[Illustration: _Susie King Taylor._]
REMINISCENCES OF
MY LIFE IN CAMP
WITH THE 33D UNITED STATES
COLORED TROOPS LATE 1ST
S. C. VOLUNTEERS
BY
SUSIE KING TAYLOR
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS_
[Illustration]
BOSTON
PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR
1902
COPYRIGHT, 1902, BY SUSIE KING TAYLOR
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
To
COLONEL T. W. HIGGINSON
THESE PAGES
ARE GRATEFULLY DEDICATED
PREFACE
I have been asked many times by my friends, and also by members of the
Grand Army of the Republic and Women’s Relief Corps, to write a book of
my army life, during the war of 1861-65, with the regiment of the 1st
South Carolina Colored Troops, later called 33d United States Colored
Infantry.
At first I did not think I would, but as the years rolled on and my
friends were still urging me to start with it, I wrote to Colonel C. T.
Trowbridge (who had command of this regiment), asking his opinion and
advice on the matter. His answer to me was, “Go ahead! write it; that
is just what I should do, were I in your place, and I will give you all
the assistance you may need, whenever you require it.” This inspired me
very much.
In 1900 I received a letter from a gentleman, sent from the Executive
Mansion at St. Paul, Minn., saying Colonel Trowbridge had told him I
was about to write a book, and when it was published he wanted one
of the first copies. This, coming from a total stranger, gave me more
confidence, so I now present these reminiscences to you, hoping they
may prove of some interest, and show how much service and good we can
do to each other, and what sacrifices we can make for our liberty and
rights, and that there were “loyal women,” as well as men, in those
days, who did not fear shell or shot, who cared for the sick and dying;
women who camped and fared as the boys did, and who are still caring
for the comrades in their declining years.
So, with the hope that the following pages will accomplish some good
and instruction for its readers, I shall proceed with my narrative.
SUSIE KING TAYLOR.
BOSTON, 1902.
CONTENTS
PAGE
INTRODUCTION BY COL. THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON xi
LETTER FROM LIEUT.-COL. C. T. TROWBRIDGE xiii
I. A BRIEF SKETCH OF MY ANCESTORS 1
II. MY CHILDHOOD 5
III. ON ST. SIMON’S ISLAND, 1862 11
IV. CAMP SAXTON--PROCLAMATION AND BARBECUE. 1863 18
V. MILITARY EXPEDITIONS, AND LIFE IN CAMP 22
VI. ON MORRIS AND OTHER ISLANDS 31
VII. CAST AWAY 37
VIII. A FLAG OF TRUCE 40
IX. CAPTURE OF CHARLESTON 42
X. MUSTERED OUT 45
XI. AFTER THE WAR 53
XII. THE WOMEN’S RELIEF CORPS 59
XIII. THOUGHTS ON PRESENT CONDITIONS 61
XIV. A VISIT TO LOUISIANA 69
APPENDIX.
Roster of Survivors of 33d Regiment United
States Colored Troops 79
A List of the Battles fought by the Regiment 82
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
PAGE
MRS. SUSIE KING TAYLOR _Frontispiece_
GROUP: CAPT. A. W. HEASLEY, CAPT. WALKER, CAPT.
W. W. SAMPSON, CAPT. CHARLES E. PARKER 16
COLONEL THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON 24
GROUP: MAJOR H. A. WHITNEY, LIEUT. J. B. WEST,
HENRY BATCHLOTT 28
GROUP: LIEUT. JOHN A. TROWBRIDGE, LIEUT. ELI C.
MERRIAM, LIEUT. JAMES M. THOMPSON, LIEUT.
JEROME T. FURMAN 36
GROUP: CAPT. L. W. METCALF, CAPT. MIRON W. SAXTON,
CAPT. A. W. JACKSON, CORPORAL PETER WAGGALL 40
LIEUT.-COL. C. T. TROWBRIDGE 46
SCHOOLHOUSE IN SAVANNAH 54
INTRODUCTION
Actual military life is rarely described by a woman, and this is
especially true of a woman whose place was in the ranks, as the wife
of a soldier and herself a regimental laundress. No such description
has ever been given, I am sure, by one thus connected with a colored
regiment; so that the nearly 200,000 black soldiers (178,975) of our
Civil War have never before been delineated from the woman’s point of
view. All this gives peculiar interest to this little volume, relating
wholly to the career of the very earliest of these regiments,--the
one described by myself, from a wholly different point of view, in my
volume “Army Life in a Black Regiment,” long since translated into
French by the Comtesse de Gasparin under the title “Vie Militaire dans
un Régiment Noir.”
The writer of the present book was very exceptional among the colored
laundresses, in that she could read and write and had taught children
to do the same; and her whole life and career were most estimable,
both during the war and in the later period during which she has lived
in Boston and has made many friends. I may add that I did not see the
book until the sheets were in print, and have left it wholly untouched,
except as to a few errors in proper names. I commend the narrative to
those who love the plain record of simple lives, led in stormy periods.
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON,
_Former Colonel 1st S. C. Volunteers_
(_afterwards 33d U. S. Colored Infantry_).
CAMBRIDGE, MASS.,
November 3, 1902.
LETTER FROM COL. C. T. TROWBRIDGE
ST. PAUL, MINN., April 7, 1902.
