Reminiscences of service with the Twelfth Rhode Island Volunteers, and a memorial of Col. George H. Browne — Text and Context

A Personal Incident of Mistaken Identity

Tillinghast recounts being awakened at one o'clock in the morning by two soldiers with a drawn sword and a revolver, who declared him a rebel spy. The scene is vivid: one man holds a "glistering revolver uncomfortably near my head," while the other searches his clothes. The author initially assumes he is about to be robbed and killed by Confederates, only to learn his captors are Union officers hunting actual spies. His host, Mr. Bush, vouches for him, and papers in his pockets confirm his identity. The officers leave "without so much as an apology." This episode, drawn from a three-day detachment to retrieve supplies, illustrates the paranoia and confusion behind the lines, and the precarious position of a lone soldier away from his regiment.

The Regiment's Winding March Through Kentucky

The narrative traces the Twelfth Rhode Island's movements through Kentucky: eight days at Covington, then to Richmond (Madison County), where the brigade crossed the Kentucky River on a scow holding only fifty men at a time, causing a half-day delay. From there they passed through Boonesboro, Paint Lick Creek, Lancaster, and finally Crab Orchard, a "fashionable southern watering place" where they lingered ten days. Tillinghast notes the irony of a brigade spending "sultry days of June" at a resort at government expense. The leisurely pace contrasts sharply with the urgency of the crisis described in the opening, and the author's dry tone hints at the army's inefficient use of short-term troops.

An Abrupt Change of Course

Just as the regiment expected to continue southward, they received a sudden "right about face" order to march to Nicholasville, where they were to take trains for Vicksburg to assist General Grant's siege. Tillinghast calls this "not encouraging news to soldiers whose term of enlistment would expire in a little more than thirty days." The men retraced their steps "through the dust and heat" in two long days. This moment crystallizes the tension between the army's strategic needs and the nine-month enlistment's ticking clock—a structural constraint that shapes the entire memoir. The author leaves the outcome unstated, but the implication is clear: the regiment may be sent into danger just as their service ends.

Readers should note that this account was originally delivered as a paper to the Rhode Island Soldiers and Sailors Historical Society, and the text retains the formal, occasionally sardonic voice of a veteran addressing his peers. The memorial to Colonel Browne, which follows the reminiscences, is not excerpted here; its presence suggests that Tillinghast's personal narrative is also a tribute to a commanding officer. The limited edition of 250 copies underscores the work's character as a commemorative artifact rather than a comprehensive history.

The rain drummed on the windows that day, and I was lost in the quartermaster’s quiet bewilderment—mistaken for a spy, then simply mistaken, period. That strange fog of confusion lingered after I put the book down. It made me think of other monumental fogs, sieges where identity itself blurred. I drifted to Yorktown: Climax of the Revolution — Edition Insights, and found the same uneasy feeling, waiting there in the mud.