CHAPTER XI.
About eight or nine o’clock in the evening of Jan. 22, 1864, our light was extinguished, and Herrick and I each put on a haversack, well filled, and bade farewell to Hudson, who was yet sick. Now came the critical moment, as the guard line must be passed without being detected. Near our tent was a depression in the ground, crossing the guard line. We selected this place through which to make our escape.
The forward movement was now about to begin. We left the tent, and crawled down through the depression across the line without being discovered by the guards. It seems that good luck favored us, as the guards were passed without being disturbed. We walked quietly down the gully which farther on merged into quite a ravine. This was followed on down by us as hastily as we could, a distance of eighty or one hundred rods in a southerly direction, where a high rail fence was reached. Here a brief rest was enjoyed, as we were nearly exhausted. Our being weakened by sickness, and the excitement of passing the guards had some effect upon us, and we were in a very poor condition for the perilous journey. I put my arms over the top rail of the fence and hung on it, to support myself and rest. This attempt of making our escape was, as we discussed later on, a foolish undertaking when in such a debilitated condition, as we were to start out through an enemy’s country in the winter season. But the love of liberty was strong within us, and we thought it better to perish in trying to escape than to die in the filthy prison pens.
The evening of Jan. 22, 1864, I shall never forget. To our best knowledge in regard to the location of things we were now over one hundred miles from any Union troops. This distance was through an enemy’s country, full of rivers and small streams which we were obliged to cross, as well as hills, mountains and many other obstacles which must be encountered and overcome. This had to be accomplished mostly at night, for fear of being seen and recaptured by the Confederates. After being rested somewhat, we left the fence and started in a westerly direction, finally turning to the northwest, in which direction the Union lines were located.
We journeyed on slowly during a part of the first night, through the woods and brush, over rocks and ravines, crossing small streams of water by placing sticks across to walk upon, making slow progress until two or three o’clock in the morning. We then began looking about for a place to conceal ourselves during the following day, and also to rest and sleep. While passing through a grove we came upon a large white oak tree, which had been cut down during the summer or fall while the leaves were on its branches, and on that account the leaves were still remaining. This made a good comfortable hiding place for us during the following day, as the leaves were very dense. We concluded this would be as good a place as could probably be found, to conceal ourselves. By crawling under the tree and gathering some leaves a bed was prepared, placing them under us, and Herrick spread his blanket out upon the leaves. We took off our haversacks, which contained our supply of provisions for several days, and lay down upon our bed, using my blanket for a covering. After lying down we found ourselves extremely tired from our night’s journey of eight or ten miles. I remember being very uncomfortable after retiring, as it was a cold night and we were chilly. After becoming a little more comfortable we fell into a sound slumber. On awakening the next day hunger appeared, and we began partaking of the contents of our haversacks. After eating our breakfast we felt much revived from our fatigue, and contented ourselves during the day by talking over the prospects ahead of us and also the dangers that were awaiting us by being overtaken by the prison guards, as we were now only about eight or ten miles from prison.
As near as could be ascertained we were now in the vicinity of the line between North Carolina and Virginia, probably in North Carolina, as Danville prison was about on the line. I knew that we were at least as far south. Another fear now came over us, that the Confederates would put some of their bloodhounds on our trail; so we remained in the tree top the greater part of the day, and about sunset rolled up our blankets and prepared to move.
We ate our suppers and began to look about to see what was ahead of us, and as soon as it was thought safe resumed our journey for the night; this being the evening of Jan. 23. As soon as the stars could be distinguished we looked them over and by them were guided. Our aim was to go in a northwesterly direction, but when the Dan River was reached were obliged to go directly west, and in this direction we journeyed until sometime during the night when a cedar thicket was passed on the south bank of the river. The Dan River was found to be quite a wide stream, and the problem now was how to cross it. We followed along the bank of the stream during the night until we were very tired, failing to find a way to cross it, and then looked about for a hiding place in which to conceal ourselves the following day.
As we passed along we found the bank of the river to be mostly covered with cedar thickets, in which we made our hiding and sleeping place for the latter part of the night and during the next day. We crawled into a large bunch of cedar brush, and prepared our sleeping place similar to the night previous, went to bed and slept until sometime the following day. On awaking we found the sun shining brightly. This was Sunday morning, Jan. 24, and I must confess that I felt homesick. After eating breakfast we made preparations to find a place for crossing the river. We were unable during the night to find a crossing. There being no houses in this immediate vicinity that could be discovered, and the country being heavily timbered, we considered it safe to some extent to travel during the day, which we did, in order to enable us to find some means of crossing the river. We continued walking westward along the south bank of the stream for some distance, when open woods were entered and we discovered a man riding along in a buggy. I remember we made a number of remarks about him. Herrick made some which were rather comical, but we were very uncomfortable all this time, for fear we had been seen by the man in the buggy, and would be reported. We soon struck another cedar thicket, and also the river, passing along the bank still searching for some means by which to cross. So far we were unsuccessful, and by this time had become nearly discouraged on account of not finding a crossing.
It was now nearly the middle of the day, and we were still passing along the river, when suddenly we met a colored boy about ten or twelve years of age, and as they were generally our friends and we could trust them, we made known to him our wants. I asked him whether he could tell us where we could cross the river. He answered by saying: “Just a little ways down thar is a black man, with a canoe, playing with it in the river; maybe he will take you across.” I thanked him, and we passed along in the direction indicated by the boy, and to our great joy saw the man in the canoe near the shore, and also saw a house not far away. On arriving at the spot I motioned to him to come to shore, which he did. I then asked him if he would take us across the river in his boat. He answered in the affirmative. I said to him, “I will pay you if you will hurry and take us across.” All this time we felt very uneasy because we feared that we might be seen by some one who would report us to the Confederates and cause our capture. All the money that I possessed was a Confederate dollar bill, which was worth about ten cents in U. S. money; having used my two dollar greenback to purchase bread. I drew it from my pocket, opened it out and presented it to the man, saying: “I will give you this if you will hurry and take us across the river.” He took the money and said, “All right, jump in.”
