veterans. The consolidation was effected with singular harmony and success, while the only important change made in the regiment by the transfer was that it became thereby immensely more First Maine Cavalry than it was before, and in the record of its subsequent campaigns of battles and victories, from Boydton plank road to historical Appomattox, we see only one regiment and one history. Appomattox! What a glorious ending of a glorious career! After Five Forks, our regiment was with the advance in pursuit of the enemy. It marched past and beyond the rebel army, confronted it in its retreat, and at two o'clock in the morning of the 9th of April, drove in its pickets and crouched in its path, in full view of its camp fires, to await certain attack at daylight. It has often been asked, Who fired the last shot at Appomattox? That question has never been determined, and it is not possible that it eyer will be. In the uncertainty of that point it is pleasant to feel that every one present participated in firing the last shot, and in that matter “there is glory enough for all." The question, however, as to who fired the first shot on that ever-to-be-remembered morning, is not in doubt. The first Maine Cavalry received the first attack of that pent-up and doomed rebel army, and fired the first shot to repel it. It also continued its firing in the very front till hostilities were ended and the grand old Army of the Potomac commanded peace to the country. Now, if we were required to discriminate in membership at all, we certainly would not discriminate against those who were present at that crowning event at Appomattox, and who subsequently marched home with the regiment honored with victory complete. But there is no desire to discriminate at all. We all prefer the broader view, that every man who at any time rendered honorable service in the regiment, whether in one campaign or many, or in the first or last year of the war, shares equally its glory, has an equal inheritance in its estate, and an equal interest in its history.

I have given only the merest epitome of some portions of the regimental record. I have not selected the most important portions either. The backbone of its history is embraced in the campaigns and battles of 1864 and '65-a period too momentous and eventful to be considered in any satisfactory manner on an occasion like this. I have referred to some comrades by name, not, however, for the purpose of distinction, but because they naturally fell into my narrative. If I had the time and gift every name should fall from my lips with some suitable word of remembrance.

"But the first greeting over, you glance round the hall,
Your hearts call the roll, but they answer not all:
Through the green turf above them the dead cannot hear;
Name by name in the silence falls sad as a tear."

Were I to select incidents of interest and heroism, I would be likely to find them more abundantly relating to members of the rank and file. How many, indeed, of the best of our number served there. The organization of an army create distinctions of rank and position, and those dis

tinctions cannot always be made with a proper regard for merit. How often it happened that men conscious of their own natural God-given superiority served submissively, patiently and loyally under mere official superiority. Such cases were apparent then, and have become more apparent since. Many who were officers have made but little headway in the world, while many from the ranks are filling places of trust and responsibilty everywhere. We present a most illustrious example of the latter class. We present one who in that “hour that tried men's souls." knew how to patiently and loyally obey as a corporal in the ranks, but whom to-day, by the great confidence reposed in him, we, with pride, respect and equal loyalty, salute as our commander-in-chief.*

Whenever great sacrifices have been made, the practical question, for what good? naturally and forcibly presents itself. When we ask that question as touching the sacrifices made in the war, the answer comes to us in many forms. The Government was preserved and improved by the war, and not only the possibility of a free Republic to exist was established, but its capability and power to take care of itself was exhibited to the world as a hope to lovers of freedom everywhere. Slavery was abolished! That fact has been stated a thousand times, but owing to its world-wide and transcendental importance, as the sequel and completion of the Declaration of Independence, as the grandest single event of which we have knowledge, it will be reiterated a thousand times more, even as long as history shall be known. The war revealed to us the fact that the mathematical axiom, that the whole is greater than a part, is true of and applies to this country and government also. It established the further fact that we have one government as well as many governments, and that the Government has the authority, as well as the power, to defend and protect itself. The war also discovered to us resources of defence and offence that we knew not of, and that have proved themselves to be invincible. We have a little army. It is styled the Regular Army. It is composed of as high-minded and loyal citizens as could well be got together. But it is only a national police in time of peace. In war it would hardly be an atom. Our greater Regular Amy is scattered throughout our broad acres of husbandry, employed in our workshops and factories, or engaged in our mercantile houses, or professional offices, and even in our pulpits. Indeed, we have a good battalion right here. Our little Regular Army may be of great benefit sometime in the future, as it has been in the past, in helping to organize this great available force and prepare it for service, but that time is not now. If his Excellency, the Governor, should have occasion to call for five, ten or fifteen thousand men, he has plenty of veterans at his command here and in every town and city-veterans drilled in the school of war, the equals of any army, ready and competent to marshal and lead them.

