Fifteen Months in Dixie; Or, My Personal Experience in Rebel Prisons

by William W. Day

Soon after our entrance into the Prison we heard some of our officers calling from the room over our heads. They had been appraised of our arrival by the officers who came with us. I went to a hole in the back part of the room and heard my name called and was told by the officer speaking to come up on the stairs. There was a broad stairway leading from our floor up to the floor overhead, but the hatchway was closed. I went up on the stairs as requested. A narrow board had been pried up and, looking up, I saw Captain Collins whom I had not seen since we left the line of battle together on that eventful 20th of September. To say that we were rejoiced to see each other is to say but little. Questions were asked as to the whereabouts of different comrades, as to who was dead and who alive, and, last but not least, “was I hungry?” Hungry! Poor, weak word to express the intense gnawing at my stomach. Hungry! Yes, from head to foot, every nerve and fiber of my system was hungry. He gave me a handful of crackers, genuine crackers, not hard tack with B. C. marked upon them, but crackers. Some of the readers of this sketch were there and know all about it. Those of you who were never in a rebel prison can never imagine how good those crackers tasted. One man who was there and witnessed the above, and who was making anxious inquiries for comrades, was Lieutenant G. W. Buffum, of the 1st Wisconsin Regiment, now the Hon. George W. Buffum, of Clinton Falls Township, Steele county, Minnesota. Ask him whether I was hungry or not.

While we were talking together some one called out the name of some comrade. No answer was given. Again the name was called and just at that instant “Majah” Ross stepped into the room. Down went the strip of board and we vacated those stairs in one time and one motion. But the “Majah” had caught that name, or one similar to it, and he too became desirous of interviewing that individual. He called the name over and over again, but no response; finally becoming exasperated, he swore, with a good, round Confederate oath, that he would not issue us any rations until that man was trotted out. The man could not be found and little Ross kept his word for two days, then, not being able to find him, he issued rations to us. Hungry, did you say? Reader just think of it, we were living on less than half rations all the time and then to have them all cut off for forty-eight hours, was simply barbarous, and all to satisfy the whim, or caprice, of a little upstart rebel who was not fit to black our shoes. Yes, it makes me mad yet. Do you blame me?

Thinking back upon Libby to-day, I think it was the best prison I was in:—That comparison does not suit me, there was no BEST about it. I will say, it was not so BAD as any of the others I was in.

There was a hydrant in the room, also a tank in which we could wash both our bodies and our clothes, soap was furnished, and cleanliness, as regards the prison, was compulsory. We scrubbed the floor twice a week which kept it in good condition.

But when we come to talk about food, there was an immense, an overpowering lack of that. The quality was fair, in fact good, considering that we were not particular. But as the important question of food or no food, turned upon the whims and caprices of Dick Turner and Ross, we were always in doubt as to whether we would get any at all.

I remained in Libby Prison a week when I was removed, with others, to Scott’s building, an auxilliary of Libby. There were four prison buildings which were included in the economy of Libby Prison. Pemberton, nearly opposite to Libby, on the corner of 15th and Carey streets, I think that is the names of those streets. Another building, the name of which I did not learn, north of Pemberton on 15th street, and Scott’s building opposite the last mentioned building.

These three buildings were tobacco factories and the presses were standing in Scott’s when I was there.

The rations for all four prisons were cooked in the cook-house at Libby. The same set of officers had charge of all of them, so that, to all intents and purposes they were one prison, and that prison, Libby.

Heretofore I had escaped being searched for money and valuables, but one day a rebel came up and ordered all Chickamauga prisoners down to the second floor. I did not immediately obey his orders and soon there was much speculation among us as to what was wanted. Some were of the opinion that there was to be an exchange of Chickamauga prisoners. Others thought they were to be removed to another prison. To settle the question in my own mind I went down. I had not got half way down the stairs before I found what the order meant, for there standing in two ranks, open order, were the Chickamauga boys, a rebel to each rank, searching them.

I had but little money. Not enough to make them rich, but the loss of it would make me poor indeed. I immediately formed my plan and as quickly acted upon it. Going down the stairs, I passed to the rear of the rear rank, down past the rebel robbers, up in front of the front rank, and so on back upstairs, past the guard. I discovered then and there, that a little “cheek” was a valuable commodity in rebel prisons.