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THE EMPTY SLEEVE:

OR THE

LIFE AND HARDSHIPS

OF

HENRY H. MEACHAM,

IN THE

UNION ARMY.



_BY HIMSELF._


          SPRINGFIELD, MASS.:
          SOLD FOR THE BENEFIT OF THE AUTHOR.
          PRICE, 25 CENTS.




PREFACE.


READERS, in writing this book, I do not intend to bring before you a
work of ability; but simply to describe a few of the many scenes that I
passed through while in the Army of the Potomac and in the hospital. It
is true, that I did not suffer as some of our soldiers did; but having
lost my right arm, which excludes me from most kinds of work, I have
taken this method of gaining a living. I have myself and wife to care
for, and my wife's health being poor, makes it still harder for me to
get along; and thus, by writing this book, I hope to place myself and
wife in comfortable circumstances. With these few remarks, I throw
myself upon the generosity of the public, thanking them for the kindness
I have already received, and assuring them that I shall always be
grateful for their aid in the support of myself and wife.

                                             HENRY H. MEACHAM.




THE EMPTY SLEEVE.


AT the breaking out of the Great Rebellion, I was engaged at
carriage-making in the town of Russell, in Massachusetts, but thought it
my duty to enter the service in defence of my country, and do what
little I could to keep traitors from trampling the good old flag under
their feet. I went and was examined, but was rejected. I came back with
downcast feelings, but was determined to try again. As time rolled on,
and my health improved, I tried again for a soldier's life, but without
success. I little knew the hardships and perils, of active service, and
thought it very pretty sport. But it was not the novelty of the scene
that inspired me to go, but the love of my country. Finally, at my third
examination, I was accepted; and my heart beat with joy.

I left Springfield, the twelfth day of September, perhaps never to
return; and went to Long Island, in Boston Harbor. There I remained one
week; then the Transport came to take us far from our homes. Many were
the wistful glances that were cast back towards our home, where were
the ones we loved most dear; and how we longed for one more farewell
salute before we left our native State; but that could not be. The wind
was blowing hard (it makes my brain dizzy to think of it now); but we
had to go. We little knew but we should find a watery grave before
reaching the scene of action; but the weather calmed, and we had a very
pleasant voyage, and arrived at the front, where I was placed in Company
E, Thirty-second Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers, who were lying at
Culpepper, Virginia (which is about sixty miles from Washington, and in
the direction of Richmond). Here I first commenced my life in the army.
We were not destined to remain here long; for in less than two weeks,
Lee, with his host of rebels, came marching on to Washington. Then
commenced Meade's retreat for Centreville. That was the first marching I
had done, and I then hoped it would be the last, for my feet were badly
blistered. My readers can judge for themselves how they would like to
march twenty-three hours out of twenty-four, with their feet in that
condition; but, thank God, we were two hours ahead of Lee and his army,
and it saved one of the most bloody battles of the war; for, had Lee got
the heights of Centreville, we should have been cut off from all
supplies and captured, or obliged to cut our way through the enemy's
lines.

When we arrived at Centreville, we gave three cheers, which rang through
the lines for miles, thinking that we were once ahead of Lee's time.
But many of the men that were taken sick or fell into the enemy's hands,
died, without any one to care for them, there alone, away from
friends,--wife and children, father and mother, brother and sister,
never to know what became of their husband, father, child, or brother.
Such were the scenes that occurred on this march, but they were trivial
compared to experiences that followed.

Soon after this, came the battle of the Rappahannock Station. Though
short, it left many a man lying cold in death; but we succeeded in
driving the enemy back behind their entrenchments at Mines Run. This was
near Thanksgiving time; the weather was cold and rainy, and we had to
wait some time before we could follow them. But the time came, and on we
went, not knowing where we were going,--perhaps to our long homes. Oh,
that long and lonely night after we arrived there! But in the morning,
we marched to the right, to Robinson's Tavern, a distance of two miles.
It was raining hard at the time, but about noon, it cleared away and was
very cold. We remained there until the next morning, when we again
commenced our advance. We had not far to go before we came near the
enemy's works. Here we halted and formed our lines; and after waiting a
few hours, received orders to be in readiness to make an assault on the
enemy's works at four o'clock.

