The Sword and Gun. R. C. Eden
part of the 4th, the long trains of ambulances, each bearing its ghastly load of bleeding and suffering men, rolled through our camp, giving us our first insight into the horrors of war, in which we were soon to take an active part. Here, too, we had a first insight into the heroism and patience under suffering of those who form our armies; numbers of slightly wounded, or, who at least were not absolutely prevented from traveling by the loss of limbs, came straggling through our camps, many only just able to limp along; some with hands or arms bandaged; others with ugly cuts on the head or face, their hair all matted and tangled, soaked with blood and clogged with the dust of the road, hungry, thirsty, weary and suffering, but uttering no complaints, and patient and cheerful under it all.
And in the Depot Hospital at the landing we had an opportunity of witnessing the heroic and charitable part the women of America were taking in the war. No matter how ragged or dirty the sufferer, how hideous or revolting the wound, alive in many instances with maggots, and in every form of putrefaction and mortification; no matter what nation or country the patient belonged to; woman's kind, ministering hand was there, to wash the festering wound, to bathe the toil-worn feet, to comb the matted locks, hold the cooling draught to the parched lips, or to receive the last words that fell from them e'er they were closed forever. And this without reward or hire, or expectation of it, their only recompense the consciousness of obeying the mandate that makes charity our duty, their only reward the knowledge that they are aiding to maintain the government and preserve the integrity of the stars and stripes.
But we linger too long around White House Landing and scenes, which, though then novel and strange to us, have since become a part of our every day life. On the 10th of June, we were dispatched from the base as guard to a supply train, under charge of Capt. Alex. Samuels, of the 5th Wisconsin, which was on its way to the front at Cool Arbor, or Cold Harbor, as it is sometimes written. Much dispute has been held, as to the orthography and derivation of the name of this place, it being called indiscriminately Cool Arbor, Cold Harbor, Cool Harbor, and Coal Harbor. The first would, however, seem to be the most appropriate designation, as there is no Harbor, nor any navigable stream to convert into one, within ten miles of the place. I have been informed by a Virginian who is acquainted with the locality, that the name originated as follows:
Cool Arbor, which is nothing more than a large farm house or tavern on one of the main highways leading to Richmond, was originally built by an Englishman, as a place of summer resort for the citizens of that place, and named by him Cool Arbor, from its pleasant and shady location. The proverbial (H)english disregard of the use of the aspirate probably converted the second word of the name into Harbor, and a broad provincial dialect would easily effect the transition from Cool to Coal or Cold. Its claim to either title is now a poor one, for trees and farm have both alike disappeared, and in the words of the poet, "perierunt etiam ruinæ"—the very ruins are gone.
At this place we arrived in safety after a long and tedious march of nearly twenty miles, along a heavy, sandy road plentifully bestrewn with dead mules, wagons broken or stuck in the swamps, and abandoned, and all the debris usually to be seen on the line of communication between a large army and its base. Our march was only marked by the incidents common to such a trip; an overturned wagon now and then to be righted, or a broken-down mule to be led to the roadside and shot; a vexatious delay of perhaps half an hour, to make some repair to harness or wheels, and then a forced march for a mile or two to catch up with the rest of the train.
To any one that has never tried it, the task of guarding a wagon train may, perhaps, be recommended as an amusement, on the score of novelty, but we hardly think it is one that can be either pleasantly or profitably followed up, as a steady trade.
On arriving at Cool Arbor we were assigned to the 1st Brigade, 3d Division of the 9th, or Burnside's, Army Corps, temporarily attached to the Army of the Potomac, though in reality belonging to no army in particular, and better known amongst military men as "Burnside's Traveling Menagerie," so called, not from the heterogeneous collection composing it, but from the wandering nature of the service it had been engaged in since its organization. Our Division Commander was Brig. Gen. O. B. Willcox, of the regular army, since promoted to be Brevet Major General, and our Brigade Commander, Brig. Gen. John F. Hartranft, afterwards Major General of Volunteers, commanding the Third Provisional Division of the 9th Army Corps.
On the morning of the 12th of June we were ordered from the position we held on the flank, into the front line of works, where we had the pleasure of listening to the music of shot and shell, and of inspecting a rebel line of fortifications, for the first time.
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