MARCHED OFF OVER THE BATTLEFIELD A PRISONER--AMONG THE ENEMIES DEAD AND
WOUNDED--EVIDENCES OF OUR DEADLY WORK--THE REBS GO A GUNNING FOR
"NIGGERS"--THE JOHNNIES APPROPRIATING MY WARDROBE--MASSACRE OF THE COLORED
TROOPS--THEY ARE DRAWN UP IN LINE AND SHOT DOWN LIKE DOGS BY ORDER OF
GENERAL HOKE--CARING FOR OUR WOUNDED AND BURYING OUR DEAD.
This attack commenced at half-past four, and at half-past six a. m. of
April 20th, I was a prisoner. As we marched past Comphor redoubt to the
Johnson farm, a mile to the south, we had an opportunity to witness the
terrible slaughter the victory had cost the enemy.
Dead bodies of men and animals were strewn in every direction. Broken
caissons and disabled cannon in front of these two redoubts showed plainly
what a terrific struggle had been gone through with in their front.
The piteous cries for help of the suffering, the groans of the wounded
that had not yet been removed (the ambulance corps not having yet been
able to reach them) the roar of artillery and the rattle of musketry where
the battle was still going on, the riding back and forth of mounted
orderlies hurrying up re-inforcements, all served to make up a picture
that I am unable to adequately describe.
The Johnsons, who were wealthy planters, had taken the oath of allegiance
and claimed to be Union men, and were somewhat embarrassed at having us,
with whom they had been on such friendly terms, brought to their farm as
prisoners. They seemed to feel a sympathy for us, and one of them said to
me, privately, that they were really in sympathy with the Union cause, but
were obliged to be very careful of their conduct toward us while the
Confederate troops were there, for their property, and even their lives,
were at stake. I now believe they were honest. I do not wish to confound
these Johnsons with one of the same name, who lived on the Washington
road, near our vidette post. He pretended to be loyal, but we did not take
any stock in him, and found after our capture that he was an open and
exultant Secesh. While at the Johnson farm we could hear the crack, crack,
crack of muskets, down in the swamp where the negroes had fled to escape
capture, and were being hunted like squirrels or rabbits, I can think of
no better comparison, and the Johnnies themselves laughingly said (when
questioned about where they had been after their return), "They'd been out
gunning for niggers."
After the surrender of Fort Williams we were marched back into Plymouth,
where I received permission, on the pretext of getting some linen bandages
for a wounded Confederate, to go into my quarters. I found half a dozen
Johnnies in there hauling over my wardrobe and appropriating what they
took a fancy to. I picked up my blanket, a cavalry jacket, a pair of new
shoes and a satchel containing my papers, and tried hard to get a fellow
to give up my dressing gown that I had received as a Christmas present a
few months before, but he was so well suited with the bright colors and
fit of the garment, that he could not be persuaded to give it up. Taking
what I could carry, I went and delivered the linen bandages and fell into
line with the rest, when we were all marched out on the Washington road,
where we were joined by those who had been taken at Fort Gray and Fort
Wessels. All the inhabitants of the town, with the exception of those who
were known to be Secesh, were sent out to join us, men, women and
children, white and black.
The negro soldiers who had surrendered, were drawn up in line at the
breastwork, and shot down as they stood.
This I plainly saw from where we were held under guard, not over five
hundred yards distance. There were but few who saw this piece of atrocity,
but my attention was attracted to it and I watched the whole brutal
transaction. When the company of rebs fired, every negro dropped at once,
as one man.
General Hoke had the reputation of being a brave soldier, and with the
exception of this cowardly murder, so far as I had the chance to observe
him, seemed to be a gentleman. We were certainly treated by himself and
those under him, with marked courtesy. Our gallant defence of Plymouth
seemed to inspire them with a respect for us, and they accorded to us
every privilege consistent with our position. For instance, we were drawn
up in line--I mean the officers--and were told that they did not wish to
subject us to the indignity of being searched for arms, but would ask us
to give our word as gentlemen, to surrender everything that was contraband
of war, and upon our so pledging ourselves, we were allowed to pass over
what arms we had without further question. I was also allowed to send two
of my sergeants who were wounded, Gleason Wellington and Sergt. Fisher, to
the hospital. As I was near the spot where I lost a man in the
commencement of the battle, I was allowed to take a squad to find his body
and bring it into the camp and bury it, which I did, Chaplain Dixon, of
the 16th Connecticut, holding the service. This was Private Amos Fancher,
the first man killed in the battle.