Civil War Sources

Civil War Drummer Boy Johnny Clem Takes Arms

2010-06-10T10:11:00.000-07:00

In a previous post we learned of the circumastances under which young Johnnie clem left home in order to enlist and fight for the cause. What follows here is an account of the manner in which the young Clem showed his mettle at the Battle of Chickamauga. The account is provided by Benjamin F. Taylor, military correspondent for the Chicago Evening Journal. Taylor writes:

You remember the story of little Johnny Clem, the atom of a drummer-boy, "aged ten," who strayed away from Newark, Ohio, and the first we know of him, though small enough to live in a drum, was beating the long roll for the 22d Michigan. At Chickamauga, he filled the office of a "marker," carrying the guidon whereby they form the lines, a duty having its counterpart in the surveyor's more peaceful calling in the flagman who flutters the red signal along the metes and bounds. On the Sunday of the battle, the little fellow's occupation gone, he picked up a gun that had slipped from some dying hand, provided himself with ammunition, and began putting in the periods quite on his own account, blazing away close to the ground, like a fire-fly in the grass. Late in the waning day, the waif left almost alone in the whirl of the battle, one of Longstreet's Colonels dashed up, and, looking down at him, ordered him to surrender: "Surrender!" he shouted, "you little d--d son of a -----!" The words were hardly out of the officer's mouth, when Johnny brought his piece to " order arms," and as his hand slipped down to the hammer he pressed it back, swung up the gun to the position of " charge bayonet," and as the officer raised his sabre to strike the piece aside, the glancing barrel lifted into range, and the proud Colonel tumbled dead from his horse, his lips fresh stained with the syllable of reproach he had hurled at the child.

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A few swift moments ticked off by musket shots, and the tiny gunner was swept up at a swoop and borne away a prisoner. Soldiers, bigger but not better, were taken with him, only to be washed back again by a surge of Federal troopers, and the prisoner of thirty minutes was again John Clem "of ours," and General Rosecrans made him a Sergeant, and the stripes of rank covered him all over like a mouse in a harness, and the daughter of Mr. Secretary Chase presented him a silver medal appropriately inscribed, which he worthily wears, a royal order of honor, upon his left breast, and all men conspire to spoil him, but, since few ladies can get at him here, perhaps he may be saved. Think of a sixty-three pound Sergeant, fancy a handful of a hero, and then read the "Arabian Nights" and believe them.

A drummer boy recounts the Battle of Chickamauga

2010-03-03T16:25:00.000-08:00

In "A Drummer Boy's Diary: Comprising Four Years of Service with the Second Regiment Minnesota Veteran Volunteers, 1861-1865, drummer boy William Bircher recounts his observations and experiences at the commencement of the Battle of Chickamauga. Bircher writes:

September 19th: Hot and dusty. At daybreak, as we marched along, we saw troops falling into line on the right of the road; the artillery was unlimbered, the gunners stood to their guns, and every thing had the appearance of a battle. We marched along the rear of the line until we reached the left wing of the army, where we piled up our knapsacks, formed in line, marched to the front, and deployed skirmishers. We advanced but a short distance in the woods, which was a pine forest, before we came upon the rebel skirmish-line. We heard on our right the heavy roll of musketry and the terrible thunder of the artillery, and it came nearer and nearer, until, in less time than it takes to describe it, we were engaged with Bragg's army. The terrible carnage continued at intervals all day. More... At night we heard, from all over the field, the cry of the wounded for water and help, and the ambulance corps were doing all in their power to bring all the wounded into our lines. The night was cool, with a heavy frost, and the water was very scarce. We lay on our arms all night, and on Sunday, the 20th, the battle was renewed with terrible slaughter on both sides. Towards noon we heard that Chittenden's and McCook's corps, on our right, had been driven back, and all that was left on the field, to hold in check the entire rebel army, was our corps,—Thomas's Fourteenth. We held the enemy back until evening, in spite of his desperate assaults, and after dark we retired to Rossville. Here General Thomas posted Negley's right, stretching to the Dry Valley Road, Brannan's (our) division in reserve to Reynolds's right and rear, while McCook's corps extended from Dry Valley nearly to Chattanooga Creek. Bragg's army was too tired and too sadly worsted to attempt to follow on the night of the 20th. Oh the 21st a few straggling shots were directed against our army at Rossville. Thomas felt that he could not hold his position there against the Confederate army. Orders were received at 6 P.m. on the 21st, and by seven o'clock the next morning our army was withdrawn, without opposition from the enemy. This ended the battle of Chickamauga. Though retiring from the field, our army had succeeded in shutting the rebels out of Chattanooga.

Abrham Lincoln's Drummer: Drummer boy Willie Johnston awarded Medal of Honor

2010-02-10T14:30:00.000-08:00

William E. "Willie" Johnston, drummer boy of Company D, 3rd Vermont Infantry, has the distinction of being the youngest soldier to ever receive the Medal of Honor, presented to him at age 11 for gallantry on the battlefield in the Seven Day Battle Peninsula Campaign of 1862. Young Johnston is the subject of a book written, Lincoln's Drummer, written by G. Clifton Wisler.

In the Soldiers' Record of the town of St. Johnsonbury, Vermont, it is written:

Born in Warrentown, St. Lawrence County, N. Y. Son of William Johnson, member of Company B, 3d Regiment. Resided with his father in St. Johnsbury when he enlisted. Age twelve years. Enlisted in Company D, 3d Regiment, May 1, 1862. Mustered into United States service same day. Drummer. Re-enlisted at Brandy Station, Va., February 15, 1864. Transferred to Company H, February 15, 1864, and thence, as Drum Major, of 20th Regiment of Veteran Reserve Corps. Mustered out of service December 30, 1864.

Willie was with the 3d Regiment in the tedious and hazardous conflicts of the seven days campaign in the Peninsula, and received from the Secretary of War a star medal for heroic conduct during this time. This conduct was meritorious beyond that of other drummers, in so much as he retained his drum and brought it off on the retreat, while they, to lessen their burdens, threw theirs away. Upon reaching Harrison's Landing Willie's was the only drum to be found for use at the division parade.

Orion Perseus Howe: Civil War Drummer Boy awarded Medal of Honor

2010-01-20T16:06:00.001-08:00

Orion Perseus Howe (December 29, 1848 – January 27, 1930) was among the youngest recipients of the Medal of Honor for his service in the American Civil War as a Union drummer boy. He was awarded the medal on April 23, 1896. His medal of honor citation reads as follows:

A drummer boy, 14 years of age, and severely wounded and exposed to a heavy fire from the enemy, he persistently remained upon the field of battle until he had reported to Gen. W. T. Sherman the necessity of supplying cartridges for the use of troops under command of Colonel Malmborg.

Johnny Clem: the Civil War Drummer Boy of Shiloh

2009-11-07T09:09:00.000-08:00

In his Historical Collections of Ohio, Henry Howe tells us the story of young Johnny Clem, widely known as the drummer boy of Shiloh and quite possibly the youngest to bear arms in the American Civil War. Clem left home at the age of 11 and attempted to join the 3rd Ohio Infantry. When he was rejected due to his age and small stature, he signed on with the 22nd Michigan as a drummer boy and mascot.

As part of his research, Howe was able to interview Clem's family in Newark, Ohio. Lizzie clem, who was 7 years old when her older brother left home for the Army recalls the following events from the day prior to Johnnie's departure:

It being Sunday, May 24, 1961, and the great rebellion in progress. Johnnie said at dinner table: "Father, I'd like mighty well to be a drummer boy. Can't I go into the Union Army?" "Tut, what nonsense, boy!" "you are not ten years old." Yet when he had disappeared it is strange we had no thoughts that he had gone into the service.

When dinner was over Johnnie took charge of us, I being seven years old and our brother, Lewis, five years, and we started for the Francis de Sales Sunday-school. As it was early, he left us at the church door, saying, "I will go and take a swim and be back in time." He was a fine swimmer. That was the last we saw of him for two years.

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The distress of our father and step-mother at Johnnie's disappearance was beyond measure. Our own mother had met with a shocking death the year before: had been run over by a yard engine as she was crossing the track to avoid another train. No own mother could be more kind to us than our step-mother. Father, thinking Johnnie must have been drowned, had the water drawn from the head of the canal. mother travelled hither and yon to find him. It was all in vain. Several weeks elapsed when we heard of him as having been in Mount Vernon; and then for two years nothing more was heard and we mourned him as dead, not even dreaming that he could be in the army, he was so very small, nothing but a child.

Clarence D. McKenzie: the Little Drummer Boy of the 14th Regiment, New York

2009-10-30T12:26:00.000-07:00

As we have learned in previous posts regarding the role of drummer boys in the civil war, their duties comprised far more than tapping our rythyms; theirs was an important, and often dangerous job. Clarence D. McKenzie, the young drummer for the 13th Regiment, New York State Militia, paid the ultimate price when he was felled by an accidental discharge from a musket. McKenzie was 12 years old when he fell for the final time. His story is a reminder that war is very real and very lethal, regardless of how frequently and to what extent it is often romaticized.

In his tribute to young McKenzie, Luther Goodyear Bingham dscirbes the funeral procession as such:

The funeral of Clarence D. McKenzie, the little drummer boy, who was killed by the accidental discharge of a musket at Annapolis, Maryland, took place from St. John's Church, corner of Washington and Johnson streets, Brooklyn, at four o'clock in the afternoon of the fourteenth day of July. The body was removed under military escort from the house of the bereaved parents, No. 23 Liberty street, and placed in front of the pulpit. More... The children of Public School No. 8, and of the Sunday school connected with the Presbyterian church, corner of Tillary and Lawrence streets, to which deceased had been attached, were present and also occupied a large portion of the building. Many wore the emblem of mourning and showed sincere grief at .the loss of their friend and former school mate. The press was so great that thousands could not gain admittance.— The streets about the church were literally packed with spectators.

After the funeral services the face of the little drummer was exposed to view, and his former companions and class mates passed by and cast a last, sorrowful look upon it. This occupied perhaps half an hour, when the body was borne to the hearse by some of the soldiers of Company D, who brought it to this city. The coffin was enveloped in the American flag, and covered with wreaths of flowers and evergreen. The members of the Thirteenth Regiment now in this city, and the reserve corps, the whole under comman of Captain Balsdon, of Company D, formed the escort. Four drummers rolled the funeral march on the way to Greenwood Cemetery, where the body was interred. Three rounds of musketry were fired over the grave, and the solemnities were concluded.

The little brute companion of the drummer boy — his little faithful dog, followed the hearse to the grave, and when the coffin was lowered into it, he went forward and looked attentively down into the grave, to see where they had laid his young master. When the volleys where fired he ran away. When the procession moved away he remained, and when the grave was filled, laid himself down upon it. For many nights afterwards he was in the habit of going and spending a part of the night upon the grave, and toward morning he would return to the house where he belonged.

Caring for the wounded at the Battle of Gettysburg: yankees aiding rebels

2009-09-24T16:16:00.000-07:00

In several posts in this forum, we have discussed the everyday horrors of life in both Federal and Confederate prisons. As an alternative to this perspective, please allow us to consider the following excerpt from a volume entitled "Soldiers Letters From Camp, Battle-field and Prison." In this snippet, we hear Charles N. Maxwell, 3rd Maine, discusses the manner in which federal soldiers came to the aid of wounded and dying confederates on the Gettysburg battlefield. Maxwell writes:

On the morning of the 4th we took the front, and I was upon the skirmish-line watching the enemy's sharp-shooters, and exchanging shots with them. We were in the grass, and they several times climbed trees to see us, but we could take them out the first fire. That night, the cries of the wounded, during the storm which raged, was unpleasant in the extreme. I gave many of the rebel wounded water, and covered them up, for which they were grateful, and would urge me to take money. Our boys would mingle with them with the best of feelings — brave men after a desperate struggle respect each other.

The Battle of Gettysburg: the behavior of the townspeople through the eyes of a young girl

2009-09-23T07:51:00.000-07:00

Part 5 in a series of posts regarding the behavior of the citizends of Gettysburg before, during, and after the great battle. In this entry we hear from Matilda J. "Tillie" Pierce Alleman who was 15 years old at the time of the historic event. In her book "At Gettysburg: or, what a girl saw and heard of the battle", young Tillie Pierce writes:

My native townsmen, during that terrible struggle, acted as patriotic and bravely as it was possible for citizens to act, who had suddenly thrust upon them the most gigantic battle of modern times.

They had none of the weapons or munitions of war; they were not drilled and were totally unprepared for such an unthoughtof experience, They were civilians.

Long before had many of their sons and brothers gone to the front, and those who still remained were as true to the Union as those found at home in the other towns of the North.

Upon the first rumor of the rebel invasion, Major Robert Bell, a citizen of the place, recruited a company of cavalry from the town and surrounding country.

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A company of infantry was also formed from the students and citizens of the place which was mustered into Col. Wm. Jennings' regiment of Pennsylvania Emergency Troops.

This regiment, on June 26th, was the first to encounter and exchange shots with the invaders of 1863. Though inexperienced, the stand they made, and the valor they displayed before an overwhelming force, cannot fail in placing the loyalty and bravery of her citizens in the foremost rank.

Opportunity was offered a few, who like old John Burns, went into the fray. To some like Professors Jacobs and Stower, came the occasion of explaining and pointing out to the Union officers the impregnable positions of the locality, and by this means insuring victory to our arms.

To others was given the oppottunity of concealing in their homes the brave Union boys who had been wounded in the first day's fight, who, in their retreat, had sought shelter in the house they could first reach, and there were Compelled to remain, within the Confederate lines, during the remainder of the battle.

Many a Union soldier would have gone to "Libby" or "Andersonville" had it not been for the loyalty and bravery of some of the citizens in thus secreting them.

To all was presented the opportunity of caring for the wounded and dying after the battle had passed, and nobly and feebly did they administer the tender and loving acts of charity even in their own homes as well as upon the field - and in the hospital.

Let those disposed to cavil and doubt the patriotism of the citizens of Gettysburg at the time of the battle forever cease, for what I have written is correct.

True it is there were a few who sympathized with the South just as in other Northern towns, but it would be unjust and unreasonable to condemn the many for the misdeeds of the few.

African American soldiers in the Civil War: the United States Colored Troops (USCT)

2009-09-11T18:04:00.000-07:00

Pictured here is drummer boy Taylor of the 78th Regiment, United States Colored Infantry (USCI). While no full name is provided with the image of young Taylor, a quick examination of the National Park Service Civil War Soldiers and Sailors System reveals there were five soldiers named Taylor who served in the 78th regiment, USCI. These Taylors were as follows: Alfred, Joseph, Nelson, Robert, and Washington. Which of these five is pictured here with his drum? That question must go unanswered for now.... In the meantime, here's a summary of young Taylor's regimental history, courtesy of the National Park Service:

78th Regiment, United States Colored Infantry

Organized April 4, 1864, from 6th Corps de Afrique Infantry. Attached to 2nd Brigade, 2nd Division, Corps de Afrique, Dept. of the Gulf, to July, 1864. Post of Port Hudson, La., Dept. of the Gulf, to October, 1864. 2nd Brigade, 2nd Division, United States Colored Troops, Dept. of the Gulf, to October, 1864. Post of Port Hudson, La., Dept. of the Gulf, to April, 1865. District of LaFourche, Dept. of the Gulf, to January, 1866.

SERVICE.--Post and garrison duty at Port Hudson, La., till April, 1865, and at Donaldsonville, Thibodeaux and other points in District of LaFourche, Dept. of the Gulf, to January, 1866. Mustered out January 6, 1866.

Predecessor unit:

CORPS DE AFRIQUE.-UNITED STATES COLORED VOLUNTEERS.
6th REGIMENT INFANTRY.

Organized at Port Hudson, La., September 4, 1863. Attached to Ullman's Brigade, Corps de Afrique, Dept. of the Gulf, to December, 1863. 2nd Brigade, 2nd Division, Corps de Afrique, to March, 1864. Garrison, Port Hudson, La., to April, 1864.

SERVICE.--Duty at Port Hudson, La., August 31, 1863. Designation of Regiment changed to 78th United States Colored Troops April 4, 1864 (which see).

Paul Revere at the Battle of Gettysburg: patriotism runs in the family

2009-09-05T10:18:00.000-07:00

Did you know that Paul Revere, the famous "midnight rider" of Boston, had a grandson who was killed at the Battle of Gettysburg? Yes, it's true; Paul Joseph Revere was a Colonel in the 20th regiment Masachusetts Volunteers when he gave the last full measure on July 4, 1863. Below is an excerpt from the American Annual Cyclopaedia summarizing the accomplishments of Colonel Revere:

Revere, Col. Paul Joseph, an officer of U. S. volunteers, died of wounds received in the battle of Gettysburg. He was born in Boston, September 18th, 1832, and was a grandson of Paul Revere of Revolutionary history. His early educational advantages were good, and in 1862 he graduated at Harvard College. When the war broke out, though occupying a high sodul position and surrounded by everything calculated to make life pleasant, he at once volunteered his services on behalf of his country, and accepting the commission of major in the 20Uth regiment of volunteers, went to the seat of war. At the disastrous battle of Ball's Bluff his regiment behaved nobly, but lost heavily; he was taken prisoner and, with his colonel, was confined in a felon's cell as a hostage for the privateersmen whom the United States Court had convicted as pirates. After his exchange he participated in the campaign on the James river, and at Antietam was on General Sumner's staff, when he was complimented for his gallantry, having received a severe wound, which gave him a long winter of pain and seclusion. Upon his recovery he was promoted as colonel of the 20th regiment, and received his death wound in the first successful battle of the campaign.

Coping in a Civil War prison: a Union officer describes his captivity in a Confederate prison

2009-06-04T10:45:00.000-07:00

In earlier posts, we heard bits and pieces of the very bleak existence in the Civil War prisons. In this entry, George Haven Putnam, 1st Lieutenant in the 176th New York volunteers, describes the amnner in which he coped with life in the Danville Penitentiary.

On December 18th, 1864, Putnam writes:

Dear Mother,

I don't know how succesful my former letters have been in reaching you, but in spite of the chance of its being perhaps useless, I continue to write because the act itself seems to bring me nearer home, an is in itself a comfort. My circumstances have somewhat improved lately. I have borrowed some little money from an officer lately arrived., whom I had formerly known, and am able therewith to purchase some small additions to my rations which are very acceptable. I have had for a chum since my capture a young fellow named VenderWeyde, with whom I get along very well. He contributed to the partnership a blanket, cup, plate, and knife, I a plate, fork, spoon, cup, blanket and canteen; for the last two months we have marched, hungered, feasted, slept, and lived in common. Two blankets make a better bed than one, and the majority of our officers have formed such partnerships. It would be interesting to you to be able to look into our "apartment," and observe the various ways in which our men manifest themselves in captivity. Many are engaged in the laborious task of splitting wood with table knives and wooden wedges, some are playing chess, cards, or checkers; some unfortunate ones who have obtained books are reading or studying; a few like myself are engaged in the pleasing occupation of writing home, while some unfortunates on whom imprisonment has acted hardly, are sitting gazing vacantly, stupidly, desolately into nothingness -- waiting for brighter days. The floor serves as seats, bedstead, and table for us all. We are hoping that boxes from home will reach us by New Year's. I have sent several lists of wants. Money is the principal one. Reciprocations are sometimes effected with the friends of Southern prisoners North.

Yours trustfully

Haven

A civil war drummer boy cares for the wounded: "I never want to go into a hospital again"

2009-06-01T17:32:00.000-07:00

In a previous post, we heard David Auld, drummer boy for the 43rd Ohio volunteers, discuss the horrors of battle and the role the drummer boys played in caring for the wounded, dead, and dying. Here, Charles William Bardeen, drummer boy for the 1st Massachusetts Volunteers, company D, discusses his experiences during the Battle of Fredericksburg.

