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LETTERS 
 
 FROM A SURGEON OF THE 
 CIVIL WAR 
 
 COMPILED BY 
 
 MARTHA DERBY PERRY 
 
 Author of *^ God's Light as it Came to Me " 
 
 ILLUSTRATED FROM PHOTOGRAPHS 
 
 c 
 
 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1906 
 
LIBRARY of CONGRESS 
 Two Copies Received 
 
 JUN 9 1906 
 
 ( / Cs»yrighl Entry 
 
 COPY B. 
 
 E.Go\ 
 
 Copyright, 1906, 
 By Little, Brown, and Company. 
 
 ^11 rights reserved 
 
 Published June, 1906 
 
 THE tjmVEESIT? PEESS, CAMBBIDOE, V. 8. A. 
 
My Husband and I dedicate these pages 
 to our Nieces and Nephews, who though 
 unborn in our early days, are now to us 
 as if they had always been. 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 IN a much weather-beaten trunk, which 
 since the Civil War has travelled from 
 one attic to another, have been carefully 
 preserved a pair of shoulder-straps, a silver 
 trefoil (the badge of the Second Corps of 
 the Army of the Potomac), a green military 
 sash, a well-worn workbag in which is still 
 a big darning-needle with its half-used 
 thread, numerous photographs of officers 
 and localities, and a mass of letters. 
 
 From the end of the war until the pres- 
 ent time these letters have remained un- 
 opened, and as the contents are mixed with 
 much which is personal, it seems best to 
 separate the war news from the rest and 
 preserve it in a connected form which may 
 prove of interest to the general reader, 
 vii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Although there are gaps in the order of the 
 correspondence, it is sufficiently connected 
 to tell its own story. 
 
 John G. Perry of Boston, Mass., entered 
 Harvard College in 1858, bearing with him 
 a very youthful attachment ; and in the 
 undoubting judgment of youth, he and I, 
 but boy and girl, in light-hearted gayety 
 strolled one evening in the moonlight to 
 consider the unsupportable length of time 
 before living our lives together. First the 
 present college term ; then the Medical 
 School and hospital service after, for even 
 in childhood John was called "the little 
 doctor." How indefinite it all seemed, — 
 how far, far away the future ! So we wan- 
 dered on, regardless of all possible interfer- 
 ence in our joy of life, and finally decided 
 with but little, or I may say no hesitation, 
 that the college life, then but a few months 
 advanced, must be abandoned and the Sci- 
 entific School, offering shorter terms and 
 viii 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 collateral studies, adopted — for even then 
 the medical course must follow. This was 
 insurmountable ; and thus it was that the 
 plan of action agreed upon by both was 
 taken and earnestly continued until the 
 spring of 1862, when the Government issued 
 a call for volunteer contract assistant sur- 
 geons to serve in the military hospitals, to 
 thus avoid detaching the commissioned 
 assistant surgeons, who were needed on the 
 fields of battle, from their respective regi- 
 ments. The medical student in general 
 belonged to the class best adapted to this 
 service, and as it exactly fitted the needs of 
 this particular one, he made application and 
 was accepted. 
 
 Armed with authority from the Surgeon 
 General of the State of Massachusetts 
 (Dale), he started for the rendezvous. For- 
 tress Monroe, where he was to report to 
 Surgeon General Cuyler of that depart- 
 ment. 
 
 ix 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 Arriving there early one morning in com- 
 pany with many others, he was assigned to 
 duty at the Chesapeake Hospital, formerly 
 a seminary for young ladies, now the Indian 
 School. Thus began his army experiences. 
 
 He had received permission to fit himself 
 for his final examinations at the Boston 
 Medical School by means of experience in 
 army hospitals rather than through the 
 usual routine of study, and much that is 
 recorded in the following extracts was the 
 result of this especial experience and study. 
 
 Acknowledgment is due the Military 
 Order of the Loyal Legion of Massachu- 
 setts for permission to copy photographs 
 in their collection. 
 
 MARTHA DERBY PERRY. 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 I. In the Chesapeake Hospital, Fortress 
 
 Monroe 1 
 
 II. First Experience as a Commissioned 
 
 Officer 21 
 
 III. An Accident and its Conclusion . . 47 
 
 IV. The New York Riot 57 
 
 V. Return to the Army 74 
 
 VI. The Murder of Captain McKay . . 80 
 
 VII. Camp near Culpeper 99 
 
 VIII. The Battle of Bristoe Station . . 104 
 
 IX. Marching and Counter-marching . 119 
 
 X. The Other Side of Germannia Ford 132 
 
 XI. Camp at Stevensburg, Va 147 
 
 XII. The Commencement of Granfs Cam- 
 paign 163 
 
 XIII. Captain Kelliher^s Wounds ... 178 
 
 XIV, Operating and Marching .... 184 
 
 xi 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 Chapter Page 
 
 XV. The Death of Lieutenant G of 
 
 the Sharpshooters 190 
 
 XVI. A Delightful Episode 195 
 
 XVIL Field Hospital near Petersburg . . 207 
 
 XVIII. Camp near Petersburg 217 
 
 Xll 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS 
 
 Portrait of John G. Perry, March, 1 864 . Frontispiece 
 
 View of Fredericksburg from above the 
 
 Town of Falmouth Facing page 32 
 
 The Post Office " '< 76 
 
 Winter Quarters of the Twentieth Mas- 
 sachusetts « "126 
 
 Sketch of the Hut of an Officer of the 
 
 Twentieth Massachusetts . . . . " "150 
 
 The Country through which the Battle 
 of the Wilderness was Fought — A 
 Pontoon Bridge " "174 
 
 An Ambulance removing the Wounded " " 208 
 
 Major-General Bartlett " « 218 , 
 
LETTERS 
 
 FROM A SURGEON OF THE 
 CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER I 
 
 IN THE CHESAPEAKE HOSPITAL, FORTRESS 
 MONROE 
 
 May 18th, 1862. 
 
 I AM sitting on the bed of a wounded 
 Confederate, and using paper which 
 he kindly offered me. As Sunday is 
 generally the battle day, a medical grad- 
 uate and I — he, by the way, as green as 
 the foliage — had hurried through from 
 Boston, hoping to reach here and be fairly 
 at work by that time, but we found we 
 were to be faced by many difficulties. 
 
 On our arrival I reported to the brigade 
 surgeon, who promptly said there was 
 neither room for me nor need of my ser- 
 vices; still, he would do his best to find 
 1 1 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 me work, and so politely bowed me to the 
 door. This was a surprise, but, nothing 
 daunted, I wandered aimlessly about, con- 
 scious, however, that in my pocket were 
 official credentials which entitled me to the 
 position of a government contract assistant 
 surgeon ; but there seemed so much red tape 
 to unfold I could hardly find the right end 
 to begin on. 
 
 Seeing the door of a cottage ajar, I 
 entered, and found myself in the presence 
 of a surgeon who was hard at work at the 
 operating table, with a number of assist- 
 ants in attendance. I watched them, the 
 surgeon now and then eying me, as if to 
 say, " What the devil are you doing here? " 
 until in the first spare moment he asked my 
 business. I gave him my name, told him 
 what I had come for, and of the rebuff I 
 had just received. At that he laughed, 
 saying, " Never mind, you are just the 
 man needed; we are overloaded with work 
 and help is absolutely necessary; you shall 
 2 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 share my quarters, and I wiU see that you 
 are all right." 
 
 At mess that evening this good friend, 
 Dr. Gushing, placed my seat beside his, 
 and noticing that I felt a little anxious as 
 to my possible reception by the brigade 
 surgeon in charge, who had just entered, 
 touched my knee, whispering, "If you 
 don't notice him, he won't you ; you 're all 
 right; " and so here I was at once installed 
 for the time as Dr. Cushing's assistant. 
 
 This hospital is situated a short distance 
 from the fort and on the Hampton Road. 
 From where I am writing I see many ships 
 of war riding at anchor in the stream, and 
 also the very spot where the battle between 
 the " Merrimac " and the " Monitor " took 
 place. The building holds about seven hun- 
 dred patients, and is now full; beside it is 
 a cottage, and also some twenty tents, all 
 occupied by sick and wounded Confeder- 
 ates. Dr. Gushing and I have entire charge 
 of these men, who seem in good spirits, and 
 3 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 are finer looking fellows than our own men 
 liere. I hear that the surgeon who served 
 before me, while dressing a soldier's wound, 
 laid the knife for a moment on the bed. 
 The man seized it and made a lunge at the 
 doctor, but instead of killing him, as he had 
 intended, only ran it into his arm; where- 
 upon the doctor instantly shot him. I sus- 
 pect that the surgeon may have been rough 
 in this instance, possibly intentionally so; 
 I am careful, however, not to leave my in- 
 struments within reach of these prisoners, 
 although they seem friendly and I do not 
 fear them. 
 
 May 28th, 1862. 
 
 On one of the beds there lies, fast asleep, 
 a Confederate surgeon, — a thoroughbred 
 South Carolinian, who never, before the 
 war, passed his State lines. He was cap- 
 tured with a number of others in the last 
 engagement before Richmond, and as most 
 of these men were wounded, he was de- 
 tailed to care for them. Dressed entirely 
 4 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 in Alabama homespun, — which is the 
 ugliest snuff -colored stuff imaginable, — 
 a broad-brimmed planter's hat covering his 
 head, and stained with mud and blood from 
 head to foot, the appearance of this officer 
 when he first arrived was strange enough; 
 but his face was bright and intelligent. 
 
 His greeting was unexpected: "I am 
 delighted to meet men from Massachusetts, 
 for I know I shall find in them intelligence 
 and hospitality "; and he certainly did find 
 the latter, for we furnished him through- 
 out with clothes. He enjoys reading the 
 Boston newspapers, and we have many 
 pleasant chats together, for I find he is 
 anxious to discover for himself the true 
 state of affairs at the North, and whether 
 the Yankee hordes are such bloodhounds 
 as he has been taught to consider them. 
 We seem to be making each other's ac- 
 quaintance by simple good fellowship, and 
 this, after all, is the only true way. 
 
 About sundown last night I was walk- 
 5 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 ing on the beach quietly smoking my pipe, 
 when I saw something which proved to be 
 the body of a man floating on the water 
 just at the edge of the shore. I pulled it 
 up on the beach, covered it with seaweed, 
 and then reported the incident. Meanwhile 
 I returned to watch, walking up and down 
 in the moonlight, or standing by the mound 
 of seaweed, thinking of the poor nameless 
 thing beneath, — thinking in ways that a 
 month since were unknown to me. Since 
 coming here death has faced me at every 
 turn and in every conceivable form; yet 
 my own future, my happiness, and my ac- 
 tivity seem assured to me. Did that poor 
 fellow look forward as confidently, I won- 
 dered? Possibly, and yet I cannot think 
 he felt quite as safe as I. Then, was I 
 homesick? Only the moon and the stars 
 and the night could testify. . . . 
 
 The arrival of the provost marshal 
 forced me back again to the existing 
 facts. He recognized the body as that of 
 6 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 one of the unfortunates who was drowned 
 
 when the " Cumberland " was sunk by the 
 
 " Merrimac." 
 
 June 15th, 1862. 
 
 This afternoon I collected all my con- 
 valescents in the kitchen of the cottage, 
 placed them about a blazing fire, — for it 
 was chilly and raining hard outside, — and 
 started the singing of Methodist hymns. 
 The music caught like an epidemic, and 
 soon from every side came doctors, nurses, 
 patients, negroes, until we had a rousing 
 chorus. All of them sang with their whole 
 souls, each one asking for his favorite 
 hymn, and the concert ended with " Old 
 Hundred." How I did enjoy it! 
 
 June 20th, 1862. 
 
 I hear from outside sources that I am 
 working under contract and receiving full 
 pay. It is not so. Congress has voted to 
 pay all volunteer surgeons and assistant 
 surgeons, but as I have neither yet taken 
 7 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 my degree nor any examination for it, I 
 am not included in that list. I hold the 
 position of assistant surgeon, but not the 
 pay. 
 
 June 23rd, 1862. 
 
 I have just returned from Norfolk, 
 where I passed a day and night, and must 
 tell you a little of my experience. 
 
 I reached there after about an hour's 
 delightful sail, and by invitation went on 
 board the " Minnesota," which lies just off 
 the city, where I met many old friends and 
 was hospitably entertained. In the after- 
 noon I walked through some of the prin- 
 cipal streets with several officers of the 
 ship. Hundreds of negroes of every age 
 and size watched us as we approached 
 the wharf, grinning and showing their 
 white teeth, and calling out: "By Golly! 
 what big Yanks ! Now you '11 see de rebs 
 run! " It was the hour when the houses 
 were thrown open to the cool evening 
 breeze, and as we looked through the grass- 
 
 8 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 grown streets people were sitting on every 
 piazza and doorstep. When they saw us 
 coming there was much shifting of chairs 
 and rearranging of skirts; some ran into 
 the house and closed the door in our faces, 
 then flew to the window to peep through 
 the blinds, while others remained and turned 
 their backs upon us. The children of one 
 family were placed in a row and told to 
 sing " Dixie " as we passed, which they 
 did vociferously. I did not blame them; 
 under similar circumstances, between all 
 members of the human family there is a 
 strong likeness. The same thing might 
 occur anywhere. 
 
 Throughout the city guards were sta- 
 tioned at intervals like policemen; and I 
 saw but one woman who was not in deep 
 mourning. 
 
 There was a British frigate in the stream, 
 lying beside the " Minnesota," and on Sat- 
 urday night the English officers gave an 
 entertainment on board to the Southern 
 9 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 ladies, on which occasion the tables were 
 dressed with Confederate flags. This is 
 the way John Bull figures as a " neutral " 
 in our affairs. 
 
 July 1st, 1862. 
 
 A new contingent to-day of sick and 
 wounded; in fact, the men arrived in such 
 numbers that we laid them on the grass 
 and dressed their wounds there. I was 
 obliged to perform an operation on one 
 man and cut off two of his fingers. He 
 sat up perfectly straight and did not wince 
 a particle. I called him a " man," for he 
 truly deserved the title, though he, poor 
 fellow, was a mere boy of eighteen years. 
 
 Dr. Gushing, whom I assisted, has gone 
 home, and I have entire charge of the cot- 
 tage. The surgeon-general says he shall 
 place the worst cases here, as it is the 
 healthiest place there is. Think of the 
 experience I shall gain! 
 
 10 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 July 3rd, 1862. 
 
 A thousand wounded men arrived at 
 the fort to-night, and to-morrow we shall 
 probably have five hundred more. The 
 work is endless. 
 
 Last night the heat was intense, and it 
 seemed to me that a puff of pure air, free 
 from the atmosphere of hospital wards, 
 would be worth a kingdom; so, finding a 
 few spare moments, I drew a mattress out 
 on the cottage piazza, upon which I threw 
 myself. The situation of our hospital is 
 quite at the edge of the bluff over the 
 water, so that we have the beautiful bay 
 almost beneath us. The sun was just set- 
 ting ; sky and water were aglow with color, 
 and while smoking my pipe I saw passing 
 below a large force of transports loaded 
 with soldiers whom I knew were com- 
 manded by General Burnside. I knew also 
 that the President and General Scott were 
 aboard. Bands were playing, flags flying, 
 11 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 and all seemed gay and brilliant. On they 
 sailed, with the sunlight upon them, on 
 into the purple and the gray. "Ah!" I 
 thought, solaced by my pipe, " behind me 
 in the stifling wards is the night of that 
 which has passed." 
 
 In one of my rooms lies a young fellow 
 who was a prisoner on board the " Teaser," 
 a Confederate gunboat, when she was cap- 
 tured on the James River. He said our 
 gunboat came round the bend of the river 
 without being seen, and threw a shell which 
 passed directly through their vessel. The 
 Confederates jumped overboard and swam 
 for the shore, but, as he was afraid another 
 shell would be thrown and blow her up, he 
 lowered the flag, and in this way, most 
 fortunately, made his escape. He tells me 
 that our men found on board the " Teaser " 
 a chart of the river, showing a passage 
 through the obstructions which had been 
 considered impassable by the Federal fleet. 
 One of my Confederate patients died 
 1^ 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 to-day. He called me to his bed early this 
 morning and said that he knew of his con- 
 dition and was fully prepared to go, but 
 there was one thing he wanted to do before 
 the end, and that was to beg me to take 
 his money and buy something which I could 
 always keep in remembrance of him. He 
 talked a great while about it, nor could I 
 persuade him that he ought to divide the 
 whole sum among the nurses who had been 
 so kind to him. At one o'clock he died; 
 you will realize the simple pathos in the last 
 act of this poor fellow's history, when I tell 
 you that his whole fortune amounted to less 
 than fifty cents. 
 
 I have a plantation full of negroes under 
 my charge across the river. Twenty are 
 down with measles and twenty more with 
 fever and ague. They are so confoundedly 
 black that at first I found it difficult to 
 discriminate the measles, but now I can 
 see even the dirt. They always have very 
 nice berry pies for me, and you may smile, 
 13 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 but I really believe these berry pies will 
 make a new man of me. 
 
 July 21st, 1862. 
 
 Four hundred released prisoners arrived 
 to-day under flag of truce, and I assure 
 you it was a most distressing sight. All 
 of them were captured during the seven 
 days' fight and had been prisoners but three 
 weeks; yet they were starved, ragged, and 
 filthy beyond description. Some had on 
 only shirts; others drawers without shirts; 
 and one wore simply a rough blanket over 
 his naked body, yet all were either wounded 
 or ill. Their wounds had been dressed only 
 by what each could do for the other, and 
 by making use of the water given them to 
 drink. These men were released because 
 the Confederates could not feed them. 
 They never complain, talking with reluc- 
 tance of their suffering while in prison, 
 and always end by saying, " It was the 
 best the enemy could do for us." My re- 
 U 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 spect for human nature grows every day 
 that I am here. I see its Httleness, but its 
 greatness makes far the deeper impression. 
 The fortitude with which these men bear 
 their hard lot is wonderful, but they are 
 not the only heroes; I am constantly 
 brought in contact with such courage in 
 so many of the men, and such magnanim- 
 ity, that I am fairly awed. 
 
 July 23rd, 1862. 
 I have many curious cases under my 
 care. Some of the patients have been 
 prisoners in Richmond, but although al- 
 most starved and their wounds dressed 
 only by having water poured over them, 
 they are all doing finely. One of them 
 had a ball enter the very apex, or tip end, 
 of his nose, and pass through his head, but 
 he has not had a bad symptom and is now 
 nearly well. Another man was struck by 
 a ball in the forehead, whence it passed 
 directly round his head under the skin, 
 15 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 down and around his neck, making its exit 
 close to the jugular vein and carotid artery. 
 Two others were shot through the lungs, 
 and yet all these fellows are doing finely. 
 I account for it from the very fact of their 
 enforced low diet. 
 
 July 25th, 1862. 
 Released prisoners say that a pestilence 
 is feared in Richmond, where almost every 
 house is turned into a hospital. If a man 
 dies of fever his body is rolled in tar and 
 smoked before burial. Corpses are buried 
 without coffins and scarcely covered with 
 earth. No names mark the grave, but 
 simply the number which that one grave con- 
 tains: "Sixty-five Confederates," "Twenty 
 Federals," or " Yankees," etc. 
 
 August 1st, 1862. 
 
 I have been up to the army, — the Army 
 
 of the Potomac, — and returned last night 
 
 on the hospital boat with released prisoners. 
 
 The trip was very interesting, though full 
 
 16 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 of hard work. On our way we shelled the 
 woods wherever we thought batteries might 
 be planted. At one point we saw a sus- 
 picious horse and wagon, and oiF went a 
 ten-inch shell screaming like a wild devil 
 over the tops of the trees, while every one 
 on the boat eagerly watched the effect. 
 Suddenly there was a boom, and away flew 
 the horse, stripped of all encumbrance by 
 the trees and bushes, for all the world as 
 if after the shell. 
 
 On my arrival at headquarters, at Har- 
 rison's Landing, after seeing all I could 
 of camps and such matters, I stumbled into 
 a hospital tent and there remained, sleep- 
 ing that night under an ambulance, with 
 my blanket for a pillow. The next morn- 
 ing orders came to start the released pris- 
 oners for Chesapeake Hospital and leave 
 the worst cases there. I went on board 
 the transport and, finding the men in a 
 most pitiable condition, offered my ser- 
 vices, which were immediately accepted. 
 2 17 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 Some were almost naked; others without 
 a rag on them. Poor fellows! Their 
 wounds had not been dressed at all, and 
 many were so weak from starvation they 
 could barely walk. We were fifteen hours 
 on board that boat without a morsel of 
 food, and I could have almost eaten my 
 tobacco. Yet not a word of complaint had 
 been breathed by one of those brave men; 
 the fact that they were released seemed 
 sufficient compensation for all their suf- 
 fering. We were finally transferred from 
 the hospital boat to a tugboat which was 
 loaded with bread. 
 
 August 4tli, 1862. 
 
 Something is going on near the army, 
 for gunboats have been moving up and 
 down the river all day, and the big Union 
 gun at the fort is booming throughout the 
 surrounding country every half hour, mak- 
 ing the very earth quake. The sound stirs 
 in me an intense enthusiasm which I have 
 instantly to stifle and suppress, for it is 
 18 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 impossible to do more than I am now 
 doing without my medical degree, which 
 I must have before continuing the work 
 much longer. The brigade surgeon says 
 I must stay here, but the necessities of 
 my future career force me back to my 
 studies; although this surgical practice 
 is of great value, yet I reach in it only 
 two branches of the profession, and there 
 are many others of vital importance. My 
 cottage is full, in fact the whole hospital 
 is crowded, and I am tired out, having 
 no relief whatever from steady, close 
 confinement. 
 
 I see by the papers that the North is 
 in a ferment since the draft; that recruit- 
 ing goes on everywhere, the streets being 
 filled with detachments of troops parad- 
 ing and enticing men to enlist; and that 
 merchants offer to keep open the positions 
 of clerks who do enlist, and in some cases 
 to continue their salaries while they are 
 absent. 
 
 19 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 Note: My husband became at this time 
 so exhausted from overwork that he was 
 obhged to leave suddenly for home. After 
 a severe illness he studied for and success- 
 fully passed his final examinations at the 
 Boston Medical School. We were then 
 married, on March 18th, 1863, and on the 
 same day he received his commission as 
 assistant surgeon of the Twentieth Mass- 
 achusetts Volunteers. On the 11th of 
 April, 1863, he returned to the army. 
 
 20 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER II 
 
 FIRST EXPERIENCE AS A COMMISSIONED 
 OFFICER 
 
 Washington, April 13th, 1863. 
 
 OF all the disagreeable soldier-loaf- 
 ing places I was ever in, this is 
 the worst. The city is rambling, 
 the streets are dusty, unclean, filled with 
 army officers of every grade and with 
 privates. Were it not for the necessity of 
 procuring passes, I would be at this mo- 
 ment with my regiment. Vague rumors 
 concerning army movements have been 
 flying through the city, and I am anxious 
 to be on duty. There is no surgeon with 
 the Twentieth now, so I expect to have full 
 charge. 
 
 Falmouth, April 15th, 1863. 
 
 I have felt dazed and benumbed since 
 my arrival here, probably from the effort 
 21 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 I made before leaving home to suppress 
 all gathering emotions. On the Sound 
 boat I gave way, and I confess to behav- 
 ing as I did when a child for the first time 
 away from home. I cried as I did then, — 
 all night long. I thought Harry Abbott 
 in the berth above me was fast asleep, when 
 suddenly he rolled over and looked down 
 upon me. I felt for the moment thor- 
 oughly ashamed of myself, but he said 
 nothing and settled back into his place, 
 and then I heard him crying also. We 
 had talked things over a bit, and I knew 
 the poor fellow felt that he had seen his 
 home for the last time, and that he had 
 passed safely through so many battles he 
 could hardly escape unscathed again. 
 However, I am quite cheerful now, and 
 manage when in camp with the other 
 officers to wear even a smile; but I think 
 if they could see me after I turn in at 
 night the change of expression would 
 astonish them. 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 I am now quite settled in my camp 
 quarters, feeling at times very like a raw 
 recruit, but usually more like a veteran. 
 We are pleasantly situated on the banks 
 of a river overlooking the enemy's camp 
 on the opposite shore, about two hundred 
 3^ards away. The Confederates keep them- 
 selves pretty dark, only allowing us to see 
 their pickets. 
 
