One could say that my family tree is full of courageous people—refugees who took a chance on a months-long sail to the New World; men, women, and their children who set out for the frontier; young men who went off to battle; and women who raised large families on their own after their husbands died. But one of my ancestors stands out for the two times he decided to serve the Union cause by signing up for the Army.
That would, of course, be Benjamin Cruiser McWilliams, my 2nd-great-grandfather on my maternal side. His Civil War journey began in the spring of 1862, when he was 19 years old and a company was being raised in Milton, Pennsylvania, in Northumberland County. But it was not to be. He took some time for his last day as a civilian, only to find out that the company had left without him. He and his friends and cousins, including Folders and Billmeyers, tried again later that summer, going all the way to Harrisburg, but once again Ben was unlucky.
He ended up becoming a sutler’s clerk, doing trade near Yorktown, Virginia. Maybe it was being in the presence of the monument where Cornwallis had surrendered, or maybe it was hearing about the Union victory at Gettysburg, but in July 1863 he decided to give it another shot and signed up to serve in the 16th Pennsylvania Cavalry, Company F.
It took some courage to sign up when the quota for the county had already been filled and he was unlikely to be drafted, but simply surviving the war would require another level of courage. Just three months after entering the service, Ben was captured while on retreat. The next 15 months would see him confined to five prison camps. At first, he was in relative comfort, indoors at Libby Prison in Richmond, but he was soon transferred a few miles away to Belle Island, where he lived outdoors and was subject to the vagaries of the weather.
As the cold winter weather set in at Belle Island, the prisoners were denied blankets, although blankets were available in plain sight. Ben decided to risk being shot by dashing across a ditch to get blankets and clothing:
I recollect when the guards first got their blankets they would throw them up on the bank between them and us. While I stood one day and looked within 8 feet of the blankets and realized how they came by them and how they was treating us, I made up my mind I might as well die with the bullet as starvation. Our camp was full of old tents which came close to the ditch where we was allowed to go and the banks of it was worn down by the trading done by the men and guards after night as most all guards traded every night. I saw that when two guards came together and then turned around to walk back 60 feet, the length of the beat in daytime, I had plenty of time to move the 8 feet, pull the blanket off the bank, get in among the crowd and old tents, and be safe. Well, I succeeded so well the first time, that I tried it again and by working the 3 reliefs that day, I got 13 blankets, a rubber poncho and 2 overcoats. The last time I was shot at. I got so bold by my success that I could not see a put-up job by one of the guards who threw his blankets further over than any of the others and then by looking over the crowd could easy tell who who was watching. When he turned by the blanket to walk back I went out as usual and when I put my hand on the blanket he turned suddenly around and say, "now, you Yankee (__), I have got you now" and fetched his gun to his shoulder and fired within 30 feet of me. If he would have kept still he would have had me, only for him saying what he did. When I heard him, I let go of the blanket which I had not pulled over yet only put my hands on. I rolled down in the ditch and his shot passed over my head. Then I said, "now you haven't got me", took the blanket and ran among the crowd and tents before the other guards could comprehend what had took place.
But the “good times” at Belle Island wouldn’t last. In February 1864, many of the prisoners were shipped out of Richmond and were given the opportunity to become charter members of Camp Sumter in Andersonville, Georgia. Andersonville. Yes, that camp notorious for squalor, disease, and death. It was still being built when the first prisoners, including Ben, arrived. There may not have been any specific acts of bravery, but the day-by-day need to survive the seven months he was imprisoned there, especially after getting the attention of the camp ruffians known as the Rangers, took a great deal of cunning and fortitude.
In October 1864, he was moved to a prison camp in Savannah, where he stayed for a month before being moved to Camp Lawton in Millen and then back to Savannah to be paroled on November 19, 1864.
After a period of furlough, and with no weapons and no horse, Ben ended up participating in the siege of Petersburg and then followed Grant’s army to Burkeville Junction and Lynchburg. With the war over, he eventually found his way to Richmond and camped across from Belle Island. And fished.
In a way, his captivity had come full circle. He was discharged and, like so many of his comrades, began to make his way back into civilian life. He made his way west, first to Iowa and then to Missouri, where he bought a farm and broke the prairie sod in what became the crossroads of Verdella, Missouri.
In most times and for most people, his adventures heading westward toward an uncertain future would have been an act of courage. But after all he had been through, his new adventure must have seemed tame by comparison.
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