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WHEN in November, 1862, I found myself on my way to New Berne, N. C., actually to enter into the scenes of which I only expected to hear:--personally to know the excitement, danger, responsibility and privileges, I felt that I had enlisted truly, and must put on the courage, if not the uniform, and would be fortunate, could I make small entries in my little pocket diary.

My life in New Berne was very mixed, amid so many to care for, of every rank, but it is with a very tender feeling I think of the Forty-Fifth. They were "my boys" at home in Readville, and I had many near and dear friends in the Regiment. On my arrival at New Berne, I was greatly disappointed to learn the first day at table that the Forty-Fifth camp was so far away that I could not reach it except with an escort. I recall vividly my indignation at the time at hearing the "Forty-Fourth," and "Forty-Fifth" called "Kid glove," "Harvard Boys," to whom General Foster would have to give all his orders in Latin. But my indignation was soon soothed by General Foster's unqualified admiration of both regiments. He had just returned from Brigade Drill, and expressed himself with enthusiasm, "Colonel Codman is a born soldier, and the regiment moves like a unit."

Another disappointment awaited me, "Company G," my special company in Readville, was detailed to serve at Fort Macon, and must start before I could reach them with their parcels from home, or exchange even a hand shake with my many friends. My dear cousin Captain Joseph Murdoch had been appointed to serve on the staff of Colonel Amory, and had his quarters with us. Not until the 6th of December was Captain Murdoch free to take me to camp. We started for the railroad bridge over the Trent, meeting my other cousin, Sergeant Richardson.

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We took him in and drove to camp, three in a buggy. The first to greet us was Dixwell Thompson, (bless his memory,) who sent for our brave little Sergeant, Charles Hickling. Dear boy! how well he seemed that day, and how little we dreamed of his five years of suffering, to begin before the month was out. So patiently, heroically borne, with true soldier spirit to the end. Then came Henry Wheelock and Captains Bumstead and Rich, and Lieutenants Robinson and Walker, all glad to see a woman.

I shall never forget that first day at Camp Amory. Captain Murdoch had business at the Fifty-First Regiment, and left me seated in state, surrounded by officers and privates, indiscriminately. I was invited to dine in camp, and I bade them all welcome to the little home in New Berne. We drove back by way of Fort Totten, and over such roads! passing through the camps of the Fifth Massachusetts, Fifth Rhode Island, Tenth Connecticut, to the camp of the Forty-Fourth Massachusetts.

And poor, old New Berne! what a wornout, shiftless, tumble down place, did this "city of beautiful residences," this "land of roses," appear to us on first acquaintance! But we grew to love it. Our little home was at headquarters, on Front Street, between General Foster's home and Governor Stanley's. A simple frame house, two rooms deep, formerly Headquarters of the Confederate General Branch. It was in a sorry condition, none of the original furniture left, save a book-case in the entry. Some articles had been brought to fit it up for use, but it was very forlorn.

The fog from the river was so thick the night we arrived, we could see nothing of the house--but the light of the fires built in our honor. All the doors and windows were open, the fog pouring in. But we were at war, and what were women there for, but to make a semblance of home, at least for our soldiers? We soon revolutionized the interior, drew the table into the centre of the room, covered it with books, photograph albums, work-baskets, etc.

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The broken down sofa, with a shawl for an afghan, was drawn towards the fire, chairs disposed so as to look sociable, and with little black Toby's help, we obtained the wild bamboo vine, to cover the very soiled walls, and with our country's flag for drapery curtains we were ready to welcome all our soldier boys and sailor boys, too, for the Commodore's gig lay just off the shore in sight of the house.

Before the Provost Guard life began for the Forty-Fifth, came the great event of December, the Expedition to Goldsboro. Long before, we knew from many signs that something was to be undertaken. General Foster had been to Washington, reinforcements had poured into New Berne, many war councils had been held, finally on December 11th, the army moved onward, leaving but a handful behind to protect the town. The Provost had promised to take me early to the fort, to watch the passing column, but the dense fog after we started so detained us on the road, we did not reach the line until after Amory's Brigade had passed, to my great grief. Belger's Battery was just moving, the Forty-Fourth came next, and as regiment after regiment moved along, it was an intense experience, as one soldier after another, dashed out of the line for a "good bye."

Mrs. Stevenson, the brave mother, one side of the column, and I, on the other. The boys told us afterwards, it was a comfort thus to have our "God speed." We had earlier helped off our "very own," but that morning we felt a mother's, a sister's yearning, for each of these thousands, who went forth so bravely to the self-chosen duty, perhaps never to return. The Provost was left as commandant of the town, Colonel Coffin of the Eighth Massachusettts, at the fort as military commander--details from each regiment in charge of the camps. Mrs. Foster, Mrs. Amory, Mrs. Harris, Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson, indeed all who needed care, in charge of the Provost, added to the perpetual vigilance for the town's safety. Strange lights appeared, rumors were afloat of mischief brewing within the town, of possible attack in our defenceless

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condition! Yet we felt no personal fear. As dear Mrs. Stevenson said, "Our whole heart was with our army, we had no room for self."

But it was a dreary waiting. We had a bit of comfort in looking at the two stands of the Forty-Fifth colors brought to us for safe keeping by comrade Richardson, who was left in charge of Camp Amory. We, that were left behind, met daily, one in thought and sympathy. Our first dispatch was glad and sad. "No staff officers injured of the Massachusetts Regiments, but a boat to be sent up the river to bring back the wounded and prisoners" And who might the victims be? And the same dispatch brought to the Provost, the sad duty to care for the body of the gallant young Colonel Gray, of the Ninety-Sixth New York who fell at Kinston, at the head of his regiment. He came to New Berne just in time to go with the expedition, only twenty-three years old, the idol of his command, beautiful to look upon, and with a hero's spirit.

His chaplain came also and the funeral was from our house. We gathered all the women to pay tribute--old Mrs. Graham sent us flowers, all officers and troops that could be spared from guard, with the commodore of the fleet followed all that was left on earth of the young hero, wrapped in his country's flag to the boat, where a touching service was held. It was all we could do, and we felt it might be a little comfort to the bereaved mother.

Then another waiting--rumors of more battles, and at last the return of our boys, jaded and worn indeed, but full of life and enthusiasm and elated with success. I could send home such glad tidings for a Christmas Greeting! None of our very own injured, but must add the sorrowful loss of Theodore Parkman, the Color Bearer of the Forty-Fifth. I went almost at once to Camp Amory--my friends Lieutenants Emmons and Hardy, were among the first to greet me, then Captain Churchill and his brave Sergeant Charlie Hickling looking so bright and cheery. The captain saying, as he placed his hand on Charlie's shoulder, "He has won the right to have the straps there."

But alas! I was summoned before many days to the dear

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boy's sick bed, and early in January, he was removed to the Stanley Hospital in town under the charge of the "Sisters of Mercy" from New York. I could see him daily, until his kind father came from the North to take my place.

One word in passing, of tribute to those gentle women, who devoted themselves to the care of our sick and wounded soldiers. I saw them constantly and can testify to their constant, unselfish devotion to those brought to their charge. The Convent (so-called) was connected by a plank walk with the Hospital, and the passage between was all the outing these women had. The Convent was in a house formerly owned by Governor Stanley's father, a fine old mansion, well and elaborately finished.

He hardly expected a convent bell would ever be hung on his elegant staircase. One parlor was left furnished to receive the world's people; the other was their chapel, furnished with altar, etc. All the rest of the rooms were simply furnished, iron bedsteads, one chair in each and a wash-stand, save one room, in which Washington had slept when in New Berne, and which was also General Burnside's apartment; this house having been first his Headquarters. This room was kept for the "recreation-room" for the sisters. A table in the centre, a desk and books, a few chairs, no carpet, no feminine look, save the exquisite neatness which pervaded the whole house. The kitchen and washhouses were the most interesting where the "lay sisters" made all the nice things for the hospital, and refreshed the bed-clothes. Everything so neat and clean!

The main stores they drew from the Government, but were entirely dependent upon contributions for all delicacies. They told me the "sanitary" was very liberal but "oh, the need so great!" Thanks to the kind Boston friends who sent us such liberal boxes of lemons, gelatine, oranges, guam-jelly, chocolate, etc., we could very often supply their need. Not one of us well ones could touch these delicacies, and it was indeed a happiness to be able to carry to the "Stanley," the Academy Hospital, to the "Forty-Fourth" hospital in town, or to the various camps,

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"just the article needed." The "sisters" were interested in all who came under their care, but the boys of the Forty-Fourth and Forty-Fifth, seemed to win their peculiar sympathy. "How is it," one of the sisters said to me, "I find such gentle refinement among these men? They seem like petted children, yet so manly and uncomplaining" Mother Augustine's morning greeting to one ward, was, "Well, how is old Massachusetts this morning?" It mattered little what their creed--the loving service was complete and cheerful.

