.^ .: 1 s- °.. *.,.•■• .rO- ^^^ o K^^""^ ,0' » » o > '-^ ' . , s * *% -^ , ^ A ^ 'n O >^ * mi l-'eRARv[oFcONGRESS: '^l'-"-"-6«roria^f|n Shelf POEMS ^^^^ SKETCHES, PeMINISCENCES of the "OLD 34TH." Bv WILLIAM H. CLARK, CHAPLAIN POST 6, DEPT. MASS., G. A. R. AUG 181890" -^. ■'•cwiivjQ-ror Safeeticttj presiSE: " Lakeview Printing Co., South Framingham, jNIass. 1890. -f 6 1 Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year iSgo, By WILLIAM H. CLARK, In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. TD BENJAMIN HARRISON, •President of the United States, THIS little volume is [by special permission] GRATEFULLY DEDICATED By the Author. PART ORIGINAL POEMS. WHERE SOLDIERS SLEEP. THE chiselled shafts of purest stone, The stately cenotaph — alone — The mossy cypress trunks; the yew ; That in " God's Acre " silent grew — These are the sentinels who keep Their faithful watch where soldiers sleep. The little flags that, faded, fly, And bravely greet an April sky — [Like battle flags, by heroes borne, They faced the winter's wrack and storm] These, too, are sentinels who keep And guard the spot where soldiers sleep. The church-spires tall, in slender grace. That point to skies enthroned in space ; Whose shadows kiss and guard each grave When sinks the sun beneath the wave ; These all are sentinels that keep The sacred ground where soldiers sleep. MEMORIAL HYMN. MEMORIAL HYMN. COME we now, with reverent tread, Where repose our silent dead : For the love they bore our land Now before their shrines we stand — Not for them to serve today — Low we bend, above their clay — While our sacred banner waves, Strew sweet blossoms on their graves. Once they bore, with loyal pride, That proud flag for which they died — Once were fields by valor won, Held by them at set of sun — Once in bivouac at night. Saw their homes in visions bright — Sadly now our banner waves ; Blossoms sweet bedeck their graves. Now to thee, our sovereign Lord, Low we bend, to hear Thy word : Let our comrades' memory dear, Brighten with each fleeting year — Lessons in our hearts instil ; Loyal, true, we learn Thy will — So, in peace, our banner waves, While sweet flowers adorn their graves. DECORATION DAY. DECORATION DAY. I SAW a Nation bending low, To deck ten thousand graves, And heard the patriot speaker's voice, From where the Hudson laves Its beauteous banks, to Kansas fair, And this I heard him say : " For what he was and all he dared, Remember him today." And wider still the tide of praise, In grateful, reverent strains, From eastern Maine to farthest bound Of California's plains, Swelled the deep waves of rhythmic sound,' A grand memorial lay : " For what he was and all he dared, Remember him today^." So, while our mighty Nation lives, And liberty controls, While true devotion sweetly gives A life-tide to men's souls, Shall this refrain infuse the air. All loyal hearts shall say : " For what he was and all he dared, Remember him today." THE FLAG AXD THE SCHOOLS. THE FLAG AND THE SCHOOLS. YES, give our boys the flag ! What hearts more true than they ? What hands more worthy of the trust? When foes would trail it in the dust On the dark battle-day. Yes, give our girls the flag ! Mayhap, in years to come, Their hands the colors may prepare, .When loud the tocsin rends the air. Calling our sons from home. Yes, give our sons the flag ! No text-book's classic fire, No page of science, deep, exact. No tale of fiction, tome of fact, Will so their hearts inspire. Yes, and our daughters, too ! To them, each sacred fold Shall prove a shield of all that's good, A pledge of noblest womanhood, More precious far than gold. Aye ! give our schools the flag ! It's azure — like the skies — It's crimson — like the bright life-blood That erst in pulsate torrents flowed — The soldier's sacrifice. SINCE GRACIE DIED. SINCE GRACIE DIED. THE years are passing- months repeat, The flight of each is yet more fleet — That Autumn morn we sadly greet — When Gracie died. The days of June indeed are rare, Nor aught of earth can be more fair ; But sweeter seems September, there, Where Gracie died. When flowers of Spring are softly laid Above each martyr-soldier's head, Sweet blooms shall deck the lowly bed, Where Gracie lies. Bright the Memorial flowers bloom, And fragrant is their rich perfume — To us all sweetness fills the room, Where Gracie died. But Autumn morns the earth shall grace ; When in the little prattler's face, Our darling's lines again we'll trace, Since Gracie died. And since the Shepherd chose to claim His lamb so soon, our lips can frame No words but " Blessed be his name," Since Gracie died. MEMORIAL FLOWERS. MEMORIAL FLOWERS. O DROOPING, blushing Rose! y Worthy art thou to deck the soldier's grave — Beauty and fragrance both, Thou lendest, nothing loth, To grace his tomb who died the flag to save. Sweet-scented Heliotrope : Thy modest floweret, too, blooms not in vain — Each tiny cup still ope, With the well-grounded hope, In some crushed loyal heart to ease the pain. O, Calla, rich and rare : Of all, it may be, thou dost lead the van — Come thou, from Afric's air, Thy hidden virtue spare, Crown their great hearts who loved their fellow man. Carnation, pure and white : Thy loving ministry is surely meet — Their record, fair as light, Unshrinking from the sight, May such caress as thine most proudly greet. And last, with graceful bells : Thou tiny, jewelled, Lily of the Vale — Uplift thy polished cells, Each ivory chalice tells. That Heaven's bright smile their graves shall never fail. A SUMMER AFTERNOON. I3 A SUMMER AFTERNOON. WITHIN my den I sit, and thinking Of other days and scenes more fair, Forget the presses' measured clinking ; My walls dissolve in Summer air. Hot is the atmosphere, and hazy ; Adown the vista of the trees Moves the slow team ; the teamster lazy, Oppressed with heat, reclines at ease. ' Scarce move the leaves of elm or willow ; Summer's hot breath and stifling grasp, On them as on Waushakum's billow, Rest with a grim, unyielding clasp. The sandstone-hued and distant steeple A milestone rears on Pilgrim's road, And seems to say, " the common people Have gladly heard the word of God." Between, the terraced roofs are piling Their gray and blue and mottled mail. Where fancy paints (as fireside tiling In old Dutch homes) some Scripture tale. 14 A RAINY EVENING. A RAINY EVENING. 