In the last number of the MAGAZINE we left the patriotic Irishmen of the
Twenty-Eighth Regiment in their Camp Cameron, at Cambridge, dreaming of
the heroic deeds of their race on foreign fields; of the proud
chronicles of the valor of the European Irish Brigade at Fontenoy and
Ramillies that illumine the pages of French history; of the saving of
Cremona by the Irish regiments under Count Dillon and Col. Burke; of
Lord Clare's dragoons at Blenheim, which, although victorious to the
arms of John Churchill (great Marlborough), and his Teutonic allies the
defeat of Marchal Tallard, commanding the French and Bavarians, was
relieved of some of its ignominy by the capture of two standards from
the British by these dashing Irish troopers; of the fields of Staffardo
under the exiled Lord Mount Cashel, and many other inspiring military
achievements and successes of these Irishmen who vowed by Erin's
Sunburst:
"That never! No! never! while God gave them life
And they had an arm and a sword for the strife,
That never! No! never! that banner should yield
As long as the heart of a Celt was its shield;
While the hand of a Celt had a weapon to wield,
And his last drop of blood was unshed on the field."
The Twenty-Eighth Regiment was formally mustered into the United States
service December 13th, 1861, with Col. William Monteith commanding. Col.
Murphy, it seems, only assisted in the recruiting of the regiment.
Christmas Day found the command not yet ordered forward, still at duty
in the Cambridge camp. The day was duly honored with religious services
and social interchanges. The boys were provided by loving friends with
the wherewithal to make merry and to toast the sweethearts not yet made
exactly of the class of "The girl I left behind me," although in the
expression of the conviviality of the hour that and kindred airs were
jovially rendered by the rollicking blades who were bound to make the
great festival as merry as possible. In the "privates" as well as the
officers' quarters during the evening, innocent revels were made up of
feasting, the witty jest and repartee, playful jokes, songs and stories
until "taps" reminded all through the orders of the officer of the day,
that the night of Christmas Day had a new significance for these Irish
volunteers. Before another return of it, how many of these fine fellows
were food for powder and worms. A touching and very natural little
incident in one of the tents will not only illustrate the genuineness of
the soldier's heart, but also may be set down as a sample of the kindred
feelings of many comrades who shouldered a musket for the preservation
of the country. When the lights were put out as ordered by the "taps"
patrolling guard, a fine young fellow, who had during the evening been
merriest of the merry, was seated near the opening of the tent, bowed
down in thought, while the fitful flickering of the expiring camp-fire
shone through the handsome, glossy hair that drooped over his temples.
His suppressed sighs brought an older and much attached comrade to him,
who, putting his arms kindly around the youth's manly shoulders said, in
lowered tones:
"Arrah, Jim, ma bouchal, what's the matter with you, at all, at all? Has
all the fun gone out of you?"
"No, no, friend Tim! But this night last year I was with my poor old
mother. I'm all that's left to her now, and when she hears I am in the
war, her poor heart will break, and if it is ever my luck to return to
Ireland it will, I'm afraid, be to visit her grave in Kilmurry
church-yard."
"Oh, the _wirrasthru_, and that's the pity av it, Jim. But don't you be
thinking of these things and be sad, or faix's, you'll make a fool of a
soldier of me with thinking of my sweet Kitty and the two childer.
They'll be safe, at any rate for awhile, until we can put in a few good
blows for the glorious country that has given us freedom and a home.
Jim, me boy, our enemy, England, is at the bottom of this bad business.
You know the ould song, 'She comes to divide, to dishonor;' but a tyrant
she'll never reign here while we have a hand to lift and"--(Tim just
then kindly slapping his chum on the back) "a heart to dare her!--and"--
The fervor of Tim aroused comrades in the tent, who gave signs of
approval.
"And, perhaps when we have finished this business, as Secretary Seward
says, in three months we'll have a nice training to go across the ocean
with our arms, and wollop John Bull out of the dear old land."
"Good boy, Tim! good boy;" were the tokens of approval that came
vociferously from all parts of the tent, while at the same time the
double quick tread of the patrol guard, preceded by the flash of the
corporal's lantern was hastily bearing down on the devoted quarters to
stop this untimely ebullition of patriotic fervor, and noticing which
Bill and Tim grasped hands fervently, but hastily, in approval of the
sentiments of the latter. When the corporal looked into the tent the
dozen soldiers it contained were all rolled up snugly in their blankets
and sound asleep, apparently. 'Twas to the noise, not to the patriotism
to which the corporal objected, fearing censure or worse from his
superiors. Had he been off duty, no man likely would have more heartily
re-echoed Tim H----'s patriotic expressions.
Days and weeks passed. In the meantime the officers and men, through
military routine, were perfecting themselves; but for heavier work than
was anticipated.
At last the call came, and amid heart-breaking farewells from wives,
sweethearts and children, and the cheers of the throngs assembled to bid
the gallant fellows good-by, the Twenty-Eighth Regiment left Boston,
January 11, 1862, and went to Fort Columbus, New York harbor, from which
place on February 14, it was sent to Hilton Head, South Carolina. The
regiment was at a place called Darofusky Island when Col. Monteith was
ordered off with the right wing to duty, on Tybee Island, Georgia. It
was here that Col. Monteith did his last service with the Twenty-Eighth.
The whole command was subsequently transferred to James Island, at which
place in an attack on Fort Johnson, the regiment lost fourteen killed
and fifty-two wounded. Gen. Benham, U. S. A., paid a high compliment to
the command for the handsome manner in which they joined in the assault
on the fort June 16. On July 20, the regiment was assigned to Gen.
