Part 4

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.

They placed us in an orchard so close to the fort that the shells would crash through the tree tops above our heads. This was not of long duration, until a rebel line of infantry came out of the woods and charged the fort. The fort reserved their fire until the rebels got close up to it, and I began to fear that it would be taken, when all at once it let loose with artillery, and a galling infantry fire from a line of troops that we had not seen. Such a noise I never heard. The smoke and the gathering twilight hid all the combatants from view, but we could tell from the sound of the guns that the rebels were falling back, and that the Union infantry was following them up. Directly all firing ceased, and we knew that the enemy had been repulsed. At this time we drew two days’ rations of beef and flour, but before we had time to cook it we were ordered to fall in, and under a heavy guard began marching to the rear. The whole rebel army came pell mell, almost a stampede. The cavalry and artillery filled the road, the infantry going through the fields. The cattle they had stolen in Maryland were also driven through the fields, the drivers yelling and swearing, making the air hideous with the din. A fine residence of a United States Senator was burned to the ground.

All this made an impression upon my mind that I will never forget. I learned afterward that after their repulse at Washington, the word was passed that General Hunter was advancing from Harper’s Ferry to attack them in the rear. We marched all night and forded the Potomac at Edwards Ferry early the next morning. We waded the river, which came up to my arm pits. I being small. We camped near a big spring not far from the river, where we rested and cooked what little we had. The next morning two days rations were issued, and cooked, and we again took up the march passing through Leesburg, Va., and on through Snickers Gap, getting to the Shenandoah river after dark. Here we camped for the night. The next morning they allowed us to bathe in the river. We resumed the tiresome march and pressed on to Winchester where we halted in the edge of the town. While here we drank from a spring the coldest water I ever saw. We then marched to Kernstown where we encamped for two days. Here Joseph Rowland and Joseph Hays of my company made their escape. This left eleven of our squad still prisoners. Sergeants James Nichols and Rees McCall; Corporals James and William Harrison, brothers and Privates W. W. McCracken, Thomas Broaders, Philip Frank, Wm. Houser, James Cruit, Peter Garratt and myself. The stop here gave us a much needed rest, and we again drew our two days’ rations of beef and flour. Two days’ rations may sound big, but a hearty man could eat it all at one meal without discomfort. I do not remember the exact amount, but know that it was not near enough to satisfy our hunger.

We again resumed our march bound for Staunton up through the beautiful Shenandoah valley, passing through New Market, Mt. Jackson and Willow Springs. At Staunton we boarded the cars and rode to Charlotte. Here we went into camp and drew what they called rye bread and tainted salt beef. The bread was the worst I ever saw. It was dough inside with a thick hard crust, that could hardly be broken, when it was broken the dough rolled out. The next morning we were again taken by the cars to Lynchburg. Here we were placed in a tobacco warehouse. The floor was covered with dried tobacco juice and licorice, at least that was what the boys said it was. I did not use the weed. We remained here a few days, I don’t remember how long, I only recollect the stinking meat issued to us.

While here I passed my sixteenth birthday, the 26th of July. On the 27th, we went on to Petersburg and Richmond Junction, thence to Danville, arriving there on the 28th. We were assigned to Prison No. 7, an old tobacco warehouse. The first floor was used as a hospital, the second, third and fourth stories for prisoners quarters. I was put in squad No. 7 on the second floor. We were fifty men to a squad in charge of a sergeant whose duty it was to draw rations for the men and to detail two comrades each day to carry water from the Dan river, about 200 yards from the prison. Here the hard prison life began. There was a cook house near the prison, the cooks being Union soldiers. The rations were corn bread made of corn and cob ground together, sometimes with salt, often without. Once in a while we had bean soup made from black or nigger peas, as they called them. A little bacon in the soup full of skippers. I could not eat it, it was so filthy, I only ate a small piece of the corn bread each day.

