Richmond, Va., January 6th, 1863.Dear Father—I take the opportunity of writing by a paroled prisoner, to let you know that I am well, and doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. I have seen some rather hard times, but the worst is past. Our lives are now safe, but we will be kept during the war, unless something lucky turns up for us. There are six of our original railroad party here yet. Seven were executed in June, and eight escaped in October.I stand the imprisonment pretty well. The worst of it is to hear of our men getting whipped so often. I hear all the news here; read three or four papers a day. I even know that Bingham was beat in the last election, for which I am very sorry.The price of everything here is awful. It costs thirty cents to send a letter. This will account for my not writing to all my friends. Give my sincere love to them, and tell them to write to me.You may write by leaving the letter unsealed, putting in nothing that will offend the Secesh, and directing to Castle Thunder, Richmond, Virginia. I want to know the private news—how many of my friends have fallen. Also tell who has been drafted in our neighborhood, who married, and who like to be. Also if you have a gold dollar at hand, slip it into the letter—not more, as it might tempt the Secesh tohookit. I have tried to send word through to you several times before, but there is now a better chance of communicating since we came from Atlanta to Richmond. Mother, (here referring to religious experience.) * * * * * * *No doubt you all would like to see me again, but let us have patience; many a better man than I am has suffered more, and many parents are mourning for their children without the hope of seeing them again. So keep your courage up, and do not be uneasy about me. Write as soon as you can, and tell all my friends to do the same.Ever yours,William Pittenger.ToThomas Pittenger,New Somerset, Jefferson county, Ohio.
Richmond, Va., January 6th, 1863.Dear Father—I take the opportunity of writing by a paroled prisoner, to let you know that I am well, and doing as well as could be expected under the circumstances. I have seen some rather hard times, but the worst is past. Our lives are now safe, but we will be kept during the war, unless something lucky turns up for us. There are six of our original railroad party here yet. Seven were executed in June, and eight escaped in October.
I stand the imprisonment pretty well. The worst of it is to hear of our men getting whipped so often. I hear all the news here; read three or four papers a day. I even know that Bingham was beat in the last election, for which I am very sorry.
The price of everything here is awful. It costs thirty cents to send a letter. This will account for my not writing to all my friends. Give my sincere love to them, and tell them to write to me.
You may write by leaving the letter unsealed, putting in nothing that will offend the Secesh, and directing to Castle Thunder, Richmond, Virginia. I want to know the private news—how many of my friends have fallen. Also tell who has been drafted in our neighborhood, who married, and who like to be. Also if you have a gold dollar at hand, slip it into the letter—not more, as it might tempt the Secesh tohookit. I have tried to send word through to you several times before, but there is now a better chance of communicating since we came from Atlanta to Richmond. Mother, (here referring to religious experience.) * * * * * * *
No doubt you all would like to see me again, but let us have patience; many a better man than I am has suffered more, and many parents are mourning for their children without the hope of seeing them again. So keep your courage up, and do not be uneasy about me. Write as soon as you can, and tell all my friends to do the same.Ever yours,William Pittenger.ToThomas Pittenger,New Somerset, Jefferson county, Ohio.
We remained in this prison, reading of the victories of Southern rebels, and the doings of Northern traitors, until the first of February. At that time they wanted our range of rooms for a hospital. This range was not adapted to the purpose, but was at least as good as the garret above, where all who went were sure of death.
Disease was now making fearful havoc. The small-pox prevailed to a frightful extent, and the whole town was alarmed. Men were dying around us every day; none of our party was infected, but many of the Tennesseeans were. It was no wonder that they found it necessary to extend their hospitals, for the treatment we received was well calculated to make the hardiest men sink beneath their trials. But these fearful ravages of pestilence did at least the good of securing our removal from the pen in which we had been confined. At first we were taken to the bedlam I have described before; and even this was better than the loneliness andennuiof our strict confinement.
