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´╗┐Title: The Empty Sleeve - or, The Life and Hardships of Henry H. Meacham, in the Union Army
Author: Meacham, Henry H.
Language: English
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THE EMPTY SLEEVE:

OR THE

LIFE AND HARDSHIPS

OF

HENRY H. MEACHAM,

IN THE

UNION ARMY.



_BY HIMSELF._


          SPRINGFIELD, MASS.:
          SOLD FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE AUTHOR.
          PRICE, 25 CENTS.



PREFACE.


READERS, in writing this book, I do not intend to bring before you a
work of ability; but simply to describe a few of the many scenes that I
passed through while in the Army of the Potomac and in the hospital. It
is true, that I did not suffer as some of our soldiers did; but having
lost my right arm, which excludes me from most kinds of work, I have
taken this method of gaining a living. I have myself and wife to care
for, and my wife's health being poor, makes it still harder for me to
get along; and thus, by writing this book, I hope to place myself and
wife in comfortable circumstances. With these few remarks, I throw
myself upon the generosity of the public, thanking them for the kindness
I have already received, and assuring them that I shall always be
grateful for their aid in the support of myself and wife.

                                             HENRY H. MEACHAM.



THE EMPTY SLEEVE.


AT the breaking out of the Great Rebellion, I was engaged at
carriage-making in the town of Russell, in Massachusetts, but thought it
my duty to enter the service in defence of my country, and do what
little I could to keep traitors from trampling the good old flag under
their feet. I went and was examined, but was rejected. I came back with
downcast feelings, but was determined to try again. As time rolled on,
and my health improved, I tried again for a soldier's life, but without
success. I little knew the hardships and perils, of active service, and
thought it very pretty sport. But it was not the novelty of the scene
that inspired me to go, but the love of my country. Finally, at my third
examination, I was accepted; and my heart beat with joy.

I left Springfield, the twelfth day of September, perhaps never to
return; and went to Long Island, in Boston Harbor. There I remained one
week; then the Transport came to take us far from our homes. Many were
the wistful glances that were cast back towards our home, where were
the ones we loved most dear; and how we longed for one more farewell
salute before we left our native State; but that could not be. The wind
was blowing hard (it makes my brain dizzy to think of it now); but we
had to go. We little knew but we should find a watery grave before
reaching the scene of action; but the weather calmed, and we had a very
pleasant voyage, and arrived at the front, where I was placed in Company
E, Thirty-second Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers, who were lying at
Culpepper, Virginia (which is about sixty miles from Washington, and in
the direction of Richmond). Here I first commenced my life in the army.
We were not destined to remain here long; for in less than two weeks,
Lee, with his host of rebels, came marching on to Washington. Then
commenced Meade's retreat for Centreville. That was the first marching I
had done, and I then hoped it would be the last, for my feet were badly
blistered. My readers can judge for themselves how they would like to
march twenty-three hours out of twenty-four, with their feet in that
condition; but, thank God, we were two hours ahead of Lee and his army,
and it saved one of the most bloody battles of the war; for, had Lee got
the heights of Centreville, we should have been cut off from all
supplies and captured, or obliged to cut our way through the enemy's
lines.

When we arrived at Centreville, we gave three cheers, which rang through
the lines for miles, thinking that we were once ahead of Lee's time.
But many of the men that were taken sick or fell into the enemy's hands,
died, without any one to care for them, there alone, away from
friends,--wife and children, father and mother, brother and sister,
never to know what became of their husband, father, child, or brother.
Such were the scenes that occurred on this march, but they were trivial
compared to experiences that followed.

Soon after this, came the battle of the Rappahannock Station. Though
short, it left many a man lying cold in death; but we succeeded in
driving the enemy back behind their entrenchments at Mines Run. This was
near Thanksgiving time; the weather was cold and rainy, and we had to
wait some time before we could follow them. But the time came, and on we
went, not knowing where we were going,--perhaps to our long homes. Oh,
that long and lonely night after we arrived there! But in the morning,
we marched to the right, to Robinson's Tavern, a distance of two miles.
It was raining hard at the time, but about noon, it cleared away and was
very cold. We remained there until the next morning, when we again
commenced our advance. We had not far to go before we came near the
enemy's works. Here we halted and formed our lines; and after waiting a
few hours, received orders to be in readiness to make an assault on the
enemy's works at four o'clock.

