The reception of the regiment by the patriotic citizens of Providence was as generous as it was hospitable. The Pawtucket companies (B and F) reached home just before six o’clock, and were welcomed with the firing of cannon, the ringing of bells, and other demonstrations of respect and kindness. After the warm greetings at the railroad station by friends, the band meanwhile vigorously playing “When Johnny Comes Marching Home,” and other popular airs, a line was formed, (the escort comprising the Home Guard and officers of the Light Guard,) and moved through the principal streets, including a march to Central Falls and back. It was a proud day for the “raw recruit” and his comrades. In marching through the streets of both places, cheers and the waving of handkerchiefs testified the delight of the multitude at our safe return. On arriving at the old Armory Hall in Pawtucket, where, nine or ten months previously, so many of us had enlisted, and which never looked so well to us before, a bountiful collation was partaken of, and then, with good judgment on the part of somebody, the companies were dismissed without being compelled to listen to speeches from those who, for “prudential reasons,” remained at home.
The second death in Company B occurred on the evening of the first day out from Yorktown. Frank M. Bliss, the “drummer boy” of the company, had been sick several days with typhoid fever in the hospital at Yorktown, and his recovery was considered hopeless when he was carried on board the steamer by his comrades. The deceased was a son of Captain Albert Bliss, of Pawtucket, and a young man of excellent qualities. He was very anxious to serve his country in some capacity, and being only eighteen years of age, and not physically able to carry the load of an infantry soldier he enlisted as a drummer, and did good service in that capacity. His remains were tenderly borne by a detail of his comrades from the steamer to the home of his afflicted parents, and what in so many other homes was a day of great joy on account of the return of loved ones, in theirs was a day of deepest sorrow, for the loved son and brother whose return had been so long joyously anticipated came not.
The regiment was paid off and “mustered out” of service in Providence on the thirteenth day of July, 1863. It left Rhode Island a little more than one thousand strong. It came back numbering eight hundred and thirty-eight enlisted men and thirty-eight commissioned officers. During its absence it lost sixty men by discharge, and seven others by death. Fifty-five of its members were left behind in various hospitals, and twenty-five sick men were brought home on the steamer. It is a remarkable fact in the history of the regiment that not one man was killed in an engagement with the enemy during its entire nine months’ campaign. It is doubtful whether this has its parallel in any other regiment which entered the service during the civil war.
But there were many other things which the soldier had to do besides fighting. One thing all had to do, namely, obey orders, and when that was done, the soldier had done all that was required of him, all that he promised to do when he enlisted. The entire regiment never appeared in line once after we left Providence, so many of the men being detailed for various kinds of service, such as hospital nurses, ambulance drivers, wagoners, and so forth. But, comrades, whatever the service performed by our regiment, it should be esteemed honor and distinction enough for any one of us to have it said of him, “This is the country which he helped to save.”
Chapter X.
I have thus imperfectly, and to myself at least very unsatisfactorily, sketched the nine months’ war experiences of a “raw recruit” of the Eleventh Rhode Island regiment. Whatever has been said, if anything, which shall provoke criticism, be assured that “naught has been set down in malice.”
As was said by one whose words I have already quoted, “the men composing the Eleventh regiment compared favorably with those of other regiments which went from Rhode Island.” Some theories, however, in regard to what constitutes the best material for soldiers were upset by the results of our nine months’ campaign. In my own company, for instance, the majority of the men were recruited from the professions and the counting-room. But before leaving home it was deemed best by the officers to enlist a few men upon whom they could rely to do the fighting in the event that the classes to whom I have referred should show the “white feather” in the hour of trial. Consequently a few “roughs,” or “toughs,” or “bruisers,” or “scalawags,” were introduced into the company. With what result? Just what every intelligent man should have known at the outset. They were absolutely good for nothing when we were in camp but to furnish the company’s quota for the guard-house, and when an emergency required their services they were either drunk or in the hospital by reason of their excesses. They were, indeed, “invincible in peace and invisible in war.” The best men at home proved the most serviceable in the field. And this I believe to be true not only of our own company and regiment, but of all the troops who entered the service of the country.
All soldiers have a regimental pride and affection. It would sound equally as strange to hear a man not speak well of his mother, as to hear a soldier not speak well of his regiment. The rebel General Hill tells of an Irish soldier belonging to a New Orleans regiment whom he found after the second day’s battle at Gettysburg lying alone in the woods, his head partly supported by a tree. He was shockingly injured. General Hill said to him: “My poor fellow, you are badly hurt. What regiment do you belong to?” He replied: “The Fifth Confederit, sir; and a dommed good regiment it is.” The answer, though almost ludicrous, well illustrates a soldier’s pride in his regiment.