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Company D brings the American Civil War to life through the eyes of citizen-soldiers. One Regiment. One Company. Countless stories of courage, sacrifice, and betrayal—exposing the human toll of a war that transformed the United States.
Samuel Pratt ran his calloused hands across his son’s uniform, trying to control his grief. He could likely smell the lingering scent of his oldest boy, Gustavus Pratt, emanating from the wool fibers.
Samuel was a ship’s carpenter in Richmond, Maine, accustomed to handling hammers, saws, and wooden planks, not fabrics. The uniform and $40.75 were all that was left of Gustavus’s belongings.
His son had died of typhoid fever on June 26, 1862, while serving as a private with Company D of the Third Maine Infantry Regiment.
It didn’t feel real. It didn’t seem possible.
He imagined Gustavus lying on a filthy canvas bunk, burning with a fever, his chest marred by angry red splotches, and his head splitting with pain. The end must have been agonizing—and lonely—as his son, clinging to life, used everything he had to hold back the darkness.
Did he wish he had been there for Gustavus? Perhaps, if he had volunteered with Gustavus, he could have comforted his son in his final moments. It’s even possible that Samuel’s presence could have altered the outcome. His son could still be alive.
Then his daughter-in-law wouldn’t be a widow, and his two grandsons would have a father.
And Samuel wouldn’t be so consumed by grief.
His second son, Nathaniel, had come home from the war without permission. He had abandoned his regiment to be with his grieving family and to attend Gustavus’s funeral.
Now, Nathaniel was enlisting again, heading to the Maine State Capital to join the Twenty-Fourth Maine Infantry Regiment. Was he going to lose Nathaniel, too?
Samuel knew what he had to do. He packed a bag. He hugged his wife, Elmira, goodbye, ignoring her pleas to stay. He kissed his 7-year-old daughter Cora on top of her head and followed Nathaniel to Augusta.
He stalked into the recruitment office and volunteered as a private for the Twenty-Fourth. He was too old to legally join—but he lied about his age, telling them he was 45 years old. They pretended to believe him, and he signed the papers. Then he went to find his son.
It was October 16, 1862, four months after Gustavus Pratt died, and his 57-year-old father was marching off to war.
—–
Hello and welcome back to Company D, the history podcast that explores the personal stories of the average soldier during the American Civil War. To bring to life these personal experiences, we have chosen to dive deeply into the lives of the men who served with Company D of the Third Maine Volunteer Infantry Regiment. Mostly carpenters, farmers, and fishermen from mid-coast Maine and the city of Bath.
At Company D, we aren’t interested in the big history of the American Civil War—the politics and military tactics. We want to examine how the war affected the average soldier—how they were swept up in this seismic event and how it shaped their lives and their families.
We selected Company D of the Third Maine because my great-great-grandfather, Charles F. Snell, volunteered with Company D at the young age of eighteen. His diary from his time with Company D forms the foundation for this podcast.
I’m your host, George F. Snell III. That’s right. One. Two. Three. The Third. Just like our favorite regiment.
Today’s episode covers a lot of ground, with lots of twists and turns. We’re exploring how the death of a Civil War soldier altered the course of a single family: the Pratts of Richmond, Maine. We have the tale of a grief-stricken father heading straight into disaster, a wife who tumbles into a life of lies and betrayal, and a younger brother’s hellacious path to redemption.
Today’s show brings to mind the film classic It’s a Wonderful Life. It’s certainly one of our favorite holiday movies, but when you dig deeper, you realize there is a lot of darkness at its heart. One scene in particular always gives us chills: When Angel Second Class Clarence Oddbody reveals to George Bailey an unsettling observation: “Strange, isn’t it? Each man’s life touches so many other lives. And when he isn’t around, he leaves an awful hole, doesn’t he?”
This is an episode all about those awful holes because Gustavus Pratt’s tragic death left mighty big ones.
And try, if you can, to imagine not just one Gustavus Pratt, but 698,000 of them. Because that’s how many soldiers died in the American Civil War, and all of their deaths left holes—big and small—across the entire nation.
CHAPTER ONE: THEY ALL FALL DOWN
Gustavus D. Pratt was born on November 29, 1829, in Bowdoinham, Maine. The town is situated on Merrymeeting Bay, just north of Bath. At that time, Bowdoinham had a population of 2,000 residents, primarily farmers cultivating apples, wheat, and potatoes. There was also a small shipping-building industry. The family moved to Richmond when Gustavus was little.
