The Negro in The American Rebellion

Three times did these heroic men march up the hill nearly to the batteries, and as many times were swept back by the fearful storm of grape-shot and shell; more than one hundred being cut down in less than half an hour. Great was its loss; and yet it remained in the gap, while our outnumbered army was struggling with the foe on his own soil, and in the stronghold chosen by himself.

What the valiant Fifty-fourth Massachusetts had been at the battle of Olustee, the Fifty-fifth was at Honey Hill.

Never was self-sacrifice, by both officers and men, more apparent than on this occasion; never did men look death more calmly in the face. See the undaunted and heroic Hartwell at the head of his regiment, and hear him shouting, “Follow your colors, my brave men!” and with drawn sword leading his gallant band. His horse is up to its knees in the heavy mud. The rider, already wounded, is again struck by the fragment of a shell, but keeps his seat; while the spirited animal struggling in the mire, and plunging about, attracts the attention of the braves, who are eagerly pressing forward to meet the enemy, to retake the lost ground, and gain a victory, or at least save the little army from defeat. A moment more he is killed; and the brave Hartwell attempts to jump from his charger, but is too weak. The horse falls with fearful struggles upon its rider, and both are buried in the mud. The brave Capt. Crane, the Adjutant, is killed, and falls from his horse near his colonel. Lieut. Boynton, while urging his men, is killed. Lieut. Hill is wounded, but still keeps his place. Capts. Soule and Woodward are both wounded, and yet keep their command. The blood is running freely from the mouth of Lieut. Jewett; but he does not leave his company. Sergeant-major Trotter is wounded, but still fights. Sergt. Shorter is wounded in the knee, yet will not go to the rear. A shell tears off the foot of Sergeant-major Charles L. Mitchel; and, as he is carried to the rear, he shouts, with uplifted hand, “Cheer up, boys: we’ll never surrender!” But look away in front: there are the colors, and foremost amongst the bearers is Robert M. King, the young, the handsome, and the gentlemanly sergeant, whose youth and bravery attract the attention of all. Scarcely more than twenty years of age, well educated, he has left a good home in Ohio to follow the fortunes of war, and to give his life to help redeem his race. The enemy train their guns upon the colors, the roar of cannon and crack of rifle is heard, the advanced flag falls, the heroic King is killed: no, he is not dead, but only wounded. A fellow sergeant seizes the colors; but the bearer will not give them up. He rises, holds the old flag aloft with one hand, and presses the other upon the wound in his side to stop the blood. “Advance the colors!” shouts the commander. The brave King, though saturated with his own blood, is the first to obey the order. As he goes forward, a bullet passes through his heart, and he falls. Another snatches the colors; but they are fast, the grasp of death holds them tight. The hand is at last forced open, the flag is raised to the breeze; and the lifeless body of Robert M. King is borne from the field. This is but a truthful sketch of the part played by one heroic son of Africa, whose death was lamented by all who knew him. This is only one of the two hundred and forty-nine that fell on the field of Honey Hill. With a sad heart, we turn away from the picture.

But shall we weep for the sleeping braves, who, turning their backs upon the alluring charms of home-life, went forth at the call of country and race, and died, noble martyrs to the cause of liberty? ’Tis noble to live for freedom; but is it not nobler far to die that those coming after you may enjoy it?

“Dear is the spot where Christians weep;Sweet are the strains which angels pour:Oh! why should we in anguish weep?They are not lost, but gone before.”

CHAPTER XXXIV – BEFORE PETERSBURG AND RICHMOND

Assault and Failure. – Who to Blame. – Heroic Conduct of the Blacks. – The Mine. – Success at the Second Attack. – Death of a Gallant Negro. – A Black Officer.

When the mining assault on Petersburg failed, with such fearful loss in killed and wounded, the cry went through the land that it was owing to the cowardice of the negro troops; but this falsehood was very soon exploded. However, it will be well to state the facts connected with the attempt. A writer in “The New-York Evening Post” gave the following account of the preparation, attack, and failure, a few days alter it occurred: —

