Left for dead at Gaines' Mills

Your country has become embroiled in a civil war with the fate of the Union hanging in the balance. Your enlist, are mustered in as a private and your regiment goes on to fight in some pretty well known and important battles — Antietam, Fredericksburg, and Chancellorsville among them. A little more than one year into what was supposed to be a two-year hitch, you're part of what is, at that point, the second bloodiest battle in American history. There are roughly 15,500 casualties in the battle, including nearly 2,400 dead, and your brothers in arms leave you on the battlefield believing you're among the lives lost. You survive the war, you marry, your wife is pregnant with your first child, but before your little girl is born you're killed in a railroad accident at age 29.

This is the story of Grant S. Marvin, my 1st cousin 5x removed.

Grant is the sixth of eight children born to my 5th great-uncle Ransom Marvin and his wife Sophronia Hutchinson. He was born February 2, 1840 in New York, presumably in or near Camden, just north of Oneida Lake and some 30 miles southeast of Lake Ontario. Grant was raised in Camden and was 21-years-old when, in May 1861, he went to the nearby town of Rome and enlisted in Company G of the 14th Regiment New York Volunteer Infantry. About one year later, in May 1862, the regiment was assigned to the famed Army of the Potomac, which was commanded by General George B. McClellan. The regiment took part in a series of fights known as Seven Days Battles in the area of Hanover County, Virginia.

On June 26, 1862, the regiment took part in the Battle of Beaver Dam Creek, also known as Mechanicsville, on June 26, 1862. Slightly outnumbered, Fitz John Porter led Union troops against Confederate General Robert E. Lee and secured a Union victory, though one some concede to be a strategic victory for the South. Grant survived this first big fight, but there would be no rest for the weary.

On June 27, 1862, the regiment was right back at it in the next fight in the Seven Days Battles. This time around it was the Battle of Gaines' Mill, sometimes called the Battle of Chickahominy River. The number of combatants were nearly three times that of the prior day's battle as more than 91,000 troops — 57,000 of whom were Confederate soldiers — and there would be some 15,000 casualties by the end of the day. Grant was seriously wounded in the battle, though the nature of the wound has not yet been uncovered in my research, and left for dead on the battlefield. The Union lost the Battle of Gaines' Mill, a key early victory for Lee's time at the helm of rebellion's forces.

Though left for dead, Grant survived and was apparently able to avoid being taken prisoner. He would receive a pension for his military service, designated as an invalid as a result of the wound he suffered. The severity of the wound and its long-term impact is not currently known.

As the war raged on and 1863 was coming to a close, Grant was married on Christmas eve to Lovina D. Seymour. After several years as husband and wife, Lovina was pregnant, and the couple was apparently living in Illinois. Sadly, with Lovina several months pregnant, tragedy struck as Grant was killed in Secor, Illinois, a very small town 25-30 miles east of Peoria. Grant's death was the result of a railroad accident, though current research has not yet uncovered whether Grant was a passenger on the train, an employee of the railroad, or otherwise.

One month to the day of Grant's passing, new life was welcomed in Illinois with the birth of his daughter May L. Marvin on June 3, 1869.

I've not yet conducted much in the way of research on Grant's widow and child, though they do return to New York, settling first in Batavia and then Rochester.

The Bloody Lane, Eye Patch, and a Medal of Honor

In my old history classroom, there once hung a meme that declared: “You may be cool, but you’ll never be Teddy Roosevelt riding a moose across a river cool.”

As it turns out, Samuel C. Wright might actually be that cool.

In recent weeks I was the beneficiary of a great deal of research and work done by a somewhat distant relative of my wife. This woman self-published a long family history of the Wright family, the maiden name of my wife's maternal grandmother. I've been working to independently confirm and verify the information provided in the couple hundred pages of names and dates, and it is certainly a long process.

Among those dryly entered into those pages, with little more than his vital information of birth, marriage, and death, was Samuel Cole Wright. He and my wife share a common ancestor, Adam Wright, who had been born in Plympton, Massachusetts, circa 1645. Adam is my wife’s 8^th great-grandfather, following along through Adam’s son Moses, all the way down to her maternal grandmother. Samuel was Adam’s 4^th great-grandson, through a line headed by Adam’s son John. In all, this makes Samuel her 5^th cousin 4x removed.

