Soldiering in North Carolina E-Book

Thomas Kirwan

• Herausgeber: Charles River Editors
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 204

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

Pyrrhus Press specializes in bringing books long out of date back to life, allowing today’s readers access to yesterday’s treasures.

Das E-Book Soldiering in North Carolina wird angeboten von Charles River Editors und wurde mit folgenden Begriffen kategorisiert:
civil war; lincoln; union; grant; lee

Leseprobe

Soldiering in North Carolina

Thomas Kirwan

About Pyrrhus Press

Pyrrhus Press specializes in bringing books long out of date back to life, allowing today’s readers access to yesterday’s treasures.

Thomas Kirwan’s Soldiering in North Carolina is an account of the Civil War experiences of the 17th Massachusetts, which fought extensively in North Carolina during the war. As Kirwan explains in the opening:

“The contents of the following pages are presented to the public as matters of fact. They embody some of the writer’s experiences while serving his country in the “land of cotton.” It is true his experiences are tame and unromantic when compared with those of some of the men of the Potomac or the Cumberland; but they are the best he can offer, and need no apology, as the style does, which is rough and unpolished.

Besides giving an account of the 17th Mass. Reg’t, and its participation in the engagements at Kinston, Whitehall, and Goldsboro, something is said of the other old regiments in the department, and the nine months’ men,—also, an account of the contrabands, their habits and disposition—anecdotes…”

PREFACE.

The contents of the following pages are presented to the public as matters of fact. They embody some of the writer’s experiences while serving his country in the “land of cotton.” It is true his experiences are tame and unromantic when compared with those of some of the men of the Potomac or the Cumberland; but they are the best he can offer, and need no apology, as the style does, which is rough and unpolished.

Besides giving an account of the 17th Mass. Reg’t, and its participation in the engagements at Kinston, Whitehall, and Goldsboro, something is said of the other old regiments in the department, and the nine months’ men,—also, an account of the contrabands, their habits and disposition—anecdotes, &c.

DEDICATION.

To the officers and men of the Seventeenth Massachusetts

Regiment, who, through no fault of theirs, have only

lacked the opportunities to render their organization

as famous as that of any regiment from

the old Bay State: whose services have

been mostly of that passive character

—upon the outpost picket, and

performing arduous duty in

the midst of a malarial

country—that suffers

and endures much

without exciting

comment or adding

to the laurels, of which

every true soldier is so proud:

THIS HUMBLE WORK IS DEDICATED,

By one who, with them, has braved the “pestilence that walketh

abroad at noonday,” the fatigues of the march,

and the dangers of the battle.

PART 1.

ENLISTMENT—DEPARTURE—THE VOYAGE—HATTERAS—UP THE NEUSE—NEWBERN—AN ACCOUNT OF THE 17TH—ON PICKET—DOING PROVOST DUTY IN NEWBERN, ETC.

It has been said that man is essentially a “fighting animal,"—that in this “world’s broad field of battle” his life, from the cradle to the grave, is one continued struggle against want and its attendant circumstances,—and that he is the greatest who, be his position what it may, acts well his part. If this be true—and I think it is—then the man who goes to the war only exchanges one mode of strife for another—"the whips and scorns of time,” for interminable drilling, “hard tack and salt horse,"—"the oppressor’s wrong,” for the hardships of the march and the dangers of the battle,—"the proud man’s contumely,” for the murmurings at home that he does not “clean out” the rebels in a week or two,—"the law’s delay,” for the tedium of garrison and camp life,—"the insolence of office,” for the rule (not always gentle or humane) of men placed over him,—and the “bare bodkin,” for the sword and the bayonet. And yet—and yet—

“Ah me! what perils do environ

The man that meddles with cold iron!

What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps

Do dog him still with after claps!”

The severe checks and disasters experienced by the Union arms in the Spring campaign of 1862, culminating in the “seven days’ fight” before Richmond, and the retreat of McClellan’s noble but suffering and crippled army to James river, while it spread sorrow and mourning throughout the land, had the effect of awakening those in power to a full sense of the nation’s peril. When the President called for more men, thereby giving effect to the wishes of the loyal people, I was one of those who helped to swell the volume of that mighty response which echoed back from the hills and prairies, cities and villages, towns and hamlets:

“We are coming, father Abraham, three hundred thousand more!”

