To Prison at Point Lookout, Maryland.
Prison Life.
Release.
Home.
Near noon on Friday, April 7, the march was taken up for prison at
Point Lookout, a distance of about 150 miles, though at that time we
did not know our destination. The Federal soldiers were still taking
from our men hats and other articles that pleased their fancy. I noted
in my description of the battle of Dreury's Bluff that an Irish
sergeant of the 1st Virginia regiment had picked up a fine hat on the
battlefield which he had given to me because it would not fit his head,
but did mine. I kept this hat until the opening of the campaign in
March, 1865, when I put it on, believing this would be our last
campaign. When captured at Sailor's Creek I was wearing this hat, and
on observing the Federal soldiers capturing hats from our men, I kept
as far away from them as I could until we began the march on the 7th,
when, crossing a pond, I soused my hat in the muddy water, which made
it then appear as worthless, but it was safe in my possession. I wore
it to prison, then cleaned off the mud and wore it home. This hat, a
blanket and a canteen were the only Federal trophies of the war I
carried home.
Late in the evening of April 7, while on the march, we met a drove of
beef cattle being driven forward for use of the Federal army. We were
halted while a number of these beeves were slaughtered, dressed, cut up
into small parcels and handed us where we stood in the road, and we
marched on without opportunity to cook the beef, which we devoured
blood raw, without salt. This probably may shock the reader, but it was
the best that could be done.
On the night march of the 7th from Burkeville I could have escaped, but
I reasoned that if I did I would most likely be recaptured, and if I
was not I would probably starve, as there was no food in the country,
so I determined to risk our captors to give us food.
Next morning we were near Nottoway and passed that day through
Petersburg, halting on Thursday, the 13th, near 10 o'clock A.M., at
the Federal commissary, nearly a mile beyond the city, where a
bountiful supply of food was given us--the first we had received since
March 29. Several men were too sick to eat, I of the number, enfeebled
as we were from our long continued marching and from dysentery,
resulting from eating raw, warm beef, without salt. Resuming the march
late in the evening, City Point was reached at dark, where we were
huddled together, forced to stand all night in mud several inches deep,
in a drizzling rain, without rest or sleep, not even a place to sit
down, unless in the mud and water. Such is war.
Next day, April 14, we were placed aboard a steamer, that evening
dropping down the James River. Next morning, Saturday the 15th, found
our vessel anchored off Point Lookout. Here we first heard of Mr.
Lincoln's assassination the preceding night, which at first we were
not disposed to credit, but were soon convinced that some fearful
catastrophe had taken place, as the flags on the shipping were at half
mast. As soon as we were landed we became satisfied that the report of
Mr. Lincoln's death was true, the Federal soldiers informing us that
any signs of exultation would result in the opening of the batteries on
us. We saw that the guns were pointed at the prison. They, however,
mistook the spirit and feelings of our men, who, though stung by
defeat, yet brave and chivalrous foes, they could in no wise justify,
excuse or palliate so cold-blooded a murder, much less rejoice at its
commission. They regretted greatly the death of Mr. Lincoln, and spoke
of him in the tenderest terms, saying had he lived he would have been
kind to our people.
As we entered the prison walls, every man was searched and everything
of value (which was little) taken from him. The quarters consisted of
small tents, large enough for about five men, into which were crowded
about eight to ten, divided into companies in charge of our own
sergeants.
Around the prison was a high plank fence with a platform at the top,
on which the guards made their beats. The water was bad--brackish,
discoloring our teeth. The number of Confederates in this prison was
more than 23,000 men, covering about twenty-two acres of land--more
than 1,000 to the acre. The number of deaths among the prisoners
reported was, from April to July, over 6,800. Among these was Josephus
Suthern, of Company D, 7th regiment. I found in this prison Sumner,
Crawford, Dudley and Mullins, of Company D, who, with those captured
at Sailor's Creek, to wit: Fry, Yager, Shannon, Bolton, Darr, Eaton,
Gordon, Henderson, Jim Hurt, Meadows, C. Minnich, George A. Minnich,
Suthern, Stafford, Wiley and the writer, making the number twenty in
prison. When we met under these new conditions, strange sensations were
experienced, as the reader may well suppose.
