INTRODUCTORY
Prison life was much the same North or South in its general features, having its discomforts and privations, its days of worry, its longings and its disappointments, combined with that chafing under restraint, which is a feeling common to all men. Yet the sufferings of prisoners could have been alleviated in the North to a greater degree than was possible at the South, where in most cases the distress was due to lack of means to relieve it. The Confederate Government could not do for Federal prisoners what it was unable to do for its own soldiers or people.
It is not strange that when the flood of war swept over the country I should plunge into its turbulent waters and be carried along with the current. This martial spirit was inherited and fostered from the cradle up. My grandmother came to this country from Ireland in the stormy days of the rebellion of 1798. When but a little child I would sit by her side for hours, drinking in, like a heated, thirsty traveler, the wild stories of the exciting scenes she had witnessed there, and listening to the pathetic recital of the wrongs of her loved country and its people. And at night I would drop off to sleep on her lap with the old Irish rebel songs of ’98 murmuring a lullaby in my baby ears.
It was only natural, too, that I should be enlisted on the Southern side. I was born in Baltimore, and it was there I passed the early years of my life. My father, James J. Williamson, had the distinction of designing and building the first clipper ship ever constructed—the clipper ship Ann McKim, built in Baltimore in 1832, for the old house of Isaac McKim, of Baltimore. The history of Maryland, with the record of the heroic deeds of the Old Maryland Line in the War of the Revolution, had always possessed a charm for me above all other books. It was my greatest pride to know that I was a Marylander and that Baltimore was my home.
When I became of age I went to Washington and obtained a position in the Government Printing Office, where I remained until the breaking out of the war.
In the spring of 1861, the Federal troops were ordered to march on Washington. When the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment was attacked while passing through Baltimore, I was ill, in bed and under the doctor’s care. The next day my mother brought into my room the morning paper and read to me an account of the fighting in Baltimore, and of the threats made to invade my native State and bombard and destroy Baltimore. I felt all the youthful fire within me blazing with fury. The warm blood coursing in my veins carried with it a force which seemed to give an almost unnatural strength to my feeble body, weakened by a painful illness. I was seized with a desire to rush at once to the scene of action. I felt that the bed was no place for me—that I must rouse myself to meet the issue—that my dear old mother State was calling for her sons, and I would not let that call go unheeded, but must hasten on to help guard that sacred soil upon which I had received my being and in which reposed the ashes of those who were most near and dear to me. I felt all that enthusiasm with which the Southern hearts were filled when their States were invaded and their cities and their homes laid waste. Old Maryland was invaded—I did not care by whom—for whoever came with hostile intent was an enemy, and her enemies were mine.
I said:
“I am going to Baltimore.”
“When?” asked my mother.
“I will start to-morrow morning.” My mother left the room without reply to what she thought were idle words.
When the doctor came for his morning visit, my mother said:
“What do you think this boy says? He says he is going to Baltimore.”
“Let him go,” said the doctor, with an incredulous smile.
The next morning when he came, expecting to find me in bed, my mother said: “Well, Doctor, he has gone to Baltimore.”
The doctor shook his head, and replied, “It will either kill or cure him.” And it cured him. The day I left my bed I went to Baltimore, and a week after that I was in Richmond.
When I reached Baltimore trains were running to and from the city without interruption, but troops were being rushed to Washington, and it was seen that Baltimore would soon be surrounded and hemmed in by Federal troops, and it would then be difficult to leave the city, so I left for Harper’s Ferry, where I understood a body of Confederate troops were already in camp. From Harper’s Ferry I went, via Strasburg, to Manassas. There I found a few regiments of Confederates assembled. From Manassas I started on train for Richmond.
Between Culpeper and Orange Court House we unfortunately came in collision with a train carrying infantry and a battery of artillery to Manassas. Both trains were on the same track and coming from opposite directions. There was a head-on collision; the two engines crashed into each other and the cars telescoped. There were fourteen killed outright and a great number wounded, many fatally.
