Better Than Gold—The Story of my Great-Grandfather Dallas Eby

 

Dallas & Jesse Eby, Date unknown

Deputy Sheriff James Hone pushed his horse through the dense thickets of white pine outside the little town of Waverly, Washington, trusting his mount’s instincts to navigate the blackness better than his own eyes could. After weeks of investigating stolen horses from farms around Latah County, his frustration had turned to bitterness.  Now he and his men were on the trail of two members of the gang responsible. The thieves had always managed to slip away, but this time, Hone was certain they had them cornered. They had ambushed the trio at their makeshift camp, and when the two older members bolted into the night, they left the youngest behind. The stolen stock they found at the camp—several horses and a beef steer—along with other incriminating evidence, was more than enough to convict them. But first, they had to catch these two scoundrels. Hone spurred his horse harder, feeling the urgency of the chase. “This time,” he thought, “you are not getting away!”

On foot, Burt and Jesse were tiring from the hot chase through pine groves and fields.  They were no match for the mounted posse that had somehow figured out their hideout and escape plan. They knew Jesse’s younger brother was already captured. Their luck had run out. As the posse closed in, forcing their surrender, they briefly wondered if their scheme to sell stolen horses for quick cash had been worth it.  As the posse took them into custody, Jesse wondered what he and Dallas had gotten themselves into.

The arrest of Burt, Jesse, and Dallas made headlines 100 miles away in Spokane and spread through the grapevines from Latah County to Clearwater County. The horse thieves who had plagued the area had finally been caught. Knowing they were caught dead to rights, all three pled guilty and were sentenced to hard labor at Walla Walla State Penitentiary in Washington State for grand larceny. Burt Paget and Jesse Eby, at 23 and 21, received two-year sentences. Eighteen-year-old Dallas was sentenced to one year. They served their time, and as far as this writer knows, they were released as changed men who led ordinary lives on the right side of the law until their deaths. I know because Dallas Eby was my great-grandfather and his brother, Jesse Eby, was my great-grand uncle.

(Back) Mary Eby, Sam, Etta, Dallas; (Middle) John & wife Mary, Charles & wife Cordelia; (Front) David, Fred & Jesse. c. 1899

Dallas was born on August 19, 1884, in Yakima, Washington.  His parents, David and Mary Louisa Eby were pioneers from the Midwest who arrived in the Pacific Northwest around 1880, likely drawn by the promises of land grants and job opportunities in timber and mining. David, a carpenter and farmer who had served in the Union army during the Civil War, and Mary Louis, raised one daughter and five sons, Jesse and Dallas being the youngest.

When David died at the age of 47, it left Mary Louisa to raise eight children alone. The boys, including young Dallas, took on day labor jobs to help support the family. By 1900 the older children married and moved out to begin their own families.  Only the five youngest boys, including Jesse and Dallas, remained at home supporting the family, taking on any work they could find.

Financial stress from their father’s death likely pushed Jesse and Dallas, along with their friend  Burt Paget, into a life of crime. They would drive the stolen livestock to a camp in the hills, hoping to sell the animals for a profit.  At the turn of the century, stealing horses was particularly lucrative. Horses, essential for transportation, farming, and other work, making them valuable assets. A single horse could fetch a significant sum. In remote areas where law enforcement was sparse, stolen horses could be sold quickly and discreetly. For boys like Jesse and Dallas, the lure of easy money outweighed the risk of harsh punishment. Though hanging horse thieves was no longer legal by 1900, it remained a serious crime, punishable by imprisonment and hard labor.

The story passed down in our family is that our great-grandfather Dallas stole a horse because it was being abused by its owner. This endearing tale likely began to ease the guilt of family members admitting their ancestor was guilty of grand larceny. However, documentation indicates that while they knew they were breaking the law, it was done by young men whose families were in financial straits, making it understandable albeit misguided.

Deputy Sheriff Hone was lauded by the community for apprehending and arresting the boys.  All three pled guilty having been caught red-handed amidst all the evidence of their crimes.  At their arraignment, Burt requested leniency due to the impact his imprisonment would have on his parents, but Jesse and Dallas said nothing.  Burt’s request was denied.  He and Jesse received two-year sentences, likely due to their attempt to escape, while Dallas received a one-year sentence.