5 "j\ /TID clouds and fog the station drear, IV J. In misty shroud is sleeping; Each raindrop seems a rain-sprite's tear, As half in hope and half in fear, His vigil he is keeping. For brown October's charming days Have vanished as a story ; And golden leaves and Autumn haze Are like the poet's lightest lays, And transient as his glory. Afar — the buildings wierd and dark — All loom as castle towers ; The lantern's faint but cheerful spark The distant switch-post serves to mark, Where pass the weary hours. But I, within my cheerful room. May laugh at dreary weather ; The storm clouds brighter tints assume. And so we'll banish all the gloom, My lamp and I, together. PLAINT FOR MY UiMBRELLA. 1 5 PLAINT FOR MY UMBRELLA. {Humorous.') " I ^IS true the sun is bright today, X. But that is not tomorrow ; I bask in Sol's pellucid ray — But soon may soak in sorrow. If but the days were always fine, I'd reck not my umbrella : But rainy days come soon or syne — " Confound that thievish ' feller ' ! " I scan each corner, nigh forlorn ; (Vain toil) my loss bewailing — My darling parachute is gone — All search is unavailing. If but my eye on that could rest Which cost some hard-earned money, Much joy would crown my earnest quest ; [This thing is far from funny]. Our life's but an umbrella — here — Its ribs the years : its glory Is just the bright-hued hemisphere, Which covers oft, love's story. E'en though I feel the critic's smile. Me from my theme enjoining : If it some tedious hour beguile — 'Twas not a vain purloining. 1 6 FIRESIDE MUSINGS. FIRESIDE MUSINGS. THE fireside ! at my fancy's list, (The outer world may come and go) My thoughts are wrapped in pleasing mist ; And I content to have them so. Silence and peace embrace me round ; The merry laugh and childish word, Often at eve a welcome sound, Now hushed in sleep — no longer heard. The camp fire gives once more its glow ; The lonely vigil comes again, When, listening to discern a foe. The silence, so intense, is pain. The wind now stirs the forest leaves: — The murmur (like a rising tide That the sad ocean's bosom heaves). But seems the approaching foe to hide. The weary watch-hours fled at last, We dream of home, 'till morning's dawn Shall bring the soldier's plain repast: — The shadows of the night are gone. My thoughts o'erleap a score of years ; They seem but as a fleeting hour : — Burdened with laughter or with tears, 'Tis one tonight — by memory's power. BEFORE NEWMARKET. \J The scroll reveals its pictured store — And faces, dead to mortal sight, The inner vision greet once more — A sad, a sweet, a strange delight. BEFORE NEWMARKET. THE weary week nigh passed — its closing day — A day of humid air and murky clouds, A day of countermarch and weary steps, A hurried snatching of refreshment light; And in its waning hours all sounds are stilled. Hushed, as the dying cadence of a dream. Beyond, the foe, in heavy columns massed. Rests till the morn. Now to the startled ear (As when a lurid fiash from threatening clouds Preludes the storm that heavy, darkening hangs) Comes the sharp rattle of the musketry. And springing to our feet, with eager look. We wait the word — But quiet soon returns. The day has dawned at last, a Sabbath morn. But not as 'mid our fair New England scenes. Where shines the sun, where chimes the sweet-toned bell, Where peace enveils the home, and nothhig mars Save the rude echoes from these Southern fields ; Or, even now, perchance, "the vacant chair." On those dark, fateful hours, when Nature's frown Of clouds, and frequent tears of chilling rain ■ Bespoke her strong abhorrence of the scene, The veil may fall. Battle of Newmarket, W. Va., Sunday, May 15, 1864. AT REST. A NOBLE heart is stilled : The care, far-reaching, for the poor of earth, The needy and forlorn, is felt no more. The busy hand that toiled, and brain that planned And guided many a willing helper true In earnest work and godlike charity, Alike are motionless. The freedman, warmed And clothed in garments from her tireless hands, Besought for her Heaven's benediction sweet. The soldier, laid aside from war's fierce storm. And by his wounds in hospital becalmed. Or by the burning fever stricken down. Called her his friend. MEMORIAL ODE. I 9 But she is resting now : From labor to repose, from service true To rich reward, from pain to perfect peace, From cross (for think not that she bore no cross) To starry crown the faithful one has gone. Methinks those loving, toil-worn, weeping ones A.round her dying couch could almost catch The accents of her greeting, and partake Her rapture, as the Master's gracious words, "Well done, thou good and faithful servant," fell Upon her ransomed spirit's sense. For He, The loving Lord, who says, " I quickly come. And with me my reward," received her there. Upon us, who remain to toil awhile. We pray, O Lord, Thou graciously wilt let Her mantle fall. Bestow Thy grace, that we May serve Thee well, and see Thy face with joy. MEMORIAL ODE. THEIRS was no common lot, Whom we today revere ; No sordid life, no useless work, Do we remember here. AT SUNRISE, JUNE 1 7, 1875. Their glorious fame we keep, — What precious trust is ours ! "They softly lie and sweetly sleep," Their graves we deck with flowers. In battle's sharpest strife. In heavy, wearing toil, 'Mid bursting shell and whistling ball, Or delving in the soil Of fair Virginia's hills, — Whether the trench or field ; No thought but duty nerved their arm, Weapon or spade to wield. Their narrow, silent beds, Where, sunk in peaceful sleep. These martyred heroes rest from toil, As sacred charge we keep. AT SUNRISE, JUNE 17, 1875. YE joyous bells, in merry strain, Your music yield, again, again, Our patriot thoughts to fire ; That, raised from busy life's routine. Some higher aims may enter in, — Our sluggish souls inspire. I "THE GERMAN." A century has passed, — and now The change is wondrous — from the brow Of yon historic hill, Whence burst the murderous battle flames, Where glory rested on the names That live in history still, Shines forth in words of living light The glories of old Bunker's fight ; The memories of that day When Prescott led the deadly strife, When Warren's gift, a noble life, On Freedom's altar lay. Ye joyous bells, with loudest peal Our glorious heritage reveal, Its cost, its priceless worth ; Lead us to praise, with loud acclaim. Our country's God, whose reverend name Transcends the names of earth. "THE GERMAN.' HANS SPIEGLER was a Teuton bold, Of Faderland extraction ; Phlegmatic, steady, calm and cold — An iceberg, he, in action. "the GERMAN." His livelihood he fairly earned By humble, constant labors ; To know the truth, if you're concerned, He sawed wood for his neighbors. 