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MY first experience in Military Etiquette was quite a novel one, which I shall never forget, and happened in the following manner. Our regiment had been sworn in at Readville, and we came into Boston to listen to a public oration given in our honor. We were lined up on Boston Common, all "spick and span" in our new uniforms, waiting for the services to commence. The Governor was about to deliver his address, when it was discovered that Colonel Codman was absent. As luck would have it, I was despatched as an orderly to go to the Colonel's house, and inform him that everything was in readiness, and we were waiting for him. I proceeded on the "Double Quick" and soon arrived at the Colonel's home. Ringing the bell I inquired of the servant who opened the door if the Colonel was in, and being answered in the affirmative, removed my cap as I entered. As I was shown into the room where the Colonel was seated, I bowed most politely. The Colonel looked at me very sternly for a little while and then gave me the following advice, for my future guidance: -- "A Soldier never takes his cap off, but salutes in the following manner:" -- (giving me the salute, which I returned, after hurriedly adjusting my cap.) I thanked him as well as my confusion permitted. He then inquired the nature of my visit, which I briefly stated. "All right," he answered, "report back to your company. I will be there about the same time you will." We saluted each other, and then parted, and I returned to my company a wiser soldier.

"Now, men, we are going in to face the Enemy; the first man

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I see running away, I will be a worse Enemy to him than to any in front." Colonel Codman rode up and down on horseback as he issued these orders to the 45th Massachusetts, as we were lined up for our first engagement at Kinston, N. C., December 14th, 1862 "We were all more or less frightened" writes C. S. Pike," "and had there been a favorable opportunity to run without anybody seeing me, I would be running yet." Orders were issued to "Forward March!" and we proceeded on our way. The fighting had already commenced, and the shots, only a little in advance, could be distinctly heard. On our way we met two men carrying a wounded soldier of the gallant 9th New Jersey, and the sight of his bloody appearance gave me a creepy feeling down my back.

Our regiment advancing, must have cheered the poor fellow, for as we passed, his face lighted up with a smile, and he shouted, "Go in boys, and give them--." And we determined after that, to go in, and come what might, we would be prepared for it. As we reached the firing line, we were ordered to lie down, in order to avoid the enemy's fire. The "Johnnies" were invisible, but from the number of shots fired, and the way they picked us, there must have been quite a lot of them. Directly in front of us were clumps of hedges and bushes, and from behind these we were firing across a road, on the other side of which were more trees and bushes. Wherever we saw a puff of smoke, or the head of a "Johnnie" we fired, and after a few shots we got right down to business. Nothing daunted the "rebs" returned our fire, with interest. We had been fighting for some time, when suddenly from the rear, a loud shout was heard, and Lieut. Alfred Winsor and fifteen or twenty men jumped out to the road to close in on the "Johnnies." What a sight met our eyes! There were the "Johnnies" behind a rail fence popping away at us from all sides.

An old house, somewhat back from the line was lined with "rebs." From behind the chimney they were shooting down at us.

In the excitement Lieut. Winsor lost his revolver, and a shot struck the end of my cartridge box, and bent the brass letters, "U. S." Lieut. Winsor, seeing the hopelessness of the situation

[image: Edmund F. Partridge, Co. I]

[image: Corp. George L. Haines, Co. D]

[image: Walter M. Fisher, Co. C]

[image: Charles S. Pike, Co. H]

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ordered, "About face," "double quick, march!" -- You may be sure his orders were promptly obeyed. We lost quite a number of men that day, and from that time on, we considered ourselves well seasoned soldiers.

Company H had received orders to detail several men for picket duty -- while the regiment was located at Camp Amory on the Trent, and I happened to be one of those selected for that duty. I was stationed next to the outer picket. This was my first experience. We took turns and all went well, until my turn came. I had been on duty but a short time when, all of a sudden, the outer guard fired his gun.

No sooner had the men who were with me heard the report, than they all made for a big tree, leaving me all alone.

It was up to me to fire my gun, also, so as to give the alarm, which I accordingly did. It is not the most pleasant feeling in the world, to be alone at night on guard, knowing that something was amiss, and expecting any moment to be shot down by a bullet from the "rebs." I don't think I ever reloaded my gun quicker than I did that night. I was certainly scared, but I knew I had to wait there, until the Officer of the Guard arrived. In a few moments I saw a man approaching, and shouted to him. "Halt, who comes there?" -- "The Officer of the Day with the Countersign," he answered. "Advance and give the Countersign" which he did, to my great relief. He then enquired the cause of the trouble, and upon my informing him, that it was at the outer picket post, he proceeded to investigate. Returning afterwards he reported everything O. K. The outer picket had fired at a boat going up the river. The alarm caused quite a commotion in our camp across the river. In their hurry many of the men turned out, minus hats, coats and shoes, while some even forgot their guns.

The Color Sergeant of Company H was one of those rare men whom we meet once in a lifetime.

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He rarely thought of himself, but always of others. On the march, and when facing the enemy, he would assist others, either with a helping hand, or with some timely fatherly advice. Theodore Parkman, of Newton, Massachusetts, was the son of a clergyman, and surely no son ever followed more closely in his father's footsteps, than did our beloved Color Sergeant.

In the evening, in the camp, after "Dress Parade," and after the bloody battle of Kinston, he would gather the men of his Company around him, and speak of things that made us all better and nobler men. But his good work was suddenly cut short, on that sad day at Whitehall, N. C., December 16th, 1862, when we were supporting a battery in that fight. All of us in Company H, and also every man in the Forty-Fifth deeply mourned his loss, for he was one of the best and noblest men in the regiment.

We were guarding the baggage wagons at Goldsboro', N. C., December 17, 1862, and simultaneously eating that delicious substance known as "hard tack," while our battery was some distance ahead, giving it hot and heavy to the "rebels."

Soon the word came in that our battery was victorious, and had utterly routed the "rebs." Our bandmen, who had halted near us, were regaling themselves with liberal helpings of "hard tack" and when they heard the good news,they started in to play the "Star Spangled Banner." The music had progressed but a little ways when we noticed several musicians blowing very strenuously, without producing any sound. Others put their eyes to the mouth piece hoping to locate the trouble, and giving a parting blow, stopped. Finally the whole band had to give up, amid roaring laughter on all sides.

The rest of us knew what the trouble was, the men had their mouths full of hard tack, and we gave the band cheer after cheer. Never before was the "Star Spangled Banner" so fitfully rendered, and thereafter the bandmen took great care to remove all particles of food from their mouths before rendering any music.

We had a very difficult and disagreeable march on the

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28th day of April 1863, when orders were issued to go out and demolish some earthworks which the "Johnnies" had erected up the Neuse River.

We marched along the railroad track, and it commenced to rain, as I never saw it rain before. It came down by bucketfulls, and it seemed the farther we marched, the harder it rained, until we were actually wading in water. But we had to keep on marching, and the water grew deeper and deeper. Imagine pushing your way through water, waist deep, with a gun, 100 rounds of cartridges, a blanket, and raining pitchforks, and you will have some idea of how we marched that day.

We had 40 rounds in our Cartridge boxes, and 60 rounds in our blouse pockets. When we examined our ammunition we found what we had in our cartridge boxes was all right, while that in our blouse pockets were minus the powder, it had all been washed away. We approached the earthworks, with a great deal of circumspection, and the "Johnnies" after the exchange of a few volleys had given us leg bail -- It may be stated that Company H took the "Johnnies" departure all in good part, not one of us swearing or using any emphatic language. Our Company H was the Color Company, and the next day being May Day, it occurred to me that it would be a good idea to make a wreath for our flag. Accordingly on our way back from the capture of the earthworks I gathered a bunch of wild flowers, to be used the next day in decorating the flag. We marched nearly all that night, halting at one o'clock in the morning, when we went into bivouac and slept until daylight. When I got up in the morning my tent mate looked at me in a surprising manner, and asked me if I felt sick. "I told him that I never felt better" -- "Why, my good fellow," he exclaimed, "you have the small pox" When the Surgeon examined me, he pronounced it "measles" caused by our nautical march of the previous day. -- Measles or no measles, I was determined to make the wreath, and placing the flowers beside me on the ground, I sat on a low stump and commenced the wreath. When about half way through I fell over unconscious. In this state they found me, and I was transported in a platform car, to Newberne, a rubber blanket thrown over me. The Flag

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got no decoration on that day. I had all the decoration on my face, besides a two week's stay in the Hospital.

