Something Must Be Done: The Construction and Dedication of the Soldiers’ National Cemetery at Gettysburg

By Hannah Christensen ’17

Not only did the armies leave something of a state of chaos behind them after the battle of Gettysburg; they also left their dead buried poorly almost everywhere. Within days, the combination of rain and pigs rooting around the battlefield had exposed multiple skeletons and partially-decomposed bodies. The smell was horrendous, and residents and visitors alike were shocked by the state of the burials.

Pennsylvania Governor Andrew Curtin was among these visitors. After seeing the state of affairs during his tour of the battlefield on July 10th, Curtin appointed local attorney David Wills to act as his “agent” in affairs related to Pennsylvania’s dead. As agent, Wills did everything from helping families locate loved ones’ bodies to disinterring and sending those remains home. This process was made more complicated by the fact that those grave markers that existed were only partially legible, if at all.

Wills also got to know other state agents, including William Yates Selleck of Wisconsin and Henry Edwards of Massachusetts. It was Edwards and Massachusetts officials who brought up the idea of purchasing part of the battlefield to turn into a cemetery. Wills also got the head of the Christian Commission of Pennsylvania, Andrew B. Cross, in on the idea. When Wills wrote to Governor Curtin about it on July 24th, the governor quickly authorized him to get to work.

Three developments impacted the success of the cemetery project before it really began. First, the military commander at Gettysburg, Colonel Henry C. Alleman, halted the exhumation and shipping home of any more bodies, inadvertently assuring that more would be buried in the proposed cemetery. Second, a fight over the organization of the cemetery occurred between Wills and the Massachusetts representatives. The representatives wanted the dead buried by state, while Wills planned to mix them together. Wills deferred to Massachusetts to keep them on board. Last was a fight over control of the cemetery. The governing body of the local Evergreen Cemetery wanted it under their control, which nearly derailed the entire project when state agents threatened to pull out if the cemetery got its way. Thankfully, Wills was able to out-argue the association, and the cemetery project continued as planned.

Between his first letter to the governor on July 24th and his second on the 30th, Wills took steps to purchase the necessary land, get more states on board, and write to the governors of the other Union states with his plans. By July 30th, Wills already had eight state agents on board and believed that the rest would eventually follow suit. He also had the potential location and cost of land for the cemetery site. After a telegram to the other state governors explaining his plan, Wills went ahead and purchased a total of seventeen acres for $2,475.87.

At the same time, Wills got the Connecticut and Wisconsin agents to help draft a circular to the state governors, drafted specifications and advertised for bids to rebury the Union soldiers in the cemetery, and contacted one William Saunders to lay out the cemetery grounds. Wills included this information, as well as the total cost of the project–under $35,000–in his circular to the state governors on August 12th. He also asked the governors to appoint agents to work on the cemetery project and inquired if they wanted to purchase their state’s portion of the cemetery.

Wills’s report to Governor Curtin in mid-August indicated that progress was being made. Fifteen of seventeen governors had responded, the location and layout of the cemetery had been set, and Wills was ready to move ahead. His suggestion for some kind of dedication ceremony was also well-received and he was immediately authorized to plan one. Wills turned to the other states for suggestions for the ceremony. They were in unanimous agreement with Wills’s invitation to Edward Everett of Massachusetts to give the main oration.

Everett’s attendance would dictate the date of the ceremony. Wills had originally planned for the dedication ceremony to be on October 23rd, but Everett would not be able to do it before November 19th. So, the ceremony was moved to the 19th; this meant the reburials would start about a month before the ceremony. Now that Wills had the date for the ceremony, he sent out the rest of his invitations: President Lincoln, whom Wills invited to give “a few appropriate remarks;” Vice President Hamlin, the cabinet, foreign ministers, and generals were all invited. Wills also invited the House chaplain, Reverend Thomas Stockton to give the invocation, Reverend Henry Baugher (president of the Gettysburg Seminary) to give the benediction, and several bands to provide music for the occasion. To manage the ceremony and the procession, Wills chose Ward Lamon, the U.S. marshal in D.C. and Lincoln’s bodyguard. Wills had high hopes for the dedication ceremony, but several officials were unable to attend, and a few railroad companies backed out of running special trains for the occasion.

As November 19th got closer, Wills took care of several last-minute details, and guests began to arrive. Edward Everett arrived on the 17th, President Lincoln arrived after dark on the 18th, and Governor Curtin did not arrive until around midnight. On the morning of the 19th, the weather was perfect, but the masses of people who had arrived for the ceremony made it hard for Ward Lamon to get everyone in line for the procession by the intended start time of 10 o’clock. According to the program, the military was supposed to form up at 9 o’clock just north of the square, all the civic bodies (except for citizens of states) were supposed to be in line elsewhere at the same time, and the citizens of states were supposed to be in line at 9 o’clock as well. The procession did not start until nearly 11 o’clock.

Once the procession reached the cemetery, the program began. It started with a funeral march from one of the bands, followed by the invocation from Reverend Stockton and a performance from another band. Then, Lamon introduced Edward Everett, who gave a two-hour long speech recounting the entire battle. Everett was followed by a choir, and then President Lincoln was introduced. His short “Gettysburg Address” was interrupted repeatedly by applause and ended with even more applause. Once the applause died down, a choir of Gettysburg residents sung a dirge, and Reverend Baugher gave the benediction. With the ceremony essentially over, a battery of the 5th New York fired an eight-shot salute, and the attendees dispersed. Wills, the president, and several other prominent guests headed back to Wills’s house and later back to Washington.

While the dedication ceremony was officially over, there was still work to be done. The reburials still had to be finished—the process would take until March of 1864. In addition, a commission had to be set up to handle cemetery operations, and a monument had to be erected. While the commission was selected in December 1863, the cornerstone of the monument was not laid until July 4, 1865. The process of creating and dedicating the cemetery was far longer and far more complicated than just the dedication that people celebrate today.

Sources:
Klement, Frank L. The Gettysburg Soldiers’ Cemetery and Lincoln’s Address: Aspects and Angles. Shippensburg, PA: White Mane Publishing Company, 1993.

“Program Containing the Order of Procession and Order of Exercises for the “Inauguration of the National Cemetery at Gettysburg, PA, 19 November, 1863,” Gettysburg Battlefield

Memorial Association, Civil War Vertical File Manuscripts, Gettysburg College Special Collections.

Image: President Lincoln at the dedication of the Soldiers’ National Cemetery, November 19th, 1863. Photo via Wikimedia Commons.

From: gettysburgcompiler.com

Read More

Dr. Jonathan Letterman’s Report on the Union Army Medical Corps at Gettysburg

By Mark, 7-7-13

Dr. Jonathan Letterman was the Medical Director of the Army of the Potomac at the time of the Battle of Gettysburg.  At the time, Letterman had only been in his position for a year but had instituted sweeping changes in the way the Army took care of the wounded.  Letterman established the Army’s ambulance service, established field hospitals, aid stations, and an efficient medical supply system  He also designed the first triage procedures used by the Army to evaluate the wounded.  Medical care and survival rates improved dramatically under his leadership, and many of his procedures and concepts are still used today in battlefield medicine.

Letterman’s procedures were put to the test at the Battle of Gettysburg and its aftermath.  There were over 14,500 Union wounded when the fighting was over, and some of the over 18,000 Confederate wounded had fallen into Union hands.  Those numbers would overwhelm any system, but under Letterman’s procedures, the care of the wounded was much more organized and effective than it had been a year earlier, resulting in more lives saved.

In his official report on the Army of the Potomac’s  medical department’s performance at the Battle of Gettysburg and its aftermath, Letterman criticized some decisions by army commanders that he believed inhibited his department’s effectiveness, praised the actions and efforts of the army’s medical personnel, and dismissed civilian doctors who volunteered to help as virtually worthless.  Here’s Dr. Jonathan Letterman’s refreshingly blunt and honest assessment of the army medical department at Gettysburg.

HEADQUARTERS ARMY OF THE POTOMAC,
MEDICAL DIRECTOR’S OFFICE,
Camp near Culpeper Court-House, Va., October 3, 1863.

GENERAL: I have the honor to submit the following report on the operations of the medical department of this army at the battle of Gettysburg, July 1, 2, and 3:

As the subject of transportation has an important bearing upon the manner in which the wounded are attended to after a battle, it is necessary to make some allusion to the manner in which this department was supplied. It is scarcely necessary to say that if-the transportation is not sufficient to enable the officers of the department to conduct it properly, the effect must fall upon the wounded.

In the autumn of 1862, I investigated the subject very carefully, with the view to the adoption of some system instead of the irregular method and want of system which prior to that time was in vogue, to limit the amount necessary, and to have that amount always available. The transportation was one wagon to each regiment and one to each brigade. This gave all that was required, and it was not too much; and, it may be remarked, was a reduction of nearly one-half of that which had been in use prior to that time. This system worked well. At the battle of Chancellorsville, the department had upon the left bank of the Rappahannock means sufficient, had it been allowed to use them, for taking care of many more wounded than there came under its control.

On June 19, while the army was on the march, as it were, from before Fredericksburg to some unknown point north of the Potomac River, the headquarters being near Fairfax Court-House, Va., the transportation of the department was cut down by Major-General Hooker on an average of two wagons in a brigade, in opposition to my opinion, expressed verbally and in writing. This reduction necessitated the turning in of a large portion of the supplies, tents, &c., which were necessary for the proper care of the wounded in the event of a battle. Three wagons were assigned to a brigade of 1,500 men, doing away with regimental wagons. This method in its practical working is no system at all, as it is liable to constant changes, and proved to be, what I supposed at the time it would be, a failure to give the department the means necessary to conduct its operations.

