Wartime Experiences of the 141st Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry
The following stories and narratives were taken in part from the book "Our Boys In Blue" written by Clement F. Heverly, (1859--1924) School Teacher, Elected County Auditor, deputy Prothonotary, Owner and Publisher of the Bradford Star and various historical works. Originally published in 1898 and 1906 respectively as two volumes by the Bradford Star and recently republished by the Bradford County Historical Society and Printed by Murrelle Printing Company, 201 West Lockhart Street, Sayre, Penna. 18840.
Facing Danger To Rescue A Comrade
During the attack on Petersburg, June 17, 1864, Almerine G. Arnold, from Company B, 141st Penn. Volunteers, was the hero of a most gallant act.
His Company was lying behind intrenchment's, but a piece of ground immediately back from them was very much exposed to the fire of a Rebel sharpshooter.
During the day several soldiers who were attempting to cross this open space had been shot down, and either killed or wounded.
A soldier belonging to another regiment, whom the sharpshooter had wounded was making a most piteous outcry. Arnold suggested to his captain that he would go and bring the soldier back in. His captain advised him not to make the attempt "as several had been killed or wounded at that point and he would be sure to get hit too."
But Arnold was determined, and hastened to the relief of his companion. About the time he reached the side of the wounded soldier, the sharpshooter's gun again cracked, and Arnold was the victim of his unerring aim. A sharpshooter's bullet had struck in Arnold's leg, making a most severe wound. But even this did not daunt him, and persevering through his wound, he succeeded in bringing his comrade to a place of safety, whence he was taken to the hospital for examination and treatment.
(Excerpted from "Our Boys In Blue," Heroic Deeds, Sketches and Reminiscences of Bradford County Soldiers in The Civil War by C.F. Heverly; pages)
A Heroic Rescue
In the first charge by union forces at Fredericksburg, a boy of about fifteen years of age, belonging to a New York regiment, had been severely wounded in the leg.
Union forces were driven back, and the boy, who was making most piteous appeals for help, lay on the field between the two lines.
Nothing could be done for him. The Rebels would not accept a flag of truce, and every time the boy would try to crawl off the field, they would shoot at him.
At this time, the 141st occupied a position in and behind a ditch, about fifteen rods from the enemy. Colonel Madill directed the boy to remain as still as possible, crawl slowly, so as not to attract the attention of the foe, and when near enough, he would rescue him.
The boy did as bid, and the Colonel having placed men to cover movements, in full view of the enemy, sprang across the ditch, picked up the boy, and passed him over to Sergeant Lobb of Company G.
The enemy was up in a twinkling, but did not fire, and the Colonel coolly walked back to his place. It was a most perilous undertaking, but the enemy undoubtedly so admired the bravery of the officer that they would not fire. The boy was taken to the hospital, after which the Colonel lost trace of him.
(Excerpted from "Our Boys In Blue," Heroic Deeds, Sketches and Reminiscences of Bradford County Soldiers in The Civil War by C.F. Heverly; pages )
A Codfish Ration
(The writer was at this time the issuing clerk of the brigade commissary--his duties being to draw from the division commissary supplies for the brigade, and to issue daily to the commissary sergeants of each regiment.)
On the evening of October 24, 1864, our brigade, (General Pierces second Brigade, 3d division, 2d Corps) was withdrawn from the front of Petersburg Virginia, and massed on a sandy plain near the "Southall House," preparatory to a move to the left, for what proved to be the battle of Hatcher's Run, or Boydton Plank Road--more familiarly known to our boys as the "Bull Pen" fight.
The brigade was composed of seven regiments, or rather the war-torn remnants of what had been seven regiments, vis: the 57th, 84th, 104th, and 141st Pennsylvania Volunteers, the 5th Michigan, 93d New York, 1st Massachusetts, and three companies of Berdan's 1st U. S. Sharpshooters--about 2300 men in all.
As it is quite probable that the majority of the people reading this do not have a correct idea of how a little family like the old brigade was fed, or the amount of provisions which they would use--if they could get them--allow me to tell you what we called for, and what we got at this particular time.
Our captain, Tomlinson, made the following requisition to the captain in charge of the division supplies:
2500 pounds hard bread
2500 rations soft bread
2 barrels coffee
4 barrels suger
12 barrels pork
20 barrels potatoes
20 barrels onions
1 barrel whiskey
1 barrel salt
5 boxes soap
I go to the supply depot armed with my requisition, and with teams enough to haul it back. I hand in the paper and the officer in charge mutilates it by drawing his pen across the only good things on the "bill of fare," and when I get it, this is the way it reads:
5000 pounds hard bread
900 pounds sugar
400 pounds coffee
40 gallons whiskey
2500 pounds codfish
"Great Scott!" I said. "Captain, we don't want any codfish! We've had one issue of codfish this month and the can't do anything with it!"
"Take your codfish, sir; orders are peremptory."
Well, there was no back talk aloud, so with a heavy heart I asked the teamsters to load the heavy casks (they were packed in loose hogsheads) of dead, dried, finny, skinny, bony, smelly, lined-back, swallow-tailed codfish. Some smart Aleck had conceived the brilliant idea, and had pull enough to have it adopted by the authorities, that all that was lacking to bring the army up to the highest point of excellence, patriotism, intelligence, endurance, bravery, and the other nineteen virtues required by a soldier, was a weekly supply of codfish
If anyone thinks that he was correct, I would like to have him try that sort of ration by taking a haversack full of old army "hardtack" and dead, dried, salted, and mummified codfish--"only this and nothing more"--and go about five hundred miles from any place and "subsist" on it for a week--you may be out of bread but I'll warrant him to have fish left.
Well, we got back to the treeless, sandy plain where the brigade still lay waiting for their rations, and the regimental commissary sergeants came on promptly with large details of men to carry the expected supplies of soft bread, vegetables, and meat, to their respective regiments.
I succeeded in getting the hardtack, sugar, and coffee issued first, and some of the ugliest grumblers started back to camp, mad because there was "no soft bread nor taters."
"Well," said one of the sergeants, "roll out the pork and we'll soon be through."
"We haven't any pork today boys," I said.
"What! No meat?"
"No, boys; Uncle Sam is going to give us a treat, and has issued fish instead."
"What? Mackeral?"
"No; codfish."
"Codfish! Another Issue of that --- --- stuff! What do the infernal --- --- think we can do out here without a particle of grease to cook 'em with?"
"Use water," I said.
"Use water? Yes; if we had water enough we would use it to drown you and the whole --- commissary department, you bet!"
They took the fish, however, and distributed them among their men at the rate of one pound to a man, but the boys were so generous that they did not ask to have a fish cut up--they let the sergeants and corporals have whole codfish--they let 'em have 'em in the face or over the head or any other way; they even sent more than a thousand pounds of them back towards the commissary's tent, and some of them reached it, too.
There are people who do not believe that fish can fly, but any survivor of that old brigade who was on the Petersburg plains, October 25, 1864, will assure you that the heavens were fairly darkened with flying fish--dead, dried, salted codfish that is. That was the last ration of codfish that was issued in our brigade.
Parly
Company B, 141st Penn. Volunteers
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