Walla Walla Penitentiary ID Record. 1903

Dallas, now prisoner #3098, stood tall at 5 feet 11 inches and had light brown hair and piercing gray eyes a stark contrast to the grim surroundings of the penitentiary. His left arm hung awkwardly, probably due to past accident, and a horseshoe cut scar on his left index finger, along with his right thumb missing at the first joint, told of a young life already filled with hardship.

Jesse, prisoner #3099, stood 5 feet 10 inches with light brown hair and gray eyes like his brother. A plain cut scar marked the back of his left index finger.  Burt Paget, prisoner #3097, was 23 years old, raising suspicion that he masterminded their horse-stealing plans. He, too, was sentenced to two years of hard labor.

But what was “hard labor” like in a penitentiary in 1903? In places like Walla Walla, prisoners toiled in mines, extracting coal or other minerals. The air was thick with dust, and the sound of pickaxes echoed through the tunnels. Many worked on prison farms or labored on road construction and other infrastructure projects. There was no respite for inclement weather.  Whether under blistering heat or freezing rain, they toiled under strict supervision in harsh conditions, designed to break their spirits and enforce discipline. One can only imagine the dread Jesse and Dallas felt upon hearing the prison gates clanged shut behind them.

Jesse Eby holding daughter, Etta Mae. c. 1910

 

One might wonder how one or two years of hard labor would affect the three would-be horse thieves. While Burt’s fate remains unknown, it is clear that prison reformed Jess and Dallas. Three years after his release, Jesse married a local girl, Grace Stevenson. They lived on their own farm in Waha, Idaho, where they welcomed two daughters, Etta Mae and Mary Lucile. Sadly, Mary died less than a month after her birth of inanition, but Etta Mae grew up, married, and moved to Montana raising four children of her own. Jesse’s wife, Grace, died just a few days after giving birth to Mary Lucile. Jesse later remarried Gladys Miller, a local widow with two children. They moved to Miles City, Montana, where Jesse died of liver cancer at the age of 41. 

Dallas returned to Fraser, Idaho, to live with his mother and brothers Fred and David Ray. The brothers took on odd jobs and farm work to support the family. During this time, likely while working at the Stuart farm, Dallas met Homer Stuart’s sister, Cora Lee. Within three years Cora found herself pregnant, much to the outrage of her staunch Anglican father.  Society at that time held very strict views on morality, and Cora and her family faced harsh judgement not only from her father but from the community. Unable to confront her family or her father’s disappointment, she sought refuge with Homer and his wife. Helen, their daughter, was born in November 1908.

Dallas and Cora married in 1910 and moved to Lewiston, Idaho, about 60 miles west of Fraser.  They embraced farming life and welcomed their son, Eugene, the following year.  They then returned to Fraser, where they grew with the arrival of Vernon, Zelma, Ruth, Gerald, and Luella.

Dallas & Cora Eby. Oct 1921

Following the death of Dallas’ oldest brother in 1928 and the onset of the Great Depression in 1929, Dallas and Cora decided to pull up roots and move to Oregon. The fertile land and job opportunities lured many from the eastern side of the country. They packed their seven children and belongings into their rumbling, 1921 Studebaker, setting a course for new beginnings in Salem, where Dallas’ sister’s family resided. They settled just north of Salem in the community of Quinaby, where Dallas found work on a hop farm. The fields were vast and green, dotted with the golden flowers that would eventually become beer, a small comfort in tough times.

Families in Oregon during the Great Depression—as in much of the U.S.—faced unique challenges and adapted in various ways to survive.  They made do with what they had; everyone in the family worked at whatever sporadic and part-time jobs they could find.  Communities supported one another through barter, labor exchanges, and shared resources.  Life was tough, but resourcefulness and mutual support helped them navigate these difficult times. 

Heading to Oregon: Cora, Eugene, Luella, Dallas, Ruth & Zelma Eby. 1929.

 
Although I never knew them, family remembers my great-grandmother Cora as being quite strict and matter-of-fact, while stories recall my great-grandfather Dallas as kind, gentle, and generous with a quick wit and a sense of humor. He died at the age of 50 in Keizer of kidney cancer and was buried in City View Cemetery in Salem. Cora lived on to the age of 74 and is buried near her husband.

