Martin-Wake County NcArchives Military Records.....Wyatt, William Henry April 1, 1907
Civilwar - Letters Co H 17th NC Regiment
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Hendrik van Dorsten hvand@bellsouth.net July 20, 2010, 3:23 pm

Here are transcripts of an articles from the newspaper The Enterprise,
Willianston, Martin County, North Carolina, August, 1957:

Lost For Fifty Years,
 Old Civil War Story Is Found

An interesting Civil War story, written by a native of this county, was recently
found after being lost for half a century.  Its pages faded a bit, the story
just popped up in some old papers that had been in storage down through the
years.     
Written by W. H. Wyatt, a member of Company H, 17th North Carolina Regiment, the
story recalled incidents and people of the Civil War.  The old warrior was
living at 116 Prospect Place, Rutherford, New Jersey, when the story was written
on April 1, 1907.  Accompanying the story was a brief letter addressed to Alfred
Whitmore, editor of The Enterprise at the time.
It was in the days of handset type, and apparently Editor Whitmore considered
the story too long to handle.  Although the story is a bit long, it has much of
its setting in Martin County and is quite interesting. 
Mr. Wyatt said, in part, “If you think the enclosed would interest your readers
sufficiently to justify you in printing it, do so.  If you have doubts, leave it
out.  My idea is that others will follow me, and that some things worth printing
may be contributed among them.  Leave out whatever you think should be omitted.  
Mr. Wyatt was right when he said others might have some stories to tell. But the
art of procrastination prevailed, and many, many stories that could have been
told in connection with the part Martin County men had in the war were never
told and recorded.  The story is recommended to Martin County citizens
interested in a personal story of the Civil War.


William H. Wyatt Entered the War at A Tender Age
Found Old Home Too Dull - He Went to Raleigh and North after War
By W. H. Wyatt
Co. H, 17th N. C. Regiment
In almost every company of persons of which I find myself a member, no topic of
conversation or recital of experience or observation receives more attention
than what is commonly, spoken of as “war stories”, told by old veterans of the
Civil War. I have thought that perhaps your readers would like to be told of
some of the incidents, which relieved the monotony of the lives of their fathers
in camp, field and hospital.
With this idea in mind, I proceed to relate a, few of the events, which my
memory retains. Remember that I am writing purely and solely from memory, which
must account for such inaccuracies, or incompleteness as may be discovered. 
Were I placed in such a situation as was Othello with the young Desdemona, and
the success of my suit depended upon the brave and glorious things I could say
of myself and my martial career, I fear the young lady would not be interested,
and that I should have to seek somewhere else for a wife.  For I can boast no
deed of valor bravely done.  No battles fought, no victories won.  I saw very
little fighting, was not in a single battle, was in a very dangerous position
only once and then for only a little while.
Enlistment
The war was nearly two years old; most of the boys of my acquaintance had
already enlisted and were in camp. It was dreadfully lonesome in and about
Williamston, nothing doing in any line.  I was the only young man home in my
neighborhood. One would suppose that the young ladies would have kept me
perfectly and perpetually delighted with their demonstrations of appreciation;
but no, they didn’t particularly interest me. I don’t believe one of them gave
me a thought except when they saw me.
Occasionally one would get me to write a letter for her to a young man in the
army, sometimes a brother, sometimes a sweetheart.  It was all the same to me; I
wrote one style of letter as willingly as another. I was no more interested in
the girls than they were in me.  I was lonesome, and wanted to be with the boys.
What did I have to fight for?  Oh, nothing at all. Then why fight? Fight? I
didn’t wish to fight. I wanted company and occupation, and the only place in my
reach where I could find companions such as I desired was the camp of the 17th
regiment, at Hamilton; and the only occupation available was soldiering.
I would have been with the boys long before, but I was young, small for my age,
and not strong, and it was a question whether I would be accepted or not.  One
day I visited the camp.  Some one suggested that I enlist. Company A (from
Williamston) was full, but Company H was not.  Captain Samuel Johnson, from
Plymouth, wanted recruits. I was introduced, examined, and accepted, to the
great disgust of some of the better-developed men of Company H, who did not wish
to have the Company filled up with “boys”.
Col. W. H. Martin was in command of the 17th, and John C. Lamb, of Williamston
was Lieutenant Colonel.  Lieutenant Col. Lamb knew me well, had known me several
years. I was at one time a member of his Sunday school class. He saluted me
cordially, said he was glad to have me with the regiment, and that they had a
special post for me: the regiment needed a postmaster, and that, he would
recommend me for the position. He did so. I was detailed to look after the
regiment’s mail, which brought me directly into intimate relation with all
officers and men in the regiment and gave me an opportunity for observation of
the men and their actions.
Camp Life
To go minutely into detail of camp life as it was lived at Hamilton (I do not
remember the name of the camp) would be tedious.  So I will merely note that our
principal work was to patrol the country from the Roanoke to the Pamlico, from
Hamilton down as far as possible to discover and report sorties or raids from
Plymouth and Washington.  That was no slight task, and it kept our thirteen
hundred men busy day and night. Scouting parties were out almost continually,
and pickets were stationed at regular intervals along the roads and river.  This
took a large number of men, and left none too many to do the camp work, of which
there was no end. The camp was established in a wood which had to be cleared of
trees and stumps, graded and smoothed, streets laid out, houses built for
officers and men. For there were few tents, most of our people being housed in
small huts of logs and rough boards, cut and prepared on the spot.
Although there was plenty for all to do, life was somewhat monotonous, about the
only relief being when a courier galloped into camp with the information that a
gunboat was coming up the river.  Then all was hurry and excitement for a time.
These alarms came none too often for the good order and discipline of the camp.
 Even soldiers are apt to grow apathetic and perform their duties in a
mechanical way when there is no apparent necessity for alertness.     Soon after
the fort at Rainbow Banks was completed, we abandoned the camp in Sherwoods
Woods - just when it was getting into good shape and moved over to the fort.  We
camped just outside the walls in an apple orchard. The officers’ quarters were
in the mansion on the other side of the road, the parade ground being in front
of the camp.
Attack?
One beautiful moonlight night, about two o’clock, I was awakened by some unusual
noise, and heard the sound of a drum. The drum had not been beaten; the drummer
was tightening it preparatory to beating. I supposed it was the reveille, but
there was no appearance of daylight.  As I listened, the drummer began to beat
what I supposed was to be the drummer’s call. But no. After the first two or
three taps he launched out on the long roll.
I was the only one awake in my tent. I knew what the long roll meant, so I shook
and called the others near me, yelling at them “Get up, the long roll in is
beating.”  Instantly the camp was awake and stirring. But before anyone could
get out, Colonel Martin was on the parade ground calling, “First Company out
takes the colors - send me a Company to take the colors. What Company takes the
colors?”  By this time the sergeants were calling out, “Fall in Company A.  Fall
in Company B.  Fall in, Fall in,  Right Dress, Front”, and all the other
preparatory commands.
In very quick time the regiment was formed, one company was deployed as
skirmishers. Col. Martin calmly remarked, “Captains have your Orderly Sergeants
call the roll of their companies”. Who ever heard of such a thing as that in
such an emergency as we supposed was upon us?  Call the roll when we were about
to be surprised in camp in the middle of the night?  The sergeants called their
rolls, reporting all that were absent.  Then the, Colonel ordered the companies
back to their tents until further orders.  It was a false alarm.  We returned to
our bunks and were soon again asleep.
At the roll call that night several could not be accounted for - they were
absent without leave.  These were ordered under arrest next day and examined as
to why they were absent.  Some were excused, but many had to spend a week in an
old barn, which served for guardhouse.
Most of those absent lived nearby, and frequently, “ran the blockade” after roll
call.  They went home for clean clothing or supplies of food, tobacco, etc. 
Among those caught that night was James Twiddy, of Company H.  Jim was one of my
messmates, had been married a few weeks before to a young woman living a mile or
so from camp, and usually went home once a week for clean clothing.  On the
night of the false alarm, Jim had asked me to do him the favor to take his
bundle of soiled linen outside the guard line before taps.  He would go out
immediately after roll-call, pick up his bundle and run home, get a change, be
back before the morning roll-call and be prepared with a clean shirt for
Inspection Sunday morning.