We got in the boat and he soon landed us on the north bank of the river in safety. Dan River where we crossed is about forty or fifty rods wide. As we were getting out of the boat and looking back across the river to the place where the boat was entered, we saw six or eight persons standing on the bank of the river, looking in our direction. This caused quite an excitement in our camp, and we immediately issued marching orders and started for the woods, which were a short distance away. After reaching the cover of the woods a council of war was held to decide what was best to do under the circumstances as things appeared to us rather perilous.
Crossing Dan River.
It was decided that we must have been seen by the group of people, who we thought might report us to the Confederate authorities. It was uncertain whether the persons we saw were black or white. Now that the woods had been reached we started on the run, in order that we might get as far away as possible in a short time and find a safe place to secrete ourselves until night. We arrived at a deep ravine, where a small stream of water was discovered, which appeared to come from a spring, and we thought this a good hiding place. We sat down to rest, which was badly needed, as we were weak and exhausted, and proceeded to eat some of the luxuries from our haversacks. After eating we talked of the prospects before us, which were not very encouraging. We sat there on the cold, damp ground, not in a cheerful mood but the opposite, tired, unnerved, and in a deplorable condition. Late in the afternoon we began to look about us in order to ascertain the condition of the surrounding country before dark. About sunset we started out on our night’s journey, in a northwesterly direction as near as we could tell, being guided by the stars when they were visible. We journeyed on over hills and dales, rocks, swamps and small streams, keeping as quiet as possible, speaking only in whispers, sometimes traveling in the road a short distance when it was thought safe to do so. Then again over fields, hills and the usual difficulties, being careful to avoid going near houses, which would arouse the dogs, which were quite numerous in that rough country. Sometimes we were very much discouraged, being in an enemy’s country, in the dead of night, in the winter season, weakened by sickness and nearly exhausted, stumbling over stones, rough ground and through brush and briers, not knowing what the next moment would bring forth. We might be attacked by a pack of dogs, and our whereabouts made known to the enemy, to be found in all parts of this country.
It was now nearing the time of night to begin to look about us for a place to secrete ourselves, for sleep and rest. This time, was as stated before, in the latter part of the night. We found a good place in a thicket in the woods, where we made our bed, retired as usual, and slept until sometime the following day, Jan. 25. After finding some water we made our toilets and proceeded to eat some breakfast, which was rather thin, as our commissary stores were getting low. We had just about enough in our haversacks for breakfast. This was the last of our provisions which I had received from my brother. After eating breakfast the remainder of the day was spent in resting, talking and planning for the following night. It was now necessary to contrive some plan to replenish our stock of provisions. Sometime before dark we started to spy out the country, cautiously moving along the edge of the woods, looking for slave cabins, as we were afraid to approach white people for fear of being captured. Just as darkness began to appear we saw in the edge of a small field a one-story log cabin, which afterward proved to be a slave cabin. We stopped at the edge of the woods to investigate, after which Herrick said to me: “Eby, if you will go to the cabin I will stay here and hold the fort until you return.” I started, feeling a little timid as it was not quite dark, and I feared discovery by some one who might be the cause of our being taken in.
When arriving at the cabin I was met at the door by an aged colored man. I told him who we were and that we would like to get something to eat; would like to procure enough to supply us for several days if convenient. He informed me that they had but very little cooked or baked as their family was small (only himself and wife) but if we would wait long enough they would bake a corn pone for us. I said, “All right, you will find us at the gate posts,” and returned to my comrade at the edge of the woods where the gate posts mentioned were in position. But we did not remain there as I said we would, but hid in the brush a number of rods away for the purpose of deceiving him in case it would have been made known to the enemy that we were hid at the posts. We could easily have been found, but being hid in the brush we would have had a chance to escape. We waited several hours for the return of our colored man and finally heard the footsteps of one person walking in the direction of the gate posts. The noise he made in walking over the dry leaves enabled us to tell whether there was one or more persons. When near the posts he stopped. We were then satisfied that it was our colored friend, bringing us something to eat. We made our whereabouts known to him and he soon came to us, bringing a good supply of food, consisting of one of the largest corn pones that I ever saw and a quantity of cooked meat. The nice large pone was yet warm and its odor was delicious to a hungry man. It appeared to me as large as a full moon. The pone and meat supplied us with food for several days. We were very grateful to our colored friend and thanked him over and over. He then returned to his cabin and we proceeded to refresh ourselves with some food. We broke our fine large corn pone, and ate our suppers from it, after which we felt much revived.
The next thing in order was to prepare for our night’s march. We were obliged to break our corn pone in several pieces in order to get it in our haversacks. After packing up the remains of our victuals we started on our fourth night’s trip, which was quite exciting. As usual we walked on in the darkness, feeling our way cautiously and quietly along, not speaking above a whisper for fear of being heard by people or dogs who might get on our trail. As I stated before, we were guided by the stars when they were visible. Our aim was to travel in a northwest direction from the prison because we knew that the outpost pickets of the Union lines were located in that direction. We were now walking upon what appeared to be a wagon road and in a westerly direction.
This part of the country seemed to be a small valley, and was quite level. About eight or nine o’clock in the evening we saw a house ahead of us at some distance, on the left-hand side of the road. The night was not very dark so that we were able to see quite a distance. Before reaching it a small building was discovered, made of logs, on the right-hand side of the road, perhaps ten or fifteen rods from the house, and even with the road fence, having a door which opened into the road. As we afterward discovered, this proved to be a one-story, log horse-stable. When arriving within a short distance of it we saw a man enter the door with a lighted lantern in his hand. After he passed to the inner part of the stable we could see the light shining between the logs. I was of the opinion that the man with the lantern was a colored man, as he appeared so to me. I said, “Herrick, I am going to get some information from that darkey.” We walked on, and arriving at the stable I stepped up into the doorway and was suddenly surprised by seeing a white man, dressed in a Confederate uniform, going in between some horses to feed them, as it appeared to me. It immediately flashed through my mind that this was a quartet of Confederate cavalry, in search of escaping prisoners, who had put up there for the night. I asked no questions but quietly stepped out of the door, motioned to Herrick to come on, and we lit out for other parts as lively as we could. After going a safe distance from the stable we stopped and congratulated ourselves upon our narrow escape from being captured. It was supposed that we had not been seen by the man in the stable but we were not certain.
