A Story of the Rebellion

 Oneonta Herald & Democrat, Oneonta, NY, April 25, 1879

A Story of the Rebellion

By A.

I held the office of sergeant in Co. F 1st heavy artillery, and during the autumn of '63, I think, our company was stationed as garrison at one of the forts opposite the city of Washington D.C.

It was the custom of the officers in command of the garrison at that time to put sergeants on as officer of the guard in the place of lieutenants, as there was not enough of them to do the duty in addition to their other works.  It used to come my turn every few days to take the charge of the guard - a duty which required more faithfulness than hard work, as we had the whole care of the garrison's defense against surprise and attack, and of course to see that each member of the guard kept their place and faithfully discharged their duties.

One day while thus engaged in charge of the guard, a large squad of stragglers, some eighty or more, were placed in my charge as prisoners.  These stragglers were our Union soldiers who in time of long marches or battles had fallen out of ranks or strayed away from their companies for one cause or another and had been picked up by our patrol guards and usually held as prisoners until returned to their own companies for duty again.  Among the number quartered upon us at this time was an intelligent, honest looking young man, who I soon learned was sick and more in need or care than discipline.  He was quite destitute and unable to eat "hard tack," the only bread stragglers could well obtain. Glad of a chance to exercise a feeling of humanity, I secured some soft bread and warm tea of which he partook sparingly; then some straw, which we were able to obtain in the garrison, was secured for the prisoner, and my blanket loaned for the night.  These favors were very gratefully received by him and next day as he was about starting off with his fellow prisoners, evidently feeling refreshed by his night's rest and declaring himself much better, he thanked me in a very earnest manner for my "trouble," as he called it, for him, and so walked slowly off as if he was parting from a friend.  I did not feel as if what had been done for the poor fellow was any trouble to me, and the matter was soon out of mind for the time.

General Grant moved all the heavy artillery troops from around Washington to the front as infantry, filling our places with "one hundred days men" - men enlisted for one hundred days for the purpose of garrisoning fortifications left vacant by the removal of the regular artillery.  On the 15th of May, our regiment, numbering eighteen hundred strong, was placed on board a steamer at Alexandria, Va. and taking to Potomac Landing, disembarked and marched thirty-five miles through Fredericksburg to Spotsylvania, where we were destined to see warm work for Uncle Sam.

Our thirty-five-mile march was rather a hard one on us, as we had been doing garrison duty for over two and a half years and had not learned the art of making light work of marching.  Each soldier had to carry on that memorable march of ours a knapsack filled with more stuff and ever they were after that, haversack with three days rations, sixty rounds of cartridges, canteen, usually filled with water, our equipments and rifles, the whole weighing from sixty to seventy pounds.

At an occasional halt during the last ten miles of our march, every soldier would drop to the ground in his tracks. And I don't wonder that at the command "Attention company," some of us were obliged to climb to our feet with the aid of our rifles. We reached the end of our thirty-five miles at one o'clock at night, having been on the tramp since sunrise the previous morning.

The ground felt good to us that night, or what there was left of it, and we were not very particular in choice of place to stretch our weary limbs. The next day we spent most of the time in prospecting, giving some attention to getting used to hard tack and muddy water.  Occasionally we would get a glimpse of the enemy and would experience a feeling about halfway between fear and determination.

We began to realize what was coming, and a dead body with head and one shoulder protruding from a carelessly made grave over which our company marched at one time during the day, did not serve to help us much.

About this time, General Grant began his famous flank movement after the wilderness battles, and in that way left the baggage trains unprotected, a fact the enemy was not long in taking advantage of, as the rebel Gen. Earley's old division came on to capture our baggage.  Our regiment, with the 4th N.Y. heavy artillery, numbering 2,200 men, which made a fine brigade as far as numbers were concerned, under the command of Col. Tyler, was just put in between the "rebs" and that baggage train.

There are many incidents connected with the fierce battle which followed that are deeply impressed on my mind.  Those incidents would make a long story if all told. Suffice it now to say: Co. A, being on the extreme left of the brigade was deployed as skirmishers, and as we marched off into the woods towards the sound of musketry, there was one in our company, to say the least, who would have felt a little better satisfied with his position if it had been in the rear of the company instead of the front.  Hearing heavy firing on our right, we were called back and ordered to the right to support one of our batteries, which was to fire over our heads, we, occupying a position in front of the battery in a ravine. But "somebody blundered," and we were ordered to charge on the enemy's ranks, which we did, in great danger from our own men in our rear, as well as the enemy in front. Well, we had been in the army a long time.  This was our first real battle, and we were ashamed to show the "white feather."  The conduct of the heavy artillery brigade during that battle on the 19th of May is a matter of history, and none of us are ashamed of the record.

