A History of the Army Experience of William A. Canfield

A History of the Army Experience of William A. Canfield
William Canfield

William A. Canfield

A History of the Army Experience of William A. Canfield

PREFACE

Readers: In writing this little book, I do not claim to issue a work of choice language, nor to present any new facts or startling developements concerning the general history of the war. My intention is simply to write a short narrative of my life as a soldier in the Army of the Potomac and South West, and in the Hospital.

Having lost my left arm from a wound received in front of Petersburg, I have taken this method of procuring sufficient means to enable me to engage in some business by which I may gain an honest livelihood for myself and family.

Craving your kind indulgence, I bring my claim before you, hoping you will grant it a favorable reception.

    Yours respectfully,
    WM. A. CANFIELD.

HISTORY

I was born on the 10th of June, 1840, in Thornton, a small town in the northern part of New Hampshire. I was the youngest of six children. Our parents were poor in this world’s goods, but rich in faith and in the knowledge of God as it is in Christ Jesus. My early instructions were limited to a common school, and I was deprived of this at the age of twelve years. Had I improved even these few years, I might have been much farther advanced than I now find myself. As it is, I have to regret many misspent opportunities of my childhood.

My parents, as I have said before, were rich in faith, and it was first in their thoughts to instill into the hearts of their children principles of wisdom, virtue and love. Especially did our dear mother, both by precept and example, endeavor to lead us in the right way.

The summer of 1853 I went to Franklin, N. H., to work in a hosiery mill. I liked my work, had a good boarding place, and in a short time felt quite at home.

I had been there several weeks, and there had been an unusual interest in religious matters for some time; many had already sought and found God. One after another of my associates had found peace in God through the merits of Christ, yet I remained unmoved.

One evening several of the boarders invited me to go to the prayer meeting. I went, little dreaming of the great blessing there was in store for me that night. I felt no conviction of sin at this time, nor did I until the invitation was given for those to arise who desired the prayers of God’s people. To my surprise the whole party that came with me manifested a desire to be prayed for. Then for the first time in my life did I feel an earnest consciousness of God’s presence. My friends had left me – God was with me, and I was afraid. Oh, how my poor heart shrank to hide itself; how gladly would I have hid myself from the presence of God, but I could not; the pure light of God’s love was shining into my sinful heart, making every plague-spot clearly visible to my spirit’s vision.

We returned home. My sister, being one of Christ’s little ones, invited them to go into the sitting-room for a season of prayer. Thus was I again left alone, but not long; for very soon I felt a gentle touch on my shoulder, and heard sister’s sweet voice saying: “Come, Will, and pray with us.”

I went, and in earnest prayer entreated God for Christ’s sake to pardon my sins. I did not plead long in vain, for Jesus was very near me, and when I yielded my will to the Divine, how quickly He received me, and lovingly sheltered me in His bosom. Thank God, I have found a hiding place there ever since. When I came out of that room I was clothed and in my right mind – I was no longer afraid. For was not God my father, Jesus my elder brother, and Heaven my home?

I could hardly wait until Saturday night, I desired so much to tell my dear parents of my new-found joy. But the week soon passed away, Saturday night came, and I was home again.

I think my dear mother perceived the change almost as soon as she saw me. I would here say that my father had for some time neglected family worship, and was not enjoying much of spiritual life; but when I told them of my new-found joy, father fell upon his knees praying fervently for pardon for his neglect of duty, renewedly consecrating himself to the Lord. Truly there was great rejoicing in that little cottage that night. The family altar was again established, and we rejoiced greatly in the love of God.

The time passed very quickly until the autumn of 1858, when I went to Manchester to work for my brother in a hosiery mill, and boarded in his family.

I soon connected myself with the M. E. Church in this place, and found many warm friends. Among others, I became acquainted with Miss M. F. Stewart, of New Hampton, N. H., and in due time married her. We had been married about one year when the war broke out.

My parents always taught us to reverence the stars and stripes; I loved my country’s banner, and when rebel hands were raised to hurl it to the ground, I felt as if I must go and bear a part in the great struggle. My ancestors had fought bravely to establish the glorious liberty I had so long enjoyed. It was hard, very hard, for me to leave those whom I loved so dearly, but still harder to sit with folded hands here at home, while others were dying for the aid I could render. Frequently, when about my work, would my eye fall upon my hands (I have often thought it strange), and they seemed to reproach me every time I looked at them. At last I could bear it no longer; I felt sure it was my duty to go, and go I must.