After quieting down to a normal condition, and deciding what course to pursue, our journey for freedom was resumed, going in the usual direction. We left the road again, as it was feared that we might be overtaken if remaining on it. Therefore we struck out for the woods and hills where we considered it more safe. Our progress was slow as I have stated before. The greater part of our journey was over a rough country, and we found it discouraging to travel.
We pressed forward through the woods and brush as rapidly as possible, which I guarantee was not at a high speed, until nearly tired out, when we were obliged to rest in order to be able to go on again. After being rested sufficiently to be able to move on, we took fresh courage, thinking that we might as well perish in trying to make our way to the Union lines as to be recaptured and taken back to the prisons to die. We were hungry to see the good old Stars and Stripes once more, knowing that if the protection of “Old Glory” could be reached we would be all right. Therefore we risked much to gain its friendly cover. Wherever “Old Glory” floats in air people look for righteous protection, and therefore every citizen should assist in keeping it waving.
During the night we became partially lost in the dense woods, being bewildered in regard to the compass so we could not tell north from south. It seemed that Fate was against us. Herrick was not very well, and complained bitterly, which had a tendency to discourage me, but I tried to keep up my spirits, and trusted in a Higher Power. The woods were dense and dismal. Nothing could be heard but the barking of dogs in the distance and the whoo-whoo of some of those large hoot owls up in the tops of the tall trees, which made the night seem yet more hideous. As to the dogs we feared them, because they were liable to get on our trail.
When I heard the owls I was reminded of a story which I had heard about an old maid who went out into the woods to pray to the Lord to send her a husband, and while praying one of those large owls in a tree near by began his whoo-whoo. She, thinking this an answer, replied, “Anybody, good Lord.”
We could not tell which way to go on account of having lost the right course, but did not give up in despair, and concluding to camp for the night, made our bed in the leaves and were soon asleep, as we were very sleepy and tired. Jan. 26 we awoke, and to our surprise found that about an inch of snow had fallen while we were asleep. We were covered over with a blanket, face and all, and therefore the snow did not interfere with our sleep. As usual we looked about for the purpose of ascertaining in regard to our safety. Finding ourselves fairly well hid, we prepared for breakfast, which did not require a large amount of labor. We could not make very elaborate toilets, as we had no water, and did not think it safe to venture far away in search of it in the daytime. On opening our cupboard, or as I should say, haversacks, we found quite a large supply of the provisions which had been furnished us by the old colored man a day or so previous, and for which we were extremely thankful.
Our breakfast was soon prepared and eaten, and then came a lonesome day for us. We dare not move about for fear of being seen, and therefore were obliged to sit on the wet ground and shiver with cold until near night, when we began to look about us in order to procure information in regard to the surrounding country. We heard some one chopping in the woods a short distance from us, and we concluded to crawl near enough to him to ascertain whether he was white or black. We found him to be a slave, and very friendly toward us, and he gave us some information in regard to the surrounding country. After talking with him for some time, we returned to our hiding place. During the day the snow had melted. After eating our suppers we prepared to move on. It was now after sunset and we started out, encountering the usual obstacles on the way. We traveled on for an hour or two and then came in sight of a number of lights twinkling in the darkness, and only a short distance ahead of us. This we afterward learned was a small town named Henry. We immediately changed our course to the right, flanked the town, and passed it without being discovered. We soon struck a road leading in the direction we wanted to go, and followed it for some distance, when we found it quite narrow, and fenced with an old fashioned worm rail fence about eight or ten rails high.
While walking along in this lane for a short distance we heard a gunshot, perhaps forty or fifty rods from us. We stopped and listened, and a few seconds later we heard a horse galloping toward us apparently as fast as it could come, and in a second all was excitement with us. Something had to be done immediately or there would be trouble. Herrick said, “Let us get inside the fence as quickly as possible.” We scrambled over the fence, and dropped down on the ground as flat as a pancake, and in a second a horse with a man upon it galloped past within ten or twelve feet of where we lay. We did not know what it meant, but supposed the gunshot was a signal among the Confederate home guards that we had been seen by some one, who gave the alarm by discharging the gun, and thought he would catch us in this lane by coming upon us so suddenly that we would be unable to escape.
After the horseman had gone past us a short distance he stopped, and we could hear several persons talking, while Herrick and I were shivering with excitement behind the fence, hugging the earth as we never did before. If their object was to capture us here they failed, but if we had remained in the road a few seconds longer our goose would probably have been cooked. We lingered inside of the fence for a short time, and kept very quiet, and again heard some persons talking not very far away. Later in the night, everything being quiet, we crawled out of our hiding place and prepared to move on, but were very cautious and struck out for the woods, groping onward through a strange land, with the usual difficulties. We journeyed on during the balance of the night without anything of an excitable nature transpiring except the barking of dogs, which caused us a little uneasiness at times.
Just a short time before looking up a place in which to hide and sleep, we passed down into and through a small valley and up a steep hill or mountain, on the opposite side on which we found a good place to hide and make our bed and sleep during the morning. We retired and soon were asleep. This was now Jan. 27, and some time during the forenoon we were awakened by hearing some one talking near by. We got up and began an investigation. We found ourselves on the summit of a small mountain, in a good hiding place, and near a small precipice. I crawled near the edge of it and looked down into the valley below and saw a man doing some kind of work with a team. He was only a short distance away but could not very well see us. Herrick and myself sat and watched him for a short time, and having now become quite hungry proceeded to investigate our store of provisions. We found some of the corn pone and ate our breakfast from it. After completing our meal we found that our commissary stores were getting low or nearly exhausted, and before we could eat another meal we would be obliged to do some foraging. The balance of the day was spent in our hiding place on the mountain.