Here we remained without food, for our rations were all gone, and we
knew not when we should get more. We did not move until one o'clock the
next morning, when we turned out in the cold, and marched about a mile
to the right. We arrived there long before daylight; and there we had to
stay, for we could not stir around to keep warm, as the enemy were in
sight, and we should be likely to get their shells. We were to make the
attack at nine o'clock; but nine o'clock came, and yet we did not go
forward. Some of our men crossed Mines Run stream, which was dammed up
to make the water deeper; but nearly every man froze to death, and on
this account, we did not receive the orders, as we expected. That was a
long day to us, being in the cold, with thin clothes and no food. We
remained here until the shades of night hid us from the foe. Our hearts
beat with joy when we were ordered to fall in, for we knew that we were
going back, and should not make an assault; but when we got to our old
position, we were hungry, tired, and cold. Oh, that long night, with but
just enough covering to keep us from freezing! We were all glad when we
could turn out in the morning, and have some exercise and fires.

Another day wore slowly away, and at night, we took up our line of march
for the rear. As we turned our heads back in the direction of the enemy,
we could not help thinking that many more of us were on that march than
would have been, if we had made the assault. It was three o'clock in
the morning when we crossed the Rapidan. We marched half a mile further,
and encamped.

Morning dawned bright and beautiful, and it was late before we took up
our line of march again. We felt weak and faint, having been two days
without any food, and no signs of getting any that day; but we marched
with good spirits, thinking our work done until the next spring.


RATIONS, AFTER THREE DAYS' FASTING.

As the sun was setting in the west, we arrived at Bealton Station, and
were gladdened by the sight of teams with our rations. Here we halted,
and got ten pieces of hard bread and a small piece of pork. Many poor
men ate the whole at once; but in these cases it made them sick, as they
did not stop to pick out the worms, for the bread was very wormy; but we
must eat it, or have none. After getting our rations, we marched two
miles, to Liberty; here we went into camp, and the next morning formed
our line of picket-guard, but not knowing how long we should remain
here, did not build our winter-quarters for a few days.


WINTER LIFE IN CAMP.

Finally, we concluded to run the risk, and put up cabins. We then
commenced, and in two days had what we called a good home. The cabins
were constructed of pine-logs, piled together like a log-house, and for
the roofs we used our shelter-tents; thus forming our winter homes,
which were very comfortable. We had a fireplace and chimney, made of
small sticks and mud. In Virginia, the mud makes good mortar, being
mostly red clay. The guard-duty was every third day; we had to stand two
hours, and off four, rain or shine. Thus you may judge what it is to be
broken of your rest every third night, and perhaps be drenched with
rain; then to stand all night on guard, with your clothes frozen stiff.
This was the condition that we were in on picket-duty; but we have often
since looked back to those days, and thought what easy times we had.
They were easy to what we had after General Grant took command of the
armies of the United States. For our fires, we had to carry our wood
about half a mile, while the teams were lying idle. The officers had a
good time at this place, as they seldom went on duty; but the private
soldiers had the work to do.

An incident occurred here, that may be worth relating. The major of our
regiment thought he would go out and see a young lady by the name of
Whitehouse. So, one day, he and his orderly started, and passed our
picket-guard (as he had command of the lines, we could not stop him), to
see his sweetheart (a lady he had got acquainted with some time before,
I know not how). But he went, as many young men do; and, as he rode up
to her gate, found, to his surprise, her brother there with a strong
guard. They came out with drawn pistols, and he, with his orderly, were
taken prisoners and sent to Richmond. We started in search of them, but
with no success. The second day, we heard from them by way of the lady,
for she came and told the colonel that they were captured. He went to
Libby Prison, and there remained about four months; when he and others
made their escape. Some being retaken, were treated worse than before;
but the major returned home. Prison-life was his punishment for
disobedience of orders. He remained at home a short time, and then
returned to his regiment, which was lying near the James River.

But to return to the scenes of camp-life. The weather was cold, and the
snow often fell to the depth of one foot, but did not last but one or
two days, making the ground very splashy. We had to be out, let the
storm be ever so hard. When in camp, we had nothing but our log-huts
with cloth roofs to keep us warm. Our camp was laid out in streets, one
company forming one street.

In a short time, there was a call for soldiers whose time was nearly
expired, to re-enlist, and get a heavy bounty and thirty days' furlough.
The men thought more of the furlough than they did of the money. The
Thirty-second most all re-enlisted, and came home as a regiment,
bringing their arms with them, which but few regiments had the privilege
of doing. But we could not all come home. There were one hundred and
fifty of us that had to remain behind. The service was harder than
before, as we had to do fatigue-duty; besides, we built a fort at
Warrenton Junction. But time wore slowly away until the regiment came
back. We were all glad to see them.