 I am surgeon-in-charge nominally, as 
 the regiment has not its full quota of 
 men, but only acting surgeon in reality. 
 Dr. Hayward, the former surgeon, is now 
 surgeon-in-chief of the brigade, and has 
 nothing more to do with the Twentieth, 
 except that he lives and messes with us. 
 
 Last night I rode with some others to 
 General Couch's headquarters, and was 
 introduced to the great men there. Yes, 
 it was a pleasant thing to do, and the 
 afterglow of enjoyment was even more 
 pleasant. 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 April 23rd, 1863. 
 
 I have been off on picket duty and had 
 my first experience at the outposts. It 
 stormed most lustily the whole time. For- 
 tunately, I had to remain but thirty-six 
 hours, which is just half of the time of 
 the men on guard. I set out from here 
 on horseback, with pistol in holster, knap- 
 sack on my back; one man in front bear- 
 ing my hospital knapsack filled with 
 medicines, instruments, bandages, etc., and 
 my servant — a fine, trusty little German 
 who had served in many a war — carrying 
 my rations and blankets. On my arrival 
 at the post I reported to the commandant, 
 and, this little formality over, looked for 
 a suitable place to quarter myself. 
 
 The picket was stationed in what had 
 been a dense forest before our troops ar- 
 rived, although now the pioneer's axe had 
 made a clearing for us. . . . Pickets are 
 the outposts of the army. They are thrown 
 24i 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 out at certain distances to watch the en- 
 emy's movements, to prevent, if possible, 
 any hostile activity, and to give warning 
 of danger. In an army of this size picket 
 duty requires about five thousand men, who 
 are generally placed within a short distance 
 of the pickets of the opposing force, and 
 are divided into parties of nine, each com- 
 manded by an officer. Behind these are 
 placed groups of men in reserve, who re- 
 lieve the others at intervals, and in case 
 of attack assist in keeping the enemy at 
 bay. Every picket has a surgeon, who 
 remains in the rear with the reserve. He 
 is selected from the regiments by the 
 surgeon-in-chief of the division. A sen- 
 tinel's duty is arduous, especially to a raw 
 recruit ; he must be persistently on the alert, 
 in spite, often, of almost overwhelming 
 drowsiness from the weary monotony of 
 his duty and the stillness of his surround- 
 ings. A soldier who had never been under 
 fire once described to me his absolute terror 
 25 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 at first finding himself one dark night on 
 picket duty. He said the well-worn phrase 
 " my hair stood on end " never had con- 
 veyed to him much meaning, but on this 
 night he knew it to be absolutely true. It 
 seemed to him that an enemy lurked be- 
 hind every bush, and when a shot did cut 
 the air he distinctly felt his cap rise with 
 his bristling hair. 
 
 To return to my story. With the aid 
 of my servant I built a little covering of 
 logs and pine boughs, and then, after an 
 enjoyable breakfast of coffee, hardtack, 
 and cold salt pork, lighted my pipe and 
 strolled down to the outposts to take a 
 view of Johnny Reb. 
 
 The Rappahannock separates the oppos- 
 ing armies, the picket of each being within 
 a stone's throw of the other, even at the 
 widest part of the river. The water rushes 
 by over immense rocks, which sometimes 
 rise above the surface; the banks are 
 thickly wooded, and in their midst rise 
 26 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 rude huts and earthworks. I sat a long 
 time watching the Confederates, wonder- 
 ing as to the outcome of the struggle, 
 trying to place myself in their attitude 
 and to look at things from their stand- 
 point. These reflections were often in- 
 terrupted by shouts from the enemy's 
 pickets across the river to ours, which al- 
 ways drew a curt reply from a Yankee 
 sentinel. 
 
 Rain soon drove me back to my hut, 
 and then it poured in earnest, streaming 
 through every crack and crevice. In half 
 an hour there was an inch of water cover- 
 ing the floor. Wrapped in my blanket, I 
 fell into a deep sleep, and awoke about 
 four in the afternoon to find that the rain 
 had ceased. Later, however, the storm re- 
 turned with redoubled strength and made 
 the woods near by roar with its fury. In 
 an interval of calm I built a fire to cook 
 my supper, thinking it would be the only 
 opportunity, but before it was ready down 
 27 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 came the rain again and put an end to 
 it all. 
 
 Again I lay in my blanket, but at mid- 
 night the commanding officer awoke me to 
 beg a shelter from the storm. No sooner 
 had we settled ourselves to sleep than we 
 were aroused by a messenger from head- 
 quarters, ordering us to lie on our arms, 
 as an attack was expected. 
 
 I awoke at daybreak benumbed with 
 
 cold. At noon the drum beat, my horse 
 
 was brought me, and I returned to the old 
 
 quarters again, after my first experience 
 
 as picket surgeon. 
 
 April 26th, 1863. 
 
 This is the second Sunday I have been 
 with the army, and the third away from 
 home. It is a beautiful day, without a 
 cloud in the sky, and I have had a de- 
 lightful five hours' ride with the Doctor 
 and Major Macy. We rode the entire 
 way by the river, enjoying intensely the 
 lovely scenery, and went as far as the 
 28 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 extreme right of our picket, halting on 
 the brow of a hill overhanging the river, 
 and from which we looked directly into the 
 camp of the enemy and down upon their 
 outposts. Last night a number of us rode 
 over to General Sedgwick's headquarters 
 to see some of his staff, and had a jolly 
 time. The General ordered out the band 
 and gave us a parade of his corps. 
 
 April 29th, 1863. 
 
 The last twelve hours have been very 
 exciting. All the army has moved except- 
 ing our division, which is left to protect 
 the town and deceive the enemy. The 
 regiment is picketing along the river for 
 four or five miles, and we expect marching 
 orders about dark. Our division crossed 
 the river just below Fredericksburg with 
 little opposition. We can hear the firing 
 now quite distinctly, and each one wonders 
 what part he is to take in the ball. 
 
 Last night the brigade band serenaded 
 ^9 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 us, and our room was so filled with gen- 
 erals and subordinate officers that some of 
 us sat on the floor. ... In all this stir and 
 excitement I listened to the conversation 
 about me, saying little ; so much of me was 
 far away, wishing, as I always do wish at 
 such times, that I were not alone. But 
 there is a strange romance in it all. 
 
 April 30th, 1863. 
 
 Still here in Falmouth. We are in the 
 centre of the Union line and are expected 
 to hold this place and prevent the Confed- 
 erates from cutting off supplies or dividing 
 our forces. They have taken to their rifle- 
 pits, undoubtedly anticipating an attack, 
 and are so near that I can see their faces 
 with the poorest opera-glass. The moon 
 shines gloriously to-night, and when we 
 march it will be right into the enemy's 
 country; but the loafing about, waiting 
 for orders to start, the suspense and delay, 
 are almost unendurable. 
 30 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Falmouth, May 1st, 1863. 
 
 The Government has lately kept back the 
 mail, so that this afternoon, when letters 
 came in a heap, I gave such a shout of joy 
 that it startled Dr. Hay ward and Macy 
 out of a sound sleep; they thought me 
 mad. How I have enjoyed my letters, 
 and how I drank in every word! I think 
 that when two people are separated, if the 
 one absent is occupied, the lot of the one 
 left at home is the harder; but if the one 
 absent is not occupied, I think his lot must 
 be the harder. 
 
 The sun has set, the moon is resplen- 
 dent, and if orders should come to-night 
 the march would be enjoyable. Every- 
 thing is packed and my horse saddled, but 
 the waiting is very trying. To-day we 
 have heard firing on all sides, and two 
 hundred prisoners captured by our forces 
 have just passed. There was a little ex- 
 citement this afternoon, when a private 
 31 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 who was crazy drunk rushed into our 
 quarters, insulted us, and attempted to 
 strike Harry Abbott, who happened to be 
 standing near. After a hard struggle we 
 conquered him. He will be severely pun- 
 ished for such folly. 
 
 Falmouth, May 5th, 1863. 
 
 Yesterday the regiment was in the city 
 of Fredericksburg; to-day it is back in its 
 old quarters at Falmouth, and I am in the 
 same house and room. We have had two 
 days of pretty hard fighting; the first day 
 winning everything, the second losing all 
 we had gained. 
 
 On Saturday night we broke camp and 
 marched to the Lacy house, where we 
 expected to cross the river by pontoon- 
 bridge. No bridge having been built, I 
 managed to sleep very well in a gutter, 
 forming a half circle, with my head on 
 one side and feet on the other. In the 
 morning we crossed the bridge that had 
 32 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 been finally put together during the night, 
 and easily marched into Fredericksburg, 
 which was not only deserted by the Con- 
 federate army, but by most of the able- 
 bodied inhabitants as well. 
 
 This attack on the city and its heights 
 was a " blind " to hold the enemy in check 
 while General Hooker should cross the river 
 above, and this is the way it was done. We 
 formed on the edge of the stream, hidden 
 from view of the opposing forces, and to 
 the west of the city, and in line of battle 
 climbed the bank and faced a broad open 
 plain which extended back several hundred 
 yards towards Mayre's Heights, where were 
 the earthworks and rifle-pits of the Con- 
 federates. All of us looked for a sweep- 
 ing fire the instant we should appear on 
 the plain, but as none came, a faint hope 
 arose in my inexperienced mind that the 
 heights were deserted; for this coming 
 battle was my first, and ideas concerning 
 it were very vague. Of one fact I was 
 3 33 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 sure, that until something did take place, 
 I wished to ride in front of the line with 
 Colonel Macy. While crossing the plain 
 we noticed an officer behind the first breast- 
 work, mounted on a gray horse such as 
 Colonel Hall rode, the commanding officer 
 of the brigade. Macy said he was Colonel 
 Hall. As we drew near, a flame of fire 
 suddenly burst forth, and a solid shot 
 whizzed over our heads. 
 
 " Dismount," cried Macy, " and let your 
 horse go ! " 
 
 We threw ourselves flat on the ground, 
 as did also the men in line, and so re- 
 mained until the firing ceased. Then came 
 the order "Charge!" and the line swept 
 by me, I recognizing for the first time that 
 my place was at the rear and not at the 
 front. The Confederates made but little 
 resistance, abandoning their entrenchments 
 and retreating before our line until the 
 order "Halt!" was given to our men. 
 Later we returned to the Confederate 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 earthworks, beyond which we had chased 
 the enemy for over a mile. 
 
 The Twentieth Massachusetts was then 
 detailed to occupy the city of Fredericks- 
 burg as a provost guard. Meantime I 
 searched for my mare, " Bessie," and 
 found her securely tethered with Macy's 
 horse on the bank of the river, in charge 
 of an orderly. Mounting, I rode into the 
 city, and there saw the necessity of a pro- 
 vost guard, for the houses had been pil- 
 laged, and our men were masquerading 
 through the streets in women's attire, — 
 nightcaps and gowns, silk dresses, etc. 
 
 I selected a nice brick house for my 
 hospital. On entering the parlor of this 
 deserted mansion I was startled to see a 
 Union officer, in rank a major, stretched 
 upon the floor, and quite dead. How came 
 he here before the arrival of his compan- 
 ions, and, if a spy, why that dress? I 
 searched the body for a name, or for any 
 sign that might give a clue to his fate, but 
 35 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 in vain; everything was shrouded then, as 
 now, in impenetrable mystery. 
 
 That night the enemy were strongly re- 
 inforced, and the next morning our men 
 had the mortification of being driven back 
 from the earthworks into the city, and 
 losing that which they had so splendidly 
 gained the day before. More than this, 
 our force was now so small that we could 
 do nothing but fall back upon Falmouth 
 without striking a blow. Yesterday, there- 
 fore, we simply held ourselves in readiness 
 to receive an attack, but none came. The 
 enemy kept up a sort of duel with our 
 skirmishers all day long, which wearied the 
 men almost to death. Occasionally a shell 
 dropped into the city, and sharpshooters 
 had the range of many of the streets, 
 making it extremely dangerous to move 
 about. 
 
 I had to run the gauntlet many times, 
 and on one of my expeditions heard a 
 woman's piercing screams from a house 
 36 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 by the way. I rushed in, and found an 
 elderly woman of immense size in a vio- 
 lent fit of hysterics. She was seated in a 
 rocking-chair, swaying back and forth, evi- 
 dently beside herself with terror, scream- 
 ing, moaning, and crying. While I did 
 what I could in the hurry of the moment 
 to reassure the poor thing, a shell came 
 whizzing through the air above, exploding 
 as it fell into the square in front of us. 
 Over went the old woman backwards, turn- 
 ing a complete somersault, chair and all. 
 For a moment there was a convulsion of 
 arms and legs, and then such shrieks that 
 it seemed to me the din outside was noth- 
 ing to that within. I gathered her together 
 as quickly as I could, — it was difficult to 
 find any particular part to hold on to, — 
 and when she had wit and breath enough 
 to answer, asked for the other inmates of 
 the house; vague and muffled sounds told 
 me they were near, and when she pointed 
 with her finger downwards, sure enough, 
 87 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 I found them in the cellar huddled to- 
 gether, both whites and negroes. It 
 seemed that the old woman was too large 
 to manage the cellar stairs, and they, sup- 
 posing from all the uproar that she was 
 killed, were every moment expecting a like 
 fate for themselves. However, they soon 
 ventured up, and I hurried back to my 
 hospital. 
 
 This morning, knowing by the Confed- 
 erate yells that the enemy had been still 
 more strongly reinforced, an attack upon 
 us seemed certain. ... I have never, since 
 I was born, heard so fearful a noise as a 
 rebel yell. It is nothing like a hurrah, but 
 rather a regular wildcat screech. Each 
 shell that burst over the heads of our men 
 was followed by one of these yells, and 
 the sound was appalling. 
 
 Falmouth, May 6th, 1863. 
 Sad and discouraging news comes to us 
 this morning. General Hooker, who was 
 38 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 behind Fredericksburg, expecting to fight 
 the great battle there, has been flanked and 
 driven back to the river, which he is now 
 recrossing. The Confederates are push- 
 ing him hard, and he will find it difficult 
 to save his whole army. I can distinctly 
 hear the bursting of the enemy's shells as 
 they pour upon him. . . . One of General 
 Sedgwick's aides has just come in, and 
 says General Hooker is doing his utmost 
 to save his forces from utter rout and 
 demoralization. 
 
 May 7th, 1863. 
 
 We have marching orders, and must 
 again cross the river and attack the same 
 fortifications before Fredericksburg which 
 were taken so gallantly last Sunday. Gen- 
 eral Hooker has been obliged to fall back 
 upon this side of the river, and is now 
 quartered with his troops just where they 
 were before he moved. Below Fredericks- 
 burg General Sedgwick crossed the river, 
 drove the enemy from their heights, and 
 39 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 inarched his troops in behind their army, — 
 a most spirited manoeuvre. The Twentieth 
 formed a part of General Couch's corps, 
 which attacked the enemy's centre, striking 
 through Fredericksburg, and fighting the 
 Confederates in their own rifle-pits and 
 fortifications. The Federal forces charged, 
 were driven back twice, rallied the third 
 time, and carried the day, finally chasing 
 the enemy three miles. General Hooker 
 sent word to hold the city till he could reach 
 it, but he being defeated and driven back, 
 the Union troops were forced to retreat 
 and yield all they had won. . . . The latest 
 news is that General Hooker is to cross 
 the river once again; his troops are dis- 
 heartened, but they will fight well, if only 
 to wipe out the mortification they now 
 feel. The old Twentieth was complimented 
 in a special order for its behavior and 
 bravery in the last fight. I feel as proud 
 as if I had fought, won, and deserved to 
 share its honor. 
 
 40 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 The reports in the Northern papers of 
 our army affairs are not rehable. They 
 dupe and encourage the public by false 
 statements. The only paper allowed within 
 the lines of the army is the " Washington 
 Chronicle," a government organ. 
 
 May 14th, 1863. 
 
 There is no sign of movement ; the days 
 pass, but nothing is done. The whole army 
 cries for " Little Mac," who, if he returned 
 to-day, would be greeted with the heartiest 
 cheers that ever filled the air. This is the 
 opinion of every man in the regiment, and 
 they have all served under him. 
 
 The heat is intense now, and my hair is 
 cut so short that my head looks as if it 
 were trying to grow through. 
 
 May 23rd, 1863. 
 This morning, when riding, I came to 
 a ditch filled with water. My horse was 
 walking quite slowly, but, as he is a great 
 41 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 jumper, he suddenly concluded to jump 
 that ditch. Unluckily his feet slipped in 
 the mud and he went in headforemost. The 
 stream was deep, and such a wetting as I 
 got! My boots were so full of water that 
 I felt several inches taller, and I swallowed 
 mud enough to fill the ditch. My horse 
 tried to scramble out on his knees, but 
 fortunately was not hurt. 
 
 June 6th, 1863. 
 
 Yesterday morning the Confederates 
 disappeared from the heights of Fred- 
 ericksburg, after having spent the night 
 in burning their camps. In the afternoon, 
 about three o'clock, we could see and hear 
 tremendous firing on the left, where Gen- 
 eral Sedgwick crossed the river before the 
 last battle. I ordered my horse and rode 
 down there, as it was only a mile, and 
 found we had several batteries of field- 
 pieces sweeping the broad plain on the 
 other side of the river. When I arrived. 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 General* Sedgwick was building a bridge, 
 which was soon ready for his troops to 
 cross. Skirmishers were thrown out to 
 advance towards the heights, as before. I 
 stood just over the batteries, and when 
 our skirmishers took the enemy's rifle-pits, 
 which were all along the shore, I could 
 see the Confederates retreating until they 
 reached an abrupt chasm where the pits 
 ended. Into this they plunged, rushing 
 up its further side to reach the next line 
 of pits. On the rise where I was stand- 
 ing was planted a battery of very large 
 guns; while the Confederates were run- 
 ning through the chasm our men brought 
 one of these guns to bear upon them, 
 throwing a shell directly in their midst. 
 The effect was horrible, and I turned 
 away, unable to endure the sight. 
 
 On my return to camp I found we were 
 to march at sunrise. The men were sing- 
 ing and cheering, and the officers were in 
 fine spirits. Late that evening, when we 
 43 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 were quite ready, — knapsacks filled and 
 blankets rolled, — the order was revoked. 
 Men's faces dropped, and all swore silently 
 or otherwise. The whole thing may have 
 been a demonstration on our part to dis- 
 cover the whereabouts of the Confederates, 
 but it was awfully exasperating. They 
 have been threatening our right, frighten- 
 ing the people in Washington out of their 
 wits, so that possibly this apparent move- 
 ment of ours was intended to divert them 
 and draw them back. I hear that in Alex- 
 andria rifle-pits and trenches are dug in 
 the streets of the city, and every night the 
 planks on the long bridge which runs into 
 IWashington are taken up. 
 
 Again I hear firing on the left, but do 
 not dare to leave to see the fight for fear 
 that orders to march may come while I 
 am away. I rather suspect the brigade 
 will be left here to guard the railroad, but 
 I trust not, for if there is to be a fight 
 we all want to share it. Our men feel 
 44 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 great pride in going into battle, for they 
 always fight well and usually are compli- 
 mented by their general. 
 
 Falmouth, June 7th, 1863. 
 
 While I was writing my last letter 
 orders arrived to prepare to march, and 
 so we have been preparing ever since; but 
 the word " start " does not come. Night 
 before last the orders were that we should 
 have the wagons packed and ready to move 
 at four o'clock the next morning, which 
 meant turning the sick men out of the hos- 
 pitals and setting everybodj^ to work, but 
 at three o'clock a. m. a second order coun- 
 termanded the first. Then everything 
 which had been taken down had to be 
 put up again. Last night was a repeti- 
 tion of the one before. 
 
 General Sedgwick has gained a crossing 
 below us on the left, and has thrown one 
 division across the river, but they do noth- 
 ing but tease the enemy. The latter have 
 45 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 a large force of men and guns and can at 
 any moment drive General Sedgwick into 
 the water. Why General Hooker ordered 
 him there is a wonder to everybody, and 
 why the Confederates do not open fire 
 upon him is a still greater cause for amaze- 
 ment. Last night they did try the range 
 of their heavy guns, and in less than five 
 minutes obliged him. to strike all his tents 
 and order the men into rifle-pits. 
 
 June 15th, 1863. 
 At last ! To-morrow we move, — for 
 what point I know not. Our brigade is 
 to cover the rear, which is a post of 
 honor, and, of course, we appreciate the 
 compliment. 
 
 46 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 AN ACCIDENT AND ITS CONCLUSION 
 
 ON the 15th of June, at daylight, 
 when the march began, the heat 
 was frightful, and so many men 
 dropped from the ranks that I was inces- 
 santly engaged with the dead and dying, 
 and consequently fell farther and farther 
 to the rear. To prevent the enemy's cav- 
 alry from following the Union army, its 
 w^ake was covered with trees felled by the 
 rear-guard. Guerillas infested the woods 
 on all sides, and, realizing the danger of 
 being separated from the rest of the com- 
 mand, I mounted my horse to catch up 
 with the regiment. At first I tried to 
 jump the debris, but finding this impos- 
 sible, dismounted, so as to lead my horse 
 over the obstructions, which cut telegraph 
 47 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 wires rendered extremely dangerous. I 
 placed my foot upon one of these wires, 
 that the horse might more easily step over 
 it, instead of which she jumped, caught 
 her foot in the wire, slipped it from under 
 my boot, the wire striking her in the belly. 
 To free herself she kicked and struck me 
 in the leg. The excited animal was off in 
 a moment, I falling amid the brush. See- 
 ing the sole of my boot facing me, I knew 
 what had happened, — a multiple fracture. 
 Faintness soon crept over me, but I man- 
 aged to drag myself to the side of the road 
 before losing consciousness. From this 
 condition I was aroused by seeing Colonel 
 Macy's face bending over me, and hearing 
 him say, " Old fellow, your horse made 
 straight for the Twentieth, and knowing 
 something was wrong, I hunted you up." 
 
 Being well aware of the great risk the 
 Colonel had braved for me, I told my story 
 in a few words, begging him to hurry back 
 to the regiment and send an ambulance im- 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 mediately. I very quickly found myself 
 lying on the floor of one, rattling over 
 every sort of obstruction, the mules 
 forced to their utmost speed to avoid cap- 
 ture. The suffering was intense, but we 
 Anally reached the rear of the army and 
 moved along with the rest until night com- 
 pelled a halt. 
 
 When the mules were unharnessed and 
 tied to the wheels, they amused themselves 
 by gnawing my big military boot, which I 
 had slit to give room to the swelling leg; 
 so, what with pain and nerve exhaustion, 
 I felt myself in a sorry plight. As the 
 army continued its retreat, my only food 
 was hardtack, and often a piece of soft 
 bread picked up from the roadside. The 
 next day after my accident a wounded offi- 
 cer was placed beside me in the ambulance, 
 who died during the following night, and 
 to add to my torments, the body of this 
 poor man incessantly rolled over and 
 against me, rendering my condition abso- 
 4 49 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 lutely unendurable. I finally managed to 
 send a message by an orderly to General 
 Hancock, telling him of the state of 
 things, and asking for a pass to Washing- 
 ton. This the General immediately sent, 
 with the information that as soon as the 
 division struck the railroad I would receive 
 transportation. 
 
 The next helpful news was that a 
 freight car bound for Alexandria had 
 been found; that it was partially loaded 
 with shelled corn, and if I felt that it 
 would be possible to lie upon that, I could 
 be carried along. In comparison with the 
 floor of the ambulance and its attending 
 vicissitudes, the exchange seemed to my 
 mind simply heavenly. Later I was laid 
 upon the corn, the door of the car slid 
 back sufficiently for ventilation, and in the 
 fresh ease and comfort I sank into instan- 
 taneous sleep, so deep and profound that 
 my first waking consciousness was that of 
 absolute stillness, and the gradual realiza- 
 50 
 
or: THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 tion of neither sound nor motion. When 
 thoroughly awake, I peered out through 
 the narrow opening of the door, saw that 
 it was dayhght, that the car had been side- 
 tracked, and I, apparently, forgotten. 
 
