pounds of hospital stores, which had been brought from Monroe,
Mich., by Mr. Marvin, designed expressly for those in the field.
I was accompanied by Mrs. Munsell and Mrs. Beckwith--the latter a
Massachusetts lady, whose husband was killed a few months before--who
were also taking supplies to the army. We arrived at Aquia Creek in
time for the three o’clock train, and at four were at Falmouth Station,
where I had some trouble in getting my goods together, but finally
succeeded, and then stationed myself as guard over them, remaining on
duty until I could send a distance of three miles for transportation.
Here Mrs. Munsell left me, as she was going to a different part of the
army. It was about eight o’clock when Chaplain May jumped upon the
platform near where I was standing. No lone sentinel at his post was
ever more rejoiced to hear the approaching footsteps of the “second
relief” than was I to see the chaplain that evening. He brought an
ambulance and large army-wagon, which were soon loaded, a guard
placed over the remainder of my stores, and we on our way, through
darkness and mud, to the camp of the Second Michigan, it being nearly
ten o’clock when we arrived. I was delighted once more to meet my good
friends, the chaplain’s family and Mrs. Bonine; and after partaking of
a warm supper, which was in readiness, we visited, until reminded by
the small hours of the night that it was time to retire. Presently we
find ourselves stowed away for the night, six of us in a little cabin,
perhaps eighteen feet by twenty, and are soon lost in the land of
pleasant dreams.
The next day was warm and agreeable. I assisted in distributing some of
the supplies which I had taken down. Nothing was eaten with a better
relish than the pickles and sour-kraut. There seemed to be a hankering
for acids, the absence of which was the cause of much sickness.
I made a short visit to the Lacy House, took a stroll along the bank
of the Rappahannock, across which lies the once pleasant little town
of Fredericksburg, but now battered and broken; beyond, the long lines
of rebel fortifications could be seen, from before which Burnside was
compelled to fall back only two months previous. Our troops and the
rebels were picketing on opposite sides of the river, in speaking
distance of each other.
The morning of the 11th I left for Alexandria, in company with Mrs.
Bonine, wife of Surgeon Bonine, of the Second, who was starting for
Michigan. This, my first trip to the army--though full of interest,
and associated with pleasant memories--was not without sadness, for a
loved one was missing from the decimated ranks of the Michigan Eighth,
and the grave was daily closing over “somebody’s darling.” And, oh!
how many times I thought of the poor woman we met, when on our way
to Falmouth, who was going to look after the remains of the last of
three sons who had died in Freedom’s holy cause. Sorrow-stricken,
heart-broken, she sat with bowed head, only speaking when addressed.
Her grief was too great for expression. When “Grandma Gage,” from a
heart overflowing with joy, can exclaim
“They’re coming home! they’re coming home!--
Those four dear boys of mine--
They’re coming home from out the war:
_How bright the sun does shine!_”
she, from the bitterness of her soul, takes up the sad lamentation:
“They have fallen! they have fallen!
Where the battle-tempest roared--
Where the blaze of strife was gleaming
On each bayonet and sword.”
As the Ninth Corps was under marching orders, I daily looked for the
return of Mrs. May and family, but saw nothing of them until the 25th,
when I again took up my abode with them.
On the 19th of March, a sad accident occurred near the Orange and
Alexandria Depot. The cars were thrown from the track, killing four
soldiers instantly, and severely wounding several others, two of whom
died before night, and one the next day, while others lingered a few
days, suffering more than death, before it came for their relief.
As soon as I heard of the accident, I hastened, with others, to the
place, taking wine, lint, and bandages. Oh, shocking sight! There, in
an open car, lay the mangled forms of the dead and wounded. As soon as
possible, the wounded were removed to the nearest hospital and kindly
cared for, but the greater part needed care only a short time.
A few days after this, I witnessed another distressing sight at
Fairfax Seminary. A soldier of the Twenty-sixth Michigan was dying
from bleeding at the nose, which had continued for several days. Every
effort to check the flow of blood proved unavailing. It was pitiful to
behold him. His face was of marble whiteness, while the red current
issuing from both nostrils plainly indicated that the fountain of life
would soon be dry, and so it was. The brother who had come to care
for him returned with the lifeless form to a bereaved wife and three
fatherless children.
