Writings of Uriah Eberhart

Chaplain of the 20th Iowa Infantry

My parents and my wife’s parents, and many other friends and relatives, having moved to the State of Iowa, we also decided to go to the "Eldorada" of the West. Accordingly I was transferred from the Rock River to the Upper Iowa Conference, and stationed at Anamosa, the county seat of Jones county. We arrived there October 6, 1860. This was hard work as I had to preach three times on the Sabbath. But the people were very good, and much more social than at many places we had been. During the winter we had good revivals. This fall the conference was held at Marshalltown, Iowa, but I did not get there, as I took fever and ague on the way and had to lie over. This was the first and only time I ever had the regular "chill fever," and I never want it again. And this was the first and only time I was ever prevented from attending conference, save when in the army. I was reappointed to Anamosa, as I expected. Last year I had the Rev. J. G. Wilkinson as colleague a part of the year. This year I had the Rev. Bishop Isbell to assist me. We got along very pleasantly, and our labors were blessed in the conversion of sinners, and upbuilding of the church.

Meanwhile Fort Sumter fell, and the War of the Rebellion was fairly inaugurated, assuming huge proportions, so that the people were aroused and excited as never before; and enlistment for the army were going on all around us. Two companies were organized in our town and neighborhood. But it never occurred to me that it would be proper for me to leave my work and go into the war, until one day some of the officers asked me if I would accept the chaplaincy if they could get me appointed. After consultation with my family, and making it the subject of prayer, I decided in the affirmative, so they made application to the Sixteenth Regiment Iowa infantry, but through the partiality and intrigue of some of the regimental officers I did not get it, though a majority of all the officers of the regiment voted for me. Let me here state that there was an alarming amount of "bargain and sale" in connection with obtaining officers for the army.

Shortly after this my presiding elder, the Rev. H. W. Reed, was appointed "Indian Agent," so he moved me to the Marion charge, intending that the minister there, the Rev. J. B. Taylor, should be appointed to the district. But the "powers to be" did not confirm this arrangement, so we were both at Marion for a few months. But as there were several preaching places in the country, we both found work enough to do.

Meanwhile, the president issued the call for 300,000 more soldiers. This made enlisting lively, as now nearly all classes felt bound to respond. Very soon five companies were raised in Linn county, and these with five more from Scott county were organized into the Twentieth Regiment Iowa infantry. To this regiment my friends made application for the chaplaincy, and on August 22, 1862, I was almost unanimously elected, notwithstanding that there were about twenty candidates. And on August 25^th, I was duly sworn into this official relation to the government. Our regiment was organized at Clinton, Iowa, and then for a few days rendezvoused at Davenport, Iowa. So I quickly got ready for my departure. I arranged to have my two older children, Alvin and Naomi, go to school at Mt. Vernon, and my wife, with Florence, was to go home to her parents, Father May’s. Thus made the best provisions I could for them under the circumstances, I took leave of them on August 30, 1862, and joined my regiment in Clinton. This was a sad parting, as it then looked as we might not meet again in this life. But I felt it an imperative duty to respond to my country’s call in her time of need, no difference what would become of me.

We left Davenport September 5^th,per boat, having received orders to go to Rolla, Mo. At Nauvoo we had to take barges, in order to get over the rapids. Then per boat the "Northerner" to St. Louis, where we stopped a week in "Benton Barracks," that we might be more fully initiated into the preparatory drill, and be better equipped with all the paraphernalia of war.

On the boat going down the river I tried to preach to about a 1,000 soldiers, having for my pulpit the bow of the boat; but it did not go very well, as the noise of the firemen and the spray of the water made too much confusion. It was "sowing to the wind" and not "casting your bread on the waters." At St. Louis on Sabbath, September 14, just as I was getting ready to preach in the great amphitheater containing 20,000 people, we got marching orders, and so imperative are military orders that we could not even wait to hold our service. That night at 8 o’clock we landed at Rolla, and as we had our bedding packed in the cars I slept on the "soft side" of a plank on the railroad platform. We were now in the enemy’s land, where we must throw aside the romance of the war and test its reality on the battle-field and that, too, with our brethren of the same nation. These things strangely exercised my mind so that it seemed almost as though I could not muster courage enough to face the deathly weapon on the field of conflict. But I soon learned that there is such a thing as a spirit of war, and that on the battle-field both man and beast soon become intoxicated with it and then rush furiously and madly into the very jaws of death.

