Chapter III: Preface (3)

Old Mr. Love was again called before the colonel. He had a certificate from the prison surgeon, stating that he was ill. That the confinement was injuring him, and he should be discharged. The Colonel told him his case would have to go before the Commission.

One of the prison guards to-day snapped his gun twice at a man passing on horseback, but it missed fire each time.

Captain Thomas Phillips was released this afternoon.

_Wednesday, March 11._--This morning as Keleher was looking from the window, singing:

“The niggers we will sell
And the Yankees send to hell,” etc.,

a little fussy lieutenant, named Thackery, came bristling up, saying, “I’ll send _you_ to hell,” and as if intending to carry out his threat literally, rushed at Keleher with his arm outstretched to push or grasp him, but just before the hand touched him, Keleher stepped to one side and Thackery, unable to check or recover himself, went spinning halfway across the room. The men, none of whom have any love or good feeling for Thackery, laughed at his discomfiture, and this so irritated the crestfallen lieutenant that he had the guards take Keleher off to the guard house.

James Taylor and James Stant were called and took the oath not to attempt to run the blockade again. Aaron Lewis released.

_Thursday, March 12._--Three more prisoners brought into our room last night. One belonged to Stuart’s Horse Artillery; the other two were citizens.

James Ewell released. Russell released; he had British protection. Frank Thornton, who had been out on parole, returned.

A man confined in the guard house knocked down a portion of the partition. He was taken out and tied up by the wrists to a tree. He broke the cords after a time and released himself. He was then removed, but I do not know what was done with him after.

Among my room-mates I have discovered an old schoolmate, Thomas Holbrook, of Baltimore. He and I were schoolboys together at a school kept by Martin J. Kerney, in a little one-story brick building, situated on Exeter Street, between Baltimore and Fayette, Baltimore City. Mr. Kerney was a graduate of Mount St. Mary’s College, Emmittsburg, Md. After giving up school teaching he entered into the practice of law and was afterward a member of the Maryland State Legislature. He was the author of a number of educational works, some of which are still used. Three of the Booth brothers--Edwin, the celebrated actor; John Wilkes, who shot Lincoln, and Joseph Adrian Booth, who afterward became a physician, and also John Sleeper Clarke, the comedian, who later on married Asia Booth, a sister of the Booth brothers, were all attending this school at the same time with us. Holbrook is quite a valuable addition to our company. He is exceedingly clever in handling playing cards and often amuses us with exhibitions of tricks, in which he displays remarkable dexterity. He thus helps us while away many a tedious hour. He was at one time in the Navy, and, like all seafaring men, is handy about the house. We all are glad when it is Tom’s day in the kitchen as cook for the mess. He will say, “Well, boys, what will it be to-day--lobscouse or skilligalee?”

He will take a ham-bone, from which most of the meat has been cut, and sitting down will patiently pick off with a pocket-knife every scrap of fat and lean, and with the addition of a few potatoes or other ingredients, will serve up quite a tasty little side dish for our table.

An old man who had been confined here for some time, was released a few days ago. He was bent with age, and very feeble and childish, so that when here he would often get lost in the building. After wandering about for some time he came back. He said he thought the war was over when he was sent off. That he was away from home; 84 years of age; with no place to go and no means of getting to his home. He begged to be taken back.

At night a sergeant came into the room with a list of names which he called over; my name being among the number. He asked each one if he wanted to go to Richmond. All those who are booked for Richmond are greatly elated at the prospect of their release from prison and a trip to Dixie. Whiskey was smuggled in and several of the fortunate ones were quite lively. Very little sleep to-night for anyone here.

Fitzhugh Carter, or as he was familiarly called “Chew Carter,” was a sprightly little fellow from Fauquier County, Virginia. Brought up on a farm and enjoying in his early life the companionship of the little darkies, he had acquired much of their quaint dialect and rollicking manners. On this night Chew had by some means got more than a fair share of the smuggled whiskey.

When the lieutenant came in for roll-call, it was the custom for the prisoners to form in one line, while the lieutenant with the guard would stand at the head, and as each man’s name was called he would step out, turn and face the line he had just left. This would be repeated until, when all the names were called, the new line would be formed opposite that formerly occupied by the first line.

As it was a difficult matter for poor Chew to preserve his equilibrium, his comrades endeavored to keep him steady on the perpendicular by bracing him on either side. All went well until it came his turn to answer. When the officer called “Fitzhugh Carter,” Chew stood erect, pushed his hat back from his forehead and snapped out “Yer, sah!” and lurched forward to the line opposite. The loud and jerky way he was answered appeared to strike the lieutenant, for he raised his head and looked to where the sound came from and then cast his eyes down again to his roll. Just at this moment Chew, apparently satisfied with the accomplishment of his little feat, looked toward the head of the line and observing the action of the lieutenant, said “Who de hell keers foh yo’ damn ol’ roll-call?”

The lieutenant heard the voice, but did not catch the words. He looked down the line. The men who stood on either side of Chew nudged him to keep quiet, and all looked so innocent of any wrong-doing that the officer evidently disbelieved his ears, if they carried a trace of the actual words uttered, for he proceeded with his roll-call without further interruption.

