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In Memory of Company K,
144th Ohio Volunteer Infantry
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Poem by Mrs. Emily P. Carter entitled “Reunion of Co.K, 144th O.V.I.” read at the third 144th O.V.I. reunion in Bloomdale, Ohio September 22, 1887.
This is their first reunion,
After twenty years and more,
These comrades have met today,
To talk over years of yore,
To look in each other’s faces,
To clasp each one by the hand,
To note all the marks and changes,
Made by time’s relentless wand.
They can talk of the time they left us,
A cold dark and stormy day,
There was snow on the ground I remember,
Tho’ it was the second of May.
Not a flower to deck the pathway,
The clouds gathered thick o’er head,
No sunbeams illuminated the sky,
And hope in our hearts lay dead.
It was the same old story,
More men, more men, for the war,
Enlisting had lost half its glory,
We could not see what ‘twas for.
And we questioned within ourselves,
What good did it do the cause,
For our men to go to the war,
And be crushed by its monster jaws?
The mothers had given so freely,
There was scarcely a son left in peace,
Now the husbands and the fathers were wanted,
And we cried, “Will the war never cease?”
We women rebelled when our hearthstones,
Were robbed, as we said in our tears,
But they said, “Our duty demands it,”
And they tried to banish our fears.
So we kissed them good bye and stood watching,
The wagons that bore them away,
A funeral procession it seemed,
I never can forget that sad day.
And all the long summer that followed,
We had but one poor little joke,
As we told of how one wife burned tobacco,
“So’s to smell of her husband’s smoke.”
For a while things brightened a little,
There were letters that came once a week,
And oh how they gladdened our lives,
When we met it was only to speak,
Of the dear absent one and his letter,
And we eagerly watched for mail days,
As the penitent catholic does,
For his gilded bead when he prays.
They wrote they were staying in camp,
At Fort Dix, a bridge there to guard,
The days gliding by swift and pleasant,
The work neither irksome nor hard.
The three months would quickly be over,
There was nothing for us to fear,
No marching, no fighting for them,
And soon they would be with us here.
But suddenly into our homes,
Came the news like a blow one day,
That Palmer had sickened and died,
And the company were ordered away.
A few were left there as nurses,
For the few who needed their care,
But the rest were off on a march,
They knew not and could not tell where.
After that there were very few letters,
They were marching in haste they said,
The mail came at intervals only,
And we waited in secret dread.
Fearing there might be a battle,
And they be in at the fight,
Fearing the news they might tell us,
Should any be left to write.
At last there came a short letter,
And these were the words that it said,
“The company have mostly been captured,
And Lincoln and Long are shot dead,
One morn while we were getting our breakfast,
Just at the dawning of the day,
The rebel guerillas surprised us,
And only a few got away.
“Taken prisoners?” that stunned us at first,
And yet we never could dream,
What two little words like those,
In the following of time might mean.
We did not at first comprehend,
What we afterward learned that the life,
Of the men would be sacrificed,
On the altar of hatred and strife.
The weary months dragged slowly by,
And we had not a line- not a word,
We anxiously scanned all the news,
Till we read through the tears which blurred,
“Starved to death in Salisbury prison,
The men who are named in this row,”
It was only a newspaper item item,
A trifle, to bring us such woe.
Yet there with the printer’s black ink,
Was printed the names of our dead,
And we nearly went wild with our grief,
As the long, long list that we read.
There was Bryant and Frisbie and Shutt,
Burns, Jackson, Palmer, and Sage,
Morgan, and Rainbow, and Ringer,
As so on to the end of the page.
Was there never a one to come back,
Not a voice to respond to our call?
Had the trenches the southerners dug,
Closed up and covered them all?
These shadowy forms creeping forth,
Out of the prison pen,
Shattered in body and mind,
They are nothing but ghosts of men.
I think of them just as I saw them,
Strong of frame in the ranks years ago,
I look now at the few who are left,
And their faces I hardly know.
Bowed and broken I see them,
Men who ought to be in their prime,
They are aged beyond their years,
Not alone by the hand of time.
Whenever I see a soldier,
I think “There’s a man who fought,
To defend my home, my country,
Does the government owe him naught?”
And I ask myself this question,
I will ask it today of you,
Has our nation redeemed all the pledges,
It made to the boys in blue?
You who are grudging them pensions,
And talking about the cost,
How much are you willing to take,
And lose what these men have lost?
Is an arm or a leg worth nothing,
Can money atone for pain,
Days and nights on beds of anguish,
Diseased in body and brain?
Is it true they are nothing but pampers,
Do we wish them out of the way,
These men who went into battle,
And fought in midst of the fray?
No no it is false all around us,
Are hearts beating warm and true,
A few craven souls are in power,
But the people forget not the blue.
And you, General Bragg of Wisconsin,
You could not have meant what you said,
When you wished for the time to come,
When all these men would be dead!
But whether you wish it or not,
That time will surely appear,
When no soldiers on earth will be left,
To meet with each other here.
But there’ll be a grander reunion,
Than any this world ever knew,
There’ll be robes and crowns for all,
Not shoulder straps for a few.
Their tents will be mansions of light,
The captain a feast will prepare,
He will bid them all to sit down,
And will give unto each a share.
They shall drink of the water of life,
That flows from the shining river,
Tho’ they meet not again on earth,
They may be reunited forever.
And when they shall meet in Heaven,
On that great reunion day,
May there be not a member missing,
From the ranks of Company K.
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