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To follow the varying fortunes of the next two months would be but to recount the details of our duty at the front as pickets and sharpshooters, or within the trenches, suffering by exposure, wounds and death. When temporarily relieved and at the rear, we were endangered by shells and bombs which were incessantly falling around us. No description can convey an adequate idea of our surroundings. It was a continuous battle from the 15th of June until we re-arrived at Point of Rocks, August 25th. The battle varied in intensity and carnage, now enveloping us with the smoke and din of conflict, and then receding to the distant left. Night or day, rain or shine, the roar of cannon, groan of bombs, rattle of musketry, and tz-z-p of bullets were heard continuously.

The experience of fighting the enemy from behind fortifications was a new one to us, since in all our previous contests we had been in the open field, while the rebels had been safely ensconced behind strong earthworks. Our lines were built with the utmost care, and each day grew in strength under accomplished engineers. The intrenchments were constructed with "port-holes" for the use of sharp-shooters; gopher-holes and bombproofs were made for the protection of those within the trenches; while front, flanks and salients were protected by entanglements and rifle-pits. Within the last our sharpshooters picked off the enemy's gunners, or as pickets, watched the movements of their army.

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The network of our intrenchments by saps and traverses constantly closed upon the enemy's position, each advance attended by some counter-movement on their part to dislodge us. Charge upon charge was made, with terrible loss to their assaulting column, but rarely with any apparent gain. In this way the most successful battles of the summer were fought. Movements purely to invite attack were made with great frequency by us, as most effectively exhausting the enemy, and compassing their defeat. Our system of defences at no time equalled those of the enemy in completeness. Covered ways were made along their front, furnishing sufficient protection for all their force out of the trenches, with safe and direct communication by which to reach threatened points.

Any shrinking from duty at the front was known as "shell fever," and subjected the offender to the most humiliating exposure and punishment. It was not an unusual occurrence to see a brace of cowards, securely yoked together, making the rounds of the camps at the rear. In the advance were fifes and drums playing the "Rogues' March." Then followed the convicts, with closely shaved heads, and labelled with large placards, "Coward!" Behind them were guards, with fixed bayonets, pointing close to the backs of the sneaks, and forcing them onward. In this way the squad marched from camp to camp, the guilty ones receiving unstinted jeers and taunts. It was a terrible warning to beholders, and such a one as few would be willing to undergo. We are glad to record no such discipline was ever suffered by any member of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. The rule was early established, "two days within the trenches, and two days off," and we willingly admit our retirement to the ravine, when relieved, was seldom undertaken with much idea of military order or precision. We were often, however, in greater danger at the rear than under cover of the fortifications. June 27th, when the

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Twenty-Seventh Mass. were lying in a ravine near the railroad, the enemy opened, from the north of the Appomattox, a close and accurate fire of shell upon our camp. Our stacks of guns were knocked down, and several muskets destroyed. Fortunately many of the shells failed to explode, so that we miraculously escaped without loss. It should be stated as a notable fact, that the enemy's shells were very unreliable, and, from non-explosion, failed of much damage to us. August 17th, when we moved our camp in the woods, just in rear of the front works, under cover of darkness, a fierce fire of shell was opened on us, and for a time the corruscating light, sulphurous smoke, and deafening concussion of their explosion, made our position more like the infernal region than the abode of men. For four nights the enemy covered this position with mortars in front, and enfiladed it with rifled shells and Whitworth shots from the right. One sixty-four pound shell exploded close to our headquarters, and Whitworth shots pierced the largest trees around us with the utmost ease. As one of our boys remarked, "The enemy had a cross fire on us, and it was cross enough too!"

Our contests were often the fiercest of artillery duels, between guns of the heaviest calibre, whose incessant ponderous discharges shook the earth and fell on our ears with such a deafening roar as to leave headaches, which, under other circumstances, would have incapacitated us for any duty. At such times, if we were in the trenches, we were hardly more than spectators, closely hugging the fortifications, or bombproofs; but if at the rear, we were in constant watch for unceremonious "intruders," against which we had no protection. At night the mortar contests were sublime. The forests trembled with deep reverberations, and huge bombs rose with groans and meteor train, ending in a corruscation of light, and an explosion even louder than that which sent it from the mortar. The largest mortar at the siege of

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Petersburg was the "General Grant." It was mounted on a platform car, and moved at pleasure along the military railroad skirting the rear of our intrenchments. This mortar threw a bomb weighing two hundred and twenty pounds. Each bomb contained six hundred and twenty-five bullets, and exploded with a shock plainly distinguishable above any clash of arms.

The unyielding grasp with which Gen'l Grant held the enemy to his fortifications, required watchfulness and promptness, and, as a result, we laid on our arms and were called out from three to four o'clock each morning to await the developments of light. It was a death-struggle with the enemy, and no expedients were too extreme to resort to, to rid themselves of the anaconda which was slowly but surely winding them in its coils. While the contest, as stated, was continuous, the following casualties to the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. are worthy of special record. June 29th, John Quinn of Company C (Southampton), was accidentally but fatally wounded. A ball pierced his right shoulder, from which wound he died July 4th. At four P.M., June 30th, while the Twenty-Seventh Regiment was supporting four Cohorn mortars, and a battery of field artillery, the enemy replied with a fierce concentric fire for two hours. Our position was behind a knoll on the front line, so that most of the fire passed over us. The following comrades were wounded during this contest: Dexter Burnett, Company D, South Hadley, left hand; slight. John K. Freeman, Company D, New Salem, left hand; slight. Cornelius O'Connor, Company D, Amherst; shoulder. July 8th, the enemy made a sortie on our entire front for the purpose of preventing reinforcements being forwarded to the relief of Washington, D. C., but were repulsed with slaughter by our forces. The Twenty-Seventh Mass. sustained the following loss during the day: James E. Ashwell, Company D, Springfield, right arm; severe. Albert Cates, Company D, Amherst, slight.

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Edwin H. Potwine, Company D, Amherst, slight. Corp. Charles H. Robertson, Company H, Adams, head. Patrick Conley, Company H, Adams, arm; slight. Nelson Sheldon, Company I, Wilbraham, head; slight. July 9th, Sergt. Robert M. Roberts of Company E, Mount Washington, received a scalp wound. July 12th, Henry Walker of Company F, Sandisfield, who had been wounded July 18th, received a severe wound in the leg while going to a spring at the rear for water. This wound was considered fatal from the first. He died at Fortress Monroe, Aug. 3, 1864. During the evening of July 13th Homer R. King of Company I, Ludlow, was wounded in the hand while in the trenches. The 17th, Luke F. Bowker of Orange, a cook for Company E, received a fatal wound in the abdomen while bringing rations to the trenches. He died the same day. Also, while supporting the mortar batteries, Jay E. Nash of Amherst, was wounded in the shoulder.

A tri-monthly report dated July 19th, showed the condition of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. to be as follows:--

Commissioned officers present for duty, ...... 5
      "          "    on special duty, ....... 2
      "          "    on detached service, ... 5
      "          "    in arrest, ............. 2
      "          "    sick and wounded, ...... 5
                                             ---  19
Enlisted men present for duty, ............. 135
      "      on special duty, ..............  30
      "      sick and wounded, ............. 281
      "      on detached service, .......... 123
      "      absent with leave, ............   3
      "      absent without leave, .........   6
                                             --- 578
                                                 ---
    Total, ..................................... 597 

This report does not include our captured men. Those reported on detached service were mostly within the pioneer,

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ordnance, and ambulance departments, but engaged in active duty at the front.

July 20th, John B. Slate of Company B, Shelburne, and Benjamin W. F. Smith, Company E, Great Barrington, were wounded; the latter severely in the hip, while engaged as sharpshooter. July 24th, William W. Latham of Company D, Amherst, was killed while at the front. The position was the closest held by us, at any time, to the enemy's works. Comrade Latham had re-enlisted, and was expecting a furlough home the next day. July 28th, Jerry Harrington of Company K, Springfield, was wounded in the wrist during a fierce cannonade. Aug. 14th, Henry E. Demeranville of Company H, Cheshire, was wounded over the right eye. Aug. 19th, Henry A. Ryther of Greenfield, cook for Company C, was mortally wounded while gathering kindlings for his fire. He was at the rear with only thirty days more to serve, and was in high anticipation of returning home. He survived but an hour.

