Following the American Civil War Sesquicentennial with day by day writings of the time, currently 1863.

Post image for Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

October 21, 2014

Three Years in the Confederate Horse Artillery — George Michael Neese.

October 21 — Our little steamer left Baltimore yesterday evening just before dark, and was steadily plowing its way down Chesapeake Bay all night, until this morning about nine o’clock, when we arrived at Point Lookout, Md., the place of our destination, and one of Uncle Sam’s delightful resorts for the accommodation of captured Rebels. Last night the air was damp, cold, and chilly, and when night fell on the Bay I wrapped my blanket around me and sat on top of our steamer, leaning against the wheel-house and rail, without sleeping a wink all night, gazing into the thick darkness that hung like a black pall over the silent water, with my thoughts busily engaged in plodding from whence to whither. After we disembarked we were subjected to another thorough search. This time we were formed in a hollow square and told to unwrap, spread out, and disgorge everything we had, and I saw more soiled shirts laid about on the sand than I ever saw before in one patch. After everything was on exhibition and ready for examination, the great chief of the searching board made the following little speech, with well measured and distinctly spoken words: “Now, men, if you have anything valuable about your person or effects in the way of watches, jewelry, or money, we give you an opportunity to turn it over to us, and we will put your name on it and deposit it at the provost marshal’s office and give you a certificate of deposit; and when you leave this prison, either on exchange or release, and present your certificate, we will return the goods left in our charge. But if you fail or refuse to comply with these regulations submitted in good faith, we will search you thoroughly right now, and if we find anything of the kind mentioned it will be confiscated for all time to come.”

And now a single instance to illustrate how close these Yanks search when they are on the least scent of suspicion, or when they suspect anything not in strict conformity with their regulations. One of our men had a plain gold ring with which he did not want to part under any consideration or circumstances, consequently he hid the ring in a small piece of bacon that he had in his haversack. He had cut a small gash in the fat part of the meat and stuck the ring within it, then closed the cut nicely by pressing the meat together. I have no idea where he got the little piece of bacon — perhaps he saved it especially for a jewel case, and had had it ever since we were captured. I do not know when he did the hiding, possibly immediately after he was captured; it certainly was a neat job, but the Yank found the ring. In accordance with their inflexible regulations they were about to confiscate the ring after they found it, but our man pleaded so earnestly and affectingly that at last they put his name on the ring and deposited it at the provost marshal’s office. He told them that it was not the intrinsic value of the ring nor any intention of evil upon his part that induced him to conceal it, but that it was through sincere admiration for the tender association connected with it that made him so loath to part with it. It was a precious memorial of something nearer than friendship — a souvenir from his deceased wife.

After the search and before the men put up their exhibits one of the authorities made the following characteristic and interesting proclamation: “All you men that have no good shirt would better appropriate one now, as you may not have another opportunity soon to obtain one at our establishment.”

Some of our men had three or four good shirts spread out on the sand, and that seemed to be more than our good Northern brethren thought that a poor Rebel was entitled to or needed, and, moreover, if we supplied ourselves from the superabundance of a comrade’s knapsack it would be a shirt saved for Uncle Sam.

I left my knapsack in Dixie, and consequently I have but one shirt, and that is in a state of decay and ready to disintegrate at various places almost any day, but my finer sensibilities of genteel comeliness revolted at the idea of securing a shirt that had been worn and soiled even by a better and cleaner man than I consider myself to be; furthermore, I did not feel mean enough to deprive any of my comrades of their legitimate property.

About middle of the day all the preliminaries for incarceration were concluded, and being thoroughly divested of everything except pure cheek wherewith a sentinel could be bribed or cajoled, we were marched up to the prison wall, the gate swung open, and we soon after bobbed up serenely inside of prison.

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