MRS. SUSAN KING TAYLOR:
DEAR MADAM,--The manuscript of the story of your army life reached
me to-day. I have read it with much care and interest, and I most
willingly and cordially indorse it as a truthful account of your
unselfish devotion and service through more than three long years of
war in which the 33d Regiment bore a conspicuous part in the great
conflict for human liberty and the restoration of the Union. I most
sincerely regret that through a technicality you are debarred from
having your name placed on the roll of pensioners, as an Army Nurse;
for among all the number of heroic women whom the government is now
rewarding, I know of no one more deserving than yourself.
Yours in F. C. & L.,
C. T. TROWBRIDGE,
_Late Lt.-Col. 33d U. S. C. T._
REMINISCENCES
I
A BRIEF SKETCH OF MY ANCESTORS
My great-great-grandmother was 120 years old when she died. She had
seven children, and five of her boys were in the Revolutionary War. She
was from Virginia, and was half Indian. She was so old she had to be
held in the sun to help restore or prolong her vitality.
My great-grandmother, one of her daughters, named Susanna, was married
to Peter Simons, and was one hundred years old when she died, from a
stroke of paralysis in Savannah. She was the mother of twenty-four
children, twenty-three being girls. She was one of the noted midwives
of her day. In 1820 my grandmother was born, and named after her
grandmother, Dolly, and in 1833 she married Fortune Lambert Reed. Two
children blessed their union, James and Hagar Ann. James died at the
age of twelve years.
My mother was born in 1834. She married Raymond Baker in 1847. Nine
children were born to them, three dying in infancy. I was the first
born. I was born on the Grest Farm (which was on an island known as
Isle of Wight), Liberty County, about thirty-five miles from Savannah,
Ga., on August 6, 1848, my mother being waitress for the Grest family.
I have often been told by mother of the care Mrs. Grest took of me.
She was very fond of me, and I remember when my brother and I were
small children, and Mr. Grest would go away on business, Mrs. Grest
would place us at the foot of her bed to sleep and keep her company.
Sometimes he would return home earlier than he had expected to; then
she would put us on the floor.
When I was about seven years old, Mr. Grest allowed my grandmother to
take my brother and me to live with her in Savannah. There were no
railroad connections in those days between this place and Savannah; all
travel was by stagecoaches. I remember, as if it were yesterday, the
coach which ran in from Savannah, with its driver, whose beard nearly
reached his knees. His name was Shakespeare, and often I would go to
the stable where he kept his horses, on Barnard Street in front of the
old Arsenal, just to look at his wonderful beard.
My grandmother went every three months to see my mother. She would hire
a wagon to carry bacon, tobacco, flour, molasses, and sugar. These she
would trade with people in the neighboring places, for eggs, chickens,
or cash, if they had it. These, in turn, she carried back to the city
market, where she had a customer who sold them for her. The profit from
these, together with laundry work and care of some bachelors’ rooms,
made a good living for her.
The hardest blow to her was the failure of the Freedmen’s Savings Bank
in Savannah, for in that bank she had placed her savings, about three
thousand dollars, the result of her hard labor and self-denial before
the war, and which, by dint of shrewdness and care, she kept together
all through the war. She felt it more keenly, coming as it did in her
old age, when her life was too far spent to begin anew; but she took
a practical view of the matter, for she said, “I will leave it all in
God’s hand. If the Yankees did take all our money, they freed my race;
God will take care of us.”
In 1888 she wrote me here (Boston), asking me to visit her, as she was
getting very feeble and wanted to see me once before she passed away.
I made up my mind to leave at once, but about the time I planned to
go, in March, a fearful blizzard swept our country, and travel was at
a standstill for nearly two weeks; but March 15 I left on the first
through steamer from New York, en route for the South, where I again
saw my grandmother, and we felt thankful that we were spared to meet
each other once more. This was the last time I saw her, for in May,
1889, she died.
II
MY CHILDHOOD
I was born under the slave law in Georgia, in 1848, and was brought
up by my grandmother in Savannah. There were three of us with her, my
younger sister and brother. My brother and I being the two eldest, we
were sent to a friend of my grandmother, Mrs. Woodhouse, a widow, to
learn to read and write. She was a free woman and lived on Bay Lane,
between Habersham and Price streets, about half a mile from my house.
We went every day about nine o’clock, with our books wrapped in paper
to prevent the police or white persons from seeing them. We went in,
one at a time, through the gate, into the yard to the L kitchen, which
was the schoolroom. She had twenty-five or thirty children whom she
taught, assisted by her daughter, Mary Jane. The neighbors would see us
going in sometimes, but they supposed we were there learning trades, as
it was the custom to give children a trade of some kind. After school
we left the same way we entered, one by one, when we would go to a
square, about a block from the school, and wait for each other. We
would gather laurel leaves and pop them on our hands, on our way home.
I remained at her school for two years or more, when I was sent to a
Mrs. Mary Beasley, where I continued until May, 1860, when she told my
grandmother she had taught me all she knew, and grandmother had better
get some one else who could teach me more, so I stopped my studies for
a while.
I had a white playmate about this time, named Katie O’Connor, who
lived on the next corner of the street from my house, and who attended
a convent. One day she told me, if I would promise not to tell her
father, she would give me some lessons. On my promise not to do so, and
getting her mother’s consent, she gave me lessons about four months,
every evening. At the end of this time she was put into the convent
permanently, and I have never seen her since.
