Chapter III: Part 1 (2)

During this week of leisure, I pretty thoroughly explored the region in the vicinity of our camp, and visited Newbern on 'pass,' but found nothing special there to note, if I may except the fact that there were many really cozy and comfortable-looking dwellings, and numerous flower and fruit gardens--some of which gave evidences of former tasteful ownership, but which seemed of late to have come in for their share of the general neglect and destruction. Those of the inhabitants who still clung to their homes seemed to wear a sullen and discontented look, with some exceptions, and these were of the mercantile class, who, with the sutlers and others who follow the wake of armies, seemed to fall in for their fair proportion of the trade.

About the greatest curiosity to me was what was called the new cemetery, in the upper section or suburb of the city,--the wall enclosing which is built of shell-rock--a curious fossil concrete obtained in some part of the State--where I do not know. There are many graves, and a few tasteful tombstones. Beyond this in what has become an open field or common, are several soldiers' graveyards consecrated by the poor fellows whose bodies repose there, who for love of fatherland, left home and kindred to return no more.

My first duty on picket was at Mr. Bray's plantation. "Old Bray" the boys called him, and being on the outpost which was near his house, I determined to give the old gentleman a call. I found Mr. and Mrs. Bray at home, the former seated on the piazza reading a newspaper, and the latter squatted on the doorstep doing 'nothing in particular.' They were a lean pair, (but their _leaniny_ was not on our side, as I afterwards found), and had a family of five or six lean boys and girls. They certainly looked an unromantic enough realization of our ideal Southern planter and his family. Mr. Bray was apparently about 45 years of age, and his wife perhaps as old, although she seemed much older. They both looked sour and cross enough to dispense with the use of vinegar at meal-time. But they did not seem indisposed to have a chat with the Yankee 'hirelings,' and soon I was made acquainted with all their griefs--the husband commencing the relation of them, but the wife invariably winding up.

I then for the first time learnt how this benevolent planter and his amiable wife had been abused--how, first of all, notwithstanding a 'protection' from Gen. Burnside, their 'niggers' had been enticed away, all efforts to get them back proving fruitless, owing to the "abolition officers and soldiers."

"Niggers and pigs were the only things that ever paid any ways well," put in Mrs. Bray.

They had only five pigs and three 'niggers' left now, and did not know how soon they'd go off with the rest.

Some of the soldiers who had been on picket near their plantation had behaved very bad, and had stolen and destroyed much of their corn and all their water melons (melancholy to relate); and Co. K of the 17th, was the worst of the lot--and the lady wound up with the expression of a hope "that the new recruits would be more of gentlemen than the old soldiers, and not seek to injure her as they had done."

Mr. Bray then showed me his melon patch which, though evincing some traces of the recent vandal act, still bore a goodly number, which I made a note of. He also showed me a patch of cotton, in full bloom,--and after another hour of desultory conversation, I left with the impression that old Bray was a 'great man on a small scale,' but his wife was the greater of the two.

About September 1st a storm came on, accompanied by rain, which lasted that and the following day and night, giving us and our traps a thorough soaking. During all this time I did not sleep a wink. The third morning, wet, sleepless and weary, I was detailed for guard, and was put on the third relief (from 1 to 3 P.M., and 1 to 3 A.M.), and during the first two hours of my guard was refreshed by a 'jolly' shower of rain, which came in at my coat collar and soon filled and overflowed my boots.

When the third relief turned in for the night, I lay down with the rest, on the wet ground, and attempted to sleep; but it was no go--so, lighting my pipe (sole comforter at times), I left the tent, and sat under a tree near by, and smoked the hours away (rain or no rain) until the third relief fell in, when taking my musket and falling in to my place, I was soon on my post, which extended from a tree (blown over by the wind) to the river bank, about 85 paces distant. I felt drowsy, but paced my beat rapidly to keep awake, until tired out, I leaned against the inclined trunk of the fallen tree to rest awhile. My brain was in a whirl, and everything about me seemed to reel and oscillate unsteadily. It was moonlight, but cloudy. More than once I thought I detected myself napping, and shook myself, and pinched my nose and ears to keep awake. My comrade, whose beat joined mine, came up occasionally, and we exchanged a few words. I exhorted him if he caught me napping to rouse me. He had left me, and was near the other end of his beat, when, on looking after him, I beheld, about ten paces from me, as plainly as if in daylight, the form of a huge negro. He wore a broad-brimmed hat, a linen coat blue or _dark_ striped, vest, white shirt (seemingly of cotton,) open at the neck, around which was a colored handkerchief tied sailor fashion, the ends hanging down loose. His pants seemed of light fabric, checked. I could see his countenance plainly. It seemed, if anything, smiling, though there was something peculiar in its expression, as well as the attitude, for the figure seemed leaning its weight on one foot, its left hand resting on the hip, and the right arm hanging loosely by its side. The expression of the darky was so peculiar--jaunty, saucy--and he looked full at me, that for a moment I was taken by surprise,--and, during that moment made the observations just recorded--but quickly recovering, I brought my piece to 'charge,' and called out--

"Who comes there?"

