"Historical Address" at the Reunion of the 114th Regiment NY Volunteers
by Captain C.W. Underhill
Chenango Union, Norwich, NY, September 11, 1873
Mr. Chairman, Comrades of the 114th Regiment, Ladies and Gentlemen:
Our thoughts seem easily to run backward to the days of war. Such of our memories as are common to all of us had their beginning years ago. For eighteen months we had heard of the roar of battle. We had wondered that it had not ceased. We were aroused by the extraordinary call for 300,000 troops to serve for three years, and we were startled by the conviction that the danger to our country, its flag and its institutions, was too great to be disregarded.
Living as we had always lived, where our pure Northern air filled us with patriotic feelings, our whole experience tended to strengthen the idea that love of country, equally with life itself, was a vital principle, dear to all men. We had never seen a traitor. We did not know what treason was. We had never thought that a man in all the land could look upon our flag and long to see another floating in its place. We had believed that our country and all that was so justly dear to us was secure. Our flag was to us the symbol of perpetual sovereignty. The thirty-four stars that marked the number of States in our Union, seemed to be as firmly fixed in that blue field as the million stars that nightly shine out from the firmament beyond.
There was something startling in the idea that was implied in this feeling of danger. Danger to our flag and to our country had a deep significance. It meant that some other flag might wave where ours had waved, and that foes might rejoice at our shame and defeat in the homes we had secured as our inheritance. This idea of dangers - succeeding as it did the idea of security - sent a thrill throughout the land. The call for 300,000 men for three years was the official expression of the new idea. The American people were not so much in doubt as to the result, as astonished and enraged at the situation. They determined to go themselves and conquer peace. Our Regiment was born of this impulse.
Since then, eleven years have passed. There were three years of strife. The heresy that such a land as ours could persist to perpetuate such an institution as slavery - that two flags could wave where one flag symbolized every grand idea of the age - went down forever in our complete triumph.
Eight years of peace have succeeded, and we glory now, not in the blind confidence of other years - that no man dare be a traitor, and that no enemy dare assail our flag - but we glory in this, that our flag floats as proudly before its foes as over its friends; that in peace it is the banner of a nation of freemen, but in war it is the battle flag of a nation of soldiers.
After these eight years of peace and separation, we meet here [Norwich, Chenango Co. NY] today to recall the memories of the three years of war and association. All that was dear to us has been preserved, and with glowing patriotism and clearer and unshaken faith in our future, we unite our songs of triumph as we live anew those years.
In the name of our noble Regiment, I welcome each comrade to this our first reunion. In the midst of peace, plenty and content, recall the scenes of hardship, want and war, relight the camp and bivouac fires, and in memory sing the old songs and tell the old stories. War is indeed ended, and peace reigns, but the old life remains, a brilliant memory of noble deeds, patient endurance, and full and lasting triumph. Here with the comrade, the pressure of whose arm against your own, steadied your line in battle and on the march, enjoy the welcome extended to you today.
Look around you, comrades, and you will see the same faces who have now three times greeted you. Eleven years ago, they followed us as we formed our line of march for the war. They were here when we returned - awaiting our arrival - as if they had not ceased to look for our coming. The tables were still loaded. It was the same greeting, only joy and triumph had displaced the other look of foreboding. These three events are the sure test of the feelings of those in whose names we marched forth, and to those homes we brought the joys of triumph. Their greeting today is the expression of a constant gratitude, and a pledge of continued remembrance.
But the memories of those days, these are ours. Here let us enjoy them, while we recall those events by which our lives have been made larger and richer. Life, as it remains to us as a possession, is measured by what remains to us of all we have done, suffered or enjoyed. The richness of our experience and the recollections of the past are what remain to us as the fruit of our living. The events we recall today were too stirring, and they left too deep an impression, to fade away. Those memories were varied and distinct. It is perhaps true to many of us that from those three years we can recall more memories of events, and have a richer experience, than that from the entire remainder of our lives. And these memories - this experience - they have brought us into closer relations to our country, and they give to history a deeper meaning. We have helped make history - are historians in its larger sense, and your committee must have been led by this idea when they gave to these remarks the loud-sounding title "Historical Address" - true, perhaps, in the grand sense that it is addressed to the real historians.
