Surgeon Dr. Jacob Henry Stewart, 1st Minnesota Infantry, On the Sudley Church Field Hospital, Treatment of Wounded, Captivity, and Parole

11 11 2022

Statement by Dr. J.H. Stewart, Surgeon of the First Regiment of Minnesota Volunteers

In publishing the narrative of Dr. Stewart we have taken the liberty of interspersing a few head lines, for the eye to rest upon and relive the continuity of so long a document, interesting though it certainly is:

To the Public.

On the morning of the 13th of August, eleven surgeons of volunteer regiments arrived in Washington from Richmond, where they had been prisoners of war, and from which place they were allowed to depart on giving the Parole of Honor, usual in war, not to serve again in the Army of the United States, unless released or exchanged. I was one of those surgeons.

On the afternoon of the day of our arrival, an article appeared in the Washington Star, a small, cheap paper of Washington City, in terms as follows:

The oligarchy authorities are trying to get rid of the burden of feeding prisoners in their hands by discharging them on parole. This morning twenty-four (made prisoners after the battle of Bull Run) reached here. They left Richmond on the day before yesterday, and were sent by rail to our lines near Fortress Monroe. The following is a copy of the obligation forced on them, viz.:

“We, the undersigned officers, non-commissioned officers, privates and citizens of the United States, do make our unqualified parole of honor that we will not, by arms, information or otherwise, during the existing hostilities between the United States and the Confederate States of America, aid or abet the enemies of the said Confederate States, or any of them, in any form or manner whatsoever, until released or exchanged.

“Brig.-Gen. C.S.A.

“AUGUST 11, 1861.”

We presume that those who gave such a parole will be shipped to their homes without delay, as such men will clearly be worse than useless in any military service.

The following is a list of the returning Surgeons among the lot, viz.:

Foster Swift, Eighth New York; J.H. Stewart, First Minnesota; J.M. Lewis, Second Wisconsin; Eugene Benquet, Seventy-first New York; Chas S. De Graw, Eighth New York; and G.H. Winston, Eighth New York.

The Assistant-Surgeon of the First Minnesota Regiment refused, to his credit be it said, to accept the parole, and remains a prisoner at Richmond.

The whole party were threatened with popular violence repeatedly on their way from Richmond to Fortress Monroe.

Though the paragraph in the above article in relation to the “Assistant Surgeon of the Minnesota First” refusing to accept his parole, “to his credit be it said,” made it pretty transparent that the intention was principally to stab at the “Surgeon of the Minnesota First,” and by the comparison to discredit him, I nevertheless concluded to take no notice of the falsehood and inferential slander, knowing that time rights all things, and that truth generally prevails in the long run. But some of the other surgeons, however, thought it advisable to speak to the editor about it. They informed me that he apologized for its insertion, stating that the facts had been misrepresented to him; and the editor would have corrected it in his own columns if he had been required to do so; but, as the other papers, including the New York press, had made a more just and accurate representation of the circumstances under which we had given our parole, and had also omitted the personal stab aimed especially at me, it was not deemed of enough consequence to ask for a formal retraction in the Star.

It seems, however, that the same article, just as it originally appeared, was carefully saved up by some one here in St. Paul, who is the fit ally of the hidden slanderer in Washington, and that it is launched at me by a republication in the Pioneer the next morning after my arrival in St. Paul, no doubt intending it as my welcome home, after a tour of hard service in the field, in which I most certainly endeavored to perform my whole duty to the country and the men of the Regiment of which I was Surgeon, without counting risks, or halting at sacrifices, pecuniary or personal.


Now, Mr. Editor, I am not particularly thin-skinned, and can stand any moderate amount of ordinary newspaper abuse; but this imputation sought to be cast upon me is so outrageously unfair and unjust, that I cannot forbear asking you to grant me some considerable space in your paper for the detail of facts of an interesting character, which, I think, will exonerate me before the public, and show that I perhaps deserve their praise instead of censure.


On the 21st of July, the day of the battle of Bull Run, and some time after noon, as the Minnesota First was near the battle-field and just about entering upon it to assume the position where it fought so gallantly, the Chief Medical Director informed me that he wished me to establish my hospital at Sudley Church, situated near the battle-field, and where we could get plenty of water for the wounded, and also directed me to send forward my Assistant Surgeon, together with the hospital attendants, members of the Band, ambulances, litters, stretchers, &c., immediately in the rear of the regiment, so as to convey to me the wounded as soon as the temporary dressings had been applied on the field by my Assistant – as all the amputations, and such other operations as might be necessary, were to be performed exclusively at the hospital.


