morning clear as a bell and as pleasant almost as a summers morning—Inspection of the Company by the Col. at 9 O'clock, church as usual. Passes were granted to quite a number to Birds Point.
SOURCE: Transactions of the Illinois State Historical Society for the Year 1909, p. 228
Reached the
"City of the Falls" in the night. Left the boat about six this
morning, took a hasty breakfast at the “National,” then a hack for the depot,
calling at the office of Provost Marshal to secure passes on train to
Nashville. Am pleasantly impressed with Louisville. A pretty green plot in
front of private residences, even if quite small, with linden, ailanthus and
magnolia trees, are peculiarities of the city. It is too early for the foliage
of the trees to be seen, but the deep green, thick grass and the blossoms of
the daffodil are in striking contrast to the snow I saw in the latitude of
Chicago and Buffalo only day before yesterday.
The cars are now so
crowded with soldiers en route for "the front," that it is quite
difficult for citizens to find passage. Some have to wait several days before
they can find an opportunity. Only one car is appropriated for this use, and
ladies with their escort always have the preference. Thus gentlemen who are
alone are liable to be left, As we were leaving the "National" this
morning a gentleman rushed out and inquired if we were going to take the
Southern train, and if there was only one gentleman to the two ladies. He
"begged pardon—knew he was a stranger—wished to go to Bowling Green his
wife was sick and he had written her he would be home to-day. If the ladies
would be so kind as to pass him along, and if the gentleman would step with him
into the office he could convince him, through the keeper of the
"National," that he was a man of honor,” Mr. R. referred the matter
to the ladies. They decided to take under their protecting wing the lone
gentleman and see him safe home if the interview with the landlord, with whom
Mr. R. was fortunately acquainted, should prove satisfactory. It was so, and
Mr. Moseby—not the guerilla as himself informed us—entered the hack. He had
"taken the oath of allegiance," he said, and "lived up to it,
but had a right to his own thoughts."
Upon arriving at the
depot found the ladies' car locked, and we were left standing by it while the
two gentleman looked after the baggage. Mr. R. was not to accompany us farther.
Soon an elderly, pale-looking man, with a white neck-tie, came up, who asked if
we each had a gentleman travelling with us. We hesitated and evaded the
question. This was being in too great demand altogether. It was not even
included in Mr. R.'s list of our duties. He "was really hoping we had not,
and that one of us would take pity on an old man and pass him along."
His fatherly look
and manner banished selfishness, and he was told to wait until the gentlemen
returned, and we would see about it. As they did so Mr. Moseby stepped up and
cordially shook hands with the old man, calling him “Judge." But all
Southerners are styled judges, captains, colonels or generals, thought I, and
this one is an honest old farmer nevertheless. As Mr. M. assured us that he was
"all right," and a "man of honor," I told him he might
occupy half of my seat in the car. But it was not long before I found that my
poor old farmer was no less a personage than Judge Joseph R. Underwood, one of
the most noted men and pioneers of Kentucky. He has been Judge of the Supreme
Court of that State six years, a United States Representative for ten years and
a Senator for six.
A spruce little
Captain came through to examine military passes before the cars started. Quite
a number of citizens were left as usual, and as we were moving off I heard one
young man exclaim in desperation that he would "go right back to the city
and marry." The gentlemen congratulated themselves upon their good fortune,
and the subject elicited the following incidents:
A gentleman of Mr.
M.'s acquaintance could get no admission to the cars, no lady would take him
under her care, and he asked the baggage agent if he might get in the baggage
car. That functionary said he had orders to admit no one. "Then you'll not
give me permission, but if I get in will you put me out?"
No answer was made,
but the agent walked away, and the man, thinking like children, that
"silence gives consent," entered the baggage car and remained.
Another gentleman, a
merchant of Bowling Green, by name F—— C——, could get no chance to ride. But
fortunately having on a blue coat, in desperation he stepped up to a man with
the two bars on his shoulder who was putting his soldiers aboard, and said with
a pleading look and tone:
"Captain, can't
you lengthen out my furlough just two days longer?"
"No," said
the Captain, in a quick authoritative tone, "you've been loafing 'round
these streets long enough, in with you," and he made a motion as if he
would materially assist his entrance if he didn't hurry.
“Well, if I must I
must, but its hard, Captain."
