1861.

“Care for him who bore the
heat and burden of the battle.”

A. Lincoln.

Columbia: “Unless you, my son, save me, I will be ruined. Go and do your duty, and if you save me I will be your generous friend and protector as long as you live.”

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

By Henry H. Eby
MENDOTA, ILL.

Published by the Author, 1910

Copyright, 1910
By Henry H. Eby

DEDICATED TO MY COMRADES OF THE CIVIL WAR, ESPECIALLY THOSE OF COMPANY C, SEVENTH ILLINOIS CAVALRY, OF WHICH I WAS A MEMBER

PREFACE.

The story contained in this book is a true one. It was taken from letters, memoranda and memory. The author has in his possession twenty-nine letters written by him while in the army, from 1861 to 1865, and sent to his relatives, who returned them to him at the close of the war.

The memoranda were written soon after his return from the army. The accounts taken from memory are reasonably correct, as the scenes through which he passed, though here poorly portrayed, are of a character not easily forgotten. They are indelibly stamped upon the memory, and it seems, as time rolls on, that it renders the recollection of them even more vivid and distinct. After revising this story a number of times it is presented to the reader in its present form.

CONTENTS.

Then.

Now.

CHAPTER I.
Beginning of the Great Rebellion in the United States of America, April 12, 1861.

The “Star of the West,” a United States boat, was fired upon by the rebel batteries in Charleston harbor on Jan. 9, 1861, which some people claim as the beginning of the War of the Rebellion; but the firing on Fort Sumter was the time when the war was really inaugurated.

Fort Sumter, a United States fort located at the entrance to Charleston harbor, was fired upon by the Confederates, April 12, 1861, and Major Anderson, who was in command of the fort, was obliged to surrender to them.

This caused great excitement throughout the United States. Soon after a call was issued by President Lincoln for 75,000 three months’ troops, which was responded to in a very short time. Patriotism ran high, and it seemed to most of us that the government should be defended at all hazards. The fife and drum were soon heard on the streets of Mendota, Ill., and throughout the loyal States. Quite a number of young men, including myself, from Mendota and vicinity, at once signed our names to the roll of enlistment. I was now 19 years of age, and considered it my duty to help defend the flag.

By the latter part of April a company of about 100 was organized in Mendota, with Capt. Rust as commander. We were drilled here for a few days before leaving for Springfield. We were all rather green in regard to military affairs and it was laughable to see the performance. There was about as much awkwardness shown as there would be in breaking a pair of young oxen. In a few days we started for Springfield, Ill. On the day of our departure, which was April 19, 1861, the excitement in Mendota was beyond description. It was probably as intense as when McClellan’s army left Washington for the capture of Richmond. People came flocking into town from all the surrounding country and villages, with flags flying, to see the soldiers start off for the war. The streets were crowded with people who came to bid us the last good-bye. Flags were unfurled and speeches made in honor of our departure.

About 11 o’clock all who had enlisted were formed in two ranks in front of the Illinois Central freight house, facing toward it, when a Miss Davis, who stood upon a raised platform at the northwest corner of the building, delivered an appropriate address, presenting us with an elegant flag in behalf of the citizens of Mendota. This was responded to in a happy manner in behalf of the company by L. B. Crooker, a chubby farmer boy about 20 years of age, who had drifted to Mendota for the purpose of studying law, and who had also enlisted.

He afterwards served his country with honor during the greater part of the war, receiving several severe wounds while serving as a commissioned officer. At the expiration of his term of service he returned home and studied law, which profession he followed for a number of years, serving also in various offices.

Presentation of the Flag at the Freight House.

About 12 o’clock we marched to the depot, and an immense crowd of people gathered around us, bade us good-bye, and we boarded the train and were soon on our way to Springfield, where we arrived the following morning and met a number of companies from different parts of the State. A few days after our arrival we were organized into a regiment, which required ten companies. The Mendota company was made Co. B, and the regiment the 12th Illinois Infantry, with Col. McArthur in command, who was subsequently commissioned Major General.

The Mendota company contained more than the required number of men. Among the surplus bone and sinew who found no place in the home company were L. B. Crooker, James W. Larabee, William Eckert, George C. Loomis, S. P. Whitmore and myself, who all determined to stick together and stay in service. We immediately began looking about for an opening large enough to hold these six husky farmer boys, and it was at last accomplished by entering Co. H of the same regiment. This was from Tiskilwa, and was commanded by Capt. Swain, who subsequently lost his life at Shiloh. We remained together in the same mess until discharged at the end of three months.

It was now imagined that we were going south to crush the Rebellion at once, but, alas, we failed to realize what was before us. Little did we think that it would require four long years to end the great Rebellion. We remained here several weeks, passing the time in drilling and running about town. On May 25 we were transferred to Caseyville, Ill., about ten miles east of St. Louis, where we remained a month or more. While here we received a good many instructions in military tactics, and soon considered ourselves equal to Napoleon or any other great general.

The Kicking Musket.

The guns we received were of the old kicking variety, and could kick equal to a mule. I can well remember having a very lame shoulder from the effects of discharging one of these firearms. It reminded me of a story I heard when I was a boy, about an Irish soldier in an Illinois regiment during the Mexican War. One day during a small engagement the soldier fired at the enemy with one of those kicking guns, which knocked him over backward flat on the ground. His captain, thinking that he was shot, said, “Mike, are you wounded?” He replied, “Captain, it seems as though I had the wrong end against my shoulder.”

The latter part of June the 12th was transferred to Cairo, Ill. We marched across the country from Caseyville to East St. Louis, then got on board a steamer and went down the Mississippi, arriving at our destination on the following day. The only excitement occurring on the way down the river was caused by a man on the Missouri shore waving a rebel flag at us while passing. We went into camp at Cairo on the river bottom behind the levee, our camp being about ten or fifteen feet below high water mark in the river. The levee was constructed for the purpose of keeping high water in the river from overflowing the city. This camp proved to be worse than any experienced during all our subsequent three years’ service. While here we received a visit from Gen. McClellan, who addressed us.

We remained here during the balance of the three months’ term, and nearly all of us were sick, caused by the malaria of the river bottoms and other causes. After the expiration of the three months’ term of service I enlisted for three years, in Co. C, 7th Illinois Cavalry. L. B. Crooker, James W. Larabee, and S. P. Whitmore enlisted in Co. I, 55th Illinois Infantry, William Eckert remained at home, and George C. Loomis remained in Co. H of the 12th, became a sergeant, and was twice wounded, losing his right arm at Altona. L. B. Crooker received promotion as a solace for four wounds, and Larabee was twice wounded, receiving the grade of sergeant, and brought home a glorious decoration in the form of a Congressional medal for gallantry, a proper reward for his splendid soldiership.

CHAPTER II.
Beginning of Three Years’ Service.—Camp Butler and Bird’s Point.

The three months’ service ended in August, 1861, and I enlisted for three years in Sept., 1861. Was discharged Oct. 15, 1864, serving in all three years and about four months. The 7th was organized at Camp Butler, near Springfield, Ill., in the fall of 1861, where it was partly drilled. Prescott Bartlett, of Sublette, Ill., was chosen captain of Co. C, John H. Shaw of Lee Center, Ill., first lieutenant, and B. F. Berkley, of Sublette, Ill., second lieutenant. S. H. Richardson was orderly sergeant, and James Henderson commissary sergeant. The names of other sergeants were R. D. McCord and David S. Porter, and the corporals I have forgotten. In November the regiment was transferred to Bird’s Point, Mo., where it went into winter quarters and remained until about March 1, 1862.

“Home sweet home.”—A Scene in Winter Quarters.

The picture represents a camp in the idle days between the great campaigns. The army has settled down to weeks of forced inaction, and the men make themselves as comfortable as the means at hand will allow. They have shown wonderful thrift and industry in housing themselves. The tent in the foreground shows this. Its builders have made a pen of logs neatly chinked with chunks and clay to keep out the wind. They have built a fireplace of clay and used an old plow on top of the chimney to assist the draft. The roof is made of pieces of shelter tents and ponchos and at the entrance has been laid a pavement of pork-barrel staves to keep mud from being carried into the sleeping apartment. The other tents in the distance show similar devices. The whole is as accurate a picture of a winter camp as the camera could make.

The veteran in the foreground is a man whose love of music is so strong as to be irrepressible. He has constructed a fiddle out of a cigar box and such other material as he could lay his hands on. It shows as much ingenuity as his tent. Probably the tail of the Colonel’s horse has suffered to furnish hair for the bow. The music made is far from that which could be drawn from a high-priced instrument, but he and his boy listener enjoy it a hundredfold more than the most cultivated listener ever did high-priced strains. And he plays the tune that always went most directly to the soldier’s heart, “Home, Sweet Home.”

While at Bird’s Point the 7th performed the ordinary camp and picket duties, occasionally going out on a scouting expedition, making a visit to the vicinity of the enemy. Every morning about daybreak four men from the cavalry were sent out on the road leading from the camp outside of the picket line for the purpose of preventing a surprise by the enemy. One morning, some time after they had gone out as usual, the four horses returned to camp riderless and with blood-stained saddles. A force of the boys was immediately sent out to investigate. After they had passed some distance beyond the picket lines, the bodies of the four men were found lying in the road dead, and almost riddled with buckshot, supposed to have been fired from shotguns. It was evidently the work of bushwhackers, as there was a large log lying within a few feet of the road and parallel with it, and behind this in the soft ground were seen tracks made by a number of men, and the conclusion was reached that these bushwhackers had concealed themselves behind the log and awaited the approach of the four men until they were very near. They then fired upon them, probably killing them instantly.

Gen. Oglesby was in command of the camps on Bird’s Point, during the winter of 1861-1862. I remember him well, as I was an orderly at his headquarters a number of times while on the Point. Gen. Oglesby appeared to me as being an officer who fairly well understood his business, and attended to it. In some respects he appeared like Gen. Grant, modest, kind, and thoroughly loyal to his country. Gen. Oglesby was not of the aristocratic class, but appeared neatly dressed, and was an officer who used good common sense in commanding his troops.

Soon after our arrival here we began the construction of barracks for winter quarters, which were built of logs in log house fashion. Co. C’s building was a long, one-story structure, with bunks for beds, which contained straw and made very comfortable sleeping places.

About Christmas time nearly all were supplied with good things from home. I can never forget the luxuries we received. They were just delicious. I received a box containing a roast turkey, a number of pies, cakes, and other things too numerous to mention. We had just moved into our new barracks, and stored away our delicacies for safe keeping until wanted. Late one afternoon, when nearly all of us had gone to water our horses, one who remained in camp lit a candle and placed it under the bunk to aid him in searching for something he had lost. The lighted candle immediately set fire to the straw in the bunk and in a few minutes the whole building was in a blaze. When we returned our good things had nearly all been destroyed by the fire. Scarcely anything was saved, and thus our anticipations of grand feasts and dinners were dashed away. We were obliged to be content with hardtack, bean soup, and bacon.

The event of the day was falling in for soup, prepared by the cook on detail for the day, in his open-air studio. It was an article that would not pass muster at a fashionable restaurant, but it was hot, there was usually plenty of it, the beans were abundant and as good as Michigan or New England soil could produce, the pork was the finest product of the Illinois pork raisers, and if the cook had been mindful of his duty, had cooked the soup long enough, and stirred it diligently to prevent its burning, it was very appetizing, went right to the spot, and built fine locomotive apparatus for the future marching and battling. If on the other hand he had been careless and lazy, there was likely to be a summary court-martial, and he was lucky if he escaped with nothing worse than being tossed in a blanket. When one looks on the steaming pot, the words of the old refrain rise at once to mind.

“Beans for breakfast,

Beans for dinner,

Beans for supper,

Beans, beans, beans.”

“Fall in for soup.”—A Scene in a Winter Camp.

Our blankets and shelter being also gone, we were poorly prepared for winter. But ere long we were furnished with tents and new blankets, and were comfortable again.

George Westgate, George McKeen, William Orris and myself occupied a tent together. It was a small one, and after lying down to sleep we occupied all the floor space except about two feet of its length at our feet. This was occupied by a small sheet iron stove, cooking utensils, and a water pail. One evening after retiring Westgate began tickling my face with a straw. He thought it a good time to have a little fun at my expense, as I had been out on picket duty the night previous and was very tired and sleepy. Having fallen asleep Westgate began teasing, which of course awakened me. I insisted that he should stop bothering me which he did until after I fell asleep again, and then resumed his work of tormenting me. Finally I told him that I would put him out of the tent if he did not stop, and becoming impatient I jumped up and the scuffle commenced. After a few tumbles about the tent, Westgate struck one foot among the cooking utensils and finally stepped into the water bucket, which was full of water, causing it to splash about the tent and into the faces of Orris and McKeen, which roused their tempers and they yelled, “Eby, put him out!” At this juncture of the performance Westgate was willing to capitulate. He was in trouble, his foot being forced into the bucket in such a position that it was a difficult matter to extricate it. I had failed to put him out of the tent, but his unfortunate position put an end to the scuffle. Our attention was now turned to helping him out of his difficulty. The feet being of the largest kind used for plowing corn in Illinois, and the utensil being only the regular size, pretty near a surgical operation was necessary. The following morning, the boys on hearing of our affair of the previous night, declared that they did not believe impossibilities, as Westgate could never have crammed a foot the size of his into a common water bucket.