Bardeen writes:

Dear Mother,

When I closed my last it was Sunday Morning. I will relate what has passed since then. I believe I mentioned that there were several wounded Rebels brought in. As they were suffering badly, I made a Coffee pot full of coffee, giving it to all of them who wished. Most of them were in Georgia Regts, particularly the 61st & 62d & 60th One was the Adjutant Gen'l of Erwin's Brigade, under Jackson, and in the absence of Erwin he led the Brigade in a charge upon one of our batteries. Our infantry in front united to give the batteries a chance to open with cannister, which, as soon as the enemy were near enough, they did, with terrible effect. Our infantry then advanced and took many prisoners. This Adj-Gen'l was wounded in the Groin and was in great pain. In company with all of them, he expressed great surprise at the kind treatment he received at our hands. He said he was treated as well as our own boys. All day I staid there, doing all I could for all of them. At night we went out a little way from the Hospital to sleep. I saw many legs & arms taken off, and the sight was awful. The men say that it is not battle but butchery, as the rebels are well protected by breastworks. Monday morning we were ordered back across the river, as the Div. Hospital had been established there. So the drummers were put in reliefs of six hours each to attend to the wounded. My relief is on at dark. The following were the instructions given to me by the Nurse, in the tent assigned to me. "The men on the left side will not require much attention. That man in the corner is wounded through the temple and is insane. You will have to hold him down if he attempts to get up, and you must keep close to him and keep him covered. The one next to him is crazy also. Every time he wakes up you must give him some water & look out that he does not get up. The one in this corner has got the Dysentery and will require the Bedpan often—You must pay strict attention to them all, and not let the crazy men get the upper hands of you." So off he went and left me alone with two crazy men and 6 or eight wounded ones to attend to. It was a hard place, but I did my duty as well as I was able 'till my six hours were up. I never want to go into a Hospital again.

A brave drummer boy earns the Congressional Medal of Honor

2009-03-01T05:54:00.000-08:00

In his New Jersey and the Rebellion, John Y. Foster describes the heroism of a young drummer boy name William Magee. For his valiant efforts, Magee was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor. Magee's citation reads, "In a charge, was among the first to reach a battery of the enemy and, with one or two others, mounted the artillery horses and took two guns into the Union lines."

Foster describes the details of drummer boy Magee's bravery in his account. He writes:

Among the many instances of youthful intrepidity and daring, none, perhaps, exceeded in all the points of real sublimity those which are furnished in the career of drummer William Magee, of the Thirty-third Regiment. This lad, for he was only a lad, entered the service at fifteen years of age-leaving a widowed mother in the city of Newark-to aid in maintaining the unity of the Nation. From the first he displayed qualities of the highest order. Intelligent, fearless, vigilant, he was at all times an example alike to superiors and inferiors. Though entering the service as a drummer, he by no means confined himself to the duties of his specific sphere. He had a knack of fighting as well as drumming, and withal exhibited an appreciation of the methods of warfare which qualified him for the most surprising exploits. One of these, at least, was equal in splendor of execution and grandeur of result to any which the history of the war records. It will be remembered that in the fall of 1864, after Sherman had swung loose from his base and started on his stately' March to the Sea," Hood with an army of forty thousand men laid siege to Nashville, defended by General Thomas. Here, for a period of two or three weeks, our troops were penned up with little prospect of relief.

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At Murfreesboro, thirty miles away, General Thomas, reluctant to relax his hold on the railroad to Chattanooga, had stationed a small garrison under General Milroy. This garrison, as the rebels gathered in greater force, beleaguering the post, soon became comparatively isolated, all avenues of escape being practically closed. But the men did not lose heart. At length, on the 2d of December, it was determined to strike a blow for deliverance. At this time, young Magee had become acting orderly to General VanCleve, and to him, youth as he was, the order was given to charge the enemy. It may be that a smile accompanied the order-a smile at the thought of committing such a work to a mere stripling; but it is certain that the confidence of the'commander was not misplaced. Taking the One Hundred and Eighty-first Ohio Infantry, Magee sallied out of the works, and rushed upon a battery posted on an eminence hard by. The charge was made most gallantly, but the fire of the enemy was resistless, and slowly the column fell back. But the intrepid orderly did not for a moment falter in his purpose. One repulse only stimulated his appetite for his work, and accordingly, selecting the One Hundred and Seventyfourth Ohio, he again moved out, again charged the foe, again met their withering fire; still, however, pressing on until at last the victory was his. And it was no ordinary victory. Two heavy guns and eight hundred of the enemy killed, wounded and captured, were the trophies which he brought out of the contest. Nor was this all. This signal success at once dispiriting the enemy and reviving the hopes of our own men, proved the first of a series of victories which resulted, finally, in driving Hood from Tennessee and restoring that whole section to Federal control. The readiness and gallantry displayed by young Magee in this affair very naturally attracted the attention of those around him, and he received the hearty commendation of Generals Rosseau, Milroy, and other officers in command. Subsequently he received a medal of honor from the War Department, inscribed, " The Congress to drummer William Magee, Company C, Thirty-third Regiment, New Jersey Volunteers."

Civil War correspondent C.C. Coffin on the horrors of war

2009-02-17T18:15:00.001-08:00

The American Civil War, like many wars, has been romanticized endlessly in books and on film. For those observers who view from such safe and secure distances, the everyday toils and the absolute horrors of battle and death may become somewhat sanitized. Charles Carleton Coffin, Civil War correspondent to the Boston Journal witnessed firsthand the gruesome nature of war and the very real impact it has on young lives. Of this horror, Coffin writes:

But let me say if those who envy the war correspondent were once brought into close contact with all the realities of war — if they were obliged to stand the chances of getting their heads Knocked off by an unexpected shell, or bored through with a minie ball, — to stand their chances of being captured by the enemy, — to live on bread and water and little of it — to sleep on the ground, or on a sack of corn, or in a barn with the wind blowing a gale and the snow whirling in drifts, and the thermometer shrunk to zero,— and then after the battle is over and the field won, to walk among the dying and the dead and behold all the ghastly sights ... to hear all around sighs, groans, imprecations and prayers — they would be content to let others become the historians of war.

Courage of the color bearer

2009-02-17T17:00:00.000-08:00

In other posts, we've dscussed the dangers related to carrying the regimental colors into battle. It took special person to fill the color bearer's shoes.

In his Reminiscneces of the Civil War, General John Brown Gordon describes in vivid detail a color bearer's courage and determination despite horrific injuries. Brown writes:

At Big Falls, North Carolina, there lived in 1897 a one-armed soldier whose heroism will be cited by orators and poets as long as heroism is cherished by men. He was a color-bearer of his regiment, the Thirteenth North Carolina. In a charge during the first day's battle at Gettysburg, his right arm, with which he bore the colors, was shivered and almost torn from its socket. Without halting or hesitating, he seized the falling flag in his left hand, and, with his blood spouting from the severed arteries and his right arm dangling in shreds at his side, he still rushed to the front, shouting to his comrades: " Forward, forward!" The name of that modest and gallant soldier is "W. F. Faucette.

In defense of John Burns, citizen soldier of Gettysburg

2009-02-14T14:20:00.000-08:00

The story of John Burns, "citizen soldier" of the Battle of Gettysburg, is such a compelling one that it was even the subject of a poem by Bret Harte. The Pennsylvania Board of Commissioners on Gettysburg Monuments was so impressed with Burns's heroics that they saw fit to commission a monument of him on the Gettysburg battlefield (pictured here). Over the years some have come to doubt the actual role Burns played in the battle. Was the story of the old volunteer fact or fiction? Here, in A Califonia Tramp, and Later Footprints, author Thaddeus Stevens Kenerdine believes the latter as he quotes Sergeant George Eustis of the 2nd Wisconsin. Eustis states:

"If any of those who think that the old man took no part in the battle of Gettysburg had seen him on the 1st of July, 1863, they would change their opinion. I can't tell just what time he came up to us, having left my watch at home on the bureau that morning, but it was after we had captured Archer's Brigade, and while we were lying down in the timber to protect ourselves from the shot and shell flying around, about noon, say, that I saw a little old man coming up in the rear of our company, F. I remember him well. He had on a swallow-tail coat, with smooth brass buttons. We boys commenced to poke fun at him, thinking him a fool to come up where there was so much danger. I wanted to put a cartridge box on him to make him look like a soldier, telling him he couldn't fight without that. His reply was, slapping his pockets, ' I can get my hands in here quicker than in the box; I am not used to them new-fangled things.' More... In answer to a question as to what made him come up there, he said the rebels had either milked his cows or driven them away, and he was going to be even with them. All this while the shells were screaming and bursting over the protecting timber. About this time the " rebs " began to advance. Bullets were whistling around pretty lively. We hugged the ground closer and the old man got behind a tree. He surprised us all by not taking a double- quick to the rear, but he was just as cool as any veteran among us. We soon had orders to move a hundred yards to the right, and were shortly engaged in one of the hottest fights I was ever in. Foot by foot we were driven back. We made our last stand at the Seminary, where we did good work for a while and then retreated through the town to Cemetery Ridge. I never saw John Burns after we moved to the right. From some cause he did not follow, and we left him with his gun behind the tree. I learned afterward he was wounded in three places. General Callis was wounded and left for dead on the field."

George D. Sidman: the heroics of a Civil War drummer boy

2008-12-21T08:52:00.000-08:00

In June of 1862 George D. Sidman was a 16 year old drummer boy with the 16th Michigan Infantry, Company C. In the midst of an assault at Gaines Mills, Virginia, Sidman volunteered to carry the regimental flag and rallied his comrades in the face of grave danger until he was wounded in the hip. For his distinguished bravery, Sidman was awarded the Medal of Honor.

In recounting sidman's heroics on that day, Captain Ziba Graham stated:

"Well do I remember that December day in 1862, as we stood en masse on Stafford Heights, overlooking Fredericksburg, all ready to cross the Rappahannock, when the first brigade colors for our brigade were brought upon the field. I can see now the eagerness with which this comrade Sidman, a mere boy, with scarce the down of young manhood upon his chin, sprang forward from the ranks and begged of me the permission to carry those colors. It was granted. Colonel Stockton in command, admiring his pluck but deprecating his youth, finally gave his consent. Sidman brought them out of that hell of fire, many holes shot in them, himself wounded. On his breast to-day he wears the medal of honor, a patent of nobility for bravery far above riches and above price."

The Battle of Gettysburg: A surgeon speaks of the hospitality of the citizens of Gettysburg

2008-12-14T08:38:00.001-08:00

Part 4 in a series of posts regarding the behavior of the citizens of Gettysburg before, during, and after the great battle. In this post, we hear from Captain Louis C. Duncan, Medical Corps, U.S. Army. In the September, 1913 issue of "The Military Surgeon", Duncan writes:

"Allow me here to remark that the stories published, charging the people of the town with a want of hospitality toward the soldiers, are basely false. In those days of suffering I gathered bread from house to house, and the last loaf and half loaf was always cheerfully given."

"During the battle of the first day, when shells were shrieking and bursting around the hospitals, even the women were found in the midst of the wounded men as they were carried in from the field; and from that time on all through the terrible days, and afterwards down to the close, in every hospital, at all times, with a devotion that never flagged, or counted any sacrifice too great, our noble women were found, like angels of mercy, binding up wounds and administering food. Ask the many hundreds of wounded men, who filled the warehouses, halls, churches, and so many of the private dwellings, what they think of the hospitality of the people of Gettysburg."

"The Rebels, though disposed to help themselves, were generally civil, and even respectful toward the citizens."

Battle of Petersburg: an officer speaks of the dead

2008-12-06T16:13:00.000-08:00

Theodore Lyman served on the staff of Major General Meade as aide-de-camp with a commission as lieutenant-colonel from Governor Andrew of Massachusetts. Lyman followed Meade until the end of the war from September 2, 1863, to April 20, 1865. During this time, he served as headquarters archivist. He also put his life on the line carrying flags of truce through hostile lines at Cold Harbor and Petersburg. His published letters and notebooks establish him as the preeminent recorder of events and personalities within the headquarters of Army of the Potomac.

Lyman was present at the Battle of Petersburg in June, 1864, wherein the Union forces suffered terrible losses. Lyman's June 25, 1864 diary entry speaks of these losses. In this entry, he writes:

"I recollect sitting on the high bank of the Rapid Ann [sic], at Germanna Ford, and watching the 5th and 6th Corps as they marched up from the pontoon bridges; and I remember thinking how strange it would be if each man who was destined to fall in the campaign had some large badge on! There would have been Generals Sedgwick, Wadsworth, and Rice, and what crowds of subordinate officers and of privates, all marching gaily along, unconscious, happily, of their fate.

Battle of Gettysburg: John Burns strikes again?

2008-12-02T15:49:00.000-08:00

In an earlier post we discussed John Burns, the "citizen soldier" who at the Battle of Gettysburg picked up his musket in defense of his hearth and home. Now, hidden amongst the pages of A.P. Smith's History of the Seventy-sixth Regiment New York Volunteers we find this reference:

"As the regiments were pushing forward, before the fighting commenced, a gray-haired man, sixty years of age, rushed across the fields, gun in hand, and attempted to reach the front; but being unable to overtake the Seventy-sixth New York, he fell in with the Fifty-sixth Pennsylvania, and fought with that Regiment all day. Had all the residents of Gettysburg been equally patriotic and courageous, the result of the first day's fighting might have been more disheartening to the South, and rendered the terrible fighting of the next two days unnecessary."

The Battle of Gettysburg: the loyal townspeople

2008-11-30T17:49:00.000-08:00

Part 3 in a series of posts on the behavior of the townspeople at the Battle of Gettysburg.

In his History of the Seventy-sixth Regiment New York Volunteers, First Lieutenant A.P. Smith (pictured here) speaks very highly of the citizens of Gettysburg. Smith writes:

"The people of Gettysburg, like the bulk of the people of the free States, are heartily loyal. At many of the doors and windows, the ladies, lads and girls stood through that long, hot day, and passed water and food to the Union troops. More... The men of the Seventy-sixth will not soon forget, and I should fail in the performance of my duty, did I not mention the "nameless heroine," who, with a cup in each hand, so busily dealt out water to the thirsty boys, the tears of sympathy streaming down her lovely cheeks, as the wounded soldiers came hobbling by, until, pierced by a rebel ball, she fell dead by the side of her pail ! We regret that we cannot hand down her name to posterity, even in these humble pages. The memory of her deeds and heroic sacrifice shall remain green, though her name is unknown.

Hunger on the march from Gettysburg: "I don't think I should have lived without that bread"

2008-11-27T11:03:00.000-08:00

Everyday citizens often lined the streets as troops marched through their towns. Many of these citizens willingly opened their homes to the soldiers and offered food and water.

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In the November 11, 1883 edition of the New York Times appeared the following entry from a Main soldier's diary. In this diary entry, the fallen soldier describes the kindness and bravery of a Martinsburg, WV woman who offered bread to the hungry despite the dire circumstances. He writes:

"I was taken prisoner July 3 at the Battle of Gettysburg. The smoke of that battle shut in and the grey enveloped us, and when the night came I was a prisoner in the rebel ranks. July 4 they drew us up in line. There were 4,000 of us. At early morning the command was given that the line start for Richmond, Va. -- the heart of rebeldom. We were all tired and thirsty and hungry, many of us were wounded, and it was under the hot summer sky of midsummer. We marched from the field of Gettysburg that day to the borders of the Potomac -- a long and weary march. That night we settled down on the banks of the river. The river ran high, the bridge had been destroyed, and we waited for the arrival of the pontoons and the consequent transportation across. Every one was hungry."

"I was hungrier than I ever was before, though not hungrier than I was subsequently during the war. The word was sent in among us announcing that there was nothing to eat on this side of the river, but that rations would be distributed when we had crossed. We were kept two days on this side of the river before a passage was made. Some of the men, as I well know, didn't get a scrap of food for two days. Most of them, I know, were kept alive through hope, and all of us were promised a plenty of rations across the river. Some of the boys did 'cross the river' before the pontoons came, and numbers died along the shore. The hunger of the men was terrible. I remember well on the afternoon of the second day that a squad of officers with small bags of biscuits came down among us and tossed the biscuits into the air for fun. Hats would go into the air and men would fight each other for the bread like a parcel of wolves. It was one of the most startling sights I remember of the war."

"We got across the Potomac the second day in boats. The day was tremendously hot, and our line of men, as I well know, was very weak, and many of them badly wounded. When the line was drawn up across the river the announcement came to us that there was no supply of food and that no rations could be distributed until the line reached Martinsburg. Martinsburg was 12 miles distant, and so we marched 12 miles further. The people of the town of Martinsburg were loyal people mostly. It was a loyal section and the people had heard of our coming. The fires had been built, and the kitchen ovens had turned out loaves and loaves of bread in anticipation of the march of the Union prisoners through the town."

Just outside the thick cluster of houses the line was drawn together. Guards were laced along both sides of the line, and we were to be prevented from making breaks from the ranks. The line marched through the city. I well remember one house and one woman. I would know her if I should see her to-day anywhere. She lived in a house with a high pair of steps leading down into a front yard with thick trees and a high fence and gate. I saw her come down the steps into the yard. she had her arms full of loaves of bread. She looked the way I always thought Barbara Frietchie must have looked. She beckoned, and a half dozen of us, getting a chance, made a break. We reached the fence and she shoved the bread out over the gate. The rest of the boys couldn't stand it and a dozen more made a break. The guards came along and cracked the muskets. 'Into the ranks or we'll shoot', said they, and then the officer in command shouted, 'Don't shoot them, shoot that damned old woman', and the guard pointed his musket in her face and the crowd fell back. For reply, the woman shoved another loaf of bread out through the gate. 'Eat it boys', said she, 'and may God bless you.' And, Sir, that woman never budged and never winked, and that guard never took down his musket out of shame, and the Union boys gave a cheer for the woman and were driven back into the ranks. I don't think I should have lived without that bread."

Battle of Gettysburg: a defense of the behavior of the townspeople

2008-07-08T13:01:00.000-07:00

Part 2 in a series of posts on the behavior of the townspeople at the Battle of Gettysburg.

Below, we hear from H. M. M. Richards, a member of the 26th regiment of the Pennsylvania volunteers. Richards disputes the assertions that the citizens of Gettysburg behaved in an unpatriotic manner. He writes:

FOR twenty-three years we have heard it asserted that the people of Gettysburg were lacking in patriotism because they did not spring to arms en masse, and assist in repelling the invaders. I am glad to see in your November issue that a correspondent cites young Weakley, in addition to old John Burns, as another who volunteered in the defense of his home during the battle ; but he prefaces his article with the old assertion.

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The purpose of this communication is to state that, upon the first indication of an invasion of Pennsylvania, the Twenty-sixth Regiment, P.V.M., was organized and mustered into the United States service at Harrisburg, under the command of Colonel W. W. Jennings of that city. Company A of this regiment, to which I had the honor of belonging, was composed partly of students from the Lutheran Theological Seminary of Gettysburg, partly of students from the Pennsylvania College at the same place, and partly of citizens of Gettysburg ; one other company came from Hanover, but a few miles distant. We were the first militia troops to oppose the entrance of the Confederates into the State.

On June 23d we left Harrisburg for Gettysburg, to be used, I believe, as riflemen amongst the hills near Cashtown. A railroad accident prevented this plan from being carried into effect, and us from reaching Gettysburg, until the 26th, by which time General Early had passed that point. In accordance with orders received from Major Granville O. Haller, in command of the post, we were marched out on the Chambersburg pike at ten A. M., June 26th, for a distance of about three and a half miles, accompanied by Major Robert Bell, who commanded a troop of horse, also raised, I understand, in Gettysburg. Having halted, our colonel, accompanied by Major Bell, rode to the brow of an elevation distant several hundred yards, and there saw General Early's troops advancing in force, but a few minutes distant. This officer, knowing of our presence but anticipating a still larger force, says in his official report: "I sent General Gordon with his brigade and White's battalion of cavalry on the pike through Cashtown towards Gettysburg, and moved with the rest of the command to the left through Hilltown to Mummasburg. . . . The object of this movement was for Gordon to amuse and skirmish with the enemy while I should get on his flank and rear so as to capture his whole force." We, a few hundred men at the most, were in the toils : what should be done ? We would gladly have marched to join the Army of the Potomac, under Meade, but where were they? Our colonel, left to his own resources, wisely decided to make an effort to return to Harrisburg, and immediately struck off from the pike, the Confederates capturing many of our rear-guard after a sharp skirmish, and sending their cavalry in pursuit of us. These latter overtook us in the afternoon at Witmer's house, about four and a half miles from Gettysburg by the Carlisle road, where after an engagement they were repulsed with some loss. I have narrated enough for my purpose, and will only add that, after many vicissitudes, we finally reached Harrisburg, having marched fifty-four out of sixty consecutive hours, with a loss of some two hundred men.

