by W. N. Brown
Rose shook his head. “I don’t reckon you do, mister. I’m just passing through.”
The guard had been leaning against a brick wall. Now he was moving toward them. “Naw, I knows you from someplace,” he said, scratching his beard. “Where you from?”
“Biloxi.”
“That right?”
Rose and Hamilton could tell the man wasn’t buying it.
“Which regiment you serve with?”
“Fifty-Seventh.”
“Where’s your uniform, then? You know what—maybe you oughta come explain it to my commanding officer.”
Rose glanced at Hamilton, who was trying his hardest not to panic. The colonel nodded to his old friend and smiled, silently bidding him farewell before turning back to the Confederate.
“I’ll oblige you, sir, if it’ll make you feel better.”
“Yeah,” the guard said. His breath reeked of alcohol. “It would.”
The colonel briefly thought about making a run for it. But he kept his cool and went with the guard, who led him over to a group of men in neatly pressed Confederate uniforms. Knowing it was too risky to wait around, Hamilton disappeared into the shadows of a nearby alley.
“Got a man over here, sir,” the suspicious guard said to his superior, nodding at Rose. “Says he’s from Mississippi, but I don’t believe him. Looks like a Yankee boy to me.”
Rose wasn’t sure if the man was harassing him for the fun of it or because of his disheveled, weakened appearance—a common look among Libby prisoners.
The commanding officer glanced at the clearly inebriated guard and scoffed.
“Have you got any evidence?”
“Just look at him . . . I’m tellin’ you, he ain’t no Reb like he claims.”
Rose steeled himself as the Confederate in charge gave him a long, hard look.
Should I run? No, they’d shoot me . . . Rose felt paralyzed.
After what seemed like an eternity, the commanding officer turned back to the suspicious guard.
“Sleep it off, private,” he said, then to Rose, “Go about your business.”
Rose nodded. “Good night, gentlemen,” he said. He then turned and walked away slowly. His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest.
As he continued along, Rose began to see a few more of his comrades walking slowly through the town square. They went unnoticed among the raucous Confederates.
He couldn’t find Hamilton. That was okay, though—he didn’t expect his trusted partner to stick around. It was every man for himself now.
Wanting to get as far away from Richmond as he could, Rose headed for the city limits. He knew if he headed southeast through the swamps that he’d eventually make it to the Union outpost in Williamsburg. He hoped that this few hours’ head start would be all he needed.
He rounded another corner. To his horror, there stood Warden Dick Turner, having a beer and a smoke with his cohorts. Rose kept walking, but he covered his face with his arm and pretended to cough into it.
“The major’s convinced himself there’s gonna be a big escape attempt soon,” Turner said to his friends. “I told him he’s mistaken. We’ve got them boys right where we want ’em.”
Rose ducked into the first alley he could find and headed for the next street over. As he hurried along, he heard more voices behind him and what sounded like a confrontation.
It’s only a matter of time now, he thought to himself, before our ruse is discovered.
Then he turned and headed for the city limits.
Chapter Ten
On the Run
Splash!
Rose cursed as he trudged out of the freezing waters of the Chickahominy. He’d tripped in a hole while wading across the river, and his clothes were completely soaked.
The morning’s first rays of sunlight shone through the foggy haze. Rose’s wet boots squished as he stepped onto the riverbank. Up ahead were some woods. He headed toward them, his breath steaming in the frigid morning air.
Upon entering the forest, he leaned briefly against a large oak tree.
My feet are killing me. Couldn’t hurt to rest for five minutes . . .
Shivering under his wet jacket, he sat down against the tree and closed his eyes.
Just a . . . few minutes, he thought. It wasn’t long before he had drifted into sleep.
He suddenly jolted awake, his eyes wild. He could hear dogs barking, along with the sound of thundering hooves.
There was little doubt in his mind that it was a Rebel search party.
They’ve discovered our escape! Have to run . . . NOW!