'Twas seldom that he ventured in * The dusk of night to go forth, — None said he sought the haunts of sin, With fast young men, &c. But late one eve, he chanced to pass Where music, dancing, drinking, — Where graceful forms in mirrored glass. Set sober Hans to thinking. His thoughts soon found a vent in speech " Podshausend ! Was ist das ? so — " His voice the nether regions reached. Like notes of deepest basso, A servant from the basement cried, " 77ie German, go to thunder," — But '^Nixfurstay" he still replied, With face of puzzled wonder. And, if you will believe the tale, Today Hans Spiegler gazes. Unable still to break the spell Cast by the "German's" mazes. THE THING OF EVEN-TOES. 23 THE THING OF EVEN-TOES.* T' ^HERE was a thing of Even-toes ; His name was Reynard — sharp his nose — His eyes were keen — his hunger fierce — His teeth the toughest fowl could pierce : And for this cause, By Nature's laws, The entire feathered race in his immediate vicinity took special pains to avoid his paws. The custom was, with Even-toes, By craft to conquer — not by blows — A sly old fox was our hero red ; On the choicest fowls he lived, 'twas said : And the rascal laughed, As their blood he quaffed, — While all the old chanticleers and dame partlets, whether shanghais or bantams, were nearly or quite driven "daft." This fellow's laugh — 'twas a thing to see — For a fox can laugh ^ you will all agree — He would first put on a sardonic grin, Like an evil sprite, as he mocks at sin ; Then he wagged his jaw. And the watchers saw A volley of vulpine cachinnation thence escaping — He I He ! He ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha 1 Haw ! Haw ! Haw ! * Title suggested by Beranger's " King of Yvetot," 24 THE THING OF EVEN-TOES. "I've a handsome brush," said Even-toes ; '' On my ruby fur the sunlight glows, When I venture out in the daylight fair — But at night-time boldly I quit my lair, For the silver moon^ And the night-hawk's croon, Just stir my blood; and entirely regardless of the price of poultry, I walk out with my cousin raccoon." But the robber's career oft ends in grief ; And one Autumn day, to the great relief Of the feathered and fatted family fowls ; And the vengeful joy of his neighbor owls, Whom he oft had robbed. As they nightly sobbed ; (At least. Gray implies that they did,* though it's of no particular consequence in this connection anyway), but as Ave were about to S2i^, old Reynard by hunters was mobbed. The moping owl doth to the moon complain. — [Gray's " Elegy." PART REMINISCENCES CHAPTER I. THE FAREWELL. IT is in the afternoon of a summer day, with but little breeze more than enough to sway the folds of a new and handsome national flag, which is in full view of the multitude who encompass it. We have taken the reader, in thought, to the old Agricultural grounds in Worcester, on the 15th of August, 1862. A few words concerning this great gathering ; the close attention of all being drawn to the speaker's stand in its centre. Citizens of all classes are here, gazing and listen- ing, representing the population of the city and suburbs. Its inner circles are clothed in the uniform of their country's service, and stand in military order. To them, as a regiment, through their commander, who is conspicu- ous on the stand by his uncovered head and noble bearing, the flag is being presented : a touching farewell act of the ladies of Worcester. It is delivered with fitting words, and now not only the soldier, but the orator speaks. Never, while memory lasts, will the picture be erased from the mind of one, at least ; the central figure, the devoted Wells : so soon, compara- tively, to be the lamented. 28 ■ REMINISCENCES. The throng breaks, and the regiment gradually prepares to leave the city for fields of duty, not to shrink from fields of danger. Hark ! as they slowly recede from sight, and the clangor of martial music is hushed, one can almost dis- tinguish, stealing through yonder casement where a lonely heart is thinking of the absent ones, the plaintive words : " Thinking no less of them, But loving our country the more ; We've sent them forth to fight for the flag, That our fathers before them bore. Sitting around the fireside, Though it be summer time ; We'll sit and talk of brothers abroad. Forgetting the midnight chime. Brave boys are they, Gone at their country's call ; And yet, and yet, we cannot forget That many brave boys must fall." CHAPTER II. FUN IN CAMP. WEARY and monotonous indeed, would be many of the days spent in camp by the soldier, did not something crop out of an amusing nature, either in the proper members of the camp or in some of its motley group of followers. REMINISCENCES. 