furlough returned to my
regiment a captain.
On the 19th of September, 1863, occurred
the battle of Chickamauga, in which my
regimenttook a
conspicuous part. The close of
our own share in this
contest is, as it were,
burned into my memory with every least
detail. It was about 6 P. M., when we found
ourselves in line, under cover of a long, thin
row of scrubby trees, beyond which lay a
gentle slope, from which, again, rose a hill
rather more
abrupt, and crowned with an
earthwork. We received orders to cross this
space and take the fort in front, while a
brigade on our right was to make a like
movement on its flank.
Just before we emerged into the open
ground, we noticed what, I think, was common
in many fights--that the enemy had
begun to bowl round shot at us, probably
from
failure of shell. We passed across the
valley in good order, although the men fell
rapidly all along the line. As we climbed
the hill, our pace slackened, and the fire grew
heavier. At this moment a
battery opened
on our left, the shots crossing our heads
obliquely. It is this moment which is so
printed on my
recollection. I can see now,
as if through a window, the gray smoke, lit
with red flashes, the long, wavering line,
the sky blue above, the trodden furrows,
blotted with blue blouses. Then it was as if
the window closed, and I knew and saw no
more. No other scene in my life is thus
scarred, if I may say so, into my memory. I
have a fancy that the
horrible shock which
suddenly fell upon me must have had something
to do with thus intensifying the
momentary image then before my eyes.
When I awakened, I was lying under a tree
somewhere at the rear. The ground was
covered with wounded, and the doctors were
busy at an operating-table, improvised from
two barrels and a plank. At length two of
them who were examining the wounded
about me came up to where I lay. A hospital
steward raised my head and poured
down some
brandy and water, while another
cut loose my pantaloons. The doctors
exchanged looks and walked away. I asked
the
steward where I was hit.
``Both thighs,'' said he; ``the doctors won't
do nothing.''
``No use?'' said I.
``Not much,'' said he.
``Not much means none at all,'' I answered.
When he had gone I set myself to thinking
about a good many things I had better have
thought of before, but which in no way concern
the history of my case. A half-hour
went by. I had no pain, and did not get
weaker. At last, I cannot explain why, I
began to look about me. At first things
appeared a little hazy. I remember one
thing which thrilled me a little, even then.
A tall, blond-bearded major walked up to
a doctor near me,
saying, ``When you've a
little
leisure, just take a look at my side.''
``Do it now,'' said the doctor.
The officer exposed his wound. ``Ball
went in here, and out there.''
The doctor looked up at him--half pity,
half
amazement. ``If you've got any
message, you'd best send it by me.''
``Why, you don't say it's serious?'' was the
reply.
``Serious! Why, you're shot through the
stomach. You won't live over the day.''
Then the man did what struck me as a
very odd thing. He said, ``Anybody got a
pipe?'' Some one gave him a pipe. He filled
it
deliberately, struck a light with a flint, and
sat down against a tree near to me. Presently
the doctor came to him again, and
asked him what he could do for him.
``Send me a drink of Bourbon.''
``Anything else?''
``No.''
As the doctor left him, he called him back.
``It's a little rough, doc, isn't it?''
No more passed, and I saw this man no
longer. Another set of doctors were handling
my legs, for the first time causing pain.
A moment after a
steward put a towel over
my mouth, and I smelled the familiar odor of
chloroform, which I was glad enough to
breathe. In a moment the trees began to
move around from left to right, faster and
faster; then a
universal grayness came before
me,--and I recall nothing further until
I awoke to
consciousness in a hospital-tent.
I got hold of my own
identity in a moment
or two, and was suddenly aware of a sharp
cramp in my left leg. I tried to get at it to
rub it with my single arm, but, finding
myself too weak, hailed an
attendant. ``Just
rub my left calf,'' said I, ``if you please.''
``Calf?'' said he. ``You ain't none. It's
took off.''
``I know better,'' said I. ``I have pain in
both legs.''
``Wall, I never!'' said he. ``You ain't
got nary leg.''
As I did not believe him, he threw off the
covers, and, to my
horror, showed me that I
had suffered amputation of both thighs, very
high up.
``That will do,'' said I, faintly.
A month later, to the
amazement of every
one, I was so well as to be moved from the
crowded hospital at Chattanooga to Nashville,
where I filled one of the ten thousand
beds of that vast
metropolis of hospitals. Of
the sufferings which then began I shall
presently speak. It will be best just now to
detail the final
misfortune which here fell upon
me. Hospital No. 2, in which I lay, was
inconveniently
crowded with
severely wounded
officers. After my third week an epidemic
of hospital gangrene broke out in my ward.
In three days it attacked twenty persons.
Then an
inspector came, and we were
transferred
at once to the open air, and placed in
tents. Strangely enough, the wound in my
remaining arm, which still suppurated, was
seized with gangrene. The usual remedy,
bromine, was used locally, but the main
artery opened, was tied, bled again and
again, and at last, as a final
resort, the
remaining arm was amputated at the shoulder-
joint. Against all chances I recovered, to
find myself a
useless torso, more like some
strange larval creature than anything of
human shape. Of my
anguish and
horrorof myself I dare not speak. I have dictated
these pages, not to shock my readers, but to
possess them with facts in regard to the
relation of the mind to the body; and I hasten,
therefore, to such portions of my case as best
illustrate these views.
In January, 1864, I was forwarded to
Philadelphia, in order to enter what was known
as the Stump Hospital, South street, then in
charge of Dr. Hopkinson. This favor was
obtained through the influence of my father's
friend, the late Governor Anderson, who has
always manifested an interest in my case, for
which I am deeply
grateful. It was thought,
at the time, that Mr. Palmer, the leg-maker,
might be able to adapt some form of arm to
my left shoulder, as on that side there
remained five inches of the arm-bone, which I
could move to a
moderateextent. The hope
proved illusory, as the stump was always too
tender to bear any
pressure. The hospital
referred to was in
charge of several surgeons
while I was an
inmate, and was at all times
a clean and pleasant home. It was filled with
men who had lost one arm or leg, or one of
each, as happened now and then. I saw one
man who had lost both legs, and one who had
parted with both arms; but none, like myself,
stripped of every limb. There were collected
in this place hundreds of these cases, which
gave to it, with reason enough, the not very
pleasing title of Stump Hospital.
I spent here three and a half months,
before my
transfer to the United States Army
Hospital for Injuries and Diseases of the
Nervous System. Every morning I was carried
out in an arm-chair and placed in the library,
where some one was always ready to write or
read for me, or to fill my pipe. The doctors
lent me
medical books; the ladies brought me
luxuries and fed me; and, save that I was
helpless to a degree which was humiliating, I
was as comfortable as kindness could make me.
I amused myself at this time by noting in
my mind all that I could learn from other
limbless folk, and from myself, as to the
peculiar feelings which were noticed in regard
to lost members. I found that the great
mass of men who had
undergone amputations
for many months felt the usual
consciousnessthat they still had the lost limb.
It itched or pained, or was cramped, but
never felt hot or cold. If they had painful
sensations referred to it, the
conviction of its
existence continued unaltered for long periods;
but where no pain was felt in it, then
by degrees the sense of having that limb
faded away entirely. I think we may to