His parents were Samuel Pratt and Elmira Nickerson. Samuel was a laborer, a farmer, and eventually a ship’s carpenter. They had eleven children, five boys and six girls. Gustavus was the oldest. The secondborn was Jesse, who died in infancy, and then there was Nathaniel.
For a short time, Gustavus tried his hand at farming. As a young man, he worked as a laborer for the local farmers during growing and harvest seasons. Farming didn’t take, however. He preferred sawing and hammering lumber, just like his father. He moved to Bath and became a ship’s carpenter, working the yards along the Kennebec River.
In Bath, Gustavus met Lavonia Shaw.
Lavonia was the youngest child of Thomas and Isabella Shaw. Her father built the first log house in a district of Richmond named after that first cabin, called “Shaw’s Cut-Down.” Her father had eight children from a previous marriage. Then, four more with Isabella, including his youngest, Lavonia. She was born in Richmond on February 20, 1837.
Thomas Shaw had many daughters and married them off at young ages. Gustavus and Lavonia married at the Wesley Methodist Episcopal Church on January 28, 1854, in Bath.
Gustavus was 24, and Lavonia was only 16.
Lavonia was young to be married—but not scandalously so, even in 1854. The legal age in Maine at the time was 16, but Lavonia would have required the consent of her parents. Her marriage might have raised a few eyebrows, but not if the families thought the match was appropriate.
Gustavus called his new wife Vonia. By 1859, they had two sons: Gustavus B. and Elmer.
We don’t know what Gustavus and Lavonia’s relationship was like, but with two sons in five years, Gustavus’s steady employment, and the close proximity of family, the marriage appears to have been stable and content.
Gustavus didn’t hesitate when President Abraham Lincoln called for volunteers to quash the Southern rebellion. With Lavonia’s brother, Thomas Shaw Jr., and Gilman Douglas, Lavonia’s sister’s husband, he headed to the recruiting station in Bath.
There are no known photographs of Gustavus, but he is described as having a dark complexion, likely from working outside in the shipyards along the riverfront. He stood 5 feet 6 ½ inches tall, with sandy-colored hair and blue eyes. Everyone must have called him Gus.
The three men, Gustavus, Thomas, and Gilman, all related by marriage, enlisted as privates with Company D of the Third Maine Infantry Regiment and collected $22 bounties.
None of them would fare very well.
The first to falter was Gilman Douglas. Gilman was a 31-year-old fisherman. His father died when he was 14, and he had been working the docks ever since. He married Lavonia’s older sister, Rosanna Shaw, in 1853 when he was 23 and she was 18.
Gilman officially mustered with the Third Maine on June 4, but apparently, he harbored deep regrets about volunteering. Despite the possible punishment being death, Gilman deserted the very next day. He vanished—with his bounty—leaving behind his wife and family.
Gilman has the distinction of having the shortest tenure of any member of Company D. Less than 24 hours.
Gilman disappeared, probably terrified of being arrested for desertion. He died of unknown causes shortly after the war ended in 1866. It’s not clear what happened to his marriage to Rosanna while he was on the run.
One wonders if Gilman said goodbye to Thomas Shaw Jr, Lavonia’s 29-year-old brother, before he ran off. Thomas was a blacksmith for several years before moving to Bath and becoming a master riveter in the shipyards. He was married with two children when he enlisted.
Thomas Jr. fell ill on the same day Gilman deserted. He never fully recovered. He was hospitalized while the Third Maine trained in Augusta and never left the state when the regiment headed to Washington, D.C. He was discharged on disability on August 2.
Gilman lasted one day. Thomas made it two months. And Gustavus would make it one year, but no further.
When Gustavus arrived in Washington, D.C., in July of 1861, he must have been dumbstruck. His two closest associates in Company D were gone. It was an unlucky omen for the start of his military career.
The bad luck didn’t stop there. Less than a year later, Gustavus would lie dying in a military hospital, far from home.
CHAPTER TWO: O BROTHER, WHERE ART THOU?
September 1861.
A squadron of early recruits of the First Maine Cavalry Regiment, led by Colonel John Goddard of Cape Elizabeth, set up camp on the parade grounds of the State House in Augusta. Hundreds of white tents popped up on the old horse track. They converted a judge’s stand into a hospital. The barn became a guardhouse.
They built six stables. And then they started training.
One of the new recruits was Nathaniel N. Pratt, Gustavus’s 25-year-old brother.
