DOB/DOD: March 15, 1845 (Hampton, CT) – March 10, 1911 (Milford, NY); 65 years old
MARITAL STATUS: Married Emma H. Wise (1854-1895) on February 26, 1869, in Douglas, Nebraska. Married Adaline Chase (1848-1890) on February 3, 1886, in Hartwick, New York. Married Laura Dingman (1860-1927) on November 4, 1891, in Sharon Springs, New York.
CHILDREN: With Emma: Mark A. (1872-1950), Emma J. Weeks Ronan (1876-1978), Harriet E. Weeks Krupp (1878-1945), and Joanne V. Weeks Bowman (1879-1975. With Adeline: Horace C. (1886-1984), and Chester J. (1890-1984). With Laura: John P. (1896-1955) and Elsie R. Weeks Doscher (1897-1990).
ENLISTMENT: August 28, 1862, in Hartwick, New York.
WOUNDED: October 27, 1864, at Hatcher’s Run, Virginia.
DISCHARGE: Due to disability on May 27, 1865, from Campbell General Hospital in Washington, DC.
FAMILY: Born to Elisha J. (1814-1897) and Mary R. Tucker Weeks (1820-1862). Three sisters, Mary R. (1840-1891), Louise J. Weeks Heath (1843-1930), and Harriet E. Weeks Vibbard (1847-1919). Two brothers, Oliver E. (1841-1906), Hosea D. (1850-1931), and Andrew W. (1852-1934).
MEDAL OF HONOR CITATION
AWARDED FOR ACTIONS DURING: Civil War
BRANCH OF SERVICE: Army
UNIT: Company H, 152nd New York Infantry
DATE OF ISSUE: December 1, 1864
AGE ON THE DAY OF THE EVENT: 19
CITATION:
The President of the United States of America, in the name of Congress, takes pleasure in presenting the Medal of Honor to Private John Henry Weeks, United States Army, for extraordinary heroism on 12 May 1864, while serving with Company H, 152nd New York Infantry, in action at Spotsylvania, Virginia, for the capture of flag and Color Bearer using an empty cocked rifle while outnumbered by five or six.
Presentation Date and Details: December 6, 1864, by Major General George G. Meade, at a review of the 2nd Army Corps Headquarters, Peebles’ House, near Petersburg, Virginia.
John Weeks’ story as told by him and recorded in the book “Uncle Sam’s Medal of Honor,” collected and edited by Brevet Brigadier General Theo. F. Rodenbough.
“On the night of the 11th of May, 1864, we were relieved by the 5th Corps at Laurel Ridge (or Stony Ridge, I have forgotten which) after dark and moved out of the works, with instructions to move as silently as possible; not to allow our cups or bayonets to rattle or make any unnecessary noise. We marched all night through a cold rain until just before the break of day, on the morning of the 12th, we were halted in line of battle, with orders to ‘in place rest.’ The report had been in circulation during the night that we were going to relieve the 6th Corps in the Reserve, that we might get a chance to rest, as we had been under fire constantly for six days, and when we halted, we could see the light of campfires shining along the sky in our front, where we supposed were the 6th Corps. No sooner were we ordered to rest than I threw myself down in the mud and fell asleep. In a few minutes, I was awakened by the tramp of a horse coming on a lope. I raised up and saw an aide ride to General Hancock (who happened to be near our right) and give the verbal order to the general, as near as I can remember, as follows: — ‘Gen. Meade’s compliments and directs that you move your corps forward and occupy those works.’
“We were called to attention and ordered ‘Forward, guide center, march!’ Little did I think then what it would cost to obey that order, as I still thought it was the 6th Corps in our front.
“We were in the second line of battle, following close behind the first, till soon the Reb skirmishers commenced firing. Then, for the first, I began to realize that we had work before us. It was now getting quite light, but the fog prevented us from seeing far in our advance. We soon came to an open field with a gradual ascent to near the top, where there had been heavy timber, which had been felled with the tops toward us and the boughs sharpened; also, wire stretched through the tree tops. Still beyond this obstruction were the enemy’s works, which consisted of a ditch, eight feet wide and nearly as deep, with a row of sharpened stakes set in front, the points about breast-high. Immediately in the rear of the ditch were the breastworks, which were formed of the dirt thrown up from the ditch, making the distance from the bottom of the ditch to the top of the works from twelve to fourteen feet without a chance of a foothold.
“As soon as we came to the edge of the open field, they opened on us with canister and musketry. The artillery had been massed at this point and all double-shotted with canister—thirty pieces if I remember right. Such a storm of iron and lead I never saw before or since. It did not seem possible for a man to live to reach the crest of the hill and pass the obstructions; but, as history tells, some did. But by the time we reached the ditch, there was no line of battle but a moving mass of yelling Yankees. We succeeded in wrenching the sharpened stakes from their places and used them in crossing the ditch and scaling the works. When I think now of all the difficult ties we had to overcome, with the flower of the rebel army behind such works pouring upon us a shower of lead, success seems impossible. It seemed to be an angle of their works where we made the charge, in the shape of the letter V. Our right was on the left wing of the angle so that when we got inside of the works, we could still see the enemy on the right wing opposing our men there from entering. It brought us in their rear. When we had sent our prisoners to the rear, we still advanced, but very slowly, on account of our broken ranks.
“I saw the enemy give way at this time on the right wing, and amongst the rest was a stand of colors and color-guard. These men fired their muskets in a volley and broke for the rear. They had to pass down our front to get out of the angle and would have succeeded, but I made up my mind, as soon as I saw them start, that I must have those colors. I had also fired my gun but had no time to reload. I ran up to the sergeant and snatched his colors from him, threw them on the ground and put my foot on them, cocked my empty gun, and told them the first one of them that moved out of his tracks I would shoot him down, and ordered them to throw down their guns and surrender. The sergeant said to them, ‘Boys, they have got the colors, let us go with the colors,’ so they threw down their guns and marched to the rear as my prisoners. When I got back to our line, Col. Curtiss told me to take them away, for we might get driven back at any moment.
“I recrossed the works and started for our rear when I met General Hancock and staff going to the front. As he passed, I saluted him. He returned the salute, and said, ‘What have you got there?’ I told him a stand of colors I had captured in the front. He then asked me if those were my prisoners. I told him they were. He looked at some of his staff and smiled (I thought at the time a little incredulously), for there were five or six lusty rebels, and I was at that time about eighteen years old.
Then he said, ‘You deliver your prisoners to the provost marshal and write your Name, company, and regiment with the date of the occasion on a slip of paper, and pin it on your colors, and turn them into the adjutant of your regiment, which I did. I did not hear anything more about it till the following winter when, in Campbell Hospital, suffering from a wound received at the battle of Boydton Plank Road, on the left of Petersburg, I received a package. Upon opening it, I found it to be a Medal of Honor.”
Buried in Hartwick Seminary Cemetery, 4773 NY-28, Cooperstown, New York. Photo from FindAGrave.com.
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