HOPEFUL DAYS IN LIBBY KILPATRICK’S RAID RAISED THE PRISONERS’ SPIRITS.
THE PAINFUL UNCERTAINTY ON THE NIGHT OF THE ATTACK - DESPAIR FOLLOWED ITS
FAILURE - THE FIRST TOUCH OF SPRING IN RICHMOND.
Copyright, 1891, by the New York Times.
The success of the tunnel out
of Libby caused the Confederates to redouble their vigilance. They placed guards
in the cookroom after dark, a guard was kept down in the hospital, and every
hour after 9 o’clock a Sergeant and four guards, all carrying lanterns, made a
tour of all the rooms in the prison. The latter precaution was not only
unnecessary, but it disturbed the prisoners greatly. At night the men ay packed
in long, close lines along the floor, and in making their way through them the
guards frequently stepped on an unfortunate sleeper. The stamping woke nearly
every one up, the glare of the lights suddenly flashing in the face was
blinding, and the whole scheme was as useless as it was torturing.
Some of the men, whom no
suffering could discourage, imagined they could retaliate on the men with the
lanterns by whistling, in chorus, “The Rogues’ March” whenever they appeared;
but it is unnecessary to say that it was not effective in abating the hourly
nuisance. It is said that men can accustom themselves to the most trying
situations. Certain it is that most of us soon grew so indifferent to the coming
of the guards at night as to sleep straight on without being disturbed.
The first weeks in March,
1864, were the gloomiest of all the gloomy time spent within the walls of Libby.
The rations did not improve - indeed, they grew less in quantity and worse in
quality - and, if this were to continue, we felt that the time was not far
distant when the strongest must give up the dispiriting struggle. About this
time our Government again offered to send through food, clothing, medicines, and
doctors, for the stories of the men who had reached our lines by way of the
tunnel had stirred the people of the North to a horror of the sufferings of the
prisoners; but, true to the policy persisted in from the first, the authorities
in Richmond refused to receive such supplies.
The despondency caused by this
news was followed by reaction, and the prison buzzed from morning till night
with rumors of exchange, and there were those who knew - how they learned nobody
could find out - that on the Monday following we should leave Richmond under
flag of truce and march down below the Rocketts to a place where a fleet of
well-provisioned transports was waiting to carry us North. In the midst of all
this excitement there came to us the more reliable news that the Yankee cavalry,
under Gen. Kilpatrick, was advancing in force on Richmond to release the
prisoners in Libby and on Belle Isle.
Through the few men, who still
had a little Confederate money left, we obtained the Richmond papers, and from
them we learned of the raid. The roads were frozen, so that horses in good
condition could be moved with rapidity. There were no veteran organizations in
or near to Richmond at this time, and the companies of department clerks and
invalids then in the city could offer no serious resistance to a dashing attack
made on a well-selected point. As soon as it became certain that our cavalry
were actually advancing the excitement in Libby rose to fever heat, and men who
had been fretting themselves about the exchange that never came began to pray
for the advent of the raiders.
I recall distinctly the great
change this news wrought in my companions, and it must have had the same effect
on myself. The weakest grew suddenly strong and the despondent cheerful. Men who
had not smiled for months went about rubbing their hands gleefully and laughing
at everything that was said, and knots of the younger men could be seen here and
there listening to the advice of some older officer who sought to explain just
how we prisoners could help along the enterprise having our release in view.
Col. Carlton of the One
Hundredth Ohio, whose quarters were near y own in the Upper Chickamauga room,
was a young man, but his rank, intelligence, and the fact that he had been
educated at West Point made him an authority in our part of the prison on
military matters. It was his opinion that, if our friends succeeded in getting
into Richmond, we could arm the prisoners and either hold the city till help
came or else set fire to the public buildings and destroy the bridges over the
James after we had passed to the south of the river.
There were about 1,400
officers in Libby, ranking from veteran Brigadier Generals down to beardless
Second Lieutenants, but all true and tried soldiers, and in a mood at this time
to take the most desperate chances. In the Pemberton building and other
warehouses, including Castle Thunder, and on Belle Isle, we had about 20,000
men, to which force we might add with confidence 3,000 colored men who would
join us from in and about the city. Kilpatrick was reported to have with him
some 5,000 troopers, so that if he could once force his way in we should have at
least 28,000 men in the Confederate capital. A majority of these men were
weakened by privation, but this point was carefully thought over in Libby, and
it was the general opinion that except the wounded, and those not able to move
without assistance, all would be found reasonably efficient when the hour for
action came.