A strange Christmas it was! as warm as June. On Christmas Eve we had a real Negro Minstrel Serenade, "Them's cullud folks," Celia told me, "citizens brought up in New Berne, come to give the ladies a Christmas song, Tony Fisher, the leader." And with violins, banjos, and their voices they gave us indeed sweet music. The gladdest part of Christmas was going to the camps with parcels which arrived that very morning. First to the Twenty-Fourth Headquarters to take Christmas Greetings to dear Mrs. Stevenson and her boys, then to the Forty-Fourth Hospital to cheer them a bit, then through the Twenty-Fourth and Forty-Fourth camps, meeting so many cheerful greetings! Then to Camp Amory where a real Christmas greeting came from all ranks.

We had passed as usual three sets of pickets, wood cutters and wagoners, to all of whom we shouted, "Merry Christmas!"

What a rare carnival it would have been to me, could I have scattered "Santa Claus" bundles to each and all. After greetings from crowds of friends, my ever faithful Lieutenant Emmons took me to his own tent where I made a long call, although they were in the midst of preparing their feast from home boxes, cracking nuts, opening pickle-jars, and a sealed up pudding. The table looked very nice. Seven plates for Captain Wales and his two lieutenants, for Captain Tappan and his two, and Adjutant Winsor.

I was treated with the greatest deference, and feasted on ginger snaps and figs. The last I put in my pocket for my sick Provost,

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who had so longed for some that morning. If they had known it they would have given me more. They were all as merry and bright as if war was a myth, far merrier than the anxious ones at home.

Among my many visits to Camp Amory, one stands out, fresh in my memory, when I undertook with Captain Murdoch to walk over the bridge to the camp. I so longed to see "Dress Parade" But the camp, like the Silver lake in the fable, seemed to recede as we approached, and we only arrived to find "dress parade" over. I was treated however, like a heroine, taken to see the sunset view from a certain point," rested awhile at comrade Richardson's quarters where I found my cousin comfortably settled, reading before a bright wood fire.

Dixwell Thompson walked back with us. He had been invited by Major Anderson to dine at Headquarters. I remember his words so well, "Is it very fearful to dine with a Major-General?" "No," I answered, "I have often, and survived." "Well," he added, "I have been in two battles and did not wish to run away, so I think I'll never be afraid of anything again."

The days after Christmas were full of rumors of change. New arrivals poured in, the little town was over flowing with new brigadiers; Prince, Hunt, Wessel, Nagley, Palmer, each one out-ranking the last arrival. And in the camps equal excitement. Each regiment longing to go on the new expedition. A part of Stevenson's Brigade (Wessel's division,) the Twenty-Fourth Massachusetts, Tenth Connecticut, and Ninth New Jersey, were the first to start. Preparation and mystery still continued until on the 26th of January came the grand departure, and we bade "good bye" to the General Staff.

We were grieved to part with so many with whom we had been in daily contact since November, but the same day brought us great happiness. The Forty-Fifth came to town as provost guard. How safe we felt with our gallant friends to protect us! The very first evening Colonel Codman and Lieutenant-Colonel Peabody came to dine at our mess, with our friend Colonel Hoffman.

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He and the Provost, were the only members of the staff left behind. In one of my old letters sent home, I find the following:

"Fancy (instead of going to Readville) simply to look out of one's window, to see Captain Minot riding by as officer of the day, and every morning, while dressing, to hear the delicious Forty-Fifth Band at "guard mounting"! They do play most beautifully and thrill me to the heart. Such praise, too, comes from all quarters for the guard, "who do their duty so perfectly and thoroughly." Then the delight of dress parade on Broad Street, such a little way I am permitted to go alone, and I never miss the scene if I can help it." And in the weeks, the months that followed, dress parade became the resting spot in that strange life; a sort of "good night" to each other, with no word spoken. It was where all collected, officers off duty, privates with short leave from camp, our various visitors from the North, Mr. Hickling, Dr. Ware, Mr. Bond, Mr. Wales, Rev. Mr. Barnard and others. I shall never forget the first Sunday after the Forty-Fifth came to town. I started with Captain Murdoch, before daylight to give "God speed" to the Forty-Fourth, who were to sail for Plymouth, and on our return we were just in time for guard mounting, my first experience, a beautiful sight it was on that bright, fresh morning. Captain Rich stood with us, happening up from the fort. The boys seemed to take my presence as a compliment, little understanding the real comfort these scenes were to me in my exile. I do not believe I ever stood on that Broad Street sidewalk by Colonel Codman's side without tears in my eyes, of pride in my comrades, and anxiety for the result of all this sacrifice. There were many sad hours, too, when death, by the strange congestive fever, took away one brave boy after another.

We felt that the expedition to Plymouth was planned to break up the epidemic. While the Forty-Fourth Regiment was absent, one of their number, left behind sick, brave young Hopkinson of Company F, fell a victim to the disease to the distress of his comrades. Another death in the Forty-Fifth saddened us all very much, George Brooks of Company A, who died just

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before his father landed in New Berne. Mr. Brooks came directly to the Provost, so bright and happy, to learn how to reach his boy, and one of the Sisters of Mercy, had but just told us, "the dear boy had fallen asleep to awake in heaven!" But it was touching to see how calmly death in any shape was met by our soldier boys. They would have preferred to die on the battlefield, but there was never any terror. They had learned in war, one true lesson, to regard death with the quietness we should all feel, that it can never be untimely, because God lives and because what we call "death," is but new life.

We were so gratified as the days went on, to find that our little home had become a sort of haven for our own regiment. They all knew the latch string hung outside for all, even if sometimes it was a little awkward when "shoulder straps" and privates happened to meet as guests. I have often closed the door between the rooms, leaving my sister with the officers, that my privates need not fear they must leave. Woman's unofficial work in the army was very real, though hard to define. I never awoke in the morning without some charge upon heart and powers, our housekeeping was peculiar, our dinner parties, so-called, unlike anything known before. If fortunate enough to have something better than the usual rations, or, perhaps, if only the latter, the Provost would invite thus, "Whereas we dine at six do all come and let us have dinner together." We did not always have plates enough to go round! We had nine o'clock teas, too, for the tired men, to which all men were welcome. Mrs. Messinger had a chest of delicious tea sent from New York. We had but five cups and saucers, and those unlike, and often twice the number of guests! Little black Toby stood ready to refresh the cups and perhaps the tea tasted the better for the waiting. We quickly learned how to make tea to suit the various tastes, but I wonder if Major Sturgis remembers my perplexity over his first cup of tea, lest I had not made it right. He sat, with cup in hand, untouched, and in answer to my anxiety, replied with a good deal of feeling, "Oh, no, I am sure it is all right, but the aroma is so like home I would fain dream over it awhile."

They made us quite happy by naming our little parlor

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"Headquarters of the Home," even as Foster's was Headquarters of the Army. Many of the regiment were constant guests at all hours, at either meal, amusing themselves over our attempts to make things homelike, laughing at our tools. One kind friend took compassion and brought me from his stores from home, a nice dish towel for my breakfast cups! How glad we were too, to take stitches for any of them! And many a brave soldier boy with or without shoulder straps, has begged the privilege of upsetting my work basket and rearranging it. "It was so like home," and of course was never refused. All this may sound very trivial, but many a long serious talk did we have together in such hours, and we women realized fully the sacrifice our soldiers were making for our country, in accepting so cheerfully a life utterly distasteful. And since this is all among friends, I may as well confess, the little work basket has been carefully preserved, a loving bond with those days of war--and the dish towel, too precious to use as intended always wraps some special bit of sewing in my work table and as often unfolded displays the valued mark, "Lieutenant Emmons, Company E, Forty-Fifth Regiment." Then the outside work a privilege? going to camps, hospitals, or company quarters, the glad agent between home and the army, owing to frequent dispatches to headquarters and the kindness of the general's aides. The list grew longer with every mail, bringing letters of inquiry from mothers, wives and sisters. The boys soon learned to know the Provost's carriage, and the little express woman with the grey bonnet! Any other woman could have done it, but the blessing to do this much for the soldiers was granted to me and I was very grateful.

Constantly such passages as this occurred in my home letters, "I found Mr. Whitcomb and delivered the parcel myself. We claim now the members of the band as friends. They little know the comfort they are to us!" We were very proud to receive a marching salute from them, as they left the general's after the flag raising. I ought to explain how the Provost became possessed of his carriage.

It was captured on one of the early expeditions and brought to General Foster for his wife's use.

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She was too timid to ride in it, and positively refused, and when we arrived the general made a formal presentation of it to Mrs. Messinger, who, equally timid, scarcely would enter it, so it resulted in being a sort of express for the Provost's sister, whenever she could find an orderly, or escort, at leisure. We knew but few of the towns people. Dr. and Mrs. Tull were very kind, and sweet Mrs. Taylor, although bitter "secesh," became a dear friend. She naturally avoided us at first, although often obliged to come to our house for passes, etc.