“We have been continually notified for the last fortnight, that our sappers were mining the enemy’s position. As soon as ready, our division was to storm the works on its explosion. This rumor had spread so wide, we had no faith in it. On the night of the 29th, we were in a position on the extreme left. We were drawn in about nine, P.M., and marched to Gen. Burnside’s headquarters, and closed in mass by division, left in front. We there received official notice that the long-looked-for mine was ready charged, and would be fired at daylight next morning. The plan of storming was as follows: One division of white troops was to charge the works immediately after the explosion, and carry the first and second lines of rebel intrenchments. Our division was to follow immediately, and push right into Petersburg, take the city, and be supported by the remainder of the Ninth and the Twenty-eighth corps. We were up bright and early, ready and eager for the struggle to commence. I had been wishing for something of this sort to do for some time, to gain the respect of the Army of the Potomac. You know their former prejudices. At thirty minutes after five, the ball opened. The mine, with some fifty pieces of artillery, went off almost instantaneously: at the same time, the white troops, according to the plan, charged the fort, which they carried, for there was nothing to oppose them; but they did not succeed in carrying either of the lines of Intrenchments.

“We were held in rear until the development of the movement of the white troops; but, on seeing the disaster which was about to occur, we were pushed in by the flank (for we could go in in no other way to allow us to get in position): so you see on this failure we had nothing to do but gain by the flank. A charge in that manner has never proved successful, to my knowledge: when it does, it is a surprise.

“Our men went forward with enthusiasm equal to any thing under different circumstances; but, in going through the fort that had been blown up, the passage was almost impeded by obstacles thrown up by the explosion. At the same time, we were receiving a most deadly cross-fire from both flanks. At this time, our Lieutenant-colonel (E. W. Ross) fell, shot through the left leg, bravely leading the men. I immediately assumed command, but only to hold it a few minutes, when I fell, struck by a piece of shell in the side.

“Capt. Robinson, from Connecticut, then took command; and, from all we can learn, he was killed. At this time, our first charge was somewhat checked, and the men sought cover in the works. Again our charge was made, but, like the former, unsuccessful. This was followed by the enemy making a charge. Seeing the unorganized condition and the great loss of officers, the men fell back to our own works. Yet a large number still held the fort until two, p.m.; when the enemy charged again, and carried it. That ended the great attempt to take Petersburg.

“It will be thus seen that the colored troops did not compose the first assaulting, but the supporting column; and they were not ordered forward until white troops in greater numbers had made a desperate effort to carry the rebel works, and had failed. Then the colored troops were sent in; moved over the broken ground, and up the slope, and within a short distance of the parapet, in order, and with steady courage; but finally broke and retreated under the same fire which just before had sent a whole division of white regiments to the rightabout. If there be any disgrace in that, it does not belong exclusively nor mainly to the negroes. A second attack is far more perilous and unlikely to succeed than a first; the enemy having been encouraged by the failure of the first, and had time to concentrate his forces. And, in this case, there seems to have been a fatal delay in ordering both the first and second assault.”

An officer in the same engagement said, —

“In regard to the bravery of the colored troops, although I have been in upwards of twenty battles, I never saw so many cases of gallantry. The ‘crater’ where we were halted, was a perfect slaughter-pen.

“Had not ‘some one blundered,’ but moved us up at daylight, instead of eight o’clock, we should have been-crowned with success, instead of being cut to pieces by a terrific enfilading fire, and finally forced from the field in a panic. We had no trouble in rallying the troops, and moving them into the rifle-pits; and, in one hour after the rout, I had nearly as many men together as were left unhurt.

“I was never under such a terrific fire, and can hardly realize how any escaped alive. Our loss was heavy. In the Twenty-eighth (colored), for instance, commanded by Lieut. – Col. Russell(a Bostonian), he lost seven officers out of eleven, and ninety-one men out of two hundred and twenty-four; and the colonel himself was knocked over senseless, for a few minutes, by a slight wound in the head: both his color-sergeants and all his color-guard were killed. Col Bross, of the Twenty-ninth, was killed outright, and nearly every one of his officers hit. This was nearly equal to Bunker Hill. Col. Ross, of the Thirty-first, lost his leg. The Twenty-eighth, Twenty-ninth, and Thirtieth (colored), all charged over the works; climbing up an earthwork six feet high, then down into a ditch, and up on the other side, all the time under the severest fire in front and flank. Not being supported, of course the storming-party fell back. I have seen white troops run faster than these blacks did, when in not half so tight a place. Our brigade lost thirty-six prisoners, all cut off after leaving the ‘crater.’ My faith in colored troops is not abated one jot.”