While the family history lists him the same as any other Tom, Dick, or Harry, Samuel was much more than that, as made evident by his valiant service to the Union during the American Civil War. While fighting with the 29^th Massachusetts Regiment, he was in more than two dozen battles, wounded numerous times, lost an eye and kept the bullet that claimed it as charm, was reported dead multiple times, and received the Medal of Honor.

Before we get to his Civil War service, however, we ought to start at the beginning. Samuel was born September 29, 1842 in Plympton, Massachusetts — a town that appears frequently in the first 200 or so years of Wrights after coming to Plymouth. Samuel was the eighth of ten born to Winslow Wright and Mary Cole, with Winslow being the great-grandson of Ezekiel Loring, a lieutenant during the American Revolution.

Samuel was raised in Plympton, working along with older brother William Henry Harrison Wright as a shoemaker, according to the 1860 U.S. Census. A couple months after the Census taker visited the Wright family, Abraham Lincoln was elected President of the United States, setting off a series of events that culminated in the Civil War beginning in April 1861. On May 18, 1861, 18-year-old Samuel decided to do his part to preserve the Union, formally enlisting as a private with the 29^th Regiment Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry. Little did Samuel know that he would spend the next four years in bitter battles waged in 15 states while traveling more than 4,200 miles, as reported by William Osborne’s 1877 The History of the Twenty-ninth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry, in the Late War of the Rebellion. He is said to have participated in 30 battles, wounded five times, and twice reported dead, according to U.S., Civil War Soldier Records and Profiles, 1861-1865. He would twice be promoted for gallantry in action.

About one year into his service came a head wound as he was struck by a fragment of shell during the Battle of White Oak Swamp in Virginia on June 30, 1862.

About 16 months after enlisting, one of Samuel’s most harrowing experiences came about near Sharpsburg, Maryland, along Antietam Creek. The Battle of Antietam, fought on September 17, 1862, nearly proved to be the end of Samuel’s story — and as the fog of war raged on that day, some reported it had been his end. As Union General George B. McClellan sat poised for battle on September 16, only to, as he’s become infamous for, hedge his bets and delay to the next day. The day before the actual battle itself began, rounds of artillery between the two sides provided an ominous beginning, according to Samuel’s own recollections. “The shot from the first piece of artillery fired took off the leg of the color-bearer of my regiment,” he reported in U.S., Civil War Soldier Records and Profiles, 1861-1865. The ensuing volley of artillery fire “was at times very lively,” he added.

As dawn broke on September 17, so too did the camps as “troops were sent out to engage the enemy in our front. The roar of cannon and small arms was deafening.” While Samuel could certainly hear the enemy, he was unable to see them as the battle began. “From where we lay we could only hear the cannonading, we could not see the enemy, as a growth of woods impaired our view. It was, perhaps, as well, that we could not see the carnage wrought.”

When Samuel and his compatriots, including the famed Irish Brigade, were dispatched to support other Union troops in the thick of battle, they “hurriedly” made their way to Antietam Creek and forded across it. “The stream was so deep, that in crossing, we only had to remove the stoppers of our canteens and they would fill themselves,” he recalled. “We held rifles and ammunition above our heads.”

Once they successfully crossed the creek — and “removed our shoes, wrung out our stockings” — the regiment was ordered forward, directly toward the Sunken Road. Prior to the war, the Sunken Road was a dirt farm lane used as a shortcut by locals and farmers. After the Battle of Antietam it had infamously earned the macabre nickname of the Bloody Lane.

“Going up the hill we could see the cause of our sudden call,” Samuel recalled. “The hill was strewn with dead and dying; yes, and with those unhurt, for to stand was to be instantly killed by the sharpshooters who filled the ‘Sunken Road.’”

As the bodies continued to pile up, historians estimate 5,600 from both sides, Union troops planned to tackle a fence along the Sunken Road. The initial attempts were disastrous, and now Samuel likely faced a similar fate.

An Alex Gardner photo taken of part of the Sunken Road, or the Bloody Lane, in the aftermath of the Battle of Antietam.

“Some 200 yards in advance of our position, which we were holding at a terrible cost, was a fence built high and strong. The troops in advance had tried to scale the fence and reform under that hell of fire. They were actually torn to shreds and wedged into the fence,” Samuel vividly recalled.

