CHAPTER VIII.

CHAPTER VIII.BATTLES OF CHANCELLORSVILLE, THOROUGHFARE GAP AND GETTYSBURG.—WOUNDED AT GETTYSBURG AND ORDERED HOME.At midnight, May 2, we were ordered to fall in, and marched to the banks of the Rappahannock, where a pontoon was again being thrown across. It looked like the 11th of December over again. The officers were called together and ordered to select twenty-five men from the regiment, who would volunteer for whatever duty they might be called upon to perform. One officer was to go with them, and before the words had fully dropped from the lips of Colonel Devereaux Lieut. Johnnie Ferris said, “Please let me be that officer, colonel,” and he was accepted. We found it hard to get twenty-five men becauseallwanted to go, and while the call was for volunteers we had to select them.At daylight it was found that the enemy had left the city. Our volunteers crossed, and were on the other side to welcome us when we came over. We were the first in the city, but soon met General Sedgwick’s division marching in from the left, having crossed below us. We found that Sedgwick was to storm the heights and we were to support him. General Hooker, with the rest of the Army of the Potomac, had marched up the river and engaged the enemy at Chancellorsville, and we were to hold this city. In column by regiments General Sedgwick advanced up the hill. We saw the whiteflag of Massachusetts as the 7th, 10th, and, I think, the 37th advanced. A rebel battery opened upon them but the line did not waver, and on, on, even to the cannon’s mouth they went.The battery was silenced, captured, and its support fled. We followed close in the rear, and when some two miles from the city were ordered back for provost duty. We expected a “soft snap.” Coats were brushed, brasses brightened, and in every respect we “braced up.” We turned in early for a good night’s rest, but at ninep.m.were turned out and double-quicked to the left of the city, as our pickets at that point had been fired upon. At daylight “Johnnie [reb] came marching home again,” and filled the earthworks on the left and front of the city. Where they came from we could not tell, but they were there, and had a battery which was used to stir us up with good results.From provost soldiers we changed to sappers and miners. Dirt flew fast as we dug trenches for our own protection, and to obstruct the passage of artillery. We had several men slightly wounded but none killed.On the morning of the 5th we fell back to our rifle pits in the city, recrossed the river, remaining on duty until the pontoons were taken up, and then marched back to our old camp. We had not slept an hour since May 2, and were completely tired out. I slept all night and awoke thinking it was time for breakfast and found it was threep.m.We moved our camp to a delightful spot on the top of the hill, resumed our daily drills, and were once more under strict discipline. It was very hard to get leave of absence, but Lieutenant Shackley made application, giving as a reason that he required an officer’s uniform, having just been promoted,and it was granted. Mose was absent ten days, and then returned, having purchased two pairs of stockings, a linen duster and a brush broom, but he had enjoyed his vacation, and had two cents left of his two months’ pay.June 16, marching orders came; we waited until all had moved, then with two pieces of the 1st Rhode Island artillery took our place in the rear. Two companies were ordered to march half a mile in the rear of the column, and Major Rice was placed in command of this detachment. We marched over ground which we had travelled before. The roads were very dusty and the sun scorching. At times the woods on each side were on fire, and our men suffered badly. June 20 we arrived at Thoroughfare Gap, where we remained three days, to repel an advance through the gap. On the 26th we reached Edward’s Ferry, crossed the Potomac, and at noon halted at old Camp Benton, where we had camped in 1861. What changes had taken place since we were there before! Then we were light-hearted, happy boys, expecting to be at home in a year at least. Now those who remained were bronzed and war-worn veteran marching back to meet the enemy on northern soil.Our old camp was a fine wheat field and nearly all traces of our former occupancy were removed. We passed through Frederick City to Uniontown, Md., where we arrived the 30th, and were ordered on provost duty. We expected to remain here for some time, and on the morning of July 1 Captain Palmer and myself were ordered to dress in our best and make the acquaintance of the families in town, so we could understand where the officers would be the most welcome. We had just started on this pleasant duty when the assembly sounded. We returned and found we must marchat once,and we did marchthirty-five miles, not halting until nine o’clock at night, when we bivouacked on the field of Gettysburg, two miles from the battle-ground. All day we had heard heavy firing and knew that a battle was being fought. At daylight on the 2d we were ordered into line of battle on the left of Cemetery Hill, where we remained under a severe artillery fire until about fivep.m.We had seen the advance of the 3d corps and the warm reception they met; we saw them falling back and the enemy advancing. Lieut. Sherman Robinson and I were lying side by side watching the battle. “Some one must go and help them, Jack,” said Robinson. At that moment a staff officer rode up to Colonel Devereaux, and then we heard the familiar command, “Attention, 19th!” “We are in for it,” said Robinson, and with the 42d New York, we double-quicked to a point where the line had broken and the rebels were advancing on our flank. I was in command of the color company, had just removed the covering from the colors when a regiment on our left broke; with other officers I rushed to rally them, and was returning to my place in line when I went down. I heard an officer say, “Jack is down,” before I really knew that I was shot. I could not rise, and Sergeant Smith and Private Collopee came to me. “Put him on my back, Smith,” said the latter, and under a terrible fire he carried me from the field. Our lines fell back as fast as we could go, and I expected that Collopee would be obliged to drop me, and I should fall into the hands of the rebels, but he kept on and landed me in the field hospital of the 3d corps. Everything indicated that we were again defeated, but when our men arrived at the stone wall, by unanimous consent they turned about, and with that wild hurrah that only Yankeesoldiers can give, drove the rebels beyond our former lines.I found myself surrounded by men wounded and dying. An assistant surgeon was in charge and I asked him to look at my wound. He did, and said that I could not live twenty-four hours. I suggested that he stop the blood, as he might be mistaken, but he had no time to waste on me and went along. Upon examination I found that I was wounded in three places, and all were bleeding badly, but I could not tell where the bullets had entered or come out.The battle was yet raging; men were coming in thick and fast, the last arrivals being mostly rebels. Collopee had waited until the surgeon said that I should die, when he rushed back to the regiment with the information. In a short time Lieut. Mose Shackley appeared before me with one of his company named Younger. “Jack, old boy, they say you are going to die, and I thought you would like a canteen of coffee before you passed up your check,” said Mose. “What are you lying on?” he asked, as it was quite dark. I replied, “Only the ground;” and going to a rebel who was slightly wounded but was comfortable, having a rubber blanket under and a woollen blanket over him, he said, “There is a darned sight better man than you are, with no blanket under or over him,” and captured one for me. Making me as comfortable as possible, urging me to keep a stiff upper lip, he said he would like to remain with me, but there was lots of fun at the front, and he must return.I remained in this place until late at night, when a surgeon came with an ambulance, and said I must be moved to the 2d corps hospital, as this was too near the line of battle.Having no stretchers they placed me on a board, and loaded me in. This movement started my wounds bleeding again, and I thought that the words of the assistant surgeon would prove true, but they drove me a mile I should judge, and dumped me by the road side with other wounded. I remained here until the next noon. The day was fine, only very warm. All was still except an occasional picket shot. The silence was broken by one heavy gun, and the shell went whistling over us, followed by another. Then opened the heaviest cannonading ever heard on earth. Shells burst over me, and on all sides. Solid shot ploughed up the ground and I expected my time had come. Many of the wounded could crawl away, but I could not, and must stand it.When the shelling opened nearly all of the non-combatants were at the front, and they now made the best time possible to get out of danger. I lay near a gate way, where they passed. Down would come a pack mule loaded with cooking utensils sufficient to start a stove and tin-ware store; then a lot of colored servants, or a runaway horse. I would shout and kick; was sure that I should be either killed by shell or trampled to death. Would beg some skedaddler to get another, and take me away. He would stop, look on me with pity and say he would, but before he could capture another, a shell would come along, and his place be vacant. At last I saw a staff officer whom I knew riding to the front, and called to him. He heard me, drew his sword, and drove a couple of men to me, who, finding a stretcher, had me carried to the rear of the barn, where an ambulance was found and I was placed in it. My first sergeant, Damon, had been lying near, and I urged that he be taken with me,and my request was granted. Damon was wounded in the leg, the bone was shattered, and it was necessary that the leg should be amputated as soon as possible.We started for the rear. The driver was anxious for our safety, and it is possible he might have thought of himself; at any rate he drove over a corn-field on the jump. Part of the time I was in the top of the ambulance, part on the floor. Damon and I would come together hard enough to drive the breath out of each other; but we were only passengers having a free ride, so we could not complain. When at last we reached our destination I expected we were both jelly, and would have to be taken out in a spoon, but we had held together, that is, I had, but Damon’s leg was all broken up, and was soon amputated.They laid us on the ground on the side of the hill, near a stream called Cub Run. This was the field hospital of the 2d corps, Dr. Dyer, my regimental surgeon, in charge. He soon visited me, and found that one bullet had entered my groin and had not come out, the other had passed through my right hip. I asked him what he thought of it and he said, “It is a bad wound, John, a very bad wound.” Officers of the regiment began to come in, and soon there were seven of us lying side by side. They told the story of the battle. Lieutenants Robinson and Donath had been killed, also many of our bravest and best men. My company the day before had numbered fifteen, officers and men. Only Lieutenant Rice and five men remained. They also told me how well our boys had fought; that at last we had met the rebels in an open field and had won a substantial victory. They described to me Pickett’s charge. How they had come across the field in three lines of battle, expecting to sweep everythingbefore them, but when they arrived at our lines they found our boys ready and waiting; that the result was more prisoners than we had men in our line, and our boys had captured four rebel flags besides. It was glorious news; it revived me, and my wounds pained me less than before.No matter how serious the battle, there is always a humorous side to it which an old soldier never loses. So it was at Gettysburg. When the fire was the hottest on the centre the battery that the 19th was supporting lost nearly all its men. The captain came to our regiment for volunteers to man the guns. Captain Mahoney was the first to hear the call. Going to Company E, he said, “Volunteers are wanted to man the battery. Every man is to go of his own free will and accord. Come out here, John Dougherty, McGiveran and you Corrigan, and work those guns.” Lieutenant Shackley jumped to his feet and said, “Come on, boys, we must keep her a-humming,” and they stood by the guns until the fight was over.Ben Falls, who was now a sergeant, had captured a rebel color. Coming in with it over his shoulder an officer said, “You will have to turn that flag in, sergeant. We must send it to the war department at Washington.” “Well,” said Ben, “there are lots of them over behind the wall. Go and get one; I did.” (I told this story several years ago at a camp-fire. Since then I have heard it told by others, and it is located and dressed up in other ways, but it is my story, and true, at that.)We lay side by side until the morning of July 4, when the ambulance came to take us to the station. One after another was loaded in. I said, “Save a good place for me,” but was informed that the orders of the surgeon were not to take me. I sent for the surgeon, who came and said that I must not be moved for two weeks. I saw the ambulance drive away, then buried my face in the ground and cried like a baby.COLOR-SERGEANT BENJ. F. FALLS,With flags of 19th Massachusetts carried at battle of Gettysburg.Other wounded were brought to fill the vacant places. Duncan Sherwood of Company A was one, so I had company. Mike Scannell had also remained, being wounded in the arm, and rendered valuable service to Sherwood and myself. Directly in front of us were two amputating tables which were always busy. We saw several men whom we knew placed on them and removed, minus a leg or an arm. The groans of the wounded were constant, and the dead were being carried past us nearly all the time. On my left lay a young boy. He suffered much, but did not complain. One night, when it was time to go to sleep, he whispered, “Good night, lieutenant, I think that I shall go up before morning.” I urged him to keep up his courage, but he said it was no use, he should die. In the morning I looked and saw that the poor boy had answered the last roll-call. He lay by my side until afternoon, before they could find time to take him away. I had forgotten to ask his name, and no one knew him. His grave no doubt bears the mark “unknown,” and the records of his regiment say, “missing in action.”I remained here six days, and my wounds received no attention only such as my comrades gave. They kept my canteen filled with water, which I used freely, to prevent inflammation. Do not think that I blame the surgeons. No nobler men ever lived than composed the medical staff of the Army of the Potomac; but there were twenty thousand wounded men, Union and rebel, on the field of Gettysburg, and the cases requiring amputation must receive attention first.One day I was made happy. Lieutenant Shackley and Adjutant Hill came to see me. They had ridden back fifteen miles. Some of the boys had found a chicken, and they had made a broth and brought it to me in an old coffee pot. It was the first thing that had tasted good, and I shared it with Sherwood. Some think soldiers are hard-hearted. No hearts more tender can be found than in the breasts of brave men. When those officers parted from me that day not one of us could speak, and tears ran down our cheeks as we pressed each other’s hands.My mind had been quite active, and I had come to the conclusion that I would move my lodging as soon as possible. One surgeon had said that I would not live twenty-four hours, another that I must remain where I was two weeks. It struck me that to die in twenty-four hours or stay where I was two weeks would neither be pleasant for myself nor those near me.I talked the matter over with Sherwood. We counted our cash and found we had five dollars each, and we formed a syndicate. We made Mike Scannell our agent, with instructions to bring some kind of conveyance to take us off the field. The next morning he reported with a citizen, a horse and side-spring wagon. The whole lot was not worth ten dollars, but we paid our money and were loaded and on our way to Littletown, where we arrived in due time, and were driven to a church which had been converted into a temporary hospital. We found it nearly full, but they made room for us. I had a nice place on top of the pews in the broad aisle.There was no organization of the hospital. Two of the town doctors were doing all they could, being assisted bythe women. No doubt our Massachusetts women would do the same kind of work should the emergency arise, but I cannot speak in too high praise of the women of Littletown. They would dress the shattered arm of some poor boy, wash the blood from the wounds of another, thinking only of what they could do to relieve suffering. It was like getting home. My wounds were in a frightful condition. They had not been dressed, and the maggots were crawling into them. As soon as we were settled the ladies came to see what they could do. They were anxious to dress our wounds, but it required more hospital accommodations than the church afforded, so they washed our hands and faces, and made us as comfortable as possible. A real motherly woman asked what I wanted to eat. I had eaten little except the chicken Billy and Mose brought me, and when she said she had chicken broth, I said, “Bring me two or three.” As soon as possible she came with a large pan full of broth, but the trouble was I could not sit up to eat it. At my suggestion she brought the prettiest girl in the room, who put her left arm around me and let me lean my head on her shoulder, while she fed me with the broth. Oh, it was nice! Either the broth or the young lady’s presence revived me. My new friend’s name was Lucy. She said, “Don’t take breakfast until I come, because I will bring yours from home.” Bright and early Lucy was on hand with a pan of milk toast. She had seen me eat the night before and had brought enough for six. As she was called away for a few moments, I spoke to the boys who were near, and they soon reduced the surplus.We remained here two days. While I had the best care they could give I was growing worse. I had a high fever, and my wounds were getting inflamed. At times I would liein a stupor for hours. One day I rallied and found the church deserted except Lucy and myself. Soon two men came in. “Are you going?” they asked. Lucy said, “No. Mother told me if any were not able to be moved to bring them home, and we would care for them; he is not able, and must not go.” The temptation was strong to stay, but a moment’s reflection told me that I required hospital treatment, and I explained the danger to her. The men then carried me to the train and placed me on the floor of a baggage car. Lucy came with us, fixed my head all right, and, as a good sister should, kissed me good-by, and we were off for Baltimore. I was so weak that therealname of Lucy passed out of my mind, and I have never seen her since, but have ever prayed that the blessings of Heaven be showered upon her, for her constant care the last day in the old church saved me from fever.The ride to Baltimore was terrible. The air was bad. Groans of the wounded were constant, and could be heard above the rattle of the car. I did not believe it was possible for me to live to reach the station, but I survived, although many of our number did not.We arrived in Baltimore about three o’clock in the morning, were placed in ambulances and driven over the rough pavements to the Newton University Hospital. The next day, for the first time, my wounds were dressed; the surgeon placed a large syringe where the ball had entered and forced water through the opening; maggots, pieces of clothing and bone came out; then they probed for the ball which had entered the groin, found it had struck the bone and glanced downward, lodging in the leg, where it yet remains. We received the best possible care from the surgeons andattendants. Ladies visited the hospital every day loaded with delicacies for our comfort.I did a foolish thing while in the hospital which came near ending my earthly experience. One day an officer, slightly wounded, came in and said the paymaster was at the Custom House and if we could get there we would receive two months’ pay. On the bed next mine lay Lieut. “Bob” Stewart of the 72d Pennsylvania, wounded in the leg; neither of us had a dollar, and the thought of two months’ pay in our pockets was pleasant. We talked it over that night; Bob was sure he could stand it, but thought I had better not try; still I was anxious to go, so we bribed the nurse, and the next morning, after the surgeon made his rounds, we took a carriage and with the nurse started for the Custom House. I fainted before we had gone a block, but kept on and was able to sign the roll which a clerk brought to the carriage, and received the money. We returned to the hospital and I suffered from fever all day, and when the surgeon made his rounds the next morning he was alarmed at my condition. I dared not tell him what we had done, for the nurse would be discharged if I did. In front of me was a man who suffered from a shell-wound in the back; he was forced to lie on his face and was very restless. I told the surgeon that this man suffered so much that it made me nervous, and he ordered him changed to another ward. It was several days before I regained what I had lost by my foolishness.I had been here a little more than a week when one day Mr. Robinson, the Massachusetts agent stationed there, came in and asked me if I had a brother named Asa Adams; informing him that I had, he asked if I would like to see him. My answer can be imagined, and in a short time he came in withmy brother, who had left home when the news reached him that I was wounded. He had been to Gettysburg, searched the field hospitals, found where I had been, but no one could inform him where I was, as I did not leave my address; he was returning home and stopped in Baltimore, and calling on the Massachusetts agent, found where I was located. As soon as I saw him my mind was made up to go home; the surgeon said it was impossible, but I begged so hard that he consented, and in due time I was placed on my stretcher and carried to a hospital car. The cars were so arranged that the wounded were hung up by the stretchers, being placed on rubber springs. I was hung up in mine, but the motion of the car was such that I could not bear it so was taken down and placed on the floor. More dead than alive we arrived at Jersey City. We found that the mob had possession of New York and we could not cross the ferry. After being carried from place to place, we were placed on a steamer and taken to Bedloe’s Island, where we remained several days, then to the Fall River boat. We found great excitement at the boat; several negroes were on board who had been driven from the city. Others jumped from the wharf and swam out to us after we were underway. They reported that the mob intended to fire the city that night.I received every attention on the boat, was placed in the ladies’ cabin, and the lady passengers were constant in attendance, anxious to do something to relieve my sufferings. Handkerchiefs were wet with cologne and given me, and when the boat reached Fall River I had a large stock, marked with nearly every letter in the alphabet. Every few moments some good woman would bend over me and say, “Shall I turn your pillow?” and wishing to please them I would say,“If you please,” although it had been turned two minutes before.We arrived at Fall River in the morning. I was placed on my stretcher, carried to the train and taken to Brockton, where I was loaded into an express wagon and driven to the hotel. Here I was placed under the care of Dr. E. E. Dean, and in the afternoon was driven to Sharon, the home of my brother, where I remained three months, attended by Dr. Dean and nursed by my dear mother and sister.From Sharon I was taken home to Groveland, where I remained until December, reporting to the department at Washington and my regiment, by surgeon’s certificate, every twenty days. I enjoyed the convalescent period much. Colonel Devereaux, Captain Boyd and Adjutant Hill, with Mark Kimball and several others, had been ordered to Long Island on recruiting service, and I visited them often. I also sat on the platform, with my crutches, at war meetings and was quite a hero. I found quite a change since 1861; then men were very anxious to get to the front, now they were just as anxious to keep away. We had all learned that war was no picnic.CHAPTER IX.REGIMENT ORDERED HOME.—RECEPTIONS.—MY FIRST CALL UPON GOVERNOR ANDREW.