Fulfilling a Dream: Francis Harris's Civil War Story, Part 5

I last left the story of Union Private Francis Harris in May 1863, just as he was completing his most dangerous period yet in his 31 years of life. He and his 12th New Jersey Infantry, large in number, confident in their commander (Gen. Hooker), and eager to fight, had crossed the Rappahannock and Rapidan Rivers in central Virginia into Confederate territory. Hooker, leading the Army of the Potomac, 110,000 strong, had devised a plan that had every chance of success, which would fulfill the dream held by a series of Union generals for the last two years of the Civil War: to inflict a decisive defeat on Gen. Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia. In turn such a victory could mean the fall of the nearby enemy capital, Richmond, and a quick overall victory for the Union cause (and incidentally eternal fame for Hooker).

However, Lee had reacted much more quickly than Hooker had calculated, causing Hooker to stop abruptly in the dense thickets known as “the Wilderness.” The next day, in what would be known as the Battle of Chancellorsville, on May 2, 1863, Lee and his brilliant subordinate, “Stonewall” Jackson, had turned the tables, as Jackson marched far around Hooker’s much larger army. His force then slammed, near nightfall, into the wholly unprotected Union right flank, which shattered an entire army corps (over 9,000 men). The next day was the momentous one for the 12th and Harris. Its over 800 men were drawn up in formation in reserve at dawn, when a veteran enemy unit, the 13th North Carolina, broke through the Union division in front, The 13th then, in a wild turmoil of fury and bloodshed, ran headlong into the 12th, which, though well trained, had never yet been in combat. Thanks in part to a vacuum of leadership (absent, incompetent, wounded, or captured), the 12th splintered. At least two parts rallied and fought well, but the rest went fleeing through the woods. Francis Harris got off several shots, before a lead bullet slammed through the muscle of his right shoulder. He dressed the wound enough to slow the bleeding. At this point he had the invaluable support of his younger brother, in the same unit: “Robert was here. He said our knapsacks were all lost; the whole brigade’s. Rob washed me as my hands and face were yet bloody and black with dirt and powder of the battle scene. And cut my hair so when I reached the hospital I was in a better plight than some.” (Letter 5/14/63) He then walked to the field hospital and got a doctor to dress it further; and then walked across the Rappahannock River and all the way back to the vast camp where the 12th had spent the winter! From there he was able to ride a train and steamer all the way to Washington, where he reported to the Lincoln Hospital, one of a set of enormous facilities built across the capital. He would not see his unit again until late September.

His diary account of his arrival, three days after he was wounded, speaks volumes about his sturdy and matter-of-fact character. He wrote about it soon afterward. The complete entry for the day reads: “Wednesday Stormy. Wind N. E. Left on the [rail] cars at 9 oclock and reached Washington after night. Came up the Potomac on the ‘Mary Washington’ [I have been unable to find any other record of this hospital ship]. She had over three-hundred wounded on board: some rebel wounded with us. Taken from the boat to the Lincoln Hospital 2nd Ward in the Ambulance. Changed clothes, got supper and went to bed after my wound was dressed. How odd to go to bed with ones clothes off!”.

Since its first disaster at Bull Run back in the early days of the war, when the U.S. military realized that it would have to provide medical care on a scale never even imagined previously in its history, Washington had become a city of hospitals: 16 in all, treating close to 30,000 wounded at any particular time. The particular one, Lincoln, to which Francis Harris was taken, had opened in Dec. 1862, and was a typical “pavilion” hospital. It was set up in an open area on Capitol Hill, 15 blocks east of the Capitol building, that was created by French architect Pierre L’Enfant when the city was designed in the early 1790s; by the outbreak of the war the space had become neglected and used as a dump. The Union Army built 30 large buildings, laid out in two lines in the shape of a V, a combination of pavilions and tents divided into wards (Harris would be in the 2nd Ward). It was run by the Sisters of Charity, a Catholic order based in Emmitsburg, Maryland. Lincoln, like the other big military hospitals across the city, was by this time a massive complex. It contained a headquarters (where Sister Helen Ryan, the nun superior, presided), officers quarters, officers quarters (for the male doctors); quarters for the other 29 Sisters (who functioned as the nurses); a barracks; guard house; and miscellaneous smaller buildings for the combined kitchen/dining rooms, water tank, laundry, barber shop, carpenter shop, stables, and morgue (known as the “Dead House”)! It had beds for over 1,200 at the time Harris arrived, but would be doubled in size later in the war. It probably had about 200 employees, including a “master” for each ward.