One of my comrades was taken sick a few days after returning, and I took
care of him, besides doing my duty on the picket-line, which made my
work very hard,--harder than my constitution would endure. After he had
got better, I was taken sick with a fever while on the line; I had hard
work to get to my cabin. When I arrived there, I could not sit up. The
doctor was called, and he did what he could for me, but to no use, I had
to go through with the fever. Our beds were constructed by driving a
crotched stick down at each corner, and then placing a pole from one to
the other. After this, we laid small straight sticks across them, then
spreading our rubber blankets over the whole, we thus formed our beds;
we used our knapsacks for pillows. How long those days seemed, my flesh
burning with fever, and the bed being so hard! But I had as good care as
could be expected, in such a place as that. There I remained four weeks,
before I was able to sit up; those were the longest weeks I ever saw. I
little thought, as I lay there, that I should ever return home to my
family, for I was married two years previous. But God saw fit to spare
my life, perhaps to aid in conquering the foe.

It was not long after I got well before I started on the campaign of
1864, under the generalship of U. S. Grant. He was appointed to that
position March 9, and on the twelfth of that month, he took command of
the whole United-States' armies. Then we knew that we were to do some
fighting. But that was what we went for; and we thought the quicker we
commenced, the sooner we should be through and return home (what there
was left of us).

Spring came, and the season was beautiful. Cherry and pear trees were in
blossom, then apple-trees took their turn. We longed to remain there,
but as the ground became settled, we heard of the forces beginning to
concentrate around Brandy Station and Culpepper. As we were left at our
old place, we began to entertain hopes that we should remain. But we
were not kept in suspense long; for, on the morning of April 30, 1864,
the bugle sounded for us to pack our knapsacks and be ready for the
march. About noon, we bade farewell to the spot where had been our homes
for the past few months, and moved on, bidding good-by to some of our
southern friends we were to leave behind. Some of them were very
friendly and kind to us. When I had nothing else to do, I used to make
axe-handles, and helped one of our neighbors mend his wagon. I also
repaired clocks, and for my pay would get milk and tobacco. So I had the
privilege of sending my money all home to my family, thinking, that if I
lived to return, it would be of use to me. But I was destined to
disappointment, for the money was all gone before I returned home.


THE CAMPAIGN OF 1864.

On the thirtieth of April, 1864, we marched to Rappahannock Station, and
there camped for the night. In the morning, we again set out; but had
only a short march before we arrived at Brandy Station, where we again
halted and remained two nights, the first and second days of May. While
I was there, I called on my cousin, who was a member of the
Thirty-seventh Regiment. While I was gone, the bugle sounded the
advance, and I was obliged to run to overtake them, but did not until
they halted again. At eleven o'clock, the orders for advance were given,
and the whole of the great Army of the Potomac was again in motion. We
knew not where we were going, but at the dawn of day we were at the
Germania Ford. After crossing, we halted to rest. We improved the time
in making coffee and getting our breakfast; then we were ordered forward
again. We took the plank-road leading to Fredericksburg, and marched to
the pike-road running by the Wilderness Tavern; turning, and marching on
that about half a mile, we halted, placed our guard, and remained until
morning. When we crossed the Rapidan River, we turned and cast a wistful
glance back, for we thought it was the last time we should ever cross
it; and so it proved.

In the morning, the guard was called in to resume their march. We did
not know that the enemy were near, when a squad of cavalry came riding
up to headquarters, and the pickets were ordered back with a new
detachment. The rest of the troops formed in line, and commenced
building breastworks. But we had to work expeditiously to get them
completed. We knew the time of action was near at hand. How we longed to
see the loved ones at home, ere we entered the deathly strife.

We had not long to wait before the crash came, and the battle was raging
with fearful effect. What feelings of anguish were excited, of which
none can know anything except those who have been there. The sound of
battle is not pleasant, even if a person is not in danger. We remained a
short time behind the works that we had built, and then moved off to the
right, and across the pike-road. There we were exposed to a direct fire
from the enemy. There my tent-mate was wounded by a minie-ball; I was
standing by his side when he was hit. How bad I felt, because I could
not assist him or do anything for him! But we were not allowed to stop,
and we did not hear how badly he was wounded until the next day, when we
heard it was nothing but a flesh-wound. I was glad it was no worse.

