"The Veteran"

For Memorial Day Weekend
I published a post earlier this week, but as Memorial Day is upon us, I am posting twice in one week.

This is a typescript of a hand-written story on 3 sheets of lite brown paper, size 12 1/2” x 8”.   I purchased the story from an on-line antiques dealer, who was selling 2 personal artifacts that had belonged to Arthur Kent, the Great nephew of Austin Stearns.  Sergeant Stearns is the author of "Three Years With Company K"  The tin dish and tin cup pictured in this post both belonged to Austin Stearns.  The dish he is writing about (top photo) is pictured in the Time-Life "Echoes of Glory" series, page 225 in "Arms And Equipment of The Union."

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The Veteran.

or the autobiography of a Dish.

 
I am nothing but an old tin dish.  My sides are battered and burned and there is nothing about me that is pleasing to the eye, or that would attract attention, but I have a history, and if you will bear with me I will give a short account of my self.  I was designed by Copl. Charles Parker and made by Clark & Perry, tinsmiths of Ashland Mass.  There were six Hopkinton boys, and two of them brothers of Mrs. Clark in the same Company with Parker, so mr. Clark made made a group of 7 dishes, one for each.   We were made with handles and the name of each boys was stamped upon it, and also on the bottom.  If you look closely you can see my masters name now.  Oh how bright and shiny we looked that morning in July ’61 when Mr Clark string us on a wire and carried us down to Fort-Independence in Boston Harbor and gave us to the young men, who were there learning to be soldiers.  How proud we were of our looks, but not more so than those who then became our masters.  Now we were part and parcel of Co. K, 13th Regt. Mass Infantry.  Towards the last of July ’61 we with the other belongings of the soldiers started for the seat of war.  In the earlier days of the war, there were what was called “Company Cooks,” or men detailed to do the cooking

page 2 (back of sheet 1)

My master being fond of me, kept me in a good degree of cleanliness, washing and wiping me as often as once a week, or oftener if water was plenty.  I noticed when he wiped me with grass or leaves he al chose the greenest.  The fall and winter passed by without any thing worthy of note.   My master going regularly three times a day to the cook house to get his rations. I always accompanied him to hold his coffee.  In the spring of ’62 Company Cooks were discontinued with us, and each man with the exception of bread had to cook his own rations and make his coffee, I was now put to a severe test, for I was then set on a bed of hot coals, and my shiny sides were change to what you see them now.  It was down at Rappahannock Station in the summer of ’62 that my master lent me to one of his comrades to make his coffee, he only filled me half full, and when I got hot the solder melted on the upper half of my handle, and when he drew me away from the fire my handle was useless.   He returned me to my master with the remark that I was –––––––an old dish.  My master thought differently; for he went & with out a file or tool of any kid, twisted off a piece of telegraph wire using I fear using many swear words, and with his bayonet he pierced my sides and made a bale as you see it now, not very handsome, but very serviceable.  I was suspended now, by a stick or oftener the bayonet or ramrod, in the blaze and smoke of the fire, In addition to coffee

page 3 (new sheet of paper)

I have had soups of all Kinds, Beans, Rice, Potatoes, and in fact all the nameable and unnameable dishes that were ever concocted  by the ever fertile brain of the soldiers cook in me, If skillygalee, and lobscouse were not not cooked in me, I was used to mix them in.  I used to be strapped to my masters Knapsack or havasack, and at times his canteen:  he has carried me thousands of miles through many of the most desperate battles fought by the army of the Potomac, and many times in the thickest  of the fight.  I had been so long with him, I had almost become a part of him, for of all the articles he had when he started for the seat-of-war, I was the only one he had left  