I can recall no instance in our civil war where the people of a town rose in a body, or in any numbers, to aid their troops in driving out the enemy. Now, in view of the fact that Gettysburg, small town as it then was, furnished its quota of brave men who were then in the army serving their several terms of enlistment; and that from it and its immediate vicinity were raised promptly two, if not three, companies of men in defense of their State; that one of its oldest as well as one of its youngest citizens took up arms for the same purpose and aided in the battle; that hundreds of the unfortunate men of Reynolds's gallant corps were secreted, sheltered, fed, and aided in every way by the men and women of Gettysburg when they were hurled back through its streets, as I know from personal communication with them — I say, in view of these facts, let us give these people the credit that belongs to them instead of casting continued reflections upon their actions. I can the more justly give my opinion in this matter because I was the only member of our company who did not belong to Gettysburg. I went to Harrisburg to be mustered in with the others because my brother, then a student in the Seminary, was amongst them.

READING, PA. Nov. 2, 1886. H. M. M. Richards.

Battle of Gettysburg: General Pickett's final letter before "the charge"

2008-07-03T20:52:00.000-07:00

As referenced in an earlier post in this forum, General Pickett wrote his wife-to-be a letter prior to leading his division on the infamous and deadly charge. The text of Pickett's letter to his sweetheart Sallie, excerpted from the 1913 publication The Heart of Soldier, appears below.

Pickett writes:

Can my prettice do patchwork? If she can, she must piece together these penciled scraps of soiled paper and make out of them, not a log-cabin quilt, but a wren's nest, cement it with love and fill it with blue and golden and speckled eggs of faith and hope, to hatch out greater love yet for us.

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Well, the long, wearying march from Chambersburg, through dust and heat beyond compare, brought us here yesterday (a few miles from Gettysburg). Though my poor men were almost exhausted by the march in the intense heat, I felt that the exigencies demanded my assuring Marse Robert that we had arrived and that, with a few hours' rest, my men would be equal to anything he might require of them. I sent Walter with my message and rode on myself to Little Round Top to see Old Peter, who, I tell you, dearest, was mighty glad to see me. And now, just think of it, though the old war-horse was watching A. P. Hill's attack upon the center and Hood and McLaws of his own corps, who had struck Sickles, he turned and before referring to the fighting or asking about the march inquired after you, my darling! While we were watching the fight Walter came back with Marse Robert's reply to my message, which was in part: "Tell Pickett I'm glad that he has come, that I can always depend upon him and his men, but that I shall not want him this evening."

We have been on the qui vive, sweetheart, since midnight and as early as three o'clock were on the march. About half past three, Gary's pistol signaled the Yankees' attack upon Culp's Hill, and with its echo a wail of regret went up from my very soul that the other two brigades of my old division had been left behind. Oh, God, if only I had them — a surety for the honor of Virginia, for I can depend upon them, little one. They know your Soldier and would follow him into the very jaws of death — and he will need them, right here, too, before he's through.

At early dawn, darkened by the threatening rain, Armistead, Garnett, Kemper and your Soldier held a heart-to-heart powwow.

All three sent regards to you, and Old Lewis pulled a ring from his little finger and making me take it, said, "Give this little token, George, please, to her of the sunset eyes, with my love, and tell her the 'old man' says since he could not be the lucky dog he's mighty glad that you are."

Dear old Lewis — dear old "Lo," as Magruder always called him, being short for Lothario. Well, my Sally, I'll keep the ring for you, and some day I'll take it to John Tyler and have it made into a breastpin and set around with rubies and diamonds and emeralds. You will be the pearl, the other jewel. Dear old Lewis!

Just as we three separated to go our different ways after silently clasping hands, our fears and prayers voiced in the "Good luck, old man," a summons came from Old Peter, and I immediately rode to the top of the ridge where he and Marse Robert were making a reconnaissance of Meade's position. "Great God!" said Old Peter as I came up. "Look, General Lee, at the insurmountable difficulties between our line and that of the Yankees — the steep hills, the tiers of artillery, the fences, the heavy skirmish line — and then we'll have to fight our infantry against their batteries. Look at the ground we'll have to charge over, nearly a mile of that open ground there under the rain of their canister and shrapnel."

"The enemy is there, General Longstreet, and I am going to strike him," said Marse Robert in his firm, quiet, determined voice.

About 8 o'clock I rode with them along our line of prostrate infantry. They had been told to lie down to prevent attracting attention, and though they had been forbidden to cheer they voluntarily arose and lifted in reverential adoration their caps to our beloved commander as we rode slowly along. Oh, the responsibility for the lives of such men as these! Well, my darling, their fate and that of our beloved Southland will be settled ere your glorious brown eyes rest on these scraps of penciled paper — your Soldier's last letter, perhaps.

Our line of battle faces Cemetery Ridge. Our detachments have been thrown forward to support our artillery which stretches over a mile along the crests of Oak Ridge and Seminary Ridge. The men are lying in the rear, my darling, and the hot July sun pours its scorching rays almost vertically down upon them. The suffering and waiting are almost unbearable.

Well, my sweetheart, at one o'clock the awful silence was broken by a cannon-shot and then another, and then more than a hundred guns shook the hills from crest to base, answered by more than another hundred — the whole world a blazing volcano, the whole of heaven a thunderbolt — then darkness and absolute silence — then the grim and gruesome, low-spoken commands — then the forming of the attacking columns. My brave Virginians are to attack in front. Oh, may God in mercy help me as He never helped before!

I have ridden up to report to Old Peter. I shall give him this letter to mail to you and a package to give you if — Oh, my darling, do you feel the love of my heart, the prayer, as I write that fatal word?

Now, I go; but remember always that I love you with all my heart and soul, with every fiber of my being; that now and forever I am yours — yours, my beloved. It is almost three o'clock. My soul reaches out to yours — my prayers. I'll keep up a skookum tumtum for Virginia and for you, my darling.

Your Soldier

Gettysburg, July 3, 1863.

Moments before the charge: General Pickett says goodbye to his wife-to-be

2008-06-29T20:03:00.000-07:00

A few moments after General James "Old Pete" Longstreet reluctantly gave General Pickett his orders to begin the assault on the Union positions on Cemetery Ridge, General Pickett scribbled the following words on an envelope containing a letter to his wife-to-be, LaSalle "Sallie" Corbell:

"If Old Peter's nod means death then goodbye and God bless you, my little one."

He then presented the envelope to General Longstreet and aksed him to mail it. Pickett later reported that Longstreet had tears streaming down his cheeks as he accepted the letter. [Note: complete text of Pickett's letter is presented in this forum.]

As Sallie Corbell Pickett reports in her book Pickett and his men, Longstreet did indeed see to it that General Pickett's letter was mailed, and included with it some words of his own. Longstreet wrote:

GETTYSBURG, PENN., July 3d.

MY DEAR LADY: General Pickett has just intrusted to me the safe conveyance of the inclosed letter. If it should turn out to be his farewell the penciled note on the outside will show you that I could not speak the words which would send so gallant a soldier into the jaws of a useless death. As I watched him, gallant and fearless as any knight of old, riding to certain doom, I said a prayer for his safety and made a vow to the Holy Father that my friendship for him, poor as it is, should be your heritance. We shall meet. I am, dear lady, with great respect, Yours to command,

James Longstreet

Battle of Gettysburg: behavior of the townspeople

2008-06-25T19:13:00.000-07:00

Part 1 in a series of posts on the behavior of the townspeople at the Battle of Gettysburg.

In the July 7, 1863 edition of the New York Times, war correspondent L.L. Crounse wrote a scathing piece regarding the conduct of the people of Gettysburg. Some echoed Crounse's assessment while others disagreed vehemently. Both sides will be represented here in this forum in forthcoming posts. But first, we offer the July 7, 1863 piece by L.L. Crounse. He writes:

....But there is one thing the country cannot have too much of -- sympathy for the fallen -- or cannot give too much -- aid for the wounded, and unstinted praise for the valorous ones, whose steady and unflinching courage have turned the tide of successive disaster into a sweeping and surging victory -- let a nation be truly thankful.

And apropos to this, let me make it a matter of undeniable history that the conduct of the majority of the male citizens of Gettysburg, and the surrounding County of Adams, is such as to stamp them with dishonor and craven-hearted meanness. I do not speak hastily. I write but the unanimous sentiments of the whole army -- an army which now feels that the doors from which they drove a host of robbers, thieves, and cut-throats, were not worthy of being defended. The actions of the people of Gettysburg are so sordidly mean and unpatriotic, as to engender the belief that they were indifferent as to which party was whipped. I will give a few instances.

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In the first place the male citizens mostly ran away, and left the women and children to the mercy of their enemies. On their return, instead of lending a helping hand to our wounded, and opening their houses to our famished officers and soldiers, they have only manifested indecent haste to present their bills to the military authorities for payment of losses inflicted by both armies. One man yesterday presented a Captain with a full bill for eighteen rails which his men had burned in cooking their coffee! On the streets the burden of their talk is their losses -- and speculations as to whether the Government can be compelled to pay for this or that. Almost entirely they are uncourteous -- but this is plainly form lack of intelligence and refinement. Their charges, too, were exorbitant -- hotels, $2.50 per day; milk, 10 and 15 cents per quart; bread, $1 and even $1.50 per loaf; twenty cents for a bandage for a wounded soldier! And these are only a few specimens of the sordid meanness and unpatriotic spirit manifested by these people, from whose doors our noble army had driven a hated enemy. I wish it to be understood that the facts I have stated can be fully substantiated by many officers high in rank, as well as by what I personally saw and experienced. This is Adams County -- a neighbor to Copperhead York, which is still nearer to the stupid and stingy Berks.

General Daniel E. Sickles loses a leg at the Battle of Gettysburg

2008-06-18T19:52:00.000-07:00

Colorful, enigmatic, and controversial Union General Daniel E. Sickles suffered the misfortune of being struck by a cannonball at the Battle of Gettysburg. As a result of this injury, his right leg was amputated, thus ending his combat career. In typical Sickles fashion, he faced his handicap with extraordinary bravery and calm. Whitelaw Ried describes this calm in his Cincinnati Gazette column of July 4. Reid writes:

On a stretcher, borne by a couple of stout privates lay General Sickles -- but yesterday leading his corps with all the enthusiasm and dash for which he has been distinguished -- to-day [sic] with his right leg amputated, More...and lying there, grim and stoical, with his cap pulled over his eyes, his hands calmly folded across his breast, and a cigar in his mouth! For a man who had just lost a leg, and whose life was yet in imminent jeopardy, it was cool indeed. He was being taken to the nearest railroad line<, to be carried to some city where he could get most careful attendance...

Definition of gallantry: the 26th North Carolina at the Battle of Gettysburg

2008-06-14T07:55:00.000-07:00

The 26th North Carolina suffered incredible casualities at the Battle of Gettysburg. On July 1, the first day of battle, the 26th marched 800+ soldiers into battle and lost 588. After regrouping on July 2, the remaining members of the 26th participated in Pickett's Charge on July 3. Again, the 26th suffered heavy losses; an additional 120 men were killed, wounded, or captured, but they fought on and succeeded in planting their flag in the Federal works.

Below, William Cheek (Private, Company E, 26th North Carolina) recounts the death of Colonel Henry King Burgwyn on July, 1863. Cheek states:

It was in the first day's fight at Gettysburg. Our regiment had been formed in line of battle and advanced a considerable distance towards the Federal lines. Our colors were very prominent in the center. Time after time they were shot down by the hot fire of infantry and artillery, and in all they fell fifteen times, sometimes the staff being broken and sometimes a color- bearer being shot down.

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The color-sergeant was killed quite early in the advance and then a private of F company took the flag. He was shot once, but rose and went on, saying, 'Come on, boys !' and as the words left his lips was again shot down, when the flag was taken by Captain McCreary, who was killed a moment or two later. Then Colonel Burgwyn himself took the colors and as we were advancing over the brow of a little hill and he was a few feet in advance of the center of the regiment, he was shot as he partly turned to give an order, a bullet passing through his abdomen. He fell backwards, the regiment continuing its advance, Lieutenant- Colonel John R. Lane taking command and at the same time taking the flag from Colonel Burgwyn. In a moment, it seemed, he was shot, and then Captain W. S. Brewer, of my company, took the flag and carried it through the remainder of the advance, Major John Jones having then assumed command of the regiment. Our regiment was recalled and retired. I was knocked down by the explosion of a shell, which injured my eyesight somewhat, but soon rose and as myself and some comrades went back, I saw Colonel Burgwyn being carried off the field by two soldiers, named Ellington and Staton, who were using one of their blankets for that purpose.

Colonel Burgwyn asked me, whom he recognized as being a member of his command, to help carry him off the field, and I at once gave my aid. We carried him some distance towards the place where our line of battle had been formed, and as we were thus moving him a lieutenant of some South Carolina regiment came up and took hold of the blanket to help us. Colonel Burgwyn did not seem to suffer much, but asked the lieutenant to pour some water on his wound. He was put down upon the ground while the water was poured from canteens upon him. His coat was taken off and I stooped to take his watch, which was held around his neck by a silk cord. As I did so the South Carolina lieutenant seized the watch, broke the cord, put the watch in his pocket and started off with it. I demanded the watch, telling the officer that he should not thus take away the watch of my colonel and that I would kill him as sure as powder would burn, with these words cocking my rifle and taking aim at him.

I made him come back and give up the watch, at the same time telling him he was nothing but a thief, and then ordering him to leave, which he did. In a few moments, Colonel Burgwyn said to me that he would never forget me, and I shall never forget the look he gave me as he spoke these words. We then picked him up again and carried him very close to the place where we had been formed in line of battle. Captain Young, of General Pettigrew's staff, came up and expressed much sympathy with Colonel Burgwyn. The latter said that he was very grateful for the sympathy, and added, 'The Lord's will be done. We have gained the greatest victory in the war. I have no regret at my approaching death. I fell in the defense of my country.'

About that time a shell exploded very near us and took off the entire top of the hat of Captain Brewer, who had joined our party. I left and went to search for one of our litters, in order to place Colonel Burgwyn upon it, so as to carry him more comfortably and conveniently. I found the litter with some difficulty, and as the bearers and myself came up to the spot where Colonel Burgwyn was lying on the ground, we found that he was dying. I sat down and took his hand in my lap. He had very little to say, but I remember that his last words were that he was entirely satisfied with everything, and 'The Lord's will be done.' Thus he died, very quietly and resignedly. I never saw a braver man than he. He was always cool under fire and knew exactly what to do, and his men were devoted to him.

He was the youngest colonel I ever saw in all my experience as a soldier. If he had lived he would have been given high rank, I feel sure.

Words from the condemned -- part 4 of 7: the diary of Henry Wirz

2008-06-11T20:28:00.001-07:00

Selections from the diary Captain Henry Wirz, commandant of the notorious Confederate prison called Andersonville, made in the days leading up to his November, 1865 execution. Originally appeared in the Boston Advertiser; reprinted in the November 15, 1856 edition of the New York Times on page 1, column 1.

October 4, 1865

What a mockery this trial is, they say they are anxious that I should have justice done to me, and then a witness is put on the stand to give testimony they give everything to try to break him down, if they cannot do it they try to assail his private character, when they had their witnesses up, they not alone were allowed to state everything I said, everything I done, but even what they heard others say that I had said so and so, done such and such things, and now when I wish to prove by my witnesses what I also said and done, it is said it is inadmissible, I just as well might be put on the stand myself, as if I had said these things now and not a year ago, when I had no idea that I should be held to account hereafter. But so the world goes and all I can say is oh God give me the strength to bear with my patience and humility what Thou seest fit to put on me. Be thou my judge.

Civil War drummer boys did more than just play the drums

2008-06-08T20:46:00.000-07:00

A mention of the Civil War drummer boy often evokes images of a young lad banging out a rhythm as his regiment marches into battle. But the Civil War drummer boys did much more than just play the drums. In camp they were often used as orderlies for commanding officers. And in battle they helped to care for the wounded. Below, David Auld, drummer for the 43rd Ohio Volunteers, recounts his experiences helping the wounded at the Battle of Corinth. Auld writes:

While watching these battle lines so grand to look upon, but so terrible to think of when you remember the frightful waste of human lives they caused, the call came; "Bring the stretchers, a man hurt." Myself and Demas took the stretchers to look for the man, he was pointed out to us and proved to be Bradford (our older brother) who had been struck by a shell in the left shoulder while lying on the ground in line waiting for the first assault just opening. More...By his side lay James W. Conger, whose clothing was stained by his blood. We were little more than children and the shock to us can be better imagined than described. Demas and myself lifted him to the stretcher just as Col. Kirby Smith and Adjutant Heyl were shot from their horses a few steps away We carried him to the shallow ditch by the railroad a few rods to the rear, where the temporary field hospital was located, as it offered a slight protection to the wounded from the deadly hail of bullets that fell about them coming from all directions except the rear We then placed him in an ambulance still alive and conscious. We bid him goodbye and never saw him again. He only lived a short time and occupies an unknown grave.

Is this Hell? A prisoner describes his first view of the infamous Andersonville prison

2008-06-08T09:42:00.000-07:00

In his description of life in the Confederate prisons, Robert H. Kellogg, Sergeant-Major of the 16th Connecticut Volunteers, recounts his arrival at the infamous Andersonville prison. In his description, he notes that he and his comrades had heard of the horrors of Andersonville, but thought that these stories were circulated in an effort to frighten them. Kellogg writes:

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At nine o'clock we were able to chronicle our arrival at Andersonville, or rather at the station, for there is no village, and the prison is nearly a mile out from this. This place, so notorious in the history of the war, is situated in Sumter Co., about sixty-five miles southwest from Macon, and fifty from the Alabama State line. We were counted as we left the cars, and then marched a short distance from the depot, where we remained all night, surrounded by a line of fires and a heavy guard. Here we heard terrible stories of small-pox being prevalent in the prison, and also about the "dead line" which was death to any one who should step over it, but even then we thought they might be trying to frighten us.

We were aroused from our slumbers the next morning at an early hour, and called to submit to the orders of a bustling officer, dressed in Captain's uniform, who did his work with a great deal of swearing and threatening, dividing us into messes of ninety men each, each mess to be in charge of a sergeant, who should call the roll every morning, draw the rations, and receive an extra one himself for his trouble. Three "nineties" constituted a detachment, which was also in charge of a sergeant. Thus classed, and our names taken, we were marched off to the prison. As we came near it, we found it to consist of twelve or fifteen acres of ground, enclosed by a high stockade of hewed pine logs, closely guarded by numerous sentinels, who stood in elevated boxes overlooking the camp.

As we entered the place a spectacle met our eyes that almost froze our blood with horror, and made our hearts fail within us. Before us were forms that had once been active and erect; — stalwart men, now nothing but mere walking skeletons, covered with filth and vermin. Many of our men, in the heat and intensity of their feeling, exclaimed with earnestness, "Can this be hell ?" "God protect us!" and all thought that He alone could bring them out alive from so terrible a place.

In the center of the whole was a swamp, occupying about three or four acres of the narrowed limits, and a part of this marshy place had been used by the prisoners as a sink, and excrement covered the ground, the scent arising from which was suffocating. The ground allotted to our ninety was near the edge of this plague-spot, and how we were to live through the warm summer weather in the midst of such fearful surroundings, was more than we cared to think of just then.

Along the edge of the swamp, from one side of the camp to the other, ran a little shallow brook, three or four feet wide, and this, with a few small springs, were to furnish our water for the season. Whatever we may have thought of the dangers of the past ; of the uncertainties which encircled us prior to our captivity, when we were exposed to the assaults of the enemy, we now felt that almost infinitely better would it be, to dwell in the midst of alarms, than reign in such a horrible place.

Newspaper coverage: Charles Carleton Coffin "predicts" the Battle of Gettysburg

2008-06-06T07:23:00.000-07:00

As described in an earlier post, war correspondents often played an important military role by providing timely information to battlefield commanders. A fine example of the insightful observations of the war correspondents can be found in the writings of Charles Carleton Coffin, correspondent for the Boston Journal. In his June 29 column (five days before the battle), Carleton writes:

If Lee advances with nearly all his forces into Pennsylvania, there must be a collision of the two armies not many miles west of Gettysburg, probably among the rolling hills near the State line, on the head waters of the Monocacy... I believe that Washington Baltimore will not be harmed. I expect to see Adams, Franklin, Cumberland, and York counties run over somewhat by the rebels, and i also expect to see Lee utterly defeated in his plans. His army may not be annihilated. Hooker may not achieve a great, decisive victory. But I fully believe that Lee will gain nothing by this move.

