Framingham, 3 October, 1898.
]
In the first place—and so long as the term "front," in its accepted
military sense, shall continue to mean the point of expected or probable
contact with an enemy's forces—it requires no argument to prove that the
First Heavy Artillery was at its post, _at the front_, on the 26th day
of April, 1898. This, to be exact, was fifty-seven days before the
Second Infantry disembarked at Baiquiri, sixty-six days before the Ninth
Infantry landed at Siboney, and ninety days before the Sixth Infantry
left its transport at Guanica, at which points respectively these three
Massachusetts commands for the first time found it possible to gain
tactical touch with the Spaniards. In other words, in a war with a
maritime power, every strategic point on navigable waters accessible to
an enemy's ships of war is of necessity at "the front," so long as the
hostile fleet remains undestroyed, and the First therefore justly may
claim actual service at the front from the day following that on which
Congress declared war to exist, until the 3rd of July, when the
annihilation of Cervera's squadron finally and definitely relieved the
coast from the threat of Spanish attack. While the five Massachusetts
regiments of infantry were passing their earlier weeks of service at
inland camps of instruction, absolutely beyond the reach of any possible
fighting, the First Artillery—from the very day on which it left its
home stations—was continuously on duty at vital points open to attack at
any hour of day or night. This claim, it should be well understood, is
made only in simple justice to the regiment and in the interests of
historical accuracy, for not an officer or a man in the First would
detract from the hard-won honors of the Second, the Sixth, or the
Ninth—honors in which, as Massachusetts soldiers, they ever will feel an
honest pride.
The earlier portion of this narrative may have served to show roughly
the condition of our harbor defenses at the outbreak of the last war, as
well as the imperative need of heavy artillery troops with which to
garrison them. The time has not yet arrived when the whole truth may be
told safely, or even with propriety, but since the actual artillery
strength on duty during the war is a matter of easily accessible record,
it may here receive momentary attention. Briefly summarized, there were
in service for the protection of our four thousand miles of sea-coast
but ninety-three heavy batteries, of which seventy were in the regular
establishment and twenty-three were in the volunteers. Over one-half of
the latter were contributed by Massachusetts alone, in her First Heavy
Artillery, and it seems fitting again to refer to the fact that her
twelve trained and disciplined batteries were the only ones obtainable
from the militia of the entire country at the outbreak of hostilities.
Of the remaining volunteer heavy batteries, four each were hastily
recruited in California and Maine, two in Connecticut, and one in South
Carolina. The event proved that but six of the entire ninety-three
batteries were destined to take part in any actual fighting. These were
four from the Third United States Artillery and two from the California
volunteers, which—when the destruction of Montojo's fleet had allayed
all fears for the safety of the Pacific coast—were relieved from duty in
the fortifications and ordered to report to General Merritt, under whom
they saw service as infantry in the land operations around Manila.
After what already has been said, it would seem that no elaborate
explanation should be required to show why the heavy artillery arm
failed to obtain more brilliant service in the last war. It must be
borne in mind that its first and most important function is the defence
of coast fortifications; its second, operations with the siege train in
the reduction of fortified places; its third—and this only in rarely
occurring emergencies—service as infantry. In the late war with Spain,
as in any future European war, it was a matter of vital necessity to man
our coast defenses, and to keep them manned until the threatening fleet
had been swept from the seas; that once accomplished, and the
artillerymen might reasonably have hoped for further service in the
expected final operations at Havana. But with the naval victory off
Santiago came the collapse of the war—and the ending of hope for the
artillery.
By the legislation which transferred the First from the infantry to the
artillery arm, the regiment was deprived of its opportunity of foreign
service. Entrusted with the defence of the coast, it quietly accepted
the responsibilities devolving upon it, and met them in a way that
entitles it to the gratitude of the Commonwealth. First in the field, it
had the mortification of finding itself soonest forgotten, for no
correspondents followed it in its faithful service, and no newspaper
filled its columns with the daily gossip of its camps. Accepting the
situation, it faithfully went on with its duties until the end came, and
then returned quietly to its place in the militia, content to apply to
its own case the words of its commander-in-chief, President McKinley,
"The highest tribute that can be paid to the soldier is to say that he
performed his full duty. The field of duty is determined by his
Government, and wherever that chances to be, there is the place of
honor. All have helped in the great cause, whether in camp or in battle,
and when peace comes, all alike will be entitled to the Nation's
gratitude."