I enlisted under H. D. Davis, at Manchester, N. H., July 12, 1862, in the Ninth Regiment New Hampshire Volunteers. I went directly to Northfield, to visit my parents and friends before going into camp. It is almost useless for me to speak of the parting scene. I took leave of all my friends except my wife and sister, with her husband. My aged parents were bowed down with sorrow and grief. They had buried their oldest son and two daughters; there were only three of us left – and now to lose me (for they had little hope of ever seeing me again) was almost too much for them to bear.

We went into camp the first of August. Spent the first night in the barracks. I did not sleep much, I assure you, every thing was so strange – so much noise and confusion of tongues. But I soon became accustomed to my surroundings, and found real attractions in camp life.

I had always made it a rule to reprove sin whenever an opportunity offered; but I soon found out what it meant to cast pearls before swine.

Then I adopted another plan; it was this: first, to watch every opportunity of doing a good turn for my comrades. I interested myself in the loved ones they had left at home – in a word, I tried to make them love me; and I succeeded far beyond what I expected. I do not think there was one in our company who would have seen any harm come to me if they could have prevented it. Then, when occasion required, I could reprove sin without being reproached and made to understand it was none of my business.

Our time was mostly occupied in drilling, until the 24th of August, when we were mustered into the United States’ service. On the 29th, we struck tents early in the morning and marched to the depot, where we took the cars for the seat of war. It was a sad time with us that morning, as one after another bid farewell to loved ones. Very few of those brave men ever returned. I had previously taken leave of my friends and told them I should return to them again.

We started from Concord about seven in the morning; large crowds were gathered at the stations all along our route to encourage and cheer us.

We arrived in Washington on the first of September; laid in the barracks near the station that night. The next morning, I got leave to look about the city, and must confess I was sadly disappointed. I had expected to see something grand, and perhaps I should if I had traveled far enough. As it was, about all there were to be seen were cows and goats, with vast numbers of swine running at large in the streets. I went back to the barracks not very well pleased with our Capital.

In a very short time we had orders to fall in. We then crossed the long bridge, and marched about three miles beyond, and camped for the night. About midnight we received orders to turn out – the rebels were upon us. We turned out in a hurry; formed a line across the road with bayonets fixed, for we had as yet received no ammunition. We remained in line about twenty minutes, and then started off on another road; marched about two miles at double quick; were then ordered back to camp, without seeing or hearing a single rebel. The next day, we marched about six miles up the Potomac. Here we found work chopping down trees, and throwing up fortifications.

On the 4th of September, a part of the army of the Peninsula passed us on their way to the second Bull Run battle. They were all worn out with continual marching and fighting, and many looked as if they would fall by the wayside. I said to myself as they were passing: Why are worn-out men like these pressed to the front, while we are held back! Well, when the order comes, we too shall have to go; until then, we must wait and shovel. All I could do for them was to give them my ration of soft bread.

The 8th of September was my first night on picket duty in an enemy’s country. About nine o’clock it commenced raining very hard. I was relieved about twelve; laid down near an old stump, and was soon fast asleep. When I awoke, I found myself in a pond of water which nearly covered me. I managed to get out of the water and back to camp. The result of this ducking was the dysentery in its worst form. I was compelled to go directly to the hospital, and receive such care as they had to give.

On the 10th, our regiment received orders to move. They joined the Second Brigade, Second Division, Ninth Army Corps. Unable to walk I was carried in an ambulance, until we came up with the regiment on the evening of the 11th, when I joined my company. My comrades soon made a good fire of rails and did every thing they could for my comfort. J. W. Lathe got some green corn and roasted it for me, and on the morning of the 12th, got me aboard an ambulance again. I afterwards learned that he was reprimanded for taking such an interest in me, and I shall ever remember his kindness with gratitude.

On the 13th, we arrived at Frederick City, Md. During the day it was rumored that an order from Gen. Lee had fallen into Gen. McClellan’s hands, which had so exposed the position of the enemy, that he soon gave orders for the entire army to move forward.

Our column took the main pike road to Middletown. We arrived on the south side of the town after dark, and went into a field that had been recently plowed, where we bivouacked for the night.

