The other contrabands were mostly runaways. One of them, a mulatto,
was a good carpenter, a man of some intelligence, and interested me
much. His story was simple, and illustrated the atrocious system,
which subverts honor, and makes conscience a tool to be used as
interest may dictate. He was 'raised' (that is the term, and sounds
odd when applied to human beings) up country, and when his old
master died he left him free; but the son and heir not liking to
lose a 'right smart boy' of his description, would not give him his
freedom, but kept him as a slave, treating him precisely like the
other bondmen. When the war broke out, his master, who resided or did
business at Wilmington, joined the navy, as captain of a gunboat,
and took this slave with him as his servant. After the battle of
Roanoke, when our gunboats followed up and destroyed the rebel fleet,
his master, when one of our gunboats ran into the one he commanded,
deserted him, jumping overboard, to escape capture; but, while in the
water, a stray shot struck him, and he 'sank to rise no more.' The
mulatto, glad of the change that gave him his liberty, accompanied
our forces to Newbern, and there remained, entered the employ of the
Government, and performed his part in a skillful and faithful manner.
Another of the contrabands was a full-blooded African negro, bearing
the classical name of Nero. He was from Duplin County, some ninety
miles north of Newbern, and near the Virginia line, and had run away
from a cruel master, as numerous scars on his person testified,
travelling the entire distance on foot through woods and swamps, and
subsisting upon an occasional ear of corn, for which he ventured into
the fields only at night, eluding the rebel patrols and pickets,
and, finally, almost exhausted and worn out, he arrived, with about
five or six others from the same place, inside our picket lines,
and gave himself up. He left behind him a wife and six children;
but notwithstanding this, and the stories he had heard of Yankee
barbarity to runaway negroes (the slaves being generally told that
the Yankees placed iron rigs through the shoulder-blades of the
darkies, and sold them off to Cuba), he was willing to run all risks
for the bare chance of obtaining his liberty; and, he said, if
the other slaves knew how well the contrabands were treated, they
would come in in greater numbers. His simple story would fill an
interesting volume. When Wild's brigade was subsequently organized,
he joined the first regiment, and, I have no doubt, has proved
himself a capital soldier. Wo to the rebels that fell in his power.
He had many wrongs to avenge, and would avenge them, if opportunity
offered.
Uncle George was a good specimen of the ideal negro--fat,
good-natured, and seemingly contented.
"Well, uncle," I said, "how do you like the Yankees?"
"Right well, sar--dey's bery fine people, sar!"
"Would you sooner be with the Yankees than the rebs?"
"O yes, sar; (my name's George, sar); 'cause I'se a free man now, and
dat's what I am now, sar."
"You think you are free now, and that the Yankees made you free, do
you?"
"O yes, sar," he replied, and then added, in a deeply impressive
voice--"and I tank de Lord and you Yankees for dat. De ole man hab
worked for many years--de good Lord he send me and the ole woman six
sons and five daughters, and massa, he sell some off afore de war,
take some away when de Yankees come--and now, de poor ole man and de
poor ole woman am left all alone in de world; but de good Lord send
de Yankees, and dey make us free afore we die, and dat am payment
enough for all ole George's work--bress de Lord, amen."
George finding, I suppose, that I took an interest in him, and
did not treat him as it might be inferred many would from their
salutation of "Hello, old nig--how dye _do_," often visited our
shanty at dinner-time, and we had always plenty of crackers and 'salt
horse,' and an occasional pint of soup or coffee to spare him; but
the cook (Billy Patterson,) perhaps from pure good nature, took a
fancy to old George, and he soon forsook our more humble board for
the savory flesh-pots of Billy's cookhouse, perfectly satisfied to be
addressed as you 'd--d old nigger,' so long as he had his revenge in
the shape of a plentiful supply of good grub.
