Let us now return to the little band of prisoners in that woody ravine. As soon as the surrender had been consummated the men threw away their guns, many of them with the cartridges, into a rivulet near the intrenchments, and some cut up their equipments, determined to afford as little aid and comfort to the rebels as possible. Our newly-made acquaintances exhibited a most remarkable penchant for cutlery and other conveniences Yankees are always supposed to have in their possession. One of the rebel skirmishers had hardly lowered his gun from an aim, when he walked up to one of our men and said: “Have you got a knife to sell?” “No;” and somewhat abashed, he went off to try his luck in a more promising field. We were now ordered to fall in, and a part were marched up the road to General Lee’s headquarters, where the rebels took away our knapsacks, rubber blankets, shelter-tents, and canteens, and registered our names. Quite a crowd of butternuts assembled to view the “Yanks” and prosecute their schemes of trade.

While we were near headquarters, a General of high rank rode up, unattended by his staff, and was received among his soldiers with a style of cheering or yelling peculiar to themselves. The rebel chief seemed lost in deep thought, scarcely noticing the squad of prisoners or the cheers of his men. The signs of care were strongly marked upon his iron countenance. Clad in simple garb, with no prominent badge of distinction, calm and determined in demeanor, stood before us the commander of the Army of Northern Virginia, the military pillar of the rebellion. The General hurriedly retired into his quarters, and our attention was attracted by a motley array of rebel soldiery marching up the road. Could we have forgotten the stern realities of our situation, we might well have regarded the display as a military burlesque. On a closer inspection, we found the butternut phalanx to be composed of tall, lank specimens of “poor white trash,” with hats slouched in the most approved style, and knapsacks of every conceivable variety. The officers were, many of them, equipped with swords of a most ancient description, which had already filled a term of service in the olden time. Here is a man with a very good blanket, and we soon see the letters U.S. displayed under the folds, while on another back is strapped an old piece of carpet. A more dirty, seedy, ill-favored, border-ruffian, ignorant set of men we had never met before, and this is just the material for an efficient army, marshalled in defence of treason and slavery.

The preparations were now completed, and under a strong guard we started off for Spottsylvania Court-House. The roads were full of Confederate wounded, moving to the rear. Our route crossed a section of the battle-field, but all was now quiet; only splintered trees and lines of breastworks told of the fierce conflicts of the last few days. At dusk we entered the now historic town of Spottsylvania, and passed the night within the inclosure of the Court-House. A portion of the regiment remained in the vicinity of the battle ground, and did not reach the village until the following afternoon. On the morning of May fourth we resumed our march for Guinea’s Station, a small hamlet on the Richmond and Fredericksburg railroad, important as a dÉpÔt of supplies for Lee’s army. Here seemed to be the general rendezvous of prisoners, and fifteen hundred had already been assembled previous to our arrival. Near the station was the house where Stonewall Jackson lay wounded and afterward died, an event which clothed the whole Confederacy in mourning. Our stay at Guinea’s Station was prolonged until Thursday, May seventh—three days of misery, hardly paralleled in any of the experiences of the whole nine months’ campaign. Tuesday dawned upon us intensely hot. The broiling rays of the sun seemed to concentrate upon the large open lot occupied by the Union prisoners, unrelieved even by a solitary tree. Later in the day a terrific thunder shower burst upon us, passing at length into a settled storm, bitterly raw and cold, continuing all night and the next day at short intervals. The rain poured in torrents, flowing in streams across the lot. A ludicrous sight, indeed, were the nearly two thousand shelterless men, emphatically squatter sovereigns, scattered about over the field in speechless resignation, drenched through and through in the pelting storm.

