NATHANIEL LIGHTNER
Nathaniel Lightner died at his home along the Baltimore pike about two miles from Gettysburg, Tuesday night, aged 87 years and 9 months.
Mr. Lightner died from internal injuries sustained on Monday morning. He was pulling over a tree which had blow down during Sunday's night storm, when his foot slipped and he fell across a stone with the tree on top of him. He was able to walk to the house where he was given immediate attention but death resulted Tuesday night.
He leaves his wife, Mrs. Nathaniel Lightner, two daughters, Mrs. James Little, of Gettysburg, and Mrs. Smith of Orrtanna, five sons, Frank, Hanson and Edward of Gettysburg; Wesley of Baltimore, and John of Dixon, Illinois.
Funeral services Friday morning at 10'oclock. Internment in Evergreen Cemetery.
Adams County News
{Gettysburg, Pennsylvania}
WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM DURING THE BATTLE
NATHANIEL LIGHTNER RECALLS SIGHTS AND SCENES ABOUT HIS HOME ON THE BALTIMORE PIKE
If the visitor to this memorable field of carnage will turn to the left from the Baltimore pike at the cemetery gate, and following the lines well marked by monuments &c.. over Culp's Hill, around the angle or bend, up past the the monument to Confederate dead of a Maryland regiment, down just Spangler's spring, and then west across the low ground and a little creek, along a county road for half a mile and will then turn to the right across the fields to a somewhat con(?) granite monument on the Baltimore pike again, he will have traveled half or, at any rate, a distant part of the field of this momentous of American Battles.
The stone informs him that here were Gen. Slocums headquarters. This area lying to the east of Cemetery Ridge, has in some sense a history of its own, quite distinct from that which transpired west of the ridge, and is crowded with scenes of thrilling interest and deadly struggle, only surpassed. If, indeed, surpassed by "Death's Valley" and the Bloody Angle." Across the road from the monument and a few rods further down, stands now and stood then a two-story farm house, the residence of Nathaniel Lightner, a carpenter, farmer-who at the present time is in his 87th year-whom I found mending a hay-rack, and from whom I elicited the following story of experiences that seem to be well worthy of appearing in print. Farmer Lightener is as honest as he is modest in his use of words, and will not allow that this is a story, but "facts, real facts." said he:
"I and my neighbor, old John Tawney, set in to mow my meadow back of the orchard on that morning, July 1, 1863. It was a sultry morning and after we had mowed awhile, Tawney Syas:
'I could do better if I had a little whiskey to drink."
"I can soon get you some," I replied and taking a jug I set off to the village to get some. On the way I fell in with Mr. William Young, another neighbor. When we got on the top of Cemetery Hill we saw a long line of smoke from camp fires over north along the Chambersburg pike the first we knew of the soldiers being about. We soon met people who said they thought there was going to be fighting out there. When we got to town everybody was talking about it and said it looked like something was going on out there. But they no suspicion of the flood of bloody was that would roll through their streets and up into their doorways and gardens before the day past. It was about 9 o'clock, William Young said:
"Lets go out on Seminary road and see what there is out there, anyway." When we go up on the hill we saw down to our left Union soldiers, Howard;s Corps, coming across the fields from Emmitsburg road. We stood there watching them move up, form lines, and take position under the hill. Directly a shell came whizzing over from the front and fell back toward the town. Young wanted to go but I insisted on staying a little longer. There was a great stir and commotion among the troops at once and they soon began to come pretty thick, and we left.
"We had not got half-way back to town when we met other Union troops pouring along the road and through the fields, coming out every street and alley and open spaces of the town, all rushing pell-mell forward, without any apparent order, with fixed bayonets, eager-eyed, stripped, perspiring and panting in the hot sun. They cursed us for being in the way, butted us back, and would have run right over us if we had not dodged out of their way. We crawled through among them as well as we could, dodging behind posts and buildings and gaining a run of a few yards whenever we could. We got separated, and I don't know how Young got home.
"A mad rush of more troops, wagons, and ambulance followed, filling up the streets, orchards, fields and every place. I did not reach home until 4 o'clock, trying with all my might all day. As I came down the pike home, I saw a red flag on the end of the house, and when I got nearer I saw my yard full of soldiers.
