"Let me so lib dat when I die I shall _hab manners_, dat I shall know
what to say when I see my Heabenly Lord."
"Let me lib wid de musket in one hand, an' de Bible in de oder,--dat if
I die at de muzzle ob de musket, die in de water, die on de land, I may
know I hab de bressed Jesus in my hand, an' hab no fear."
"I hab lef' my wife in de land o' bondage; my little ones dey say eb'ry
night, Whar is my fader? But when I die, when de bressed mornin' rises,
when I shall stan' in de glory, wid one foot on de water an' one foot on
de land, den, O Lord, I shall see my wife an' my little chil'en once
more."
These sentences I noted down, as best I could, beside the glimmering
camp-fire last night. The same person was the hero of a singular little
_contre-temps_ at a funeral in the afternoon. It was our first funeral.
The man had died in hospital, and we had chosen a picturesque
burial-place above the river, near the old church, and beside a little
nameless cemetery, used by generations of slaves. It was a regular
military funeral, the coffin being draped with the American flag, the
escort marching behind, and three volleys fired over the grave. During
the services there was singing, the chaplain deaconing out the hymn in
their favorite way. This ended, he announced his text,--"This poor man
cried, and the Lord heard him, and delivered him out of all his
trouble." Instantly, to my great amazement, the cracked voice of the
chorister was uplifted, intoning the text, as if it were the first verse
of another hymn. So calmly was it done, so imperturbable were all the
black countenances, that I half began to conjecture that the chaplain
himself intended it for a hymn, though I could imagine no prospective
rhyme for _trouble_, unless it were approximated by _debbil_,--which is,
indeed, a favorite reference, both with the men and with his Reverence.
But the chaplain, peacefully awaiting, gently repeated his text after
the chant, and to my great relief the old chorister waived all further
recitative and let the funeral discourse proceed.
Their memories are a vast bewildered chaos of Jewish history and
biography; and most of the great events of the past, down to the period
of the American Revolution, they instinctively attribute to Moses. There
is a fine bold confidence in all their citations, however, and the
record never loses piquancy in their hands, though strict accuracy may
suffer. Thus, one of my captains, last Sunday, heard a colored exhorter
at Beaufort proclaim, "Paul may plant, _and may polish wid water_, but
it won't do," in which the sainted Apollos would hardly have recognized
himself.
Just now one of the soldiers came to me to say that he was about to be
married to a girl in Beaufort, and would I lend him a dollar and
seventy-five cents to buy the wedding outfit? It seemed as if matrimony
on such moderate terms ought to be encouraged, in these days; and so I
responded to the appeal.
* * * * *
_December 16._
To-day a young recruit appeared here, who had been the slave of Colonel
Sammis, one of the leading Florida refugees. Two white companions came
with him, who also appeared to be retainers of the Colonel, and I asked
them to dine. Being likewise refugees, they had stories to tell, and
were quite agreeable: one was English-born, the other Floridian, a dark,
sallow Southerner, very well-bred. After they had gone, the Colonel
himself appeared. I told him that I had been entertaining his white
friends, and after a while he quietly let out the remark,--
"Yes, one of those white friends of whom you speak is a boy raised on
one of my plantations; he has travelled with me to the North and passed
for white, and he always keeps away from the negroes."
Certainly no such suspicion had ever crossed my mind.
I have noticed one man in the regiment who would easily pass for
white,--a little sickly drummer, aged fifty at least, with brown eyes
and reddish hair, who is said to be the son of one of our commodores. I
have seen perhaps a dozen persons as fair or fairer, among fugitive
slaves, but they were usually young children. It touched me far more to
see this man, who had spent more than half a lifetime in this low
estate, and for whom it now seemed too late to be anything but a
"nigger." This offensive word, by the way, is almost as common with them
as at the North, and far more common than with well-bred slave-holders.
