On the night of the assault, July 18, there was no sleep in the 48th. It was past midnight when the last of the men came in from the fort, and the horrible scenes through which they had passed, and the anguish of grief over friends and comrades, maimed and wounded, or lying silent in that pit of darkness and blood, forbade all thought of rest. Colonel Barton was wounded through the thigh, Lieutenant-Colonel Green, Captains Farrell and Hurst, and Lieutenant Edwards were dead, and Captain Paxson was mortally wounded. Captains Lockwood, Elfwing, and Swartwout, and Lieutenants Miller, Barrett, and Acker, were also severely wounded. It was a heart-rending sight when, on the following morning, I visited them in the steamer which was to convey them to Hilton Head. No one could doubt the quality of the 48th now. The heroism of the men was only equalled by that of their officers. None could have been braver. All the wounded officers had made their escape with the exception of Lieutenants Taylor and Fox, who were left in the hands of the Confederates. While we mourned for our immediate friends and associates, we did not forget that our brigade commander, General Strong, was among the fatally wounded. I had been accustomed to report to him in person for commands for the battery; and, of all the men I have ever known, few have left such deep and such pleasant impressions on my memory as he—of the gentlest and most winning manners, yet always the thorough soldier, brave even to rashness, kind, courteous, and considerate, he grew more and more beloved as he became better known. He never asked men to go where he would not lead the way.
THE SWAMP ANGEL BATTERY.
On the night of the assault, my battery was stationed at the outer lines of our defences, on the shore, to resist any counter attack which the Confederates might make, and I witnessed much of its horrors. As one after another of the wounded came in, eager and anxious were the questions asked, until the return of the torn and broken remnants of the proud columns which a few moments before had rushed to victory told too plainly the story of savage butchery and defeat. Well do I remember the appearance of the negro soldiers as they came straggling back from the front that night, for I was not favorably impressed by their conduct. I have often thought that their presence in the attacking column was a mistake, and that the hatred and disgust which they caused in the minds of the Confederates overcame every other feeling, to such an extent that the instinct of self-defence was converted into brutal ferocity, as was manifest in their treatment not only of the colored soldiers themselves, but the gallant officers who led them. With the highest respect for the opinions of those who have testified to the discipline and valor of the negro troops, I am impelled to say, in spite of the criticisms that my statement may provoke, that my own observation and experience, as well as the experience of others, have convinced me that the prevailing opinion, especially in New England, of the valuable services rendered by colored troops in actual conflict, is erroneous, and that their most effective work during the war was done with the pick and spade. If quickness of perception and independence of thought and action are desirable qualities in a soldier, this conclusion seems both obvious and necessary. After the repulse of the 18th, the Billinghurst and Regua battery was kept at the front all the time, and, although protected somewhat by earthworks, there was no complete guard against the shells which night and day exploded all about us. One of my men was sitting in the sand just outside the battery, when a shell from Wagner literally ploughed him out of his seat. Fortunately, it did not explode, and he only experienced a good shaking-up. Night after night we were obliged to keep watch of those magnificent streams of light which, proceeding from the mortars at Castle Pinkney, seemed charged with intelligence as well as powder, for as they moved through the air and reached the point over our batteries, they appeared to poise themselves as if to select the most vulnerable point, when they descended with a peculiar whizzing sound into our very midst. Our only recourse was, by determining on which side the earthworks they would fall, to make the most expeditious movement to the other side, to await the explosion.
I remember one night when it was determined to plant a chevaux-de-frise from our battery to low-water mark. A night was chosen when it was thought that the heavy clouds would obscure the moon and conceal our operations. The wagons proceeded up the beach with the materials, until they had nearly reached the point selected, when the opening clouds disclosed them to the garrison of Wagner. No time was lost in opening upon them with their Armstrong guns, from the parapet. The first shot produced a stampede, and in an instant the teams had turned about, and the horses were scampering back, with the shot and shell skipping about them in the most unceremonious fashion. The sight was so ludicrous that I was thrown off my guard, and exploding with laughter, until the danger of my own position was recalled by the bursting of shells about my head.
Back to the regiment. Off for St. Augustine. The duties of provost-marshal. The quaint old city. Its pleasant people. Two months of rest. Lieutenant Ingraham. Back to Hilton Head. The regiment reunited. Visit to Morris Island. Captain Eaton. Fort Wagner and its reminders. Lieutenant-Colonel Green.