After crossing the road, we moved to the right a short distance, and
then forward. The ground was covered with pine and shrub oaks, so it was
almost impossible to get through. We advanced a short distance before we
came near the enemy. We were in strong force, and then commenced our
work of death. It was heart-rending to see the wounded, dead and dying,
lie on the ground under our feet, and the number still increasing. That
was a horrible place of death and destruction in the dense wilderness,
with peals of musketry, like distant thunder, sounding from right to
left. Sometimes it seemed the hardest on the right, and then in the
centre; and so on. The position we held was the centre, being a part of
the First Division of the Fifth Corps, under the command of General
Warren. But night came on at last, and the shades of darkness put an end
to the strife for that day, neither party seeming to gain any advantage
over the other. We again moved by the left to our old breastworks, and
there remained during the night, tired and weary. We slept on our arms
(what little sleep we had), and in the morning, the combat was renewed
with increased vigor, as if the rebels were determined to break our
lines, or die in the attempt. This suited us, for it weakened their
forces more than ours; but they got sick of it in a short time, and then
our skirmishers would take some of the guns that lay on the field and
put five charges into them, and then tie them to trees, well-sighted at
the enemy, and pull them off. Thus we passed a few hours of the day,
when the battle again commenced, raging more fiercely than before, and
lasted until late into the night.

Thus ended the second day's fight in the Wilderness. The loss in the
Thirty-second was very slight; in Company E, there were only three
wounded. Again we slept on our arms, eager to commence again at dawn of
day. On May 7th, the fighting was not so severe, little more than
skirmishing, and we had some rest, which we needed very much. May 8th,
there was not much fighting. We noticed the army in motion again, but we
still held our lines until night, when we silently left our breastworks,
never to return. We passed the hospital, where were two thousand of our
wounded, some waiting to have their wounds dressed. What a horrible
sight to behold, men mangled in every form! The line having moved to the
left, we reached Spottsylvania. We marched to the left until we arrived
at Laurel Hill, where we were again in action, and where artillery was
used. The first day was occupied in skirmishing and strengthening the
skirmish-line. But as night came on, the line charged, and drove the
enemy back, so that we could look into their works. We then formed our
rifle-pits on the crest of the hills, within twenty rods of the enemy.
We were in those rifle-pits two days, unable to raise our heads above
the embankment with safety. It rained nearly the whole time, and we were
drenched to the skin, and covered with mud. In the morning, after we
were stationed in the rifle-pits, we, with the rest of the brigade, were
ordered to charge the enemy's works, and at seven o'clock, the assault
commenced. On we went to death. They reserved their fire until we were
but a few yards off, and then opened with grape and musketry. They had
such a flank-fire on us, that we could not stand it, and all that
returned had to crawl away. We lost about half our number in this
assault; and the next morning, we were ordered to make another charge.
But we knew too well the strength of their lines to go willingly to sure
death, and the orders were countermanded. But we had to remain in the
rifle-pits forty-three hours, having no sleep and no chance to
straighten our limbs. When we were relieved, we had to start for
Spottsylvania. The night was dark and muddy; the mud was half-way up to
our knees, and all that long night (this being the third night), without
sleep. But as the morning dawned, we arrived at Spottsylvania. We had
nothing to do until nearly night, so we had a chance to rest our weary
limbs. But late in the afternoon, we had to form, and move to within a
few rods of the court-house. Here we entrenched ourselves, having good
rifle-pits and good breast-works; so we were confident they could not
drive us away. The next morning, the artillery opened their deadly fire
on both sides. The sound was almost deafening; the shells howling
through the air and over our heads (for I lay between the two lines, on
the picket-line).

We were well supplied with rations, but the hardships were too much for
us; we daily grew weak and poor, and at that time, it did not seem that
I could keep with them much longer. But I little knew then what a man
can stand if obliged to.

When we left Spottsylvania, we marched in a southerly direction,
crossing the Po and Tar Rivers, and after a long and tiresome march, we
arrived at the North Anna River. This we crossed at one of the fords,
the first that we knew the foe were near; and the orders given to make
no noise in crossing. The banks were very steep on the southern side.
After crossing and ascending the hill, we formed our lines (there was
not more than a brigade that crossed at that time), and commenced our
advance. We had not far to go before coming in contact with the rebel
pickets, to whom we paid no attention, but kept steadily along, when
they broke in utter confusion, and retreated back to their general
lines. We advanced but a short distance before halting and building
breastworks; but we could not get them completed before the rebels were
upon us again, with twice our number. They halted a moment at our first
volley; but again they started and pressed on, but to no purpose, for
the incessant stream of fire and leaden hail was more than they could
stand. They succeeded in turning our right, which brought them in range
of our artillery, when seventeen pieces opened on them. This was more
than they could endure, and what were left fled back, leaving their dead
and wounded in our hands, with many prisoners. Their loss was heavy,
while ours was very light. The next morning, we advanced to Nolen's
Station, on the Virginia Central road, and commenced tearing up the
track. After we had completed this, the weather was rainy and the night
dark.