Having sent forward the assistants and ambulances, there being as yet no duty for me to perform, I went upon the battle field, and was immediately in the rear of my regiment when it first came under and returned fire.


The first man of our regiment brought to me wounded had his arm nearly shot off, and I took him in an ambulance and went with him to the Church Hospital; and before I got his arm dressed the wounded were poured in thick upon me, until I had all and more than I could attend to, especially as no temporary dressings had been applied to the men on the field!


While working among my wounded – there being at that time over fifty of our brave Minnesotians stretched bleeding and ghastly upon the grass, under the trees of the beautiful grove wherein the hospital was located, a mounted officer of Gen. McDowell’s staff suddenly rode up to the door of the church and loudly cried out to us: – “We’re whipped to death – a retreat has been ordered – retreat immediately!”


At this moment this was the condition of things at the church. There were in it, or lying immediately around it, on the grass, nearly five hundred wounded soldiers, nearly four hundred of which were our own men – all moaning and groaning with pain – some calling for “Water,” “Water,” “Just one drop of cold water!” Others, “O Doctor, come stop this bleeding or I’ll blead to death!” – “For God’s sake, Doctor, come and take off this arm,” or “this leg,” or “take out this ball,” &c.


When the officer was heard by them ordering the Surgeons and hospital attendants to “retreat” along with the army, I was in the midst of our Minnesota boys, attending to them, and the poor fellows cried out to me, “If you are going to leave us kill us first, the enemy will bayonet us as they did the wounded before” (referring to the skirmish of the 18th) and “Don’t let us live to be butchered by them;” while some of the enemies’ wounded, mainly Alabamians and Carolinians, also begged “For God’s sake, don’t leave us to die, without our wounds dressed, because we’re enemies.”


I replied to our Minnesota boys, that “I disbelieved the reports that the enemy bayoneted the wounded, and that in no event would I leave them or obey the order to retreat — this they might rely upon.”


Having thus calmed them somewhat, I went into the Church and got together with the other Surgeons, about twenty-five in all, and a brief consultation was had as to what we should do; when all but five or six concluded to run, and some of them forthwith went off at a double quick without so much as taking their instruments.


For myself I feel no regret that I deemed it my duty to be one of the few who deliberately stayed rather than the many who saved themselves from imprisonment, or from the necessity of giving their parole, by quickly retiring and leaving the wounded to bleed and expire unaided, at least by them.

If such conduct on my part be treason, the malignant souls, professional or what not, here, or at Washington, who covertly strike at me in newspapers or otherwise, may make the most of it.

I have only to say to those who were bereaved and afflicted in this State, by that awful battle, that their dear ones who were wounded received, night and day, every attention I could bestow; and of those of our brave boys who died at Sudley Church, it may comfort their wives, mothers and sisters a little to know that they died in my arms, and that no stranger wiped the death damp from their brows, and caught their last earthly gaze, and laid them tenderly and gently down into their humble graves beneath the tall cypress trees near the battle field where in every breeze are sung the requiems of Minnesota’s dead, who manfully fought to preserve the integrity of our Republic, and died under the “old flag.”


But it may be alleged that I staid because I had not time to escape, or the means of going. To this I would answer that I might have left along with our own regiment (the last to retreat), which did not reach the church on their way back in good order from the battle field, until the consultation among the surgeons before referred to was over, and most of the retreating doctors had already left. Long after our regiment had gone, there was, likewise, plenty of time for me to have retreated, as from this period fully an hour elapsed before the enemy appeared at the church door, and cut off all escape had any one still intended to fly. Not only was there thus plenty of time in which to get away, but I had the means of rapid locomotion away from all imprisonment and all danger, to where no parole would be required of me – to Washington, instead of to Richmond – on a good horse, which ready saddled and fully equipped for the road, was standing awaiting me at the church door. I had only to mount and away, and no doubt would have been praised for a lucky dog, by those meaner sort of people who now censure me for not doing that which they, no doubt, would have done – run away from their duty.