All their children grew up with strong work and moral ethics, which they passed on to their own families. While Dallas and Jesse’s prison experience could have caused bitterness, it instead instilled a tenacity to do better by their families, something that brings Dallas’ great-granddaughter immeasurable pride.

As a final tribute to my great-grandfather, Dallas, I’d like to share a poem he wrote during his time in Fraser, Idaho.  It reflects his experiences, values, and the simple, enduring wishes of a man who faced many hardships but held onto what truly mattered in life:

 

Better than Gold

                             In a Pullman Palace Smoker sat a number of bright men

You could tell that they were drummers

Nothing seemed to trouble them.

When up spoke a handsome fellow,  ”Come, let’s have a story boys,

Something that will pass the time away”.

“I will tell you how we’ll manage said the bright knight of the grip

“Let us have three wishes, something good and true.

We will give friend Bob the first chance, he’s the oldest gathered here.”

Then they listened to a wish that’s always near.

         

Just to be a child again at mother’s knee

Just to hear her sing the same old melody

Just to hear her speak in loving sympathy

Just to kiss her lips again

Just to have her fondle me with tender care

Just to feel her dear soft fingers through my hair

There’s no wish in this world that can compare

Just to be a child at mother’s knee

 

There they sat, those jolly drummers, not a sound that moment heard.

While their tears were slowly falling,

There was no man spoke a word.

For the memories of their childhood days had touched their dear kind hearts.

When as children they had played at mother’s knee.

Then at last the spell was broken by another traveling man.

“Your attention for a moment I do crave.

I will tell you of one precious thing, so dear to one and all.

Tis a wish we long for to the very grave.”

               

Just enough of gold to keep me all my days

Just enough with which some starving soul to save

Just enough I wish to help me on my way

Just enough to happy be

Just enough to know I’ll ne’er be poor again

Just enough to drive away all sorrows pain

You may wish for many things but all in vain

Give to me what precious gold can buy

 

The conductor passing through the train stopped in the smoking car.

He had grown quite interested in the stories told so far.

“Please excuse my interruption, but I listened with delight

To your wishes both of them so good and true.

Yet there is a wish that’s dearer, better far than glittering gold.

Though a simple one, perhaps you all will say.

Tis a longing that is in my heart each moment of my life.

Tis a gleam of sunshine strewn across my way.

 

Just to open wide my little cottage door

Just to see my baby rolling on the floor

Just to feel that I have something to adore

Just to be at home again

Just to hear a sweet voice calling “Papa Dear”

Just to know my darling wife is standing near

You may have your gold, your lonely heart to cheer

But I’ll take my baby, wife and home.

 

Written by:

Dallas Eby at Fraser, Idaho, Nez Perce County

Emily Tiptaft: The First White Woman on the Congo

Emily Tiptaft Banks, 1886

"Behind every great man stands a strong woman," so the saying goes. I have seen this quote repeatedly play out in my years of studying our family's history, but none more so than my husband's great-grandmother, Emily Tiptaft Banks. Each chapter of her extraordinary life plays out like a series of action dramas filled with courage, strength, faith, and distinction. From 17th-century London to the darkest of Africa, she and her husband served as missionaries and doctors, healing the bodies and souls of the tribes in the Congo. Here is her incredible story.

Charles Blair Banks, Unknown Date

Emily and her twin sister, Fanny, were born on 12 March 1865 to Herbert Tiptaft of Kent and Sarah Braithwaite of Middlesex, England. They were followed by two sisters and five brothers. Though she lived in the golden age of Victoria, as her father was a silver engraver for the Queen at Windsor Castle, her dream was to be a missionary to China. To that end, Emily and her sister, Fanny, attended religious meetings at one of Dame Agnes Weston's Royal Sailors Rests. There, in 1885, through a mutual friend, Fanny met a recently returned missionary to the Congo, Charles Blair Banks. Mr. Banks, a dashing young merchant seaman who felt the calling to the mission field, allied with the American Baptist Mission Union (ABMU) who sent him to the upper reaches of the Belgian Congo in 1883. Having seen the medical needs of the natives there, he returned to England to study medicine at the University of London. At a meeting, he spotted Fanny and went to speak to her. The young woman turned to face him and said, "Sir, I believe you have mistaken me for my sister." It was Emily, not Fanny! A friendship blossomed into courtship, and the two married in Hackney, England, in 1886. Emily's mission field was to be Congo, not China.

