THE GRAND REVIEW.
It was our good fortune during our stay in Newbern, to participate
in a grand review of the 18th Army Corps by our commander, General
Foster. We had due notice, and were gotten up in a state of blackness
and brightness well nigh bordering on perfection. Blackness having
reference to the state of our boots and equipments, brightness to our
guns and brasses. The cleansing and polishing and furbishing one does
in the army is beyond belief, for by the time you have come to the
end of the long list of articles which require touching up, the first
strap or brass, as the case may be, has become dull, and you begin
again;--but to return to the review.
The day was all that could be desired, bright and beautiful, and as the
regiment formed line on the parade-ground, looking so neat and nice,
with colors flying, and the band outdoing itself in the excitement of
the day, we felt proud of our State and the service which enlisted such
men in its ranks.
The review was on the south side of the Trent, the country there
affording splendid facilities for military manoeuvres on a large
scale, as it presented an unbroken stretch of nearly two miles in each
direction. We were well acquainted with the spot, having trodden
almost every foot of land thereabouts in our numerous brigade drills,
and were first on the ground that day, as befitted our position in
line, the Forty-fifth ranking as 1st Battalion, 1st Brigade, 1st
Division, 18th Army Corps.
It was a beautiful sight to watch the long line of troops which filed
over the bridge, their bayonets flashing in the sunlight, as regiment
after regiment came up and took its place in line. The line was formed
in brigades, four regiments deep, in the order of the brigades, our
brigade holding the right, the artillery and cavalry occupying the
extreme left.
The thunder of the artillery announced the arrival of our gallant
commander, Major-General Foster, and soon he appeared at our front,
finely mounted, and attended by his full staff. Drums are ruffled and
arms presented, while the band plays "Hail to the Chief," as he dashes
along in his inspection of each regiment, the music continuing while he
is passing through the brigade, then the next band takes up the strain.
After a long rest and a lunch by all who had been prudent enough to
bring a supply of hard-tack in their pockets, our turn came for an
active part in the proceedings of the day. General Foster had taken his
station on a slight eminence, and sat facing the centre of the line,
which, brigade deep, extended for full a mile. Surrounded by his staff,
he was the object of attraction of the crowd of spectators who thronged
about him, from Mrs. Foster and her brilliant staff of ladies, down to
the most ragged contraband in all that motley assembly.
As we wheeled by platoons and marched in review, the sight which
greeted us was one long to be remembered for its grandeur and
beauty. Line upon line of unbroken ranks stretched on as far as the
eye could reach. Over each regiment waved our beautiful flag, its
colors glowing with unwonted richness in the warm winter's sun, the
bayonets throwing back flashes of light, and the artillery and cavalry
relieving the scene from all monotony, while the Neuse, sparkling in
the sunlight, and its distant bank covered with the forest evergreen,
formed a perfect background for this gorgeous picture. Then there was
the long row of spectators, some, seated in vehicles of all sorts
and descriptions, others, mounted on animals ranging from the finest
charger to the scrubbiest donkey, while on foot was a crowd composed of
every age, sex and color. In their midst sat our commander, patiently
awaiting our approach.
As we drew near, the band filed off to the left, and took its position
directly opposite the general, where it continued playing till our
brigade had all passed, when it was relieved by the next band, and
once more took its place in line. As each platoon passed, the general
saluted, while he honored the colors by removing his hat, the band
also giving the customary salute. Battalion after battalion, battery
after battery, troop after troop, they came, till the first battalion,
making the complete circuit, came upon the rear of the last troop,
thus forming an unbroken circle. As each regiment reached the place of
starting, it halted until the long, glittering array was once more in
position, then again the artillery thundered forth the salute, and the
grand review was over.
Not long after this we were gladdened by the arrival of a party of
ladies and gentlemen, friends of the regiment, and those amongst us
who were not personally acquainted with any of the visitors, were,
notwithstanding, pleased to see the familiar faces, and witness the joy
of those who were made happy in their coming. We were favored on the
next Sunday by a sermon from Dr. Lothrop, of Boston, who was one of the
party, and it seemed strange indeed to listen to him there, preaching
in a southern pulpit to an audience of soldiers. The Presbyterian
church was the one occupied by us, and our chaplain held service there
every Sunday afternoon, the regiment and visitors filling the body of
the house. It was a plain, old-fashioned building, with a high pulpit
and small organ.
The Episcopal church was open in the morning, Major Sturgis, in the
absence of the rector, reading the service and a sermon. The singing by
a quartette of male voices, two from our regiment, and two on detailed
service in the city, would have shamed most northern choirs. The church
was built of stone, and was very prettily situated on Pollock street,
standing back from the street, in an old burying-ground filled with
elms and willows and moss-covered tombstones. The interior of the
building was finished in very good taste, and there was a fair organ,
which we often went up into the organ-loft to listen to, as one of the
musicians of our company had access to the building. A Sunday school
was also started during our stay in town, and was very successful,
increasing rapidly in size and influence.
But the most remarkable service it was our lot ever to witness, was
one held in the contraband Methodist church. A small party of us,
having obtained passes started one Sunday for the church in the
Second District, and on entering the building, found the galleries
were reserved for visitors and already well filled with soldiers,
drawn there, like ourselves, by curiosity. The body of the house was
crowded with the congregation of worshippers, the women occupying one
side of the church, the men the other. Every shade of color from that
of Erebus, god of night, to fair-haired Aurora, child of the morning,
was there represented, while the bright colors which adorned the female
portion of the house, added to the brilliancy of the scene.
