USA > Ohio > Franklin County > Columbus > The story of Camp Chase; a history of the prison and its cemetery, together with other cemeteries where Confederate prisoners are buried, etc > Part 28
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I told him then of the mother that was lying dead in our poor little home.
"You've been working to keep that sick mother for a good while, haven't you, Johnny ?"
I nodded assent. I could not say much.
"Well, run on home," said he, "and come back in a couple of hours. Have you got a place to bury her?" he asked as I was hastening away.
"Yes," I replied. "Some society in the city will see to that."
"All right," he answered. "Tell them, Johnny, that we are going to get the coffin."
And they did-those great, rugged, fearless, fighting veterans of the Hoosier State; they bought the finest coffin that could be gotten in Mobile.
"Johnny's maw," said one lank, tow-headed private, "Johnny's maw isn't goin' to be put away in no unpainted coffin ; there's goin' to be some trimmin's on this one, ef we hev to stand the sutler off." The sutler got a goodly portion of Lige Davis's pay ; but poor, weak Lige meant all right.
When it was all over I went to camp and lived with them, and they made me a little blue suit out of a Federal uniform and pro- posed that when they went home I should go with them, and they would see that I should have a home and a chance to go to school. I went with them and had a home with one Jim, a mem- ber of the regiment, who seemed to think well of me. His wife was a mother to me during the short time I lived with them. Jim took home with him an unfortunate habit that got him in trouble more than once in the army. When sober, Jim was a kind man ; when he took to drinking, he was a demon. The poor wife had hoped that he would return to her free from the grip of the monster.
It was less than a month after he returned that he went to the county seat and came home the wild beast. I got out of bed to put his horse away, and then he proposed to beat me. I eluded him and hid until he was asleep. That night I packed my few belongings and in the morning I said good-by to the poor woman,
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whom I knew would have been better off with Jim asleep on some battlefield.
I have often thought there is many a Jim that is only a poor old drunkard hanging on to life that might have been a dead hero had the leaden messenger only have come; but I'm preach- ing a sermon now instead of telling my story, so I'll go on.
I had heard of a man by the name of McFarland, who was good to homeless boys, and inquired the way to his house. The snow lay deep in fields and wood, and I trudged on and learned that McFarland was in his woods hauling logs. When I drew near. I saw he was struggling with a big log that was too much for him. I grasped a handspike lying near, and in a moment the log was on the sled. He looked at me a moment and asked: "Who are you?"
I told him who I was and what I wanted. He stood whistling softly to himself a few moments, and cried to the horses : "Get up !"
When we got out of the woods he turned one way and I an- other. I felt the lump rising again that was there when mother died, but I did not say a word.
Presently I heard him shout : "Where the devil are you going?" "To hunt a home," I called back.
"I thought you wanted to live with me?"
"You didn't tell me" --- I began.
"Don't stand there in the snow jawing about it. Come on !"
I helped him to put the horses away, and then we went to the house, where supper was waiting. And O such a supper ! In fancy I catch the odor from the kitchen often, and I'm hungry in a moment.
"Mother," said he, "this is a little Johnny Reb that the Sixty- Ninth brought home from Mobile. Do you suppose we can find a place for him?"
"We have always a place for a good boy," she answered gently.
I lived with them eight years, going to school in winter and working on the farm in summer. I became a school-teacher and later came to Ohio and bought out a Democratic newspaper in Piqua ; and, as you know, I am Secretary to the Board of Man- agers of the Ohio Penitentiary, and all I have on earth I owe to those Indiana soldiers.
Such was the story Newman told the newspaper man, and later the newspaper man had a story for him.
There came to the Ohio Penitentiary one day in summer a man whose name was given as Samuel Miller. The reporter met him and was impressed with the rugged, honest face of the man ; and when he had learned the story of his supposed crime.
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he was impressed with the old man's innocence. It was a real estate deal and a few political enemies that made it possible for this man, who had fought for his country in the Mexican War and the war of the sixties, to be a convict.
It was a legal outrage, and the reporter set about helping the old man. The strange thing about it was that he did not go at once to Newman; but he forgot the story of the newsboy for the time being, but later, recalling it, he went to the clerk of the Board and said there was an Indiana soldier in the penitentiary who was innocent. The pretended crime was committed in Greenville, Darke County, Ohio, although the accused lived in Indiana. Finally Newman took the matter up; but only a day or two were left, as Governor Campbell was to leave the office and he (New- man) would soon be supplanted.