It seemed like freedom by contrast. We now had a fire also—a luxury which one who has beenfreezingfor two months knows well how to appreciate. It is true it did not warm half the people around it, and these had not the courtesy of our brethern in the Libby; yet it was a great thing to be occasionally warm.
The amusements of our new friends were striking, if not elegant. When a dense crowd would gather round the fire, some mischievous Irishman would cry out, "Char-rge, me boys;" and, with his confederates, rush against the mass, knocking men in all directions, upsetting pots, skinning elbows, and spoiling tempers generally. Fights were of frequent occurrence, and it only needed the addition of intoxicating liquor to constitute a perfect pandemonium.
The evenings were a compensation. After the turmoil of the day was over, and most of those who had blankets had retired to rest, a party of the worst rowdies, who had been annoying us all day, would gather around the stove, and appear in a new character—that of story-tellers. I have spent the greater part of the night in listening to them, and have heard some of the finest fairy tales, and most romantic legends. But the approach of day put an end to all the romantic disposition of my companions, and left them ill ruffians as before.
We soon wearied of this perpetual ferment, and petitioned to be put below in the room with the Union men. After some delay it was granted, and then came a more pleasant part of my prison life. The room was large, but dark, and the windows not only secured by crossing bars, but woven over with wires. The refuse tobacco-stems of the manufactory had been thrown in this room, till they covered the floor to a depth of several inches.
But to compensate for these disagreeable accompaniments of our new apartment, it had a stove, and was warm; so that the terrible suffering with the cold, which none can appreciate but those who have endured, was now at an end. There was also good society here—nearly a hundred Union men from different parts of the South—all intensely patriotic, and many of them possessing great intelligence. In talking with these men, and hearing their adventures and opinions, I passed many a pleasant hour, and gained a great insight into the views of Southern Unionists.
One of these, who became an intimate friend, was a Scotchman, named Miller. When the war commenced, he was residing in Texas, and witnessed the manner in which that State was precipitated into secession. The first part of the plan was to excite rumors of a contemplated slave insurrection; then the conspirators would place poison and weapons in certain localities, and find them, as if by accident. This was continued till the public mind was in a perfect ferment. The next step was to take some slaves, and whip them until the torture made them confess their own guilt, and also implicate the leading opponents of secession. This was enough. The slaves and Unionists were hung together on the nearest tree, and all opposition to the nefarious schemes brutally crushed. Thus has slavery furnished the means of paving the way to treason!
Miller himself was taken, and after narrowly escaping the fate of his friends, was sent eastward to be tried as a traitor. He twice made his escape, once traveling over two hundred miles, and each time, when captured, telling a different story. Finally, he represented himself as a citizen from New York. When brought before Judge Baxter, the magistrate of Castle Thunder, for examination, he merely said:
"I told you all about my case before."
The judge, who was considerably intoxicated, thought that he had actually been examined before, and dismissed him without further questioning. He was brought up several times after that, but always gave them the same answer, thus keeping them completely deceived, and was at length exchanged.
I here became acquainted with a young man of the Potomac army, whom I shall call Charlie. He was employed to go near Richmond to fire a bridge, and collect important information. While executing his perilous mission, he was captured, with papers in his possession fully proving his character as a spy, and was despatched with a sergeant as escort, toward Richmond. While on the way, the sergeant, who was fond of liquor, got a chance to indulge, and became very careless. Charlie, watching his opportunity, slipped from the breast pocket of his guard the packet of papers containing his charges, with the directions for his disposal, and threw them into a pond by the wayside.
When he arrived at Richmond, the authorities did not know his character, and put him into the large room with the other prisoners, instead of confining him separately. When the evidence against him arrived, the commanding officer entered with a guard, and inquired for him. Now was his last chance for life, and well was it improved! It so happened that a man had died in the prison the night before, and Charlie at once responded:
"O! that fellow died last night," and pointed to the corpse.
"Died, has he! the rascal! We'd 'a hung him this week, and saved him the trouble if he'd only held on!" growled the officer, and departed.
