THIRTY-EIGHTH REGIMENT, N.Y.S.M. EN ROUTE FOR RICHMOND, VA., May 28.
Now that our forces are so near
Richmond, a few incidents of prison life in the tobacco manufactories might be
interesting to the reader in search of truth. After the Battle of Bull Run, on
the 21st of July, 1861, among those captured I was marched to
Manassas Junction, where we remained in the drizzling rain, which fell all
night. Owing to the extreme fatigue of body attending on the heat of the day,
forced marching, and the battle-field, I slept peaceably and sound, and for a
moment on awakening the next morning, it was almost impossible for me to decide
where I was; but gradually a vivid sense of my position forced itself upon me,
and I realized that I was a prisoner. All day on the 22nd, following
the battle, we remained standing in the slowly-falling rain, wetting us to the
skin. Around us stood guards, close together, and beyond them a gaping multitude
of idle gazers, looking at the "Yankees" – evidently, from the way
they eyed us, supposing us to be some curious animal, and remarking: "Why,
they look just like our folks!" "Lord, they're white folks just like
we are." And asking us: "What made you come down here for?" All
day long we were kept in this position, nothing given to us to eat, and-must I
say it? – water could not be obtained, unless, thanks to God for the falling
rain of that day, when caught in an India-rubber blanket, poured into a tin-cup.
And bitter, brackish, sickish to the taste as was this water, 'twas like nectar
to the half-famished men who, many of them, had not tasted a drop of water since
the previous bloody day. About 5 o'clock, P.M., however, some hard biscuit and
rancid bacon were divided among us, and we were marched to the railroad depot,
and placed in baggage and freight cars, en route for Richmond. Here
Fortune was propitious, for the rain dripping from the tops of the cars
presented a rich harvest of pure water to the thirsty men. It was a perfect
godsend. It was hard in the extreme to see the avidity with which the poor
fellows sought to catch the falling drops, as their thirst was doubly increased
by the salt meat just served out.
About six o'clock the next
afternoon, we arrived in Richmond, and, well guarded, were marched through the
streets, hooted, hissed, and blackguarded in a manner I could hardly have
believed would have occurred in a city belonging to a civilized nation. But
seeing what I have of them has changed my mind considerably. About dark, we
reached one of the vile tobacco factories destined to receive us, and from whose
doors many of the brave boys who entered them were never more to pass, until in
a pine coffin, conveyed in a rickety cart, they should fill a grave in some
distant portion of the negro burying-ground of the capital city of Virginia. Is
it too much to ask one passing thought to those who thus died and still fill the
humble tenement? In the building with myself were five hundred and thirty-eight
souls-two hundred on one floor, and three hundred and thirty-eight on the floor
above, these floors being some one hundred by thirty feet. Here, for some three
or four weeks-if I may be allowed the expression-we were left to rot; and ere
that time, vermin had made their appearance, and, notwithstanding all endeavors
to the contrary, "reigned supreme." It was a fine specimen of close
packing, at night, when we turned in, and it would have been difficult to one
not accustomed to moving among a crowd to have made their way through the room
with stepping on some part of the human mass that strewed the floor. Even in the
day it was difficult navigation.
Lieutenant [David] Todd, of
Kentucky, C. S. A., notorious for his cruelty, was in charge of us. Much has
been already said of his treatment of our suffering prisoners of war. An
incident, however, which I do not think has been in print, occurring at this
time, and in which he was chief actor, will better prove his cruel treatment
than any other I could mention.
One morning, in passing through
one of the crowded rooms, stopped by the crowd who obstructed his passage, he
bade them give way; they not obeying his order as quickly as he wished, he drew
his sword, and making a step toward one of the nearest of the crowd, who
belonged to the First Minnesota Regiment, passed it through the lower portion of
the leg, and in withdrawing it he literally cut the piece of flesh to the bone.
Remarking coolly, as he passed on: "Take care of the man and clear the
road." This act was on par with his other cruelties while in charge. By his
orders our prisoners were fired on in the windows, and no less than five wounded
and three killed. Another day we were refused water for more than six hours in
the day, for the mere crime of spilling some on the floor; and frequently our
meals were not served until late in the day. Some four weeks after our arrival,
the wounded from Bull Run arrived in Richmond, and some placed in the general
hospital, and the remainder-by far the largest portion-conveyed to our prison,
Hanwood's [Harwood’s] Tobacco Factory, on Main, corner of Twenty-sixth street,
it being the most convenient of access and best adapted to hospital purposes.
