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.
[Illustration: MAP OF JAMES RIVER
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.
[Illustration: J. H. Barnes.]
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.
[Illustration: Albert Wrenn]
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.
[Illustration: COLONEL JOHN SINGLETON MOSBY, C. S. A.]
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.
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT FRANK FOX]
_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.