John Brown’s Body
It was nine o’clock at night on a beautiful summer night. The moon shone brightly through the dark pines on the mountains, and glistened across the guns of the great army that marched down the turnpike into old Charlestown. The men were weary and foot sore from their long marches and were swinging along carelessly. Suddenly someone started singing “John Brown’s body lies a moldering in the tomb.” Companies, Regiments and Corps took up the refrain, tired bodies straightened up, and took step to the music. The grand chorus rang out “Glory, glory hallelujah” until the mountains gave back the echo “Glory, glory hallelujah” as though the hosts of Heaven were joining in the refrain “His soul is marching on.” It was the song of triumph, and if the spirits of the departed know of things on earth surely the shade of old John Brown was gratified. Here he was hung, and in the graveyard his body was lying “Moldering in the tomb,” but his soul was marching on in the ranks of the thirty thousand soldiers who on that night marched through Charlestown keeping step to the grand chorus, “Glory, glory hallelujah.”
We marched on and went into camp on Bolivar Heights, near Harper’s Perry. Here we were joined by John Cook and Jeff Martin of Co. A, who had been captured by Mosby but escaped the same day. They told us the story of the capture, how the others had been taken south and they had escaped. Mosby’s men after gaining the shelter of the mountains began to examine their plunder and stopped to array themselves in new Union officers’ uniforms. They were marching over a steep mountain road, guarding prisoners, when a portion of them stopped, while those in front passed on out of sight. This left the road clear without a guard in sight. The two boys took advantage of the opportunity and made a break for liberty. Down the mountain side they ran, stumbling and falling, but straining every nerve for freedom. They were not missed apparently, for the rebels did not pursue them. For three days they wandered through the mountains, only approaching the negro cabins by night, where they always found friends ready to feed them and help them on their way. Finally they reached Harper’s Ferry and waited until we came up.
The two Regiments lay in Camp on Bolivar Heights for five days. The time of our enlistment had expired ten days before and now we were a waiting orders for returning to Ohio. We had served nearly four months and were anxious to get back home. When Gen. Sheridan read the application for our discharge he paid us the greatest compliment we had in our experience. He said “I did not know that I had any hundred days men in my army, they are all veterans.”
It rained hard all the time we remained on Bolivar Heights, but we did not care, we were going home. At last orders came from headquarters for our discharge. We were to report at Camp Dennison for final muster out. Giving three cheers we started for Harper’s Ferry on a dark, rainy day. Here we found a train awaiting us, which we boarded and at night pulled out for Baltimore, getting there the next morning. We formed ranks and marched to the Northern Central depot, and took a train for home. We returned over the same route over which we came, with the same accommodations. We had another good supper at Pittsburg and reached Columbus, Ohio, at noon. We left our train, marched to Todd Barracks and remained over night. The next day we rode to Camp Dennison, were assigned to the same barracks that we had left four months previously. Cooks were detailed and we remained there a week, until Aug. 30th, the officers making out payrolls, discharges, etc. While there several citizens of Chillicothe came to see us and we received many boxes of good things to eat from home. Several of the boys left camp, walked to the next station and came up home, returning to camp the next day. To say that we were happy but faintly expresses it. We were finally discharged from the United States service and paid off.
A special train was furnished, cars with seats in them, and we sped homeward. When we arrived at Chillicothe we were met by a large outpouring of the citizens, who, to music furnished by the German Brass Band, escorted us up town. We marched up Main street, and we stepped proudly, but were saddened as we passed the homes of James Ghormley and Edward Armstrong. We were coming home, but these, our friends and comrades, never returned. They starved to death in Salisbury, N. C. prison pen.
The good people of Chillicothe had prepared a dinner for us in the market house, and we did justice to it. After dinner we “fell in” for the last time, marched up Paint street and drew up in front of the Court House, where after a few remarks by the Colonel we broke ranks, each went to his home, and the 149th Regiment, Ohio Volunteer Infantry, became a memory.