Chapter II: Part 2

Our dinner the first day was one loaf of bread cut in four pieces for four men. I can say that none of us had to let out our trouser straps. We marched thirty miles the first day and were pretty well tired out by night, when they issued to each of us one pint of flour. This we mixed with water and slapped it on a flat stone, which we propped up opposite the fire and baked it. This tasted good to us but I am afraid it would not pass muster at the Waldorf Astoria. Armstrong said he could not eat his without butter, but we told him his complexion would be better if he would abstain from butter. Finally he concluded that we were right and let it go at that. A Lieutenant came along and asked how we were making out. We told him that we were perfectly delighted with the menu. He said “I am glad you have nothing to complain of.” The next day’s ride took us to Culpepper C. H., the bracing air of Virginia still keeping our appetites in fine shape. No breakfast this morning but had a bounteous feast at noon. They cut a loaf in two for two men. It tasted good while it lasted but the time seemed so short.

That afternoon Ghormley said he was going to make a break into the bushes and get away. He jumped off his mule and had not gone more than ten feet from the road when a guard spied him and fired six shots into the bushes, when Ghormley came back in a hurry. He told the guard that he only wanted to get some blackberries. He watched him closely after that and told him “the next berries _you_ get will be lead berries.” At the end of the third day we reached Lynchburg, Va., where we were put into an old tobacco warehouse. There were three hundred prisoners there when we arrived. We were quartered on the dirty floor, covered with tobacco dust. You could hear the men sneeze in all languages. Our fare was still one loaf of bread for two men. At this place our largest and strongest man, Henry Benner, a wagon maker from Chillicothe, said “Boys, we will never get out of this alive.” He began to weaken right there, and in three weeks from that time he died of home sickness. We tried to shame him out of it, saying, “You are the healthiest man in the bunch and you will live through it if any one will.” One morning I found him lying dead on the ground, the first one of our little party to go. They kept us at this place for four weeks and then moved us to Richmond, Va. As we marched past Libbey Prison we heard some one calling from an upper window, “Hey! there! old 149th.” It was Major Rozell who had been captured the same morning that we were. In the fight at Berryville the Major was wounded in the elbow and had been taken direct to Libbey. We were not allowed to speak to him and I have never seen him since. I hear that he is still living in Missouri, having received a letter from him some time ago.

We remained in Richmond one night, when they took us across the river to Belle Island, where the hardest part of our prison life began. It was a bleak spot, bare of trees. Some few of the prisoners had tattered tents, the majority had none. It rained every day while we were there and the fog was so thick you could almost cut it until about noon, when it would fix for another rain. We had no protection whatever from this weather, and we would walk around in the night in the rain until we fell asleep on the muddy ground. We would lie there until awakened by the intense cold, to get up and walk again. Here they fed us on wild pea soup, flavored with ox tail, without dressing. No napkins went with this course, and the meals were never on time, as it took the cooks an hour or more to skim the maggots off the soup, as they wanted our meals to come to us perfectly clean, so we could not tell our folks at home that they did not understand their business.

Here is where Armstrong told us “Boys we are never going to make it.” We answered “Now you commence and you will go like Benner.” All the sick men at Belle Isle were to be transferred to City Point, an order having been issued to that effect. Whipple was not feeling well so I told him that I would try to get him off on the boat. I told him as we neared the boat for him to fall down and I would call the officers attention to him. As we had not rehearsed the part, he fell down too soon. I said “You fell down too soon. Wait until I give the word and then fall.” We came near making a mess of it, as it was. He began to laugh about the time for him to fall, but the officers did not see him laugh. The doctor asked me “what is the matter with that man?” I told him “I did not know but he was awful sick.” He finally passed him to City Point. I heard after getting home that he got as far as Annapolis, Md., and had died there. I fully expected to see him when I got home, as I knew the others were dead. He was a baker by trade and worked in Chillicothe before his enlistment. We remained for seven weeks on Belle Isle, when we were sent to Salisbury, N. C. We thought Belle Island was awful, but this place, no man can describe it, only an ex-prisoner of war. The stockade, I think, contained twenty acres and was fenced with trees split in half, with several large gates. A large brick building occupied part of the ground, which was formerly the North Carolina Penitentiary. It had three stories, the upper story, when we were there, being used as a jail for rebel deserters and other outlaws from the rebel army. If there ever was a more villainous looking set of men, I never saw them. The first night I was there I went up to this third story to sleep, as it was raining hard, not knowing anything about the place. A man came to me and asked me if I knew what kind of a place I was in? I told him I did not. He said “get out of here as quietly as possible or they would throw me out of the window.” I went instanter.