—RETURN TO THE FRONT.In December I resolved to return to the regiment. My wound was not healed and my surgeon protested, but I was anxious to see the boys. Upon my arrival at Washington what was my surprise to find that I had been discharged by order of the War Department November 5, as being unable to perform military duty. With Col. Gardiner Tufts, the Massachusetts State agent, I visited the War Department and was informed that I should receive my discharge through my regimental headquarters. If ever a man had the blues I had. My sickness had cost me several hundred dollars, I was unable to perform any kind of labor, was out of money, and could not settle with the government until my papers were received; but Colonel Tufts could always make the path of a soldier smooth and he was able to secure me two months’ pay. From Washington I went to the regiment, which was camped near Stevensburg, Va. I waited until after January 1 for my discharge, but it did not come, and my wound was so bad that the surgeon ordered me home. Colonel Rice was in command of the regiment, Colonel Devereaux being in command of the Philadelphia brigade. I called on Colonel Devereaux, who was very indignant to learn that I had been discharged; he said he would see about it, and I knew that meant something.One day the colonel sent for me and said, “Jack, I have a letter from Governor Andrew asking that the regiment re-enlist for three years more or until the end of the war; do you think they will do it?” My answer was, “I don’t know; there are not many left to re-enlist.” He said, “I wish you would go to your old company, A, and talk with them,” and I consented. The regiment was encamped on a side hill in shelter tents, and the weather was cold and rainy. I went to Company A; the mud in the company street was ankle deep and everything was as disagreeable as possible. Giles Johnson was first sergeant. I talked with him and asked him to “fall in” the men. Thirteen responded to the call,—all who were on duty of the grand company which had left Massachusetts in 1861. I repeated the story the colonel had told me, then asked for a response from them; for a moment all were silent, then Ben Falls said, “Well, if new men won’t finish this job, old men must, and as long as Uncle Sam wants a man, here is Ben Falls.” Then spoke Mike Scannell: “It is three years, as you know, since I have seen my wife and children. I had expected to go home when my time was out and stay there, but we must never give up this fight until we win, and I am with you to the end.” Others expressed themselves in the same way, and when I said, “All who will re-enlist step one pace to the front,” every man in line advanced.I then saw men of other companies. Ed. Fletcher of Company C said, “They use a man here just the same as they do a turkey at a shooting match, fire at it all day, and if they don’t kill it raffle it off in the evening; so with us, if they can’t kill you in three years they want you for three more, but I will stay.” I next saw Michael O’Leary ofCompany F and asked him if he would re-enlist. Mike threw his cap on the ground, struck an attitude and said, “By the gods above, by the worth of that cap, I never will re-enlist until I can be with Mary Ann without the stars and stripes waving over me.” But I said, “Mike, they are all going to do it.” “They are? Then Michael O’Leary must stay.” A large majority signed the re-enlistment role, and December 20 they were mustered in for three years more, or until the end of the war. In this instance, as in nearly every other where the soldiers and the government were concerned, the government did not do as they agreed. The conditions of the re-enlistment were, that the soldier shouldat oncehave thirty-five days’ furlough and transportation to his home. Our men did not receive theirs until Feb. 8, 1864, nearlyseven weeksafter they had re-enlisted. The weather was very severe, many were sick and all were unhappy.To my mind the re-enlisting of the three years’ men in the field was the most patriotic event of the war. They knew what war was, had seen their regiments and companies swept away until only a little remnant remained. They did not have the excitement of the war meetings to urge them on, but with a full knowledge of the duties required and the probability that many would fall before their term expired, with uncovered heads and uplifted hands they swore to stand by the flag until the last armed foe surrendered.I could not wait until the regiment received orders to come home, so came alone, took off my uniform, put on citizen’s clothes, and began to look for employment. About the 12th of February I saw by the newspapers that the regiment had arrived in Boston. I could not keep away, and went to Beach Street barracks, where they were quartered. Almostthe first man I met was Colonel Devereaux, who said, “What are you here for?” My answer was, “I wanted to see the boys.” Drawing a paper from his pocket he said, “Get a uniform and equipments, and report for duty in half an hour.” “But my uniform and equipments are at home,” I replied. “Can’t help it,” said Colonel Devereaux, “I propose that you command your company in the parade to-day.” So I went out, bought a cheap uniform, hired a set of equipments and reported for duty. I found that the paper read: “So much of General Order No. 492 as discharged First Lieut. John G. B. Adams, 19th Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers, is hereby revoked, and he is restored to duty without loss of pay, provided the vacancy has not been filled, evidence of which he must furnish from the governor of his State.” We were given a reception and dinner in Faneuil Hall; Governor Andrew, not being able to attend, was represented by our old commander, General Hincks.From Boston we went to Salem, where we were royally entertained, and then broke ranks with orders to report at Wenham in thirty-five days. While our receptions were grand, and showed that our hard services were appreciated, our joys were mingled with sadness. Everywhere we met friends of the boys who did not march back with us, and our eyes were often filled with tears as we clasped the hand of father, mother, sister or wife of some brave boy who had marched by our side, but now slept his last sleep in the rude grave where we had tenderly laid him.The next day I went to the State House to see Governor Andrew. I had never met a live governor before, and as my feet reached the executive chamber my heart beat faster than it did when advancing at Gettysburg. Meeting the messengerat the door I was explaining my errand when the door opened, and the governor seeing me said, “Come in.” On entering he said, “Well, my boy, what can I do for you?” I began to tell my story, when he interrupted me with, “I know all about it, and it is all right.” Pointing to a roster of our regiment my name was in the list of first lieutenants, but it was at the bottom. “There, you see that is all right,” said the governor. I replied, “Not quite; I was the third in rank when discharged, now I am the tenth.” “Oh, we will fix that,” said he, and taking my name out moved them down one and put me in my proper place. All the time he was doing this he was talking and laughing, making me feel perfectly at home. I was so pleased with the interview that I would have signed an enlistment roll for thirty years if he would have promised to be governor during the time.The orders to the officers were to do all in our power to obtain recruits while we were at home, but although we worked hard we made little or no progress. Men were enlisting for coast defence regiments quite fast, but the 19th had no attractions, and I only recruited one man while at home. The thirty days were like one long holiday; the towns gave receptions to the men, Company A being received by the town of West Newbury. The time soon came when we must march away, and at the end of thirty days every man reported at Wenham. We mustered five more than we brought home,—three deserters whom we had captured and two recruits. Two boys, Rogers and Fee, who were not old enough, stole away with us and were mustered in the field. I carried a new sword, presented by the citizens of Groveland, and several other officers were remembered in like manner.Great injustice was done to fighting regiments in allowing them to return without being filled to the maximum. While the State was filling its quota it was, as far as active service went, nearly all on paper. Every old regiment had many brave and well-qualified non-commissioned officers who could not be promoted because only two officers were allowed each company, and, besides, we were placed in line to do the duty of a regiment, when we were no larger than a company of heavy artillery. Yet our men did not complain; with brave hearts, but with eyes filled with tears, they again bade good-by to loved ones, and marched away to face dangers that three years’ experience had demonstrated would make vacant places in their thinned ranks.Colonel Devereaux did not return with us, and the regiment was in command of Lieutenant-Colonel Rice. We had a nice passage to New York, spent St. Patrick’s day and Eph. Hall’s birthday in Philadelphia, and in due time arrived in Washington. I was detailed officer of the day, Lieutenant Thompson officer of the guard. A little incident occurred here which I think is not known to the officers, but it shows the honor of the men of the 19th. After I was detailed Colonel Rice sent for me and said, “We leave here at six o’clock to-morrow morning. The officers will stay up in the city. I want you to keep every man here to be ready to move at the time stated.” After the officers had gone I fell in the men and informed them that we were to move at sixa.m.; that as they were tired I should post no guard, and as Lieutenant Thompson and myself had business in the city we should not be able to stay with them, but would see them all at half-past five the next morning. Thompson and I returned about three o’clock, and when the colonel came atsix every man was in line ready to march. The next night we spent at Alexandria. The officer of the day put on a strong guard, and half the men got out in some way and made things lively. Thompson and I were complimented by the colonel for faithful performance of duty when we should have been court-martialed.In a few days we arrived at our old camp and began anew our army life. The first night it snowed quite hard, and we who had been sleeping in nice, warm beds enjoyed the damp, cold ground, with snow for our covering. Active drilling began, reviews were frequent, and it was apparent we were soon to enter on an active campaign. Lieutenant-General Grant took command of the army, and we all felt that at last thebosshad arrived. Unlike most of his predecessors, he came with no flourish of trumpets, but in a quiet, business-like way. After a grand review by him we were ordered to division headquarters with the 20th Massachusetts for an exhibition drill. The 19th drilled in the manual of arms, the 20th in battalion movements. Both regiments were highly complimented for their excellent work.The discipline of the army at this time was very strict. So many substitutes were being received that the death penalty for desertions was often executed. We were called out to witness the first and, so far as I know, the only execution by hanging. Thomas R. Dawson had been a member of Company A, 19th, but was transferred to the 20th Massachusetts when our men re-enlisted. He had been a soldier in the English army, and wore medals for bravery. One night while on picket he left his post, and, being under the influence of liquor, went outside the lines and committed anassault upon an old lady. Dawson protested his innocence of the terrible crime, but acknowledged that he was drunk and had left his post. The woman swore against him, and the sentence of the court-martial was that he be hanged. The officers and men of the 19th did all in their power to save him; we signed a petition to President Lincoln asking for his reprieve, and sent it by a Catholic chaplain, Dawson being a Catholic. The President would have been pleased to grant our prayer, but he said the complaint from army officers was that he was destroying the discipline of the army by so often setting aside the findings and sentences of courts-martial, and he dare not do it.April 14 was the day assigned for the execution. The 2d division of the 2d corps was formed in a hollow square, ranks opened, facing inward. Dawson was placed in an open wagon, seated on his coffin. With him rode the provost marshal and his spiritual advisor. The band was in advance, playing the dead march. Files of soldiers, with arms reversed, marched on each flank, and in front and rear. As they passed our lines Dawson smiled and bowed to those he recognized. When he arrived at the scaffold, which had been erected in the centre of the square, he ran up the steps, and before the black cap was pulled down said, “Good-by, comrades, officers and men of the 19th. I thank you for what you have done for me. May you live long and die a happy death; I die an innocent man.” The cap was then drawn down, the drop cut, and poor Dawson was launched into eternity, but not so soon as was intended; the rope was new and stretched so much that his feet touched the ground, and the provost marshal was obliged to take a turn in the rope. It was a horrible sight, and set me forever againstexecution by hanging. After he was pronounced dead by the surgeon he was taken down, placed in his coffin, and lowered in a grave that had been prepared. The troops marched past and looked into the grave.I presume that the impressions desired were produced upon the minds of the men, but the remarks were that it was too bad to hang men when they were so hard to get, and if they had let him alone a few weeks Johnnie Reb would have saved them the trouble.The monotony of camp life was relieved by details for three days’ picket duty. Our ranks were being increased by the return of detailed men and the arrival of recruits. Many were ordered to the ranks who had not carried a musket since the day they enlisted. The transportation being reduced to one wagon to a brigade, several who were ordered back were drivers of the festive mule. Among this number was Will Curtis of Company A. One day in passing the wagon train a mule set up one of those unearthly snorts. Will looked at him, and said, “You need not laugh at me; you may be in the ranks yourself before Grant gets through with the army.”CHAPTER X.BATTLES OF THE WILDERNESS, TODD’S TAVERN AND LAUREL HILL.—ENGAGEMENT AT THE BLOODY ANGLE.We had now quite a respectable regiment, numbering two field, ten line officers, and about three hundred and fifty men. We broke camp the 2d of May, were ordered to move, and soon found ourselves crossing the river to engage in the Battle of the Wilderness, before we realized it being in line of battle moving forward. Our first order was to deploy as skirmishers and let the line which was being hotly pressed pass in rear to receive a fresh supply of ammunition, while we held the line.I had about twenty men in my command. We advanced as ordered, but soon received a fire from our flank and rear, and found that the rebels had broken our lines. I gave the order “By the right flank, double quick,” and we wentquicker than that. We dodged behind trees as we ran, and the rebels were so near that in looking back I saw them capture Thompson of Company B; with the exception of one other, wounded, all escaped; and the boys thought me a safe man to follow. We rejoined the regiment, and were ordered in again. We fought all day. Sometimes the rebels drove us, sometimes we drove them. The wood were so thick it was hard to tell friend from foe. The dead and wounded of both armies were strewn all through the woods, which caught fire. It was a terrible sight. We knew wherethe poor fellows were, but could not reach them, and the air was suffocating with the smell of burning human flesh.None knew the result of the battle. We changed front the next day, and continued the fight. Night came on; it was so dark you could not see a rod before you, but we were ordered to hold our position in the advanced line until recalled. We remained until midnight, then as it grew a little lighter, the moon having broken through the clouds, Colonel Rice went to the right and found we were not connected with any other regiment. At the left he found the same. The officers held a consultation; all agreed that we should obey orders, but should we allow the regiment to be captured because some one had made a mistake? We concluded to fall back until we connected with something, and after a while struck a German brigade. The Dutch commander undertook to drive us back, but we knew our business, and when Colonel Rice found our brigade commander, he was informed that an aid had been sent to recall us several hours before, and in the darkness must have passed our regiment without seeing us. The conversation was on the result of the battle. Most of us thought it was another Chancellorsville, and that the next day we should recross the river; but when the order came, “By the left flank, march!” we found that Grant was not made that way, and we must continue the fight.Our loss was not very heavy in the Wilderness. We had several wounded and captured, but only three killed. Among the wounded the first day was Color-Sergeant Ben Falls, struck in the leg, and being in command of the color company I sent him to the rear. The following day he reported back, and I asked why he did not stay. “Oh,” he said,“some fool will get hold of the color and lose it. I guess I had better stand by.”We marched to Williams’s Tavern, where we went into line of battle and threw up works. From this time on we were engaged every day. The 8th, we had a lively brush at Todd’s Tavern, and drove the rebels a mile; the 9th, crossed Po River; the 10th, recrossed and engaged the enemy at Laurel Hill. We found them strongly intrenched and a charge was ordered. The opinion of every officer and man was that we could not dislodge them, as we must charge a long distance over an open field. General Barlow was to lead and the 19th was to be the directing battalion. The order to our division was, “Follow the colors of the 19th.” With cheers for General Barlow we advanced over the crest of the hill, the rebels opening on us with a terrible fire. Grape and cannister ploughed through our ranks. Both color-bearers were shot down, and for a moment our line melted away; but other hands grasped the colors, and we renewed the charge, only to be again repulsed. No army on earth could capture the works with such odds against it, but we charged once more, then gave it up.Among the first to go down was Color-Sergeant Ben Falls. He was in advance of me, and as he fell he said, “John, your old uncle has got his quietus this time.” I could not stop to reply then, but in the lull of the battle went to him, and found that he was shot through the body; he was carried to the rear, and died the next day. No man in the ranks of the Union army rendered better service than Benj. F. Falls. Always ready for duty, ever cheerful, his influence for good extended through the regiment. Another to fall that day was Sergt. William H. Ross. Until this campaign he hadbeen detailed at the headquarters of the division quartermaster, and one would think he was making up for lost time. From the day we entered the Wilderness until he gave up his life he was conspicuous for his bravery. Corp. George E. Breed of Company C, a brave little fellow, not much larger than his knapsack, was serving his second enlistment, and was not twenty years old when killed. Several others were killed, besides many wounded.We remained here until the night of the 11th, when men were detailed to keep up the skirmish firing while the brigade was withdrawn. It was a dark, dreary night, and we fell over stumps and fallen trees as we moved to the left. At four o’clock on the morning of the 12th we formed in line. Our orders were to give commands in whispers, have dippers so hung that they would not rattle against bayonets, and move forward. We were soon in front of the rebel works, which were protected by abatis. We tore these aside and passed on. One regiment, forgetting the orders, gave a cheer, and the rebels were aroused, yet over the works we went, and the fiercest hand-to-hand fight of the war ensued. We captured Gen. Bushrod Johnson and his entire division, including twenty-two pieces of artillery and seventeen stands of colors.The woods were so thick that in advancing our lines became broken. When we reached a clearing the only officers in sight were Colonel Rice, Lieutenant Thompson and myself. “Where are the colors?” said Colonel Rice. We could not answer the question. At that moment we saw several hundred rebels running back to their lines. Colonel Rice said, “I see a Massachusetts color and will go after it. You and Lieutenant Thompson try to capture those rebels.” Hastily gathering men from nearly every regiment in the corps we threw forward a skirmish line and captured nearly four hundred prisoners. After turning them over to the provost guard we returned to the line, found the colors, but the colonel was not there, and the rest of the day we fought where we could get a chance. As I was standing behind the works, waiting for something to do, Capt. Harry Hale, who was serving on General Webb’s staff, rode up and said, “We want to get two guns that the rebels have abandoned, which unless we bring them in, will be retaken. Can’t you get them?” Calling to the mob (there was no organization of regiments at that moment), “Come on, boys,” we rushed out and brought them in. Turning them on the rebels, we loaded them with everything we could find,—ammunition that did not fit, old musket barrels, etc.,—but not knowing how to work the guns we were in about as much danger as the rebels.While engaged here the rebels had recaptured a small part of their works on our right, and we were ordered to move to that point. Collecting as many men of the regiment as we could find, we marched by the flank to what has since been known as the “Bloody Angle;” here we found hot work. While we were firing the rebels ran up a white flag, and we advanced to receive their surrender, but as soon as we were over the brow of the little hill that had protected us, they fired a volley, killing several of our men. From that time until dark the cry was “No quarter.” Part of the time we were on one side of the works and they on the other, each trying to fire over. I saw Ed. Fletcher of Company C shoot a man who was trying to get a shot at one of our boys, and was so near that Fletcher’s musket was covered with blood.We continued to fire until our ammunition was exhausted, then were relieved by men of the 6th corps. Just as long as we could see a man the firing continued. We slept on the field, ready to renew the battle in the morning, and at daylight waited for the rebels to open. Not a shot was fired and we advanced. What a sight met our eyes as we went over the works! Rebels lay four and five deep in the trenches. Many were alive but unable to move, as the dead were piled on top of them. Our better natures were aroused. We laid out the dead for burial, cared for the wounded, then withdrew to the rear to reorganize our regiments.While resting in the rear a man from the 6th corps came to me and said, “Is this the 19th Massachusetts?” I answered, “Yes.” “Have you a Lieutenant Adams in your regiment?” I again made the same reply. “Well, he is dead. He lies just over the little hill. Here is his revolver case that I took from him.” I then understood what he meant. A few days before, finding that it was impossible to carry my revolver on account of my wounds, I had given it to Lieut. Johnnie Ferris, and he must have been the one whom the man had found. We had been fighting so hard that we had no time to think of each other, and I then remembered that I had not seen Ferris since we charged on the morning of the previous day. I went with the man and found Johnnie, shot through the head, in front of the rebel works. He had fallen over a tree that the rebels had cut down, and must have been killed as we rushed through the abatis. His death was a severe loss to the regiment. He had been promoted from the ranks for good conduct; was loved by the officers and worshipped by the men. With sad hearts we laid him to rest near where he fell. We could not find Colonel Rice and feared he must bedead on the field, but after searching and not finding his body, concluded he must have been captured with some of our men when the rebels made the dash on our right flank. This was true. Colonel Rice was captured, but escaped, and rejoined the regiment in August.One little incident occurring in the fight at the “Bloody Angle,” although not connected with the regiment, is worthy of mention. When we were relieved by the 6th corps the 6th Wisconsin was in our front. One of their men was an Indian. He would crawl up near the rebel line, wait until they fired, then fire and drag himself back. He could hardly be seen above the ground. I became much interested in his mode of fighting, and his face was impressed upon my mind. One day in 1867, while working in a shoe factory at Lynn, an Indian came into the place selling baskets. The moment I saw him I thought his countenance was familiar and wondered where I had seen him before. It came to me that he was the Spottsylvania Indian. I asked if he was in the army, and he replied, “Yes, 6th Wisconsin.” Then I was sure he was the man. We talked over the battle and became good friends. He was a very bright fellow, a member of the Masonic brotherhood, but he said, “East no place for Indian,” and I assisted him to return west.We were under fire nearly all the time, marching from right to left, and on the 17th occupied the works taken on the 12th. While here we learned that Lieut. Moses Shackley, who was a first sergeant in the 59th Massachusetts, had been killed the day before. The 18th we fought all day, charged twice on the enemies’ works, and lost several men. On the 21st occurred one of the sad events of the year.John D. Starbird of Company K was one of the three deserters who returned with the regiment. The charges against him had been placed on file on condition that he serve faithfully to the end of the war. While he had promised to do this, he did not intend to, and was only kept in battle at the Wilderness by fear of death from the officers. On the 18th he deserted while under fire, was captured the 19th, tried by drum-head court-martial the 20th, and ordered to be shot at 7a.m.on the 21st. Early in the morning of that day Adjutant Curtis came to me and said, “Jack, you are detailed to take charge of the shooting of Starbird.” I was not pleased with the order, and Captain Mumford, who was ever ready to do a kind act for a friend, exchanged duty with me, I going on picket for him. The detail consisted of eight men from our regiment. Their muskets were loaded by Captain Mumford, seven with ball cartridges, one with a blank. Starbird was seated on his coffin, blindfolded. The order was given to fire. Six shots struck him near the heart; the other musket hung fire, and the ball entered his leg. He died at once.Those who read this, and do not understand the situation at the time, may think the killing of Starbird unjust and cruel, but it was not. At that time there were in the ranks of every regiment, men who had no interest in the cause. They had enlisted for the bounty, and did not intend to render any service. They not only shirked duty, but their acts and conversation were demoralizing good men. The shooting of Starbird changed all this. Men who had straggled and kept out of battle now were in the ranks, and the result to our corps alone was as good as if we had been re-enforced by a full regiment.