We recrossed the river, and started towards Richmond. After marching
about two miles, we halted to draw rations, and the rations for the
picket were left behind. The company commissary and myself were left to
guard them. We remained until ten o'clock the next day, when we started
in pursuit of our corps, they having twelve hours the start. We marched
nearly all night, and on the second morning came up to the regiment just
as they were starting out on a reconnoissance. I there got a pass to
march in the rear, but to come to the regiment that night. Oh, how
thankful I was to get a chance to rest my feet, for they were badly
blistered and very sore. That morning, we had for breakfast fried
chicken (one that we had captured on our march) and sweet potatoes. It
was the best meal that I had while I was in the service. When we got a
little rested, we started again in pursuit of the regiment, which we
found without any difficulty. We had a good night's rest, but when
morning came, we had to take the advance. We moved about two miles,
skirmishing most of the way. Finally, we made a charge, and drove the
enemy from the heights. There we rested a few moments, and charged
again, but to no purpose; we could not drive them away from their works.
The fighting was very hard; our loss was very heavy. We lost in that
charge some of the best men of the regiment, and we mourned their loss
as we would a brother. But owing to the hardness of our work that day,
we were allowed to fall back, and rest for a few days, which we needed
very much.

At this place, General Grant rode along the lines. The men's cheers were
almost deafening. We were then near Shady Grove Church, but in a short
time the move commenced for Coal Harbor. On account of a colonel in the
Ninth Corps withdrawing his men before orders, we were left in a bad
position, for the enemy were on three sides, and near enough for the
shells to come among us from all directions. This was a critical
position. But as darkness overspread the field of action, we had stopped
their advance. In the morning, our lines were strengthened, and were
ordered to charge. The enemy had fortified during the night. The
Twenty-first Pennsylvania Cavalry, dismounted, here joined our brigade.
They were a grand set of men, numbering eleven hundred; while our
Thirty-second was now reduced to two hundred, and we had lost about five
hundred. We formed under the enemy's musketry fire, after getting over
our breastworks. Then the order to advance rang through the lines. On we
went, until nearly out of breath, when we saw the enemy leaving their
first line of works, and retreating behind their second; but their
artillery made sad havoc in our lines. When we got to the breastworks,
we opened fire on them before they could recover from the panic.

I beheld several vacant places in my company when I looked round. There
was a man who fought almost by my side, who was shot, the ball passing
through the jugular vein of the neck. He fell at my feet, and died in a
few moments. We had four to bury belonging to Company E, and there were
two mortally wounded.

The next morning, the enemy had left, and we started for Coal Harbor. At
this place, we did not have much fighting to do, our duty being picket
in the Chickahominy Swamps. Here I saw where General McClellan's men
were stationed, the trees being marked with name, regiment, company, and
depth of water. I should have thought more would have died than did, for
the water was nearly waist-deep; and there the men had to stand, when
they might have stood a few rods in the rear, and had dry ground to
stand on. These swamps are a dismal place. The river at this point is so
narrow that you can fell a tree across it, and then cross on the tree.
It is very muddy and deep. The two picket-lines were friendly. We did
not fire at each other, but often passed to the centre of the stream,
and there traded coffee for tobacco and hard-bread for corn-meal. We
tried all we could to get them to desert, and were often successful. A
good many of them got tired of the war, and wished it would close. I did
not blame them for that, for their cause looked dark, and there was not
much probability of success. Still, they thought we could not take
Richmond. After doing picket-duty a few days, we were ordered to cross
the river, and move toward White Oak Swamps, and destroy the bridge
there. We were in support of the cavalry, which went and did the work;
it took all day.