He had been trying two days to get his usual leave for the purpose and had been
refused. Jim was always a faithful soldier, was never under arrest, and he saw a
term in the guardhouse confronting him because he could not get a clean shirt
for the weekly inspection.  So he took French leave, got the clean shirt - and a
week in the guardhouse besides.  Poor Jim.  He always felt he had been treated
unjustly.  But two things compensated somewhat.  One was the knowledge that he
intended well and that no one blamed him for doing as he did.  The other
consolation, and perhaps, this was the most consoling, was the fact that his
young wife visited him every day during his imprisonment, and kept him well
supplied with good things to eat, as well as her own cheerful company. No doubt
many men in the regiment would have been willing to take his “punishment” for him.
Colonel Martin wore a pleased and happy expression of countenance for several
days after this incident. Some one asked him one day why he sprung that false
alarm on the camp.  “Well,” said he, “the night was warm, the moon shone bright,
a mosquito persisted in buzzing about me so I couldn’t sleep.  All at once it
occurred to me it was a good time to see how we would act if attacked . . . .  I
sent for the . . . . .  Colonel Martin was as good and kind hearted a man as I
have ever known, and his men loved him.  This was the only trick I ever knew him
to play, and even the victims promptly forgave him that.
Gunboat
There were alarms and reports of Yankee gunboats coming up the river, several of
them, during our stay at Hamilton, but only one that was sufficiently unusual to
justify mention here. It was a summer night and the moon was again at her best
and brightest. Taps had sounded long ago, and the camp was as silent as the
cemetery inside the fort. A horse was heard to gallop up to headquarters. A few
minutes later the house was lighted up and there were indications that the
courier had brought important messages. In a few minutes the drum sounded the
long roll, and all over the camp was heard, “fall in men, fall in I”. The
regiment was formed on the parade ground, and the men were told that a courier
had just brought a report that gunboats were coming up the river. No further
news was received, and after waiting in line perhaps half an hour we were
marched inside the fort and ordered to be ready for any emergency at a moment’s
notice, meanwhile we could “rest at will”.
An old neighborhood burying ground was located on the bluff called Rainbow
Banks, just on the spot desired for the fort.  It had been enclosed within the
walls, but had not been molested, so it remained just as it was before the fort
was constructed - trees, and grass, and undergrowth intact. Many made straight
for the graveyard as offering the most inducement for a sleeping place, and soon
there were more people sleeping above the sod than under it. The living and the
dead slept peacefully together, and I’ve not heard that either objected to the
other.
Nothing more was heard of the gunboats and it was learned that the pickets
further down the river had not seen them. This seemed strange, and was the more
perplexing because the sentry on that particular post from whence the warning
was sent was positive he saw the smokestack of a steamer gunboat. He was ordered
to keep close watch the next night. He did so, and reported that as the moon
reached a certain position, there was that smokestack again, but it seemed
stationary and remained in the same position until the moon rose above it, when
he saw no more of it. In the morning a reconnaissance was made, when it was
discovered that the supposed smokestack was only the tall stump of a tree.
For two days and nights the 17th regiment had bivouacked in the fort, without
removing clothing or accoutrements; the entire courier detail had been on duty,
galloping up and down the road from below Jamesville to Hamilton; all nerves
were tense and expectancy high.  The culmination did seem farcical.
But let no one blame the picket.  People who observe the moon see strange
effects at times.  Sitting at my window one night (I lived in Brooklyn, N. Y.,
at the time), looking at the full moon, just rising above the housetops, I
presently saw a flag floating in the face of the moon. The effect was somewhat
startling at first, but after a little I was able to account for the seeming
phenomenon. The flag was on a pole on a large building half a mile or more away
from me; but it looked just as if it was in the moon.  Of course, the moon soon
rose above the flag and it was no longer visible.
The newest thing that has been discovered in the moon is the portrait of a
woman, apparently young, and very good looking.  Madam Luna must be several
thousands of years of age but she looks no more than thirty, if so much.  Is the
moon the place of perpetual youth?  We have been so long accustomed to speak of
and imagine we see a man in the moon, that it is a little difficult to locate
the woman.  But she is there, and for about a week of each moon she is visible
to all that care to look at her.  Once you discover her you will never again be
able to see any semblance of a man in the moon.
This moon girl has lured me off my post.  Ah well, ‘twas ever thus.  Women have
always easily attracted me, but this is the only instance when the attraction
was effective at such a long range, or by one of such uncertain age.  Let’s
return to headquarters.
That reminds me of a camp story - not original.  A soldier was accosted by a man
on horseback.  ‘What army do you belong to?”   “Lee’s Army”, answered the
soldier.  “What army do you belong to, sir?  “Me”, said the man on horseback. 
I’m a Chaplain, I belong to the army of the Lord”.
Prisoner
One might suppose that army officers in camp would die of ennui or work
themselves to death trying to devise means or methods of diversion, but there is
work in plenty for all from the commanding officer down to his orderlies. Every
day there are reports to be made, compared, signed and forwarded - enough to
keep the whole staff busy half the day. Then drills and miscellaneous detail
work amply fill the remainder of the time, but occasionally something unusual
happens, sometimes amusing.
One day a scouting party, which had been operating near Plymouth arrived in
camp, bringing a prisoner. Such captives were usually United States soldiers,
but this was a civilian and proved to be an old acquaintance of many of those of
the regiment whose homes were in lower Martin or upper Washington counties. His
name was Newberry, I think. He was eccentric, some said erratic, and more than
usually intelligent, quick witted, a good talker, and possessed of several
accomplishments among which was a working knowledge of phrenology, coupled with
a politician’s share of the knowledge of human nature as it exists in the
average man.
The prisoner was past conscript age, had but one eye, and physically was unable
to perform military service, so he was one of the very few men who remained at
home. He was arrested on suspicion of communicating with the enemy. (There was
no one else he could communicate with.) So he had been brought into camp as a
sort of precautionary measure.
He was permitted to go about camp at will, accompanied by a man with a gun, to
talk with old friends whose wives and children he knew at home, and was welcome
wherever he went. When he had been with us about two weeks, he got one of the
officers to allow him to examine his head phrenologically. The examination and
report interested all the others and made them curious to learn the result of an
examination of their own heads. By perseverance he accomplished the feat of
examining the head of every officer in the regiment, and those of many private
soldiers. Of course, his findings were right. If he found anything wrong, he was
wise enough to keep quiet about it. At last he was discharged and told he could
return home. A friend accompanied him a short way from camp. Then they came to
the parting, Mr. Newberry said to his friend, “This is the result of my
knowledge of phrenology.  I felt around among the heads of those officers for
soft spots, which might help me out, and I found them. Good-bye.”
Skirmish
It is interesting to note how incidents are repeated.  We have all read how
three men at the bridge over the Tiber, at Rome, held at bay and finally
defeated an invading army; also how a few men held the pass of Thermoxylae. 
Doubtless the same thing, with slight variation has happened many times more
than the records show. Something very much like it happened at Fosters Mills,
near Williamston, when twenty-two men of Company A, 17th regiment, met and
defeated U. S. troops consisting of one regiment of infantry, one company of
cavalry and one battery of artillery.      
It was probably the purpose of this expedition to destroy these mills and
reconnoiter as far as possible into the interior of the country.  A book written
by a Sergeant, of Gen. Wessell’s command and published soon after the war - a
very fair and modestly written work gives this as the purpose of the expedition
and says they burned the mills, which is only half true. They did burn the
sawmill, which was not protected or defended, but they did not reach the
gristmills, on the other side of the pond.
Your readers all know that this millpond is wide and deep.  The water is held
back by a long dam with saw mills at one end and gristmills at the other. There
is a wide section of floodgates in the center, with a footpath just wide enough
to allow two persons to walk together or pass each other.  The floodgate section
is much lower than the dam, and is reached by stairs at either end.
The Yankees reached the sawmill and started to cross the other side by way of
the dam and floodgates.  When they began to appear at the top of the stairs on
the grist mill end, this squad of twenty-two men began firing.  They fired as
fast as heads appeared above the parapet.  They must have fired effectively, for
the attempt to cross was finally abandoned.  The entire force returned to
Plymouth at night, after fighting . . .(indistinct). . . of position was
everything.  Only one or two men at a time could reach the top of the stairs,
and these were immediately fired on. No one on our side was hurt, but one man
was reported as being so badly scared that he got behind a tree and refused to
leave it while the firing continued. Strange to say his name is the only one of
this gallant band that I remember. He has had trouble enough over it, so I will
not give it here.
