[IN MEMORIAM.]
The necrology of the Twenty-seventh, during the whole term of service, includes seventy-five officers and men, and embraces much that was noblest in the regiment. Of this number thirty-three fell amid the strife and turmoil of battle; eighteen, after a more or less lingering period of patient agony, finally succumbed to their wounds; and twenty-four others slowly yielded to the inroads of disease, and died among the more quiet scenes of the hospital. Were it possible, we would gladly dwell upon each individual name, and gather up those qualities by which each is remembered among his comrades. But after all that might be said, the simple record of the central fact in their history, that these men fell in defence of the most righteous cause ever submitted to the decision of the sword, is far more impressive than any commemorative words. And yet there are some whose marked character and prominent connection with the regiment as a whole, or with single companies, seem to demand more than a passing notice. Chief among these, the mind and heart of each member of the regiment will at once recur to the name of
LIEUT.-COL. HENRY C. MERWIN,
who fell in the battle of Gettysburg, July second, 1863. If this noble spirit must leave its mortal tenement amid the wild tumult of war, how appropriate that it should be when the black cloud of disaster, which had so long hovered over the cause of our country, was just rolling away, and already revealed its silver lining of victory!
Colonel Merwin was a native of Brookfield, Connecticut, where he was born September seventeenth, 1839. He spent the greater part of his life in New-Haven, and at the beginning of the war was in business with his father and brother. He early manifested a fondness for military life, to which the subsequent events of his history proved him well adapted. When the first gun of the war sounded from the rebel batteries at Charleston, it awoke in his breast a determined and prompt response. At that time he was a member of the New-Haven Grays, and immediately volunteered with that corps for three months’ service in the Second Regiment, holding the position of sergeant. It will be remembered that that was one of the very few regiments which returned with credit from the field of Bull Run. After this brief campaign he remained at home for a season, constrained by considerations of filial duty, by which a noble nature like his is ever governed until yet higher obligations demand attention. The armies of the Union were being rapidly filled up, and at length the Government stopped recruiting, while the nation beheld with confidence the vast and apparently irresistible preparations, which betokened an easy victory. Under these circumstances it was not strange that so many, like Colonel Merwin, held back by peculiar home duties, refrained from throwing themselves into the struggle. But these anticipations resulted in disappointment, and all this array of resources proved a disastrous failure. The call of the country was now heard in louder and more imperative tones than ever before, and appealed to a far wider circle in the community. Henry C. Merwin responded with a calm, but earnest alacrity, as is ever true of those whose guide is duty. His deserved and unsought popularity soon gathered to his banner a full quota of men, which was designated as Company A of the Twenty-seventh. Subsequently, at the organization of the regiment, he was chosen Lieutenant-Colonel by the votes of his fellow-officers. From this point his history is identified with that of the regiment. From the moment of departure for the field to the time of his death in that terrible combat of July second, at Gettysburg, he had never been relieved from duty, except as the casualties of war separated him from his command. He shared the fortunes of the regiment during the terrible and fruitless battle of Fredericksburg, and met with undaunted courage the sudden shock of disaster in the thickets of Chancellorsville. He visited Richmond as a prisoner of war, and on being exchanged at once returned to the regiment, to the command of which he was now called. Along the weary march to Gettysburg he inspired the men with his own indomitable spirit, and on that fated wheat-field, where the missiles of the enemy, as it were, mowed down the waving grain, he fell, mortally wounded, breathing out those words of noble self-forgetfulness, “My poor regiment is suffering fearfully.”
Without disparagement to any, it may truly be said that no officer in the regiment attracted to himself such universal and unvarying respect, confidence, and affection among the men of his command. Nor was this strange in view of the remarkable and harmonious combination of noble qualities in his character. No pride of position ever marred the beautiful consistency of his life, and yet there was a natural dignity which forbade undue familiarity. He felt deeply the responsibility of his relation to the regiment, and this o’ermastering principle swallowed up every consideration of self-interest. Duty was evidently the supreme motive of his life, and intent upon the performance of his own, he expected and required equal faithfulness on the part of others. He was quick of discernment, and rapid in execution, but no harshness ever dimmed the transparent kindness of his demeanor. His genial countenance and words of sympathy and encouragement often cheered the loneliness of the hospital. He thoroughly appreciated the hardships and trials peculiar to the private soldier, and at all times endeavored to sustain and inspirit his weary energies. All these more amiable qualities were supplemented by a manly independence and decision, which made him always jealous for the rights of his men. On that trying march to Gettysburg, no arrogance and severity of superior officers ever deterred him from a gentlemanly, but bold and firm, maintenance of the rights and interests of the regiment. He at once secured the respect, and soon the high regard of Colonel Brooke, commanding the brigade, who felt most keenly the loss of Colonel Merwin, and, on hearing that he was wounded, gave orders that every thing possible should be done for his welfare.
But none can do justice to such a character. In his death the Twenty-seventh laid its costliest sacrifice upon the altar of our country.
“He had kept