 Presently I thought I heard a footstep, 
 though a very light one, and with all the 
 strength I could muster I shouted, then 
 raised my head to watch the effect. 
 
 Amid the cars I saw, bobbing up and 
 down here and there, the top of a green 
 parasol. Again I called, and immediately 
 the parasol was at the door of the car, and 
 under it the astonished face of a little old 
 woman. Where she came from, or what 
 her business there, I cared not, for here 
 was help, I was sure of that. Was this 
 Alexandria, and would she send to the Man- 
 sion House Hospital for an ambulance? 
 Yes, this was Alexandria, and she would 
 gladly do the errand herself; and so quick 
 was the response that I soon found myself 
 on a stretcher in a large vacant ward. 
 51 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 My poor leg was still tied up in the 
 army boot, which, when removed, revealed 
 a black and angry-looking limb. In the 
 one word, " gangrene," the surgeon pro- 
 nounced its fate, but I said "No!" — 
 that its appearance and condition were 
 due to dust, heat, and inflammation. 
 Nevertheless the surgeon answered, " It 
 is gangrene and the leg must be am- 
 putated!" 
 
 " It shall not be amputated/' I replied; 
 whereupon the surgeon told me that he was 
 the only one who had authority there, and 
 so left me. 
 
 I was determined to save that leg, and 
 to avoid any serious conflict, felt that I 
 must, as it were, escape from the hospital. 
 I called one of the nurses to me, told the 
 circumstances, and asked her to find two 
 trusty men, whom I would pay liberally, 
 to carry me on my stretcher to a steam- 
 boat bound for Washington. This she 
 agreed to do; and that very evening I 
 52 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 was carefully lifted through a window and 
 placed on the deck of a boat which was to 
 sail in the morning. I was unmolested by- 
 captain or crew, my shoulder straps ap- 
 parently being sufficient guarantee for my 
 rights as a passenger. On arriving in 
 AVashington, 1 hired men to carry me to 
 the Army Square Hospital, where my pass ov 
 
 or permit was asked for; but I had none, ^ 
 
 General Hancock's pass having been left 
 with the driver of the ambulance. I was 
 then told that without a permit I was 
 entitled neither to accommodation nor 
 rations. 
 
 " Well," was my answer, " if this is the 
 case, I can but write my own permit and 
 find my own rations, but enter I must " ; 
 and turning to my bearers, I ordered them 
 to carry me in, forthwith being laid in the 
 nearest ward, which was filled with pri- 
 vates. However, I was safe, and still in 
 possession of my leg, so what did it 
 matter? 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 Exhausted from pain, fatigue, and 
 hunger, the longing for at least a smoke 
 grew so intense that it seemed to bring the 
 opportunity. A kindly somebody brought 
 me a cigar, but just at that moment the 
 nurse who had refused to take me in ap- 
 peared upon the scene. " Doctor, Doctor," 
 she cried, "it is against the rules to smoke 
 here; you must not do it! " but I quietly 
 puffed away at my cigar, saying, " I will 
 take this responsibility also." She looked 
 severely at me, hesitated as to the manage- 
 ment of this big, broken-legged man, then 
 with a settled countenance, and the part- 
 ing shot that she should " report me," hur- 
 ried away. 
 
 At length the door opened again to 
 admit the head surgeon, who entered, 
 followed by the irate nurse. He was a 
 bright, genial-looking man, who instantly 
 made me feel that all would be well. 
 " What is all this about? " he said, turning 
 to me; and I, patting the stretcher by my 
 54 
 
DF THE CIVTL WAR 
 
 side, answered, " Sit here, Doctor, a mo- 
 ment, and listen." 
 
 After hearing the various experiences 
 through which I had passed, including my 
 entrance into the hospital without official 
 permit, the refusal of rations, and, more 
 than all, of a smoke, the surgeon laugh- 
 ingly said, " Smoke all you wish. Doctor; 
 make yourself as comfortable as possible 
 here, and as you wish to be sent home to 
 New York, I will see that you reach there 
 at the earliest moment." 
 
 A few days later, by the aid of the 
 Sanitary Commission and Mr. E. F. Bow- 
 ditch, my lifelong friend and later brother- 
 in-law, who in response to a telegram from 
 me secured a berth in a hospital car, I was 
 transferred to it upon a stretcher. The 
 jolting of the car was naturally pain- 
 ful to an unset limb, yet did its good work 
 by breaking the adhesions which of neces- 
 sity had formed. On our safe arrival in 
 New York City no ambulance could be 
 55 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 found, so that finally my stretcher was 
 placed in a covered wagon, in which I 
 reached home. My wife and I were 
 strangers in the city, and one physician 
 after another was called to set my poor 
 long-suiFering leg, but each left with the 
 same response, " I am not a surgeon- 
 doctor; call this one and that." At last, 
 in sheer desperation, I asked my wife's 
 brother to find splints, plaster, and band- 
 ages, and we, together, set my leg with 
 good and permanent results. 
 
 56 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 THE NEW YORK RIOT 
 (Described hy Mrs, Perry) 
 
 AFTER this experience my husband 
 j[^ was laid up at home for several 
 weeks, waiting with keen impatience 
 for the time when he could return to his 
 regiment. This quiet period of inaction 
 was, however, broken by the New York 
 Riot, which took place in the month of 
 July, 1863. The disturbance was due to 
 the draft made necessary by the dearth of 
 volunteers, and also to the fear among the 
 Irish that the negroes at the South would 
 come North and crowd them out of their 
 work. While it lasted the foreign, and 
 especially the Irish, element of the city had 
 complete control. For more than a week 
 lawlessness reigned supreme, and though 
 57 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 our experience was far less severe than that 
 of many others, those who were not born 
 when these events took place may be in- 
 terested to read quotations from a letter 
 written by me to relatives in Boston. 
 
 New York, July 20th, 1863. 
 
 Strange to say, although we knew of the 
 intense excitement in the city and heard 
 that many of our neighbors had been up 
 every night, too terrified to rest, we had 
 no idea of personal danger. 
 
 On the first day of the riot, in the early 
 morning, I heard loud and continued cheers 
 at the head of the street, and supposed it 
 must be news of some great victory. In 
 considerable excitement I hurried down- 
 stairs to hear particulars, but soon found 
 that the shouts came from. the rioters who 
 were on their way to work. About noon 
 that same day we became aware of a con- 
 fused roar; as it increased, I flew to the 
 window, and saw rushing up Lexington 
 58 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Avenue, within a few paces of our house, 
 a great mob of men, women, and children; 
 the men, in red working shirts, looking 
 fairly fiendish as they brandished clubs, 
 threw stones, and fired pistols. Many of 
 the women had babies in their arms, and 
 all of them were completely lawless as they 
 swept on. 
 
 I drew the cot upon which John was 
 lying, his injured leg in a plaster cast, up 
 to the window, and threw his military coat 
 over his shoulders, utterly unconscious of 
 the fact that if the shoulder straps had 
 been noticed by the rioters they would have 
 shot him, so blind was their fury against 
 the army. The mass of humanity soon 
 passed, setting fire to several houses quite 
 near us, for no other reason, we heard after- 
 ward, than that a policeman, whom they 
 suddenly saw and chased, ran inside one of 
 the gates, hoping to find refuge. The poor 
 man was almost beaten to death, and the 
 house, with those adjoining, burned. 
 59 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 At all points fires burst forth, and that 
 night the city was illuminated by them. I 
 counted from the roof of our house five 
 fires just about us, but our own danger in 
 all this tumult, strangely enough, never 
 crossed our minds. 
 
 The next day was a fearful one. Men, 
 both colored and white, were murdered 
 within two blocks of us, some being hung 
 to the nearest lamp-post, and others shot. 
 An army ofiicer was walking in the street 
 near our house, when a rioter was seen to 
 kneel on the sidewalk, take aim, fire, and 
 kill him, then coolly start on his way un- 
 molested. I saw the Third Avenue street 
 car rails torn up by the mob. Throughout 
 the day there were frequent conflicts be- 
 tween the military and the rioters, in which 
 the latter were often victorious, being par- 
 tially organized, and well armed with vari- 
 ous weapons taken from the stores they had 
 plundered. 
 
 I passed the hours of that dreadful night 
 60 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 listening to the bedlam about us; to the 
 drunken yells and coarse laughter of 
 rioters wandering aimlessly through the 
 streets, and to the shouts of a mob plun- 
 dering houses a block away, from which, 
 as we heard later, the owners barely es- 
 caped with their lives. I must confess that 
 as I lay in the darkness amid the uproar, 
 there was some feeling of shelter, yes, and 
 even rest, in having the sheet well drawn 
 over my head, and this with no sense of 
 heat or suffocation, although the mercury 
 stood very high. 
 
 The next morning's news was that the 
 rioters were murdering the colored people 
 wherever found, and that there was no 
 limit to the atrocities committed against 
 them. Hurrying to the kitchen, I found 
 our colored servants ghastly with terror, 
 and cautioned them to keep closely within 
 doors. One of them told me that she 
 had ventured out early that morning to 
 clean the front door, and that the passing 
 61 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 Irish, both men and women, had sworn 
 at her so violently, saying that she and 
 her like had caused all the trouble, that 
 she finally rushed into the house for 
 shelter. 
 
 Now that I began to realize our danger, 
 I tried with all my power to keep John 
 in ignorance of it, for in his absolutely 
 disabled condition the situation was most 
 distressing. The heat was intense; and 
 during the morning I sat in his room be- 
 hind closed window-shutters, continually 
 on the alert to catch every outside noise, 
 while watching the hot street below in the 
 glare of sunhght. On the steps of an op- 
 posite house I recognized a policeman, 
 whose usual beat was through our street, 
 sitting in his shirt sleeves without any sign 
 of uniform, looking rough and disorderly, 
 and talking to the strolling bands of 
 rioters. I wondered whether he was doing 
 detective service, or whether he had joined 
 the lawless mob. Men and women passed 
 62 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 with all sorts of valuables taken from 
 plundered houses. 
 
 Later in the day a crowd of boys ar- 
 rived with stout sticks, threw stones at 
 our house, called for the " niggers," and 
 then rushed on. This added to my alarm, 
 I having heard that a rush of street arabs 
 always preceded an attack by the mob. 
 Parties of Irishmen passed and pointed to 
 our house, and a boy ran by shouting, 
 " We '11 have fun up here to-night." 
 
 My heart felt overloaded as I looked at 
 John in his helpless condition. What were 
 we to do? Even if he were able to be 
 moved, there was no way of accomplish- 
 ing it. No amount of money could hire 
 a conveyance; neither cars nor omnibuses 
 were running; there was absolutely noth- 
 ing to do but wait for events to guide us. 
 During these anxious hours the realization 
 of the meaning of personal safety grew 
 upon me. I saw, in looking over my past, 
 that I had accepted this great blessing all 
 63 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 my life without a moment's conscious 
 gratitude. If our lives were now spared 
 should I ever again be so unmindful? 
 
 When one of my brothers returned to 
 lunch and reported the increasing strength 
 of the mob, I told him of all I had seen 
 and heard during the morning, and we 
 considered the question of barricading the 
 street doors and windows, but soon decided 
 that it was useless. He then went to the 
 police station to ask for information and 
 help, but before leaving placed a ladder 
 against the wall of our back yard, so that 
 in case of attack the servants might, by 
 this means, escape to the adjoining prem- 
 ises, and from there to the next street. At 
 the police station my brother was told 
 that, through one of their detectives who 
 had been working in our street all the 
 morning, they had learned that their sta- 
 tion and also our house, with the one op- 
 posite, were to be attacked and burned 
 that night, all being in close proximity. 
 64 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 The police had been akeady plundered of 
 most of their firearms, and needed all their 
 force to defend themselves. They could 
 do literally nothing for us, but recom- 
 mended barricading the front entrances 
 to the house as well as we could. 
 
 The afternoon wore on, and, feeling 
 somewhat restless from the helpless inac- 
 tivity at such a time, I wandered into the 
 different rooms of the house, looked at 
 our valuables, locked some in trunks, 
 tucked a few trinkets and a roll of bills into 
 my gown, and then returned to the win- 
 dow-seat, feeling a little weighted with 
 value, but better satisfied. 
 
 The city became frightfully still, and 
 this silence was broken only by occasional 
 screams and sharp reports of musketry. 
 
 By this time John knew pretty clearly 
 the condition of things. He had heard 
 the shouts in the street, and in spite of 
 my efforts surmised the rest. The still- 
 ness grew so intense that the very atmos- 
 5 65 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 phere seemed a part of it, for not a breath 
 of air stirred. As our landlord lived in 
 the same block with us, it occurred to my 
 brothers that in case of an attack we might 
 escape over the roofs and pass down the 
 skylight of his house, knowing that the 
 very urgency of the situation would en- 
 able us to carry John with us somehow; 
 but this privilege was refused, as the man 
 said it might endanger his family. 
 
 My brothers were calling at every house 
 in the ward to induce the occupants to meet 
 at the police station, armed with whatever 
 weapon each could find, in order to or- 
 ganize and patrol the streets through the 
 night. Meantime, our servants were in- 
 structed to remain downstairs, and not to 
 run until the house was actually attacked, 
 then to rush for the ladder in the back 
 yard; and I was to cover their retreat by 
 hiding the ladder. 
 
 These plans and directions seemed to me 
 at the time perfectly reasonable and pos- 
 66 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 sible, but afterwards, when all was safe and 
 quiet, I had many a laugh over the way I 
 was to tear about that house while the mob 
 was bursting in the front door, — my hus- 
 band, up in the third story, and I, after 
 pushing the negroes over the fence, scam- 
 pering about to hide the ladder in some 
 unknown place. 
 
 At ten o'clock that evening we were left 
 alone in absolute darkness, as the police 
 sent word that light would increase our 
 danger. John lay quietly on his cot, while 
 I again sat by the window to catch the 
 slightest sound, and in the stillness heard a 
 voice in the adjoining house say, " There 's 
 always a calm before a storm," which, 
 under the circumstances, was not encour- 
 aging; I have never forgotten the impres- 
 sion it made on me. 
 
 But soon our hearts were gladdened by 
 
 the sound of the patrol passing our house 
 
 at regular intervals, and although we were 
 
 in the third story from the street, the still- 
 
 67 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 ness was so intense that we could distinctly 
 hear their conversation. Suddenly rapid 
 pistol shots broke the spell; then came a 
 great rush up the avenue in the darkness, 
 John's voice saying very calmly, " Here 
 they come." The absolute quiet within us 
 both at the time from its very intensity 
 overpowered all surface emotion. How- 
 ever, the noise proved to be a false alarm, 
 and. again came the silence. 
 
 Time after time we had these shocks; 
 now the mob seemed almost upon us ; then 
 at a distance. What did it mean? Finally 
 the tumult seemed to culminate a block 
 away, and gradually we felt that, for the 
 time at least, our lives were safe. As soon 
 as the strain was over I realized how tense 
 had been my calm, and, as we sat together 
 in the darkness, I must confess to enjoying 
 a comfortable little weep and being much 
 strengthened by it. Such is — myself ! 
 
 During the night my brothers returned, 
 and told us that just as the officers at the 
 68 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 police station had agreed to combine with 
 the citizens and patrol that vicinity, a man 
 rushed in crying that the mob was murder- 
 ing some one in our street. The whole 
 force formed and charged up the avenue, 
 but met only scattered bands of rioters, 
 and these slunk away as the files of or- 
 ganized men appeared, stretching in solid 
 lines from sidewalk to sidewalk, as the 
 rioters supposed, fully armed. We heard 
 afterward that this steadfast army, looking 
 so formidable, while so feeble in reality, 
 was all that saved us; that our house and 
 the one opposite, as well as the police 
 station, were distinctly marked by the mob 
 for that night's work. 
 
 The ensuing day was still an anxious one, 
 but as it passed and nothing happened, we 
 began to feel at ease again. By this time 
 the city was full of troops, and finally the 
 riot was quelled by firing canister into the 
 mob. As we heard the heavy reports and 
 responding yells, it seemed to me that I 
 69 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 knew something of the horrors of war. 
 To-morrow the authorities continue the 
 draft, and I trust they will enforce it in 
 spite of every obstacle. 
 
 Before closing this letter, I must tell you 
 of some amusing things which happened 
 when the citizens met at the police station, 
 as related by my brothers on their return, 
 and which even then gave us all a hearty 
 laugh. 
 
 They told us that the meeting was a 
 large one, and was called to order at seven 
 o'clock. A vigilance committee was im- 
 mediately formed for mutual protection, 
 and a chairman and secretary selected. 
 Resolutions were drawn up, various plans 
 were proposed, and among others that of 
 telegraphing to Albany for muskets, — a 
 proposition which a man of some sense 
 suggested was worse than useless, as the 
 mob might be upon them at any moment, 
 reminding them also that the citizens there 
 collected probably knew little of firearms, 
 70 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 so that any guns would be easily seized by 
 the mob and turned against themselves. It 
 was then decided that the citizens could best 
 aid the police by patrolling the streets and 
 reporting at the Station whenever rioters 
 were seen. 
 
 A motion was finally made, that in order 
 to know on whom to depend, a list of the 
 names and residences of those present 
 should be taken. This was done with great 
 formality and the loss of much valuable 
 time, each man signing his name, when 
 quite a bombshell was thrown into their 
 midst by the suggestion that spies might 
 be among them. At this the whole as- 
 sembly seemed to separate one from the 
 other, every man eying his neighbor with 
 sharp suspicion. The secretary, who had 
 been most zealous in calling the meeting, 
 yet whose nervousness was evidently on the 
 increase, suggested in a scarcely audible 
 voice that if the list of names just signed 
 should fall into the hands of the mob, the 
 71 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 fate of each member would undoubtedly 
 be sealed. Might it not be wiser, after all, 
 to tear it up? 
 
 Great confusion followed these remarks ; 
 some laughed; others scoffed; but a ter- 
 rified exclamation from the poor secretary 
 silenced all. White and shaking, he pointed 
 to the windows, which every one then saw 
 were filled with eager, listening faces. The 
 secretary hesitated no longer, but rushed 
 for the list, tore it in pieces, slammed 
 down the windows, locked the door, and 
 even turned out the lights, before the as- 
 tonished citizens knew what was happen- 
 ing. Then, when a mad rush for the door 
 was imminent, as the mob outside was 
 preferable to the suffocation and darkness 
 within, a great commotion was heard, — 
 pounding of fists on the door, and shouts to 
 the police that the mob was on its way 
 there, and murdering a man in the next 
 street. The confusion and excitement were 
 indescribable; even the secretary forgot 
 72 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 himself. Each man seized the club which 
 had been provided, and soon the whole 
 force was marching up the avenue. 
 
 Note. My husband's leave of absence 
 was for ninety days; at the end of that 
 period, being eager to return to his regi- 
 ment, he left for Washington on crutches. 
 As nothing of importance occurred from 
 the time of the riot until his departure, in 
 September, I once more let his letters speak 
 for themselves. 
 
 73 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 RETURN TO THE ARMY 
 
 Washington, September 23rd, 1863. 
 
 HERE I am, scribbling again. 
 As I entered this morning the 
 office of the surgeon-general to 
 report for active service, I felt some anxi- 
 ety lest in my disabled condition I might 
 be detailed to the invalid corps, and in 
 consequence obliged to linger near Wash- 
 ington; so I hid my crutches under the 
 stairs outside his door, and managed with 
 great difficulty to walk across the room 
 without them. 
 
 The surgeon, after examining my leg 
 very critically, as if doubtful of its com- 
 plete recovery, said, " Are you sure, Doc- 
 tor, you are equal to active service? " 
 .74 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " I feel quite sure," 
 and he allowed me to pass. I hope now to 
 rejoin my old comrades to-morrow after- 
 noon or evening. 
 
 CuLPEPER, September 26th, 1863. 
 
 I left Washington yesterday at ten 
 o'clock A. M.^ and, on reaching Culpeper 
 at five, heard that the regiment was nine 
 miles out in the advance. How it was to 
 be reached I was not informed. Having 
 eaten nothing since breakfast, I wandered 
 about the town in quest of food, and finally 
 struck the quarters of the Sanitary Com- 
 mission, where I was provided with a hearty 
 meal of hardtack and bitter tea. 
 
 While eating this frugal repast. Dr. 
 Dougherty, the medical director of our 
 corps, passed by, and told me the Twentieth 
 was under orders to march, and that the 
 only way I could join it would be in an 
 ambulance, which would pass in half an 
 hour on its way to the third division of our 
 75 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 corps, and quartered but a short distance 
 from our own division. I was glad enough 
 of this opportunity, and rode in the ambu- 
 lance till it reached its own camp; passed 
 the rest of the night lying in it, and at 
 daybreak started on foot for the regiment, 
 which, by the way, was not easy to do with 
 my stiff leg. But, after all, this was the 
 quickest way to limber it. 
 
 I arrived at noon, and the warm, hearty 
 greeting given me from old friends and 
 comrades did much to raise my drooping 
 spirits. 
 
 If one is obliged to go soldiering, this 
 camp life is delightful. The weather is 
 charming, our situation beautiful, and I 
 feel happier here than anywhere else away 
 from home. . . . Home! Oh, how that 
 word still haunts me! Yet I am calmer 
 now and take the situation more reason- 
 ably; but an awful sinking at the heart 
 still sweeps over me, and I can easily un- 
 derstand how soldiers die of homesickness. 
 76 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 I have a very disagreeable duty to per- 
 form this morning, — that of tattooing a 
 man's breast for desertion. He is to have 
 his head shaved and be drummed out of 
 camp to-morrow. It would be better to 
 shoot the man than to permanently dis- 
 grace him, but he does not seem to mind 
 it much, and probably is so demoralized 
 that he is past feeling shame. 
 
 October 1st, 1863. 
 
 We had a drunken row in camp last 
 night, owing to some villain's having sold 
 whiskey to the men, and it was one o'clock 
 before the noisy ones were secured and all 
 became quiet. These conscripts, or rather 
 substitutes, behave disgracefully, deserting 
 at every possible chance, even to the enemy. 
 Notwithstanding that two who belonged to 
 our regiment were shot, thirty- four de- 
 serted immediately after. One fellow, 
 having failed to escape in the direction 
 of his home, attempted to go over to the 
 77 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 enemy, but was prevented. He then shot 
 his finger off, with the hope of being sent 
 to the hospital, where the opportunities for 
 desertion are greater, but the result is that 
 he will serve with one finger less. 
 
 Last night the moon was brilliant, camp- 
 fires blazed in every direction, and with our 
 blankets spread around a huge mass of 
 burning embers and our pipes lighted, we 
 lay listening to music from the bands; I, 
 for one, dreaming of matters and things 
 far enough away from where I was. 
 
 This morning I have been trying my 
 leg a little on horseback, and luckily man- 
 aged very well. 
 
 Camp at Rapidan Creek, October, 1863. 
 I have spread my blanket under a tree 
 so that I might write in the shade. The 
 heat is intense during the day, but the 
 nights are f reezingly cold, and in the early 
 morning my nose is as blue as steel, and 
 each hair stands perpendicularly. The sit- 
 78 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 uation of the camp is so low that a thick 
 heavy mist overhangs it all night. My 
 overcoat and one blanket are lost; no one 
 can account for them, though they were 
 left on my horse, strapped to the saddle. 
 The only covering I have at night is a 
 single blanket, with a rubber one under me, 
 which keeps me dry but is as cold as stone. 
 Music is a tremendous help. Our own 
 band is not here, but the two other brigades 
 have theirs, and as the camps adjoin we 
 enjoy the benefit of both. One band gen- 
 erally plays two hours after breakfast, and 
 the other from sunset until half -past nine. 
 