Our first engagement was at Newtonia, near the Boston mountain. The enemy was entrenched in a stone barn, with a stone wall eight feet high around it, and about 7,000 strong. We had then about 10,000 which we divided into three divisions. We made a forced march of 100 miles to get there, and surprised them by attacking them at sunrise, on three sides, viz.: East, West and North. After a few hours of canonading, they "skedaddled" by an opening on the south side. Our men who had only been six weeks in the service were very much excited, but behaved well, and were brave for young soldiers. It is true, about a half-dozen got "sick" just when the battle opened, and one, after firing once, broke ranks and ran, without claiming to be sick. He was the only man I met during the war that really was a coward and could not fight, after repeated trials. He was reprimanded and "bucked" as a punishment, but all in vain. He was afterward detailed as a cook and did well.

After the battle we encamped in a grove near by and for the first time suffered for food and clothing. The most of the men had cast off their heaviest clothing, some all but shirt and pants, before going into the battle, supposing they could return and get it again. But in this they were disappointed, as it was confiscated by the "contrabands" and citizens, and, as we had no tents and it got much colder, we suffered considerably. And in the excitement the haversacks were also thrown away by most of them, so there was nothing on hand to eat and nothing could be found in that country but a few old cows as poor as "Pharaoh’s kine," for the rebels had foraged all over the land. But it was not long until these cows were brought up and shot, and then every one rushed up and cut off the piece he could grab and at once put it on a fire and broiled it as best he could, eating it without salt or bread of any kind. This made many sick. I had a few "hard tack" left, but the poor beef and poor water made me sick for the first time since in the army. The field service agreed with me so well that in a short time I weighed 175 pounds, whereas I only weighed 155 pounds when I enlisted.

I soon learned that we had a goodly number in the regiment who belonged to some of the different religious denominations and that their moral character and religious enjoyment would be likely to suffer during their army life, hence I proposed the organization of a regimental church. This met with a hearty approval by a majority. Accordingly, we organized at once, calling it the Christian Society of the Twentieth Iowa Regiment. We had a regular constitution and by-laws.

We had a president, vice-president, secretary and treasurer, and a committee of five chosen by the society, who together constituted a Board of Adjudication, for the settlement of all disputes and the punishment or expulsion of disorderly members. We held preaching, prayer and conference meetings regularly each Sabbath and several times during the week when not prevented by unavoidable circumstances or military orders. We also had a Sunday-school, or rather a Bible class, in each company. Our society numbered nearly 200, and we had frequent additions to our church, both by conversions and otherwise. We held one "revival meeting," and once administered the sacrament of the Lord’s Supper right out in the grove.

Nearly all attended service, when convenient. We had two officers, and a few others, who professed to be infidels and tried to oppose us, but who could accomplish little, as our colonel, Mc. E. Dye, was most decidedly in our favor. He was raised and trained in the Episcopal Church, and was a noble man, an excellent scholar, both in science and literature, graduating at West Point, and made one of the best officers I met with during the war.

During the winter of 1862-3 we traveled over the greater part of the State of Missouri and northwestern Arkansas and were never long at one place, as we were in search of rebels, who kept a proper distance in our advance, and never stood long enough for anything but a little "skirmishing," until December 7^th, at Prairie Grove. This was a regular "pitched battle" between Gen. Hindmen, of the Confederate army, with 25,000 of the best drilled soldiers they had, and Generals Herron and Blunt on our side, each with about 12,000 fresh volunteers. The enemy was well entrenched in a grove behind a hill, and we had to form our line of battle on an open prairie. But we had the best and most artillery.

The battle did not fairly open until about 2 P. M., as they were reluctant to come out from behind their fortifications. But finally some of our men, getting impatient for the fight, rushed right up to their works. On seeing this, they turned their whole army loose on our left wing, and drove us back pell-mell, so that it soon got to be a little "Bull Run" stampede. I shall never forget the sight, much less the feelings I had, when I saw our men fleeing in such disorder and the rebels in hot haste after them. I, of course, thought all was up and we were prisoners of war. But standing a minute, wondering and praying what to do, a strange, patriotic spirit took hold of me, inspiring me with hope that something might yet be done to avert our utter destruction; and, not being able to find any of the higher officers with whom to counsel, I mounted my pony and rode in advance of the fleeing, panic-stricken soldiers, crying "halt! Halt!" But they did not heed me at first. I then commenced pleading with them, and urging them, for the sake of their country and their families and their Christianity to stop, turn around and try it over again. At last, when they got to a little grove, I got them to hold on a little, but were not willing to go back into the battle. About this time I heard heavy artillery firing on the other side, so I rode up to Gen. Herron’s headquarters, who had been considerably dumbfounded, and learned that Gen. Blunt had just arrived and opened on the enemy’s rear. This did not only stop them from pursuing us, but suddenly caused them to "round-about-face" to fight him. So I went back to my forlorn band, and had but little trouble to persuade them to "face about" and fall into rank, and go in on the rear of those who, only a few minutes before, had been pursuing them; and then for an hour it was woe be the rebels!