A few days later quite a number of troops composed of cavalry were sent out on a scouting expedition, down the Mississippi on the Missouri side to a small town named Belmont (the scene of Gen. Grant’s first battle), where a Confederate battery was supposed to be located. This was about twenty miles from our camp, and we made the journey mostly during the night. We found nothing of importance on our trip except when we struck the river, near Belmont, where we discovered a Confederate gunboat in very close proximity, but the land battery was a hoax. It being in the nighttime, we were unable to see the boat distinctly, but could see enough of it to satisfy us that it was a dangerous concern. We kept quiet, and left that neighborhood as soon as possible, going in the direction of camp. On the way we came in contact with an enemy in the form of a small flock of geese not far from a farmhouse. One of the men who was in advance of us a short distance caught sight of them first. They hissed at him, and he called out: “Boys, I have found a squad of rebels, and they hissed at me. They should be made prisoners and taken along to camp.” We immediately went to our comrade’s assistance and the capture was soon made. Of course, according to the rules of war, we were obliged to put them under guard and take them to camp. The reader may guess what became of the geese. This being the day before Christmas, these captures were appropriate, and after the manner of Yankee soldiers were duly assimilated.

On the way to camp, the night being intensely dark, the proper trail was missed and we became entangled in dense thickets. Hats were lost, clothes were torn, faces were scratched and disfigured. The reader can imagine the amount of patience required of us to keep a smiling face on this occasion. As we rode through the thickets we endeavored to keep in line or march in military order, that is by twos, and follow the file leaders. The man who did not receive a severe whack in his face, by a branch of a tree bent forward by his file leader until it received a very high tension, then came back with tremendous force against him, perhaps almost dismounting him, was considered out of place. Some of the language fired off into the night air would not be considered appropriate at a Sunday-school picnic. The man who emerged from this affair with a smiling countenance was looked upon as being a saint. We arrived in camp at Bird’s Point about noon the following day, looking like a lot of Indian warriors with their war paint on their faces, being scratched and battered by riding through the thickets.

In January, 1862, an army was organized here for the purpose of making a reconnaissance into western Kentucky. It was in command of Gen. U. S. Grant, and Co. C, 7th Illinois Cavalry, was detailed as his escort on this expedition. The troops consisted of quite a large force of infantry and artillery from Bird’s Point and other places. We were out six or eight days, but did not encounter the enemy in large force. The weather a part of the time was very unfavorable, and we rode for two days while the rain was pouring down. I was on outpost picket during the night following the first rainy day. The rain continued nearly all night, and the sergeant in command of the relief failed to find my post on account of the dense darkness. Therefore I was not relieved until morning, having stood in the rain with my horse all night, keeping a good lookout for the enemy. When arriving in camp, after daylight, the rain was still falling in torrents. I was thoroughly wet, sleepy and tired, and the boys accused me of being cross, which I dared not deny. Having just lain down to take a little nap when the bugle sounded for boots and saddles, I jumped up, feeling as the boys had accused me. All this time the rain continued. The order soon came to move forward. We mounted and started on the way back toward Bird’s Point, riding nearly all day in a pouring rain.

Late in the afternoon the wind commenced blowing cold from the northwest, and it began to freeze and snow a little. Just before dark we were given orders to halt and go into camp in the woods, by the roadside, which was obeyed. We cared for our horses as best we could and proceeded to build fires. Co. C started a fire under a large log, which soon blazed up sufficiently for us to warm ourselves. We had some hardtack and bacon, which we proceeded to devour. After supper I fixed up a sort of a bed near the log, by placing considerable rubbish on the ground, in order to keep out of the mud, and covering this with brush and leaves. I then pulled off my fine cavalry boots and set them up near the fire, in order that they might dry out, and then retired. When I arose in the morning and took hold of my boots I found them brittle in some parts, having been scorched by the fire during the night. When putting them on they broke, so that they were ruined.

After breakfast we again moved on toward Bird’s Point. During the day, when riding along the road, two of our soldiers belonging to an infantry regiment were discovered a few rods away who had just killed and dressed a hog, and had it hung up to a tree. (As I previously stated our Co. C was escort for Gen. Grant on this expedition.) Of course the General also discovered the men and dressed hog, and immediately gave the command to halt, which was promptly obeyed. The General rode out of ranks and called to the men who had the hog. They walked up near him and he proceeded to lecture them, as I well remember, being within twenty-five or thirty feet and overhearing the whole conversation. The first question the General asked was, “Where did you procure that hog?” The answer was, “Foraged it.” The General then spoke as follows: “Men, do you not know that kind of work is strictly against orders?” He talked to them as a father would to his sons. He then said, “Sergeant, take charge of these men under guard, and report them to headquarters.” The order was then given, “Forward,” and we rode toward Bird’s Point. I could not help thinking about that delicious looking fresh pork, but it was a consolation to know that the boys who came after us would not let it go to waste. I never learned what became of the two soldiers nor the hog. I was too bashful to tell the General about my craving appetite for some of it.

This was our first experience under the immediate command of the great General Grant, and belonging to the escort I was in close contact with him a number of days, and had an opportunity of studying his character. Of course he was then comparatively obscure, but had reputation enough in this part of the army to arouse curiosity. The impressions of an immature youth, if not valuable, may be characteristic of the time and place.

Gen. Grant had not the imposing stature that we in our then romantic notions regarded as heroic. He was quiet, kindly and considerate under all circumstances. He indulged in no parade and wore no fine feathers, as the picture books had caused us to expect. His alertness to see, and his fairness to correct all breaches of discipline, were displayed in the incident above alluded to, while his gentle but firm way of applying the remedy was impressive.

These characteristics are now a matter of history, but were then only known to those in his immediate presence. While Gen. Grant, in this our first experience in his presence, at first disappointed us in lack of fuss and feathers, he impressed us with confidence that he knew his business and attended to it, and we began to think that the high stepping generals so implanted in our youthful minds were not so much needed as practical ones of another mold.

I think we arrived in camp at Bird’s Point the following day, remaining there during about all the month of February, doing the ordinary camp, picket and scouting duties.

CHAPTER III.
New Madrid, Point Pleasant and Island No. 10.

About March 1 the movement began down the Mississippi on the Missouri side of the river to New Madrid, and later to Point Pleasant, where the 7th went into camp, remaining there about three or four weeks, doing ordinary camp and picket duties. The camp was located in the woods, which contained some very large trees. One night a terrible tornado passed through our camp, uprooting trees and blowing down nearly all the tents. The trees crashed down among the men and horses, killing two men and a number of horses belonging to our regiment. Each company had one row of tents, and when the storm came on nearly all were asleep. A large tree nearly four feet in diameter came down with a crash, parallel and within a few feet of our row of tents, but leaving Co. C uninjured. We congratulated ourselves on our narrow escape. When our tent went down we jumped up and tried to get out from under it as quickly as possible. I scrambled out through a stovepipe hole in the upper part of the tent. I had some difficulty in passing through this small opening and the boys were obliged to come to my assistance. They extricated me, and then began laughing at me, about jumping through the chimney.

The camp was located a short distance back from the river out of reach of the Confederate batteries on the opposite side. They occupied several small forts on the east side of the river, and whenever we attempted to get water from it, or water our horses, they would open fire on us with their siege guns. On one of these occasions I saw an oak tree about fifteen inches in diameter which was cut nearly off by a shot from the large gun. Thereupon we abandoned the river, and procured water from a frog pond near the camp. We did not hesitate to use water from the pond because it was nicely covered over with a green scum.

Gen. Pope was in command of the land forces in this vicinity, and by this time had concentrated quite an army. One night during the stay at this place, one of the United States ironclads named Carondelet ran the gauntlet past Island No. 10 and came down the river to Point Pleasant without sustaining injury by the Confederate fire. The following day it captured the small forts located on the east bank of the river. I witnessed the whole affair, which did not continue a very long time. A few days after this the Confederate forces on Island No. 10 and vicinity surrendered to Gen. Pope.

General Pope, as I saw him, appeared to me like another one of those sound minded, honest, patriotic and well informed soldiers. He loved his country and his flag, and as he appeared to me and what I learned about him caused me to believe that he understood his business and attended to it. Gen. Pope, according to what I learned about him, possessed the right conception of the American volunteer soldier. He once said, “It is true and must in the nature of things always be true, that in a free country and among a free people the real heroes of every war are found in the ranks: men who have taken up arms with the sole purpose to serve their country, and with intelligent knowledge of the object for which they dare the perils of battle and disease.”

I had nearly forgotten to tell how well we were entertained a portion of the time while camping in the vicinity of Island No. 10.

Bombardment of Island No. 10.

Old Abe.

There were in the river six large United States mortars and a number of ironclad gunboats. The mortars were of very large caliber, capable of throwing a shell as large as an ordinary water bucket, in diameter I think twelve inches or more. The mortars were mounted on small flatboats, one on each boat. During a period of about three weeks, every half hour during night time as well as day, one of those large shells from a mortar was sent over to Island No. 10, and exploded with terrific force. Whenever one of those mortars was discharged it would fairly shake the earth about us. During a few nights in the beginning of the siege the noise made by those guns disturbed my sleep, but I soon became accustomed to it. The gunboats also annoyed the Confederates on the island, by throwing solid shot at them. While we were in the vicinity of Island No. 10 and New Madrid, we occasionally met the 8th Wisconsin Regiment, which carried by the side of its regimental flag the famous war eagle (Old Abe), whose photograph appears above. I well remember seeing this proud-appearing bird a number of times, while it was being carried, sitting upon its perch, beside Old Glory. It appeared to me about as large as a fair-sized turkey, and it served through a three years’ campaign, returning to its native State in safety, after passing through many battles. When Gen. Pope’s command had finished its work in the vicinity of Island No. 10 it went by steamers to Hamburg Landing, Tenn., near the battlefield of Shiloh.

Map of Island No. 10, and Vicinity.

CHAPTER IV.
Up the River to Hamburg Landing and Thence by Land to Corinth and Jacinto, Miss., Tuscumbia and Cortland, Ala.

Gen. Pope’s army, of which we (the 7th) were a part, on April 18 embarked on steamers and moved down the river toward Memphis, Tenn., but after going in that direction some distance our fleet of steamers faced about and steamed up the Mississippi River to Cairo. From thence up the Ohio to the mouth of the Tennessee and up the Tennessee to Hamburg Landing, Tenn., where we landed April 22. We were sent there for the purpose of assisting the armies of Buell and Grant (then under Gen. Halleck) who had fought the battle of Shiloh and were now preparing to follow the Confederate army, which was concentrating at Corinth, Miss.

While here considerable skirmishing was done. One day during the latter part of April, 1862, Co. C was ordered out, with Capt. Bartlett in command, to make a reconnaissance in the direction of Corinth. We moved out through a timbered country interspersed with considerable underbrush. When out a number of miles from the river, in looking across a small field to the opposite side, some horsemen were discovered through the open spaces in the brush, which on close investigation proved to be a line of Confederate cavalry. They had seemingly discovered us and were in line of battle and ready. Some of the boys did not wait for orders, but left the ranks and started toward the enemy, when the captain called out, “Keep in line,” “Get back in line,” but before they would get back some others would start out. The object of the Captain was to get all in line and then make a charge. While we were fooling in this manner the Confederates gave us a volley, mortally wounding one of our number named Dick Springer, of Sublette, Ill., who died a few days later. Just then the Confederates started to retreat and we charged on them as fast as horses could carry us. The excitement was intense, for it was a race between us and the enemy with the advantage on our side. We occasionally gave them a shot when opportunity afforded. In the pursuit several of the enemy were killed, a number wounded and a few taken prisoners. Some of their horses and saddles were also captured, and those of the enemy who remained ahead of us were chased into a swamp and there the pursuit was given up, it not being prudent to venture any farther. When the swamp was reached I looked about and counted and to my surprise there were only seven of Co. C together at the end of the chase. The remainder were strung out behind for a distance of nearly a half mile. A laughable and yet dangerous incident happened to one of our men in this chase. A large oak tree had fallen to the ground, and one of its branches projected out over the road unobserved by the rider who was going at full speed and came in contact with it. The horse ran under the branch, which caught the saddle, pulling it from the horse which passed on; the saddle stopped and the rider tumbled over the limb upon the ground. At the time of this reconnaissance a young attorney from Mendota, named William E. Beck, was visiting the company. He insisted on going out with us and the Captain furnished him a horse and some firearms. Although he was not an enlisted man he did as good service as any of us. This man became a leading lawyer and died a member of the Supreme Court of Colorado. We came out of this skirmish with the loss of one man, while the enemy’s loss was five or six killed and wounded and quite a number of prisoners.