Soon after the failure at Petersburg, the colored troops had a fair opportunity, and nobly sustained their reputation gained on other fields. At the battle of New-Market Heights, Va., the Tenth Army Corps, under Major-Gen. Birney, met a superior number of the enemy, and had a four-hours’ fight, Sept. 29, in which our men came off victorious. The following order, issued on the 8th of October, needs no explanation: —

“Headquarters, 3d Division, 18th Army Corps, Before Richmond, Va., Oct. 7, 1864.

“General Orders No. 103.

“Officers and Soldiers of this Division, – Major-Gen. D. B. Birney, commanding the Tenth Army Corps, has desired me to express to you the high satisfaction he felt at your good conduct while we were serving with the Tenth Corps, Sept. 29 and 80, 1864, and with your gallantry in storming New-Market Heights.

“I have delayed issuing this order, hoping for an opportunity to say this to you in person.

“Accept, also, my own thanks for your gallantry on Sept. 29, and your good conduct since. You have won the good opinion of the whole Army of the James, and every one who knows your deeds.

“Let every officer and man, on all occasions, exert himself to increase your present deserved reputation.

“C. J. PAINE, Brigadier-General.

“(Signed) S. A. CARTER, A. A. G.

“Headquarters Tenth Army Corps, Aug. 19, 1864.

“Major-Gen. Butler commanding Department.

“The enemy attacked my lines in heavy force last night, and were repulsed with great loss. In front of one colored regiment, eighty-two dead bodies of the enemy are already counted. The colored troops behaved handsomely, and are in fine spirits. The assault was in columns a division strong, and would have carried any works not so well defended. The enemy’s loss was at least one thousand.

“(Signed) Respectfully,

“D. B. BIRNEY, Major-General

“Seventy-five of our Black Virginia Cavalry were surrounded by three regiments of rebel infantry, and gallantly cut through them; and an orderly-sergeant killed with his sabre six of the enemy, and escaped with the loss of an arm by grape-shot. He lies in an adjoining room, and is slowly recovering.”

“Brave man, thy deeds shall fill the tramp of fame,And wake responsive echoes far and wide,And on contemners of thy race east shame;For thou hast nobly with the noblest vied.Thy deeds recall the charge at Balaklava,Wherein six hundred were immortalized:Not any hero of that charge was braver;And thy great valor shall be recognized.No wolf, pursued by hounds o’er hill and plain,At last more savagely stands up at bay,Finding past efforts to escape all vain,Then cleaves through dying hounds his bloody way.Thine was the task, amid war’s wild alarm,The valor of thy race to vindicate:Now admiration all true bosoms warm,And places thee among the gallant great.It thrills our hearts to think upon the strifeIn which, surrounded by the rebel host,Thou didst deal death for liberty and life,And freedom win, although an arm was lost.O lion-hearted hero! whose fierce swordMade breathless thy oppressors, bravely bearThy sufferings; for our sympathies are pouredFor thee, and gladly would relieve or share.”

At the second attack on Petersburg, the colored troops did nobly. A correspondent of “The New-York Times” wrote as follows: —

“As everybody seems to have negro on the brain in the army, I may be pardoned for again alluding to the colored troops in this letter. A single day’s work has wiped out a mountain of prejudice, and fairly turned the popular current of feeling in this army in favor of the down-trodden race; and every one who has been with them on the field has some story to relate of their gallant conduct in action, or their humanity and social qualities. The capture of the fort before referred to is related, among other things, in evidence of their manhood and gallantry; taking prisoners in the exciting moment of actual hand-to-hand fighting, in face of the Fort-Pillow and other similar rebel atrocities perpetrated elsewhere, upon their colored companions-in-arms as evidence of their humanity, – that they are really something more than the stolid brutes, such as some people profess to believe. But, next to bravery, one impromptu act of theirs has done more than all else to remove a supposed natural prejudice against them. Wounded officers of two different brigades in the Second Corps tell me, that, when they relieved the colored troops in front Wednesday night, their men had been out of rations all day, and were very hungry, as may well be supposed. When this fact became known to the negroes, to use the expressive language of a wounded officer, ‘They emptied their haversacks, and gave the contents to our boys.’ The colored troops, I have had opportunity to know, bear their honors meekly, as become men. Hereafter, the vile oath and offensive epithet will not be blurted out against the negro soldier, and in his presence, upon every favorable opportunity, as has too generally heretofore been the practice. This will be exclusively confined to the professional stragglers, who are never at the front when danger is there.”