Thus far we had subsisted on the scanty remains of Uncle Sam’s rations. “What a fall was there!” when we descended from Joe Hooker’s generous hospitality to the frugal fare doled out to us by the rebel commissary. A brief residence at one of Jeff.’s hotels is an infallible remedy for all who are disposed to grumble at army food. The order is given, “Fall in for rations!” We had almost concluded that this order would never again greet our ears until we should once more stand under the flag of the Union. Immediately our thoughts recurred to camp near Falmouth, and in imagination floated visions of beef, pork, hard-tack, fresh bread—in fact, Uncle Sam’s army ration loomed up in bolder relief than ever before. In silent suspense we advance and receive—three pints of flour apiece. The inquiry arose, What shall we do with it? Our extremely limited culinary facilities soon settled that question. There was but one alternative, and the men immediately built little fires and were busily engaged in cooking up a bill of fare for the march to Richmond, said bill of fare consisting simply of flour and water mixed together and dried before the fire. A New-England farmer would regard it as a personal insult if one should offer such stuff to his hogs. Even a swill-carrier would indignantly protest.

Many suggestive sights fed our curiosity. Processions of trains were constantly coming and going from the station, transporting supplies for Lee’s army. Shabby army wagons—regular Noah’s arks mounted on wheels—horses and mules reduced to mere skin and bone—every thing foreshadowed the ruin of the Confederacy. Thursday morning, May seventh, we began the march for Richmond, escorted by the Twelfth South Carolina. The roads were in an awful condition, in consequence of recent rains. On the route we passed through Bowling Green, a few miles east of the railroad, and by evening reached Milford Station. Just beyond the village we were obliged to wade the Mattapony river, and halted for the night in a forest near by. After a toilsome march, we bivouacked, on Friday evening, a short distance beyond Hanover Station. At this place each man received five medium-sized crackers and an ounce of bacon. Our guards were very incommunicative, but occasionally sung out, “Git in yer groups of fours dar!” or ventured an “I reckon,” or a “right smart.”

May ninth seemed to concentrate and intensify all previous discomforts. The day was exceedingly hot, and our route lay through a succession of vile swamps, skirting the Pamunkey and Chickahominy rivers, and extending to within four or five miles of Richmond. Here the ground is somewhat higher, and pleasant villas nestle among the trees, now just assuming the verdure of spring. As we passed one of these residences, the proprietor—an old gentleman—and the women turned out en masse to view the procession. No doubt we did present a rather sorry plight; at any rate, these high-bred F. F. V.’s laughed exultingly, and were loud and profuse in their remarks, complimentary to Yankees in general and us in particular. “Oh! well, you have got to Richmond now!” screeched out one of them with all the impotent ire she could muster. “Next time we are coming with guns,” was the reply. “Yes, yes,” chimed in the old man, “we saw a lot of you fellows last summer over there,” pointing with his cane in the direction of McClellan’s achievements in the Chickahominy swamps. Thus a running fire of words was kept up all along the line.

We could now see in the distance the spires of the rebel capital. Just outside the city, lines of earthworks, with here and there a frowning cannon, commanded the road. Our flattering reception thus far in the villages along the route from Guinea’s Station led us to expect even greater demonstrations from the Richmond populace. As we entered the city, it seemed as if all Richmond had turned out to view the Yankee parade. The streets in the suburbs were full of people—men, women, and children, whites, negroes, mulattoes—all in one confused crowd, and swayed for the most part with clamorous exultation; while “her beauty and her chivalry,” arm in arm, gloated over the scene with a kind of fiendish delight. One old woman, raising her arms in blank astonishment, screamed out: “Why, all Hooker’s army is coming!” We thought to ourselves, she is about right; Hooker’s army will be here one of these days, and with guns too. “What have you come down here for?” demanded one, whose very countenance flashed vengeance. “Oh! we are only Hooker’s advance guard, come down to act as pall-bearers at Stonewall Jackson’s funeral,” some one quietly replied. In his rage he answered: “If you were not a prisoner, I’d shoot you down.” “You’ve got to Richmond in a way you didn’t expect.” “See these Yanks; there’s hardly an honest face among ’em all.” “What a hang-dog look!” These, and many other expressions, of all degrees of refinement, were launched at us. It really seemed as if the chivalry had studied for this very occasion some vocabulary of Billingsgate, and practiced it beforehand, so as to get it off in the most approved style of grimace and tone. Although Richmond was the Sodom and Gomorrah of treason, and the concentrated essence of rebel villainy and venom, we were not left entirely to this dark view of the picture. While we stood in the street, just before entering Jeff.’s hotel, a German woman, in the kindness and, I believe, loyalty of her heart, came hurriedly out from a neighboring house with a large loaf of cake, and divided it up among the eager men. She then went back, but soon returned, laden with a lot of bread, which she distributed in like manner. Several other instances of similar character occurred, like flashes of golden sunlight in a dark and lowering sky.

