A Confederate surgeon's letters to his wife

BATTLE OF CHANCELLORSVILLE

Camp Gregg, Va.,
May 7, 1863.

We have just returned from the field of the great battle. It was a complete victory for us. It was a terrible fight. Our brigade charged on their breastworks and took them. Edwin and Billie were both in it. Edwin was not touched, but Billie had two bullet holes through his clothes. He was not hurt, though. We have had a very hard time of it for seven or eight days. My mind and body are so worn out that I will not write any more, but will to-morrow or next day. When I write again I will write the particulars. Edwin, Billie and I are in good health.

Good-by for the present.

Camp near Moss Neck, Va.,
May 9, 1863.

On Saturday morning (the 2d inst.) I received an order to ship the wounded to Richmond, store our medical supplies and follow the wagon train to Chancellorsville. I carried the chest of supplies to a large house, which Stonewall Jackson had for his headquarters, and was met at the door by a young lady who was whistling. She appeared to be quite aristocratic and was very courteous to us.

We started late in the afternoon, and I marched with the wagon train all night. It was carrying rations and did not stop once. Most of the road was through woods, but we could see well enough to march all night, and in some places there was mud, but no wagon stalled.

Just before daylight I saw a dead Yankee lying close to the right of the road. I did not know until then that there had been any fighting. I knew our command left that morning, but had heard no firing and knew nothing of what had taken place. Just as it was getting light the Yankees threw shells, which burst about the wagons, and the teamsters became excited and began whipping their horses and hurrying to get away; but a quartermaster at once commanded them to keep quiet and get away in good order, and the excitement ceased. The fighting then began just as soon as they could see.

I went on hunting for the field infirmary, and when I found it our wounded were coming back and a few had been brought back before I got there, and I at once went to work assisting in amputations, and continued at it all day and until late at night.

Jackson’s men came in from the rear on Saturday night and drove the Yankees from their breastworks and occupied them that morning (Sunday, May 3). The Yankees came back early and tried to retake them, and I could hear them fighting furiously for several hours. We knew nothing of Stonewall Jackson’s being shot the night before.

During the assault Colonel Edwards walked along on top of the works waving his sword to encourage his men, and was shot through the shoulder. When he was brought back I helped him out of the ambulance and expressed sympathy for him, which caused him to shed tears, but he said nothing. Colonel James Perrin was brought back shot through the body and in great agony, and General McGowan was struck below the knee while standing upon the works. I saw my brother once during the day bringing a wounded man back.

Captain McFall and Lieutenant Mike Bowers came back looking for stragglers, and found four young men who were known to be cowards, but who were always great braggarts after a battle was over. They all pretended to be sick, but I could see no indications of it, and they were marched off, but, before reaching the works, one of them slipped away, although the fighting had ended.

After all the wounded were attended to I was very tired and went to sleep late that night in a tent. I would wake up cold during the night and reach out for a jug of whiskey and take a swallow and go back to sleep again.

The next morning (Monday the 4th) we did nothing. Several handsome young Yankee surgeons in fine uniforms came over with a white flag, and I went to where they were attending to their wounded. While there I talked with a wounded man from Ohio, and saw one of our soldiers cut a forked limb from a tree and make a crutch for a Yankee who was wounded in the foot. The unfed horses of a Yankee cavalry regiment had been hitched to the trees near by and had gnawed off all the bark within their reach.

We stayed there for three days until the Yankees crossed back over the Rappahannock River, and then we marched back to Moss Neck in the daytime in peace and found our tents standing where we left them.

Hospital near Hamilton’s Crossing, Va.,
June 12, 1863.

Our corps is lying in line of battle in the trenches, and has been for six days. The Yankees are still on this side of the river. The picket lines are within speaking distance of each other and we exchange newspapers with them every day. I went there this morning and was never before so close to the enemy when in a hostile attitude. I saw the New York Illustrated News , and will try to get a copy to send to you. I stay out on the field with the troops during the day, but come back to the hospital at night.

Chaplain Beauchelle messes with Dr. Tyler and me while his messmates are out in the line. He and Tyler sleep together. Tyler is one of the most wicked and profane men I ever knew, but he is a very intelligent man and is generous and high-minded. His father educated him for the ministry, and he and the chaplain argue on Scripture at night. It is highly amusing, for he is hard to handle in an argument on Scripture.

