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Army Life in a Black Regiment

T >> Thomas Wentworth Higginson >> Army Life in a Black Regiment




They do show these feelings, however, towards the Government
itself; and no one can wonder. Here lies the drawback to rapid
recruiting. Were this a wholly new regiment, it would have been full to
overflowing, I am satisfied, ere now. The trouble is in the legacy of
bitter distrust bequeathed by the abortive regiment of General
Hunter, into which they were driven like cattle, kept for several months
in camp, and then turned off without a shilling, by order of the War
Department. The formation of that regiment was, on the whole, a great
injury to this one; and the men who came from it, though the best
soldiers we have in other respects, are the least sanguine and cheerful;
while those who now refuse to enlist have a great influence in deterring
others. Our soldiers are constantly twitted by their families and
friends with their prospect of risking their lives in the service, and
being paid nothing; and it is in vain that we read them the instructions
of the Secretary of War to General Saxton, promising them the full pay
of soldiers. They only half believe it.*

*With what utter humiliation were we, their officers, obliged to
confess to them, eighteen months afterwards, that it was their distrust
which was wise, and our faith in the pledges of the United States
Government which was foolishness!

Another drawback is that some of the white soldiers delight in
frightening the women on the plantations with doleful tales of plans for
putting us in the front rank in all battles, and such silly talk,--the
object being perhaps, to prevent our being employed on active service at
all. All these considerations they feel precisely as white men would,--no
less, no more; and it is the comparative freedom from such unfavorable
influences which makes the Florida men seem more bold and manly, as they
undoubtedly do. To-day General Saxton has returned from Fernandina with
seventy-six recruits, and the eagerness of the captains to secure them
was a sight to see. Yet they cannot deny that some of the very best men
in the regiment are South Carolinians.


December 3, 1862.--7 P.M.

What a life is this I lead! It is a dark, mild, drizzling evening, and
as the foggy air breeds sand-flies, so it calls out melodies and
strange antics from this mysterious race of grown-up children with
whom my lot is cast. All over the camp the lights glimmer in the
tents, and as I sit at my desk in the open doorway, there come mingled
sounds of stir and glee. Boys laugh and shout,--a feeble flute stirs
somewhere in some tent, not an officer's,--a drum throbs far away in
another,--wild kildeer-plover flit and wail above us, like the
haunting souls of dead slave-masters,--and from a neighboring
cook-fire comes the monotonous sound of that strange festival, half
pow-wow, half prayer-meeting, which they know only as a "shout." These
fires are usually enclosed in a little booth, made neatly of
palm-leaves and covered in at top, a regular native African hut, in
short, such as is pictured in books, and such as I once got up from
dried palm-leaves for a fair at home. This hut is now crammed with
men, singing at the top of their voices, in one of their quaint,
monotonous, endless, negro-Methodist chants, with obscure syllables
recurring constantly, and slight variations interwoven, all
accompanied with a regular drumming of the feet and clapping of the
hands, like castanets. Then the excitement spreads: inside and outside
the enclosure men begin to quiver and dance, others join, a circle
forms, winding monotonously round some one in the centre; some "heel
and toe" tumultuously, others merely tremble and stagger on, others
stoop and rise, others whirl, others caper sideways, all keep steadily
circling like dervishes; spectators applaud special strokes of skill;
my approach only enlivens the scene; the circle enlarges, louder grows
the singing, rousing shouts of encouragement come in, half
bacchanalian, half devout, "Wake 'em, brudder!" "Stan' up to 'em,
brudder!"--and still the ceaseless drumming and clapping, in perfect
cadence, goes steadily on. Suddenly there comes a sort of snap, and
the spell breaks, amid general sighing and laughter. And this not
rarely and occasionally, but night after night, while in other parts
of the camp the soberest prayers and exhortations are proceeding
sedately.

A simple and lovable people, whose graces seem to come by nature, and
whose vices by training. Some of the best superintendents confirm the
first tales of innocence, and Dr. Zachos told me last night that on
his plantation, a sequestered one, "they had absolutely no vices." Nor
have these men of mine yet shown any worth mentioning; since I took
command I have heard of no man intoxicated, and there has been but one
small quarrel. I suppose that scarcely a white regiment in the army
shows so little swearing. Take the "Progressive Friends" and put them
in red trousers, and I verily believe they would fill a guard-house
sooner than these men. If camp regulations are violated, it seems to
be usually through heedlessness. They love passionately three things
besides their spiritual incantations; namely, sugar, home, and
tobacco. This last affection brings tears to their eyes, almost, when
they speak of their urgent need of pay; they speak of then"
last-remembered quid as if it were some deceased relative, too early
lost, and to be mourned forever. As for sugar, no white man can drink
coffee after they have sweetened it to their liking.