Plan of Lincoln Hospital, Washington, D.C., 1864, by Charles Magnus (Library of Congress)

Civil War medicine tends to get a very bad rap these days, and with some justification. For example, the training of doctors was rudimentary to say the least by today’s standards: there was no national standard, and most had no more than two years of medical education. Tragically for those injured in this war, the germ theory of disease (with its corollary of mandated sterilization of doctors and nurses) was still a decade away (and even then would not be widely adopted for at least another decade in the U.S.!). While morphine was in use as a painkiller (albeit addictive!), and ether as a crude anesthetic, antibiotics that could treat the host of infections were still about 80 years in the future. As a result, an abdominal wound was almost certainly a death sentence, and a chest wound nearly so. Serious wounds in the limbs commonly meant amputation. Otherwise the patients would likely face prolonged and atrocious deaths from gangrene. Even items we consider commonplace, like thermometers, stethoscopes, and microscopes, were very rare. On the other hand, by this stage both doctors and nurses had had many months of practical experience with gunshot wounds; the food was quite good; and the facilities were generally very clean and well managed by now. The average mortality rate was actually just 8%!

Harris’s first impressions were certainly very favorable. In his diary for the 9th, he wrote: “Clean. Delightful. Every thing plesant and comfortable in this hospital. They are turfing, setting out flowers and rose bushes, and gravelling the grounds around the Wards, so they will be beautiful in time representing by the turfing the signs of the Corps of the Army Stars, Clubs, Diamond. Cross &c. The invalids are required to be or to change underclothes every Saturday, and to wash hands and face every morning.” His shoulder wound was “sore” at first. But at no point would there be discussion of amputation (unlike one of his ward neighbors, who had had the shoulder bone shattered), and he was seeing improvement already by 10 days after the injury (being 31 and fit must have helped!). His only comment on his wound treatment: “The only and simple remedy used until today has been cold water. A salve has been put on today.” (Letter 5/13/63)

He immediately got into a routine not very different from those he already had perfected in his two long winter camps: reading (books, and he continued to be a voracious reader of newspapers); going to prayer meetings and having religious and philosophical discussions; and writing (another sign that his shoulder wound had healed!)- in his diary and more long letters to his wife and kids, and increasingly also writing letters for his fellow patients. When he got tired of reading, he would go around the wards to admire the flower beds! His writings during his stay, even when commenting about the deaths and serious injuries he saw every day, are largely upbeat. Except for one poignant comment: “I feel myself more dependant than ever in my life.”

While he didn’t feel he had quite enough food, his greater hunger, not surprisingly, was for any news about his unit and his own friends. After the defeat at Chancellorsville, the 12th would not see any more action for the rest of May and all of June. During all of that time, the only significant news was that they moved to a new camp location in mid-May (a healthier one on higher ground 2 miles from the old), and that they had another change in the top command. Hooker had spent the two months trying to lay blame on the defeat on others; when Lee’s army suddenly went into motion, for a second invasion of the North in late June, Hooker, despite the serious threat, was slow to pursue the Confederates. Lincoln had had enough of him. As the Army of the Potomac crossed into the friendly state of Maryland on June 28, he replaced Hooker with George Meade, a very competent, if uncharismatic, corps commander.

By then, Harris had long since left the hospital; but instead of rejoining his unit, he had gone home at last on May 29 to his New Jersey farm, on a 40-day furlough- the first time he had been home or seen his family since Aug. 1862!

That leave time marks the only extended break in his otherwise meticulously kept diary (as well, of course, as in his letters); his record doesn’t resume until July 9, 1863. His only homecoming comment: “found my folks all well.”

Here I will give a (very abbreviated!) summary of what the 12th was doing in Harris’s absence (it’s important to add, because the regiment would find itself right at the center of the biggest battle of the Civil War and of the Western Hemisphere- Gettysburg). By the time the command of the Army of the Potomac went to Meade, Lee’s army had gotten a big lead in its move to invade the North- crossing, for the first time, not just Maryland, but into Pennsylvania as well, threatening its state capital of Harrisburg. The 12th also got a new division commander, with Alexander Hays replacing William French (an improvement). The 12th itself was headed, as it had been since its first big battle at Chancellorsville a month earlier, by the popular Irish Maj. John T. Hill. Lee’s threat meant the most prolonged marching the 12th had yet experienced- and at the height of summer. By July 1, the unit was across the Mason-Dixon Line and into Pennsylvania, and was meeting wounded from the First Day of the Battle of Gettysburg (a defeat for the advance units of the Union army). In the wee hours, the exhausted 12th reached its position, on Cemetery Hill on the northern edge of the Union line (in the same town cemetery where Lincoln would deliver his famous Address in November).

As soon as there was light on July 2, 1863, that whole area of the Union defense came under intense artillery fire, forcing the men from New Jersey to stay sprawled and under cover. Fortunately their part of the line was not actually attacked by the Confederates, and so casualties were light for most of that day.

