A Sad Commentary Upon Glorious War: The Horrors of Perryville
In the aftermath of the Battle of Perryville,
Kentucky, Union troops took possession of the field on October 9, 1862 and
quickly set to work burying the hundreds of dead, Rebel and Federal, that lay
strewn across the landscape. For the 105th Ohio, this was a particularly
gruesome task as Perryville was its first fight, and the regiment had lost
roughly a third of the 600 men who went into action.
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| Two determined-looking Ohio privates sit poised with gauntlets and heavy muskets. Note the OVM (Ohio Volunteer Militia) belt buckles and differences in coats- one is wearing a four button sack coat, the other a nine button frock coat. The muskets are similar-looking but not the same. |
Second Lieutenant John Calvin Hartzell of
Co. H, 105th Ohio, “less than 60 days from the plow tail,” was among
those on burial detail from the regiment tasked with returning to “Devil’s Lane”
where so many of the men of the 105th had been cut down. Carrying
shovels and stretchers, the sullen Ohioans saw a sight that made even the
staunchest man blanch. “Ambulances were everywhere gathering up their ghastly,
groaning freight, twisting, turning, and backing to avoid running over the dead
wholly in all sorts of shapes and places, often in groups of half a dozen, all
blackened and swollen,” Hartzell related. The burial party arrived at a lane
and commenced digging a trench. “While some dug, others bore the bodies and
laid them on the margin. It was almost impossible to go to the proper depth,
the ground being so dry and hard, so we concluded on two feet. It was very hard
to identify our own men, though we did the best we could, and as we laid the
bodies in the trench, spread the limbs of each wide apart, resting the head of
each other on another, covering the whole with blankets, and then earth. It was
a sad business.”
Identifying the dead proved an awful and
sobering experience, and for Second Lieutenant John A. Osborne of Co. E of the
105th, one of personal tragedy. “We buried 42 men, many of whom I
had known,” he wrote after the battle. “I approached one who had been struck in
the face by a shell, blowing away his head and right hand. His left arm was
mostly blown away and the hand just hanging by one or two tendons. I examined
his pockets in order to recognize him and there found some letters whose
address told the terrible truth. It was my own brother! David was in my company
and had been missing since the fight. Here he lay without any mistake. A
terrible sensation passed over me. I clipped a lock of his hair as a parting
token then with my own hands helped to dig his grave. I wrapped him in a
blanket, carved his name upon an oak board, and holding it up as a tombstone, I
saw him buried with a host of the dead.”
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| Three officers from the 105th Ohio in July 1863 Left to right: 1st Lt Albion Tourgee (Co. G), Captain William Wallace (Co. I) 2nd Lt Reuben G. Morgaridge (Co. G) |
Burying the dead was no easier task for veteran troops. Captain Henry C. Greiner of Co. A of the 31st Ohio Volunteer Infantry, a regiment but lightly engaged in the battle, was assigned burial duty and Greiner was chosen to lead the detail. "On descending a little hill, we found
two soldiers digging a grave under the shade of a tree. I halted the command at
this spot and they ceased their labors to answer our oft-repeated questions as
to McCook’s headquarters. They could tell us nothing definite, stating that
they belonged to one of Sheridan’s new regiments. They were using the pick and
shovel to bury their dead brother pointing to a small soldier who lay near
another few feet away. By this time the soldiers’ feeling so overcame them that
they ceased speaking of him. I stepped over to look at him. There was almost a
smile on his young face. He could not have suffered for he was shot through the
heart.
After one of the brothers had
somewhat mastered his emotions, he said, “It is the thought of our mother, when
she hears of his death, that is so painful to us,” he said. “She never
consented to his going as he is only 17 and was never very healthy. I suppose
for that reason he was always her favorite. We know when she receives this sad
message it will almost kill her. Her letters were all about Willie. Here is one
he received before we left Louisville. We took it out of his blouse near the
spot where he was shot; it had bloodstains on it.”
I read it several times before
returning it. The substance was so characteristic of a mother that I well
remember it. Most of all, she dreaded for him the fatigue of rapid marching
incident to battle with his heavy gun and the other load a soldier must carry
and requested that he ask his brothers to carry it for him when the day was hot
or the march long. “Perhaps after the first battle, I may not have these
terrible feelings, but until it is over, and I have heard of your safety, I
shall have thoughts and suspense that none but a mother can feel.”