Emily & Charles Banks, 1886

Charles and Emily left England the following year for Africa, arriving at Wangata, Etat Independent du Congo, many weeks later, where they would remain for 13 years. While there, they lived in a clay hut like the rest of the natives. The natives initially did not believe she was real, saying that she could not be a woman as she was made entirely of cloth due to the English dress style. They called her Ndoki (ghost) as she would wear a white dress and a white scarf over her helmet to protect her from the scorching sun. They had never seen a white woman before, let alone one dressed entirely in white, and they were suspicious and frightened of her. But Emily's tender ways toward them soon earned her the name "White Mama."

Charles and Emily welcomed their first child, Marguerite, in 1888. The natives adored Marguerite, calling her Bona Owa Wangata—Child of Wangata--and marveled at her whiteness and beauty. When Marguerite was five months old, Charles and Emily traveled further up the Congo River with other missionaries. Suddenly, while passing a village on the riverbank, men in war paint and carrying bows and arrows approached them in their canoes. Alarmed, the captain of the steamship called out to them that they were friends, but the natives paid no attention and boarded the ship. Holding baby Marguerite, Emily stood bravely on the deck as the chiefs crowded around Emily, staring at the white baby in wonder. After questioning the ship's captain, they seemed satisfied that they were no threat and left the boat. They continued steaming up the river with Emily on the prow, holding Marguerite, while natives watched until they were out of sight. The unusual sight of a white baby likely saved their lives!

Emily & Charles Banks. Bolenge, Congo, c. 1890

"The Fever" swept through the Congo, and Emily was no exception. In June 1889, after enduring a relentless illness, Emily and Marguerite returned to England to her family. They delighted in little Marguerite but were shocked at Emily's sickly appearance. After many months of care and treatment, she recovered enough to return to where her heart lay: With Charles and their work with the natives of the Congo. Heart-breaking sacrifices seemed to be her destiny. Leaving Marguerite behind in the care of her parents and sisters to resume her work in Wangata was one of the most difficult for this devoted Christian woman. When she reunited with Charles, she found that he had built them a home in the village of Bolenge, four miles down the river from Wangata. He built it entirely by hand, surrounding it with acres of cleared ground, shrubbery, and gardens.

Emily Banks. Bolenge, Congo. c. 1890

In March 1891, Charles and Emily welcomed their second child, Charles Sidney James Banks, to the family. In May 1892, they had a second son, Alan Herbert. Emily's sister Fanny came to the lower Congo as a missionary, marrying her long-time beau, Rev. Jack Murphy--the friend who had introduced Charles to Fanny at the Royal Sailors Rest seven years earlier. However, the climate did not agree with Fanny, and she suffered recurring fevers. Charles had a furlough due, little Charles had been sick, and Alan was not as strong as he should be. They decided to return to England, leaving Jack in charge of the mission in Bolenge. On their return to London, they found their little Marguerite had grown into a lovely little girl. They went to North Weald on the East Coast of England to rest. Charles and Emily were worn down from recurrent attacks of fever and while they were there, they welcomed another daughter, Emmaline Frances, born in 1894.

Emily Banks & the children, Southampton, England, Dec 1900

Charles returned to Bolenge when his furlough ended, and Emily followed when Emmaline was eight months old. They continued their work until their last child, Kenneth Alexander, was born in 1898. Emily visited the villages one last time to say farewell and then returned to England. Charles followed several months later after preparing the mission for its successor. The hard life, fevers, and climate had taken their toll, and he knew he was leaving Africa for the last time. He arrived home in May and spent the summer and autumn reacquainting himself with his children. Despite their long separation from their father, they adored him fiercely. 

