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Jacob C. Miller, August 4, 1840-January 13, 1917. formerly a private in company K 9th Indiana Vol. Inf. was wounded in the head near the Brock Field at the Battle of Chickamauga on the morning of September 19, 1863.

On this site there is a years long discussion about the relative lethality of rifled muskets vs smoothbores firing buck & ball, a musket ball & three buck shot. At a range of about 100 yards, buck & ball could be lethal. Beyond that range, the round lost velocity very quickly. During tests conducted during the Civil War, the buck shot would not even penetrate the paper of a target at longer ranges. Private Jacob Miller is, without a doubt, the most singular example of the low lethality of buck & ball that it is possible to imagine.



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Buck & Ball rounds consisted of a single round musket ball & three buckshot. It was intended to compensate for the inaccuracy of smoothbore muskets.

Private Jacob C. Miller was awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor for gallantry in the charge of the volunteer storming party on 22 May 1863, while serving with Company G, 113th Illinois Infantry, in action at Vicksburg, Mississippi. He was awarded the metal on August 20, 1894. Perhaps uniquely, the Metal of Honor is by far not the most remarkable of Miller’s wartime experiences.

The Daily News of Joliet, Illinois on Wednesday June 14, 1911 featured a story entitled:

Jacob Miller, A War Scarred Hero

Braidwood Veteran Carried Bullet in Head for Many Years After War

“since September 19, 1863, he has lived with an open bullet wound in his forehead. For a number of years the bullet remained in his head but piece by piece it fell out till now. It is thought none of it remains in the wound. During the time was in the head it at times would produce a stupor, which sometimes would last two weeks, it being usually when he caught cold & produced more of a pressure on the brain. At other times delirium would seize him & he would imagine himself again on picket duty & would tramp back & forth on his beat, a stick on his shoulder for a musket, a pitiful object of the sacrifice for freedom. As these pieces of lead gradually loosened & fell out he regained his usual health & is now at the age of 78 years, one of the most, if not the most remarkable survivor of the Civil War.”

Understandably, Miller was reluctant to speak about his traumatic experience. Fortunately for history, he wrote an account in his own hand for his family.



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“I was left for dead when my company fell back from that position. When I came to my senses some time after I found I was in the rear of the confederate line. So not to become a prisoner I made up my mind to make an effort to get around their line & back on my own side. I got up with the help of my gun as a staff, then went back some distance, then started parallel with the line of battle. I suppose I was so covered with blood that those that I met, did not notice that I was a Yank, (at least our Major, my former captain did not recognize me when I met him after passing to our own side).”

Triage is standard medical practice during emergencies, today. The wounded are divided into three groups. The lightly wounded are given minimal attention. Those needing immediate attention are attended to. Mortally wounded or beyond the ability of the staff to help are made as comfortable as possible & left to die. Jacob Miller struggled to the rear until finally picked up by a liter party.

“At last some bearers came along & put me on their stretcher & carried me to the hospital & laid me on the ground in a tent. A hospital nurse came & put a wet bandage over my wound & around my head & gave me a canteen of water. I don’t know what time of day they examined my wound & decided to put me on the operating table till after dark some time. The surgeons examined my wound & decided it was best not to operate on me & give me more pain as they said I couldn’t live very long, so the nurse took me back into the tent. I slept some during the night. The next morning (Sunday), the doctors came around to make a list of the wounded too bad to be moved, & if the army fell back those that were left there could afterwards be exchanged.

As stated before I made up my mind as long as I could drag one foot after another, I would not allow myself to be taken prisoner. I got the nurse to fill my canteen with water so I could make an effort in getting near safety as possible. I got out of the tent without being noticed & got behind some wagons that stood near the road till I was safely away (having to open with my finger to take my bearings on the road) I went away from the boom of cannon & the rattle of musketry. I worked my way along the road as best I could. At one time I got off the side of the road & bumped my head against a low hanging limb. The shock toppled me over, I got up & took my bearings again & went on as long as I could drag a foot then lay down beside the road, to see if I could not rest so I could move. I hadn’t lain long till the ambulance train began to pass, the drivers as they passed me if I was still alive, then passing on. At last one of the drivers asked if I was alive & said he would take me in, as one of his men had died back a ways, & he had taken him out. Then it was all a blank to me, (Monday the 21st) I came to myself & found I was in a long building in Chattanooga, Tennessee, lying with hundreds of other wounded on the floor almost as thick as hogs in a stock car. Some were talking, some were groaning. I raised myself to a sitting position got my canteen & wet my head. While doing it I heard a couple of soldiers who were from my company. They could not believe it was me as they said I was left for dead on the field at the left of the Brock Cabin. They came over to where I was & we visited together till then came an order for all the wounded that could walk to start across the river on a pontoon bridge to a hospital, to be treated ready to be take to Nashville. I told the boys if they could lead me, I could walk that distance... We could not get across until almost sundown. When we arrived across & up on the bank we luckily ran across our company teamster, who we stopped with that night. He got us something to eat. After we ate some (first I had tasted before daylight Saturday morning the19th), we lay down on a pile of blankets, each fixed under the wagon & rested pretty well as the teamsters stayed awake till nearly morning to keep our wounds moist with cool water from a nearby spring.