This was a very decided battle. It was claimed that, considering the numbers employed and the time engaged, it was the most effective battle of the war. That night I shall never forget. I was up all night taking care of the wounded and dying. We had about one hundred in and around the old log house, confiscated for this purpose. After midnight the surgeon and all the nurses gave out from fatigue and loss of sleep. I alone was left to take care of so many; so I had to be as nearly ubiquitous as it was possible for a mortal to be. Almost simultaneously I would hear the call, "Chaplain, do you think I am mortally wounded?" "Will you pray for me?" "Will you write to my friends all about this?" For my efforts in rallying the men and faithful services this day I received special commendation in the official report of the battle sent to Washington.

The next day we buried our dead in a circle around a large oak tree, with military honors and Christian simplicity; and on the fifth day we assisted our enemy to bury their dead, which were still lying around by scores, rapidly decomposing and being devoured by swine which were permitted to roam over the country. We also fed and cared for twenty-five hundred wounded rebels left on the battle-field. We got our wounded to the hospital at Fayetteville, Ark., as soon as possible, and I staid with them several weeks taking care of them. On December 26^th our army got orders to move southward, but as many were sick and wounded a detachment was left behind, and I was detailed as adjutant-general of the camp, which office I filled as well as I could in connection with the office of brigade post-master and the duties of the chaplaincy. After the army returned, we moved on to Fayetteville, Ark., and had a grand review of the entire army. It was said by many that I rode the gayest and most sprightly pony on the ground. It was an Indian pony of the Choctaw tribe, for which I paid fifty dollars when bur four years old. I think it was the most perfect of the horse kind I ever saw. I rode on it when we entered Vicksburg, and then sent it home and gave it as an anniversary present to my wife, and we kept it until it was twenty-five years old, when it died and was buried. From Fayetteville we traveled northward, via Huntsville and Cassville and Pea Ridge, to Camp Schofield, where we rested a few weeks. We had rain and snow and sleet and terribly bad roads all the way, so that it was no uncommon thing for our teams to stick in the mud a dozen times a day; so at last we stuck all night and called it "Camp Stuck-in-the-mud." Here in a grove of large trees, I spread my rubber blanket on the snow, five inches deep, with several inches of mud underneath it, and slept soundly, deciding the next morning that it was the softest bed I ever slept on.

February 9^th we came to Camp Bliss, and the next day to Bloomington, where we stayed several weeks, then went on to Elk Creek, where we stayed three weeks. Then to "Little Piney," into "Camp Totten." Here, on April 6, 1863, my wife came to visit me and stayed with me sevens weeks, living in the camp, and marching with us when we moved. I bought her a side-saddle, and borrowed a horse from "Uncle Sam" and did some huge horse-back riding. My wife here tried an experiment in teaching the "contrabands" who came into camp. She sent for books, and in the afternoons, when we were not marching, taught them, and soon decided that they were not only capable but also very eager to learn. From Camp Totten we went to Rolla, Mo., then to Pilot Knob. Here my wife and I visited Iron Mountain, one mile high, composed of solid iron ore, which is said to yield ninety percent iron. Here my wife left me, returning home, and we moved on to the Mississippi river, and June 7, 1863, at Geneva, took boats to Vicksburg. We had a fleet of seventeen boats, under command of Gen. Vandever. I had excellent quarters in a state-room on the J. D. Perry, with the rest of the officers. No privates were admitted, so on Sabbath I preached to about one hundred officers in the cabin of the boat. I gave them a plain sermon, reminding them of the responsibility they assumed when they accepted Uncle Sam’s shoulder straps, and reprimanded them for profanity, drunkenness, and unnecessary Sabbath desecration. Some of them did not like it and got angry; but the great majority said: "You did just right." During our trip to Vicksburg I distributed hundreds of testaments and five or six thousand tracts, which were gladly received by the soldiers, and I have good reason to believe I accomplished much good in this way. I often saw soldiers, even when on duty, earnestly reading the Word of God, and in death frequently found either a bible or testament after nearly all other luggage had been abandoned during the weary march.