Here we remained without food, for our rations were all gone, and we
knew not when we should get more. We did not move until one o'clock the
next morning, when we turned out in the cold, and marched about a mile
to the right. We arrived there long before daylight; and there we had to
stay, for we could not stir around to keep warm, as the enemy were in
sight, and we should be likely to get their shells. We were to make the
attack at nine o'clock; but nine o'clock came, and yet we did not go
forward. Some of our men crossed Mines Run stream, which was dammed up
to make the water deeper; but nearly every man froze to death, and on
this account, we did not receive the orders, as we expected. That was a
long day to us, being in the cold, with thin clothes and no food. We
remained here until the shades of night hid us from the foe. Our hearts
beat with joy when we were ordered to fall in, for we knew that we were
going back, and should not make an assault; but when we got to our old
position, we were hungry, tired, and cold. Oh, that long night, with but
just enough covering to keep us from freezing! We were all glad when we
could turn out in the morning, and have some exercise and fires.

Another day wore slowly away, and at night, we took up our line of march
for the rear. As we turned our heads back in the direction of the enemy,
we could not help thinking that many more of us were on that march than
would have been, if we had made the assault. It was three o'clock in
the morning when we crossed the Rapidan. We marched half a mile further,
and encamped.

Morning dawned bright and beautiful, and it was late before we took up
our line of march again. We felt weak and faint, having been two days
without any food, and no signs of getting any that day; but we marched
with good spirits, thinking our work done until the next spring.


RATIONS, AFTER THREE DAYS' FASTING.

As the sun was setting in the west, we arrived at Bealton Station, and
were gladdened by the sight of teams with our rations. Here we halted,
and got ten pieces of hard bread and a small piece of pork. Many poor
men ate the whole at once; but in these cases it made them sick, as they
did not stop to pick out the worms, for the bread was very wormy; but we
must eat it, or have none. After getting our rations, we marched two
miles, to Liberty; here we went into camp, and the next morning formed
our line of picket-guard, but not knowing how long we should remain
here, did not build our winter-quarters for a few days.


WINTER LIFE IN CAMP.

Finally, we concluded to run the risk, and put up cabins. We then
commenced, and in two days had what we called a good home. The cabins
were constructed of pine-logs, piled together like a log-house, and for
the roofs we used our shelter-tents; thus forming our winter homes,
which were very comfortable. We had a fireplace and chimney, made of
small sticks and mud. In Virginia, the mud makes good mortar, being
mostly red clay. The guard-duty was every third day; we had to stand two
hours, and off four, rain or shine. Thus you may judge what it is to be
broken of your rest every third night, and perhaps be drenched with
rain; then to stand all night on guard, with your clothes frozen stiff.
This was the condition that we were in on picket-duty; but we have often
since looked back to those days, and thought what easy times we had.
They were easy to what we had after General Grant took command of the
armies of the United States. For our fires, we had to carry our wood
about half a mile, while the teams were lying idle. The officers had a
good time at this place, as they seldom went on duty; but the private
soldiers had the work to do.

An incident occurred here, that may be worth relating. The major of our
regiment thought he would go out and see a young lady by the name of
Whitehouse. So, one day, he and his orderly started, and passed our
picket-guard (as he had command of the lines, we could not stop him), to
see his sweetheart (a lady he had got acquainted with some time before,
I know not how). But he went, as many young men do; and, as he rode up
to her gate, found, to his surprise, her brother there with a strong
guard. They came out with drawn pistols, and he, with his orderly, were
taken prisoners and sent to Richmond. We started in search of them, but
with no success. The second day, we heard from them by way of the lady,
for she came and told the colonel that they were captured. He went to
Libby Prison, and there remained about four months; when he and others
made their escape. Some being retaken, were treated worse than before;
but the major returned home. Prison-life was his punishment for
disobedience of orders. He remained at home a short time, and then
returned to his regiment, which was lying near the James River.

But to return to the scenes of camp-life. The weather was cold, and the
snow often fell to the depth of one foot, but did not last but one or
two days, making the ground very splashy. We had to be out, let the
storm be ever so hard. When in camp, we had nothing but our log-huts
with cloth roofs to keep us warm. Our camp was laid out in streets, one
company forming one street.