Shortly before dark we investigated the surroundings, as usual, and prepared to start out on our night’s march, but thought we would like some supper first. On reflecting we remembered that our haversacks were about empty. We went without supper for the same reason that Jack did. The problem now was how to procure some more provisions. Herrick not being very well proposed going to a house to get a warm meal, to which I strenuously objected, fearing that we would be discovered by the enemy. We finally started out on our night’s trip without any supper, thinking that perhaps we might find some slaves who would supply us with something to eat. This being a mountainous country there were but few colored people to be found, and this fact compelled me finally to consent to Herrick’s plan of going to a house to procure a warm meal.
We were now moving along through the woods on a sort of road, and it was about seven or eight o’clock in the evening. Hunger began to pinch us severely, and we had not gone very far when a light was discovered some distance ahead of us, apparently in a house. We continued to move on toward the light, and when near enough began to investigate the surroundings. We found it to be a one-story log house, located close to the road and nearly surrounded by thick woods. It being well lighted, we could see that it was occupied by white people. We now held a council of war for the purpose of determining how to procure something to eat. Herrick proposed having a warm meal if they could be persuaded to prepare us one, and to this I finally consented. We then approached the house, knocked at the door, and the man of the house came out and our wants were made known to him. He objected at first to our request, saying he feared it would become known to the Confederate authorities that he had fed us and they would deal harshly with him. He finally consented to our request, and his folks prepared a good supper for us. When the meal was ready he called us in and said, “Please get through supper as soon as possible. There is danger of you being seen here by outside parties who might report you to the Confederate authorities, and thereby get us and yourselves also into trouble.” We sat down and ate a very hearty meal, thanked them kindly, and passed out. The host went out with us, and accompanied us on our journey quite a distance, giving us information about the surrounding country. When he left us we again thanked him, and journeyed on in the usual direction, being satisfied that we had met with a Union man because he had treated us so kindly. Of course people were afraid to feed us, because there had been what were called “bogus Yankees” through that part of the country. A “bogus Yankee” was a Confederate, dressed in a Federal uniform, pretending to be an escaping Union prisoner of war, and he would come to these people throughout the country for the purpose of ascertaining whether they would harbor and feed escaping prisoners, and if they were found guilty would have them arrested and confined in prison. We traveled in the road as long as we deemed it safe to do so, and then struck out through the woods, encountering the usual difficulties.
We were very much refreshed by the good meal we had eaten in the evening, and were able to make good progress. Nothing transpired during the night to cause any special excitement only the occasional barking of dogs. Some of them had a peculiar bark, which sounded like those large bloodhounds which were used in the South for the purpose of catching runaway slaves and escaping prisoners of war, and caused us some uneasiness. We moved on until our usual hour for retiring, and then found a place which was deemed secure, where we made our bed and retired as usual.
We awoke some time during the following day, this being Jan. 28, and wanted to eat our breakfast, but had none, and dare not venture out in search of food in daytime for fear of being taken in. We saw some chestnut trees near by in the woods, and went to them, hoping to find a few nuts among the leaves to appease our hunger to some extent, but our search was in vain. A house was discovered at a distance, out in the open country, but we were afraid to venture to it. We remained the balance of the day in our hiding place, and as early as we thought it safe to do so started on our night’s journey. The weather was quite clear and pleasant, but things were not so pleasant with us, as we had been without food during the past twenty-four hours, and had no prospect of procuring any provisions during the evening. Our journey was through a broken country, where the opportunity of procuring food was limited, but we still moved forward, thinking that we might come across some colored people who would supply us. It seemed that luck was against us. We had spent a good part of the night, walked a long distance, and were getting very weak from hunger, and walking became burdensome for us, especially while passing through such a maze of tangled underbrush.
The night was now nearly spent and we stopped to consider what was best to do and concluded as we were so nearly worn out it was best to select a resting place and make our bed. We found a place in the woods beside a large log, and as we supposed a good hiding place. We prepared our bed and went to sleep as usual, as we were so extremely tired from our long journey. We slept very soundly until about sunrise, when I was awakened by a clattering noise and some one talking. I carefully raised my head high enough to enable me to look over the top of the log, and to my horror saw four Confederate cavalrymen riding past within six or eight rods of us.
I carefully awakened Herrick and told him what I had seen. Then he also peeped over the log and saw the Confederates as they were disappearing. We kept quiet, though much excited over our situation, and remained here for a short time.
Sleeping Behind a Log.
We had now fasted for about thirty-six or forty hours, and felt as though we could stand it no longer without food, and would be obliged to procure some in some manner. We crawled out of our hiding place and cautiously moved through the woods in search of a house where something to eat might be secured. After walking a short distance we saw an open field to the eastward from us, and also a house near the edge of the woods, which was found to be a two-story dwelling of fair size. It appeared to us to be occupied by white people. Starvation will compel a person to risk almost anything for the purpose of procuring food. We decided to go to the house and ascertain the prospect of getting something, as we could not fast much longer.
CHAPTER XII.
Our Recapture and Return to Prison.
On Jan. 29, 1864, early in the forenoon, we went to the house described in the former chapter. It was a bright, sunshiny morning, and walking around to the east door of the house (which appeared to be the one most used by the family), I knocked and the proprietor opened the door. I made known to him our wants, and he replied, saying “We will give you something to eat,” and invited us in. The door opened to my left as I passed in. I looked in that direction, and to my horror saw two Confederate soldiers sitting in that end of the room, one of whom afterward told me that he was a captain, and they had their side arms with them. As soon as we were fairly inside the room they smiled, and one of them said: “Boys, I guess you are our prisoners, as it is our duty to hold you as such.”
We failed to return the smile which on our part was not very polite, but under the circumstances I think we were excusable. You can imagine the state of our minds just at that moment. I felt like sinking through the floor into the earth and out of sight, and of course poor Herrick felt likewise. After risking our lives in escaping from the guards, and facing the dangers of passing through an enemy’s country until within thirty-five miles of the Union lines, and then to fall into a trap like that, was almost too much to endure. But what could we do? We were obliged to submit, and there was no use arguing the case with them.
