New York Seventh Regiment/What the Massachusetts Eighth Had Been Doing
- What the Massachusetts Eighth Had Been Doing.
Meantime General Butler’s command, the Massachusetts Eighth, had been busy knocking disorder in the head.
Presently after their landing, and before they were refreshed, they pushed companies out to occupy the railroad-track beyond the town.
They found it torn up. No doubt the scamps who did the shabby job fancied that there would be no more travel that way until strawberry-time. They fancied the Yankees would sit down on the fences and begin to whittle white-oak toothpicks, darning the rebels, through their noses, meanwhile.
I know these men of the Eighth can whittle, and I presume they can say “Darn it,” if occasion requires; but just now track-laying was the business on hand.
“Wanted, experienced track-layers!” was the word along the files.
All at once the line of the road became densely populated with experienced track-layers, fresh from Massachusetts.
Presto change! the rails were relaid, spiked, and the roadway levelled and better ballasted than any road I ever saw south of Mason and Dixon’s line. “We must leave a good job for these folks to model after,” say the Massachusetts Eighth.
A track without a train is as useless as a gun without a man. Train and engine must be had. “Uncle Sam’s mails and troops cannot be stopped another minute,” our energetic friends conclude. So, — the railroad company’s people being either frightened or false, — in marches Massachusetts to the station. “We, the People of the United States, want rolling-stock for the use of the Union,” they said, or words to that effect.
The engine — a frowzy machine at the best — had been purposely disabled.
Here appeared the deus ex machina, Charles Homans, Beverly Light Guard, Company E, Eighth Massachusetts Regiment.
That is the man, name and titles in full, and he deserves well of his country.
He took a quiet squint at the engine, — it was as helpless as a boned turkey, — and he found “Charles Homans, his mark,” written all over it.
The old rattletrap was an old friend. Charles Homans had had a share in building it. The machine and the man said, “How d’y’ do?” at once. Homans called for a gang of engine-builders. Of course they swarmed out of the ranks. They passed their hands over the locomotive a few times, and presently it was ready to whistle and wheeze and rumble and gallop, as if no traitor had ever tried to steal the go and the music out of it.
This had all been done during the afternoon of the 23d. During the night, the renovated engine was kept cruising up and down the track to see all clear. Guards of the Eighth were also posted to protect passage.
Our commander had, I presume, been co-operating with General Butler in this business. The Naval Academy authorities had given us every despatch and assistance, and the middies, frank, personal hospitality. The day was halcyon, the grass was green and soft, the apple-trees were just in blossom: it was a day to be remembered.
Many of us will remember it, and show the marks of it for months, as the day we had our heads cropped. By evening there was hardly one poll in the Seventh tenable by anybody’s grip. Most sat in the shade and were shorn by a barber. A few were honored with a clip by the artist hand of the petit caporal of our Engineer Company.
While I rattle off these trifling details, let me not fail to call attention to the grave service done by our regiment, by its arrival, at the nick of time, at Annapolis. No clearer special Providence could have happened. The country-people of the traitor sort were aroused. Baltimore and its mob wore but two hours away. The Constitution had been hauled out of reach of a rush by the Massachusetts men, — first on the ground, — but was half manned and not fully secure. And there lay the Maryland, helpless on the shoal, with six or seven hundred souls on board, so near the shore that the late Captain Rynders’s gun could have sunk her from some ambush.
Yes! the Seventh Regiment at Annapolis was the Right Man in the Right Place!