Part 5

The Twenty-sixth lost many a noble man from its ranks--something like eighteen or twenty. Among others who closed their earthly existence during this month was Corporal Philip Hacker of the Fifth, a noble Christian young man, who had chosen the ministry as his profession. He was wounded in the hip, the ball never being extracted. He lingered an intense sufferer six weeks. I watched over him with a sister’s solicitude; saw him day by day grow weaker, his cheeks thinner and paler, until the sands of life ran out, and “he was not, for God took him.” His poor sorrowing mother, who was on her way to see him, had already reached Washington. But, alas! hers was the consolation that the grave affords. It was hard for me to give him up, but who could fathom the depths of that mother’s grief? But her cup was not yet full. After remaining with me a few days, she went to see another son, who belonged to the Second Infantry, then stationed at Fortress Monroe. This proved to be their last meeting; at the siege of Knoxville he fell mortally wounded, a Minie ball having penetrated his brain. They left him buried where he fell asleep, in Tennessee.

“O woman!--noble, suffering heart-- Hope for a fairer dawn; The hand that dealt the trial Will give a bright’ning morn.”

It is the hope of this “bright’ning morn,” the re-union in heaven, that makes this bereaved mother’s grief endurable. It was sad indeed to witness the sorrow of friends who had come to look up their dear ones, and found them very often, alas! already dead or dying. I can see before me, even now, a pale-faced sister watching by the bedside of a dear brother; but soon he passes away. Again, I see an aged father, bowed with the weight of years, whose locks are white with the frosts of many winters, watching day and night by his darling boy; but, after long weeks of suffering, the stern messenger comes, and none can stay his hand. There, too, comes the heart-broken widow, weeping bitter tears o’er her early slain, while her children look in vain for father’s coming. Brothers, too, I see searching for brothers, and friend inquiring for friend.

* * * * *

Among the many who died with that loathsome disease, small-pox, which prevailed to quite an alarming extent, was the young and gifted Lieutenant W. W. Burch, of the Twenty-sixth Michigan.

The following lines were written upon his death by Sarah J. C. Whittlesey, of Alexandria, Va. As they seem so appropriate, I will reproduce them:

“Toll, toll for him, the youthful one, O funeral bell of time! He died with manhood’s morning sun just risen at matin chime. Toll, toll for him, the youthful one, O solemn bell! O funeral bell! Cathedral bell of time!

“Mourn, mourn for him, the youthful one, O heart of life and bloom! Death dimmed the splendor of thy sun, O earth! within his tomb. Mourn, mourn for him, the gifted one, O kindred heart, O poet heart! O heart of life and bloom!

“Moan, moan around the soldier’s bed, O waves of the year’s spring-tide! Chant dirges o’er his buried head--in life’s young spring he died. Moan, moan around the soldier’s bed, O solemn waves! O sobbing waves! O waves of the year’s spring-tide!

“Weep, weep beside the stranger’s rest, O heart of woman fair! Far from a mother’s faithful breast he died, and slumbers there. Weep, weep beside the stranger’s rest, O mother heart! O maiden heart! O heart of woman fair!

“Rest, rest within our Southern land, young soldier, good and brave; A white-rose wreath the stranger’s hand will lay upon thy grave, For those who weep in far North-land--thy childhood’s home--a stricken band, Who mourn the lost and brave.”