They have meekly accepted it. "Want to go out to de nigger-houses, Sah,"
is the universal impulse of sociability, when they wish to cross the
lines. "He hab twenty house-servants, an' two hundred head o' nigger,"
is a still more degrading form of phrase, in which the epithet is
limited to the field-hands, and they estimated like so many cattle. This
want of self-respect of course interferes with the authority of the
non-commissioned officers, which is always difficult to sustain, even in
white regiments. "He needn't try to play de white man ober me," was the
protest of a soldier against his corporal the other day. To counteract
this, I have often to remind them that they do not obey their officers
because they are white, but because they are their officers; and
guard-duty is an admirable school for this, because they readily
understand that the sergeant or corporal of the guard has for the time
more authority than any commissioned officer who is not on duty. It is
necessary also for their superiors to treat the non-commissioned
officers with careful courtesy, and I often caution the line-officers
never to call them "Sam" or "Will," nor omit the proper handle to their
names. The value of the habitual courtesies of the regular army is
exceedingly apparent with these men: an officer of polished manners can
wind them round his finger, while white soldiers seem rather to prefer a
certain roughness. The demeanor of my men to each other is very
courteous, and yet I see none of that sort of upstart conceit which is
sometimes offensive among free negroes at the North, the dandy-barber
strut. This is an agreeable surprise, for I feared that freedom and
regimentals would produce precisely that.
They seem the world's perpetual children, docile, gay, and lovable, in
the midst of this war for freedom on which they have intelligently
entered. Last night, before "taps," there was the greatest noise in camp
that I had ever heard, and I feared some riot. On going out, I found the
most tumultuous sham-fight proceeding in total darkness, two
companies playing like boys, beating tin cups for drums. When some
of them saw me they seemed a little dismayed, and came and said,
beseechingly,--"Cunnel, Sah, you hab no objection to we playin',
Sah?"--which objection I disclaimed; but soon they all subsided, rather
to my regret, and scattered merrily. Afterward I found that some other
officer had told them that I considered the affair too noisy, so that I
felt a mild self-reproach when one said, "Cunnel, wish you had let we
play a little longer, Sah." Still I was not sorry, on the whole; for
these sham-fights between companies would in some regiments lead to real
ones, and there is a latent jealousy here between the Florida and
South-Carolina men, which sometimes makes me anxious.
The officers are more kind and patient with the men than I should
expect, since the former are mostly young, and drilling tries the
temper; but they are aided by hearty satisfaction in the results already
attained. I have never yet heard a doubt expressed among the officers as
to the _superiority_ of these men to white troops in aptitude for drill
and discipline, because of their imitativeness and docility, and the
pride they take in the service. One captain said to me to-day, "I have
this afternoon taught my men to load-in-nine-times, and they do it
better than we did it in my former company in three months." I can
personally testify that one of our best lieutenants, an Englishman,
taught a part of his company the essential movements of the "school for
skirmishers" in a single lesson of two hours, so that they did them very
passably, though I feel bound to discourage such haste. However, I
"formed square" on the third battalion-drill. Three-fourths of drill
consist of attention, imitation, and a good ear for time; in the other
fourth, which consists of the application of principles, as, for
instance, performing by the left flank some movement before learned by
the right, they are perhaps slower than better-educated men. Having
belonged to five different drill-clubs before entering the army, I
certainly ought to know something of the resources of human awkwardness,
and I can honestly say that they astonish me by the facility with which
they do things. I expected much harder work in this respect.
The habit of carrying burdens on the head gives them erectness of
figure, even where physically disabled. I have seen a woman, with a
brimming water-pail balanced on her head,--or perhaps a cup, saucer, and
spoon,--stop suddenly, turn round, stoop to pick up a missile, rise
again, fling it, light a pipe, and go through many evolutions with
either hand or both, without spilling a drop. The pipe, by the way,
gives an odd look to a well-dressed young girl on Sunday, but one often
sees that spectacle. The passion for tobacco among our men continues
quite absorbing, and I have piteous appeals for some arrangement by
which they can buy it on credit, as we have yet no sutler. Their
imploring, "Cunnel, we can't _lib_ widout it, Sah," goes to my heart;
and as they cannot read, I cannot even have the melancholy satisfaction
of supplying them with the excellent anti-tobacco tracts of Mr. Trask.