Congressional Medal of Honor: J. Monoe "Roe" Reisinger recevies his for actions at the Battle of Gettysburg

2008-06-04T10:02:00.000-07:00

1522 Congressional medals of honor have been awarded to soldiers who served in the American Civil War. One of the recipients, Roe Reisinger (aka J. Monroe Reisinger) received his award in 1907. The joint resolution authorizing the award reads as follows:

Resolved by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America, in Congress assembled, That the Secretary of War be, and is hereby authorized and directed to award the Congressional medal of honor to Roe Reisinger, alias J. Monroe Reisinger, late corporal, Company H, One hundred and fiftieth Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry, for specially brave and meritorious conduct in the face of the enemy at the battle of Gettysburg July first, eighteen hundred and sixty-three.

Approved January 25, 1907

Further evidence of Roe Reisinger's valor can be found in Lieutenant-Colonel Henry S. Huidekoper's official report of his Regiment at the battle of Gettysburg [Excerpted from: War of the Rebellion: a compilation of the official records of the Union and Confederate armies, series I, volume XXVII, part 1]. In his report, Huidekoper writes:

I cannot praise too highly the conduct of both officers and men. It was all that could have been desired. Among the many brave, I would especially commend for coolness and courage Major Chamberlain, Adjutant Ashurst, Lieutenants Sears, Chancellor (who lost his leg and has since died), Bell, Kilgore, Color-bearer [John] Pieffer, Sergeant [Duffy B.] Torbett, and Corporal’ [Roe] Reisinger.

[Note: Huidekoper's full report follows below.]

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Report of Lieut. Got. Henry S. Huidekoper, One hundred and fiftieth Pennsylvania Infantry.

SIR: Report of the action of the One hundred and fiftieth Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers at Gettysburg, Pa., on July 1:

On the morning of July 1, the One hundred and fiftieth Regiment Pennsylvania Volunteers left camp near Emmitsburg, and about noon arrived on the battle-field at Gettysburg. Rapidly throwing off their knapsacks, the regiment moved up on the ground between the Iron Brigade and the other regiments of Colonel Stone’s brigade, which reached to the Chambersburg road. After lying under shelling for an hour, the command of the regiment fell to me, Colonel Wister taking command of the brigade. Almost immediately, by order of Colonel Wister, a change of front forward on first company was made with regularity and promptness, and in that new position, protected by a fence, our men awaited the charge of a rebel regiment which was attempting to flank the One hundred and forty-third and One hundred and forty-ninth Regiments, which had gallantly repulsed an attack in their front. At the distance of 50 yards, a volley was poured into the rebels, which staggered them so completely that a second one was fired before an attempt was made to advance or retreat. At this juncture, Colonel Wister ordered the regiment to charge, and led it in person. The rebels were utterly routed, and the colors of the One hundred and forty-ninth Pennsylvania Volunteers, which had been lost, were recaptured and restored to that regiment.

The One hundred and fiftieth then fell back to the position from which it had advanced. The firing of the enemy, who was approaching in front of the corps, now became fearful, and the regiment changed front to rear to meet this new attack. The movement was made in perfect order, and then bravely did the men move to the front, following the color-sergeant, who rushed to place his standard on the small rise of ground in advance. Four companies again changed front to resist the flank attack, while the remainder of the regiment fought one entire brigade, which was prevented from advancing by a high fence. The severe loss attending fighting at such odds soon compelled our men to give way, but a battery coming up on our left, another stand was necessary, and again was the regiment moved forward until the battery had wheeled around and moved to the rear. At this moment a wound compelled me to relinquish the command to Captain Widdis, Major Chamberlain having been severely wounded some time before.

The regiment numbered, including 17 officers, before the battle nearly 400 at roll-call; in the evening but 2 officers, 1 of those wounded, and 84 men were present. As far as I can learn, the number killed was about 60; the rest were wounded or captured.

I am, your obedient servant,

H. S. HUIDEKOPER,

Lieut. Col. One hundred and fiftieth Pennsylvania Vols.

Newspaper coverage of the Civial War: journalists report on the Battle of Gettysburgh

2008-06-03T20:14:00.000-07:00

During the American Civil War, Whitelaw Reid was a war correspondent for the Cincinnati Gazette. In his coverage of the Battle of Gettysburg, he relates the following story wherein he encounters fellow journalist L.L. Crounse while enroute to Taneytown, Maryland to meet the newly installed commander of the Army of the Potomac, General George Meade. Reid writes:

In a plain little wall-tent, just like the rest, pen in hand, seated on a camp-stool and bending over a map, is the new " General Commanding" for the army of the Potomac. More... Tall, slender, not ungainly, but certainly not handsome or graceful, thin-faced, with grizzled beard and moustache, a broad and high but retreating forehead, from each corner of which the slightly- ciirling hair recedes, as if giving premonition of baldness — apparently between forty-five and fifty years of age — altogether a man who impresses you rather as a thoughtful student than as a dashing soldier — so General Meade looks in his tent.

"I tell you, I think a great deal of that fine fellow Meade," I chanced to hear the President say, a few days after Chancellorsville. Here was the result of that good opinion. There is every reason to hope that the events of the next few days will justify it.

A horseman gallops up and hastily dismounts. It is a familiar face — L. L. Crounse, the well- known chief correspondent of the New York Times, with the army of the Potomac. As we exchange hurried salutations, he tells us that he has just returned from a little post-village in Southern Pennsylvania, ten or fifteen miles away ; that a fight, of what magnitude he cannot say, is now going on near Gettysburg, between the First corps and some unknown force of the enemy ; that Major-General Reynolds is already killed, and that there are rumors of more bad news.

John Burns: citizen soldier at the Battle of Gettysburg

2008-06-01T19:09:00.000-07:00

One of the more remarkable stories to come out of the first day of Battle at Gettysburg is the tale of John Burns, a 70 year old who heard the firing, grabbed his rifle, and asked permission to join the fight.

Lieutenant-Colonel Thomas Chamberlin of the 150th Regiment, Pennsylvania Volunteers, was present as Burns approached the Union soldiers. He writes:

An incident which occurred about mid-day did much to create good feeling and stimulate the courage of the regiment. While watching and waiting, the attention of some of the men was called to an individual of rather bony frame and more than average stature who approached from the direction of the town, moving with a deliberate step, carrying in his right hand a rifle at a "trail". At any time his figure would have been noticeable, but it was doubly so at that moment, both on account of his age, which evidently neared threescore-and-ten, and the peculiarity of his dress. The latter consisted of dark trousers and waistcoat, a blue "swallow-tail" coat with brass buttons, and a high black silk hat, from which most of the original sheen had long departed, of a shape to be found only in the fashion-plates of a remote past. Presumably on account of the heat, no neckwear of any kind relieved the bluish tint of his clean-shaven face and chin. As his course brought him opposite the rear of the left battalion, he first met Major Chamberlin and asked, "Can I fight with your regiment?" The major answered affirmatively, but, seeing Colonel Wister approaching, added, "Here is our colonel; speak to him".

"Well, old man, what do you want?" demanded Colonel Wister.

"I want a chance to fight with your regiment."

"You do? Can you shoot?"

"Oh, yes;" and a smile crept over the old man's face which seemed to say, "If you knew that you had before you a soldier of the war of 1812, who fought with Scott at Lundy's Lane, you would not ask such a question".

"I see you have a gun, but where is your ammunition?"

For answer, he slapped his disengaged hand on his trousers pockets, which were bulging out with cartridges.

"Certainly you can fight with us", said the colonel, "and I wish there were many more like you".

He then advised him to go into the woods on the left, to the line of the Iron Brigade, where he would be more sheltered from sun and bullets, with an equal chance of doing good execution. With apparent reluctance, as if he preferred the open field, he moved towards the woods, and history has written the name of John Burns - for it was he - in the roll of the nation's heroes, and his deeds of that day are inseparably linked with the glories of Gettysburg!

Civil War color bearer: the toughest job you'll ever love, but it will probably get you killed

2008-05-30T08:38:00.000-07:00

Carrying a regiment's colors into battle was considered an honor and a privilege. It was also a very dangerous job and would likely get a man maimed or killed. Thus, it required a great deal of courage.

Below is a portion of text excerpted from: My Story of the War: a Woman's Narrative of Four Years Personal Experience as Nurse in the Union Army... It is an excellent example of the grim outlook for the regimental color bearer.

"The fatality that attended the color-bearers, officers, and men of this regiment at the battle of Gettysburg was very great. It had in its ranks on the morning of this memorable fight four hundred and ninety-six officers and men. It lost in killed and wounded three hundred and sixteen. The 24th was a part of the Iron Brigade, which was the first infantry engaged at Gettysburg. It carried into this battle only a state flag, which was presented to the regiment by the citizens of Detroit. This was carried by Color-Bearer Abel G. Peck, a tall, straight, handsome man, and as brave a soldier as ever gave up his life for his country. More...He was instantly killed almost at the beginning of the famous charge of the Iron Brigade. The flag was then seized by Private Thomas B. Ballou, who was desperately wounded immediately after, and died a few weeks later. The flag was then carried by Private August Ernst, who was instantly killed. Corporal Andrew Wagner then took the colors and carried them until shot through the breast, from the effects of which he died about a year after the close of the war.

When Corporal Wagner fell, Colonel Henry A. Morrill took the flag, and gallantly attempted to rally the few survivors of the regiment. But Private William Kelly insisted on carrying it, saying to Colonel Morrill, " You shall not carry the flag while I am alive." The gallant fellow held it aloft and almost instantly fell, shot through the heart. Private L. Spaulding then took the flag from the hands of Kelly, and carried it until he was himself badly wounded. Colonel Morrill again seized the flag, and was soon after shot in the head and carried from the field.

After the fall of Colonel Morrill, the flag was carried by a soldier whose name has never been ascertained. He was seen by Captain Edwards — who was now in command of the regiment — lying upon the ground badly wounded, grasping the flag in his hands. Captain Edwards took the flag from him and carried it himself until the few men left of the regiment fell back and reached Culp's Hill. Captain Edwards is the only man who is known to have carried the flag that day, who was not killed or wounded.

This grand old flag is no longer in existence. It was so riddled and torn with shot and shell that scarcely a square foot of it remained intact. The staff was shot and broken in pieces also. The men had great affection for the old flag, and after the battle of Gettysburg they agreed to cut it up and distribute the pieces to the survivors. This was done, and to-day in many a Michigan household a small piece of faded blue silk is cherished as one of the sacred mementoes of the war.

The attempted poisoning of Henry Wirz by his wife: fact or fiction?

2008-05-29T19:35:00.000-07:00

One of the more peculiar stories to come out of the trial and execution of Henry Wirz is the one in which Wirz's wife tries to assist him in committing suicide by providing him with strychnine. Following Wirz's execution, the story appeared in the New York Times on November 11, 1865. It was subsequently deemed a total fabrication by Wirz's attorney and wife.

[Excerpted from "History of the United States Secret Service" by General L.C. Baker]

...I shall never forget the first meeting between Wirz and his wife. She exhibited the most stoical indifference, and simply said, "How are you, Wirz?" Instead of embracing him, as would naturally have been expected under the circumstances, she sat down in a chair in front of him, and looked at the doomed man a moment, and then gave utterance to the most vindictive words against the Government, in which he joined. More...Instead of talking of their family affairs, the unfortunate position in which Wirz was placed, and the probability of his execution, she took occasion to denounce Colonel Chipman, Judge-Advocate of the commission before whom Wirz was being tried, and the witnesses as perjurers, and in the most threatening manner defied the Government to carry the findings of the commission into execution. This interview finally closed in their making an appointment for another.

The conduct of Wirz and his wife was to my mind very suspicious. I did not conceive that such indifference was natural under the circumstances, and determined to watch their next interview very closely. It came in due time, and was very similar to the first one. Mrs. Wirz sat in front of her husband, and I took a position where I could casually observe the movements of each. Mrs. Wirz took from her hand a glove, inside of which I noticed she had a small package ; what it was I could not tell. The interview was short, as both were conscious that I was observing every movement. At the third interview the same thing was repeated. As we all rose to go to the door leading to the hall, Wirz walking first, Mrs. Wirz next, and myself at the rear, she for the first time approached him, when they embraced and put their lips up to kiss each other. I watched the motion, and perceived that she was conveying something from her mouth to his. I sprang forward in an instant, caught him by the throat, and threw him on the floor. He raised a pill from his throat, brought it within his teeth, crushed it and spit out. I picked it up and found it to be a small round piece of strychnine inclosed in a piece of oiled silk. Upon this discovery I informed Mrs. Wirz that she could have no more interviews with her husband. She was compelled, therefore, to leave him to his fate. My next step was to inform the Assistant Secretary of War and Judge Holt of the singular occurrence. I also showed to the former the strychnine pill. On the day of the prisoner's execution, I related the poison scene to a reporter of a New York paper. It was given to the public by him. The copperhead press imme diately opened their artillery of abuse, making me the target of bitterest attack. The whole statement was pronounced a fabrication, while it was verified entirely by Louis Skade, the counsel of Wirz, and by Mrs. Wirz.

The Battle of Gettysburg: we could have whipped you

2008-05-29T12:30:00.000-07:00

Lorenzo L. Crounse, chief correspondent for the New York Times during part of the Civil War, was present at the Battle of Gettysburg. His July 8 column, "Further Details of the Great Battles of Friday", contains the following interesting conversation between a captured Confederate colonel and a Federal captain:

A peculiar fact concerning our position is contained in the expression of surprise which the rebel officers uttered when they crossed our lines as prisoners of war. One of the Colonels said, as he looked at our thin line, "Where are the men who fought us"? "Here", said a Captain. "My God!" exclaimed the Colonel, "if only we had another line we could have whipped you;" and then, still gazing about him in astonishment, he continued, with great emphasis, "By God, we could have whipped you as it was!" This is a positive fact, and illustrates how the noble Army of the Potomac can yet fight after all the imputations of demoralization and inefficiency which have been heaped upon it.

Pickett's Charge: a thing of beauty???

2008-05-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

Below, a member of the 107th New York Volunteers (Lieutenant Colonel William F. Fox) describes what he saw as General Pickett's division emerged from the tree line and began their infamous charge at the Battle of Gettysburg. In his description, he uses the word "beautiful" to describe the charge -- how ironic that something that resulted in so much loss of life could at the same time be "beautiful".

[Excerpted from Final Report on the Battlefield of Gettysburg]

"It was a beautiful sight to see these long lines of men with bayonets fixed and glistening. From right to left a wave-like motion ran along the moving columns as they tramped down the sloping hillside into the valley. But let us turn to the sterner aspects of this scene. More... All our batteries now open on the advancing Confederates; their ranks are ploughed with shot and shell; great breaches are made in their columns, but they close up touching toward the centre. We are getting even with them for the reception they gave us at Fredericksburg.

The path of this charge is strewn with the fallen, the centre of contact is piled with Rebel dead, and now what remains of the 14,000 men who started out, either yields or runs back towards the ridge whence they came. The struggle has been terrible; the victory is complete.

The position of the Fifty-seventh was so far to the left that the charging column did not come up to it, except those who dropped their guns and came in as prisoners of war. Our view of the whole charge and repulse was superb. We felt sure that such an attack could not succeed, though it was not as light a matter as our confidence made it. All manner of fun and laughter and ridiculous speeches went the rounds. " Come on, Johnnie, we long to embrace you," " They must be hungry for lead," " As they drop on our bayonets we will help them to the rear," " See them skedaddle," — indeed anything that could be thought of to heighten the occasion was contributed.

Our losses in this battle were: 4 men killed, 2 officers and 26 men wounded, and 2 men missing, making a total of 34, Captain Mott and Lieutenant Hall were among the wounded."

Captain Henry Wirz: ruthless villain of Andersonville, or innocent pawn? (part 5 of 5)

2008-05-25T19:45:00.000-07:00

[Part 5 of 5 in a series of documents that suggest Wirz's innocence]

Early on in the Civil War, Union and Confederate officials set up a system for the exchange of prisoners of war. This system eventually broke down. Some have suggested this breakdown resulted in the deplorable conditions at Andersonville, and ultimately, the prosecution and execution of Henry Wirz.

Excerpted below, from the Official Records, is a communication from U.S. Grant regarding his opposition to the exchange of prisoners.

City Point, VA., August 18, 1864. Major-General BUTLER, Commanding, &c.:

I am satisfied that the object of your interview had the proper sauc- tion and therefore meets with my entire approval. I have seen from Southern papers that a system of retaliation is going on in the South which they keep from us and which we should stop in some way. On the subject of exchange, however, I differ from General Hitchcock. It is hard on our men held in Southern prisons not to exchange them, but it is humanity to those left in the ranks to fight our battles. Every man we hold, when released on parole or otherwise, becomes an active soldier against us at once either directly or indirectly. If we com- mence a system of exchange which liberates all prisoners taken, we will have to fight on until the whole South is exterminated. If we hold those caught they amount to no more than dead men. At this particular time to release all rebel prisoners North would iusure Sherman’s defeat and would compromise our safety here.

U.S. GRANT,
Lieutenant- General.

March towards Gettysburg: the importance of the fife and drum corps

2008-05-09T06:48:00.000-07:00

A soldier comments on the importance of the fife and drum corps while on march towards Gettysburg. Excerpted from: Leaves from the Battlefield of Gettysburg: a Series of Letters From a Field Hospital.

Letter from a young Officer of the 118th Reg. P. V. written on the Battle-field.

AT A HALT NEAR GETTYSBURG.
July 2, 1863. Thursday noon.

"We started at 5 1/2 o'clock P. M., to make a march of some fifteen miles. The men being chafed and footsore, the march was painfully made. The Colonel kept the drums and fifes beating and playing continually, which was the only thing that kept the men up. It is singular how inspiring music is to a used-up soldier."

Read the full entry below

More... I wrote you last from bivouac near Myersville, Md., on the 30th, which letter as yet I have been unable to mail. At 10 A. M. on the 1st of July we left bivouac near Myersville and marched towards the Pennsylvania line. As soon as we had passed the line, the colors were unfurled and the drums were beaten, and three times three cheers were given for the Keystone State. The men seemed imbued with new spirits. In fact everybody seemed in a good humor; all were determined to give the rebels a rough shake for their impudence. We took the road leading toward Hanover. At every assemblage of houses we passed by on the road, the drums were beaten, and the regular step was kept. When within half a mile of Hanover, we halted and stacked arms, and preparations were made to remain all night. We had just got comfortably fixed, when orders were received to push forward to Gettysburg. This order was anything but agreeable to us; all hands were completely tired out by continued marching. We started at 5 1/2 o'clock P. M., to make a march of some fifteen miles. The men being chafed and footsore, the march was painfully made. The Colonel kept the drums and fifes beating and playing continually, which was the only thing that kept the men up. It is singular how inspiring music is to a used-up soldier. We passed through the towns of Cherrysburg and Brushtown, and halted at 12 1/2 o'clock P. M., about five miles from Gettysburg, and turned in, with orders to move at five o'clock in the morning. At 4 1/2 o'clock this morning, we were routed up and marched to within three miles of Gettysburg. We then struck a road leading to the Baltimore turnpike. We could hear heavy firing toward Gettysburg. We were formed several times in line of battle on the right of the road, and then moved to the left and formed in line of battle, and ordered to rest, from which rest I write you. We are at present on the second line of battle, the First and Twelfth Corps being in the first. The rebels are in possession of Gettysburg at present, and our pickets are on the outskirts.

War is Hell: memories of a Civil War drummer boy

2008-05-01T06:01:00.000-07:00

William Tecumseh Sherman once said, "war is hell". Below, a Civil War drummer boy shares his experiences regarding war and hell.

[Excerpted from: Drum Taps in Dixie: Memories of a Civil War Drummer Boy, 1861 - 1865.]

To fully appreciate Gen. Sherman's definition of war, one needs to be at a field hospital on the outskirts of some great battlefield where the ghastly surroundings of death and suffering are more terrible than on the battlefield itself.

The day after our retreat from Bull Run our regiment was ordered to proceed by train to Fairfax station, where all the wounded were sent for transportation to Washington. More...We rode on the top of freight cars, every man with a loaded musket ready to shoot any of Mosby's men who might try to wreck the train. The cars were filled with cots, stretchers, blankets and other supplies for the wounded.

The night was a dark and rainy one, and as we jumped off the cars at the station, which was located in some dense woods, we saw the horrors of war spread out on every side. Acres of ground were covered with bleeding, mangled soldiers, who but a short time before had stood amid the storm of shot and shell, now just as bravely enduring suffering.