It was hard for her to resist my gentle sister, so evidently unfitted for the life we were living, but she did so until at General Amory's headquarters, Mrs. Parkinson lost her little baby, and we wrote to Mrs. Taylor, begging a few of the white flowers we could see in her garden. Her mother heart was touched; her own children were far away in Mississippi, she had remained to care for her old father, who was true to the Union and refused to run. She not only sent the flowers to Mrs. Amory herself, but asked us to go and see her in her own home. The father died, she left New Berne before the war was over and we lost sight of her, but I am sure, if living--she would testify, that no one who comported herself as a lady, ever suffered from any intrusion, so long as the Eighteenth Army Corps was in command of New Berne.

We made frequent visits in other homes, to see old Mr Graham, whose family (unlike faithful Mrs Taylor) had left him alone, he, only being Union. It was pathetic to hear him talk of his sister and nieces and his hope of their speedy return, he had written them that nothing was disturbed in their home. He took us into the parlor (which he kept locked) where everything was left as they used it last. The music, open on the piano, not a book, ornament, or even chair displaced from the way they saw it last. He lived in his sitting-room--attended by his faithful negro, Frank. His house stood next the large hotel, which was burned by the rebels when they retreated and our army entered.

Our troops saved Mr. Graham's house from the flames, and the old man standing in his doorway was as safe as if war had not come to the town.

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The greatest delight to the regiment was the arrival on the 10th of February of Mrs. Lieutenant-Colonel Peabody and her father, the Rev. Dr. Lothrop. The next day our guests, with Colonel Codman, drove with me in the Provost's carriage over the county bridge to brigade drill, Lieutenant Emmons escorting us on horseback, Colonel Peabody being that day in command of the regiment.

Our friends seemed much to enjoy this first experience of army life, as we certainly did their welcome presence. On the following afternoon Mrs. Messinger and I made the proper call upon Mrs. Peabody, finding Mrs. Amory and Mrs. Harris before us, and we all walked together to the Dress Parade. Such luxury for the boys! They were used to me but the addition to their audience of these beautiful women, must indeed, have been a blessing.

After the parade we followed the band to Forty-Fifth Headquarters on Craven Street, where all the officers of the regiment assembled to pay tribute to Dr. Lothrop. A touching scene.

Mrs. Peabody remained outside with us joining in the welcome with the rest of the crowd, mounted and on foot. After that we were all much together. We had the pleasure of entertaining at dinner, Colonel Codman and his whole staff, with Dr. Lothrop, Major Stackpole and Captain Murdoch, all of Boston, save my sister, and it was one of the happiest evenings we knew in New Berne.

We were all invited by the commodore to visit the Hetzel and Miami which lay off in sight of our home; Colonel Codman and Colonel Peabody could not leave. Our party consisted of Rev. Dr. Lothrop, Mrs. Peabody, Mrs. Amory, Captain and Mrs. Harris, General Palmer, Captain Murdoch, the Provost with his wife and sister, occupying two gigs. It was a delicious row with those eight brawny sailor boys, in their best "bib and tucker," and was only too short.

We visited the Hetzel first, the Commodore's headquarters, a small gunboat carrying only two guns, but so exquisitely nice.

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The Miami was the largest gunboat of the fleet, and was commanded by Captain Townsend. She carried eleven guns, six 9-inch Dahlgrens, a pretty formidable looking affair to us who were uninitiated, with the tremendous steam apparatus, the roof of the passage covered with cutlasses. Commodore Davenport was intimate on shore, Captain Townsend we did not know so well, a perfect gentleman, one of the grave, quiet magnificent kind, in full rig all the time. His little son of nine always sailed with him, a complete little sailor, but much afraid of women, he had seen so few. The Miami was at the capture of New Orleans.

We were most hospitably treated, and back on shore hardly in time for Dress Parade. We were afterwards told "we were seen galloping over a field, to cut across to Broad Street, three women headed by Rev. Dr. Lothrop!" We could not miss the parade, as Dr. Lothrop said, "It was hard for him to keep his feelings within good breeding, for his love and pride of his boys." Surely the sight of his earnest face was a blessing to them and to us all. And how good it was next day, to go to church, and hear the Reverend Doctor preach. We went in with, and sat with the regiment. About half the Forty-Fourth was there as well. It was more of an address than a sermon, full of stirring patriotism, with a beautiful tribute to our country and to our soldiers; there were but few dry eyes in the audience. We followed the regiment afterwards to witness the beautiful Sunday ceremony of saluting the colors.

The Sunday services wre always so restful. I remember one Sunday going alone to church and feeling discouraged, that after all one was able to do so little, and the uplift I received from Dr. Stone's helpful words on "Little Duties," from the text: "Such as I have, give I unto you."

Of course through all these days and weeks, there was much that can never be written, of Provost Guard life, of constant, daily, wearisome, and often distasteful work, without the inspiration of the battle-field. Yet surely with the compensation of duty well done, there was never a word, save of commendation for the fidelity of the guard. I remember one night the Commodore came to us in great indignation, because he was stopped by a

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stripling of a sentinel, (who knew him perfectly well) and was forced to wait in the cold and dark, until an officer chanced to pass, who could give the countersign. "What did you expect the sentinel to do?" was asked. "Why just what he did, of course, and if this is the stuff your volunteer regiments are made of, the war will surely be a success, if the boy did put me into a rage."

We did not escape, but shared with the rest of the country, the continued anxieties, caused by reports of failure, defeat, demoralization, in the army, or in the government. But there was more quietude in the army than at home. Our boys had taken up the burden, so it had become light. They were serving their country in the best way they could.

Our faithful aides of the staff made sure we were rightly placed. I was next to Mrs. Foster on the right of the line. The day was exquisite, the air soft and delicious, the sky of intensest blue, General Amory acted as general of Division. First came General Wessell with staff, commanding-officer, General Foster receiving the army, then Colonel Codman and staff, commanding brigade, our own Forty-Fifth heading the column. We, in the carriages were very proud of this.

Many of our guests left us early in March, but the 11th brought us Major Stackpole and his bride, who naturally belonged to us, as a part of the staff. And at first, War had anything but a serious aspect to our bride.

Bands, parades, devoted attention, and admiration, serenades by the Forty-Fifth, brigade drills when the Forty-Fifth wore white gloves in her honor; to say nothing of the Forty-Fourth Opera! It was a strange experience, walking with opera glass and fan, under the Southern stars, to company barracks, to listen to an opera in this garrison town.

The Navy lent flags, scenery was obtained from the theatre, the effect was beautiful. The performance was very touching, although intended for comic, particularly when the tired soldiers from the expedition dropped from exhaustion, it was a little too real.

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Under date of March 13th, I wrote home: "Tomorrow we are to have a great day for we celebrate the taking of New Berne. Grand review again of the whole army corps, before General Foster's quarters, so, of course, before the Provost's.

All the ladies will come to us, and we mean to wear every bit of red, white and blue we can find. The 14th was indeed celebrated, but not as we intended. New Berne was attacked and we were to witness a real battle! Rumors were ripe the evening before of pickets driven in. A whole brigade of New York troops were sent to reinforce the Twenty-Fifth Massachusetts on the outer picket station. We were awakened by cannon, a salute for the day, not anticipated. The fort across the Neuse was attacked by the rebels, four thousand strong, infantry and artillery. We were soon out on the wharf where we could see the course of the shells pouring upon our devoted men. No cannon had been mounted at the fort, the men had only their muskets for defence.

The water was too low for the boats to get into position. We watched the scene with painful interest, as we stood near the signal officer. We heard the order sent across, "Hold out to the last, reinforcements will come."

And they did hold out, although the rebel commander demanded surrender. How great was our relief when the water was high enough to allow the little gunboat Hetzel to approach, and her first shell went over the fort and into the enemy's midst. The town was saved. We four ladies were placed in a carriage and with an escort of horsemen, driven as near the scene as possible, where we saw the various gunboats now in full play, returning the salute of the morning, until the enemy retreated. Then we drove to the Forty-Fourth camp where we could see the reenforcements from the Eighty-Fifth New York going across on flats. Not until they were all landed, did we learn that we were standing on the very spot where the first shot fell in the morning. The whole Forty-Fifth, as provost guard, was under arms all night. Carriages were ready to take the wives and sisters to the Hetzel or to the fort. A fight was expected at night. Colonel Codman

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and the Provost, alike fearless, but cautious, anticipating trouble as much from within as from without. Every avenue to the town was guarded by a brigade. Perhaps the very precautions defeated whatever was planned by the enemy. Inside the town all was quiet, and the sun rose on the 15th on one of the sweetest of morning,s the birds singing deliciously, the whole air full of peace and gladness in strange contrast to the excitement of the day previous.