On the 14th, at the battle of South Mountain, the enemy occupied the side and top of the mountain on both sides of the road. I will not attempt to describe the battle, for I did not participate in it; I was left by order of the surgeon in the hospital just established in the village. It was a large two story building, situated on the east side of the town. That night I was put in the second story. The room was filled with the wounded and dying.

At about three o’clock in the morning, I was obliged to go down. The moon was still shining in all its beauty and loveliness over the western hill-tops. As I turned the corner of the building a sight met my gaze which baffles description.

There were about thirty dead bodies, mangled in every conceivable shape, covered with blood, with eyes wide open glaring at me. My very blood run cold with horror, and it was some minutes before I could pass them. Since then, I have become accustomed to such scenes, but I can never recall that sight without a feeling of dread.

On the 15th, the battle at South Mountain was still raging. All was excitement. I had no thought of self now, but bent all my energies to the task of caring for the wounded. There were two others with me, and we tried in every possible way to alleviate their sufferings. We brought them water, washed their wounds, and spoke words of comfort. We had no experience in such things, but did the best we could.

The surgeon, who came round about nine o’clock, said we had done well. After looking at some of the worst cases, he gave us orders, advising us to do the best we could. For three days and nights I had neither sleep nor rest, when I was compelled to give up and take my chance with the others.

The ladies here, I shall ever remember with gratitude; they were very kind to us, bringing us many luxuries we should not otherwise have had.

I was now brought very low by the chronic diarrhea; I could hardly get up, and still no help appeared in my case. True, the surgeon was very kind, but I thought it rather hard when he told me “you must let it run. I cannot help you, I have nothing to do with.”

I had heard the ladies telling of one Polly Lincoln, who possessed much skill. I thought perhaps she might cure me, so I made further inquiries in regard to her, and learned that she lived most of the time alone in a hut made of logs, not far from the hospital. She gathered her own herbs, made her own medicine, and performed wonderful cures, – so they told me.

With the surgeon’s permission, I soon found her out and told her my complaint. “Oh!” said she, “I’ll fix you all right in a week or two, only keep up good courage.” And to work she went, at once; made me a nice bed on the floor, and fixed me a dose of herb tea in a very short time. I felt very comfortable, I can assure you, that afternoon, as I lay there on the floor, watching that good old Samaritan in her humble home; my heart was filled with gratitude, and I felt safe in her hands.

There was only one room in the house, and that very poorly furnished; still, every thing looked neat and home-like. There were two other soldiers there at the same time; one from the 17th Michigan, with his leg off, the other from Massachusetts, with his arm amputated at the shoulder-joint. She took care of us all, and often assisted at the hospital. I was with her two weeks, and then reported in person to the surgeon in charge. He gave me leave to go back another week. At the end of that time I was fit for duty. But I must not leave this good old mother without saying a few more words. She was, in deed and in truth, a good Samaritan to us all; and there are hundreds who can testify to the same truth; hundreds who will remember her with heart-felt gratitude as long as they live.

The soldier from Massachusetts died in a few days; the other was able to go home in four weeks.

Some time after this, I received orders to report at Camp Convalescent, Alexandria. I stayed there two weeks and then started off with a squad for the front. We arrived at Aquia Creek, on Saturday, October 13. We were put into camp there and told to wait until after the battle before proceeding further. To wait there within sound of that terrible artillery-fire at Fredericksburg, did not suit me. I longed to be with my comrades and share their danger.

With these feelings I went to the Provost Marshal and stated my case. He gave me a pass to report to General Fry, at Falmouth, but instead of reporting to him, I found my regiment over in the city and took my place in the ranks. The boys were glad to see me, but said I was a fool for coming into that slaughter-yard, as they called it. It was my duty, and I was willing to take my chances with the rest.

We went on picket Sunday night, but were ordered to fall back across the river about four in the morning, and at day-light we were in our old quarters, there to do picket duty on the Rappahannock, as the boys said. This was the most discouraging place that I was in during my stay in the army. Any soldier who was there could tell some pretty hard stories of that place. Our troubles there are too well known to every one at all conversant with the history of the war, to need any comment.

A few days after Burnside got stuck in the mud, we received orders to pack up; this was good news for us; we felt sure we could get into no worse place than this mud-hole.