Personal Recollections of the Civil War Part 7

That engagement of Hanc.o.c.k's corps at the salient, called also the "b.l.o.o.d.y angle" has gone into history as one of the most desperate engagements of the Civil War. We remained in the immediate vicinity until the 19th, when we were moved away to the left, to the extreme left of the army, I think, and threw up a lot of earthworks. We lay quietly near our earthworks all day the 20th. The next day about the middle of the afternoon we started for the North Anna River, marching all night and all the next day through a most beautiful section of the country and camping at night near Bowling Green. The 23d we approached the North Anna River in the afternoon. The roar of the artillery just ahead of us steadily increased until it became perfectly terrific. It was the first time during the campaign the artillery of either army had had an opportunity to make itself heard.

Again, the artillery of the two armies was separated from each other by a good-sized river; each thus felt perfectly safe, and they barked away to their hearts' content. Just before we turned into the field to camp for the night, a cannon ball fired by the Johnnies at our artillery on the hill ahead of us, struck the hill, then bounded along down and finally rolled along the road among the feet of the horses of a regiment of cavalry that was pa.s.sing us--we having moved to the side of the road to let them pa.s.s. The way those horses jumped around there indicated distinctly that they knew what it was, and that they did not like the looks of it a bit.

May 24. During the middle of the forenoon we were moved down on to an island in the river with another regiment, expecting to make a charge across that part of the river on the Johnnies' works on the other side. We stayed there a few hours, then returned without attempting any advance. In the middle of the afternoon we moved up the river a little way and crossed at Quarles Ford.

May 25. On picket duty out on the bank of a small stream. Captured two Johnnies. I was on the picket line. We were placed quite a distance apart, so I was entirely alone. The bank of the stream was quite high, I being some twenty feet higher than the river and about ten or twelve yards from it. I saw the Johnnies approaching me on the other side of the river when some thirty or forty yards away. They were sauntering along, their right hands holding a number of canteens, their left hands their guns. I was lying behind the trunk of a fallen tree. I kept perfectly quiet until they were about twenty or thirty feet from the other side of the river, when I ordered them to throw down their guns. They dropped them instantly. Then I ordered them to come in, which they did without hesitation. They forded the stream, clambered up the bank, and as they reached the top, stood still and apparently took in the situation. They were men about thirty years old, one a medium-sized man, the other a large man, five feet, ten inches or six feet tall. I think they felt a little awkward as they discovered they had surrendered to a mere boy. The larger one took a fancy to my gun and stepped forward as if expecting me to hand it to him for examination. I brought my gun down to the charge, c.o.c.ked it, and told him to keep his distance or I should shoot. The smaller man took hold of the other, pulled him back and said to him, "Don't go near him, he'll shoot you." "You may be sure I shall," said I. Then I started them to the rear, keeping about a rod and a half behind them. When I reached headquarters the colonel came out of his tent and came up to me and said, "What have you been up to, Mad?" An officer stuck his head out of a nearby tent and shouted, "Why didn't you bring in the whole regiment while you were about it?" Another called out, "Tell us how you did it, Mad." Another answered back, "Ah, he surrounded them." And so they had quite a bit of good-natured fun at my expense. Well, a corporal and guard came and took charge of the Rebs and I went back to my place on the picket line again.

May 26. We recrossed to the north side of the river and went back to near Oxford and went into bivouac. The army was on the move and we were doing picket duty. I was way off in the wood, apparently all alone and there was not another picket within fifteen rods of me. I was lying down behind the trunk of a tree some twenty to twenty-four inches through at the base. All at once I saw a Johnny coming down through the wood. He was coming directly toward me, coming along quietly, glancing now to the right, then to the left. I let him approach to within about three or four rods of me when I ordered him to drop his gun. He dropped it and came in. He was a big six-footer with a big, black beard eight or ten inches long. I took him back to headquarters, turned him over to the officer of the day and went back to my post again. This was great luck for me. In two consecutive days I had, entirely alone and unaided, captured three Johnnies,--two at one time and one at the other; and they were the only men I captured unaided during the whole war.

May 27. Some of our boys had a little fun with some Johnnies that morning.