Charles S. Pike of Company H.

Benson J. Lossing, the historian, who visited Fort Macon in 1864, tells us that the fort was built of brick and stone, and named in honor of Nathaniel Macon, a distinguished statesman of North Carolina. Built for defence against a foreign foe, its principal strength in masonry and guns, was toward the sea, and it perfectly commanded the narrow ship channel at the entrance to the harbor.

The Confederate flag that was displaced by the National banner was made of the old United States flag, that was over the fort when the insurgents seized it, a few months previous. The red and white stripes had been ripped apart, and then put together so as to form the broad bars of the Confederate flag. The superfluous stars had been cut out, and the holes thus made, were left.

From the reports of General Burnside and Commodore Lockwood, we are informed, that, "the troops of the garrison were held as prisoners of war on parole until duly exchanged, the number being about five hundred. The officers were allowed to retain their side arms; and both officers and men had the privilege of saving their private effects. In this conflict the Nationals lost only one man killed, and two wounded. The Confederates lost seven killed and eighteen wounded. The fruits for the victor were the important fort; the command of Beaufort harbor; twenty thousand pounds of powder; one hundred and fifty 10-inch shells; two hundred and fifty 32-pound shot; one hundred and fifty 8-inch shot, and four hundred stand of arms."

"The Confederate commander of Fort Macon, at the time of its capitulation, was Colonel Moses T. White, a nephew of Jefferson Davis, who declared he would not yield until he had eaten his last biscuit and slain his last horse"

Our company was detached from the regiment and assigned to duty at Fort Macon, North Carolina. We were drilled in heavy

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artillery and soon became expert shots. We were quartered in the casemates of the fort and felt quite secure as we laid down at night. We had charge of about forty criminals, some with ball and chain. Others had more freedom, but were obliged to saw all the wood that was burned in the casemates. We were very fond of oysters, and could go out any time and get all that we wanted and I tell you, comrades, they tasted good. Once in a while there would come a high south wind, and if there were any blackfish that were after their dinner, and they got a good school of fish between them and the shore, they would drive them in, in a big wave, and the school of fish would be thrown high and dry upon the beach, and I have seen at least five hundred barrels of fish left there by the receding wave, and sometimes eight or ten blackfish. These latter were from ten to fifteen feet long and weighing from one thousand to fifteen hundred pounds. Whenever this happened and the boys in the fort found it out, they would hitch up a pair of mules and haul in fish enough for five hundred men.

We used to go up the island hunting ducks, when we came off guard and could get a pass. The island was about fifteen miles long and only one family lived there, whose name was Wade, the family consisting of Mr. and Mrs. Wade, two daughters and one son. We used to like to call on them, when out on our strolls, and get them to cook us a hoe cake in the ashes of the fire place. They were not much like our New England girls for they were "snuff dippers" and would sit with their snuff sticks in their mouths, and in their hair plenty of live stock, but as long as the hoe cake was free from such pests we did not mind. Bacon and duck's eggs and hoe cake was a fine dinner in those days, after a tramp of six miles to the house.

We had the time of our lives in old Fort Macon. The officers used to go through the quarters after "taps" (9 o'clock) and all the lights were out. We always had a good big fire in our fire places, and just before 9 o'clock the boys would put on lots of pine wood, so that when "taps" sounded we had a good bright light in the casemates from those resinous pine logs. The officers on duty would come around again and make a great

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fuss because there was so much light. We got tired of their complaining and decided to give them all that was coming to them, so we got together all the old turnips, potatoes, cabbages, cast off stockings, etc., and these we wet, and when a good dark night came and everything was ready we threw on a lot of wood just before "taps," and it was not long before the officers came in and said "we want these casemates dark," and they put the fires out with pails of water and when they thought they had accomplished their object and had given us a good reprimand and were ready to leave, at a given signal, they got it from all quarters of the room. All our implements, prepared for the occasion, were hurled at them, and a madder set of men than those officers, no one ever saw. They swore they would have every one of us in the casemates court-martialled but finally concluded to do nothing about it. After that no officer ever came in to put out our fires. They gave us a wide berth in that respect and from that time on we had all the light we wanted.

We used to watch for the mail steamer that came from the North twice a week, and as it passed by the fort we felt well assured it had many welcome letters from home for us. Then we had the boxes from our families and friends, filled solid full with good things for our comfort. Beaufort is just across the bay and I used to go over there in the middle of the winter, when everything in the North was covered with snow and ice, but in Beaufort the flowers in bloom, and the leaves on the trees all green. The residents there all used white sand on their floors. I was often stationed on picket up the island. Once while lying in a bough tent, with cedar leaves for a bed on the ground, I thought I heard a peculiar rush under my head. On investigation I found three copperhead snakes just keeping warm and they appeared to be enjoying themselves. Had they bitten us, we would have been dead in five minutes.

In the fort we had a baker who made a big batch of the nicest gingerbread, once a week. He had no trouble in selling it quickly at 25 cents a pound, and every comrade of Company I will testify that it was very good.

Target practice with the big guns was often indulged in.

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One occasion of this kind I distinctly remember, as it concerned our washerwoman, who, by the way was a man. He had his line of clothes out to dry and that day we were firing shells. They cut the fuse too short, and they burst soon after leaving the cannon, and the guns being depressed too much, the clothes on the line were all cut to pieces. More than that the shells put an untimely end to two mules and five hogs, that were quietly feeding on the grass plot.

We were glad when our term of service nearly expired and we joined the rest of the regiment at New Berne preparatory to leaving for home.

Private D. W. Fisher of Company I.

Early in August, 1862, E. J. Minot, afterwards captain, was authorized to recruit a company for the Forty-Fifth Regiment. Men were enlisted from Boston and surrounding towns, Franklin's entire quota of (38) thirty-eight men, under Lincoln's call for nine months' men, including Lieutenant L. R. Whitaker, forming a part of this Company.

At a meeting of the recruits and citizens in the Old Town Hall at Franklin a few days before going into camp at Readville, Rev. William M. Thayer, the author and temperance lecturer, in closing his remarks to the recruits, requested all who wished, to come forward and take the temperance pledge before going away; it is needless to say, all signed; and so far as the writer remembers, it was faithfully kept.

Early in September, we went to camp at Readville with nearly full ranks, the third company to arrive, each man carrying his own blanket, as it was impossible for the government to furnish blankets as fast as they were required at that time.

Company C was the Color Company, and held that position at all times when with the Regiment. While in camp on the Trent river, early in December, "C" was detailed for Provost Duty at Morehead City. The first days of duty then were far from pleasant; the weather extremely cold, we had neither barracks nor

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tents but later secured a building formerly used for school room. By building bunks around the wall, and with plenty of wood in the open fire place we managed to keep comfortable, but duty here was both hard and exacting. We covered the whole peninsular above the village to the boat landing a mile below. In January we returned to the camp on the Trent in season to go on the Trenton expedition, and get our full share of the Mud March on the return.

At Cove Creek "C" skirmished on both sides of the railroad until the enemy's camp and breast works were located beyond the Dover Road; holding their pickets until the Brigade came up late in the afternoon.

Nearly one-half of "C" men responded to the call to quell the draft riots in Boston, in July, 1863.

Walter M. Fisher of Company C.

Sometime after the war, I was talking with Rev. Dr. A. L. Stone, the chaplain of our Regiment, and the conversation turned upon the efficiency of the Band as an Ambulance Corps, when he related the following incident out of his army experience. He said, "While the Regiment was under very heavy fire in one of the battles of the Goldsboro Expedition, I went onto the ground, with a stretcher carried by Myron W. Whitney and another comrade and I said, 'Is not this fearful, Mr. Whitney?"'

His quiet answer was one of the best practical lessons in simple Christianity that I ever received, "Is not God here, as much as anywhere, Dr. Stone?"

Henry G. Wheelock, Sergeant-Major.

Many incidents come to mind as I recall my army experience in North Carolina. One night I was doing picket duty on the banks of the old Trent river. The night was very dark and I was ordered to keep a sharp lookout for anything moving.