Charles Blair Banks, c.1900

In December, what began as rheumatic fever soon revealed itself to be a brain clot. On 29 December 1900, Charles, sensing the end was near, told a friend, "I long to go; I am so weary, but it does seem selfish to go away and leave Mrs. Banks alone with five children. I must get well to help her." But it was too late. After 24 hours of unconsciousness, Charles Blair Banks died at 43. Through all the perils, the climate, illness, crude native life, separation from her children, and now her husband's death, Emily faced the future with fortitude. She had consecrated her life to Christian service and remained in England for the next nine years, allowing her children to receive a good education.

In 1903, Roger Casement was hired as British consul for the Congo Free State. At the British government's behest, he investigated stories of murder, mutilations, and atrocities performed on the natives of the Congo under Belgium's King Leopold II. River captains and missionaries, including Emily, reported on Leopold's reign of terror in harvesting and exporting rubber to Europe.

Emily's powerful testimony to the barbarities of King Leopold featured prominently in Casement's report. Her diary preserved one event from 14 December 1895 when a mission sentinel brought a woman to Charles carrying a basket of 18 human hands belonging to men, women, and children. The woman confessed she had dropped one along the way, meaning there should have been 19. The Commissaire took the hands of natives who failed to meet the rubber quotas. If the natives asked for food, "they were shot, their huts burned, and all their belongings stolen." Charles and Emily had heard of this practice by the Commissaire of their district, but it was the first time witnessing the gruesome evidence. When Charles confronted the Commissaire, he threatened to burn out Bolengi if not for the missionaries' presence. In 1904, Casement presented his report to the British parliament, and copies were sent to the Belgian government and its allies. The investigation led to the arrest and punishment of the officials of the Congo Administration and eventually to Leopold, ceding the Congo Free State to the Belgian government in 1908.

Charles, Alan, Ken, Margaret, Emily & Emmaline Banks. 1904

In 1909, Emily and the children moved to America, where they reunited with Emily's sister, Fanny, and her husband, Rev. Jack Murphy. In a letter dated 13 October 1909, Emily told friends in England of her 7,000-mile trip from Bournemouth, England, to Portland, Oregon, where she made her home for the rest of her life.

She briefly returned to the Congo in 1928. In letters to her children, she detailed the changes since her first voyage to the deeper reaches of that African river. She reunited with old friends from Bolenge, including the chief of Bolenge, from whom Charles had purchased the land for the mission station years before. He asked when her children would them, and she replied, 'I told him they would not come; my children did not love the Congo because it was the cause of their father's death.'  Despite this, her son, Alan, eventually followed in his father's footsteps, serving as a missionary in the Congo with his wife until their deaths in 1970. Emily revisited the home her beloved Charles had built for her on the river with its acres of gardens and close-cropped lawns. But the reunion was bittersweet without Charles, who had always planned to visit but never had the chance.

Emily Banks. Jan 1928

Emily's diaries, writings, and stories about her and Charles' missions reveal their deep love and dedication to the people of the Congo. They exhibited tenacity and protectiveness toward the natives they served and educated, and above all, their love of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. The natives reciprocated their love, repeatedly asking Emily in 1928, 'Why do you not send us a son to teach us?  Emily, Fanny, and other female missionaries paved the way for future women to serve as missionaries. Emily's boldness in confronting the political leaders of Congo, including King Leopold, for their atrocities showed her commitment to keeping her people safe. Emily Tiptaft Banks died on 9 October 1942 in Albany, Oregon, at the age of 87 from heart disease. Her writings culminated in a book, 'White Woman on the Congo, by her son, Charles Sidney J. Banks, published in 1943. These and her surviving writings and stories highlight our great-grandmother's remarkable courage and faith, whom the natives called "Mondele bomoto"—the White Woman.