Using every ounce of strength he had, Rose dashed through the woods. He was exhausted. Each step he took felt like there were ten-pound bricks in his boots. He hadn’t gone far when he tripped on a log and toppled over. Rose staggered back to his feet. On pure adrenaline, he forced himself to keep moving. The horses and the dogs were getting closer. He could hear men shouting, but he dared not turn to see how far they were. He just kept running.
The colonel reached a ditch overgrown with a thick canopy of thorn-covered vines. He fell to the ground and began crawling on his belly into the ditch, the tangled nest of thorns ripping his uniform and flesh. But he kept going, only stopping to lie still when he heard the horses stop close by.
“I saw him!” Rose heard one of the men say over the barking dogs. “I know I saw that Yank runnin’!”
“He couldn’t have gotten far,” another man said.
The longest minute of Rose’s life passed. He breathed a sigh of relief when he heard the men ride on. As much as it hurt, he crawled his way out of the thorns as fast as he could. Then he continued his run.
Five days after he’d escaped from Libby, Colonel Rose stepped out into an open field. As if looking at a mirage, he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. A few hundred yards away, he spotted a small group of soldiers on horseback—and they were wearing blue Union jackets.
I made it! I finally made it!
“Hey!” he shouted. “Over here!”
Wobbling on weak, shaky legs, he started toward them. They saw him and began riding over. As the men got closer, Rose’s smile faded. He’d made a mistake. These men weren’t Union soldiers—they were Confederates in blue jackets! And one of them was Dick Turner!
Rose turned to run, but he was too weak. One of the Rebs leaped from his horse and tackled him to the ground. Rose struggled, but soon a second soldier was on top of him.
The men wrestled Rose to his feet. He found himself face-to-face with the sneering Turner.
“We caught you, boy,” the warden growled. Rose’s face twisted at the smell of his rancid breath. “All your work was for nothing. And I’s gonna see to it personal that—”
All of Rose’s rage suddenly boiled to the surface. With his last burst of strength, he broke free and snatched a rifle away from one of the men. Then he hit Turner across the face with it.
The warden grunted and fell to the ground.
Rose turned and ran. He didn’t get far, however, before he was tackled again. The Confederates surrounded him.
As he lay on the ground, Turner reappeared. He was bleeding and angry.
“You dirty Yank . . .”
Turner kicked him in the face. Then the other soldiers joined in. By the time he began the long march back to Libby, Rose was badly beaten.
Two days after Rose was captured, Hamilton arrived at the Union lines outside Williamsburg. He’d decided to travel through the thick swamps where no Rebs on horseback were crazy enough to go. Half frozen and cut to shreds by the thorns, the major staggered into the Union camp.
A crowd of stunned bluecoats turned and watched in silence as he approached them.
“My name’s Andrew Hamilton,” he told them, identifying himself. “Major. Twelfth Kentucky Cavalry. I’ve just escaped from Libby Prison.”
Colonel Rose followed the Rebel guard down the creaky wooden steps and into the dark bowels of the Libby Prison dungeon. Cand
le in hand, the guard opened one of the steel doors and shoved Rose inside.
“Let’s see you dig your way outa there, boy!” the guard cackled.
The cell was packed with prisoners, the other men groaning at the prospect of less space. Rose caught glimpses of their skeletal faces, a sea of ghostly eyes staring back at him in the darkness. There was hardly any room to sit, let alone lie down. Not that Rose would want to lie down. He could already feel the rats scurrying over his boots. The smell of waste was almost overwhelming, and he could make out a filthy toilet in the middle of the cell.
The guard went back upstairs, taking the light with him. Rose closed his eyes and hung his head.
For a while, I was free, he told himself. I escaped. They can’t take that away from me.
“Colonel Rose?” a voice called from somewhere in the dark. “That you?”
“I’m afraid so,” Rose replied.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have pulled you out of that chimney after all,” the man said.
Rose recognized the voice.
“Bennett!”
The two friends embraced. The others in the dungeon listened, grateful for the entertainment, as Bennett started to describe the scene after Rose and Hamilton had departed Libby.