The only place we were allowed to go outside of the prison, and that
only in the daytime, was on the Chesapeake bayside. Our rations
consisted of eight ounces of loaf bread per day, a thin piece of bacon
or salt pork boiled and cut so thin that it was almost transparent, and
a pint cup of bean soup, in which we occasionally found a bean. As a
result we were always hungry--went to bed hungry, dreamed of being
hungry, and got up ready for breakfast with the same feeling. I went to
prison weighing one hundred and sixty-five pounds, not sick a day after
I got there, and came out weighing one hundred and twenty-seven pounds.
Carrying out the ratio, if I had stayed there six months I would have
weighed nothing. We were constantly in danger of being wounded or
losing our lives by the reckless firing of the negro guards into the
prison at some one claimed by them to be violating the prison rules. We
had nothing to read except now and then when we found some man with a
Bible or Testament. Some of the men were ingenious workmen, making
rings from gutta percha buttons and selling them to the guards.
Near the middle of June orders came for the discharge of the prisoners,
upon taking the oath of fidelity to the United States. The men were to
be taken out in alphabetical order and transported away as rapidly as
could be done. As soon as it was announced that men's names beginning
with the letter A would repair to headquarters, then it seemed to all
appearances that half the prisoners had names beginning with the letter
A. Many a poor fellow, in his anxiety to get away, went out under an
assumed name. The letter J was called on Wednesday, June 28, when the
numbers in the prison had been greatly reduced, though only the ninth
letter of the alphabet had been passed.
Repairing to headquarters, thirty-two fell into line under the American
flag unfolded over their heads and had the oath administered to them;
the officers taking a personal description of each man, furnishing him
the oath and certificate of discharge in writing, when he was passed
outside the prison wall. Here follows an exact copy of the oath taken
by me and certificate of discharge from prison:
UNITED STATES OF AMERICA.
I, David E. Johnston, of the County of Giles and State of Va.,
do solemnly swear that I will support, protect and defend the
Constitution and Government of the United States against all
enemies, whether domestic or foreign; that I will bear true faith,
allegiance and loyalty to the same, any ordinance, resolution, or
laws of any state, convention or legislature to the contrary
notwithstanding; and further, that I will faithfully perform all
the duties which may be required of me by the laws of the United
States; and that I take this oath freely and voluntarily without
any mental reservation or evasion whatever.
(Signed) D. E. JOHNSTON.
Subscribed and sworn to before me this 28th day of June, A.D.
1865.
(Signed) A. C. BRADY,
Maj. and Provost Marshal.
The above named has fair complexion, brown hair and hazel eyes, and
is 5 feet 9-1/2 inches high.
CERTIFICATE OF RELEASE OF PRISONER OF WAR.
Headquarters, Point Lookout, Md.
Provost Marshal's Office, June 28, 1865.
I hereby certify that David E. Johnston, prisoner of war, having
this day taken the Oath of Allegiance to the United States, is, in
conformity with instructions from the War Department, hereby
released and discharged. In Witness Whereof I hereunto affix my
official signature and stamp.
(Signed) A. C. BRADY,
Maj. and Provost Marshal.
A. C. BRADY,
June 28, 1865.
Maj. and Provost Marshal.
The reader may be interested to know that I have grown a full inch in
height and gained more than 80 pounds in weight.
Steamers were at the wharf and as soon as it was known that a
sufficient number of those whose destination was Richmond were
discharged to load the vessel, we went aboard, landing at Richmond the
evening of June 29, and walked up on to the streets, which for the most
part were deserted, the city in ruins.
This was Richmond, on the majestic James--the proudest city of
Virginia, for whose capture great armies had contended for nearly four
years; not only the capital of Virginia, but of the Confederacy, doing
more for the Confederate soldier than any other place in the South. Her
people were intelligent and high minded and patriotic. I had seen her
in her power and glory, but now in the ashes of her destruction,
poverty and humiliation. I have since seen her in her opulence and
more than her former greatness and glory.
