Chapter XIV: Part 14

By new arrivals our numbers were soon swollen to fully 6,000 men, among them being a portion of a regiment of Germans so new to the country that they were unacquainted with our language, hence a deal of trouble for them, as in their ignorance they would wander over the dead line after a chip for fuel, but they never returned. During the day we were permitted to go to the water, through a narrow passage, as often as we pleased, but at night only five were permitted to go at a time. A sergeant (H. C. French) of Co. G, our regiment, having taken his turn, was coming back and of course there was a rush to be the next one to go down, by the boys in the yard, and in their haste they pushed the sergeant, who was quite weak from illness, into the ditch of the dead line. Without a word of warning he was instantly shot dead by one of the sentries, the bullet passing through his head. This sentinel was a young fellow of sixteen years who, with his mother, while living near Mitchell's Station had been supplied with food during the whole of the previous winter by the commissary of our Brigade. We were told that he was paid for this act of ingratitude by a two weeks' furlough home.

An incident will illustrate the straits to which the lack of food will drive otherwise decent men. We were counted regularly once a week, usually on Saturdays, the object being to find out whether any were escaping. To effect this numbering we were filed out, one by one, into a vacant lot which bordered on the river. While here one day, several of the boys completely buried themselves in the sand, hoping to get away from the island in the following night. No loss was suspected on our return but, during the afternoon, a poor hungry wretch went to the gate and, calling for the sergeant of the guard, offered to reveal something of importance if he would give him a loaf of bread. The rebel agreed, whereupon he was shown where the Yankees were concealed in the sand. It is only fair for the sergeant to state that he knocked the informer down with the butt of his musket, saying that if he were as mean as that, he would go and kill himself.

The Confederate mode of punishing petty offenses among us was most cruel. The culprit was placed astride a tall, carpenter's horse, some six feet in height, and ropes were tied to his feet, fastened to the ground and then drawn as taut as possible; his hands were fastened behind him and tied to the horse. In this condition the unhappy sufferer was obliged to pass three or four hours; most always they were taken down insensible and some of them never recovered from this brutal usage. On the 5th of October came orders to be ready to march. Joyfully we obeyed, confident that our destination was the land of the Stars and Stripes, though rations of a loaf and a half of corn bread clearly pointed in another direction, our halting place being on the south side of the James where, by the side of the Richmond and Danville R. R., we lay all day eating our three days' rations. At 5 p. m. a train of baggage cars drew up and the painful fact dawned upon us that we were simply going to exchange one prison for another.

So closely were we packed, lying or sitting was out of the question and all had to stand. We reached Salisbury, N. C., three days after leaving Belle Isle, and in the evening of the 8th we were turned into the prison enclosure where we saw very little to invite us, though the place was comparatively clean then. The light of fires revealed the shivering forms of unhappy prisoners who had preceded us to this place of detention. It was one of the coldest of autumnal nights and we came so late no provision had been made for us, so, hungry as we were after fasting two days, tired and cold, we faced the uncomfortable night. Worn out with hunger and fatigue, we threw ourselves on the frozen ground with no covering save the heavens, which were very cold that night; dressed, the most of us, in summer blouses with no underclothing, it was one continuous shiver till the rising sun gladdened our eyes and warmed our bodies. We lay down close to each other but, as the night grew colder and the wind whistled more sharply, the end men with one side exposed, unable to endure the cold longer, would leave for some fire or exercise till at last the entire line would dwindle away.

A day's ration of half a loaf of wheat bread and a nice slice of meat put us in proper condition to examine our quarters. The field comprised about seven acres, somewhat triangular in shape with a twelve-foot-high board-fence surrounding it, on whose outside, about four feet from the top, was a continuous platform for the sentries. Facing the entrance were three little brick houses about 30 x 15 and at their right, at right angles, were three other similar buildings; in one corner stood a large brick edifice, formerly a cotton factory, now called the penitentiary, adjoining which was the prison cook-house; near by were two wooden buildings, one a hospital, the other occupied by citizen prisoners; of the large structure, three rooms were occupied by deserters from our army, and two others by rebel deserters, than whom a more graceless lot I never saw. On the north side of the prison-yard and back of the brick buildings were four wooden shanties, built of rough timbers and occupied by our officers who were captured when we were, separated from us only by the beat and bayonet of the sentinel.

Wood was brought in and distributed in a very peculiar manner, since everybody attacked the load at once and to the strong went the major part of the fuel, while the weaker men had to suffer. On our arrival, the whole enclosure was covered with grass, but it soon disappeared. Meanwhile the days were growing colder and our appetites keener; on our way hither I had sold the stockings off my feet for a boiled beet, now I exchanged a good pair of pantaloons for a miserable rebel pair and five dollars, Confederate scrip, and though my blouse was about worn out I felt as happy as a lark in so doing, for by the proceeds I was able to buy another pair of socks and had enough money left for little extras of food for a week or ten days. There were only three wells in the enclosure (four more were dug later) which yielded hardly water enough for drink, thus putting bathing entirely out of the question. There being no bucket for drawing the water, we supplied its place by our tin cups, which we lowered with strings made from suspenders and bootlegs. Through constant dipping the wells were transformed into mudholes, so that a nominal quart of water was really one-fourth red clay.