In a short time, there was a call for soldiers whose time was nearly
expired, to re-enlist, and get a heavy bounty and thirty days' furlough.
The men thought more of the furlough than they did of the money. The
Thirty-second most all re-enlisted, and came home as a regiment,
bringing their arms with them, which but few regiments had the privilege
of doing. But we could not all come home. There were one hundred and
fifty of us that had to remain behind. The service was harder than
before, as we had to do fatigue-duty; besides, we built a fort at
Warrenton Junction. But time wore slowly away until the regiment came
back. We were all glad to see them.

One of my comrades was taken sick a few days after returning, and I took
care of him, besides doing my duty on the picket-line, which made my
work very hard,--harder than my constitution would endure. After he had
got better, I was taken sick with a fever while on the line; I had hard
work to get to my cabin. When I arrived there, I could not sit up. The
doctor was called, and he did what he could for me, but to no use, I had
to go through with the fever. Our beds were constructed by driving a
crotched stick down at each corner, and then placing a pole from one to
the other. After this, we laid small straight sticks across them, then
spreading our rubber blankets over the whole, we thus formed our beds;
we used our knapsacks for pillows. How long those days seemed, my flesh
burning with fever, and the bed being so hard! But I had as good care as
could be expected, in such a place as that. There I remained four weeks,
before I was able to sit up; those were the longest weeks I ever saw. I
little thought, as I lay there, that I should ever return home to my
family, for I was married two years previous. But God saw fit to spare
my life, perhaps to aid in conquering the foe.

It was not long after I got well before I started on the campaign of
1864, under the generalship of U. S. Grant. He was appointed to that
position March 9, and on the twelfth of that month, he took command of
the whole United-States' armies. Then we knew that we were to do some
fighting. But that was what we went for; and we thought the quicker we
commenced, the sooner we should be through and return home (what there
was left of us).

Spring came, and the season was beautiful. Cherry and pear trees were in
blossom, then apple-trees took their turn. We longed to remain there,
but as the ground became settled, we heard of the forces beginning to
concentrate around Brandy Station and Culpepper. As we were left at our
old place, we began to entertain hopes that we should remain. But we
were not kept in suspense long; for, on the morning of April 30, 1864,
the bugle sounded for us to pack our knapsacks and be ready for the
march. About noon, we bade farewell to the spot where had been our homes
for the past few months, and moved on, bidding good-by to some of our
southern friends we were to leave behind. Some of them were very
friendly and kind to us. When I had nothing else to do, I used to make
axe-handles, and helped one of our neighbors mend his wagon. I also
repaired clocks, and for my pay would get milk and tobacco. So I had the
privilege of sending my money all home to my family, thinking, that if I
lived to return, it would be of use to me. But I was destined to
disappointment, for the money was all gone before I returned home.


THE CAMPAIGN OF 1864.

On the thirtieth of April, 1864, we marched to Rappahannock Station, and
there camped for the night. In the morning, we again set out; but had
only a short march before we arrived at Brandy Station, where we again
halted and remained two nights, the first and second days of May. While
I was there, I called on my cousin, who was a member of the
Thirty-seventh Regiment. While I was gone, the bugle sounded the
advance, and I was obliged to run to overtake them, but did not until
they halted again. At eleven o'clock, the orders for advance were given,
and the whole of the great Army of the Potomac was again in motion. We
knew not where we were going, but at the dawn of day we were at the
Germania Ford. After crossing, we halted to rest. We improved the time
in making coffee and getting our breakfast; then we were ordered forward
again. We took the plank-road leading to Fredericksburg, and marched to
the pike-road running by the Wilderness Tavern; turning, and marching on
that about half a mile, we halted, placed our guard, and remained until
morning. When we crossed the Rapidan River, we turned and cast a wistful
glance back, for we thought it was the last time we should ever cross
it; and so it proved.

In the morning, the guard was called in to resume their march. We did
not know that the enemy were near, when a squad of cavalry came riding
up to headquarters, and the pickets were ordered back with a new
detachment. The rest of the troops formed in line, and commenced
building breastworks. But we had to work expeditiously to get them
completed. We knew the time of action was near at hand. How we longed to
see the loved ones at home, ere we entered the deathly strife.

We had not long to wait before the crash came, and the battle was raging
with fearful effect. What feelings of anguish were excited, of which
none can know anything except those who have been there. The sound of
battle is not pleasant, even if a person is not in danger. We remained a
short time behind the works that we had built, and then moved off to the
right, and across the pike