e died for country and humanity. Slowly
the days went by as you were garrisoned at Portsmouth, and long
were your marches from Plymouth to New Berne. You will never
forget, but will tell over to your children through all the
coming years of your lives, how after a long siege by the rebels
at Plymouth, nearly your entire regiment was captured, and
taken away to rebel prisons at Macon and Andersonville; how of
the four hundred and four unfortunate captives who entered
Andersonville prisons, more than half were borne out lifeless
and cold. My blood chills when I remember that more than two
hundred of this regiment were starved and murdered in Southern
prisons--imaging more perfectly the hell of secession and the
barbarism of Southern institutions and chivalry, than any other
page of the war. But you have been preserved to come back to
your homes, and to watch again the flag of your country waving
over your native city. You well remember how beautiful it looked
to you when first you saw its colors after the hour of your
deliverance came, and you passed the rebel lines. That flag
to-day symbolizes the greatest freedom and the most perfect
nationality. "'Tis the banner of all the West," that of a nation
now pronounced--

"The heir of all the ages in the foremost files of time."

But your work is done and your history is sealed. In the name of
those for whom you fought and who have gathered here to do you
honor it is my privilege to say a thousand times welcome home.
Your thinned ranks, your torn colors, give convincing proof of
your deeds of bravery The state will hang your tattered flag in
yonder capitol, and claim with pride your history, and through
all the future of the country, her sons will love, respect, and
honor you as the brave soldiers who fought in the last great
battle for freedom.

But our city has a special interest in your history. You have
been led by the honored Col. Beach; and the name of your
Lieutenant-Colonel, he who would not leave his regiment for the
colonelcy of another, he who has been with you in the camp, in
the battle, in the prison and on the march until now, than whom
there is none better, or braver on all the veteran roll, his
name, John H. Burnham, has long been with us as a household
word. Think it not strange that the Hartford City