Photo credit: US Library of Congress, Incidents of the war. A harvest of death, Gettysburg, PA. Dead Federal soldiers on battlefield. Negative by Timothy H. O’Sullivan. Positive by Alexander Gardner. (Wikimedia Commons)
Sunday Sept. 21, 1862
Dear Folks,
We went hungry, for six days not a morsel of bread or meat had gone in our stomachs – and our menu consisted of apple; and corn. We toasted, we burned, we stewed, we boiled, we roasted these two together, and singly, until there was not a man whose form had not caved in, and who had not a bad attack of diarrhea. Our under-clothes were foul and hanging in strips, our socks worn out, and half of the men were bare-footed, many were lame and were sent to the rear; others, of sterner stuff, hobbled along and managed to keep up, while gangs from every company went off in the surrounding country looking for food. . . Many became ill from exposure and starvation, and were left on the road. The ambulances were full, and the whole route was marked with a sick, lame, limping lot, that straggled to the farmhouses that lined the way, and who, in all cases, succored and cared for them. . . Alexander Hunter
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William Child, Major and Surgeon with the 5th Regiment New Hampshire Volunteers
September 22, 1862 (Battlefield Hospital near Sharpsburg)
My Dear Wife;
Day before yesterday I dressed the wounds of 64 different men – some having two or three each.
Yesterday I was at work from daylight till dark – today I am completely exhausted – but stall soon be able to go at it again.
The days after the battle are a thousand times worse than the day of the battle – and the physical pain is not the greatest pain suffered. How awful it is – you have not can have until you see it any idea of affairs after a battle. The dead appear sickening but they suffer no pain. But the poor wounded mutilated soldiers that yet have life and sensation make a most horrid picture. I pray God may stop such infernal work – through perhaps he has sent it upon us for our sins. Great indeed must have been our sins if such is our punishment.
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Under the dark shade of a towering oak near the Dunker Church lay the lifeless form of a drummer boy, apparently not more than 17 years of age, flaxen hair and eyes of blue and form of delicate mould. As I approached him I stooped down and as I did so I perceived a bloody mark upon his forehead…It showed where the leaden messenger of death had produced the wound the caused his death. His lips were compressed, his eyes half open, a bright smile played upon his countenance. By his side lay his tenor drum, never to be tapped again.
Pvt. J. D. Hicks, Company K, 125th Pennsylvania Volunteers John P. Smith, “History of the Antietam Fight,” in Scrapbook of J. P. Smith.
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The force of a mini ball or piece of shell striking any solid portion to a person is astonishing; it comes like a blow from a sledge hammer, and the recipient finds himself sprawling on the ground before he is conscious of being hit; then he feels about for the wound, the benumbing blow deadening sensation for a few moments. Unless struck in the head or about the heart, men mortally wounded live some time, often in great pain, and toss about upon the ground.”
History of the 35th Massachusetts Volunteers, p. 48
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The third shell struck and killed my horse and bursting, blew him to pieces, knocked me down, of course, and tore off my right arm…
Pvt. Ezra E. Stickley, Company A, 5th Virginia Infantry “Wounded at Sharpsburg,” Confederate Veteran Magazine. Vol XXV, No. 9, September 1917, p. 400.
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He was totally blind; a Yankee bullet had passed directly across and destroyed both eyes, and the light for him had gone out forever. But on he marched, with his brother in misery perched on his sturdy shoulders. He would accept no assistance until his partner announced to him that they had reached their goal – the field hospital. It appears that they lay close together on the field, and after the roar of battle had been succeeded by that painfully intense silence that hangs over a hard-contested battlefield; where the issue is yet in doubt, and where a single rifle shot on the skirmish line falls on your ear like the crack of a thousand cannon. The groans of the wounded Yank reached the alert ears of his sightless Confederate neighbor, who called to him, asking him the nature and extent of his wounds. On learning the serious nature of them, he said: “Now, Yank, I can’t see, or I’d get out of here mighty lively. Some darned Yank has shot away my eyes, but I feel as strong otherwise as ever. If you think you can get on my back and do the seeing, I will do the walking, and we’ll sail into some hospital where we can both receive surgical treatment.”
J.O. Smith
(Roulette Farm Field Hospital)
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Union private of Lieutenant White’s Company (Account of his own experiences in the fighting near the Cornfield)
A man but a few paces from me is struck squarely in the face by a solid shot. Fragments of the poor fellow’s head came crashing into my face and fill me with disgust.
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September 26, 1862 (In a hospital near the Battlefield of Antietam)
Dear Wife,
Thinking perhaps that you would like to hear from me. I now have a few moments in writing to you to let you know of an accident which happened to me on the evening of the 18th. One of the 135 P.V. boys accidentily shot me through the back. The ball passed through my lungs and lodged some where and is in me yet. I suffered considerable pain for the few first days but now I am more comfortable now and am not in much pain. Our brigaid did not get along from Washington soon enough to be engaged in the Battle of the day before. There was a hard fought battle and many lives lost on both sides but I think the loss of the Rebels were more than double our loss. I hope that you will not grow uneasy about me for I
am doing as well as can be and have good care for brother William is with me taking care of me and as soon as I get well enough I am coming home and to be with you again, I do not want you to write until you hear from me again for a letter would not come through. I am now 10 miles from Middletown Md and as soon as we get moved I will write to you to let you know where we are moved to. As I do not think of any thing more that will interest you I will bring this letter to a close and write to you again in a few days.
From your affectionate and loving husband,
Erred Fowles
(Erred Fowles died on October 6, 1862. He is buried in Grave #3724 in the cemetery at Antietam. His daughter, Ida May Fowles, was born October 10, 1862.)