WATER FOR THE WOUNDED--COL. CAMERON KILLED--SCENES ON THE
BATTLE-FIELD--BURNSIDE'S BRIGADE--CAPTURE OF GRIFFIN'S AND RICKETT'S
BATTERIES--REBELS REINFORCED--THE PANIC AND RETREAT--THE WOUNDED AT
CENTERVILLE--MY RECONNOISSANCE--AN INSANE WOMAN ON THE FIELD--HIDING
FROM THE ENEMY--RETURN TO THE WOUNDED--EXPECTATION OF CAPTURE--ESCAPE
FROM THE REBELS--MY WALK TO ALEXANDRIA--FOOTSORE AND WEARY--ARRIVAL IN
WASHINGTON--LETTERS FROM DEAD SOLDIERS' FRIENDS.
I was hurried off to Centerville, a distance of seven miles, for a fresh
supply of brandy, lint, etc. When I returned, the field was literally
strewn with wounded, dead and dying. Mrs. B. was nowhere to be found. Had
she been killed or wounded? A few moments of torturing suspense and then I
saw her coming toward me, running her horse with all possible speed, with
about fifty canteens hanging from the pommel of her saddle. To all my
inquiries there was but one answer: "Don't stay to care for the wounded
now; the troops are famishing with thirst and are beginning to fall back."
Mr. B. then rode up with the same order, and we three started for a spring
a mile distant, having gathered up the empty canteens which lay strewn on
the field. This was the nearest spring; the enemy knew it, and
consequently had posted sharpshooters within rifle range to prevent the
troops being supplied with water. Notwithstanding this, we filled our
canteens, while the Minnie balls fell thick and fast around us, and
returned in safety to distribute the fruits of our labor among the
exhausted men.
We spent three hours in this manner, while the tide of battle rolled on
more fiercely than before, until the enemy made a desperate charge on our
troops driving them back and taking full possession of the spring.
Chaplain B.'s horse was shot through the neck and bled to death in a few
moments. Then Mrs. B. and I dismounted and went to work again among the
wounded.
Not long afterwards Col. Cameron, brother of the Secretary of War, came
dashing along the line, shouting, "Come on boys, the rebels are in full
retreat." The words had scarcely been uttered when he fell, pierced to the
heart by a bullet. Surgeon P. was on the ground in an instant, but nothing
could be done for him; his wound was mortal, and he soon ceased to
breathe. There was no time to carry off the dead; we folded his arms
across his breast, closed his eyes, and left him in the cold embrace of
death.
Still the battle continues without cessation; the grape and canister fill
the air as they go screaming on their fearful errand; the sight of that
field is perfectly appalling; men tossing their arms wildly calling for
help; there they lie bleeding, torn and mangled; legs, arms and bodies are
crushed and broken as if smitten by thunder-bolts; the ground is crimson
with blood; it is terrible to witness. Burnside's brigade is being mown
down like grass by the rebel batteries; the men are not able to stand that
terrible storm of shot and shell; they begin to waver and fall back
slowly, but just at the right moment Capt. Sykes comes up to their relief
with his command of regulars. They sweep up the hill where Burnside's
exhausted, shattered brigade still lingers, and are greeted with a shout
of joy, such as none but soldiers, who are almost overpowered by a fierce
enemy, and are reinforced by their brave comrades, can give.
Onward they go, close up to the cloud of flame and smoke rolling from the
hill upon which the rebel batteries are placed--their muskets are
leveled--there is a click, click--a sheet of flame--a deep roll like that
of thunder, and the rebel gunners are seen to stagger and fall. The guns
become silent, and in a few moments are abandoned. This seems to occasion
great confusion in the rebel ranks. Regiments were scattered, and
officers were seen riding furiously and shouting their orders, which were
heard above the roar and din of battle.
