hand until we crossed the Shenandoah river and then they would provide
some other way to carry them. I was riding a small mule and when about
the middle of the stream myself, mule and shells dropped into a hole,
and the shells are now lying on the bottom of the Shenandoah river. When
we got across a rebel sergeant asked me where my shells were. I told him
I did not know. He replied “I will report you to Col. Mosby and you will
have to pay for them.” That would be the first whack at my lone forty
cents. I heard no more about it until noon, when they drew us up in line
to count us. The sergeant asked “who is you all men that lost the shells
in the river?” Nobody knew anything about any shells and he did not
recognize me. He said to me, “You look like the man” but of course I did
not know anything about his old shells. That is the last I heard of
them.
Our dinner the first day was one loaf of bread cut in four pieces for
four men. I can say that none of us had to let out our trouser straps.
We marched thirty miles the first day and were pretty well tired out by
night, when they issued to each of us one pint of flour. This we mixed
with water and slapped it on a flat stone, which we propped up opposite
the fire and baked it. This tasted good to us but I am afraid it would
not pass muster at the Waldorf Astoria. Armstrong said he could not eat
his without butter, but we told him his complexion would be better if he
would abstain from butter. Finally he concluded that we were right and
let it go at that. A Lieutenant came along and asked how we were making
out. We told him that we were perfectly delighted with the menu. He said
“I am glad you have nothing to complain of.” The next day’s ride took us
to Culpepper C. H., the bracing air of Virginia still keeping our
appetites in fine shape. No breakfast this morning but had a bounteous
feast at noon. They cut a loaf in two for two men. It tasted good while
it lasted but the time seemed so short.
That afternoon Ghormley said he was going to make a break into the
bushes and get away. He jumped off his mule and had not gone more than
ten feet from the road when a guard spied him and fired six shots into
the bushes, when Ghormley came back in a hurry. He told the guard that
he only wanted to get some blackberries. He watched him closely after
that and told him “the next berries _you_ get will be lead berries.” At
the end of the third day we reached Lynchburg, Va., where we were put
into an old tobacco warehouse. There were three hundred prisoners there
when we arrived. We were quartered on the dirty floor, covered with
tobacco dust. You could hear the men sneeze in all languages. Our fare
was still one loaf of bread for two men. At this place our largest and
strongest man, Henry Benner, a wagon maker from Chillicothe, said “Boys,
we will never get out of this alive.” He began to weaken right there,
and in three weeks from that time he died of home sickness. We tried to
shame him out of it, saying, “You are the healthiest man in the bunch
and you will live through it if any one will.” One morning I found him
lying dead on the ground, the first one of our little party to go. They
kept us at this place for four weeks and then moved us to Richmond, Va.
As we marched past Libbey Prison we heard some one calling from an upper
window, “Hey! there! old 149th.” It was Major Rozell who had been
captured the same morning that we were. In the fight at Berryville the
Major was wounded in the elbow and had been taken direct to Libbey. We
were not allowed to speak to him and I have never seen him since. I hear
that he is still living in Missouri, having received a letter from him
some time ago.
We remained in Richmond one night, when they took us across the river to
Belle Island, where the hardest part of our prison life began. It was a
bleak spot, bare of trees. Some few of the prisoners had tattered tents,
the majority had none. It rained every day while we were there and the
fog was so thick you could almost cut it until about noon, when it would
fix for another rain. We had no protection whatever from this weather,
and we would walk around in the night in the rain until we fell asleep
on the muddy ground. We would lie there until awakened by the intense
cold, to get up and walk again. Here they fed us on wild pea soup,
flavored with ox tail, without dressing. No napkins went with this
course, and the meals were never on time, as it took the cooks an hour
or more to skim the maggots off the soup, as they wanted our meals to
come to us perfectly clean, so we could not tell our folks at home that
they did not understand their business.