 79 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE MURDER OF CAPTAIN McKAY 
 
 ON the 5th of October, 1863, a hor- 
 rible murder occurred in the camp 
 of the Twentieth Massachusetts, 
 and as the facts concerning it extended 
 through many weeks, it seems well to col- 
 lect and give them as a whole. 
 
 Our corps was encamped in a thick wood 
 within a few miles of Culpeper, and its 
 presence could be detected only by the 
 clouds of smoke from camp-fires curling 
 above the trees. Close to our rear was a 
 regiment notorious for its drunken brawls 
 and lawlessness. It was composed prin- 
 cipally of conscripts, substitutes, and New 
 York rioters, among them many jail-birds, 
 and force and arms were often necessary 
 80 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 to quell the incessant rows and disturbances 
 among these rough characters. 
 
 On the evening of October 5th, taps had 
 sounded in the Twentieth Massachusetts, 
 lights were out, every man was in his tent, 
 and the silence of the night was broken only 
 by the wind which swept fitfully through 
 the pines. Only the officer of the day and 
 I were in camp, the others being on a visit 
 to another regiment, and the soft little 
 glimmer of light which shone forth in the 
 prevailing darkness came from the tent out- 
 side of which Captain McKay and I were 
 seated. . . . The Captain had enlisted as 
 a private when the regiment was first or- 
 ganized, and by his intelligence, bravery, 
 and good fellowship had reached his 
 present rank. Company F, which he 
 commanded, was made up of the worst 
 elements in the regiment, which was other- 
 wise unusual for military deportment and 
 manly bearing. 
 
 We sat talking of the incessant delays 
 6 81 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 in hostilities, when a shout interrupted us, 
 followed by yells and drunken laughter. 
 
 " The fellows in our rear," I said, after 
 a moment's pause; but the Captain's face 
 was anxious. 
 
 " No," he answered, " those are my men; 
 they are drunk and quarrelsome ; something 
 tells me there is trouble brewing to-night; 
 ever since I punished the ringleaders in 
 those rows they have been sullen and out 
 of temper. In the drill this afternoon I 
 did not Hke their mood," and asking me 
 to stand ready in case of need, he left and 
 sauntered towards the company's tent. 
 
 I heard the Captain order his men to 
 their quarters, but in so calm a voice that 
 it seemed to me he dealt too gently with 
 the brutes; and on the instant there was a 
 shot and then a moan. I reached the spot 
 in time to see the Captain leap into the air 
 and fall, and to hear him cry, " Doctor, I 
 am murdered! " 
 
 By the flickering light of the same little 
 82 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 candle by which we had just sat, we bore 
 him into the tent; but he was dead when 
 we reached it. Dead! A httle enough 
 word, but with such weight of meaning! 
 
 Instantly the sergeant, then aroused, or- 
 dered the men of the Captain's company 
 into line ; the officers were sent for, and, on 
 their quick return, the roll was called, and 
 every gun examined. Every man was pres- 
 ent, and each had his gun, but many of 
 them were so drunk they could barely stand. 
 Those who were sufficiently sober knew that 
 they stood not only in the presence of a 
 crime, but of their murdered captain, whose 
 body was now stretched upon the ground 
 before them. Neither moon nor stars shone 
 upon them; no other light than the uncer- 
 tain glimmer of a camp-fire and tent candle, 
 which only added to the ghastly pallor of 
 the men. 
 
 During the inspection I stood by the 
 body, facing the lines, intently watching 
 every movement, alert to every sound. 
 83 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 Soon there was a murmur of astonishment, 
 and we saw in the ranks before us an 
 Itahan boy, — a raw recruit, half-witted, 
 or at least so dull that his officers had been 
 able to do but little with him. There he 
 stood with a smoking musket. His hands 
 hung limply by his side, his eyes without 
 light or expression in them were fastened 
 upon his weapon. The spent cap was on 
 the nipple; the smoke still issued from the 
 muzzle and the lock was blackened by the 
 discharge. 
 
 We looked from the gun to the boy; he 
 the murderer, — he, with neither years nor 
 wit? 
 
 " Tell your story," said the Major, look- 
 ing steadfastly into the boy's eyes, to hold, 
 if possible, the fellow's scattered wits. 
 
 This roused him, and throwing himself 
 upon his knees, with tears streaming over 
 his cheeks and a voice thin and stifled, he 
 gave, by a few words here and there, by 
 expression and gesture, a clear enough ac- 
 84. 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 count of all he knew, making us understand 
 that he had neither tent nor blanket; had 
 been cold and sleepy, and so, leaning his 
 musket against a tree near the fire, his 
 cartridge and cap-box beside it, dropped 
 to sleep at its foot. The shot roused him; 
 he saw some one carried off, and when he 
 heard the sergeant call the roll he made 
 a grab for his musket, but not finding it, 
 supposed it had fallen, and while groping 
 for it in the darkness he tripped over it 
 as it lay concealed in the bushes; then he 
 caught it up, suspecting nothing, and 
 rushed to his place in the ranks. 
 
 There was silence now; all the officers 
 had judged the lad, and in our own minds 
 felt him guiltless of the crime, but in the 
 absence of any other clew he must be dealt 
 with. 
 
 He was taken to the body, and before 
 
 all those assembled was made to kneel, kiss 
 
 the Bible, and with his left hand over the 
 
 dead man's heart, the other raised, to swear 
 
 85 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 before God that he was innocent of the 
 deed. This he did with the weariness of 
 a bewildered child, and, in spite of circum- 
 stantial evidence, the conviction of his in- 
 nocence was so universal that the lad was 
 allowed to wander to the warmth of the 
 still smouldering fire, where exhaustion and 
 sleep soon wrapped him in obhvion. 
 
 Attention was again riveted upon the 
 ranks. Was the murderer facing us from 
 among those men in line, or was he creep- 
 ing stealthily away through the darkness? 
 
 The officers gathered about the body of 
 the murdered captain, and after a brief 
 consultation it was decided to dismiss the 
 men and wait until the morning for further 
 action. The body was removed to a large 
 tent, where the sergeant and I watched over 
 it for the remainder of the night. The 
 wind moaned and whistled, things creaked 
 and flapped in the blasts, and in this weary 
 vigil even the monotonous tramp, tramp of 
 a sentinel outside the tent took its place in 
 86 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 the tragedy. The night wore on, and in 
 the bleak and cheerless dawn all the officers 
 of the regiment gathered about the dead 
 Captain to hold a council. After long de- 
 liberation it was decided that the men of 
 Company F should march into the tent one 
 by one, kneel, kiss the Bible, and, with one 
 hand on the heart of the murdered man, 
 each should swear before God that he was 
 innocent of all implication in the crime. 
 
 In the solemn silence of this Court of 
 Officers, under the concentrated attention 
 of all present, when not the flicker of an 
 eyelid could escape observation, each man 
 faced the ordeal without flinching, with no 
 sign of guilt; and many bore themselves 
 with the dignity of honest freedom, though 
 in the presence of conditions before which 
 even an innocent heart might quail. The 
 experiment was a failure, and hours passed 
 in which all available means to discover the 
 assassin were fruitlessly tried. Even the 
 lawless men of the Captain's company were 
 87 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 shocked into good behavior, and in their 
 bearing expressed respect and love for 
 their dead commander. Indeed, the Cap- 
 tain's death has cast a deep gloom over the 
 entire regiment. The old Twentieth, which 
 has so long borne the name of " Gallant," 
 now bears the burden of this stigma. We 
 constantly questioned ourselves and others 
 as to all possibilities in respect to the mur- 
 derer; we wondered if he were lurking in 
 the riotous regiment which was quartered 
 in our rear; but what cause had we for 
 such suspicions? Possibly one of the Cap- 
 tain's men owed him a grudge for pun- 
 ishment received, and had bartered the 
 revengeful act with one of those neigh- 
 boring ruffians. A reward might settle 
 the question, and for this purpose a sum 
 of money was immediately collected and 
 offered to any one who should give infor- 
 mation in regard to the murder, with the 
 added promise of a furlough home. As 
 for me, — I wish I could give the rest of 
 88 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 my pay while in the service to have the 
 murderer caught and shot. I cannot re- 
 cover from the shock. 
 
 Just at this moment orders to march 
 arrived, which instantaneously changed the 
 scene. Tension and strain yielded to bustle 
 and activity. 
 
 The sergeant and I carefully watched 
 the placing of the Captain's body in an 
 ambulance bound for Alexandria, where 
 the remains would be embalmed before the 
 journey home. 
 
 My horse had been disabled by a shoul- 
 der wound, which I now examined with 
 some anxiety, lest the animal might be- 
 come useless during the move of the army; 
 but he seemed in a satisfactory condition, 
 and with his good services I felt sure of 
 holding my place in the ranks in spite of 
 my lame leg. 
 
 As we were about to start we saw a 
 stranger in officer's uniform approaching 
 us, who asked where he could find the 
 89 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 officer in command of the regiment. The 
 Major, who happened to be near, heard the 
 question, and said, " What is your busi- 
 ness with me? " 
 
 " I hail from the same place as the Cap- 
 tain who was killed last night," answered 
 the man. " I Ve served my time and am 
 on my way home, and, if you like, will 
 take charge of the body and see that it 
 arrives safely." 
 
 The Major became interested. It seemed 
 a most fortunate arrangement, especially in 
 a time of so much hurry and confusion, 
 and after a brief conference with the other 
 officers of the regiment, it was decided 
 that the opportunity was too good a one 
 to lose, and that they had better accept 
 an offer of such disinterested services. A 
 sufficient sum of money was raised to 
 cover all expenses, as well as to recom- 
 pense the man for his trouble, and the 
 ambulance, with its solitary burden, was 
 delivered into his hands to begin the long 
 90 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 and tedious journey towards the New 
 England town. 
 
 The army was quickly on the move, and 
 for a time all went well with me, but be- 
 fore many hours had passed my horse 
 became lame, soon proving utterly unable 
 to carry me. In this plight I dismounted, 
 not a little dismayed, yet so determined to 
 persevere that I held to the saddle, and by 
 aid of the horse walked painfully on. In 
 spite of every effort to keep my place, I 
 slowly but surely receded to the rear, and 
 there met the ambulance which bore the 
 body of the dead captain; changing my 
 hold from the horse to the tailboard of this 
 ambulance, I pulled myself along. 
 
 The onward push of men and artillery, 
 the deafening medley of noises, the dense 
 clouds of blinding, suffocating dust, and 
 my own suffering for a time completely 
 absorbed me, but my thoughts finally cen- 
 tred upon the ambulance with its burden. 
 Walking by the side of the vehicle was the 
 91 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 Captain's friend, who, seeing that he was 
 recognized, joined me. He told me that 
 he had served his time, was sick and tired 
 of the hfe, and glad enough to go home. 
 The man's voice was sullen, and his head 
 hung forward and down. 
 
 A noise in the ambulance turned my 
 attention to a water-cask, which I saw had 
 broken loose, and was rolling over the 
 body. 
 
 " Fasten that cask, will you," I said to 
 the man at my side, "or it will injure the 
 Captain's body." 
 
 " D the Captain! " came like a flash 
 
 from the lips of the man; but with an in- 
 stantaneous glance at me he mumbled: 
 " Oh, what did you say. Doc? Oh, the 
 water-cask! Yes, I'll fix it"; and he 
 jumped inside of the wagon and fastened 
 the keg in its place. 
 
 This oath, flung out in hate and scorn 
 from the lifelong friend and neighbor 
 of the Captain, was startling to say the 
 92 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 least. I turned and looked the man well 
 over. The more I looked, the more I 
 shrank from something despicable in his 
 gait and aspect; a sneak, and a cowardly 
 bully, I '11 be bound, I thought. I would 
 not trust him out of sight, and, although 
 the man continued his desultory talk, my 
 heedless answers finally silenced him. 
 
 As soon as possible the circumstance was 
 reported to the officer in charge, but al- 
 though it was certainly considered suspi- 
 cious, there did not seem sufficient evidence 
 to act upon, and before long I watched 
 from a growing distance the ambulance, 
 with its single guard shambling by the 
 side, wending its separate way. I wish to 
 God, I thought, that the man was back 
 and well secured. 
 
 Weeks passed without trace of the mur- 
 derer, although the search was constant and 
 persistent. Warm letters of sympathy were 
 sent from the camp to the girl at the North 
 who was waiting now for the dead body 
 93 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 of her lover, — letters which assured her 
 of the safe transportation of the remains, 
 guarded as they were by a lifelong friend 
 
 of the Captain's, by name, who was 
 
 on his way home and had offered his 
 services. 
 
 More weeks passed, when one day, while 
 the officers were together at mess, an or- 
 derly handed a letter to the Major in com- 
 mand of the regiment. 
 
 " By Jove! " said the latter, glancing at 
 the postmark, " this letter is from the Cap- 
 tain's poor girl," and tearing it open, he 
 read the contents aloud. They stated that 
 neither the body of Captain McKay nor the 
 man who left the camp with it in charge 
 had arrived; nor would they ever do so, 
 for she was absolutely certain that that 
 man was the assassin. Some time ago she 
 had refused his offer of marriage and, 
 when he heard of her engagement to the 
 Captain, he swore he would kill him, if it 
 were necessary to enlist for the purpose. 
 94 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Subsequently he had enlisted in a New 
 York regiment, from which she also knew 
 he was dishonorably discharged at the date 
 of the murder. 
 
 Consternation settled upon every face at 
 the conclusion of the reading. So! It 
 seemed that the murderer had calmly and 
 freely walked off with the body of his 
 victim ! What fools he had made of us all ! 
 And the grotesqueness of the trick the 
 creature had played upon us grew, and 
 with it grew the determination to track 
 that man on whatever road he might be, 
 and to serve him his due. 
 
 Wider interest in the matter was raised; 
 more funds subscribed and detectives sent 
 in all directions. The contents of the letter 
 soon spread among the men of the regi- 
 ment, and those concerned in the drunken 
 brawl on the night of the murder finally 
 confessed that the man who travelled from 
 camp with the dead captain was the same 
 who gave them whiskey the night he was 
 95 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 shot; that this man did his best to incite 
 them to the murder, and, when he failed in 
 this, grabbed the boy's gun, crouched in the 
 bushes, and fired the fatal shot himself. 
 
 In course of time news arrived of the 
 capture of the murderer in a Western regi- 
 ment, and that he was then on his way 
 back to our quarters under strict guard. 
 The satisfaction of officers and men was 
 immense, and not one would have tossed 
 a penny to save the wretch's life. We had 
 all the necessary proof, and every witness 
 of the deed was present. 
 
 When the man arrived, a court-martial 
 was immediately convened. He was tried, 
 convicted, and sentenced to be hanged; 
 but before the execution could take place 
 the necessary papers must be supervised in 
 Washington, and during this delay the 
 prisoner was strictly guarded night and 
 day. 
 
 Time crept slowly on, until eventually 
 an official document postmarked " Wash- 
 96 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 ington " arrived, was handed to the officer 
 in command, who, in the presence of his 
 staif , opened it with the composure of as- 
 sured, success; for had they not possession 
 of the man, and sufficient proof to hang 
 twenty hke him? 
 
 " Read! read! " we cried, but the Major, 
 staring at the page, seemed barely able to 
 see the words, then, with a round oath, he 
 flung the paper upon the table. 
 
 " That man," he said, " the murderer of 
 our captain, is free, — scot free — as free 
 as a North American Indian ! A legal flaw 
 has been discovered in the paper sent to 
 Washington which renders it absolutely in- 
 valid. There is no redress, and nothing can 
 be done." 
 
 Amazement and consternation over- 
 powered us. Was there no loophole of 
 escape by which we could hold the pris- 
 oner and in time enforce the punishment? 
 
 No! the order to liberate the prisoner 
 must be immediate. This was given, and 
 7 97 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 erelong we saw the murderer leave the 
 camp, heard him jeer his would-be execu- 
 tioners, and, with his thumb upon his nose, 
 we saw him wave his fingers in derision 
 and vanish into mystery. 
 
 98 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER VII 
 
 CAMP NEAR CULPEPER 
 
 October 9th, 1863. 
 
 WE expect to move from here any 
 hour. Stewart's cavalry annoys 
 us greatly, and I fear some fine 
 day, before we know it, a few hundred of 
 us will be gobbled up. Once we heard 
 horses' hoofs thundering through the 
 woods, the yells of their riders, and 
 the cry from our men, " The cavalry, the 
 cavalry! " followed by a sharp order to 
 form a hollow square. . . . Just then there 
 seemed no use for me, and afterward I 
 remembered a moment's wish to make a 
 hollow square of myself, then being 
 amused at the thought that having but one 
 front, the rest of me would be ridden 
 99 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 down. . . . But it was all a false alarm, 
 for though the enemy w^as close upon us, 
 something turned them just in time to 
 miss our whereabouts. 
 
 This army is so demoralized by substi- 
 tutes and conscripts that it seems to me 
 it is in a critical condition. We have 
 drunken rows and disturbances in the 
 camps about us almost every night, nor 
 are we exempt ourselves, although since 
 that terrible murder the majority of the 
 men have behaved splendidly and are per- 
 fectly obedient. Every day we have as- 
 surances of their love and attachment to 
 their dead captain. 
 
 It is now eleven o'clock a. m., and at 
 two p. M. a man in the division is to be 
 shot. The execution is to take place by 
 the side of our camp. All the regiments 
 in the division are to be present, and I 
 expect to be detailed as one of the sur- 
 geons to examine the body after it falls. 
 I feel too sad to write. I can bear to 
 100 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 see hundreds shot in battle, but every- 
 thing in me recoils from seeing a man 
 shot in cold blood; and if these horrible 
 scenes do not stop, my whole nature will 
 change. 
 
 The Twentieth was under arms last night, 
 ready, if necessary, to quell a drunken row 
 
 in the New York. The night was so 
 
 cold that I could not sleep a wink, but sat 
 shivering beside the fire. My hand shakes 
 so now with the cold, I can barely write; 
 yet, rough as this life is, I never was 
 better. 
 
 Yesterday the entire corps was ordered 
 to pitch tents, and at four p. m. reached 
 this place about a mile from Culpeper, 
 on the line of the railroad, where we are 
 to rest from duties which have been very 
 arduous since last June. At the old camp 
 we had hard picket duty; here we have 
 none. There we had only hardtack and 
 pork to eat; here we have many luxuries. 
 This morning, for the first time since I 
 101 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 joined the regiment, we had for breakfast 
 butter and potatoes. 
 
 While on the march we halted near an 
 old ice-house, the roofless cellar only re- 
 maining, its bottom filled with old straw. 
 In this cellar a ladder leaned against one 
 side, and, as most of these abandoned ice- 
 houses are homes for snakes, a fellow in 
 the ranks offered to bet that no one would 
 dare go down that ladder and trample the 
 straw. 
 
 Quiet reigned for a moment while each 
 man thought the matter over, when a little 
 ignorant recruit, about nineteen years old, 
 accepted the bet and gallantly started down 
 the ladder. Just as his face reached the 
 level of the beam which had supported the 
 roof, he saw lying under it a moccasin 
 snake, its head only a few inches from his 
 face. His eyes became fixed, his teeth 
 chattered, and his whole body was so rigid 
 that the men got frightened and hauled 
 him up by the coat collar. It was some 
 102 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 time before he was restored to conscious- 
 ness, and, although unmercifully chaffed 
 by the men, his legs were so weak that 
 for the rest of the march they had to 
 support him. 
 
 103 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BRISTOE STATION 
 
 Brandy Station, October 12th, 1863. 
 
 WE are on the march, and while the 
 men are resting I will scratch a 
 line or two. We struck tents on 
 Saturday, marched some three miles to the 
 west of the town of Culpeper, and were 
 formed in line of battle in the woods, where 
 we remained through a terrible storm with- 
 out shelter or fires, in momentary expecta- 
 tion of an attack. 
 
 At three o'clock in the morning we were 
 ordered to move on. The night was of the 
 blackest, the streams were swollen by the 
 rains, and, in the dense growth of trees and 
 underbrush the column broke, men became 
 bewildered and demoralized, lost their way, 
 stumbled over rocks and roots, plunged into 
 104 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 ditches and then scrambled out as best they 
 could, soaked with mud and water. Bon- 
 fires were lighted to extricate us from our 
 dilemma, but instead set the woods on fire. 
 Sparks flew in all directions, and soon 
 tongues of fire were everywhere. The 
 frightful heat, the dense smoke, and the 
 mad rush of men to free themselves at 
 any cost, made " Hell." No other word 
 can describe the scene. By daybreak, how- 
 ever, we worked our way through and 
 joined the main column. So much lost 
 time had to be made up that we could 
 wait neither for rest nor breakfast, and 
 the cold was bitter. 
 
 At nine o'clock in the morning we halted 
 for ten minutes to eat a little hardtack, 
 and then pushed on until four o'clock p.m., 
 when we reached this place, and again 
 halted for rest and food, after a march of 
 thirteen hours. Knapsacks were opened, 
 and pork, hard bread, and coffee dealt out 
 in abundance. 
 
 105 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 I ate until I was satisfied, then filled my 
 pipe and lay down to supreme enjoyment; 
 and I believe no one, unless under like cir- 
 cumstances, could have the slightest idea 
 of the extent of such enjoyment, or of 
 the calm which stole over me after such a 
 night. I almost instantly fell asleep, pipe 
 in mouth, and waked only at midnight, — 
 and then from cold, — built a fire, warmed 
 myself, and slept again. Nevertheless, be- 
 fore the sun is up I have washed and 
 breakfasted. In a few minutes we shall 
 probably have orders to move. 
 
 The enemy is supposed to be trying to 
 cut us off from Washington, and, as 
 nearly as I can understand the matter, the 
 Confederates and the Yankees are seeing 
 who can march the faster. If we are first 
 there we shall probably avoid a battle, but 
 if they are first on the ground, we must 
 fight. 
 
 106 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Auburn, on the Banks of the BuLt 
 
 Run River, October 22nd, 1863. 
 
 Much has transpired since I last wrote. 
 
 General Lee's intention was to cut our 
 army in two and whip each part separately. 
 We marched and countermarched, pre- 
 pared for battle by day and made forced 
 marches by night. Our corps being the 
 rear-guard, of course we had the hardest 
 work, and for a week slept only one night. 
 While on the march I suffered so much 
 with my leg that it was impossible to keep 
 up with the regiment, although extremely 
 dangerous to fall behind, as guerillas were 
 everywhere; but, notwithstanding that we 
 are faced with the painful results of danger 
 under every form, the more we recognize 
 its presence the less we fear it, and the 
 greater is our reckless daring. 
 
 There was no proper food for men or 
 horses; what hardtack we had was so full 
 of maggots that it had to be baked, which 
 107 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 hardened it still more. No pork, and no 
 water, except what we got from the 
 puddles by the roadside. Men became so 
 exhausted that they fell asleep while 
 marching, and I slept while sitting in my 
 saddle. The nights were bitterly cold; the 
 roads almost impassable from the furious 
 rains. The enemy threatened us on all 
 sides, especially with their cavalry, but we 
 did not run foul of them until the 14th. 
 
 Unknown to us, they had cut in and 
 occupied the roads through which we were 
 to march. When we reached a defile 
 among the hills and were about to cross a 
 broad stream, a sharp fire of musketry 
 and artillery opened upon our brigade 
 from General Hill's corps. For a mo- 
 ment it staggered us, for we did not even 
 know where the attack came from, so great 
 was the confusion. The corps immediately 
 halted, formed into line of battle, and 
 waited for the enemy's assault, which pres- 
 ently came with great force. The men 
 108 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 stood firm as rocks and poured volley after 
 volley into their ranks, but had a hard 
 time of it, and General Warren's chief of 
 staiF, Colonel Morgan, saved the day by 
 his great presence of mind. 
 
 Colonel Morgan ordered our brigade 
 forward as skirmishers to drive the Con- 
 federates from the woods and take their 
 batteries, but our advance was much im- 
 peded by the stream which had first to be 
 crossed directly under the enemy's fire. 
 This stream was very deep and its banks 
 steep and slippery. Men fell headlong 
 into the water, horses rolled down the 
 bank backwards, carrying their riders with 
 them, and for a time utter chaos and con- 
 fusion reigned. The new recruits crouched, 
 and I even heard some of them scream 
 with fear, while the older troops and offi- 
 cers drove them on at the point of sword 
 and bayonet. 
 
