July, 1863. Gettysburg, Pennsylvania

I was fortunate to come into possession of Civil War account written by a man from Meridian in the 111th N.Y. Newman Eldred wrote down his memories in April, 1909. The 111th N.Y. repelled Pickett's Charge at Gettysburg and their involvement was crucial to the Union victory. Here's an excerpt from his memoir, dealing with his experiences as an 18-year-old soldier in the thick of things:

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At last our regiment arrived within two miles of Gettysburg, Pa., where the rebels had made a stand. They did not reach Harrisburg as they had anticipated for the old army of the Potomac was hugging them too close in the rear. The 1st and 11th corps had arrived one day in advance of us and had given them battle. But the Union forces were no match for his whole army and had only stood on the defensive and had got rather the worst of it at that. We camped in a piece of woods on the night of the 1st of July [1863] about two miles from Gettysburg I should judge.

It was here that one of our non-commissioned officers tried to commit suicide by shooting himself with a revolver. Placing the gun in his breast he pulled the trigger but instead of penetrating his body it glanced on a bone and passed around on the other side giving a painful but not dangerous wound. But of course it put him out of business and we had to dispense with his services during the battle. But before twenty-four hours many of the old boys would have gladly swapped places with him only for the name.

We could plainly hear the sound of musketry as they opened up sometimes by spells in the night. Our eyes were not closed very much during the night for our minds were too much on the coming battle. We were called by the drum at about 4 o'clock and ate what we had. My breakfast consisted of a little piece of bacon and 3 hardtacks. I ate with a relish for I didn't know but it would be my last meal. Still I presume my appetite was not as good as a well man [he had had chronic diarrhea for some time prior to this]. We dreaded the coming contest but no one placed us where we were, only ourselves. We must take our chances with the rest. We had had no experience and would have to suffer more consequence. Although the first volley might lay us low, we had but once to die and the brand of coward was far worse than death in the presence of our enemies. I remembered when I took my father's hand and bid him perhaps a last goodbye, he said, “My boy, don't get shot in the back.” In my weak condition it was hard for me to double quick from where we were to the Gettysburg battlefield two miles away but I followed as best I could for I would not leave my old school mates and friends. Even in my weak condition I managed to arrive on the field soon after my regiment did.

Instead of putting us immediately into battle we were placed in support of a battery at or near where the 125th Reg't. monument is now. There was a detail made from the 39th N.Y. for skirmish line and while we were lying there they were relieved and came in. Each man carried an extra gun or two so we did not relish the idea of going on the skirmish line in our turn.

Now I will relate an amusing incident that took place here. The rebels were firing shells over us all the while. Wallace Fink of Cato and M.L. Davis of Meridian were in earnest conversation lying on the ground face to face, their guns lying between them. There came a shell from a rebel gun and it burst overhead. A piece of quite a size came down between the boys' faces, struck one of the guns and doubled it up or injured it somewhat and threw dirt in both their faces. They of course jumped up and rubbed their eyes and spit the dirt out of their mouths. Colonel McDougal called out, “Lie down.” Yet he wasn't lying down himself. We could not help laughing. At that time it was very amusing to us but not so to them yet no one was hurt. It came very handy for Colonel McDougal to holler, “Lie down” when a shell came near yet he never laid down himself.

As I said before we had no appetite for the skirmish line but in a soldier's life you are supposed to go where you are sent and no back talk. At the same time as long as there was a spark of vitality about us, we were always looking out for number one. You would stand transfixed with horror sometimes if you should give way to your sensibilities but a soldier is supposed to pass death by as a natural consequence paying no attention to anything only your duty as a soldier. Gaping wounds or headless trunks are often scenes you will come in contact with. You may step in pools of blood over the quarters of your shoes. Such are the results of war. Your home ties my be broken by the death of father or brother lying dead at your feet. Duty has to be done first, then with the permission of your superior officer you can tend to those who are near and dear to you. Yet your sorrows are no worse than others. It isn't always bravery in battle that elevates a soldier in the estimation of his comrades. There is bravery in bearing your burdens of sorrow and still be found in your place doing your duty to your country. A soldier's life is never supposed to get monotonous. There are times of sorrow, times of pleasure and times that will try the hearts of the bravest of men. You take your gun, walk out facing the enemy on the field of battle and that is the time you will test your courage. That is the time that even the bravest of men look pale. It may be that the first shot will lay you low. Do your duty. Let the consequences be what they may. The roar of the cannon and the rattle of the musketry may be music to the ears of some who are at a distance, but a death knell to those who are every moment expecting to be called into action.