29 In the Thirty-Fourth Regiment, one such safety-valve was found in a stout, good-natured darkey, who seemed to be the " right hand man " of our regimental sutler. On one occasion, the "even tenor of his way" was rudely broken in upon, to the great amusement of the large number who happened to be in view of that part of the camp at the time. It seems that a private soldier of mis- chievous propensities had been, for some time, teasing our colored friend by thrusting a burning twig from the camp fire into his face ; yet, during the ordeal, he had kept his patience, and only tried to get rid of his tormentor by en- treaties. Suddenly he turns upon him, forbearance having ceased to be a virtue in the case, and the two fall heavily, to the ground ; Oscar having decidedly the advantage of his enemy, which he as decidedly keeps. The roar of laughter which followed this unexpected discomfiture was probably more pleasing to the ears of Oscar than to those of his antagonist. Another little incident in which this sable philosopher was concerned related to the legitimate business of the sutler's tent, and the story was often rehearsed in company E, and to the amusement of many, by Otis Hunter,* who afterwards, while in the performance of duty as j^icket guard at the Shenandoah, near Harper's Ferry, fell through an opening in the bridge in an unguarded moment, as was conjectured, and perished by drowning. It would seem that at a time when an unusually large company was gathered in front of the sutler's tent, one of the "boys,^' * Hunter, Otis M., of Spencer, Mass., drowned April 10, 1864. 30 REMINISCENCES. whose appetite was more capacious than his purse, and stronger than his sense of honesty, had taken advantage of the crowd to secure a free lunch. Oscar's version of the affair, as related by Hunter, was something like this : " Well, yer see de feller he comes up 'mongst de crowd, an' says he, I wants a fried pie. So I takes de fried pie an' hands it to him, an' looks for de money ; but somehow de feller gets shook up in de crowd, an' I hav'nt seen him, nor de money, nor de. fried pie smce.^' This was given with capital powers of imitation, and never failed to " bring down the house." There is something which irresistibly appeals, in many phases of the African character, to our American sense of humor. At the same time, we discover running through it a vein of sentiment which, blending with the other, digni- fies the effect. " 'Way down upon de Swanee Riber, Far, far away ; Dere's where my heart am turning eber Dere's where de old folks stay. When I was in de fields a hoeing, Near set ob sun ; So glad to hear de horn a blowing, Telling dat de work was done. O, den de darkies frolic sweetly, Banjo in tune ; Dinah and Phillis dressed so neatly, Dance by de big round moon." REMINISCENCES. 3 1 CHAPTER III. HARPER'S FERRY. FOR some weeks, the Thirty-Fourth had remained in Washington, D. C, furnishing daily heavy details of neatly equipped men for guard duty ; principally to be em- ployed in guarding the Carroll and Old Capitol prisons. During this time, the general soldierly deportment of the rank and file, together with the fine appearance of the regiment on dress parade, attracted much attention arid called forth many complimentary expressions from the residents of Washington. But " marching orders " do not stop to take counsel of their subjects, and on a well remembered evening in July, 1863, they turned our quiet barracks into a scene of bustle and confusion. A ride of a few hours, over the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, brought us into the immediate vicinity of Harper's Ferry. The activity which prevailed throughout our force on the morning of July 14th, made it evident to all that a move- ment across the Potomac was intended. All needful pre- parations having been made, a lively cannonade was opened from the heights above, under cover of which our force embarked in pontoon boats that were near at hand, and crossing, passed through the deserted streets up to the higher ground beyond ; dislodging a small body, of the enemy which had been holding possession. As the after- noon advanced, a considerable force of cavalry passed 32 REMINISCENCES. through the place, file following file, in a seemingly end- less succession, till the eye was wearied with attempting to take in the living current. Our occupation of Harper's Ferry, begun under these circumstances, was destined to continue for many months, with the exception of an occa- sional visit to Martinsburg towards the close of winter. Perhaps the most notable incident of our service during these months was a march to Harrisonburg, about one hun- dred miles into Virginian territory, over that noble pro- duction of the road-maker's art, the " Shenandoah Valley turnpike." This splendid avenue of travel deserves more than a passing notice. Its exceedingly hard and smooth surface, composed of finely broken stone, the graded and uniform elevation from either side to the centre, and the long stretch of view in a perfectly straight line, such as may sometimes be obtained on our best surveyed railroad lines ; all these combined to call out the admiring com- ments of those who travelled upon it. This demonstration, which was successfully and safely accomplished, was understood to be intended as a diver- sion in favor of the raid at that time being executed by Gen. Averill, with his much larger force. The night scene at Harrisonburg, on the occasion of commencing our retreat from the hazardous position in which this comparatively small force was placed, having the advantage of novelty in our experience, was one long to be remembered. As soon as the darkness of night made it practicable, preparations for a quiet departure were commenced — large fires being lighted and well sup- REMIXISCEXCES. 33 plied with fuel, as though our men were to pass the night comfortably and without any demonstration. At the word of command, silently and swiftly the entire force withdrew' from camp and moved in the direction of Harper's Ferry. Steadily we pressed on during the entire night, only paus- ing for a short halt and rest upon the snow-covered ground, in the later hours of the night, and when morning dawned were well on our way towards the Potomac. Although we were closely followed by a brigade of the enemy, in our rapid and forced march homewards, yet, by the interven- tion of favorable events, the friendly shadow of the Mary-- land heights was reached with no loss from our hazardous attempt at "bearding the lion in his den," as our adven- ture was described by the Richmond Examiner. Our long stay in this town gave many opportunities for examining its objects of interest, including the engine house, worthy of note as the fortress occupied by John Brown while he held possession, during the brief campaign destined to end so disastrously for those engaged in it. The ruins of the armory and other buildings made it very evident that an immense amount of property had been destroyed in the two years in which the spirit of war had held carnival there. The climate, through the winter months we spent in this place, seemed to suggest some New England locality rather than a part of the "sunny south." Snow storms, and bleak, cold winds, find as congenial a home around those rocky heights as Massachusetts could offer them ; at least, such was the impression made upon the mind of the writer. 