I see that the pride which military life creates may cause the
plantation trickeries to diminish. For instance, these men make the most
admirable sentinels. It is far harder to pass the camp lines at night
than in the camp from which I came; and I have seen none of that
disposition to connive at the offences of members of one's own company
which is so troublesome among white soldiers. Nor are they lazy, either
about work or drill; in all respects they seem better material for
soldiers than I had dared to hope.

There is one company in particular, all Florida men, which I certainly
think the finest-looking company I ever saw, white or black; they range
admirably in size, have remarkable erectness and ease of carriage, and
really march splendidly. Not a visitor but notices them; yet they have
been under drill only a fortnight, and a part only two days. They have
all been slaves, and very few are even mulattoes.


December 4, 1862.

"Dwelling in tents, with Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." This condition is
certainly mine,--and with a multitude of patriarchs beside, not to
mention Caesar and Pompey, Hercules and Bacchus.

A moving life, tented at night, this experience has been mine in civil
society, if society be civil before the luxurious forest fires of Maine
and the Adirondack, or upon the lonely prairies of Kansas. But a
stationary tent life, deliberately going to housekeeping under canvas, I
have never had before, though in our barrack life at "Camp Wool" I often
wished for it.

The accommodations here are about as liberal as my quarters there, two
wall-tents being placed end to end, for office and bedroom, and
separated at will by a "fly" of canvas. There is a good board floor and
mop-board, effectually excluding dampness and draughts, and everything
but sand, which on windy days penetrates everywhere. The office
furniture consists of a good desk or secretary, a very clumsy and
disastrous settee, and a remarkable chair. The desk is a bequest of the
slaveholders, and the settee of the slaves, being ecclesiastical in its
origin, and appertaining to the little old church or "praise-house," now
used for commissary purposes. The chair is a composite structure: I
found a cane seat on a dust-heap, which a black sergeant combined with
two legs from a broken bedstead and two more from an oak-bough. I sit on
it with a pride of conscious invention, mitigated by profound
insecurity. Bedroom furniture, a couch made of gun-boxes covered with
condemned blankets, another settee, two pails, a tin cup, tin basin (we
prize any tin or wooden ware as savages prize iron), and a valise,
regulation size. Seriously considered, nothing more appears needful,
unless ambition might crave another chair for company, and, perhaps,
something for a wash-stand higher than a settee.

To-day it rains hard, and the wind quivers through the closed canvas,
and makes one feel at sea. All the talk of the camp outside is fused
into a cheerful and indistinguishable murmur, pierced through at every
moment by the wail of the hovering plover. Sometimes a face, black or
white, peers through the entrance with some message. Since the light
readily penetrates, though the rain cannot, the tent conveys a feeling
of charmed security, as if an invisible boundary checked the pattering
drops and held the moaning wind. The front tent I share, as yet, with
my adjutant; in the inner apartment I reign supreme, bounded in a
nutshell, with no bad dreams.

In all pleasant weather the outer "fly" is open, and men pass and
repass, a chattering throng. I think of Emerson's Saadi, "As thou
sittest at thy door, on the desert's yellow floor,"--for these bare
sand-plains, gray above, are always yellow when upturned, and there
seems a tinge of Orientalism in all our life.

Thrice a day we go to the plantation-houses for our meals,
camp-arrangements being yet very imperfect. The officers board in
different messes, the adjutant and I still clinging to the household of
William Washington,--William the quiet and the courteous, the pattern of
house-servants, William the noiseless, the observing, the
discriminating, who knows everything that can be got, and how to cook
it. William and his tidy, lady-like little spouse Hetty--a pair of wedded
lovers, if ever I saw one--set our table in their one room, half-way
between an un glazed window and a large wood-fire, such as is often
welcome. Thanks to the adjutant, we are provided with the social
magnificence of napkins; while (lest pride take too high a flight) our
table-cloth consists of two "New York Tribunes" and a "Leslie's
Pictorial." Every steamer brings us a clean table-cloth. Here are we
forever supplied with pork and oysters and sweet potatoes and rice and
hominy and corn-bread and milk; also mysterious griddle-cakes of corn
and pumpkin; also preserves made of pumpkin-chips, and other fanciful
productions of Ethiop art. Mr. E. promised the
plantation-superintendents who should come down here "all the luxuries
of home," and we certainly have much apparent, if little real variety.
Once William produced with some palpitation something fricasseed, which
he boldly termed chicken; it was very small, and seemed in some
undeveloped condition of ante-natal toughness. After the meal he frankly
avowed it for a squirrel.