The headquarters left Fairfax Court-House on June 26 ultimo, for some point as yet unknown in Maryland or Pennsylvania.

On the 25th of that month, I directed Assistant Surgeon [Jeremiah B.] Brinton, U.S. Army, to proceed to Washington, and obtain the supplies I had ordered the medical purveyor to have put up, and there await orders.

On the 26th, he was ordered to proceed with them to Frederick. This step was taken to obviate the want of supplies consequent upon the reduction of transportation. At this date it was not known that the army would be near Frederick; still, the risk had to be run, and the event justified the order, Dr. Brinton arriving at Frederick on June 28, the day after the arrival of headquarters there, with twenty-five army wagon loads of such supplies as would be most required in case of a battle. The train with these supplies followed that of headquarters until we reached Taneytown.

On July 1, the trains were not permitted to go farther, and, on the 2d, were ordered farther to the rear, near Westminster.

On the 1st, it was ordered that “corps commanders and the commander of the Artillery Reserve will at once send to the rear all their trains (excepting ammunition wagons and ambulances), parking them between Union Mills and Westminster.”

On the 2d, these trains were ordered still farther to the rear, and parked near Westminster, nearly 25 miles distant from the battlefield. The effect of this order was to deprive the department almost wholly of the means for taking care of the wounded until the result of the engagement of the 2d and 3d was fully known. I do not instance the effect of this order, excepting to show the influence of it upon the department. The expediency of the order I, of course, do not pretend to question, but its effect was to deprive this department of the appliances necessary for the proper care of the wounded, without which it is as impossible to have them properly attended to as it is to fight a battle without ammunition. In most of the corps the wagons exclusively used for medicines moved with the ambulances, so that the medical officers had a sufficient supply of dressings, chloroform, and such articles until the supplies came up, but the tents and other appliances, which are as necessary, were not available until July 5.

The supply of Dr. Brinton reached the field on the evening of July 4. This supply, together with the supplies ordered by me on July 5 and 6, gave more than was required. The reports of Dr. Brinton and Dr. [John H.] Taylor show that I ordered more supplies than were used up to the 18th of July, when the hospitals were taken from under my control. Surgeon Taylor, medical inspector of this army, who was ordered on July 29 to Gettysburg, to examine into the state of affairs there, reports to me that he made “the question of supplies a subject of special inquiry among the medical officers who had remained with the wounded during and for a month subsequent to the battle. The testimony in every instance was conclusive that at no time had there been any deficiency, but, on the contrary, that the supply furnished by the medical purveyor had been and still continued to be abundant.” This is, perhaps, sufficient to show that not only were supplies ordered in advance, but that they were on hand when required, notwithstanding the difficulty in consequence of the inability of the railroad to meet the requirements made upon it, until after General Haupt took charge of it on July 9. I have not deemed it necessary to present any tables showing the amounts ordered and issued, considering what I have just given as ample enough to show the action of this department. The chief want was tents and other appliances for the better care of the wounded. I had an interview with the commanding general on the evening of July 3, after the battle was over, to obtain permission to order up the wagons containing the tents, &c. This request he did not think expedient to grant but in part, allowing one-half the wagons to come to the front; the remainder were brought up as soon as it was considered by him proper to permit it. To show the result of the system adopted upon my recommendation regarding transportation, and the effect of the system of field hospitals, I may here instance the hospital of the Twelfth Corps, in which the transportation was not reduced nor the wagons sent to the rear at Gettysburg.

Surgeon [John] McNulty, medical director of that corps, reports that “it is with extreme satisfaction that I can assure you that it enabled me to remove the wounded from the field, shelter, feed them, and dress their wounds within six hours after the battle ended, and to have every capital operation performed within twenty-four hours after the injury was received. I can, I think, safely say that such would have been the result in other corps had the same facilities been allowed–a result not to have been surpassed, if equaled, in any battle of magnitude that has ever taken place.

A great difficulty always exists in having food for the wounded. By the exertions of Colonel [Henry F.] Clarke, chief commissary, 30,000 rations were brought up on July 4 and distributed to the hospitals. Some of the hospitals were supplied by the commissaries of the corps to which they belonged. Arrangements were made by him to have supplies in abundance brought to Gettysburg for the wounded; he ordered them, and if the railroad could have transported them they would have been on hand.

Over 650 medical officers are reported as present for duty at that battle. These officers were engaged assiduously, day and night, with little rest, until the 6th, and in the Second Corps until July 7, in attendance upon the wounded. The labor performed by these officers was immense. Some of them fainted from exhaustion, induced by over-exertion, and others became ill from the same cause. The skill and devotion shown by the medical officers of this army were worthy of all commendation; they could not be surpassed. Their conduct as officers and as professional men was admirable. Thirteen of them were wounded, one of whom (Asst. Surg. W. S. Moore, Sixty-first Ohio Volunteers, Eleventh Corps) died on July 6 from the effects of his wounds, received on the 3d. The idea, very prevalent, that medical officers are not exposed to fire, is thus shown to be wholly erroneous. The greater portion of the surgical labor was performed before the army left. The time for primary operations had passed, and what remained to be done was to attend to making the men comfortable, dress their wounds, and perform such secondary operations as from time to time might be necessary. One hundred and six medical officers were left behind when the army left; no more could be left, as it was expected that another battle would within three or four days take place, and in all probability as many wounded thrown upon our hands as at the battle of the 2d and 3d, which had just occurred. No reliance can be placed on surgeons from civil life during or after a battle. They cannot or will not submit to the privations and discomforts which are necessary, an-d the great majority think more of their own personal comfort than they do of the wounded. Little more can be said of those officers who have for a long period been in hospitals. I regret to make such a statement, but it is a fact and often a practical one. Dr. [Henry] Janes, who was left in charge of the hospitals at Gettysburg, reports that quite a number of surgeons came and volunteered their services, but “they were of little use.” This fact is so well known in this army that medical officers prefer to do the work rather than have them present, and the wounded men, too, are much better satisfied to be attended by their own surgeons. I, however, asked the Surgeon-General, July 7, to send 20 medical officers to report to Dr. Janes, hoping they might prove of some benefit, under the direction of the medical officers of this army who had been left behind. I cannot learn that they were ever sent.

Dr. Janes was left in general charge of the hospitals, and, to provide against contingencies, was directed, if he could not communicate with me, to do so directly with the Surgeon-General, so that he had full power to call directly upon the Surgeon-General to supply any want that might arise.

The ambulance corps throughout the army acted in the most commendable manner during those days of severe labor. Notwithstanding the great number of wounded, amounting to 14,193, I have it from the most reliable authority and from my own observation that not one wounded man of all that number was left on the field within our lines early on the morning of July 4. A few were found after daylight beyond our farthest pickets, and these were brought in, although the ambulance men were fired upon when engaged in this duty by the enemy, who were within easy range. In addition to this duty, the line of battle was of such a character, resembling somewhat that of a horseshoe, that it became necessary to remove most of the hospitals farther to the rear as the enemy’s fire drew nearer.

This corps did not escape unhurt; 1 officer and 4 privates were killed and 17 wounded while in the discharge of their duties. A number of horses were killed and wounded, and some ambulances injured. These facts will show the commendable and efficient manner in which the duties devolving upon this corps were performed, and great credit is deservedly due to the officers and men for their praiseworthy conduct. I know of no battle-field from which wounded men have been so speedily and so carefully removed, and I have every reason to feel satisfied that their duties could not have been performed better or more fearlessly.

Before the army left Gettysburg, and knowing that the wounded had been brought in from the field, six ambulances and four wagons were ordered to be left from each corps, to convey the wounded from their hospitals to the railroad depot, for transportation to the other hospitals. From the Cavalry Corps but four ambulances were ordered, as this corps had a number captured by the enemy at or near Hanover a few days previous. I was informed by General Ingalls that the railroad to Gettysburg would be in operation on the 6th, and upon this based my action. Had such been the case, this number would have been sufficient. As it proved that this was not in good running order for some time after that date, it would have been better to have left more ambulances. I acted on the best information that could be obtained.

The number of our wounded, from the most reliable information at my command, amounted to 14,193. The number of Confederate wounded who fell into our hands was 6,802, making the total number of wounded thrown by that battle upon this department 20,995. The wounded of July 1 fell into the hands of the enemy, and came under our control on the 4th of that month. Instruments and medical supplies belonging to the First and Eleventh Corps were in some m-stances taken from the medical officers of those corps by the enemy.

Previous to leaving Gettysburg, I, on July 5 and 6, ordered supplies to be sent to Frederick from Washington and Philadelphia, to meet the wants of the department in the event of another battle, which there was every reason to suppose would occur shortly after the army left Gettysburg. While at the latter place, I asked the Surgeon-General to have 50 medical officers ready to meet me at such a point as I should thereafter indicate.

On July 7, I desired them to be sent to Frederick. Late in the night of July 9, 47 reported. These officers were designed to make up, as far as possible, the deficiency of medical officers existing in consequence of the large detail from this army left at Gettysburg.

Tents were ordered by my request, and the corps supplied as far as their transportation would permit, and the remainder kept in reserve. It is not necessary to enter into a detailed list of the articles ordered and on hand ready for the anticipated battle. I have the orders in my office, and it is with pleasure I can state for the information of the commanding general that, notwithstanding the short time in which I had to make the necessary preparations, this department was, when near Boonsborough, fully prepared to take care of the wounded of another battle of as great magnitude as that which this army heat just passed through at Gettysburg.

