Freedom in the Sun

 Freedom in the Sun

Suzanne Marsh

“Y’all ain’t gonna never live to see the light o’ day Yank!” Words spoken harshly; as he spat tobaccy right between the captain’s feet.. Jase Pearson, 7^th Texas brigade gave the Yank Captain another shove with the bayonet of his musket. “Jest keep a marchin til we git to the Rail section.” Pale, blood flowing from his injured arm Captain Owen Pierce longed for a drink of water, he could think of nothing else. He had no idea which prison he was going to; he prayed it would not be Libby Prison, if it was Libby he would do his damnedest to stay alive.

“Hold it right there Yank, I kin hear the train a commin.”

Owen had no choice but to do what he was told. He felt as if he were made of ice, he was so cold, although perspiration ran down the cheeks of this Texas fellow. The train arrived moments later, to Owen it appeared to be a train of the damned. The train came to an abrupt stop:

“Git him on board Corporal, we have a schedule to keep.”

Once again the cold steel of the bayonet nicked Owen’s back. It seemed as if he had been on the train forever instead of three days. The sunlight was bright and he was barely able to distinguish a red brick building He was forced to march with a major whom he was shackled to.

“Excuse me private but where are we?

The young private gave him a look of consternation:

“Yank, this here is Libby Prison, just for all ya Yank officers.”

Owen, felt as if he would vomit but he knew that would not do, not in this circumstance. He was shackled to Major Thomas Main; both men were exhausted. Together they stumbled toward the area the Rebel private had indicated. A blacksmith readied the new shackles; hammering them into place for each man. Owen shivered as the Major yelled:

“This man is in need of a doctor.”

That earned the Major a sharp blow to the side of his head. Moments later they were marched inside through a massive oak door. It was 1863, the good people of Richmond decided that the extra store rooms above the Guards rooms; could be used to accommodate prisoners of war. Owen was shoved into the huge room; the smell from urine and feces was overwhelming. Owen now knew what a living hell meant. The room was sour with vomit. The huge oaken door slammed shut; leaving this hurting group of humanity hoping for a breath of fresh air. Owen paced around the room with his shackles trying to find a place to sit down and rest. There was not an extra inch of space alloted to any man. He tried to get close to a window so that the stench of his fellow sufferers would be gone even if merely for a few moments.

The guards he was told brought grits twice a day; the grits were full of weevils; at least that was what these men were saying. Dysentery was a big killer as was typhoid; Owen did not fear his own death but the thought of men dying next to him in their sleep shook him more than this entire horrible experience. The guards began to shuffle up the stone steps toward the two huge rooms. Men began to stand up even if it took the last amount of the strength they had. Sitting meant illness and illness got Yanks killed.

Time was etched in stone, as each captive made note on the stone wall of how long he had been in Libby Prison. Owen beard began to grow, there were gray streaks in it; being in Libby did that to a man. Major Thomas Main, sat next to Owen:

“Owen, we need to get out of here before they kill us. There is a group of men here that are

willing to attempt an escape. I say you and I should try.”

Owen nodded:

“Yes, we need to get out of here and soon. So when does this group meet?”

“Right here see over in the corner that is where.”

“I am writing a letter to my wife, I promised that miserable little weasel Private Schum I

would write to his girlfriend if he will smuggle a letter out to my wife.”

“Just be careful Owen, them rebs are all alike.”

“That is for sure.”

Owen found the scrap of paper and began:

My darling Mary, how I long to be home with you in Pennsylvania. How I long to hold you

in my arms again. I can’t write a great deal I am in Libby Prison here in Richmond, Virginia.

Mary, can you send some soap, socks long underwear? We have nothing here at all. Send

a package to:

Private Maximilian Schum

Libby Prison

Richmond Virginia.

Anything you can send will help keep me alive.

I love you so very much Mary.

Love,

Owen

Owen thought words, mere words. I want out of this stinking rat hole. I think I will sit with that group that Tom suggested. I wonder how on earth they plan to make an escape. We haven’t seen daylight since we were captured a year ago. Anything has to be better than this hell hole the rebs call Libby.

Time seemed to drag on. One day the same as the next. Owen began to sit in on the ‘meetings’ held in the far corner. They had a lookout who would report the slightest noise on the stairs. If the guards were coming everyone dispersed quickly. Sitting together would draw attention, which would lead to the guards becoming suspicious. When the group did meet it was in complete darkness, their voices soft whispers on the wind.

Owen volunteered to help dig in the tunnel; anything was better than giving up all hope of life and living that was a constant threat here in Libby. Dignity was in short supply. The men began by chipping away behind the only stove on the first floor. They moved the dirt hiding it under two feet of straw, which was their bedding. Then they began tunneling in earnest. Rats were a constant worry as they tunneled. The rats crawled and bit the men who were in the tunnel. Desparate men Owen decided can tolerate almost anything. Finally late one night under darkness, with were working outside the tunnel in a vacant lot. News spread back to Colonel Thomas Rose of the 7^th Pennsylvania Infantry; the man who organized the plan of escape. It was decided that they would escape as quickly as possible before the Rebs discovered the tunnel. Owen, was more than ready when he was informed that one hundred and nine would attempt an escape.

Owen thought of the cold, the rats crawling on him as he dug into the dirt that became a tunnel.

On the evening of February 16^th, 1863 their dream finally came to fruition. Months of digging with a wooden spoon, a knife and his bare hands Owen felt tears welling in his eyes; it was all about to pay off. They all huddled together in the same corner of the room they used to design and build their tunnel to freedom.

The night was cold, snow began to fall. The men as they emerged from the tunnel ran in every direction. They knew if they scattered they would be harder to find. Owen, found himself wondering through the woods in back of Libby Prison. He trudged for days, no food, just the thought of freedom to sustain his hunger. On the fifth morning, although he had no idea that he had actually set foot in West Virginia, he stumbled onto a farm house. He prayed that whoever lived there would be kind enough to give him a piece of bread. He banged on the door:

“Please, I have escaped from Libby Prison, I need food.”

The stunned farmer just stood there, taking in a man dressed in rags of blue, smelling terribly. He opened the door, the farmer was a Quaker:

“Thou is safe here friend, you are in West Virginia. My wife baked bread last night.”

“I am in West Virginia?”

“Yes, thou is. How can we help thee?”

“My wife Mary and I live in Pennsyvania.”

“I think we can help thee. We have extra horses. You must rest a few days friend before

you leave here. You are ill.”

“I have had dysentary, and typhoid while I was in Libby Prison.”

“You are safe now.”

Owen walked outside the sun was shining, he was a free man once more. He had not seen daylight the entire time he was in Libby Prison. He walked and felt the warmth of the sun on his face, his hands. It was a feeling that no matter how hard he tried to explain it to Mary; she never fully understood, she only knew that he was free and home safely.