* * * * *
_December 19._
Last night the water froze in the adjutant's tent, but not in mine.
To-day has been mild and beautiful. The blacks say they do not feel the
cold so much as the white officers do, and perhaps it is so, though
their health evidently suffers more from dampness. On the other hand,
while drilling on very warm days, they have seemed to suffer more from
heat than their officers. But they dearly love fire, and at night will
always have it, if possible, even on the minutest scale,--a mere handful
of splinters, that seems hardly more efficacious than a friction-match.
Probably this is a natural habit for the short-lived coolness of an
out-door country; and then there is something delightful in this rich
pine, which burns like a tar-barrel. It was perhaps encouraged by the
masters, as the only cheap luxury the slaves had at hand.
As one grows more acquainted with the men, their individualities emerge;
and I find first their faces, then their characters, to be as distinct
as those of whites. It is very interesting the desire they show to do
their duty and to improve as soldiers; they evidently think about it,
and see the importance of the thing; they say to me that we white men
cannot stay and be their leaders always, and that they must learn to
depend on themselves, or else relapse into their former condition.
Beside the superb branch of uneatable bitter oranges which decks my
tent-pole, I have to-day hung up a long bough of finger-sponge, which
floated to the riverbank. As winter advances, butterflies gradually
disappear: one species (a _Vanessa_) lingers; three others have vanished
since I came. Mocking-birds are abundant, but rarely sing; once or twice
they have reminded me of the red thrush, but are inferior, as I have
always thought. The colored people all say that it will be much cooler;
but my officers do not think so, perhaps because last winter was so
unusually mild,--with only one frost, they say.
* * * * *
_December 20._
Philoprogenitiveness is an important organ for an officer of colored
troops; and I happen to be well provided with it. It seems to be the
theory of all military usages, in fact, that soldiers are to be treated
like children; and these singular persons, who never know their own age
till they are past middle life, and then choose a birthday with such
precision,--"Fifty year old, Sah, de fus' last April,"--prolong the
privilege of childhood.
I am perplexed nightly for counter-signs,--their range of proper names
is so distressingly limited, and they make such amazing work of every
new one. At first, to be sure, they did not quite recognize the need of
any variation: one night some officer asked a sentinel whether he had
the countersign yet, and was indignantly answered,--"Should tink I hab
'em, hab 'em for a fortnight"; which seems a long epoch for that magic
word to hold out. To-night I thought I would have "Fredericksburg," in
honor of Burnside's reported victory, using the rumor quickly, for fear
of a contradiction. Later, in comes a captain, gets the countersign for
his own use, but presently returns, the sentinel having pronounced it
incorrect. On inquiry, it appears that the sergeant of the guard, being
weak in geography, thought best to substitute the more familiar word,
"Crockery-ware"; which was, with perfect gravity, confided to all the
sentinels, and accepted without question. O life! what is the fun of
fiction beside thee?
I should think they would suffer and complain, these cold nights; but
they say nothing, though there is a good deal of coughing. I should
fancy that the scarlet trousers must do something to keep them warm, and
wonder that they dislike them so much, when they are so much like their
beloved fires. They certainly multiply fire-light, in any case. I often
notice that an infinitesimal flame, with one soldier standing by it,
looks like quite a respectable conflagration, and it seems as if a group
of them must dispel dampness.
* * * * *
_December 21._
To a regimental commander no book can be so fascinating as the
consolidated Morning Report, which is ready about nine, and tells how
many in each company are sick, absent, on duty, and so on. It is one's
newspaper and daily mail; I never grow tired of it. If a single recruit
has come in, I am always eager to see how he looks on paper.