"No more
words," was the short reply, "in with you.” Another was related by an
eye witness. A lady who was travelling alone was about stepping into the car,
when a gentleman, who was trembling with anxiety lest he should be left,
stepped up and offered to take her box. He did so, and stepping in behind was
allowed a seat by her side, cautiously retaining the box. He had two comrades
equally desirous of securing a passage, who had seen his success. One of them
stepped to the car window and whispered him to pass out the box. It was slyly
done, and the gentleman marched solemnly in with the weighty responsibility.
The box went through the window again, and again walked in at the door, until
it must have been thoroughly "taken in" as well as the guard.
Just out of the city
we passed a camp and saw soldiers lying under the little low "dog
tents" as they are called, and in the deep,
clay mud, while only a few rods distant was a plenty of green sward. Any
officer who would compel his men to pitch tents where those were ought to be
levelled to the ranks.
I saw for the first
time to-day, fortifications, stockades, riflepits, and mounted cannon at the
bridges. We passed over the battle-ground of Mumfordsville, and saw the burnt
fences and the levelled trees which were to obstruct the march of our troops,
and the building which was used by them as a hospital. In the deep cut passes
one sees suddenly the picturesque figure of a negro soldier, far above upon the
heights, who with shining uniform and glittering bayonet stands like a statue,
guarding the portals of liberty. At the fortifications are sign-boards upon
which are printed in large letters, "Please a drop a paper," while perhaps
half a dozen hands point to it as the train whirls past. Some papers were
thrown out. There were other things which had for our Northern eyes the charm
of novelty. A half respectable or squalid farm-house, with a huge chimney upon
the outside, and with a huddle of negro quarters. Also negro women with turbans
upon their heads, working out of doors, and driving teams—in one case on a load
of tobacco, while driving a yoke of oxen. The total absence of country
school-houses, and the squalid and shiftless appearance of the buildings and
people at the depots, are in striking contrast to the neat little towns of the
Northern and Eastern States. The scenery is fine, much of the soil good, and
the water-power extensive. Nature has dealt bountifully with Tennessee and
Kentucky, but the accursed system of slavery has blasted and desolated the
land, and both races, black and white, are reaping the mildewed harvest.
I find my honorable
companion very entertaining and instructive. I am indebted to him for many
items of interest, both concerning the early settlers, and also the modern
history of the places we pass. His personal history is full of interest, and is
one more proof that early poverty is not necessarily a barrier to honor and
position. The Judge was given away by his parents to an uncle, who educated
him, gave him five dollars and told him he must then make his own way in the
world. Another uncle lent him a horse, and he set out to seek his fortune as
lawyer and politician. He has in trust the fortune of an eccentric old
bachelor, which is known in Warren County as the Craddock fund. Three-fourths
of this is used to educate charity children, while the other fourth pays the
Judge for his care of the fund. His friend Captain C., while upon his
death-bed, sent for the drummer and fifer to play tunes in the yard, and from
those selected such as he wished played at his funeral. He was buried with military
honors.
“Muldroughs-Hill"
which we saw, is a long ridge extending about one hundred miles from the mouth
of Salt-River to the head of Rolling-Fork. It was named from an early settler
who lived twenty miles from the others, and was farthest west. Rolling-Fork is
a tributary of Salt-River. The origin of the term "going up
Salt-River" originated at a little place we passed, now called
Shepherdsville. It has only four or five hundred inhabitants. But in its early
days its salt licks supplied all the Western country with salt, and was a
growing aspirant for popularity, as it invited so much trade. It was a rival of
Louisville, but unlike that, made no provision for its future well-being, but
depended on its present worth alone. "Thus," moralized the Judge, “do we often see two young
men start out with equal advantages, and find afterward that one became a
Shepherdsville, and the other a Louisville." Now there is a bridge at
Shepherdsville guarded by cannon, then there was no bridge and ferry-boats were
used. It was not a smooth stream, and to cross, one must row up the river some
one hundred rods before heading the boat to the opposite shore. Owing to the
rapidity of the current, it was hard rowing, and great strength was needed.
There were those engaged in the making of salt who were called kettle-tenders,
and who for the most part were a low, rough set, being often intoxicated and
quarrelsome. Two of these having a fight, the victor finished with the
triumphant exclamation of There, I've rowed you up Salt River!"
