Berry Benson's Civil War Book: Memoirs of a Confederate Scout and Sharpshooter

V: A Prisoner of the Yankees

A Prisoner of the Yankees SUSPECTED OF SPYING — PRISONER OF WAR — ESCAPE FROM POINT LOOKOUT PRISON — BAREFOOTED FUGITIVE — TAKEN FOR A DESERTER — APPROACHING WASHINGTON — SWIMMING THE POTOMAC — HOME TERRITORY BUT ENEMY HANDS — OLD CAPITOL PRISON THE corporal came up and took charge of me, the whole party accompanying me back to where they had me before. On the way I suffered a great deal of abuse from the corporal, who called me all kinds of villainous names, and when I dared remonstrate, he spitefully thrust the point of his bayonet into my leg—a hurt only temporary physical, but to my feelings it lasted a long time. I appealed to the men, asking what crime it was in a prisoner to attempt to escape, and one or two took my part. Their expostulations had a good effect upon the corporal's behavior; he cooled down to calling me no worse names than "d—d rebel" and such. Arrived back at the guard's quarters, the corporal said, "I'll fix you so you won't run any more." Whereupon he got out a small hempen rope, tied my hands behind my back, and tied me to a tree. He had been cursing not only me, but the gun also, for missing fire. He swore that it had never served him such a trick before, and that I owed my life to its defection , as he had dead aim on me not ten steps off when he pulled the trigger. Now when he came to the light he held up 83 5 84 B E R R Y B E N S O N ' S C I V I L WAR BOOK the gun to look at it, and discovered that it was not his own. His own loaded gun leaned against the tree where he had placed it; he had taken instead the unloaded gun which I had capped. I now realized the perilous position I was in. Having represented myself to the pickets as a Union scout, persisting in this assertion when brought before the commanding officer; having pumped the guard for information and then attempted to get away with it, I began to see that a strong case might be made against me as a spy. The talk that I overheard, such as, "The d~d spy! I thought it mighty strange his asking so many questions," added to my disquietude. At length the compression of the ropes on my wrists became so painful that I asked if they would be so good as to change my position some way. Most of them paid no attention, but a sergeant came forward, and untying the ropes, tied me again, with my hands over my head, to a low limb. This relieved me for a time, but the new position soon began to be as painful. My hat, which had fallen off, was kindly placed on my head. My pockets were searched, and my purse containing only stamps and a little Confederate money was returned to me. But my diary was kept. When day came (Tuesday, May 17, 1864) I was untied and taken to the Headquarters of Gen. Patrick, Provost Marshall—at the same house where on the night of May llth, I had leaned against the fence looking at the artillery and the horses and talking to the Federal soldiers. Thence I was taken to Gen. Meade's Headquarters, at Anderson House, where Bookman and I had seen the cavalry picket on the 9th. An officer came out of the house and addressed me, opening his speech by accusing me of being a spy. I asked him what ground he had for making such a charge, which I denied. For answer he produced my diary, asking, "Is this yours?" "Yes, sir." "Is this your writing?" "It is, sir." "Are you detached from your regular company?" A P R I S O N E R O F T H E Y A N K E E S 8 5 "Yes, sir." "As what?" "In a corps of Sharpshooters, sir." "Are these Sharpshooters mounted?" It flashed through my mind that I might somewhere have made mention of my captured mare in the book, and that he had read it. So I said, "Not as a general thing, sir. A few have horses that they use sometimes in scouting. I have one, now in charge of my Quartermaster." Handing...