 A line was finally formed on the oppo- 
 site bank, a charge made, and the enemy 
 109 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 driven back. The fight lasted about six 
 hours. It was the enemy's cavalry only 
 which took part in the engagement, or we 
 should not have had such an easy victory. 
 . . . We lay there, surrounded by the 
 graves of the dead, and the stench from 
 the battlefield was beyond expression. 
 
 When we moved it was in a thick fog. 
 Marching by the railroad track, we reached 
 an open space, intersected here and there 
 by low ridges, near Bristoe Station. I was 
 riding with General Webb at the head of 
 the column when, through the lifting mist, 
 we dimly saw another column marching 
 parallel with ours, and the prevailing color 
 in the ranks being blue, we supposed it to 
 be one of our own corps.^ Both columns 
 stopped and stared in amazement at each 
 other, but in a moment what had seemed 
 a spectral host turned about face and 
 
 1 At this period of the war blue Federal uniforms were 
 frequently taken from the battlefields and worn by Confed- 
 erate soldiers. 
 
 110 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 fired a tremendous volley into us. This 
 was sufficient proof that we faced an 
 enemy. 
 
 Our men were immediately filed in line 
 behind an embankment, but still by the side 
 of the railroad. The Confederates formed 
 a straight and strong line of battle and 
 advanced upon us. We were separated 
 from the main army, while the enemy was 
 in force and in an advantageous position. 
 Our men were largely conscripts, who had 
 never seen an attacking line before. They 
 were ordered not to fire until the enemy 
 was close upon them. How would they 
 behave? 
 
 On came the Confederates with such 
 steady force and such perfect coolness that 
 
 the raw recruits of the New York 
 
 regiment could not stand the strain, and 
 rushed headlong, pell-mell, for the rear. 
 Colonel Mallon of that regiment, but who 
 at the time commanded the brigade, was 
 fortunately behind them, and, drawn 
 111 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 sword in hand, succeeded in stopping the 
 stampede. 
 
 The enemy still advanced without waver- 
 ing. Suddenly the order "Fire!" rang 
 along our lines. Hundreds of the Con- 
 federates dropped; others, bewildered, 
 rushed back, some forward, While our fel- 
 lows, with a wild cheer, fired volley after 
 volley into them. Not a man seemed to 
 be left standing, and they came into our 
 lines as prisoners by fifties, wounded and 
 bleeding. 
 
 Another line, still stronger, still steadier, 
 was formed by the enemy, but our batteries 
 were now run out, and shell, solid shot, 
 and canister were poured upon them with 
 marked effect. They closed and closed, 
 advancing in a solid mass. 
 
 Our guns again were quiet, awaiting a 
 nearer approach. 
 
 Colonel Mallon was at that time with 
 me in the rear, for, as the brigade had 
 made a breastwork of the railroad embank- 
 112 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 ment, he could not be in front; and we 
 were lying side by side, flat on the ground, 
 so as to be out of range of the enemy's 
 guns, when the colonel, who was very fond 
 of Major Abbott, said he must take a look 
 round and see if he were safe. I begged 
 him not to, saying that he would surely be 
 shot, but he answered, " No, I cannot stand 
 the suspense, and it will take but a mo- 
 ment"; whereupon he rose, and was in- 
 stantly shot through the abdomen. 
 
 I dragged him to a little muddy stream, 
 — the only place of safety, — where the 
 poor fellow lay with the water almost run- 
 ning down his throat. He lived until the 
 fight was almost over, and finally expired 
 in my arms. He was just married. 
 
 The fight continued until dark, the 
 enemy throwing out line after line up to 
 that time. I was busy enough after the 
 battle was over, and came within an ace 
 of being taken prisoner, but Johnny Reb 
 did not catch me that time. 
 8 113 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 The prisoners told us that, notwithstand- 
 ing this success of ours, we could not es- 
 cape, as General Ewell had passed up on 
 our left and was surrounding us; but in 
 spite of this on we marched, all through 
 that night, without a halt, worn out as we 
 were. I cannot express the torture I en- 
 dured, in trying to keep my eyes open. I 
 believe I rode for miles in a sound sleep. 
 
 At dawn we joined the main army in 
 the fortifications here at Auburn, border- 
 ing the Bull Run River. The day's work 
 had been a most signal victory, and our 
 brigade had captured five guns and two 
 colors. A company of sharpshooters at- 
 tached to the regiment did splendid work. 
 They killed the enemy's gunners and then 
 bodily mounted the guns, from which 
 points of vantage they picked off any one 
 who approached them. A corporal com- 
 manding them reported to General War- 
 ren the capture of the guns, and asked 
 assistance in taking them off. The gen- 
 114 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 eral detailed a certain number of men 
 from each regiment for that duty, and 
 thereby claimed that the corps took the 
 guns instead of giving credit where it was 
 due, — to the sharpshooters. General 
 Webb, however, who commanded our divi- 
 sion, and who, by the way, behaved most 
 gallantly, issued a special order compli- 
 menting the sharpshooters for their ser- 
 vices. 
 
 At the beginning of the fight I owned 
 two horses ; one of which, old Bessie, being 
 lame, I used for a pack horse, the other I 
 rode. On the former were my blankets, 
 overcoat, tobacco, wash-basin; in fact, 
 everything except my valise, which, fortu- 
 nately, was in the wagon-train. When the 
 fight began I ordered my servant, who had 
 charge of Bessie, to take her to a place 
 of safety, but before going far a ball 
 struck her in the leg. She broke away 
 from the man and ran to the front, where 
 she was shot again, this time in the neck. 
 115 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 Our cook, Fraser, was at the rear during 
 the fight, and seeing a loose horse running 
 wildly about, tried to catch her, but only- 
 succeeded in grabbing a haversack which 
 was swinging from the saddle. He did 
 not recognize the animal, but on opening 
 the haversack saw a little book with my 
 name on the title-page, and as soon as 
 possible brought it to me. When I took 
 the little book from Fraser's hands, saw 
 it was safe, and found the written words 
 still within its pages, I — well, I wished 
 for an instant I was alone. That little 
 book has weathered so much! When all 
 else I had was soaked with rain the little 
 volume was always dry. To-day I took it 
 from my breastpocket before the fight and 
 for safer keeping put it in the haversack, 
 fearing in the great heat to have it so near 
 my person, and also that with my case of 
 instruments both together would weigh me 
 down. 
 
 Later I went to the rear, and, dismount- 
 116 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 ing, gave my horse to one of General 
 Webb's orderlies to hold while I attended 
 to the wounded. When my duties were 
 over I looked for my horse, but the man 
 told me that a piece of shell must have 
 struck her, for she reared and plunged so 
 he was forced to let her go. On the march 
 that night I was without either horse, coat 
 or blanket, and trudged along as best I 
 could, until finally the adjutant gave me 
 his mount. This morning I have old Bessie 
 again. When passing General Webb's 
 headquarters I saw her standing, tied to 
 a tree, and was told that she had been 
 caught by an orderly. She is doing well, 
 and will recover from her wounds. The 
 other horse I have not yet heard from. 
 
 We are all fagged and worn out, half 
 starved, and poorly clad. Possibly we may 
 remain quiet long enough to have some 
 good hardtack, pork, and coffee, and, above 
 all, fresh water. I can eat almost anything, 
 but clean water is a necessity. We break- 
 117 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 fasted yesterday on nothing but raw cab- 
 bage, yet, although I have been sleeping in 
 the mud in clothes sopping wet, I am per- 
 fectly well. 
 
 Have you seen in the papers that Gen- 
 eral Meade complimented our corps? He 
 said that it saved the whole army at the 
 battle of Bristoe Station. 
 
 118 
 
 J 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 MARCHING AND COUNTER-MARCHING 
 
 Camp near Warrenton, 
 
 October 25th, 1863. 
 
 WE do not stay long in one place, 
 but go marching on. We have 
 stopped here only temporarily; 
 yesterday it rained so hard, and our sup- 
 plies are so far gone, that we cannot move 
 again for at least twenty- four hours, for 
 the men have had literally almost nothing 
 to eat. The supper last night for our own 
 mess consisted of maggoty hard bread and 
 brown sugar {alias sand). 
 
 We are encamped on the slope of a hill, 
 just under the Blue Ridge, surrounded by 
 thick forests. The other regiments are 
 encamped in the woods facing us, and the 
 music of the bands, which play in every 
 11^ 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 direction, just fills my soul. With what? 
 Why, with the inexpressible. 
 
 To-day I inspected the rations of the 
 men, and have already condemned about 
 a thousand pounds of hardtack. 
 
 October 28th, 1863. 
 
 We have had marching orders for forty- 
 eight hours now, and been told we are going 
 to the front to fight, but have not moved 
 yet. Yesterday our orders were to pack up, 
 and we have been packing up ever since, 
 making ourselves very miserable and un- 
 comfortable. 
 
 Our food is disgusting, — poor hard 
 bread and brown sugar. The teams of sup- 
 plies are not allowed to come up to us, 
 which seems unnecessary and unwarrant- 
 able. Worst of all, we are even without 
 tobacco. This morning I was sitting in the 
 quartermaster's big w^all tent watching the 
 loading of a team with boxes of hardtack, 
 when under one of the boxes before me, 
 which a man was about tossing to his 
 120 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 shoulder, I saw a copperhead snake, which 
 instantly coiled and struck the fellow's leg 
 just above the boot, and the man pitched 
 headlong, as if from the blow of a hammer. 
 With my penknife I immediately cut 
 around the spot where the fang of the rep- 
 tile had penetrated, which was plainly visi- 
 ble, then cauterized the wound, thoroughly. 
 Neither of these processes caused suffering, 
 as the blow seemed to have paralyzed the 
 sensitive nerves. The man passed into a 
 dead faint, and was carried on a stretcher 
 to the hospital tent. I hope that but little 
 poison entered his system, as the tooth first 
 passed through his trousers, then through 
 thick woollen stockings, — but his tempera- 
 ture is now very high.^ 
 
 Rappahannock Station, 
 
 November 9th, 1863. 
 
 We have been marching during the last 
 two days, so that I have been unable to 
 
 1 The man finally recovered but came very near losing his 
 life. 
 
 121 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 write. Now, while waiting for further 
 orders, I will scratch a few lines to say that 
 we have crossed the Rappahannock not- 
 withstanding that the enemy was so 
 strongly entrenched. General Sedgwick's 
 corps was the only one which had any 
 fighting to do, and it did not amount to 
 much. 
 
 We crossed at Kelly's Ford without 
 opposition, as we captured the whole Con- 
 federate force guarding it. Not a gun 
 has yet been fired by our division. The 
 rumor is that General Butler is marching 
 up the peninsula to Richmond, and that 
 we are keeping General Lee and his force 
 here to prevent his attacking. I doubt 
 very much if we have much fighting, — 
 doubt if General Meade means anything 
 more than to prevent General Lee from 
 sending away any more troops. Shall 
 always keep sealed letters in my pocket 
 to send when opportunity offers, for we 
 are now cut off from communications. 
 122 
 
OE THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Mountain Run, 
 November 11th, 1863. 
 
 On the 9th we had quite a little snow- 
 storm, and yesterday, when on the march, 
 the snow-covered " Blue Hills " towered 
 above us, their icy cliffs illuminated by 
 the sun's rays into every enchanting 
 color. We have ice now every night, 
 and last night it froze nearly two inches 
 thick. 
 
 I have been working hard to-day, pitch- 
 ing my tent upon a log foundation. It 
 will be warmer, and will allow me to sit 
 up. To-morrow I shall build an under- 
 ground fireplace, for the wind blows so 
 hard here in the winter that it is impos- 
 sible to keep warm by an outside fire, for 
 while your front is warming your back is 
 freezing, and if the fire is very near the 
 tent, the smoke blows in and smothers you. 
 My eyes are now almost put out by the 
 smoke; my hands are covered with pitch 
 123 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 from handling pine logs; my feet are 
 soaking wet ; and I am cross. 
 
 We are encamped on soil so saturated 
 with water that I sent a protest to General 
 Warren to-day asking him if we could not 
 move to a drier spot, but he answered that 
 we should have to go several miles to find 
 such, and that, of course, was impossible. 
 We are evidently to remain here for the 
 winter. 
 
 I have had the whole regiment out to-day, 
 cutting down trees to let the sun in, and 
 digging trenches to drain the water off, but 
 as it is only necessary to dig a few inches 
 to come upon more water, the task is rather 
 a hopeless one. This winter I mean to 
 build a gymnasium for the men to exer- 
 cise in when it is too cold and stormy for 
 drilling. The officers are interested in the 
 plan, and already we fence, box, and exer- 
 cise every day, and feel much better for it. 
 
 124 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 November 13th, 1863. 
 
 I have just returned from a ride of 
 over twenty miles on horseback at break- 
 neck speed through woods and over 
 rough, rocky country. I had to go to 
 General Meade's headquarters on business, 
 so started at reveille this morning, and it 
 is now ten o'clock p. m. I enjoyed it im- 
 mensely; was treated very hospitably, and 
 had quite a long conversation with General 
 Meade. 
 
 On the way back I fell in w^ith an officer 
 on General Warren's staff, and while rid- 
 ing through the woods we suddenly came 
 upon two men dressed in Confederate 
 clothes. We stopped and inquired of them 
 where they belonged. They gave evasive 
 answers, and while we were talking one 
 of them, having scanned us and seen no 
 arms, attempted to escape. Fortunately, 
 I had my revolver, and on presenting it 
 cocked at his head, he halted and gave 
 125 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 himself up. We took them both to head- 
 quarters. 
 
 I am interested in trying to improve 
 the present plan for ventilating regimental 
 hospitals in winter. I think, instead of 
 having stoves, I will build fireplaces of 
 sticks and clay, modelled after some I saw 
 in a Confederate camp. 
 
 November 15th, 1863. 
 
 I wrote you, I think, of the wet, boggy 
 ground we are encamped on. Last night 
 it rained in torrents, and in five minutes 
 the bottom of my tent held one or two 
 inches of water. My couch is made of 
 leaves packed between two logs, and by 
 nine o'clock the water became so deep that 
 it ran over the logs into the bed, and on 
 waking I found myself perfectly drenched 
 and everything I owned in the same con- 
 dition. My valise had been left open, and 
 its contents were almost ruined; letters, 
 pictures, clothing, — all were soaked. How- 
 126 
 
Of 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 ever, there was one little picture and one 
 little book in a closed box by themselves, 
 and their safety made the ruin of the 
 rest seem as nothing. 
 
 Mountain Run, 
 November SOth, 1863. 
 
 We expect to march to-morrow, where, 
 I know not; but what I do know is that 
 to-night rations are being issued to the 
 men, and that we are looking for an or- 
 derly to ride up any moment with orders 
 to march at daylight. ... I don't much 
 care for this packing at midnight and 
 starting in the gray of dawn, — likely as 
 not after neither sleep nor breakfast. 
 
 This morning several of us went to see 
 a review of the Sixth corps by invitation 
 of General Sedgwick, commanding. It 
 was a magnificent display. The Sixth is 
 a very large corps, and probably contains 
 18,000 men. Every officer was in full 
 uniform, every man well brushed and pol- 
 
 in 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 ished ; the bands played well, and the whole 
 thing was superb. 
 
 General Sedgwick held the review in 
 honor of some British officers who are visit- 
 ing the army, and after inspecting the 
 troops, all the invited guests repaired to 
 the general's headquarters, where a fine 
 dinner was served. We enjoyed the oc- 
 casion hugely. 
 
 Mountain Run, 
 
 November 21st, 1863. 
 
 Here we are still, with rumors of move- 
 ments in plenty, but with no start. This 
 morning we had a general inspection of the 
 men, camp, and hospital, by the inspector- 
 general of the corps. On leaving, the gen- 
 eral remarked that " the Twentieth was the 
 finest regiment in the Potomac army for 
 cleanliness, discipline, and fighting! " How 
 is that for the old Twentieth? 
 
 We are perfectly deluged with rain, and 
 my tent, raised on logs, has a deep pool of 
 water around it. 
 
 128 
 
OF. THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 The colonel has just taken supper with 
 me on my little rustic table. Our supper 
 consisted of coffee in one cup, brown sugar, 
 and hard bread. The colonel used his right 
 hand in drinking and I my left, so that 
 our lips touched different sides of the cup. 
 Our repast was delicious. First we soaked 
 the hard bread in coffee, then toasted it 
 over the coals, and when it was hot and 
 brown we spread it with melted brown 
 sugar. 
 
 Next Thursday will be Thanksgiving 
 Day. How I wish our men could have 
 something extra to eat, poor fellows! 
 They have had potatoes only about a 
 dozen times since last June, and are be- 
 coming badly run down. We have received 
 from one of our officers now at the North 
 a quantity of raisins, flour, pickles, etc., 
 for their Thanksgiving dinner, and we also 
 have permission to send to Washington for 
 more supplies. We officers do not need 
 these extras, as our pay enables us to buy 
 9 129 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 pickles and such things to prevent scurvy, 
 
 but the men have not the money for 
 
 luxuries. 
 
 November 25th, 1863. 
 
 I did not expect to write again from 
 this camp, but fate will have it so. 
 
 Night before last orders came to march at 
 daylight. No fires could be lighted, and 
 preparations were to be made in the strict- 
 est silence. A northeast storm was blow- 
 ing, a drizzly rain falling, and everything 
 was cold and cheerless. With the excep- 
 tion of one hour, when I took a hurried 
 nap, I was up throughout the night pre- 
 paring the sick and disabled for the move, 
 and at five o'clock a. m., without coffee or 
 anything to eat except wet hard bread, we 
 started off. Rumor said we were bound 
 for the Rapidan and Richmond. 
 
 It rained — oh, how it rained! We 
 
 marched about half a mile through bog 
 
 and mud, when we came upon a battery 
 
 of the artillery stuck fast. To go on 
 
 130 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 seemed to all of us an impossibility, and 
 while we halted, waiting to extricate the 
 cannon, orders came to return to old quar- 
 ters and again encamp. A cheer rose from 
 every throat, and most fortunate it was, I 
 think, that we did return, for the rain con- 
 tinued during the day and all of the fol- 
 lowing night. When we reached the old 
 camp I bailed out my little enclosure as 
 one would bail out a leaky boat. 
 
 131 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 THE OTHER SIDE OF GERMANNIA FORD 
 
 December Srd, 1863. 
 
 WHEX I last wrote we were wishing 
 ourselves home for Thanksgiv- 
 ing, but as that was impossible, 
 we resolved to do the best we could here, 
 and so determined to have a plum pudding, 
 at least. Two days were spent building 
 an oven in which to bake it, and when 
 everything was ready the night before the 
 important day, I think it would have been 
 impossible for any one under other circum- 
 stances to realize our intense anticipation 
 of the coming feast. 
 
 Alas ! That same night at twelve o'clock 
 
 we were ordered to march at daylight, and 
 
 on the very morning of Thanksgiving Day 
 
 flour and raisins were thrown away, and 
 
 132 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 we went trudging on with thousands of 
 other poor devils. It is a strange provi- 
 sion of nature that when one is very 
 hungry the longing for a promised morsel 
 assumes such proportions that it seems for 
 a time to take possession of the whole of 
 one's being. I am quite certain that on 
 this march each man in the regiment was 
 so completely absorbed in his disappoint- 
 ment that for many miles it was to him 
 the only source of discomfort. 
 
 We crossed the Rapidan River unmo- 
 lested by the enemy, but soon after came 
 upon their fortified position. The Second 
 corps was sent to the left some twenty 
 miles to flank this position, and the second 
 division of that corps was chosen to storm 
 the fortifications if the enemy were found 
 to be concentrated. The Confederates were 
 in strong force, and on heights surrounded 
 by earthworks and rifle-pits which covered 
 every approach. The situation seemed im- 
 pregnable ; the attempt to take it would de- 
 133 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 mand such a sacrifice of life that the idea 
 was abandoned, the whole plan given up, 
 and at dark the retreat commenced and 
 continued until each corps and division ar- 
 rived at the old camping-ground from 
 which it had started. 
 
 The next morning we were again on the 
 march, when, after we had gone about a 
 mile and were on an open plain, the troops 
 were massed, and a telegram from Gen- 
 eral Grant was read, announcing his vic- 
 tory over Bragg. This was a great 
 encouragement to all, and after some 
 hearty cheers we resumed our march with 
 renewed heart and spirit. The morning 
 was clear and cold, the roads frozen, and 
 the men in splendid condition. 
 
 About noon we reached the Germannia 
 Ford on the Rapidan, where we waited 
 some three or four hours while the cavalry 
 reconnoitred and the engineers laid the 
 pontoon-bridge. While crossing this pon- 
 toon-bridge the brigade surgeon gave us 
 134i 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 all a good laugh. He rode his old red 
 horse, whose ugly temper was known far 
 and near. This horse was a lop-eared, long- 
 shanked, cross-grained beast, always bent 
 upon doing the unexpected. With ears 
 laid back and head run out, ready to let 
 fly fore and aft, he generally cleared his 
 way by biting and kicking. In this case, 
 as usual, he chose the most inconvenient 
 spot for fooling, and in the middle of the 
 bridge scattered men and horses to the 
 right and left, seemingly determined to 
 jump into the river. The doctor, somewhat 
 ruffled by his antics, said, " Well, if you 
 want a bath, take it 1" and, suiting the 
 action to the word, both horse and rider 
 plunged into the stream. The men broke 
 out into hearty cheers and roars of laugh- 
 ter as they watched the horse swim gal- 
 lantly, bearing his dripping rider to the 
 shore, where he quietly climbed the bank, 
 a subdued and docile animal. 
 
 We camped that night on the heights on 
 135 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 the further side of the river, and at three 
 o'clock the next morning the advance was 
 sounded. On we went at a double-quick 
 for nearly two hours by a road which ran 
 through a thick forest. About one o'clock 
 we heard firing in front, and the column 
 was halted and ordered to load. Again 
 we pushed on " double-quick," while the 
 firing in front increased,; then artillery 
 began to boom, and finally we reached an 
 open plain, where skirmishers were thrown 
 out, and the main column was formed in 
 line of battle with reserves in the rear. 
 The men advanced, drawn up in fighting 
 array, under a heavy fire from the Con- 
 federates, who were concealed in a thick 
 wood in front. On reaching this wood, 
 our skirmishers having driven the enemy's 
 skirmishers back, we were halted behind a 
 piece of rising ground to support a bat- 
 tery which was placed so as to sweep the 
 thicket in case the enemy appeared in 
 front. Skirmishing continued through the 
 136 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 remainder of the day, and in our regiment 
 two men were wounded while lying under 
 the hill. The weather was fearfully cold 
 and raw, no fires could be lighted, and we 
 lay on the ground shivering and freezing. 
 At dark the Twentieth was sent out on 
 picket duty to relieve the others who had 
 been fighting all day. We passed a quiet 
 night as to firing, both parties taking rest 
 for the coming action. 
 
 The next morning the order to advance 
 was given, and we formed in line of battle, 
 with the Twentieth thrown forward as skir- 
 mishers. Away we went, sweeping through 
 the woods in thick underbrush, over high 
 rocks, through streams, but driving the 
 Confederates back at every step. About 
 ten o'clock the enemy's skirmishers were 
 pushed to a hill, on the top of which was 
 their main position, covered by earthworks 
 and batteries, and for the rest of the day 
 the skirmishers on both sides kept up a hot 
 fire. Two of the sharpshooters in the Twen- 
 137 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 tieth were wounded. Rain drenched us to 
 the skin, and we had been without food 
 all day. 
 
 At dark the regiment was ordered to the 
 rear, still in line of battle. Again no fires 
 were allowed, so of course we were not 
 warmed with hot coffee, and, after nib- 
 bling a little hardtack, we rolled ourselves 
 in our blankets and fell asleep, worn out 
 with hunger, cold, and exhaustion. 
 
