Morris Island is but a strip of white sand on the Atlantic Ocean, at
the mouth of Charleston Harbor. It runs north and south nearly, and is
about four miles long. Its broad southerly end lying well out of the
range of the enemy's fire, served as a camp-ground for troops not
actively engaged in the siege and for headquarter and depot purposes.
Narrowing as it approaches Sumter, till Fort Wagner completely barred
all further progress at fairly high water, the island ends in a hooked
projection known as Cummings' Point. It was on this point that
Beauregard built Battery Gregg as long ago as when Sumter was forlornly
garrisoned by Major Anderson.
From Cummings' Point it is but 1300 yards to Sumter, due northwest, and
but four miles to Charleston City, looking about directly west across
the bay, and is but about a mile and a half across to the batteries on
Sullivan's Island, where Moultrie and its batteries lay beyond Sumter
and to its east Sullivan's Island running about east for a short
distance and then bearing rapidly towards the northeast, the north end
of Morris pointing to about the western end of Sullivan's. To the west
of the upper part of Morris Island, across a marshy tideway, through
which flows Vincent Creek, James Island points a blunt end to Morris,
the length of James forming the southern boundary line of Charleston
Harbor. Outside of James, on the Atlantic, and separated from James by
the Stono River, lies Folly Island, with Black Island wedged in between
Folly, James and Morris.
When we reached Morris Island the tragedy of the siege was over, the
whole of the island was in Union possession, and Wagner and Gregg were
being rebuilt from the wreck occasioned by the terrible bombardment
they had undergone, were being turned and armed to operate on the
enemy's batteries on James and Sullivan's Islands, Sumter standing no
longer as the chief, though still as an important factor in the problem
of getting into Charleston, it having been battered from its aggressive
symmetry into a silent, crumbling ruin. But from something like
sentimental reasons it was still considered the central point of
offense and defense, the rebel flag still flying defiantly over its
ruined bastions, the garrison burrowing in bomb proofs that every
shrieking shell of ours but added to the strength of, crumbling and
tumbling the broken stone work in yet deeper depths above them. From
these burrows they watched for night sallies from shore and fleet, and
by the aid of the enfilading fire of the guns of James and Sullivan's
Islands, succeeded in beating all off that were made upon them.
As the fatigue parties worked with shovel and spade in the sand of Fort
Wagner and of Battery Gregg, the lookouts on the parapets would see a
round cloud of white smoke fly into the air, from James Island perhaps.
Then, with a cry of "James Island," they would leap from the parapets
to cover, while the busy shovelers would scatter for shelter,
instinctively taking cover under the sand walls next James Island till
the projectile, shot or shell, from gun or mortar, had exploded and the
fragments had buried themselves deep in the sand. Or, the cry might be
"Sullivan," then the cover was sought for under the sand walls next
that island. As soon as the danger was over, all rushed back to their
work again. But sometimes this enfilading fire would become so vigorous
a one as to force the men to quit work for a time and take shelter in
the great bomb proofs and magazines, built of squared logs, banked and
heaped with such depths of sand that even the fifteen-inch shells of
the ironclads has failed to make any impression on them during their
bombardment. All this time our own batteries on Morris Island were
keeping up a steady fire upon Sumter and the other rebel
fortifications, the fleet taking advantage of good weather to leave
their stations outside the rebel line of fire to steam in and join in
the roaring chorus.
Our regiment was encamped in the shelter of some sand hills about
halfway down the island. From this camp details of men for fatigue duty
were sent to the upper part of the island to take part in the
fortification building going on there, D men with the rest. But in a
short time a number of D were detailed to serve as artillerymen in
Battery Chatfield, a work on Cummings' Point, and so many of D were in
this detail that it may be said that the Company was on artillery
service in the mortar battery of Chatfield, where, under Lieutenant
Sellmer's practical tuition, they soon became able heavy artillerymen.
The men of C, E, G and K, who had served with Lieutenant Sellmer in the
Swamp Angel Battery, were in this detail also.
Our battery work was mainly directed against ruined Sumter. Day after
day we trained the mortars on that crumbling fortress, sending their
ten-inch shells high in the air to drop into Sumter and burst there.
After a shot was fired it was watched by Lieutenant Sellmer through
glasses, and its effect noted, whether it fell into the fort or outside
of it, whether it burst in the air or after striking its objective
point, the men at work in the magazine filling the flannel bags each
charge of powder weighed out was enclosed in, receiving orders to put
in more or less powder as the Lieutenant noted the effects of the
shots, and those cutting the fuses receiving their orders to cut them
shorter or longer from the same observations. As Lieutenant Sellmer
observed the effects of the shots, Lieutenant Charles H. Foster of
Company K, detailed to assist Lieutenant Sellmer, as he had in the
Swamp Angel Battery, would note on a prepared form the results given
him by Lieutenant Sellmer, so keeping a tabulated statement of each
day's work during its progress, the number of shots fired and their
individual results.