Toward the last of the month, I received another box of goods from
Ionia, and two from Jackson. In one of the latter was some clothing for
myself; so I, as well as the soldiers, had reason for gratitude, which,
I believe, on the part of neither was wanting.
The evening of the 31st, I attended a meeting at the Capitol. Admiral
Foot--blessings on his memory--and “Andrew Johnson” were among the
speakers. The address of each was characteristic of the man who
delivered it. Admiral Foot, as might have been expected, recognized
the hand of God in the war, and recommended the people to exercise
more faith in his over-ruling providence, firmly believing that all
would eventually work out, not only for God’s glory, but for the best
interest of our country. Mr. Johnson spoke at length of the state of
affairs in Tennessee, and of the nation generally. He believed in
meting out to traitors their just deserts--that stern justice, without
any sprinkling of mercy, should be the portion of their cup. A slight
change in his policy since then!!! During the evening, President
Lincoln, and several members of his cabinet, came in. As they entered,
the audience rose to their feet; ladies waved their handkerchiefs,
gentlemen threw up their hats, while cheer after cheer went up for our
chieftain, which echoed and reverberated through the halls and great
dome of the Capitol. Every heart seemed to beat in unison with the
great heart of Abraham Lincoln, whose care-worn face too plainly told
that it was not the weight of years, but the sorrows of a nation, which
were bearing him down. None could look upon his sad countenance without
feelings of pity and a willingness to share the responsibility which
rested with such crushing weight upon his shoulders; and many were the
expressions heard, like the following: “Poor Father Abraham!” “God
bless him!” “Long live our President!”
It being too late to return to Alexandria after the close of the
exercises, I improved the opportunity next day of visiting, with the
rest of our party, some of the places of interest in Washington. We
first went to the Navy Yard, where to me everything was new. We were
shown through the different workshops where the deadly missiles of
war, from the Minie-ball to the huge mortar-shells, were being rapidly
manufactured to be sent upon their destructive mission. Among the many
things of special interest were several pieces of cannon captured
during the revolutionary war. We paid a short visit to the White
House, but reserved the larger portion of our time to be spent at the
Capitol. This magnificent building, with its seven hundred and fifty
feet front, and covering an area of three and a half acres, is a grand
spectacle. I care not for the mighty cathedrals of the Old World; here
is beauty and sublimity combined--sublime in magnitude, and beautiful
in its harmonious proportions.
Ascending the long flight of marble steps, we pause a moment in the
eastern portico to reflect on the scenes which have there been enacted.
This portico is, in the language of one, “the vestibule to the great
political temple of the Union,” where all of our Presidents--from
Jefferson down to our present incumbent, “A. J.”--have, in the presence
of the assembled thousands, taken the oath of office administered by
the Chief-Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. There
were uttered those Christ-like words: “With malice toward none, with
charity to all.” We pass from this portico into the rotunda, and spend
a little time in admiring the elegant paintings which adorn its walls.
The finest of these are, I think, the “Embarkation of the Pilgrims”
and the “Baptism of Pocahontas;” but the most exquisite of all the
paintings in the Capitol is the “Western Scene,” which would require
weeks of study to be fully appreciated. The Senate-Chamber and House of
Representatives are places of deep and thrilling interest. There were
many vacant seats once occupied by men who had sworn to protect the
Government against all enemies, foreign and domestic, but who, with
violated oaths and perjured souls, went over to the ranks of treason.
But neither paintings, nor statuary, nor elegant rooms attracted my
attention more than those massive bronze doors, executed by Rogers, in
Italy, at great expense and a vast amount of labor.
The 20th of April, the Twenty-sixth Michigan, according to orders,
left Alexandria for the Peninsula. How much we missed them when they
were gone, how sad we felt, and how we all cried when the boat shoved
out from shore that was to bear them away to the field of strife! How
long the injunction, “Take good care of Willie,” rang in my ears! How
lonely that old building looked where Company “I” had been quartered!
How deserted the old campground appeared, how anxiously we watched for
any intelligence from the Twenty-sixth, and how frequently letters were
received, ending with “Pray for me,” and how often and earnestly we did
pray that they might all be kept from falling in the fierce conflict;
but, if fall they must, that they might be made meet for the kingdom of
heaven.