It was known that much of
Lee’s reserve field artillery was then in Richmond. The old arsenal was full of
muskets and infantry equipments, and in the same building there was a great
quantity of fixed ammunition of all kinds. Here, too, were the Quartermaster’s
stores and the buildings of the medical purveyors, with their supplies for the
Army of Northern Virginia. Here, too, were the clothing factories, the Tredegar
Gun Works, and all the mechanical establishments on which the continuance of the
war, in Virginia, at least, depended. There were grand prizes, and the
possession was of the greatest importance to the undertaking that was so
elaborately planned in Libby. But, I must confess, the capture of Jefferson
Davis and his Cabinet, with the members of the Confederate Congress then in
Richmond, was not overlooked in this plan of campaign.
This was not the dreaming of a
lot of enthusiastic boys, but the result of the careful deliberation of many
officers who had already distinguished themselves in the war. Its feasibility
could not be questioned; but one thing was necessary to certain success, and
that was the jingle of Union scabbards and the blast of Yankee bugles in the
streets of Richmond. And the fact that, while the prisoners were laying out the
work to be done, the Union troopers were pushing south with all speed, and
coming nearer every hour, assured of us success. The very thought of it made the
most sluggish blood leap through the veins and the dullest eye glow with the
light of hope and heroism.
Col. di Cesnola of the Fourth
New-York Cavalry, and now at the head of the Metropolitan Museum, New-York, was
elected by his fellow prisoners to lead the assault, when the hour came for our
making a rush on the guard. Other officers were selected to command the men in
each of the six rooms of the prison. Gen. Scammon was to lead the men in the
Lower Chickamauga and Col. Carlton those in the Upper Chickamauga. Each group of
men had its own work assigned it. One party was to make a dash for the Pemberton
Building and Castle Thunder, and, after releasing the prisoners in those
structures, to organize them and lead them to the arsenal, after their recent
abodes had been given to the flames. Another party was to push directly to Belle
Isle, overpower the guards, free the 15,000 men who were known to be there, and
lead them into Richmond, where arms would be awaiting them. To others was left
the firing of public buildings and factories, and to still others the
preservation of necessary clothing and supplies.
That this could not be done
even with our cavalry within the fortifications about the city without serious
loss of life, was well understood. There was not an effective pocketknife in the
prison, and, in anticipation of our making a break, the guards were doubled and
a battery of light artillery was brought down and posted in the open space on
the other side of Carey Street.
The bars of the windows were
to be smashed out, and the doors broken open by means of the heavy crossbeams on
the upper floors, and then the men on the upper floors were to use the same
beams for sliding down to the street, while the men below were rushing on the
guards through the doors and from the prison office. Desperate work this for
unarmed men; but, then, they were willing to take up desperate chances in order
to reach the arms up at the arsenal, and it was well understood that after the
guards had poured in their first fire they would not have time to reload before
they were overpowered by the weight of numbers.
The extra precautions in the
way of artillery and double guards showed that the Confederates feared an
outbreak, and that they were not prepared to offer a stubborn resistance to a
strong attack was evident to us from the character of the organizations that
passed the prison on their way to the eastern defenses. These organizations were
composed of old men and boys, few of them had uniforms, and the formations and
marching showed that they did not understand the simplest rudiments of drill. It
gladdened our hearts to see these men go by, for now we felt sure that no matter
how numerous they might be Kilpatrick’s troopers would ride over and through
them, nor be checked in their advance by any resistance they might offer.
