Part 1

PRISON LIFE IN THE OLD CAPITOL

AND

REMINISCENCES OF THE CIVIL WAR

BY

JAMES J. WILLIAMSON

_Author of “Mosby’s Rangers”_

_Illustrations by_ B. F. WILLIAMSON

WEST ORANGE, N. J. 1911

COPYRIGHT, 1911 BY JAMES J. WILLIAMSON

PREFACE

It is not my intention in my prison diary to discuss the constitutional or legal question of arbitrary arrests and imprisonment of non-combatants, but to present to my readers a picture of the daily routine of prison life as I saw it, together with incidents related to me by fellow-prisoners.

Conditions in the Old Capitol differed in many respects from the prison camps. Prisoners in the Old Capitol were mostly civilians, except where soldiers (either prisoners of war or men charged with offenses), were brought in and kept until they could be sent to places designated; or prisoners from other prisons held over until they could be shipped South for exchange.

In the itinerary of our journey from Parole Camp to Upperville I have given little details which to some may seem trivial and unworthy of note, but I give them to show existing conditions in sections of the Confederacy through which we passed.

I do not feel that I am straying from the subject of this narrative of prison experience in appending some facts concerning the treatment of prisoners of war. It is only by laying before the people a frank and faithful statement that we can overcome prejudice and hostile feeling, and bring about that hearty reunion which is earnestly desired by all who have the peace and prosperity of the country at heart.

I have before me a report of a sermon from the New York _Press_, May, 1909, in which a minister of the Gospel (?) residing within the limits of Greater New York speaks of “_the infamous Captain Wirz_”--“_a murderer_.” It is charitable to attribute such language from the lips of a minister to ignorance rather than malice. Yet, while persons are found who entertain and publicly express such sentiments, I cannot be open to the charge of desiring to awaken and perpetuate bitter memories if I seek to place on record the true history of Major Wirz, to refute the falsehoods and misrepresentations which have crept into history and are still believed by some.

When the grave questions which for years agitated our country had reached the crisis, and there remained but the _ultima ratio regum_, they were submitted to the arbitrament of the battlefield. We of the South accepted the result of that contest and laid down our arms in good faith. But when we are asked, like a whipped child, to say we were wrong and are sorry for what we did, and promise to sin no more, it is asking too much. We fought for what we considered our rights, and lost. Yet our men, who fought and lost, and those who died in the struggle, were just as brave and as honest as the men who wore the blue. _They_ fought for the Union, _we_ fought for our homes, for our wives and our dear ones. For those of our dead who were consigned to death and ignominy we do not ask pity, but only for that justice which was denied them in life--that the blot upon their reputations be effaced and their names stand out clear and stainless.

The little episode in relation to the Fairfax Court House raid will need no apology for its introduction, as I have already had occasion to refer to that affair in my diary.

The illustrations here given are from drawings made by my son, B. F. Williamson.

JAMES J. WILLIAMSON.

_West Orange N. J., April, 1911._

ILLUSTRATIONS

PAGE

Old Capitol Prison [_Frontispiece_]

Exemption Certificate 16

Pass Through Confederate Lines 17

Carroll Prison (Duff Green’s Row) 21

Arch Window in Room No. 16 24

Colonel William P. Wood, Superintendent 33

James J. Williamson 39

Stove in Room No. 16 55

Map of James River, from Fortress Monroe to Richmond 93

John H. Barnes 96

Lieutenant Albert Wrenn 99

Colonel John S. Mosby 106

Lieutenant Frank Fox 109

Brigadier-General Edwin H. Stoughton 116

Certificate of Membership 118

Major Henry Wirz 133

Rev. F. E. Boyle 140

Rev. Bernardin F. Wiget, S. J. 143

Gunnell House (General Stoughton’s Headquarters) 155

CONTENTS

PAGE

INTRODUCTORY 11

Maryland My Native State--Baltimore My Home--Outbreak of Civil War--Leave Sick-bed and Start for Seat of War--Wrecked on Railroad--Gala Days in Richmond--Running the Blockade.