The old soldier convict was sent for. When he came into the presence of the Secretary, he stood with bared head.
"You are Number
"Yes, sir," answered the old man.
"Your name is Miller?"
"Yes, sir; Samuel Miller."
"You were an Indiana soldier, I am told."
"Yes, sir."
"What regiment?" asked Newman.
"I was captain of Company B, Sixty-Ninth Indiana."
"What?" asked Newman, excitedly.
The prisoner repeated the statement.
"Did you ever hear of 'Johnny' Newman? The boys called him Johnny."
"The little Rebel bootblack?" inquired the prisoner.
"Yes, the little Rebel bootblack."
"I knew the boy well. Some one of the regiment took him home with him; but I wouldn't know him, it's been so long."
"It's been a long time, has it not?"
"A long time, yes." And the prisoner looked away with misty eyes.
"Captain Sam Miller," spoke the Secretary sharply to hide the break in his voice, "Captain, I am that little Rebel bootblack, and I'm going to get you out of this place."
"Are you little Johnny? Are you-are you really? And the old man was shivering as with the ague.
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Then the Secretary put his arms around the old man, who was . sobbing pitifully. "Go back and take it easy," he was saying. "I'm going to see Governor Campbell right now."
The Governor was alone, and Newman said: "I've come for a favor that I must have."
"I haven't an office left, Newman. Mckinley will have them all to-morrow."
"I don't want an office; I want something better." And then he told the Governor the story.
The Governor sat a moment musing, a far-away look in his eyes, and said: "Tell the old man that you will hand him his pardon in the morning."
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE END AT LAST.
A Hero or a Dunce-The Story of a Spy-He Was Captured at Newark, Ohio-Sentenced to Be Hung-How It Ended-One Hundred Dollars Reward Offered for a Prisoner-Dangers of the Ice Bridge-The Death of Lincoln-Colonel Hill Announced It-His Letter to the Sandusky Sentinel-The Money of the Prisoners in Bank-A Pathetic Poem-Going Home at Last-A Visit to Johnson's Island in 1904- The End.
THE Sandusky Register, the only source of information con- . cerning the events at Johnson's Island, told a seemingly incred- ible story. It was on January 13, 1865. The paper stated that on the preceding day there arrived in Sandusky a pleasant-ap- pearing, honest-faced, intelligent young man, who inquired for the provost marshal. He was directed to that functionary, who listened in surprise to the young man's story. He informed the official that he was Lieutenant McClung, of the First Tennessee Artillery. He was captured by General Stoneman December 14, 1864, and paroled by the General to report in Knoxville, which he did. At this point General Carter paroled him. He was allowed to go wherever he wished in the city, and this parole was good for forty-eight hours. He was then sent to Louisville under guard. How long he remained there, or under whose charge, the volunteer prisoner did not state. He had been in- · formed, however, that his destination was Johnson's Island.
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He had remained in Louisville as long as he felt it his duty to stay, when he was expected at that former summer resort on Lake Erie; and without waiting for Uncle Sam to provide him with passes on the railroads, and to arrange for his board and lodging, he set out one morning from Louisville and reached Sandusky January 12, by way of Cleveland.
He had traveled by easy stages, and no one in the North had an idea that he was a Confederate officer traveling leisurely to prison. The astonished provost marshal, not to be outdone by a "Johnny," had the gentleman from Alabama remain in the city
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until after dinner, as the menu at the West House was somewhat superior to that in the "Bull Pen."
Lieutenant McClung did not ask for an escort to the island, nor did he need it; but Provost Marshal Jenny thought he should at least have a guard of honor, and thus the young man went to the island.
This story sounds somewhat "fishy" after forty years have elapsed to think it over, but it was told in all seriousness by a paper which at that time preferred to consider a Confederate in the light of heavy man or villain instead of leading man or hero in the national tragedy then being played. If Lieutenant McClung is yet living, the author suggests his writing to the Confederate Veteran.
From Newark, Ohio, a dispatch went out to the country say- ing that Lieutenant Davis, of the Confederate army, had been arrested at that place. He was on the South-bound train. He had lately been in Canada, and was making for the South via Washington.
