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a good supper, and stayed all night. The family treated me kindly, and so did all wherever I stopped, with one exception.

I got along finely and received much aid from the people among the mountains. Many of them said that their hearts were for the Unior, and they would be glad to help me but feared the rebels. But I found one old man by the name of Sullivant, in Lookout Valley, whose heart beat differently. He thought the Lord would curse him if he gave a Yankee anything to eat. He said to me: “Youens all got a mighty whipping over here, but it was good for you; and yesterday General Wheeler got 144 of your wagons up in the Valley, and what do you suppose was in them? Nothing at all but silk dresses, bureaus and band-boxes and such things as you villains had stolen from us. This old sinner threatened to arrest me and take me to General Bragg's headquarters, but I managed to get away from him. I continued moving on day after day, and at length found myself across Lookout Mountain and within six miles of Trenton. Só much aid had I received from citizens thus far that I began to entertain hopes of getting to Bridgeport, which was only sixteen miles further. But the rebels had possession of the left bank of the river and their cavalry scoured the whole country, far and wide, taking all the stragglers they could find and executing summary vengeance upon all citizens suspected of aiding our boys through the mountains.

By one of these scouting parties I was at length taken, and by them was carried before General Longstreet, then stationed near Rossville, I was finally turned over to the provost guard, placed in the guardhouse with a number of deserters, conscripts, negroes and five federals.

The first day we got nothing to eat, and the second day only a little corn meal and fresh beef; and so it went.

One night nearly all the guards got drunk. The sergeant of the guard-house, who was also drunk, gave orders that if one of the damned Yankees moved or got up during the night, to shoot him. At last on the uth of October we were sent to Atlanta. On arriving here we found 300 more of the wounded of Chickamauga, and two days later we were all started by rail toward Richmond. The journey was a very hard one, as we were crowded into filthy cattle cars, thirty-five of us to each car.

The journey to Richmond occupied eight days. We went by the way of Columbia, Charlotte, Raleigh and Petersburg. Our rations during all this trip consisted of twelve crackers and a pound and a half of pork Written instructions were furnished the lieutenant having us in charge that we should neither be allowed to buy nor to trade for anything on the road, nor should citizens be permitted to speak to us nor to furnish us a piece of bread.

Upon arriving at Richmond we were taken at once to Libby prison, all put in one room and left to our own meditations. Here we remained three days, during which time we received but two meals. We were then removed and quartered in a brick building, which in times of peace was Yardbrough's tobacco factory, but was now known as the Franklin Street Hospital. It now contained three hundred sick and wounded. Some of these had rude bunks, but the greater number were scattered promiscuously over the floor. As fast as the sick or wounded became able to walk they were removed to the main prison and others were brought in to fill their places, so that in a short time only such remained as were very sick or dangerously wounded. These died at the rate of from five to twelve per day. I remember one morning that five men were placed side by side and in two days' time they died and their places were filled by others. On one occasion it was decided to parole a number of the prisoners, and the officer in command advised the surgeon to select only those who were nearest dead, for then he would save the expense of buying coffins for them. One of the sick men asked the doctor if he thought he, the prisoner, would recover soon, and was told that he did not want him to get well, and if he died that would keep him from fighting them again.

Captain Ross struck a prisoner in the face one morning at roll-call for daring to ask a question, accompanying the blow with the vilest language and a threat that if he opened his mouth again it would be at the risk of having his throat cut, and at other times this same officer beat prisoners in a brutal manner, and it is reported that more than one was shot and killed. Such is chivalry!

On the roth of November I was taken from the hospital and placed in one of the main prisons. This was a tobacco factory, as were all the prisons in Richmond, I think.

The floor was very filthy, many of the windows were destitute of glass. There were no stoves, no candles, nor any means of heat or light; and in this pen, deprived of the commonest comforts of life, eleven hundred Union soldiers were crowded like so many dumb animals. Our blankets had been taken from us when we were first captured or soon after; many of us had neither hats, shoes nor blouses. Here we received one meal a day, and this consisted of six or eight ounces of corn bread; sometimes this was sour and only half cooked, sometimes a small quantity of boiled rice and a few sweet potatoes.

These men were the heroes of the war-had faced the cannon's . mouth at Fort Donelson, Stone River, Chickamauga and other bloody fields. It was horrible beyond expression of tongue or pen, to see these brave men, gaunt with hunger and worn out by fatigue and exposure, groping in the darkness like so many specters. If you

would see hunger, woe and wretchedness in all their deformity, you have but to see the inmates of the prisons at the capital of the C. S. A.

I will relate one or two instances of the many which came under my observation, and which, though too horrible for belief, are the whole truth.

One day a dog came into the “Royster Prison," and the boys managed to coax him away from the owner. They then killed the animal and cooked the carcass in small bits in their tin-cups by hold

into soup

ing them over the gas jets in the night, this prison being differently lighted than the others. When cooked the mess was greedily devoured. Next day they related the exploit to the surgeon and to convince him of its truthfulness exhibited the pelt of the unfortunate canine.

One of the guards smuggled and sold to one of the prisoners, who had the greenbacks to pay for them, a number of sweet potato pies. Of these he ate so many as to make him sick, and he vomited them off his stomach. Two of his comrades, with their wooden spoons, gathered up and ate the rejected, half-digested mess. It sometimes happened that pieces of bread from the cook-house found their way into the swill-barrel, and in such cases they were fished out and greedily devoured by the starving men. Old beef bones which had been cast aside were gathered up, pounded to fragments and made

A notice in a Richmond paper read like this: “Farmers and others who may have cattle of any kind to die on their places, can get the same taken away and be liberally compensated besides by making application at this office. Commissary of Prisons.”

