation of nightmare,
      such as one may feel equally when lost by land or by water, as if one's
      own position were all right, but the place looked for had somehow been
      preternaturally abolished out of the universe. At best, might not a man in
      the water lose all his power of direction, and so move in an endless
      circle until he sank exhausted? It required a deliberate and conscious
      effort to keep my brain quite cool. I have not the reputation of being of
      an excitable temperament, but the contrary; yet I could at that moment see
      my way to a condition in which one might become insane in an instant. It
      was as if a fissure opened somewhere, and I saw my way into a mad-house;
      then it closed, and everything went on as before. Once in my life I had
      obtained a slight glimpse of the same sensation, and then, too, strangely
      enough, while swimming,&mdash;in the mightiest ocean-surge into which I
      had ever dared plunge my mortal body. Keats hints at the same sudden
      emotion, in a wild poem written among the Scottish mountains. It was not
      the distinctive sensation which drowning men are said to have, that
      spasmodic passing in review of one's whole personal history. I had no
      well-defined anxiety, felt no fear, was moved to no prayer, did not give a
      thought to home or friends; only it swept over me, as with a sudden
      tempest, that, if I meant to get back to my own camp, I must keep my wits
      about me. I must not dwell on any other alternative, any more than a boy
      who climbs a precipice must look down. Imagination had no business here.
      That way madness lay. There was a shore somewhere before me, and I must
      get to it, by the ordinary means, before the ebb laid bare the flats, or
      swept me below the lower bends of the stream. That was all.
    </p>
    <p>
      Suddenly a light gleamed for an instant before me, as if from a house in a
      grove of great trees upon a bank; and I knew that it came from the window
      of a ruined plantation-building, where our most advanced outposts had
      their headquarters. The flash revealed to me every point of the situation.
      I saw at once where I was, and how I got there: that the tide had turned
      while I was swimming, and with a much briefer interval of slack-water than
      I had been led to suppose,&mdash;that I had been swept a good way down
      stream, and was far beyond all possibility of regaining the point I had
      left.
    </p>
    <p>
      Could I, however, retain my strength to swim one or two hundred yards
      farther, of which I had no doubt,&mdash;and if the water did not ebb too
      rapidly, of which I had more fear,&mdash;then I was quite safe. Every
      stroke took me more and more out of the power of the current, and there
      might even be an eddy to aid me. I could not afford to be carried down
      much farther, for there the channel made a sweep toward the wrong side of
      the river; but there was now no reason why I should not reach land. I
      could dismiss all fear, indeed, except that of being fired upon by our own
      sentinels, many of whom were then new recruits, and with the usual
      disposition to shoot first and investigate afterwards.
    </p>
    <p>
      I found myself swimming in shallow and shallower water, and the flats
      seemed almost bare when I neared the shore, where the great gnarled
      branches of the liveoaks hung far over the muddy bank. Floating on my back
      for noiselessness, I paddled rapidly in with my hands, expecting
      momentarily to hear the challenge of the picket, and the ominous click so
      likely to follow. I knew that some one should be pacing to and fro, along
      that beat, but could not tell at what point he might be at that precise
      moment. Besides, there was a faint possibility that some chatty corporal
      might have carried the news of my bath thus far along the line, and they
      might be partially prepared for this unexpected visitor. Suddenly, like
      another flash, came the quick, quaint challenge,&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Halt! Who's go dar?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "F-f-friend with the c-c-countersign," retorted I, with chilly, but
      conciliatory energy, rising at full length out of the shallow water, to
      show myself a man and a brother.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ac-vance, friend, and give de countersign," responded the literal
      soldier, who at such a tune would have accosted: a spirit of light or
      goblin damned with no other formula.
    </p>
    <p>
      I advanced and gave it, he recognized my voice at once. | And then and
      there, as I stood, a dripping ghost, beneath the f trees before him, the
      unconscionable fellow, wishing to exhaust upon me the utmost resources of
      military hospitality, deliberately presented arms!
    </p>
    <p>
      Now a soldier on picket, or at night, usually presents arms to nobody; but
      a sentinel on camp-guard by day is expected to perform that ceremony to
      anything in human shape that has two rows of buttons. Here was a human
      shape, but so utterly buttonless that it exhibited not even a rag to which
      a button could by any earthly possibility be appended, button-less even
      potentially; and my blameless Ethiopian presented arms to even this.
      Where, then, are the theories of Carlyle, the axioms of "Sartor Resartus,"
      the inability of humanity to conceive "a naked Duke of Windlestraw
      addressing a naked House of Lords"? Cautioning my adherent, however, as to
      the proprieties suitable for such occasions thenceforward, I left him
      watching the river with renewed vigilance, and awaiting the next merman
      who should report himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      Finding my way to the building, I hunted up a sergeant and a blanket, got
      a fire kindled in the dismantled chimney, and sat before it in my single
      garment, like a moist but undismayed Choctaw, until horse and clothing
      could be brought round from the causeway. It seemed strange that the
      morning had not yet dawned, after the uncounted periods that must have
      elapsed; but when the wardrobe arrived I looked at my watch and found that
      my night in the water had lasted precisely one hour.
    </p>
    <p>
      Galloping home, I turned in with alacrity, and without a drop of whiskey,
      and waked a few hours after in excellent condition. The rapid changes of
      which that Department has seen so many&mdash;and, perhaps, to so little
      purpose&mdash;soon transferred us to a different scene. I have been on
      other scouts since then, and by various processes, but never with a zest
      so novel as was afforded by that night's experience. The thing soon got
      wind in the regiment, and led to only one ill consequence, so far as I
      know. It rather suppressed a way I had of lecturing the officers on the
      importance of reducing their personal baggage to a minimum. They got a
      trick of congratulating me, very respectfully, on the thoroughness with
      which I had once conformed my practice to my precepts.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 7. Up the Edisto
    </h2>
    <p>
      In reading military history, one finds the main interest to lie,
      undoubtedly, in the great campaigns, where a man, a regiment, a brigade,
      is but a pawn in the game. But there is a charm also in the more free and
      adventurous life of partisan warfare, where, if the total sphere be
      humbler, yet the individual has more relative importance, and the sense of
      action is more personal and keen. This is the reason given by the
      eccentric Revolutionary biographer, Weems, for writing the Life of
      Washington first, and then that of Marion. And there were, certainly, hi
      the early adventures of the colored troops in the Department of the South,
      some of the same elements of picturesqueness that belonged to Marion's
      band, on the same soil, with the added feature that the blacks were
      fighting for their personal liberties, of which Marion had helped to
      deprive them.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is stated by Major-General Gillmore, in his "Siege of Charleston," as
      one of the three points in his preliminary strategy, that an expedition
      was sent up the Edisto River to destroy a bridge on the Charleston and
      Savannah Railway. As one of the early raids of the colored troops, this
      expedition may deserve narration, though it was, in a strategic point of
      view, a disappointment. It has already been told, briefly and on the whole
      with truth, by Greeley and others, but I will venture on a more complete
      account.
    </p>
    <p>
      The project dated back earlier than General Gillmore's siege, and had
      originally no connection with that movement. It had been formed by Captain
      Trowbridge and myself in camp, and was based on facts learned from the
      men. General Saxton and Colonel W. W. H. Davis, the successive
      post-commanders, had both favored it. It had been also approved by General
      Hunter, before his sudden removal, though he regarded the bridge as a
      secondary affair, because there was another railway communication between
      the two cities. But as my main object was to obtain permission to go, I
      tried to make the most of all results which might follow, while it was
      very clear that the raid would harass and confuse the enemy, and be the
      means of bringing away many of the slaves. General Hunter had, therefore,
      accepted the project mainly as a stroke for freedom and black recruits;
      and General Gillmore, because anything that looked toward action found
      favor in his eyes, and because it would be convenient to him at that time
      to effect a diversion, if nothing more.
    </p>
    <p>
      It must be remembered that, after the first capture of Port Royal, the
      outlying plantations along the whole Southern coast were abandoned, and
      the slaves withdrawn into the interior. It was necessary to ascend some
      river for thirty miles in order to reach the black population at all. This
      ascent could only be made by night, as it was a slow process, and the
      smoke of a steamboat could be seen for a great distance. The streams were
      usually shallow, winding, and muddy, and the difficulties of navigation
      were such as to require a full moon and a flood tide. It was really no
      easy matter to bring everything to bear, especially as every projected
      raid must be kept a secret so far as possible. However, we were now
      somewhat familiar with such undertakings, half military, half naval, and
      the thing to be done on the Edisto was precisely what we had proved to be
      practicable on the St. Mary's and the St. John's,&mdash;to drop anchor
      before the enemy's door some morning at daybreak, without his having
      dreamed of our approach.
    </p>
    <p>
      Since a raid made by Colonel Montgomery up the Combahee, two months
      before, the vigilance of the Rebels had increased. But we had information
      that upon the South Edisto, or Pon-Pon River, the rice plantations were
      still being actively worked by a large number of negroes, in reliance on
      obstructions placed at the mouth of that narrow stream, where it joins the
      main river, some twenty miles from the coast. This point was known to be
      further protected by a battery of unknown strength, at Wiltown Bluff, a
      commanding and defensible situation. The obstructions consisted of a row
      of strong wooden piles across the river; but we convinced ourselves that
      these must now be much decayed, and that Captain Trowbridge, an excellent
      engineer officer, could remove them by the proper apparatus. Our
      proposition was to man the John Adams, an armed ferry-boat, which had
      before done us much service,&mdash;and which has now reverted to the
      pursuits of peace, it is said, on the East Boston line,&mdash;to ascend in
      this to Wiltown Bluff, silence the battery, and clear a passage through
      the obstructions. Leaving the John Adams to protect this point, we could
      then ascend the smaller stream with two light-draft boats, and perhaps
      burn the bridge, which was ten miles higher, before the enemy could bring
      sufficient force to make our position at Wiltown Bluff untenable.
    </p>
    <p>
      The expedition was organized essentially upon this plan. The smaller boats
      were the Enoch Dean,&mdash;a river steamboat, which carried a ten-pound
      Parrott gun, and a small howitzer,&mdash;and a little mosquito of a tug,
      the Governor Milton, upon which, with the greatest difficulty, we found
      room for two twelve-pound Armstrong guns, with their gunners, forming a
      section of the First Connecticut Battery, under Lieutenant Clinton, aided
      by a squad from my own regiment, under Captain James. The John Adams
      carried, I if I remember rightly, two Parrott guns (of twenty and ten |
      pounds calibre) and a howitzer or two. The whole force of men did not
      exceed two hundred and fifty.
    </p>
    <p>
      We left Beaufort, S. C., on the afternoon of July 9th, 1863. In former
      narrations I have sufficiently described the charm of a moonlight ascent
      into a hostile country, upon an unknown stream, the dark and silent banks,
      the rippling water, the wail of the reed-birds, the anxious watch, the
      breathless listening, the veiled lights, the whispered orders. To this was
      now to be added the vexation of an insufficient pilotage, for our negro
      guide knew only the upper river, and, as it finally proved, not even that,
      while, to take us over the bar which obstructed the main stream, we must
      borrow a pilot from Captain Dutch, whose gunboat blockaded that point.
      This active naval officer, however, whose boat expeditions had penetrated
      all the lower branches of those rivers, could supply our want, and we
      borrowed from him not only a pilot, but a surgeon, to replace our own, who
      had been prevented by an accident from coming with us. Thus accompanied,
      we steamed over the bar in safety, had a peaceful ascent, passed the
      island of Jehossee,&mdash;the fine estate of Governor Aiken, then left
      undisturbed by both sides,&mdash;and fired our first shell into the camp
      at Wiltown Bluff at four o'clock in the morning.
    </p>
    <p>
      The battery&mdash;whether fixed or movable we knew not&mdash;met us with a
      promptness that proved very shortlived. After three shots it was silent,
      but we could not tell why. The bluff was wooded, and we could see but
      little. The only course was to land, under cover of the guns. As the
      firing ceased and the smoke cleared away, I looked across the rice-fields
      which lay beneath the bluff. The first sunbeams glowed upon their emerald
      levels, and on the blossoming hedges along the rectangular dikes. What
      were those black dots which everywhere appeared? Those moist meadows had
      become alive with human heads, and along each narrow path came a
      straggling file of men and women, all on a run for the river-side. I went
      ashore with a boat-load of troops at once. The landing was difficult and
      marshy. The astonished negroes tugged us up the bank, and gazed on us as
      if we had been Cortez and Columbus. They kept arriving by land much faster
      than we could come by water; every moment increased the crowd, the
      jostling, the mutual clinging, on that miry foothold. What a scene it was!
      With the wild faces, eager figures, strange garments, it seemed, as one of
      the poor things reverently suggested, "like notin' but de judgment day."
      Presently they began to come from the houses also, with their little
      bundles on their heads; then with larger bundles. Old women, trotting on
      the narrow paths, would kneel to pray a little prayer, still balancing the
      bundle; and then would suddenly spring up, urged by the accumulating
      procession behind, and would move on till irresistibly compelled by
      thankfulness to dip down for another invocation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Reaching us, every human being must grasp our hands, amid exclamations of
      "Bress you, mas'r," and "Bress de Lord," at the rate of four of the latter
      ascriptions to one of the former.
    </p>
    <p>
      Women brought children on their shoulders; small black boys learned on
      their back little brothers equally inky, and, gravely depositing them,
      shook hands. Never had I seen human beings so clad, or rather so unclad,
      in such amazing squalid-ness and destitution of garments. I recall one
      small urchin without a rag of clothing save the basque waist of a lady's
      dress, bristling with whalebones, and worn wrong side before, beneath
      which his smooth ebony legs emerged like those of an ostrich from its
      plumage. How weak is imagination, how cold is memory, that I ever cease,
      for a day of my life, to see before me the picture of that astounding
      scene!
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet at the time we were perforce a little impatient of all this piety,
      protestation, and hand-pressing; for the vital thing was to ascertain what
      force had been stationed at the bluff, and whether it was yet withdrawn.
      The slaves, on the other hand, were too much absorbed in their prospective
      freedom to aid us in taking any further steps to secure it. Captain
      Trowbridge, who had by this time landed at a different point, got quite
      into despair over the seeming deafness of the people to all questions.
      "How many soldiers are there on the bluff?" he asked of the first-comer.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mas'r," said the man, stuttering terribly, "I c-c-c&mdash;"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Tell me how many soldiers there are!" roared Trowbridge, in his mighty
      voice, and all but shaking the poor old thing, in his thirst for
      information.
    </p>
    <p>
      "O mas'r," recommenced in terror the incapacitated wit-ness, "I
      c-c-carpenter!" holding up eagerly a little stump of a hatchet, his sole
      treasure, as if his profession ought to excuse from all military opinions.
    </p>
    <p>
      I wish that it were possible to present all this scene from the point of
      view of the slaves themselves. It can be most nearly done, perhaps, by
      quoting the description given of a similar scene on the Combahee River, by
      a very aged man, who had been brought down on the previous raid, already
      mentioned. I wrote it down in tent, long after, while the old man recited
      the tale, with much gesticulation, at the door; and it is by far the best
      glimpse I have ever had, through a negro's eyes, at these wonderful
      birthdays of freedom.
    </p>
    <p>
      "De people was all a hoein', mas'r," said the old man. "Dey was a hoein'
      in the rice-field, when de gunboats come. Den ebry man drap dem hoe, and
      leff de rice. De mas'r he stand and call, 'Run to de wood for hide! Yankee
      come, sell you to Cuba! run for hide!' Ebry man he run, and, my God! run
      all toder way!
    </p>
    <p>
      "Mas'r stand in de wood, peep, peep, faid for truss [afraid to trust]. He
      say, 'Run to de wood!' and ebry man run by him, straight to de boat.
    </p>
    <p>
      "De brack sojer so presumptious, dey come right ashore, hold up dere head.
      Fus' ting I know, dere was a barn, ten tousand bushel rough rice, all in a
      blaze, den mas'r's great house, all cracklin' up de roof. Didn't I keer
      for see 'em blaze? Lor, mas'r, didn't care notin' at all, <i>was gwine to
      de boat</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      Dore's Don Quixote could not surpass the sublime absorption in which the
      gaunt old man, with arm uplifted, described this stage of affairs, till he
      ended in a shrewd chuckle, worthy of Sancho Panza. Then he resumed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "De brack sojers so presumptious!" This he repeated three times, slowly
      shaking his head in an ecstasy of admiration. It flashed upon me that the
      apparition of a black soldier must amaze those still in bondage, much as a
      butterfly just from the chrysalis might astound his fellow-grubs. I
      inwardly vowed that my soldiers, at least, should be as "presumptious" as
      I could make them. Then he went on.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ole woman and I go down to de boat; den dey say behind us, 'Rebels
      comin'l Rebels comin'!' Ole woman say, 'Come ahead, come plenty ahead!' I
      hab notin' on but my shirt and pantaloon; ole woman one single frock he
      hab on, and one handkerchief on he head; I leff all-two my blanket and run
      for de Rebel come, and den dey didn't come, didn't truss for come.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Ise eighty-eight year old, mas'r. My ole Mas'r Lowndes keep all de ages
      in a big book, and when we come to age ob sense we mark em down ebry year,
      so I know. Too ole for come? Mas'r joking. Neber too ole for leave de land
      o' bondage. I old, but great good for chil'en, gib tousand tank ebry day.
      Young people can go through, <i>force</i> [forcibly], mas'r, but de ole
      folk mus' go slow."
    </p>
    <p>
      Such emotions as these, no doubt, were inspired by our arrival, but we
      could only hear their hasty utterance in passing; our duty being, with the
      small force already landed, to take possession of the bluff. Ascending,
      with proper precautions, the wooded hill, we soon found ourselves in the
      deserted camp of a light battery, amid scattered equipments and
      suggestions of a very unattractive breakfast. As soon as possible,
      skirmishers were thrown out through the woods to the farther edge of the
      bluff, while a party searched the houses, finding the usual large supply
      of furniture and pictures,&mdash;brought up for safety from below,&mdash;but
      no soldiers. Captain Trowbridge then got the John Adams beside the row of
      piles, and went to work for their removal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Again I had the exciting sensation of being within the hostile lines,&mdash;the
      eager explorations, the doubts, the watchfulness, the listening for every
      sound of coming hoofs. Presently a horse's tread was heard in earnest, but
      it was a squad of our own men bringing in two captured cavalry soldiers.
      One of these, a sturdy fellow, submitted quietly to his lot, only begging
      that, whenever we should evacuate the bluff, a note should be left behind
      stating that he was a prisoner. The other, a very young man, and a member
      of the "Rebel Troop," a sort of Cadet corps among the Charleston youths,
      came to me in great wrath, complaining that the corporal of our squad had
      kicked him after he had surrendered. His air of offended pride was very
      rueful, and it did indeed seem a pathetic reversal of fortunes for the two
      races. To be sure, the youth was a scion of one of the foremost families
      of South Carolina, and when I considered the wrongs which the black race
      had encountered from those of his blood, first and last, it seemed as if
      the most scrupulous Recording Angel might tolerate one final kick to
      square the account. But I reproved the corporal, who respectfully
      disclaimed the charge, and said the kick was an incident of the scuffle.
      It certainly was not their habit to show such poor malice; they thought
      too well of themselves.
    </p>
    <p>
      His demeanor seemed less lofty, but rather piteous, when he implored me
      not to put him on board any vessel which was to ascend the upper stream,
      and hinted, by awful implications, the danger of such ascent. This meant
      torpedoes, a peril which we treated, in those days, with rather mistaken
      contempt. But we found none on the Edisto, and it may be that it was only
      a foolish attempt to alarm us.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, Trowbridge was toiling away at the row of piles, which proved
      easier to draw out than to saw asunder, either work being hard enough. It
      took far longer than we had hoped, and we saw noon approach and the tide
      rapidly fall, taking with it, inch by inch, our hopes of effecting a
      surprise at the bridge. During this time, and indeed all day, the
      detachments on shore, under Captains Whitney and Sampson, were having
      occasional skirmishes with the enemy, while the colored people were
      swarming to the shore, or running to and fro like ants, with the poor
      treasures of their houses. Our busy Quartermaster, Mr. Bingham&mdash;who
      died afterwards from the overwork of that sultry day&mdash;was
      transporting the refugees on board the steamer, or hunting up bales of
      cotton, or directing the burning of rice-houses, in accordance with our
      orders. No dwelling-houses were destroyed or plundered by our men,&mdash;Sherman's
      "bummers" not having yet arrived,&mdash;though I asked no questions as to
      what the plantation negroes might bring in their great bundles. One piece
      of property, I must admit, seemed a lawful capture,&mdash;a United States
      dress-sword, of the old pattern, which had belonged to the Rebel general
      who afterwards gave the order to bury Colonel Shaw "with his niggers."
      That I have retained, not without some satisfaction, to this day.
    </p>
    <p>
      A passage having been cleared at last, and the tide having turned by noon,
      we lost no time in attempting the ascent, leaving the bluff to be held by
      the John Adams, and by the small force on shore. We were scarcely above
      the obstructions, however, when the little tug went aground, and the Enoch
      Dean, ascending a mile farther, had an encounter with a battery on the
      right,&mdash;perhaps our old enemy,&mdash;and drove it back. Soon after,
      she also ran aground, a misfortune of which our opponent strangely took no
      advantage; and, on getting off, I thought it best to drop down to the
      bluff again, as the tide was still hopelessly low. None can tell, save
      those who have tried them, the vexations of those muddy Southern streams,
      navigable only during a few hours of flood-tide.
    </p>
    <p>
      After waiting an hour, the two small vessels again tried the ascent. The
      enemy on the right had disappeared; but we could now see, far off on our
      left, another light battery moving parallel with the river, apparently to
      meet us at some upper bend. But for the present we were safe, with the low
      rice-fields on each side of us; and the scene was so peaceful, it seemed
      as if all danger were done. For the first time, we saw in South Carolina
      blossoming river-banks and low emerald meadows, that seemed like New
      England. Everywhere there were the same rectangular fields, smooth canals,
      and bushy dikes. A few negroes stole out to us in dugouts, and
      breathlessly told us how others had been hurried away by the overseers. We
      glided safely on, mile after mile. The day was unutterably hot, but all
      else seemed propitious. The men had their combustibles all ready to fire
      the bridge, and our hopes were unbounded.
    </p>
    <p>
      But by degrees the channel grew more tortuous and difficult, and while the
      little Milton glided smoothly over everything, the Enoch Dean, my own
      boat, repeatedly grounded. On every occasion of especial need, too,
      something went wrong in her machinery,&mdash;her engine being constructed
      on some wholly new patent, of which, I should hope, this trial would prove
      entirely sufficient. The black pilot, who was not a soldier, grew more and
      more bewildered, and declared that it was the channel, not his brain,
      which had gone wrong; the captain, a little elderly man, sat wringing his
      hands in the pilot-box; and the engineer appeared to be mingling his
      groans with those of the diseased engine. Meanwhile I, in equal ignorance
      of machinery and channel, had to give orders only justified by minute
      acquaintance with both. So I navigated on general principles, until they
      grounded us on a mud-bank, just below a wooded point, and some two miles
      from the bridge of our destination. It was with a pang that I waved to
      Major Strong, who was on the other side of the channel in a tug, not to
      risk approaching us, but to steam on and finish the work, if he could.
    </p>
    <p>
      Short was his triumph. Gliding round the point, he found himself instantly
      engaged with a light battery of four or six guns, doubtless the same we
      had seen in the distance. The Milton was within two hundred and fifty
      yards. The Connecticut men fought then: guns well, aided by the blacks,
      and it was exasperating for us to hear the shots, while we could see
      nothing and do nothing. The scanty ammunition of our bow gun was
      exhausted, and the gun in the stern was useless, from the position in
      which we lay. In vain we moved the men from side to side, rocking the
      vessel, to dislodge it. The heat was terrific that August afternoon; I
      remember I found myself constantly changing places, on the scorched deck,
      to keep my feet from being blistered. At last the officer in charge of the
      gun, a hardy lumberman from Maine, got the stern of the vessel so far
      round that he obtained the range of the battery through the cabin windows,
      "but it would be necessary," he cooly added, on reporting to me this fact,
      "to shoot away the corner of the cabin." I knew that this apartment was
      newly painted and gilded, and the idol of the poor captain's heart; but it
      was plain that even the thought of his own upholstery could not make the
      poor soul more wretched than he was. So I bade Captain Dolly blaze away,
      and thus we took our hand in the little game, though at a sacrifice.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was of no use. Down drifted out little consort round the point, her
      engine disabled and her engineer killed, as we afterwards found, though
      then we could only look and wonder. Still pluckily firing, she floated by
      upon the tide, which had now just turned; and when, with a last desperate
      effort, we got off, our engine had one of its impracticable fits, and we
      could only follow her. The day was waning, and all its range of
      possibility had lain within the limits of that one tide.
    </p>
    <p>
      All our previous expeditions had been so successful it now seemed hard to
      turn back; the river-banks and rice-fields, so beautiful before, seemed
      only a vexation now. But the swift current bore us on, and after our
      Parthian shots had died away, a new discharge of artillery opened upon us,
      from our first antagonist of the morning, which still kept the other side
      of the stream. It had taken up a strong position on another bluff, almost
      out of range of the John Adams, but within easy range of us. The sharpest
      contest of the day was before us. Happily the engine and engineer were now
      behaving well, and we were steering in a channel already traversed, and of
      which the dangerous points were known. But we had a long, straight reach
      of river before us, heading directly toward the battery, which, having
      once got our range, had only to keep it, while we could do nothing in
      return. The Rebels certainly served then: guns well. For the first time I
      discovered that there were certain compensating advantages in a slightly
      built craft, as compared with one more substantial; the missiles never
      lodged in the vessel, but crashed through some thin partition as if it
      were paper, to explode beyond us, or fall harmless in the water.
      Splintering, the chief source of wounds and death in wooden ships, was
      thus entirely avoided; the danger was that our machinery might be
      disabled, or that shots might strike below the water-line and sink us.
    </p>
    <p>
      This, however, did not happen. Fifteen projectiles, as we afterwards
      computed, passed through the vessel or cut the rigging. Yet few casualties
      occurred, and those instantly fatal. As my orderly stood leaning on a
      comrade's shoulder, the head of the latter was shot off. At last I myself
      felt a sudden blow in the side, as if from some prize-fighter, doubling me
      up for a moment, while I sank upon a seat. It proved afterwards to have
      been produced by the grazing of a ball, which, without tearing a garment,
      had yet made a large part of my side black and blue, leaving a sensation
      of paralysis which made it difficult to stand. Supporting myself on
      Captain Rogers, I tried to comprehend what had happened, and I remember
      being impressed by an odd feeling that I had now got my share, and should
      henceforth be a great deal safer than any of the rest. I am told that this
      often follows one's first experience of a wound.
    </p>
    <p>
      But this immediate contest, sharp as it was, proved brief; a turn in the