To-night the officers are rather depressed by rumors of Burnside's being
defeated, after all. I am fortunately equable and undepressible; and it
is very convenient that the men know too little of the events of the war
to feel excitement or fear. They know General Saxton and me,--"de
General" and "de Cunnel,"--and seem to ask no further questions. We are
the war. It saves a great deal of trouble, while it lasts, this
childlike confidence; nevertheless, it is our business to educate them
to manhood, and I see as yet no obstacle. As for the rumor, the world
will no doubt roll round, whether Burnside is defeated or succeeds.
* * * * *
_Christmas Day._
"We'll fight for liberty
Till de Lord shall call us home;
We'll soon be free
Till de Lord shall call us home."
This is the hymn which the slaves at Georgetown, South Carolina, were
whipped for singing when President Lincoln was elected. So said a little
drummer-boy, as he sat at my tent's edge last night and told me his
story; and he showed all his white teeth as he added,--"Dey tink '_de
Lord_' meant for say de Yankees."
Last night, at dress-parade, the adjutant read General Saxton's
Proclamation for the New-Year's Celebration. I think they understood it,
for there was cheering in all the company-streets afterwards. Christmas
is the great festival of the year for this people; but, with New-Year's
coming after, we could have no adequate programme for to-day, and so
celebrated Christmas Eve with pattern simplicity. We omitted, namely,
the mystic curfew which we call "taps," and let them sit up and burn
their fires and have their little prayer-meetings as late as they
desired; and all night, as I waked at intervals, I could hear them
praying and "shouting" and clattering with hands and heels. It seemed to
make them very happy, and appeared to be at least an innocent Christmas
dissipation, as compared with some of the convivialities of the
"superior race" hereabouts.
* * * * *
_December 26._
The day passed with no greater excitement for the men than
target-shooting, which they enjoyed. I had the private delight of the
arrival of our much-desired surgeon and his nephew, the captain, with
letters and news from home. They also bring the good tidings that
General Saxton is not to be removed, as had been reported.
Two different stands of colors have arrived for us, and will be
presented at New-Year's,--one from friends in New York, and the other
from a lady in Connecticut. I see that "Frank Leslie's Illustrated
Weekly" of December twentieth has a highly imaginative picture of the
muster-in of our first company, and also of a skirmish on the late
expedition.
I must not forget the prayer overheard last night by one of the
captains:--"O Lord! when I tink ob dis Kismas and las' year de Kismas.
Las' Kismas he in de Secesh, and notin' to eat but grits, and no salt in
'em. Dis year in de camp, and too much victual!" This "too much" is a
favorite phrase out of their grateful hearts, and did not in this case
denote an excess of dinner,--as might be supposed,--but of thanksgiving.
* * * * *
_December 29._
Our new surgeon has begun his work most efficiently: he and the chaplain
have converted an old gin-house into a comfortable hospital, with ten
nice beds and straw pallets. He is now, with a hearty professional
faith, looking round for somebody to put into it. I am afraid the
regiment will accommodate him; for, although he declares that these men
do not sham sickness, as he expected, their catarrh is an unpleasant
reality. They feel the dampness very much, and make such a coughing at
dress-parade that I have urged him to administer a dose of
cough-mixture, all round, just before that pageant. Are the colored race
_tough_? is my present anxiety; and it is odd that physical
insufficiency, the only discouragement not thrown in our way by the
newspapers, is the only discouragement which finds any place in our
minds. They are used to sleeping in-doors in winter, herded before
fires, and so they feel the change. Still, the regiment is as healthy as
the average, and experience will teach us something.[B]
* * * * *
_December 30._
On the first of January we are to have a slight collation, ten oxen or
so, barbecued,--or not properly barbecued, but roasted whole. Touching
the length of time required to "do" an ox, no two housekeepers appear to
agree. Accounts vary from two hours to twenty-four. We shall happily
have enough to try all gradations of roasting, and suit all tastes, from
Miss A.'s to mine. But fancy me proffering a spare-rib, well done, to
some fair lady! What ever are we to do for spoons and forks and plates?
Each soldier has his own, and is sternly held responsible for it by
"Army Regulations." But how provide for the multitude? Is it customary,
I ask you, to help to tenderloin with one's fingers? Fortunately, the
Major is to see to that department. Great are the advantages of military
discipline: for anything perplexing, detail a subordinate.
