Memories of Yankee Prison Camp

Old Howitzer's Diary Reveals Hardships on Johnson Isle

By Caroline Pickett Moore

In 1861, war had flung her mantle across the horizon, and clouds grey and sinister hung over the South.

Virginia's call to arms came when the old bell in the Capitol Square rang it's loud alarm on that bright Sunday morning. Both young and old filed reverently out of the church, ready to defend Virginia and the Confederacy.

Among the first to respond to that call was an artillery command of the City of Richmond, then a company with a battery of six pieces, which, in a few days after entering barracks was recruited to the strength of three full companies under battalion organization.

The Richmond Howitzers, which had organized as a company in November 1859, became a battalion bearing the same name in May 1861. This company went on the firing line at an early date. What these men did helped to make history.

James Blythe Moore, then a boy of 17, left Washington and Lee University, at Lexington, Va. (with no one's permission), and joined the Howitzers. He was assigned to a detachment of Mosby's cavalry, where he fought with the spirit of a man, and the strength of a youth, with an enthusiasm that carried him through the hardships and privations that surrounded the men who fought for "The Lost Cause."

He, as second lieutenant and drill master of Company C, in August of 1863, was captured near Orange Courthouse. Quotes from an old scrap book of his give a vivid description of life in a Union prison camp.

"I, with a party of nine, had flanked the right of Pleasanton's line, and while pushing through the woods, we were captured by the Sixth New York Cavalry," he wrote.

Refused to Accept Proffered Parole

"New boots had given me two blisters on each heel. After standing while being questioned, I found I could not walk when ordered to 'move on.' The fellow who had been detailed to take charge of me had a heart, and seeing my plight, yelled, 'up with me.'

"I 'uped,' and we watched the flight from a hill, but when Pelham's two little guns began pouring lead into those Yankee's, I knew we had no business there, for we rebels were no respecter of person, we shot to kill, so I suggested we 'move on.' For once Yank and Reb thought alike, and I rode--to prison.

"For five weeks I was kept in the old Capitol at Washington, where conditions were fairly good. Time and again I was asked to sign a pledge not to fight if released on parole. Refusing meant a Federal prison on Johnson's Island, near Sandusky, Ohio. There cold, hunger and endless days claimed men too weary to try to live with no hope of anything better in the future."

"Comfortable? Hardly with the climate of the upper part of Ohio and a wind across Lake Erie that mercifully froze your power to think. The place had been rat infested, but when rations were cut in '63--well, those rats disappeared like magic. I saw a man eat a rat he caught and fried with a tallow candle. Pet cats and dogs shared the same fate.

Bread and Salt Cod, One Meal a Day

"Rations for 24 hours were barely enough for one meal--a slice of bread and a piece of salt cod. Fuel also was rationed, and we walked Indian file, around a small stove for a bit of warmth, until exhausted we fell out of line and crawled to our bunks, two to a bunk with a blanket each. There we huddled, fully dressed, cap, coat and shoes, until the next daily ration."

Was it strange men grew desperate and tried to escape, prefering death to life on the island?

To preserve and hold together their memories, the few remaining Howitzers in 1874 formed the Richmond Howitzer Association.

In 1891, the association called a meeting, electing as its president, James Blythe Moore, and decided to erect a monument in memory of the cause for which they had fought.

William L. Sheppard, a former officer, modeled the figure which now stands at Grove Avenue and Harrison Street. Another officer, E. Jeter Bosher, "posed for the young cannoneer, flushed with the heat of battle and cheered with the hope of victory. The face of the statue is typical of the character of the men who defended the South."

The accompanying photographs speak for themselves, the one of the trinkets tell of the occupation of the man who followed "Marse Robert," during his stay on Johnson Island.

Handiwork Traded For Pies, Smokes

When the Federal officers visited the prison, frequently gutta percha buttons dropped from their coats. These were claimed by the man who could run fastest, those fortunate enough to have a few pennies bought the buttons to help pass away the long hours. These were whittled into bits of jewelry, and pieces of shell found on the shore were used as settings. They were exchanged for 'red hot' pies, etc. Others exchanged the result of their skill, and even a portion of their scanty ration for tobacco--the rule of the trade, was a cracker for a chew.

This was chewed and as it's strength waned and the chew became "ripe" it was dried in the sun and used as smoking tobacco. The ashes were carefully preserved and used as snuff.

The tiny knife that hangs from the chain made of small buttons, contains the original blade that did all the carving. Having worn so thin and short that it's day of usefulness was over--it was ground down between two rocks and fitted into a button, where it could be preserved as a "tool."