_Camp Gregg, Va.,
May 7, 1863._
We have just returned from the field of the great battle. It was a
complete victory for us. It was a terrible fight. Our brigade charged
on their breastworks and took them. Edwin and Billie were both in it.
Edwin was not touched, but Billie had two bullet holes through his
clothes. He was not hurt, though. We have had a very hard time of it
for seven or eight days. My mind and body are so worn out that I will
not write any more, but will to-morrow or next day. When I write again
I will write the particulars. Edwin, Billie and I are in good health.
Good-by for the present.
_Camp near Moss Neck, Va.,
May 9, 1863._
On Saturday morning (the 2d inst.) I received an order to ship the
wounded to Richmond, store our medical supplies and follow the wagon
train to Chancellorsville. I carried the chest of supplies to a large
house, which Stonewall Jackson had for his headquarters, and was met at
the door by a young lady who was whistling. She appeared to be quite
aristocratic and was very courteous to us.
We started late in the afternoon, and I marched with the wagon train
all night. It was carrying rations and did not stop once. Most of the
road was through woods, but we could see well enough to march all
night, and in some places there was mud, but no wagon stalled.
Just before daylight I saw a dead Yankee lying close to the right of
the road. I did not know until then that there had been any fighting.
I knew our command left that morning, but had heard no firing and knew
nothing of what had taken place. Just as it was getting light the
Yankees threw shells, which burst about the wagons, and the teamsters
became excited and began whipping their horses and hurrying to get
away; but a quartermaster at once commanded them to keep quiet and get
away in good order, and the excitement ceased. The fighting then began
just as soon as they could see.
I went on hunting for the field infirmary, and when I found it our
wounded were coming back and a few had been brought back before I
got there, and I at once went to work assisting in amputations, and
continued at it all day and until late at night.
Jackson’s men came in from the rear on Saturday night and drove the
Yankees from their breastworks and occupied them that morning (Sunday,
May 3). The Yankees came back early and tried to retake them, and I
could hear them fighting furiously for several hours. We knew nothing
of Stonewall Jackson’s being shot the night before.
During the assault Colonel Edwards walked along on top of the works
waving his sword to encourage his men, and was shot through the
shoulder. When he was brought back I helped him out of the ambulance
and expressed sympathy for him, which caused him to shed tears, but he
said nothing. Colonel James Perrin was brought back shot through the
body and in great agony, and General McGowan was struck below the knee
while standing upon the works. I saw my brother once during the day
bringing a wounded man back.
Captain McFall and Lieutenant Mike Bowers came back looking for
stragglers, and found four young men who were known to be cowards,
but who were always great braggarts after a battle was over. They all
pretended to be sick, but I could see no indications of it, and they
were marched off, but, before reaching the works, one of them slipped
away, although the fighting had ended.
After all the wounded were attended to I was very tired and went to
sleep late that night in a tent. I would wake up cold during the night
and reach out for a jug of whiskey and take a swallow and go back to
sleep again.
The next morning (Monday the 4th) we did nothing. Several handsome
young Yankee surgeons in fine uniforms came over with a white flag, and
I went to where they were attending to their wounded. While there I
talked with a wounded man from Ohio, and saw one of our soldiers cut a
forked limb from a tree and make a crutch for a Yankee who was wounded
in the foot. The unfed horses of a Yankee cavalry regiment had been
hitched to the trees near by and had gnawed off all the bark within
their reach.
We stayed there for three days until the Yankees crossed back over
the Rappahannock River, and then we marched back to Moss Neck in the
daytime in peace and found our tents standing where we left them.
_Hospital near Hamilton’s Crossing, Va.,
June 12, 1863._
Our corps is lying in line of battle in the trenches, and has been
for six days. The Yankees are still on this side of the river. The
picket lines are within speaking distance of each other and we exchange
newspapers with them every day. I went there this morning and was never
before so close to the enemy when in a hostile attitude. I saw the New
York _Illustrated News_, and will try to get a copy to send to you. I
stay out on the field with the troops during the day, but come back to
the hospital at night.
Chaplain Beauchelle messes with Dr. Tyler and me while his messmates
are out in the line. He and Tyler sleep together. Tyler is one of the
most wicked and profane men I ever knew, but he is a very intelligent
man and is generous and high-minded. His father educated him for the
ministry, and he and the chaplain argue on Scripture at night. It is
highly amusing, for he is hard to handle in an argument on Scripture.
I am told that all of our army has gone in the direction of Manassas
except our corps (A. P. Hill’s), which was formerly Stonewall
Jackson’s. It consists of Pender’s, Heath’s and Anderson’s divisions,
and is about twenty-five or thirty thousand strong. We can take care
of any Yankee force which may come at us in our present position. I
have not seen Edwin in two days, and suppose he is strengthening the
entrenchments here and there where they may chance to be defective.
My father wrote me that George was the liveliest child he ever saw, and
that it was a matter of rejoicing when you and George were seen coming.
_Camp near Fredericksburg, Va.,
June 14, 1863._
The Yankees have all gone back on the other side of the river, and we
have left our entrenchments and taken up camp in the rear. I think we
shall not remain here long, but I do not know what we shall do next.
The enemy seem to have left Fredericksburg. If we do not move to-morrow
I may write again.