One ancestor died, one was permanently crippled, and one made it through fine.
My great-great grandfather Patrick Coleman saw about the worst the war had to offer: friendly fire incidents, pell-mell retreats, suicide assaults on entrenched positions, and finally capture and death in a prison camp.
He was a famine immigrant from Ireland. He enlisted at the very beginning of the war despite having a wife and two small children. He joined the 2nd New York Heavy Artillery, which was assigned to the forts around Washington.
Just before the Second Battle of Bull Run, he was in a small unit advancing in front of the main army when they ran into almost the entire Confederate Cavalry. They had to run most of the way back to Washington, losing several men, but he managed to get back.
Serving in the forts was actually a pretty cushy posting, since the Confederates only rarely threatened Washington. But in May 1864, during the Overland Campaign, Grant called up the Heavy Artillery units to serve as infantry to replace his massive losses at the Battle of the Wilderness. Coleman’s unit joined the campaign at the tail end of the Battle of Spotsylvania, where in the confusion they ended up exchanging fire with another Union regiment.
The worst battle he was in was Cold Harbor. Grant ordered repeated frontal assaults on entrenched Confederate lines, and the Union troops were just mowed down. According to some accounts, 6,000 Union troops fell in just the first 30 minutes. His division was in the middle of that carnage.
But they continued south. Coleman was captured while Grant was trying to encircle Petersburg, when his division was flanked by a surprise attack by the Confederates and 1,700 Union prisoners were taken, including him. A Confederate soldier wrote: “With a wild yell which rang out shrill and fierce through the gloomy pines, Mahone’s men burst upon the flank - a pealing volley, which roared along the whole front - a stream of wasting fire, under which the adverse left fell as one man - and the bronzed veterans swept forward, shriveling up Barlow’s division as lightning shrivels the dead leaves of autumn.”
He was sent to Andersonville Prison Camp, where the conditions were horrendous. After just two months he died of scurvy, and is buried in Georgia. Ironic for a Irish Famine refugee to basically die of starvation in his adopted country.
My German great-great-great-grandfather’s career was much shorter and might have been comical if he hadn’t ended up a cripple. He was a 40-year-old tailor who enlisted in the “5th German Rifles”, the 45th New York Infantry. He was posted to Annandale just south of Washington DC, and was captured in his unit’s very first skirmish with the enemy, when Confederate Cavalry dashed through the lines and scooped up a bunch of prisoners. Official reports remarked that the German troops didn’t fire a shot, and that there had been “free use of spirits” among them. So he was probably captured because he was too drunk to run.
He was also sent to a prison camp, but was released in an exchange six months later. But he contracted tuberculosis in the camp, and wasn’t able to do heavy work the rest of his life.
My Swiss great-great-grandfather served in the Union Cavalry in the Shenandoah Valley for about six months near the end of the war, but wasn’t involved in more than a few skirmishes since the major campaigns in the area were over by then.