Within a month Ghormley and Armstrong both died. I was going around the grounds one morning (we had long lost all dates) when I saw Edward Armstrong lying dead on the ground. I scarcely recognized him, he was so black from stooping over the little pine knot fires. The dead wagon carried him away.

About a week later James Ghormley died. I was talking with him the night before. He said “I cannot last but a day or two.” I tried to cheer him up but it was of no use. This left me the only one of our boys alive that I knew of. The last I saw of Armstrong and Ghormley they were piled on the dead wagon that came in twice a day to collect the dead. The corpses were piled in, one on top of another like so many logs, taken out and buried in trenches. I remained there three months longer and was just about ready to give up when one morning a rebel lieutenant came to me and said, “Here, you cussed Yank, get up to the gate, you are to be exchanged.” I told him that was an old story. He said “stay there then.” I told him I could not walk so he had me carried to the gate. There were a thousand loaves of corn bread lying on the ground. They told each man to take a loaf, as that would have to last us until we got into our lines. We were three days getting to the Union lines and our loaves looked very small when we arrived at Wilmington, N. C., where we were exchanged.

We ran in on a foggy morning. One of our boys cried out “there is our flag.” You cannot realize how we felt, how we tried to raise a feeble cheer, when we knew that we were in God’s country once more. We were ordered to “pile off” which we did in short order. There were piles of broken crackers and scraps of meat lying on the ground, which had been tramped upon by men and horses, and we began to eat it greedily until we were stopped by our officers putting a guard around us. They told us not to eat that garbage, as Uncle Sam’s rations would be ready in a few minutes. It seemed like a dream to us, we were in a heaven of happiness. We were kept in a hospital at Wilmington for about a week, and then we were sent to Annapolis, Md., by transport. At Annapolis we were put in tent hospital after burning all our clothes and the “varmints” that went with them. They then cut our hair close, turned the hose on us, gave each man a good scrubbing and clothed us in _night gowns_ as our uniforms had not arrived from New York. We remained in hospital for two weeks, when we were sent to general hospital at Baltimore, Md., where our record was taken. My weight at that time being 85 lbs., having lost 75 lbs. in rebel prisons, I could not well spare any more. I remained in hospital at Baltimore three months longer, when I was discharged and sent home. My own mother did not know me until I told her who I was.

_Note by George Perkins_

Comrade McCommon in his wonderful record states that he does not know the dates on which his comrades died. The records show that James Ghormley died December 24th, 1864, so counting back, Armstrong must have died about December 17th.

Our boys are sleeping in unknown graves, but the government for which they died is not unmindful of them. Among the most noteworthy mementoes of the war is the memorial obelisk erected at Salisbury, N. C. to mark the burial place of the Union soldiers who perished in the adjacent prison pen. It has been estimated that eighteen trenches contain no fewer than 11,700 men, buried promiscuously, without the possibility of identification, from which circumstance this ground is known as the cemetery of the unknown dead. It lies about a half mile from the town of Salisbury on a sloping ground, and has an extent of about seven acres, surrounded by a massive stone wall. The cemetery proper contains about two acres, the other five being a lawn covered with trees. A neat lodge has been erected at the entrance over which our flag floats continually. The monument itself, a plain obelisk of New Hampshire granite, thirty-six feet in height, was erected at a cost of ten thousand dollars. The unknown names of the dead are poetically symbolized by a veiled shield. A sword and helmet typify the conflict, and a pair of broken fetters the bursting of prison bonds by death. Over all, surrounded by a laurel wreath is the inscription “Pro Patria.” The monument, standing on the highest point of the slope, forms a picturesque feature of the local landscape.

MEMORIES OF OUR SERVICE

_By Major Rozell_

Maitland, Mo., 2–23–’11.

Dear Comrade:

As promised will write a few thoughts for your book, but as I will have to depend entirely upon memory, it may be imperfect.

As a regiment, we have reason to be proud of our record, for there were regiments of one, two and even three years that did less real service than did the 149th O. V. I. one hundred day men. Our day’s work on right of Wallace’s little army on the 9th of July, ’64, at Monocacy, guarding the right flank of the army at Stone Bridge on Baltimore pike, resulted in more good than many other victories, as we helped to hold Early’s thirty thousand men one day, and this enabled Wright and Emery to reach Washington and save the city.

The regiment on that May morning in 1864 left their business and farms at great sacrifices financially and otherwise, and went at call of Governor to Camp Dennison as O. N. G’s. and there volunteered for one hundred days as O. V. I. How proud I was of those noble boys, as we marched out that sunny May morning in front of Governor Brough in our blue uniforms, and arms glistening in the sun, keeping step to the music—listened to a short speech from the Governor—then heard the words “All who will volunteer in U. S. service for one hundred days step four paces to the front;” every man in the regiment stepped proudly to the front and was mustered in as 149th O. V. I. Grant in his history gives the author of “Ben Hur” great credit for his work at Monocacy, and Wallace complimented Col. Brown for work of his regiment. Well we had a weary tramp back to Baltimore—those of us who got back. From there we immediately took the train for Washington, and then it was tramp, tramp, tramp, up and down, back and forth, until “Little Phil,” (as he was affectionately called) came up and things began to move.