It is unnecessary to do more than make an allusion to the difficulties which surrounded this department at the engagement at Gettysburg. The inadequate amount of transportation; the impossibility of having that allowed brought to the front; the cutting off our communication with Baltimore, first by way of Frederick and then by way of Westminster; the uncertainty, even as late as the morning of July 1, as to a battle taking place at all, and, if it did, at what point it would occur; the total inadequacy of the railroad to Gettysburg to meet the demands made upon it after the battle was over; the excessive rains which fell at that time– all conspired to render the management of the department one of exceeding difficulty, and yet abundance of medical supplies were on hand at all times; rations were provided, shelter obtained, as soon as the wagons were allowed to come to the front, although not as abundant as necessary on account of the reduced transportation. Medical officers, attendants, ambulances, and wagons left when the army started for Maryland, and the wounded were well taken care of, and especially so when we consider the circumstances under which the battle was fought and the length and severity of the engagement.

The conduct of the medical officers was admirable. Their labors not only began with the beginning of the battle, but lasted long after the battle had ended. When other officers had time to rest, they were busily at work–and not merely at work, but working earnestly and devotedly.

I have not considered it necessary to give in this report other than a very general outline of the operations of this department at that time. To enter into a detailed account of them would, I presume, be more than the commanding general would desire.

I am, general, very respectfully, your obedient servant,

JON A. LETTERMAN,
Medical Director.

Brig. Gen. S. WILLIAMS,
A. A. G., Army of the Potomac.

Official Records of the War of the Rebellion, Series I, Volume XXVII, Part 1.

From: ironbrigader.com

Read More

The Battle of Gettysburg, and More: Understanding the Incompetence of Civil War Surgeons

From: ourgreatamericanheritage.com

Nearly all historians agree that the battle of Gettysburg was the turning point of the American Civil War. It was also, one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War. In this three day struggle, over fifty thousand soldiers were killed or wounded. Gettysburg, like other Civil War battles, is remembered for the horror that occurred on the battlefield. There was, however, plenty of horror that took place off the battlefield. The wounded were at the mercy of the battlefield surgeons. Many times, unfortunately, these surgeons were simply incompetent.

There were many surprises in the Civil War. The biggest surprise of all was just how incomprehensibly unprepared they were for the deadly battle results. By the age of 15, most young men are enjoying life: sports, girls, cars, or playing Candy Crush on their iPhones. The ambitious ones, might even work part-time at Safeway. Just a short century and a half ago young Seymour Goodyear spent his teenage days doing something very different. Seymour was a farm boy from Georgia, but in the early 1860’s his name turned up in the staff registrar of St. Charles Hospital in Richmond, Virginia. Listed as a hospital steward, in the course of the Civil War, he assisted surgeons performing amputations and, in many cases, he performed them himself.

Men and boys made up the surgical corps of both armies. Aurelius Barlett was formerly a gold miner in Colorado, but he performed his duties as a surgeon for the 33rd Missouri infantry. A U. S. Marshal, David V. Whitney was made a surgeon, too, and placed in charge of an entire hospital. Both men, and many others, had no training or experience. Many were politically appointed. Some were dodging regular duty on the battlefield. Others simply found themselves needed because of the overwhelming numbers of casualties. Having a 15-year-old farm boy, or a gold miner or marshal, stand over you with a knife, could not have inspired confidence. It is also unlikely that many performing the amputations had even seen a dead body before. Consider the terrible sight of a battlefield hospital: seriously injured soldiers waiting their turn, and in full view of the mass amputations taking place.

There were, however, a small group of real doctors, those who had actually gone to medical school. In a letter to his wife, Dr. Daniel Holt describes in stunned disbelief his battlefield observations: “Every house, for miles around is a hospital, and I have seen arms, legs, feet, and hands lying in piles rotting in the blazing heat of the Southern sky, unburied and uncared for, and still the knife went steadily in its work to the putrid mess.” Holt’s words are disturbing but give a small window into history as it was happening.

There was, however, one word that can best describe the surgical procedure most used during the Civil War – amputation. Some surgeons tried to preserve limbs by resection, but amputation was the preferred method. Since the Civil War some historians, educators and others have complained vehemently about the overuse of the “knife.” Butchers, savages, drunken boy surgeons, and many more, were some of the words used to describe and rail against Civil War surgeons. The soldiers also held a low opinion of surgeons, one stating: “it has ever been my opinion that a man is no better than a dead man when placed under the hands of almost any of our surgeons.” Battlefield nurses even chimed in, “it grieves me to think of how many men are ruined for life by surgeons who with savage glee hurry to chop off arms, legs, ad libitum, who might by a slower and more skillful process have been saved such humiliation.” Others have referred to the surgeons as murderers and drunken murderers. Not so fast! It could be argued that the conditions of war demanded simple surgical procedures. A surgeons work needed to be without complications, since the majority of them had little or no medical training.

Amputation was a simple answer. It was fast and uncomplicated, taking less than ten minutes to remove a limb and it required only a few instruments. The knives and saws were tools that were familiar even to the untrained. The medical corps were overwhelmed, sometimes facing as many as 35,000 casualties in one battle. Additionally, even if the surgeon tried to save a limb, instead of amputating, it would have been very risky. Let’s remember that antibiotics did not exist at that time and conservative surgery would have increased the chance of infection and the patient would certainly die.

Battlefield surgeons also had to consider the time element. Conservative surgery would have taken far longer than ten minutes. Decisions were made quickly. Most successful surgeries were performed within 24 hours of the wounding. The last to be seen were usually those shot in the head, chest, or stomach and nearly always left to die. Surgeons focused on those who had a chance of surviving.

There is little doubt that many of the complaints made against Civil War surgeons were true. There were others who were good, even excellent, and continued as surgeons after the war. Despite the high number of complaints about Civil War surgeons, there was a 75% survival rate of all surgeries. The battlefield was the training ground for Civil War surgeons.

Image 1: Union Army surgeons

Image 2: Confederate surgeon Dr. Whistler

Read More

John C. Chamberlain and the Christian Commission at Gettysburg

From: edinborough.com

John Calhoun Chamberlain, brother of the hero of Little Round Top, served with the United States Christian Commission during the battle of Gettysburg. He filed this report to the central office. Chamberlain's Christian Commission diary, kept during the battle of Gettysburg, is found in our book, "Gettysburg and the Christian Commission".

This letter from a gentleman of Bangor, now a delegate of the Christian Commission, gives some idea how the delegates work. Two hundred such were on that battlefield.

Middletown Md. July 11, 1863
Charles Demond, esq.

My Dear Sir:
Although my epistolary conveniences are not of the first order, I will tell you something of my experiences at Gettysburg, where I happened to arrive in advance of the rest of the Commission.

I came up with the Fifth Corps on the morning of the 2nd. As we advanced we saw nothing that told of the battle, except now and then, at long intervals, a dash of smoke from the heights held by Howard. As we drew nearer, however, the hospitals told the story of what had been and what was to come. Our forces proceeded right up in line of battle, and speedily every hill was capped with smoke, the most terrific cannonading on right, on left and front -- the whizzing and bursting of shells, and the clatter of musketry. Then came the wounded; they were lying under every tree, the woods seemed full of them, they issued from every path and were scattered along the road-sides. They were wandering around searching for their respective hospitals. It was a very small portion who could be accommodated in ambulances. Many of their hospitals I was able to point out to them after washing their wounds. Poor fellows! after reaching their hospitals many of them were little better off. The houses and barns would hold but a handful. At one hospital I found hundreds lying on their backs in the open fields -- sun pouring down into their faces. Their bleeding and neglected wounds were not half so tormenting as this. They entreated, with all their powers, as the last request of dying men, to have some plan devised to screen them from the heat. Every one thought it useless, for there were no spare tents at hand nor blankets enough to wrap about them. In this exigency I hardly knew which way to turn, but I soon found myself driving stakes with a rock and twisting every spare corner of their bedding over them. My success started others and soon I had the comfort of seeing the whole hospital in the shade. But toward evening we saw a shower coming up and here was a new labor. We did the best we could, but few escaped the water that night.

This is the way I spent my time at Gettysburg -- going round the hospitals, reading in the faces of the men their wants and trying to relieve them, speaking words of comfort and religious consolation, and gathering their dying messages to their friends at home. After all, my dear sir, our labors at such times are of such a nature that we can give but a faint idea of them on paper. There are a thousand little nameless acts which the world cannot know, nor we ourselves recall, that are none the less important in their issues. The grateful soldier notes them, one by one, and thanks God for the Christian Commission. I cannot close without telling you the pleasure it gave me, as I walked over the battle field among the dead, to find lying by their sides, and many already open, books of the Christian Commission distribution.

I am, your obedient servant, John C. Chamberlain

Read More

Gettysburg and the Christian Commission

Edited with an introduction by Daniel J. Hoisington

Following the battle of Gettysburg, the United States Christian Commission provided spiritual and physical care to thousands of wounded and dying soldiers of both armies. More than three hundred volunteers came to the battlefield, leaving a legacy of “a thousand little nameless acts.”

In his introductory essay, Daniel Hoisington explains the pivotal role that the Christian Commission played at Gettysburg and its lasting effect on evangelical Christianity. Delegates included J. B. Stillson—Dwight Moody’s mentor, George Junkin—Stonewall Jackson’s father-in-law and staunch Unionist, Rowland Howard—brother of General Oliver O. Howard and later Secretary of the American Peace Society, and George Duffield—composer of the hymn, “Stand Up! Stand Up for Jesus!”