After I was old and burned and smokey he got a little cup that he called his drinking-cup, at which I was at first Jealous of, = but I soon found out that it could never take my place, and as long as I did not leak,   I was supreme.    In the spring of ’64 my masters time was almost out, and it was after we had passed through the three days fighting in the Wilderness, and I had rode all night strapped to his knapsack to prevent my making a noise by rubbing against my old friend the canteen,  down towards Spottsylvania, halting Just a few minutes for the dawn to come, so we could see, as the cavelry outpost said the enemy were in a revine Just ahead.  The morning was very hot and My master was very tired, and when we started, passing the cavelry out-posts they smiling to think that we were releaving them of a very disagreeable job, said “you will find them soon”;  The bullets began to sing and we were in for hot work, my master uncooked his knapsack, let it drop,

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to the ground.  I thought my time had come and I should be left to an inglorious  fate and so when I struck the ground, I made as loud a noise as I could to attract his attention  He heard me, stopped, turned round, and coming where I lay, Kneeled down and unhooked me from the Knapsack, and taking off his canteen passed the strap through my bale, and putting the same on said “Old dish we have been so long together that if one goes both go”.   I was happy, for I knew if master was spared to go home, I should go too.   My fondest hopes were realized, for after two months more of hard service, and when we were lying before Petersburg, the order came for the regiment to pack up and go home.  Many of the boys threw their dishes away, but my master put me in his haversack, and I arrived home in safety,   as I have  said before, I am only an old tin dish: no poet has ever sung, or romancer told story of my doings, and like the other old and servicable friend of the soldier = the army mule = have only received abuse, when we did our best to serve.

I will relate an  incident, that happened to one of my kind. One night in bivouace, when the boys were busy cooking their supper, my friend filled with water and coffee, was perched upon rails, in a very careless position, when nearly ready to boil, a member of the awkward squad thought to change his position;  he hit the rail with his foot, and my friend fell off, spilling its contents;  it so enraged the owner that without saying a word to the one causing the

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mischief, he kicked the cup, and with expressions like these “Darn that cup” = “Darn the man that made that cup” = and “Darn the man that won’t darn the man that made that cup, Hurrah for Jeff Davis”.  He kicked and stamped it out of all semblance of ever being a cup, and out of the limits of our bivouace, came sullenly back, and took a seat by the fire amidst the shouts and laughter of his comrades.  In less than half an hour he was trying to borrow another dish to make coffee in.   A few years ago in the town where I was a fair was held, by the local grand Army Post and I was among the relics that were on exhibition.  My master had labeled me “The Veteran” whatever that might mean, and a paper stating my service and the uses I had been put to. 

My mistress wanted to clean me up, scrape my burned and blistered sides, and as she said make me respectable, but my master objected, and as I had no voice in the matter I went in the condition in which I was in.  I created considerable comment, and some said, “What a horrid old dish”,  And “Do you think any one would eat or drink any thing made in it?”  Others sneeringly remarked the “Old Vet” and passed by without a second look.  A few came and gazed at me long and earnestly, and said I was rightly named, for I was in truth a Veteran.  I sit around in unused places, but at times my master gets me out, and as he fondles me says, “this is my old dish, and where he went I went also, and that as long as he lives, I shall have a place,” so I am content.

NOTE:   The handwriting is in neat cursive, brown ink, with occasional corrections or revisions written above a line in pencil. 

The 3 sheets of paper are folded in thirds and a circular grease stain penetrates all three sheets, where the tin dish rested upon it. —Bradley M. Forbush, transcribed May 21, 2020.

Post War Articles from the Westboro Chronotype

     
      Last year I was able to search the digital newspaper database at the Westborough, MA Public Library.    I came up with all sorts of wonderful articles, most of them post-war, many of which I have now transcribed.

https://dr652e.bmiimaging.com/index/index?datasetName=Westborough%20Public%20Library

     The following is from 1884, and I believe it was written by Austin Stearns.  It is the history of Company K of that town.  The author wants people of the town to contribute an equal amount of money as the Boston companies, towards raising a monument to the 13th MA at Gettysburg.

