Photo courtesy of descendant Gary Sechrist.

In Western New York, in the year 1861, during the months of July ended August, after the first battle of Bull's Run, an irresistible wave of patriotism swept over the whole country. Meetings were held in every school house and every public place. The most eloquent speakers were employed, to urge all who were able to bear arms to enlist in the army and come to the rescue of their country. Many fathers and mothers parted with their sons willingly, little thinking that they would never see them again. Wives bade their husbands God speed, thinking of nothing but that the flag had been insulted, and that their country was in danger.

Indeed, people's minds were fired with patriotism and enthusiasm to such an extent that it was considered almost a disgrace for a man who was able to bear arms to stay at home. After the war had been in progress a year or two, people were not so anxious to send their friends to the front. After so many men had been killed and wounded they better understood the danger, the magnitude and sanguinary aspect of the conflict. Well the upshot of it was that myself and many others went to Danville and enlisted. We enlisted in Company G. 13th New York Volunteer Infantry. The regiment had previously enlisted at Rochester, New York, and Company G enlisted for the unexpired term of the regiment.

When we look back upon events which happened so long ago, it is difficult to recall the precise sensations with which we viewed them in their progress, and there may be many things which have been forgotten, still there are many things that happened in the strenuous times that followed that stand out clear and distinct, and will be remembered as long as life will last.

The company stayed in Danville about two months. We were ready to go to the front some time before that, but delayed on account of there being no qualified officer available to muster us into the service. We were drilling most of the time. We were in no hurry to go. We were having a pretty good time. We were boarding at the best hotel in town at somebody else's expense. At last, about the first of November, we were ready to go. The whole town turned out to see us off. Some were cheering, some were singing and some were crying. The band was playing and cannons booming. After the speeches were all delivered, and the programs ended, we climbed into omnibusses and wagons or any vehicle that the town could provide, and rode out to Wayland, a little town, five miles from Danville, on the railroad and boarded a train for Washington. Everything went all right until we got to Baltimore. We arrived there just at dark and could not get a team for Washington until the next day.

We had a place to stay. The officers went away and left us to occupy a vacant room, and there was not enough room for all of us to lie down on the floor. I remember that we spent a miserable, sleepless and uncomfortable night. We got a team the next day, and as soon as we got to Washington and off the train, we formed in marching order, and crossed the Potomac River and up to Fort Corcoran, on Arlington Heights, and went into camp. At last we were on the sacred soil of Virginia. Our tents were what they called A tents. They were seven feet long, and about six feet wide, and shaped like the roof of a house. They were not high enough for a man to stand up in, and if you touched them on the inside when it was raining, the water would pour through that place the same as if you had punched a hole in it. Two men occupied one tent. We dug ditches around our tents to keep the water from running under us. They gave each of us a small woolen blanket. We lived that way until into December and toward the last we suffered with cold every day and night. That was a mighty good time to be homesick. Some of the boys who were underage wrote such pitiful letters home that their fathers came after them and took them home. One day a man came running into camp and shouted, "Turn out, boys; turn out, General McClellan is coming!"

Of course we all turned out to see the General. Many of us never having seen him. He and his staff came cantering by, and we cheered him, and he asked us how we were getting along. Some of the boys said "bully," but the most of us could not see anything bully about our condition at that time.

One day myself and three others went down to the river. The river was very high and we wanted to see how it looked while in flood. It was a few days after the battle of Leesburgh or Balls Bluff. As we were standing on the bank of the river, there came floating down stream many dead men and horses and other things. Some of them having been shot while swimming the river. Some of the bodies floated so near the bank that we could see where the bullets had struck them. It was a horrible sight. It made me homesick and heartily sick of war. For days the sight was constantly before my mind, and I could not shake off the horrible impression. I saw many a more gruesome sight afterwards, but nothing else ever affected me like that. After we left our tents, we moved camp about forty rods and moved into Sibley tents. They were round tents, shaped like a pyramid, or an Indian wigwam. I do not know their exact dimensions, but there were eighteen men in the tent that I was in. We laid with our feet towards the center of the tent. There was just room enough to be comfortable with a two-foot space left for entrance. A few days after we occupied our new tents, each of us received a good woolen blanket and a rubber blanket. Then we got a sheet-iron stove and set it to the middle of the tent, and thought that we were pretty well fixed for winter.

We could not blame the government for our inconveniences, because there were thousands and hundreds of thousands of men to be provided for almost at once. The Eastern armies, the Western armies and armies between.

Uncle Sam was doing the best he could, but just at that time he had his hands full. Every man had to do his share of guard duty, regardless of what the weather was. There was a sentinel placed at each magazine in the fort, one at the gate of the fort, one to guard the cannon, one at the Colonel's headquarters, besides the camp guard. I think it required about fifteen sentinels to be on guard all of the time, day and night, that would be a detachment of forty-five men to be on guard duty each day. Fifteen would go on guard for two hours, then the third fifteen would take their places, then the first fifteen would have to go on guard again.

