Richmond, VA - 1930 Newspaper Article: Reminiscences of a Virginia Minister

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Taken from the RICHMOND TIMES-DISPATCH, Richmond, Virginia, dated 
Sunday May 25, 1930.

REMINISCENCES OF A VIRGINIA MINISTER

Early Life of The Rev. Richard Ferguson-Gathering Of The War Clouds 
And The Call To Arms-Sickness, Capture And An Attempted Escape-
Solitary Confinement And The Evils Of Prison Fare-Parole At Last-
Peace And Its Attendant Hardships-The Close Of A Useful And 
Courageous Life

Editor's Note:  This article, written by the late Rev. Richard 
Ferguson about two years ago, was found among his personal 
effects with a note that it should be published, after his 
death, in The Times-Dispatch.  It will be of interest to 
thousands of his old parishioners and friends all over the 
Commonwealth of Virginia where he preached as a member of the 
Virginia Conference of the Methodist Church for fifty years.  
Its historical interest will make it attractive reading for 
all who are interested in the Civil War period.


By Rev. Richard Ferguson

Outstanding events and unusual conditions leave a lasting imprint on 
the youthful mind.  My father was stricken while at the dinner 
table.  My mother having so often applied her fingers to my forehead 
when ill, my first thought was to render the soothing aid.  The 
camphor bottle was not necessarily needed.  It was the slightly 
dampened fingers and the warmth of the fond hands that did the 
rubbing that impressed me.  I climbed on the back of father's chair 
and dampened my fingers on my tongue,  massaging his head as well as 
a nine-year-old boy could, while mother set about to get the doctor.  
Four years after my father's death, mother followed him, so that the 
age of thirteen found me an orphan.

	A large landed estate was divided among the several children, 
and I was fortunate in having a noble man appointed as my guardian.  
All my financial affairs were looked after by William M.Gill until 
my brother James became of age.    Having an ample income
and an exceedingly lenient guardian, I was not hampered in my early 
ambitions.  I educated myself and had enough Scotch blood in me to 
know how to save the pennies.

	My early training, sympathy for the ignorant malefactor, and a 
fair book knowledge of the achievements of John Wesley and his like, 
gave a definite leaning towards the ministry as a life work;  so 
that at the age of thirteen I prepared my first sermon from Matthew 
13th chapter 30th verse, "Let both grow together, but at the harvest 
time burn the tares and save the wheat."  It is not to my credit 
that this sermon, although reconstructed in later years, was 
probably little improved over the original.

	I received my A.B. degree from Randolph-Macon College in 1858 
at the age of 19, the school then being located at Boydton, Va.  
During the following two years my brother Sam and I farmed on our 
property in Dinwiddie County, near the Nottoway River.  During these 
years of comparative quiet I settled in my mind that I would enter 
the ministry and would have been licensed in 1860 had not illness 
kept me from attending conference.

	Now the war clouds were gathering.  Things were happening 
thick and fast.  Bugle notes and the beat of the drum were becoming 
familiar sounds.  No able-bodied white man in Virginia could evade 
the urge to arms.  I felt it my duty to do my part, and in 1861 
joined the Nottoway Grays, a company formed at Blacks and Whites, 
now Blackstone, and was a private in Company "G", Eighteenth 
Virginia Regiment.  Unlike many who said good-bye to mothers and 
fathers, wives or sweethearts, I left no tightening heart strings 
behind me, and went away with a determination to shoot straight and 
often, as long as Virginia needed me.  I soon found that standing up 
in front of minnie balls was quite a different thing from the quiet 
secure life on the Nottoway River.  The first skirmish was a thrill.  
The enemy opened fire from a clump of trees across a branch.  I 
first thought the crack of the muskets was the noise coming from men 
breaking down the dry reeds in the thicket, but breaking reeds do 
not sing the y-o-o-o-o in your ears, and in short order I was aware 
of the fact that I was still Dick Ferguson, but more than that, I 
was pretty apt to be the soft spot for some well-directed Yankee 
bullet!

	We made our first march from Manassas Junction to Centerville, 
six miles or more.  I was taken with measles which weakened my 
constitution, and afterwards had a severe attack of fever, then 
called camp fever, which nearly cost me my life.

