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

by Henry Harrison Eby

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.