Recapture.
After the excitement abated, the women folks prepared breakfast for us. As soon as it was ready we were asked to take seats at the table. Before doing so the host looked at us and said: “Boys, you look poorly,” seeming to sympathize with us. He handed us a bottle of peach brandy, saying, “This will be good medicine for you in your weakened condition.” We each took a few swallows, and it did seem to stimulate us for the time being. While eating breakfast we had quite a chat with the men folks, and found them to be gentlemen, and they used us as well as we could have been used among our own people. We were kept here until the arrival of some new guards, whom they had sent for. When dinner time came we were invited to take dinner with the family, and strange to say we did not refuse. During the forenoon we men folks went out to the east side of the house, where it was quite comfortable. The host asked whether we would like to crack some walnuts. I replied in the affirmative (of course we would not refuse anything that could be masticated, and would assist in filling us up), and we sat down on a log together and cracked and ate walnuts. While engaged in this I happened to be sitting beside the host, the guards being a short distance away. We became engaged in conversation in regard to secession, during which he frankly remarked to me that the State of Virginia did not secede by the voice of the people, but was forced out by the intrigue of State officials. I believed him to be a loyal man at heart. He did not tell me so but his actions and conversation proved it.
The new guard arrived about the middle of the afternoon and we were soon on our way toward Rocky Mount, where we were placed behind the bars of a county jail. We had not traveled very far before night overtook us, and we lodged at a farmhouse that night, where they had an immensely large dog which was supposed to be a bloodhound. They cautioned us in regard to it, saying, “Do not venture outside the house after night as you would be in danger of being attacked by the dog.” A bed was prepared for us, and we retired soon after supper. The guard also slept in the house. Herrick and myself talked over the possibilities of making our escape from that place, but finally concluded that it would be futile to attempt it on account of our weakened condition, the danger of being attacked by the large dog and the house being secured and locked.
We rested quite well until morning, Jan. 30. We were given breakfast and the guard was soon ready to conduct us on our way to Rocky Mount, arriving there during the day. On our journey toward that place we stopped at a farmhouse for the purpose of procuring a drink of water. The man of the house came out, being a man of perhaps sixty years of age, and on learning who we were appeared to be terribly enraged. He called us all sorts of new names not to be found in a dictionary, and I well remember one thing he said: “You killed my son and you ought to be killed.” He had a son in the Confederate army who had been killed in battle, and seemed to blame us for it. The guard looked at us and smiled, as much as to say, “The old fool, let him talk.” He appeared as though he would like to give us a good dressing down, as he shook his fist at us repeatedly, but I was not alarmed; we had seen things more dangerous than a man’s fist. We arrived at the jail Jan. 30, and were placed in a room in company with two deserters from the rebel army. Apparently we were the only inmates of the jail except an insane man, who was confined in another room. As the saying is, we were now “behind the iron bars.”
I had now been a tramp, begging for something to eat, and also a prisoner behind the bars of a county jail. This would have been disgraceful if I had been myself to blame, but under the circumstances I did not feel guilty. We were confined in this jail four days and nights, and our treatment here was at least fifty per cent better than in the military prison pens, and we therefore voted unanimously in favor of remaining here, but were counted out.
February 4, in company with the two deserters, we were conducted to the railroad station some distance away, and were put on board the cars (cars having seats), and permitted to sit down during the journey. We were soon on our way, as they told us, toward the prisons in Richmond. This news had a very depressing effect upon us. The train moved on in a northeasterly direction, arriving at Lynchburg, Va., in the evening, nothing of importance transpiring on the way. We were placed in the guardhouse, where the night and the following day were spent. While here we discovered that the place was infested with some of our former prison companions, the graybacks, and as a consequence, during the night our clothing became inhabited with the insects, which was to us quite a torment, as we had been clear of them since entering the convalescent camp at Danville. We were fed on very scant rations at this place, on account of coming under the prison discipline again.
We remained here until the evening of Feb. 5, and shortly after dark were called out under a strong guard, when we met a small number of other prisoners bound for the same place that we were. A line of guards surrounded us, and as we started for the train the captain of the guards yelled out: “Guards, shoot the first man who offers to run.” This expression, of course, was uttered to intimidate us prisoners. We boarded the train and were soon en route for the city of Richmond, riding all night and until some time during the day of Feb. 6, when we arrived in the city, and were soon transferred to a prison called the Pemberton Building. This was a large, four-story brick building. In it we found confined a large number of Federal prisoners. The Pemberton Building was located on the opposite side of the street from Libby Prison, and about one hundred feet farther to the southeast. The street between Libby and the Pemberton Building extended southeast and northwest. From the windows of our prison we had a good view of Libby and its surroundings. I remained in this prison six days. While there, on the night of Feb. 9, over one hundred of the officers confined in Libby made their escape through a long tunnel, which had previously been made by them.
This extended from the cellar under Libby, through under a street at the east end of the building; its exit being under a one-story wooden shed, on a vacant lot just across the street from our prison. The prisoners came out of the tunnel under this shed, and made their escape under cover of the darkness of the night. The following morning I saw quite a number of Confederate officers and guards walking about in the vicinity of Libby apparently more or less excited. We could look from our windows and see what was going on about the streets. The news of the escape of the Federal officers soon reached our prison, which caused no little excitement among us. The Confederates still continued their search about Libby, but did not seem to discover the whereabouts of the tunnel until late in the afternoon, when I saw them digging a hole at the east end of the prison. I supposed they were in search of the tunnel. Nearly one-half of those who escaped through the tunnel were recaptured and brought back to prison the following day. I saw a number of them as they marched back into Libby. Poor fellows, they seemed to be downcast, and I could sympathize with them, having just been through a similar experience. We remained in the Pemberton Building until Feb. 13, when we were transferred to the prison pen on Belle Island.