[image: Charles T. Carret]

[image: Edmund B. Johnson]

[image: Welcome J. Johnson]

[image: Hervey S. Johnson]

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About 1 o'clock in the morning I heard a slight noise, and challenged twice, and receiving no answer took good aim and fired. This, of course, turned out the whole guard. Upon investigation it was found I had shot a cow. My aim was good for I had hit her in a vital spot. The boys had a good laugh over it, but I thought of the result, had it been a "Johnny reb."

Albert L. Wheeler, Company D.

The first member of the Forty-Fifth Regiment to fall in battle was Private Clarence Bassett of Company D.

He was killed by a shell from a Union Battery, which was shelling the Confederate position. The Forty-Fifth was, at the time, marching by the flank, a short distance inside the edge of the woods, to get into position for the advance against the enemy. The battery was firing over the regiment and one of the guns, not having the muzzle sufficiently elevated, the shell struck a large tree and its course was turned so that it passed through the ranks of Company D, striking Bassett's head and killing him instantly. The writer was just in front of Comrade Bassett, and distinctly remembers this event

By the same shell that killed Bassett the other three men in the file, Corporal Nye, and Privates Edward P. Jackson and Thomas L. Mercer, were all knocked insensible and slightly wounded, but soon recovered.

It has always been the writer's recollection, that the shell struck the tree under a large limb, and this was what caused its deflection, as otherwise it would have passed over our heads. A comrade of our Regiment with whom I have talked regarding the incident, says that the shell struck the side of the tree and not under a limb. So do recollections of a forty-five year old event differ!

C. T. Carret, of Company D.

Our Regiment was doing Provost Duty in New Berne and I was stationed at General Foster's Headquarters.

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He and his staff came out, and I saluted them with "Present Arms" and they all returned the salute, General Foster by taking off his cap. At the same time there was a Captain of a company passing along on horseback, and I saluted him, but he did not return the salute.

General Foster approached me again, and I thought he was going to keep me busy, but he raised his cap, and remarked, "Never mind the salute, Sentry, but if that officer passes you twenty times, do not salute him, and if there is any trouble report to me."

E. W. Childs, of Company D.

Lieutenant Samuel Thaxter was First Lieutenant of Company D. One day he was drilling the company and dressing up the line, and gave the command, "In there on the right," but as the line didn't straighten to suit him he walked up and punched Chipman and said, "Stick your belly in." Chipman replied, "It wont go in, Lieutenant, it's natural." He turned his back to the Company and was convulsed with laughter for several minutes, before he could continue the drill. He was a good officer, a brave man and beloved by all his Company. I understand that he has passed to the Great Beyond. Peace be to his ashes!

Hunger forgets fatigue. The night before the Battle of Whitehall, when we went into bivouac, Tom and I were out after rails to build a fire, and on nearing camp, I said to Tom, as we were passing through a thicket, "Tom, if an old sheep was to come out here, I don't believe I could run for it, hungry as I am." Hardly had the words passed my lips, before an old ram came out, and I no sooner spied him, before the rails were dropped, and I chased Mr. Ram. I made good time, but could not quite reach him with knife in hand. On my return to the bivouac, Tom was rolling on the ground, laughing and kicking up his heels, and said, "I thought you said you couldn't run, but "Chip" you made good time."

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On the voyage from Boston to Morehead City there was a certain member of Company D, who had been very seasick, and one afternoon as he stood on the bow of the old Mississippi, he looked off at our consort, the gunboat Huron, and exclaimed, "Godfrey Mighty, how she pitches." After that he was always called, "Godfrey Mighty."

A sad memory which clings to me to this day. After the battle was over at Kinston, I had permission to go back to the field and search for my blankets, and in my walk I saw what I supposed, was a wounded comrade, seated with his back to a stump, and as I drew near I saw that he held a pencil in one hand and paper in the other, and just as he had written, "Write Mother," death had called him home. He had answered the last "roll call" with that dear name, "Mother," on his lips.

H. Chipman, of Company D.

The feast, the flow, the papers, the music, the Roll Call, the familiar faces, grasping each other by the hand, the heart, the brain! A night of cherished memories, when oblivion seeks the sunlight of contact to unfold its glittering mantle around the circle of the chosen few! One man will not answer to the Roll Call. Our esteemed comrade Levi D. Jones is gathered in the harvest. His good nature, his welcome presence, his convictions for the right, will be for us the best tribute for his eternal welfare. A New Hampshire man, he had much to encounter to gain a livelihood from its sterile soil.

History may never reveal what this "Mud March" had to do with breaking the spinal column of the Rebellion. The now silent Generals, Foster and Amory, are not here to relate to us how the burning of a little bridge on the upper Trent, and another at Onslow Court House, became the entering wedge for the destruction of Southern aspirations. That a brigade of infantry

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and a squad of cavalry under General Amory performed this heroic task, we are here to bear witness. Pollocksville does not cover much space in Johnson's Encyclopedia. It locates it in Jones County, with a population of 1263. Trenton is put down as the capital of Jones County, with a population of 814. While this information may be reliable, at this remote period it does not occur to us that Trenton boasted of a Capitol building. It may be that in the evacuation the people took it away with them. We remember the Post Office, and our distribution of the mail, and the saw-mill, whose departing usefulness was cut short by the torch of the invader. Pollocksville did not strike the Grand Army as being a point of great business expectations. The town clerk was unfortunately absent, and could not enlighten us as to its future prospects. We found a circular in which the writer boasted that Pollocksville was an educational centre. The college grounds were well set with royal hard pines. Whatever may have been the exercises of the day, the classes in Algebra, Chemistry and Mental Gunnery had put their heads together in rapid retreat. A redeeming feature in this march was the release of many of the blacks, who with their kith and kin made a break for cover under the wings of the Union Eagle.

Much has been said and written of the importance of the contraband exit from the South during the conflict. The list shows many bright examples who are doing good work today. The color line is best defined by those who treat them for a mind. The simple color of the skin has naught to do with what's within. The impressive point of this description as put out by Stacey's postal, had its inception at Young's Cross Roads entitled the "Mud March." This is a subject which had a direct application to our soles.

The Government records may not sustain the committee in announcing this title, but the Secretary of War would bear us out in the assertion, that under adverse circumstances, it is one thing to put your foot down and another to take it up from the place where you locate it. Another strong point is whether you have a foot, or a foot and a half to deal with. This may be like unto an example in Euclid, that the broader the sole, the greater

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the contact. The will power is under complete subjection when you plant yourself in a mud hole, your standpoint is obliterated. "In place, Rest!"

A night of discomfort, wherein our upright and downright condition, our corporeal declivities were well afloat under the perspiring forces of a North Carolina thunder storm. As we emerged from the crisis in the morning, we had the satisfaction of being thoroughly enrolled as members of the Cold Water Army. Well, we were making history for our country, when in the last agonies of the sub-soil explorations.

MacAdam and his family never got the benefit of a contract for laying stone cubes on that eighteen miles of road that landed us on the Trent at New Berne, that Saturday evening. In the language of Mrs. Bedotte--"we were all poor critters"--seeking glorious renown for an undivided Union. The Government has not yet awarded the full measure of praise for sacrifices made by this adventure into Jones County.

The death of George Brooks was hastened by this rough work, and other good and true men were made sick and lame. The records of the war are full of poorly planned movements by the Northern Army--ambition to accomplish without power to execute, put more men under the turf than were killed in actual conflict. Nations may yet learn how to subdue each other by arbitration, rather than by force of arms.

When that day arrives, the voice of nature can sing anthems of joy, and standing armies can plant their banners on the thresh-old of good fellowship. Then the reapers and the gleaners will be ten-fold bending the strong right arms.

Gardner Gilman, of Company A.

A tribute to a worthy comrade of the Forty-Fifth, who has answered to the last "Roll Call."

Lieutenant John G. Tilden was a member of Company G and served his term as a member of the Forty-Fifth with honor.

He entered the navy as a boy, becoming an apprentice at the Charlestown Navy Yard. Such famous men as Rear-Admiral

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Hichborn, Webb, Hart and Wilson, began their careers in this manner. Rear-Admiral Hichborn, who started in this service with Lieutenant Tilden, was his cousin, and has attained worldwide celebrity as a naval constructor.