Those were trying times and many a brave and patriotic boy became discouraged—but Gen. Sheridan soon cleaned up things in the “Valley,” although in doing so many brave boys lost their lives, and among the number were quite a good many of the 149th.

Some of us remember a little “scrap” with Mosby at Berryville on an early morning (the 13th of Aug., ’64); I have only to look at my left arm to remind me that a rebel bullet went crashing through that arm and paralyzed it for the time, and had to grab rein of bridle with sword hand, but was soon surrounded by “Johnnies” and started for the “sunny” south. I might mention many incidents that would interest some of the boys, had I time and space, but as comrade McCommon is giving a paper on prison life, and was along, will leave that to him, but will add only that I was separated from the “boys” at Lynchburg, and never saw them more, except as they passed “Libby” a few days later.

I was in luck to get out about a month later and home about a month after the regiment got back. I had, while in three year service, been shot through left lung, in right shoulder and face, and was discharged in the summer of 1863. The wound received at Berryville was enough to place me in what was called the hospital in Libby, and an order was made to examine inmates of hospital, and all who were considered permanently disabled were ordered paroled; I “fell back” on old wounds, and got out on that order; a very happy man I was, when at Aiken’s landing, I passed from under the rebel flag into our lines and under the “stars and stripes.”

Long years have passed since those trying times—many of the dear boys never lived to get back—some sleep on field of battle at Monocacy—some at Berryville, and some at southern prisons; many have answered the last “Roll Call” since their return home; but a few weeks since I witnessed the burial of a member of Co. F, a dear and only brother; soon all of us will have to answer the final call. I am, with one exception, Lt. Col. West, the only Regimental officer left and almost all of the Company officers are gone, and a large per cent of the boys in the ranks are gone; Taps to all will come soon, and Lights out forever. Let us be ready, boys, for the “Grand Review” on the other shore.

EB. ROZELL,
_Major 149th O. V. I._

AN INCIDENT IN THE UNWRITTEN HISTORY OF THE REBELLION

In that portion of the Civil War history pertaining to the events in and around the city of Washington D. C. which occurred during the month of July, 1864, it will be shown that the Capitol was besieged as it were, by a rebel force under the command of the Confederate General Early, and known as “Early’s raid on Washington.”

A true account of the prominent part taken by the 149th Regiment O. V. I. in the defence of the Capitol will be found in the foregoing pages of this book, written by a comrade and member of Company A of said Regiment.

The writer of the following incident and a witness to the same, had the honor to hold a Commission, and in command of a company in the Regiment, and having been detailed by the General to store the surplus baggage of the Brigade of which our Regiment was a part (this preparatory to forced marches incident to the aforenamed campaign of defense) was on duty in the city when martial law was declared and was placed in charge of a company of Treasury Department Employees, and reported with the company out on Arlington Heights, and were assigned to a position behind the breast works previously thrown up, every sort of fighting force having been pressed into service for the city’s defense.

The necessity demanding it, for be it understood that the Confederate army under General Early was encamped uncomfortably near the city, and plainly in view from the U. S. signal station on the Heights.

The anxiety of the great president (Mr. Lincoln) for the safety of the Capitol was evidenced when he insisted in being taken to the very out post of the army in defense, giving a word of cheer to the soldiery as he passed along from one post to another, the president himself being actually under fire, as occasionally a bullet from the enemy’s sharpshooters would whiz past.

General Ord in command urged his retirement to a place of safety, and finally under protest was about to enter his carriage, (his military escort in waiting) his attention was attracted to a young calf tied to a tree near a farm house seemingly in great distress. This earth work be it remembered at this time was built through a lawn surrounding a farmer’s house, and after the close of the war bought by the Government and is now the National “Arlington Cemetery.” Mr. Lincoln’s great heart was touched at the distress of the young animal, and stepping from the carriage he was about to enter, went to examine the cause, when it was found that a small bullet had been imbedded in the tail of the calf and bleeding from the fresh wound. Mr. Lincoln taking out his pocket knife cut the ball out, and with a gentle pat on the back of the calf placed the ball in his pocket. Being again advised to retire to safer quarters he reluctantly boarded his carriage and was driven back to the city amid the shouts of the army.