The Johnnies shot across the river and killed a cow that belonged to a farmer living nearby. Then they stripped off their clothes and swam the river, intending to have a good cut of beef for dinner. As soon as they were over the river our boys appeared, took them prisoners and marched them off to headquarters just as they were. The armies had both gone. We were the pickets of the rear guard. We had been keeping very quiet in the wood, and the Johnnies probably thought we had all gone. Well, they did not have meat for dinner and we did. About noon we left the North Anna and followed on after the army. The 28th we marched all day and most of the night, but during the night the marching was less steady, the artillery that was ahead of us was obliged to repair the roads in two or three places which caused delays. During those halts the boys would, every one of them in two minutes after the halt was made, be lying beside the road fast asleep. On a long, hard march there is always more or less straggling and those fellows once behind may have quite a little trouble in finding their regiments again; but they go straggling along inquiring for their regiments, brigades or perhaps their army corps, etc. Well, that night as we were lying beside the road asleep, an officer came along--a very important and very arrogant fellow--he woke up Tom and asked what regiment that was. Tom rubbed his eyes, looked about and shouted loud enough to be heard a quarter of a mile, "The 279th Rhode Island." A little way off another fellow piped up, "That is a blasted lie, this is the 119th Ireland;" the officer made no reply but moved on.

In this campaign there is firing going on somewhere along the line most of the time. For any one who has not been in a real hard campaign, it is impossible to imagine what life is like there--especially nights. If near the enemy thus being unable to have any fire with which to cook a cup of coffee, having nothing to drink but cold water and nothing to eat but hardtack with perhaps a slice of salt pork. A roar of musket fire along the picket line giving one a start and waking him up, stragglers tumbling over you or waking you up to inquire for their regiments, sleeping on the ground perhaps in a rain-storm are all in the regular order of experience.

On the 30th of May we reached Cold Harbor, we were advanced into a position near Shady Grove and told to throw up some earthworks. The pickets seemed only a few steps in front of us and were firing away like mad; the bullets coming over where we were altogether too thick for comfort. May 31. We stayed in that position all day and that night I was detailed on picket. About midnight I went on duty, we went down across a large field and clear down on the farther side, relieved the pickets in little holes they had dug to conceal themselves in. There were spades there and before daylight we had increased the size of the holes so they were fair-sized rifle pits. When that line was established it was done just about as badly as it could be. It was placed clear on the farther edge of a large field about four or six rods from the edge of the wood, the Johnnies' line of pickets being in the edge of the wood. About ten o'clock the officer of the day appeared about thirty or forty rods to the rear and signaled for me to go back and get orders. I was acting sergeant at the time and had command of the pickets of that part of the line. I went back to him, got my orders and returned to my post again. That was the most perilous duty that fell to me to perform all alone during my whole service. As I went back I was a single mark for from a dozen to fifteen Rebs for a run of fifteen rods, and on my return just the same again, and that time I was running directly toward them.

It was a common thing in those days to hear the bullets zip past one, but a thing occurred then that was new to me. It was a plowed field I was crossing and as the bullets struck the ground they would kick up a little dust. I remember distinctly seeing those miniature clouds of dust three or four times on those runs.

As near as I can judge I was fired at about twelve or fifteen times each way, but I escaped without a scratch. Had they had some decent shots there I would have been shot into mincemeat and why I was not is a thing I have never been able to understand. Some of our boys in the rifle pits declared they heard the Johnnies clap as I jumped down into the rifle pit on my return. Well, in the middle of the afternoon when I received the signal to fall back I gave the order, but not more than half the men struck out,--the remainder preferring to remain there and be taken prisoners rather than take the risk of that run across the field. When I got back fifteen or twenty rods I turned and looked back. The Rebs were taking those of our boys that remained, out of the rifle pits. We now formed a skirmish line and fell slowly back. The Confederates formed their skirmish line and began to follow us up. The retreat down to Bethseda Church, a distance of about three or four miles, was most exciting, the Johnnies following us up pretty closely. But once in a while we would make a stand.