Living at his parents’ home in Richmond while his wife and son were in Massachusetts visiting her family, Nathaniel left his job as a ship fastener and volunteered. By this time, he had heard all about Gustavus’s experiences at the Battle of Bull Run on July 21.
The first battle of the Civil War had been a sorry defeat for the Union. The Third Maine lost eight men killed, 29 wounded, and a dozen taken prisoner. Thankfully, his brother emerged unscathed.
There was a lot of chatter about the Union defeat among the cavalry recruits.
Nathaniel impressed his superiors. They mustered him in as a sergeant with Company K, and he must have been pleased thinking about his older brother toiling away as a private.
But then rumors started. The First Cavalry Regiment was going to be disbanded.
But the orders never came. Winter set in. The regiment stayed put, waiting, freezing, and growing sick. By January 28, 1862, with snow covering the parade grounds, more than 20 percent of the cavalrymen were in the hospital—the former judge’s stand—sick with various illnesses.
By the time the spring thaws arrived, more than 200 men had died—and the regiment still hadn’t left the parade grounds.
The days became tedious, Nathaniel woke up in a tent he shared with other enlisted men, braved the bitter cold for roll call, and then marched to the stables to feed and exercise the horses.
Twice a day, the horses had to be led to a nearby stream for watering. Then they were groomed and fed a dinner of hay and oats.
Nathaniel’s brother was wintering outside of Washington, D.C., and he was eager to join Gustavus in Virginia. Finally, at the end of March, the First Maine Cavalry received orders to head South.
Despite delays caused by heavy snow, they arrived in Washington on March 26, 1862, after being stuck in Augusta for more than five months.
They spent the spring conducting foraging missions, raiding Confederate encampments, and fighting in minor skirmishes. It wasn’t until the First Battle of Winchester on May 25, 1862, that the First Maine Cavalry got its first taste of major battle, a defeat at the hands of General Stonewall Jackson that ended in an embarrassing retreat.
Winchester would be Nathaniel’s first and only battle with the First Maine Cavalry. A month later, he received word from his family:
Gustavus was dead at age 32. His body was shipped home and buried at Evergreen Memorial Cemetery in Richmond. In despair—not thinking clearly—Nathaniel packed a bag, and with a reckless spirit that he inherited from his father, Nathaniel abandoned his post.
Unlike Gilman Douglas, Nathaniel was never branded a deserter. He was lucky. His commanders took pity on him.
Instead, he was dishonorably discharged, but spared formal punishment. He returned home heartbroken and disgraced.
CHAPTER THREE: THE COMPLICATED CRACK-UP OF LAVONIA PRATT
The first hole caused by Gustavus’s death was to his wife, Lavonia. She was left a widow with two young boys at the age of just 25.
We’re going to pause here and dig deep on Lavonia because her story becomes more tawdry than an episode of “Real Housewives,” but without any of the unintentional humor. What happened to Lavonia in the wake of her husband’s death is truly astonishing, nothing short of a complete unraveling.
It starts with her application for a widow’s pension shortly after Gustavus’s death. She was granted $8 per month plus $2 for each of her children—Gustavus Jr. and Elmer. But the pension was less than Gustavus’s army pay, not nearly enough. Hard times lay ahead.
Something snapped inside of Lavonia. A crack that kept widening, a pain that apparently just wouldn’t heal. Within a year of receiving the pension, Lavonia abandoned her children and fled Bath. She deserted eight-year-old Gustavus Jr. and four-year-old Elmer, leaving her family scrambling to care for her children.
Lavonia fled to Maine’s largest city, Portland. We don’t know what she did there, but at some point, she met an infantry veteran named Martin V. White. And within months, without telling her family, Lavonia became Martin’s wife. They married at the First Baptist Church in Augusta on New Year’s Eve, 1863.
Why Augusta? Because Martin had re-enlisted in the U.S. Army. He volunteered as a private with the Second Maine Cavalry, who were mustering at the Augusta parade grounds, in the same barracks, barns, and stables used by Nathaniel Pratt and the First Maine Cavalry a year earlier.
Word trickled back to Bath that Lavonia had married a man named White. Her shocked family immediately acted. Lavonia’s children were now in the care of John C. Harris and his wife, Sarah. Harris was a ship’s carpenter and may have been friendly with Gustavus before the war. Harris petitioned the U.S. Pension Bureau to redirect Gustavus’s pension benefits to him to care for Lavonia’s sons. The U.S. Pension Bureau compiled, cutting off Lavonia and accepting Harris as the boys’ official caretaker.
