The 20th's aide station was established by John Chamberlain and a few orderlies in an out of the way area on the back side of Little Round Top. This youngest Chamberlain was recently graduated from Bowdoin and visiting his brothers Joshua and Tom. Probably John's brother, the colonel, was looking for a safe place for John during the coming battle. With no medical training or life experience to help him, John Chamberlain did his best to help; the 20th had no surgeon on the field at Gettysburg. Hardly in a sheltered spot, the station was soon in danger of being shelled and was removed to Weikert's farm further to the east. It was some time before Hiscock caught up with them and found help. Abner Hiscock must have been a cussed tough man; he may have left the field of battle with his right arm mangled, but he left on his own two feet. He carried his rifle with him all the way to the rear in his good left hand.

"Something big was going on, and a man felt he ought to be part of it,
or he could not say that he had lived one of the great experiences of his generation."
John J. Pullen, A Shower of Stars, p. 82-3.

Under crossed canons, Arnold's membership in Co I, 32nd Me. Vols. is enscribed, no mention of the 21st.

Despite combat service at Port Hudson, LA with the 21st (a 9 month regiment that was one of the first union regiments to pass up the Mississippi through the Delta as part of the Banks expedition (Whitman, 504-5), Thomas Arnold was either patriotic enough or adventurous enough to enlist twice. More than likely, there were strong economic motivators as well. By 1864, "volunteer' was somewhat of a misnomer; state enlistment quotas, the draft and bounties played a large part in filling the ranks. Re-enlisting veterans like Arnold could reap at least $700 in federal and state bounties; rich men avoiding the draft by paying for a substitute could further sweeten the pot. Arnold might have believed he could finance his future and that he had a good chance of survival. He didn't realize the price would be his good right arm.

Because the story of the 32nd is less well known we'll spend a little time describing its history and the battle in which Tom Arnold lost his arm. The 32nd does not rate a place of its own on William F. Fox's esteemed list of 300 Fighting Regiments as did 11 other Maine regiments including the 20th, the 1st Me. Cavalry and the 1st Me. Heavy Artillery. However, the 32nd, is notable as Maine's last Civil War regiment and one that virtually fought itself out of existence. The enlisted men might have been mere boys, but the officers were generally capable and at least somewhat experienced. Col. Mark F. Wentworth and a number of his junior officers had previously served in the 27th Maine, a 9 month regiment that saw virtually no action beyond picket duty in Virginia and around Washington. The 27th's claim to fame was that 315 men stayed behind to guard Washington, DC during the Gettysburg crisis while the rest of their regiment mustered out and headed for home. A grateful War Department awarded the men of the 27th the Congressional Medal of Honor for standing ready to protect the all but deserted capital in case of a Union defeat at Gettysburg. Medal or not, Wentworth, according to John Pullen in Shower of Stars (82-3), felt cheated out of living "one of the great experiences of his generation." He, and many other officers from the 27th, petitioned Augusta for assignment in a new regiment. The 32nd was both their first available and their last opportunity.

Wentworth began assembling his regiment at Camp Keyes in Augusta during the winter of 1864. Training was hampered by deep snows. Before the troops were sufficiently drilled and even before all the companies were organized, the 32nd was shipped south to join Grant's army. On May the 5th, when Thomas Arnold was mustered into Company I, a Newcastle regiment captained by Marcus L. Hussey, Companies A through F and their sister regiment, the 31st Maine, had already joined the 2nd Brigade, 2nd Division, Ninth Corp commanded by Ambrose E. Burnside. Arnold missed the battles at the Wilderness and Spotsylvania Courthouse but caught up with his regiment on May 25th when the last companies, G-I, joined the 32nd. Less than three weeks later, after horrifying fighting at Cold Harbor, and after little more than a month in the field, the regiment was no longer untrained and untried. The boys of the 32nd were veterans now. The regiment was down to "only about three hundred and fifty muskets" according to Wentworth with "125 killed and wounded" according to Adj. Calvin Hayes. (Pullen, 90) This was just the beginning.

After Cold Harbor, Grant moved his armies up to the outskirts of Petersburg in a fast paced and grueling march of 35 miles, but he failed to make quick work of grabbing up Petersburg. Instead, his army including the 32nd, went all but underground building a maze of trenches and bomb proofs facing their foes who were also hunkered down in a similar string of fortresses and trenches. It was a whole new kind of warfare for the two armies.

"The Hiroshima of the Civil War."
John J. Pullen, The 20th Maine, p. 217.

