L. M. J.
Our line of march led us in the direction of the Boydton plank road, and on the morning of March 30th the 32nd was detailed for the skirmish line. It was a rainy day, but we soldiers could not stop for the weather. About two o’clock in the afternoon, we sighted the enemy’s pickets, and then firing began in earnest. All went well with me until about three o’clock, when I felt something strike my foot, not realizing that it was a bullet until I saw the jagged holes where it went in and out, breaking the bones as it went.
I stood and considered a moment whether to go to the rear or not, and finally decided to go back, get the surgeon to dress my wound, and then return to my company. It was quite a distance back to the rear, and I had to drop my gun and sit down to rest by the way. As I did so, I saw my colonel, who stopped and asked me if I was much hurt.
“Oh no,” I replied, “Only slight, I will soon be back.”
“I am glad it is no worse,” he replied, and on he went.
I found the surgeon, had my foot bound up, and started to go back to my company.
“Where are you going?” asked the surgeon.
“Back to my company,” said I.
“No you’re not! Get on to that stretcher!” was the order, and I was obliged to obey, though I did not see the need of it; my foot did not pain me, only felt numb, and I felt a little weak and tired, which could hardly be wondered at. I was carried to the ambulance and taken to the field hospital, where I sat and waited for my turn to come. Meanwhile I saw such horrible wounds, that I can never forget or describe. It was a hard trial, for I was waiting for my turn to be operated upon, not knowing whether I would lose my foot or not.
My turn came at last, and I was given chloroform, and knew nothing more until I was being carried from the operating table to the hospital tent, when the rain beating on my face brought back my scattered senses.