Band-Box Regiment
So many of our men lived within reach of the camp and got clean clothes and good
things to eat from home every week, that we were unusually clean and sleek in
appearance, and came to be called the “band box regiment”, and others were
jealous of us. So it came to pass that one day we were informed that we were to
go to the front, and that another regiment was to take our place.
The news caused much surprise and regret in camp; surprise, grief and tears in
the homes of those who resided within visiting distance of the camp. We had been
there so long, knew the ground so well, were so acclimated and comparatively
happy that it did seem unwise to send away and put in our place men who were
strangers to the locality, unacclimated and consequently liable to sickness due
to local causes. But men were becoming fewer at the front in Virginia and we
were in prime physical condition, fresh and entitled to a chance to smell
burning powder and hear scream and whir of shot and shell.
So one day we packed up and moved away. I am not quite sure of the order and
route of our going except that we went through Tarboro fantastically.  Many men
were mounted on army, mules carrying dilapidated bandboxes on the ends of long
sticks, dressed in rag-tag and bobtail style, and hooting, yelling and joking
about “the band-box regiment”.  At Tarboro we took cars for Wilmington where we
were to be brigaded and prepared for active service - real war.  Lieutenant Jos.
Sitterson, our Jo, wrote a very detailed account of the camp breaking and trip
to Wilmington, but I am not sure what paper it was printed in, whether, a
Tarboro paper or a Wilmington paper. I remember reading it, and that he thought
the train was a slow one, the engine worked hard and made a lot of noise, and
that at every snort she seemed to say, ‘tis the “band-box regiment going away”.
 Perhaps he will tell the story over again for the edification of a new generation.
Many really seemed glad to go, doubtless because it was a relief from camp
monotony.  People tire of anything if they get an overdose of it, and welcome a
change, even though it is for the worse. Here is a story illustrative of this:
Two lovers - he wanted a world in which she was the only woman and he the only
man.  She desired a world in which he was the only man and she the only woman. 
They were married.  For their honeymoon heaven, they selected a place as far as
possible from the maddening crowd, where the wishes of their lives might be most
nearly realized.  They were the only pebbles on that beach, and for two days
they were supremely happy.  The third day they began to miss something.  A day
or two later she said “It would be pleasant to meet a friend, wouldn’t it
George?”  “Yes”, said George, “or even an enemy.”
The 17th regiment had simply been sated with the good things of soldier life. 
Many of the men had, become tired of eating three meals a day, sleeping on . . .
of comparative ease, wearing clean clothes, going home two or three times a
month, and having their wives and children visit them frequently, always
bringing them good things to eat.  They were desirous of a taste of real war.  I
heard some say they feared the war would be over before they got a chance to
fire a shot at the enemy.  Alas, their fears were not realized.  They got their
chance, and fired their shot at the enemy; and the enemy fired his shot at them
and both they and their enemies are today part of the soil and sod of Virginia.
In due time we reached Wilmington and pitched our camp in a pine thicket on the
banks of a creek two or three miles below the city on the Sound Road.  It was a
mile off the highway, and there was not a residence to be seen in any direction.
 Our entire brigade was camped there - the 17th, 42nd, 37th, and 50th,
regiments, but I am not sure of their numbers.  We had to do over again the work
we had completed in the camp we had just left.  Ground had to be cleared and
graded for drill and parade, trees cut and huts erected for officers and men;
streets to make and keep clean, stumps to pull up, wells to dig, besides drills,
to which were now added brigade drills - something new to us, and very fatiguing.
The General’s Cow
While in this camp an incident occurred which is worth mentioning.  The food
supply of the South was becoming exhausted.  The men at the front in the
trenches had the brunt of the war to bear, and it was only fair that they should
have first consideration in the matter of food. Those in camp must be content
with whatever they got.  Rations bad been cut from half a pound of meat per day
to a quarter of a pound.  Then to one-eighth of a pound, with a piece of corn
bread not as big as a man’s hand, and occasionally a little rice or sorghum - a
black thick variety of molasses made in South Carolina, North Carolina and parts
of Virginia. It was demoralizing the entire camp.  Men were on the point of
mutiny.    
Many deserted.  One beautiful moonlight night just before roll call there was an
unusual noise and commotion in the camp of the 42nd, which adjoined that of the
17th.  The noise was that of men imitating the cry of a pack of hounds when
chasing a fox.  The sounds grew louder, clearer and more tumultuous. Evidently
the men were coming our way.  Presently they were in our camp.  Then we saw that
a great crowd of men chasing a cow that was making for the woods back of our camp.
Soldiers in camp are always ready for a bit of diversion and a steadily
increasing number of our men joined in the chase and cry.  The cow reached the
woods, the baying was abated, and an ominous silence ensued.  Just then the
drums sounded roll call, and the men came running from the woods to answer. 
After roll call a number of men quietly, perhaps stealthily, returned to the
woods.  They had killed the cow and returned to finish the dressing and
division, which had been interrupted.  The meat was divided between the men who
had committed the deed.  Somehow the officer of the day of the 42nd regiment
heard of what had occurred.  He, as he was duty bound to do, reported the matter
to the officer of the day of the 17th.
They started on a tour of inspection of their respective camps, in search of the
stolen property.  Lieutenant Chesson of Co. H heard that the search was being
made.  He hurried through the street of Co. H, stuck his head in at every door
and called out, in a sort of Stage whisper, “Boys, if you’ve any of that meat in
here, hide it, the officer of the day is coming.”  Tent after tent was warned in
this way, and the officer and his guard got nothing from Co. H.  But the men
were greatly excited and several brought out their guns and accoutrements and
stacked them in the street, declaring that the war was over as far as they were
concerned.
Matters looked serious for a time.  Some of our officers threatened, others
persuaded, with little effect.  At last Lieutenant Col. Lamb arrived in our
street and spoke somewhat in this wise,  “Men be reasonable, matters are very
bad but they cannot be made better in this way.  It is late now - soldiers
should be asleep.  Return to your tents, act like reasonable men.  Let’s have no
further disturbance tonight.  Tomorrow we will see if something can be done. 
Turn in now.  Good-night.”  Lieutenant Col. Lamb then left our street and
retired in the direction of headquarters.  I do not believe any of our officers
slept much that night.  But at last the tumult ended, quiet was restored.  The
men again took charge of their arms, which had been stacked in the street, and
returned to their tents, some to sleep and forget - others to remember, cogitate
and to act.
The latter decided that the present was theirs - theirs also the meat at
present.  But for its possession to be realized it must be eaten now.   So these
wise ones put on the pot and had an early and bounteous breakfast, well on the
way to digestion and assimilation before the guard resumed its activities.  This
was the only mess, which saved its beef. The others slept and dreamed of good
things to eat in the morning.  Alas - the dream was all they got of it; for just
as the breakfast call was sounded, the guard again set out in search of what it
had failed to discover the night before, and this time with more success.
It happened just as one mess cook of Co. A called his men to the table.  He had
been a sea-faring man and was proud of his ability to cook and had his beef
stewed and seasoned to a nicety, with sage, pepper and onion, etc.  I paused to
sniff the savor, admire the tempting appearance of the spread and wish I were a
member of that lucky mess.  The men had not yet arrived.  Just then there was
some commotion at the other end of the street, and before anyone could realize
what the matter was the officer of the day was on the spot with his guard.  They
promptly confiscated this delicious meat and carried it to the guardhouse, where
other squads had carried other smaller and less tempting finds.  All of it
cooked, partly cooked and raw, was later served as regular rations by the
regimental commissary.
It would be hard to determine with any certainty who was most chagrined when a
piece of meat was discovered, the men who were so unfortunate as to lose a much
needed meal, or the men of the guard who found it. I have no doubt that every
officer and man of them were in full sympathy with those who had dared to
possess themselves of this food. But a soldier must obey orders, and do what is
considered his duty, without regard to sentiment or personal sympathy and opinion.