Made desperate by the prospects of the coming winter, a plan for an escape was formed to be led by General Joseph Hayes (formerly Colonel Eighteenth Massachusetts Volunteers commanding First Brigade, Second Division, Fifth Corps; captured at the Weldon R. R.) but discovery of the plot resulted in the removal of the officers to Danville, Va., and the collapse of the scheme. For the distribution of food the prisoners were divided into divisions of one thousand each and these into squads of one hundred, each one being looked after by a sergeant from its own numbers. About the 1st of November tents were issued, two to a squad, ours receiving for one the fly of an officer's tent, the other a small McClellan, the two affording protection for only a small part of the squad, and those who got any good from them were the immediate friends of the sergeant. All others had to seek cover under ground which they secured by digging holes, somewhat larger than those of woodchucks, but of the same general nature. Pitiable indeed was the condition of the men by this time, since the heavy rains had turned the whole enclosure into a veritable pig-sty whose soft red clay could be made into bricks without further mixing.

The death-rate increased at an alarming rate, so that from forty to fifty were carried out each day to the dead-house. Nearly all of the workshops had been changed into hospitals, also two floors of the old factory building. The dead-house was one of the lower floors of one of the work-shops where, when the weather was bad and the dead were not readily removed, as many as eighty corpses, stark and cold, could be seen piled one upon the other like corded wood. On the coming of the cart to remove them, they were thrown into the same with the least formality possible and so carried off. As we had no means of bathing, one of the worst features of the yard was the mass of animated insect life. Oh! the horrors of such creatures! Through them it might be said that we suffered a thousand deaths. Never at rest, always vigorous, they inhabited every nook and crevice of that dismal yard. They were worse than death. The terrors of a Spanish Inquisition could not bring to bear a mode of torture so vile as these filthy vermin.

Then the state of the yard! The principal diseases were dysentery and pneumonia, so that disease bred corruption and malaria. Those who were taken sick, if their squad sergeant were attentive, were carried to Hospital No. 3, and if, on examination, it were evident that the ailment was incurable, he was sent to a hospital to die. The good wheat bread of our earlier rations was changed to corn bread, made of the coarsest cob meal and given to us with rancid molasses. Meat was issued, after a time, about once in fifteen days and then at the rate of eight pounds of beef and bones to a hundred men. At such times all parts of the creatures were used; the heads with eyes and horns still attached were often issued and in some way made victuals of. All small bones capable of being chewed were swallowed as a dog gulps his osseous food and the larger and harder ones were crushed with stones and boiled for hours; the soup thus obtained was thought a great luxury. To obtain salt a day's ration would be exchanged for enough of this necessity to last a fortnight or so, of course the exchange meant a fast for the day whose ration was traded.

Occasionally flour or meal was given us in the raw and without salt; this was cooked into paste and gruel and very thankful all were to get it; oftentimes the prisoners were kept on one-half the regular rations, possibly one-quarter of the time, and sometimes we went as many as three days with no bread whatever. It was this starvation process that drove good men to enlist in the southern army. About the 12th of November a thick cup of rice soup was given out; the next and the following day, we got only rice water, then came flour without salt. Wood was now issued regularly, each squad getting four sticks of eight foot timber. This particular afternoon it was green pine. To add to our troubles a mist arose, so that the only way we could cook our food was by piling the logs on top of each other and placing a coal underneath which we took turns in keeping alive with our breath, till all had cooked their meal. It was a hapless sight that we afforded that afternoon, black with dirt and smoke, as we ate our food. We had gone so long without food that we had almost lost the sense of hunger and this little meal only served to wake our appetite. Before eating my ration, I could walk about the yard without resting; afterwards I was so weak that I fainted in going to my tent, for I was failing rapidly; my old pantaloons were worn out and slit from the knee downward; the sleeves of my shirt and blouse were almost gone, my shoes and socks worn through, my hair matted with dirt and filth, my complexion that of a negro, my body truly was more dead than alive.

My condition was that of my associates in misery, and it was then that the rebel authorities opened a recruiting station in our midst, offering a loaf of bread and fifty dollars in gold to each one who would enlist; six hundred went out. With the exception of a few desperate characters, all hearts were softened at the sight of so much misery, the faint hearted had mostly enlisted in the rebel ranks and those who remained were true blue and had determined, live or die, to stand fast to their principles. Without anything being said, oaths began to be dropped and testaments to be read; while cant was never so ridiculous and intolerable, true religion and a pure morality began to be the life of the mass.

About the last of November, a friend with whom I had become acquainted on Belle Isle was appointed wardmaster of Hospital No. 5; hearing of my condition, he sent for me. I went and was received like a brother, the dirt washed from me, there being plenty of water in the hospitals, clothes taken from men who had died were given me and I was nursed, cared for and fed out of his own rations till my life, which was slowly ebbing away, was coaxed back again. This friend, a total stranger before my capture, was a sergeant in a Pennsylvania cavalry regiment and our acquaintance began at a devotional meeting where were laid the foundations of the strongest Christian friendship. He was a veritable ministering angel to all those who came under his care, and from his conduct I learned that Christianity was not merely a sentiment but a life, not an idea but a reality.