	When the army was reorganized in 1862 I did not re-enlist on 
account of ill-health-Adjutant-General Cooper gave me an order 
relieving me from duty, and I went back and forth from home to my 
old company, and fought in several battles with them.  I was twice 
wounded when I actually belonged to no regular command.  I recall 
with what delight the whole regiment used to cheer me when I would 
return to the command.  On the Rappahannock River, near Steveburg, 
on the march to the Second Manassas field, when I returned they 
cried out, "Boys, we are going to have another fight.  Here comes 
Dick Ferguson!"  And soon the guns were booming from both sides of 
the river.  I followed the army as long as I could walk, but at 
Yorktown was forced to give up and go home again.  As I lay on the 
steamer waiting passage to West Point the guns from the warships of 
the Federals continually shelled us.  About dark we reached West 
Point, where I spent one of the most miserable nights of my life.  I 
finally arrived home, but was too ill to remember how or when I got 
there.  I seldom stayed at a hospital more than a night at a time.  
On account of being seriously wounded at Second Manassas I did not 
get into the battles at Boonesboro or Sharpsburg.

	When the army was not marching or fighting battles, I looked 
after the sick and wounded as best I could.  Once single-handed I 
secretly removed three of our best men from Chimborazo Hospital, and 
possibly saved their lives by getting them home.  I had provided 
passports, and had an omnibus at the foot of the hill to receive 
them as they followed me.  All of them were very ill with fever 
afterwards.

	When the battle of Gaines Mill took place I had gone to take 
home Captain Richard Irby, who had been stricken with fever, but 
returned in time to participate in the battle at Frazier's Farm, 
where I was again wounded.  The surgeons sent me back to the camp 
near Richmond, but the day after the Malvern Hill battle I returned 
in an army wagon, in the hope of being present at the capture of 
McClellan's army!

	Drs. Gaines and Ferguson had me carried in an ambulance, 
remarking that a man who would come back in such condition ought to 
be cared for.  I was struck by a nearly spent bullet before I had 
fired a gun.  They told me to apply a wet towel to the wound 
constantly.  My schoolmate and friend, John H. Gill, chief of the 
litter bearers, advised that I go to the rear, but I said "No, John, 
I will not leave for such a trifle."  To my surprise and great 
distress in the midst of the battle, I found my friend's dead body 
in the road.  He had been killed while helping a wounded man from 
the field.  My old guardian had two sons in the army, John and 
Creighton Gill, the one killed at Frazier's Farm and the other at 
Gettysburg, both noble young men.

	Soon afterwards I joined my old company as my health had been 
restored.  Colonel Carrington made me sergeant-major and then I was 
re-elected lieutenant in my old company "G", when the first vacancy 
occurred.  Soon after that I was promoted to adjutant of the 
regiment, and I recommended my young friend Creighton Gill to the 
sergeant-major's place.  Gill was shot at my side in the charge of 
Pickett's men at Gettysburg and died from the wounds.  We were 
pausing right at the celebrated clump of trees.  Near-by was one of 
the Webb boys, who was bleeding profusely from a wound under the 
eye.  I applied a handkerchief which he held with his hand.  He died 
shortly from the wound.

	These are sad things to relate since all of these and many 
other killed and wounded at that point were my dearest friends, and 
in many cases and been my boyhood chums.  Colonel Carrington was 
there too, wounded, with one finger shot off, and in his report to 
his superior testified that I took up unmanned guns and fired again 
and again at the enemy retiring back of the hill where now stands 
the Hancock Monument.  It is hard to estimate time under such 
circumstances, but it must have been fifteen minutes or more that my 
gun fire and his prudence held General Hancock's Corps back.

	How I longed for reinforcements from General Lee, but none 
ever came, so all I could do was to lie down and play off wounded, 
which I succeeded in doing until about sunset, when I was ordered to 
the rear along with Colonel Carrington and others.  I did not cease 
firing until Colonel Carrington and others requested that I quit as 
it was only drawing fire from the enemy in return.  I could but weep 
when my dear wounded comrades cried out to us, "please give us 
water," but the Federals said, "No, we will see after them."  I had 
intended when dark came to crawl back into our lines.  Let me make 
the positive assertion here that no Federal soldiers (except 
possibly some wounded man) nor any organized body of the enemy were 
on that line of the clump of trees while I was there, which at the 
outset of the charge, we were directed to keep in view.  There is 
where General Armistead was killed while turning one of the enemy's 
cannon on them.  I am thus emphatic about this because some of the 
infantry and a few of the artillery men of the enemy have tried to 
make it appear that they persisted in holding their lines intact.  I 
wish to say further the Club Musket Monument representing these men 
as clubbing us with their muskets near by that point portrays an 
action was is wholly untrue!