      river enabled us to use our stern gun, and we soon glided into the
      comparative shelter of Wiltown Bluff. There, however, we were to encounter
      the danger of shipwreck, superadded to that of fight. When the passage
      through the piles was first cleared, it had been marked by stakes, lest
      the rising tide should cover the remaining piles, and make it difficult to
      run the passage. But when we again reached it, the stakes had somehow been
      knocked away, the piles were just covered by the swift current, and the
      little tug-boat was aground upon them. She came off easily, however, with
      our aid, and, when we in turn essayed the passage, we grounded also, but
      more firmly. We getting off at last, and making the passage, the tug again
      became lodged, when nearly past danger, and all our efforts proved
      powerless to pull her through. I therefore dropped down below, and sent
      the John Adams to her aid, while I superintended the final recall of the
      pickets, and the embarkation of the remaining refugees.
    </p>
    <p>
      While thus engaged, I felt little solicitude about the boats above. It was
      certain that the John Adams could safely go close to the piles on the
      lower side, that she was very strong, and that the other was very light.
      Still, it was natural to cast some anxious glances up the river, and it
      was with surprise that I presently saw a canoe descending, which contained
      Major Strong. Coming on board, he told me with some excitement that the
      tug could not possibly be got off, and he wished for orders.
    </p>
    <p>
      It was no time to consider whether it was not his place to have given
      orders, instead of going half a mile to seek them. I was by this time so
      far exhausted that everything seemed to pass by me as by one in a dream;
      but I got into a boat, pushed up stream, met presently the John Adams
      returning, and was informed by the officer in charge of the Connecticut
      battery that he had abandoned the tug, and&mdash;worse news yet&mdash;that
      his guns had been thrown overboard. It seemed to me then, and has always
      seemed, that this sacrifice was utterly needless, because, although the
      captain of the John Adams had refused to risk his vessel by going near
      enough to receive the guns, he should have been compelled to do so. Though
      the thing was done without my knowledge, and beyond my reach, yet, as
      commander of the expedition, I was technically responsible. It was hard to
      blame a lieutenant when his senior had shrunk from a decision, and left
      him alone; nor was it easy to blame Major Strong, whom I knew to be a man
      of personal courage though without much decision of character. He was
      subsequently tried by court-martial and acquitted, after which he
      resigned, and was lost at sea on his way home.
    </p>
    <p>
      The tug, being thus abandoned, must of course be burned to prevent her
      falling into the enemy's hands. Major Strong went with prompt fearlessness
      to do this, at my order; after which he remained on the Enoch Dean, and I
      went on board the John Adams, being compelled to succumb at last, and
      transfer all remaining responsibility to Captain Trowbridge. Exhausted as
      I was, I could still observe, in a vague way, the scene around me. Every
      available corner of the boat seemed like some vast auction-room of
      second-hand goods. Great piles of bedding and bundles lay on every side,
      with black heads emerging and black forms reclining in every stage of
      squalidness. Some seemed ill, or wounded, or asleep, others were
      chattering eagerly among themselves, singing, praying, or soliloquizing on
      joys to come. "Bress de Lord," I heard one woman say, "I spec' I got salt
      victual now,&mdash;notin' but fresh victual dese six months, but Ise get
      salt victual now,"&mdash;thus reversing, under pressure of the
      salt-embargo, the usual anticipations of voyagers.
    </p>
    <p>
      Trowbridge told me, long after, that, on seeking a fan for my benefit, he
      could find but one on board. That was in the hands of a fat old "aunty,"
      who had just embarked, and sat on an enormous bundle of her goods, in
      everybody's way, fanning herself vehemently, and ejaculating, as her
      gasping breath would permit, "Oh! Do, Jesus! Oh! Do, Jesus!" when the
      captain abruptly disarmed her of the fan, and left her continuing her
      pious exercises.
    </p>
    <p>
      Thus we glided down the river in the waning light. Once more we
      encountered a battery, making five in all; I could hear the guns of the
      assailants, and could not distinguish the explosion of their shells from
      the answering throb of our own guns. The kind Quartermaster kept bringing
      me news of what occurred, like Rebecca in Front-de-Boeuf s castle, but
      discreetly withholding any actual casualties. Then all faded into safety
      and sleep; and we reached Beaufort in the morning, after thirty-six hours
      of absence. A kind friend, who acted in South Carolina a nobler part amid
      tragedies than in any of her early stage triumphs, met us with an
      ambulance at the wharf, and the prisoners, the wounded, and the dead were
      duly attended.
    </p>
    <p>
      The reader will not care for any personal record of convalescence; though,
      among the general military laudations of whiskey, it is worth while to say
      that one life was saved, in the opinion of my surgeons, by an habitual
      abstinence from it, leaving no food for peritoneal inflammation to feed
      upon. The able-bodied men who had joined us were, sent to aid General
      Gillmore in the trenches, while their families were established in huts
      and tents on St. Helena Island. A year after, greatly to the delight of
      the regiment, in taking possession of a battery which they had helped to
      capture on James Island, they found in their hands the selfsame guns which
      they had seen thrown overboard from the Governor Milton. They then felt
      that their account with the enemy was squared, and could proceed to
      further operations.
    </p>
    <p>
      Before the war, how great a thing seemed the rescue of even one man from
      slavery; and since the war has emancipated all, how little seems the
      liberation of two hundred! But no one then knew how the contest might end;
      and when I think of that morning sunlight, those emerald fields, those
      thronging numbers, the old women with their prayers, and the little boys
      with them: living burdens, I know that the day was worth all it cost, and
      more.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 8. The Baby of the Regiment
    </h2>
    <p>
      We were in our winter camp on Port Royal Island. It was a lovely November
      morning, soft and spring-like; the mocking-birds were singing, and the
      cotton-fields still white with fleecy pods. Morning drill was over, the
      men were cleaning their guns and singing very happily; the officers were
      in their tents, reading still more happily their letters just arrived from
      home. Suddenly I heard a knock at my tent-door, and the latch clicked. It
      was the only latch in camp, and I was very proud of it, and the officers
      always clicked it as loudly as possible, in order to gratify my feelings.
      The door opened, and the Quartermaster thrust in the most beaming face I
      ever saw.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Colonel," said he, "there are great news for the regiment. My wife and
      baby are coming by the next steamer!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Baby!" said I, in amazement. "Q. M., you are beside yourself." (We always
      called the Quartermaster Q. M. for shortness.) "There was a pass sent to
      your wife, but nothing was ever said about a baby. Baby indeed!"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But the baby was included in the pass," replied the triumphant
      father-of-a-family. "You don't suppose my wife would come down here
      without her baby! Besides, the pass itself permits her to bring necessary
      baggage, and is not a baby six months old necessary baggage?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "But, my dear fellow," said I, rather anxiously, "how can you make the
      little thing comfortable in a tent, amidst these rigors of a South
      Carolina winter, when it is uncomfortably hot for drill at noon, and ice
      forms by your bedside at night?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Trust me for that," said the delighted papa, and went off whistling. I
      could hear him telling the same news to three others, at least, before he
      got to his own tent.
    </p>
    <p>
      That day the preparations began, and soon his abode was a wonder of
      comfort. There were posts and rafters, and a raised floor, and a great
      chimney, and a door with hinges,&mdash;every luxury except a latch, and
      that he could not have, for mine was the last that could be purchased. One
      of the regimental carpenters was employed to make a cradle, and another to
      make a bedstead high enough for the cradle to go under. Then there must be
      a bit of red carpet beside the bedstead, and thus the progress of splendor
      went on. The wife of one of the colored sergeants was engaged to act as
      nursery-maid. She was a very respectable young woman; the only objection
      to her being that she smoked a pipe. But we thought that perhaps Baby
      might not dislike tobacco; and if she did, she would have excellent
      opportunities to break the pipe in pieces.
    </p>
    <p>
      In due time the steamer arrived, and Baby and her mother were among the
      passengers. The little recruit was soon settled in her new cradle, and
      slept in it as if she had never known any other. The sergeant's wife soon
      had her on exhibition through the neighborhood, and from that time forward
      she was quite a queen among us. She had sweet blue eyes and pretty brown
      hair, with round, dimpled cheeks, and that perfect dignity which is so
      beautiful in a baby. She hardly ever cried, and was not at all timid. She
      would go to anybody, and yet did not encourage any romping from any but
      the most intimate friends. She always wore a warm long-sleeved scarlet
      cloak with a hood, and in this costume was carried or "toted," as the
      soldiers said, all about the camp. At "guard-mounting" in the morning,
      when the men who are to go on guard duty for the day are drawn up to be
      inspected, Baby was always there, to help inspect them. She did not say
      much, but she eyed them very closely, and seemed fully to appreciate their
      bright buttons. Then the Officer-of-the-Day, who appears at guard-mounting
      with his sword and sash, and comes afterwards to the Colonel's tent for
      orders, would come and speak to Baby on his way, and receive her orders
      first. When the time came for drill she was usually present to watch the
      troops; and when the drum beat for dinner she liked to see the long row of
      men in each company march up to the cookhouse, in single file, each with
      tin cup and plate.
    </p>
    <p>
      During the day, in pleasant weather, she might be seen in her nurse's
      arms, about the company streets, the centre of an admiring circle, her
      scarlet costume looking very pretty amidst the shining black cheeks and
      neat blue uniforms of the soldiers. At "dress-parade," just before sunset,
      she was always an attendant. As I stood before the regiment, I could see
      the little spot of red out of the corner of my eye, at one end of the long
      line of men; and I looked with so much interest for her small person,
      that, instead of saying at the proper time, "Attention, Battalion!
      Shoulder arms!"&mdash;it is a wonder that I did not say, "Shoulder
      babies!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Our little lady was very impartial, and distributed her kind looks to
      everybody. She had not the slightest prejudice against color, and did not
      care in the least whether her particular friends were black or white. Her
      especial favorites, I think, were the drummer-boys, who were not my
      favorites by any means, for they were a roguish set of scamps, and gave
      more trouble than all the grown men in the regiment. I think Annie liked
      them because they were small, and made a noise, and had red caps like her
      hood, and red facings on their jackets, and also because they occasionally
      stood on their heads for her amusement. After dress-parade the whole
      drum-corps would march to the great flag-staff, and wait till just
      sunset-time, when they would beat "the retreat," and then the flag would
      be hauled down,&mdash;a great festival for Annie. Sometimes the
      Sergeant-Major would wrap her in the great folds of the flag, after it was
      taken down, and she would peep out very prettily from amidst the stars and
      stripes, like a new-born Goddess of Liberty.
    </p>
    <p>
      About once a month, some inspecting officer was sent to the camp by the
      general in command, to see to the condition of everything in the regiment,
      from bayonets to buttons. It was usually a long and tiresome process, and,
      when everything else was done, I used to tell the officer that I had one
      thing more for him to inspect, which was peculiar to our regiment. Then I
      would send for Baby to be exhibited, and I never saw an inspecting
      officer, old or young, who did not look pleased at the sudden appearance
      of the little, fresh, smiling creature,&mdash;a flower in the midst of
      war. And Annie in her turn would look at them, with the true baby dignity
      La her face,&mdash;that deep, earnest look which babies often have, and
      which people think so wonderful when Raphael paints it, although they
      might often see just the same expression in the faces of their own
      darlings at home.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile Annie seemed to like the camp style of housekeeping very much.
      Her father's tent was double, and he used the front apartment for his
      office, and the inner room for parlor and bedroom; while the nurse had a
      separate tent and wash-room behind all. I remember that, the first time I
      went there in the evening, it was to borrow some writing-paper; and while
      Baby's mother was hunting for it in the front tent, I heard a great cooing
      and murmuring in the inner room. I asked if Annie was still awake, and her
      mother told me to go in and see. Pushing aside the canvas door, I entered.
      No sign of anybody was to be seen; but a variety of soft little happy
      noises seemed to come from some unseen corner. Mrs. C. came quietly in,
      pulled away the counterpane of her own bed, and drew out the rough cradle
      where lay the little damsel, perfectly happy, and wider awake than
      anything but a baby possibly can be. She looked as if the seclusion of a
      dozen family bedsteads would not be enough to discourage her spirits, and
      I saw that camp life was likely to suit her very well.
    </p>
    <p>
      A tent can be kept very warm, for it is merely a house with a thinner wall
      than usual; and I do not think that Baby felt the cold much more than if
      she had been at home that winter. The great trouble is, that a
      tent-chimney, not being built very high, is apt to smoke when the wind is
      in a certain direction; and when that happens it is hardly possible to
      stay inside. So we used to build the chimneys of some tents on the east
      side, and those of others on the west, and thus some of the tents were
      always comfortable. I have seen Baby's mother running in a hard rain, with
      little Red-Riding-Hood in her arms, to take refuge with the Adjutant's
      wife, when every other abode was full of smoke; and I must admit that
      there were one or two windy days that season when nobody could really keep
      warm, and Annie had to remain ignominiously in her cradle, with as many
      clothes on as possible, for almost the whole time.
    </p>
    <p>
      The Quartermaster's tent was very attractive to us in the evening. I
      remember that once, on passing near it after nightfall, I heard our
      Major's fine voice singing Methodist hymns within, and Mrs. C.'s sweet
      tones chiming in. So I peeped through the outer door. The fire was burning
      very pleasantly in the inner tent, and the scrap of new red carpet made
      the floor look quite magnificent. The Major sat on a box, our surgeon on a
      stool; "Q. M." and his wife, and the Adjutant's wife, and one of the
      captains, were all sitting on the bed, singing as well as they knew how;
      and the baby was under the bed. Baby had retired for the night, was
      overshadowed, suppressed, sat upon; the singing went on, and she had
      wandered away into her own land of dreams, nearer to heaven, perhaps, than
      any pitch their voices could attain. I went in, and joined the party.
      Presently the music stopped, and another officer was sent for, to sing
      some particular song. At this pause the invisible innocent waked a little,
      and began to cluck and coo.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's the kitten," exclaimed somebody.
    </p>
    <p>
      "It's my baby!" exclaimed Mrs. C. triumphantly, in that tone of unfailing
      personal pride which belongs to young mothers.
    </p>
    <p>
      The people all got up from the bed for a moment, while Annie was pulled
      from beneath, wide awake and placid as usual; and she sat in one lap or
      another during the rest of the concert, sometimes winking at the candle,
      but usually listening to the songs, with a calm and critical expression,
      as if she could make as much noise as any of them, whenever she saw fit to
      try. Not a sound did she make, however, except one little soft sneeze,
      which led to an immediate flood-tide of red shawl, covering every part of
      her but the forehead. But I soon hinted that the concert had better be
      ended, because I knew from observation that the small damsel had Carefully
      watched a regimental inspection and a brigade drill on that day, and that
      an interval of repose was certainly necessary.
    </p>
    <p>
      Annie did not long remain the only baby in camp. One day, on going out to
      the stables to look at a horse, I heard a sound of baby-talk, addressed by
      some man to a child near by, and, looking round the corner of a tent, I
      saw that one of the hostlers had something black and round, lying on the
      sloping side of a tent, with which he was playing very eagerly. It proved
      to be his baby, a plump, shiny thing, younger than Annie; and I never saw
      a merrier picture than the happy father frolicking with his child, while
      the mother stood quietly by. This was Baby Number Two, and she stayed in
      camp several weeks, the two innocents meeting each other every day, in the
      placid indifference that belonged to their years; both were happy little
      healthy things, and it never seemed to cross their minds that there was
      any difference in their complexions. As I said before, Annie was not
      troubled by any prejudice in regard to color, nor do I suppose that the
      other little maiden was.
    </p>
    <p>
      Annie enjoyed the tent-life very much; but when we were Sent out on picket
      soon after, she enjoyed it still more. Our head-quarters were at a
      deserted plantation house, with one large parlor, a dining-room, and a few
      bedrooms. Baby's father and mother had a room up stairs, with a stove
      whose pipe went straight out at the window. This was quite comfortable,
      though half the windows were broken, and there was no glass and no glazier
      to mend them. The windows of the large parlor were in much the same
      condition, though we had an immense fireplace, where we had a bright fire
      whenever it was cold, and always in the evening. The walls of this room
      were very dirty, and it took our ladies several days to cover all the
      unsightly places with wreaths and hangings of evergreen. In the
      performance Baby took an active part. Her duties consisted in sitting in a
      great nest of evergreen, pulling and fingering the fragrant leaves, and
      occasionally giving a little cry of glee when she had accomplished some
      piece of decided mischief.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was less entertainment to be found in the camp itself at this time;
      but the household at head-quarters was larger than Baby had been
      accustomed to. We had a great deal of company, moreover, and she had quite
      a gay life of it. She usually made her appearance in the large parlor soon
      after breakfast; and to dance her for a few moments in our arms was one of
      the first daily duties of each one. Then the morning reports began to
      arrive from the different outposts,&mdash;a mounted officer or courier
      coming in from each place, dismounting at the door, and clattering in with
      jingling arms and spurs, each a new excitement for Annie. She usually got
      some attention from any officer who came, receiving with her wonted
      dignity any daring caress. When the messengers had ceased to be
      interesting, there were always the horses to look at, held or tethered
      under the trees beside the sunny <i>piazza</i>. After the various couriers
      had been received, other messengers would be despatched to the town, seven
      miles away, and Baby had all the excitement of their mounting and
      departure. Her father was often one of the riders, and would sometimes
      seize Annie for a good-by kiss, place her on the saddle before him, gallop
      her round the house once or twice, and then give her back to her nurse's
      arms again. She was perfectly fearless, and such boisterous attentions
      never frightened her, nor did they ever interfere with her sweet,
      infantine self-possession.
    </p>
    <p>
      After the riding-parties had gone, there was the <i>piazza</i> still for
      entertainment, with a sentinel pacing up and down before it; but Annie did
      not enjoy the sentinel, though his breastplate and buttons shone like
      gold, so much as the hammock which always hung swinging between the
      pillars. It was a pretty hammock, with great open meshes; and she
      delighted to lie in it, and have the netting closed above her, so that she
      could only be seen through the apertures. I can see her now, the fresh
      little rosy thing, in her blue and scarlet wrappings, with one round and
      dimpled arm thrust forth through the netting, and the other grasping an
      armful of blushing roses and fragrant magnolias. She looked like those
      pretty French bas-reliefs of Cupids imprisoned in baskets, and peeping
      through. That hammock was a very useful appendage; it was a couch for us,
      a cradle for Baby, a nest for the kittens; and we had, moreover, a little
      hen, which tried to roost there every night.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the mornings were colder, and the stove up stairs smoked the wrong
      way, Baby was brought down in a very incomplete state of toilet, and
      finished her dressing by the great fire. We found her bare shoulders very
      becoming, and she was very much interested in her own little pink toes.
      After a very slow dressing, she had a still slower breakfast out of a tin
      cup of warm milk, of which she generally spilt a good deal, as she had
      much to do in watching everybody who came into the room, and seeing that
      there was no mischief done. Then she would be placed on the floor, on our
      only piece of carpet, and the kittens would be brought in for her to play
      with.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had, at different times, a variety of pets, of whom Annie did not take
      much notice. Sometimes we had young partridges, caught by the drummer-boys
      in trap-cages. The children called them "Bob and Chloe," because the first
      notes of the male and female sound like those names. One day I brought
      home an opossum, with her blind bare little young clinging to the droll
      pouch where their mothers keep them. Sometimes we had pretty green
      lizards, their color darkening or deepening, like that of chameleons, in
      light or shade. But the only pets that took Baby's fancy were the kittens.
      They perfectly delighted her, from the first moment she saw them; they
      were the only things younger than herself that she had ever beheld, and
      the only things softer than themselves that her small hands had grasped.
      It was astonishing to see how much the kittens would endure from her. They
      could scarcely be touched by any one else without mewing; but when Annie
      seized one by the head and the other by the tail, and rubbed them
      violently together, they did not make a sound. I suppose that a baby's
      grasp is really soft, even if it seems ferocious, and so it gives less
      pain than one would think. At any rate, the little animals had the best of
      it very soon; for they entirely outstripped Annie in learning to walk, and
      they could soon scramble away beyond her reach, while she sat in a sort of
      dumb despair, unable to comprehend why anything so much smaller than
      herself should be so much nimbler. Meanwhile, the kittens would sit up and
      look at her with the most provoking indifference, just out of arm's
      length, until some of us would take pity on the young lady, and toss her
      furry playthings back to her again. "Little baby," she learned to call
      them; and these were the very first words she spoke.
    </p>
    <p>
      Baby had evidently a natural turn for war, further cultivated by an
      intimate knowledge of drills and parades. The nearer she came to actual
      conflict the better she seemed to like it, peaceful as her own little ways
      might be. Twice, at least, while she was with us on picket, we had alarms
      from the Rebel troops, who would bring down cannon to the opposite side of
      the Ferry, about two miles beyond us, and throw shot and shell over upon
      our side. Then the officer at the Ferry would think that there was to be
      an attack made, and couriers would be sent, riding to and fro, and the men
      would all be called to arms in a hurry, and the ladies at headquarters
      would all put on their best bonnets and come down stairs, and the
      ambulance would be made ready to carry them to a place of safety before
      the expected fight. On such occasions Baby was in all her glory. She
      shouted with delight at being suddenly uncribbed and thrust into her
      little scarlet cloak, and brought down stairs, at an utterly unusual and
      improper hour, to a <i>piazza</i> with lights and people and horses and
      general excitement. She crowed and gurgled and made gestures with her
      little fists, and screamed out what seemed to be her advice on the
      military situation, as freely as if she had been a newspaper editor.
      Except that it was rather difficult to understand her precise direction, I
      do not know but the whole Rebel force might have been captured through her
      plans. And at any rate, I should much rather obey her orders than those of
      some generals whom I have known; for she at least meant no harm, and would
      lead one into no mischief.
    </p>
    <p>
      However, at last the danger, such as it was, would be all over, and the
      ladies would be induced to go peacefully to bed again; and Annie would
      retreat with them to her ignoble cradle, very much disappointed, and
      looking vainly back at the more martial scene below. The next morning she
      would seem to have forgotten all about it, and would spill her bread and
      milk by the fire as if nothing had happened.
    </p>
    <p>
      I suppose we hardly knew, at the time, how large a part of the sunshine of
      our daily lives was contributed by dear little Annie. Yet, when I now look
      back on that pleasant Southern home, she seems as essential a part of it
      as the mocking-birds or the magnolias, and I cannot convince myself that
      in returning to it I should not find her there. But Annie went back, with
      the spring, to her Northern birthplace, and then passed away from this
      earth before her little feet had fairly learned to tread its paths; and
      when I meet her next it must be in some world where there is triumph
      without armies, and where innocence is trained in scenes of peace. I know,
      however, that her little life, short as it seemed, was a blessing to us
      all, giving a perpetual image of serenity and sweetness, recalling the
      lovely atmosphere of far-off homes, and holding us by unsuspected ties to
      whatsoever things were pure.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 9. Negro Spirituals
    </h2>
    <p>
      The war brought to some of us, besides its direct experiences, many a
      strange fulfilment of dreams of other days. For instance, the present
      writer had been a faithful student of the Scottish ballads, and had always
      envied Sir Walter the delight of tracing them out amid their own heather,
      and of writing them down piecemeal from the lips of aged crones. It was a
      strange enjoyment, therefore, to be suddenly brought into the midst of a
      kindred world of unwritten songs, as simple and indigenous as the Border
      Minstrelsy, more uniformly plaintive, almost always more quaint, and often
      as essentially poetic.
    </p>
    <p>
      This interest was rather increased by the fact that I had for many years
      heard of this class of songs under the name of "Negro Spirituals," and had
      even heard some of them sung by friends from South Carolina. I could now
      gather on their own soil these strange plants, which I had before seen as
      in museums alone. True, the individual songs rarely coincided; there was a
      line here, a chorus there,&mdash;just enough to fix the class, but this
      was unmistakable. It was not strange that they differed, for the range
      seemed almost endless, and South Carolina, Georgia, and Florida seemed to
      have nothing but the generic character in common, until all were mingled
      in the united stock of camp-melodies.
    </p>
    <p>
      Often in the starlit evening, I have returned from some lonely ride by the
      swift river, or on the plover-haunted barrens, and, entering the camp,
      have silently approached some glimmering fire, round which the dusky
      figures moved in the rhythmical barbaric dance the negroes call a "shout,"
      chanting, often harshly, but always in the most perfect time, some
      monotonous refrain. Writing down in the darkness, as I best could,&mdash;perhaps
      with my hand in the safe covert of my pocket,&mdash;the words of the song,
      I have afterwards carried it to my tent, like some captured bird or
      insect, and then, after examination, put it by. Or, summoning one of the
      men at some period of leisure,&mdash;Corporal Robert Sutton, for instance,
      whose iron memory held all the details of a song as if it were a ford or a
      forest,&mdash;I have completed the new specimen by supplying the absent
      parts. The music I could only retain by ear, and though the more common
      strains were repeated often enough to fix their impression, there were
      others that occurred only once or twice.
    </p>
    <p>
      The words will be here given, as nearly as possible, in the original
      dialect; and if the spelling seems sometimes inconsistent, or the
      misspelling insufficient, it is because I could get no nearer. I wished to
      avoid what seems to me the only error of Lowell's "Biglow Papers" in
      respect to dialect, the occasional use of an extreme misspelling, which
      merely confuses the eye, without taking us any closer to the peculiarity
      of sound.
    </p>
    <p>
      The favorite song in camp was the following, sung with no accompaniment
      but the measured clapping of hands and the clatter of many feet. It was
      sung perhaps twice as often as any other. This was partly due to the fact
      that it properly consisted of a chorus alone, with which the verses of
      other songs might be combined at random.
    </p>
    <p>
      I. HOLD YOUR LIGHT.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Hold your light, Brudder Robert,
    Hold your light,
  Hold your light on Canaan's shore.
  "What make ole Satan for follow me so?
  Satan ain't got notin' for do wid me.
    Hold your light,
    Hold your light,
  Hold your light on Canaan's shore."
</pre>
    <p>
      This would be sung for half an hour at a time, perhaps each person present
      being named in turn. It seemed the simplest primitive type of "spiritual."
      The next in popularity was almost as elementary, and, like this, named
      successively each one of the circle. It was, however, much more resounding
      and convivial in its music.
    </p>
    <p>
      II. BOUND TO GO.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Jordan River, I'm bound to go,
    Bound to go, bound to go,&mdash;
  Jordan River, I'm bound to go,
    And bid 'em fare ye well.