As remarked before, few cases were admitted to the hospital that were not considered hopeless; from our ward of two rooms, having forty patients, five or six would be carried to the dead-house every night. Army surgeons are bad enough anywhere, but those provided at Salisbury were worse than the common run. Coming in at the time appointed, they never came at any other, they would go along the line of men lying on the floor, hitting the patient with their feet to attract attention, would contemptuously inquire, "Well, what's the matter with you to-day?" and, without waiting for a reply, would prescribe any one of the medicines that happened to cross their minds. There were, indeed, three honorable exceptions, but they could only express their sympathy by words of encouragement. Our ward doctor, the most of the time, was a medical student of the latter class.

November 25th came a decided effort to break out; unfortunately the plot had not been worked up so that a sufficient number understood the plan, so that the effort was made at two instead of four o'clock, when only three divisions had been prepared. On the appearance of the relief at that time, someone gave the watchword, "Who's for liberty?" and, as quick as a flash, every one of those sentinels was disarmed and the boys were using their guns against the sentinels on the fence. The noise of the struggle of course soon brought the troops to the scene and forming on the fence began firing. If theirs had been the only resistance, we might have succeeded; unfortunately for us, the Sixty-ninth North Carolina, a newly recruited regiment, was just outside, awaiting transportation, and they were brought to the support of the guards, and many of the Salisbury citizens, afraid of their property if we got away, trotted down with their fowling pieces and old flintlocks. The fence was soon covered with enemies who began a murderous fire on every tent in the yard, though not a third part of the prisoners knew what was up until it was too late and then, recognizing the hopelessness of the effort, everyone tried to hide himself from the terrible fire. The guards having recovered from their fright proceeded to exercise vengeance by discharging the two pieces of artillery loaded with boiler screws amongst us. No one knows how many were killed, but sixty or seventy were wounded, most of them lying in their tents. The wounded were all placed in the same hospital, were all treated with the same surgical tools and gangrene set in with all, and all, save two or three, died.

Of my company (E) twenty-four were captured, the most of them strong healthy men. As the winter advanced and the cold grew more intense, many of them lost hope and dropped away. From my position in the hospital, to which I had been elected after recovering sufficient strength, I was able to be of help to them. I passed out crust-coffee and opium pills whenever I could get them. The stoutest hearted man in the company was the first to die. A native of Maine, a blacksmith by trade, Jones seemed the one best fitted to endure hardship, yet, allowing himself to become disheartened, he quickly fell a prey to disease. On one of my visits to the boys I found one of them, a corporal (Glines), failing fast. I asked permission of the superintendent to admit him to the hospital as a patient and it was granted. Two days later, I heard that another corporal (Horton) of my company, a near neighbor and friend at home, wished to see me. I found him lying in the mud of his tent, and I knew by the look of his face that he could not live. He asked me if I could do anything for him or, at least, give him some opium. I got some of the pills for him and told him I would do what I could towards getting him into the hospital. Knowing that he could not live much longer he said, "Tell the folks at home I died trying to do my duty and thinking of them." Going back to the ward, I besought the privilege of bringing him to the hospital. The superintendent replied that there was no vacancy, but would be on the morrow, but I might go after supper and get him and give him a place under a bunk. I went upstairs and cooked our scanty meal and, while doing so, the night patients were brought in. While eating my supper, one of the nurses, a pompous fellow, came in and said that one of the patients was a young fellow who insisted on seeing me before going under his bunk. On being told that I was busy upstairs the nurse said he whined, "I wish you would call Johnnie, one moment," but he put a stop to his "nonsense," as the nurse said, by showing him his place for the night and said that he had fainted in taking it. Indignant that my friend had been denied so small a favor, I hurried down to the place where he had been put and cried, "Fred," and, as no answer came I supposed him asleep and thought I would not disturb him. After finishing my work at midnight, I went upstairs to retire; shortly afterward the nurse in attendance called that a corporal, under the bunks, was dead. Hurrying down, I found my friend stiff and cold in death in the middle of the floor. A friend and playmate from boyhood, the merriest boy of us all, smart in school, most joyous in sport, he was the life of our youthful circle. We had enlisted together; his parents, brothers and sisters were all well known to me and I must tell the sad story to them--how he had died in a hospital of which I was an attendant, yet had been unable to comfort him in his dying hours. The sight of my grief was a good lesson to the nurses who were more ready to grant favors thereafter. Horton, the other corporal, died the same night.

A great many died from the effects of the cold weather; numbers of them had their feet frost-bitten and, as they were not taken care of, mortification set in, to be followed by death. Many a poor fellow, weak with disease, left his tent at night, and, stumbling in the darkness would fall and being too weak to call for help would be found in the morning a frozen corpse. Finally, without any warning, on the to us ever memorable 20th of February, '65, orders came to have the sick ready for removal. It was with joyful hearts that we obeyed and, when the gate was opened that we might carry them out, we could hardly contain ourselves for joy. Only when the cars had fully started could we realize that Salisbury, with its filth and dirt, its misery and degradation, its dying and dead, was being left for good. With feeble voices we sang "Praise God from Whom all Blessings Flow" and many a prayer of thanksgiving was breathed that we had lived to see the glad hour.