When the lieutenant left the room one of his comrades said:

“Chew, where did you get it all?”

“Jis’ had one drink,” replied Chew.

“Then you must have tapped a still-house,” said Ed. O’Brien, and he sung--

“The man that has good whiskey
And giveth his neighbor none,
Sha’n’t have any of my good whiskey
When his good whiskey is gone.”
“When--

“Now, altogether”--(and all took up the refrain):

“When his good whiskey is gone.”

There was one little incident during Chew’s sojourn in the Old Capitol which proved that the course of love does run smoothly sometimes--even love of whiskey. Chew was very thirsty, and was determined to quench that thirst. At “Sick Call,” he joined the throng who wended their way to the hospital.

“Oh, I’m so sick. I got sich cramps. Bin sick all night,” said Chew, as he entered the hospital, with one hand clutching a portion of his garments covering the part of his anatomy where cramps are supposed to locate, and the other pressed against his forehead.

“I’ll give you a dose of castor oil,” said the hospital steward.

“Oh,” said Chew, “I kaint take castoh oil. Nevah could take it.”

“I’ll fix it up so you won’t taste it.”

“It’s no use, I know. You’ll hav’ter give me somethin’ else.”

The steward poured a little whiskey in the bottom of a glass; then poured in the oil, which was quite stiff, and after that put whiskey on top. Chew took the glass and with a quick toss gulped down the whiskey before the oil had fairly started to flow, and handed the glass back, saying: “Take it quick. I’m afeerd I’ll throw it up”--at the same time making such grimaces that one would think he really had swallowed a nauseous dose.

“You haven’t taken any of the oil,” said the steward. “Here; drink it down.”

“Oh, I got a big mouthful, an’ I’m pow’ful sick.”

“I’ll put some more whiskey on top. Drink it quick and you won’t taste it.”

“I did drink it jis’ ez quick ez I could. I’ll try, but I know it won’t stay down.”

Taking the glass he tossed off the whiskey from the top, as before, and leaving the oil. The steward, now seeing through the trick, said: “You can take that now as it is, for I will not put another drop of whiskey in it.”

“Well,” said Chew, as he moved toward the door, “I dun told ye I couldn’t take castoh oil. I nevah could take it. I drink’t it quick ez I could. I kin take mos’ ennything better’n castoh oil.” He came back to his room where he told of the success of his scheme to his laughing companions.

_Saturday, March 14._--Last night we got the daily papers--the first for several days. In the kitchen the cooks were at work nearly all night to have the rations ready for to-day. It was reported that the prisoners would leave about ten o’clock in the morning. All day the streets were filled with people eager for a glance at the Rebels. About 2 P.M., orders came to pack up, and about 4 P.M., they left the prison. Seventeen were taken from Room 16. Guards were placed in line along the sidewalks and in the Capitol grounds to keep back the crowd who had assembled to witness the departure. There were ambulances for the old, infirm, sick and wounded. The soldiers expected to leave to-day, but were left behind, with the exception of a few of the wounded.

_Sunday, March 15._--It seems lonely to-day on account of the change--we miss so many familiar faces. It seems like a break in the family. Six more prisoners were put in our room, making twenty-one in all. There are two cases of smallpox in the next room.

_Monday, March 16._--This morning the prisoners from Room 14, were crowded into our room while that room was being cleaned and whitewashed. There are twenty-one of them--some are broken out with smallpox.

_Tuesday, March 17._--The men having smallpox, who were put in our room yesterday from Room 14 were to-day put in Room 18. If they are changed around a few more times the disease will be pretty well spread.

Two men, father and son, just brought in, were captured in a raid on the Potomac River. They are citizens. Their families are left without support or protection. The wife of one about being confined. Both men agreed to take the oath, but were told that as they would do so only on account of their situation they would not be released.

Volney Purcell, of Loudoun County, Virginia, was called to-day. Colonel Buell asked him what charges were against him. He replied he did not know. Purcell then asked Colonel Buell if _he_ knew. Buell said he did not; there was nothing that he could see. Purcell then said: “Can you not release me, then?” “No,” said Buell, “I cannot.” Purcell said he thought it very strange that he should be brought from his home and kept here without any charge. Buell said it was strange, but his case would have to go before the Commission.

The prison yard is now in a very filthy condition. In rainy weather a great part of the space allowed the prisoners for exercise is covered with mud.

_Wednesday, March 18._--I was called to-day by Colonel Buell. After questioning me regarding my arrest and imprisonment, he asked if I would take the oath.

“No, sir,” said I.

“What,” said he, “not willing to take the oath. I will acknowledge that my sympathies were enlisted in your behalf, but your refusal to take the oath puts an entirely different face on the matter. Had you told me that at first it might have saved this examination. In fact, you need not have left your room.”

“What charges are against me?” I asked. “If there are any, let me have a fair trial, as is my right, and if I am found guilty I am willing to suffer punishment, but if there are none you have no right to keep me here.”

“You have a very exalted opinion of the leniency of this Government, to think that after having been South you could be permitted to come back here and live without taking the oath.”

