OUR FALLEN BRAVES.
I.
Not in the quiet churchyard, where their fathers’ bones repose,
With loving hands to mark the spot with willow and with rose;
Not in the quiet nooks and dells of the old homestead place,
’Mid scenes of boyhood days time never can efface;
But in strange lands we laid them down, in rough dug soldiers’ graves,
And far from home and kindred ones they sleep, our fallen braves.
II.
No mother’s wail of sorrow o’er the new sod, fresh and green,
Where sleeps the boy she nursed and loved, and fondled when a ween;
No blue-eyed maiden, golden haired, to drop the bitter tear,
Or mark the spot with loving hands, where sleeps the form so dear;
But comrades knew their honest worth, the sacrifice they made,
And they have marked with thoughtful care where sleep our fallen braves.
III.
We left our heroes at Fair Oakes, we dug their honored graves,
Beside the Chickahominy, with its dull, dreary waves.
Not alone they fell in battle, not alone by steel and lead,
The fell malaria swept them off, as fruits fall, ripe and red.
And where the southern laurels bloom, and oleanders wave,
In the swamp lands, drear and deadly, they sleep, our fallen braves.
IV.
And oh, it was a fearful lot we buried at Glendale,
Our ranks were thinned like standing corn before the sweeping gale.
And thick their honored graves were strewn, through cornfields, one by one,
They mark the spot where Antietam was bravely fought and won.
And where the fight raged fiercest, by the Rappahannock’s waves,
There is many a yellow mound to tell where sleep our fallen braves.
V.
Oh, brave hearts that know no shrinking, oh, strong hands tried and true,
You paled to see your country’s stars turn from their azured blue;
And burned your hearts with patriot fire, nerved your arm to right,
Ye were foremost when the call came, ye were foremost in the fight.
And well ye fought and brave ye died, ye were no hireling slaves,
May earth its richest tribute bring to all our fallen braves.
VI.
What though no marble monument, no towering shaft of stone,
Is reared above the sacred soil where rest their honored bones;
What though no graven tablet shall, through all the coming time,
Tell to the world heroic deeds of sacrifice sublime.
But we who know how willingly their noble lives they gave,
Will treasure in our hearts the worth of all our fallen braves.
I do not believe there was a regiment in either army where the love was so strong between officers and men as in the old 19th. We had no little jealousies; the men obeyed the officers because they knew that no unreasonable orders would be given. All was peace and harmony. Officers and men were given furloughs, and boxes were received from home. Some of the boxes had been a long time on the road, and when they arrived the contents were in an uncertain condition. It was hard to tell the tobacco from the mince pie. William A. Hill, adjutant of the regiment, had expected a box for some time, and the officers knew that when it came “Billy” would see that all had a share. At last it arrived, and we gathered at headquarters to see it opened. The cover was removed and the smell was not quite equal to the arbutus, but we hoped it was only the top. Another box was found inside containing what was once a turkey, but was now a large lump of blue mould. Nothing in the box was eatable. We held a council and concluded that a turkey that had been dead so long should have a decent burial. The next day the remains lay in state while we prepared for the last sad services. We waked the corpse until midnight, then the sad procession was formed. First came the largest negro, selected from the many servants, as drum-major; then the comb band; next the quartermaster, with the carbine reversed, as a firing party; then the corpse borne on a stretcher by four negroes, two small and two large; then the mourners (officers who had expected to eat the turkey, and were left); all so disguised that none could recognize them. We marched down the main street of the camp, the comb band playing the dead march. Men half dressed came out of their tents to see what was the trouble, but we passed beyond the camp lines, where a grave had been prepared. Here the body was lowered, remarks were made by the chaplain (pro tem.), a poem was read by the quartermaster, and we returned to camp and mourned for the spirits that had departed.
Another jolly time I recall. One day a light snow had fallen, and the men began to snow-ball. Soon companies were engaged and then the right and left wings of the regiment were pitted against each other. I was with the left wing and we were holding our own when the drum corps re-enforced the right. Up to this time headquarters had been spectators, but they became excited, and joined the right wing. With such re-enforcements, the battle would soon be lost to us, but I remembered that some twenty of our negro servants were in rear of the hospital tent, and I went to them and offered bounty if they would enlist. They hesitated, but I assured them that I would stand the blame if they joined our forces. Having loaded every one with an armful of snow balls, I charged over the hill and attacked headquarters by the flank. If any one doubts the bravery of colored troops he should have seen my army that day. They rushed upon the foe, regardless of who it was. Their ammunition exhausted, they started on the charge with heads down, and butted all before them. Headquarters vanished. The right wing gave way, and the left held the field. It was the first battle won by colored troops in the war, and proved that they could fight if well officered.
