Mountain. We were not troubled with fences, but found plenty of mud
and ditches to be gotten over and through as best we could. On our way
to the Twenty-fourth, we rode over Pony Mountain, instead of taking a
circuit around it. It was decidedly romantic climbing the steep ascent,
clambering over rocks and urging our way through the thick bushes,
which at times almost impeded our progress. On the top of the mountain
was a signal station. Here we dismounted to rest our horses, while we
took a good view of the surrounding country. The landscape before us
was picturesque and grand. The vast Army of the Potomac was encamped
about us; white tents clustered in every valley and covered every
hill-side. At our left lay the village of Culpepper; the Blue Ridge
with its snowy peaks loomed up in the distance; while a little to the
southward, just across the Rapidan, was the enemy’s country, with its
long lines of fortifications crowned with frowning, glistening guns.
At the station, the signal officer was making various evolutions and
movements with his little black and white flag, conveying, perhaps,
important messages to the commanding general.
Remounting our steeds, we slowly proceed down the steep declivity
on the opposite side of the mountain, and hurry on. We had gone but
a short distance when we came to a large three-story brick house,
where, Mr. S. told me, the rebel sharpshooters were once concealed
to pick off our men as they pursued the flying foe from Culpepper. A
battery was opened upon the building, and soon “Johnny reb” was glad
to evacuate his stronghold and beat a hasty retreat. The family, in
their frenzy, rushed into the cellar for safety; but there is little
safety in the face of an open battery. A large ball, striking the wall
near the ground, knocked in the bricks, hurling them in confusion
across the cellar, killing an old man and a little child. The whole
building--roof, wall, and windows--showed the folly of hoping for
safety within.
The next morning I was invited by Dr. Beach to take a ride along our
picket-line. As my pass had not yet expired, and being naturally
a little fond of adventure, the temptation was too great, and, in
spite of the dark, lowering clouds, the slow, drizzling rain, and the
prospect of a stormy day, we mounted our steeds and galloped away. Our
infantry pickets are soon passed, and, as we approach the Rapidan,
we descend the bank, and ride for some distance along the flat, only
a few rods from the river. At our right, across the river, are the
rebel pickets; at our left, our own. These are the outposts of the two
armies, each mounted, and vigilantly watching the movements of the
other. About noon we called at a small wood-colored house to rest.
In this small building the women and children representing three
different families were living. One of the ladies was a widow. The
husbands of the other two were in the rebel army. They received us
cordially--they dare not do otherwise even had they felt disposed to,
being at the mercy of our army, and subsisting wholly upon it. Dinner
being ready we gladly accepted an invitation to share their frugal
meal, which consisted of pork and beans, corn-bread, and rice. After
dinner we rode over to Germania Ford and called on another secession
family. Here we found a woman and two or three little children living
alone. The lady’s husband had been in the rebel army, but was then a
prisoner, confined in the old Capitol, at Washington. She claimed to
be a relative of the rebel General Ashly. She was none of the “poor
white trash” of the South, and, though then very destitute, she had
seen better days. The children, ashamed of their rags, ran and hid
themselves behind the house, and could not be induced to come in,
though the mother urged the little girl to come and play for us on
the piano. The lady played and sang several beautiful songs. She was
greatly pleased that we had called. She urged me to stay until the next
day, and tried to exact a promise that I would be sure and come again.
“Oh!” she said, “I am so lonely! I have not seen a lady before in
months.” She was hemmed in between the two picket-lines, and could make
her escape in neither direction. Though still a rebel, she deemed their
cause hopeless, and earnestly wished for a speedy return of peace.
The Twenty-Sixth was the last regiment visited this time. My stay
there, though short, was rendered exceedingly pleasant, as Mrs. Dr.
