Chapter 4

When our Company F, Fifty-sixth Regiment, had been in the Camp of Instruction a few weeks, a young, enthusiastic recruit came in. He showed all the marks of a good soldier, even to a very fine opinion of himself. He was eager to take a stand in the front rank from the start; and he was speedily supplied with the regulation equipment. Then he called on some of the boys at a game of marbles, who interrogated him about his outfit, and inquired if he had got his marbles. He: "Do I get marbles?" They: "Of course every soldier is allowed a set of marbles." He: "And where do I get my marbles?" "You will find your marbles at the Colonel's tent, but when you go after them you must salute the Colonel." He: "Salute how?" "This way: Catch your hat with this hand, raise the other hand, fingers extended, and strike out this way." After practicing him for awhile, they told him that would do--he had it right. Then he bolted for the Colonel's tent with all the assurance with which he would accost a township constable. The Colonel was a West Pointer and as dignified and austere as the Czar of all the Russias. After saluting the Colonel, he said, "Colonel, I have just come in and drawed my outfit and have called in to get my marbles." The Colonel: "The h--ll you say! Report to your quarters at once or I'll have you put in the guard-house." When he came back, he looked like a bucket of cold water had been thrown on his patriotic enthusiasm. They inquired, "Did you get your marbles?" He: "No!" "What did the Colonel say?" "He cussed me and threatened to put me in the guard-house."

The reader can imagine what a laugh they had at the breaking in of a real good soldier, who proved faithful to the end. But ever afterwards, whenever he got on a "high hoss," some one would ask him what the Colonel said when he went after his marbles.

A BAD CASE OF ITCH.

In the fall of 1863, while my regiment, the Fifty-sixth North Carolina, was on detail service arresting conscripts and deserters in the middle and western counties, our company headquarters then being at Hannah's Cross Roads in Davidson County, a stout, strapping boy of 18 came from Catawba County to join the army with us. He had two uncles in our company who were off with a detachment; and he, being a stranger to all present, and noticing that he had a bad case of itch, all stood aloof from him. After he had been in camp a few days Iley Gantt got a short furlough to visit his sick wife. He, noticing Gantt's arrangements for going home, inquired what he was going home for. Ike Powell said, "We are sending Gantt home because he has got the each." He: "Well, I've got the each." P.: "Yes, I see you have, and what did you come here with the each for. We've got trouble enough here without the each." He: "Well, if you say so I'll go home too, for I am getting mighty tired of this place anyhow." P.: "Well, that would be the best thing you could do." He: "But I've eat up all the rations I brought from home, and I 'haint got nothing cooked to eat, and I can't cook--never cooked any in my life." P.: "Then I'll tell you what you do; you go to Capt. Grigg and tell him you want a man detailed to cook some rations to do you home; tell him you are going with Gantt, and that you will stay away from here until you are plumb well of the each." The young recruit bolted to the Captain, who soon set him straight on army rules and regulations.

LONGSTREET'S CORPS WAS ON THE WAY TO CHICKAMAUGA.

The same fall I was at High Point, N. C., and saw Longstreet's Corps pass. The trains all stopped there and I mingled and talked much with them. I never saw soldiers in higher spirits. As they had come through Raleigh, they had destroyed the late ex-Governor W. W. Holden's _Raleigh Standard_ printing press. They exhibited papers fastened to sticks like flags, with handfuls of type. Holden had been advocating peace and they considered him a traitor to the South. They said those western Yankees had been having things their own way out there, but Lee's men were going to give them something that they would not forget soon. "We will put them in a trot like we have been chasing them out of Virginia." They were traveling on freight and flat-cars, with as many on top of freight boxes as inside.

