Fredericksburg, Va., May 17th, 1864.
On the morning of the sixth our division—the Third—was ordered to the front, and remained under arms during the forenoon. At 2 o’clock in the afternoon we moved farther to the left, where we found the enemy and engaged him. We were once more face to face with our old acquaintance, Longstreet. At 5 o’clock the order was given to charge the enemy’s works. The order was promptly obeyed, but the Rebels were strongly entrenched, and we could not dislodge them. Our loss was seven killed and thirty-three wounded.
The Army of the Potomac, in these two days, has lost about fifteen thousand men. Grant had established hospitals at Fredericksburg which were furnished with everything to relieve or mitigate the sufferings of the wounded. Under ordinary circumstances the provision made for removing them would have been ample.
The first train of ambulances, loaded to its utmost capacity, started for Fredericksburg at dusk, by way of Kellog’s Ford. About half way to the ford it was halted. The Rebels had cut them off; some other route must be found. This occupied all the next day. Finally an opening was found by way of Chancellorsville. Again were the ambulances filled with their scarcely living freight of bruised and mangled humanity. But transportation for all could not be found. All who could walk, if only a few miles, were ordered to do so. Still there remained one hundred nine who could not walk. These were all from our brigade. What was to be done with these helpless men? Time is precious. The army is already on the move. By midnight they will be entirely unprotected. Mosby, with his cutthroats, is reported in our rear, not far away. It is now 10 o’clock. The surgeons and officers of the brigade hold a hurried consultation. Dr. Bonine, of the Second Michigan; Dr. Brooks, of the Fifty-first Pennsylvania, and Henry Baker, Hospital Steward of the Twentieth Michigan, volunteered to remain with them.
The hospital attendants were then dismissed and sent with the train. Dr. Bonine then called for ten volunteers; men whom he could trust; who would not desert him in the hour of trial. I was one of the ten. Everything being arranged, the train and its escort moved forward and left us to our fate. There was no sleep for us that night. Each nurse was assigned a tent filled with wounded men, who required constant care. We expected the Rebels to appear early in the morning. I had but little preparation to make; nothing but to conceal the few greenbacks I possessed by sewing them under the lining of my clothing, and to destroy a few mementoes that I would not have fall into other hands. Among other things were a few old letters, crumpled and worn, but very precious to me.
The morning of the eighth of May dawned bright and beautiful. Ten o’clock came, and with it the Rebels. But, thank God, they are not guerillas, but a regiment of Stewart’s cavalry, commanded by General Chambers. They file around us. A Major visits every tent, takes the name, regiment and description of every man—an officer follows and administers an oath by which we bind ourselves to not take up arms for, or assist or aid, the Government of the United States in its war with the Confederacy until duly exchanged, and we are paroled “prisoners of war.”
We were treated with the utmost courtesy by officers and men. In the afternoon of the same day we beheld with joy a train of ambulances coming in, under a flag of truce, to our relief. We reached Fredericksburg about 10 o’clock that night. None but the wounded and their attendants were paroled. About one hundred stragglers were marched off to enjoy the hospitalities of a Southern prison. We are awaiting transportation to parole camp at Annapolis. How soon we go I cannot tell. I hope we may be exchanged soon. It annoys me exceedingly to be a prisoner, even within our own lines.