I cannot go into detail, each day was like another and very monotonous. We suffered from the heat when we first went into this prison. There were five squads of 50 on our floor, and when we all lay down at night, there was no room to spare, we were packed like sardines in a box. To economize space we would lie in rows across the building and when we turned over all would turn. On a hot night the stench was fearful. We remained here during July and August using water from the Dan river. This was stagnant, in pools, for the river had almost dried up in the summer. The rebels would march us past as nice a spring of good cold water as ever flowed and would not allow us to get it, but take us to the river, where we skimmed the green scum from the surface with our buckets and dip water from the hot, stinking pool. The hot weather created thirst, and the prisoners drank it as fast as it was carried to them and cried for more. If our guards were not in the humor we would have to wait until they were ready, consequently there was great suffering from thirst. About the last of August, Smith Miller of Company E of our regiment became suddenly insane, and was taken to the hospital where he afterward died. Philip Frank of my company was also sent to the hospital where he died. Many of the men became sick and we were all growing weaker day by day. In September an order came to exchange a certain number of the sick. When the doctor came to examine them, I took Samuel Jones to him, Jones could not walk, so Joe Shepard and I carried him down. The doctor passed him and then asked me, “Now what is the matter with you?” I told him, “Nothing, only I want something to eat.” The doctor replied, “If you would say so, I will pass you.” I said, “No, take some poor fellow that was sick, I am not sick, and I do not intend to die in prison.” The boys of my company that were released at this time were James Nichols, Reeves McCall, James and William Harrison and Peter Garrett. The two Harrison boys died at Annapolis, Maryland, on their way home. Disease and exchange now cut our number down, but our condition did not improve, we were growing weaker every day for want of food. In October I was sick with diarrhoea and went to the hospital. The sick were better cared for, and the nurses were detailed Union soldiers. The doctors were Rebels, and did not have much regard for the prisoners. I remained in the hospital but did not get any better. In October Thomas Broades was brought into the hospital, paroled on sick leave, and afterward died at Annapolis. Later in the year William Houser was brought over to the hospital, but only lived a few days.

Between Christmas and New Years Day I took the pneumonia and the doctor told me, “Well, little Yank, you will have to die,” I told him, “I will never leave my bones in the southern confederacy.” He put a fly blister on my chest and the next morning I was better. Then I had inflammation of the bowels, and he swore I would die. He had no medicine to give me, but put another fly blister on my stomach. The blisters broke in the night and the water run all over me. In the morning I again felt better but soon erysipelas set in, where the blisters had been. He then said I must be painted with iodine. This the nurses refused to do, saying that I would die, and did not see the use of torturing me, but let the boy die in peace. The doctor said it must be done. They asked me about it, I told them if they would let Edgar Hulbert of the Twenty-third O. V. I. who was a nurse, paint me I would never say a word. He did the job and I kept my promise. About a week later I was up and walking around. I improved rapidly, and on the 25th of January I was returned to the prison. About this time the United States sent some clothing to us, but not enough to go round. I drew a blouse and my comrade McCracken a blanket.

It was now very cold in the prison, some would sleep under blankets while others marched around to keep warm. We kept this up until becoming exhausted, we would rouse the sleepers and take their places. This was kept up continually day and night, as long as we remained at Danville. About the 10th of February we were placed in the cars and carried to Richmond, Va., and put in Libbey prison. We suffered terribly from the cold on this trip. We were weak and our clothes were worn out. I was dressed in the blouse spoken of, remnants of a pair of trousers and a pair of socks that I had taken off a dead man. My pants were so badly worn that I would not be presentable in good society. But comrade McCracken had his blanket and we snuggled under it in one corner of the car and done the best we could until we landed in Libbey.

There has been a great deal said about Libbey prison, and truly too, but it was the best one I was in, we had a warmer place to stay and a greater variety of food, although the rations were extremely small. Here we talked about being exchanged, we thought we had been brought here for that purpose. On the morning of February 20th, a Rebel officer came to the prison and told us to get ready for parole. There was a glad lot of poor boys, all was excitement. The officer went away and did not return until afternoon when he returned with other officers and clerks and called us up in line. We took the oath of parole to do no duty for the United States Government until regularly exchanged. This we gladly took. That night we had a big time, nobody slept, in the morning we were going back to God’s country and home. Comrade McCracken sold his blanket for fifty dollars (confederate) and bought six pounds of flour with it. We made flap jacks and baked them on a stone, ate and talked about what we would eat when we got home.