We got to Vicksburg June 11, 1863, and the next day crossed the Mississippi river below Vicksburg, landing at Warrenton. That night I saw the most terribly grand sight I ever witnessed. It was the "shelling" of the city by two hundred mortar boats. They threw into it red-hot balls, the streaks of which could be seen like streaks of lightening; but I could not see that they accomplished much except the setting on fire of a few old buildings. After we crossed the river and took our position on the south side of the city near the river, in the regular line with those who were already besieging the city, we were considerably annoyed by 200-pound shells, which frequently fell among us-sometimes exploding in the air and raining down upon us in a hundred pieces. They were fired from large siege guns, which the boys called "Whistling Jack," and "Whistling Dick." They could send them three or four miles with considerable accuracy. At one time when some thirty officers of us went forward a half-mile with Gen. Grant, to look for a suitable place to plant one of our large guns, they saw us with their glasses, and sent one of these shells among us to prevent the enterprise. It struck the higher ground above us, passed over our heads, and burst into a hundred pieces below us. We all ran, knowing that another one would follow soon, all but General Grant, who also hastened his usually slow pace somewhat, remarking: "I’ll allow you to run when they send these big ones." During the time I was at the siege of Vicksburg, these large shells frequently dropped close to where I was standing, sometimes without exploding, and sometimes exploding in the air above me into a hundred pieces, but I was never touched by one of them. God mercifully preserved my life, and I did not even feel afraid, for I could adopt the language of the psalmist, when he said: "He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty;" and "A thousand shall fall by thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand, but it shall not come nigh thee." I staid around Vicksburg until the taking of the city, and during this time had a large experience. Here I first saw the so-called "Spanish-moss," or Mistletoe. It has neither roots, leaves, nor any external signs of life, yet it is one of the hardest things to kill known in the vegetable kingdom. It is used for upholstering, and if not first thoroughly cured by keeping it entirely under water for three or six months, it grows in the sofas and chairs afterward. Here I also first saw the far-famed "magnolia groves." These trees are as large as the oak trees in Northern forests, full of beautiful white flowers, from six to eight inches in diameter, filling the atmosphere with fragrant odors miles around. Here I also plucked the first ripe figs from the trees, growing in the forests and in the fields along the road-side, similar to plum-trees in the North. I found them very delicious when fully ripe. One peculiarity of this kind of fruit is, that they do not all ripen at the same time. You may find buds, flowers, half-grown and ripe fruit on the same tree at the same time. But the general appearance and climate of this country I did not like. It is too rough and hilly, and the atmosphere is not bracing enough. This accounts for the proverbial saying, that the Negroes and Southern people in general are a slothful people. It affects a Northern man in the same way. He soon succumbs to climate, losing his elasticity and sprightliness. There are no winter’s frosts to rejuvenate the earth and purify the atmosphere, so as to make it invigorating. Here, too, the insects and reptiles are not destroyed, or put to sleep, as they are in the North, but live and multiply the whole year round. Hence you find serpents, lizards, ticks, fleas, mosquitoes, gnats, flies, and chiggers all the time to annoy and pester you. It is true this is the "Sunny South," but it is not free for clouds and storms, disease and suffering. I continued around Vicksburg, taking care of the sick and wounded and burying the dead, until July 4, 1863, when Gen. Pemberton surrendered the city and we marched into it triumphantly, taking charge of the 30,000 prisoners he delivered to us. This was one of the grandest and proudest days of my life. I had the privilege of riding in with the officers who had the honor of first planting the stars and stripes within the fortifications. It was my birthday, being forty two years of age, and also the birthday of my country’s independence, and, above all, the breaking of the backbone of the rebellion. It was glory enough for one day. I also had the privilege of preaching the first sermon to the colored people after the surrender of the city. Their own church had been destroyed, and they had been forbidden to hold meetings of any kind for nearly two years previous, as this would have given them an opportunity to hear and spread the current news among each other. They had not yet heard of President Lincoln’s "Proclamation of Emancipation," and were informed that the South had been victorious in all the principle battles up to this time, and would be unto the end. So I got permission of Gen. Grant to take them to the large Methodist Church, seating 1,200, and explain this matter to them. It was the happiest and most attentive congregation I ever preached to. Every eye was intently fixed upon me, and every time I moved, the faces of the entire audience moved with me, and every word was eagerly devoured. In fifteen minutes they were all shouting happy, and I had to quiet them a little so as to be able to proceed. This I had to do several times during the discourse, and then I let them have their own way-and such shaking hands, singing and praising God I never witnessed.

After the surrender of Vicksburg the so-called "Contrabands" came in from the surrounding country by thousands, hoping to get something to eat, and something to do to make a living. This, with the thousands already in the city when we took it, soon swelled the number to thirty or forty thousand. And as the weather was very warm, and they had little or nothing to eat, and had collected together in empty houses and cellars to shield themselves from the burning rays of the sun, all manner of diseases soon made their appearance among them and scores were dying every day. So General Grant issued an order that they must immediately be removed, dead or alive, to the Louisiana side of the river, and put in camp. At this juncture he requested me to take charge of this work. I did so, but with considerable reluctance, as it was necessarily attended with much exposure and danger, as many were sick with small-pox, yellow fever and other contagious diseases, and a good many were already dead, and some of them had been dead for days, and all had to be removed. With the thermometer at from 90 to 100 degs. In the shade, you may form some idea of the terrible condition of things.

