Uncoffined and Unsung: An Irish Brigade Schoolteacher Survives the Hell of Antietam

On Sunday morning September 21, 1862, former parochial schoolteacher Michael O’ Sullivan lay flat on his back on a crude field hospital near Sharpsburg, Maryland. “I am laid near the surgeon's quarters, and within one hundred yards and in full view of our brigade’s burying ground, in which fatigue parties are constantly employed burying the dead, uncoffined and unsung,” he wrote.

The Dublin native was working in Albany, New York before he was commissioned a captain tasked with leading a company of his fellow Irishmen in the 63rd New York. O’Sullivan lied about his age at enlistment so he wouldn’t be turned away as being too old to serve; he was born in 1808 and at 53 years old was one of the oldest officers on the field.

This remarkable CDV from the Liljenquist Collection shows two of the 63rd New York's flags emblazoned with 1862 battle honors: Yorktown, Fair Oaks, Gaines' Hill, Allen's Farm, Savage's Station, Oak Bridge, Glendale, Malvern Hill, and Antietam. 

O’Sullivan recalled the moment he was hit. “After the seventh volley, seeing my company cut up, and not being willing to permit the enemy to see the gaps made by them, I rushed to the right, and in a voice which surprised myself for its loudness, I was in the act of giving the order, "Company F, close up on the colors!" when I was struck. Not feeling it for a few seconds, I bounded partly to the front to see the order promptly executed when I fell.”

Hauled off the field by some of his men, now he numbered among the 208 officers and men in his regiment who were struck down when the Irish Brigade struck the Confederate position along the Sunken Road on Wednesday. He was lucky to have survived.

“I can scarcely move off my back, but I can very well afford to bear my situation with more than patience, when I look around the vast field and see poor fellows who are suffering from wounds, many of which are mortal,” he wrote. “Some shot through the head, back, groin, sides, shoulders and abdomen; others with lacerated limbs, and many, whilst undergoing amputation of legs and arms, shrieking and moaning in such manner as would penetrate the most obdurate heart.”

Captain O’Sullivan would be discharged for his wound on March 16, 1863, and return home to Albany, New York where he worked as a clerk until his death in 1873 at age 65. His letter describing his experiences in the Battle of Antietam was originally published in a local Albany newspaper in October 1862 and appears on the blog courtesy of the New York State Military Museum and Veterans Research Center.

 

One of the two surviving flank markers issued to the 63rd New York when they enlisted in the fall of 1861. The 63rd saw extensive service in the eastern theater, taking part in McClellan's Peninsula Campaign, the Seven Days fighting around Richmond, Antietam, Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville. So worn down by losses, the regiment was consolidated into two companies in June 1863 which served through the end of the war. 

On the battlefield at Sharp’s Farm, Maryland

Sunday, September 21, 1862

I am permitted once more to write to you. My wound is not as serious as I had anticipated, having bled a good deal, and at the time it looked very ugly, the bullet having gone through the fleshy part of my thigh, a few inches above the knee. It gives me no pain worth talking of, although the only dressing it has gotten, up to this time, is cold water, which I keep constantly pouring on it day and night. This is in itself a great inconvenience, as I had not slept an hour at any one time until last night, when I got four hours sleep, and awoke very much refreshed.

I can scarcely move off my back, but I can very well afford to bear my situation with more than patience, when I look around the vast field and see poor fellows who are suffering from wounds, many of which are mortal— some shot through the head, back, groin, sides, shoulders and abdomen; others with lacerated limbs, and many, whilst undergoing amputation of legs and arms, shrieking and moaning in such manner as would penetrate the most obdurate heart.

John Dwyre, one of O'Sullivan's former comrades in Co. K, numbered among the wounded at Antietam. The orderly sergeant would be promoted to second lieutenant in November 1862 and captain a month later. He would muster out in June 1863. 

I am laid near the surgeon's quarters, and within one hundred yards and in full view of our brigade’s burying ground, in which fatigue parties are constantly employed burying the dead "uncoffined and unsung." Two groups of graves amongst the rest command my attention and produce most melancholy thoughts in my mind. One, containing five mounds, rudely fenced in, in which are buried everybody's friend Lieutenant McConnell, James De Lacey, Michael Kearns [Kearns survived but was discharged February 20, 1863] and Mathew Robbins, of Company K (Albany Co.); the other, containing the graves of Lieut. Patrick Lydon [Co. F], Sergeant Patrick Gleespin [Gillespie], Corporals John Kerrigan [Co. F] and John Doherty [Co. F], and Private John Madden, of my company (K)—upon whom, and all the other poor fellows, may the Lord have mercy!

