The Secrets of the Great City / A Work Descriptive of the Virtues and the Vices, the Mysteries, Miseries and Crimes of New York City

by James Dabney McCabe

From Harrison's Landing he went with the army to the Potomac again, and followed McClellan to South Mountain and Antietam. Here his conduct again drew upon him the notice of his officers; and when the army lay at Harper's Ferry, preparatory to its advance into Virginia, he received his sergeant's warrant, and a flattering note from General Sumner, who, although wounded himself, had not forgotten him.

He was at Fredericksburg, and there lost his left arm. It was a severe trial to him, for in the trade to which he had been trained, and to which he hoped to return at the close of the war, both arms were necessary. Nevertheless, he bore up against everything, and submitted to his long and painful suffering as only a brave man can. When the wound was healed, he went back to his command. He had no idea of claiming his discharge for the loss of only one arm. He said, cheerfully, he would only leave the service when the other arm, or a leg, went from him.

He was well enough to participate in the battle of Chancellorsville, but not sufficiently restored to health to meet the fate which there befell him, for, toward the close of the second day's engagement, he was taken prisoner. A few days later he was marched to Richmond, and there became an inmate of the famous 'Libby prison.' A dreary attack of sickness followed his arrival there, and lasted several months.

Hospital life, even among one's own friends, is not pleasant. To a prisoner, among his enemies, even though they be kind and humane, it is horrible. He is constantly haunted by the fear that he will die there, and that his fate will never be known to his friends at home. So, in spite of the bravery of Sergeant Williams, this feeling constantly preyed upon him and retarded his recovery.

The weeks and months went by slowly, and at last the long imprisonment came to an end. The sick man was sent back to the North, among a number of others, who were exchanged under a special arrangement. A furlough was granted him to go home and recruit his health. He was so weak and thin when he went back to his old home, that his friends scarcely knew him. But his native air, and the cheerful home scenes, soon brought him up again, and when he returned to his regiment, he was as well and as hearty as ever. He reached the army just after Grant had taken command of it, and was reorganizing it for the last grand campaign against Richmond.

He began the march with a light heart and happy anticipations. They were cut short at Cold Harbor, where he lost his right leg. His days of service were now over, and he went into the hospital to await his recovery, when he would have to go back to the world unfitted for almost any avocation. Still he consoled himself with the hope that the people for whom he had fought and suffered, would not let him lack for some means of employment.

When he was able to leave the hospital, the war had been decided, and the great struggle was over. He received his honorable discharge from the government, and transportation to the city where he had enlisted. After a brief rest, he set about looking for employment.

It was a harder task than he had anticipated. No one had anything for him to do, 'Times were so dull,' 'there was so little to do,' that no one could think of employing him. In vain he urged his services to the country and for them. They were very sorry for him. They would help him if they could; but really it was impossible.

Every day his small stock of money grew smaller, and with it his hopes grew fainter. At last he disappeared from the notice of his friends, to re-appear again in a short time under different circumstances.

One day his friends were attracted by the sight of a crowd collected around a cracked and ricketty hand-organ. Approaching it they found that the organ-grinder was no less a person than Sergeant Williams. He was clad in his suit of faded blue, with his sergeant's chevrons and all. He was grinding away at his old hand-organ as the last means left him for support. Every day he may be seen along the principal streets of the city, patiently and sadly earning his pittance in this way—a mode so very repugnant to one's manhood.