The surgeons and their assistants at the amputating tables with coats off and shirt sleeves rolled up, their hands red with blood, worked swiftly to save life, for it is the "first aid" to the wounded that counts. The spectacular effect was heightened by piles of blazing pitch pine knots, torches and lanterns suspended from the limbs of trees, which imparted a strange wierdness to the scene. All night long the interminable trains of ambulances and wagons from the battlefield came bringing their loads of sufferers with the smoke of battle upon them. Many were so exhausted that it was necessary to give them stimulants before they could be lifted from the wagons.

The United States Sanitary and Christian commissions were represented by a large number of workers. Women of culture and refinement, from some of the best families in the land, were cutting off the blood-drenched clothing, bathing and bandaging shattered limbs, giving nourishment to the fainting, speaking comforting words and listening to the messages of the dying; and all this going on within the sound of rattling musketry and booming cannon, for it was the night of the fight at Chantilly, when Gen. Jackson attempted to flank Pope's army and reached a point not far from Fairfax court house.

Our regiment stood in line in a wheat field, just outside of the woods, a good part of the night with the rain falling in torrents and heaven's artillery vicing with that of the forces engaged. A drummer boy of our company who had lost his drum at Manassas, was carrying a musket that night and stood in the ranks with his father who was a sergeant in the same command. I need hardly say that the events of that night are graven as with an iron pen on his memory.

The authorities at Washington were fearful of risking any more fighting so near the capital and Gen. Pope was ordered to withdraw his army within the defenses of Washington and the wounded were hurried away from Fairfax station in every kind of conveyance, even hacks and carriages being sent out from Washington. Our regiment remained until the last wounded man had been sent forward and then set fire to the immense quantities of supplies stored there, to prevent their falling into the hands of the enemy. Our casualties in the second Bull Run affair were comparatively small, we being engaged only in the first encounter at Manassas Junction, which was merely preliminary to the great battle. Gen. Stuart's cavalry did, however, manage to take as prisoners about two hundred of the regiment.

Captain Henry Wirz: ruthless villain of Andersonville, or innocent pawn? (part 4 of 5)

2008-04-23T06:26:00.000-07:00

[Part 4 of 5 in a series of documents that suggest Wirz's innocence]

Excerpted from Major General Butler's report to the "Committee on the Conduct of the War" is the following passage regarding the exchange of prisoners.

"I have felt it my duty to give an account with this particular carefulness of my participation in the business of exchanges of prisoners, the orders under which I acted, and the negotiations attempted, that was done, so that all may become a matter of history. The great importance of the questions; the fearful responsibility for the many thousands of lives which, by the refusal of exchange, were sacrificed by the most cruel forms of death---from cold, starvation, and pestilence of the prison pens of Raleigh and Andersonville---being more than all the British soldiers killed in the wars of Napoleon; the anxiety of fathers, brothers, sisters, mothers, wives; to know the exigency which caused this terrible and, perhaps, as it may have seemed to them, useless and unnecessary destruction of those dear to them by horrible deaths-each and all have compelled me to this exposition, so that it may be seen that those lives were spent as a part of the system of attack upon the rebellion, devised by the wisdom of the general in chief of the armies, ;to destroy it by depletion, depending upon our superior numbers to win the victory at last. The loyal mourners will doubtless derive solace from this fact, and appreciate all the more highly the genius which conceived the plan ind the success won at so great a cost."

The last words of Henry Wirz: a letter to his lawyer, Louis Scahde

2008-01-26T20:17:00.000-08:00

Note: This passage originally appeared in Page, J.M. (1908). The True Story of Andersonville Prison: a Defense of Major Henry Wirz. New York, Neale Publishing Company.

On the morning of November 10, 1865, a few hours before he mounted the scaffold, Major Wirz penned the following pathetic letter to his faithful friend and counsel:

Old Capitol Prison

Washington, D.C., november 10, 1865

Dear Mr. Louis Schade,

It is the last time I address myself to you. What I have said often and often I repeat -- accept my thanks, my sincere, heartful thanks, for all you have done for me. May God reward you. I cannot.

I still have something more to ask of you, and I am confident you will not refuse to receive my dying request. Please help my poor family, my dear wife and children. War, cruelest, has swept everything from me, and to-day my wife and children are beggars!

My life is demanded as an atonement. I am willing to give it, and I hope that after a while i will be judged differently from what I am now. If any one thought to come to the relief of my family, it is the people of the South, for whose sake i have sacrificed all. I know you will excuse me for troubling you again.

Farewell, dear sir. May God bless you.

Yours Thankfully,
H. Wirz

Words from the condemned -- part 5 of 7: the diary of Henry Wirz

2008-01-24T20:11:00.000-08:00

Part 5 of 7: Henry Wirz diary entry of October 5, 1865. [See all entries in this series]

October 5, 1865

When I left the court-room to-day I heard a lady remark, I wish I could shoot out his eyes, meaning me. Foolish woman, the time will soon come, when my earthly eyes are shut up, are you in such a hurry. But it is very natural that people do think and pass such remarks. for weeks and weeks they have heard men testify to cruelties done by me, and now a very slim chance have I to contradict these statements. It seems to me as if Gen. Wallace had a personal spite against me or my counsel, or he would not act the way he does. If he has one against me, I pity him that he does not have more magnanimity of soul, than to crush me now in such an unheard of arbitrary way, if he has a spite against my counsel, it is a cowardly act to do as he does, for in the end I am the sufferer and not my counsel.

Captain Henry Wirz: ruthless villain of Andersonville, or innocent pawn? (part 3 of 5)

2008-01-10T19:33:00.000-08:00

[Part 3 of 5 in a series of documents that suggest Wirz's innocence]

The following letter is from the Rev. Father F. E. Boyle, of Washington:

WASHINGTON, D. C., October 10, 1880

Hon. JEFFERSON DAVIS.

"DEAR SIR : . . . I know that, on the evening before the day of the execution of Major Wirz, a man visited me, on the part of a Cabinet officer, to inform me that Major Wirz would be pardoned if he would implicate Jefferson Davis in the cruelties of Andersonville. No names were given by this messenger, and, upon my refusal to take any action in the matter, he went to Mr. Louis Schade, counsel for Major Wirz, with the same purpose and with a like result.

When I visited Major Wirz the next morning, he told me that the same proposal had been made to him, and had been rejected with scorn. The Major was very indignant, and said that, while he was innocent of the cruel charges for which he was about to suffer death, he would not purchase his liberty by perjury and a crime, such as was made the condition of his freedom. I attended the Major to the scaffold, and he died in the peace of God, and praying for his enemies. I know he was indeed innocent of all the cruel charges on which his life was sworn away, and I was edified by the Christian spirit in which he submitted to his persecuters."

Yours very truly,

F. E. BOYLE.

Captain Henry Wirz: ruthless villain of Andersonville, or innocent pawn? (part 2 of 5)

2008-01-10T19:27:00.000-08:00

[Part 2 of 5 in a series of documents that suggest Wirz's innocence]

The following is an extract from a letter of Captain C. B. Winder to Mrs. Jefferson Davis, dated Eastern Shore of Virginia, January 9, 1867:

"The door of the room which I occupied while in confinement at the Old Capitol Prison, Washington, was immediately opposite Captain Wirz's door — both of which were occasionally open. About two days before Captain Wirz's execution, I saw three or four men pass into his room, and, upon their coming out, Captain Wirz told me that they had given him assurances that his life would be spared and his liberty given to him if he (Wirz) could give any testimony that would reflect upon Mr. Davis or implicate him directly or indirectly with the condition and treatment of prisoners of war, as charged by the United States authorities; that he indignantly spurned these propositions, and assured them that, never having been acquainted with Mr. Davis, either officially, personally, or socially, it was utterly impossible that he should know anything against him, and that the offer of his life, dear as the boon might be, could not purchase him to treason and treachery to the South and his friend."

Captain Henry Wirz: ruthless villain of Andersonville, or innocent pawn? (part 1 of 5)

2008-01-09T19:07:00.000-08:00

[Part 1 of 5 in a series of documents that suggest Wirz's innocence]

On April 4,1867, Mr. Louis Schade, of Washington, and the attorney for Wirz on the trial, in compliance with the request of Wirz so to do, as soon as the times should be propitious, published a vindication of his character. The following is an extract from this publication:

"On the night previous to the execution of the prisoner, some parties came to the confessor of Wirz (Rev. Father Boyle) and also to me. One of them informed me that a high Cabinet officer wished to assure Wirz that, if he would implicate Jefferson Davis with the atrocities committed at Andersonville, his sentence should be commuted. He (the messenger, whoever he was) requested me to inform Wirz of this. In presence of Father Boyle, I told him next morning what had happened. The Captain simply and quietly replied : 'Mr. Schade, you know that I have always told you that I do not know anything about Jefferson Davis. He had no connection with me as to what was done at Andersonville. If I knew anything of him, I would not become a traitor against him or anybody else to save my life.' Thus ended the attempt to suborn Captain Wirz against Jefferson Davis."

Words from the condemned -- part 3 of 7: the diary of Henry Wirz

2008-01-08T09:18:00.000-08:00

Part 3 of 7:Henry Wirz diary entry of October 3, 1865. [See all entries in this series]

Oct. 3, 1865

What a mockery is this trial. I feel at times as if I ought to speak out loud and tell them, why do you worry yourself and me too; why not end the farce at once, take me and hang me, be done with it. A few days I asked to arrange my defence; it was refused on the ground that I had ample time. Ample time indeed. May the day be far distant for Gen. Wallace when he may plead with grim death for a day, and receive answer No! I just received a note from my wife, saying she has tried in every way to see me, but impossible. She says she is going to her brother in Kentucky, and hopes to be able to do more for me there than in remaining here. Poor deluded woman, what do you expect to accomplish, what can you do for me, but pray? Oh, what a consolation it is to a person in a situation like mine, that there is in the wide, wide world at least one being that will pray for me. Yes, pray; but pray for thyself; the road thou hast to travel is a hard one. when thou findest out that when you pressed my hand two weeks ago, when thy lips touched mine it was in all probability the last time, then does thou need all the comfort prayer can give. May Ggod bless you and take care of the dear, dear children. I must end -- everything swims before my eyes. God, oh God, have mercy on me.

Words from the condemned -- part 2 of 7: the diary of Henry Wirz

2008-01-07T07:52:00.000-08:00

Part 2 of 7: Henry Wirz diary entry of October 2, 1865. [See all entries in this series]

Oct. 2, 1865

Again a day has passed, I am tired and worn out, whichever way I turn my eyes every thing looks gloomy and dark, can it be possible that knowing what I do know, that I shall fall a victim. But why do I doubt, what right have i to grumble as if it was a thing unheard of in history that men suffered the death of a felon, as innocent of the crimes alleged as I am, and if I dare to make a comparison between our Saviour and myself, did not he also suffer death. True, he died as an atonement for a sinful world, true he died willingly, he had a holy mission to fulfil, but I? Why shall I die? I can only say because it's God's will. Oh God, our Heavenly Father, give me the grace, give me the power to bear the cross which thou seest fit to lay on me. Have I not sinned against Thee, and neglected thy holy commandments. If I suffer now innocently, can I dare say, I never offended Thee, therefore be calm, my poor heart. give thyself in His hands and say Abba, Father!

Daniel Skelly: a boy's experiences during the battle of Gettysburg

2008-01-06T11:44:00.000-08:00

[Note: Daniel Skelly was a Gettysburg teenager in 1863, employed as a clerk at a Gettysburg dry goods company. His experiences during the three days of the Battle of Gettysburg were exciting and unique. After retirement, Skelly wrote about his experiences as a young boy in a town filled with the sights and sounds of a war which, up to this point, had been very far away. He saw and met several famous people during the three days of battle, spoke with Confederate soldiers camped on the streets outside of his home, and afterward helped aid the wounded that filled the homes and churches in town. Published in 1932, A Boy's Experiences During The Battle of Gettysburg, is one of the more outstanding civilian accounts of the battle, from the perspective of an old gentleman who witnessed the true nature of war with its devastation and heartache, for the first time in his home town.]

"The month of June, 1863, was an exciting one for the people of Gettysburg and vicinity. Rumors of the invasion of Pennsylvania by the Confederate army were rife and toward the latter part of the month there was the daily sight of people from along the border of Maryland passing through the town with horses and cattle, to places of safety.More... Most of the merchants of the town shipped their goods to Philadelphia for safety, as was their habit all through the war upon rumors of the Confederates crossing the Potomac. The merchandising firm in whose employ I had been for a number of years (Fahnestock Brothers) kept a car chartered and whenever these rumors reached us, day or night, we packed up the goods and sent it to Philadelphia and went out of business for the time being, until matters became settled again along the border, when the stock was brought back and we resumed our routine.

"I was absent from Gettysburg… from the beginning of June until the latter part of the month. I reached Hanover, Pa., on the afternoon of (June 26), expecting to get a train for home from there the same evening. But about 5 o'clock the last train out of Gettysburg, until after the battle, reached Hanover filled with people getting away from the Confederates. They included revenue officers and clerks, in fact all persons who had any office under the government.

"Early's Division had occupied Gettysburg that day and made demands upon the town which were not complied with. Consequently I was obliged to remain in Hanover all night. On the morning of June 27 White's Confederate cavalry passed through Hanover and remained long enough to get some packages from the express office, one of which was for my firm and which I saw them open. It contained gloves. They appropriated them. They also captured a jeweler with his stock loaded in a wagon, who was a little late in getting started out of town, and appropriated his stock also. On the afternoon of this day, Thaddeus Slentz, Edward Craver and myself secured a hand-car and started for Gettysburg on the Gettysburg and Hanover railroad, but when we reached New Oxford we found the bridge over the Conewago Creek had been burned. So we were obliged to abandon the car and walk the remaining ten miles to Gettysburg, reaching there about 5 P.M.

"The 28th and 29th were exciting days in Gettysburg for we knew the Confederate army, or a part of it at least, was within a few miles of our town and at night we could see from the house-tops the campfires in the mountains eight miles west of us. We expected it to march into our town at any moment and we had no information as to the whereabouts of the Army of the Potomac. We little dreamed of the momentous events which were soon to happen right in our midst.

"On June 30th two brigades of General Buford's division of cavalry reached our town, coming in from the south and I well remember how secure this made us feel. We thought surely now we were safe and the Confederate army would never reach Gettysburg. On the afternoon of this day about 4 o'clock, I stood on the Cobean corner on Chambersburg Street… while General Buford sat on his horse in the street in front of me, entirely alone, facing to the west in profound thought. I remember this incident very distinctly for it made a deep impression on (me). It was the only time I ever saw the general and his calm demeanor and soldierly appearance, as well as the fact that his uniform was different from any general's I had ever seen. He wore a sort of hunting coat of blouse effect. On the night of the 30th, the people of Gettysburg settled down in their homes with a sense of security they had not enjoyed for days and with little thought of what the morrow had in store for them.

"On the morning of July 1, about 8 o'clock, in company of my old friend Samuel W. Anderson… I walked out the Mummasburg Road north of the town just a short distance beyond the college building, where lay encamped in the fields, Col. Deven's Brigade of Buford's Division… which with Gamble's Brigade of the same division had come into our town on the previous day. While we stood at Col. Deven's tent an order was handed him… directing him to move his brigade west of the town, as the Confederates were then advancing on the town by the Chambersburg Pike. My companion and I went directly across the fields to Seminary Ridge, then known as the Railroad Woods by reason of the 'Old Tape-worm Railroad' being cut through it. Anderson went toward the Theological Seminary buildings expecting to get (to) the cupola of the building. I remained on Seminary Ridge just where the old… railroad cut through it. The ridge was full of men and boys from town, all eager to witness a brush with the Confederates and not dreaming of the terrible conflict that was to occur on that day and not having the slightest conception of the proximity of the two armies.

"I climbed up a good-sized oak tree so as to have a good view of the ridge west and northwest of us, where the two brigades of cavalry were then being placed. We could then hear distinctly the skirmish fire in the vicinity of Marsh Creek, about three miles from our position and could tell that it was approaching nearer and nearer as our skirmishers fell back slowly toward the town contesting every inch of ground. We could see clearly on the ridge … the formation of the line of battle of Buford's Cavalry, which had dismounted, some of the men taking charge of the horses and the others forming a line of battle, acting as infantry. Nearer and nearer came the skirmish line as it fell back before the advancing Confederates, until at last the line on the ridge beyond became engaged. Soon the artillery opened fire and shot and shell began to fly over our heads, one of them passing dangerously near the top of the tree I was on. There was a general stampede toward town and I quickly slipped down from my perch and joined the retreat to the rear of our gallant men and boys. I started for town (and) crossed… over a field to the Chambersburg Pike on the east side of Miss Carrie Shead's School and when about the middle of the field a cannon ball struck the earth about fifteen or twenty feet from me, scattering the ground somewhat about me and quickening my pace considerably.

"When I reached the pike, there galloped past me a general and his staff, who upon reaching the top of the ridge, turned into the lane toward the Seminary building. This I have always believed was General Reynolds coming onto the field and going to the Seminary where he had an interview with General Buford… before going out where the battle was in progress. The time was about 9 o'clock or near it, and our infantry had not come up yet. I was not long in reaching town and found the streets full of men, women and children, all under great excitement. Being anxious to see more of the battle, I concluded I would go up upon the observatory on the store building of the Fahnestock Brothers, situated on the northwest corner of Baltimore and West Middle Streets, and just across the street from the court house. The observatory was on the back of the building fronting on West Middle Street and… had a good view of the field where the battle was then being fought.

"In company with Mrs. E.G. Fahnestock, wife of Col. Fahnestock, Isaac L. Johns and Augustus Bentley, I went up through the store to the observatory… (that) had a railing and benches around it and was about eight feet or more square. We had been up there quite a little time when I observed a general and his staff coming down Baltimore Street from the south of the town. Upon reaching the court house, they halted and made an attempt to get up into the belfry to make observations, but they were unable to accomplish this. I went down into the street and going over to the court house told them that if they wished they could go up on the observatory of the store building. The general dismounted and with two of his aides went with me up onto the observatory. Upon reaching the house-top, the general, with his field glasses, made a careful survey of the field west and northwest of the town; also the number of roads radiating like the spokes of a wheel from the town.

In the midst of it a scout came riding up West Middle Street at a full gallop, halted below us (and) called up, asking if General Howard (Gen. Oliver Otis Howard, commander of the Eleventh Corps of the Army of the Potomac) were there. General Howard answering in person, the scout called to him that General Reynolds had been killed and that he should come onto the field immediately. This scout was George Guinn, a member of Cole's Maryland Cavalry, and was from our county. I knew him well and recognized him at once. Upon receiving this message the General, his staff officers and myself went down into the third story ware-room, when General Howard stopped and gave orders to one of his aides to ride back and meet his corps, which was then on the march from Emmitsburg, Md., ten miles from Gettysburg, and direct General (Adolph von) Steinwehr, upon reaching the field to occupy Cemetery Hill and fortify it. General Howard, as he came into Gettysburg, had noticed the prominence of this hill, and riding up to the cemetery was impressed with its commanding position. To his other aide he gave some directions regarding the bringing up of his corps. One thing which he said that I remember, was that the bands should be placed at the head of the columns and play lively airs as they advanced. General Howard was perfectly calm and self-possessed and I remember this made a lasting impression on me. And his orders became so fixed on my mind that I have never forgotten them.

"As we passed down through the house, we met Mrs. Samuel Fahnestock, then an old lady, who was very much agitated. The General stopped and spoke a few kindly words to her, which relieved her anxiety considerably. He then rode out to the front. After some little time had elapsed we heard a commotion down in the street (West Middle) and upon looking down saw a column of Confederate prisoners under guard of the Boys in Blue, being conducted to the rear. It proved to be the Confederate General Archer and several hundred of his brigade who had been captured by the Iron Brigade. We remained on the house-top until near noon, when it became a little dangerous to stay longer and we went downstairs again. But shortly after 12 o'clock another officer came along and asked to be taken up where General Howard had made his observations. He was a captain and belonged to the Eleventh Corps (and) remained only a short time. I learned after the battle that this officer's name was Frederick Otto Baron Von Fritche, and that he had written a book entitled "A Gallant Captain of the Civil War", in which he made mention of my taking him up on the roof and giving him some information in regard to the field and the battle then going on.

