CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

Wisconsin History Commission: Original Papers, No. 2

CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

A NARRATIVE OF ARMY AND
PRISON LIFE

BY JOHN AZOR KELLOGG

Colonel of Sixth Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry and Brevet
Brigadier-General

WISCONSIN HISTORY COMMISSION
NOVEMBER, 1908

TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED COPIES PRINTED

DEMOCRAT PRINTING CO., STATE PRINTER

Contents

Illustration

Wisconsin History Commission

PREFACE

John Azor Kellogg, author of the Commission's Original Narrative No. 2, was born on the 16th of March, 1828, at Bethany, in Wayne County, Pennsylvania, the son of Nathan and Sarah (Quidor) Kellogg. Nathan's father was an American soldier in the Revolutionary War; he himself a tavern-keeper, stage proprietor, and general contractor. The Kelloggs moved to Wisconsin Territory about 1840, settling at Prairie du Chien.

John's early youth was spent in farm work, his education being confined to three winters at a private school. When eighteen years of age, he began reading law; at first taking a correspondence course with George W. Woodward, later chief justice of Pennsylvania, but completing his studies with S. S. Wilkinson of Prairie du Sac. Mr. Kellogg was one of the founders of the Republican Party, being a member of the Madison convention of September 5, 1855.

Admitted to the bar in 1857, in his twenty-ninth year, he opened an office at Mauston. In November, 1860, he was elected district attorney of Juneau County, but resigned in April, 1861, to enlist in the Union Army. His earliest military experience was as First Lieutenant of the Lemonweir Minute Men, an organization that became Company K of the Sixth Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry—his commission being dated May 3. The several companies composing this regiment were mustered into Federal service at Camp Randall, in Madison, on the 16th of July, and twelve days later left for the front. On December 18 following, Lieutenant Kellogg was promoted to be Captain of Company I. He served actively with his company until January, 1863; but was then appointed adjutant-general of the famous Iron Brigade (of which the Sixth Wisconsin was a member), holding that position until the following January, when he returned to duty with his regiment.

Captain Kellogg participated in the battles of Gainesville, Second Bull Run, South Mountain, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Rappahannock Station, Mine Run, and Gettysburg. It was during the great Fight in the Wilderness, while the Iron Brigade was of the Army of the Potomac, that our author was captured (May 5, 1864) by Confederates, while he was doing skirmish duty on special detail. Imprisoned successively at Lynchburg and Danville (Virginia), Macon (Georgia), and Charleston (South Carolina), he escaped on October 5 by jumping from a rapidly-moving railroad train while he and his fellow prisoners were being transported to Columbia.

The story of his depressing experiences in Confederate prisons, and of his curious adventures while a fugitive after the escape, is told in the present volume. A man of acute intellect, resourceful, and courageous in an unusual degree, Captain Kellogg's narrative is a document of great human interest. His literary style is as vivid as his experiences were thrilling, and the modest tale is certain to hold the attention of the most jaded reader of war-time reminiscences. The Commission considers itself fortunate in being able to include in this series so admirable a paper.

While Captain Kellogg was absent in captivity, or before his safe return to the Union lines at Calhoun, Georgia (October 26), he was twice promoted—September 1, to be Major of his regiment; October 19, to be its Lieutenant-Colonel. Soon after assuming the last-named office (November), he was made Colonel of the regiment. Being assigned to the command of the Iron Brigade in February, 1865, he led that redoubtable organization in the battles of Hatcher's Run, Boydon Plank Road, Gravel Run, Five Forks, High Bridge, and Appomattox. On the 9th of April he was deservedly brevetted brigadier-general, "for highly meritorious service during the campaign terminating with the surrender of the insurgent army under General Robert E. Lee," and on July 14 following was mustered out.

Being appointed United States Pension Agent at La Crosse, General Kellogg removed to that city in the spring of 1866, remaining there until July, 1875, having resigned his position in April of that year. He now settled in Wausau, successfully resuming the practice of his profession, and in 1879-80 represented his district in the State Senate. His death occurred at Wausau, February 10, 1883, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. Married on October 5, 1852, to Miss Adelaide Worthington of Prairie du Sac, he left three children of the five born unto them.