CHAPTER VIII.BATTLES OF CHANCELLORSVILLE, THOROUGHFARE GAP AND GETTYSBURG.—WOUNDED AT GETTYSBURG AND ORDERED HOME.At midnight, May 2, we were ordered to fall in, and marched to the banks of the Rappahannock, where a pontoon was again being thrown across. It looked like the 11th of December over again. The officers were called together and ordered to select twenty-five men from the regiment, who would volunteer for whatever duty they might be called upon to perform. One officer was to go with them, and before the words had fully dropped from the lips of Colonel Devereaux Lieut. Johnnie Ferris said, “Please let me be that officer, colonel,” and he was accepted. We found it hard to get twenty-five men becauseallwanted to go, and while the call was for volunteers we had to select them.At daylight it was found that the enemy had left the city. Our volunteers crossed, and were on the other side to welcome us when we came over. We were the first in the city, but soon met General Sedgwick’s division marching in from the left, having crossed below us. We found that Sedgwick was to storm the heights and we were to support him. General Hooker, with the rest of the Army of the Potomac, had marched up the river and engaged the enemy at Chancellorsville, and we were to hold this city. In column by regiments General Sedgwick advanced up the hill. We saw the whiteflag of Massachusetts as the 7th, 10th, and, I think, the 37th advanced. A rebel battery opened upon them but the line did not waver, and on, on, even to the cannon’s mouth they went.The battery was silenced, captured, and its support fled. We followed close in the rear, and when some two miles from the city were ordered back for provost duty. We expected a “soft snap.” Coats were brushed, brasses brightened, and in every respect we “braced up.” We turned in early for a good night’s rest, but at ninep.m.were turned out and double-quicked to the left of the city, as our pickets at that point had been fired upon. At daylight “Johnnie [reb] came marching home again,” and filled the earthworks on the left and front of the city. Where they came from we could not tell, but they were there, and had a battery which was used to stir us up with good results.From provost soldiers we changed to sappers and miners. Dirt flew fast as we dug trenches for our own protection, and to obstruct the passage of artillery. We had several men slightly wounded but none killed.On the morning of the 5th we fell back to our rifle pits in the city, recrossed the river, remaining on duty until the pontoons were taken up, and then marched back to our old camp. We had not slept an hour since May 2, and were completely tired out. I slept all night and awoke thinking it was time for breakfast and found it was threep.m.We moved our camp to a delightful spot on the top of the hill, resumed our daily drills, and were once more under strict discipline. It was very hard to get leave of absence, but Lieutenant Shackley made application, giving as a reason that he required an officer’s uniform, having just been promoted,and it was granted. Mose was absent ten days, and then returned, having purchased two pairs of stockings, a linen duster and a brush broom, but he had enjoyed his vacation, and had two cents left of his two months’ pay.June 16, marching orders came; we waited until all had moved, then with two pieces of the 1st Rhode Island artillery took our place in the rear. Two companies were ordered to march half a mile in the rear of the column, and Major Rice was placed in command of this detachment. We marched over ground which we had travelled before. The roads were very dusty and the sun scorching. At times the woods on each side were on fire, and our men suffered badly. June 20 we arrived at Thoroughfare Gap, where we remained three days, to repel an advance through the gap. On the 26th we reached Edward’s Ferry, crossed the Potomac, and at noon halted at old Camp Benton, where we had camped in 1861. What changes had taken place since we were there before! Then we were light-hearted, happy boys, expecting to be at home in a year at least. Now those who remained were bronzed and war-worn veteran marching back to meet the enemy on northern soil.Our old camp was a fine wheat field and nearly all traces of our former occupancy were removed. We passed through Frederick City to Uniontown, Md., where we arrived the 30th, and were ordered on provost duty. We expected to remain here for some time, and on the morning of July 1 Captain Palmer and myself were ordered to dress in our best and make the acquaintance of the families in town, so we could understand where the officers would be the most welcome. We had just started on this pleasant duty when the assembly sounded. We returned and found we must marchat once,and we did marchthirty-five miles, not halting until nine o’clock at night, when we bivouacked on the field of Gettysburg, two miles from the battle-ground. All day we had heard heavy firing and knew that a battle was being fought. At daylight on the 2d we were ordered into line of battle on the left of Cemetery Hill, where we remained under a severe artillery fire until about fivep.m.We had seen the advance of the 3d corps and the warm reception they met; we saw them falling back and the enemy advancing. Lieut. Sherman Robinson and I were lying side by side watching the battle. “Some one must go and help them, Jack,” said Robinson. At that moment a staff officer rode up to Colonel Devereaux, and then we heard the familiar command, “Attention, 19th!” “We are in for it,” said Robinson, and with the 42d New York, we double-quicked to a point where the line had broken and the rebels were advancing on our flank. I was in command of the color company, had just removed the covering from the colors when a regiment on our left broke; with other officers I rushed to rally them, and was returning to my place in line when I went down. I heard an officer say, “Jack is down,” before I really knew that I was shot. I could not rise, and Sergeant Smith and Private Collopee came to me. “Put him on my back, Smith,” said the latter, and under a terrible fire he carried me from the field. Our lines fell back as fast as we could go, and I expected that Collopee would be obliged to drop me, and I should fall into the hands of the rebels, but he kept on and landed me in the field hospital of the 3d corps. Everything indicated that we were again defeated, but when our men arrived at the stone wall, by unanimous consent they turned about, and with that wild hurrah that only Yankeesoldiers can give, drove the rebels beyond our former lines.I found myself surrounded by men wounded and dying. An assistant surgeon was in charge and I asked him to look at my wound. He did, and said that I could not live twenty-four hours. I suggested that he stop the blood, as he might be mistaken, but he had no time to waste on me and went along. Upon examination I found that I was wounded in three places, and all were bleeding badly, but I could not tell where the bullets had entered or come out.The battle was yet raging; men were coming in thick and fast, the last arrivals being mostly rebels. Collopee had waited until the surgeon said that I should die, when he rushed back to the regiment with the information. In a short time Lieut. Mose Shackley appeared before me with one of his company named Younger. “Jack, old boy, they say you are going to die, and I thought you would like a canteen of coffee before you passed up your check,” said Mose. “What are you lying on?” he asked, as it was quite dark. I replied, “Only the ground;” and going to a rebel who was slightly wounded but was comfortable, having a rubber blanket under and a woollen blanket over him, he said, “There is a darned sight better man than you are, with no blanket under or over him,” and captured one for me. Making me as comfortable as possible, urging me to keep a stiff upper lip, he said he would like to remain with me, but there was lots of fun at the front, and he must return.I remained in this place until late at night, when a surgeon came with an ambulance, and said I must be moved to the 2d corps hospital, as this was too near the line of battle.Having no stretchers they placed me on a board, and loaded me in. This movement started my wounds bleeding again, and I thought that the words of the assistant surgeon would prove true, but they drove me a mile I should judge, and dumped me by the road side with other wounded. I remained here until the next noon. The day was fine, only very warm. All was still except an occasional picket shot. The silence was broken by one heavy gun, and the shell went whistling over us, followed by another. Then opened the heaviest cannonading ever heard on earth. Shells burst over me, and on all sides. Solid shot ploughed up the ground and I expected my time had come. Many of the wounded could crawl away, but I could not, and must stand it.When the shelling opened nearly all of the non-combatants were at the front, and they now made the best time possible to get out of danger. I lay near a gate way, where they passed. Down would come a pack mule loaded with cooking utensils sufficient to start a stove and tin-ware store; then a lot of colored servants, or a runaway horse. I would shout and kick; was sure that I should be either killed by shell or trampled to death. Would beg some skedaddler to get another, and take me away. He would stop, look on me with pity and say he would, but before he could capture another, a shell would come along, and his place be vacant. At last I saw a staff officer whom I knew riding to the front, and called to him. He heard me, drew his sword, and drove a couple of men to me, who, finding a stretcher, had me carried to the rear of the barn, where an ambulance was found and I was placed in it. My first sergeant, Damon, had been lying near, and I urged that he be taken with me,and my request was granted. Damon was wounded in the leg, the bone was shattered, and it was necessary that the leg should be amputated as soon as possible.We started for the rear. The driver was anxious for our safety, and it is possible he might have thought of himself; at any rate he drove over a corn-field on the jump. Part of the time I was in the top of the ambulance, part on the floor. Damon and I would come together hard enough to drive the breath out of each other; but we were only passengers having a free ride, so we could not complain. When at last we reached our destination I expected we were both jelly, and would have to be taken out in a spoon, but we had held together, that is, I had, but Damon’s leg was all broken up, and was soon amputated.They laid us on the ground on the side of the hill, near a stream called Cub Run. This was the field hospital of the 2d corps, Dr. Dyer, my regimental surgeon, in charge. He soon visited me, and found that one bullet had entered my groin and had not come out, the other had passed through my right hip. I asked him what he thought of it and he said, “It is a bad wound, John, a very bad wound.” Officers of the regiment began to come in, and soon there were seven of us lying side by side. They told the story of the battle. Lieutenants Robinson and Donath had been killed, also many of our bravest and best men. My company the day before had numbered fifteen, officers and men. Only Lieutenant Rice and five men remained. They also told me how well our boys had fought; that at last we had met the rebels in an open field and had won a substantial victory. They described to me Pickett’s charge. How they had come across the field in three lines of battle, expecting to sweep everythingbefore them, but when they arrived at our lines they found our boys ready and waiting; that the result was more prisoners than we had men in our line, and our boys had captured four rebel flags besides. It was glorious news; it revived me, and my wounds pained me less than before.No matter how serious the battle, there is always a humorous side to it which an old soldier never loses. So it was at Gettysburg. When the fire was the hottest on the centre the battery that the 19th was supporting lost nearly all its men. The captain came to our regiment for volunteers to man the guns. Captain Mahoney was the first to hear the call. Going to Company E, he said, “Volunteers are wanted to man the battery. Every man is to go of his own free will and accord. Come out here, John Dougherty, McGiveran and you Corrigan, and work those guns.” Lieutenant Shackley jumped to his feet and said, “Come on, boys, we must keep her a-humming,” and they stood by the guns until the fight was over.Ben Falls, who was now a sergeant, had captured a rebel color. Coming in with it over his shoulder an officer said, “You will have to turn that flag in, sergeant. We must send it to the war department at Washington.” “Well,” said Ben, “there are lots of them over behind the wall. Go and get one; I did.” (I told this story several years ago at a camp-fire. Since then I have heard it told by others, and it is located and dressed up in other ways, but it is my story, and true, at that.)We lay side by side until the morning of July 4, when the ambulance came to take us to the station. One after another was loaded in. I said, “Save a good place for me,” but was informed that the orders of the surgeon were not to take me. I sent for the surgeon, who came and said that I must not be moved for two weeks. I saw the ambulance drive away, then buried my face in the ground and cried like a baby.COLOR-SERGEANT BENJ. F. FALLS,With flags of 19th Massachusetts carried at battle of Gettysburg.Other wounded were brought to fill the vacant places. Duncan Sherwood of Company A was one, so I had company. Mike Scannell had also remained, being wounded in the arm, and rendered valuable service to Sherwood and myself. Directly in front of us were two amputating tables which were always busy. We saw several men whom we knew placed on them and removed, minus a leg or an arm. The groans of the wounded were constant, and the dead were being carried past us nearly all the time. On my left lay a young boy. He suffered much, but did not complain. One night, when it was time to go to sleep, he whispered, “Good night, lieutenant, I think that I shall go up before morning.” I urged him to keep up his courage, but he said it was no use, he should die. In the morning I looked and saw that the poor boy had answered the last roll-call. He lay by my side until afternoon, before they could find time to take him away. I had forgotten to ask his name, and no one knew him. His grave no doubt bears the mark “unknown,” and the records of his regiment say, “missing in action.”I remained here six days, and my wounds received no attention only such as my comrades gave. They kept my canteen filled with water, which I used freely, to prevent inflammation. Do not think that I blame the surgeons. No nobler men ever lived than composed the medical staff of the Army of the Potomac; but there were twenty thousand wounded men, Union and rebel, on the field of Gettysburg, and the cases requiring amputation must receive attention first.One day I was made happy. Lieutenant Shackley and Adjutant Hill came to see me. They had ridden back fifteen miles. Some of the boys had found a chicken, and they had made a broth and brought it to me in an old coffee pot. It was the first thing that had tasted good, and I shared it with Sherwood. Some think soldiers are hard-hearted. No hearts more tender can be found than in the breasts of brave men. When those officers parted from me that day not one of us could speak, and tears ran down our cheeks as we pressed each other’s hands.My mind had been quite active, and I had come to the conclusion that I would move my lodging as soon as possible. One surgeon had said that I would not live twenty-four hours, another that I must remain where I was two weeks. It struck me that to die in twenty-four hours or stay where I was two weeks would neither be pleasant for myself nor those near me.I talked the matter over with Sherwood. We counted our cash and found we had five dollars each, and we formed a syndicate. We made Mike Scannell our agent, with instructions to bring some kind of conveyance to take us off the field. The next morning he reported with a citizen, a horse and side-spring wagon. The whole lot was not worth ten dollars, but we paid our money and were loaded and on our way to Littletown, where we arrived in due time, and were driven to a church which had been converted into a temporary hospital. We found it nearly full, but they made room for us. I had a nice place on top of the pews in the broad aisle.There was no organization of the hospital. Two of the town doctors were doing all they could, being assisted bythe women. No doubt our Massachusetts women would do the same kind of work should the emergency arise, but I cannot speak in too high praise of the women of Littletown. They would dress the shattered arm of some poor boy, wash the blood from the wounds of another, thinking only of what they could do to relieve suffering. It was like getting home. My wounds were in a frightful condition. They had not been dressed, and the maggots were crawling into them. As soon as we were settled the ladies came to see what they could do. They were anxious to dress our wounds, but it required more hospital accommodations than the church afforded, so they washed our hands and faces, and made us as comfortable as possible. A real motherly woman asked what I wanted to eat. I had eaten little except the chicken Billy and Mose brought me, and when she said she had chicken broth, I said, “Bring me two or three.” As soon as possible she came with a large pan full of broth, but the trouble was I could not sit up to eat it. At my suggestion she brought the prettiest girl in the room, who put her left arm around me and let me lean my head on her shoulder, while she fed me with the broth. Oh, it was nice! Either the broth or the young lady’s presence revived me. My new friend’s name was Lucy. She said, “Don’t take breakfast until I come, because I will bring yours from home.” Bright and early Lucy was on hand with a pan of milk toast. She had seen me eat the night before and had brought enough for six. As she was called away for a few moments, I spoke to the boys who were near, and they soon reduced the surplus.We remained here two days. While I had the best care they could give I was growing worse. I had a high fever, and my wounds were getting inflamed. At times I would liein a stupor for hours. One day I rallied and found the church deserted except Lucy and myself. Soon two men came in. “Are you going?” they asked. Lucy said, “No. Mother told me if any were not able to be moved to bring them home, and we would care for them; he is not able, and must not go.” The temptation was strong to stay, but a moment’s reflection told me that I required hospital treatment, and I explained the danger to her. The men then carried me to the train and placed me on the floor of a baggage car. Lucy came with us, fixed my head all right, and, as a good sister should, kissed me good-by, and we were off for Baltimore. I was so weak that therealname of Lucy passed out of my mind, and I have never seen her since, but have ever prayed that the blessings of Heaven be showered upon her, for her constant care the last day in the old church saved me from fever.The ride to Baltimore was terrible. The air was bad. Groans of the wounded were constant, and could be heard above the rattle of the car. I did not believe it was possible for me to live to reach the station, but I survived, although many of our number did not.We arrived in Baltimore about three o’clock in the morning, were placed in ambulances and driven over the rough pavements to the Newton University Hospital. The next day, for the first time, my wounds were dressed; the surgeon placed a large syringe where the ball had entered and forced water through the opening; maggots, pieces of clothing and bone came out; then they probed for the ball which had entered the groin, found it had struck the bone and glanced downward, lodging in the leg, where it yet remains. We received the best possible care from the surgeons andattendants. Ladies visited the hospital every day loaded with delicacies for our comfort.I did a foolish thing while in the hospital which came near ending my earthly experience. One day an officer, slightly wounded, came in and said the paymaster was at the Custom House and if we could get there we would receive two months’ pay. On the bed next mine lay Lieut. “Bob” Stewart of the 72d Pennsylvania, wounded in the leg; neither of us had a dollar, and the thought of two months’ pay in our pockets was pleasant. We talked it over that night; Bob was sure he could stand it, but thought I had better not try; still I was anxious to go, so we bribed the nurse, and the next morning, after the surgeon made his rounds, we took a carriage and with the nurse started for the Custom House. I fainted before we had gone a block, but kept on and was able to sign the roll which a clerk brought to the carriage, and received the money. We returned to the hospital and I suffered from fever all day, and when the surgeon made his rounds the next morning he was alarmed at my condition. I dared not tell him what we had done, for the nurse would be discharged if I did. In front of me was a man who suffered from a shell-wound in the back; he was forced to lie on his face and was very restless. I told the surgeon that this man suffered so much that it made me nervous, and he ordered him changed to another ward. It was several days before I regained what I had lost by my foolishness.I had been here a little more than a week when one day Mr. Robinson, the Massachusetts agent stationed there, came in and asked me if I had a brother named Asa Adams; informing him that I had, he asked if I would like to see him. My answer can be imagined, and in a short time he came in withmy brother, who had left home when the news reached him that I was wounded. He had been to Gettysburg, searched the field hospitals, found where I had been, but no one could inform him where I was, as I did not leave my address; he was returning home and stopped in Baltimore, and calling on the Massachusetts agent, found where I was located. As soon as I saw him my mind was made up to go home; the surgeon said it was impossible, but I begged so hard that he consented, and in due time I was placed on my stretcher and carried to a hospital car. The cars were so arranged that the wounded were hung up by the stretchers, being placed on rubber springs. I was hung up in mine, but the motion of the car was such that I could not bear it so was taken down and placed on the floor. More dead than alive we arrived at Jersey City. We found that the mob had possession of New York and we could not cross the ferry. After being carried from place to place, we were placed on a steamer and taken to Bedloe’s Island, where we remained several days, then to the Fall River boat. We found great excitement at the boat; several negroes were on board who had been driven from the city. Others jumped from the wharf and swam out to us after we were underway. They reported that the mob intended to fire the city that night.I received every attention on the boat, was placed in the ladies’ cabin, and the lady passengers were constant in attendance, anxious to do something to relieve my sufferings. Handkerchiefs were wet with cologne and given me, and when the boat reached Fall River I had a large stock, marked with nearly every letter in the alphabet. Every few moments some good woman would bend over me and say, “Shall I turn your pillow?” and wishing to please them I would say,“If you please,” although it had been turned two minutes before.We arrived at Fall River in the morning. I was placed on my stretcher, carried to the train and taken to Brockton, where I was loaded into an express wagon and driven to the hotel. Here I was placed under the care of Dr. E. E. Dean, and in the afternoon was driven to Sharon, the home of my brother, where I remained three months, attended by Dr. Dean and nursed by my dear mother and sister.From Sharon I was taken home to Groveland, where I remained until December, reporting to the department at Washington and my regiment, by surgeon’s certificate, every twenty days. I enjoyed the convalescent period much. Colonel Devereaux, Captain Boyd and Adjutant Hill, with Mark Kimball and several others, had been ordered to Long Island on recruiting service, and I visited them often. I also sat on the platform, with my crutches, at war meetings and was quite a hero. I found quite a change since 1861; then men were very anxious to get to the front, now they were just as anxious to keep away. We had all learned that war was no picnic.