PRISON LIFE IN THE OLD CAPITOL 19

My Arrest and Imprisonment--Description and History of the Old Capitol--Iron-clad Oath.

_Diary Kept During My Imprisonment_: Daily Routine--Men I Met There--Stories I Heard There and General Features of Prison Life--Rations, Recreations and Rules--How We Passed Our Time--Fresh Fish--Paroles--Superintendent Wood--Sundays in Prison--Belle Boyd--Gus Williams--Shooting of Prisoners--An Old Schoolmate--Blockade Runners--Outrages on Citizens--Spies and Detectives--Old Men, Women and Children Imprisoned--Western Prisoners--Escape of Prisoners--Overcrowded, Vermin and Smallpox.

OFF FOR DIXIE 89

From Old Capitol to Parole Camp to Await Exchange--Down the Potomac on Flag-of-Truce Boat to Fortress Monroe--Wrecks of United States Warships Sunk in Fight With Confederate Iron-clad _Virginia_ (_Merrimac_)--Steaming Up James River--Jamestown--Westover, Residence of Colonel William Byrd--City Point as it then Looked--From City Point to Petersburg and Model Farm Barracks, Parole Camp.

LIFE AT PAROLE CAMP 98

Short Rations and Little Comfort--Petersburg in Spring of 1863--Change of Diet; Beans and Brandy--Western Prisoners at Parole Camp Complain of Hardships at Camp Chase, Camp Douglas and Johnson’s Island; Cruelty of Guards and Great Mortality Among Confederate Prisoners--Exchanged and Mustered Into Confederate Service--Bathe in Elk Licking Creek, Where We Left Off Our Bad Habits and With Them a Host of Little Attachments We Could Not Shake Off in Prison--Leave Parole Camp.

ITINERARY OF JOURNEY FROM PAROLE CAMP TO UPPERVILLE 108

Richmond in the Spring of 1863--Gordonsville--Madison Court House--Along Robertson River--Crossing the Blue Ridge at Milani’s Gap--Wild Road Over the Mountains--Tramping Down the Valley--Along the Shenandoah--Luray and Front Royal--On Old Manassas Gap Railroad--Halt by the Wayside--Crossing Goose Creek Under Difficulties--Reached Upperville, Where I First Saw Mosby and Joined His Command--Meet Old Friends and Fellow Prisoners.

List of Prisoners in Room 16, Old Capitol Prison, During My Term of Imprisonment.

TREATMENT OF PRISONERS OF WAR 122

At Camp Chase, Camp Douglas and Johnson’s Island--Efforts of Confederate Authorities to Bring About Exchange--False Impression at the North--United States Authorities Did Not Want Exchange--Letter of Robert Ould to Major-General Hitchcock--Letter of Ould to _National Intelligencer_--Report of General Seymour to Colonel Hoffman, Commissary-General of Prisoners--General Ben Butler Tells How His Efforts Were Frustrated--General Jubal A. Early Comments on General Order No. 209, Issued by War Department, Washington--Extracts from Report of Committee of Confederate Congress on Treatment of Prisoners of War--Publications Issued by United States Authorities and Others to Stir Up and Keep Alive War Spirit Among Northern People--A Vindication of the South--About Dead-lines.

MAJOR HENRY WIRZ, C. S. A. 131

_True History of the Wirz Case_: Sacrificed to Gratify Malignity of Men in Authority and Pander to the Passion of the Mob--Wirz Not Responsible for Sufferings at Andersonville--Brief Sketch of the Man--His Efforts to Better Condition of Federal Prisoners--His Trial--Witnesses Not Allowed to Testify in His Behalf--Letter of General John D. Imboden--Letter of Robert Ould--Rev. Father Whelan--Hired Witnesses Swear Away the Life of Wirz--Condemned on False Charges--Thirteen Specifications of Men Said to Have Been Murdered by Wirz, But Not One Named--Charged with Conspiracy and Hanged, But no Other Conspirator Punished--Offered His Freedom if He Would Incriminate Hon. Jefferson Davis--Testimony of Major Winder--Letter of Rev. Father Boyle--Wirz’s Bearing at the Trial and on the Scaffold--His Execution--Scenes at the Hanging--Rev. Father Boyle and Father Wiget--Letter from Wirz’s Wife Received After Termination of His So-Called Trial--His Last Letter to His Wife and Children.