 

Emily Banks. Christmas 1941

Bound by Honor: Discovering My Grandfather’s Civil War Legacy

 

“Fort Pulaski, GA, November the 13 1864

Dear Wife…

 

It is with pleasure that I appeal to my this one time more for the purpose of dropping you a line to let you know that I am still alive and enjoying the best of health. Lieut Andis is well and hearty.  I desire that those few lines may come to hand in due time and find you all enjoying the same like blesings(sic). The health of the prisoners that is in the Fort is verry(sic) good at this time. And we are faring mutch(sic) better than we were a short time ago…”

Barney B. Cannoy, 2nd Lt., Co. F, 4th Virginia Infantry Brigade

 Over a century ago this letter was penned by a 27-year-old Confederate prisoner at the Fort Pulaski in Georgia. He was a Second Lieutenant in the 4th Virginia Infantry who had been captured at the Battle of the Wilderness in Virginia six months earlier. As one of the “Grayson Daredevils,” he fought under General Thomas “Stonewall” Jackson with the famous “Stonewall Brigade” in some of the most pivotal conflicts of the Civil War. Following his capture, he would become part of the “Immortal 600,”  six hundred Confederate officers who suffered the harshest and cruelest treatment as prisoners of war.

His name was Barney B. Cannoy, and he was my great, great grandfather.

Barney was born on 26 November 1836, to John and Eva Cannoy in Elk Creek, Virginia. Barney’s grandfather, also named Barney, had homesteaded the farm along Elk Creek after the American Revolution. He raised his family, including Barney B.’s father John, on about 400 acres there. After the elder Barney’s death, the farm was passed down to John, who continued the family tradition, raising hay, horses, cattle and pigs.

Elk Creek Valley, Grayson County, Virginia. Unknown date

When Barney was 21, he married Sarah Cornett, the 18-year-old daughter of neighbors Hazel and Catherine Cornett. Soon they welcomed a daughter and a son to their family. Barney and his brothers worked with their father on the family farm, tending to seasonal chores including raising cows and hogs, planting and harvesting various crops, chopping and splitting wood, and hunting in the nearby hills. Life on Elk Creek was hard, but things were about to change.

In the fall of 1860, Southern states began to secede from the Union due to deep-seated disagreements over several key issues, particularly slavery. Many Southerners relied heavily on slave labor for their agricultural economy and feared its abolition would lead to economic collapse. They also believed they

had the right to govern themselves and make their own laws, feeling that the federal government was infringing on their rights, including the right to maintain slavery.

While many farmers, such as Barney, did not own slaves, they feared the economic instability caused by the abolition would lead to irreparable hardship for their families. Additionally, they felt a deep loyalty to their home states and communities, believing they needed to defend against Northern aggression.

On 24 April 1861, Barney and his 21-year-old brother Peter enlisted  in the Confederate Army with 135 other young men from Grayson County. They were assigned to Company F, 4^th Virginia Infantry Regiment, otherwise known as the “Grayson Daredevils,” under General Thomas “Stonewall Jackson”. The brothers’ ability to hit a target while running secured them a place with the Daredevils, soon to be known as The Stonewall Brigade.

Barney and Peter marched from Grayson County to Richmond, then to Harpers Ferry with their brigade. Along their route, they were joined by four regiments and an artillery battery to form the First Brigade, Virginia Volunteers. They then began their march to Manassas Junction, where they would participate in the first major land battle of the Civil War, the First Battle of Manassas (also known as the Battle of Bull Run). It is here, the story goes, that General Jackson told the 4^th Virginia to wait until the Yankees came to within 50 yards, fire, and then give them the bayonets, yelling like “furies” on the charge. This would become known as the “Rebel Yell,” a high-pitched, intimidating battle cry used by the Confederates thereafter to unnerve the Union troops and boost the morale of the Confederates. The charge of over 2600 men using that yell must have indeed been unnerving!

Neither Barney nor Peter suffered any injuries during the Battle of Manassas, although over 1500 of fellow soldiers were wounded and nearly 400 were killed. But their efforts resulted in a victory for the Confederacy, and it was in this battle that the Jackson’s brigade (including the Grayson Daredevils) earned the moniker “Stonewall’s Brigade.”

Following Manassas, Jackson’s troops fought in numerous battles throughout the Shenandoah Valley. In March 1862, during the First Battle of Winchester, Peter Cannoy was captured by Union troops. He was sent to Fort Delaware where he remained until August when he was part of a prisoner exchange between the Union and the Confederacy. He eventually reunited with Stonewall’s Brigade but deserted in the fall of 1863. No record exists of his return to the unit, but this was not uncommon for many soldiers in both the Confederate and Union armies.