I stated before that the outpost guard was drawn in at night to the
mills (the day-guard at the mills being camp-guard at night). A few
darkies, who worked for the government making tar and cutting saw
logs, lodged in the mill. Without education enough to read, without
the knowledge of the commonest accessories of amusement, it cannot
be wondered that the time hung heavily upon their hands; but their
naturally elastic temperaments stood them in good need, and suggested
a species of amusement to pass away the time that was best suited to
their capacity, viz.: dancing and its promoter, 'jigging'--a species
of vocal and pantomimic music almost peculiar to the African race.
At first their levees were attended only by gents of color; but,
by and by, the spirit of their performances began to spread, and
soldiers from the relief guard and the camp visited them, and enjoyed
hugely the sight of the dancing, sweating darkies, (encouraging
and applauding the most expert--and there were many supple legs
and nimble feet among them), and the equally sweating and nimble
'jiggers' or time-beaters. The 'jiggers' did not always depend upon
the voice, but used it as a sort of auxiliary or flourish to their
time-beating, which latter was performed by striking the open hands
upon the thighs, legs and breast, and together in rapid succession,
and in admirable measure, so that the tune thus beat could be
followed by the dancer as precisely as if played upon a full band.
We had a Maryland negro in our company, who ran away from his
master, and became attached to the regiment in Baltimore. He was
called 'Pomp'--a lithe, supple fellow--and, with a few months
training, I have no doubt, would equal, if not surpass, some of the
clog-dancers of our friends the Morris Bro's. It was amusing to note
the patronizing airs he adopted towards the North Carolina 'nigs,'
and, I presume, the circumstances of his having come from Maryland,
and being so long in the army, added not a little to obtain for
him a certain kind of prestige among his simple sable brethren.
The soldiers for amusement taught him the manual of arms, and so
naturally did he take to the business that it was a common remark
among the men that there were few better drilled men in the command
than Pomp. But Pomp became lazy and independent, and left the company
shortly after we went to Evans' Mills to work for Government. But his
mind was not in work, and after a few weeks labor he went to Newbern,
and there became attached to a company of the 43d Mass. regiment, as
Captain's servant. This captain (I know not his name, or I should
record it, to his credit), taught him as well as some other negroes,
to read and write; and, when the policy of the Government, directing
the enlistment of the blacks, reached North Carolina, Wild's brigade
began to be formed, Pomp was among the first to enlist, and, for his
proficiency in drill, and quickness for military duty, he was made a
sergeant in the North Carolina colored regiment.
"I've been made free by de President of my country," he said to me,
when I met and congratulated him upon joining the army, "and I tink
it is my duty to fight for de country dat makes me a free man."
This regiment afterwards bore a prominent part in the unfortunate
battle of Olustee, Florida. I wonder if poor Joe (he changed Pomp to
Joseph) escaped.
On the 28th of August, the 17th reg't embarked on transports for the
purpose of capturing Plymouth; but upon arriving opposite that town,
found the place too well defended to warrant a landing, and they
returned without disembarking.
On the 30th of October, the 17th regiment left Newbern on board
steamers, and proceeded up the Neuse River about eight miles, where
they were joined by cavalry, artillery, and a large baggage train,
the whole under command of Colonel Amory. They landed and marched
to Swift Creek, a small settlement eight miles distant, which was
reached at sundown. Here they were fired upon by the rebel cavalry
picket, who had destroyed the bridge over the creek. They fled upon
our approach. The following forenoon was employed by our forces in
building the bridge, and at noon the column was again in motion
towards Washington, N. C., which our forces reached on the evening of
November 1st, without molestation.
November 2d, the line of march was again continued, (our forces being
augmented by the addition of several thousand infantry,) in the
direction of Williamston. Towards sundown the advance came up with
the enemy; posted behind entrenchments, at a place called Rawle's
Mills, who disputed their passage; but our forces soon compelled them
to retreat, and the following morning the advance again continued
on to Williamston, which place the column reached at noon, having
marched a distance of twenty-three miles from Washington. Leaving the
sick and foot-sore on board the gunboats in the river, the troops
marched out of the town about three miles, and bivouacked for the
night.