SERGT. MAJOR C. K. CONN

Sergt. Major Chas. K. Conn, originally of Company K, was wounded May 8, '64, captured and carried to Richmond. After recovering from his wounds he was retained as a clerk, one of his duties being to make out the lists of those who were to be paroled. Having a happy thought one day while preparing a roll of names, he wrote his own among those of men about to start for God's country, and when the party in charge called for those thus enumerated, Conn stepped forth with the invalids to whom parole privileges were confined in 1864. One of the Confederate officers, noticing him among the sick men, asked him what he was doing there. To the query the quick witted Yankee replied, "I heard my name called and so responded." The facts in the case were not discovered till after Conn had gone too far to be called back, though he felt extremely shaky until he was safely aboard the Union vessel.

J. F. LESLIE'S RUSE

This Company K man thought his liberty worth risking something for; captured Aug. 19, '64, he too had been taken to Richmond, "Libby" and Belle Isle, where he informed his comrades he purposed trying the sick dodge by way of the hospital, for he had discerned that the sick and wounded would go first. His friends tried to dissuade him, saying that he would surely be found out and might be made to suffer all the more on account of his attempted cheat. He tried the rebel doctor every morning with his complaints, but was careful to take none of the latter's medicine, throwing all of it away. At last the surgeon, suspecting shamming on the Yankee's part, prepared a Spanish-fly plaster, 4 x 8 inches in size, which could not be disposed of as his medicine had been. Leslie put it on his body, keeping it on all night, and when he visited the doctor in the morning and was asked if it had had any effect he was able to show a blister the full size of the plaster. This convinced the officer that our man was not shamming, for as he said, "Any man who could stand that could not be 'playing it'," so he was sent to the hospital in Richmond, "Yankee, 21," as it was called. On getting there he hardly dared move for fear of being sent back. One morning the hospital doctor, saying that he would give him something to make him sleep, left a potion with the injunction to make sure that it was taken; there was no way open but to take it, but it was spat out the moment the steward passed to the next patient. The look of astonishment on the doctor's face the next morning convinced the patient that it was a dose for final sleep that the surgeon had prepared; at any rate he never came near Leslie's cot again. In a few days the "artful dodger" was paroled, while his comrades were sent to Salisbury and Andersonville where the most of them died.

CORPORAL CHARLES H. BARNES' STORY.

A picture of Andersonville, as it appeared in the summer and fall of 1864 and the following winter, is drawn by Corporal Charles H. Barnes of Co. I, who was wounded the 8th of May and, two weeks later, while going from Fredericksburg to Belle Plain Landing, on his way with others to Washington and Convalescent Camp, was captured, carried to Richmond and shut up in Libby Prison, where he passed through the usual experience of being searched, etc. Three weeks later in company with more than a thousand fellow prisoners, he was started for Andersonville, Georgia; having ninety of them in an ordinary box car was pretty close work, since they could neither sit nor lie down, so had to stand. At Goldsboro they were unloaded and like cattle turned into a pasture without supper or shelter, but unlike cattle they could not eat the grass about them; rain was falling hard and, wet to the skin, they had to stand closely together for the sake of warmth. Starting again in the morning they reached Andersonville, just a week after leaving Richmond, the cars running only about three miles an hour, any greater speed being provocative of accident:--

I was wearing a pair of boots that came to me from home the day I was taken prisoner and I hated to part with them, but I got so hungry when on the cars that I traded them with one of the guards for a dozen biscuits and a pair of old shoes full of holes. I ate the biscuits pretty quick, and still was as famished as before, and I wished I had the boots back to trade again. We were told that it was a lovely place inside of the stockade, but we found it quite the reverse. There were 39,000 men within the enclosure living in holes and tents made of pieces of old shirts, blankets and anything they could get that would hold together. When we marched in, we had to stand a while before assignment to some place in which to stay, when some of the men, already initiated, said that we had better be looking for places to camp in, we having thought that some sort of shelter would be given us. So we hunted around and found a soft bit of earth which some fifteen of us occupied; ere long some of the old timers came round to see if we had anything they might wish. On waking, the next morning, each man found his pocket cut, but the thieves got nothing, since every man was dead broke.

There were two stockades, one inside the other, about twenty feet apart and as many feet high in most places; along the top were shelters for the guard and about twelve feet from the inner wall was the dead line. It was made of scantling nailed on the top of posts, about four feet in height and if a prisoner touched it, which he was quite likely to do, the guards would shoot him if they could. A small brook ran through the middle of the yard; sluggish generally, it became a raging torrent after severe rains. One day some of the stockade fell over into the water and some of the prisoners swam out to the floating logs and so raced out to freedom, for they were going too rapidly to be recaptured. For our first twenty days it rained nearly all the time and the only cover our party had was a piece of an old blanket, which as many as possible would put over their heads while the rest ran around trying to keep warm until the time came to exchange, an all day and all night series.