     He is prescient in stating, that to give a history of Company K, is in fact, to give a history of the First Corps of the Army of the Potomac, in the first 3 years of the war.  As the modern-day historian of the regiment, I can attest to that.  The author does a pretty good job of it in this one column.  Perhaps I have been laboring in vain all these years !

      My favorite part of the article, is his list of the town families.  Its nice to see my family represented.  They were one of the first families in Westboro.  Although my G G Grandfather is not specifically mentioned in Austin Stearns memoir, he is listed in the roster, and I'd like to think they were friends after the war.  Although, by the time this article was written, William Henry Forbush had been gone three years.  He died in January, 1881.

     There are a lot more articles like this and perhaps I shall post some more, if they are popular.  Its an easy way to highlight the kind of research I do in addition to building the website.

WESTBORO CHRONOTYPE; February 23, 1884.

The Patriotism of Co. K in the War of the Rebellion.

     In the columns of this paper a few weeks ago was a communication entitled, “The 13th Regiment at Gettysburg,” setting forth the intentions of the regiment to erect a suitable monument which should serve as a memorial for the fallen dead and to mark the spot where the regiment — fought on that of all the hard fought battle-fields — the hardest, and stating what other companies of the regiment were doing, and what was expected of Co. K.

     As twenty-three years have rolled by, since its formation, and a new generation has come up that knew not “K,” perhaps a few words will be interesting for them to read in relation to the amount of labor performed, and hardships endured during its three years of service.

     Co. K was virtually a Westboro company. In its ranks were found the honored names that have been so familiar in the history of the town ever since its first formation — such names as Brigham, Bullard, Burnap, Fay, Fairbanks’, Forbush, Haskell, Robbins, Sibley, Stone, Turner, Walker, Warner and Warren; and of the adopted ones, Copeland, Lee, Lynch and Slattery; in fact almost every family in the town, twenty-three years ago, was represented in its ranks.  While the neighboring towns of Hopkinton, Shrewsbury, Southboro and Upton each sent a squad.

     To write a history of the 13th regiment would be almost to write a history of the first three years of the Army of the Potomac, or I might more truthfully say the 1st army corps.

     Going to the front in July, ’61, the regiment was ordered to the upper waters of the Potomac where it performed picket duty from Harper’s Ferry to Hancock and shared in all the hardships and privations incident to the soldier’s life, with an occasional brush with the enemy.

     Burnap was the first of K to answer to the roll call from the unseen beyond, followed closely by Harriden, both Westboro men, and dying in the winter of ’61-2.

     On the first of March the advance into Virginia was commenced, Martinsburg and Winchester were each in turn occupied, and then the march over the blue ridge to Centreville, Manassas, Warrenton Junction, and Fredericksburg with the “on to Richmond” ringing in their ears.

     There were disappointed hopes when the news of Banks’ disaster in the valley reached them, and they were hurried through Thoroughfare and Manassas Gaps into the valley as fast as weary feet could go to retrieve the loss; back then to Manassas, Warrenton and Culpepper, fighting with Banks at Cedar Mountain, then at the Rapidan from which they turned when Lee let loose his victorious legions upon the little army of Gen. Pope, the fierce shelling at Rappahannock station, the retreat, the holding of Longstreet at Thoroughfare Gap, and the circuitous march through Haymarket, Bristoe and Manassas to join the main army, the terrible disaster at the Second Bull Run, where the angel-reaper, death, gathered a rich harvest of Union slain is well known history.

