Camp on Neuse River, 4 miles south Goldsboro N.C.

Mar. 23^d, 1865.       

               

My Dear Mother:

                        After an interval of about seven weeks, during which I have had no opportunity of writing, I now seat myself to again send you a few lines. As yet there is no opportunity to send mail but I will write now so that I may have a letter ready against the first opportunity. These past weeks have been eventful ones. In them we have marched about 400 miles through the heart of an enemy's country. I shall endeavor to give you a journal of the trip. I have enjoyed good health all the time, and am now to use a cant phrase "fat, ragged, and saucy".—especially ragged. I have little to complain of however in comparison with many others. My clothes are tolerably good, and although I am about barefooted, I have had a horse to ride for three or four days past, so that I have not suffered. Nearly one-fourth the army is barefooted, and the word ragged but feebly expresses the condition of many in respect to clothing. Some would be naked were it not for clothes they have picked up coming through the country. Yet everybody is in good spirits. All we ask is clothes and pay. Then we are ready for another campaign. We have had very little fighting until within a day or two past. There has been severe fighting, but of the particulars we have only wild rumors. I have been on the whole trip, and am now on detail, guarding prisoners at Corps Hd. Qrs. Our Corps is now several miles from here, having hurried off a night or two since to reinforce another corps which was hard pressed. We have about 450 prisoners now in our Corps.

 

            But now to begin my journal. Edmund Kirke has issued a book which has enjoyed considerable popularity at the North entitled "Among the Pines". Of the merits of that book I know nothing. Having traversed some portion of the territory in which its scenes I believe are laid I propose—not to issue a book—but to transcribe a journal of the scenes and incidents I have met. I shall take the liberty to make use of Mr. Kirkes title, making / a little change. I shall head my observations

 

Amongst the Swamps and Pines.

            Monday morning Jan. 30^th, the 17^th Corps broke camp at Pocotaligo, South Carolina, and took up its line of march. The day was a beautiful one,—good omen of the journey before us. We moved but a short distance, about six miles. The march was without noteworthy incident.

 

            Tuesday, the 31^st we remained quietly in camp. On this day we received our first prisoner, a tall, raw boned, sallow looking specimen of humanity, a South Carolina militiaman who was skulking in the woods to escape Wheeler's cavalry. The poor fellow was ignorant, and easily scared. He was an old man He was a man of about forty, but his sallow sallow complexion, whining voice, and broken down ungainly form made him appear much older. We named him "South Carolina", and to this day I do not know him by any other name.

 

            Wednesday, Feb. 1^st we marched 12 miles. Our Division was in advance, and skirmished with the enemy all the way. We passed a few houses during the day. They were tenanted by a few women and children, who exceeded in ignorant misery any that I have ever seen, even in the South. If these are a fair representation of the inhabitants of South Carolina it is no wonder they succeeded seceded, thought I. We were still in the region of swamps. The land was mostly poor. I noticed little patches of rice here and there, around the edges of swamps and in low places. This is a different species of rice however from that raised on the coast. It is called upland rice, and is not as good as that raised in the tide lands. In the afternoon we arrived at a swamp, some half quarter of a mile long, and from knee to waist deep with water. On the opposite side of this the rebs. were posted. Our brigade went up the swamp about a mile, and then waded over and flanked them out, our Major dismounting and wading at the head of the men. It was a cold bath for the men, but they built huge fires and soon dried themselves. Corps Hd. Qrs. / did not go over till next morning, when a footbridge had been fixed. Here was one wetting saved by my being on detail. You will notice from time to time that I was fortunate in many respects, in escaping hardships and dangers endured by my comrades in the Regiment.—One word about these swamps. They are not stagnant water, generally, but running streams.

 

            Thursday Feb. 2^nd we advanced 10 miles to the Saltketcher River, skirmishing briskly part of the way. The Saltketcher and Little Saltketcher flow together and form the Combahee River. Salkhatchie is the Indian name for Saltketcher. By the way this termination hatchie seems to be a common one in the names of rivers in the South. In Mississippi we have the Hatchie and the Tallahatchie, and here the Coosawhatchie and the Salkhatchie.—During the day a number of houses were burned which had been deserted by their occupants.