“No, sir,” said I, “I have no reason to have a very exalted opinion of the leniency of this Government. I had a right to go where I pleased before the blockade was established, and afterward had a right to come to my home where I belonged. I would not take that oath if it were offered to me at the South, and I do not see how any man can honestly take it with the intention of keeping it--‘to support, protect and defend a government or administration, _now and hereafter, under any and all circumstances_.’ How do I know what may be done hereafter?”

“I have taken that oath,” said Colonel Buell.

“That may be,” said I; “your views and mine differ on the subject of right and wrong.”

“Go back to your room, sir,” said Buell, and that terminated the interview.

_Thursday, March 19._--An officer came up to-day with a paper and called over the names of seven in our room (Room 16)--Holbrook, Barnes, Littlepage, Keleher, Hoyle, Simmons and myself, and at night we were removed to Room 10. With the three prisoners already in the room there are ten of us now in a small room with two bunks and three small beds. Room 10 is on the north side of the building, third story, first window from the corner on First Street.

_Friday, March 20._--The prisoners brought in numbered twenty-five instead of seventy-five as reported in the daily papers, where it is stated that they were taken in a fight with Stuart’s Cavalry, and that nothing but the saber was used. The prisoners say the Federals had artillery and used it.

_Sunday, March 22._--Two elderly ladies, with a small child, were brought in from the street for saluting prisoners.

The prison officials are taking the names of soldiers to-day preparatory to exchange.

_Monday, March 23._--It is said that the private soldiers will be sent off to-morrow. The officers will not go.

One of the prison guards, named Highland, who has always acted very kindly toward the prisoners while on post, and has made many friends among them, told me that two young ladies have been brought in and are now confined in Duff Green’s Row (Carroll Prison). He does not know who they are or what charges are against them. I understand a number of citizens from the neighborhood of Fairfax Court House have been arrested and brought in since Mosby’s raid and capture of General Stoughton, and these ladies may be of that number.[G]

_Tuesday, March 24._--I have been suffering from severe cold for several days. Our room is small, close and ill-ventilated, and here we are kept penned up, with the exception of the time we are allowed out at meal times. Then we are out in a damp yard, which is so crowded when there is a large number of prisoners here (as at the present time,) that there is little room for comfortable exercise. In this yard we stand for about a half-hour, consequently nearly all of us are troubled with colds.

The prisoners booked for exchange are here yet, and it is hard to say when they will leave. It is reported that a number of prisoners are expected from Camp Chase or some other place, and that is a reason given for the delay.

_Wednesday, March 25._--At night, a short time before roll-call, the clerk came up and inquired if all in the room were “State” prisoners. Receiving an affirmative reply, he asked who wanted to go to Dixie. Simmons, Barnes and myself answered “Here.”

OFF FOR DIXIE

_Thursday, March 26._--Could not sleep last night. Got up about twelve or one o’clock, took a smoke and then lay down until near daylight. I then got up and went down to the prison yard. I understand a batch of prisoners were brought in about eleven o’clock last night. I heard a great tramping of feet at that time.

At three o’clock in the afternoon, all who expected to go to Richmond were called down in the yard and the roll called by Superintendent Wood. When he came to my name he asked where I was taken.

I said “Here, in Washington.”

“What were you doing?”

“At the store, attending to my business.”

“Stand back. You can’t go.”

I went back to my room, giving up the idea of getting away then. Some things I had sent for had not arrived, so I was disappointed in more than one respect, and was about settling myself down, when Adamson called out to me--“Get your things and come on.” I hurried down, and when I passed out the prisoners were in front of Duff Green’s Row. Littlepage, Keleher, Holbrook and Hoyle, poor fellows, looked lonely enough when we left them.

After receiving the prisoners from Carroll Prison, the cavalcade moved on past the Capitol and through the streets, to the foot of Sixth Street, where a crowd of ladies were waiting and bade us adieu, waving their handkerchiefs in spite of all protests from the guards, who at last drove them from the wharf at the point of the bayonet.

We were then put on board the flag-of-truce boat, the steamer _State of Maine_, and left the city at night. About seven or eight o’clock, bread, crackers and cheese were given out to the prisoners--some got a good share, while others were served with three soda crackers each. This was the first food given us since breakfast in the Old Capitol. In the effort to get the prisoners off we failed to get any dinner, although we left the prison fully three or four hours after the regular dinner hour.

Six of us secured three staterooms by paying $1, each for the trip. Here we were very comfortable, with good berths, etc. Many who were not so fortunate had to sleep on the floor or on trunks, boxes, or anything they could find handy.

It was an agreeable change when we were once on board the steamer. To be where no guards with bristling bayonets were continually meeting you to remind you that you were a prisoner. Where no sentinel challenged you at every turn. With no one calling after you if you made a false move or deviated in the slightest from prison discipline.

_Friday, March 27._--Awoke about eight or nine o’clock this morning--our boat was steaming down the Potomac River, Westmoreland County, Virginia, on the one side, and St. Mary’s County, Maryland, on the other. Breakfast was over, but Wright brought me some bread and sausage. In the rush for dinner I had my coat-tail torn off and was pretty well shaken up.

This afternoon we anchored off Fortress Monroe. At night half a dozen prisoners were brought over to the steamer from the fortress. They have been at the fort for a week. They are from the West--some Morgan’s men.