Raymond and the wife of Commissary Patterson were spending a little
time in camp with their husbands. About four o’clock, the morning of
the 3d (I believe) of March, an order for “three days’ rations in
haversacks” was issued, and at early dawn, each company, fully armed
and equipped, with “drums beating and colors flying,” slowly filed out
of camp, knowing not whither they went--expecting, however, to cross
the Rapidan and engage the enemy. But fortune favored them; for, while
others crossed, met the enemy, fought and fell, they were all permitted
to return in safety. Many a sad “good-by” was spoken that morning, and
many a “God bless you!” went with those brave fellows, while, with a
prayer in our hearts, we commended them to the keeping of Him who holds
the destiny not only of nations but of individuals in his hands. At
eight o’clock the same morning I left for Washington, in company with
Lieutenant Grisson, who had obtained a fifteen-day leave of absence. On
our way to Brandy Station we met the artillery-trains and long lines of
infantry moving toward the scene of conflict. When within a mile of the
station our ambulance broke down, which we left sunk in the mud nearly
to the axles, and started on foot; but, while trying to pick our way
so as to avoid the deepest mud and water, the shrill whistle of the
locomotive is heard, and the train comes rushing on from Culpepper. We
are admonished that there is no time to lose, and, increasing our speed
to a “double-quick,” we stop for neither mud nor water until we are
safely seated in the cars. Then the beautiful prospect of riding with
wet feet a distance of seventy miles, incident to all the delays to be
met with in travelling over a military road, presents itself--cheering,
to say the least, and an excellent remedy for cold and cough (?)
Upon our arrival in Alexandria, we learned that there had been an
accident that morning on the Long Bridge, damaging it so much that the
trains could not pass over. The particulars of the accident were as
follows:--The draw had been opened for a boat to pass, and was not yet
closed when the train approached. The danger was discovered too late.
With all possible speed the breaks were put on and the engine reversed;
but, being a down-hill grade, the train continued to move from its
own weight and the velocity which it had already acquired. On rushed
the engine into the open space and plunged headlong into the river,
dragging with it two or three cars freighted with human beings, mostly
soldiers returning from furloughs. Many a poor fellow found a watery
grave, while others died soon after of the injuries received.
No doubt the prayer was continually being offered by friends they had
left at home, that God would shield them and cover their heads in the
day of battle, little dreaming that the grim monster, Death, lurked by
the way side.
Leaving the cars, we hurry to the landing and take boat to Washington.
Sad, pale faces and stricken hearts meet us at every turn. Captain
Mason, of the Eighty-first Pennsylvania, is among the passengers. He is
on his way to his home in Philadelphia, to attend the funeral of his
wife, having received a telegram the day before announcing her death.
* * * * *
I had scarcely reached home when I received a call from Hon. Mr. Upton
and wife, of Michigan, Dr. Alvord (our Secretary) and wife, and Mrs.
Baldwin of Pontiac--all anxious to hear from the front. Five large
boxes and two barrels of goods, which arrived during my absence, must
be unpacked and receipted for, and a mail of thirteen letters promptly
answered. Hammer, chisel and pen are called in requisition, and keep
me company until a late hour. Dr. Alvord had succeeded, after repeated
and most persistent efforts, in getting an ambulance detailed for me,
which greatly facilitated my work. I could accomplish much more, with
far greater ease, than when I had to trudge on foot, “toting” a loaded
basket. To one unacquainted with hospital work and experience, it
might seem an easy task to ride to a hospital some fine morning with
a well-filled ambulance, distribute its contents, and return, load up
and repeat the same again, and even again. Were this all, it would
have been comparatively easy and pleasant; but it was this carried out
into detail, the minutiæ, that made the work laborious. In a former
chapter I referred to the many errands there were to be done, not only
for those among whom I was expected more especially to labor, but for
others, for any and all, who appealed for aid. I could not turn a deaf
ear to a soldier’s wants.
