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Browsing named entities in a specific section of John D. Billings, The history of the Tenth Massachusetts battery of light artillery in the war of the rebellion. Search the whole document.

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Egan (search for this): chapter 23
ed a few minutes later you all had gone. After you were here our folks built two forts on our farm. Yonder is one of them. The other I levelled, also the line that ran between them. Mr. Burgess answered all my inquiries as far as able and urged me to come again and stay longer. Nearly opposite the barn at the corner of the Plank and White Oak roads was a cotton field from which 1 plucked a few bolls as mementos. Across this field and covering the White Oak Road stretched the left of Egan's division—Rugg's Brigade, as I remember. When the Johnnies came in upon our right flank that afternoon, Major W. G. Mitchell, an aid on Hancock's staff, was on this part of the field and had just started for the rear when he found the Rebels across his path. With that rare presence of mind and promptness to act in an emergency which was one of his distinguishing characteristics the Major rode back at full speed and ordered Rugg to take his brigade, charge down the road to the rear and clea
Frank Estee (search for this): chapter 23
hausted, nothing remained to be done. The gun's crew, therefore, fell back to the next piece, and the next,—and so on, each gun firing its last round in turn. The other guns' crews fell back as we did. At one piece fought Isaac Burroughs and Frank Estee. The former had just time to insert the last round (canister), as a body of Rebels came down upon them. This is my gun! shouted the officer in command, coming straight in front of the piece. Take it! answered Estee, pulling the lanyard. Estee, pulling the lanyard. These two cannoneers got safely off of the field. Those of us who fell back along the works kept on as far as the traverse which separated our left piece from the right one of the Rhode Island Battery. How many of the boys of the Tenth were at that spot I cannot say. I remember only one, beside myself, but there must have been many others. Looking toward the right, the scene was frightful. The ground was thickly strewn with the dead and wounded of both sides. Many of the infantry who had g
Charles Green (search for this): chapter 23
hree hundred at a time. Some supposing that they would be better treated there exchanged themselves into the hundreds next in order; others, reasoning that it was best to stay as near our own lines as possible, made exchanges the other way. One morning, after we had come in from being counted, we found that three of our batterymen were missing; they had got separated from the rest of us, had been counted in with a lot to go South, and we never saw them again; they all died at Salisbury: Charles Green, Timothy G. Redfield, and Francis L. Macomber. One night, all of us that were left on the island, to the number of several hundred, were ordered out, and marched across the railroad bridge to where the cars bound South were standing. Looking around I saw that not a guard was in sight; it seemed as if it would be almost flying in the face of Providence not to attempt to escape, but in a few minutes came the joyful news that we were to be paroled. It seemed too good to be true, but true
Frank A. Chase (search for this): chapter 23
Appendix. An account of the capture, Imprisonment, and Release of Privates S. Augustus Alden, Lewis R. Allard, Alvin Abbott, and Frank A. Chase, substantially as related by Mr. Alden. We were with the Battery until July 19, 1863, when I received orders to select three good men, and with them return to Berlin, Md., for mules and harnesses. We were then some twenty miles into Virginia. Having selected comrades Allard, Abbott, and Chase, in the latter part of the afternoon we took Chase, in the latter part of the afternoon we took our departure, mounted, for Berlin, all feeling in good spirits. On our arrival at Harper's Ferry we dismounted, fed our horses, ate our rations, and bivouacked. On the following morning early, after feeding once more and eating another frugal meal of hard-tack and coffee, we started for our destination, reaching it about the middle of the forenoon of the 20th. We could get the mules, but could obtain no harnesses; and as we could not procure both, agreeably with instructions, left the mules
Butler (search for this): chapter 23
s, Postnum-ber-seven-half-past-twelve-and-all's-well! But no person born north of Mason and Dixon's line can reproduce the drawling whine of the Georgians who guarded us. One night one of them started out in full cry, Post number two half—what time is it? The effect was very ludicrous, and we jeered and shouted at him for some time. Late in September we had a piece of good news, which, however, turned out to be false. A crowd of prisoners arrived at midnight. Some one among them shouted, Butler's got his machine to working. We supposed by this that the Dutch Gap Canal had proved successful, and felt quite happy over it. So we turned to and fro until daybreak, when we rose and tried to hobble to the east window to get a minute's sunshine. Thus the time passed for five weeks. During this period we always stopped eating while still hungry, as we are often told we ought to do; but the result was not such as to cause us to continue in the same course when not obliged to. At the end