Next day investigations and explanations were in order.  There was no denying
that a cow had been killed, and that portions of the meat and some of the bones
had been found in our camp; but to discover the persons directly implicated was
not so easy.  Two or three persons pleaded guilty and bravely faced the issue,
but most of the men knew little about it and were determined to keep that little
to themselves.  Perhaps the prosecution was not over zealous.  At last, it was
given out that the value of the animal would be assessed and the amount deducted
from the pay of all the men of the regiment proportionally.  This might be
construed to imply that those who had taken no part in the transaction should
have done so, and were to be fined for dereliction of duty.  If the fine was
ever collected, we did not hear of it, and thus ended a very exciting incident
of our camp life.  It was the first disorderly act the 17th had ever been guilty
of, and it would never have implicated in this under normal conditions.  Hungry
men cannot be expected to have very clear perceptions of propriety rights in
foodstuffs.
Drop a stone in a pond of Water; the agitation will be greatest at the spot
where the stone falls, and will subside there first.  But the wave created rolls
on until the shore is reached, when an echo of the splash is heard as the waves
tell their story to the land.  Well a few days later it was told about the camp
that there had trouble at the general headquarters over in Wilmington.  General
Whiting’s best cow had disappeared, and the General had missed his usual supply
of milk - whether for punch or coffee or pure milk, rumor did not say, only that
there was lack of milk and that inquiry and search had connected the lost cow
with the incident above related.
A Diversion
General Whiting then concluded that, as he could not give his men proper food,
he would provide them with divertissement.  So the brigade was sent on an
expedition against Shepherdsville a fortified position near New Berne.  I was
left behind to look after the camp and its properties, along with several others
considered physically unable to take the march.  So, I leave the story of
adventures incident to this movement to be told by someone who took part in it.
 There was some fighting I know, for the Captain of Company B (from Hyde County)
was killed and the boys told stories of the brave attack.  Our brass band came
back togged out in brand new  U. S. Infantry uniforms. All agreed that the
United States troops were well supplied with good food, of which fact they had
had the most convincing and agreeable proof. 
About this time Lieut. Colonel Lamb was promoted to Colonel, but I don’t
remember the details of what became of Colonel Martin.
Spring Water
When the men returned from this expedition and had rested up a little, the 17th
was again sent away.  (I do not know what became of the rest of the brigade).
This time every man and all camp belongings went - we broke camp for good.
We were sent to Fort Fisher. The weather was insufferably hot, the roads was
deep sand all the way, there were few trees except scrub oak, blackjack and some
long leaf Pines, and about the only, undergrowth was wire grass.  We saw no
animals, but were told that rattlesnakes were plentiful.  We suffered from
thirst more than from heat.  We suffered from lack of food also, but that was
chronic.
Ahead of me I saw many men stop at the same spot.  Perhaps it was a rattlesnake.
  When near enough I saw it was a spring, a bountiful spring of clear waters,
flowing from the base of a small hill.  I had observed that the men did not
drink freely but tasted and spit out the water.  As soon as possible I seized
the gourd that was left at the spring for the use of wayfarers, filled it and
swallowed a mouthful or two before I got the taste, then spit, and spluttered
and ugh-h-hed as the others had done.  The water was beautiful to see, but it
was strongly impregnated with some chemical, said to be sulfur, which made it
useless for drinking purposes.
Into Battle?
We remained only a week or two at Fort Fisher. We camped on the bare beach. 
Then we retraced our steps over the sugar loaf, as the sandy cone from
Wilmington to Fort Fisher is called.  At Wilmington we took train for
Petersburg, Va., where we camped in a lovely place called Dunlap’s Grove.  It
was on the high bank of a small stream called Swift Creek. After a few days of
rest we were ordered to prepare to march again.  Four days’ rations were served
to each, man - excellent bacon, more meat than we had seen before in many a day.
 Several rounds of ammunition where also served.  Some said we were going to
Richmond, others said to reinforce Lee, still others said the enemy had crossed
the James river and were approaching Richmond and that all available troops were
to be sent there for its defense. Such is camp rumor and gossip on all
interesting occasions.
It was about ten o’clock in the morning.  The sun was hot.  We had gone two or
three miles down the turnpike, moving leisurely, as became Southern soldiers
just out of recruiting camp, when suddenly a cannon boomed right under our noses
and a solid shot came crashing through the tree tops right across our ranks.  I
think there were other shots fired, but no damage was done.  Then down the line
came the order “Ha-a-a-l-l-t-t; right face; forward march; halt; about face;
front rank, forward march; halt; about face.  This movement was made in about
the time it takes to tell it, and left the men standing in two rows, one on each
side of the road, facing each other, with the middle of the road clear.
Then the cavalry and artillery, which had been in our rear, galloped to the
front with much clang and clatter. We closed ranks and followed them, taking a
short cut across the woods to Fort Walthall Junction, a station on a line of
railroad to some point on the Appomattox River.  There was a field of wheat near
the road, and woods beyond the field.  From this woods a field battery was
sending four-pound Parrott shells at us.  One fell very close to me, but no one
was struck.  This was the first time I had been under fire or in any danger of
being shot; and this danger did not last long, for the battery soon ceased
firing, and our surgeon called off certain men to act as ambulance corps, myself
among them.  We retired to a safe distance in the rear, opened a field hospital
and awaited business.  None came.  During all that day the 17th N. C., and the
other troops composing the right wing of the army remained almost stationary
around Port Walthall Junction.  First moving a little forward and then back to
the place of starting, changing position merely with no apparent object.  At
night the whole force retired from the field and rested on their arms on
hillside overlooking the position of the enemy.
Next Morning business began early.  It was rumored that a great battle was
imminent.  About sunrise we heard cannonading in the direction of Drewy’s Bluff
on the James River some twelve miles distant.  It was the sound of heavy guns,
and we surmised that an attempt was being made by the United States fleet to
reach Richmond, and that the forts and that the forts on the bluff were opposing
them.  The firing was kept up all the morning and by ten O’clock had become
almost a continuous roar.  Then the sounds began to move further and still
further down the river and by noon had almost ceased.  We surmised a great
battle had been fought and that the enemy had been defeated and had retired down
the river out of the reach of our guns. We guessed right. The United States
forces under command of Gen. B. F. Butler, then in charge of that department had
attacked the Drewry’s Bluff fortifications by land and river.  The forts were
too strong, their guns were too heavy and the aim of our gunners too accurate
for the light craft of the fleet, so they ceased firing and made for the greater
waters and safety.
Our land forces had likewise proved too numerous, or too vigorous for Butler’s
land arm so they had retreated into a great swamp of wedge shape, between the
James and Appamottox rivers, known as the Bermuda Hundreds. It was a desperate
step and showed how completely overwhelmed the United States forces were.  But
it was that or surrender and they bravely (and wisely too) chose that.  In this
position we could not attack them without first constructing corduroy roads into
the swamp.  That would have taken a long time and a great many men.  We had none
to spare for the job; so we left the defeated army bottled up in the
impenetrable swamp.  We were confident that they could never escape, even if
every man didn’t die of malaria or be devoured by insects or starve to death for
there seemed no way for them to obtain supplies.
But this defeat they turned into a great victory.  They not only got into the
swamp beyond our power to pursue, but they got through it and made a road to the
James River, whence supplies were obtained, and they remained there permanently,
having found it a secure base. 
We heard afterward that General Whiting disregarded his orders to move his wing
forward and join the battle.  If he had done so the enemy would not have escaped
into the swamp, but would have been made prisoners and a great victory would
have been gained. But of this I know nothing certain - it was merely camp
gossip.  However, Gen. Whiting was soon after relieved of his command, and was
never again heard of.                               
That night we camped on the ground we had been occupying for the past two days.
 Sometime toward morning orderlies were sent through the camp awakening the men
and telling them to make a fire, but to make no noise.     Presently the
hillside was bright with blazing fires, fed with fence rails. There was no noise
but much activity, and early in the morning we returned to Dunlap’s Grove, which
we had left two days before. 
General Wise 
A few days later we returned to the position we had just abandoned near Port
Walthall Junction, and there or thereabouts we remained as long as I was with my
regiment.  Skirmishes were frequent and some fatalities resulted.  It was here,
and in one of these skirmishes that Colonel John C. Lamb, of the 17th, was
mortally wounded.