General Kellogg published a narrative of the adventures herein related, in a series of articles in the La Crosse Leader, between September 25, 1869, and January 15, 1870. In its present amplified and improved form, the story appears, from internal evidence, to have been written in 1882, a year before his death. We are indebted for our manuscript copy to his widow, now living in Faribault, Minnesota. The portrait of the author, given as our frontispiece, is from a photograph taken in Madison while he was Colonel of his regiment—probably quite soon after his return from captivity.

The purpose of the Commission is merely to select and publish such material bearing upon Wisconsin's part in the War of Secession as, from considerations of rarity or of general excellence, it is deemed desirable to disseminate. Opinions or errors of fact on the part of the respective authors have not been modified or corrected by the Commission—save as members may choose to append thereto individually-signed foot-notes. For all statements, of whatever character, the author alone is responsible, whether the publication be in the form of Original Narratives or of Reprints.

The Commission is indebted to Miss Annie A. Nunns, of the Wisconsin Historical Library staff, for supervising the reading of the proof.

R. G. T.

WISCONSIN HISTORICAL LIBRARY
 November, 1908

CAPTURE AND ESCAPE

The Iron Brigade in Camp

On the morning of the third of May, 1864, the Army of the Potomac confronted the Confederates on the banks of the Rapidan.

The consolidated First and Fifth Army Corps was commanded by Major-General George G. Warren.[1] To this corps was attached that part of the Army of the Potomac known as the Iron Brigade, then under the command of General Lysander Cutler, one of the ablest of our volunteer generals. To this brigade was attached the Sixth Wisconsin, commanded by Colonel (afterwards General) Edward S. Bragg. I commanded Company I in this regiment.[2]

Fearing a repetition of the long, cold winter of 1863-64, the army, under the immediate supervision of that thorough soldier, General George G. Meade, had been re-organized, completely equipped, and fitted for the stern duties of the next campaign.

The hills around Culpeper were dotted with the white tents and rude yet more comfortable cabins of the patriot soldiers. All along the banks of the Rapidan, at regular intervals, curled the smoke of the picket fires. Beyond them trod the weary sentinels, whose watchful eyes and stalwart arms had for twenty-four hours guarded their comrades in camp from surprise and consequent disaster. But now the allotted time for relief had come, and they stole an occasional impatient glance toward the long blue column winding its way along the turnpike toward the reserve post, knowing that it was the relief guard that was to take their place in the tedious, irksome, and sometimes dangerous outpost duty.

In camp, here and there, might have been seen a regiment executing the beautiful evolutions of battalion drill, and perhaps a camp guard being mounted, the air meanwhile resounding with the martial music so inspiring to the soldier. To the civilian all would have seemed confusion; but to the soldier the scene simply represented an army at rest; his eye could only see the monotonous details of camp life, the every-day life of the soldier. Such had been the daily routine through weary months of waiting, until all were eagerly anticipating the order to move.

As the sun disappeared that night, behind the western hills, its last beams shone upon an army whose banners floated from every hillside and valley as far as the eye could reach; and as the camp fires came out in the deepening twilight, they glimmered and sparkled like the lights of some great city.

The camp guards paced their well-trodden beats. The confused murmur of thousands of voices mingled together, conversing of home and friends; occasionally a merry laugh would arise, as some wag related a droll story, or, more frequently, perpetrated a practical joke upon a comrade, until "taps" sounded, and the lights went out as if by magic. Gradually all sounds died away, and the army was at rest. Dreams of wife, children, and home blessed the sleeping hours of the patient, waiting soldier, cheating him into a few minutes of bliss.

On the Skirmish Line

Hark! a horse comes galloping up to the Colonel's quarters, a few hurried words are spoken, and then come the quick, sharp words of command: "Adjutant, go to the commanding officers of companies; tell them to have their commands under arms at once, and report them on the parade ground in heavy marching order. Make no noise; no drums will be beaten, nor alarms sounded."

Soon from out the darkness, upon the chill night, sounds again: "Orderly, see that the company is at arms at once, in heavy marching order!"

"Strike tents and pack knapsacks!" cries the orderly; and all along the line is heard the busy stir and bustle of striking tents and packing knapsacks, accompanied now and then by a suppressed yawn or muttered curse from the sleepy soldier thus rudely aroused from pleasant dreams and comfortable blankets to pack up his bed, tear down his house, and travel he knows not, and in many cases cares not, where. The sun next morning looked down upon a solitude where last evening a city stood. The army is crossing the Rapidan.

