USA > New York > The Ninth New York heavy artillery : a history of its organization, services in the defe battles, and muster-out, with accounts of life in a rebel prison, personal experiences, names and addresses of surviving members, personal sketches and a complete roster, pt 2 > Part 3
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day. I may say that I seldom burned my food thus. I couldn't wait long enough. In summing up the advantages held by our side, let us not forget to lay great stress on the superiority of our commissariat, and among the items there found put among the very first, coffee, an article more worthy the praises of Burns than the barleycorn that he has immortalized.
We rest, with no incident worthy of note save the artillery firing by Union forces on the other side of the river at the retiring rebel cavalry, till about midnight. We are then aroused, and again go plodding along, kept well in line by our flanking guards. It is barely dawn as we pass through Lees- burg, but we are too sleepy and careless to note what is really a most lovely village. It is apparent that our captors have no time to spare, for they hasten along throughout the entire day, making no more halts than seem absolutely necessary. We bear a little to the southward, and finally enter Ashby's Gap of the Blue Ridge. The region is mountainous and wild, show- ing very little for the many years that man has occupied it. The outlook to the eye is grand, and repeatedly the observation is heard, "What a glorious sight this would be were I not a prisoner." As a soldier, it did not take me long to learn that he marches easiest who is nearest the head of the column. Ac- cordingly, as the days returned, Charley R -- and I were found in place with only a file of Pennsylvanian lieutenants ahead of us, we yielding the place out of courtesy, for we were early enough for the first, but the easiest place, to our blistered feet, was hard. Again our march was protracted long into the night. So sleepy were we that we could sleep even when walking, and many a hapless wight in a walking dream and thus, perhaps, falling out of line, was by the guard speedily "hurried back to despair" and wakefulness. It was for the guards themselves a trying time, but their sleepiness never reached the point of allowing us to escape. Early and his forces had gone through the mountains at Snicker's Gap, thus keeping themselves between us and our army.
The hours of our night march wore on till about 3 A. M., when we stood on the banks of the Shenandoah, a name famil- iar to me from my earliest boyhood, when I had learned the speech of the Indian chief bearing this name, but I had never dreamed of such an introduction as I was about to have. There was neither bridge nor ferry, and to our tired bodies the water
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had an almost winter chilliness as we waded in. It was deep, too, we having to hold our hands well up to keep them out of the water. Drenched and dripping, we trudged along into the small village of Millwood. Some of us were allowed to lie down by the side of a church, on whose corner I read in the semi-darkness, "Methodist Episcopal Church South." I may, I hope, be pardoned for having even then a feeling of pride that the division in 1844 of this great church, in which I had been reared, was one of the prime causes in awakening people to the enormity of slavery. However, though the church was hot enough on this mooted subject, I found the north side of the edifice extremely cool on that morning, and I was in no ways loth to move when at sunrise we "fell in" and marched over to a grove a few rods away. I was too tired and sleepy to eat, and all I wanted was a chance to lie down. I remember well putting my head in the shade and stretching my body out so that the friendly rays of the sun might dry my soaked garments. How long I slept I don't know; but when I awoke, the sun, in his climbing the sky, had not only dried my clothes, but he had well-nigh baked my face, upon which he was shin- ing with nothing to intervene. We spent Sunday, the 17th, here, and went through the usual routine of drying dough. Here I traded with a rebel lieutenant for food a pair of heavy woolen gloves taken by me from a vagrant knapsack on the 9th. I had kept them for just such a purpose; but I had no idea he would use them in torrid July weather. Imagine my astonishment at seeing him wearing them in the hottest part of the next day as we were going through Winchester, and actually putting on airs on account of his gloved hands.
Monday we were off again, and I have since learned really going out of our way several miles to pass through the city of Winchester, thus contributing, I suppose, one to the eighty- seven occupations which that devoted city had during the years of the war. It was ten miles away, and we were marched this distance that we might assist our guards in exciting ad- miration among the denizens of the town. It was simply an illustration of a characteristic as old as man himself.