  "My Brudder Robert, I'm bound to go,
    Bound to go," &amp;c.

  "My Sister Lucy, I'm bound to go,
    Bound to go," &amp;c.
</pre>
    <p>
      Sometimes it was "tink 'em" (think them) "fare ye well." The <i>ye</i> was
      so detached that I thought at first it was "very" or "vary well."
    </p>
    <p>
      Another picturesque song, which seemed immensely popular, was at first
      very bewildering to me. I could not make out the first words of the
      chorus, and called it the "Roman-dar," being reminded of some Romaic song
      which I had formerly heard. That association quite fell in with the
      Orientalism of the new tent-life.
    </p>
    <p>
      III. ROOM IN THERE.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O, my mudder is gone! my mudder is gone!
  My mudder is gone into heaven, my Lord!
    I can't stay behind!
  Dere's room in dar, room in dar,
  Room in dar, in de heaven, my Lord!
    I can't stay behind!
  Can't stay behind, my dear,
    I can't stay behind!

  "O, my fader is gone!" &amp;c.

  "O, de angels are gone!" &amp;c.

  "O, I'se been on de road! I'se been on de road!
  I'se been on de road into heaven, my Lord!
    I can't stay behind!
  O, room in dar, room in dar,
  Room in dar, in de heaven, my Lord!
    I can't stay behind!
</pre>
    <p>
      By this time every man within hearing, from oldest to youngest, would be
      wriggling and shuffling, as if through some magic piper's bewitchment; for
      even those who at first affected contemptuous indifference would be drawn
      into the vortex erelong.
    </p>
    <p>
      Next to these in popularity ranked a class of songs belonging emphatically
      to the Church Militant, and available for camp purposes with very little
      strain upon their symbolism. This, for instance, had a true
      companion-in-arms heartiness about it, not impaired by the feminine
      invocation at the end.
    </p>
    <p>
      IV. HAIL MARY.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "One more valiant soldier here,
    One more valiant soldier here,
  One more valiant soldier here,
    To help me bear de cross.
  O hail, Mary, hail!
    Hail, Mary, hail!
  Hail, Mary, hail!
    To help me bear de cross."
</pre>
    <p>
      I fancied that the original reading might have been "soul," instead of
      "soldier,"&mdash;with some other syllable inserted to fill out the metre,&mdash;and
      that the "Hail, Mary," might denote a Roman Catholic origin, as I had
      several men from St. Augustine who held in a dim way to that faith. It was
      a very ringing song, though not so grandly jubilant as the next, which was
      really impressive as the singers pealed it out, when marching or rowing or
      embarking.
    </p>
    <p>
      V. MY ARMY CROSS OVER.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "My army cross over,
  My army cross over,
  O, Pharaoh's army drowndedl
  My army cross over.

  "We'll cross de mighty river,
    My army cross over;
  We'll cross de river Jordan,
    My army cross over;
  We'll cross de danger water,
    My army cross over;
  We'll cross de mighty Myo,
    My army cross over. <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    O, Pharaoh's army drowndedl
    My army cross over."
</pre>
    <p>
      I could get no explanation of the "mighty Myo," except that one of the old
      men thought it meant the river of death. Perhaps it is an African word. In
      the Cameroon dialect, "Mawa" signifies "to die."
    </p>
    <p>
      The next also has a military ring about it, and the first line is well
      matched by the music. The rest is conglomerate, and one or two lines show
      a more Northern origin. "Done" is a Virginia shibboleth, quite distinct
      from the "been" which replaces it in South Carolina. Yet one of their best
      choruses, without any fixed words, was, "De bell done ringing," for which,
      in proper South Carolina dialect, would have been substituted, "De bell
      been a-ring." This refrain may have gone South with our army.
    </p>
    <p>
      VI. RIDE IN, KIND SAVIOUR.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Ride in, kind Saviour!
    No man can hinder me.
  O, Jesus is a mighty man!
    No man, &amp;c.
  We're marching through Virginny fields.
    No man, &amp;c.
  O, Satan is a busy man,
    No man, &amp;c.
  And he has his sword and shield,
    No man, &amp;c.
  O, old Secesh done come and gone!
    No man can hinder me."
</pre>
    <p>
      Sometimes they substituted "binder <i>we</i>," which was more spicy to the
      ear, and more in keeping with the usual head-over-heels arrangement of
      their pronouns.
    </p>
    <p>
      Almost all their songs were thoroughly religious in their tone, however
      quaint then: expression, and were in a minor key, both as to words and
      music. The attitude is always the same, and, as a commentary on the life
      of the race, is infinitely pathetic. Nothing but patience for this life,&mdash;nothing
      but triumph in the next. Sometimes the present predominates, sometimes the
      future; but the combination is always implied. In the following, for
      instance, we hear simply the patience.
    </p>
    <p>
      VII. THIS WORLD ALMOST DONE.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Brudder, keep your lamp trimmin' and a-burnin',
  Keep your lamp trimmin' and a-burnin',
  Keep your lamp trimmin' and a-burnin',
    For dis world most done.
  So keep your lamp, &amp;c.
    Dis world most done."
</pre>
    <p>
      But in the next, the final reward of patience is proclaimed as
      plaintively.
    </p>
    <p>
      VIII. I WANT TO GO HOME.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Dere's no rain to wet you,
    O, yes, I want to go home.
  Dere's no sun to burn you,
    O, yes, I want to go home;
  O, push along, believers,
    O, yes, &amp;c.
  Dere's no hard trials,
    O, yes, &amp;c.
  Dere's no whips a-crackin',
    O, yes, &amp;c.
  My brudder on de wayside,
    O, yes, &amp;c.
  O, push along, my brudder,
    O, yes, &amp;c.
  Where dere's no stormy weather,
    O, yes, &amp;c.
  Dere's no tribulation,
    O, yes, &amp;c.
</pre>
    <p>
      This next was a boat-song, and timed well with the tug of the oar.
    </p>
    <p>
      IX. THE COMING DAY
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "I want to go to Canaan,
  I want to go to Canaan,
  I want to go to Canaan,
    To meet 'em at de comin' day.
  O, remember, let me go to Canaan, <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    To meet "em, &amp;c.
  O brudder, let me go to Canaan, <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    To meet 'em, &amp;c.
  My brudder, you&mdash;oh!&mdash;remember, <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    To meet 'em at de comin' day."
</pre>
    <p>
      The following begins with a startling affirmation, yet the last line quite
      outdoes the first. This, too, was a capital boat-song.
    </p>
    <p>
      X. ONE MORE RIVER.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O, Jordan bank was a great old bank,
    Dere ain't but one more river to cross.
  We have some valiant soldier here,
    Dere ain't, &amp;c.
  O, Jordan stream will never run dry,
    Dere ain't, &amp;c.
  Dere's a hill on my leff, and he catch on my right,
    Dere ain't but one more river to cross."
</pre>
    <p>
      I could get no explanation of this last riddle, except, "Dat mean, if you
      go on de leff, go to 'struction, and if you go on de right, go to God, for
      sure."
    </p>
    <p>
      In others, more of spiritual conflict is implied, as in this next
    </p>
    <p>
      XI. O THE DYING LAMB!
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "I wants to go where Moses trod,
    O de dying Lamb!
  For Moses gone to de promised land,
    O de dying Lamb!
  To drink from springs dat never run dry,
    O, &amp;c.
  Cry O my Lord!
    O, &amp;c.
  Before I'll stay in hell one day,
    O, &amp;c.
  I'm in hopes to pray my sins away,
    O, &amp;c.
  Cry O my Lord!
    0,&amp;c.
  Brudder Moses promised for be dar too,
    O, &amp;c.
  To drink from streams dat never run dry,
    O de dying Lamb!"
</pre>
    <p>
      In the next, the conflict is at its height, and the lurid imagery of the
      Apocalypse is brought to bear. This book, with the books of Moses,
      constituted their Bible; all that lay between, even the narratives of the
      life of Jesus, they hardly cared to read or to hear.
    </p>
    <p>
      XII. DOWN IN THE VALLEY.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "We'll run and never tire,
  We'll run and never tire,
  We'll run and never tire,
    Jesus set poor sinners free.
  Way down in de valley,
    Who will rise and go with me?
  You've heern talk of Jesus,
    Who set poor sinners free.

  "De lightnin' and de flashin'
  De lightnin' and de flashin',
  De lightnin' and de flashin',
    Jesus set poor shiners free.
  I can't stand the fire. <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    Jesus set poor sinners free,
  De green trees a-flamin'. <i>(Thrice</i>.)
    Jesus set poor shiners free,
      Way down in de valley,
        Who will rise and go with me?
      You've heern talk of Jesus
        Who set poor shiners free."
</pre>
    <p>
      "De valley" and "de lonesome valley" were familiar words in their
      religious experience. To descend into that region implied the same process
      with the "anxious-seat" of the camp-meeting. When a young girl was
      supposed to enter it, she bound a handkerchief by a peculiar knot over her
      head, and made it a point of honor not to change a single garment till the
      day of her baptism, so that she was sure of being in physical readiness
      for the cleansing rite, whatever her spiritual mood might be. More than
      once, in noticing a damsel thus mystically kerchiefed, I have asked some
      dusky attendant its meaning, and have received the unfailing answer,&mdash;framed
      with their usual indifference to the genders of pronouns&mdash;"He in de
      lonesome valley, sa."
    </p>
    <p>
      The next gives the same dramatic conflict, while its detached and
      impersonal refrain gives it strikingly the character of the Scotch and
      Scandinavian ballads.
    </p>
    <p>
      XIII. CRY HOLY.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Cry holy, holy!
    Look at de people dat is born of God.
  And I run down de valley, and I run down to pray,
    Says, look at de people dat is born of God.
  When I get dar, Cappen Satan was dar,
    Says, look at, &amp;c.
  Says, young man, young man, dere's no use for pray,
    Says, look at, &amp;c.
  For Jesus is dead, and God gone away,
    Says, look at, &amp;c.
  And I made him out a liar, and I went my way,
    Says, look at, &amp;c.
      Sing holy, holy!

  "O, Mary was a woman, and he had a one Son,
    Says, look at, &amp;c.
  And de Jews and de Romans had him hung,
    Says, look at, &amp;c. Cry holy, holy!

  "And I tell you, sinner, you had better had pray,
    Says, look at, &amp;c.
  For hell is a dark and dismal place,
    Says, look at, &amp;c.

  And I tell you, sinner, and I wouldn't go dar!
    Says, look at, &amp;c.
    Cry holy, holy!"
</pre>
    <p>
      Here is an infinitely quaint description of the length of the heavenly
      road:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      XIV. O'ER THE CROSSING.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Vender's my old mudder,
    Been a-waggin' at de hill so long.
  It's about time she'll cross over;
    Get home bimeby.
  Keep prayin', I do believe
    We're a long time waggin' o'er de crossin'.
  Keep prayin', I do believe
    We'll get home to heaven bimeby.

  "Hear dat mournful thunder
    Roll from door to door,
  Calling home God's children;
    Get home bimeby.
  Little chil'en, I do believe
    We're a long time, &amp;c.
  Little chil'en, I do believe
    We'll get home, &amp;c.

  "See dat forked lightnin'
    Flash from tree to tree,
  Callin' home God's chil'en;
    Get home bimeby.
  True believer, I do believe
    We're a long time, &amp;c.
  O brudders, I do believe,
    We'll get home to heaven bimeby."
</pre>
    <p>
      One of the most singular pictures of future joys, and with fine flavor of
      hospitality about it, was this:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      XV. WALK 'EM EASY.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O, walk 'em easy round de heaven,
  Walk 'em easy round de heaven,
  Walk 'em easy round de heaven,
    Dat all de people may join de band.
  Walk 'em easy round de heaven. (<i>Thrice</i>.)
    O, shout glory till 'em join dat band!"
</pre>
    <p>
      The chorus was usually the greater part of the song, and often came in
      paradoxically, thus:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      XVI. O YES, LORD.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O, must I be like de foolish mans?
    O yes, Lord!
  Will build de house on de sandy hill.
    O yes, Lord!
  I'll build my house on Zion hill,
    O yes, Lord!
  No wind nor rain can blow me down,
    O yes, Lord!"
</pre>
    <p>
      The next is very graceful and lyrical, and with more variety of rhythm
      than usual:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      XVII. BOW LOW, MARY.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Bow low, Mary, bow low, Martha,
    For Jesus come and lock de door,
    And carry de keys away.
  Sail, sail, over yonder,
  And view de promised land.
    For Jesus come, &amp;c.
  Weep, O Mary, bow low, Martha,
    For Jesus come, &amp;c.
  Sail, sail, my true believer;
  Sail, sail, over yonder;
  Mary, bow low, Martha, bow low,
    For Jesus come and lock de door
    And carry de keys away."
</pre>
    <p>
      But of all the "spirituals" that which surprised me the most, I think,&mdash;perhaps
      because it was that in which external nature furnished the images most
      directly,&mdash;was this. With all my experience of their ideal ways of
      speech, I was startled when first I came on such a flower of poetry in
      that dark soil.
    </p>
    <p>
      XVIII. I KNOW MOON-RISE.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "I know moon-rise, I know star-rise,
    Lay dis body down.
  I walk in de moonlight, I walk in de starlight,
    To lay dis body down.
  I'll walk in de graveyard, I'll walk through de graveyard,
    To lay dis body down.
  I'll lie in de grave and stretch out my arms;
    Lay dis body down.
  I go to de judgment in de evenin' of de day,
    When I lay dis body down;
  And my soul and your soul will meet in de day
    When I lay dis body down."
</pre>
    <p>
      "I'll lie in de grave and stretch out my arms." Never, it seems to me,
      since man first lived and suffered, was his infinite longing for peace
      uttered more plaintively than in that line.
    </p>
    <p>
      The next is one of the wildest and most striking of the whole series:
      there is a mystical effect and a passionate striving throughout the whole.
      The Scriptural struggle between Jacob and the angel, which is only dimly
      expressed in the words, seems all uttered in the music. I think it
      impressed my imagination more powerfully than any other of these songs.
    </p>
    <p>
      XIX. WRESTLING JACOB.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O wrestlin' Jacob, Jacob, day's a-breakin';
    I will not let thee go!
  O wrestlin' Jacob, Jacob, day's a-breakin';
    He will not let me go!
  O, I hold my brudder wid a tremblin' hand
    I would not let him go!
  I hold my sister wid a tremblin' hand;
    I would not let her go!

  "O, Jacob do hang from a tremblin' limb,
    He would not let him go!
  O, Jacob do hang from a tremblin' limb;
    De Lord will bless my soul.
  O wrestlin' Jacob, Jacob," &amp;c.
</pre>
    <p>
      Of "occasional hymns," properly so called, I noticed but one, a funeral
      hymn for an infant, which is sung plaintively over and over, without
      variety of words.
    </p>
    <p>
      XX. THE BABY GONE HOME.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "De little baby gone home,
  De little baby gone home,
  De little baby gone along,
    For to climb up Jacob's ladder.
  And I wish I'd been dar,
  I wish I'd been dar,
  I wish I'd been dar, my Lord,
    For to climb up Jacob's ladder."
</pre>
    <p>
      Still simpler is this, which is yet quite sweet and touching.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXI. JESUS WITH US.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "He have been wid us, Jesus
    He still wid us, Jesus,
  He will be wid us, Jesus,
    Be wid us to the end."
</pre>
    <p>
      The next seemed to be a favorite about Christmas time, when meditations on
      "de rollin' year" were frequent among them.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXII. LORD, REMEMBER ME.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O do, Lord, remember me!
    O do, Lord, remember me!
  O, do remember me, until de year roll round!
    Do, Lord, remember me!

  "If you want to die like Jesus died,
    Lay in de grave,
  You would fold your arms and close your eyes
    And die wid a free good will.

  "For Death is a simple ting,
    And he go from door to door,
  And he knock down some, and he cripple op some,
    And he leave some here to pray.

  "O do, Lord remember me!
    O do, Lord, remember me!
  My old fader's gone till de year roll round;
    Do, Lord, remember me!"
</pre>
    <p>
      The next was sung in such an operatic and rollicking way that it was quite
      hard to fancy it a religious performance, which, however, it was. I heard
      it but once.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXIH. EARLY IN THE MORNING.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "I meet little Rosa early in de mornin',
    O Jerusalem! early in de mornin';
  And I ax her, How you do, my darter?
    O Jerusalem! early in de mornin'.

  "I meet my mudder early in de mornin',
    O Jerusalem! &amp;c.
  And I ax her, How you do, my mudder?
    O Jerusalem! &amp;c.

  "I meet Brudder Robert early in de mornin',
    O Jerusalem! &amp;c.
  And I ax him, How you do, my sonny?
    O Jerusalem! &amp;c.

  "I meet Tittawisa early in de mornin',
    O Jerusalem! &amp;c.
  And I ax her, How you do, my darter?
    O Jerusalem!" &amp;c.
</pre>
    <p>
      "Tittawisa" means "Sister Louisa." In songs of this class the name of
      every person present successively appears.
    </p>
    <p>
      Their best marching song, and one which was invaluable to lift their feet
      along, as they expressed it, was the following. There was a kind of spring
      and lilt to it, quite indescribable by words.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXIV. GO IN THE WILDERNESS.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Jesus call you. Go in de wilderness,
    Go in de wilderness, go in de wilderness,
  Jesus call you. Go in de wilderness
    To wait upon de Lord.
  Go wait upon de Lord,
  Go wait upon de Lord,
  Go wait upon de Lord, my God,
    He take away de sins of de world.

  "Jesus a-waitin'. Go in de wilderness,
    Go, &amp;c.
  All dem chil'en go in de wilderness
    To wait upon de Lord."
</pre>
    <p>
      The next was one of those which I had heard in boyish days, brought North
      from Charleston. But the chorus alone was identical; the words were mainly
      different, and those here given are quaint enough.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXV. BLOW YOUR TRUMPET, GABRIEL.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O, blow your trumpet, Gabriel,
    Blow your trumpet louder;
  And I want dat trumpet to blow me home
    To my new Jerusalem.

  "De prettiest ting dat ever I done
  Was to serve de Lord when I was young.
    So blow your trumpet, Gabriel, &amp;c.

  "O, Satan is a liar, and he conjure too,
  And if you don't mind, he'll conjure you.
    So blow your trumpet, Gabriel, &amp;c.

  "O, I was lost in de wilderness.
  King Jesus hand me de candle down.
    So blow your trumpet, Gabriel," &amp;c.
</pre>
    <p>
      The following contains one of those odd transformations of proper names
      with which their Scriptural citations were often enriched. It rivals their
      text, "Paul may plant, and may polish wid water," which I have elsewhere
      quoted, and in which the sainted Apollos would hardly have recognized
      himself.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXVI. IN THE MORNING.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "In de mornin',
  In de mornin',
  Chil'en? Yes, my Lord!
    Don't you hear de trumpet sound?
  If I had a-died when I was young,
  I never would had de race for run.
    Don't you hear de trumpet sound?

  "O Sam and Peter was fishin' in de sea,
  And dey drop de net and follow my Lord.
    Don't you hear de trumpet sound?

  "Dere's a silver spade for to dig my grave
  And a golden chain for to let me down.
  Don't you hear de trumpet sound?
  In de mornin', In de mornin',
  Chil'en? Yes, my Lord!
    Don't you hear de trumpet sound?"
</pre>
    <p>
      These golden and silver fancies remind one of the King of Spain's daughter
      in "Mother Goose," and the golden apple, and the silver pear, which are
      doubtless themselves but the vestiges of some simple early composition
      like this. The next has a humbler and more domestic style of fancy.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXVII. FARE YE WELL.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "My true believers, fare ye well,
  Fare ye well, fare ye well,
  Fare ye well, by de grace of God,
    For I'm going home.

  Massa Jesus give me a little broom
  For to sweep my heart clean,
  And I will try, by de grace of God,
    To win my way home."
</pre>
    <p>
      Among the songs not available for marching, but requiring the concentrated
      enthusiasm of the camp, was "The Ship of Zion," of which they had three
      wholly distinct versions, all quite exuberant and tumultuous.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXVIII. THE SHIP OF ZION.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Come along, come along,
    And let us go home,
  O, glory, hallelujah?
  Dis de ole ship o' Zion,
    Halleloo! Halleloo!
  Dis de ole ship o' Zion,
    Hallelujah!

  "She has landed many a tousand,
  She can land as many more.
    O, glory, hallelujah! &amp;c.

  "Do you tink she will be able
  For to take us all home?
    O, glory, hallelujah! &amp;c.

  "You can tell 'em I'm a comin',
    Halleloo! Halleloo!
  You can tell 'em I'm a comin',
    Hallelujah!
  Come along, come along," &amp;c.
</pre>
    <p>
      XXIX. THE SHIP OF ZION. <i>(Second version.)</i>
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Dis de good ole ship o' Zion,
  Dis de good ole ship o' Zion,
  Dis de good ole ship o' Zion,
    And she's makin' for de Promise Land.
  She hab angels for de sailors, <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    And she's, &amp;c.
  And how you know dey's angels? <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    And she's, &amp;c.
  Good Lord, Shall I be one? <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    And she's, &amp;c.

  "Dat ship is out a-sailin', sailin', sailin',
    And she's, &amp;c.
  She's a-sailin' mighty steady, steady, steady,
    And she's, &amp;c.
  She'll neither reel nor totter, totter, totter,
    And she's, &amp;c.
  She's a-sailin' away cold Jordan, Jordan, Jordan,
    And she's, &amp;c.
  King Jesus is de captain, captain, captain,
    And she's makin' for de Promise Land."
</pre>
    <p>
      XXX. THE SHIP OF ZION. <i>(Third version.)</i>
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "De Gospel ship is sailin',
    Hosann&mdash;sann.
  O, Jesus is de captain,
    Hosann&mdash;sann.
  De angels are de sailors,
    Hosann&mdash;sann.
  O, is your bundle ready?
    Hosann&mdash;sann.
  O, have you got your ticket?
    Hosann&mdash;sann."
</pre>
    <p>
      This abbreviated chorus is given with unspeakable unction.
    </p>
    <p>
      The three just given are modifications of an old camp-meeting melody; and
      the same may be true of the three following, although I cannot find them
      in the Methodist hymn-books. Each, however, has its characteristic
      modifications, which make it well worth giving. In the second verse of
      this next, for instance, "Saviour" evidently has become "soldier."
    </p>
    <p>
      XXXI. SWEET MUSIC
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Sweet music in heaven,
    Just beginning for to roll.
  Don't you love God?
    Glory, hallelujah!

  "Yes, late I heard my soldier say,
    Come, heavy soul, I am de way.
  Don't you love God?
    Glory, hallelujah!

  "I'll go and tell to sinners round
    What a kind Saviour I have found.
  Don't you love God?
    Glory, hallelujah!

  "My grief my burden long has been,
    Because I was not cease from sin.
  Don't you love God?
    Glory, hallelujahl"
</pre>
    <p>
      XXXII. GOOD NEWS.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O, good news! O, good news!
  De angels brought de tidings down,
    Just comin' from de trone.

  "As grief from out my soul shall fly,
    Just comin' from de trone;
  I'll shout salvation when I die,
    Good news, O, good news!
    Just comin' from de trone.

  "Lord, I want to go to heaven when I die,
    Good news, O, good news! &amp;c.

  "De white folks call us a noisy crew,
    Good news, O, good news!
  But dis I know, we are happy too,
    Just comin' from de trone."
</pre>
    <p>
      XXXIII. THE HEAVENLY ROAD.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "You may talk of my name as much as you please,
    And carry my name abroad,
  But I really do believe I'm a child of God
    As I walk in de heavenly road.
  O, won't you go wid me? <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    For to keep our garments clean.

  "O Satan is a mighty busy ole man,
    And roll rocks in my way;
  But Jesus is my bosom friend,
    And roll 'em out of de way.
  O, won't you go wid me? <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    For to keep our garments clean.

  "Come, my brudder, if you never did pray,
    I hope you may pray to-night;
  For I really believe I'm a child of God
    As I walk in de heavenly road.
  O, won't you," &amp;c.
</pre>
    <p>
      Some of the songs had played an historic part during the war. For singing
      the next, for instance, the negroes had been put in jail in Georgetown, S.
      C., at the outbreak of the Rebellion. "We'll soon be free" was too
      dangerous an assertion; and though the chant was an old one, it was no
      doubt sung with redoubled emphasis during the new events. "De Lord will
      call us home," was evidently thought to be a symbolical verse; for, as a
      little drummer-boy explained to me, showing all his white teeth as he sat
      in the moonlight by the door of my tent, "Dey tink <i>de Lord</i> mean for
      say <i>de Yankees</i>."
    </p>
    <p>
      XXXIV. WE'LL SOON BE FREE.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "We'll soon be free,
  We'll soon be free,
  We'll soon be free,
    When de Lord will call us home.
  My brudder, how long,
  My brudder, how long,
  My brudder, how long,
    'Fore we done sufferin' here?
  It won't be long <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    'Fore de Lord will call us home.
  We'll walk de miry road <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    Where pleasure never dies.
  We'll walk de golden street <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    Where pleasure never dies.
  My brudder, how long <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    'Fore we done sufferin' here?
  We'll soon be free <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    When Jesus sets me free.
  We'll fight for liberty <i>(Thrice.)</i>
    When de Lord will call us home."
</pre>
    <p>
      The suspicion in this case was unfounded, but they had another song to
      which the Rebellion had actually given rise. This was composed by nobody
      knew whom,&mdash;though it was the most recent, doubtless, of all these
      "spirituals,"&mdash;and had been sung in secret to avoid detection. It is
      certainly plaintive enough. The peck of corn and pint of salt were
      slavery's rations.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXXV. MANY THOUSAND GO.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "No more peck o' corn for me,
    No more, no more,&mdash;
  No more peck o' corn for me,
    Many tousand go.

  "No more driver's lash for me, <i>(Twice.)</i>
    No more, &amp;c.

  "No more pint o' salt for me, <i>(Twice</i>.)
    No more, &amp;c.

  "No more hundred lash for me, <i>(Twice</i>.)
    No more, &amp;c.

