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[334] to Colonel A. Moore, Twenty-Eighth Ohio, had, at the battle of Princeton, fallen, unopened, into the hands of Colonel A. Moore, of the Twenty-Eighth Virginia, and the latter Colonel Moore presuming that they were intended for him, had appropriated them with thanks to his unknown Cincinnati friends.

The next day the ride was in freight cars fitted up with seats. A number of canteens belonging to the Confederate States Army were promptly appropriated by the prisoners as relics of the invasion. Alas! they never left Dixie. When the train reached Richmond, by some misunderstanding, we were marched up past the Capitol and around to our destination, marching into Libby after dark. ‘Pass up your canteens,’ was the order, and the thirsty souls passed up every canteen, not knowing that water ran from a hydrant, and that was to be our last sight of the canteens. In Libby we sang and enjoyed ourselves as best we could.

Every day we fell into ranks and were counted before rations were given out.

As to food, it was too delicate. To tell the square truth, we were not satisfied. The complaint was not that it was not good, it was only of its scarcity. Two meals a day were fashionable when we went there, and we readily fell in with the fashion. Not to eat till 11 A. M. was the custom of the majority, and we were suddenly convinced that it was the best plan. Another slight repast at five completed our attention to the gross act of eating, and we were ready for whatever else could take up our time.

The regiment to which the writer belonged wore the Zouave uniform. In passing through a little town on our march to the railroad, a generous citizen had given twenty-five dollars for our little party, this we were now allowed to spend for food, though it could not purchase much.

For a week every day had new reports of what was to be done. Fortunately an agreement had been made by which all prisoners should be paroled, and by it we were released.

Of cruelty or unneccessary hardship in Libby, I saw none; yet not one cried to remain. On a bright morning in October, after several times forming and breaking ranks, we started for a march of twelve miles, to Aiken's Landing, where a United States steamer waited us. It brought up 2,500 paroled Confederates, and strange to say, men in our ranks there met men who had captured them at the beginning of the battle of Antietam, and were themselves taken later. The meeting between them was most cordial.

Between the Richmond coveted by the North, and Aiken's Landing,


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