Their sick were left at Alexandria. I had something over a hundred
names of my list belonging to this regiment. A large number were very
ill, and many of them soon went to their long home. Oh, what a long
array of those poor sufferers pass before me in imagination as I write!
There is one delirious with fever; he is constantly talking of home and
mother.
“My mother, dear mother, with weak, tearful eye,
Farewell, and God bless you forever and aye;
Oh! that I now lay on your pillowing breast,
To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first pressed.”
But in the stillness of the night, with no dear mother there, he passed
away. Here is another, a young man from my own county, over whom for
many weeks I had anxiously watched; his aged father is sent for; the
poor boy still lingers day after day and week after week, but at
length he yields up his young life to the “King of Terrors,” and the
gray-headed sire is bereft of the staff of his declining years. Here
again are two, lying side by side in the same hospital; one lingers
long with typhoid pneumonia, the other is an intense sufferer with
rheumatic fever, who goes only two days before his comrade. In the same
ward is another--a Massachusetts soldier--to whom it was my privilege
frequently to take some little delicacy. He is recovering from a long
run of fever; is able to be about the ward, with a fair prospect of
going home soon on furlough, when he is suddenly seized with that
disease of all others the most dreaded--small-pox; he is removed to
the “Pest House,” and we see him no more. Here is still another,
wounded in the head; he has become a raving maniac, and is carried off
to the Insane Asylum. There are others, many others, but the catalogue
would be too long to mention them all, yet such will ever be held in
sacred remembrance.
Oh! sad memories of the past, how deeply are ye stirred!
The dying soldier haunts me still!
* * * * *
Dying ’mong strangers--dying at night,
Far from his home and his kindred so dear,
Far from the loved ones he left for the fight,
When he bade them farewell, with a kiss and a tear.
Dying with fever--dying at morn,
Just as the sun in the East had arisen;
Leaving his widow and orphans forlorn;
But “tell them I died with my trust still in Heaven.”
Dying unconscious--dying at noon,
Lo! his comrades are closing his eyes;
The work of the soldier forever is done,
But his spirit ascends to his God in the skies.
Dying at evening--dying alone,
Far, far away on the red field of strife,
With no kindred near he leaves his last moan,
And to the cause of his country yields up his life.
Though dying alone, morn, noon or night,
What matters it now the struggle is o’er?
And his spirit is clothed in spotless white,
With the marshalling hosts on the heavenly shore.
_CHAPTER VII._
BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE--FAIRFAX COURT-HOUSE--VISIT TO THE
FIRST MICHIGAN CAVALRY--BRIGADE HOSPITAL--CHANTILLY--BULL RUN--THE
BEREAVED BROTHER--MRS. BLAIR--GOVERNOR BLAIR’S ADDRESS--RETURN
TO ALEXANDRIA--BACK TO FAIRFAX--STOUGHTON HOUSE--EXCITING
RUMORS--MOVEMENT OF THE ARMY--ALONE--NARROW ESCAPE--MAINE LADY--AN
EVENTFUL PERIOD.
The month of May was much more eventful, at least with the Army of
the Potomac, than any since December. Early in the month the army
under General Hooker advanced on the enemy, and Sunday, the third,
commenced the disastrous series of battles at Chancellorsville. All had
the utmost confidence in “old fighting Joe.” But after a protracted
struggle of three days, he was compelled to fall back and recross the
Rappahannock. The loss on both sides was heavy. Among the many brave
men who there fell was the gallant Berry. A few months previous, I had
the pleasure of meeting this noble officer. He, with Surgeon Bonine,
unexpectedly made his appearance one cold morning in Alexandria,
having travelled all night through snow and mud in their retreat
from Leesburg, whither they had arrived on their way to join their
command, which was encamped somewhere near Snicker’s Gap, in the Blue
Ridge; but, to avoid falling into the hands of the rebels who had cut
off their advance, they were compelled to make this hasty retreat.
They were weary and footsore, but early next morning were on their
way again, and, by taking a different route, reached their command in
safety. A few more weary marches bring him down to Chancellorsville,
where rebel balls fulfil their bloody mission.