	The next day the prisoners were marched to Baltimore under 
double lines of cavalry and infantry, put in Fort McHenry, and then 
a few days afterwards carried to Fort Delaware.  This place was a 
mud hole and the cistern water was filled with germs.  Each day we 
were marched to the mess hall to feed on a tin cup of soup often 
specked with flies, and a slice of bread and a piece of hard beef.  
This state of affairs lasted for three weeks.  General Schoepf, who 
was in command, seemed disposed to be as kind as circumstances would 
permit.  From there all the officers were carried to Johnson's 
Island, near Sandusky city on Lake Erie, which contained thirteen 
acres, and the government had erected thirteen buildings in two 
numbered rows, six on each side and number thirteen at the foot of 
the street.  One and two were divided into small rooms to hold ten 
or a dozen men while the others had large rooms capable of holding 
fifty or sixty.  There  we were held for the remaining months in 
1863 and the whole of 1864 and two months in 1865, twenty months in 
all.  At first the authorities allowed us to purchase anything we 
desired in the way of food or clothing.  Those who had friends and 
could get money lived well.

	Fortunately there was a friend of my father's, E.G. Booth, who 
had married in Philadelphia.  He saw my name among the prisoners and 
wrote me how I could get money.  He referred me to Mrs. Angie W. 
Emley of Philadelphia.  She was Miss Angie Wilson of Hampton, Va., 
and had married a Mr. Emley of Philadelphia.  She was a staunch 
friend of all the Southern soldiers confined in the various prisons, 
and made me her agent at Johnson's Island.  She acted discreetly and 
wisely in getting money from many sources to supply the needs of the 
prisoners.  Major Bright of General Pickett's staff  was her 
kinsman.  I first met her after the war in Halifax County, Va., 
where her uncle, a Mr. Bright, had refugeed and then visited her in 
her home in Philadelphia.  She was a noble woman, a choice spirit 
and full of human kindness.  I wish to leave this tribute to her 
memory.  The South's suffering in prison never had a more deserving 
and faithful friend.  After the close of the war I rejoiced that I 
was able to return all the money Mr. Booth had loaned me.

	Early after our imprisonment, Captain Robert McCulloch, 
Company "B" Eighteenth Virginia, and I began to plan our escape.  We 
selected a ditch running from the prison to the lake shore.  At the 
mouth of the ditch was a large lantern with reflectors like the 
lamps to the engine of a train, but under it was a dark spot-no 
light could shine.  We had watched from high places in prison and 
noticed where a vine dresser had tied up his boat and locked it.  We 
had made a saw out of a carpenter's square and provided files and 
other things necessary.  But when all things seemed favorable 
Captain McCulloch, who was suffering from a wound he had received in 
his foot, commenced having chills and was unable to go, so he 
recommended Hector M. Bruce, a lieutenant in the Florida company, to 
take his place.

	The fence on the side of the prison next to the water was made 
of scantling placed about three inches apart in order to admit air.  
It was thirteen feet high, and three feet down from the top was a 
parapet for the sentinel's walk, and each had a sentry box to get in 
during a rain.  Our success depended upon a stormy night with the 
waves lashing the shore to drown the sound of our saw, and a little 
rain to hold the sentry in his box while we operated.  Sure enough a 
night of favorable conditions came, but Bruce said he was fearful he 
might not be able to row the boat two miles to Sandusky City alone 
on a stormy night, and as I was inexperienced in rowing a boat, he 
suggested that I get a third man.  I tried several before 
succeeding, and at last found a major who consented to go.