Soon after this a part of the regiment went out on another skirmish, in which I did not participate on account of being on other duty. This proved to be quite an affair, as there were some infantry troops engaged and the enemy used artillery. Sergeant Porter (later captain) of our company had his horse killed under him by a cannon shot, but he was uninjured. The country between Hamburg Landing and Corinth was mostly timbered, having a great deal of underbrush. I noticed some of this brushy land had been farmed at some time in years past.

The whole army now slowly moved southwest toward Corinth, skirmishing along the way. Our regiment occupied a part of the line of battle, remaining in this position four days and nights, standing by our horses’ heads except while trying to sleep, or feed and water our horses. At night we endeavored to get some sleep and rest in the following manner: Alternately one man would hold two horses by the bridles while the other attempted to get some sleep by lying down in front of his horse, but this generally failed on account of occasional firing in close proximity, which would cause some of the horses to jump and thereby disturb us. When we were relieved at the end of the four days we were “played out,” as the illustration shows.

Played Out.

When the army arrived in front of Corinth, and was preparing to capture the place, we were surprised on the morning of May 29 to find that it had been vacated during the night, the Confederates having gone southward. Our regiment went to Booneville, where it remained several weeks. Then it was sent to Jacinto, Miss., a small town where we camped about a month, doing the ordinary military duties. While there everything seemed to be quiet, with no enemies to disturb us except millions of woodticks and swifts. This tick is a small gray-colored insect. They stuck on our horses in such a manner that we were obliged to scrape them off, or they would probably have tormented them nearly to death. The swift is a small four-footed animal formed like a lizard and the color of a frog. At night when we retired they would hop about us by the hundred. They are a noisy creature. One night after we had about all fallen asleep a swift jumped into one of our boy’s open shirt bosom, and scrambled about over his bare body, and he thinking it was a snake jumped up, yelling like a demon, arousing nearly the whole camp.

On July 20, 1862, the 7th broke camp and moved eastward into northern Alabama, to a place by the name of Tuscumbia, where we found one of the largest springs of water that I ever saw. It poured forth from a cavity in the rocks with such volume that as it flowed down over a bed of gravel a stream was formed almost knee deep to the horses, and twenty-five or thirty feet wide. The water was very clear, and so cold that the horses sometimes refused to drink it. We camped there a few days, and then part of the regiment moved on eastward to Cortland, Ala., where we found a most beautiful camping place, on the banks of a fine stream, along which were many springs of good water. The country in the immediate vicinity was quite fertile, and foraging was good, as not many of the enemy had passed through here previous to this. Peaches and small fruits were quite plentiful. One day some of the boys brought in a nice lot of fine peaches. The sight of these put me in the notion of making some peach pies. The commissary had previously issued some flour. My shortening for the pie-crust I procured by frying some bacon. (The bacon-flavored shortening was substituted for nutmegs and other flavorings.) I proceeded to mix the material for the crust which was a new experience for me. After the dough was made I looked about for a rolling pin, with which to prepare the crusts. I found one of those long champagne bottles, which answered the purpose very well. I placed the lower crust on one of our tin plates, and on this the prepared peaches, with plenty of sugar, and then put the covering on and placed it in a cast iron bake-oven. We built a fire around it, and occasionally took the lid off to inspect the process. The baking was soon completed, the pie taken out, and pronounced well done. After eating it we called it good, and I was congratulated on my success. Of course, you know, a soldier in our position would call anything good that could be eaten. But some of the boys declared that I had put the shortening in lengthwise. I thought if I was spared to get home I would try and get a position in a first-class hotel as baker.

Nothing of an exciting nature occurred during our stay at Cortland, except that we received a report one morning that the Confederates in small force were encamped in a village a few miles away. A squadron of our cavalry, in command of Capt. Bartlett, was immediately sent out in the direction of the village, to take the Johnnies in out of the wet, as we supposed. We moved along cautiously until arriving in the vicinity of the village, when we halted and formed to make a charge into the town. When all was ready the Captain gave the command “Forward, charge,” and away we flew into and through the town with drawn sabres, and found nothing to run against. Not a solitary “Johnny” was to be seen. It was like kicking against nothing. We were somewhat disappointed, but as I thought the matter over I concluded to be willing to be thus deluded.

CHAPTER V.
From Northern Alabama to Nashville, Tenn., and Its Occupation by the Federals.

Early on the morning of Aug. 28, 1862, the bugle sounded for boots and saddles. About fifty or sixty of Co. C, including myself, mounted and prepared to move, thinking that we were going on a scouting expedition some distance from camp. Therefore our blankets and small trinkets were left, with the supposition that we would return in the evening. We moved out, and after riding quite a distance, perhaps eight or ten miles, we met Gen. Palmer and staff, with a division of infantry and artillery. He was on his way north, to Nashville, Tenn., a distance of over one hundred and fifty miles. Co. C was employed as escort for the General on the journey, and we never returned to Cortland, losing our blankets and other things.

We were on the way a number of days, occasionally seeing a few of the enemy in our front and having a skirmish with them. During the fore part of the journey a scene was witnessed which I considered very aggravating. A short distance north of Pulaski, Tenn., we passed a cotton mill by the roadside. It was a two-story frame building, with quite a number of windows on the side next the road, and from each of these windows there peered many heads of women. As we were passing they hissed at us, and called out, “Run you cowards.” “They will catch you before you get to Nashville,” and many other insulting phrases. Gen. Palmer halted in front of the factory, and after listening to them a few minutes he said: “Ladies, do you know that these soldiers carry matches in their pockets? This building would burn nicely.” They took the hint and all was quiet.

One day when three of us were on advance guard we occasionally started forward on the gallop, and left quite a distance between us and the main force. When in the vicinity of Columbia, Tenn., my horse had gained some distance on the other two, and the road winding through the woods, I was unable to see whether the others were in supporting distance. I continued riding until the business street of Columbia was reached, when I halted and looked back, but could see neither of the boys. I waited, momentarily expecting their arrival. At a little distance I saw a small group of men in citizens’ dress. I rode up near them and ordered them to disperse, which they did. Why this was done I hardly know, unless because I thought a bold front would intimidate them, and cause them to believe that reinforcements were very near at hand. I felt somewhat uneasy, as previous to this we had found Confederate soldiers dressed in citizens’ clothes, and therefore had good reason to suspect some of the group as such.

I remained here on my horse in suspense, with carbine in hand, a minute or more before the arrival of my two comrades. The minutes seemed long on account of being in doubt. We waited here until the main column arrived, then passed on through the town, skirmishing with a few of the enemy during several days as we advanced, arriving at Nashville the 12th of September. Gen. Palmer was in command of the troops composing his division, and Gen. Negley, being senior, was in command of the district. Communication with the North and other parts of our army was entirely cut off, and we were unable to receive mail or supplies of any kind. The main part of the Union army in this vicinity had gone into Kentucky in pursuit of Bragg. The commissary stores were scant, and we were obliged to go out foraging sometimes in order to get enough to eat. While here we experienced a number of exciting incidents by way of skirmishing and small engagements with the enemy, who were continually lurking about our picket lines. I was now detailed as orderly at Gen. Palmer’s headquarters, in which position I served until Sept. 20, 1863, when I was made a prisoner of war at the battle of Chickamauga.

After being at Nashville some time Gen. Negley was informed that a force of Confederates, consisting mostly of infantry, to the number of several thousand, were encamped at Lavergne, Tenn., about thirteen miles from Nashville. The generals immediately laid plans for the capture of this camp. One night they sent out a brigade of infantry, which marched by a circuitous route to the rear of the Confederate camp, arriving there a little before daylight, but did not disturb the enemy until we attacked them in front. Our forces who made that attack were composed of Gen. Palmer and staff, Co. C, and a small force of infantry and cavalry; also several pieces of artillery.

At first we merely attacked their pickets, which drew the enemy’s attention toward us. At the same time the infantry assaulted them in the rear, causing their surrender to us, with the exception of their cavalrymen, who escaped. The Confederates had one piece of artillery, a four-pounder, which was disabled after firing a number of shots. This fell into our hands along with their entire camp equipage, including a large quantity of new uniforms which they had just received. We also captured a brigadier-general. During this engagement I witnessed something that I had never seen or heard of before. As I was looking directly at the Confederate four-pound cannon, which was perhaps eighty or one hundred rods from us, it was discharged and the instant that I saw the smoke issue from the mouth of the gun a small black speck was seen coming toward me and in a second or two it crashed into a rail fence close by. After it had struck the fence I was satisfied that the black speck I had seen was the ball from the cannon. Soon after this I heard a rattling noise to the left. I turned and looked in that direction and saw brick rolling down over the roof of a residence which was in close proximity. Evidently a ball from the Confederate gun came in contact with the chimney, causing a confusion about the house. While looking that way a man came out of the house and looked up at the chimney, apparently surprised at the condition of things. I concluded that the people in the house were in a perilous condition.

While this small engagement was in progress Gen. Palmer was busily engaged with his telescope, viewing the battlefield and directing the movements of troops. He stood upon a small strawstack in good view of the enemy, giving directions as composedly as if talking to pupils in a schoolroom. After the firing ceased we rode into the Confederate camp and found that we had captured many wagon-loads of property, which was loaded and hauled with us to Nashville.

The reader can comprehend to some extent (by the former descriptions of battle scenes) the hardships and desolation that people are compelled to undergo in countries where armies pass through in time of war. I often felt grieved for people in the South when their stock, grain and fences were appropriated for the use of the army. Of course a commander will not allow his soldiers to starve. If his trains cannot keep up with the troops he will order the commissary to gather provisions from the country through which they are passing (of course citizens were not allowed to starve), and when an army is on the march and goes into camp in the evening, the soldiers have not time to chop down trees for fuel, but take fences, and thereby the country is more or less desolated, generally more. I can remember when orders were given to the soldiers allowing them to take only the top rail off a fence for fuel, but each rail in turn became a top rail and in a few minutes the whole fence would disappear.

An exciting chase and skirmish.—One afternoon Lieut. Shaw of Co. C was ordered to take a squad of Co. C, some ten or twelve in number, and go outside the picket lines to see what he could discover in regard to the location of the enemy. After riding some distance across the country, Charles Evitts, William Orris and myself, who were advance guard, arrived near the top of a hill, and looking over its brow discovered three Confederates seemingly on outpost picket duty. We thought they were performing their duty in a very careless manner as they were dismounted. We fired, and of course the instant they heard the report of our guns they mounted their horses and rode away as fast as they could, one of them leaving his gun leaning against the fence. We immediately started to follow them at full speed. As we passed the picket station I slowed up and grabbed the gun which the Confederates had left and destroyed it (by throwing it down upon the stone road, which broke the stock off), so that it was of no further use to the enemy, and it would have been of no use to Uncle Sam. Then I followed on at a fast gait, overtaking the other two boys.

During the chase one of the three Confederates fell from his horse and we made him a prisoner; he having been shot through the arm by our first fire. We pushed on after the other two Johnnies, who gave the alarm to their reserve force which numbered probably fifty or sixty, who were just cooking their suppers beside the road in a ravine. As soon as the alarm was given of our approach they all mounted their horses and rode up the opposite hill in confusion, leaving their suppers cooking. Some of them even left their saddles which they had removed from their horses. The fun this time was on our side. It was laughable to see the Confederates hustling up the hill in such confusion with us, perhaps less than one-fifth of their number, in pursuit. The roads being very dusty at this time, and no wind blowing, the trail of dust we left behind us caused them to believe that there was a large force in pursuit, thus causing their hasty flight.

In this little skirmish we captured one prisoner, a fine double-barreled shotgun, a horse, some saddles and numerous other small articles, and returned to camp after dark in the evening.

Attacking the Confederates behind a stone wall.—Some days later while at Nashville we went out on another reconnoitering expedition into the enemy’s country, with a small force consisting of Co. C, Capt. Bartlett in command, two pieces of artillery and several companies of infantry, with Gen. Palmer in command of the whole. After marching some distance from camp we discovered a small force of the enemy, which gradually fell back before our advance until they reached a farmhouse, where a thick stone wall was found, used as a fence between the house and barn. The Confederates thought the wall a good stronghold, and took a position behind it, not being aware that we had artillery with us, and therefore considering themselves safe behind the wall. They opened fire on us, but we did not like to attack them with our small arms while in their fortified position. Therefore the general ordered the artillerymen to open fire on them. The first or second shot passed through the wall, and another one through the barn, which caused quite a commotion among them. The house also received a number of shots from the rifles. They immediately took to flight and we went down to inspect the barn and wall. I found one large hardwood timber in the barn nearly cut in two by a shot from our artillery. I do not remember of any one in our command being seriously injured during this engagement. We returned to camp, performing our military duties as usual. We experienced a number of skirmishes similar to the above during our stay at Nashville.