That would give each man two hours on guard and four off, or eight hours on guard out of the twenty-four. Those who were off guard had to go to the guard tent and stay there four hours, until they went on guard again. After those forty-five men had been on guard twenty-four hours, they would not have to go on guard again until the whole regiment had their turn at guard duty. There was generally a good fire in the guard tent, so we did not suffer with cold while off of guard post. Nearly every man in the company had a bad cold and to go out and stand guard two hours, with a north wind sweeping over Arlington Heights with six inches of snow on the ground, sometimes it seemed as though we would chill to death before the relief guard would come around. As for myself, I never suffered so much with cold in any one winter in my life as I did at Fort Corcoran.

About the time we moved into our new tents the black measles broke out in the regiment. Nine of Company G died with it in a short time. They set up a hospital tent a short distance from the camp, and all who were taken sick were sent there. Some of them recovered, but not many. Those who had ever had the measles before escaped. That was one time I was glad that I had already had the measles.

About the middle of February the weather changed, and after that we had nice warm sunshiny days. We had our guard duty to do, and had to drill two or three hours each day, but the men were all well, and most of them in good spirits, and time passed quite pleasantly. Nothing happened at Camp Corcoran for the next month and a half, more than the usual routine of camp life; but I must leave you to imagine all that and pass on to other things.

Almost the first of April the orderly sergeant came around to our tents one evening in a hurry in a rain storm and gave each of us forty rounds of cartridges, and said that we were to march the next morning. Well, the next morning we started on the march for Centerville in the rain.

We marched about a mile from camp and halted about an hour in the rain, perhaps for the officers to receive further orders. It stopped raining soon after we resumed the march, but the roads were about as muddy as they could be.

As we were marching through the streets of Centerville some of the women came out on the porches and said that we could never conquer the South. They called us Lincoln hirelings, and hurled a lot of abusive language at us, but we kept on in the even tenor of our way and went into camp about a mile from the town. We were tired and after having marched all day through the mud and rain, were not in the best of spirits, especially those like myself whose turn it was to go on guard that night. The night was as dark as pitch. The Lieutenant Colonel's tent was on an elevation, and the ground sloped on one side, about ten rods, down to level ground. The tent, which contained the medical supplies, was close to his, and in it was a barrel of whiskey. The next morning the barrel was found at the bottom of the slope and it was empty.

Everything would have gone off all right had not some of the boys betrayed themselves the next morning by trying to walk straight. All who were found out were under arrest. The Lieutenant Colonel might have gained more evidence if he had investigated some of the boys' canteens. The next day we marched down near Alexandria, and camped in tents that had been vacated by another part of the army. The weather had cleared off with a cold northwest wind, and we were chilly and uncomfortable. We thought that in such a large camp there must be a stove in some of the vacant tents, so one man staid to watch our things and the other man and myself started out to hunt a stove. We finally found one with a good fire in it, and nothing else in the tent, so we put some sticks under it and carried it to our tent, fire and all. We tore up the floor of another tent for fuel, and fixed ourselves quite comfortable for the night. That night we were given three days' rations and were told that we would take a boat the next morning for Fortress Monroe. Well, we did not go the next morning, because the transports were all in use transporting the whole army and its baggage to Fortress Monroe. Neither did we go the next morning. I do not know just how long we staid there, but I know that my rations had been gone a day before we got a boat, and we were getting hungry. We supposed of course that we could get rations on board, but there was not a thing on board the boat to eat. We were over a day going down, and as luck would have it we run onto a sandbar and had to stay until high tide before we could get off. We finally landed without having tasted any food for over three days. We thought we were hungry when we first got on board the boat. But we were not. We had never known what hunger was.

It is not probable that any one who reads these lines have ever or ever will pass through such an experience, but let no one wonder when they read of what a man will eat when in a famished condition, for I know from the above experience, and from what happened later on, that a person can get so hungry that they will eat anything that will stop hunger, so thirsty that they will drink anything that will stop thirst.

The quartermaster had come on ahead of us and had all of the provisions with him.

We marched about a half a mile and camped. In a few minutes an army wagon drove into camp, loaded with hard-tack. They usually dealt out just so much to each man for a day's ration. This time they unloaded the boxes, broke them open and told the men to help themselves. In almost no time each man had his mouth and hands full of hard-tack, and nothing else attracted their attention for some time. As soon as the cooks could prepare it we had coffee and pork and beans, and then we felt better. Then we started on the march for Yorktown. We did not march very far that day, and camped in the edge of a forest. There was a boy in our company by the name of Mike Sturdevant. He had died that day of typhoid fever. Every one liked him. He was always cheerful and tried to make the best of everything. We had to bury him that night, for the regiment had orders to march early the next morning. There was a carpenter in our company who made him a coffin out of cracker boxes. We buried him in the edge of the woods. As we were turning away from the grave, one man said; "Well, we have done the very best we could for poor Mike."

I have often thought of that lonely grave in the wilderness, of the light of the lanterns, the lurid glare of the camp fires not far away, and the dark aisles of the woods, and the scene still lingers very distinctly in my memory. He was the first to die in our company since the black measles at Fort Corcoran, and it cast a gloom over the company, and we laid down on our blankets that night, sadly thinking of the past, and speculating of what might happen in future. The next day we marched and camped about two miles from Yorktown on the right bank of the York river. We staid there about a month. We had been in the service now for over eight months and had not seen an enemy.

We were now near the enemies' fortifications at Yorktown, and was wondering if something would not happen in the near future, different from anything we had yet seen. I had read history a good deal, and had not yet seen anything that coincided with my idea of war.