Surprised at the celerity of the movement, the enemy made but feeble resistance at the fords, and fell back to its retrenchments at Mine Run.

That night, weary and foot-sore, we lay waiting for the rising of the morning sun, whose beams were to be obscured by the sulphurous battle cloud.

Early on the morning of the 5th, we were aroused from our slumbers by the command: "Turn out! Ten minutes to cook coffee and prepare for marching!"

Staff officers and orderlies were galloping hither and thither, the ammunition wagons were ordered to the front, general officers could be seen inspecting the ground, and all those grim preparations were being made that to the soldier were recognized as the precursor of battle.

Soon our line was formed, and the old soldiers scarcely waited for the order to throw up breastworks. This done, we threw ourselves along the ground, waiting for the enemy to show themselves. But, so far as I was concerned, alas for human expectations! At this moment an excessively polite orderly came up to me, and, touching his hat, said: "Captain, Colonel Bragg directs that you report with your company to General Cutler, for skirmish duty."

Around Colonel Bragg there was a group of officers, who were evidently pleased that this unwelcome message should have come to some one besides themselves. Concealing my distaste for the duty assigned me, I sent them a cheerful "Good bye! I expect you fellows will all be wiped out before I get back."

"Good-by!" was returned. "Better 'shake' before you go, for it's the last we'll ever see of you."

"Shake them up lively, my boy!" said the Colonel.

"Never mind me," I replied. "Look out you don't get run over by the line of battle, when they follow me in." And so the badinage went on. Major Plummer and Captain Converse of that merry group were both destined to fight their last battle that day.

Upon reporting to General Cutler, I found him pacing up and down before his quarters, evidently laboring under some excitement. I had at one time served on his staff, and we were familiarly acquainted. He invited me into his tent, and extending his hand said: "Captain, your work this morning will not be play. Out in front—I do not know exactly how far, but probably within a mile—you will find the sharp-shooters deployed as skirmishers. You will join them. Use your own company as you think best; take command of the line, and advance until you raise the enemy and bring on an engagement."

Just as I was leaving him, he added, "Take along plenty of orderlies, and report frequently."

Those of my readers who have had actual experience in skirmishing, can readily understand how distasteful it is to the soldier. It is a duty that furnishes the best opportunity in the world for getting "wiped out," with but slight chance of achieving military glory. It is a duty that requires your best efforts, all of which are sure to be overshadowed by the more momentous events to follow, and sure to be forgotten in the official reports.

Somewhat reluctantly, I will confess, I obeyed the order, found the line deployed, and immediately ordered an advance.

Our progress was necessarily slow, the ground being broken and heavily timbered with a kind of scrub pine. After advancing about a mile, I discovered a long line of "graybacks" moving slowly forward in line of battle, without the precaution of throwing forward a skirmish line. My men were immediately halted, and the command to commence firing given.

If ever a set of men were astonished, those Confederates were the men. The nature of the ground was such that neither party saw the other until within thirty-five or forty yards of each other. We had the advantage. They were in line of battle, while my men were deployed and behind trees, stumps, stones—anything that might afford concealment and protection.

The rattling, scattered firing from my line told fearfully upon the enemy, and they at once replied with a volley. Whew! How the bullets sung and whistled around us! The only thing I feared was, that they would discover our weakness and charge us, for my men were sheltered. But the Confederates simply held their ground, replying to our skirmish fire from line of battle.

Soon word reached headquarters of the position of the enemy, and a cracking and roar at the rear gave notice of the advance of our line of battle. Hurrah! Here they come on, double quick! "Cold steel, boys! Give 'em the bayonet!" I heard General Cutler say; and over us they came.

My own men caught the inspiration, and gladly obeyed the order to move forward with the line. At the first shock the enemy's line was broken. Two miles we drove them, and then the programme changed.

In moving a long line over broken ground at double quick, intervals are bound to occur; connections to be lost. The enemy, taking advantage of this, had thrown a force into our rear, and bullets began to come from behind us. At first this caused confusion, then panic. Our line, vigorously pressed in front and rear at the same time, became demoralized. Officers made desperate efforts to rally the men, but it was of no use; they could not endure the bullets coming from the front and rear at once, and away they went.