I saw Captain Darling making a bed for himself on a hard bench and invited him to share my stateroom, which he did. He said he had a very high opinion of the patriotism of the citizens of Washington, particularly the ladies, and spoke with warmth of the parting scene at the wharf, where the Federal guards brought their guns to a charge on the ladies and drove them off.

_Saturday, March 28._--Awoke about seven o’clock. Still at anchor between Fortress Monroe and the Rip Raps. Two English war ships anchored off in the Roads. Many of our company are complaining of seasickness. I felt a little dizzy and weak before breakfast, but went below and got a cup of coffee, a slice of bread and a piece of fat pork. After eating this I felt better. Sea quite high for some time. A heavy rain storm came up about ten o’clock, with thunder and lightning. The water then became calmer but the rain continued.

At 12:45 the captain came over from Fortress Monroe and we started from the anchorage in the midst of a heavy rain. The guard here left us, good-naturedly bidding us good-bye and hoping to meet us soon in more peaceful times. They were of Company K, Third New York Regiment, and were on the best of terms with us during the trip.

When opposite Newport News, saw the wrecks of the United States frigates _Cumberland_ and _Congress_, sunk in the fight with the Confederate iron-clad _Virginia_ (_Merrimac_),[H] on the 8th of March, 1862. A portion of one mast only of the _Congress_ being visible, while we could see parts of three masts of the _Cumberland_ and a part of the bowsprit above the water. They were but a short distance from the shore, off the point. A little beyond we saw the United States steamer _Minnesota_ and two other vessels, ironclads, and a little farther off the _Monitor_ lay floating at ease.

Hundreds of sea-gulls hovered around our boat, circling overhead, occasionally stopping in their flight and beating the air with their wings, then floating along like a boat on smooth water, darting down now and then, attracted by the pieces of bread and scraps of food thrown into the water by the men on board, all the while uttering a peculiar cry resembling the creaking of an old wagon wheel in need of oiling. A man on the lower deck threw a piece of coal into the flock which struck one of the birds, apparently breaking a wing, as it fell over into the water, helpless. The rest of the flock ceased following us and gathered round their wounded companion, who lay on top of the water. They fluttered around him, chattering and seemingly endeavoring to aid or save him. Soon, however, they again gathered around us and seemed to forget their loss in their efforts to catch the tempting morsels thrown to them from the boat.

How rudely cut off from life. How soon forgotten, poor bird. But how like man the conduct of these birds. A poor mortal is stricken down in the midst of his cares and his enjoyments. Friends and relatives cluster about him and pour forth their lamentations. But how soon does their grief wear off, and they are carried away in the whirl of excitement of the giddy, thoughtless world, and all is forgotten.

From Fortress Monroe to Richmond]

A guard-boat hailed us, and the captain in reply said that we were going to City Point with five hundred Confederate prisoners, for exchange. “All right,” was the answer from the guard-boat. Two hundred and forty prisoners were brought to the Old Capitol the night before we left, and we left there with four hundred and eighty-eight.

I lay down and took a nap in the afternoon. When I awoke the rain had ceased, but the clouds hung lowering overhead and the muttering thunder was sullenly giving out angry growls.

We were then in the James River, and passing in sight of Jamestown, the first settlement in Virginia. There are no houses on the island. The brick walls of one of the old houses and chimneys of two outhouses are in sight. These were destroyed by the Union troops. We could also see the remains of the batteries erected by the Confederates. An old church tower is all that remains of a church built in Colonial times.

A colored boy came to our stateroom and said if we wished to keep it we should come down to the clerk’s office and re-engage it. Wright said he would like to keep it, but had no money. I sent down a bill and paid for the room for the night. After sundown it cleared off beautifully, and the sky was bright and clear. Our boat anchored in mid-stream, with a white flag at the fore and the United States flag flying at the peak.

_Sunday, March 29._--When I awoke this morning the boat was steaming up the James River, a little below the mouth of the Chickahominy River. We soon came to Westover, originally the residence of Colonel William Byrd, who was in his day one of the most accomplished gentlemen in the Colony, and Westover was noted for the magnificence of the buildings, the beauty of the situation and the charms of its society. Next came Harrison’s Landing, a place made memorable by the retreat of McClellan’s army from before Richmond, after the seven days’ fight. From this point it was but a short run to City Point, where we cast anchor in the stream opposite the landing.

Here we were gladdened by the sight of a small Confederate flag waving from a house on a bluff opposite, and at the landing a sentinel in Confederate gray paced up and down. A few soldiers appeared on a hill near by, and some distance above City Point we could see flags waving--first white and then red. This was a signal station. One of our men had been in the Signal Service and he explained its workings to us. Captain John E. Mulford, United States Agent of Exchange, went ashore in a boat and soon after returned and said the Confederate authorities had been notified of our arrival and we would be sent off as soon as they came down for us.

Last night there were no rations given out, and this morning we got nothing but a piece of fat pork and a slice of bread--no coffee. Meals were served up on the boat at 50 cents a head.

About 4 P.M. the anchor was hauled up and two hundred and eighty-five soldiers, including those from the Old Capitol, and a portion of the soldiers from Johnson’s Island, were landed at the wharf. Cars were in readiness to take them to Petersburg. They went off in high spirits, all apparently rejoiced to find themselves again free.