The pulpit was unoccupied, but the leader of the meeting, an
intelligent looking man, nearly white, and with, what was remarkable,
sandy hair, sat in a chair in front of the pulpit. He opened the
service with singing, reading a line from the hymn, which was then sung
by the congregation; then reading the second line, and so on. Having
heard so much of the melody of the negro, and the beautiful singing
to be heard on the plantations, our expectations were highly raised,
but, alas! no sooner had the first note reached our ears, than our
hopes were dashed to the ground. Imagine some old psalm tune, screamed
forth, line by line, from the cracked throats of the old, and by the
shrill voices of the young, all singing the air, each voice pitched on
a different key, and some idea of their style of music may be formed.
Next came a prayer, in which the voice of the leader was for the most
part drowned in the vigorous groans of the congregation, except when it
rose to a shout and was heard above the din around him. The audience
having warmed to the subject, he began to exhort them to repentance.
Meantime, two or three women throwing their bonnets and shawls on the
pulpit stairs, evidently preparing for work, began with as many men,
pillars of the church, to move about among the congregation, addressing
a word here and there to enforce the preacher's remarks.
Several soon began to feel the arrow of conviction, and were led up
in front of the pulpit, where the girls were stripped of shawls and
bonnets, which were thrown in a heap on the stairs. The cause of this
strange proceeding soon became apparent, for the poor creatures,
excited and wrought into a state of frenzy by the words of the
speakers, began to scream and shriek, struggling with those who were
exhorting them, shouting, "Save me now," at the top of their lungs,
until they fairly went into convulsions.
One poor girl, not more than sixteen or seventeen years old, struggled
and screamed for more than an hour in a most frightful manner, until
at length she sank on the floor utterly exhausted by her violence.
It was the same on the men's side, though they were less violent in
their emotions, but when the excitement was at its height, it seemed
as though Bedlam itself was let loose. The scene was at once ludicrous
and saddening. It was sad to think these poor creatures could hope to
win salvation in such a manner, yet at the same time, the absurdity and
comicality of the whole affair was irresistible, and showed a phase of
negro character both strange and amusing.
As the season advanced, the weather became most delightful. The buds
began to swell and the flowers to peep up here and there, until we
soon found ourselves living in a great garden. Almost every house had
some land about it, and our own quarters were surrounded by rose
trees, violets and other plants too numerous to mention. The air teemed
with fragrance from the blossoms of the apple, peach and pear trees
which grew back of the house; little green figs began to make their
appearance, and the elms which filled the streets once more donned
their summer covering, while our ears were delighted with the song of
the mocking-birds and most of our northern songsters.
Every letter sent northwards was freighted with a little offering of
flowers, whose sweetness still lingered about the paper even after
their freshness had passed away, and gave to friends at home some
token of that summer we were enjoying, but which to them was still far
distant. Pitching quoits, or rather horseshoes, was the great amusement
of the day, and engrossed the leisure hours alike of officers and
men. Base ball also had its share of attention, and a small set of
gymnastic apparatus was set up in the yard. Some of us, occasionally,
passed a morning hour in teaching; for shortly after the arrival of the
chaplain's wife, a day school was opened under her auspices for the
contrabands. It was more especially intended for children, but was open
to all of a more advanced age, who were anxious to learn.
The school was held daily for an hour in the colored church on Hancock
street, the teachers being for the most part, men of our regiment,
assisted by two or three ladies, who interested themselves in the
work. The scholars were, as a rule, quite bright and very eager to
learn, and seemed much delighted with their primers and spelling-books.
Their progress in reading was quite rapid, their eagerness to acquire
the knowledge from which they had been hitherto barred, overcoming
all obstacles. The young ones were sometimes seen going over their
lessons at home for the edification of the older ones, who were unable
to attend the school, thus bringing a double blessing on the labors
of the teacher. After we left Newbern and once more went into camp,
the chaplain opened a school there for the benefit of the contraband
settlement near by, which was kept up till our departure, and was not
without good results.
The receipt of frequent mails and occasional boxes from home, served
as pleasant little episodes, oases in the desert of our life of drill
and guard. The joy which beamed on the countenances of those who read
their names in staring letters on the boxes found piled up in the yard,
on returning from drill, was amusing to behold, and showed that the
appetite for home cookery was not wholly destroyed by long neglect.
The mail steamers made known their approach by blowing three whistles
when some distance down the river, and, no sooner was the signal
heard, than cries of "Dudley Buck!" "Ellen Terry!" "Mail! Mail!" would
resound through the quarters, and some of the more enterprising ones
would travel down to the wharf to count the number of mail bags, for
our expectations were gauged by the number of bags. After two or three
hours of impatient waiting, the orderly would go over to the regimental
post-office, which was under the charge of the chaplain, and quickly
return loaded down with the precious freight.
Then the answers must be written immediately, for the mail boats made
but little stay, and the notice on the post-office announcing the hour
of mail closing, is frequently consulted, for it had a way of changing
from hour to hour, which was apt to be embarrassing. Permission to
keep the lights burning after taps is obtained, and the table in those
rooms that boast such a luxury, is surrounded by busy writers. The more
prudent ones, who have already mailed their letters, turn into their
bunks in the vain hope of profiting by their forethought by getting an
extra amount of sleep, but the light and noise prove too much for them,
and they amuse and revenge themselves by annoying and worrying the
writers. The result is, that a riot, in a small way, is pretty sure to
follow, which ends in the appearance of the captain, and the extinction
of the lights, when the prudent ones once more turn in, chuckling over
their triumph. Their rejoicing, however, is ill-timed, for the others,
baffled in their attempts to write, determine that no one shall sleep
till they see fit, and by noise and talk keep their poor victims on the
rack, till, wearied out at last, silence at last reigns over the scene
of confusion, and sweet sleep and dreams of home descend.
[Illustration: HELIOTYPE PRINTING CO. BOSTON.
THE FIELD AND STAFF, 45TH. M. V. M.]