Confederate After Action Report
for
Immortal 600 Living History Event

by

J. Ogden Murray
Richmond, Virginia
April 1, 1894

    I endeavor here in these writings to set the record straight as to the actions and the situation of Confederate officers imprisoned at Ft. Pulaski, Georgia.   This account is written both in reflection and from journal entries, and the events exactly as I remember them.   It is my intent that the reader should know that these recollections are my own and as I witnessed them.

    Through an act of unenviable fate, over 300 officers of the Confederacy found themselves prisoners of war, with faint hope of exchange, housed in one of the South's foremost coastal forts.   We were held captive more for political reasons than for military, and were subject to starvation, disease, and to freezing temperatures.   Retaliatory measures imposed by the Federal high command found us deprived of necessities such as firewood and medicine.   Many simple, civil privileges, such as the receiving and sending of mail, were also revoked.

    Upon incarceration, we quickly developed a set of rules and a governing code that we felt would maintain civility and help preserve our lives.   As officers, we would not allow ourselves to degenerate to barbaric conditions, as has been the case among some men after long periods of confinement.   A relief society was formed for the purpose of caring for those too sick or too weak to care for themselves.   We were a rather organized lot, and constant refinement of our practices took place in a diplomatic manner.   By committee, we made several decisions concerning the organization and equity of the men.   For instance, Capt. Edmundson suggested that the senior officers care for the junior officers, thus ensuring that our military protocol remains intact.   All privileges were allocated from low to high, beginning with Sgt. Major Busby and then up in rank.   The structure worked well, with elected mess leaders at the end of the line, ensuring their messmates were properly fed, and that those too weak to draw rations were cared for.

    Our guard was composed of New Yorkers ranging in age from old man to bare faced boy.   It did not take long before the other prisoners had surnamed every one of our captors.   The guards were graced with such identification as: Private Tree, Corporal 157, Pacing yank, Kindhearted yank, Stern yank, and Little Nick.  Our guards were generally charitable, as were their officers.   There existed a mutual respect between us, forged from a common dislike of our disposition.

    The Yankee officers were a professional sort, each one had personal convictions of his own, but all true to his duty.   The senior officer in the fort, a Colonel Brown, had become quite a troubled man.   It is my opinion that Colonel Brown was a man of conscious whose suffering in many ways rivaled our own.   Over time, his inspections came less and less frequently.   When he did show for an inspection, he simply walked quickly though the casemate with his eyes to the floor, as if trying to escape the suffering he was forced to behold.   Many times the men pleaded with him as he passed through, asking for medicine, food, or firewood, but no reply would come.   The guards told us he could hardly bear to look at our deplorable condition, and that he had requested transfer back to the front lines.

    The following are direct excerpts from my journal, which I haphazardly kept while in confinement:

"March 5, 1865

    Shortly after morning roll call, a detail of 13 fellows was organized for the purpose of carrying the body of Captain King to the outside of Ft. Pulaski for burial.   Captain King's death had a profound effect upon the men, as he was loved by everyone, and always had a kind work to say. We shall miss him, but his spirit has at last been set free for the misery that has befallen us, and we all know that he has gone on to a far better place.

    The Federal Lieutenant, sympathetic to our plight, casually mentioned that an inspection would soon take place, and that the Colonel would surely not allow sutler privileges with the casemate in its current state of cleanliness.   At once a meeting was called, and it was quickly determined that sutler wares were better than none at all.   A broom was requisitioned, and a mad dash began to tidy the cell.   Bunks were made forthright, possessions were packed and off the floor, and a whirlwind of hay and dust was accumulated and disposed of down the chute.

    The sutler was another medium used by our captors to disrupt our highly organized structure.   When sutler privileges were allowed, the men would pool their script and submit an order to the officer of the day.   He would carry the order to the sutler, and return sometime later with a box containing our goods.   Invariably, the goods returned never matched the order, and the amount of change returned was questionable as well.   This occurred no matter the day, sutler, or supposed inventory the sutler carried.

    Today, a peculiar act of desperation occurred, as a godsend saved two of the men from certain starvation.   It seems that Mrs. Brown's cat wandered into the casemate.   Some of the men lost no time in turning that animal into a first rate dish.   One man who was not privy to the origin of the dish was invited to join the feline feast, and upon taking his first bite, was horrified as one of his messmates cat-called ... "meow".

    Privileges were given and revoked on a regular basis, and we were kept in a constant state of anxiety, never knowing if our letters had reached our loved ones, or if we had letters waiting, but out of our reach.   As the spirit of the men plummeted, many of our number sick and ill, the men elected me as their spokesman to seek an answer from Colonel Brown.   I was surprised to receive an interview with the Colonel only one day after the request was written.   He received me into his office and both he and Mrs. Brown, also in the room, greeted me politely.   Pleas were made on our behalf for essential items of survival, and for the reinstatement of mailing privileges.   Colonel Brown replied that his hands were tied, and that General Foster would not allow any of it.   One last plea was made for approval to mail a letter that I had written to my uncle in St. Louis.   It stated our quandary, and I explained to the Colonel that my uncle would gladly send money to our aid if I were only allowed to communicate with him.   Colonel Brown, deeply moved, excused himself from the room, and his wife, who assured me that it would be delivered, accepted the letter from me.