  "No more mistress' call for me,
    No more, no more,&mdash;
  No more mistress' call for me,
    Many tousand go."
</pre>
    <p>
      Even of this last composition, however, we have only the approximate date
      and know nothing of the mode of composition. Allan Ramsay says of the
      Scotch songs, that, no matter who made them, they were soon attributed to
      the minister of the parish whence they sprang. And I always wondered,
      about these, whether they had always a conscious and definite origin in
      some leading mind, or whether they grew by gradual accretion, in an almost
      unconscious way. On this point I could get no information, though I asked
      many questions, until at last, one day when I was being rowed across from
      Beaufort to Ladies' Island, I found myself, with delight, on the actual
      trail of a song. One of the oarsmen, a brisk young fellow, not a soldier,
      on being asked for his theory of the matter, dropped out a coy confession.
      "Some good sperituals," he said, "are start jess out o' curiosity. I been
      a-raise a sing, myself, once."
    </p>
    <p>
      My dream was fulfilled, and I had traced out, not the poem alone, but the
      poet. I implored him to proceed.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Once we boys," he said, "went for tote some rice and de nigger-driver he
      keep a-callin' on us; and I say, 'O, de ole nigger-driver!' Den anudder
      said, 'Fust ting my mammy tole me was, notin' so bad as nigger-driver.'
      Den I made a sing, just puttin' a word, and den anudder word."
    </p>
    <p>
      Then he began singing, and the men, after listening a moment, joined in
      the chorus, as if it were an old acquaintance, though they evidently had
      never heard it before. I saw how easily a new "sing" took root among them.
    </p>
    <p>
      XXXVI. THE DRIVER.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O, de ole nigger-driver!
    O, gwine away!
  Fust ting my mammy tell me,
    O, gwine away!
  Tell me 'bout de nigger-driver,
    O, gwine away!
  Nigger-driver second devil,
    O, gwine away!
  Best ting for do he driver,
    O, gwine away!
  Knock he down and spoil he labor,
    O, gwine away!"
</pre>
    <p>
      It will be observed that, although this song is quite secular in its
      character, yet its author called it a "spiritual." I heard but two songs
      among them, at any time, to which they would not, perhaps, have given this
      generic name. One of these consisted simply in the endless repetition&mdash;after
      the manner of certain college songs&mdash;of the mysterious line,&mdash;
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Rain fall and wet Becky Lawton."
</pre>
    <p>
      But who Becky Lawton was, and why she should or should not be wet, and
      whether the dryness was a reward or a penalty, none could say. I got the
      impression that, in either case, the event was posthumous, and that there
      was some tradition of grass not growing over the grave of a sinner; but
      even this was vague, and all else vaguer.
    </p>
    <p>
      The other song I heard but once, on a morning when a squad of men came in
      from picket duty, and chanted it in the most rousing way. It had been a
      stormy and comfortless night, and the picket station was very exposed. It
      still rained in the morning when I strolled to the edge of the camp,
      looking out for the men, and wondering how they had stood it. Presently
      they came striding along the road, at a great pace, with their shining
      rubber blankets worn as cloaks around them, the rain streaming from these
      and from their equally shining faces, which were almost all upon the broad
      grin, as they pealed out this remarkable ditty:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      HANGMAN JOHNNY.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "O, dey call me Hangman Johnny!
    O, ho! O, ho!
  But I never hang nobody,
    O, hang, boys, hang!
  O dey, call me Hangman Johnny!
    O, ho! O, ho!
  But we'll all hang togedder,
    O, hang, boys, hang!"
</pre>
    <p>
      My presence apparently checked the performance of another verse,
      beginning, "De buckra 'list for money," apparently in reference to the
      controversy about the pay-question, then just beginning, and to the more
      mercenary aims they attributed to the white soldiers. But "Hangman Johnny"
      remained always a myth as inscrutable as "Becky Lawton."
    </p>
    <p>
      As they learned all their songs by ear, they often strayed into wholly new
      versions, which sometimes became popular, and entirely banished the
      others. This was amusingly the case, for instance, with one phrase in the
      popular camp-song of "Marching Along," which was entirely new to them
      until our quartermaster taught it to them, at my request. The words, "Gird
      on the armor," were to them a stumbling-block, and no wonder, until some
      ingenious ear substituted, "Guide on de army," which was at once accepted,
      and became universal.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "We'll guide on de army, and be marching along"
</pre>
    <p>
      is now the established version on the Sea Islands.
    </p>
    <p>
      These quaint religious songs were to the men more than a source of
      relaxation; they were a stimulus to courage and a tie to heaven. I never
      overheard in camp a profane or vulgar song. With the trifling exceptions
      given, all had a religious motive, while the most secular melody could not
      have been more exciting. A few youths from Savannah, who were
      comparatively men of the world, had learned some of the "Ethiopian
      Minstrel" ditties, imported from the North. These took no hold upon the
      mass; and, on the other hand, they sang reluctantly, even on Sunday, the
      long and short metres of the hymn-books, always gladly yielding to the
      more potent excitement of their own "spirituals." By these they could sing
      themselves, as had their fathers before them, out of the contemplation of
      their own low estate, into the sublime scenery of the Apocalypse. I
      remember that this minor-keyed pathos used to seem to me almost too sad to
      dwell upon, while slavery seemed destined to last for generations; but now
      that their patience has had its perfect work, history cannot afford to
      lose this portion of its record. There is no parallel instance of an
      oppressed race thus sustained by the religious sentiment alone. These
      songs are but the vocal expression of the simplicity of their faith and
      the sublimity of their long resignation.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 10 Life at Camp Shaw
    </h2>
    <p>
      The Edisto expedition cost me the health and strength of several years. I
      could say, long after, in the words of one of the men, "I'se been a sickly
      person, eber since de expeditious." Justice to a strong constitution and
      good habits compels me, however, to say that, up to the time of my injury,
      I was almost the only officer in the regiment who had not once been off
      duty from illness. But at last I had to yield, and went North for a month.
    </p>
    <p>
      We heard much said, during the war, of wounded officers who stayed
      unreasonably long at home. I think there were more instances of those who
      went back too soon. Such at least was my case. On returning to the
      regiment I found a great accumulation of unfinished business; every member
      of the field and staff was prostrated by illness or absent on detailed
      service; two companies had been sent to Hilton Head on fatigue duty, and
      kept there unexpectedly long: and there was a visible demoralization among
      the rest, especially from the fact that their pay had just been cut down,
      in violation of the express pledges of the government. A few weeks of
      steady sway made all right again; and during those weeks I felt a perfect
      exhilaration of health, followed by a month or two of complete
      prostration, when the work was done. This passing, I returned to duty,
      buoyed up by the fallacious hope that the winter months would set me right
      again.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had a new camp on Port Royal Island, very pleasantly situated, just out
      of Beaufort. It stretched nearly to the edge of a shelving bluff, fringed
      with pines and overlooking the river; below the bluff was a hard, narrow
      beach, where one might gallop a mile and bathe at the farther end. We
      could look up and down the curving stream, and watch the few vessels that
      came and went. Our first encampment had been lower down that same river,
      and we felt at home.
    </p>
    <p>
      The new camp was named Camp Shaw, in honor of the noble young officer who
      had lately fallen at Fort Wagner, under circumstances which had endeared
      him to all the men. As it happened, they had never seen him, nor was my
      regiment ever placed within immediate reach of the Fifty-Fourth
      Massachusetts. This I always regretted, feeling very desirous to compare
      the military qualities of the Northern and Southern blacks. As it was, the
      Southern regiments with which the Massachusetts troops were brigaded were
      hardly a fair specimen of their kind, having been raised chiefly by
      drafting, and, for this and other causes, being afflicted with perpetual
      discontent and desertion.
    </p>
    <p>
      We had, of course, looked forward with great interest to the arrival of
      these new colored regiments, and I had ridden in from the picket-station
      to see the Fifty-Fourth. Apart from the peculiarity of its material, it
      was fresh from my own State, and I had relatives and acquaintances among
      its officers. Governor Andrew, who had formed it, was an old friend, and
      had begged me, on departure from Massachusetts, to keep him informed as to
      our experiment I had good reason to believe that my reports had helped to
      prepare the way for this new battalion, and I had sent him, at his
      request, some hints as to its formation.*
    </p>
    <p>
      *COMMONWEALTH OF MASSACHUSETTS, Executive Department,
    </p>
    <p>
      Boston, February 5, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      To COL. T. W. HIGGINSON, Commanding 1st Regt. S. C. Vols.,
    </p>
    <p>
      Port Royal Id., S. C.
    </p>
    <p>
      COLONEL,&mdash;I am under obligations to you for your very interesting
      letter of January 19th, which I considered to be too important in its
      testimony to the efficiency of colored troops to be allowed to remain
      hidden on my files. I therefore placed some portions of it in the hands of
      Hon. Stephen M. Weld, of Jamaica Plain, for publication, and you will find
      enclosed the newspaper slip from the "Journal" of February 3d, in which it
      appeared. During a recent visit at Washington I have obtained permission
      from the Department of War to enlist colored troops as part of the
      Massachusetts quota, and I am about to begin to organize a colored
      infantry regiment, to be numbered the "54th Massachusetts Volunteers."
    </p>
    <p>
      I shall be greatly obliged by any suggestions which your experience may
      afford concerning it, and I am determined that it shall serve as a model,
      in the high character of its officers and the thorough discipline of its
      men, for all subsequent corps of the like material.
    </p>
    <p>
      Please present to General Saxton the assurances of my respectful regard.
    </p>
    <p>
      I have the honor to be, respectfully and obediently yours,
    </p>
    <p>
      JOHN A. ANDREW, Governor of Massachusetts.
    </p>
    <p>
      In the streets of Beaufort I had met Colonel Shaw, riding with his
      lieutenant-colonel and successor, Edward Hallowell, and had gone back with
      them to share their first meal in camp. I should have known Shaw anywhere
      by his resemblance to his kindred, nor did it take long to perceive that
      he shared their habitual truthfulness and courage. Moreover, he and
      Hallowell had already got beyond the commonplaces of inexperience, in
      regard to colored troops, and, for a wonder, asked only sensible
      questions. For instance, he admitted the mere matter of courage to be
      settled, as regarded the colored troops, and his whole solicitude bore on
      this point, Would they do as well in line-of-battle as they had already
      done in more irregular service, and on picket and guard duty? Of this I
      had, of course, no doubt, nor, I think, had he; though I remember his
      saying something about the possibility of putting them between two fires
      in case of need, and so cutting off their retreat. I should never have
      thought of such a project, but I could not have expected bun to trust them
      as I did, until he had been actually under fire with them. That,
      doubtless, removed all his anxieties, if he really had any.
    </p>
    <p>
      This interview had occurred on the 4th of June. Shaw and his regiment had
      very soon been ordered to Georgia, then to Morris Island; Fort Wagner had
      been assaulted, and he had been killed. Most of the men knew about the
      circumstances of his death, and many of them had subscribed towards a
      monument for him,&mdash;a project which originated with General Saxton,
      and which was finally embodied in the "Shaw School-house" at Charleston.
      So it gave us all pleasure to name this camp for him, as its predecessor
      had been named for General Saxton.
    </p>
    <p>
      The new camp was soon brought into good order. The men had great ingenuity
      in building screens and shelters of light poles, filled in with the gray
      moss from the live-oaks. The officers had vestibules built in this way,
      before all their tents; the cooking-places were walled round in the same
      fashion; and some of the wide company-streets had sheltered sidewalks down
      the whole line of tents. The sergeant on duty at the entrance of the camp
      had a similar bower, and the architecture culminated in a "Praise-House"
      for school and prayer-meetings, some thirty feet in diameter. As for
      chimneys and flooring, they were provided with that magic and invisible
      facility which marks the second year of a regiment's life.
    </p>
    <p>
      That officer is happy who, besides a constitutional love of adventure, has
      also a love for the details of camp life, and likes to bring them to
      perfection. Nothing but a hen with her chickens about her can symbolize
      the content I felt on getting my scattered companies together, after some
      temporary separation on picket or fatigue duty. Then we went to work upon
      the nest. The only way to keep a camp in order is to set about everything
      as if you expected to stay there forever; if you stay, you get the comfort
      of it; if ordered away in twenty-four hours, you forget all wasted labor
      in the excitement of departure. Thus viewed, a camp is a sort of model
      farm or bit of landscape gardening; there is always some small improvement
      to be made, a trench, a well, more shade against the sun, an increased
      vigilance in sweeping. Then it is pleasant to take care of the men, to see
      them happy, to hear them purr.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then the duties of inspection and drill, suspended during active service,
      resume their importance with a month or two of quiet. It really costs
      unceasing labor to keep a regiment in perfect condition and ready for
      service. The work is made up of minute and endless details, like a bird's
      pruning her feathers or a cat's licking her kittens into their proper
      toilet. Here are eight hundred men, every one of whom, every Sunday
      morning at farthest, must be perfectly <i>soigne</i> in all personal
      proprieties; he must exhibit himself provided with every article of
      clothing, buttons, shoe-strings, hooks and eyes, company letter,
      regimental number, rifle, bayonet, bayonet-scabbard, cap-pouch,
      cartridge-box, cartridge-box belt, cartridge-box belt-plate, gun-sling,
      canteen, haversack, knapsack, packed according to rule, forty cartridges,
      forty percussion caps; and every one of these articles polished to the
      highest brightness or blackness as the case may be, and moreover hung or
      slung or tied or carried in precisely the correct manner.
    </p>
    <p>
      What a vast and formidable housekeeping is here, my patriotic sisters!
      Consider, too, that every corner of the camp is to be kept absolutely
      clean and ready for exhibition at the shortest notice; hospital, stables,
      guard-house, cook-houses, company tents, must all be brought to
      perfection, and every square inch of this "farm of four acres" must look
      as smooth as an English lawn, twice a day. All this, beside the discipline
      and the drill and the regimental and company books, which must keep rigid
      account of all these details; consider all this, and then wonder no more
      that officers and men rejoice in being ordered on active service, where a
      few strokes of the pen will dispose of all this multiplicity of trappings
      as "expended in action" or "lost in service."
    </p>
    <p>
      For one, the longer I remained in service, the better I appreciated the
      good sense of most of the regular army niceties. True, these things must
      all vanish when the time of action comes, but it is these things that have
      prepared you for action. Of course, if you dwell on them only, military
      life becomes millinery life alone. Kinglake says that the Russian
      Grand-Duke Constantine, contemplating his beautiful toy-regiments, said
      that he dreaded war, for he knew that it would spoil the troops. The
      simple fact is, that a soldier is like the weapon he carries; service
      implies soiling, but you must have it clean in advance, that when soiled
      it may be of some use.
    </p>
    <p>
      The men had that year a Christmas present which they enjoyed to the
      utmost,&mdash;furnishing the detail, every other day, for provost-guard
      duty in Beaufort. It was the only military service which they had ever
      shared within the town, and it moreover gave a sense of self-respect to be
      keeping the peace of their own streets. I enjoyed seeing them put on duty
      those mornings; there was such a twinkle of delight in their eyes, though
      their features were immovable. As the "reliefs" went round, posting the
      guard, under charge of a corporal, one could watch the black sentinels
      successively dropped and the whites picked up,&mdash;gradually changing
      the complexion, like Lord Somebody's black stockings which became white
      stockings,&mdash;till at last there was only a squad of white soldiers
      obeying the "Support Arms! Forward, March!" of a black corporal.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then, when once posted, they glorified their office, you may be sure.
      Discipline had grown rather free-and-easy in the town about that time, and
      it is said that the guard-house never was so full within human memory as
      after their first tour of duty. I remember hearing that one young
      reprobate, son of a leading Northern philanthropist in those parts, was
      much aggrieved at being taken to the lock-up merely because he was found
      drunk in the streets. "Why," said he, "the white corporals always showed
      me the way home." And I can testify that, after an evening party, some
      weeks later, I beard with pleasure the officers asking eagerly for the
      countersign. "Who has the countersign?" said they. "The darkeys are on
      guard to-night, and we must look out for our lives." Even after a
      Christmas party at General Saxton's, the guard at the door very properly
      refused to let the ambulance be brought round from the stable for the
      ladies because the driver had not the countersign.
    </p>
    <p>
      One of the sergeants of the guard, on one of these occasions, made to one
      who questioned his authority an answer that could hardly have been
      improved. The questioner had just been arrested for some offence.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Know what dat mean?" said the indignant sergeant, pointing to the
      chevrons on his own sleeve. "Dat mean <i>Guv'ment</i>." Volumes could not
      have said more, and the victim collapsed. The thing soon settled itself,
      and nobody remembered to notice whether the face beside the musket of a
      sentinel were white or black. It meant Government, all the same.
    </p>
    <p>
      The men were also indulged with several raids on the mainland, under the
      direction of Captain J. E. Bryant, of the Eighth Maine, the most
      experienced scout in that region, who was endeavoring to raise by
      enlistment a regiment of colored troops. On one occasion Captains Whitney
      and Heasley, with their companies, penetrated nearly to Pocataligo,
      capturing some pickets and bringing away all the slaves of a plantation,&mdash;the
      latter operation being entirely under the charge of Sergeant Harry
      Williams (Co. K), without the presence of any white man. The whole command
      was attacked on the return by a rebel force, which turned out to be what
      was called in those regions a "dog-company," consisting of mounted
      riflemen with half a dozen trained bloodhounds. The men met these dogs
      with their bayonets, killed four or five of their old tormentors with
      great relish, and brought away the carcass of one. I had the creature
      skinned, and sent the skin to New York to be stuffed and mounted, meaning
      to exhibit it at the Sanitary Commission Fair hi Boston; but it spoiled on
      the passage. These quadruped allies were not originally intended as "dogs
      of war," but simply to detect fugitive slaves, and the men were delighted
      at this confirmation of their tales of dog-companies, which some of the
      officers had always disbelieved.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captain Bryant, during his scouting adventures, had learned to outwit
      these bloodhounds, and used his skill in eluding escape, during another
      expedition of the same kind. He was sent with Captain Metcalf's company
      far up the Combahee River to cut the telegraphic wires and intercept
      despatches. Our adventurous chaplain and a telegraphic operator went with
      the party. They ascended the river, cut the wires, and read the despatches
      for an hour or two. Unfortunately, the attached wire was too conspicuously
      hung, and was seen by a passenger on the railway train in passing. The
      train was stopped and a swift stampede followed; a squad of cavalry was
      sent in pursuit, and our chaplain, with Lieutenant Osborn, of Bryant's
      projected regiment, were captured; also one private,&mdash;the first of
      our men who had ever been taken prisoners. In spite of an agreement at
      Washington to the contrary, our chaplain was held as prisoner of war, the
      only spiritual adviser in uniform, so far as I know, who had that honor. I
      do not know but his reverence would have agreed with Scott's
      pirate-lieutenant, that it was better to live as plain Jack Bunce than die
      as Frederick Altamont; but I am very sure that he would rather have been
      kept prisoner to the close of the war, as a combatant, than have been
      released on parole as a non-resistant.
    </p>
    <p>
      After his return, I remember, he gave the most animated accounts of the
      whole adventure, of which he had enjoyed every instant, from the first
      entrance on the enemy's soil to the final capture. I suppose we should all
      like to tap the telegraphic wires anywhere and read our neighbor's
      messages, if we could only throw round this process the dignity of a
      Sacred Cause. This was what our good chaplain had done, with the same
      conscientious zest with which he had conducted his Sunday foraging in
      Florida. But he told me that nothing so impressed him on the whole trip as
      the sudden transformation in the black soldier who was taken prisoner with
      him. The chaplain at once adopted the policy, natural to him, of talking
      boldly and even defiantly to his captors, and commanding instead of
      beseeching. He pursued the same policy always and gained by it, he
      thought. But the negro adopted the diametrically opposite policy, also
      congenial to his crushed race,&mdash;all the force seemed to go out of
      him, and he surrendered himself like a tortoise to be kicked and trodden
      upon at their will. This manly, well-trained soldier at once became a
      slave again, asked no questions, and, if any were asked, made meek and
      conciliatory answers. He did not know, nor did any of us know, whether he
      would be treated as a prisoner of war, or shot, or sent to a
      rice-plantation. He simply acted according to the traditions of his race,
      as did the chaplain on his side. In the end the soldier's cunning was
      vindicated by the result; he escaped, and rejoined us in six months, while
      the chaplain was imprisoned for a year.
    </p>
    <p>
      The men came back very much exhausted from this expedition, and those who
      were in the chaplain's squad narrowly escaped with their lives. One brave
      fellow had actually not a morsel to eat for four days, and then could keep
      nothing on his stomach for two days more, so that his life was despaired
      of; and yet he brought all his equipments safe into camp. Some of these
      men had led such wandering lives, in woods and swamps, that to hunt them
      was like hunting an otter; shyness and concealment had grown to be their
      second nature.
    </p>
    <p>
      After these little episodes came two months of peace. We were clean,
      comfortable, quiet, and consequently discontented. It was therefore with
      eagerness that we listened to a rumor of a new Florida expedition, in
      which we might possibly take a hand.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 11. Florida Again?
    </h2>
    <p>
      Let me revert once more to my diary, for a specimen of the sharp changes
      and sudden disappointments that may come to troops in service. But for a
      case or two of varioloid in the regiment, we should have taken part in the
      battle of Olustee, and should have had (as was reported) the right of the
      line. At any rate we should have shared the hard knocks and the glory,
      which were distributed pretty freely to the colored troops then and there.
      The diary will give, better than can any continuous narrative, our ups and
      down of expectation in those days.
    </p>
    <p>
      "CAMP SHAW, BEAUFORT, S. C.,
    </p>
    <p>
      "February 7, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Great are the uncertainties of military orders! Since our recall from
      Jacksonville we have had no such surprises as came to us on Wednesday
      night. It was our third day of a new tour of duty at the picket station.
      We had just got nicely settled,&mdash;men well tented, with good floors,
      and in high spirits, officers at out-stations all happy, Mrs. &mdash;&mdash;
      coming to stay with her husband, we at head-quarters just in order, house
      cleaned, moss-garlands up, camellias and jessamines in the tin
      wash-basins, baby in bliss;&mdash;our usual run of visitors had just set
      in, two Beaufort captains and a surgeon had just risen from a late dinner
      after a flag of truce, General Saxton and his wife had driven away but an
      hour or two before, we were all sitting about busy, with a great fire
      blazing, Mrs. D. had just remarked triumphantly, 'Last time I had but a
      mouthful here, and now I shall be here three weeks'&mdash;when&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "In dropped, like a bombshell, a despatch announcing that we were to be
      relieved by the Eighth Maine, the next morning, as General Gillmore had
      sent an order that we should be ready for departure from Beaufort at any
      moment.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Conjectures, orders, packing, sending couriers to out-stations, were the
      employments of the evening; the men received the news with cheers, and we
      all came in next morning."
    </p>
    <p>
      "February 11, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      "For three days we have watched the river, and every little steamboat that
      comes up for coal brings out spy-glasses and conjectures, and 'Dar's de
      Fourf New Hampshire,'&mdash;for when that comes, it is said, we go.
      Meanwhile we hear stirring news from Florida, and the men are very
      impatient to be off. It is remarkable how much more thoroughly they look
      at things as soldiers than last year, and how much less as home-bound men,&mdash;the
      South-Carolinians, I mean, for of course the Floridians would naturally
      wish to go to Florida.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But in every way I see the gradual change in them, sometimes with a sigh,
      as parents watch their children growing up and miss the droll speeches and
      the confiding ignorance of childhood. Sometimes it comes over me with a
      pang that they are growing more like white men,&mdash;less naive and less
      grotesque. Still, I think there is enough of it to last, and that their
      joyous buoyancy, at least, will hold out while life does.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As for our destination, our greatest fear is of finding ourselves posted
      at Hilton Head and going no farther. As a dashing Irish officer remarked
      the other day, 'If we are ordered away anywhere, I hope it will be either
      to go to Florida or else stay here!'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Sublime uncertainties again!
    </p>
    <p>
      "After being ordered in from picket, under marching orders; after the
      subsequent ten days of uncertainty; after watching every steamboat that
      came up the river, to see if the Fourth New Hampshire was on board,&mdash;at
      last the regiment came.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then followed another break; there was no transportation to take us. At
      last a boat was notified.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then General Saxton, as anxious to keep us as was the regiment to go,
      played his last card in small-pox, telegraphing to department
      head-quarters that we had it dangerously in the regiment. (N. B. All
      varioloid, light at that, and besides, we always have it.)
    </p>
    <p>
      "Then the order came to leave behind the sick and those who had been
      peculiarly exposed, and embark the rest next day.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Great was the jubilee! The men were up, I verily believe, by three in the
      morning, and by eight the whole camp was demolished or put in wagons, and
      we were on our way. The soldiers of the Fourth New Hampshire swarmed in;
      every board was swept away by them; there had been a time when colored
      boards (if I may delicately so express myself) were repudiated by white
      soldiers, but that epoch had long since passed. I gave my new tent-frame,
      even the latch, to Colonel Bell; ditto Lieutenant-Colonel to
      Lieutenant-Colonel.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Down we marched, the men singing 'John Brown' and 'Marching Along' and
      'Gwine in de Wilderness'; women in tears and smiles lined the way. We
      halted opposite the dear General's; we cheered, he speeched, I speeched,
      we all embraced symbolically, and cheered some more. Then we went to work
      at the wharf; vast wagon-loads of tents, rations, ordnance, and what-not
      disappeared in the capacious maw of the Delaware. In the midst of it all