City Point is at the confluence of the James and Appomattox Rivers. The railroad runs along the shore and the land rises abruptly a short distance back from the river bank, forming in many places high bluffs. The wharves, which extended along the whole front of the town, have been destroyed, and nothing remains of them but the charred tops of the piles which supported them. The houses along the shore in front of the steep banks, are all more or less injured and many completely demolished. Great holes are seen through the sides and roofs, made by shot and shell.

At night saw signal station on James River in full operation. Flags are used by day and lights at night.

_Monday, March 30._--Barnes asked Captain Mulford if citizens, after being exchanged, could return to their homes within the Federal lines without being subject to arrest. Captain Mulford said the same charge which led to their arrest in the first instance could be again brought against them, and he said he would advise all who were exchanged to keep outside of the lines, unless they came with Morgan, Stuart, or some one who could take them back safely.

About one o’clock a train came down from Petersburg, with the Confederate States Commissioner of Exchange, Robert Ould. Soon the United States steamer _Henry Burden_ came up with a flag-of-truce, and made fast alongside. She brought Colonel Ludlow, United States Commissioner. About 4:45 we were put on the cars and taken to Petersburg.

PAROLE CAMP

Arriving at Petersburg, we were marched through the city to Parole Camp at Model Farm Barracks. Here we went to headquarters and registered our names. Bennett took me to his quarters and gave me some supper--bacon and crackers. On the boat we had nothing but bread and coffee toward the last, and the meat was quite a luxury. It was of good quality, too.

_Tuesday, March 31._--When I awoke this morning I had to turn over two or three times to supple my joints. The bunk I slept in was hard boards, and our covering for the two was a small shawl and one overcoat. It was a cold, rainy night and my bed was cold. Still, I am satisfied to put up with this lack of comfort to be out of prison and among friends once more. I saw James F. Kerfoot, a room-mate from the Old Capitol. Crowds of negroes flock around the camp with pies, bread and fried chicken, etc. If you ask the price of anything they will answer--“A dollar.” Four pies, $1, and everything in dollar parcels, as though that was the lowest current value known in ordinary traffic.

Parole Camp is located at what was formerly an Agricultural Fair Ground. Here twelve of us are quartered in one end of an old stable. We drew our rations--rice, sugar, salt, bacon and three biscuits each. We put one of these big round biscuits or crackers in a little tin plate, heat some water in a skillet and pour over the biscuit, then turn another tin plate over it and leave for a few minutes. On removing the upper tin plate the biscuit will be found to have swelled out so that it fills the plate. A piece of fat pork or bacon is now put in the skillet, and when the fat is well fried out the biscuit is put in the hot fat and placed over the fire, and to a hungry man living in the open air it is a first-class luxury on a bill of fare, where the great fault is that, like Sam Weller’s love letter, it is too short, and makes you wish there was more of it. The supply of wood is light--rations only five or six sticks.

Jack Barnes, Albert Wrenn and Frank Fox went to Petersburg on an old pass and came back at night, bringing with them a canteen of whiskey, for which they paid $6.50 per quart.

We have only two bunks in our quarters. While we take turns with these the rest of the party have to sleep on the floor or sit up around the fire. The building is open to the wind, and so cold that it is impossible to sleep comfortably.

At Parole Camp I see a great many prisoners who have been incarcerated in Northern prisons, principally Camp Chase, Camp Douglas, and Johnson’s Island. They all corroborate the statements made to me by the Western prisoners with whom I conversed while in the Old Capitol regarding the treatment of prisoners.

I was speaking to one of my companions who was complaining of the short rations and cold comforts at Camp Parole, when one of the released prisoners who had but recently arrived, said:

“You should not complain of the fare and treatment here. It is nothing compared to what we had to go through on Johnson’s Island. Of course it is hard living here, but we know it can’t be helped; there was no excuse for it there. What we suffered there was from pure cussedness. The Yankees have plenty of everything and could certainly give prisoners enough to eat if they chose--plain, cheap food--enough to sustain life in a healthy condition, but they didn’t. Some prisoners would eat their day’s rations at one meal; others would make two meals of it. Salt beef, salt pork, salt fish and bread was doled out to us for months; no coffee, tea or sugar; no vegetables, except very rarely an onion or potato. Consequently, men suffered with scurvy so that their gums were bleeding and sometimes their teeth fell out. Old bones were broken up and boiled, and scraps of food were culled out from the hospital slop-barrels. Rats and cats were eaten by the hungry men when they could catch them. For a time prisoners were allowed to receive food from friends outside, but an order was published denying them this privilege.

“For trifling offences Confederate officers were compelled to stand on the head of a barrel between the dead-line and the prison wall, and one officer while standing in the door of Block 12 was killed by a sentinel. It was not unusual for our quarters to be fired into at night.