     Copeland and Fairbanks were K’s offering to the insatiate God of war. Then came the retreat to Centerville, and the turnout at Chantilly, then to the defenses at Washington, across the Potomac and up through pleasant Maryland, “my Maryland,” to Frederick where the advance of Lee was met, and driven from the rugged slopes of South Mountain, and when they again measured their strength with them beside the sluggish Antietam, where its ranks were again thinned and Gassett, Holden, Trask and Wellington gave their lives, and many more were maimed for life. A month of rest and then again the sacred soil was overrun by northern soldiery. Old places were revisited, and on the 12th of December ’62 the Rappahannock river was crossed and the fearful slaughter of Fredericksburg occurred. The 13th, with rare good fortune they were on the skirmish line when after twenty four hours of skirmish work, with empty cartridge boxes they were relieved and ordered to the rear to re-form and re-fill their cartridge boxes, when the line of battle advanced and the action became general but they escaped with few casualties. The battle being lost, the river was recrossed and the regiment went into winter quarters. Then came Burnside’s mud march in mid winter, where more curses than prayers were said, again occupying old quarters, and quietly awaiting the next move in the great drama of war.

     It came at the second Fredericksburg, on the last days of April, ’63, when Cordwell’s head was blown completely off; the rapid march to Chancellorsville where, laboring all night with bayonet and plate, they threw up a line of works and helped to save the right of the army endangered by the breaking of the 11th corps. No vantage gained, only hard fighting; and Chancellorsville was abandoned; the two armies face to face watching each other, on either side of the Rappahannock. Again in motion, while Lee was making his movements behind the ridge, the Union army with rapid strides kept pace — the old first corps covering ninety miles in less than three days. The north was invaded and the two armies with terrific clash, quite unexpectedly to each other met on that quiet afternoon of July 1st at Gettysburg, where the old first corps with almost superhuman strength alone held at bay twice their numbers, till other portions of the army could arrive and occupy the hill — the home of the dead. The noble form of Wheeler, with a bullet through his brain was left upon the field, while Cutting, Flye, Gould, O’Laughlin, and Sprague, with mortal wounds, lingered a few days in pain and then were added to K’s dead.

     The regiment reduced to eighty guns, K to nine, bore an honorable part in the two succeeding days. Lee whipped and in full retreat was closely pursued by the now victorious army. Then the long marches and countermarches from the Potomac to the Rapidan, fording the Rappahannock waist deep in bleak November weather, and when winter was covering the earth with its white mantle, the two armies lay face to face at the well nigh fatal field of Mine Run.

     The elements, as if sickened with the sight of dead and mangled men, seemed to conspire together and after a drenching rain, sent a wintry blast that pierced to the bone, making men bow in meek submission to their wintry rule. They then retreated to winter quarters on the Rapidan where picketing in front of the enemy made it no easy task.

     Almost with the ushering in of the flowery month of May, the fierce struggle was again resumed — fiercer than ever; day followed night, and night day, and still the fight went on; march, fight, fight and march, till strength was almost gone. Through the Wilderness, Laurel Hill, Spottsylvania C. H.; Bethesda Church, North anna river, Cold Harbor, White Oak Swamp, and Petersburg; they all bear testimony to the valor of the 13th. Company K bore her part on every field, in every time and place where hard work or harder fighting was required. The men of K were ready even if need be to give their lives for their country, and no citizen of Westboro to-day need blush at their record.

     The rank and file of the army was not composed of rich men and K was no exception.

     Of the dozen or more of the surviving members now living in town, but few can boast much of this world’s goods. Their early friends are gone, with few exceptions, and, as “Veteran” has stated in his communication, the amount that is required to place K on an equal footing with the other companies in the erection of the contemplated monument at Gettysburg should be forthcoming. This appeal is for all the citizens to turn out at the war songs concert that is soon to be given and thus to contribute their mite and listen to those soul stirring and grand old songs that cheered perhaps your comrades, sons, brothers and fathers in the camps, on the march, in the hospital, or may be to the prison pens of the South.

      Come and let us citizens of this good old town that never refused any good and honest appeal of its defenders, turn out and fill the hall that a memorial may be raised to mark the spot that was dyed with the blood of the men of Westboro and her sister towns, who died in the defense of right the supremacy of the Union, and majesty of the law.

      CITIZEN.