About a week after that we were at High Point again, conveying some arrested conscripts to Raleigh, when train load after train load of Federal prisoners passed going from Chickamauga to Richmond. The trains stopped and we talked with those western prisoners and found them very sassy and determined about the Union. One big, red-whiskered fellow said to me: "What you fellers doing back here so far in the rear?" We replied: "We have plenty of men at the front to attend to you fellows. We are just resting and having a good time." He replied, "Yes, d----n you; I guess you are back here hunting for conscripts and trying to force good Union men into your d----d army." His train pulled out and we let him go at that, but thinking from the grit he displayed that he must be a Tennessean or Kentuckian.

SHOOTING AN OUTLAW.

While operating in Randolph County, N. C., in September, 1864, we wounded in the foot and captured a man who had not been in the army but was said to head a band of outlaws. His name was Northcut. He was tried by a little drumhead court marshal and shot on short notice one mile north of Ashboro as we were leaving that section for Wilkes County, where there was a strong Union sentiment hard to hold down. After operating in the mountains several months, where much apple brandy, fat beef, milk and honey abounded, we returned to Randolph and the adjoining counties of Davidson, Moore, Montgomery and Chatham, where there was much work to do. Here we began pressing property, especially horses and feed, from the disloyal to force them to bring in their conscript sons, and soon a number of our company was mounted, only intending to use the horses while operating in that vicinity; but Governor Vance, being advised of it, complained to the Confederate War Department and threatened to turn his militia loose on us and drive us from the State if such conduct was not stopped and all property pressed promptly turned over to the original owners--and we had to come down off our high horses and take it afoot again. Up to that time I had not developed quite courage enough to steal a horse, but was caught red-handed with a good mount in this temporary "critter company."--a furloughed man having given me his horse. So my dignity was shocked when I had to come down from my self-promoted position to a flatfooted infantryman again.

REMOVING FEDERAL PRISONERS FROM RICHMOND, VA., TO ANDERSONVILLE, GA., FEBRUARY AND MARCH, 1864.

I was on a detail and made three trips via Raleigh, Charlotte, Columbia to Branchville, S. C. These prisoners had been confined on Belle's Island, in James River, and were in a most pitiable condition--half starved, half naked. Most of them had been in prison for months and very few had a change of garments. They were ragged, lousy, filthy and infested with smallpox, and most of them had diarrhoea and scurvy and were so weak that when they would swing down out of box-cars their legs would give away when their feet struck the ground, and they would fall in a heap on the ground. I don't think they got anything to eat except a little bread and meat, mostly cornbread. They were transferred in box-cars, forty packed into a car. We sometimes stopped at Raleigh to change cars, and always stopped at Charlotte twelve to twenty-four hours. We ran up the Seaboard to where it crossed the Statesville Railroad, then in the woods. A small branch ran under both roads east and north of crossing, with embankments on south and west, and we put them out there, where they had free access to the branch. One night several crawled up a drain ditch from branch along railroad and got out between the guard; others were caught in the act and stopped.

Old man Tyree, of Company K detail, whose home was not far away, said he could get some bloodhounds that would run them down. He was sent after the dogs and they were put on their tracks after they had been gone four or five hours, and followed them about thirty miles and caught them. The next time we stopped there, at 2 a. m., they, the prisoners, seemed restless, a number being up and moving around near the guard lines. Two or three made a break through the guard lines and escaped in the darkness. Several shots were fired at them, which awoke and roused up the whole camp. They were ordered to lay down, but would not obey, even when the officers ordered us to fire into them. But instead of firing into them, as we were ordered, tried firing a few shots over them, which had the effect to make them lay down. The officers then went among them and told them if anyone got up before day he would be shot down. But still, occasionally, one would get up and a guard would fire over him. At last one of the guards shot and killed one. That might have been omitted, though we had orders to do so. All the guards deplored that rash action. An old, sick Irishman fell in the branch and died that night. I noticed after the war six or eight graves at that wayside camp. Those who escaped that night probably got through, as we never heard of them again.

