The following letter was written by Benjamin Lewis Hall (1838-1931), the son of Pardon Bowen Hall (1793-1872) and Abby Billings (1802-1895) of Providence, Rhode Island. Benjamin was married to Emeline Carr in 1860.
In April 1861, Benjamin was working as a jeweler in Providence when he enlisted as a drummer boy in Co. A, 1st Rhode Island Regiment, and mustered out as a sergeant on 2 August 1861. He reenlisted on 13 December 1861 as a sergeant in Co. E, 5th Rhode Island and resigned his commission as Captain of Co. I on 5 May 1863.
In his letter, Benjamin informs his brother that he has survived the battle that resulted in the capture of New Bern, North Carolina, in March 1862. Though the 5th Rhode Island was not in the vanguard of the attacking column, he gives a lively portrayal of the march to and capture of the city.
[This letter is from the private collection of Rob Grandchamp and was made available for transcription and publication on Spared & Shared by express consent.]
Transcription
Camp Pierce near Newbern, North Carolina
March 18th 1862
Dear Brother,
I received a letter from you yesterday and one from Emma the day before. Your letter wsa mailed March 10th and hers March 1st. I was very glad to hear from you as I had just passed through another battle. Come out all right and it made me feel happy to hear from home so soon after so much fatigue and danger. You don’t know how it makes a man feel when he gets out of a fight where his comrades are falling around him and when it may be his turn to fall in the next minute. It makes him think of home and friends and all that is dear to him, and his first thought after the battle is whether they think him among the poor fellows that have fallen, and he sits down to write “home” to let them know that he is safe and waits oh how anxiously for an answer, and is worried until he gets it. And then the thoughts of his messmates who are gone come back to him and for 3 or 4 days after a battle a soldier’s life is a sorry one. But soon the constant change which we have in this Expedition gradually changes his thoughts and he is soon busy thinking of what is going on around him and only when the roll is called and the names of the unfortunate ones are omitted does he for a moment recall the scenes of “the fight” and the many “good times” where the missing ones took part.
But enough of the melancholy. Our fleet (with a few exceptions) left Roanoke on the 11th and sailed to Hatteras where they lay all night. Next day we started up the sound in the direction of Newbern and came to anchor on the night of the 12th. Next day landed in boats, or rather ran up as far as we could and jumped out and waded ashore, formed in line and started for the Rebels wherever we could find them. We landed 16 miles below Newbern and it commenced raining as soon as we touched shore—“our usual luck.” Had to march through mud up to our knees all day, lay down in the woods all night, the rain coming down in torrents. 1
The next morning were up early in line. Pretty soon—pop, pop—went our pickets, then a roll of musketry, and soon the “band whooooo” of the big guns and shell told us that we had treed the varmint. Pretty soon orders came along, “Forward, double quick!” and engage the enemy. Up we go through swamp and woods, wet through to the skin, never mind boys, we have got a chance to pay the villains for making us march through the mud, “Give it to ’em lively boys!” over the batteries, rifle pits, breastworks, “Hurrah! There they go boys! There they run” and tell the old story, “Ribbils Licked.”
They left as fast as they could on the railroad to Newbern, burning the bridge as they crossed over, some taking another road had to strip and swim the river, and I visited the city yesterday and the old “mokes” 2 say they went through the town like sheep, some without any clothes at all on their back, in such a hurry to get away from the “Damn Yankees” as the old “dark” said. Two or three days before these same fellows had been swaggering about town telling that we could shy around with our boats but wait till they caught us on land and they would teach us a lesson.
I was talking with an old Nig about his “massa.” He said that “Massa” told him he would whip us like dogs, but when he come running back, the “nig” said “Massa. where am de Yankees?” And “Massa” said, “Twant no use, if we get them blood hounds after us we might as well give up. It is said that some of the prisoners which were let go at Roanoke are here but I don’t know how true it is. I do not know how many men we have lost. You will probably learn by the papers. We took a large number of guns—some of them very pretty brass pieces.
The Rebels set the town on fire when they passed through but our troops were following so close behind them that they put it out before much damage was done. Some of our troops are quartered in houses in the town but there is not a great many white people there of the inhabitants. “Dead heaps” of niggers loafing around. It is just like June here—peach trees in bloom, grass all green, and roses and lilies all in bloom. I will send some roses which I got in the city of Newbern. Give some to Emeline, one to Mother. I sent Emeline’s letter 3 days ago by the boat that took dispatches. Tell her to write soon as she gets it and don’t forget to do the same yourself. Give my respects to all hands. Tell them I am all “right side up with care” and oblige your loving brother, — Benjamin
P. S. I write this letter not knowing when I shall get a chance to send it. I am told that we shall go to Beaufort, North Carolina, tomorrow and if we do, make up your mind that Beaufort is ours. Write soon and tell all the rest to do the same. This paper is some that I got in the Rebel camp. Flies bother us a little. — Ben
1 The regimental history informs us that, “Here, as at Roanoke Island, the water along shore was very shallow, and many of the men were compelled to leave the boats and wade to firm land; and, here as there, no sooner had the debarkation fairly commenced than rain began to fall again. Wet as the men were not time was lost at the landing, but as fast as they came ashore the line of march was at once taken up, with a skirmish line from the 24th Massachusetts well in advance. Under the effect of the marching men in front, the roads soon became almost impassable for those who followed, the sticky mud adhering to their feet and lower clothing at every step until they often became so heavy that the tired men could scarcely lift them. The time spent in landing and a march of about twelve miles over such terrible roads used up the whole day, and a half-rain, half-drizzle of the most aggravating character fell nearly all of the time. [p. 31]
2 Mokes (or Mooks) is a racial slur for negro, in common use in the 19th Century.
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