But no response was deigned by my darky visitor. I challenged again, and again, with the same result, the object still retaining its position, and regarding me with the same complacent look--when my comrade, who heard my first challenge came up, and inquired what the matter was, just as I was about bringing my piece to 'present' to fire. I pointed to the object of my challenging, who still kept his ground in the same position. He laughed at what he supposed was a joke I was trying to come on him--not being able to see anything in the spot I pointed out,--and resumed his beat. The thought then occurred to me for the first time that what I saw was not real. What then was it? I asked myself. Surely I am not troubled with that disease known as 'nigger on the brain!' And I again leaned against the trunk of the fallen tree to think the subject over, all the while keeping my eyes fixed upon the object of my thoughts, which stood the scrutiny unmoved. Now, I am not superstition by nature, and still less so by education and experience,--and so I viewed the apparition without a particle of fear or awe, and tried to account to myself for its appearance in the most natural and rational manner. I came to the conclusion there and then, that want of rest and the stimulation of the coffee and tobacco I had been indulging in unduly excited my brain, which produced the hallucination, on the same principle that it is produced in certain stages of drunkenness, called delirium tremens. This was a very fair deduction; but still in front of me stood the grinning darky, as plainly as before. I thought then I would test the unreality of the apparition in another way. If it were an optical illusion, the figure must recede as I advanced, or follow as I retreated. I accordingly advanced towards it; but, strange to say, it remained in the same spot, until I was within arm's length, when stretching forth my hand I grasped--nothing. I walked over the exact spot where the figure stood, and returned to my old stand, to be still more puzzled to see the figure in the same spot, with the same expression on its countenance, but with _both_ arms hanging down by its side this time. More puzzled still, I retreated to see if it would follow; but no--there it stood still gazing after me. I took three or four turns up and down my beat, and on each return to the fallen tree beheld the figure in the same position as last seen. I then halted, determined to watch if other changes would manifest themselves in shadowy being before me. My comrade came towards me again, and I reiterated my former tale of the apparition. Still he couldn't see it. But, as I was yet talking of it, and still persisting I saw it, the phantom darky disappeared--not suddenly, but seeming to melt away gradually.

"He vanished in the darkness, like a beam
Of cold, gray moonlight in a wintry stream."

This is the first and only ghost I have ever had the pleasure of seeing, or, more properly speaking, fancying I saw. What caused its appearance I neither know nor care, and only relate the fact (or fancy) because I think it singular.

On a Sunday morning, about 10 o'clock, we started for Evans' Mills, to relieve Co. E, which had overstayed their time one week--doubtless from the fact that a large orchard of apple trees was upon the plantation, the fruit of which was a luxury they were loth to leave--small blame to them.

After a march of about two hours, we came out upon a clearing just beyond a continuation of the rebel line of defences to the right of the Beaufort railroad. Here we saw deserted houses, and a cotton gin; but no living creature of the human or brute creation, and the place looked solitary and deserted enough--its own sad elegy of war written plainly in the solitude which brooded over the absence of those who once gave animation to the scene, and made 'the wilderness blossom like the rose' with fields of cotton and gardens of bright flowers.

About a mile further on, after passing through a narrow belt of woods, we came out upon Evans' plantation. On our right was a field of some eighty acres, about half of which was covered with a young growth of apple trees. On the left was a field of about twenty acres, at the further end of which was the plantation house, with its negro huts, surrounded with the inevitable grove of elegant shade trees. Just opposite the front gate of the mansion, the road turned sharp to the right, and on looking ahead, we beheld a block-house, nearly completed, in the rear of which was the encampment, and our future abode. Upon reaching the block-house, the road took a turn to the left, down a short, steep hill, skirting the bank of a stream, which it crossed on a rude plank bridge, still turning toward the left. After crossing the bridge, a grist mill lay on the right, and about 60 yards on the left, on the dam of a magnificent pond of water stood a large saw mill, which ran two sets of saws when in operation. It was then idle, the dam having broke away. The road, after crossing the flume of the grist mill led on to the negro village--quite a collection of comfortable houses--built on each side of the cross road, which led to Pollocksville. Just before coming on to the Pollocksville road, in a field to the right was a large cotton gin and press. At the intersection of these roads was our outpost in the day time, the guard being drawn in to the mills at night.

The army wagons which accompanied, (with tents, cooking utensils, quartermasters' stores, company baggage, &c.,) arriving a few minutes after, the men soon had plenty to do in erecting tents, and fixing themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. There was a little board shanty with two bunks, lately occupied by the drummers of Co. E. To this my comrade and I 'froze'; and, having got our traps snugly bestowed--our guns and equipments slung up, and our blankets spread--we sallied forth in quest of plunder.

Our first raid was upon the orchard near by; but it had been picked bare. We, however, subjected every tree to a searching examination, and as the reward of our toil returned with about half a bushel of a apples. On our way back we passed through a small field of sweet potatoes, to which we returned with a sack, and soon were in possession of a bushel of very fine ones.