During the summer Capt. George W. Bartlett and Lieut. W. Chapin Hunt, who had been on duty in North Carolina as provost marshals of Beaufort and New Berne, rejoined the regiment. These officers, with Capts. Caswell, Bailey, and McKay, and Lieut. Jillson, successively held command of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. The demands of the campaign were so exacting and incessant that none but men of iron constitution could meet them without sooner or later requiring hospital care. As a fact, the only officers who did meet this strain were Surgeon D. B. N. Fish and Lieut Edwin L. Peck, both of whom were always present for duty. Despite the constant accessions to our ranks from men returning as convalescents, and from special duty, no gain in numerical strength was made. The following abstract from the consolidated weekly reports of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. shows the strength of the command present for duty before Petersburg, from week to week:--

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                                        Officers and men.
June 18th, aggregate strength, ..............  203
     25th,     "        "      ..............  183
July  2d,      "        "      ..............  189
      9th,     "        "      ..............  187
     16th,     "        "      ..............  195
     23d,      "        "      ..............  195
     30th,     "        "      ..............  194
Aug.  6th,     "        "      ..............  184
     13th,     "        "      ..............  186
     20th,     "        "      ..............  183

Much of the time our rations consisted of hardtack and pork, and often these supplies were limited. The lack of vegetables induced many disorders, and though the Sanitary Commission undertook to furnish them, their supplies were but as drops in the ocean of our needs. Potatoes, cabbages, and onions were the great necessities. Sutlers' supplies were so high few could afford to indulge in them, and this, without doubt, proved a blessing in disguise. The regular ration for the private soldier, if furnished in full, and properly cared for, was more than he actually needed; and in this respect the privates were sometimes better off than the officers, for the latter were furnished nothing by government except quarters, transportation, and forage for their horses. They had to buy all their clothing and equipments, and provide themselves with food, and this often without money, owing to the failure of the government to pay them for five or six months at a time. One of our captains expressed the pecuniary circumstances of many of our officers by saying that, "if lard was twenty cents a barrel, he couldn't buy enough to grease his hair." While, at another time, a diligent search for money to help the lieutenant-colonel pay the charges on an express package, revealed only twenty-seven cents among all the officers present.

Our extremity was Lieut. Peck's "opportunity," for,

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while suffering from too great familiarity with our reliable hardtack and pork, he concocted, discovered or invented a dish, which he appropriately named "scouse." The name was unquestionably classic, as Lieut. Peck was a graduate of the Westfield Normal School. The modus operandi was to break up the hardtack somewhat fine in cold water, and boil it with pork, seasoning with salt and pepper (if you had them). Had Lieut. Peck had other supplies, there is little reason to suppose his inventive genius would have rested until he had eclipsed Delmonico's fame, but as this was the extent of his resources, he was forced to be satisfied. At any rate "scouse" became a deservedly popular dish with our entire army, and had they known the lieutenant, his popularity would have equalled that of his dish. He has withstood the charms of the opposite sex with a success akin to that which he had on the field, and is still a bachelor forlorn.

To the misfortune of insufficient rations were the additional ones of fleas, sand-flies and -- yes, lice, -- for we were lousy from generals down to the lowest soldier, and we couldn't help it. The fleas must have been of the genus "pulex irritans," for the irritation to us involved both soul and body, and too often found vent in violent spasms of oaths and athletic exercises, in the last of which we were generally distanced. The fleas were invaluable auxiliaries along the picket line in sustaining wakefulness, and were never half appreciated. The friendship of the trio named above was fully demonstrated, for no adversity was able to separate them from us. Heat or cold, rain or shine, shell or shot, only strengthened their attachment. They had, too, a most convincing way of expressing their feeling for us. It is an admitted fact that change of water was the only greater evil to which the army was exposed. They were a constant sap at the source of life, and must be fought against, though only to lessen the nuisance instead of ridding ourselves of the pests.

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Our supply of water was much of the time a question of primary importance; such as we had being obtained a half a mile to the rear. Those at the left were less fortunate than ourselves, depending on the scanty supply brought by drays. During July the intense heat and lack of rain caused great distress, and a good drink of water was a real luxury. No rain fell from the 3d of June until the 19th of July; the marshes and streams of considerable size were dried up, and the dust was so deep as to occasion great suffering. This was succeeded by a rainy season. The trenches then became one vast pool of slimy yellow mud, and bombproofs and gopher-holes were filled to the brim with water. For many days we were drenched to the skin, and smeared from head to foot with mud. We were perfect embodiments of squalor and filth. Like the Israelites of old who desired meat, and were given until they loathed it, so fully were our longings for water satisfied.

Our positions in the trenches were for the most part unsheltered, and subjected to the intense heat of the sun, which often rose to one hundred and ten degrees in the shade. This would be succeeded by the chill and damps of the night, which in time permeated the body with rheumatic pains. During the rainy season, many of the dead (who were buried June 18th) were uncovered on the field in front of us, and the air was laden with a burdening nausea. This hideous sight was ever-present, reminding us of the possibilities before us, and our feeble tenure of life.

The daily New York press supplied us with news, and we were several times encouraged by the news that "picket firing had entirely ceased before Petersburg;" but somehow the information never reached the picket-line. First a ball would spat into the dirt; then, with a tz-z-p, a little fellow would travel past as the compliment of some sharpshooter from a tree within the rebel lines. A cur-r-r-r would come singing from a rifle at the right, then a whistle at the left,

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suggesting "that Minie has struck and glanced," while another comes along with a hum like a nail whirling in the air, and which we think is a ball almost spent. All this was very unpleasant, as many were killed and wounded by such occurrences each day, and we were glad the papers had determined to stop them. Thus we lived, no worse than the entire army with which we were connected, no better.

By the first of July, the rebel defences before Petersburg were so perfect, that Gen'l Lee considered his position impregnable to assault. He therefore determined upon a diversion, -- as in years past, -- hoping by threatening the national capital to force the withdrawal of the besieging force from Petersburg, or so much of it as to leave its weakened lines at his mercy. Accordingly, Gen'l Jubal Early with fifteen thousand men, was dispatched through the Shenandoah Valley, and, reinforcing the rebel army in the valley, made his appearance before Martinsburg July 3d; Frederick, Md., July 7th; and by the afternoon of July 11th, was before Fort Stevens, part of the fortifications in the immediate vicinity of Washington. The Nineteenth Corps had just arrived at Fortress Monroe from New Orleans, when information of this invasion reached Gen'l Grant. The Sixth Corps was temporarily detached from the army before Petersburg, and with the Nineteenth Corps, arrived at the threatened capital just before the appearance of Early's force before Fort Stevens. The 12th, a spirited engagement occurred before Washington, after which the enemy beat a hasty retreat. From that moment Gen'l Lee admitted that the fate of the Confederacy was sealed.

July 20th, Maj. Gen'l W. F. Smith, who had been absent some days from his command, was relieved by order of Lieut. Gen'l Grant, and Maj. Gen'l E. O. C. Ord assigned to the command of the Eighteenth Corps. It was with genuine regret we parted with this able and efficient commander;

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his farewell address faithfully interpreted the feelings of his command.

Headquarters Eighteenth Army Corps, July 20, 1864.
To the Officers and Soldiers of the Eighteenth Army Corps:

I part with you in accordance with orders from the lieutenant-general commanding the armies of the United States, with great regret; and my highest pride is that you share my feelings. Since I have been your commander I have tried to share with you your dangers, and have rejoiced with you in your gallant deeds. During this time your record has been bright and unsullied. Whatever in it has not been all that you could wish, I can assure you has been from no fault or shortcoming of yours, and I trust you will believe that I have been no more culpable than yourselves.

May God bless and always crown your efforts with victory!
(Signed) W. F. Smith, Maj. Gen'l.
[Official.]
W. F. Russell, Major and A. A. Gen'l.

Maj. Gen'l Smith was a native of Vermont, and a graduate of West Point in the corps of engineers. He was Gen'l Grant's chief engineer during his command of the Military Division of the Department of Mississippi, and took an historic part in the battle of Chattanooga. He served with distinction also with the Army of the Potomac. He was a brave and accomplished general, distinguished for his strategic grasp, military foresight, and fearless spirit. He was the embodiment of soldierly qualities, and the idol of his troops. He was familiarly known among his troops as "Baldy Smith," and his presence always awakened intense enthusiasm.

July 26th, Gen'l Hancock and a portion of the Second Corps with a body of cavalry, crossed the James River at "Deep Bottom," threatening Richmond from the north of the James. No important result accrued from this save as it drew away a considerable force of the enemy from Petersburg, and facilitated a movement about to be executed by the Union army.