About this time I had a sensation akin to being struck by lightning. Upon recovering consciousness, I found myself with a badly-swelled head and great confusion of ideas, and I was bleeding profusely from ears and nose. On all sides were the maimed, the dying, and the dead. There was no enemy in sight save those killed and wounded. This was consoling; but unfortunately, if I had no enemies to fear, I was equally destitute of friends.

Which way was north, south, east, or west, I was wholly unable to determine. I was equally at a loss to decide which was front and which rear. Hearing firing in one direction, I came to the sage conclusion that by going in the direction of the sound I should at least be able to determine where our forces were.

But what was the matter with the trees? They were cutting up all sorts of antics—advancing, retreating, bobbing up and down, actually waltzing about me. Around and around they went, until they made me dizzy. In trying to catch one of them, the ground suddenly flew up into my face, and, not satisfied with that, tried to roll me off; but I held on like a tick, grasping the twigs with all my might. The exertion was too much, and I fainted outright. Upon recovering my senses, I concluded to make my way to the rear. I found it difficult to travel, however, because of the giddiness and partial blindness caused by my wound. When I had progressed about a quarter of a mile, I found myself looking down the barrel of a musket.

Captured

A Confederate regiment, the Thirteenth Georgia, had, in the mêlée, become detached from its brigade, and was lost in the dense forest. The commanding officer had ordered the men to lie down in a thicket, and unfortunately I had surprised them. Not being in the humor just then to "surround them," like the Irishman, I surrendered at discretion, and was immediately disarmed and conducted to the commander, when the following conversation took place:

Confederate Officer. Captain, were you in the skirmish line out yonder?

Yank. I am a prisoner, sir, and must decline to answer any questions touching our position or forces.

Confederate. That's all right, Captain, but I would like to know whether you have any skirmishers in there. Do you know where Gordon's brigade is?

Yank. Gordon's brigade! Why, I don't know where I am myself.

Confederate. Then there are two of us in the same fix. To tell the truth, I am lost. I got through an interval in your lines, I think; at all events, I found myself in your rear without knowing how I got there, and was trying to get back when you uns run over us. We just lay still, and the Yanks passed us.

Yank. In which direction did they go?

Confederate. Out yon.

Yank. Then it strikes me that your rear is in an opposite direction.

Confederate. Well, yes, I reckon so. Corporal, take this officer to the rear and find the Provost Marshal and report him.

En Route to Lynchburg

I found myself traveling toward Richmond in quite different company and under less favorable auspices than I had ever imagined would be my lot. After running about an hour we at length found the Provost guard of the Confederate army, and to my chagrin about twelve hundred of my companions in misfortune. Some, like myself, were wounded. Some expressed impatience and mortification. Others evidently accepted their condition as inevitable and determined to make the best of it, expressing more concern for the success of our arms than solicitude for themselves.

At a little distance from the prison corral were the badly wounded, awaiting the ministrations of a surgeon. There, under a large tree, on a blanket, lay the gallant Captain Converse, a prisoner, wounded and dying; by his side, with one leg already amputated, Corporal Frank Hare, with cocked revolver, kept at bay a couple of the enemy's surgeons who were desirous of experimenting upon the yet breathing body of his leader. The heroism of those two men was sublime. The Captain had been shot through the body and both thighs. It was utterly impossible for him to recover. He knew that his moments were numbered, and the end was nigh. He only asked to be permitted to die in peace, but the surgeons were desirous of experimenting upon him by what is known as the "hip amputation."

Converse had overheard their conversation, and directed Hare to put his hand in a certain pocket and get his revolver, which had been overlooked when his captors took his side-arms, and, armed with this, to prevent them from torturing him. Hare did as his officer directed; and when they attempted to remove his Captain he cocked the revolver, and in quiet, yet firm tones, warned them that he would shoot the first man that laid a hand on him. Weapons were pointed at him, with threats to kill him if he did not surrender the pistol. Hare only laughed at them, asking them what they supposed he cared for life, with one leg gone?

Struck with admiration for his bravery, the guard was withdrawn. A Confederate officer, standing near, filled with admiration of his heroism, said, "I would like a regiment of such men!"

This aroused the dying Captain, who, his eyes flashing with patriotic fire, told him that he had the honor to lead a hundred just such men, and added: "The North is full of them. Sooner or later we shall triumph, and your rebel rag will be trampled beneath their feet."