In all my army life I witnessed nothing like this. It beggars description. I will only give one of the many cases. A woman had been dead several days, and her child was still nursing the dead mother. We did this work in the following manner: We took large commissary wagons, drawn by six mules, and put those of them that were unable to walk therein, and took them to the river and loaded them on to a boat, took them across the river and unloaded them on the shore, where there was nothing to shelter or protect them save a few large live-oak trees. For weeks they had neither hut nor tent to shelter them. But this was not the worst feature in their condition. They had nothing to eat save a little "hard-tack," given to some of them by the soldiers, and what they picked up by the way. On the day I entered on this work, Gen. Grant told me he would send over a boat-load of provisions the next day. So I made out a "requisition" and took it to the Quarter-master, who, to my great disappointment, would not honor it, saying: "We have no army regulations to feed niggers, especially when our soldiers and prisoners are on short rations." So said all the officers and commanders, whose duty it was to sign and countersign the papers. So the only resource left me was to go back to Gen. Grant, who, after hearing the case, at once issued a "special order," which, of course, every one of them honored at sight. The next thing to do was to secure a boat in which to carry them over to the camp. Accordingly I made out a "requisition" for one, and went to the Navy department, but when I came to the commodore in command he said, "I can not furnish boats enough for the use of the army, and of course I can not give any to carry contrabands around the country." I at once went to Gen. Grant and obtained a special order, which brought the boat in a hurry. But it was so managed that it took them all day to get it ready and load the provisions, and then, to my utter consternation, either intentionally or carelessly, it was sent some twenty miles up the river to another camp. After a long search I found where it was, and at once sent a messenger up to bring it down. But worse than ever, such was the inexorable law of the army and "red tape," that those in command would not move a peg until they had orders from headquarters. So I had again to resort to Gen. Grant, my never-failing source of help, for another special order, which brought the boat. But all this time the poor contrabands were starving to death. It is true they did all they possibly could. They caught a few fishes, frogs, clams, etc., and ate all the herbs and roots within their reach. They even ate wild parsley, which killed some of them.

I took over a box of hard-tack and tow hams for my own use, which I divided among them by breaking the hard-tack into four pieces, and cutting the ham, into very small pieces, and gave a piece of each to the worst cases. But, not withstanding all this care and attention, they actually starved to death, at the rate of twenty or thirty a day, right before my eyes. This was suffering and sorrow indeed! Such as I had fondly hoped I would never witness.

In this wretched, starving condition, these poor creatures became very despondent, desperate, and even rebellious, so that I began to fear that my life was in danger, for they could not understand how it was that if there was something to eat in Vicksburg, just across the river, why they could not get it, and came to the conclusion that the "Yankees," instead of being their friends, intended to starve them to death-as some of their masters had told them. This was a terrible crisis, and what to do I did not know, but finally concluded that myself and Levi Weaver, the only white assistant I had, would steal away at the hour of night and go to Vicksburg and make our last effort to obtain help. But lo! and behold! at sunset of the 5th day a boat well filled with provisions landed at our camp. This quickly and wonderfully changed the aspects of things. If God had rained "manna" from heaven among them, it could not have had a greater transforming power over them. All was now rejoicing even in the midst of distress and the greatest suffering. They praised god by looks, words, and all manner of actions, and even in their weakness tried to clap their hands and spring into the air, thanking God he had sent "Messer Linkum" and "de Yankees wid de liverins." But now while one trouble seemed to be passing away another trouble came. They had expected to rush up to the boat and eat to their stomachs content, not knowing that this would have proven more fatal than all the famine of the past. So when I ordered only one hard-tack for each of them, it brought a cloud over their sky. If it had been a "hoe-cake it would have answered the purpose a little better, but they sorrowfully said: "Wat am de had-tak?"-"It am too dry an’ tuff." But I soon brought order out of chaos, by ordering them to form themselves into squads of six, twelve or twenty-four, as suited them best, and then detailed two or more of their number to come to the boat and draw their "rations." I also detailed some of them to assist me in cutting up the meat and handing over a small piece and some flour for each one of them, according to the number of the "mess." But how in the name of humanity do you suppose they managed this matter, as they had nothing in the shape of pails, pans or dishes of any kind to hold their provisions, much less to cook or bake them in? But "necessity is the mother of invention." They went to the noted "cut-off" above the city, where so many of our noble soldiers dug graves for themselves, and yet accomplished nothing against the rebellion, and picked up pieces of boards, large chips, and the bark of large trees cut down at the time, and on these received their scanty allowance. Then they hastened to the Mississippi river and with their hands dipped the murky water on to the flour, stirring it with a stick into a dough, or rather a batter; then, rushing to where some of their number had built a fire, baked it in the hot embers as best they could, and ate it, giving thanks to God.

