The Execution of a Spy and Bounty-jumper.
While camping at Cripple Creek we witnessed the execution of a spy and bounty-jumper.
The troops were drawn up in line on three sides of an open field in military order and facing inward. The criminal was escorted around on the inside of the square passing in front of the troops, and his coffin was carried in advance.
When the prisoner reached the open side of the square or field he was halted and placed near his coffin in a standing posture, blind-folded and shot to death. The executing party was composed of eight or ten soldiers (the exact number I have forgotten). Their guns were loaded by outside parties in order that the executioners could not know which of them fired the fatal shots, as one-half of the guns were loaded with powder only.
On June 24 we again took up the line of march in pursuit of the enemy. It was then reported that Gen. Bragg, in command of the Confederate army, would offer battle at Tullahoma, Tenn., but he failed to do so, retreating in the direction of Chattanooga, south of the Tennessee River. On these marches we experienced much rainy weather, during which I had some experience of sleeping on a rail during a very rainy night. Three or four rails were used under me with some rubbish on top of them. My saddle for a pillow, rubber blanket for a cover, and hat over my face. This rail bed kept my body out of the water.
Sleeping on a Rail.
Part of our army, including Gen. Palmer’s command, moved southward, and when it was found that the Confederates were crossing the Tennessee River Palmer’s division went into camp at Manchester, Tenn., where it remained about a month. At the battle of Stone River, as the regiments of our division were about to be attacked by the enemy, Gen. Palmer rode along the line to speak words of encouragement to the men, and when he came to the 6th Kentucky he said: “Sixth Kentucky, you have work to do, stand up to them and you may steal for six months.” This last sentence was spoken in a sort of joking manner. But some of the boys had not forgotten it nearly six months later. When on the march from Cripple Creek toward Tullahoma, and rations were scarce, one evening before they went into camp many of the men dropped out of ranks for the purpose of foraging, which was contrary to orders. Soon after camp guard was established the General gave orders to the captain of the guards to arrest all foragers as fast as they came in and escort them to his headquarters. They soon began to arrive, some loaded with fresh beef, others with dressed hog, calf, and other articles of food. As fast as they arrived, the General ordered them to lay their meat on a pile near his tent, and afterward ordered it to be divided by the commissary. Among these foragers was a very small man, a German, belonging to the 6th Kentucky, who was brought in sweating, loaded down with the half of a hog. At the General’s orders he threw his load down on the pile, and the General said to him: “Who gave you leave to break ranks and go out and steal?” “You did,” he said. The General replied: “You lying rascal, I never authorized you to steal.” The man again said, “You did.” A crowd of the boys were standing around enjoying the scene. The General then said: “When did I authorize you to steal?” He replied: “At the battle of Stone River you ride up and you say, ‘Stand up to them, 6th Kentucky, and you may steal for six months,’ and the time is not up, we have one more day.” The General then remembered the occasion and the crowd roared with laughter. The next man interviewed by the General belonged to the 41st Ohio. He had the half of a calf he had found and killed. The General told him to throw his meat down on the heap, and he did so. He stood very respectfully for a few minutes and then said: “General, aren’t you going to let me have my meat?” He replied: “No, you break ranks and go out and rob the people and expect to have the result of your robbery?” Soon the tears ran down the man’s cheeks. The General said to him: “You great overgrown booby, are you crying about a thing of this kind?” The man replied: “General, I have had nothing to eat since yesterday morning.” His orderly sergeant was sent for who confirmed the statement. Gen. Palmer gave him his veal and some salt, and then said: “My authority has been subverted, I have been laughed out of the hog and cried out of the calf.”
In the fore part of August Gen. Palmer with his division moved eastward and crossed the Cumberland Mountains into Sequatchie valley, where we spent a number of days in slowly moving down the valley toward Chattanooga, striking the Tennessee River west of the city, where we arrived about Sept. 1. On these marches I often slept in my pup tent, or without any shelter.
Pup Tents.
A few of us crossed the river in a canoe, leading our horses, who swam along beside us, there being no bridge or ferry at this place. I do not remember at what places the army crossed, but they probably crossed somewhere on a pontoon bridge, or ferry, constructed by themselves. I think they found a crossing at a place called Shellmound. We had not been on the south side of the river very long before we saw the brigades of Gen. Palmer’s division also on that side.
We were now in the vicinity of Lookout Mountain, where a portion of us camped and remained a day or two. A part of the army went up on top of the mountain, the summit of which is 1,700 feet above the Tennessee River. It appeared to me almost perpendicular at the end next the river, there being just room enough between the mountain and the river for the railroad and wagon road. When Palmer’s division began ascending the mountain, Lieut. Shaw and myself were sent on an errand by the General, going by a circuitous route, and were obliged to climb the north side of the mountain, following a footpath. We dismounted and led our horses, having hard work to get the animals up. After accomplishing this difficult feat of climbing the steep mountain-side we found the General and his troops already there. We marched eastward to the end of the mountain, where I walked out on a projecting rock.
A small town named Summertown, or Summerville, was here entered, and the road extended down the mountain on the south side, on which the troops descended. We were then within three miles of Chattanooga, and again moved forward in a southerly direction, or rather a southeasterly direction, leaving the town to our left, and went into camp a short distance from Rossville, Sept. 9, and the following day moved forward as usual in a southeasterly direction. We found that the city had been evacuated by the Confederates. On our way between Chattanooga and Ringgold, Ga., we found a patch of the finest sweet potatoes I ever saw. Whenever I hear the song, “Marching through Georgia,” containing the lines,
“How the turkeys gobbled, which our commissary found,
How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground,”
I am reminded of that sweet potato patch away down in Georgia.
A Projecting Rock on Lookout Mountain.
We were getting in the vicinity of the enemy again, and now moved forward in a southerly direction but without encountering the enemy in large force until after passing Ringgold, Ga. I distinctly remember camping there one night, only a few days prior to the battle of Chickamauga. While there some of the Co. C boys got into a drug store, which seemingly had been abandoned, where they procured something to drink that was stronger than water; so much so that several of them became intoxicated. They were quite hilarious, and one of them became almost sick in consequence, and another, who also had unwisely imbibed, procured a bottle of medicine from the store with which he tried to treat the man, whom he claimed as his patient, and who was lying down. He opened the bottle and tried to pour some of its contents into the mouth of his patient, who refused to swallow, and soon his face was besmeared with the stuff, which was as black as tar. His face presented a ridiculous spectacle. The division surgeon was sent for, and was told to hurry up as we had a very sick man in our camp. He soon arrived, and found the man lying on a blanket with his eyes closed, his face being rather pale excepting where it was besmeared with the black tarry medicine, and presenting a comical appearance. The doctor made a brief examination of the patient, stepped back and smiled, saying to the boys, “The man will be all right in the morning,” and rode away. The following day we went in the direction of Lee and Gordon’s Mills, Crawfish Springs, and the upper Chickamauga. We remained in this vicinity a few days, watching and skirmishing with the enemy, then retraced our steps, going slowly in the direction of Chattanooga. Some firing continued with the enemy, which was Sept. 17 and 18. By that time Rosecrans’ army was concentrated on the north bank of Chickamauga Creek and the skirmishing became more general.
CHAPTER VII.
Beginning of the Battle of Chickamauga.
Major General Rosecrans commanded the Army of the Cumberland at the battle of Stone River and also at Chickamauga. What I saw of Gen. Rosecrans, and also what I learned about him otherwise, convinced me that he was brave in battle, and capable in command of a small army, and patriotic. But he possessed a passionate gallantry, which we saw displayed on battlefields by a few of our generals. A commander possessing these qualities will generally become easily discouraged, and relinquish a contested battlefield with but slight occasion for doing so.