Early in July, Burnside and a group of coal miners from the 48th Pennsylvania hatched a plot to dig a 500' tunnel under a Confederate fort called Elliot's Salient on the line to their front, fill it with 400 tons of gunpowder and blow a hole big enough for the army to charge through and take Cemetery Ridge with its command of Petersburg. It was, according to historian Bruce Catton, "an unorthodox idea brought forward by amateurs" (Catton,320). Since the debacle at Fredericksburg in 1862, Burnside was a man with little credibility. Grant's high command was not enthusiastic; their immediate plans were centered more on Hancock and the 2nd Corp crossing the James at Deep Bottom and Sheridan's cavalry using this movement as a screen to cover an end run to cut the Virginia Central Railroad and Lee's communications close to Richmond. The Confederate capital was, after all, the real objective; as the capital's supply center, Petersburg was just a backdoor opportunity. As Lee blocked Grant's efforts, the tunnel was suddenly far more acceptable to the Union command because Lee had left behind only three divisions to hold 5 miles of Petersburg trenches. The other 5/8 of his army had been diverted to stop Hancock and Sheridan. The gunpowder plot appeared to be a golden opportunity that hindsight tells us might have ended the war months earlier. The time was ripe to make a decisive attack on Lee, and the tunnel, originally thought to be only a diversion to keep the soldiers busy, would provide the access.

The 500' tunnel, dug by hand, was not a quick and easy project. There was ample opportunity for the tunnel plans to be discovered. The Federal command had thought from the start that the Confederates might discover the plot and tunnel in from their side to thwart the plan. To be sure, something was known but nothing definite that could be acted upon. Pullen claims that Union pickets would catcall their Confederate counterparts yelling, "Johnny, you're going to heaven!" (Pullen, 20th, 217) News of a gunpowder plot had even reached home. Sgt. Hilling of Co. G wrote home to the newspapers in Bath regularly with news of the 32nd. He began his post-explosion letter with this line: "In a former letter, I informed you that something was going on that would one day make the rebels tremble" (Houston, 362) indicating he had spilled the beans at least cryptically sometime before. Rumors were ripe even in the Confederate capital. On the very morning of the explosion, the Portsmouth Journal (NH) reprinted a story from the Richmond Whig (VA) that spread the impending plan across seacoast New Hampshire and Southern Maine. The Whig's writer predicted the destruction of Petersburg from a blast from the "infernal regions" and further prophesized, "I tremble to think of it. Perhaps a few hours will bring the dreadful realization." (Pullen, 27th, 93) By the time very many people in Col. Wentworth's home town of Kittery read the Journal article, the damage was already done.

Grant assigned George Meade the duty of finalizing the plans. After the blast, Burnside's four divisions were to move in four waves across the field. The first would secure the trenches on each side of the targeted fort to protect the projected opening in the lines from flanking, and then the successive waves would make the push to Cemetery Ridge. And, of course, speed was necessary. The plan was not the problem, but execution of the plan was a disaster.

For such a promising idea, the opportunity for error was fully exploited by all involved. Animosity between Meade and Burnside led to confusion and poor communications. Because they were fresh, Burnside planned for Edward Ferrero's Negro troops to lead the way, but Meade was conflicted and changed the battle order at the last moment. He did not trust the Negro troops, but he also wanted to avoid the racial criticism of sacrificing them if things went wrong with the attack. Meade told Burnside to pick another division to lead out. Straws were literally drawn and the First Division commanded by General James Ledlie, a drunk and incompetent, won the draw. On the morning of the explosion, Ledlie went into a dugout behind the lines to drink without first giving virtually any orders to his troops. Ledlie was not alone in his absence; very few officers of rank were on the field that day. Secondly, Meade ordered Burnside to remove impediments to the advance of the troops through the Federal lines. In particular he wanted the 8' deep log and dirt trench leveled and the barrier of abatis (felled trees and sharpened sticks) in front of it removed in the dark of the night before the attack. This would allow the battle lines to form up and the divisions to sweep across the field in formation and through the newly exploded gap in the rebel lines. Incredibly, impossibly, Burnside did not follow through with this major preparation, and nobody from the high command checked. The mistakes of Burnside and his command would soon destroy the 32nd and much of the Ninth Corp.

A "wholly unexpected site so much resembling the Day of Judgement."
John J. Pullen, A Shower of Stars, p. 94.