Shall such a conspiracy be upheld and supported by such men and by such means, and hope to succeed? God forbid. sacrifice too great if by making it this southern oligarchy can be crushed to the earth? The feelings I now entertain for this miserable Confederacy are such that when my three years of service are ended, if the war be not ended and my services are still needed, I shall deem it a privilege to again enlist that I may do further service. I am not yet exchanged, but have improved greatly in my general health since coming here, the particulars of which may have reached you by other means. Hope to visit Hartford soon. Meanwhile thanking you for your kind assistance and wishing you continued happiness and prosperity, I am respectfully yours,


Is any


I was born at Granville, Ohio, June 30, 1836, and at the age of twenty-one I went West, and spent three years teaching in lowa and Missouri. Returning to Ohio, I attended college at Marietta, aud was a member of the Freshman Class of 1861. The war began, and finally, when the call for 300,000 men'was issued by the lamented Lincoln, I thought the call included me, and, bidding farewell to college life, I returned to Granville. Soon after, at a large and enthusiastic meeting held at the town hall, I enlisted for three years or during the war. My name was first on the list of what afterward constituted Company D of the brave and invincible 113th Ohio Volunteer Infantry. I have it to say that I stood at my post and did my duty with my company up to the hour when I fell into the hands of the merciless enemy at Chickamauga. For a few days previous to the battle I had been suffering with a slight illness, sometimes having a high fever. On the day before the battle of Chickamauga I gave out completely, and on the day of the battle I had not enough strength to keep in my place either in advancing or retreating. When our column fell back at dusk, leaving the dead and many wounded, I fell into the hands of the foe. In the morning we found ourselves prisoners. I was left on the field fourteen days with the wounded. At the end of this time an exchange was effected, and our worst wounded were sent into our lines at Chattanooga, while the slightly wounded, and those of us who had been attending them as nurses, were sent by railroad to Richmond, Virginia. We were quartered in Libby Prison two months, and were then sent to Danville, Virginia. We remained at Danville six months, and were then sent to the world-renowned Andersonville, Georgia. Remaining at Andersonville three months, we were again moved to another prison in Charleston, South Carolina, where we remained one month. We were then sent to Florence, South Carolina, where we remained three months. At this time an arrangement had been agreed upon to exchange 10,000 men on each side. Rebel officers came into the prison at Florence, and selected from the whole number those who were nearest dead, and who, when exchanged, would be likely to be of the least service to the Union cause. I was included in this nurnber. A rebel officer told me on the day we were paroled at Florence that only 800 of the 10,000 men captured at Chickamauga were left alive. At Charleston, where we took passage for God's country, we saw the 10,000 rebels for whom we were being exchanged. These were strong and healthy men, ready for the front. These men had been fed, sheltered and cared for by the Federal Government, while we had been starved, insulted and neglected to an extent that is absolutely indescribable. We were mere shadowy wrecks, unfit for duty of any kind whatever. Only those who endured the horrors of our prison life can understand how terribly we suffered.

I was paroled December 10, 1864, making my imprisonment fourteen months and twenty days. I was sent home, where I remained till April 3, 1865, when, being exchanged, I joined the 113th near Raleigh, North Carolina. Then followed the surrender of the rebel army, commanded by General Johnson, the long march to the National Capital, the grand review, the homeward bound trip, and the greetings of friends at the fireside at home.

Comrades, let those of us who, braving so many hardships and perils, have lived to see the flag of our beloved country wave over a free people, stand ready to maintain all we have won and give God the glory. And let us also remember that if Jesus is our leader we shall always be led to victory. God bless our country and its brave defenders.


Valley Falls, Kansas.

From the London Deinocrat.


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In the issue of the Democrat of about the first of January, we published an account of the death of "Old Joe," an aged white gelding, owned by Judge B. F. Clark, and brought from Georgia during the war by Colonel Toland Jones of the 113th O. V. I. The notice was copied into the Herald and Georgian, published at Sandersville, Georgia, with a few remarks, and the issue of that paper of the following week, February 7th, contains the following, which we doubt not will be found of interest to many of our readers :

The account published in the Herald and Georgian of the death of “Old Joe,” a gray horse captured in the battle near Sandersville, that was carried to London, Ohio, by Colonel Jones, and the inquiry as to the ownership of the horse has, we think, satisfactorily discovered the owner and rider.

Walter G. Knight, who proved himself a true Confederate, was the rider, and Mr. Joe Vinson, who died a few years ago, was the

Mr. Knight had just returned from prison, had been at home only five days, when Mr. Vinsen proffered the use of his horse, a feet and spirited animal, to Mr. Knight to ride out to Sandersville and ascertain the whereabouts of the Yankees, then supposed to be about Oconee. Mr. Knight, taking his own new saddle and bridle, mounted Bob, as the gray was called, and coming near town, heard some talking up an old road to the right. Thinking they were Confederates he started up the old road, but soon saw blue coats; he wheeled around and started diagonally accross the woods and the public road into a pine thicket, where now is a field, between the Warthen road and the road to Fenn's Bridge, followed by a shower of bullets from the Yankees he had found. He was a fleet rider, and spurred his horse rapldly forward on the route we have just indicated, when he found himself just running right into the line of battle.

The line halted and with muskets pointed at Mr. Knight, the Yankees


out Come in, Johnny, come in.” Johnnie saw it was best to come in, and dashed forward to the line. Some ordered him pretty roughly to dismount, but he remained seated till an officer came up and asked him who he was, to what command he belonged, etc. At first Walter was thought a bushwhacker, but soon by his answers assured them of his true character. The officer ordering, he dismounted and was taken to the rear. As he went back one of the guards said, "this will make a good horse for Colonel Jones,” and assures him the more of the identity of the horse. He also remembers the scar on the horse's nose, as does also that man of wonderful

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