I cannot stop long over the recital of events. I can only mention campaigns - marches - battles. We are here to stir up the memories, and memory must be the real historian. Your eager thoughts could not long be controlled by any recital and would scarce be hindered by any precise and orderly statement of those events among which your kindling memories are burying you today. Go where you will through the wide field of our three years' campaigning - linger over what memories you will, or amid what scenes - you will find your hearts beat quicker and your blood grow warmer. It is the marshalling of the age of war, through which you were led in self-imposed toil and suffering, by a noble purpose, to a grand triumph. It is worth the living, that you possess and can marshal so grand an array.
Eleven years ago, and we stood before this Court House [Norwich, Chenango Co. NY]. Before us was the symbol of civil rights - the temple wherein civil law was executed - but our minds were fixed on that earlier and ultimate force, upon whose achievements as a foundation repose the power to execute the law without force. The bayonet stands before and behind the ballot and gives to it its power and meaning. We turned to arms and devoted our lives to war, in order that we might after a little time, in the return of peace, witness that arms were silent, and the ballot effective. We were an eager, patriotic band, full of exultation, scarcely tempered by glimpses into the life beyond. Our ranks were all full, while from this village were going homeward many a load of men, disappointed that they could not join our ranks.
I remember when we gathered here. I had in my hand the iron ramrod of an old Springfield musket, and as we waited before the Court House door, I drove the iron rod into the ground until it passed out of my sight, probably forever. But still, I regard it as mine - almost part of myself. It is a waymark by the side of life, by which to count my years. It marks the spot where I stood when with uplifted hand I entered the service of my country.
And here I must refer with pride to the fact, that after the mustering in of the Regiment, and the payment of $140 to each man - although general permission was given to the men to visit their homes - every man promptly returned to the ranks. This fact challenges admiration - speaks volumes as to the character of the men. They were the people going out to do the people's work.
Our stay in Norwich was short. Men were wanted in the field. Three days after the Regiment was mustered into service, we marched to the canal wharf and embarked on boats, and beneath a brilliant moon were borne southward. How clear the memory of the Sabbath journey down our Chenango Valley - our reception in Binghamton - our rapid trip to Elmira - and down through Pennsylvania and Maryland. It is with a smile that we recall the incidents of the journey, and the serious plans and projects to be enforced if we met the enemy on our way - for our arms were all securely packed in boxes in the baggage car.
Then followed life in Camp Belger, at Baltimore. How rich was our experience there. The eager, ardent soldier, readily adapting himself to the new life, side by side with him who was yet more a citizen than a soldier, and wondered at the absence of civil forms, and half doubted the propriety of much that was justified under the soldier's broad idea of military necessity.
After a short season of guard and camp duty, company and battalion drill, came the order "to hold ourselves in readiness to march at a moment's notice on distant service." What expectations were raised - what a variety of conjectures!
In November 1862, began our new experience in army transport life. Three companies on the Atlantic, three on the Arago, and four on the Thames. For four weeks we lived in expectation and disappointment. Our sick list grew large, and many a noble fellow left the Regiment, never to rejoin it. But at length the looked-for signal was displayed from the flagship Baltic, and we went forth to meet the dangers of a storm off Hatteras. To the men on the Atlantic and Arago it was a scene of sublime danger, while to those on the Thames there was imminent peril. That miserable craft was not able to face a storm and became a hopeless wreck. But the quick eye of one who from the deck of the Ericson was, through a ship's glass, watching the progress of the vessels that bore his Brigade, detected the distress of the Thames. The fog had lifted but a moment, and quickly closed around the helpless vessel. But one moment's sight is sufficient to a positive, clearheaded man; and though others saw nothing, the gallant steamer turned to the rescue. We acknowledge with deep feeling our gratitude to Col. DeWitt C. Littlejohn. Had the Thames carried down four hundred of our comrades on the night of the 5th of December, there would have been deep and lasting gloom over all the survivors.