The divisions were moved into position in the staging area during the night; the 32nd was placed directly in front of the targeted fort. The explosion was planned for around 3:30 am, but the fuse went out somewhere along the 500 feet. Not knowing if the powder would ignite at any second, two poor suckers had to go in and relight the fuse. Just before 5 o'clock in the morning of June 30th 1864, the re-lit fuse finally touched off, and the explosion that followed was incredible. Sgt. Hilling of the 32nd described the results, "with one deafening roar that caused the earth to shake, the fort was blown to a confused mass of ruins" (Houston,363). Other observers described the event with a little more excitement as a rumbling sound followed by a shaking of the earth like an earthquake. "Tremendous" is the operative word for the explosion that followed. One observer wrote, "with a tremendous explosion, a conical mountain, seemingly half an acre in extent, rose in the air" (Pullen, 27th,94). Another said that it was "a tremendous blast which rent the sleeping hills beyond, a vast column of earth and smoke shoots upward to a great height, its dark sides flashing out sparks of fire, hangs poised for a moment in mid-air, and then hurtling downward with a roaring sound, showers of stones, broken timbers and blackened human limbs..." (Catton,322). It must have been frightening, deafening, stunningly concussive.

The blast left a crater 170' long, 80' wide and 30' deep. The sides sloped down to a jagged and littered bottom. There was no sign, beyond a few pieces, of the 200 odd Confederates who were moments before sleeping in the fort. Furthermore, troops in trenches for up to a quarter mile of either side of the former fort fled "in terror from the wholly unexpected site so much resembling the Day of Judgement." (Pullen, 27th, 94) The dust settled somewhat and within minutes of the mine explosion the Federal batteries opened up on any Confederate position left that could fire on the advancing troops. The field was perfectly prepared for Burnside with a huge, new, empty space between his troops and Cemetery Ridge.

Then things began to go wrong; the divisions could not advance through their own lines! The attackers were hemmed in by their own trenches. No battle lines were formed when Ledlie's First Division finally straggled by 2's and 3's through a 10' opening in the defenses and hightailed it directly into the crater which they recognized as "the great- grandfather of all rifle pits" (Catton, 323). They knew a safe harbor when they saw one and poured into the crater by the hundreds. The men did not know Meade's grand plan or what part they were supposed to play; they'd had no particular orders. Nobody was shooting at them yet, but these men knew the failings of their leadership and surely a nice, deep, ready-made hole would come in handy. The crater was soon filled with troops. There was not a single division commander on the field and hardly anyone else of sufficient rank to take charge or to move the men out to strategic locations. Later both Grant and CSA General William Mahone would acknowledge that this lack of leadership was a critical failing.

On the whole, the operation was so slow off the mark and so disorganized that Mahone's Confederates had time to recover from their shock, regroup, reinforce and open fire on their attackers. A whole hour (Catton, 324) had quickly passed since the explosion. An attack that should have taken 15 minutes and been virtually unopposed was bogged down in a hole in the ground! The Confederates used their time well. "Our batteries and those of the enemy were now in full play, and with rifle firing the din was deafening," wrote Sgt. Hilling. "Shot and shell flew thick and fast. It was truly terrific. Two or three forts were firing upon us, while our forts were firing on them and the town of Petersburg, part of which was set on fire." (Houston, 363) It was the largest artillery barage of the war. The growing number of Federal troops were soon pinned down in their big rifle pit by a cross fire from the trenches, which they had neglected to occupy, on either side of the crater.

Thomas Arnold: "a trip to hell as it was depicted by old fashioned standards"
Two Right Arms, The Lincoln County News.

The 32nd's brigade was to move to the right of the crater. Wentworth somehow managed to get his regiment disentangled from their own trenches "and with cheer upon cheer, amidst a shower of shot and grape, we rushed into the ruins. It was some time before we could see many feet in advance, the smoke of powder being almost blinding as well as nearly suffocating." (Houston,363) From what little could be seen, there was no cause to cheer. Pullen describes the scene most vividly as "infernally scary" in which "live and dead Confederate soldiers lay in various stages of burial in and around the crater - some with feet, others with heads or arms sticking out of the churned up earth. There were also pieces of people scattered about; unthinkable slippery things underfoot". Furthermore the ground had not settled completely - "The ground kept rising in spurts as though raked by the claws of a giant invisible cat." (Pullen, 27th, 95) Little wonder that almost every account of the Battle of the Crater is chuck full of allusions to hell and the demonic. Arnold, himself , described the whole charge as "a trip to hell as it was depicted by old fashioned standards" (LCN)

With Colonel Wentworth in the lead, the 32nd scrambled as a loose mass, not a line, into the area of the crater and perhaps through the crater itself. Both Hilling and Arnold refer to 'the fort', 'the crater' and the line of 'defenses' almost interchangeably in their descriptions. It is unlikely that anyone who was there actually knew where they were- the smoke and dust were very thick and, even if they could see, the landscape around them had radically changed with the explosion. Somewhere in this confusion, a Union general appeared out of the smoke and dirt to complement Wentworth for leading his own men into battle; they were two of the few officers on the scene. In the pursuit of glory, honor or some penultimate experience, Wentworth didn't have time for this. With only a moment of confusion in the bizarre landscape, Wentworth, trailing his men behind him, pushed out again. According to Hiller, "We were soon with Col. Wentworth through the fort, over the backs or bodies of some other regiments, who were in the fort and lying down. We passed on, over massive blocks of earth, dead bodies of rebels and the debris which the explosion caused, and into the farthest line of the rebel works, where we planted our flag or what remained of it. (Houston,364) Arnold claimed it was a charge of "half a mile through mini balls" in which "death reaped his awful harvest all about". Somewhere along the way, Arnold's friend Henry Page fell dead at his feet. (LCN)