While on guard in the car with them some of them twitted us about being afraid of our officers. I told them our officers were kind and treated us well; that I had been in the army seven months and had never seen a man bucked and gagged; and, turning to a serious-looking Irishman, who was listening with interest, but had said nothing, I asked him if he had ever seen anything of that kind in their army. He answered, "Yes, my friend; I've been bucked and gagged meself many a time." That was a clincher for me that ended the discussion. The bad treatment of prisoners on both sides makes one of the darkest pictures of that war. We understand statistics show the mortality to be 13 per cent on the Federal side to 9 per cent on the Confederate. My own experience in a Federal prison at the close of the war, while very disagreeable, was much better than those poor fellows were getting with us. But when we take into consideration the superior resources of the United States, they were, to say the least, equally negligent and resentful to their helpless enemies. Point Lookout Federal prison will be treated on in another chapter.

NAVIGATING THE APPOMATTOX RIVER.

It has been mentioned in a former chapter that I was on a detail in winter, commencing the 15th day of January, 1865, to boat wood for the men in the trenches. The detail for Ransom's brigade, composed of six men from each of the five regiments, commanded by Lieut. A. C. Sharpe, of Forty-ninth Regiment. Those from my regiment, Fifty-sixth North Carolina, were Company B, .... McMillan; Company D, .... Parker; Company F, J. C. Elliott (this writer); Company G, Wm. A. Condrey; Company I, Thomas Robbins; Company K, Calvin Deweese. We went back to the canal, which ran seven miles up the river, then two miles in the river up into another two-mile canal, and then into the river again. One mile above the basin or boat landing at Petersburg there were several locks through which boats were raised and lowered, and just below the locks there was a small creek, which ran through a stone culvert under the canal. General Lee had built a high dirt dam across that creek and backed the water on the Yankees and drowned out a part of their lines and forced them back. Besides, this big pond protected our position in that quarter. While we were waiting a few days to get our boats ready, this big dam broke loose and the water came in a solid wall about forty feet high, and striking the canal culvert swept it away, and also cleaned out the south side railroad bridge just below. Then the canal had to cross this creek on a wooden trestle, and while it was being built we had to haul wood at night on railroad from towards Richmond. The enemy had a battery on the Chesterfield side that shelled any trains that moved on that road in daylight. When we first went back to work it was several days before we were furnished with cloth tents, and during that time we had to look out for such quarters as we could find. So our fifty-six contingent prospected an old wood wagon shop, near by our brigade wagon yard. We found this old shop occupied by an old, dilapidated darkey--Uncle Tom--who was supporting himself by cobbling cooperage. After a survey of these premises we informed Uncle Tom that we had decided there was plenty of room for him and us, and we proposed to move in with him at once. While Uncle Tom did not seem at all flattered with our company, he did not openly protest, probably thinking it useless to do so. He said he could make out with one side if we could with the other side, with a common fire between on the ground, while there was a raised floor on each side. We also learned Uncle Tom had another lodger in the person of a young Georgia cracker who professed to belong to a pontoon corps. Uncle Tom had the appearance of being well raised--one of the old-time colored gem-en, who had but little patience for po' white folks and especially soldiers of uncertain reputations. It was a cold, mid-January night when Uncle Tom got down his heavy comforts and made his bed. He had more cover than all of us, and a couple of us insisted that we sleep with him. But Uncle Tom drew the color line on us and objected most emphatically to any such close relations. He said he was used to sleeping by himself and could rest better, besides, he was afraid of dem ar buggers. He was very careful about letting his bedding come in contact with our blankets. We were kind to Uncle Tom, and he soon became reconciled and quite sociable. While here one day our Georgia cracker shouldered his gun and made a foray several miles up the south side of railroad in quest of pork or anything else to eat. He returned that evening with about a bushel of corn. He said he found some cars loaded with corn on a side-track and had broken in and helped himself. He said, "As I come along up yonder I met General Lee. I saluted him as politely as I could, but he looked at me powerful hard, and I thought he was going to ask me where I got that corn, but he didn't. He was going out to where his big dam had broken loose, and was near where the canal was washed out. I stopped and watched him pass there, and he never looked out that way at all. I don't believe General Lee cares a damn about his big dam breaking and washing out the canal and railroad." There were a few fat hens that ranged in our wagon yard. The next evening our cracker took a handful of his corn and passed innocent-like near a large, gentle hen, and dropping a few grains on into our shop quarters, the hen, following, was soon inside and the door was closed; and that hen failed to return home to roost. Uncle Tom was out at the time and never knew where that chicken came from. The next morning, when Uncle Tom was shown how thick the grease was on the pot, he said, "That sho' is a fat chicken." Then we told him if he had joined our mess and let us sleep with him he would have had a share in the chicken pot. He said he never did care a great deal about chicken any way. A few days later we got a good, new cloth tent and moved out and left Uncle Tom and his Georgia cracker alone. After the canal was mended, and we were running our boats, our cracker friend proposed to go up the river with us to forage for turnips; said if we would give him transportation he would divide the "catch" with us. After reaching the woodpile and while we were loading he reconnoitered the neighborhood and said he had located a healthy looking turnip patch; it was pretty close to the house, but thought he could raid it all right after dark. After supper the old man Baldwin, of the Twenty-fifth North Carolina, a rough-looking old mountaineer, who looked like he might have had experience in such raids in time of peace, said he would go with him, and they cheerfully set off. After they had been gone about an hour old man Baldwin came pulling in, puffing and blowing, and said "they put the dogs after us and shot at us. I didn't git but a handful and I dropped them as I got over the fence." Soon our cracker came in, looking like he was suffering a great bereavement, and when we laughed, he said, "I didn't think they would be so d----d particular about a few turnips this far out in the country." So we were all disappointed about our turnip soup. It would have been so nice with a few peppers. The navigation of the river was dangerous during high water. One night, while we were up in the second canal, the river rose several feet and was booming as we came out into it, and the strong current carried our boat against a drift on a small overflowed island, and came near sinking or capsizing it. Then the only way we could get off was down over a rough, shoaly slough, where she went like a bucking broncho. The next boat after us was manned by Alabamians, and they went over the lower rock dam that turned the water into the canal; being good swimmers, they got out, but lost their boat.