Wearied by the day’s march and its exciting scenes, and exhausted through want of food, most of the men were now ushered into a tobacco factory belonging to Crew and Pemberton, and situated on Carey street, opposite the infamous Libby prison, of which it is a counterpart. More than a thousand men were stowed away in Crew and Pemberton’s factory, an average of nearly three hundred in each story. Two hundred and eighty-nine, including the larger part of the Twenty-seventh, occupied the upper loft, and when all reclined upon the floor almost every square foot was covered. Many were so thoroughly exhausted as to be unable to drag themselves up-stairs without assistance from their comrades. Also, Belle Island welcomed a small number to its sands and wild onions. Forty or fifty of the men were assigned to Libby prison, where were already quartered the commissioned officers of the Twenty-seventh. The latter had arrived in Richmond a day or two previous, after a journey in crowded cars from Guinea’s Station. The people residing in the vicinity of the route seemed in a perfect ferment of vindictive excitement, and gathered here and there in boisterous groups to gaze at the unusual pageant. The Virginia women were especially spiteful, in word and demeanor. Some of them, perched in conspicuous places, waved little Confederate flags, as if to attract the more attention, and shouted out, “That’s what’s the matter!” “Come on, you cursed rascals!” “Have you got Old Abe with you?” “Ain’t you a sweet-looking party?” The usual miscellaneous assemblage greeted them as they alighted in Broad street, and seemed very eager to remind them of their advent in the rebel capital. “Well, you’ve got here, have you?” “How do you like the place?” “You’re a sweet-looking crowd of thieves, aren’t you?” Thus they were escorted to Libby, and handed over to the tender mercies of Captain Turner and his assistants, who searched the prisoners, and appropriated all contraband articles.

The day following the arrival of the main body of the regiment was the Sabbath, just one week since we fell into rebel hands. During this week all the rations each man received from the rebel authorities amounted to three pints of flour, five medium-sized crackers, and an ounce or two of bacon. All day Sunday the men were clamorous for something to eat. The guards about the prison were under strict orders to prevent the people from selling any thing to the prisoners, but, notwithstanding this, some articles did pass the blockade. At evening, the rebels distributed to every four men what purported to be a four-pound loaf of bread, and a pound of pork. Less than three pounds of bread would be nearer the truth, making about ten or twelve ounces for each man, and this with three ounces of pork formed the daily ration for one person. As far as it went, it was very good. Every morning the prison director, with the rank of major, and his clerk, a renegade New-Yorker—precious scoundrels both of them—came into the prison to count us over, and see if we were all there.

Thus affairs continued for several days—the same dull routine of prison life, varied by nothing except the contraband reading of Richmond papers, with accounts of Stonewall Jackson’s funeral, at which there was great joy in Libby. At length, on Wednesday morning, came the glad announcement that the United States transports were at City Point, awaiting our arrival. The rebel officers administered to us the following paroling oath: “We, the undersigned, do solemnly swear and pledge our sacred word, that we will not, during the existing hostilities between the United States and the Confederate States of America, aid or abet the enemies of said Confederate States, by arms or otherwise, until regularly and legally exchanged, or otherwise released. So help me God. And we do acknowledge our names appended to the same, as though signed by ourselves.” At half-past three in the afternoon, with gladness indescribable, we left those prison walls, to enter upon the march to City Point, a place about thirty-five miles from Richmond. Crossing the James river into Manchester, we took the turnpike road to Petersburg, under the escort chiefly of cavalry. The rebels hurried us forward for miles almost at double-quick, without any halt. As Major Turner rode by, the men called to him for a rest. He shouted out, “There is no rest for the wicked!” and passed on.