What Roman triumph was complete without its crowd of captives? The savage Indian led his prisoners home that he might see the exultations of the squaws and thereby increase the story of his prowess; and we, too, had to grace, not a
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Roman, but a Winchester holiday. For the first time in my life I heard insulting expressions hurled at us from female lips. Revolting to me, to the scions of chivalry escorting us the words seemed sweet indeed. It was here that my rebel Adonis sported his woolen gloves. Passing through the city to the west side, we went into camp, and soon had a little compensation for the rude terms launched at us during the afternoon. The officers of our guard undertook to billet themselves on a family living near, at any rate within hearing. They were warmly received. In fact, nothing but hot water was lacking to make the reception scalding. The women, we learned, were Union- ists, and they didn't propose to wait on rebels, and they didn't. The interview was music to us.
The next morning we left this city of many tribulations, and going out on Braddock street, took the famous turnpike south- ward. It is the same road that subsequent events were to. elevate into enduring fame, as-
"A good, broad highway leading down."
To us it seemed the perfection of road-making, so level and straight that we were prone to say that we could see in the morning where we were to camp at night. Under other cir- cumstances a prospect of a trip up the ninety-two miles lead- ing to Staunton would have been delightful. The valley of Virginia was famous the world over for beauty of scenery and fertility of soil. On every hand were indications of thrift. Large and expensive buildings and well-tilled fields afforded pleasing contrasts to the slatternly state of affairs in the east- ern part of the state. Immense stacks of wheat attested the significance of the often-heard expression, "the granary of Virginia." As rapidly as possible the farmers were threshing the grain, farmers we were told now, but soldiers when the work was done. This was the section over which Sheridan was to sweep and to leave it so desolate that were a crow to fly over it, "he would have to carry his rations with him." For four years the enemy had swept in and out, at such oppor- tune moments as would permit him to put in his crops, and later to harvest them. The ways of the rough-riding "Little Phil" were not to the liking of the people, and to this day they have no good word for him. In spite, however, of the brightness of the scene, the cloud of slavery hung over it, and
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men who claimed to be fighting for liberty were still oppress- ing the bondsmen. I shall never forget my astonishment at seeing at one of our bivouacs a fine-looking old gentleman, without a suspicion of the black race in his appearance, hesi- tate at coming into our camp. He appeared to be very much afraid of the guards. I accosted him in some way, implying my thought that he was one of the old planters living near. "No," said he, "I am a slave." If never before, I then was more than glad that I was one of many thousands whose mis- sion it was to make him and others like him free.
Of the many natural wonders and beauties of the valley we had little time or disposition to comment, though we could not help noticing the excellent springs that this mountainous and limestone region afforded. One in particular I recall, per- haps near Mount Jackson, that poured from the side of a hill with volume sufficient to turn the overshot wheel of a grist-mill located hard by. Doubtless it was simply the reappearance of a lost river, a phenomenon not uncommon in such sections. Our usual camping-place was near one of these ever-flowing springs, so that one essential to health, viz., good water, was not lacking. The villages, of which there were many, I remem- ber thinking no addition to the beauties of the country. Watts' hymn seemed applicable here, for while every prospect pleased, man and his village works alone were vile. They were com- posed of tumble-down houses. zot made so by the vicissitudes of war, but wearing a down-at-the-heel look which seemed natural. another of the legitimate results of slavery's curse. At Strasburg we bade good-by to the railroad grading, whose railless and bridgeless track had constantly reminded us of the devastations of war. One village. however, held a bright place in our memories, for in passing through Woodstock, we saw two girls, apparently in their teens, sitting on the steps in front of the house, and actually having small Union flags pinned upon their breasts. We were not slow in discovering this patriotic display nor in makizz our appreciation known. To the credit of the guards be it said that, though seemingly much chagrined at this proceeding. they did not disturb the girls in their sympathy, nor us in our sentiments. This place must have a sort of political contrariness. for it is now the home of a Virginian Republican senator. viz .. H. H. Riddleberger. Near- ly twenty-four years afterward. passing through the same re-
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gion, I found that peace has won for the valley great victories. Those who saw these villages then would not recognize them now. Progress has taken them in hand and thrift is evident everywhere.
