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- Feb 5, 2017
From "The Personal Memoirs of John H. Brinton, Major and Surgeon USV 1861-1865"
Major Brinton was out in Cairo, IL - a place I've actually been. But back when he was there, it was much more primitive!
He needed a horse and General Grant ordered his staff to find "a really good horse" for Major Brinton (since he was Grant's field surgeon).
The quartermaster found, "a vicious roan horse. I had not much confidence in him. He had such an ugly look. Nor do I think that he any great trust in me, since he showed a marked unwillingness to suffer me to mount him. Then too I was heavily encumbered with a surgeon's paraphernalia, but finally with the assistance of several soldiers, to wit, one to hold the beast by the head (because he bit), one to keep him from turning around sideways to bite, and one or two to boost me up, I succeeded in reaching the saddle, and when at last ensconced, felt confident of my position and certain that nothing short of an earthquake would unseat me. (This horse was also known for kicking too).
So I trotted fearlessly along the line of soldiers, when suddenly my horse gave an extraordinary sort of jump, forward one time, backward one time, then a sensation of vibratory unrest, and da capo, one, two, three; and the more I said "Whoa, boy, be quiet," and tried to stroke the horse's neck, the more he essayed this confounded buck jump. Then too, the more I tried to look unconcerned, the more the men laughed.
I felt quite sure I should not be thrown, I was too deeply entrenched in my saddle for that; but why couldn't, or why shouldn't that wretched horse stand still! Soon the mystery was solved. A kindly looking soldier stepped up to my side, and raising the scabbard of my sword, showed me that the end point of the blade was pricking the rear hind leg of the animal at every step, which was more than horseflesh could stand. So I saw at once that I could not wear the sword that day, and took it off and left it for the time, at a little one-story house on the edge of the woods, which I had occupied as a field hospital, and placed in charge of my friend, Dr Amos Witter, of an Iowa regiment. The same man that spent a night with me at Mound City.
This was the last I saw of the sword as the enemy followed rapidly, and occupied the building before our wounded were fairly out of it. I learned afterwards that a Southern surgeon had possession of it and I hope he put a new end on the end of the scabbard!
Major Brinton was out in Cairo, IL - a place I've actually been. But back when he was there, it was much more primitive!
He needed a horse and General Grant ordered his staff to find "a really good horse" for Major Brinton (since he was Grant's field surgeon).
The quartermaster found, "a vicious roan horse. I had not much confidence in him. He had such an ugly look. Nor do I think that he any great trust in me, since he showed a marked unwillingness to suffer me to mount him. Then too I was heavily encumbered with a surgeon's paraphernalia, but finally with the assistance of several soldiers, to wit, one to hold the beast by the head (because he bit), one to keep him from turning around sideways to bite, and one or two to boost me up, I succeeded in reaching the saddle, and when at last ensconced, felt confident of my position and certain that nothing short of an earthquake would unseat me. (This horse was also known for kicking too).
So I trotted fearlessly along the line of soldiers, when suddenly my horse gave an extraordinary sort of jump, forward one time, backward one time, then a sensation of vibratory unrest, and da capo, one, two, three; and the more I said "Whoa, boy, be quiet," and tried to stroke the horse's neck, the more he essayed this confounded buck jump. Then too, the more I tried to look unconcerned, the more the men laughed.
I felt quite sure I should not be thrown, I was too deeply entrenched in my saddle for that; but why couldn't, or why shouldn't that wretched horse stand still! Soon the mystery was solved. A kindly looking soldier stepped up to my side, and raising the scabbard of my sword, showed me that the end point of the blade was pricking the rear hind leg of the animal at every step, which was more than horseflesh could stand. So I saw at once that I could not wear the sword that day, and took it off and left it for the time, at a little one-story house on the edge of the woods, which I had occupied as a field hospital, and placed in charge of my friend, Dr Amos Witter, of an Iowa regiment. The same man that spent a night with me at Mound City.
This was the last I saw of the sword as the enemy followed rapidly, and occupied the building before our wounded were fairly out of it. I learned afterwards that a Southern surgeon had possession of it and I hope he put a new end on the end of the scabbard!
Bringing the