Brig. Gen. Hazen commanded a brigade in Palmer’s division. I delivered messages at his headquarters often, during a period of more than a year, and had an opportunity to learn his character to some extent. I considered him to be a fine soldier and a gentleman. He was always at his post of duty, and enforced discipline with his soldiers, and was always ready to see that they were properly supplied with rations, clothing, and everything they were entitled to.
Hazen’s Brigade.
Grose’s Brigade.
Col. William Grose commanded a brigade in Gen. Palmer’s division. I delivered messages to Col. Grose as often as I did to Gen. Hazen, and had as much opportunity of studying his character. I considered him to be a gentleman, and a good and patriotic soldier. He did not enforce discipline as readily as Gen. Hazen, but held his command fairly well in hand.
Cruft’s Brigade.
Brig. Gen. Cruft also commanded a brigade in Palmer’s division, and I delivered messages to him the same as I did to Gen. Hazen and Col. Grose, and learned his character about as well as I did theirs. I formed a good opinion of Gen. Cruft. He appeared to me as very kindly, and pleasant to his companions. He apparently knew his duty and did it.
Sept. 19, 1863, dawned with the enemy in close proximity, and apparently moving toward our left, threatening to cut our communications with Chattanooga. During the day heavy fighting occurred along different parts of the line. Of course we also moved toward our left which was in danger of being flanked by the enemy. By the evening of the 19th the battle was well under way, and during the night many changes were made in our lines. Gen. Palmer’s division took position in the woods, on a long, low ridge extending north and south, and a short distance east from the famous Kelly field (perhaps twelve or fifteen rods), which also extended north and south.
Accompanying is a photograph taken in 1907, faintly showing the position occupied by Gen. Palmer’s division at Chickamauga on Sept. 20, 1863, with Reynolds’ division on his right, and Baird’s and Johnson’s on his left. The line is marked by monuments, showing the place occupied by each regiment. But the monuments do not appear distinctly in this photograph, on account of its having been greatly reduced in size. The above battle line extends parallel with the east line of the Kelly field and faces to the east. Near the southeast corner of the field can be seen a pyramid of cannon balls, which marks the spot where Col. E. A. King, commanding a brigade in Reynolds’ division, was killed, Sept. 20.
Photograph of Kelly Field—East Side.
I closely inspected this part of the battlefield in September, 1906, and found its location almost exactly as I remembered it from 1863.
During the night of Sept. 19, 1863, a line of temporary defenses was constructed with old logs, trees and stones, or anything that would answer the purpose. These breastworks were from two to three feet in height, making very good protection for the infantry while they were lying down.
During the morning, when the battle was momentarily expected to open, Gen. Palmer was standing in rear of the temporary defenses, inspecting them, and the infantry were lying on the ground behind them awaiting the attack, when some of them were peering over the top of a log which composed the upper portion of the defenses looking in the direction of the enemy, trying to discover their position. Everything was as still as death, when an enemy’s bullet struck the log, knocking off a large splinter and sending it whizzing through the air. The General, seeing what happened, cried out, “Down with your head, my man, you have got only one head and you may want to use that in a minute.” In an instant several more bullets came over, passing through the folds of the General’s pants. One of the boys seeing what took place looked at the General and said: “General, down with your legs, you have only one pair of them and you may want to use them in a minute.” In an instant all was confusion, and the bullets were coming over almost as thick as hail, and I think there was use for heads and legs.
During the evening of the 19th, as the members of Co. C were sitting around a small fire, Lieut. Shaw made the remark: “Boys, tomorrow will be the hardest fought battle that we have seen”; which subsequently proved to be true. One of the members, named William Buchan, folded his arms and said in a sort of joking way: “I wish I was at home with mother.” Poor boy, it would have been well for him if he had been there, for he was hit by a shot the following day while serving as orderly for Lieut. Shaw, and lived only a short time. When he was struck they were obliged to retreat, with the enemy not far away. They halted, took him from his horse, laid him down, and the brave boy spoke and said: “Lieutenant, go on or you will be captured; do not stop for me, in a few minutes I will be done.” He then shook hands, saying, “Tell Scudder (my chum) to tell my folks how I died.”
This incident about Buchan I did not witness, but it was related to me later on by my comrades of Co. C. Comrade Buchan was a sample of whom the majority of the army was composed. Dear reader, think of the unselfish patriotism displayed by him in his dying hour. He was willing to be left alone on a dreary battlefield to die, in order that his comrades might escape capture and therefore be able to assist in the restoration of the Union, that future generations, in fact all mankind, might enjoy the blessings resulting from a united country and the best and most righteous government on earth.
About two months later, after the Federal army had been reinforced and the enemy driven back, a large party of Federal troops, including some of Co. C, went out to the battlefield of Chickamauga to bury the dead who had been left there unburied after the battle. I was informed that they found more than one thousand unburied bodies. A number of members of Co. C proceeded to the portion of the battlefield where they had left Buchan at the time he was killed, and there found his remains. There was not much remaining except the skeleton, but they identified him by his curly hair, and a certain peculiar ring on his finger, which was removed and sent home to his folks.
The boys removed and buried him, and marked his grave. Later his remains were removed to the National Cemetery near Chattanooga, Tenn., which I visited in September, 1906, and with a kodak photographed the grave, which is shown in the illustration.
He was a good boy and loved by all. On the day that the remains of Buchan were found and buried by the Co. C boys, many sad scenes were discovered by them on the battlefield of Chickamauga, which battle was fought two months previous. The marks of the fearful strife were yet visible. Here and there were lines of hastily-constructed defenses, the ground was strewn with knapsacks, fragments of harness, haversacks, canteens, pieces of clothing, tin plates, bullet-pierced, round shot and unexploded shell. And there were also found straps, cartridge boxes, old socks, old shoes, letters rotting on the decaying bodies of once brave soldiers, all sad signs and telling their silent story of the great fight at Chickamauga. What a crowd of sorrowful memories! Where is the soldier who wore that belt? Where the one who wore those shoes? Is he cold in death? If so what eyes have been dimmed with tears at his sad fate? What hopes have been destroyed, what affections crushed, what hearts wrung with anguish never more to brighten? But sadder sights than the above were discovered by our boys as they moved over the battlefield. The unburied remains of hundreds of Union soldiers lay full length here and there, and again some had been partly buried, and others so slightly covered with earth that they were rooted out by the swine and lay scattered about in promiscuous heaps. And another sight was beheld. A deep well was discovered, filled to the surface with Union soldiers. Fellow citizens, do we appreciate what we enjoy, which has been secured by such sacrifices?
William Buchan’s Grave.
Soon after the time that Buchan was killed by the enemy’s shot I was inside of the line of the Confederate army looking for a place to escape. Sept. 20, 1863, was a day which will remain fresh in my memory as long as I live, on account of its terrible battles, the loss of William Buchan and many others, and myself being made a prisoner of war. The battle in our front began in the morning about nine o’clock, and raged fiercely at intervals during nearly the whole day and along Snodgrass Hill until after dark. The Confederates charged Palmer’s front repeatedly, but were as often repulsed. Some parts of the Union lines were broken by the enemy during the day and our prospects for success appeared rather discouraging.
On one occasion during the forenoon, when the Confederates charged on Palmer’s and Baird’s positions, they approached so near that those in advance came inside of our temporary defenses and were made prisoners. I well remember seeing them after their surrender.
Chickamauga Map.
The Confederate loss in our front was fearful, because whenever they came in sight our artillery poured forth grape and canister, which literally mowed swaths through their ranks. And if they approached within rifle or musket range, a dazzling sheet of flame would burst forth from our long lines of infantry.