I was not in this skirmish, for I had been detailed, along with a few other
weaklings, to take care of a lot of army paraphernalia - carts, harness, tools,
musical instruments, etc.  We were located behind a hill near the turnpike going
from Petersburg to Richmond, just beyond range of shot, but we heard the firing,
and in that way kept in touch with those at the front.  It was here that one
night, about ten o’clock, when my squad had just laid down to sleep, but were
still awake and out campfires still smoldered, we heard volleying at the front.
 Volleying was unusual at night, and we were discussing it among ourselves when
we heard sounds of a horse galloping fast in our direction.  In a few seconds,
the horse was in front of our camp and a voice called out loud and strong in
good stage heroic style, “Rouse the command! The enemy are advancing!”
We knew the voice and the way of the speaker and answered, “All right, General,”
when at once the horse dashed off again up the road in the direction of
Richmond.  It was General Henry A. Wise, one of the queerest characters I met
with during the war. He had a brigade - Wise’s Legion, it was called -but he was
often seen dashing about the fields or roads alone, going always at full speed,
as if he was carrying some important dispatch and must deliver it in the least
possible time.  When he was only a few paces away, if you would stop and salute,
and ask, “What’s the news?” he’d stop short, throw the bridle on the pommel,
drop over to one side in his saddle and give you graphic details of how we were
licking ‘em all over creation and would soon rid, not only the South, but the
whole world of the entire low-down breed of Yankees, who were only fit for
shootin’. -, -, -. Then, just as suddenly as he had stopped, he would gather up
the reins, straighten himself in his saddle and be off again as if all of Tam
O’Shanter’s witches and devils were pursuing him, leaving behind him a trail of
dust and uncertain sounds, to repeat the performance the next time he was
saluted by any unattached unit of the army, whether officer or private it made
no difference; an auditor seemed to be all he desired.
Colonel Lamb                  
One morning there were sounds of a battle.  When they ceased, I went over to the
rear of the fighting line to see if I could learn anything of the fight.  I
filled my canteen with water at a spring as I went along, and a few minutes
later had reached the field hospital.  I saw a group of men and on inquiry
learned that Col. Lamb had been wounded.  I went to him, offered him water and
inquired if I could do anything for him.   He was perfectly conscious, though
pale and frightfully wounded.  A solid shot or fragment of shell had struck his
right thigh, had broken it and driven both ends of the bone through his
trousers, tearing a great hole.     It was the ugliest wound I saw during the
whole war.  He was taken to the hospital at Petersburg, about six miles away,
and a few days later I learned that he died there.
One day, a week or so later, I was taken with a chill; a fever followed and I
reported to the doctor.  All my “command”, together with the goods we were
guarding, were removed the field hospital at Port Walthall Junction.  There I
was confined to my tent several days by sickness.  Then I was sent to the
hospital at Petersburg - the same to which Col. Lamb had been sent.  I was given
a bed of straw with clean sheets.  Oh, what luxury, and oh, how I slept, and how
refreshing was the sleep.  My neighbors told me a few days later that the last
occupant of that bed had been removed to the dead house only a few hours before
my arrival, but the bedding had all been renewed and the bed and sheets were
clean.  Shortly after my arrival the Chaplain visited me and told me all about
the death of Col. Lamb.
Raleigh 
In a couple of weeks I was convalescing and was sent, with a trainload of others
to a hospital at Raleigh, N. C.  We arrived in the night, and, early next
morning marched across the city to the Fairgrounds Hospital. Dr. E. Burke
Haywood, was surgeon in charge.  I was standing near the Hargett street entrance
when a tall, dark visaged man on horseback, wearing a military cap and insignia,
entered the enclosure.  He glanced at me as he dismounted and said, “Come here,
young man. I have been looking for you.  “What is your name?” “Queer” thought I,
“looking for me, but don’t know my name”.  I told him my, story—“Well”, said he,
“you’ll stay here, awhile now, I need you for my orderly.  Report to my office
about ten o’clock.”            
At the time mentioned I was promptly on hand and was at once invested with the
honors and dignity of orderly to the chief officer of the post -no mean
distinction at the time - and immediately entered upon the duties of the
position.  The work was not irksome, the doctor was very kind and considerate,
even indulgent toward me though he had an austere appearance which prejudiced
people against him. 
Soon afterward the position of hospital postman was added to my duties, and this
brought to the notice of every one in the institution. 
Just across the street from the Fairgrounds, another hospital was in course of
construction.  When finished, this was called the Pettigrew Hospital and Dr.
Haywood removed his headquarters to a small building in the Pettigrew grounds. 
This made the third hospital in Raleigh, and all were usually filled.  With men
from the armies in Virginia, sent here in order that the hospitals nearest on
the scene of activities might be kept ready for emergencies.
To supply this great number of sick and convalescing men with food and
delicacies suited to their condition was more than the Government was able to
do, so private and individual aid was sought.  Soon after Pettigrew Hospital was
opened, the ladies of the various churches in Raleigh organized a hospital
relief committee, for the purpose of supplying sick soldiers with nourishment
suited to their conditions. Every morning about ten o’clock the ladies met in a
room in a building just back of the Capitol (the State Museum now stands on the
site of that building), put their contributions together, and apportioned it
according to the needs of the inmates of the three hospitals.  Each hospital
sent an ambulance to this rendezvous every morning, to take the ladies and their
baskets of goodies to the hospitals, and sent them home again by the same
conveyance.
My duties were again enlarged to include attendance on these ladies - to handle
their baskets, assist in the distribution of the food and see them and their
baskets safely home again.  In this way I made the acquaintance of a number of
excellent ladies, young, married and single - and enjoyed their friendship and
esteem many years after the war.  Some invited me to their churches.  Mrs.
Towles and Mrs. Evans, as I sat between them one day in the ambulance, took
turns in persuading me to attend their respective churches.  Mrs. Towles was a
staunch Presbyterian, and fluently eulogized the people and pastor of her church
and assured me of a cordial reception any Sunday morning.  “Aunt Lucy” Evans was
an old fashioned Methodist, and in her turn used forcible arguments to convince
me that it was my duty to attend the Methodist Church, because it was my mother
church and my mother’s church. I did not wish to offend either of these good
ladies, so I went to the Baptist church.  It was the largest, finest and best
furnished church in Raleigh and a certain young woman sang in the choir.  Her
voice - but that is not war talk.                              
The ladies of this hospital relief committee were mostly just plain home folks,
wives and daughters of the businessmen of the city.  Each doing her part in a
quiet way without ostentation or hope of reward, even to the extent of a line in
a newspaper after death.  Few of them are living now.  But there were among them
some wives of persons of note, which may be properly named here.  There was Mrs.
Judge Saunders, rather stout, round moon face, sandy hair, worn in hard short
curls all around her head.  She was quite exclusive; didn’t care to put her
contribution with that of others: brought her own dishes and silver; positively
declined to go to the Fairgrounds Hospital because it was not a genteel place,
and for the same reason preferred not to go to Pettigrew.  Peace Institute was
the place for her, and she usually went there.  She was the only of her kind -
the others were ready to go anywhere there was a sick or convalescing man
needing special nourishment, which the hospital could not supply.  Judge
Saunders had represented the United States at some foreign court, I forget
which, and Mrs. Judge Saunders just couldn’t forget it.
There was the wife of another ex-United States diplomat and representative
abroad - Gen. D. M. Barringer.  He had represented the United States at the
court of Spain.  When Mrs. Barringer left that country she left behind her all
its notions and airs, and never referred to them in conversation except in
answer to questions.  She had brought with her from Spain many curios, and
objects of art.  These things she described, told what part of the country they
represented, etc., in conversation with me and doubtless with others who were
intimate enough to be admitted into her parlor.  I think Mrs. Barringer must
have lain awake nights planning the welfare of the unfortunate ones in the
hospitals.  She sent them especially prepared food, flowers and fruits, and
would visit them and talk with them and cheer them as long as they lived, and
put flowers on the graves of those who died.
She used me as her messenger in this business, but she made it appear that I was
rendering her a valuable service for which she was grateful, and made me feel
perfectly at ease in her presence, whether in the hospital or in her own
splendid home. One man in whom she had taken special interest died.  A day or
two after his death, she asked me to call at her home in the afternoon for some
flowers to put on this man’s grave.  I called at the hour appointed, and was
given a floral cross as long as the grave. I had difficulty in carrying it, but
I got it safely in position, without the loss of a blossom.  Another young man
had lost a leg and she managed to get measurements (I think she worked the
doctor in this case) and sent to Europe for an artificial leg.  These acts came
under my own observation in Pettigrew Hospital.  No doubt she did the same
things for patients in the other hospitals.  And all was done so quietly that
the recipients of her favors would scarcely know how to say “thank you”.