Well, we had to drill a while every day, except those who were on guard or picket duty. In a day or two after we camped the army commenced to build intrenchments, intending to place heavy artillery behind them, with which two bombard the enemies' forts at Yorktown.

One day as our regiment was on a reconnaissance, we halted in the road. I think for the scouts to report. Anyway, the enemy got the range of us, and began to throw cannon balls amongst us thick and fast. We soon got out of range and the enemy ceased firing. This was the first time that we had been under fire, and we thought by the noise of the balls that every one of them was coming straight towards us. There was some tall dodging for a few minutes. Afterwards we learned that if a man dodged, that he was just as liable to dodge in front of a ball as away from it.

The weather was fine. The peach trees were coming into bloom and the grass and trees were getting green and what time we were not on duty we were enjoying ourselves. There were some good bathing places in the river and at first we could get all the oysters and clams and lobsters we wanted. Some of our regiment was on picket duty most of the time out in front of the intrenchments to guard the workmen against surprise.

In no place while we were in the army were the enemies' pickets as vicious as at Yorktown. They would fire at any moving thing they saw, and their sharp-shooters seemed to be everywhere. Our pickets had to be posted after dark and relieved before daylight. One day it was my turn to go on picket. The sergeant posted me behind a big gum tree, and told me to watch the enemy from behind that, and not to expose myself. If I did I was liable to be shot. Well, I staid there until it became to be monotonous, and thought I would change my position. There was another tree, two or three rods from that one, about the same size, and I thought I could see better from behind that one, so I started for the other tree, and as I got about half way to it, a couple of sharpshooters fired at me. One bullet whistled by me, and the other one struck a smaller tree a foot over my head. Then I got back to my tree and staid there.

One night, it was just after the western army had been surprised at Pittsburg landing, the bugle sounded fall in. The most of the men were asleep and we hardly understood what it meant to fall in at that time of night. Pretty soon the captain came around to the tents and said: "Turn out, men, turn out, do you want the rebels to find you here without your arms?"

Then it did not take long for us to get our clothes on and get into the ranks. After a few minutes the brigadier general came riding up and congratulated the colonel for getting his men into line so promptly. For a number of nights after that we were ordered to sleep with our clothes on and our arms within reach.

One night our regiment was sent out in front of the intrenchments to dig rifle pits for our pickets. It was quite a way out, a half a mile or more in front of our intrenchments. It was very dark and we were ordered not to make any noise. The officers gave their commands in whispers and they were passed from one man to another down the line. They stuck little stakes in the ground with white cloth tied to them to show where to dig. Each one of us had a shovel, and we laid our guns on the ground and commenced to dig with all our might.

We knew the enemy was close by, and we wanted to get a bank in front of us, and a hole to get into as soon as possible. Well, I think I got a hole dug about four feet long, two feet wide, and from one to two feet deep.

Of course we could not help making some noise and the enemy was so close that they could get a pretty good idea of our position from that, and they commenced firing into us with muskets and revolvers at close range.

All the guide they had was the noise of our shovels. We could not tell how many there was of them, but we thought that they far outnumbered us, and as we had no command what to do, we threw our shovels down, grabbed our guns, and skedaddled back to the intrenchments. A number of our men was wounded, one of them so badly that he never joined the regiment again.

There was some of the Berdan sharpshooters to the right of us. One of them was killed and two or three wounded. When it was reported to General Martingale he intimated that it was cowardice that caused us to run. We thought that if he had been in our place, he would have done just as we did. We went out the next night and finished the rifle pits, and was not molested at all. The next day there was a rumor that Yorktown had evacuated. We doubted it, but the rumor was soon confirmed, and some of the troops of other commands were already advancing towards and beyond Yorktown. In a day or two our corps followed and camped near town.

One corps took the boats from there and went up the York river and landed at West Point. I had been sick for two weeks, and had not eaten as much as one hard-tack a day, could eat nothing else and hardly that. One day there was a settler came in to camp with a load of nicknax to sell to the boys, and I thought that perhaps he might have something that I could eat. I had done duty every day with the rest of the men, but I was sick and weak and feverish. In fact I was nearly all in. Well, in the absence of anything better, I got ten cents worth of ginger snaps. I took them to my tent and I thought that the way my appetite laws they would last me a week. To my surprise they tasted good. I ate all of them, and went and got some more and ate them. I ate lots of them, and they proved to be the best medicine I could get. After that I had a good appetite, and in a few days I was all right again. We had been having heavy rain storms and the roads were terrible. It seemed that when the roads were at their very worst that then it was our time to march. This was about the first marching we had done after Colonel Marsh took command of the regiment. The first thing he ordered the company officers to keep their men in the ranks, and in the middle of the road, and their guns at right shoulder shift.