Gettysburg: The Last Moments of Frank Gould; Part 4, Martha Ehler's Memoir

This is the concluding part of 4 parts.  If you haven't read the other parts you can find them at the links provided.

Read Part 1 Here.

Read Part 2 Here.

Read Part 3 Here.


PART 4.

My immediate concern after deciding to use Capt. E. D. Roath’s letter of September 9, 1863, on my website, was to find appropriate pictures to accompany his long text. Searching for information on the Patriot Daughters of Lancaster County brought me to Vince Slaugh’s blog; “Lancaster At War.”

Vince collects primary source material on the 79th PA Vols. of Lancaster County and secondary subjects that support that topic. A post of July, 2013, titled “Donations Collected From Drumore For Patriot Daughters” provided me what I wanted; pictures and biographies of some real members of the Patriot Daughters, and a short description of their work.

Another link on Vince’s site led to a digitized edition of the 1863 memoir titled “Hospital Scenes After The Battle of Gettysburg.” The short booklet was authored by Patriot Daughter Martha Ehler. It was published in August, 1863, as a fund-raiser for the Daughters. In the book, Martha relates some of her experiences as volunteer nurse for 5 weeks, at a Gettysburg Field Hospital.

I was in no hurry to read the booklet, as Captain Roath’s letter caused me to believe the Patriot Daughters serviced several of the many hospital complexes around Gettysburg. Chaplain F. D. Ward, 104th NY, was posted at White Church Hospital in Mount Joy Township. And, it was Ward’s hospital that received supplies from the Patriot Daughters, as mentioned in Capt. Roath’s letter. But I was mistaken. It turned out that the Daughters shared their supplies with all who applied for assistance, but Martha did her 5 week stint as a nurse at Christ Church hospital on Chambersburg Street, where several wounded soldiers of the 13th Mass were sheltered.

In her memoirs Martha wrote:

“We had until now, no systematic plan of action. All of us agreed that it would be better, if possible, to take the entire charge of one Hospital, and as all the Church Hospitals were sadly in want of care, our only difficulty was to decide which should fall to our lot. — Providence decided the point for us, for the only rooms we could obtain, were directly opposite Christ Church, the College Church, which had been occupied since the first day’s battle, by the 1st corps, 2nd division, (Gen. Reynolds’ men) designated by the white lozenge on a red flag.”

“…We had by tacit agreement arranged that some of us should cook, and prepare delicacies for the sick, while the rest should undertake the nursing. I was one of those upon whom the latter duty devolved. With what trepidation I crossed the street, for the first time, to enter the scene of so much sorrow and anguish, may be more easily imagined than described. Had I stopped one moment to think, my courage would have failed, I would have turned back, but I did not. I walked up to the Hospital steward and told him that it was probable that we should be associated together in our duties for some weeks, and asked him what his patients most needed; his reply, was “everything.” “These men are now lying with the exception of having their wounds dressed, as they were brought in from the battle-field.” Some were on a little straw, while most of them had nothing between them and the hard boards, but their old thin, war-worn blankets; the more fortunate ones with their knapsacks under their heads. And when you think that they were almost without exception, serious amputation cases, what must have been their sufferings. I went back to the rooms, and we all commenced assorting the pillows, shirts, sheets, &c. sending at the same time to the Commissary for some bed sacks, which the men attendants filled with straw.

When our patients were washed and dressed, and placed in their new beds, with a fresh white pillow under their heads, and a sheet thrown over them, they looked their gratitude, which was more eloquent than words. One of us handed them each a handkerchief wet with cologne, and we left them to make arrangements for their supper. Already was it in progress; the tea was already made, and the butter toast making on the stove, and with some nice jelly, kindly sent by those at home, the supper was complete; we took it over and gave it to each. Many having lost their right arm, had to be fed; while some, tempting though the meal was, were too sick to partake of it; all however, even those suffering worst, thanked us over and over again, and could scarcely be made to believe that we were to remain some weeks here, and that they were to be our special care. They all said that they had never met with such kindness, and that that meal had been the first glimpse of home life they had enjoyed since they entered the service two years ago. Thus ended our first day’s experience in our new and trying vocation; it was, however simply a beginning; we had only cared for those in the basement of the Church, (forty in number) while above, were a hundred more waiting for our services on the morrow.”