Mrs. Ad Vance, wife of Gov. Z. B. Vance, was another distinguished lady of the
relief corps.  She was small, very timid, couldn’t bear the sight of suffering
humanity that filled the wards of the hospitals, so she seldom visited them. 
But she was a faithful and unostentatious helper.  No one would ever suspect
from her appearance, manners or conversation that she was the wife of the most
strenuous and popular of all the war governors of the Confederacy.
I always went through the wards with the ladies carrying their baskets,
distributing the food and collecting the dishes.   One day there were two young
ladies, sisters, serving the patients.  The older was daintily dipping some soup
and filling small dishes, which I was ready to distribute.  Suddenly her hand
relaxed its hold, she hastily snatched a handkerchief and applied it to her
eyes, and had a fit of weeping. The younger one looked severely at her and said,
“Why sister, what ails you?” At the same time she seized the lady with a firm
hand and continued the service in a manner that would become the wife of a soldier.
One day we received a consignment of wounded United States soldiers, taken in
the fight at Ream’s Station, on the railroad between Weldon and Portsmouth. 
They were placed in the same wards as our own men, had the same care and
treatment that our men had.  Wounded prisoners always were so treated in
Pettigrew and in the other hospitals too, so far as I know.  A young woman of
the relief corps asked me who they were. When I told her she said, “Well, don’t
give one of them anything of mine, they chased my brother a few days ago and
might have killed him.” She had learned that her brother was in the fight at
Ream’s Station, but was not hurt.  I told her that I didn’t consider that a good
reason.  These men knew nothing of anyone fighting against them.  Her brother
was trying to kill them quite as certainly as they were trying to kill him.  The
fact was neither of them wished to kill the other, or even to do them the least
harm; that such was the fortune of war, etc.  This mollified her somewhat and
the distribution proceeded as usual without any distinction.  But a little later
the ladies supplies were greatly diminished and the number of sick and wounded
increased, so it was ordered that the ladies should confine their services to
Confederates only.  No one was pleased at this. The United States soldiers did
not understand why they were passed by, attributing it to wrong motives and the
ladies could not help reading their thoughts in their faces as they passed.
One day Dr. Haywood said to me, “You must prepare to join your regiment at
once.” “Why, what’s the matter doctor” I asked.  “I don’t know”, he said ”that
is the order.  All who are able to travel to their regiments must join them at
once.”  I was dumfounded.  I had made acquaintances in the city, several very
attractive young ladies among them, with whom I had spent many delightful
evenings and I had no desire to leave them, particularly for the field of battle
or fatiguing March.  But a soldier must obey orders always.  I had obeyed orders
in coming to the hospital, and must obey orders to leave it.
But before I go I want to say a word about an unusual patient.  A large
consignment arrived one night. I was awakened by the noise, and among the sounds
of men I heard the bleating of a goat. A little boy apparently not over ten
years old, was among the lot, and he had picked up a young goat somewhere and
wanted to take it into the ward with him. This he was not allowed to do.  He
protested and the goat bleated.  They were separated, however, till morning. 
The lad was not sick, but his arm had been broken and never set, and was stiff
and crooked.  He belonged to no regiment, was not enlisted, and on that basis
could not be cared for in the hospital, couldn’t have a bed.  But the little
chap was not in the least bothered over the situation.  He found a vacant bed in
one of the wards, filled out a blank.  (I don’t know whether he wrote or only
imitated writing, probably the latter), took possession of the bed, and still
held it when I left.  In a few days he had learned the names of the doctors, and
always called them by their surnames.  Dr. Little was just “Little”, and so on
through the list. Everyone received him kindly, and enough shared rations with
him to keep him from being hungry, and I think he shared with the goat.  He
usually invited himself to breakfast, dinner or supper with some of the officers.
Sherman
At the time I set out to rejoin my regiment they were a few miles below Kinston,
opposing the advance of Sherman’s army.  I left the cars at Kinston about two
o’clock, and went alone, in the direction given me. I crossed a field in which a
sharp skirmish had taken place about two hours before.  The field and the woods
beyond were strewn with guns and accoutrements, abandoned artillery caissons,
dead and wounded men and horses.  I picked up a gun (already loaded), very
likely by a United States soldier, also a cartridge box full of cartridges,
which I put on, and then was ready for business.
On the edge of the woods were a number of wounded Union soldiers.  One young man
was badly scared at my approach and begged me not to kill him.  I assured him
that nothing was further from my desires and intentions, and that I thought he
should have stayed at home with his mother.  Another was leaning against a small
tree wounded in the leg.  I asked him if his leg was broken.  “No”, said he “I
think not.  I couldn’t work my foot that way (moving it about in every way) if
it was could I”?  Then he wanted to know how long it would be before the
ambulance would come.  I told him that I was a fresh arrival on my way to join
my regiment, had seen nothing of the ambulance, but had no doubt they would be
attended to as soon as possible.  The other men only looked at me and said nothing.

I passed on, heard some firing, went in the direction whence the sounds
proceeded and struck the firing line only a little way from Co. H. 17th
regiment.  The boys recognized me and gave me a cordial greeting.  I took my
place in line, lying flat, one knee on a mound of leaves around a small tree,
and the other knee, in the mud.  A man at my right had picked up a haversack
filled with Yankee hardtack - very different from the Confederate variety - and
we lay there and ate hardtack, awaiting an attack.  Firing was almost
continuous.  Two of our sharpshooters were exchanging compliments with some of
their own kind on the other side, on a direct line with me.  Several of their
bullets struck my tree, shaking it and me.
I had been there perhaps two hours when my name was called up from the line.  I
answered and was told that John Chesson, brother of one of our lieutenants, had
been badly wounded.  If I understood how to treat such cases, as it was supposed
I did after a year in the hospital service, to report to the field hospital,
which I would find somewhere in the rear, and take charge of John.  I started
for the rear, the bullets, whistling about me, and now for the first time, I
realized the danger of the situation and felt uneasy.  While on the line we were
once ordered to rise and fire.  We did so, and this was the only shot I fired at
the enemy during the war.
Field Hospital
It was growing dark when I found the hospital and the sight was simply
appalling.  A pile of legs and arms freshly amputated was right by the side of
the path.  Dead and wounded men were lying all about.  I could not make out in
the dusk whether they were friends or foes.  I found my man, assisted at the
operation of removing the bullet from his back, just below the shoulder - it had
gone almost through him.  We were in a room of a small house.  Outside the
surgeons and their assistants worked all night on the wounded, cutting, sawing,
and sewing.  In the morning a train came down and took the wounded to Goldsboro.
 I was sent as nurse.  There were several other men put in my charge, a whole
box car full, as well as John Chesson, my special charge.
Just as the train was about to start for Goldsboro, I saw a boy hurrying toward
my car, and at once recognized him as the little lad I left in the hospital at
Raleigh.  He said he got tired of the hospital and he wanted to get with the
army again.  He had gone to Johnson’s army instead of Lee’s, thought he would go
with me and help take care of my wounded men.  And he was very helpful.  I lost
sight of him at Goldsboro, and never saw him again.  Hard as had been the battle
life with him, up to the end of the war, I fear the struggle became more and
more strenuous as he grew older, hampered as he was by his stiff arm, fragile
body and lack of any knowledge or skill in handicraft.  He served the public to
the extent of his ability while he was a child, and the public owed him a living
in his manhood and old age.  I fear the debt was not acknowledged.
We remained in the hospital at Goldsboro about a week.  My patient held his own
well, and we began to hope he might recover.  Then one day about noon, there was
some confusion noticed in the looks and actions of doctors and nurses.  The
attendants began to throw bedding out of the windows, and to dismantle the
place.  The patients were being dressed.  An attendant reached our section of
the ward at last and I was told to dress my patient at once - the town was to be
vacated.  Just then a nice looking man and woman entered the ward, seemingly in
search of some one.  They came straight to us.  It was Mr. and Mrs. Chesson,
father and mother of John, my charge.  Imagine what occurred - in the next two
and half minutes.  Then they found the officer in charge of the hospital and
asked permission to take their son home with them.  He readily assented saying
he wished the parents or friends of every man there could come and take them
away.  They begged him to let me go with them, because they knew nothing about
dressing a wound.  He demurred at first, but consented at last.  John was placed
on a hospital stretcher aboard the train, the stretcher resting on the back of
the seats.
