War Diaries (July 7) (nonfiction)
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Diaries
Sarah Broadhead: July 7, 1864
I assisted in feeding some of the severely wounded, when I perceived that they were suffering on account of not having their wounds dressed. I did not know whether I could render any assistance in that way, but I thought I would try. I procured a basin and water, and went to a room where there were seven or eight, some shot in the arms, others in the legs, and one in his back, and another in the shoulder. I asked if any one would like to have his wounds dressed? Some one replied, "There is a man on the floor who cannot help himself, you would better see to him." Stooping over him, I asked for his wound, and he pointed to his leg. Such a horrible sight I had never seen and hope never to see again. His leg was all covered with worms. I inquired, Was there no doctor in the building? if there was, I must see him. One was brought, and I asked, How the men ever came to be in such a condition ? He said, "Enough men had not been detailed to care for the wounded, and that that man had been wounded in the first day's fight, and held by the Rebels until the day previous, and that they (the surgeons) had not yet had time to attend to all, and, at any rate, there were not enough surgeons, and what few there were could do but little, for the Rebels had stolen their instruments." He declared further, that many would die from sheer lack of timely attendance. We fixed the man as comfortably as we could, and when the doctor told me he could not live, I asked him for his home, and if he had a family. He said I should send for his wife, and when I came home I wrote to her, as he told me, but I fear she may never see him alive, as he is very weak, and sinking rapidly.
A. W. Miller: July 7th 1918
I am now in Abeele Belgium. It was a long hot march to this place & it was a very sad & silent march too as the whole country seemed deserted & in ruins. Passing thru so many cities, especially Steenvoordie, the tramps of our feet echoed thru the stillness like an uncanny chant of a heathen funeral. Not a soul remained to greet us, not even a dog remained to bark a kindly greeting & all we could see was ruined houses & buildings with gaping holes in their walls.
- Diary of A. W. Miller - Gunner. of Cannoners / Hdqr. Co. 108th N.S. Inf. / American Expeditionary Forces / Somewhere in France