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Tuesday morning the 2nd we awoke to the crackling of the camp fire that a comrade built us to get a cup of coffee & a bite to eat of hardtack & fat meat. While eating, an orderly rode up & asked if we were wounded. If so we were to go along the road to get our wounds dressed, so we bid the teamsters good-bye & went to get our wounds attended to. We had to wait till near noon before we were attended to. That was the first time I had my wound washed & dressed by a surgeon. After we were fixed up we drew a few crackers, some sugar coffee, salt & cake of soap & were ordered to get into an army wagon with four army mules, (God Bless the army mule, the soldier’s friend.) We got in & started to go over Raccoon or Sand Mountain to Bridgeport, Ala. to take the train to Nashville, Tenn. After riding in the wagon awhile, I found the jolting hurt my head so badly I could not stand it so had to get out. My comrades got out with me & we went on foot. I was told it was 60 miles that route to Bridgeport, at least it took us four days to get there. Wednesday morning when I woke up I found I could open my right eye & see to get around. We arrived at Bridgeport the fourth day out from Chattanooga at noon, just as a train of box cars were ready to pull out. I got in a car & lay down. I gained my point so far — & how. As soldiers term it with lots of sand, but the sand had run out with me for the time being.



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The next thing I remember I was stripped & in a bath tub of warm water in a hospital at Nashville. I do not know what date it was; in fact I didn’t pay much attention to the dates from the Friday at noon when I got in the box car at Bridgeport to start to Nashville.

After some length of time I was transferred to Louisville, Ky. From there to New Albany, Ind., In all the hospitals I was in, I begged the surgeons to operate on my head but they refused.

I suffered for nine months then I got a furlough home to Logansport & got Drs. Fitch & Colman to operate on my wound. They took out the musket ball. After the operation a few days, I returned to the hospital at Madison & stayed there till the expiration of my enlistment, Sept. 17, 1864. Seventeen years after I was wounded, a buckshot dropped out of my wound & thirty one years after two pieces of lead came out.

Some ask how it is I can describe so minutely my getting wounded & getting off the battlefield after so many years. My answer is I have an everyday reminder of it in my wound & constant pain in the head, never free of it while not asleep. The whole scene is imprinted on my brain as with a steel engraving.

I haven’t written this to complain of any one of being in fault for my misfortune & suffering all these years, the government is good to me & gives me $40.00 per month pension.”



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In May of 1863, the forces surrounding Vicksburg had firmly sealed Pemberton’s army inside their works. Grant believed that the army should make one grand assault before it settled into a siege. Never one to allow an enemy time, Grant hoped that he could end the campaign there & then. If the attack failed, he was sure that his soldiers would be satisfied to hold on & starve the Confederates out.

On May 22nd, an assault was ordered. Leading the attack was a “forlorn hope” of volunteers who would bridge the moat & plant scaling ladders against the wall. There were no illusions among the 150 volunteers. Only single men had been allowed to volunteer. Chosen from among the over 300 who volunteered, the storming party stepped off with the boom of a naval barrage ringing in their ears.

The assault volunteers came under fire immediately. They were pinned down in the moat they were supposed to bridge. Repeated assaults by the main body of the army were beaten back. It was not until nightfall that the forlorn hope was able to sneak back to their starting position. The seventy -nine survivors were awarded the Medal of Honor. Private Jacob Miller was one of those men. He was, without a doubt, on of the most remarkable man to survive the Civil War.

Rhea Cole is an ace member at American Civil War Forum.