Previous to the Civil War, Mr. Tilden worked among other ships, on the Merrimac, the famous iron ship of the South, whose contest with the Monitor will ever be memorable, also on Farragut's flag ship, the Hartford, both of which were under construction at the Charlestown Yard.

When the call came for nine months' men, Mr. Tilden enlisted and went to the front with the Forty-Fifth (Cadet) Regiment.

When hostilities ended he returned to Charlestown and was appointed a Carpenter in the navy with a warrant rank.

In the Spanish-American War he served on the Lancaster at the naval base at Key West, and also saw service on other ships.

Returning to Charlestown he was promoted to chief Carpenter, ranking with ensigns, but after them. After retiring from the Spanish-American War, Lieutenant Tilden had charge of the big scales at the Charlestown Navy Yard, and was noted for his kindness and attention to visitors to the Yard, his vast fund of information being freely drawn upon for their benefit.

He reached the age for retirement February 18th, 1902, and would have left the active service then, but was continued on duty at the local yard as the result of a special request made by the commandant of the station and other high ranking officers, a most unusual honor.

While attending to his duties at the Yard in the summer of 1906, he was prostrated with the heat and taken to the United States Naval Hospital at Chelsea, and it was because of this illness and at his request, that he was retired. He was a past commander of Abraham Lincoln Post G.A.R. of Charlestown. A hero of two wars, he was also a member of the Loyal Legion of the United States, the highest honor which American fighting men can attain. He supervised the laying of the keel of the

[image: Albert D. Nason, Co. C]

[image: Albert W. Mann, 1862, 21 years old]

[image: Nathan Warren, Co. G]

[image: William H. Becket, Co. A]

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Olympia, Dewey's flag ship at Manila. Just as he went on to the retired list the ship went into the reserve squadron at Norfolk.

Robert W. Storer, of Company G.

Just before we went into the swamp at Kinston, I was sitting next to Lieutenant Pond eating persimmons, while he was writing in a memorandum book. After we got through the swamp and before the charge was made on the bridge, I was next to him on the front line and at that point we were five and six deep. He was always cool and cheerful. One of our men behind us, must have been very nervous for he came within an inch of shooting him. He was stuug by the powder. As we filed into the woods on the right of the road, we passed in front of the fire of Belger's Rhode Island Battery. One discharge killed a man in Company D, just in front of us, and two in Company K, just behind us. As we were going through the swamp I happened to get a little ahead of the line and Captain Denny asked me if I could see anything of the "rebs" and just then I caught my first view of them. Our cook Davenport was ahead of me at that time without a gun, and feeling very happy. Elbridge Graves was next to me when he received his fatal wound. After we got through the swamp and on high ground, we were moved to the right. That move saved our regiment from the severe loss which came upon the Tenth Connecticut. Our two regiments became greatly mixed up. A man of the Tenth Connecticut and myself fired at the same time and he was shot through the head. That made two men killed next to me. Some of our boys, who saw the man fall, thought it was myself.

When we were at Cove Creek before we charged the breastworks, at the junction of the road and railroad, a funny incident happened. Some one had captured an old man who lived in the house over on the left of the railroad. Colonel Codman, with revolver in hand, was asking him questions, and particularly wanted to know if there was a cannon mounted at the breastworks just ahead of us. This was an important thing for Company A to know, as we carried the colors that day, and were to

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charge up that single-track railroad bed. Just then one of Company A's men came along. He had captured a long-handled iron spider, which he was very anxious to put to use. Leaning over the colonel's shoulder, he said very earnestly, "Say, old man, have you any corn meal over at your house?" He wanted to fight on a full stomach. I saw Lieutenant-Colonel Peabody under quite a heavy fire, sitting on a stump of a tree, smoking a cigar, and as cool as he would be watching the bathers at Atlantic City.

Chaplain Stone was also a cool and brave man. When one of our officers was wounded in the shoulder at the battle of Whitehall, he went on to the field and helped him off."

Henry S. Bliss, of Company A.

We were in Camp Amory on the Trent. It was "Thanksgiving Day." At about 11 A. M. the regiment was drawn up in form of a hollow square, and a sermon was preached by Chaplain A. L. Stone. It was not a sunny day, the barren sands of the parade grounds did not add cheer to the occasion, and as Dr. Stone in his inimitable manner led our thoughts to the old homestead and vividly pictured in imagination our approach to the parental dwelling, the joy of the first glimpse of the dearest spot on earth, the walk along the road, the opening of the front gate, the walk to the front door, the greetings of father, mother, sister and brother, well it was almost too much for us, and we turned away towards our barracks with a prospect of salt horse and hard tack for our Thanksgiving dinner in a mood which is not easy to describe.

It being a sort of holiday, a happy thought suggested a tramp outside the lines and up the Neuse River. Securing a pass a little group of some half a dozen armed only with our pass and pocket pistol or two, sallied forth into the unknown country. The white population in the region traversed had left for parts unknown, but the colored people still remained occupying their old quarters while "massa's" house was deserted.

After a tramp of several miles we came upon one of these

[image: Sergt. William H. Ward, Company K]

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plantations, and made exploration. We talked freely with the colored man who seemed to be in charge, told him we were out for a walk up the river, and asked if he could get us up a dinner, and if so what he had for food. He replied he could cook some fish, make a hoecake and furnish a few other viands. We asked about the fish, how he cooked them, etc. He replied, "They is good fried, but they is rather lovelier stewed." We ordered the fish cooked the "lovelier" way, and appointing an hour when we would return for dinner, pursued our explorations up the river. When we arrived back at the appointed hour he was ready and we sat down to our Thanksgiving dinner.

We had hardly seated ourselves around the table spread with all the good things he could provide, when he stepped up to the table and said, "Now gentlemen, this is the Lord's Thanksgiving Day and some of you must say "Grace," or have it said for you."

One of our party responded and asked him to say grace. He folded his hands, turned his face heavenward, and in simple, appropriate, eloquent and reverent manner acknowledged the Almighty as the Giver of all good things, and gracefully implored the divine blessing on both the food and the guests.

So we had that day both a Thanksgiving Day sermon and a Thanksgiving dinner--all quite in contrast with the usual experience in camp and field.

I recall a little incident of Comrade Ames at Gum Swamp. He was shot in that fight, the ball entering his cheek and coming out through the back of his head.

He was near me when he fell and I went to his relief, bound my handkerchief around the wounded head, called for a stretcher and sent him to the rear, never daring to hope that he would reach home.

He was taken to the hospital at New Berne, and after a time discharged and sent to his home in Newton. His recovery was complete, except that he lost control of the eye above the wound. It was said that when he attempted to close the eye it

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would turn up. His case was somewhat similar to one which occurred in Vermont many years since. A quarryman had a steel drill, two or three feet in length, shot up under his chin, and out at the top of his head, and recovered and lived for several years.

The following item was taken from a copy of a newspaper, called the New Berne Progress, published before the capture of the town by the Federals.

"Negroes assembling in different parts of the town on the Sabbath to preach or hold prayer meetings or for any other purpose, is in violation of the Acts of the General Assembly and ordinances of the town, and injurious to their health, habits and morals."

Sergeant William H. Ward, of Company K.