Shortly after Peter was captured at Winchester, Barney was sent to the CSA General Hospital in Charlottesville with pneumonia. By October, however, he had resumed his duties as a brigade teamster, driving wagons, transporting supplies, and loading and unloading at various camps and battlefields. It was a hazardous but crucial role for the army’s logistics.

Barney continued to support the brigade in some of the fiercest conflicts of the Civil War through 1862, including the Second Battle of Manassas, the Battle of Antietam--known for the bloodiest single day in American history, with around 23,000 soldiers killed, wounded, or missing--and the Battle of Fredericksburg in December, which ended the year of fighting with a decisive Confederate victory, dealing a significant blow to Union morale and strengthening of the Confederate cause.

The fighting continued throughout 1863, including the bloodiest battle of the Civil War, the Battle of Gettysburg, which saw over 51,000 casualties. At the end of 1863, after serving the Confederacy for two years and eight months, Barney was promoted to the rank of Second Lieutenant. Field promotions were often given for exceptional performance and leadership in combat. Unbeknownst to him, his promotion would soon thrust him into the ranks of a group of men whose experiences would leave their mark in the annals of American history.

Brady, M. “Confederate Prisoners at Belle Plain, Virginia”  1864

During the spring of 1864, Stonewall’s Brigade engaged in a series of battles near Spotsylvania, Virginia, just north of Richmond. Amid the brutal conflict at Spotsylvania Courthouse, Barney was captured and marched alongside other prisoners through Fredericksburg to Belle Plain on the Potomac River. The journey was grueling, with the soldiers enduring harsh conditions and scant supplies. Once at Belle Plain, they were transported to Fort Delaware, a Union prison camp on Pea Patch Island in the Delaware River.

A week following Barney’s imprisonment at Fort Delaware, Union Major General John Foster assumed command of their Department of the South. Foster set his sights on taking Confederate-held Charleston and Fort Sumter on Sullivan’s Island in Charleston Harbor, South Carolina. From his post on Morris Island at the southeast end of Charleston Harbor, he lobbed barrages of shells toward Sumpter and Charleston aiming to weaken Confederate defenses and morale. When confronted about shelling in residential areas where no military sites existed, he refused to redirect his fire, stating that “danger to women and children is simply a part of war.”  In response, Confederate Major General Sam Jones placed 50 Union officers in a residential area near a hospital, hoping their presence there would dissuade Foster from shelling innocent civilians of the city. In retaliation, Foster sent 600 Confederate officers, including Barney, to Morris Island, placing them in a stockade within range of Confederate artillery as human shields.

The soldiers—all officers—were packed onto the steamer Crescent City, which transported them down the eastern seaboard to Morris Island. It was a harsh, inhumane trip, with up to four men sharing one bunk. The guards only permitted one hatch to be open and the summer heat and the boiler heat was unbearable. With meager rations and only hot water from the condenser for drinking, the prisoners became seasick and soon the hold was filled with vomit and excrement. When they finally reached Morris Island the weakened prisoners were marched over two miles to the stockade where they were assigned four men to each two-man A-tents. Any possessions marked as “U.S.” were seized leaving some of the prisoners with nothing, but fortunately for Barney, he was allowed to keep a small kettle to use for heating water or cooking meals.

Cousin Pat Granstra, another great granddaughter of Barney, tells of the prisoners in her blog called “The Civil War Primer:”

Library of Congress. “Stockade on Morris

 Island Where Confederate Prisoners 

Were Confined.” 1865 

“The guns Hempstead described in his diary were in Battery Wagner, which the prisoners had passed on their way to the stockade. Similar weapons were also in Battery Gregg, slightly north of the camp. Both batteries fired shells toward Fort Sumter, those from Battery Wagner going over the heads of the prisoners. Rebel guns from Fort Sumter and Sullivan’s Island returned fire.  Although the stockade was not a target and the Confederate batteries took care to avoid firing toward it once gunners learned of the prisoners, it was, nonetheless, a dangerous place. A number of guards outside the pen were struck by shrapnel, and numerous dud shells fell among the prisoners but did no harm. 