Like others, I had to mourn the loss of a friend,—a brave young fellow, who was killed in the second of the “seven days’ fight,” and determined to fill his place, if I could.

On the 4th of August, 1862, I entered my name as a “raw recruit” for Co. F, 19th Mass. Reg’t, as one of the quota of the town of Malden. A friend, struck by my example, or, perhaps, being in that state of mind which needs but little to turn one way or the other, joined with me; but upon going to the office in Boston where enlistments for the 19th were “done up,” we were told recruiting for it was stopped. How times have altered since then,—now, I believe, it would take a battalion to fill it. We were in a fix (at least I was, who wished to go in the 19th), but there was a remedy at hand. A recruiting officer for the 17th, who had an office in Union street, received us willingly, and after being examined and sworn in, we were packed off, with some twenty other recruits, to Camp Cameron in North Cambridge. It was late in the evening when we arrived there, and no preparation being made for us—owing, I suppose, to the constant and rapid influx of recruits, which taxed to their utmost the various departments to fit out and provide for,—we had to turn in, supperless, to a bunk of downy boards, with no covering but our thin citizens’ summer clothes. I thought it was a very uncomfortable resting place at the time, but it was nothing to what I have since known in the way of sleeping accommodation. The next morning I had leisure to look around me and take a survey of the mass of human nature that there commingled for the first time. And truly it was a heterogeneous compound of representatives of nearly every race of people in Europe, and plentifully sprinkled among them was the leaven of the whole—smart, shrewd, intelligent, quick-eyed and quick-witted Americans. And such a confusing babble as prevailed I never heard before. Wrangling and swearing, drinking and eating, talking and laughing,—all combined to give me no very agreeable foretaste of what I had to expect in my new vocation. I noticed others, new, like myself, to such scenes, who seemed mentally dumbfounded, or unconsciously comparing the quiet routine of the life they led at home to the new one they had assumed, and, no doubt, to the great advantage of the former and dislike for the latter. But happily for us all, being the creatures of circumstances, the pliability of our natures leads us to be quickly reconciled to our lot, whatever it may be. The change of life from a citizen to that of a soldier is so radical that few like it at first; but by degrees it becomes endurable, and finally, often, desirable. The recent re-enlistments prove this.

There were several “characters” among the recruits in camp, to whom, if I could, I would devote a few pages, as well as to management of the camp and the method of dovetailing a little innocent private business into that of the public, as practiced by some of the little-great men in authority there; but as paper costs 22 cents per pound, I am warned that I must leave out here and condense there, which is not so pleasant after all.

Men were arriving every day in squads of from twenty to fifty, and leaving at intervals in detachments of from 100 to 500, to be distributed among their respective regiments at the seat of war. At length our turn came. It was on a Friday.—Now, Friday, though generally considered by superstitious persons an unlucky day, has often proved a lucky one for me. I was born on Friday; was married on Friday; and now I started to go to the war on Friday. I shouldn’t wonder if on some Friday in the future I would die—and that will be another great event in my life. Well, we started on a Friday afternoon, and taking the cars at the Old Colony depot in Boston and the boat at Fall River, found ourselves next morning in the city of New York. We were quartered in barracks on White street, furnished with filthy beds, miserable “grub,” and allowed free range of the city. A lieutenant (from Haverhill, I believe) had charge of our squad, which numbered about a hundred, and some of his enthusiastic admirers in the crowd presented him with a sword. There was, of course, a presentation speech, enthusiastic, pathetic, patriotic and warlike, and a response suitable and sentimental. It made a good impression on me at the time; but then I had yet to learn the difference between what an Indian would call “talk fight” and “fightem.”

