that

the very island itself seemed to shake in its marshy anchorage. From that hour onward till the surrender, the artillery fire against the solid masonry of Pulaski’s walls was terrific. The rebels replied vigorously and in a determined manner. The smoke was so dense that the sun was obscured. At a quarter to eleven o’clock the rebel flag-staff was shot away and the rebel rag tumbled down. This was hailed with intense cheers and seemed to add new zeal to the soldiers who manned our guns. The distance between the combatants was at least a mile, yet it was very evident that nearly all our shots were telling. Our solid shot brought away great piles of masonry and clouds of brick dust filled the air. All day long an incessant fire was kept up, and at night the mortar batteries sent their compliments while the others ceased. At daylight the next morning the battle was resumed with its accustomed vigor, and in the early part of the forenoon a large breach was made in the walls. Guns were dismounted and seen to fall, yet the rebs seemed as tenacious as ever. Our gunners directed their fire toward the magazine of the fort in such well-directed shots that the rebels, fearing an explosion, hoisted the “white flag” at two o’clock, April 11th, and its appearance was greeted with the wildest enthusiasm. Cheer after cheer rent the air as victory had once more perched on our banners. The firing ceased, the smoke cleared away, and

then we saw plainly the great destruction our shells had made. The Seventh Connecticut had the honor of taking possession of the works and was also awarded the rebel flag.

After the fall of the fort, Col. Chatfield was ordered to dismantle Fort Vulcan, on Jones Island, the battery of mud upon which we had worked with so much zeal. But, by some misunderstanding, our gunboats were drawn off, which left us in rather an unpleasant predicament, had the rebels chosen to come from Savannah and attack us. But Col. Chatfield was equal to any emergency, and with his usual foresight and calm self-possession, he dismounted the 10-inch columbiad in the night and floated it on a raft over to Pulaski, where it arrived safely the next day. In its place we mounted a black log with a barrel on one end. After our evacuation, Johnnie Reb sallied down the river and captured the “Quaker.” We resumed our pleasant camping ground on Dawfuski Island, which was quite a pleasing contrast with that on Jones Island; but the arduous labors imposed upon the Regiment for the past few weeks began to tell upon the men and patients at the hospital were numerous.

We remained here drilling, and with our usual camp duties, till the last week in May, when we were ordered to report at Hilton Head, again embarking on that dreaded steamer Cosmopolitan, but did not

remain on board very long this time, for, upon reporting to the General, we sailed for North Edisto Island, and arrived there in the evening of May 22d. Large quantities of blackberries were ripe in the field, and we found them very palatable and we thought they helped Uncle Sam’s pork to digest. The Brigade under Gen. Wright was here reorganized and composed of the following troops: 6th Conn.; 47th New York; 55th and 97th Penn. Regiments. We here spent the time in brigade drills and the usual picket duties till the 1st of June, when we crossed over to John’s Island. We expected our destination would be somewhere in the vicinity of Charleston, and were not disappointed. After marching several miles we halted at a large sugar plantation for rest. Col. Chatfield addressed us on our mission, and assured us we were marching on to victory or death, as we were going into the hot bed of rebeldom and undoubtedly would see some hard fighting; but he was confident we would meet the issue with determined bravery, and he was to “lead us forward.” This last remark brought forth cheer after cheer for our gallant Colonel. The members of the Sixth felt justly proud of Col. Chatfield.

Our march across John’s Island was slow and tedious, as the guerillas infested us on all sides. Our cavalry scouts were ever on the alert, but, as the road was new to them the rebs used every advantage

against us. Our wagon trains were cut off and the command was without food for three days. Men offered 50 cents for a hard-tack. One soldier offered to eat a dog if it could be found. A body of cavalry moved to the rear and assisted greatly in dispersing the guerillas, and we were again rejoiced to see some salt junk. To add to our discomfort, a drenching rain storm set in which lasted three days, and while we were without tents or shelter of any kind except a gum blanket. To skirmish the woods through the briers and underbrush all day and lay on our arms at night with our clothes wet through and flesh all parboiled, was not very agreeable. We were not allowed to build a fire on any condition, as our near approach to the foe might discover our strength. When we arrived at the little village of Legareville, on the Stono River, opposite James Island, we found none to oppose us; all had fled. The poor shanties that composed the village were the only dry wood available for fires; we concluded we would confiscate enough to dry our clothing and cook our pork. As we were now within sight of the Johnnies, no further seclusion seemed necessary, for in a few days at least, we expected to “get together,” and we knew we should have more zeal with a good square meal in our stomach and dry clothes upon our backs. Our chaplain counted eighty-three fires made on the ground, with an average of five cups to each fire, cooking

pork, bacon and coffee. Col. Chatfield was assigned to the command of our Brigade, and on the evening of June 8th, he moved across the river to James Island, which is only about four and a half miles from Charleston. We rested for the night on Tom Grimball’s plantation. The enemy attacked us the next night in our front, but were repulsed after a brisk skirmish of an hour’s duration. The Connecticut battery was here, doing excellent service under Captain Rockwell, and the gun boats shelled the enemy over our heads, both of which proved valuable assistants to us. The Sixth held the advance picket line on the left for several days, and the rebels annoyed us exceedingly by sudden dashes through the woods upon our front, but we held our position firmly and repulsed every sortie made. Their sharpshooters, posted in trees and in places where they could see our position, very often shot down the picket without giving us a chance to fire back unless we fired at random. Gen. Wright remarked to his staff that he could rest quietly while the Sixth Connecticut held the advance; he was not afraid of the picket line being deserted, as was the case with a Pennsylvania regiment who ran into camp in great haste one night, reporting the advance of the whole force of the Johnnies, when it was found that only a few of them had ventured near our lines to see what material Uncle Sam’s boys were made of. Gen.

Wright promptly sent them back to their post, with orders to remain there till properly relieved. The pickets kept up their fire along the lines, and many were killed and wounded without extending the line on either side.

The battle of Secessionville was fought the 16th of June. This was a small village north of Stono river, but was strongly entrenched outside. With Gen. Lamar’s forces in the rifle-pits, a strong abatis in front, flanked by creeks and marshy ground and everything in their favor, the task seemed not an easy one to accomplish. Gen. Benham started his forces at daylight, and when near enough to do any service,