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Chapter IV.

All were in high glee and the mythical goose occupied an elevated position when we “broke camp” and left Miner’s Hill. The intelligent contraband who used to visit us every morning to dispose of his “baked fried pies” was promptly on hand to collect the small sums from the boys which still remained unpaid; and after the line had begun to move, another darkey, who had been doing the washing for a large number of persons connected with the regiment, and one of whose customers—presumably an officer—had failed to meet his obligations, kept up with the regiment for a mile or more, running along the line from one company to the other, peering into the faces of all, and shouting at the top of his voice, “Some gemman here owes me free cents!” The only satisfaction he got was that he would be paid when “the cruel war was over.”

The Eleventh regiment saw but little service in the field. Our regimental colors bear the names of no battles in which we were engaged, although we took part in several very lively skirmishes, and for an entire day stood in line in a broiling sun, expecting every moment to be ordered to take part in a fight which was going on directly in front of us, across the river at Suffolk, Virginia. The roar of the artillery and the rattle of the musketry saluted our ears from morning until night; the ambulances passed by us all day long with the wounded and the dying, and some of our men who were on guard at the hospitals, which comprised the churches, rendered assistance as nurses. As matters turned, however, the rebels retreating, the services of our regiment were not required. But had they been, there is no reason to doubt that the Eleventh would have acquitted itself in such a manner as to have done honor to the State which sent it into the field. One who knew the Eleventh regiment well, writes as follows concerning it: “I feel warranted in saying, without fear of contradiction, that no State sent into the service during the war, any better regiment, in everything that goes to make a good regiment, than this nine months’ regiment; and I do not hesitate to say here and everywhere, that in the character of the enlisted men, in the fidelity with which they performed every duty, disagreeable as well as agreeable, it had no superior.”

But while little opportunity was given the Eleventh regiment to acquire distinction in the field, yet it performed a service which, while bringing no renown to the regiment, was as important as it was disagreeable, and which subjected not only the men but the officers to very many unpleasant experiences. I now refer to the arduous duty which the regiment performed at the Convalescent Camp, midway between Washington and Alexandria. Here we found between ten thousand and fifteen thousand old soldiers who had been discharged from the hospitals in and around Washington, waiting to be sent home or back to their regiments. Long lines of ambulances went back and forth every day between the camp and Washington, carrying those to whom transportation to their homes or regiments had been furnished, and bringing from the hospitals others to take their vacant places. The camp was in a very filthy condition when we arrived there, and the men greatly demoralized. Of course our appearance as a guard over these old soldiers was anything but welcome, and they were not slow in acquainting us with the fact. For a time it seemed as if only the most extreme measures on our part would prevent such insubordination as we should be unable to control. Our duties were not only very disagreeable, but they were performed at that season of the year when mud was for the most part of the time nearly knee-deep, and frozen feet were no novelty.

Here, day by day, our eyes witnessed the terrible effects of war upon human life. Men who had been wounded in battle and were recovering from their injuries were hobbling about on canes and crutches, while wounded arms were supported by various ingenious devices. Some had lost a leg, some both legs, some an arm, and some both arms. Others had an eye gone, an ear torn off, a jaw which had been crushed into fragments. The wounds were of every conceivable sort, and in every part of the body, from the crown of the head to the sole of the foot. They had been shot in the head, in the face, in the neck, in the shoulders, the arms, the legs, and the feet. They had been shot through the chest, through the lungs, through the hips and through the thighs. While here and there, gathered in small groups, were victims of disease contracted in camp or on the march, whose looks plainly indicated that they realized that there was but a step between them and death. In recalling these scenes even at this late day, my heart sickens as those pale faces and gaunt forms again rise up before me, and I thank God that “the cruel war is over.”

An entire paper might be written of the experiences—grave and gay—at Convalescent Camp. For the most part of the three winter months that we were there, the time passed away very slowly, and all were anxious for a change. Before we left, the external appearance of the camp had been greatly improved, and the convalescents generally had become reconciled to our presence among them, and less inclined to “run the guard” than at first, a few object lessons as to the sure results of such doings on their part causing them to regard “discretion as the better part of valor.” However, candor compels me to say that when we left for Suffolk, no regrets at our departure were expressed by the convalescents, and as we passed through the camp on our way to take the cars for Alexandria, their taunts and jeers came near provoking an unpleasant collision, which, however, was happily averted by the coolness and firmness of our officers. Whatever else concerning the war an Eleventh Rhode Island man may forget, you can be sure that it will not be his unpleasant personal experiences at the Convalescent Camp.

Permit me to relate an incident that occurred there in which I bore a conspicuous part, and which has afforded me much more amusement since than it did at the time.

As I have already remarked, while we were on duty at the Convalescent Camp, time hung heavily upon our hands, and quite a number of the members of the regiment who had “influential friends” in Washington obtained furloughs to visit home. Among those who sought the autograph of Drake DeKay, by whom all furloughs were signed, and whose signature looked as if it was written with his thumb about a month after a buzz-saw had got its work in on the first joint, was the “raw recruit” of Company B. Others received their furloughs, but mine tarried. I began to fear that my “influential friends” had “got left”—at home. One afternoon, as I was sitting in my tent ruminating as to how I would surprise my friends by coming home unexpectedly, particularly my family, and as to how I would spend my time while there, an orderly from the colonel’s headquarters came to our first sergeant and told him that the colonel wanted him to send a man there immediately. Our first sergeant knowing that I expected a furlough, and being willing to have a little fun at my expense, told me that the colonel wished to see me at once. Getting myself together in the best style I could at such short notice, and expecting to receive my furlough and start for home by the evening train, I speedily reported myself at the colonel’s quarters. Judge of my great surprise when, instead of the colonel stepping to the door of his tent with the coveted furlough in his hand, and