The winter of 1864, during Mrs. Brainard’s absence, and while boarding
myself, was a season of fatiguing labor, from early dawn until late
at night. Returning to my room after a busy day’s work, I had the
privilege of getting my supper or going without it--and the going
without was often preferable. Supper disposed of, the next thing in
order was to transfer my new list of names to the register, and note
down any removals from the hospitals, by death or otherwise (I here
refer particularly to Michigan men). Then the long list of “wants,”
noted down during the day for individual cases in the different
hospitals visited, must be examined, and the article prepared for
distribution. Then the mail, which night was sure to bring, must
be examined--and many of those letters demanded not only a prompt
reply, but often brought additional work. Here is one from a father,
containing inquiries concerning his son, who, the last time he heard
from him, was stationed in one of the forts on the south side of the
Potomac; but for several weeks he has lost all trace of him, and
requests me to try and find him and deliver the enclosed letter. My
visit to the fort, a few days after, was unsuccessful; the boy had
been sent to the army. The letter is returned to the father, with
what information could be gathered. The next is from an anxious wife,
earnestly requesting me to see her husband, who is sick in Washington;
but she forgets to mention his regiment, or the hospital he is in.
Another is from a young lady wishing to obtain a situation as nurse,
and asks my advice and influence. Here is one from a soldier at the
front who wishes me to store a box and valise for him until he shall
call for them, designating the place where they may be found. In my
search for these I was successful, as may be seen from an extract from
my journal of February 23d, 1864, which I will quote:
“This afternoon I have been in search of a box and valise belonging to
a soldier of the Seventh Michigan Cavalry, which he left at a private
house when he was sent from dismounted camp to his regiment several
months ago. I succeeded at length in finding them, about four miles
from here, on the Alexandria road, at a small wood-colored house, with
high rickety steps, whose occupants evidently belonged to that class
known as ‘poor white trash;’ but they were very kind and obliging. The
articles had been carefully stored, and were readily delivered up as
soon as they found I was authorized to get them.”
On my return I improved the opportunity of paying a short visit to
the Arlington House, the late residence of the rebel general, Robert
E. Lee, as I had a desire to see where dwelt this rebel chieftain
in the days of his prosperity and loyalty. But, alas! its glory has
departed; it is now occupied, as head-quarters, by officers who have
command of the forts on the south side of the Potomac. As the building
stands on an eminence, the northern verandah commands a fine view of
the Potomac and the city beyond. The Capitol, in all its beauty and
grandeur, looms up before the beholder. There are but few articles of
furniture left. A few ancient paintings, said to have been executed by
some member of the Curtis family, adorn the walls. The flower-garden,
the large grove of stately forest trees--including many acres--with
its broad carriage-ways and winding paths, remind one of Pilgrim’s
enchanted ground, and a sweet desire to linger among so many natural
beauties takes possession of the mind; but, as it was getting late, I
had only time to make a flying visit to the place, then jump into my
ambulance and be off for home. We are soon at the Long Bridge. The draw
is open. A large number of army wagons have collected on either side
of the draw, and, while waiting for it to be closed, a train of cars
approaches, the horses become frightened, when suddenly a four-horse
team leaps over the railing and plunges into the river beneath,
dragging wagon and all after them. In a moment the waters close over
them, and no trace of horses or wagon was afterward seen. Fortunately
the driver saved himself by jumping from the wagon, when all hope of
saving his team had fled.
_February 25th._
I have been to Douglas and Harewood hospitals, accompanied with
Mrs. Tunnecliffe, with flannel shirts, blackberry sauce, and other
delicacies for the sick. Nearly all the Michigan soldiers at Harewood
are convalescing. Poor Sergeant Rooks seems to be the only one who is
gradually failing. I fear his stay on earth is short.
Before returning to the city, I drove out to the “Soldiers’ Home,” near
which thousands of the “boys in white” lie buried, and their number
is daily increasing. The representatives of many a broken home circle
slumbers there.
Sigh not, ye winds, as passing o’er
The chambers of the dead ye fly;
Weep not, ye dews,
For these no more shall ever weep, shall ever sigh.
The “Home” was not, as many supposed, purchased by Government, but
by soldiers of the regular army. The first sum appropriated for this
object, $40,000, was levied on the city of Mexico by General Scott.
Here the aged and disabled soldiers of the regular army find a home.
The building is large, beautiful, and commodious. We were conducted
through it by Sergeant Charles Bussel, Company F, Fourth U. S.