During my connection with this work I had a rich experience in studying the character of this long oppressed people. I found them a very industrious people. The government furnished them material and tools with which they soon constructed rude shanties for temporary homes. And when there was an opportunity to enter the army the able-bodied men at once enlisted and made good soldiers. They were, comparatively speaking, a moral people. Profanity, Sabbath desecration and drunkenness were scarcely found among them. It is true some of them learned to swear and drink very fast after the soldiers came among them and set them a bad example. Their greatest "besetting sin" was petty theft. They would steal on a small scale. I had to hold a court almost every day to settle little trouble in this line. I said to one of the most intelligent of them: "How is it that you colored people will steal?" He said: "I can tell you. We learn it from childhood up. When we raise de corn and put in de master’s crib, and he would not gib us enough, we didn’t think it very wrong to go and take it. And when de corn in de master’s crib, or starve." This was to him the end of all controversy, and it did look rather plausible. They were an obedient and very manageable people. This lesson they had to learn from early childhood, in their state of bondage. And they were a religious people. Nearly all of them belonged either to the Methodist or Baptist churches, and we soon had good meetings right out in the open air. I sometimes preached to them standing on a large stump and they standing around me as close together as they could, when they numbered from 10,000 to 15,000. They always listened very attentively, and responded very heartily when anything was put in the interrogative form.

They were a very hopeful and cheerful people in the midst of all their afflictions.

When General Sherman made his raid through Mississippi, he gathered some 3,000 of them and brought them with him, and as soon as I heard that they were to be brought into my camp I rode out several miles to meet them and interview them. They were a motley crowd, consisting of all ages, sexes and conditions in life, and traveling in all imaginable ways, modes and styles-yet cheerful , happy and gay. To test their feelings and prospects, I said: "Well, my friends, where are you going?" The first one said: "Wees goin’ to de land ob libertee." The next one said: "Wees goin up Norf." Another one said: "Weens is goin’ whar youins is." At last a starlwart old patriarch said: " Wees goin we dosent no whar." I said to myself, how true. For they did not realize that they were then in their transition state from bondage to freedom, and that it would take at least, as in the case of the ancient Israelites, forty years to get into the full enjoyment of the promised "land of rest," and that some of the privations in the "wilderness" would even surpass those in the land of slavery.

They had rather vague and loose ideas of the laws of marriage. The most of them had never been legally married-for in a state of slavery this could not be, or they could never been sold apart. Their master, or someone appointed by him, usually had a mock ceremony performed, which the most of them soon learned was not binding when the master wished to sell them to some Southern planter. In view of this fact, the government issued orders to have them re-married-requiring all the officers to see that it was carried out. Accordingly we had many weddings, as many as forty in one day. To give the reader an idea of the vagueness of their notions of marriage, I will relate an incident coming under my own observation. I went to a shanty to get some washing done, where I found a fine, young couple living as husband and wife, who I had reason to believe, from what I saw and heard, were not married. So, to test the matter, I said: "How long since you were married?" When the man responded "O, wees not married at all." I then said: "Do you not know that it is wrong for you to live this way." When he replied: "Wees dosent no if it is wrong or not, but we can’t get married, fur she has got a nudder man she lubs better den me, and our bargain is, dat I am to be her husband until he cums back, and den I must stan’ aside; and if he nebber comes back den I am always to be her husband."

I think they also lacked in material affection for their offspring, which was doubtless owing to the fact that they were raised in slavery, and in that condition mothers could not be allowed to give much attention to their children. Of over 200 hundred children born during the organization of our camp, and a few months after, all died but a dozen or so. When in November afterwards my wife came down from the North with boxes of clothing for children, and inquired of our cook, where are all the babies, she sid: "Las of me, dem all done gone died up long ago."

The "camp," where so many were brought together from all the surrounding country, was a great place for those who had been sold away form each other to meet and recognize each other again. I will here give a thrilling incident which came under my observation. A stout young man, owned by Mr. Cline, one of the wealthiest citizens of Vicksburg, was sold to some one in the Yazoo country, leaving a little boy behind, whose name was Moses. For nearly forty years they never heard of each other. Moses grew up to be a fine, intelligent negro man, and, therefore, I appointed him to take charge of the burial of the dead. When General Sherman made a raid up the Yazoo river he brought back with him some 1,200 contraband for my camp, and among them the father of Moses, a venerable, robust, old man. So Moses put him to work digging graves, not knowing who he was. One day it so happened that they were both digging at the same grave, when the father said: "Who was your master?" Moses said: "Mr. Cline." "Is dat so?" replied the father. "He was also my master, and when I was sold, I left a boy behind called Moses, and you must be the one." Moses said: "It must be so." At this juncture the father very excitedly said: "Take up your pants, and I’ll see whether you have a scar on your leg where you were burned when a child." Suffice it to say, the identical scar was there, and the father, cried out: "I am your father, and you are my Moses;" and then they embraced each other and hugged and kissed each other until they both fell down into the grave together, the son crying at the height of his voice: "I never expected to see my father in this world any more!"

