A Yankee view of the Libby.
The Yankee chaplains who have been released from the Libby and sent home are filling the papers with their lamentations over the sufferings at the famous Libby prison. The soldiers who go back don't make such a fuss about the matter as the usually well-fed chaplains. The allusions to the officers who control the prison are particularly spicy. The "cruel gray eyes" of Gen. Winder seem to have looked through every canting Connecticut preacher who has been here, and the "beardless Capt. Turner" is described as an incarnate fiend, who spends most of his spare time in devising new tortures for "those unfortunate defenders of their country's flag" who have fallen into his hands. These tortures have driven Rev. Geo. H. Hamner, of the 12th Penn. cavalry, (of Milroy's command,) to write nine columns of the Pennsylvania Inquirer, describing the misery they caused him. We take some extracts from his account to show what sort of narratives are given to the North by the returned prisoners:
Arrival and Reception at Richmond.
Arrived at Richmond, we were marched through one side of the city to our destination, the chaplains and surgeons glad at their arrival, having been fed with the idea that they would be passed through at once to the United States. The following will show how near we came to the truth of our hopes, and how exceedingly green we had been to be so easily gulled. Upon our nearing the prison, the first thing that attracted attention was a sign reaching out from the corner of the building on which were the ominous and not very classic words, "Libby & Son, ship chandeliers and grocers." The second sight, all the window openings in the part of the building facing us filled with human heads, rising one above the other, which we soon recognized as belonging to Union prisoners, and our fellow sufferers who had preceded us. Catching the eye of a captain of cavalry, I was greeted with a peculiar and expressive motion, in military phrase, a movement in one time and two motions, thus, one had conveyed in the head, and immediately the thumb nail brought into contact with the nail on the other hand.And now, above the din of the guards and the noise of the boys in the streets, rings out the cry, "Fresh fish, fresh fish," and that, too, as we perceived, from the building itself. What can it mean? Ah, we, too, soon learned that by this expression information was conveyed to all prisoners that new occupants of the prison were arriving, new sharers in Libby's honors, new devotees at the shrine of her hospitality. If any one in the crowd, from a tender regard to the cravings of his physical nature, had a thought pressed forward in his mind of a hearty supper upon the finny denizens of James river, transferred to the table of the Libby by some generous soul, he was sadly disappointed. Another cry from some brave soul, this time of warning: "Look out for your money!"--Looking up, the windows were vacant, and we could only conceive of what it meant, or think that some one was making sport of our misfortunes. Some few took warning and concealed their money as best they could; the most of us being unsophisticated youths and dreaming of no harm, neglected the precaution, and became the victims of misplaced confidence.
How Union prisoners are Robbed.
Entering the office and registering our names, rank, regiment, and place and date of capture, we were passed along into a large hall, where stood one, the very embodiment of brutality, meanness, and fiendishness run mad, called the Prison Inspector, who passed us, individually, through a close examination of our persons and effects, the latter sorrowfully small, owing to the thieving propensities of our dear erring Southern brethren. I have before said they would lie; I must now add they will steal. Everything of value was taken from us — canteens, haversacks, gum blankets, in some cases our woolen blankets, our money and valuables, private papers and pocket diaries, lists of dead and wounded, and even last messages from some brave martyrs to their friends, nothing being retained but the few things that seemed to be a part of ourselves and necessary to conceal our nakedness. The Surgeons, whose private property is always respected in war, were likewise stripped of their effects. Their green sashes and badges of their profession were taken from them, their pocket cases of instruments abstracted, their pocket medicines confiscated, so that upon our introduction into the mysteries of the Libby we had few things to care for, fewer still to lose.
The First night in Libby Prison.