Many of the soldiers quartered near us, and some of our own men, had an eye to business, and were going about the camp selling pies, cookies and other articles of food. The 19th Maine had many men engaged in this business. One day a tall, honest-looking fellow was going through our camp when he passed Sergeant McGinnis. “What do you ask for your pies?” said McGinnis. “Twenty-five cents,” replied the soldier. “I won’t give it,” said McGinnis. “Your colonel was just through here selling them for twenty cents.”
While at this camp Colonel Devereaux was called home, and we were without a field officer. Captain Mahoney hearing of this felt it his duty to return. Although on leave of absence from the severe wound received at Fredericksburg he reported for duty. As I have before said, Captain Mahoney was a true son of Erin, brave and patriotic, yet a little peculiar. He brought with him two dozen bottles of ginger ale (?) and at night the officers in full uniform called to pay their respects. We were royally received. Corks were drawn and sociability began. We informed the captain that the regiment was delighted to have him return, that we had not had a battalion drill for several weeks, and were very rusty. He asked what in our opinion we were the most deficient in, and we said the charge. He said he had expected as much, and that the next day we should have a drill. The next day drill call was sounded, and we fell in. All the officers’ horses were away except an old one that was called “Palmer’s wood-box.” Mounted on this Captain Mahoney took command, and we marched to the parade ground near the town. As the drill was a new thing, the negro women and children assembled to witness it. We started forward in line; the order “Double-quick” was given, then “Charge.” On we went; the old horse began to wheel and kick and the centre of the regiment could not pass. Lieut. Eph. Hall was in command of the left company and I the right. Captain Mahoney cried “Halt! halt!” but we did not hear him, and kept on driving the negroes into the town. After we had cleared the field we came marching back; the captain had dismounted and was walking up and down the line mad way through. “Why didn’t you halt, Lieutenant Adams?” “Didn’t hear you, sir.” “Why didn’t you halt, Lieutenant Hall?” “Didn’t hear you, sir.” “D—d lie! consider yourself in arrest. Adjutant, take Lieutenant Hall’s sword.” Eph. was a lieutenant in Captain Mahoney’s company, and while I got off without a reprimand he must be punished. We marched back to quarters and at night called on the captain with a petition for Lieutenant Hall’s release. We were well received. The ginger ale was opened, and after much discussion it was thought best to send for Lieutenant Hall and have matters explained. Captain Mahoney forgave him although I am not quite sure Eph. asked him to do so, but the noble old captain’s heart was so large that he never treasured up anything against us.
While in camp at Falmouth the base ball fever broke out. It was the old-fashioned game, where a man running the bases must be hit by the ball to be declared out. It started with the men, then the officers began to play, and finally the 19th challenged the 7th Michigan to play for sixty dollars a side. Captain Hume and myself were the committee of our regiment with two officers from the 7th Michigan, the four to select two from some other regiment in the brigade. The game was played and witnessed by nearly all of our division, and the 19th won. The one hundred and twenty dollars was spent for a supper, both clubs being present with our committee as guests. It was a grand time, and all agreed that it was nicer to play base than minie ball.
What were the rebels doing all this time? Just the same as we were. While each army posted a picket along the river they never fired a shot. We would sit on the bank and watch their games, and the distance was so short we could understand every movement and would applaud good plays. Our men and theirs met in the river and exchanged papers, tobacco and coffee and were on the best of terms. As the spring months came they fished the river for shad, and as they drew their seines would come so near our shore that they could and often did throw fish to our boys. This truce lasted from January to May, 1863, and to both armies was one long, happy holiday.
In April I received ten days leave of absence, and visited my old home. I had been promoted first lieutenant after the battle of Fredericksburg, and wore my new uniform for the first time. After two days spent on the road I arrived in Groveland. As in the field, I found death had been busy. My father had been called home, and many others had passed away. The second night after my arrival a delegation of citizens waited upon me and escorted me to the vestry used as a town hall, where I was given a public reception. I do not know what the feelings of General Grant were when he landed at California and was given the grand reception after his trip around the world, but if he felt better than I did he must have been very happy. I remained at home six days, and at the expiration of my leave reported back to the camp. I was as pleased to meet the dear old boys as I had been to meet friends at home.
How I love to linger, living over in memory those happy days. I could fill pages with reminiscences of that winter; the horse show February 22, the grand inauguration of Lieutenant Shackley when he received his commission, the blackberry jam at the sutler’s tent, the courts-martial in the Sibley tent on the hill, and last but not least, the grand joke which was enjoyed by all; but it would be of interest only to the comrades of the old 19th and I will pass on to the stern realities of war.