A few days later quite a party of us crossed the Neuse to the scene of conflict. Every tree, house and tent completely riddled by the enemy's shot. We walked outside the fort to the first picket station, where we gathered peach blossoms, stood in the very ruts of the enemy's gun carriages and sang there "Glory Hallelujah" with full hearts.

The next scene to record was not congenial to any of us, viz., Mrs. Foster's party in honor of the victory. To fearfully select invitations by formal note, only, to generals, the governor, members of General Foster's staff, field officers with the ladies. The costumes were not startling--white gloves, sparse rooms uncomfortably hot, dancing very slow. The whole occasion would have been stupid, if any occasion could be so, in a room entirely draped with our glorious "Stars and Stripes."

Soon after to our great regret, came for the provost's wife and sister, peremptory "marching orders for home," we could not disobey! It was very hard for us to go, and we felt we should be a little missed. The days that followed were filled to the brim with last things for camp and hospital. We had one day with Company G at Fort Macon, going down with General Palmer.

And on the evening of March 25th we had a delicious serenade from the Forty-Fifth Band. Warm as June--all the windows open. And at three o'clock on the afternoon of the 26th we started on the Emily for Roanoke, accompanied by the Forty-Fifth Band, and all our friends at liberty to leave, followed by another steamer to take them back to New Berne. The wharf was lined with kind faces, full of regret, the band playing, "Say can I leave Thee." Colonel Codman, general officer of the

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day, stood on the wharf until the last minute. When we reached the New Berne battleground, the band played "Yankee Doodle" and the "Bold Soldier Boy," in honor of the heroes of March 14th, 1862, who were on board with us, followed by the "Fourth Battalion tune." Everything was sweet and thrilling. Our friends dined with us, leaving us at seven o'clock, the band playing once more, "Say can I leave Thee," as we parted. And so we left dear old New Berne and the many friends bound to us by such close ties, and as it proved never to return. Before it was possible for us to do so, the headquarters of the Eighteenth Army Corps was changed to Fortress Munroe, and our next winter was spent in Virginia.

But our "good bye" to our soldier boys that day was in real earnest, "God be with you." We had truly become comrades, and we are so still. "God bless us all!"

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Some facts regarding the rank and file of the Forty-Fifth Massachusetts Volunteer Militia, as seen by its former Sergeant-Major, Henry Gassett Wheelock.

AT the request of our popular and efficient Adjutant Winsor whose word was once my law, I copy from a manuscript compiled from the regimental books and published in some Boston newspaper at the time the regiment left Readville for North Carolina in November, 1862, a few facts relating to the age, place of birth, occupation and residence of the enlisted men of my regiment.

Of native born there were eight hundred and fourteen from seventeen different states, seven hundred and sixty-six from the New England States and six hundred and thirty from Massachusetts alone; and the entire foreign born numbered one hundred and twenty-one from twenty different counties of whom forty-two, or more than one-third were from Ireland, England having fifteen, New Brunswick fourteen, and Nova Scotia twelve.

Now in addition to the fact that 814 enlisted men were native born let us look at the occupations of these men. One hundred and twenty-eight different trades were represented including one man who wrote himself down as gentleman. I do not remember his name because I found a great many who were in every respect thorough gentlemen, whether they were students or farmers.

The farmers were in number the greatest, numbering one hundred and sixty-six; clerks, one hundred and twenty-four; seamen, seventy-seven; carpenters, fifty; students, forty; teamsters, thirty-four; boot and shoe makers, twenty-eight; blacksmiths, fifteen; butchers, eleven; masons, fifteen; merchants, fourteen; painters, twenty-one; printers, ten; fishermen, nineteen. This small list of fourteen occupations made up two-thirds of the regiment.

Presuming this showing to be a fair average of the seventeen nine-months regiments called for from Massachusetts in the

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fall of 1862, the first question which arises is "how did the Old Bay State get along with most of its artisans at the front?" The next natural question is why did all these young men go, I say young, because the average age of the regiment was twenty-five and nine months and its average height, five feet, seven and five-eighths inches. One company, Company F averaged five feet eight and one-quarter inches in height, and it was worth a day's walk to see them come in from picket duty, with every head up and shoulder square to the front, as if on parade. I have seen many French, German, English and Spanish troops, but never saw anything finer.

I believe that in spite of bounties, the short term of enlistment, and other reasons, that the majority of our men enlisted from simple, pure patriotism A young man just ready to start out in life in his chosen profession was not likely to give up his prospects and a comfortable home for the discomforts of camp and bivouac, or for the love of being shot at.

But there is another side to this question. On the eve, almost, of our departure from Readville passes were freely given to the enlisted men to visit their friends or families, with the result that between October 1st and November 5th, 1862 the day of sailing from Boston, forty-five men deserted as follows:

A, 0; B, 1; C, 4; D, 1; E, 4; F, 3; G, 0; H, 3; I, 12; K, 17, of which number but four gave any place of residence, simply bounty jumpers a dead loss to the state for bounty-paid clothing and rations. Not a man deserted after reaching New Berne. The secretary of the Forty-Fifth Regiment Association gives the total number of the regiment 990 in officers and men.

Less deserters ... 45
Less discharged for disability previous to November 5, 1862 ... 13
Less discharged for disability after November 5, 1862 ... 20
Less discharged for promotion ... 3
Less discharged for on account of wounds ... 14
Less discharged to re-enlist ... 6
Less killed in action ... 12
Less died from wounds ... 8
Less died from disease ... 24
Less died from accident ... 1
-- 146
844

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By reference to the Adjutant-General's report--it will be seen that one hundred and eighty-one of the members of the Forty-Fifth reenlisted in different branches of the service.

I joined the camp in Readville, September 16th, 1862, then in command of Captain Charles R. Codman. The camp consited of several hundred thoroughly green men of the "hay-foot," "straw-foot" description with no other knowledge of discipline than each one's own sweet will coupled with the good old notion that he was free born and independent and as such as the full equal of his captain or even his colonel, in other words an unarmed mob, without anything particularly bad about them, only ignorant of everything pertaining to a subordinate position. It was disheartening to the few who, had at some time or other, been in some military organization especially the Independent Corps of Cadets, where some respect for the superior officer had been inculcated when we were, as I was once told "playing soldiers," so we all went to school, each learning from his superior until we all struck the fountain head of tactics, drill and discipline, the Colonel, who I presume, drank in his inspiration and knowledge from Hardee and Casey. Two months' hard work turned order and discipline out of chaos and the regiment went aboard ship November 5th, 1862, to sail for North Carolina in good trim, each man a little proud of his individuality as a member of such a good-looking, manly, determined lot of men, who later proved their worth.

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Apothecary 3
Architect 1
Artist 3
Awlmaker 2
Baker 5
Barber 2
Barkeeper 2
Blacksmith 15
Blockmaker 1
Bonnet bleacher 1
Bonnet presser 2
Bookbinder 3
Bookkeeper 3
Bookseller 1
Boot or Shoemaker 28
Brass finisher 1
Broker 1
Broommaker 1
Butcher 11
Butter presser 1
Cabinetmaker 19
Carder 1
Carpenter 50
Carriagemaker 3
Carriagesmith 1
Carver 3
Caulker 2
Chairmaker 3
Chemist 4
Civil Engineer 1
Clerk 124 Mechanic 2
Clockmaker 1
Coachman 2
Collector 2
Contractor 1
Cooper 6
Coppersmith 1
Cutler 1
Druggist 1
Drummer 4
Expressmen 6
Engineer 2
Farmer 166
File Grinder 1
Fishermen 19
Fresco painter 1
Gardener 2
Gasfitter 4
Gentleman 1
Gilder 1
Glass blower 1
Glass cutter 4
Glass maker 2
Glass moulder 2
Glass packer 1
Grocer 2
Gunsmith 1
Harnessmaker 2
Hatter 5
Hostler 3
Iron moulder 1
Jeweller 4
Laborer 13
Lawyer 4
Leather dresser 5
Lettercarrier 2
Lighthouse keeper 1
Machinist 12
Manufacturer 4
Mason 15
Mathematician 1
Merchant 14
Milkmen 2
Miller 1
Moulder 2
Musician 1
Music printer 1
Music teacher 1
Operative 4
Organ builder 1
Painter 21

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Papermaker 2
Paperhangings manf 1
Patternmaker 1
Pedler 2
Performer 2
Photographer 5
Plumber 1
Pianoforte finisher 2
Pianoforte maker 1
Printer 10 Tailor 3
Porter 1 Teamster 34
Provision dealer 4
Publisher 1
Ropemaker 7
Safemaker 1
Sailmaker 2
Salesmen 11
Sawyer 3
School teachers 8
Seamen 77
Sexton 2
Ship carpenters 3
Silver plater 1
Solicitor of Patents 1
Soldiers 2
Sparmaker 1
Stablekeeper 2
Stage driver 1
Stair builder 2
Stereotyper 1
Stone cutter 8
Stucco worker 1
Student 40
Telegrapher 1
Tin worker 3
Trader 1
Trunkmaker 1
Type founder 1
Upholsterer 1
Varnisher and polisher 1
Waiter 1
Watchmaker 3
Weaver 2
Wheelwright 1
Total number of trades 128

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Average age of the whole regiment exclusive of officers, 25 years, 8 months, 20 days.