The rebels also lost one of their ablest generals--the “invincible
Stonewall.” What greatly added to the horrors of the scene was the
burning of the woods, in which many of the wounded are supposed to have
perished. Comparatively few of the wounded were brought to Alexandria,
and none for several days except “Johnnies.”
Having been laid up nearly four weeks with inflammatory rheumatism in
my right ankle, I was compelled to suspend operations until about the
middle of the month, when, upon resuming my duties, I found a few of
my old patients still quite sick, and some new arrivals; but, on the
whole, the number from Michigan, as well as from other States, had
greatly diminished since my last visit.
The 20th inst. I went to Fairfax Court-House in company with Mrs. May
and other friends. We had a brigade hospital at this place, there
being four regiments of Michigan Cavalry encamped in the vicinity,
three of which--viz., the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh--were scarcely six
months from home; consequently these were suffering much from fevers
and dysentery.
After visiting these hospitals, which we found quite comfortable, yet
lacking many things which the sick greatly needed, we found quarters
for the night with the First Cavalry, where we were cordially welcomed
and comfortably provided for. This was my first night in camp--the
first time I slept in a tent--a novel idea, then.
Next morning Colonel Town offered us an ambulance, that we might visit
Bull Run battle-field, which we were exceedingly anxious to do before
returning to Alexandria, having a twofold object in view when leaving
home; one being to see the field which had been twice fought over so
desperately, and every foot of ground so hotly contested; the other,
to recover, if possible, the body of Colonel Roberts, of the First
Michigan Infantry, who was killed at the second battle of Bull Run.
Our instructions were such, from one who saw him buried, that we felt
sure we could identify his grave. At eight o’clock A. M. we are on
our way with an escort of thirty men detailed from the regiment, and
several officers, Lieutenant Wheeler in command. As Chantilly’s once
bloody field was but little out of our way, we visited that first.
Oh! what feelings I experienced as I stood and looked out upon that
field, where, only a few months before, was marshalled for deadly
combat a mighty host of noble heroes! Among that number was my own dear
brother; upon this very field he fell; here for days he lay beneath the
scorching rays of a Southern sun, torn and mangled, bleeding, dying--no
hope of ever again seeing home or wife or child. Then multiply his case
by thousands, and oh, what a scene was here witnessed!
No wonder the gentle moon veiled her face, and the astonished heavens
clothed themselves with blackness, and the Almighty uttered his
voice in thunder-tones, while the howling of the elements strangely
commingled with the groans of the dying.
Spread out before us was that vast cornfield of which we had read
so much, where such desperate fighting was done, and where so many
hundreds fell. The tree near which the bold and fearless Kearney fell,
was pointed out to us; it was pierced with many balls; there were those
old buildings, battered and broken, to which many of the wounded were
taken, and upon whose rude floor they breathed their last. The strip of
wood skirting the road bore marks of the terrible conflict which raged
there--trees pierced with bullets, their branches scattered and torn,
while the earth was ploughed with exploding shells. From many of the
little mounds scattered far and near, human bones were seen protruding,
and sometimes even the skulls were bare, so slightly were they covered.
We wandered over the field, picked up a few balls and pebbles, and
gathered a few wild flowers as sad momentoes of this sad place, and
again “took up our line of march.”
Arriving at Centreville, we called to see General Abbercrombie--the
commandant of the post--to have our passes extended, but, to our
great disappointment, failed; it being contrary to orders to pass so
small a force beyond our picket-line, as the country was over-run
with guerrillas. We went on as far as Blackburn’s Ford, passing over
part of the first Bull Run battle-field, the very place where our own
Richardson, with his band of noble heroes, so bravely fought. The
country was one wide-spread desolation. At the ford we hoisted the
stars and stripes over the ruins of the old bridge--which was burned by
our troops in their retreat nine months before--sang several national
songs, gathered a few relics, and, after resting our horses and
partaking of a cold lunch, returned to Fairfax. Next morning all except
myself returned to Alexandria. Never shall we forget our visit to the
First Michigan Cavalry. The friendly cordiality that was manifest;
the camp so neat and clean; the dress parade and cavalry drill, such
novelties; the presence of ladies spending a little time with their
husbands in camp, the hearty greetings of former friends, all combined
to make our stay pleasant. Alas! how many of those brave boys, with
their noble, kind-hearted colonel, subsequently fell in their country’s
service! They sleep the sleep that knows no waking.
