Second Lieut. Wellington H. Nilsson.
The Non-Commissioned Staff and Headquarters' attachés were the following: Sergeant-Major William D. Huddleson; Quartermaster-Sergeant Edward E. Chapman; Hospital Steward George Y. Sawyer; Paymaster-Sergeant George R. Russell; Drum Major James F. Clark; Chief Bugler Frederick A. H. Bennett; Color-Sergeants Axel T. Tornrose and Horace N. Conn; Orderly Samuel Weiss; Bandmaster Frank L. Collins.
Almost exactly at noontide, and while the cheers of the artillerymen in response to those of their brethren of the Naval Brigade still were echoing across the water, the General Lincoln cast off her lines, and, amid ear-piercing salutes from every vessel provided with steam enough to start a whistle-valve, ran down the channel between Forts Winthrop and Independence, on her course for Fort Warren. In passing out of the upper harbor, the transport ran close to the great British cable-steamer Minia, whose crew swarmed at her rail and yelled their enthusiastic approval of the proceedings, while high on her bridge her officers lifted their caps in acknowledgment of the answering roar from the men in blue. And then, at a sharp order from the bridge, a petty officer ran aft on the Minia, and the red ensign of England was thrice dipped by way of wishing luck to the Yankee volunteers. It was a pleasant incident, as well as one not without significance, and the men of the regiment promptly appropriated it as a good omen.
Once more the Old First Regiment of Massachusetts was off for service. Thirty-seven years earlier, on May 27th, 1861, it had completed its muster into the volunteer army of the United States, leaving Boston on June 15th, and proceeding at once to Washington, where it had the high honor of being the first of the three-years' regiments to report, armed and equipped, for duty. Since that time the changes had been many; officers and men had come and gone; batteries had been transferred, disbanded, or reorganized, until there remained but six out of the twelve ("B," "D," "E," "G," "H," and "K") whose records showed service in the previous war, while of these only three ("D," "G," and "H") had campaigned with the old War First from '61 to '64. But through all the vicissitudes of over a third of a century the traditions and spirit of the early days had been reverently cherished and kept sacred, until now, when the latest call had come, the young men whose pride it was that they bore the veteran name and number were again first in ready response to the summons.
Sheltering themselves as best they could from the biting wind, for the cabins could accommodate but a portion of the regiment, the men prepared to make the best of their hour's trip down the harbor. They were in the highest of spirits, for the orders to move had come as a relief to the previous strain of waiting for the expected to happen. The singing men promptly got to work, while the rest either listened, or, true to the immemorial trait of the newly enrolled volunteer, started cheers for every passing craft. Meanwhile the colonel had assembled his battalion and battery commanders to receive their final instructions looking towards the comfort of the men when the fort should be reached.
The regiment had been hurriedly called out, and at an inclement season of the year, but its officers felt that it was fairly ready, so far as equipment went, for any service that might be expected in the immediate future. In the matter of small-arms there was little to be desired, since an issue of the latest model Springfield rifle—fresh from the national armory, and in perfect condition—had been made during the winter previous. Uniforms and great-coats, if lacking in smartness, were at least serviceable. Many batteries owned their blankets, and in addition to these there was on hand a full supply for the regiment, both woolen and rubber, which only awaited issue. The medical department had well-filled chests, with the necessary equipment and furniture for a small field hospital. Each battery had started from its station with full travel rations for forty-eight hours, which would tide over the interval required to set in operation a consolidated regimental mess. Several cases of heavy shoes had been ordered, to have at hand in case delay should be experienced in filling requisitions for foot-gear. There were on hand twelve thousand rounds of small-arm ammunition—not enough to go far in an infantry fight, but sufficient for supplying the belts of sentries and patrol-boat crews at a coast fort.
Considered as a whole, and more especially in contrast with the wretchedly found commands sent into the field by most other States, the regiment certainly was in efficient and serviceable condition; it had the material necessary for taking care of itself, and, better still, its officers and men were self-reliant and capable. The only cause for uneasiness lay in the matter of quarters. On the New England coast, and at this time of year, the use of canvas for sheltering volunteer troops, just called from their homes and yet unseasoned, seemed unadvisable; arrangements, therefore, had been made by General Dalton for the use of the portable houses owned by the City of Boston, and employed as polling-booths at the municipal elections, and it was understood that something over fifty of these had been erected on the parade at Fort Warren, in readiness for the coming of the regiment. In this expectation, however, the commanding officer was destined to meet disappointment.
THE REGIMENT AT FORT WARREN
V.
Shortly after one o'clock, the transport drew alongside the pier at Fort Warren, and the batteries disembarked and formed in column, with the field music at the head. Then the regiment marched up from the pier, in through the main sallyport, and on to the parade, where line of masses was formed, arms were stacked and knapsacks unslung, preparatory to the work of getting the baggage up from the transport and settling down in quarters. And here the regiment was treated to an unwelcome surprise. The rain-proof wooden village which it had expected to find waiting for its occupancy had not yet come into existence; over by the main magazine stood two or three lonely booths, but the rest of the cantonment still remained piled in disjoined pieces on the lighters lying at the pier. To be sure, a delegation from the institution at Deer Island was engaged in giving a half-hearted imitation of a working detail, but it was obvious to the most obtuse that the coming of night would find the task of village-building hardly begun—and this led the seven hundred men standing at ease behind the line of stacks on the soggy parade ground, and lunching in the cold, drizzling rain, on hardtack and canned beef, to make philosophical comments on the horrors of war in general, and of this war in particular.