It was the purpose of our escort to continue the march all night, but a thunder-storm of surpassing violence seriously interfered. A darkness, so intense that we could not see a foot before us, enveloped the road. Slowly, through mud, and rain, and darkness, we straggled along, until near midnight. It was impossible to go further. Scattered along the roadside for miles were hundreds too much exhausted to keep up with the column, and finally we all dragged ourselves into the marshy woods, and, lulled to sleep by the babbling brooks flowing around us in every direction, forgot awhile the fatigue of the march. At an early hour the next day the weary column again moves on, each man sustaining his waning strength by frequent halts. Petersburg is passed, and ten miles more of mud. At length the waters of the James river glimmer in the distance; the old flag, floating proudly at the masthead of the Union transports, beckons onward. The men attempt to cheer, but it dies on their lips; nature is too much exhausted to utter the feelings which swell all hearts. With renewed energy we press forward, and soon enter the deserted village of City Point, whose shattered roofs tell of a former bombardment. That march from Richmond to City Point stands almost unexampled in the whole experience of the Twenty-seventh. Many were ready to drop on the ground from utter inability to go further. Behind them frowned the grim, historic walls of Libby; dreary months of incarceration moved by in slow procession, crowded full with the records of cruelty, and starvation, and disease; while forward to freedom and humanity, forward to generous care and protection, written on every fold of the old flag, fired them with new determination to toil on. Once more they stand on a Union deck, resolved to strike a heavier blow for their country when again they advance to meet her barbarous foes. As soon as the men were aboard the transports, a supply of food was distributed to meet their pressing wants. The steamers quietly dropped down the beautiful James river, bordered with high banks, rich in the fresh verdure of spring, with here and there a handsome villa peering above the trees. We anchored for the night at Harrison’s Landing, an important point in the history of the Peninsular campaign. The next forenoon our transports steamed into Hampton Roads. Hampton, once the summer resort of the Virginia chivalry, Newport News, the distant spires of Norfolk, the topmast of the Cumberland still pointing skyward, the little monitors, and the Rip-Raps, and that grand old sentinel, Fortress Monroe, all crowd on the view as we round to at Old Point Comfort. A brief stop, and we are off again for Annapolis, where we arrive on the morning of May sixteenth, and are quartered in barracks in the rear of the town. After three days of rest, we start for Alexandria, by way of Chesapeake Bay and the Potomac, and on May twenty-first are introduced within the narrow precincts of Convalescent Camp.

The majority of the officers were detained in Richmond several days after the departure of the privates. Meanwhile, the rebels had been threatening retaliation for General Burnside’s execution of two spies, in Kentucky; and the officials in charge of Libby took great delight in telling our officers that they were to have tickets in the lottery, which would determine the victims of the lex talionis. A few days later, they were relieved of their suspense by the announcement that the lot had fallen upon two officers from Tennessee. This affair having been arranged satisfactorily to the rebel authorities, the officers of the Twenty-seventh received their parole early Saturday morning, May twenty-third, and started in freight cars for City Point, and from that place were transported, via Fortress Monroe, to Annapolis, where they arrived on the morning of the twenty-fifth.

Leaving the paroled prisoners of the Twenty-seventh to endure as best they can the idleness and discontent of Convalescent Camp, let us return in thought to the wilds of Chancellorsville, and from those scenes of the third of May follow the little band which still remains at the front, to bear our flag to victory on the heights of Gettysburg. Eight companies were captured on that memorable May morning; but D and F, having been detached for duty elsewhere, escaped this unexpected misfortune, and fell back with the main army, when General Hooker retired to his new line of battle. Meanwhile, the duties of these remnants of the regiment were somewhat disconnected. During Saturday night following the disaster of the Eleventh Corps, Company A had been out on picket duty, and were relieved by Company D, at an early hour the next morning, in time to accompany the main body of the regiment to the place where they were captured. Company F had been previously detached to fill up a gap in the line between the Fifty-third and One Hundred and Forty-fifth Pennsylvania, and were soon after ordered up to the Chancellor House to support the famous Pettit’s battery. Here they remained until Sunday afternoon, under a severe fire. Twice the rebels charged up in solid masses, but were repulsed before Pettit’s rapid and irresistible volleys. In the evening of that day Company F went out on picket, and continued in this duty until the following Monday night. It was on this part of the line that Stonewall Jackson received his mortal wound.