Nov. 7, 1862, brought good news to us. The Federal army from Kentucky arrived at Nashville, which opened communication once more with the North and our homes. We had not received any mail for about three months and were very glad indeed to receive letters from home, some of which had been on the way two or three months. The army was now being thoroughly reorganized, and named Army of the Cumberland, with Gen. Rosecrans in command; and preparations were made for the advance on Murfreesboro. We remained here at Nashville until Dec. 26, 1862.

CHAPTER VI.
The Advance on Murfreesboro—Battle of Stone River—Occupation of Murfreesboro by the Federals—Cripple Creek and Tullahoma Campaign—Advance on Chattanooga and Chickamauga.

The announcement was made on Christmas night, 1862, to the Army of the Cumberland, to prepare to march the following morning, with three days’ rations in the haversacks and cartridge boxes well filled. The reveille sounded loudly throughout the camps about Nashville early on the morning of the 26th, and all was alive, with thousands of busy soldiers preparing for the advance. The morning dawned drearily, with threatening clouds overhanging the sky, but preparations to move forward went briskly on. After breakfast the order came to strike tents and prepare to move soon. Regiment after regiment filed out on several different roads leading toward Murfreesboro, with fifes and drums playing inspiring music, which cheered the soldiers to a high degree.

But alas! How little did we know how many of our number, now so cheerful, would be laid low within a few days by the enemy’s bullets and that 9,700 of our number would be killed or wounded within eight days on the battlefield of Stone River.

The whole army was soon on the move, and outside of the picket lines. A skirmish line was pushed forward, and did not march many miles before the skirmishers of the enemy were met, who gradually retired. We continued to advance, sometimes meeting quite a force of the enemy, who repeatedly withdrew. This continued until we reached the vicinity of Stone River, Dec. 30, 1862.

During the march of the Army of the Cumberland from Nashville to the vicinity of Murfreesboro, which continued from Dec. 26 to the 30th, rain fell in torrents nearly every day, which caused the roads to become almost impassable. After thousands of horses had passed over the soft and water-covered roads, the mud was fearful, from four to six inches in depth and in some places half knee deep, and of the consistency of cream or very thick paint ready for use. The reader can judge by looking at the illustration whether it was a pleasure for the soldiers to tramp all day on a road in the above-mentioned condition, while the rain was pouring down.

The Army Marching Through Mud and Rain.

The soldiers were loaded as mentioned, following: First a knapsack, containing extra garments, underwear and blanket; also any trinkets that a soldier chose to have; second, a haversack, containing three or four days’ rations; third, a gun, a heavy belt with cartridge box containing 40 rounds, and last but not least, a canteen full of water. The cavalry and artillery fared but little or perhaps no better than the infantry on those muddy roads, as the tramping of the horses caused the mud to splash in such a manner that both horses and riders became literally plastered with it, which gave them a job of cleaning up. It requires grit and a good constitution to march all day on a slushy road with rain pouring down, and then go into camp at night and lie down to sleep on the muddy ground with rain-soaked clothes. It also requires ironclad patriotism, to keep a smiling countenance under these conditions.

The haversack and canteen were as essential to a soldier of the War of the Rebellion from 1861 to 1865 when on a long march as a tender is to a railroad locomotive. The locomotive when running would soon become powerless if the tender did not accompany it to supply fuel and water with which to create power to enable it to travel.

That was also the fact with the soldier. If he did not have the indispensable haversack and canteen well filled, attached to himself when on the march, he could expect that his locomotive power would fail in a short time and he would become unable to march. The haversack generally contained the following articles when filled for the march: First, a quantity of the genuine, indispensable, hard-as-a-rock-Uncle-Sam-hardtack, sometimes animated hardtack; a slice of bacon, sometimes animated; a small package of browned coffee, a small quantity of sugar tied up in paper and tucked away in a corner, and last but not least, a pinch of salt. But why was salt needed? The bacon was salty, and the hardtack did not need salt, and it would not have improved the coffee. The salt appears to be a mystery, but perhaps it was not a mystery to the soldier. Some people may not understand the meaning of the words, “animated hardtack.” Therefore we will explain. Animated hardtack was that which was inhabited by the larvæ of flies, a footless insect or grub, but plainly speaking, a maggot. The soldiers of the war from 1861 to 1865 were occasionally treated to a few rations of animated hardtack and animated bacon also, perhaps by mistake. In such cases the soldiers were liable to find a portion of their rations escaping.

The canteen generally contained water, but there were occasions when it did not contain water; perhaps milk, if a cow could be found, and the finder chanced to be an expert milker, capable of milking into the small mouth of a canteen. The haversack was not a thing of beauty, nor was it ornamented, especially after it had been in use during a considerable length of time. It was generally constructed of heavy canvas, and of course after the greasy bacon had been stored in it and carried on those long marches in that broiling Dixie sun, and on dusty roads, it became a slick-appearing object as the canvas became saturated with grease from the bacon and then a coat of dust adhered to it, which, after considerable wear and several alternate coats of grease and dust, made it as polished as a looking-glass. A story was circulated during the war about some remarks that a southern lady made when a number of our regiments were passing. She said, “There are the proudest lot of Yanks that I have seen. Every fellow has a looking-glass hanging to him.” She evidently mistook the glossy haversacks for looking-glasses.

Now after marching all day loaded, as previously described, the soldiers would receive orders to halt and go into camp by the roadside in their order of march. The camping place sometimes was in a muddy cornfield or cottonfield, and other times in the woods. After each regiment and company were assigned to a place to be occupied during the night, arrangements were made for the purpose of procuring fuel and water, and if sticks could be found the proper size the pup tents were erected, after which the boys would proceed with the preparations for getting supper, which were generally not very elaborate, as the cooking utensils during a long march were few, consisting of a tin cup, in which the coffee was boiled, and a small branch of a tree fifteen or eighteen inches in length and pointed at each end. One end was stuck in the ground at an angle of about 45 degrees, and a slice of bacon hung on the other end near enough to the fire to make it broil and also make it palatable. The coffee was next in order. The butt end of a gun was substituted for a coffee mill on these occasions. The coffee was boiled in a tin cup, or a very small coffee pot if the soldier chanced to have one, until it became strong enough to float an iron wedge (as the boys termed it). When supper was ready they would sit on the ground in small groups and gnaw at their hardtack and bacon. If the weather happened to be cool they would sit in a circle around a small campfire and eat and talk until they became sleepy or taps sounded for lights out. Then a sleeping place was prepared. If their camping place was in a cornfield a few cornstalks or other rubbish would be gathered and placed on the ground for a bed, and when about ready to retire they would perhaps be surprised by the orderly who called their names for extra picket duty, perhaps to go on outside picket. They go out to their post of duty and perhaps about the time that they are posted rain begins falling. A long, dreary night is spent by watching for the enemy. Morning dawns and the rain still continues falling. The men are called in off their post of duty. When they arrive in camp the bugle sounds to fall in ready to march. Then another call forward when they begin their march for the day without breakfast or making their toilets. But after marching some distance hunger begins to gnaw, and a few hardtack are found at which they begin to nibble as they march. Hungry, sleepy, and tired, they continue to march all day on the muddy roads, while rain is pouring down, for $13 per month for the purpose of perpetuating our glorious government.

On the morning of Dec. 31 the memorable battle of Stone River, or Murfreesboro, began. At daylight Gen. Bragg, who was in command of the Confederates, made a furious attack upon the right wing of the Federal army, and drove it back, but at a fearful cost. A temporary panic followed immediately on our right wing, mostly among the army wagon teams and runaway horses, and horses from which riders had been shot. All these came rushing back at a furious rate. I witnessed a portion of the above scene and have no desire to see another like it. I well remember seeing a six-mule team with army wagon attached running at full speed over a rail fence, brush, rocks and logs. At the same time I saw wounded soldiers covered with blood, horses perhaps in a similar condition, all with a mad rush making their way toward the rear. The above was only a sample of other such scenes.

After the right was driven back the Confederates concentrated their forces upon our center and the right of the left, which were composed of Palmer’s and several other commands, who repulsed the Confederates with great loss. Our artillery swung into line on the run, and poured forth its deadly missiles into the enemy’s ranks.

Nothing in war is more exciting than to see a battery go into action. It has been drilled incessantly for months, perhaps years, for just such a crisis—for the moment when it can gallop directly into the very hell of the battle and throw all of its terrific power into a few minutes of awful work in deciding the contest. Day in and day out men and horses have been unweariedly drilled for a few moments of intense action at a critical time. Time and fatigue have been disregarded, to train them thoroughly as parts of a great machine of destruction. They have become such integral parts that they go through their duties automatically, as if they were second nature.

Going Into Action.

Nothing deranges the perfect operation of the terrific machine. They will dash into the midst of the fight, where the shells are spreading wild havoc and the deadly rifle balls patter like rain, without a thought of their surroundings, and open their volcano on the enemy without making a blunder or missing a motion. A man is torn to fragments by a shell and another instantly steps into his place; a horse is shot down, he is immediately cut out and another hitched in his place. The guns bellow uninterruptedly, no matter what havoc the enemy’s missiles are creating around them. It is the grandest yet most awful spectacle that war affords.

The Confederates made three or four desperate attempts to break this portion of our line, but failed and were repulsed each time, and remained nearly all the balance of the day under cover. During the day the shattered divisions of the Union army from the right were reorganized and were soon ready for action. The day was now far spent and the firing about at an end. The troops were mostly concealed in the woods or behind knolls, so as to be out of reach of the enemy’s fire. Shortly before the sun disappeared in the west I rode out into a small open space where my curiosity led me. Near by was a long line of infantry lying behind the crest of a knoll flat on the ground. When I was within a couple of rods of them two of the men looked around at me and one of them said, “You better get away from there.” He had hardly spoken the words when several bullets from Confederate sharpshooters, who were concealed in a cedar thicket, whizzed uncomfortably close to my ears, and I took the hint, and in a very short space of time I was out of sight in the woods, where a portion of our troops were posted.

The day’s battle was now ended and everything seemed to be quiet along the lines. Darkness soon settled down over the battlefield and we proceeded to get something to eat. This was New Year’s eve, and the army held watch-night, but not in the same style that we do at home. A good portion of the soldiers slept upon their arms. I distinctly remember that night, the moon shone brightly the fore part of the night and all was quiet in our front. All that could be heard was the rumbling of the ambulance wheels rolling over the battlefield, hauling the wounded to the hospital.

The morning of Jan. 1, 1863, dawned drearily upon us, but before noon it cleared off and the sun shone and Nature smiled lovingly upon the field of the previous day’s carnage. The day passed without a general engagement, but the lines of the army were being reformed and preparations were made for another battle the following day.

The Lull in the Fight.

The illustration is full of the spirit of war. It represents the lull which comes after one attack has been repulsed before another is made. The men behind the rude, hastily-constructed but quite formidable defenses, are having a brief respite. They know that it is only a respite, but are making the most of it. They will get what comfort they can in the meanwhile. It is probable they will be attacked again soon, but while they are ready and willing to meet it they are borrowing no trouble about it. They feel that they can repulse it as certainly and easily as they did the other. If the hour has any comfort in it they are going to enjoy it. The squad of prisoners in the foreground is very eloquent. It shows how the Confederate conscription was forcing into the ranks “all classes and conditions of men.”

The capture of prisoners had become so common a thing that the squad hardly excites a ripple of interest among the men. They hardly look up from their cooking or their game to observe the new captures, who simply go to swell the tens of thousands already in our hands.

Jan. 2 opened with some firing along the line, and late in the afternoon became a general engagement on our left, which resulted in a complete defeat of the Confederates. About the time that this battle of Jan. 2 fairly began, Lieut. John H. Shaw, of Co. C, 7th Illinois Cavalry climbed a tall forest tree for the purpose of locating the enemy and directing the firing of our artillery, which he did with good success. And while he was up in the tree, sitting upon a limb four or five inches in diameter, viewing the enemy with a large telescope, a cannon shot cut the limb off about 7 or 8 feet from where he was sitting. The Lieutenant told me that it was quite a nervous shock to him, and he scrambled down from that tree faster than he went up.

During this engagement Gen. Palmer sent me on an errand, and on the way I was obliged to pass through a line of our artillery posted on the west bluff of Stone River. On my return trip, when riding through the line and within ten or fifteen feet of one of the guns, I saw the axle cut from under it by a shot from the enemy. The beautiful brass gun tumbled to the ground. The battle was raging fiercely, causing havoc all about. Shells were exploding and shrieking through the air. Solid shot was plowing the earth and throwing the ground in showers around us. It seemed as if the whole Southern Confederacy had broken loose upon that spot. Rifle and musket balls were doing their share of execution also. After passing the line of guns I found myself among the artillerymen and horses, where an alarming confusion was found, caused by the fearful execution of the enemy’s fire, which appeared to be concentrated right on that place. When near one of the artillerymen, on his horse, I saw the upper part of his head disappear. A cannon shot did the work, and he fell from his horse a corpse. By what I have just mentioned the reader can judge in regard to the condition of things during a battle, as this was only a sample of many similar scenes.

After extricating myself from the confused mass I made my way back to headquarters and reported to Gen. Palmer, and considered myself extremely fortunate in running the gauntlet of the enemy’s fire without injury to myself or horse.