At this point, as the 32nd went over the second line of rebel defenses about 200 yards from the crater, things rapidly fell apart. For a minute or so they held about 200 yards or so of rebel trenches. If other regiments had followed them beyond the crater perhaps the battlefield could have been redeemed, but this was not to be the case. They were out in front, basically alone and soon confronted with a counter attack. "Before it was fairly planted, the staff was shot in two, and the flag, what was remaining of it, was literally cut to pieces." (Houston,364) (The remains of the flag are really quite amazing although many pieces were cut by the troops themselves to prevent the flag from being captured. It can be seen at the State of Maine's Civil War Flags Exhibit online) Then, Wentworth was shot twice; one ball went through his left side with such force that it blew off a piece of hip bone and went on to mangle the arm of Co. G's 18 year-old Sgt. Ray P. Eaton who was behind him. As Hilling describes, it their downed leader still cheered his men on. The man remembers entirely too much cheering for the center of hell.

Tom Arnold was also hit just as he went over this second line of defenses. He told the News that it felt like "the sting of a bee". He was probably hit by flanking fire from the counter attack. The ball either went through the arm and across his chest or vise versa. He claimed that, at the time, the furrow the bullet made across his chest hurt more than his arm. Like Hiscock, he knew his fighting was done, but Tom Arnold dropped his gun and grabbed his shattered right arm in his good left hand and lit out "like a fox" for the rear. At the first line of defenses (probably the crater itself), "he went over the breast works head first and was put on his feet, by an officer who cut away his belts and relieved him of his load of ammunition. Sixty rounds in his belt and two packages in his pocket." (LCN)

His comrades in the 32nd soon withdrew back to the crater themselves carrying their wounded colonel with them. Wentworth was deposited next to Lt. James Chase of the 32nd, a sight he remembered for the rest of his life. Chase had been hit behind the left eye with a force that nearly blew the eyeball out of the socket and left it dangling in a bloody mess. The wound did not look promising, and Wentworth, himself a physician, felt there was little chance of the young man's survival. Wentworth, Chase and Tom Arnold along with many other members of the 32nd needed immediate medical attention. The rebels were quickly solidifying their control over the field of battle, and safe passage back to the Union lines looked nearly impossible.

There is no way of knowing what time it was when the 32nd reached the limit of their charge, but by 8:30 am official accounts describe the area around the crater as a killing field. Grant called off the attack and all support to the men in the crater by 9:30, a decision that would not be known in that corner of hell until nearly 12:30. (NPS) There were not many opportunities for escape, but it was decided to carry Wentworth back to the Federal trenches. Hilling recounts the dangerous return to Union lines with Wentworth and other wounded. "The shot flew round us thick and fast, but not a man of the detail was hurt. We got safely to the fort, placed our men in safety, and were about to return, when we heard that our men were repulsed and driven back over our front line of breastworks, and also that the 31st and 32nd Maine were all cut to pieces or prisoners." (Houston,365)

Perhaps Arnold left the crater with such a stretcher detail; maybe he high-tailed it out by himself. He couldn't have remained behind for long or there would have been no escape. The remains of the 32nd endured several charges before the Confederates retook the area and the survivors were forced to surrender. This would be around 1 p.m. by official count. The News' reporter has Arnold remembering, "Rebs on all sides were yelling, "Surrender, you damned Yanks," and were shooting down men with revolvers at ten yards distance." Surely he wasn't in the crater at the end, but he would have had opportunity in later years to hear about it from survivors, perhaps from his own Co. I's Lt. George L. Hall of Nobleboro who surrendered and spent six months as a prisoner of war.

Adj. Calvin Hayes: "A sorry day’s work for us, and nothing gained.”
(Houton, 359-360.)