"Under an apple tree I found the surgeons with a man stretched out on our dining room table and cutting and sawing a leg off, and on the grass there lay a pile of limbs. I went around to the kitchen door. The floor was covered with wounded men. The stove was red hot and the men were baking and the men were cooking up everything in the house. They had taken full possession. My four barrels of Flour and everything in the cellar and Spring House were soon used up. My family had taken refuge in the Stable where I found them frightened and crying. The had (unreadable) out of the house and they did not knew what had become of me, I went back to the surgeon and asked him what I should do under the circumstances. Do you live here? he asked. Is this your place?, he asked. I told him it was. Go back, go back; take your family and go to the rear; this is all I can tell you, he said. and went on with his work. Can I get some clothing at least out of the house? I asked, Yes, if you can find any, he said.
I went in by his permission but could not find anything that had not been torn up and put to use-not even a dress of my wife's.
We set out with our children, six in number, and made our way back on foot as well as we could, among the oncoming troops and trains, four miles to a relative where I left them and returned about midnight to the neighborhood.
I managed late at night to find my way to my friend Tawney's garret where I spent the night as best as we could. About daybreak we slipped out and over through the bushes to (?) Hill, on the corner of my land There I found the Signal Corps had established headquarters. From that point I could look down on my place and saw what was going on.
I found Rufus Culp there and told him I was hungry; he had nothing to eat since the morning before. He was kind enough to get me some hard tack for me and mine. My wheat field and orchard were full of wagon trains, and a drove of beef cattle were being herded in the meadow.
I saw I could save nothing, so went back and moved my family nine miles further away, and came back and stayed with the Signal Corps until the battle was over.
"On the third day after the battle I got down to my house. There was not a board or rail of fencing left on the place. Not a chicken, pig, cow, or dog to be found. The government mules had eaten up the orchard of four year old trees down to the core. The (unreadable) was full of bottles and camp litter. There stood the bare shop. the house full of wounded men, and the old barn where Gen. Slocum had made his headquarters. In front of the barn sat a weary-looking lone officer, in blouse coat drying himself at a fire made by pieces of rails. That officer was Major General Slocum himself. Not an orderly was in sight. He looked dreary enough.
I found Col. Bebel in charge of the house, and asked him when he thought I could have my house again. He said he had no idea when he could vacate. We came back about a week later and lived gypsy-like in the shop for six weeks. The officers supplied us for a few days from the hospital store. Why did we stay? Why come back." What else could we do? We had no money to pay board, we had nothing and a large family to care for. We had been putting all our money into the place. We must set to work as fast as we could to fix it up and get ready for the winter.
"Six weeks later they took the last of the wounded away, and permitted us to live in it, but made us all sick. Toward spring I got a chance to take a stocked farm on shares, so I moved away and gave it to an old Dutchman, who did not seem to mind the smells and filth.
Nine years afterward I tore all the woodwork and plaster out and made the house new from the cellar to garret. Then we came back but my poor wife did not live long in our new home. She had never been well from the first we tried to live in it.
"It is awful," said the aged Mr. Lightner. "Everything suffers in time of war; people all suffer; domestic animals suffer; plants suffer and droop and die; the little birds are killed or frightened away from their nests and their young; the trees are torn by shot and shell or are cut down ruthlessly for fires and breastworks; grain and grass are eaten up or trodden into the ground in an hour; springs and wells are the soldiers boons and are quickly used to the last drop. The water even of that filthy, dirty creek over there, where thousands of cavalry and artillery horses were watered was greedily used by soldiers. War is all suffering. Why, over there, back of Power's Hill, the supply trains of some New York regiments and batteries were parked in a field. The mules stood in harness, without food or water for three days and two nights of the battle, ready to move at a moments notice. The mules and drivers were more like dead than living things. Over beyond the "Bloody Angle" I saw on Sunday after the battle six mules dead in harness to a Confederate gun, with not a spoke left in the wheels, all done by a shell. Fragments of men and animals lay scattered about everywhere. Over on Culp's Hill I saw the Union soldiers burying Confederate soldiers in trenches thirty or fourty feet long and only a few feet deep. They piled them in like cord wood.
Then, too, the Government arrested me. I must tell you about that. A Man came along from New York a few days after the battle and told the children he would buy any relics they could pick up. They got together some bullets, buckles, canteens, and the like and when he came back I dickered with him for them and sold him two or three dollars worth of things. Soon after a Colonel Blood, the meanest man in the world, came down to gather up government property, and he had me arrested. I told him how it was, that we had no idea of doing anything unlawful; but he was determined to make me all the trouble he could. He put me to considerable expense, but my neighbors got me off after a few days. That arrest is the only thing of it all that made me mad, and I am mad about it yet.
Gettysburg Compiler
{Gettysburg, Pennsylvania}
July 6 1910
Nathaniel Lightner died at his home along the Baltimore pike about two miles from Gettysburg, Tuesday night, aged 87 years and 9 months.