Average height of the whole regiment exclusive of officers, 5 feet, 7? inches.

Oldest company, Company H, 27&1/2 years.

Youngest company, Company A, 24 years, 3 months.

Tallest company, Company F, 5 feet, 8&1/4 inches.

Shortest company, Company H, 5 feet, 6&1/2 inches.

Total length of the regiment exclusive of officers, 5,302 feet, ? inches.

Tallest man, 6 feet, 4 inches, only 18 years old.

Shortest man, 4 feet, 10&1/2 inches, a drummer boy 16 years old.

Oldest man, several of 45.

Youngest man, 14 years.

The United States takes no one over 45, so that the ages are not correctly given above that age.

Fifty-five men are over 40 years and 194 are under 20.

Fifty-two are 6 feet or over in height and but 3 are under 5 feet and they are drummer boys.

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IN stretch of memory and imaginative thought, we seem once more to be living in the exciting days of '61 to '65 and in a vision we see again the restless activity and commotion of the times, and listen to the eloquent and impassioned oratory of citizens and statesmen, whose patriotic utterances, particularly when advocating the calls for enlistments were interspersed with the inspiring martial music of the bands, which participated in, and added interest to, the frequent public gatherings of the people.

We recall with great complacency and pardonable pride the prompt and hearty response of the sons of Massachusetts to the pathetic calls of our great President Abraham Lincoln, promulgated by Massachusetts' well-beloved War Governor, John A. Andrew for State Militia in the emergency, and later on for volunteers in the United States service, to aid in suppressing the rebellion.

How promptly and well our militia, who responded to these calls, performed their duty to their state and their country, finally enlisting almost to a man in the service of the United States, for three long years, in which they invariably fought valiantly and well, history today attests.

The volunteers called for and obtained during the first stage of the conflict were hustled to the seat of war, immediately, or closely following enlistments as the emergency of the time demanded men quickly, the volunteers responding to later calls, were sent into camps and thoroughly drilled before leaving for the seat of war.

[image: New Berne, 1862, Then]
[image: Edward F. Reed, Co. I, Now]

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That historic old edifice--the Old South Church--was used as a recruiting headquarters and as a rendezvous for the surgical examination of enlisted men, a fact not now generally known.

It was in this building the writer successfully passed the critical examination of the duly commissioned surgeon, and he rarely passes this ancient edifice without recalling the day. On that momentous occasion we were in the august presence of the surgeon, and with clothing almost entirely removed, were subjected to a most thorough and rigid examination, being thumped, heart and lungs tested, teeth as to soundness, ears as to hearing, eyes as to sight, etc. This was followed by numerous interrogatories, in which each recruit was asked if he was in the habit of drinking, and "if he ever had the horrors." As we were then only nineteen years of age, and had never drank a glass of intoxicating liquor, the latter appeared to us, at the time, as entirely unnecessary and uncalled for.

The facts as ascertained were filled into the blank form provided by the Government and as the examination proved satisfactory, it was equivalent to our being accepted. We still have that surgeon's certificate carefully preserved.

The examining surgeon in the writer's case was Charles D. Homans, M. D.

It is a well authenticated fact that in the long severe marches of the Civil War, it was frequently the case that large robust men, brought up to mechanical work, general labor, or on the farm, were among the first to succumb and drop out of the ranks, while pale faced youths, apparently lacking in general good health and vigor, when enlisted, having left clerkships, colleges, or schools, for the service, withstood with perfect success the weariness and privations of the march, and fought as valiantly and as well as their more robust comrades--who were expected at the outset to far excel them in sustaining the hardships and arduous duties of military service.

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The following named articles comprised the required outfit for each man.

Overcoat and cape of light blue. A dress coat of dark blue, single-breasted, with narrow stand up collar, and the Army blouse of the same color for common wear, and fatigue duty, both were trimmed with the United States Army regulation brass buttons, on each of which was prominently embossed an American eagle. Pants of light blue; shoes, stockings of wool, underclothing, white cotton gloves for guard duty, dress parade, and other occasions; a dark blue cloth cap, with patent leather visor, and having at each end a small United States regulation Army button, and on the top of the cap metallic letters indicating the company and regiment of the wearer. The United States regulation hat, was a black felt, the crown usually dented in from front to back, the wide brim caught up on the left side, and secured there by a large brass eagle, for ornament, and on the front the usual metallic letters indicating the company and regiment. Around the crown of the hat was a large three strand silk and wool cord, the strands being of different colors, on the ends of which were two silk tassels, which in connection with the gorgeous brass eagle and looped up side, gave the hat a jaunty and picturesque appearance.

Each recruit was furnished with a musket and bayonet, those of the Forty-Fifth were from the Springfield Armory, and the latest pattern. Attached to the under side of these muskets was a wide leather strap, so arranged as to be drawn out and was used to sling the gun over the shoulder for ease in carrying on the march. With the musket was furnished a black leather belt, having a solid brass plate used as a buckle in front of the wearer, on which appeared the large letters, U. S. in relievo, and attached to the belt was a leather bayonet scabbard, with the end brass tipped, and also a leather cap box for holding percussion caps. Another wide black leather strap, made to pass over the right shoulder, on which was affixed about over the heart of the wearer as an ornament, a large solid brass disc with an American

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eagle in relievo, was used to sustain the black leather cartridge-box, on the flap of which in the centre was another oval brass piece, identical with that of the belt buckle, with the large letters U. S. in relievo again displayed.

There was a knapsack of black enamelled cloth, a tin cloth-covered canteen, a haversack of water-proof material, having a strap to pass over the shoulder, a tin dipper, tin plates, knife, fork and spoons, two woolen blankets, and one of rubber.

The weight of the Springfield musket was about 9½ lbs., cartridge box and plate 1.67 lbs., belt plate, bayonet scabbard and brass frog about one pound. Cartridge boxes were made to carry forty rounds, but on the marches in which the Forty-Fifth participated each man carried sixty rounds, weighing about 5 lbs., all of the above making a total of 17 lbs., to this must be added the weight of the blankets, canteen of water, haversack with three days' rations, as common on the march, an overcoat, all approximately 25 lbs., making a total of 42 lbs., which had to be carried by volunteers when on the march, on expeditions into the enemy's country.

We found on taking possession of our barracks at Camp Amory on the Trent that they were minus of chimnies, and as winter was at hand, it was necessary to provide warmth for the comfort of the men. As our regiment was composed of men from every walk of life and had skilled artisans in every mechanical trade, enough masons were found and detailed from the various companies to build the chimnies and the material was obtained from the old Planter's House nearby as described by comrade Mann in his paper on "Camp Amory on the Trent."

These chimnies were constructed like those of the olden time with immense openings to allow the reception and burning full length cord wood. The huge fire-place was large enough for men to sit in the chimney when the fire had burned low, and left only the dying embers. The boys greatly enjoyed these cheerful and warmth-giving fires, and sat around the blazing pitch-pine logs

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during the long winter evenings, "swapping stories," reading, writing, or playing cards, to relieve the tedium and monotony of army life. It was with great reluctance that we complied with army rules at the sounding of taps, which required the extinguishing of candles, at the nightly order of "Lights Out!"

One of the non-commissioned officers of Company I had made himself rather unpopular, because of his reporting some of the men for mere trivial violations of the unwritten "after taps" rules, and finally made one complaint which caused great indignation among the members of the company. This "non-com" occupied one of the top berths at the extreme end of the room against the partition which separated our company's quarters from that of another. He was the fortunate possessor of an immense tin dish pan, which, when not in use, was hung on a nail driven into the partition over his berth, making it quite a prominent feature, located high up, at the end of the company room, attracting the attention of all who entered.