	Many hands were all kind in assisting me and Lieutenant 
Harvey, afterwards a doctor of Danville, gave me suitable clothing 
and Colonel Graves of Yanceyville, N.C., exchanged a gold coin of 
ten dollars for a check on my account in the hands of the purser who 
held our money, and also gave me an old-fashioned knife with 
different contrivances attached; Colonel Carrington furnished me a 
letter of introduction to a wealthy friend of his in Montreal, 
Canada, the point we aimed to strike from Sandusky City.  This 
letter I sewed up in my sleeve.  Thus equipped, each with a hand 
satchel, we took to the ditch and made a successful crawl to the 
fence.  One would watch the movements of the sentinel while another 
sawed.   When we sawed through the scantling once we thought to be 
able to pull one of the palings out of the ground but found that we 
would have to make another cut.  This done, we took out the piece 
and afterwards replaced it so that it would not be noticed.  At the 
corner was a blockhouse with a cannon and a guard to turn it on the 
prisoners should there be such a thing as a general outbreak.  There 
was also a flight of steps on either side of the blockhouse to get 
up and down from the parapet.  Thus far all was well.  I was leader 
and the others were to follow.  I went up the lake shore, which was 
ten paces from the fence and Bruce followed me, but the major 
thought it safer to walk at the side of the fence under the parapet.  
As he came from under the steps he met the officer of the guard face 
to face!  He made him prisoner, threw out the guard, had the long 
rolls sounded and the whole force was put under arms.

	Bruce was soon captured, and I was in such a fix I did not 
know what to do.  I finally determined to lie down and hide myself 
until things got quiet.  I hid in a brush pile, at the same time 
covered up in the sand a pistol which had been given me by one of my 
fellow-prisoners.  It was raining a little so I covered myself with 
my oilcloth.  I soon heard the boats going around the island and a 
half dozen or more different searching parties passed by me.  At 
last an officer with a lantern came up to the brush pile and said 
"What's that?" and with a cocked pistol ordered me up.  I asked him 
to put up his pistol, saying I had no notion of trying to escape in 
the face of an island full of armed soldiers.  It was then through 
him I learned that they had frightened the major and made him tell 
who and how many had gotten out, and how they escaped.  The major 
was a kindhearted fellow but lacked the judgment and backbone of his 
companions.

	I was taken to the guardhouse and searched.  They took the 
gold piece and the knife, and had the money placed to my credit, and 
when I left the island returned the knife, which I sent to Colonel 
Groves' family after the close of the war.  They did not notice 
several little things which I had on my person, such as a pocket 
compass, matches and candles.  I recall how some of them laughed 
when they made me open the little satchel and found chiefly crackers 
and cheese.  I said I had been a soldier too long not to provide 
rations!

	A dutchman conducted me to a dungeon under the guardhouse, 
saying in broken English, "Ve haf a place for sich fellows as you 
is."  Bruce and the major had already been assigned to their boxes.  
My clothing was very damp, but they gave me a blanket.  After things 
became quiet I struck a match and lit my little piece of candle.  
The dungeon seemed to be constructed of one-inch oak boards, bottom, 
sides and top, and was about four feet square and five feet high.  
That was the most miserable night of my life.  My first thought was 
to set fire to the thing, but I decided this would not do.  Finally 
slumber came.

	In the morning, after giving us some food, we were taken to 
the office of Colonel Pierson, the commandant of the prison.  He 
said, since we would not remain quietly and peaceable where we were 
placed, he had decided to require us to take paroles not to attempt 
to escape.  Being the first who had gotten out of the prison, 
remembering the dungeon, and not knowing what would be done with us, 
we consented to take the paroles.  This was in September.  The 
following December we wrote a letter to Colonel Pierson withdrawing 
the paroles and asking to be put on the same footing as other 
prisoners.  He sent for us on Christmas Eve, 1863, and spoke 
harshly, saying we were not disposed to submit to authority, but if 
we did not renew the paroles he would have us put in close 
confinement.  We stepped back a little and conferred together.  The 
major said his health was poor and he could not stand close 
confinement, so he was put back in prison.  Bruce and I were 
consigned to the strong pen with the condemned men, spies and 
criminals.  On the east side of the prison was a small house that 
would hold a dozen or more men, with stakes around limiting their 
walks.  Most of these men had on blocks and chains, but were 
ingenious enough to pick the blocks and put them off and on as 
circumstances demanded.  Just before sunset of the same day we were 
carried to the guard house where Colonel Pierson met us.  He seemed 
to have softened in his treatment and manner toward us and said he 
hated to keep us in close confinement and if we would take the 
parole until the 15th of April he would be satisfied.  We conferred 
again and told him politely and kindly we did not want to be cut off 
from the privileges of our fellow prisoners (we hoped to escape).  
Then he said he did not expect to be in command of the prison longer 
than the first of March and if we would take the parole till the 15th 
of March he would take care of us.  Having visions of freedom 
through escape we again refused and he became disgusted, telling the 
officer of the guard if we did not agree to the parole to put us 
back in close confinement.  After further consultation we decided 
that he had nothing to gain, so yielded, and were put back in 
prison.  But, when the time of our release from that obligation 
came, all sorts of schemes for getting out had been exhausted and we 
had to make ourselves satisfied.