I remained at Fairfax until the 28th, sharing the hospitality of Mrs.
Manning, matron of the Sixth. During these few days several deaths
occurred, one peculiarly sad. He was the third of four brothers who
came out together and died in less than three months’ time. The fourth
and only surviving one had stood by the dying bed of each of the three,
and now he was alone. How deeply my heart was pained for him in his
threefold affliction! “Oh!” said he, “I could bear it if father was
only reconciled; but he opposed our coming; he said we would all die,
that the South would never give up, and that it would only be a useless
sacrifice of life; but we didn’t think so, we felt that it was our duty
to come, and I have no regrets to offer; they died in a good cause.”
“And not alone an Ellsworth sleeps.
For guarding our bright starry banner,
And not alone the nation keeps
Its watch o’er Lyon’s grave of honor.
“Others have fall’n for that dear flag,
Others as true and noble-hearted,
And be it ours to cherish still
The memory of the brave departed.
“Immortalized shall be each hand
That helped to make our arms victorious;
To live for liberty is grand,
To die for liberty is glorious.”
While here, I met for the first time Mrs. Governor Blair, whose
presence was like sunshine. No truer friend had the soldier than Mrs.
Blair; she was ever ready, heart and hand, to engage in work for our
soldiers. I also had the pleasure of listening to the Governor’s
soul-stirring, patriotic address to the Sixth Cavalry. A day or two
before leaving the place I rode out to the Chantilly farm, some four
miles from Fairfax, on the Centreville road. Upon a portion of this
farm the battle of Chantilly was fought. It was once a large estate
containing several hundred acres. The large mansion was in ruins; the
yard surrounding it contained several acres; the fences were all gone;
yet it was lovely, even in its desolation. A gravel carriage way, with
shade-trees upon either side, led from the two front gates to the
house; shrubbery and evergreens dotted the grounds. In the rear of the
mansion, near the garden, was a pleasant vine-clad arbor--everything
indicating a once happy home, surrounded by every comfort. An aged
couple of colored people were living there in a small cabin, probably
their former quarters. The old man said that he had lived there “a heap
o’ years,” “that massa and missus and de chil’en run’d away when the
Yankees come.” When asked if they had been slaves, he replied, “Yes,
missus, we’se allus slaves till Massa Lincoln free us.” “How old are
you, uncle?” some one inquired; “I reckon I’se nigh onto a hundred,”
was his reply. We rode away, leaving the poor old couple to enjoy their
solitude and their freedom.
On returning to Alexandria, I hardly knew the place. The town had
been treated to quite “a scare.” The rebels had become very bold and
threatening; it was expected that they would make a sudden dash in some
night. New lines of fortifications had been thrown up, the streets
stockaded, and cannon were even placed in position; but we had no
occasion to use them, and they were afterwards quietly removed.
The next day after my return I went to Camp Convalescent with fruit and
clothing for our prisoners recently paroled, who were very destitute,
as all returned to us from Southern prison-pens were. After returning
from camp I visited six hospitals and the head-quarters of each
division, and renewed my list of names; to my surprise I found only
sixty-five from Michigan, and the majority of those convalescent.
Toward the last of May I received word from home that I could no longer
depend upon my friends to defray my expenses--which they had been doing
for five months. I was therefore obliged to fall back, as my only
resort, upon the Association. The first of June I received instructions
to return to Fairfax Court-House and remain until further orders, to
which place I went the next day, in company with Mrs. Brainard, taking
quite a supply of hospital stores. At Fairfax station, a couple of
soldiers, who had kindly assisted in loading our goods at Alexandria,
again lent us their aid, and succeeded in getting a wagon for our
stores, while we, soldier-like, made the distance on foot. The day
was excessively warm and the road very dusty; but we rather enjoyed
the walk--only four miles--nothing for soldiers!! Arriving at the
Court-House, we took leave of our friends. Brown, of the Twenty-seventh
Maine, I never saw again, as his regiment was soon after mustered out
of the service. Sergeant Babcock, of the First Michigan Cavalry, I saw
several times afterwards, but for a long time before the close of the
war lost all track of him. I hope they have both been spared to see the
return of peace, and long may they live to enjoy its blessings.