 The next morning at three o'clock Gen- 
 eral Warren took the Second corps, with 
 one division from the Sixth, on a detour 
 around the Confederate position, so as to 
 reach its right flank. There he was to form 
 a line of battle, and at eight o'clock open 
 the attack by charging the enemy's works, 
 after which the whole line, some seven or 
 eight miles long, was to make a general 
 assault. 
 
 We struck off on a side road leading 
 to Orange Courthouse. The morning was 
 cold and rainy, the roads in a frightful 
 138 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 condition, and a wearying time we had of 
 it. I doubt if our ancestors at Valley 
 Forge suffered more from cold than we 
 did, I generally marched on foot so as to 
 keep warm, and often found that I had 
 been sound asleep while my legs were 
 trudging along. Our horses became ex- 
 hausted, having had neither grain nor hay 
 since we began the march, and finally they 
 gnawed each other's tails, or anything they 
 could get hold of. Some of them ate the 
 bark of the trees, and one horse in our 
 pack devoured a whole grain bag with 
 seeming relish. I fed my poor old Bessie 
 on hardtack and salt pork. 
 
 About ten o'clock the sun came out, and 
 in order not to be seen by the enemy, we 
 had to break our way through the woods 
 and underbrush, which tore everything to 
 pieces, — clothes, blankets, and panniers. 
 After marching some seven miles, we again 
 struck the road, and the moment we did 
 this the Confederates, masked by the woods 
 139 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 on the right, opened fire upon us. We 
 were stunned by the unexpected attack, and 
 perfect chaos reigned for a few minutes. 
 OrderHes galloped up and down bearing 
 orders, yet nobody knew what to do. 
 
 General Warren sent word to General 
 Webb to deploy the best regiment he had 
 m his division as skirmishers, and the gen- 
 eral at once replied, " I send the Twentieth 
 Massachusetts." The result was that with- 
 out firing a shot our regiment forced the 
 Confederates back into their fortifications. 
 General Webb said afterwards, " The 
 Twentieth has again covered itself with 
 glory"; and he actually apologized for 
 sending it out on such a duty, but said the 
 necessity of driving the enemy back into 
 their works was absolute, and he knew the 
 Twentieth would do it. 
 
 A desultory fire from both sides con- 
 tinued until night set in. Great bravery 
 was displayed by our officers. Colonel 
 Macy, with his one hand, rode about under 
 140 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 lire as if the whole thing were a game of 
 " puss-in-the-corner," and Httle Abbott 
 rushed his men to the fight with immense 
 spirit. The night passed quietly, but we 
 felt that the great struggle must come on 
 the following day. 
 
 At midnight our division was moved still 
 farther to the left, and placed in position 
 for a charge the next morning. The Con- 
 federate entrenchments could be seen by 
 the light of the fires on the heights behind 
 their fortifications, and the general effect 
 by moonlight was that of a fortified citadel 
 some two or three hundred feet above us, 
 surrounded by bristling batteries. During 
 the night five lines of battle were formed 
 on our side. The first one was made up 
 of poor, inexperienced regiments, and the 
 second of old well-tried veterans, including 
 the Nineteenth and Twentieth Massachu- 
 setts and the Seventh Michigan regiments. 
 The hardest duty was given to the Twen- 
 tieth, which was ordered to advance up 
 141 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 the hill about three-quarters of a mile 
 without cover, the regiment of raw re- 
 cruits, who were pretty sure to be panic- 
 stricken, in front, and both of them ex- 
 posed for all this distance to the fire of 
 the Confederate batteries, which would be 
 throwing grape, canister, and solid shot 
 into the ranks, not to mention the deadly 
 work of two tiers of rifle-pits filled three 
 deep with infantry. The other regiments 
 on the line were protected by thick woods, 
 and consequently not exposed to any great 
 amount of fire until they quite reached the 
 enemy's works. 
 
 All the troops were in position about two 
 o'clock, when the moon was brilliant, but 
 the night one of the coldest I had known. 
 We stood on boggy soil, the water freez- 
 ing under our feet; and of course to lie 
 down was impossible; besides, we were 
 ignorant of what might occur at any 
 moment. 
 
 At about seven o'clock communication 
 142 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 on the right was established with the main 
 army; then came orders that a charge all 
 along the line would be made at eight 
 o'clock, and the signal for this charge 
 would be the firing of a gun on the right 
 of the line. Just before eight o'clock the 
 commander of our division, General Webb, 
 addressed the men as they stood in posi- 
 tion, and some of his words I can never 
 forget. He said: " I know that what you 
 are called upon to do is desperate, and I 
 also know that every man of you will fulfil 
 his duty. I do not expect the first line to 
 reach the works, but the second line must; 
 and the third line is to enter and capture 
 them. Boys, remember that I shall always 
 be in your front." 
 
 The men well knew the truth of these 
 words, and some of them even had the 
 heart to applaud; but the general had 
 strictly ordered, "No noise!" and indeed 
 the prevailing feeling was too intense for 
 demonstration. The men then came to me 
 143 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 in numbers, asking me to take charge of 
 watches and personal eiFects, and to de- 
 hver messages to friends at home, of which 
 I made careful memoranda, and begging 
 me to promise to send everything to their 
 families if they were killed. 
 
 Eight o'clock came. The men stood 
 nerved for action; their faces stern, 
 strained, every sense in suspense to catch 
 the one sound of that signal-gun. But it 
 did not come. Eight-fifteen passed — no 
 signal ; eight-thirty — nine — ten ! The 
 strain was awful! What was the matter? 
 AVhy was not some explanation given? 
 Then rumors reached us that the assault 
 was to be abandoned, and by four o'clock 
 that afternoon one man, exhausted by 
 hunger and excitement, had the courage 
 to lie down; at once others followed, till 
 finally they lay like rows of bricks, each 
 trying to screen himself behind his fellow 
 from the pitiless cold. At dusk fires were 
 lighted in the woods at the rear, that the 
 144 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 enemy might suppose we were bivouacking 
 for the night, and men were detailed to 
 feed these fires, while the rest were or- 
 dered to retreat in column along the turn- 
 pike, across the river, back whence we 
 started. 
 
 On either side of the turnpike the woods 
 had been fired to prevent an attack on 
 our flank. We marched through fire and 
 smoke, our eyes blinded, throats parched, 
 stomachs empty, and limbs half frozen. 
 All night we marched, and not until long 
 after sunrise did we reach safety beyond 
 the river. There we received orders to 
 return to our old camping-ground, but 
 some humane soul, probably General 
 Webb, asked for one hour's halt for rest 
 and food. One hour's rest was granted, 
 but no food was given out. 
 
 At the end of that one hour I awoke, 
 
 and beheld a sight never to be forgotten. 
 
 Not a man, not a horse, was standing. So 
 
 deep down and so profound was the sleep 
 
 10 145 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 that the stillness was that of death. SucK 
 was the exhaustion of all that every man 
 who had a horse slept at his side with reins 
 in hand. 
 
 Before the troops were fully roused the 
 provision wagons arrived, and the men were 
 so famished that any regular distribution 
 of rations was impossible. Fighting their 
 way, they seized and rifled the wagons, de- 
 vouring what they secured like so many 
 wild animals. 
 
 Again we marched, finally reaching our 
 old camp, worn and footsore. 
 
 146 
 
OF. THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 CAMP AT STEVENSBURG, VA. 
 
 Stevensburg, 
 December 6th, 1863. 
 
 HERE we are, shuffled into a cold 
 and cheerless camp, with neither 
 protection from the wind nor wood 
 to build fires with. Possibly these quarters 
 may be permanent, though why we should 
 be way down here in the front I do not 
 understand. 
 
 We left our last camp yesterday morn- 
 ing, and are now four miles nearer the 
 Rapidan than before. We were not al- 
 lowed to pitch tents until dark, when it 
 was too late to make ourselves warm for 
 the night ; and about midnight an icy wind 
 sprang up, forcing us all to run about, that 
 we might not freeze. I am now lying be- 
 14T 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 hind the trunk of an old tree for shelter, 
 with my fingers so stiff that I can barely 
 hold my pen. 
 
 I see by the Northern papers that this 
 army is called " demoralized," " full of 
 copperheads," and " fit only for observa- 
 tion work." This is because we did not 
 give battle the other day, when we found 
 the Confederates in their entrenched posi- 
 tion. I wish such newspaper grumblers 
 could be sent down here and put into the 
 front ranks, when I rather think things 
 would be seen in a different light. 
 
 December 7th, 1863. - 
 
 Last night about midnight news came 
 that a mail had arrived which was too large 
 to be distributed until morning. Tired, 
 even exhausted, as I was, the thought of 
 a near letter which I knew was in that bag 
 for me prevented the possibility of sleep, 
 I soon found Macy was under the same 
 restlessness as I, and we quickly agreed to 
 148 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 saddle our horses, ride to brigade head- 
 quarters, get the mail, and distribute it 
 ourselves. 
 
 Off we went, found the mail, of many 
 days' accumulation, threw it across the 
 saddle, and rode home in high glee. I had 
 no question as to the contents of that mail- 
 bag; I knew my letter was there, beside 
 many others for me. On our return we 
 took the bag into Macy's tent, where, ex- 
 cepting for the very audible snores about 
 us, there was silence. 
 
 I sat on the floor, placed a candle be- 
 tween my feet, and with a freshly lighted 
 pipe went happily to work. A whole hour 
 passed ; the last letter was in my hand, and 
 not a single one for me. Macy had four. 
 I felt wicked, then distressed, and then 
 really sick with disappointment, and so, 
 finally, turned in. This morning I dis- 
 covered that the whole mail had not ar- 
 rived last night; that the rest was on its 
 way; and before noon the best letter I 
 149 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 had ever received was in my hand. There 
 were others, too. 
 
 We complained so much of our situation 
 here that j^esterday the camp was moved 
 to a hillside facing south, where we can 
 at least escape the fearful northers which 
 blow here so tempestuously through the 
 winter. For the last six weeks I have not 
 known the feeling of warmth, especially 
 at night. The ground upon which I sleep 
 is so cold that it seems as if two feather 
 beds, at least, would be necessary between 
 me and the earth to make me really com- 
 fortable. But as things are, I have a bag 
 made of one double army blanket, into 
 which I let myself down, placing an India 
 rubber blanket under me. Although the 
 latter is the coldest thing in the world, it 
 keeps the moisture out, and, in spite of 
 everything, I am in splendid condition. 
 
 150 
 
.; • V-fV 
 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 December 10th, 1863. 
 We hear that the Government offers 
 thirty days' furlough to old regiments 
 when two-thirds of their men re-enlist. 
 The bounties are so large and the offer 
 so liberal that the chances are good for 
 keeping the regiments up to a proper 
 standard. Officers can re-enlist or not, as 
 they choose. In their case no difference 
 is made, but if two-thirds of the men re- 
 enlist the whole regiment goes home, offi- 
 cers and all, to reorganize. 
 
 December 14th, 1863. 
 The need of wood in this place is so 
 great that to remain much longer seems 
 impossible, and yet we are building log 
 tents as if for winter quarters. It is a 
 miserable situation in many ways, and the 
 food we have, if for a permanency, is not 
 suitable. I breakfasted this morning on 
 hardtack and coffee; then at noon we 
 151 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 dined on boiled beef, without the slightest 
 seasoning of either salt or pepper. Even 
 the water we bathe in, and wash our teeth 
 with, must be left standing for half an 
 hour before using, that the dirt in it may 
 settle; and this same water is all we have 
 for our coffee. Every day the wind blows 
 a gale, and to-day it seems as if the tents 
 would be blown to rags. This morning I 
 put my fire out, for fear my tent would 
 be blown over and set on fire. 
 
 Harry Abbott has gone home for a 
 furlough; also Uncle Nathan, as we call 
 Surgeon Hayward, and I confess the camp 
 is desolate without them. However, Macy 
 is here, and I am fond of him. 
 
 December 20th, 1863. 
 
 It is Sunday, and our camp wears an 
 appearance, I suppose it might be said, 
 appropriate to the day. Everywhere there 
 is silence and monotony. The white can- 
 vas tents look cold and cheerless in the 
 152 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 winter atmosphere, and the only human 
 being outside, beside myself, is the senti- 
 nel, pacing up and down, up and down. 
 There is one little suggestion of comfort 
 and coziness, and that is the blue smoke 
 curling up from the mud chimneys of the 
 huts built all about, which look, but for 
 this, like prairie dog mounds. However, 
 in a few moments everything will change, 
 for the drums will beat, and the men march 
 to their Sunday inspection, heavily laden 
 with knapsacks and muskets. 
 
 I dread the long, weary weeks which 
 must be passed before the spring cam- 
 paign opens. I study all that I can, but 
 the need of various books makes me rest- 
 less. In Doctor Hayward's absence I have 
 been acting as chief surgeon of the bri- 
 gade, with the care of five regiments, so 
 that is not being idle, at any rate. 
 
 153 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 December 27th, 1863. 
 
 It is raining and blowing fearfully, but 
 I am snug and dry under my canvas shel- 
 ter, where, in a little space ten feet square, 
 is combined bedroom, sitting-room, and 
 office; for I am still living in a tent, as 
 I cannot find sufficient wood to build a 
 hut. It is dull enough, with nothing to 
 do and nothing new to hear. I spend 
 hours alone in my tent, thinking of the 
 future ; questioning and answering myself. 
 This seems to me a desert that I am now 
 passing through, which must be crossed 
 before I can dream of home; before an 
 earned contentment would satisfy me to 
 settle down to practise my profession. 
 
 January 1st, 1864. 
 
 To-night is the coldest night we have had 
 
 yet, and the wind blows so that the fire 
 
 will not burn. Poor Bond has turned in 
 
 with all his clothes and overcoat on. I 
 
 154 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 have not undressed, excepting to bathe, 
 since being in this camp; but I am as 
 tough as iron. 
 
 To-day Macy and I were invited by 
 General Webb, commanding our division, 
 and General Hancock, commanding our 
 corps, to call upon them and drink to the 
 success of the Army of the Potomac. 
 General Hancock was wounded at Gettys- 
 burg, and has just now sufficiently recov- 
 ered to take command again. I had a 
 delightful time, and dined with General 
 Webb. 
 
 Did you see the puff about the Twen- 
 tieth in the Boston " Advertiser? " It was 
 
 excellent. 
 
 January 15th, 1864. 
 
 I am out on picket duty, as the surgeon 
 detailed for the work is ill. General Han- 
 cock has forbidden covers or fires at the 
 outposts, and consequently half of the 
 men from the picket line come back ill, as 
 they are exposed to the inclemency of the 
 155 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 weather for three days at a time. There 
 is nothing in the world to do here, and at 
 night we have to lie on the snow and try- 
 to sleep, frozen almost to death. The cold 
 has been most unusual this winter. The 
 hardest battles I have fought since joining 
 the army have been with myself. Some 
 time I hope to conquer — much? Yes, 
 well-nigh everything! 
 
 January 24th, 1864. 
 
 Last Thursday, as the adjutant was ab- 
 sent, I was asked to conduct dress parade 
 in his place. Abbott tells me that I did 
 not make a single mistake, — pretty good 
 for this old boy! 
 
 The building of a bathing-house has in- 
 terested me, and by to-night every man in 
 the regiment will have had a bath, which, 
 I trust, will diminish the number on the 
 sick-list. 
 
 I endure the incarceration (for to me 
 no other word will answer) of camp life 
 156 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 with what fortitude I can, but this forti- 
 tude is only due to the Httle iron crook — 
 hope — which is always with me. 
 
 The nights now are brilliant with moon- 
 light and wonderfully beautiful. Last 
 night I could not remain in my tent and 
 lose all the beauty outside, so ordered my 
 horse saddled and started off alone. For 
 about an hour I enjoyed it hugely; but 
 on my return, got into a bog which thor- 
 oughly wet me, and from that moment my 
 ardor was so dampened that I forgot there 
 had ever been a moon. 
 
 February 7th, 1864. 
 
 Harry Abbott returned last night from 
 his furlough, and Wendell Holmes, Jr., 
 with him. It seemed strange enough to 
 hear them talk of Boston affairs, balls, 
 and such like. Wendell is very blue, and 
 sits over the fire, shivering. It is an awful 
 strain to jump from every comfort into 
 this rough life. Last night we bundled 
 15T 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 him up in buffaloes, blankets, overcoats, 
 
 and tents; yet he suffered and could not 
 
 sleep. Air-tight houses and furnace heat 
 
 unfits one for this sort of thing. It is, 
 
 of course, much colder at the North than 
 
 here, but it is the dampness of the cold 
 
 in this locality which pierces to the very 
 
 marrow. 
 
 February 15th, 1864. 
 
 One day's routine is much like another, 
 varied only by storm or sunshine. Yester- 
 day the monotony was relieved by a cav- 
 alry review. There were six thousand 
 horsemen, commanded by General Pleas- 
 anton, who manoeuvred them on an open 
 plain large enough to hold ten thousand 
 more, and the sight was grand and im- 
 posing, — a tremendous exhibition of force 
 in reserve. 
 
 You can have no idea of the bitter cold 
 of the last few days. Even the pail of 
 water for bathing, which I set in the fire- 
 place, freezes ! The ink in my pen freezes 
 158 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 as I write. Last night, beside being in 
 my bag with a single blanket over me, I 
 had outside of that two overcoats, haver- 
 sacks, boots, and every variety of thing, 
 yet was too cold to sleep. One of our 
 officers had three of his toes frozen during 
 the night, while in bed. I am all puckered 
 up by this weather, but find it healthy. 
 
 On Picket, March 20th, 1864. 
 
 I am not fond of picket duty at any 
 time, but under present conditions it is 
 almost intolerable. I came out here yes- 
 terday among a lot of ignorant, swearing, 
 drinking officers, unknown to me, and all 
 intensely disagreeable. They amuse them- 
 selves by card playing, toadying their pri- 
 vates, rough talk ; and I expect a row with 
 them every moment. They allow their 
 favorites among the privates to eat and 
 drink with them, but I told the command- 
 ing officer yesterday that I did not allow 
 a private to come into my quarters in camp, 
 159 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 and should not here, and if he wished to 
 talk to one, it must be outside, and not 
 while I was in the hut. The officer looked 
 at me pretty sharply, as if he meant to be 
 insulting, and I was prepared for it; but 
 he merely said, " You officers of the Twen- 
 tieth Mass. treat your privates different 
 from what we do, but if you don't like this 
 man here I '11 send him out," which he did. 
 If he had not complied with my demand, 
 I should have brought charges against him, 
 and this he well knew. 
 
 April 13th, 1864. 
 
 General Gibbon reviewed our division 
 to-day, and for a wonder the weather was 
 pleasant. Abbott led the column behind 
 the band; then the adjutant and I fol- 
 lowed, and, be it whispered, my old Bess 
 and her rider felt so gay, not to say self- 
 conscious, that it was extremely difficult 
 for the latter to salute the general with his 
 sword, which, by the way, was borrowed. 
 160 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 This morning I was awakened by feel- 
 ing myself tightly held, seeing Hayward's 
 face close to mine, and hearing him say 
 in some agitation, " John, don't move for 
 your hf e till I say * three,' then seize my 
 hands and spring to your feet. One, two, 
 three!" Up I sprang, and never made a 
 cleaner jump, but just in time to see a 
 moccasin snake dive under my coat, which 
 I had used for a pillow. Armed with 
 sticks, we dragged the coat away, but saw 
 only the hole into which the snake had 
 glided. I was glad afterwards we missed 
 killing him, for he had lain coiled almost 
 under the back of my neck, and, as it 
 proved, waited patiently for me to move 
 and let him enter his hole; so I feel rather 
 pleased that his patience was rewarded. 
 
 More than one hundred German recruits 
 have arrived to-day, and I have examined 
 them. These fellows, who have just left 
 their own country and now find themselves 
 in a foreign army, where an unknown 
 11 161 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 tongue is spoken, are already singing their 
 camp songs, merry as crickets. 
 
 The band of the first division, which is 
 the best in the army, played this evening 
 at the fort on the hill. The air was so 
 filled with melody I could barely stand it. 
 I used to listen comfortably to music, but 
 now, although the enjoyment is far greater, 
 I listen painfully. 
 
 162 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 THE COMMENCEMENT OF GEANT'S 
 CAMPAIGN 
 
 GENERAL GRANT has appointed 
 the day after to-morrow to review 
 our corps. Yesterday he reviewed 
 the Sixth corps, and all through the re- 
 view sat on his horse and smoked a cigar. 
 He never even uncovered his head when 
 the colors were dipped in passing him. 
 
 April 19th, 1864. 
 
 On Friday our division was reviewed by 
 General Hancock in the presence of Gen- 
 erals Meade, Sedgwick, and half a dozen 
 others. The regiment had again the post 
 of honor, — the right of the column. It 
 was complimented on every side, — and let 
 me say that it is very rare for the com- 
 163 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 manding general to compliment an indi- 
 vidual regiment; but on that day all of 
 them said they had never seen more splen- 
 did marching, and also that they had no 
 idea there w^as such a regiment in the ser- 
 vice. After the review the generals v^ent 
 to General Gibbon's headquarters for a 
 collation. General Meade then asked Gen- 
 eral Gibbon to send for the Twentieth, as 
 he wished to see it manoeuvre, after which 
 the officers of the Twentieth were invited 
 to the collation. The rumor is that after 
 to-morrow no mails will be allowed to go 
 North. 
 
 April 20th, 1864. 
 It is a cold, cloudy, cheerless day, and 
 I confess my condition is like the weather. 
 I am blue and homesick. Yes, this may 
 seem extraordinary, but to me it is as 
 common in this dull life as to see the 
 stars in the sky. There is too little occu- 
 pation; I am read out and wearied to 
 death. 
 
 164 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 To-day, beside my sick calls, I have done 
 nothing' but loaf with my hands in my 
 pockets, from tent to tent, for it has been 
 too cold to sit outside, and my chimney has 
 smoked too much for a fire. Most of the 
 time my eyes stream with tears from the 
 constant smoke I live in. Yesterday, for 
 variety, and the hope of benefit, I shaved 
 off my mustache, — but I allow it did take 
 moral courage, — and then had a most 
 laughable time calling upon our officers at 
 their respective huts. Not one of them rec- 
 ognized me until I spoke, and then they 
 roared with laughter. Not so with Abbott 
 and Uncle Nathan, though. They were 
 really put out with me, and saw no joke 
 whatever, — said I looked like the devil, 
 and I think Abbott would have liked to put 
 me under guard, and for the simple reason 
 that the loss of a mustache broke the mili- 
 tary uniformity of the regiment! 
 
 165 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 May 3rd, 1864. 
 
 At last orders have come to move, and 
 now commences the campaign of 1864 
 under Grant. How will it end? It has 
 begun, at least, in secrecy, for no one 
 seems to know what is to be done beyond 
 marching, and that marching under Grant 
 means moving towards the enemy. 
 
 As is usual, after a winter's rest and 
 idleness in camp, the men open a new 
 campaign with an excess of spirit. We 
 crossed the river without opposition, and 
 late in the afternoon struck the Fredericks- 
 burg Turnpike, which we followed in what 
 seemed to be a westerly direction. Be- 
 fore long we heard sharp musketry firing, 
 toward which we made our way, and about 
 dusk struck a road running south and at 
 right angles to that which we were on. 
 Here we halted, and were told to bivouac 
 under arms against a rail fence, which 
 stood between us and the thick woods 
 166 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 where the firing was. The woods were so 
 dense that we could not distinguish the 
 artillery firing from the rest of the reports, 
 but the sound continued until dark. 
 
 Hot firing opened at daybreak, and it 
 seemed so near that when orders came to 
 " fall in line," the new German recruits 
 simply would not obey. They were so 
 terrified that they lay like logs, and no 
 amount of rough handling, even with 
 bayonets, had any effect upon them what- 
 ever. The order to advance was given; 
 still these fellows clung to the ground 
 with faces buried in the grass, and, although 
 some were shot by the officers, literally 
 nothing moved them. 
 