Charlie was shortly after exchanged under thedead man's name!
Just when the discouragement of all lovers of their country was the greatest, resulting from the news of the rise and progress of the peace party in the North, a Tennessee Congressman visited our prison. He gathered the Tennesseeans around him, and urged them to return to their allegiance; stating that the Union cause was now hopeless, as it was abandoned even by the Northern States, which were in the hands of the Democrats, who would make peace on any terms; closing by asking them now todo right, take the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy, and go into its army, promising that all their previous obstinacy should be forgiven. The effect was wonderful! Listen, ye who cavil at the government, and while opposing its policy, still think you do no harm! These were loyal men, and had proved it by abandoning all for the cherished cause—many of them spending weary months in loathsome dungeons. Yet on hearing of the triumph of this faction, which promises to restore the Union by conciliating and wooing back the rebels, over one-half of them yielded, and gave that consent which neither danger nor suffering had been able to force from them! Thus were over twenty recruits from one room of one prison, obtained for the rebel army by the triumphs of Northern Democracy!
A part remained faithful, and this excited the ire of the secessionists. To punish them, Captain Alexander issued an order that all the menial service of the prison should be performed by Union men. Some obeyed the order, while others would not. But those who did the work complained that unwilling ones were not made to help them. To remedy this, a list was prepared, and the names taken in order. One of the first called was a Tennesseean, named McCoy. He answered boldly:
"I'm not going."
"What's the matter, now?" demanded the sergeant.
"I didn't come here to work; and if you can't board me without, you may send me home," replied the fearless man.
"Well! well! you'll be attended to," growled the sergeant, and proceeded with the roll. Four others likewise refused, and were reported to Captain Alexander, who at once ordered them to be put into "the cell." This was a dark place beside the open court, and only about four feet wide, by six or seven in length. It had no floor but the damp earth, and was destitute of light. Here they were informed that they should remain until they agreed to work.
We found another alternative for them.—There was a piece of file and a scrap of stove-pipe in our room, which we took, and buying a candle from the commissary, watched our opportunity, when taken out to wash, to slip them into the cell. As soon as these necessaries were received, the boys begun faithfully to dig their way out under the wall. All day and night they worked, but did not get through. The next day, we supplied them with another candle, and they labored on. Toward morning, they broke upward through the crust of the ground outside. The foremost one wormed his way out, and glided off. He was never heard from, and no doubt reached the Union lines. The next man was just under the wall, when the barking of a dog, that happened to be prowling around, drew the attention of the guard that way, and prevented his escape. But though the stampede was thus arrested, it was a lesson that prevented the confinement of any more in the cell.
Yet they were not content to give up the idea of making us their servants. I happened to be on the next list prepared. This time the task was to dig in Captain Alexander's garden, which we would have been obliged to perform with an armed guard standing over us.
Of course, we refused to go. As a punishment, we were ordered into the yard, which was only a vacant corner of the building, enclosed by high brick walls, on the top of which guards walked. It was a cold day in February, and was raining. We were nearly naked, having only the remnant of the rags that had already served for more than their time. The bottoms were out of my shoes, and the water stood in the yard several inches deep. The cold, wet wind, swept down with biting sharpness, and almost robbed us of sensation. We paced the narrow bounds, through the mud and water, until too weary to walk any more, and then resigned ourselves to our misery!
Here we remained from early in the morning till in the evening. They told us we would have to stay there till we agreed to work, or froze to death! The first we resolved never to do. The latter was prevented by relief from an unexpected source.
The old commissary, who had been so harsh to us when we first arrived, now went to Captain Alexander, and remonstrated with him for his cruelty.
Said he, "If you want to kill the men, and I know the rascals deserve it, do it at once. Hanging is the best way. But don't keep them there to die by inches, for it will disgrace us all over the world."
This logic produced a good effect, and the order was given to send us back to our room, which, with its warm fire, never seemed more pleasant. It was well they did not keep us out during the night, for we had determined to scale the wall, if we lost half of our number in the attempt.
