Having been laid up nearly four weeks with inflammatory rheumatism in my right ankle, I was compelled to suspend operations until about the middle of the month, when, upon resuming my duties, I found a few of my old patients still quite sick, and some new arrivals; but, on the whole, the number from Michigan, as well as from other States, had greatly diminished since my last visit.
The 20th inst. I went to Fairfax Court-House in company with Mrs. May and other friends. We had a brigade hospital at this place, there being four regiments of Michigan Cavalry encamped in the vicinity, three of which—viz., the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh—were scarcely six months from home; consequently these were suffering much from fevers and dysentery.
After visiting these hospitals, which we found quite comfortable, yet lacking many things which the sick greatly needed, we found quarters for the night with the First Cavalry, where we were cordially welcomed and comfortably provided for. This was my first night in camp—the first time I slept in a tent—a novel idea, then.
Next morning Colonel Town offered us an ambulance, that we might visit Bull Run battle-field, which we were exceedingly anxious to do before returning to Alexandria, having a twofold object in view when leaving home; one being to see the field which had been twice fought over so desperately, and every foot of ground so hotly contested; the other, to recover, if possible, the body of Colonel Roberts, of the First Michigan Infantry, who was killed at the second battle of Bull Run. Our instructions were such, from one who saw him buried, that we felt sure we could identify his grave. At eight o’clock A. M. we are on our way with an escort of thirty men detailed from the regiment, and several officers, Lieutenant Wheeler in command. As Chantilly’s once bloody field was but little out of our way, we visited that first. Oh! what feelings I experienced as I stood and looked out upon that field, where, only a few months before, was marshalled for deadly combat a mighty host of noble heroes! Among that number was my own dear brother; upon this very field he fell; here for days he lay beneath the scorching rays of a Southern sun, torn and mangled, bleeding, dying—no hope of ever again seeing home or wife or child. Then multiply his case by thousands, and oh, what a scene was here witnessed!
No wonder the gentle moon veiled her face, and the astonished heavens clothed themselves with blackness, and the Almighty uttered his voice in thunder-tones, while the howling of the elements strangely commingled with the groans of the dying.
Spread out before us was that vast cornfield of which we had read so much, where such desperate fighting was done, and where so many hundreds fell. The tree near which the bold and fearless Kearney fell, was pointed out to us; it was pierced with many balls; there were those old buildings, battered and broken, to which many of the wounded were taken, and upon whose rude floor they breathed their last. The strip of wood skirting the road bore marks of the terrible conflict which raged there—trees pierced with bullets, their branches scattered and torn, while the earth was ploughed with exploding shells. From many of the little mounds scattered far and near, human bones were seen protruding, and sometimes even the skulls were bare, so slightly were they covered. We wandered over the field, picked up a few balls and pebbles, and gathered a few wild flowers as sad momentoes of this sad place, and again “took up our line of march.”
Arriving at Centreville, we called to see General Abbercrombie—the commandant of the post—to have our passes extended, but, to our great disappointment, failed; it being contrary to orders to pass so small a force beyond our picket-line, as the country was over-run with guerrillas. We went on as far as Blackburn’s Ford, passing over part of the first Bull Run battle-field, the very place where our own Richardson, with his band of noble heroes, so bravely fought. The country was one wide-spread desolation. At the ford we hoisted the stars and stripes over the ruins of the old bridge—which was burned by our troops in their retreat nine months before—sang several national songs, gathered a few relics, and, after resting our horses and partaking of a cold lunch, returned to Fairfax. Next morning all except myself returned to Alexandria. Never shall we forget our visit to the First Michigan Cavalry. The friendly cordiality that was manifest; the camp so neat and clean; the dress parade and cavalry drill, such novelties; the presence of ladies spending a little time with their husbands in camp, the hearty greetings of former friends, all combined to make our stay pleasant. Alas! how many of those brave boys, with their noble, kind-hearted colonel, subsequently fell in their country’s service! They sleep the sleep that knows no waking.
I remained at Fairfax until the 28th, sharing the hospitality of Mrs. Manning, matron of the Sixth. During these few days several deaths occurred, one peculiarly sad. He was the third of four brothers who came out together and died in less than three months’ time. The fourth and only surviving one had stood by the dying bed of each of the three, and now he was alone. How deeply my heart was pained for him in his threefold affliction! “Oh!” said he, “I could bear it if father was only reconciled; but he opposed our coming; he said we would all die, that the South would never give up, and that it would only be a useless sacrifice of life; but we didn’t think so, we felt that it was our duty to come, and I have no regrets to offer; they died in a good cause.”
“And not alone an Ellsworth sleeps.
For guarding our bright starry banner,