The book includes important contemporary accounts of the battle’s aftermath, including the first complete publication of the diary of John Calhoun Chamberlain, one of the first delegates at Gettysburg and brother of the hero of Little Round Top. Jane Boswell Moore’s letters provide a glimpse of women’s work among the soldiers. Andrew Cross’ official report describes the carnage of battle as “a most fearful judgment of God upon a nation and people.” In a postwar story, George Peltz tells of a return to the Second Corps Hospital eight years later on a final mission of mercy.

". . . especially welcome for integrating the religiously inspired work of a prominent voluntary agency into broader accounts of this much-studied battle." --Mark Noll, Books & Culture

"Gettysburg and the Christian Commission at Gettysburg offers a varied overview of a neglected aspect of the care of the wounded at Gettysburg. This study is highly recommended. Its unique perspective provides an understanding of the roll of the U. S. Christian Commission at Gettysburg as a case study of its contribution during the Civil War. " -- Michael Russert, Civil War News

On H-Net, David Raney wrote about Gettysburg and the Christian Commission, saying: "Hoisington has enriched our understanding of the United States Christian Commission, one of the least-known and least-understood participants in the American Civil War."

From: edinborough.com

Read More

Union Soldier Turns Medic at Gettysburg, 1863

A primary source by Elbert Corbin

Pvt. Elbert Corbin to his wife, July 6, 1863. (GLC)

After three days of fierce fighting on July 1–3, 1863, nearly 40,000 battered soldiers lay scattered across the blood-soaked fields of Gettysburg, Pennsylvania. As the torrential summer rain poured down on the wounded, Private Elbert Corbin of the 1st New York Light Artillery was thrust into an unexpected role when he was ordered to remain behind and take care of his fallen comrades.

In this rare letter, Corbin detailed the quick training that enabled him to assist his wounded compatriots. He also writes of helping wounded enemies: “dressed our Boys wounds then . . . assisting to cut out Balls and dress the wounded Rebels.” He resignedly noted the paradox of having to “Help to wound & Kill men then Patch them up.”

Corbin describes operations and procedures he performed, saying that he now “can do up wounds from shot or shell or Bullits quite like an M.D.” But he also reported that he is troubled by having become numb to the gruesome tasks of rudimentary surgery: “I can see an Arm or Leg taken off and it has no more affect on my feelings, than cutting so much Beef.” Though he claimed that he was no longer disturbed by his work, it is clear that Corbin’s experiences stayed with him, as he wrote of Gettysburg, “more suffering here in one second than you will see in a Leife.”

A full transcript is available.

EXCERPT
Monday Eve July 6th.  10.O’Clock – Em I have passed another busy day – Lieut Shelden was fixed up by me and made as comfortable and sent off with some other officers I am left here in Care of the Boys – Several of the boys who had very slight wounds are with the Battery. We have Patched up just so as to man 4 guns all told and the Battery is ready for the front . . . After getting off Lt[?] S. I dressed our Boys wounds then 15 or 20 of the Boys of other Batteries then I was sent to work assisting to cut out Balls and dress the wounded Rebels and we now have an quantity of them and I shall have to help tomorrow I can do up wounds from shot or shell or Bullits quite like an M.D. – I have had quite a Dicipline I do it for that – I can see an Arm or Leg taken off and it has no more affect on my feelings, than cutting so much Beef – Dead men are plenty here – and I saw plenty of them in all shapes on the field – Help to wound & Kill men then Patch them up I could show more suffering here in one second than you will see in a Leife– at home It is strange how I have diciplined my feelings to see Dying and suffering men and have no feelings only a passing thought, I have some [illegible] that were cut out of men I have had quite a chat to day with Rebels . . . such a Sabbath I shall long remember and these days work here among the wounded & dying –

* The Gilder Lehrman Institute thanks the following people in helping to identify Corbin as the author of this letter: Thomas E. Corbin (great grandson of Private Elbert Corbin); Greg Goodell and Scott Hartwig at the Gettysburg National Military Park; and Stephen J. Dreher, historian for Pettit’s Battery B.

Image: Pvt. Elbert Corbin, 1st New York Artillery, to his wife, July 6, 1863. (Gilder Lehrman Collection)

From: gilderlehrman.org

Read More

Field Relief Work at Gettysburg

By Jane E. Schultz

On Independence Day in 1863, a Saturday, it was raining in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, as burial details and medical officers took account of the recent battle. Some 50,000 men had fallen in three days, 8,000 of them killed outright and the rest in need of medical attention. Civilians working independently or under the auspices of the US Sanitary Commission, a relief organization established in 1861 to lend a hand to the Army Medical Department, poured into town as overtaxed surgeons worked around the clock and local citizens came up for air. By Sunday, with so many bodies left to bury and 3,000 horse carcasses littering the roads and fields, relief workers arriving from Washington, Philadelphia, and Baltimore could smell decay from miles away and recorded their revulsion at the stench.

The prospect of providing timely aid to so many was daunting. No one had anticipated this many casualties, and the medical corps was ill prepared. The germ theory was not yet widely understood, so few surgeons practiced antisepsis, which meant that patients with fair chances of recovery sometimes contracted blood poisoning or gangrene and died. Anesthesia, on the other hand, was routinely administered to those undergoing painful procedures. Gettysburg surgeons handed out opium pills to men awaiting amputations, and when morphine and chloroform were in short supply, whiskey substituted. Advances in medicine were slow to come, despite the overwhelming availability of military bodies presenting themselves to practitioners. Competition among medical sects and disagreements about licensure created professional mistrust, which served neither patients nor practitioners well. Even though Britain had begun to train nurses in 1860 in the wake of the Crimean War, nurses in the United States did not begin to professionalize until 1870, and most of those detailed to nurse during the war—convalescent men and middle-aged women—had little training other than what domestic life had taught them.

By the summer of 1863, the surgeon generals’ offices of both the Union and the Confederacy had learned a great deal about triage and the rapid deployment of critical medical services. Though he was satisfied that the Union ambulance service had succeeded in removing 12,000 soldiers from the Gettysburg field by July 4—a significant improvement over the chaotic evacuations of 1861 and 1862—Army of the Potomac Medical Director Jonathan Letterman still lacked shelter tents and supplies to distribute among the thousands of men laid out on stretchers. Rebel wounded left behind in the retreat needed immediate attention as well, but too few Confederate medical officers had stayed behind, and Letterman was soon ordered to move on, leaving only about a hundred Union surgeons to clean up the mess. Men and women from the Sanitary Commission started to arrive on the 4th while local women, like Sallie Myers, and those attached to regiments, like Amanda Farnham, who had marched thirty miles with the 6th Corps, had witnessed the entire conflict. Charlotte McKay of Massachusetts rode atop forage in an army wagon and found the 2nd Corps hospital in the Jacob Schwartz farmhouse, where she fed double amputees and swatted the flies and mosquitos bedeviling convalescents. Already 800 Union and 300 Confederate soldiers were scattered about the house and the grounds, some under a stand of apple trees. Mary Morris Husband of Pennsylvania, an ample woman of 43 and a veteran of Antietam’s Smoketown Hospital, secured a ride to town on General Meade’s mail wagon and started cooking for men in the 3rd Corps hospital. In the absence of stoves, such women slung iron cauldrons over campfires to make soup, distributed fresh clothing, and dressed minor wounds. Altogether the Commission spent $75,000 at Gettysburg in the month of July—equal to approximately $100 million in today’s dollars.

Gathering equipment, livestock, and wounded men in haste, Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia retreated south toward Emmitsburg, Maryland, with the object of reaching the Potomac. Yankee artillery and cavalry pursued the nineteen-mile-long train of Confederates and inflicted further damage. Coming in the opposite direction was a band of thirteen sisters of charity from Emmitsburg, who described a harrowing journey of dodging corpses in a carriage with blood-spattered wheels. The sisters were from an order known for its nursing mission. Once in Gettysburg, they took up residence in McClennen’s Hotel and went to work in the courthouse, the churches, and the local college, dressing the wounds of men from both armies who had not already landed in one of the several corps hospitals ringing the town. On her way out to soldiers who had not yet found shelter, Sister Camilla O’Keefe noticed a sign in the woods that read, “17,000 wounded down this way.”[1] Here she and her band encountered men, whose wounds were crawling with maggots, lying on the ground; both the nuns and their charges battled lice.

Many surgeons expressed gratitude for the services of female volunteers, even those whom Army Nursing Superintendent Dorothea Dix had barred from the environs on account of their youth. The tireless proponent for the reform of mental illness ultimately appointed more than 3,000 women as nurses during the war, but Surgeon General William Hammond would circumvent her authority less than three months after Gettysburg by encouraging surgeons to appoint their own female staff. Given the press of sick and wounded, it was surely more practical to put surgeons in charge of hiring, and more than 20,000 Union women ultimately provided domestic and medical relief during the war with at least 10,000 Southern women, many of them slaves, providing the same services.