After the baggage wagons and artillery and calvary had passed over the roads, the mud on an average was about six inches deep, and about the consistency of a good thick pancake batter. The timber came nearly to the road some of the way, and there was not much chance to turn out, but in a good many places there was better marching on the side of the road, but we were not allowed to turn out, even for the deepest mudholes. I suppose the colonel thought that it would be unmilitary to go around the mud. He was a graduate of West Point military school, and never did anything unmilitary, except swear. If that had been a military accomplishment, or whether it was or not, that was one branch in which he was simply perfect. Well, we marched in that way, halting once or twice on the side of the road to rest a few minutes, until about two o'clock when we heard firing from in front. We soon came into an open field and was immediately formed in line of battle. General Butterfield's brigade was engaged with the enemy in our front. All of our brigade, except the 13th regiment moved still farther to the left, to engage a Confederate brigade that was marching to gain a position on Butterfield's left flank. We marched in line of battle through a heavy field of clover, which came above our knees where it stood up, but the most of it was lodged and tangled in every shape, and being wet made marching terrible. After we left the clover field, we marched through a piece of ground, where the timber had been cut off, and the brush left as it had been cut from the trees. We struggled through this and through a belt of timber about twenty rods wide, and came out into an open field, thirty or forty rods wide, which was nearly level. There was a rail fence across the field in front of us, and as the regiment came out of the timber there was a line of white smoke curled up from behind the fence and every man in the regiment, except some of the officers, dropped to the ground and the enemies' bullets whistled over us. Then we arose and returned their fire as fast as possible. After twenty or thirty minutes some one shouted, "Fall back, the rebels are on our left." Of course the regiment thought it was an order and got back into the timber in a hurry. The colonel said "Who in the hell gave that order?" mounted his horse, took the flag and rode among the men and commanded them to rally around the colors. The captains of each company also assured their men that it was a false alarm and the regiment was soon back in line, firing again. A few minutes after this the firing ceased entirely on our right, and a battery of artillery having come to our aid the enemy retreated.

That ended the battle of Hanover court house. It seemed almost a miracle that our regiment had not lost a single man. There were a number wounded, but none severely, and none killed or missing. The enemy retreated in such haste that they left their knapsacks, and we marched across the field and went through them and took what we wanted of their contents. I got two new home-made linen shirts that had never been worn. They were nice and fine. I subsequently lost one of them the same way I gained it, and the other one was stolen. We moved a short distance and camped for the night. In talking over the incidents of the battle that evening, by the camp fire, and congratulating ourselves upon our good fortune upon not losing any men, some one remarked that our turn would come after a while, and it did. The next day we marched down to near Mechanicsville on the Chickahominy river. The battle of Fair Oaks had been fought a few days after this, on the south side of the river. Before or at the battle of Fair Oaks our army was all withdrawn to the south side of the river, except our corps to take part in the battle. We staid here during the most of the month of June, 1862. Our regiment moved camp a number of times to get better camping ground. The men had something to do most of the time, either on guard or picket duty, drilling or building breastworks. One day after we had just got settled in a new camp on a nice dry elevated piece of ground, the enemy got the range of us and began to fire cannon balls into our camp. One ball went through the colonel's tent. It caused quite a panic in camp, and the colonel ordered the regiment down onto a lower piece of ground out of range. He did not have to give the second order, and we were soon down there out of range.

That night we moved again.

Some incident like that happened every day or two to break the monotony of camp life, and time passed quickly. We had some heavy rain storms, but the days were mostly clear and bright.

The pickets on the river, on both sides, agreed not to fire at a man unless he was an officer. When the officers went out to inspect the pickets they put on a private's uniform. Picket duty down there was not so unpleasant and dangerous as at Yorktown. The state of things was soon to be changed, and we were to witness more stirring scenes.

Only the Fifth Army Corps, commanded by Fits John Porter, was left on the north side of the Chickahominy river.

General Porter says of his account of the seven days battles before Richmond: "We did not fear the results of an attack, if made by the forces of General Lee alone, but if in addition we were to be attacked by the forces of General Jackson from the Shenandoah Valley (30,000 strong), we felt that our right wing would be in peril." About 2 o'clock p.m. on the 20th of June the boom of a single cannon resounded through our camps from the direction of Mechanicsville. This was the signal which had been agreed upon to announce the fact that the enemy was crossing the Chickahominy river.

The curtain arose; the stage was prepared for the first scene of the tragedy. At once tents were struck, wagons packed and sent to the rear to cross to the right bank of the Chickahominy. The several divisions were promptly formed and took the positions to which they had been previously assigned. Our regiment did not get into line of battle that day, but were held in reserve, ready to take the place of any regiment that should have to retire on account of being forced back by the enemy, or the exhausting of their ammunition. It was not long before the enemy made the attack, and the battle raged with only an occasional lull in the firing until after dark. We slept on our arms that night with our knapsacks for pillows just where we happened to be when the firing ceased.

The next morning we were up at daylight, and the colonel told us to make coffee and told us to make it strong, for we would need it. Each man had a quart cup in which to make coffee, and in a few minutes little fires were started all along the line.

It took but a short time to make coffee. We hardly got it made before we were ordered to march, and we cooled our coffee and drank it as we marched along. We marched away to the left of our corps, a good deal of the way in the rear of divisions that were already drawn up in line of battle. General Porter had fallen back in the early morning, and had taken a position farther east and to the south of Gains Mills. One brigade finally got into a position in a kind of ravine or creek bottom. Back of us the ground was elevated, with a slope from the creek and was wooded.