This each time compelled them to fall back in disorder. During the day, while Gen. Palmer and myself were riding from one part of the line to another, his horse was struck just over one eye by a bullet, which stunned him and he fell to the ground. The General, being in a hurry to reach another part of our line, asked me to let him ride my horse, to which I consented and remained with his, which soon recovered, regained his feet, and apparently was all right again. The General returned and gave me my horse, and we mounted and rode away to another part of the line, where he wished to give some directions. We remained here for some time to watch the progress of the next attack, which was looked for soon to come. The infantry were lying behind their low breastworks, and the gunners of the artillery were alert near their guns awaiting the attack. The General had just dismounted in rear of the line of battle, and I was on my horse near by waiting for orders, when the enemy made another terrific movement on our line. Immediately our artillery bellowed with a deafening roar, sending forth its terrible missiles of destruction among the enemy, who when coming within rifle range received also the fire from our infantry, from whose long lines burst forth a sheet of flame; and the Confederates were repulsed with heavy loss. Their bullets came over at a fearful rate; at times it seemed as though they came as thick as if one would take a handful of shelled corn and scatter it broadcast. The roar of firearms from friend and foe was deafening, and it seemed as if the earth trembled beneath our feet.
The General was standing, talking to some of the officers. He turned toward me, saying: “Eby, you should not expose yourself unnecessarily. You would better dismount and step behind a tree while you are waiting for orders.” I immediately obeyed the General’s suggestion with a good will. It was now some time after noon, but we had not stopped for dinner, as there seemed to be some objections on the other side. The firing in our front ceased at times, but we could hear the incessant roar of musketry and artillery off at our right and rear, we being on the left. It seemed to move off farther and farther, until it sounded as though it were a mile away. Then in a few moments it would begin again nearer to us, and again roll off gradually in the distance. And now after these forty-five years of time have passed when I think about it I imagine that I can hear that same roar of firearms.
Thus the afternoon wore slowly away, we occasionally receiving some news from other parts of the army in regard to the progress of the battle, sometimes favorable and at other times unfavorable. I well remember when the news came that Gen. Granger’s reserve corps was coming to assist us. We felt very much encouraged and felt like cheering with perhaps many others. During the day, the exact time I do not remember, the General with part of his staff (including myself) was riding down the line quite a distance when we met several generals, among them Major Gen. Thomas.
They halted and so did we. The generals immediately began talking very briskly, and seemed to be holding a council of war. I well remember Gen. Thomas. During their conversation I noticed by their manner that something was not going right in regard to the battle, as Gen. Thomas shook his head several times in a way that indicated trouble. After the generals finished their talk they rode away to their respective commands.
John M Palmer
Palmer, Shutt, Drennan & Lester,
Attorneys & Counsellors at Law.
Springfield, Illinois.John M. Palmer.
William E. Shutt.
John G. Drennan.
Andrew J. Lester.Sept. 16, 1896.
Henry H. Eby:—
Mandotta, Illinois.
My dear Eby:—
Am obliged to you for your letter of the 11th inst. and for the clip you furnished me containing the names of the old comrades who were present at the Re-union and who answered roll call. I trust you tendered all who assembled my kindest regards.
Yours truly,
John M Palmer
Eastern Slope of Snodgrass Hill, Chickamauga.
General Thomas was a model of good and noble character, who solicited no praise for himself and was sparing of praise to others. He declined all the numerous gifts of houses, lands, money and bonds tendered him by his grateful countrymen. When he declined gifts offered to himself, he urged his proposed benefactors to provide out of their abundance for the wants of the widows and orphans of those who died for their country. General Thomas was one of the most resolute men. He did not possess the passionate gallantry that we have often seen displayed on fields of battle, but his sure-footed, reliable judgment did not allow him to fall into a mistake. The victories he won speak louder than words.
After returning to our division I saw a fine horse lying upon the ground dead with its head almost severed from the body. We were informed that it belonged to Gen. Cruft, who commanded a brigade in Palmer’s division. The horse had been struck by a cannon shot.
Late in the afternoon the heaviest firing seemed to be shifting toward that part of the line of battle adjacent to Snodgrass Hill, where the enemy was concentrating its best forces, trying hard to turn our right flank and get possession of the road leading to Chattanooga. They could thereby sever our communications with the latter place and the North, and they came very near accomplishing their object. They attacked Gen. Thomas’ line repeatedly and as often were repulsed with heavy loss, Gen. Thomas holding his position.
Snodgrass Hill, with Stable.
The battlefield of Chickamauga is now owned by the United States Government. Monuments have been erected marking the places where each command was stationed during the battle, and cannon are in position in the same places where the cannon of the opposing forces stood during the battle. The above illustration, made from a photograph taken by the author in 1906, represents a portion of Snodgrass Hill (which was occupied by Federal troops during Sept. 20, 1863), showing the old Snodgrass log stable partly fallen down, and also one large tree which was shot nearly to pieces by the Confederate artillery during the battle of Sept. 20, 1863. As can be seen in the illustration, the limbs of the large tree were nearly all cut off by the Confederate cannon shot. Their guns being located down in the valley they were obliged to elevate them when firing, and the tree being quite a distance back on the summit, as a consequence they could hit the tree only on its upper portion. The tree is dead and apparently has been since the battle, or at least has been for a number of years.
Portrait of Gen. Thomas.
The tree standing near the stable was alive when photographed, in 1906. Its top was entirely cut off during the battle, but it remained alive and formed a new top, as shown in the illustration. The Federal troops occupied Snodgrass Hill until the battle ended in the evening of Sept. 20, 1863.
The last desperate effort to dislodge Gen. Thomas’ command was made by the Confederates just at nightfall, and they were repulsed with the usual result. They then ceased the combat and withdrew their forces. The road to Chattanooga remained in possession of the Federals. Gen. Thomas then also withdrew his troops from the battlefield to Rossville, several miles in the rear, where they remained until Sept. 22, when they leisurely marched into Chattanooga. Thus closed the fearful battle of Chickamauga. The enemy’s loss according to reports was about 19,000 killed and wounded. The Federal loss was about 16,000. It is claimed by many that the great battle of Chickamauga was a victory for the Confederates, but I think differently. Chattanooga was the objective point in this campaign. The armies met ten or twelve miles south of the place, where a general engagement occurred for the possession of the city, in which the Confederate loss in men was greater than the Federal. The Confederates gained possession of the battlefield, but ceased the combat before the Federal army vacated its last line of battle. The Federals took a new position several miles to the rear, near Rossville, which they occupied until Sept. 22 without being molested by the Confederates during the 21st and 22nd, then took possession of Chattanooga and held it.
Trading Between Lines.
It was immaterial whether the fighting for the possession of Chattanooga occurred ten miles away, or within a mile or two of the city. The Federal army accomplished its object at the battle of Chickamauga. The Confederates gained nothing that was of any benefit to them, but lost several thousand good soldiers in excess of the Federal loss.
This picture represents a scene which lives in many a veteran’s memory. A truce to the murderous picket firing has been established, and the men have met to exchange the things they may have for others that they want more. The rebels bring tobacco, rebel newspapers, and sometimes corn-bread and fresh meat, but mainly tobacco. The Union soldiers bring coffee, hardtack, papers, knives, combs and similar articles, but mainly coffee. The rebels wanted many things which were plentiful enough in the Union camps, but they wanted coffee more than anything else. They and their “women folks” seemed half crazy for “Yankee coffee.” They would swap anything except their muskets for it. A pound of Yankee coffee was the most acceptable present one of them could send back home to his mother or sweetheart. It was not often that one of them had the self-denial to do this. He wanted it too badly himself. From the way the Union soldier in the foreground is displaying his stock of coffee, he must be expecting to buy up everything the Confederates had in that section of the country.