One of those whom Dix turned back was 23-year-old Cornelia Hancock of New Jersey, who tagged along with her surgeon brother-in-law, flouting Dix’s injunction; her first glimpse of Gettysburg was a pile of amputated arms and legs. Given her Quaker background, it is surprising how quickly Hancock acclimated: “You will think,” she told her mother in her third week as nurse, “it is a short time for me to get used to things.” Anxious to allay family disapproval, she wrote to another, “I am better than I am at home. I feel so good when I wake up in the morning.”[2] Sophronia Bucklin, a seamstress from Auburn, New York, also in her twenties, was similarly barred but to no avail. Upon arrival, Bucklin encountered a line of stretchers a mile and a half long, with rain pelting those awaiting their turn with the surgeons. Passing the night on a bare iron bedstead, she “fished up” her shoes with the handle of her umbrella in the morning and learned “how much, which at home we call necessary, can be lopped off, and we still be satisfied.”[3] Nursing Southern soldiers was not easy for her. She saw weaknesses of character, as did Emily Bliss Souder of Baltimore, who branded the rebels crybabies. Imperious in their observations of the enemy, Union nurses like Georgeanna Woolsey, a blue-blooded New Yorker with six siblings in the war effort, still insisted that relief workers treated Northerners and Southerners alike—with sympathy and delicacy—and that the men’s weakened state fostered a surprising spirit of conciliatory brotherhood in hospital tents.

With so much work to be done, few medical officers worried about the scores of women who came to town in the second week, hauling baskets of food and bedding. But there were those like Franklin Dyer, surgeon of the 19th Massachusetts assigned to the 2nd Corps, who wanted the women to disappear, presumably because they disrupted surgical focus. Dyer observed that six months earlier at Fredericksburg, a colleague had told him that the famed Clara Barton “plagued me so that I had to get her out of the cook house and put one of my own men in charge.”[4] Like other sleep-deprived surgeons, Dyer’s patience was fraying and he found no solace in the high prices that the people of Gettysburg were charging for food from their larders. Prejudices aside, there was little anyone could do to prevent civilians—some who wanted to help and others who wanted to gawk—from flooding the town.

At the start of each day, stewards set out vials of chloroform and morphine sulfide, anticipating the amputations that would begin as soon as ambulances could deliver up their harvest of wounded flesh. Confederate Surgeon Simon Baruch of the 3rd South Carolina Battalion used whatever came to hand for operations in the field: wagon tailgates, wooden doors spanning barrels, even a church communion table. After the Confederate retreat on July 3 left him to fend for hundreds of wounded Rebels on his own, he was the grateful recipient of Union mules and a wagonload of medicinal and commissary goods sent by Jonathan Letterman—an indication that medical cooperation sometimes trumped political partisanship. Throughout the three days of the battle, field surgeons were forced to move their dressing stations to keep up with the fluctuating line of fire while more experienced practitioners operated in houses and barns impressed by corps medical officers. Wounded men were sometimes caught in the crossfire, and medical staff were wounded and killed by stray bullets or shrapnel. When Pennsylvania hospital steward Spencer Bonsall’s horse was shot out from under him, the thousand-pound animal collapsed on top of him, causing a lengthy hospitalization. Assistant Surgeon Morgan Baldwin of the 32nd Massachusetts reported that on July 2 alone, his medical unit was compelled to move three times. At the last place, a soldier with exposed intestines begged him for help, but the man would die in several hours and Baldwin’s superior berated him for wasting his time on a dead man. Later that night, as he returned to the Weikert farmhouse to assist with amputations, he witnessed hogs on the loose, feeding on the deceased. It was not a good day.

In the days following the battle, vendors selling coffins and offering passage to relatives who had come to find their soldiers’ bodies descended upon the town, increasing stress for medical staff and relief workers who were suffering from physical as well as emotional fatigue. Northern civilians attempted to secure information concerning the whereabouts of their loved ones’ graves, and some 1,500 of them succeeded in getting their boys disinterred and transported back home. Others searched in vain or arrived too late for parting words, despite the Sanitary Commission’s efforts to make available the location of the wounded. Southerners, if they ventured to Gettysburg at all, were advised to avoid the notice of vengeful Northern citizens. One of these, Margaret Bissell, upon coming to bury her husband, discovered that he had been interred en masse in a trench of more than a hundred bodies.

By early August, Camp Letterman—a fully supplied tent hospital—had been established on the outskirts of Gettysburg, and the men who remained in temporary corps hospitals were transferred to the new facility to die in some cases of secondary infections and subsequent amputations or to recover. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain of Maine, one of the lucky ones and a rhetoric professor at Bowdoin College, led the regiment credited with stopping Confederate forces at Little Round Top, and went on, despite a bullet to the foot, to become governor of Maine. As a young member of the medical corps remarked on July 3, “A surgeon could get more experience here in one night than he could get back home in years.”[5] Inevitably the horrific aftermath of the Battle of Gettysburg made Americans beg for closure. Even if it provided abundant living material for surgeons-in-training and advanced the science of evacuation, it did not spare caregivers trauma, despite what pundits claimed was a glorious turn in Union fortunes. If anyone had foreseen the casualties that were to come as a result of fighting in 1864, then those same caregivers might have understood that Gettysburg merely prepared them for worse.

[1] Unpublished narrative of Sister Camilla O’Keefe, St. Joseph’s Archives, Emmitsburg, Maryland.

[2] Cornelia Hancock to her mother, July 26, 1863; and Cornelia Hancock to her sister, August 6, 1863, in Letters of a Civil War Nurse: Cornelia Hancock, 1863–1865, ed. Henrietta Stratton Jaquette (Lincoln: University of Nebraska, 1998), 15.

[3] Sophronia Bucklin, In Hospital and Camp: A Woman’s Record of Thrilling Incidents among the Wounded in the Late War (Philadelphia: John E Potter, 1869), 145.

[4] J. Franklin Dyer, The Journal of a Civil War Surgeon, ed. Michael B. Chesson (Lincoln: University of Nebraska, 2003), xxiv.

[5] Clyde Kernek, Field Surgeon at Gettysburg: A Memorial Account of the Medical Unit of the 32nd Massachusetts Regiment (Indianapolis: Guild Press, 1993), 68.

Jane E. Schultz is a professor of English and an adjunct professor of American Studies, Women's Studies, and Medical Humanities at Indiana University-Purdue University Indianapolis. She is the author of Women at the Front: Hospital Workers in Civil War America (2004).

From: gilderlehrman.org

Read More

The Army Medical Department at Gettysburg

From: history.amedd.army.mil/newsletters, Summer 2013

An Overview
On 1 July 1863 a meeting engagement west of Gettysburg PA escalated into one of the biggest battles in the US. The Union Army of the Potomac (roughly 92,000 strong) was moving west to block the Confederate Army of Northern Virginia (roughly 75,000 strong) which had invaded Maryland and moved into Pennsylvania. The Army of the Potomac’s Medical Director, Major Jonathan Letterman, would rise to the occasion of dealing with almost 15,000 US wounded and roughly 7,000 wounded Confederate prisoners. Each regiment (nominally 1,000 men strong) had 2 or 3 surgeons, a medical supply wagon, and two ambulances; one surgeon was usually detached to the divisional hospital. There were no medical enlisted men with regiments, and bandsmen were usually assigned as llitterbearers and medical assistants during battle. Each brigade had a small medical staff, a medical supply wagon, and 3 ambulances. Divisions had a single medical advisor, a field hospital with 3 operating teams, and more ambulances. The Corps had a 3-man medical staff and ambulances; the field hospitals were grouped at corps level.

However, the commander of the Army of the Potomac, MG George Meade, authorized only ammunition wagons and ambulances to travel with regiments and brigades, no medical supply or hospital wagons. (XII Corps did not implement the order, and many units kept their medical supply wagons while leaving hospital wagons, mainly carrying tents, behind.) Meade wanted the army more mobile, especially as he was not certain of winning the coming battle. Letterman obtained permission to form a 25-wagon supply train, but it could only follow behind the army.

On 1 July, US forces held Confederate attacks in the morning; casualties were evacuated to local buildings for treatment. However, additional Confederate forces drove the US troops back in the afternoon, overrunning the improvised hospitals. Many medical personnel stayed with their patients. This was before Geneva Protocols, but the two armies had agreed medical personnel were considered neutral.

On 2 July, two of the corps had their hospitals far forward (some were shelled or even received small-arms fire) because the US forces might be attacking or defending and needed their hospitals accessible. In late afternoon the hospitals were relocated further back, which meant moving over 4,500 wounded. The fighting was concentrated both on the Union left and in the afternoon, creating local evacuation problems. Many wounded were left on the battlefield until an unofficial truce during the night allowed ambulances to move freely. (V Corps alone collected 1,300 wounded in 10 hours.)

On 3 July, total casualties were only 2,500, and those were mainly during the bombardment before Pickett’s Charge and during that charge. They never threatened to overwhelm the hospital capabilities.

On 4 July the armies watched each other, but did not engage. Thunderstorms in the afternoon led to local flash floods, and since some hospitals were near streams (for the water supply, and to be out of the way) a few immobile patients drowned.

Lee retreated on the night of 4/5 July and left almost 7,000 Confederate wounded and 1,000 US wounded behind. He left the captured US medical personnel, but no supplies. Letterman’s supply train arrived, and a private organization (the US Sanitary Commission) also provided supplies (nearly $400,000-worth at today’s prices). Letterman also asked The Surgeon General to send 70 extra doctors, not for replacements (only 13 surgeons were wounded at Gettysburg, 1 dying of his wounds on 3 July) but because the Army of the Potomac would be moving after the battle and he would need to leave some doctors with the wounded. Letterman also had to leave a great deal of equipment, which could not be replaced for a month.

