On the night of the 20th we left these plaintive pines, marched to Wilmington, and were soon aboard of the cars destined for Charleston, S.C. About mid-day of the 22d—after slight detentions at Marion Court-House and Florence—we arrived at the depot in Charleston. While here awaiting orders—the men remaining upon the open flat cars—several impudent and inquisitive idlers, necessary adjuncts to every depot, gathered around us. Among them happened to be a well-dressed, dapper fellow, in his home-guard-suit-of-gray and snow-white "b'iled" shirt. Being of an inquisitive nature, and seeking information, he had the rashness to address Jim Pearce, and inquire of him: "Whose command? Where are you stationed, sir?" Jim, who was sitting on the edge of the car, idly dangling his feet, seemed to "take him in" at once, and rising to the dignity of a full-fledged veteran, replied (very feelingly): "Stationed! Stationed, sir! Stationed, the H—l-fire! We have chased and been chased by the Yankees from beyond the shores of Maryland to this city, and we are still on the wing!" As the cars moved off, Jim gave him a quizzical lookout of his left eye, smiled, and faintly whispered "stationed?"
It is a peculiar trait of the faculty of memory that it is very prone to gather up the "unconsidered trifles of life," and to let slip many of its apparently more important events. But my reader must remember that war is not all tragedy,—that there are smiles as well as tears in the drama.
The evening of the 23d found us at Pocataligo, a small railway station on the Charleston & Savannah Railroad. Remaining here a few days, we next located at Coosawhatchie, another depot, eight miles away, and about sixty miles from Charleston. Having an ample supply of tents, we laid out a regular camp; with no battle to fight, and very light picket duty to perform, we passed a quiet and pleasant time, until the 23d of April. The country around Coosawhatchie is low and marshy; the lakes and streams abound with alligators; the forests of live-oak, shrouded and festooned with a gray moss, present a weird and picturesque appearance; the products are rice, pinders, and grits; the pasturage is confined to a few lean, lank cattle, called by the natives "high-walk." We relied upon the markets of Charleston and Savannah for our commissary stores, and the morning train rarely failed to bring us fresh shad. Our provident surgeon had a good supply of wet groceries, which sustained our sick, and our stay in South Carolina wore pleasantly, having no special fighting to do.
While in camp at Coosawhatchie, the writer and a comrade (Maj. Webb) mounted our horses one bright Sunday morning to enjoy the charming beauty of the day, and the invigorating influences of the sea air. After riding for about two hours over the level country with its monotonous aspect, we came suddenly and unexpectedly upon one of those charming country seats, which were once the pride and delight of the landed proprietor. The mansion, situated upon a gentle elevation, was of old-time construction with the wide hall, large rooms and broad staircases, and colonade of immense pillars supporting the roof of the front porch. It was embowered in thick clusters of live oaks which stood round in a kind of outer park, while the inner park was composed of terraces covered with flowers and shrubbery, while thickets of rose gardens seemed to stretch in every direction. An aged negro was the only living being about the place. He told us that the place was called "Roseland;" that old massa was dead; that the two boys were in the army, and that Miss Minnie was at school in Raleigh, N.C.
"A merry place, 'tis said, in days of yore:
But something ails it now."—
Vandal hands had done their accustomed work. The beautiful grounds were sadly disfigured; the shrubbery was broken down; the crops and forage had been gathered by alien hands, and only the poor ghost remained of this once peaceful and happy home.
During our encampment in South Carolina, we were notified of the death of private R. G. Boling, at hospital in Richmond. Jas. H. Gant died on the 18th of February; about the same time, Isaac F. Lane died at Leesburg, N.C.; his remains were carried to Guilford. On the 1st of March, James M. Lemons died at his home. On the 14th of April, Jas. S. Hall died in hospital at Hardyville, S.C., and was buried in the cemetery at Charleston.
Private Sam Smith, unfit for active service, substituted Jas. E. Lloyd, and private Jas. R. Wiley was discharged upon surgeon's certificate on the 7th of February.
On the 27th of March, corporal R. D. Weatherly was promoted to sergeant-major of the regiment, and private William C. Story was appointed corporal in his stead.