DIARY KEPT BY WIRZ DURING HIS IMPRISONMENT AND TRIAL 147

MONUMENT TO WIRZ AT ANDERSONVILLE 152

FAIRFAX COURT HOUSE RAID AND CAPTURE OF GENERAL STOUGHTON 154

Interesting Incident Related by General Stoughton’s Telegraph Operator--What the Chaplain of Fifth New York Cavalry Said of this Raid--Sergeant James F. Ames (Big Yankee).

INTRODUCTORY

Prison life was much the same North or South in its general features, having its discomforts and privations, its days of worry, its longings and its disappointments, combined with that chafing under restraint, which is a feeling common to all men. Yet the sufferings of prisoners could have been alleviated in the North to a greater degree than was possible at the South, where in most cases the distress was due to lack of means to relieve it. The Confederate Government could not do for Federal prisoners what it was unable to do for its own soldiers or people.

It is not strange that when the flood of war swept over the country I should plunge into its turbulent waters and be carried along with the current. This martial spirit was inherited and fostered from the cradle up. My grandmother came to this country from Ireland in the stormy days of the rebellion of 1798. When but a little child I would sit by her side for hours, drinking in, like a heated, thirsty traveler, the wild stories of the exciting scenes she had witnessed there, and listening to the pathetic recital of the wrongs of her loved country and its people. And at night I would drop off to sleep on her lap with the old Irish rebel songs of ’98 murmuring a lullaby in my baby ears.

It was only natural, too, that I should be enlisted on the Southern side. I was born in Baltimore, and it was there I passed the early years of my life. My father, James J. Williamson, had the distinction of designing and building the first clipper ship ever constructed--the clipper ship _Ann McKim_, built in Baltimore in 1832, for the old house of Isaac McKim, of Baltimore. The history of Maryland, with the record of the heroic deeds of the Old Maryland Line in the War of the Revolution, had always possessed a charm for me above all other books. It was my greatest pride to know that I was a Marylander and that Baltimore was my home.

When I became of age I went to Washington and obtained a position in the Government Printing Office, where I remained until the breaking out of the war.

In the spring of 1861, the Federal troops were ordered to march on Washington. When the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment was attacked while passing through Baltimore, I was ill, in bed and under the doctor’s care. The next day my mother brought into my room the morning paper and read to me an account of the fighting in Baltimore, and of the threats made to invade my native State and bombard and destroy Baltimore. I felt all the youthful fire within me blazing with fury. The warm blood coursing in my veins carried with it a force which seemed to give an almost unnatural strength to my feeble body, weakened by a painful illness. I was seized with a desire to rush at once to the scene of action. I felt that the bed was no place for me--that I must rouse myself to meet the issue--that my dear old mother State was calling for her sons, and I would not let that call go unheeded, but must hasten on to help guard that sacred soil upon which I had received my being and in which reposed the ashes of those who were most near and dear to me. I felt all that enthusiasm with which the Southern hearts were filled when their States were invaded and their cities and their homes laid waste. Old Maryland was invaded--I did not care by whom--for whoever came with hostile intent was an enemy, and her enemies were mine.

I said:

“I am going to Baltimore.”

“When?” asked my mother.

“I will start to-morrow morning.” My mother left the room without reply to what she thought were idle words.

When the doctor came for his morning visit, my mother said:

“What do you think this boy says? He says he is going to Baltimore.”

“Let him go,” said the doctor, with an incredulous smile.

The next morning when he came, expecting to find me in bed, my mother said: “Well, Doctor, he has gone to Baltimore.”

