Chapter XXV: Libby Prison

Squads of naval prisoners frequently passed through Columbia on their way to Richmond. At last orders were given for us to be ready at four o'clock the next morning. There was no sleeping that night in our room. Four of the guards were detailed to escort us to Libby Prison. As we left the jail, the army officers came to the windows and gave us three cheers and a "tiger." They little imagined then how soon they would have their own freedom. It was not long afterward until Sherman's "bummers" captured the city. The prisoners escaped from the jail before the rebs could remove them. As our troops entered the city the ex-prisoners found plenty of willing hands to help them set fire to the jail, city hall, and treasury buildings.

The first part of our journey was made in passenger coaches. In North Carolina we were changed to box-cars. When we got to Virginia travelling became worse; the train had to move very slowly. The Yankee cavalry had destroyed all the roads as much as possible. At one place, for a distance of thirty miles, not a house or a fence-rail could be seen. Twisted railroad iron was quite abundant. The only wood visible was the stumps of telegraph-poles in the ground. We were eight days in getting to Richmond, and well tired out with the trip. We were taken to the provost-marshal's office and thence to Libby Prison. Our squad was the last to arrive. About seventy-five officers and five hundred sailors and marines comprised all the Yankee naval prisoners. The sailors were confined at the extreme end of the building, a brick wall separating us. We had plenty of room for exercise in that big warehouse. The army officers had not taken all their companions with them when they went to Charleston, as we soon found out to our dismay. Every crack in the floor of that prison was filled with vermin, and the largest and finest specimens of the pest that could be found in the whole United States. In Columbia we had not been troubled with vermin, but in Libby it was impossible to get rid of them. The most of our spare time was devoted to hunting for game in our clothing, and no one ever complained about having bad luck. We were expecting almost hourly to be put on a flag-of-truce boat. Day after day passed, with no signs of our leaving. An old negro who brought in our rations of corn-bread informed us that the exchange might not take place, as Ben Butler was doing all he could to prevent it. General Ben Butler, or "Beast Butler," as he was called by the rebs, had command of the troops at City Point. Through neglect on his part to carry out the plan of the campaign he got "bottled up" by the rebels and probably prolonged the war. We had positive information that the naval rebel prisoners were on the boat at City Point, but why Butler should interfere was an enigma to us. It was a peculiarity of his to be always on the wrong side of the fence.

Master's Mate William Kitching, being desirous of having conversation with one of the boat's crew, had removed a couple of bricks from the partitions which separated the officers from the sailors. He told some of the men to pass the word for all of his men to come to the aperture. Much to his surprise he was informed that all the men belonging to his boat had died at Andersonville. Not one of the thirteen sailors were living. The other officers went to the hole and called for their men also. Only a very few answered to their names. Out of the sixteen sailors captured with me only three answered. About seventy-five per cent of the sailors had died in the different prisons. What puzzled us all was the fact of there being so many prisoners that none of us could identify. The men must have had consultation among themselves, as during the afternoon the situation of affairs was fully explained to us. Information had been received at the different prisons that the sailors were to be exchanged. They originated a plan to help all the soldiers possible. Sailors gave their most intimate friends the names of their deceased shipmates, the names of the ships, where and when captured, the names of the officers, and, in fact, all information that would be useful. The scheme had been successful, so far. They were told to continue the deception, and the officers would assist them in doing so. We had been in Libby three weeks and nothing definite was known, and we might go back South for all we knew.

About nine in the evening the stairs leading to the second floor were lowered.[F] One officer was called by name and taken into the office, and when he returned another was called, and so on, until all of us had been interviewed by the notorious Major Turner. The name of our ship, where and when captured, how many men we had, and a lot of other questions were asked. That racket continued until about three o'clock in the morning. Each of us had asked him about our prospects of being exchanged. "That is an affair about which I know nothing," was his answer. Of course, none of us thought about sleeping that night. Walking the floor and discussing the situation suited us better under the circumstances. About four o'clock there was more excitement. A day's ration of food was issued to each one. It consisted of two small pieces of corn-bread, and of mighty poor quality. At five o'clock that evening, Major Turner, and his equally notorious clerk, Ross, came to the head of the stairs. Our names were called, and each one sent down to the hall. An engineer's name was called, but that gentleman was ordered to stand by the door. When the list was exhausted the door was locked and the engineer left in the room. It was afterward learned that he stated to Turner that he belonged to an army transport. We were formed in line, in squads of four, facing the door. At six o'clock in the evening the doors were opened, and the order, "Forward, march," given.

[F] The stairs were hung on heavy hinges, and every night they
would be hoisted up by a pulley, similar to a trap-door.