Lincoln's
birth-place is near this, in the adjoining County of Larue—although this was
not the name at the time of his birth. And how little did the mother of Lincoln
think, as she taught him the little she knew of books, that the people in the
vicinity would ever have cause to exclaim of him, in relation to his rival for
the Presidency, as they do of the successful politician—" he has rowed him
up Salt River !"
There is a little
river called "Nolin," which waters his birth-place. It was so named
from the fact that in the early settlement upon its banks a man named Linn was
lost in the woods, and never found. He was probably killed by the Indians. But
the neighbors searched for several days, and at night met at a place upon its
banks, calling to each other as they came in, "No Linn"—" No
Linn, yet."
The Judge has
carried lead in his body for over fifty years, received in the war of 1812. He
was in the battle on the Maumee river called Dudley's defeat. The regiment,
under Dudley, had crossed the river to take cannon of the enemy, which they
succeeded in doing, but instead of returning they pursued them two or three
miles, leaving a few behind to protect the captures. But a detachment of the
enemy passed around in their rear, retook the cannon, and when the regiment
returned, their retreat was cut off, and all were taken prisoners and obliged
to run the gauntlet. About forty were killed in running the gauntlet. The Judge
saw that the line of men which had formed at a little distance from, and
parallel with the river, had a bend in it, and that if he ran close to the guns
they would not dare fire for fear of hitting their own men. The Indians were
armed with guns, tomahawks, and war clubs. In that day the gun was accompanied
with what was called the "wiping-stick," which was a rod made of hickory
notched, and wound with tow, and used to clean the gun. He escaped by receiving
a whipping with some of those sticks. It was the last gauntlet ever run in the
United States. During the trip I had quite a spirited but good-natured
discussion upon the condition of the country, with Mr. M., who I found is
really a strong rebel sympathizer. He worships Morgan since his late raid into
Ohio, and secretly cherishes his picture in his vest pocket. Just before
reaching Bowling Green, where we were to separate, the fatherly old Judge took
a hand of each in his own, and with moisture in his eyes and a tremor in his
voice, said:
"My children,
you represent the two antagonistic positions of the country, and like those, do
not rightly understand each other, on account of sectional prejudices. And now
let an old man who has watched the growth of both sections, who has, as he
trusts, fought for their good in the field, the desk, and senate, join your
hands in the grasp of good fellowship, and oh, how sincerely I wish that I
could bring also together the North and South in one lasting peace!"
Soon after, he
pointed out his residence—the cars stopped, and we parted with our pleasant
friends.
Reached the
"City of the Rocks" about five, this P. M. Shall wait to see more of
it, before making note of impressions.
SOURCE: Elvira J.
Powers, Hospital Pencillings: Being a
Diary While in Jefferson General Hospital, Jeffersonville, Ind., and Others at
Nashville, Tennessee, as Matron and Visitor, p. 5-12
General ORDERS No.
4.}
I. No persons except
those in the employ of the United States Government, and loyal citizens, or
those who have taken the oath of allegiance, will hereafter be permitted to
pass the picket-lines at any post within this district.
II. No goods or
merchandise of any kind will hereafter be allowed to pass outside the lines,
except the necessary supplies for planters working lands leased from the United
States, and limited quantities to citizens who have taken the oath of
allegiance. No citizen will be allowed to take out supplies for any persons
except himself and his immediate family, and in no case will more than thirty
days' supplies be taken out.
III. The
provost-marshal at every post will keep an accurate record of every pass
granted, and of all permits approved by himself, or the post commander. Books
for this purpose will be supplied by the quartermaster's department and the
records will be kept open for the inspection of any officer of the Government,
at all hours between 8 a.m. and 6 p.m. A record will be kept by the officers of
the picket-line of all passes and permits presented, which record will be
compared with that of the provost-marshal, and any discrepancy will at once be
reported.
IV. All trade stores
within the district at points not garrisoned by at least one regiment of troops
will at once be discontinued. No goods or merchandise will be landed at any
point on the river within the limits of the district which is not garrisoned by
troops, except necessary supplies for planters working land leased from the
Government, in which case the goods may be landed under cover of a gun-boat at
the nearest practicable point to the plantation.
V. All boats ladened
with merchandise detected in landing in violation of this order will be seized
and brought to this post.
