I found this letter in the Quiner Scrapbooks ofthe Wisconsin Historical Society Online. I have been unable to ascertain who the soldier was. Beware: it is a heart breaker...
A Wife on the Battlefield
The following is an extract from a letter, dated at Corinth on the 6th ult, vividly portrays the fearful emotions and anxious thoughts which torture the mind of an observer during the progress of battle and narrates but one of many harrowing scenes of war:
Oh, my friend! How can I tell you of the tortures that have nearly crazed me for the last three days! Pen is powerless to trace, words weak to convey one tittle of the misery I have endured. I thought my self strong before. I have seen so much of suffering that I thought my nerves had grown steady, and I could bear anything; but to-day I am weak and trembling like a frightened child.
But do not wonder at it. My dear husband lies beside me, wounded unto death perhaps. I have lost all hope of him tho’ I thank God for the privilege of being this moment beside him. And being in agony. There has been little time to tend them, poor fellows. True, the surgeons are busy all the time, but all the wounded have not yet been brought in, and it seems as if the time will never come when our brave men shall have been made comfortable as circumstances may permit. It is awful to look around me. I can see every imaginable form of suffering, and yet am helpless to aid them of any consequence.
Since night before last I have not left my husband’s side for a moment, except to get such things as I required, or to hand some poor fellow a cup of water. Even as I write my heart throbs achingly to hear the deep groans and sharp cries about me. He is sleeping, but I dare not close my eyes, lest he should die while I sleep. And it is to keep awake, and in a manner to relieve my over-burdened heart, and I am writing to you now under such and auspices.
On the morning ogf the 3rd instant the fight began. The attack was made on Gen. McArthur’s division, and we could plainly hear the rolls of artillery here, as it is only about two miles and a half from this place. Oh! The fearful agony of that awful day! I had seen F. a moment early in the morning, but it was only for a moment when he bade me good bye, saying hurriedly, as he tore himself away: “Pray for me, my wife; and, if I fall, God protect you!” There was something in his look and tone that struck a chill to my heart, and every moment after I knew the fight had begun I felt as if he had indeed fallen. I cannot tell how long it was before I heard that Oglesby’s Brigade was engaged, but it seems and age to me. After that my agony was nealry intolerable. I never had a thought or fear for myself, I was thinking only of F. Then I got the word he had been hotly pursued by the rebels and had fallen back.
Late in the afternoon I succeeded in gaining a little intelligible information.
Poor General Hackleman was shot thru the neck while giving command, and fell mortally wounded. He died between ten and eleven o’clock the same night, I have since learned. Up to the time of receiving the wound he had acted with the greatest bravery and enthusiasm, tempered with a coolness that made every action effective. When dusk at last put an end to the first day’s conflict, I learned that Gen. Oglesby had been dangerously wounded, but could gain no intelligence from my husband. I could not bear the suspense. Dark as it was and hopeless as it seemed to search for him then, I started out for the battlefield.
Oh, How shall I describe the search of the night? It looked like madness. It was madness. But all night long I straggled amongst bleeding corpses, over dead horses, trampled limbs, shattered artillery – everything that goes to make up the horror of a battle-field when the conflict is over. They were removing the wounded all night. Oh, think how awful to stumble over the dead and hear the cries of the wounded and dying, alone in the night time. I had to start off alone, else they would not have let me gone.
As you may suppose, I could not find him, either among the living or the dead. But the next morning, just after sunrise, I came to a little clump of timbers where a horse had fallen – his head shot off and his body half covering a man whom I supposed dead. His face was to the ground but as I stopped to look closer, I perceived a faint movement of the body: then heard a faint moan. I stopped and turned the face upward. The head and face were both covered with blood, but when I turned it to the light I knew in spite of its disfiguration. Oh God, the agony of that moment sickened me almost to suffocation. With strength I thought impossible in me, I drew him crushed and bleeding, from beneath the carcass of our poor old horse, whom we had both loved and petted and dipping my handkerchief in a little pool of water amongst the bushes, bathed his face and pressed some moisture between his parched, swollen lips. He was utterly insensible, and there was a dreadful wound in his head. Both limbs were crushed hopelessly beneath the horse. He was utterly beyond the reach of human skill to save, but as soon as possible I had him conveyed to the hospital. I have nursed him ever since, hopelessly and with a heart breaking with grief. Oh! How many wives, how many mothers, are to-day mourning the dead and dying, even as I mourn my dying! He has not opened his eyes to look at or speak to me since he fell. Oh! Could he but but speak to me once before he dies. I should give him up with more resignation. But to die thus – with out a look or word! Oh, my heart is breaking!