That evening, after the disaster, Adjutant Calvin Hayes, now in charge of the 32nd, wrote, ”I have made my evening report; five officers wounded, eight missing, and eight men killed, thirty-one wounded, and seventy-six missing. A sorry day’s work for us, and nothing gained.” On Sunday the 31st he wrote again,” Everything looks so lonesome. so many have gone; one hundred and twenty-eight killed, wounded, and missing out of less than one hundred and fifty who went into the fight. Out of sixteen officers who were engaged, three escaped unharmed. We have now in the regiment eighty-five men, including cooks, present sick, and extra duty men.” (Houston,359-360) Hilling gives a similar count in his letter to Bath detailing Co. G casualties and describing wounds consistently as "not dangerous" or "we fear mortally wounded" or "since died". He knew that people at home needed to know names and tried to give as many as possible.

The fiasco of the crater was investigated by a Court of Inquiry who found that about 4000 men died due to the gross incompetence of its leadership. Deservedly, Burnside and Ledlie took the brunt of the blame. Burnside was relieved of command and went on (permanent) leave. Ledlie was released from the service. Grant and Meade also took some heat from the Committee on the Conduct of the War. Owning responsibility, Grant testified before the committee "I think the cause of the disaster was simply leaving the passage of orders from one to another down to an inefficient man. I blame his seniors also for not seeing that he did his duty, all the way up to myself." (Catton, 325)

In December, the 32nd, practically nonexistent ant as a fighting force on its own, was combined with the 31st Maine. Arnold's Capt. Marcus Hussey was mustered out at the time of the consolidation. Personally, he had probably had enough; he had lost two children at home to childhood disease during the previous July. The second died on the very day of the Battle of the Crater. He had a lot to go home to; in October his wife had a new baby son. Despite his wishes to return to service, Col. Mark F. Wentworth resigned in October due to his wounds but was promoted to Brevet Brig. General in March 1865. Amazingly, the young lieutenant Chase last seen with the bloody face and mangled eye, recovered and returned (with a glass eye) to fight another day.

John Chamberlain: "Men without an eye or nose or leg or arm or with a mangled head or body would constantly attract your sympathy, each one looking worse than the one that went before."
Thomas Desjardin. Stand Firm, Ye Boys from Maine, p93.

Both Hiscock and Arnold were undone by the Minie ball. They were not alone; this heavy, soft, lead bullet was the number one cause of all wounds - followed by various artillery projectiles and shrapnel, sabers and bayonets. The Minie ball could kill on the field at 1000' but was even more likely to cause death at a later date just from the effects of the extreme damage it inflicted. When it hit bone, the lead expanded shattering and splintering the bone. When it hit soft tissue, it mangled and tore up muscle and skin, blood vessels and arteries, and organs. Head and body shots were most likely fatal; shots to the extremities could frequently be remedied, despite the extent of damaged bone and muscle, by amputation. Fortunately for many soldiers, at least 70% of all wounds were to the extremities. Unfortunately, these resulted in some 30,000 amputations to Federal soldiers alone. (Goelnitz)

Tom Arnold thought the crater was hell, but what came next for both Hiscock and himself was surely the devil's workshop. In the general run of things, regimental surgeons set up shop under tents or in nearby barns, churches and other buildings. During and immediately after battles, there were often so many wounded that there was not enough room under cover for all. The wounded would often end up spread out on the ground around the surgeons' work area. If they were lucky there might be trees or some other protection from the sun and the elements. Numbers of wounded alone necessitated the need to sort out the wounded by likelihood of survival. Wounds to the body or head would wait in favor of amputations which were performed quickly and often without much speculation over saving the arm or leg in question.

Weikert's Farm at Gettysburg provides a good example of how field hospitals worked. The Union army had a fairly organized system for moving men off the battlefield, through the aide stations and into the field hospitals involving stretcher details and ambulances. Walking wounded, like Hiscock, were probably afraid to stop and depended on their own two feet despite the distance. Dr. John Billings of the 2nd Division, 5th Corp estabablished the field hospital at Weikert's Farm on the Taneytown Rd. while the 20th's own Co. B, hidden behind a stonewall was engaging flankers within sight just across the field. Soon the huge barn was filled with wounded lying on straw, and outside there were long lines of wounded men on the ground with no shelter. By the time the nasty day's work was completed, Billings and his staff treated more than 700; most suffering from bullet wounds. (Desjardin)

After moving men down from the aide station on the back side of Little Round Top, John Chamberlain remained to help with the wounded. He was truly shocked by the field hospital's conditions. He wrote, "Men without an eye or nose or leg or arm or with a mangled head or body would constantly attract your sympathy, each one looking worse than the one that went before." (Desjardin,93) It was soon evident that the most important thing he could do to help was to rig makeshift shelters of blankets and sticks to shade the wounded from the unmerciful sun. The men of 20th had no regimental surgeon at Gettysburg and had to suffer and wait until another surgeon could see to them. Making the rounds, John Chamberlain came across Lt. Kendall of the 20th lying untreated with bullet bullet wound to the neck. Chamberlain convinced an assistant to remove the bullet, but the officer soon died anyway. Kendall had certainly been skipped over by the surgeons as likely to die,

Abner Hiscock: In the horrid heap he recognized his own good right arm, by the shattered knuckle where the mini ball first hit him."
Two Right Arms, The Lincoln County News

Civil War surgeons are often castigated as butchers and sawbones, the latter name is actually derived from the surgeon's amputation saw. On the whole, most were untrained or barely trained in surgery and certainly unprepared to perform thousands of operations under the worst conditions. Given the pace, quantity and conditions of the surgery, most Civil War surgeons did the best they could under disheartening conditions and surely do not deserve derision.