November 4th, they took up the line of march for Hamilton, within
two miles of which they were obliged to halt for several hours to
build a bridge, near which was a deserted breastwork, leading from
the woods across the main road to a fort on the river bank. Hamilton
was reached about sundown, and, like Williamston, was found entirely
deserted. The town being set on fire by the troops, the sick were
placed on board gunboats, and the expedition marched out of Hamilton
several miles, and bivouacked for the night.
November 5th, they started early in the morning, taking the road
to Tarboro'--marched until night, when they came to a halt, and
bivouacked within nine miles of Tarboro'. The following morning they
commenced their return march, not having met with the enemy in any
force. A heavy rain having set in, the roads were in a bad condition,
and the marching much harder than it had been previously. The
expedition reached Hamilton late in the afternoon, and took up their
quarters for the night in the deserted dwellings.
November 7th, a violent snow storm raged in the morning, but it did
not delay the march, which was continued for Williamston, by a road
leading near the river, and which they had not travelled before.
No force of the enemy appeared to interrupt the march, and the
expedition reached Williamston in the afternoon, where it remained
until the morning of the 9th, when the line of march was taken up
for Plymouth, N. C., a distance of twenty-three miles. They reached
the latter place the next morning, 10th, and Newbern on the 11th, at
noon, having been absent thirteen days, and having marched about 150
miles. The expedition captured about 50 prisoners, 400 horses and
mules, and about 100 teams.
The failure of this expedition, and the causes of its failure, are
pretty well known, and need no comment from me, save that it caused
much hardship to the troops comprising it, and left Newbern in an
almost defenceless state. The rebels, judging that the garrison of
the city had been largely drawn upon (but never dreaming that this
was the case to so great an extent), to divert, perhaps, whatever
after purposes our commanders had, and to make them recall the
troops as fast as possible, sent a weak force to demonstrate in
front of Newbern. This drove in our pickets, and created the utmost
apprehension in the city. The case seemed critical, and every
available man was called inside the defences to await the onslaught
of the enemy.
Our company (the remainder of the regiment being in the expedition,)
received hurried orders to report in Newbern, and rumors coming in
heralded the enemy as advancing upon the city in large numbers. The
order to pack up and be ready to march at a minute's warning, was
received by us just as we were 'turning in,' and was not very welcome
news you may be sure, but to hear was to obey; and in half an hour
we were ready for the road, and some talked of the morrow, what the
'row' was all about, whether we should have a fight, and others
(myself among the number) went to bed and slept. About three o'clock
in the morning I was aroused from a pleasant sleep by my comrades,
and heard all around me the hurried tramp of men. Hastily putting on
my knapsack, I seized my gun, and went forth to take my place in the
line. The night was foggy, and a feeble moon, while it brightened
the obscurity a little, lent to the half distinct scene a dreary
and confused appearance. A few men had been detailed to destroy the
bridge; and the strokes of the axe, the falling of the planks and
beams into the water, the hum of the camp--its lights glancing to and
fro, contrasted with the solemnity of the surrounding silence (which
only echoed noises of our hasty departure, or the hoot of the owl)
left a cheerless impression on my mind.
After a march of two hours, we reached our old camp tired and
exhausted, to be refreshed by a good dipper of coffee.
The morning advanced but the rebels came not; and as reinforcements
arrived by the railroad from Beaufort, all apprehensions of the
result of an attack upon the city died out, and the day wore away
without any demonstration being made against any part of our lines.
Indeed, word came in from our scouts, that the rebels had fallen
back, satisfied, no doubt, with having carried out their design of
creating a diversion, which would serve to hasten the recall of the
expedition.
In the evening we received orders to return to Evans' Mills, which
place we reached by nightfall.
