Colonel Pfaff was awaiting developments at the State House when the decision was reached to call out the regiment, and the order was given to him direct. Hastening at once back to the South Armory, he handed the order to Adjutant Lake, who lost no time in putting in motion the mobilization machinery which for years had been in readiness to meet just such an emergency as this. Quietly and systematically the orders for assembly went out over the telegraph and telephone wires, until, in less than an hour, every officer of the command knew that the end of the long waiting had come. And then the non-commissioned officers passed the word to the men of their squads, while staff officers hurried by rail to the stations of each of the out-lying batteries, to make sure that nothing was omitted in the carrying out of the final orders. Long before midnight, through their reports, the commanding officer knew that his regiment would be ready to march out with full ranks on the following morning. There was little sleep for officers or men; many passed the night in their armories, while those who returned to their homes spent the hours before daylight in making hurried arrangements for an indefinite absence. It would be idle to say that there was no excitement, for each armory was a seething whirlpool of enthusiasm; but in spite of it all, matters moved on methodically, and morning found the twelve batteries ready in every respect for the mobilization.
With the early dawn, the batteries of the Third (Bristol-Plymouth) Battalion—years ago christened the "Cape" Battalion—formed at their armories for the march to the trains which were to transport them to Boston. Their departure was the signal for the wildest enthusiasm in their respective cities. In Fall River, Brockton, Taunton, and New Bedford the same scenes were enacted: cheering crowds lined the streets, and the Grand Army veterans, cadet corps of the schools, and civic organizations turned out to escort the departing troops. Very much the same sort of feeling prevailed in Cambridge and Chelsea; but in Boston—though excited crowds gathered about the great South Armory—there was no organized demonstration.
By nine o'clock, the batteries of the First and Second Battalions were assembled in the South Armory, where they were joined, a quarter of an hour later, by those of the Third Battalion, just off their troop-trains. Arms were stacked in the great drill-hall, knapsacks were unslung, and ranks were broken for a brief rest, while a travel ration, with hot coffee, was issued to the men, many of whom, in all probability, had been too excited to do full justice to breakfast at their homes.
It was at this time that a fact developed which—though overlooked in the rush of events at the time—must be placed on record now to the credit of the regiment. It must be recalled that definite orders for assembly were received late on the afternoon of the 25th, and that the men reported to their commands almost at daybreak on the 26th; recalling this, it certainly should give cause for just pride to the friends of the regiment, as well as to those who in the past have labored long and untiringly for the efficiency of the militia of Massachusetts, that in this emergency over ninety-nine per cent. of the regimental strength answered at morning roll-call, and reported for whatever service might be forthcoming. The commissioned and enlisted strength, under the State organization, aggregated seven hundred and ninety-three. The morning reports handed to the adjutant, during the short rest before the regiment took up its march towards the wharves, showed fifty officers and seven hundred and thirty-six enlisted men present, with only seven enlisted men absent—and of the latter, all were satisfactorily accounted for by reason of sickness or absence from the State. Much has been said during the past few months of the unreliability of militia in grave national emergencies, and it unfortunately is too true that in many States the records of the late war have tended to give force to such charges, but let it be remembered in Massachusetts, so long as there exists a First Regiment in its military establishment, that when a sudden call came, to meet what was felt to be a very real danger, the absentees when assembly was sounded numbered less than nine-tenths of one per cent. of the strength borne upon the regimental rolls.
Soon after ten o'clock, the regiment formed in line of masses. The regimental colors were brought from the colonel's quarters, and were received with three hearty cheers. Then the battalions stood at attention while Chaplain Horton earnestly addressed the men on the significance of the day's events. At the close of his remarks the regiment broke into column of detachments, the heavy doors of the armory swung wide, and the First Massachusetts Heavy Artillery—literally the first militia regiment in the country to come to the assistance of the general Government—marched out for the war, with its band at the head of the column playing the time-honored "March of The First."
OFF FOR ACTIVE SERVICE
IV.
It was a raw, gloomy day. A drizzling rain fell at intervals, and the pavements were slippery with mud. The batteries paraded in heavy marching order—knapsack, haversack, canteen, and mess-kit—and wore great-coats and leggings. The line of march was: Irvington Street, Huntington Avenue, Copley Square, Boylston Street, Berkeley Street, Beacon Street, School Street, Washington Street, State Street, Broad Street, to Rowe's Wharf. In spite of the inclement weather, the streets were crowded, and it seemed that the whole population of Boston had turned out to give the regiment a fitting farewell. The women were particularly enthusiastic. At one place on the line of march an elderly woman leaned far out of a window, as the regimental colors were being borne past, and cried to the men in the throng on the sidewalk below, "Take off your hats; take off your hats! I'm ashamed of you!" The wide granite steps of the Institute of Technology were densely packed with students, who cheered lustily as the batteries, with not a few graduates and undergraduates of the school in their ranks, swung by before them.
At the State House there came another ovation. On the same spot where Governor Andrew, on the 25th of May, 1864, had welcomed back the regiment on its return from three glorious years of service with the Army of the Potomac, stood Governor Wolcott, with the officers of his staff, to speed the Old First on its way to yet another war. There was little ceremony; there was no oratory—but the moment, none the less, was impressive. On the one hand, as the long column took its way over the hill, was the grand bronze memorial to Shaw and his heroic men, mutely eloquent of duty done and history made; on the other, as mutely eloquent of duty yet to be performed and history yet to be written, was the Governor of the Commonwealth, erect and motionless, standing uncovered under the lowering sky as his troops, with his own son a private in the ranks, tramped steadily past in parting review.