But, to continue. Between six and seven o’clock the enemy appeared, (having by that time, it seems, found out he had a victory, or, at all events, that our Army was falling back.) I was outside the church on my knees extracting a Minie ball out of the head of an Alabamian, when a squad of cavalry rode up to the church. It was commanded by Lieut. Cummings, of Col. Stewart’s Virginia Cavalry, who, leaning from his horse and placing a pistol at my head, and cocking it with a sort of disagreeable “click,” said: “I demand you to surrender.”


I had just cut down to the ball and felt indignant at his treatment, especially as he saw me engaged so busily. I drew my head out of the range of his pistol and said to him sharply: “Use a little more care in the handling of that article, as my experience the past few hours makes me extremely sensitive to the even careless use of fire arms.” He retorted, “God d — n your soul, answer me more civil, or I will put a bullet through your head!”

This piece of agreeable information, accompanied by his very prepossessing appearance and amiable manner, induced me to request him, politely, to defer that little operation until I had completed mine – my language being: “Just wait, Sir, first, until I extract this bullet out of this patient’s head, as he is one of your own men, of the Fourth Alabama.”

He immediately replied, “I beg your pardon,” and did manage to wait until I had extracted the ball.


In a few seconds I had the Minie in my hand, and the Lieutenant then very politely asked me if “I would give my word of honor not to escape.”

I replied, “I have voluntarily remained to take care of my wounded, and, of course, will not leave them,” and I so pledged myself.

He then wished me to pledge that “none of the other Surgeons and attendants would escape.”

I said, “they could speak for themselves – I would call them out of the church.”

I went in and called them out. He rode up to the door and asked them “to give their parole not to escape,” which they readily did.


I might as well here mention that, some fifteen minutes previous to Lieut. Cumming’s arrival, I had told my orderly, private Williams, to take my horse and make his escape, if he could, but the same cavalry had intercepted his retreat by a short cut, and brought both him and the horse to the hospital with them, which was the last I saw of either until I met Mr. Williams a prisoner in the tobacco warehouse at Richmond.


Having in this manner formally surrendered, the attending Surgeons busied themselves taking care of the wounded during all of Sunday night and all of Monday, but in the afternoon of Monday we were notified by Col. Stewart, of the Virginia Cavalry, that the orders from head-quarters were to take us to Gen. Beauregard, at Manassas Junction, some ten miles distant; for which point five or six of us were started at between five and six o’clock in a small one horse two wheeled, rickety old ambulance or cart, with the bottom partly out, no seats, over a miserable road, the night very dark, and the rain pouring down in torrents, as it had been doing ever since the latter part of Sunday night, and continued in fact to do so most incessantly until Tuesday morning. On our journey we were under the charge of Lieut. Cummings and a squad of his cavalry. Along with us, following in the rear, was another ambulance, a two horse, four-wheeled affair, loaded with other prisoners, non-medical officers of our army.


Our course of travel lay over the battle field and on the road leading from it. As long as daylight permitted us to see, which was until we reached to within three miles or so of Manassas, we noticed that the dead of the enemy, men and horses, were continually scattered, and yet unburied, over the whole route, and that squads of rebels were busy hunting up their wounded, placing them in common transportation wagons without springs, and sending them forward to the Junction.


At intervals we would be challenged by parties of their irregular cavalry, and two or three times were stopped, and it was demanded of us “who we were,” and “where we were going,” in every case meeting with the most gross, wanton and ferocious insults and curses from the “chivalry.” Nor did we receive this savage treatment from coarse, uneducated, uncultivated men. The worst case occurred while we were being driven some few rods in advance of our escort, which had stopped behind for a few moments, for some purpose or other. A horseman with a rifle slung across his shoulder, rode up in front and compelled us to stop, and asked who we were and where we were going; and, though by his language, evidently a man of education, and one who could probably, on a pinch, put on the outside manners of civilization, he commenced a barbarian tirade of abuse, calling us d — d lazy Yankee s–s of b —- s, “why don’t you go and bury your dead and gather up your wounded; you ought to be shot;” – making at the same time a motion as if he would unsling his rifle from his shoulder. Being prisoners, unarmed, in the midst of the enemy, several of his “chivalric” fellows, over whom he seemed to have some command, having come up in the meantime, of course there was nothing for us to do but explain, as we did, quietly and calmly, though our blood was boiling, that we were prisoners of war, without volition of our own, that we had solicited permission to go upon the field and attend to our wounded and dead, but the Confederate commanders had refused us.


