History of the Forty-second regiment infantry, Massachusetts volunteers, 1862, 1863, 1864 — Reading Notes

A Regimental History Built from Scraps

Bosson's preface is unusually frank about the difficulties of writing a regimental history. He notes that most soldiers' diaries "did not contain detailed accounts of events," and that the official descriptive books were riddled with errors—men lied about their age, and names were inconsistently recorded. This forced him to rely on his own earlier writings, supplemented by regimental books and newspaper files. The result is a history that is necessarily incomplete: Bosson admits he could not write satisfactory accounts of Companies C, H, and K on detached service. Readers should expect a narrative that is strongest where Bosson was present, and thinner where he relied on secondhand sources.

The Regiment in Camp: Sickness, Discipline, and Daily Life

The excerpts from Chapter IX offer a detailed picture of camp life at Gentilly in May 1863. Bosson provides precise statistics: on May 17, fifteen men of Company K were in hospital; by May 31, only one man of Company D remained hospitalized. He notes that "about all sickness this month was among the men on duty," and that Companies G and I had no cases at all. The single death, Private Cary, is described in stark detail—his body found in a swamp, legs immersed in mud, after a week-long search. Bosson does not shy from attributing the death to "hard drinking." The narrative also introduces "old John," a formerly enslaved man who worked as a camp follower, chopping wood and singing hymns for small pay. John's wife did washing for the soldiers, and his son learned to play the drum by watching the regimental drummers. These details ground the history in the everyday interactions between the regiment and the local population.

The Push Toward Port Hudson

Chapter X marks a shift in tone. By June 1863, Bosson writes, "affairs in the Department began to assume such a shape as to lead officers of the Forty-Second to think the regiment was to get some service." The siege of Port Hudson required reinforcements, and troops were being pulled from Brashear City, Ship Island, Key West, and Pensacola. The 42nd Massachusetts, scattered on garrison duty, was ordered to concentrate. Bosson's language here is more urgent: the regiment had to "be ready for instant service at all hours." The chapter ends with the regiment preparing to leave Gentilly, a camp that had become familiar. The reader senses that the long months of waiting are over, and that the regiment is about to be tested in a major operation.

Voice and Perspective: Bosson's Authorial Choices

Bosson writes as a sergeant-major, not a general. His perspective is that of the regimental staff, concerned with paperwork, casualties, and the movement of companies. He is willing to include unflattering details—the death from delirium tremens, the difficulty of obtaining reliable information—and to acknowledge the limits of his own knowledge. The excerpts show a writer who values precision: he gives exact numbers of sick and hospitalized, and notes when companies had no cases. At the same time, he includes the vernacular speech of "old John" ("I not afraid of a 'Yankee' soger, sah!"), suggesting an ear for the voices around him. This combination of administrative detail and human incident gives the history a distinctive texture, one that rewards a close reading for what it reveals about the daily workings of a Civil War regiment.

Bosson's history is best approached as a document of its time—a veteran's attempt to preserve the record of his regiment, warts and all. Readers should pay attention to the gaps: the companies he could not cover, the men who gave false ages, the diaries that lacked detail. These absences are as instructive as the facts he includes. The narrative rewards those who read for the small moments—the old man who chopped wood, the drummer boy who learned by watching—as much as for the larger movements of troops.

Years among these shelves taught me how a soldier’s ledger—disease, mud, the slow siege—whispers of duty borne without flourish. So too does that other quiet volume, Indian Frontier Policy; an historical sketch — A Closer Reading, trace empire’s dusty edges with the same unblinking patience. They are brothers in restraint, each a careful hand recording what empires prefer forgotten.