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During the month of July, Gen'l Burnside, by permission of the commanding general, had succeeded (through the Forty-Eighth Pennslvania Regiment) in mining a rebel fort on his immediate front, and four o'clock the morning of July 30th, was the time fixed for exploding the mine. At eleven o'clock P.M., the 29th, the Twenty-Seventh Mass., in common with most of the Eighteenth Corps, moved to the scene of action, the corps massing fifteen columns deep in the rear of the Ninth Corps and immediately in front of the fated fort. A slight eminence interposed between us and the enemy, protecting us from their observation and fire. Intense excitement prevailed as word was passed along the line of the intended explosion, but all commotion was suppressed. The lingering hours dragged heavily, but nothing on the rebel side indicated a suspicion of their peril. Four o'clock, and for an hour every eye was fixed on the fated work, until at five o'clock, a solid mass of earth, guns, and men, rose like a dark cloud two hundred feet in the air, with a shock that seemed to rend the earth. Like forked lightning the flash of powder pierced the cloud of debris; and earth, armament, and men fell with a heavy thud. A black cloud hung for a moment over the spot, then floated to the north as if shrinking from the carnage and destruction it had created. It is understood that this fort at the time of the explosion was occupied by the Palmetto Battery with the Eighteenth and part of the Twenty-Third S. C. Regiments.

At the instant of the explosion, one hundred and eighty pieces of artillery in the immediate vicinity, as by an electric touch, opened upon the enemy's position, pouring a merciless fire of destruction along their lines. A mass of infantry bounded over our works and across the field into the chasm created by the explosion. Why they went into it no one could imagine; why they halted there was equally beyond conjecture, as the panic-stricken rebels had deserted their works and made little opposition to the Union advance.

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The surprise and rout was complete, but our forces seemed like an incoherent mass, and could not or would not move forward. The enemy soon rallied upon the flanks, and Gen'l Mahone by a covered way brought heavy reinforcements to their support, pouring into the seething mass of Union troops a frightful fire of musketry and artillery, which threatened to fill the chasm with the slain. It was a sight which appalled the stoutest heart, so needless, so ghastly, so crushing! In a brief space of time, hardly exceeding that required to pen this account, four thousand of our men were killed or captured. Even now this scene hangs like a horrid nightmare over the remembrance of years.

There was no opportunity for the Eighteenth Corps to engage in the fray, for the field before us was clogged with struggling troops. The Twenty-Seventh Mass. sustained the following casualties: --

George Gilmore, Company B, Hinsdale, wounded by a shell.
Patrick Coffee, Company G, Northampton, wounded by a shell.

Gen'l Grant appeared at the scene during the afternoon, his determined countenance indicating much excitement. The careworn, distressed look of Gen'l Burnside revealed his keen disappointment and chagrin over the failure of a plan which promised so much for our arms. The night of the 30th, the Eighteenth Corps returned to their place at the right of the line.

The whole movement was thoroughly investigated by a Congressional Committee, who reported as the cause of failure: first, that the charge was led by white, instead of black troops; and second, that Gen'l Meade directed that the assaulting column should push for Cemetery Hill, instead of clearing the enemy's lines to the right and left of them. The first finding was based on the statement of Gen'l Burnside, that he had been drilling his colored troops for some time for the occasion, and that during the night previous he received peremptory

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orders from Gen'l Meade to use white troops only for the assault. Gen'l Burnside claimed that the time intervening was insufficient to arrange for their disposition and instruction.

A Military Court of Inquiry consisting of Gen'ls Hancock, Ayres, and Miles, found the causes of the failure to be--

"First.--The injudicious formation of the troops in going forward, the movement being made by flank instead of extended front. . . . It is the opinion of the court there was no proper column of assault. The troops should have been formed in the open ground in front of the point of attack, parallel to the enemy's works. The evidence shows that one or more columns might have passed over to the left of the crater without any previous preparation of the ground.

"Second.--The halting of the troops in the crater instead of going forward to the crest where there was no fire of consequence from the enemy.

"Third.--No proper employment of engineer officers and working parties, and the lack of materials and tools for their use in the Ninth Corps.

"Fourth.--That some parts of the assaulting column were not properly led.

"Fifth.--The want of a competent common head at the scene of assault, to direct as occurrences should demand." . . .--Conduct of the War, vol. I., page 215.

Gen'l Burnside sharply arraigned Gen'l Meade in this matter, claiming that the chief difficulty was the jealousy of Gen'l Meade, who in every conceivable way misconstrued his correspondence, and hampered his movements. While Gen'l Meade held him responsible for the whole project, he was jealous of a possible success by Gen'l Burnside, and hence failed to co-operate effectively in the movements. From such a person as Gen'l Burnside, this statement will largely establish his claim. He had waived seniority of rank over Gen'l Meade at the opening of the campaign for the general

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good, and had in everyway respected him as a superior officer. The admitted modesty and self-abnegation of Gen'l Burnside, establishes presumptive evidence of grounds for such a complaint. Still we cannot avoid saying that drawing lots for brigades and commanders for such perilous and important work, was not in accordance with prudence and good judgment, nor in keeping with Gen'l Burnside's usual good sense. There can be no doubt that had able commanders and subordinate officers led the assaulting column, the day would have witnessed a glorious victory for our arms, if not the capture of Petersburg. The time was opportune because an important part of Lee's army were absent near Deep Bottom, on the James, whither Hancock's raid of the 26th had drawn them. The project promised great results; it failed in the execution of its details.

As an effect of the mine explosion a sense of insecurity sprang up along both lines. At points where our fortifications ran close to the enemy's, our sharpshooters would joke them about the mine, asking them how they liked to go to heaven that way, and if they were ready to go; but it was evidently a sore subject for our men too, as they constantly expected a similar experience. A sap had been run from our lines to within about fifty feet of the rebel fortifications, and was occupied by portions of the Star Brigade. Our sharpshooters at this close range had so covered the enemy's works as to threaten their capture. This sap was occupied by the Twenty-Third and Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regiments on the 4th and 5th of August. During the 4th suspicious sounds were heard which satisfied us that the enemy were mining close by, awaking not over comfortable sensations. There is no insecurity quite like that of feeling that the ground beneath you is likely to engulf you at any moment. About five o'clock, the morning of the 5th, we were suddenly aroused by an explosion just in front of our works, which buried us in a cloud of debris and smoke, but with no greater injury than

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a genuine scare, as the enemy had miscalculated the distance. The explosion was followed by a sortie of the enemy under cover of a sharp artillery fire, but they were hurled back to their intrenchments with heavy loss. The Twenty-Seventh Mass., though in the sharpest of the engagement, were well protected by the intrenchments, and hence escaped unharmed. Col. Steadman, commander of Steadman's Brigade (next to us in line), was killed during this action.

With our time fully occupied in such perilous work, the summer months were quickly passed. There was no cessation of strife, nor recognition of the Sabbath. Occasionally there would be a brief respite, caused by our band or those of the enemy, tauntingly discoursing their national airs at the front. Such respites, however, were very rare, but were heartily enjoyed. August 24th, the Star Brigade received marching orders, but the Twenty-Seventh Mass. was not relieved from the trenches until nearly daylight the 25th inst., when it followed the brigade which had preceded it to Point of Rocks. As we crossed the Appomattox, Gen'l Heckman, our former commander, rode up, and was received with a wild round of cheers and "tigers," such as only veteran soldiers know how to give to a trusted leader. After the enthusiasm had subsided, he greeted us with a short but pregnant speech, closing by hoping to meet us soon amid the familiar scenes of North Carolina. We were assigned to a camp near the breastworks at Cobb's Hill, which seemed a very eligible situation. Our experiences were, however, graphically described in a letter by Surgeon Fish.

"We had everything just done, ready to lie down and rest ourselves, when orders came to load everything in the wagons immediately, as we were to move to the right. You know there is nothing like a little urging on a fellow when he is hard at work; and so the rebels thought. First came a shell a few feet over our heads, and burst in the rear; then a second shot struck about ten feet from headquarters, throwing dirt on me; ricochetted, just missing the

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head of one of our drummer boys as he stooped down; barely escaped the horses in front of headquarters, and then passed on. You may easily believe that the wagons were quickly loaded and out of the way, and we took for the breastworks. We moved to the right, then countermarched to the left, and at length settled for the night just in the rear of the position which we had left so suddenly. This may be rest, but the style is peculiar to the Eighteenth Corps. We are waiting orders to move to the right, and have not pitched our tents. Had a ducking last night (of course!); first a real whirlwind, and then a small flood."

In spite of such shifting and ducking our jaded men sank down to rest, -- such rest as one only knows how to enjoy who has been robbed of its recuperative power to almost the verge of endurance.

The Confederates on our front proved to be the same troops which were opposed to us at Drewry's Bluff. Good feeling existed while we remained, between the opposing pickets, both armies drawing their supply of water from a brook between the lines. Here the opponents met and recounted their war experiences in a friendly way and exchanged papers, or what was quite as much appreciated, swapped yankee coffee for rebel tobacco.