* * * * *
_New-Year's Eve._
My housekeeping at home is not, perhaps, on any very extravagant scale.
Buying beefsteak, I usually go to the extent of two or three pounds. Yet
when, this morning at daybreak, the quartermaster called to inquire how
many cattle I would have killed for roasting, I turned over in bed, and
answered composedly, "Ten,--and keep three to be fatted."
Fatted, quotha! Not one of the beasts at present appears to possess an
ounce of superfluous flesh. Never were seen such lean kine. As they
swing on vast spits, composed of young trees, the fire-light glimmers
through their ribs, as if they were great lanterns. But no matter, they
are cooking,--nay, they are cooked.
One at least is taken off to cool, and will be replaced to-morrow to
warm up. It was roasted three hours, and well done, for I tasted it. It
is so long since I tasted fresh beef that forgetfulness is possible; but
I fancied this to be successful. I tried to imagine that I liked the
Homeric repast, and certainly the whole thing has been far more
agreeable than was to be expected. The doubt now is, whether I have made
a sufficient provision for my household. I should have roughly guessed
that ten beeves would feed as many million people, it has such a
stupendous sound; but General Saxton predicts a small social party of
five thousand, and we fear that meat will run short, unless they prefer
bone. One of the cattle is so small, we are hoping it may turn out veal.
For drink, we aim at the simple luxury of molasses-and-water, a barrel
per company, ten in all. Liberal housekeepers may like to know that for
a barrel of water we allow three gallons of molasses, half a pound of
ginger, and a quart of vinegar,--this last being a new ingredient for my
untutored palate, though all the rest are amazed at my ignorance. Hard
bread, with more molasses, and a dessert of tobacco, complete the
festive repast, destined to cheer, but not inebriate.
On this last point, of inebriation, this is certainly a wonderful camp.
For us, it is absolutely omitted from the list of vices. I have never
heard of a glass of liquor in the camp, nor of any effort either to
bring it in or to keep it out. A total absence of the circulating-medium
might explain the abstinence,--not that it seems to have that effect
with white soldiers,--but it would not explain the silence. The craving
for tobacco is constant and not to be allayed, like that of a mother for
her children; but I have never heard whiskey even wished for, save on
Christmas Day, and then only by one man, and he spoke with a hopeless
ideal sighing, as one alludes to the Golden Age. I am amazed at this
total omission of the most inconvenient of all camp-appetites. It
certainly is not the result of exhortation, for there has been no
occasion for any, and even the pledge would scarcely seem efficacious
where hardly anybody can write.
I do not think there is a great visible eagerness for to-morrow's
festival: it is not their way to be very jubilant over anything this
side of the New Jerusalem. They know also that those in this Department
are nominally free already, and that the practical freedom has to be
maintained, in any event, by military success. But they will enjoy it
greatly, and we shall have a multitude of people.
* * * * *
_January 1, 1863_ (evening).
A happy New-Year to civilized, people,--mere white folks. Our festival
has come and gone, with perfect success, and our good General has been
altogether satisfied. Last night the great fires were kept smouldering
in the pits, and the beeves were cooked more or less, chiefly
more,--during which time they had to be carefully watched, and the great
spits turned by main force. Happy were the merry fellows who were
permitted to sit up all night, and watch the glimmering flames that
threw a thousand fantastic shadows among the great gnarled oaks. And
such a chattering as I was sure to hear, whenever I awoke, that night!
My first greeting to-day was from one of the most stylish sergeants, who
approached me with the following little speech, evidently the result of
some elaboration:--
"I tink myself happy, dis New-Year's Day, for salute my own Cunnel. Dis
day las' year I was servant to a Cunnel ob Secesh; but now I hab de
privilege for salute my own Cunnel."
That officer, with the utmost sincerity, reciprocated the sentiment.
