A complete understanding of the Benson-Rice story begins with an article written by Colonel John L Rice, Ret. and published in a Springfield, Massachusetts newspaper on November 24, 1886.

An Interesting Reminiscence Told by 
Colonel John L. Rice, Postmaster of this City

At the first battle of Bull Run I was a private in the 2nd New Hampshire regiment. In the final struggle for the Henry Hill, just before the stampede of the Union Army, I went down with a musket ball through my lungs. My comrades bore me off in the wake of our retreating forces toward Sudley Church, where our surgeons had established a hospital. In a short time, being closely pursued by the enemy and finding that I was apparently dead, they laid me under a fence and made their escape. Some two days after the battle I recovered consciousness but was unable to move. The blood from my wound soon putrefied and attracted swarms of flies, whose larvae in a short time were wriggling under my clothing and into my wound in constantly increasing numbers.

In this condition I was found by Amos Benson and his wife, who lived on the opposite side of Bull Run. They were returning to their home at evening, after spending the day at Sudley Church assisting in the care of our wounded. The Confederate medical staff at that time was very poorly prepared for the emergency of a battle, especially for the care of the wounded of both armies. Had it not been for the efforts of the Bensons and the few others living in the vicinity of the battlefield, our wounded would have had little food or attention during the first few days following the battle. The Bensons, discovering life in me, brought an overworked surgeon from the church, who however, turned away with the remark that he had no time to waste on so hopeless a case.

Mrs. Benson, meanwhile, brought me food from her home, while her husband removed my clothing and scraped away the vermin that were preying on me. They continued to care for and feed me until at the end of ten days I was so far revived that the surgeons were persuaded to remove me from under the fence to more comfortable quarters in a freight car at Manassas Junction, whence in a few days, I was carried to Richmond and consigned to Libby Prison.

For twenty-five years I neither saw nor heard of the Bensons, but I have never forgotten that I owe my life to them, and have never abandoned the purpose of some day visiting them and acknowledging the debt I owe them. Being in Washington a few weeks ago with the Gettysburg excursionists, I left the party and went to Bull Run, and upon inquiry learned that both of my deliverers were still living, and lost no time in reaching their house and making myself known. It is hard to tell which was the most pleased. They took me to the spot where they nursed me back to life in '61, showed me the points of interest on the battlefield, which had greatly faded from my memory, and seemed greatly to regret that other arrangements made it impossible to accept their hospitality for the night.

I learned for the first time that shortly after the battle of Bull Run, Benson had enlisted in Stuart's Cavalry and that we had literally fought face to face in a dozen desperate battles during the next twelve months, while his wife had remained at home and again succored our wounded left there by Pope when he was driven from the same bloody field in '62.

They both talked freely and did not hesitate to say that at our first meeting they looked upon me as an enemy whom they might slay justly in honest combat, but whom as Christians they felt it their duty to minister to in my extremity.

When I attempted to express my thanks for what they had done they seemed surprised, and modestly disclaimed all credit for obeying the dictates of humanity, as they expressed it. To insistence that I hoped in some way to reciprocate their kindness to me, Mrs. Benson replied, "If you want to do that, our little church over yonder was destroyed during the war, and you can help us poor people to pay for it. It has cost a severe struggle to rebuild it, and we owe two hundred dollars on it yet, which in this poor country is a heavy burden.

I promised to send her a contribution, which I shall do, and I wish that I might add to it enough more from the people in this vicinity to raise the entire amount of that debt. I do not know what creed is taught in that church, but it cannot be wrong in any way... when it bears such fruit as I have described, nor can there be any doubt that the people who are struggling to maintain that humble sanctuary are true disciples of the Master whom they worship there. There must be still living many Massachusetts soldiers who can bear testimony with me to the timely aid rendered by those people when so many of our wounded were left uncared for on that disastrous field. That country is very poor, and it speaks volumes for the depth of their religious feeling that the few scattered families there have rebuilt and maintained their house of worship in the midst of their poverty.

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