 " Go on," was the next order, and on 
 we went, leaving the miserable wretches 
 lying there, — a few may have fallen into 
 line, but I doubt it. We pushed forward, 
 and very quickly were walking over rows 
 of dead bodies piled at times two and three 
 deep, and they lay in lines, exactly as if 
 167 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 mowed down, showing the havoc of yes- 
 terday's fight. These Hnes seemed to be 
 equally distant one from the other, as if 
 each body of men advanced a certain dis- 
 tance, received a volley, then advanced 
 again, and received another. I noticed a 
 man near me in the ranks at this time 
 singing a hymn with all his might and 
 main. His head was thrown back, his 
 mouth wide open, and he seemed com- 
 pletely absorbed in the emotion called 
 forth to the hymn, which made him ob- 
 livious of all surroundings. I watched 
 him curiously, and understood that it was 
 an instinctive impulse on his part to try 
 to hold his senses together and to steady 
 himself under the well-nigh unendurable 
 strain. As long as I saw the fellow, he 
 kept his place without stumbling, and 
 obeyed orders. 
 
 The right of the Twentieth bore on the 
 turnpike for about two miles, when we met 
 the enemy and the fighting began. I 
 168 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 stationed myself just behind the regiment 
 in the woods on the side of the road, and 
 opened my hospital paraphernalia; then 
 sent the stretcher-bearers over the field. 
 Soon I was deep in work. 
 
 Meanwhile reserves were brought up, 
 and among them I saw General Bartlett 
 at the head of his brigade; but we had 
 time only for a passing salute. Shortly 
 after that an orderly came towards me, 
 leading a horse, with an officer in the 
 saddle, back from the front. The man 
 was bent far over the horse's neck, bleed- 
 ing profusely from a wound in the head, 
 and white as death. To my dismay, I saw 
 it was Frank Bartlett, and I called his 
 name again and again, but did not suc- 
 ceed in rousing him. Passing my finger 
 into the wound before taking him from 
 the saddle, I found the ball had not pene- 
 trated the bone, but had simply severed 
 an artery in the scalp; so, pressing the 
 artery till the steward brought a ligature, 
 169 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 I shouted, "No harm dpne, old boy; this 
 is only a flesh wound ; you will be all right 
 when I tie the artery and take a stitch or 
 two " ; and this good news seemed to bring 
 him back to consciousness. I then laid him 
 on the ground, and, after my work was 
 finished, gave him a good horn of whiskey 
 and very soon he rallied completely. 
 
 " John," he said, " I thought I was done 
 for. Well, old fellow, if I 'm all right, 
 here goes!" and before I could stop him 
 he had sprung into the saddle, waved his 
 hand to me, and was off to the front again 
 as fast as his horse could carry him. Such 
 is the mental power of the two little words 
 " death " and " hfe." 
 
 About the middle of the afternoon Gen- 
 eral Hancock rode up and told me to stop 
 work and send all my wounded to the rear, 
 as our troops were to fall back. This was 
 tough and hot work, but I gathered all I 
 could find and fell back with the rest. 
 
 170 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 May , 1864. 
 
 Something happened to me in this re- 
 treat to the crossroads which Hayward says 
 was a heat-stroke, for there was no expo- 
 sure to the sun, as I was sheltered by the 
 woods. I remember nothing from the time 
 General Hancock ordered me back and 
 the wounded were sent off, till I found 
 myself lying under an apple-tree, with 
 " Uncle Nathan " sponging my head with 
 cold, water. My steward says that while on 
 the retreat I talked incoherently, then ran 
 and shouted, until he guided me to the Divi- 
 sion Hospital, where I fell unconscious. 
 
 When I came to my senses sufficiently 
 to sit up, Hayward told me that our little 
 Abbott (at that time major, but acting 
 colonel) had been shot through the abdo- 
 men and was dying. Dying! It was too 
 dreadful to bear! Harry Abbott was an 
 ideal man; an ideal officer, reverenced by 
 his friends and deeply respected by all 
 171 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 who knew him. What will become of the 
 Twentieth without him I cannot imagine; 
 for he was its life, its discipline, and its 
 success/ 
 
 The Wilderness, May 7th, 1864. 
 
 I am safe and well, but our losses have 
 been fearful. Poor Abbott is dead; Macy 
 has a slight wound in the leg, not danger- 
 ous; Bond is shot in the jaw, but doing 
 M^ell; Walcott in the shoulder, and three 
 others badly wounded. 
 
 During the first day's fight I was with 
 the regiment, but now I am detailed to the 
 hospital with Dr. Hayward, three miles in 
 the rear. I have been operating all day, 
 and really learned more in the way of ex- 
 perience than in all the time since joining 
 the regiment. 
 
 1 Major Abbott was shot through the body, and lived for 
 about eight hours after. He left all his money to the widows 
 and orphans of the regiment. General Gibbon wrote to his 
 father that he was considered the most valuable officer in the 
 corps. 
 
 172 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 May 8th, 1864. 
 
 Exhaustion and confusion worse con- 
 founded. Although perfectly well, I am 
 tired and hot, having slept only a couple 
 of hours out of the last forty. We are 
 still in the Wilderness, fighting our way 
 inch by inch. The Twentieth has been in no 
 important action since I last wrote; our 
 loss was then so terrible that they have 
 spared us a little. Curtis is now in com- 
 mand, as Captain Paton was shot in the 
 hand; but we cannot induce him to go to 
 the rear. 
 
 The Confederates fight determinedly, 
 and their force facing us is almost equal 
 to ours, but we drive them each day. We 
 are both on a race for Richmond, and I 
 wonder which will get the inside track. If 
 we do, our journey will be forty miles 
 shorter than theirs. Feeling as I do now, 
 the thought of a forty-mile march is 
 quite repulsive. Grant seems determined 
 173 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 to keep on fighting, and either win or 
 lose. 
 
 I now sit on the ground in the woods, 
 leaning against a log and writing on my 
 knee. I am surrounded by soldiers, bon- 
 fires, and kicking horses, — but out of their 
 reach, I assure you; dust is sweeping over 
 me like smoke; my face is black with dirt 
 and perspiration, clothes soiled and torn 
 almost to pieces. I am too tired to sleep, 
 too tired to stand, and should dislike to 
 have you see me just now. Although we 
 have been steadily banging away at each 
 other for a week, neither side has gained 
 much advantage. The enemy has gradu- 
 ally fallen back, but each day shows a bold 
 front. 
 
 The sun is just setting, thank God! but 
 it is uncertain whether we shall march all 
 night, go out on picket, or lie down and 
 sleep, — the thought of sleep makes me 
 absolutely silly. We never know what we 
 may be doing the next five minutes. 
 174 
 
The Countuv THRoroii which the Battle of the Wildeuness 
 WAS lorcirr — A Pontoon BuiDfiE 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Hello! Here come two hundred " John- 
 nies " as prisoners. They look defiant. I 
 would in their place. 
 
 May 11th, 1864. 
 
 My last writing was interrupted by 
 orders to march, and fighting has been 
 constant during the last three days. I 
 am well, and incessantly at work over the 
 wounded. I send this through a " Chris- 
 tian Commission " man, who goes North 
 to-day. 
 
 May 13th, 1864. 
 
 Fighting still, — ten days of it without 
 intermission. I am so exhausted and nerv- 
 ous it is difficult to express myself; am 
 operating day and night. This thing can- 
 not last much longer, for one side or the 
 other must yield from sheer exhaustion. 
 
 I am trying to gather together the Twen- 
 tieth, but so far can find but two officers, no 
 men, no colors. The only privates I have 
 discovered are here in the hospital, and 
 175 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 apparently there is almost nothing left of 
 the dear old regiment. 
 
 Wilderness near 
 Spottsylvania Court-house, 
 Division Hospital, May 17th, 1864). 
 
 Seventeen days since I have heard a word 
 from the North. Not a single mail has 
 been sent us since we left winter quarters. 
 
 We now find that six officers of the 
 Twentieth are living (excluding Surgeon 
 Hay ward and myself) out of twenty who 
 started with us. I am at present detailed 
 to run the Division Hospital with Dr. 
 Divenell. 
 
 Surgeons captured by the enemy are 
 w^ell treated and immediately paroled; in 
 fact, they are scarcely noticed, much less 
 disturbed. If one happens to have on a 
 good pair of boots, he is generally relieved of 
 them, which, under the circumstances, seems 
 quite fair and proper. I have talked to 
 many Confederates, and some of the offi- 
 176 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 cers admit terrible losses on their side, and 
 seem discouraged. They tell me that we 
 never fought so determinedly, so fiercely, 
 or so long at a time as in this campaign, 
 and that they could not possibly stand an- 
 other such siege. For ten days the battle 
 raged each day, we being the assaulting 
 party. We have been comparatively quiet 
 the last two days, burying our dead. 
 
 12 177 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 CHAPTER XIII 
 
 CAPTAIN KELLIHER's WOUNDS 
 
 IT has rained every day for a week ; the 
 mud is several feet deep, and the men 
 thoroughly water-logged, but, never- 
 theless, they are cheerful and ready to 
 begin the contest again. I dread the re- 
 sults of a fight, but must confess, as it 
 seems the only way of forcing the end, I 
 want to go ahead. 
 
 Banks of the Mattapony River, 
 
 May 22nd, 1864. 
 We are not allowed mail facilities in this 
 campaign, and our only opportunities for 
 sending letters North are by the wounded 
 on their way to the rear. I have material 
 enough for fifty letters, but dare not risk 
 it in the hands of wounded privates. 
 178 
 
OF. THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Our corps, the Second, is separated from 
 the main army. We made a forced march 
 to this place, which is called Milf ord, night 
 before last and yesterday. We are two 
 miles from Bowling Green, by the Fred- 
 ericksburg and Richmond Railroad, and 
 on the banks of the Mattapony River. 
 General Hancock made this move success- 
 fully, but with a loss of about fifty of his 
 cavalry. This is the route by which Gen- 
 eral Lee sent all his wounded to Richmond. 
 We are almost directly in General Lee's 
 rear, — at any rate, so far in his rear that 
 it is probable he will have to fall back in 
 order to fight us. We have entrenched 
 ourselves as securely as w^e can, and the 
 river covers both our flanks. The Second 
 corps is estimated at twenty-five thousand 
 men. 
 
 On one of the recent days of fighting, 
 at early dawn the troops were in line, 
 when the order was given to charge with- 
 out noise. While on the run, — I f oUow- 
 119 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 ing with my hospital steward about twenty- 
 yards in the rear of the men, — we saw in 
 a clump of bushes a pair of boots with 
 soles up, as if the owner had taken a head- 
 long leap into the hedge. Stopping to in- 
 vestigate, I pulled out Captain Kelliher 
 of the Twentieth. He was hctrribly 
 mangled about the face and neck, as if 
 from a shell or solid shot; yet no gun 
 had been heard, and no one seen to leave 
 the ranks. 
 
 I found him bleeding freely from a 
 laceration of the subclavian artery, show- 
 ing that the injury could only have been 
 received a moment before, else he would 
 have bled to death. He was still living, 
 though unconscious, and after tying the 
 artery, so as to stop the hemorrhage, he 
 was placed on a stretcher and carried to 
 the rear. The fighting lasted but a short 
 time; as the Confederates were but par- 
 tially surprised, they rallied and held us in 
 check. 
 
 180 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 As soon as the Division Hospital tents 
 were up, I had Kelhher taken to Dr. 
 Hayward, who, finding him still alive, 
 though yet unconscious, decided to remove 
 the shattered bones and to clean and stitch 
 the wounds, so as to give him all the com- 
 fort possible, but with no hope of saving 
 his life. Under the chloroform the captain 
 rallied still more, and a few hours after 
 our work was finished he finally became 
 conscious. Dr. Hayward had removed the 
 shattered lower jaw, the whole arm, in- 
 cluding a shoulder-blade, or scapula, the 
 clavicle, or collar-bone, and a large part of 
 the first two ribs on the same side of the 
 body, as all these broken bones were lacer- 
 ating the flesh, and the surfaces of the 
 lung were exposed. When the operation 
 was completed, the line of suture for clos- 
 ing the wounds ran from the ear to within 
 an inch or two of the pelvis. 
 
 I placed the patient under my shelter 
 tent, and ordered the steward to feed and 
 181 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 stimulate him as directed. In the night it 
 rained so hard that I dug a trench about 
 him to keep him from being drenched and 
 chilled. The following day we were or- 
 dered, to push on, and to place the wounded, 
 who were unable to march, in army wagons 
 destined for the " White House Landing," 
 w^hich was tw^enty miles away. What was 
 to become of poor Kelliher? Surely he 
 could never survive such a strain, even 
 though at the time he was doing well. 
 After much deliberation I decided to con- 
 sult the captain himself, and to follow his 
 decision. In presenting to him the situa- 
 tion, I offered to remain with him in case 
 he wished to be left, and told him that we 
 must simply make up our minds to be cap- 
 tured by the enemy; but his answer was 
 clear and prompt : " I will go to the White 
 House Landing, Doctor, and, Doctor, I 
 shall live." So, doing what was possible 
 to make him comfortable with the use of 
 straw and grass by way of a mattress, I 
 182 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 bade him good-bye, never dreaming that 
 he could survive such a journey/ 
 
 1 Captain Kelliher, after complete recovery, rejoined the 
 Twentieth and was commissioned its major, and remained in 
 active service with the regiment till the end of the war. 
 
 183 
 
 I 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 CHAPTER XIV 
 
 OPERATING AND MARCHING 
 
 Two Miles from Hanover Junction, 
 
 May 24th, 1864. 
 
 I CAN scratch only a few lines, being up 
 to my elbows in blood. Oh, the fatigue 
 and endless work we surgeons have! 
 About one night in three to sleep in, and 
 then we are so nervous and played out that 
 sleep is impossible. 
 
 The hospital is fast filling up with poor 
 fellows who last night charged upon the 
 enemy's works on the other side of the 
 river. We are some fifteen miles nearer 
 Richmond than when I last wrote, and the 
 strongest works of the Confederacy are 
 at this point and at the South Anna River. 
 They were thrown up during the first year 
 of the war. 
 
 184 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 It looks now as if we should still compel 
 the enemy to fall back. We have had a 
 deal of forced marching lately, and the heat 
 has been almost intolerable. At times it 
 has seemed as if the sun's rays would lay 
 us out, yet we march all day, and through 
 volumes upon volumes of dense dust. News 
 has just come that the Confederates are 
 falling back, and so I suppose we must 
 pack our wounded into wagons and move 
 after them with all the speed possible. 
 
 It seems to me I am quite callous to 
 death now, and that I could see my dear- 
 est friend die without much feeling. This 
 condition tells a long story which, under 
 other circumstances, could scarcely be im- 
 agined. During the last three weeks I have 
 seen probably no less than two thousand 
 deaths, and among them those of many 
 dear friends. I have witnessed hundreds 
 of men shot dead, have walked and slept 
 among them, and surely I feel it possible 
 to die myself as calmly as any, — but 
 185 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 enough of this. The fight is now fearful, 
 and ambulances are coming in with great 
 rapidity, each bearing its suffering load. 
 
 Fifteen Miles erom White House on 
 
 York River, May 30th, 1864. 
 
 We are now fourteen miles from Rich- 
 mond, having marched pretty steadily 
 southward ever since I last wrote. Oh, 
 why will not the Confederacy burst up! 
 True, we are drawing very near to Rich- 
 mond, but the tug of war will come at the 
 Chickahominy River. Although the Con- 
 federates had the shortest road, we rather 
 stole a march upon them this time before 
 they could reach and stop us, and, by mak- 
 ing a hard, forced march, we saved many 
 lives. The morale of the enemy is injured 
 by their falling back in retreat so far, 
 while that of our army is correspondingly 
 improved. They are now pretty near their 
 last ditch, and the fight there will be fierce 
 and strong, I work day and night, and 
 186 
 
OF. THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 when not busy with the sick and wounded 
 am on the tedious march. 
 
 Cold Harbor, June 4th, 1864. 
 
 I have not had a moment to write for 
 nearly a week. It has been fight, fight, 
 fight. Every day there is a fight, and 
 every day the hospital is again filled. For 
 four days now we have been operating 
 upon the men wounded in one battle, 
 which lasted only about two hours; but 
 the wounds were more serious than those 
 from former engagements. I am heart- 
 sick over it all. If the Confederates lost 
 in each fight the same number as we, there 
 would be more chance for us; but their 
 loss is about one man to our five, from 
 the fact that they never leave their earth- 
 works, whereas our men are obliged to 
 charge even when there is not the slight- 
 est chance of taking them. Three several 
 times after capturing these works our 
 troops were unsupported and had to evacu- 
 187 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 ate immediately, with great loss. The 
 men are becoming discouraged, but there 
 is plenty of fight in them yet. 
 
 June 7th, 1864. 
 
 For the first time, I believe, since this 
 campaign commenced, I am lying upon 
 my blankets at twelve o'clock, noon. This 
 morning early we sent almost every man 
 in the hospital to the " White House," to 
 make room for others. Under a flag of 
 truce, we asked permission of the enemy to 
 take off our wounded who were lying be- 
 tween the two lines. This, of course, pre- 
 vented all hostilities, and we surgeons are 
 having a few hours' rest. 
 
 June 10th, 1864. 
 The front lines are within thirty yards 
 of the Confederate works, — indeed, so 
 near that a biscuit could easily be tossed 
 into them. On neither side do the men 
 dare show their heads above the entrench- 
 188 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAH 
 
 ments, for it is almost sure death to do 
 so. The sharpshooters on both sides are 
 so placed that they can pick off anything 
 which appears in sight. 
 
 We have had thirty of our division 
 wounded to-day by shell which the Con- 
 federates manage to throw into our pits, 
 but we are successful in dropping some 
 into theirs also. The heat is intolerable, 
 and the roads are covered with dust six or 
 eight inches deep, which every gust of 
 wind sweeps up, covering everything with 
 a dirty, white coating. 
 
 189 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 CHAPTER XV 
 
 THE DEATH OF LIEUTENANT G OF 
 
 THE SHARPSHOOTERS 
 
 Hospital near Petersburg, 
 
 June 20th, 1864. 
 
 OUR division is relieved from duty in 
 the front line, where it has fought 
 ever since the campaign commenced. 
 Yesterday another brave officer, Lieuten- 
 ant G of the Twentieth regiment, was 
 
 killed, and so uselessly, too. 
 
 Lieutenant G was in command of 
 
 the sharpshooters attached to the regiment, 
 but who are not under its absolute con- 
 trol. They form an independent organi- 
 zation, going where they can most injure 
 the enemy. We had been fighting for 
 several days in the most advanced trenches 
 amidst persistent firing from both sides, 
 190 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 which, however, did little damage, except 
 to prevent all rest and sleep. Finally both 
 armies saw the folly of such warfare and 
 desisted. Towards noon yesterday, weary, 
 I suppose, of the inaction, a Confederate 
 sharpshooter mounted his earthwork and 
 challenged any one of our sharpshooters to 
 
 single combat. Lieutenant G , a fine 
 
 fellow, standing at least six feet two in his 
 stockings, accepted the challenge, and they 
 commenced what to them was sport. Life 
 is cheap in this campaign! Both fired, and 
 
 the Confederate dropped. G 's great 
 
 size was so unusual that his opponent had 
 the advantage, and our men tried to make 
 him give way to a smaller man. But, no! 
 He would not listen, became very excited 
 as his successes multiplied, and when dark- 
 ness stopped the duelling he remained un- 
 scathed, while every opponent had fallen 
 victim to his unerring aim. 
 
 The lieutenant was so exhilarated that he 
 c]aimed with much bluster a charmed life; 
 191 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 said nothing would kill him; that he could 
 stand any amount of duelling, and this he 
 would prove in the morning. When he was 
 in his tent for the night, we officers used 
 every argument and entreaty to convince 
 him of the foolhardiness and criminality 
 of such a course, and also assured him of 
 the certainty of his death. But the man 
 seemed crazed with the faith in his charmed 
 life. He would not yield his determina- 
 tion, and when we left him was simply 
 waiting, as best he could, for daylight to 
 begin the duelling again. 
 
 As we all foretold, he was finally killed, 
 but his death was due to treachery. In the 
 morning, true to his mistaken conviction, 
 he stood upon the works again and chal- 
 lenged an opponent. Instantly one ap- 
 peared, and as both were taking aim, a man 
 from another part of the Confederate line 
 
 fired and shot G through the mouth, 
 
 the ball lodging in the spinal vertebrae, 
 
 completely paralyzing him below the head. 
 
 192 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 We dragged the poor, deluded fellow to 
 his tent, where, after uttering inarticu- 
 lately, " I hit him any way. Doctor," he 
 died. 
 
 We then heard a tremendous uproar out- 
 side, and found that our men were claim- 
 ing the murderer of their lieutenant; but 
 the Confederates shouted that they had 
 already shot him for a cowardly villain, 
 and then came praises across the line for 
 Lieutenant G 's pluck and skill. 
 
 I remember another instance of unjusti- 
 fiable shooting which occurred last year, 
 but imder very different circumstances. 
 Our division was standing idle, while the 
 skirmishers of another Federal corps and 
 the skirmishers of the enemy were disput- 
 ing the possession of an open field,. Our 
 general, in watching them, saw that the 
 Confederate officer in command was supe- 
 rior to ours, and by his skilful manoeuvres 
 was gradually driving the Federal skir- 
 mishers in. Turning to one of Lieutenant 
 13 193 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 — 's sharpshooters, who was standing 
 
 by his side, he said, " Can you pick off 
 that man? " pointing to the officer. " I 
 think so," was the answer, and raising his 
 rifle, he fired, and, as we say, " dropped 
 him." 
 
 The sharpshooter's rifle had a telescope 
 attached, and this brought the officer, who 
 was some three hundred yards away, close 
 to. Nevertheless, it was a remarkable shot ; 
 but I am thankful to say that every man 
 who witnessed the act pronounced it con- 
 temptible and cowardly. The manoeuvre 
 was not against our division; we were not 
 involved, but simply looking on, and later 
 even the general acknowledged and deeply 
 regretted his fatal impulse. 
 
 194^ 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER XVI 
 
 A DELIGHTFUL EPISODE 
 
 Hospital near Petersburg, 
 
 June 21st, 1864. 
 
 GENERAL GRANT has made a 
 strategical movement, and here we 
 find ourselves, after a very circui- 
 tous but rapid march, south of the James 
 River and pegging* away at the side door 
 of Petersburg. This movement was on 
 a very extensive scale, but accomplished 
 without accident or unnecessary delay. 
 The day we started all surgeons were or- 
 dered to join their respective commands, 
 but I, being attached to the hospital, was 
 obliged to remain with it. In other words, 
 I had to follow the hospital wagons, look 
 after the stores, and attend the sick and 
 wounded in the ambulances. These wagons 
 195 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 took the same route as the troops but kept 
 far in their rear. The heat each day was 
 intense, and the dust beyond any expres- 
 sion of which I am capable; but suffice it 
 to say that most of the time I could not 
 even see the head of my horse. The whole 
 train was fifty miles long, the roads sandy, 
 and we moved with the heavy draw of great 
 bodies. We marched about sixty miles in 
 four days and nights, halting every six or 
 eight hours to bait horse and man. Little 
 opportunity was given us for sleep, and, 
 separated from Hayward and Macy, I felt 
 at times tired and restless, as the officers 
 near me were disagreeable fellows, who 
 often amused themselves by entering 
 the houses along the route and stealing 
 everything they could lay their hands 
 upon. 
 
 Some pitiable sights I saw! Although 
 the officers did nothing really cruel, the 
 example they set to their men was de- 
 moralizing in the extreme. Such wanton 
 196 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 destruction of property, such pillage and 
 forage I never saw equalled. 
 
 I stopped at a house to ask for a drink 
 of water and, finding the front door open, 
 knocked and stepped inside. An elderly- 
 lady came to the door in great distress, and 
 seeing that I was an officer, exclaimed, 
 " Oh, sir, if you have a heart, protect us! 
 The soldiers are taking everything we have 
 to live on; no food will be left our chil- 
 dren; we shall starve! " She then led me 
 into a room where were two ladies, two 
 young girls, several small children, and an 
 old gentleman, all clinging to one another 
 and sobbing as though their hearts would 
 break. 
 