1. A NIGHT'S FROLIC IN THE READVILLE BARRACKS.

The boys will probably remember the little "circus" held in the barracks one night, which started from one of the boys wanting a window open, and another wanting it shut, this alternating open and shut business finally awoke most of the other boys, who decided to take a hand in the controversy, by pelting the original contestant, with bread, apples, junks of meat, or anything that came nearest to hand, which continued until the orderly threatened to report to the captain, and then the fun redoubled, one of the sergeants going along in his stocking feet to see who the offenders were, was hit on the side of the head with a half loaf of bread. This proving too much for his dignity, the captain was called in and lamps were lighted, but every private was sound asleep. The captain awoke us, however, after some trouble and informed us that any man caught throwing anything would be punished, and after this little speech he put out the

[image: Corp. Freeman H. Lothrop, Co. D]

[image: Sergt. Henry M. Bond, Co. B]

[image: Sergt. Charles E. C. Breck Co. B]

[image: Sergt. Frederick Dexter, Co. B]

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lights and returned to his quarters. The door had hardly shut on him, when a stone accidentally rolled itself from one end of the barracks to the other and one of the lamps concluded to break, and a variety of material, in quantity about a peck, was suddenly attracted towards the corner occupied by the sergeants. The captain was called in, and every man, except one, who was sick, was turned out and formed into line and an effort made to find out who created the disturbance, but being so suddenly (?) awakened out of a sound sleep, no one could tell, or seemed to know anything about the trouble anyway. Then we were drilled for two hours by moonlight to wake us up. The other companies found out what was up and came out to view the parade

While we were being drilled, the sergeants searched all the bunks, but could not find anything, only in one bunk, and the occupant would have been put in the guard house, had not the other boys all sworn that they knew he had not thrown anything. When the officers were tired of drilling us, we were marched to our barracks, and allowed to resume our sleep which had been so rudely disturbed.

2. ON BOARD THE TRANSPORT MISSISSIPPI IN BOSTON HARBOR, NOVEMBER, 1862.

The surgeon-general and some other doctors came down today (November 9) to examine our "pig pen." We don't know the result, but hope it will be something in our favor.

The officers' horses are most all sick. Major Sturgis' black horse is very sick. They took him out of his stall and rubbed him and worked over him a long time, but it did no good. When the tug boat came alongside they lowered him down on to it, and sent him up to Boston.

As soon as the tug boat started from the ship he got up and whinnied, he got better as soon as he was clear of the ship. We would do the same. Quartermaster McKim was on board the tug boat. The colonel invited him to come on board the steamer, but he declined.

The boys on board the Merrimac did not use him very well

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when he was there and he would not trust himself aboard our ship. It was lucky for him that he did not. The boys on the Merrimac pelted him with bread, pieces of salt junk and everything they could get hold of, one piece of meat striking him in the face. I understand that Colonel Codman in his conversation with McKim used some very emphatic language, telling him he wouldn't put a thousand hogs where he had put his fine men. He wanted him to land us on Long Island, or carry us back to Boston, until they got ready to start, but he would not. He stumped him to come on board, but he didn't dare to leave the tugboat. I think our boys would have thrown him overboard if he had come and I think he thought so too.

It has stormed ever since we have been down here, the sea has been very rough, and most of the boys have been seasick. The colonel paces his stateroom half the time when he is in it. When he is on deck he looks as cheerful as he can, but we can see he is uneasy and blue. He is afraid we will all be sick and die if we stay here much longer. He is doing all he can for us but as he is situated, cannot do much. He can't get ashore any more than we can. He ordered Captain Baxter to pull up anchor and go to Boston, but it was of no use, the captain could not do it without McKim's orders. Our quarters are at the bottom of the steamer's hold and are very dark, being lighted by only six lanterns for five hundred men.

3. FORAGING ON THE MARCH.

On the day after the battle of Kinston, on the march to Whitehall, our company halted at noon opposite a house, which, like many of the Southern houses, stood quite a distance back from the road. Visions of side meat, chickens and honey floated before our eyes, and a rush was made up the lane. The milk pans in the dairy were soon emptied, and the smoke house cleaned out, then the chase for chickens commenced, and, as was usually the case, they ran under the house for protection. But our boys were soon under there, too, when, lo, the freshly-stirred earth attracted their attention, and suggested buried treasures. Out

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came the tin plates, and soon the earth was removed, and exposed kegs, which were soon rolled out, and the heads knocked in, and revealed what? Gold? Gunpowder? No--"Apple Jack" and "Peach Brandy!" Canteens were filled, and then the empty cans were filled and taken down to the company in the road, and other canteens were filled. The commotion caused by the sudden appearance of these fluids attracted the attention of the field officer, who rode rapidly up and a guard was at once put over the now almost empty kegs--but Company B did not get left that time. The exhilarating effects of that "apple jack" was such that two men of the company felt abundantly able to "lick" the entire Confederate Army--but, "who stole Barty's canteen" was not known for years after.

4. A KIND-HEARTED AND THOUGHTFUL OFFICER.

One afternoon Lieutenant Hollis had been drilling us and on coming back to quarters he formed us in line and ordered all those who used tobacco to step to the front; only about a half a dozen stepped out, the others, fearing some extra duty, or a knapsack drill for chewing tobacco, on "dress parade," or something of that sort, were much chagrined when those who had boldly stepped forward and had been ordered to the lieutenant's quarters, came out, each with a large hand of navy tobacco. He told them he knew they were out of tobacco, and out of money, and the company fund was where they could not get at it, so he had sent home for a box. The number of tobacco users in Company B suddenly increased, but the supply was sufficient to go round.

5. AN INCIDENT OF THE TRENTON MARCH.

One of the most ludicrous sights I ever saw was when we were leaving Trenton, the morning after we entered. That big, brawny stonecutter, Johnson of Company B, had looted a medical office and found a skeleton. He was marching off, the skeleton hanging over his shoulder, with a bayonet through his mouth

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and his heels clattering on the ground, while a big leather-bound volume, some work on medicine was under Johnson's arm, giving the impression that private Johnson was going to set up in business when he got back to New Berne.

6. AT DOVER CROSS ROADS.

In this fight one of the "Needham Quota" saw something moving in the bushes alongside the opening, just in front of us, and thinking the "Johnnies" were trying to get around on our flank, called the colonel's attention to it and requested permission to give it a shot. Permission was readily granted, and taking deliberate aim he fired. The shot went close to the mark, for, from one of the bushes started a yearling calf, which, thoroughly frightened and with tail erect, ran rapidly across the opening and between the fire of both sides to the shelter of the woods, his speed accelerated by the shouts that went up from the boys in blue.

It is a fact that in this fight our color bearer, little Sergeant Keating was too smart for the color bearer of one of the New York Regiments under General Palmer, for the colors of the Forty-Fifth were placed first on top of the earthworks, just as the New York color bearer was crossing the ditch. The New York regiment was a three years' regiment and had never been the first to mount their colors in any battle, and to have a nine months' militia regiment get ahead of them, was rather cutting.

After the "Johnnies" retreated we took possession, and staid there half an hour, then started back. General Palmer came riding up after it was all over and asked Colonel Codman what was best to do. The colonel told him he could do as he had a mind to, that he had routed the Rebels as he was ordered, and was now going back to camp General Palmer was within hearing of the fight all the time, but did not come up, so the Forty-Fifth got the credit of that job. General Palmer, evidently, wanted us to get "licked," then come up and take all the credit, but Colonel Codman was too smart for him.

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7. AN INCIDENT OF GUARD DUTY.

About twelve o'clock one night in February, two mounted men came to the bridge where I was stationed and wanted to pass. I would not let them. They said they would not be gone over twenty minutes, but I could not see it. Then they offered me some whiskey. I told them I did not drink. They said they thought every man in the army drank. I said it was bad enough for the officers to get drunk, without the privates drinking. They wanted to know if my officers drank. I told them some of them did. One of them asked if I would take a sergeant's berth if I could get it. I said, "No." Then he tried to hire me to let him pass. Said he wanted to see his girl, and started up his horse. I pricked him with my bayonet and ordered him to halt, or I would run him through. Told him no one could pass me except commissioned officers, or those who had passes signed by General Foster. He wanted to know how I could tell an officer in the dark. Told him I should make him dismount, if he was on horseback, as I could not see his shoulder straps unless he did so. Then he wanted me to see if he had a right to pass, and threw back his military cape, and you bet I was surprised when I saw the stars on his shoulder straps. I spotted his horse and let them pass. As soon as they were out of sight and hearing I whistled and called Higgins and Hersey, who were on guard near me and told them to look out for the horsemen for they were officers, and trying the guards and would soon be back. And they did come in half an hour but it was no go. When Captain Churchill came off duty the next morning he wanted to know who of the company guarded the bridge last night. I told him and he said it was lucky I did not let them pass, if I had, I would have been in the guard house before morning. He said it was Brigadier-General Palmer who was out trying the guards and complimented me highly for not letting them pass.

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Seabrook Island, S. C. or Stone Inlet, July, 1863.