A month after this, James Blouis, our landlord’s son, was attending
the High School, and was very fond of grandmother, so she asked him
to give me a few lessons, which he did until the middle of 1861, when
the Savannah Volunteer Guards, to which he and his brother belonged,
were ordered to the front under General Barton. In the first battle of
Manassas, his brother Eugene was killed, and James deserted over to
the Union side, and at the close of the war went to Washington, D. C.,
where he has since resided.
I often wrote passes for my grandmother, for all colored persons, free
or slaves, were compelled to have a pass; free colored people having a
guardian in place of a master. These passes were good until 10 or 10.30
P. M. for one night or every night for one month. The pass read as
follows:--
SAVANNAH, GA., March 1st, 1860.
Pass the bearer ---- from 9 to 10.30. P. M.
VALENTINE GREST.
Every person had to have this pass, for at nine o’clock each night a
bell was rung, and any colored persons found on the street after this
hour were arrested by the watchman, and put in the guard-house until
next morning, when their owners would pay their fines and release them.
I knew a number of persons who went out at any time at night and were
never arrested, as the watchman knew them so well he never stopped
them, and seldom asked to see their passes, only stopping them long
enough, sometimes, to say “Howdy,” and then telling them to go along.
About this time I had been reading so much about the “Yankees” I was
very anxious to see them. The whites would tell their colored people
not to go to the Yankees, for they would harness them to carts and make
them pull the carts around, in place of horses. I asked grandmother,
one day, if this was true. She replied, “Certainly not!” that the
white people did not want slaves to go over to the Yankees, and told
them these things to frighten them. “Don’t you see those signs pasted
about the streets? one reading, ‘I am a rattlesnake; if you touch me
I will strike!’ Another reads, ‘I am a wild-cat! Beware,’ etc. These
are warnings to the North; so don’t mind what the white people say.” I
wanted to see these wonderful “Yankees” so much, as I heard my parents
say the Yankee was going to set all the slaves free. Oh, how those
people prayed for freedom! I remember, one night, my grandmother went
out into the suburbs of the city to a church meeting, and they were
fervently singing this old hymn,--
“Yes, we all shall be free,
Yes, we all shall be free,
Yes, we all shall be free,
When the Lord shall appear,”--
when the police came in and arrested all who were there, saying they
were planning freedom, and sang “the Lord,” in place of “Yankee,” to
blind any one who might be listening. Grandmother never forgot that
night, although she did not stay in the guard-house, as she sent to her
guardian, who came at once for her; but this was the last meeting she
ever attended out of the city proper.
On April 1, 1862, about the time the Union soldiers were firing on Fort
Pulaski, I was sent out into the country to my mother. I remember what
a roar and din the guns made. They jarred the earth for miles. The fort
was at last taken by them. Two days after the taking of Fort Pulaski,
my uncle took his family of seven and myself to St. Catherine Island.
We landed under the protection of the Union fleet, and remained there
two weeks, when about thirty of us were taken aboard the gunboat P----,
to be transferred to St. Simon’s Island; and at last, to my unbounded
joy, I saw the “Yankee.”
After we were all settled aboard and started on our journey, Captain
Whitmore, commanding the boat, asked me where I was from. I told
him Savannah, Ga. He asked if I could read; I said, “Yes!” “Can you
write?” he next asked. “Yes, I can do that also,” I replied, and as
if he had some doubts of my answers he handed me a book and a pencil
and told me to write my name and where I was from. I did this; when
he wanted to know if I could sew. On hearing I could, he asked me to
hem some napkins for him. He was surprised at my accomplishments (for
they were such in those days), for he said he did not know there were
any negroes in the South able to read or write. He said, “You seem to
be so different from the other colored people who came from the same
place you did.” “No!” I replied, “the only difference is, they were
reared in the country and I in the city, as was a man from Darien, Ga.,
named Edward King.” That seemed to satisfy him, and we had no further
conversation that day on the subject.
In the afternoon the captain spied a boat in the distance, and as it
drew nearer he noticed it had a white flag hoisted, but before it had
reached the Putumoka he ordered all passengers between decks, so we
could not be seen, for he thought they might be spies. The boat finally
drew alongside of our boat, and had Mr. Edward Donegall on board, who
wanted his two servants, Nick and Judith. He wanted these, as they were
his own children. Our captain told him he knew nothing of them, which
was true, for at the time they were on St. Simon’s, and not, as their
father supposed, on our boat. After the boat left, we were allowed to
come up on deck again.
III
ON ST. SIMON’S ISLAND
1862
Next morning we arrived at St. Simon’s, and the captain told Commodore
Goldsborough about this affair, and his reply was, “Captain Whitmore,
you should not have allowed them to return; you should have kept
them.” After I had been on St. Simon’s about three days, Commodore
Goldsborough heard of me, and came to Gaston Bluff to see me. I found
him very cordial. He said Captain Whitmore had spoken to him of me, and
that he was pleased to hear of my being so capable, etc., and wished
me to take charge of a school for the children on the island. I told
him I would gladly do so, if I could have some books. He said I should
have them, and in a week or two I received two large boxes of books and
testaments from the North. I had about forty children to teach, beside
a number of adults who came to me nights, all of them so eager to learn
to read, to read above anything else. Chaplain French, of Boston, would
come to the school, sometimes, and lecture to the pupils on Boston and
the North.
