Columbus was a boom town in 1863. While the Civil War had claimed many of the city's best and brightest, those who remained behind had never had it so good.

The Panic of 1857, which all but halted mercantile activity in the nation, was but a dim memory in 1863 as wages rose, factories opened and unemployment dropped to virtually zero.

The city's eight daily and weekly newspapers complained regularly about the lack of workers, especially the lack of laborers needed to work on dozens of private and public building projects.

Five military camps - including a massive prisoner of war camp - sprang up on the north and west sides. A large barracks for paroled soldiers was built near the railroad station and an arsenal, now the city's Fort Hayes Arts & Academic High School, was under construction in 1863 just northeast of downtown.

The papers every day were filled with government solicitations for bids for everything from provisions to horses to manufactured goods.

The Ohio State Penitentiary, soon to be the site of a hockey stadium, even rented out its convicts.

During the Civil War, the pen, which usually had about 1,000 inmates, received 75 cents to 90 cents a day for each convict put to work in private factories supplying the military.

An Aug. 16, 1863, survey of local wages by The Columbus Gazette showed that free laborers were earning $1.50 a day; carpenters, $1.75 a day; and journeymen bricklayers, $2.40 a day.

During the period, frame buildings, which went up in the early days of the city, were gradually being replaced by more durable brick buildings.

Despite the prosperity of war, the city had a largely Southern feel. So many citizens opposed the war that C.L. Vallandigham, a Copperhead candidate, carried the city in the 1863 gubernatorial elections.

Vallandigham, fleeing federal arrest orders, campaigned from Canada and was eventually exiled to the Confederacy.

Copperheads, also known as Peace Democrats, wanted a truce declared in the war so that delegates from the North and South could convene a convention to amend the Constitution to declare and protect states rights.

The Crisis, a Copperhead newspaper and its more moderate sister, The Ohio Statesman, prospered here. Though, on March 5, 1863, some 150 incensed soldiers from Camp Chase attacked The Crisis' offices.

Well connected to the rest of the nation, the city's newspapers were full of telegraphed reports from the major battles of the Civil War, including Gettysburg and Vicksburg in 1863.

Five railroads served the city, sending out as many as 12 freight trains a day in addition to scheduled passenger service.

Steam packets sailed the Scioto River, taking the Ohio and Erie Canal to points north and south.

And in 1863, streetcars, pulled by horses, began service downtown. Cars left the north and south ends of downtown every five minutes. Fares appear to have been two rides for 5 cents.

The city was served by a dozen or so grocery stores and a block-long public market on S. 4th St., where the bus station now stands.

In January 1863, butter ran 25 to 30 cents a pound in the market, eggs 20 cents a dozen and chickens 18 to 20 cents each.

Cabbages harvested the previous fall were running 15 cents a head and potatoes could be had for $1 a bushel.

The city's population nearly doubled during the decade, shooting from 18,544 in 1860 to 31,284 in 1870. The city's black population grew from 997 in 1860 to 1,847.

The Daily Express calculated that the city's population was nearing 30,000 in 1864.

Camp Chase prisoner-of-war camp

Camp Chase, a prison camp sometimes called the Andersonville of the North, housed as many as 5,000 prisoners at a time.

The city's papers often contained reports of prisoners being killed for walking too close to the camp's walls or - in one case - for not dousing his lamp at lights out.

Local sensibilities were offended by the fact that many of the officers at the camp were attended by their black slaves.

The camp's commander said he tried to discourage the practice, but the slaves were intent on serving their masters.

The camp was quickly disbanded after the war, though a graveyard with 2,260 government-issue tombstones remains on the West Side.