We reached Raleigh about ten o’clock that night. The train was met by a
committee of men and women with refreshments for the sick and wounded.  When our
party was discovered and our situation made known several invited us to their
homes for the night.  We accepted the hospitality of the Rev. Mr. Huffham, a
Baptist minister, as he lived near the depot.           
The Chesson’s were refugees; their home was near Plymouth.  They rented a place
just below Tarboro and this place was reached in good time. John died two or
three weeks later, and I returned to my regiment, joining it at a town a few
miles below Raleigh, and just as the whole army was about to start on its
retreat before Sherman’s army.
Retreat
The next day we passed through Raleigh.  I expected we would receive the usual
attention, sandwiches, coffee, etc.  But not a sandwich or cup of coffee was
offered us.  As we were marching up Fayetteville Street, the principal street of
Raleigh, I saw a lady, one of my old friends of the relief committee.  It was
she who gave none of her goodies to the wounded Yankee’s because they had chased
her brother a few days before she saw him in Pettigrew hospital.  I supposed she
would be glad to see me and say a pleasant good-by.  I left the line and ran
over to where she stood, and greeted her, perhaps with apparent warmth.  She
drew back coldly and said, “I don’t want to speak to you or any of you.  I think
you are all a lot of cowards, running away and leaving us to the mercy of
Sherman’s army.  You’re cowards, that’s what you are.”
I tried to explain that there were too many of Sherman’s men and too few of us.
 She was immovable and only said, “You needn’t tell me that. Enough men have
passed through Raleigh yesterday and today to eat all the Yankees this side of
Mason and Dixon’s line.
“Wait”, I said, “till you have seen Sherman’s army.”  Then I hurried away and
took my place in the line.            
Next day Sherman’s army entered the city.  I have been told the entrance was
dramatic and impressive.  Fayetteville Street was packed close from one end to
the other with U. S. soldiers, from the Governor’s Mansion to the Capital.  But,
as I did not see this show, I will let someone else describe it.  We continued
our march day after day toward Greensboro. The weather was warm and rainy.  The
streams were swollen.  We forded one after another, Haw River being the largest
one.  One day we heard that Lee had surrendered.  Then it was denied, and we
were told that he was to join us at some point farther on the next day.  Nearly
every day our army was growing smaller owing to desertions.  No attempt was made
to intercept deserters, and no one seemed to blame them.
Wheeler’s Cavalry acted as rearguard.  Almost every day we heard sounds of
combat coming from our rear.  But we were not overtaken, and the pursuit was not
continued after the third day.  Saturday night, the campfires were smoldering,
and most of the men of Johnston’s army were asleep.  Some one went through the
camp and told the men that Lee had surrendered.  We had heard the rumor before
several times.  This time it seemed to come from a reliable source.  Every man
repeated it to those next to him, and in a few minutes every camp fire had been
rekindled, and excited and earnest men were gathered around them discussing the
story and its probability and result.  The general sentiment was, “If it’s true,
the war is over and we may as well quit and go home.  That’s just what I’m going
to do, true or not,” said some.  It looked as if the retreat of Johnston’s army
had ended.     
Realizing the seriousness of the situation, the commanding officer sent an
orderly - perhaps several orderlies in different directions among the men.  They
had what purported to be a telegram from Gen. Lee, saying there had been some
fighting with Grant’s men.  Lee had decided to join his army to Johnston’s in
order to stop Sherman.  He had many prisoners which he was compelled to take
with him.  However, the prisoners would not march as rapidly as he had supposed
they would.  So he had been unable to join us a day or two ago, as he first
intended, but would surely join us at Greensboro.  This soothed and reassured
the men, so the fires soon died out again and again the army slept.     
The next day, Sunday, as we tramped along the rough stony, I noticed eggshells
of various colors - red, yellow, green, blue, etc, and wondered what they meant.
 I was told it was Easter Sunday.  I didn’t know what that meant, for up to that
time Easter had not been observed or even mentioned in any part of the state I
had lived in or visited.   Moravians had settled the part of the State we were
then traversing, and they had preserved their Easter customs.  Now every child
of, every church knows Easter, and has colored eggs and rabbits on Easter
morning, and girls expect a whole outfit of new clothes and every young woman
must have a new hat.  It is as bad as Christmas for a man with a family. 
War’s End
When we halted that night we were told to be ready to move at five o’clock next
morning. We were ready at the time appointed, but no orders came.  We waited
until eight o’clock, then ten o’clock.  The boys began to get restless and to
recall the rumor of Lee’s surrender.  By noon we had decided that something was
wrong, and were told to prepare dinner and wait for further orders.  Then we
knew something had happened.  About two o’clock the orderly sergeant was told to
form his company; the captain had something to say to them. The order to “fall
in” was responded to promptly.  Captain Sam Jonhston then told us that Gen.
Johnston desired every man to assemble around his headquarters when the drum
beat, as he had something interesting to say to us. That was all; “break ranks.”   
When the drum was beaten the men quickly gathered around headquarters and
General Johnston addressed them.  I do not pretend to make a verbatim report of
what he said.  In substance he briefly reviewed the hardships and dangers they
had shared and dared together; assured them of his appreciation of their
faithfulness to the cause and to him.  Then he told them that General Lee had
surrendered.  Richmond was in the hands of the Yankees.  In our front was the
Yadkin river, so swollen that it was impassable.  If we crossed, Kautz’s cavalry
awaited us on the other side.  Grant was on our right and Sherman in our rear
and on our left.  We were completely surrounded.
Then he told us that President Lincoln had been assassinated, and that the U. S.
Government had asked for an armistice for ten days.  “Now,” said he, “most of
you are farmers; it is planting time; every day is important to you.  I wish you
would all go to your homes at once.  I want to get home myself.  But you have
stood by me all these years, and I must stay with you now as long as there is a
man in camp”.  He said he thought it was not necessary to wait for paroles or
formal surrender.  However, since there was considerable property to be looked
after, horses, wagons, arms, etc.  As long as men remained in camp they would be
required to do guard duty as usual.  Although he didn’t think there would be any
more fighting, as he considered the war was over. Then he dismissed them.  It
was the last time he saw his whole army as their commander, and few of us ever
saw him again.
Gen. Hoke and other officers spoke, but I have no idea what they said.  By the
time General Johnston had finished his speech, no one was in a mood to hear
more.  The men were excited and bewildered.  Some laughed, some cried, some
swore.  The band played “Dixie” and many joined in singing it.  What to do next
was the question confronting us.  Few realized fully the import of what Gen.
Johnston had said.  Billy Williams, who lived near Williamston and realized the
importance of getting his corn planted as soon as possible, was for starting at
once for home.  But he was not quite sure he was right and came to me for
advice.  I advised him to take Gen. Johnston at his word and go home right away.
 He started at once.  It was then about four o’clock in the afternoon.  About
six o’clock Billy returned, to camp looking sheepish.  We at once began to ask
questions.  Had he been home and back in so short a time? - We’d all go right
away - have breakfast at home.  Come, tell us about it.
“Well”, said Billy, “I’d gone a couple of miles down the road when I met Colonel
Brown, of the 42nd.  He asked me who I was, what regiment I belonged to where I
was going and so on. I told him my name and regiment and that I was going home.
 He wanted to know by what authority I was away from my regiment.  I told him
what General Johnston said.  Then Colonel Brown ordered me to go back to camp
saying, “We won’t disband that way; we’ll all go to Raleigh and surrender like
soldiers.”  So I thought it would be best to come back.”  Then I said, “Billy,
Colonel Brown exceeded his authority, considering what General Johnston had
said, and is liable to be called to account for it.  This army is virtually
disbanded, and we are all advised to disperse.  Gen. Johnston meant what he
said.  Colonel Brown is a handsome man, and no doubt he would look well in such
picture-book surrender, as he desires.  The men all line up and ground arms;
officers hand over their swords to their captors; a crowd of sympathizing
ladies, and all that.  Oh, it would be dramatic. 