Acting as Signal-Officer on staff of (late) Brigadier Thomas G Stevenson, formerly colonel of the Twenty-Fourth Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers, through his kindness I was permitted to see what happened in the following story:

He was in command of his brigade at that place to lead the land attack against Charleston, S. C., and was to co-operate with the Navy in their attack by water against Sumter, Moultrie and many other forts in Charleston harbor.

I will endeavor to name the Ironclads of the Monitor pattern: Patapsco, Captain Ammen; Nahant, Captain Downs; Montauk, Captain Fairfax; Catskill, Captain Rogers; Wehauken, Captain Beaumont, and one or two others.

I was invited by Captain Rogers to go to Port Royal. We left early in the morning on board the U. S. Despatch Boat Daffodil, formerly the Nellie Baker, that used to ply between Boston and Nahant.

When near Port Royal we spoke a tug boat which reported that the Navy had captured a Rebel ram, and we hastened to the scene and there she was at anchor.

As the story goes, out came the ram from the shore, with a small steamer accompanying the same, loaded with people and a band of music playing "Dixie," to see her ram the Navy boats

The Patapsco, Captain Ammen, and the Nahant, Captain Downs, were waiting for her. The ironclads slipped their anchors and opened fire on the ram, which paid no attention to their fire.

After several shots from the two Navy vessels, Captain Ammen of the Patapsco (which so far as I can learn had the only rifled cannon in the fleet, a six-inch in his turret, got in one shot over her after port hole and smashed her through. The ram surrendered, and the little steamer with her passengers went back, probably not feeling as happy as when they came out.

This ram was a Scotch vessel and was cut down to near the water line. On her deck was a turret made of 27-inch thick of live oak and two inches of railroad iron rolled about two inches thick from bow to stern and two inches up and down, making four inches thick of iron. She had two port holes on each side and one at the bow and stern, and her port covers were about four inches thick of iron and covered the port hole all over. I have never been able to find out the Rebel name of this craft, but on her bell was the name of Fingal.

As Captain Rogers and myself boarded her the officers and men had been taken off except the dead, and they were filled with splinters from the rifled ball from the Patapsco.

This ram had a bowsprit about twenty feet or more long and on the

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end was a torpedo or exploder containing a large amount of explosive, to be lowered under water and discharged from within the turret, the sprit to be raised or lowered when wanted.

The intention of the officers was to steam to Port Royal and not to pay any attention to the Navy ironclads and not to fire on them, but to proceed to Port Royal and blow up vessels with ordnance supplies, naval stores, etc., and do all the damage possible. Then to go to Charleston harbor and blow up the blockading squadron and thus command the harbor, so as to allow the blockade runners to come and go at their will, but they were mistaken in their strength and vanquished. After more than forty years I have been asked to write something for our book and I am able to recall this particular scene and day. Perhaps some Naval officer will be able to tell more about the occasion that I refer to, and I hope I have written nothing but what is as I saw it, except my Navy language, for this is written by a landsman, remember.

How well I remember Ammen, Fairfax, Beaumont, Downs, Rogers, Upshur and others; probably not one of these brave officers is living today, but living or dead, my kindest feelings go out to these brave men.

For what they were,
And what they dared to be,
Let them be remembered.

Edward B. Richardson, Late Lieutenant, Company A, Forty-Fifth Regiment, M. V. M., Acting Signal-Officer, Departments Eighteenth and Tenth Army Corps, North and South Carolina, U. S. A.

April 27th, 1863--Upon our arrival at Batchelder's Creek, our outer picket station, we found on the railroad track a monitor car, plated with iron, carrying two howitzers. It was manned by an officer and detail from our regiment, and placed in front of the engine.

It will be remembered that Company B, Captain Churchill and Company F., Captain Daland, were on the skirmish line that day, marching ten to twenty rods in advance of the column. These two companies took turns in leading, the company whose turn it was to lead, sending out eight or ten men, deployed on either side of the road to guard against surprise. I very distinctly remember marching ahead of the savage looking monitor

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car. We marched in the advance several miles that day, when the regiment halted and went into bivouac for the night. The two companies were ordered ahead as advanced picket guard, marching about two miles when we came to a camp, built of rails and covered with pine boughs, which the rebels had just left. This we made our headquarters and pickets were sent out from there. I remember being posted about twenty rods from this camp, with my brother, H. S. Johnson. When it came his turn to lie down and take a nap, there came one of those southern showers. The rain worked under his rubber blanket and he soon lay in a puddle of water.

While standing guard, I heard the limbs and dry boughs crack and break in the darkness, but couldn't tell whether the noise was made by men, pigs, or possum, but it was surely caused by something. At noon next day, the Forty-Fifth was reinforced by the Forty-Third Massachusetts and General Palmer had arrived with his command.

The column having come up, our two companies were again sent in the advance about fifteen to twenty rods, to guard against sudden attack, and soon came to a place where the rails had been entirely removed.

We passed several rebel picket posts, the enemy were gradually falling back--Company B, having led the advance for some time was fatigued and was relieved by Company F. We passed another picket post and came to a plantation of about forty acres, where was a house, corn-cribs and a shed.

Rebel cavalry had been seen crossing the railroad track and going into the woods on our left. The column came to a halt, Colonel Codman acting as Brigadier-General, and Major Sturgis, with field glasses came to the front to view the situation. Five men were seen to leave the house and walk obliquely towards the woods, on the left of the railroad. Captain Daland was ordered to send two files of men in pursuit, and detailed my brother H. S. Johnson, Frank Howe, James Chick and myself. We were in the extreme advance.

We had a long hard run after those men, part of it over ploughed ground, but gained on the rebels for such they proved

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to be. My brother ordered them to halt, which they refused to do. He then brought his gun to his shoulder, with "Halt, or I fire." This brought them to a stand. The writer being quick on his feet, ran on ahead about eight or ten rods, and captured the men. They said "we haven't done anything," I replied "If you haven't we won't harm you, but we want you to come with us." This ended the conversation.

As we passed the house refered to, my brother and I stopped to glance within. As we opened the door of an outside building we spied on a shelf near the door, "a stew and Indian dumplings." My brother had just grabbed a dumpling, when we heard firing from the rebel earthworks across the track. We waited for no more "dumplings," but hurried our prisoners to Colonel Codman, and then rejoined the "skirmish line."

Reinforced by Company E, on our left, we charged over nearly the same route where we had taken our prisoners, into a concealed earthwork, which was walled up as evenly as a cellar wall Inside at the left corner stood a wounded rebel, he couldn't step. Our colors were honored by many cheers, which were replied to by the rebel yell in the woods not far away! The roll was called inside the work, and then we started out to find the missing ones. One man, H. M. Putney of Company F, was found dead near the rail fence Corporal Richards of E, was wounded. The rebels could easily have killed, or made prisoners of our entire little squad, for when we were pursuing the two men, we passed directly under the guns of the garrisoned earthwork. Comrade L. P. Whitney of our company said he counted twelve rebel pickets run up the track, after we had passed the corn cribs, and thought it was all up for us. After awhile the house was examined and a place in the wall was found that could be taken down, in which was a record, showing that these men had been paid half a dozen times for shooting our pickets, receiving five or six dollars for each man killed. There is no doubt but that one of these men was a most desperate character. It was said that these men were afterwards taken into the woods, tried and shot. I hope it was not so. The earthwork having been taken and the enemy dispersed, we started back over the same route over which

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we had advanced, arriving at our old camp, after a long march, very much fatigued. None who participated in that march will ever forget it.

On April 30th, while in this camp we received a large kettle of baked beans, sent up by the Invalid Squad, left at Camp Massachusetts--and just at that time those beans were thoroughly appreciated. On our return to Camp Massachusetts the thought came to us, it mattered not how humble our position, we were in the service of our country, engaged in the greatest conflict between right and wrong the Western Hemisphere had ever experienced. I call to mind that when we fell into line the morning of April 27th, to go on that expedition, my friend Putney, who was killed, had a premonition of disaster to himself and dreaded to go on that march. He had always been ready for anything that might come up. He did not sham sickness, but was sad, feeling that he would never come back.

Welcome J. Johnson, of Company F.

