While we were enjoying this short season of comparative idleness, active and aggressive operations were going on all about us. Expeditions were planned, obstructions removed from the creeks and rivers where openings were desired, and midnight scouting parties penetrated the surrounding country in all directions, even to the very walls of Pulaski. In all of these, Major Beard, of our regiment, took a leading part, and did most efficient service. As we sat around the fire one evening at Dunn's, he suddenly appeared among us, with General Gilmore, who had already been promoted from the position of Captain of Engineers in the regular army, to that of Brigadier-General of volunteers. They had just returned from the work of clearing the spiles from Wall's Cut, by which a convenient way was opened for our boats to the Savannah. Much of the night was spent in listening to their adventures, but we little knew how intimately connected these were with our own immediate future.
It was not long after our camp was established, before we had our full share of labor and danger. It had been determined to establish batteries on the islands of the Savannah, to cut off communication with Fort Pulaski, and prevent re-enforcements and supplies. The points where these were to be located having been selected, the engineers were ordered to prepare the materials for their construction, and our regiment and a portion of the 7th Connecticut were employed for weeks in conveying this material from the woods to the dock for transportation. Some eight or ten thousand logs, of from ten to fifteen feet in length, and from three to six inches in diameter, were carried a distance of from three-quarters of a mile to a mile and a half, on the shoulders of our men, and, in consequence, many of our best soldiers were ruptured or otherwise injured, and crept out of the service, maimed and ruined for life. Late on the evening of February 9, a detachment under Captain Greene was ordered to report at the dock to complete the loading of the Mayflower. It was raining very hard, but the men worked faithfully until after midnight, when word came from brigade headquarters to take off a part of the load. This was done, and the admirable foresight of the commanding general was fully appreciated, as was manifest from the frequent comments in which the men indulged, which had the merit of earnestness if not of elegance.
At 3 A.M. of the 10th, we started for Jones Island. We were all wet, hungry, and tired. Not expecting to leave Dawfuskie, we had taken no provisions. There was no opportunity for sleep, for, arriving quickly at the point of debarkation, the work of unloading and conveying the materials across the island was pushed forward hurriedly. It was a season of the year when, even in this southern latitude, the sun gave but scanty heat, and the men must needs work lively to keep the blood from chilling. The island was but a deposit of soft mud, into which they sank to their knees at almost every step, while occasionally the logs or planks which they carried were needed to bridge over spots otherwise impassable. During the forenoon, a party was despatched to camp in a small boat, for food, but the supply which they brought was totally inadequate, from the size of the boat and the number to be fed. During the day all the materials for building the battery were conveyed across the island, a distance of about a mile.
While engaged in this work, a Confederate steamer made its appearance, and stopped opposite, and so near to us that every movement of those on deck was discernible. The officers, with their glasses, scoured every point in the vicinity, while we crouched down among the cane-brakes. So long as the steamer remained, we expected a shot from her guns, or a closer inspection by one of her boats, which would have been extremely disagreeable, as the order for detail required us to leave our guns in camp, and there were not six rifles on the island. Fortunately we were not discovered, and the steamer, after a little delay, proceeded down to Fort Pulaski. About this time the guns for the battery arrived, and the general in command of the district, who had arrived with them, declared that they must be mounted before morning. We felt very much like harnessing him to the foremost, and giving him a taste of Jones Island mud, but there were objections to such a procedure, and, instead, we made a platform on which to load them, and prepared to do our utmost. By frequent crossing and recrossing, a way had been sufficiently marked through the canes, but the constant tread of heavy feet had reduced the soft mud to the consistency of oil for a depth of several inches, making a road not perfectly calculated for the transportation of cannon. However, there was no time for hesitation, and placing two planks before the wheels, we united our strength in the task of maintaining them on these planks, while we carefully urged them on, replacing the planks as we proceeded. Woe be it, if, slipping on the greasy mud which covered the planks, as they sometimes did, they buried themselves in the soft embrace of its slimy nastiness. Should it be asked how were they recovered, it would be impossible to tell. We can only say they were, and that with slow and suffering steps we guided, pushed, and pulled them forward, until flesh and blood rebelled at loss of food and sleep, and they were covered up, and we ordered back to camp, to be relieved by others. We had to wait, however, until the relief came from Dawfuskie, and I quote from Sergeant Thompson's journal to show how this second night was spent: "At midnight we covered the guns and endeavored to find some place to lie down in. Found a place, but was soon routed out by the tide. Came to the conclusion to walk the rest of the night to keep warm. Found a twenty-foot plank with four men on it. Jumped on and ran my chance. Kept moving until morning." This was only the beginning of such labor and exposure, and is it a wonder that so many men, protected from rebel bullets, have come out of such a service as we have here described, to worry through a life of suffering, the effects of which they have transmitted, and will continue to transmit to children and to children's children. The malaria of those mud islands is considered death to any one, even to such as have been acclimated to the South, and their only inhabitant is the ugly alligator.
This battery was hardly established before, pushing across the river, another was planted on Bird Island, farther up, so that, together, they cut off all further communication with Fort Pulaski, by way of the Savannah. An attempt was made to destroy these batteries, but without result, except in the disabling of several of the enemy's steamers, after which we were left in undisputed possession.