Captain Griffin's and Rickett's batteries are ordered forward to an
eminence from which the rebels have been driven. They come into position
and open a most destructive fire which completely routs the enemy. The
battle seems almost won and the enemy is retreating in confusion. Hear
what rebel Gen. Johnson says of his prospects at that time, in his
official report: "The long contest against a powerful enemy, and heavy
losses, especially of field officers, had greatly discouraged the troops
of Gen. Bee and Col. Evans. The aspect of affairs was critical." Another
writes: "Fighting for hours under a burning sun, without a drop of water,
the conduct of our men could not be excelled; but human endurance has its
bounds, and all seemed about to be lost." This goes to prove that it was a
desperately hard fought battle on both sides, and if no fresh troops had
been brought into the field, the victory would assuredly have been ours.
But just as our army is confident of success, and is following up the
advantage which it has gained, rebel reinforcements arrive and turn the
tide of battle. Two rebel regiments of fresh troops are sent to make a
flank movement in order to capture Griffin's and Rickett's batteries.
They march through the woods, reach the top of the hill, and form a line
so completely in our rear as to fire almost upon the backs of the gunners.
Griffin sees them approach, but supposes them to be his supports sent by
Major Barry. However looking more intently at them, he thinks they are
rebels, and turns his guns upon them. Just as he is about to give the
order to fire, Major B. rides up shouting, "They are your supports, don't
fire." "No, sir, they are rebels," replied Capt. Griffin. "I tell you,
sir, they are your supports," said Major B. In obedience to orders the
guns were turned again, and while in the act of doing so, the supposed
supports fired a volley upon the gunners. Men and horses went down in an
instant. A moment more and those famous batteries were in the hands of the
enemy.
The news of this disaster spread along our lines like wildfire; officers
and men were alike confounded; regiment after regiment broke and ran, and
almost immediately the panic commenced. Companies of cavalry were drawn up
in line across the road, with drawn sabers, but all was not sufficient to
stop the refluent tide of fugitives. Then came the artillery thundering
along, drivers lashing their horses furiously, which greatly added to the
terror of the panic stricken thousands crowded together en masse. In this
manner we reached Centerville where order was in some measure restored.
Mrs. B. and I made our way to the stone church around which we saw stacks
of dead bodies piled up, and arms and legs were thrown together in heaps.
But how shall I describe the scene within the church at that hour. Oh,
there was suffering there which no pen can ever describe. One case I can
never forget. It was that of a poor fellow whose legs were both broken
above the knees, and from the knees to the thighs they were literally
smashed to fragments. He was dying; but oh, what a death was that. He was
insane, perfectly wild, and required two persons to hold him. Inflammation
had set in, and was rapidly doing its work; death soon released him, and
it was a relief to all present as well as to the poor sufferer.
I went to another dying one who was bearing patiently all his sufferings.
Oh, poor pale face! I see it now, with its white lips and beseeching eyes;
and then the touching inquiry, "Do you think I'll die before morning?" I
told him I thought he would, and asked: "Has death any terrors for you?"
He smiled that beautiful trusting smile which we sometimes see on the lips
of the dying saint, as he replied: "Oh no, I shall soon be asleep in
Jesus"; and then in a low plaintive voice he repeated the verse
commencing,
Asleep in Jesus, blessed sleep.
While I stood beside him thus, someone tapped me on the shoulder. On
turning round I was beckoned to the side of one who was laid in a corner,
on the floor, with his face toward the wall. I knelt beside him and asked:
"What can I do for you, my friend?" He opened his eyes, with an effort,
and said, "I wish you to take that," pointing to a small package which lay
beside him, "keep it until you get to Washington, and then, if it is not
too much trouble, I want you to write to mother and tell her how I was
wounded, and that I died trusting in Jesus." Then I knew that I was
kneeling beside Willie L. He was almost gone--just ready "to lay down the
cross and take up the crown." He signed to me to come nearer; and as I did
so, he put his hand to his head and tried to separate a lock of hair with
his fingers, but his strength failed; however, I understood that he wished
me to cut off a lock to send to his mother with the package. When he saw
that I understood him he seemed pleased that his last request was complied
with.