So, who was this mysterious dog named Martin V. White?
Well, not so mysterious as it turns out. Martin was just a teenager, 19 years old, when he married the 26-year-old Lavonia.
The son of farmers, Martin was born in Woolwich, Maine. His mother died when he was 12 years old, and he was raised by his father and older sisters. Martin grew up in a rented room at a boarding house in Bath. He left as soon as he could.
When he turned 18 in 1862, two things happened. His older sister, Delana J. Glidden, died at the age of 21. Delana married at 18 and already had two children when she died. There’s evidence she was pregnant when she got married. And second, less than four months after his sister’s death, Martin joined the Twenty-First Maine Infantry Regiment as a private.
He mustered into nine months of service with the Twenty-First, which spent most of the war in New Orleans as part of the Siege of Port Hudson. After Martin was discharged on August 25, 1863, he collected a disability payment from the U.S. Army for being crushed in an accident, an accident that damaged his bladder and kidneys.
Martin settled in Portland, where he crossed paths with Lavonia Pratt. Within months, they were married in Augusta, where Martin’s new regiment—the Second Maine Cavalry—was mustering. The Second Maine Cavalry shipped out to New Orleans in April 1863. When the war ended, Martin’s regiment remained behind for clean-up duties, and he didn’t muster out of service until December 21, 1865.
Upon his return, Martin lived with Lavonia in Richmond and Bath for the next five years. But it was not a happy marriage. By May 1870, Lavonia took off again. It looks like she moved in with the Weeks family in Corrina, Maine, a rural farming village 90 miles north of Bath, to keep away from Martin.
In divorce paperwork filed by Martin in 1874, he claimed he had not seen his wife in nearly three years. He had no idea where Lavonia was or what she was doing. He said Lavonia had written him several times in 1870, vowing never to return to him. Martin maintained he was innocent of any wrongdoing: I have always been “faithful, chaste, kind and affectionate,” he wrote.
The divorce was finalized in December 1874. There’s no indication of why Lavonia deserted Martin, but it’s possible he was abusive. Martin experienced a lot of trauma during the war and suffered from a lingering injury to his kidneys and bladder that eventually led to dysuria, a condition that causes painful or difficult urination. Dysuria has also been linked to impotence. But this is just speculation.
In fact, there’s another dimension to the story that lends more credence to Martin’s side of the story, and adds more weight to the story of Lavonia’s downward spiral, one that began the day Gustavus died.
Because two years before her divorce from Martin was legalized, Lavonia remarried.
That’s right, remarried. Except that she was still married to Martin. But on September 14, 1872, Lavonia married for a third time. She could now add bigamy to her growing list of transgressions.
Her third husband was Charles H. Clement, a 25-year-old ropemaker from Portland, Maine, who grew up in Bath. The couple married at the First Universalist Church in Methuen, Massachusetts. Lavonia informed the pastor that her name was Lavonia Pratt, not Lavonia White. And that the marriage was her second, not her third. She also lied about her age, claiming 28 instead of 35.
The story gets stranger. Where did Lavonia meet Charles Clement? He was a boarder living at her sister Rosanna’s house in Danvers, Massachusetts. Remember Roseanna? Her first husband was Gilman Douglas, the shortest serving member of Company D of Third Maine, after he deserted 24 hours after enlisting.
Roseanna remarried to Van Buren Kelley in 1867. She and Van Buren were now the legal guardians of Lavonia’s two children. In 1870, Lavonia moved in with her sister. She was back with her children and in the same house as Charles Clement. Charles and Lavonia’s 15-year-old son, Gustavus Jr., worked together at a ropemaking factory.
When Lavonia’s divorce from Martin was finalized at the end of 1874, she had been married to Charles Clement for nearly two years. Lavonia and Charles eventually moved to Salem, Massachusetts.
Who knows if Charles ever discovered the truth about his wife?
But they were married for 33 years. One hopes Lavonia found some peace at the end. But maybe she didn’t. When she died in 1905 at the age of 68, her cause of death was listed as exhaustion.
CHAPTER FOUR: THE BROKEN FATHER
After Gustavus’s funeral, Nathaniel Pratt, already dishonorably discharged from the First Maine Cavalry, decided he couldn’t sit out the war. The state was looking for volunteers for several new regiments, and he headed north to Augusta to join the Twenty-Fourth Maine Infantry Regiment.