We started on another flank movement towards the James River. It was a
hard march, all day and part of the night, not leaving us much time to
rest. When we arrived there, we pitched our tents in a wheat-field, and
commenced gathering wheat for bread. The guard were stationed about half
a mile in advance of the camp, under the command of the major of the
Twenty-first Pennsylvania Cavalry. We arrived on the line after dark. In
the morning, he ordered an advance of fifty rods, which brought us into
the woods. We hurried and got our breakfast, for we saw that the major
wanted to show his authority, and we expected another move; and so it
was, for in the course of an hour, he ordered an advance of a mile and a
half in line. The men were stationed five paces apart. The advance
commenced, but we had not gone more than half the distance, before the
line was broken, and it was noon before it was formed again. We made
some raids; I got for my share two nice salt shad and a small bag of
corn-meal. Thus wore away the day. Late in the afternoon, we returned to
the old line, were relieved, and went to our camp for the night. The
next morning, we crossed the James River. At what point we landed I
never knew; our brigade was among the first that crossed. At last, the
lines were ordered forward, although it was four o'clock in the
afternoon. The sun was pouring down its intolerable heat, and it did not
seem as though man or beast could live. There was no air in motion; but
we must go, or die in the attempt. We marched from four o'clock until
about seven without halting, when the doctor rode ahead of the column
and directed a halt. The orders then came that we should stop five
minutes every hour, and that every man should keep in his place who
possibly could, for we were to be at Petersburg at two o'clock that
night, a distance of twenty miles. We could, at this time, plainly hear
the sound of the cannon. On we went, our road being lighted by the
burning of the houses on the way, not one of which was left, for miles.
At twelve o'clock, we halted for refreshments and rest, within two miles
of our destination. Here the roll was called, and the officers were
ordered to see that none fell out; and when we arrived at our
destination, the roll was called again. This was what we called a forced
march. One member of Company E (although I am sorry to say it) was in
the habit of falling out to keep out of battles, and on this march he
tried his luck, but was picked up by the cavalry provost-guard which
followed in the rear. They marched him to the front, where he was
compelled to fight, while we rested for a day. We then advanced, and
passing the outer works of Petersburg, beheld scenes too horrible for
description. The ground was thickly strewn with the dead and dying,
showing what havoc had been made in their lines. Driven from their
works, they rallied and tried to retake them, which they could not do.
Their loss must have been more than ours at this place of action. We
marched on for a short distance, then forming our lines, awaited orders.
In about an hour, they came; and we moved into a wheat-field and charged
the enemy's lines, driving in their pickets, and capturing the Norfolk
and Petersburg Railroads.


TWO KINDS OF OFFICERS.

Here we lost our colonel, an officer we all loved for his bravery and
for his kindness to his men. We thought more of him than of all the rest
of the officers in the regiment. He was a man beloved by all at home,
and was willing to fare as his men did. There was a great difference
between Colonel Prescott (for that was his name) and another Federal
officer who would ride his horse over the men, when they got tired and
exhausted on the march, even if they had a pass to march in the rear.
And then, look at a certain captain who left us at Spottsylvania under
the pretence of being sick; but the sound of the battle is what made him
sick; for he was a coward, in my opinion. He never returned to the
regiment again. The next we heard of him, he was boarding in Washington,
and then in New York State, in good health.

Company E was commanded by the orderly sergeant the most of the time.
Occasionally, there would be a lieutenant detailed to take command, but
would soon be relieved by wounds. The company as well as the whole
regiment suffered great loss after taking the Norfolk and Petersburg
Railroad. We were relieved and arranged for another charge; this time,
to take a ravine running lengthwise of our lines, that the enemy had
possession of. We formed on the railroad behind its high banks, cutting
steps so that we could climb up; and then the order was given to
forward. "Forward! forward!" rang through the lines, and with deafening
veils we went on. The ravine was cleared, and we had possession of it.
But our day's work was not yet done, for we immediately formed for
another charge; this time with fixed bayonets and for their main works.
When all was in readiness, the orders again rang through the lines, and
we were in motion. On, on, we went, their shot making sad havock in our
lines; but still we kept on, until the Twenty-first Pennsylvania
Cavalry, dismounted, broke, and fell in our rear for us to protect them.
What a shame it was, for, in a few moments more, the works would have
been ours. The enemy had commenced to retreat, and were drawing away
their artillery, when they noticed the break in our lines. But we
rallied, and held our lines until late in the night; when we were
relieved, and moved off to the left, and stopped to rest. Fatigue,
hardships, and sickness had worn me down, but I would not ask to go to
the hospital, for I would rather be with the company as long as
possible. I think this was the eighteenth of June, 1864. We did not move
out of range of the enemy's fire; and there was a good many wounded
without being able to do anything to prevent the fire. I was hit four
times during the day with spent-balls. This was the twentieth or the
twenty-first of June, 1864.


SEVERE FIGHTING--WOUNDED.