This incident, a piece of unwritten history, proves the great sympathetic heart of the man. That while under the excitement and anxiety consequent on the danger of the besieged Capitol of the Nation, and his own life endangered, yet his sympathy and relief was extended to a poor dumb animal. ’Twas this spirit manifested and the ready relief extended to the boys in blue that entitled him to be called so affectionately “Father Abraham” by not only the boys of the army but the whole loyal North.

Through all dangers and discomforts consequent in “War’s Alarms” ’twas the manifestation of this kindness of heart, courage and sympathy that won the hearts of his countrymen, and made him the greatest American.

EDWARD R. MCKEE,
_1st Lieut. Commander_,
_Co. A 149th Regiment O. V. I._

PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OF WM. R. BROWNING OF COMPANY I, 149TH O. V. I. AT
MONOCACY AND AS A PRISONER OF WAR

I was captured July 9th, 1864 at the battle of Monocacy, after fighting from early morn until 4:30 P. M., when, being hard pressed and nearly surrounded by the enemy, we received orders for every man to save himself. This order scattered our organization, and we broke for the rear. The rebels were fast closing in on us, leaving only one road open for our retreat. I took that route to escape, and went through all right, but many of the boys were captured before getting through. I followed the main body of the troops who were in full retreat toward Baltimore.

I will not go into detail in regard to the capture of Philip Frank of my company, and myself, by a body of rebel cavalry, and taken back to Frederick, but will relate one incident. The cavalry who had captured us, met the infantry, who demanded of them, that they turn over the prisoners to them because they had done all of the fighting, and were entitled to take charge of the prisoners. A fierce quarrel arose, they drew guns on each other, and a fight was about to take place, when a cavalry officer rode up, ordered the infantry to march on, and the cavalry to take us to the rear. After marching a short distance they halted us and said that they would have to give us up soon, and that we would be searched when they turned us over, and that as they had captured us, we were their prisoners, it was their first search. They began, and took away what we had, that they wanted, combs, knives and some silver money that I happened to have, but they did not get rich, for we did not have much for them to get. We marched back to Frederick City, and were halted in the main street, where we were turned over to the infantry. While there, some of the loyal ladies of the town came with a basket of food, and gave some to us, which tasted very good, as I had only two hard tack and a pint of coffee that day. They would not give our guard any of it so they became angry and drove them away.

While here, more prisoners were brought in, and we marched through the town, and went into camp for the night in a field outside the limits. The next morning we marched back through the town, and on about four miles to Monocacy Junction. We passed through the battle field, where the dead and wounded were still lying on the ground, where they had fallen. At the junction we were joined by five hundred prisoners, who had been captured and brought there the night before. These men had drawn two days’ rations from the rebels, but we did not get anything. However, there was no help for it, and we started on the Rockville road toward Washington, passing through part of the field of Monocacys battle of the day before. Some of the wounded were lying by the road side, and begged us piteously for water. My canteen was filled with water, and I stepped out of ranks to give the poor fellows a drink, but a rebel guard drew his gun on me and swore he would shoot if I did not get back into line. I told him I only wanted to give the wounded men a drink, when he said let some of the Yankee citizens round here give them water. At that, I took off my canteen and threw it over to the wounded men. My guard at that said, “I was a fool, and that I would need a canteen before I got one.” This was true for I never had another, but often needed one.

We marched on to Rockville where dead horses were lying in the street. There had just been a fight here. We went into an orchard surrounding a house, and got water from the well. A lady came out and said, “If any of you boys want to write home, I will mail your letters for you. The rebels will soon retreat, and then I will send the letters.” Comrade W. W. McCracken wrote a letter telling our folks at home all the particulars of our capture. He left the letter with the lady, and it reached its destination.

I told her I had no rations and that I was very hungry, and wanted something to eat. She gave me a big slice of home made bread and butter. I will never forget that loyal lady, and have often wished that I could go to Rockville to repay the kindness done to a poor boy, only fifteen years old, and a prisoner of war. We were then taken out to another road on our way toward Washington, and camped in a field for the night.

The next morning we resumed the march toward Washington. About noon we began to hear heavy firing in front, and the rebel stragglers began passing us hurrying to the front so that they might be among the first to enter Washington and loot the city. One of the guards told me that the roar of the cannons was the sweetest music on earth to the rebels. I answered, “I think before you take Washington you will be accommodated with plenty of sweet music.” We marched on for three hours under heavy fire from siege guns. The stragglers who had rushed to the front in order to be the first to enter the city began to come back. We taunted them, asking, “Why didn’t you go on into Washington?” They replied, “We would, only the cursed Yankees are throwing flour barrels at us.” We were marched up until in full view of Fort Stephens, where we could see the stars and stripes floating above the fort.