Sergt. Peter Hawkins, of the Thirty-first United States, exhibited in the attack upon Petersburg marked abilities as a soldier. All the officers of Company A being killed or wounded, he took command, and held it for fourteen days. An eye-witness said, —

“He appointed men for guard and picket duty, made out his regular morning report, issued rations, drilled his men, took them out on dress-parade, or on fatigue-duty. Whatever important duty was devolved upon him, he was the man to perform without murmuring. He is fully competent to fill the office of a lieutenant or captain. He has clearly proven on the field his unflinching courage and indomitable will.”

CHAPTER XXXV – WIT AND HUMOR OF THE WAR

Negro Wit and Humor. – The Faithful Sentinel. – The Sentinel’s Respect for the United-States Uniform. – The “Nail-kag.” – The Poetical Drummerboy. – Contrabands on Sherman’s March. – Negro Poetry on Freedom. – The Soldier’s Speech. – Contraband capturing his Old Master.

With all the horrors of the Rebellion, there were occasions when these trying scenes were relieved by some amusing incident. Especially was this true with regard to the colored people. Thus when Adjutant-Gen. Thomas first announced the new policy in Mississippi, and they began enlisting freedmen, one was put on guard at night, at Lake Providence, and was instructed not to allow any one to pass without the countersign. He was, however, told not to fire upon a person until he had called out, “One, two, three.” The negro seemed not to understand it, and asked to have the instructions repeated. “You are to walk from here to that tree, and back,” continued the white sergeant, “and, if you see or hear any one, call out, ‘Who comes there? Give the countersign. One, two, three.’ And, if you receive no reply, shoot.” – “Yes, massa,” said Sam. “I got it dis time, and no mistake.” After an hour or more on duty, Sam thought he heard the tramp of feet, and began a sharp lookout. Presently bringing his gun to his shoulder, and taking sight, he called out in quick succession, “Who comes dar? Give de countersign. One, two, three!” And “bang” went the gun. Fortunately, the negro’s aim was not as reliable as was his determination to do his whole duty; and the only damage done was a bullet-hole through the Intruder’s hat. When admonished by the officer for not waiting for the man’s answer, the negro said, “Why, massa, I was afraid dat ef I didn’t shoot quick, he’d run.”

A colored sentinel was marching on his beat in the streets of Norfolk, Va., when a white man, passing by, shouldered him insolently off the sidewalk, quite into the street. The soldier, on recovering himself, called out, —

“White man, halt!”

The white man, Southerner like, went straight on. The sentinel brought his musket to a ready, cocked it, and hailed again, —

“White man, halt, or I’ll fire!”

The white man, hearing shoot in the tone, halted, and faced about.

“White man,” continued the sentry peremptorily, “come here!”

He did so.

“White man,” said, the soldier again, “me no care one cent’ bout this particklar Cuffee; but white man bound to respeck this uniform (striking his breast). White man, move on!”

A Virginia rebel, who has issued a book giving his experience as a prisoner in the hands of the Federals at Point Lookout and Elmira, tells the following story: —

“The boys are laughing at the summons which S., one of my fellow-Petersburgers, got to-day from a negro sentinel. S. had on when captured, and I suppose still possesses, a tall beaver of the antique pattern considered inseparable from extreme respectability in the last decade and for many a year before. While wandering around the enclosure, seeking, I suspect, ‘what he might devour,’ he accidentally stepped beyond the ‘dead line,’ and was suddenly arrested by a summons from the nearest negro on the parapet, who seemed to be in doubt whether so well-dressed a man could be a ‘reb,’ and therefore whether he should be shot at once.

“White man, you b’long in dar?”

“Yes.”

“Well, ain’t you got no better sense dan to cross dat line?”

“I did not notice the line.”

“Well, you had better notice it, and dat quick, or I’ll blow half dat nail-kag off!”

