Second Lieutenant GEORGE AUGUSTUS FOOTE, Jr.

Second Lieutenant GEORGE AUGUSTUS FOOTE, Jr., was born in Nut Plains, Guilford, May 7th, 1835. He is said to have been the first man in his native town to enlist, after Lincoln’s first call for volunteers, and was in the 3d Connecticut Regiment, in the first Battle of Bull Run. He re-enlisted in the 14th Conn., Aug. 7th, 1862, and with but a few weeks’ training, the regiment went into battle on the terrible field of Antietam. Once during the fight, his company having become somewhat disorganized, Capt. Bronson, in his efforts at reforming the line, called upon him by name to assist, when he, holding up his gun, called upon the men to “form around old Foote’s musket,” which so amused the men that they cheered and quickly formed again. On this day, the color-sergeant of the 14^th was shot down—then a second one—and the flag was on the ground. Lt. Col. Perkins rode up and called for volunteers to take the flag. Foote answered by taking it  up, and carrying it all the rest of the day.

In common with a large majority of the regiment, while at Bolivar Heights, Foote broke down in health, owing to the terrible exposure, and was never as well afterward. In marching from there to Acquia Creek, he fainted, and had to be carried in a baggage wagon, and even when he reached the battle field of Fredericksburg, Dec. 13th, he was so ill that his captain, who had a great regard for him, advised him not to go into the fight. He replied, “there are skulks enough without me,” and he and his friend Dudley “went in,” as cheerful and cool as if it were a breakfast at home. Who shall tell the story of one, in that awful day, when regiment after regiment of brave men climbed Marye’s Hill, “smiling at death,” their ranks ploughed through and through by rebel batteries, even while they were forming, and reaching the top only to charge on the rebels posted behind a solid stone wall four feet in height. Of course the 14th shared the fate of others, and was soon cut up. The color sergeant fell, terribly wounded, but as the regiment had been ordered to fall back, Foote stopped and tried to pick up the flag. The brave old sergeant held on to it, saying, “I will take care of it,” and rose suddenly to his feet, but instantly fell back, dead. As Foote stooped to pick it up, he was shot in the leg, and fell. After lying on the field a short time, he tried to rise, but was instantly fired upon again by the rebels, wounding him slightly in the head and the hip. All the rest of that awful day, he lay still where he had fallen. Three times our men charged over him, of course trampling on his wounded leg, while he, half delirious, begged them to kill him to end his sufferings. But no one had time then to attend to one poor wounded fellow. That night, he managed to crawl off to a little hut near the field, where some other wounded men had hung out a yellow flag. Here they lay with a little hard tack, and still less water, till the third day after the fight, when they were visited by a rebel officer, with a few men. He spoke roughly to them, asking, “what they were here for?” and two or three began whining, and saying, they “did not want to fight the South, but were drafted and obliged to come,” when Foote coolly lifted his head and said, “I came to fight rebels, and I have found them, and if ever I get well, I will come back and fight them again.” “Bully for you,” said the officer, “you are a boy that I like,” and at once gave him some water out of his own canteen, sent one of his men for more water, washed his leg and foot, and bound it up as well as he could, paroled him, and helped him across the river to the Lacy-house hospital. In fact, he and his men gave him a blanket, and cheered him as the wagon drove off.

Foote said, afterward, “I did not know but he would blow my brains out on the spot, but I did not mean he should think we were all sneaks.” He was soon removed from the Lacy-house to Armory-square hospital, where his leg (which had been hastily amputated at the Lacy-house) was again operated upon, Dr. Bliss finding it necessary to cut the bone still shorter. His sufferings were thus protracted and very terrible, although, he had the constant care of a devoted brother, who left home to find him the moment he heard that he was “missing,” as he was at first reported. As soon as it was possible this brother brought him home, stopping by the way at Philadelphia, at the “Soldiers’ Home,” where he was so kindly and tenderly cared for by the ladies there on duty, that it actually brought the tears into his eyes. After he reached home he slowly recovered some portion of strength. On the recommendation of his captain he was sent a commission as 2d lieutenant, bearing date Dec. 24th, 1862. But he was never mustered in, and was discharged as a private soldier, July 31st, 1863. After a time, as he grew stronger, he attempted to carry on his farm again, of which he was very fond, but was not able to do it. Then he went into the mercantile business, but in a year was obliged to give that up also. A cold brought on symptoms of consumption, and he spent a winter in Florida, hoping that a mild climate might benefit him, but long suffering had shattered his constitution beyond human help, and he gradually declined until he died, Nov. 14th, 1869.