Contrary to common understanding, soldiers were not generally conscious during surgery. Chloroform was quite readily available and used to render the wounded unconscious. On the other hand, antiseptic procedures were definitely not practiced. Joseph Lister's discoveries and work in bacteriology were not known until after the war ended. Some small attempts at cleanliness were made; instruments were rinsed, sponges and cloths wrung out in (often bloody) water and hands washed on occasion, but nothing was sterile or hardly clean. The doctors did not know any better; the case load was huge and often the conditions were too frantic for anyone to give a thought to cleaning up. And so germs became the invisible enemy, and infection was the rampant killer of thousands of wounded men who might have survived if doctors had known more.

Carl Shurz, in his Reminiscences, provides a blood-thirsty vision of surgery at Gettysburg:

"There stood the surgeons, their sleeves rolled up to the elbows, their bare arms as well as their linen aprons smeared with blood, their knives not seldom held between their teeth, while they were helping a patient on or off the table, or had their hands otherwise occupied; around them pools of blood and amputated arms or legs in heaps, sometimes more than man-high. Antiseptic methods were still unknown at that time. As a wounded man was lifted on the table, often shrieking with pain as the attendants handled him, the surgeon quickly examined the wound and resolved upon cutting off the injured limb. Some ether was administered and the body put in position in a moment. The surgeon snatched his knife from between his teeth, where it had been while his hands were busy, wiped it rapidly once or twice across his blood-stained apron, and the cutting began. The operation accomplished, the surgeon would look around with a deep sigh, and then-"Next!"

Shurz was also quick enough to humanize the surgeons as men working desperately beyond their ability to cope; "a surgeon, having been long at work, would put down his knife, exclaiming that his hand had grown unsteady, and that this was too much for human endurance-not seldom hysterical tears streaming down his face." (Civil War Medicine)

The general amputation procedure was to remove the bullet (if present) and to clean the wound of dirt, cloth, bone fragments and foreign matter with a sponge, rag or even the surgeon's fingers. Then the surgeon would use a scalpel to cut away the skin above and below the wound leaving a flap of skin to stretch over the stump. Next he would saw through the bone with a bone saw and slice away any remaining muscle. With the appendage removed, he would tie off any major blood vessels with (unsterilized) thread, silk or horse hair and sew the flap in place leaving a hole for drainage of the wound. The threads would be left with long ends dangling so they could be pulled loose when the vessels had healed shut. The stump would be bandaged and sometimes covered in a plaster cast. The whole operation might take ten minutes. (Goelnitz, Civil War Medicine) Recovery would be left in the hands of God.

Hiscock was lucky; his life must have seemed salvagable and within only an hour or so his good right arm was amputated. He was not alone; Dr Billings and the surgeons from two regiments "undertook the task of sawing parts off soldiers bodies until piles of amputated limbs reached higher than the fence outside the house." (Desjardin, 88-9) Under the hot July sun the smell alone became unbearable. Hiscock could attest to the size of this pile (and probably the smell also). "On recovering from the ether the first sight that met his eyes was a pile of arms and legs as large as a small hay cock. In the horrid heap he recognized his own good right arm, by the shattered knuckle where the mini ball first hit him." (LCN)

Tom Arnold: I never did die yet!
Two Right Arms, The Lincoln County News.

Generally speaking, a wounded soldier would not often wait more than 24-48 hours to be seen by a surgeon. Perhaps because the Battle of the Crater produced so many wounded, Tom Arnold's arm was not attended to for fourteen days. Three days after he was shot he was transported with other wounded to City Point. An incredible eleven days after that his arm was finally amputated. This was simply neglect; the wound was crawling with maggots which Arnold said caused an "unbearable itching". As maggots eat only dead flesh, this may have been a good thing. Even so, his arm was in such a state that the operating surgeon, a man named Sheldon, said, "He can't live." Arnold, despite his deteriorating condition spoke right up, "I never did die yet." After the operation, a Dr. True saw Arnold sitting up and smoking a pipe and said with admiration, "He's a Maine man; you can't kill him. You might take a leg and he'd still survive." (LCN)