Of our life on that desert sandbar in the Gulf of Mexico, known as Ship Island, and on the low, wetlands of Quarantine, Chalmette, Carrollton, and along the railroad to Brashear, I cannot stop to speak. I have a long journey before me and can only point out the track we pursued.
Our Regiment was now about to commence campaigning in earnest. Already we had heard the sound of cannon in the attack on the steamer Cotton, and at Camp Reno, with the Regiments of the gallant old reserve Brigade, under the command of our gallant General Weitzel, we were learning what army life was. Our rapid movement back to Camp Mansfield, with its deep mud, and our return to Brashear, and advance up the Teche, we readily recall.
Our first battle - Bisland - is a name to stir our memories. We wore the name on our battle flag and are proud of the right to carry it there. For two days we faced the dangers of a battlefield, and learned of what stuff our Regiment was made, and on the 14th of April 1863, started from our beds among the cane hills, victorious soldiers in pursuit of a flying enemy.
Centreville, Franklin, Indian Bend, Jeneretts, New Iberia, St. Martinsville, and the entire banks of the Teche, became as familiar to us as the valley of the Chenango.
We recall the deluge on the prairie, and our grand cattle hunt, and our return to Berwick Bay with our drove of cattle, sheep, horses and negroes.
Then came our advance to New Iberia, our short stay there, and our march through Vermilionville, Opelousas, Washington, Montville, Holmesville, to Cheneyville, and our long, exciting return to Brashear, with the result of our extended raid, the night attack at Franklin, and our arrival at Algiers, and journey up the Mississippi to Springfield Landing.
We were on our way to rejoin our Brigade at Port Hudson. A rapid march around the rear of the extended lines brought us to our place in the Brigade, in the entrenched line on Sandy Creek. Weeks of fighting and watching and of patient endurance in the exposed rifle pits passed, and the ever-memorable 14th of June 1863 dawned, upon our line. Half of the Regiment was left to guard the line, while Companies B, D, E, F, and G went with the Brigade to join the charging column. That early morning light revealed scenes of carnage. Bravery could effect nothing but certain loss, and our Regiment mourned the loss of our beloved colonel, and of more than eighty officers or soldiers killed or wounded in the five companies. There was gloom for a time, but military service knows no days of mourning, and the siege progressed, until the 9th of July witnessed the surrender of the fortified position at Port Hudson with its troops, arms and military stores and the great current of the Mississippi went unvexed to the sea.
Our rest was short. On the day of the surrender, we passed through Port Hudson and embarked on board of transports for Donaldsonville to repel the attack of Dick Taylor and regain possession to the Lafourche country. Our short stay at Camp Hubbard - the departure of a detail north on a recruiting expedition - our return to our old camp at Brashear - and the expedition to Sabine Pass - have each their place in the record of our army life.
Another return to Brashear - the centre of our wanderings - and our campaign to Barre's Landing, our stay at New Iberia, in the cold of almost a northern winter, closed the year of 1863 - our first full year of active service, with a loss to the Regiment during the year in the Gulf Department of 157 dead and wounded, and 148 transferred or discharged.
Early in January 1864, our forces fell back to Franklin, and we occupied a pleasant camp on the banks of the Teche, until the famous Red River campaign again called us over the familiar road to Cheneyville, and on to Alexandria on the Red River. The advance to Sabine Crossroads, and the brilliant conduct of the First Brigade, in holding the position assigned them on the edge of the clearing, and the equally good conduct of our Regiment and Brigade the following day, at Pleasant Hill, are matters of record, and won for us the praise of Department, Army, division, and Brigade Commanders.
