Bay State Faugh-a-Ballaghs. IV.

In the last number of the Magazine we left the patriotic Irishmen of the Twenty-Eighth Regiment in their Camp Cameron, at Cambridge, dreaming of the heroic deeds of their race on foreign fields; of the proud chronicles of the valor of the European Irish Brigade at Fontenoy and Ramillies that illumine the pages of French history; of the saving of Cremona by the Irish regiments under Count Dillon and Col. Burke; of Lord Clare's dragoons at Blenheim, which, although victorious to the arms of John Churchill (great Marlborough), and his Teutonic allies the defeat of Marchal Tallard, commanding the French and Bavarians, was relieved of some of its ignominy by the capture of two standards from the British by these dashing Irish troopers; of the fields of Staffardo under the exiled Lord Mount Cashel, and many other inspiring military achievements and successes of these Irishmen who vowed by Erin's Sunburst:

The Twenty-Eighth Regiment was formally mustered into the United States service December 13th, 1861, with Col. William Monteith commanding. Col. Murphy, it seems, only assisted in the recruiting of the regiment.

Christmas Day found the command not yet ordered forward, still at duty in the Cambridge camp. The day was duly honored with religious services and social interchanges. The boys were provided by loving friends with the wherewithal to make merry and to toast the sweethearts not yet made exactly of the class of "The girl I left behind me," although in the expression of the conviviality of the hour that and kindred airs were jovially rendered by the rollicking blades who were bound to make the great festival as merry as possible. In the "privates" as well as the officers' quarters during the evening, innocent revels were made up of feasting, the witty jest and repartee, playful jokes, songs and stories until "taps" reminded all through the orders of the officer of the day, that the night of Christmas Day had a new significance for these Irish volunteers. Before another return of it, how many of these fine fellows were food for powder and worms. A touching and very natural little incident in one of the tents will not only illustrate the genuineness of the soldier's heart, but also may be set down as a sample of the kindred feelings of many comrades who shouldered a musket for the preservation of the country. When the lights were put out as ordered by the "taps" patrolling guard, a fine young fellow, who had during the evening been merriest of the merry, was seated near the opening of the tent, bowed down in thought, while the fitful flickering of the expiring camp-fire shone through the handsome, glossy hair that drooped over his temples. His suppressed sighs brought an older and much attached comrade to him, who, putting his arms kindly around the youth's manly shoulders said, in lowered tones:

"Arrah, Jim, ma bouchal, what's the matter with you, at all, at all? Has all the fun gone out of you?"

"No, no, friend Tim! But this night last year I was with my poor old mother. I'm all that's left to her now, and when she hears I am in the war, her poor heart will break, and if it is ever my luck to return to Ireland it will, I'm afraid, be to visit her grave in Kilmurry church-yard."

"Oh, the wirrasthru, and that's the pity av it, Jim. But don't you be thinking of these things and be sad, or faix's, you'll make a fool of a soldier of me with thinking of my sweet Kitty and the two childer. They'll be safe, at any rate for awhile, until we can put in a few good blows for the glorious country that has given us freedom and a home. Jim, me boy, our enemy, England, is at the bottom of this bad business. You know the ould song, 'She comes to divide, to dishonor;' but a tyrant she'll never reign here while we have a hand to lift and"—(Tim just then kindly slapping his chum on the back) "a heart to dare her!—and"—

The fervor of Tim aroused comrades in the tent, who gave signs of approval.

"And, perhaps when we have finished this business, as Secretary Seward says, in three months we'll have a nice training to go across the ocean with our arms, and wollop John Bull out of the dear old land."

"Good boy, Tim! good boy;" were the tokens of approval that came vociferously from all parts of the tent, while at the same time the double quick tread of the patrol guard, preceded by the flash of the corporal's lantern was hastily bearing down on the devoted quarters to stop this untimely ebullition of patriotic fervor, and noticing which Bill and Tim grasped hands fervently, but hastily, in approval of the sentiments of the latter. When the corporal looked into the tent the dozen soldiers it contained were all rolled up snugly in their blankets and sound asleep, apparently. 'Twas to the noise, not to the patriotism to which the corporal objected, fearing censure or worse from his superiors. Had he been off duty, no man likely would have more heartily re-echoed Tim H——'s patriotic expressions.

Days and weeks passed. In the meantime the officers and men, through military routine, were perfecting themselves; but for heavier work than was anticipated.

At last the call came, and amid heart-breaking farewells from wives, sweethearts and children, and the cheers of the throngs assembled to bid the gallant fellows good-by, the Twenty-Eighth Regiment left Boston, January 11, 1862, and went to Fort Columbus, New York harbor, from which place on February 14, it was sent to Hilton Head, South Carolina. The regiment was at a place called Darofusky Island when Col. Monteith was ordered off with the right wing to duty, on Tybee Island, Georgia. It was here that Col. Monteith did his last service with the Twenty-Eighth. The whole command was subsequently transferred to James Island, at which place in an attack on Fort Johnson, the regiment lost fourteen killed and fifty-two wounded. Gen. Benham, U. S. A., paid a high compliment to the command for the handsome manner in which they joined in the assault on the fort June 16. On July 20, the regiment was assigned to Gen. Burnside's Ninth Corps, and after being a while at Newport News, Virginia, landed at Aquia Creek, on the Potomac River, August 6th, to participate in the campaign of Gen. John Pope, "headquarters in the saddle," on the line of the Rappahannock, and which terminated so disastrously to our arms at the second Bull Run battle. Major Geo. W. Cartwright commanded the regiment in this severe engagement and was wounded. Eighteen men were killed and one hundred and nine wounded, with eight missing. This was August 30th. On September 1st at Chantilly, memorable by the death of that daring soldier, Gen. Phil Kearney, the Faugh-a-Ballaghs lost fifteen killed, with eighty-four wounded, and casualties. We find the regiment under heavy fire at South Mountain, and at Antietam's great battle, it crossed the creek at the stone bridge, charged the enemy's right, located in a most advantageous position, and drove them, sustaining a loss of twelve killed and thirty-six wounded.

