Ginger

At Newport News, we received the escaped contrabands from all directions. Across the James River, which was here three miles wide, many a poor devil paddled an old canoe in the darkness of night, to reach our side and rest on the side of the Goddess of Liberty. Sneaking down to the shore with perhaps Old Duiah and his dusky sweetheart to keep him company, he sometimes was forced to hide in the tall bushes, or lay concealed in the friendly woods for days and nights before he could get the chance to push his crazy ___ from land, and escape the eager watch of the rebel guards along the beach. And then too often was he overtaken by their vindictive sentinel boats, or in cold blood shot and then butchered by their rebel crews. Early one August morning, my orderly awoke me from my bed of barrel ___, by his loudly excited exclamations just outside my window, that opened on the River. Hearing his voice I arose and approached the side door, upon opening which I heard him say

“Look! That struck the boat? dam 'em”

It was a lovely morning. The sun but lately risen like myself, sent his rays obliquely over and along the water in golden splendor. The air was deliciously fresh, and along the surface of the water lay that half golden glimmer, half silver mist that a little later disappears.

The orderly was interested in a scene then passing on the other shore of the river, but indistinctly now and then appearing through the changing mist. Even the Sentinel at my tent, had forgotten his duty, and had a moment ceased his monotonous beat to join the orderly. And as the two stood upon the bank of the River with eyes eagerly peering into the distance, while beneath them groups of soldiers were here and there gathered by the water, and all gazing over the river, and expressing their emotions by occasional gesture and comment. The whole picture was a pretty one and well suited for an artist’s canvas. I seized my field glass and soon was interested too. Two boats had put out from shore. One boat leading seemed to contain several persons. The other one was not so fully freighted. Behind them and apparently in full chase came two other boats, while from these last ones rose now and then the puff of smoke, and the noise of a rifle soon after indistinctly reached our attentive ears.

It was a race for life.

It was the old story—the poor slaves fleeing & the rebel masters in close pursuit.

I could see how close was the contest, and step'g from my door I called to a group below to go to the aid of the fugitives.

Several boats were lying on the shore, and in a moment eager volunteers had launched them, and with loaded rifles were pulling hardily over the quiet water. Their starting was the signal of a loud hurrah from their remaining comrades. But unless they make haste their efforts will prove in vain. Already the pursuers close the distance rapidly on the pursued. A frail old rotten canoe, propelled by but two oars, although these oars are wielded by desperation and its aim be liberty, still make a too unequal match against a well shaped boat and several pairs of sculls. Without the aid, and that quickly of the straining boys in blue,the doom of the pursued is sealed, and in seeking liberty they find but death.

Now the mist is clearer, the distance less, and I see the terribly earnest pulling of the two men in the leading boat. I make out in it too, a woman, and two other persons. One object seems prone, as though a wounded man. Behind this boat but still farther and farther to the rear still struggles manfully the other. One man is pulling. Pulling too in desperation. Closer and closer follows his tormentors, who now almost disdain to fire at him. And send their leader messengers after his more fortunate companions. Our boat too is pulling well, and already an eager marksman has sent one shot towards the enemy as though to bid defiance. The report sends hope into the flagging spirits of the pursued, and still more vigorously they pull. We wonder if the rebs will meet our boys in mid-river. They have two boats, so have we. A very equal naval fight. And as we wonder, the doubt is removed, the slave-chasers do not dare. As though angry at the now assured escape of the leading boat, they send a volley into and after its poor follower, and as before it seemed a thing of life, moving rapidly its wings, it now collapses and like a poor struck bird seems to shrivel up, and lie helplessly on the waves.

Its rower has disappeared, the arms that so boldly struggled for escape, lie still and useless, in the bottom of the boat. Again our boys fire at the now almost still boat of the cowardly rebels, but still their shots fall short. The hint though is enough. The rebels turn their ____, and pull for the shore, leaving their prey floating about upon the water. Even at our distance the faint echo of the shout of our brave boys and this maneuver of the Enemy, reaches our ears, and in reply goes up a loud and long hurrah from along our beach. Our boats pursue the enemy some distance, firing in turn, as before fired the cowards on the unarmed fugitives. Then they arrest their course, (for other boats are about leaving the rebel shores to the assistance of their fleeing comrades), and taking the escaped boats in tow, pull towards our camp. Upon landing we find the first boat contains three stalwart negroes, two women, and two children. The other boat has in it the stiffening corpse of a man, and woman, and a boy of some 14 years uninjured. The boy is blubbering still, but mostly through fear. He states the dead people to be his parents. I rather pity his forlorn position and send him under charge of my cook to my Headquarters, and thus I fall in possession of “Ginger”.