Here is where Armstrong told us “Boys we are never going to make it.” We
answered “Now you commence and you will go like Benner.” All the sick
men at Belle Isle were to be transferred to City Point, an order having
been issued to that effect. Whipple was not feeling well so I told him
that I would try to get him off on the boat. I told him as we neared the
boat for him to fall down and I would call the officers attention to
him. As we had not rehearsed the part, he fell down too soon. I said
“You fell down too soon. Wait until I give the word and then fall.” We
came near making a mess of it, as it was. He began to laugh about the
time for him to fall, but the officers did not see him laugh. The doctor
asked me “what is the matter with that man?” I told him “I did not know
but he was awful sick.” He finally passed him to City Point. I heard
after getting home that he got as far as Annapolis, Md., and had died
there. I fully expected to see him when I got home, as I knew the others
were dead. He was a baker by trade and worked in Chillicothe before his
enlistment. We remained for seven weeks on Belle Isle, when we were sent
to Salisbury, N. C. We thought Belle Island was awful, but this place,
no man can describe it, only an ex-prisoner of war. The stockade, I
think, contained twenty acres and was fenced with trees split in half,
with several large gates. A large brick building occupied part of the
ground, which was formerly the North Carolina Penitentiary. It had three
stories, the upper story, when we were there, being used as a jail for
rebel deserters and other outlaws from the rebel army. If there ever was
a more villainous looking set of men, I never saw them. The first night
I was there I went up to this third story to sleep, as it was raining
hard, not knowing anything about the place. A man came to me and asked
me if I knew what kind of a place I was in? I told him I did not. He
said “get out of here as quietly as possible or they would throw me out
of the window.” I went instanter.
Within a month Ghormley and Armstrong both died. I was going around the
grounds one morning (we had long lost all dates) when I saw Edward
Armstrong lying dead on the ground. I scarcely recognized him, he was so
black from stooping over the little pine knot fires. The dead wagon
carried him away.
About a week later James Ghormley died. I was talking with him the night
before. He said “I cannot last but a day or two.” I tried to cheer him
up but it was of no use. This left me the only one of our boys alive
that I knew of. The last I saw of Armstrong and Ghormley they were piled
on the dead wagon that came in twice a day to collect the dead. The
corpses were piled in, one on top of another like so many logs, taken
out and buried in trenches. I remained there three months longer and was
just about ready to give up when one morning a rebel lieutenant came to
me and said, “Here, you cussed Yank, get up to the gate, you are to be
exchanged.” I told him that was an old story. He said “stay there then.”
I told him I could not walk so he had me carried to the gate. There were
a thousand loaves of corn bread lying on the ground. They told each man
to take a loaf, as that would have to last us until we got into our
lines. We were three days getting to the Union lines and our loaves
looked very small when we arrived at Wilmington, N. C., where we were
exchanged.
We ran in on a foggy morning. One of our boys cried out “there is our
flag.” You cannot realize how we felt, how we tried to raise a feeble
cheer, when we knew that we were in God’s country once more. We were
ordered to “pile off” which we did in short order. There were piles of
broken crackers and scraps of meat lying on the ground, which had been
tramped upon by men and horses, and we began to eat it greedily until we
were stopped by our officers putting a guard around us. They told us not
to eat that garbage, as Uncle Sam’s rations would be ready in a few
minutes. It seemed like a dream to us, we were in a heaven of happiness.
We were kept in a hospital at Wilmington for about a week, and then we
were sent to Annapolis, Md., by transport. At Annapolis we were put in
tent hospital after burning all our clothes and the “varmints” that went
with them. They then cut our hair close, turned the hose on us, gave
each man a good scrubbing and clothed us in _night gowns_ as our
uniforms had not arrived from New York. We remained in hospital for two
weeks, when we were sent to general hospital at Baltimore, Md., where
our record was taken. My weight at that time being 85 lbs., having lost
75 lbs. in rebel prisons, I could not well spare any more. I remained in
hospital at Baltimore three months longer, when I was discharged and
sent home. My own mother did not know me until I told her who I was.
_Note by George Perkins_
Comrade McCommon in his wonderful record states that he does not know
the dates on which his comrades died. The records show that James
Ghormley died December 24th, 1864, so counting back, Armstrong must have
died about December 17th.