 I said that I would do all in my power 
 to help them. I advised them immediately 
 to collect from the place everything in 
 the way of food that it was possible to 
 scrape up, — chickens, pigs, corn, etc., — 
 which they proceeded to do, and after a 
 long time returned with two old hens, 
 197 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 a few hams, and about a barrel of corn. 
 When these were locked in a room up- 
 stairs, I offered them my protection until 
 the wagon train had passed, at which the 
 old gentleman dropped on his knees in 
 prayer; and I did not wonder, for the 
 whole situation was pitiful enough, — a 
 family of eight huddled together, each 
 looking to the other for courage to sup- 
 port life, while rude hands snatch every- 
 thing, leaving starvation behind. 
 
 My position was no sinecure, for the 
 men rushed in and attempted to search the 
 house upstairs, and it was only by stand- 
 ing on the stairs with pistol drawn that 
 I could prevent their doing so. I waited 
 till long after the train had passed, and 
 then managed to procure for these poor 
 people from our quartermaster coffee, 
 sugar, and hardtack, — articles which they 
 had not seen for months. It is difficult 
 to imagine the varied suffering of these 
 Southerners, many of them used to great 
 198 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 luxury; yet, of course, their experience 
 spells war, and sometimes in my imagi- 
 nation that one word is swollen till it al- 
 most bursts with all it includes. 
 
 After joining the train again, and while 
 riding with one of the lieutenants in charge, 
 as a great cloud of dust rolled off, we saw 
 through the intervening branches of trees 
 a scene so apart from our own condition 
 of dirt and confusion that it seemed like 
 a dream. It was a stately old-time home- 
 stead, surrounded by rich lawns and cul- 
 tivated fields, with an air of such calm and 
 dignity, such seclusion and peace, that, al- 
 though we feared to trespass and so break 
 the charm which seemed to shelter it, the 
 longing for its rest and refreshment proved 
 irresistible. Turning our horses' heads 
 towards the spot, we were quickly there, 
 and then found that the freshness of this 
 lovely oasis was due to a serpentine twist 
 of the Chickahominy River, which almost 
 completely enclosed the plantation. 
 199 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 Riding up the fine old avenue of what 
 we supposed a deserted house, — as the 
 blinds were tightly closed and absolute 
 stillness prevailed, — we reached the big 
 front porch; then dismounting, we tied 
 our horses, and, sitting upon the hospitable 
 steps, drank in the sweetness and silence 
 of the place with intense delight. Sud- 
 denly we heard a click behind us, as of a 
 key turned in its socket. Instinctively 
 neither of us showed that we noticed the 
 sound. Feeling ready for any emergency, 
 we quietly awaited further developments. 
 
 Again came a noise, a decided creak, and 
 we became sure that some one was scan- 
 ning us through the open door. Still we 
 did not turn, for, in spite of the possibil- 
 ity of danger, the relief we felt in our 
 surroundings roused a spirit of fun and 
 adventure. This proved too much for the 
 curiosity of the party in the doorway, and 
 presently a refined and gentle voice asked, 
 " What do you wish, gentlemen? " 
 ^00 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 We were instantly on our feet and bow- 
 ing to an old lady who was standing in 
 the open door. I answered, " Nothing, 
 madam, but to be allowed to enjoy the 
 quiet and beauty here for a few minutes." 
 
 She ventured nearer. " You belong to 
 the Union forces, I see. What State are 
 you from? " I told her Massachusetts. 
 "From Boston?" "Yes, madam," and 
 noticing in her kind face more interest, 
 I asked if she had associations there. 
 
 A long pause followed, and I saw some- 
 thing was being considered, for instead of 
 answering me she turned to the lieutenant, 
 saying, " May I ask where your home is, 
 sir? " " Pennsylvania," he answered. An- 
 other pause. Finally, looking straight into 
 my eyes, she said, " I had a son in Har- 
 vard College." " In what class? " I asked. 
 " In the class of '62." " Why, that was 
 my class originally," I said; "may I ask 
 his name? " 
 
 When she gave me this and heard that 
 201 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 I knew him well, in spite of the gathering 
 tears and quivering lips, she looked pleased 
 and helped. Laying her hand upon my 
 arm, she said, " My husband and son are 
 both away in the Confederate service, and 
 this is our home. Here are our traditions " ; 
 then drawing herself erect with old-time 
 dignity, she added, '' my husband and son 
 are fighting for them, sir, while my daugh- 
 ters and I are enduring for them." 
 
 In spite of this quiet assertion of 
 Southern principle, I was sure that my 
 companionship with her boy in college 
 gave to his mother a sense of protection 
 in my presence, so that for the time, at 
 least, she felt some relief and rest. 
 
 " I would like my daughters to meet a 
 classmate of their brother," she said, and, 
 as she called them by name in the hall, the 
 lieutenant, with eyes brimful of fun, whis- 
 pered to me, *' By George, there are two 
 of them." 
 
 We heard the bang of a distant door, 
 202 
 
OI' THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 steps flying over the stairs, and then two 
 such pretty girls burst into the room that 
 to us, who had long been unused to any- 
 thing but dust and dirt, their freshness and 
 their dainty muslin dresses seemed but a 
 part of the beautiful old place and the 
 spell that held it. 
 
 The old lady introduced us, and soon 
 we were chatting away as old playmates 
 might have done. They told us of their 
 mother's fears for them while our troops 
 were passing, and of their consequently 
 being shut up in some distant attic. We 
 sang college songs to their accompaniment 
 on the piano; we sang and we laughed, 
 as if there were no such thing as war 
 about us. 
 
 Finally, and reluctantly, we rose to take 
 our leave, saying — I fear a little lamely — 
 that we were in a hurry to rejoin our regi- 
 ment; but the old lady, who had left the 
 room, now returned and most cordially in- 
 vited us to lunch; whereupon, I must con- 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 fess, all sense of hurry disappeared, and 
 after some slight demur, really impossible 
 to persist in, we gladly and thankfully 
 accepted her hospitality. We had a fine 
 lunch, which means that everything was 
 dainty, fresh, and abundant, and we were 
 doing full justice to the occasion, when 
 terrific yells and howls interrupted us. 
 Rushing to the piazza, we saw a lot of 
 cavalry men sprawling and rolling on the 
 ground, kicking, struggling, and scream- 
 ing. They were being attacked by a per- 
 fect army of bees whose hive they had 
 been robbing, and were in absolute agony, 
 yet their quick retribution made the scene 
 almost ludicrous. 
 
 I soon discovered that foraging was 
 going on everywhere, and started to do 
 what I could to stop it, when I met the 
 officer in command of the cavalry and 
 asked his protection for the place, telling 
 him the circumstances of our presence 
 there. I saw a twinkle in his eye as he 
 S04j 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 promised to stop the foraging, and added 
 that he would then call upon the ladies 
 himself. Following him to see that he ful- 
 filled his word, we approached the front 
 porch of the house, from which a perfect 
 bedlam of sounds greeted us, — squeals, 
 cries, and men's coarse voices, — in the 
 midst of which we could distinguish the 
 lieutenant's commands and the entreaties 
 of the ladies. 
 
 When we reached the door we saw two 
 great cavalrymen coming downstairs, each 
 bearing a pig on his shoulders. The lieu- 
 tenant was uselessly ordering them to give 
 up their booty, and the ladies scolding and 
 protesting at this " brutal robbery." The 
 cavalry officer commanded his men to 
 " Halt! " which they did, still holding the 
 pigs, however; then holding the parlor 
 door open for the ladies to pass in, he 
 ordered the men to carry back the pigs 
 to the place where they had found them, 
 but in such a half -authoritative way that 
 205 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 oaths were his only answer. This made 
 the officer so angry that he drew his sword, 
 and belabored them over their heads and 
 shoulders, while they rushed through the 
 open door, bearing away their victims in 
 triumph. 
 
 The foraging was stopped after this, 
 however, and peace restored to the old 
 place. The cavalrymen rode off in one 
 direction and the lieutenant and I in an- 
 other, after taking leave of the ladies 
 and receiving their affectionate farewell. 
 Many a backward glance did we give at 
 the beautiful old place; and until the view 
 was obscured we saw those two pretty girls 
 waving their handkerchiefs to us from the 
 veranda. 
 
 206 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 FIELD HOSPITAL NEAR PETERSBURG 
 
 June 24th, 1864. 
 
 I AM up to my neck in work. It is 
 slaughter, slaughter. Our brigade 
 has met with a sad loss by having 
 three entire regiments gobbled up as pris- 
 oners. The Twentieth fortunately escaped. 
 This misfortune was caused by the second 
 brigade giving way before the attack of 
 the enemy and exposing the flank of our 
 own. The enemy, before we knew it, was 
 in our rear, and resistance was absurd. 
 Major Hooper, who commanded the bri- 
 gade, was the only one of the Fifteenth 
 Massachusetts who escaped. He received a 
 slight wound in the arm, however, and 
 started for home yesterday. Lucky 
 fellow! No time for writing more. 
 207 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 June 27th, 1864. 
 
 When our division was withdrawn from 
 the extreme front, where it has been since 
 the beginning of the campaign, we sur- 
 geons looked for a httle less arduous 
 work; but now the artillery brigade has 
 been placed under our care, and we have 
 as much to do as ever. It has not rained 
 for a month, and the poor wounded fel- 
 lows lie all about me, suffering intensely 
 from heat and flies. The atmosphere is 
 almost intolerable from the immense quan- 
 tity of decomposing animal and vegetable 
 matter upon the ground. Many of the 
 surgeons are ill, and I indulge in large 
 doses of quinine. Horses and mules die 
 by hundreds from continued hard labor 
 and scant feed. The roads are stre^vn 
 with them, and the decay of these, with 
 that of human bodies in the trenches, 
 causes malaria of the worst kind. 
 
 War! war! war! I often think that 
 208 
 
*>:■ 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 in the future, when human character shall 
 have deepened, there will be a better way 
 of settling affairs than this of plunging 
 into a perfect maelstrom of horror. 
 
 Field Hospital, June 29th, 1864. 
 
 Rumor says that the Twentieth is to be 
 mustered out of service on the 18th of 
 July. 
 
 Grant is winding his forces round 
 Petersburg. Our infantry is about two 
 miles from the Weldon Railroad, and it 
 is reported that our cavalry have cut the 
 railroad lower down. The Confederates 
 are close to starvation, especially the women 
 and children, and yet there is no sign of 
 their yielding. 
 
 Our division has again been put in the 
 front line of rifle-pits, and again the poor 
 wounded fellows will be coming in. All 
 this accumulation of experience quickly 
 changes careless boys into sober and 
 thoughtful men, — men who trust, and 
 u 209 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 who feel that whatever happens, in the 
 end it will somehow be for the best; men 
 who value what has not cost them a 
 thought before. I know of a little book, 
 carried in breast pocket or knapsack, — in- 
 deed, wherever it may seem safest, — that 
 has now become a dependence amid suf- 
 fering and privation. 
 
 July 2nd, 1864^. 
 
 For several days I have had no time to 
 write. 
 
 The report to-night is that the Second 
 corps is to take transports for Maryland. 
 This may be true or not. We have few 
 wounded men in the hospital, but a great 
 many sick. However, the army is, on the 
 whole, comparatively healthy. Harry Ab- 
 bott's loss still shadows my every thought; 
 I cannot yet think of it with any com- 
 posure. When the little monograph of his 
 life was taken to General Hancock by 
 Captain Paton, General Hancock said, 
 " I am sorry, Captain, that my opinion 
 210 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 of Major Abbott is not expressed here as 
 well as General Gibbon's. Every general 
 in the army knew Major Abbott. He was 
 the best regimental commander I ever saw. 
 His position was such that he could not 
 be promoted as we all desired to have him, 
 but had he lived he would have had by 
 this time a brigade, at least, to command." 
 
 July 4th, 1864. 
 
 Water is very scarce here; wells have 
 to be dug to the depth of forty feet, and 
 then the water not only runs in slowly, 
 but is very muddy. Ice found in a house 
 on. one of the plantations has been a God- 
 send to the hospital during this heat, but 
 it has all gone now. 
 
 The question of my going home with 
 the regiment still absorbs me. At one 
 hour I am told there will be no difficulty 
 in being mustered out with the others, and 
 then some order comes from the War De- 
 partment, or from the surgeon-general. 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 and I am left high and dry in doubt. For 
 two weeks this has continued, and it wearies 
 me. The medical director of the corps says 
 he cannot spare me, and yet I am sorely 
 needed at home. 
 
 Somehow I felt that General Grant 
 would attack all along the lines to-day 
 and send North a message of victory; but 
 instead of that, this has been the quietest 
 day of the campaign. Now and then the 
 booming of a gun is heard, but no firing 
 of small arms. I think from the unusual 
 calm that the general expects to gain more 
 by keeping quiet and allowing starvation 
 to fight for him in the Confederate ranks, 
 than he could by making a general attack. 
 The railroads running into Richmond have 
 all been cut. 
 
 July 8th, 1864. 
 
 The Twentieth Massachusetts is to be 
 consolidated into a battalion of seven com- 
 panies, and an order just issued by the War 
 Department says that officers not having 
 212 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 served three years from the last muster 
 will be retained, if needed. According to 
 this order, not an individual officer, except 
 the quartermaster, can be mustered out on 
 the 18th, when the regiment is supposed 
 to go home. 
 
 It is intolerably hot, and has been for 
 some time. No rain has fallen since the 
 last of May. Our hospital is now in the 
 woods close to the highway, and we have 
 the benefit of the dust, which so inces- 
 santly sweeps over us that we eat and, 
 breathe it until almost suffocated by it. 
 
 July 18th, 1864. 
 
 I am retained, and General Hancock 
 says I must remain. 
 
 Dr. Hayward and I have our quarters 
 back of the hospital in a little nook, with 
 green boughs to cover us. I visit the Twen- 
 tieth about once a week, but it is almost too 
 sad to go there, as so many of the old fa- 
 miliar faces are gone. I still hope that I 
 213 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 may be mustered out of service before very- 
 long, however. I know very well that Gen- 
 eral. Hancock from his standpoint is right 
 to retain me, but all the same it seems as if 
 I could not bear it. If I remained in the 
 army until September I should be made 
 surgeon, but I do not care a fig for that. 
 
 Camp on the Banks of the James, 
 
 July 29th, 1864. 
 
 Here we are on a so-called raid, but it 
 seems to me a mighty hard, hot, tedious 
 campaign. We left our camp at sundown 
 on the 27th, and marched all night and part 
 of the next day to this place. 
 
 General F., who held the north bank 
 of the river, was furiously attacked by the 
 Confederates, and his men behaved dis- 
 gracefully, — threw down their arms and 
 skedaddled at the first appearance of the 
 enemy, so that our whole corps, with the 
 addition of twelve thousand cavalry, had to 
 be sent here to recover the lost ground; 
 ai4< 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 but it is also intended to draw the enemy's 
 right wing from near Petersburg, so as to 
 enable the Federal troops to blow up their 
 works. We have captured several guns 
 since coming here, among them four beau- 
 tiful twenty-pound Parrott guns, which 
 the Confederates had destined to sink our 
 gunboats and so obstruct the river. We 
 have driven the enemy four or five miles, 
 and a prisoner tells me we have taken 
 Malvern Hill, but the truth of this I can- 
 not vouch for. ^ 
 The hospitals are on the south side of 
 the river and will not be moved across it 
 until the troops do something decided. 
 Dr. Hayward and I are quartered on the 
 bank of the stream where the breeze is de- 
 lightful an.d we can watch the movements 
 of three gunboats and a monitor. Yester- 
 day, by invitation of their commanders, I 
 boarded each of them, and had the pleasure 
 of being present at the firing of one of 
 their hundred-pound Parrott shells into the 
 215 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 enemy's earthworks, which were two miles 
 distant; sighted with the most perfect ac- 
 curacy, the Confederates were driven out 
 each time a shell was discharged, and so 
 prevented from further strengthening their 
 defences. 
 
 216 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 CAMP NEAR PETERSBURG 
 
 August 1st, 1864. 
 
 I WROTE last time from the banks of 
 the James above Bermuda Hundred. 
 At sunset of that same day (July 
 29th) came orders to pack immediately and 
 start on the march. All night we marched, 
 and arrived at our old camp about eight in 
 the morning. 
 
 Immediately the Federal batteries opened 
 all along the line, the train was made ready 
 to blow up the enemy's works, and the negro 
 troops drawn up to charge them as soon 
 as a breach was made. These colored regi- 
 ments were supported by the Fifth corps 
 in reserve. After our batteries had blazed 
 away for an hour or two, silencing many 
 of the enemy's batteries and setting fire to 
 217 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 buildings in Petersburg, the crucial mo- 
 ment came and the train was fired. A 
 Iqw, dull boom was heard, followed by 
 the cheers of the assaulting troops. On 
 pressed the negroes in fine order for about 
 twenty yards, when, as if struck by light- 
 ning, a panic seized them, and breaking 
 through the lines of the Fifth corps they 
 rushed back helter-skelter, creating such 
 chaos and confusion that a general mob 
 prevailed. The officers even shot the ne- 
 groes to stop the stampede, but it was use- 
 less; the poor fellows were so frantic with 
 terror that nothing produced any efi'ect 
 upon them ; and so fizzled our first attempt 
 at mining. Nothing was gained by the 
 terrific assaults of that day, in which we 
 lost many noble lives. 
 
 Rumor says that General Bartlett was 
 taken prisoner with his entire brigade, also 
 that he was ordered to the front of the 
 works, where, in consequence of his usual 
 bravery and skill, all his men followed liim, 
 £18 
 
Majou-Geneual Bartlett 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 but that when there his right and left 
 flanks ran, leaving him unsupported, so 
 that his whole brigade was surrounded and 
 escape was out of the question. 
 
 August 8th, 1864. 
 
 It is very quiet here in front of Peters- 
 burg, but, oh, so hot! And the combined 
 efforts of flies, fleas, and black-flies make 
 life almost hell. At four o'clock in the 
 morning, which means dawn, I am awak- 
 ened by the buzzing and humming of these 
 busy insects at their pestering task, and 
 this labor does not cease till we poor mor- 
 tals are again lost to them in the darkness 
 of the night. 
 
 Yesterday was Sunday, and all the em- 
 ployees and agents of the Sanitary Com- 
 mission collected together and read their 
 Bibles aloud, sang psalm tunes, and recited 
 prayers, for I can call it nothing else. The 
 effect was doleful in the extreme, and I 
 never want to repeat such an experience 
 ^19 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 while I am in the army. Let men pray by 
 themselves as much as they please, and read 
 their Bibles in solitude, but not fill every 
 man's ears with their sins and offences. 
 
 Mining operations still continue, and the 
 Confederates are mining our works now. 
 They attempted last Friday to blow up one 
 of the forts, but made a miscalculation and 
 did not dig sufficiently far to reach it. 
 On springing the mine their troops made 
 a furious charge, and, before the smoke 
 had blown away to show them their mis- 
 take, our lines fell back a little so that 
 the Confederates might enter the works; 
 then we surrounded and gobbled them up. 
 After this they will not laugh so loudly 
 at our failure of last week. 
 
 The flies bite so I cannot manage my 
 thoughts and must therefore stop scrib- 
 bling. 
 
OF. THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 August 12th, 1864. 
 We are ordered to pack and march im- 
 mediately, I only know that the dust is 
 two feet deep. 
 
 August 13th, 1864. 
 
 Last night we lay on our arms without 
 tents, sleeping as we could. 
 
 Here the journal abruptly ends. Owing 
 to my extreme ill health, influential letters 
 had for some time been sent to the Secre- 
 tary of War, asking that under the press- 
 ing circumstances my husband should be 
 relieved from duty. These urgent appeals 
 were finally acceded to, and although it was 
 hard for him to leave his regiment just as 
 the end of the war was at hand, regrets 
 were silenced by the feeling that he would 
 soon be reheved from the intense anxiety 
 which my illness had caused him. 
 
 As to when the Twentieth Massachusetts 
 was mustered out is not included in this 
 221 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 journal — only the older members, those 
 who had fallen and the very few then 
 remaining, made a deep and distinct im- 
 pression. The Doctor and I were safely 
 together, he launched in his professional 
 career; and these facts formed the para- 
 mount interest of the world we then lived, 
 in. Our youth was strong in those days, 
 and all else mattered not. We stood in 
 our present, facing the future, — hopeful, 
 fearless, and determined. Self-absorbed 
 it may have been, but I think this is not 
 rare in the " heyday " of life. The past 
 had flown, leaving much in its wake, — 
 much which at the time was unperceived by 
 us ; but our life's experience has cleared our 
 vision and helped us to know that the ups 
 and downs of this world always mean the 
 onward move toward a future near but 
 inexpressible. 
 
 Now many years have passed since this 
 sad time, and yet to call it sad alone seems 
 more than trivial, so slightly was it sug- 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 gestive of all which pertained to civil war. 
 Only upon the hearts of those who suf- 
 fered loss is written its true and deeply felt 
 history. Deeds of heroism known and un- 
 known, man's greater nature stirred to its 
 depths by the intense conditions, burst 
 forth to the cry of every need. The potent 
 influence of these is above all else the legacy 
 left us, and its proportions, its beauty, its 
 tenderness, whether consciously or uncon- 
 sciously felt, is somewhere within our 
 depths. We who lived then, and are still 
 here to-day, bear its reflection in many vital 
 paths, which will be felt not only in the 
 lives of our children, but in those of our 
 children's children. 
 
 The following is an extract from a 
 Eoston daily, found as a chpping among 
 the letters: 
 
 " A great deal has been recently said in some 
 of the newspapers of the duty of wealthy and 
 educated young men [or those whose parents are 
 223 
 
LETTERS FROM A SURGEON 
 
 such] to enter the army. Disparaging remarks 
 have been made against this class, and their 
 parents, who are supposed to keep them at home. 
 Certain recruiting officers have taunted them with 
 want of patriotism, saying that when these ' sons 
 of affluence ' shall come forward, the poor and the 
 uninfluential will follow. For what purpose do 
 these men endeavor to excite one class in our com- 
 munity against another? Is it wise? Is it patri- 
 otic? They must be ignorant of the facts. Have 
 they forgotten the four Dwights, or the three 
 sons of Judge Abbott, the Reveres, the Stephen- 
 sons, the two Lowells, one of whom, James, died 
 so nobly in a terrible conflict before Richmond? 
 Have they forgotten the five or six Curtises, the 
 four Masons, the three Crowninshields, the Per- 
 kinses, the Bowditches, the Cabots, Jarvises, 
 Amorys, Barstows, Sargeants, Palfreys, from 
 each of whose families two or three have gone 
 into the army ? Have they forgotten the long list 
 among whose names are: Quincy, Adams, Choate, 
 Bladgen, D'Hauteville, Savage, Russell and Gary, 
 Higginson, Motley and Stackpole, Holmes, Weld 
 and Pratt, Appleton, Ropes, Perry, Dehon, 
 Hayes, Bangs, Shaw, Mudge, Horton, Morse, 
 
OF THE CIVIL WAR 
 
 Robeson, Forbes, Rand, Clapp, Clark, Grafton, 
 Shelton, Shurtleff, Dalton, Barnard, Haven, 
 Johnson, Hayden, Rea, Loring, Swan, Lovett, 
 Parker, Fisher, and Paine? Have they for- 
 gotten the wounds of Bartlett, Horton, Putnam, 
 Merriam, Stevenson? Have they forgotten how 
 bravely young Putnam gave up his life at Ball's 
 Bluff, and Major Howe died in the fight before 
 Richmond ; Foster Hodges, who was with the 5th 
 regiment at Bull Run, and Horace Dunn, who 
 left college for the war, both struck down by 
 malignant fever in camp on Hall's Hill? Let 
 those who thoughtlessly traduce Young Boston 
 call to mind what they had done. If any men of 
 the country have made sacrifices, and undergone 
 suffering, these have done it. The few who are 
 left are ready to follow, as the sequel will show." 
 
 15 225 
 
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