BATTLES OF CHANCELLORSVILLE, THOROUGHFARE GAP AND GETTYSBURG.—WOUNDED AT GETTYSBURG AND ORDERED HOME.

At midnight, May 2, we were ordered to fall in, and marched to the banks of the Rappahannock, where a pontoon was again being thrown across. It looked like the 11th of December over again. The officers were called together and ordered to select twenty-five men from the regiment, who would volunteer for whatever duty they might be called upon to perform. One officer was to go with them, and before the words had fully dropped from the lips of Colonel Devereaux Lieut. Johnnie Ferris said, “Please let me be that officer, colonel,” and he was accepted. We found it hard to get twenty-five men becauseallwanted to go, and while the call was for volunteers we had to select them.

At daylight it was found that the enemy had left the city. Our volunteers crossed, and were on the other side to welcome us when we came over. We were the first in the city, but soon met General Sedgwick’s division marching in from the left, having crossed below us. We found that Sedgwick was to storm the heights and we were to support him. General Hooker, with the rest of the Army of the Potomac, had marched up the river and engaged the enemy at Chancellorsville, and we were to hold this city. In column by regiments General Sedgwick advanced up the hill. We saw the whiteflag of Massachusetts as the 7th, 10th, and, I think, the 37th advanced. A rebel battery opened upon them but the line did not waver, and on, on, even to the cannon’s mouth they went.