    This afternoon the men had a time while relishing in the misery of a Federal soldier who had been caught sitting down while on guard duty.   The reader should know that had this been a cell full of privates, the incident would probably never have been reported.   But a casemate full of officers finds this act detestable, even for their own guards.   In short, the private was forced to carry a log across the parade ground for an hour, and was thereafter referred to as Private Log.

    Darkness has fallen about us approximately 6:30, and we are confined to candlelight activities in the darkness.   I have come to look forward to this time, as many of the deplorable sights visible to us during the day are invisible to our eyes now.   A certain peace seems to fall upon the men, and thoughts turn to loved ones at home.   Candles are lighted, the men form in distinct groups, and as always, the singing group has congregated around the table.   The old songbook is taken out, and the singing is commenced in earnest. The men, lacking proper instruments, are quick to utilize Southern ingenuity and fashion makeshift apparatus from odds and ends found around the casemate. Before long, a performance of singing and joyful noise lifts the spirits of the men for hours into the night. Among the favorites sang are Dandy Jim, All for me Grog, I'll Fly Away, and Rose of Alabama.

 March 6, 1865

    At 1:00 am we were awoken and filed out for role call.   An announcement was made that two men had escaped from the hospital, but that efforts were already under way to recapture them.   We were forced to stand in the cold for a few more minutes, and we were then sent back to our bunks.   The remainder of the night passed without further incident.

    At morning, the daily routine began again, with roll call, a trip to the privy under guard, and then enclosure within the casemate once again.   We were delighted when our guard opened the large casemate doors over areas 19-21, flooding the cold, stony interior with bright, early morning sunshine.   However, we were only to be disappointed again when the doors were closed minutes later, shading us in the cold darkness of our cell.   The reasoning for this soon became evident, as we heard the Federal guard preparing to raise the colors.   Lt. Henderson was able to position himself in a way that the procession could be seen through a crack in the casemate door.   He relayed the progression of the Yankee activities to us as we gathered by the bars on the far right of our quarters.   As soon as that striped banner began its ascension up the pole, we Confederates rang out with a chorus of Dixie heard clear to Tybee Island.   By a trick of fate, the flag refused to unfurl as long as we sang, and the Federal officers hurled several curses and superlatives our way.

    The excitement over, we finish our morning routine by lining up for washing, using the only means at our disposal, eing a bar of lye soap, a well used cloth, and a bucket of water.   Shortly thereafter rations are delivered to us in a single bucket, and divided by Lt. Hodges.   The men line up with plates in hand, and the piles are distributed in non-biased fashion.

    Being the Sabbath, Captain Blue instructed the benches be laid in appropriate fashion, as he prepared to conduct a service for the men.   Hats removed, Amazing Grace sung, and the men sit straight and attentive for the reading of the scripture.   This is done in reverent fashion, as it has been on every Sunday.   This time of worship is one of the few freedoms we enjoy, and it is looked forward to with anticipation every Sunday.   Let it here be noted that the honorable Capt. Blue, at every meal, no matter how meager the portion, has been insistent that grace be regularly given.

    Our spiritual instruction had not been long concluded, when our casemate doors were reopened, and we were treated to a cruel demonstration of freedom.   In clear line of sight was that of our captors, engaged in an interesting activity they call 'town ball.'   While we stood behind bars, cold and crowded in our cell, the Federals were laughing, running, and having a wonderful time altogether.   I know that every man standing beside me had a heavy heart on that sunny day.

    Through an act of providence, the mail privileges were reinstated, and at afternoon roll call, some of the men were fortunate enough to receive letters and packages from home.   Any food from the packages was quickly distributed to all within the casemate.   The letters, read by everyone, ranged in content from joyful tidings to desperate pleas.   I remember one in particular that shall haunt me for the rest of my days.   It was from a child named Cindy, whom was Capt. Hodges' young daughter.   She expressed her sorrow at not seeing her Daddy for so long a time, and in the closing, asked him three times to "please come home."

   - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

    In closing this account of our confinement, the reader should note that we remained in prison for the remainder of the war, never once wavering from our duty and never accepting the Oath to the Union.   Circumstances meant taking the Oath would have saved lives, and set the remainder of us free.   Lt. Hempstead exhibited extraordinary resolve when he declined the proposal, having been visited by the governor of his home state at the request of him influential parents.   At the close of the war, we were eventually released, although our physical condition prevented our immediate departure to our homes.

    Our captivity took place in casemates 19-21, and upon my recollection, those quartered there were Sgt. Major Charles Busby (the youngest among us); Lieutenants Tom Irwin, Jim Hodges, Gordon Fort, Bill Adams, A.M. Greene; Dan Garrett; Wyatt Allen, Bill Collier, Bill Hubert, Bill. Cherry; and Captains Bill Bailey, Joe Edmundson, Mack Blue, Julius Hempstead, Tom Harris, Bill Day, Allen Gibson; and myself, Ogden Murray.

    It was my privilege to be imprisoned with such an esteemed group of men and officers.   They conducted themselves with honor and discipline, each contributing all he had to our mutual survival.   The bond we struck while together was forged of most desperate circumstances and of a singular dedication to one another.   The memories of our captivity shall never leave me, and of the men with whom I was confined, I have missed them for these many years.

J. Ogden Murray
Co. K, 27th Virginia Infantry