Brigadier General Thomas Francis Meagher, an Irish immigrant whose own personal history is quite fascinating, called for this fence to be removed. Samuel was among those who volunteered to risk it all to do so.

“The cry came to us for volunteers to pull down the fence. Instantly there sprang from the long line, fast being shortened as the ranks closed up over the dead, seventy-six volunteers. We ran straight for the fence amid a hail of iron and lead, the dead falling all about us, but to reach the fence was our only thought. A part of the force reached it, and, as one would grasp a rail it would be sent flying out of his hands by rifle-shots. The fence leveled, we made the attempt to return, and it was as hot for us on the retreat, as it had been on the advance. Few escaped death or wounds. I had almost regained my regiment, when I was hit.”

Samuel was hit in the left knee but refused to heed the calls of officers to retreat to the rear, instead receiving treatment by the regimental surgeon where he had been wounded.

Ultimately, his actions at Antietam would result in being awarded the Medal of Honor — the highest and most prestigious recognition a member of the military can receive in the United States.

The following year was a difficult one for Samuel. In June 1863, Samuel contracted typhus, a disease that was among the more lethal ailments Civil War soldiers faced. He would be hospitalized and treated for typhus in Tennessee, laid up for three-to-four months. An Army wagon being pulled by a team of six mules would run over Samuel in October 1863, crushing his foot and causing unspecified internal injuries, according to Congressional records.

The summer of 1864 saw even more damage done in battle, including the loss of his eye. On June 2, 1864, during the Battle of Cold Harbor near Mechanicsville, Virginia, Samuel was wounded by a gunshot to his left arm. He was fortunate in this instance as no amputation was necessary, and he not only survived but was able to return to the battlefield after some recuperation before what would prove to be his final battlefield action the ensuing month.

It was on July 30, 1864, at the Battle of the Crater, part of the Union Army’s siege on Petersburg, Virginia, when it appeared Samuel was surely dead. During the battle, a bullet took out his right eye upon striking his head. In U.S., Civil War Soldier Records and Profiles, 1861-1865, it is asserted that Samuel “was shot directly in the right eye,” while Congressional records explain he had been hit by a “rifle ball, which destroyed his right eye, the ball passing to the back of his head, was left for dead, and was so reported.” His July 7, 1906 obituary in the pages of The Boston Evening Transcript reads “his head was penetrated by a bullet which entered at the back and put out one of his eyes; contrary to all expectations he recovered from the wounds, the bullet in his head was extracted, and he had carried it as a watch-charm ever since.” His retention of the unusual battle memento is reaffirmed in U.S., Civil War Soldier Records and Profiles, 1861-1865, which notes Samuel “still keeps the bullet as an awful souvenir of his closeness to death.”

After the Battle of the Crater, Samuel was sent home and spent 18 months recovering from what had been assumed to be a mortal wound. He was mustered out of the Army as a sergeant on February 3, 1865, just a couple months before Robert E. Lee surrendered to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Court House. He would live on another 42 years after his final fight for the Union.

In his post-war life, Samuel remained primarily in Plympton, working as a farmer and then a trader or running a storefront, while also joining the Masons. He would later land a job in Boston at the Customs House, a position he would hold until the day he died. According to the Boston Evening Transcript, Samuel was “popular” among his co-workers and “his service was highly appreciated by the Government.”

On January 3, 1870, 27-year-old Samuel married Mary E. Nickerson, the 27-year-old daughter of William and Betsey Nickerson of Plymouth. Samuel and Mary had just one child, a daughter named Mary Dresser Wright, born on May 21, 1875 in Boston. Young Mary would go on to marry Augustus C. Sproul, a native of Bristol, Maine.

Samuel and Mary would split their time seasonally between Boston in the winter and Plympton in the summer. Records indicate his time as a resident of Boston was largely, if not entirely, in South Boston, first on K Street and, later on, Sixth Street.

As for his death, it was the old ticker that did him in unexpectedly. He had been recovering for several weeks from a bout of pneumonia, but had returned to work at the Customs House. In fact, Samuel was at work and “seemed in good health” when he left for home the evening of his death. According to The Boston Evening Transcript, upon arriving home, Samuel “ate a hearty dinner,” and then “started out from the house with a pail of ashes to dump behind the barn and his failure to return within a reasonable time caused the family members some apprehension.” Various relatives in the immediate area began searching for Samuel, ultimately finding his body just beyond the barn around 8 p.m. He was 63-years-old.