The 15th of March our Brigade was relieved from its position between the Appomattox River and the Norfolk railroad, where it had stayed continuously for nearly nine months, and moved about ten miles to the right on Hatch's Run. We came back to Petersburg and were in battle of Fort Steadman, in front of our old position, a sketch of which has been given.

INCIDENTS ON THE LINES.

The Yankees always showed a disposition to be friendly and wanted to talk to us, but our officers would not allow us to talk much, but had us to keep up a sharpshooters' fire on them all the while. However, we would occasionally exchange a few compliments. We used to inquire if they had any more Negroes they wanted buried; if they did, to blow out another hole and send them over and we would cover them up. One night, in front of the Twenty-fifth North Carolina Regiment, they changed their line, moving a section back a little. We inquired what they meant, and if they had an idea of leaving us. They replied, no, they expected to be neighbors for some time yet, but that the Twenty-fifth North Carolina was a little too close and was stealing their rations. The Twenty-fifth was a mountain regiment, every company west of the Blue Ridge, and was known in the brigade as the old roguish Twenty-fifth. It had a good fighting record.

One morning a large hawk came flying along between the lines. Both sides opened fire on it, and it became bewildered and lit on top of a tall poplar on City Point road, midway between the lines, and was soon shot out, both sides cheering and claiming it.

On March 25, after repelling a number of courageous assaults, our right falling back and being near a fort on our left, and assaulting columns pressing our front, we ceased firing to surrender. Our captors came up with flashing eyes and the loveliest smiles on their countenances and shook hands with us in the most enthusiastic manner. I could comprehend how good they felt when we ceased firing on them and they saw that they had gained a great victory. But as I passed through that fort, in and around where the dead of both sides lay thick, and saw a lot of freckle-faced Michigan boys vigorously firing on our men who were running back trying to get out, I felt like I wanted my gun again. Then, as we were carried to the rear, the bullets from our side came singing over us and knocking up dust in the road, our guard said, "Run, Johnnie, run! Run, Johnnie, run!" Our interest being the same, we were soon out of range.