But General Johnston seems to take a more practical view of the matter.  He sees
that the war is over, and he wishes to get home just as soon as possible; but he
must be the last to leave, so he has set every man free to go when and where he
pleases.  Stay here till morning, then start again; and if Col. Brown or any
other man halts you, tell him you’ll return when Gen. Johnston orders it, not
before.  Refuse to acknowledge his rank and authority, and go your way. 

The Trek Home
Next morning early Billy again started homeward, met no further opposition, and
had his corn planted when I reached home.  Every day squads of men started home.
 They had to walk all the way and would have had to walk if they had waited for
formal surrender and parole.  The railroads were all torn up; bridges were
destroyed, rolling stock disabled.  It would be weeks and perhaps months, before
traffic and transportation could be resumed.  So the men might as well start
today as wait a few days longer. 
But, I waited a week before starting homeward. My knees were so sore I could
scarcely walk about camp a few steps at a time.  Just as soon as the soreness
left me I left camp in company with four or five others of Company H.  I wish I
could recall their names, but find myself unable to do so.  A short way from
camp we fell in with another squad of seven or eight men, mostly of Co. I, from
Edgecombe County.  We agreed to keep together and elected the tallest man as
captain.  He was to say which road we would take, when to halt for rest, meals
or sleep, when resume our march.  Each day three men were told off as a foraging
squad to procure food for all for that day. And that is how we got home. 
Starting from Salem Church a few miles south of Greensboro, we walked home, a
distance of from two hundred to two hundred and fifty miles, according to
whether the man’s home was in Edgecombe, Martin or Washington counties.
One of Williamston’s brave sons did not walk all the way.  Some days after I
reached home I was one day walking up the road toward Hamilton, when I saw a man
on horseback coming toward me.  The horse was walking and the rider seemed ill
at ease.  When near enough to see his features, I saw the man was Lieut. Joseph
Sitterson, of Co. E. I believe, 17th regiment.  I knew him well - knew him
before the war when he was just plain Joe Sitterson, knew him in the army - and
knew also that he was engaged to marry “Miss Puss” Smithwick, one of my
classmates in Mrs. Warrocks’ school.  Joe was a jovial fellow at home and in
camp, always laughing and making others laugh.  In answer to questions, he told
how he got the horse he was riding.
He was dreadfully tired a couple of nights ago when he reached a farmhouse and
asked for accommodations for the night. The mistress of the establishment had
become interested in his stories of life at the front, how the war finally
ended, if ended it was.  He told her he was particularly anxious to reach home
as soon as possible for he had several thousand shingles up the river waiting
for a vessel.  He had heard the river was rising and he feared they would all be
carried off by the freshet if he couldn’t get there in time to take care of
them. The lady was so sympathetic that she gave him the horse he rode, in order
that he might reach home sooner and with less fatigue.  He had ridden
comfortably the first day, but after that he was so sore he had almost as soon
walk as ride, and couldn’t bear to go out of a walk.  The story as to fatigue
was entirely correct, but the shingles were purely a creation of Joe’s
imagination.  But he reached home that day.  In due time he and Puss were
married and have lived happy ever since so far as I know and believe. 
Occupied Raleigh      
After I had been home a couple of months, and got good and tired of doing
nothing, and getting nothing for it, and seeing no prospect of a change for the
better, I went to Raleigh, hoping to get work at my trade. Walking up
Fayetteville Street, I saw a young man and a young woman coming down the street.
 Presently I saw that the lady was none other than my old friend of the relief
committee who had called me and all Johnston’s army cowards the day we passed
through Raleigh on the retreat.
Had I recognized her in time, I would have crossed to the other side of the
street or turned aside and not met her.  But it was too late, so I walked
bravely forward, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on her face to see what its
expression betokened.  When she saw me she gave a little start, and then her
face fairly glowed with the blessed light of pleased recognition.  She extended
her hand in greeting.  Holding her hand, I looked her straight in the eyes and
said, “Well, what do think of us now?” “I think”, she replied ”, you are the
bravest and best men who ever lived. I don’t know how in the world you ever held
out so long.  I didn’t think there were so many Yankees in the world. I’m proud
of you.”
As I write this I feel the muscles of the throat enlarging and a tingling and a
burning sensation about the nose and eyes.  The streets were then crowded with
soldiers in blue uniforms and the entire city and the county for a mile or two
was one immense camp.  I was told that there were about two hundred thousand
soldiers stationed in and about the city that summer. When we passed through
Raleigh, Johnston’s army numbered about fifty thousand.
When Sherman’s army entered a city one of the first things done was to quarter
three or more men in every house, mansion, cottage or cabin.  In placing them
there the officer of the guard always explained that it was not intended to in
any way or manner restrict the liberty of the inmates of the house.  The guard
was for the protection of persons and property.  “If for any reason”, he would
say, “these men, or any one of them, are in any way objectionable to you, report
to (a designated place), and they will immediately be changed.”
In this way a great many men were quartered. They usually cooked their rations
in the family kitchen and ate there for a time.  But in many instances, as
citizen and soldier became acquainted with one another, mutual friendship was
established, and the soldiers rations were put into the family larder, cooked
with the family food, and eaten by the family and soldiers sitting at the family
table together.
Not only were the resources of the family helped in this way, but also there
were many families, ordinarily independent, on the relief list, rationed by the
army commissary.  All business was at a standstill.  All incomes stopped, and
supplies were soon exhausted.  Lifelong friendships sprung from these enforced
minglings of citizens and soldiers, several marriages resulting in Raleigh
between young ladies of the family and their guards. If people could only get
together and talk over their differences, there would be fewer quarrels, and no
wars. 
A few years ago I was in Raleigh, for the first time in many years.  It brought
back another memory of when we went to Plymouth after the Albemarle had cleared
the Yankee gunboats out of the sound, and driven the U. S. troops out of
Plymouth and surrounding country.  I don’t remember just where that event comes
in, whether it was before we went to Fort Fisher or after.  Some one else can
tell about that.  I know we went, and I saw the battered ram Albemarle moored to
the dock at Plymouth, her smokestack, a thing of rags and jags. 
In Raleigh, going through the State Museum, I saw something that had a familiar
look about it.  It was standing in the middle of the room.  I went up to it and
read the placard.  “Smokestack of the Ram Albemarle”, etc.  Well, sure enough,
it was the real thing; looking just as it did when I saw it last.  And there it
stands today.
Some may think that in this narrative I have given too much prominence to
incidents of a frivolous nature and neglected more serious ones. It may be that
I have.  But let no one suppose there was nothing horrible that came within the
range of my experience and observation or that I was insensible to its presence
and importance.  Horribles there were in plenty as when one man of Co. H.
accidentally shot himself in his tent, or when some fell by the roadside on the
march, never again to arise, but to be passed by almost unnoticed by anyone
except the ambulance corps, and by them only because it was their special
business to look after such. 
The battlefield was full of tragedies.  In the hospital, where men were supposed
to die comfortably in bed, a privilege denied to so many, and which was looked
upon as some sort of compensation for hardships endured in the trenches. 
Tragedies were frequent, as when a young man in the delirium of fever begged his
nurse to allow him to go see his sweetheart, who, he said, lived a few doors
away.  He fancied he was in his home and his last thoughts were of a dear one
whom he was not permitted to see.  He begged and pleaded and tried bribery, then
got angry and raved and would have done terrible things if he could have had his
way.  In this manner he tired himself out and sank exhausted, not to rally again.
Wives went to the hospital to see sick husbands, sometimes traveling long
distances to find them unconscious, perhaps dying or dead.  I might enumerate
many such scenes, but they are not the things a healthy mind cares to be
entertained with, neither are they legitimate subjects for popular discussion. 
These experiences are sacred to those directly concerned, and mention of them
only gives fresh twinges to nerves already overwrought and needing rest -
reminders to minds that need most to be allowed to forget.  I do not care to be
the one to remind people of sorrows that already have caused them too much
suffering.  The war was a great tragedy.  I have here taken note of some trifles
which floated most lightly on the surface: but I have looked away down into the
war’s deepest depths and have seen there more than I can bring to the surface
and exhibit here. 
My story, like the war has been 
Too long extended;
But war and story both at last
Are ended.



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