They placed us in an orchard so close to the fort that the shells would crash through the tree tops above our heads. This was not of long duration, until a rebel line of infantry came out of the woods and charged the fort. The fort reserved their fire until the rebels got close up to it, and I began to fear that it would be taken, when all at once it let loose with artillery, and a galling infantry fire from a line of troops that we had not seen. Such a noise I never heard. The smoke and the gathering twilight hid all the combatants from view, but we could tell from the sound of the guns that the rebels were falling back, and that the Union infantry was following them up. Directly all firing ceased, and we knew that the enemy had been repulsed. At this time we drew two days’ rations of beef and flour, but before we had time to cook it we were ordered to fall in, and under a heavy guard began marching to the rear. The whole rebel army came pell mell, almost a stampede. The cavalry and artillery filled the road, the infantry going through the fields. The cattle they had stolen in Maryland were also driven through the fields, the drivers yelling and swearing, making the air hideous with the din. A fine residence of a United States Senator was burned to the ground.

All this made an impression upon my mind that I will never forget. I learned afterward that after their repulse at Washington, the word was passed that General Hunter was advancing from Harper’s Ferry to attack them in the rear. We marched all night and forded the Potomac at Edwards Ferry early the next morning. We waded the river, which came up to my arm pits. I being small. We camped near a big spring not far from the river, where we rested and cooked what little we had. The next morning two days rations were issued, and cooked, and we again took up the march passing through Leesburg, Va., and on through Snickers Gap, getting to the Shenandoah river after dark. Here we camped for the night. The next morning they allowed us to bathe in the river. We resumed the tiresome march and pressed on to Winchester where we halted in the edge of the town. While here we drank from a spring the coldest water I ever saw. We then marched to Kernstown where we encamped for two days. Here Joseph Rowland and Joseph Hays of my company made their escape. This left eleven of our squad still prisoners. Sergeants James Nichols and Rees McCall; Corporals James and William Harrison, brothers and Privates W. W. McCracken, Thomas Broaders, Philip Frank, Wm. Houser, James Cruit, Peter Garratt and myself. The stop here gave us a much needed rest, and we again drew our two days’ rations of beef and flour. Two days’ rations may sound big, but a hearty man could eat it all at one meal without discomfort. I do not remember the exact amount, but know that it was not near enough to satisfy our hunger.

We again resumed our march bound for Staunton up through the beautiful Shenandoah valley, passing through New Market, Mt. Jackson and Willow Springs. At Staunton we boarded the cars and rode to Charlotte. Here we went into camp and drew what they called rye bread and tainted salt beef. The bread was the worst I ever saw. It was dough inside with a thick hard crust, that could hardly be broken, when it was broken the dough rolled out. The next morning we were again taken by the cars to Lynchburg. Here we were placed in a tobacco warehouse. The floor was covered with dried tobacco juice and licorice, at least that was what the boys said it was. I did not use the weed. We remained here a few days, I don’t remember how long, I only recollect the stinking meat issued to us.

While here I passed my sixteenth birthday, the 26th of July. On the 27th, we went on to Petersburg and Richmond Junction, thence to Danville, arriving there on the 28th. We were assigned to Prison No. 7, an old tobacco warehouse. The first floor was used as a hospital, the second, third and fourth stories for prisoners quarters. I was put in squad No. 7 on the second floor. We were fifty men to a squad in charge of a sergeant whose duty it was to draw rations for the men and to detail two comrades each day to carry water from the Dan river, about 200 yards from the prison. Here the hard prison life began. There was a cook house near the prison, the cooks being Union soldiers. The rations were corn bread made of corn and cob ground together, sometimes with salt, often without. Once in a while we had bean soup made from black or nigger peas, as they called them. A little bacon in the soup full of skippers. I could not eat it, it was so filthy, I only ate a small piece of the corn bread each day.