“The place being exposed to the cold wintry winds from Lake Erie we suffered from the intense cold, and in summer the only shade was that afforded by the buildings where the prisoners were housed.”[I]

_Thursday, April 2._--The soldiers here have to endure greater hardships than we do. Last night they were coughing continually in the barracks adjoining the quarters I am in. One poor fellow, suffering with neuralgia, was walking up and down the floor, groaning and acting like a crazy man. At last, losing his patience completely, he commenced to swear. A comrade, shocked at his utterances, said:

“Bill, why don’t you pray to God to help you, instead of cursing and going on as you are?”

“Oh,” replied Bill, “I have done that, but d----n it, He won’t do it.”

Captain Cannon told Bowles yesterday that he had written to Colonel French the day before, to know what he should do with the citizens brought here. This should have been provided for in advance of their arrival. There seems to be very poor management on the part of the officials in charge.

Yesterday we got a ration of flour and half a ration of bacon--quarter of a pound to each man.

This afternoon nine hundred men arrived from Camp Chase. There is now a general exchange going on, and it is said about six thousand prisoners are to be brought on. A number were sent off to-day. They go to the Western army. The wind is blowing very hard. Frank Fox, Phil. Lee, and the two Mills sick. Militia relieved from guard duty.

Barnes yesterday appointed sergeant of our company. This morning some of our mess bought a bottle of brandy and half a gallon of beans. I had a good drink of the brandy, and it put a little warmth in me. Beans for dinner--the first good hearty meal since we left the Old Capitol.

We borrowed a big iron kettle from one of the messes, and having gathered a lot of wood and chips, started a fire and put our beans on to cook. One of the men picked up a piece of an old cracker box and we made a number of rude paddles to use as spoons in eating the beans. Tom Lee was walking around seemingly unconscious of what was going on. “Don’t say anything to Tom about what we are doing,” said one. Tom wandered off, and when he returned the beans were ready for eating.

“How are you going to eat the beans--with your fingers?” asked Tom as he saw us seat ourselves around the pot.

All smiled at his innocence, and taking out their paddles commenced fishing for beans. Tom quietly took from his pocket a clam shell he had found in his wanderings and fitted it into a split stick. With this primitive but all-sufficient implement he proceeded to dip into the pot, and while the beans were slipping off our rudely fashioned paddles he could scoop up at one dip as much as we could take at a dozen.

“You boys are smart,” said Tom, “but you couldn’t fool your brother Tom.”

_Saturday, April 4._--Got a pass to visit Petersburg in company with Jack Barnes, Gus Williams and Tom Lee.

Our rations are dealt out in such homeopathic doses that we are always glad when we can obtain a pass to visit Petersburg so as to gratify a little of that craving for food which it is impossible to satisfy here.

Went through the market. Meat selling at $1 a pound; turnips, 25 cents each, and other vegetables in proportion. Bought a hat, $20; had a drink of apple brandy, 50 cents. Walked up along the Appomattox River, and came back into camp through the old Fair Grounds. Rain and cold wind; nearly all the tents blown down.

_Sunday, April 5._--Still raining. Captain Cannon said a dispatch had been received from the Secretary of War, that all civilians not attached to regular commands and liable to conscription, would have the privilege of joining any command they chose. I told Cannon I was a Marylander and that I would like to go to Richmond before making choice. He said I must first designate a command I wished to join. Told him then I would join Captain Mosby. He said I would be mustered in and leave as soon as possible.

_Tuesday, April 7._--Went to Petersburg with Barnes, Wrenn and Biggins. Got plate of ham and eggs (two eggs and a piece of bacon), $1.25.

George Richardson, Gus Williams, Cooke, J. Mills and Benjamin F. Bowles left camp and went to Richmond. Williams, in bidding us good-bye, said he expected to be back in the Old Capitol within a week after leaving Richmond. He said this was the fourth time he had been a prisoner; that his two daughters and one son, about ten or twelve years of age, were arrested at the instigation of Union men and imprisoned three months.

Some of the Confederate officers from the Old Capitol Prison came down last night and reported at camp this morning: Captain Sherman, Major Breckenridge, Lieutenants Smith, Bixler and others. William M. Mills leaves camp to-morrow.

_Thursday, April 9._--One of the prisoners from Camp Douglas told me that there was great mortality among the Confederate prisoners there. A large number were in the hospital, and the morning he left there were thirty corpses in the dead house. “It is no wonder they die off,” said he; “hundreds were frost-bitten and suffered terribly from the cold last winter. Fuel was given out so sparingly, that we had to treasure every little piece of wood and coal as if it was precious metal we were hoarding. Our rations were cut down so that we were never able to satisfy the craving of hunger. So long as we were allowed to receive food from benevolent persons outside of the prison some of the prisoners fared tolerably well, but when the order came prohibiting this we really suffered. Many poor fellows, broken down and emaciated by disease, passed away in the silence of the night and their companions in misery were in ignorance of the fact until the dawning of day exposed to their view the pale corpse in their midst.

“Our barracks were miserable, dilapidated buildings, and our prison guards were brutal in the extreme; they had never been to the front, nor within sight or sound of a battle. Kicks and curses were liberally dealt out, and prisoners were shot without any real provocation. Men were hung up by the thumbs until they fainted. One half-starved prisoner was shot while fishing bones out of a slop-barrel.”

_Sunday, April 12._--Fine day. Yesterday I was passed out by Lieutenant Smith. Gathered some broom-sage and made a bed of it, so I slept more comfortably last night. Heavy cannonading heard yesterday.