34 REMINISCEN'CES. The sublimity and grandeur of Nature's works here well repay any effort required to reach an eligible point of view ; but it requires no effort to enable the mind nurtured " be- neath New England's sky " to dwell again, in thought, among its native hills. "Once more, O Mountains of the North, unveil Your brows, and lay your cloudy mantles by ! And once more, ere the eyes that seek ye fail, , Uplift against the blue walls of the sky Your mighty shapes, and let the sunshine weave Its golden net-work in your belting woods, Smile down in rainbows from your falling floods And on your kingly brows at morn and eve Set crowns of fire ! So shall my soul receive Haply the secret of your calm and strength, Your unforgotten beauty interfuse My common life, your glorious shapes and hues And sun-dropped splendors at my bidding come, Loom vast through dreams, and stretch in billowy length From the sea-level of my lowland home ! " — Whittier. CHAPTER iV. THE SKIRMISH. THE morning of Sunday, October 13, 1863, was a disastrous one for the Ninth Maryland regiment, who were only a few miles distant from our encampment at Harper's Ferry. As the event proved, the enemy, in con- siderable force, under Gen. Imboden, had made an early REMINISCENCES. 35 and vigorous attack on that regiment at Charlestown, and captured them bodily, in number about three hundred. Every available man of the Thirty-Fourth was promptly called out, and preceded by a battery which was stationed near by, the regiment started in hot pursuit. Often had the wish been expressed that we might see some actual fighting, and at last the wish was to be gratified. A running fight commenced soon after reaching Charles- town ; the battery, which was still in advance, having en- gaged the enemy just beyond that place. The regiment press hurriedly on, and a few miles of rapid marching bring them into close proximity to the foe, as the shells falling within a short distance from their ranks fully prove. Each company has been assigned the best position allowed by the character of the ground, which is somewhat uneven and obstructed by fences. A lively discharge of musketry is kept up from both sides for a time, but finally ceases. At about this period in the fight, a small body of mounted infantry from the enemy's force charge toward us till but a short space intervenes, and then wheeling easily, soon dis- appear in the distance. We afterwards learn that the Springfield muskets of one of our wing companies told with effect on their ranks. The firing has now ceased, and the regiment is ordered to cross the open ground which separates our position from that of the enemy. This is safely accomplished, and it is found that they have again retreated. Our commanding officer now considers that the pursuit has been pushed far enough, and the order is given to re- 36 REMIXISCEN'CES. turn to Harper's Ferry. Marching and resting alternately, the regiment reach their quarters at a late hour, feeling well satisfied with this first experience of actual fighting. Two of the color corporals, Clark* of company K and Gaget of company E, have laid down their lives ; but they died gloriously, and what matters the form in which death comes, if it finds one in the path of duty ! " Come to the bridal chamber, Death ; Come to the mother, when she feels For the first time her first-born's breath ; Come when the blessed seals Which close the pestjlence are broke, And crowded cities wail its stroke ; Come in Consumption's ghastly form, The earthquake shock, the ocean storm ; Come when the heart beats high and warm, With banquet song, and dance and wine And thou art terrible ; the tear. The groan, the knell, the pall, the bier, And all we know, or dream, or fear Of agony are thine. But to the warrior, when his sword Has won the battle for the free, Thy voice sounds like a prophet's word. And in its hollow tones are heard The thanks of millions yet to be." — Hai.leck. * Clark, Noah A., of Pittsfield, Mass. t Gage, M. Gardner, of Spencer, Mass. REMINISCENCES. 37 CHAPTER V. BATTLE OF NEWMARKET. AFTER a march of some hours, our regiment had arrived in the vicinity of Newmarket, Va. ; not, however, without an occasional shot being exchanged be- tween the light artillery, which preceded us, and that of the enemy. As we marched to a position somewhat shel- tered by a low ridge^ this firing was kept up with vigor. The peculiar tone and expression assumed by our com- mander, Colonel Wells, as he directed our movements, will be remembered by many. " Don't you see how they are firing at me?" was his demand, evidently more for its effect on his men than from any special concern as to his own safety. So passed the afternoon of Saturday, May 14, 1864, and the night, a rainy and uncomfortable one, settled down upon us ; but war is no respecter of the stillness of night, and the fact of a foe being close at hand is a great pro- moter of uneasiness. Suddenly a shot is heard, then a volley, and we are roused up without ceremony ; but the alarm proves nothing serious, being caused by a small re- connoitering party from the enemy. We lie down again, all save the watchful sentinels, and sheltering ourselves from the rain so far as possible, get what sleep may be had under the circumstances, A part of the morning is occu- pied in putting our arms and ourselves in good fighting condition, though this is a difficult matter in some cases; the rain having reached our muskets to some extent, in spite of the utmost vigilance. 