At Newark he was to change cars, take the Central Ohio to Wheeling, and the Baltimore and Ohio from there to Washing- ton. As he stepped from the train the provost marshal of New- ark placed him under arrest. The superintendent of the San- dusky, Mansfield, and Newark Railway was on the train, and being told who the man was, had sent a dispatch from Mt. Ver- non, Ohio, requesting his arrest.
The arrest which ended his career as a spy was brought about through a memory of his face by two men who had been in Andersonville Prison. Among the thousands in that dreadful stockade were Archibald Parker, a young fellow of some eight- een years of age, who belonged to the Sixteenth Illinois Cavalry, and Frank Beverstock, of Lexington, Ohio, a well-known busi- ness man of that village, who had gone into the army. Both of these men had been taken prisoner, and both had been in Andersonville during a period that Lieutenant Davis was there as one of the officials.
At Monroeville young Parker caught sight of the man whom he had seen frequently down in Georgia, and he immediately boarded the train and took a seat near the Southerner, with a
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view to having him arrested at some point where there were United States officials.
The train on its way South passed through Lexington, the home of Beverstock, who boarded the train there on his way to Columbus. Lieutenant Davis was indifferently watching the landscape and the villages through which they passed, little dreaming that there was any one in Ohio that would know him, and that there sat near him a young man who seldom took his eyes from him. Beverstock entered the car and, walking down the aisle looking for a convenient seat, dropped into that beside Davis. They entered into conversation in a casual manner, as travelers do, and presently Beverstock was impressed with the idea that he had met this gentleman before somewhere, and be- gan to search his memory for the time and place. It soon dawned upon him that his companion was none other than the lieutenant he had often seen at Andersonville, and he asked: "What is your name, may I ask?"
"My name is Cummings, and I live in Canada," replied the Southerner, as he produced a pass or letter permitting him to visit the United States.
"I imagined I had met you before," answered Beverstock.
"Is that so? Where, may I ask?"
"At Andersonville Prison."
"Where is that?"
"It is supposed to be next door to hell," said Beverstock sharp- ly, "but it is in Georgia."
"In what way do you connect me with that place?" asked Davis, as he made an attempt to treat the matter indifferently.
"I think your name is Davis, and that you were the lieutenant that visited the prison every day," replied Beverstock.
"It is one of those cases where one man closely resembles an- other," answered the lieutenant.
Nothing more was said just then, and presently Beverstock observed Superintendent Stewart, of the S., M., and N. road, and remarked to Davis: "There is a man I do know. Excuse me, I wish to talk to him a few moments."
Davis was quite willing to excuse his inquisitive acquaintance, but began to get uneasy. As Beverstock arose to go to see the superintendent, he caught sight of young Parker motioning to
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him. Beverstock and Parker had never met, although both were in prison at Andersonville at the same time. .
"Are you with that man?" asked Parker, as Beverstock drew near.
"I am not with him, exactly, but I don't intend to let him out of my sight."
"Neither do I intend to let him out of my sight until something is done," said the young man.
"Do you know him?" asked Beverstock.
"I do; he was an officer at Andersonville."
"Were you ever in Andersonville?" asked Beverstock.
"You bet I was, and I know that man."
"I know him too, and we'll get him," said the man from Lex- ington.
The superintendent of the road was informed quietly of the · find, and when the train pulled into Mt. Vernon he went to the telegraph office and sent word to the provost marshal to be at the train on its arrival.
Both Beverstock and Parker kept a sharp watch on Davis, and when Newark was reached the provost official stepped up to the stranger and said : "You are my prisoner."
The valise owned by Lieutenant Davis was searched, a dozen pairs of ladies' kid gloves were found, and an old Testament on the fly leaf of which was written, "Winchester, September 7th, 1862," and on another leaf a mess account dated at a camp near Charleston, S. C.
He finally owned up, told his name, and was sent to Columbus for further examination. The next public record found in the papers concerning Lieutenant Davis was in the Ohio State Jour- nal of February 1, which said :
The Rebel spy, Lieutenant Davis, captured on the Sandusky passenger train, has been tried by court-martial at Cincinnati. and found guilty of being a Confederate spy and ordered to be executed on Johnson's Island February 17. The finding of the court was approved by the President.