The Historic Balm of Gilead
Johnson Farm, Waterloo, N. Y.
LEAVING his scythe hanging in this tree Wyman J. Johnson enlisted and was mustered into service at Elmira, N. Y., November 15, 1861; and became member of Company G, of the 85th N. Y. Volunteers. He served in 15 engagements; was promoted to Fourth Sergeant April 13, 1863; was wounded at New Burn, N. C., and died in the hospital, Raleigh, N. C., May 22, 1864.
The young sapling has now grown to be a massive tree, enveloping nearly all of the scythe, and becoming indeed, a living monument of the dead.
CHAPTER VIII.
My Capture by the Confederates.
I was made a prisoner of war at the close of the battle of Chickamauga, Ga., Sept. 20, 1863. Being a mounted orderly on Gen. Palmer’s staff, my duties were to go where ordered, carrying messages from one part of the army to another. Gen. Palmer’s division held its position during the last day of the battle, and just about the time that the battle closed, which was near the close of the day, it was withdrawn. A short time before its withdrawal Gen. Palmer and staff, including myself and two other members of Co. C, rode away from the line of battle across the Kelly field toward the woods beyond. But before reaching the woods we came to an old-fashioned rail fence, and just as the fence was reached a heavy artillery fire was opened upon us. As near as I could ascertain it came from the extreme left of our army, some distance north of the Kelly field, beyond a patch of open woods, where I saw the smoke roll up from some cannon about a quarter of a mile away. The shots struck nearly lengthwise of the fence, cutting and splintering the rails and throwing the pieces about us in every direction, frightening our horses so that we were prevented from crossing the fence as soon as we desired.
I had no objection to rails but preferred to have them remain in the fence. The General and staff managed to cross the fence in advance just about the time that the battery opened fire upon us, and rode into the woods, where we lost sight of them. Two other comrades and myself were yet at the fence, trying to cross and follow the rest of the group, which was our duty to do. We finally succeeded, and also rode into the woods in search of the General but he had gained some distance on us and we failed to find him. We continued the search until, becoming somewhat discouraged and night closing in upon us, we stopped and held a council of war as it was called, trying to determine in which direction to go in order to find the General or his division, but we failed to agree. My proposition was to go in the direction where our division (Palmer’s) was located during the day, thinking that we would find it and by this means also find the whereabouts of the General, I being unaware that the troops had been withdrawn from their position. My two comrades started off in a different direction from the one taken by myself, and reached the Union lines in safety. I went in the direction in which I expected to find Palmer’s division, thinking that I would be all right. After riding through the woods a short distance I came to a deep ravine, and after passing down into it I found many wounded soldiers, who called to me asking for water, which I was unable to give them, as my canteen was empty, I having been without water nearly all day myself, and did not know where to find any. This was a trying time for me, as I heard these poor wounded comrades groaning and calling to me for help, which I was unable to give. I rode up the opposite bank of the ravine and some distance beyond. It had now become quite dark, and I soon arrived at the place where I expected to find Palmer’s troops, and suddenly came to a long line of stacked guns, which could be seen by the aid of some small camp-fires beyond, and on approaching them saw some men between myself and the fire, near the guns. Some were standing, some sitting and others lying on the ground.
Crossing the Rail Fence on the Kelly Field.
These I thought might belong to Palmer’s division. Riding up close to them I asked one of the men the number of his regiment. He replied “The 16th Mississippi.” He of course had not discovered that I was a Federal. I was a little doubtful in regard to these troops. Thinking that there might be some misunderstanding between us I rode down the line a short distance and inquired again. The answer came “This is the 20th Louisiana.” I was then satisfied that they were Confederate troops, but they had not yet identified me and perhaps thought that I was a Confederate. As the fires beyond the line of guns were not sufficient by which to distinguish my uniform, I still had hopes of reaching our lines in safety. I saw some small fires in different directions which apparently had just been started. As I subsequently learned I was now inside the main line of the Confederate army.
My opinion was that the Federal troops had withdrawn from their position during the evening and these Confederates had come in there and stacked arms. The next thing for me to do was to contrive some plan to make my escape from inside the enemy’s lines. The first thing I thought of was to get away from these troops before some of them would identify me. I immediately rode away, perhaps fifteen or twenty rods, thinking that I might escape unnoticed. While riding through the woods without a friend except my faithful horse (that had done good service for Uncle Sam for two years), I thought of many things in a few seconds. A difficult task was before me (that of reaching the Union lines in safety). One great difficulty was that I did not know in which direction to go. It being nighttime I was unable to see distinctly what was before me and my reader can imagine my predicament. As I proceeded on farther a voice near me called out “Halt!” which I obeyed.
I was able to see some object just ahead of my horse, but was unable to tell what it was. In a few seconds I discovered two men near my horse’s head. One called out, “Surrender, here, get off your horse”; which I proceeded to do, as they had the muzzles of their guns uncomfortably close to my face. And now my goose was cooked.
I never obeyed orders more promptly, and did not stop to argue the case with them nor ask whether their guns were loaded. By the light of a few fires which had been started in the vicinity, these Confederates were enabled to identify me by my uniform, and I could also distinguish them as we were now so near together. The Confederates could see me more distinctly than I could them on account of my being on a horse and they on the ground. There was not the smallest chance to escape, as I now found myself surrounded by quite a number of the enemy, about ten to one. The two Confederates who captured me quarreled, each claiming my sabre and revolver. My sabre was one we had captured from a Confederate lieutenant at the battle of Stone River, and was a beauty.
My Capture.
Little did I care which one got them, I was a prisoner of war under guard and obliged to comply with all orders, no matter what they were. I cannot describe the state of my mind just then, but guess I felt some like the boy, after getting a good whipping which he did not deserve, very despondent. In a few moments I was conducted under guard to some commissioned officer’s headquarters for inspection. Before starting I took my pup tent from my saddle, hung it over my shoulder, and bade good-bye to my faithful horse, rubbing my hand down over her honest face as we parted. But now at our final separation came over me a more piercing sense of the loss of my honest four-footed friend, that was always so willing and ready to do her duty. We had endured together the perils of the battle, the scout, the outpost picket, and the skirmish; also the hardships of the march through mud and slush, the courier service, and many gripings of hunger which we had shared together. Now at last our paths separated, I was retired from actual service to become a prisoner, and she bore her new rider away to battle against her old friends. It was a sad parting.
We immediately started and marched some distance through the woods to the headquarters of an officer. I judged him to be a colonel or a brigadier general, who asked a number of questions and called me such names as are not to be found in a dictionary, and caused me to think that he was not very polite in speech. One question I distinctly remember was, “What did you come down here for and what are you doing here?” I said, “To lick you folks into the Union.” He replied, “That is a h——l of a way,” and appeared as cross as a bear with a sore head. But I thought that he was excusable, because they had suffered severely along this part of their line which was in front of Palmer’s, Reynolds’, Baird’s and Johnson’s divisions. Judging by what I could see and hear during the evening after my capture, I was convinced that the Confederates were severely punished in front of our part of the army.