Mr. Lightner died from internal injuries sustained on Monday morning. He was pulling over a tree which had blow down during Sunday's night storm, when his foot slipped and he fell across a stone with the tree on top of him. He was able to walk to the house where he was given immediate attention but death resulted Tuesday night.
He leaves his wife, Mrs. Nathaniel Lightner, two daughters, Mrs. James Little, of Gettysburg, and Mrs. Smith of Orrtanna, five sons, Frank, Hanson and Edward of Gettysburg; Wesley of Baltimore, and John of Dixon, Illinois.
Funeral services Friday morning at 10'oclock. Internment in Evergreen Cemetery.
Adams County News
{Gettysburg, Pennsylvania}
WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM DURING THE BATTLE
NATHANIEL LIGHTNER RECALLS SIGHTS AND SCENES ABOUT HIS HOME ON THE BALTIMORE PIKE
If the visitor to this memorable field of carnage will turn to the left from the Baltimore pike at the cemetery gate, and following the lines well marked by monuments &c.. over Culp's Hill, around the angle or bend, up past the the monument to Confederate dead of a Maryland regiment, down just Spangler's spring, and then west across the low ground and a little creek, along a county road for half a mile and will then turn to the right across the fields to a somewhat con(?) granite monument on the Baltimore pike again, he will have traveled half or, at any rate, a distant part of the field of this momentous of American Battles.
The stone informs him that here were Gen. Slocums headquarters. This area lying to the east of Cemetery Ridge, has in some sense a history of its own, quite distinct from that which transpired west of the ridge, and is crowded with scenes of thrilling interest and deadly struggle, only surpassed. If, indeed, surpassed by "Death's Valley" and the Bloody Angle." Across the road from the monument and a few rods further down, stands now and stood then a two-story farm house, the residence of Nathaniel Lightner, a carpenter, farmer-who at the present time is in his 87th year-whom I found mending a hay-rack, and from whom I elicited the following story of experiences that seem to be well worthy of appearing in print. Farmer Lightener is as honest as he is modest in his use of words, and will not allow that this is a story, but "facts, real facts." said he:
"I and my neighbor, old John Tawney, set in to mow my meadow back of the orchard on that morning, July 1, 1863. It was a sultry morning and after we had mowed awhile, Tawney Syas:
'I could do better if I had a little whiskey to drink."
"I can soon get you some," I replied and taking a jug I set off to the village to get some. On the way I fell in with Mr. William Young, another neighbor. When we got on the top of Cemetery Hill we saw a long line of smoke from camp fires over north along the Chambersburg pike the first we knew of the soldiers being about. We soon met people who said they thought there was going to be fighting out there. When we got to town everybody was talking about it and said it looked like something was going on out there. But they no suspicion of the flood of bloody was that would roll through their streets and up into their doorways and gardens before the day past. It was about 9 o'clock, William Young said:
"Lets go out on Seminary road and see what there is out there, anyway." When we go up on the hill we saw down to our left Union soldiers, Howard;s Corps, coming across the fields from Emmitsburg road. We stood there watching them move up, form lines, and take position under the hill. Directly a shell came whizzing over from the front and fell back toward the town. Young wanted to go but I insisted on staying a little longer. There was a great stir and commotion among the troops at once and they soon began to come pretty thick, and we left.
"We had not got half-way back to town when we met other Union troops pouring along the road and through the fields, coming out every street and alley and open spaces of the town, all rushing pell-mell forward, without any apparent order, with fixed bayonets, eager-eyed, stripped, perspiring and panting in the hot sun. They cursed us for being in the way, butted us back, and would have run right over us if we had not dodged out of their way. We crawled through among them as well as we could, dodging behind posts and buildings and gaining a run of a few yards whenever we could. We got separated, and I don't know how Young got home.
"A mad rush of more troops, wagons, and ambulance followed, filling up the streets, orchards, fields and every place. I did not reach home until 4 o'clock, trying with all my might all day. As I came down the pike home, I saw a red flag on the end of the house, and when I got nearer I saw my yard full of soldiers.
"Under an apple tree I found the surgeons with a man stretched out on our dining room table and cutting and sawing a leg off, and on the grass there lay a pile of limbs. I went around to the kitchen door. The floor was covered with wounded men. The stove was red hot and the men were baking and the men were cooking up everything in the house. They had taken full possession. My four barrels of Flour and everything in the cellar and Spring House were soon used up. My family had taken refuge in the Stable where I found them frightened and crying. The had (unreadable) out of the house and they did not knew what had become of me, I went back to the surgeon and asked him what I should do under the circumstances. Do you live here? he asked. Is this your place?, he asked. I told him it was. Go back, go back; take your family and go to the rear; this is all I can tell you, he said. and went on with his work. Can I get some clothing at least out of the house? I asked, Yes, if you can find any, he said.