VI. All persons
charged with the duties of imposing upon citizens, or of seizing property for
the Government, will keep an account of all such transactions, specifying the
persons from whom the money or property was received and the disposition made
of it. This account will be kept open for the inspection of any officer of the
Government, or of any citizen who has been taxed, or from whom property has
been taken.
VII. No Government
wagon, transport, or vessel of any kind will be used in bringing cotton or
other stores to market, except in cases where such stores have been seized for
the Government.
VIII. All clerks and
citizen employes in every department whose services are not absolutely
necessary will at once be discharged.
IX. No rations will
be issued, nor property of any kind transferred to citizens to reimburse them
for losses sustained by the operations of the war. The persons to whom damages
are to be paid, and the amounts due, are questions which no military officer is
authorized to adjust.
X. It is the duty of
every person in the employ of the Government and of every loyal citizen to aid
in the correction of all evils. Any practice on the part of either civil or
military officers or citizens which tends to aid the enemy or defraud or injure
the Government should be promptly reported, and sustained by such proof as will
enable the commanding general to correct the evil, and bring the guilty parties
to punishment.
By command of Maj.
Gen. H. W. Slocum:
SOURCE: The War of
the Rebellion: A Compilation of the Official Records of the Union and
Confederate Armies, Series I, Volume 39, Part 2 (Serial No. 78), p. 30-1
CAMP MILLINGTON, BALTIMORE.
From the time of our home-coming and the royal welcome given us by the 150th, I
have only made notes which I will try now to write out. Nothing out of the
ordinary routine of a soldier's life in camp has transpired. I am getting more
and more used to this, and the trifling occurrences that at first made such
deep impressions are soon forgotten now. Still, as some one may read this who
will never know of the details of a soldier's life in any other way, I shall
try and keep to my promise to tell the whole story.
The box of good
things that was mentioned in the letter I received while we lay in the street
at Baltimore, waiting for a train to take us to Gettysburg, came a few days
after our return to camp. In it was a great big package for me. I opened it and
there lay the roasted body of our old Shanghai rooster. He was minus head, feet
and feathers, but I knew him the minute I laid eyes on him.
I at once began to
figure how many stomachs like ours he would fill, and then gave out that many
invitations. All came, and brought their plates. With mouths watering, they
stood about as I prepared to carve.
At the first cut I
thought I smelled something, and at the next was sure I did. The old fellow,
tough as he was, was not able to stand close confinement in such hot weather,
and had taken on an odor that took away all appetite for roast chicken.
Terribly disappointed, we wrapped him up again, and taking him out of camp,
gave him as near a military funeral as we knew how. He was a brave old bird. I
have seen him whip Cuff, mother's little guardian of the garden patch. "He
sleeps his last sleep. He has fought his last battle. No sound shall awake him
to glory again."
Requests for passes
to visit the camp of the 150th are the pests of the commanding officers of our
regiment, and the same can be said of the 150th. As soon as guard-mount is
over, and the other details for camp duty made, the old guard (those who were
on duty the day before, and who are excused from all duty except dress parade
for the next twenty-four hours) try for a pass to visit the city or the 150th,
the two attractions now. John Van Alstyne often visits me, as well as others
with him with whom I am well acquainted. These visits I return as often as I
can get away. Our camp ground has been laid out in regular order and the
company streets graded and made to look very respectable. There is a broad
street, along one side of which are the officers' tents, the colonel's in the
center. Back of these are the quartermaster's and the commissary's stores, the
sutler's tent and the mules and horses. In front of the colonel's tent is the
flag-staff, and running out from the street are ten shorter streets, one for
each company, with cook-houses or tents at the bottom. Men are detailed every
day to clean up and keep in order all these and are called supernumeraries.
When it rains we that are not on duty lie in our tents and amuse ourselves in
any way we can, or visit from tent to tent as the fancy takes us. In fair
weather we have either company-drill or battalion-drill, and every now and then
the regiments are put together for brigade-drill. Any of it is hard work, but
it is what we are here for, and we find little fault. The weather is chilly. I
notice but little difference in the weather here and as we usually have it at
home. There we expect it, while here we do not and that I suppose makes it seem
harder to put up with.
One of our company,
Elmer Anderson, deserted and enlisted in an artillery regiment a few days ago.