On the 31st of August, Lieut. Edwin L. Peck was in command of the picket line, and while visiting a remote station, wandered outside of the lines. He suddenly espied a rebel officer, who, like himself, was taking advantage of the friendly feeling, in a saunter through these middle grounds. Signs of truce were interchanged, when the officers came together with a cordial grasp of hands. After a long and friendly conversation, papers and autographs were exchanged, the Confederate officer being Lieut. Washington A. Elliott, Company B, Eleventh Virginia Regiment of Kemper's Brigade. A close and lasting friendship sprang up between these officers, resulting in another meeting the following week, and in an interchange of correspondence

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and visits since the war. Lieut. Elliott speaks unqualifiedly of the gallant conduct of the Star Brigade at Drewry's Bluff and the good faith with which they maintained the truce along the picket line before Bermuda Hundreds. It is not denied that such proceedings were breaches of military discipline, but it is a matter of fact that such meetings were of daily occurrence. They developed the better nature of those engaged in this great conflict, and gave occasion for many mirthful and grotesque experiences.

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There had been frequent rumors that we were to return to North Carolina, and it was supposed that the hint in Gen'l Heckman's speech, made upon our arrival at Point of Rocks, was not without official authority. We were not greatly surprised, therefore, September 6th, to learn that the Twenty-Third and Twenty-Fifth Mass. Regiments had embarked for New Berne, N. C. They reached that port the 11th inst. September 9th, Capt. Moore, who had now mustered as major of the Twenty-Seventh Mass., returned to the regiment, but was as yet unable to assume its command. September 10th was one of the most trying days in our army experience. Our knapsacks were received from Portsmouth, Va., where they had been stored since the last of April. It was sad to look them over, each being plainly marked by stencil-plate with the name of its owner. Brothers wept over the knapsacks of brothers whom the ravages of war had long since laid low in death, or bewailed the uncertain fate of those who had fallen into rebel hands, and from whom no tidings had come during these eventful months. All the little valuables and necessaries a soldier would prize were carefully packed within, with many tokens and reminders of friends at home. The knapsacks of the missing and dead were carefully sent to their friends at home.

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During our absence from Portsmouth, the place of storage had been entered by persons unknown, and most of our records and valuables stolen. The loss of our records has proved a serious one to the regiment, for it has made it impossible to establish many facts and dates; while it also accounts for the absence of many official orders and reports which would naturally appear with its history. It has also added greatly to the labor of preparing this account of their services and may excuse much of its incompleteness.

September 17th, the Twenty-Seventh Mass. and Ninth New Jersey received marching orders, and embarking upon the steamer "Convoy," arrived at Portsmouth that evening, where we were gladdened by the appearance of our Col. H. C. Lee, whose safe return was greeted with vociferous and prolonged cheers. He had remained in durance vile until August, when both he and Lieut. Col. Bartholomew were exchanged, and on arrival North, were granted leave of absence to recover from their debilitating confinement. Knowing that the term of enlistment of a large number of the regiment expired in September, Col. Lee was hastening to the army with a view of facilitating their discharge, and met us, as stated, upon our arrival "from the front." By proper representations he obtained a telegraphic order from the War Department, detaching from the regiment those men whose term expired in September; and an additional order from Gen'l Butler, that these should report at once at their place of muster for discharge. This timely action on the part of Col. Lee saved our returning veterans much annoyance and risk, for had they returned to North Carolina, the prevalence and fatality of yellow fever in that department would have delayed their departure for home and necessitated a tedious quarantine at Northern ports, not to speak of the probability that many would have fallen victims to that fatal malady.

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The record of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt., September 9th, showed its condition to be as follows: --

Officers and men present, 233
Officers and men on detached service, 128
Officers and men absent with leave (prisoners), 259*
Officers and men absent sick or wounded, 218
Officers and men absent without leave, 1
Aggregate strength of the regiment, 839

Page 377

Sixty-two miles south-west from Macon, Ga., on the Southwestern Railroad, in Sumter County, was situated a little hamlet with a population not exceeding twenty in number, known as Anderson. Like many of its kind, it was in the midst of immense forests of pine, hemlock and oak, in which were interspersed large and productive plantations, lying at considerable distances apart. The country is rolling and hilly, with a soil of reddish clay, indicative of rich agricultural resources, and of large returns for labor bestowed. The vicinity is noted for its numerous streams and springs of clear, cold water, one, only twelve miles distant, known as Magnolia Spring, discharging sixty gallons of water per minute, while it is in close proximity to a stream sufficient and suitable for laundry and bathing purposes. These features are noticed because they present the facilities for furnishing those supplies for which our men lacked and for which they suffered most severely.

After viewing many places more eligible, Anderson was selected by Howell Cobb, for reasons unknown, unless its fitness for the terrible work it finally accomplished. When selected, the entire ground was covered with a dense forest, which was used in constructing the stockade, not a single tree being left unfelled. The trees sheltered our race,

"Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them."

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A considerate man suggested to Howell Cobb that a little shade would afford some protection to the prisoners, but received the significant reply, "That's just what I won't give! I'll make a place here for the d--d Yankees, where they will rot faster than they can be sent."

The enclosure was situated on a southerly slope, about sixteen hundred feet from the railroad, and at first included only twenty-two acres, but about July 1, 1864, it was increased to twenty-seven acres. It was longest due north and south, was fifteen hundred and forty feet long by seven hundred and fifty feet wide, and was surrounded with a stockade of hewn logs set closely together, so as to entirely obstruct the exterior view. It was a double stockade; the inner one at a height of twenty feet, with "sentry boxes" surmounting it thirty yards apart; and an outer stockade one hundred twenty feet distant from the inner, twelve feet high, intended to render escape more difficult, and to aid in defence from without. Through a wide, oozy, slimy quagmire, about one hundred and fifty yards from the southern end, a sluggish stream, from three to five feet wide and as many inches deep, flowed through the enclosure from west to east. This stream, tainted with decaying vegetation, received the wash and sinks from several rebel camps, and the offal from an immense cook-house above, and yet was for a time the only water supply furnished for all our wants.

Seventeen feet from the inner stockade was a line of poles, supported by crotched stakes, known as the "dead line," beyond which to venture or extend a hand was certain death. Deducting the land between the dead line and stockade, with that occupied by the slough, there was an average space for each prisoner of about thirty square feet. A grave for an adult will average eighteen square feet.

Within such circumscribed area, thirty-five thousand men, during the heat of summer, were compelled to perform all

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the functions of life, cooking, washing, defecation, exercise and sleep. As a result of the use of such water, and of poor and ill-prepared food, chronic complaints rendered the sinks along the stream of no use to those any distance therefrom, so that the grounds were strewed with excrement and the swamp with fæces and liquid filth. Under the action of the sun the stench became so great that the inhabitants even at a distance could not endure it, and sought an injunction from the courts to secure a mitigation of the nuisance, or the removal of the stockade.

Though the singing of the breezes could be heard in the adjacent forests, no regular issue of fuel was made with which to cook such food as was furnished. For a time the stumps of the original forest made up the deficiency; but these were soon exhausted, and our men would burrow in the ground with cups and spoons, and follow each little rootlet far into the earth with as much care as a miner follows his vein of gold.

No friendly shelter greeted the unfortunate captive as the creaking gate swung back for his admission, but an irregular mass of booths, made from tattered blankets, whose ragged surface seemed to invite, rather than repel, the scorching rays of the sun, or the drenching rains. Others protected themselves by burrowing in the ground, forming subterranean houses of unique construction, but telling forcibly of extreme poverty and misery. By far the larger part of the unfortunate men, however, had neither booths nor burrows, but wandered by day in the scorching sun or falling rain, and lay down to rest where night overtook them. In such a jostling crowd there could be no order or regularity; hence each one secured the most favorable place, without regard to streets or formation, and squatter sovereignty was the recognized law.

At first no rigid search of prisoners was made, but soon after, a complete system of robbery was adopted; first by

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the officers in charge, who took from our men all of their valuables, and then turned them over to the rebel guard, who stripped them at will of hats, coats, pants, and shoes, unless they were worse than their own, or so badly worn as to be unsalable. As a result, large numbers of prisoners came within so nearly nude that the remnants of clothing afforded the wearers but little protection. It was a common spectacle to see a "fresh fish" (as a new arrival was called) come into the stockade bare-headed, bare-footed, shirt-sleeved and perhaps wearing a ragged shirt and pair of pants which the guard had forced him to take in exchange for his own. With destitution growing more distressing from month to month, they were forced to wallow in the filthiness of this pen, and were scantily fed from the garbage and offal of the rebel stores.