After remaining in the prison
hospital till the middle of November, I was removed to quarters, as they called
the prison; here I remained until my return home. During my short existence in
the den I saw hard scenes, as well as amusing ones; spent sad hours, and a few
happy ones. In the room, here you'd see a sick man lying on the hard floor
groaning; there, another who had lost his reason-several cases of this kind
occurred; again, a party of bluff players appear busily engaged transferring
from one to another Confederate shinplasters. In one corner is the bone
manufactory, where from beef bones, rings, brooches, breast-pins, hair-pins,
shawl-pins, and other trinkets are constructed by the workmen, and many were
done in a masterly manner, and the proceeds devoted to obtaining the meal not
furnished by the Confederacy, viz., dinner. At dinner, we had, bread, five
ounces; beef boiled, five ounces; soup, one pint. No wonder many went hungry,
and couldn't help it. In the centre of the room the stove, prison made (it is
quite singular how many things a man can make if he will only take a hold and
try), with a variety of different concoctions-quite as difficult it is to
discover what they are made of as it is to understand how the pans are
constructed in which they are cooking. Here, again, we have a grand drill of
cripples we have been discharged as cured from the hospital, some minus a leg,
some an arm, and others with a leg some three or four inches short. And as they
go marching around the room, merrily going through the military drill, it looks
comical in the extreme. I must say, the ones who seemed to have suffered the
most pain seemed to be the merriest party of the lot. Some singing, others
promenading, fill up the heterogeneous mass of prisoners of war.
On the 1st of January,
we received news of our approaching freedom; and on the 3rd were
marched to the steamer Northampton, on which we received one good meal-coffee,
fried bacon and pork, chickens and turkey stew, and boiled corned beef. I
suppose that they were trying to erase the impression of our former feeds from
our mind, thinking that if we went home with full stomachs it would pay for our
fasting the whole time we had boarded at the expense of the Southern
Confederacy. That afternoon the old flag floated before us once more, and when
it came upon us it was too much for us to bear. Our hearts overflowed, and every
eye filled with tears, that had been long locked up in the adamantine chambers
of our hearts. The stirring moment was deepened by the band on board the steam
transport George Washington, which received us from the Confederate steam
transport, striking up the old loved tune, "Home Sweet Home". And as
the gentle strains floated over the quiet waters of the James River, and the
Stars and Stripes waved above us, it seemed the happiest moment of my life. At
Baltimore we were received by the Union Relief Associations, who treated us in
good style. Our boys gave us a splendid reception in the regiment, and our
colonel, a furlough. Since its expiration, I have been with the regiment. While
passing through Williamsburg, a few days after the late battle, I was informed
by two of my prison comrades, who were standing guard over the Secesh, that a
number of the Fifth Georgia Regiment, who stood guard over us in Richmond last
summer, were inside, and that they had recognized some of them, and been
remembered by them in return. At this moment, I heard some one calling from the
window, and discovered a Secesh, who said:
"Say, wasn't you the man who
used to carry the bottles over after medicine from the place whar de sick
Yankees was in?"
"Just so," said I.
"I reckoned you was. I stood
guard over dem dare. Doesn't you remember me?"
"No, sir," I answered.
I thought his face familiar, but
could not place him. As he belongs to the Fifth Georgia, I suppose he told the
truth. It would be difficult for a person to have seen me passing across the
Main street of Richmond with my armful of bottles, and a guard with musket and
bayonet marching stiffly behind me, to have forgotten so novel a picture.
Several of our regiment, also prisoners of war, recognized some of the Secesh
soldiers, and conversed with them of Richmond. Sergeant C. W. Fairfield,
captured while on picket last August at Munson's Hill, Va., saw the same party
who captured him immediately. Other recognizances have been also made on both
sides.
I hope I shall soon be able to
write to you from Richmond, and I hope I may chronicle the delivery of our
gallant major, James Decatur Potter, who has been a prisoner since the 21st
of July last.
I remain yours, respectfully, E.H.K.
Edward H Kellogg, age 23, of Company K, 38th
New York Infantry was mustered out with the regiment on June 22, 1863. He later
served in the 17th New York, and 39th New York Infantry.
According to his pension file, Kellogg listed his occupation as a journalist. In
1875 he married Marie Curtin of Brooklyn and the couple had two children. Edward
Kellogg died on February 21, 1898 of heart failure. From Writing
& Fighting the Civil War : Soldier Correspondence to the New York Sunday
Mercury, by William B. Styple, et al., 2000.