After some searching I found four members of my own regiment, they having a tent made of old shirts and parts of old blankets which they had pinned together with broken sticks. Three of the boys could scarcely move on account of the scurvy, but one of them asked me to come in and stay with them, which I was glad to do, though I had to lie at their feet until one of them passed on, only a few days later. Shortly afterwards the other ones died and two of the Thirty-ninth had what was left which, while it did not keep out the rain, did keep off the direct sun, a no small comfort in that terribly hot place. We had two half pieces of blankets, nearly used up and almost covered with what Robert Burns called "crawlin' ferlies," the fearful pests of our lives. I undertook one day to wash my shirt, trying first one corner of it which went to pieces, so I dried the garment carefully and without further effort at washing wore it almost nine months.

First and last many tunnels were dug, in several of which I bore a hand; I don't know how many succeeded in getting out but there must have been several hundred; bloodhounds were put on their track and those who were brought back were put in the chain-gang. Among so many men there must be some bad ones, a few very bad; they even resorted to murder in their efforts to secure what some of the prisoners possessed. To rid themselves of this terrible set of evil men a vigilance committee of the well disposed was organized and by sheer force of numbers, overpowered and sentenced to death six of them. The rebels, to their credit, furnished material for the gibbet and the execution took place, much to the relief of those who had to continue there.

Our drinking water came from holes in the ground four or five feet deep; while it was pretty clear, there were many dead maggots in the bottom, though we did not mind them, thinking the water so much better than that in the brook. One day in August a stream of water broke out just inside of the inner stockade; it ran all of the time, but the dead line was between us and the water; we procured boards and made a trough and then got permission to put it up, so that we had fine water all the rest of the time we were there. To this day it is known as the Providence Spring. Aside from scurvy, severe enough to loosen my teeth, I was not sick a day while in the prison. Our rations for the most part were a pint of boiled rice without any salt for twenty-four hours and oftener it would be forty-eight, for every time Captain Wirz discovered a new tunnel he would punish all of us by skipping our rations. Occasionally we would get some small black beans, such as the planters raised for their hogs; these we would try to cook with green pitch-pine with results that can be imagined. I have blown myself black in the face many a time trying to cook them and then had to eat them raw.

There was a sick call every day and when a man answered the same, all he got for his pains was a dose of sumach berries. No matter what the complaint might be the remedy was always the same, for it was all they had to give. Sometimes a man could be seen buried up to his chin; he had the rheumatism and if he could endure the antidote two or three days, he would come out cured. One boy, to get some extra food, told the captain one day where a new tunnel was in progress, and after the officer had gone out, the men shaved one side of his head and on his breast and back put big placards, bearing in big black letters the word "Traitor." He was then marched all over the camp and tormented almost to death; the enemy finally took him outside, which was just what he wanted.

After Stoneman's raid, the rebels thinking Andersonville no longer safe began to distribute us elsewhere and I sampled the bull-pen of Savannah, Ga.; the stockade of Millen, also in Georgia; and then was sent back to Savannah where I was paroled and sent down the River, to go on board a Union steamer; the sight of the Stars and Stripes brought tears to every eye. On board, our heads were shaved, we were bathed, clad anew and were judiciously fed; our old clothes went overboard. After reaching Annapolis I tipped the scales at seventy-five pounds, less than half my weight when I enlisted. After a brief stay in Parole Camp, I was paid off and sent home on a thirty days' furlough, where I was sick all of the time, but I returned to the camp at the end of the time to be furloughed again, this time for sixty days. On getting back to camp the second time, and wearying of it, I put my name down among those to be returned to their regiments and I reached mine the day after Lee surrendered.

REGIMENTAL VETERAN ASSOCIATION

The beginnings of the Association seem to have been lost in the interval between 1867 and the present; it is agreed, however, that the first four meetings were held in Boston hotels and that they were not very largely attended. The time was too near the date of getting home and the pleasures of that supreme event far outweighed any rehearsal of common dangers in war-experiences. Of the 5th gathering, the first basket picnic of the veterans of the Thirty-ninth and their lady friends, there is in substance the following account:

Downer's Landing, Hingham, was the place and Thursday, August 17th, the date; the party, numbering 300, left Litchfield's Wharf at 9.15 a. m. on steamers "Wm. Harrison" and "Emeline," arriving about 11 o'clock; a half mile walk brought all parties to the "Melville Gardens" which had been hired for the day. Noon saw the tables spread with the many good things brought by the members. Before repairing to the hall for dancing, Colonel C. H. Porter, President of the Association, introduced as speakers, Lieut. Colonel Hutchins, Major Graham, Captain Brigham, Lieuts. Mulligan and Mills, Sergeants Eames and Gardner. At 3 p. m. came a dress parade with one hundred and fifty men in line, Colonels Porter and Hutchins dividing the honors of commanding. A letter was read from General G. K. Warren, regretting his inability to be present, a disappointment to the veterans, as they had expected to meet their former commander once more; everyone of the Regiment and, for that matter, every regiment in the Fifth Corps, holding the officer in the highest esteem. On the formation of the line and led by Edmunds Band, the company marched back to the landing, reaching Boston at 5.15 o'clock, all happy and conscious that the presence of the ladies had added no little to the enjoyment of the day.