About four o’clock this afternoon I was regularly mustered into the Confederate service, to serve under Mosby, now operating in the borderland of Virginia.

Lindsay, of Washington, went to Richmond, to be sent to Company K, Tenth Louisiana Regiment.

There have been so many prisoners brought here to Camp Parole lately that we are getting overcrowded. Coming from the prison pens of Camp Chase, Camp Douglas, Johnson’s Island, and other Northern prisons, where they have been confined for months, they are all more or less infested with vermin. It is a common sight to see an old soldier quietly seat himself in a line of unfortunates, on the sunny side of a fence or building sheltered from the cold wind, and deliberately drawing his shirt over his head, set to work industriously searching for vampires--picking them out from their hiding places in the folds and creases. Skirmishing, the boys term this occupation, though it might be called picketing. To kill the tiny creatures who seek to conceal themselves along the seams of the pants, and to destroy the eggs, two round stones are taken in the hands, and by clapping them together up and down the seams on the side of the legs of the pants the life is crushed out of a goodly number of the bloodthirsty crew.

Expecting now to leave the camp in a day or two, we--that is, our mess (and we certainly were a sorry mess)--went up the Appomattox to Elk Licking Creek and took a bath. We had gotten so stocked up with vermin, that the only way we could see to rid ourselves of the pest was to buy new outfits in Petersburg and go to the Creek, take a good scrubbing, throw away all our old clothes and put on the new ones.

_Monday, April 13._--William McK. Perry, who was a room-mate in the Old Capitol Prison, sent there from Camp Chase, left Parole Camp to-day for his home in Missouri.

FROM PAROLE CAMP TO UPPERVILLE

_Tuesday, April 14._--Left Model Farm Barracks, Camp Parole, in company with John H. Barnes, Albert Wrenn, Frank Fox, Philip and Thomas Lee, and Charles W. Radcliffe.[J] About 4 o’clock left Petersburg for Richmond, where we arrived at 6:30 P.M. Along the road to Richmond are lines of rifle pits and intrenchments commanding the approaches to the city. When we reached the outposts at Richmond we were challenged by a guard, and after showing our papers, were permitted to proceed to the hotel. We put up at the Powhatan House, corner of Eleventh and Broad Streets. Our supper consisted of tough beef, bread and rye coffee--no butter.

_Wednesday, April 15._--Settled my bill at the Powhatan, $8. Terms: $8 per day; $2 each for breakfast and supper; $3 for dinner; $2 for lodging.

Beef is selling in Richmond at $1.25 per pound; butter, $3; coffee, $4 to $5; eggs, $1.50 per dozen. Expected to go to the transportation office at night, but went to the theater and then back to the hotel.

_Thursday, April 16._--At 7:30 left Richmond and arrived at Gordonsville at 1 P.M.; stopped at Mann’s Hotel. Gordonsville is a miserable looking place now. There has been so much rain lately, and the roads have been cut up with the travel and passing of army teams and trains, so that it is little else than a mud-hole.

_Saturday, April 18._--Paid Mann’s bill, $7.50. There are but six of us now, as Frank Fox left us and remained at Barboursville. MacWooster hitched up a wagon, agreeing to take us to Madison Court House for $5 each. We reached Madison Court House about dark and went to a hotel kept by Mr. Seal. Here we were very comfortable--good beds and an excellent table.

_Sunday, April 19._--Madison Court House is a very pretty little place, well situated, and commanding a beautiful view of the Blue Ridge and surrounding country. There are two or three churches and a fine court house. The houses are neat and comfortable. After dinner paid Mr. Seal. Our bill for supper, breakfast and dinner, was $4.50.

MacWooster said he would carry us as far as Criglersville, about six miles distant, and there leave us to foot it. The drive along the road was very pleasant, particularly after striking Robertson River, a beautiful clear stream with a swift current, which comes down from the mountains.

“Now, boys,” said Mac, as he bid us good-bye at a ford on the Robertson River, “you’ve got a rough road before you, and a poor country to travel through. Take my advice and stop for the night at Matt. Graves’s. His house is near the foot of the mountain. He is one of the finest men in the country. He will treat you well and give you the best he has in his house.” We afterward found good reason to be thankful for having taken this friendly advice.

When we reached the house which we supposed was to be our haven of rest, we saw a man riding up to the stable, and on accosting him found he was Mr. Graves. He invited us to his house, where he regaled us with a good drink and a bottle for our day’s journey on the morrow. This he said we would find needful before we got far on our road, for he not only repeated MacWooster’s warning as to the hardships awaiting us, but also said he feared the weather would prove unfavorable and add to our discomfort.

_Monday, April 20._--At Mr. Graves’s there is a little fellow about the size, age and appearance of my youngest son, Bernardin. Seeing him playing around and fondling on his father it brought to mind thoughts of home--thoughts of home and its comforts; of the dear ones there; of the sad hearts I left, and of the glad hearts to greet me on my return. I could hardly resist the temptation to pick up the little one without saying a word, but I feared he would cry, so I made friends with him by showing him a ring on my finger, and so coaxed him on until I had banished any fears he might have. All the time I was there I could scarcely keep my eyes off him.