Then they would bring up their artillery, and lines of infantry would swing into place. Then we would quietly drop back again. When we reached the vicinity of Bethseda Church there were lines of battle everywhere. We were ordered back to the rear of the lines and were then sent to our regiments. The 21st was quite a little way off to the left. Emmons had just been killed when I found the regiment. Marcus Emmons was a Hardwick boy. He was an awkward, unsoldierly appearing man, but he was a man of considerable intellectual ability and a man of splendid character; and, so far as I ever saw, he was as brave as the bravest, without any show or parade, but always did his duty faithfully. Had he been possessed of a fine soldierly figure and bearing, he could just as well have held a commission as lieutenant-colonel or colonel as to have been a sergeant.

That night we camped right near the battlefield, and early the next morning I got up and started to take a walk over the field out near the Confederate battery where so many horses were killed. I found a live Johnny; there were a number of dead men lying about among the caissons and dead horses, but one I saw moved. I went up to him and greeted him and asked him if he was badly wounded. "Yes," said he, "I guess it is all up with me." He was lying flat on his back and appeared to be unable to move, gazing up into the sky, his eyes were restless and rolling. He had been shot through the body and his spinal column had been injured, I think. All but his hands seemed paralyzed, those he could use a little. I inquired if I could do anything for him. "Yes," said he, "I wish you would turn me over on to my side so I can see the sun rise." The sun was just about to appear over the eastern horizon. I turned him over on to his side, then I found a canteen and went to get a canteen of water for him. When I got back fifteen minutes later the poor fellow was dead. He had fallen asleep to awake, I trust, to a more glorious sunrise than that early sunrise of June 3d, 1864.

From the 2d to the 12th of June the 21st was not seriously engaged. There was more or less fighting along the line, but it was not our fortune to be in it.

In the evening of June 12th, we left Cold Harbor and in the evening of June 14th we were at Charles City on the James. We crossed the river on a pontoon bridge about midnight of the 15th and started for Petersburg as fast as we could go, arriving there late in the afternoon. It was on this march I fell out, the first and only time I every fell out on a march. My shoes were worn so badly they hardly protected my feet at all and they galled me murderously. I fell out beside a brook, gave my feet a good bath, made a cup of coffee, took a little rest and then went on, coming up with the regiment during the evening. The boys were engaged at about six o'clock when the 9th and 2d Corps made the first attack on Petersburg. Our boys drove the Johnnies from the first line of works, and the next morning when we moved forward we found the next line abandoned. During the night we moved to the right and forward preparing for another advance at daybreak. When we advanced the morning of the 17th, I was on the picket line; as we pa.s.sed a deserted line of earthworks I saw a dead Johnny lying in one of the trenches. He had an open letter in his hand, I took the letter from his lifeless fingers folded it and put it in my pocket, when I had a chance to read it I discovered it was from his sweetheart at home in Georgia. He had evidently thought of her when he found himself mortally wounded, had taken the letter from his pocket and died while reading it.

There were two more incomplete lines of works in our front. We hoped to take both these lines, but being unsupported we succeeded in taking only one. During the day some reinforcements arrived and a regiment was put right in front of us; we thus had two lines of battle with which to advance, they going ahead. In the early evening the order came to advance.

The regiment in front of us that was to take the lead never moved a peg, and we were obliged to charge right over them. On each of our flanks there were good strong lines, so being well supported on both sides we captured both lines. Some distance to our right our men were less successful, they did not take the last line, and soon began to draw regiment after regiment from our force, until we were so spread out to cover the line, we did not have more than one man to each six feet. A continuous fight was kept up until about midnight, when our ammunition running low, our firing became slack. The Johnnies doubtless noticed that, made an advance and we were forced back to the second line again. As we left those works two things occurred that are worth mentioning. In front of us was a wood, directly in front the wood came up to within fifteen or twenty feet of our works. To the left the s.p.a.ce between the breastworks and the wood was much greater. So as the Johnnies advanced they came in sight in the open s.p.a.ce to the left first, and I fired at them there. Then I set to work to load my gun; but before it was finished they were coming out of the wood and across the narrow s.p.a.ce right in front of me. I put on a cap and fired at a man only a few feet away with my ramrod still in my gun. The Johnny was doubled up. I think my ramrod hit him right in the stomach. Then I skipped for the rear. The regimental colors were a little way to my right. Captain Sampson was right near them. Three Rebs started for our colors about the time I shot my ramrod into the Johnny. Captain Sampson jumped up on to our works and cut one of them down with his sword.