The reunions of 1872, '73 and '74 were held in Boston Hotels; in 1875, Oct. 6th in Woburn was held the most notable of the Association's gatherings thus far, General Warren being the distinguished guest and Company K, along with citizens of Woburn, the hosts. There were present 166 men with General Peirson at their head; drum corps and brass bands furnished music and everyone joined heartily in the reception to the eminent soldier. At the rooms of the selectmen, the public had a chance to meet General Warren. At the armory the meeting was called to order by Captain Hutchins and the chief feature was the presentation to General Warren of a magnificent Maltese Cross in Gold, the badge of the Fifth Corps, the cost $100.00 having been met by the veterans. In the afternoon a banquet was served in Lyceum Hall to more than four hundred guests, the good people of the town having vied with each other in making the occasion memorable. At the post prandial exercises, remarks were made by Captains Hutchins and Tidd; there was an extended address by J. A. Harvey, Co. C, followed by the introduction of Sergt. Abijah Thompson, Co. K, as Toastmaster, who read an original poem after which, and the playing by the band of "Hail to the Chief," General Warren spoke briefly to the following effect, "I rise to acknowledge the kind attentions I have received to-day. Those who have spoken have referred in such kind terms to me, and your marks of approbation have been so many that I do not feel prepared to speak for the Fifth Army Corps, as I could wish. I hope you will excuse me. I shall carry from this place a sense of having been honored more than I deserve. (Cries of no, no.) The feelings which this day has inspired will always remain, and you have laid on me a debt of gratitude I never can repay." Col. C. H. Porter responded for General Peirson, letters were read from General J. C. Robinson, and Colonels Farnham and Tilden of the Sixteenth Maine; further responses to toasts were given by Maj. Ambrose Bancroft of the Thirty-second Regiment, Capt. J. P. Crane of the Twenty-second, Capt. C. S. Converse of the Fifth, Lieut. John L. Parker of the Eleventh and others, the exercises terminating in an evening's levee which lasted till midnight.

The Centennial year, 1876, found the veterans 150 strong in Natick, the guests of Co. I.; 1877, August 28th, Co. D of Quincy did the hospitable act with 220 comrades present. In 1878, Co. E of Somerville, on the 6th of Sept, helped celebrate the 16th anniversary of the departure of the Regiment with 225 veterans in attendance, the event gaining unwonted interest through the presence of General John C. Robinson who had been the Division Commander of the Regiment at the Wilderness and at Spottsylvania, losing there a leg; there was a spirited address by Mayor Bruce of Somerville, an extended historical paper by Col. C. H. Porter with speeches of greater or less length by Gov. A. H. Rice, Gen'l N. P. Banks, Collector Beard, Secretary Pierce, Speaker Long, General Peirson and others, the celebration continuing with music and dancing till after midnight. A pleasant feature of the afternoon was the presentation of an elegant punch bowl and ladle to General Robinson by Lieut. C. K. Conn to whose words the General responded so happily that all recognized him as a good talker as well as fighter.

Capt. Chas H Porter
No. 27 State Street
Boston Mass

My dear friend

I am very sorry that the necessity for being in New York City on
the 6th prevents my being with you at Somerville.

The 39th Massachusetts have been exceptionally kind to me, and I
am grateful for it. I have got hard work to do to set right the
record of my army career, and the recollection of this friendly
feeling helps to keep up my nerves for going through with the
undertaking.

I hope you will all have a fine day and a happy one.

Yours truly
G. K. Warren]

August 27th, 1879, found the survivors of the Thirty-ninth in Taunton, guests of Co. F with Capt. J. J. Cooper president of the day and 125 veterans on hand; Adjutant O. A. Barker welcomed the old soldiers to the city and after a short business meeting, line was formed for the Agricultural Fair Grounds where Hiram Maxfield of Silver Springs fame served one of his imitable clambakes. In 1880, Sept. 15th, Medford was the entertaining place with Co. C at the front, Jas. A. Harvey being President. Oct. 5th, '81, the "old boys" came back to Woburn again, the reception being in the hands of the following named men of Company K., C. K. Conn., Geo. E. Fowle, Capt. L. R. Tidd, A. L. Richardson, J. F. Ramsdell, A. P. Barrett, J. Fred Leslie, A. Thompson and A. R. Linscott. Again Woburn has the honor of entertaining General G. K. Warren and he is accompanied by General J. C. Robinson, the valiant Division Commander, along with General Peirson, the ever popular regimental commander. At the dinner which was served in Lyceum Hall, remarks were made by those named above, Col. Porter and others. Before another reunion, General Warren will have passed away.