I was in business in Nashua, N. H., and quite late one Saturday night I received a letter from a friend in Newton, telling me that he was going to enlist in a company which was being raised to complete the quota, and wanted me to come on and go with him I took an early train Sunday morning for Boston, and went out to Newton, found my friend and together we went to the recruiting office and enrolled ourselves for three years or the war. I found we numbered about eighty men, and there was to be a meeting in a public hall the next evening to complete the organization. I went back to Nashua Monday morning, settled my business, said goodbye to my friends and returned to Newton in time for the meeting.

When I reached the hall, I was surprised to find there was no meeting being held. I could not understand it, so hunted up one of the members of the company and asked him what it meant. He told me that Newton had purchased one hundred men from the town of Haverhill, and that we were not needed, as Newton's quota was now complete. I was thoroughly disappointed, and

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annoyed, and I told my companion that I should go to Boston early in the morning and enlist in the first Recruiting Office I could find. He said he would go with me. We together went to Boston and finding a Recruiting Office on School Street went in and put our names on the roll, not knowing in what regiment, nor for how long a term.

We soon found that we belonged to Company K, Forty-Fifth Massachusetts, and that we were in for nine months. Captain Homans was present at the time and I asked him if he needed more men, and he said he needed about thirty. I told him I thought we could get them, and he gave us authority to enlist them. We went directly back to Newton, hired a horse and buggy and went amongst the boys and soon had twenty-five, and took them into camp. My friend, John H. Robinson, was elected Second Lieutenant, I was appointed Third Sergeant, and two were appointed Corporals. You can see that I feel I am entitled to some credit. It may interest you to know that two of these men were killed and two severely wounded at the Battle of Kinston. I was wounded in the shoulder and have carried a bullet in my body ever since.

The Surgeon in the Hospital near the battlefield probed for the bullet, but could not find it, and said I must have been hit with a fragment of a shell, which struck me and glanced off.

I was in this Hospital from the day of the battle, (Sunday) until the morning of the next Friday, when all the wounded were loaded into army wagons and carried to the river, where we were to take a boat for New Berne. The officer in charge of the boat told me that the boat was going to be overloaded, and that if I would go to New Berne in one of the army wagons it would be an accommodation to him.

I found another member of the Regiment who was shot through his arm and who was able to walk, and we started off together, thinking we could soon overtake our Regiment. We marched all that day, and at night came across the Fifth Massachusetts, and as I was acquainted with one of the lieutenants, I found him and shared his supper and shelter for the night.

The next morning, Saturday, I started early determined to

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overtake the Forty-Fifth, and at about nine o'clock came into their camp just as they were about starting off. I found our Quartermaster, Mr. Dewson and asked him if he would take my gun and equipments in one of his wagons. I had brought them all the way from the Hospital.

He said he would not only take them but would take me as well. So I rode all that day, getting out occasionally to rest and stretch my legs. There were quite a number of us in the wagons and we reached the barns at nine o'clock at night. We tried to get into a hotel for the night, but not having shoulder straps, we were not accommodated. We hunted about and found a negro cabin where we were taken in and given a bed on the floor, where we slept soundly all night, and in the morning were given a breakfast, after which we went to our barracks at Camp Amory on the Trent, where we found the regiment just coming in. My wound had not been dressed since Friday morning and was troubling me somewhat.

I went into our Regimental Hospital, and Surgeon Kneeland dressed it for me. I told him I thought the bullet was in me and he probed for it, but could not find it, and he agreed with the other Surgeon that there was nothing in me. I remained in the hospital about a month, and then reported to my company for duty.

From that time on I felt that both surgeons were wrong, and about two years ago it was proved that I was right. I was with some friends who were experimenting with the X-Ray apparatus and I asked them to take a look through my shoulder, and they saw the bullet plainly.

Since then I have had an X-Ray picture taken of it, and it shows up plainly. I have carried it for nearly forty-five years, and for over forty years, certain that it was there. I have carried it so long now that I feel very much attached to it, and as it has not caused me much trouble, I shall never disturb it.

Sergeant William M. Goodridge, of Company K.

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Extracts from an address delivered by Corporal Augustus S. Lovett of Company A, at the dedication of "Camp Meigs Memorial Park," July 4th, 1903.--

On the evening of September 15th, 1862, as I rushed for a bunk in the new barracks located on this spot, a minor, not of age, if anybody had whispered in my ear, "young man, four decades from now you will be standing here and addressing an audience on the occasion of the dedication of this camp ground as a public park," I should have imagined the speaker beside himself and a fit subject for restraint.

When you remember the eminent men, from the Lieutenant-General of the United States down to the other illustrious minor officers who served in the civil war, who recently assembled to celebrate the "dedication of the Hooker statue," it seems quite a come down to gather to listen to a corporal--the lowest of non-commissioned officers in the ranks. And yet each common soldier counted as one, only one, but yet one in the vast array that marched in the ranks and without whose sturdy efforts all the brilliant talents of regular and volunteer officers would have been of little avail.

But oh those times! how the memory of them comes trooping back at a time like this. Young men drilling alongside of middle aged, and even elderly men. Captain R. B. Forbes with his "coast guard" and Captain Edward Wyman with his "home guard." Washington in danger and General Butler off with his hastily recruited men, following hard after the "old Sixth," through Baltimore to the capital. Fletcher Webster, standing on the steps of the Merchants Exchange on State Street, one dismal gray Sunday, and recruiting the famous Twelfth (Webster) Regiment. Flags and bunting almost concealed Washington Street. "Now Crush Rebellion" said an immense flag on the Washington building, head of Franklin Street. All the while recruiting went vigorously on, and when the capital was deemed secure, people breathed easier and volunteers for the war of three years pressed forward for enrollment. How dark after the defeat at Bull Run! How very dark with the ending of the Peninsula

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Campaign! Then at the very darkest hour came the first cheering news as the wire flashed the news of Grant's victory at Forts Henry and Donelson. The country seemed to take new life and heart as that incomparable soldier pushed his way to the crowning event up to that time, the capture of Vicksburg.

In the fall of 1862 ten new barracks, each arranged for one hundred men, occupied this immediate neighborhood. They stood on a line facing the sunrise. The entrance to the camp was between two sturdy trees and near their entrance was the guard tent. The sutler had his store in another corner but his "eagle eye" had not then fully opened as it did later, when on pay days he sat next to the paymaster and produced his little "G" checks, which were scrupulously deducted from the amount due the hard-pressed, common soldier. Friends supplied so generously the wants at Readville that his wares were at a discount there.

In front of these barracks was the parade and drill ground, covering the spot we occupy today.

It was a comical sight as a regiment landed there. The building of each company being designated, a rush was made to secure lodgings, each man, as he arrived at the building grabbing a huge bundle of straw, which lay adjacent, to serve as his bed. Comrades who had known each other previous to the time, bunked together as far as possible, by prior agreement, but some curious alliances were made by many the first night in camp who were comparative strangers before. The first night "was terrible" and the bedlam that ensued after the lights were out is simply indescribable. Imagine one hundred men, mostly unknown to each other, with no officer present, utterly ignorant of orders or knowledge of discipline, shut up by themselves in the dark in this novel situation. It commenced immediately the lights went out.

A mild crow, in imitation of a rooster, was followed by scores of louder crows, and it seemed as if the whole brood of Plymouth rocks and bantams were in possession. Every conceivable noise came to the front. Dogs barked and "ki'id." Cats wailed and monkeys chattered. Then somebody threw an

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old boot, and this was the signal for an indiscriminate fusilade of missiles of every name and nature. Marvellous that nobody was hurt, for the bang of some heavy substance alighting near your head warned the more timid ones to crouch low.

While this scene was at its height the door opened and a commissioned officer appeared with a lantern--the officer of the day, as we afterwards learned. "Silence!" he cried, "silence, I say." A very brief lull, occasioned by the interruption, and then bedlam broke loose again. "Who are you?" "Get out of here." "Quick, get out, do you hear?" while many other pointed remarks followed. Then came a shower of missiles from the floor and from the bunks at the devoted form. As these came from all quarters and the darkness and size of the building prevented him from discovering the offenders he was compelled to retire to save his head, vowing vengeance if only he could detect the assailants. Emboldened by this victory pandemonium broke loose again, and the small hours were reached before complete exhaustion brought quiet. We trembled in after days as we came to know the powers of the officer of the day, and were grateful to know that under cover of ignorance we escaped severe discipline.