The other two retreated. Then Captain Sampson and the few men there were remaining with the colors also fell back. I hunted about and got me a complete gun and I found a dead man with some cartridges in his cartridge box. These I appropriated. So I was all right again.

In the early morning of the 18th preparations were made for another advance; but when the pickets went forward they found the works we had captured and lost the night before were deserted. The Johnnies had fallen back about a mile to a shorter line of works nearer the city. The next night we moved up to a desirable position at an average distance of one hundred and fifty yards from their works, and commenced putting up earthworks for siege purposes. During the next ten days it was remarkable to see how the fortifications appeared. They sprung into existence as if by magic. The 9th Army Corps was the second from the Appomattox River; Hanc.o.c.k with his corps being on our right. And thus we came into position in front of Cemetery Hill. As we lay there about four hundred feet from the crest of the ridge, there was a little to our left a slight elevation, a little knoll. On this prominence the Confederates located a six-gun battery, which was known as Elliott's salient. It was this battery that was destined later to be undermined and blown up.

Two nearly parallel lines of intrenchments were laid out for the infantry, varying from 150 to 300 yards apart. At first most of the work had to be done at night under the cover of darkness. But later on after the works were under way and we had got our bearings we could plan to work during the day. The top of the intrenchments were finished in such a way as to cover one's head when firing. We were furnished with bags. These we filled with dirt and piled up on top in such a way as to make loopholes through which to fire. Fortifications for the artillery had also to be built. They were located on the more elevated parts of the field and on a line with, or to the rear of, the second line of intrenchments of the infantry. It was soon arranged so the troops in the two lines alternated each other, each taking his turn for three days in the front line and then having three days in the second line. But in the matter of danger the difference was slight. The lines were so near together and both so near the Confederate works, the men in either were within easy range of the enemies' sharpshooters. The men in the second line, however, had some advantages. They could have a little covering over their heads to keep off the blazing rays of the sun. They could also take off their accoutrements and unloosen their clothes at night and so get a little better rest. While in the front line no covering as a protection against the sun could be used. One must keep his accoutrements on, and his musket, if he laid it down, must be within his reach.

In addition to the regular intrenchments for the infantry and forts for the artillery, there were, just to the rear of the first line of breastworks, pa.s.sages connecting the different intrenchments and batteries. These were about six feet deep and eight or ten feet wide; they ran everywhere. With these and the regular breastworks the ground was completely honeycombed. In front of our breastwork was a ditch, an abatis and a line of barbed wire entanglement. The Confederate and our lines were so near together that every possible thing was resorted to, to prevent being surprised or to check an advancing line of battle. A view across the field was peculiar, not a man could be seen. Lines of abatis, barbed-wire fences, piles of earth with the black noses of cannon projecting out between them, was about all one could see. In the course of ten days after our lines were established we were pretty well dug in, so the ordinary rifle of the infantry, the field artillery and even the siege guns, did not disturb us much. The mortars, however, we did not like; the sh.e.l.ls from them, we had not, at the time I was wounded, learned to avoid.

Later on, bomb proofs were built back of the second line; these the boys could get into when off duty and be protected. Life in the trenches was dreary and trying, although in ways interesting. The Johnnies did not keep up a continuous fire, but once in a while they would throw over a dozen or twenty sh.e.l.ls, apparently to stir us up to see how we liked it.

One day, four of the boys in the second line were sitting on a blanket playing pitch, when, with a terrific whiz and shriek, down came a mortar sh.e.l.l and buried itself in the earth within three feet of one of them. The way those boys rolled and tumbled over each other to get out of the way of that sh.e.l.l, was interesting to see, but it only gave them a start; it did not burst and no one was hurt.