At that time nearly all the occupants of the berths had invested in the then recently dug crop of sweet potatoes purchased of "contrabands" and which, for lack of space elsewhere were usually stored in boxes, secured to the side of the building at one end of the berths. These were baked in the embers or boiled when desired, or when occasion demanded a light lunch on all-night guard duty. During the day following the unpleasantness alluded to, and the threat by the "non-com" that another violation by any of the men, would bring dire consequences, one of the "boys" was seen by several members of the company, reaching far out from the berths, and significantly swinging his right arm, evidently, for the purpose of obtaining the right position and range, so that after dark the pan could positively be struck by a potato. That night after "Taps" was sounded and the cry given "Lights out!"--when all had settled down to quiet, a shadowy arm might have been seen by the adjoining "top bunkers" reaching out as far as possible from the bunk, the connecting

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hand grasping a huge potato, which, after several experimental swings, was loosed, and the potato, shot as from a catapult, striking the target squarely, as intended, making a most terrific noise in the stillness of the night, the force of the impact loosening the pan, and causing it to tumble from its support, onto the owner and from thence to the floor below, making in the latter fall, a most resounding racket, sending forth reverberations which could be heard in all the barracks. This caused much excitement and exhilaration among the men who manifested it by loud laughter and shouting which was taken up by the men in the adjoining room, and so passed along from one company's quarters to another, until the officer of the day and a detail of the guard arrived and visited the various company quarters, in order to ascertain the cause of the disturbance and great exuberance of spirit thus plainly manifested in forbidden hours. Upon their arrival, the men were apparently and (suspiciously) fast asleep, and in the quarters where the disturbance commenced, no one (?) knew anything at all about the cause of the fall and subsequent gyrations of the unfortunate dish pan, but the innocent sweet potato, smashed into innumerable fragments, which were scattered widely over the floor, in the vicinity, pointed in no uncertain manner to the primary cause of the uproar, and the smiling verdict of the investigating officer was clearly expressed in his soliloquy as he left the barracks, "Boys will be boys."

Comrade Brooks of Company I who was near the writer, was shot at the battle of Kinston. Upon receiving his wound he immediately jumped up and started to run to the rear for surgical assistance when the writer and one or two others, shouted to him to come back and not expose himself unnecessarily, as at that particular time the concentration of the enemy's missiles, made it almost suicidal to stand erect, but he did not heed the advice, and was again shot, this time in a vital spot, which later caused his death. As he was being transported on a stretcher from the battlefield, he espied a rebel in the woods, and raising himself up, fired his musket, which he still retained, and killed him.

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He died December 14th, 1862, the day of the battle. By a singular fatality his brother Frank was afterwards shot, and discharged October 23d on account of wounds.

Among other remembrances of Army life, which have left an indelible impression on my mind, is that of "Falling in for Rations" -- The outdoor life and exercise gave us most voracious appetites, in contrast to that of our usual home life. We were always ravenously hungry at meal times. At these tri-daily occurrences, the men fell "into line" with more than their usual alacrity, each with his quart tin dipper and plate, and cheerily marched to the Cook House for "Grub," where the ample dipper was filled with coffee, sans milk, but invariably well sweetened with molasses, or crude brown sugar, which was closely allied to the sugary deposit, found in the bottom of molasses casks, while the large plate was invariably filled to overflowing with good nutritious food. The victuals most frequently supplied were beans, to which a goodly supply of "treacle" was added in cooking, and thus formed a component part, and over these, as the cook dealt them out, was thrown, if desired, a liberal allowance of vinegar, and a dash of black pepper. Beans were alternated with "Salt Junk," the Army name -- "Salthorse" the Navy name for corned beef, which was of the common and cheapest grades. Through the good offices of the Colonel, however, our regiment occasionally procured fresh beef, supposedly by his not drawing on the Commissary for the "Saltjunk" to which the men were entitled, taking the value in money, and by adding to the amount thus obtained, we occasionally had a ration of fresh meat.

Potatoes and other vegetables were plentifully supplied. Sometimes the cook varied the monotony of the corned beef boiled dinner, by freshening out the "Saltjunk" by soaking it in water several hours, and making a fresh "beef stew" with vegetables. Hard tack was used for bread, except on rare occasions, and for dessert, we were daily given a full plate of boiled rice,

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over which was poured a plentiful supply of cheap black molasses, which "smelt to heaven" of rum. Occasionally, our "hard tack," owing to the warm climate of the South, combined with the extreme antiquity of the material, was found to be densely populated with "skippers," such as are sometimes found in cheese, and when the biscuit was broken, they "skipped" out. Whenever this happened, the remaining "tack" was sent back to the Commissary by the Quartermaster, and a fresh supply of more recent "bake" was delivered. On the whole, however, the food furnished by the Government, while at rigid variance and inferiority as to quality and daintiness to that to which the men were accustomed at home, was nevertheless, wholesome, and the hungry men invariably put it out of sight, with much "gusto." Of course it will be understood that the men had recourse to the Sutler's Establishment where condensed milk, sugar, canned meats, and in fact almost anything could be purchased, and finally it was arranged with the cook, to serve coffee without treacle, and the Quartermaster furnished a better quality of brown sugar, which was acceptable, the men buying condensed milk of the Sutler.

That the Government was frequently imposed upon by unprincipled persons engaged in furnishing supplies is shown by the following incident. One day the Cook of Company I, Comrade , whose occupation in civil life was that of a butcher, called the writer into the Cook House at Camp Amory on the Trent, when he had just opened a barrel of "Army Beef" (Salt Junk), and showed me a piece he had just taken out. He asked me if I knew what it was. I replied: "Why, corned beef, of course." He laughed and said it was undoubtedly horse or mule, and explained, at some length, that a beef creature had no such bone as was encased in that meat. There is no question but that he was correct, as he was an expert butcher, fully acquainted with the anatomy of beef animals, and consequently could not be mistaken.

It is unnecessary to add that the men were not served with that meat, for after dark, it was consigned to a deep hole in the

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ground unknown to the boys or Quartermaster, as we concluded it would be best to say nothing about it, the balance of the meat in the barrel being all right.

The writer, however, told his cousin Will, his bunkmate and companion, and it was some time before we felt at all ravenously inclined for "Salt Junk" diet.

When the Forty-Fifth ceased firing at the battle of Kinston, on account of the retreat of the enemy, they left their dead where they had fallen and pushed on out of the swamp to where the Confederates had been in force, a large proportion of them having been ensconced behind rows of resin barrels for protection from Yankee bullets, from which position, in partial security from danger, they loaded, and kept up an incessant discharge of musketry at the Forty-Fifth, which, without cover, but taking advantage of military strategy, loaded and fired, lying down, and thus partially offset the disadvantage they labored under in their duel with the enemy, both sides, meanwhile "firing at will," i. e., each one loading and discharging his musket as rapidly as possible, without regard to any orders, or system, and notwithstanding the security of the position of the enemy's infantry, backed by a perfect avalanche of shot and shell from their artillery, the Yankees won. As Company I left this sad and gruesome scene of bloodshed and death, the writer and other members of the Company passed the body of their Company Comrade Charles E. Munroe, lying prostrate, with white up-turned face, as they supposed, dead; and this cast an additional gloom and sadness over them, as he was well liked by all. The reader will readily imagine and understand our surprise some hours later when we were encamped in the town of Kinston, when he unexpectedly appeared among us. It was as if he had risen from the dead, for we all thought we had seen the last of him in this life. He was a good, patriotic, and brave boy, and was much esteemed by all who knew him, but was far from being in robust health and the excitement of the battle fray, augmented by being reduced to short rations, through the loss of our baggage

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wagons, and the loss of rest and the fatigue of the march, was more than nature could stand, and he was obliged to succumb to the inevitable, and "fainted dead away."

He was one who always performed his duty to the best of his ability, faithfully and well, as shown afterwards on this march, and with the company at Morehead City, Fort Macon, and Fort Spinola. He became inured to the hardships of Army life, but near the end of our term of service he was taken down, a few days previous to our departure for home, with that scourge of Army life in the South, "spotted fever," then prevalent, and usually quickly fatal, and died in the Hospital at Newbern, June 22, 1863, the regiment embarking for Boston a day or two later, his body was brought home in the steamer. As there was no means then of telegraphing, on account of the intervening Confederate territory, we could not inform his parents, sisters and friends of his decease.

They were on Boston Common with the thousands of relatives and friends of returning members of the regiment to greet him on his arrival home.

The writer well remembers the dismay and sorrow of his family when they were informed of the sad circumstance and that his body was on the steamer then lying at Battery Wharf.

It was one of the sorrowful, pathetic scenes of Army life that time will never efface from memory.

Just before the army halted for the night on Saturday, the day before the battle of Kinston, the Forty-Fifth arrived at what appeared to be a sluggish stream of water, and as we had drained our canteens--all were eager to quench their thirst, and so drank copiously from the stream and then refilled our canteens. As the surface of the water was but a few inches below the bank of the stream or ditch, the sides of which were abrupt, and the water of some depth, the writer following the example of the others, laid down to reach the stream with his lips to drink, and in doing

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so, the musket, which was slung over his back by its strap, slipped over his head, plunged into the stream and was entirely submerged, but was quickly grabbed by the strap and saved before it sank to the bottom of the stream. The gun being loaded and the barrel filled with water, I thought the powder would be wet and thus render the charge useless. That night the writer tried to borrow a screw such as we used on the end of the ramrod to extract bullets, but could not find one among the members of Company I. Then I went to the captain and to members of other companies, but none of them had this important and ofttimes necessary article. Consequently it was impossible to replace the old charge with a new one. It was therefore with considerable misgiving that the writer entered the swamp at Kinston, as to the musket being of any value, but when the regiment opened fire on the Confederates, he was overjoyed upon pulling the trigger, to feel the musket respond and speak with its accustomed vigor, speeding the bullet true to aim into the enemy's ranks. It was a momentous occasion and one we shall never forget.