I cannot go into detail, each day was like another and very monotonous. We suffered from the heat when we first went into this prison. There were five squads of 50 on our floor, and when we all lay down at night, there was no room to spare, we were packed like sardines in a box. To economize space we would lie in rows across the building and when we turned over all would turn. On a hot night the stench was fearful. We remained here during July and August using water from the Dan river. This was stagnant, in pools, for the river had almost dried up in the summer. The rebels would march us past as nice a spring of good cold water as ever flowed and would not allow us to get it, but take us to the river, where we skimmed the green scum from the surface with our buckets and dip water from the hot, stinking pool. The hot weather created thirst, and the prisoners drank it as fast as it was carried to them and cried for more. If our guards were not in the humor we would have to wait until they were ready, consequently there was great suffering from thirst. About the last of August, Smith Miller of Company E of our regiment became suddenly insane, and was taken to the hospital where he afterward died. Philip Frank of my company was also sent to the hospital where he died. Many of the men became sick and we were all growing weaker day by day. In September an order came to exchange a certain number of the sick. When the doctor came to examine them, I took Samuel Jones to him, Jones could not walk, so Joe Shepard and I carried him down. The doctor passed him and then asked me, “Now what is the matter with you?” I told him, “Nothing, only I want something to eat.” The doctor replied, “If you would say so, I will pass you.” I said, “No, take some poor fellow that was sick, I am not sick, and I do not intend to die in prison.” The boys of my company that were released at this time were James Nichols, Reeves McCall, James and William Harrison and Peter Garrett. The two Harrison boys died at Annapolis, Maryland, on their way home. Disease and exchange now cut our number down, but our condition did not improve, we were growing weaker every day for want of food. In October I was sick with diarrhoea and went to the hospital. The sick were better cared for, and the nurses were detailed Union soldiers. The doctors were Rebels, and did not have much regard for the prisoners. I remained in the hospital but did not get any better. In October Thomas Broades was brought into the hospital, paroled on sick leave, and afterward died at Annapolis. Later in the year William Houser was brought over to the hospital, but only lived a few days.

Between Christmas and New Years Day I took the pneumonia and the doctor told me, “Well, little Yank, you will have to die,” I told him, “I will never leave my bones in the southern confederacy.” He put a fly blister on my chest and the next morning I was better. Then I had inflammation of the bowels, and he swore I would die. He had no medicine to give me, but put another fly blister on my stomach. The blisters broke in the night and the water run all over me. In the morning I again felt better but soon erysipelas set in, where the blisters had been. He then said I must be painted with iodine. This the nurses refused to do, saying that I would die, and did not see the use of torturing me, but let the boy die in peace. The doctor said it must be done. They asked me about it, I told them if they would let Edgar Hulbert of the Twenty-third O. V. I. who was a nurse, paint me I would never say a word. He did the job and I kept my promise. About a week later I was up and walking around. I improved rapidly, and on the 25th of January I was returned to the prison. About this time the United States sent some clothing to us, but not enough to go round. I drew a blouse and my comrade McCracken a blanket.

It was now very cold in the prison, some would sleep under blankets while others marched around to keep warm. We kept this up until becoming exhausted, we would rouse the sleepers and take their places. This was kept up continually day and night, as long as we remained at Danville. About the 10th of February we were placed in the cars and carried to Richmond, Va., and put in Libbey prison. We suffered terribly from the cold on this trip. We were weak and our clothes were worn out. I was dressed in the blouse spoken of, remnants of a pair of trousers and a pair of socks that I had taken off a dead man. My pants were so badly worn that I would not be presentable in good society. But comrade McCracken had his blanket and we snuggled under it in one corner of the car and done the best we could until we landed in Libbey.

There has been a great deal said about Libbey prison, and truly too, but it was the best one I was in, we had a warmer place to stay and a greater variety of food, although the rations were extremely small. Here we talked about being exchanged, we thought we had been brought here for that purpose. On the morning of February 20th, a Rebel officer came to the prison and told us to get ready for parole. There was a glad lot of poor boys, all was excitement. The officer went away and did not return until afternoon when he returned with other officers and clerks and called us up in line. We took the oath of parole to do no duty for the United States Government until regularly exchanged. This we gladly took. That night we had a big time, nobody slept, in the morning we were going back to God’s country and home. Comrade McCracken sold his blanket for fifty dollars (confederate) and bought six pounds of flour with it. We made flap jacks and baked them on a stone, ate and talked about what we would eat when we got home.

In the morning we were taken on board the rebel flag of truce boat, I was very weak, but Joe Shepard the good Samaritan of our regiment helped me aboard, and we started down the James river to Harrison Landing. Some one shouted “there is the old flag.” In an instant everybody was alert, and on looking down the river we caught a glimpse of “Old Glory” through the tree tops on one of the boats of our fleet. Such a time I never saw, we were the happiest boys on earth. We cheered, we shouted, we cried, we prayed, we were so happy. Many were going back to die, but they were glad to get where they could die under the dear old flag. We landed at Harrison Landing where the 25th Corps (colored) was stationed. It looked queer to me to see them on the skirmish line opposing the Rebels. Each fellow had his “gopher hole” to dodge in, one big black fellow picked me up like a baby and carried me back through the lines. They all came running to us with something to eat, those great black fellows with white hearts. My man carried me as far as he could go, and I walked a short distance to the river, where the transport “New York” was waiting for us. We went aboard and had a good meal of soft wheat bread, pickle pork, coffee with sugar and condensed milk, I thought I had never tasted anything so good. We arrived at Annapolis on Washington’s birthday, February 22, 1865.