Shelling had a mostly psychological effect on the prisoners, but plenty of physical danger came from other sources. The flimsy tents provided little protection from sun, rain, and wind. Biting sand fleas and mosquitoes constantly swarmed the prisoners. For drinking, cooking, and bathing, the captives collected rainwater and dug into the sand in hopes of finding water. Food rations were few and poor, generally consisting of small portions of wormy hardtack and watery soup or rice. Three prisoners died of disease and/or starvation.

On the 21st, after enduring 45 days on Morris Island, the remaining Confederate  prisoners were transferred to Fort Pulaski at Savannah. There they were incarcerated in open casemates equipped with bunks made of rough planks. Commander Foster had their meals changed to moldy cornmeal and pickles. Whenever possible, the men augmented their diet with dogs and cats that wandered into the prison; eventually, they resorted to catching rats. 

Library of Congress. “Tents on Morris Island, South Carolina.”  1861

The prisoners no longer had to suffer from the heat at Fort Pulaski, where cold combined with malnutrition and disease to test their mettle during the exceptionally harsh winter of 1864-65. They had been issued no blankets or winter clothing. Barney kept his kettle. Like most of the prisoners, he probably wrote letters to loved ones at home. In a letter dated October 26, Andis told his wife he and Cannoy had “very good quarters in the Fort.”  A week later, he wrote that Cannoy had received a letter from his father forwarded from Fort Delaware. Later, probably under Foster’s orders, guards routinely destroyed the prisoners’ outgoing letters.”

Hsieh, Wayne. "Prisoners Quarters, Fort Pulaski, Georgia. 2019

In March of 1865 the prisoners were returned to Fort Delaware. One month later, 9 April 1865, General Robert E. Lee surrendered to General Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox, Virginia. However, the soldiers of the Immortal 600 were not released from Fort Delaware until they took the Oath of Allegiance to the United States in June. Barney returned to his home in Elk Creek, having survived one of the most brutal series of events of the Civil War that would forever serve as an example of resilience of the human spirit amidst the brutal realities of war. 

Barney returned to Elk Creek where his wife and two children were waiting for him. He lived on a tract of land given to him by his father near the family home. Barney took over the operations of his father’s farm, which had fallen into disrepair. Five years after he had enlisted with the Grayson Daredevils, his son John Calvin was born. His life, it would seem, was returning to what it was when he left it in 1861. But it seemed that tragedy had one more card to play: At the end of December 1867, his wife Sarah died at the young age of 28.

Barney B Cannoy and wife Margaret Matilda Perkins,

c. 1871

At the age of 31, Barney and his three children, now motherless, moved into the family homestead with his father. Running and repairing the family farm, raising his children, and caring for his aging father left little time for grieving, though he remained an active member of his local church. It was probably there where he met his second wife, Margaret Matilda Perkins, the daughter of the widow Eliza Perkins. Her father had died the previous year. Together, Barney and Margaret had 13 more children—eight boys, five girls. One son, Robert, died at 10 months from scarlet fever and their twin girls died at birth.

Barney’s father died in 1891 of a probable stroke and in his will, he stipulated that Barney inherit the homestead and farm after his death. His intent was to keep his father’s homestead in family hands, and Barney was chosen for this honor. He continued to farm the land with the aid of his sons, Lyda and Greek. In a 1900 letter to his son Ellis in Oregon, Barney tells of his 9-year-old son, Roy, being ill and bringing lambs and a little calf into the house to cheer him up. His letter speaks to the gentle, caring personality of Barney, as does his support of his family, church and community. He did not dwell on being a part of the Immortal 600. In fact, his grandchildren were only told that he served in the Civil War and that he was a prisoner. We, his grandchildren, did not know of this tragic chapter of the Civil War and the part he played until recently, and to this writer it came as quite a shock. Barney had no animosity toward the North. While some of his children moved to Oregon (including my great-grandfather, Lonnie), Iowa, and Illinois, others stayed. The homestead remains in Cannoy family hands today. Barney’s small kettle holds a place of honor in the family living room.

Barney died on October 20, 1901, at the age of 64. When his local church was rebuilt in a new location, making more room for the Old Elk Creek Cemetery, Barney requested to be buried at the site of the old church’s pulpit, where he rests today.