The rations consisted of four ounces of meal (corn and cob), two spoonfuls of rice, two of beans, with two ounces of bacon per day, and occasionally a teaspoonful of salt. Had these been wholesome and nutritive, they would still have been inadequate to sustain the vital forces, but they were frequently so offensive as to be past use. The regular United States ration for a man in active service is thirty-seven ounces per day, and, during the time now being considered, our government was issuing thirty-four and one-half ounces per day to rebel prisoners. Of ordinary food our animal economy requires thirty ounces to sustain unimpaired its various functions, and, in its concentrated forms, not less than seventeen ounces per day. Yet, all witnesses agree, that the amount issued our men at Andersonville, was less than ten ounces per day, and this often unfit for use.

I have said that the only supply of water furnished was the stream through the swale, but this was in part remedied by deep wells constructed by our men, one being estimated not less than seventy feet deep. This was dug largely with cups and spoons, and the earth drawn up by ropes made from the

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clothes of the dead. During the latter part of this work we were favored by our keepers with two shovels, a rope, and a bucket, but were obliged to return them every night. These wells, however, gave a limited supply, and were guarded with zealous care, so that but few enjoyed their benefits. Tuesday, the 9th of August, 1864, an awful thunder-storm visited us, attended with a heavy fall of rain, which, gathering in the slough between the two hills, undermined the stockade -- both above and below, -- and covered the swale with a swift current of water. The enemy were obliged to turn out at double quick in the drenching rain to guard the breaches, which our men, who were alike exposed, enjoyed hugely. When the storm had passed, and the waters had receded to the banks of the stream, it was found that the swift current like a faithful scavenger, had cleared the swamp of all its filth, and that at the foot of the hill and just over the dead line, a spring of clear, cold water had burst forth, sufficient to supply the wants of the entire camp. This spring continued to flow undiminished, until our departure, a constant reminder of God's miraculous care and intervention. No Moses had been sent to smite the rock, but none the less had the Almighty cleansed this Gehenna by floods of water, and opened the fountains of the earth to minister to the wants of his suffering creatures.

The malign genius of this Gehenna was Brig. Gen'l John H. Winder, Commissary General of Prisoners, a Baltimorean by birth, and a bosom friend of Jefferson Davis. Of medium height, his gray locks fell from beneath his slouched hat nearly to his shoulders. The expression of his stony features was intensified by cold, gray, sunken eyes, and a rigid mouth with corners well drawn down; such a visage as marks one who is the coward on the field, but who can delight in torturing a helpless captive. Winder's barbarities at Richmond had outraged the feelings of the rebel secretary of war, who demanded his dismissal, but being a bosom

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friend of Davis, during the month of May, 1864, he was assigned to this distant post, where his ferocious nature could have unfettered license. It was Winder, beholding the three thousand and eighty-one graves filled during the month of August, who boastingly said, "I am doing more for the Confederacy than twenty regiments!" His terrible work was ably forwarded by subordinates in sympathy with him, but by none more effectually than by Henry Wirz, Captain C. S. A. To him was assigned the infernal plot by which in a few short months the adjacent cemetery was to become the resting place of thirteen thousand Union soldiers, many of them fathers, husbands, brothers or friends of my readers. This was not a triumph over wounded and enfeebled men, but over the bone and sinew of our army who had dared to meet the enemy in the place of their choice, and had bearded them at the mouth of their own cannon.

The fiendish heart of Gen'l Winder gloated over the multiplying wrecks within, and sustained Wirz in any act, however atrocious. Their hands recklessly laid low many, who, imbeciled in mind, thought by their plaintive pleadings, to reach their hearts and secure a mitigation of their sufferings. A Union soldier, familiarly known as "Chickamauga," from having lost a limb in that battle, in semi-idiocy plead with Wirz to relieve him from his torture, saying, "I would rather die than bear it longer!" to which he responded by ordering the guard to "shoot the d--d Yankee," and in less time than required to tell it, his soul was winging its upward flight. Another prisoner lay helpless on the ground and was ordered to fall in with his detachment, but being too weak to obey, the heartless villain jumped with both feet on his prostrate form, and a crimson tide from ears, nose, and mouth, with a few gasps, told of another struggle ended.

These instances, not excessive in brutality over multitudes of others, must have prepared the minds of the reader to

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receive with full credence the following experiences of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. as prisoners of war. The record is made with no desire to rekindle animosities against the perpetrators, nor to awaken anew the sorrow of years in our own homes, but with a faithful desire to place in history the memory of loyal, worthy sons of New England, who thought no sacrifice too great to perpetuate the integrity of our Union, and to make us all more grateful for the heritage their sacrifice has secured for us. They were offered freedom if they would forswear their government, but they chose rather to suffer a martyr's death, than live a tainted life.

The record left our captured men within the rebel gaol at Richmond, at which place they arrived at nine A.M., May 16, 1864. The building in which they were confined was the three-storied brick building known as Libby Prison. At this time most of the former prisoners had been hurried off to Andersonville, from fear incident to Gen'l Grant's forward movement, and the building had been thoroughly renovated. The officers were placed on the floor above the men, and being left to themselves a short time, instituted measures to ascertain the number captured. Corp. Alvin A. Gage of Company I made a list of our men, and succeeded in getting a copy of it, through a crack in the floor, to Lieut. J. L. Skinner, by which it was ascertained there were nine officers and two hundred and thirty-eight men present.

Dick Turner and his light-fingered satellites soon appeared, their eyes gloating over the new victims, which the "gods of war" had delivered into their power. The statement was made that they were about to search us, and that if any had money, watches, or valuables of any kind, and would surrender them without search, they would take their names, with the amount or articles surrendered, and when exchanged, would return all to them; but if they were obliged to search for them, everything found would be confiscated. But few

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placed confidence in this statement. The men were ordered to strip, and a rope was stretched across the room to separate the fleecer and his victim from the prisoners. One by one they were examined, and as fast as the space was filled at the rear, the line was moved, until all had passed the ordeal.

The search being in full sight of the captives, -- the villany and wilful malice of these monster "home guards" was discovered. They confiscated equipments, canteens, haversacks and rubber blankets, leaving only woollen blankets (to such as had them), and these simply because they were not allowed to use anything with the hated letters "U. S." upon it. This, however, did not surprise us, "but when it became evident that the robbery included, beside money and other valuables, the photographs of our friends at home, and that a smile of villanous satisfaction greeted their discovery, while all pleadings to retain them were vain, our hearts sank, and a new sense of the satanic spirit of our foe overwhelmed us."--(C. C. Hosford.) The search progressed with varied success, each of our men at his wits' end to contrive ways to save their treasures. The amount of money obtained was very small, the largest sum being from Col. Lee, of less than one hundred dollars. Edgar C. Brewster, of Company A, had about eighty dollars in green-backs with him, all of which he saved by dividing it amongst his company, some placing it in their mouths, while others uncapped their blouse buttons and put the money within.

When any article of an officer was coveted, extravagant offers in Confederate money were made, but the article was always for a personal friend, and "if it fitted, they would return the money, otherwise the goods." A few were caught in this way, one of our officers being offered three hundred and seventy-five dollars and a pair of partly worn army shoes for his boots. It is unnecessary to say it was an old trick with them, and neither was the money paid or the boots returned. When the search was completed the

Page 385

men were moved across the street to the Pemberton building. This structure fully justified all that had been said of its filthiness. The seams of the walls and floors swarmed with vermin, against which it was as useless to contend as to beat the air.

The sudden relaxation from active conflict, the humiliation of defeat, and vain longings for one more grasp of the rifle to retrieve one's honor, are feelings which experience can alone portray. The loved ones at home: God have mercy on them, when

"Their hearts are wrung by the battle's refrain;"

when dread uncertainty shall pale the cheek of mother, wife, lover or sister; when the dimmed eye of father shall trace in the list of "missing," my name; when the home circle shall realize for me all the ills which war entails, and each day go through for me the last sad rites of earth, not knowing my lot. A rigorous foe withholds all communication, and as for affording our friends relief, the grave could not enforce a more cruel silence. We know not what is before us, but turn our eyes northward and longingly inquire,

"Land of my birth, shall I greet thee again?"

With such thoughts our hearts rebelled against our lot and against the fate which left us passive spectators of our country's necessities.

As already stated, we reached Richmond, Va., at nine A.M., May 16th, but it was the afternoon of the 17th before any attention was paid to our wants, at which time we were served with a genuine "Argonaut bean soup" and a small piece of corn bread, but each in such quantity as to mock the gnawings of hunger, which by this time were becoming unendurable. We soon found that any attention to our wants was to be a question of convenience, rather than of necessity. Says Charles Weed, of Company E, who was

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wounded when captured, "I have seen our men suffering for months from painful wounds, but their hunger was so intense as to drown all other sufferings. For eighty days I lay without change of lint on my wounds, shirt on my person, or clothes on the cot, with the heat much of the time from ninety to one hundred and ten degrees in the shade, but my greatest suffering was from incessant hunger."