      came riding down General Saxton with a despatch from Hilton Head:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "'If you think the amount of small-pox in the First South Carolina
      Volunteers sufficient, the order will be countermanded.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'What shall I say?' quoth the guilty General, perceiving how
      preposterously too late the negotiation was reopened.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Say, sir?' quoth I. 'Say that we are on board already and the small-pox
      left behind. Say we had only thirteen cases, chiefly varioloid, and ten
      almost well.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Our blood was up with a tremendous morning's work done, and, rather than
      turn back, we felt ready to hold down Major-General Gillmore, commanding
      department, and all his staff upon the wharf, and vaccinate them by main
      force.
    </p>
    <p>
      "So General Saxton rode away, and we worked away. Just as the last
      wagon-load but one was being transferred to the omnivorous depths of the
      Delaware,&mdash;which I should think would have been filled ten times over
      with what we had put into it,&mdash;down rode the General with a fiendish
      joy in his bright eyes and held out a paper,&mdash;one of the familiar
      rescripts from headquarters.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'The marching orders of the First South Carolina Volunteers are hereby
      countermanded.'
    </p>
    <p>
      "'Major Trowbridge,' said I, 'will you give my compliments to Lieutenant
      Hooper, somewhere in the hold of that steamer, and direct him to set his
      men at work to bring out every individual article which they have carried
      hi.' And I sat down on a pile of boards.
    </p>
    <p>
      "'You will return to your old camping-ground, Colonel,' said the General,
      placidly. 'Now,' he added with serene satisfaction, 'we will have some
      brigade drills!'
    </p>
    <p>
      "Brigade drills! Since Mr. Pickwick, with his heartless tomato-sauce and
      warming-pans, there had been nothing so aggravating as to try to solace
      us, who were as good as on board ship and under way,&mdash;nay, in
      imagination as far up the St. John's as Pilatka at least,&mdash;with
      brigade drills! It was very kind and flattering in him to wish to keep us.
      But unhappily we had made up our minds to go.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Never did officer ride at the head of a battalion of more wobegone,
      spiritless wretches than I led back from Beaufort that day. 'When I march
      down to de landin',' said one of the men afterwards, 'my knapsack full of
      feathers. Comin' back, <i>he lead</i>!' And the lead, instead of the
      feathers, rested on the heart of every one.
    </p>
    <p>
      "As if the disappointment itself were not sufficient, we had to return to
      our pretty camp, accustomed to its drawing-room order, and find it a
      desert. Every board gone from the floors, the screens torn down from the
      poles, all the little conveniences scattered, and, to crown all, a cold
      breeze such as we had not known since New-Year's Day blowing across the
      camp and flooding everything with dust. I sincerely hope the regiment
      would never behave after a defeat as they behaved then. Every man seemed
      crushed, officers and soldiers alike; when they broke ranks, they went and
      lay down like sheep where their tents used to be, or wandered
      disconsolately about, looking for their stray belongings. The scene was so
      infinitely dolorous that it gradually put me in the highest spirits; the
      ludicrousness of the whole affair was so complete, there was nothing to do
      but laugh. The horrible dust blew till every officer had some black spot
      on his nose which paralyzed pathos. Of course the only way was to set them
      all at work as soon as possible; and work them we did,&mdash;I at the camp
      and the Major at the wharf,&mdash;loading and unloading wagons and just
      reversing all which the morning had done.
    </p>
    <p>
      "The New Hampshire men were very considerate, and gave back most of what
      they had taken, though many of our men were really too delicate or proud
      to ask or even take what they had once given to soldiers or to the colored
      people. I had no such delicacy about my tent-frame, and by night things
      had resumed something of their old aspect, and cheerfulness was in part
      restored. Yet long after this I found one first sergeant absolutely in
      tears,&mdash;a Florida man, most of whose kindred were up the St. John's.
      It was very natural that the men from that region should feel thus
      bitterly, but it shows how much of the habit of soldiers they have all
      acquired, that the South Carolina men, who were leaving the neighborhood
      of their families for an indefinite time, were just as eager to go, and
      not one deserted, though they knew it for a week beforehand. No doubt my
      precarious health makes it now easier for me personally to remain here&mdash;easier
      on reflection at least&mdash;than for the others. At the same time Florida
      is fascinating, and offers not only adventure, but the command of a
      brigade. Certainly at the last moment there was not a sacrifice I would
      not have made rather than wrench myself and others away from the
      expedition. We are, of course, thrown back into the old uncertainty, and
      if the small-pox subsides (and it is really diminishing decidedly) we may
      yet come in at the wrong end of the Florida affair."
    </p>
    <p>
      "February 19.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Not a bit of it! This morning the General has ridden up radiant, has seen
      General Gillmore, who has decided not to order us to Florida at all, nor
      withdraw any of this garrison. Moreover, he says that all which is
      intended in Florida is done,&mdash;that there will be no advance to
      Tallahassee, and General Seymour will establish a camp of instruction in
      Jacksonville. Well, if that is all, it is a lucky escape."
    </p>
    <p>
      We little dreamed that on that very day the march toward Olustee was
      beginning. The battle took place next day, and I add one more extract to
      show how the news reached Beaufort.
    </p>
    <p>
      "February 23, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      "There was the sound of revelry by night at a ball in Beaufort last night,
      in a new large building beautifully decorated. All the collected flags of
      the garrison hung round and over us, as if the stars and stripes were
      devised for an ornament alone. The array of uniforms was such that a
      civilian became a distinguished object, much more a lady. All would have
      gone according to the proverbial marriage-bell, I suppose, had there not
      been a slight palpable shadow over all of us from hearing vague stories of
      a lost battle in Florida, and from the thought that perhaps the very
      ambulances in which we rode to the ball were ours only until the wounded
      or the dead might tenant them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "General Gillmore only came, I supposed, to put a good face upon the
      matter. He went away soon, and General Saxton went; then came a rumor that
      the Cosmopolitan had actually arrived with wounded, but still the dance
      went on. There was nothing unfeeling about it,&mdash;one gets used to
      things,&mdash;when suddenly, in the midst of the 'Lancers,' there came a
      perfect hush, the music ceasing, a few surgeons went hastily to and fro,
      as if conscience-stricken (I should think they might have been),&mdash;then
      there 'waved a mighty shadow in,' as in Uhland's 'Black Knight,' and as we
      all stood wondering we were 'ware of General Saxton, who strode hastily
      down the hall, his pale face very resolute, and looking almost sick with
      anxiety. He had just been on board the steamer; there were two hundred and
      fifty wounded men just arrived, and the ball must end. Not that there was
      anything for us to do; but the revel was mistimed, and must be ended; it
      was wicked to be dancing, with such a scene of suffering near by.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Of course the ball was instantly broken up, though with some murmurings
      and some longings of appetite, on the part of some, toward the wasted
      supper.
    </p>
    <p>
      "Later, I went on board the boat. Among the long lines of wounded, black
      and white intermingled, there was the wonderful quiet which usually
      prevails on such occasions. Not a sob nor a groan, except from those
      undergoing removal. It is not self-control, but chiefly the shock to the
      system produced by severe wounds, especially gunshot wounds, and which
      usually keeps the patient stiller at first than any later time.
    </p>
    <p>
      "A company from my regiment waited on the wharf, in their accustomed dusky
      silence, and I longed to ask them what they thought of our Florida
      disappointment now? In view of what they saw, did they still wish we had
      been there? I confess that in presence of all that human suffering, I
      could not wish it. But I would not have suggested any such thought to
      them.
    </p>
    <p>
      "I found our kind-hearted ladies, Mrs. Chamberlin and Mrs. Dewhurst, on
      board the steamer, but there was nothing for them to do, and we walked
      back to camp in the radiant moonlight; Mrs. Chamberlin more than ever
      strengthened in her blushing woman's philosophy, 'I don't care who wins
      the laurels, provided we don't!'"
    </p>
    <p>
      "February 29.
    </p>
    <p>
      "But for a few trivial cases of varioloid, we should certainly have been
      in that disastrous fight. We were confidently expected for several days at
      Jacksonville, and the commanding general told Colonel Hallowell that we,
      being the oldest colored regiment, would have the right of the line. This
      was certainly to miss danger and glory very closely."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 12. The Negro as a Soldier
    </h2>
    <p>
      There was in our regiment a very young recruit, named Sam Roberts, of whom
      Trowbridge used to tell this story. Early in the war Trowbridge had been
      once sent to Amelia Island with a squad of men, under direction of
      Commodore Goldsborough, to remove the negroes from the island. As the
      officers stood on the beach, talking to some of the older freedmen, they
      saw this urchin peeping at them from front and rear in a scrutinizing way,
      for which his father at last called him to account, as thus:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Hi! Sammy, what you's doin', chile?"
    </p>
    <p>
      "Daddy," said the inquisitive youth, "don't you know mas'r tell us Yankee
      hab tail? I don't see no tail, daddy!"
    </p>
    <p>
      There were many who went to Port Royal during the war, in civil or
      military positions, whose previous impressions of the colored race were
      about as intelligent as Sam's view of themselves. But, for once, I had
      always had so much to do with fugitive slaves, and had studied the whole
      subject with such interest, that I found not much to learn or unlearn as
      to this one point. Their courage I had before seen tested; their docile
      and lovable qualities I had known; and the only real surprise that
      experience brought me was in finding them so little demoralized. I had not
      allowed for the extreme remoteness and seclusion of their lives,
      especially among the Sea Islands. Many of them had literally spent their
      whole existence on some lonely island or remote plantation, where the
      master never came, and the overseer only once or twice a week. With these
      exceptions, such persons had never seen a white face, and of the
      excitements or sins of larger communities they had not a conception. My
      friend Colonel Hallo-well, of the Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts, told me that
      he had among his men some of the worst reprobates of Northern cities.
      While I had some men who were unprincipled and troublesome, there was not
      one whom I could call a hardened villain. I was constantly expecting to
      find male Topsies, with no notions of good and plenty of evil. But I never
      found one. Among the most ignorant there was very often a childlike
      absence of vices, which was rather to be classed as inexperience than as
      innocence, but which had some of the advantages of both.
    </p>
    <p>
      Apart from this, they were very much like other men. General Saxton,
      examining with some impatience a long list of questions from some
      philanthropic Commission at the North, respecting the traits and habits of
      the freedmen, bade some staff-officer answer them all in two words,&mdash;"Intensely
      human." We all admitted that it was a striking and comprehensive
      description.
    </p>
    <p>
      For instance, as to courage. So far as I have seen, the mass of men are
      naturally courageous up to a certain point. A man seldom runs away from
      danger which he ought to face, unless others run; each is apt to keep with
      the mass, and colored soldiers have more than usual of this
      gregariousness. In almost every regiment, black or white, there are a
      score or two of men who are naturally daring, who really hunger after
      dangerous adventures, and are happiest when allowed to seek them. Every
      commander gradually finds out who these men are, and habitually uses them;
      certainly I had such, and I remember with delight their bearing, their
      coolness, and their dash. Some of them were negroes, some mulattoes. One
      of them would have passed for white, with brown hair and blue eyes, while
      others were so black you could hardly see their features. These picked men
      varied in other respects too; some were neat and well-drilled soldiers,
      while others were slovenly, heedless fellows,&mdash;the despair of their
      officers at inspection, their pride on a raid. They were the natural
      scouts and rangers of the regiment; they had the
      two-o'clock-in-the-morning courage, which Napoleon thought so rare. The
      mass of the regiment rose to the same level under excitement, and were
      more excitable, I think, than whites, but neither more nor less
      courageous.
    </p>
    <p>
      Perhaps the best proof of a good average of courage among them was in the
      readiness they always showed for any special enterprise. I do not remember
      ever to have had the slightest difficulty in obtaining volunteers, but
      rather in keeping down the number. The previous pages include many
      illustrations of this, as well as of then: endurance of pain and
      discomfort. For instance, one of my lieutenants, a very daring Irishman,
      who had served for eight years as a sergeant of regular artillery in
      Texas, Utah, and South Carolina, said he had never been engaged in
      anything so risky as our raid up the St. Mary's. But in truth it seems to
      me a mere absurdity to deliberately argue the question of courage, as
      applied to men among whom I waked and slept, day and night, for so many
      months together. As well might he who has been wandering for years upon
      the desert, with a Bedouin escort, discuss the courage of the men whose
      tents have been his shelter and whose spears his guard. We, their
      officers, did not go there to teach lessons, but to receive them. There
      were more than a hundred men in the ranks who had voluntarily met more
      dangers in their escape from slavery than any of my young captains had
      incurred in all their lives.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was a family named Wilson, I remember, of which we had several
      representatives. Three or four brothers had planned an escape from the
      interior to our lines; they finally decided that the youngest should stay
      and take care of the old mother; the rest, with their sister and her
      children, came in a "dug-out" down one of the rivers. They were fired
      upon, again and again, by the pickets along the banks, until finally every
      man on board was wounded; and still they got safely through. When the
      bullets began to fly about them, the woman shed tears, and her little girl
      of nine said to her, "Don't cry, mother, Jesus will help you," and then
      the child began praying as the wounded men still urged the boat along.
      This the mother told me, but I had previously heard it from on officer who
      was on the gunboat that picked them up,&mdash;a big, rough man, whose
      voice fairly broke as he described their appearance. He said that the
      mother and child had been hid for nine months in the woods before
      attempting their escape, and the child would speak to no one,&mdash;indeed,
      she hardly would when she came to our camp. She was almost white, and this
      officer wished to adopt her, but the mother said, "I would do anything but
      that for <i>oonah</i>," this being a sort of Indian formation of the
      second-person-plural, such as they sometimes use. This same officer
      afterwards saw a reward offered for this family in a Savannah paper.
    </p>
    <p>
      I used to think that I should not care to read "Uncle Tom's Cabin" hi our
      camp; it would have seemed tame. Any group of men in a tent would have had
      more exciting tales to tell. I needed no fiction when I had Fanny Wright,
      for instance, daily passing to and fro before my tent, with her shy little
      girl clinging to her skirts. Fanny was a modest little mulatto woman, a
      soldier's wife, and a company laundress. She had escaped from the
      main-land in a boat, with that child and another. Her baby was shot dead
      in her arms, and she reached our lines with one child safe on earth and
      the other in heaven. I never found it needful to give any elementary
      instructions in courage to Fanny's husband, you may be sure.
    </p>
    <p>
      There was another family of brothers in the regiment named Miller. Their
      grandmother, a fine-looking old woman, nearly seventy, I should think, but
      erect as a pine-tree, used sometimes to come and visit them. She and her
      husband had once tried to escape from a plantation near Savannah. They had
      failed, and had been brought back; the husband had received five hundred
      lashes, and while the white men on the plantation were viewing the
      punishment, she was collecting her children and grandchildren, to the
      number of twenty-two, in a neighboring marsh, preparatory to another
      attempt that night. They found a flat-boat which had been rejected as
      unseaworthy, got on board,&mdash;still under the old woman's orders,&mdash;and
      drifted forty miles down the river to our lines. Trowbridge happened to be
      on board the gunboat which picked them up, and he said that when the
      "flat" touched the side of the vessel, the grandmother rose to her full
      height, with her youngest grandchild in her arms, and said only, "My God!
      are we free?" By one of those coincidences of which life is full, her
      husband escaped also, after his punishment, and was taken up by the same
      gunboat.
    </p>
    <p>
      I hardly need point out that my young lieutenants did not have to teach
      the principles of courage to this woman's grandchildren.
    </p>
    <p>
      I often asked myself why it was that, with this capacity of daring and
      endurance, they had not kept the land in a perpetual flame of
      insurrection; why, especially since the opening of the war, they had kept
      so still. The answer was to be found in the peculiar temperament of the
      races, in their religious faith, and in the habit of patience that
      centuries had fortified. The shrewder men all said substantially the same
      thing. What was the use of insurrection, where everything was against
      them? They had no knowledge, no money, no arms, no drill, no organization,&mdash;above
      all, no mutual confidence. It was the tradition among them that all
      insurrections were always betrayed by somebody. They had no mountain
      passes to defend like the Maroons of Jamaica,&mdash;no unpenetrable
      swamps, like the Maroons of Surinam. Where they had these, even on a small
      scale, they had used them,&mdash;as in certain swamps round Savannah and
      in the everglades of Florida, where they united with the Indians, and
      would stand fire&mdash;so I was told by General Saxton, who had fought
      them there&mdash;when the Indians would retreat.
    </p>
    <p>
      It always seemed to me that, had I been a slave, my life would have been
      one long scheme of insurrection. But I learned to respect the patient
      self-control of those who had waited till the course of events should open
      a better way. When it came they accepted it. Insurrection on their part
      would at once have divided the Northern sentiment; and a large part of our
      army would have joined with the Southern army to hunt them down. By their
      waiting till we needed them, their freedom was secured.
    </p>
    <p>
      Two things chiefly surprised me in their feeling toward their former
      masters,&mdash;the absence of affection and the absence of revenge. I
      expected to find a good deal of the patriarchal feeling. It always seemed
      to me a very ill-applied emotion, as connected with the facts and laws of
      American slavery,&mdash;still I expected to find it. I suppose that my men
      and their families and visitors may have had as much of it as the mass of
      freed slaves; but certainly they had not a particle. I never could cajole
      one of them, in his most discontented moment, into regretting "ole mas'r
      time" for a single instant. I never heard one speak of the masters except
      as natural enemies. Yet they were perfectly discriminating as to
      individuals; many of them claimed to have had kind owners, and some
      expressed great gratitude to them for particular favors received. It was
      not the individuals, but the ownership, of which they complained. That
      they saw to be a wrong which no special kindnesses could right. On this,
      as on all points connected with slavery, they understood the matter as
      clearly as Garrison or Phillips; the wisest philosophy could teach them
      nothing as to that, nor could any false philosophy befog them. After all,
      personal experience is the best logician.
    </p>
    <p>
      Certainly this indifference did not proceed from any want of personal
      affection, for they were the most affectionate people among whom I had
      ever lived. They attached themselves to every officer who deserved love,
      and to some who did not; and if they failed to show it to their masters,
      it proved the wrongfulness of the mastery. On the other hand, they rarely
      showed one gleam of revenge, and I shall never forget the self-control
      with which one of our best sergeants pointed out to me, at Jacksonville,
      the very place where one of his brothers had been hanged by the whites for
      leading a party of fugitive slaves. He spoke of it as a historic matter,
      without any bearing on the present issue.
    </p>
    <p>
      But side by side with this faculty of patience, there was a certain
      tropical element in the men, a sort of fiery ecstasy when aroused, which
      seemed to link them by blood with the French Turcos, and made them really
      resemble their natural enemies, the Celts, far more than the Anglo-Saxon
      temperament. To balance this there were great individual resources when
      alone,&mdash;a sort of Indian wiliness and subtlety of resource. Their
      gregariousness and love of drill made them more easy to keep in hand than
      white American troops, who rather like to straggle or go in little squads,
      looking out for themselves, without being bothered with officers. The
      blacks prefer organization.
    </p>
    <p>
      The point of inferiority that I always feared, though I never had occasion
      to prove it, was that they might show less fibre, less tough and dogged
      resistance, than whites, during a prolonged trial,&mdash;a long,
      disastrous march, for instance, or the hopeless defence of a besieged
      town. I should not be afraid of their mutinying or running away, but of
      their drooping and dying. It might not turn out so; but I mention it for
      the sake of fairness, and to avoid overstating the merits of these troops.
      As to the simple general fact of courage and reliability I think no
      officer in our camp ever thought of there being any difference between
      black and white. And certainly the opinions of these officers, who for
      years risked their lives every moment on the fidelity of their men, were
      worth more than those of all the world beside.
    </p>
    <p>
      No doubt there were reasons why this particular war was an especially
      favorable test of the colored soldiers. They had more to fight for than
      the whites. Besides the flag and the Union, they had home and wife and
      child. They fought with ropes round their necks, and when orders were
      issued that the officers of colored troops should be put to death on
      capture, they took a grim satisfaction. It helped their <i>esprit de corps</i>
      immensely. With us, at least, there was to be no play-soldier. Though they
      had begun with a slight feeling of inferiority to the white troops, this
      compliment substituted a peculiar sense of self-respect. And even when the
      new colored regiments began to arrive from the North my men still pointed
      out this difference,&mdash;that in case of ultimate defeat, the Northern
      troops, black or white, would go home, while the First South Carolina must
      fight it out or be re-enslaved. This was one thing that made the St.
      John's River so attractive to them and even to me;&mdash;it was so much
      nearer the everglades. I used seriously to ponder, during the darker
      periods of the war, whether I might not end my days as an outlaw,&mdash;a
      leader of Maroons.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, I used to try to make some capital for the Northern troops, in
      their estimate, by pointing out that it was a disinterested thing in these
      men from the free States, to come down there and fight, that the slaves
      might be free. But they were apt keenly to reply, that many of the white
      soldiers disavowed this object, and said that that was not the object of
      the war, nor even likely to be its end. Some of them even repeated Mr.
      Seward's unfortunate words to Mr. Adams, which some general had been heard
      to quote. So, on the whole, I took nothing by the motion, as was apt to be
      the case with those who spoke a good word for our Government, in those
      vacillating and half proslavery days.
    </p>
    <p>
      At any rate, this ungenerous discouragement had this good effect, that it
      touched their pride; they would deserve justice, even if they did not
      obtain it. This pride was afterwards severely tested during the
      disgraceful period when the party of repudiation in Congress temporarily
      deprived them of their promised pay. In my regiment the men never
      mutinied, nor even threatened mutiny; they seemed to make it a matter of
      honor to do then: part, even if the Government proved a defaulter; but one
      third of them, including the best men in the regiment, quietly refused to
      take a dollar's pay, at the reduced price. "We'se gib our sogerin' to de
      Guv'ment, Gunnel," they said, "but we won't 'spise ourselves so much for
      take de seben dollar." They even made a contemptuous ballad, of which I
      once caught a snatch.
    </p>
<pre xml:space="preserve">
  "Ten dollar a month!
    Tree ob dat for clothin'l
  Go to Washington
    Fight for Linkum's darter!"
</pre>
    <p>
      This "Lincoln's daughter" stood for the Goddess of Liberty, it would seem.
      They would be true to her, but they would not take the half-pay. This was
      contrary to my advice, and to that of other officers; but I now think it
      was wise. Nothing less than this would have called the attention of the
      American people to this outrageous fraud.*
    </p>
    <p>
      * See Appendix.
    </p>
    <p>
      The same slow forecast had often marked their action in other ways. One of
      our ablest sergeants, Henry Mclntyre, who had earned two dollars and a
      half per day as a master-carpenter in Florida, and paid one dollar and a
      half to his master, told me that he had deliberately refrained from
      learning to read, because that knowledge exposed the slaves to so much
      more watching and suspicion. This man and a few others had built on
      contract the greater part of the town of Micanopy in Florida, and was a
      thriving man when his accustomed discretion failed for once, and he lost
      all. He named his child William Lincoln, and it brought upon him such
      suspicion that he had to make his escape.
    </p>
    <p>
      I cannot conceive what people at the North mean by speaking of the negroes
      as a bestial or brutal race. Except in some insensibility to animal pain,
      I never knew of an act in my regiment which I should call brutal. In
      reading Kay's "Condition of the English Peasantry" I was constantly struck
      with the unlikeness of my men to those therein described. This could not
      proceed from my prejudices as an abolitionist, for they would have led me
      the other way, and indeed I had once written a little essay to show the
      brutalizing influences of slavery. I learned to think that we
      abolitionists had underrated the suffering produced by slavery among the
      negroes, but had overrated the demoralization. Or rather, we did not know
      how the religious temperament of the negroes had checked the
      demoralization. Yet again, it must be admitted that this temperament, born
      of sorrow and oppression, is far more marked in the slave than in the
      native African.
    </p>
    <p>
      Theorize as we may, there was certainly in our camp an average tone of
      propriety which all visitors noticed, and which was not created, but only
      preserved by discipline. I was always struck, not merely by the courtesy
      of the men, but also by a certain sober decency of language. If a man had
      to report to me any disagreeable fact, for instance, he was sure to do it
      with gravity and decorum, and not blurt it out in an offensive way. And it
      certainly was a significant fact that the ladies of our camp, when we were
      so fortunate as to have such guests, the young wives, especially, of the
      adjutant and quartermaster, used to go among the tents when the men were
      off duty, in order to hear their big pupils read and spell, without the
      slightest fear of annoyance. I do not mean direct annoyance or insult, for
      no man who valued his life would have ventured that in presence of the
      others, but I mean the annoyance of accidentally seeing or hearing
      improprieties not intended for them. They both declared that they would
      not have moved about with anything like the same freedom in any white camp
      they had ever entered, and it always roused their indignation to hear the
      negro race called brutal or depraved.
    </p>
    <p>
      This came partly from natural good manners, partly from the habit of
      deference, partly from ignorance of the refined and ingenious evil which
      is learned in large towns; but a large part came from their strongly
      religious temperament. Their comparative freedom from swearing, for
      instance,&mdash;an abstinence which I fear military life did not
      strengthen,&mdash;was partly a matter of principle. Once I heard one of