For the first time since my
coming to Libby all the prisoners were in high spirits. They cheered the Home
Guards as they passed, and taunts and slang and not a few oaths were exchanged
between the pale men marching down the street and the paler men watching them
through the iron bars. Of course, no such ridicule would have been hurled at
Lee’s splendid veterans had they gone by even in rags, for they had won the
right to be respected as gallant men. There was one little battery in the
hastily gathered army of resistance that called out roars of laughter as it
halted for a few minutes in front of the prison. It consisted of four mountain
howitzers, that looked like toys. Each gun was drawn by a particularly gaunt
mule, and each mule was led by a man whose heart evidently was not yearning for
the shock of battle. One of these mule leaders was in charge of a burly Irishman
with a bristling red head and one eye; the other must have been lost in battle,
for he was particularly bitter and pugnacious. One of the men in the Upper
Potomac room called down to the Irishman:
“Say, Pat, where did you get
that mule?”
“From the Yankees, dom yez!”
was the reply.
“Then you stole him!”
“Sthole him, dom yez; there’s
no need for sthalin’ what it’s so aisy to take,” was the retort.
“What’s the beautiful
creature’s name?”
“Sure, that brute’s name’s
Baste Butler. Isn’t it, ye devil?” and the one-eyed man struck the mule’s ear’s
with his whip.
“Say, Pat,” called out one of
our Irishmen, “if you can coax that mule to lie down there and die, I’ll have
you massed out of purgatory when you die.”
“Why do you want ould Bin to
die?”
“Because,” said Ryan, “it’ll
be the first thing like mate we’ve seen near this prison for months and months,
and it may be that they’ll issue him to us with the morning’s rations.”
“Ha! ha!” shouted the man with
the mule, and the one eye glared up viciously, “ye’re fixin’ a fitter ration
than that, dom yez.”
“What is it?”
“It’s like this,” he replied,
and he coiled the end of the rope he had in his hand and held it up, with his
head to one side, his tongue out, and his one eye closed in a way that was
horribly suggestive, though the graphic pantomime called out peals of laughter,
not only from the prisoners, but also from the guards.
The howitzer battery at length
moved down Carey Street, and the general impression was that our side did not
have the best of the verbal contest.
For the truth of the following
I cannot vouch of my own knowledge, but as it was accepted without question by
the officers of my acquaintance there must have been good reason for the belief.
In some way - some think that there was a spy in the prison who revealed the
matter to Turner - the authorities got win of our organization to co-operate
with Kilpatrick; it is quite possible they may have surmised it, but be that as
it may a number of the leaders were called down to the office, and then told
that the prison was mined. Turner is represented as saying:
“If you people come into
Richmond to-night, or you attempt to make a break, by G-- we will blow the place
and every man in it to h--l!”
This startling threat spread
through the prison and produced anything but a comfortable feeling. Still, there
was not the least sign that it intimidated any one or in any way weakened the
resolution to carry out the plan that had been decided on. Just befre dark we
saw some prisoners in the uniform of cavalrymen being taken to the Pemberton
Building, and we inferred from this that Kilpatrick was close at hand and had
had a brush with the enemy.
Our anxiety the night of the
escape through the tunnel was very great, particularly to those who were
determined to “make a break for it,” but it was comparative calm in contrast
with our feelings on this occasion, for every man had a direct personal interest
and would be called on to take part in a life-and-death struggle against great
odds before another day dawned. It was a particularly dark, raw night, and I
fancy that the guards about the prison did not call out with their customary
cheeriness, “All’s well!” When 9 o’clock came and with it the order for “Lights
out,” the men did not stretch themselves on the floor as had been their habit,
but gathered in little groups in the darkness, and, in whispers, discussed the
thrilling situation. How could men think of sleeping above a mine which might be
fired at any moment and forever put an end, as far as we were concerned, to
hunger and war and the ceaseless yearnings for freedom and the sight of loved
ones?
The guards had just announce
“Half past eleven and all’s well!” when boom, boom, boom, came the sound of
cannon from the south, and the stoutest heart stood still, then began to throb
violently.
“Our boys have attacked the
works! Pray God they may get through them!” These and similar expression of
eager hope and burning anxiety were passed from man to man. In the intervals,
when even the guards stopped to listen, the spaces of silence between the
poundings of the guns became painfully oppressive.
The guards announced 12
o’clock, the firing that had slackened for a time was renewed with comforting
vigor. One sound seemed to come nearer, but as far as we could judge of the
direction it appeared to have swung further to the east, leading us to believe
that the first attack, if such it were, had been a failure.