Maj. John T. Hill (1838-1891), commander of 12th NJ at Gettysburg (findagrave.com, added by Kevin Swope)

In the evening, though, a group of Confederates, occupied a big sturdy building (the Bliss barn) nearby, and posed a direct threat (on the northern edge of Longstreet’s massive assault on the Union left and center, which culminated in the famous struggle for the high ground of Little Round Top). Several companies of the 12th were ordered by Gen. Hays, with others from the brigade, to retake the barn, which they did successfully. However the enemy retook it on the morning of the last day of the Battle (July 3rd), and had to be dislodged again, this time at high cost. Then, in the afternoon, the 12th, and all of the Union army, came under the greatest artillery fire of the whole war, as Lee ordered every gun he had into action.

Map of Pickett's Charge, July 3, 1863; the 12th can be seen in Smyth's brigade (blue, upper right), and the Bliss barn out in the valley (center); from thomaslegion.net

That 4-hour bombardment was followed by the famous assault on the Union center immortalized as “Pickett’s Charge”- and the 12th found itself right in the Charge’s path! Out from their position in trees a mile away, into open farmland, came Lee’s last reserve, 12,500 Confederate infantry, headed directly at the men from New Jersey. They were ready. The men of the 12th opened their “buck and ball” cartridges, throwing the single “balls” away, and then refilled the cartridges with as much “buckshot”, small bullets, as they could. Their muskets were thus turned into deadly short-range shotguns. When the Confederate attackers got within range, they were met by devastating blasts, and never had a chance. The 12th therefore deserves credit for a real contribution to the overall, and stunning, Union victory. Lee’s army of over 71,000 suffered losses of over 28,000 over the three days, and was forced into a long arduous retreat back to Virginia. Of course the 12th had to pay its own price in blood, losing 115 of its 532 (including 23 dead). But it captured 600 prisoners and 4 battle flags, and after the war, in 1886, the survivors would choose Gettysburg as the site of the 12th’s only monument.

The next day, July 4th, brought even more good news for the Union cause: Gen. Grant’s capture of an entire Confederate army (almost 30,000) at Vicksburg, Mississippi- which also cut the Confederacy in two, But, much to Lincoln’s displeasure, Meade was slow in starting his battered army on its pursuit of Lee’s men, who were able to escape destruction. For the 12th, now reduced to 425 (less than half the number it had started with), the pursuit, from July 15-31, meant even longer and harder marches than ever (further reducing the unit to 250, and forcing more shuffling to replace lost officers), before they came to rest back in central Virginia.

When Francis resumed his writing, two days after the 12th and the Army of the Potomac began to pursue Lee’s retreating army, there’s a surprise. Instead of rejoining his unit (he was presumably fully healed), he returned to Lincoln Hospital! He never states a reason, and his entry for the return is quite unemotional: “No great change of inmate since I left. A few were gone and others brought from the Cavalry fight – at Aldie. The Rebel wounded has been sent away to be exchanged.” (Diary 7/10/63) He is more expressive in his first letter to his wife: “Maggie it was a task for me to leave you all; though I did show it at first I felt it while traveling, but I go cheerfully to my duty, hoping this “cruel war” will soon be over!” (Letter 7/10/63) The most likely explanation is that someone in the medical bureaucracy saw him as being of more use at Lincoln than in the field (presumably because he was sober, reliable, and literate, and had hospital administrative experience). The best evidence is in a short comment several weeks later: “I am afraid that doctor Smith will not let me go soon, for I am becoming his right-hand man. He wants me to do all the writing and the like in the ward.” (Letter 8/3/63) Of course returning to Lincoln had an unstated benefit: staying out of combat! He clearly recognized that: “I like to be with the Regiment better on every account but one thing and that is as one said except the killing days [emphasis added]. As soon as he gets back, he notes: “I spent all day assisting [in dressing wounds].”

But Harris did get to see relatives (his aunt and cousin in Wilmington, DE) on the return train journey, on a 10-minute stop, and he was delighted also to encounter people who knew comrades, and even met a brother of a friend from the 12th too (who had also suffered a shoulder wound and was headed to another DC hospital). He seems to have settled back into the hospital routine, including keeping up with the news (such as of the very violent Draft Riot by Irish immigrants in New York City from the 11th-16th, which particularly targeted black civilians, and the suppression of which required combat troops fresh from Gettysburg!). By July 20, he (briefly) filled in as a “ward master”, with two assistants of his own. But he was also, not surprisingly at all, missing both family and soldier friends more than ever, as the hot summer dragged along:

“I am sorry that I did not get a letter from you today for I want to hear from you all so bad. To leave home was not much this time, but since I have got here I have dreaded it more than at the first time I left home, and have so many thoughts of home that I have most the horrors, once in awhile because I don’t hear from you. I have not had a letter from any yet and it is most two weeks since I left home.

