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

by Henry Harrison Eby

Late in the afternoon the boat started in the direction of Fortress Monroe. On the way down we passed a monitor. I was informed by one of the boat crew that it was the one that had defeated the Merrimac. We also passed a very large man-of-war which looked like a great fort, and I thought it was until informed differently. When we arrived near Fortress Monroe the boat halted for a short time, and then passed near the Fortress and out into Chesapeake Bay, and started on our journey toward Annapolis, Md.

Darkness soon came on, and also a tremendous gale began blowing from the northeast, which made things lively on the boat. In a short time it began to rock violently, and for some time the storm seemed to increase in fury. This made the ship rock to and fro so that we were unable to stand up. About four hundred of us paroled prisoners were lying on the floor of the ship. I made several attempts to stand up but could not, and then decided to remain down and keep quiet, but also failed in that. Then many buckets were placed on the floor in different parts of the boat. I was curious to learn why that was done, but had not long to wait until I learned more about it than I had any desire to know. The reader can guess the rest.

The night wore on slowly, the storm beating against the boat and tossing it first one way and then the other, and it seemed to move in a half dozen directions at once, which made things interesting. At one time the boat tipped to one side so much that I thought it would not straighten up again. The captain of the boat called for the deck hands, and they were soon at their posts of duty, and began turning a windlass which was attached to the side of the boat, to which was fastened one end of a large rope and the other end to a small iron car, which stood on a track extending crosswise of the boat. By this means they drew the heavy car to the high side, by winding the rope around the windlass. They also rolled barrels of sand from the lower to the high side. By these the ship was balanced again, and saved from overturning. Occasionally a wave would strike the side of the boat, causing a very loud report, and making the ship fairly tremble. At one time during the night I thought to myself, perhaps now we will be shipwrecked and drowned, after passing through all our hardships and troubles, when within a few hours’ ride of our destination.

But, thank the Lord, we landed at Annapolis the following day. The storm ceased some time during the morning, and we soon came in sight of the place of landing. They were now beginning to get us ready to be transferred from the boat to the shore, at Annapolis, Md., where we arrived March 16, 1864. All those who were able to do so got up and walked out on shore. After landing I stepped to one side of our group, and turning toward it I beheld the most sorrowful picture of human beings that I had ever seen, except when on the island. Those scenes seem to be permanently stamped upon my memory.

I again joined the group or crowd, as there were almost too many of us to be called a group. We were certainly awful-looking objects of humanity. We had not been barbered for six months, and some of the group for eight or ten months. Our faces were dirty and disfigured with prison grime, shaggy whiskers, shrunken cheeks and lips, long, matted hair on our heads, stooped shoulders, and long, bony hands and fingers, which made us appear like a lot of apes and monkeys. I am certain if Mr. Barnum, the noted showman, had caught sight of us, Uncle Sam would have been minus a few so-called soldiers, because we would undoubtedly have been corralled for his shows. The buzzard that feeds on carrion would have blushed and been offended, if we had been offered to him for food.

But many of us thanked Providence for our miraculous deliverance from almost certain death. From the best information that I could procure during recent years, I learned that our squad of 400 was the last one that was paroled during the spring and summer of 1864, and therefore if we had not been permitted to go out with these 400 the majority of us would now be numbered with the dead at the prison pen. I heard of a number of ex-prisoners returning to their homes so changed in appearance that their own parents were unable to recognize them. We were asked to get in line and march over to a large building, which was new and apparently constructed for the purpose for which it was used. It was divided into three large compartments.

In the first room we passed into they clipped our hair and whiskers closely. We were then ordered to strip off every rag from our bodies. If I remember rightly they handled our filthy, lousy garments with pitchforks, after taking them off, and I considered it an insult to the forks. We were then told to pass on into another very large room, in which were twenty or thirty bathtubs, containing plenty of warm water. Then each received a piece of soap and a towel, and was told to take a good bath, which we did and greatly enjoyed. Those who were not able to do so were bathed by assistants.

After being purified in this manner we were shown into a third large room, and given a new outfit of clothing, consisting of shirt, drawers, pants, socks, shoes, coat, hat and blanket. Imagine the change in our appearance, and also in our feelings. I did not weigh very heavy when we landed, but I imagined that I weighed several pounds less after taking my bath. Some of the boys intimated that Uncle Sam could sell fertilizer after we had all finished bathing.

After being dressed in our new suits we were transferred over to the new barracks, which were found to be very nice and clean. The day was now about gone, and a supper was prepared for us. After eating we retired to our bunks, and I am utterly unable to describe how well my rest was enjoyed that night. Oh, such a sweet rest as it was; knowing that we were once more clean, and that our clothing was not infested with graybacks who would dance about on our bodies and torment us during the night. To think that we were no longer under control of a cruel prison-keeper, and that those hideous prison days were a thing of the past was a blessed relief. Our transfer from the prison pens to the new and clean barracks, may well be compared to a release from the infernal regions, and a transfer to the land of everlasting bliss.

But yet we were reminded of our comrades left in prison, who were yet suffering and did not know how much longer they would remain there. We tarried in Annapolis about ten days. While there we were well cared for by Uncle Sam. There was such a contrast between this treatment and our treatment in prison that I kept thinking that it was too good to continue. Some of the boys remarked as follows: “How long is this thing going to last?” We had been tormented during such a long time that we could not make ourselves believe that we would henceforward have enough to eat, and that we were in a land of plenty. And it really seemed to us a strange thing to have humane treatment.