Part 3
A special train was furnished, cars with seats in them, and we sped homeward. When we arrived at Chillicothe we were met by a large outpouring of the citizens, who, to music furnished by the German Brass Band, escorted us up town. We marched up Main street, and we stepped proudly, but were saddened as we passed the homes of James Ghormley and Edward Armstrong. We were coming home, but these, our friends and comrades, never returned. They starved to death in Salisbury, N. C. prison pen.
The good people of Chillicothe had prepared a dinner for us in the market house, and we did justice to it. After dinner we “fell in” for the last time, marched up Paint street and drew up in front of the Court House, where after a few remarks by the Colonel we broke ranks, each went to his home, and the 149th Regiment, Ohio Volunteer Infantry, became a memory.
MY CAPTURE AND PRISON LIFE
_By William McCommon, Co. A, 149th O. V. I._
I was taken prisoner at Berryville, Va., on August 13th, 1864, at 4 A. M., together with James Ghormley, Edward Armstrong, Eldridge Whipple and George Fix, with one man by the name of Sayre of Co. P. These are all that I can recall now. We were cooking coffee by the roadside when all at once we heard the report of a cannon and the shell burst just over our heads and came down through the branches of the trees we were under. At that moment four hundred of Mosby’s mounted guerrillas came down on us demanding our money, watches, jewelry or anything else of value we had on our person. I had one dollar and forty cents. They told me to give them the dollar and I could keep the forty cents, as I would need that before we got back, which I found was the gospel truth. That rebel was honest, anyhow.
They ordered us each to mount a mule and carry a six pound shell in each 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.