I continued in camp, though in feeble health, doing the best I could for the poor contrabands, until the middle of August, when I was taken very sick with malarial fever and diarrhea, so they had to take me over to Vicksburg, where I was put into the rooms of the "Christian Commission" and treated by a Dr. Dewey. After convalescing a little, and finding that getting well would be a very slow process in that climate, I obtained "leave of absence" and went home. The bracing atmosphere of Iowa and the careful nursing at home soon restored me to comparatively good health, so that I was enabled to spend several weeks in soliciting aid for my camp in the shape of clothing and eatables. About the last of October, 1863, I started South again with a good supply of clothing, etc., for my camp, taking my wife and youngest daughter with me, and putting my other two children into school at Mount Vernon. My wife was commissioned by the American Missionary Society to teach the contrabands, and also was authorized by some eastern societies to distribute clothing among the destitute.

After we got there and had distributed our goods, we found that different arrangements had been made by the government relative to the management of the camps. They had been put under military supervision and therefore needed not my help, so I was detailed in the Marine Hospital and resumed the duties of the chaplaincy again. Shortly after, I was transferred to Hospital No. 3. Here I spent the time very pleasantly, having nice rooms assigned us, in which we kept house on a small scale. My wife was engaged in teaching the contrabands in connection with others, I assisting and superintending the schools as best I could, along with my other duties.

The schools were mostly held under shade trees until later in the season, when cast-off tents were patched and prepared for the purpose. They ordinarily learned very fast, because they were so eager to learn and become great and smart "like de white folks." Some also of the more aged and religious wanted to learn to read so they could read the Bible. One day a man, some sixty years of age, a soldier and a blacksmith in his regiment, came to my wife and said: "Missus, I can’t go to de school in de day time, but I wants to larn to read dis blessed book," taking a testament out of his pocket. "Wouldn’t you be so kind as to larn me ob evenings when I dosent have to work?"

My wife, who was already doing more than she was able to do, could not refuse such a request. Accordingly an arrangement was made to have him come in the next evening. I was astonished, as well as pleased, to see how eager the old man was to learn. All the light we had was an old fashioned tallow candle on a little table in the middle of our room, on the one side of which I was seated and on the other side my wife and the old man were at work with his lessons. He had already mastered his A B C’s, but had little or no idea of pronouncing.

I forgot all my work when attracted by the picture before me. The old man, with a pair of old "specks" on, was bending all his energies, in every possible attitude and adjustment, so as to get the most possible light on his book in trying to pronounce "dem hard words." At last he came to the word horse. He clearly and distinctly said all the letters-h-o-r-s-e. "Well, what does that spell?" said the teacher; to which he responded, "Me dosent kno." "Well that spells horse." "De animals we rides on?" said the old man, quick as lightening-"Las a mes"-feeling as though a world of knowledge had dawned upon him. He learned fast, but in a few weeks the regiment was moved and he had to leave. But before leaving he called to settle his bill, and on being informed that there was nothing to pay, he went back to his shop and made an old style fire-shoveland tongs, and came back and said: "Now, missus, I wants you to keep dis shovel and tongs, till your little girl, Florrie, gits married, and den gib dem to her." Suffice it to say, we did so. I spent my time here very pleasantly, visiting the sick and wounded in the hospital, burying the dead, and taking care of the contrabands. I also organized the first M. E. Church in Vicksburg, and was temporarily placed in charge as pastor, by Bishop Ames. All this was very agreeable, as I could have my with me, and had the assurance that we were doing a good work. But during the first part of March an order came for all on detached service belonging to the Sixteenth Army Corps to loin their regiments. This was unwelcome news, for my regiment was away off on one of the islands in the Gulf of Mexico, doing guard duty, and of course I could not take my wife with me, and could not expect to accomplish as much good as where I was. But military orders, as a rule, are like the laws of "the Medes and Persians"-they change not. Accordingly I got ready and went as far as New Orleans, where I was detained a few days, as I had been in charge of twenty-six soldiers, with orders to leave them there. And during the time I was detained, I met my colonel, who was then acting brigadier-general, with whom I advised relative to the best course for me to pursue, who thought, in view of the state of my health and the great need of chaplains in the hospitals, I had better ask to be placed in one of them. Accordingly I made application and was "detailed" to the Marine Hospital at New Orleans. I soon had my family with me, and we were very nicely situated-having excellent "quarters" and accommodations, and very fine intelligent officers to associate with. Here, for the first time in my army experience, I found surgeons, who did not only aid me in my work by notifying me of those needing my labors, but also assisting me in this work. It is true the work was hard. The hospital accommodated one thousand and two hundred patients, and it was full the most of the time. And I made it my duty to visit all the wards once a day, and read the scriptures to, and have prayers with, the worst cases. We had from three to six deaths every day, and had to go out in the country some eight miles to bury them. I also wrote many letters to the friends of the sick and relatives of the dead, every day. We had a chapel in the hospital, in which I preached to the convalescent every Sabbath P. M. and then conducted a Sunday-school. My labors were greatly blessed, and I have reason to believe I never accomplished more good in the same length of time before. My wife also did good by teaching the contrabands, both in the graded school held in the Medical College building, and those in connection with the Hospital as cooks and nurses. But all this work, pleasant as it was, soon made inroads on my health. I found that I could not endure the climate at that season of the year. I was first taken with malarial intermittent fever. Then chronic diarrhea set in, with severe bronchial affection, so that in June I was unable to work any longer, and very reluctantly sent in my resignation. I did not do this until after the eleven surgeons in the hospital, and Gen. Banks’ Medical Purveyor, all decided that I must die if I did not immediately go North.