When this sauce-box had gotten through with me, I was conducted a short distance farther where five more of my comrades in misfortune were met, who had been captured during the day and were fellow prisoners with me. We were here allowed to rest but not to eat or drink, for good reasons. It was now between eight and nine o’clock in the evening of Sept. 20, and there was a little time for reflection. I felt a trifle hungry and very thirsty, having had neither dinner nor supper, and no water all day. The dust, smoke and heat, combined, made me feel as though I was about perishing. I turned my attention to my haversack and found it as flat as a pancake, containing only a few crumbs of hardtack which remained after a scanty breakfast. After eating those, which amounted to nothing in satisfying my hunger, I felt even more hungry than before. We soon lay down to rest and sleep, and I realized that I was about worn out from the effects of the two days’ battle. I slept but little, but thought more about what might be our fate in the near future. I probably felt like a criminal under death sentence on the night previous to execution, as we considered confinement in southern military prisons equivalent to a death sentence. I feared that I could send no letters to the folks at home, and if ever a person had the blues I had them that night of Sept. 20, 1863. Being made a prisoner of war was something that I had never thought to experience.
Early on the morning of Sept. 21 found us on the march to some point unknown to us, without anything to eat. About ten o’clock we were joined by 1,500 of our boys who had met with a similar fate, and were also on their way to some southern prison pen. About three o’clock in the afternoon we arrived at Ringgold, Ga., where a brief halt was made and the Confederates wrote a list of our names. When this was accomplished the march was resumed in a southeasterly direction until evening, when we halted and camped for the night. On the morning of Sept. 22 we drew the first rations from “Uncle Jeff’s” commissary, consisting of one pint of unsifted cornmeal for each man, which was our day’s allowance, but was hardly sufficient for a half a meal. I think the Confederates were short of rations themselves and had none to spare for us. We had now fasted forty-eight hours, and a pint of cornmeal appeared rather small to subsist on for the next twenty-four hours. My cooking utensils consisted of one pint cup, and with it full of meal how was I to cook my mush? I took part of the meal out of the cup and put it in my haversack, mixed the balance with water, set it on the fire for a short time, and named it mush. But now another difficulty arose. How was I to eat the stuff without a spoon? Well, it has been said that necessity is the mother of invention, which was true in this case, as I combined a small stick with the mush, to assist me in licking it out of the cup, in dog fashion. I then cooked the balance of the meal and ate it also. After finishing our breakfast of mush, we were called up in line by the Confederate officers in charge, who searched us for firearms, but failed to find many, as there were but few in the crowd.
When the search was finished we resumed our journey, and walked until night, when Dalton, Ga., was reached, a small town on the Chattanooga and Atlanta Railroad, where we camped until the morning of Sept. 23. During the night rations were issued the second time by the Confederates, which consisted of about a pound of flour or dough to each man. I well remember that it tasted bitter, and appeared to me like flour that had been wet in the sack, and formed into chunks, which were mouldy and bitter. Something had to be done with the stuff, to fix it up in some way that could be masticated, because I had eaten nothing except a pint of very inferior mush during sixty-eight hours, and to tell the truth I was beginning to feel a trifle hungry. I built a fire, and determined to try and bake my lump of flour, which was performed in a way. We were camped in the woods where some large trees had been chopped, and there we found some clean chips. I took one of them, pasted my ration of flour upon it, and set it near the fire to bake, at an angle of about forty-five degrees. When I considered it baked I took it off the chip and found it baked only a little on the surface, and that it had not “raised” a bit. Some of the boys declared that the “raising” had been put in upside down. It was about as tough as a piece of rubber. I attempted to eat some of it but it was hard work and it seemed to stretch and contract alternately. The more I chewed the stuff the bigger and tougher it seemed to get, and it did not want to go down. I viewed it and it appeared very sad, but my condition was much sadder. It was a very serious affair indeed. I thought of lockjaw, and many other misfortunes that might befall me in my attempts to swallow some of the rubbery bread-stuff. It was swallow or starve. It is natural for a person to think of remedies in a strenuous case like this. I thought if the stuff did unfortunately stick fast in my throat we might apply the leather whip-stock remedy, which I remembered was applied to a cow when choked with a turnip. A dog would have turned up his nose at the offer of some of the above-mentioned bread.
It was now sunrise, Sept. 23, and we received orders to get on board the cars, which were promptly obeyed. They were ordinary freight cars, but we were thankful to ride on any kind of a car. The train moved southward and we arrived at Atlanta, Ga., in the evening of the same day, and were transferred to a pen inclosed by a high, tight, board fence, where we remained until Sept. 25, when orders were again received to get on the cars. They were common freight or box cars, and they packed us in almost as thick as sardines in a box. This was the worst experience that I ever had in railroad traveling. We were obliged to stand up or sit on the floor, and fold up like a jack-knife with our hands clasped around our knees to keep our backs from breaking, and we suffered all the tortures imaginable. I felt as if every joint in my body was coming apart. It was about as severe as being fastened in the stocks. We were eight days on this journey by rail from Dalton to Richmond, Va., but lay over in Atlanta one day and two nights, and were unloaded two different nights after leaving Atlanta, in order to allow us to straighten our weary limbs and sleep. But the other three nights we spent on the cars, in torment. It was hard to endure, but I suppose it was as well as the Confederacy could do for us.
As I stated before, we were ordered to get on board of the cars at Atlanta, Ga., Sept. 25, when we started on our journey toward Augusta, Ga., located on the banks of the Savannah River, which was reached the following evening. We were here unloaded and transferred to a churchyard to rest during the night, which was found to be a very pleasant resting place. We had drawn rations at Atlanta, which consisted of about a pound and one-half of hardtack and a small quantity of bacon. Two and one-half pounds of hardtack and bacon for each man to subsist on for six days were small rations. From Augusta we went by rail into South Carolina, running down within about twenty miles of the city of Charleston to a small place named Branchville.
On our way we passed through some swampy country. The train stopped at a place where a large ricefield extended close to the track. The rice was out in head and I was anxious to get some of it, so the guards permitted me to get off the car and procure a few heads.
I now discovered Captain Muhleman, of Gen. Palmer’s staff, on the train, he being also a prisoner of war, captured about the same time that I was taken. I was surprised to see him, not knowing previously that he had been taken prisoner. I talked with him, and he appeared to be very much discouraged in regard to our condition. At Branchville we turned north, and soon arrived at Columbia, S. C. (the capital of the State), where the train halted for a short time, but we were soon on our way again northward, passing through some country which appeared to me extremely poor. The soil had the appearance of red chalk, and here I heard a good many remarks made by the men about the country. One said, “The ground is so poor that they could raise nothing but a rebellion and the d——l, and would be obliged to fertilize it before it would make brick.”
I was of the opinion that birds flying over that country would be obliged to carry haversacks, because they could find nothing there to subsist on, and that the hogs we saw in the woods were so thin that two of them were required to make a shadow. Many other similar remarks were made by the boys. We passed on northward, finally reaching the borders of North Carolina, the land of tar, pitch and turpentine. Passing on, most of the country was found to be heavily timbered, but of course we saw only a portion of it, as some of our journey was made after night.
Our next stopping place of importance was Charlotte, N. C., where we arrived Sept. 27, left the cars, and camped for the night in a nice, grassy field. I rested well here. We began thinking about our rations, which were getting low, and I proceeded to eat some of mine, and relished them after fasting for some time. While eating some of the bacon a peculiar flavor was noticeable, and I remarked to one of my comrades that I thought the bacon had a peculiar taste, and he said it tasted of the Southern Confederacy. We arose in the morning feeling quite refreshed, and after eating a light breakfast were again put on board the train and started eastward, arriving at Raleigh, the capital of the State, some time during the day. The train stopped here for a short time, but soon moved on through the city northward, toward Virginia, nothing of importance transpiring on the way.
The next place of importance was Petersburg, Va., where the train halted quite a long time. We were now not far from Richmond, Va. After all was ready the train moved on toward Richmond and Belle Isle, where we arrived Sept. 30, 1863. Between Augusta and Richmond we spent three nights in the cars, which almost tormented the life out of us.
