The list of casualties show in how many ways the men were lost. Some of the men and two of the officers never could be accounted for. Lieutenant George Johnson, who escaped from prison at Charlotte, has never been heard from. It is supposed that he was shot by guerrillas, who infested the locality in which he said he was going to reach the Union lines. Lieut. William H. Miller was last seen at Washington on his way to the regiment after having been exchanged. It is supposed that he was taken sick and died in the hospital. Elbert Sutleff, Co. K, was lost at sea by the burning of the steamship "General Lyon." Quite a number of the men who were returning to the regiment after captivity, were on a steamer going down the Potomac river in the night when the boat collided with the "Black Diamond." All the passengers jumped aboard the Diamond, which went down, and the regiment lost seven men. Some of the saved remained in the water three or four hours.
On Sunday, June 25th, the regiment proceeded to Morehead City, and embarked on the steam transport "General Meigs," with the 23d Massachusetts Regiment, and the Connecticut Brigade Band, which, learning that we were mustered out and on our way home, had obtained an order from General Palmer to be sent home under charge of Lieutenant Colonel Burnham. The sea being rough we did not leave till the next morning. We arrived at New York late on the afternoon of the 28th. Taking on some rations we proceeded to New Haven, arriving there at an early hour in the morning. Procuring special transportation, we reached Hartford at eight o'clock. Being a Hartford regiment, the citizens had made extensive arrangements to welcome us, but the 18th Connecticut had arrived that morning by boat and while their attention was drawn towards them, the Sixteenth suddenly entered the Asylum street depot. The news soon reached the State House Square, and the bell was rung, and by the time the regiment was in line the Governor's Guard, City Guard, and Colt's Band were on the "double quick," and thousands of citizens were hurriedly approaching the depot. Many who had seen the regiment leave for the war three years before, and now witnessed the decimated ranks were effected to tears. Those who had husbands, brothers, or relatives in the regiment, watched us eagerly and looked strangely into the ranks, hardly believing that any could be missing. One lady, the wife of an officer, was told for the first time of her husband's death. So great was her grief, that friends who accompanied her could hardly get her into a carriage to convey her home.
From the Hartford Courant, June 30th, 1865.
THE SIXTEENTH.
"Everybody supposed that this gallant regiment would arrive here on the 9.45 regular morning accommodation train from New Haven, but the "boys" being accustomed to making surprises secured special transportation and were in the Asylum street depot by eight o'clock. Here they were received by the Governor's Guard, the City Guard, and Colt's band, and escorted up High to North Main street, down Main to State. On the march, though few in numbers, (but one hundred and thirty enlisted men returning) their tidy and soldierly appearance was the subject of general comment. Being a Hartford regiment there was an unusual interest manifested to see them, and signs of welcome were apparent on every hand. Arriving in front of the United States Hotel, they were drawn up in line, and Governor Buckingham made a brief speech congratulating them on their safe return and extending them cordial greetings on behalf of the State."
Hon. Ezra Hall was then introduced, and welcomed the regiment in behalf of the city in an eloquent manner as follows:
Officers and Soldiers of the Sixteenth Connecticut: Heroes of many a hard-fought battle, and worthy veterans of a redeemed country! On a beautiful summer day in 1862, when the nation was in its greatest peril, and rebel powers seemed successful for a time in driving back the armies of the Republic, placing in jeopardy all our hopes and every interest of free government, you, more than a thousand strong and valiant men, volunteered to place your names upon the muster-roll among the country's defenders. That roll of honor will go down the centuries and in the far off future the lover of freedom will unroll the scroll, and call your names as among the heroic volunteer force who cemented the Union of these States, and proclaimed through the immortal Lincoln, freedom to all mankind. It was hard to leave your situations, your homes, and those you loved. And a sharper pang would steal along your feelings as you thought the step might take you forever from the dear New England hills and all you held dear. But manfully you resolved, and the pensive feelings that evidenced so well your better life, while preparing for the decision, made you braver as you stood on the enemy's grounds, striking for the very homes you left, and the government of your fathers. But the question was decided for country; and you went out from your homes to camp. Hard were your pillows, and the long and weary days went slowly on. Friends gathered to see you in your tents, and to pay you a tender tribute ere you went out to battle. They chatted and counselled with heavy hearts, but asked holy benedictions for your safety and through you for the country. Who of you can forget the stirring emotions of those meetings and partings. For a few days you drilled and disciplined for the coming strife. The order came. You struck your tents—passed down the very streets on which we stand, with colors flying and music measuring out the solemn step of war. No braver regiment ever went out from our city or State. Made up mostly of Hartford men, born and cradled under the very branches of the Charter Oak, we knew well what would be your history, and we watched with pride your firm and steady ranks, as you filed along these streets. As we followed with anxious eye the steamer winding down the Connecticut, bearing its precious freight, with the Stars and Stripes streaming in the wind, we felt a security and an indebtedness, which we now have all come to acknowledge. You went to New York, passed the capital of your country, and in a few days stood on the bloody fields of Antietam. There, in the old Ninth corps, under the faithful Burnside, you first realized war, and stood on the fated field of death. That was a sad day for the 16th Connecticut. Two hundred of your comrades, officers and men, had fallen, and when the shadows of evening closed on that historic day, your hearts, sad and broken, went up in thankfulness to God for your preservation. Well do I remember the sadness that settled over this city, as the news came across the wires that death had cruelly thinned and decimated your ranks, and that among the brave who had fallen were the noble Captains Manross, Drake, Brown, and Barber; but you had only time to bear out the noble two hundred to their sepulture, and to place some humble stone to mark their rest, before you were ordered to the fields of Fredericksburg.
There bravely you stood through three long days of battle. From there you moved to Suffolk, where your ranks were again broken, and the brave Capt. Tennant fell—he who was beloved at home and dear to the Hartford City Guard, of which he was a member, and who followed him with reversed arms and bowed hearts, to yonder church yard where now he sleeps. Peaceful will be his rest, and sacred his memory, for he died for country and humanity. Slowly the days went by as you were garrisoned at Portsmouth, and long were your marches from Plymouth to New Berne. You will never forget, but will tell over to your children through all the coming years of your lives, how after a long siege by the rebels at Plymouth, nearly your entire regiment was captured, and taken away to rebel prisons at Macon and Andersonville; how of the four hundred and four unfortunate captives who entered Andersonville prisons, more than half were borne out lifeless and cold. My blood chills when I remember that more than two hundred of this regiment were starved and murdered in Southern prisons—imaging more perfectly the hell of secession and the barbarism of Southern institutions and chivalry, than any other page of the war. But you have been preserved to come back to your homes, and to watch again the flag of your country waving over your native city. You well remember how beautiful it looked to you when first you saw its colors after the hour of your deliverance came, and you passed the rebel lines. That flag to-day symbolizes the greatest freedom and the most perfect nationality. "'Tis the banner of all the West," that of a nation now pronounced—
"The heir of all the ages in the foremost files of time."
But your work is done and your history is sealed. In the name of those for whom you fought and who have gathered here to do you honor it is my privilege to say a thousand times welcome home. Your thinned ranks, your torn colors, give convincing proof of your deeds of bravery The state will hang your tattered flag in yonder capitol, and claim with pride your history, and through all the future of the country, her sons will love, respect, and honor you as the brave soldiers who fought in the last great battle for freedom.