I am told that all of our army has gone in the direction of Manassas except our corps (A. P. Hill’s), which was formerly Stonewall Jackson’s. It consists of Pender’s, Heath’s and Anderson’s divisions, and is about twenty-five or thirty thousand strong. We can take care of any Yankee force which may come at us in our present position. I have not seen Edwin in two days, and suppose he is strengthening the entrenchments here and there where they may chance to be defective.

My father wrote me that George was the liveliest child he ever saw, and that it was a matter of rejoicing when you and George were seen coming.

Camp near Fredericksburg, Va.,
June 14, 1863.

The Yankees have all gone back on the other side of the river, and we have left our entrenchments and taken up camp in the rear. I think we shall not remain here long, but I do not know what we shall do next. The enemy seem to have left Fredericksburg. If we do not move to-morrow I may write again.

I am getting very anxious to hear from you and George.

Between Front Royal and Winchester, Va.,
June 21, 1863.

We are in the Valley of Virginia again and are now within ten miles of Winchester. You cannot imagine how delighted the Valley people are at our appearance. The ladies wave their handkerchiefs from every little farmhouse we pass and cheer us onward. Such sights are enough to make anyone feel enthusiastic. As we marched through Front Royal this morning the people were in ecstasies and our bands played lively airs for them, although it is Sunday.

In coming from Fredericksburg here we have taken a much shorter route than the one we took in going from here to that place last fall. Since we left Fredericksburg last week we have not traveled more than one hundred miles, but we traveled 175 miles by the other route. We camped on the top of the mountains last night. The night before we did not go into camp until about ten o’clock, and then it began to rain furiously. We were in an open grass field and so we had to stand up and take it. It was a very heavy rain and the night was the worst I ever experienced. I sat up the entire night on a rock and kept dry with an oilcloth. Few men were so fortunate as to have so good a place to sit on as a rock. I am willing to endure almost anything, or to be deprived of almost everything, if we can have the pleasure of getting into Pennsylvania and letting the Yankees feel what it is to be invaded.

Our army is very large now, and if we get into Maryland or Pennsylvania and Hooker engages us you may be certain that he will be severely whipped. General Lee and his army are bent on it. Our troops are in fine health and I have never before seen them get along half so well on a march. Not a man has given out since the rain. I believe they will fight better than they have ever done, if such a thing could be possible. I feel fine and have stood the march admirably. We have had plenty of meat and bread to eat since we started, and I got some good rich milk this morning at Front Royal.

From where I am writing this letter I can look around me and see one of the most beautiful and fertile countries. I do wish you could see it. My servant has gone to a farmhouse, and he stays so long that I believe he is having something cooked.

I shall write to you as often as I can; so good-by to you and George.

Franklin County, Pa.,
June 28, 1863.

We are in Yankeedom this time, for certain, and a beautiful and magnificent country it is too. Since we started we have traveled about fifteen miles a day, resting at night and drawing rations plentifully and regularly. We are about fifteen miles over the Pennsylvania and Maryland line and within seven miles of Chambersburg. We are resting to-day (Sunday) and will get to Harrisburg in three more days if we go there.

We hear nothing of Hooker’s army at all, but General Lee knows what he is about. This is certainly a grand move of his, and if any man can carry it out successfully he can, for he is cautious as well as bold.

We are taking everything we need—horses, cattle, sheep, flour, groceries and goods of all kinds, and making as clean a sweep as possible. The people seem frightened almost out of their senses. They are nearly all agricultural people and have everything in abundance that administers to comfort. I have never yet seen any country in such a high state of cultivation. Such wheat I never dreamed of, and so much of it! I noticed yesterday that scarcely a horse or cow was to be seen. The free negroes are all gone, as well as thousands of the white people. My servant, Wilson, says he “don’t like Pennsylvania at all,” because he “sees no black folks.”

I have never seen our army so healthy and in such gay spirits. How can they be whipped? Troops have so much better health when on the march. I must say that I have enjoyed this tramp. The idea of invading the Yankees has buoyed me up all the time. Last year when invading Maryland we were almost starved, and of course anyone would become disheartened. My health was never better than it is now, and I feel gay and jovial every way.