Our boys are sleeping in unknown graves, but the government for which
they died is not unmindful of them. Among the most noteworthy mementoes
of the war is the memorial obelisk erected at Salisbury, N. C. to mark
the burial place of the Union soldiers who perished in the adjacent
prison pen. It has been estimated that eighteen trenches contain no
fewer than 11,700 men, buried promiscuously, without the possibility of
identification, from which circumstance this ground is known as the
cemetery of the unknown dead. It lies about a half mile from the town of
Salisbury on a sloping ground, and has an extent of about seven acres,
surrounded by a massive stone wall. The cemetery proper contains about
two acres, the other five being a lawn covered with trees. A neat lodge
has been erected at the entrance over which our flag floats continually.
The monument itself, a plain obelisk of New Hampshire granite,
thirty-six feet in height, was erected at a cost of ten thousand
dollars. The unknown names of the dead are poetically symbolized by a
veiled shield. A sword and helmet typify the conflict, and a pair of
broken fetters the bursting of prison bonds by death. Over all,
surrounded by a laurel wreath is the inscription “Pro Patria.” The
monument, standing on the highest point of the slope, forms a
picturesque feature of the local landscape.
MEMORIES OF OUR SERVICE
_By Major Rozell_
Maitland, Mo., 2–23–’11.
Dear Comrade:
As promised will write a few thoughts for your book, but as I will have
to depend entirely upon memory, it may be imperfect.
As a regiment, we have reason to be proud of our record, for there were
regiments of one, two and even three years that did less real service
than did the 149th O. V. I. one hundred day men. Our day’s work on right
of Wallace’s little army on the 9th of July, ’64, at Monocacy, guarding
the right flank of the army at Stone Bridge on Baltimore pike, resulted
in more good than many other victories, as we helped to hold Early’s
thirty thousand men one day, and this enabled Wright and Emery to reach
Washington and save the city.
The regiment on that May morning in 1864 left their business and farms
at great sacrifices financially and otherwise, and went at call of
Governor to Camp Dennison as O. N. G’s. and there volunteered for one
hundred days as O. V. I. How proud I was of those noble boys, as we
marched out that sunny May morning in front of Governor Brough in our
blue uniforms, and arms glistening in the sun, keeping step to the
music—listened to a short speech from the Governor—then heard the words
“All who will volunteer in U. S. service for one hundred days step four
paces to the front;” every man in the regiment stepped proudly to the
front and was mustered in as 149th O. V. I. Grant in his history gives
the author of “Ben Hur” great credit for his work at Monocacy, and
Wallace complimented Col. Brown for work of his regiment. Well we had a
weary tramp back to Baltimore—those of us who got back. From there we
immediately took the train for Washington, and then it was tramp, tramp,
tramp, up and down, back and forth, until “Little Phil,” (as he was
affectionately called) came up and things began to move.
Those were trying times and many a brave and patriotic boy became
discouraged—but Gen. Sheridan soon cleaned up things in the “Valley,”
although in doing so many brave boys lost their lives, and among the
number were quite a good many of the 149th.
Some of us remember a little “scrap” with Mosby at Berryville on an
early morning (the 13th of Aug., ’64); I have only to look at my left
arm to remind me that a rebel bullet went crashing through that arm and
paralyzed it for the time, and had to grab rein of bridle with sword
hand, but was soon surrounded by “Johnnies” and started for the “sunny”
south. I might mention many incidents that would interest some of the
boys, had I time and space, but as comrade McCommon is giving a paper on
prison life, and was along, will leave that to him, but will add only
that I was separated from the “boys” at Lynchburg, and never saw them
more, except as they passed “Libby” a few days later.
I was in luck to get out about a month later and home about a month
after the regiment got back. I had, while in three year service, been
shot through left lung, in right shoulder and face, and was discharged
in the summer of 1863. The wound received at Berryville was enough to
place me in what was called the hospital in Libby, and an order was made
to examine inmates of hospital, and all who were considered permanently
disabled were ordered paroled; I “fell back” on old wounds, and got out
on that order; a very happy man I was, when at Aiken’s landing, I passed
from under the rebel flag into our lines and under the “stars and
stripes.”