In the morning we were taken on board the rebel flag of truce boat, I was very weak, but Joe Shepard the good Samaritan of our regiment helped me aboard, and we started down the James river to Harrison Landing. Some one shouted “there is the old flag.” In an instant everybody was alert, and on looking down the river we caught a glimpse of “Old Glory” through the tree tops on one of the boats of our fleet. Such a time I never saw, we were the happiest boys on earth. We cheered, we shouted, we cried, we prayed, we were so happy. Many were going back to die, but they were glad to get where they could die under the dear old flag. We landed at Harrison Landing where the 25th Corps (colored) was stationed. It looked queer to me to see them on the skirmish line opposing the Rebels. Each fellow had his “gopher hole” to dodge in, one big black fellow picked me up like a baby and carried me back through the lines. They all came running to us with something to eat, those great black fellows with white hearts. My man carried me as far as he could go, and I walked a short distance to the river, where the transport “New York” was waiting for us. We went aboard and had a good meal of soft wheat bread, pickle pork, coffee with sugar and condensed milk, I thought I had never tasted anything so good. We arrived at Annapolis on Washington’s birthday, February 22, 1865.

I have tried in my own feeble way to tell something about my prison life. I have written it from memory and there may be some errors of dates, and etc. An old man’s memory is sometimes faulty. I have not told of all the horrors that I have witnessed, no tongue can tell nor pen describe what I have seen in these hells. To tell all would make a book, what I have told is true. I was discharged March 29th, 1865, at Todd Barracks in Columbus, Ohio.

WILLIAM R. BROWNING _Private, Company I. 149th O. V. I._ _Chillicothe, Ohio._

INCIDENTS

While we were in camp at Chain Bridge we occupied the crest of a hill or ridge that sloped gradually to the south, making an ideal camping ground for the army. As night drew on camp fires were kindled and twinkled by thousands over the slope while the soldiers prepared their supper. Stories of their adventures and songs served to pass the evening. When the time came for “lights out,” a drum corps on the right began playing “The girl I left behind me.” A brass band in the centre struck up “Home Sweet Home.” These were all the tunes we recognized, for every band and drum corps in camp began playing. Pandemonium seemed to have broken loose, as the great volume of sound came up. Tunes could not be distinguished, the discord was terrific. It gradually died away as band after band ceased playing. A deep silence came over the plain, the stars blinked in the summer sky. The army was asleep.

OBSERVATION ON THE MARCH.

Once on our march toward Snickers Gap I saw a squad of soldiers taking a cow from a farm lot, they had tied a rope around her horns two were tugging at the rope, and others were pushing. The woman of the house and her children were crying and begging them to let her alone. The argument was still on as we marched along.

On this same march we passed a field where a fight had taken place a day or two before. The dead had been buried and the wounded removed, but the field was full of dead horses. The stench from the swollen carcasses lying under the sweltering rays of the hot July sun was terrific. We hurried past as fast as possible, breathing a sigh of relief when we came again into the pure air of the mountains.

HARPER’S FERRY.

Harper’s Ferry was the gateway to the south. It was captured and retaken many times during the war by both Union and Confederate armies. Situated at the confluence of the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers, with Loudon and Maryland Heights surrounding it, it was a natural fortress. The town was the target for both sides, and many of its homes carried the marks of shot and shell. The United States Arsenal which was burned early in the war, stood with roofless walls and tottering chimneys a silent monument of the ravages of the conflict.

A pontoon bridge spanned the Potomac river a short distance above the railroad bridge, over which the armies passed. When we marched across the pontoon, orders were given to “break step,” least the swing of the time step would break the bridge. This bridge was laid on boats that were lashed together side by side, and anchored in the river, on these stringers were laid and a floor on the stringers, rails were placed on the edge to keep the wagons from slipping over. This, however did not prevent some from going over, for I saw two wagons with their teams lying overturned on the bottom of the river.