Outside was a strong escort of rebels. Our hearts were fairly in our mouths for a short time. If we turned for the left it would be for the flag-of-truce boat; if to the right, it meant an indefinite stay in prison. It was the "left," and all doubts were removed--we were going home! The sailors were brought out and followed in our rear. It was an interesting trip down the James River. We had a fine view of the rebel batteries. Three iron-clads were passed, and several pontoon bridges across the river had to be opened on our approach. The most interesting thing was the sunken obstructions, with the secret channels. Considerable skill was required to get the boat through them. The guns from Grant's and Lee's batteries could be plainly heard. Next in view were the rebel shells exploding high in air over Dutch Gap, Ben Butler's celebrated canal. Finally we espied some Yankee pickets, then came Aiken's Landing. The boat was fastened to the dock, and all went on shore and waited for the Commissioners of Exchanges to receive us. In a short time Major Mumford arrived. He was on horseback, and a flag of truce was stuck in his boot-leg. His salutation was:

"Boys, the ambulance will be here in a few minutes with the Confederates. You can either ride or walk, but get over to our boat as soon as you can, as the exchange may yet fall through."

As soon as the rebel prisoners came in sight we started off. Walking was good enough for us. What a contrast between the two parties! The rebel officers were all dressed in new Confederate uniforms--probably furnished by rebel sympathizers in the North--and the sailors all had good clothing, and were healthy in appearance. They also seemed happy about going home, even if they were bidding good-bye to coffee and tea. The least said about our party the better. We were only sorry that we had not time to catch a few pecks of vermin for the others to take back to the Confederate States of America.

On the rebel boat there was a brass band, and, as a parting compliment, they regaled us with the old familiar tune, "Then you'll remember me." There was a large bend in the river below Aiken's Landing, and our boat was quite a distance around the bend. We walked about a mile and a half across the strip of land, many of the disabled sailors following us in ambulances. On the dock were a large number of trunks, with a sentry guarding them. We were told that it was the baggage belonging to the rebel officers. Quite a number of our party made a rush for the trunks, with the intention of dumping them into the river. The guard said, "Go ahead, boys, I won't stop you," but Major Mumford advised them not to do it, as it might cause serious trouble. Then all went on board our boat, the Martha Washington. Several barrels of steaming hot coffee were ready.

"Boys, help yourselves. Crackers and cheese in the boxes!"

In a short time the Sanitary Commission boat came alongside. Clothing was furnished to all, and anything that could be done for the men was done cheerfully. Nothing was too good for the ex-prisoners. Surgeons were busy attending to the sick.

Scurvy and bowel complaints were the most common trouble. The officers were assigned to the after cabin, and the men were all given comfortable beds. From Libby to the Martha Washington made a wonderful change in our spirits. No one, to see us then, would recognise us as the miserable set of beings of a few hours past. In the cabin we had a fine dinner set before us, and bottles of whisky galore.

"Gentlemen, drink plenty of whisky while eating," were the orders from the surgeon.

The captain apologized for the lack of some extras that had been intended for us. The rebels had been on the boat for nearly three weeks, luxuriating on our provisions while we were enjoying ourselves in Libby. Secretary of War Stanton and "Beast Butler" brought about the event, they being opposed to the exchange. In the afternoon we steamed down the river. I had an interview with Major Mumford, and told him briefly about Colonel Dent.

"Yes, the colonel is a prisoner in the South. He is also Grant's brother-in-law."

"Well, I have a packet of letters from him to General Grant. How can I deliver them to him?"

"Give them to me. Grant is now at City Point. The boat will stop there, and I will see that he gets them," he replied.

I then handed him the package. He never asked me a single question in regard to Colonel Dent, and he did not give me a chance to ask him any questions. That ended the affair as far as I was concerned.

We stopped at City Point for half an hour on our way to Fortress Monroe. During the trip I had conversations with many of the sailors. They had suffered terribly during their imprisonment. Insufficient food and exposure had caused much sickness. Some of them had slept on the bare ground for months without any shelter. Nearly all had the scurvy. That any of them had lives to be exchanged was a miracle. The soldiers were very exultant at the success of their ruse in getting through the lines, and well they might be, for to-day there are seventeen thousand graves of their fellow-prisoners at Andersonville. Quite a number of sick men were also on the boat, having been sent from different hospitals in the South. The rebs thought that was the easiest way to get rid of them. We stopped at Fortress Monroe for a short time, and then proceeded to Annapolis, Md., and early next morning we were landed at the Naval Academy wharf. Sixteen men had died on that short trip from Aiken's Landing.

The sailors were cared for by the proper officials, and the officers were given transportation to Washington. Then I was a free man, after having been a prisoner of war for three hundred and eleven days.