The Wounded From Chancellorsville

“The men, whatever their condition, lie there, and patiently wait till their turn comes to be taken up. Near by, the ambulances are now arriving in clusters, and one after another is call'd to back up and take its load. Extreme cases are sent off on stretchers. The men generally make little or no ado, whatever their sufferings. A few groans that cannot be suppress'd, and occasionally a scream of pain as they lift a man into the ambulance.”

This stark description of the wounded from Chancellorsville—a battle fought between the armies of General Robert E. Lee and Major General Joseph Hooker, considered the former’s greatest success in the Civil War—reminded me of this spirited passage from “Song of Myself:”

With music strong I come, with my cornets and my

        drums,

I play not marches for accepted victors only, I play

        marches for conquer’d and slain persons.

Have you heard that it was good to gain the day?

I also say it is good to fall, battles are lost in the same spirit

          in which they are won.

That the soldiers are patient in their agony and “make little or no ado, whatever their sufferings” is tragic, but it seems to reiterate the last two lines quoted here, which suggest, in a way, that the defeated are as triumphant and honorable as the victorious. Similarly, despite everything, there’s strength and, to a certain extent, dignity to be found in the utterly wretched scene that Whitman records (I could possibly be reading too much into it, I don’t know). However, I’m also tempted to feel that there’s no dignity at all here, and nor would you have seen it among the Condederate wounded (Lee’s army lost a total of 12,764 men at Chancellorsville—hardly a victory, I should say). The scene is hopeless, and worst of all, it feels completely meaningless.

                                                                                Matthew Brady, 1863--Battle of Gettysburg

I am in fact reminded of Matthew Brady's photographs that documented the Civil War, specifically those  that show the battlefields and the dead wasted and wrecked in the fields. Brady’s photographs hardly idealize the dead —they are face down in the dirt, upturned with their heads blow off, lying ontop of one another in mass graves, or looking toward the camera with twisted, broken faces. The photographs are invariably desolate, and when you see the men scattered across the ground, you hardly think "honor" or "dignity" or "triumphant." Battles may be lost in the same spirit which they are won, but that spirit feels, like I said before, meaningless.