What must have been the surprise and dismay of the darkies to work
on the mill-dam (who knew nothing of our departure during the
night, although we made noise enough to rouse the 'seven sleepers')
upon waking in the morning to find the bridge destroyed and the
camp deserted. We were told that they no sooner heard of our
departure--and the reports, greatly exaggerated, no doubt, of a rebel
attack upon Newbern--than, considering it was 'all up' with them,
they scattered, and made for the woods--'every man for himself, and
the devil take the hindmost.' Some of them turned up in the vicinity
of Newbern, others made their way to Morehead City and Beaufort,
while others were never heard from, and these, it was thought likely,
being too frightened to venture out in the clearings, supposing the
whole country again in possession of the rebels, were starved to
death, or lost their way, and came out somewhere in Dixie--no doubt
into the lion's mouth they were trying to avoid.
Poor unfortunates, the sport of every varying breeze of fortune, good
or ill. The best fortune for them is as yet but indifferent, while
ill fortune is death. They are, alas, no 'chosen people of God.' They
have no Moses to organize and lead them out of their land of bondage;
no cloud by day or pillar of fire by night to guide them; no ark of
their freedom's covenant around which to rally [yes, the starry flag
is their ark, and, thank Heaven, wherever it waves over them they are
free!] No miracles are vouchsafed for their preservation; no manna
from heaven; no quails; no water gushing from the rock to assauge
their thirst. Alas! alas! that their pathway to freedom should be
beset with so many dangers--that its course should so often lead them
through the valley of the shadow of death! Poor creatures! heaven
help them through the fiery ordeal in which they are passing!
The old darkies, however, belonging to the mill, together with the
others who had not been there when we came, did not skedaddle; but,
by turns, kept a good look-out on the Pollocksville road, ready, of
course, to leave at the approach of the rebels, though determined
not to do so until they hove in sight. Old George took charge of
our camp, closed every door, and when we returned, every article we
were forced to leave behind, even to the smallest and most trivial,
remained just as we had left it.
Back once more in our comfortable quarters, and resuming our old
routine of duty, we began to think that we were as good as settled
for the winter. Our old pastimes were revived--rambling, fishing,
quoit pitching, playing cards, backgammon, and draughts. The same
huge fires were kindled and burned brightly in front of our quarters,
and at the outposts, for the guards to warm themselves by in the
dreary watches of the chilly night, around which, before retiring
to rest, groups of smoking men assembled, and spun many a yarn of
strange adventure in all lands, from the orient to the Occident,
and from the frozen regions of the north to the trackless southern
seas--mostly true, I believe, but surely entertaining.
This state of affairs lasted a few weeks longer, when suddenly we
received orders to rejoin the regiment, which took the place of
the Mass. 23d in doing the provost duty at Newbern. This was about
the 20th of November. To some this change was delightful, while to
others (and I was one of these) it was not a welcome change. But we
packed up--this time with more deliberation--and the next morning
when Co. A, 23d regiment, Captain Brewster, came to relieve us were
ready to evacuate, leaving everything connected with the camp to our
successors, in apple-pie order. I wish they could (or did) return
the compliment; but they did not, and were so 'put out' about being
put out of Newbern, that they vented their spleen upon the luckless
houses occupied by them as quarters, smashing up every thing that
might conduce to the comfort of their successors.
Our quarters were on Pollock street, near the market and the office
of the Provost Marshal. Co. B's quarters adjoined ours, and F
occupied quarters on the other side of the street nearly opposite.
After considerable labor in sweeping, scrubbing, making bunks, &c.,
we became settled down once more, comfortable enough. But our
duty was no child's play. We were on guard every second day--the
intermediate one being filled up (twice a week) by a march of six
miles and a brigade drill of three hours or more. This did not leave
much time to ourselves, after cleaning boots, polishing brasses and
buttons, and brushing clothes, for we had to appear neat and tidy
while on duty.
A provost guard is a kind of police-soldier, and his duties are as
multifarious as the character of his office and power is indefinite.