About sunset, while standing in my proper place in the company, doing my best to secure a reputation for the same, a rebel bullet crushed through the hand which is now penning these lines and taking leave of the boys, the perilous journey to the rear was undertaken and successfully performed. The pain of the wounded hand, if allowed to hang loosely by my side, was so great that it had to be held up, the forearm in a horizontal position. That exercise of the muscles cause pain, and taking a silk handkerchief, a relic of other days, it was knotted by dint of perseverance with left hand and teeth, in the shape of a sling and the bleeding hand suspended and less painfully carried. By walking some two miles, a hospital station was reached.  Faint and hungry, I lay down in a small tent with two other wounded soldiers. A young man soon entered the tent and spoke to me, saying he would send in the surgeon and taking my tin cup, passed out.  The surgeon soon came in to examine our wounds. There was another sergeant lying on my left to whom the surgeon first directed his attention, and found his arm paralyzed by gun shot above the elbow. The doctor carefully cut away the sleeves of the soldier's blouse and shirt so he could reach the wound, but fortunately found the bone of the arm uninjured. He then replaced the sleeves upon the paralyzed arm saying as he did so, "You are a lucky sergeant."

It now came my turn, and on examination, the doctor thought (the hand being considerably swollen), that the bullet had passed through the fleshy part of the hand between the last joints of the thumb and index finger, and that no amputation would be necessary.  "You are a lucky sergeant, too," said the doctor, cheerfully and addressing us both he added, "you are a pair of lucky sergeants."

The doctor then turned his attention to the poor fellow on myth right, who gave his name as Hall, whose left arm had been shattered by a bullet just above the wrist, the bones protruding through the mangled flesh. After a moment's examination the doctor said with sadness in his voice, "Mr. Hall, you will have to lose your hand."  An exclamation of sorrow broke from the wounded soldier's lips - "Oh, can't you save it doctor?"  there was not the look of careless indifference on the face of the surgeon that I have seen manifested by others of his class, but with a real pity he answered "No, the bones and flesh are so badly mangled that it is impossible to save it."

Poor Hall than appealed to me.  "Don't you think it could be saved?"  I was obliged to tell him I thought not.  I shall not soon forget the look of keen sorrow on the face of the soldier when all hope of saving his hand had gone.

The doctor then passed out and Hall was soon assisted to the amputating table.  The young man who had taken my tin cup stood a silent spectator of the examination of Hall, and at its conclusion came to me with my cup filled with coffee and a generous piece of soft bread.  the latter, I have reason to suppose, was a very scarce article in that place.  He knelt by my side and assisted me by holding my coffee while I used my left hand to eat. After my repast he went out, and I suppose he had gone for refreshments for the other wound men, but he soon returned with some straw which he insisted I should put under me and showed me every attention and kindness in his power. As he paid no particular attention to the others in the tent, I was puzzled to account for his marked kindness to me. There seemed to be something familiar about him, but I did not think I had ever seen him before.

It seems on coming from the battle ground we had blundered into the hospital station of another army corps and the order soon came to those of us who could walk to report to the field hospital of our own brigade, which was lying about a mile from us, but not in sight, and it was night.  While deliberating what to do, my friend who had been giving me so much attention came to me and said, "I'll show you the way."  He led us out by a piece of woods and around a corner to an open field on the further side of which we could see the lights of our hospital camp.  Pointing to the lights my friend, said, "There, you can see the lights; keep in the path and you will find no trouble in reaching the camp.  I must return now."

As he was turning to go back, I caught him by the arm, saying "It seems to me you have shown me great kindness for a stranger, and I thank you for it, but what does it mean?  And I want your name, too."

"You do not recognize me then?" he inquired, "No I don't," I answered.  "Well," said he, "Do you remember the sick prisoner at Fort Craig, and the bread and tea, and the straw and the blanket loaned and the care and kindness bestowed, all from you to that sick soldier?"  "Yes, I do now."  "My name," said he, "Is Estes and I am that man."  And grasping me by the hand he added, "I never shall forget your kindness to me at that time."  "God bless you," I murmured, but he was disappearing in the darkness.

We reached our hospital without difficulty, and after many eventful nights and days, home and friends.  If this sketch of real soldier life should ever reach Mr. Estes notice, he may know he is still held in fond remembrance and should we never meet on earth, God grant we may in Heaven.