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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
"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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