After we had been a week at Richmond, the reverberations from the guns of the Army of the Potomac greeted our ears; sounds pleasant to us, but reminding the city of its precarious condition, and the authorities of the fact that the Union army had at last an invincible general. At two o'clock, the morning of May 23d, we were marched across the James River to Manchester, and boarded a freight train for removal south. The cars were filled to their utmost capacity, each containing about seventy-five men and four guards, the latter from the Third Virginia Militia. We arrived that night at Danville, where we remained until the 25th inst., awaiting transportation. Our course south lay through Greensboro, Salisbury, Charlotte, N. C., and Columbia, S. C., at the last of which places, the train was held an hour to gratify the women's curiosity to see a "live Yankee." From Columbia we reached Branchville, and took the Charleston and Augusta road for the latter place. At Augusta, Ga., we received humane treatment, and were permitted to occupy a cotton-pen during the night, resuming our journey the following day. Such officers as were with us, were left at Macon Sunday, May 29th, while the enlisted men were forwarded over the Southwestern road to Andersonville, where they arrived at an early hour May 30, 1864.

We had been a full week en route, with a mere pittance of food, over roads so rough, that the jolting of the train was painful in the extreme. Our crowded condition rendered the heat oppressive, and prevented lying down for rest or

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sleep. When it became known we were to pass through North Carolina -- our old camping-ground -- endless plans of escape were made, even to the seizing of the train, but the difficulty of united action, and the fact that our route was so far inland, prevented any attempt. The route for the most part lay through immense forests, in the midst of which, at short intervals, the train stopped for wood and water. The night we passed through Salisbury, a portion of the men were allowed to lie on the top of the car. While stopping for water, Lewis A. Drury of Company C, made his escape, but was recaptured soon after, and sent to Andersonville. After leaving Augusta, Ga., Sergt. Bartholomew O'Connell, Corp. J. W. Brizzee and Private George W. Taylor, all of Company C, succeeded in cutting a hole through the floor of the car, and, the night of the 29th of May, under cover of darkness, effected their escape, the account of which will be found farther on.

On arriving at Andersonville, we formed in line near the north gate, on an elevation overlooking the stockade. At this time it contained about fifteen thousand prisoners, the sickening sight of whose destitution lay fully in view. Here we were again thoroughly searched, but with unsatisfactory results to the enemy. We were then designated as "Detachment 69," and enough men from other organizations were added to it to complete the required number. A detachment consisted of two hundred and seventy men, over which a rebel sergeant was placed, whose chief duty was to call the roll each day. This detachment was divided into three squads of ninety men each; and each squad into three "messes" of thirty men; these sub-organizations choosing their own commissaries to receive and distribute the rations issued. Later in the season, the number of deaths so reduced the detachments, that many were consolidated, and the smaller numeral retained for its name; while at other times new prisoners were included to fill up the number.

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As a fact, the Twenty-Seventh, during its experience here, were parts of several different detachments, but for the purpose of this history, they will be known as "Detachment No. 69."

The work of search and organization being completed, the north gate creaked heavily back on its hinges, and two by two we marched into this abode of death. Crowds were gathered beyond the dead-line, curious who the new arrivals (fresh fish!) might be, and anxious to know of the fortunes of our arms. Their unkempt hair, glaring eyes, their sharpened visages blackened by pitch-pine smoke, and their tattered, filthy garments, rendered them embodiments of despair, and horrid spectres of suffering and want. A sickening realization of what was in store for us, was read in the features of our unfortunate comrades, but the half could not be conceived, and

"The half has never been told."

Passing the crowded grounds to the easterly side, and crossing the quagmire on a path near the dead-line, we halted just across the border of the marsh, and with spoons, cups and such conveniences as were with us, commenced throwing dirt into the slimy depths, to construct sufficient grounds on which to bivouac. We at length succeeded, though the surface was so elastic that it yielded to our weight, and through the cracks oozed the filthy slime which showed what the foundation was. The crowded condition of the stockade left this as our only alternative, but as the sequel shows, it was a terrible one, and with the malaria, stench and miserable food, became the subsequent cause of disease and death.

"For twenty-one days following, the clouds gathered and burst over the ill-fated camp, the men wet through by day and night, with hardly a ray of sunshine or starlight, during the entire time."--(J. E. Perry, Company I.)

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The camp was one vast slush of mud, and our position (bad enough at the best), was available only as we stood half-way to our knees in mud, while our clothes were besmeared from head to foot with filth. The constant use of corn and cob meal in a raw state, added to our exposure, soon told upon our men, and by the 20th of June the death record of the Twenty-Seventh at Andersonville was commenced by the decease of Mahlon M. Merritt of Company C, while large numbers were suffering from chronic diarrhoea.

The "Surgeon's call" was held between the stockades, just outside the "South gate," to which point our sick would crawl, or, if unable to do so, were carried by their comrades. The bearers immediately returned into the stockade, leaving the patients' names affixed to their clothing for recognition, when they were beyond consciousness. Here the sick would remain for hours awaiting the surgeon, and, if not received into the hospital, were sent back into the stockade, or when necessary, word was sent to the squad to assist them back. The hospital was situated outside and at the south-easterly corner of the stockade. It consisted of a line of large tents which had been "condemned for service," and which in reality were simply canvas spreads, without sides to exclude the dampness of night or the driving storms and winds.

The entire hospital was a disgrace to humanity, and was such only by name, for no signs of cot or blankets, or even straw, graced the place, but long winrows of men in poverty and suffering found their bed upon the earth. There, in furrows scooped out by their own hands, lay hundreds of men covered almost to the neck with a mantle of earth, to protect themselves from the swarming pest of flies and vermin; and for such comfort as its cooling touch gave their fevered forms. These facilities, even, were inadequate to accommodate the enormous increase of patients, and the rule was early adopted to receive no more into the hospital,

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than would replace the deaths of the previous twenty-four hours. On this account the deaths within the stockade began to multiply, so that, during the months of August and September, these exceeded those within the hospital by two hundred and seventy-one; there being three thousand and fifteen deaths in the stockade and twenty-seven hundred and forty-four in the hospital.

The record shows that seventeen thousand eight hundred and seventy-three of our men* were admitted to this hospital, and that eight thousand seven hundred and thirty-seven of that number died, a mortality of nearly forty-nine per cent. To judge of the reasonableness of such a record, contrast the treatment of two hundred and fifteen thousand cases of the same diseases by United States surgeons in our camps and hospitals, in which the percentage of deaths was less than five per cent. Two million five hundred and seventy thousand cases of wounds and disease were treated in our hospitals during the years of 1862 and 1863, of which number only two and one-half per cent. were fatal. Of forty-two thousand four hundred able-bodied men incarcerated in this Gehenna, twelve thousand nine hundred and sixty-eight are buried in the cemetery adjoining. These were the flower of our army captured at the extreme front, and from them the grim messenger reaped the rich harvest of thirty and one-half per cent.

          Deaths from our Regiment in Rebel Prisons.
     Month.    | A | B | C | D | E | F | G | H | I | K |Total
---------------|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|------
May, 1864, ... | - | - | - | - | 2 | 2 | - | 1 | - | - |  5
June, ........ | 1 | - | 1 | - | - | - | - | 1 | - | - |  3
July, ........ | 4 | 5 | 2 | - | - | - | - | 5 | - | - | 16
August, ...... | 1 | 5 | 5 | 2 | - | - | 3 | - | 7 | - | 23
September, ... | 5 | 1 | 3 | - | - | - | 1 | 2 | 4 | 1 | 17
October, ..... | 2 | - | 1 | 1 | - | - | 2 | 2 |10 | 5 | 23
November, .... | 3 | 1 | - | - | 1 | - | 1 | 2 | 1 | - |  9
December, .... | 2 | - | 1 | - | 2 | - | - | 1 | 2 | - |  8
January, 1865, | 1 | - | - | - | - | 1 | 3 | - | 3 | - |  8
February, .... | - | - | - | - | - | - | - | - | 2 | - |  2
March, ....... | 1 | - | 1 | - | - | - | - | - | - | - |  2
April, ....... | 1 | - | - | - | 1 | 2 | - | - | - | - |  4
Unknown, ..... | 3 | 5 | - | - | - | - | - | - | - | - |  8
               |===|===|===|===|===|===|===|===|===|===|====
Total, ....... |21 |15 |19 | 3 | 6 | 5 |10 |14 |29 | 6 |128 

Perhaps it should be said in explanation, that the decrease of deaths during September may be accounted for by the sickness and absence at Macon of Wirz, the last of August and early September, during which time our rations were increased in quantity and quality, and also that the removal for "supposed exchange" inspired us with new courage and fortitude to endure our misfortunes. The removal to Millen and other prisons, of men expecting exchange, was a terrible disappointment, and renewed with us in October the fatalities of August.