I have tried in my own feeble way to tell something about my prison life. I have written it from memory and there may be some errors of dates, and etc. An old man’s memory is sometimes faulty. I have not told of all the horrors that I have witnessed, no tongue can tell nor pen describe what I have seen in these hells. To tell all would make a book, what I have told is true. I was discharged March 29th, 1865, at Todd Barracks in Columbus, Ohio.

WILLIAM R. BROWNING
_Private, Company I. 149th O. V. I._
_Chillicothe, Ohio._

INCIDENTS

While we were in camp at Chain Bridge we occupied the crest of a hill or ridge that sloped gradually to the south, making an ideal camping ground for the army. As night drew on camp fires were kindled and twinkled by thousands over the slope while the soldiers prepared their supper. Stories of their adventures and songs served to pass the evening. When the time came for “lights out,” a drum corps on the right began playing “The girl I left behind me.” A brass band in the centre struck up “Home Sweet Home.” These were all the tunes we recognized, for every band and drum corps in camp began playing. Pandemonium seemed to have broken loose, as the great volume of sound came up. Tunes could not be distinguished, the discord was terrific. It gradually died away as band after band ceased playing. A deep silence came over the plain, the stars blinked in the summer sky. The army was asleep.

OBSERVATION ON THE MARCH.

Once on our march toward Snickers Gap I saw a squad of soldiers taking a cow from a farm lot, they had tied a rope around her horns two were tugging at the rope, and others were pushing. The woman of the house and her children were crying and begging them to let her alone. The argument was still on as we marched along.

On this same march we passed a field where a fight had taken place a day or two before. The dead had been buried and the wounded removed, but the field was full of dead horses. The stench from the swollen carcasses lying under the sweltering rays of the hot July sun was terrific. We hurried past as fast as possible, breathing a sigh of relief when we came again into the pure air of the mountains.

HARPER’S FERRY.

Harper’s Ferry was the gateway to the south. It was captured and retaken many times during the war by both Union and Confederate armies. Situated at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers, with Loudon and Maryland Heights surrounding it, it was a natural fortress. The town was the target for both sides, and many of its homes carried the marks of shot and shell. The United States Arsenal which was burned early in the war, stood with roofless walls and tottering chimneys a silent monument of the ravages of the conflict.

A pontoon bridge spanned the Potomac river a short distance above the railroad bridge, over which the armies passed. When we marched across the pontoon, orders were given to “break step,” least the swing of the time step would break the bridge. This bridge was laid on boats that were lashed together side by side, and anchored in the river, on these stringers were laid and a floor on the stringers, rails were placed on the edge to keep the wagons from slipping over. This, however did not prevent some from going over, for I saw two wagons with their teams lying overturned on the bottom of the river.

While in the town we went into the old engine house called “John Brown’s Fort” where he put up his stubborn fight against the Virginia militia. The loop holes through which he fired were still there. Every time we passed through this town was on a Saturday, so we nick-named it “Harper’s Weekly.”

SHOOTING DESERTERS.

A chain of forts encircled Baltimore, Maryland, from Fort No. 1 on Baltimore street to Fort No. 12 in Druid Hill Park. Details were made from the men at our fort for guard duty at these outposts. One guard at each fort to remain all day, his duty being to keep a strict watch. One day, (I being on duty at Fort 11), a squad of twelve cavalrymen came on a full gallop down the road past the fort. Just as they came opposite to where I was standing guard, the officer in command shouted, “There they are, fire.” A volley from their carbines followed and two men who were in a field running through the high wheat threw up their hands and tumbled over dead. I heard afterward that they were deserters trying to escape from Lafayette Barracks. The discipline was severe, some may think too much so, but it was necessary in order to control the great variety of characters that made up the army. When our company first came to Fort No. 1 we found the guard house full of rough men of the New York Artillery, and we were detailed to guard them. Of all low, rough New York toughs, these were surely the worst. They took great pleasure in guying the boys fresh from home, and their actions were disgusting. Luckily they went away in a short time. One night two of them attempted to break guard and escape. Our boys who were on guard fired at them, and alarmed the garrison. A search squad was at once formed and the two men were found lying on their faces in the ditch surrounding the fort, nearly frightened to death. They were taken back to the guard house saying, “they did not think the century plants would shoot,” but they did. These fellows had a better opinion of us after that episode.

During our first march the boys began to pick up from the fields various articles that they considered valuable as relics, intending to carry them home. Bayonets and cannon balls seemed to be favorite articles for collection. After carrying them for a few miles they began dropping them one by one. We found out in a very short time that the less we had to carry the better we could march.