I would here observe particularly that this was the fact – we had formally asked the rebel officers who came to us at Sudley Church, some of them of high position, to allow us to search the battle field over for our wounded and dead; but was peremptorily and altogether refused. I would likewise state in this connection, that the rebel loss in killed and wounded was very heavy – by their own admission to us surgeons, much heavier than our own, as well on account of the superiority of our arms, all minie rifles and muskets, and the more skillful practice of our artillery and small arms (they complimented the shooting of the Minnesotians) as from the fact that they thought they were going to be defeated in the early part of the battle and undertook to remove their wounded ten miles to Manassas, which, over such a road and in common lumber wagons, occasioned a great fatality, especially as minie bullets make no trifle of a wound. The refusal to let us go over the field was, perhaps, dictated somewhat by a reluctance to allow us to see the extent of their loss and, partly, that we should not view their position, which they did not know but they would require immediately again for another battle; for it is a fact, that they did not know of the panic which seized our whole army, nor the extent of its demoralization, and that for several days they were daily and nightly in expectation of our advance again, with reinforcements.


But to resume. Lieut. Cummings having come up, further explained our purpose in travelling to Manassas to the cowardly Virginian who could so grossly insult men in our situation; and we then proceeded on our journey without further molestation. It was about here we were told that two of our wounded men had been picked up, and were in one of the lumber wagons; from which we heard them ordered to be transferred to the covered ambulance behind us, and taken along with us to the Junction; but we did not see them, not being allowed to get out of our vehicle.


We reached Manassas about 10 o’clock; and, after waiting there in the cart about two hours, in the rain, were ordered to get out, and go up on the long porch of the little low, old fashioned country house, where Beauregard had his headquarters.


On the porch a table was set, and being invited to partake of viands, we sat down and drank of its coffee and eat of its crackers (all there was) with, on my part, an appetite slightly enhanced by my nearly forty hours of enforced abstinence from all food, and by our wet to the skin and shivering condition generally. Supper over, and mid-night having come, an Aid of Beauregard appeared and said he was very sorry we were brought down – it was done under a mistake – and as it was late the General could not see us before morning. Anathematizing such a “mistake” to the bottom of our hearts, we were next shown into a small neighboring barn, where, in the midst of wounded and dying Confederates, and of the members of the guard not on duty, we laid down on the barn floor, on which was a slight sprinkling of hay, and without covering of any kind, and our clothes all wet through, slept, or tried to sleep, until morning; but the cursing and quarreling amongst the guard, and the changing of sentinels every two or three hours, “murdered sleep” most effectually.


In the morning, on going from the barn over to Beauregard’s head-quarters, I passed in the barn-yard, the four wheeled ambulance which had accompanied us from the battle field the night before. Observing that two men were lying in it, I looked in curiously to see who they were, when to my astonishment, I found them to be two of our own “boys” – private Cannon, of Company I, (the same whose wounded leg Capt. Pell, when ordered so peremptorily to retreat, stopped behind to bind up before he left him) and Corporal Pierson, of Company B, of Stillwater, who had received two balls through his right thigh, fracturing the bone. The astonishment of the poor fellows even surpassed my own, for they did not imagine I was within fifty miles of them; and the joy of all three of us at the meeting cannot be adequately expressed. They had lain out in the rain on the field all Sunday night and managed to crawl during Monday between two and three miles from where they fell, towards Manassas, to the spot where the rebels had picked them up. They were the same two men we had ordered to be transferred to the ambulance, on our night journey, in which they were compelled to sleep all night, having their blankets to cover them. I immediately procured their removal to one of the Confederate hospitals, where I dressed their wounds, and left them pretty comfortable, and I did not behold them again until I saw them at a hospital in Richmond, some two weeks afterwards; and when I left the city to come home, Cannon was nearly recovered, and Pierson doing as well as could be expected of a man with a fractured thigh,


Returning to our quarters in the barn, we partook of breakfast, consisting of cold cooked flitch and crackers, but without drink, all of which we understood had been sent us from the General’s quarters.


We were now waited upon by Col. Preston, one of Beauregard’s staff, who brought the parole, before quoted, and so much carped at, for us to sign.

Holding the paper in his hand, Col. Preston said to us: “Gentlemen, I have here for your signatures, the parole usually required of prisoners of war; and the surgeons only are to be allowed to sign it.” (There were other of our Army officers present.)