“It was a mess, Colonel,” he said. “I was on the last shift out. The word soon got out to all the prisoners about the tunnel. There was a mad dash for the fireplace. It was a regular stampede. Men were starting to fight over who got to go next. Finally, everyone ran back upstairs once they heard one of the guards outside the window. We all thought the jig was up.
“I went back a half hour later,” he continued. “There was no crowd there this time. Guess everyone realized nobody would get out if they made too much racket. Anyway, I made it to the cellar and crawled into the tunnel. When I got to the narrowest passage—where the tunnel gets real small—I found myself face-to-face with a pair of legs kicking every which way. They belonged to Colonel Streight. The old boy was stuck and frightened as all get out.”
Rose had to chuckle. Colonel Abel Streight, infamous for his raids on Alabama and Mississippi, was almost as well-known for his large girth. He was one of the heaviest of Libby’s inmates—a true feat considering the lack of food.
“I managed to talk him down and helped pull him out by the boots,” the prisoner recounted. “Once I got the colonel out, he stripped down to his underwear. Carrying his clothes, the colonel was able to squeeze through, but just barely!”
“I’m sorry to see you were captured. How’d it happen?”
“They found me in the woods just north of Richmond,” Bennett said.
“Last I heard, they caught about forty of us. Two men drowned trying to swim across the river. Reckon we’re luckier than they are.”
“I reckon you’re right,” Rose said. “It’s good to see you, Bennett.”
Over the next two months, Rose managed to survive on what little corn bread and water the guards gave him. He and Bennett also ate the occasional rat they caught, cooking with matches handed down through the floorboards from charitable prisoners in the rooms above.
Sleeping was more difficult. Rose tried to find space on the wall to lean against, resting in snatches. On more than one occasion he fell to the floor, where rats and spiders bit his flesh.
Time passed. Rose didn’t know how much, as there were no windows in the dungeon to tell day from night.
April arrived. Rose was feeling around the floor, looking for a rat to catch for dinner, when the door opened. A guard stood in the doorway, holding a candle.
“Rose! Bennett!” the guard said, before naming three others. “Move it out!”
The five prisoners were led up the stairs, back onto the main floor of the prison. They were then taken outside into the sunlight. Rose and Bennett, with their long, stringy beards and filthy uniforms, shielded their eyes.
“Into the carriage, boys,” the guard said. “Y’all are going back North. Prisoner exchange.”
Rose’s dry, cracked lips broke into a grin.
I can’t believe it, he thought, feeling the warmth of the sun for the first time in months. Seven months after entering Libby Prison and two months after his escape attempt, he was finally free.
Epilogue
On the night of the Libby Prison escape, 109 of the 1,200 prisoners made it out. Of those, 59 managed to evade recapture and make it to safety. The prison break remains one of the most successful and ingenious wartime escapes of all time.
Robert E. Lee, the general of the Confederacy, surrendered his army at Appomattox on April 9, 1865. The North simply had too many resources at their disposal, and the South was outmanned and outgunned. By the end of the war, many of the Confederate troops were underfed and in tattered clothes. The Civil War was officially over. The North had won.
Robert Ford managed to escape Libby in 1864 after surviving a punishment of five hundred lashes ordered by Dick Turner. Ford got a job in the US treasury department, where he worked until his death five years later, which many attributed to internal injuries from the lashing.
Confederate troops abandoned Richmond, setting fire to the city on their way out. As Richmond burned, one man remained at Libby Prison—Major Thomas Turner. He torched any documents that could incriminate him for his treatment of Union soldiers, then—realizing that Union troops would be out for vengeance—he fled the country. First he went to Cuba, then Canada. Thomas Turner died in 1901.
Warden Dick Turner, on the other hand, wasn’t so lucky. He was caught by Union troops as he tried to escape. One of the men in the squad who captured him had spent time in Libby.
“I think I have a good idea where we can keep this dog,” the Union soldier said. “Let’s put him up in Libby’s dungeon.”
“No!” Turner screamed. He begged and pleaded, but nobody listened.