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| In a scene all too common after a Civil War battle, the gathered Confederate dead from Antietam await burial. Perryville no doubt saw sights similar to this. |
I returned the bloody letter and
looked into the grave which was almost three feet deep with an offset within a
foot of the bottom where, after the body was placed, boards could be laid
across to separate it from the earth. I asked the brother if he would accept our
services to carry out the remainder of the sad duties and they were glad to
accept. When the grave was prepared, two of my men carried the body over,
gently placed him in his narrow home, procured boards to rest on the offset,
and the grave was finished with a neat mound to mark the spot. The pathetic picture before
us and the story of the two brothers as they spoke of their mother’s broken
heart when she should hear the death of her favorite boy caused a choking
sensation in the breasts of more than one of those rough spectators and tears
stood in several eyes. When the last duty of laying him away in his bloody blue
shroud had been discharged, we bid them good bye hearing no requiem but the
sobs of the brothers and the gentle murmur of the breeze as it rustled through
the leafy bower that shaded us.
Several hospitals were set up on the field
afterwards to care for the wounded and these were often scenes of a different
kind of horror. A civilian nurse from Cleveland commented on the experience of
seeing “the wounded, to visit their bedsides in the hospital, to see them suffering
with amputated limbs and disfiguring wounds, to smell, as I do, with every
breath of air from the field of carnage the smell of decaying human bodies and
of horses beat to death in the fierce encounter, to see the long line of graves
where the dead are buried, and to meet at every step some broken-hearted
parent, brother or friend, seeking the remains of one dear to them in life is a
sad commentary upon glorious war.”
Nearly a month after the battle, another
Ohio civilian visited the field to satisfy his boyhood curiosity of seeing a
battlefield. He quickly regretted the visit. “The field is still covered with
the debris of the fight,” he wrote. “Dead horses, broken artillery wagons,
haversacks, cartridge boxes, hats, shoes, remnants of clothing and in every
field freshly made graves are abundant. In places the clay soil assumes a
darker hue, red with the blood of friend or foe. Our own dead are buried,
mostly where they fell, sufficiently deep to cover them from our eye. The enemy
are tumbled into shallow graves and in many cases parts of the blackened
remains are visible above the earth. Riding by where the enemy fell in numbers,
I saw a hand black with exposure but still as delicate as that of a lady,
resting on the top of the parched earth while the body to which it belonged had
a thin covering of earth over it. The walnut colored cuff of the coat still
around the wrist showed that it was a secession soldier, and a physician
present with us pronounced the hand that of a mere youth which had never been
hardened with labor.”
“A few moments after, I saw another hand and part of the face protruding. In another field, an open one nearby, a swarm of long backed and long-snouted hogs common to this part of Kentucky, had rooted into the thinly covered graves and were making their horrid banquet upon human flesh. As we drove them away, they stood at a short distance impatiently waiting and scarce had we turned the heads of our horses from this disgusting scene before they were again at the graves, furiously tearing limb from limb and devouring the half-corrupted flesh. Nearby these graves were the bodies of horses yet these were scarce touched, the hogs preferring human flesh to that of animals. A sight more horribly disgusting human eyes never looked upon.”
“Occasionally we found a grave with a
board at its head, giving the name, regiment, and company of the dead occupant,
and these were generally protected by a rail fence or covered with stones with
which every field abounds to protect them from the hogs, who having tasted
human flesh are more ravenous than the hyena in their taste for human gore.
Around the graves thus covered, myriads of flies swarmed on the tops of the graves
and particularly the stones were black with them. In visiting the scene of the slaughter,
men, women, and children are met and I saw a group of them with boards and with
their own hands diligently engaged in scooping up the dirt to cover the exposed
parts of victims and laid bare by shallow graves and the rooting of hogs. The
woods are full of acorns, walnuts, buckeyes, and corn is scattered over the
fields, and yet, fond as the hogs is of these, he scarce touches them, the
human banquet being chosen above all vulgar and common food.”
Sources:
Switzer, Charles I., editor. Ohio Volunteer: The Childhood and Memories of Captain John Calvin
Hartzell, O.V.I. Athens: Ohio University Press, 2005, pg. 98
“Burying a Brother on the Field,” Cleveland Morning Leader, November 24, 1862, pg. 1
Greiner, Henry Clay. General Phil Sheridan as I knew Him: Playmate, Comrade, Friend. Chicago: J.S. Hyland and Company, 1908
“From the Perryville Hospitals,” Cleveland Morning Leader, November 8, 1862, pg. 1
“The Battlefield of Chaplin Hills,” Cleveland Morning Leader, November 14,
1862, pg. 2
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