Soon after making my report to the General the famous charge took place across Stone River by Gen. Negley’s division and other troops. Negley’s division formed the principal part of the charge. The men waded through water several feet deep, some of them waist deep. A few were shot while wading and fell into the water. The battle raged fiercely for a short time and the Confederates were repulsed with great loss. Gen. Rosecrans then ordered an advance and our soldiers obeyed with a cheer. We soon heard continuous cheering, and the Confederates were routed and on the run. Gen. Palmer was so elated over our success that he fairly stood up in the stirrups of his saddle and said, “The boys have got them on the run, the boys have got them on the run,” and swung his hat above his head. “Pap Palmer,” as he was called by some of the men, was loved by his soldiers, and as a consequence Palmer’s division nearly always held its line of battle, and did not know defeat.

Negley’s Charge Across Stone River, Jan. 2, 1863.

The day was drawing to a close, and the Confederates were falling back, leaving the battlefield in our possession. Thus ended the battle of Stone River. Just as it was getting dusk the General and I rode down across a portion of the field which had been occupied by the Confederates during the heavy firing from our artillery and musketry combined, and where Breckenridge’s corps lost 1,800 men in less than a half hour. We found the ground strewn with their dead so thickly that our horses could hardly pass through. It was a fearful sight to behold. The battle of Stone River proved to be a very hard-fought battle. The Federal loss was about 9,700 killed and wounded, and the Confederate about 10,000. The Federal army soon afterward occupied Murfreesboro, going into camp south and east of the town. The Confederacy had received another blow, but at a fearful loss of life. The Federal army was now being replenished with ammunition and other supplies, and remained in this vicinity during the winter months performing the ordinary military duties. Gen. Hazen’s brigade of Palmer’s division was camped 9 miles east of Murfreesboro on a high knob, where a signal station was located, and we received messages by signals from this station.

In the spring of 1863 Gen. Palmer moved his headquarters and a part of his division five or six miles east of Murfreesboro to Cripple Creek, where we remained until the latter part of June.

The Execution of a Spy and Bounty-jumper.

While camping at Cripple Creek we witnessed the execution of a spy and bounty-jumper.

The troops were drawn up in line on three sides of an open field in military order and facing inward. The criminal was escorted around on the inside of the square passing in front of the troops, and his coffin was carried in advance.

When the prisoner reached the open side of the square or field he was halted and placed near his coffin in a standing posture, blind-folded and shot to death. The executing party was composed of eight or ten soldiers (the exact number I have forgotten). Their guns were loaded by outside parties in order that the executioners could not know which of them fired the fatal shots, as one-half of the guns were loaded with powder only.

On June 24 we again took up the line of march in pursuit of the enemy. It was then reported that Gen. Bragg, in command of the Confederate army, would offer battle at Tullahoma, Tenn., but he failed to do so, retreating in the direction of Chattanooga, south of the Tennessee River. On these marches we experienced much rainy weather, during which I had some experience of sleeping on a rail during a very rainy night. Three or four rails were used under me with some rubbish on top of them. My saddle for a pillow, rubber blanket for a cover, and hat over my face. This rail bed kept my body out of the water.

Sleeping on a Rail.

Part of our army, including Gen. Palmer’s command, moved southward, and when it was found that the Confederates were crossing the Tennessee River Palmer’s division went into camp at Manchester, Tenn., where it remained about a month. At the battle of Stone River, as the regiments of our division were about to be attacked by the enemy, Gen. Palmer rode along the line to speak words of encouragement to the men, and when he came to the 6th Kentucky he said: “Sixth Kentucky, you have work to do, stand up to them and you may steal for six months.” This last sentence was spoken in a sort of joking manner. But some of the boys had not forgotten it nearly six months later. When on the march from Cripple Creek toward Tullahoma, and rations were scarce, one evening before they went into camp many of the men dropped out of ranks for the purpose of foraging, which was contrary to orders. Soon after camp guard was established the General gave orders to the captain of the guards to arrest all foragers as fast as they came in and escort them to his headquarters. They soon began to arrive, some loaded with fresh beef, others with dressed hog, calf, and other articles of food. As fast as they arrived, the General ordered them to lay their meat on a pile near his tent, and afterward ordered it to be divided by the commissary. Among these foragers was a very small man, a German, belonging to the 6th Kentucky, who was brought in sweating, loaded down with the half of a hog. At the General’s orders he threw his load down on the pile, and the General said to him: “Who gave you leave to break ranks and go out and steal?” “You did,” he said. The General replied: “You lying rascal, I never authorized you to steal.” The man again said, “You did.” A crowd of the boys were standing around enjoying the scene. The General then said: “When did I authorize you to steal?” He replied: “At the battle of Stone River you ride up and you say, ‘Stand up to them, 6th Kentucky, and you may steal for six months,’ and the time is not up, we have one more day.” The General then remembered the occasion and the crowd roared with laughter. The next man interviewed by the General belonged to the 41st Ohio. He had the half of a calf he had found and killed. The General told him to throw his meat down on the heap, and he did so. He stood very respectfully for a few minutes and then said: “General, aren’t you going to let me have my meat?” He replied: “No, you break ranks and go out and rob the people and expect to have the result of your robbery?” Soon the tears ran down the man’s cheeks. The General said to him: “You great overgrown booby, are you crying about a thing of this kind?” The man replied: “General, I have had nothing to eat since yesterday morning.” His orderly sergeant was sent for who confirmed the statement. Gen. Palmer gave him his veal and some salt, and then said: “My authority has been subverted, I have been laughed out of the hog and cried out of the calf.”

In the fore part of August Gen. Palmer with his division moved eastward and crossed the Cumberland Mountains into Sequatchie valley, where we spent a number of days in slowly moving down the valley toward Chattanooga, striking the Tennessee River west of the city, where we arrived about Sept. 1. On these marches I often slept in my pup tent, or without any shelter.

Pup Tents.

A few of us crossed the river in a canoe, leading our horses, who swam along beside us, there being no bridge or ferry at this place. I do not remember at what places the army crossed, but they probably crossed somewhere on a pontoon bridge, or ferry, constructed by themselves. I think they found a crossing at a place called Shellmound. We had not been on the south side of the river very long before we saw the brigades of Gen. Palmer’s division also on that side.

We were now in the vicinity of Lookout Mountain, where a portion of us camped and remained a day or two. A part of the army went up on top of the mountain, the summit of which is 1,700 feet above the Tennessee River. It appeared to me almost perpendicular at the end next the river, there being just room enough between the mountain and the river for the railroad and wagon road. When Palmer’s division began ascending the mountain, Lieut. Shaw and myself were sent on an errand by the General, going by a circuitous route, and were obliged to climb the north side of the mountain, following a footpath. We dismounted and led our horses, having hard work to get the animals up. After accomplishing this difficult feat of climbing the steep mountain-side we found the General and his troops already there. We marched eastward to the end of the mountain, where I walked out on a projecting rock.

A small town named Summertown, or Summerville, was here entered, and the road extended down the mountain on the south side, on which the troops descended. We were then within three miles of Chattanooga, and again moved forward in a southerly direction, or rather a southeasterly direction, leaving the town to our left, and went into camp a short distance from Rossville, Sept. 9, and the following day moved forward as usual in a southeasterly direction. We found that the city had been evacuated by the Confederates. On our way between Chattanooga and Ringgold, Ga., we found a patch of the finest sweet potatoes I ever saw. Whenever I hear the song, “Marching through Georgia,” containing the lines,

“How the turkeys gobbled, which our commissary found,

How the sweet potatoes even started from the ground,”

I am reminded of that sweet potato patch away down in Georgia.

A Projecting Rock on Lookout Mountain.

We were getting in the vicinity of the enemy again, and now moved forward in a southerly direction but without encountering the enemy in large force until after passing Ringgold, Ga. I distinctly remember camping there one night, only a few days prior to the battle of Chickamauga. While there some of the Co. C boys got into a drug store, which seemingly had been abandoned, where they procured something to drink that was stronger than water; so much so that several of them became intoxicated. They were quite hilarious, and one of them became almost sick in consequence, and another, who also had unwisely imbibed, procured a bottle of medicine from the store with which he tried to treat the man, whom he claimed as his patient, and who was lying down. He opened the bottle and tried to pour some of its contents into the mouth of his patient, who refused to swallow, and soon his face was besmeared with the stuff, which was as black as tar. His face presented a ridiculous spectacle. The division surgeon was sent for, and was told to hurry up as we had a very sick man in our camp. He soon arrived, and found the man lying on a blanket with his eyes closed, his face being rather pale excepting where it was besmeared with the black tarry medicine, and presenting a comical appearance. The doctor made a brief examination of the patient, stepped back and smiled, saying to the boys, “The man will be all right in the morning,” and rode away. The following day we went in the direction of Lee and Gordon’s Mills, Crawfish Springs, and the upper Chickamauga. We remained in this vicinity a few days, watching and skirmishing with the enemy, then retraced our steps, going slowly in the direction of Chattanooga. Some firing continued with the enemy, which was Sept. 17 and 18. By that time Rosecrans’ army was concentrated on the north bank of Chickamauga Creek and the skirmishing became more general.

CHAPTER VII.
Beginning of the Battle of Chickamauga.

Major General Rosecrans commanded the Army of the Cumberland at the battle of Stone River and also at Chickamauga. What I saw of Gen. Rosecrans, and also what I learned about him otherwise, convinced me that he was brave in battle, and capable in command of a small army, and patriotic. But he possessed a passionate gallantry, which we saw displayed on battlefields by a few of our generals. A commander possessing these qualities will generally become easily discouraged, and relinquish a contested battlefield with but slight occasion for doing so.

Brig. Gen. Hazen commanded a brigade in Palmer’s division. I delivered messages at his headquarters often, during a period of more than a year, and had an opportunity to learn his character to some extent. I considered him to be a fine soldier and a gentleman. He was always at his post of duty, and enforced discipline with his soldiers, and was always ready to see that they were properly supplied with rations, clothing, and everything they were entitled to.

Hazen’s Brigade.

Grose’s Brigade.

Col. William Grose commanded a brigade in Gen. Palmer’s division. I delivered messages to Col. Grose as often as I did to Gen. Hazen, and had as much opportunity of studying his character. I considered him to be a gentleman, and a good and patriotic soldier. He did not enforce discipline as readily as Gen. Hazen, but held his command fairly well in hand.

Cruft’s Brigade.

Brig. Gen. Cruft also commanded a brigade in Palmer’s division, and I delivered messages to him the same as I did to Gen. Hazen and Col. Grose, and learned his character about as well as I did theirs. I formed a good opinion of Gen. Cruft. He appeared to me as very kindly, and pleasant to his companions. He apparently knew his duty and did it.

Sept. 19, 1863, dawned with the enemy in close proximity, and apparently moving toward our left, threatening to cut our communications with Chattanooga. During the day heavy fighting occurred along different parts of the line. Of course we also moved toward our left which was in danger of being flanked by the enemy. By the evening of the 19th the battle was well under way, and during the night many changes were made in our lines. Gen. Palmer’s division took position in the woods, on a long, low ridge extending north and south, and a short distance east from the famous Kelly field (perhaps twelve or fifteen rods), which also extended north and south.

Accompanying is a photograph taken in 1907, faintly showing the position occupied by Gen. Palmer’s division at Chickamauga on Sept. 20, 1863, with Reynolds’ division on his right, and Baird’s and Johnson’s on his left. The line is marked by monuments, showing the place occupied by each regiment. But the monuments do not appear distinctly in this photograph, on account of its having been greatly reduced in size. The above battle line extends parallel with the east line of the Kelly field and faces to the east. Near the southeast corner of the field can be seen a pyramid of cannon balls, which marks the spot where Col. E. A. King, commanding a brigade in Reynolds’ division, was killed, Sept. 20.

Photograph of Kelly Field—East Side.

I closely inspected this part of the battlefield in September, 1906, and found its location almost exactly as I remembered it from 1863.

During the night of Sept. 19, 1863, a line of temporary defenses was constructed with old logs, trees and stones, or anything that would answer the purpose. These breastworks were from two to three feet in height, making very good protection for the infantry while they were lying down.

During the morning, when the battle was momentarily expected to open, Gen. Palmer was standing in rear of the temporary defenses, inspecting them, and the infantry were lying on the ground behind them awaiting the attack, when some of them were peering over the top of a log which composed the upper portion of the defenses looking in the direction of the enemy, trying to discover their position. Everything was as still as death, when an enemy’s bullet struck the log, knocking off a large splinter and sending it whizzing through the air. The General, seeing what happened, cried out, “Down with your head, my man, you have got only one head and you may want to use that in a minute.” In an instant several more bullets came over, passing through the folds of the General’s pants. One of the boys seeing what took place looked at the General and said: “General, down with your legs, you have only one pair of them and you may want to use them in a minute.” In an instant all was confusion, and the bullets were coming over almost as thick as hail, and I think there was use for heads and legs.