About the first of June we were told that there was going to be a
settlement of the war. Those who were on the Union side would remain
free, and those in bondage were to work three days for their masters
and three for themselves. It was a gloomy time for us all, and we were
to be sent to Liberia. Chaplain French asked me would I rather go back
to Savannah or go to Liberia. I told him the latter place by all means.
We did not know when this would be, but we were prepared in case this
settlement should be reached. However, the Confederates would not agree
to the arrangement, or else it was one of the many rumors flying about
at the time, as we heard nothing further of the matter. There were a
number of settlements on this island of St. Simon’s, just like little
villages, and we would go from one to the other on business, to call,
or only for a walk.
One Sunday, two men, Adam Miller and Daniel Spaulding, were chased by
some rebels as they were coming from Hope Place (which was between the
Beach and Gaston Bluff), but the latter were unable to catch them. When
they reached the Beach and told this, all the men on the place, about
ninety, armed themselves, and next day (Monday), with Charles O’Neal as
their leader, skirmished the island for the “rebs.” In a short while
they discovered them in the woods, hidden behind a large log, among
the thick underbrush. Charles O’Neal was the first to see them, and
he was killed; also John Brown, and their bodies were never found.
Charles O’Neal was an uncle of Edward King, who later was my husband
and a sergeant in Co. E., U. S. I. Another man was shot, but not found
for three days. On Tuesday, the second day, Captain Trowbridge and
some soldiers landed, and assisted the skirmishers. Word having been
sent by the mail-boat Uncas to Hilton Head, later in the day Commodore
Goldsborough, who was in command of the naval station, landed about
three hundred marines, and joined the others to oust the rebels. On
Wednesday, John Baker, the man shot on Monday, was found in a terrible
condition by Henry Batchlott, who carried him to the Beach, where he
was attended by the surgeon. He told us how, after being shot, he lay
quiet for a day. On the second day he managed to reach some wild grapes
growing near him. These he ate, to satisfy his hunger and intense
thirst, then he crawled slowly, every movement causing agony, until
he got to the side of the road. He lived only three months after they
found him.
On the second day of the skirmish the troops captured a boat which they
knew the Confederates had used to land in, and having this in their
possession, the “rebs” could not return; so pickets were stationed all
around the island. There was an old man, Henry Capers, who had been
left on one of the places by his old master, Mr. Hazzard, as he was
too old to carry away. These rebels went to his house in the night, and
he hid them up in the loft. On Tuesday all hands went to this man’s
house with a determination to burn it down, but Henry Batchlott pleaded
with the men to spare it. The rebels were in hiding, still, waiting a
chance to get off the island. They searched his house, but neglected to
go up into the loft, and in so doing missed the rebels concealed there.
Late in the night Henry Capers gave them his boat to escape in, and
they got off all right. This old man was allowed by the men in charge
of the island to cut grass for his horse, and to have a boat to carry
this grass to his home, and so they were not detected, our men thinking
it was Capers using the boat. After Commodore Goldsborough left the
island, Commodore Judon sent the old man over to the mainland and would
not allow him to remain on the island.
There were about six hundred men, women, and children on St. Simon’s,
the women and children being in the majority, and we were afraid to go
very far from our own quarters in the day-time, and at night even to go
out of the house for a long time, although the men were on the watch
all the time; for there were not any soldiers on the island, only the
marines who were on the gunboats along the coast. The rebels, knowing
this, could steal by them under cover of the night, and getting on the
island would capture any persons venturing out alone and carry them to
the mainland. Several of the men disappeared, and as they were never
heard from we came to the conclusion they had been carried off in this
way.
The latter part of August, 1862, Captain C. T. Trowbridge, with his
brother John and Lieutenant Walker, came to St. Simon’s Island from
Hilton Head, by order of General Hunter, to get all the men possible to
finish filling his regiment which he had organized in March, 1862. He
had heard of the skirmish on this island, and was very much pleased at
the bravery shown by these men. He found me at Gaston Bluff teaching my
little school, and was much interested in it. When I knew him better I
found him to be a thorough gentleman and a staunch friend to my race.
Captain Trowbridge remained with us until October, when the order was
received to evacuate, and so we boarded the Ben-De-Ford, a transport,
for Beaufort, S. C. When we arrived in Beaufort, Captain Trowbridge
and the men he had enlisted went to camp at Old Fort, which they named
“Camp Saxton.” I was enrolled as laundress.
The first suits worn by the boys were red coats and pants, which they
disliked very much, for, they said, “The rebels see us, miles away.”
The first colored troops did not receive any pay for eighteen months,
and the men had to depend wholly on what they received from the
commissary, established by General Saxton. A great many of these men
had large families, and as they had no money to give them, their wives
were obliged to support themselves and children by washing for the
officers of the gunboats and the soldiers, and making cakes and pies
which they sold to the boys in camp. Finally, in 1863, the government
decided to give them half pay, but the men would not accept this. They
wanted “full pay” or nothing. They preferred rather to give their
services to the state, which they did until 1864, when the government
granted them full pay, with all the back pay due.
I remember hearing Captain Heasley telling his company, one day,
“Boys, stand up for your full pay! I am with you, and so are all the
officers.” This captain was from Pennsylvania, and was a very good man;
all the men liked him. N. G. Parker, our first lieutenant, was from
Massachusetts. H. A. Beach was from New York. He was very delicate, and
had to resign in 1864 on account of ill health.