The battery was silenced, captured, and its support fled. We followed close in the rear, and when some two miles from the city were ordered back for provost duty. We expected a “soft snap.” Coats were brushed, brasses brightened, and in every respect we “braced up.” We turned in early for a good night’s rest, but at ninep.m.were turned out and double-quicked to the left of the city, as our pickets at that point had been fired upon. At daylight “Johnnie [reb] came marching home again,” and filled the earthworks on the left and front of the city. Where they came from we could not tell, but they were there, and had a battery which was used to stir us up with good results.

From provost soldiers we changed to sappers and miners. Dirt flew fast as we dug trenches for our own protection, and to obstruct the passage of artillery. We had several men slightly wounded but none killed.

On the morning of the 5th we fell back to our rifle pits in the city, recrossed the river, remaining on duty until the pontoons were taken up, and then marched back to our old camp. We had not slept an hour since May 2, and were completely tired out. I slept all night and awoke thinking it was time for breakfast and found it was threep.m.

We moved our camp to a delightful spot on the top of the hill, resumed our daily drills, and were once more under strict discipline. It was very hard to get leave of absence, but Lieutenant Shackley made application, giving as a reason that he required an officer’s uniform, having just been promoted,and it was granted. Mose was absent ten days, and then returned, having purchased two pairs of stockings, a linen duster and a brush broom, but he had enjoyed his vacation, and had two cents left of his two months’ pay.

June 16, marching orders came; we waited until all had moved, then with two pieces of the 1st Rhode Island artillery took our place in the rear. Two companies were ordered to march half a mile in the rear of the column, and Major Rice was placed in command of this detachment. We marched over ground which we had travelled before. The roads were very dusty and the sun scorching. At times the woods on each side were on fire, and our men suffered badly. June 20 we arrived at Thoroughfare Gap, where we remained three days, to repel an advance through the gap. On the 26th we reached Edward’s Ferry, crossed the Potomac, and at noon halted at old Camp Benton, where we had camped in 1861. What changes had taken place since we were there before! Then we were light-hearted, happy boys, expecting to be at home in a year at least. Now those who remained were bronzed and war-worn veteran marching back to meet the enemy on northern soil.

Our old camp was a fine wheat field and nearly all traces of our former occupancy were removed. We passed through Frederick City to Uniontown, Md., where we arrived the 30th, and were ordered on provost duty. We expected to remain here for some time, and on the morning of July 1 Captain Palmer and myself were ordered to dress in our best and make the acquaintance of the families in town, so we could understand where the officers would be the most welcome. We had just started on this pleasant duty when the assembly sounded. We returned and found we must marchat once,and we did marchthirty-five miles, not halting until nine o’clock at night, when we bivouacked on the field of Gettysburg, two miles from the battle-ground. All day we had heard heavy firing and knew that a battle was being fought. At daylight on the 2d we were ordered into line of battle on the left of Cemetery Hill, where we remained under a severe artillery fire until about fivep.m.

We had seen the advance of the 3d corps and the warm reception they met; we saw them falling back and the enemy advancing. Lieut. Sherman Robinson and I were lying side by side watching the battle. “Some one must go and help them, Jack,” said Robinson. At that moment a staff officer rode up to Colonel Devereaux, and then we heard the familiar command, “Attention, 19th!” “We are in for it,” said Robinson, and with the 42d New York, we double-quicked to a point where the line had broken and the rebels were advancing on our flank. I was in command of the color company, had just removed the covering from the colors when a regiment on our left broke; with other officers I rushed to rally them, and was returning to my place in line when I went down. I heard an officer say, “Jack is down,” before I really knew that I was shot. I could not rise, and Sergeant Smith and Private Collopee came to me. “Put him on my back, Smith,” said the latter, and under a terrible fire he carried me from the field. Our lines fell back as fast as we could go, and I expected that Collopee would be obliged to drop me, and I should fall into the hands of the rebels, but he kept on and landed me in the field hospital of the 3d corps. Everything indicated that we were again defeated, but when our men arrived at the stone wall, by unanimous consent they turned about, and with that wild hurrah that only Yankeesoldiers can give, drove the rebels beyond our former lines.

I found myself surrounded by men wounded and dying. An assistant surgeon was in charge and I asked him to look at my wound. He did, and said that I could not live twenty-four hours. I suggested that he stop the blood, as he might be mistaken, but he had no time to waste on me and went along. Upon examination I found that I was wounded in three places, and all were bleeding badly, but I could not tell where the bullets had entered or come out.

The battle was yet raging; men were coming in thick and fast, the last arrivals being mostly rebels. Collopee had waited until the surgeon said that I should die, when he rushed back to the regiment with the information. In a short time Lieut. Mose Shackley appeared before me with one of his company named Younger. “Jack, old boy, they say you are going to die, and I thought you would like a canteen of coffee before you passed up your check,” said Mose. “What are you lying on?” he asked, as it was quite dark. I replied, “Only the ground;” and going to a rebel who was slightly wounded but was comfortable, having a rubber blanket under and a woollen blanket over him, he said, “There is a darned sight better man than you are, with no blanket under or over him,” and captured one for me. Making me as comfortable as possible, urging me to keep a stiff upper lip, he said he would like to remain with me, but there was lots of fun at the front, and he must return.

I remained in this place until late at night, when a surgeon came with an ambulance, and said I must be moved to the 2d corps hospital, as this was too near the line of battle.Having no stretchers they placed me on a board, and loaded me in. This movement started my wounds bleeding again, and I thought that the words of the assistant surgeon would prove true, but they drove me a mile I should judge, and dumped me by the road side with other wounded. I remained here until the next noon. The day was fine, only very warm. All was still except an occasional picket shot. The silence was broken by one heavy gun, and the shell went whistling over us, followed by another. Then opened the heaviest cannonading ever heard on earth. Shells burst over me, and on all sides. Solid shot ploughed up the ground and I expected my time had come. Many of the wounded could crawl away, but I could not, and must stand it.

When the shelling opened nearly all of the non-combatants were at the front, and they now made the best time possible to get out of danger. I lay near a gate way, where they passed. Down would come a pack mule loaded with cooking utensils sufficient to start a stove and tin-ware store; then a lot of colored servants, or a runaway horse. I would shout and kick; was sure that I should be either killed by shell or trampled to death. Would beg some skedaddler to get another, and take me away. He would stop, look on me with pity and say he would, but before he could capture another, a shell would come along, and his place be vacant. At last I saw a staff officer whom I knew riding to the front, and called to him. He heard me, drew his sword, and drove a couple of men to me, who, finding a stretcher, had me carried to the rear of the barn, where an ambulance was found and I was placed in it. My first sergeant, Damon, had been lying near, and I urged that he be taken with me,and my request was granted. Damon was wounded in the leg, the bone was shattered, and it was necessary that the leg should be amputated as soon as possible.

We started for the rear. The driver was anxious for our safety, and it is possible he might have thought of himself; at any rate he drove over a corn-field on the jump. Part of the time I was in the top of the ambulance, part on the floor. Damon and I would come together hard enough to drive the breath out of each other; but we were only passengers having a free ride, so we could not complain. When at last we reached our destination I expected we were both jelly, and would have to be taken out in a spoon, but we had held together, that is, I had, but Damon’s leg was all broken up, and was soon amputated.

They laid us on the ground on the side of the hill, near a stream called Cub Run. This was the field hospital of the 2d corps, Dr. Dyer, my regimental surgeon, in charge. He soon visited me, and found that one bullet had entered my groin and had not come out, the other had passed through my right hip. I asked him what he thought of it and he said, “It is a bad wound, John, a very bad wound.” Officers of the regiment began to come in, and soon there were seven of us lying side by side. They told the story of the battle. Lieutenants Robinson and Donath had been killed, also many of our bravest and best men. My company the day before had numbered fifteen, officers and men. Only Lieutenant Rice and five men remained. They also told me how well our boys had fought; that at last we had met the rebels in an open field and had won a substantial victory. They described to me Pickett’s charge. How they had come across the field in three lines of battle, expecting to sweep everythingbefore them, but when they arrived at our lines they found our boys ready and waiting; that the result was more prisoners than we had men in our line, and our boys had captured four rebel flags besides. It was glorious news; it revived me, and my wounds pained me less than before.

No matter how serious the battle, there is always a humorous side to it which an old soldier never loses. So it was at Gettysburg. When the fire was the hottest on the centre the battery that the 19th was supporting lost nearly all its men. The captain came to our regiment for volunteers to man the guns. Captain Mahoney was the first to hear the call. Going to Company E, he said, “Volunteers are wanted to man the battery. Every man is to go of his own free will and accord. Come out here, John Dougherty, McGiveran and you Corrigan, and work those guns.” Lieutenant Shackley jumped to his feet and said, “Come on, boys, we must keep her a-humming,” and they stood by the guns until the fight was over.

Ben Falls, who was now a sergeant, had captured a rebel color. Coming in with it over his shoulder an officer said, “You will have to turn that flag in, sergeant. We must send it to the war department at Washington.” “Well,” said Ben, “there are lots of them over behind the wall. Go and get one; I did.” (I told this story several years ago at a camp-fire. Since then I have heard it told by others, and it is located and dressed up in other ways, but it is my story, and true, at that.)

We lay side by side until the morning of July 4, when the ambulance came to take us to the station. One after another was loaded in. I said, “Save a good place for me,” but was informed that the orders of the surgeon were not to take me. I sent for the surgeon, who came and said that I must not be moved for two weeks. I saw the ambulance drive away, then buried my face in the ground and cried like a baby.

COLOR-SERGEANT BENJ. F. FALLS,With flags of 19th Massachusetts carried at battle of Gettysburg.

COLOR-SERGEANT BENJ. F. FALLS,With flags of 19th Massachusetts carried at battle of Gettysburg.

COLOR-SERGEANT BENJ. F. FALLS,With flags of 19th Massachusetts carried at battle of Gettysburg.

Other wounded were brought to fill the vacant places. Duncan Sherwood of Company A was one, so I had company. Mike Scannell had also remained, being wounded in the arm, and rendered valuable service to Sherwood and myself. Directly in front of us were two amputating tables which were always busy. We saw several men whom we knew placed on them and removed, minus a leg or an arm. The groans of the wounded were constant, and the dead were being carried past us nearly all the time. On my left lay a young boy. He suffered much, but did not complain. One night, when it was time to go to sleep, he whispered, “Good night, lieutenant, I think that I shall go up before morning.” I urged him to keep up his courage, but he said it was no use, he should die. In the morning I looked and saw that the poor boy had answered the last roll-call. He lay by my side until afternoon, before they could find time to take him away. I had forgotten to ask his name, and no one knew him. His grave no doubt bears the mark “unknown,” and the records of his regiment say, “missing in action.”

I remained here six days, and my wounds received no attention only such as my comrades gave. They kept my canteen filled with water, which I used freely, to prevent inflammation. Do not think that I blame the surgeons. No nobler men ever lived than composed the medical staff of the Army of the Potomac; but there were twenty thousand wounded men, Union and rebel, on the field of Gettysburg, and the cases requiring amputation must receive attention first.

One day I was made happy. Lieutenant Shackley and Adjutant Hill came to see me. They had ridden back fifteen miles. Some of the boys had found a chicken, and they had made a broth and brought it to me in an old coffee pot. It was the first thing that had tasted good, and I shared it with Sherwood. Some think soldiers are hard-hearted. No hearts more tender can be found than in the breasts of brave men. When those officers parted from me that day not one of us could speak, and tears ran down our cheeks as we pressed each other’s hands.

My mind had been quite active, and I had come to the conclusion that I would move my lodging as soon as possible. One surgeon had said that I would not live twenty-four hours, another that I must remain where I was two weeks. It struck me that to die in twenty-four hours or stay where I was two weeks would neither be pleasant for myself nor those near me.

I talked the matter over with Sherwood. We counted our cash and found we had five dollars each, and we formed a syndicate. We made Mike Scannell our agent, with instructions to bring some kind of conveyance to take us off the field. The next morning he reported with a citizen, a horse and side-spring wagon. The whole lot was not worth ten dollars, but we paid our money and were loaded and on our way to Littletown, where we arrived in due time, and were driven to a church which had been converted into a temporary hospital. We found it nearly full, but they made room for us. I had a nice place on top of the pews in the broad aisle.

There was no organization of the hospital. Two of the town doctors were doing all they could, being assisted bythe women. No doubt our Massachusetts women would do the same kind of work should the emergency arise, but I cannot speak in too high praise of the women of Littletown. They would dress the shattered arm of some poor boy, wash the blood from the wounds of another, thinking only of what they could do to relieve suffering. It was like getting home. My wounds were in a frightful condition. They had not been dressed, and the maggots were crawling into them. As soon as we were settled the ladies came to see what they could do. They were anxious to dress our wounds, but it required more hospital accommodations than the church afforded, so they washed our hands and faces, and made us as comfortable as possible. A real motherly woman asked what I wanted to eat. I had eaten little except the chicken Billy and Mose brought me, and when she said she had chicken broth, I said, “Bring me two or three.” As soon as possible she came with a large pan full of broth, but the trouble was I could not sit up to eat it. At my suggestion she brought the prettiest girl in the room, who put her left arm around me and let me lean my head on her shoulder, while she fed me with the broth. Oh, it was nice! Either the broth or the young lady’s presence revived me. My new friend’s name was Lucy. She said, “Don’t take breakfast until I come, because I will bring yours from home.” Bright and early Lucy was on hand with a pan of milk toast. She had seen me eat the night before and had brought enough for six. As she was called away for a few moments, I spoke to the boys who were near, and they soon reduced the surplus.

We remained here two days. While I had the best care they could give I was growing worse. I had a high fever, and my wounds were getting inflamed. At times I would liein a stupor for hours. One day I rallied and found the church deserted except Lucy and myself. Soon two men came in. “Are you going?” they asked. Lucy said, “No. Mother told me if any were not able to be moved to bring them home, and we would care for them; he is not able, and must not go.” The temptation was strong to stay, but a moment’s reflection told me that I required hospital treatment, and I explained the danger to her. The men then carried me to the train and placed me on the floor of a baggage car. Lucy came with us, fixed my head all right, and, as a good sister should, kissed me good-by, and we were off for Baltimore. I was so weak that therealname of Lucy passed out of my mind, and I have never seen her since, but have ever prayed that the blessings of Heaven be showered upon her, for her constant care the last day in the old church saved me from fever.

The ride to Baltimore was terrible. The air was bad. Groans of the wounded were constant, and could be heard above the rattle of the car. I did not believe it was possible for me to live to reach the station, but I survived, although many of our number did not.

We arrived in Baltimore about three o’clock in the morning, were placed in ambulances and driven over the rough pavements to the Newton University Hospital. The next day, for the first time, my wounds were dressed; the surgeon placed a large syringe where the ball had entered and forced water through the opening; maggots, pieces of clothing and bone came out; then they probed for the ball which had entered the groin, found it had struck the bone and glanced downward, lodging in the leg, where it yet remains. We received the best possible care from the surgeons andattendants. Ladies visited the hospital every day loaded with delicacies for our comfort.

I did a foolish thing while in the hospital which came near ending my earthly experience. One day an officer, slightly wounded, came in and said the paymaster was at the Custom House and if we could get there we would receive two months’ pay. On the bed next mine lay Lieut. “Bob” Stewart of the 72d Pennsylvania, wounded in the leg; neither of us had a dollar, and the thought of two months’ pay in our pockets was pleasant. We talked it over that night; Bob was sure he could stand it, but thought I had better not try; still I was anxious to go, so we bribed the nurse, and the next morning, after the surgeon made his rounds, we took a carriage and with the nurse started for the Custom House. I fainted before we had gone a block, but kept on and was able to sign the roll which a clerk brought to the carriage, and received the money. We returned to the hospital and I suffered from fever all day, and when the surgeon made his rounds the next morning he was alarmed at my condition. I dared not tell him what we had done, for the nurse would be discharged if I did. In front of me was a man who suffered from a shell-wound in the back; he was forced to lie on his face and was very restless. I told the surgeon that this man suffered so much that it made me nervous, and he ordered him changed to another ward. It was several days before I regained what I had lost by my foolishness.

