CHAPTER VII HOME

Sometime after the battle had commenced, my father went down street, he having heard that the wounded were being brought to the warehouses located in the Northern part of the town.

Desiring to assist all he could, he remained there, working for the poor sufferers until pretty late in the afternoon.

Some of the wounded had been piteously calling and begging for liquor in order to deaden the pain which racked their bodies. Father, knowing that the dealers had removed that article out of town, said he would go to some private parties, and try to obtain it. His search however was fruitless, as no one seemed to have any.

It was while thus moving around on this errand, that he noticed our men were fast retreating through the streets, and hurrying in the direction of the Cemetery.

Knowing that his family were alone, he concluded it was best to hasten to them.

On his way home, he stopped for a few minutes at a place just a square west of our house, on some business he wished to attend to. When he came out, there was no sign of Union soldiers.

As he was approaching his home, he noticed a Rebel crossing the street, a short distance beyond. He looked at my Father who was entirely alone, stopped, and halloed:

"What are you doing with that gun in your hand? "Father, who was in his shirt sleeves, threw up his arms and said:

"I have no gun!" Whereupon the Confederate deliberately took aim and fired.

As soon as Father saw him taking aim, he threw himself down, and had no sooner done so, when he heard the "zip" of the bullet. In the parlance of to-day, that would be styled "a close call."

The murderous Rebel passed on; no doubt concluding that he made one Yankee the less.

As soon as he had passed down Baltimore Street, Father got up, and had almost reached the house. when he was spied and overtaken by a squad of five Confederates coming down an alley, and who greeted him by saying:

"Old man, why ain't you in your house?"

He replied that he was getting there just as fast as he could. They however commanded:

"Fall in!" He certainly did so, and accompanied them until he reached the front porch, when he stepped up and said:

"Now boys, I am home, and I am going to stay here."

The did not insist on taking him along, but demanded to search the house for Union soldiers; to which Father replied:

"Boys you may take my word for it; there are no Union soldiers in the house. They believed him and passed on.

While he was sitting on the porch, several other squads of Rebels passed. These also wanted to search the house; some even threatening to break the door open. They were however persuaded to desist, on being told by Father, that it was against the rules of war to break into private houses; that he knew the family were very much frightened: and that he would give his word for it, that there were no Union soldiers in the house. One of the Confederates then exclaimed:

"Boys, I take that gentleman's word."

"By the way, what are your proclivities?" asked one of the men. Father replied:

"I am an unconditional Union man; and to back it up, I am a whole-souled one."

One of the group then replied:

"Well, we like you all the better for that; for we hate the milk and water Unionists."

Before leaving, they told Father, that he had better get into the house, that they would not shoot him, but that he was in danger of being shot by his own men, since the Union sharp-shooters out by the Cemetery, were already sending their bullets pretty fast in that direction.

Finding the front, as well as all the other doors securely locked, he was obliged to enter the house by the back cellar door.

After he got in, imagine his surprise and consternation, after what he had just been telling, to find no less than five Union soldiers in the house. They were all sick and disabled; two of them were captains, and were very badly wounded.

Mother nursed them and dressed their wounds during all the time of the battle. Often would they express their gratitude for her kindness and attention.

As a rule the folks stayed in the cellar during the day, as that was considered the safest place, and it was only at night after the firing had ceased, that they ventured up into the house. Very little undisturbed sleep did they enjoy during those nights.

We never heard from the five wounded men who had been nursed in the house, except that after a period of twenty-five years, one of them returned and made himself known.

It was on the first of July, 1888, exactly twenty-five years from the time he retreated into our house, that the same soldier, with his little son, stopped at the front door, and asked if the family was still living there that had been during the battle. He was informed that the only one left of those who nursed him was my father, now in his eighty third year. We told him that the kind mother who dressed his wounds and waited on him was no more on earth, and that my sister, who also assisted, had preceded her some years.