Snodgrass House, on Snodgrass Hill, Chickamauga Battlefield.
CHAPTER XIII.
My Second Entrance into Belle Island Prison Pen, Feb. 13, 1864.
The day that I entered the island the second time, Feb. 13, a Confederate preacher delivered a very long sermon to us, and tried to convert us to the Southern Confederacy cause, but with poor success.
We could not be converted to an institution that tried to freeze us and starve us. He was listened to attentively for a long time when he remarked before closing that he didn’t know as he was doing any good talking to us, it was like casting pearls before swine, and he would close his remarks. One of our boys told him that he might have stopped long ago if he had wanted to, as we would have had no objections whatever.
On entering the prison pen on the island, for the second time, my spirits sank to zero, for the prospect before me was certainly a gloomy one. This was a low and barren island, over which the cold February winds swept from up and down the James River, making it very uncomfortable for us, exposed as we were to the elements of the weather. I could now see a great change in the appearance of the prisoners since my short stay of six days here, in October, 1863, and not for the better, but very much worse. Many were nearly destitute of clothing, and had been so starved and exposed to the severe weather that they were mere skeletons, slowly moving about. Some of them were being fairly eaten alive by graybacks. From lack of proper means of keeping clean, and only the icy river water in which to wash, many were nearly as black as negroes. Some indeed were too weak to keep themselves clean, and too discouraged to care. I was informed that there were about 8,000 of us on the island at this time, and a large number, perhaps several thousand, including Herrick and myself, were without shelter of any kind, although we were more fortunate than some of them. During our stay here we received no fuel for fires. I saw a few sticks of wood, which were being whittled into splinters and small fires made with them, around which hovered the poor, shivering, almost lifeless human forms, sitting upon the frozen ground. This wood being pitch pine, produced very black smoke, which blackened the faces of the poor fellows who tried to warm over the little fires and caused them to appear still more hideous. Those of the prisoners who were without shelter contrived different ways to keep from freezing at night, while trying to sleep. I slept in a shallow rounding ditch in the ground, in which I lay also in the daytime, when becoming tired of walking about, standing or sitting on the frozen ground. This protected me to some extent from the cold, piercing winds which blew over the island, but it was very uncomfortable during a rainstorm, of which we experienced several during our confinement there. During a rainstorm the sand and ground about me would become saturated with water, and keep my clothing wet for days, and I would become so chilled and numbed that I would be scarcely able to get up. One cold night, while trying to sleep, my toes were frozen so that the skin peeled off sometime after. While we were here in this condition the water in the river froze over nearly the whole of its surface. I saw ice over three inches in thickness.
A day seemed to me as long as a month. Rations were very small, consisting almost entirely of unsifted cornmeal, stirred up with water, and often without salt, as salt was a scarce article with the Confederacy. This was baked in cakes about the size of a brick, only about one and one-half inches thick. One-half a cake of this size was given each man for a day’s ration, and nothing else with it, with the exception that two or three times while on the island we received beans or meat. This was generally entirely devoured at once, leaving nothing for the other two meals, and yet we remained nearly as hungry as before eating. Our drink consisted of icy river water, which did not warm a person very much, thoroughly chilled as we were.
Days and weeks passed slowly on, with nothing to cheer us, but everything to depress our spirits. Cold, hungry, and discouraged with the sight of so much misery all about us, little wonder that some lost their reason. Our main topic of conversation was the comforts of home, and the subject of something to eat, especially as this was most forcibly impressed upon our minds. I well remember receiving as a part of one day’s rations some small beans (called here cow beans). Some were red and others black. I placed them in my left hand and counted them, and found that there were just fifteen. These were all the beans that I received while on the island, and as I had no means of cooking them I ate them raw.
At another time I received a piece of boiled beef, about the size of a black walnut, which was all the meat I had to eat while on the island. After a short stay in this place I began to fail rapidly. On arising in the morning I would ache all over, and could scarcely straighten up, and it appeared to me that even the marrow in my bones was chilled. Occasionally I would take a walk down to the water’s edge, in order to start circulation and get a little warmth into my shivering body, in which I generally failed. In order to get to the water we were obliged to pass down through a narrow lane, fenced on each side with a tight high board fence, and plenty of guards on all sides. Through this we passed to procure water, and to wash our hands and faces if we washed at all. We were not supplied with washbasins, and therefore when washing would use the river as a basin, which did not improve the water for drinking purposes, where several thousand men washed within a space of 30 or 40 feet in length. The closet was also located very near where we obtained our drinking water. This was at the lower end of the island where there was no current to carry away the filthy water.
Our clothes could not be washed because the weather was too cold. We were in the same predicament as the man who possessed only one suit and was obliged to go to bed while his garments were being washed. But we were not so fortunate as he because we had no beds to go to and not even what a person would call a suit.
During some of these walks I saw most horrid sights as I walked through the camp. I remember one day of seeing several boys or young men who had become so weakened and emaciated by their treatment here that they were unable to stand erect while walking but were obliged to bend over like old men of eighty. Their clothing on the outside, under their arms, was white with graybacks and nits, and as I stood looking at the poor boys I wondered what must be the condition on the inside of their garments. But I was helpless as far as giving them relief. They were only a sample of hundreds of similar cases. As I stated in a previous chapter, we who were able would take off our shirts, turn them inside out, and kill (between our only weapons of defense our thumb-nails) all the graybacks we could find. During this operation we would keep our coats (when we possessed any) closely buttoned around our shivering bodies. But many poor fellows had become unable to do even this much toward their own comfort, and there were hundreds and thousands in the same wretched condition. At other times, when passing through the prison, I saw squads of prisoners who were such objects of pity that I am utterly incapable of describing them. The memory of them will remain fresh in my mind as long as I live. Some were mere skeletons, scarcely able to move, barefooted, pants worn off halfway to their knees, shirt or coat sleeves worn off nearly to the elbow, their long matted hair and whiskers which had not been cut for months hanging over their dirty, emaciated faces. Add to this, in many instances, perhaps sore and frozen feet. They were objects calculated to enkindle pity in the heart of a tyrant. Again, I saw some who were unable to walk, lying on the ground with no better clothing than those I have just described, and no other protection from the bitter cold.