[Illustration:
CAPT. A. W. HEASLEY
CAPT. WALKER
CAPT. W. W. SAMPSON
CAPT. CHARLES E. PARKER]
I had a number of relatives in this regiment,--several uncles, some
cousins, and a husband in Company E, and a number of cousins in
other companies. Major Strong, of this regiment, started home on a
furlough, but the vessel he was aboard was lost, and he never reached
his home. He was one of the best officers we had. After his death,
Captain C. T. Trowbridge was promoted major, August, 1863, and filled
Major Strong’s place until December, 1864, when he was promoted
lieutenant-colonel, which he remained until he was mustered out,
February 6, 1866.
In February, 1863, several cases of varioloid broke out among the boys,
which caused some anxiety in camp. Edward Davis, of Company E (the
company I was with), had it very badly. He was put into a tent apart
from the rest of the men, and only the doctor and camp steward, James
Cummings, were allowed to see or attend him; but I went to see this
man every day and nursed him. The last thing at night, I always went
in to see that he was comfortable, but in spite of the good care and
attention he received, he succumbed to the disease.
I was not in the least afraid of the small-pox. I had been vaccinated,
and I drank sassafras tea constantly, which kept my blood purged and
prevented me from contracting this dread scourge, and no one need fear
getting it if they will only keep their blood in good condition with
this sassafras tea, and take it before going where the patient is.
IV
CAMP SAXTON--PROCLAMATION AND BARBECUE
1863
On the first of January, 1863, we held services for the purpose of
listening to the reading of President Lincoln’s proclamation by Dr. W.
H. Brisbane, and the presentation of two beautiful stands of colors,
one from a lady in Connecticut, and the other from Rev. Mr. Cheever.
The presentation speech was made by Chaplain French. It was a glorious
day for us all, and we enjoyed every minute of it, and as a fitting
close and the crowning event of this occasion we had a grand barbecue.
A number of oxen were roasted whole, and we had a fine feast. Although
not served as tastily or correctly as it would have been at home, yet
it was enjoyed with keen appetites and relish. The soldiers had a good
time. They sang or shouted “Hurrah!” all through the camp, and seemed
overflowing with fun and frolic until taps were sounded, when many, no
doubt, dreamt of this memorable day.
I had rather an amusing experience; that is, it seems amusing now, as
I look back, but at the time it occurred it was a most serious one to
me. When our regiment left Beaufort for Seabrooke, I left some of my
things with a neighbor who lived outside of the camp. After I had been
at Seabrooke about a week, I decided to return to Camp Saxton and get
them. So one morning, with Mary Shaw, a friend who was in the company
at that time, I started off. There was no way for us to get to Beaufort
other than to walk, except we rode on the commissary wagon. This we
did, and reached Beaufort about one o’clock. We then had more than two
miles to walk before reaching our old camp, and expected to be able to
accomplish this and return in time to meet the wagon again by three
o’clock that afternoon, and so be taken back. We failed to do this,
however, for when we got to Beaufort the wagon was gone. We did not
know what to do. I did not wish to remain overnight, neither did my
friend, although we might easily have stayed, as both had relatives in
the town.
It was in the springtime, and the days were long, and as the sun looked
so bright, we concluded to walk back, thinking we should reach camp
before dark. So off we started on our ten-mile tramp. We had not gone
many miles, however, before we were all tired out and began to regret
our undertaking. The sun was getting low, and we grew more frightened,
fearful of meeting some animal or of treading on a snake on our way.
We did not meet a person, and we were frightened almost to death. Our
feet were so sore we could hardly walk. Finally we took off our shoes
and tried walking in our stocking feet, but this made them worse. We
had gone about six miles when night overtook us. There we were, nothing
around us but dense woods, and as there was no house or any place to
stop at, there was nothing for us to do but continue on. We were afraid
to speak to each other.
Meantime at the camp, seeing no signs of us by dusk, they concluded we
had decided to remain over until next day, and so had no idea of our
plight. Imagine their surprise when we reached camp about eleven P. M.
The guard challenged us, “Who comes there?” My answer was, “A friend
without a countersign.” He approached and saw who it was, reported, and
we were admitted into the lines. They had the joke on us that night,
and for a long time after would tease us; and sometimes some of the
men who were on guard that night would call us deserters. They used
to laugh at us, but we joined with them too, especially when we would
tell them our experience on our way to camp. I did not undertake that
trip again, as there was no way of getting in or out except one took
the provision wagon, and there was not much dependence to be put in
that returning to camp. Perhaps the driver would say one hour and he
might be there earlier or later. Of course it was not his fault, as
it depended when the order was filled at the Commissary Department;
therefore I did not go any more until the regiment was ordered to our
new camp, which was named after our hero, Colonel Shaw, who at that
time was at Beaufort with his regiment, the 54th Massachusetts.
I taught a great many of the comrades in Company E to read and write,
when they were off duty. Nearly all were anxious to learn. My husband
taught some also when it was convenient for him. I was very happy to
know my efforts were successful in camp, and also felt grateful for
the appreciation of my services. I gave my services willingly for
four years and three months without receiving a dollar. I was glad,
however, to be allowed to go with the regiment, to care for the sick
and afflicted comrades.