REMINISCENCES OF POINT LOOKOUT PRISON.

When we got there, the 27th of March, 1865, Negro troops guarded the outside walls and white men patrolled inside after night, and I saw nothing to criticise in the prison management; but those who had spent the winter there told some horrible and ludicrous stories of outrageous treatment by the Negro guard which, for awhile, guarded both outside and inside. A Negro guard would hear some one say, "Lay over or let me have some more cover." If the Negro guard heard it he would say, "Who dat talking in dar. Send him out here quick or I'll make you all come out." Then, after double-quicking him around and making him mark time with his bare feet on the snow for a while, he would say, "Now pray for Abraham Lincoln. Now cuss Jeff. Davis. Now pray that some colored gemmen may marry your sister--den I let you go back." Some of these men said they could never die satisfied after they got out until they killed some Negroes on general principles.

A NEGRO SERGEANT WHO CLAIMED HE CARRIED WHITE LADIES' HAIR.

When I went out one day on a work detail I carried out to sell a watch chain made of the hair from a horse's tail or mane, and showed it to a Negro sergeant, who seemed to greatly admire its artistic beauty and inquired if the man who made it could make one of a lady's hair--that he wished to have one made from a lock of his sweetheart's hair that he possessed. I said I did not know; probably it would be too fine--when he answered, "It's no nigger wool; it's white lady har; my girl am a white lady." I answered, I don't know whether he can work it or not.

BEGGING CRUMBS FROM A NEGRO'S TABLE.

One morning as I went out with the stable detail, as we were passing a Negro house, a six-year-old boy came to the door with a plate full of crumbs and crusts to throw out, when we asked him to give it to us. He gleefully held it out, while we rushed for it like hungry hogs. I got a handful. Then I thought; then I hesitated--subjugated, humiliated and degraded to begging the crumbs from a Negro's table. Then all the proud English, Irish and German blood in my veins rose up in protest, and I dashed it to the ground, though I was hungry enough to have licked all the plates in a whole Negro quarter.

TWO PATRIOTIC SOLDIERS AND ONE WHO WAS OUT FOR THE BOUNTY.

One day while working at the quarters of a German artillery company, located on the isthmus next the Potomac side, an American Yankee soldier came around and raised a friendly conversation about the war issues and boasted about how he had fought for the Union and how much longer he would fight. A Louisianian made issue with him and showed all the enthusiastic patriotism for the South. When they had exhausted their patriotic vocabularies the Yankee passed on, our German guard, a young, good-natured fellow, remarked to me, "I bees no war man; I does not want to fight." Then I inquired how he came to be in the army, and he replied, "Oh, I bees a poor man; I has no money; they gives me three hundred dollars bounty, and I bees soldier." Then he remarked, "Our company all voted for McClellan; Lincoln loves the Nigger too much."

ON THE WHARF DETAIL AND WANTING TO STEAL SOMETHING FROM UNCLE SAM'S PLENTIFUL STORES.

Several of us were in the big commissary prying around to get into the bean and potato barrels, when a wagon drove up and a Negro commanded us, saying, "Four you men go upstairs and bring down some cracker boxes and load dis wagon." I got in the push and, as soon as we reached the cracker boxes we give a box a fling from the top of the pack and bursted it, when we all began eating like hogs. In a minute here came the Negro. "What you-ens doin' dar? Dems our rations youse eatin'." "A box fell and bursted, and we are gathering them up as fast as we can." "Well, dat's all right, but don't you-ens eat no mo'." "Can't we have these scraps." "Yes, you may; you may have dem scraps." We already had our pockets stuffed.