He felt quite disappointed at not meeting his kind benefactresses, but was still glad to meet and talk with my father, of the thrilling times they had spent together in different parts of the house.

He related to us his experiences, among which he told, how, during one night the Rebels came up into the house from the cellar. Hearing them come, he crawled under a settee that was standing in the hall. This settee had curtains around the lower part of it, which thus concealed him from sight. He said the Rebels passed right by him, and he heard them wondering if there were any Yankees in the house. They did not go any further than the hall and soon returned to the cellar. He assured us that he took a good, long sigh of relief after they had gone down and out, the way they came in.

This soldier was Corporal Michael O'Brien, of Co. A., 143rd Pennsylvania Volunteers, 1st Corps. He enlisted at Wilkesbarre, Pa., and at the time of the visit referred to above, was a resident of Waverly, Tioga County, N.Y. He said he had been wounded during the first day's engagement, by a ball striking him in the back, and then passing to his right arm, shattering it at the elbow. We all took occasion to examine his arm, and found it wasted away almost to the bone.

Another of the five wounded was a captain of the 6th Wisconsin regiment, but his name I do not know.

This is all the account I am able to give of the Union soldiers concealed, nursed and protected in our house during the battle.

Mother always called them her boys, and often wondered what had become of them. It may be that Corporal O'Brien was the only one of them who survived the war.

Through the night of the first day of the fight, my father was frequently up in the garret; and from the window looking out toward the Cemetery Hill, could distinctly hear our troops chopping, picking and shoveling, during the silent hours. Our men were busy forming their line of breastworks, preparatory to meeting the enemy on the morrow.

At different times while the battle was going on, my father, accompanied by some of the soldiers in the house, went to the garret in order to look at the fighting out on the hill.

While thus viewing the battle, they noticed, on one occasion, in the garret of the adjoining neighbor, a number of rebel sharpshooters, busy at their work of picking off our men in the direction of Cemetery Hill.

The south wall of this house, had a number of port holes knocked into it, through which the Rebels were firing at our men. All at once one of these sharp-shooters threw up his arms, and fell back upon the garret floor. His comrades ran quickly to his assistance, and for the time being, they appeared greatly excited, and moved rapidly about. A short time afterward they carried a dead soldier out the back way, and through the garden.

On account of this position occupied by the rebel sharpshooters, a continual firing was drawn toward our house; and to this day no less than seventeen bullet holes can be seen on the upper balcony. One of the bullets cut a perfectly even hole through a pane of glass. The back porch down stairs, the fences and other places, were also riddled; showing how promptly and energetically the Union boys replied, when once they detected the whereabouts of the enemy.

The greatest wonder is, that our men did not send a shell into that house, after they detected the rebel firing.

The sharpshooters on this part of the field, had their headquarters on the north of our house; it being at the nearest corner to the line of battle, and served as quite a protection to them.

At night, when all the folks had gone up stairs, these sharpshooters would enter the cellar in search of eatables. On these occasions, as was observed from the windows above, they carried milk and cream crocks, preserves, canned fruit, etc., out into the side street; and seating themselves on the pavement, and along the gutter, no doubt had an enjoyable feast, and a hilarious time over the provisions they had captured. They did not call it stealing in war times.

One day these same men, wanted my mother to come up out of the cellar, and cook for them. She most positively declined; saying she would not dare to do it for her own family at such a time, and much less would she do it for them.

Had she complied with the request, she very likely would have lost her life; for it was just about that time, that bullets were passing through the kitchen, over and around the stove. Bullets came through the south side of the room, striking, and sometimes passing through the opposite side. Had anyone been standing in front of the stove or near it, they would have been in the line of the deadly missiles, and death would have been almost certain.

During the first day's battle, and after our men had retreated, a little girl was standing at the second story window of the house opposite ours. She had the shutters bowed, and was looking down into the street at the confusion below. Suddenly a shell struck the wall just beside the shutter, tearing out a large hole and scattering pieces of brick, mortar and plastering all around the room in which the little girl was standing. It entered and struck some place in the room, rebounded and fell out into the street.