During the evening of the 19th, as the members of Co. C were sitting around a small fire, Lieut. Shaw made the remark: “Boys, tomorrow will be the hardest fought battle that we have seen”; which subsequently proved to be true. One of the members, named William Buchan, folded his arms and said in a sort of joking way: “I wish I was at home with mother.” Poor boy, it would have been well for him if he had been there, for he was hit by a shot the following day while serving as orderly for Lieut. Shaw, and lived only a short time. When he was struck they were obliged to retreat, with the enemy not far away. They halted, took him from his horse, laid him down, and the brave boy spoke and said: “Lieutenant, go on or you will be captured; do not stop for me, in a few minutes I will be done.” He then shook hands, saying, “Tell Scudder (my chum) to tell my folks how I died.”

This incident about Buchan I did not witness, but it was related to me later on by my comrades of Co. C. Comrade Buchan was a sample of whom the majority of the army was composed. Dear reader, think of the unselfish patriotism displayed by him in his dying hour. He was willing to be left alone on a dreary battlefield to die, in order that his comrades might escape capture and therefore be able to assist in the restoration of the Union, that future generations, in fact all mankind, might enjoy the blessings resulting from a united country and the best and most righteous government on earth.

About two months later, after the Federal army had been reinforced and the enemy driven back, a large party of Federal troops, including some of Co. C, went out to the battlefield of Chickamauga to bury the dead who had been left there unburied after the battle. I was informed that they found more than one thousand unburied bodies. A number of members of Co. C proceeded to the portion of the battlefield where they had left Buchan at the time he was killed, and there found his remains. There was not much remaining except the skeleton, but they identified him by his curly hair, and a certain peculiar ring on his finger, which was removed and sent home to his folks.

The boys removed and buried him, and marked his grave. Later his remains were removed to the National Cemetery near Chattanooga, Tenn., which I visited in September, 1906, and with a kodak photographed the grave, which is shown in the illustration.

He was a good boy and loved by all. On the day that the remains of Buchan were found and buried by the Co. C boys, many sad scenes were discovered by them on the battlefield of Chickamauga, which battle was fought two months previous. The marks of the fearful strife were yet visible. Here and there were lines of hastily-constructed defenses, the ground was strewn with knapsacks, fragments of harness, haversacks, canteens, pieces of clothing, tin plates, bullet-pierced, round shot and unexploded shell. And there were also found straps, cartridge boxes, old socks, old shoes, letters rotting on the decaying bodies of once brave soldiers, all sad signs and telling their silent story of the great fight at Chickamauga. What a crowd of sorrowful memories! Where is the soldier who wore that belt? Where the one who wore those shoes? Is he cold in death? If so what eyes have been dimmed with tears at his sad fate? What hopes have been destroyed, what affections crushed, what hearts wrung with anguish never more to brighten? But sadder sights than the above were discovered by our boys as they moved over the battlefield. The unburied remains of hundreds of Union soldiers lay full length here and there, and again some had been partly buried, and others so slightly covered with earth that they were rooted out by the swine and lay scattered about in promiscuous heaps. And another sight was beheld. A deep well was discovered, filled to the surface with Union soldiers. Fellow citizens, do we appreciate what we enjoy, which has been secured by such sacrifices?

William Buchan’s Grave.

Soon after the time that Buchan was killed by the enemy’s shot I was inside of the line of the Confederate army looking for a place to escape. Sept. 20, 1863, was a day which will remain fresh in my memory as long as I live, on account of its terrible battles, the loss of William Buchan and many others, and myself being made a prisoner of war. The battle in our front began in the morning about nine o’clock, and raged fiercely at intervals during nearly the whole day and along Snodgrass Hill until after dark. The Confederates charged Palmer’s front repeatedly, but were as often repulsed. Some parts of the Union lines were broken by the enemy during the day and our prospects for success appeared rather discouraging.

On one occasion during the forenoon, when the Confederates charged on Palmer’s and Baird’s positions, they approached so near that those in advance came inside of our temporary defenses and were made prisoners. I well remember seeing them after their surrender.

Chickamauga Map.

The Confederate loss in our front was fearful, because whenever they came in sight our artillery poured forth grape and canister, which literally mowed swaths through their ranks. And if they approached within rifle or musket range, a dazzling sheet of flame would burst forth from our long lines of infantry.

This each time compelled them to fall back in disorder. During the day, while Gen. Palmer and myself were riding from one part of the line to another, his horse was struck just over one eye by a bullet, which stunned him and he fell to the ground. The General, being in a hurry to reach another part of our line, asked me to let him ride my horse, to which I consented and remained with his, which soon recovered, regained his feet, and apparently was all right again. The General returned and gave me my horse, and we mounted and rode away to another part of the line, where he wished to give some directions. We remained here for some time to watch the progress of the next attack, which was looked for soon to come. The infantry were lying behind their low breastworks, and the gunners of the artillery were alert near their guns awaiting the attack. The General had just dismounted in rear of the line of battle, and I was on my horse near by waiting for orders, when the enemy made another terrific movement on our line. Immediately our artillery bellowed with a deafening roar, sending forth its terrible missiles of destruction among the enemy, who when coming within rifle range received also the fire from our infantry, from whose long lines burst forth a sheet of flame; and the Confederates were repulsed with heavy loss. Their bullets came over at a fearful rate; at times it seemed as though they came as thick as if one would take a handful of shelled corn and scatter it broadcast. The roar of firearms from friend and foe was deafening, and it seemed as if the earth trembled beneath our feet.

The General was standing, talking to some of the officers. He turned toward me, saying: “Eby, you should not expose yourself unnecessarily. You would better dismount and step behind a tree while you are waiting for orders.” I immediately obeyed the General’s suggestion with a good will. It was now some time after noon, but we had not stopped for dinner, as there seemed to be some objections on the other side. The firing in our front ceased at times, but we could hear the incessant roar of musketry and artillery off at our right and rear, we being on the left. It seemed to move off farther and farther, until it sounded as though it were a mile away. Then in a few moments it would begin again nearer to us, and again roll off gradually in the distance. And now after these forty-five years of time have passed when I think about it I imagine that I can hear that same roar of firearms.

Thus the afternoon wore slowly away, we occasionally receiving some news from other parts of the army in regard to the progress of the battle, sometimes favorable and at other times unfavorable. I well remember when the news came that Gen. Granger’s reserve corps was coming to assist us. We felt very much encouraged and felt like cheering with perhaps many others. During the day, the exact time I do not remember, the General with part of his staff (including myself) was riding down the line quite a distance when we met several generals, among them Major Gen. Thomas.

They halted and so did we. The generals immediately began talking very briskly, and seemed to be holding a council of war. I well remember Gen. Thomas. During their conversation I noticed by their manner that something was not going right in regard to the battle, as Gen. Thomas shook his head several times in a way that indicated trouble. After the generals finished their talk they rode away to their respective commands.

John M Palmer

Palmer, Shutt, Drennan & Lester,
Attorneys & Counsellors at Law.
Springfield, Illinois.

John M. Palmer.
William E. Shutt.
John G. Drennan.
Andrew J. Lester.

Sept. 16, 1896.

Henry H. Eby:—

Mandotta, Illinois.

My dear Eby:—

Am obliged to you for your letter of the 11th inst. and for the clip you furnished me containing the names of the old comrades who were present at the Re-union and who answered roll call. I trust you tendered all who assembled my kindest regards.

Yours truly,
John M Palmer

Eastern Slope of Snodgrass Hill, Chickamauga.

General Thomas was a model of good and noble character, who solicited no praise for himself and was sparing of praise to others. He declined all the numerous gifts of houses, lands, money and bonds tendered him by his grateful countrymen. When he declined gifts offered to himself, he urged his proposed benefactors to provide out of their abundance for the wants of the widows and orphans of those who died for their country. General Thomas was one of the most resolute men. He did not possess the passionate gallantry that we have often seen displayed on fields of battle, but his sure-footed, reliable judgment did not allow him to fall into a mistake. The victories he won speak louder than words.

After returning to our division I saw a fine horse lying upon the ground dead with its head almost severed from the body. We were informed that it belonged to Gen. Cruft, who commanded a brigade in Palmer’s division. The horse had been struck by a cannon shot.

Late in the afternoon the heaviest firing seemed to be shifting toward that part of the line of battle adjacent to Snodgrass Hill, where the enemy was concentrating its best forces, trying hard to turn our right flank and get possession of the road leading to Chattanooga. They could thereby sever our communications with the latter place and the North, and they came very near accomplishing their object. They attacked Gen. Thomas’ line repeatedly and as often were repulsed with heavy loss, Gen. Thomas holding his position.

Snodgrass Hill, with Stable.

The battlefield of Chickamauga is now owned by the United States Government. Monuments have been erected marking the places where each command was stationed during the battle, and cannon are in position in the same places where the cannon of the opposing forces stood during the battle. The above illustration, made from a photograph taken by the author in 1906, represents a portion of Snodgrass Hill (which was occupied by Federal troops during Sept. 20, 1863), showing the old Snodgrass log stable partly fallen down, and also one large tree which was shot nearly to pieces by the Confederate artillery during the battle of Sept. 20, 1863. As can be seen in the illustration, the limbs of the large tree were nearly all cut off by the Confederate cannon shot. Their guns being located down in the valley they were obliged to elevate them when firing, and the tree being quite a distance back on the summit, as a consequence they could hit the tree only on its upper portion. The tree is dead and apparently has been since the battle, or at least has been for a number of years.

Portrait of Gen. Thomas.

The tree standing near the stable was alive when photographed, in 1906. Its top was entirely cut off during the battle, but it remained alive and formed a new top, as shown in the illustration. The Federal troops occupied Snodgrass Hill until the battle ended in the evening of Sept. 20, 1863.

The last desperate effort to dislodge Gen. Thomas’ command was made by the Confederates just at nightfall, and they were repulsed with the usual result. They then ceased the combat and withdrew their forces. The road to Chattanooga remained in possession of the Federals. Gen. Thomas then also withdrew his troops from the battlefield to Rossville, several miles in the rear, where they remained until Sept. 22, when they leisurely marched into Chattanooga. Thus closed the fearful battle of Chickamauga. The enemy’s loss according to reports was about 19,000 killed and wounded. The Federal loss was about 16,000. It is claimed by many that the great battle of Chickamauga was a victory for the Confederates, but I think differently. Chattanooga was the objective point in this campaign. The armies met ten or twelve miles south of the place, where a general engagement occurred for the possession of the city, in which the Confederate loss in men was greater than the Federal. The Confederates gained possession of the battlefield, but ceased the combat before the Federal army vacated its last line of battle. The Federals took a new position several miles to the rear, near Rossville, which they occupied until Sept. 22 without being molested by the Confederates during the 21st and 22nd, then took possession of Chattanooga and held it.

Trading Between Lines.

It was immaterial whether the fighting for the possession of Chattanooga occurred ten miles away, or within a mile or two of the city. The Federal army accomplished its object at the battle of Chickamauga. The Confederates gained nothing that was of any benefit to them, but lost several thousand good soldiers in excess of the Federal loss.

This picture represents a scene which lives in many a veteran’s memory. A truce to the murderous picket firing has been established, and the men have met to exchange the things they may have for others that they want more. The rebels bring tobacco, rebel newspapers, and sometimes corn-bread and fresh meat, but mainly tobacco. The Union soldiers bring coffee, hardtack, papers, knives, combs and similar articles, but mainly coffee. The rebels wanted many things which were plentiful enough in the Union camps, but they wanted coffee more than anything else. They and their “women folks” seemed half crazy for “Yankee coffee.” They would swap anything except their muskets for it. A pound of Yankee coffee was the most acceptable present one of them could send back home to his mother or sweetheart. It was not often that one of them had the self-denial to do this. He wanted it too badly himself. From the way the Union soldier in the foreground is displaying his stock of coffee, he must be expecting to buy up everything the Confederates had in that section of the country.

The Historic Balm of Gilead

Johnson Farm, Waterloo, N. Y.

LEAVING his scythe hanging in this tree Wyman J. Johnson enlisted and was mustered into service at Elmira, N. Y., November 15, 1861; and became member of Company G, of the 85th N. Y. Volunteers. He served in 15 engagements; was promoted to Fourth Sergeant April 13, 1863; was wounded at New Burn, N. C., and died in the hospital, Raleigh, N. C., May 22, 1864.

The young sapling has now grown to be a massive tree, enveloping nearly all of the scythe, and becoming indeed, a living monument of the dead.

CHAPTER VIII.
My Capture by the Confederates.

