Observations of an Illinois Boy in Battle, Camp and Prisons—1861 to 1865

by Henry Harrison Eby

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.