The 9th of the month I went to Falmouth, with nearly four thousand pounds of hospital stores, which had been brought from Monroe, Mich., by Mr. Marvin, designed expressly for those in the field. I was accompanied by Mrs. Munsell and Mrs. Beckwith--the latter a Massachusetts lady, whose husband was killed a few months before--who were also taking supplies to the army. We arrived at Aquia Creek in time for the three o’clock train, and at four were at Falmouth Station, where I had some trouble in getting my goods together, but finally succeeded, and then stationed myself as guard over them, remaining on duty until I could send a distance of three miles for transportation. Here Mrs. Munsell left me, as she was going to a different part of the army. It was about eight o’clock when Chaplain May jumped upon the platform near where I was standing. No lone sentinel at his post was ever more rejoiced to hear the approaching footsteps of the “second relief” than was I to see the chaplain that evening. He brought an ambulance and large army-wagon, which were soon loaded, a guard placed over the remainder of my stores, and we on our way, through darkness and mud, to the camp of the Second Michigan, it being nearly ten o’clock when we arrived. I was delighted once more to meet my good friends, the chaplain’s family and Mrs. Bonine; and after partaking of a warm supper, which was in readiness, we visited, until reminded by the small hours of the night that it was time to retire. Presently we find ourselves stowed away for the night, six of us in a little cabin, perhaps eighteen feet by twenty, and are soon lost in the land of pleasant dreams.

The next day was warm and agreeable. I assisted in distributing some of the supplies which I had taken down. Nothing was eaten with a better relish than the pickles and sour-kraut. There seemed to be a hankering for acids, the absence of which was the cause of much sickness.

I made a short visit to the Lacy House, took a stroll along the bank of the Rappahannock, across which lies the once pleasant little town of Fredericksburg, but now battered and broken; beyond, the long lines of rebel fortifications could be seen, from before which Burnside was compelled to fall back only two months previous. Our troops and the rebels were picketing on opposite sides of the river, in speaking distance of each other.

The morning of the 11th I left for Alexandria, in company with Mrs. Bonine, wife of Surgeon Bonine, of the Second, who was starting for Michigan. This, my first trip to the army--though full of interest, and associated with pleasant memories--was not without sadness, for a loved one was missing from the decimated ranks of the Michigan Eighth, and the grave was daily closing over “somebody’s darling.” And, oh! how many times I thought of the poor woman we met, when on our way to Falmouth, who was going to look after the remains of the last of three sons who had died in Freedom’s holy cause. Sorrow-stricken, heart-broken, she sat with bowed head, only speaking when addressed. Her grief was too great for expression. When “Grandma Gage,” from a heart overflowing with joy, can exclaim

“They’re coming home! they’re coming home!-- Those four dear boys of mine-- They’re coming home from out the war: _How bright the sun does shine!_”

she, from the bitterness of her soul, takes up the sad lamentation:

“They have fallen! they have fallen! Where the battle-tempest roared-- Where the blaze of strife was gleaming On each bayonet and sword.”

As the Ninth Corps was under marching orders, I daily looked for the return of Mrs. May and family, but saw nothing of them until the 25th, when I again took up my abode with them.

On the 19th of March, a sad accident occurred near the Orange and Alexandria Depot. The cars were thrown from the track, killing four soldiers instantly, and severely wounding several others, two of whom died before night, and one the next day, while others lingered a few days, suffering more than death, before it came for their relief. As soon as I heard of the accident, I hastened, with others, to the place, taking wine, lint, and bandages. Oh, shocking sight! There, in an open car, lay the mangled forms of the dead and wounded. As soon as possible, the wounded were removed to the nearest hospital and kindly cared for, but the greater part needed care only a short time.

A few days after this, I witnessed another distressing sight at Fairfax Seminary. A soldier of the Twenty-sixth Michigan was dying from bleeding at the nose, which had continued for several days. Every effort to check the flow of blood proved unavailing. It was pitiful to behold him. His face was of marble whiteness, while the red current issuing from both nostrils plainly indicated that the fountain of life would soon be dry, and so it was. The brother who had come to care for him returned with the lifeless form to a bereaved wife and three fatherless children.

Toward the last of the month, I received another box of goods from Ionia, and two from Jackson. In one of the latter was some clothing for myself; so I, as well as the soldiers, had reason for gratitude, which, I believe, on the part of neither was wanting.