No sooner is the door opened into the second story wherein are the prisoners, than another sound is heard, "close up, close up," and again another, "give him air, give him air," the latter of which is rendered highly necessary by the persistent efforts of the "hearing" to hear the news and to learn what is going on in the outer world. For some hours the new-comers enjoy very little quiet, or time for reflection, as the news is recounted again and again, until it would seem that all hands must have memorized it. Oh, a first night in Libby! Who can tell the thoughts that crowd thick and fast upon the mind of the poor unfortunate.--Is he hungry? Unless he meets an acquaintance he will learn that food will be obtained and drawn for him the next morning. Is he dry? He is pointed to a very nasty corner of the room, and told to help himself to the yellow, thick, warm and nauseating extract of James River, which awaits a turn of the spigot at the hydrant. Does he look around and ask timidly where he is to sleep? He is pointed to the dirty floor and told to help himself to any unoccupied spot, and be sure not to stir up the bugs too much.If on the march he preserved his courage and flow of spirits, and carried a bold and defiant front to his enemies, here the same reason does not exist, and crawling away in the dark, he can think until his heart aches, or he wishes himself dead. If thoughts of home have, with persistent efforts, been thrust-aside, or strangled in the birth, oh! here and now, home, friends, wife and children, all that is precious and dear to man's social nature, pour in with overwhelming power, seemingly determined to revenge themselves upon us for our treating them so slightingly before. Has he a blanket? He spreads it down in the selected spot; if not, he lies upon the bare floor, and while sleep forsakes his eyes, and slumber his eyelids, runs the gauntlet of his thoughts, upbraiding, or fearful misgivings of the future, or shifts from side to side, to relieve the hard pressure of his aching bones, his nostrils penetrated with a stench at once strange and almost insufferable, until he could well fancy himself in some charnel house, or among all the elements of nauseousness in the universe.
Does he thus fall off into an uneasy slumber, overtaxed nature demanding repose, then he is startled by a loud noise, and after several repetitions hears the words: "Post Number Three, and all is well." The guards are vigilant and numerous, escape being almost impossible. Is it well with him? Oh, what a mockery to his feelings? Has his mind been wrought upon by tales of moving pathos and eloquence, then he in conception is covered with lively evidences of the degradation of those around him, and the gloomy prospect of sharing their fate. Again he sinks to rest, but the constant pattering of feet as the sleepless ones move around the room, praying for the morning light, or some heavy sleeper snores loud enough to awaken the conscience even of a rebel, or some one less happy, startled by some terrible vision, screams but with terror, forbids the coveted luxury.
The morning Toilet in Libby.
At last the day dawns, and opening his eyes to scenes surrounding, he beholds about two hundred officers diligently engaged, intent upon some work which seems to be a matter of life and death.--Does he ask the import, not yet taking in his mind the reality, he is facetiously answered "morning devotions," or by another, "skirmish drill." --Doubtful yet as to what it all means, he sees his companion at his elbow removing the various articles of his apparel and passing them through a strict scrutiny, ever and anon giving emphasis to the earnest movements of his hands. Very timidly and with a shocked modesty, he steals a glance at himself, and oh, horror of horrors, just under his eye he beholds something not like one of Pharoah's lean kine, but a something, a moving mass, somewhat gray in appearance and aldermanic in proportions, which startles him, until gathering courage a friendly boot rallies to the rescue.
Breakfast, dinner, and supper.
With an appetite sharpened by long fasting he surrounds the table, but hardly enters the combat until he learns that he must spare his rations or he will have nothing for dinner and supper. Thus warned he desists, still hungry, and, indeed, the more eager from having aroused a slumbering nature. He is hungry, others are hungry, they all are hungry — have been for days and weeks. A word of advice for the ladies: Never make hash for men delivered from Libby prison, if you expect to preserve their regard or have them praise your cooking: Nine o'clock arrives; roll call in the various rooms; all present or accounted for; the guards have done their duty.The morning is spent, he knows not how, and after much bustling and activity, and some swearing, he hears a lusty cry, "small messes for soup."
What does this mean? Simply a distribution of soup made in one of the large ketties steaming upon the stove. Is he fortunate enough to obtain a tin cup, he stands with others and gets his allowance of a little rice and considerable water, with now and then a small fragment of meat floating around in search of company. With his bread he again attempts to make a meal, but with the same result. Hungry still. Supper arrives, and as the meat boiled at noon must go for the morning's hash, he must fast, having doubtless consumed his last morsel of bread for dinner.
The amount of food allowed to prisoners.
Do you ask me as to the amount of food received per day by each officer? The question is easily answered, for a short horse is soon curried. One-fourth pound of very tough raw beef and bones, very little over ten ounces of bread, very heavy and sour, a little rice, and infinitesimal quantities of salt and vinegar. This was the amount of rations received, though I will do the authorities the justice to say that it was hardly the amount allowed, the remaining portion being appropriated by officials. However small the appetite of the prisoner, if well be could eat the whole of his day's rations at one meal and look around for more. At the time of which I speak the officers were not allowed to purchase or receive any food but that furnished by the authorities as the daily ration. The bread very unpalatable and unwholesome; the beef oftentimes tainted and sometimes evidently diseased, as we could see where rumors had been extracted. If in lieu of rice we obtained beans or peas, we received with them no small quantity of animated life, in the form of worms, fat and plump. With no change, nothing but the everlasting hash, soup, and bread, no wonder disease made such ravages among us and scorbutic affections became quite prominent.
