Three years in the Sixth Corps

by George T. Stevens

Surgeons were completely worn out, and many of them, had to be sent to Washington, fairly broken down with their labors.

The following extract from a letter of a surgeon at Fredericksburgh to his wife, written on the 11th, may convey something of an idea of the experience of the medical officers during those terrible days. He says: "We are almost worked to death; my feet are terribly swollen; yet we cannot rest for there are so many poor fellows who are suffering. All day yesterday I worked at the operating table. That was the fourth day that I had worked at those terrible operations since the battle commenced, and I have also worked at the tables two whole nights and part of another. Oh! it is awful. It does not seem as though I could take a knife in my hand to-day, yet there are a hundred cases of amputations waiting for me. Poor fellows come and beg almost on their knees for the first chance to have an arm taken off. It is a scene of horror such as I never saw. God forbid that I should ever see another."

Again, the same officer writing a day or two later, says, "It is fearful. I see so many grand men dropping one by one. They are my acquaintances and my friends. They look to me for help, and I have to turn away heartsick at my want of ability to relieve their sufferings. Captain Walker of the Seventh Maine is dying to-night. He is a noble good man, and he looks in my face and pleads for help. Adjutant Hessy and Lieutenant Hooper of the same regiment died last night. All were my friends, and all thought that I could save them. General Sedgwick is dead, and General Getty and General Torbert are my patients.... Mrs. Lewis has just come; what a blessing her presence will be to the colonel, who bears the loss of his arm so bravely. Colonel Barney of the Sixth Vermont died yesterday, and Major Fryer of the Forty-third is dying. The major says, 'Doctor, can nothing be done?' Major Dudley lies in the room where I am writing, seriously wounded.... I have to-day sent sixty officers of the Sixth corps to Washington.... Oh! can I ever write anything beside these mournful details? Hundreds of ambulances are coming into town now, and it is almost midnight. So they come every night."

For a time it was almost impossible to obtain sufficient supplies either of food or dressings. Everything that could be spared from the field had been sent, but in the field they were still fighting terrible battles, and there was little to spare. Food was obtained in very limited quantities in town, and men went to the houses of citizens and demanded sheets, which were torn into bandages.

But large supplies were sent from Washington by the government in a few days, so that all necessary articles were furnished in abundance, with a profusion of lemons, oranges and canned fruit. The Sanitary Commission was also on hand with large supplies of delicacies, which were joyfully received by the wounded heroes, who not only relished the luxuries, but remembered that they were the gifts of friends at home, who had not forgotten the soldiers.

Many of the people of Fredericksburgh exhibited the most malignant spite against the "Yankee wounded;" but others, while they claimed no sympathy with our cause, showed themselves friends of humanity, and rendered us all the assistance in their power. No men, except negroes and white men unfit for military duty, were left in town, but the women were bitter rebels. Some of them made fierce opposition to the use of their houses as hospitals, but they were occupied notwithstanding their remonstrances.

At one fine mansion a surgeon rang the door bell, and in a moment saw the door open just enough to show the nose and a pair of small twinkling eyes of what was evidently a portly women. "What do you want?" snarled out the female defender of the premises. "We want to come and see if we can place a few wounded officers in this house." "You can't come in here!" shouted the woman slamming the door together. A few knocks induced her again to open the door two or three inches. "Madam, we must come in here; we shall do you no harm." "You can't come here; I am a lone widow." "But I assure you no harm is intended you." Again the door was closed, and again at the summons was opened. "Madam, it will be much better for you to allow us to enter than for me to direct these men to force the door; but we must enter." The woman now threw the door wide open and rushing into the yard with as much alacrity as her enormous proportions would admit, threw her arms out and whirled about like a reversed spinning top shouting for help. She was again assured that no harm was intended her, but that unless she chose to show us the house we should be obliged to go alone. Concluding that wisdom was the better part of valor, she proceeded to show us the rooms.

At another mansion, one of the finest in Fredericksburgh, a red-haired woman thrust her head out of the side window, in answer to the ring of the door bell:

"What do you want here?"

"We wish to place some wounded officers in this house."