The evening of the 31st, I attended a meeting at the Capitol. Admiral Foot--blessings on his memory--and “Andrew Johnson” were among the speakers. The address of each was characteristic of the man who delivered it. Admiral Foot, as might have been expected, recognized the hand of God in the war, and recommended the people to exercise more faith in his over-ruling providence, firmly believing that all would eventually work out, not only for God’s glory, but for the best interest of our country. Mr. Johnson spoke at length of the state of affairs in Tennessee, and of the nation generally. He believed in meting out to traitors their just deserts--that stern justice, without any sprinkling of mercy, should be the portion of their cup. A slight change in his policy since then!!! During the evening, President Lincoln, and several members of his cabinet, came in. As they entered, the audience rose to their feet; ladies waved their handkerchiefs, gentlemen threw up their hats, while cheer after cheer went up for our chieftain, which echoed and reverberated through the halls and great dome of the Capitol. Every heart seemed to beat in unison with the great heart of Abraham Lincoln, whose care-worn face too plainly told that it was not the weight of years, but the sorrows of a nation, which were bearing him down. None could look upon his sad countenance without feelings of pity and a willingness to share the responsibility which rested with such crushing weight upon his shoulders; and many were the expressions heard, like the following: “Poor Father Abraham!” “God bless him!” “Long live our President!”

It being too late to return to Alexandria after the close of the exercises, I improved the opportunity next day of visiting, with the rest of our party, some of the places of interest in Washington. We first went to the Navy Yard, where to me everything was new. We were shown through the different workshops where the deadly missiles of war, from the Minie-ball to the huge mortar-shells, were being rapidly manufactured to be sent upon their destructive mission. Among the many things of special interest were several pieces of cannon captured during the revolutionary war. We paid a short visit to the White House, but reserved the larger portion of our time to be spent at the Capitol. This magnificent building, with its seven hundred and fifty feet front, and covering an area of three and a half acres, is a grand spectacle. I care not for the mighty cathedrals of the Old World; here is beauty and sublimity combined--sublime in magnitude, and beautiful in its harmonious proportions.

Ascending the long flight of marble steps, we pause a moment in the eastern portico to reflect on the scenes which have there been enacted. This portico is, in the language of one, “the vestibule to the great political temple of the Union,” where all of our Presidents--from Jefferson down to our present incumbent, “A. J.”--have, in the presence of the assembled thousands, taken the oath of office administered by the Chief-Justice of the Supreme Court of the United States. There were uttered those Christ-like words: “With malice toward none, with charity to all.” We pass from this portico into the rotunda, and spend a little time in admiring the elegant paintings which adorn its walls. The finest of these are, I think, the “Embarkation of the Pilgrims” and the “Baptism of Pocahontas;” but the most exquisite of all the paintings in the Capitol is the “Western Scene,” which would require weeks of study to be fully appreciated. The Senate-Chamber and House of Representatives are places of deep and thrilling interest. There were many vacant seats once occupied by men who had sworn to protect the Government against all enemies, foreign and domestic, but who, with violated oaths and perjured souls, went over to the ranks of treason. But neither paintings, nor statuary, nor elegant rooms attracted my attention more than those massive bronze doors, executed by Rogers, in Italy, at great expense and a vast amount of labor.

The 20th of April, the Twenty-sixth Michigan, according to orders, left Alexandria for the Peninsula. How much we missed them when they were gone, how sad we felt, and how we all cried when the boat shoved out from shore that was to bear them away to the field of strife! How long the injunction, “Take good care of Willie,” rang in my ears! How lonely that old building looked where Company “I” had been quartered! How deserted the old campground appeared, how anxiously we watched for any intelligence from the Twenty-sixth, and how frequently letters were received, ending with “Pray for me,” and how often and earnestly we did pray that they might all be kept from falling in the fierce conflict; but, if fall they must, that they might be made meet for the kingdom of heaven.

Their sick were left at Alexandria. I had something over a hundred names of my list belonging to this regiment. A large number were very ill, and many of them soon went to their long home. Oh, what a long array of those poor sufferers pass before me in imagination as I write! There is one delirious with fever; he is constantly talking of home and mother.

