A STUDY IN INSECT LIFE.
The period covered by our service on the coast formed a sort of oasis in our military life. The Federal gunboats were kind enough to extend social courtesies to us only at long range and longer intervals. We fought and bled, it is true, but not on the firing line. The foes that troubled us most, were the fleas and sand fleas and mosquitoes that infested that sections. They never failed to open the spring campaign promptly and from their attacks by night and day no vigilance on the picket line could furnish even slight immunity. If the old time practice of venesection as a therapeutic agent was correct in theory our hygienic condition ought to have been comparatively perfect. During the "flea season" it was not an unusual occurrence for the boys after fruitless efforts to reach the land of dreams, to rise from their couches, divest themselves of their hickory shirts and break the silence of the midnight air by vigorously threshing them against a convenient tree in the hope of finding temporary "surcease of sorrow" from this ever-present affliction. It was said that if a handful of sand were picked up half of it would jump away. I can not vouch for the absolute correctness of this statement, but I do know that I killed, by actual count, one hundred and twenty fleas in a single blanket on which I had slept the preceding night and I can not recall that the morning was specially favorable for that species of game either. I remember further that as we had in camp no "Society for the Prevention of Cruelty to Animals," I corked up an average specimen of these insects to see how long he would live without his daily rations. At the end of two weeks he had grown a trifle thin, but was still a very lively corpse. But these were not the only "ills, that made calamity of so long a life," for as Moore might have said, if his environment had been different,
"Oft in the stilly night,
Ere slumber's chain had bound me,
I felt the awful bite
Of 'skeeters buzzing 'round me."
Their bills were presented on the first day of the day of the month and, unfortunately, on every other day. At our picket stations on Wilmington and White marsh Islands and at the "Spindles" on the river where the young alligators amused themselves by crawling up on the bank and stealing our rations, there was a larger variety known as gallinippers, from whose attacks the folds of a blanket thrown over our faces was not full protection.
But there were still others. On dress parade in the afternoons, while the regiment was standing at "parade rest" and no soldier was allowed to move hand or foot until Richter's band, playing Capt. Sheppards Quick step, had completed its daily tramp to the left of the line and back to its position on the right, the sandflies seemed to be aware of our helplessness and "in prejudice of good order and military discipline" were especially vicious in their attack upon every exposed part of our anatomy. Capt. C. W. Howard, I remember, was accustomed to fill his ears with cotton as a partial protection. I have seen Charlie Goetchius, while on the officers' line in front of the regiment, squirm and shiver in such apparent agony that the veins in his neck seemed ready to burst. Neither whistling minies, nor shrieking shells, nor forced marches with no meal in the barrel nor oil in the cruse ever seemed to disturb his equanimity in the slightest degree. Quietly and modestly and bravely he met them all. But the sandfly brigade was a little too much for him.
In addition to these discomforts, the salt water marsh, near which we were camped, never failed to produce a full crop of chills and fever as well as of that peculiar species of crabs known as "fiddlers." Gen. Early was once advised by one of his couriers that the Yankees were in his rear. "Rear the d—l," said old Jubal, "I've got no rear. I'm front all round." These fiddlers seemed to be in the same happy condition. Their physical conformation was such that no matter from what side they were approached, they retired in an exactly opposite direction without the necessity of changing front. But of the chills. Of the one hundred and fifteen men in our ranks only three escaped an attack of this disease. The writer was fortunately one of the three. One man had fifty-three chills before a furlough was allowed him. Quinine was scarce and boneset tea and flannel bandages saturated with turpentine were used as substitutes. Whiskey was sometimes issued as a preventative. In pursuance of a resolution formed on entering the service I never tasted the whiskey and as soon as my habit on this line became known, I was not subjected to the trouble of looking up applicants for the extra ration. The dearth in medical supplies recalls other facts showing the straits to which the Confederacy was reduced on other lines by the blockade of its ports. Letters written in '63, and now in my possession, show that my brother, then Assistant Surgeon at Tallahassee, Fla., could not purchase in that place a pair of suspenders nor a shirt collar—that my mess could not buy an oven in Savannah, though willing to pay $30 for it and that I ordered shoes for Capt. Picquet, and other members of the company from a Mr. Campbell at Richmond Factory, as no suitable ones could be had in Savannah.
Our service at Thunderbolt was entirely devoid of any exciting incident or episode in a martial way. If the company fired a single shot at a Yankee during our stay I can not recall it. On one occasion 8 or 10 volunteers from each regiment stationed there were wanted for "a secret and dangerous expedition," as it was termed in the order. There was a ready response from the Oglethorpes for the entire number wanted from the regiment. Among those volunteers I recall the names of W. J. Steed, J. E. Wilson, R. B. Morris, J. C. Kirkpatrick and F. I. Stone. We never knew whether it was a contemplated attack on Fort Pulaski or the capture of a Federal gunboat, as the expedition failed to materialize.
April 18, '63, Henry Wombke of the Oglethorpes, was drowned while bathing in Warsaw Sound, and on July 12, '63, John Quincy Adams, while returning from picket at the Spindles was accidentally shot by George Mosher, who had gone up on the boat to kill alligators.
Some official changes took place in the company during our stay at this camp. To fill the vacancy occasioned by the resignation of Lieut. W. G. Johnson, Charles T. Goetchius was elected, but I have no record of the date. On July 5, '63, the death of Major John R. Giles resulted in the promotion on July 12, of Capt. J. V. H. Allen to that field office in the regiment. Louis Picquet became captain of the company, and on July 14, Geo. W. McLaughlin was elected Jr. 2nd. Lieut.
As a part of the "res gestae" of our soldier life at Thunderbolt, the following incident may be of some interest: