Of the movements of the Eleventh regiment while in Virginia, I will not
weary you with a rehearsal in detail. Our first regular camp was
established on Miner's Hill, the extreme outer part of the defenses of
Washington, and when we reached it on a cold, raw, blustering day late in
the fall of 1862, the wind filling our eyes and mouths with a blinding and
grinding dust, it was the most dismal and dreary-looking place that I ever
saw--with the single exception of Seekonk Plains. We remained here about
three months, building and stockading our winter quarters, drilling and
doing picket duty, and making occasional raids when we felt sure that the
enemy was a safe distance from us. We were in General Robert Cowdin's
brigade, which comprised, in addition to our own regiment, the Fortieth
Massachusetts, the Twenty-second Connecticut, the One Hundred and
Forty-first New York, and the Sixteenth Virginia Battery.
Company B had a fund of one thousand dollars which was raised by the
patriotic citizens of Pawtucket and Central Falls for the purpose of
enabling the officers to procure for the members of the company, among
other things, some articles for the table when we were in camp which were
not to be found on the government "bill of fare." In consequence of this
"company fund" we had a greater share of "extras" than any other company
in the regiment while we were encamped in the vicinity of Washington.
Among those "extras" were milk for our coffee and tea (fresh when it could
be obtained, and condensed at other times); writing paper, envelopes and
stamps; a copy of the Washington "Daily Chronicle" for each mess, and a
weekly pictorial paper; blacking, oil, sand paper, emery paper, polishing
powder, soap, matches, green apples, tallow candles and other delicacies
of the season. The extra candles were used on special occasions, such as
the reception of friends from home, and so forth. Naturally enough the
members of the other companies looked upon us at times with envious eyes.
The historian of the regiment writes thus of Company B: "Their company
fund was large, their friends with money many, and their visitors, who
always remembered them handsomely, numerous." We did, indeed, have quite a
number of visitors from home while we were encamped near Washington, and
I can assure you that their visits were always occasions of great pleasure
to us. Later they became like angels' visits, "few and far between."
The first death in our company occurred at Miner's Hill, and the funeral
ceremonies were deeply impressive. The ambulance containing the remains of
our dead comrade was preceded by an escort composed of the
non-commissioned staff of the regiment, (the deceased having held the
position of regimental hospital steward,) and sixteen men of Company B, in
command of the first sergeant, accompanied by the drum corps. The officers
and men of Company B followed in the rear of the procession. Arriving on
the parade ground, the coffin was taken from the ambulance and placed on a
stretcher, when appropriate services were performed by the chaplain,
consisting of prayer, the reading of scripture, and brief remarks, after
which three volleys were fired and the remains of Jacob S. Pervear, Jr.,
were replaced in the ambulance to be conveyed to Washington and thence to
the home of the deceased in Pawtucket.
In the course of his remarks, the chaplain used the following very
appropriate poetical quotation:
"Ye number it in days since he
Strode up the foot-worn aisle,
With his dark eye flashing gloriously,
And his lip wreathed with a smile;
Oh, had it been but told you then
To mark whose lamp was dim,
From out those ranks of fresh-lipped men,
Would ye have singled him?
* * * *
"His heart, in generous deed and thought,
No rivalry might brook,
And yet, distinction claiming not,
There lies he--go and look."
The occasion was of a very mournful character, and it was not without
effect upon some of the hardest men in the regiment, for young Pervear was
greatly beloved by all.
One Sunday, when instead of going to church I was doing picket duty on the
line of the Norfolk and Petersburg railroad, I halted an old man who was
riding along in a dilapidated two-wheeled vehicle, to which was attached a
still more dilapidated horned beast which, apparently, from time
immemorial had served for its owner all the requirements of a horse. In
answer to my inquiry whether he was a Union man, the old fellow gave me
the following reply: "Stranger, I was born in the Union; I have always
lived in the Union; I have always loved the old Union, and I love her
still; I have always voted for the old Union; and, stranger, when I die,
whether I go to heaven or hell, I shall stick by the old Union!" All
doubts as to his loyalty having been dispelled, I grasped him warmly by
the hand, and, whispering in his ear, said, "Old man, _stick_!"
Perhaps I should have stated ere this that in addition to my duties as a
soldier, I combined those of a "war correspondent." My letters were
generally written in the evening in my tent, lying prone upon my face, the
light being furnished by a dripping tallow candle which was stuck into the
top of a bayonet whose point was inserted in the earth. Here, under such
circumstances, I criticised the conduct of the war, and directed campaigns
as best I could. I mention this fact at this time because the incident
just related has already appeared in print.
An incident which has not appeared in print, but which made a deep
impression upon the "family men" of the regiment, occurred on a beautiful
Sunday afternoon while on dress parade at Miner's Hill. General Robert
Cowdin, the brigade commander, was frequently an interested observer on
these occasions. At the time to which I refer, he was accompanied by a
lady friend from Washington, who held by the hand a beautiful little boy
of four or five years of age. The sight of the little fellow, particularly
when he let go his mother's hand and ran about and shouted in his childish
glee, so affected the men that it was almost impossible to preserve a
steady line and secure prompt obedience to orders. Men whom I had seldom
or never before seen exhibit any emotion were moved to tears by the sight
and the remembrance of dear ones at home, and many of them were heard to
say that they would willingly part with a month's pay just to take the
little fellow in their arms for a moment, while a Pawtucket man, who had a
wife but no children, said he would give all his bounty money and throw
the "cow" in, just to kiss the little fellow's mother--_for his wife's
sake_. The order to "march off your companies" cut short other equally
complimentary expressions concerning the mother and her darling boy.
One of the most ludicrous events which occurred in our regiment was on a
very dark night when the "long roll" sounded for the first time. We were
at once ordered under arms, it being whispered among the "knowing ones"
that we were likely to have a brush with the enemy before daylight, while
the officers knew it was only to "break in" the men, to see how they would
behave in the time of actual service. There was a hurrying to and fro of
officers of all grades; signal lights were swung here and there in
response to similar signals which could be seen quite a distance away; the
surgeons were overhauling and sharpening their instruments and filing
their saws and getting out large quantities of lint and bandages; all
orders were given in a whisper, and everything betokened speedy and
decisive action, the time having come for our men to cover themselves with
glory--or shame.
In Company B there was an Irishman named Mike Cassidy. He was an old man,
and when he got into line it was evident that he was sleeping soundly when
the order fell upon his ears to "turn out," and that he had not been able
in the darkness to find his entire wardrobe, or if he found it, that he
did not have time to get properly inside of it. But he had his old and
trusty musket, with which he had often declared he could alone whip the
whole Southern Confederacy if they would only give him time. Time was
what Mike most needed. He always had time enough, but it was "behind
time," save when the order was given to "fall in for rations." But it
happened on that particular night some member of his "mess" whose musket
was without a tube or nipple upon which to put a cap, had appropriated
Cassidy's to his own use. I seem now to see Cassidy as he appeared in line
on that dark night trying to put a percussion cap on that nippleless gun.
Comrade, did you ever swear? Do you think you ever heard anybody swear?
You should have heard Cassidy. He swore vengeance upon all of his
comrades, and declared that if he was killed, his ghost would forever
haunt the man who stole the nipple from his gun. "Here I am," he
exclaimed, "with no nipple on me gun, and the whole dommed Confederacy
right on us!"
In the midst of all the excitement which he occasioned by his vociferous
tones and profane explosives, the order came to "break ranks," and poor
Cassidy was the laughing-stock of the whole company. I believe he forgave
the rank and file for what he termed the "sell," but he said he would
never forgive the officers--and I am confident that he never did.
A large number of the members of the Eleventh regiment reenlisted upon the
expiration of their term of service. Cassidy was, I think, among them. But
be that as it may, a very funny story is told about his trying to get a
pension on account of some real or fancied injury received while in an
engagement. The chief of the board of examiners asked him where he was
wounded. Mike placed his hand on his left breast and said, "About here,
sor." The examiner exclaimed: "Why, man, if you had been hit there you
would have been killed on the spot, for the bullet would have gone right
through your heart!"
"I know it, sor," replied Cassidy, "but, bejabers, me heart was in me
mouth."