In front of us was a cleared field, sloping nearly down to us. We felled some trees for a sort of breast-work and waited. It was about one o'clock I think when the enemy first attacked our part of the line. At length they came like an avalanche, massed in solid column, and seemed to be determined to sweep us from the field. Our fire was so rapid, precise and so awful that after a while they began to waver, and seeming to be convinced that they could not carry our position, they fell back with a haste that soon placed them in safety. General Porter says in his account of the battle: "For nearly two hours the battle raged, extending more or less, along the whole line to our extreme right. The fierce firing of artillery and musketry, the crash of the shot, the bursting of shells, and the whizzing of bullets heard above the roar of artillery and the volleys of musketry, all combined, was something awful."

The slope in front of us was strewn with dead and wounded Confederates. Their color bearers had been shot, and they left their battle flag lying on the ground. A sergeant of Company B went out on the field and brought it in. The firing had ceased all along the line. Our skirmishers had been sent out in front to watch the enemy, and an ominous silence reigned over the whole battlefield. It caused us to speculate upon what the enemy was doing. We thought that perhaps their troops were being gathered and massed for a more desperate and overwhelming attack. We knew that Jackson had joined the enemy with his whole force, and we stood waiting an attack, which we felt would be more desperate and sanguinary than the first. It is not possible for any one who has never been in such a place to realize the feelings and sensations of the men who stood with white and drawn faces waiting that last attack. We knew that it was probable many of us were looking upon the setting sun for the last time and the only thing was to do our duty the best we could and trust the rest to providence. As if for a final effort, as the shades of evening were coming upon us, the enemy again massed his fresher and reformed regiments, and hurled them with rapid succession against our wearied battalions.

Our guns were getting foul and we could not load them quickly. The regiment to the right of us was forced back and that let the enemy through. I was jambing my ramrod against a tree to force the bullet down. The air was thick with smoke, and as I looked around I saw the enemy climbing over our breast-works, and the last of our men hurrying from the field. I followed them with a precipitation that was born of nothing but fear. The battle of Gaines Mill had been fought and lost.

We had piled our knapsacks three or four rods behind us, and as we had no particular use for them just at that moment, we left them there. As we gained the top of the slope, we came out upon a level field, covered with clumps of bushes which made it impossible for the men to keep together. After a few minutes I came to a ravine, which I went into, and started to climb up the other bank. As I neared the top our artillery opened with grape and cut the bushes above me. I went into the ravine again, intending to go farther down to get out of the range of our guns. By this time there were many other men in the ravine. I started down the ravine and was met by two of the enemy, with leveled muskets, and they told me to throw down my gun. Of course there was no alternative and so I became a prisoner. By this time the enemy was all around us, and there was about three hundred men I think taken prisoner in that ravine. We marched a mile or two towards Richmond and halted for the night. There was a large two-story house surrounded by a picket fence, enclosing perhaps an acre of ground. There was a good well of water in the yard, and not having had any water all day, only what warm water our canteens afforded, and they had long since been empty. We enjoyed a good fresh drink immensely. Our number had been augmented by other prisoners, until they said there were six hundred men in the enclosure.

As soon as I got a drink of water I laid down on the ground with my arm under my head and slept soundly until morning. The next day we marched into Richmond and occupied Libby prison.

The room that we were in I think was about thirty feet wide and sixty feet long. The room was perfectly bare and the floor was all the accommodations we had, day or night. For two or three days after we got to Richmond there were newspapers brought into the prison, and they were sure that McClelland and his whole army would be taking prisoners.

They stated that McClelland's army was in a trap and it was impossible for them to escape, but after the battle of Malvern Hill, we did not see any more newspapers. We stayed in Libby prison about ten days, and then was moved to Bell Isle, an island in the James river, about two miles above Richmond. There was a guard around the camp, besides a battery of artillery on an elevation trained to sweep the whole camp.

There were five thousand prisoners on Bell Isle.

There was quite a number of our regiment taken prisoners, but only one of my company, besides myself. He was one of my old tent mates, and we were fortunately assigned to the same tent on Bell Isle. His name was Stewart. Our rations consisted of bread and pea soup, and were very scanty, just enough to sustain life. There was a company formed in camp that bought a barrel of flour. We could buy quite a decent size pancake of them for twenty-five cents. But the quality, oh my--but we were hungry and poor Richard says that hunger is the best sauce. The vermin were horrible. We were permitted to bathe in the river fifteen minutes each day. Stewart and I enjoyed that and used our time to the limit every day.

Strange to say not many men availed themselves of the opportunity. Many a man died there because of hunger. They would get so weak and miserable that they would give up, and it seemed that they did not care to live. It was pitiful beyond expression. Courage and the determination to live under all and every condition has pulled many a man through, when if they had got discouraged and given up the fight their case would have been hopeless.

