1866, provisional, Chas. Devens, A. S. Cushman; 1867, A. S. Cushman; 1868, A. B. R. Sprague; 1869, Francis A. Osborne; 1870, James L. Bates; 1871, William Cogswell; 1872, Henry R. Sibley; 1873, A. B. Underwood; 1874, J. W. Kimball; 1875, Geo. S. Merrill; 1876-77-78, Horace Binney Sargent; 1879, J. G. B. Adams; 1880, John A. Hawes; 1881, Geo. W. Creasey; 1882, Geo. H. Patch; 1883, Geo. S. Evans; 1884, John D. Billings; 1885, John W. Hersey; 1886, Richard F. Tobin.
The Assistant Adjutant-Generals, to whose systematic work this department has been so greatly indebted for its efficiency, have been Thomas Sherwin, Henry B. Peirce, James F. Meech, and Alfred C. Munroe.
Having for eight years led in members and excellency all the departments of the country, with its record of over $600,000, expended in its relief work, with $120,000 now held for that purpose, with a membership of nearly eighteen thousand, and possessing the only Soldiers Home in the nation, established solely through its own efforts and still maintained in its hands, the Grand Army of Massachusetts has a right to be proud of its exemplification of the virtues of "Fraternity, Charity, and Loyalty."
ON DETACHED SERVICE.
AN EPISODE OF THE CIVIL WAR.
BY CHARLES A. PATCH, MASS. VOLS.
Most sketches of battle-scenes, in their voluminous details of movements and vivid descriptions of action, so completely hide the actual feelings of the men engaged that the inexperienced may be pardoned the thought, that, having donned the insignia of a soldier, a man instantly becomes filled with martial ardor, and eager to face the most withering fire of musketry or artillery. But the reality is far different; very few men are so constituted, or are so reckless of their lives, that they can listen to the unearthly screech of the shell or the crash of solid shot, mingled with the sickening thud of grape and bullets, without a shiver of weakness creeping through their systems, and a helpless knocking of their knees together. It is a military fact that lines of combatants as they go into position are not made up of heroes, and regiments which won renown in such scenes of carnage as Fredericksburg, or Gettysburg, or the Wilderness, were composed of plain, quiet men, who were faint-hearted and homesick when forming in front of flashing batteries or heavy bodies of opposing troops. It was only when completely involved in the struggle, after the madness of excitement had overcome the real man, that they proved themselves to be, what we now know them, heroes. But it very often happened that troops were placed in positions where neither glory nor honor could redound to them, however brave they might be, and where the results of such movements were not at all in keeping with the loss of life incurred. This little sketch covers somewhat such an occasion, where troops comparatively new in the service were ordered to perform work which seemed uncalled-for and extra hazardous, and of so little consequence that no record will ever be made of it, although lives were lost in its accomplishment. An inside view is simply given of the true feelings and actions of men at such times, and necessarily lacks the glow of enthusiasm which is thrown around the picture of the historic battle. But to the story.
If there was one feature in the South which annoyed the Federal commanders more than another it was the railroad system. Through its medium they were enabled to supply their armies from the great plantation centres where war was unknown. With a railroad at the back of each army, they were enabled to move with small wagon trains, and could utilize troops that would otherwise have been detached as guards. By its potent power, also, the troops were hurried from point to point of the Confederacy, thus keeping the Federal armies so long outside the charmed circle of the seceded States. With worn-out rails, scant supply of carriage-material, and wheezy engines, they performed herculean labor throughout the war. Consequently it became the favorite pastime and the almost sole business of Union cavalry to destroy or attempt destruction of railroad communication. Thousands upon thousands of valuable lives were sacrificed in such movements, and without any material damage to the fighting centre of the Confederacy.
Our department commander, becoming infatuated with this method of making war upon the South, was urging his corps towards a well-known railroad junction one clear, cool day in December, '62. We were some fifty miles from our base, and bodies of the enemy were continually harassing our line of march, sometimes meeting us in sharp conflict, and at all times impeding our progress by road-obstruction. Already the killed and wounded were counted by hundreds, and the coveted goal still far away. As we plodded wearily along, wondering what would happen next, one of the division staff dashed up to our brigadier and ordered him to detach one of his regiments and send it to support cavalry that had seized a bridge some miles to our right. It was the fortune of our regiment to be detached for the service, and we marched into a wood-road, rather depressed in feelings, and sadly missing that sense of security which the fellowship of a large body of men gives to the soldier. On we went for about three miles through dense woods that chilled one's very marrow with their gloom. Occasional glimpses of bits of blue sky through the overarching branches were the only reminders that the outside world remained as it used to be. Once or twice we passed small openings in which some poor white had located, and where half-naked children were the only signs of civilization, or, rather, uncivilization, till, at last, under the guidance of a scout, we filed into a clearing about a quarter of a mile from the bridge. Through the woods we could see two guns planted in the road at the bridgehead, and a squadron of dismounted cavalry supporting them. The smoke rising from the partially burnt timbers, and the frequent interchange of rifle and carbine shots, with now and then the roar of artillery, gave ample evidence that business would soon be lively in that locality. The outlook was not at all enlivening; our regiment was small in number, the woods dark and treacherous,—the main army adding mile upon mile to the interval between us,—and we were very forcibly impressed that even railroad-smashing, in plenty of company, was far better than bridge-burning with such lonesome surroundings.