These are some of the compensations of the war. They may seem meagre enough to many who were overwhelmed with grief and left

*Hon. Daniel F. Davis, Governor of Maine.

broken-hearted. And if by any mistaken policy we allow even these compensations to be taken from us, if we surrender to the enemy in peace what we conquered from him in war, if the great victorious North shall say to the rebellious South, take back the estate, we acquired it in war, but we cannot administer it in peace, if after only these few years, in the presence of soldiers unlimbed and children made fatherless by the war, loyalty shall be made to sit beneath treason, then, indeed, we may exclaim, that our compensations are a mockery, and that the war was a curse. There are times when such possibilities startle us, and it is well to be on guard. But I believe that the balance of power is vested now where it was in the war, in the half million of loyal soldiers that fought, and faith in them is the hope of the country.

Now, comrades, a few closing words to ourselves. Our number is limited and is diminishing year by year. No recruits come to fill our places as we fall out. Most of us have already reached or passed the meridian of life, and many of us are well on our way down the western slope to our setting. In a few years these reunions will be no more on earth. Then, comrades, as our ranks grow thinner, let us close them closer and lean well together in mutual support. Let no comrade ever feel that he is not supported, but let our glorious record, made up of so many sacrifices, be preserved untarnished to the end, even to the last survivor.

Captain Howe then said:

It gives me great pleasure to present as the Poet of the evening a comrade whose face is familiar to all of you, and who needs no words of recommendation from me, Lieut. E. P. TOBIE of the Providence Journal.

Lieut. Tobie was received with applause and read the following Poem, which was heartily appreciated :

A DRINK FROM THE OLD CANTEEN.

BY EDWARD P. TOBIE.

"O, never a bond like this, old friend,

We drank from the same canteen."-Old Song.

My little boy comes bounding in

With wonder in his eyes,

And something in his little hand
That causes him surprise :
"O! papa! papa! what is this?
I found it hid away

Up in the attic, where I've been

This afternoon, at play."

I look to see what he has got

With careless air and mien, Which turn to deepest interest

As I see my old canteen.

'Tis worn and covered o'er with dirt,

It's strap is but a string,

'Tis banged and bruised, and looks to be

A used-up, worthless thing.

On many a grand, eventful day,
I've carried that canteen,
And at its sight come rushing back
Old memories, fresh and green.
I tell my boy its name and use,
And as he listens well,

I take the old, war-worn canteen,
And thus its story tell:

For four long years, almost, of war,

This little bit of tin

Was what your father had, my boy,

To carry water in.

Go rinse it, in and out, my boy,

Fill it with water clean,

And bring it here, and once again
I'll drink from the old canteen.

Ah! ah! my boy, could you but see
What now your father sees-

Could you but hear what now he hears,

As borne upon the breeze

Could you but feel what now he feels,

Enjoy what he enjoys

Ah, then, I'm sure, you'd value this
Far more than all your toys.

I see the men by thousands, boy-
No braver e'er were seen-
Who through four years of cruel war
Drank from the old canteen.
When, nineteen years ago, my boy,
The southern traitors sought
To break this glorious Union up,
For which our fathers fought,

They donned the grand old army blue

And went forth to the field

Willing to suffer, aye, to die

Ere they'd to treason yield.

Good men and true they were who thus
Went forth to do their might

For country's sake and for the flag,
For God and for the right.

I see the camp-the first we had-
Right here in our own State,
Where all one winter, long and cold,
We had to "stand and wait";

I see the tents in which we lived,

Round, tall, and pitched in rowsWe were too warm in them at times, But most the time we froze.

I see, on scores of camping grounds,
The little shelter tents-
The blazing fires of oaken rails

From off the nearest fence.

I see the bivouac at night,

The sleep in open air,

As sound and sweet as though at home,

Be weather foul or fair.

I see the rain just pouring down
Upon our sleeping men-

I see the winter quarters, too-
'Twas comfort we took then;

I see the men lying by their steeds
With bridles o'er their arms,

Sleeping as well as though there were
No fear of war's alarms.

I hear the bugle sound the calls

For reveille and drill;

For water, stable, and tattoo,

For taps-and all was still.

I hear it sound the "sick call" grim, And see the men in line

With faces wry as they drink down

Their whiskey and quinine.