Our guards I have thought a little above the average Con- federate soldier, and in our bivouacs it was no uncommon thing for us to hold with them very animated discussions, always amicable, except when the negro was debated. On one occasion, words had run pretty high, when the gray-jacket thought to clinch an argument by the threadbare question: "How would you like to have your sister or mother marry a nigger?" There was no delay in bluecoat's rejoinder, "Well enough, if they wanted to, and how can I tell but what your mother did." There were a bayonet thrust, a sudden retreat, and no more argument that day. One youngish guard quite made me homesick by saying in my hearing one Sunday, "Oh, dear! If I was only at home down in Alabama; wouldn't I take a ride to-day!" This and other remarks showed mne how similar in tastes we were and how absurd a war between brothers was. Personally I had very little to complain of. Once, however, as we filed into a field where we were to camp I laid hold of a piece of rail to burn in subsequent cooking op- erations. "Drop that rail!" shouted a guard. I affected not to hear, or to think that I was not the "Yank" referred to, and so clung to the coveted bit of timber. When, however, the second command came, coupled with a threat to shoot and the clicking of a cocking hammer, I dropped the stick. Just why he was so very particular at that time I don't know, for there was little hesitation on the part of friend or foe to burn the farmers'fences. In fact, the rage of one Virginian planter on this expedition is vividly recalled. He came upon us and soundly berated the rebels for burning his rails, which he had only just put in place after a previous destruction by Union forces. Thus it was, as a Confederate sympathizer has since told me, "The Confederates robbed us because they thought we ought to be willing to part with everything for the good of the cause, while the Union forces took all they could get as spoils of war."
There could not be 600 and more men thus gathered together and no peculiar characters appear among them. Of our party perhaps the most conspicuous were two men of the "Ninth."
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known as "Old G. and T." Both must have lied roundly as to their ages when they were enlisted, for they certainly looked to be nearly sixty years old. They stuck by each other, mak- ing common cause against us younger men, but frequently quarreling with each other. On one occasion our purveyor had dealt out to us a quantity of beef's lights or lungs for food. Now be it known that however hungry I may have been, I never liked that kind of meat, but these two old soldiers would eat all they could get, and would even fight over the division of the share that fell to them. So loud ran the dis- cussion that we gradually fell to listening, and were not a little pleased at hearing G. say, "T., you old d-l, you! if it wasn't for exposing you, I'd tell this whole camp how you used to steal turkeys;" and this shouted at the top of his voice. They never heard the last of it till prison rigors closed the ears of both in silent death.
Eight miles north of Staunton we made our first camp at what was called the Willow Spout, a beautiful spring gushing out constantly from the side of a hill, and I have recently learned that it is flowing now as then, and still bearing the same name. Here a starlit night shut down upon us, cold as Virginian nights always were. M. J. and I made our beds as usual, with one rubber blanket under and another over us. The sleep that tired youth secures so easily, speedily came and sealed our eyelids. How late it was that I awoke and found the rain falling pitilessly I have no means of knowing, but the whole camp seemed aroused, and dripping men were walking about in all sorts of disconsolate moods. Some had secured a quantity of wood and had started a great fire, giving comfort to one part of their bodies at a time. Save my face I was as dry as ever. Drawing my head in like a turtle I flattered my. self that I should sleep till morning and be not a whit worse for the rain. Alas! About this time my companion began to nestle about and thereby to derange the covering. I be- sought him to keep still, but he exclaimed, "I am in a hollow, and a stream of water is running under me. Can't you move along?" To do this would simply put me in a similar predic- ament, and so I declined. Misery loves company; keep still he wouldn't, and he continued to pull and haul till in sheer dos. peration I sprang up, taking the covers with me, and in a very short time was as wet as the rest, which means that I was
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as wet as I could be. I then crowded with others about the fire, imagining that in our discomfort we were not unlike the pictures that I had seen of Napoleon at the burning of Moscow, our unhappy groups about the fire suggesting that cheerless scene. Why, some of our men slopped around that night till they passed the weary and saturated guard and so escaped, while one or two fellows became the butt of ridicule among their associates, for, wandering outside, they tried to come into camp again, but were hailed by the vigilant guard, who let them in only after hearing their piteous plea, "We're prison- ers." Was there ever before such honesty?
