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.
PRISON LIFE IN THE OLD CAPITOL
On the evening of Saturday, January 31, 1863, between seven and eight o’clock, an officer in full uniform, but unarmed, came into a bookstore on Seventh Street, Washington, D. C., where I was then engaged, and asked for the proprietor, Mr. Russell. I pointed out Russell. The officer then asked him if he knew a Mr. Williamson. Russell answered, “Yes.”
“Is he a printer?” asked the officer.
“Yes.”