Another ball is now placed in the wall, to mark the place where the first one struck. I am here reminded of the fact that many persons while walking or riding past this place, and having their attention called to this shell sticking in the wall, neatly encased in brick and mortar, think that it has been there just as it arrived on the first day of the battle. Shells were not quite so tidy in introducing themselves at that time.

The little girl who had the narrow escape referred to, was Laura Bergstresser, a daughter of the then Methodist minister at Gettysburg. She is now deceased.

So terrified was she at what had happened that she ran over to our house for safety. The soldiers in the house told her that it was a stray shot and might never happen again. Being assured that she was just as safe at her own home, she ran back to her parents.

When this shell struck, a brother of the little girl, lay in a room close by, very low with Typhoid fever. Through the open doors he saw it enter and go out of the building.

It was Saturday morning, after the battle, when there was a ring of the front door bell. It was the first time the bell had rung since the conflict commenced. No one ventured out on the street during those three days, fearing that they might be picked off by sharp-shooters. Hearing the ringing, mother said:

"Oh! must we go and open the front door? "For she thought the battle would again be renewed. They however opened the door, and to their surprise the Methodist minister stood before them. He exclaimed:

"Don't you think the rascals have gone?"

Father was so overjoyed, that not taking time to consider, ran out just as he was, intending to go to the Cemetery Hill and inform our men of the good news.

He had gone about half a square from the house, when, on looking down, saw that he was in his stocking feet. He thought to himself: " No shoes! No hat! No coat! Why, if I go out looking this way, they will certainly think that I am demented!"

He turned to go back, and while doing so saw a musket lying on the pavement. He picked it up, and just then spied a Rebel running toward the alley back of Mrs. Schriver's lot. Father ran after him as fast as he could and called: "Halt!"

The fellow then threw out his arms, and said:

"I am a deserter! I am a deserter! " To which father replied:

"Yes, a fine deserter you are! You have been the cause of many a poor Union soldier deserting this world; fall in here." He obeyed; and as father was marching him toward the house, he spied two more Confederates coming out of an adjoining building, and compelled them to "fall in."

These also, claimed to be deserters; but the truth is, they were left behind, when Lee's army retreated. He marched the three men out to the front street, and as there were some Union soldiers just passing, handed his prisoners over for safe keeping.

He then went into the house; put on his shoes and hat; took his gun and went up to the alley back of our lot. There he saw a Rebel with a gun in hand, also trying to escape. Father called on him to halt. The fellow faced about, put his gun on the ground, rested his arms akimbo on it, and stood looking at him. Father raised his musket, and commanded: "Come forward, or I'll fire!"

The Confederate immediately came forward and handed over his gun. On his way to the front street with this prisoner he captured two more and soon turned these over to our men.

Father then examined his gun for the first time; and behold it was empty.

A few days after the battle, several soldiers came to our house and asked mother if she would allow them to bring their wounded Colonel to the place, provided they would send two nurses along to help wait on him, saying they would like to have him kept at a private house.

As we had a very suitable room she consented.

The wounded officer was carried to the house on a litter, and was suffering greatly. After they got him up stairs, and were about placing him on the bed, it was found to be too short, so that the foot-board had to be taken off and an extension added. The Colonel was a very tall man and of fine proportions.

He had been severe]y wounded in the right ankle and shoulder, the latter would extending to his spine.

The surgeons wanted to amputate his foot, saying it was necessary in order to save his life; but the Colonel objected, and said that if his foot must go he would go too.

Mother waited on him constantly, and the nurses could not have been more devoted.

he was highly esteemed by all his men, many of whom visited him at the house, and even wept over him in his suffering and helplessness. They always spoke of him as one of the bravest men in the army.

Before long his sister came, who with tender care and cheering words no doubt hastened his recovery.