I have in my library a booklet published by Christ Lutheran Church titled “A Sanctuary For The Wounded.” The church is very active in remembering its history. On weekends the church presents a program titled “Songs and Stories of a Civil War Hospital, Candlelight at Christ Church”

Nurse Martha Ehler is quoted heavily in both the booklet of remembrance and the musical program. Reading Martha’s memoirs of August, 1863, I suddenly made the connection, between the Patriot Daughters of Lancaster County, and the nurses narrative I had read about in the Church booklet.  I also have a recording of the Candlelight at Christ program.  But I had never been able to place a name to any “specific” soldiers in these accounts. The stories were usually generalized. But in her memoirs, Martha does get around to mentioning a few specific cases. Something struck me in particular in one of these passages.

Martha mentions the date July 16. That is the muster in date of the 13th Mass. Vols. at Fort Independence, in 1861.

Keep in mind, when reading the following narrative, that Frank A. Gould, Co. K, 13th Mass. was wounded in the hip and back. His mother lived in Southboro, Mass. and family lore claims it was she who brought her son’s body home to be buried there.

Also, that George E. Sprague, of the same regiment and company, was wounded in the chest, or lungs. Sprague had a wife and son back home.

And, that the two comrades died one day after the other, Frank going first.  [Below is a cropped photo of a Carte deVisite of Francis Gould, Co. K, 13th MA.]

Martha wrote:

“I recollect particularly being called about this time to minister to the wants of a young New England soldier; I had taken care of him in a general way with the others, but did not know of his dangerous condition until one of his friends called my attention to him. I saw that he was very low, and he must have noticed by the expression of my face, that I regarded his case as hopeless. As soon as I came to him he said, “write your name on this piece of paper for me, and if I live I want it, if I die, send it to my mother, and tell her that though far away in Pennsylvania, I have found those who have been as kind to me as sister or mother.” “And, now,” said he, in the most solemn and searching manner, “must I die?”

I told him I feared it must be so. “Do not fear,” he exclaimed, ‘ ‘ to tell me the truth, for when I entered the army, I made up my mind that a man was not worthy to live, who for fear of death, shuns his country’s cause. I am willing to die, and join the ranks of those who have already gone, for it is glorious to die for one’s country.” He said he knew in whom he trusted; that religion was no new thing to him; he had a good, praying mother, and though the temptations were great in the army, yet for her sake, he had tried to do right. He then uttered a prayer for the loved ones at home, for his comrades, who stood around, and invoked God’s blessing on those who ministered to him. For some time he was quiet, and after having taken some nourishment, he asked me what day of the month it was? I told him the 16th of July. “Then,” said he, “it is two years since I enlisted, and one year from to-day my term of service will expire;” adding in the most submissive manner, “and sooner, if it the Lord’s will.” After a short interval he said, “see that I am decently buried, and may God for Christ’s sake have mercy on us all.” The light fled from his eye, the color from his cheeks, and then his parched lips only uttered confused sounds.

Around him, bathed in tears, stood the companions of many long marches, and hard fought battles, and by his side his nearest friend, who had shared his test since the commencement of the war. He was shot through the lungs, and lay but a short distance from him; he had scarcely been able to move since he was brought in from the battle-field, yet hearing his friend was dying, he insisted on going to him. I remonstrated, but to no purpose, and I was not surprised, when, after performing the last sad offices for his friend, I was sent for to attend to him. On returning to his bed he had immediately had a hemorrhage, and in about two hours he too was a corpse. Calmly he fell asleep, leaving kind messages for his wife and children at home.