My brother Billie is out to-day guarding a man’s premises. He was also out last night, and he told me this morning that they fed him splendidly. The reason houses are guarded is to prevent our troops plundering and robbing, which would demoralize them, thereby rendering them unfit for soldiers. Soldiers must have a strict and severe rein held over them; if not, they are worthless.

I have George’s picture with me, and I look at it frequently.

RETREAT FROM GETTYSBURG.

Near Bunker Hill, Jefferson County, Va.,
July 17, 1863.

You will see by this letter that we have gotten back into “Old Virginia” again. It seems that our invasion of the North did not prove successful. We fought a dreadful battle at Gettysburg, Pa. It was the greatest battle of the war. We drove the Yankees three miles from the battlefield to a long range of high hills, from which it was impossible to dislodge them. General Lee had to fall back to keep them from getting the advantage. My brother was not hurt in the battle. Milton Bossard, Captain Cromer, Buford Wallace, Mr. Daniel’s two sons and many others from Newberry were killed; but it is better for us all to be killed than conquered.

We have had some very disagreeable marching, as it has rained so much, but I have gotten hold of an old horse, which helps me along very much.

We have plenty of beef and bread to eat. We gathered up thousands of beeves in Pennsylvania—enough to feed our army until cold weather. This is a great consideration.

My servant got lost in Maryland. I do not think it was his intention to leave, but he was negligent about keeping up and got in rear of the army and found it too late to cross the river.

One of your letters came to me in Pennsylvania, and three since we left there.

We hear that Vicksburg has fallen. That is unfortunate, but I do not feel at all discouraged. Countries have been overrun, and then not conquered.

When we get settled down in camp again I will try to write you a longer and better arranged letter. We don’t know what minute we may move, and under such circumstances I never can write with any satisfaction. I have George’s picture yet. It is a wonder I did not lose it.

THE BATTLE OF GETTYSBURG

Camp near Orange Court House, Va.,
August 2, 1863.

In a recent letter I promised to write you more about our campaign in Pennsylvania.

On the night of the 29th of June we camped on the west side of the Blue Ridge Mountains, where they extend into Pennsylvania. On the morning of the next day (30th) we renewed our march. Shortly after starting it began raining, but the road was hard and well macadamized and the rain made the march rather agreeable than otherwise. On this same morning we passed where a splendid iron factory had been burned by General Early, of Ewell’s Corps. It belonged to a very celebrated lawyer and politician of Pennsylvania by the name of Thaddeus Stevens, who is noted for his extreme abolition views and his intense hatred for slave-holders. The works are said to have been worth more than one hundred thousand dollars. The burning had thrown a great many operatives out of employment, and they seemed to be much distressed.

During the day we wended our way up the mountains. The scene around us was very different from what we had just passed through. Instead of the enticing field and lovely landscape, we had now around us that which was rugged, grand and towering. In the afternoon about one or two o’clock we halted and bivouacked among the mountains. Our stopping-place was in a basin of the mountains, which was very fertile and contained a few very excellent and highly cultivated farms. Awhile after we stopped I started off to one of these farmhouses for the purpose of getting my dinner, as I was quite hungry, and wanted something different from what I had been accustomed to most of the time on the march. On going to the house a very nice, smiling young girl met me at the door, and, upon my making known my wishes, she very pleasantly said she “guessed” so; but said they already had agreed to accommodate a good many, and that they would do the best they could by us all if I would return at four o’clock.

This I did, and found Adjutant Reedy of the Fourteenth Regiment and several others of my acquaintance. Reedy, being quite a young man, talked a good deal to the girl. I was hungry as a wolf, but when I came to the table and viewed what was upon it my hunger was aggravated more than ever. It seemed that there was no end to everything that was good. We had nice fried ham, stewed chicken, excellent biscuit, lightbread, butter, buckwheat cakes that were most delicious, molasses, four or five different kinds of preserves and several other dishes. We also had plenty of good coffee and cold, rich milk to drink. None but a soldier who has experienced a hard campaign can conceive of how a gang of hungry men could appreciate such a meal. I must say that this late dinner was a perfect Godsend.