About ten o'clock the people began to collect by land, and also by
water,--in steamers sent by General Saxton for the purpose; and from
that time all the avenues of approach were thronged. The multitude were
chiefly colored women, with gay handkerchiefs on their heads, and a
sprinkling of men, with that peculiarly respectable look which these
people always have on Sundays and holidays. There were many white
visitors also,--ladies on horseback and in carriages, superintendents
and teachers, officers and cavalry-men. Our companies were marched to
the neighborhood of the platform, and allowed to sit or stand, as at the
Sunday services; the platform was occupied by ladies and dignitaries,
and by the band of the Eighth Maine, which kindly volunteered for the
occasion; the colored people filled up all the vacant openings in the
beautiful grove around, and there was a cordon of mounted visitors
beyond. Above, the great live-oak branches and their trailing moss;
beyond the people, a glimpse of the blue river.
The services began at half-past eleven o'clock, with prayer by our
chaplain, Mr. Fowler, who is always, on such occasions, simple,
reverential, and impressive. Then the President's Proclamation was read
by Dr. W. H. Brisbane, a thing infinitely appropriate, a
South-Carolinian addressing South-Carolinians; for he was reared among
these very islands, and here long since emancipated his own slaves. Then
the colors were presented to us by the Rev. Mr. French, a chaplain who
brought them from the donors in New York. All this was according to the
programme. Then followed an incident so simple, so touching, so utterly
unexpected and startling, that I can scarcely believe it on recalling,
though it gave the key-note to the whole day. The very moment the
speaker had ceased, and just as I took and waved the flag, which now for
the first time meant anything to these poor people, there suddenly
arose, close beside the platform, a strong male voice, (but rather
cracked and elderly,) into which two women's voices instantly blended,
singing, as if by an impulse that could no more be repressed than the
morning note of the song-sparrow,--
"My Country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty,
Of thee I sing!"
People looked at each other, and then at us on the platform, to see
whence came, this interruption, not set down in the bills. Firmly and
irrepressibly the quavering voices sang on, verse after verse; others of
the colored people joined in; some whites on the platform began, but I
motioned them to silence. I never saw anything so electric; it made all
other words cheap; it seemed the choked voice of a race at last
unloosed. Nothing could be more wonderfully unconscious; art could not
have dreamed of a tribute to the day of jubilee that should be so
affecting; history will not believe it; and when I came to speak of it,
after it was ended, tears were everywhere. If you could have heard how
quaint and innocent it was! Old Tiff and his children might have sung
it; and close before me was a little slave-boy, almost white, who seemed
to belong to the party, and even he must join in. Just think of it!--the
first day they had ever had a country, the first flag they had ever seen
which promised anything to their people, and here, while mere spectators
stood in silence, waiting for my stupid words, these simple souls burst
out in their lay, as if they were by their own hearths at home! When
they stopped, there was nothing to do for it but to speak, and I went
on; but the life of the whole day was in those unknown people's song.
Receiving the flags, I gave them into the hands of two fine-looking men,
jet-black, as color-guard, and they also spoke, and very
effectively,--Sergeant Prince Rivers and Corporal Robert Sutton. The
regiment sang "Marching Along," and then General Saxton spoke, in his
own simple, manly way, and Mrs. Frances D. Gage spoke very sensibly to
the women, and Judge Stickney, from Florida, added something; then some
gentlemen sang an ode, and the regiment the John Brown song, and then
they went to their beef and molasses. Everything was very orderly, and
they seemed to have a very gay time. Most of the visitors had far to go,
and so dispersed before dress-parade, though the band stayed to enliven
it. In the evening we had letters from home, and General Saxton had a
reception at his house, from which I excused myself; and so ended one of
the most enthusiastic and happy gatherings I ever knew. The day was
perfect, and there was nothing but success.
I forgot to say, that, in the midst, of the services, it was announced
that General Fremont was appointed Commander-in-Chief,--an announcement
which was received with immense cheering, as would have been almost
anything else, I verily believe, at that moment of high-tide. It was
shouted across by the pickets above,--a way in which we often receive
news, but not always trustworthy.