I went in by his permission but could not find anything that had not been torn up and put to use-not even a dress of my wife's.
We set out with our children, six in number, and made our way back on foot as well as we could, among the oncoming troops and trains, four miles to a relative where I left them and returned about midnight to the neighborhood.
I managed late at night to find my way to my friend Tawney's garret where I spent the night as best as we could. About daybreak we slipped out and over through the bushes to (?) Hill, on the corner of my land There I found the Signal Corps had established headquarters. From that point I could look down on my place and saw what was going on.
I found Rufus Culp there and told him I was hungry; he had nothing to eat since the morning before. He was kind enough to get me some hard tack for me and mine. My wheat field and orchard were full of wagon trains, and a drove of beef cattle were being herded in the meadow.
I saw I could save nothing, so went back and moved my family nine miles further away, and came back and stayed with the Signal Corps until the battle was over.
"On the third day after the battle I got down to my house. There was not a board or rail of fencing left on the place. Not a chicken, pig, cow, or dog to be found. The government mules had eaten up the orchard of four year old trees down to the core. The (unreadable) was full of bottles and camp litter. There stood the bare shop. the house full of wounded men, and the old barn where Gen. Slocum had made his headquarters. In front of the barn sat a weary-looking lone officer, in blouse coat drying himself at a fire made by pieces of rails. That officer was Major General Slocum himself. Not an orderly was in sight. He looked dreary enough.
I found Col. Bebel in charge of the house, and asked him when he thought I could have my house again. He said he had no idea when he could vacate. We came back about a week later and lived gypsy-like in the shop for six weeks. The officers supplied us for a few days from the hospital store. Why did we stay? Why come back." What else could we do? We had no money to pay board, we had nothing and a large family to care for. We had been putting all our money into the place. We must set to work as fast as we could to fix it up and get ready for the winter.
"Six weeks later they took the last of the wounded away, and permitted us to live in it, but made us all sick. Toward spring I got a chance to take a stocked farm on shares, so I moved away and gave it to an old Dutchman, who did not seem to mind the smells and filth.
Nine years afterward I tore all the woodwork and plaster out and made the house new from the cellar to garret. Then we came back but my poor wife did not live long in our new home. She had never been well from the first we tried to live in it.
"It is awful," said the aged Mr. Lightner. "Everything suffers in time of war; people all suffer; domestic animals suffer; plants suffer and droop and die; the little birds are killed or frightened away from their nests and their young; the trees are torn by shot and shell or are cut down ruthlessly for fires and breastworks; grain and grass are eaten up or trodden into the ground in an hour; springs and wells are the soldiers boons and are quickly used to the last drop. The water even of that filthy, dirty creek over there, where thousands of cavalry and artillery horses were watered was greedily used by soldiers. War is all suffering. Why, over there, back of Power's Hill, the supply trains of some New York regiments and batteries were parked in a field. The mules stood in harness, without food or water for three days and two nights of the battle, ready to move at a moments notice. The mules and drivers were more like dead than living things. Over beyond the "Bloody Angle" I saw on Sunday after the battle six mules dead in harness to a Confederate gun, with not a spoke left in the wheels, all done by a shell. Fragments of men and animals lay scattered about everywhere. Over on Culp's Hill I saw the Union soldiers burying Confederate soldiers in trenches thirty or fourty feet long and only a few feet deep. They piled them in like cord wood.
Then, too, the Government arrested me. I must tell you about that. A Man came along from New York a few days after the battle and told the children he would buy any relics they could pick up. They got together some bullets, buckles, canteens, and the like and when he came back I dickered with him for them and sold him two or three dollars worth of things. Soon after a Colonel Blood, the meanest man in the world, came down to gather up government property, and he had me arrested. I told him how it was, that we had no idea of doing anything unlawful; but he was determined to make me all the trouble he could. He put me to considerable expense, but my neighbors got me off after a few days. That arrest is the only thing of it all that made me mad, and I am mad about it yet.
Gettysburg Compiler
{Gettysburg, Pennsylvania}
July 6 1910
NATHANIEL LIGHTNER
Nathaniel Lightner died at his home along the Baltimore pike about two miles from Gettysburg, Tuesday night, aged 87 years and 9 months.
