On a Sunday morning, about 10 o'clock, we started for Evans' Mills, to relieve Co. E, which had overstayed their time one week—doubtless from the fact that a large orchard of apple trees was upon the plantation, the fruit of which was a luxury they were loth to leave—small blame to them.
After a march of about two hours, we came out upon a clearing just beyond a continuation of the rebel line of defences to the right of the Beaufort railroad. Here we saw deserted houses, and a cotton gin; but no living creature of the human or brute creation, and the place looked solitary and deserted enough—its own sad elegy of war written plainly in the solitude which brooded over the absence of those who once gave animation to the scene, and made 'the wilderness blossom like the rose' with fields of cotton and gardens of bright flowers.
About a mile further on, after passing through a narrow belt of woods, we came out upon Evans' plantation. On our right was a field of some eighty acres, about half of which was covered with a young growth of apple trees. On the left was a field of about twenty acres, at the further end of which was the plantation house, with its negro huts, surrounded with the inevitable grove of elegant shade trees. Just opposite the front gate of the mansion, the road turned sharp to the right, and on looking ahead, we beheld a block-house, nearly completed, in the rear of which was the encampment, and our future abode. Upon reaching the block-house, the road took a turn to the left, down a short, steep hill, skirting the bank of a stream, which it crossed on a rude plank bridge, still turning toward the left. After crossing the bridge, a grist mill lay on the right, and about 60 yards on the left, on the dam of a magnificent pond of water stood a large saw mill, which ran two sets of saws when in operation. It was then idle, the dam having broke away. The road, after crossing the flume of the grist mill led on to the negro village—quite a collection of comfortable houses—built on each side of the cross road, which led to Pollocksville. Just before coming on to the Pollocksville road, in a field to the right was a large cotton gin and press. At the intersection of these roads was our outpost in the day time, the guard being drawn in to the mills at night.
The army wagons which accompanied, (with tents, cooking utensils, quartermasters' stores, company baggage, &c.,) arriving a few minutes after, the men soon had plenty to do in erecting tents, and fixing themselves as comfortably as circumstances would permit. There was a little board shanty with two bunks, lately occupied by the drummers of Co. E. To this my comrade and I 'froze'; and, having got our traps snugly bestowed—our guns and equipments slung up, and our blankets spread—we sallied forth in quest of plunder.
Our first raid was upon the orchard near by; but it had been picked bare. We, however, subjected every tree to a searching examination, and as the reward of our toil returned with about half a bushel of a apples. On our way back we passed through a small field of sweet potatoes, to which we returned with a sack, and soon were in possession of a bushel of very fine ones.
During our absence, foraging, the tents had all been put up, and the men were busy arranging their traps. Charley (our French cook) had not been idle meantime, and had a blazing fire, and coffee ready. Procuring from him a pot, we soon had the satisfaction of seeing some of the sweet potatoes, the fruits of our late raid, smiling upon us, and welcoming us to the feast. Giving the cook a couple of good ones for his accommodation, we retired to our cabin with our coffee, sweet potatoes and 'salt horse,' and made one of the most hearty and satisfactory meals I have ever known. Appetite was our best sauce, exercise had sharpened it, and the new and palatable food agreed so well with the disposition of the stomach, that it had ample satisfaction in embracing its best friend.
After eating, with pipe lit, I started forth to take a view of the mansion house, and its surroundings. On entering the front gate, I was struck with the size and beauty of an immense beech tree, whose wide extending branches covered a circle of over 100 feet in diameter—and, Yankee fashion, I immediately computed that if cut down it would make over five cords of firewood. It must have proved a cool and inviting shade for the planter and his family in the summer time. Approaching its huge trunk, I observed that the Yankee jacknife had been at work and covered it with the representative names of men from nearly every United States regiment that had ever been in the department. Besides the huge beech there were numerous other trees—elm, cedar, chaney—and the beautiful flowering althea.
The house was an ordinary two story one, containing about 7 rooms, set on brick blocks about three feet from the ground, and serving as a cool place of resort for the pigs, fowl, and youthful, curly-headed negroes, during the heat of the day. This, together with the plantation attached of some 10,000 acres, seven or eight hundred of which were cleared, together with the mills, and about 120 'head of darkies' (all of which excepting two old negroes and their wives, had been 'run up country'), belonged to a Mr. Evans, a son-in-law of Ex-Gov. Morehead, (after whom Morehead city had been named).
Evans was, as I afterwards found, a very influential man in that part of the country, and had early become a convert to the doctrine of secession. He raised a company of cavalry, and equipped them at his own expense. He took part in the battle of Newbern, and it must have been a bitter trial for him to leave so fine a property, though I believe he had another plantation in the upper part of the State. The regiment to which his company was attached, remained for some time in the State, and had more than one encounter with our cavalry. They were, however, finally ordered to join the army of Virginia, and were, no doubt, engaged in all its conflicts with our army. At the battle of Gettysburg, Evans, who had become a colonel, was wounded, taken prisoner, and died shortly after in hospital at Baltimore.
Such has been the fate of an infatuated man, who, like thousands of others, left a prosperous and comfortable home to plunge in the suicidal fray against the Government under which he was reared and had prospered. He may have repented his folly when too late; but I doubt it. Such men are as little given to repentance as they are to truth, justice and reason.