"After he had gone I walked down to our Centre Square and there met my mother carrying two buckets of water, looking for one of the improvised hospitals, to give it to the wounded. It was a striking irony of war that at that time two of my brothers, members of Company F, 87th Pennsylvania regiment, should be prisoners of war, having been captured at Winchester, Va., in an engagement while the Confederate army was on its way to Gettysburg. One of them was mortally wounded and in a southern hospital but a kind Providence withheld this from us until after the battle here. We went down Carlisle Street to the McCurdy warehouse, just below the railroad, where the wounded were being brought in… No provision had yet been made for their care in the town and they were laid on the floor. We remained there quite a while giving them water and doing what we could for their relief.

"I stood on the Cobean corner of Chambersburg Street as Schimmelfenning's Division of the Eleventh (Corps) passed through town on its way to the front. The day was hot and sultry and they were marching "quick time", all seeming eager to get to the front. All along Washington Street the people of the town were out with buckets of water and the soldiers would stop for a moment for a drink and then hurriedly catch up to their place in the line. They appeared to be straining every effort to reach the scene of conflict, and yet not an hour elapsed before the slightly wounded were limping back and those badly wounded were being brought back in ambulances to the improvised hospitals in the town. The hospitals were located in warehouses, churches, the court house and in various private homes. Many others were left dead on the field they were so heroically eager to reach such a short time before.

"As the afternoon wore away the churches and warehouses on Chambersburg, Carlisle, and York Streets nearest the line of battle, were filled with wounded. Then the court house, as well as the Catholic, Presbyterian and Reformed churches and the school house in High Street received the injured soldiers, until those places had reached their capacity, when private homes were utilized, citizens volunteering to take them in and care for them. In company… with Miss Julia Culp, a neighbor (who) had a brother in the Confederate Army who was killed on Culp's Hill and a brother in the Union Army, who survived the war, I went into the court house with buckets of water and passed from one to another of the wounded relieving them as best we could under the circumstances. Some of them were so frightfully wounded that a lady could not go near them. These I gave water to, while she cared for those who were not so severely wounded. Quite a number of our townspeople were there doing everything they could in the relief work as the wounded were carried in.

"When our forces were being driven back through the town in the afternoon, I went home feeling that everything was lost and throughout my life I have never felt more despondent. One of the regiments of the Iron Brigade in falling back through town about 4 o'clock in the afternoon passed our house on West Middle Street. As they turned into (the) street from Washington Street, one of the lieutenants was wounded in the foot but kept up with his regiment until he reached our house. He was unable to go any further. He came into the yard. Separating the Bowen house next door and ours, there was an areaway used by both of our families and at the Bowen house was an old-fashioned cellar door standing open, He took off his sword and pistol and sword belt… hobbled down (the steps) and hid them in the cellar(,) then came up to get his sword, when the Confederates came into the yard and made him a prisoner, taking his sword away from him. My mother, standing in our kitchen doorway, seeing he was wounded, asked the Confederates to allow him to come into our house and she would care for him. They allowed him to come and then continued in pursuit of our retreating forces. My mother took him into one of the inner rooms and kept him there without the Confederates finding out. After the battle he was taken to one of the hospitals. In a week or more he was convalescent and came to see is on his way to join his regiment. He sent me over to the Bowen cellar to get his accoutrements and presented them to me, saying that when he got to Washington he would get a new outfit. We never heard from him afterwards.

"When I went out in front of the house about 7 o'clock in the evening, the Confederate line of battle had been formed on East and West Middle Streets, Rodes Division of Ewell's Corps lying right in front of our house. We were now in the hands of the enemy and in passing, I want to pay a tribute to these veterans of the Confederate Army. They were under perfect discipline. They were in and about our yard and used our kitchen stove by permission of my mother... gentlemanly and courteous to us at all times, and I never heard an instance to the contrary in Gettysburg. We settled down quietly this night. There was no noise or confusion among the Confederate soldiers sleeping on the pavement below our windows and we all enjoyed a good night's rest after the feverish anxiety of the first day's battle."

"Day dawned on the second of July bright and clear, and we did not know what to do or expect; whether to remain quietly in our homes, or go out in the town as usual and mingle with our people. But we were soon assured that if we kept within certain restrictions we could go about the town. It was hot and sultry and the lines of battle were quiet with the exception of an occasional exchange of shots between pickets or sharpshooters. Some time during the morning in front of my home on West Middle Street… I was in conversation with one of the Confederate soldiers, whose regiment lay along the street in line of battle, when he asked me if I had ever seen General Lee. I replied that I had not. 'Well,' he said, 'here he comes up the street on horseback.'

"The general rode quietly by unattended and without any apparent recognition from the Confederate soldiers along the street. (H)e reached Baltimore Street, about a square away at the court house, (and) turned into it going up to High Street. I was later informed… that he had gone to the jail, presumably for conference, but with whom has only been surmise(d). The afternoon… I spent in the yard back of the Fahnestock store on West Middle Street. There was a high board fence the length of the lot, extending to an alley at the end. There were two large gates opening to the street along which the Confederate line ran. A Confederate major of one of the regiments was my companion. I do not remember his name or the regiment to which he belonged, but he told me he was originally from Pittsburgh, going south years before the war. Our conversation was about the war and the causes leading up to it and the result thus far on both sides. He was a fair minded man and reasonable in his opinions, there being no rancor or bitterness evident in any of observations on the progress of the conflict. About 4 o'clock an interruption was caused in our conversation by a terrible cannonading off to the southwest of town and we separated, he joining his regiment in the street and I going to my father's house near the Fahnestock store. Our town being in the hands of the Confederates and cut off from all communications with the outside world, we knew nothing about our army and were completely in the dark as to how it was located and how much of it had arrived on the field. The Confederates maintained a clam-like silence on all matters concerning the battle, hence we did not know the significance of this tremendous cannonading until after the battle was over… But for the present it sent everyone to the cellars as a matter of protection. Mr. Harvey D. Wattles lived close to my father's and under his house was a large dry cellar. During the cannonading the neighbors congregated in it as a place of safety. My mother and the rest of the family were there during the afternoon and I was there at intervals while the period of uncertainty caused by this artillery fire existed. An incident that occurred in this house… will give some idea of what families were exposed to while the fighting was in progress. A neighbor had come into the house to take refuge and had brought with her a band-box containing a bonnet. When the cannonading began, she went to the cellar, placing the box on the chair upon which she had been sitting. When she came from the cellar she found the box where she had left it, but a minie ball had passed through the box and the bonnet.

"About dusk, Will McCreary and I were sent on some errand down on Chambersburg Street and as we were crossing from Arnold's corner to the present Eckert corner, we were halted by two Confederate soldiers who had a lady in their charge. She was on horseback and proved to be the wife of General (Francis) Barlow who had come into the Confederate lines under a flag of truce looking for her husband, who had been severely wounded on July 1, and as she was informed, had been brought into the town. She informed us he was with a family 'named McCreary' on Chambersburg Street. We directed her to Smith McCreary's residence (though) she did not find the general there… for he had been taken from the field to the farmhouse of Josiah Benner on the Harrisburg Road just where the covered bridge crossed the creek. The night of the second I slept in a room above the Fahnestock store with a number of other boys. Not making any light we would remain quietly at the window trying to catch the conversation of the Confederate soldiers who were lying on the pavement below the window. We were eager to catch something that would give us some clue to our army and how they were fairing in the battle…, but did not learn much from them. We finally went to bed and settled down into a sound sleep as boys do who have few cares and sound health.

"At intervals during the night I was awakened and could hear the rattle of musketry fire off to the southeast of town, and it did not seem very far away. When we got up in the morning of the third of July this firing was a lively as during the night, with the addition of some artillery fire and continued until about 11 o'clock in the morning. About that hour I was down at my father's house and quite a number of Confederate soldiers came into the yard to the old 'draw well'. They were all begrimed with powder and were 'washing up'. Their remarks about a hill they were butting up against were neither moral nor complimentary. Of course we were in the dark as to the cause of their discomfiture. The balance of the morning passed quietly and until about 1:30 P.M. there seemed to be a lull in the activities on the field. At least it seemed so to us, confined to the limits of the town. About 1:30 however, pandemonium broke loose along the lines of battle and for one hour there was a din of cannonading, unprecedented on the continent. And then an ominous calm ensued. What did it mean? We did not know. Nor could we surmise. But I ventured out cautiously from our retreat which was our place of safety during the cannonading, and walked up to the Fahnestock corner. However I could learn nothing then about the conflict.

"The alleys and street leading up toward the cemetery were barricaded and the Confederate soldiers behind them in line of battle, were prepared to defend (against) any attack from Cemetery Hill. There was a long calm, perhaps an hour, when again the artillery opened up from Cemetery Hill, all along the line of battle to the Round Tops and the rattle of musketry then all over the line except for intervals when great cheers went up from the mighty hosts of the Boys in Blue. But there were no rebel yells such as we heard from time to time during the three days' battles. This demonstration occurred, we learned later, when Pickett's charge failed. But we were to remain ignorant of what the great conflict of the day would bring to us, who were still in the hands of the enemy. On this night, I went to bed restless and was unable to sleep soundly. About midnight I was awakened by a commotion down in the street. Getting up I went to the window and saw Confederate officers passing through the lines of Confederate soldiers bivouacked on the pavement below, telling them to get up quietly and fall back. Very soon the whole line disappeared but we had to remain quietly in our homes for we did not know what it meant.

"About 4 A.M., there was another commotion in the street, this time on Baltimore, the Fahnestock building being at the corner of West Middle and Baltimore Streets. It seemed to be a noisy demonstration. Going hurriedly to the window I looked out. Ye gods! What a welcome sight for the imprisoned people of Gettysburg! The Boys in Blue marching down the street, fife and drum corps playing, the glorious Stars and Stripes fluttering at the head of the lines. They picked up the Confederate soldiers who had been left behind in the retreat and were marching them to the rear at double-quick. It was raining right briskly at this time. I got into my clothes hurriedly and went down o the front door but did not venture out. As the morning advanced, however, we went about the town mingling with our people, comparing notes and finding out how all had fared during the days we were in the hands of the enemy.

"We soon learned that part of the town was still not free from 'Our friends- the enemy'. They had thrown up formidable breastworks extending from the Railroad Woods clear out along the ridge to Emmitsburg Road and beyond it and they were occupied by Confederate soldiers to protect the retreat of their army. As my father's house was on West Middle Street, which extends in a direct line out to Haupt's Hill, which was along the embattled ridge, we were exposed during the whole day to sharpshooters' fire. The Confederates had built little works of stone and ground, just large enough to cover their heads and protect their bodies, extending down the hill in the direction of town. And they lay behind them all day with guns loaded ready to bang away at any suspicious object in the street. Sometime during the morning, several of our officers rode down the street and when about half the length of the square from Baltimore and Washington Street, one of them was hit in the fleshy part of his army by a bullet, evidently causing a very painful wound, for he yelled at the top of his voice.

"On this morning, the 5th, my friend 'Gus' Bentley met me on the street and told me that down at the Hollinger warehouse where he was employed they had a lot of tobacco. 'We hid it away before the Rebs came into town,' he continued, 'and they did not find it. We can buy it and take it out and sell it to the soldiers.' Like all boys of those days we had little spending money but we concluded we would try and raise the cash in some way. I went to my mother and consulted her about it and she loaned me ten dollars. Gus also got ten, all of which we invested in the tobacco. It was in large plugs- Congress tobacco, a well known brand at that time. With an old-fashioned tobacco cutter we cut it up into ten cent pieces and each of us took a basket full and started out Baltimore Street to the cemetery, the nearest line of battle. Reaching the Citizens Cemetery we found a battery of artillery posted there… The soldiers stopped us and would not let us pass, their orders being not to let anyone out of the town. We went back into the town as far as the Presbyterian church and went up High Street to the jail, where we turned into a path leading down to the old Rock Creek 'swimmin' hole'. On the first ridge we saw the first dead Confederate soldiers lying right on the path, two of them side by side, and they were buried there afterward until the Confederate bodies were taken up years later and shipped to Richmond for burial. We kept to the path down to the spring (,) then turned over towards Culp's Hill, ascending it at one of its steepest points. There were all kinds of debris of the battle scattered over the hill, but no dead or wounded soldiers, they having already been removed.

"The breastworks were formidable looking, about three feet or more high, built of trees that had been cut down by the soldiers for the purpose of throwing up these fortifications. A shallow trench was dug in front of the works and the ground thrown up on it. The soldiers helped us over the breastworks with our baskets and in a short time they were empty and our pockets filled with ten-cent pieces. The soldiers told us to go home and get some more tobacco, that they would buy all we could bring out. We made a number of trips, selling out each time, and after disposing of all our supply, and paying back our borrowed capital, we each had more money than we ever had before in our lives.

"On Monday, July 6, I made my first trip over our line of battle out to the Round Tops. Fences were all destroyed and the country all open so that we could drive or walk across country instead of having to take the Emmitsburg or Taneytown Roads. The whole countryside was covered with ruins of the battle. Shot and shell, guns, pieces of shells and bullets were strewn about the fields in every direction and everything that the carnage of battle could produce was evident. Ziegler's Grove showed the effects of the Confederate artillery fire. Good-sized trees were knocked off and splintered in every imaginable way. The bodies of horses that had been killed were lying about.

The sight around Meade's headquarters along the Taneytown Road was terrible, indicating the exposed position it occupied, subject to every shot and shell that came over the ridge above it. Around the house and yard and below it lay at least 12 or 15 dead horses, shot down no doubt while aides and orderlies were delivering orders and messages to headquarters. A short distance below the house there was a stone fence dividing a field. Across this was hanging a horse which had been killed evidently just as he was jumping the fence, for its front legs were on one side and the hind legs on the other. In the road a short distance away was another horse which had been shot down while drawing an ambulance. In the front room of the house was a bed, the covers of it thrown back; and its condition indicated that a wounded soldier had occupied it. I was told that General Butterfield, Meade's chief of staff, who had been wounded, had been placed upon it before being taken to a hospital.

"The Trostle house was entirely deserted. In their kitchen the dinner table was still set with all the dishes from the meal, and fragments of food remained, indicating that the family had gotten up from their meal and made a hurried getaway. On the Codori farm there were still some dead Confederates who had not been buried. They were lying on their backs, their faces toward the heavens, and burned as black as coal from exposure to the hot sun. One of the saddest sights of the day's visit on the field I witnessed near the Devil's Den, on the low ground in that vicinity. There were twenty-six Confederate officers, ranking from a colonel to lieutenants, laid side by side in a row for burial. At the head of each was a board giving their names, ranks and commands to which they belonged. A short distance away was another group of thirteen arranged in the same way. They had evidently been prepared for burial by their Confederate companions before they had fallen back, so that their identity would be preserved, and they would receive a respectable burial. Among the hundreds of graves on the battlefield there was but one whose headboard had the Masonic emblems on it. I saw it for the first time this day and often stopped to look at it afterward. It was close to the southern end of the Codori barn along the Emmitsburg Road (and) was the grave of a Confederate colonel. (Skelly was later informed that this was the grave of Colonel Joseph Wasden, 22nd Georgia Infantry, killed on July 2.)

"This, my first sight of a great battlefield, with all its carnage, ruin, suffering and death- and witnessed the day after the conflict- made a deep and lasting impression on my young mind, stamping war on my memory as too horrible to even think about.

"During the several days our town was in the hands of the enemy, our wounded who had been brought in while the first day's battle was in progress and placed in churches, schools, and in many private homes, were well cared for. The people of the town responded wonderfully in this emergency service. Mothers and daughters acted as nurses in the hospitals nearest their residences, and also provided all kinds of food and delicacies for the wounded. In the days following the battle, the firm of Fahnestock Brothers received numerous inquires about wounded soldiers who were scattered over the field in the hospitals hastily set up at points most conveniently located to take care of the casualties. With Mrs. E.G. Fahnestock, I frequently rode back and forth among these stations, either in buggy or on horseback, looking for wounded men about whom information was sought. Sometimes it was difficult to locate them. We made other trips to the hospitals in the college and seminary buildings also. Frequently on these trips were included supplies of delicacies for the men. So it was that the people of Gettysburg assisted in every way in solving the problems that arose incident to the great battle. The months following the conflict found many extra burdens placed on the town, but there was a willing response on the part of its citizens on all occasions and the confusion that might be expected as an aftermath of such a staggering calamity was reduced to a minimum."

Daniel Skelly

Gettysburg, Penna., 1932.

My escape from Richmond: John Bray's account of his escape from Libby Prison

2008-01-05T10:25:00.000-08:00

Federal soldier John Bray of the First New Jersey Cavalry shares his recollections of his capture, confinement, and escape from Libby Prison. Originally appeared in the April, 1864 edition of Harper's New Monthly Magazine on p. 662-665.

My name is John Bray. I belong to the First New Jersey Cavalry, and have shared in the perils of every Virginia campaign. In November last I was at Warrenton, with a detachment of comrades, performing picket duty. On the night of the twelfth of that month we were suddenly surrounded by a band of Mosby's rough-riders, and before we knew it were prisoners, the darkness enabling the assailants to come upon us unobserved.More... We did not enjoy, as you may suppose, the prospect of a protracted imprisonment in Richmond, which we knew would be our fate; but there was no door of escape, and we submitted as gracefully as we could. Our captors, though rough and shaggy fellows, were by no means the savages they have sometimes been painted; on the contrary, they treated us kindly, respecting all our rights as prisoners, not even appropriating any of our effects, as it would have been natural for them; as guerrillas, to have done. We were, of course, put under guard, and were disarmed; but we were not altogether excluded from the chat of the camp to which we were carried; and the night, though starless and cold, was by no means the dreariest we had Known in our long and varied experience.

In the morning, under an armed escort, we set out on foot for Richmond, moving by easy stages and a circuitous route to Salem, Sperryville, Orange Court House, and Gordonsville, whence we went by cars. At Sperryville, where we were handed over to the Fourth Virginia Cavalry, we had a taste of the "chivalrous" manners of the true Virginian. These cavalrymen, representing probably the First Families, the moment we were placed under their control, helped themselves unceremoniously to our caps and overcoats, and, regardless of common decency and humanity, attempted even to take our blankets, notwithstanding we were shivering with cold and suffering greatly from exposure. In this intention, however, they were finally restrained by their officers, who had yet some scruples of conscience remaining, and for the rest of the way we continued in the enjoyment of the little protection the blankets could give us.

We arrived in Richmond on the 17th, and were at once conducted to the "Pemberton Factory Prison," where we had a speedy introduction to all the repellent features of prison life. The prison is a building twenty-five by one hundred feet, four stories high, occupied originally as a tobacco manufactory, but appropriated for the last two years to its present use. Each floor contained 280 prisoners, making 1120 in all in this single building. The building was filthy to the last degree; there was not a clean spot any where; the hold of a slave-ship could not have been more offensive. The mere appearance of the place was sufficient to sicken sensitive stomachs. Some of the prisoners who had been exhausted by their long journey did actually faint upon entering their quarters. As for myself, I had become hardened to the utmost rigors of camp life; two years or more in the saddle had effectually emptied me of all refinement of smell or taste, and, as a consequence, I got along in my new situation with comparatively little inconvenience.

Of course there was little amusement in sitting, day after day, on the floor of our prison and looking into one another's faces like so many gaping imbeciles. Isolated from the world, hardly permitted to look from our small windows into the streets without, we could only find within ourselves the diversion we needed, and our thought was far too monotonous to suggest any variety of entertainment. We had one amusement, however, which somewhat relieved the daily monotony, and that was "skirmishing." This was an indiscriminate scuffle, in which every man received a thorough shaking, all entering into the "engagement" with the zest of country boys into a husking frolic, but all in good-humor, and for a benevolent and proper sanitary purpose. The object of this wholesale scrimmage was the rout and dispersion of the vermin which moved upon us in dense and threatening columns at every opportunity, surrounding us, assailing us, actually, at times, "occupying, holding, and possessing" our persons. But for the skirmishing in which we indulged, and the "demoralization" thereby of the vermin forces, many of us would have been inevitably overcome, and probably carried out piecemeal at the keyholes, or dragged bodily to the dens of the persecutors.

