Elsewhere I have spoken of an "unconditional surrender" Union man whom I
overhauled while on picket duty on the Norfolk and Petersburg railroad.
All southern men--and women, too, as to that matter--were not so loyal as
that old man was, as is shown by the following incident which occurred on
the morning of our arrival in Suffolk. While marching down the principal
street we were halted for a few minutes. Immediately all the doorsteps of
the houses were appropriated by our men to their own use. My doorstep
belonged to a house which had all the appearance of being occupied by one
of the "first families." Presently a well dressed, intelligent looking,
elderly lady appeared at the door and inquired what regiment ours was.
Before time was given me to reply, a comrade who was sharing the step with
me, said, "One Hundred and Eleventh Rhode Island!" She then asked, "Is
that in North Carolina?" To assist her in locating "Little Rhody," I
remarked that Massachusetts was its nearest neighbor, presuming that all
southerners knew where the "bottled up" hero of Dutch Gap belonged when
at home. Having straightened out her geography, which seemed considerably
mixed, she then wanted to know what we came out there for. I told her we
came to fight for the Union. With considerable fire in her eye, and
vinegar in her tone, she replied, "They tell me you've come down here to
fight for the nasty niggers; and if I were a man, I would resist to the
death before _I_ would do such a thing!" Here the conversation was
suddenly interrupted by the order to "fall in," and I left the old lady
soliloquizing upon the causes which led to the war, and its probable
result to both North and South. Whether she had confounded Rhode Island
with Roanoke Island by reason of the similarity of names, or whether our
sudden appearance in front of her residence had caused her to lose her
reckoning generally, I am not sure. Possibly she was not up in geography.
We had our pastimes when in camp. While we were at Suffolk it was not an
uncommon thing just after supper to see the men of Companies I and K
(commonly known as the Young Men's Christian Association companies)
holding prayer-meetings in the open air and singing revival melodies at
the ends of their streets, while the men of the other companies, at the
ends of their streets, would be dancing to the music of a violin or banjo,
or singing songs of a less spiritual character than those of the
Y. M. C. A. companies, all having a good time in their way, and neither
infringing nor trespassing upon the rights of the others, although some of
the men in the regiment, I feel compelled to say, were not the embodiment
of all the Christian virtues.
While we were in winter quarters on Miner's Hill, the religiously inclined
men of the regiment erected a log chapel in which to hold services in the
evening and on Sundays. No church bell summoned them to worship, but a few
taps of the drum or a few notes from the bugle, or, better still, the
singing of some old, familiar hymn learned in boyhood in New England
homes, served as a "church call," and from every part of the camp the men
came to reverently worship the God of battles. I like good church music,
but believe me when I say that I would not exchange the memory of one of
those grand old hymns which "the boys" used to sing with "the spirit, and
the understanding also," at their meetings in that old log chapel, and
into which they threw their whole souls, for all of the so called
"classical music" which I have since heard rendered by grand organ and
artistic quartette on two continents.
One Sabbath while we were in Suffolk, a special service for the soldiers
who were on duty there was held in one of the churches, the chaplains of
the various regiments officiating. The house was filled to its utmost
capacity,--the galleries, the aisles, the pulpit steps and the
vestibule,--while many were unable to find even standing room. At the
close of the sermon, officers and men knelt together at the same altar,
their confessions and supplications ascending to a common Father, and,
irrespective of distinctive creed or belief, partook of the Lord's Supper,
realizing as never before the truth that "God is no respecter of persons;"
and to one at least of that company of reverent worshipers, the Master's
words, "This do in remembrance of ME," had a deeper significance than ever
before.
Religious services were also held at the Convalescent Camp, for there were
some faithful Christian men even there who did not forget their religious
vows when the fortunes of war called them away from their homes and
accustomed places of worship. At one of the evening meetings in the large
tent, which was filled to its utmost limits, an invitation was given to
those present who were striving, as "soldiers of the cross," to render
faithful service to the Captain of their salvation, to raise the right
hand. In response to the request, a large number of hands were raised. It
occurred, however, to the leader of the meeting that some were there whose
right arms had been shot off, and to such he gave opportunity to raise the
left hand--and there were quite a number raised. But the most affecting
sight was when a few men who had lost both arms in battle, and had only
stumps remaining, rose to their feet and gave evidence of their loyalty to
their Lord and Master. Such men could well sing at the close of the
service:
"God of all nations! sovereign Lord,
In Thy dread name we draw the sword;
We lift the starry flag on high,
That fills with light our stormy sky.
"From treason's rent, from murder's stain,
Guard Thou its folds till peace shall reign,
Till fort and field, till shore and sea,
Join our loud anthem, PRAISE TO THEE!"
I used to be greatly amused at times at the kind of literature which
reached us when in camp from kind friends at home who were solicitous
concerning our moral welfare. Sometimes it was very evident that a book or
tract smuggled itself into the package sent which had never been "passed
upon" by any member of the Christian Commission. Just think of placing a
cook-book in the hands of a man who had been living for months on
hard-tack and salt junk, with no prospect of a change in diet for months
to come!
I am reminded, in this connection, of an incident which occurred in one of
the hospitals in Washington. A kind-hearted Christian lady passed through
the wards one day distributing religious tracts. She placed one in the
hands of a young soldier who was occupying one of the numerous cots. As
she turned away from him on her mission of love, she heard him laugh. The
good woman's feelings were hurt, and retracing her steps she mildly
rebuked him for his seeming rudeness and ingratitude. He begged her pardon
and assured her that no discourtesy was intended, and remarked that he was
amused by the inappropriateness of the title of the tract she had given
him, "The Sin of Dancing," when both of his legs had been shot off.