He then read it to us. After he had finished the reading, the privilege was asked of examining and reading it for ourselves. It was handed to us, and being satisfied as to its exact nature, I asked for the rest that we might take it with us, and retire by ourselves and consult as to what we should do. Col. Preston replied, “Certainly, take what time you want.”


On this we went inside the barn, and in one corner of it, by ourselves, held our consultation. In about fifteen minutes we returned, and addressed him as follows:

“Sir, will you allow us to return to Sudley Church, and attend to our wounded there, and wait a few days before signing this parole, to see if our Government does not send to make arrangements for our protection, for the burial of our dead and the care of our wounded?”

Colonel P. – (with emphasis) answered, “No! I am authorized to present this parole for your signatures now – and cannot promise that another opportunity will be afforded for this purpose after this morning; the object of your signing it is to allow you to return and take care of your wounded if you desire to do so.”

The conversation was further carried on by myself, as senior Surgeon, speaking for the rest as follows:

Surgeon – “Is signing that parole the only condition on which we will be allowed to go back and attend to our wounded?”

Colonel P. – “It is, Sir.”

Surgeon – “What disposition is to be made of us if we do not sign it?”

Colonel P. – “I am not authorized to say – I am only authorized to speak with you as to your signing this parole – to the medical officers only.”

Surgeon – “We ask you, then (not in your official capacity in this particular duty but) as an officer, what will be done with us if we do not sign it?”

Colonel P. – “You are prisoners of war, and prisoners of war are placed under guard and sent to Richmond at once.”


We now asked and obtained permission to again retire and consult together.

A good deal of feeling entered into our private discussions.

Two questions presented themselves. Four or five hundred of our wounded were lying in a critical condition in the Hospitals near the battle field, needing all our care and attention. If we signed the parole we could go back and attend to them, relieve their sufferings, and save the most of them from dying the death otherwise most probably inevitable. But, on the other hand, if we signed it, it practically cuts us off from our positions in the Army; and our chances of being soon exchanged so as to resume them would be much less than if we remained prisoners of war in the enemy’s hands. If we refused, however, to sign at all, we would become such prisoners of war, would be removed to Richmond at once, and our wounded would be in a great degree sacrificed. Some of us felt that we would rather sacrifice ourselves than that; but before deciding we returned to Col. Preston, when this conversation took place:

Surgeon Stewart – “Colonel, we have as yet come to no decision; but the wounded of my regiment at the Sudley Church Hospital being as four to one of any other there – over fifty – and having followed them nearly 2,000 miles as their medical attendant, I feel that it is my duty to go back and attend to them at any and all sacrifices. I dislike very much to sign this parole; and though I will new do so, it is only and rather than leave my men to die uncared for, or to be attended to by strangers merely.”

Col. P. – “Doctor, this is a matter that rests entirely with you all – you understand, it is a voluntary matter.”

I made no reply to this cool observation of that being a voluntary act to which they forced us by a combination of inexorable circumstances; but proceeded at once to sign the parole, in which I was followed by all my colleagues, the Surgeons of the Sudley Church Hospital.


We were then returned to cur Hospital at the battle field, our return being made in a more comfortable vehicle, and by a different route from that by which we had come.


On our arrival we were distressed to find that during our absence of about twenty four hours only, nearly twenty of our men had died, some of whom would almost certainly have been saved if the surgeons had not been removed so long away from them; and this melancholy fact confirmed us in the opinion that we had pursued the true path of duty in subscribing to the only course by which we were still allowed to give these who yet remained alive the benefit of all the skill and nursing we could bestow.


Thus we continued to do for some two weeks longer, when the Confederates deemed them sufficiently recovered to be removed to Richmond; and the next day they also compelled us to follow to the same city.


It is possible there are some who will think this tour of duty at Sudley Church was a pleasant one. After the rebels took their wounded away, there still remained between three and four hundred of our men to be cared for. The rain being over by Tuesday morning, the weather grew exceedingly warm, and the sun very powerful, and the whole atmosphere became loaded with the odor of decaying mortality from the unburied dead of the battle field, to which was added for our own immediate discomfort, the fetor from so many festering wounds immediately around us in the hospital. Besides this inconvenience, we had severe and exhausting labor day and night, and we had besides, for days after the battle, to provide sustenance for ourselves and men by sending out and purchasing food in the neighboring country, the surgeons contributing of their own private means as a fund for this purpose – without which we should all have starved. It was nearly a week before the Confederate commissariat became sufficiently organized and plentiful to ration us.