One day I took my shirt down to the river and washed it. I had a blue flannel blouse to put on while I washed my shirt. It was the only shirt I had. I took it to my tent and hung up to dry. I went into my tent a few minutes and when I went out again my shirt was gone. That was the last of my contraband shirts. It was in August and as far as the weather was concerned I did not need any shirt, but it seemed like the lowest degree of poverty to be without a single shirt to my back. But I had to make the most of it. At length there came a day when we were told that eleven hundred of the prisoners were to be exchanged. We were all got together and they began to call the names of those that were to be exchanged. Stewart and I were standing near each other. After a while Stewart's name was called. I said something to him. I do not remember what, but before we were done shaking hands my name was called. He shook my hand again and said, "Hail Columbia! Pierce, we are both to be exchanged." I believe that he was the gladdest man I ever saw. We soon started on the march to Aiken's Landing, a distance of thirteen miles from Bell Isle. How we pittied those that were left behind. It was the 13th of August and an awful day. Some of the men were overcome with the heat, and even some of the guards fell out on the way. We finally got to the landing, and on board one of our transports. At last we were under the Stars and Stripes again. No one can imagine what that meant to us. We felt relieved, we felt free, we felt protected under the glorious old flag, and we were in a condition to appreciate the fact of our being under its protection, as we never were before. There were great piles of bread and barrels full of boiled pork on board, and we helped ourselves without asking any questions. It seemed that it was the best meat that I ever ate in my life. That pork and bread disappeared very rapidly, but there was enough and to spare. From there we were down the James river and joined the army at Hartman's Landing.

The men of our company thought we had been killed at Gaines' Mill and was surprised and glad to see us. The first thing we did was to write home to apprise our friends of our safety, who had written a number of letters to the orderly sergeant inquiring about us.

Then we got a new suit of clothes and went down to the river and took a good bath, and threw our old clothes into the James river and they went sailing towards Chesapeake Bay, live stock and all. Then our finger nails had a chance to grow. Then we got a rifle and accoutrements and was ready for war again. Company G had started from home, one hundred strong, but had now dwindled down to fifty-five men, all told. We did not stay long at Harrison's Landing. One morning early we started and marched all day, and did not camp until nearly dark. Of the fifty-five men to our company, only six of us were there to stack our guns, when the order was given to stack arms. All the rest had fallen out on the way. They all came in before morning, except one man by the name of Haslet. We never heard of him afterwards. We marched through Yorktown to Fortress Monroe, and by taking boats part of the way and cars part of the way and marching, we finally found ourselves above Fredericksburg, near the Rapahanock river. We did not show it then, but we knew we were on our way to Bull's Run.

We guarded a ford on the river to keep Jackson from crosing one night with his army. Afterward we learned that he had crossed the day before at a ford, twenty miles above. We marched and counter-marched until we were pretty near tired out. One day another man and myself left the ranks to investigate a barn that stood not far from the road. There was no chickens or eggs in the barn, but there was a mow of nice timothy hay, and we thought it a nice place to take a nap, and a good rest.

We took a good nap that afternoon and awoke just before sundown. We looked out of the barn and saw our regiment camped not more than a half mile ahead of us. We hustled to camp as fast as we could, hoping to get there before roll call. But, alas! the roll had just been called and the colonel had ordered that all who were not there at roll call should go on guard that night and every other night afterwards. That was the worst breach of discipline I was guilty of while in the army, at least that the colonel ever knew of. One day as we were marching we heard firing in front. It must have been a good ways in front, because we marched nearly all of the afternoon before we came to any troops that had been engaged. We camped that night and had just been to supper when General Porter came and asked for Colonel Marshall or Colonel Roberts. He found Colonel Marshall first and so our regiment had to go on picket that night. The whole regiment went out in the darkness and remained together all night listening. The colonel sent reports to the general, written by the light of a lantern, held behind a blanket. I read those reports in a book entitled, "With Pope in Virginia." The night was very dark and he reported nothing seen, only what was heard. We were allowed to sit on the ground part of the time, but having been on guard the night before it was hard to keep awake. And thus we passed the night.

The next morning after breakfast we were ordered on the march again. I do not know just how far we marched, two or three miles perhaps, but we were formed in line of battle and marched through a piece of woods. As we got nearly threw the woods we passed a line of troops lying down, and we passed over them. I think our whole brigade was with us at that time. The enemy was across a cleared field, nearly half a mile in front of us, concealed in a railroad cut. As we left the woods the enemy commenced firing at us from a battery to the right front, and one man dropped out of the ranks wounded. We kept on and as we advanced the enemies' fire became more rapid. The grape shot struck the ground in our front and rear, and men kept falling out of the ranks, killed or wounded, and as we neared the railroad cut the rifle balls began to whistle by us and men fell more frequently.

As we got about two-thirds of the way across the field one company for some reason began to divide, a part of it swinging to the right, and was leaving a gap in our line. One man, with an oath, told them to close up. I said to him, "Don't swear Mart, you are liable to be killed any moment." He did not swear any more. Our captain kept saying to us, "God bless you, company; do your duty!" Still forward we marched and I expected any moment to hear the order fix bayonets, for I could not imagine why we were marching in to such a place without charging bayonets, but no such order was given and we marched to within four or five rods of the railroad cut and was halted and ordered to fire. The captain told us to have courage, for reinforcements were coming. But they did not come. We could see nothing of the enemy but their heads, and after a few minutes the smoke was so thick that we could hardly see anything. Stewart, who stood behind me, was killed. Houghtaling to the right was wounded, Benjamin to the right of him was killed, Jack on my left was wounded, Galpin on his left was killed. I was struck with a bullet and rendered unconscious and that was the way it was all through the regiment.