Thus in life, these two noble men had been devoted friends, and in death they were not divided. I kept my promise, and saw them properly buried. Hitherto those who died, had been wrapped in their war-worn blankets, but their companions made them each rude coffins, and a sad and serious gathering followed them to their last home. The relentless grave has closed over them, and the grass waves silently over their resting place; and when in after days we visited the spot, we placed on each a few summer flowers.” *

The story of how the photo of Frank Gould above, came to me,  is in itself a story.  It was shared with me by an extraordinarily generous collector who read these posts, and was appreciative enough to contact me to share this rare image that happened to be in his collection !

Francis A. Gould is reported to have died, July 14. George E. Sprague, is reported to have died on July 15. Both are listed as having been buried, in the Presbyterian Church Graveyard on their records of death.

Although the recorded dates of death are off a bit, I believe Martha was describing the last moments of these two comrades, (both mustered into service July 16, 1861),  who died a day apart.  In checking a list of known soldiers who died at Christ Church, provided to me by one of the participants in the Candlelight service, I find only Frank, and George, who belong to the same Regiment and Company, who died a day apart, during the time nurse Ehler was working at the church.

The significance of July 16, to the story, re-enforces this idea, but it is by no means conclusive. This list of soldier who died at the church is incomplete at best. But the coincidental evidence is strong. And, so far, I have not found another unit known to have been at the hospital with a July 16, 1861 muster in date.

For the record, here is a list of other 13th Mass soldiers known to have died at the Church Hospital. Records are from the 13th Mass roster, with notes from Christ Church.

Edward Church; age, 28; born, Derby, Conn.; carpenter; mustered in as private, Company E, July 16, 1861; killed July 3, 1863. Wounded in the left shoulder and chest. Died at Christ Church, (roster says July 3rd) 28 years old.

Horatio A. Cutting; age 44; born, Attleboro, Mass.; bootmaker; muster in as private, Company K, August 1, 1862; died of wounds received at Gettysburg, July 22, 1863. Shot in head, Died at Fort Schuyler, NY July 22d.

Prince A. Dunton; age 20, born, Hope, Maine; farmer; mustered in as private, Company H, July 16, 1861; died of wounds received July 1, 1863. Shot in the right hip and foot. Died July 1st or July 8.

Edwin Field; age, 20; born, Chelsea, Mass. clerk; mustered in as private, Company B, July 16, 1861; killed, July 1, 1863. Shot in left lung on July 1st Died at Christ Church July 2nd or 3.

John Flye; age, 29; born, New Portland, Maine; blacksmith; mustered in as private, Company K, July 16, 1861; died of wounds received at Gettysburg, July 26, 1863. Wounded severely in the leg and captured. The Confederate who captured him exchanged his own worn out gray pants for Flye’s blue pair.

Frank A. Gould; age, 20; born, Clinton, Mass; mechanic; mustered in as private, Company K, July 16, 1861; died of wounds received at Gettysburg, July 1, 1863. Wounded in hip. Died at Christ Church July 14th.

Michael O’laughlin; age, 21; born, Ireland; shoemaker; mustered in as private, Company K, July 16, 1861; died of wounds received at Gettysburg, October 8, 1863. Left leg fractured. Pleaded not to have the leg amputated because of his aged mother who was dependent upon him. The leg was removed but he died Nov. 8, at camp Letterman. Single, shoemaker.

George E. Sprague; age 27; born, Grafton, Mass.; shoemaker; mustered in as private, Company K, July 16, 1861; died of wounds received at Gettysburg, July 15, 1863. Shot in the right lung and forearm.

Martha Ehler recorded the dying moments of several brave soldiers in her memoirs. I believe this particular case is that of 13th Mass soldier Francis A. Gould, and his comrade in arms, George E. Sprague.


*This passage begins on page 20 of Martha's book.