Then followed the encampment at Grand Ecore - the engagement at Cane River - the return to Alexandria - the building of the dam across Red River - the engagements on the plains of Mansura and at Yellow Bayou - our passage through Semmesport, and our arrival in camp at Morgonza Bend - and the Red River campaign was ended.
Our arrival at Washington, the Snicker's Gap expedition across the Potomac, and among the mountains of the Shenandoah, and backward through Loudon County to Leesburg, and across the chain bridge to Washington, gave us our first taste of Virginia campaigning.
Then followed the hasty march to Monocacy river, Frederick City, and our new centre of gravity, Harper's Ferry, and our return to Frederick City, the assignment of Gen. Sheridan to the command of the army, and the visit of General Grant.
Campaigning was now about to begin in earnest, under an August sun, in the Shenandoah Valley. We came down from our lofty camp on Maryland Heights and crossed the Potomac to Bolivar Heights. The advance through Halltown, Charlestown, Berryville, Kernstown, Pike, and our return through Winchester to Bolivar Heights, gave our army and its commander a full view of our future battlefields.
Another advance, with entrenched camps beyond Charlestown and at Berryville, with almost daily skirmishing, proceeded Gen. Grant's second visit, and the famous order to Sheridan to "go in." The battle of the Opequa was the result of that order, and our Regiment won the unqualified praise of its Division Commander, General Dwight, but at the loss of 188 in killed and wounded.
The victory was complete, and was succeeded by the advance to Cedar Creek, the night charge up the heights of Fisher's Hill, the advance through Mount Jackson, the engagement at New Market, and the arrival of the army at Harrisonburgh. The long march to Martinsburg, and the return to Cedar Creek, brought our Regiment to another bloody battlefield - to the fighting, the retreat, the advance and victory of the 19th of October 1864.
In this our last engagement, our Regiment lost 128 in killed, wounded and prisoners. Some of our best and bravest fell in the Valley of the Shenandoah. Our total loss on the three eventful days - the 14th of June, the 19th of September, and the 19th of October, exceeded 400 officers and men. Such gallant men as Tucker, Knowlton, Thurbur, Breed, Lewis, Burch and Corbin, with a host of others of equal patriotism, yielding up their lives on those three eventful days.
Our Regiment spent the winter in the valley, and in April 1865, returned to Washington, to await the closing scenes of the war, and participate in the grand review.
On the 5th of June, the order was issued to muster our Regiment, with others, out of service; and in that order was repeated the praise so often bestowed on our Regiment, for gallant conduct. Three days afterwards we were mustered out of service - our three years' service being determined by its conditional limitation, the close of the war.
Our return to Elmira, and our journey homeward - our triumphal progress up our own valley, and the reception of the returned Regiment by those to whom we brought the blessings of assured triumph - were the closing scenes and our ranks dissolved, that each might enjoy a welcome home.
Here I must cease to follow the soldier. I have said more than I intended and less than is due to such an occasion, but I dare not follow the men to their several homes. There the joy was too great and the greeting too tender.
Home again - our toils over - victory won, and peace renewing her blessings all over our beloved land. We lay aside the soldier's garb and life, and become citizens, differing in no wise from the great mass to whom we return, save only in the value of our experiences and the grand memories we carry with us.
I would, [if] I could, dwell longer over our army life. There are events I would like to call up - special acts of individual bravery. I would, [if] I could, speak more of those we left on the battlefield - of our dead and wounded - of those who died from disease or are enfeebled for life. But you will recall what I cannot mention. Our heroes are remembered. The years pass away, but the remembrance of our companions will remain green.
The years of peace have not passed without adding to the long list of our Regimental dead. Our line grows shorter as the years go by. Laurels on the brow do not lengthen the life they ennoble.
Let the bonds that bind the living to each other be strengthened today, and may the fruits of the labors you have performed in the years that are passed be joined to the rewards of a well spent future, and the experiences you possess will enrich and the recollections of the past will rejoice you, as you go upward to that pathway which is assigned to all men, as the close of the years of this life, and the entrance into the everlasting life beyond.
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