38 REMINISCENCES. The quiet is broken by an order to a different position, which order is repeated occasionally during the forenoon, keeping us in motion almost constantly from one point to another. At last, a satisfactory position having been reached, we lie down on our arms for a short time, but soon are ordered to rise and then to load and fire as rapidly as possible. In the meantime a battery has been stationed on our right, and its guns begin to play on the enemy. After firing several volleys a charge is ordered, and as we advance the opposing force comes plainly into view. The yells and cheers accompanying this movement make it almost impossible to hear any order from our superior officers, but we finally comprehend that a " right- about " is ordered. This is executed, and we retrace our steps for a short distance, still keeping on a line with the colors, while the continuous cheering of the enemy shows that they fully appreciate their advantage. We now begin to f§el seriously the effect of the heavy fire, both musketry and artillery, which fills the air with deadly missiles. A prominent field officer is disabled by a severe wound, and as the enemy press close upon us necessarily falls into their hands ; while others, who are less injured, are supported from the field to receive surgical aid. The regiment, having reached a good position, is halted, faced about, and aids in checking the enemy's advance, much to the satisfaction of the wounded, who are making their way to Mt. Jackson, some four miles distant. Night falls, and the sounds of battle are hushed ; but this Sab- bath day, so disturbed by mortal strife, has proved the REMINISCENCES. 39 last for many who have cherished hopes of " bright days yet to be." "And Ardennes waves above them her green leaves, Dewy with Nature's tear drops, as they pass ; Grieving, if aught inanimate e'er grieves, Over the unreturning brave : alas ! Ere evening to be trodden like the grass ; Which now beneath them, but above shall grow In its next verdure, when this fiery mass Of living valor, rolling on the foe, And burning with high hope, shall moulder cold and low." — Byron. CHAPTER VI. INCIDENTS. IT will be remembered by some that, at an early period of our regimental history, a fever for enlistment into the regular army prevailed to a certain extent. The causes which produced this state of things are unknown to the writer, but it seems probable that highly colored state- ments, made by interested parties, as to the relative ad- vantages of one branch of the service over another had been employed. Col. Wells, as the event proved, felt no sympathy with this movement, and had no idea of quietly looking on while his regiment was depleted in numbers to fill the voracious maw of Uncle Sam. Accordingly, taking his 40 REMINISCENCES. opportunity when the regiment was out with full ranks, he expressed his views on " the situation " with his usual fi)rce and eloquence, and in a manner that held the atten- tion of all to the close. That part of his argument which covered the points of promotion and travel, as nearly as can be recalled, was something like this. " You have been promised opportunities for promotion and travel : as for travel, you would have plenty of that, and would have to \.x?i\^\ pretty close to the line. With regard to promotion in the regular army there is a regular system of promotion, in which non-commissioned officers only stand a chance of sharing, and they after years of waiting." The address, whether from its sarcasm or its sense, was effectual in curing the uneasiness that had prevailed. At one time, the young and popular captain of Company E saw fit to celebrate his birthday by furnishing his men with an unusual treat. A liberal supply of " lager " was obtained from a neighboring fort and placed conveniently in one of the company tents, with the understanding that all were welcome to partake. As the evening advanced a spirit of jollity naturally prevailed, stimulated a little, it may be, by the influence of the Teutonic beverage, and some unusual and unmilitary noises perhaps were heard, till the stentorian voice of orderly sergeant (since captain) Belser* rang out even more loudly than usual, summoning the company to fall in for evening roll-call, after which quiet was restored, and night settled down peacefully as usual over the camp. * Belser, William F., of Worcester, Mass. REMINISCENCES. 4I The company in which occurred the last incident num- bered among its original members two who were truly of a kindred spirit and alike in name, though of different nationality — Joseph Smith, whose pranks and mimicry so often relieved the tiresomeness of the long march, and Owen Smith, the sturdy son of Erin, equally ready for a figlit or a frolic. Once, for some infraction of military discipline, in which both were concerned, they were com- pelled to wear "the wooden shirt" (the name commonly applied to a barrel with an opening cut in the end, through which the culprit's head was passed, the weight of the barrel resting on his shoulders). Thus equipped, they were obliged to march back and forth before the captain's quarters ; yet they were far from being disheartened, but with great merriment performed this unusual sentry duty, assisting each other, in case of any accident, with an almost brotherly regard. The first mentioned of this pair of intimate friends is reported as having died at Florence, S. C, Nov. i, 1864. We will close this somewhat disconnected chapter by introducing from the "Atlantic Monthly" for July, 1862, an excellent specimen of soldier-poetry, of which little is said, except that it was " taken from a student song book, and was probably written in 18 14." Not one of the six verses it contains can be spared in reproducing this gem, so replete with a loyal and soldierly spirit. It is unique and perfect in its peculiar line of thought and sentiment : — 42 REMINISCENCES. THE CANTEEN. "Just help me, Lottie, as I spring ; My arm is feeble, see, — I still must have it in a sling ; Be softly now with me ! But do not let the canteen slip, — Here, take it first, I pray, — For when that's broken from my lip, All joys will flow away. 