After a battle and as soon as they could be stabilized, wounded men were moved out of field hospitals, often by train or steamboat, to general hospitals behind the lines and as far away as major cities like Washington, Philadelphia and New York. Those strong enough to move were taken away first. The seriously wounded were often left behind to die in battlefield hospitals days or even weeks later. Tom Arnold, it would appear, was taken to Washington. Hiscock may have been moved to Satterlee Hospital in Philadelphia as there is some record of men of the 20th treated there after Gettysburg. Eventually, wounded soldiers would be patched up enough to return to their regiments, or they were shipped out to their home states. In Maine, many wounded men in need of further care were sent to Cony Hospital in Augusta in what could be considered a precursor to the Togus veterans hospital..

Microscopic killers: "a vast, hidden army which was the greatest enemy of both sides in the Civil War."
John J. Pullen, the 20th Maine, p. 138.

Civil War surgeons performed under atrocious conditions with the required speed to help huge numbers of wounded men as quickly as possible. Although many thought there was a relationship between cleanliness and infection rates, they did not have the knowledge or means to create sterile conditions. As a consequence, germs were passed from one patient to the next by the very people who were trying to help them. Bacteria was "a vast, hidden army which was the greatest enemy of both sides in the Civil War." (Pullen, 20th Maine,138) The infections that developed in wounded men after surgery were termed "surgical fevers" and manifested themselves in several varieties.

One of the most deadly infections was Pyemia, a form of blood poisoning that's name means 'pus in the blood'. Only about 3 out of 100 men who developed Pyemia survived. Today we know the causes were "Staphylococcus aureus and Streptococcus pyogenes, bacterial cells which generate pus, destroy tissue, and release deadly toxins into the bloodstream." (Civil War Medicine) In the 1860's treatment was hampered in part by the misconception that "laudible pus' or pus that was discharging freely from a wound was a good thing! In the next stage of Pyemia, the pus would suddenly dry up and the victim would spike a fever and suffer from increased pain and restlessness. Instead of recognizing the progression of the infection, surgeons theorized that as long as the pus was present things were good and thus "laudable". Hardly the case! (Goellnitz; Pullen, 20th Maine,137)

Other surgical fevers included tetanus, erysepilas, (an accute infectious skin disease) and osteomyelitis (bone inflammation). And, of course, there was the well-known and dreaded gangrene, a rotting away of the flesh which was no longer able to receive blood due to the obstructions or damage caused by wounds and surgery. 'Hospital gangrene', which is, thankfully, extinct today, began as a small black spot on the wound and soon spread throughout the wound turning it into a rotten, smelly mess. With both surgical fevers and gangrene, multiple surgeries were often attempted to remove dead or dying flesh, improve leaking ligatures of blood vessels that were not healing properly and to amputate infected bone. Each new surgery, performed on a man already in a debilitated state, increased the chances of infection and death.

Hiscock stayed in the hospital until Jan. 19, 1864, growing worse all the time. Finally sent home on furlough, the poor man learned that his house had burned to the ground while he was gone and the news had been kept from him. His family felt he'd enough to worry about without this news. Seeking relief, Hiscock took his arm to Dr. Call of Newcastle. "The doctor looked at it, made some unconventional remarks and tore off the plaster and bandages which covered the stump. Relieved from the support, a cupful of puss gushed forth leaving a large cavity." (LCN) Presumably, this would be diagnosed "laudible pus" and place Hiscock dangerously in the developing stages of Pyemia. Given the condition of the arm more than six months after the battle, Dr. Call advised a further operation. Hiscock was weak and did not feel he would survive another amputation. He was probably right; 52% of secondary amputations resulted in death. (Goellnitz) Under the good doctor's ministrations Hiscock finally began to heal, but the stump remained tender for the rest of his life.

Arnold had other problems. The wounded was not sufficiently probed for shattered bone, and he was plagued by "a splinter of bone which pricked him after the wound had healed". Dr. Bliss, who afterward attended President Garfield, offered to remove this for $25- big city prices. Instead Arnold, a frugal Yankee, went home on a 15 day leave and saw Damariscotta's own Dr. Dixon who "removed the offending splinter which was about half an inch long". He charged $1 for the job and there was never any trouble with it afterwards." Later in the article Arnold admitted that "abscesses have made trouble for him to some extent ever since." (LCN)

Who wants to swap a good right arm for $55 per month?
Two Right Arms, The Lincoln County News.