“My mother, dear mother, with weak, tearful eye, Farewell, and God bless you forever and aye; Oh! that I now lay on your pillowing breast, To breathe my last sigh on the bosom first pressed.”

But in the stillness of the night, with no dear mother there, he passed away. Here is another, a young man from my own county, over whom for many weeks I had anxiously watched; his aged father is sent for; the poor boy still lingers day after day and week after week, but at length he yields up his young life to the “King of Terrors,” and the gray-headed sire is bereft of the staff of his declining years. Here again are two, lying side by side in the same hospital; one lingers long with typhoid pneumonia, the other is an intense sufferer with rheumatic fever, who goes only two days before his comrade. In the same ward is another--a Massachusetts soldier--to whom it was my privilege frequently to take some little delicacy. He is recovering from a long run of fever; is able to be about the ward, with a fair prospect of going home soon on furlough, when he is suddenly seized with that disease of all others the most dreaded--small-pox; he is removed to the “Pest House,” and we see him no more. Here is still another, wounded in the head; he has become a raving maniac, and is carried off to the Insane Asylum. There are others, many others, but the catalogue would be too long to mention them all, yet such will ever be held in sacred remembrance.

Oh! sad memories of the past, how deeply are ye stirred! The dying soldier haunts me still! * * * * *

Dying ’mong strangers--dying at night, Far from his home and his kindred so dear, Far from the loved ones he left for the fight, When he bade them farewell, with a kiss and a tear.

Dying with fever--dying at morn, Just as the sun in the East had arisen; Leaving his widow and orphans forlorn; But “tell them I died with my trust still in Heaven.”

Dying unconscious--dying at noon, Lo! his comrades are closing his eyes; The work of the soldier forever is done, But his spirit ascends to his God in the skies.

Dying at evening--dying alone, Far, far away on the red field of strife, With no kindred near he leaves his last moan, And to the cause of his country yields up his life.

Though dying alone, morn, noon or night, What matters it now the struggle is o’er? And his spirit is clothed in spotless white, With the marshalling hosts on the heavenly shore.

_CHAPTER VII._

BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE--FAIRFAX COURT-HOUSE--VISIT TO THE FIRST MICHIGAN CAVALRY--BRIGADE HOSPITAL--CHANTILLY--BULL RUN--THE BEREAVED BROTHER--MRS. BLAIR--GOVERNOR BLAIR’S ADDRESS--RETURN TO ALEXANDRIA--BACK TO FAIRFAX--STOUGHTON HOUSE--EXCITING RUMORS--MOVEMENT OF THE ARMY--ALONE--NARROW ESCAPE--MAINE LADY--AN EVENTFUL PERIOD.

The month of May was much more eventful, at least with the Army of the Potomac, than any since December. Early in the month the army under General Hooker advanced on the enemy, and Sunday, the third, commenced the disastrous series of battles at Chancellorsville. All had the utmost confidence in “old fighting Joe.” But after a protracted struggle of three days, he was compelled to fall back and recross the Rappahannock. The loss on both sides was heavy. Among the many brave men who there fell was the gallant Berry. A few months previous, I had the pleasure of meeting this noble officer. He, with Surgeon Bonine, unexpectedly made his appearance one cold morning in Alexandria, having travelled all night through snow and mud in their retreat from Leesburg, whither they had arrived on their way to join their command, which was encamped somewhere near Snicker’s Gap, in the Blue Ridge; but, to avoid falling into the hands of the rebels who had cut off their advance, they were compelled to make this hasty retreat. They were weary and footsore, but early next morning were on their way again, and, by taking a different route, reached their command in safety. A few more weary marches bring him down to Chancellorsville, where rebel balls fulfil their bloody mission.

The rebels also lost one of their ablest generals--the “invincible Stonewall.” What greatly added to the horrors of the scene was the burning of the woods, in which many of the wounded are supposed to have perished. Comparatively few of the wounded were brought to Alexandria, and none for several days except “Johnnies.”