December 5, 1862.

Give these people their tongues, their feet, and their leisure, and
they are happy. At every twilight the air is full of singing, talking,
and clapping of hands in unison. One of their favorite songs is full
of plaintive cadences; it is not, I think, a Methodist tune, and I
wonder where they obtained a chant of such beauty.

"I can't stay behind, my Lord, I can't stay behind!
O, my father is gone, my father is gone,
My father is gone into heaven, my Lord!
I can't stay behind!
Dere's room enough, room enough,
Room enough in de heaven for de sojer:
Can't stay behind!"

It always excites them to have us looking on, yet they sing these songs
at all times and seasons. I have heard this very song dimly droning on
near midnight, and, tracing it into the recesses of a cook-house, have
found an old fellow coiled away among the pots and provisions, chanting
away with his "Can't stay behind, sinner," till I made him leave his
song behind.

This evening, after working themselves up to the highest pitch, a
party suddenly rushed off, got a barrel, and mounted some man upon it,
who said, "Gib anoder song, boys, and I'se gib you a speech." After
some hesitation and sundry shouts of "Rise de sing, somebody," and
"Stan' up for Jesus, brud-der," irreverently put in by the juveniles,
they got upon the John Brown song, always a favorite, adding a
jubilant verse which I had never before heard,--"We'll beat Beauregard
on de clare battlefield." Then came the promised speech, and then no
less than seven other speeches by as many men, on a variety of
barrels, each orator being affectionately tugged to the pedestal and
set on end by his specal constituency. Every speech was good, without
exception; with the queerest oddities of phrase and pronunciation,
there was an invariable enthusiasm, a pungency of statement, and an
understanding of the points at issue, which made them all rather
thrilling. Those long-winded slaves in "Among the Pines" seemed rather
fictitious and literary in comparison. The most eloquent, perhaps, was
Corporal Price Lambkin, just arrived from Fernandina, who evidently
had a previous reputation among them. His historical references were
very interesting. He reminded them that he had predicted this war ever
since Fremont's time, to which some of the crowd assented; he gave a
very intelligent account of that Presidential campaign, and then
described most impressively the secret anxiety of the slaves in
Florida to know all about President Lincoln's election, and told how
they all refused to work on the fourth of March, expecting their
freedom to date from that day. He finally brought out one of the few
really impressive appeals for the American flag that I have ever
heard. "Our mas'rs dey hab lib under de flag, dey got dere wealth
under it, and ebryting beautiful for dere chilen. Under it dey hab
grind us up, and put us in dere pocket for money. But de fus' minute
dey tink dat ole flag mean freedom for we colored people, dey pull it
right down, and run up de rag ob dere own." (Immense applause). "But
we'll neber desert de ole flag, boys, neber; we hab lib under it for
eighteen hundred sixty-two years, and we'll die for it now." With
which overpowering discharge of chronology-at-long-range, this most
effective of stump-speeches closed. I see already with relief that
there will be small demand in this regiment for harangues from the
officers; give the men an empty barrel for a stump, and they will do
their own exhortation.


December 11, 1862.

Haroun Alraschid, wandering in disguise through his imperial streets,
scarcely happened upon a greater variety of groups than I, in my evening
strolls among our own camp-fires.