Our color bearers had been shot down and our flag was lying on the ground. A boy seventeen years old, by the name of Myron H. Ranney, picked it up and carried it off the field. I did not see this, but it was confirmed by every other man in the regiment who escaped.

No one who was not there can understand how brave an act it was. The regiment was panic stricken and nearly annihilated and no one thought of anything except his own safety, yet he stopped amidst the carnage and rain of bullets, reckless of his own safety, and carried the flag off the field. We read of no braver act in all the annals of war. Well, when I came to myself I tried to get up, but could not. At first I did not know where I was wounded, but by feeling I finally located the wound in my neck. My head was a considerable lower than my feet where I fell. I worked around and got my head as high as I could, and by raising my head with my hand I finally got up onto my feet. But it was a painful operation. Every time I stepped or moved my head it caused a severe pain. Well, I was a prisoner again. This time it was Houghtaling, one of my old tent mates who was prisoner with me. Stewart, who had been with me at Libby and Bell Isle, had been killed. Houghtaling had been wounded in the shoulder. Hundreds of men were scattered over the field, friend and foe, sleeping their last long sleep, and many a wounded man to die. General Sherman did not exaggerate in his definition of war. We moved across the railroad and beyond to a field hospital where Confederate surgeons were attending to the wounded. I kept a handkerchief around my neck and wet it with cold water when I could, and in a day or two I got so I could move around and walk with less pain.

A surgeon ran his probe through my wound and told me that the bullet went just as near the jugular vein as it could without cutting it. We staid there two or three days, then was paroled and let go. Then we started on the long walk to Washington. We had not had anything to eat while we were there but three or four ounces of beef once a day. It was just night when we were paroled and we went about a half a mile to a house and outbuildings where Union surgeons were amputating arms and legs. They would amputate a man's arm or leg and carry him out and the next morning some of them would be dead.

One man who had an arm amputated was so little affected by it that he joined us the next morning and walked with us to Washington. The next morning we started again and about eight o'clock we met an ambulance team and some of the wagons were loaded with bread. They gave each of us half of a loaf. That was one time when half a loaf was much better than no bread. A little later we met a new regiment just from home. Their uniforms were new and the brass on their accoutrements was bright and shining. What a contrast between their appearance and those regiments that had breakthrough the Peninsula Campaign. They were going out to bury the dead.

We thought it a pity to send them out on such an errand, for many of them were boys, and we knew that they would see sights that would make them so homesick that they would wish they had never heard of war. There was five of us together. After we left the new regiment the country seemed to be abandoned and we did not see any one until we came to our pickets. I do not remember how long it took us to get to Washington. Houghtaling's wound was very painful, the one-armed man was growing weak and one man had a fearful scalp wound. The other man had only a flesh wound in the arm, but he had lost a great deal of blood. I had to walk careful, so as not cause any sudden jar. We were all alone on our way and we began to feel as though we needed to be taken care of and we pushed on as fast as possible. An length we came to our pickets. They gave us coffee, hard-tack and boiled beef until we were satisfied and directed us the nearest way to Washington. Then we tramped on again with renewed energy. When we got to Washington we went to the surgeon general's office. He asked us some questions and said that he thought we had walked far enough. Then he sent for a carriage and we were taken to Ebenezer Hospital. The first thing we did was to take a good bath. In the meantime our old clothes had been taken from the room and new ones laid out for us. Then our wounds were dressed for the first time since we were wounded. Then we laid down on the nice soft cots and felt that at last we could rest.

In the course of ten days I got so I could walk around quite comfortable. We were paid six months' wages while we were there. We could frequently get a pass from the hospital surgeon to go to the city and we became quite familiar with all of the interesting places in Washington. At the end of six weeks we were pronounced well and as we had not yet been exchanged we were sent to the parol camp near Alexander. It was a large camp. I think there must have been five or six thousand men in it. We had nothing to do only to furnish wood for the cooks and answer roll call in the morning. There was a guard around the camp, and we were not supposed to leave camp without a pass. If we did and was caught we would be arrested.

Company G and Company R had been consolidated; still there were less than fifty men in the company. The company was still called Company G. Colonel Marshall had been wounded at the battle of Fredericksburg and had never joined the regiment again. Lieutenant Colonel Shofield now had command of the regiment. We were put on duty at once. Our brigade was ordered out on a reconnaissance and the first night we camped near the Rapahannock river. It was so cold that our blankets were not sufficient to keep us warm and we were not allowed to have fires. We did not sleep much that night.

The next morning we marched down to the ford. The enemies' picket fired at us from a house across the river, but after a few shots from our men they left. We did not see anything more of the enemy while we were out. We waded across the river and the water came nearly to our waists, and was cold as ice. After crossing we stood in line until our pants froze stiff. Then we marched around the country on the south side of the river. Just at night we waded back across the river at a ford seven miles above where we crossed in the morning and camped in the woods overnight. It had grown colder and although we were allowed to have fires it was impossible to keep warm away from them, under our blankets, and we passed another miserable sleepless night. The next day was New Year's day and the ground was frozen solid with a white glistening frost and we marched twenty-one miles back to camp without any breakfast. We made quick time that morning. The roads were good and we only halted once at a creek to get a drink of water. The next day the weather was warm and pleasant. We played ball and football and other games and not having much to do we enjoyed ourselves pretty well for a month. The winter was a good deal more mild than the winter before. We had an occasional cold snap, but not the continuous cold, piercing winds that we had at Fort Corcoran. Our camp was on the side of a hill and sloped gently to the east. We had a tent, but we built a pen about two feet high out of poles and banked it up and set our tents on top of that. We built a fire-place in the back of our tents with chimneys made out of sticks and mud. Our fire-places made a nice place to make coffee and fry bacon and the heat kept the tent warm and with cedar boughs for mattresses, we were quite comfortable for keeping house.