On the following Monday afternoon, with all “traps” snugly bestowed and knapsacks strapped on, we were drawn up in front of the barracks, when the lieutenant stepped out in front and proposed three cheers for the barrack-master, which were given; but I did not join in, even in dumb show, having too much conscientiousness to outrage the finer feelings of my stomach by cheering for an individual who had cheated and abused it. We then took up our line of march for the transport, and went along almost unnoticed save by a few patriotic individuals who bade us a fervent God-speed and wished that good-fortune might attend us wherever we went; but the great mass seemed hardened to the sight of their fellow men going away from amongst them to explore unknown fields of danger, and to purchase with their life’s blood a continuance and perpetuity of that nationality which has made the United States of America the first among nations. As these thoughts entered my mind, they suggested the picture of the hundreds of thousands of devoted men who passed through this great city, with all their hardest and most bitter experiences—hardships and dangers, sickness and death—before them, many, very many of them to return again no more; and I began to realize that, though still in a land of peace and plenty, a few days would bring me out upon far different scenes and into circumstances that would require a bold heart to meet as they ought to be met. Luckily for us all, the future cannot be penetrated, or we should be mourning calamities before they befall us; dreading dangers before they threaten, and finally become unmanned at the awful prospect impending over our future. Still there is in the expectancy of danger something that is fascinating, and something, too, that even while we dread we seek; and this feeling, the result of a strange curiosity, enlivened by hope and the love of excitement, is what often keeps up the spirit of the soldier and urges him on, even when worn out with fatigue and well-nigh exhausted, to renewed energy and more determined acts of bravery.

The transport we embarked upon was a dilapidated steamer called the “Haze” (who that ever took passage in her to or from Dixie can forget the old tub?), a miserably appointed vessel, whose officers and crew seemed better fitted for the penitentiary than for the station they held. It was in this vessel that I first learnt some of the hardships and inconveniences of a soldier’s life. Just before the hawser was cast off, an Irish apple-woman came on board, her basket well laden with fruit, and said—"Come, me poor boys; it’s not many of these ye’ll get in the place ye’re goin’ to—so help yerselves! ‘Tis all I have to give ye, except me blessin’—and may God bless ye all, and bring ye safe back agin to the frinds ye have at home!”

She then proceeded to distribute the apples (and fine ones they were) to the boys, many of whom, thinking more of the apples than the blessing, rushed eagerly in saying, “bully for you, old lady!” nearly overturning her in their desire to possess as much of the fruit as possible. As for me, I was content to let them have the fruit—the blessing and good wishes of the warm-hearted old woman was all-sufficient for my desires. She stepped ashore, and as she disappeared in the crowd on the pier, I heard one of the lucky ones, who was luxuriating in the fruits of his scramble, remark to another lucky one,—"D—d good apples!—that’s a bully old woman,—how did you like her malediction?” “Big thing,” was the response.