We again moved to the left, and halted in the woods, where we remained
until the afternoon of the twenty-second, when we were again called into
action, the enemy having succeeded in breaking the lines between the
Second and Ninth Corps. We were hurried on to death or victory. We
succeeded in stopping them, when we were ordered to another point still
farther to the left, where the enemy were concentrating their men for
another break. We moved by the left flank, which brought the dismounted
Twenty-first Pennsylvania Cavalry ahead. The artillery-fire here was the
worst I had seen. The air seemed to be full of the deadly missiles. It
was almost impossible for a man to stand for a moment. But through this
fire we must pass. We started as fast as we could run; but when we had
got into the heaviest of the fire, we found, to our horror, that the
dismounted Twenty-first Pennsylvania Cavalry had become frightened and
lain down. We could not pass them, and so were obliged to stand under
the awful shelling until they could be got out of the way.

At this place, I lost my arm,--a place never to be forgotten. Here Fort
Hell was built. As we were standing there, a shell came through one man,
and then exploded, taking my right arm off, and killing four of my
comrades, making five lives destroyed and one wounded. I never expected
to get home, or even off of the field, but I was bound to do all I
could. When the shell hit me, it took part of my arm off, and I never
saw the hand afterward. I was at this time one mile from any surgical
assistance, and walked that distance, while the blood was fast leaving
me, notwithstanding I had bandaged the arm as tight as possible. Only by
the assistance of kind friends did I reach the ambulance. The surgeon
examined my arm, and could then do nothing more than to cord it again,
and give me morphine. I was so weak as to be unable to walk or hardly
stand. I got into the ambulance to go to the Division Hospital, which
was seven miles distant over rough roads. It was eight o'clock in the
evening when I arrived at this hospital. I had for a bed, a straw
bedtick spread on the ground (but no straw in it), and no pillow to put
under my head. I had not long to wait before the surgeon came along;
and, at my earnest request, I was taken to the amputating-room, and
placed on the table. This is the last that I remember until after my arm
was amputated. After I had fully come to my senses, I was conducted back
to my bed on the ground, and there I remained during the night with my
bloody clothes on.

What a long and sleepless night, with no one to console or comfort me.
My thoughts ran back to the happy days I had spent at home, and to the
loved ones I had left behind. I never expected to behold them again; But
morning came at last, and the bombardment around Petersburg was renewed.
We could hear the firing distinctly. How often I thought of my poor
soldier friends that were still remaining in the regiment on the morning
of the twenty-second of June, 1864. We could only muster ninety guns;
how many were wounded on that day, I never knew. At about ten o'clock on
the day of the twenty-third, one of my company came in and saw me lying
there with my bloody clothes on. He brought a pail of water, and washed
off the blood which had dried on very hard; he also got me some clean
clothes; and I felt some relieved after getting cleaned up, but I had no
appetite to eat anything. All I could do was to lay there and think of
home, and think how they would feel when they came to know of my
misfortune,--to hear that I was crippled for life. These were the
thoughts that passed through my mind, as I lay on the ground at the
hospital. I was cared for as well as I could be in such a place; but it
was different from being at home, with a dear mother or wife to care for
one. But I was not destined to remain at this hospital long, for on the
twenty-fourth, we were sent to City Point. I thought I should be nearer
home, so I was anxious to go; but when I found I must go in an army
wagon, my heart failed me. I had seen men with nothing but flesh-wounds
get into the ambulances, and I in an army-wagon; but this was my lot;
and I had to stand it, or die. The roads were very rough, and we were a
long time in going seven miles. How glad I was when I got to the end of
my journey. There I met one of my company that was slightly wounded. He
met me at the wagon, and helped me out, and I was placed in the ward
with him. The scenes at City Point are beyond description. The dead were
being carried out at all hours of the day, and I expected to go in a
short time. The heat was awful. I remained a few days, and then went to
Washington. The very thought of City Point is enough to make one sick;
it was the worst place I ever saw; thousands of men lay mangled in every
form. The sight was too horrible for description. When I was informed
that I was to go to Washington, my heart beat with joy, for I knew that
I should be near my friends who were living there. While I remained at
City Point, I wrote to all my friends at home, for I never expected to
come home again. We were treated well, and had all the comforts that
could be expected. Never but once while at City Point did I have
occasion to find fault with my treatment; and then the nurse would not
dress my arm, which was fly-blown, and the worms began to work into the
amputation. This was more than horrid. I reported the nurse to the
ward-master, and for my reply was told to mind my own business, which I
thought I would do by reporting him to the sergeant; but the ward-master
was anxious to buy me off, when he found that the surgeon belonged to my
regiment. From that time, to the time I left City Point, I had good
care; and I think that he did all that he could to get me away, and was
also glad when I was gone. When I was asked if I could walk to the boat,
my reply was that I could. I was told to be in readiness at ten o'clock.
I had not attempted to walk at all; but, with the aid of my comrade, I
managed to get to the boat. I hated to part with a friend so dear as he
had proved to me; but we bade each other farewell, and parted. At about
noon, the boat started down the river; I was not able to sit up, so I
could not see the landscape down the James River. I rested better on the
boat than I had done since I lost my arm. We halted at Fortress Monroe a
short time, and then moved toward the Potomac River; and ascending that,
we arrived at Washington between eight and nine o'clock in the evening
of the twenty-seventh of June.