The regimental line formed again in Natick, Oct. 10, 1882; again Co. I plays the role of entertainers with fully 150 survivors to honor the occasion. Dinner was served in Concert Hall; Col. C. H. Porter spoke at length in praise of General Warren who had died the 8th day of the preceding August; resolutions of sympathy and respect were passed by the veterans and a contribution was made to a Fifth Corps fund to honor the General's memory. Remarks followed by Comrades Barrett, "K"; Beck, "C"; Locke, "E"; Eames, "C"; Oliver, "E," and others. 1883 brought the veterans to Quincy again with Co. D. Point Shirley in Winthrop was the place of meeting, August 26, 1884, with Co. H as entertainers. Roxbury, the home of Co. B, entertained next, Sept. 23, 1885. Company G came to the front Sept. 16, 1886, at Nantasket. The ladies of Somerville, in behalf of Co. E, furnish the dinner for the reunion of 1887, Sept. 6th. Through the selection of the Executive Committee, Bass Point was the place of meeting in 1888. Sept. 11, 1889, brought the clans to Medford, once more, with Co. C.

Sept. 24, 1890, the beginning of another decade, brings the veterans to Woburn, the home of Co. K, for the third time. As usual, great preparations were made for the reception, the principal guests, aside from the veterans themselves, being the widow and daughter of General Warren, and General Peirson and wife who with the wife of Mayor Johnson and the wife of the Hon. John Cummings formed the receiving line in the hall of the Y. M. C. A. The formalities of the occasion were conducted by Colonel C. H. Porter and Sergeant Abijah Thompson, "K," and 166 survivors pressed forward, glad of the opportunity of grasping the hands of their friends. Dinner was served in Lyceum Hall. The after-dinner exercises were presided over most happily by Sergt. Thompson who introduced Mayor Johnson, General Peirson, the Hon. John Cummings, Colonel Porter and others. Company A was the host Sept. 7, 1891, at the old Lynnfield camping-ground, and the occasion was rendered notable by the following paper, prepared for the day by Lieut. Elbridge Bradshaw of Co. H:

A VACATION IDYL

Some thirty years ago, leading a sedentary life and gradually sinking into a semi-bituminated condition, my medical adviser, alarmed at my symptoms, ordered travel and change of scenery. Having learned that Virginia contained more travel and scenery to the square mile than any other spot on the globe, I determined on visiting that State. Being of a timid nature and fond of Company, I joined myself to about a thousand other invalids, similarly afflicted, and seeking the same remedy, forming ourselves into a methodical organization. For convenience we divided ourselves up into groups of one hundred men each, using for purposes of distinction the first eleven letters of the alphabet, omitting the letter J. For menial service, i. e. to look after our physical wants, each group hired for such purpose, six servants, viz. a captain, two lieutenants, with a cook, a drummer and a bugler or fifer, the latter two being hired to wake the excursionists in the morning. To keep these captains and lieutenants in order, we placed over them a colonel, a lieut. colonel and a major, at the same time they being our head servants or butlers. These people added to themselves an adjutant to run errands, a chaplain, a doctor and a pill-driver. To insure a faithful discharge of duty, from each group were chosen a dozen fellows called sergeants and corporals who were set over the others.

Virginia at this time being in a tumultuous condition, and the U. S. Government having heard of our organization's plan of travel and objective points, invited us, through its Chief Magistrate, to walk over Virginia as peace officers, punching the heads of belligerants and arguing with the discontented, an invitation which we accepted. When President Lincoln secured our services he loaded us with benefits, first massing us at Lynnfield, giving us canvass houses to protect us from the dew and damp, sweet straw to nestle in, a pretty blue uniform, a belt to keep us from bursting, an iron toothpick, a tube of iron with a wooden handle, a little black bureau, in which to keep our collars, cuffs and bric-a-brac, a black cotton pantry for provisions and plates, with a round tin vessel for whiskey. Uncle Sam also gave our servants (the shoulder-strapped ones) toasting forks to stick pigs with and red sashes with which to gird their persons when running and chasing the pigs down. Rendered proud and arrogant by their good clothes and shoulder straps, our servants rose on us and captured our organization, styling themselves our superior officers, and our entire body the Thirty-ninth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteers. To give the usurpation a flavor of legality, they procured from Governor Andrew commissions indicating officially their rank and authority. On the whole they exercised their powers with great moderation and kindness.

Though to the last, we suffered them to think themselves our superiors, yet in reality, they still continued to be our servants, caring for our food, clothing and morals, furnishing us clean, airy lodgings having adequate fire-escapes, so that in fact we had nothing on our minds worth mentioning and all we had to do was to travel and fight; in a word, take our pleasure. They also taught us many pretty and amusing tricks; how to stand up straight in rows to be shot at; to abstain from whiskey (with quinine in it); to use the pickaxe and spade with the least expenditure of muscular energy and, in mud and night marches, to say our prayers without even stopping. As soon as we could march without scalping each other's heels, we left Lynnfield for active service and mighty active it proved on the start, our first engagement being a footrace against time through Boston. We left Lynnfield with cooked rations, meaning saltpork and hardtack.