I was made a prisoner of war at the close of the battle of Chickamauga, Ga., Sept. 20, 1863. Being a mounted orderly on Gen. Palmer’s staff, my duties were to go where ordered, carrying messages from one part of the army to another. Gen. Palmer’s division held its position during the last day of the battle, and just about the time that the battle closed, which was near the close of the day, it was withdrawn. A short time before its withdrawal Gen. Palmer and staff, including myself and two other members of Co. C, rode away from the line of battle across the Kelly field toward the woods beyond. But before reaching the woods we came to an old-fashioned rail fence, and just as the fence was reached a heavy artillery fire was opened upon us. As near as I could ascertain it came from the extreme left of our army, some distance north of the Kelly field, beyond a patch of open woods, where I saw the smoke roll up from some cannon about a quarter of a mile away. The shots struck nearly lengthwise of the fence, cutting and splintering the rails and throwing the pieces about us in every direction, frightening our horses so that we were prevented from crossing the fence as soon as we desired.

I had no objection to rails but preferred to have them remain in the fence. The General and staff managed to cross the fence in advance just about the time that the battery opened fire upon us, and rode into the woods, where we lost sight of them. Two other comrades and myself were yet at the fence, trying to cross and follow the rest of the group, which was our duty to do. We finally succeeded, and also rode into the woods in search of the General but he had gained some distance on us and we failed to find him. We continued the search until, becoming somewhat discouraged and night closing in upon us, we stopped and held a council of war as it was called, trying to determine in which direction to go in order to find the General or his division, but we failed to agree. My proposition was to go in the direction where our division (Palmer’s) was located during the day, thinking that we would find it and by this means also find the whereabouts of the General, I being unaware that the troops had been withdrawn from their position. My two comrades started off in a different direction from the one taken by myself, and reached the Union lines in safety. I went in the direction in which I expected to find Palmer’s division, thinking that I would be all right. After riding through the woods a short distance I came to a deep ravine, and after passing down into it I found many wounded soldiers, who called to me asking for water, which I was unable to give them, as my canteen was empty, I having been without water nearly all day myself, and did not know where to find any. This was a trying time for me, as I heard these poor wounded comrades groaning and calling to me for help, which I was unable to give. I rode up the opposite bank of the ravine and some distance beyond. It had now become quite dark, and I soon arrived at the place where I expected to find Palmer’s troops, and suddenly came to a long line of stacked guns, which could be seen by the aid of some small camp-fires beyond, and on approaching them saw some men between myself and the fire, near the guns. Some were standing, some sitting and others lying on the ground.

Crossing the Rail Fence on the Kelly Field.

These I thought might belong to Palmer’s division. Riding up close to them I asked one of the men the number of his regiment. He replied “The 16th Mississippi.” He of course had not discovered that I was a Federal. I was a little doubtful in regard to these troops. Thinking that there might be some misunderstanding between us I rode down the line a short distance and inquired again. The answer came “This is the 20th Louisiana.” I was then satisfied that they were Confederate troops, but they had not yet identified me and perhaps thought that I was a Confederate. As the fires beyond the line of guns were not sufficient by which to distinguish my uniform, I still had hopes of reaching our lines in safety. I saw some small fires in different directions which apparently had just been started. As I subsequently learned I was now inside the main line of the Confederate army.

My opinion was that the Federal troops had withdrawn from their position during the evening and these Confederates had come in there and stacked arms. The next thing for me to do was to contrive some plan to make my escape from inside the enemy’s lines. The first thing I thought of was to get away from these troops before some of them would identify me. I immediately rode away, perhaps fifteen or twenty rods, thinking that I might escape unnoticed. While riding through the woods without a friend except my faithful horse (that had done good service for Uncle Sam for two years), I thought of many things in a few seconds. A difficult task was before me (that of reaching the Union lines in safety). One great difficulty was that I did not know in which direction to go. It being nighttime I was unable to see distinctly what was before me and my reader can imagine my predicament. As I proceeded on farther a voice near me called out “Halt!” which I obeyed.

I was able to see some object just ahead of my horse, but was unable to tell what it was. In a few seconds I discovered two men near my horse’s head. One called out, “Surrender, here, get off your horse”; which I proceeded to do, as they had the muzzles of their guns uncomfortably close to my face. And now my goose was cooked.

I never obeyed orders more promptly, and did not stop to argue the case with them nor ask whether their guns were loaded. By the light of a few fires which had been started in the vicinity, these Confederates were enabled to identify me by my uniform, and I could also distinguish them as we were now so near together. The Confederates could see me more distinctly than I could them on account of my being on a horse and they on the ground. There was not the smallest chance to escape, as I now found myself surrounded by quite a number of the enemy, about ten to one. The two Confederates who captured me quarreled, each claiming my sabre and revolver. My sabre was one we had captured from a Confederate lieutenant at the battle of Stone River, and was a beauty.

My Capture.

Little did I care which one got them, I was a prisoner of war under guard and obliged to comply with all orders, no matter what they were. I cannot describe the state of my mind just then, but guess I felt some like the boy, after getting a good whipping which he did not deserve, very despondent. In a few moments I was conducted under guard to some commissioned officer’s headquarters for inspection. Before starting I took my pup tent from my saddle, hung it over my shoulder, and bade good-bye to my faithful horse, rubbing my hand down over her honest face as we parted. But now at our final separation came over me a more piercing sense of the loss of my honest four-footed friend, that was always so willing and ready to do her duty. We had endured together the perils of the battle, the scout, the outpost picket, and the skirmish; also the hardships of the march through mud and slush, the courier service, and many gripings of hunger which we had shared together. Now at last our paths separated, I was retired from actual service to become a prisoner, and she bore her new rider away to battle against her old friends. It was a sad parting.

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.

The next place of importance was Petersburg, Va., where the train halted quite a long time. We were now not far from Richmond, Va. After all was ready the train moved on toward Richmond and Belle Isle, where we arrived Sept. 30, 1863. Between Augusta and Richmond we spent three nights in the cars, which almost tormented the life out of us.

I had now been a prisoner of war ten days, and began to feel the effects of it seriously, as during the journey from Atlanta to Belle Isle, which was a period of six days, we had only a pound and a half of hardtack and a small piece of bacon to subsist on. I have not forgotten how carefully those scanty rations were guarded by me. I prized them as highly as I would the same weight in gold, and perhaps they were of more value to me than gold, for my life depended upon the little morsel. Economy was practiced by me to the utmost degree as I ate only a very small quantity at a time. Whenever hunger pinched me hard, I could not keep my hand out of the haversack. It seemed as though the little morsel was magnetized. I would take a few bites of my bacon and hardtack (the bacon I was obliged to eat raw as I had no way of cooking it), and after eating just enough to aggravate me, would be obliged to stop or have none left for the following two or three days.

During our journey from Atlanta to Belle Isle we saw many curious crowds, that collected at the stations where our train halted. They came to see the “Yanks,” and would ask some funny questions in regard to the war. Some would ask, “What did you-all come down heah to fight we-uns for?” “You-all were captured this time”; and many other curious questions, too numerous to mention.

CHAPTER IX.
Entrance into Belle Island Prison Pen.

On Sept. 30, 1863, we arrived on Belle Island, which is located in the James River, in front and a little above Richmond, Va., then the capital of the Southern Confederacy. The train stopped on the south side of the river and we were ordered to alight and were conducted down to the bridge and across it to the island. The Confederate iron works were located on the island, near the bridge, it was now getting dark and as we passed them they seemed to be all aglow from the light of the fires within, and one of the boys remarked in a joking way: “Here are the iron works, and the next place will be h——l.” I guess the prison pen on the island, into which we were placed a few moments later, about filled the bill.

We soon arrived at the place where we were to be confined, and found it to consist of several acres of ground, surrounded by a ditch about two feet deep and three feet wide, with the soil thrown up on the outside, which formed the dead-line. Outside of this the guards paced back and forth. Any person stepping upon this line would be shot down without a moment’s warning. There were 7,000 or 8,000 prisoners confined on this small area of ground. Nearly one-half of them were without any shelter whatever, and many had no blankets or overcoats.

We arrived at our new quarters in the evening, and after partaking of a scanty meal looked about for a spot large enough to lie down upon to sleep. I found a place that reminded me of the garden beds we used to make at home, it being slightly raised, with a path around it. Probably this had been made by some of the prisoners, to keep the water off in case of heavy rains. We now made preparations to retire, which were very simple. As many as could crowd upon this small space of ground lay down, in spoon fashion; that is, all lying with our faces turned in the same direction, and fitted together as one would spoons in packing them away, in order to have sufficient room and keep as warm as possible. We had nothing under us except the cold, bare earth, and nothing over us except a pup tent (a piece of muslin six feet square) and the blue sky, which was rather light covering. We had advantages on the island in some respects that we did not possess at home, we were not obliged to open the windows to air our beds. My outfit of clothing consisted of shirt, pants, cavalry jacket, boots and hat. I used my hat in place of a nightcap, to keep my head from coming in contact with the ground. I generally felt quite chilly during the night, and did not sleep soundly. Got up in the morning and found that the surroundings looked very discouraging. Did not see a soul that I knew, but saw many prisoners, some of whom had been confined here for months. These appeared ragged, dirty, and discouraged to the last degree. Rations were very small, and we were hungry continually, but had plenty of river water to drink. From Belle Isle a fairly good view of the city of Richmond was had. We could plainly see a building in which Jefferson Davis, the president of the Southern Confederacy, resided, and also some of the large brick buildings in which were confined many Union soldiers. The famous Libby Prison, in which was a large number of Federal officers, stood very close to the James River, in plain view from the island.

I remained here six days, and was then transferred to the city of Richmond. On arriving there I, in company with other prisoners, entered Libby Prison through the wide door at the northwest corner of the building.

We were introduced into Libby for the purpose of being searched, were formed into line, and then the search commenced. It was bossed by a man named Dick Turner. We were closely searched, and everything of value taken from us and confiscated. I possessed but very little property at that time. A two dollar greenback and a one dollar Confederate bill was all the money in my possession. I had also an old dilapidated pocketbook, but it was of no value and therefore was not confiscated. My two dollar greenback they were unable to find. I bought bread with it later on. Bread sold at enormous prices, and a man could easily eat in one day what he could buy for a dollar greenback.

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.

This occupation helped us to pass away some of the long, tedious hours of our confinement. Some perhaps do not understand what is meant by the word “grayback,” which I will now explain. A grayback is a small, carnivorous insect—or plainly speaking a louse—which infests the inner garments of a person who is unable to change his clothing frequently, which was the case with us in the prisons. In fact we never changed our garments while in prison. It was not stylish to do so, and if it had been we could not, as we possessed only what we had on our backs and they changed themselves. Some were obliged to wear their shirts until they literally wore off, or were kicked to pieces by the graybacks and fell from their backs. I will now explain what is meant by skirmishing. It was taking off our shirts, turning them inside out, and carefully searching for and killing the graybacks, which were sometimes very numerous, and tormented us in such a way at night that we were scarcely able to sleep.

Skirmishing for Graybacks.

The mode of killing these graybacks was as follows: As stated before, the garment was turned inside out, and then the game was soon found, overtaken and slain. Our weapons consisted of our thumb nails. The hands were placed near each other in about the position that a person would hold them when knitting with knitting needles, with the upper part of the thumb nails nearly touching. When in operation the movement of the hands was about the same as it would be when knitting. This work might properly have been called “knitting,” because nits were more numerous than graybacks. In the work mentioned above the results depended upon the amount of labor performed; the faster we worked the more we accomplished. These pests had become so numerous that it was all a well man could do to keep them within a reasonable limit. These miserable tormenters were always hungry like ourselves, because they had poor pasture feeding on our bodies. Sometimes when things in prison were reasonably quiet many of those insects would venture out on the vacant spaces of the floor, and it was amusing to us boys to watch their maneuvers. A number of us would sometimes be sitting in a row on the floor, with our backs to the wall, and suddenly our attention would be turned to a number of these pests in groups about the floor. Of course the boys would make remarks about their performance. Some would say: “Hello, the graybacks are going on dress parade.” Others declared they were foraging parties, looking for provisions, and would call out: “Look out, boys, they are looking you fellows over to find out which one of you has any meat left on him, and then they will go for you.” Those men who were weak and helpless were nearly eaten alive by these millions of parasites. It did not seem unreasonable when one of the men declared that he had seen a dead man with quarts of graybacks upon him. No doubt but that the days of these poor sick boys were materially shortened by these insects.

I used my boots for a pillow at night, while trying to sleep, by placing them together in a way that would locate the most congenial part of the boots next to and in contact with my head. I found a contrast between my pillow and one composed of good goose feathers, but the boot pillow was a decided improvement over the hard floor, and it was also the best that could be done under the circumstances, as we could get no rubbish of any kind to place under our heads, and I did not dare to take off my jacket to use as a pillow, or I would have chilled. The boot pillow was a severe test on the phrenological organs of the head. Some of my comrades feared that we might receive fatal injuries from the effects of our hard pillows, and others allowed that it would improve our fighting qualities by an enlargement of that organ. I was not the only one who endured the pangs of a hard pillow. Nearly or quite all suffered the same, in common. There was no partiality shown in this; the hardships were as free as water for all, and the hard pillow was not the only torture, when we tried to sleep in the Smith Prison. As I stated before, our clothing was thin, and what meat was left on us also thin. And when lying on the hard floor at night, trying to sleep, it seemed as if our bones were determined to punch holes through our grayback-eaten hides. Some thought if we ever got out of prison Uncle Sam would be obliged to patch us up, like a person would patch an old torn garment.