Our food was of much better quality than we had expected to receive, but the quantity was any thing but satisfactory. Each man received daily half a loaf of bread, the loaf no larger than an old-fashioned country "rusk," a piece of fresh meat about two inches square, and a pint of bean soup, all without salt, not a morsel of which was ever seen in the prison. This food was obtained every morning by a detail of our own men under a sergeant, who, with pails and tubs, were marched down into the yard and there furnished the allowance for the floor to which they belonged by the cooks in charge. Occasionally, some of the men, by the sale of parts of their clothing, obtained a little money with which they were able through the guards to purchase articles outside, thus reinforcing their strength and making up for deficiencies in the regular supplies. On one or two occasions I indulged myself in this way, once selling my cavalry boots, for which I obtained seventy-five dollars in rebel money, and at another time disposing of a threadbare, dirty blanket for twenty-five dollars, the guards eagerly purchasing in both instances, and seeming to imagine that they had made excellent bargains.

After a month's confinement I determined that I had long enough submitted to the hardships of prison life, and that, if possible, I would make my escape. I broached the subject to my comrades, suggesting that we had better act in concert; but they regarded the risk as too great, and unanimously declined to unite in the undertaking, some of them even endeavoring to dissuade me from my purpose. But my resolution was fixed; I longed to be free again, and to fill the saddle I knew to be awaiting me in the ranks of the gallant First. Many things, however, had to be considered, and many preliminaries arranged before it was possible to attempt the execution of my purpose, at least with any hope of success. The first thing necessary was to possess myself of a rebel uniform, which would enable me to pass the guards. So, one day, just after we had received a batch of new clothing from our Government, I said banteringly to Ross, the officer having chief charge of our floor, "Ross, how will you trade coats? Mine is bran-new, but I must have some money, you know; so, if you'll trade right, I'm on hand for a bargain."

Ross was an easy, good-natured fellow, and was particularly ragged, having scarcely a whole, garment in his entire wardrobe. Of course he was only too anxious to "trade," and we soon struck up a bargain, Boss agreeing to give me his coat for mine and thirty dollars to boot. Thus I secured a gray coat, a necessary part of the disguise in which I intended to escape.

Some days after, upon pretense that I was again out of funds, I bantered Boss to trade pantaloons, offering mine, which were new, for his old ones and ten dollars in money. He knew that the prisoners often obtained in this way the means of purchasing supplies, and my offer therefore excited no suspicion. He at once closed with my offer, and making the exchange on the spot, I became, to all appearance, a rebel soldier, having a suit of gray precisely like those of the guards.

The day after this last transaction I determined, if possible, to put my plan in execution. Accordingly, when the men passed down into the yard to draw their rations I went with them, resolved to seize any opportunity that offered to get away. But my time had not yet come. Every avenue of escape was guarded; sentinels stood at all the gates with vigilant eyes; and I was obliged to return to my quarters, still a prisoner, but still firmly set in my purpose. A circumstance which happened on the same day served to confirm me in my determination. One of the tyrants in charge of the prison — they were all despots in their way except Boss and one or two others — threatened, because of some caper of the men, to starve us in punishment, heaping upon me especially all sorts of abuse. Having something of Yankee grit in my nature, I resented the insult, telling the fellow I would throw him out of the window unless he at once desisted. The coward at once reported me at head-quarters, no doubt with many exaggerations as to my offense; and a few hours after I was removed to Libey Prison for punishment. This consisted in "bucking" and "gagging," a process by no means calculated to inspire one with admiration for rebel tenderness or humanity. Tying my hands together with strong cords about the wrists, my persecutors drew the arms thus united down over the knees, where they were securely pinioned; my mouth was then gagged, and having been placed on the floor, I was left for eight hours to my fate. Of course, in such a predicament, it was impossible to sit, and to lie down was equally inconvenient. Aside from the suffering, one could not resist a feeling of humiliation mingled with anger that he was made to occupy so ridiculous a position; I think I would not have had a comrade see me as I lay on the floor of Libey, knotted info the most grotesque sort of tangle — rolled up, as it were, into a little heap — for a whole year's pay and all the medals I may ever win.

My punishment ended at last, and I went back to my prison only more intent than before on getting away. The next day I again attempted to put my scheme into execution, but was again unsuccessful.

On Sunday morning, January 10, I made my last and final attempt. Arranging necessary preliminaries with a comrade, I passed down stairs with the detail sent for provisions, wearing my blanket, and keeping as much as possible under cover of those whom I was about to leave. Beaching the yard, which was filled with rebel soldiers, I suddenly, upon a favorable opportunity, slipped the blanket from my shoulders to those of my chum, and, stepping quickly into the throng, stood, to all appearance, a rebel, having precisely their uniform, and looking as dirty and ragged as the worst among them. But I was not yet free. The point now was to get out of the yard. To do this it was necessary to pass the sentinels standing at the gates, all of which were thus guarded. My wits, however, difficult as I knew my enterprise to be, did not desert me. With an air of unconcern, whistling the "Bonnie Blue Flag," I sauntered slowly toward the nearest gate — paused a moment as I neared it, to laugh with the rest at some joke of one of the guard; then, abstractedly and with deliberate pace, as if passing in and out had been so customary an affair with me as to make any formal recognition of the sentinels unnecessary — passed out. That my heart throbbed painfully under my waistcoat; that I expected every moment to hear the summons, "Halt!" you need not be told. An age of feeling was crowded into that moment. But I passed out unchallenged. Whether it was that my nonchalant air put the sentinels off their guard, or that they were for the moment absorbed in the joke at which all the soldiers were laughing, I can not tell; nor does it matter. I was free; the whole world was before me; and my whole being was a-glow with that thought. I had still dangers, it was true, to encounter; but the worst was past, and I felt equal to any that might lie before.

The sun was at its meridian as I passed the prison gate. In an hour I had struck the line of the Chickahominy Railroad. The weather was bitterly cold and the ground covered with snow; but I thought of nothing, cared, for nothing but effecting my escape. Of course the utmost vigilance was necessary as the whole Peninsula was full of pickets, mostly mounted, and while, therefore, pressing forward with all the rapidity possible, under the circumstances, I kept my eyes on constant duty, scanning closely every marsh and thicket lest some enemy should unexpectedly appear and arrest my flight. No enemy, however, that day crossed my path, though I frequently saw cavalry-patrols in the distance, causing me to seek the shelter for a time of some friendly tree or fence.

At eleven o'clock that night I was within nine miles of New Kent Court House, having traveled a distance of twenty-one miles since noon. After nightfall the stars formed my only guide, and, having quitted the line of the railroad, I very naturally lost somewhat my reckoning. Besides, for the last few miles my strength had rapidly failed me, and much as I desired to get on I found that it would be impossible to continue any further. My feet were sore, my legs weak and limp, and withal I was chilled through and through, having neither blanket nor overcoat to protect me from the keen, piercing wind. Accordingly, utterly exhausted at last, I dropped upon the snow in the swamp, and in a moment was asleep.

When I awoke at last, with a stinging pain in my hands and feet, it was daylight. I endeavored to rise, but for a time was unable. My feet were like lumps of ice, my face smarted with pain, my hands were red and without feeling; I had barely escaped freezing to death. After considerable effort, however, I got upon my feet, and with slow and difficult motion, and appetite clamoring for food, resumed my journey. As the blood in my veins warmed and strength returned I increased my pace, going in a northeasterly direction, seeking an outlet from the swamp in which I had spent the night. After a while, pursuing my devious way, a negro suddenly confronted me. Whence he came I knew not; I only knew that he stood before me with a look of inquiry in his eyes as much as to say, Who are you, Sir ? I was, of course, startled; but I remembered that I wore a rebel uniform, and met him accordingly. But he was not to be deceived.

"Yer can't come dat game on dis chil'," he said, with a sparkle in his eye; "I knows yer, Sar; you'se a Yankee pris'ner 'scaped from Richmon'." Then, as if to reassure me, he hurriedly added, " But, Lor' bless yer, massa, I won't tell on yer; I'se real glad yer's got away."

I saw in a moment the fellow could be trusted — I have never seen a negro yet, in this war, who could not be trusted by the Union soldier; and so I unbosomed myself to him at once, telling him the whole story of my escape, that I had lost my way, that I had not eaten a morsel of food in twenty-four hours, and that if he could help me in any way I would be more indebted than I could describe.

"Dis chil' glad to help yer," he replied, in a tone of real pleasure and with a bright look in his eyes, and at once started off at a rapid pace, leading me across the fields, a distance of four miles, to the house of another negro, to whom he explained my situation and wishes. Here I was given something to eat, both the man and woman treating me with the greatest kindness; and after a short rest again set out, this time with my host as guide, for the main road, from which I had wandered. This was soon reached, and parting with my black friend, I pushed on, keeping the road as nearly as I could. The road was thick with pickets and scouts, and I was obliged at almost every turn to dodge aside to avoid discovery. For miles I succeeded in "flanking" all I met; but at last a sharp bend in the road brought me within twenty-five feet of a soldier on horseback looking squarely toward me. How my heart leaped at the sight! "Who are you?" was the instant salute; but without stopping to answer I leaped into the swamp and plunged into the depths of underbrush which overrun it. My leap was followed by a shot from the soldier's pistol, the ball whistling shrilly after me, but fortunately missing its mark. As if determined not to be balked, the soldier dismounted from his horse, and for two hours hunted for me in the swamp, often passing close to my retreat, and keeping me in constant trepidation lest I should be discovered. But Providence again favored me; the scout tired at last in his vain search and moved away, and I once more started for the Canaan of my hopes.

All that day I traveled on, dodging the pickets, hiding in the swamps, lying under thickets, wading through bogs and water, until night again found me exhausted and incapable of going any further. But I was not to be permitted to sleep without one more fight. Making my way in deep darkness through the underbrush, crackling the brittle twigs under my feet, a "What's that?" uttered in a sharp, strong voice, suddenly warned me of danger. A moment after I heard men talking, the words "spy" and "Yankee" being conspicuous in their discussion. Then, crouching down, I heard them moving to and fro all around me, and once one of the number passed so close to where I lay that I could hear him breathe. For an hour or more they kept up their search, discussing among themselves the probable cause of their alarm, when, apparently concluding that they had been unnecessarily startled, they abandoned the field and left me to my thoughts. For some time, however, after their departure I did not dare to stir, not knowing at what moment they might return, or how near they might be to my retreat; but fatigue finally overcame me, and finding a soft place I threw myself on the ground, and pulling over me such leaves and brush as I could reach, very soon found oblivion in sleep.

Of my adventures the day following, which was Tuesday the 12th, I need not speak at length. They were numerous, many of them perilous in the extreme; but fortune was still on my side, and at eleven o'clock that night I reached the suburbs of Williamsburg, the goal of all my wanderings. It was a long time, however, before I could make up my mind, after I saw the lights of the town, whether it was the place I sought. My many escapes had made me, if any thing, unduly cautious; I had come so far, had suffered so much, and had so much to fear from capture and return to my prison, that I felt it would be terrible, now that the Promised Land was in sight, to lose all by a want of vigilance or a premature discovery of myself to the pickets. Consequently, I determined, if possible, to get through the lines into the village without discovery, and I had nearly succeeded when a sharp challenge brought me to a halt. Again, however, the darkness favored me, and though an immediate hunt was instituted, I once more escaped, this time from our own pickets. At length, quiet having been restored, I managed to creep through, and shortly after was in the village. Seeing a light in the windows of a large building on the principal street, I cautiously crept up, designing to peer into the apparently occupied room, and learn from the uniform of the occupants whether I was really among friends or foes. I had reached the window, and was raising my head to look in, when, suddenly, a hand was laid heavily on my shoulder, and a loud voice exclaimed,

" Hello, here! — who is this ? A spy ?"

I started as if a ball had struck me. Was I again a prisoner, or was this the grasp of a friend deceived by my uniform ? But instinct was true, and I answered at once,

"I'm a Union soldier escaped from Richmond."

That was enough. Before I knew it I was within the lighted room, which proved to be the head-quarters of the post commandant; an armchair was placed before the fire, and I was thrust into it; my shoes were drawn off, and I was as cozy as kindly hands could make me. Of course, the moment my story was told I became a hero; that part of it relating to my skirmishing with our own pickets affording especial delight to the merry fellows of the One Hundred and Thirty-ninth New York Regiment who thronged headquarters.

I remained at Williamsburg until Thursday morning, when I proceeded to Yorktown, going thence to Washington, where Secretary Stanton gave me a furlough of a fortnight. And this is the story of "My Escape from Richmond."

But some day I hope to ride into it with my comrades of the New Jersey First, with the old flag streaming over us — expelling before us as we go the miserable traitors whose hands would drag that flag, if they could, in the dust, and put out forever the lustrous promise shining on its folds. When we march into Richmond I trust that there will be with us men Of darker hue than ours, who, having fought their way from a prison-house worse than the Libby, will have won the right to rejoice in the triumph of the Stars and Stripes.

Escape from Fort Warren

2008-01-04T20:27:00.000-08:00

Fort Warren is strategically located on Georges Island, midway between the northern and southern arms of Boston Harbor. The National Park Service calls Fort Warren the most important Civil War site in New England, as it served as a prison for Confederate leaders and officers, including vice president Alexander Stephens. Battery Jack Adams, an unusual single gun battery within the Fort, was considered to be a key part of Boston Harbor's defense system during the Spanish-American War. Confederate Captain J.W. Alexander led an escape from Fort Warren 1n 1862. His account of the event, included below, originally appeared in New England Magazine,Volume 13, Issue 2, October 1892. pp. 208-212

HOW WE ESCAPED FROM FORT WARREN

By Capt. J. W. Alexander

In the month of November, 1862, I was detached from the James River Squadron and ordered to Savannah, Georgia, as executive officer of the new iron-clad Atlanta, being constructed for the Confederates at that place. On arriving, I found the Atlanta at the lower end of the city, still in the hands of the contractor ; but her guns were on board, and there only remained some finishing to be done before she was turned over to the government.More... Captain McBlair was in command, and the other officers reported for duty about the same time as myself. The Atlanta was an iron steamer, built in Scotland, and had run the blockade into the Savannah River and been purchased by the Confederate government. Her upper works had been removed and she had been cut down, and a shield for the battery constructed upon her iron hull after the pattern of the old Merrimac, with sloping sides covered with two bars of iron, each two inches thick. These bars were bolted to the solid pine logs with which her shield had been constructed. It is not my purpose to give any detailed account of this vessel or her career, but only to state in a general way how she was eventually captured by the Federal fleet in Ossabar Sound. Her crew were mostly Georgians, volunteers from the army, and, with the exception of a few sailors, were totally unacquainted with the duties required of them; but they soon learned to work the battery very well, and with the few sailors that were on board made eventually quite an efficient crew. The vessel was at first commanded by Captain McBlair, but before her sailing, Capt. W. A. Webb had been placed in command. After the usual delay, we dropped down to the obstructions in the river and began exercising and drilling the crew; and it was not until June, 1863, that it was thought the vessel was ready for action.

Sometime before this we passed through the obstructions in the river and dropped down to Fort McAllister, which was on one of the mouths of the Savannah River. On the night of the 16th of June, we dropped down to the bar at the entrance of Ossabar Sound, where the Federal fleet, consisting of two monitors and some wooden gunboats, was lying, awaiting the expected attack. The next morning we were under weigh before day, and steaming down so as to get over the bar at high water. At daylight the Federals were under weigh and coming to meet us, and not long afterward, in attempting to cross the bar, we ran hard and fast aground, and notwithstanding every effort, here we remained, not able to move. The two monitors came up within close range, and taking positions where our guns could not be brought to bear on them, they opened fire on us with their heavy guns. Nearly every shot hit, and it was only a short time before one struck the pilot house, wounding both pilots and Captain Webb; another struck the shield on the starboard side forward, and the effect was to stun nearly every man in that part of the ship, wounding several severely. The woodwork to which the iron plates were bolted was completely shivered, and many men were struck by the splinters. The shot did not come through, but wherever a shot struck the woodwork was broken and splintered. In a very short time it was evident that to continue the contest would only result in the destruction of the crew. The tide had fallen so low that all hopes of getting the vessel afloat had to be abandoned. No resistance could be made, as our guns could not be brought to bear on the enemy, they having taken positions on our bow and quarter. Captain Webb reluctantly gave the order to haul down the flag, and in a few minutes we all found ourselves prisoners of war on the different vessels of the Federal fleet. We were carried first to Port Royal and then to New York, and were, for a time, confined in Fort La Fayette. From this place we were taken to Boston and placed in Fort Warren, on one of the islands about seven miles from the city.

Fort Warren was commanded by Colonel Dimmick, and was garrisoned by some local Massachusetts troops. The officers and men always treated us kindly. At first we were allowed to purchase anything we wished, and for a while our friends in Baltimore and some in Boston sent us many things, clothing and eatables; but after a time, acting under orders received from Washington, we were not allowed to buy anything, and had only the rations usually allowed prisoners, which were neither plentiful nor inviting. The privilege of purchasing provisions was taken from us, it was said, in retaliation for the treatment the Federal prisoners received at the hands of the Confederates ; but this matter has been fully discussed, and will not be dwelt on here. After this the underground railway brought us such things as we were able to pay enormously for.

Besides the prisoners taken on the Atlanta, there were the officers and crew of the Tacony and some political prisoners and blockade-runners confined in Fort Warren. We were kept in the casemates under the main battery. In the daytime we were allowed to take exercise on the pavements in front of our quarters, but after sundown we were locked in the casemates and sentinels placed in front of our doors. Four of us, Lieutenant C. W. Reed of the Tacony (a prize vessel converted into a Confederate naval boat), Lieutenant of Marines James Thurston of the Atlanta, Reed Sanders, a political prisoner from Kentucky, and myself determined to escape. Many plans were suggested and discussed, but none seemed feasible. Indeed, situated as we were on an island, and strictly guarded day and night, with sentinels stationed in front of our doors, confined within solid masonry constructed to resist the shot from the heaviest guns, it seemed impossible to escape; and yet the escape was easily accomplished.

In the basement under the room in which we were confined was a pump where we obtained our water, and in the outer wall of this basement were two openings called musketry loop-holes. These were something over six feet high, two or three feet wide at the inside of the wall, and gradually sloping to a point, so that at the outer side of the wall they were only a little over seven inches wide. One day, while bathing, the thought struck me that I could get through this hole, — and I immediately tried it. I found that by turning my head so as to look over my shoulder, I could get through, but with my clothes on I could not get my body through. Stripping off my clothes, I tried again, and found I could squeeze through, though it was hard to do it. This discovery was made known to the other three, and each one found he could get through quite easily, as I was the largest one of the party. No time was lost after this in getting ready for our escape.

Waiting for a dark night, we one by one squeezed through the loop-hole, and lowered ourselves down into the dry ditch between the main and water batteries. We made our way cautiously over the water battery and then through the grass towards the sea-wall, where we found, as we expected and feared, that sentinels were posted. These would walk backwards and forwards on the wall, and when they met they would turn and walk off in the opposite directions. Keeping close to the ground we would approach the walls when they were walking from each other, and remain quiet after they turned and were coming together. Finally we succeeded in passing between them while their backs were towards us, and got into the water close to the wall, lying down with our heads against the wall, and our feet in the water. Finding the sea very rough and the wind high, after a considerable time we concluded it would be very dangerous to try to swim off at that time; so we watched our chance and succeeded in regaining our quarters, as our friends inside, by our direction, had left the rope hanging down from the loop-hole so that we could go back if for any reason we could not succeed in getting off the island. Only a few of the prisoners knew we had been out. Most of them ridiculed the idea that any one could get through so small a hole. A smart little midshipman, seeing our wet clothes, tasted, and, finding them salt, was convinced.

The failure of our first attempt did not discourage us. Lieutenant Reed suggested that two of his men, good swimmers and very reliable, be allowed to go with us. He talked to them, and they readily agreed to accompany us. The plan was for these two men to swim over to the adjoining island, procure a boat and return to within a short distance of the shore, and we would then swim out to them.

We made the second attempt the night following the first. At the time agreed on we lowered ourselves down into the ditch, and were here joined by the two sailors. Proceeding as before, we stopped in the grass, between the water battery and wall, while the sailors, crawling on, passed between the sentries, and getting into the water swam off, and we never saw them again. I heard that they finally made their way back to the Confederacy, but I am not certain that this is true. Waiting, as it seemed to us, for hours, and the sailors not returning, Thurston and I determined that we would swim over to the island on which the lighthouse stood, get a boat, and return for Reed and Sanders, neither of whom, being poor swimmers, were willing to run the risk. Close to the shore where we passed to the water was a target, made of white pine and very light. The garrison used this target to practice on, and after consulting together we, Thurston and I, determined to use it to float our clothes over on, shoving it ahead of us as we swam. Watching our chance, we pulled it down and got it into the water while the sentinels were on their outward trip; and it came very near being the means of defeating our plan; for before we could get away they came together again, right over our heads, on the sea-wall, and began to talk on indifferent subjects, and continued for some time.