      them say to another, in a transport of indignation, "Ha-a-a, boy, s'pose I
      no be a Christian, I cuss you sol"&mdash;which was certainly drawing
      pretty hard upon the bridle. "Cuss," however, was a generic term for all
      manner of evil speaking; they would say, "He cuss me fool," or "He cuss me
      coward," as if the essence of propriety were in harsh and angry speech,&mdash;which
      I take to be good ethics. But certainly, if Uncle Toby could have
      recruited his army in Flanders from our ranks, their swearing would have
      ceased to be historic.
    </p>
    <p>
      It used to seem to me that never, since Cromwell's time, had there been
      soldiers in whom the religious element held such a place. "A religious
      army," "a gospel army," were their frequent phrases. In their
      prayer-meetings there was always a mingling, often quaint enough, of the
      warlike and the pious. "If each one of us was a praying man," said
      Corporal Thomas Long in a sermon, "it appears to me that we could fight as
      well with prayers as with bullets,&mdash;for the Lord has said that if you
      have faith even as a grain of mustard-seed cut into four parts, you can
      say to the sycamore-tree, Arise, and it will come up." And though Corporal
      Long may have got a little perplexed in his botany, his faith proved
      itself by works, for he volunteered and went many miles on a solitary
      scouting expedition into the enemy's country in Florida, and got back
      safe, after I had given him up for lost.
    </p>
    <p>
      The extremes of religious enthusiasm I did not venture to encourage, for I
      could not do it honestly; neither did I discourage them, but simply
      treated them with respect, and let them have their way, so long as they
      did not interfere with discipline. In general they promoted it. The
      mischievous little drummer-boys, whose scrapes and quarrels were the
      torment of my existence, might be seen kneeling together in their tents to
      say their prayers at night, and I could hope that their slumbers were
      blessed by some spirit of peace, such as certainly did not rule over their
      waking. The most reckless and daring fellows in the regiment were perfect
      fatalists in theur confidence that God would watch over them, and that if
      they died, it would be because theur time had come. This almost excessive
      faith, and the love of freedom and of their families, all co-operated with
      their pride as soldiers to make them do their duty. I could not have
      spared any of these incentives. Those of our officers who were personally
      the least influenced by such considerations, still saw the need of
      encouraging them among the men.
    </p>
    <p>
      I am bound to say that this strongly devotional turn was not always
      accompanied by the practical virtues; but neither was it strikingly
      divorced from them. A few men, I remember, who belonged to the ancient
      order of hypocrites, but not many. Old Jim Cushman was our favorite
      representative scamp. He used to vex his righteous soul over the admission
      of the unregenerate to prayer-meetings, and went off once shaking his head
      and muttering, "Too much goat shout wid de sheep." But he who objected to
      this profane admixture used to get our mess-funds far more hopelessly
      mixed with his own, when he went out to buy chickens. And I remember that,
      on being asked by our Major, in that semi-Ethiopian dialect into which we
      sometimes slid, "How much wife you got, Jim?" the veteran replied, with a
      sort of penitence for lost opportunities, "On'y but four, Sah!"
    </p>
    <p>
      Another man of somewhat similar quality went among us by the name of Henry
      Ward Beecher, from a remarkable resemblance in face and figure to that
      sturdy divine. I always felt a sort of admiration for this worthy, because
      of the thoroughness with which he outwitted me, and the sublime impudence
      in which he culminated. He got a series of passes from me, every week or
      two, to go and see his wife on a neighboring plantation, and finally, when
      this resource seemed exhausted, he came boldly for one more pass, that he
      might go and be married.
    </p>
    <p>
      We used to quote <i>him</i> a good deal, also, as a sample of a certain
      Shakespearian boldness of personification in which the men sometimes
      indulged. Once, I remember, his captain had given him a fowling-piece to
      clean. Henry Ward had left it in the captain's tent, and the latter,
      finding it, had transferred the job to some one else.
    </p>
    <p>
      Then came a confession, in this precise form, with many dignified
      gesticulations:&mdash;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Cappen! I took dat gun, and I put bun in Cappen tent. Den I look, and de
      gun not dar! Den Conscience say, Cappen mus' hab gib dat gun to somebody
      else for clean. Den I say, Conscience, you reason correck."
    </p>
    <p>
      Compare Lancelot Gobbo's soliloquy in the "Two Gentlemen of Verona"!
    </p>
    <p>
      Still, I maintain that, as a whole, the men were remarkably free from
      inconvenient vices. There was no more lying and stealing than in average
      white regiments. The surgeon was not much troubled by shamming sickness,
      and there were not a great many complaints of theft. There was less
      quarrelling than among white soldiers, and scarcely ever an instance of
      drunkenness. Perhaps the influence of their officers had something to do
      with this; for not a ration of whiskey was ever issued to the men, nor did
      I ever touch it, while in the army, nor approve a requisition for any of
      the officers, without which it could not easily be obtained. In this
      respect our surgeons fortunately agreed with me, and we never had reason
      to regret it. I believe the use of ardent spirits to be as useless and
      injurious in the army as on board ship, and among the colored troops,
      especially, who had never been accustomed to it, I think that it did only
      harm.
    </p>
    <p>
      The point of greatest laxity in their moral habits&mdash;the want of a
      high standard of chastity&mdash;was not one which affected their camp life
      to any great extent, and it therefore came less under my observation. But
      I found to my relief that, whatever their deficiency in this respect, it
      was modified by the general quality of their temperament, and indicated
      rather a softening and relaxation than a hardening and brutalizing of
      their moral natures. Any insult or violence in this direction was a thing
      unknown. I never heard of an instance. It was not uncommon for men to have
      two or three wives in different plantations,&mdash;the second, or remoter,
      partner being called a "'broad wife,"&mdash;i.e. wife abroad. But the
      whole tendency was toward marriage, and this state of things was only
      regarded as a bequest from "mas'r time."
    </p>
    <p>
      I knew a great deal about their marriages, for they often consulted me,
      and took my counsel as lovers are wont to do,&mdash;that is, when it
      pleased their fancy. Sometimes they would consult their captains first,
      and then come to me in despairing appeal. "Cap'n Scroby [Trowbridge] he
      acvise me not for marry dis lady, 'cause she hab seben chil'en. What for
      use? Cap'n Scroby can't lub for me. I mus' lub for myself, and I lub he."
      I remember that on this occasion "he" stood by, a most unattractive woman,
      jet black, with an old pink muslin dress, torn white cotton gloves, and a
      very flowery bonnet, that must have descended through generations of
      tawdry mistresses.
    </p>
    <p>
      I felt myself compelled to reaffirm the decision of the inferior court.
      The result was as usual. They were married the next day, and I believe
      that she proved an excellent wife, though she had seven children, whose
      father was also in the regiment. If she did not, I know many others who
      did, and certainly I have never seen more faithful or more happy marriages
      than among that people.
    </p>
    <p>
      The question was often asked, whether the Southern slaves or the Northern
      free blacks made the best soldiers. It was a compliment to both classes
      that each officer usually preferred those whom he had personally
      commanded. I preferred those who had been slaves, for their greater
      docility and affectionateness, for the powerful stimulus which their new
      freedom gave, and for the fact that they were fighting, in a manner, for
      their own homes and firesides. Every one of these considerations afforded
      a special aid to discipline, and cemented a peculiar tie of sympathy
      between them and their officers. They seemed like clansmen, and had a more
      confiding and filial relation to us than seemed to me to exist in the
      Northern colored regiments.
    </p>
    <p>
      So far as the mere habits of slavery went, they were a poor preparation
      for military duty. Inexperienced officers often assumed that, because
      these men had been slaves before enlistment, they would bear to be treated
      as such afterwards. Experience proved the contrary. The more strongly we
      marked the difference between the slave and the soldier, the better for
      the regiment. One half of military duty lies in obedience, the other half
      in self-respect. A soldier without self-respect is worthless. Consequently
      there were no regiments in which it was so important to observe the
      courtesies and proprieties of military life as in these. I had to caution
      the officers to be more than usually particular in returning the
      salutations of the men; to be very careful in their dealings with those on
      picket or guard-duty; and on no account to omit the titles of the
      non-commissioned officers. So, in dealing out punishments, we had
      carefully to avoid all that was brutal and arbitrary, all that savored of
      the overseer. Any such dealing found them as obstinate and contemptuous as
      was Topsy when Miss Ophelia undertook to chastise her. A system of light
      punishments, rigidly administered according to the prescribed military
      forms, had more weight with them than any amount of angry severity. To
      make them feel as remote as possible from the plantation, this was
      essential. By adhering to this, and constantly appealing to their pride as
      soldiers and their sense of duty, we were able to maintain a high standard
      of discipline,&mdash;so, at least, the inspecting officers said,&mdash;and
      to get rid, almost entirely, of the more degrading class of punishments,&mdash;standing
      on barrels, tying up by the thumbs, and the ball and chain.
    </p>
    <p>
      In all ways we had to educate their self-respect. For instance, at first
      they disliked to obey their own non-commissioned officers. "I don't want
      him to play de white man ober me," was a sincere objection. They had been
      so impressed with a sense of inferiority that the distinction extended to
      the very principles of honor. "I ain't got colored-man principles," said
      Corporal London Simmons, indignantly defending himself from some charge
      before me. "I'se got white-gemman principles. I'se do my best. If Cap'n
      tell me to take a man, s'pose de man be as big as a house, I'll clam hold
      on him till I die, inception [excepting] I'm sick."
    </p>
    <p>
      But it was plain that this feeling was a bequest of slavery, which
      military life would wear off. We impressed it upon them that they did not
      obey their officers because they were white, but because they were their
      officers, just as the Captain must obey me, and I the General; that we
      were all subject to military law, and protected by it in turn. Then we
      taught them to take pride in having good material for noncommissioned
      officers among themselves, and in obeying them. On my arrival there was
      one white first sergeant, and it was a question whether to appoint others.
      This I prevented, but left that one, hoping the men themselves would at
      last petition for his removal, which at length they did. He was at once
      detailed on other duty. The picturesqueness of the regiment suffered, for
      he was very tall and fair, and I liked to see him step forward in the
      centre when the line of first sergeants came together at dress-parade. But
      it was a help to discipline to eliminate the Saxon, for it recognized a
      principle.
    </p>
    <p>
      Afterwards I had excellent battalion-drills without a single white
      officer, by way of experiment; putting each company under a sergeant, and
      going through the most difficult movements, such as division-columns and
      oblique-squares. And as to actual discipline, it is doing no injustice to
      the line-officers of the regiment to say that none of them received from
      the men more implicit obedience than Color-Sergeant Rivers. I should have
      tried to obtain commissions for him and several others before I left the
      regiment, had their literary education been sufficient; and such an
      attempt was finally made by Lieutenant-Colonel Trowbridge, my successor in
      immediate command, but it proved unsuccessful. It always seemed to me an
      insult to those brave men to have novices put over their heads, on the
      ground of color alone; and the men felt it the more keenly as they
      remained longer in service. There were more than seven hundred enlisted
      men in the regiment, when mustered out after more than three years'
      service. The ranks had been kept full by enlistment, but there were only
      fourteen line-officers instead of the full thirty. The men who should have
      filled those vacancies were doing duty as sergeants in the ranks.
    </p>
    <p>
      In what respect were the colored troops a source of disappointment? To me
      in one respect only,&mdash;that of health. Their health improved, indeed,
      as they grew more familiar with military life; but I think that neither
      their physical nor moral temperament gave them that toughness, that
      obstinate purpose of living, which sustains the more materialistic
      Anglo-Saxon. They had not, to be sure, the same predominant diseases,
      suffering in the pulmonary, not in the digestive organs; but they suffered
      a good deal. They felt malaria less, but they were more easily choked by
      dust and made ill by dampness. On the other hand, they submitted more
      readily to sanitary measures than whites, and, with efficient officers,
      were more easily kept clean. They were injured throughout the army by an
      undue share of fatigue duty, which is not only exhausting but demoralizing
      to a soldier; by the un-suitableness of the rations, which gave them salt
      meat instead of rice and hominy; and by the lack of good medical
      attendance. Their childlike constitutions peculiarly needed prompt and
      efficient surgical care; but almost all the colored troops were enlisted
      late in the war, when it was hard to get good surgeons for any regiments,
      and especially for these. In this respect I had nothing to complain of,
      since there were no surgeons in the army for whom I would have exchanged
      my own.
    </p>
    <p>
      And this late arrival on the scene affected not only the medical
      supervision of the colored troops, but their opportunity for a career. It
      is not my province to write their history, nor to vindicate them, nor to
      follow them upon those larger fields compared with which the adventures of
      my regiment appear but a partisan warfare. Yet this, at least, may be
      said. The operations on the South Atlantic coast, which long seemed a
      merely subordinate and incidental part of the great contest, proved to be
      one of the final pivots on which it turned. All now admit that the fate of
      the Confederacy was decided by Sherman's march to the sea. Port Royal was
      the objective point to which he marched, and he found the Department of
      the South, when he reached it, held almost exclusively by colored troops.
      Next to the merit of those who made the march was that of those who held
      open the door. That service will always remain among the laurels of the
      black regiments.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Chapter 13. Conclusion
    </h2>
    <p>
      My personal forebodings proved to be correct, and so were the threats of
      the surgeons. In May, 1864, I went home invalided, was compelled to resign
      in October from the same cause, and never saw the First South Carolina
      again. Nor did any one else see it under that appellation, for about that
      time its name was changed to the Thirty-Third United States Colored
      Troops, "a most vague and heartless baptism," as the man in the story
      says. It was one of those instances of injudicious sacrifice of <i>esprit
      de corps</i> which were so frequent in our army. All the pride of my men
      was centred in "de Fus' Souf"; the very words were a recognition of the
      loyal South as against the disloyal. To make the matter worse, it had been
      originally designed to apply the new numbering only to the new regiments,
      and so the early numbers were all taken up before the older regiments came
      in. The governors of States, by especial effort, saved their colored
      troops from this chagrin; but we found here, as more than once before, the
      disadvantage of having no governor to stand by us. "It's a far cry to Loch
      Awe," said the Highland proverb. We knew to our cost that it was a far cry
      to Washington in those days, unless an officer left his duty and stayed
      there all the time.
    </p>
    <p>
      In June, 1864, the regiment was ordered to Folly Island, and remained
      there and on Cole's Island till the siege of Charleston was done. It took
      part in the battle of Honey Hill, and in the capture of a fort on James
      Island, of which Corporal Robert Vendross wrote triumphantly in a letter,
      "When we took the pieces we found that we recapt our own pieces back that
      we lost on Willtown Revear (River) and thank the Lord did not lose but
      seven men out of our regiment."
    </p>
    <p>
      In February, 1865, the regiment was ordered to Charleston to do provost
      and guard duty, in March to Savannah, in June to Hamburg and Aiken, in
      September to Charleston and its neighborhood, and was finally mustered out
      of service&mdash;after being detained beyond its three years, so great was
      the scarcity of troops&mdash;on the 9th of February, 1866. With dramatic
      fitness this muster-out took place at Fort Wagner, above the graves of
      Shaw and his men. I give in the Appendix the farewell address of
      Lieutenant-Colonel Trowbridge, who commanded the regiment from the time I
      left it. Brevet Brigadier-General W. T. Bennett, of the One Hundred and
      Second United States Colored Troops, who was assigned to the command,
      never actually held it, being always in charge of a brigade.
    </p>
    <p>
      The officers and men are scattered far and wide. One of our captains was a
      member of the South Carolina Constitutional Convention, and is now State
      Treasurer; three of our sergeants were in that Convention, including
      Sergeant Prince Rivers; and he and Sergeant Henry Hayne are still members
      of the State Legislature. Both in that State and hi Florida the former
      members of the regiment are generally prospering, so far as I can hear.
      The increased self-respect of army life fitted them to do the duties of
      civil life. It is not in nature that the jealousy of race should die out
      in this generation, but I trust they will not see the fulfilment of
      Corporal Simon Cram's prediction. Simon was one of the shrewdest old
      fellows in the regiment, and he said to me once, as he was jogging out of
      Beaufort behind me, on the Shell Road, "I'se goin' to leave de Souf,
      Cunnel, when de war is over. I'se made up my mind dat dese yere Secesh
      will neber be cibilized in my time."
    </p>
    <p>
      The only member of the regiment whom I have seen since leaving it is a
      young man, Cyrus Wiggins, who was brought off from the main-land in a
      dug-out, in broad day, before the very eyes of the rebel pickets, by
      Captain James S. Rogers, of my regiment. It was one of the most daring
      acts I ever saw, and as it happened under my own observation I was glad
      when the Captain took home with him this "captive of his bow and spear" to
      be educated under his eye in Massachusetts. Cyrus has done credit to his
      friends, and will be satisfied with nothing short of a college-training at
      Howard University. I have letters from the men, very quaint in handwriting
      and spelling; but he is the only one whom I have seen. Some time I hope to
      revisit those scenes, and shall feel, no doubt, like a bewildered Rip Van
      Winkle who once wore uniform.
    </p>
    <p>
      We who served with the black troops have this peculiar satisfaction, that,
      whatever dignity or sacredness the memories of the war may have to others,
      they have more to us. In that contest all the ordinary ties of patriotism
      were the same, of course, to us as to the rest; they had no motives which
      we had not, as they have now no memories which are not also ours. But the
      peculiar privilege of associating with an outcast race, of training it to
      defend its rights and to perform its duties, this was our especial meed.
      The vacillating policy of the Government sometimes filled other officers
      with doubt and shame; until the negro had justice, they were but defending
      liberty with one hand and crushing it with the other. From this
      inconsistency we were free. Whatever the Government did, we at least were
      working in the right direction. If this was not recognized on our side of
      the lines, we knew that it was admitted on the other. Fighting with ropes
      round our necks, denied the ordinary courtesies of war till we ourselves
      compelled then: concession, we could at least turn this outlawry into a
      compliment. We had touched the pivot of the war. Whether this vast and
      dusky mass should prove the weakness of the nation or its strength, must
      depend in great measure, we knew, upon our efforts. Till the blacks were
      armed, there was no guaranty of their freedom. It was their demeanor under
      arms that shamed the nation into recognizing them as men.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPE" id="link2H_APPE">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      APPENDIX
    </h2>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPEa" id="link2H_APPEa">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Appendix A
    </h2>
    <h3>
      Roster of Officers
    </h3>
    <p>
      FIRST SOUTH CAROLINA VOLUNTEERS,
    </p>
    <p>
      Afterwards Thirty-Third United States Colored Troops.
    </p>
    <p>
      Colonels
    </p>
    <p>
      T. W. HIGGINSON, 51st Mass. Vols., Nov. 10, 1862; Resigned,
    </p>
    <p>
      Oct. 27, 1864. WM. T. BENNETT, 102d U. S. C. T., Dec. 18, 1864; Mustered
      out
    </p>
    <p>
      with regiment
    </p>
    <p>
      Lieutenant-Colonels
    </p>
    <p>
      LIBERTY BILLINGS, Civil Life, Nov. 1, 1862; Dismissed by Examining Board,
      July 28, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      JOHN D. STRONG, Promotion, July 28, 1863; Resigned, Aug. 15, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      CHAS. T. TROWBRIDGE, Promotion, Dec. 9, 1864; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      Majors
    </p>
    <p>
      JOHN D. STRONG, Civil Life, Oct. 21, 1862; Lt-Col., July 28, 1863. CHAS.
    </p>
    <p>
      T. TROWBRIDGE, Promotion, Aug. 11, 1863; Lt.-Col., Dec. 9, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      H. A. WHTTNEY, Promotion, Dec. 9, 1864; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      Surgeons
    </p>
    <p>
      SETH ROGERS, Civil Life, Dec. 2, 1862; Resigned, Dec. 21, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      WM. B. CRANDALL, 29th Ct, June 8, 1864; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      Assistant Surgeons
    </p>
    <p>
      J. M. HAWKS, Civil Life, Oct 20, 1862; Surgeon 3d S. C. Vols.,
    </p>
    <p>
      Oct. 29, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      THOS. T. MINOR, 7th Ct., Jan. 8, 1863; Resigned, Nov. 21, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      E. S. STUARD, Civil Life, Sept. 4, 1865; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      Chaplain
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. H. FOWLER, Civil Life, Oct. 24, 1862; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      Captains
    </p>
    <p>
      CHAS. T. TROWBRIDGE, N. Y. Vol. Eng., Oct. 13, 1862; Major, Aug. 11, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      WM. JAMES, 100th Pa., Oct. 13, 1862; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      W. J. RANDOLPH, 100th Pa., Oct. 13, 1862; Resigned, Jan. 29, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      H. A. WHITNEY, 8th Me., Oct. 13, 1862; Major, Dec. 9, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      ALEX. HEASLEY, 100th Pa., Oct 13, 1862; Killed at Augusta, Ga., Sept. 6,
      1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      GEORGE DOLLY, 8th Me., Nov. 1, 1862; Resigned, Oct. 30, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      L. W. METCALF, 8th Me., Nov. 11, 1862; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. H. TONKING, N. Y. Vol. Eng., Nov. 17, 1862; Resigned, July 28, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. S. ROGERS, 51st Mass., Dec. 6, 1862; Resigned, Oct. 20, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      J. H. THIBADEAU, Promotion, Jan. 10, 1863; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      GEORGE D. WALKER, Promotion, July 28, 1863; Resigned, Sept 1, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      WM. H. DANILSON, Promotion, July 28, 1863; Major 128th U. S. C. T., May,
      1865 [now 1st Lt 40th U. S. Infantry].
    </p>
    <p>
      WM. W. SAMPSON, Promotion, Nov. 5, 1863; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      JOHN M. THOMPSON, Promotion, Nov. 7, 1863; Mustered out, &amp;c. [Now 1st
      Lt. and Bvt Capt. 38th U. S. Infy.]
    </p>
    <p>
      ABR. W. JACKSON, Promotion, April 30, 1864; Resigned, Aug. 15, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      NILES G. PARKER, Promotion, Feb., 1865; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      CHAS. W. HOOPER, Promotion, Sept, 1865; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      E. C. MERMAM, Promotion, Sept., 1865; Resigned, Dec. 4, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      E. W. ROBBINS, Promotion, Nov. 1, 1865; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      N. S. WHITE, Promotion, Nov. 18, 1865; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      First Lieutenants
    </p>
    <p>
      G. W. DEWHURST (Adjutant), Civil Life, Oct 20, 1862; Resigned, Aug. 31,
      1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      J. M. BINOHAM (Quartermaster), Civil Life, Oct. 20, 1862; Died from effect
      of exhaustion on a military expedition, July 20, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      G. M. CHAMBERUN (Quartermaster), llth Mass. Battery, Aug. 29, 1863;
      Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      GEO. D. WALKER, N. Y. VoL Eng., Oct 13, 1862; Captain, Aug. 11, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      W. H. DANILSON, 48th N. Y., Oct 13, 1862; Captain, July 26, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      J. H. THTBADEAU, 8th Me., Oct 13, 1862; Captain, Jan. 10, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      EPHRAIM P. WHITE, 8th Me., Nov. 14, 1862; Resigned, March 9, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. POMEROY, 100th Pa., Oct 13,1862; Resigned, Feb. 9, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. F. JOHNSTON, 100th Pa., Oct 13, 1862; Resigned, March 26, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      JESSE FISHER, 48th N. Y., Oct 13, 1862; Resigned, Jan. 26, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      CHAS. I. DAVIS, 8th Me., Oct 13, 1862; Resigned, Feb. 28, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      WM. STOCKDALE, 8th Me., Oct 13, 1862; Resigned, May 2, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. B. O'NEIL, Promotion, Jan. 10, 1863; Resigned, May 2, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      W. W. SAMPSON, Promotion, Jan. 10, 1863; Captain, Oct 30,
    </p>
    <p>
      1863. J. M. THOMPSON, Promotion, Jan. 27, 1863; Captain, Oct. 30,
    </p>
    <p>
      1863. R. M. GASTON, Promotion, April 15, 1863; Killed at Coosaw Ferry, S.
      C., May 27, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. B. WEST, Promotion, Feb. 28, 1863; Resigned, June 14, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      N. G. PARKER, Promotion, May 5, 1863; Captain, Feb., 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      W. H. HYDE, Promotion, May 5, 1863; Resigned, April 3, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      HENRY A. STONE, 8th Me., June 26, 1863; Resigned, Dec. 16, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      J. A. TROWBRTDGE, Promotion, Aug. 11, 1863; Resigned, Nov. 29, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      A. W. JACKSON, Promotion, Aug. 26, 1863; Captain, April 30, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      CHAS. E. PARKER, Promotion, Aug. 26, 1863; Resigned, Nov. 29, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      CHAS. W. HOOPER, Promotion, Nov. 8, 1863; Captain, Sept., 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      E. C. MERRIAM, Promotion, Nov. 19, 1863; Captain, Sept., 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      HENRY A. BEACH, Promotion, April 30, 1864; Resigned, Sept 23, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      E. W. ROBBINS, Promotion, April 30, 1864; Captain, Nov. 1, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      ASA CHILD, Promotion, Sept, 1865; Mastered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      N. S. WHITE, Promotion, Sept, 1865; Captain, Nov. 18, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      F. S. GOODRICH, Promotion, Oct., 1865; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      E. W. HYDE, Promotion, Oct 27, 1865; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      HENRY WOOD, Promotion, Nov., 1865; Mustered out, &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      Second Lieutenants
    </p>
    <p>
      J. A. TROWBMDGE, N. Y. Vol. Eng., Oct 13, 1862; First Lt, Aug. 11, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. B. O-NBIL, 1st U. S. Art'y, Oct 13, 1862; First Lt, Jan. 10, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      W. W. SAMPSON, 8th Me., Oct 13, 1862; First Lt, Jan 10, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      J. M. THOMPSON, 7th N. H., Oct 13, 1862; First Lt, Jan. 27, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      R. M. GASTON, 100th Pa., Oct. 13, 1862; First Lt, April 15, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      W. H. HYDE, 6th Ct, Oct 13, 1862; First Lt, May 5, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      JAS. B. WEST, 100th Pa., Oct. 13. 1862; First Lt, Feb. 28, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      HARRY C. WEST, 100th Pa., Oct 13, 1862; Resigned, Nov. 4, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      E. C. MERRIAM, 8th Me., Nov. 17, 1862; First Lt., Nov. 19, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      CHAS. E. PARKER, 8th Me., Nov. 17, 1862; First Lt, Aug. 26, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      C. W. HOOPER, N. Y. Vol. Eng., Feb. 17, 1863; First Lt, April 15, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      N. G. PARKER, 1st Mass. Cavalry, March, 1863; First Lt, May 5, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      A. H. TIRRELL, 1st Mass. Cav., March 6, 1863; Resigned, July 22, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      A. W. JACKSON, 8th Me., March 6, 1863; First Lt, Aug. 26, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      HENRY A. BEACH, 48th N. Y., April 5, 1863; First Lt, April 30, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      E. W. ROBBINS, 8th Me., April 5, 1863; First Lt, April 30, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      A. B. BROWN, Civil Life, April 17, 1863; Resigned, Nov. 27, 1863.