'And why for that so anxious .'' — pshaw ! It is not worth a pin : The common glass, the bit of straw, And not a drop within ! ' No matter, Lottie, take it out, — 'T is past your reckoning : Yes, look it round and round about, — There drank from it — my King ! By Leipsic near, if you must know, — 'T was just no children's play, — A ball hit me a grievous blow. And in the crowd I lay ; Nigh death, they bore me from the scene. My garments off they fling, Yet held I fast by my canteen, — There drank from it — my King ! For once our ranks in passing through He paused,— we saw his face ; Around us keen the volleys flew. He calmly kept his place. He thirsted, — I could see it plain. And courage took to bring My old canteen for him to drain, — He drank from it — my King ! REMINISCENCES. 43 He touched me on the shoulder here, And said, ' I thank thee, friend, — Th}' liquor gives me timely cheer, — Thou didst right well intend.' O'erjoj-ed at this, I cried aloud, ' O, comrades, who can bring, Canteen like this to make him proud ? — There drank from it — my King ! ' That old canteen shall no one have, The best of treasures mine ; Put it at last upon my grave. And under it this line : ' He fought at Leipsic, whom this green Is softly covering ; Best household good was his canteen, — There drank from it — his King ! ' " CHAPTER VII. IN MEMORIAM, CO. E. A FEW closing words as a tribute to the honored dead. While referring especially to a few names in this connection, no peculiar honor is claimed for them above the large number of their comrades in other companies whose record is equally honorable ; but of those we know best we can, doubtless, best speak. Brave Christopher Pennell* — with a noble ambition leaving his many friends to serve in another field, and falling at last before Petersburg. •Pennell, Christoplier, of West Stockbridge, Mass., killed at Petersburff, Va. , as Lieut. U. S. C. T. 44 remim:-cen'Ces. Captain William B. Bacon* — an able and intrepid soldier, than whom few had brighter prospects of advance- ment and honor, stricken down at Newm.arket, while in- spiring his men with his own fearlessness of spirit. Sergeant Harry B. Kingt — of a gentle and obliging spirit, and beloved by all his comrades; dying on the field of battle, and leaving only the knowledge of his devotion to duty to cheer his youthful and bereaved companion. ■ The brothers, Dvvight and Henry ChickeringI — noble and promising youths, making the woods ring with the sound of their axes, and their whole-souled laughter, as we prepared to encamp after the day's weary march. But one more will be particularly mentioned here, viz., Newton H. Clark, § in reference to whom Brigade Surgeon ClarkU used this language, in a letter informing his friends of his death : " He was a brave, conscientious and faithful soldier." And what shall I say of thee, my brother, my faithful friend ? Whether in the ordinary duties of the camp, in hours of recreation and of loving communion with friends in the far-distant home^ through the medium of the pen, or amid the more fatiguing and exacting experiences of the march, none ever found a truer or more constant companion. Though the snows of many winters ha\e, in *Bacoii, William B., of Worcester, Mass., killed May 15, 1S64. tKing, Harry B., of Barre, Mass., killed June iS, 1864. tChickering, Dwight, of Spencer, Mass., killed in battle July iS, 1S64. tChickering, Henry G., of Spencer, Mass., lost from transport at Wilmington, N. C, February, 1S65. §Clark, Newton H., enlisted from Swampscott, Mass., killed in battle September 19, 1S64. HClark, Rouse R.. of Northbridge, Mass., member of General Court of 1S8S. Deceased. REMINISCENCES. 45 their season, robed thy grave with a stainless winding- sheet, yet is thy memory cherished fondly as at first : still shall the flowers of each succeeding summer strew that grave and the lofty pines of our native state shall furnish thy requiem. " How sleep the brave, who sink to rest By all their country's wishes blest ? When Spring, with dewy fingers cold, Returns to deck their hallowed mould, She there shall dress a sweeter sod Than Fancy's feet have ever trod. By fairv hands their knell is rung ; By forms unseen their dirge is sung ; Here Honor comes, a pilgrim gray To bless the turf that wraps their clay ; And Freedom shall awhile repair To dwell, a weeping hermit, there. ' — Collins. PART I SKETCHES A HALF-HOUR WITH TAYLOR. THOSE whose tastes and preferences in reading agree with those of the writer of this little tribute will have found a peculiar fascination in the repeated perusal of a poem by Benjamin F. Taylor ; one of those names, evi- dently, which the human heart and mind, appreciating the pure gold of song, will not " willingly let die." It was given in a late number of the "Watchman and Reflector," accredited to " Scribner's Magazine " for April. Its title, " The Psalm Book in the Garret," is suggestive of the general drift of the poem. Where all is excellent, there may be difficulty in pointing out special beauties. How rich in poetic fancy is this stanza : "Ah, richer far than noontide blaze The soft gray silence of the air, As if long years of ended days Had garnered all their twilights there." After the above, which seems to convey the impression made upon the poet's mind by the twilight dimness of the secluded room, and other lines in a similar vein, comes the discovery of a venerable volume ; which proves to be the talisman to unlock rich treasures indeed : so SKETCHES. " Where rafters set their cobwebb'd feet Upon the rugged oaken ledge, I found a flock of singers sweet, Like snow-bound sparrows in a hedge. In silk of spider's spinning hid, A long and narrow psalm-book lay " — And how vividly does the following bring to view a page of the old psalm-book : "Ah, dotted tribe with ebon heads That climb the slender fence along ! As black as ink, as thick as weeds, Ye little Africans of song ! " Here is a touch of tender sentiment : " Who wrote upon this page, ' Forget Me Not .'' ' These cruel leaves of old Have crushed to death a violet — See here its spectre's pallid gold. A pencilled whisper during prayer Is that poor dim and girlish word : " — As the poet pursues his examination of its pages, the old garret seems to be transformed, to his imagination, as by a magician's wand, into the "old village church," and the' dim twilight of the cramped and darkened apartment is changed to the daylight glow of an " olden tyme " sabbath : " The village church is builded here ; The twilight turns to afternoon." SKETCHES. 