During our absence, foraging, the tents had all been put up, and the men were busy arranging their traps. Charley (our French cook) had not been idle meantime, and had a blazing fire, and coffee ready. Procuring from him a pot, we soon had the satisfaction of seeing some of the sweet potatoes, the fruits of our late raid, smiling upon us, and welcoming us to the feast. Giving the cook a couple of good ones for his accommodation, we retired to our cabin with our coffee, sweet potatoes and 'salt horse,' and made one of the most hearty and satisfactory meals I have ever known. Appetite was our best sauce, exercise had sharpened it, and the new and palatable food agreed so well with the disposition of the stomach, that it had ample satisfaction in embracing its best friend.

After eating, with pipe lit, I started forth to take a view of the mansion house, and its surroundings. On entering the front gate, I was struck with the size and beauty of an immense beech tree, whose wide extending branches covered a circle of over 100 feet in diameter--and, Yankee fashion, I immediately computed that if cut down it would make over five cords of firewood. It must have proved a cool and inviting shade for the planter and his family in the summer time. Approaching its huge trunk, I observed that the Yankee jacknife had been at work and covered it with the representative names of men from nearly every United States regiment that had ever been in the department. Besides the huge beech there were numerous other trees--elm, cedar, chaney--and the beautiful flowering althea.

The house was an ordinary two story one, containing about 7 rooms, set on brick blocks about three feet from the ground, and serving as a cool place of resort for the pigs, fowl, and youthful, curly-headed negroes, during the heat of the day. This, together with the plantation attached of some 10,000 acres, seven or eight hundred of which were cleared, together with the mills, and about 120 'head of darkies' (all of which excepting two old negroes and their wives, had been 'run up country'), belonged to a Mr. Evans, a son-in-law of Ex-Gov. Morehead, (after whom Morehead city had been named).

Evans was, as I afterwards found, a very influential man in that part of the country, and had early become a convert to the doctrine of secession. He raised a company of cavalry, and equipped them at his own expense. He took part in the battle of Newbern, and it must have been a bitter trial for him to leave so fine a property, though I believe he had another plantation in the upper part of the State. The regiment to which his company was attached, remained for some time in the State, and had more than one encounter with our cavalry. They were, however, finally ordered to join the army of Virginia, and were, no doubt, engaged in all its conflicts with our army. At the battle of Gettysburg, Evans, who had become a colonel, was wounded, taken prisoner, and died shortly after in hospital at Baltimore.

Such has been the fate of an infatuated man, who, like thousands of others, left a prosperous and comfortable home to plunge in the suicidal fray against the Government under which he was reared and had prospered. He may have repented his folly when too late; but I doubt it. Such men are as little given to repentance as they are to truth, justice and reason.

At the back of the mansion house were two negro huts, where those who were domestics lodged. The body of the negroes were lodged in the village before mentioned about a mile away. Doubtless there was design in this--as the master of bondmen must have lived as insecure amongst his slaves as the tyrant in the midst of his vassals.

Adjoining the negro-huts attached to the mansion were the various outhouses and stables, behind which the land sloped to waters of the tortuous stream which emptied into the mill-pond further down.

To my view Evans' Mills at first appeared a lonely place; but a further acquaintance with it materially altered my opinion. Were it not that the restraints which discipline imposes upon the soldier, living in this place would be quite agreeable. There was no lack of game of all kinds, from the red deer, the nocturnally rambling coon and possum, to the partridge, wild pigeons, grouse, waterfowl, and fish. The latter were the only legitimate sport for the soldiers (and many a finny inhabitant of those sluggish streams--though shy at times--graced his tin platter), as the necessities of war forbid the use of fire-arms upon any other game than men (butternuts--and some of them mighty hard nuts at that). Occasionally, however, the negroes, and such of the white inhabitants as were left behind 'when the rush of war was past,' with their coon dogs, and well provided with pine knots to guide them, would sally forth of a night and traverse the banks of the numerous streams and branches, and rarely would they proceed far until the peculiar bay of the dogs denoted that they had lit upon the track of a wary possum or coon, in the direction of which the hunters would hasten, to find the 'critter treed,' and if the tree was too large to cut down, one climbed, and with a club killed or dislodged him. A coon hunt has rarely been unsuccessful, from the great number of the 'animals' abounding, and the excellent training of the dogs, which seem to take after this kind of game as naturally as a cat takes after mice.

The streams are generally belted with fine groves of cedar, gum, black walnut, locust, and ash trees, intermixed, the whole bearing their proportion of parasites, some of which entwine themselves so closely round the trees they select to climb on as almost to become incorporated with them in the process of time, and look like huge serpents endeavoring to crush out their life but they look beautiful in the summer time, covered with leaves and fruit (for they are not all poisonous or profitless), and many a bunch of rich, purple grapes has the writer purloined from the midst of those masses of tangled creepers. This intermingling of hardwood trees with the evergreen pines had a pleasing effect upon me, as it recalled the remembrance of the northern forests where the pine, hemlock and spruce were often in the minority.