How dear to this heart is the old army hardtack,
As Lynnfield's reunion presents them to view;
When eaten with raw pork or fried into doughnuts,
The rations that beat him, are scat'ring and few.
How oft in our marches, he's braced up our courage,
As with gnawing and growling we've hobbled along;
Oh! well may the hardtack, the old army hardtack
Prove a classical theme for an old veteran's song.

That dear army hardtack was a limber old codger,
In the hands of a Thirty-ninth's amateur cook;
In his grip, the old hardtack took metamorphosis
Not mentioned by Ovid, nor in Parloa's cook-book,
As a pudding or pie in a cob-house as a dumpling,
As a fry or a toast, or a raw on the shell;
That old army hardtack, that blessed old hardtack!
For every recipe turned out equally well.

I have eaten high banquets at Young's and at Parker's,
I have tasted their beef, roast turkey and lamb;
But all of these dishes are flat and insipid,
Beside the old hardtack of dear Uncle Sam;
For the old army hardtack is seasoned with memories
Of battles and sieges when wearing the blue;
Of marchings and flankings and digging of trenches,
And loving communion with old comrades too.

The old army hardtack speaks, too, of dear comrades,
Whose faces are missing to-day in our line;
Their battles all fought, their warfare all ended,
But whose virtues still live in mem'ry's pure shrine,
Then cheer the old hardtack, the square army hardtack,
Who was flinty and wormy at times, I must own,
But when at Mine Run, he took a vacation,
His absence was greeted with many a moan.

Chorus.

The old flinty hardtack, the iron bound hardtack;
The moss-covered hardtack, we all knew him well.

Travelling the next three years through Virginia and its environments, we were often obstructed by mud and other earthern impediments, and the scenery was much disfigured and frequently obliterated by sulphurous clouds of smoke, hence excursioning for health and pleasure was, on the whole, a failure. Speaking for myself, individually, the climate didn't agree with me a bit. This I attribute largely to the horizontal metallic showers with which that region was infested and against which no ordinary cotton umbrella was an adequate protection. Indeed the atmosphere was so impregnated with little pellets of lead and ragged chunks of cast iron, that my system must have absorbed about fifty-five pounds of old junk and brought it home with me for, on my return, I weighed 190 lbs. against 135 when I left Lynnfield.

Natick with its Company I entertained for the third time, October 5, 1892; Quincy and Co. D did the hospitable act, also for the third time, in 1893, August 30; Roxbury and Company B were the entertainers in 1894 and Co. H of Dorchester received at the U. S. Hotel, Boston, Sept. 25, 1895; for 1896, no record is found, but Sept. 6, 1897, Co. E and Somerville appear again; it is Medford and Co. C in 1898; Woburn and her K Company in 1899. The old century ends, as far as our Regiment is concerned, October 10, 1900, with I Company and Natick, while the new one begins Sept. 7, 1901, on the old campground at Lynnfield; Sept. 22, 1902, finds the veterans again in Quincy; Sept. 24, 1903, in Roxbury; August 19, 1904, with Co. H. at Nantasket. Then with no special company distinctions the reunions follow, directed by the Executive Committee, at Squantum Inn, Sept. 21, 1905; Bass Point, Sept. 6, 1906; in a Dorchester hotel, October 23, 1907; again at Bass Point, Sept. 29, 1908; at Revere Beach for three successive years, viz. August 30, 1909, August 18, 1910, and August 18, 1911. Fifty years after the departure of the Regiment from Massachusetts, nearly a hundred (92) veterans assembled again in Somerville with Company E and a large number of prominent citizens to celebrate the semi-centennial; the state armory was the gathering place and General Peirson was the marked figure on the occasion while wives, daughters and other lady friends added to the pleasures of the hour; Sergt. Abijah Thompson of Co. K was the oldest man present, he having seen fully 90 years. After the dinner, over which Comrade the Rev. John F. Locke said grace and at which Lieut. J. H. Dusseault, Co. E, presided, there was speaking by Ex-Mayors Edward Glines, C. A. Grimmons and John M. Woods, the latter a veteran of the war, and the first named a brother of Fred Glines of Co. E who died in Salisbury. Mayor Burns of Somerville extended the courtesies of the city to the veterans and welcomed them all most heartily. General Peirson was received with accustomed enthusiasm and was heard with rapt attention. The half century event was a great success. The 51st anniversary was observed in Medford, with the survivors of Co. C, Sept. 6, 1913; the day, the place, the guests, quite one hundred in numbers, made the event notable; the forenoon's meeting was in the hall of the S. C. Lawrence Post, G. A. R., while the dinner was served in the drill-room of the magnificent armory, presented to Medford and the State by General S. C. Lawrence.

REGIMENTAL ROSTER

Nothing in the story of a regiment is of greater importance than its Roster, for therein appears the record of the individual whether the same be good or bad. One man alone makes a small appearance, yet a thousand men make a regiment and every volunteer, whether commissioned or enlisted, is entitled to the best that can be said of him. If, in addition to his military service, his career in civil life may be given in outline so much the better, for in America every able bodied man is potentially a soldier. The foundation for the following Roster is found upon the muster rolls, carefully preserved in the State House, Boston, and additions have been made thereto through the information afforded by members of the Veteran Association.