I had now been a prisoner of war ten days, and began to feel the effects of it seriously, as during the journey from Atlanta to Belle Isle, which was a period of six days, we had only a pound and a half of hardtack and a small piece of bacon to subsist on. I have not forgotten how carefully those scanty rations were guarded by me. I prized them as highly as I would the same weight in gold, and perhaps they were of more value to me than gold, for my life depended upon the little morsel. Economy was practiced by me to the utmost degree as I ate only a very small quantity at a time. Whenever hunger pinched me hard, I could not keep my hand out of the haversack. It seemed as though the little morsel was magnetized. I would take a few bites of my bacon and hardtack (the bacon I was obliged to eat raw as I had no way of cooking it), and after eating just enough to aggravate me, would be obliged to stop or have none left for the following two or three days.
During our journey from Atlanta to Belle Isle we saw many curious crowds, that collected at the stations where our train halted. They came to see the “Yanks,” and would ask some funny questions in regard to the war. Some would ask, “What did you-all come down heah to fight we-uns for?” “You-all were captured this time”; and many other curious questions, too numerous to mention.
CHAPTER IX.
Entrance into Belle Island Prison Pen.
On Sept. 30, 1863, we arrived on Belle Island, which is located in the James River, in front and a little above Richmond, Va., then the capital of the Southern Confederacy. The train stopped on the south side of the river and we were ordered to alight and were conducted down to the bridge and across it to the island. The Confederate iron works were located on the island, near the bridge, it was now getting dark and as we passed them they seemed to be all aglow from the light of the fires within, and one of the boys remarked in a joking way: “Here are the iron works, and the next place will be h——l.” I guess the prison pen on the island, into which we were placed a few moments later, about filled the bill.
We soon arrived at the place where we were to be confined, and found it to consist of several acres of ground, surrounded by a ditch about two feet deep and three feet wide, with the soil thrown up on the outside, which formed the dead-line. Outside of this the guards paced back and forth. Any person stepping upon this line would be shot down without a moment’s warning. There were 7,000 or 8,000 prisoners confined on this small area of ground. Nearly one-half of them were without any shelter whatever, and many had no blankets or overcoats.
We arrived at our new quarters in the evening, and after partaking of a scanty meal looked about for a spot large enough to lie down upon to sleep. I found a place that reminded me of the garden beds we used to make at home, it being slightly raised, with a path around it. Probably this had been made by some of the prisoners, to keep the water off in case of heavy rains. We now made preparations to retire, which were very simple. As many as could crowd upon this small space of ground lay down, in spoon fashion; that is, all lying with our faces turned in the same direction, and fitted together as one would spoons in packing them away, in order to have sufficient room and keep as warm as possible. We had nothing under us except the cold, bare earth, and nothing over us except a pup tent (a piece of muslin six feet square) and the blue sky, which was rather light covering. We had advantages on the island in some respects that we did not possess at home, we were not obliged to open the windows to air our beds. My outfit of clothing consisted of shirt, pants, cavalry jacket, boots and hat. I used my hat in place of a nightcap, to keep my head from coming in contact with the ground. I generally felt quite chilly during the night, and did not sleep soundly. Got up in the morning and found that the surroundings looked very discouraging. Did not see a soul that I knew, but saw many prisoners, some of whom had been confined here for months. These appeared ragged, dirty, and discouraged to the last degree. Rations were very small, and we were hungry continually, but had plenty of river water to drink. From Belle Isle a fairly good view of the city of Richmond was had. We could plainly see a building in which Jefferson Davis, the president of the Southern Confederacy, resided, and also some of the large brick buildings in which were confined many Union soldiers. The famous Libby Prison, in which was a large number of Federal officers, stood very close to the James River, in plain view from the island.
I remained here six days, and was then transferred to the city of Richmond. On arriving there I, in company with other prisoners, entered Libby Prison through the wide door at the northwest corner of the building.
We were introduced into Libby for the purpose of being searched, were formed into line, and then the search commenced. It was bossed by a man named Dick Turner. We were closely searched, and everything of value taken from us and confiscated. I possessed but very little property at that time. A two dollar greenback and a one dollar Confederate bill was all the money in my possession. I had also an old dilapidated pocketbook, but it was of no value and therefore was not confiscated. My two dollar greenback they were unable to find. I bought bread with it later on. Bread sold at enormous prices, and a man could easily eat in one day what he could buy for a dollar greenback.
Libby Prison, West Side.
From Libby we were transferred to and confined in a large four-story brick building, called the Smith Prison. It had formerly been used as a tobacco factory, but was now a prison for Federal soldiers. I was confined on the third floor, with about three hundred other prisoners. This was a large room, but after lying down at night the floor was about covered with men. There was scarcely room enough for a person to walk through between the rows of men. Here we were well sheltered, but suffered another extreme, being nearly suffocated on account of not having proper ventilation; not even being allowed to open a window wide enough to admit sufficient fresh air to supply the number of prisoners within.
Libby Prison, Northeast.
One day while I was standing near a window, two of my comrades stepped upon the window sill and pulled the window slightly down, to admit some fresh air; when immediately a shot was fired by the guard outside. The ball passed through the window at an angle of about thirty degrees, fortunately missed the boys who opened the window, but passed up through the floor above us, which also contained a large number of prisoners, and unfortunately the ball passed through one of them, severely wounding him. He was carried downstairs, passing through our room, and outside, I suppose to some hospital.
There were about three hundred of us confined within this room, for a term of about two months, and during all that time we were hardly allowed to draw a breath of fresh air. What I mean by this is, air that was not contaminated by the foul air of the prison. This and starvation, together, weakened us to an alarming degree. Our rations were issued once a day, and we generally devoured them at one meal, and still felt hungry. It was really just enough to make one meal a day. The order to draw rations generally came in the following manner. The Confederate orderly would enter the room and cry out: “Sargin ob de floor, four men and four blankets.” This announcement in the southern dialect soon became a proverb among the boys. The “sargin ob de floor” would then detail four men and four blankets (blankets were a scarce article but generally enough were found to carry the rations) to carry the rations to our room. They would hasten down the stairs, and then those left behind anxiously crowded around the windows, pale, hungry, and each one eager to catch the first glimpse of the returning four men and four blankets with the morsel of bread, and soup (the soup being carried in buckets). This was composed of small beans, some being black and others red, and nearly every one was hollow and contained several black bugs enclosed, with hard shells. When the beans were boiled the bugs separated from them, and became mixed all through the soup, and while eating it we were obliged to grind the bugs between our teeth, which made me think of chewing parched corn or grinding coffee. The ingredients of the soup except the beans and bugs were unknown to us. Some declared that there was mule meat in it, judging from the bones found in the soup. I was almost famished for a meat diet, but did not care to have it in bug form. The bread rations consisted of brown bread, which tasted good to me, but we could not tell of what it was composed. The quantity was so small that it failed to satisfy our hunger. Part of the time while in this building we received corn-bread instead of the brown bread, and occasionally a small piece of meat, the quantity being too small to be mentioned. The soup was named by some of the men “bug soup,” and it was a very appropriate name, as the bugs seemed to make the biggest show.
Our beds consisted of the bare floor. For covering I had my indispensable pup tent. We remained in this building during the months of October and November, and during that time there was no fire in the room, but any quantity of foul air, which at times was so terrible that I believe it was poison to us. The closet was located at or in one corner of the room. It was nothing more than a space about six or eight feet in length and several feet wide, and extended down to the basement to the depth of twenty or twenty-five feet. It was enclosed on three sides, and the side which opened into our room or prison had no door. It remained open all the time that we were confined in this place. I do not know whether there was sufficient water at the bottom of the closet to carry away all the refuse or not, but by what we saw I think not. The condition of the atmosphere was simply horrible beyond description. At times it seemed as if we would certainly suffocate. In this condition about three hundred of us lived, slept, and dined, for a period of about two months in the room just mentioned. We usually became quite chilly during the night, while lying on the cold floor. Our clothing was thin, as we were captured during warm weather and therefore were not prepared for winter.