Occasionally, however, the explorer of these Southern woods, would suddenly come upon a cypress swamp, and he would there behold the incarnation of all that is dismal in a landscape,--especially if, as when I first beheld one, the time was just before twilight, and the slanting rays of the sun had ceased to penetrate the masses of the forest foliage. A picture, however finely wrought, would fail to give an idea of the utter gloom and funereal solemnity of such a scene; and if any lover or hater of humanity should wish to seek a solitude where, unmolested, he could mourn over the wickedness and folly of mankind, and make himself thoroughly miserable, I would advise him to select a spot in full view of a cypress swamp,--and if he will not suffer enough, do enough penance, and weep enough to wash out and atone for the world's sins--his own included,--in the space of the twelve months, then it will not be the fault of the swamp, I can vouch. I do not wonder that the ancients, even aside from their superstitions, selected the cypress as an emblem of death and mourning--for no one can behold that tree in its native solitude and state without thinking of all the friends he had lost, and would be likely to lose for the next hundred years.--Picture to yourself, gentle reader, the bed of a sluggish stream, enriched by the accumulations of vegetable mould for unknown ages, until the water forced itself through a deep, narrow channel, winding hither and thither; that at a former indefinite period, the seeds deposited on this mould germinated, and there arose from its slimy depths, like ghosts that had 'burst their cerements,' the mighty cypress trees; that they continued to grow slowly upward, but toward the base the trunks swelled to undue proportions like the paunches of gluttons--and undoubtedly the cypress is the glutton among trees, as its huge cone-shaped roots are well adapted to the ravenous absorption of air, and the rich liquified food that is forever in process of formation around and above them. And thus they tower up in the midst of their slimy abode, huge, bilious and bloated, and look like a grim array of fallen spirits, which, having attempted to cross into daylight, got stuck in the mud of their mythical Styx.

Such is a cypress swamp.

In nationality the men of Co. K comprised Americans, Canadians, Provincials, English, Irish, Scotch, French and Germans. In disposition and character, they were nearly as diverse as their nationality; but taken as specimens of the countries they represented, were about as intelligent and respectable a body of men as could well be expected from such material.

The Captain, Joseph R. Simonds, (for many years a bookbinder in Spring Lane, Boston,) was a thoroughly patriotic and honest man, a good soldier, with many virtues, and a few faults and foibles (and what man has not these to a greater or less extent.) He took great pride in the well-being and efficiency of his company; and its good name, and the praise of his superiors for cleanliness, superiority in drill, or having a small sick-list, were to him matters of just pride and gratulation,--and frequently, after a creditable performance on drill or parade, he would snap his fingers with delight, and, after dismissal, invite them all to his quarters for a treat. He was careful about the quality of their food, and whenever he could (which was not often) would procure such articles of luxury and dietic change as would be most likely to promote health. He was uniformly kind, obliging and considerate, and did not look upon his men as mere pieces of mechanism that moved when he pulled the wires. He considered them _men_,--socially his equals, though in reality under his command, and, to a certain extent at his mercy. He rarely abused his authority--never maliciously; and though he occasionally did injustice to some deserving men--it was, I think, more from an error of judgment than through design. Yet he was popular and unpopular with the men. Soldiers like sailors will grumble, and it is a privilege they often abuse; but, the fit over, they all invariably acknowledged his worth, and disposition to treat them well.

The first Lieut (J. A. Greeley) was of a quiet disposition, a strict (but not over strict) disciplinarian, and a man of considerable genius in engineering (he subsequently had the planning and superintendence of several fortifications near Newbern). He was a strict temperance man, and wished the men to practice this virtue also. He has since been detached from the regiment, and commissioned captain in the 2d regiment of Heavy Artillery.

But I cannot enumerate the names of all the company,--and will content myself with mentioning a few of the 'characters'--and the first that occurs to my mind is "old Jesse Hitchings" (forgive me, Jesse, for putting your name in print; but you need be no more ashamed of it than you were of your old cap riddled by the enemy's bullets). Jesse was a character--a tall, thin old bachelor of over fifty--of a pleasant, benevolent disposition, a good soldier, an uncompromising patriot (no com_promises_ with the rebels, was his motto)--and a successful hand at poker. It is related of Jesse, that when the company was doing picket duty at the Deep Gully, he lit a fire one night at the outpost, and when his time came to mount guard, leisurely walked up and down in front of the fire, giving the enemy's pickets a fair chance, if so disposed, to pick him off--and upon being warned of his danger, coolly replied--

"Well, if I'm to be shot I'll be shot, I suppose--what's the odds."

In camp, on guard, in the bivouac of the battle-field, wherever there was a fire, Jesse could be seen at any hour of the night bending over the same, his chin resting between his knees, warming his long skinny hands--sometimes asleep; but mostly half awake or dozing. Poor Jesse--he is one of the few sterling men who act well their part without ostentation, and are rarely noticed for their real worth.