In a few days the non-commissioned officers were appointed and grievous were the disappointments of some who failed to attain what they desired and hoped for.

I well remember the diffidence with which I gave my first command. The order to me was, "Corporal Lovett you will detail two men to sweep out the barracks."

I was appalled. They were my friends and chums. I had rather at that moment have taken the broom myself and done the work. But no; it had to be done. Glancing around to see whom I should select, I observed a good-hearted, cheerful, openfaced comrade whose name even I had not learned, and this was my order, "Would you mind being so kind as to take one of the brooms and help make the barracks cleaner by assisting in sweeping them?" The face became a broad grin at once, and he said, "Well, seeing its you, sonny, I'll do it this once." But we soon got over such extremely soft speeches and orders were quickly obeyed.

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The dress parades were a great feature of camp life. The first ones, though, were a sight not easily forgotten. Men went into camp generally ununiformed, except the favored few whose circumstances enabled them to employ their own tailors. These favored ones were models for admiration and envy. Of the balance some had blue overcoats and others had citizens dress. Some had military caps as the only sign of a soldier.

The clothing for service had not then been distributed, and some idea can be formed of the appearance made by some nine hundred men in line clad in these various garments. A butcher with his white robe surmounted by a plug hat is an incongruous sight, but a soldier in a blue overcoat with a black stovepipe hat is anything but military in appearance, but such we had in those first parades.

Before the guns were distributed, after the line was formed at the command "parade rest," the motley crowd stood in their unique regalia, and the command "beat off" was given. Then the band marched down the line at common time and turning came back at a quick step. The band were fine fellows, enlisted men from the various companies--selected, no doubt, for their musical talents--but they had to get together like everybody else. During the days while they were "getting together" the most discordant and doleful sounds emanated from the quarter assigned to them for practice. So that at their first appearance in dress parade before the "Falstaffs' recruits" was a very good representation of Hogarth's "March to Finchley." The old "cut-cut-cadabut" tune, never heard before and never since, except at later reunions, will linger in the memory of those who heard it as long as they live. Where they got that tune nobody knows, or, if they do, nobody will tell. But the band made great headway and acquired proficiency before many days. After the uniforms were distributed and the guns came, dress parade was the great event of the day.

This was the favored time when fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, uncles, aunts, grandfathers, grandmothers, cousins, and sweethearts, massed behind the colonel, looked on with admiring gaze, filled with pride as they beheld the manly

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array of young soldiers perfecting themselves for the serious work soon to come to their lot. These good people came not empty handed either. Many and many were the hampers and packages of good things they brought with them which helped amazingly to vary the regular bill of fare of "hash, beans and hard-tack."

Then the social sings in the evening were a pleasant feature and as the many good voices among the men were aided by the guests, the grounds in front of the barracks would ring with melody which would be prolonged often to a late hour.

The milkman did a thriving business in the camp, and the name of "Tucker" lingers in the memory of many a soldier of those days. Furloughs of a day at a time were granted and the passes were given great scrutiny by the provost guards of Brigadier-General R. A. Peirce, whose headquarters were in a small building near the railroad station. A sentinel was also posted at the Hyde Park depot, who looked after any strays in uniform in that vicinity.

Guard mounting each morning was a feature of camp life. Some three or four men from each of the ten companies would be detailed for the guard and accompanied by a sergeant or two and several corporals would march to the appointed place. These served for twenty-four hours or three reliefs of four hours each. The relief that went on at 1 o'clock in the morning to five was considered the least desirable, as to be awakened from a sound sleep at that untimely hour was anything but pleasant to look forward to, and many were the devices made to avoid getting on the dreaded "second relief." And yet those hours had their compensations. The perfect quiet of the sleeping camp, broken only by the hum of the insect world, those "voices of the night" which never ceased, the regular pace of the sentinel drawing near and again fading away as he turned in his beaten path, these lent a novelty and charm to those of a meditative turn of mind and helped to wing the otherwise tedious hours.

Somewhere in the small hours there appeared, to our intense disgust, what were termed "grand rounds." This was composed of the officer of the day and a few attendants. On being halted by the sentry nearest to the guard tent with the well-known "Who goes there?" came the reply "grand rounds."

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Immediately the guard tent became alive and the command "turn out the guard, grand rounds," was shouted out and the sergeant and corporal on duty would dart into every nook and corner and pull and tug at every sleepy body until the wretched squad--muttering maledictions on their tormentors, and grand rounds in particular--were hustled into some kind of a line and with the lieutenant of the guard at the head were inspected by the visitors.

Often the officer of the day, after the command "Turn out the guard" had been sounded, would considerately say, "Never mind the guard," and he who executed such mercy to the sleepy fellows always had a warm spot in their hearts. Company and battalion drill were kept up morning and afternoon and some of the most welcome words we heard were those at the close of these fatiguing exercises, when the colonel or captain, as the case might be, would sheath his sword and say "March off your companies."

Did time allow, many, very many incidents of camp life might be cited. The long nights of "guard duty;" the sorrows of the corporals, at everybody's beck and call; the unwelcome sound, "Corporal of the Guard Post 21," which meant a run at double-quick to that distant station to listen to some trifling question. The unheard of command by a lieutenant of the guard in the first days, the men being at "present arms" he is reported to have given the command "Stack arms," a thing the guard had some difficulty in obeying.

Comrades who camped here from 1861 to 1865, as the memory of those days pass before you at this hour it seems as if the voice of the Lord bade us remove the shoes from our feet, as the ground whereon we stand is holy ground. Old Blue Hill, looking down on this scene as it did forty years ago, seems to say: "You are right in setting aside the hallowed spot and paying tribute to the noble men who passed from this "school of the soldier" here to the shock of battle.

Here were encamped the Eighteenth Regiment of Infantry, who suffered so severely at Fredericksburg; the Twentieth Regiment, whose heroic deeds are marked in the "lion" in the public library, went from this spot; the Twenty-Fourth Regiment, whose

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Colonel Stevenson was killed at Spottsylvania, bade their kindred good-bye on the soil of Camp Meigs.

Six or more of the regiments enlisted for a shorter term in 1862 found shelter here. Later on, the two colored regiments, the Fifty-Fourth and Fifty-Fifth, received their first lessons in military drill on the commodious parade ground, and here we may be sure were instilled in their hearts and lives the patriotism that led them fearlessly to follow their beloved Colonel Shaw at the awful slaughter of Fort Wagner.

I have named but a few of the organizations which, after camp life here, went forth with beating drums, flying colors and martial step to go they knew not where.

"They heard a voice we cannot hear that said
We must not stay;
They saw a hand we cannot see
That beckoned them away."

Up Mary's heights at Fredericksburg that fatal day we see them dashing up to the stonewall and to the sunken road which none ever reached. Among the waving corn on the field of Antietam we find them and hear them shout the victory. At Gettysburg they shuddered as the gallant Reynolds dropped, and sprinted with Howard and Barlow through the town on that first day.

We find them in the wheat field, at the peach orchard, on Culp's Hill and Little Round Top on the second day. And on the third day at Gettysburg, when Longstreet turned away his head as he ordered Pickett to advance, we may be sure they were in the lines of battle on Cemetery Ridge and did their share in making the "high-water mark of the rebellion."

In the closing battles of the war, from the Wilderness to Appomattox, we follow them in their daily weary marches and never ending encounters. We can imagine their joy at the final consummation and we rejoice and cheer with them as they burnish their rifles for the great review at Washington.

So we hail the "returning brave."

But what to those who with lively step and in the bloom of

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youth went forth from this spot and failed to return. On battlefield and in hospital, shut up in Libby Prison or within the dead line at Andersonville, wasting with disease and dying of wounds, for whom the loved ones at home look in vain.

To all these twenty-five thousand or more martial spirits we dedicate this scene of their first soldier days. Long may the cannon preserve their present peaceful positions. Never may the time come when the Star Spangled Banner shall cease to float over this consecrated ground, and may children's children to the latest generation swell the chorus of the Union saved, now and forever, one and inseparable.