Burnside's Ninth Corps, and after being a while at Newport News,
Virginia, landed at Aquia Creek, on the Potomac River, August 6th, to
participate in the campaign of Gen. John Pope, "headquarters in the
saddle," on the line of the Rappahannock, and which terminated so
disastrously to our arms at the second Bull Run battle. Major Geo. W.
Cartwright commanded the regiment in this severe engagement and was
wounded. Eighteen men were killed and one hundred and nine wounded, with
eight missing. This was August 30th. On September 1st at Chantilly,
memorable by the death of that daring soldier, Gen. Phil Kearney, the
Faugh-a-Ballaghs lost fifteen killed, with eighty-four wounded, and
casualties. We find the regiment under heavy fire at South Mountain, and
at Antietam's great battle, it crossed the creek at the stone bridge,
charged the enemy's right, located in a most advantageous position, and
drove them, sustaining a loss of twelve killed and thirty-six wounded.
About one month after this, Col. Richard Byrnes,[1] on October 18,
assumed command of the Twenty-Eighth at Nolan's Ferry, and on the 23d of
November, it was transferred to the Second Corps and assigned to
Meagher's Irish Brigade, which was in the division commanded by that
much lamented and knightly soldier, Winfield Scott Hancock. At the close
of the year 1862, some two weeks after fateful Fredericksburg, the
reckoning showed that the Faugh-a-Ballaghs lost five hundred and twenty
in killed, wounded and missing. The second Christmas Day for the boys of
the Twenty-Eighth brought many sad reminders. Poor Kitty H---- and her
babies had to mourn the loss of her brave Tim, the Irish patriot of Camp
Cameron, and the poor heart-broken mother of his young chum drooped and
pined in Ireland for the son who was the solace of her hope and heart.
She had the premonition of his death, at the battle of Chantilly, so
weirdly given in Gerald Griffin's "wake." She saw the blood-red cloud in
the west far out on the Atlantic's tide and while--
"Her door flings wide, loud moans the gale;
Wild fear her bosom fills;
It is, it is the Banshee's wail
Over the darkened hills!
Ululah! Ululah!
A youth to Kiffiehera's taken
That never will return again."
The Christmas of 1862 in the camps of the Union Army on the left bank of
the Rappahannock, confronting Fredericksburg, was rather wanting in good
cheer, although so near the Potomac, and it was only until Gen. Hooker
superseded Burnside in command of the Army of the Potomac, that rations
of potatoes could be had to serve out to the half-famished troops. What
a delightful supplement to a soldier's mess is even one good potato and
a piece of onion, when for weeks his only change has been from hard tack
with fat pork to pork (fat) and hard tack! The regiment performed the
usual duties of beleaguers when St. Patrick's Day got round to them in
the camps of the Irish brigade at Falmouth, Va. If not very active
participants with their New York fellow soldiers in the sports of the
steeple chase, race-course, and other parts of the programme, yet the
boys of the Twenty-Eighth could not have failed to enjoy with enthusiasm
the hilarity and frolics of that occasion. At least ten thousand had
assembled from the camps cantoned in winter quarters for miles between
the Potomac and along the Rappahannock Rivers. The grand stand contained
the commander-in-chief and other distinguished generals and officers,
and a number of ladies. Besides Hooker, the commander, there were
conspicuously present Generals Slocum, Hancock, Charles Griffin,
Sedgwick, Franklin and others. Together with the races of the
thoroughbreds, there were also long prize lists, programmes of
amusements, such as catching a soaped pig, and competing for money, and
mastery at dancing Irish jigs, reels and hornpipes. An idea may be had
of the provision made for the entertainment of the invited guests from
the following summary of the bill of fare which the quartermaster of the
brigade brought with him from Washington for the occasion: The side of
an ox roasted, thirty-five hams, a whole pig stuffed with boiled
turkeys, and "an unlimited number of chickens, ducks and small game. The
drinking materials comprised eight baskets of champagne, ten gallons of
rum and twenty-two of whiskey." Thus sayeth the record. All of this was
served inside a beautiful bower capable of containing several hundred
persons. The festivities were duly preceded with the religious
ceremonies of the great holyday of St. Patrick's feast, and closed by a
grand entertainment at night, which included theatricals, recitations
and olios of song and sentiment.
It is needless to add that the visiting generals, whose duties admitted
of their remaining, entered into the humor of the hour, and toasts went
freely round, intermingled with flowing bumpers and loving glances at
the fair visitors, who graced the occasion by their presence.
We afterwards trace the heroic work of our Massachusetts
Faugh-a-Ballaghs in their valiant services at Chancellorsville; at famed
Gettysburg, where the regiment lost nearly one-half its force in killed
and casualties; at Mine Run, the Wilderness, Po River, Spottsylvania,
Cold Harbor, Petersburg, Deep Bottom, and at Reams' Station, the latter
part of August, 1864.
The offices and men whose term did not expire with that of their
regiment in December, 1864, were consolidated into a battalion under the
command of Major James Fleming (of North End, Boston), and at the close
of hostilities were mustered out with the remnant of the Irish brigade.
The originals were ordered to Boston, December 20, to be mustered out,
and numbered only twenty-one enlisted men and one officer, Col.
Cartwright. No better close can be made to this article than to quote
from "Conyngham's Concise History," printed in 1867, the record of this
famous Irish-American regiment:--
"The aggregate number joined for duty since the organization was about
1,703; the list of killed and casualties numbered 1,133, a fearfully
heavy proportion. During the Wilderness campaign, but one officer
escaped unhurt in the fearful havoc. Who shall say, in view of this
record of the devotion of Irishmen to the cause of freedom in this their
adopted country, that they are not entitled to the sympathy, aid and
support of this nation, in the endeavor to free their own beloved,
down-trodden land?"
America should never forget it.