Another character was "Billy Patterson" (he was called "Billy," though his name was James). He was a hard-working, rough-spoken fellow (his general salutation being "G' along till haal wi' ye!") Billy, though a good soldier, and brave in action, did not like guard or picket duty--and, being an excellent cook, generally contrived by a species of finesse--not always of an unexceptionable character--to work himself into a good berth, with pots for his jolly companions. Charley (our French cook) shortly after going to Evans' Mills fell sick, and Billy took his place--which he held afterwards for a long time, and flourished and bullied when sober, and when drunk abused every one--and gave the mess very good dinners.

Sam Kenny was another whom I considered a character. He was nicknamed 'Dickens,' being a great admirer of that author. 'Dickens' was an intelligent man, but fond of whiskey; and whenever he imbibed too much was sure to get in to some scrape or other, which generally ended in depositing him in the guardhouse. It is related of him, that being one night in Newbern, on a 'bender,' he applied for admission into a house (where he was acquainted), but the lady noticing his condition, refused; when, after repeated failures to get in, becoming convinced of the uselessness of any further trial, and by way of revenge, he put his mouth to the keyhole, and shouted--

"I say, madam, do you chew snuff?"

Now be it known that snuff chewing is quite a common practice among the women in and around Newbern, and for aught I know is a regular Southern institution; but those of any pretension to refinement never use it, or if they do, it is on the sly--and a greater insult could not be offered a woman than to ask her if she chewed snuff. 'Dickens,' no doubt, had his revenge.

A young fellow, named J. E. Mills, had a mania for cutting his autograph upon trees, walls, fences, and objects in every place he visited. It is related that during a freshet, when a lot of logs in the river above the dam broke loose, every one of them contained one or more inscriptions of "J. E. M.," cut in with an axe or knife.

William Stack 'was a soldier every inch of him.' He had been in the British service over ten years, and served in India. His peculiarities were numerous; but were redeemed by a strict integrity, a love of duty and a thorough knowledge of his business. I often wondered why men, his inferiors in many of the most essential qualifications of a soldier, were promoted over him, while he remained a private. He entertained a great veneration for the British army--and thought the British soldier not only superior, but better paid, better clothed, and better cared for than the American soldier. He had a good memory, a rich fund of anecdote, and many a weary hour has he beguiled by the relation of scenes and adventures in 'the land of the palm and the poppy.'

John Smith was another who had served in the British army. He was a good soldier, an unpretending man, and the pertinacity with which he defended the government, (there are two parties in the army as well as here), his strong anti-slavery sentiments when nearly all were down on the poor negro, and the confidence he felt in the ultimate success of our cause, even in the darkest hours when the general opinion prevailed that we could never whip the South, might well put to shame many of his American comrades, who often seemed to lose in their desire for peace, the consciousness that it was theirs to dictate the terms to a beaten foe. The poor fellow has been taken prisoner--and is now in Dixie.

Smith had a brother who was nicknamed 'Ben-Doza.' 'Ben' was discharged in March, 1863, and I gave him a curious stick which I cut in one of the swamps to bring home for me. If this should meet his eye, I wish he would hasten to 'fork it over.'

But lest I should become tedious and uninteresting, I will drop the biographical and take up the chronological thread of my yarn, noticing the different individuals as they may be brought by circumstances into future scenes. It is true that in speaking of the mere rank and file of the army, I do not write of men known to fame. There is, indeed, little of romance connected with the private soldier--that peculiar species of flummery (which makes the heart of the dreamy damsel of sixteen flutter so) being, as it were by right divine, the speciality of the ideal mustached, lightning-eyed, and so forth young men of the shoulder straps. Those I write of principally occupy, many of them, the humblest (though the most useful) position in our grand army. It is such men who do the real fighting, and have to take and give the hardest knocks--and if a score of those brave hearts are laid low by the hand of war, it creates not half as much public sensation as the destruction of an old barn by fire, or the escape of a negro from rebeldom. Their biography is written by the orderly sergeant in a few words, and their requiem sung by the turkey-buzzard out on a foraging expedition. Their names, it is true, are on the rolls of fame; but who cares for these, except it be their immediate friends and relatives--and the clerks in the pension-bureau, who mayhap think it particularly unkind in privates A. B. or C. to die at all, and thus give them so much additional labor.

Two brothers, named Tibbetts, living about three miles beyond our outpost, lost some hogs and cattle in a very mysterious way, and came into our lines to inquire if we knew anything of them. Of course we didn't, and Billy Patterson's pots never told tales. I entered into conversation with one of the brothers, who appeared to be a civil sort of a man, and who invited me among others to visit his house, saying that he had plenty of eggs, &c., and could get up a very good dinner for us.

I remembered Tibbetts' invitation, and a few days after, accompanied by a companion, started out to see him. He lived in a miserable log cabin, about 20 feet square, without windows, having shutters to supply their place at night, which were opened in the day time to admit light and air. A field of about 25 acres surrounded the domicile, partly planted in corn and peas, with about three acres of sweet potatoes. And these, with a few pigs, and a small garden, constituted this family's whole 'visible means of support.' The family consisted of a sallow, bilious-looking wife (all women thereabouts, as well as men, look alike) and a half-dozen sallow, bilious-looking children. (Nearly all the natives of that level, swampy region are thin, and have a shaky appearance.)