 

            Friday Feb. 3^d was spent in effecting a crossing of the river. The enemy were strongly posted behind works upon the opposite side. The stream dignified by the name of river was rather a vast running swamp, covered with almost impenetrable wood and underbrush, through which ran one narrow road which was swept by the rebel cannon. The stream itself was a creek about the size of Duck Creek. For four long hours did the troops stand in water waist deep in this swamp. An incessant skirmishing was kept up. Finally having cut down trees across the creek to serve for foot bridges the swamp and stream was crossed in the face of a heavy fire, and the rebels driven from their works. Our loss was about 100 killed wounded and missing. There were eight wounded in our Regiment. Numerous feats of this kind—wading deep swamps—have gained for our Division the name of "Water Dogs".

 

            Saturday Feb. 4^th our Provost Guard was ordered back to Pocotaligo to accompany a supply train going for the double purpose of procuring rations and carrying back the wounded. We traveled 20 miles that day, passing over / a different road from the one we had come. That troops had traversed it however was attested by the ash heaps and lone chimnies that told of the destruction of deserted houses and cotton gins, and the frequent laying down of rail fences to form a corduroy road through some quagmire. Frequent crosses cut upon the barks of trees told us that it was the 15^th Corps that had traveled that way. Each Corps has its own mark which its pioneers cut upon the trees along the road they travel. Our mark is two notches and a blaze between them; the mark of the 15^th a cross; that of the 14^th a simple blaze, and that of the 20^th three notches.—How I pitied the wounded that day. Riding over a rough road, even in an ambulance, if you are well, is by no means agreeable; but for a wounded man to ride in a rough, springless army wagon over such roads is simply terrible. The poor fellows all bore their wounds bravely though, and I heard not one murmur.—Fifteen miles still remained between us and Pocotaligo, but on.

 

            Sunday, the 5^th, we were ordered back with whatever of the train was not filled with wounded. The latter part went on with part of the escort. We returned and crossed the Saltketcher the same night. An excellent road and bridges had been fixed over it by this time. We found that no move had been made during our absence. On this day I had forcibly presented to my mind the question, "What will these poor people do to sustain life after we have passed". I stopped at a house where were four or five women. Everything they had to eat had been taken, and grim Starvation was staring them in the face. Their condition is no worse than that of many others. Such is war. The soldier becomes so hardened to scenes of misery and suffering that the most piteous entreaties will not deter him from taking something to eat wherever he finds it without stopping to ask the question is the owner rich or poor. I find that I am becoming hardened to such scenes, alas too much so. I trust however that my sensibilities are not entirely blunted, and that / the sensation of pity has not entirely died out in my bosom. Remembering as I did that I was in South Carolina—the state that had inaugurated the rebellion still I could not but sincerely pity these helpless women and children. The vengeance wreaked upon South Carolina was terrible, and the simple exclamation of an exasperated soldiery "This is South Carolina", seemed to deaden pity in the hearts of nearly every one. But enough of this now. In the course of our journey you will see more than one scene of terror and misery. For the present I will close.

 

            My suspenders and some paper and envelopes, together with a letter from you and Jerusha were received soon after we started on our journey. The letter from Hiram was also received. That fine comb came to hand also.

 

            This letter is written on some paper that I captured in a store at Fayetteville, N.C. If you look at the water mark holding it up to the light, you will see that it was made in Edinburgh, Scotland, and is consequently some that has come through the blockade at Wilmington. It sold quite cheap; only $12 per quire. I also procured some home made Confederate paper, on which I will write a letter to Jerusha. By the way I will en there seems to have been a large amount of goods run through the blockade. In all the little towns near here we have found a variety of articles not seen elsewhere. For instance tea, coffee, sugar, etc.

 

            Enclosed you will find a Confed. bill or two, which I send for curiosity. I have about $60 of the trash. If you have succeeded in getting my money at last please send me a dollar. I am nearly out of money.

 

            My love to all. I will write to Jerusha soon. Direct your letters to my Regiment, Division and Corps at Goldsboro.

 

            Our Regiment was in the fight I hear and suffered severely. I know none of the particulars now.

 

            Write soon to

Your aff. Son

George

 

            please send me some black thread.                                                     

SOURCES