The interior of the Libby Prison.
Fancy a room 102 feet long and 40 feet wide, occupied by 180 officers as sitting room, dining-room, bed-room, &c., all in one; and then this room, in addition, contained two tables, reaching across the room; and in one corner was boarded off a room 15 by 15, as a cook-room, and one corner of this again boarded off, and containing the hydrant, wash troughs, sinks, &c. With insufficient drainage, and limited means of cleansing the impurities which must of necessity accumulate, the floor quite nasty, much of the time subject to the leakage of the floor above; all this, too, but a step from the cook stores, and all in the same room, can it be wondered that we suffered from noxious vapors, or were disgusted with nauseating sights and smells? This cook room contained three old stoves, with furniture enough to moderately supply one, and yet designed to supply the wants of about 400 officers, namely the room just described containing Milroy's command, and the one immediately above us holding Col. Straight's command and others.The kettles were in constant employ, day and night; if not employed in cooking our food, they were used for washing dirty clothes or boiling to neath the vermin that invested them, and, indeed, sometimes for washing feet. The eating of these four hundred officers was done upon the two tables in the room, which necessarily required their presence a good deal of the time in this prolific room. The supply of tin cups, plates, knives and forks, were about sufficient for one hundred men, and many were the scenes of wrangling and disorder caused by the struggle to be the lucky possessor of these useful articles. Woe to the man who was last in the race — fingers must then do their work. The condition of the rooms after this recital can well be imagined — filthy in the extreme. The floor, the cracks in the posts and doors and window openings, as well as the crevices between the bricks, were all filled with vermin, many of them visible.
Of course it was impossible to keep ourselves entirely clean from this horde of rebel gray-backs. Woe to the man who neglected his morning and evening devotions, or the regular skirmish drill and scout for a few days. Freely shedding his blood, and giving board and lodging to strangers and the children of strangers, he soon learned that eternal vigilance was the price of liberty, and that only by watching and preying could he hope to exist with any comfort or decency. Heads, bodies and clothes were alike invaded by this vandal horde, and for once poverty had its advantage, the man with the best hair and beard, and the least clothing, was likely to have less of this nuisance, their number limited only by the faculties given for accommodation. In Castle Thunder, the lion's den, this nuisance is said to assume tremendous proportions, and to flourish with unprecedented rapidity, so that, according to one who had opportunities for knowing, "the lice themselves were lousy."
Officers confined in dungeons.
I have seen a captain of cavalry, for the simple offence of missing the spittoon and spitting upon the floor, thrown into a dark damp dungeon for two days and nights on bread and water, causing a serious inflammation of the lungs. At this time it was required that the officers should perform the most menial services connected with cooking, washing, scrubbing, and the cleanliness of the room. Lieut. Welsh, of the 87th Pennsylvania infantry, lay for six weeks in a dungeon under the building because, as an orderly sergeant, acting under appointment as a lieutenant, though not yet mustered in, and of course not recognized as such, he had rightly classed himself with the enlisted men. When brought up among the other officers his clothes, shoes, &c., were covered with a green mould. Lieut. Dutton, of the 67th Pennsylvania infantry, has been doomed to a dungeon until the close of the war; and is now suffering therein, for a similar offence, with the additional fact that he assumed the name of another. Capt. Litchfield, (I am not certain of the name,) of the 67th Pennsylvania, was confined in a dungeon for five or eight days on bread and water, for forming a plan of escape, which was frustrated.Colonel Powell, I think of the 12th Virginia Union cavalry, wounded severely in the back from a window in Wytheville, and left behind, was carried to Richmond and placed in the hospital. A few days after one of the Richmond papers railed out against him in a most brutal manner, and suggested that he be executed. The same Prison Inspector entered the hospital, and, without the knowledge of the rebel surgeons, ordered him to get up from his bed and follow him. He was placed in one of the dungeons spoken of, and upon asking what were the charges against him was answered, "God--you, you will soon find out." Here, with a ball in his back, he remained five weeks and four days, part of the time without a blanket, rarely receiving any medical care, and sometimes his rations withheld. A guard was stationed constantly at the door of his cell, to prevent either escape or communication with others. While confined there the entry way was frequently blocked up with dead bodies, they remaining there several days, and this during the heat of summer. This entry performed another important part, being the place where men and women were daily brought to receive their lawful allowance of lashes at the hands of the Prison Inspector. A letter was sent to General Winder by the Colonel, asking the charges against him, and protesting against his treatment. He denied any knowledge of the matter, and suggested that perhaps General Jones was acquainted with the facts. He also denied any knowledge of the matter, and coolly asked to know the charges.