I noticed, to my surprise, upon my first introduction to Madam Tibbetts, that a small stick protruded about two inches from her mouth, and that ever and anon she spat out what seemed marvellously like tobacco juice. I watched her movements for some time during our conversation, and I noticed that she occasionally removed the stick from her mouth, and, one end being made soft by chewing, dipped the same into a box of snuff, replaced it again, and ran it around her gums and teeth in the same manner as one would use a tooth-brush. I found that neither Tibbetts or his wife, nor his brother or sister (the latter a smiling old maid) who afterwards joined us, could read or write--in fact it was considered quite out of their line altogether, though they seemed to regret that their children could not have some education. They were a fair specimen of that class of settlers at the South known as 'poor whites.'

Being allowed, when off duty, a free range within the lines, our visits were made in all directions--sometimes (often, I confess) transgressing our orders, we went beyond, especially towards the abodes of the Messrs. Tibbetts--and we frequently stumbled upon a quiet household of 'poor whites,' who received us civilly, though by no means graciously. All of these were, however, strongly 'secesh' in feeling, having had their minds pretty thoroughly poisoned with the false tales told them by their late 'superiors' of Yankee injustice and cupidity.

In conversation with the elder Tibbetts, I learned that the honey-bees often selected the trunks of hollow trees in which to gather immense deposits of honey, and that in going up a creek lately he had discovered a tree, which he intended visiting some time. The idea of a 'bee hunt' was novel to me, and I determined to join him; and, a few days after, with a comrade, started for Tibbetts' house, who readily undertook to pilot us upon our saccharine expedition.

We were successful in getting a considerable amount of honey; but staid out so late that the officers became alarmed at our absence, thinking we were 'gobbled up' by the 'rebs,' and doubled the guard, served out extra ammunition, &c.,--and when we did come in at last, reprimanded us for staying out so long, and forbid any of the men going beyond the lines in future.

Time wore on. At first we expected a recall at the end of each week after our time had expired, but no such order came, and as the season was beginning to wear the sear and yellow leaf in its garments, and the indications of cold weather warned us that the time was at hand when

"The wild deer and wolf to their covert" must "flee,"

we bethought us that the negro village might abound in material of which shanties might be erected, and, as Billy Patterson elegantly expressed it, "be a d--d sight more comfortable than miserable." This bright thought was slow in spreading, and it was not until three or four men of a mess erected a snug shanty, that it took root and flourished--and then there was a rush for the 'diggins.'

The shanties at the outpost, once the shelter of the humble household gods of many a smoky descendant of Ham, were threatened with disembowelment--until the fury of the onslaught was turned upon the cotton gin, which soon presented a skeleton appearance. The plundered boards and scantling had to be carried by the men half a mile. But they set to work with a will. For at least two weeks nothing could be heard around the camp, from sunrise to the going down thereof, but hammer and saw, and saw and hammer, and from the promiscuous heaps of purloined boards and scantling there arose in due time one of the most curious villages that could be met with outside of negrodom; but they were as comfortable as could be desired, and well laid out with bunks, gunracks, &c. Each had a flue or chimney for a stove or fireplace, the bricks to build which had to be carried on the back, or wheeled by hand from a mile and a half to two miles; and as wood was plenty, we never lacked for good fires. Thus comfortably situated, it was no wonder that we became attached to Evans' Mills.

It being designed to erect permanent barracks in the vicinity of Newbern, and the steam saw mill in that city proving insufficient to supply enough lumber--workmen being plenty, a detail from any of the New England regiments supplying any number needed--it was resolved to repair the broken dam at Evans' Mills. A detachment of about sixty contrabands, under the superintendence of a sort of Baron Munchhausen chap, a private in a New York artillery regiment--was sent to make the necessary repairs.

The dam had broke away at the waste water gate--and the genius who was sent to repair it, commenced by filling in the waste gate with brushwood and earth--and, after a month's labor, (costing the Government over $1,500), he succeeded in partially stopping the water, so that a few thousand feet of boards could be sawed; but the first rain-storm swelled the dam so much that, having no proper outlet for the superabundant water to escape, it gave way, and the blundering fool and his work departed about the same time--the former to hospital sick, and the latter to be distributed along the oozy bottom of the tortuous creek which emptied into the Trent River.

When the rebels were defeated at Newbern, Evans, like other large planters, sent all his slaves to a plantation which he owned in the upper part of the State--that is, all who were worth sending, for he left two old negroes and their wives behind to 'take charge' of the plantation. These, in process of time, and the occupation of the place by our forces, were joined by others, until the negro population at the time our company went there, amounted to about ten, including picaninnies. The old negroes alluded to were called respectively, Old (Uncle) George, and Indian Joe. The former venerable old patriarch was "eighty-five, sar," communicative and religious, and the latter a cross between the Negro and Indian--retaining a good deal of the aboriginal physique and character--respectful, but retiring in his manner; and, though said to be fully as old as George, was spry and supple, a good hand at a tar-kiln, and a keen sportsman, never going to the woods without being accompanied by his dogs and an old Harper's Ferry musket--

"For you know de coons come out sometimes 'fore dark, and de deer dey stray off up dar down here in de day, and dey's good eatin', I reckon, is dem deers."