Paid Mr. Graves $2 each for supper, bed and breakfast, and started to cross the mountain at Milani’s Gap. We were told it was ten miles from Mr. Graves’s to the top of the ridge and six miles to the foot on the other side. Rain set in last night and this morning the clouds are very heavy, enveloping the mountains completely. The road takes a zigzag course up the slope, which is quite steep in many places. A great portion of the way we followed along the Robertson River. The scenery, as well as we could see it through the mist, appeared grand. It was mountains piled on mountains--an ocean of ridges. In some places we could travel for a long distance and then throw a stone to the place we started from. A number of huts are scattered through this mountain region, but the people are almost as wild as Indians, and it was impossible to obtain refreshments of any kind along the road.

When about four miles from the top rain again set in, and we tramped along through the driving storm. In some places, endeavoring to save distance, we would leave the main road and climb up the steep sides until we struck into the road at some point higher up. We had to ford the swift mountain streams, or cross on an old log or fallen tree, where, as also in clambering along the narrow footpath, a false step, the turning of a stone or the breaking of a limb, and one would have been precipitated into the foaming current which dashed on among the rocks. In those mountain storms a tiny stream which winds along like a silvery thread in fair weather, is in less than an hour transformed into a raging torrent, sweeping off everything in its course.

On nearing the top we fell in with a man who was traveling through the country buying up cattle and forage for the Confederate Government. He kept in company with us until we reached Marksville. Hearing a noise which sounded like the rumbling of a wagon train coming down the road, we listened and finally concluded it either proceeded from a subterranean stream which flowed through the mountains or that roaring which usually precedes a mountain storm.

Seeing a hut near the roadside, we stopped, and a youth came out to the fence, followed by a squad of unkempt redheaded children. We asked if we could get anything to eat. He had nothing. Seeing some chickens roaming around, Barnes said he would give him $1.50 for a dozen eggs. He replied that he had none; no meal--nothing edible, and it was a half mile to the top of the mountain.

We passed through Dismal Hollow, a wild, romantic-looking place. The road was sometimes hidden by the overhanging foliage. We saw the snow piled up on the side of the road and through the hemlock thickets, where it remains far into the summer. On reaching the top of the mountain we uncorked our bottle and drank that the Yankees might never cross the Blue Ridge.

Then commenced our descent, and it is hard to say whether it was easier to go up or down hill. Had it not been for the rain our traveling would have been less difficult. After getting to the foot we proceeded on until we came to the house of a man named Kite. He had a fine house and farm, but refused to accommodate us. He said he was eaten out and had not enough for his own family. We jogged on through the rain until we reached Marksville, on the Hawksbill Creek, where we stopped a few minutes to rest, and then walked along until within about four miles of Luray.

We inquired at every house along the road, but could neither get a mouthful to eat nor a place to shelter us from the rain, though we told them all we were not asking charity, but were willing to pay liberally for all we received. After so many rebuffs we were about giving up the attempt to get food or shelter, when Barnes and Wrenn stopped at the house of Reuben Long. He said he would take three of us and the other three could get accommodated at the next house--a Mr. Spitter. We tried there and he had a sick family. We then went to the house of Ambrose Varner, who received us kindly, built a big fire to warm us and dry our wet clothes, and prepared a good substantial supper for us. Charles Ratcliffe had become disgusted with our receptions and made arrangements to build a fire and pass the night in an old shanty, while a negro was to furnish bread and meat for his supper. He afterward came to Varner’s, where we spent the night.

_Tuesday, April 21._--After a good breakfast we prepared for a start. On asking what our bill was, Mr. Varner said he would make no charge, but if we chose to give his wife anything for her trouble, he would leave it altogether with us. We gave him $2 each, and he put up a nice lunch to take along with us. We called at Long’s, where Barnes and Wrenn joined us, and then pushed on to Luray. Yesterday we walked a little more than twenty-one miles across the mountains, through mud and rain.

At Luray, while Barnes and Wrenn stopped at Modisett’s Hotel for dinner, I went in search of a druggist, as I had been unwell for several days. He gave me some powders. I took one, which made me very sick. I lay down for a while, but felt no better, and we started off on the road to Front Royal. Along the road I was burning with fever--my head so dizzy that I staggered like a person drunk. I had an excessive thirst and drank at every spring or stream we came to, but even water would not remain on my stomach--soon after drinking I would be taken with vomiting. After going about six miles we turned off from the road into a lane, and thence to the house of Mr. Hoffman, where we obtained supper, bed and breakfast. The good lady of the house made me a cup of tea, which I drank, but could eat no supper. Went to bed early, and after I got in bed Mr. Hoffman brought me a glass of toddy.

_Wednesday, April 22._--Felt somewhat better this morning; got breakfast. Settled bill, $1 each. Mr. Hoffman brought us a plate of biscuits to carry along and we started for Front Royal. We met parties along the route, each with a different story to tell about the approach of the Yankees. Some said they were in force at Middletown, about 12 miles from Front Royal. Others, that they were expected in Front Royal at any moment, and advising us not to stop there. Indeed, had we heeded half the reports we would have retraced our steps.