Next morning we were near Nottoway and passed that day through Petersburg, halting on Thursday, the 13th, near 10 o'clock A.M., at the Federal commissary, nearly a mile beyond the city, where a bountiful supply of food was given us—the first we had received since March 29. Several men were too sick to eat, I of the number, enfeebled as we were from our long continued marching and from dysentery, resulting from eating raw, warm beef, without salt. Resuming the march late in the evening, City Point was reached at dark, where we were huddled together, forced to stand all night in mud several inches deep, in a drizzling rain, without rest or sleep, not even a place to sit down, unless in the mud and water. Such is war.
Next day, April 14, we were placed aboard a steamer, that evening dropping down the James River. Next morning, Saturday the 15th, found our vessel anchored off Point Lookout. Here we first heard of Mr. Lincoln's assassination the preceding night, which at first we were not disposed to credit, but were soon convinced that some fearful catastrophe had taken place, as the flags on the shipping were at half mast. As soon as we were landed we became satisfied that the report of Mr. Lincoln's death was true, the Federal soldiers informing us that any signs of exultation would result in the opening of the batteries on us. We saw that the guns were pointed at the prison. They, however, mistook the spirit and feelings of our men, who, though stung by defeat, yet brave and chivalrous foes, they could in no wise justify, excuse or palliate so cold-blooded a murder, much less rejoice at its commission. They regretted greatly the death of Mr. Lincoln, and spoke of him in the tenderest terms, saying had he lived he would have been kind to our people.
As we entered the prison walls, every man was searched and everything of value (which was little) taken from him. The quarters consisted of small tents, large enough for about five men, into which were crowded about eight to ten, divided into companies in charge of our own sergeants.
Around the prison was a high plank fence with a platform at the top, on which the guards made their beats. The water was bad—brackish, discoloring our teeth. The number of Confederates in this prison was more than 23,000 men, covering about twenty-two acres of land—more than 1,000 to the acre. The number of deaths among the prisoners reported was, from April to July, over 6,800. Among these was Josephus Suthern, of Company D, 7th regiment. I found in this prison Sumner, Crawford, Dudley and Mullins, of Company D, who, with those captured at Sailor's Creek, to wit: Fry, Yager, Shannon, Bolton, Darr, Eaton, Gordon, Henderson, Jim Hurt, Meadows, C. Minnich, George A. Minnich, Suthern, Stafford, Wiley and the writer, making the number twenty in prison. When we met under these new conditions, strange sensations were experienced, as the reader may well suppose.
The only place we were allowed to go outside of the prison, and that only in the daytime, was on the Chesapeake bayside. Our rations consisted of eight ounces of loaf bread per day, a thin piece of bacon or salt pork boiled and cut so thin that it was almost transparent, and a pint cup of bean soup, in which we occasionally found a bean. As a result we were always hungry—went to bed hungry, dreamed of being hungry, and got up ready for breakfast with the same feeling. I went to prison weighing one hundred and sixty-five pounds, not sick a day after I got there, and came out weighing one hundred and twenty-seven pounds. Carrying out the ratio, if I had stayed there six months I would have weighed nothing. We were constantly in danger of being wounded or losing our lives by the reckless firing of the negro guards into the prison at some one claimed by them to be violating the prison rules. We had nothing to read except now and then when we found some man with a Bible or Testament. Some of the men were ingenious workmen, making rings from gutta percha buttons and selling them to the guards.
Near the middle of June orders came for the discharge of the prisoners, upon taking the oath of fidelity to the United States. The men were to be taken out in alphabetical order and transported away as rapidly as could be done. As soon as it was announced that men's names beginning with the letter A would repair to headquarters, then it seemed to all appearances that half the prisoners had names beginning with the letter A. Many a poor fellow, in his anxiety to get away, went out under an assumed name. The letter J was called on Wednesday, June 28, when the numbers in the prison had been greatly reduced, though only the ninth letter of the alphabet had been passed.
Repairing to headquarters, thirty-two fell into line under the American flag unfolded over their heads and had the oath administered to them; the officers taking a personal description of each man, furnishing him the oath and certificate of discharge in writing, when he was passed outside the prison wall. Here follows an exact copy of the oath taken by me and certificate of discharge from prison:
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
I, David E. Johnston, of the County of Giles and State of Va., do solemnly swear that I will support, protect and defend the Constitution and Government of the United States against all enemies, whether domestic or foreign; that I will bear true faith, allegiance and loyalty to the same, any ordinance, resolution, or laws of any state, convention or legislature to the contrary notwithstanding; and further, that I will faithfully perform all the duties which may be required of me by the laws of the United States; and that I take this oath freely and voluntarily without any mental reservation or evasion whatever.
(Signed) D. E. JOHNSTON.