While in the Smith Prison I formed an acquaintance with a number of the boys, with whom many good talks were enjoyed about our homes and friends so far away, and those we had left several years before, perhaps never to see again. My most intimate friend while there was a “Doc.” Davis who belonged I think to the 55th Indiana Infantry. Davis and I bunked together, as we called it. Each possessed a pup tent, which we doubled for a covering at night. Davis was not feeling well here. He would arise in the morning, sometimes groaning with pain, caused by lying on the cold, hard floor all night. He died soon after his return from prison.
I also formed acquaintance with a man named Scott, and another named Seaman, both members of the 21st Wisconsin, and very fine boys they were. Both of them died in prison. We nightly dreamed of getting something good to eat, for this idea was uppermost in our minds, and we were constantly reminded of it by the gnawing hunger endured. Many times I dreamed of being at home and eating of the luxuries to be found there. Oh, what a disappointment on awaking from such happy dreams, to find myself in such a wretched condition as we were. Many of the men soon became weak and disabled, from the poisonous atmosphere created by the breathing of the several hundred men confined here, and the horrid stench from the closet. The starvation and feeling of utter despair to which they gave way was also a factor. They became so emaciated that many were unable to stand up during roll call. This was usually called once a day by a spry little man named Ross. The boys named him “Jack of Clubs.” I well remember his countenance. Whenever he came in to call the roll, and any of the boys did not get up quick enough to suit him, he would go to them and abuse them in a brutal manner. Those who were sick and unable to rise he frequently left for days and weeks before reporting to the hospital. He always came in accompanied by a large man, carrying an old musket barrel in his hand. Three or four guards also accompanied him. The man with the musket barrel generally helped to get the boys in line by cuffing them. Roll call took place early in the day, after which we would begin “skirmishing for graybacks” (as we called it) of which we all had a good supply.
This occupation helped us to pass away some of the long, tedious hours of our confinement. Some perhaps do not understand what is meant by the word “grayback,” which I will now explain. A grayback is a small, carnivorous insect—or plainly speaking a louse—which infests the inner garments of a person who is unable to change his clothing frequently, which was the case with us in the prisons. In fact we never changed our garments while in prison. It was not stylish to do so, and if it had been we could not, as we possessed only what we had on our backs and they changed themselves. Some were obliged to wear their shirts until they literally wore off, or were kicked to pieces by the graybacks and fell from their backs. I will now explain what is meant by skirmishing. It was taking off our shirts, turning them inside out, and carefully searching for and killing the graybacks, which were sometimes very numerous, and tormented us in such a way at night that we were scarcely able to sleep.
Skirmishing for Graybacks.
The mode of killing these graybacks was as follows: As stated before, the garment was turned inside out, and then the game was soon found, overtaken and slain. Our weapons consisted of our thumb nails. The hands were placed near each other in about the position that a person would hold them when knitting with knitting needles, with the upper part of the thumb nails nearly touching. When in operation the movement of the hands was about the same as it would be when knitting. This work might properly have been called “knitting,” because nits were more numerous than graybacks. In the work mentioned above the results depended upon the amount of labor performed; the faster we worked the more we accomplished. These pests had become so numerous that it was all a well man could do to keep them within a reasonable limit. These miserable tormenters were always hungry like ourselves, because they had poor pasture feeding on our bodies. Sometimes when things in prison were reasonably quiet many of those insects would venture out on the vacant spaces of the floor, and it was amusing to us boys to watch their maneuvers. A number of us would sometimes be sitting in a row on the floor, with our backs to the wall, and suddenly our attention would be turned to a number of these pests in groups about the floor. Of course the boys would make remarks about their performance. Some would say: “Hello, the graybacks are going on dress parade.” Others declared they were foraging parties, looking for provisions, and would call out: “Look out, boys, they are looking you fellows over to find out which one of you has any meat left on him, and then they will go for you.” Those men who were weak and helpless were nearly eaten alive by these millions of parasites. It did not seem unreasonable when one of the men declared that he had seen a dead man with quarts of graybacks upon him. No doubt but that the days of these poor sick boys were materially shortened by these insects.
I used my boots for a pillow at night, while trying to sleep, by placing them together in a way that would locate the most congenial part of the boots next to and in contact with my head. I found a contrast between my pillow and one composed of good goose feathers, but the boot pillow was a decided improvement over the hard floor, and it was also the best that could be done under the circumstances, as we could get no rubbish of any kind to place under our heads, and I did not dare to take off my jacket to use as a pillow, or I would have chilled. The boot pillow was a severe test on the phrenological organs of the head. Some of my comrades feared that we might receive fatal injuries from the effects of our hard pillows, and others allowed that it would improve our fighting qualities by an enlargement of that organ. I was not the only one who endured the pangs of a hard pillow. Nearly or quite all suffered the same, in common. There was no partiality shown in this; the hardships were as free as water for all, and the hard pillow was not the only torture, when we tried to sleep in the Smith Prison. As I stated before, our clothing was thin, and what meat was left on us also thin. And when lying on the hard floor at night, trying to sleep, it seemed as if our bones were determined to punch holes through our grayback-eaten hides. Some thought if we ever got out of prison Uncle Sam would be obliged to patch us up, like a person would patch an old torn garment.
My opinion was that there would be but very few of us left that would be worth patching after the Southern Confederacy was through with us, and I think now that I was correct. No person can comprehend the extent of the intense suffering endured by the men in prison except those who were confined in them. We suffered a dozen things at the same time, that made us miserable. They occur to me as follows: Starvation, cold, bad ventilation, tormented by graybacks, filthy clothing, no opportunity for bathing, bad sanitation, close confinement, food of poor quality, soreness caused by sleeping on the bare floor, the sight of so much misery all about us, and the thought of being domineered over by a cruel keeper. I had the pleasure (?) of enjoying (?) with hundreds of other comrades all the hardships just mentioned, which was a great combination of torments and as I thought a severe dose.
Trading with the guards became an extensive business considering the amount of capital invested. Capital with us was very small, on account of our having been closely searched by the Confederates before entering prison. All money and valuables that could be found on our persons were confiscated, but they were unable to find all the greenbacks that the boys had hidden in their clothing in various ways.
When starvation began to take effect they used this money to purchase bread from the guards, at enormous prices. Some of the guards were very clever fellows, and would do favors for us when the officers were not about. Sometimes they furnished us with the Richmond papers, which was against the orders of the Confederacy. Thereby we were enabled to get a little of the outside news.
Sometime in November we received some rations from Uncle Sam, which were sent through the Confederate lines to us. This partly supplied us for about a week, after which we received no more during our imprisonment. Some days later I read an order in a Richmond paper as follows: “No more rations or clothing shall be allowed to come through the Confederate lines to prisoners of war in our possession.” Signed by those in authority in the Confederate government. They claimed that it was a disgrace for them to allow our government to feed us. The famous Confederate commander of cavalry, John Morgan, came into our prison one day in November. He seemed to be looking for some person or persons, as he passed through the room, but I never heard whether he found the one he was searching for. I well remember his looking us over very closely.
An Ohio boy, whose name I cannot recall, did some trading with the guards with the intention of procuring a Confederate uniform. The place where the trading was usually done was at the foot of the lower stairway, where a door opened into a reception room, which also had a door opening into the street or on to the sidewalk. A guard was stationed at the foot of the stairway, and another at the door which opened from this room into the street. This constituted a double guard.