My papers were sent in June 13, 1864, but by this time I was unable to walk. So my wife had to attend to my transportation and making the necessary for my removal North. This, at this time with the thermometer standing at one hundred degrees in the shade, and in the midst of "red tape," and the inexorable laws of war, was almost a Herculean task-but was, nevertheless, attended to with a heroism rarely excelled during the war. I always looked upon it as the unmistakable evidence of a noble, brave and kind-hearted woman true, affectionate wife.

We finally got ready, and on June 15, 1864, I was put on the boat "Mollie Able," and we started north. All the surgeons and their wives and many others came to bid us farewell.

We left many warm friends behind us, and it was a great reluctance that I left the United States service. I was offered a "leave of absence" for ninety days if I would try to get well and then return again; but I saw no reasonable hope of this, as my whole physical system seemed to be a wreck. And I was too conscientious to hold office and take pay from the government without rendering adequate services, as, I am sorry to know, many did. They proposed to get me a United States or perpetual chaplaincy, but I was afraid of being sent so far south that I could not endure the climate, so I declined, and resolved that if I was ever restored to health again I would re-enter the pastorate and spend my remaining days and strength in the best and grandest work. We had a tedious journey. I never felt more miserable. I was as yellow as a mulatto or creole, and could not eat anything but the weakest gruel. I subsisted mostly on tonics and stimulants. We were six days on the way, and had to run the guerilla blockades a number of times, but every time but once had gunboats to protect us, so we escaped unharmed.

We landed in Chicago June 20, and took up our abode with my brother, J. F. Eberhart, who boarded with Mrs. Miller. Here we tarried several weeks, until I gained a little strength for the rest of the journey. I found that the bracing prairie winds soon had a wonderful recuperating effect on me. We then went to Eldorado, Iowa, and spent the summer with my parents and my wife’s parents and other friends, who did all they could to make us comfortable and aid in regaining my health.

In October, 1864, by way of substituting the last year of my three years’ enlistment in the army, I accepted the State agency of the North-Western Freedmen’s Aid Commission, to collect funds for the support of the 4,000,000 slaves who had just emerged from bondage to freedom, but most of whom were now in greater want and privation than when they were yet in slavery. My health was still rather feeble, but as this was a very needy and urgent work, I did the best I could, and enjoyed it very much. As money was plenty and my cause a very popular and pressing one, I was quite successful in collecting. I averaged about $1,200 a month ready cash.

In the fall of 1865, feeling that I had served my country long enough in this way, and that I ought now to direct my energies to the work of the church, I entered again the ranks of the itinerancy in the Upper Iowa conference and was stationed at Vinton, Iowa. This was very agreeable as it was near the little farm I had bought in Eldorado and meanwhile my parents had also moved to this place. This was a very pleasant charge and we had a good revival during the first year. Some seventy or eighty were added to the church, mostly promising young people. I felt very much at home at this place, and was well supported. At the end of two years I was stationed at Waterloo, Ia. This is a beautiful city on the Cedar River, and we had a commodious parsonage and good church building, but the society was not proportionately strong, yet they paid us $1,000 a year, with the use of the parsonage furnished. We had good success, and each year something of a revival. During the second year my wife’s health was very poor so that the physicians gave her but little encouragement. Therefore, as a last resort, she went to Dansville, N. Y., to a Hygienic Water Cure, where in less than six months she was restored to comparatively good health again. It was astonishing what a change was wrought in her case in so short a time; not by taking a lot of strong medicine, but by observing the "laws of health," viz.: by taking proper rest and exercise, and having proper food, air, and wearing suitable clothing, etc. It so revived her despondent spirits, and renewed her emaciated physical system, that her "youth was renewed like the eagles."

Our next field of labor was Tipton, Cedar county, Iowa. It was an old town, with an old society of substantial old members, having a rickety old parsonage, and a small old church. So we built a two-story church, 50 X 80 feet; and had quite a good revival, and, as a whole, it was a pleasant, prosperous year.

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