Mr. Lightner died from internal injuries sustained on Monday morning. He was pulling over a tree which had blow down during Sunday's night storm, when his foot slipped and he fell across a stone with the tree on top of him. He was able to walk to the house where he was given immediate attention but death resulted Tuesday night.
He leaves his wife, Mrs. Nathaniel Lightner, two daughters, Mrs. James Little, of Gettysburg, and Mrs. Smith of Orrtanna, five sons, Frank, Hanson and Edward of Gettysburg; Wesley of Baltimore, and John of Dixon, Illinois.
Funeral services Friday morning at 10'oclock. Internment in Evergreen Cemetery.
Adams County News
{Gettysburg, Pennsylvania}
WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM DURING THE BATTLE
NATHANIEL LIGHTNER RECALLS SIGHTS AND SCENES ABOUT HIS HOME ON THE BALTIMORE PIKE
If the visitor to this memorable field of carnage will turn to the left from the Baltimore pike at the cemetery gate, and following the lines well marked by monuments &c.. over Culp's Hill, around the angle or bend, up past the the monument to Confederate dead of a Maryland regiment, down just Spangler's spring, and then west across the low ground and a little creek, along a county road for half a mile and will then turn to the right across the fields to a somewhat con(?) granite monument on the Baltimore pike again, he will have traveled half or, at any rate, a distant part of the field of this momentous of American Battles.
The stone informs him that here were Gen. Slocums headquarters. This area lying to the east of Cemetery Ridge, has in some sense a history of its own, quite distinct from that which transpired west of the ridge, and is crowded with scenes of thrilling interest and deadly struggle, only surpassed. If, indeed, surpassed by "Death's Valley" and the Bloody Angle." Across the road from the monument and a few rods further down, stands now and stood then a two-story farm house, the residence of Nathaniel Lightner, a carpenter, farmer-who at the present time is in his 87th year-whom I found mending a hay-rack, and from whom I elicited the following story of experiences that seem to be well worthy of appearing in print. Farmer Lightener is as honest as he is modest in his use of words, and will not allow that this is a story, but "facts, real facts." said he:
"I and my neighbor, old John Tawney, set in to mow my meadow back of the orchard on that morning, July 1, 1863. It was a sultry morning and after we had mowed awhile, Tawney Syas:
'I could do better if I had a little whiskey to drink."
"I can soon get you some," I replied and taking a jug I set off to the village to get some. On the way I fell in with Mr. William Young, another neighbor. When we got on the top of Cemetery Hill we saw a long line of smoke from camp fires over north along the Chambersburg pike the first we knew of the soldiers being about. We soon met people who said they thought there was going to be fighting out there. When we got to town everybody was talking about it and said it looked like something was going on out there. But they no suspicion of the flood of bloody was that would roll through their streets and up into their doorways and gardens before the day past. It was about 9 o'clock, William Young said:
"Lets go out on Seminary road and see what there is out there, anyway." When we go up on the hill we saw down to our left Union soldiers, Howard;s Corps, coming across the fields from Emmitsburg road. We stood there watching them move up, form lines, and take position under the hill. Directly a shell came whizzing over from the front and fell back toward the town. Young wanted to go but I insisted on staying a little longer. There was a great stir and commotion among the troops at once and they soon began to come pretty thick, and we left.
"We had not got half-way back to town when we met other Union troops pouring along the road and through the fields, coming out every street and alley and open spaces of the town, all rushing pell-mell forward, without any apparent order, with fixed bayonets, eager-eyed, stripped, perspiring and panting in the hot sun. They cursed us for being in the way, butted us back, and would have run right over us if we had not dodged out of their way. We crawled through among them as well as we could, dodging behind posts and buildings and gaining a run of a few yards whenever we could. We got separated, and I don't know how Young got home.
"A mad rush of more troops, wagons, and ambulance followed, filling up the streets, orchards, fields and every place. I did not reach home until 4 o'clock, trying with all my might all day. As I came down the pike home, I saw a red flag on the end of the house, and when I got nearer I saw my yard full of soldiers.
"Under an apple tree I found the surgeons with a man stretched out on our dining room table and cutting and sawing a leg off, and on the grass there lay a pile of limbs. I went around to the kitchen door. The floor was covered with wounded men. The stove was red hot and the men were baking and the men were cooking up everything in the house. They had taken full possession. My four barrels of Flour and everything in the cellar and Spring House were soon used up. My family had taken refuge in the Stable where I found them frightened and crying. The had (unreadable) out of the house and they did not knew what had become of me, I went back to the surgeon and asked him what I should do under the circumstances. Do you live here? he asked. Is this your place?, he asked. I told him it was. Go back, go back; take your family and go to the rear; this is all I can tell you, he said. and went on with his work. Can I get some clothing at least out of the house? I asked, Yes, if you can find any, he said.