Weren't we indignant one noon? The cook had just brought up from the rear a kettle full of fine smoking hot baked beans. He had just set them down and stepped back a pace or two, the boys were all skurrying around getting their plates so no one was very near, a sh.e.l.l came down and burst right beside that kettle of beans and knocked it all to atoms. One boy who was some ten or twelve feet away was. .h.i.t in the side by a piece of the sh.e.l.l. It cut a groove out of his side as clean as a gouge cuts a groove from a piece of wood. An amusing thing happened the other night over a little way to our left where they were using pack mules for working squads. A mule loaded and bristling with shovels, picks and axes, broke loose from his company and, with fearful clatter, went charging fearless and alone. The Rebs, believing they were being charged upon by our cavalry, were for an instant in confusion, but got into their works and opened fire on our friend with long ears. The mule not liking that kind of a reception whirled about and came cantering back to his comrades again.

As the mule came prancing back, it dawned upon the Johnnies what had really happened and they began to laugh, our boys hearing them joined in and for an instant a perfect roar of laughter and shouts rang along both lines. In that way, under those conditions the siege went on; under those conditions we lived. To stay in those trenches in that terrific heat, with not a breath of fresh air, in the dirt--for every spear of gra.s.s had early disappeared--was a thing only the most hardy could endure. I early formed the habit when we were in the second line, of rising a little while before daylight in the morning and going down to a little stream in our rear and taking a bath. And it was while returning from one of those trips, the morning having got a little advanced, I was. .h.i.t by a sharpshooter. The ball pa.s.sed through my left thigh about half way from my hip to my knee, pa.s.sing just behind the bone from the right side to the left. I crawled back to a place of cover. Then some of the boys came with a stretcher and carried me back to the place where the ambulances were kept. From there I was taken in an ambulance back to the hospital, in the rear of the fighting line some mile and a half or two miles away.

Along most of the line there was little picket firing. Men moved about exposing themselves to considerable extent. But in front of the 9th Army Corps there was continuous firing from the beginning. The third division of the 9th Army Corps was a division of negro troops. The Confederates knew this and resented it and in this way took their revenge, although the negro division was not present until after the mine explosion.

CHAPTER X

LIFE IN THE HOSPITAL

That ride in the ambulance. Emory Hospital. The woman with my Mother's name. The dreadful death rate. President Lincoln's Second Inauguration.

Booth's Ride. Doing clerical work in Philadelphia. Discharged.

July 30, 1863, my twenty-third birthday, found me in a field hospital a little way to the rear of the 9th Army Corps, whither I had been taken the day before after being wounded.

About daybreak we heard the report caused by the mine explosion, and then the roar of the artillery that followed. Early in the forenoon a train of ambulances was loaded with wounded men, I among them, and taken to City Point to make room for the wounded they were hourly expecting to be brought from the front. The ride from the hospital to City Point was most trying. The ambulances went rolling and jolting along across trackless fields the whole way. My wound bled a good deal and pained me badly, but I bore it quietly, my companion in the ambulance being apparently so much worse off than I. He complained and moaned dreadfully until we were near City Point when he became quiet and remained so for the rest of the journey.

When we reached the hospital at City Point, a man came and helped me out of the ambulance and into the hospital. At the same time two men took out my companion. He had to be lifted bodily out, his form was rigid and cold--he was dead. Then I understood why at a certain time on the way his moaning had ceased. My wound was dressed, I had a bath, a nurse brought me a plate of soup and I felt very much refreshed.

August 1. Notice was given in the tent where I was that a boat was at the wharf down at the river to take to Was.h.i.+ngton all wounded men who could get down to the wharf and get aboard the boat. I told one of the nurses that if I had a pair of crutches I thought I could get down there. She got me the crutches and I set out. I had not gone many rods when my head began to spin around and I began to feel very strange. I stopped and stood still for a moment, then who should pa.s.s by right in front of me but Alf Rider, a Company K man. I shouted, "Alf!" He looked around, saw who it was, came back and helped me down to the boat. He then went and got a canteen of water and brought it to me. Wounded men were coming aboard all the afternoon. By seven o'clock the boat was crowded and we started for Was.h.i.+ngton where we arrived the next afternoon. On the way we had no food, but water we had. My neighbors, none of whom had any canteen, all used mine, and between us we emptied it a number of times. But one of the boat men, a fine fellow, did not allow it to remain empty long at a time. He kept us supplied with water and we got along very well.