A Hard Head

In the pleasant month of August 1861 I had just returned from a tedious court-martial sitting at Gen'l Press Headquarters at Newport News, VA and having unbuckled my belt to detach it and my heavy sword, preparatory to throwing myself upon my cracker box lounge, I thought how agreeably would taste a glass of cool champagne cider and so yelled for my little cup-bearer, “which his name wasn’t ganymede but Ginger”.

In response to a subdued “thank Lord kernel” proceeding from an invisible mouth I made my wishes known concerning my favorite “boisson” and soon after Ginger entered my tent, bearing in his dusky paw a tumbler.

When Ginger was first introduced into my family I had casually observed to him in reference to his narrow escape from death as before related that he should thank the Lord for his great deliverance whereupon the expression or idea so pleased his fancy, that after that always in answer to my calls his answer was “thank Lord kernel”. As this expression so often elicited smiles from his hearers, Ginger was encouraged to make more frequent use of it, and sometimes with the most absurd ____. He was a happy little fellow, with the blackest of eyes, soothest of skins, and wooliest of hair. With the element of buffoonery at the base of his character he sought applause by the most absurd pranks and actions, and had thereby become the “jester” at headquarters, and quite a favorite with the soldiers.

He entered my tent now with one hand upon the summit of his pointed head, and with the most lugubrious face, and the most woe-begone aspect generally. Two larger tears glistened along his nose like two drops of crystal on the outside of full ink bottle.

“What’s the matter Ginger?” I said. But only received a sniffle in response, as with one hand he held untended the glass and with the other arm covered his sorrowful, turned away face.

“Come Ginger, what’s the matter with you?”

“Thank Lord kernel, dey’s been and gone and played a nas'y trick on Ginger, dis time dat’s sartain.”

“What trick? Who?”

Dee solders hab donem, oh! Dis boy is clean gone dead kernel. He hab bust his hed in dis time sartain.

Let me see I said, and upon glancing at his prominent cranium, I found a spot on the top where the periosteum was laid as bare as any student fond of “dissecting” could desire.

It seems Ginger had been in the habit of knocking in the heads of boxes and barels with his head, upon receiving a small inducement to do so, in form of penny collections or subscriptions among the soldiers. He had been victorious up to this day in all encounters, having worsted and knocked in all sorts of boxes and barrels. His head seeming to grow harder in proportion to the barrels & getting thicker.

Finally some soldiers had obtained a beef barrel, a solid soaked old “mess” receptacle that seemed in itself quite as difficult to break into as one of Herring’s Safes. But notwithstanding this, as a worthy expression or exponent of their confidence in Ginger’s powers they had placed inside strong braces and blocks of wood to make the heads still stronger. After Ginger had forced his catapult of a head through a couple of flour barrels and a cracker box, this “stuffed” beef barrel was produced as though in a condition entirely “au naturel” and by means of a much more generous subscription than usual, Ginger’s fears to attack so formidable a foe, were overcome. Of course he only need this “purse” in case he accomplished his task, and he was as covetous a little contraband as one might find. The barrel was placed and Ginger took first a good survey of its greasy head and then went back much farther than usual to obtain the extra propelling power he saw the exigencies of the case demanded. Then he gave a run, and when within some six feet of the barrels head, precipitated himself with all his might and eyes fast closed, head foremost at his foe. His body seemed an armor. And with an awful thug his head hit plump at the other head. From the interior of the barrel issued a deep groan, and unharmed intact it bounded some feet back. Only a dent showed where the fearful blow had struck it. Ginger lay prone. A feeble “gosh” and “thank Lord” were the only words he uttered for a moment, then he put his black hand to his bleeding head, and affirmed “dat ar's a dirty trick, an dis nigger boy is gone dead sur. thank lord! He’s bust his hed, an you all a nasy dirty lot.” However they gave him the money and I think Ginger gave up “bust’g barels”.