I went in by his permission but could not find anything that had not been torn up and put to use-not even a dress of my wife's.
We set out with our children, six in number, and made our way back on foot as well as we could, among the oncoming troops and trains, four miles to a relative where I left them and returned about midnight to the neighborhood.
I managed late at night to find my way to my friend Tawney's garret where I spent the night as best as we could. About daybreak we slipped out and over through the bushes to (?) Hill, on the corner of my land There I found the Signal Corps had established headquarters. From that point I could look down on my place and saw what was going on.
I found Rufus Culp there and told him I was hungry; he had nothing to eat since the morning before. He was kind enough to get me some hard tack for me and mine. My wheat field and orchard were full of wagon trains, and a drove of beef cattle were being herded in the meadow.
I saw I could save nothing, so went back and moved my family nine miles further away, and came back and stayed with the Signal Corps until the battle was over.
"On the third day after the battle I got down to my house. There was not a board or rail of fencing left on the place. Not a chicken, pig, cow, or dog to be found. The government mules had eaten up the orchard of four year old trees down to the core. The (unreadable) was full of bottles and camp litter. There stood the bare shop. the house full of wounded men, and the old barn where Gen. Slocum had made his headquarters. In front of the barn sat a weary-looking lone officer, in blouse coat drying himself at a fire made by pieces of rails. That officer was Major General Slocum himself. Not an orderly was in sight. He looked dreary enough.
I found Col. Bebel in charge of the house, and asked him when he thought I could have my house again. He said he had no idea when he could vacate. We came back about a week later and lived gypsy-like in the shop for six weeks. The officers supplied us for a few days from the hospital store. Why did we stay? Why come back." What else could we do? We had no money to pay board, we had nothing and a large family to care for. We had been putting all our money into the place. We must set to work as fast as we could to fix it up and get ready for the winter.
"Six weeks later they took the last of the wounded away, and permitted us to live in it, but made us all sick. Toward spring I got a chance to take a stocked farm on shares, so I moved away and gave it to an old Dutchman, who did not seem to mind the smells and filth.
Nine years afterward I tore all the woodwork and plaster out and made the house new from the cellar to garret. Then we came back but my poor wife did not live long in our new home. She had never been well from the first we tried to live in it.
"It is awful," said the aged Mr. Lightner. "Everything suffers in time of war; people all suffer; domestic animals suffer; plants suffer and droop and die; the little birds are killed or frightened away from their nests and their young; the trees are torn by shot and shell or are cut down ruthlessly for fires and breastworks; grain and grass are eaten up or trodden into the ground in an hour; springs and wells are the soldiers boons and are quickly used to the last drop. The water even of that filthy, dirty creek over there, where thousands of cavalry and artillery horses were watered was greedily used by soldiers. War is all suffering. Why, over there, back of Power's Hill, the supply trains of some New York regiments and batteries were parked in a field. The mules stood in harness, without food or water for three days and two nights of the battle, ready to move at a moments notice. The mules and drivers were more like dead than living things. Over beyond the "Bloody Angle" I saw on Sunday after the battle six mules dead in harness to a Confederate gun, with not a spoke left in the wheels, all done by a shell. Fragments of men and animals lay scattered about everywhere. Over on Culp's Hill I saw the Union soldiers burying Confederate soldiers in trenches thirty or fourty feet long and only a few feet deep. They piled them in like cord wood.
Then, too, the Government arrested me. I must tell you about that. A Man came along from New York a few days after the battle and told the children he would buy any relics they could pick up. They got together some bullets, buckles, canteens, and the like and when he came back I dickered with him for them and sold him two or three dollars worth of things. Soon after a Colonel Blood, the meanest man in the world, came down to gather up government property, and he had me arrested. I told him how it was, that we had no idea of doing anything unlawful; but he was determined to make me all the trouble he could. He put me to considerable expense, but my neighbors got me off after a few days. That arrest is the only thing of it all that made me mad, and I am mad about it yet.
Gettysburg Compiler
{Gettysburg, Pennsylvania}
July 6 1910
Nathaniel Lightner died at his home along the Baltimore pike about two miles from Gettysburg, Tuesday night, aged 87 years and 9 months.