	The winter following (1864), I helped Captain Farinholt to 
make his escape across the lake on the ice.  Never before or since 
have I felt as blue as when I watched his form passing beyond my 
visions to freedom!  Many of the prisoners escaped and they were 
quite ingenious in their plans.  The safest method was to buy a 
Yankee uniform from some one who would "take" money.  At nightfall, 
on a cold night, the prisoner would don the Federal clothes and 
nonchalantly stroll along through the lines down to the frozen lake 
and across the ice to freedom.  The sun never went down, while I was 
confined in this prison, that I did not hope in some way to escape 
before the morning-but while we bravely tried out every conceivable 
plan, it seemed the old Latin maxim: "fortes, fortuna adjuvat," was 
not working in our case.  I am satisfied the hand of Providence 
foiled our plan to escape in the vine trimmer's boat though, because 
the storm increased and had we gotten out on the lake that night in 
a small boat we would probably have found a watery grave.

	On Washington's birthday while the prisoners were celebrating, 
an amusing incident occurred.  The authorities were sending in an 
officer and a gifted orator from Arkansas was speaking.  He had just 
finished a parody on the  "Star-Spangled Banner" saying just as the 
officer of the day arrived:  "Fellow prisoners, I know it is all 
wrong to abuse these Yankees, but I am reminded of an old 
grandmother who was lecturing her daughter about kissing her 
sweetheart when the daughter confided:  `Grandmother, I know it is 
all wrong, but it is so soothing!".  Captain Fellows after the war 
became a prominent lawyer in New York.

	Being in a prison and under parole not to attempt to escape I 
made myself as comfortable as possible and began to devote myself to 
study.   I took up French and made good progress as I was well up on 
Latin.  I also secured a Hebrew grammar, through a friend, Mrs. 
Emley, but without a teacher, made indifferent progress.  I read 
many books, studied Greek, attempted to preach to my fellow 
prisoners and actually did a lot of ground  work for my future 
activities. 

	It was my duty to detail men to look after the sick in the 
hospital and frequently I spent whole nights there myself.  This was 
a voluntary employment which gave me much pleasure.

	Certain prisoners were detailed to do the cooking.  Two young 
bucks from Arkansas were on duty in the kitchen when they became 
rebellious and commenced raising quite a disturbance.  I went in as 
a peacemaker.  One of them was so infuriated that he let go a billet 
of stove wood, aimed at my head, with such force that he threw his 
shoulder out of joint.  Had not this seemingly providential 
interception come about I would probably have been killed or 
seriously wounded.  I called on him several times while he was in 
the hospital and he became a staunch friend.

	The failure to exchange prisoners was short-sightedness on the 
part of both governments due chiefly to General Grant's attitude.  
He thought it good policy, but his course caused much suffering and 
many deaths among prisoners on both sides.  The Federals soon cut 
our rations in retaliation as they said, for the treatment of their 
men at Andersonville, Richmond and other places, but there were vast 
differences in the resources of the two governments.   We were held 
in prison in a land flowing with milk and honey, and could have had 
the luxuries at our own expense, while the Confederate government 
was impoverished and did the best they could for their prisoners, 
even offering to parole them and allow the Federals to send supplies 
of medicine and luxuries for their sick ones.  It seemed utter 
cruelty to keep men confined when it could have been avoided by a 
wise exchange or a parole.
	
	Lovelace said:
		Stone walls do not a prison make,
		Nor iron bars a cage-

but in my case prison was prison.  Fighting battles was glorious 
action, but prison life was distressingly hard.  Let others sit 
behind bars but give me freedom even in the face of shot and shell.  
No more doleful sounds ever reached my ears than the lashing of the 
waves against our hated prison walls, on stormy nights when Jupiter 
Pluvius rode over Lake Erie on his bucking steed.  We fellows 
confined on this small island, leading a life of forced inactivity, 
slept no-we had no lights and the crashing waves would startle a 
dozing prisonmate.  Then the prison prattle would be renewed and the 
fellow who feigned sleep was soon awakened to realization of the 
fact that prisoners do not sleep during stormy nights on Johnson's 
Island.  To this day when I go down to the sea the break of the 
waves on the shore awakens a rebellion in me!  After twenty long 
months, during which time many had died and others withered to 
uselessness through grief and confinement, in 1865, we were paroled 
alphabetically.  I was in the first squad that departed in March.  
We had to walk across to Sandusky City on the ice.  We fell many 
times, but at last held on to the sledge on which the baggage was 
carried and got across without serious injury.