Sometimes these results were plain to all of us. A shot would fall into
the fort and a whirl of flying fragments of stone or a leaping barbette
caisson would tell us just where it had struck, and just what its
effect was, and a few times we succeeded in our unceasing endeavor to
bowl the rebel flag down. But to the credit of the garrison of Sumter,
it must be said, that no sooner was it down than some brave fellow
would mount to the parapet and set it flying again.
There is rarely any great loss of life through artillery firing. While
the singing of minie balls has an ominous sound in the ears of the most
hardened veteran, the roar of a battery, except at close quarters, when
throwing grape and canister, is not very alarming to him. Why, at the
great artillery duel of White Oak Swamp, in June, 1862, our loss,
except in artillerymen, was slight, and the artillerymen killed and
wounded were mostly picked off by the rebel sharpshooters, while
General "Dick" Taylor, who commanded the Confederate troops immediately
across the bridge, says that severe as was our fire, their loss from
shells was but a small one. So, in all the wild uproar at the siege of
Charleston, our loss from flying shells was ridiculously small, viewed
from the standpoint of infantry engagements, the careful watch the
outlooks kept from the parapets, the facility for shelter, and the
promptness of the men in getting into safe places, saving many lives
and limbs. But there were several narrow escapes, and some curious ones
too. How shall we account for that of Lieutenant Foster, who after
remaining comfortably seated for hours upon an empty ammunition box on
the parapet of Chatfield, entirely ignoring the fast coming shots of
the enemy, suddenly rose and stepped off the parapet, and just as he
stepped off it, the box he had been seated on went into the air, struck
by a piece of shell! And that of Private Darling, who, working at a
mortar, suddenly stepped backwards just in time to save himself from
being cut in two by the whistling copper bottom of a Brooks' rifle
shell that went flying right across the spot he had just stood on. But
it was not all so bloodless. One day, the 8th of December, a mortar
shell struck the magazine of Chatfield in its weakest spot, and went
crashing into it. For a moment we outside the magazine were panic
stricken, expecting the immediate bursting of the shell and the blowing
up of the magazine, in which we had many barrels of powder stored. But
fortunately the shell was so surrounded with the tons of sand that
poured into the magazine with it, that its bursting flame was
completely smothered and did not touch a grain of our powder. We
hastened to dig our buried men out, and found Corporal Albee, of C,
killed by a piece of the shell, Private Kimball, of E, mortally
wounded, and Sergeant Howard, of K, Corporal Bearce and Privates Maddox
and Bragdon, of D, more or less severely injured.
We worked at our batteries during the day only, as a rule, returning to
the regimental camp each night, leaving the batteries to be defended
from any attempt of the enemy to occupy them by the heavy and light
guns of direct fire, and by the infantry force that was marched up the
island each night and ensconced in the bomb proofs of Wagner and Gregg.
But such an attack never came, the Confederates contenting themselves
with long range demonstrations, though frequently indulging in a heavy
night shelling of our works, as if to cover a landing.
At these times the air would be full of artillery pyrotechnics, the
flaring of bursting shells, and the sparkling arcs of mortar shells
with their flaming fuses, described by an old writer as appearing in
the night to be "fiery meteors with flaming tails, most beautifully
brilliant." A fine exhibition for those out of range.
In December, reenlistments began from among the original men of the
regiment, though they had a year yet to serve, proving to us that the
government had settled down into the conviction that the war was far
from being near its end. Many of D put their names on the reenlistment
roll.
Later on, the 23d of January, 1864, D, with B, entered Fort Wagner as
part of its garrison. It was really a sort of going into winter
quarters--without the winter--for you could lie out of doors, under
one blanket, in the nights of December and January, and sleep as
comfortably as a soldier need to.
The siege of Charleston was really abandoned by now, and the troops
that had been engaged in it were only held in hand until the time
should come for them to go to Virginia to engage in graver operations.
Though regularly trained to use the thirty-two and the one-hundred
pound Parrot guns Wagner was mainly armed with, we did not fire them
often now except for range practice, or to send a shell now and then
shrieking into Charleston. We usually aimed at the tall white steeple
of St. Michael's Church, the most prominent object in the foreground of
the city, and a most useful one to the Confederates, for a bright light
kept burning at night from this steeple served as a guide to blockade
runners. Getting the light within a certain range of one on Sumter and
they could keep the channel and glide safely into the harbor. Not
always, though. Early one foggy morning, that of February 2d, just
after daybreak, a sentry called the attention of the sergeant of the
guard to a patch of harder color in the soft atmospheric gray of the
fog bank that lay between us and Sullivan's Island. A hasty inspection
and a sudden lift of the fog showed us that there was a blockade runner
fast ashore under Moultrie.