The effects of that terrible day of freezing were soon visible. On entering the room, the grateful warmth produced a stupor from which most of us awoke, sick. Some died. I, myself, contracted a disease of the lungs, which rendered me an invalid for months after regaining my freedom.
One day we were ordered into line, and the names of all our railroad party, with a few of the others, called over. One, whose name was omitted, asked the reason of the omission. The officer answered:
"We can't tell, for this list came from Yankee land."
The mention of "Yankee land" started conjectures afloat thick and fast. Why should a list be sent from the North? Could it be for the purpose of exchange? The whole prison was in a ferment.
They soon discovered that a general exchange of political prisoners was in contemplation. This added fuel to the flames. But as the truce-boats went off one after another, and week after week passed by, leaving us still in our dark and wearisome prison, hope again died away. Every person who ventured to speak of exchange was laughed into silence.
One day an officer came into the room, and ordered a sergeant to take the name of every man who claimed United States protection, in order to obtain clothes for him. Soon the clothing came. It did not comprise a complete suit, but was extremely welcome. Never did I see a peacock strut with more ostentation than did some of the prisoners on donning the uniform. And it was worthy of pride. It was a token that we were not forsaken, but that a great nation was extending its protection over us. The ragged guards around, clad in their miserable butternut suits, growled many uncomplimentary allusions to the penuriousness of their own government, in contrast with the munificence of ours.
There were only about one hundredpartsof suits distributed, though the papers, the next day, stated the number atfivehundred! and this I afterward found was actually the number sent from Washington. The entire four hundred, and part of the last hundred, was kept by the officers as a compensation for their trouble in distributing them! But they certainly acted with more than their ordinary honesty in giving us any at all!
On the evening of the 17th of March, when we were sitting around the fire, lazily, but not indifferently, discussing the siege of Vicksburg, and laying many infallible plans by which it might be at once reduced, an officer entered, and gave the strange order for all "who wanted to go to theUnited Statesto come to the office!"
When I obeyed, it was with very little hope that there was really a chance once more to stand beneath the folds of our loved banner. Even when part of our room-mates had gone in, and signed the oath of parole, I feared that the good news wasonlyfor them. To test the matter, I went forward, and as I gave my name, fully expected to hear—"The engine-thieves can't go"—but no objection was made. For a moment a delicious hope thrilled through my veins—a vision of happiness and home, dazzling as a flash of summer lightning, shone before my eyes—but it instantly faded before the remembrance of our Atlanta deception.
It was announced that we were to start at four o'clock the next morning. The evening, as might be expected, was one of wild excitement. Nearly all acted like men bereft of reason. Their joyousness found vent in vociferous cheers—in dancing and bounding over the floor—in embracing each other, and pledging kind remembrances. But there were a few who were not permitted to go, and I pitied them. I remembered when we had been left by our comrades on our first arrival in Richmond, and my heart bled for these forsaken ones, as they sat cheerless and alone, seeming to feel even more wretched than ever, amid the general joy.
It was near midnight before we became calm enough to offer up our usual evening devotions. But when all were at length still, wearied out by the very excess of joy, and when the quietness that ever follows overwhelming emotions had settled down upon us, we knelt in prayer—a prayer of deep, strong, fervent thankfulness; and we implored that we might not be deceived in our bright and vivid hopes, and dashed back from our anticipated paradise; yet if such should be His high and mysterious will, and we should see these hopes fade, as others faded before them, we asked for strength to bear the trial. Thus composed, we laid down to sleep, and await the event.
Few eyes closed during the entire night. Fancy was too busy peopling her fairy landscapes—picturing the groups that awaited us beyond that boundary which, for nearly a year, frowned before us, gloomy and impassable as the silent river of death! But even as we muse, what unbidden fears spring up to darken the prospect, and stain the brightness of our joy! How many of those friends whose love was as our life, may be no more! For a year, not a whisper had been heard, and we trembled as we thought of the ravages of time and of battle. These and other thoughts whirled through our throbbing brains during that ever-memorable night, and were only broken by the summons of the commanding officer, who, long ere morning light, gave the thrilling order to—prepare for our journey!