I would here say, in the spirit of awarding sheer justice even to enemies and traitors, that the officers of the enemy who visited us at the Church, all treated us well and considerately; and I may say the same of all their officials, the military, with whom we came in contact everywhere, saving and excepting the senior official before mentioned, who was superintending the collection of the wounded on the battle field, and excepting also the lower state of their mob, and the women of all ranks.


On reaching Manassas on our way to Richmond, we were stopped at headquarters, and had an interview with Beauregard, by whom we were politely treated, and who ascribed the condition our wounded had so soon attained to our remaining to take care of them. He then endorsed upon our parole the following:


The parole of these surgeons was taken to prevent the necessity of guarding them while they were attending to the enemy’s wounded, with the understanding that it was to be continued by the War Department after leaving here, and that they were to be permitted to return to their homes when their service would be no longer required, on the ground that they were non-combatants, and might have got off if they had imitated their fellow-officers.

(Signed,) P.G.T. BEAUREGARD,
General Commanding.


We were then placed in charge of a Lieutenant, and conveyed by railroad to Richmond; and after remaining there some several days were forwarded to Norfolk, and thence from Fortress Monroe to Washington City.


Here our conduct was generally approved by the Government, and especially approved by our acting Surgeon General, who told us he “was proud of us – we had nobly sustained the honor and credit of the profession;” and he at once granted us a furlough to recruit our health and energies for three months, unless by an exchange of prisoners we could be sooner ordered into active service.


One more matter, and I have done. An invidious comparison has been attempted to be instituted between Dr. Le Boutillier, the Assistant Surgeon, and myself, to my disadvantage. The statement of a few facts will put this all right before the public. The last I saw of Dr. Le Boutillier, until I met him in Richmond, was on the day of the battle, just before I ordered up the ambulances, and just as the regiment was going on the battle field; at which time he had with him a knapsack containing bandages for temporarily dressing the wounded on the field, and some stimulating beverages to enable those wounded who were very faint to reach the hospital. When the wounded began to come in freely upon me, noticing that no temporary bandages had been applied, I asked “what the Assistant Surgeon was doing?” and was told that he was gallantly fighting, having a musket, and was cheering on and rallying the men. The next news that came reported him wounded, and the next, that he was killed; and in this last belief I rested until two or three days after the battle, when on being introduced to a Confederate cavalry officer as the “Surgeon of the Minnesota First,” he remarked, that on the evening of the battle, between the battle field and Centreville, and between two and three miles distant from the former he had captured a man who, on being taken stated that he was the “Assistant Surgeon of the Minnesota First,” but that, as he had no uniform or commission, he had not credited him, and had sent him on with other prisoners to Richmond. From his description, I had no doubt it was Dr. LeB., and so told the officer. On reaching Richmond, I was exceedingly glad to greet once more, in life and health, my missing medical colleague; for, though a prisoner in the tobacco warehouse, he was safe and sound, without a wound, and in seemingly excellent health; and being duly recognized as a medical man, was assisting in attending the Federal wounded, who had just been brought to Richmond from our hospital.

When he found the Surgeons of our party were about leaving for home on their parole, he very naturally evinced an anxiety to accompany us; and expressed the belief that as soon as the surgeons left behind had got the wounded further on, and in good condition, the same privilege would be extended to him, when he would promptly avail himself of it, and that he would “probably not be more than two or three weeks behind me.” I said I thought so, too; and we bid each other good by, and parted.

This is the truth; and no one will be more surprised, when he hears it, at the falsehood in relation to his “refusing his parole!” than will the brave Assistant Surgeon of the Minnesota First.


And this is all I have to say, except to recommend those jealous, carping, fault-finding busy bodies, who are ever suggesting something wrong in the First Regiment, in its officers, its organization, or something else, that they had better enlist to carry a musket in the service of their country, than to be thus cruelly damaging the cause by slandering its defenders.

Surgeon of the First Minnesota Regiment.

(St. Paul, MN) Pioneer and Democrat, 8/30/1861

Clipping image

Contributed and transcribed by John Hennessy

Dr. Jacob Henry Stewart at

Dr. Jacob Henry Stewart at Fold3

Dr. Jacob Henry Stewart at FindAGrave

Jacob Henry Stewart at Wikipedia

Account of Asst. Surgeon Charles W. Le Boutillier



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