The morning brought sunshine and in its drying rays we forgot the misery of the night. It was here that I found the first Confederate who did not use tobacco. Just outside the line he stood and proffered the weed for whatever the prisoners had to barter, and however poor we were it seemed as though there never was a time when somebody could not find some- thing to trade off for this narcotic consolation. I expressed my astonishment at his not using tobacco, and he admitted that there was reason for my wonder. He said he always drew his rations of the article and then made the most possible from them by trading and selling. I didn't particularly care to flatter him, but I remember thinking him the best-looking "Confed." whom I had seen.
After a while we march out and are off for our last tramp be- fore going aboard the cars. Of Staunton we get very little notion save the name. The train, such as it is, is soon in readiness for us and we are loaded into stock cars. So, in spite of our- selves, in one respect, at least, we go counter to Longfellow's advice, for we are-
"Like dumb, driven cattle."
However, after our 200 miles' walk, we were not fastidious as to modes of conveyance, and the most of us gave ourselves to sleep at once. During the trip we pass under the Blue Ridge by means of a tunnel nearly a mile in length. Just as our car emerges an axle breaks, and a long delay follows, improved by many in picking blackberries, whose vines, of the running variety, cover the ground about the track. Cups, and pails even, are brought into use, and our last dish of fruit for the season is had. Of course we have only a general notion of our direction, knowing that our trend is southward.
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Late in the afternoon we pass a peculiar, wide-reaching build- ing, which from its pictures I recognize as the University of Virginia, and I know that we must be in Charlottesville. Afar on a hill-top we can make out the home of Thomas Jefferson, known in history as Monticello. I think how little the great Virginian recks of the turmoils into which his country has fallen. Within sight of Jefferson's "Pet," the university, and almost under the shadow of his home, I sleep the sleep of the just, lying upon a chip-pile hard by the railroad track. In the morning we resume our journey again by rail, and soon are go- ing towards the south. This day's ride ends with our arrival at Lynchburg. The James river, wide and shallow, goes tum- bling along over its rocky bottom, quite different from the deep and muddy stream with whose lower waters we are fa- miliar. We debark and march up seemingly endless hills. We go a long way to the outskirts of the city, and finally find rest in a large tobacco warehouse, owned then, I have learned, by Mr. Charles Massie, a man who lost everything in the war. It was and is on the corner of Twelfth and Polk streets. Along the way I note the omnipresence of the tobacco trade. In some places is seems to be the chief industry, while man and boy ap- parently are doing their best to make way with as much as possible of the weed. For the first time in my life I see small boys, scarcely out of pinafores, smoking with all the composure of old stagers.
In this building we remain two nights and one day. Here I received the only blow ever given me by a foe, and in this way: In the night I arose and started for the door. "Go back," says the guard, and he follows the command by a smart rap over my head with his bayonet. I had not noticed a line of men in waiting, behind which I should have placed myself, only a small number being allowed out at a time. Hastily retreating, I muttered imprecations that were not at all pleasing to his rebel highness, and he suggested shooting unless I subsided. I think my remarks were in some way to the effect that nothing would give me greater pleasure than to encounter him in some retired spot where the chances were more nearly equal. However, my feelings, more than my head. were injured, and they event- ually recovered their accustomed serenity.
On the second morning we were again loaded upon the cars, and are once more nearing our final destination. Now a road
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reaches down directly south from Lynchburg, but then we had to take an almost easterly course, going through a country which in less than a year was to be in everybody's mouth as the scene of the collapse of the Rebellion, Lee's surrender and the climax of Grant's career. We may have stopped at Appo- mattox, but I do not remember it. We certainly halted at Farmville, but so slow is our course in our rattle-box cars, and over a road that has long been a stranger to repairs, that it is fully night before we reach Burksville. Whether our destina- tion was Richmond or the extreme South, we had no means of knowing, but when the train, after much switching, changes its direction, we know that we are to be strangers to Belle Isle and Libby, and so resign ourselves to prospects of Salisbury and Andersonville.
