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I was on this last trip—I do not need it, because though naturally enjoying danger as much as most men perhaps, I am not such a fool as not to see the value of my life to this regiment.
And again:—
I never shall have a chance to risk myself much. . . . I wore my iron plated vest too, which is very light and comfortable.
Captain Jackson once told the writer of this memoir that his
Colonel was always fearless, riding with notebook and pencil in hand amid flying bullets.
The fact that the officers of colored regiments were, to use
Colonel Higginson's own words, ‘fighting with ropes around their necks,’ did not detract from the charm of that strange life.
The ordinary courtesies of war had been denied to officers of Negro regiments, the Southern Confederacy having issued an order to the effect that such officers, if captured, should be hanged.
‘Nothing can ever exaggerate the fascination of war,’ wrote the
Colonel.
I hardly hear the crack of a gun without recalling instantly the sharp shots that spilled down from the bluffs at us, along the St. Mary's, or hear a sudden trampling of horsemen without remembering the moonlight and midnight when we were suddenly stopped by hearing it before us, at Township Landing.
I never can write about those wakeful yet dreamlike nights of moonlight, it was all too good . . . . As for the courage required