	We arrived in Richmond about March 12 and received a few 
months' pay.  Captain Frazier of the Fifty-sixth Virginia and I kept 
in close touch with each other.  In Petersburg we paid $25 for a 
breakfast at the old Jarratt Hotel.  After much tribulation we 
finally reached Wilson's depot near which his aunt, a Mrs. Threat, 
lived.  The battercakes she served us were never duplicated!  
Shortly after we reached our homes General Grant broke through the 
Southern lines at Five Forks and General Lee abandoned Petersburg 
and Richmond.  While I was in the back yard preparing to depart and 
travel parallel to General Lee's army, I saw a squadron of cavalry 
coming down the long lane at full speed.  I rushed to the garden 
gate, latched it and was untieing my horse which was tethered in the 
orchard.  I found if I stopped to loosen the horse I would be caught 
so I ran with all speed to the pines.  As I was entering the woods 
the foremost men reached the gate to the garden, and cried out, 
"Stop, you hellion," but the hellion kept going up the hill through 
the pines, and finally hid himself in a thicket.  At the fence they 
paused and finally gave up the pursuit.

	I learned afterwards they reported that my coat-tail stood 
straight behind me that they never saw a fellow run faster!  They 
searched the house and found a new uniform I had just purchased.  
One of them would have taken it but another said:  "You now have 
more clothes than you can carry."  They did take a diary containing 
a record of practically all of my activities in the war which I 
prized more highly than anything else.  They inquired of my sister 
why I ran if I was paroled.  She replied that I had no notion of 
being taken prisoner again.  After reconnoitering I emerged from the 
woods and spying my brother's son learned from him the direction the 
troops had gone.  They had taken his father's horse but left mine 
because she would not lead.  They took my brass stirrups and left 
their wooden ones.  I soon saddled my horse and departed for 
Brunswick County, making for Clarksville in the rear of General 
Lee's army.

	I sent Captain Price off into Brunswick County on a wounded 
horse which cost me $5,000 in Confederate money.  Captain Price was 
a fellow prisoner from Texas who was unable to reach his home and 
was visiting me.  He and I stopped for several days at the home of 
Mr. Blackwell, my brother-in-law, in Lunenburg County.  There we 
learned the heartbreaking news of the surrender of General Lee.   
George Seay, a member of my old company, lived in Lunenburg, and his 
father's home was not far away.  He was on his way from Appomattox.  
I proposed that we take his horse.  Our's were hidden in the pines.  
As we journeyed and crossed a little creek ascending a hill, we saw 
three Yankee soldiers coming towards us.  We first turned our horses 
to run away, but decided to meet them boldly as we were both paroled 
prisoners.  They seized the bridles of our horses and demanded them 
of us.  We protested, saying by the terms of General Lee's surrender 
we were entitled to our horses.  Then the fellow that held mind 
lifted my watch and the other said, "They are old soldiers, let them 
go."

	All the time we were parleying, the third man, who was a Negro 
soldier, was pouring down volleys of wrath upon us.  To him we made 
no replies.  Soon after we got rid of them, I turned through the 
woods back to the place where we tied our horses.  Yankee soldiers 
from Nottoway Courthouse came and abused my sister, saying she was 
harboring rebels, and they carried off my brother-in-law's horses.  
The next day we made for Nottoway Courthouse in search of our horses 
and boldly asked for the commanding general.  He was kind and 
courteous and gave us an order permitting us to search for the 
horses and take them wherever we found them.  We found and 
appropriated two.  All the time the Yankee soldiers were cursing and 
abusing us.  Our only words were:  "You have the advantage of us for 
we are prisoners."  After some days Captain Price and I set out for 
my home in Dinwiddie County by the same route we had come and he 
soon left for Texas.