The smell of the mud of Bird Island lingers in the nostrils yet, and it is no wonder that in the progress of the work of establishing the battery, at times not a man was fit for duty. Whiskey and quinine were powerless to stay the effects of such labor and exposure. As a partial protection, our tents were nailed to heavy timbers a foot or more in diameter, snatched from the river as they floated down, while boards were laid across on which we slept, but even then in the high spring tides we were scarcely out of water, and not a spot was dry on the whole island.
During our stay on Bird Island, frequent reconnoissances were made up the river in different directions. One dark night, two boats were sent up the Savannah, on either side of Elba Island, to ascertain if batteries were being planted, which would threaten ours of Bird and Jones Islands. Closely hugging the shore, we worked along cautiously, to avoid being seen by the Confederate pickets. At a distance of some miles from where we started, while the pickets on the shore were plainly visible by the light of their camp fires, one of our men was attacked with a sudden and most sonorous cough. Suspecting that it was intended to stop our further progress, we waited patiently for its cessation, and resumed our progress up the river, until suddenly the sound of voices immediately in front of us gave warning that we had gone too far for safety. Fortunately, the tide had turned, and a single whisper stopped the motion of the oars, otherwise we should not have suffered long from the chillness of the night air. Dropping back with the tide, stopping occasionally to learn more certainly that there were no batteries where they had been suspected, we reached our quarters in season for an early breakfast.
Lying alongside, but extending much farther up the river than Bird, was McQueen's Island, the upper extremity of which was bounded by St. Augustine's Creek, which connected the Savannah with Wilmington River, and afforded a channel of communication with Fort Pulaski by means of small boats. Across St. Augustine's Creek, the telegraph wire connecting the city with the fort had been stretched on tall, heavily constructed spindles. The wire had been destroyed some time before, but the fact that steamboats from Savannah, at some risk from our battery, continued to come down to this point, and seemed busily engaged in some operations near these spindles, determined Major Beard, who commanded on the island, to investigate the matter, and, if possible, to bring away a scow which was known to be lying in that vicinity. The investigation was very proper, but the object of getting the scow we never understood. However, a detail was made, a boat was dragged across McQueen's Island to Wilmington River, and from that point a small party, with a guide supposed to be acquainted with the region, started for these spindles. It was a curious experience, paddling along under the overhanging banks in perfect silence, save when the vivid imagination of some one of the party pictured a Confederate picket from some peculiar conformation of the shore or eccentric growth of bush or shrub, when a word of caution would stay our progress until cooler eyes discovered the deception. One of the party even descried a picket beside its camp fire, whose bright glow shed a clear light upon their waiting figures, but to all the others there was but the blackness of darkness, and we passed on without molestation. The leaky little dug-out, which required constant bailing to keep it afloat, had room for neither rest nor comfort. Hour after hour we paddled along with the incoming tide, vainly hoping to reach the point we sought, every moment taking us farther within the lines of the enemy, and when, at last, completely lost amidst a maze of devious, winding creeks, the tide turned, we turned also, and by marvellous good fortune found our way back before the morning dawn discovered us to the Confederates. Determined to have that scow, and equally determined to have a better knowledge of the country before a second attempt was made, a small party was started one bright afternoon, which, rowing some distance up the river, landed on McQueen's Island, and striking through the canes, made straight for the spindles. We took no notice of the picket on the other side of the island, but kept right on, until, approaching the shore of the creek, the men were held back behind the trees and bushes which grew along the bank, until we could be assured of no special danger. Satisfied on this point, they were allowed to come on, and we gathered along the shore, and endeavored to impress upon each others' minds the direction of the creek, the location of the scow, and the probable means of reaching it from Wilmington River. The order to return had been given, when suddenly the Confederates appeared from behind the timbers of the spindles opposite, and not a hundred yards distant, and from the bushes near, and the order to lie down was given none too quickly to avoid the bullets which came whistling over our heads in close proximity. No one of our party was hurt, and we never received an official report of the number killed and wounded by our return fire. The locality was not sufficiently attractive to induce us to remain until the report was made up. Not only the danger of being cut off by the picket we had passed, but the shells from our own battery soon began to trouble us, for, as it afterwards transpired, one of our number, unaccustomed to the sound of bullets, became so thoroughly frightened at the first discharge that he started for camp by the most direct course, and on his arrival announced that we had been attacked by greatly superior numbers, and that he had been sent back for re-enforcements. Our own battery was soon throwing shot and shell over our heads, much to our discomfort,—for those missiles often make serious mistakes, and fall where they are least intended,—and all that could be spared were preparing to set out to rescue us from the peril to which we were exposed, when our appearance on the river put an end to the alarm. On reaching the island, we found the utmost excitement prevailing, and that every preparation had been made for the reception and care of our wounded. The author of all this confusion was discovered to be suffering the extreme effects of fright, and in a pitiable condition of mental and physical prostration. His youth, for he was a mere boy, shielded him from the consequences of his conduct, which otherwise would have been very serious. He was never permitted, however, to forget the circumstances and effects of his fright. Soon after this I was sent to Wilmington River to intercept the despatch boats, which, we had reason to suppose, found their way to the fort, but although many nights were spent in watching, while the miasma from the swamps was doing its deadly work, penetrating to the very bone and marrow, and preparing many a poor fellow for his final rest, the creeks and rivers which intersected the country in all directions afforded abundant means for avoiding us, and we made no captures.