How our men Worked in the Trenches – The tale of a Rebel Negro Sharpshooter.
HOW THE MEN WORK IN TRENCHES
It may be a puzzle to many to conceive how our men can throw up fortifications right in the face and in plain sight of the enemy without being seriously disturbed by them. A brief description my be interesting, in as much as it can not be contraband, because the work is done right under the noses of the rebels.
A working party is detailed for night duty with muskets slung on their backs and shovels and picks on their shoulder; they proceed to the selected ground. The white tape marks the line of excavation. The dark lanterns are “faced to the rear,” the muskets are carefully laid aside, the shovels are in hand and each man silently commences to dig. Not a word is spoken, not one spade clicks against another, each man first digs a whole large enough to cover himself, he then turns and digs to his right-hand neighbor, then the ditch deepens and widens and the parapet rises. Yet all is silent, the relief comes and the weary ones retire, the words and jests of the enemy are often plainly heard, while no noise from our men disturbs the stillness save the rattle of the earth as each spadeful is thrown to the top, at daylight a long line of earthworks, affording complete protections to our men greets the astonished eyes of the enemy, while the sharp-shooters’ bullets greet their ears. Frequently this work is done in open daylight the sharp shooters and pickets keeping the enemy from annoying our men.
ONE OF SUMNER’S FRIENDS GONE UNDER
The best work of the morning of the 23th ult. was reducing to a state of permanent inutility in this mundane sphere a negro rifleman who, through his skill as a marksman, has done more injury to our men than a dozen of his white compeers in the attempted labor of reducing the complement of our sharpshooters. Our men have known him for a long time, have kept an eye on him, have lain in wait for him. His habit has been to perch himself in a big tree and keeping himself behind the body annoy our men by firing upon them. He climbed the tree this morning in advance of the others coming out, smuggled himself in his position, and was anticipating his usual day of quietude. Our men might have killed him as he came out, but avoided shooting so as not to alarm the others. His tree was about twenty rods from one of our pits. When hour men fired on the advancing rebel pickets he of course saw the fix he was in – that he was decidedly up a tree.
‘I say, big nigger,’ called out one of our men, ‘you better dome down from there.’
‘What for?’ responded the nigger.
‘I want you as a prisoner.’
‘Not as this chile knows of,’ replied the concealed Etheope.
‘Just as you say,’ replied our sharpshooter.
In about an hour the darkey peered his head out. Our man was on the look out for him, he had his rifle on the head line ready – pulled the trigger – whiz went the bullet, and down came the negro. He was shot through the head.
BERDAN’S SHARPSHOOTERS
These enterprising marksmen furnish the romance of the siege, if it may be so termed and many and marvelous are the stories told of the feats of daring and skill they execute, and the hairbreadth escapes they experience. Their duties are certainly of the most arduous and hazardous character. They are generally stationed in pairs in rifle pits or in some other protected position furnished by the nature of the ground. Generally within from five to eight hundred yards of the enemy’s pickets and almost always in front of their intrenched works for there it is that the accurate marksmen can be of the most service, every movement they make, every shot they make, is at the hazard of a life for the enemy is by no means without good marksmen, some of whom have a skill that rivals ‘Old California Joe’ and would try the skill of Colonel Berdan himself. One of these was a stalwart negro whose accurate firing made him the dread as the admiration of our own crack marksmen. It used to be the boast of the old English archers that each man carried the lives of twelve men at his belt, but this blackamoor carried an innumerable number of lives in the bore of his musket. At any practicable range, with the least sight on one of our men he seemed to know no such thing as failing to hit. Happily he is no more. Two days ago after watching and waiting with the patience and perseverance which none but the practical rifle picket can exercise, he exposed himself at a moment and was tumbled over with a ball through is head. The sad part of the story is that the man who shot him had scarcely withdrawn his rifle exclaiming “I got the range that time” when a ball entered his brain and stretched him lifeless. He was buried yesterday by his comrades. He was a German by birth, but I did not learn his name. The Berdan riflemen are the least soldierly looking men about here, but there can be no question as to their great service. They wear all sorts of uniforms and use every description of rifle each man having that kind with which he is most proficient.
– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, May 10, 1862, p. 1
HOW THE MEN WORK IN TRENCHES
It may be a puzzle to many to conceive how our men can throw up fortifications right in the face and in plain sight of the enemy without being seriously disturbed by them. A brief description my be interesting, in as much as it can not be contraband, because the work is done right under the noses of the rebels.
A working party is detailed for night duty with muskets slung on their backs and shovels and picks on their shoulder; they proceed to the selected ground. The white tape marks the line of excavation. The dark lanterns are “faced to the rear,” the muskets are carefully laid aside, the shovels are in hand and each man silently commences to dig. Not a word is spoken, not one spade clicks against another, each man first digs a whole large enough to cover himself, he then turns and digs to his right-hand neighbor, then the ditch deepens and widens and the parapet rises. Yet all is silent, the relief comes and the weary ones retire, the words and jests of the enemy are often plainly heard, while no noise from our men disturbs the stillness save the rattle of the earth as each spadeful is thrown to the top, at daylight a long line of earthworks, affording complete protections to our men greets the astonished eyes of the enemy, while the sharp-shooters’ bullets greet their ears. Frequently this work is done in open daylight the sharp shooters and pickets keeping the enemy from annoying our men.
ONE OF SUMNER’S FRIENDS GONE UNDER
The best work of the morning of the 23th ult. was reducing to a state of permanent inutility in this mundane sphere a negro rifleman who, through his skill as a marksman, has done more injury to our men than a dozen of his white compeers in the attempted labor of reducing the complement of our sharpshooters. Our men have known him for a long time, have kept an eye on him, have lain in wait for him. His habit has been to perch himself in a big tree and keeping himself behind the body annoy our men by firing upon them. He climbed the tree this morning in advance of the others coming out, smuggled himself in his position, and was anticipating his usual day of quietude. Our men might have killed him as he came out, but avoided shooting so as not to alarm the others. His tree was about twenty rods from one of our pits. When hour men fired on the advancing rebel pickets he of course saw the fix he was in – that he was decidedly up a tree.
‘I say, big nigger,’ called out one of our men, ‘you better dome down from there.’
‘What for?’ responded the nigger.
‘I want you as a prisoner.’
‘Not as this chile knows of,’ replied the concealed Etheope.
‘Just as you say,’ replied our sharpshooter.
In about an hour the darkey peered his head out. Our man was on the look out for him, he had his rifle on the head line ready – pulled the trigger – whiz went the bullet, and down came the negro. He was shot through the head.
BERDAN’S SHARPSHOOTERS
These enterprising marksmen furnish the romance of the siege, if it may be so termed and many and marvelous are the stories told of the feats of daring and skill they execute, and the hairbreadth escapes they experience. Their duties are certainly of the most arduous and hazardous character. They are generally stationed in pairs in rifle pits or in some other protected position furnished by the nature of the ground. Generally within from five to eight hundred yards of the enemy’s pickets and almost always in front of their intrenched works for there it is that the accurate marksmen can be of the most service, every movement they make, every shot they make, is at the hazard of a life for the enemy is by no means without good marksmen, some of whom have a skill that rivals ‘Old California Joe’ and would try the skill of Colonel Berdan himself. One of these was a stalwart negro whose accurate firing made him the dread as the admiration of our own crack marksmen. It used to be the boast of the old English archers that each man carried the lives of twelve men at his belt, but this blackamoor carried an innumerable number of lives in the bore of his musket. At any practicable range, with the least sight on one of our men he seemed to know no such thing as failing to hit. Happily he is no more. Two days ago after watching and waiting with the patience and perseverance which none but the practical rifle picket can exercise, he exposed himself at a moment and was tumbled over with a ball through is head. The sad part of the story is that the man who shot him had scarcely withdrawn his rifle exclaiming “I got the range that time” when a ball entered his brain and stretched him lifeless. He was buried yesterday by his comrades. He was a German by birth, but I did not learn his name. The Berdan riflemen are the least soldierly looking men about here, but there can be no question as to their great service. They wear all sorts of uniforms and use every description of rifle each man having that kind with which he is most proficient.
– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye, Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, May 10, 1862, p. 1
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