Putting his cavalry experience to use, Nathaniel volunteered for a nine-month stint as the wagoner for Company A.
As the wagoner, Nathaniel was the teamster assigned to drive the supply wagons that hauled food and supplies for the regiment. His duties included caring for the regiment’s horse and mule teams. It was generally a non-combat role.
We can only imagine Nathaniel’s reaction to his 57-year-old father enlisting with him in the Twenty-Fourth. Nathaniel already understood the hardships and physical demands required of a soldier. Was he concerned about the toll it would take on his father?
After joining the Twenty-Fourth, Samuel became the oldest member of the entire regiment. He was 15 years older than his captain, Arthur Deering of Richmond, and 12 years older than Colonel George M. Atwood, the regimental commander.
Like its sister regiment, the Twenty-First, where Martin V. White served, the Twenty-Fourth spent the bulk of its nine-month charter stationed in New Orleans, participating in the Siege of Port Hudson. The Twenty-Fourth arrived in New Orleans in January 1863 and remained there through July.
New Orleans was an occupied Union territory, which Union forces used as a base to control the Mississippi River. Samuel celebrated his 58th birthday on February 1 while the regiment was on its way by steamship to Louisiana.
Only one man was killed in combat; the regiment mostly avoided direct engagement. However, the hostile southern climate, especially the searing heat and humidity in the summer months, caused multiple diseases to run rampant through the regiment. Disease would claim five officers and 185 enlisted men.
In July, the Twenty-Fourth was dug in on the Mississippi side of the river when Samuel fell ill. He was transferred to the regimental hospital. He burned with a fever. Lying on a canvas bunk, his chest speckled with rose-colored spots and his skull pounding with a splitting headache, the obvious must have occurred to Samuel.
But Samuel wasn’t alone; Nathaniel was there. But it wasn’t supposed to happen like this; it was a cruel irony.
Samuel Pratt passed away on July 11, 1863, at the age of 58. He died five weeks shy of being discharged from the Twenty-Fourth. He died two weeks after the one-year anniversary of Gustavus’s death.
His son, Nathaniel, accompanied his father’s body back to Maine. Samuel was buried next to Gustavus at Evergreen Cemetery in Richmond.
Nathaniel must have been devastated. Did he blame himself for his father’s fate? Would his father have joined the Twenty-Fourth if he hadn’t done so first? Standing with his mother, Elmira, and the rest of his siblings at his father’s and brother’s graves must have been a difficult moment for him.
He followed the same pattern as before. After a few months, he enlisted again.
For a third time.
CHAPTER FIVE: THE CHARGE OF THE NINE HUNDRED
June 18, 1864. The last day of the Second Battle of Petersburg.
Union forces were trying unsuccessfully to seize Petersburg, Virginia, to cut off rail service to Richmond. They were met with failure after failure.
But on this day, they would try one last time. One final assault. The day bloomed hot and humid, sweltering after days of rain. The ground was soft, spongy, and muddy.
Nathaniel Pratt joined the First Maine Heavy Artillery Regiment on December 30, 1863. He mustered in as a private with Company L. At the time, the regiment was serving in Washington, D.C., as part of the city’s defensive forces. The soldiers mainly performed guard and garrison duties.
They lived in bunkhouses and enjoyed hot meals each night while the regimental band performed concerts.
But in the spring, the First Maine “Heavies” were reassigned to the Grand Army of the Potomac. The regiment saw its first combat at the Battle of Spotsylvania,seeing significant casualties, 84 killed and 394 wounded.
As horrifying as those numbers were, they would pale in comparison to what was to come. At 2 p.m., the heat overpowering the Union forces, the orders came down. The Heavies would be leading a charge across a stubbled cornfield, more than 300 yards, to assault a Confederate breastwork.
They piled their knapsacks, blankets, and supplies, then posted guards around them. Some of the men scribbled final notes to loved ones. Lock and loaded, bayonets fixed, they charged across the field. They were supposed to lead, the Sixteenth Massachusetts and the Seventh New Jersey on its left and right, with other regiments flowing in behind them.
But the First Maine charged alone.
One Massachusetts veteran recalled, “The old campaigners were in front and knew better than to charge through a slaughterpen.”
Private Joel F. Brown of Company I recalled decades later, “I saw the blinding flash of red flame run along the crest of those works and heard the deafening crash as the awful work began.”