V
MILITARY EXPEDITIONS, AND LIFE IN CAMP
In the latter part of 1862 the regiment made an expedition into Darien,
Georgia, and up the Ridge, and on January 23, 1863, another up St.
Mary’s River, capturing a number of stores for the government; then on
to Fernandina, Florida. They were gone ten or twelve days, at the end
of which time they returned to camp.
March 10, 1863, we were ordered to Jacksonville, Florida. Leaving Camp
Saxton between four and five o’clock, we arrived at Jacksonville about
eight o’clock next morning, accompanied by three or four gunboats. When
the rebels saw these boats, they ran out of the city, leaving the women
behind, and we found out afterwards that they thought we had a much
larger fleet than we really had. Our regiment was kept out of sight
until we made fast at the wharf where it landed, and while the gunboats
were shelling up the river and as far inland as possible, the regiment
landed and marched up the street, where they spied the rebels who had
fled from the city. They were hiding behind a house about a mile or so
away, their faces blackened to disguise themselves as negroes, and our
boys, as they advanced toward them, halted a second, saying, “They are
black men! Let them come to us, or we will make them know who we are.”
With this, the firing was opened and several of our men were wounded
and killed. The rebels had a number wounded and killed. It was through
this way the discovery was made that they were white men. Our men drove
them some distance in retreat and then threw out their pickets.
While the fighting was on, a friend, Lizzie Lancaster, and I stopped at
several of the rebel homes, and after talking with some of the women
and children we asked them if they had any food. They claimed to have
only some hard-tack, and evidently did not care to give us anything to
eat, but this was not surprising. They were bitterly against our people
and had no mercy or sympathy for us.
The second day, our boys were reinforced by a regiment of white
soldiers, a Maine regiment, and by cavalry, and had quite a fight. On
the third day, Edward Herron, who was a fine gunner on the steamer
John Adams, came on shore, bringing a small cannon, which the men
pulled along for more than five miles. This cannon was the only piece
for shelling. On coming upon the enemy, all secured their places, and
they had a lively fight, which lasted several hours, and our boys were
nearly captured by the Confederates; but the Union boys carried out
all their plans that day, and succeeded in driving the enemy back.
After this skirmish, every afternoon between four and five o’clock
the Confederate General Finegan would send a flag of truce to Colonel
Higginson, warning him to send all women and children out of the
city, and threatening to bombard it if this was not done. Our colonel
allowed all to go who wished, at first, but as General Finegan grew
more hostile and kept sending these communications for nearly a week,
Colonel Higginson thought it not best or necessary to send any more out
of the city, and so informed General Finegan. This angered the general,
for that night the rebels shelled directly toward Colonel Higginson’s
headquarters. The shelling was so heavy that the colonel told my
captain to have me taken up into the town to a hotel, which was used as
a hospital. As my quarters were just in the rear of the colonel’s, he
was compelled to leave his also before the night was over. I expected
every moment to be killed by a shell, but on arriving at the hospital
I knew I was safe, for the shells could not reach us there. It was
plainly to be seen now, the ruse of the flag of truce coming so often
to us. The bearer was evidently a spy getting the location of the
headquarters, etc., for the shells were sent too accurately to be at
random.
[Illustration: THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON
COLONEL FIRST SOUTH CAROLINA VOLUNTEERS
_Afterwards 33d U. S. C. T._]
Next morning Colonel Higginson took the cavalry and a regiment on
another tramp after the rebels. They were gone several days and had the
hardest fight they had had, for they wanted to go as far as a station
which was some distance from the city. The gunboats were of little
assistance to them, yet notwithstanding this drawback our boys returned
with only a few killed and wounded, and after this we were not troubled
with General Finegan.
We remained here a few weeks longer, when, about April first, the
regiment was ordered back to Camp Saxton, where it stayed a week, when
the order came to go to Port Royal Ferry on picket duty. It was a
gay day for the boys. By seven o’clock all tents were down, and each
company, with a commissary wagon, marched up the shell road, which is
a beautiful avenue ten or twelve miles out of Beaufort. We arrived at
Seabrooke at about four o’clock, where our tents were pitched and the
men put on duty. We were here a few weeks, when Company E was ordered
to Barnwell plantation for picket duty.
Some mornings I would go along the picket line, and I could see the
rebels on the opposite side of the river. Sometimes as they were
changing pickets they would call over to our men and ask for something
to eat, or for tobacco, and our men would tell them to come over.
Sometimes one or two would desert to us, saying, they “had no negroes
to fight for.” Others would shoot across at our picket, but as the
river was so wide there was never any damage done, and the Confederates
never attempted to shell us while we were there.
I learned to handle a musket very well while in the regiment, and could
shoot straight and often hit the target. I assisted in cleaning the
guns and used to fire them off, to see if the cartridges were dry,
before cleaning and reloading, each day. I thought this great fun. I
was also able to take a gun all apart, and put it together again.
Between Barnwell and the mainland was Hall Island. I went over there
several times with Sergeant King and other comrades. One night there
was a stir in camp when it was found that the rebels were trying to
cross, and next morning Lieutenant Parker told me he thought they were
on Hall Island; so after that I did not go over again.
While planning for the expedition up the Edisto River, Colonel
Higginson was a whole night in the water, trying to locate the rebels
and where their picket lines were situated. About July the boys went
up the Edisto to destroy a bridge on the Charleston and Savannah road.
This expedition was twenty or more miles into the mainland. Colonel
Higginson was wounded in this fight and the regiment nearly captured.