I had been here a little more than a week when one day Mr. Robinson, the Massachusetts agent stationed there, came in and asked me if I had a brother named Asa Adams; informing him that I had, he asked if I would like to see him. My answer can be imagined, and in a short time he came in withmy brother, who had left home when the news reached him that I was wounded. He had been to Gettysburg, searched the field hospitals, found where I had been, but no one could inform him where I was, as I did not leave my address; he was returning home and stopped in Baltimore, and calling on the Massachusetts agent, found where I was located. As soon as I saw him my mind was made up to go home; the surgeon said it was impossible, but I begged so hard that he consented, and in due time I was placed on my stretcher and carried to a hospital car. The cars were so arranged that the wounded were hung up by the stretchers, being placed on rubber springs. I was hung up in mine, but the motion of the car was such that I could not bear it so was taken down and placed on the floor. More dead than alive we arrived at Jersey City. We found that the mob had possession of New York and we could not cross the ferry. After being carried from place to place, we were placed on a steamer and taken to Bedloe’s Island, where we remained several days, then to the Fall River boat. We found great excitement at the boat; several negroes were on board who had been driven from the city. Others jumped from the wharf and swam out to us after we were underway. They reported that the mob intended to fire the city that night.

I received every attention on the boat, was placed in the ladies’ cabin, and the lady passengers were constant in attendance, anxious to do something to relieve my sufferings. Handkerchiefs were wet with cologne and given me, and when the boat reached Fall River I had a large stock, marked with nearly every letter in the alphabet. Every few moments some good woman would bend over me and say, “Shall I turn your pillow?” and wishing to please them I would say,“If you please,” although it had been turned two minutes before.

We arrived at Fall River in the morning. I was placed on my stretcher, carried to the train and taken to Brockton, where I was loaded into an express wagon and driven to the hotel. Here I was placed under the care of Dr. E. E. Dean, and in the afternoon was driven to Sharon, the home of my brother, where I remained three months, attended by Dr. Dean and nursed by my dear mother and sister.

From Sharon I was taken home to Groveland, where I remained until December, reporting to the department at Washington and my regiment, by surgeon’s certificate, every twenty days. I enjoyed the convalescent period much. Colonel Devereaux, Captain Boyd and Adjutant Hill, with Mark Kimball and several others, had been ordered to Long Island on recruiting service, and I visited them often. I also sat on the platform, with my crutches, at war meetings and was quite a hero. I found quite a change since 1861; then men were very anxious to get to the front, now they were just as anxious to keep away. We had all learned that war was no picnic.

CHAPTER IX.REGIMENT ORDERED HOME.—RECEPTIONS.—MY FIRST CALL UPON GOVERNOR ANDREW.—RETURN TO THE FRONT.In December I resolved to return to the regiment. My wound was not healed and my surgeon protested, but I was anxious to see the boys. Upon my arrival at Washington what was my surprise to find that I had been discharged by order of the War Department November 5, as being unable to perform military duty. With Col. Gardiner Tufts, the Massachusetts State agent, I visited the War Department and was informed that I should receive my discharge through my regimental headquarters. If ever a man had the blues I had. My sickness had cost me several hundred dollars, I was unable to perform any kind of labor, was out of money, and could not settle with the government until my papers were received; but Colonel Tufts could always make the path of a soldier smooth and he was able to secure me two months’ pay. From Washington I went to the regiment, which was camped near Stevensburg, Va. I waited until after January 1 for my discharge, but it did not come, and my wound was so bad that the surgeon ordered me home. Colonel Rice was in command of the regiment, Colonel Devereaux being in command of the Philadelphia brigade. I called on Colonel Devereaux, who was very indignant to learn that I had been discharged; he said he would see about it, and I knew that meant something.One day the colonel sent for me and said, “Jack, I have a letter from Governor Andrew asking that the regiment re-enlist for three years more or until the end of the war; do you think they will do it?” My answer was, “I don’t know; there are not many left to re-enlist.” He said, “I wish you would go to your old company, A, and talk with them,” and I consented. The regiment was encamped on a side hill in shelter tents, and the weather was cold and rainy. I went to Company A; the mud in the company street was ankle deep and everything was as disagreeable as possible. Giles Johnson was first sergeant. I talked with him and asked him to “fall in” the men. Thirteen responded to the call,—all who were on duty of the grand company which had left Massachusetts in 1861. I repeated the story the colonel had told me, then asked for a response from them; for a moment all were silent, then Ben Falls said, “Well, if new men won’t finish this job, old men must, and as long as Uncle Sam wants a man, here is Ben Falls.” Then spoke Mike Scannell: “It is three years, as you know, since I have seen my wife and children. I had expected to go home when my time was out and stay there, but we must never give up this fight until we win, and I am with you to the end.” Others expressed themselves in the same way, and when I said, “All who will re-enlist step one pace to the front,” every man in line advanced.I then saw men of other companies. Ed. Fletcher of Company C said, “They use a man here just the same as they do a turkey at a shooting match, fire at it all day, and if they don’t kill it raffle it off in the evening; so with us, if they can’t kill you in three years they want you for three more, but I will stay.” I next saw Michael O’Leary ofCompany F and asked him if he would re-enlist. Mike threw his cap on the ground, struck an attitude and said, “By the gods above, by the worth of that cap, I never will re-enlist until I can be with Mary Ann without the stars and stripes waving over me.” But I said, “Mike, they are all going to do it.” “They are? Then Michael O’Leary must stay.” A large majority signed the re-enlistment role, and December 20 they were mustered in for three years more, or until the end of the war. In this instance, as in nearly every other where the soldiers and the government were concerned, the government did not do as they agreed. The conditions of the re-enlistment were, that the soldier shouldat oncehave thirty-five days’ furlough and transportation to his home. Our men did not receive theirs until Feb. 8, 1864, nearlyseven weeksafter they had re-enlisted. The weather was very severe, many were sick and all were unhappy.To my mind the re-enlisting of the three years’ men in the field was the most patriotic event of the war. They knew what war was, had seen their regiments and companies swept away until only a little remnant remained. They did not have the excitement of the war meetings to urge them on, but with a full knowledge of the duties required and the probability that many would fall before their term expired, with uncovered heads and uplifted hands they swore to stand by the flag until the last armed foe surrendered.I could not wait until the regiment received orders to come home, so came alone, took off my uniform, put on citizen’s clothes, and began to look for employment. About the 12th of February I saw by the newspapers that the regiment had arrived in Boston. I could not keep away, and went to Beach Street barracks, where they were quartered. Almostthe first man I met was Colonel Devereaux, who said, “What are you here for?” My answer was, “I wanted to see the boys.” Drawing a paper from his pocket he said, “Get a uniform and equipments, and report for duty in half an hour.” “But my uniform and equipments are at home,” I replied. “Can’t help it,” said Colonel Devereaux, “I propose that you command your company in the parade to-day.” So I went out, bought a cheap uniform, hired a set of equipments and reported for duty. I found that the paper read: “So much of General Order No. 492 as discharged First Lieut. John G. B. Adams, 19th Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers, is hereby revoked, and he is restored to duty without loss of pay, provided the vacancy has not been filled, evidence of which he must furnish from the governor of his State.” We were given a reception and dinner in Faneuil Hall; Governor Andrew, not being able to attend, was represented by our old commander, General Hincks.From Boston we went to Salem, where we were royally entertained, and then broke ranks with orders to report at Wenham in thirty-five days. While our receptions were grand, and showed that our hard services were appreciated, our joys were mingled with sadness. Everywhere we met friends of the boys who did not march back with us, and our eyes were often filled with tears as we clasped the hand of father, mother, sister or wife of some brave boy who had marched by our side, but now slept his last sleep in the rude grave where we had tenderly laid him.The next day I went to the State House to see Governor Andrew. I had never met a live governor before, and as my feet reached the executive chamber my heart beat faster than it did when advancing at Gettysburg. Meeting the messengerat the door I was explaining my errand when the door opened, and the governor seeing me said, “Come in.” On entering he said, “Well, my boy, what can I do for you?” I began to tell my story, when he interrupted me with, “I know all about it, and it is all right.” Pointing to a roster of our regiment my name was in the list of first lieutenants, but it was at the bottom. “There, you see that is all right,” said the governor. I replied, “Not quite; I was the third in rank when discharged, now I am the tenth.” “Oh, we will fix that,” said he, and taking my name out moved them down one and put me in my proper place. All the time he was doing this he was talking and laughing, making me feel perfectly at home. I was so pleased with the interview that I would have signed an enlistment roll for thirty years if he would have promised to be governor during the time.The orders to the officers were to do all in our power to obtain recruits while we were at home, but although we worked hard we made little or no progress. Men were enlisting for coast defence regiments quite fast, but the 19th had no attractions, and I only recruited one man while at home. The thirty days were like one long holiday; the towns gave receptions to the men, Company A being received by the town of West Newbury. The time soon came when we must march away, and at the end of thirty days every man reported at Wenham. We mustered five more than we brought home,—three deserters whom we had captured and two recruits. Two boys, Rogers and Fee, who were not old enough, stole away with us and were mustered in the field. I carried a new sword, presented by the citizens of Groveland, and several other officers were remembered in like manner.Great injustice was done to fighting regiments in allowing them to return without being filled to the maximum. While the State was filling its quota it was, as far as active service went, nearly all on paper. Every old regiment had many brave and well-qualified non-commissioned officers who could not be promoted because only two officers were allowed each company, and, besides, we were placed in line to do the duty of a regiment, when we were no larger than a company of heavy artillery. Yet our men did not complain; with brave hearts, but with eyes filled with tears, they again bade good-by to loved ones, and marched away to face dangers that three years’ experience had demonstrated would make vacant places in their thinned ranks.Colonel Devereaux did not return with us, and the regiment was in command of Lieutenant-Colonel Rice. We had a nice passage to New York, spent St. Patrick’s day and Eph. Hall’s birthday in Philadelphia, and in due time arrived in Washington. I was detailed officer of the day, Lieutenant Thompson officer of the guard. A little incident occurred here which I think is not known to the officers, but it shows the honor of the men of the 19th. After I was detailed Colonel Rice sent for me and said, “We leave here at six o’clock to-morrow morning. The officers will stay up in the city. I want you to keep every man here to be ready to move at the time stated.” After the officers had gone I fell in the men and informed them that we were to move at sixa.m.; that as they were tired I should post no guard, and as Lieutenant Thompson and myself had business in the city we should not be able to stay with them, but would see them all at half-past five the next morning. Thompson and I returned about three o’clock, and when the colonel came atsix every man was in line ready to march. The next night we spent at Alexandria. The officer of the day put on a strong guard, and half the men got out in some way and made things lively. Thompson and I were complimented by the colonel for faithful performance of duty when we should have been court-martialed.In a few days we arrived at our old camp and began anew our army life. The first night it snowed quite hard, and we who had been sleeping in nice, warm beds enjoyed the damp, cold ground, with snow for our covering. Active drilling began, reviews were frequent, and it was apparent we were soon to enter on an active campaign. Lieutenant-General Grant took command of the army, and we all felt that at last thebosshad arrived. Unlike most of his predecessors, he came with no flourish of trumpets, but in a quiet, business-like way. After a grand review by him we were ordered to division headquarters with the 20th Massachusetts for an exhibition drill. The 19th drilled in the manual of arms, the 20th in battalion movements. Both regiments were highly complimented for their excellent work.The discipline of the army at this time was very strict. So many substitutes were being received that the death penalty for desertions was often executed. We were called out to witness the first and, so far as I know, the only execution by hanging. Thomas R. Dawson had been a member of Company A, 19th, but was transferred to the 20th Massachusetts when our men re-enlisted. He had been a soldier in the English army, and wore medals for bravery. One night while on picket he left his post, and, being under the influence of liquor, went outside the lines and committed anassault upon an old lady. Dawson protested his innocence of the terrible crime, but acknowledged that he was drunk and had left his post. The woman swore against him, and the sentence of the court-martial was that he be hanged. The officers and men of the 19th did all in their power to save him; we signed a petition to President Lincoln asking for his reprieve, and sent it by a Catholic chaplain, Dawson being a Catholic. The President would have been pleased to grant our prayer, but he said the complaint from army officers was that he was destroying the discipline of the army by so often setting aside the findings and sentences of courts-martial, and he dare not do it.April 14 was the day assigned for the execution. The 2d division of the 2d corps was formed in a hollow square, ranks opened, facing inward. Dawson was placed in an open wagon, seated on his coffin. With him rode the provost marshal and his spiritual advisor. The band was in advance, playing the dead march. Files of soldiers, with arms reversed, marched on each flank, and in front and rear. As they passed our lines Dawson smiled and bowed to those he recognized. When he arrived at the scaffold, which had been erected in the centre of the square, he ran up the steps, and before the black cap was pulled down said, “Good-by, comrades, officers and men of the 19th. I thank you for what you have done for me. May you live long and die a happy death; I die an innocent man.” The cap was then drawn down, the drop cut, and poor Dawson was launched into eternity, but not so soon as was intended; the rope was new and stretched so much that his feet touched the ground, and the provost marshal was obliged to take a turn in the rope. It was a horrible sight, and set me forever againstexecution by hanging. After he was pronounced dead by the surgeon he was taken down, placed in his coffin, and lowered in a grave that had been prepared. The troops marched past and looked into the grave.I presume that the impressions desired were produced upon the minds of the men, but the remarks were that it was too bad to hang men when they were so hard to get, and if they had let him alone a few weeks Johnnie Reb would have saved them the trouble.The monotony of camp life was relieved by details for three days’ picket duty. Our ranks were being increased by the return of detailed men and the arrival of recruits. Many were ordered to the ranks who had not carried a musket since the day they enlisted. The transportation being reduced to one wagon to a brigade, several who were ordered back were drivers of the festive mule. Among this number was Will Curtis of Company A. One day in passing the wagon train a mule set up one of those unearthly snorts. Will looked at him, and said, “You need not laugh at me; you may be in the ranks yourself before Grant gets through with the army.”

REGIMENT ORDERED HOME.—RECEPTIONS.—MY FIRST CALL UPON GOVERNOR ANDREW.—RETURN TO THE FRONT.

In December I resolved to return to the regiment. My wound was not healed and my surgeon protested, but I was anxious to see the boys. Upon my arrival at Washington what was my surprise to find that I had been discharged by order of the War Department November 5, as being unable to perform military duty. With Col. Gardiner Tufts, the Massachusetts State agent, I visited the War Department and was informed that I should receive my discharge through my regimental headquarters. If ever a man had the blues I had. My sickness had cost me several hundred dollars, I was unable to perform any kind of labor, was out of money, and could not settle with the government until my papers were received; but Colonel Tufts could always make the path of a soldier smooth and he was able to secure me two months’ pay. From Washington I went to the regiment, which was camped near Stevensburg, Va. I waited until after January 1 for my discharge, but it did not come, and my wound was so bad that the surgeon ordered me home. Colonel Rice was in command of the regiment, Colonel Devereaux being in command of the Philadelphia brigade. I called on Colonel Devereaux, who was very indignant to learn that I had been discharged; he said he would see about it, and I knew that meant something.