The doctor shook his head, and replied, “It will either kill or cure him.” And it cured him. The day I left my bed I went to Baltimore, and a week after that I was in Richmond.

When I reached Baltimore trains were running to and from the city without interruption, but troops were being rushed to Washington, and it was seen that Baltimore would soon be surrounded and hemmed in by Federal troops, and it would then be difficult to leave the city, so I left for Harper’s Ferry, where I understood a body of Confederate troops were already in camp. From Harper’s Ferry I went, via Strasburg, to Manassas. There I found a few regiments of Confederates assembled. From Manassas I started on train for Richmond.

Between Culpeper and Orange Court House we unfortunately came in collision with a train carrying infantry and a battery of artillery to Manassas. Both trains were on the same track and coming from opposite directions. There was a head-on collision; the two engines crashed into each other and the cars telescoped. There were fourteen killed outright and a great number wounded, many fatally.

I was sitting in the rear car, talking to a man who stood holding on to the rear door of the car. When I felt the shock I saw him shoot past me and down the aisle, between the seats. That night, when I arrived at Gordonsville, I went to a house, seeking lodgings for the night, and to my surprise, when the door was opened and the gentleman of the house stood before me, although his head was bandaged and his arm in a sling, I recognized in him the man I was conversing with at the time of the accident.

In Richmond I found a number of acquaintances from Baltimore. A great many young men were coming in from Maryland, some of whom had been comrades in military companies in Baltimore, and soon a couple of companies were organized to be united to a regiment then forming at Harper’s Ferry, which afterward gained honorable distinction as the First Maryland Regiment.

Richmond had already put on a military air. In the throngs on the streets a major part of the male population appeared in stylish uniforms. These were the gay days in Richmond.

Troops were arriving from the South and West, passing through on their way to the seat of war. I was particularly struck with the appearance of the Louisiana troops in their holiday dress, marching proudly along, with bands playing inspiring martial airs; the drum-major leading off with stately tread, waving his staff. Tripping gaily after came the sprightly vivandieres, their dainty little caps tipped saucily to one side, their shapely ankles peeping from beneath the folds of their short skirts, and the little keg at their side hanging by a fancy cord thrown over the shoulder.

At the outbreak of the war the men came out as they had been accustomed to “play soldiers”--attired in gaudy uniforms, with gay colors, bright, shining gun barrels and flashing bayonets. The Zouaves with their red breeches, their red caps or turbans, their gilt braids and chevrons.

These soon gave way to less showy trappings. The jaunty caps were exchanged for the Kossuth felt hat, the showy jackets, with their rich gilt braid and trimmings, were replaced by the unpretentious blouse, and the flaming red breeches were now conspicuous by their absence, and in their stead comfortable, though less attractive, garments were worn.

The bright gun barrels and flashing bayonets even were found to be no more efficient than those dulled by age and use, whose somber hue did not present such a shining mark for a watchful sharpshooter.

In the house where I had taken board there was a gentleman who was employed in the printing office doing the work of the State and Confederate Governments. Learning that I had been in the Government Printing Office in Washington, he said they would be glad to have me at this office. I told him I expected to join my friends from Baltimore; that we were anxious to be together in the Confederate army. He said, “You can be of service on this work just now, and we are badly in want of help.” I accordingly went to Ritchie & Dunnavant’s, the parties having charge of this work.

Soon after this my wife ran the blockade and joined me in Richmond.

After a time, owing to the strict blockade, the fighting around Richmond, and the scarcity of the necessaries of life, the sufferings of the people were becoming more serious every day. I felt that while it was a matter of love and duty on my part to endure these hardships without murmuring, and to contribute all my efforts to the attainment of the success of our cause, still I had no right to impose upon others an amount of distress which they were not called upon to undergo, and which could in no wise aid in the accomplishment of that object, but was simply adding to the number of non-combatants who were consuming the scanty store of supplies without contributing to their increase.