The steamboat John Adams always assisted us, carrying soldiers,
provisions, etc. She carried several guns and a good gunner, Edward
Herron. Henry Batchlott, a relative of mine, was a steward on this
boat. There were two smaller boats, Governor Milton and the Enoch Dean,
in the fleet, as these could go up the river better than the larger
ones could. I often went aboard the John Adams. It went with us into
Jacksonville, to Cole and Folly Island, and Gunner Herron was always
ready to send a shell at the enemy.
One night, Companies K and E, on their way to Pocotaligo to destroy a
battery that was situated down the river, captured several prisoners.
The rebels nearly captured Sergeant King, who, as he sprang and caught
a “reb,” fell over an embankment. In falling he did not release his
hold on his prisoner. Although his hip was severely injured, he held
fast until some of his comrades came to his aid and pulled them up.
These expeditions were very dangerous. Sometimes the men had to go five
or ten miles during the night over on the rebel side and capture or
destroy whatever they could find.
While at Camp Shaw, there was a deserter who came into Beaufort. He was
allowed his freedom about the city and was not molested. He remained
about the place a little while and returned to the rebels again. On
his return to Beaufort a second time, he was held as a spy, tried,
and sentenced to death, for he was a traitor. The day he was shot, he
was placed on a hearse with his coffin inside, a guard was placed
either side of the hearse, and he was driven through the town. All the
soldiers and people in town were out, as this was to be a warning to
the soldiers. Our regiment was in line on dress parade. They drove with
him to the rear of our camp, where he was shot. I shall never forget
this scene.
While at Camp Shaw, Chaplain Fowler, Robert Defoe, and several of our
boys were captured while tapping some telegraph wires. Robert Defoe was
confined in the jail at Walterborough, S. C., for about twenty months.
When Sherman’s army reached Pocotaligo he made his escape and joined
his company (Company G). He had not been paid, as he had refused the
reduced pay offered by the government. Before we got to camp, where the
pay-rolls could be made out, he sickened and died of small-pox, and was
buried at Savannah, never having been paid one cent for nearly three
years of service. He left no heirs and his account was never settled.
In winter, when it was very cold, I would take a mess-pan, put a little
earth in the bottom, and go to the cook-shed and fill it nearly full of
coals, carry it back to my tent and put another pan over it; so when
the provost guard went through camp after taps, they would not see the
light, as it was against the rules to have a light after taps. In this
way I was heated and kept very warm.
[Illustration:
MAJOR H. A. WHITNEY
LIEUT. J. B. WEST
HENRY BATCHLOTT
STEWARD OF THE JOHN ADAMS]
A mess-pan is made of sheet iron, something like our roasting pans,
only they are nearly as large round as a peck measure, but not so deep.
We had fresh beef once in a while, and we would have soup, and the
vegetables they put in this soup were dried and pressed. They looked
like hops. Salt beef was our stand-by. Sometimes the men would have
what we called slap-jacks. This was flour, made into bread and spread
thin on the bottom of the mess-pan to cook. Each man had one of them,
with a pint of tea, for his supper, or a pint of tea and five or six
hard-tack. I often got my own meals, and would fix some dishes for the
non-commissioned officers also.
Mrs. Chamberlain, our quartermaster’s wife, was with us here. She was
a beautiful woman; I can see her pleasant face before me now, as she,
with Captain Trowbridge, would sit and converse with me in my tent two
or three hours at a time. She was also with me on Cole Island, and I
think we were the only women with the regiment while there. I remember
well how, when she first came into camp, Captain Trowbridge brought her
to my tent and introduced her to me. I found her then, as she remained
ever after, a lovely person, and I always admired her cordial and
friendly ways.
Our boys would say to me sometimes, “Mrs. King, why is it you are so
kind to us? you treat us just as you do the boys in your own company.”
I replied, “Well, you know, all the boys in other companies are the
same to me as those in my Company E; you are all doing the same duty,
and I will do just the same for you.” “Yes,” they would say, “we know
that, because you were the first woman we saw when we came into camp,
and you took an interest in us boys ever since we have been here, and
we are very grateful for all you do for us.”
When at Camp Shaw, I visited the hospital in Beaufort, where I met
Clara Barton. There were a number of sick and wounded soldiers there,
and I went often to see the comrades. Miss Barton was always very
cordial toward me, and I honored her for her devotion and care of those
men.
There was a man, John Johnson, who with his family was taken by our
regiment at Edisto. This man afterwards worked in the hospital and was
well known to Miss Barton. I have been told since that when she went
South, in 1883, she tried to look this man up, but learned he was dead.
His son is living in Edisto, Rev. J. J. Johnson, and is the president
of an industrial school on that island and a very intelligent man.
He was a small child when his father and family were captured by our
regiment at Edisto.
VI
ON MORRIS AND OTHER ISLANDS
Fort Wagner being only a mile from our camp, I went there two or three
times a week, and would go up on the ramparts to watch the gunners send
their shells into Charleston (which they did every fifteen minutes),
and had a full view of the city from that point. Outside of the fort
were many skulls lying about; I have often moved them one side out of
the path. The comrades and I would have quite a debate as to which
side the men fought on. Some thought they were the skulls of our boys;
others thought they were the enemy’s; but as there was no definite way
to know, it was never decided which could lay claim to them. They were
a gruesome sight, those fleshless heads and grinning jaws, but by this
time I had become accustomed to worse things and did not feel as I
might have earlier in my camp life.
