The Negro in The American Rebellion

Thine was the task, amid war’s wild alarm,
The valor of thy race to vindicate:
Now admiration all true bosoms warm,
And places thee among the gallant great.

It thrills our hearts to think upon the strife
In which, surrounded by the rebel host,
Thou didst deal death for liberty and life,
And freedom win, although an arm was lost.

O lion-hearted hero! whose fierce sword
Made breathless thy oppressors, bravely bear
Thy sufferings; for our sympathies are poured
For thee, and gladly would relieve or share.”

At the second attack on Petersburg, the colored troops did nobly. A correspondent of “The New-York Times” wrote as follows: —

“As everybody seems to have negro on the brain in the army, I may be pardoned for again alluding to the colored troops in this letter. A single day’s work has wiped out a mountain of prejudice, and fairly turned the popular current of feeling in this army in favor of the down-trodden race; and every one who has been with them on the field has some story to relate of their gallant conduct in action, or their humanity and social qualities. The capture of the fort before referred to is related, among other things, in evidence of their manhood and gallantry; taking prisoners in the exciting moment of actual hand-to-hand fighting, in face of the Fort-Pillow and other similar rebel atrocities perpetrated elsewhere, upon their colored companions-in-arms as evidence of their humanity, – that they are really something more than the stolid brutes, such as some people profess to believe. But, next to bravery, one impromptu act of theirs has done more than all else to remove a supposed natural prejudice against them. Wounded officers of two different brigades in the Second Corps tell me, that, when they relieved the colored troops in front Wednesday night, their men had been out of rations all day, and were very hungry, as may well be supposed. When this fact became known to the negroes, to use the expressive language of a wounded officer, ‘They emptied their haversacks, and gave the contents to our boys.’ The colored troops, I have had opportunity to know, bear their honors meekly, as become men. Hereafter, the vile oath and offensive epithet will not be blurted out against the negro soldier, and in his presence, upon every favorable opportunity, as has too generally heretofore been the practice. This will be exclusively confined to the professional stragglers, who are never at the front when danger is there.”

Sergt. Peter Hawkins, of the Thirty-first United States, exhibited in the attack upon Petersburg marked abilities as a soldier. All the officers of Company A being killed or wounded, he took command, and held it for fourteen days. An eye-witness said, —

“He appointed men for guard and picket duty, made out his regular morning report, issued rations, drilled his men, took them out on dress-parade, or on fatigue-duty. Whatever important duty was devolved upon him, he was the man to perform without murmuring. He is fully competent to fill the office of a lieutenant or captain. He has clearly proven on the field his unflinching courage and indomitable will.”

CHAPTER XXXV – WIT AND HUMOR OF THE WAR

Negro Wit and Humor. – The Faithful Sentinel. – The Sentinel’s Respect for the United-States Uniform. – The “Nail-kag.” – The Poetical Drummerboy. – Contrabands on Sherman’s March. – Negro Poetry on Freedom. – The Soldier’s Speech. – Contraband capturing his Old Master.

With all the horrors of the Rebellion, there were occasions when these trying scenes were relieved by some amusing incident. Especially was this true with regard to the colored people. Thus when Adjutant-Gen. Thomas first announced the new policy in Mississippi, and they began enlisting freedmen, one was put on guard at night, at Lake Providence, and was instructed not to allow any one to pass without the countersign. He was, however, told not to fire upon a person until he had called out, “One, two, three.” The negro seemed not to understand it, and asked to have the instructions repeated. “You are to walk from here to that tree, and back,” continued the white sergeant, “and, if you see or hear any one, call out, ‘Who comes there? Give the countersign. One, two, three.’ And, if you receive no reply, shoot.” – “Yes, massa,” said Sam. “I got it dis time, and no mistake.” After an hour or more on duty, Sam thought he heard the tramp of feet, and began a sharp lookout. Presently bringing his gun to his shoulder, and taking sight, he called out in quick succession, “Who comes dar? Give de countersign. One, two, three!” And “bang” went the gun. Fortunately, the negro’s aim was not as reliable as was his determination to do his whole duty; and the only damage done was a bullet-hole through the Intruder’s hat. When admonished by the officer for not waiting for the man’s answer, the negro said, “Why, massa, I was afraid dat ef I didn’t shoot quick, he’d run.”

A colored sentinel was marching on his beat in the streets of Norfolk, Va., when a white man, passing by, shouldered him insolently off the sidewalk, quite into the street. The soldier, on recovering himself, called out, —

“White man, halt!”

The white man, Southerner like, went straight on. The sentinel brought his musket to a ready, cocked it, and hailed again, —

“White man, halt, or I’ll fire!”

The white man, hearing shoot in the tone, halted, and faced about.

“White man,” continued the sentry peremptorily, “come here!”

He did so.

“White man,” said, the soldier again, “me no care one cent’ bout this particklar Cuffee; but white man bound to respeck this uniform (striking his breast). White man, move on!”

A Virginia rebel, who has issued a book giving his experience as a prisoner in the hands of the Federals at Point Lookout and Elmira, tells the following story: —

“The boys are laughing at the summons which S., one of my fellow-Petersburgers, got to-day from a negro sentinel. S. had on when captured, and I suppose still possesses, a tall beaver of the antique pattern considered inseparable from extreme respectability in the last decade and for many a year before. While wandering around the enclosure, seeking, I suspect, ‘what he might devour,’ he accidentally stepped beyond the ‘dead line,’ and was suddenly arrested by a summons from the nearest negro on the parapet, who seemed to be in doubt whether so well-dressed a man could be a ‘reb,’ and therefore whether he should be shot at once.

“White man, you b’long in dar?”

“Yes.”

“Well, ain’t you got no better sense dan to cross dat line?”

“I did not notice the line.”

“Well, you had better notice it, and dat quick, or I’ll blow half dat nail-kag off!”

The following doggerel was composed by a drummer-boy, aged thirteen, who had been a slave, and was without education. He sung it to the One Hundred and Seventh Regiment United-States colored troops, to which he was attached: —

“Captain Fiddler’s come to town
With his abolition triggers:
He swears he’s one of Lincoln’s men,
‘Enlisting all the niggers.’

You’ll see the citizens on the street
Whispering in rotation:
What do they seem to talk about?
Lincoln’s proclamation.

Some get sick, and some will die,
Be buried in rotation:
What was the death of such a man?
Lincoln’s proclamation.

You’ll see the rebels on the street,
Their noses like a bee gum;
I don’t care what in thunder they say,
I’m fighting for my freedom!

Richmond is a mighty place,
And Grant’s as sound as a dollar;
And every time he throws a shell,
Jeff begins to holler.

My old massa’s come to town,
Cutting a Southern figure:
What’s the matter with the man?
Lincoln’s got his niggers.

Some folks say this ‘almighty fuss
Is getting worse and bigger;
Some folks say ‘it’s worse and worse,’
Because I am ‘a nigger.’

We’ll get our colored regiments strung
Out in a line of battle:
I’ll bet my money agin the South