After remaining at Washington a few moments, we crossed the river to
Alexandria; there the ambulance took us and carried us to Slough
Barracks (a portion of the Third Division Hospital), a distance of one
mile. This hospital is situated about one mile from Alexandria, on the
Orange and Alexandria Railroad, and also near Leesburg pike-road. Fort
Ellsworth stands on the right, and Fort Lyon on the left. Thus they were
strongly fortified. It was very pleasant around this place; the ground
was kept neat and clean, and everything was neat about the building and
tents. We were treated kindly; and as I gained strength, I would go to
walk every morning. This, I think, did me more good than anything else.
I sent word to my uncle that I was there, and they received the word
Saturday night, and came Sunday to see me. How glad I was to see them,
they being the first friends I had seen since I left home. I began now
to long to come home. I little thought how tiresome it was to ride; but
the surgeon knew better than to let me go. I had by this time become
acquainted with the assistant-surgeon of the Third Division Hospital,
Dr. Elliott. I thought everything of him, as a man and as a doctor. I
was finally taken with the jaundice, which, but for the friendship of a
young widow lady, would probably have caused my death. She was very kind
in bringing me everything that she thought would do me good. She was
from Ohio, and came there in company with her husband. He entered the
army; and she, with two children, were left behind. He was mortally
wounded at the battle of the Wilderness, but lived until he arrived at
Washington. He sent for his wife, but died a few hours before she
reached there. I was one week so sick, that my life was despaired of;
but with good care, I began to improve, and it was not long before I was
able to go round the hospital and call on my soldier comrades. For a
morning walk, I would go through the whole hospital, and say and do
what I could to cheer the men up. When I was able to go out, my strength
gained rapidly. Here I remained from the twenty-eighth of June until the
twenty-sixth of August, when I was discharged. During the time that I
remained at the hospital, I visited my uncle on Monson Hill, and had a
good time and plenty of fruit.

The kindest people I ever met in the South, were the Quakers. They would
call and see the inmates of the hospital, and bring them berries,
peaches, custards, and, in fact, everything that the men needed. I was
sorry to leave the hospital, for I had found some friends that were
friends indeed. Reports were in circulation at home at the time, that I
was wounded, and had died from the effects of my wounds. I had written,
but the letters did not reach my friends. On the twenty-sixth day of
August, I bade farewell to the hospital, never expecting to return. But
at Washington, I found that my papers were not made out right, and I
must go back to get them rectified. When this was done, I returned to
Washington, remained there three days, and then started for home. After
riding all night and until four o'clock the next day, I arrived in
Hartford, Ct., where I met my wife, and remained there until the next
morning, when we started for Springfield. This was the first day of
September, 1864, having been away eleven months and eighteen days. I
worked as watchman at the Water-shops in Springfield, Mass., until the
spring of 1865, when I was obliged to resign the position on account of
the law made by Congress, depriving me of my pension, if employed by the
Government.

While I was in the army, I endeavored to do my duty as became a soldier,
always trying to do as I was ordered, and doing my whole duty. I was
sorry that I could not remain with my regiment. I have fought and
suffered for my country; and thank God that the war has closed, and
peace once more reigns through the land; and should war again break out,
I would willingly sacrifice my other arm, or life, if need be, to
sustain our liberty and independence.

In conclusion, I must say, that I am glad to see so many that are
mindful of the invalid soldier, and appear to realize what he has
sacrificed for their benefit as well as his own; but, on the other hand,
there are a large number that have made themselves independently rich
out of this war, that would see the soldiers starve before they would
lend a helping hand. I have often had it said to me, "You draw a
pension." My reply is, "I do; but what are fifteen dollars a month
toward supporting a man and wife?" It is something, to be sure. We are
thankful that it is so large. We all feel as though the Government was
doing all it could for the benefit of its soldiers that have been
crippled in its defence. Long may the Stars and Stripes wave "O'er the
land of the free and the home of the brave."


  PRATT BROTHERS, Book and Job Printers, 37 Cornhill, Boston.

       *       *       *       *       *

Transcriber's Note:

Page 27, "o'colck" changed to "o'clock" (about ten o'clock on the)





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