    </p>
    <p>
      F. M. GOULD, 3d R. I. Battery, June 1, 1863; Resigned, June 8, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      ASA CHILD, 8th Me., Aug. 7, 1863; First Lt, Sept., 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      JEROME T. FURMAN, 52d Pa., Aug. 30, 1863; Killed at Walhalla, S. C., Aug.
      26, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      JOHN W. SELVAGE, 48th N. Y., Sept 10, 1863; First Lt. 36th U. S. C. T.,
      March, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      MIRAND W. SAXTON, Civil Life, Nov. 19, 1863; Captain 128th U. S. C. T.,
      June 25, 1864 [now Second Lt 38th U. S. Infantry].
    </p>
    <p>
      NELSON S. WHITE, Dec. 22, 1863; First Lt, Sept., 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      EDW. W. HYDE, Civil Life, May 4, 1864; First Lt, Oct. 27, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      F. S. GOODRICH, 115th N. Y., May, 1864; First Lt., Oct., 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      B. H. MANNING, Aug. 11, 1864; Capt 128th U. S. C. T., March 17, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      R. M. DAVIS, 4th Mass. Cavalry, Nov. 19, 1864; Capt. 104th U. S. C. T.,
      May 11, 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      HENRY WOOD, N. Y. Vol. Eng., Aug., 1865; First Lt, Nov., 1865.
    </p>
    <p>
      JOHN M. SEAKLES, 1st N. Y. Mounted Rifles, June 15, 1865; Mustered out,
      &amp;c.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPEb" id="link2H_APPEb">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Appendix B The First Black Soldiers
    </h2>
    <p>
      It is well known that the first systematic attempt to organize colored
      troops during the war of the rebellion was the so-called "Hunter
      Regiment." The officer originally detailed to recruit for this purpose was
      Sergeant C. T. Trowbridge, of the New York Volunteer Engineers (Col.
      Serrell). His detail was dated May 7, 1862, S. O. 84 Dept. South.
    </p>
    <p>
      Enlistments came in very slowly, and no wonder. The white officers and
      soldiers were generally opposed to the experiment, and filled the ears of
      the negroes with the same tales which had been told them by their masters,&mdash;that
      the Yankees really meant to sell them to Cuba, and the like. The mildest
      threats were that they would be made to work without pay (which turned out
      to be the case), and that they would be put in the front rank in every
      battle. Nobody could assure them that they and their families would be
      freed by the Government, if they fought for it, since no such policy had
      been adopted. Nevertheless, they gradually enlisted, the most efficient
      recruiting officer being Sergeant William Bronson, of Company A, in my
      regiment, who always prided himself on this service, and used to sign
      himself by the very original title, "No. 1, African Foundations" in
      commemoration of his deeds.
    </p>
    <p>
      By patience and tact these obstacles would in time have been overcome. But
      before long, unfortunately, some of General Hunter's staff became
      impatient, and induced him to take the position that the blacks <i>must</i>
      enlist. Accordingly, squads of soldiers were sent to seize all the
      able-bodied men on certain plantations, and bring them to the camp. The
      immediate consequence was a renewal of the old suspicion, ending in a
      widespread belief that they were to be sent to Cuba, as their masters had
      predicted. The ultimate result was a habit of distrust, discontent, and
      desertion, that it was almost impossible to surmount. All the men who knew
      anything about General Hunter believed in him; but they all knew that
      there were bad influences around him, and that the Government had
      repudiated his promises. They had been kept four months in service, and
      then had been dismissed without pay. That having been the case, why should
      not the Government equally repudiate General Saxton's promises or mine? As
      a matter of fact, the Government did repudiate these pledges for years,
      though we had its own written authority to give them. But that matter
      needs an appendix by itself.
    </p>
    <p>
      The "Hunter Regiment" remained in camp on Hilton Head Island until the
      beginning of August, 1862, kept constantly under drill, but much
      demoralized by desertion. It was then disbanded, except one company. That
      company, under command of Sergeant Trowbridge, then acting as Captain, but
      not commissioned, was kept in service, and was sent (August 5, 1862) to
      garrison St. Simon's Island, on the coast of Georgia. On this island (made
      famous by Mrs. Kemble's description) there were then five hundred colored
      people, and not a single white man.
    </p>
    <p>
      The black soldiers were sent down on the Ben De Ford, Captain Hallett. On
      arriving, Trowbridge was at once informed by Commodore Goldsborough, naval
      commander at that station, that there was a party of rebel guerillas on
      the island, and was asked whether he would trust his soldiers in pursuit
      of them. Trowbridge gladly assented; and the Commodore added, "If you
      should capture them, it will be a great thing for you."
    </p>
    <p>
      They accordingly went on shore, and found that the colored men of the
      island had already undertaken the enterprise. Twenty-five of them had
      armed themselves, under the command of one of their own number, whose name
      was John Brown. The second in command was Edward Gould, who was afterwards
      a corporal in my own regiment The rebel party retreated before these men,
      and drew them into a swamp. There was but one path, and the negroes
      entered single file. The rebels lay behind a great log, and fired upon
      them. John Brown, the leader, fell dead within six feet of the log,&mdash;probably
      the first black man who fell under arms in the war,&mdash;several other
      were wounded, and the band of raw recruits retreated; as did also the
      rebels, in the opposite direction. This was the first armed encounter, so
      far as I know, between the rebels and their former slaves; and it is worth
      noticing that the attempt was a spontaneous thing and not accompanied by
      any white man. The men were not soldiers, nor in uniform, though some of
      them afterwards enlisted in Trowbridge's company.
    </p>
    <p>
      The father of this John Brown was afterwards a soldier in my regiment;
      and, after his discharge for old age, was, for a time, my servant. "Uncle
      York," as we called him, was as good a specimen of a saint as I have ever
      met, and was quite the equal of Mrs. Stowe's "Uncle Tom." He was a
      fine-looking old man, with dignified and courtly manners, and his gray
      head was a perfect benediction, as he sat with us on the platform at our
      Sunday meetings. He fully believed, to his dying day, that the "John Brown
      Song" related to his son, and to him only.
    </p>
    <p>
      Trowbridge, after landing on the island, hunted the rebels all day with
      his colored soldiers, and a posse of sailors. In one place, he found by a
      creek a canoe, with a tar-kettle, and a fire burning; and it was
      afterwards discovered that, at that very moment, the guerillas were hid in
      a dense palmetto thicket, near by, and so eluded pursuit The rebel leader
      was one Miles Hazard, who had a plantation on the island, and the party
      escaped at last through the aid of his old slave, Henry, who found them a
      boat One of my sergeants, Clarence Kennon, who had not then escaped from
      slavery, was present when they reached the main-land; and he described
      them as being tattered and dirty from head to foot, after their efforts to
      escape their pursuers.
    </p>
    <p>
      When the troops under my command occupied Jacksonville, Fla., in March of
      the following year, we found at the railroad station, packed for
      departure, a box of papers, some of them valuable. Among them was a letter
      from this very Hazard to some friend, describing the perils of that
      adventure, and saying, "If you wish to know hell before your time, go to
      St Simon's and be hunted ten days by niggers."
    </p>
    <p>
      I have heard Trowbridge say that not one of his men flinched; and they
      seemed to take delight in the pursuit, though the weather was very hot,
      and it was fearfully exhausting.
    </p>
    <p>
      This was early in August; and the company remained two months at St
      Simon's, doing picket duty within hearing of the rebel drums, though not
      another scout ever ventured on the island, to their knowledge. Every
      Saturday Trowbridge summoned the island people to drill with his soldiers;
      and they came in hordes, men, women, and children, in every imaginable
      garb, to the number of one hundred and fifty or two hundred.
    </p>
    <p>
      His own men were poorly clothed and hardly shod at all; and, as no new
      supply of uniform was provided, they grew more and more ragged. They got
      poor rations, and no pay; but they kept up their spirits. Every week or so
      some of them would go on scouting excursions to the main-land; one scout
      used to go regularly to his old mother's hut, and keep himself hid under
      her bed, while she collected for him all the latest news of rebel
      movements. This man never came back without bringing recruits with him.
    </p>
    <p>
      At last the news came that Major-General Mitchell had come to relieve
      General Hunter, and that Brigadier-General Saxton had gone North; and
      Trowbridge went to Hilton Head in some anxiety to see if he and his men
      were utterly forgotten. He prepared a report, showing the services and
      claims of his men, and took it with him. This was early in October, 1862.
      The first person he met was Brigadier-General Saxton, who informed him
      that he had authority to organize five thousand colored troops, and that
      he (Trowbridge) should be senior captain of the first regiment
    </p>
    <p>
      This was accordingly done; and Company A of the First South Carolina could
      honestly claim to date its enlistment back to May, 1862, although they
      never got pay for that period of their service, and their date of muster
      was November, IS, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      The above facts were written down from the narration of Lieutenant-Colonel
      Trowbridge, who may justly claim to have been the first white officer to
      recruit and command colored troops in this war. He was constantly in
      command of them from May 9, 1862, to February 9, 1866.
    </p>
    <p>
      Except the Louisiana soldiers mentioned in the Introduction,&mdash;of whom
      no detailed reports have, I think, been published,&mdash;my regiment was
      unquestionably the first mustered into the service of the United States;
      the first company muster bearing date, November 7, 1862, and the others
      following in quick succession.
    </p>
    <p>
      The second regiment in order of muster was the "First Kansas Colored,"
      dating from January 13, 1863. The first enlistment in the Kansas regiment
      goes back to August 6, 1862; while the earliest technical date of
      enlistment in my regiment was October 19, 1862, although, as was stated
      above, one company really dated its organization back to May, 1862. My
      muster as colonel dates back to November 10, 1862, several months earlier
      than any other of which I am aware, among colored regiments, except that
      of Colonel Stafford (First Louisiana Native Guards), September 27, 1862.
      Colonel Williams, of the "First Kansas Colored," was mustered as
      lieutenant-colonel on January 13, 1863; as colonel, March 8, 1863. These
      dates I have (with the other facts relating to the regiment) from Colonel
      R. J. Hinton, the first officer detailed to recruit it.
    </p>
    <p>
      To sum up the above facts: my late regiment had unquestioned priority in
      muster over all but the Louisiana regiments. It had priority over those in
      the actual organization and term of service of one company. On the other
      hand, the Kansas regiment had the priority in average date of enlistment,
      according to the muster-rolls.
    </p>
    <p>
      The first detachment of the Second South Carolina Volunteers (Colonel
      Montgomery) went into camp at Port Royal Island, February 23, 1863,
      numbering one hundred and twenty men. I do not know the date of his
      muster; it was somewhat delayed, but was probably dated back to about that
      time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Recruiting for the Fifty-Fourth Massachusetts (colored) began on February
      9, 1863, and the first squad went into camp at Readville, Massachusetts,
      on February 21, 1863, numbering twenty-five men. Colonel Shaw's commission
      (and probably his muster) was dated April 17, 1863. (Report of
      Adjutant-General of Massachusetts for 1863, pp. 896-899.)
    </p>
    <p>
      These were the earliest colored regiments, so far as I know.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPEc" id="link2H_APPEc">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Appendix C General Saxton's Instructions
    </h2>
    <p>
      [The following are the instructions under which my regiment was raised. It
      will be seen how unequivocal were the provisions in respect to pay, upon
      which so long and weary a contest was waged by our friends in Congress,
      before the fulfilment of the contract could be secured.]
    </p>
    <p>
      WAR DEPARTMENT, WASHINGTON CITY, D. C., August 25, 1862.
    </p>
    <p>
      GENERAL, Your despatch of the 16th has this moment been received. It is
      considered by the Department that the instructions given at the time of
      your appointment were sufficient to enable you to do what you have now
      requested authority for doing. But in order to place your authority beyond
      all doubt, you are hereby authorized and instructed,
    </p>
    <p>
      1st, To organize in any convenient organization, by squads, companies,
      battalions, regiments, and brigades, or otherwise, colored persons of
      African descent for volunteer laborers, to a number not exceeding fifty
      thousand, and muster them into the service of the United States for the
      term of the war, at a rate of compensation not exceeding five dollars per
      month for common laborers, and eight dollars per month for mechanical or
      skilled laborers, and assign them to the Quartermaster's Department, to do
      and perform such laborer's duty as may be required during the present war,
      and to be subject to the rules and articles of war.
    </p>
    <p>
      2d. The laboring forces herein authorized shall, under the order of the
      General-in-Chief, or of this Department, be detailed by the
      Quartermaster-General for laboring service with the armies of the United
      States; and they shall be clothed and subsisted, after enrolment, in the
      same manner as other persons in the Quartermaster's service.
    </p>
    <p>
      3d. In view of the small force under your command, and the inability of
      the Government at the present time to increase it, in order to guard the
      plantations and settlements occupied by the United States from invasion,
      and protect the inhabitants thereof from captivity and murder by the
      enemy, you are also authorized to arm, uniform, equip, and receive into
      the service of the United States, such number of volunteers of African
      descent as you may deem expedient, not exceeding five thousand, and may
      detail officers to instruct them in military drill, discipline, and duty,
      and to command them. The persons so received into service, and their
      officers, to be entitled to, and receive, the same pay and rations as are
      allowed, by law, to volunteers in the service.
    </p>
    <p>
      4th. You will occupy, if possible, all the islands and plantations
      heretofore occupied by the Government, and secure and harvest the crops,
      and cultivate and improve the plantations.
    </p>
    <p>
      5th. The population of African descent that cultivate the lands and
      perform the labor of the rebels constitute a large share of their military
      strength, and enable the white masters to fill the rebel armies, and wage
      a cruel and murderous war against the people of the Northern States. By
      reducing the laboring strength of the rebels, their military power will be
      reduced. You are therefore authorized by every means in your power, to
      withdraw from the enemy their laboring force and population, and to spare
      no effort, consistent with civilized warfare, to weaken, harass, and annoy
      them, and to establish the authority of the Government of the United
      States within your Department.
    </p>
    <p>
      6th. You may turn over to the navy any number of colored volunteers that
      may be required for the naval service.
    </p>
    <p>
      7th. By recent act of Congress, all men and boys received into the service
      of the United States, who may have been the slaves of rebel masters, are,
      with their wives, mothers, and children, declared to be forever free. You
      and all in your command will so treat and regard them.
    </p>
    <p>
      Yours truly,
    </p>
    <p>
      EDWIN M. STANTON,
    </p>
    <p>
      Secretary of War. BRIGADIER-GENERAL SAXTON.
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPEd" id="link2H_APPEd">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Appendix D The Struggle for Pay
    </h2>
    <p>
      The story of the attempt to cut down the pay of the colored troops is too
      long, too complicated, and too humiliating, to be here narrated. In the
      case of my regiment there stood on record the direct pledge of the War
      Department to General Saxton that their pay should be the same as that of
      whites. So clear was this that our kind paymaster, Major W. J. Wood, of
      New Jersey, took upon himself the responsibility of paying the price
      agreed upon, for five months, till he was compelled by express orders to
      reduce it from thirteen dollars per month to ten dollars, and from that to
      seven dollars,&mdash;the pay of quartermaster's men and day-laborers. At
      the same time the "stoppages" from the pay-rolls for the loss of all
      equipments and articles of clothing remained the same as for all other
      soldiers, so that it placed the men in the most painful and humiliating
      condition. Many of them had families to provide for, and between the
      actual distress, the sense of wrong, the taunts of those who had refused
      to enlist from the fear of being cheated, and the doubt how much farther
      the cheat might be carried, the poor fellows were goaded to the utmost. In
      the Third South Carolina regiment, Sergeant William Walker was shot, by
      order of court-marital, for leading his company to stack arms before their
      captain's tent, on the avowed ground that they were released from duty by
      the refusal of the Government to fulfill its share of the contract. The
      fear of such tragedies spread a cloud of solicitude over every camp of
      colored soldiers for more than a year, and the following series of letters
      will show through what wearisome labors the final triumph of justice was
      secured. In these labors the chief credit must be given to my admirable
      Adjutant, Lieutenant G. W. Dewhurst In the matter of bounty justice is not
      yet obtained; there is a discrimination against those colored soldiers who
      were slaves on April 19, 1861. Every officer, who through indolence or
      benevolent design claimed on his muster-rolls that all his men had been
      free on that day, secured for them the bounty; while every officer who,
      like myself, obeyed orders and told the truth in each case, saw his men
      and their families suffer for it, as I have done. A bill to abolish this
      distinction was introduced by Mr. Wilson at the last session, but failed
      to pass the House. It is hoped that next winter may remove this last
      vestige of the weary contest
    </p>
    <p>
      To show how persistently and for how long a period these claims had to be
      urged on Congress, I reprint such of my own printed letters on the subject
      as are now in my possession. There are one or two of which I have no
      copies. It was especially in the Senate that it was so difficult to get
      justice done; and our thanks will always be especially due to Hon. Charles
      Sumner and Hon. Henry Wilson for their advocacy of our simple rights. The
      records of those sessions will show who advocated the fraud.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the Editor of the <i>New York Tribune</i>:
    </p>
    <p>
      SIR,&mdash;No one can overstate the intense anxiety with which the
      officers of colored regiments in this Department are awaiting action from
      Congress in regard to arrears of pay of their men.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is not a matter of dollars and cents only; it is a question of common
      honesty,&mdash;whether the United States Government has sufficient
      integrity for the fulfillment of an explicit business contract.
    </p>
    <p>
      The public seems to suppose that all required justice will be done by the
      passage of a bill equalizing the pay of all soldiers for the future. But,
      so far as my own regiment is concerned, this is but half the question. My
      men have been nearly sixteen months in the service, and for them the
      immediate issue is the question of arrears.
    </p>
    <p>
      They understand the matter thoroughly, if the public do not Every one of
      them knows that he volunteered under an explicit <i>written assurance</i>
      from the War Department that he should have the pay of a white soldier. He
      knows that for five months the regiment received that pay, after which it
      was cut down from the promised thirteen dollars per month to ten dollars,
      for some reason to him inscrutable.
    </p>
    <p>
      He does <i>not</i> know for I have not yet dared to tell the men&mdash;that
      the Paymaster has been already reproved by the Pay Department for
      fulfilling even in part the pledges of the War Department; that at the
      next payment the ten dollars are to be further reduced to seven; and that,
      to crown the whole, all the previous overpay is to be again deducted or
      "stopped" from the future wages, thus leaving them a little more than a
      dollar a month for six months to come, unless Congress interfere!
    </p>
    <p>
      Yet so clear were the terms of the contract that Mr. Solicitor Whiting,
      having examined the original instructions from the War Department issued
      to Brigadier-General Saxton, Military Governor, admits to me (under date
      of December 4, 1863,) that "the faith of the Government was thereby
      pledged to every officer and soldier enlisted under that call."
    </p>
    <p>
      He goes on to express the generous confidence that "the pledge will be
      honorably fulfilled." I observe that every one at the North seems to feel
      the same confidence, but that, meanwhile, the pledge is unfulfilled.
      Nothing is said in Congress about fulfilling it. I have not seen even a
      proposition in Congress to pay the colored soldiers, <i>from date of
      enlistment</i>, the same pay with white soldiers; and yet anything short
      of that is an unequivocal breach of contract, so far as this regiment is
      concerned.
    </p>
    <p>
      Meanwhile, the land sales are beginning, and there is danger of every foot
      of land being sold from beneath my soldiers' feet, because they have not
      the petty sum which Government first promised, and then refused to pay.
    </p>
    <p>
      The officers' pay comes promptly and fully enough, and this makes the
      position more embarrassing. For how are we to explain to the men the
      mystery that Government can afford us a hundred or two dollars a month,
      and yet must keep back six of the poor thirteen which it promised them?
      Does it not naturally suggest the most cruel suspicions in regard to us?
      And yet nothing but their childlike faith in their officers, and in that
      incarnate soul of honor, General Saxton, has sustained their faith, or
      kept them patient, thus far.
    </p>
    <p>
      There is nothing mean or mercenary about these men in general. Convince
      them that the Government actually needs their money, and they would serve
      it barefooted and on half-rations, and without a dollar&mdash;for a time.
      But, unfortunately, they see white soldiers beside them, whom they know to
      be in no way their superiors for any military service, receiving hundreds
      of dollars for re-enlisting for this impoverished Government, which can
      only pay seven dollars out of thirteen to its black regiments. And they
      see, on the other hand, those colored men who refused to volunteer as
      soldiers, and who have found more honest paymasters than the United States
      Government, now exulting in well-filled pockets, and able to buy the
      little homesteads the soldiers need, and to turn the soldiers' families
      into the streets. Is this a school for self-sacrificing patriotism?
    </p>
    <p>
      I should not speak thus urgently were it not becoming manifest that there
      is to be no promptness of action in Congress, even as regards the future
      pay of colored soldiers,&mdash;and that there is especial danger of the
      whole matter of <i>arrears</i> going by default Should it be so, it will
      be a repudiation more ungenerous than any which Jefferson Davis advocated
      or Sydney Smith denounced. It will sully with dishonor all the nobleness
      of this opening page of history, and fix upon the North a brand of
      meanness worse than either Southerner or Englishman has yet dared to
      impute. The mere delay in the fulfillment of this contract has already
      inflicted untold suffering, has impaired discipline, has relaxed loyalty,
      and has begun to implant a feeling of sullen distrust in the very
      regiments whose early career solved the problem of the nation, created a
      new army, and made peaceful emancipation possible.
    </p>
    <p>
      T. W. HIGGINSON, Colonel commanding 1st S. C. Vols.
    </p>
    <p>
      BEAUFORT, S. C., January 22, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      HEADQUARTERS FIRST SOUTH CAROLINA VOLUNTEERS, BEAUFORT, S. C., Sunday,
      February 14, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the Editor of the <i>New York Times</i>:
    </p>
    <p>
      May I venture to call your attention to the great and cruel injustice
      which is impending over the brave men of this regiment?
    </p>
    <p>
      They have been in military service for over a year, having volunteered,
      every man, without a cent of bounty, on the written pledge of the War
      Department that they should receive the same pay and rations with white
      soldiers.
    </p>
    <p>
      This pledge is contained in the written instructions of Brigadier-General
      Saxton, Military Governor, dated August 25, 1862. Mr. Solicitor Whiting,
      having examined those instructions, admits to me that "the faith of the
      Government was thereby pledged to every officer and soldier under that
      call."
    </p>
    <p>
      Surely, if this fact were understood, every man in the nation would see
      that the Government is degraded by using for a year the services of the
      brave soldiers, and then repudiating the contract under which they were
      enlisted. This is what will be done, should Mr. Wilson's bill, legalizing
      the back pay of the army, be defeated.
    </p>
    <p>
      We presume too much on the supposed ignorance of these men. I have never
      yet found a man in my regiment so stupid as not to know when he was
      cheated. If fraud proceeds from Government itself, so much the worse, for
      this strikes at the foundation of all rectitude, all honor, all
      obligation.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Senator Fessenden said, in the debate on Mr. Wilson's bill, January 4,
      that the Government was not bound by the unauthorized promises of
      irresponsible recruiting officers. But is the Government itself an
      irresponsible recruiting officer? and if men have volunteered in good
      faith on the written assurances of the Secretary of War, is not Congress
      bound, in all decency, either to fulfill those pledges or to disband the
      regiments?
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Senator Doolittle argued in the same debate that white soldiers should
      receive higher pay than black ones, because the families of the latter
      were often supported by Government What an astounding statement of fact is
      this! In the white regiment in which I was formerly an officer (the
      Massachusetts Fifty-First) nine tenths of the soldiers' families, in
      addition to the pay and bounties, drew regularly their "State aid." Among
      my black soldiers, with half-pay and no bounty, not a family receives any
      aid. Is there to be no limit, no end to the injustice we heap upon this
      unfortunate people? Cannot even the fact of their being in arms for the
      nation, liable to die any day in its defence, secure them ordinary
      justice? Is the nation so poor, and so utterly demoralized by its
      pauperism, that after it has had the lives of these men, it must turn
      round to filch six dollars of the monthly pay which the Secretary of War
      promised to their widows? It is even so, if the excuses of Mr. Fressenden
      and Mr. Doolittle are to be accepted by Congress and by the people.
    </p>
    <p>
      Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
    </p>
    <p>
      T, W. HIGGINSON, Colonel commanding 1st S. C. Volunteers.
    </p>
    <p>
      NEW VICTORIES AND OLD WRONGS To the Editors of the Evening Post:
    </p>
    <p>
      On the 2d of July, at James Island, S. C., a battery was taken by three
      regiments, under the following circumstances:
    </p>
    <p>
      The regiments were the One Hundred and Third New York (white), the
      Thirty-Third United States (formerly First South Carolina Volunteers), and
      the Fifty-Fifth Massachusetts, the two last being colored. They marched at
      one A. M., by the flank, in the above order, hoping to surprise the
      battery. As usual the rebels were prepared for them, and opened upon them
      as they were deep in one of those almost impassable Southern marshes. The
      One Hundred and Third New York, which had previously been in twenty
      battles, was thrown into confusion; the Thirty-Third United States did
      better, being behind; the Fifty-Fifth Massachusetts being in the rear, did
      better still. All three formed in line, when Colonel Hartwell, commanding
      the brigade, gave the order to retreat. The officer commanding the
      Fifty-Fifth Massachusetts, either misunderstanding the order, or hearing
      it countermanded, ordered his regiment to charge. This order was at once