Mosby (search for this): chapter 23
morning early, after feeding once more and eating another frugal meal of hard-tack and coffee, we started for our destination, reaching it about the middle of the forenoon of the 20th. We could get the mules, but could obtain no harnesses; and as we could not procure both, agreeably with instructions, left the mules and set out on our return, crossing again at Harper's Ferry into Virginia. We had ridden perhaps fifteen miles up London Valley, when we were suddenly surprised by a band of Mosby's guerrillas, lying in ambush behind stone walls both sides of the road, their carbines covering us. Not a word passed between us, but they beckoned for us to approach and enter their lines through an opening in the wall about large enough for a horse to pass, which we saw at a glance was the only wise thing left for us to do. Having complied with this requirement, we were ordered to dismount. They then searched us, taking all our valuables and what of our clothing they wished, putting the
Rugg (search for this): chapter 23
lucked a few bolls as mementos. Across this field and covering the White Oak Road stretched the left of Egan's division—Rugg's Brigade, as I remember. When the Johnnies came in upon our right flank that afternoon, Major W. G. Mitchell, an aid on s to act in an emergency which was one of his distinguishing characteristics the Major rode back at full speed and ordered Rugg to take his brigade, charge down the road to the rear and clear the way once more, but Rugg lay cowering and immovable in Rugg lay cowering and immovable in his tracks. He was afterwards court-martialed and dismissed the service for neglect of duty and disobedience of orders. Major Mitchell told me since the war that Rugg's excuse was that Mitchell had no authority to order him but while that was literRugg's excuse was that Mitchell had no authority to order him but while that was literally true, the circumstances so fully justified it that Hancock stood loyally by his Aide. I well remember this brigade as I saw them that day lying low behind a hastily improvised barricade of boards and fence rails which they had collected early
Mike Farrell (search for this): chapter 23
ck holding a conference. It ought to be marked for the information of tourists. But no, that would ensure its destruction. Opposite the Dabney Road, in this clearing, was the second position taken by the Battery which Gen. Walker in his history of the Corps has omitted from his map of the field, presumably because it is not found on the memory sketch of Col.. Morgan, Hancock's Chief-of-Staff. Yet here fell Lieut. Henry H. Granger mortally wounded, here privates Alfred C. Billings and Mike Farrell were wounded and here a piece-wheel was shattered by a Rebel shell. The Battery, however, did not fire. At or near this very spot stood the guns of the First New Hampshire and Tenth Massachusetts, Sunday morning, April 2nd, 1865, and shelled the two forts on Burgess' farm; and later our hearts thrilled with joy inexpressible to see the flag going over the works in the hands of Mott's division of the Second Corps. The rifle pits thrown up by this corps along the eastern side of the Bo
Charles A. Mason (search for this): chapter 23
in the windows, and as the month was September, and the prison on the river bank, it always became very cold before morning; so we used to lie down as close together as we could get, and when one wanted to turn we all had to turn in concert. It took some time to get to sleep under such circumstances, and just as we were getting into a doze the sentries were sure to wake us with their half-hourly cry, like this, Postnum-ber-seven-half-past-twelve-and-all's-well! But no person born north of Mason and Dixon's line can reproduce the drawling whine of the Georgians who guarded us. One night one of them started out in full cry, Post number two half—what time is it? The effect was very ludicrous, and we jeered and shouted at him for some time. Late in September we had a piece of good news, which, however, turned out to be false. A crowd of prisoners arrived at midnight. Some one among them shouted, Butler's got his machine to working. We supposed by this that the Dutch Gap Canal had p
Braddon (search for this): chapter 23
m. One day I found a piece of laurel wood, and made a spoon which I still keep as a memento of that dismal time. I also marked my tin can with my name, and around the rim I cut Lovelace's lines, Stone walls do not a prison make, nor iron bars a cage, and thought as I did so that the poet did not know about these things. In some way or other, three books had escaped the clutches of the two sets of thieves who had robbed us. These were a Bible, which I read completely through; a copy of Miss Braddon's Lady Audley's Secret, which I also read, but without much enjoyment; and The Arabian Nights, a book whose absurdity and childishness were too much for me, even in prison. We used oftentimes to sit and gaze at a field of corn which grew on the south bank of the river, hardly a stone's throw away, and say to each other, Oh, if I were only in that cornfield! Other objects which whiled away the weary prison day were the occasional passage of a tug up or down the canal, or a group of turke
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