I was sitting in the rear car, talking to a man who stood holding on to the rear door of the car. When I felt the shock I saw him shoot past me and down the aisle, between the seats. That night, when I arrived at Gordonsville, I went to a house, seeking lodgings for the night, and to my surprise, when the door was opened and the gentleman of the house stood before me, although his head was bandaged and his arm in a sling, I recognized in him the man I was conversing with at the time of the accident.
In Richmond I found a number of acquaintances from Baltimore. A great many young men were coming in from Maryland, some of whom had been comrades in military companies in Baltimore, and soon a couple of companies were organized to be united to a regiment then forming at Harper’s Ferry, which afterward gained honorable distinction as the First Maryland Regiment.
Richmond had already put on a military air. In the throngs on the streets a major part of the male population appeared in stylish uniforms. These were the gay days in Richmond.
Troops were arriving from the South and West, passing through on their way to the seat of war. I was particularly struck with the appearance of the Louisiana troops in their holiday dress, marching proudly along, with bands playing inspiring martial airs; the drum-major leading off with stately tread, waving his staff. Tripping gaily after came the sprightly vivandieres, their dainty little caps tipped saucily to one side, their shapely ankles peeping from beneath the folds of their short skirts, and the little keg at their side hanging by a fancy cord thrown over the shoulder.
At the outbreak of the war the men came out as they had been accustomed to “play soldiers”—attired in gaudy uniforms, with gay colors, bright, shining gun barrels and flashing bayonets. The Zouaves with their red breeches, their red caps or turbans, their gilt braids and chevrons.
These soon gave way to less showy trappings. The jaunty caps were exchanged for the Kossuth felt hat, the showy jackets, with their rich gilt braid and trimmings, were replaced by the unpretentious blouse, and the flaming red breeches were now conspicuous by their absence, and in their stead comfortable, though less attractive, garments were worn.
The bright gun barrels and flashing bayonets even were found to be no more efficient than those dulled by age and use, whose somber hue did not present such a shining mark for a watchful sharpshooter.
In the house where I had taken board there was a gentleman who was employed in the printing office doing the work of the State and Confederate Governments. Learning that I had been in the Government Printing Office in Washington, he said they would be glad to have me at this office. I told him I expected to join my friends from Baltimore; that we were anxious to be together in the Confederate army. He said, “You can be of service on this work just now, and we are badly in want of help.” I accordingly went to Ritchie & Dunnavant’s, the parties having charge of this work.
Soon after this my wife ran the blockade and joined me in Richmond.
CERTIFICATE OF EXEMPTION
These were furnished to save annoyance from provost-guards or Conscript officers.
After a time, owing to the strict blockade, the fighting around Richmond, and the scarcity of the necessaries of life, the sufferings of the people were becoming more serious every day. I felt that while it was a matter of love and duty on my part to endure these hardships without murmuring, and to contribute all my efforts to the attainment of the success of our cause, still I had no right to impose upon others an amount of distress which they were not called upon to undergo, and which could in no wise aid in the accomplishment of that object, but was simply adding to the number of non-combatants who were consuming the scanty store of supplies without contributing to their increase.
Taking this view of the situation, I decided to run the blockade, and after getting my wife and children safely outside of the lines, where they would be properly cared for and have those comforts which I could not obtain for them in Richmond, I could then take chances for my return to the scene of duty.
PASS THROUGH CONFEDERATE LINES
I procured a pass for myself, wife and children through the Confederate lines, and, traveling in the most primitive fashion, striking out from Hanover Junction, crossed the Rappahannock River, and reached Westmoreland Court House one summer evening, in an ox-cart. We waited at the Potomac River for a favorable opportunity to cross without too great risk of capture by one of the United States gunboats patroling the river, and then crossed in an open boat to Stone’s Landing, on the Maryland side. Here we were very comfortable, with a nice breakfast of fish and oysters fresh from the water, until the steamboat came along which was to take us to Washington. There were a number of Union officers and soldiers on the boat, but having my wife and little children with me I suppose averted whatever suspicion they might otherwise have entertained, and we reached Washington without any mishap.