On 22 July a hospital camp (called Camp Letterman) opened at Gettysburg for about 16,000 patients, about 150 per doctor. Almost 20% of the Army of the Potomac’s doctors stayed. Although railway evacuation from Gettysburg started on 7 July, the camp stayed open until 20 November as patients gradually become transportable.

Assistant Surgeon (1LT) John S. Billings had already commanded a rear-area hospital in Washington, DC, and was now assigned to the Fifth Corps in the field. He reported: …

"About the middle of June, the 2d Division of the Fifth Corps took up its line of march, which, passing, successively, through Benson's Mills, Catlett's Station, Manassas, Centreville, Gum Spring, Aldie Gap, Leesburg, Edwards's Ferry and Frederick, terminated, so far as I was concerned, at Gettysburg, Pennsylvania on the morning of the 2d of July. On this march, all the ambulances were collected into a train, which followed immediately behind the division, and was super-intended by a medical officer detailed for the purpose. Transportation was allowed in the proportion of one wagon for the medical supplies of two regiments, and this train of wagons followed close behind the ambulances. For the approaching battle, I was detailed as surgeon in charge of the field hospital of the division, and, also, as one of the operators, my assistants being Assistant Surgeons Whittingham and Breneman, U.S.A. At this time, I was attached to the 7th Infantry, and also acted as medical officer for the 10th Infantry during the march. On the 1st of July, about four o'clock P.M., the division reached Hanover, distant about twelve miles from Gettysburg, and went into camp. Just as the tents were fairly pitched, news came of the repulse of the First Corps, and a few minutes later, we were on the road to Gettysburg.

"About six A.M., July 2d, the division marched into position, and formed line of battle on the right of the somewhat horse-shoe shaped line in which our army was drawn up. … About half past three o'clock P.M., the division was brought into action, marching down a little road to the right of the large conical hill called Round Top, which was on the extreme left of the long arm of our horseshoe like line of battle. I accompanied my regiment until they were under fire, and was then ordered to repair to a large stone house and barn, near the base of Round Top, and there establish a field hospital. When I reached the place, our skirmishers were lying behind the stone walls around the house, and as I rode up, a small body of rebels further up the hill, and about seventy-five yards off, saluted me with a volley. They were captured a moment afterwards by a regiment which had passed between them and their own line. On entering the house, I found it unoccupied, and bearing evident traces of the hasty desertion of its inmates. A good fire was blazing in the kitchen stove, a large quantity of dough was mixed up, the bake-pans were greased; in short, everything was ready for use. I immediately set my attendants at work baking bread and heating large boilers of water. In five minutes, I was joined by the other medical officers detailed for the hospital. The ambulance trains reported to me fifteen minutes later, having with it three Autenrieth [supply] wagons, and by the time the operating tables were set up, and materials for dressing arranged, the wounded began to pour in. I performed a large number of operations of various kinds, received and fed seven hundred and fifty wounded, and worked all that night without cessation. An agent of the Sanitary Commission visited me in the evening, and furnished me with a barrel of crackers, a few lemons, etc. Of stimulants, chloroform, morphine and materials for dressing, the Autenrieth wagons furnished an ample supply.

"On July 3d, at seven o'clock A.M., I was ordered by Surgeon Milban, medical director of the corps, to remove the hospital to a point about one mile to the rear. This was done as rapidly as possible. A few shells began to drop in as the first train of ambulances moved off, and by eleven o'clock A.M., the fire on that point was quite brisk. Little or no damage was done, however, and by four o'clock P.M., all the wounded were safely removed. The new site was a grove of large trees, entirely free from underbrush, on the banks of a little creek, about half a mile from the Baltimore turnpike. By means of shelter-tents, india-rubber blankets, etc., shelter was arranged for all the worst cases, and two thousand dry rations, with three oxen, were sent to the hospital by Doctor Milban in the course of the afternoon. All of this day, I was employed in operating and in dressing the more urgent cases. The following morning, it began to rain, and continued to do so for five days and nights with very little cessation. On the morning of the 5th, the regimental medical supply wagons came up, and from them I removed all the hospital tents and tent flies, with two hospital mess chests. On this day, the division moved. I was left behind in charge of the hospital, which then contained about eight hundred wounded. Twenty men were detailed from the division to act as assistants about the hospital. I was also given two ambulances and two six-mule wagons. The ambulance train, which had up to this time been engaged in collecting the wounded of the division from the various corps hospitals to which some of them had been carried, and in hauling straw for bedding, accompanied the division, as did also the Autenrieth wagons. By this time, Assistant Surgeon Brinton had reached White church with a special medical supply train, and from him I procured such supplies as were most needed. The greatest want which I experienced was that of tools. I had not a shovel or pick with which to bury the dead or construct sinks, and no axes. I was compelled to send out a foraging party to the farm houses, who, after a day's labor, succeeded in procuring two shovels and an axe. Seventeen hospital tents were pitched, and in these were placed all the most severe cases, about seventy-five in number. Under the tent flies, I placed one hundred more patients, and the remainder were all under shelter-tents, and were arranged by regiments. By means of the wagons, I procured abundance of clean fresh straw from about five miles distance, and commissary stores and fresh beef were furnished ad libitum. Assistant Surgeons Ramsay, Whittingham, Bacon and Breneman, U.S.A., and two surgeons of volunteer regiments, whose names I cannot at this moment recall, remained with me, and through their energy and zeal the labor of organizing the hospital was quickly completed. Especial praise is due to Doctors Ramsay and Whittingham, whose labors were unceasing, and from whom I received many valuable suggestions. Very few shell wounds came under my notice at this battle, and none from round balls or buckshot. Most of the wounds were from the conoidal ball, and a large proportion were in the lower extremities. Of three exsections of the shoulder joint, all were successful in so far as that the patients recovered. In one case, I removed four and a half inches of the shaft. No cases of tetanus occurred in this hospital. Of secondary hemorrhage there were thirteen cases up to the 22d of July, at which time I left the hospital. Three of these cases occurred after amputation of the thigh; in two the hemorrhage was arrested by pressure, and, in the third, it was found necessary to open the flaps and secure the bleeding vessel. Three cases of hemorrhage from the anterior tibial artery occurred; two were arrested by pressure, and, in the third, amputation was performed with a good result. In one case, the internal maxillary was the bleeding vessel. The hemorrhage in this case was readily controlled by pressure and persulphate of iron. Assistant Surgeon Howard, U.S.A., left in the hospital six cases of gunshot wounds of the thorax, all of which he had treated by hermetically sealing the orifice with collodion. Four of these men died. What became of the other two, I do not know. In one of these cases, I made a post mortem examination, and found an abscess of the lung, communicating with the pleural cavity, which last was filled with a sanio purulent fluid. Four cases of a similar nature were treated with moist charpie. One of these died, and one was dying when I left; the other two were, in my opinion, in a fair way to recover. Five cases of gunshot fracture of the cranium came under my notice. Four of these involved the occipital bone, and all were fatal. A low muttering form of delirium, with occasional paroxysms of furious mania, was present in all from the commencement. Two cases occurred of gunshot fracture of the femur in the upper third. Both were treated by Smith's anterior splint, and one died. In no case of fracture of the long bones did I attempt any formal resection, but confined myself to removing splinters and foreign bodies, and cutting off very sharp projecting points with the bone forceps. From my experience in Cliffburne hospital, I am convinced that regular resections in such cases are worse than doing nothing at all. In no case of fracture of the long bones did I attempt any formal resection, but confined myself to removing splinters and foreign bodies, and cutting off very sharp projecting points with the bone forceps. From my experience in Cliffburne hospital, I am convinced that regular resections in such cases are worse than doing nothing at all."

Image: Lt. Colonel John Shaw Billings

Read More

Elizabeth Thorn (1832-1907): Six Months Pregnant and Burying the Dead at Gettysburg

By Kate Kelly

Often referred to as “Angel of Gettysburg”

Stepped in to serve as cemetery caretaker since her husband was off fighting for the Union

Elizabeth Masser and Peter Thorn emigrated to the United States from Germany and were married in Gettysburg in September of 1855, the same year that the cornerstone for the local cemetery was laid.  A few months later, Peter was hired to be caretaker of what was to be called Evergreen Cemetery in Gettysburg.

An archway with interior living space for the caretaker was built as a gateway into the cemetery grounds.  Elizabeth’s parents lived on one side of the archway building; Peter and Elizabeth lived on the other. (Today there is a caretaker house built behind the arch on the right side.)

Six years later when the Civil War began (1861), the Thorns had three sons.  By 1862, Peter felt it was his duty to join the Union Army, and he enlisted with the 138th Pennsylvania Infantry, leaving the cemetery caretaking duties to Elizabeth and her father.  At the time, the cemetery was averaging about five burials per month.

War Nears

On June 26, 1863, Confederate soldiers began moving into Gettysburg. General Lee knew the northern movement would unsettle Union troops, and he was also aware his men would benefit from moving into farmlands that had not yet been picked over as they had been in Virginia.

As the Confederates arrived, the Gettysburg community had little choice but to answer their demands and feed them.

The Union Army of the Potomac was not far behind the Confederate movement.  General Howard and his men came in on the road that took them past the cemetery, so they stopped at the Evergreen gatehouse looking for a man who could familiarize them with Gettysburg.  Six months pregnant, Elizabeth Thorn stepped outside as the most capable volunteer in the household.  She accompanied one of General Howard’s men into the field, pointing out the main roadways and the lesser known local paths that the soldiers could use.

