Hardtack and coffee

by John Davis Billings

Three wounded Rebels also lay in the tent, waiting for surgical attention. Of course, they would not be put upon the tables until all of our own wounded were attended to; they did not expect it. In one part of the tent lay two or three of our men, who were either lifeless or faint from loss of blood. Only a few rods away from the tent were some freshly made graves enclosing the forms of men whose wounds had proved fatal, either having died on their way to the hospital or soon after their arrival. Among these was the gallant Lieutenant-Colonel Theodore Hesser, who was shot in the head while bravely leading the Seventy-second Pennsylvania Infantry in a charge. The graves were all plainly marked with small head-boards. A drizzling rain added gloom to the scene; and my first call at a field hospital, with its dismal surroundings, was brief.

CARRYING A WOUNDED MAN TO THE REAR.

One regulation made for this department of the service was never enforced. It provided that no one but the proper medical officers or the officers, non-commissioned officers, and privates of the ambulance corps should conduct sick or wounded to the rear, either on the march or in battle, but as a matter of fact there were probably more wounded men helped off the field by soldiers not members of the ambulance corps than by members of that body. There were always plenty of men who hadn’t the interests of the cause so nearly at heart but what they could be induced, without much persuasion, when bullets and shells were flying thick, to leave the front line and escort a suffering comrade to the rear. Very often such a sufferer found a larger body-guard than could well make his needs a pretext for their absence from the line. Then, too, many of these escorts were most unfortunate, and lost their way, so that they did not find their regiment again until after the battle was over. A large number of them would be included among the Shirks and Beats, whom I have already described. But, in truth, it was not possible for the ambulance corps to do much more in a hot fight than to keep their stretchers properly manned. Each ambulance was provided with two of these, and the severely wounded who could not help themselves must be placed on them and cared for first, so that there was often need for a helping hand to be given a comrade who was quite seriously wounded, yet could hobble along with a shoulder to lean on.

The designating mark of members of the ambulance corps was, for sergeants, a green band an inch and a quarter broad around the cap, and inverted chevrons of the same color on each arm, above the elbow; for privates the same kind of band and a half chevron of the same material. By means of this designation they were easily recognized.

By orders of General Meade, issued in August, 1863, three ambulances were allowed to a regiment of infantry; two to a regiment of cavalry, and one to a battery of artillery, with which it was to remain permanently. Owing to this fact, an artillery company furnished its own stretcher-bearers when needed. I shall be pardoned the introduction of a personal incident, as it will illustrate in some measure the duties and trials of a stretcher-bearer. It was at the battle of Hatcher’s Run, already referred to, or the Boydton Plank Road, as some called it. The guns had been ordered into position near Burgess’ Tavern, leaving the caissons and ambulance nearly a half-mile in the rear. Meanwhile, a flank attack of the enemy cut off our communications with the rear for a time, and we thought ourselves sure of an involuntary trip to Richmond; but the way was opened again by some of our advance charging to the rear, and by the destructive fire from our artillery. Soon orders came for the battery to return to the rear. In common with the rest, the writer started to do so when a sergeant asked him to remain and help take off one of our lieutenants, who was lying in a barn near by, severely wounded. So actively had we been engaged that this was my first knowledge of the sad event. But, alas! what was to be done? Our ambulance with its stretchers was to the rear. That could not now avail us. We must resort to other means. Fortunately, they were at hand. An abandoned army-blanket lay near, and, carefully placing the lieutenant on this, with one man at each corner, we started.

But the wounded officer was heavy, and it was, as can readily be seen, an awkward way of carrying him. Moreover, his wound was a serious one,—mortal as it soon proved,—and every movement of ours tortured him so that he begged of us to leave him there to die. Just then we caught sight of a stretcher on which a wounded Rebel was lying. Some Union stretcher-bearers had been taking him to the rear when the flank attack occurred, when they evidently abandoned him to look out for themselves. It was not a time for sentiment; so, with the sergeant at one end of the stretcher and the narrator at the other, our wounded enemy was rolled off, with as much care as time would allow. With the aid of our other comrades we soon put the lieutenant in his place, and, raising the stretcher to our shoulders, started down the road to the rear. We had gone but a few rods, however, before the enemy’s sharpshooters or outposts fired on us, driving us to seek safety in the woods. But it was now dusk, and no easy matter to take such a burden through woods, especially as it rapidly grew darker. Suffice it to know, however, that, after more than an hour’s wandering and plunging, our burden was delivered at the ambulance, where another of our lieutenants, also mortally wounded, was afterwards to join him. This fragment of personal experience will well illustrate some of the many obstacles which stretcher-bearers had to contend with, and disclose the further truth that in actual combat the chances for severely wounded men to be taken from the field were few indeed, for at such a time stretcher-bearers, like the proverbial “good men,” are scarce.

I omitted to say in the proper connection that the men whose wounds were dressed in the field hospitals were transported as rapidly as convenient to the general hospitals, where the best of care and attention could be given them. Such hospitals were located in various places. Whenever it was possible, transportation was by water, in steamers specially fitted up for such a purpose. There may be seen in the National Museum at Washington, the building in which President Lincoln was assassinated, beautiful models of these steamers as well as of hospital railway trains with all their furnishings of ease and comfort, designed to carry patients by rail to any designated place.

Another invention for the transportation of the wounded from the field was the Cacolet or Mule Litter, which was borne either by a mule or a horse, and arranged to carry, some one and some two, wounded men. But although it was at first supposed that they would be a great blessing for this purpose, yet, being strapped tightly to the body of the animal, they felt his every motion, thus making them an intensely uncomfortable carriage for a severely wounded soldier, so that they were used but very little.