[D] It was denied afterward that any such order had been given.
All being ready, we started for the shore. Before landing, I had a long rope attached to the bow of our boat and fastened to the stern of the second cutter. When we got on shore, the second cutter towed our boat just clear of the surf, ready for us to get into in a hurry, with the bow headed towards the sea. George Brinsmaid had the keg to carry, and was placed in the centre of the party. Then we started for the sand dunes, intending to carry desolation and dismay into the Southern Confederacy.
When we got to the sand dunes, indications pointed strongly to the fact that we had got into a bad scrape. The sand was covered with a large number of horse tracks, as if a whole regiment of horses had been tramping around. I had not much time to take in the situation, as the enemy made a charge between us and the boats. They came in double file; the left file came for us, the right going for the boats. I looked at the brig, expecting to see the guns shelling the rebs on the open, but, much to my surprise, the captain had allowed the brig to swing around stern to shore, and not a gun could be brought to bear on the enemy.
I told the men to get behind the dunes and fire only at the enemy nearest to them. We were scattered a few feet apart so as not to be in a compact body. The first man came into view just in front of me. He was riding to the top of the dune. Knowing that the rifle would carry high at such a short distance, I aimed low at his breast. The bullet struck him square in the forehead and the horse gave a jump and threw him off, the body rolling down the steep dune to our feet. That checked the enemy for a few seconds, as they saw that it would be safer to attack us dismounted. For about five minutes that was a warm place. Buckshot, bullets, and sand were flying in all directions. The party attacking the boat were unsuccessful, so they circled around and got in our rear. Then we were completely surrounded and had to surrender. Two of the Confederates were killed and several wounded, and besides, they lost three horses. On our side two were killed, and nearly every one of us wounded. After we had surrendered, James Pinkham was lying face down on the ground, a bullet having passed through both of his hips, and, because he could not get up when ordered to do so, a rebel lieutenant shot him in the back with his revolver. A young Irishman by the name of Tobin, belonging to our party, had reloaded his rifle and was standing close to Pinkham. The rebel lieutenant said, "You —— Yankee, come here and give up your arms!" Tobin advanced with both hands stretched out, the rifle in his left and a boarding-pistol in his right. When he got within about fifteen feet of the lieutenant, he blazed away at him with the pistol, dropped it and ran across the salt marsh to the woods, about half a mile distant. He missed the lieutenant, but killed his horse. A cavalryman started after Tobin and, when near to him, called him to halt. Tobin turned around and pointed his rifle at the man. The latter's gun being empty, he halted, and off went the Irishman again for the woods. Another man started in pursuit with a loaded rifle, and, when close enough, he shot Tobin in the leg, and the poor fellow afterwards died in Andersonville Prison.
The Southerners who did not come until the fight was all over, did all the blustering and had the most to say. They did certainly call us anything but gentlemen, and also were very indignant because Brinsmaid had been taken prisoner. "You Yankee —— ——, get in line there with your nigger brother!" was the first order we got. We were taken to the edge of the woods and everything was confiscated, whether of value or not. The enemy wrangled considerably among themselves, with the result that George Brinsmaid was taken to a tree about fifty yards from us, a horse's halter put around his neck, and he was hanged on one of the limbs; then two charges of buckshot were fired into his breast. The poor fellow never spoke a word after leaving the brig. In the fight his left hand had been shot off by buckshot, but not a groan was heard from him. Some of the Confederates proposed hanging all of us, on account of having a "nigger" with us, and, judging from what I had seen of their actions, I almost came to the conclusion that the proposition would be carried out. However, in a little while the excitement passed away and they began to be sociable. The wounded were all examined and wads of raw cotton put into the wounds. One man came to me with his left hand bandaged up. He inquired if I was badly hurt.
"Well," says he, "you're in luck to be alive now. I took deliberate aim at you as you stood with your back towards me while loading your rifle. My —— shotgun burst and blowed off three of my fingers, and that is what saved you."
In his eagerness to kill a Yankee, he had put too heavy a charge in his gun, and it had burst just where he gripped the barrels with his left hand. My sack coat was cut in several places. One shot struck me in the arm near the shoulder and went about six inches between the muscles towards the elbow. That little piece of lead has been my constant companion for just thirty-four years the 5th of December. I can always tell when wet weather is coming, by feeling a dull pain in my right arm. During the general conversation, I found out the cause of so many men being ready to receive us on shore. It seems that the first shell we had fired from the brig went very high over the schooner and landed in the camp in the woods. They were enjoying an after-breakfast smoke when it fell in their midst. It was laughable to hear them twitting each other about vacating their quarters. We could not make them believe that it was a chance shot. They insisted that one of the refugees on our vessel had pointed out their camp to us. They also believed that they had killed all the men but one in the boat the day before. Arrants and myself told them that we were the two officers on shore, but they would have it that we were both killed. The continual report of our broadside guns had been heard for quite a distance north and south of Murrell Inlet. All the rebel pickets thought that a blockade-runner had been run ashore by the Yankees, so all hastened to the scene of action, especially as there might be a prospect of looting the vessel if ashore. When they arrived and found out the true state of affairs they concluded to remain, in the hope that we would send men ashore to burn the schooner. There were present two companies of cavalry—one each from the Fifth and Twenty-first Georgia Regiments and under command of Captains Bowers and Harrison. There was where Captain Gregory made a blunder in sending us ashore after cannonading the schooner. Instead of a few men to contend with, we had a force of one hundred and twenty to give us a warm reception, which they did in most orthodox style.
If still living, one of those misguided men is telling his grandchildren how he captured my sword, for which I had paid twenty-five good dollars. The rifle and the revolver belonged to the Government.
At four o'clock that afternoon we started for Charleston, S. C. Those who were too badly wounded to walk were put in an old wagon. Our boat's coxswain had been hit in the head with a number of buckshot. He must have had a tough skull, as the shot cut furrows in his scalp and removed some of his hair. The blood flowed very freely. He was compelled to walk the whole distance. We had a guard of ten men, under command of the lieutenant that Tobin had tried to kill. Well, that fellow made things as unpleasant as possible for us, in order to have revenge for the killing of his horse. The road was composed of white, dry sand, and at every step we took we would sink to our ankles. The cavalry horses were fast walkers, and we had to keep up with them. We came to a stream of cold water, and we were forced to wade through it. There was a footbridge for pedestrians on one side of the road, but we were not allowed to go over it. The cavalrymen got on their knees on the saddles, and their horses, plunging through the water, splashed it over our heads; consequently, we got a good drenching. Walking was more difficult for us weighted with water; besides, it was night-time, and in the month of December—rather late in the season for a cold-water bath.
At nine o'clock in the evening we arrived at our destination, Georgetown Bay, having walked, or rather been driven, twenty-five miles in five hours' time. It was all we could do to keep up with the horses. A squad was in our rear with orders to run us down if we lagged behind. We were placed in an old log house, the floor being covered to the depth of two inches with sheep-manure. The wounded were laid in the filth, without anything being done towards making them comfortable. Two pailfuls of small, raw sweet potatoes were given us for our supper. That night, December 5, 1863, will never be erased from my memory; tired and sore in every limb, my feet badly swollen, the wounded arm hurting, wet and hungry, I lay down in the manure and tried to sleep, but could not; the cold and the wet clothes kept me chilled through and through. The poor fellows who were wounded were continually moaning, but we were powerless to alleviate their misery.