My opinion was that there would be but very few of us left that would be worth patching after the Southern Confederacy was through with us, and I think now that I was correct. No person can comprehend the extent of the intense suffering endured by the men in prison except those who were confined in them. We suffered a dozen things at the same time, that made us miserable. They occur to me as follows: Starvation, cold, bad ventilation, tormented by graybacks, filthy clothing, no opportunity for bathing, bad sanitation, close confinement, food of poor quality, soreness caused by sleeping on the bare floor, the sight of so much misery all about us, and the thought of being domineered over by a cruel keeper. I had the pleasure (?) of enjoying (?) with hundreds of other comrades all the hardships just mentioned, which was a great combination of torments and as I thought a severe dose.

Trading with the guards became an extensive business considering the amount of capital invested. Capital with us was very small, on account of our having been closely searched by the Confederates before entering prison. All money and valuables that could be found on our persons were confiscated, but they were unable to find all the greenbacks that the boys had hidden in their clothing in various ways.

When starvation began to take effect they used this money to purchase bread from the guards, at enormous prices. Some of the guards were very clever fellows, and would do favors for us when the officers were not about. Sometimes they furnished us with the Richmond papers, which was against the orders of the Confederacy. Thereby we were enabled to get a little of the outside news.

Sometime in November we received some rations from Uncle Sam, which were sent through the Confederate lines to us. This partly supplied us for about a week, after which we received no more during our imprisonment. Some days later I read an order in a Richmond paper as follows: “No more rations or clothing shall be allowed to come through the Confederate lines to prisoners of war in our possession.” Signed by those in authority in the Confederate government. They claimed that it was a disgrace for them to allow our government to feed us. The famous Confederate commander of cavalry, John Morgan, came into our prison one day in November. He seemed to be looking for some person or persons, as he passed through the room, but I never heard whether he found the one he was searching for. I well remember his looking us over very closely.

An Ohio boy, whose name I cannot recall, did some trading with the guards with the intention of procuring a Confederate uniform. The place where the trading was usually done was at the foot of the lower stairway, where a door opened into a reception room, which also had a door opening into the street or on to the sidewalk. A guard was stationed at the foot of the stairway, and another at the door which opened from this room into the street. This constituted a double guard.

A number of Confederates who were not on duty would enter this room, bringing with them some articles of food, and any prisoner who was fortunate enough to have some greenbacks could purchase, at enormous prices. This Ohio boy, mentioned, first traded for a Confederate cap, next a coat, and third, a pair of pants which were of the grey Confederate uniform. He did not procure them all the same day. He brought them upstairs into our room and took off his blue suit and put on the grey. He then walked down the stairway and commenced trading with the Confederates who were standing about the room. While they were busy trading he passed the inner guard and into the reception room unnoticed, and then walked leisurely about the room, talking to the Confederates, not being particularly noticed by them, and finally walked past the outer guard into the street. The guards no doubt supposed him to be one of their own men on account of his being dressed in a grey uniform. He walked leisurely up the street to a bakery, where he purchased some bread, and then retraced his steps, walking back past our prison, which was the last time we saw him Some time later we learned that he had made his escape to the Union lines. He certainly was a shrewd boy.

CHAPTER X.
Our Return to Danville—Many Sick with Smallpox—Smallpox Hospital, and Convalescent Camp.

On the morning of Dec. 9, 1863, the order came for us to go to Danville, Va., located on the North Carolina line a distance from Richmond of about 150 miles in a southwesterly direction. We started before daylight in the morning, going by rail. I remember my surprise as we marched out into the street. My limbs were very weak, and some pain in my knee joints and other parts of the body caused me to stagger a little as I walked. We were escorted to the railroad station and crowded into freight cars, and arrived at Danville in the evening of the same day. We were then unloaded and confined in a building similar to the one we had left, received nearly the same kind of food, and enjoyed about such privileges as we did in Richmond, being continually hungry, filthy, crowded and chilly, and also irritated by the industrious graybacks, which seemed determined to keep us company without being invited, and which caused the most of us to be rather ill-natured.

The smallpox made its appearance here about Dec. 13, but I was not aware of it until about eight days later, when I became very sick, and was lying upon the cold, bare floor for a number of days without any attention whatever. On Dec. 24 a doctor came in, looked me over, and informed me that I had smallpox, but I was feeling so very sick that this information did not make much impression on me. I did not seem to care what I had or what became of me. Late in the afternoon they came with a two-wheeled dray, upon which I was loaded and hauled about a mile to the smallpox hospital, while the wind was blowing almost a gale from the northwest, and cold for that locality. On arriving at the hospital, about sunset, I found it to be quite a comfortable place compared to where I had been staying. It contained cots for the sick such as we used in our own hospitals. I was placed upon one of these, and on either side of me were those who appeared very sick. The one on my right died the first night I was there.

This being Christmas eve, my thoughts were of course of home, and the happy times we always enjoyed on such occasions. I felt very gloomy when realizing my condition and the place in which I was confined, hardly possessing the necessaries of life, and being a prisoner of war, sick and in the hands of an enemy. This Christmas eve seemed very long and tedious. The pustules were then beginning to break out on me and my head seemed to me as large as a bushel basket. There were no pit marks left upon me from the effects of the smallpox, as I had previously been dieted, by the kindness of the Southern Confederacy, which was expert at dieting its prisoners of war.

The days and nights wore slowly away, and in a few days I began to feel better and was able to watch the proceedings about me in the hospital. Some new patients were being brought in continually, while others died and were carried out to the dead-house. This was a log house near by, where the dead were stored until ready for burial, and was generally well occupied, as many died and were buried here.

I had now been here a number of days, and to my surprise, one day Doc. Davis, who was my chum in Richmond, came into the ward in which I was confined, and told me that he had been detailed to be hospital steward of the smallpox hospital. The news of Doc. Davis’ presence cheered me up wonderfully. Of course he did all he could for us sick boys. The weather for this latitude was extremely cold during the latter part of 1863 and the beginning of 1864, but of course not as severe as in the northern States. Yet we suffered greatly on account of not being well prepared for it. About two weeks had been spent by me in the hospital, and my health was greatly improved. The authorities were talking of putting us in the convalescent camp, which they did about the second week in January.

This camp was very well located, and was composed of tents, having chimneys made of mud and sticks, with a fireplace. We were quite comfortably housed, and were allowed to have wood for fire if we chopped it, and those who were able did so. Three of us convalescents were quartered in one small tent. Here I became acquainted with my tentmates, William Herrick, of Co. F, 30th Indiana, and Calvin W. Hudson, of Co. D, 65th Ohio. We soon became quite intimate, and had many friendly chats together about home and friends, and laying plans for our escape from prison. We had bunks fixed up, made of boards, so that our beds were not on the ground. We had now secured woolen blankets from Uncle Sam, and had one apiece.

This camp was guarded by North Carolina troops. Their guard line, on which the guards paced to and fro, was about ten or fifteen feet from our row of tents. The cookhouse was located in the southeast corner of the camp, in which the rations were cooked for the sick and convalescent. By this time our appetites had become the largest part of us. It seemed to me that I could eat anything, from a dog to a sawhorse, which was an indication that my health was improving.

One day when outside our tent near the cookhouse window, I discovered some turnip and potato parings lying on the ground, which had been thrown out of the cookhouse window. I gathered them up, and while doing so also discovered an old beef bone, which I picked up, and put the bone parings and some water together in an old tin can. I placed it over the fire and allowed the morsel to boil for quite a long time. This formed a sort of soup, with a little grease from the bone floating on the top. I stirred it well, and as soon as it was cool enough ate it with great relish, thinking it the best soup that I had ever tasted. I was extremely hungry, and could hardly refrain from tasting it while stirring. I probably acted like some little child would when there is a prospect for something good to eat. I ate the soup and eagerly wished for more, and would have given a small fortune (had I possessed one) for some more of the same kind. No man can realize what a torture it is to be starving, unless he has had the experience.

The days wore slowly away, and one day Doc. Davis came to our tent and surprised me by saying: “Eby, there has been a small box received in camp, addressed to H. H. Eby, Co. C, 7th Illinois Cavalry.” I was so elated over the news that I could hardly be restrained, and of course immediately set about to procure my box, which contained a loaf of bread, some crackers, a small quantity of cheese, a few onions, a small piece of pork, butter, pepper and salt. If I remember rightly the box was brought to me by Doc. Davis. It was sent by my brother Moses, who at that time lived near Mendota, Ill. He died at Freeport, Ill., July 10, 1909. My receiving this box was a mere accident, as thousands of them were sent to others which never reached their destination. For a day or two my two comrades in my tent and myself had quite a feast from the contents of this box. Oh, what a luxury it was, as since our confinement we had had very little food that was palatable.

We now began thinking seriously about making our escape from prison to our lines, because the food in the box would furnish us with a few days’ provisions to start with. William Herrick, of Co. F, 30th Indiana, concluded to start with me. Hudson was too sick to make the journey with us. Each of us possessed a haversack, which we filled with some of the eatables from the box, and now our commissary stores were ready for the journey. What eatables were left in the box were given to Hudson, who remained in camp. A day or two previous to our departure Doc. Davis came to our tent, and wanted to know if I would divide some provisions with him, as he was going to attempt his escape that night, and I replied in the affirmative. He returned to his tent, and we learned the next day that he had made his escape. I never saw him afterward, but heard after I returned to our lines that he finally reached the Union lines in safety. Poor fellow, he was not well, and had a hard time getting through to his regiment, and lived only a short time afterward. I sincerely hope that he is receiving his well-earned reward. The second night after Davis escaped, Herrick and I passed the guard line and succeeded as far as getting out of the clutches of the guards.

CHAPTER XI.

About eight or nine o’clock in the evening of Jan. 22, 1864, our light was extinguished, and Herrick and I each put on a haversack, well filled, and bade farewell to Hudson, who was yet sick. Now came the critical moment, as the guard line must be passed without being detected. Near our tent was a depression in the ground, crossing the guard line. We selected this place through which to make our escape.

The forward movement was now about to begin. We left the tent, and crawled down through the depression across the line without being discovered by the guards. It seems that good luck favored us, as the guards were passed without being disturbed. We walked quietly down the gully which farther on merged into quite a ravine. This was followed on down by us as hastily as we could, a distance of eighty or one hundred rods in a southerly direction, where a high rail fence was reached. Here a brief rest was enjoyed, as we were nearly exhausted. Our being weakened by sickness, and the excitement of passing the guards had some effect upon us, and we were in a very poor condition for the perilous journey. I put my arms over the top rail of the fence and hung on it, to support myself and rest. This attempt of making our escape was, as we discussed later on, a foolish undertaking when in such a debilitated condition, as we were to start out through an enemy’s country in the winter season. But the love of liberty was strong within us, and we thought it better to perish in trying to escape than to die in the filthy prison pens.

The evening of Jan. 22, 1864, I shall never forget. To our best knowledge in regard to the location of things we were now over one hundred miles from any Union troops. This distance was through an enemy’s country, full of rivers and small streams which we were obliged to cross, as well as hills, mountains and many other obstacles which must be encountered and overcome. This had to be accomplished mostly at night, for fear of being seen and recaptured by the Confederates. After being rested somewhat, we left the fence and started in a westerly direction, finally turning to the northwest, in which direction the Union lines were located.

We journeyed on slowly during a part of the first night, through the woods and brush, over rocks and ravines, crossing small streams of water by placing sticks across to walk upon, making slow progress until two or three o’clock in the morning. We then began looking about for a place to conceal ourselves during the following day, and also to rest and sleep. While passing through a grove we came upon a large white oak tree, which had been cut down during the summer or fall while the leaves were on its branches, and on that account the leaves were still remaining. This made a good comfortable hiding place for us during the following day, as the leaves were very dense. We concluded this would be as good a place as could probably be found, to conceal ourselves. By crawling under the tree and gathering some leaves a bed was prepared, placing them under us, and Herrick spread his blanket out upon the leaves. We took off our haversacks, which contained our supply of provisions for several days, and lay down upon our bed, using my blanket for a covering. After lying down we found ourselves extremely tired from our night’s journey of eight or ten miles. I remember being very uncomfortable after retiring, as it was a cold night and we were chilly. After becoming a little more comfortable we fell into a sound slumber. On awakening the next day hunger appeared, and we began partaking of the contents of our haversacks. After eating our breakfast we felt much revived from our fatigue, and contented ourselves during the day by talking over the prospects ahead of us and also the dangers that were awaiting us by being overtaken by the prison guards, as we were now only about eight or ten miles from prison.

As near as could be ascertained we were now in the vicinity of the line between North Carolina and Virginia, probably in North Carolina, as Danville prison was about on the line. I knew that we were at least as far south. Another fear now came over us, that the Confederates would put some of their bloodhounds on our trail; so we remained in the tree top the greater part of the day, and about sunset rolled up our blankets and prepared to move.