Of the two hundred thirty-eight of our men confined at Richmond, three escaped on their way South, leaving two

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hundred thirty-five admitted to Andersonville. Of those included in this table, eight died from wounds which might have been fatal in our hospitals, leaving an aggregate of one hundred and twenty deaths, or a little more than fifty-one per cent. of the number incarcerated. These were not, we repeat, effeminate or crippled men, but the bone and sinew of the Twenty-Seventh and of New England, who in the day of battle were,

"Where duty called or danger,"

every inch men and heroes.

September 2d Gen'l Sherman's victorious army entered Atlanta, one hundred and ten miles distant, resulting in the hasty removal of the Andersonville prisoners. Fears of an attempt at release by the Union forces had already drawn from Wirz his infamous order: "If the United States forces come within seven miles, the entire artillery will be opened on the inmates of the stockade."

On the 14th of September "Detachment 69" was ordered away, and with nothing of luggage and preparation, were promptly in line. Nature never seemed so lovely as when we emerged from that desert of death and viewed once more the broad green fields with their flowers and adjacent forests; and we realized as never before, what had almost seemed a dream of youth, the beauties of "God's handiwork." The enemy carefully promulgated the idea that our removal was for exchange, thinking by this means to avoid attempts at escape, as they could not furnish sufficient guards for the train. About four miles out, the engine jumped the track, telescoping the cars, killing fifteen prisoners and severely wounding nineteen more. Many of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. received severe injuries, but not being wholly disabled, were not included in the list of casualties. We bivouacked that night near the scene of the disaster and were returned next morning to Andersonville,

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where we remained till the 28th inst. As we left that day, Wirz remarked, "Don't you lets me see you tamm Yankees some more!" to which one of our men responded, "We want to see you some more! just once on even terms!" but he was quickly hustled along by his comrades, fearing the revolver Wirz held in his hand. Many of the men had little faith in the promised exchange, but we were certainly moving towards Savannah, at which place we arrived October 1st.

Our treatment at Savannah was most humane; the citizens offering food and clothing, and especially vegetables, for the lack of which we had suffered severely. In every way possible for them, they ministered to our wants and even received some of our sick into their hospitals, with equal care bestowed upon their own men. Thomas C. Allis of Company K found an uncle who assumed his care. We gladly testify to the kindly feeling here shown, as a more true expression of the heart of the Southern people, whose hospitality before the war was proverbial, and call attention to this oasis amidst the desert of human feeling we experienced. The responsibility for our atrocious treatment was not with the people; it rested nearer the throne.

October 23d we were moved to Millen, by which act the veil of falsehood was removed, and all doubts dispelled as to the enemy's first intent. While on the way, Corp. Erastus Innman of Company K escaped, and after three captures and re-escapes reached our lines at Hilton Head, where, falling in with R. R. McGregor, formerly a corporal of his company, he was kindly aided home. We were now in small detachments, some thirty having been left in the hospital at Andersonville, unable to be moved, ten were in hospitals at Savannah, eighty were confined at Millen and the remainder were about equally divided between Charleston and Florence, S. C. Seventy-two were already dead. It is unnecessary to narrate the experiences of Millen,

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Blackshire and Thomasville, Ga., or Charleston and Florence, S. C. We were under the immediate supervision of Gen'l Winder, and whoever commanded the post, or wherever we were, hardships and cruelties continued, with lessened vitality and courage on our part to endure them.

Election day, by request of the enemy, a vote was taken at Millen; our keepers professing to believe that if it was left with the soldiers, Gen'l McClellan would be elected President. Their disgust at President Lincoln's overwhelming majority was beyond bounds. The vote of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. was, Lincoln 66, McClellan 14.

Early in November, a special exchange of sick and disabled prisoners was made, in which quite a number of the Twenty-Seventh were included, their condition being such as is described in "personals" included in this work.

Gen'l Sherman's movement from Atlanta, Nov. 14, 1864, and the near approach of Gen'l Kilpatrick's cavalry enforced removal from Millen also, and on the 21st of November we were forwarded via Savannah to Blackshire, Ga., where our bivouac was in an open field. We left at Millen about thirty-four hundred prisoners unable to move, amongst whom were many members of the Twenty-Seventh. For several days following our departure from Millen the booming of cannon was plainly heard, and upon the morning of December 3d the guard suddenly disappeared from the stockade. The enemy had vainly used deceit, threats and force to induce the prisoners to march out, but as the men were too far reduced to do so, they left them with the exclamation: "Go to h--l then; if the Yankees get you they can't save you from the devil!" For hours, all was anxious expectation, when, suddenly the gates were opened and Gen'l Sherman rode in with a detachment of cavalry bearing the glorious old flag. The sight was too incredible for belief, and the captives almost feared it to be the workings of diseased minds. "Boys," said the General, "you are my boys now!

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We have come a great ways for you! Cheer up and I will see you have good care now!" Were there cheers? There were attempts; but the weak, husky echo was but an index of the will. Still they did cheer, until the tears from the captives and their rescuers choked farther utterance. After some days of careful nursing, the sick were placed upon captured steamers, guarded down the Ogeechee River, and after the capture of Savannah were forwarded North.

After two weeks' delay the prisoners at Blackshire, Ga., were removed to Thomaston, remaining there until about December 20th. We were then marched some fifty-three miles to Albany, Ga., and, taking cars, re-arrived at Andersonville Dec. 24, 1864. Christmas followed, but there was nothing to remind us of this festive day, nothing exhibited of feeling by our remorseless foe, indicating any knowledge of the Divine Being whom the day honored.

The inclemency of winter with only shreds for clothing, added to the brutality of our captors, rendered life a burden; "yet we must not, will not give up, though facing cold, starvation, and death, by day and by night." Jan. 18, 1865, Corp. Perry of Company I wrote:--"Fearfully rough and cold; we are freezing, with hardly rations enough for one scant meal."

"The crowd was famished by degrees,
And, shivering, scraped with their cold skeleton hands
The cooling ashes Their feeble breath
Blew for a little life, then lifted up their eyes
And beheld each other's aspect,
Saw, and shrieked, and died."

Gen'l Winder had died suddenly, and was succeeded by Gen'l J. D. Imboden, but Wirz was still our persecutor. In March a few more of our men were exchanged, reaching Vicksburg, Miss., the 27th inst. Those remaining were again scattered, to avoid capture, marching to Thomasville

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and back, a long, toilsome journey, of over one hundred and twenty miles.

April 9th witnessed the surrender of Lee and his army, but we, -- again returned to our pen at Andersonville, -- knew nothing of the triumphs of our arms. April 15th the enemy had another scare, and we were ordered on the cars "for exchange" as usual, but in this we had no faith. Reaching Albany, Ga., we again marched through Thomasville into Florida, where, on the evening of the 26th inst., while encamped in the woods, some thirty miles from Jacksonville, the sad news of the assassination of President Lincoln reached us. The next morning Capt. Wirz, who had attended us thus far, ordered the guard removed from around our camp, leaving the wonderful instructions, "You uns may kere for yereselves," when they at once disappeared. Finding Jacksonville the nearest point occupied by our forces, we directed our course thither, arriving there the afternoon of April 28, 1865. Here we first learned of the surrender of the entire Confederate forces and the virtual termination of the war.

As we looked again upon the banner for which we had suffered so much, we almost worshipped it, and involuntarily adopted the eloquent lines of Drake: --

"Flag of the free heart's hope and home!
By angel hands to valor given;
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome,
And all thy hues were born in heaven.
Forever float that standard sheet!
Where breathes the foe but falls before us,
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet,
And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us."

Comrade Milo H. Cooley of Company F, writes: "If there was ever rejoicing on earth, it was when we first came in sight of the old flag. We hurrahed, with tears rolling down our cheeks, threw our caps in air, and shouted at the

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top of our voices, continuing until our strength gave out. I never shall forget that happy day! It seemed as though I had got into a new world, and had something again worth living for."

