Diary of a soldier - Thomas Seales
As I write this entry into my diary, I feel that it may be my last. Even as I am writing these pages, the bombs and activity in the fort, one mile away along the sandy beach can be clearly be heard from all in my vicinity. The darkness is suffocating; the bombs sound off with unrelenting rhythm. I feel that the darkness of the night is surrounding me, covering me, and preventing me with any insight into what my future might hold. Yet, despite all of this, I feel strangely at peace. I do not know why. Perhaps it is the realisation that I may face death in the morning that has made me feel so calm. I feel a lightness of the heart, which I have not felt since I was a child, playing games in the creek with Robert when we were boys. It is because I know that I have succeeded into what I have been aiming to achieve for many a long year. I am a soldier of the Union army, fighting beside my fellow Negro's, for something that my heart has yearned and ached for over most of my life. I am fighting for the freedom of my fellow men.
My name is Thomas Seales and I am a black man and a member of the 54th Regiment of Massachusetts, the first black unit of American soldiers to ever fight in combat. But I have not always been part of this loyal and courageous group of men. I have lived a privileged life, or as privileged a life that a black man can receive. I lived in happiness growing up in the beautiful country house where my parents served the Shaw family. I grew up with my childhood friend Robert, a fine man that is admired by many including myself. Yet, as I grew up and began working for the Shaws myself, I began to learn more from observing my surroundings and the condition in which my fellow race were being treated. I was aghast with horror and loathing as I learned about the ways my people were enslaved in the South and made to work against their will. I wanted to shout to the Southern whites "What have we done to you to be treated in such a way?" I did not know why the Southerners and in fact, many whites in the North despised us. Why were we to be judged by the colour of our skin?
When the Civil War started, I wanted to fight for the Union army with all of my heart, yet I knew that all of my efforts to join would be fruitless. I felt a great serge of anger every time as I saw the white men march bravely and courageously down the streets in parade. They were allowed to fight. It was the Negro's war as well, not just the whites. We lived in this fair country as well, but we were not allowed to fight to stop the slavery of our brothers and sisters in the South. It seemed wrong to just sit and hear news of the pain of war in the South. I knew that it would be harder and harder to pass each day, knowing what was occurring in my country. I had written to Robert many times, begging him to talk to his commanding officers to let black men enlist in the war. But it all came to no avail. Robert wrote back and said that it was very unlikely that I would ever fight in the war. But I never lost hope, and as the war continued to be fought many of my fellow Negroes waited patiently, in hope that one day we would be able to fight alongside white men. Fighting for a common cause. That was, and is still my greatest wish, and it looks like it will finally occur tomorrow.
I never believed that the day would ever come, but I could hardly believe my ears when Robert told me that he was going to command the 54th Regiment of Massachusetts. He was also going to be promoted Colonel! I was so pleased for him, but I could hardly contain my pleasure in being able to fight in the war. In fact, I told him straight away that I was going to be the first man to sign up. When I told him my news, his face burst into a wide grin. "Now we can finally fight alongside each other Thomas!" he said happily to me.
I had no doubts about joining at first, but as I was crowded in a group with many men who were dressed differently to me I felt a pang of doubt. Who was I, a book learned man, to think that I could fight and kill a man? All these years of wishing to join the army, and I had never thought of the fact that I may have to kill someone. Someone who has a life of his own and a family. That, I felt was challenging the almighty by ending a mans life before it was his time. Yet as I overheard snatches of conversation between the men, they all seemed to look forward to killing the Confederate rebels, almost as if it was sport! This alarmed me greatly and it began the first of many doubts in my mind, which have only now started to evaporate. On the 24th of November 1862 I, along with hundreds of other Negroes entered Readville camp in Massetucetts. It was here that I first discovered the uncouthness and rudeness of many men in the camp. In particular some of the men that I was sharing a tent with. I was introduced to John Rawlins, an older man of about 50, who was previously a gravedigger. As soon as I met John, I immediately felt that this was a man I could rely on and trust. He seemed to have had a hard life, but there was calmness and inner wisdom in him that radiated the tent whenever he was in it. My first impressions of many of the other men here, I am afraid to say, were not so positive, although my opinions have certainly changed since then. Private Trip was one of these. He seemed to have an arrogance that seemed to annoy me. Maybe it was the fact that he had threatened me the moment he walked into the tent when I requested to lie near the tent opening so I could read at night. He seemed to be a relentlessly hateful man who used his skin colour as an excuse to unleash his hostility and frustration, usually dubbing his fellow soldiers 'Niggers', which upset me greatly.
The food at the camp was quite decent to what I had expected it to be. We received adequate amounts of food, though the white men who we received it from were not so decent. They didn't seem to realise that we were soldiers too, fighting on the same side. On fact, many of the white officers treated us like dirt. Our drill commander Sergeant Major Mulcahy was extremely brutal. I know that all soldiers of the Union were strictly trained but was knocking us in the ground really necessary? All of the men seemed to be having trouble with the strict training, but I myself in particular seemed to be fighting fatigue and weakness every time I trained. All of the other men had experienced hard labour and knew have to motivate themselves to work harder. On the other hand, I had been brought up in a large household and had never worked in the field, but had worked in the house. I had no stamina and often got pushed to the ground by the Sergeant Major. When I was pushed to the ground and kicked by the Sergeant Major, I heard Robert reprimand him for treating me in such a way. Gratefully, I pushed my self up and moved towards Robert to thank him. Instead, to my surprise, Robert treated me with coldness and he stiffly nodded his head and walked away. All too quickly, he had begun to act like the other white men in the camp and he treated us all like we were nothing. I could not believe that Robert had turned out like that.