      repeated by Major Trowbridge, commanding the Thirty-Third United States,
      and by the commander of the One Hundred and Third New York, so that the
      three regiments reached the fort in reversed order. The color-bearers of
      the Thirty-Third United States and of the Fifty-Fifth Massachusetts had a
      race to be first in, the latter winning. The One Hundred and Third New
      York entered the battery immediately after.
    </p>
    <p>
      These colored regiments are two of the five which were enlisted in South
      Carolina and Massachusetts, under the written pledge of the War Department
      that they should have the same pay and allowances as white soldiers. That
      pledge has been deliberately broken by the War Department, or by Congress,
      or by both, except as to the short period, since last New-Year's Day.
      Every one of those killed in this action from these two colored regiments
      under a fire before which the veterans of twenty battles recoiled <i>died
      defrauded by the Government of nearly one half his petty pay</i>.
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Fessenden, who defeated in the Senate the bill for the fulfillment of
      the contract with these soldiers, is now Secretary of the Treasury. Was
      the economy of saving six dollars per man worth to the Treasury the
      ignominy of the repudiation?
    </p>
    <p>
      Mr. Stevens, of Pennsylvania, on his triumphal return to his constituents,
      used to them this language: "He had no doubt whatever as to the final
      result of the present contest between liberty and slavery. The only doubt
      he had was whether the nation had yet been satisfactorily chastised for
      their cruel oppression of a harmless and long-suffering race." Inasmuch as
      it was Mr. Stevens himself who induced the House of Representatives, most
      unexpectedly to all, to defeat the Senate bill for the fulfillment of the
      national contract with these soldiers, I should think he had excellent
      reasons for the doubt.
    </p>
    <p>
      Very respectfully,
    </p>
    <p>
      T. W. HIGGINSON, Colonel 1st S. C. Vols (now 33d U. S.) July 10, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the Editor of the <i>New York Tribune</i>:
    </p>
    <p>
      No one can possibly be so weary of reading of the wrongs done by
      Government toward the colored soldiers as am I of writing about them. This
      is my only excuse for intruding on your columns again.
    </p>
    <p>
      By an order of the War Department, dated August 1, 1864, it is at length
      ruled that colored soldiers shall be paid the full pay of soldiers from
      date of enlistment, provided they were free on April 19, 1861,&mdash;not
      otherwise; and this distinction is to be noted on the pay-rolls. In other
      words, if one half of a company escaped from slavery on April 18, 1861,
      they are to be paid thirteen dollars per month and allowed three dollars
      and a half per month for clothing. If the other half were delayed two
      days, they receive seven dollars per month and are allowed three dollars
      per month for precisely the same articles of clothing. If one of the
      former class is made first sergeant, Us pay is put up to twenty-one
      dollars per month; but if he escaped two days later, his pay is still
      estimated at seven dollars.
    </p>
    <p>
      It had not occurred to me that anything could make the payrolls of these
      regiments more complicated than at present, or the men more rationally
      discontented. I had not the ingenuity to imagine such an order. Yet it is
      no doubt in accordance with the spirit, if not with the letter, of the
      final bill which was adopted by Congress under the lead of Mr. Thaddeus
      Stevens.
    </p>
    <p>
      The ground taken by Mr. Stevens apparently was that the country might
      honorably save a few dollars by docking the promised pay of those colored
      soldiers whom the war had made free. <i>But the Government should have
      thought of this before it made the contract with these men and received
      their services</i>. When the War Department instructed Brigadier-General
      Saxton, August 25, 1862, to raise five regiments of negroes in South
      Carolina, it was known very well that the men so enlisted had only
      recently gained their freedom. But the instructions said: "The persons so
      received into service, and their officers, to be entitled to and receive
      the same pay and rations as are allowed by law to volunteers in the
      service." Of this passage Mr. Solicitor Whiting wrote to me: "I have no
      hesitation in saying that the faith of the Government was thereby pledged
      to every officer and soldier enlisted under that call." Where is that
      faith of the Government now?
    </p>
    <p>
      The men who enlisted under the pledge were volunteers, every one; they did
      not get their freedom by enlisting; they had it already. They enlisted to
      serve the Government, trusting in its honor. Now the nation turns upon
      them and says: Your part of the contract is fulfilled; we have had your
      services. If you can show that you had previously been free for a certain
      length of time, we will fulfil the other side of the contract. If not, we
      repudiate it Help yourselves, if you can.
    </p>
    <p>
      In other words, a freedman (since April 19, 1861) has no rights which a
      white man is bound to respect. He is incapable of making a contract No man
      is bound by a contract made with him. Any employer, following the example
      of the United States Government, may make with him a written agreement
      receive his services, and then withhold the wages. He has no motive to
      honest industry, or to honesty of any kind. He is virtually a slave, and
      nothing else, to the end of time.
    </p>
    <p>
      Under this order, the greater part of the Massachusetts colored regiments
      will get their pay at last and be able to take their wives and children
      out of the almshouses, to which, as Governor Andrew informs us, the
      gracious charity of the nation has consigned so many. For so much I am
      grateful. But toward my regiment, which had been in service and under
      fire, months before a Northern colored soldier was recruited, the policy
      of repudiation has at last been officially adopted. There is no
      alternative for the officers of South Carolina regiments but to wait for
      another session of Congress, and meanwhile, if necessary, act as
      executioners for those soldiers who, like Sergeant Walker, refuse to
      fulfil their share of a contract where the Government has openly
      repudiated the other share. If a year's discussion, however, has at length
      secured the arrears of pay for the Northern colored regiments, possibly
      two years may secure it for the Southern.
    </p>
    <p>
      T. W. HIGGINSON, Colonel 1st S. C. Vols. (now 33d V. S.)
    </p>
    <p>
      August 12, 1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the Editor of the <i>New York Tribune</i>:
    </p>
    <p>
      SIR,&mdash;An impression seems to prevail in the newspapers that the
      lately published "opinion" of Attorney-General Bates (dated in July last)
      at length secures justice to the colored soldiers in respect to arrears of
      pay. This impression is a mistake.
    </p>
    <p>
      That "opinion" does indeed show that there never was any excuse for
      refusing them justice; but it does not, of itself, secure justice to them.
    </p>
    <p>
      It <i>logically</i> covers the whole ground, and was doubtless intended to
      do so; but <i>technically</i> it can only apply to those soldiers who were
      free at the commencement of the war. For it was only about these that the
      Attorney-General was officially consulted.
    </p>
    <p>
      Under this decision the Northern colored regiments have already got their
      arrears of pay,&mdash;and those few members of the Southern regiments who
      were free on April 19, 1861. But in the South Carolina regiments this only
      increases the dissatisfaction among the remainder, who volunteered under
      the same pledge of full pay from the War Department, and who do not see
      how the question of their <i>status</i> at some antecedent period can
      affect an express contract If, in 1862, they were free enough to make a
      bargain with, they were certainly free enough to claim its fulfilment.
    </p>
    <p>
      The unfortunate decision of Mr. Solicitor Whiting, under which all our
      troubles arose, is indeed superseded by the reasoning of the
      Attorney-General. But unhappily that does not remedy the evil, which is
      already embodied in an Act of Congress, making the distinction between
      those who were and those who were not free on April 19, 1861.
    </p>
    <p>
      The question is, whether those who were not free at the breaking out of
      the war are still to be defrauded, after the Attorney-General has shown
      that there is no excuse for defrauding them?
    </p>
    <p>
      I call it defrauding, because it is not a question of abstract justice,
      but of the fulfilment of an express contract
    </p>
    <p>
      I have never met with a man, whatever might be his opinions as to the
      enlistment of colored soldiers, who did not admit that if they had
      volunteered under the direct pledge of full pay from the War Department,
      they were entitled to every cent of it. That these South Carolina
      regiments had such direct pledge is undoubted, for it still exists in
      writing, signed by the Secretary of War, and has never been disputed.
    </p>
    <p>
      It is therefore the plain duty of Congress to repeal the law which
      discriminates between different classes of colored soldiers, or at least
      so to modify it as to secure the fulfilment of actual contracts. Until
      this is done the nation is still disgraced. The few thousand dollars in
      question are nothing compared with the absolute wrong done and the
      discredit it has brought, both here and in Europe, upon the national name.
    </p>
    <p>
      T. W. HIGGINSON,
    </p>
    <p>
      Late Col. 1st S. C. Vols. (now 33d U. S. C. T.) NEWPORT, R. I, December 8,
      1864.
    </p>
    <p>
      PETITION
    </p>
    <p>
      "To the Honorable Senate and House of Representatives of the United States
      in Congress assembled:
    </p>
    <p>
      "The undersigned respectfully petitions for the repeal of so much of
      Section IV. of the Act of Congress making appropriations for the army and
      approved July 4, 1864, as makes a distinction, in respect to pay due,
      between those colored soldiers who were free on or before April 19, 1861,
      and those who were not free until a later date;
    </p>
    <p>
      "Or at least that there may be such legislation as to secure the
      fulfillment of pledges of full pay from date of enlistment, made by direct
      authority of the War Department to the colored soldiers of South Carolina,
      on the faith of which pledges they enlisted.
    </p>
    <p>
      "THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON, Late Colonel 1st S. C. Vols. (now 33d U. S.
      C. Vols.)
    </p>
    <p>
      "NEWPORT, R. L, December 9, 1864."
    </p>
    <p>
      <a name="link2H_APPEe" id="link2H_APPEe">
      <!--  H2 anchor --> </a>
    </p>
    <div style="height: 4em;">
      <br /><br /><br /><br />
    </div>
    <h2>
      Appendix E Farewell Address of Lt. Col. Trowbridge
    </h2>
    <p>
      HEADQUARTERS 33d UNITED STATES COLORED TROOPS, LATE 1ST SOUTH CAROLINA
      VOLUNTEERS,
    </p>
    <p>
      MORRIS ISLAND, S. C.,
    </p>
    <p>
      February 9, 1866. GENERAL ORDERS, No. 1.
    </p>
    <p>
      COMRADES,&mdash;The hour is at hand when we must separate forever, and
      nothing can ever take from us the pride we feel, when we look back upon
      the history of the First South Carolina Volunteers,&mdash;the first black
      regiment that ever bore arms in defence of freedom on the continent of
      America.
    </p>
    <p>
      On the ninth day of May, 1862, at which time there were nearly four
      millions of your race in a bondage sanctioned by the laws of the land, and
      protected by our flag,&mdash;on that day, in the face of floods of
      prejudice, that wellnigh deluged every avenue to manhood and true liberty,
      you came forth to do battle for your country and your kindred. For long
      and weary months without pay, or even the privilege of being recognized as
      soldiers, you labored on, only to be disbanded and sent to your homes,
      without even a hope of reward. And when our country, necessitated by the
      deadly struggle with armed traitors, finally granted you the opportunity
      <i>again</i> to come forth in defence of the nation's life, the alacrity
      with which you responded to the call gave abundant evidence of your
      readiness to strike a manly blow for the liberty of your race. And from
      that little band of hopeful, trusting, and brave men, who gathered at Camp
      Saxton, on Port Royal Island, in the fall of 1862, amidst the terrible
      prejudices that then surrounded us, has grown an army of a hundred and
      forty thousand black soldiers, whose valor and heroism has won for your
      race a name which will live as long as the undying pages of history shall
      endure; and by whose efforts, united with those of the white man, armed
      rebellion has been conquered, the millions of bondmen have been
      emancipated, and the fundamental law of the land has been so altered as to
      remove forever the possibility of human slavery being re-established
      within the borders of redeemed America. The flag of our fathers, restored
      to its rightful significance, now floats over every foot of our territory,
      from Maine to California, and beholds only freemen! The prejudices which
      formerly existed against you are wellnigh rooted out
    </p>
    <p>
      Soldiers, you have done your duty, and acquitted yourselves like men, who,
      actuated by such ennobling motives, could not fail; and as the result of
      your fidelity and obedience, you have won your freedom. And O, how great
      the reward!
    </p>
    <p>
      It seems fitting to me that the last hours of our existence as a regiment
      should be passed amidst the unmarked graves of your comrades,&mdash;at
      Fort Wagner. Near you rest the bones of Colonel Shaw, buried by an enemy's
      hand, in the same grave with his black soldiers, who fell at his side;
      where, in future, your children's children will come on pilgrimages to do
      homage to the ashes of those that fell in this glorious struggle.
    </p>
    <p>
      The flag which was presented to us by the Rev. George B. Cheever and his
      congregation, of New York City, on the first of January, 1863,&mdash;the
      day when Lincoln's immortal proclamation of freedom was given to the
      world,&mdash;and which you have borne so nobly through the war, is now to
      be rolled up forever, and deposited in our nation's capital. And while
      there it shall rest, with the battles in which you have participated
      inscribed upon its folds, it will be a source of pride to us all to
      remember that it has never been disgraced by a cowardly faltering in the
      hour of danger or polluted by a traitor's touch.
    </p>
    <p>
      Now that you are to lay aside your arms, and return to the peaceful
      avocations of life, I adjure you, by the associations and history of the
      past, and the love you bear for your liberties, to harbor no feelings of
      hatred toward your former masters, but to seek in the paths of honesty,
      virtue, sobriety, and industry, and by a willing obedience to the laws of
      the land, to grow up to the full stature of American citizens. The church,
      the school-house, and the right forever to be free are now secured to you,
      and every prospect before you is full of hope and encouragement. The
      nation guarantees to you full protection and justice, and will require
      from you in return the respect for the laws and orderly deportment which
      will prove to every one your right to all the privileges of freemen.
    </p>
    <p>
      To the officers of the regiment I would say, your toils are ended, your
      mission is fulfilled, and we separate forever. The fidelity, patience, and
      patriotism with which you have discharged your duties, to your men and to
      your country, entitle you to a far higher tribute than any words of
      thankfulness which I can give you from the bottom of my heart You will
      find your reward in the proud conviction that the cause for which you have
      battled so nobly has been crowned with abundant success.
    </p>
    <p>
      Officers and soldiers of the Thirty-Third United States Colored Troops,
      once the First South Carolina Volunteers, I bid you all farewell!
    </p>
    <p>
      By order of Lt.-Col. C. T. TROWBRIDGE, commanding Regiment
    </p>
    <p>
      E. W. HYDE, Lieutenant and Acting Adjutant.
    </p>
    <p>
      INDEX
    </p>
    <p>
      [page numbers have been retained for the W. W. Norton paperback reprint to
      show relative location in file.]
    </p>
    <p>
      Index
    </p>
    <p>
      Aiken, William, GOT., 166
    </p>
    <p>
      Aiken, South Carolina, 249
    </p>
    <p>
      Allston, Adam, Corp., 103
    </p>
    <p>
      Andrew, J. A., Gov., 29, 215, 216, sends Emancipation Proclamation to
      Higginson, 85
    </p>
    <p>
      Bates, Edward, 275
    </p>
    <p>
      Battle of the Hundred Pines, 95, 104
    </p>
    <p>
      Beach, H. A., Lt, 257, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Beaufort, South Carolina, 33, 34, 38, 106, 142, 215 Higginson visits, 64
      Negro troops march through, 74 picket station near, 134 residents visit
      camp, 147 Negro troops patrol, 219
    </p>
    <p>
      Beauregard, P. G.T., Gen., 45, 73
    </p>
    <p>
      Beecher, H. R., Rev., 241
    </p>
    <p>
      Bell, Louis, Col., 225
    </p>
    <p>
      Bennett, W. T., Gen., 249, 255
    </p>
    <p>
      Bezzard, James, 95
    </p>
    <p>
      Bigelow, L. F., Lt, 28
    </p>
    <p>
      Billings, L., Lt.-Col., 255
    </p>
    <p>
      Bingham, J. M., Lt, 170, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Brannan, J. M, Gen., 107
    </p>
    <p>
      Brisbane, W. H., 60
    </p>
    <p>
      Bronson, William, Sgt, 260
    </p>
    <p>
      Brown, A. B., Lt, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Brown, John, 29, 45, 61, 76
    </p>
    <p>
      Brown, John (Negro), 262
    </p>
    <p>
      Brown, York, 262 Bryant, J. E., Capt, 220
    </p>
    <p>
      Budd, Lt, 83
    </p>
    <p>
      Burnside, A. E., Gen., 54, 55
    </p>
    <p>
      Butler, B. F., Gen., 27
    </p>
    <p>
      Calhoun, J. C., Capt., 150 Camplife, 30 evening activities, 36-39, 44-49
      Casualties, 89
    </p>
    <p>
      Chamberlin, G. B., Lt., 177, 257 Chamberlin, Mrs., 229
    </p>
    <p>
      Charleston, South Carolina, attacked, 137, 143, 150 Negro troops in, 249
      Charleston and Savannah Railway, 163
    </p>
    <p>
      Cheever, G. B., Rev., 278
    </p>
    <p>
      Child, A. Lt, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Christmas, 55, 56
    </p>
    <p>
      Clark, Capt, 84, 89, 102
    </p>
    <p>
      Clifton, Capt, 100, 101
    </p>
    <p>
      Clinton, J. B., Lt, 165
    </p>
    <p>
      Colors, Stands of, 56, 60
    </p>
    <p>
      Confederates, 35 use spies, 91, 93 attack Negro troops, 86-87, 100-102
      threaten to burn Jacksonville, 110 civilians fear Negro troops, 116
      retreat, 126-127,142
    </p>
    <p>
      Connecticut Regiment, Sixth, 122, 124, 126 Seventh, 93
    </p>
    <p>
      Corwin, B. R., MaJ., 120, 126
    </p>
    <p>
      Crandall, W. B., Surg., 255
    </p>
    <p>
      Crum, Simon, Corp., 249
    </p>
    <p>
      Cushman, James, 241
    </p>
    <p>
      Danilson, W. H., Maj., 93, 256,
    </p>
    <p>
      Davis, C. I., Lt., 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Davis., R. M., Lt., 259
    </p>
    <p>
      Davis, W. W. H., Gen., 164
    </p>
    <p>
      Department of the South, 15, 80 quiet, 106 colored troops in, 137
    </p>
    <p>
      Desertions, 62
    </p>
    <p>
      Dewhurst, G. W., Adjt, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Dewhurst, Mrs., 229
    </p>
    <p>
      Discipline, need for, 29 Negroes accept, 39
    </p>
    <p>
      Dolly, George, Capt., 172, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Doolittle, J. R., 271
    </p>
    <p>
      Drill, of Negroes, 46, 51, 245 whites, 64-65
    </p>
    <p>
      Drinking, absence of, 58
    </p>
    <p>
      Duncan, Lt. Com., 109, 111
    </p>
    <p>
      Dupont, S. F., Admiral, 15, 82, 91, 99, 108, 137
    </p>
    <p>
      Dutch, Capt., 166
    </p>
    <p>
      Edisto expedition, 163-176, 214
    </p>
    <p>
      Education, desire for, 48
    </p>
    <p>
      Emancipation Proclamation, 65 read, 60 sent to Higginson, 85
    </p>
    <p>
      Fernandina, Florida, 84, 91, 104
    </p>
    <p>
      Fessenden, W. P., 271, 272
    </p>
    <p>
      Finnegan, Gen., 115
    </p>
    <p>
      Fisher, J., Lt., 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Florida, 221 men under Higginson, 35 slaves know about Lincoln, 46
      refugees from, 49 Foraging, 99, 104, 117, 120 restraint in, 96-97 in
      Florida, 221
    </p>
    <p>
      Fowler, J. H., Chap., 59, 119, 221,
    </p>
    <p>
      Fremont, J. C., Gen., 46, 61
    </p>
    <p>
      French, J., Rev., 60, 123
    </p>
    <p>
      Furman, J. T., Lt, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Gage, F. D., Mrs., 61
    </p>
    <p>
      Garrison, W. L., 236
    </p>
    <p>
      Gaston, William, Lt., 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Gilmore, Q. A., Gen., 176, 224, 226, 228 writes on Charleston, 163
      approves Edisto expedition, 164
    </p>
    <p>
      Goldsborough, Commodore, 231,
    </p>
    <p>
      Goodell, J. B., Lt., 28
    </p>
    <p>
      Goodrich, F. S., Lt., 258, 259
    </p>
    <p>
      Gould, E. Corp., 261
    </p>
    <p>
      Gould, F. M., Lt, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Greeley, Horace, 164
    </p>
    <p>
      Greene, Sgt, 125
    </p>
    <p>
      Hallett, Capt, 80, 81, 261
    </p>
    <p>
      Hallowell, E. N., Gen., 216, 230,
    </p>
    <p>
      Hamburg, South Carolina, 249
    </p>
    <p>
      Hartwell, A. S., Gen., 272
    </p>
    <p>
      Hawks, J. M., Surg., 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Hawley, J. R., Gen., 93,102,114
    </p>
    <p>
      Hayne, H. E., Sgt., 249
    </p>
    <p>
      Hazard, Miles, 262
    </p>
    <p>
      Heasley, A, Capt., 220, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Heron, Charles, 126
    </p>
    <p>
      Hilton Head, 32 Higginson visits, 106 troops on duty at, 214
    </p>
    <p>
      Hinton, R. J., Col., 264
    </p>
    <p>
      Holden, Lt, 126
    </p>
    <p>
      Hooper, C. W., Capt., 154, 226, 256, 257, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Hospital, camp, 56, 63
    </p>
    <p>
      Howard University, 250
    </p>
    <p>
      Hughes, Lt. Com., 91, 93, 94
    </p>
    <p>
      Hunter, David., Gen.-28, 35, 40, 62, 80, 124, 130, 131, 138, 164, 260,
      261, 263 takes Negro sgt to N.Y., 73 visits camp, 76 speaks to Negro
      troops, 76 Higginson confers with, 106 orders evacuation of Jacksonville,
      107 attacks Charleston, 137 goes North, 150
    </p>
    <p>
      Hyde, E. W., Lt, 258, 259, 279
    </p>
    <p>
      Hyde, W. H., Lt, 89, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Jackson, A. W., Capt, 87, 89, 256, 257, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Jacksonville, Florida Confederates threaten to burn, 110 Higginson's men
      reach, 112-113 description of, 114-115 order to evacuate, 130 attempts to
      bum, 130-131
    </p>
    <p>
      James, William, Capt., 96,165,256
    </p>
    <p>
      Jekyll Island, 83
    </p>
    <p>
      Johnston, J. F., Lt, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Jones, Lt., 89
    </p>
    <p>
      Kansas, 29, 43, 64
    </p>
    <p>
      Kemble, Fanny, 82, 261
    </p>
    <p>
      Kennon, Clarence, Cpl., 262
    </p>
    <p>
      King, T. B., 82
    </p>
    <p>
      Lambkin, Prince, Cpl., 45, 116
    </p>
    <p>
      Leslie's Illustrated Weekly, 56
    </p>
    <p>
      Lincoln, Abraham, 46, 238
    </p>
    <p>
      London Spectator, 76
    </p>
    <p>
      Long, Thomas, CpL, 240
    </p>
    <p>
      Mclntyre, H., Sgt., 85, 86, 239
    </p>
    <p>
      Maine, 43
    </p>
    <p>
      Maine Regiment, Eighth, 75, 123, 124, 126
    </p>
    <p>
      Manning, B. H., Lt, 259
    </p>
    <p>
      Maroons, 235, 237
    </p>
    <p>
      Massachusetts Regiment, First, 139 Fifty-Fourth, 27, 215, 232
    </p>
    <p>
      Meeker, L., Maj., 122, 126
    </p>
    <p>
      Merriam, E. C., Capt, 256, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Metcalf, L. W., Capt, 85, 87, 96, 220, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Miller family, 234
    </p>
    <p>
      Minor, T. T, Surg., 87, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Mitchell, O. M., Gen., 263
    </p>
    <p>
      Montgomery, James, Col., 114, 120, 130, 264 enters Jacksonville, 112 river
      raid led by, 120, 129, 164
    </p>
    <p>
      Moses, Acting Master, 83
    </p>
    <p>
      Mulattoes, 33, 42, 234 pass for white, 49-50
    </p>
    <p>
      Music, troops play, 47, 187-213
    </p>
    <p>
      Negro soldiers visited, 30 work at night, 38-39 as sentinels, 42, 66-69
      honor and fidelity, 66 march to Beaufort, 74-75 conduct under fire, 86-87,
      100-101, 128-129 treatment of whites by, 116 on picket duty, 133 on raid
      up Edisto, 167-176 appraisal of, 231-247 from North and South compared,
    </p>
    <p>
      Negro spirituals, 187-213
    </p>
    <p>
      Negroes, traits of, 66, 69-71 physical condition of, 72, 246 set free by
      Higginson's men, 166-169
    </p>
    <p>
      New Hampshire Regiment, Fourth, 139, 225
    </p>
    <p>
      New Year's celebration, 55, 56, 57-61
    </p>
    <p>
      New York, 34 Officers, white, 51
    </p>
    <p>
      O'Neil, J. B., Lt., 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Osborne, Lt., 220
    </p>
    <p>
      Parker, C. E., Lt., 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Parker, N. B., Capt., 256, 257, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Parsons, William, 89
    </p>
    <p>
      Phillips, Wendell, 118, 236
    </p>
    <p>
      Pomeroy, J., Lt, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Port Royal, 82, 83, 124 capture of, 164 as winter camp, 177 new camp at,
      215 objective of Sherman, 247
    </p>
    <p>
      Ramsay, Allan, 209
    </p>
    <p>
      Randolph, W. J., Capt, 120, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Rebels. See Confederates Religious activities, 47, 48, 240-241
    </p>
    <p>
      Rivers, Prince, Sgt., 61,75,245,249 qualities of, 73, 78 plants colors, 99
    </p>
    <p>
      Robbins, E. W., Capt, 256, 257,
    </p>
    <p>
      Roberts, Samuel, 231
    </p>
    <p>
      Rogers, J. S., Capt, 103, 173, 250, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Rogers, Seth, Surg., 89, 103, 255
    </p>
    <p>
      Rust, J. D., Col., 124, 125,126,131
    </p>
    <p>
      Sammis, Col., 49
    </p>
    <p>
      St. Simon's Island, 83, 84
    </p>
    <p>
      Sampson, W. W., Capt, 170, 256,
    </p>
    <p>
      Savannah, Georgia, 115, 249
    </p>
    <p>
      Saxton, M. W., Lt., 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Saxton, Rufus, Gen., 29, 55, 58, 59, 61,70,76,80,88,102,108, 143, 164,
      216, 224, 225, 229, 232, 235, 261, 263, 267, 269, 270, 273 offers command
      to Higginson, 78 Higginson reports to, 33 issues proclamation, 34 receives
      recruits, 40 speaks on New Year's program, Negroes idolize, 66 speaks to
      troops, 76 initiates plans for Shaw monument, 217 Christmas party, 219
    </p>
    <p>
      Searles, J. M., Lt., 259
    </p>
    <p>
      Sears, Capt., 94
    </p>
    <p>
      Selvage, J. M., Lt, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Serrell, E. W., Col., 260
    </p>
    <p>
      Seward, W. H., 238
    </p>
    <p>
      Seymour, T., Gen., 132, 228
    </p>
    <p>
      Shaw, R. G., Col., 170, 264, 278 camp named for, 215 Higginson meets, 216
      killed, 217
    </p>
    <p>
      Sherman, W. T., Gen., 170, 247
    </p>
    <p>
      Showalter, Lt.-Col, 128
    </p>
    <p>
      "Siege of Charleston," 163
    </p>
    <p>
      Simmons, London, Cpl., 245
    </p>
    <p>
      Slavery, effect of, 38, 244
    </p>
    <p>
      Smalls, Robert, Capt, 33, 80
    </p>
    <p>
      Songs, Negro, 136, 187-213
    </p>
    <p>
      South Carolina, 29 men under Higginson, 35, 40 man reads Emancipation
      Proclamation, 59-60
    </p>
    <p>
      South Carolina Volunteers, First, 27, 237 order to Florida countermanded,
      225 becomes Thirty-third U.S. Colored Troops, 248 South Carolina
      Volunteers, Second, 27, 126, 264
    </p>
    <p>
      Sprague, A. B. R., Col., 28
    </p>
    <p>
      Stafford, Col., 264
    </p>
    <p>
      Stanton, E. M., 266
    </p>
    <p>
      Steedman, Capt, 130
    </p>
    <p>
      Stevens, Capt, 83
    </p>
    <p>
      Stevens, Thaddeus, 272, 273
    </p>
    <p>
      Stickney, Judge, 61, 106, 114
    </p>
    <p>
      Stockdale, W, Lt, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Stone, H. A., Lt, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Strong, J. D., Lt.-Col., 80, 121, 126, 172, 174, 175, 255
    </p>
    <p>
      Stuard, E. S., Surg., 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Sumner, Charles, 268
    </p>
    <p>
      Sunderland, Col., 113
    </p>
    <p>
      Sutton, Robert, Sgt, 61, 88, 94, 95, 188 character of, 78-79 leads men,
      85-86 wounded, 90 exhibits slave jail, 97-98 court-martialed, 104
    </p>
    <p>
      Thibadeau, J. H., Capt, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Thompson, J. M., Capt, 256, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Tirrell, A. H., Lt, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Tobacco, use of, 58
    </p>
    <p>
      Tonking, J. H., Capt, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Trowbridge, C. T., Lt-Col., 164, 167, 169, 175, 226, 231, 235, 243, 245,
      249, 255, 256, 260, 262, 263, 272, 277-279 commands "Planter," 80,103 and
      men construct Ft Montgomery, 121 on river raid, 165
    </p>
    <p>
      Trowbridge, J. A., Lt, 257, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      Tubman, Harriet 37 Twichell, J. F., Lt-CoL, 123, 126 Virginia
    </p>
    <p>
      Vendross, Robert, Cpl., 249
    </p>
    <p>
      Walker, G. D., Capt, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      Walker, William, Sgt., 267, 274
    </p>
    <p>
      War Department, 40, 93
    </p>
    <p>
      Washington, William, 44
    </p>
    <p>
      Watson, Lt., 109
    </p>
    <p>
      Webster, Daniel, 27
    </p>
    <p>
      Weld, S. M., 216
    </p>
    <p>
      West, H. C., Lt, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      West, J. B., Lt, 257, 258
    </p>
    <p>
      White, E. P., Lt, 257
    </p>
    <p>
      White, N. S, Capt, 256, 258, 259
    </p>
    <p>
      Whiting, William, 269, 270, 274, 275
    </p>
    <p>
      Whitney, H. A., Maj, 170, 220, 255, 256
    </p>
    <p>
      Wiggins, Cyrus, 250
    </p>
    <p>
      Williams, Harry, Sgt., 220
    </p>
    <p>
      Williams, Col., 264
    </p>
    <p>
      Wilson, Henry, 268, 271
    </p>
    <p>
      Wilson family, 233
    </p>
    <p>
      Wood, H., Lt, 258, 25?
    </p>
    <p>
      Wood, W. J., Maj., 267
    </p>
    <p>
      Woodstock, Georgia, 95
    </p>
    <p>
      Wright, Gen., 107, 112
    </p>
    <p>
      Wright, Fanny, 234
    </p>
    <p>
      Yellow Fever, fear of, 74
    </p>
    <p>
      Zachos, Dr., 41
    </p>
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
    <hr />
    <p>
      <br /> <br />
    </p>
</html>