It is a privilege, in closing this record, to note the care the nation is bestowing over the sacred ashes of her dead. A national cemetery of fifty acres has been enclosed at Andersonville, and tastily laid out with walks and drives. By means of records kept by Dorrence Atwater and a Mr. Welsh, -- who, as prisoners were detailed in the hospital, -- a nearly complete list of names, dates of deaths, and number on the stake at place of burial, has been secured by the government, by which twelve thousand four hundred and sixty-one graves have been suitably marked by marble slabs, inscribed with the name, regiment, company, and date of death of its occupant. Only five hundred and seven remain unknown, amongst which are fourteen of the Twenty-Seventh Regiment. On the 17th of August, 1865, Col. Moore, U. S. A., in the midst of a national salute, raised the stars and stripes over this hallowed spot and conducted funeral service over this army of sleeping dead, closing with our national hymn, "My country, 'tis of thee." Unfortunately, during the haste incident to our removal from Millen to avoid capture by Gen'l Sherman, the records of that place were lost by our keepers. A portion of them were accidentally found amongst some refuse paper-stock at Philadelphia, Pa., after the close of the war, by which the names of a small number of those who died there have been rescued from oblivion. Those at Florence, Charleston, Savannah, Blackshire and Thomasville, are mostly left to swell the ranks of the "unknown." Whether known or unknown, the scattered remains wherever found have been removed to national cemeteries, at convenient centres, and watchful care is now bestowed upon their resting place by agents of our government.

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Sergt. Henry Dickinson, of Company A, our United States color-bearer during his service, was a "Freemason," and through that order received many favors after his capture. He learned of the intended removal before it was known in the stockade, and secured a transfer to the first detachment which left Andersonville about September 6th. His comrades had less faith in the promised exchange than he, and urged him to remain with them, as he was in fair health. Finding himself deceived when at Charleston Race Course, he became disheartened, and died at that place early in October, 1864. -- (A New York Cavalryman.)

Oliver A. Clark, private, Company A, was not of strong constitution, and early fell a victim to chronic diarrhoea. Finding Charlie Rensalier, a colored boy from his native town, a prisoner there, he shared with him the little left him by his captors. June 27th he was carried by his comrades to the surgeon's call. Being unconscious, his name was fastened upon his shoulder (O. A. Clark, Company A, Twenty-Seventh Mass., Detachment 69), and left on the ground between the two stockades awaiting the surgeon. During the afternoon a burial party reported him lying upon his face, and apparently dead. His death is entered on this date. He was a Christian soldier, with courage equal to his convictions.

Calvin C. Hosford, private, Company A, was so far reduced by scurvy that his limbs were drawn double, and he could move only by hitching himself backwards with his hands and resting on one hip. He was included in the first exchange, on condition that he would get from the Millen stockade to the railroad, a mile distant, which he succeeded in doing by a hard day's work. He is now a mechanic at Haydenville, Mass.

Thomas Bolton, private, Company A, did not know his

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own name when exchanged, and was saved by Corp. Drake of his company, who responded for and presented him to the "exchange officer." He is now a dentist at San Francisco, Cal.

Francis G. Russell, private, Company A, was assisted to the surgeon's call July 17th, and died before his comrades had left him. Cause, chronic diarrhoea. -- (T. Bolton.)

James F. Thayer, private, Company A, died within the stockade, without medical care, July 23d, of starvation and chronic diarrhoea. -- (T. Bolton.)

Thomas C. Brady, private, Company A, died a horrible death. He did not arrive at Andersonville until June 15th, and being naturally despondent he remarked, "What signifies it; a man can't live here a month." He was constrained to lie down and die, the vermin with gangrene having destroyed the supporting walls of the intestines. His word was prophetic; he died July 11th. -- (Bolton and Hosford.)

Alvin A. Clark, corporal, Company A, on the 28th day of September, when our detachment left Andersonville, was left in the stockade, unconscious, and very low, in the care of a member of Company H, Twenty-Seventh Mass. He died the 30th inst. -- (Hosford.)

Sergt. Abel C. Kinney, Company A, was aptly known by his comrades as "Noble Kinney." He was helpless during the entire fall, but being a favorite with the men, was retained with them, which no doubt saved his life for a time. He suffered his accumulating ills without repining, and cheerfully conversed of his approaching death. He died at Blackshire, Ga., Dec. 11, 1864, and was buried in the woods north of the village, the most westerly of a group of graves. They laid him tenderly on a bed of grass and covered him with the same before filling the grave. -- (S. S. Hooper.)

John K. Fuller, private, Company I, was lying near by upon the ground, unconscious, when his name was called

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for exchange. Two burly men came forward, each angrily claiming to be the man intended, when one of Fuller's company showed the officer where he lay. The rejoinder was significant: "That looks more like it!" -- (C. C. Hosford.) Comrade Fuller now lives at Goshen, Mass.

Hiram Aldrich, private, Company I, while suffering from what we knew as "sun fever," which was attended with temporary mental aberration, innocently crossed the deadline, and was shot dead by the guard October 15th. -- (W. A. Moody.)

Daniel Pratt, private, Company I, was detailed with others August 23d, to gather wood for the camp, and while so doing concluded to attempt escape. He was recaptured, brought within the stockade, suspended by his thumbs and a detail of seven rebels fired upon him from the rear, killing him instantly. -- (W. A. Moody.)

William P. Bracey, private, Company H, October 12th, at Millen, while looking along the dead-line for crusts, which were often thrown over by the guards, or visitors who ascended to their stations, was ordered by the sentinel to clear out or he would shoot him. "Shoot!" replied Bracey, "you can't make it any worse for me!" He was instantly shot through the head. -- (W. A. Moody.)

Sergt. John W. Bartlett, of Company K, was among those exchanged from Millen in November. He was so reduced by scurvy and chronic diarrhoea as to weigh less than one hundred pounds, and was considered incurable. He was placed in the hospital on his arrival North in November, and was unable to bear removal home until July, 1865. He is now the American Express Agent between Springfield and Albany.

William A. Moody, private of Company F, sustained a compound fracture of the bone below the knee at Drewry's Bluff. Severe as was his wound the rebels gave him no surgical care, but confined him in Andersonville with those

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uninjured. The washing of his limb with cold water was the only care he could bestow upon his wound. He was much reduced at the time of his removal to Millen, but supposing the removal was for exchange, he mustered courage for the journey. After arrival at Millen he became wholly crippled, and was of the number found there on the arrival of Gen'l Sherman's troops. He remembers the arrival of the Union cavalry within the stockade, but he was so low that the excitement attending the occasion overcame his strength. He remembers little else until reviving within our hospitals at the North. He still lives at Northampton, but with enfeebled health and strength.

Corp. Aaron A. Gage, of Company I, color corporal and bearer of the flag presented by the ladies of Springfield, was terribly reduced at the time he arrived at Millen. Considering his case hopeless the rebel surgeon placed his name on the list for exchange in November. Finding himself exchanged, with an almost superhuman will he rose above his weakness and infirmities, and soon after reaching our lines, surprised his friends by appearing at their door. Although formerly a man weighing one hundred and sixty pounds, he then weighed but ninety-six pounds. Whenever missing, his friends knew just where to find him, and it required the most tender watchfulness and care to prevent fatal results from the voracious appetite with which he was pressed. Comrade Gage is a man of sterling worth, has long enjoyed official prominence in his native town, and is a successful manufacturer at Monson, Mass.

We have not been able to make a full list of those of the Twenty-Seventh Regiment who escaped from the Rebels. In addition to Comrades O'Connell and Brizzee, we should mention the names of Corp. Eldad E. Moore of Company E, Sergt. Alexander G. Harrington, Corpls. Irving R. Clark and Henry J. Remmington, all of Company H; and Corp. Erastus Innman of Company K. These all escaped, with the

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exception of Comrade Clark, by jumping from the trains, while being moved from place to place. Comrades Moore and Remmington were recaptured, but re-escaped and narrowly missed capture again by a gang of guerrillas, who seized the train they were upon. They were followed, but getting into the woods, eluded their pursuers. All of them reached their homes in such a condition of health as to awaken the keenest solicitude of their friends.

We might enlarge this list of incidents to include most of our number, as few returned without permanent disabilities, resulting from inhumanity, neglect and disease. We are confident our friends will say, it is enough; and we gladly leave the record of other sufferings to the fickle monuments of memory.

It would be well if the hand of oblivion could blot out the terrible story of Southern prisons. That the nineteenth century should have witnessed such scenes of wanton cruelty and neglect, seems almost beyond belief. The record admits of neither denial nor apology. We may forgive, but to forget is impossible. As a driven nail leaves its scar when withdrawn, so the story of our wrongs will leave a scar which even the spirit of Christian forgiveness cannot efface. How can we forget the thirty-six thousand comrades buried near the site of rebel prisons, or the blighted lives of thousands more who survived only to die as they reached their homes; or the shattered constitutions of men still forced to rely upon a grateful country's bounty?