On February 3 the Sandusky Register announced :
It will be remembered that S. B. Davis, alias Willoughby Cummings, was arrested some two weeks ago near Newark. The specifications show that he was a spy in the service of the
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Confederacy, and the court so found, and he was sentenced to be hanged between the hours of 10 A. M. and 3 P.M. Friday, February 17. The Lieutenant was brought to the Island from Cincinnati the first of the week. At Monroeville he saw a lady enter the car who closely resembled a relative, and at sight of one who brought back thoughts of home and loved ones his pent-up feel- ings gave way, and, as if he were a child again and sorrowed at some childish care, the tears streamed down his cheeks.
On arriving at this city he begged the officer in charge to remove the irons from his wrists, which request was at once complied with, and he thus walked through the city and over the ice to the prison.
On the way over he was met by Lieutenant Calver, of the One Hundred and Twenty-Third Ohio Regiment, who recog- nized him as one of his old prison keepers. Lieutenant Calver said that he knew nothing of the treatment accorded the Union privates by Lieutenant Davis, but that he had been treated with courtesy and kindness by the Southern officers. On arriving at the Island Davis wrote to his personal friends and also to Pres- ident Lincoln, to whom he stated his case and asked for a reprieve.
January 6, 1865, the Detroit Tribune says :
Davis, at the time of his arrest, was on his way to Richmond to get a commission for Young, one of the St. Albans raiders. It was he who went to Richmond and brought back in safety Burleigh's commission, concerning which so much bluster was indulged in during the trial of the latter.
February 13 the Sandusky Register states :
The commandant of the Union forces at Sandusky gave notice to the papers that citizens will not receive permission to attend the execution of Lieutenant Davis.
On February 18 the same paper states :
The sentence of Lieut. S. B. Davis, Confederate spy, who was to have been executed yesterday, was changed to im- prisonment at Fort Delaware during the war. The order com- muting his sentence was not made known to him until nine o'clock yesterday, and at 9:30 he was on the train en route to his future place of confinement. He seemed confident from the first that he would not hang, but on Thursday his hopes and fears were about evenly balanced. The manner of making his fate known to him was conducted so quietly that he had no chance of thanking any one. He is a nephew of General Trimble, for merly President of the B. and O. Railroad, and not a nephew. as asserted, of the President of the Confederacy.
THE END AT LAST. 307
The subsequent fate of Lieutenant Davis is unknown to the writer. That his life was spared is known, and he and his friends owe it to the great heart of Lincoln.
On January 5, 1865, a prisoner, who by some means secured a complete Federal uniform, walked out of the prison with the guards attending the roll call. Of course in due time he was missed, but no one was able to tell where he was, and so the commandant offered a reward of one hundred dollars for his recapture.
Commenting upon this circumstance, the paper remarks :
Last April a search for Union uniforms was made, and several pairs of blue pants were found. Since that time repeated searches have been instituted for clothing and other contraband articles, and on several occasions blouses and fatigue caps were found, and it was supposed that everything had been removed, but at the muster and search yesterday afternoon over a dozen pairs of light blue pants and two fatigue caps were obtained. Some of the pants had recently been provided with stripes by the pris- oners in the style of officers of the Veteran Reserve Corps.
The Register of January 10 said :
Col. Daniel R. Hundley, Thirty-First Alabama, escaped from . Johnson's Island about 9:30 on the morning of the 2d inst., and on the morning of the 6th was captured by Peter Kessler at Fremont, Ohio. A reward of one hundred dollars had been offered by Colonel Hill for the capture of Colonel Hundley, which reward was paid to Mr. Kessler, who was very much pleased with the roll of greenbacks.
The reward of one hundred dollars was offered for the re- capture of Lieut. Rufus Jones. These escaping prisoners most always provide themselves with forged orders or passes ; doubt- less Lieutenant Jones had one.
Colonel Hundley undertook to pass himself off as Private Charles A. Whittier, and in aid of his plans provided himself with a special order on which the signature of Capt. J. F. Hunt- ington, A. A. A. G., was closely imitated, announcing that "Pri- vate Charles A. Whittier is hereby detailed for special duty in Detroit. He is ordered to report forthwith to the provost mar- shal of that place."
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The Colonel is a man of great intelligence and of high literary attainments. Kessler had been a member of the old Eighth Ohio, and had seen too many Southerners to be taken in by the Colonel's papers or United States clothing.