Finally one said to the other, "Where is the target? Wasn't it here when we came on post?" "Yes," was the reply. "Where can it be ?" They came to the edge of the wall, and looked over. It was very dark in the shadow, and we lay close together, barely breathing.

"I believe I see something down here in the water," said one. "Stick your bayonet into it and see what it is," said the other. The sentinel lowered the muzzle of his musket, and shoved it slowly towards Reed's breast, directly under him. The point finally rested on his chest! He never moved a muscle, but remained perfectly quiet. That was the bravest thing I saw during the four years of the war.

But it was only for a moment. The man pulled his gun up, remarking, "I am not going to stick my bayonet into saltwater." After this they stood for what seemed to us an age, and discussed the disappearance of the target, finally concluding that the "spirits had taken it away." Then they separated and moved off, widening the distance between us.

Now was our chance. Tying our clothes to the target, we pushed it off and headed for the shore of the island, which lay some distance from the fort. Though it was August the water seemed as cold as ice. Want of exercise had weakened us, and though we made apparently good progress, it seemed hours that we were in the water, and the tide swept us down all the time. There was a lighthouse on an island opposite the lower end of the island on which the fort was built. We kept this light a little to the right of us as we swam, and finally, after a long time, -- it seemed hours, -- we stopped for a moment, letting our feet sink under us. We both touched bottom at the same time, and, straightening up, we waded ashore, pulling the target after us. We were almost frozen, but as soon as we had put the target some little distance from the water we set out along the shore to look for a boat, keeping together for fear we might not be able to find each other without a noise, if we separated, and not knowing whether or not anyone lived on the island.

After a long time we came upon a small fishing boat, which had been dragged up on the beach, and anchored so as to keep it in place. We pulled the anchor up to the bow of the boat, and secured it; then we tried to shove the boat into the water. It was so small that we ought to have launched it easily; yet after moving it a certain distance, we could get it no further. I cannot tell how long we were at this business, but it was a long time. Finally, trying to see what kept the boat from moving, we found there was a second anchor over the stern. Cutting the rope which held the boat, we shoved it into the water, and getting on board we hoisted the sail and steered over towards the fort, intending to take down the sail when we got nearer and pull in for Reed and Sanders.

It had been getting lighter for some time, but was not quite daylight. We stood on, but did not go too near, for fear of exciting the suspicion of the sentinels, whom we could see very plainly. Finally, as it got lighter and lighter, we reluctantly turned the boat's head toward the sea, as we could plainly see that Reed and Sanders had left and were perhaps back in the casemates, having given us up. It was a sad disappointment to us. I believe we could have got them off, if we could have launched the boat without delay. I afterwards learned that, waiting till nearly daylight, they attempted to return to the casemates; but they waited too long, and were discovered and put in close confinement. Thurston and myself sailed by the fort, in plain view of the sentinels on the sea-walls, and after getting outside to what we considered a sufficient distance from the land, we headed up the coast, intending to land in New Brunswick. All that day we sailed with a light breeze ; and towards night we ran close in shore to see if we could get something to eat. We had no clothes except our hats and shirts, and we were very hungry and thirsty.

Just about dark we were close in to the beach. Near the shore we saw a house and a man standing in front of it. We hailed him and asked him to come off, which he proceeded to do in a small boat. He looked at us very suspiciously, but listened to our tale calmly. We told him we had sailed out from Portsmouth for a lark, and had gone in bathing, and that while in the water our clothes had blown overboard, and asked him to get us some clothes if he could, and bring us some water and something to eat. He went on shore, and soon returned with some old clothes, a good supply of plain food, some tobacco, and a small bottle of cherry brandy. I am satisfied he knew what we were, but we said nothing, except to thank him for his kindness, telling him we would remain where we were till next day ; but as soon as he was out of sight, we hoisted our sail and stood on up the coast towards Eastport, intending to land in New Brunswick. Had the wind held we should have reached there before morning; but it was nearly calm.

Thurston slept some in the first part of the night, and at midnight he took the helm and I lay down to rest. For two nights I had had no sleep, and I was very tired. I slept soundly. When I woke it was broad daylight; indeed the sun was up, and the breeze was very light. We were not heading our course, but we afterwards did so. For the greater part of the forenoon the wind was light, and we made little progress. We noticed about eight or nine o'clock, what appeared to be a good sized schooner, which was sailing around; and from the fact that it changed its course frequently and was apparently running towards different sails — several being in sight,— we concluded that the vessel was hunting for us. This proved to be the case, for towards noon she came sailing towards us. The officers in the boat hailed us, and coming alongside asked us a number of questions, we telling pretty much the same tale we had told at Rye Beach. I think they were about to let us go, when someone suggested we had better be searched. This was done, and finding some Confederate money on one of us they at once told us that they knew who we were, and that we must go on board the revenue-cutter, which the vessel proved to be.

I think the Captain's name was Webster. He treated us very kindly, and told us he had been looking for us both that day and the day before, and that several other boats were out after us. He carried us into Portland harbor, and before we had been there very long the United States marshal came on board, and Captain Webster delivered us into his charge.

As soon as we had passed into his boat, which lay alongside the revenue cutter, he put his hands into his pockets, and, pulling out a pair of handcuffs, proceeded to put the cuffs on to my left wrist and on to Thurston's right wrist, so we were handcuffed together, which made me feel very queer. We must have presented a sorry spectacle on landing, for a little newsboy seemed to have felt very badly about us. He ran off somewhere and came back with two apples, which he gave us. A crowd was collecting about us, and the marshal put us into a cab and carried us to the city jail and delivered us over to the jailer, who took us upstairs and put us into cells adjoining each other. We could talk, but could not see each other. The food furnished us in this jail was certainly the most disgusting ever offered to men. After a few days our friends in Fort Warren sent us some clothes, and we heard that Reed and Sanders were well, but were in close confinement. We were kept locked up in our several cells at night, but in the daytime we were allowed to be out for a short time in the morning, being afterward locked up in the same cell for the balance of the day.

Our capture evidently caused great excitement in Portland. The jail was crowded with visitors to see the two "Rebel" prisoners, — or pirates, as we were generally called. They would come and stand at the doors of our cells and discuss us as if we were a species of wild animals; and I suppose we were a kind of menagerie to them. After a while we got used to being stared at and paid no attention to them. One day, I remember, there was a large crowd peeping at us through the bars. One young and quite pretty girl said, looking at me: "Oh, Susan, he is reading ! "To which Susan replied, "Pshaw! this one's writing." Several of the visitors were evidently very sorry for us, and some few books were sent us by some kind people of the city; but, as a general thing, the people were very bitter, and told us plainly that they thought we ought to be killed.

We remained in Portland jail about one month, and while there formed plans for escape. We were confined in cells on the second story of the jail. The doors of the cells were of iron bars about one inch in diameter. We determined to saw through these bars, and once out of our cells we could go down to the lower floor, where we were permitted to go for a short time to wash. The windows of this wash-room had the usual iron bars; by removing one or two of them we could get through, — and once out we determined to make for the water or the country, as seemed best, and get up into Canada.

It took some time to get the instrument to saw the bars with, but we finally succeeded. Before we could make much progress, however, we were again transferred to Fort Warren, and found our two friends, Thurston and Reed, confined in a room on the opposite side of the fort from the other prisoners, and closely guarded. We were put into this room, and some time afterward we were joined by Samuel Sterrett, a son of Captain Sterrett of the C. S. N. Sterrett was a native of Baltimore, and had been arrested as a Southern sympathizer and sent to join the other political prisoners in the fort; but being regarded as a dangerous prisoner, he was put with us into close confinement. He was a real acquisition, for he came in provided with many things by friends, and was generous, dividing liberally with us all he had and everything that was sent to him from Baltimore by his friends.

We were kept in close confinement for several months. The colonel commanding offered to put us with the other prisoners if we would give our parole not to attempt to escape ; but this we declined to do. We had formed our plans to get out of this room; but before we could make any beginning, we were put back with the other naval officers in our old original casemates.

Never losing hope, we began to look around at once to see how we could get out of the casemates. There were two chimneys in our room, and both were stack chimneys — that is to say, there were two flues in the chimney, one for the fireplace in our casemate, and one for the fireplace of the adjoining one.

We determined to move the partition in one of these chimneys and get out at the top. This would be a work of months, but we commenced at once. The fireplaces were closed and only a hole for a stovepipe remained. We took down enough of these bricks to let one man get into the fireplace, and he commenced removing the partition between the fireplaces, or rather enlarging the flue so we could pass up. The bricks removed from the inside of the chimney were beaten into dust and carried out in the slops every morning. After working nearly all night, taking turns and being helped by another prisoner, Morrell, an engineer on the Atlanta, we would put back the bricks we had taken down, using bread made into dough for mortar, and whitewashing the brick over every night before we went to bed.

This work went on for several months; but when we could see that our work was getting to a point where we could begin to see the end, we ascertained that a sentinel was posted at the top of the chimney and that all our work was thrown away. It was a bitter disappointment to us; but we did not have to bear it for a very long time, for in September, I think it was, we were ordered to get ready to go to City Point for exchange.

While in the fort I had a beautiful little English terrier named Fanny, which had belonged to one of the sons of Captain S. S. Lee, and was turned over to me when Lee was ordered abroad. This little dog gained the affections of one of the sergeants attached to the commissary department in Fort Warren, and he used to bring fresh beef every day it was issued to the garrison as a present to the dog. Of course we took charge of the meat and the little dog was given the bones, and this meat was a great addition to our larder. This little dog was with me until the close of the war, and was carried to my home in Lincolnton, North Carolina, where she lived to a good old age, and raised many sons and daughters.

The exchange was a special one, arranged between the navy departments of the two governments. We were sent in a steamer to City Point, on James River, where General Grant had his headquarters on a large river steamboat. We remained here some time, and we learned that the reason was that the Confederates refused to treat with General Butler, the Federal agent for the exchange of prisoners. The Confederates had outlawed General Butler on account of his conduct in New Orleans, and refused to hold any communication with him. Then Captain Webb, the senior captain present, asked for and obtained an interview with General Grant, who listened to what he had to say, said nothing himself, -- but on the following day we were sent up the river, and meeting the Confederate flag of truce about nine miles below Richmond, we were put on board that vessel, and the Federal naval prisoners sent down to be exchanged for us took our places in the one we left. After a short time the two vessels separated, and our boat steamed up the river. We had not gone very far before we saw a Confederate picket standing among some bushes near the bank of the river, and we knew we were once more inside the Confederate lines after having been prisoners for seventeen months. I think that was the happiest day of my life.

Salome "Sallie" Myers: how a Gettysburg schoolteacher spent her vacation in 1863

2008-01-03T11:41:00.000-08:00

[Note: In 1863, 21 year-old Elizabeth Salome "Sallie" Myers was on summer vacation. The Gettysburg native was in her fourth week off from teaching in the town's public school when, with little warning, she found herself faced with a terrible decision, to hide in the cellar of her home or help the injured and dying. Forty years later, she authored "How A Gettysburg Schoolteacher Spent Her Vacation in 1863", first published in The Sunday Call newspaper in San Francisco, California. Myers was later interviewed for a news article in the July 4, 1909 Philadelphia North American.]

"I was not an enlisted nurse. At the breaking out of the war I was a teacher in the public schools of Gettysburg, my native place, and the home of my maternal ancestors who were its first settlers. On may 31, 1863, I finished a nine months' term as second assistant to the principle of our schools. Of the experiences of the inhabitants of the Southern border counties of our state that Spring and Summer, I need not speak.More...

Business of all kinds was paralyzed and the daily reports of the coming of the rebels kept us in a constant fever of excitement. On June 26 they came, spent the night and passed through... burning bridges and spreading consternation everywhere. Little we dreamed of the far greater horrors that were in store for us.

"On Wednesday July 1, the storm broke. We were brimming over with patriotic enthusiasm. While our elders prepared food we girls stood on the corner near our house and gave refreshments of all kinds to 'our boys' of the First Corps, who were double-quicking down Washington Street to join the troops already engaged in battle west of the town. After the men had all passed, we sat on our doorsteps or stood around in groups, frightened nearly out of our wits but never dreaming of defeat. A horse was led by, the blood streaming from his head which was covered. The sight sickened me. Then a man was led by supported by two comrades. His head had been hastily bandaged and blood was visible. I turned away faint with horror, for I never could bear the sight of blood. After a while the artillery wagons began to go back and we couldn't understand that. The came the order: 'Women and children to the cellars; the rebels will shell the town.' We lost little time in obeying the order. My home was on West High Street, near Washington (Street) and in the direct path of the retreat. From 4 to 6 we were in the cellar and those two hours I can never forget. Our cellar was a good one and furnished a refuge for many besides our own family.

"The noise above our heads, the rattling of musketry, the screeching of shells, and the unearthly yells, added to the cries of the children, were enough to shake the stoutest heart. After the rebels had gained full possession of the town, some of our men who had been captured were standing near the cellar window. One of them asked if some of us would take their addresses and the addresses of friends and write to them of their capture. I took thirteen and wrote as they requested. I received answers from all but one, and several of the soldiers revisited the place of their capture and recognized the house and cellar window. While the battle lasted we concealed and fed three men in our cellar.

"Before 6 o'clock the firing ceased and we came up from the cellar. They had begun bringing wounded and injured into town. The Catholic and Presbyterian churches, a few doors east of my father's home were taken possession of as hospitals. Dr. James Fulton (143rd Pennsylvania Volunteers) did splendid work getting things in shape. From that time on we had no rest for weeks. 'Girls,' Dr. Fulton said, ' you must come up to the churches and help us- the boys are suffering terribly!' I went to the Catholic church. On pews and floors men lay, the groans of the suffering and dying were heartrending. I knelt beside the first man near the door and asked what I could do. 'Nothing,' he replied, 'I am going to die.' I went outside the church and cried. I returned and spoke to the man- he was wounded in the lungs and spine, and there was not the slightest hope for him. The man was Sgt. Alexander Stewart of the 149th Pennsylvania Volunteers. I read a chapter of the Bible to him, it was the last chapter his father had read before he left home. The wounded man died on Monday, July 6.

"Sgt. Stewart was the first wounded man brought in, but others followed. The sight of blood never again affected me and I was among wounded and dying men day and night. While the battle lasted and the town was in possession of the rebels, I went back and forth between my home and the hospitals without fear. The soldiers called me brave, but I am afraid the truth was that I did not know enough to be afraid and if I had known enough, I had no time to think of the risk I ran, for my heart and hands were full. One of our boys had lost a leg. He had been with us several days and had become very fond of my little sisters. Very frequently they sang for him, 'There is No Name So Sweet on Earth', at that time a popular hymn. He suffered from indigestion and one night in his restlessness, the bandages came loose. It was after midnight. The nurse, tired out, had fallen asleep and before we could find a surgeon he was so weakened by loss of blood that he died the next morning. A few days later his wife came. She was young and had never been away from home. When she heard of her husband being wounded, she started for Gettysburg, leaving a babe that he had never seen. She did not know of his death until she came to us and her grief was heartrending.

"I went daily through the hospitals with my writing materials, reading and answering letters. This work enlisted all my sympathies, and I received many kind and appreciative letters from those who could not come. Besides caring for the wounded, we did all we could for the comfort of friends who came to look after their loved ones. Many pleasant and enduring friendships were the result of this part of my work. It is a great pleasure to remember that during that long, trying summer, I was treated with the greatest courtesy and kindness by the soldiers, not one, in either army, ever addressing me except in the most respectful manner. They were men. They bore their suffering in the hospitals with the same matchless courage and fortitude with which they met the dangers and endured the hardships of army life. Their patience was marvelous. I never heard a murmur. Truly, we shall not look upon their like again.

"I would not care to live that summer again, yet I would not willingly erase that chapter from my life's experience; and I shall always be thankful that I was permitted to minister to the wants and soothe the last hours of some of the brave men who lay suffering and dying for the dear old flag."

Words from the condemned -- part 1 of 7: the diary of Henry Wirz

2008-01-02T12:28:00.000-08:00

Part 1 of 7 : Henry Wirz diary entry of October 1, 1865. [See all entries in this series]

[explanatory note from the New York Times:]

"We print below the diary of Henry Wirz, which we received last evening from a correspondent at Washington. Several references have been made in our telegraphic dispatches and elsewhere to this singular document. Our readers will find in it little that bears upon his career at Andersonville, except his protestations of innocence. As to the general character of this diary, and the genuineness of the sentiments expressed in it, we shall leave our readers to judge. We have no desire, and it is hardly necessary to argue his case, now that the grave has closed over him."

Old Capitol Prison, October 1, 1865:

Everything is quiet around me, no sound but the measured steps of the sentinel in the corridor can be heard, the man who is sitting in my room is nodding in his chair.More... Poor, short-sighted mortals that we all are, this man is put in my room to watch me, to prevent any attempt I might possibly make to take my own life. My life, what is it worth to anyone except myself and my poor family, that they should be so anxious. I think I understand it very well, they are afraid I might cheat them and the public at large from having their revenge and giving, at the same time, the masses the benefit of seeing a man hung. If that is all, they are welcome, I have no desire to live, perhaps there was never a more willing victim dragged to the scaffold than I am, why should I desire to live. A beggar, crippled with my health and spirit broken, why, oh, why should I desire to live. For the sake of my family? My family will do as well without me as with me; instead of providing and taking care of them, I would be a burthen to them. And still knowing all that, why do I not put an end to my life? Because, in the first instance, what I suffer now is the will of God. God, how much is not in this word. What tower of strength, of consolation. Yea, Heavenly Father, if it was not thy will, I would not be a prisoner, I would not be looked at, spoken of as a monster such as the world has never seen and never will see, if that what I suffer now was not put on me by you for some wise purpose I would not be as free as the bird in the air. Thou and I, we two alone know that I am innocent of these terrible charges. Thou and I, we both know, that I never took the life of a fellow man, that I never caused a man to suffer and die in consequence of ill treatment inflicted by me, and still I am tried for murder, men have sworn that they saw me do it, they have called on Thee, to witness that they tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, and they told a lie, a lie black as hell itself, why did you not send a thunderbolt from the high heavens, why o God, why, because it is thy holy will, and in humility I kiss the rod with which thou seest proper to chastise me.

The second reason why I do not destroy a life which is a burden to me is because I owe it to myself, my family, my relations, even the world at large to prove that there never existed a man so utterly devoid of all humanity, such a fiend incarnate, as it has been attempted to prove me to be. I see very well that I have no earthly show, that I am a doomed man, but thanks be to God, that I am enabled to say with holy Stephen, Lord lay not this sin to my charge. They judge by what they hear and I must abide by it.

It makes me feel very sorry and at the same time I could almost smile, when I see men like Col. Persons and Capt. Wright give their testimony, how careful they first weigh every word; how afraid they are to say something which might perhaps implicate themselves. I pity them, a day will come when they will be sorry that they took not a more manly stand than they did. Perhaps one of the hardest things I have to bear is, when I hear such men speak now, and recollect what they have said and how they acted a year ago, then they did not say that they did not wish to associate with me, oh no, then they would visit my house and invite me to theirs. But enough, I despise and always have despised a coward.

My wife has tried again to see me to-day, but could not because Gen. Baker who by order of the Secretary of War has to be present at the interview is still sick. I think it is pretty hard, because a man is sick, I have been deprived now for two weeks of almost the only joy, to see my poor wife. It looks to me, that the hundreds of officials at Washington one could be entrusted with the fearful responsibility to let a sick prisoner see his wife, talk with her for thirty minutes about three dear children, their domestic affairs. But why should I grumbles or have any bitterness in my heart? I think I ought to be proud that a government like the Government of these United States considers me of such importance to take such extraordinary measures.

For four weeks have I asked in vain to have the permission to see a minister of the gospel, to get such consolation, as I thought I needed, part of that time I was at death's door, and finally on yesterday, I was allowed to see Rev. Father Boyle, but during the whole time, except during confession, the Officer was present. I think it is high time to blot out the eagle in the American escutcheon and substitute a buzzard. I have heard when I was a boy that the eagle was the king of birds, if he is how is it that he stoops so low to tear with his talons an humble captain, and is afraid to strike men such as I could name. Poor eagle I pity thee, thy arts are more like those of a buzzard.