allowed to march out with his colors, the officers retaining their side arms. This Hoke refused to grant, though complimenting Gen. Wessels on the gallant manner in which he had defended his works. He said that any further show of resistance would only result in an unnecessary sacrifice of life, and if Wessels still persisted in holding the works, and he was obliged to carry them by assault, he (Hoke) would not be responsible for what followed. This Gen. Wessels construed as a threat of a repetition of the Fort Pillow massacre, and saying, “You may go back and open fire,” haughtily turned on his heel and returned to the fort. The men were well protected by heavy bomb-proofs, and only those who were serving the guns were exposed to the fire of the rebel sharpshooters, who occupied every available place on all sides, and were making fearful havoc among them.

Twice was the flag staff shot away and replaced, and so effectual was the fire of these sharpshooters, that it was almost certain death for any one to approach a gun; when, after his nephew and aide-de-camp, Lieut. Foot, had received a very severe wound while trying to rally the men to the guns, the gallant old General reluctantly hauled down his flag, and Plymouth was once more in the hands of the enemy.

Hoke had won a victory after four days of hard fighting, but at what a fearful price. With eight thousand and veteran troops, and the assistance of the huge iron-clad ram Albemarle, he had made prisoners of nearly two thousand Union troops, after a loss of nearly or quite two thousand men in killed and wounded. In fact the Petersburg papers of the 27th acknowledged a loss of seventeen hundred in this battle.

CHAPTER V.

This attack commenced at half-past four, and at half-past six a. m. of April 20th, I was a prisoner. As we marched past Comphor redoubt to the Johnson farm, a mile to the south, we had an opportunity to witness the terrible slaughter the victory had cost the enemy.

Dead bodies of men and animals were strewn in every direction. Broken caissons and disabled cannon in front of these two redoubts showed plainly what a terrific struggle had been gone through with in their front.

The piteous cries for help of the suffering, the groans of the wounded that had not yet been removed (the ambulance corps not having yet been able to reach them) the roar of artillery and the rattle of musketry where the battle was still going on, the riding back and forth of mounted orderlies hurrying up re-inforcements, all served to make up a picture that I am unable to adequately describe.

The Johnsons, who were wealthy planters, had taken the oath of allegiance and claimed to be Union men, and were somewhat embarrassed at having us, with whom they had been on such friendly terms, brought to their farm as prisoners. They seemed to feel a sympathy for us, and one of them said to me, privately, that they were really in sympathy with the Union cause, but were obliged to be very careful of their conduct toward us while the Confederate troops were there, for their property, and even their lives, were at stake. I now believe they were honest. I do not wish to confound these Johnsons with one of the same name, who lived on the Washington road, near our vidette post. He pretended to be loyal, but we did not take any stock in him, and found after our capture that he was an open and exultant Secesh. While at the Johnson farm we could hear the crack, crack, crack of muskets, down in the swamp where the negroes had fled to escape capture, and were being hunted like squirrels or rabbits, I can think of no better comparison, and the Johnnies themselves laughingly said (when questioned about where they had been after their return), “They’d been out gunning for niggers.”

After the surrender of Fort Williams we were marched back into Plymouth, where I received permission, on the pretext of getting some linen bandages for a wounded Confederate, to go into my quarters. I found half a dozen Johnnies in there hauling over my wardrobe and appropriating what they took a fancy to. I picked up my blanket, a cavalry jacket, a pair of new shoes and a satchel containing my papers, and tried hard to get a fellow to give up my dressing gown that I had received as a Christmas present a few months before, but he was so well suited with the bright colors and fit of the garment, that he could not be persuaded to give it up. Taking what I could carry, I went and delivered the linen bandages and fell into line with the rest, when we were all marched out on the Washington road, where we were joined by those who had been taken at Fort Gray and Fort Wessels. All the inhabitants of the town, with the exception of those who were known to be Secesh, were sent out to join us, men, women and children, white and black.

The negro soldiers who had surrendered, were drawn up in line at the breastwork, and shot down as they stood.

This I plainly saw from where we were held under guard, not over five hundred yards distance. There were but few who saw this piece of atrocity, but my attention was attracted to it and I watched the whole brutal transaction. When the company of rebs fired, every negro dropped at once, as one man.

General Hoke had the reputation of being a brave soldier, and with the exception of this cowardly murder, so far as I had the chance to observe him, seemed to be a gentleman. We were certainly treated by himself and those under him, with marked courtesy. Our gallant defence of Plymouth seemed to inspire them with a respect for us, and they accorded to us every privilege consistent with our position. For instance, we were drawn up in line—I mean the officers—and were told that they did not wish to subject us to the indignity of being searched for arms, but would ask us to give our word as gentlemen, to surrender everything that was contraband of war, and upon our so pledging ourselves, we were allowed to pass over what arms we had without further question. I was also allowed to send two of my sergeants who were wounded, Gleason Wellington and Sergt. Fisher, to the hospital. As I was near the spot where I lost a man in the commencement of the battle, I was allowed to take a squad to find his body and bring it into the camp and bury it, which I did, Chaplain Dixon, of the 16th Connecticut, holding the service. This was Private Amos Fancher, the first man killed in the battle.

CHAPTER VI.