For sometime previous to our being ordered into the swamp at Kinston to flank the Confederates, our batteries had been diligently shelling the woods in order to dislodge and drive out the enemy who were supposed to be in considerable force there, but through some mistake, or delay, orders were not received by them to desist until after the Forty-Fifth had entered the woods on the edge of the great swamp. In consequence of this, several shells were thrown in close proximity to the passing regiment, and one exploded right in its midst, one large piece of solid jagged cast-iron from the explosion torn missile, passing with terrific force directly over the writer and nearly buried itself in the trunk of a large tree, a foot above his head. This explosion wounded several men and killed one outright, the concussion blowing the face entirely away but leaving the skull. Death was instantaneous and the peculiar circumstance was, the body became immediately rigid, dropping on hands and knees, and was in that position when the writer passed, and it was said, was found in the same position after the battle.

As we were struggling through the mire and underbrush of

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the swamp in order to flank the Confederates, the order was sent down the line to each company to "throw away blankets," as their weight and bulk retarded our progress, and would prove a serious hindrance in action. The blankets were thrown off the backs of the men into the swamp, without halting, as the regiment pressed forward to meet and engage the enemy, and were left so far behind that few of them were ever recovered. Some of our men were fortunate enough to find blankets which had belonged to members of other regiments, but the larger portion were obliged to go without and slept in their overcoats, that cold December night, on the frozen ground. After the battle and before our troops crossed the bridge to Kinston, the writer, while strolling about, came to a tent which had been occupied by some Confederate officers, and found there among other articles, some very fine blankets, much better and heavier than those carried by our troops, being of pure wool, while ours were part shoddy. These he quickly confiscated and deemed himself unusually fortunate, and that night, he and his cousin, William H. Reed of Company I, cuddled comfortably together, with two blankets over and one beneath. A day or two afterwards, the tortures we were enduring led us to make a critical examination of the blankets, and we found them filled with that insect pest of army days "gray backs."

In passing through the swamp, Company I passed an officer of another regiment behind a large tree, who was brandishing his sword in the air, and yelling at the top of his voice, "Go it boys, go for them, etc." As our company had several men who had seen military service abroad, this action excited their ire, and one of them raised his musket and ordered the officer out on penalty of being shot, and as he saw the man was in earnest, he was forced to vacate his shield, the tree, and march on. We never learned who he was, or of what regiment.

In that battle in the swamp each man loaded and fired at will, and one of the members of Company I, a "Cape Codder," in the excitement of the occasion, and his desire to fire again quickly, after loading his musket forgot to remove the ramrod. Consequently when he pulled the trigger, away went musket ball, ramrod

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and all, fortunately and miraculously not bursting the barrel, but causing a most terrific "kick" of the musket which made his shoulder ache for some time. His comrades frequently joked him afterwards, in regard to this incident, facetiously saying, that he was so accustomed to stringing alewives and other fish on rods, that he was trying to string rebels on his ramrod. He was a good fellow, brave and well liked and this "jollying" was not intended to disparage him in the least.

In the battle some of the members of the Forty-Fifth came very near firing upon a regiment of Pennsylvania troops, which was coming through the woods, mistaking them for Confederates, as they were uniformed in a butternut gray, very similar in color to that of the enemy. Their exhibition of the United States colors alone prevented the catastrophe.

One of our comrades had a pack of playing cards in the breast pocket of his coat. A rifle or musket ball from the Confederate lines passed nearly through the pack leaving him uninjured, save a slight bruising of the skin.

When the regiment was at Camp Meigs, Readville, Mass., before leaving for the seat of war, we were visited by a salesman, who exhibited and offered for sale, a "Yankee Invention," in the shape of a steel vest, to be worn under the blouse, which was intended to be bullet proof. Very few of them were sold and for various reasons, namely, they were not actually bullet proof--they generally caused the deflection of a bullet, so that it would glance and perhaps fatally injure some other soldier, and last, but not least, most of the men felt that their bravery would be called in question if they wore one. Among those who bought one of these vests was Comrade Frost of Company I. During the battle of Kinston he was struck in the cheek and the bullet passed through his mouth, tearing out nearly all of his teeth and coming out on the other side. After his recovery he was frequently jollied about the vest and told he had the article on in the wrong place, that he should have worn it over his face, as a helmet. It is needless to add, that the vest was discarded, and we believe all others in the regiment were also.

After the regiment came out of the swamp at Kinston in

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broken detachments owing to the battle fray and the difficulty of getting through the mire and underbrush, the writer, his cousin, W. H. Reed, and a few others stood together in a group watching the retreating Confederates and the burning bridge, which the enemy had fired, to prevent the crossing of our troops. The Confederates from their intrenchments across the river were still firing shot and shell in our direction, and one shell, of the round type, in which was inserted a time fuse, came rolling along towards the group, its force nearly spent, with the fire spluttering and liable to explode at any second. It stopped about where we had stood, as we all quickly separated as it approached, to give it "right of way" all anxious to get as far away as possible before the explosion. At this time when the exigency of the occasion seemed to demand the putting of as much distance as possible between us and the sizzling missile of death, one of the men of the regiment, whose identity has unfortunately been lost in memory during the years that have intervened, ran up, grabbed the smoking shell and quickly threw it into the ditch alongside which was filled with water, which instantly put out the burning fuse, and thereby saved some, if not all of that group, from death. It was an act of real heroism, combined with great presence of mind, and we regret exceedingly that we cannot recall the name of this brave man.

The poor whites of North Carolina who lived in the dense pitch-pine forests and were engaged in the business of tapping the trees and converting the sap into tar, rosin and spirits of turpentine, were generally of a very low order of intelligence, about on a par with the ordinary negro of that time, very few being able to read or write, and the recruits from this district in their dirty butternut colored clothing, a mere apology for a uniform, looked like tramps, most of them having long, straight yellow hair, falling almost to their shoulders. Several companies of infantry were recruited by the Confederates from among these people and they formed part of several of the North Carolina regiments, but the majority of the Southern soldiers were of a much higher standard of intelligence.

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Among the nearly five hundred Confederates, which Company I held under guard as prisoners, for a short time after the battle of Kinston, the writer conversed with several, some men of intelligence, but the majority of them from companies recruited from the tar and turpentine forest sections of that State. One of the latter gentlemen? volunteered the information that "We uns' 'lowed (allowed) we could lick you uns out of your beuts (boots) but you Yanks are mighty good fighters."

Another volunteered the remark that the Confederate officers considered the swamp impassable to a besieging army, and another said an officer told his men "If the d-- Yanks did get through, they would retreat quickly under their concentrated artillery and infantry fire."

Most of the prisoners, particularly the more intelligent, expressed themselves as well pleased at being captured, as many of them had been taken from their families by enforced conscription and had but little heart in the Confederate cause. On this memorable march we often came across contrabands with whom the men conversed, oftentimes with much delectation, their odd way of talking, their description of their masters, and their ideas of freedom, being very laughable. Many thought they would never have to work any more, but would live in the "Norf," which in their estimation was a "land flowing with milk and honey" without labor. Their ideas as to distance were also very ludicrous. When asked how far it was to some certain place ahead, they would reply, "Well, Sah, 'bout a right smart mile (or some other specified number of miles) I reckon." These Southern "right smart, I reckon," miles invariably proved a very delusive estimate, and generally would be found to be correct if multiplied at least by the number 3. Several hundred of the "contrabands" fell in the wake of the army and accompanied it to New Berne in their desire for freedom, but we found many who would under no consideration leave masters who had always well treated and cared for them, and who had now none but good words for their "Massa" and "Missus" and their children.

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Among those who participated in the engagements of Kinston and Whitehall several men were entirely deprived of the power of speech by the windage of projectiles from the Confederate Artillery or by the explosion of shells near their faces, causing a partial paralysis of the nerves of the tongue. These men were dumb for days, and some of them for weeks, before the nerves resumed their functions, making articulation again possible, and thereby renewal of speech.

During this period of enforced silence the unfortunate victim could express his thoughts and desires only by chirography, and consequently each one so afflicted carried constantly a slate and pencil, or pencil and paper.

This resultant effect of closely passing shot and shell is of common occurrence in battles where artillery is used, as the missiles in their rapid flight create a great atmospheric pressure in front, and a corresponding vacuum behind, consequently when they pass or a shell explodes close to the face, in which latter case the shock and atmospheric disturbance is still more intense, it causes the person to gasp and lose breath through the windage or suction, thus affecting the tongue and resulting in temporary loss of voice.