Long years have passed since those trying times—many of the dear boys
never lived to get back—some sleep on field of battle at Monocacy—some
at Berryville, and some at southern prisons; many have answered the last
“Roll Call” since their return home; but a few weeks since I witnessed
the burial of a member of Co. F, a dear and only brother; soon all of us
will have to answer the final call. I am, with one exception, Lt. Col.
West, the only Regimental officer left and almost all of the Company
officers are gone, and a large per cent of the boys in the ranks are
gone; Taps to all will come soon, and Lights out forever. Let us be
ready, boys, for the “Grand Review” on the other shore.
EB. ROZELL,
_Major 149th O. V. I._
AN INCIDENT IN THE UNWRITTEN HISTORY OF THE REBELLION
In that portion of the Civil War history pertaining to the events in and
around the city of Washington D. C. which occurred during the month of
July, 1864, it will be shown that the Capitol was besieged as it were,
by a rebel force under the command of the Confederate General Early, and
known as “Early’s raid on Washington.”
A true account of the prominent part taken by the 149th Regiment O. V.
I. in the defence of the Capitol will be found in the foregoing pages of
this book, written by a comrade and member of Company A of said
Regiment.
The writer of the following incident and a witness to the same, had the
honor to hold a Commission, and in command of a company in the Regiment,
and having been detailed by the General to store the surplus baggage of
the Brigade of which our Regiment was a part (this preparatory to forced
marches incident to the aforenamed campaign of defense) was on duty in
the city when martial law was declared and was placed in charge of a
company of Treasury Department Employees, and reported with the company
out on Arlington Heights, and were assigned to a position behind the
breast works previously thrown up, every sort of fighting force having
been pressed into service for the city’s defense.
The necessity demanding it, for be it understood that the Confederate
army under General Early was encamped uncomfortably near the city, and
plainly in view from the U. S. signal station on the Heights.
The anxiety of the great president (Mr. Lincoln) for the safety of the
Capitol was evidenced when he insisted in being taken to the very out
post of the army in defense, giving a word of cheer to the soldiery as
he passed along from one post to another, the president himself being
actually under fire, as occasionally a bullet from the enemy’s
sharpshooters would whiz past.
General Ord in command urged his retirement to a place of safety, and
finally under protest was about to enter his carriage, (his military
escort in waiting) his attention was attracted to a young calf tied to a
tree near a farm house seemingly in great distress. This earth work be
it remembered at this time was built through a lawn surrounding a
farmer’s house, and after the close of the war bought by the Government
and is now the National “Arlington Cemetery.” Mr. Lincoln’s great heart
was touched at the distress of the young animal, and stepping from the
carriage he was about to enter, went to examine the cause, when it was
found that a small bullet had been imbedded in the tail of the calf and
bleeding from the fresh wound. Mr. Lincoln taking out his pocket knife
cut the ball out, and with a gentle pat on the back of the calf placed
the ball in his pocket. Being again advised to retire to safer quarters
he reluctantly boarded his carriage and was driven back to the city amid
the shouts of the army.
This incident, a piece of unwritten history, proves the great
sympathetic heart of the man. That while under the excitement and
anxiety consequent on the danger of the besieged Capitol of the Nation,
and his own life endangered, yet his sympathy and relief was extended to
a poor dumb animal. ’Twas this spirit manifested and the ready relief
extended to the boys in blue that entitled him to be called so
affectionately “Father Abraham” by not only the boys of the army but the
whole loyal North.
Through all dangers and discomforts consequent in “War’s Alarms” ’twas
the manifestation of this kindness of heart, courage and sympathy that
won the hearts of his countrymen, and made him the greatest American.