Twenty minutes or more of
hoarse reverberations, then suddenly the sound ceased. It meant that the attack
had been successful or that it had been stubbornly repulsed. The scene of the
conflict was only a few miles away. If our cavalry had won, the ring of iron
hoofs and the cheers of the victorious troopers in the streets would soon assure
us that the time for action or of death had come. The men who were to handle the
great beams were in their places; the men who were to lead the forlorn hope and
receive the fire of the guards were ready to act, and, with muscles braced and
lungs inflated, every man crouched ready for the signal on which so much
depended - but it never came.
There was no sleep in Libby
that night, nor did the guards passing through with their lanterns wonder why
the men were not all lying down. It seemed as if day would never come. As the
dreary black hours crept on our spirits sank lower and lower, and when daylight
came, bringing with it a prisoner, who told of the failure of Kilpatrick’s
expedition, the reaction that became despair to so many set in. So terrible was
the disappointment that men did not care to speak about it, but paced the floor
in silence and with clouded brows. About noon a cart drawn by a mule passed the
prison. In it there was a body partly covered with a blanket, and, in reply to a
question, one of the guards said with a grin:
“It’s the Yankee, Dahlgren,
that was killed last night.”
So ended in disaster a raid
that promised much. I have no word of censure for the leader of the raid, for
his courage was undoubted and his patriotism above reproach. Yet, for the want
of united action on the part of his command, and it may be a feeling of
uncertainty as to his ability to overcome the difficulties when he was brought
face to face with them, there was lost the finest opportunity offered to any
commander on either side in the course of the whole war. Richmond could have
been taken then and by the force under Kilpatrick, and he would have found an
army of gallant men ready to crown his success by forcing lee to withdraw from
Northern Virginia and so avoided Grant’s bloody campaign from the Wilderness to
the James.
Soon after this disappointment
our spirits began to rise again, for Col. Cesnoli, Gen. Neal Dow, and about
sixty other officers were specially exchanged, and we began to hope once more
that a general exchange would follow. Those who could not get away were always
glad to see their friends called out and sent down to Commissioner Ould’s
flag-of-truce boat. I have forgotten her name, but our boat, the New York, carry
Gen. Gresham, was the vessel that always met her. Apart from friendship, we had
a selfish interest in seeing others go, for it meant more blankets, more ragged
overcoats, and some of the little essential belongings which men will gather
about them, even in a place like Libby Prison.
On the 3d of April - I never
can forget the occasion nor the date - we received a ration of meat. It was
served out as “beef,” and perhaps it was. I know it was very lean, and not much
of it; but, excepting in the hospital, it was the first that had been issued for
months, and the prisoners were as happy over the event as children at
Christmastime.
The special exchanges gave us
more room, which was very desireable, for we had suffered all Winter from
overcrowding, but the possession of this privilege was only temporary. About the
middle of the month the Richmond papers came to us with tremendous headlines and
huge exclamation points announcing the “grand victory” Gen. Hoke had achieved
over Gen. Wessels at Plymouth, N. C. We had learned to discount the news in the
Confederate papers, which, like our own, had a tendency to minimize defeat and
to exaggerate success; but on this occasion their assertion that they had filled
the Yankees with “Hoke-Ache” proved to be correct.
Gen. Wessels and the officers
of his command were brought on to Libby, and as “fresh fish” they were initiated
with more than the usual honors. I had grown so accustomed to the rags and
pinched, white faces of my companions from our every-day associations that the
advent of a hundred and more sturdy, bronzed men, with whole coats on their
backs, good shoes on their feet, and trousers on their legs that did not need
patching impressed me strangely, and I looked at them with much the same feeling
with which a starving pauper must regard the luxurious surroundings of a
millionaire. Gen. Wessels and his men crowded us terribly, but, like a poor man
with an overincreasing family, we were always ready to make room and share our
privileges with the last-comer. These gentlemen brought us the encouraging news
that Gen. Sherman had a magnificent army at Chattanooga, with which he would
soon march into Georgia, and that Gen. Grant was massing his legions before Lee
and would move on Richmond within a few weeks.
The ice had left the canal and
the James. The ground in front of the prison showed green patches with a few
dandelions in their midst, and these things, with the milder air and a hum of
preparation and the marching of troops in the streets, told us that Spring had
come and that the resting armies were about to resume the work of carnage.