As soon as we reached Was.h.i.+ngton I was taken in an ambulance and carried to Emory Hospital and placed in Ward 4. Doctor Ensign, a New York physician, had charge of the ward. A Mr. Gage, a medical student from Ma.s.sachusetts, was wound dresser and took care of my wound. I had been in the hospital only about a week when the erysipelas developed in my wound, and August 9th I was taken to the erysipelas ward. This ward was under the charge of a Dr. Bates, of Worcester, Ma.s.s. Dr. Bates and his a.s.sistants had no trouble in quieting down that erysipelas, and on August 30th, I was taken back to Ward 4 again. What horrible care my wound received! It was dressed only once a day and then so badly. September 16, gangrene broke out in it and I was taken to the gangrene ward.

This ward was under the charge of the same physician as the erysipelas ward--Dr. Henry Green Bates of Worcester, Ma.s.s. Dr. Bates' wife was a Brookfield Stone, and she, seeing my diagnosis card, discovered that my mother's name and her maiden name were identical. Although no near relations.h.i.+p could be established, it created a friendly interest, and Dr.

Bates took care of my wound himself, dressing it twice a day until the gangrene was out, which was in just six days. But I was not then sent back to Ward 4. I was made comfortable in a private tent and remained under his care until February, 1865, during which time the Doctor and Mrs. Bates kept me supplied with newspapers and books to read and delicacies to eat.

Early in February, Dr. Bates left Emory Hospital, going to Newport News to take charge of a hospital being built to take care of the wounded expected when the campaign should open at Petersburg, and I was sent back to Ward 4.

The critical period of three months with me, from August to December, 1864, I was cared for by Dr. Bates, and to him I owe my life. Had I been obliged to remain in Ward 4, through those three critical months, I should not have survived. The work of the wound dresser, I always thought, was very inferior. The food was fairly good and we had plenty of it. We also had plenty of stimulants--a little bottle of brandy and a bottle of porter every day.

There must have been a large number of badly wounded men on the boat that took me to Was.h.i.+ngton. For a while the long roll was heard so often at that hospital carrying out the dead, it was abolished, the effect was so depressing.

When I was taken back to Ward 4, at the time Dr. Bates left, Dr. Ensign learned that Dr. Bates and his wife had formed something of an attachment for me and that I had been a sort of special patient over there. I was, consequently, ever afterward treated with a good deal of kindness by him and so got through the rest of the time I was in the hospital very comfortably. It was depressing to note the change that had taken place in Ward 4 during my absence in Dr. Bates' ward. When I went into Ward 4, it was full to crowding. On my return, less than half the beds were occupied, more than half the patients having died.

In the ambulance that carried me from the boat to the hospital was a man who must have been in great pain. He complained bitterly. He was wounded in the foot. The day after we got to the hospital his foot was amputated.

In a few days a piece of his leg was cut off, and again his knee was sacrificed, and inside of two weeks he was a dead man. The gangrene was in his foot when we got to the hospital and as soon as an amputation was performed it would break out in the new wound made. He was a Connecticut man, married. His wife came on and was with him during the last days he lived and took his body home with her.

A Michigan man used to excite my sympathy. He was wounded in the right shoulder and the bones of that joint were knocked all to pieces. The upper part of the humerus, a part of the clavicle and a part of the scapula had been removed. He was a great broad-shouldered, six-foot-six man, and to see that Hercules pacing up and down the ward--for he could not keep still--his arm in a sling and holding it up or steadying it with his left hand as best he could, the wounded shoulder still hanging way down--was a most pitiable sight.