I was fortunate in bringing home, and still have my cap box, eagle plate, visor of my cap a tin flask and testament and hymn book. A testament and hymn book was given to every soldier. But the most prized is the engraved and engrossed card of thanks given by the president of the United States, under seal of the Government, and signed by the martyred friend of every Union soldier, Abraham Lincoln. A captain in our regiment brought home a beautiful sword that belonged to one of Mosbys’ men, and was found on the field after the fight at Berryville, Va. It was a beautiful piece of work, ivory hilt, gold mounted, with a scabbard inlaid with gold and silver designs. It was highly prized by the captain, and no doubt would be more highly prized by the man who lost it at Berryville.

CONCLUSION.

The hundred days service was hard, but it had a humorous side. Many were the pranks played by the boys. Many pleasant hours we spent together, and our experiences are told and laughed over today. At Fort No. 1 we had our own string band, and every evening we had dancing or singing led by Captain Peabody or Lieutenant McKee, some played cards, others went down into the city taking in the markets, theatres, etc. At one time down town a gentleman asked some of us, “Boys, what regiment do you belong to?” We answered, “The 149th Ohio.” He mused awhile and said, “One hundred and forty nine, that means a hundred and forty nine thousand, my goodness boys do men grow on trees in Ohio?”

When we left Baltimore our hardships began, the first day’s march nearly used us up, starting from Washington at noon, we crossed the Potomac at Edwards Ferry at 5 o’clock, our feet were blistered as we hobbled along, the first night we sank to rest, a tired, discouraged body of men. Our accoutrements were heavy, our guns a burden, but a canteen filled with water seemed heaviest of all, the string over the shoulder felt like it would cut clear through. Our appearance after two or three marches would have made Rip Van Winkle on awakening look like a dude in comparison.

We were ragged, tattered and torn, our shoes worn out, and the sacred soil of old Virginia was ground into our system, from the dust that we continually lived in. We thought the turnpikes of the Shenandoah valley were the hardest in the world. But they were not too hard to sleep on, when the weary soldier dropped in his tracks, the moment a halt was made. I have seen the men marching sound asleep only awakened when their heads came in contact with the tail board of the wagon in front.

This was the common experience of all soldiers and we did not complain, we often said we would rather meet the enemy than to endure the fatigue of the march.

The events I have tried to describe happened forty-seven years ago. Many who were with us then have answered the last roll call and passed over the majority. We who remain keep their memory green by strewing their graves with flowers on each recurring Memorial day, while those of our comrades who are sleeping in unknown graves in the south are not forgotten in our annual tribute of flowers. Soon the last old soldier will have gone to his rest, but his work will endure in a restored Union, a nation that commands the respect of the world. We did what we could, man or angels can do no more, we did not realize at the time in what a great work we were engaged. I am glad that I was permitted to live in those days, and take a little part in the great events that resulted in a reunited country, whose flag is honored wherever it flies.

“OUR COMRADES”

Where are the boys we marched with?
Where is my old bunk mate?
The majority crossed the river,
The few on its margin wait,
We will soon hear the call of the bugle,
There is another river to cross,
The boatman will ferry us over,
May we all meet again without loss.

GEORGE PERKINS

_Adjutant A. L. Brown Post No. 162 Grand Army of the Republic._

_Past Commander A. L. Brown Post No. 162 Grand Army of the Republic._

_Past Chief Mustering Officer, Department of Ohio, G. A. R._]

149TH REGIMENT OHIO VOLUNTEER INFANTRY ONE HUNDRED DAYS’ SERVICE

This regiment was organized at Camp Dennison, O., from the 8th to the 11th of May, 1864, to serve one hundred days. It was composed of the Twenty-seventh Regiment, Ohio National Guard, from Ross county, and the Fifty-fifth Battalion, Ohio National Guard, from Clinton county. On the 11th of May the regiment left the state of Baltimore, Md. Upon arrival it was assigned to duty at various forts in and around the city, and remained there until the 29th of May, when it was ordered to the eastern shore of Maryland, and distributed at different points. About the 4th of July the regiment was ordered to Monocacy Junction, and on the 9th took part in an engagement with the enemy. The regiment lost in killed and wounded about thirty, and in prisoners over one hundred. After the battle of Monocacy it took part with the Sixth and Nineteenth Corps in the marches in Maryland and Virginia. Portions of the regiment were with the One Hundred and Forty-fourth when it was attacked by Mosby’s guerrillas, at Berryville, Va., August 13. The regiment returned to Ohio August 20, 1864, and was mustered out on the 30th, on expiration of its term of service.

FIELD AND STAFF.

Mustered in May 11, 1864, at Camp Dennison, O., by Robert S. Smith,
Captain 2d Cavalry, U. S. A. Mustered out Aug. 30, 1864, at Camp
Dennison, O., by William Stanley, 2d Lieutenant 10th Infantry, U. S. A.