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The Sandusky Register of December 4, 1863, said :
There are now two thousand five hundred and thirty-six offi- cers of the Confederate army at Johnson's Island. Packages for them are daily arriving from all parts of the North contain- . ing clothing, boots, game, wine, food, and all kinds of luxuries. In this way their imprisonment has been the most utter farce, while our soldiers have been almost starved at Richmond. These things were permitted for a while, but are changed. now. The packages are now confiscated and sold, or given away to the soldiers of the post. All prisoners will be denied any but ordi- nary rations.
A burying ground for the prisoners has recently been laid out under the supervision of Gen. Jeff Thompson, and has been neatly fenced in. Deaths occur at the rate of from one to three a day. Whenever a prisoner dies, he is buried by six of his comrades, who carry the body to its assigned place, dig a shallow grave (for the limestone strata prevents digging graves more than three feet), and quietly inter their comrade.
The Register of April 8, 1865, said:
Thomas F. Berry, the spy who murdered a fellow-prisoner at Johnson's Island sometime ago, together with nine witnesses from the prison, left yesterday for Cairo, from which point he will be sent through the lines for trial in some one of the States in revolt. We may be mistaken, but it seems no more than right that he should be held for trial in the county where the offense was committed. He was taken away in irons, and seemed the most dejected person of the entire party.
No previous notice of this affair could be found in the papers. Who he killed was not mentioned, nor the occasion for the kill- ing. By following the files of this paper closely, one is enabled to gather a deal of the unwritten history of Johnson's Island.
This history was merely local items of occurrences as they happened. Often, as Lieutenant Cunningham, in his interesting story, "Plain Living at Johnson's Island," wrote: "The paper pub- lished a story one day and contradicted or changed it afterwards." This was well put, but even at that there is a deal of history gathered in three years by a live daily paper.
The author of the Century Article and the Register were evi- dently not of the same opinion concerning the appearance of the prisoners mustered for exchange during the spring of 1865.
The Register of February 25, 1865, stated :
· Yesterday three hundred prisoners were brought over from
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Johnson's Island and were immediately loaded upon the Sandusky, Mansfield, and Newark train for Point Lookout, for exchange. They were a hearty, healthy-looking set of men, giving no evi- dence of starvation. They embraced all classes, from lieutenants to colonels. They were chosen for exchange in the order of their priority of capture. This squad makes something over five hundred who have left for exchange. There yet remains on the Island nearly two thousand five hundred, many of whom are of high rank. Most of these are anxious to be exchanged, but their anxiety is greater to return to their suffering families than to the army.
But few of them have any confidence in the success of their cause, and these few base their faith not in their own ability to achieve their independence, but upon foreign assistance.
Many of those that left yesterday were well-dressed, and all seemed comfortably clad. For months there had been a great crystal bridge between Sandusky and the Island. That stern king, the north wind, had built it, and marching squadrons in blue and heart-weary hosts in gray passed over it. Then about March I the sun broke through the gray clouds, and the south wind laughed at Jack Frost, and the bridge without piers began to give way.
Going from Sandusky to Cedar Point March I were four men in a sleigh. One of these was a soldier mail carrier. Horse, sleigh, and all went down into the icy waters. In some myste- rious manner three men escaped, but the mail carrier went down to death.
It was on the morning of that day that the commandant of the Island made known to Lieut. Col. Thomas M. Atkins and Capt. Vincent G. Wynne, prisoners of war, that they had been chosen to go to Camp Douglas, near Indianapolis, where was a large depot for Confederate privates, and distribute to them quantities of clothing. This clothing was a portion of the proceeds of a cotton sale at New York, which sale had been made for that pur- pose. The suggestion was made that the ice bridge was now considered unsafe, and if they were content to wait a few days boats would be running. Naturally the Confederate officers sug- gested that they must wait his convenience; but if they were to choose they would go at once, as the men in Camp Douglas were suffering for clothing. Colonel Hill thought his men not less daring than the prisoners, and made the detail to accompany the officers to Indianapolis. The facts were, it was not a detail, but ,a chance for an officer and ten men to accompany these Confed-
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erates. Many more volunteers came forward than were needed, but ten were selected, and out they went upon the breaking ice. It was an escape, pure and simple ; the ice was creaking, and no one knew what moment a great seam would open, or at what ·· time they might be left upon an island of ice. It was a "heart disease" march, but they finally landed at Sandusky in safety.
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