	We found upon our return that two Negro soldiers, one 
professing to be from New Hampshire and the other from Vermont, had 
come and taken possession of my home and were organizing a company 
of Negroes.  They went around daily pillaging the homes and 
intimidating the citizens.  Two of three of our old citizens 
reported it to General Wilcox, then in command at Wilson'' Depot.  
He sent a squadron of cavalry to capture them.  When the cavalry 
arrived the Negroes had just returned from an excursion in Brunswick 
County.  The soldiers fired into them and killed and wounded 
several.  I never learned what punishment was meted out to them.  
One of the leaders hid under the house and the next day some of the 
Yankee soldiers were informed of his whereabouts by Peter Coleman, 
my army servant, who had just returned home.  They ripped up the 
floor and captured him.  Peter was a most faithful servant to me.  
When I went into battle at Gettysburg I committed to him my watch 
and pocketbook which he delivered to my brother.  After my capture 
he went with my brother Sam, who was a member of my old company and 
followed the regiment on the retreat after Brother Sam was wounded 
and captured at Five Forks in Dinwiddie County.

	When I returned to my old home brother James lived with me.  A 
Yankee soldier came along and said he heard a bushwhacker was there.  
I told brother James I would go out and talk with him, that I was 
not afraid of any man even though he did carry a gun.  I succeeded 
in convincing the soldier we had never indulged in that sort of 
warfare.  So he departed.  I had fully made up my mind that should 
he attempt to capture me there would be a stout tussle for his gun.

	The war being over, my brother and I commenced preparing to 
plant a crop, since he had a large family to provide for.  We 
planted corn and oats and saved the whole crop.  1865 was one of the 
most seasonable and favorable years for farming I ever recall.  
Everything was in confusion, but my brother had hidden a good lot of 
supplies.  In the fall of 1866 I opened a private school, chiefly 
for the education of my brother's children, and taught for three 
years in succession, at the same time preparing for the ministry.  
Although preachers were needed, it seemed there were more than could 
be taken care of.  So I was not licensed until 1868, when I threw 
myself into the work, assisting the Rev. George N. Guy on the 
circuit where I had been raised.  My first sermons were delivered to 
those with whom I had been brought up.  In 1869 I joined the 
conference at Richmond, and from then on became an active minister 
of the Gospel until I requested a superannuate relation in 1918.

	It cannot be gainsaid that slavery was cruel.  Few of the 
better classes in the South believed that existing conditions would 
continue, and it is my opinion the whole question could have been 
settled amicably had not a few hotheads taken things in their own 
hands.  Slavery was recognized and the South had its millions 
invested.  If a wise man like Abraham Lincoln had been allowed to 
work out a plan without hindrance there would probably never have 
been any such thing as the barbarous Civil War.  Anyhow, for my 
part, I was relieved of a great responsibility when the slaves were 
set free.  We old fellows, who stood up in defense of what our 
States believed to be right, had a deep-seated impression of having 
been led along the path of duty, and that we gave what we had was 
the best evidence of our faith.

	I had thousands tied up in Confederate bonds which had no 
value, so that, the war over, I started life anew, with plenty of 
acreage but little actual cash.  I never let go of my estate, and 
from time to time during my life as a minister I sold timber from my 
farm, the proceeds being a wonderful aid in rearing and educating my 
children.

	I turned over to the trustee of Randolph-Macon College the sum 
of $200 many years ago to be invested until the close of the present 
century, and then added to the endowment fund of the college.  I 
have added to my original contribution a number of times until I do 
not know what the sum amounts to now.

	I have been blessed with many comforts, and though I am beyond 
ninety years in age, am able to see and think clearly.

	These few incidents of my life, not having been previously 
recorded, are left as a slight contribution to the history of the 
Civil War happenings, and the manuscript has been delivered to my 
son with a request that it be not published until after my death.  
The use of the ego has been liberal, but I am sure those who knew me 
will be charitable.  It was my ambition to finish out four score 
years and ten.  This having been achieved, I lay down my pen and to 
my friends say adieu!


                                                       RICHARD 
FERGUSON.
					    July 1928, Tampa, Fla.		
						    Born, 1838

Re-typed by his great granddaughter,  Margaret Meredith Ferguson 
Coldren on Feb. 10, 2001.   Manuscript was passed down in the family 
from Richard  Ferguson to his son, Cornelius Guy Ferguson , and to 
his son, my father, Cornelius Guy Ferguson, Jr.

	
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