The day after I got to the hospital I noticed a bed away by itself in one corner of the ward, with a large frame over it covered with mosquito netting, and I soon saw things which indicated that there was a wounded man there. On inquiry, I learned there was a man in there lying at the point of death. The doctors did not expect him to live and they were just trying to make his last hours as comfortable as they could. He was a German by birth and belonged to a New York regiment. He had been hit in the thorax, the ball pa.s.sing through from side to side piercing the bones on both sides and going through a portion containing vital parts. When I was taken to the erysipelas ward he was still alive, and when I came back, the wound dresser thought he had begun to mend. When I returned to the ward in February, he was able to get around on crutches, and when I left the hospital in May he could walk without his crutches. He was not very elastic on his feet to be sure, and it was pretty funny walking. He walked on the end of his feet and toes, his heels being up in the air--but he could balance himself and get around quite a little. This was regarded in the hospital as a remarkable cure and it was attributed to the remarkable vitality of the man.

During the first weeks I was in the hospital, when the ward was full of wounded men, many of them seriously wounded, it would be expected there would be considerable noise. To the contrary there was almost no noise at all. One almost never heard a moan and the attendants wore slippers with felt bottoms, so they moved about making hardly the slightest noise.

Dr. Ensign, the doctor who had charge of Ward 4, was a New York doctor. In addition to his having the care of Ward 4, he was operating surgeon of the whole hospital. He and Dr. Bates, I think, were the two princ.i.p.al physicians there. Dr. Bates, as already stated, had charge of the two worst wards--the gangrene ward and the erysipelas ward. Dr. Moseley, the head doctor, was, I think, just a figure head. He never did anything and was seldom seen about the hospital.

By the first of March I was on crutches and able to get around pretty well. So desiring to hear the President deliver his inaugural address on the 4th of March, I, early in the forenoon, went down to the Capitol, got into a good position on the east side to see and hear Mr. Lincoln. I stayed there, heard the address, saw the sun burst out on Mr. Lincoln. The throng came, the famous Second Inaugural Address was given, the throng melted away, and I returned to the hospital again. When evening came I went over to the White House to a public reception, fell into line, and pa.s.sed around and shook hands with Mr. Lincoln. He seemed to be in the best of spirits.

April 10. The daily papers announced the welcome news of the surrender of General Lee and the Army of Northern Virginia. The surrender had taken place the afternoon before at Appomattox Court House, Virginia. It was the signal for the display of the greatest enthusiasm. In a short time salutes began to be fired, and every fortification and every battery in the vicinity of Was.h.i.+ngton fired a national salute. We boys in the hospital climbed up on to the top of the wards; from there we could see the smoke shoot out from the top of every hill in sight, and the roar of the artillery was like a great battle.

After Lee's surrender, the period of national rejoicing was destined to be short, and terminated in a most abrupt and tragical manner--the a.s.sa.s.sination of President Lincoln.

My own personal experience on that eventful night of April 14th and 15th had in it an element of interest. The road from the quarter of the city where Ford's Theatre stood, to the Navy Yard bridge across the Anacostia River near the Navy Yard, pa.s.sed quite near one corner of Emery Hospital, which was laid out in the form of a square. I was quartered at that time in a tent that stood at the corner near the road, and heard a man ride past at great speed going in the direction of the Navy Yard bridge. It was an uncommon thing for any one to pa.s.s along that road at night and it attracted my attention. A few moments elapsed and a squad of cavalry rode past like the wind. That aroused me again and I called the attention of the night watchman to it. "Oh, you've been dreaming," said he, "go to sleep." But I could not go to sleep, I was sure something out of the ordinary had happened. A little after midnight the news was brought to the hospital that the President had been a.s.sa.s.sinated. I was then confident that it was Booth I had heard ride past the hospital, and later reports proved my conclusion to be true.

Early in May I was transferred to the veteran Reserve Corps and a.s.signed to a company in Philadelphia and then was detailed to the adjutant-general's office of the state of Pennsylvania to do clerical work, and stayed there until I was discharged in July. The work amounted to very little; an occasional hour's work was all I had to do.

The captain of the company of the Veteran Reserve Corps to which I belonged, Buckley by name, was a specimen. He was a typical Irish politician with all the bl.u.s.ter and swagger of that cla.s.s. He was a.s.sociated with the sutler and was, all in all, one of the most unsavory specimens to be found anywhere.