The hawser was finally cast off, and, backing slowly out of the dock, the steamer was soon under full headway down the bay. What my emotions were as I gazed (perhaps) for the last time upon the surrounding scenes, I will not tire the reader by giving expression to,—doubtless they resembled in a manner those of thousands of others who had gone the same road before me. My comrades, however, as a general thing, were merry, and talked of the promised land (Dixie) in a tone that showed how high their hopes ran; but presently, as we passed Sandy Hook, and the regular and continuous swell of the ocean set in, many who were before lively as kittens became tame and wretched-looking enough. It was dark before we passed the Highlands, and, though we could not see the Jersey shore we heard of it from the breakers, here and there catching glimpses of lights which told us that even among its barren sands many had found homes. But let Jersey pass, and Delaware, and Virginia’s eastern shore—"away, away down South in Dixie” we go. But how few, comparatively, of our detachment were now so eager, after encountering one enemy, to meet another? And yet, I verily believe, many of these poor fellows would prefer at that time to run their chances in battle (if only on the land) than be tossed about at the mercy of the waves and so thoroughly sea-sick. As for me, whose somewhat eventful life had often before sent me “down to the sea in ships,” I had no feelings of nausea, and consequently enjoyed the surroundings, the fresh, bracing sea air seeming to instil new vigor into my frame, which twenty years of toil in a printing office (with short intermissions) had tended to impair. Thus situated I could look about me, and I observed some who were formerly the jolliest of our band now the saddest and most forlorn. One in particular (a fine young fellow, whom we dubbed “the colonel") who had been the life of our party, now, pale and sad, with not a word to say, lay doubled up inside the coils of a hawser, as forlorn as the Wandering Jew (by Eugene Sue). It was no more, with him, “Away daown Saouth in a few days—hooray!” We passed the Chesapeake, (Fortress Monroe,) Cape Henry and the dismal coast beyond, and on the third evening neared land to the north of Cape Hatteras.—But such land! A long, low bar of sand, stretching away as far as the eye could reach, relieved at intervals by huge hummocks covered with a stunted growth of trees, whose ragged and forlorn limbs and inclined position made them appear as if a fierce hurricane all the while tore through their branches, threatening to uproot and cast them away forever. “There,” said I to the ‘colonel,’ who had come upon deck when he heard we were near Hatteras, and stood beside me grasping the rail,—"There is Dixie, my jolly ‘colonel.’ We have come ‘away daown Saouth in a few days,’ haven’t we; and how do you like the lay of the land? What—can’t you even say ‘hooray?’” But only a faint smile was the answer. Shortly after dark we descried Hatteras light, which we neared about ten o’clock; but the captain would not venture in, and so we had to lay “off and on” till daylight, which was no pleasant job, for “the wind rose and the rain fell,” and gave those who selected the deck for their sleeping place (myself among the number), with the assistance of an occasional dash of salt water, a pretty thorough soaking. As soon as it was clear day our craft headed for the “swash,” the wind blowing a small gale, the rain coming in squalls as if some fretful genius presided over this unhappy coast, and the waves running in shore like race-horses, spreading their foam in a thin gray mist over the narrow line of sand, which seemed endeavoring almost in vain to keep its back above the water. To our right, and north of the inlet, were the forts taken by Gen. Butler in his first Coast Expedition. Only one of these, Fort Hatteras, is now used. The other has either sunk into the sand or been almost wholly destroyed by the action of the waves. Fort Hatteras is an earthwork, but so admirably situated as to prove an almost impassible barrier to anything but ironclads. Beyond and around the fort on the land or sand side, were a few buildings used for quarters for the garrison and for ordnance stores. Anchored in the Sound, near by, were supply ships, transports, and old hulks; while here and there rows of disconsolate timbers, lifting their dripping heads above the tide, told the fate of many a noble ship of the glorious Expedition of Gen. Burnside. We “hove to” after entering the Sound to deliver the mails for the Fort; and the change from the violent rolling, tossing and pitching was such as to inspire even my old friend the ‘colonel’ with something of the spirit he was wont to display ere old Neptune changed his tune. After taking a look at the Fort and its surroundings, I turned my eyes to the opposite shore of the inlet, when lo, there stretched out in an almost straight line from the point into the Sound a troop or flock of—what? That was the puzzle to my mind. Were they huge gulls or windbags, cormorants or cranes, devils or dogfish? Fowl, flesh, or fish? I watched them with close attention while asking myself these questions; but ere my cogitations were finished they separated, spread their wings and took flight, apparently, but it seemed strange they did not rise from the surface of the water. They neared us presently, and I made them out to be, instead of birds, small sail-boats. “Love launched a fairy boat,” &c. No love for us there, I guess, was my mental comment. “Pilots,” I heard some one say. They came fluking towards us, their comparatively large sprit-sails hurrying them along at no contemptible rate of speed. There were about fifteen of them, and it seemed evident all could not get a job from our hazy skipper. “That’s Jeff.’s navy,” remarked one.

“Hooray for the boat that’s ahead!” sang out the ‘colonel.’

“Bully for the little fellow with the big sail!” exclaimed another.

“I’ll bet on the cross-gaffed, giraffe-colored one!”

“Bully for the rip-staving roarer that wins!”

“Aint she a-ripping up the old salt water canvas, skearing the sharks and astonishing the sea sarpints?”

“I’ll bet Jeff.’s in that boat, and he’s coming to ask us to dine with him in Richmond!”