He was released, I know not how, or won't say, and placed among us. This officer was the victim of irresponsible authority and fiendish cruelty as wielded by this Prison Inspector. While confined in the cell, the Colonel, who is a Christian, asked in writing twice for a Bible, but no notice was taken of the request. One officer, taken at Gettysburg, was slapped in the face by this inspector for saying that he thought he had no right to take from him a small fragment of shell which he had in his pocket as a relic. His acts of brutality are numberless. May he, ere long, fall into the hands of some of those who have experienced his cowardly brutality. The surgeons in the hospitals and those associated with them, and one other, manifested great kindness to us, pitying our misfortunes, and, as far as possible, mitigating our sufferings. For obvious reasons I cannot speak of the kindness shown us, though all who have ever been there will understand me. In time past one officer was removed for kindness to the prisoners.
Captains Sawyer and Flynn.
On the 6th of July last I was a witness to one of the most solemn acts of the war. General Burnside had executed two rebel officers for the crime of spying and recruiting within our lines. By order of General Winder, as a retaliatory measure, two captains from the seventy-four captains in prison were selected by lot, for execution, which they designed to carry into speedy effect. This lot was drawn by the following officers, through an aged chaplain of the Sixth Maryland:--Captain Sawyer, of the First New Jersey Cavalry, and Captain Flynn, of the Fifty-first Indiana. I need not say I never witnessed such solemnity. The condemned were at once separated from us and placed in the dungeons, where they remained until the capture of General Lee and Captain Winder, who were held as hostages for them. They are now among and treated like the other officers, and in no possible danger of execution so long as we hold Lee and Winder as hostages.
Our condition bettered by Gettysburg.
After the results of the battle of Gettysburg became fully known, and Lee had made his disastrous retreat into Virginia, our condition was somewhat bettered, the daily rations increased a little in quantity and quality, and a part of the officers who had money were allowed to purchase a few vegetables and other needed articles. This was also brought about by the death of several officers, and the illness of many others with scurvy, and the united protest of the officers to Gen. Winder, accompanied by a statement of the rebel surgeons that, unless a greater variety of food was allowed us, many more would die. This privilege of buying was denied Milroy's officers; others might buy, even Streight's command, but they not.The Cincinnati Times publishes a letter from Junius H. Browne from Castle Thunder. Being a newspaper reporter, he has learned to take things coolly, but will make up for it when he gets out:
There are about three hundred citizens here now, among whom Richardson, Bulkley, of the Herald, and myself, are the most prominent, and therefore less likely to be refused. The prospects of the Tribune attaches look brilliant for the war.--If my health continues good and my constitution strong I expect to die somewhere in the Confederacy of old age. I long since bade farewell to the North, to freedom and everything desirable in existence. I learn sundry obituaries have been written of your humble servant. They are very well times, for I am alive only by a figure of speech.--I am deader than the Ptolomies, or the Know Nothing party, or Gen. Scott, although my tombstone has not been cut.
If my best friend (if I enjoy any such anomalous relation,) were to see me here he would not known me. Indeed, I do not know myself. I look like a felonious mendicant; and in France would be sent to the galleys on suspicion that I was an escaped convict. No one can divine what a metamorphosis a gentleman can undergo after half a year's confinement in the Confederacy. It is something marvellous.
My health continues very good.
I presume few of my letters reach me, as I have not had one from you. Others I know have written, but their notes have not come to hand. I cannot describe our peculiar mode of existence here. If I could, I might amuse you. The secrets of my prison-house are, I opine, doomed to die with me.
The Gods keep thee — out of the Confederacy!