He came into camp showing his papers and was arrested and put in the
guard-house. What the outcome will be I don't know, but it seems as if there
should be some way of preventing such things. Sunday mornings we have what we
call knapsack-drill. Why they save this for Sunday I don't know, but I suppose
there is some reason for it. We pack our knapsacks, brush up our guns, clothes,
shoes, etc., and march to the drill ground and form in columns by companies.
Company A on the right and B on the left. This brings Company A in front and
the first company to be inspected, after which they march back to camp and are
through for the day. Company B being the last, it is something like an hour we
stand there with our knapsacks open before us on the ground, everything in them
exposed to view of the passer-by, who is the inspection officer and the captain
whose company he is inspecting. With his sword tip he pokes over our
belongings, and if any dirty socks or handkerchief or any other article a
soldier ought not to have is found, a lesson is read to him on the spot and
repeated in plainer terms by the captain afterwards. As we must take everything
we own or have it stolen while we are away, we take a great many chances. I
shall never forget the first inspection. We knew nothing of what was coming,
and such an outfit as that inspection officer saw I don't think any other one
ever did. Little by little we learn the lesson, learn to put the best on top,
for not all knapsacks have their contents stirred up. A great deal of allowance
was made for us at first, but as we go along the screws of discipline are
slowly but surely turned on, and finally I suppose it will be easy to obey.
That one word, "obey," seems to be all that is required of us. No
matter how unreasonable an order seems to us, we have only to obey it or get in
trouble for not doing it.
SOURCE:
Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 54-7
On Sunday evening left Big Black and moved to Church, occupying our old camping ground of May 20th, where we are resting and waiting orders. Occasional cheering reports come in from our beseiged friends, one of which is to the effect that the enemy attacked Vicksburg again on Friday, and was repulsed and driven five miles from the field; our loss said to be seven hundred. From some causes we are placed under greater restrictions now than ever, and are not allowed to go outside of the guard line without a pass. Yesterday two men of Comb's Tennessee Battalion, who had fallen out of ranks at Yazoo, came up and were immediately arrested, tried, and had one side of their heads shaved, all in the space of a few hours. Rations still short, consisting of beef and meal.
SOURCE: Edwin L. Drake, Editor, The Annals of the Army of Tennessee and Early Western History, Vol. 1, p. 215-6
The sanctity of the
day was well observed throughout the camp, and increased by an impressive
sermon, preached by Bishop Clark. In the afternoon, passes were given to the
men to visit the city. The day closed with a dress parade, President Lincoln
and other functionaries being present.
SOURCE: Theodore
Reichardt, Diary of Battery A, First
Regiment Rhode Island Light Artillery, p. 8
Give instruction
that no passes are to be given to negroes to accompany their masters in leaving
the city. The negroes may be informed that they are free by any one who may
choose to give the information, and, if they still wish to go, no force need be
used to prevent. In the particular case where I gave the reply that force would
not be used to prevent negroes accompanying their masters, the officer said he
had a family and children, and could not get along without a nurse; further,
that the nurse had been raised in the family and was like one of them, and
would take as hard to be separated as would an actual member of the family.
If there is any
indication that a suspicious number of blacks are going to accompany the troops
out, then all should be turned back except such as are voluntarily accompanying
families, not more than one to each family.
I RECEIVE AN APPOINTMENT.
The ward next me on the left is a colored one, and contains from 60 to 80 men, according to recruits and drafts. Until recently they have been pretty much on their own hook, no one seeming to care for them. Some days ago Doctor Sadler asked me if I would take charge of them. I said I should like to do anything where I could be of any use.
He gave me my instructions and some blank reports, and set me up in business. My duties are to attend roll-calls, surgeon's calls, keep an account of arrivals, discharges, desertions, deaths, march them up to the kitchen three times a day for rations and make my report to him every morning. Entering on the discharge of my duties the first thing I did was to set them to work cleaning and fixing up their quarters, so they would be more comfortable.