One day the colonel sent for me and said, “Jack, I have a letter from Governor Andrew asking that the regiment re-enlist for three years more or until the end of the war; do you think they will do it?” My answer was, “I don’t know; there are not many left to re-enlist.” He said, “I wish you would go to your old company, A, and talk with them,” and I consented. The regiment was encamped on a side hill in shelter tents, and the weather was cold and rainy. I went to Company A; the mud in the company street was ankle deep and everything was as disagreeable as possible. Giles Johnson was first sergeant. I talked with him and asked him to “fall in” the men. Thirteen responded to the call,—all who were on duty of the grand company which had left Massachusetts in 1861. I repeated the story the colonel had told me, then asked for a response from them; for a moment all were silent, then Ben Falls said, “Well, if new men won’t finish this job, old men must, and as long as Uncle Sam wants a man, here is Ben Falls.” Then spoke Mike Scannell: “It is three years, as you know, since I have seen my wife and children. I had expected to go home when my time was out and stay there, but we must never give up this fight until we win, and I am with you to the end.” Others expressed themselves in the same way, and when I said, “All who will re-enlist step one pace to the front,” every man in line advanced.

I then saw men of other companies. Ed. Fletcher of Company C said, “They use a man here just the same as they do a turkey at a shooting match, fire at it all day, and if they don’t kill it raffle it off in the evening; so with us, if they can’t kill you in three years they want you for three more, but I will stay.” I next saw Michael O’Leary ofCompany F and asked him if he would re-enlist. Mike threw his cap on the ground, struck an attitude and said, “By the gods above, by the worth of that cap, I never will re-enlist until I can be with Mary Ann without the stars and stripes waving over me.” But I said, “Mike, they are all going to do it.” “They are? Then Michael O’Leary must stay.” A large majority signed the re-enlistment role, and December 20 they were mustered in for three years more, or until the end of the war. In this instance, as in nearly every other where the soldiers and the government were concerned, the government did not do as they agreed. The conditions of the re-enlistment were, that the soldier shouldat oncehave thirty-five days’ furlough and transportation to his home. Our men did not receive theirs until Feb. 8, 1864, nearlyseven weeksafter they had re-enlisted. The weather was very severe, many were sick and all were unhappy.

To my mind the re-enlisting of the three years’ men in the field was the most patriotic event of the war. They knew what war was, had seen their regiments and companies swept away until only a little remnant remained. They did not have the excitement of the war meetings to urge them on, but with a full knowledge of the duties required and the probability that many would fall before their term expired, with uncovered heads and uplifted hands they swore to stand by the flag until the last armed foe surrendered.

I could not wait until the regiment received orders to come home, so came alone, took off my uniform, put on citizen’s clothes, and began to look for employment. About the 12th of February I saw by the newspapers that the regiment had arrived in Boston. I could not keep away, and went to Beach Street barracks, where they were quartered. Almostthe first man I met was Colonel Devereaux, who said, “What are you here for?” My answer was, “I wanted to see the boys.” Drawing a paper from his pocket he said, “Get a uniform and equipments, and report for duty in half an hour.” “But my uniform and equipments are at home,” I replied. “Can’t help it,” said Colonel Devereaux, “I propose that you command your company in the parade to-day.” So I went out, bought a cheap uniform, hired a set of equipments and reported for duty. I found that the paper read: “So much of General Order No. 492 as discharged First Lieut. John G. B. Adams, 19th Regiment Massachusetts Volunteers, is hereby revoked, and he is restored to duty without loss of pay, provided the vacancy has not been filled, evidence of which he must furnish from the governor of his State.” We were given a reception and dinner in Faneuil Hall; Governor Andrew, not being able to attend, was represented by our old commander, General Hincks.

From Boston we went to Salem, where we were royally entertained, and then broke ranks with orders to report at Wenham in thirty-five days. While our receptions were grand, and showed that our hard services were appreciated, our joys were mingled with sadness. Everywhere we met friends of the boys who did not march back with us, and our eyes were often filled with tears as we clasped the hand of father, mother, sister or wife of some brave boy who had marched by our side, but now slept his last sleep in the rude grave where we had tenderly laid him.

The next day I went to the State House to see Governor Andrew. I had never met a live governor before, and as my feet reached the executive chamber my heart beat faster than it did when advancing at Gettysburg. Meeting the messengerat the door I was explaining my errand when the door opened, and the governor seeing me said, “Come in.” On entering he said, “Well, my boy, what can I do for you?” I began to tell my story, when he interrupted me with, “I know all about it, and it is all right.” Pointing to a roster of our regiment my name was in the list of first lieutenants, but it was at the bottom. “There, you see that is all right,” said the governor. I replied, “Not quite; I was the third in rank when discharged, now I am the tenth.” “Oh, we will fix that,” said he, and taking my name out moved them down one and put me in my proper place. All the time he was doing this he was talking and laughing, making me feel perfectly at home. I was so pleased with the interview that I would have signed an enlistment roll for thirty years if he would have promised to be governor during the time.

The orders to the officers were to do all in our power to obtain recruits while we were at home, but although we worked hard we made little or no progress. Men were enlisting for coast defence regiments quite fast, but the 19th had no attractions, and I only recruited one man while at home. The thirty days were like one long holiday; the towns gave receptions to the men, Company A being received by the town of West Newbury. The time soon came when we must march away, and at the end of thirty days every man reported at Wenham. We mustered five more than we brought home,—three deserters whom we had captured and two recruits. Two boys, Rogers and Fee, who were not old enough, stole away with us and were mustered in the field. I carried a new sword, presented by the citizens of Groveland, and several other officers were remembered in like manner.

Great injustice was done to fighting regiments in allowing them to return without being filled to the maximum. While the State was filling its quota it was, as far as active service went, nearly all on paper. Every old regiment had many brave and well-qualified non-commissioned officers who could not be promoted because only two officers were allowed each company, and, besides, we were placed in line to do the duty of a regiment, when we were no larger than a company of heavy artillery. Yet our men did not complain; with brave hearts, but with eyes filled with tears, they again bade good-by to loved ones, and marched away to face dangers that three years’ experience had demonstrated would make vacant places in their thinned ranks.

Colonel Devereaux did not return with us, and the regiment was in command of Lieutenant-Colonel Rice. We had a nice passage to New York, spent St. Patrick’s day and Eph. Hall’s birthday in Philadelphia, and in due time arrived in Washington. I was detailed officer of the day, Lieutenant Thompson officer of the guard. A little incident occurred here which I think is not known to the officers, but it shows the honor of the men of the 19th. After I was detailed Colonel Rice sent for me and said, “We leave here at six o’clock to-morrow morning. The officers will stay up in the city. I want you to keep every man here to be ready to move at the time stated.” After the officers had gone I fell in the men and informed them that we were to move at sixa.m.; that as they were tired I should post no guard, and as Lieutenant Thompson and myself had business in the city we should not be able to stay with them, but would see them all at half-past five the next morning. Thompson and I returned about three o’clock, and when the colonel came atsix every man was in line ready to march. The next night we spent at Alexandria. The officer of the day put on a strong guard, and half the men got out in some way and made things lively. Thompson and I were complimented by the colonel for faithful performance of duty when we should have been court-martialed.

In a few days we arrived at our old camp and began anew our army life. The first night it snowed quite hard, and we who had been sleeping in nice, warm beds enjoyed the damp, cold ground, with snow for our covering. Active drilling began, reviews were frequent, and it was apparent we were soon to enter on an active campaign. Lieutenant-General Grant took command of the army, and we all felt that at last thebosshad arrived. Unlike most of his predecessors, he came with no flourish of trumpets, but in a quiet, business-like way. After a grand review by him we were ordered to division headquarters with the 20th Massachusetts for an exhibition drill. The 19th drilled in the manual of arms, the 20th in battalion movements. Both regiments were highly complimented for their excellent work.

The discipline of the army at this time was very strict. So many substitutes were being received that the death penalty for desertions was often executed. We were called out to witness the first and, so far as I know, the only execution by hanging. Thomas R. Dawson had been a member of Company A, 19th, but was transferred to the 20th Massachusetts when our men re-enlisted. He had been a soldier in the English army, and wore medals for bravery. One night while on picket he left his post, and, being under the influence of liquor, went outside the lines and committed anassault upon an old lady. Dawson protested his innocence of the terrible crime, but acknowledged that he was drunk and had left his post. The woman swore against him, and the sentence of the court-martial was that he be hanged. The officers and men of the 19th did all in their power to save him; we signed a petition to President Lincoln asking for his reprieve, and sent it by a Catholic chaplain, Dawson being a Catholic. The President would have been pleased to grant our prayer, but he said the complaint from army officers was that he was destroying the discipline of the army by so often setting aside the findings and sentences of courts-martial, and he dare not do it.

April 14 was the day assigned for the execution. The 2d division of the 2d corps was formed in a hollow square, ranks opened, facing inward. Dawson was placed in an open wagon, seated on his coffin. With him rode the provost marshal and his spiritual advisor. The band was in advance, playing the dead march. Files of soldiers, with arms reversed, marched on each flank, and in front and rear. As they passed our lines Dawson smiled and bowed to those he recognized. When he arrived at the scaffold, which had been erected in the centre of the square, he ran up the steps, and before the black cap was pulled down said, “Good-by, comrades, officers and men of the 19th. I thank you for what you have done for me. May you live long and die a happy death; I die an innocent man.” The cap was then drawn down, the drop cut, and poor Dawson was launched into eternity, but not so soon as was intended; the rope was new and stretched so much that his feet touched the ground, and the provost marshal was obliged to take a turn in the rope. It was a horrible sight, and set me forever againstexecution by hanging. After he was pronounced dead by the surgeon he was taken down, placed in his coffin, and lowered in a grave that had been prepared. The troops marched past and looked into the grave.

I presume that the impressions desired were produced upon the minds of the men, but the remarks were that it was too bad to hang men when they were so hard to get, and if they had let him alone a few weeks Johnnie Reb would have saved them the trouble.

The monotony of camp life was relieved by details for three days’ picket duty. Our ranks were being increased by the return of detailed men and the arrival of recruits. Many were ordered to the ranks who had not carried a musket since the day they enlisted. The transportation being reduced to one wagon to a brigade, several who were ordered back were drivers of the festive mule. Among this number was Will Curtis of Company A. One day in passing the wagon train a mule set up one of those unearthly snorts. Will looked at him, and said, “You need not laugh at me; you may be in the ranks yourself before Grant gets through with the army.”

CHAPTER X.BATTLES OF THE WILDERNESS, TODD’S TAVERN AND LAUREL HILL.—ENGAGEMENT AT THE BLOODY ANGLE.We had now quite a respectable regiment, numbering two field, ten line officers, and about three hundred and fifty men. We broke camp the 2d of May, were ordered to move, and soon found ourselves crossing the river to engage in the Battle of the Wilderness, before we realized it being in line of battle moving forward. Our first order was to deploy as skirmishers and let the line which was being hotly pressed pass in rear to receive a fresh supply of ammunition, while we held the line.I had about twenty men in my command. We advanced as ordered, but soon received a fire from our flank and rear, and found that the rebels had broken our lines. I gave the order “By the right flank, double quick,” and we wentquicker than that. We dodged behind trees as we ran, and the rebels were so near that in looking back I saw them capture Thompson of Company B; with the exception of one other, wounded, all escaped; and the boys thought me a safe man to follow. We rejoined the regiment, and were ordered in again. We fought all day. Sometimes the rebels drove us, sometimes we drove them. The wood were so thick it was hard to tell friend from foe. The dead and wounded of both armies were strewn all through the woods, which caught fire. It was a terrible sight. We knew wherethe poor fellows were, but could not reach them, and the air was suffocating with the smell of burning human flesh.None knew the result of the battle. We changed front the next day, and continued the fight. Night came on; it was so dark you could not see a rod before you, but we were ordered to hold our position in the advanced line until recalled. We remained until midnight, then as it grew a little lighter, the moon having broken through the clouds, Colonel Rice went to the right and found we were not connected with any other regiment. At the left he found the same. The officers held a consultation; all agreed that we should obey orders, but should we allow the regiment to be captured because some one had made a mistake? We concluded to fall back until we connected with something, and after a while struck a German brigade. The Dutch commander undertook to drive us back, but we knew our business, and when Colonel Rice found our brigade commander, he was informed that an aid had been sent to recall us several hours before, and in the darkness must have passed our regiment without seeing us. The conversation was on the result of the battle. Most of us thought it was another Chancellorsville, and that the next day we should recross the river; but when the order came, “By the left flank, march!” we found that Grant was not made that way, and we must continue the fight.Our loss was not very heavy in the Wilderness. We had several wounded and captured, but only three killed. Among the wounded the first day was Color-Sergeant Ben Falls, struck in the leg, and being in command of the color company I sent him to the rear. The following day he reported back, and I asked why he did not stay. “Oh,” he said,“some fool will get hold of the color and lose it. I guess I had better stand by.”We marched to Williams’s Tavern, where we went into line of battle and threw up works. From this time on we were engaged every day. The 8th, we had a lively brush at Todd’s Tavern, and drove the rebels a mile; the 9th, crossed Po River; the 10th, recrossed and engaged the enemy at Laurel Hill. We found them strongly intrenched and a charge was ordered. The opinion of every officer and man was that we could not dislodge them, as we must charge a long distance over an open field. General Barlow was to lead and the 19th was to be the directing battalion. The order to our division was, “Follow the colors of the 19th.” With cheers for General Barlow we advanced over the crest of the hill, the rebels opening on us with a terrible fire. Grape and cannister ploughed through our ranks. Both color-bearers were shot down, and for a moment our line melted away; but other hands grasped the colors, and we renewed the charge, only to be again repulsed. No army on earth could capture the works with such odds against it, but we charged once more, then gave it up.Among the first to go down was Color-Sergeant Ben Falls. He was in advance of me, and as he fell he said, “John, your old uncle has got his quietus this time.” I could not stop to reply then, but in the lull of the battle went to him, and found that he was shot through the body; he was carried to the rear, and died the next day. No man in the ranks of the Union army rendered better service than Benj. F. Falls. Always ready for duty, ever cheerful, his influence for good extended through the regiment. Another to fall that day was Sergt. William H. Ross. Until this campaign he hadbeen detailed at the headquarters of the division quartermaster, and one would think he was making up for lost time. From the day we entered the Wilderness until he gave up his life he was conspicuous for his bravery. Corp. George E. Breed of Company C, a brave little fellow, not much larger than his knapsack, was serving his second enlistment, and was not twenty years old when killed. Several others were killed, besides many wounded.We remained here until the night of the 11th, when men were detailed to keep up the skirmish firing while the brigade was withdrawn. It was a dark, dreary night, and we fell over stumps and fallen trees as we moved to the left. At four o’clock on the morning of the 12th we formed in line. Our orders were to give commands in whispers, have dippers so hung that they would not rattle against bayonets, and move forward. We were soon in front of the rebel works, which were protected by abatis. We tore these aside and passed on. One regiment, forgetting the orders, gave a cheer, and the rebels were aroused, yet over the works we went, and the fiercest hand-to-hand fight of the war ensued. We captured Gen. Bushrod Johnson and his entire division, including twenty-two pieces of artillery and seventeen stands of colors.The woods were so thick that in advancing our lines became broken. When we reached a clearing the only officers in sight were Colonel Rice, Lieutenant Thompson and myself. “Where are the colors?” said Colonel Rice. We could not answer the question. At that moment we saw several hundred rebels running back to their lines. Colonel Rice said, “I see a Massachusetts color and will go after it. You and Lieutenant Thompson try to capture those rebels.” Hastily gathering men from nearly every regiment in the corps we threw forward a skirmish line and captured nearly four hundred prisoners. After turning them over to the provost guard we returned to the line, found the colors, but the colonel was not there, and the rest of the day we fought where we could get a chance. As I was standing behind the works, waiting for something to do, Capt. Harry Hale, who was serving on General Webb’s staff, rode up and said, “We want to get two guns that the rebels have abandoned, which unless we bring them in, will be retaken. Can’t you get them?” Calling to the mob (there was no organization of regiments at that moment), “Come on, boys,” we rushed out and brought them in. Turning them on the rebels, we loaded them with everything we could find,—ammunition that did not fit, old musket barrels, etc.,—but not knowing how to work the guns we were in about as much danger as the rebels.While engaged here the rebels had recaptured a small part of their works on our right, and we were ordered to move to that point. Collecting as many men of the regiment as we could find, we marched by the flank to what has since been known as the “Bloody Angle;” here we found hot work. While we were firing the rebels ran up a white flag, and we advanced to receive their surrender, but as soon as we were over the brow of the little hill that had protected us, they fired a volley, killing several of our men. From that time until dark the cry was “No quarter.” Part of the time we were on one side of the works and they on the other, each trying to fire over. I saw Ed. Fletcher of Company C shoot a man who was trying to get a shot at one of our boys, and was so near that Fletcher’s musket was covered with blood.We continued to fire until our ammunition was exhausted, then were relieved by men of the 6th corps. Just as long as we could see a man the firing continued. We slept on the field, ready to renew the battle in the morning, and at daylight waited for the rebels to open. Not a shot was fired and we advanced. What a sight met our eyes as we went over the works! Rebels lay four and five deep in the trenches. Many were alive but unable to move, as the dead were piled on top of them. Our better natures were aroused. We laid out the dead for burial, cared for the wounded, then withdrew to the rear to reorganize our regiments.While resting in the rear a man from the 6th corps came to me and said, “Is this the 19th Massachusetts?” I answered, “Yes.” “Have you a Lieutenant Adams in your regiment?” I again made the same reply. “Well, he is dead. He lies just over the little hill. Here is his revolver case that I took from him.” I then understood what he meant. A few days before, finding that it was impossible to carry my revolver on account of my wounds, I had given it to Lieut. Johnnie Ferris, and he must have been the one whom the man had found. We had been fighting so hard that we had no time to think of each other, and I then remembered that I had not seen Ferris since we charged on the morning of the previous day. I went with the man and found Johnnie, shot through the head, in front of the rebel works. He had fallen over a tree that the rebels had cut down, and must have been killed as we rushed through the abatis. His death was a severe loss to the regiment. He had been promoted from the ranks for good conduct; was loved by the officers and worshipped by the men. With sad hearts we laid him to rest near where he fell. We could not find Colonel Rice and feared he must bedead on the field, but after searching and not finding his body, concluded he must have been captured with some of our men when the rebels made the dash on our right flank. This was true. Colonel Rice was captured, but escaped, and rejoined the regiment in August.One little incident occurring in the fight at the “Bloody Angle,” although not connected with the regiment, is worthy of mention. When we were relieved by the 6th corps the 6th Wisconsin was in our front. One of their men was an Indian. He would crawl up near the rebel line, wait until they fired, then fire and drag himself back. He could hardly be seen above the ground. I became much interested in his mode of fighting, and his face was impressed upon my mind. One day in 1867, while working in a shoe factory at Lynn, an Indian came into the place selling baskets. The moment I saw him I thought his countenance was familiar and wondered where I had seen him before. It came to me that he was the Spottsylvania Indian. I asked if he was in the army, and he replied, “Yes, 6th Wisconsin.” Then I was sure he was the man. We talked over the battle and became good friends. He was a very bright fellow, a member of the Masonic brotherhood, but he said, “East no place for Indian,” and I assisted him to return west.We were under fire nearly all the time, marching from right to left, and on the 17th occupied the works taken on the 12th. While here we learned that Lieut. Moses Shackley, who was a first sergeant in the 59th Massachusetts, had been killed the day before. The 18th we fought all day, charged twice on the enemies’ works, and lost several men. On the 21st occurred one of the sad events of the year.John D. Starbird of Company K was one of the three deserters who returned with the regiment. The charges against him had been placed on file on condition that he serve faithfully to the end of the war. While he had promised to do this, he did not intend to, and was only kept in battle at the Wilderness by fear of death from the officers. On the 18th he deserted while under fire, was captured the 19th, tried by drum-head court-martial the 20th, and ordered to be shot at 7a.m.on the 21st. Early in the morning of that day Adjutant Curtis came to me and said, “Jack, you are detailed to take charge of the shooting of Starbird.” I was not pleased with the order, and Captain Mumford, who was ever ready to do a kind act for a friend, exchanged duty with me, I going on picket for him. The detail consisted of eight men from our regiment. Their muskets were loaded by Captain Mumford, seven with ball cartridges, one with a blank. Starbird was seated on his coffin, blindfolded. The order was given to fire. Six shots struck him near the heart; the other musket hung fire, and the ball entered his leg. He died at once.Those who read this, and do not understand the situation at the time, may think the killing of Starbird unjust and cruel, but it was not. At that time there were in the ranks of every regiment, men who had no interest in the cause. They had enlisted for the bounty, and did not intend to render any service. They not only shirked duty, but their acts and conversation were demoralizing good men. The shooting of Starbird changed all this. Men who had straggled and kept out of battle now were in the ranks, and the result to our corps alone was as good as if we had been re-enforced by a full regiment.