His instructions vary in detail from day to day; and, before he
goes on duty for the day has a string of orders and regulations,
as long as the laws of the Medes and Persians, read to him, often
couched in language that could be defined to mean one thing or
another, or nothing at all in particular. For example, the guard is
told to examine _all_ passes and salute _all_ officers; to permit
no fast driving; to allow no soldier or man-o'-war sailor to go by
him unless provided with passes properly countersigned; to allow
no citizen to pass after a certain hour, without a special permit
from the provost marshal; to 'jug' every negro found out after 9
P.M.; to allow no citizen or negro to be abused; to allow no breach
of the peace; to permit no horses to be tied to trees; to stop all
disturbances whatever indoors or out of doors; to, in fact, keep his
eyes 'peeled,' and be continually on the alert, and, if possible,
do all the impossible things required of him. Four hours on post
(and twice posted) performing this delightful duty, was required of
the man detailed for guard. The accommodations at the guard-houses
were abominable. The windows were broken, the bunks smashed up, poor
fires, and the floors so dirty, and the cricks and crevices around
so filled with vermin that one night's experience in the endeavor
to get rest in them was generally sufficient to deter most of those
who still retained the idea that cleanliness was a virtue from ever
attempting the like again.
Major Frankle of the 17th regiment was Provost Marshal, and was a
worthy successor of Col. Kurtz, of the 23d (now Chief of Police in
Boston.)
I cannot enter into a relation of all the incidents which enlivened
the monotony of our provost duty in Newbern, not from lack of good
material--that would, perhaps, make thirty or forty pages of readable
matter, but want of space admonishes me that it will not pay. Suffice
it to say that, with forty or fifty thousand men in the department,
a large proportion of whom were in the vicinity of Newbern--the 17th
had their hands full, and the lock-up often became overcrowded, as
did the jails in time. We had drunken men to arrest--street rows to
quell, horse-racings, shootings and stabbings to look after--brawls
in bad houses to put a stop to, and arrest drunken and half-crazed
men armed to the teeth, and other duty of a no less dangerous
character to perform. But I believe we did things 'up to the
handle;' in fact I'm certain we did--notwithstanding there were many
complaints (as there always must be in such cases) and criticisms of
our method of procedure.
To add to our already heavy labor, shortly after we were in the
city, the marine battalion (which I have before incidentally spoken
of,) had refused to do further duty, and were placed in our custody.
These gallant fellows had been shamefully used. When enlisted in
New York city, they were promised $18 per month for the privates,
or sailors, and pay in proportion for the petty officers. They had
been in the service over a year, had not received any pay, clothing,
or allowances for the same, and were informed that they would not
be recognized in any other capacity than soldiers, with whom they
must consider themselves on an equal footing in pay, as in all other
respects. Considering this a violation of agreement, they refused
as a body to shoulder a musket or do any kind of duty, and thus
passively mutinied. The men of the 17th pitied the poor fellows, and
showed them many acts of kindness. The Major, too, while he had to
enforce their imprisonment, sympathized with the marines, and, I have
reason to believe, did all in his power to have their just claims
considered, and their wrongs righted; but the knot on the 'red tape'
which bound the poor fellows could not be opened, and it was not cut.
So, after a two month's imprisonment, they were given the choice of
servitude in the forts as criminals, or the alternative of enlisting
in the navy, and they wisely accepted the alternative. I think theirs
was a case of peculiar hardship. Some of those human kites which
abound in large cities started the project of their enlistment,
without the approval of the Government, made money out of the affair,
and left their victims to curse them for many a weary heartburn, many
an anxious, hopeless thought of home, and of a perhaps destitute
family.
One of Co. K's men, named Finn, at one time a guard over the marines,
allowed two of them to go out to purchase something at the market,
but the Major, somehow, discovered the charitable error, and rushing
up to the guard, said:
"Vat for you let ze marines go away?"
"But they'll come back again, sir."
"O--fool--fool--I vill have you put under arrest and court-mar_shal_!"
Soon after the marines returned, and Finn, who caught sight of the
Major passing, sung out--
"They're back again, Major! The marines"--