Several months elapsed before he was able to be removed; when, on a pair of crutches, he left for his home in St. Paul. As he was leaving the house he could hardly express fully his thanks and appreciation for all our kindness; and on parting kissed us all, as though he were bidding farewell to his own kith and kin. We, on our part, felt as though one of our own family were leaving. He promised that whenever able he would come back to see us.

About three years after the battle, I was standing on the front pavement one day, when a carriage suddenly stopped at the front door. A gentleman alighted, and kissed me without saying a word. I knew it was the Colonel by his tall, manly form.

He ran up the front porch, rang the bell, and on meeting the rest of the family, heartily shook hands, and greeted mother and sister with a kiss.

We were all glad to meet each other again, and we earnestly desired him to stay. He however said his time was limited, and his friends were waiting in the carriage to go over the battlefield. So we were forced to again say farewell.

The officer of whom I have just written, was Colonel William Colvill, of the First Minnesota Regiment. At the present writing his residence is in the city of Duluth, Michigan.

It was during the terrible struggle out by the Wheat Field, toward the close of the second day, when the confusion of the battle was confounding; when the contending columns had become mixed with each other on account of the dense smoke, when one of Wilcox' Regiments came unnoticed in contact with Humphrey's left, that General Hancock orders Colonel Colvill to "Forward" with his regiment.

The encounter is a desperate one. Many of the brave First Minnesota are slain in the hand to hand struggle; but the enemy is driven back with losses equally severe. During this engagement the Colonel received the wounds to which I have referred.

I have since learned, that out of 262 men comprising this regiment at Gettysburg, but 47 remained after this daring charge.

When Colonel Colvill and his attendants left our house, one of the men who had been nursing him, presented me with a gun and bayonet, saying:

"I bought it with my own money, and I give it to you; and if any one comes after it, and wants to take it from you, just tell them that the gun was bought and paid for by the soldier who gave it to you."

One of the nurses was Milton L. Bevans, musician of Co. F, 1st Minnesota Regiment now of Hamline, Minn.; the name of the other, and the one who gave me the gun and bayonet was Walter S. Reed, private, Co. G, also of the same regiment.

Some weeks after they had left, a Provost Marshal was sent to the town, to collect all arms and accoutrements belonging to the Government.

Some one informed him, that there was a gun at our house, for it was not long before two soldiers called. I suppose I had been bragging too much about my relic.

On going to the door, they asked me whether we had a musket about the house.

I said: "Yes sir; but it is mine."

They replied that the Provost Marshal had sent them after it, and that they would have to take it.

I told them what the soldier who gave it to me had said; whereupon they expressed their sorrow, but added, that they would have to obey.

In my indignation at this treatment I said:

"If they are mean enough to take the gun they can have it; but it is my gun."

They seemed sorry as they rode away with my highly prized treasure, and I have no reason to doubt their sincerity.

About two hours after this, I happened to go to the front door, and on looking up the street, I saw the same two soldiers returning on horse back, one of them having a gun on his shoulder. I ran into the house, and told my sister that I actually believed they were bringing back my gun.

Instantly the bell rang, and I told her that I was ashamed to go to the door, after talking to them the way I had.

So my sister went; but the soldiers said they wanted to see me.

I went to the door and found these same men looking quite pleased as they said to me:

"The Provost Marshal heard you were such a good Union girl, he has sent back your gun, and we are very happy to return it to you."

After attempting to apologize for the way I had addressed them, they said they did not blame me in the least for they knew how I must have felt at losing a gun obtained in the way I had this one. I still have it. On its stock are cut the initials P.L.W.T., a custom quite prevalent in the army. I need hardly state how greatly I prize this relic.

I have also in my possession an officer's sword and scabbard which were presented to my sister just after the battle, by a soldier named Barney M. Kline of Company C, 55th Ohio Regiment. The scabbard must have been hit by a bullet or piece of shell, as it was almost broken off near the middle. This sword and scabbard he picked up in our orchard along the Taneytown road, which place is now embraced in the National Cemetery.

