The
colonel
in
charge
of
the
18th
Regiment
was
dubious. He
pointed
out
that
his
men
were
supposed
to
be
too
infirm to
carry
muskets
at
all,
and
that
they
certainly
could
not march.
However,
he
supposed
they
could
fire
at
deserters,
if they
had
to,
and
so
the
men
were
lined
up
and
equipped
as regular
infantry
and
they
got
on
the
boat
and
set
sail.
They were
not
very
military-looking.
Some
of
them
were
crippled in
such
a
way
that
they
could
carry
their
muskets
only
on
the right
shoulder
and
some
could
carry
them
only
on
the
left, and
some
could
not
wear
cartridge
boxes
and
had
to
stuff their
ammunition
in
their
pockets.
Most
of
them
were
not hearty
enough
to
carry
the
regulation
forty
rounds
anyway, and
could
take
only
five
or
ten.
They
disembarked,
finally,
at
Belle
Plain,
where
they
were put
on
guard
duty.
They
were
badly
needed.
There
were
incoming
drafts
of
recruits
to
look
after,
and
there
was
a
steady stream
of
Confederate
prisoners
to
be
guarded
and
sent
north, and
there
was
a
vast
accumulation
of
stores
to
watch
over
and keep
safe
from
marauding
guerilla
bands.
Ordinarily
a
few regiments
of
front-line
troops
would
be
detached
for
this work,
but
Grant
had
other
uses
for
these
and
there
was
nobody
to
do
the
job
but
the
cripples.
As
long
as
they
stayed
at
the
base
things
were
not
too
bad. To
be
sure,
these
disabled
men
had
no
pup
tents
or
any
other kind
of
shelter,
and
the
weather
was
very
rainy.
Somebody had
forgotten
to
supply
them
with
any
blankets,
and
they
had no
surgeon
or
medical
stores.
But
they
did
their
job,
reporting
proudly
that
they
successfully
guarded
nearly
3,000
Rebel prisoners—two
of
these
escaped,
and
one
other
tried
it
and got
shot—and
that
all
of
the
recruits
and
army
stores
were guarded
without
loss.
Their
real
troubles
began
when
the base
was
shifted
to
Port
Royal.
By
land,
Port
Royal
was
twenty-five
miles
away.
The
army liked
to
have
its
men
go
places
under
their
own
power
if
possible,
and
so
when
moving
day
came
the
regiment
was
lined up
for
inspection,
to
see
how
many
men
could
make
the march.
Of
the
474
men
present,
the
doctors
reported
that
166 might
possibly
be
able
to
do
it,
provided
that
they
carried
no knapsacks.
(All
of
the
officers
reported
themselves
fit
and
refused
to
let
the
doctors
examine
them.)
The
rest
were
put
on a
transport
to
go
down
by
water,
and
the
shaky
166
set
out on
foot
in
a
driving
rainstorm.
Somehow,
they
made
it.
The
column's
best
speed
was
one mile
an
hour.
The
road
was
infested
with
guerillas,
and
a general
at
Port
Royal
sent
back
an
anxious
message
to
the colonel
of
the
18th:
Can
your
men
fight,
if
the
guerillas
attack
them?
Back
came
the
reply.
"Tell
the
general
that
my men
are
cripples
and
so
they
can't
run
away."
Fortunately, they
did
not
have
to
fight.
They
plodded
and
staggered
along, marching
for
fifteen
minutes
and
then
resting
for
ten,
with officers
going
up
and
down
the
line
pleading
and
coaxing
all day
long.
After
two
days
they
finally
got
to
Port
Royal.
The next
morning,
only
42
of
the
166
were
able
to
get
on
their feet
and
answer
at
roll
call.
Later
on,
they
actually
did
have
a
fight,
one
time
when Wade
Hampton
took
Confederate
cavalry
up
for
a
wild
swipe at
the
Federal
base,
and
they
made
out
very
well,
helping
a handful
of
sound
men
to
beat
the
raiders
off.
The
rest
of
the time
they
did
guard
duty.
By
special
dispensation,
those
who could
not
walk
were
allowed
to
sit
down
as
they
guarded
their beats.
After
a
month
of
it
a
medical
board
got
a
look
at
the regiment
and
reported
in
horror
that
four
fifths
of
the
men were
not
only
unfit
for
any
kind
of
duty
but
were
actually unfit
to
be
out
of
hospital
beds.
So
the
18th
Regiment
of
the Veteran
Reserve
Corps
was
finally
sent
back
to
Washington, leaving
its
brief
record
as
testimony
that
it
was
a
hard
war that
was
being
fought
nowadays.
19