51 Well might the worthies of old afford to worship on un- carpeted floors, so that the reader of the present time may enjoy dwelling once and again upon the beautiful imagery contained in this other couplet ; as if the mechanical oper- ation of the carpet-loom were but a transcript or photograph of nature's wondrous working, by which the fairest flowers are produced : " Thy naked aisle no roses grace That blossomed at the shuttle's play ; " The following lines, descriptive of the old-fashioned fugue are especially sweet and graceful, and the quaint imagery introduced in the last four almost unsurpassed : " The parts strike in with measured grace, And something sweet is everywhere ! As if some warbling brood should build Of bits of tunes a singing nest, Each bringing that with which it thrilled And weaving it with all the rest ! " Desiring to close fittingly, this partial and imperfect view of some of the beauties existing in the poem under consideration, we present one more extract; by no means exhausting the catalogue of gems contained therein : "The congregation rise and stand; 'Old Hundred's' rolling thunder comes In heavy surges, slow and grand, As beats the surf its solemn drums." 52 SKETCHES. THE VIRGINIA PREACHER. THE following brief sketch is an attempt to reproduce from memory, as far as is practicable, the leading points of an account given by a distinguished American,* many years since, concerning a discourse heard by him in the backwoods of Virginia. The narrator of the anecdote referred to was travelling through a thinly settled portion of the State, and came upon a group engaged in listening to one, apparently a minister of the gospel, f who was addressing them on what was, evidently, a weighty and solemn theme. The subject, powerfully handled by the preacher, proved to be the pas- sion, or suffering and death of our Saviour. As the discourse drew near its close, the preacher en- tered thoroughly into the spirit of his theme, having the entire congregation completely in sympathy with himself and his subject — the tears flowed freely from many eyes, and sobs burst forth from many hearts, as he portrayed that most deeply affecting scene ; one which angels bent down to view with immortal interest, and which concerns so closely every member of our race — the agony and death, upon the cross, of our Lord. At this point the narrator, who evidently understood human nature and the art of sacred oratory, seems to have been apprehensive that the preacher would be unable, safely and without shock, to descend from his lofty height, * William Wirt, American lawyer and author. — [1772-1S34.] t He was of exceedingly venerable aspect, and totally blind. SKETCHES. S3 and relieve the deeply wrought feelings of his hearers. But not so — for the almost painful silence which for a few moments succeeded his thrilling description and appeal was followed by the sublime sentence of Rosseau : " So- crates died like ?i p/iilosopher, but Jesus Christ like a God." THE CHRISTIAN SOLDIER. [From The Coniril'iitor.'] W''ITH the purpose of honoring the memory of one who, as a most conscientious, devout and active Christian, was worthy of honor, this sketch has been pre- pared. Newton Howard Clark was born at Hallowell, Me., in 1835, and reared under the influences of a Christian home. His father died when Newton was but about ten years of age, and he became early accustomed to a life of labor. At fourteen he was baptized, and united with the Baptist Church at Hallowell, with which he maintained a faithful membership. About October, 1858, he settled in Somer- set, Mass. Here he remained for about three and one- half years, throwing himself st once into all Christian activities in connection with the Baptist Church in the town. In July, 1862, after mature deliberation, he responded to his country's call for volunteers. He enlisted in the 54 SKETCHES. 34th Mass. Infantry, then being organized at Worcester, and was assigned to Company E, of that regiment, sharing its varied experiences, which were not of a specially v/ar- like nature for the first fourteen months. It is during this part of his military service that his life again touches that of the pastor of his youth, very briefly and for the last time. Rev. Samuel W. Field, D. D., then chaplain of the Twelfth Rhode Island Volunteer Infantry, was located for a few days in the vicinity of the Thirty- fourth Massachusetts, and liberty was secured for a brief visit. The " baptism of blood " came to the Thirty-fourth Regiment in October, 1863, in the skirmish at Ripon, W. Va., and the subject of our little memoir was subsequently engaged in the battles of Newmarket, Piedmont, Lynch- burg, Snicker's Gap, Martinsburg and Halltown ; and in the action at Berryville, W. Va., in September, 1864, he received a fatal bullet wound. His record, during all this varied service, was one of unwavering Christian fidelity. The memory of Newton H. Clark is fragrant where he was best known. " He sleeps upon the banks of the Ken- nebec. The last conflict with sin and temptation is over, and his ransomed spirit is before the throne clothed in white raiment, and joining with the redeemed in anthems of praise to Him who hath washed them from their sins in His own precious blood." SKETCHES. 55 " Theirs was no common lot, Whom we today revere ; No sordid life, no useless work, Do we remember here. Their glorious fame we keep — What precious trust is ours ; ' They softly lie and sweetly sleep ' — Their graves we deck with flowers." &jr 79 -p .f 4 o^ V °^ *'"'° A.0 V "^