It will be remembered that when the regiment went down to the picket-line that Sabbath morning, the colors remained behind by order of General Brooke. Although the rifle-pits were now entirely deserted, the color-guard, having no orders to leave, maintained their position until ten A.M., much of the time under a severe shelling. At that hour they were ordered to the rear, and soon after joined Company D, which was the last to leave the old picket-line of the army, as stated by the staff officer who brought to them the orders to fall back. The various remnants of the Twenty-seventh were not reÜnited until a late hour on Monday.

The conflict of Sabbath morning, May third, terminated at eleven o’clock, and, with the exception of a feeble demonstration by Jackson’s forces in the afternoon, the remainder of the day passed in comparative quiet. Meanwhile, Hooker had contracted his lines, and the army was now massed within a nearly equilateral triangle, its base resting upon the Rappahannock. The Eleventh and Twelfth Corps occupied the side facing Fredericksburg. On the side looking toward the Rapidan were the First, Third, and Fifth, while our Second corps was formed in four compact lines at the angle, which was open ground about a two-story white house, on the Ely’s Ford road, near the junction with that leading to United States Ford. This was a strong position, favorable for artillery, and justly regarded as the most important in the whole line. The Twenty-seventh held a position to the left of the white house, where General Hooker now had his headquarters. Such continued to be the situation of the army during the succeeding two days. The enemy seemed disinclined to venture a general attack, but occasionally shelled our intrenchments, as if to reassure themselves that Hooker was still there. Affairs could not remain long in this doubtful state. The golden opportunity to crush the rebels, when the thunder of Sedgwick’s cannon, advancing from Fredericksburg, filled the breezes with the murmuring notes of success, had passed, and now every hour of delay added to the swelling torrent of the Rappahannock, threatening to sweep away the feeble threads which connected the army with its supplies.

Monday evening, May fourth, General Hooker held a council of war, which decided that it was best to withdraw the army the following night. Accordingly, eight o’clock, Tuesday evening, was the hour fixed upon; but the troops did not begin to move until after midnight, in consequence of a heavy storm, which carried away some of the bridges. The Twenty-seventh remained under arms all night, in the rain, with orders to be ready to start at any moment. At length, at four in the morning of May sixth, the regiment fell back with the rest of the brigade, re-crossed at United States Ford, and, after a march of twelve hours, arrived at the old camp, near Falmouth. The Sixty-fourth New-York were found quietly ensconced in the few huts which the scavengers of Falmouth had left standing, and demurred somewhat at leaving their grateful shelter, but finally recognized the prior claim of the Twenty-seventh. After a few days, the regiment changed its camp to a more healthy location two miles further back from the river. The losses of Hooker’s campaign had reduced our numbers from nearly four hundred men to one hundred and sixty, embracing D and F, and small squads of other companies, the whole under command of the senior officer, Captain Joseph R. Bradley, of Company F. Dress parades took place as usual, and duty at the old picket-line on the Rappahannock was resumed, bearing very heavily upon our diminished ranks. Occasionally the rebel pickets shouted across the river to know where the Twenty-seventh Connecticut had gone, and in the same breath gave the answer, “To picket around Richmond.” On the thirteenth of May, several of our wounded men came over from Fredericksburg, having been nine days in the rebel hospitals.

After the battle of Chancellorsville, General D. N. Couch, the corps commander, was relieved at his own request, and our division general, W. S. Hancock, justly characterized as the very impersonation of war, succeeded to the command. As soon as possible, after the return of our commissioned officers from Richmond, a part were exchanged, and at the earliest moment Colonel Bostwick returned to the front, followed by Lieutenant-Colonel Merwin, Major Coburn, and Lieutenants Frank Chapman, Burdict, Rice, Muhlner, and Cross, who rejoined the regiment on the eleventh of June. Colonel Bostwick, being prevented from remaining with his men, in consequence of a severe and protracted sickness, the Lieutenant-Colonel took command of the battalion, which now consisted of three companies, an additional one having been formed from the remnants of the captured companies, and placed under command of Captain Jedediah Chapman.