After we had finished eating I felt ashamed to offer them Confederate money, but could do no better, and offered it with an apology. They very readily accepted it, and when I insisted that they should take a dollar they refused and would have only fifty cents. This house was guarded to prevent our men committing depredations such as they had been doing, and which was having a demoralizing effect upon the army. Soldiers must be made to behave or they will not fight.

Upon returning to camp I found that an order had been received during my absence to cook one day’s rations and have it in haversacks and be ready to march at five o’clock next morning. This at once aroused our suspicions, for we concluded that we were about to meet the enemy. Next morning about five o’clock we began moving. We had not gone more than a mile and a half before our suspicions of the evening previous were fully verified and our expectations realized by the booming of cannon ahead of us in the direction of Gettysburg. Upon looking around I at once noticed in the countenance of all an expression of intense seriousness and solemnity, which I have always perceived in the faces of men who are about to face death and the awful shock of battle. As we advanced the cannonading increased in fury. It was Heth’s Division, ahead of ours, fighting. At last we arrived upon a hill where, upon another hill in front of us and about a half mile distant, we could see Heth’s cannon arranged and booming away at the Yankees, who were replying with considerable briskness, and we could also see the infantry of Heth’s Division advancing in line of battle. It was really a magnificent sight. The country was almost destitute of forest and was so open that it was easy to see all that was going on. Our division (Pender’s) continued to keep within about half a mile of Heth’s. McGowan’s Brigade was at the right of the division and the Thirteenth Regiment at the right of the brigade. This being the case, I could see from one end of the division to the other as it moved forward in line of battle. It was nearly a mile in length. The scene was certainly grand, taking all the surroundings into consideration. After Heth had driven the enemy some distance, it became necessary for our division to go to his support. McGowan’s South Carolina and Scales’s North Carolina brigades were the first to relieve Heth. The hardest fighting did not begin until McGowan’s and Scales’s divisions went into it. Then such a rattle of musketry I never heard surpassed. It lasted for about two hours and a half without cessation; and how many brave fellows went down in death in this short period of time! Officers who have been in all the fights tell me that they never saw our brigade act so gallantly before. When the order was given to charge upon the enemy, who were lying behind stone fences and other places of concealment, our men rushed forward with a perfect fury, yelling and driving them, though with great slaughter to themselves as well as to the Yankees. Most of the casualties of our brigade occurred this day (July 1). As the enemy were concealed, they killed a great many of our men before we could get at them. There were a good many dwellings in our path, to which the Yankees would also resort for protection, and they would shoot from the doors and windows. As soon as our troops would drive them out, they would rush in, turn out the families and set the houses on fire. I think this was wrong, because the families could not prevent the Yankees seeking shelter in their houses. I saw some of the poor women who had been thus treated. They were greatly distressed, and it excited my sympathy very much. These people would have left their houses, but the battle came on so unexpectedly to them, as is often the case, that they had not time. I passed through a house from which everyone had fled except an extremely old man. A churn of excellent buttermilk had been left, and I with some other doctors helped ourselves. Someone near by shot at us as we came out and barely missed us.

The fighting on the first day ceased about night, and when our brigade was relieved by Lane’s North Carolina Brigade it was nearly dark. I returned to the hospital, and on my way back came to Anderson’s Division of our corps (Hill’s) lying in line of battle at least two miles in rear of where the advance column was. Pender’s Division and Heth’s had been fighting all day, and they were exhausted, besides being terribly “cut up”; and when they drove the Yankees to the long high range of hills, which the Yankees held throughout the fight, they should have been immediately reinforced by Anderson with his fresh troops. Then the strong position last occupied by the enemy could have been taken, and the next day when Ewell and Longstreet came up the victory completely won. If “Old Stonewall” had been alive and there, it no doubt would have been done. Hill was a good division commander, but he is not a superior corps commander. He lacks the mind and sagacity of Jackson.

When I arrived at the hospital my ears were greeted as usual at such time with the moans and cries of the wounded. I went to work and did not pretend to rest until next morning after daylight. I found that Longstreet had come and that McLaw’s Division of his (Longstreet’s) corps was encamped near the hospital. Kershaw’s Brigade was almost in the hospital grounds. On looking around I discovered many of my old friends from Laurens whom I had not seen since the war began. They all seemed surprised and glad to see me; but I had work to do and they had fighting, so we could not remain long together. They were all lively and jocose. Milton Bossardt was in a gay humor and left me as one going on some pleasant excursion, but before two o’clock of the same day he was a corpse. He was shocked to death by the bursting of a shell. Captain Langston and a number of others in the Third Regiment who were my acquaintances were killed.