Hurriedly we thronged to our feet. It was true! Freedom once more! Our terrible captivity was passed! O joy!JOY!—almost too wild and delirious for earth!
There was a hurrying around in the darkness illumined by the flashing of torch-lights—a discordant calling of names—a careful inspection to see that none went but those allowed; then, forming two lines in the courtyard, and with bounding hearts, we passedoutwardthrough the dreaded portals of Castle Thunder—the same portals we had passedinwardmore than three months before! passed out into the cool, butfreenight air!
We next marched through the muddy, unlighted streets for many squares. There were with us a number of sick, who were not willing to be left behind; and as the rebels refused to provide conveyances, we helped them—encircling them in our arms, and supporting their tottering steps during the weary distance. Some had to be carried altogether, but the burden was light, upborne, as we were, on the wings of hope and exultation.
After we were seated in the cars, we found in some Richmond papers the intelligence that "a large number of engine-thieves, bridge-burners, murderers, robbers, and traitors will leave this morning for the United States," also congratulating themselves on the riddance. Our congratulations were not less fervid!
We glided slowly along, passing fortifications and rifle-pits, till we arrived at Petersburg; then onward to City Point, the place of general exchange. Here, for the first time in eleven months, we saw the "flag of the free," floating in proud beauty from the truce-boat "State of Maine." It was a glad sight! Her undulating stars were fairer to us than the brightest constellations that ever sparkled in the azure fields above.
The grossest frauds are often practised by the unscrupulous secessionists in these exchanges. I will give a case that occurred at this time.
A rebel soldier was wounded in the head at the first battle of Manassas. It affected his brain, and disordered his intellect, so that even after he had recovered physically, he was mentally unable to perform the duties of a soldier. He was confined a short time in Castle Thunder, and then sent to Camp Lee, to try him again. But he was no better than before, and they gave up the attempt in despair. Then they exchanged him to us, and got asound manin his place!
When the boat rounded out from the shore on its homeward way, our joy knew no bounds. It seemed as if we had awakened from a hideous nightmare dream to find that all its shapes of horror and grinning fiends had passed away, and left us standing in the free sunlight once more. Our hearts beat glad music to the thresh of the wheels on the water, knowing that each ponderous stroke was placing a greater distance between us and our hated enemies.
Then, too, the happy welcome with which we were greeted; and the good cheer, so different from our miserable prison fare, and the kind faces, smiling all around, showed in living colors that we were freemen again.
Down the river we went, passing the historic ground of the James, as in a delirious dream of rapture! We were scarcely conscious of passing events. No emotion on earth has the same sweep and intensity as the wild, throbbing sensations that rush thick and fast through the bosom of the liberated captive!
On we went—reached the gunboats that ply up and down the river, like giant sentinels, guarding the avenue to rebellion—reached the river's mouth, passed onward up the bay to Washington! As we came in sight, we thronged tumultuously to the vessel's side, and bent eager, loving eyes on the snowy marble front, and white towering steeple of our nation's Capitol.
On our arrival, we were requested by the Secretary of War to give our depositions before Hon. Joseph Holt, Judge Advocate General, that the world at large might know on the surest foundation the truth of our narrative. We were received by the Judge himself, and Major-General Hitchcock, who was present, with the most marked cordiality. This interview was merely a friendly one, and was passed in familiar conversation.
On our second visit, we found a justice of the peace in waiting to administer the necessary oath, and also a phonographer to write our testimony. We were examined separately, and the result published officially in theArmy and Naval Gazette, and also in most of the newspapers of the day.
We then called on the Secretary of War, accompanied by our kind friends, Major-General Hitchcock and J. C. Wetmore, Ohio State Agent. Generals Sigel and Stahl, with many other distinguished personages, were in waiting, but we were given the preference, and at once admitted.