A number of Confederates who were not on duty would enter this room, bringing with them some articles of food, and any prisoner who was fortunate enough to have some greenbacks could purchase, at enormous prices. This Ohio boy, mentioned, first traded for a Confederate cap, next a coat, and third, a pair of pants which were of the grey Confederate uniform. He did not procure them all the same day. He brought them upstairs into our room and took off his blue suit and put on the grey. He then walked down the stairway and commenced trading with the Confederates who were standing about the room. While they were busy trading he passed the inner guard and into the reception room unnoticed, and then walked leisurely about the room, talking to the Confederates, not being particularly noticed by them, and finally walked past the outer guard into the street. The guards no doubt supposed him to be one of their own men on account of his being dressed in a grey uniform. He walked leisurely up the street to a bakery, where he purchased some bread, and then retraced his steps, walking back past our prison, which was the last time we saw him Some time later we learned that he had made his escape to the Union lines. He certainly was a shrewd boy.
CHAPTER X.
Our Return to Danville—Many Sick with Smallpox—Smallpox Hospital, and Convalescent Camp.
On the morning of Dec. 9, 1863, the order came for us to go to Danville, Va., located on the North Carolina line a distance from Richmond of about 150 miles in a southwesterly direction. We started before daylight in the morning, going by rail. I remember my surprise as we marched out into the street. My limbs were very weak, and some pain in my knee joints and other parts of the body caused me to stagger a little as I walked. We were escorted to the railroad station and crowded into freight cars, and arrived at Danville in the evening of the same day. We were then unloaded and confined in a building similar to the one we had left, received nearly the same kind of food, and enjoyed about such privileges as we did in Richmond, being continually hungry, filthy, crowded and chilly, and also irritated by the industrious graybacks, which seemed determined to keep us company without being invited, and which caused the most of us to be rather ill-natured.
The smallpox made its appearance here about Dec. 13, but I was not aware of it until about eight days later, when I became very sick, and was lying upon the cold, bare floor for a number of days without any attention whatever. On Dec. 24 a doctor came in, looked me over, and informed me that I had smallpox, but I was feeling so very sick that this information did not make much impression on me. I did not seem to care what I had or what became of me. Late in the afternoon they came with a two-wheeled dray, upon which I was loaded and hauled about a mile to the smallpox hospital, while the wind was blowing almost a gale from the northwest, and cold for that locality. On arriving at the hospital, about sunset, I found it to be quite a comfortable place compared to where I had been staying. It contained cots for the sick such as we used in our own hospitals. I was placed upon one of these, and on either side of me were those who appeared very sick. The one on my right died the first night I was there.
This being Christmas eve, my thoughts were of course of home, and the happy times we always enjoyed on such occasions. I felt very gloomy when realizing my condition and the place in which I was confined, hardly possessing the necessaries of life, and being a prisoner of war, sick and in the hands of an enemy. This Christmas eve seemed very long and tedious. The pustules were then beginning to break out on me and my head seemed to me as large as a bushel basket. There were no pit marks left upon me from the effects of the smallpox, as I had previously been dieted, by the kindness of the Southern Confederacy, which was expert at dieting its prisoners of war.
The days and nights wore slowly away, and in a few days I began to feel better and was able to watch the proceedings about me in the hospital. Some new patients were being brought in continually, while others died and were carried out to the dead-house. This was a log house near by, where the dead were stored until ready for burial, and was generally well occupied, as many died and were buried here.
I had now been here a number of days, and to my surprise, one day Doc. Davis, who was my chum in Richmond, came into the ward in which I was confined, and told me that he had been detailed to be hospital steward of the smallpox hospital. The news of Doc. Davis’ presence cheered me up wonderfully. Of course he did all he could for us sick boys. The weather for this latitude was extremely cold during the latter part of 1863 and the beginning of 1864, but of course not as severe as in the northern States. Yet we suffered greatly on account of not being well prepared for it. About two weeks had been spent by me in the hospital, and my health was greatly improved. The authorities were talking of putting us in the convalescent camp, which they did about the second week in January.
This camp was very well located, and was composed of tents, having chimneys made of mud and sticks, with a fireplace. We were quite comfortably housed, and were allowed to have wood for fire if we chopped it, and those who were able did so. Three of us convalescents were quartered in one small tent. Here I became acquainted with my tentmates, William Herrick, of Co. F, 30th Indiana, and Calvin W. Hudson, of Co. D, 65th Ohio. We soon became quite intimate, and had many friendly chats together about home and friends, and laying plans for our escape from prison. We had bunks fixed up, made of boards, so that our beds were not on the ground. We had now secured woolen blankets from Uncle Sam, and had one apiece.
This camp was guarded by North Carolina troops. Their guard line, on which the guards paced to and fro, was about ten or fifteen feet from our row of tents. The cookhouse was located in the southeast corner of the camp, in which the rations were cooked for the sick and convalescent. By this time our appetites had become the largest part of us. It seemed to me that I could eat anything, from a dog to a sawhorse, which was an indication that my health was improving.
One day when outside our tent near the cookhouse window, I discovered some turnip and potato parings lying on the ground, which had been thrown out of the cookhouse window. I gathered them up, and while doing so also discovered an old beef bone, which I picked up, and put the bone parings and some water together in an old tin can. I placed it over the fire and allowed the morsel to boil for quite a long time. This formed a sort of soup, with a little grease from the bone floating on the top. I stirred it well, and as soon as it was cool enough ate it with great relish, thinking it the best soup that I had ever tasted. I was extremely hungry, and could hardly refrain from tasting it while stirring. I probably acted like some little child would when there is a prospect for something good to eat. I ate the soup and eagerly wished for more, and would have given a small fortune (had I possessed one) for some more of the same kind. No man can realize what a torture it is to be starving, unless he has had the experience.
The days wore slowly away, and one day Doc. Davis came to our tent and surprised me by saying: “Eby, there has been a small box received in camp, addressed to H. H. Eby, Co. C, 7th Illinois Cavalry.” I was so elated over the news that I could hardly be restrained, and of course immediately set about to procure my box, which contained a loaf of bread, some crackers, a small quantity of cheese, a few onions, a small piece of pork, butter, pepper and salt. If I remember rightly the box was brought to me by Doc. Davis. It was sent by my brother Moses, who at that time lived near Mendota, Ill. He died at Freeport, Ill., July 10, 1909. My receiving this box was a mere accident, as thousands of them were sent to others which never reached their destination. For a day or two my two comrades in my tent and myself had quite a feast from the contents of this box. Oh, what a luxury it was, as since our confinement we had had very little food that was palatable.
We now began thinking seriously about making our escape from prison to our lines, because the food in the box would furnish us with a few days’ provisions to start with. William Herrick, of Co. F, 30th Indiana, concluded to start with me. Hudson was too sick to make the journey with us. Each of us possessed a haversack, which we filled with some of the eatables from the box, and now our commissary stores were ready for the journey. What eatables were left in the box were given to Hudson, who remained in camp. A day or two previous to our departure Doc. Davis came to our tent, and wanted to know if I would divide some provisions with him, as he was going to attempt his escape that night, and I replied in the affirmative. He returned to his tent, and we learned the next day that he had made his escape. I never saw him afterward, but heard after I returned to our lines that he finally reached the Union lines in safety. Poor fellow, he was not well, and had a hard time getting through to his regiment, and lived only a short time afterward. I sincerely hope that he is receiving his well-earned reward. The second night after Davis escaped, Herrick and I passed the guard line and succeeded as far as getting out of the clutches of the guards.