BATTLES OF THE WILDERNESS, TODD’S TAVERN AND LAUREL HILL.—ENGAGEMENT AT THE BLOODY ANGLE.

We had now quite a respectable regiment, numbering two field, ten line officers, and about three hundred and fifty men. We broke camp the 2d of May, were ordered to move, and soon found ourselves crossing the river to engage in the Battle of the Wilderness, before we realized it being in line of battle moving forward. Our first order was to deploy as skirmishers and let the line which was being hotly pressed pass in rear to receive a fresh supply of ammunition, while we held the line.

I had about twenty men in my command. We advanced as ordered, but soon received a fire from our flank and rear, and found that the rebels had broken our lines. I gave the order “By the right flank, double quick,” and we wentquicker than that. We dodged behind trees as we ran, and the rebels were so near that in looking back I saw them capture Thompson of Company B; with the exception of one other, wounded, all escaped; and the boys thought me a safe man to follow. We rejoined the regiment, and were ordered in again. We fought all day. Sometimes the rebels drove us, sometimes we drove them. The wood were so thick it was hard to tell friend from foe. The dead and wounded of both armies were strewn all through the woods, which caught fire. It was a terrible sight. We knew wherethe poor fellows were, but could not reach them, and the air was suffocating with the smell of burning human flesh.

None knew the result of the battle. We changed front the next day, and continued the fight. Night came on; it was so dark you could not see a rod before you, but we were ordered to hold our position in the advanced line until recalled. We remained until midnight, then as it grew a little lighter, the moon having broken through the clouds, Colonel Rice went to the right and found we were not connected with any other regiment. At the left he found the same. The officers held a consultation; all agreed that we should obey orders, but should we allow the regiment to be captured because some one had made a mistake? We concluded to fall back until we connected with something, and after a while struck a German brigade. The Dutch commander undertook to drive us back, but we knew our business, and when Colonel Rice found our brigade commander, he was informed that an aid had been sent to recall us several hours before, and in the darkness must have passed our regiment without seeing us. The conversation was on the result of the battle. Most of us thought it was another Chancellorsville, and that the next day we should recross the river; but when the order came, “By the left flank, march!” we found that Grant was not made that way, and we must continue the fight.

Our loss was not very heavy in the Wilderness. We had several wounded and captured, but only three killed. Among the wounded the first day was Color-Sergeant Ben Falls, struck in the leg, and being in command of the color company I sent him to the rear. The following day he reported back, and I asked why he did not stay. “Oh,” he said,“some fool will get hold of the color and lose it. I guess I had better stand by.”

We marched to Williams’s Tavern, where we went into line of battle and threw up works. From this time on we were engaged every day. The 8th, we had a lively brush at Todd’s Tavern, and drove the rebels a mile; the 9th, crossed Po River; the 10th, recrossed and engaged the enemy at Laurel Hill. We found them strongly intrenched and a charge was ordered. The opinion of every officer and man was that we could not dislodge them, as we must charge a long distance over an open field. General Barlow was to lead and the 19th was to be the directing battalion. The order to our division was, “Follow the colors of the 19th.” With cheers for General Barlow we advanced over the crest of the hill, the rebels opening on us with a terrible fire. Grape and cannister ploughed through our ranks. Both color-bearers were shot down, and for a moment our line melted away; but other hands grasped the colors, and we renewed the charge, only to be again repulsed. No army on earth could capture the works with such odds against it, but we charged once more, then gave it up.

Among the first to go down was Color-Sergeant Ben Falls. He was in advance of me, and as he fell he said, “John, your old uncle has got his quietus this time.” I could not stop to reply then, but in the lull of the battle went to him, and found that he was shot through the body; he was carried to the rear, and died the next day. No man in the ranks of the Union army rendered better service than Benj. F. Falls. Always ready for duty, ever cheerful, his influence for good extended through the regiment. Another to fall that day was Sergt. William H. Ross. Until this campaign he hadbeen detailed at the headquarters of the division quartermaster, and one would think he was making up for lost time. From the day we entered the Wilderness until he gave up his life he was conspicuous for his bravery. Corp. George E. Breed of Company C, a brave little fellow, not much larger than his knapsack, was serving his second enlistment, and was not twenty years old when killed. Several others were killed, besides many wounded.

We remained here until the night of the 11th, when men were detailed to keep up the skirmish firing while the brigade was withdrawn. It was a dark, dreary night, and we fell over stumps and fallen trees as we moved to the left. At four o’clock on the morning of the 12th we formed in line. Our orders were to give commands in whispers, have dippers so hung that they would not rattle against bayonets, and move forward. We were soon in front of the rebel works, which were protected by abatis. We tore these aside and passed on. One regiment, forgetting the orders, gave a cheer, and the rebels were aroused, yet over the works we went, and the fiercest hand-to-hand fight of the war ensued. We captured Gen. Bushrod Johnson and his entire division, including twenty-two pieces of artillery and seventeen stands of colors.

The woods were so thick that in advancing our lines became broken. When we reached a clearing the only officers in sight were Colonel Rice, Lieutenant Thompson and myself. “Where are the colors?” said Colonel Rice. We could not answer the question. At that moment we saw several hundred rebels running back to their lines. Colonel Rice said, “I see a Massachusetts color and will go after it. You and Lieutenant Thompson try to capture those rebels.” Hastily gathering men from nearly every regiment in the corps we threw forward a skirmish line and captured nearly four hundred prisoners. After turning them over to the provost guard we returned to the line, found the colors, but the colonel was not there, and the rest of the day we fought where we could get a chance. As I was standing behind the works, waiting for something to do, Capt. Harry Hale, who was serving on General Webb’s staff, rode up and said, “We want to get two guns that the rebels have abandoned, which unless we bring them in, will be retaken. Can’t you get them?” Calling to the mob (there was no organization of regiments at that moment), “Come on, boys,” we rushed out and brought them in. Turning them on the rebels, we loaded them with everything we could find,—ammunition that did not fit, old musket barrels, etc.,—but not knowing how to work the guns we were in about as much danger as the rebels.

While engaged here the rebels had recaptured a small part of their works on our right, and we were ordered to move to that point. Collecting as many men of the regiment as we could find, we marched by the flank to what has since been known as the “Bloody Angle;” here we found hot work. While we were firing the rebels ran up a white flag, and we advanced to receive their surrender, but as soon as we were over the brow of the little hill that had protected us, they fired a volley, killing several of our men. From that time until dark the cry was “No quarter.” Part of the time we were on one side of the works and they on the other, each trying to fire over. I saw Ed. Fletcher of Company C shoot a man who was trying to get a shot at one of our boys, and was so near that Fletcher’s musket was covered with blood.We continued to fire until our ammunition was exhausted, then were relieved by men of the 6th corps. Just as long as we could see a man the firing continued. We slept on the field, ready to renew the battle in the morning, and at daylight waited for the rebels to open. Not a shot was fired and we advanced. What a sight met our eyes as we went over the works! Rebels lay four and five deep in the trenches. Many were alive but unable to move, as the dead were piled on top of them. Our better natures were aroused. We laid out the dead for burial, cared for the wounded, then withdrew to the rear to reorganize our regiments.

While resting in the rear a man from the 6th corps came to me and said, “Is this the 19th Massachusetts?” I answered, “Yes.” “Have you a Lieutenant Adams in your regiment?” I again made the same reply. “Well, he is dead. He lies just over the little hill. Here is his revolver case that I took from him.” I then understood what he meant. A few days before, finding that it was impossible to carry my revolver on account of my wounds, I had given it to Lieut. Johnnie Ferris, and he must have been the one whom the man had found. We had been fighting so hard that we had no time to think of each other, and I then remembered that I had not seen Ferris since we charged on the morning of the previous day. I went with the man and found Johnnie, shot through the head, in front of the rebel works. He had fallen over a tree that the rebels had cut down, and must have been killed as we rushed through the abatis. His death was a severe loss to the regiment. He had been promoted from the ranks for good conduct; was loved by the officers and worshipped by the men. With sad hearts we laid him to rest near where he fell. We could not find Colonel Rice and feared he must bedead on the field, but after searching and not finding his body, concluded he must have been captured with some of our men when the rebels made the dash on our right flank. This was true. Colonel Rice was captured, but escaped, and rejoined the regiment in August.

One little incident occurring in the fight at the “Bloody Angle,” although not connected with the regiment, is worthy of mention. When we were relieved by the 6th corps the 6th Wisconsin was in our front. One of their men was an Indian. He would crawl up near the rebel line, wait until they fired, then fire and drag himself back. He could hardly be seen above the ground. I became much interested in his mode of fighting, and his face was impressed upon my mind. One day in 1867, while working in a shoe factory at Lynn, an Indian came into the place selling baskets. The moment I saw him I thought his countenance was familiar and wondered where I had seen him before. It came to me that he was the Spottsylvania Indian. I asked if he was in the army, and he replied, “Yes, 6th Wisconsin.” Then I was sure he was the man. We talked over the battle and became good friends. He was a very bright fellow, a member of the Masonic brotherhood, but he said, “East no place for Indian,” and I assisted him to return west.

We were under fire nearly all the time, marching from right to left, and on the 17th occupied the works taken on the 12th. While here we learned that Lieut. Moses Shackley, who was a first sergeant in the 59th Massachusetts, had been killed the day before. The 18th we fought all day, charged twice on the enemies’ works, and lost several men. On the 21st occurred one of the sad events of the year.

John D. Starbird of Company K was one of the three deserters who returned with the regiment. The charges against him had been placed on file on condition that he serve faithfully to the end of the war. While he had promised to do this, he did not intend to, and was only kept in battle at the Wilderness by fear of death from the officers. On the 18th he deserted while under fire, was captured the 19th, tried by drum-head court-martial the 20th, and ordered to be shot at 7a.m.on the 21st. Early in the morning of that day Adjutant Curtis came to me and said, “Jack, you are detailed to take charge of the shooting of Starbird.” I was not pleased with the order, and Captain Mumford, who was ever ready to do a kind act for a friend, exchanged duty with me, I going on picket for him. The detail consisted of eight men from our regiment. Their muskets were loaded by Captain Mumford, seven with ball cartridges, one with a blank. Starbird was seated on his coffin, blindfolded. The order was given to fire. Six shots struck him near the heart; the other musket hung fire, and the ball entered his leg. He died at once.

Those who read this, and do not understand the situation at the time, may think the killing of Starbird unjust and cruel, but it was not. At that time there were in the ranks of every regiment, men who had no interest in the cause. They had enlisted for the bounty, and did not intend to render any service. They not only shirked duty, but their acts and conversation were demoralizing good men. The shooting of Starbird changed all this. Men who had straggled and kept out of battle now were in the ranks, and the result to our corps alone was as good as if we had been re-enforced by a full regiment.

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