Chaplain B. came and prayed with him, and while he was praying, the happy
spirit of Willie returned to Him who gave it. Heaven gained in this
instance another soul, but there was mourning in that widowed mother's
heart. I thought, oh, how appropriate were the words of the poet to that
lonely mother:
Not on the tented field,
O terror-fronted War!
Not on the battle-field,
All thy bleeding victims are;
But in the lowly homes
Where sorrow broods like death,
And fast the mother's sobs
Rise with each quick-drawn breath.
That dimmed eye, fainting close--
And she may not be nigh!
'Tis mothers die--O God!
'Tis but we mothers die.
Our hearts and hands being fully occupied with such scenes as these, we
thought of nothing else. We knew nothing of the true state of affairs
outside, nor could we believe it possible when we learned that the whole
army had retreated toward Washington, leaving the wounded in the hands of
the enemy, and us, too, in rather an unpleasant situation. I could not
believe the stern truth, and was determined to find out for myself.
Consequently I went back to the heights, where I had seen the troops stack
their guns and throw themselves upon the ground at night-fall, but no
troops were there. I thought then that they had merely changed their
position, and that by going over the field I should certainly find them. I
had not gone far before I saw a camp fire in the distance. Supposing that
I had found a clue to the secret, I made all haste toward the fire; but as
I drew near I saw but one solitary figure sitting by it, and that was the
form of a female.
Upon going up to her I recognised her as one of the washerwomen of our
army, I asked her what she was doing there and where the army had gone.
Said she: "I don't know anything about the army; I am cooking my husband's
supper, and am expecting him home every minute; see what a lot of things I
have got for him," pointing to a huge pile of blankets, haversacks and
canteens which she had gathered up, and over which she had constituted
herself sentinel. I soon found out that the poor creature had become
insane. The excitement of battle had proved too much for her, and all my
endeavors to persuade her to come with me were unavailing. I had no time
to spare, for I was convinced that the army had really decamped.
Once more I started in the direction of Centerville. I had not gone more
than a few rods before I heard the clatter of horses' hoofs. I stopped,
and looking in the direction of the fire I had just quitted, I saw a squad
of cavalry ride up to the woman who still sat there. Fortunately I had no
horse to make a noise or attract attention, having left mine at the
hospital with the intention of returning immediately. It was evident to my
mind that those were the enemy's cavalry, and that it was necessary for me
to keep out of sight if possible until they were gone. Then the thought
came to me that the woman at the fire knew no better than to tell them
that I had been there a few minutes before. Happily, however, I was near a
fence, against which there were great piles of brush, and as the night was
becoming very dark and it was beginning to rain, I thought I could remain
undetected, at least until morning. My suspicions proved to be correct.
They were coming toward me, and compelling the woman to come and show them
the direction I had taken; I decided to crawl under one of those brush
heaps, which I did, and had scarcely done so, when up they came and
stopped over against the identical pile in which I was concealed.
One of the men said "See here old woman, are you sure that she can tell us
if we find her?" "Oh, yes, she can tell you, I know she can," was the
woman's reply. They would go away a little distance and then come back
again; by and by they began to accuse the woman of playing a false game;
then they swore, threatened to shoot her, and she began to cry. All this
was an interesting performance I admit; but I did not enjoy it quite so
much, in consequence of being rather uncomfortably near the performers. At
last they gave it up as a hopeless case and rode away taking the woman
with them, and I was left in blissful ignorance of the mystery which they
wished me to unravel, and for once in my life I rejoiced at not having my
"curiosity" gratified.
I remained there until the last echo of their retreating footsteps had
died away in the distance; then I came forth very cautiously and made my
way to Centerville, where the interesting intelligence awaited me that Mr.
and Mrs. B. had gone, and had taken my horse, supposing that I had been
taken prisoner.