With these brave, prophetic words he breathed out his young life, a willing sacrifice upon the altar of his country. At the instant he expired the sun broke through a rift in the battle cloud, and glancing down through the shimmering foliage of the forest tree, illumined the face of the dead. I thought it the pathway of the angel that bore aloft the released spirit of my comrade and friend.

I have seen men in the mad excitement of a charge perform reckless deeds of bravery, facing death with apparent nonchalance, and admired them for their soldierly bearing and courage; but this was something different. It will be difficult to find an instance in either ancient or modern history, of greater fidelity, love, confidence, courage, and fearless patriotism than was displayed by these two wounded heroes. High up on the list of those made deathless by heroic deeds, should be inscribed the names of Captain Rollin P. Converse and Corporal Frank Hare.

Before I witnessed the death of Converse, I had felt despondent, but now the sight of his calm courage determined me to bear my own lot with philosophy. As a matter of fact, I was no worse off than thousands of others, and vastly better off than many. Even then, I began to plan some way for escape.

A short time only was allowed us to rest and recuperate. All able to march at all were soon en route for Orange Court House, under the escort of a strong guard. There were several hundred of us. Among others I recollect Colonel Grover, a gallant officer of the Seventh Indiana. Although the distance could not have been more than eight or ten miles, perhaps less, it was about 10 o'clock before we arrived at our destination for the night. During the march in the darkness several of the prisoners made their escape, but I believe that all these were eventually recaptured.

No rations had been issued to us, and many were ready to faint from hunger and fatigue, but the "bitter cud" of our disappointment was all we then had to chew. So far, we had been in the hands of soldiers, and our treatment had been as good as we had any reason to expect. But upon our arrival at Orange Court House we were turned over to a squint-eyed, knock-kneed Provost-Marshal and his home guard, and with the change of guard came a most decided change in our treatment.

Cowards are always tyrants, and this redheaded commander of the home guard was no exception to the rule. The enlisted men were separated from the officers and driven into a dirty back yard, where they bivouacked quite comfortably, for they had their rubber and woolen blankets and could on ordinary occasions sleep as well without shelter. But they were aroused at an early hour in the morning, and under the directions of the squint-eyed Provost Marshal systematically robbed of their blankets, both rubber and woolen, also their knapsacks. One poor fellow, indignant at such robbery, tore his blanket into strips. This act being observed by the delectable specimen of Confederate chivalry, he sprang upon him with a club and knocked him down, striking him several blows while he lay on the ground, senseless and bleeding. Some of our officers remonstrated against such plain violation of civilized warfare, and were coolly told they had better keep their sympathy to themselves, as they would probably need it all for home consumption.

On inquiry we learned that no rations could be obtained, but were kindly permitted to purchase from a sutler a corn-dodger and cup of coffee each, for which we paid two dollars apiece, in greenbacks. Soon after breakfast, we were formed in column for marching, and started for Gordonsville.

If some of us had been with our commands, instead of being prisoners, we probably would not have thought we could endure the march in the hot sun. My head was badly swollen and pained me greatly; this, together with the heat, insufficient food, and depression of spirits consequent upon the situation, almost unmanned me. Keep up with the column I could not. Finally, two or three of us cripples were permitted to fall behind under the guard of one man, and never in my life did I feel the need of money so badly, for if we could have raised only fifty dollars in greenbacks we had reason to believe our guard's cupidity would have easily overcome his sense of duty. But alas! The money was not to be commanded; so, a few rods at a time, we continued our march.

Just as it was getting dark we reached Gordonsville. Although the distance traversed was comparatively short, yet I venture to say the day's march will be remembered by that little squad of cripples longer than many another of double the distance. One of the things that discouraged us was the reports concerning the battle of the day before, received from Confederate sources. We were informed that our forces were in full retreat to Washington, that our loss was about one-half our effective force, and the like.

Immediately upon our arrival at Gordonsville we were corralled in a railroad excavation and closely guarded. The next morning we were loaded upon freight cars, and to our surprise found that Lynchburg, not Richmond, was our destination.

Upon this slight foundation we immediately began to build great hopes. If we had lost the battle, what was the reason we were not shipped to Libby and Belle Isle? We had not then heard of a great man's famous expression, "I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all summer." The celebrated flank movement that placed the army south of Richmond and bottled up the Confederate army, existed only in the prolific brain of the greatest soldier of the age.