It seems strange how our aversion to seeing suffering is overcome in
war,--how we are able to see the most sickening sights, such as men
with their limbs blown off and mangled by the deadly shells, without
a shudder; and instead of turning away, how we hurry to assist in
alleviating their pain, bind up their wounds, and press the cool water
to their parched lips, with feelings only of sympathy and pity.
About the first of June, 1864, the regiment was ordered to Folly
Island, staying there until the latter part of the month, when it was
ordered to Morris Island. We landed on Morris Island between June and
July, 1864. This island was a narrow strip of sandy soil, nothing
growing on it but a few bushes and shrubs. The camp was one mile from
the boat landing, called Pawnell Landing, and the landing one mile from
Fort Wagner.
Colonel Higginson had left us in May of this year, on account of wounds
received at Edisto. All the men were sorry to lose him. They did not
want him to go, they loved him so. He was kind and devoted to his men,
thoughtful for their comfort, and we missed his genial presence from
the camp.
The regiment under Colonel Trowbridge did garrison duty, but they had
troublesome times from Fort Gregg, on James Island, for the rebels
would throw a shell over on our island every now and then. Finally
orders were received for the boys to prepare to take Fort Gregg, each
man to take 150 rounds of cartridges, canteens of water, hard-tack, and
salt beef. This order was sent three days prior to starting, to allow
them to be in readiness. I helped as many as I could to pack haversacks
and cartridge boxes.
The fourth day, about five o’clock in the afternoon, the call was
sounded, and I heard the first sergeant say, “Fall in, boys, fall in,”
and they were not long obeying the command. Each company marched out of
its street, in front of their colonel’s headquarters, where they rested
for half an hour, as it was not dark enough, and they did not want the
enemy to have a chance to spy their movements. At the end of this time
the line was formed with the 103d New York (white) in the rear, and
off they started, eager to get to work. It was quite dark by the time
they reached Pawnell Landing. I have never forgotten the good-bys of
that day, as they left camp. Colonel Trowbridge said to me as he left,
“Good-by, Mrs. King, take care of yourself if you don’t see us again.”
I went with them as far as the landing, and watched them until they got
out of sight, and then I returned to the camp. There was no one at camp
but those left on picket and a few disabled soldiers, and one woman, a
friend of mine, Mary Shaw, and it was lonesome and sad, now that the
boys were gone, some never to return.
Mary Shaw shared my tent that night, and we went to bed, but not to
sleep, for the fleas nearly ate us alive. We caught a few, but it did
seem, now that the men were gone, that every flea in camp had located
my tent, and caused us to vacate. Sleep being out of the question, we
sat up the remainder of the night.
About four o’clock, July 2, the charge was made. The firing could be
plainly heard in camp. I hastened down to the landing and remained
there until eight o’clock that morning. When the wounded arrived, or
rather began to arrive, the first one brought in was Samuel Anderson of
our company. He was badly wounded. Then others of our boys, some with
their legs off, arm gone, foot off, and wounds of all kinds imaginable.
They had to wade through creeks and marshes, as they were discovered by
the enemy and shelled very badly. A number of the men were lost, some
got fastened in the mud and had to cut off the legs of their pants, to
free themselves. The 103d New York suffered the most, as their men were
very badly wounded.
My work now began. I gave my assistance to try to alleviate their
sufferings. I asked the doctor at the hospital what I could get for
them to eat. They wanted soup, but that I could not get; but I had a
few cans of condensed milk and some turtle eggs, so I thought I would
try to make some custard. I had doubts as to my success, for cooking
with turtle eggs was something new to me, but the adage has it,
“Nothing ventured, nothing done,” so I made a venture and the result
was a very delicious custard. This I carried to the men, who enjoyed
it very much. My services were given at all times for the comfort of
these men. I was on hand to assist whenever needed. I was enrolled as
company laundress, but I did very little of it, because I was always
busy doing other things through camp, and was employed all the time
doing something for the officers and comrades.
After this fight, the regiment did not return to the camp for one
month. They were ordered to Cole Island in September, where they
remained until October. About November 1, 1864, six companies were
detailed to go to Gregg Landing, Port Royal Ferry, and the rebels in
some way found out some of our forces had been removed and gave our
boys in camp a hard time of it, for several nights. In fact, one night
it was thought the boys would have to retreat. The colonel told me to
go down to the landing, and if they were obliged to retreat, I could go
aboard one of our gunboats. One of the gunboats got in the rear, and
began to shell General Beauregard’s force, which helped our boys retain
their possession.
About November 15, I received a letter from Sergeant King, saying the
boys were still lying three miles from Gregg Landing and had not had a
fight yet; that the rebels were waiting on them and they on the rebels,
and each were holding their own; also that General Sherman had taken
Fort McAllister, eight miles from Savannah. After receiving this letter
I wanted to get to Beaufort, so I could be near to them and so be able
to get news from my husband. November 23 I got a pass for Beaufort.
I arrived at Hilton Head about three o’clock next day, but there had
been a battle, and a steamer arrived with a number of wounded men; so
I could not get a transfer to Beaufort. The doctor wished me to remain
over until Monday. I did not want to stay. I was anxious to get off, as
I knew no one at Hilton Head.