On the second day of the battle the fighting did not begin until about twelve or one o’clock, from which time until night it raged with great fury. The reason it began so late in the day was because it required some time for Ewell and Longstreet to get their forces in position. Longstreet was on the right, Ewell on the left, and Hill in the center.

On the third day the fighting began early in the morning and continued with the greatest imaginable fury all day; at one time, about three o’clock in the afternoon, with such a cannonading I never heard before. About 150 pieces of cannon on our side and as many or more on the side of the enemy kept up one incessant fire for several hours. It was truly terrifying and was like heavy skirmishing in the rapidity with which the volleys succeeded one another. The roar of the artillery, the rattle of the musketry and the wild terrific scream of the shells as they whizzed through the air was really the most appalling situation that could possibly be produced. Our troops (Pickett’s Division) charged the enemy’s strong position, which they had now entrenched, but with no avail, although we slaughtered thousands of them.

On the night of the 3d General Lee withdrew the army nearly to its original position, hoping, I suppose, that the enemy would attack him; but they didn’t dare come out of their strongholds, for well they knew what their fate would be if they met the Confederate Army of Virginia upon equal grounds. On the 4th our army remained in line of battle, earnestly desiring the advance of the Yankees, but they did not come. During this day the rain fell in torrents, completely drenching the troops. Awhile after dark we began to leave, but took a different and nearer route to the Potomac than the one we had just passed over. Though nearer, it was very rough and not macadamized, and the passing of wagons and artillery over it cut it up horribly and made it almost impassable. Yet over this road our large army had to pass. I was lucky enough to get into a medical wagon and rode until next morning. It rained nearly all night, and such a sight as our troops were next day! They were all wet and many of them muddy all over from having fallen down during the night. Billie looked as if he had been wallowing in a mud hole, but was in a perfectly good humor. On this day (July 5) we recrossed the Blue Ridge Mountains. Climbing the mountains was very tedious after so much toil, excitement and loss of sleep, but we met with no obstacle until we came to Hagerstown, Md., where we stopped on account of the Potomac’s being too high to ford. While here the Yankees came up and our army was placed in line to meet them, but they did not dare to attack. In this situation we remained for several days with them in sight of us.

After a pontoon bridge was finished at Falling Waters and the river was sufficiently down to ford at Williamsport, we left the vicinity of Hagerstown. It was just after dark when we began leaving. It was a desperately dark night and such a rain I thought I never before knew to fall. I did not meet with such luck as the night we left Gettysburg, Pa., but had to walk all night, and such a road I think troops never before traveled over. It appeared to me that at least half of the road was a quagmire, coming in places nearly to the knees.

Hill’s Corps went by Falling Waters and Longstreet’s and Ewell’s by Williamsport, where they had to wade the river, which was still very deep, coming up nearly to the shoulders. The pontoon bridge was at Falling Waters, where we crossed. Our division was in the rear at this place, and when we got within about a mile and a half of the river we halted to enable the wagons ahead to get out of the way. Being very tired, we all lay down and nearly everyone fell asleep, when suddenly the Yankee cavalry rushed upon us, firing and yelling at a furious rate. None of our guns were loaded and they were also in a bad fix from the wet of the previous night. They attacked General Pettigrew’s North Carolina Brigade first. Our brigade was lying down about fifty yards behind his. I was lying down between the two brigades near a spring. General Pettigrew was killed here. I was close to him when he was killed. It was a serious loss to the service. We fought them for some time, when General Hill sent an order to fall back across the river, and it was done in good order. The attack was a complete surprise and is disgraceful either to General Hill or General Heth. One is certainly to blame. The Yankees threw shells at the bridge and came very near hitting it just as I was about to cross; but, after we were close enough to the river not to be hurt by our own shells, our cannon on this side opened upon them, which soon made them “skedaddle” away.

We feel the loss of General Pender in our division. He died in Staunton, Va., from wounds received at Gettysburg. He was a very superior little man, though a very strict disciplinarian.