A solid shot from one of the Confederate batteries came tearing through the Virgina rail fence some distance in front of us and instantly killed Comrade Boerdhouse of Company I, who was the next man on my left. Captain Rich instantly asked who was killed, and some one who thought it was the writer, replied "Reed," but I answered "No, it was Boerdhouse." Comrade Wilson of Company I, who was the next man to the writer on his right, was soon after shot in the wrist and this leads me to relate the following anecdote regarding him. Wilson had seen service in the Crimean War, and could handle a musket in such an expert manner, in fancy movements, and go through the manual of arms with such lightning rapidity that it was simply wonderful. He often told of his former military service much to the entertainment of his comrades, who were nearly all raw recruits, and frequently expressed the hope that the regiment would

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soon be engaged in battle strife. After the battle of Kinston he said, "Ah, boys, that is what I like," but at Whitehall he was for the first time wounded, and thereafter, although some of the boys would occasionally ask him, referring to the battle of Whitehall, "if that was what he liked," he had but little to say. The bullet which was afterwards extracted he wore as a charm on his watch chain after his recovery.

Once on the march to Goldsboro, the army halted for the night in an immense cornfield and huge campfires were kindled and maintained throughout the night, for warmth, the men confiscating the surrounding Virginia rail fences for fuel. After making coffee and hastily swallowing rations, the boys prepared to "turn in" for the night as usual, with rubber blankets on the ground, to keep out the dampness, and woolen ones over them, but they had reckoned without their host, for they soon discovered that restful sleep was there impossible owing to the unevenness caused by the corn hills, and this was much augmented by the stubble which had been pulled up by the men in the vain endeavor to level these rounded hills. We do not know through whose inadvertence a camp was selected in such a spot, particularly at such an inopportune time, when the men required sound refreshing sleep if they ever did in their lives. Many and loud were the imprecations heard as the men turned and twisted during the night, with aching backs and sides, in the fruitless endeavor to relieve the tedium by frequently changing their position.

The day of the battle of Goldsboro the Forty-Fifth, owing to its colonel being officer of the day of the army, was the rear guard of the entire Federal expedition, and consequently on the return march the nearest to the Confederate forces, a position of great responsibility and danger in case the enemy should charge with infantry or cavalry the rear of the column. The regiment had under its protection and care, all the wagons and vehicles used on the march. These contained baggage, commissary and quartermasters' stores, ammunition, etc. Among these were the ambulances and other vehicles of the hospital department, which

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contained surgeon's and medical supplies, tents, cots, etc. Every military organization connected with the expedition had its wagons containing provisions and other supplies with the single exception of the Forty-Fifth, which had lost theirs, through the breaking of a bridge the second day out of New Berne, which precipitated wagon and four horses into the creek below. Being therefore without food supplies, they had been very scantily provided for, by partial rations taken from other regiments, and consequently the men had sought food elsewhere, and had subsisted largely by foraging, often on the march, going off quite a distance from the main column. The writer well remembers the hotly expressed indignation of himself and comrades on one occasion, directly after the loss of the regimental stores, when, after being on the march from early sunrise to nearly midnight, during which the men had subsisted on raw sweet potatoes and peanuts, having no time to cook them, and having thrown themselves down, and dropped at once into sound sleep, were awakened and presented by the quartermaster's department with one half of a "hard tack" each. Most of the men were so irate that they would not deign to eat it, but threw it away, needing rest more than the food, and quickly dropped into sound, refreshing sleep.

During the battle of Goldsboro, a train arrived within the lines of the enemy, containing re-enforcements, being packed full to overflowing with Confederates, and while still in rapid motion, was fired upon by the Union batteries, whose shot and shell created great damage, both to the men and the rolling stock of the Confederates. When a projectile struck the train the inmates were evidently panic-stricken and did not wait for the cars to stop, but piled out indiscriminately, one over the other, jumping off the car platforms aad some even forcing themselves through the car windows, so eager were they to get out of danger of the Yankee artillery missiles, evidently believing the old saying, "Everybody for himself and the devil take the hindermost." The scene was much enjoyed by all who had the fortune to witness it.

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On our return march after the battle of "Goldsboro Bridge," the army bivouacked one night near the scene of our first engagement in Kinston Swamp, and the following morning resumed our homeward march, passing very close to the site of the bridge over the Neuse which was burned, by our troops, after crossing it, the day following the battle. The news of the return of the Union Army and its close proximity to the town caused renewed consternation, amounting to a panic, among the few Confederate troops, the town people and Confederate sympathizers, who were in the town, as they expected the army would this time take permanent possession of Kinston. The column, however, kept on its way to New Berne, but this time avoided the round about way which they had previously travelled, and took the main direct road, which the enemy expected General Foster would follow on his outward march which was thoroughly fortified at one point with earth works for artillery, and rifle pits for infantry, all so concealed as to be practically an ambuscade, that they might surprise and entrap some of the regiments constituting the head of the column, and thereby carry dismay and possibly defeat to the entire army. General Foster was, however, too wary and able an officer to be caught in any such spider's web, as he had ascertained all these facts from his scouts. Here he brought his wonderful strategetical ability into play, to checkmate this plan of the Confederates--that same ability which had served him before, and continued to serve him while in his country's service. He abandoned the direct road to Kinston, taking a round about route, entailing many more miles of marching, in a somewhat different direction but still on a road, from which later on, by cross-roads, the expedition could reach Kinston and by so doing avoided one useless engagement, which would have resulted in a severe loss of life and perhaps defeat. Such was Foster's strategy that the enemy believed that he intended to force his way over the main road into their network of ambuscaded rifle pits and masked batteries. By making a feint in that direction with a small portion of his troops he kept the enemy from transferring his forces to any point which would interfere with, or cut off the Union Army from safely and peaceably reaching the outskirts of

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Kinston, and this farce he kept up until the main body of the Union Army was miles on its way and beyond molestation from that batch of the Confederate forces. These abandoned ambuscades and earth works we saw on this return march, passing them in the road where they were plainly exposed to view, and we all realized how formidable the enemy would have proved in these intrenchments had we fallen into the trap set for us.

As the Forty-Fifth approached the bridge over the Trent on its return march from the Goldsboro Expedition and came in sight of their camp grounds and barracks across the river, the regimental band struck up "Home Sweet Home." It is needless to say that every one of those tired, footsore and begrimed warriors was truly thankful to get back to his old quarters after that wearisome ten days march of privation and carnage, during which they had traveled about two hundred miles over loose sand roads, through muck and mire, forded streams, subsisted partly on raw sweet potatoes and raw peanuts, after the loss of the regimental stores, fought in battle strife, and had not once been under cover, save the canopy of heaven, slept on the frozen ground, wrapped in blankets during those cold December nights when the water in the canteens was frozen in the morning, and had to be thawed out over the camp fires, before the thirst could be appeased. During this time, of course, their clothing had not once been removed--when wet and saturated as it had been on more than one occasion, it had to dry on the men. Often there was no water to wash the face and hands, and such looking hands and faces, blackened by the greasy soot from the pitch-pine camp fires, and burning woods through which they had forced their way, after the Confederates had set fire to the turpentine forests to cut off their return--pores so filled with grime, that soap and water would not remove it, or aught but time. Can the reader wonder at their sincere thankfulness and satisfaction at reaching what was for the time being, home to them, where they could enjoy a bath, a change of clothing, cooked food, and a good night's rest under a "roof tree" with clothing removed.

Many prayers went up that night to God for loved ones far

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away, and thankfulness for their own preservation and safe return, for the men of the Forty-Fifth Regiment were generally of a religious trend of mind.

While the Cadet Regiment was composed almost entirely of Protestants we know that all will acknowledge the truth of the following quotation, and join in paying grateful tribute to the noble women therein referred to. Religion played no part with them in ministering to the sick and wounded. They did their full duty faithfully and well, to Protestant and Catholic alike. God bless these women! Surely they will have their reward in the other world, if not in this.

We know all will echo the following sentiment:

"To Mother Madeline and the Sisters of Mercy, who by their tender care and skilful nursing, lightened the pains and ennui of many a poor sufferer in the Stanley Hospital at New Berne, and who stood the only representative of mother, sisters and home, by the bedsides of our dying soldiers, we owe our earnest and sincere thanks."

They answer not at roll call! where gone and whither fled?
We query, and the answer comes, "They are thy honored dead"
They answer not at roll call! what, are they gone from earth?
And will no more their voices, join in our songs and mirth?
They answer not at roll call! when their names we here repeat
In vain among our number, we look, the loved to greet.
They answer not at roll call! they sleep, the good and brave,
While we at memory's altar, strew garlands o'er their grave.
They answer not at roll call! for now their spirits fled,
In silence, here we give, "Our loved and honored dead"
They answer not at roll call! nor will we meet them here,
But memory and friendship, will keep their spirits near.
They answer not at roll call! and broken is our line,
To night, let us in friendship, bright wreaths for them entwine,
And thus keep green the memories, of comrades gone before.
They'll answer not at roll call: we'll meet them here no more!