But we are to be happily disappointed. With the first streak- ings of day, on July 29th, '64, we stop at a village which we are told is Danville, and we learn that it is the largest place in Pittsylvania county, Virginia. Later we are marched through the streets of what might be even to us, were we not prisoners, a beautiful place. The flowers looked fresh and blooming as we filed along. They were the last that I was to see that season, the very last that many of my friends ever saw. Feeling much as I have thought the caged animals in a caravan procession feel as they return the curious glances of idling throngs, we wended our way through the town, objects of much interest to the natives, who rushed from breakfast- getting or eating to look at the first arrival of the live "Yanks" who had come so many hundred strong to make Danville their involuntary home. Along the principal streets we go, till we file to the right and come upon an open square or plaza having large brick warehouses on three sides. Into the first of these, called No. 1, lying between the square and the Dan river, we are led or driven. As I await my turn to enter I have time to note the river, the cook-house near, and the building itself, three stories high with an attic, into which as many men are crowded as it can possibly hold. We realize that we have escaped some- thing in not going to the stockades, but what misery might be yet within those walls, the future had not revealed. In single file we pass in, carefully numbered, and are forced along, filling the upper places first, till the old warehouse seems crowded to suffocation. Only the enlisted men enter here. The officers
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DANVILLE, VA.
NATIONAL CEMETERY. PRISON NO. 3. ACROSS THE RIVER.
PRISON NO. 6.
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are consigned to another building. The last man passes in. The door is shut, locked and barred. Men with guns guard the places of egress even then, and, as never before, we realize that we are in Prison.
IN A REBEL PRISON; OR, EXPERIENCES IN DANVILLE, VA.
"When I was in prison!" How many people I have seen shrink away from me on my uttering this expression; but the appendix "rebel prison" invariably draws from them the words, "What! were you in a rebel prison? In what prison, and how long? How did they use you?".
From intense aversion, the expression has changed to one of the utmost interest, and there are indications of awakening sympathy when I reply, "Yes, in Danville, Va. Between seven and eight months, and as well as they could; but their best was bad enough." The men, captured at Monocacy, Md., by foot and rail, have finally reached the most considerable place in southern Virginia, and on the morn of July 29th, 1864, the heavy prison door opens and shuts upon our party. I have always rated the total number entering the building at about 600. Of these prisoners, 106 were members of my regiment.
On the 19th of the following February, when we parted from our prison house, I was one of forty-five "Ninth" men who joy- fully set their faces northward. It does not follow that the difference in numbers represented deaths in Danville, for there had been two exchanges of sick; but more than one-quarter of our "boys" were left in Virginian graves. Just twenty- seven out of our 106 succumbed to prison hardships, and in dying found their release. Of those sent northward in August and October, many were stopped at Richmond, and in "Libby," or on Belle Isle, found the fate escaped in Danville. Others, reaching the Federal lines, barely had strength to greet their friends, and then they, too, ceased from earth. It is a very moderate estimate to claim that fully one-half our number fell victims, in less than a year, to the results of our imprisonment. Then, too, any prisoner who had passed beyond the period of boyhood never fully recovered from his months of hunger, cold and anxiety. When, at the end of the following April, I rejoined my regiment and a comrade undertook to tell me how much I had escaped through my capture, I quite silenced
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him by asking if any company had lost more than half its men during my absence; if the Valley campaign, hard though it was, had resulted in the death of one-quarter of the mem- bers of the regiment. In the National cemetery at Winchester, thirty-eight comrades from the Ninth are sleeping; but they are the dead from Opequon and Cedar Creek, with those who died from disease during the fall. I make this comparison solely to show the extreme mortality among men in a condition of unnatural confinement with scant sustenance.
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