We put in our time in support of a battery till about three 'clock in the afternoon of the second of July. There was a rebel battery over on our left center that was doing damage to our hospital and being not far from one third of the way from Zeigler's Grove and Little Round, it fell upon our brigade to take or silence that battery. Our brigade was composed of the 111th N.Y., 126th N.Y., 125th N.,Y. and the 39th N.Y. If any other I cannot remember. We made the charge from what is known as Bloody Angle or High Water Mark. We marched at double quick down the incline from Hemlock Avenue till we came near a swale or creek bordered on the edge by willows and lay there to await orders.

The rebel skirmish line was just across the swale picking off all they could of our boys while lying on the ground. It was while we lay there that John E. Lawrence was mortally wounded and died, we understood, on the train to Baltimore, Md. About this time we had orders to charge. We had to cross this swale or creek on a corduroy bridge. So we had to form in 4 ranks to cross the bridge and then form a line of battle on the other side. All this time we were under a withering fire from the rebel battery. Before we got to it they charged the guns with grape and canister. We all this time were loading and firing on the run. We did succeed in getting four guns but they got a flank shot on us and we had to retreat. Colonel Sherrill of the 126th N.Y. was killed. Colonel Buck of the 39th N.Y. was wounded, so were all acting brigadier commanders , we heard. Our regular brigadier commander was acting division general, General Hayes. After looking over our casualties, we found as near as I can remember, Joseph Morgan, Merrill Godfrey, Morris Welch, John E. Lawrence, William E. Brown and Silas W. Brown of Cato all killed. Of course J.E. Lawrence was mortally wounded. I cannot think of any more yet it seems to me that there were more.

After this charge we went up near Zeigler's Grove along side of a stone wall running parallel with the Grove and back of a farm house which is now on the line of Hancock Ave. Here we lay all night in a drenching rain., Hunger began to tell on us as we had worn out the little breakfast that we ate at 6:30 in the morning. But the tide of the battle might turn at any time and it was unsafe to bring our provision train into the line. As we lay there we could not help feeling sad for our comrades who had been taken away from us. We had been near and dear friends for so long. But we must not grieve, it may be our turn next. The heart rending scenes we pass through at this time are nothing compared to the coming battle but we do not know. The courage of men in such places cannot be accounted for. The booming of the cannon, the screeching of the shells and the whistle of the bullets, it seems, would terrorize the stoutest hearts.

Well, we lay there until the great Pickett's charge on the 3rd of July. All our blankets, rubber blankets and shelter tents were gone. At least mine was. Rain was predominant as it always has been during the great battles of all centuries. I forgot to mention that during the night of July 2nd I sat with my back against an elm tree and the same old elm tree was there yet when I went there on a visit over 30 years afterwards. It seems a long time but still the impression is on my mind vividly to the present day. How sad the memory of bygone days when our country was draped in mourning for the loss of her sons of liberty who fought and died for their country.

Our regiment made details for skirmish line duty often times. I think I had two chances at it up to the great Pickett's charge. It was far from a pleasant undertaking to go on skirmish line for men never all come back from the line. Yet I was in a most deplorable condition, poor and sick. I didn't care how soon I would be picked off for my life was one of continual suffering and pain. My appetite didn't bother me so much for I was too sick to eat. My back and stomach were near neighbors.

Now is was 6 'clock in the morning of the 3rd of July when we were on the skirmish line. We were looking out for number one., When we were in the company we had time to think of the inner man and a little hardtack would have been very acceptable. But this was one of the consequences of an uncertainty as to which way a great battle would terminate. The capture of our ammunition or provisions at this time would mean a great deal to a famished army on the verge of starvation. At this time it would have been more than dangerous for a rabbit to cross our path. Our hospitals were filled with the wounded. Every available comfort was given to those who were suffering from aggravating pains or loss of limbs. It seems awful for human beings to take each others' lives and think no more of it than to hunt wild animals in the forest. Time passed off. Once in a while a percussion shell would pass over our heads. They never explode till they strike. They have a peculiar singing sound that will make you cringe when they pass over. The sharp whistle of the sharp shooter's bullet will cause you to dodge and yet when you hear them it is too late to dodge for they have already passed.