Taking this view of the situation, I decided to run the blockade, and after getting my wife and children safely outside of the lines, where they would be properly cared for and have those comforts which I could not obtain for them in Richmond, I could then take chances for my return to the scene of duty.

I procured a pass for myself, wife and children through the Confederate lines, and, traveling in the most primitive fashion, striking out from Hanover Junction, crossed the Rappahannock River, and reached Westmoreland Court House one summer evening, in an ox-cart. We waited at the Potomac River for a favorable opportunity to cross without too great risk of capture by one of the United States gunboats patroling the river, and then crossed in an open boat to Stone’s Landing, on the Maryland side. Here we were very comfortable, with a nice breakfast of fish and oysters fresh from the water, until the steamboat came along which was to take us to Washington. There were a number of Union officers and soldiers on the boat, but having my wife and little children with me I suppose averted whatever suspicion they might otherwise have entertained, and we reached Washington without any mishap.

PRISON LIFE IN THE OLD CAPITOL

On the evening of Saturday, January 31, 1863, between seven and eight o’clock, an officer in full uniform, but unarmed, came into a bookstore on Seventh Street, Washington, D. C., where I was then engaged, and asked for the proprietor, Mr. Russell. I pointed out Russell. The officer then asked him if he knew a Mr. Williamson. Russell answered, “Yes.”

“Is he a printer?” asked the officer.

“Yes.”

“Is he the only one of that name that you know?”

“Yes.”

“Where is he?”

“There he is,” answered Russell, pointing toward me.

The officer walked over to me and said:

“Sir, you will have to come along with me.”

“All right,” said I.

He then went to the door and called in a soldier he had left standing guard outside, and said:

“Take charge of that man.”

I asked the officer if I would be permitted to call at my home in order to acquaint my family with the cause of my absence. He said I would not; that I must go to the Provost-Marshal’s office. I obtained permission to send a note to my wife, stating that I was under arrest. Putting on my hat and coat, I was marched to the corner of Eighth Street and Pennsylvania Avenue. Here we halted, and the officer called out to another soldier, who stood there holding his sword, which he took from the man and buckled on. Placing me between the two guards, we all marched up Pennsylvania Avenue to the Provost-Marshal’s office. The Marshal was not in, but his assistant said:

“Do you belong in Washington?”

“I do,” said I.

“Haven’t you been South lately?”

“Yes,” I said; “I came from Richmond on the third of last August.”

“Have you reported yourself to the military authorities?”

“I have not.”

He next asked me if I would take the oath of allegiance to the Government. I told him I would not; that I could not think of doing so. He said I would have time enough to think about it, as it might be necessary to do so before I could obtain my release. That I was charged with having been in Richmond, and also with being accessory to the imprisonment of some Union citizens.

I again asked if I would be permitted to go home under escort of a guard, so as to acquaint my family with the cause of my absence and also to get a change of clothing and some few articles necessary for me during the time I might be kept under arrest. This request was denied, and I was marched off under guard to the Old Capitol Prison, at the corner of First and A Streets.

The building known as the Old Capitol had a memorable history. Built in 1800, it was originally designed for a tavern or boarding-house, but owing to bad management it proved a failure and was closed shortly before the War of 1812.

In August, 1814, when the British troops under General Ross entered Washington, they burned the Capitol and other public buildings, and the Government bought this old tavern or boarding-house, in which Congress should hold their sessions and public business be transacted until the Capitol could be rebuilt.

The interior of the building was completely renovated and reconstructed, and here both Houses sat for a number of years. Within its walls two Presidents were inaugurated, and here some of our most distinguished statesmen began their careers. It was in this building the Hon. John C. Calhoun died.

When it was abandoned by Congress upon the completion of the Capitol, it was called the “Old Capitol,” as a distinctive title. After that it underwent a number of changes as boarding-house, school, etc., until, in 1861, it was taken by the Washington authorities to be used as a prison.

A row of houses on the adjoining block, known as Duff Green’s Row, was afterward taken and used as an annex to the Old Capitol, and for the same purpose. It was called the “Carroll Prison.”