Artillery, who is now sixty-three years old. He was in active service
thirty-one years--has been at the “Home” seven years. At present it
contains ninety-six inmates. Everything is kept in the most perfect
order, and moves on like clock-work. From the tower we had a fine view
of the country for miles around. Spread out before us was the city of
Washington, with its teeming multitudes and busy thoroughfares; its
numerous spires pointing upward, whither our thoughts should oftener
turn; its long rows of low white-washed buildings, whose mute walls,
could they speak, would tell sad tales of human woe. Thither have been
brought thousands of the suffering “boys in blue,” and from them have
been removed multitudes of lifeless “boys in white.”
A little to the westward lay Georgetown, with its narrow streets
and ivy-grown walls. A few miles down the river Alexandria could be
seen. In the distance was Fairfax Seminary, and across the river the
Arlington House, and the numerous forts which skirt its banks. The
estate contains three hundred and fifty acres, a portion of which is
under cultivation. Evergreens, shrubbery, and flowers surround the
“Home;” gravel walks and carriage-ways lead to and from it in different
directions. But amid all this beauty a solemn stillness reigns; here
the voice of childhood is never heard, or woman’s face ever seen,
except as an occasional visitor. These, it would seem, are all that it
needs to make it an earthly paradise.[3]
[3] I am here speaking exclusively of the “Home,” without reference to
the other buildings near, viz.: the summer residence of the president,
and the residence of the governor of the estate.
_CHAPTER XII._
FAIRFAX COURT-HOUSE--SEARCH FOR A SOLDIER’S GRAVE--RETURN OF
THE RICHMOND RAIDERS--THIRD VISIT TO THE ARMY--ACCIDENT--FIELD
HOSPITALS--DEATH OF SOLDIERS--GRACE GREENWOOD--LITTLE ANNA--BATTLE
EXPECTED--CAMP RUMORS--A SEVERE STORM--THE ONE HUNDRED AND
EIGHTY-THIRD PENNSYLVANIA VOLUNTEERS--ARMY RE-ORGANIZED--GRANT TAKES
COMMAND--REVIEW OF THE SECOND CORPS--SOBER REFLECTIONS.
Saturday, the 12th of March, I went to Fairfax Court-House with
supplies for the sick at that place, having heard that they were in
a very destitute condition. There were there no Michigan soldiers at
Fairfax at this time, but as our motto was to do for all as we had
opportunity, it was thought best to ascertain whether these reports
were true, and if so, do what we could to better their condition.
At Fairfax station, I visited the hospital of the One Hundred and
Fifty-fifth New York volunteers. It contained but few sick, and none
dangerously ill. At the Court-House, there were two hospitals, viz.:
the Seventeenth New York Battery, and the Fourth Delaware volunteers.
But finding these, contrary to expectation, very comfortably supplied,
I left only part of my goods and returned to Washington with the
remainder. While at Fairfax I shared the hospitality of Mrs. Anthony,
whose husband was in command of the battery on duty at that place.
Sunday morning I visited the place where were resting many of the
“Boys in White.” As I stood and looked upon those lonely graves,
memory recalled many sad experiences; for the very spot once occupied
by our hospitals, in which I had watched by the dying couch of many
a soldier who was now sleeping in his “turf-bed” at my feet, was
only a short distance away. The grave of Peter Young, who died the
morning we evacuated the place the previous June, I was particularly
desirous of finding, as his sister was extremely anxious to come on
for his body; but for some time after our troops left there was no
communication with the place, and the country was soon infested with
roving bands of guerrillas, rendering a visit to that place hazardous,
if not impossible. Not finding his grave here, I started for another
burying-ground nearly half a mile from this; but I had proceeded only
a short distance when I came upon a sentinel, who refused to let me
cross his beat, as I was without a pass. I told him the mission upon
which I was going, but, like a good soldier, he still refused. It being
too late to return to head-quarters for a pass--as the ambulance was
already waiting which was to take me to the depot--I was compelled to
abandon the idea of further search, and retraced my steps with many
regrets that I could not even convey to the sorrowing friends the
poor consolation, that the silent resting-place of their dear one was
known and had been visited. While at Fairfax there was considerable
excitement in regard to Mosby’s guerrillas, who were reported to be in
the vicinity of Vienna. The cavalry were sent in pursuit of them; but
every attempt to capture them was eluded. Before I left for Washington
one division of Kilpatrick’s Cavalry passed through the place, having
just returned from their Richmond raid, and were on their way to their
old quarters near Stevensburg. Both horse and rider looked worn and
weary. The real object of the raid had not been accomplished. Richmond
had not been taken, and our starving soldiers were not released from
those vile prison-pens.