"I suppose you would not hesitate to pink a rebel if he should come across you instead of a deer, Joe?"

"Lor, yes--no--reckon--(scratching his head). O yes--right good day, sar--good morning, sar."

I think he'd shoot--if the alternative was to shoot or be taken.

The other contrabands were mostly runaways. One of them, a mulatto, was a good carpenter, a man of some intelligence, and interested me much. His story was simple, and illustrated the atrocious system, which subverts honor, and makes conscience a tool to be used as interest may dictate. He was 'raised' (that is the term, and sounds odd when applied to human beings) up country, and when his old master died he left him free; but the son and heir not liking to lose a 'right smart boy' of his description, would not give him his freedom, but kept him as a slave, treating him precisely like the other bondmen. When the war broke out, his master, who resided or did business at Wilmington, joined the navy, as captain of a gunboat, and took this slave with him as his servant. After the battle of Roanoke, when our gunboats followed up and destroyed the rebel fleet, his master, when one of our gunboats ran into the one he commanded, deserted him, jumping overboard, to escape capture; but, while in the water, a stray shot struck him, and he 'sank to rise no more.' The mulatto, glad of the change that gave him his liberty, accompanied our forces to Newbern, and there remained, entered the employ of the Government, and performed his part in a skillful and faithful manner.

Another of the contrabands was a full-blooded African negro, bearing the classical name of Nero. He was from Duplin County, some ninety miles north of Newbern, and near the Virginia line, and had run away from a cruel master, as numerous scars on his person testified, travelling the entire distance on foot through woods and swamps, and subsisting upon an occasional ear of corn, for which he ventured into the fields only at night, eluding the rebel patrols and pickets, and, finally, almost exhausted and worn out, he arrived, with about five or six others from the same place, inside our picket lines, and gave himself up. He left behind him a wife and six children; but notwithstanding this, and the stories he had heard of Yankee barbarity to runaway negroes (the slaves being generally told that the Yankees placed iron rigs through the shoulder-blades of the darkies, and sold them off to Cuba), he was willing to run all risks for the bare chance of obtaining his liberty; and, he said, if the other slaves knew how well the contrabands were treated, they would come in in greater numbers. His simple story would fill an interesting volume. When Wild's brigade was subsequently organized, he joined the first regiment, and, I have no doubt, has proved himself a capital soldier. Wo to the rebels that fell in his power. He had many wrongs to avenge, and would avenge them, if opportunity offered.

Uncle George was a good specimen of the ideal negro--fat, good-natured, and seemingly contented.

"Well, uncle," I said, "how do you like the Yankees?"

"Right well, sar--dey's bery fine people, sar!"

"Would you sooner be with the Yankees than the rebs?"

"O yes, sar; (my name's George, sar); 'cause I'se a free man now, and dat's what I am now, sar."

"You think you are free now, and that the Yankees made you free, do you?"

"O yes, sar," he replied, and then added, in a deeply impressive voice--"and I tank de Lord and you Yankees for dat. De ole man hab worked for many years--de good Lord he send me and the ole woman six sons and five daughters, and massa, he sell some off afore de war, take some away when de Yankees come--and now, de poor ole man and de poor ole woman am left all alone in de world; but de good Lord send de Yankees, and dey make us free afore we die, and dat am payment enough for all ole George's work--bress de Lord, amen."

George finding, I suppose, that I took an interest in him, and did not treat him as it might be inferred many would from their salutation of "Hello, old nig--how dye _do_," often visited our shanty at dinner-time, and we had always plenty of crackers and 'salt horse,' and an occasional pint of soup or coffee to spare him; but the cook (Billy Patterson,) perhaps from pure good nature, took a fancy to old George, and he soon forsook our more humble board for the savory flesh-pots of Billy's cookhouse, perfectly satisfied to be addressed as you 'd--d old nigger,' so long as he had his revenge in the shape of a plentiful supply of good grub.

I stated before that the outpost guard was drawn in at night to the mills (the day-guard at the mills being camp-guard at night). A few darkies, who worked for the government making tar and cutting saw logs, lodged in the mill. Without education enough to read, without the knowledge of the commonest accessories of amusement, it cannot be wondered that the time hung heavily upon their hands; but their naturally elastic temperaments stood them in good need, and suggested a species of amusement to pass away the time that was best suited to their capacity, viz.: dancing and its promoter, 'jigging'--a species of vocal and pantomimic music almost peculiar to the African race. At first their levees were attended only by gents of color; but, by and by, the spirit of their performances began to spread, and soldiers from the relief guard and the camp visited them, and enjoyed hugely the sight of the dancing, sweating darkies, (encouraging and applauding the most expert--and there were many supple legs and nimble feet among them), and the equally sweating and nimble 'jiggers' or time-beaters. The 'jiggers' did not always depend upon the voice, but used it as a sort of auxiliary or flourish to their time-beating, which latter was performed by striking the open hands upon the thighs, legs and breast, and together in rapid succession, and in admirable measure, so that the tune thus beat could be followed by the dancer as precisely as if played upon a full band.

