Michael Hileman Memoirs, part 9

	transcribed by Harold D. Hileman, hhileman@ix.netcom.com
	November, 1999

	Copyright (c)1999 by Harold D. Hileman

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V - DANVILLE

The third night after this we were all marched out with much ceremony and 
stuffed into box cars. This was the 20th of December. The rain fell all night 
long. The trainman had trouble moving our train and frequently we heard the 
engineer and conductor cussing the Negro brakeman. The whole journey was 
absolutely miserable for us as we were huddled together like so many cattle. The 
transportation consumed about thirty hours. 

Danville, situated at the end of the Shenendoah Valley, was a place of about 
four or five hundred population. As soon as we arrived there we were hustled 
into the tobacco houses, two-story high. The James River was frozen over so as 
to support us afoot. There was neither light nor fire in these miserable places. 
We lay upon the floor in rows, as close together as we could get, without 
anything to cover us. We lay "spoon" fashion so as to retain what warmth there 
was in our bodies, but we soon became sore and  tired by lying in the one 
position. One would shout "spoon"!, and all had to obey the order. Then when we 
became too cold, we all had to arise, who were able, form in line, and double 
quick around the room. We placed the invalids in the center of the room and 
circled around them. We managed to get some fragments of canvas and we partly 
covered our suffering and distressed comrades with these pieces of harsh cloth. 

The first ration served here was cornbread, or johnnycake, cut into bricks, one 
brick to each man. This was to feed him for twenty four hours. During the whole 
day I ate very little of my ration because I saw so many of our comrades who 
were really starving and needed it worse than myself. We were also served with 
mule meat twice a week, and we found it to be mighty good meat. We made soup 
with it, and oh, how good it was!  Some would eat up their entire ration at 
once, that was intended to do them for twenty-four hours. But some really needed 
much more food than others did. One of our companions, Dan Dowd, a great big 
fellow who had always worked hard at his trade as stone mason, required twice as 
much as the average man to live on. 

We were soon put to work to get our own fuel, which we got from the fine timber 
across the Jim River. Before the river was frozen strong enough to permit the 
crossing of loads on the ice, the wood was hauled by Negroes for the 
Confederates - it was dumped on a vacant lot. As soon as the ice was strong 
enough to support us, we were sent across in squads, under guard, to get our own 
wood. I was allowed ten  men but they hadn't the efficiency of half that number 
under normal conditions to do much work. 

There was a fireplace on each floor of the house we were in, but some of the 
houses had none, so dirt was laid on the floor for a fireplace. We hadn't gas 
burners as we had in our former prison, so we did our cooking on the fireplace 
also. They later built a baking oven for us in which we baked our cornbread. 

Those in command of this prison were North Carolinians; a regiment who had been 
cut to pieces to furnish the men to take charge here. They were really humane 
fellows in their treatment of us. They realized what it was to be a soldier and 
so were capable of sympathy -   unlike many who performed this same work in the 
southern prisons. The home guard we detested with all the power of our souls 
because of their lone, mean inhumanity. So we had comparatively good treatment 
at the hands of our guards here. Even had medicine given us to relieve those in 
distress of sickness. 

John Boothby and Billy Ingersoll, two of our company, died while here. Boothby 
was one of the brightest boys in the regiment. Trained in newspaper work and 
giving extraordinary promise in that field. The poor boy died of pneumonia. 
Billy Ingersoll, a farmer boy, died of small pox, or the infection of the 
vaccination. The "dead wagon" took the bodies to old field, which is about a 
half mile distance from the prison, and there dumped into a hole as if there 
were no more than the bodies of  brutes.

During a very cold spell in January, when the river had become very low, it was 
discovered that the sewer from the prison, where it emptied into the river, was 
large enough to permit the passage of a man's body, and it was above the water 
line. When this discovery was made, there was a scheme immediately made by some 
of the desperately homesick, and also daring ones, to avail themselves of this 
means to escape presented to us. Four of those men determined upon an attempt to 
escape by crawling down the sewer pipe upon their bellies. The way we happened 
to discover this sewer outlet, was while we were out on an expedition for brush 
for brooms. We had to measure the size of it by hurried glances so as not to 
betray our discovery. We found some Laurel roots in the vicinity which were 
valuable to us for making pipes. 

The head of the sewer in the prison was not large enough to admit a man, so they 
got busy and tore out the brick and mortar and scraped out the dirt with 
canteens sufficiently to allow one to squeeze through the opening. When this was 
completed, four men undertook the dangerous escape. About a month later we got 
word that two of them were found in such a frozen condition that they probably 
died later, as we never heard of them after they were taken to Rebel 
headquarters. 

The other two men were exhausted, and about ready to give up, when one night 
while warily making their way, they heard the crowing of a rooster. Their 
suffering had been so intense that they felt compelled to believe, who they 
supposed was a Rebel farmer, to be their captor. But joy!  They were saved by a 
Union family who provided them with food and clothing and started them on 
towards the Pennsylvania line, well equipped for the remainder of their journey 
to the land of safety. One of them was from Michigan, the other from Illinois. 
In Pennsylvania, they were cared for with all possible kindness, and sent on 
their way homeward rejoicing. But first they were required to report to the 
Provost Marshal to allow them to go to their homes for thirty days. After that 
time to report to the Parole Camp, if their examining surgeon gave them a 
certificate of good health. But many would prefer to return to their regiment at 
the front rather than go to the Parole Camp, because of the grafting and the 
authority loving official. 

About this time some more men were added to our prison numbers. Of these, one 
was added to my quota - a big, fat fellow of the state of Michigan. He made 
himself conspicuous by his haranguing over something to eat continually. He was 
so persistently mean, that it finally culminated in a fight when he insisted on 
taking a frying pan from me that I was using. Upon my determined refusal to let 
him have it, he kicked it into the fire. I could not forgive such an insult, so 
I jumped upon him, knocking him down. But he finally managed to get me under. 
Then my friends came to my rescue and knocked him off in a mighty rough fashion. 
I then jumped upon him again and then it was that I got one of the worse scars 
of  my whole war experience by breaking the second finger, hitting him on the 
back of his head. We all then gave him a hit, or a kick, to settle his ill 
humor. He then shamedly went away and troubled none of us further. This was the 
only trouble I had with our men in prison.