200 Norra Caro.iina Troops, 1861-’65.

sibly had its effect on the deflection in our advance and our
separation from the regiment on our right.

Wet as rain can make us, with knapsacks and every shred
of extra clothing gone, we marched back to the brow of the
hill, where we first formed in line of battle. Here amid mud
and rain we were held in line of battle till 3 a. m. As there
was momentary expectation of attack, not a spark of fire was
allowed. Then twelve miles were tramped, or rather stumbled,
through darkness, mud and slush, before halt was made for
rest or sleep. The tenacious mire was often knee deep. Shoes
were pulled from our feet by it and lost. Pantaloons became
so caked and weighted with mud that many, in sheer despe-
ration and utter inability in their exhaustion, to carry an
extra ounce, cut off and threw away all below the knees. All
that night we had no food, nor the next day, though lunging
desperately forward over virtually impassable roads. The
following day, the 7th, found us still marching and fasting,
or rather, famishing. Blessed indeed were the squad or two
that found and shot a razor-back hog. But we were the rear
guard and even razor backs had become scarce and wary after
being hunted by the 30,000 hungry mouths that had preceded
us. One of our Captains who was lucky enough to get an ear
of corn a day, always spoke of it as the parched corn march.

Many of the troops “caved” in from sheer exhaustion and
starvation. The case of Sergeant Malcolm Nicholson, Com-
pany D., which occurred a little later in the retreat, will
illustrate our sufferings as well as the grim resolve of the
men to keep up with the colors up to the point of absolute
physical collapse. This stripling refused to succumb or fall
out till at a halt one night he toppled over. His comrades
tucked him away in an old wagon body lying near. When
the order to “fall in” came, and they went to arouse him,
they found that death had given him his discharge ‘and that
the weary marching of the boy sergeant was over forever.

On the evening of 9 May, the Chickahominy was
reached, the wagons overtaken and the worst hardship of the
march, whose sufferings remained ever vivid to the men ho

clung to the fortunes of the Confederacy to the bitter end,
was over.