The Secretary conversed with us most affably for some time. Then going into another room, he brought outsix medals, (see engraving—all are similar,) and presented them to us, saying that they were the first ever given to private soldiers. Jacob Parrott, the boy who endured the terrible beating, received, as he well deserved, the first one.
The Medal.
He next presented us with one hundred dollars each, and ordered all arrearages to be paid, and the money and the value of the arms taken from us to be refunded.
This was not all. He requested Governor Todd to promote each of us to first lieutenants in the Ohio troops; and, if he failed to do so, promised to give us that grade in the regular army. We then received furloughs to visit our homes, and left his presence profoundly convinced that "republics are" not always "ungrateful."
We were then escorted by our friends to the Executive mansion, and had a most pleasing interview with our noble President. His kindness was equal to that of the Secretary. After relating to him some incidents of prison experience, and receiving his sympathizing comments, we took our leave.
And now—safe in a land of freedom—with the consciousness of having performed our duty—surrounded by fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, wives and children, who had long mourned us as dead—our dangers past, and our sufferings rewarded—I drop the vail.
[1]One of these I noticed only very lately.
[2]The description of places and distances given in the preceding chapter, was mostly obtained from Confederates, who afterward visited and talked with us.
[3]The rebels thought he was counterfeiting blindness, but I believe it was real.
[4]A refugee from the State of Georgia, now in this city, who witnessed the execution, but, from peculiar circumstances, does not make his name public, corroborates this statement, and adds, that these brave men were surrounded by three or four hundred guerillas and partisan rangers, as they called themselves, who disputed for the honor of being the executioners. The matter was settled by the party taking a vote, when twelve were selected as the favored ones. The rebel soldiers who perpetrated this outrageous murder, spent the rest of the day in spreeing and jollification, many of them writing to their friends at home an account of the pleasure they felt in assisting in the hanging of "seven blue-bellies," as they termed the Union soldiers.—Note from a Pamphlet entitled "Ohio Boys in Dixie," published in New York in April, 1863.
[5]In one of these papers I noticed a description of two Federal officers who had escaped from Macon, Georgia. It was Captain Geer, with whom I have lectured in several places since my return, and his comrade, Lieutenant Collins. Their adventures are recorded in a book called "Beyond the Lines."
[6]All our friends at home believed we were executed. My obituary notice was published in our county paper, and the Rev. Alexander Clark was invited to preach my funeral sermon, which providential circumstances alone prevented.
[7]Hawkins and myself associated, and made good our escape. We think all our party escaped to the woods. Whether any were afterward caught by the rebels, we know not. We traveled by starlight for more than three weeks. After twenty-one days of fatigue and hunger—living most of the time on corn or persimmons—occasionally a few raw sweet potatoes or a head of cabbage—dodging the rebel pickets and cavalry, climbing mountains, dragging through brush, and wading streams, we finally were so fortunate as to meet some Union men in the Cumberland Mountains. We met them, three in number, in the woods, and asked them to give us some supper, stating that we had no money, but we belonged to the rebel army, had been sick and left behind, and were now on our way to rejoin our regiments. They refused to supply our wants, and finally openly declared themselves to be Union men. When we became satisfied that they were all right, we made known our true character, and warmer friends were never met. They lodged and fed us, then piloted us to another Union man who did the same, and he to another; thus we were passed from one to another till we arrived at Somerset, Kentucky, where we procured transportation to our regiments.—Extract from an Account published by D. A. Dorsey.
[8]I do not pretend to justify the falsehoods recorded in this book. But it is better to give atruenarrative, and bear the censure awarded by the reader, than to increase the guilt by omitting or misrepresenting facts.
[9]My impression of Southern feeling is very different from Vallandigham's. But the Union men were my friends. Were they his?
[10]It was a malicious falsehood. All were safe.
[11]A letter was received from one of them by my father a short time ago. He had not heard of our release, but described our parting, and gave a rumor which he had heard of our subsequent execution.