“Beauregard’s in the second one!”

“No, sir, that’s Stonewall Jackson!”

“D—n Stonewall Jackson, or any other man!” and remarks of a like character attested the interest felt in this novel contest by others as well as myself. The boats were pelting away in fine style, each having a loose rein. Then hurrah, my hearties! the lucky man wins, and “first come first served!” Two of the number were distinctly ahead of all the rest, and one of these slightly ahead of the other.

“But Cutty Sark, before the rest,

Hard upon noble Maggie prest—”

so that when they came up it was difficult to say which was first, and both came aboard to dispute the point, while the remaining unsuccessful ones kept on, as if philosophically resigned to a fate they could not overcome. Our hazy skipper, who was not very particular about expenses when Uncle Sam had to foot the bills, and to end all disputes, took both pilots—a piece of diplomacy I hardly expected his thick head capable of conceiving. The anchor was hoisted, and away we sped over the dark, swampy waters of Pamlico Sound. Roanoke Island lay to our right, and ever and anon we caught glimpses of the low, swampy lands of Hyde and Plymouth counties. To the left or south we beheld a continuation of islands, and shortly after the main land of Cartaret county became visible. It seemed almost wholly unsettled, the wilderness appearance being only here and there relieved by the small clearing of a turpentine plantation, fishing establishment, or the twenty-acre field of a “poor white.”

We soon made Neuse river—a noble stream, upon the banks of which turpentine, pitch, rosin and tar enough might be made to supply the markets of the North. As we ascended the river the signs of habitation became more numerous although seeming “few and far between” to the eye accustomed to the more frequent settlements on Northern rivers, and the sombre hues of the pine, cedar and cypress forests were occasionally enlivened by the brighter foliage of persimmon, walnut and fig trees, the last flourishing here in great luxuriance, bearing two or rather a continuation of crops of delicious fruit in a season, and may be seen on every farm or plantation in patches of from a few trees to orchards of twenty-five acres in extent. We could also trace the courses of the many “branches” or creeks from the lighter foliage of the gum and other water-loving trees.

In the afternoon we passed Slocum’s Creek, where Burnside landed his troops the evening before the battle of Newbern, and soon the spires of this city, and the shipping, hove in sight; and towards the close of the day, after a sail of ten hours, during which time we steamed eighty or ninety miles, we drew up at the pier and prepared to disembark, thankful that we could again set foot on land and leave forever the accursed “Haze” and her brutal captain and crew.

“Mind, I tell you,” said one of the latter, “bad as you think the old ‘Haze’ is, you will before long be glad to be on board of her again—if you’d be let!”

He was laughed at; but I doubt not many of them, ere six months elapsed, wished themselves anywhere else than where they were. Still they could not see it then, but felt happy, like young bears, with all their troubles before them.

The dilapidated and seedy condition of the wharves, and the ruins of houses, mills and turpentine factories, impressed me with a premonition of what I should yet witness of the ravages of war in this fair land.

The city of Newbern bears the appearance of some age, is regularly laid out, the streets intersecting each other at right angles, and well protected from the merciless heat of summer by fine old elm trees, intermixed here and there with the chaney and other trees the names of which I do not recollect. The city is located at a point of land formed by the junction of the Trent river with the Neuse, and has altogether an imposing appearance viewed from the approach by water.

The Mass. 23d Reg’t, Col. Kurtz, (who was provost marshal,) was then doing provost duty in the city.

When the order for landing was given, each scrambled ashore with the whole of his household furniture upon his back. After passing through a part of the city, we struck the railroad bridge, (destroyed by the rebels after their defeat, but rebuilt by our forces,) crossing which, and marching a mile or two, halted at the encampment of the 17th on the Trent river, where we were welcomed by the men of the various companies, many of whom found friends and acquaintances among the ‘raw recruits.’ My comrade had friends in the Malden Company (K), of which we were henceforth to form a part, and we received a hearty welcome from the members of mess 5, some of the good-natured ones of which taxed themselves to the amount of nearly a dollar to procure from the sutler something more palatable for our first meal than ‘hard tack and salt horse.’