REV. I. J. HILL
Orderly 29th Regiment, Connecticut Volunteers
I prayed in this battle whenever I had opportunity to look towards Heaven, for grape and canister and bullets of all shapes and sizes were falling thick and fast about me. We were in close quarters with the enemy and our ranks were being thinned by reason of the wounded and dead lying on the battlefield. Although I came out of this battle pretty well shaken up, excepting for a few scratches, my life was on the altar for my country and my people, and I was not especially concerned as to the outcome regarding my own life; but I was determined to do all that I could to bring our cause to a victorious end. The Union forces moved back and remained all day about twelve miles from Richmond.
On the 18th, the Twenty-ninth Regiment, of which I was commissary sergeant, and the Third Division, moved down the valley, halting in the open fields for two hours. We were opposite the pontoon bridge which crossed the Chickahominy, and remained until the bridge was put in repair. While here I gave out hard tack and pork to the soldiers as best I could. For myself, I built a little fire and roasted a bit of pork over the fire, which together with water from the river, formed my meal. On the 20th we marched for the forts on the right of Point Rock Hospital, near Petersburg. On the 21st we were almost flanked by the rebels and retreated to Malvern Hill and repaired the breastworks. Here we had another skirmish. Some lost their lives and others were wounded, but we were successful in capturing seventy-five prisoners.
On the 23d we crossed the James River on the pontoon bridge, passing the heights where the New Jersey Battery was stationed. They greeted us with shouts and “Hurrah boys! we are here to stay!” Such a round of cheers you never heard. You would not have thought that they were on their way to battle, and some to death and the Judgment Throne. Uncle Freddie Moore and Orderly I. J. Hill were the only preachers we had with us, excepting the chaplain. They used to say to us, “boys get ready, for if there ever were a time when you should be ready, it is now; for you do not know when you may be called to go, you are continually in death’s jaws.”
We were soon in front of Petersburg, Va., looking upon the doomed city. We were greeted by a shell from the rebels, or Grey Backs, as we sometimes called them. It fell near the colonel, who was sitting on his horse at the right of the brigade. We countermarched and fell back to the woods, where we remained until 5 o’clock, when orders were received from the general to fall back to the fort and protect the pontoon bridge. On our way we met a lot of troopers making their way to the front, who wanted to know our reason for returning. We told them that the rebels were after us. It was very amusing to see them falling into line. Some of them could march faster than we. We reached the fort, but when we found that the Johnnies were not coming after us, we became anxious to see them and meet the issue. We found quite a number of our associates from New Haven and Hartford, Conn., and Woodbury, N. J. We were all delighted that our lives had been spared to see each other again in the flesh and chatted freely about our friends at home, our wives, mothers and children. I had often heard of the horrors of war, but now I began to experience what it meant, in the joy of meeting friends whom I never expected to see again on the earth, or at least some of them. There was a sense in which I had a new understanding of that marvelous passage of Scripture, regarding death, “Oh death, where is thy sting; Oh, grave, where is thy victory.” We had not yet felt the sting of death and we had not experienced the victory of the grave, yet we had been in the very midst of both.
Once again we marched in front of the horrible pit, Petersburg. Some of the whites said, see they are taking those colored soldiers to the slaughter pen. Truly, they had said so, for I never saw such a scene the first night. Shot and shell were raining fast around us. Henry Migs, a native of Africa, was killed. He died as a soldier, true to his adopted country, but a stranger to God. I thought that every bullet was sent for me and was doing some real praying. We do not know what prayer is, until we are reduced to our extremity. Then we realize with a new experience, that our extremity is God’s opportunity. I told the Lord that He had promised to “Rescue the perishing and care for the dying,” and that I wanted Him to keep the promise of that song, so far as I was concerned. Well, praise His name, He did so. Thank God to-day that I am still living and permitted to write this bit of fearful experience, so others may know what it is to trust in God.
On the 24th, Private Sam Bertim, of Company E, was killed, having been shot through the head. Private George Porter was also killed. Colonel Wooster was taken sick and was carried from the rifle pits to the rear. The rebels captured one of our officers, while changing those on picket duty. Two men from the Twenty-ninth were slaughtered, they were members of Company A. The colored troops did some good fighting in this engagement. We were told by the enemy that if we were captured our tongues would be cut out, or we would be starved to death; that there would be no exchange of prisoners in our case. So this was a rather fearful inspiration, but it served its purpose, of causing us to fight to the best of our ability; for we really feared that in case we were captured that such barbarities might be administered to us.
On the 1st of September we were ordered to strike tents and to move on, we knew not whither we were going. We did not care either, for now we were thoroughly enthused with the issues of war. We had tasted of the dangers of battle, and this taste brought out the desire that we should fight to the finish. Some of our dear friends had laid down their lives already, and we reasoned that if it should be necessary for them to give such a sacrifice, that we were no better than they. So in our judgment, we were becoming calm, and in our determination, we were becoming more and more fixed.
With President Lincoln and our great generals and loyal soldiers, we felt that the issue was assured. Of course we did not forget the divine side of the question, that God was on His throne and that right and justice and mercy would at last prevail. While it had always been said that this was a white man’s country, we were determined that the black man should share in this honor of ownership. And the best way that this ownership could be established was through the loyalty of the black man on the battlefield. For surely it will be conceded that when a man has bought his adopted country by his blood, it is his own. While, as a race, the Negro race, this is our adopted land, yet as individuals, it is our native land, our fatherland.