Mules and horses are quiet under trying circumstances. I saw 3 mules out of a team of 6 mules, killed with one shell. The other three just looked around to see what had happened. When they fell the driver was sitting on the caisson. He got off and went and got three more mules.

I was detailed to go and get some canteens filled with water a little while before the great charge on the 3rd. So I took 16 canteens and started down to the creek near the field hospital back of the line of battle. I was busy filling them. My progress was slow for I had no funnel to fill them with. I head the boom of a cannon in the distance, then another, then a shell burst over my head and all around. I hurried with all my might but was slow at that. An officer's horse was tied to a tree not far from me up the creek where I was getting the water. A piece of shell struck him and he fell into the stream. Soon the water became muddy and I had to quit filling my canteens. I had only filled 7 or 8 of them. I started back for the regiment.

It seemed to me that the heavens were on fire. Pieces of shell and different missiles that shells are loaded with, were thick as hail stones. The heavens looked like a continuous ball of fire. Shells striking the ground, dirt, gravel, stones and pieces of shell entirely blocked my way. I cannot tell you how I felt as I was wading through that storm of iron. Trees two feet through would tremble from base to pinnacle. But I must get to my regiment. I was lost in the confusion. It was a task not to be envied by any one that cared for his life.

I had left my gun stacked among the others of my company. My name was printed on the stock. My company lay, as I told you before, near a stone wall running parallel with Zeigler's Grove, a small grove of trees, and near a farm house. A little further front, after a time seeming like an eternity to me, I arrived where my company was when I left them. They were not there. I stood for a moment trying to get myself together, there was such confusion. There was my gun or what was my gun. In its dilapidated condition no better than scrap iron, showing the severe treatment it had received in my absence. The stock was broken, the barrel was twisted and bent almost double. I was standing in a hail of iron. I tried again to gain my faculties enough so I could think where to find my regiment.

At this time there came a momentary relief from the horror of my situation by the appearance of Dr. James D. Benton of Cato, our 1st assistant physician. He also was unable to find the regiment. In the confusion we were as much lost as if we had been in the middle of the Sahara Desert. So he and I lay down beside the stone wall and waited for a lull in the storm but a shell striking on top of the wall would send a sheet of flame and smoke and sometimes roll a stone uncomfortably close to us. We concluded to find safer quarters.

Just as I rose to my feet to seek a difference place or my company, a young soldier came running by wounded. His under jaw was town off back to his ears. What an awful sight. But I said, “Give me your gun.” He threw it towards me and kept on going and disappeared from my sight. That awful spectacle will not be erased from my memory as long as I live. In the din and confusion of battle we cannot stop to take in all the events that come under our observation. Sometimes we cannot help but listen to the zip of the leaden messenger of death as it passes by in close proximity to our ears. The gun that the lad gave me is still in my possession in my home. As often as I see it, it reminds me of the sad events connected with it while the bones of the donor are mouldering with the dust. But the gun will be a relic highly prized by those near and dear to me after I am gathered with the silent majority.

So with a gun in my possession I again started for the front in search of those who would be a welcome sight to my in my forlorn condition. I was indeed lucky in finding my regiment and to witness one of the grandest soul stirring sights that man ever beheld. A line of battle had been formed from the rebel side, nearly a half mile in length, maybe less. I tell it as I saw it as near as I can. After they had marched out a few rods another line appeared. They too marched out till there were three lines of battle marching towards us. From this we concluded that the whole rebel army were marching towards our lines. Then we were satisfied that thousands of brave men on both sides would bite the dust by the setting of the sun. On they came. We waited with bated breath for the coming struggle that would tell the story. While they were coming towards us in battle line, the cannons continued to roar. The infanty was quietly waiting with expectancy the coming trial with awful thoughts passing through our minds, pale, and silent as the hush of death. We were satisfied that bullets and maybe steel would have to decide the contest. A dread of the outcome was uppermost in our minds and we knew that the most effectual means must be brought to bear to turn the tide of battle. We waited the coming of the three lines of battle with eagerness. Soon the field would be crimson with the blood of heroes on both sides. As they came nearer our front, our cannon were charged with grape and canister shot which would lay thousands low in so many minutes. When they came near enough our guns poured forth their death dealing missiles which mowed them down like grass before the scythe.