To these death soon came as a welcome relief. Nearly every morning a number of dead were carried out to some burial place. All these scenes did not have an inspiring effect on us. The craving for meat had become so intense that one day as Lieut. Boisseux, commander of the guards, came strolling through the prison pen with his pet dog following him, the dog was enticed into a tent by some of the prisoners. They caught him, cut his throat, dressed him and prepared the meat for cooking, which was soon done, and he was devoured by the hungry men. I did not see any of this transaction, but learned of it through other prisoners. One day I met one of the prisoners who possessed a small brass kettle. He showed it to me and said, “This is the kettle in which we cooked the dog.” I wondered where they could procure fuel enough to cook a dog, as it was a very scarce article on the island. The dog was probably cooked a few days before my arrival on the island.
As the days passed on, the suffering from cold and hunger increased at a rapid rate. I could notice that I was failing and growing weaker every day, and would sometimes almost despair of ever getting out of that place of torment alive, but did not give up the struggle for dear life. One day as I was strolling through the prison, to my great surprise and delight I met two members of my own company, Alonzo Fish and John Stevenson, who were captured and brought to Belle Island during my confinement in the Richmond prisons. Of course we were greatly rejoiced, but sorry to meet under such conditions.
The death rate among the prisoners was becoming more alarming, as it seemed the strongest of them were succumbing to the rigors of the weather and starvation. The time was now near spring and the cold was abating somewhat, but yet the suffering was intense, from different causes. I never have read of such an amount of intense suffering at any place (except at Andersonville, Ga.) as I experienced and saw here in this dreadful place. The only hope I had was that the weather would become more mild, and the suffering in that respect might abate.
It was now about March 10, and they were and had been transferring prisoners from the island to Andersonville, Ga. Every alternate day they called for 600 prisoners, marched them out through the gate and across the bridge near the iron works to the south bank of the river, and generally across the long bridge to the city, where they were loaded into cars and sent south. We could see the trains passing over the long railroad bridge below the island. One day when they called as usual for 600, my chum, William Herrick, who had escaped with me from the Danville prison, went out with them, and the last time that I saw him was when they marched along just outside the dead line, on their way to Andersonville. The poor man ended his life there, as I afterwards learned.
The majority of us who were confined here were men who had seen several years’ service in the front of the army, and had often slept on the cold ground in our rain-soaked clothes, but this place was many degrees worse. We were helpless to assist our poor sick and dying comrades, because we could get nothing to help them with. We could not get as much as a few leaves or weeds to place between their emaciated bodies and the cold ground, in their dying hour. The surface of our prison pen was as bare as though it had been swept. Not a leaf, straw or anything of the kind could be found, that might be used in making some sort of a bed.
Being starved down, by receiving less than one meal per day, and that of poor quality, with not a spark of fire by which to warm our chilled bodies, scarcely able to straighten up, our garments on the inside infested with vermin, dirty in the extreme, no change of clothing and with long matted hair; all this made us feel indescribably miserable, and made the place a hell upon earth. Our farmers would build a roof over their hogpens to shelter their swine from the rain and snow, and give them straw for a bed and enough to eat, but we possessed none of these comforts. If a farmer would treat his stock as we were treated he would not expect them to live many months. One day while standing in the midst of the prison, looking over the mass of thousands of human beings—most of them in a deplorable condition—I saw some of them aimlessly moving about, seemingly not knowing where they were going. Of course we were all in suspense with regard to our future treatment, not knowing how long our misery would continue to increase or how or where it would end.
What a contrast between these men in prison and when they left their homes! There they were patriotic and industrious boys and young men—youths in their first flush of manhood and a life of honor to themselves and usefulness to the community. Boys precious in the affections of home, of fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers and sweethearts, their minds aglow with high aspirations of a bright future were sent into this hell, to be sacrificed here for their country. Is it any wonder that we dreamed every night of our homes and friends? Scarcely a night passed that I did not dream of being at home and getting something to eat. Then on awakening from such happy dreams what a disappointment it seemed!
“He Knows Me, the Cherub.”
Dream of Home and Wife.
Dear reader, think of it, what it cost to save this great government from destruction. Many a patriotic young man could have saved his life and health by going out of prison on parole, and working for the Confederate government, as they offered us an opportunity to do. But the boys refused to do this. They told them they would rather rot in prison than work for them. This was genuine patriotism, when death was staring them in the face. They refused to do anything to save their own lives which would in the least reflect upon our flag.
Thus many brave and good boys passed from this life while in these prisons, in a most wretched condition. I am at a loss to decide what words to use, in order to express to the reader in a mild form the sad scenes witnessed in some of our comrades’ dying hours, in the prisons, during the winter of 1863 and 1864. The condition of our sick and helpless comrades I partly described in former pages, and here I will merely describe a scene in my unvarnished language, which will probably cover hundreds of cases. One day while I was walking through a crowded part of the prison pen I saw a fellow-prisoner—apparently a young man—lying on the ground. He appeared to me as if he were in a helpless condition. His face was pale where it was not black from prison filth, hair long and matted, clothing thin and torn, arms bare nearly to the elbows, and other parts of the body exposed, caused by worn-out clothing. He looked more like a skeleton than a living man. He was lying upon the bare ground, which was perhaps slightly frozen. As I stated before, the prison pen was entirely destitute of anything which could be placed between his poor, chilled body and the ground. We were all helpless, as far as making him comfortable. This boy was undoubtedly of the class mentioned in former lines, honest, patriotic, and loved by his home relatives and friends. He was now in a destitute and dying condition, with no mother, father, sister or brother to comfort him, to soothe his fevered brow, and to whom he could communicate his last dying words. In some instances similar to this case the last feeble words of the dying man to a comrade would be: “Tell my folks that I died for my country”; and in a feeble voice give the last good-bye.