A couple of hours' work showed a great improvement in the condition of things, and while it was being done it gave me a chance to find out who among them were the worst off and needed the most care and favors. A sick nigger is a curious institution and you can't tell so well about him as you can about a sick mule. He can put on the sickest look of anything I ever saw and appear as though he would die in seven minutes, but a nigger is never really sick but once, and is then sure to die. There is no more help for one than there is for a sick pig. I have three that are sick and I have no more faith in their getting well than I have that Gen. Lee will drive Gen. Grant from before Petersburg. Two of them are now unable to attend the surgeon's call in the morning and the other I expect will be in a few days. I have about 10 hobbling around with canes, spavined, ring-boned and foundered. The others are simply a little war-worn and tired.
The kitchen is about 30 rods from the camp, and when I march them up there there are so many lame ones they straggle the whole distance. Doctor Sadler called my attention to this and said he should like to see them march in little better order. I replied: “Surgeon, come out in the morning and see the parade; you will see them marching a 28 inch step and closed up to 18 inches from stem to stern.” He promised he would. The next morning at breakfast call I formed every one of those darkies that carried canes on the right, and the very lamest I put at the head of the column, and gave them a send-off. It was a comical show, they marched at the rate of about one mile an hour, and those in the rear kept calling out to those in advance : “Why don ye goo long dar! Hurry up dar; shan' get breakfas' fo' noon.” They kept closed up a good deal better than they kept the step as the rear crowded the advance to push them along. We were cheered along the route as almost everybody was out to see the fun. We marched in review before the doctor, and by the way he laughed and shook himself I thought he was well satisfied with the parade, at any rate he complimented me on my success when I carried in my morning report.
One day one of my fellows came to me for a pass to go fishing. He said he could catch as many bull-heads as would do us two for three days. I gave him a pass, but didn't see anything of him again for four days. When I asked him where he had been so long, he looked pretty sober for a minute or two, and then rolling around the whites of his eyes and showing his teeth, said: "Yah, yah, yah! ize no idee ize don gon so long; yah, yah, yah."
A CONFLICT OF AUTHORITY.
There is among army officers a constant jealousy and strife for
promotion and rank, watching and looking after each other, fearful lest some
one may be assuming some rank or taking some privileges that do not belong to
him. I have been giving my men passes out of camp, and these passes have been
honored at headquarters. In consequence of that a spirit of envy and jealousy
entered the breasts of the infantry officers; it made them feel sore and uneasy,
so they consulted together and decided that that could no longer be allowed.
They informed me that I was exceeding my authority in passing men out of camp.
Being in a minority and not caring to exhibit any stubbornness so trifling a
matter I magnanimously waived my authority to issue the passes, but it was a
big come down for the chief of artillery. When I wish to leave I simply look in
at headquarters and say to the captain.“I propose going out.” If there is
anything in the pitcher he always says, “You had better come in, and
take something before going.” The captain is as generous as he is brave, and
brave men are always generous.
SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass.
Volunteer Infantry, p. 96
PICKET DUTY.
I fear I was not
appreciated on the fort, as I was superseded after my first day's effort and
have since been assigned to other duty; but I nobly served my country, and I
know that history will do me justice. Yesterday I was out in the country among
the wild flowers. I went out with a picket guard, about three miles in a
southeasterly direction, to what is called Mills cross-roads, relieving the old
picket. After spreading our blankets on the grass beside the fence, we entered
vigorously on our duty of waiting and watching for the rebel Gen. Garnett, and
listening to the sweet warbling of the singing birds. There is nothing in
picket duty that stirs up a great amount of enthusiasm, but still it is a good
steady business, with occasionally a little ray of excitement, as when a darky
comes along and one has to examine his pass.
About the middle of
the afternoon, we heard the approach of horses, and looking up the road, saw
two ladies coming at a swift gallop towards us. My first impulse was to charge
cavalry, but I refrained from doing so, as I saw they were not enemies. As they
came up, I recognized Madames Bartholomew and Cliffton. I turned out the guard
and extended to them the customary civilities. They said they were out for an
afternoon's ride and supposed it was as far as they could go in that direction.
I told them they might go further if they wished, and I should be pleased to
furnish them an escort, only it would weaken my lines. They laughed and thanked
me for my gallantry, but thought they had better not venture farther. I
inquired if there were any news stirring in town, and they answered, “All quiet
on the Roanoke.” They then bade us good afternoon and started on the retreat.
There is no church service today; all hands are busy at work on the fort, and
things are beginning to look as though war was liable to break out at almost
any time.
SOURCE: David L.
Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p.
87-8