When one line of battle was cut down it was filled up from the other line and still they came on till they came in reach of our small arms. When they soon began to waver. Heaps and heaps of the dead were lying upon the field. It was a trying time for those heroes in gray. Disappointed in the loss of so many men, some thousands threw down their arms and came into our lines. Others broke and ran leaving their dead and wounded on the ground. Pen cannot portray the awful sight upon the blood stained field. Such fearful slaughter of noble men on the Union as well as Confederate side. In our front sometimes 8 or 10 or the rebels lay in heaps. As you let your eye run over the field more than a hundred acres were covered with dead and wounded. In our front they were so thick your could almost jump from one body to another.

Our Colonel McDougal, a brave and noble officer, was wounded in his right wrist and had an arm broken. He went and had it dressed and came back to his regiment and remained with his boys to the end. After the battle was over and the prisoners cared for, we drew coffee and sugar only for which we were glad. It acted as a stimulant to our almost famished bodies., Then for a while we looked over the casualties of our regiment. It seems queer that I cannot remember about my own company but I remember the dear that were laid out in Co. E. They were the company next to ours. I was better acquainted with them. There were Lieutenant Procions and 15 others of that company.

After this I was one of the detail to go on picket duty on the field that night. It proved a bad rainy night as is most always the case after a great battle. It seemed to me that the shaking of the heavens has a tendency to produce rain. The picket line was nearly on a line where there was once a fence. Theron C. Dudley was next post to me on the line and within 5 paces distance. As luck or Providence would have it a few loose rails were strewn around. We put them together and lay down on them to keep out of the water as it continued to rain quite hard. While lying there we could hear the rebel wounded call, “O brother, o Yank, or friend, for God's sake, bring me a drink.” But we had to turn a deaf ear to their cry for we didn't have any water for ourselves except what we had in our clothes. Hundreds of dead and wounded were all around us. The rebel picket line was so near us we could hear them talk when it was quiet enough. We lay on our stomachs as much as possible and had our guns under us to keep the water off of them.

Our minds ran back to the second of July when we ate our last meal and a short one at that. Although my appetite was not the best, for I was sick, it seemed to me that I should eat a little if I had it. Nothing had passed my lips in the line of food not even a chew of tobacco since the 2nd in the morning except the coffee and sugar I spoke of. I told Dudley if he would care for my gun I would go out front and look over the dead and see if I could find anything to eat.

Now you may not understand why the dead and wounded were not taken care of and had to remain on the field, except they are removed under a flag of truce with the consent of each party. So without doubt thousands died during the night of July 3rd for want of care for a hot sun on a would would cause it to swell and be very sore. Then the rain would cause gangrene or we would call it putrefaction of the flesh which would soon cause death. When the battle was over, and the prisoners cared for, they day was far advanced. Darkness soon enveloped the earth and it was out of the question to negotiate for the care of the dead and wounded. So after being exposed to the hot sun and then a drenching rain there was no help for them.

But to return to my story, I started out on my hands and knees as it was dangerous to walk upright. I went from one body to another and looked for the haversack that looked the best. Finally I found one but had to roll the body off of it. I carried it back to our post. When I opened it I found inside quite a lot of stuff including a piece of fresh pork that had been kept too long already and we couldn't eat it at all. So rather crestfallen we made up our minds to put up with it until morning. A rebel Lieutenant was lying next to us. He was wounded in the knee with a grape shot. He spoke to us and said, “Boys, there are three biscuits in my haversack that were baked by a woman. If you can roll me over you can get them for they are under me. You and your comrade eat one of them each and I'll eat the other. If I live till daylight I probably will be taken care of and if I don't it will be just as well.” So we got them and at them. We talked in a low voice for a time and then he got quiet. In the morning, he was dead, once our enemy, then our friend, now passed away. If he had had a little care in time his life would have been spared. Tears of sadness passed down my face in memory of one of the noblest of men, even an enemy.