Union Private Moriarty in the Civil War

The Civil War infamously pit brother against brother as more than 3.2 million Americans waged war against one another, with approximately 620,000 soldiers being killed in the process. Among those who fought in the Union Army were an estimated 150,000 Irish-born men. Patrick P. Moriarty, my third great uncle, was one of them.

Patrick was born in Alohart, Beaufort, County Kerry, Ireland on 23 April 1837, arriving in the United States in 1855 or 1856. At the time of his arrival, our nation was being led by its 14th President, Franklin Pierce of New Hampshire. President Pierce is pretty unanimously derided by historians as one of our worst Presidents, and served in the period ramping up to a war between the states.

Patrick was living in Webster, Massachusetts, when, on 9 June 1862, he officially enlisted to fight for his adopted country. He was mustered into Company H of the Massachusetts 34th Infantry Regiment. The regiment was organized in Worcester, Massachusetts, that August, heading south for the front lines. These men were involved in a number of battles, including Lynchburg, Cedar Creek, Petersburg, and ultimately Appomattox Court House, where Confederate General Robert E. Lee surrendered to Union General Ulysses S. Grant to effectively end the Civil War.

For Patrick, however, the most memorable conflict was assuredly the Battle of New Market in the Shenandoah Valley portion of Virginia. It was in the middle of a Sunday morning when, on 15 May 1864, when more than 10,000 soldiers from both sides descended on a town that, as of the 2010 Census, is home to a mere 2,146 people. The battle lasted throughout the afternoon, and featured a mud-covered orchard that became known as the "Field of Lost Shoes." Eventually, the Union troops retreated across the Shenandoah River, burning down the bridge to stop General John C. Breckinridge's rebel army from further pursuing them. In all, nearly 1,400 men laid dead, mostly from the Union side. Among those who were wounded was Private Patrick P. Moriarty.

As yet, I've uncovered very little about Patrick's wound, any medical treatment he may have received, and his recovery. What I do know is that less than one year later, the war had come to an end with the defeat of the Confederacy. Patrick would be mustered out of the Massachusetts 34th on 16 June 1865, returning home.

Patrick, working as a laborer, settled down in Southbridge, Massachusetts, and would soon begin his family. It was on Christmas Day in 1866 that he married Julia M. Lyons, an Irish immigrant from Coolcleave, Ballyfinnane, Firies, County Kerry (just a small ride northeast of Alohart), who had come to America just a year or so prior. Just under a year later, their family grew with the birth of their first child on 11 December 1867, a baby girl they named Annie. Unfortunately for Patrick and Julia, the next several years would be filled with the death of four children. In June 1869, they welcomed little Mary to the world, only to lose her to cholera 13 months later. In 1871, there was a boy, Patrick, who would pass as an four-month-old infant. In 1874, the same would hold true for their son Timothy, and then again the next year with baby John, who survived just 20 days in this world.

According to the 1880 U.S. Census, Patrick continued to work as a laborer into his 40s, while Julia worked in a woolen mill, presumably the Hamilton Woolen Company in Southbridge. At the time, the family lived adjacent to Hamilton Woolen at 51 Mill Street, a property which no longer exists. Julia, identified in that year's Census as unable to read or write, was joined by her mother, Ann at the Moriarty family home. Though no date of death has yet been uncovered, it is presumed that Ann had been widowed by her husband John. Annie, then 12-years-old, was in school. She was joined by a cousin who lived with the family, 10-year-old Nellie Mehar.

Now residing at 68 Fiske Street, a property he appears to have owned free and clear, 74-year-old Patrick died 15 May 1911, precisely 47 years after being wounded in a Civil War battle. The official cause of death was hemiplegia, presumably caused by a stroke. He would be buried in St. Mary's Cemetery in Southbridge two days later.

On 29 December 1911, Julia passed at age 75. It was just four days after what would have been their 45th wedding anniversary. They left behind their daughter Annie, then in her 40s. Annie would pass away at age 64 on 26 November 1932 in Southbridge. She never married and had no children, ending that branch of the family tree.