Mr. Lightner died from internal injuries sustained on Monday morning. He was pulling over a tree which had blow down during Sunday's night storm, when his foot slipped and he fell across a stone with the tree on top of him. He was able to walk to the house where he was given immediate attention but death resulted Tuesday night.
He leaves his wife, Mrs. Nathaniel Lightner, two daughters, Mrs. James Little, of Gettysburg, and Mrs. Smith of Orrtanna, five sons, Frank, Hanson and Edward of Gettysburg; Wesley of Baltimore, and John of Dixon, Illinois.
Funeral services Friday morning at 10'oclock. Internment in Evergreen Cemetery.
Adams County News
{Gettysburg, Pennsylvania}
WHAT HAPPENED TO HIM DURING THE BATTLE
NATHANIEL LIGHTNER RECALLS SIGHTS AND SCENES ABOUT HIS HOME ON THE BALTIMORE PIKE
If the visitor to this memorable field of carnage will turn to the left from the Baltimore pike at the cemetery gate, and following the lines well marked by monuments &c.. over Culp's Hill, around the angle or bend, up past the the monument to Confederate dead of a Maryland regiment, down just Spangler's spring, and then west across the low ground and a little creek, along a county road for half a mile and will then turn to the right across the fields to a somewhat con(?) granite monument on the Baltimore pike again, he will have traveled half or, at any rate, a distant part of the field of this momentous of American Battles.
The stone informs him that here were Gen. Slocums headquarters. This area lying to the east of Cemetery Ridge, has in some sense a history of its own, quite distinct from that which transpired west of the ridge, and is crowded with scenes of thrilling interest and deadly struggle, only surpassed. If, indeed, surpassed by "Death's Valley" and the Bloody Angle." Across the road from the monument and a few rods further down, stands now and stood then a two-story farm house, the residence of Nathaniel Lightner, a carpenter, farmer-who at the present time is in his 87th year-whom I found mending a hay-rack, and from whom I elicited the following story of experiences that seem to be well worthy of appearing in print. Farmer Lightener is as honest as he is modest in his use of words, and will not allow that this is a story, but "facts, real facts." said he:
"I and my neighbor, old John Tawney, set in to mow my meadow back of the orchard on that morning, July 1, 1863. It was a sultry morning and after we had mowed awhile, Tawney Syas:
'I could do better if I had a little whiskey to drink."
"I can soon get you some," I replied and taking a jug I set off to the village to get some. On the way I fell in with Mr. William Young, another neighbor. When we got on the top of Cemetery Hill we saw a long line of smoke from camp fires over north along the Chambersburg pike the first we knew of the soldiers being about. We soon met people who said they thought there was going to be fighting out there. When we got to town everybody was talking about it and said it looked like something was going on out there. But they no suspicion of the flood of bloody was that would roll through their streets and up into their doorways and gardens before the day past. It was about 9 o'clock, William Young said:
"Lets go out on Seminary road and see what there is out there, anyway." When we go up on the hill we saw down to our left Union soldiers, Howard;s Corps, coming across the fields from Emmitsburg road. We stood there watching them move up, form lines, and take position under the hill. Directly a shell came whizzing over from the front and fell back toward the town. Young wanted to go but I insisted on staying a little longer. There was a great stir and commotion among the troops at once and they soon began to come pretty thick, and we left.
"We had not got half-way back to town when we met other Union troops pouring along the road and through the fields, coming out every street and alley and open spaces of the town, all rushing pell-mell forward, without any apparent order, with fixed bayonets, eager-eyed, stripped, perspiring and panting in the hot sun. They cursed us for being in the way, butted us back, and would have run right over us if we had not dodged out of their way. We crawled through among them as well as we could, dodging behind posts and buildings and gaining a run of a few yards whenever we could. We got separated, and I don't know how Young got home.
"A mad rush of more troops, wagons, and ambulance followed, filling up the streets, orchards, fields and every place. I did not reach home until 4 o'clock, trying with all my might all day. As I came down the pike home, I saw a red flag on the end of the house, and when I got nearer I saw my yard full of soldiers.
"Under an apple tree I found the surgeons with a man stretched out on our dining room table and cutting and sawing a leg off, and on the grass there lay a pile of limbs. I went around to the kitchen door. The floor was covered with wounded men. The stove was red hot and the men were baking and the men were cooking up everything in the house. They had taken full possession. My four barrels of Flour and everything in the cellar and Spring House were soon used up. My family had taken refuge in the Stable where I found them frightened and crying. The had (unreadable) out of the house and they did not knew what had become of me, I went back to the surgeon and asked him what I should do under the circumstances. Do you live here? he asked. Is this your place?, he asked. I told him it was. Go back, go back; take your family and go to the rear; this is all I can tell you, he said. and went on with his work. Can I get some clothing at least out of the house? I asked, Yes, if you can find any, he said.