EDWARD R. MCKEE,
_1st Lieut. Commander_,
_Co. A 149th Regiment O. V. I._
PERSONAL EXPERIENCE OF WM. R. BROWNING OF COMPANY I, 149TH O. V. I. AT
MONOCACY AND AS A PRISONER OF WAR
I was captured July 9th, 1864 at the battle of Monocacy, after fighting
from early morn until 4:30 P. M., when, being hard pressed and nearly
surrounded by the enemy, we received orders for every man to save
himself. This order scattered our organization, and we broke for the
rear. The rebels were fast closing in on us, leaving only one road open
for our retreat. I took that route to escape, and went through all
right, but many of the boys were captured before getting through. I
followed the main body of the troops who were in full retreat toward
Baltimore.
I will not go into detail in regard to the capture of Philip Frank of my
company, and myself, by a body of rebel cavalry, and taken back to
Frederick, but will relate one incident. The cavalry who had captured
us, met the infantry, who demanded of them, that they turn over the
prisoners to them because they had done all of the fighting, and were
entitled to take charge of the prisoners. A fierce quarrel arose, they
drew guns on each other, and a fight was about to take place, when a
cavalry officer rode up, ordered the infantry to march on, and the
cavalry to take us to the rear. After marching a short distance they
halted us and said that they would have to give us up soon, and that we
would be searched when they turned us over, and that as they had
captured us, we were their prisoners, it was their first search. They
began, and took away what we had, that they wanted, combs, knives and
some silver money that I happened to have, but they did not get rich,
for we did not have much for them to get. We marched back to Frederick
City, and were halted in the main street, where we were turned over to
the infantry. While there, some of the loyal ladies of the town came
with a basket of food, and gave some to us, which tasted very good, as I
had only two hard tack and a pint of coffee that day. They would not
give our guard any of it so they became angry and drove them away.
While here, more prisoners were brought in, and we marched through the
town, and went into camp for the night in a field outside the limits.
The next morning we marched back through the town, and on about four
miles to Monocacy Junction. We passed through the battle field, where
the dead and wounded were still lying on the ground, where they had
fallen. At the junction we were joined by five hundred prisoners, who
had been captured and brought there the night before. These men had
drawn two days’ rations from the rebels, but we did not get anything.
However, there was no help for it, and we started on the Rockville road
toward Washington, passing through part of the field of Monocacys battle
of the day before. Some of the wounded were lying by the road side, and
begged us piteously for water. My canteen was filled with water, and I
stepped out of ranks to give the poor fellows a drink, but a rebel guard
drew his gun on me and swore he would shoot if I did not get back into
line. I told him I only wanted to give the wounded men a drink, when he
said let some of the Yankee citizens round here give them water. At
that, I took off my canteen and threw it over to the wounded men. My
guard at that said, “I was a fool, and that I would need a canteen
before I got one.” This was true for I never had another, but often
needed one.
We marched on to Rockville where dead horses were lying in the street.
There had just been a fight here. We went into an orchard surrounding a
house, and got water from the well. A lady came out and said, “If any of
you boys want to write home, I will mail your letters for you. The
rebels will soon retreat, and then I will send the letters.” Comrade W.
W. McCracken wrote a letter telling our folks at home all the
particulars of our capture. He left the letter with the lady, and it
reached its destination.
I told her I had no rations and that I was very hungry, and wanted
something to eat. She gave me a big slice of home made bread and butter.
I will never forget that loyal lady, and have often wished that I could
go to Rockville to repay the kindness done to a poor boy, only fifteen
years old, and a prisoner of war. We were then taken out to another road
on our way toward Washington, and camped in a field for the night.
The next morning we resumed the march toward Washington. About noon we
began to hear heavy firing in front, and the rebel stragglers began
passing us hurrying to the front so that they might be among the first
to enter Washington and loot the city. One of the guards told me that
the roar of the cannons was the sweetest music on earth to the rebels. I
answered, “I think before you take Washington you will be accommodated
with plenty of sweet music.” We marched on for three hours under heavy
fire from siege guns. The stragglers who had rushed to the front in
order to be the first to enter the city began to come back. We taunted
them, asking, “Why didn’t you go on into Washington?” They replied, “We
would, only the cursed Yankees are throwing flour barrels at us.” We
were marched up until in full view of Fort Stephens, where we could see
the stars and stripes floating above the fort.