Having been laid up nearly four weeks with inflammatory rheumatism in my right ankle, I was compelled to suspend operations until about the middle of the month, when, upon resuming my duties, I found a few of my old patients still quite sick, and some new arrivals; but, on the whole, the number from Michigan, as well as from other States, had greatly diminished since my last visit.

The 20th inst. I went to Fairfax Court-House in company with Mrs. May and other friends. We had a brigade hospital at this place, there being four regiments of Michigan Cavalry encamped in the vicinity, three of which--viz., the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh--were scarcely six months from home; consequently these were suffering much from fevers and dysentery.

After visiting these hospitals, which we found quite comfortable, yet lacking many things which the sick greatly needed, we found quarters for the night with the First Cavalry, where we were cordially welcomed and comfortably provided for. This was my first night in camp--the first time I slept in a tent--a novel idea, then.

Next morning Colonel Town offered us an ambulance, that we might visit Bull Run battle-field, which we were exceedingly anxious to do before returning to Alexandria, having a twofold object in view when leaving home; one being to see the field which had been twice fought over so desperately, and every foot of ground so hotly contested; the other, to recover, if possible, the body of Colonel Roberts, of the First Michigan Infantry, who was killed at the second battle of Bull Run. Our instructions were such, from one who saw him buried, that we felt sure we could identify his grave. At eight o’clock A. M. we are on our way with an escort of thirty men detailed from the regiment, and several officers, Lieutenant Wheeler in command. As Chantilly’s once bloody field was but little out of our way, we visited that first. Oh! what feelings I experienced as I stood and looked out upon that field, where, only a few months before, was marshalled for deadly combat a mighty host of noble heroes! Among that number was my own dear brother; upon this very field he fell; here for days he lay beneath the scorching rays of a Southern sun, torn and mangled, bleeding, dying--no hope of ever again seeing home or wife or child. Then multiply his case by thousands, and oh, what a scene was here witnessed!

No wonder the gentle moon veiled her face, and the astonished heavens clothed themselves with blackness, and the Almighty uttered his voice in thunder-tones, while the howling of the elements strangely commingled with the groans of the dying.

Spread out before us was that vast cornfield of which we had read so much, where such desperate fighting was done, and where so many hundreds fell. The tree near which the bold and fearless Kearney fell, was pointed out to us; it was pierced with many balls; there were those old buildings, battered and broken, to which many of the wounded were taken, and upon whose rude floor they breathed their last. The strip of wood skirting the road bore marks of the terrible conflict which raged there--trees pierced with bullets, their branches scattered and torn, while the earth was ploughed with exploding shells. From many of the little mounds scattered far and near, human bones were seen protruding, and sometimes even the skulls were bare, so slightly were they covered. We wandered over the field, picked up a few balls and pebbles, and gathered a few wild flowers as sad momentoes of this sad place, and again “took up our line of march.”

Arriving at Centreville, we called to see General Abbercrombie--the commandant of the post--to have our passes extended, but, to our great disappointment, failed; it being contrary to orders to pass so small a force beyond our picket-line, as the country was over-run with guerrillas. We went on as far as Blackburn’s Ford, passing over part of the first Bull Run battle-field, the very place where our own Richardson, with his band of noble heroes, so bravely fought. The country was one wide-spread desolation. At the ford we hoisted the stars and stripes over the ruins of the old bridge--which was burned by our troops in their retreat nine months before--sang several national songs, gathered a few relics, and, after resting our horses and partaking of a cold lunch, returned to Fairfax. Next morning all except myself returned to Alexandria. Never shall we forget our visit to the First Michigan Cavalry. The friendly cordiality that was manifest; the camp so neat and clean; the dress parade and cavalry drill, such novelties; the presence of ladies spending a little time with their husbands in camp, the hearty greetings of former friends, all combined to make our stay pleasant. Alas! how many of those brave boys, with their noble, kind-hearted colonel, subsequently fell in their country’s service! They sleep the sleep that knows no waking.