Beside some of these fires the men are cleaning their guns or
rehearsing their drill,--beside others, smoking in silence their very
scanty supply of the beloved tobacco,--beside others, telling stories
and shouting with laughter over the broadest mimicry, in which they
excel, and in which the officers come in for a full share. The
everlasting "shout" is always within hearing, with its mixture of
piety and polka, and its castanet-like clapping of the hands. Then
there are quieter prayer-meetings, with pious invocations and slow
psalms, "deaconed out" from memory by the leader, two lines at a time,
in a sort of wailing chant. Elsewhere, there are _conversazioni_
around fires, with a woman for queen of the circle,--her Nubian face,
gay headdress, gilt necklace, and white teeth, all resplendent in the
glowing light. Sometimes the woman is spelling slow monosyllables out
of a primer, a feat which always commands all ears,--they rightly
recognizing a mighty spell, equal to the overthrowing of monarchs, in
the magic assonance of _cat, hat, pat, bat_, and the rest of it.
Elsewhere, it is some solitary old cook, some aged Uncle Tiff, with
enormous spectacles, who is perusing a hymn-book by the light of a
pine splinter, in his deserted cooking booth of palmetto leaves. By
another fire there is an actual dance, red-legged soldiers doing
right-and-left, and "now-lead-de-lady-ober," to the music of a violin
which is rather artistically played, and which may have guided the
steps, in other days, of Barnwells and Hugers. And yonder is a
stump-orator perched on his barrel, pouring out his exhortations to
fidelity in war and in religion. To-night for the first time I have
heard an harangue in a different strain, quite saucy, sceptical, and
defiant, appealing to them in a sort of French materialistic style,
and claiming some personal experience of warfare. "You don't know
notin' about it, boys. You tink you's brave enough; how you tink, if
you stan' clar in de open field,--here you, and dar de Secesh? You's
got to hab de right ting inside o' you. You must hab it 'served
[preserved] in you, like dese yer sour plums dey 'serve in de barr'l;
you's got to harden it down inside o' you, or it's notin'." Then he
hit hard at the religionists: "When a man's got de sperit ob de Lord
in him, it weakens him all out, can't hoe de corn." He had a great
deal of broad sense in his speech; but presently some others began
praying vociferously close by, as if to drown this free-thinker, when
at last he exclaimed, "I mean to fight de war through, an' die a good
sojer wid de last kick, dat's _my_ prayer!" and suddenly jumped off
the barrel. I was quite interested at discovering this reverse side of
the temperament, the devotional side preponderates so enormously, and
the greatest scamps kneel and groan in their prayer-meetings with such
entire zest. It shows that there is some individuality developed among
them, and that they will not become too exclusively pietistic.

Their love of the spelling-book is perfectly inexhaustible,--they
stumbling on by themselves, or the blind leading the blind, with the
same pathetic patience which they carry into everything. The chaplain is
getting up a schoolhouse, where he will soon teach them as regularly as
he can. But the alphabet must always be a very incidental business in a
camp.


December 14.

Passages from prayers in the camp:--

"Let me so lib dat when I die I shall _hab manners_, dat I shall know
what to say when I see my Heabenly Lord."

"Let me lib wid de musket in one hand an' de Bible in de oder,--dat if I
die at de muzzle ob de musket, die in de water, die on de land, I may
know I hab de bressed Jesus in my hand, an' hab no fear."

"I hab lef my wife in de land o' bondage; my little ones dey say eb'ry
night, Whar is my fader? But when I die, when de bressed mornin' rises,
when I shall stan' in de glory, wid one foot on de water an' one foot on
de land, den, O Lord, I shall see my wife an' my little chil'en once more."

These sentences I noted down, as best I could, beside the glimmering
camp-fire last night. The same person was the hero of a singular
little _contre-temps_ at a funeral in the afternoon. It was our first
funeral. The man had died in hospital, and we had chosen a
picturesque burial-place above the river, near the old church, and
beside a little nameless cemetery, used by generations of slaves. It
was a regular military funeral, the coffin being draped with the
American flag, the escort marching behind, and three volleys fired
over the grave. During the services there was singing, the chaplain
deaconing out the hymn in their favorite way. This ended, he announced
his text,--"This poor man cried, and the Lord heard him, and delivered
him out of all his trouble." Instantly, to my great amazement, the
cracked voice of the chorister was uplifted, intoning the text, as if
it were the first verse of another hymn. So calmly was it done, so
imperturbable were all the black countenances, that I half began to
conjecture that the chaplain himself intended it for a hymn, though I
could imagine no propsective rhyme for _trouble_ unless it were
approximated by _debbil_, which is, indeed, a favorite reference, both
with the men and with his Reverence. But the chaplain, peacefully
awaiting, gently repeated his text after the chant, and to my great
relief the old chorister waived all further recitative, and let the
funeral discourse proceed.