Like many of my fellow soldiers, we expected to be given guns to fight with and a battle to fight in straight away. Alas, we soon found out that that was not to be as there was a proclamation that banned all blacks fighting against the Confederacy. This drove such anger through me. After all our hopes being raised, would they really be so cruel as to not let us fight? The clothes we received were pitiful and with only one pair of shoes, my feet had horrible red sores all over them just like every other man in the camp. I do not know what made Robert change his attitude from uncaring to responsible, but from the moment that John Rawlins spoke to Robert, his attitude changed dramatically. Maybe it was because he saw the conditions we were going through, or maybe it was the talk John Rawlins had about the shoes. Whatever it was, I know that Rawlins had a hand in it and I am eternally grateful to him.
Life began to pick up in the camp and with Robert now defending our rights, and in no time, we were given shoes, guns to train with and a uniform and sent to participate in a battle. How my heart beat with pride as I walked down streets with my fellow men, towards the town where our first battle would take place. As we got there however, we realised that we would again have to pass the same barriers that had restricted us at the camp. We were only to be used for labour and ransacking houses in the area we were staying in. I felt so ashamed when I went through the houses, I felt like a common thief. All the other men and Robert felt the same. Bravely Robert spoke to the head men and volunteered us to fight in the rain against Fort in Charleston. The men and I knew that what we were facing could be death but with a small battle fought by us a few weeks before, we knew that we could bravely and courageously fight the unknown. Everyone seemed to be at peace, from Colonel Robert Shaw, to Private Trip sleeping next to me. Trip in particular had changed from when I had first met him, he seemed to have fought our all of the emotions and hatred that he held towards the white men and now seemed to be at peace, like a burden had been lifted off of his soldiers.
I feel the same as Trip does, like a burden has been released from me, and I can fight tomorrow and feel like I have no regrets, for I have no regrets, none whatsoever. The bombs are still falling unrelentlessly, and I know that they will fall even harder tomorrow when we fight than they are now. But that doesn't bother me. I can now fight bravely tomorrow, whether the day for me will end in life or death. I am at peace.
As I write this entry into my diary, I feel that it may be my last. Even as I am writing these pages, the bombs and activity in the fort, one mile away along the sandy beach can be clearly be heard from all in my vicinity. The darkness is suffocating; the bombs sound off with unrelenting rhythm. I feel that the darkness of the night is surrounding me, covering me, and preventing me with any insight into what my future might hold. Yet, despite all of this, I feel strangely at peace. I do not know why. Perhaps it is the realisation that I may face death in the morning that has made me feel so calm. I feel a lightness of the heart, which I have not felt since I was a child, playing games in the creek with Robert when we were boys. It is because I know that I have succeeded into what I have been aiming to achieve for many a long year. I am a soldier of the Union army, fighting beside my fellow Negro's, for something that my heart has yearned and ached for over most of my life. I am fighting for the freedom of my fellow men.
My name is Thomas Seales and I am a black man and a member of the 54th Regiment of Massachusetts, the first black unit of American soldiers to ever fight in combat. But I have not always been part of this loyal and courageous group of men. I have lived a privileged life, or as privileged a life that a black man can receive. I lived in happiness growing up in the beautiful country house where my parents served the Shaw family. I grew up with my childhood friend Robert, a fine man that is admired by many including myself. Yet, as I grew up and began working for the Shaws myself, I began to learn more from observing my surroundings and the condition in which my fellow race were being treated. I was aghast with horror and loathing as I learned about the ways my people were enslaved in the South and made to work against their will. I wanted to shout to the Southern whites "What have we done to you to be treated in such a way?" I did not know why the Southerners and in fact, many whites in the North despised us. Why were we to be judged by the colour of our skin?
When the Civil War started, I wanted to fight for the Union army with all of my heart, yet I knew that all of my efforts to join would be fruitless. I felt a great serge of anger every time as I saw the white men march bravely and courageously down the streets in parade. They were allowed to fight. It was the Negro's war as well, not just the whites. We lived in this fair country as well, but we were not allowed to fight to stop the slavery of our brothers and sisters in the South. It seemed wrong to just sit and hear news of the pain of war in the South. I knew that it would be harder and harder to pass each day, knowing what was occurring in my country. I had written to Robert many times, begging him to talk to his commanding officers to let black men enlist in the war. But it all came to no avail. Robert wrote back and said that it was very unlikely that I would ever fight in the war. But I never lost hope, and as the war continued to be fought many of my fellow Negroes waited patiently, in hope that one day we would be able to fight alongside white men. Fighting for a common cause. That was, and is still my greatest wish, and it looks like it will finally occur tomorrow.