Warden Turner actually managed to escape the hell he had left so many men to rot in. With a smuggled knife, he carved through the few wooden bars that hadn’t been replaced with iron and ran off into the night. He was recaptured soon after, however, and scheduled for execution. Ultimately, Libby’s old warden was saved when Thomas Turner managed to torch the files that would have incriminated them both for war crimes. Like his former boss, Dick Turner also died in 1901.
Many in the Union wanted to burn Libby to the ground, but for the next thirty or so years, the prison was kept as a landmark. In 1889, it was dismantled and rebuilt in Chicago as a museum. Major Hamilton was one of its first visitors. Then in 1899, it was dismantled for the final time and its bricks and timbers were sold off as building materials. It’s believed to survive in barns and other structures around Illinois to this day.
After the war, Major Andrew G. Hamilton penned an account of the escape that was widely published and could be bought for a dime (as what was known at the time as a “dime store novel”) at the Libby Prison Museum in Chicago. Hamilton died in 1895 when he was shot and killed in an argument with another man near Morgantown, West Virginia.
After regaining his health, Rose continued to fight for the Union, serving in the Atlanta campaign. Once the war ended in 1865, he elected to stay in the regular army, where he served until retiring in 1894. Despite his fame as the mastermind of the Libby Prison escape, Rose didn’t like to speak about the breakout. He died in 1907 at the age of seventy-seven. Part of his gravestone reads: “Engineered and Executed the Libby Prison Tunnel.”
Author’s Note
In order to streamline the story and heighten the drama, I’ve taken a few liberties with the timeline and events. Liberties were also taken with timing of the day and night shifts to heighten suspense and improve pacing. Warden Dick Turner, for example, was not the Confederate that Colonel Rose hit with the rifle prior to his recapture, nor was he present at the scene—I wanted our story’s hero to confront the villain. Rose and Hamilton actually met for the first time in “Rat Hell,” aka the east cellar, when it was a temporary kitchen and prisoners were allowed access. However, it w
as soon sealed off by the guards; hence Rose and Bennett had to go in through the fireplace. And as for the colonel’s old friend Bennett, though the latter was recaptured, their meeting in the depths of Libby’s infamous dungeon is fictitious (though it could’ve happened). Certain character traits and dialogue were also fictionalized, but all the men named were real. For further reading about this great escape I highly recommend the excellent Libby Prison Breakout by Joseph Wheelan, which was the main source for this book.
Selected Bibliography
Beard, Rick. “The Great Civil War Escape.” New York Times, February 11, 2014.
Boaz, Thomas M. Libby Prison and Beyond: A Union Staff Officer in the East, 1862–1865. Shippensburg, PA: Burd Street Press, 1999.
Brooks, Rebecca Beatrice. “Elizabeth Van Lew: Spymaster.” Civil War Saga. November 9, 2012. http://civilwarsaga.com/elizabeth-van-lew-spymaster/.
Brown, Jim. “Lice and the American Civil War Soldier.” Gazkhan’s Re-enacting, History and Hobbies Page. Last accessed May 18, 2019. http://home.freeuk.com/gazkhan/lice.htm.
Cable, G. W. (editor) Famous Adventures and Prison Escapes of the Civil War. New York: The Century Co., 1913.
Hamilton, Andrew G. Story of the Famous Tunnel Escape from Libby Prison. Chicago: Libby Prison War Museum Association, 1893. Published online February 8, 2015. https://civilwarrichmond.com/prisons/libby-prison/4459-1893-hamilton-andrew-g-story-of-the-famous-tunnel-escape-from-libby-prison-excellent-published-account-regarding-the-tunnel-escape-from-libby-prison-one-of-the-most-reliable-sources.
Herrin, Dean. “The Great Escape.” Discover the Story. Crossroads of War. Last accessed May 18, 2019. http://www.crossroadsofwar.org/discover-the-story/african-americans-the-struggle-for-freedom/african-americans-the-struggle-for-freedom/.
Miller, Gary L. “Historical Natural History: Insects and the Civil War.” Entomology Group. Montana State University. Last accessed May 18, 2019. http://www.montana.edu/historybug/civilwar2/.
Wheelan, Joseph. Libby Prison Breakout. New York: Public Affairs Books, 2010.