The following doggerel was composed by a drummer-boy, aged thirteen, who had been a slave, and was without education. He sung it to the One Hundred and Seventh Regiment United-States colored troops, to which he was attached: —

“Captain Fiddler’s come to townWith his abolition triggers:He swears he’s one of Lincoln’s men,‘Enlisting all the niggers.’You’ll see the citizens on the streetWhispering in rotation:What do they seem to talk about?Lincoln’s proclamation.Some get sick, and some will die,Be buried in rotation:What was the death of such a man?Lincoln’s proclamation.You’ll see the rebels on the street,Their noses like a bee gum;I don’t care what in thunder they say,I’m fighting for my freedom!Richmond is a mighty place,And Grant’s as sound as a dollar;And every time he throws a shell,Jeff begins to holler.My old massa’s come to town,Cutting a Southern figure:What’s the matter with the man?Lincoln’s got his niggers.Some folks say this ‘almighty fussIs getting worse and bigger;Some folks say ‘it’s worse and worse,’Because I am ‘a nigger.’We’ll get our colored regiments strungOut in a line of battle:I’ll bet my money agin the SouthThe rebels will skedaddle.”

In his march, Gen. Sherman was followed by large numbers of contrabands. They were always the first to welcome our troops. On entering Fayetteville, the general was met by slaves, old and young; and a man of many years exclaimed, —

“Tank de Almighty God, Mr. Sherman has come at last! We knew it, we prayed for de day, and de Lord Jesus heard our prayers. Mr. Sherman has come wid his company.”

One fat old woman said to him, while shaking him by the hand, which he always gladly gives to those poor people, “I prayed dis long time for yer, and de blessing ob de Lord is on yer. But yesterday afternoon, when yer stopped trowing de shells into de town, and de soldiers run away from de hill ober dar, I thout dat Gen. Burygar had driven you away, for dey said so; but here yer am dun gone. Bress de Lord, yer will hab a place in heaben: yer will go dar sure.”

Several officers of the army, among them Gen. Slocum, were gathered round, interested in the scene. The general asked them: —

“Well, men, what can I do for you? Where are you from?”

“We’s jus come from Cheraw. Massa took us with him to carry mules and horses away from youins.”

“You thought we would get them. Did you wish us to get the mules?”

“Oh, yes, massa! dat’s what I wanted. We knowed youins cumin’, and I wanted you to hav dem mules; but no use: dey heard dat youins on de road, and nuthin’ would stop dem. Why, as we cum along, de cavalry run away from the Yanks as if they fright to deth. Dey jumped into de river, and some of dem lost dere hosses. Dey frightened at the very name ob Sherman.”

Some one at this point said, “That is Gen. Serman who is talking to you.”

“God bress me! is you Mr. Sherman?”

“Yes: I am Mr. Sherman.”

“Dats him, su’ miff,” said one.

“Is dat de great Mr. Sherman that we’s heard ob so long?” said another.

“Why, dey so frightened at your berry name, dat dey run right away,” shouted a third.

“It is not me that they are afraid of,” said the general: “the name of another man would have the same effect with them if he had this army. It is these soldiers that they run away from.”

“Oh, no!” they all exclaimed. “It’s de name of Sherman, su’; and we hab wanted to see you so long while you trabbel all roun jis whar you like to go. Dey said dat dey wanted to git you a little furder on, and den dey whip all your soldiers; but, God bress me, you keep cumin’ and a cumin’ and dey allers git out.”

“Dey mighty ‘fraid ob you, sar; day say you kill de colored men, too,” said an old man, who had not heretofore taken part in the conversation.

With much earnestness, Gen. Sherman replied, —

“Old man, and all of you, understand me. I desire that bad men should fear me, and the enemies of the Government which we are all fighting for. Now we are your friends; you are now free.” (“Thank you, Massa Sherman,” was ejaculated by the group.) “You can go where you please; you can come with us, or go home to your children. Wherever you go, you are no longer slaves. You ought to be able to take care of yourselves.” (“We is; we will.”) “You must earn your freedom, then you will be entitled to it, sure; you have a right to be all that you can be, but you must be industrious, and earn the right to be men. If you go back to your families, and I tell you again you can go with us if you wish, you must do the best you can. When you get a chance, go to Beaufort or Charleston, where you will have a little farm to work for yourselves.”

The poor negroes were filled with gratitude and hope by these kind words, uttered in the kindest manner, and they went away with thanks and blessings on their lips.

During the skirmishing, one of our men who, by the way, was a forager, was slightly wounded. The most serious accident of the day occurred to a negro woman, who was in a house where the rebels had taken cover. When I saw this woman, who would not have been selected as a type of South-Carolina female beauty, the blood was streaming over her neck and bosom from a wound in the lobe of her ear, which the bullet had just clipped and passed on.