About one month after this, Col. Richard Byrnes,[1] on October 18, assumed command of the Twenty-Eighth at Nolan's Ferry, and on the 23d of November, it was transferred to the Second Corps and assigned to Meagher's Irish Brigade, which was in the division commanded by that much lamented and knightly soldier, Winfield Scott Hancock. At the close of the year 1862, some two weeks after fateful Fredericksburg, the reckoning showed that the Faugh-a-Ballaghs lost five hundred and twenty in killed, wounded and missing. The second Christmas Day for the boys of the Twenty-Eighth brought many sad reminders. Poor Kitty H—— and her babies had to mourn the loss of her brave Tim, the Irish patriot of Camp Cameron, and the poor heart-broken mother of his young chum drooped and pined in Ireland for the son who was the solace of her hope and heart. She had the premonition of his death, at the battle of Chantilly, so weirdly given in Gerald Griffin's "wake." She saw the blood-red cloud in the west far out on the Atlantic's tide and while—

The Christmas of 1862 in the camps of the Union Army on the left bank of the Rappahannock, confronting Fredericksburg, was rather wanting in good cheer, although so near the Potomac, and it was only until Gen. Hooker superseded Burnside in command of the Army of the Potomac, that rations of potatoes could be had to serve out to the half-famished troops. What a delightful supplement to a soldier's mess is even one good potato and a piece of onion, when for weeks his only change has been from hard tack with fat pork to pork (fat) and hard tack! The regiment performed the usual duties of beleaguers when St. Patrick's Day got round to them in the camps of the Irish brigade at Falmouth, Va. If not very active participants with their New York fellow soldiers in the sports of the steeple chase, race-course, and other parts of the programme, yet the boys of the Twenty-Eighth could not have failed to enjoy with enthusiasm the hilarity and frolics of that occasion. At least ten thousand had assembled from the camps cantoned in winter quarters for miles between the Potomac and along the Rappahannock Rivers. The grand stand contained the commander-in-chief and other distinguished generals and officers, and a number of ladies. Besides Hooker, the commander, there were conspicuously present Generals Slocum, Hancock, Charles Griffin, Sedgwick, Franklin and others. Together with the races of the thoroughbreds, there were also long prize lists, programmes of amusements, such as catching a soaped pig, and competing for money, and mastery at dancing Irish jigs, reels and hornpipes. An idea may be had of the provision made for the entertainment of the invited guests from the following summary of the bill of fare which the quartermaster of the brigade brought with him from Washington for the occasion: The side of an ox roasted, thirty-five hams, a whole pig stuffed with boiled turkeys, and "an unlimited number of chickens, ducks and small game. The drinking materials comprised eight baskets of champagne, ten gallons of rum and twenty-two of whiskey." Thus sayeth the record. All of this was served inside a beautiful bower capable of containing several hundred persons. The festivities were duly preceded with the religious ceremonies of the great holyday of St. Patrick's feast, and closed by a grand entertainment at night, which included theatricals, recitations and olios of song and sentiment.

It is needless to add that the visiting generals, whose duties admitted of their remaining, entered into the humor of the hour, and toasts went freely round, intermingled with flowing bumpers and loving glances at the fair visitors, who graced the occasion by their presence.

We afterwards trace the heroic work of our Massachusetts Faugh-a-Ballaghs in their valiant services at Chancellorsville; at famed Gettysburg, where the regiment lost nearly one-half its force in killed and casualties; at Mine Run, the Wilderness, Po River, Spottsylvania, Cold Harbor, Petersburg, Deep Bottom, and at Reams' Station, the latter part of August, 1864.

The offices and men whose term did not expire with that of their regiment in December, 1864, were consolidated into a battalion under the command of Major James Fleming (of North End, Boston), and at the close of hostilities were mustered out with the remnant of the Irish brigade. The originals were ordered to Boston, December 20, to be mustered out, and numbered only twenty-one enlisted men and one officer, Col. Cartwright. No better close can be made to this article than to quote from "Conyngham's Concise History," printed in 1867, the record of this famous Irish-American regiment:—

"The aggregate number joined for duty since the organization was about 1,703; the list of killed and casualties numbered 1,133, a fearfully heavy proportion. During the Wilderness campaign, but one officer escaped unhurt in the fearful havoc. Who shall say, in view of this record of the devotion of Irishmen to the cause of freedom in this their adopted country, that they are not entitled to the sympathy, aid and support of this nation, in the endeavor to free their own beloved, down-trodden land?"

America should never forget it.

Student.