That night a Union soldier returned to the gatehouse, ordering Elizabeth to prepare dinner for the Union Generals–Howard, Sickles, and Slocum–all of whom had come to Gettysburg.  The Thorns had very little food left, having been ordered by the Confederates to give them what they could, but Elizabeth did the best she could to pull together a meal.

In return, General Howard ordered some of his men to move the family’s belongings to the cellar for safekeeping.  Elizabeth asked whether the family should leave the area, and Howard allowed that they could stay but should go to the cellar when fighting began.  He added: “When I give you orders to leave the house, don’t study about it, but go right away.”  It was understood that if the family needed to move on, they were to take nothing with them.

The next day the fighting began near Cemetery Hill, and the Thorns, along with some neighbors, took refuge in the cellar. At the conclusion of that day’s fighting, a solider arrived and told them to leave; that they should follow the main road so the soldiers would know it was them and not open fire.

Fleeing Gettysburg on Foot

The family made it to a farmhouse before nightfall, and they stopped in, hoping for food.  The house was filled with an assortment of soldiers and community people in addition to the family, and there was no more food; Elizabeth was told they could spend the night. One of the soldiers called Elizabeth over to him to show her a photograph of his children—three little boys.  He asked if Elizabeth’s three sons, 7, 5, and 2, could sleep near him for the night.  They did.

Elizabeth was among the Gettysburg citizens who set down eyewitness accounts after the siege, so we have in her words what happened to her during the next few days.  She wrote that the next day she and her father traveled back to the gatehouse to see if they could retrieve any possessions. On their arrival they found that their hogs had been killed, the windows of the house were shot out, and the trunks that had been taken to the cellar for safety had been emptied.

The house was filled with wounded men calling for water.  Outside, townspeople were beginning to deposit the dead who had been killed around town.

Elizabeth and her father realized there was nothing left to take and it was too early to return, so they walked back to gather the boys and her mother and they continued on to a larger farmhouse in order to find something to eat.  There were meager supplies at the new location, but there was enough that Elizabeth was able to pitch in to help make bread to feed the many hungry people who came through the area.

When the Fighting at Gettysburg Ended

Eliz Thorn headStarting late on July 4, General Lee began to move some of his men back to Virginia, and the family made their way back to the gatehouse.  As they arrived, they saw vast numbers of bodies had been delivered to the cemetery for burial. There were also were fifteen dead horses near the house, and nineteen others horses had died on the property nearby.  The stench of animal and human decay was overpowering.

The house itself was in shambles.  Three local women came over to help Elizabeth wash what was salvageable, and cemetery president David McConaughy came by to see Elizabeth and directed  that burials needed to move forward quickly.   He went into town to enlist volunteers, but those who came soon became overwhelmed and left—some of them too ill to continue, some of them simply repulsed by the work.  Though Elizabeth received no extra pay for her work, nor were the Thorns ever compensated for the damages incurred, Elizabeth stretched to pay some workers, but even they did not last long.

For the most part, the work was done by Elizabeth and her father, working in the heat of mid-July for as long as daylight lasted.  Ultimately, they buried 105 war casualties (91 soldiers and 14 civilians).

Despite the hard work of digging graves, Elizabeth managed to carry the baby to term, giving birth to the Thorns’ first daughter, Rose Meade (named for General Meade who commanded the Union Army of the Potomac), on November  1.

Peter Thorn returned home after Appomattox in 1865, and the family remained at Evergreen as caretakers until 1874.

In 2002 a Civil War Women’s Memorial was dedicated. The memorial is within Evergreen, near the gatehouse. The sculpture depicts Elizabeth attending to burial duties.  Her face is full of anguish, an apron covers her pregnant abdomen, and she holds a spade representing all she did.

Some refer to her as the “Angel of Gettysburg.”

If you visit Gettysburg, stop in Evergreen Cemetery and see the sculpture, and walk across the street where you can walk from monument to monument where each battlefield unit has set in marble the story of what they experienced on Cemetery Hill.  A trip into town, and a town tour, reveals that bullet holes can still be seen in local buildings, and provides a sense of the terror the townspeople had to have felt.

Kate Kelly is an engaging speaker and successful author of more than 30 nonfiction titles ranging from the bestselling Organize Yourself! to Living Safe in an Unsafe World. She has recently returned to her love of history and is writing and publishing a monthly e-letter, "American Snapshots," which she describes as "making sense of today by looking at yesterday."

From: americacomesalive.com

Read More

Gettysburg, July 8 (Wednesday), 1863

[By] Ward, W.C., Pvt., Co. G, 4th Alabama Regt., Little Round Top, Gettysburg, Pa.

Notwithstanding these terrible dark days, some things occurred hat meant light in the gloom. Not long after the retreat of Ge. Lee--one sad, terrible day as we lay under the tent fly--a shadow of a women fell over us; and, looking up, we saw a handsome young woman, whose kind and intelligent face expressed gentleness and sympathy. She called to a sister, who was not far off and who rapidly came to where we lay. We soon knew them as Misses Mary and Sally Witherrow, whose home was in Gettysburg.

They had heard that out in the fields, behind the line of battle, a large number of Confederate wounded were lying. Miss Mary Witherrow, with different young women at different times, came out to see us, sometimes bringing little delicacies; and one time she brought a bottle marked "Madeira Wine," and with it there was some cut-loaf sugar.

When my comrade, Smith,had bled so nearly to death and looked like the pale marble of death, I gave him quite freely of that bottle of whiskey. Whatever else I may forget, I will remember that bottled marked, "Madeira Wine . . ."

Sourced from: "Civil War Medicine: Care & Comfort of the Wounded" by Robert E. Denney

Read More

Gettysburg, July 7 (Tuesday), 1863

[By] Letterman, Jonathan, Surg., Med. Dir. Army of the Potomac, Gettysburg, Pa.

The ambulance corps . . . acted in the most commendable manner during those days of severe labor. Notwithstanding the great number of wounded, . . . I know, . . . that not one wounded man of all that number was left on the field within our lines early on the morning of the 4th of July. A few were found after daylight beyond our farthest pickets, and these were brought in, although the ambulances were fired upon, when engaged in this duty, by the enemy, who were within easy range . .  A number of horses were killed and wounded, and some ambulances injured . . . I know of no battlefield from which wounded men have been so speedily and so carefully removed, and I have every reason to feel satisfied that their duties could not have been performed better or more fearlessly.

The number of our wounded, . . . amounted to fourteen thousand one hundred and ninety-three. The number of Confederate wounded who fell into our hands was six thousand eight hundred and two; making the total number of wounded thrown by that battle upon this department twenty thousand nine hundred and ninety-five. The wounded of the 1st of July fell into the hands of the enemy, and came under our control on the 4th . . . Instruments and medical supplies belong[ing] to the First and Eleventh Corps were in some instances taken from the medical officers of those corps by the enemy .

Sourced from: "Civil War Medicine: Care & Comfort of the Wounded" by Robert E. Denney

Read More

Gettysburg, Pa., July 6 (Monday), 1863

[by] Letterman, Jonathan, Surg., Med. Dir., Army of the Potomac, Gettysburg, Pa.

Over six hundred and fifty medical officers are reported as present for duty at that battle. These officers engaged assiduously, day and night, with little rest, until the 6th, and in the Second Corps, until the 7th of July, in attendance upon the wounded.

The labor performed by these men was immense. Some of them fainted from exhaustion induced by overexertion, and others became ill from the same cause . . . Thirteen of them were wounded; one of whom, Surg. W.S. Moore, 61st Ohio, Eleventh Corps, died on the 6th of July, from the effects of his wounds.

Sourced from: "Civil War Medicine: Care & Comfort of the Wounded" by Robert E. Denney

Read More

July 5 (Sunday), 1863: With the Retreat of the Wounded From Gettysburg, Pa.

Imboden, John D., Gen., CSA,

Daybreak on the morning of July 5th found the head of our column at Greencastle, twelve or fifteen miles from the Potomac River at Williamsport, our point of crossing. Here our [perceived] troubles from the Federal cavalry began. From the fields and crossroads they attacked us in small bodies, striking the column where here were few or no guards, and creating great confusion.

. . . After a great deal of harassing and desultory fighting along the road, nearly the whole immense train reached Williamsport a little after the middle of the day. The town was taken possession of; all the churches, schoolhouses, etc, were converted into hospitals, and proving insufficient, many of the private homes were occupied.

Straw was obtained on the neighboring farms; the wounded were removed from the wagons and housed; the citizens were all put to cooking, and the army surgeons to dressing wounds.
The dead were selected from the train__for many had perished on the way__and were decently buried. All t his had to be done because the tremendous rains had raised the river more than ten feet above the fording stage, and we could not possibly cross . . .

Sourced from: "Civil War Medicine: Care & Comfort of the Wounded" by Robert E. Denney

Image: Lee's Retreat from Gettysburg

Read More

The Wounded at Gettysburg

From: americancivilwar.com

Over 30,000 soldiers of both armies lay wounded in temporary field hospitals at the close of the Battle of Gettysburg. In every sense of the word, these were not real hospitals at all, but private homes and buildings which afforded some shelter and a nearby source of water. Every barn, church, warehouse, and outbuilding within a ten mile radius of Gettysburg was filled with suffering men, so many that they could not all be attended to at once. Surgeons from the various regiments worked for days without rest to treat the wounded and medical supplies were hurried to the scene as rapidly as possible. Still, many soldiers went without care or treatment for several days.