On landing we found ourselves among a people as poor and destitute as
we. With no money, no food, no place to stay, traveling without scrip
or purse, we finally made our way to old Chimborazo Hospital, where we
slept that night on the grass in the yard. The next morning early we
made our way to the Danville depot, where a crowd of several hundred
ex-Confederate soldiers were congregated, trying to get some kind of
transportation home. An old, broken down engine was found by some one
in the shop and some box cars in the yard, which were cobbled on,
making up a train sufficient, by close packing inside the boxes and on
top, to bear the crowd away. I, with others, concluded to try the top
of a box car, as we would have more room and plenty of air, but the
car, being covered with metal, the heat up there from both the sun and
the metal on the car made it no very comfortable place. The engine, too
cranky to do much pulling, stuck on the first grade, but after much
labor it started again, making slow progress. Late in the evening we
had a severe electric storm, accompanied by a heavy downpour of rain,
giving those on the boxes a thorough drenching. Those of us going to
Lynchburg left the train at Burkeville to make Farmville, which we did
in time to catch another train of box cars which carried us to within
six miles of Lynchburg, where we boarded a packet boat, getting into
Lynchburg late in the evening. There we found quarters in a building
called the "Soldiers' Home." We had little to eat that night, but more
the next day, Sunday, having to remain over till Monday morning for a
train that would carry us westward over the Virginia and Tennessee
Railroad. Leaving on Monday morning, we reached Big Spring at the foot
of the Alleghanies, where the railroad was again broken. By this time
our numbers had been reduced to three--Leonard, of Carroll; Sam Lucas,
of Giles, and the writer. We now trudged along afoot till we passed
through Alleghany tunnel, where Lucas left us, turning to the right
for his home. Leonard and I tramped on, dark overtaking us at
Christiansburg depot, where, hungry and worn out, we sought the shades
of a friendly oak and, with nothing to eat, lay down and went to sleep.
Our tramp was resumed early on Tuesday, July 4. After a mile or so,
finding ourselves growing weaker and our hunger increasing, we then for
the first time decided to beg, and succeeded in getting some bread and
our canteens filled with milk, which we finished on the spot. Moving
on, we crossed New River, on the partially destroyed railroad bridge,
beyond which a mile or so we received another supply of milk. On
reaching Dublin, my comrade and friend, Leonard, bidding me goodbye,
took the left hand and I the right. I was now heading directly for
home, and after walking about two and a half miles, it being about 2
P.M., I decided to sit down and rest. I propped myself against a small
oak sapling by the roadside, and when I awoke the sun was behind the
western mountains. Eight miles further on I reached the home of Mr.
Thomas Shannon, who kindly took me in, fed me and gave me a bed. About
3 P.M. on the next day, Wednesday, July 5, 1865, four years, one month
and twelve days from the day on which I had left for the war, I reached
home--satisfied with my experience, with no more desire for war, yet
proud of my record as a Confederate soldier, as I am to this day; with
no apologies to make to anyone, as I, in common with my fellow
soldiers, repudiate as unsound and baseless any charge of rebellion or
treason in the war. We had resorted to the revolutionary right to
establish separate government vouchsafed to us in the Declaration of
Independence. I did not fight to destroy the government of the United
States, nor for the perpetuation of the institution of slavery, for
which I cared nothing, but did fight for four years of my young manhood
for a principle I knew to be right. Had such not been true, I would not
have risked my life, my all, therefor, nor have been a Virginia
Confederate soldier.
I doubt not, had the South at any time during the contest agreed to
return to the Union, that the Federal soldier would have thrown down
his musket and gone home, for he was not fighting for the destruction
of slavery, but for the preservation and restoration of the Union. I
attach no blame to the brave Union soldier. He was as sincere and
conscientious in the fight he made as was I in the one I made. We were
both right from our respective viewpoints. With charity for all and
malice towards none, this narrative is closed.