Monday, the 14th, I again went to the army with supplies, and was
instructed to remain until further orders. The day was delightful,
the air cool and balmy. At the depot I fell in company with Mr. G. A.
Willett of Ionia, who was on his way to his post of duty in the Second
Corps. My trips to the army never lost their novelty, for the country
passed through contained so much of deep and thrilling interest, almost
every station on the route having been the scene of bloody conflicts,
and nearly every object that met the eye was associated with some sad
tale. When within three miles of Brandy Station, the train was thrown
from the track, and four cars were completely demolished. One man
was killed, and many others seriously injured. Fortunately the car
we occupied, though thrown from the track, was not overturned, so we
escaped unhurt. While waiting and deliberating whether to start on
foot, we were surprised by the arrival of Lieutenant Chase, who was
waiting for me at the station; but, hearing of the accident, he at once
hastened to the scene of the disaster, and, in a few moments, we were
on our way to the camp of the Michigan Twenty-sixth, where we arrived a
little before dark.
I took possession of Dr. Raymond’s cabin--who was absent on leave, and,
upon his return, took quarters with the Adjutant--which Willie, our
cook, had put in the best house-keeping order, and who, during my stay
of six weeks, ever seemed to consider it a pleasure to do all he could
to make my home pleasant; always taking the opportunity when I was
absent at other hospitals to wash my cabin floor, and to be sure and
have a bright fire blazing on the hearth upon my return. Dear Willie!
long ere the dawn of peace, he went to join the army on the other side
of the river. Among the thousands buried at Arlington may be seen upon
one of the little head boards the name of “William Brokaw, Company I,
Twenty-sixth Michigan Volunteers.”
“Sweet be the death of those
Who for their country die;
Sleep on her bosom for repose,
And triumph where they lie.”
My home being with the Twenty-sixth, of course a larger share of my
time was spent with this hospital than any other; yet I made occasional
visits to the Third, Fifth, and Seventh cavalry regiments. The First,
Fourth, and Sixteenth infantry regiments I was not able to visit at
all. The general health of the army at this time was considered good,
though in the aggregate there were many sick. It was impossible to keep
a correct record of the sick in all the hospitals, on account of the
changes which were constantly being made.
One class of patients would be brought in, remain a few days, and then
sent off to division or some general hospital, and their places filled
by others.
I seldom visited a hospital without missing some familiar face
and greeting strange ones. The long distance from one regiment to
another--being from one to eight miles--with roads much of the time
almost impassable, made it extremely difficult to visit the same
hospital very often. Rain, and consequently mud, we had in no stinted
measure. Sometimes the rain would continue to fall for three or four
days in succession, and was usually accompanied with a cold high wind,
and not unfrequently with snow.
The 29th of March, during one of the severest storms of the season, the
One Hundred Eighty-third Pa. volunteers went into camp a short distance
from us. This was a new regiment, wholly unaccustomed to the hardships
of camp life. All day long they were exposed to a cold, drenching rain,
with nothing to protect them but their little shelter tents.
Night came on; the storm continued; the wind, which had blown a perfect
gale all day, still whistled through their open tents; and thus,
without fire, and with saturated clothing, they spent the night in the
pitiless storm. As many as could be accommodated came into our hospital
and cook-room, grateful for the privilege of sleeping upon the floor
before the fire. For twenty-four hours they were scarcely able to make
fire sufficient to boil their coffee. Many a poor fellow lost his life
in consequence of exposure to this merciless storm.
It was no uncommon thing for soldiers to be brought in from the picket
line, sick even unto death; but this was a duty that could not be
neglected, no matter what the weather, for ofttimes the safety of the
whole army depended upon its faithful discharge.