While in the town we went into the old engine house called “John Brown’s Fort” where he put up his stubborn fight against the Virginia militia. The loop holes through which he fired were still there. Every time we passed through this town was on a Saturday, so we nick-named it “Harper’s Weekly.”

SHOOTING DESERTERS.

A chain of forts encircled Baltimore, Maryland, from Fort No. 1 on Baltimore street to Fort No. 12 in Druid Hill Park. Details were made from the men at our fort for guard duty at these outposts. One guard at each fort to remain all day, his duty being to keep a strict watch. One day, (I being on duty at Fort 11), a squad of twelve cavalrymen came on a full gallop down the road past the fort. Just as they came opposite to where I was standing guard, the officer in command shouted, “There they are, fire.” A volley from their carbines followed and two men who were in a field running through the high wheat threw up their hands and tumbled over dead. I heard afterward that they were deserters trying to escape from Lafayette Barracks. The discipline was severe, some may think too much so, but it was necessary in order to control the great variety of characters that made up the army. When our company first came to Fort No. 1 we found the guard house full of rough men of the New York Artillery, and we were detailed to guard them. Of all low, rough New York toughs, these were surely the worst. They took great pleasure in guying the boys fresh from home, and their actions were disgusting. Luckily they went away in a short time. One night two of them attempted to break guard and escape. Our boys who were on guard fired at them, and alarmed the garrison. A search squad was at once formed and the two men were found lying on their faces in the ditch surrounding the fort, nearly frightened to death. They were taken back to the guard house saying, “they did not think the century plants would shoot,” but they did. These fellows had a better opinion of us after that episode.

During our first march the boys began to pick up from the fields various articles that they considered valuable as relics, intending to carry them home. Bayonets and cannon balls seemed to be favorite articles for collection. After carrying them for a few miles they began dropping them one by one. We found out in a very short time that the less we had to carry the better we could march.

I was fortunate in bringing home, and still have my cap box, eagle plate, visor of my cap a tin flask and testament and hymn book. A testament and hymn book was given to every soldier. But the most prized is the engraved and engrossed card of thanks given by the president of the United States, under seal of the Government, and signed by the martyred friend of every Union soldier, Abraham Lincoln. A captain in our regiment brought home a beautiful sword that belonged to one of Mosbys’ men, and was found on the field after the fight at Berryville, Va. It was a beautiful piece of work, ivory hilt, gold mounted, with a scabbard inlaid with gold and silver designs. It was highly prized by the captain, and no doubt would be more highly prized by the man who lost it at Berryville.

CONCLUSION.

The hundred days service was hard, but it had a humorous side. Many were the pranks played by the boys. Many pleasant hours we spent together, and our experiences are told and laughed over today. At Fort No. 1 we had our own string band, and every evening we had dancing or singing led by Captain Peabody or Lieutenant McKee, some played cards, others went down into the city taking in the markets, theatres, etc. At one time down town a gentleman asked some of us, “Boys, what regiment do you belong to?” We answered, “The 149th Ohio.” He mused awhile and said, “One hundred and forty nine, that means a hundred and forty nine thousand, my goodness boys do men grow on trees in Ohio?”

When we left Baltimore our hardships began, the first day’s march nearly used us up, starting from Washington at noon, we crossed the Potomac at Edwards Ferry at 5 o’clock, our feet were blistered as we hobbled along, the first night we sank to rest, a tired, discouraged body of men. Our accoutrements were heavy, our guns a burden, but a canteen filled with water seemed heaviest of all, the string over the shoulder felt like it would cut clear through. Our appearance after two or three marches would have made Rip Van Winkle on awakening look like a dude in comparison.

We were ragged, tattered and torn, our shoes worn out, and the sacred soil of old Virginia was ground into our system, from the dust that we continually lived in. We thought the turnpikes of the Shenandoah valley were the hardest in the world. But they were not too hard to sleep on, when the weary soldier dropped in his tracks, the moment a halt was made. I have seen the men marching sound asleep only awakened when their heads came in contact with the tail board of the wagon in front.

This was the common experience of all soldiers and we did not complain, we often said we would rather meet the enemy than to endure the fatigue of the march.