I went in by his permission but could not find anything that had not been torn up and put to use-not even a dress of my wife's.
We set out with our children, six in number, and made our way back on foot as well as we could, among the oncoming troops and trains, four miles to a relative where I left them and returned about midnight to the neighborhood.
I managed late at night to find my way to my friend Tawney's garret where I spent the night as best as we could. About daybreak we slipped out and over through the bushes to (?) Hill, on the corner of my land There I found the Signal Corps had established headquarters. From that point I could look down on my place and saw what was going on.
I found Rufus Culp there and told him I was hungry; he had nothing to eat since the morning before. He was kind enough to get me some hard tack for me and mine. My wheat field and orchard were full of wagon trains, and a drove of beef cattle were being herded in the meadow.
I saw I could save nothing, so went back and moved my family nine miles further away, and came back and stayed with the Signal Corps until the battle was over.
"On the third day after the battle I got down to my house. There was not a board or rail of fencing left on the place. Not a chicken, pig, cow, or dog to be found. The government mules had eaten up the orchard of four year old trees down to the core. The (unreadable) was full of bottles and camp litter. There stood the bare shop. the house full of wounded men, and the old barn where Gen. Slocum had made his headquarters. In front of the barn sat a weary-looking lone officer, in blouse coat drying himself at a fire made by pieces of rails. That officer was Major General Slocum himself. Not an orderly was in sight. He looked dreary enough.
I found Col. Bebel in charge of the house, and asked him when he thought I could have my house again. He said he had no idea when he could vacate. We came back about a week later and lived gypsy-like in the shop for six weeks. The officers supplied us for a few days from the hospital store. Why did we stay? Why come back." What else could we do? We had no money to pay board, we had nothing and a large family to care for. We had been putting all our money into the place. We must set to work as fast as we could to fix it up and get ready for the winter.
"Six weeks later they took the last of the wounded away, and permitted us to live in it, but made us all sick. Toward spring I got a chance to take a stocked farm on shares, so I moved away and gave it to an old Dutchman, who did not seem to mind the smells and filth.
Nine years afterward I tore all the woodwork and plaster out and made the house new from the cellar to garret. Then we came back but my poor wife did not live long in our new home. She had never been well from the first we tried to live in it.
"It is awful," said the aged Mr. Lightner. "Everything suffers in time of war; people all suffer; domestic animals suffer; plants suffer and droop and die; the little birds are killed or frightened away from their nests and their young; the trees are torn by shot and shell or are cut down ruthlessly for fires and breastworks; grain and grass are eaten up or trodden into the ground in an hour; springs and wells are the soldiers boons and are quickly used to the last drop. The water even of that filthy, dirty creek over there, where thousands of cavalry and artillery horses were watered was greedily used by soldiers. War is all suffering. Why, over there, back of Power's Hill, the supply trains of some New York regiments and batteries were parked in a field. The mules stood in harness, without food or water for three days and two nights of the battle, ready to move at a moments notice. The mules and drivers were more like dead than living things. Over beyond the "Bloody Angle" I saw on Sunday after the battle six mules dead in harness to a Confederate gun, with not a spoke left in the wheels, all done by a shell. Fragments of men and animals lay scattered about everywhere. Over on Culp's Hill I saw the Union soldiers burying Confederate soldiers in trenches thirty or fourty feet long and only a few feet deep. They piled them in like cord wood.
Then, too, the Government arrested me. I must tell you about that. A Man came along from New York a few days after the battle and told the children he would buy any relics they could pick up. They got together some bullets, buckles, canteens, and the like and when he came back I dickered with him for them and sold him two or three dollars worth of things. Soon after a Colonel Blood, the meanest man in the world, came down to gather up government property, and he had me arrested. I told him how it was, that we had no idea of doing anything unlawful; but he was determined to make me all the trouble he could. He put me to considerable expense, but my neighbors got me off after a few days. That arrest is the only thing of it all that made me mad, and I am mad about it yet.
Gettysburg Compiler
{Gettysburg, Pennsylvania}
July 6 1910
Gravesite Details
HIS HOUSE STILL STANDS ALONG THE BALTIMORE PIKE. GEORGE SANDOE WITH THE 21ST PA CAVALRY WAS SHOT DEAD ON HIS PROPERTY. ONE OF THE FIRST CASUALTIES OF THE BATTLE
