THE EMPTY SLEEVE:

Life and Hardships

HENRY H. MEACHAM,

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.

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.

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