I never believed that the day would ever come, but I could hardly believe my ears when Robert told me that he was going to command the 54th Regiment of Massachusetts. He was also going to be promoted Colonel! I was so pleased for him, but I could hardly contain my pleasure in being able to fight in the war. In fact, I told him straight away that I was going to be the first man to sign up. When I told him my news, his face burst into a wide grin. "Now we can finally fight alongside each other Thomas!" he said happily to me.
I had no doubts about joining at first, but as I was crowded in a group with many men who were dressed differently to me I felt a pang of doubt. Who was I, a book learned man, to think that I could fight and kill a man? All these years of wishing to join the army, and I had never thought of the fact that I may have to kill someone. Someone who has a life of his own and a family. That, I felt was challenging the almighty by ending a mans life before it was his time. Yet as I overheard snatches of conversation between the men, they all seemed to look forward to killing the Confederate rebels, almost as if it was sport! This alarmed me greatly and it began the first of many doubts in my mind, which have only now started to evaporate. On the 24th of November 1862 I, along with hundreds of other Negroes entered Readville camp in Massetucetts. It was here that I first discovered the uncouthness and rudeness of many men in the camp. In particular some of the men that I was sharing a tent with. I was introduced to John Rawlins, an older man of about 50, who was previously a gravedigger. As soon as I met John, I immediately felt that this was a man I could rely on and trust. He seemed to have had a hard life, but there was calmness and inner wisdom in him that radiated the tent whenever he was in it. My first impressions of many of the other men here, I am afraid to say, were not so positive, although my opinions have certainly changed since then. Private Trip was one of these. He seemed to have an arrogance that seemed to annoy me. Maybe it was the fact that he had threatened me the moment he walked into the tent when I requested to lie near the tent opening so I could read at night. He seemed to be a relentlessly hateful man who used his skin colour as an excuse to unleash his hostility and frustration, usually dubbing his fellow soldiers 'Niggers', which upset me greatly.
The food at the camp was quite decent to what I had expected it to be. We received adequate amounts of food, though the white men who we received it from were not so decent. They didn't seem to realise that we were soldiers too, fighting on the same side. On fact, many of the white officers treated us like dirt. Our drill commander Sergeant Major Mulcahy was extremely brutal. I know that all soldiers of the Union were strictly trained but was knocking us in the ground really necessary? All of the men seemed to be having trouble with the strict training, but I myself in particular seemed to be fighting fatigue and weakness every time I trained. All of the other men had experienced hard labour and knew have to motivate themselves to work harder. On the other hand, I had been brought up in a large household and had never worked in the field, but had worked in the house. I had no stamina and often got pushed to the ground by the Sergeant Major. When I was pushed to the ground and kicked by the Sergeant Major, I heard Robert reprimand him for treating me in such a way. Gratefully, I pushed my self up and moved towards Robert to thank him. Instead, to my surprise, Robert treated me with coldness and he stiffly nodded his head and walked away. All too quickly, he had begun to act like the other white men in the camp and he treated us all like we were nothing. I could not believe that Robert had turned out like that.
Like many of my fellow soldiers, we expected to be given guns to fight with and a battle to fight in straight away. Alas, we soon found out that that was not to be as there was a proclamation that banned all blacks fighting against the Confederacy. This drove such anger through me. After all our hopes being raised, would they really be so cruel as to not let us fight? The clothes we received were pitiful and with only one pair of shoes, my feet had horrible red sores all over them just like every other man in the camp. I do not know what made Robert change his attitude from uncaring to responsible, but from the moment that John Rawlins spoke to Robert, his attitude changed dramatically. Maybe it was because he saw the conditions we were going through, or maybe it was the talk John Rawlins had about the shoes. Whatever it was, I know that Rawlins had a hand in it and I am eternally grateful to him.
Life began to pick up in the camp and with Robert now defending our rights, and in no time, we were given shoes, guns to train with and a uniform and sent to participate in a battle. How my heart beat with pride as I walked down streets with my fellow men, towards the town where our first battle would take place. As we got there however, we realised that we would again have to pass the same barriers that had restricted us at the camp. We were only to be used for labour and ransacking houses in the area we were staying in. I felt so ashamed when I went through the houses, I felt like a common thief. All the other men and Robert felt the same. Bravely Robert spoke to the head men and volunteered us to fight in the rain against Fort in Charleston. The men and I knew that what we were facing could be death but with a small battle fought by us a few weeks before, we knew that we could bravely and courageously fight the unknown. Everyone seemed to be at peace, from Colonel Robert Shaw, to Private Trip sleeping next to me. Trip in particular had changed from when I had first met him, he seemed to have fought our all of the emotions and hatred that he held towards the white men and now seemed to be at peace, like a burden had been lifted off of his soldiers.
I feel the same as Trip does, like a burden has been released from me, and I can fight tomorrow and feel like I have no regrets, for I have no regrets, none whatsoever. The bombs are still falling unrelentlessly, and I know that they will fall even harder tomorrow when we fight than they are now. But that doesn't bother me. I can now fight bravely tomorrow, whether the day for me will end in life or death. I am at peace.