We had a Maryland negro in our company, who ran away from his master, and became attached to the regiment in Baltimore. He was called 'Pomp'--a lithe, supple fellow--and, with a few months training, I have no doubt, would equal, if not surpass, some of the clog-dancers of our friends the Morris Bro's. It was amusing to note the patronizing airs he adopted towards the North Carolina 'nigs,' and, I presume, the circumstances of his having come from Maryland, and being so long in the army, added not a little to obtain for him a certain kind of prestige among his simple sable brethren. The soldiers for amusement taught him the manual of arms, and so naturally did he take to the business that it was a common remark among the men that there were few better drilled men in the command than Pomp. But Pomp became lazy and independent, and left the company shortly after we went to Evans' Mills to work for Government. But his mind was not in work, and after a few weeks labor he went to Newbern, and there became attached to a company of the 43d Mass. regiment, as Captain's servant. This captain (I know not his name, or I should record it, to his credit), taught him as well as some other negroes, to read and write; and, when the policy of the Government, directing the enlistment of the blacks, reached North Carolina, Wild's brigade began to be formed, Pomp was among the first to enlist, and, for his proficiency in drill, and quickness for military duty, he was made a sergeant in the North Carolina colored regiment.

"I've been made free by de President of my country," he said to me, when I met and congratulated him upon joining the army, "and I tink it is my duty to fight for de country dat makes me a free man."

This regiment afterwards bore a prominent part in the unfortunate battle of Olustee, Florida. I wonder if poor Joe (he changed Pomp to Joseph) escaped.

On the 28th of August, the 17th reg't embarked on transports for the purpose of capturing Plymouth; but upon arriving opposite that town, found the place too well defended to warrant a landing, and they returned without disembarking.

On the 30th of October, the 17th regiment left Newbern on board steamers, and proceeded up the Neuse River about eight miles, where they were joined by cavalry, artillery, and a large baggage train, the whole under command of Colonel Amory. They landed and marched to Swift Creek, a small settlement eight miles distant, which was reached at sundown. Here they were fired upon by the rebel cavalry picket, who had destroyed the bridge over the creek. They fled upon our approach. The following forenoon was employed by our forces in building the bridge, and at noon the column was again in motion towards Washington, N. C., which our forces reached on the evening of November 1st, without molestation.

November 2d, the line of march was again continued, (our forces being augmented by the addition of several thousand infantry,) in the direction of Williamston. Towards sundown the advance came up with the enemy; posted behind entrenchments, at a place called Rawle's Mills, who disputed their passage; but our forces soon compelled them to retreat, and the following morning the advance again continued on to Williamston, which place the column reached at noon, having marched a distance of twenty-three miles from Washington. Leaving the sick and foot-sore on board the gunboats in the river, the troops marched out of the town about three miles, and bivouacked for the night.

November 4th, they took up the line of march for Hamilton, within two miles of which they were obliged to halt for several hours to build a bridge, near which was a deserted breastwork, leading from the woods across the main road to a fort on the river bank. Hamilton was reached about sundown, and, like Williamston, was found entirely deserted. The town being set on fire by the troops, the sick were placed on board gunboats, and the expedition marched out of Hamilton several miles, and bivouacked for the night.

November 5th, they started early in the morning, taking the road to Tarboro'--marched until night, when they came to a halt, and bivouacked within nine miles of Tarboro'. The following morning they commenced their return march, not having met with the enemy in any force. A heavy rain having set in, the roads were in a bad condition, and the marching much harder than it had been previously. The expedition reached Hamilton late in the afternoon, and took up their quarters for the night in the deserted dwellings.

November 7th, a violent snow storm raged in the morning, but it did not delay the march, which was continued for Williamston, by a road leading near the river, and which they had not travelled before. No force of the enemy appeared to interrupt the march, and the expedition reached Williamston in the afternoon, where it remained until the morning of the 9th, when the line of march was taken up for Plymouth, N. C., a distance of twenty-three miles. They reached the latter place the next morning, 10th, and Newbern on the 11th, at noon, having been absent thirteen days, and having marched about 150 miles. The expedition captured about 50 prisoners, 400 horses and mules, and about 100 teams.

The failure of this expedition, and the causes of its failure, are pretty well known, and need no comment from me, save that it caused much hardship to the troops comprising it, and left Newbern in an almost defenceless state. The rebels, judging that the garrison of the city had been largely drawn upon (but never dreaming that this was the case to so great an extent), to divert, perhaps, whatever after purposes our commanders had, and to make them recall the troops as fast as possible, sent a weak force to demonstrate in front of Newbern. This drove in our pickets, and created the utmost apprehension in the city. The case seemed critical, and every available man was called inside the defences to await the onslaught of the enemy.