The Army of the Potomac had so many times marched up the hill, only to march down again, that we began to look upon this performance as the regular thing. We did not realize that this army was then under the guidance of a man who knew no such word as fail; who, if whipped on one day, only fought harder the next.

Our trip to Lynchburg was relieved of its monotony by one circumstance. The bottom of one of the cars was mined, a plank was cut out, and when a halt was made to take on wood and water, one or two adventurous fellows crawled through and dug the dirt from between two of the ties, so as to allow them room to escape collision with the bottom of the cars, lying there while the train passed over them. The ruse was successful, so far as escaping from the train was concerned; but unfortunately the fugitives were discovered as soon as the train passed by, and recaptured. The attempt was a foolish one, but indicative of the general disposition to attempt any manner of escape that had the slightest chance for success.

Arrival at Lynchburg

The next morning we arrived at Lynchburg, and were taken from the cars. Here occurred a ludicrous scene, that, notwithstanding their situation, furnished our boys a hearty laugh. Some philosopher has said, "Man is an animal that laughs." Man is the only animal that laughs. This, as distinctly as speech, marks the distinction between reasoning beings and brute instinct. Show me a man who never laughs, and I will show you one whose instincts are brutish and cruel. These thousands or more prisoners, surrounded by enemies, cut off from all that makes life endurable, deprived of liberty, laughed heartily, and it did them good.

A militia company had been improvised to act as our guard and escort us from the cars to the prison. They were not uniformed, being dressed in everything from swallow-tailed coats and slippers to home-spun butternut, and armed with everything that could shoot, from a carbine to a flint-lock musket. The members were of all ages, from school boys to decrepit old men. They were commanded by a young fellow in a nondescript uniform. His sword and scabbard were the only really soldierly things about him, and were handled about as awkwardly as we had handled ours, when first transformed from citizens into officers, two or three years before.

This amateur officer wanted the prisoners formed into four ranks, faced in the proper direction, but how to do it was a problem to him. After several abortive attempts, our folks obeying every order strictly, which only demonstrated the fact that his orders failed to convey his meaning, he at last lost patience and roared out: "G—— d—— it! I want you Yanks to git in four ranks, faced yon way!"

This direction, though not in strict accordance with military parlance, was at least intelligible; and after much pulling and hauling, the desired result was accomplished, every man merrily repeating the order, and pushing and pulling his fellows. Then he attempted to form his guard on either flank of the column. He had great difficulty in bringing this about, for our boys insisted on obeying every order given to the guard. At last, out of patience with us, he exclaimed: "See here! I want you Yanks to stand still, when I give orders! I'm speaking to the company, not you uns!"

When at length he had formed the order of march, he commanded, "Forward, march!" The guard started, and we stood still. This was not observed until about half of the guard had passed us. This necessitated a halt, and he then explained that now he wanted us to "git up along with the balance."

Thus, laughing and jesting, we passed up the street and into our first prison pen, an old tobacco warehouse situated on the principal street, but rather small for the company it was expected to entertain. Here we commenced our prison life.

Attached to the building was a small yard, which at certain hours we were permitted to visit, for the purpose of supplying ourselves with water, washing clothes, exercise, etc. Our prison proper was a room about twenty by fifty feet. Into this space were crowded nearly two hundred officers; for prior to this time the enlisted men had been separated from us, while additions of officers from other sources had been added to our squad.

Treatment at Lynchburg

The floors of the building were filthy, and the ceilings swarmed with vermin. The only ventilation was from two windows at one end of the room. The building was only a fit habitation for the rats that infested it. Very few of us had blankets, and none were issued to us. At night we were obliged to lie on the floor, so closely packed that every inch of space was occupied; and if necessity required one to leave the room during the night, he was compelled to travel over his comrades to accomplish his purpose. Before morning the air would become almost poisonous, through lack of ventilation.

Our rations here consisted of bread and a small quantity of meat. They were good in quality, although rather limited in quantity; but our experience as soldiers, sometimes on short rations, would have accustomed us to such hardships, if we could only have divested ourselves of the intense longing for liberty. Compared with other Southern prisons, our condition here was quite tolerable.

The officer in command of this prison was humane. Only once did he show any temper, and that was one night when we all began to sing patriotic songs, ending with "Old John Brown." When we got to