I will be patient, maybe one will come from you tomorrow. If I had gone immediately to the regiment it would have been alright; but, to be pent up here in a hospital is too much for me a well man.

I would rather ten times told to be with the boys then among strangers as it were. If some of them were here I could take care of so nice and feel better contented…” (Letter 7/21/63)

He had no chance of leaving until a “clearing out” happened, when an inspector came by on a rotation to make decisions about who was fit to return to their unit. Several of those came and went, with no word about any change for him. At this point he began a common recreation for soldiers, a “side hustle” in today’s terms: making decorative rings out of beef bones, for gifts to be sent to family, but mainly for sale (he would continue this craft, cutting symbols into the bone and filling those areas with sealing wax, for the rest of his service, and making good money, up to two dollars for a single day’s labor!).

That all changed suddenly on Sept. 11, just over two months after his return to Lincoln Hospital: “At 11 oclock Dr. Allen came in and got the names of the attendants & three of the patients, and went out, and shortly after the officer of the day came in and told us to get ready at once to go to our regiments. How unexpected to us; yet the boys knocked around and got ready at once, expecting to leave before dinner, but eate dinner as usual. Waited impatiently untill 4 oclock when we left Lincoln Hospital under guard of six Invalids, and arived at this place (soldiers retreat) and expect to stay all night.” This was the same Soldiers Retreat, 4 miles south in Virginia, where he and the 12th had stayed back in late 1862! Harris’s main concern was that, despite a certificate from the head of the hospital, he hadn’t been paid for the two months!

Three days later, he and other “convalescents” were moved again, this time to a vast camp (Harris judged it at about “15 thousand”, set up in Fairfax County, Virginia, in Mar. 1863, and divided into three parts: one, for those on parole after being captured; another for those “sick, infirm, and disabled”; and the last for “distribution”- where healthy soldiers waited to be reassigned. The camp was, he judged, exceptionally well organized, especially for its size, and he soon found similarly morally upright companions and regular prayer meetings. His entries and letters at this time have a much more upbeat tone.

View of Camp Convalescent (part of Camp Distribution), Charles Magnus, Alexandria, VA (LOC)

After two weeks, it was his turn to be “distributed” and to return at last to the 12th New Jersey! He and about 150 others of his larger unit (the II Corps) went by foot and rail to the front, which was now near Culpeper in west-central Virginia. It was another geographic milestone for Harris (who lived in a flat part of New Jersey), his first view of the Appalachians: “I had the first view, of my life of mountains in the distance.” (Diary 9/25/63; in his letter he amplified: “we got in sight of the Blue Ridge Mountains. They look like a low, jagged, heavy, blue cloud…”) Two days later, he caught up at last with his brother Robert and his old friends. It’s to me one of the most moving passages in all of his writings:

“When I reached the encampment most of the boys had gone to rest in their little houses that they had just pitched that day, and the first Man I met was James Murphy. He knew me at once. I asked him if Robert was in camp, and he answered yes and told me to stand there and he would call him that it might take him by surprise. The first tent that he went to was Smith’s tent he asked if Rob was in, and went from tent to tent seeking him. Before he was found John Boon saw me and sung out that Mr. Harris has come back. Upon this they all one after another another came out. Among the foremost was Smith [Clark; one of his best friends] though he lay the the fartherest but when he heard the name of Frank he jumped and crawled over the rest in a hurry. I must say I was as pleased to see him as Robert. He had just sent a letter to Lib. but he wrote another to day to tell her that his friend has returned. Rob was soon up and greeted me. I felt to be among friends [emphasis added]…The boys all looked ruged and dirty…Full of fun and mischief.” (Diary 9/27/63)

After all this drama, for Francis Harris and for the 12th New Jersey, the fall of 1863 and the winter of 1863-1864 were much less eventful. There were two battles, at Bristoe Station in October and at Mine Run in November, but both were much briefer and less costly than Chancellorsville and Gettysburg. Harris did not fight in either (instead his commander gave him the role of assistant clerk in Company A). On Dec. 13, the Army of the Potomac and the 12th “stockaded” again, building cabins for yet another long dull winter, this time at Stevensburg, Virginia. For Americans, North and South, civilians and soldiers alike, it was a time of doubt as to whether this long horrendous war would ever end.

That’s it for this installment! Hope you've enjoyed it, readers! Ahead in the story, in 1864, there will come a low point in Francis’s morale, followed by a seminal event: the arrival of a new supreme Union commander, the one who will win this war: Gen. Ulysses Grant. With him, Harris and the 12th New Jersey will join in the last campaign of the Civil War.