Their memories are a vast bewildered chaos of Jewish history and
biography; and most of the great events of the past, down to the period
of the American Revolution, they instinctively attribute to Moses. There
is a fine bold confidence in all their citations, however, and the
record never loses piquancy in their hands, though strict accuracy may
suffer. Thus, one of my captains, last Sunday, heard a colored exhorter
at Beaufort proclaim, "Paul may plant, _and may polish wid water_, but
it won't do," in which the sainted Apollos would hardly have recognized
himself.

Just now one of the soldiers came to me to say that he was about to be
married to a girl in Beaufort, and would I lend him a dollar and
seventy-five cents to buy the wedding outfit? It seemed as if matrimony
on such moderate terms ought to be encouraged in these days; and so I
responded to the appeal.


December 16.

To-day a young recruit appeared here, who had been the slave of Colonel
Sammis, one of the leading Florida refugees. Two white companions came
with him, who also appeared to be retainers of the Colonel, and I asked
them to dine. Being likewise refugees, they had stories to tell, and
were quite agreeable: one was English born, the other Floridian, a dark,
sallow Southerner, very well bred. After they had gone, the Colonel
himself appeared, I told him that I had been entertaining his white
friends, and after a while he quietly let out the remark,--

"Yes, one of those white friends of whom you speak is a boy raised on
one of my plantations; he has travelled with me to the North, and passed
for white, and he always keeps away from the negroes."

Certainly no such suspicion had ever crossed my mind.

I have noticed one man in the regiment who would easily pass for
white,--a little sickly drummer, aged fifty at least, with brown eyes
and reddish hair, who is said to be the son of one of our commodores.
I have seen perhaps a dozen persons as fair, or fairer, among fugitive
slaves, but they were usually young children. It touched me far more
to see this man, who had spent more than half a lifetime in this low
estate, and for whom it now seemed too late to be anything but a
"nigger." This offensive word, by the way, is almost as common with
them as at the North, and far more common than with well-bred
slaveholders. They have meekly accepted it. "Want to go out to de
nigger houses, Sah," is the universal impulse of sociability, when
they wish to cross the lines. "He hab twenty house-servants, an' two
hundred head o' nigger," is a still more degrading form of phrase, in
which the epithet is limited to the field-hands, and they estimated
like so many cattle. This want of self-respect of course interferes
with the authority of the non-commissioned officers, which is always
difficult to sustain, even in white regiments. "He needn't try to play
de white man ober me," was the protest of a soldier against his
corporal the other day. To counteract this I have often to remind them
that they do not obey their officers because they are white, but
because they are their officers; and guard duty is an admirable school
for this, because they readily understand that the sergeant or
corporal of the guard has for the time more authority than any
commissioned officer who is not on duty. It is necessary also for
their superiors to treat the non-commissioned officers with careful
courtesy, and I often caution the line officers never to call them
"Sam" or "Will," nor omit the proper handle to their names. The value
of the habitual courtesies of the regular army is exceedingly apparent
with these men: an officer of polished manners can wind them round his
finger, while white soldiers seem rather to prefer a certain
roughness. The demeanor of my men to each other is very courteous, and
yet I see none of that sort of upstart conceit which is sometimes
offensive among free negroes at the North, the dandy-barber strut.
This is an agreeable surprise, for I feared that freedom and
regimentals would produce precisely that.

They seem the world's perpetual children, docile, gay, and lovable, in
the midst of this war for freedom on which they have intelligently
entered. Last night, before "taps," there was the greatest noise in camp
that I had ever heard, and I feared some riot. On going out, I found the
most tumultuous sham-fight proceeding in total darkness, two companies
playing like boys, beating tin cups for drums. When some of them saw me
they seemed a little dismayed, and came and said, beseechingly,--"Gunnel,
Sah, you hab no objection to we playin', Sah?"--which objection I
disclaimed; but soon they all subsided, rather to my regret, and
scattered merrily. Afterward I found that some other officer had told
them that I considered the affair too noisy, so that I felt a mild
self-reproach when one said, "Cunnel, wish you had let we play a little
longer, Sah." Still I was not sorry, on the whole; for these sham-fights
between companies would in some regiments lead to real ones, and there
is a latent jealousy here between the Florida and South Carolina men,
which sometimes makes me anxious.

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