The alarm was quickly given, and in a few minutes a hundred-pound shell
was whirling through the fog at the grounded blockade runner, the
powerful impact of the shell serving to lift the fog enough to show us
the lead colored vessel, with hundreds of men swarming in and out of
it, engaged in a desperate attempt to unload freight before the Yankees
should discover her presence. There was a wild scattering at the sound
of the coming shell, the runner was left to serve us as a target, and
we sent shell after shell into her until she was but a wreck.
Our Confederate friends would still favor us with a serenade of shot
and shell in spite of our peaceful demeanor. And once or twice they did
this so vigorously as to cause the commanding general to think they
were really on the point of attacking us with infantry. Beauregard says
that he made one of these night bombardments to give our commander just
that idea to cover his own withdrawal of troops to Florida to General
Finegan, about the time the battle of Olustee was fought in that state.
Regiments of our troops would then come to Wagner to stand at the
parapets all night, while we artillerymen worked the guns to keep down
the enemy's fire. It was in one of these bombardments, that of
Christmas night, that Private Laffin, of D, was so badly wounded, a
piece of shell striking the bayonets of some stacked rifles, one of the
pieces of shattered steel penetrating a leg.
This night our gunners paid particular attention to Charleston, I
remember, throwing shells into that city until a large fire broke out
in it, and then throwing shells at the glare of the fire. The men
fighting the fire in the city, largely colored non-combatants probably,
would succeed in getting the flames somewhat under control. We could
see them lower and lessen, then they would suddenly flare up bright and
red again, telling us that the screech of one of our going shells had
driven the fire fighters to cover.
A "cruel war" it was, especially to non-combatants that circumstances
of situation or greed placed in dangerous positions. Just think of the
terror the enterprising sutler must have been in who had pitched a big
tent outside of Fort Wagner that none of our boys having money need go
without such delicacies as pickled pig's feet, canned condensed milk,
ginger cakes, strong butter and slabby skim milk cheese, just think of
the terror he must have been in when he would leave all these precious
goods to destruction for the sake of his unexpectedly endangered
person.
For a few days after his arrival he did a thriving business, then came
one of the nights of heavy bombardment from James and Sullivan islands.
In the morning the tent was still on the beach, but with certain
suggestive looking holes in it. An investigation showed a medley of
goods shattered and piled into a chaotic mass by invading shells, but
the sutler was not to be found. He did not appear to us again, but it
was said that he evacuated his bed and fled to the lower extremity of
the island, as the first shell broke unceremoniously in upon his
private apartment. That afternoon men came with an army wagon and
carried away what Lieutenant Nel Norris would call the "debris" of
boxes and barrels with what little remained of the stock of goods. That
there was little besides shattered boxes and barrels to cart away, may
be somewhat due to the fact that the men of D and B had been busily
engaged during the forenoon in buying goods in the absence of their
frightened owner.
At last the time came for leaving Morris Island. The reenlisted men had
gone away on their veteran furlough, and finally D and B rejoined the
regiment, which had been camping on Black Island since early in
February. The Eleventh proceeded to Hilton Head, from where it sailed
away with other troops the 21st day of April for a point on the York
River, Virginia, from where our fleet had sailed a little more than a
year before for the purpose of capturing Charleston. That the attempt
had been a failure is to be attributed largely perhaps to the route of
approach chosen. Beauregard says that there were three routes of attack
from the sea, and that Morris Island was the worst of the three. He
says that had we effected a lodgment on James Island instead, and have
overcome the garrison there, as we did that of Morris Island, we had
but to erect batteries within such easy distance of Charleston as to
make it untenable, and as we would also be in the rear of their outer
line of defense, they would have been obliged to evacuate Sumter,
Moultrie and Wagner, and give up the city. That a similarly successful
descent upon Sullivan's Island would have given the control of the
inner harbor to the fire of our ironclads, with a similar result. But
that when we had Morris Island, our occupation of it neither involved
the evacuation of Sumter and the other forts, the destruction of the
city by a direct fire, nor the control of Confederate movements in the
inner harbor by the ironclad fleet. Be this as it may, beyond the
destruction of Sumter, and the taking of Wagner, little had been
accomplished, and we left Charleston and its defenses much as we had
found them, the fleet riding outside the bar, the rebel flags still
flying over Sumter, Sullivan's and James, Charleston still in the
distance, now as exultantly defiant as it had been sullenly so in the
height of the siege.