The air filled with shot and shell, cannon blasts, and musket fire, chewing up the soft ground. Tearing through flesh. Mowing down the Heavies. Nathaniel Pratt and 899 of his fellow Heavies were torn to shreds in that cornfield.
Six hundred and thirty-two men fell. It was the worst single-day loss of any regiment in the Civil War. A 67% percent casualty rate. The field became a seething cauldron of death and destruction. An acre of cornfield churned up from the depths of hell.
A bullet tore through Nathaniel’s right foot, and down he went. He fared better than many of the men from Company L around him, 25 of them died on the field. Nathaniel crawled off the battlefield, his foot a bloody mess. His wound was dressed by a comrade because there were too many wounded, hundreds. His injury wasn’t deemed worthy of attention by a surgeon. As a result, his wound festered, and eventually, his big toe was amputated.
While laid up in the hospital, Nathaniel contracted malaria and nearly died of fever. He must have feared joining his father and brother during that time. He would be plagued by chills and sweats for the rest of his life.
But Nathaniel recovered enough to return to the Heavies, being promoted to Corporal in December 1864.
The war ended in April of 1865, and the Heavies were mustered out of service five months later.
Nathaniel returned home.
CHAPTER SIX: THE FOREVER WAR OF NATHANIEL PRATT
Nathaniel had a wife and son at home. He married Jane E. Whitney sometime in the late 1850s.
Nathaniel and Jane had a son, James, in 1858. When he got home, Nathaniel secured employment as a caulker in one of the shipyards in Raymond, trying to adjust to civilian life.
Then, his sister, Almira “Lizzie” Brackley, died at the age of 25. She was laid to rest in the family cemetery with her father and brother. Within two months, Nathaniel volunteered for military service.
The same old pattern resurfacing. Gustavus died, he joined the Twenty-Four Maine. His father died, and he volunteered with the First Maine Artillery.
Now Lizzie was gone, and he joined the military again, for the fourth time.
At the age of 29, Nathaniel joined Company F of the Sixth U.S. Infantry Regiment—the “Regulars”—as a private. He was assigned to posts in Georgia and South Carolina during Reconstruction, part of the federal government’s occupation of the South as it tried to reintegrate the Confederate states back into the United States.
But his body was giving out. Nathaniel was plagued by sweats, chills, and chronic diarrhea, and continued to suffer from pains in his right foot, but he finished out his three-year term and mustered out of service on January 22, 1869.
He returned to Maine once more. Except for a few months between military stints, Nathaniel had been away for nearly eight years. His wife, Jane, was 31, and his son, James, was 11. They’d grown up without him. He must have returned a stranger.
In 1872, Nathaniel and Jane adopted a baby girl, Lula.
Whatever demons had been haunting him, they seemed to have been exercised by this time.
He was done with fighting.
CHAPTER SEVEN: THE HAUNTING
Gustavus Pratt’s death left an awful hole in 1862.
His wife’s shattered life. His sons passed around from guardian to guardian. His father, Samuel, died on a hospital cot 1,700 miles from home.
And the forever war his younger brother fought.
When the 19th century came to a close, and the American Civil War had been over for thirty-five years, Nathaniel N. Pratt moved to his late wife Jane’s hometown of Clinton, Maine.
On sunny days in the spring, with dew still clinging to the pastures, Nathaniel would rumble down dirt roads, passing dairy farms and fields filled with milk cows. He’d wave his straw hat at the farmers he’d pass, maybe he’d stop and chat.
But sometimes, he’d be all alone on the road. Left with the lowing cattle and the songbirds singing in the budding trees.
Maybe he’d feel a throb in his right foot, where his big toe used to be, but the sunshine would light on his face, and he’d blink his gray eyes and run a hand through his gray hair.
And hopefully, Nathaniel N. Pratt, the younger brother who fought for four different regiments, who watched so many men die, and who had buried so many members of his family: a father, a brother and a sister, a wife, and a son. A man who had lived a hard life.
Maybe, just for a moment, those awful holes wouldn’t be there.
—–
Thank you again for listening to Company D. Company D would like to thank Donald Pratt for sharing his research about his family with us.
Please visit our website to find additional information about the Pratt family. You can also see our list of sources for this show and all our episodes.
If you’ve been enjoying the true-life stories on Company D, please subscribe to our show on your favorite streaming platform at https://companydpodcast.com/links/
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I’m your host, George F. Snell III. See you next time. And remember, every war leaves awful holes.