One day in February our regiment went out on picket. We went out about five miles and camped near the picket line. Company G was on the reserve that night and did not have to go on the picket post until next night. One-third of the regiment would go on picket each day and night. In that way it would take three days for all of the regiment to go on picket and then they would be relieved by some other regiment. The two-thirds of the regiment that was not on picket post would stay in camp close by until the three days were up and then the regiment would all march to camp together.

Houghtaling and I spread our rubber blankets on the ground, put our woolen blankets over us, covered over our heads and slept warm and comfortable. When we awoke the next morning there was six inches of snow over us. It kept on snowing hard until along in the afternoon. I think there was a foot of snow on the ground. Just at night it cleared off cold, and our company had to go on picket post. The pickets had a fire in the day time, but there was no fire allowed at night, so we tramped from one part to another to keep warm. The sentinels were placed about fifteen rods apart, sometimes more. Sometimes there would be a dispatch sent along the line.

A sentinel would take a dispatch and he would run and give the paper to the next, and so on through the whole line of pickets. It did not take long to carry a dispatch that way. Sometimes a line of pickets would extend five or six miles--sometimes more, sometimes less--with a cavalry outpost on each flank, and scouts out trying to gain information on the enemies' movements. After our three days were up the regiment marched back to camp. It had turned warm and the snow was nothing but slush. We were wet up to our knees. The regiment was out on picket a number of times that winter and it happened to be the worst kind of weather every time we were out. One day the pioneers were ordered out to help some wagons over a bad piece of road. Pioneers were two men chosen from each company to go ahead where it was necessary and clear the road for the army. Houghtaling and myself were chosen from Company G. Pioneers from other regiments joined us, until there was about fifty men in the company that day commanded by a lieutenant. General Burnside had command of the army at that time and he started the army on the march and was going to cross the Rapahanock river to attack the enemy on the other side.

As soon as the army started on the march it commenced to rain, and rained and rained every day, and he finally gave it up and ordered the army back to camp.

The baggage wagons, the artillery and everything seemed to be stuck fast in the mud. We went out that day to get some of the wagons out of the mud. There was from four to six mules hitched to each wagon. Still they could not move them. We had a long inch and a half rope and we would hitch that to a wagon and pull it out of the mud. Fifty men hold of any mud hole, mules and ball. Well, we worked all day getting that bunch of wagons out of the mud, and it rained most of the time. Then we were five miles from camp and it was getting dark. The lieutenant told us that we had to go back to camp. We begged him to let us camp where we were, but he said his orders were to bring us back to camp that night. So we had to march back to camp through the mud and it was as dark as could be. I shall never forget that march and how long it seemed to be before we saw the light of the regiments' camp fires. Pretty soon after this General Burnside and General Hooker were given command of the army of the Potomac.

The first of May General Hooker decided to cross the river and attack General Lee's forces on the south side. Our regiment had orders to march, the same as the rest of the army, but the time for which we had enlisted had expired and we made no preparation to move. Our regiment was camped on the main road and other divisions of the army were marching by all day long. Still we got no further orders or word from headquarters and we went into our tents that night very anxious to know what the officers would do in case we got no further orders. The next morning early we received orders to strike tents and get ready to go home. Then it was only a short time till there was not a tent standing in camp.

Nothing of consequence happened on our route to Washington. When we got there Colonel Marshall was able to leave the hospital and he came down to the depot and made us a speech. He thanked the officers for helping him bring the regiment up to a state of discipline surpassed by none in the army. He said that he had led the regiment through thirteen battles and never knew them to retreat once without orders. We were detained in Washington one day and night for lack of transportation. We finally loaded a train of box cars and in due time arrived at Elmira, New York. We stayed in Elmira over night and the next day got a passenger train and went to Rochester in quick time. I think that Thirteenth was the first regiment to come back to Rochester.

There was such a crowd around the train that it was sometime before we could get off the cars, and get into line. Then we went into a large hall, where there was a banquet prepared for us. The streets were full of people. It seemed as though the whole city had turned out to welcome us home.

After the banquet, and a number of speeches were made, we were dismissed. The next day we got our discharge and went away to our homes. The foregoing narrative is only a brief outline of twenty-two months of campaigning.

It may not be interesting, but by reading it a person may gain some idea of a soldier's life in time of war. I have recorded nothing but my own experience and what I saw myself, and claim no merit for this composition, only the merit of truth.

Twenty-two months of campaigning and what months they were. It seems like a dream. At times it passes as a nightmare. Months of worry, anxiety and fear, and many times the conviction that I would never see home again. Months of everything except that for which I craved. At other times it passes as a wonderful experience, one which I would take absolutely nothing for having lived through.

Photo courtesy of descendant Gary Sechrist.