The village of Centerville was not yet occupied by the rebels, so that I
might have made my escape without any further trouble; but how could I go
and leave those hospitals full of dying men, without a soul to give them a
drink of water? I must go into that Stone Church once more, even at the
risk of being taken prisoner. I did so--and the cry of "Water," "water,"
was heard above the groans of the dying. Chaplain B. had told them before
leaving that they would soon be in the hands of the enemy--that the army
had retreated to Washington, and that there was no possibility of removing
the wounded. There they lay, calmly awaiting the approach of their cruel
captors, and apparently prepared to accept with resignation any fate which
their cruelty might suggest. Oh, how brave those men were! What moral
courage they possessed! Nothing but the grace of God and a right
appreciation of the great cause in which they had nobly fought, and bled,
could reconcile them to such suffering and humiliation.
They all urged me to leave them, and not subject myself to the barbarous
treatment which I would be likely to receive if I should be taken
prisoner, adding--"If you do stay the rebels will not let you do anything
for us." One of the men said: "Dr. E. has only been gone a little
while--he extracted three balls from my leg and arm, and that, too, with
his pen-knife. I saw twenty-one balls which he had taken from the limbs of
men in this hospital. He was determined to remain with us, but we would
not consent, for we knew he would not be allowed to do any more for us
after the rebels came; and you must go too, and go very soon or they will
be here."
After placing water within the reach of as many as could use their arms,
and giving some to those who could not--I turned to leave them, with
feelings that I cannot describe; but ere I reached the door a feeble voice
called me back--it was that of a young officer from Massachusetts; he held
in his hand a gold locket, and as he handed it to me he said--"Will you
please to open it?" I did so, and then held it for him to take a last look
at the picture which it contained. He grasped it eagerly and pressed it to
his lips again and again. The picture was that of a lady of rare beauty,
with an infant in her arms. She seemed scarcely more than a child herself;
on the opposite side was printed her name and address. While he still
gazed upon it with quivering lip, and I stood there waiting for some
tender message for the loved ones, the unmistakable tramp of cavalry was
heard in the street--a moment more, and I had snatched the locket from the
hands of the dying man and was gone.
The streets were full of cavalry, but not near enough to discover me, as
the night was exceedingly dark and the rain came down in torrents. One
glance was sufficient to convince me that I could not escape by either
street. The only way was to climb a fence and go across lots, which I
immediately did, and came out on the Fairfax road about a mile from the
village, and then started for Washington on the "double quick." I did not
reach Alexandria until noon the next day--almost exhausted, and my shoes
literally worn off my feet. Having walked all the way from Centerville in
the rain, without food, together with want of sleep and the fatigue of the
past week, caused me to present rather an interesting appearance. I
remained there two days before I could persuade my limbs to bear the
weight of my body. I then made my way to Washington, where I found my
friends quite anxious lest I had fallen into the hands of the enemy. A
number of men from whom I had received packages, money, etc., before going
into battle, and who reached Washington two days before I did, had come to
the conclusion that they had taken a pretty sure way of sending those
precious things to Richmond, and therefore my arrival was rather an
important event, and I was greeted with a hearty welcome.
My first duty was to attend to those dying soldiers' requests, which I did
immediately by writing to their friends and inclosing the articles which I
had received from the hands of those loved ones who were now cold in
death. The answers to many of those letters lie before me while I write,
and are full of gratitude and kind wishes. One in particular I cannot read
without weeping. It is from Willie's Mother. The following are a few
extracts: "Oh, can it be that my Willie will return to me no more? Shall I
never see my darling boy again, until I see him clothed in the
righteousness of Christ--thank God I shall see him then--I shall see him
then."
Now with all the mother's heart
Torn and quivering with the smart,
I yield him, 'neath the chastening rod,
To my country and my God.
"Oh, how I want to kiss those hands that closed my darling's eyes, and
those lips which spoke words of comfort to him in a dying hour. The love
and prayers of a bereaved mother will follow you all through the journey
of life." Yes, he is gone to return to her no more on earth, but her loss
is his eternal gain.
Servant of God well done!
Rest from thy loved employ;
The battle fought, the victory won,
Enter thy Master's joy.
He at least had won a victory--notwithstanding the defeat of the federal
army. Yes, a glorious victory.