"Houses and barns, but chiefly the woods were used as hospitals and the wounded, necessarily endured much suffering," wrote Dr. Jonathan Letterman. As the Medical Director of the Army of the Potomac, Dr. Letterman and his staff had an overwhelming job ahead of them. Before the battle ended, Dr. Letterman ordered more medical supplies to be brought to Gettysburg and he sent his ambulance corps over the field to move the wounded into a more central medical stations called corps hospitals. Dr. Letterman was forced to leave Gettysburg with the army in the pursuit of the Confederates, but he assigned Surgeon Henry James to the task of supervising the gathering and treatment of all the wounded in the area.

The first task was gathering all of the wounded into central field hospitals where adequate water supplies could be found, treatment could be rendered and wounds dressed. Further surgery could also be performed at these hospitals until the wounded could be taken to Gettysburg where they could be transported by railroad to hospitals in Philadelphia, Baltimore and Washington.

A central hospital was established on the York Pike east of Gettysburg and near the railroad and named Camp Letterman after Dr. Letterman. Wounded soldiers were taken from the field hospitals by horse-drawn ambulances to the new camp where they were housed in large canvas tents. Unlike the rigors of a field hospital, the new camp had cots with clean sheets and pillows. Nurses were assigned to each of the tents and surgeons stayed busy around the clock treating the more serious cases. Food was plentiful and the camp was remarkable for its sanitation. Cases considered too serious to move remained at the camp while an average of 800 men per day were shipped by rail to hospitals in northern cities.

Many of the nurses at Camp Letterman were women who were members of the U.S. Sanitary Commission and U.S. Christian Commission, organizations formed in the north for the benefit of Union soldiers wounded in battle. Clara Barton, who later founded the American Red Cross, was not at Gettysburg, but many women like her were. They put in long hours in the hospital wards, aiding the sick and injured soldiers, both Union and Confederate.

Surgical operations continued on the most serious cases at Camp Letterman. A visitor to the hospital witnessed the most gruesome of treatments in a surgeon's tent:

"In the operating tent, the amputation of a very bad looking leg was witnessed. The surgeons had been laboring since the battle to save the leg, but it was impossible. The patient, a delicate looking man, was put under the influence of chloroform, and the amputation was performed with great skill by a surgeon who appeared to be quite accustomed to the use of his instruments. After the arteries were tied, the amputator scraped the end and edge of the bone until they were quite smooth. While the scraping was going on, an attendant asked: 'How do you feel, Thompson?' 'Awful!' was the distinct and emphatic reply. This answer was returned, although the man was far more sensible of the effects of the chloroform than he was of the amputation."
(excerpt from A Strange and Blighted Land, Gettysburg: The Aftermath of a Battle, by Gregory Coco, Thomas Publications, Gettysburg, 1995.)

By August 7, 1863 all of the corps and field hospitals were closed and Camp Letterman was the only hospital remaining with over 3,000 patients. Union and Confederate wounded were both treated at the camp by army doctors and personnel of the United States Christian Commission and the United States Sanitary Commission. Still, not all of those wounded men could be saved and many died from the results of their wounds or infection. A cemetery was established near the camp and burials took place every day. The camp remained at Gettysburg until November 1863 when the last remaining patients left, the tents were packed, and the doctors and nurses left for other battlefield hospitals.

Image: Camp Letterman General Hospital, Gettysburg, July 1863

Read More

Cornelia Hancock and Euphemia Goldsborough at Gettysburg

From: acws.co.uk

The scale of the conflict at Gettysburg on the three July days in 1863 was huge; the day after Pickett's final onslaught upon the Federal centre, an area over two square miles was littered with dead and wounded soldiers of both sides. Both the armies were tired and somewhat shocked at the magnitude of the fight and all of the medical facilities were already overstretched with work.
As word spread of the battle, the need for extra help in caring for the wounded found its way into the Northern Press. Lee had left the area and had had to leave 5,500 wounded behind with surgeons who had very few supplies. The Federal forces had nearly 15,000 wounded of its own to care for and almost 2,000 wounded prisoners. At the start there was almost an adequate number of doctors and ambulances to deal with the situation, but when Gen. Meade, pressed by Washington, left the area to pursue the Rebels, he took all but 106 surgeons and left them only 30 ambulances.

Cornelia Hancock, a daughter in a well established New Jersey Quaker family, and Euphemia Goldborough, a Baltimore belle whose family's politic leanings were in sympathy with the Southern cause heard of the situation and made their way to Gettysburg.

Euphemia, a small 27 year old, had experience. She had travelled to Frederick after the battle at Antietam and helped in the hospital treating the Confederate wounded. Since then she had been helping prisoners kept at Point Lookout.

Cornelia journeyed to Baltimore and there was interviewed by the redoubtable Dorothea Dix, the Superintendent of women nurses. "She looked us all over and pronounced all suitable save me," she recalled. "I was then 23 and she objected to my youth and rosy cheeks." However, Cornelia travelled on to Gettysburg where she found that, "the need was so great that there was no further cavil over my age".

Cornelia was not alone in not passing Miss Dix's inspection. Every type of woman was to be found working in the hospitals and in the administration of supply; one, Helen Gilson from Massachusetts, was an attractive girl who wore a short-skirted costume and charmed her patients with her singing, another, Katherine Woolsey was the daughter of a British Admiral. The Army surgeons soon realised that any help was beneficial and gradually accepted that the work they were doing was admirable.

On arrival in the town, Euphemia went to the Pennsylvania College which was full of the Confederate wounded. As the supply of food, blankets and medical supplies improved, mainly due to the work of the Sanitary Commission rather than the Army, she found that the treatment of the Southern soldiers was on equal footing to that of the Union wounded. In fact as soldiers there became able to work they were given positions in trust much to the disapproval of the Provost Marshall who pestered the Medical Director to remove them to prison camps.

Cornelia went to work in the Union second corps field hospital where very soon she became a favourite with the soldiers as she wrote home to her influential parents of the plight. She had no overall picture of the medical problems at Gettysburg but told of what she saw. "There was a long table in the woods that was the operating table, and for seven days it literally ran blood. A wagon stood nearby rapidly filling with amputated arms and legs. So appalling was the number of the wounded as yet unsuccoured, so helpless seemed the few who were battling against tremendous odds to save life, and so overwhelming was the demand for any kind of aid that could be given quickly that one's senses were benumbed by the awful responsibility that fell to the living".

As the situation in the town and on the battlefield became more organised both of the ladies found themselves working in the huge Camp Letterman, a hospital of 12 man tents, six rows made up of some 400 tents in all. Conditions here were very much better, the camp resembled a small city with laundries, kitchens and wells of fresh water. Each tent had a stove and the patients were on beds with mattresses. There was no difference between the facilities given to either Union or Confederate soldiers, many tents contained both.

However, many of the Southern men needed new clothing; Federal Provost Marshals were concerned about the Rebels getting clothing that might have aided an escape but had to allow the tattered uniforms to be replaced with whatever the Sanitary Commission sent, they did however ban them from having shoes or boots. That fact did not deter Euphemia. She would smuggle them in under the hoops of her skirt and also take letters to be sent via friends in Baltimore to families and friends.

Cornelia felt sad when her second corps hospital was closed and the wounded taken to Camp Letterman, she wrote home saying, "It is like parting with one's own family, I go to see the boys and some cry that I cannot stay with them". However, she was presented with silver medallion that they had made and inscribed "Testimonial of regard for ministrations of mercy to the wounded soldiers at Gettysburg, Pa - July 1863". It had cost the men $20 but to Cornelia it must have been priceless.

With the opening of the Camp Letterman Hospital the need for help subsided and many of the ladies who had worked non-stop to help the patients returned home. Both Cornelia and Euphemia stayed on though and it is quite likely that they knew each other although neither mentioned the other in her diary entries. As the wounded were now being moved away by railroad in ever increasing numbers, pressure was put on the medical staff to get the Confederates into prison camps, Euphemia decided that she could do more good in helping at Point Lookout. She left Gettysburg after the death of one of her favourite patients; Sam Watson of the 5th Texas had been nursed by her from the start and his passing particularly affected her. Euphemia's sister was to remark that "She was never the same joyous girl again". She took home many letters of appreciation from soldiers and a wooden ring delicately carved by a soldier with the name "Effie" on its face.

Cornelia departed soon after, she felt that she was no longer required, warning her parents that although she was heading home she would not hesitate to go wherever she felt that she was needed. She was with the Army at the Wilderness all the way to the siege of Petersburg. After the surrender of Lee's forces at Appomattox she finally went home to settle in New Jersey.

Euphemia's southern sympathies were to get her into trouble with the Federal authorities, she was under investigation for aiding patients to escape. A letter from her to a Confederate was intercepted and on November 23 a Provost Marshall's detail arrived and searched her house. She was arrested and charged with treason. Found guilty she was sent by truce steamer to Virginia for the duration of the war. In Richmond where she had by then become quite a celebrity, she lived with the family of Col. W T Patton, an officer of the 7th Virginia whom she had nursed at Gettysburg. President Jefferson gave her a post at the Treasury Dept. in which she served in addition to carrying on her work in the area's many hospitals. At the end of the war she returned to Baltimore.

The two women were by no means unique in their service, many others gave up the comforts of home to serve the wounded. Their stories show that although they had no particular skills to offer, they were both so very compassionate that they gave their all to relieve some of the suffering faced by the men who fought.

Sources: Soldiers in Blue, G W Adams; Debris of Battle, Gerard A Paterson; Letters of Cornelia Hancock.
Hugh R Martyr, 20th Maine
The above article appeared in the ACWS Newsletter, February 2001

Read More