For many weeks after the battle my thoughts and attention were directed to the General Hospital, located about one mile east of the town.

This was a large collection of tents, regularly laid out in Camp style.

As we passed along the Camp streets we could look into the open tents, and behold the row of cots on either side. Upon these couches lay the sufferers who, a short while before, had endured the terrors of battle, and were now hovering on the verge of Eternity.

Here also were established the Christian and Sanitary Commissions, ever exerting their moral and humane influences. In their large tents, was contained almost everything that Christian civilization could suggest to meet the necessities of those who had suffered in the conflict.

As is known to many of my readers, the province of the Sanitary Commission was to provide more especially for the bodily wants; whilst that of the Christian Commission, besides supplying necessaries for the body, took an earnest interest in the welfare of the souls of the wounded and dying. The many blessings derived from these adjuncts to our army, may not he fully known now, but they shall be revealed hereafter.

Prior to the formation of this general hospital, each corps had its own, in the locality where it had fought. This was on account of the convenience in promptly gathering and caring for its wounded. After the number of patients had become reduced, these hospitals were discontinued, and each corps was assigned to its section in the general hospital.

Many sad and touching scenes were here witnessed. Many a kind and affectionate father; many a fond and loving mother; many a devoted wife faithful unto death; many a tender and gentle sister, wiped the moisture of death from the blanched forehead of the dying hero, as they eagerly leaned forward to catch the last message of love, or to hear the announcement of a victory greater than that of death.

The friends and relatives who came to minister to the wounded were, on account of the crowded condition of the hotels, compelled to ask accommodations from private citizens. In this manner quite a number were taken into our home. Most of their time was spent at the hospital, some coming back to us in the evening, and leaving as soon as possible the next morning.

I was frequently invited to accompany these visitors, and in this way often found myself by the bedside of the wounded.

One lady who was stopping at our house, I remember in particular; a Mrs. Greenly. Her son lay suffering at the hospital, and in company we frequently visited him.

One day when he was very low it was concluded that by amputating his limb his life might be spared. After the operation had been performed her son sank rapidly. At last came the words: " Mother Dear Mother! Goodbye! Good Mother!" and all was over. Her darling boy lay before her in the embrace of death; but a mother's tender love had traced a peaceful smile upon his countenance. As the life went out from that racked body hope and joy forsook that fond mother's heart.

Oh! that sad face and bleeding spirit, as she bade us farewell to follow the coffined remains to her far off home.

Who will dare to say that with such sacrifices upon our country's altar our national inheritance is not sacredly precious?

I shall never forget the anxious suspense of that mother. Whilst absent from her loved one, even for a few hours, her spirit knew no rest, and as soon as possible she would hurry back.

During our visits to the hospital, we became acquainted with individual soldiers. These received our special sympathies and attentions, hence our return was always looked forward to with cheering anticipations.

Having heard what they would be allowed to have, when we again returned we brought them such delicacies as were prescribed and which they seemed most to crave. Our baskets were filled with lemons, oranges, cakes, jellies, rolls and other edibles. They always seemed glad to look upon the flowers and bouquets which we invariably brought along. Many of their tents were decorated on the outside with wreaths, festoons, corps badges wrought in evergreen, and many other beautiful designs.

Our visits cheered the poor fellows, and their eager requests to "come back again soon," made us feel that we were of some use even in our feeble way.

Many of the town ladies would spend their time in reading to the wounded. This seemed to take their thoughts from their sad condition and centre them upon objects more comforting and delightful.

Frequently we attended religious services a the hospital and gladly joined in the singing. I have no doubt the soldiers fully appreciated our presence and the part we took in the exercises; for it must have made them think of their dear ones at home, and caused them to realize that they were once more among their sympathizing sisters of the North.