Captain Michael O' Sullivan
Co. F, 63rd New York

In my last letter I stated that we were relieved from our perilous condition and ordered to the rear of the battery. In a few minutes after we were ordered to march in a circuitous direction, to either outflank or get in the rear of the enemy. While performing this duty we waded a stream which reached far above our knees; we halted a little distance beyond for a few moments to allow the men to come up, then formed in line of battle, and the four regiments—63rd, 69th, and 88th N. Y., and 29th Massachusetts, marched towards the enemy, passing over every variety of ground, and many obstructions, till we came to a solid rail fence.

Before this we halted--were ordered to "ground arms " - advance and tear it down. In performing this, we bore the Rebel fire of rifles, grape, canister, solid balls, and shell, without the loss of a single man. We then resumed our arms, advanced a little further, and commenced firing—the Rebel infantry, having chosen their ground (being posted in a hollow), had the advantage, and used it well, at every volley thinning our ranks most fearfully—our brave boys being mowed down like grass before the scythe.

This detail from the recently discovered Simon G. Elliott map shows the battlefield graves near the Bloody Lane including three groups of soldiers from the 63rd New York. Captain O'Sullivan wrote his letter from a field hospital within sight of two of the three mass graves for his regiment. 

Onward and onward our Brigade advanced, nearing the enemy at every step, and giving them more than they gave us—the survivors bitterly avenging the death of their fallen comrades. After the seventh volley, seeing my company cut up, and not being willing to permit the enemy to see the gaps made by them, I rushed to the right, and in a voice which surprised myself for its loudness, I was in the act of giving the order, "Company F, close up on the colors!" when I was struck.

Not feeling it for a few seconds, I bounded partly to the front to see the order promptly executed, when I fell, and was carried to the rear, and while being thus carried, a shower of balls and shells followed us, all of which I providentially escaped. Arriving amongst the wounded, I could get no assistance, and there being danger, even here, from the Rebel shots, myself and my orderly, Sergeant Michael Ryan [Co. G], who was wounded near the groin, thought that we would go elsewhere and get our wounds dressed. We walked two miles to another hospital, and failing to accomplish our object, we walked two miles more to Keedysville, where we stopped two days, until we were taken back in an ambulance to the place from whence, we started, and where I now am—having walked unaided five miles.

What men are left of our brigade will not make more than half a regiment—our regiment numbering but 120 officers and men—the rest being killed, wounded, or missing. Our brigade fought four brigades of the enemy: went into the field four times, every time coming out fewer and fewer. The colors fell sixteen times, and were borne aloft to the rear, torn, and riddled, so that they could scarcely be recognized. Sergeant Timothy Daly [Co. A] was wounded, but not dangerously, and had to relinquish the Green Flag to another. My Corporal of the color guard, John Dillon, although wounded, brought out the State flag. The Stars and Stripes were also preserved; and, after dislodging the enemy, all three flags were safe. I am sending you a piece of our glorious Green Flag, which you will preserve with patriotic and religious care, as it is greatly prized by me.

I understand that we slaughtered the enemy, killing seven to one, and the field for miles is strewn with heaps of the blackened corpses of our enemies. On the whole, the Rebel army is almost annihilated, and the war cannot last much longer. I forgot to say in my last that Grace and Chambers are not wounded.

Dozens of wounded soldiers rest upon straw spread underneath blankets to shield them from the sun on the battlefield at Antietam in the days after the battle. Captain O'Sullivan wrote his letter amidst scenes much like this and within sight of the brigade's burial ground. 

"When I look around the vast field and see poor fellows who are suffering from wounds, many of which are mortal— some shot through the head, back, groin, sides, shoulders and abdomen; others with lacerated limbs, and many, whilst undergoing amputation of legs and arms, shrieking and moaning in such manner as would penetrate the most obdurate heart." ~ Captain Michael O' Sullivan, 63rd N.Y.

Source:

Letter from Captain Michael O’Sullivan, Co. F, 63rd New York Volunteer Infantry, New York State Military Museum and Veterans Research Center

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