Tom Arnold, despite the criminal treatment of his arm, was up and about within three months. He was finally discharged March 3, 1865. Somewhere along the way he became friendly with an E.B. French who was Auditor of the Treasury in Washington, DC. This landed him a job first as a messenger and later as a clerk for the Treasury Department where he worked for twelve years before returning to Maine. Back home in Damariscotta he supported himself as a mail carrier, a job in which one arm was sufficient. This supplemented the pension paid by a grateful government which increased over the years from $8 a month to $55. But, wrote the News reporter, "Who wants to swap a good right arm for $55 per month?"

Tom Arnold did not come home alone. The News reporter must have had quite an enjoyable visit to the Arnold household and gives an a account of marital bliss couched in terms of martial innuendo that is quite charming. "But Mr. Arnold says his experiences were not all to the bad for in Washington he besieged the heart of a Southern girl who was acting as a nurse for wounded Northern prisoners. In his attacks, he was more successful than at Petersburg. He finally brought Miss Gantt north with him as his wife. The lady had seven brothers in the Confederate Army, six of whom died for the Lost Cause. Mrs. Arnold says she wanted to make one Yankee suffer as much as they had made her suffer, but "Tommie" seems to enjoy his punishment and is as cheerful as a squirrel all the time." (LCN)

In the 1880 census, the same one that lists Tommie as 32, Louisa Gant Arnold was recorded as age 27 and born in Virginia. This gives her a birth date of 1853 and makes her still a preteen at the end of the war - kinda young for a nurse. The Arnold gravestone lists her dates as 1845-1915 or nearly the same as her mathematically challenged husband. To further complicate things the 1880 census shows a daughter, Cesstia, age 10 born in Washington, DC., but the ever contradictory stone records, "Their Neice Celestie Louisa Marsden 1872-". Despite their conviviality, the Arnolds remain a muddle that is unlikely to ever be resolved.

On the other hand, throughout Lincoln County News article, the reader gets the idea that Abner Hiscock was a tough man and short on words. Only the bare bones of his story appear in the article while Tom Arnold comes off as far more verbose. After his discharge, Hiscock went home to Damariscotta and presumably collected the same disability benefits as Arnold. Like Arnold, he supplemented his (probable) pension but not with a handicap friendly job. Hiscock worked in the woods. As the News describes it, "This is pretty strenuous work for two good arms, but Mr. Hiscock with his left alone was the equal of any chopper in the business". A little more information can be gleaned from the Back Meadow Road cemetery. If he had children, they might be buried among the numerous Hiscock's in this cemetery or in another graveyard elsewhere. Hiscock's own plot holds just four people - Abner and his three wives. He was either lucky in love or a ladies' man - tall, dark and silent?

Abner S, Hiscock
August 31, 1835-May 18, 1906
His wife Clara
December 27, 1853-January 25, 1901

On the right side:

Wives of Abner S. Hiscock
Eunice M.
d. November 8, 1871
AE 36y 8m
Abbie F.
d. February 11, 1879
AE 36y 8m

To the right/front of the tall stone are four small stones, each with the first name of Hiscock or one of his three wives proceeding in reverse order from Clara to Eunice with Abner to the right of Eunice.

The only sign that Abner was a veteran is the GAR marker.

Sources:

Catton, Bruce. Grant Takes Command. Boston: Little, Brown and Company, 1968.

Civil War Society. Encyclopedia of the Civil War. "Civil War Medicine: Medical Care, Battle Wounds, and Disease." <http://www.http://www.civilwarhome.com/civilwarmedicine.htm>.

Damariscotta Historical Association. "Two Right Arms." Lincoln County Weekly. 4/18/2004.

Desjardin, Thomas. Stand Firm, Ye Boys from Maine.

Goellnitz, Jenny. "Civil War Surgery." The Tide of Wounded: An Intro to Civil War Medicine. http://www.civilwarmedicine.aphillcsa.com>.

Houston, Henry C. The Thirty-second Maine Regiment of Infantry Volunteers: An Historical Sketch. Portland, ME: Press of the Southworth Brothers, 1903.

Petersburg National Battlefield. <http://www.nps.gov/pete/mahan/eduhistory.html>. 9 July 2004.

Pullen, John J. A Shower of Stars: The Medal of Honor and the 27th Maine. Philadelphia: J.P. Lippincott Company, 1966.

Pullen, John J. The Twentieth Maine: A Volunteer Regiment in the Civil War. Philadelphia: J.P. Lippincott Company, 1957.

Whitman, William E.S. and Charles H. True. Maine in the War for the Union. Lewiston, ME: Nelson Dingley Jr. & Co, Publishers, 1865.

Woodward, Adj’t Joseph T. Historic Record and Biographic Roster 21st ME. Vols. with reunion records of the 21st Maine Regimental Association. Augusta, ME: Press of Charles E. Nash & Son, 1907.

© 2004  Pat Higgins