Who was responsible for the intense sufferings and destruction of Union soldiers confined in southern military prisons during the War of the Rebellion from 1861 to 1865? is a question sometimes asked. I am not able to answer that question fully, but can give only my opinion in some respects, and certify to what I saw and know in regard to it. I believe that a large majority of the people of the South would not have permitted the cruel treatment of our soldiers in their prisons, if they could have prevented it, but they were powerless. The men in authority in the Confederacy were many of them responsible for our cruel treatment.
Of course the South was nearly destitute of some things for which we suffered during our confinement in their prisons. But they possessed plenty of fresh air, fuel (in coal and wood), good clean water, and material with which we could have built shelters for ourselves. If they would have supplied us with the above mentioned four articles, our sufferings would not have been one-half as great as they were.
Some people censured the United States government for leaving us in prison so long a time, claiming that the government would not consent to an exchange of prisoners, because the Confederates in our prisons in the North, if exchanged, would have been able to enter their army as soon as exchanged. But our men from southern prisons would not, on account of being disabled for service. I know we were disabled nearly all of us for a lifetime.
Our faithful endurance in southern prisons was a very large factor in bringing the war to a successful close, but it was a barbarous and cruel manner to use soldiers. If it is true that the United States government would not exchange, it does not excuse the men in authority in the Confederacy, who were responsible for the most of our sufferings while we were confined in southern military prisons.
The truth of our cruel treatment was corroborated by many southern people at the time of our confinement in their prisons, and they petitioned the Confederate authorities, praying for the betterment of our treatment. But the Confederate authorities turned a deaf ear, and would do nothing to relieve our sufferings.
It was now near the middle of the month of March. The weather was beginning to grow mild. The frost seemingly was nearly all out of the ground, and there were small patches of green grass springing up outside the dead-line. One day while going down to the river after a drink I espied a small patch of green grass outside the line. I stood and looked at it, and longed to have some of it to eat, as my appetite seemed to crave some vegetable or something green.
The transfer of prisoners from the island to Andersonville still continued. Every alternate day they called for 600, who were taken to the city, put on board the cars, and shipped south. By this time the crowd on the island had been considerably reduced. On Saturday, March 12, the usual call was made for 600. Sunday morning, March 13, broke over us with a bright and beautiful sky. Soon after sunrise the officers in command of the prison called for 400 men, to go out and over to the city of Richmond. As this was a different number from their previous calls, and made on an odd day (as the former calls were made every alternate day), this caused me to believe that they were going to a different place than Andersonville. I was standing by a comrade of my company, Alonzo Fish, and we were looking out over the dead-line toward the cookhouse, which was located just a few rods from the dead-line. We saw some of our boys who were doing the baking of the corn-bread, and who had blankets, were rolling them up and seemed to be preparing to leave. I said to Fish, “Let us try and go out with this squad, I believe they are going to our lines, as the indications appear that way to me.” The gate soon opened, and the commander of the prison stood beside it and counted the men as they passed through. Fish and myself were soon ready, as all we had to do was take our places in line, and we marched out with the 400. As soon as the count was finished the gate was closed, and we were now really outside the prison pen, but yet under guard. As a consequence we were considerably excited over the prospect before us. We marched to the bridge leading from the island to the south bank of the James, and across it, and then down to the big bridge spanning the river and leading to the city.
We were soon across the river, and marched down the street past old Libby Prison and into a large brick building. All this time I felt a little nervous on account of the uncertainty of our destination, as I thought our lives depended on whether we were exchanged or sent to some other prison.
We were now inside the large building, discussing the prospects before us. Some time during the day some Confederates came in with paper, ink and pen, and told us we were going to be paroled, and asked us to sign our names on a large sheet of paper, telling us that it was a parole. This caused an intense anxiety among our men. We all signed it without any urging, and you may believe there was a great change in our spirits. Oh, what a happy hour was that, to think that we would once more see the glorious Stars and Stripes.
“The hollow eyes grew bright,
And the poor heart almost gay,
As we thought of seeing home
And friends once more.”
But yet it was almost too good to believe, as we had on several occasions been told by the Confederates that we would be paroled and sent to our lines, but were merely transferred from one prison to another, and sadly disappointed. Thus far we had signed a parole but were yet uncertain as to our fate.
We spent the night of March 13 in the building mentioned, and I well remember that many of us were so elated that we slept but little during the night, but spent the time in talking about what we would do when reaching our lines, and if we finally got home. The morning of March 14 came at last. There was no change in the news about going to our homes. During the day we heard that there was a Confederate steamer coming up the river, to take us to a place where the United States flag of truce boat would meet us. From the windows of our prison we could see down to the boat-landing on the river, the distance being fifteen or twenty rods. We could see that the boat had not yet arrived, but were anxiously watching all day for its arrival. About the middle of the afternoon the little steamer hove in sight, and soon made a landing at the wharf, and you can imagine the excitement ran high.
We immediately marched out and down to the landing, and were soon on board the boat. In a short time it pulled out and steamed down the river in a southeasterly direction. We were yet uneasy as to our destination. The boat steamed slowly down the James, and somehow news was received that we were destined for a place called City Point, where we would meet a United States steamship to receive us, but were yet unbelievers, like doubting Thomas. We said, “Until Old Glory is seen floating above our heads we will not believe.”
As we floated down the river nothing of great interest was seen as we passed along. Our conversation was mostly on the subject of our exchange. Night was coming on, many of us were lying on the upper deck of the steamer, and after dark I think the majority of us fell asleep, at least I did. Some time during the night the boat reached City Point, and ran in beside the United States steamship. I was asleep at the time, and of course was not aware that the boat had stopped, and was in the presence of the United States boat. I awoke during the latter part of the night and discovered that the boat was lying quiet. I investigated the surroundings, and saw something beside our boat. On close examination I found it to be a steamship, with tall masts reaching to quite a height above the boat. Everything was quiet, no one seemed to be moving, and it being yet dark I lay down and went to sleep. Ere long daylight began to appear, and as soon as we could see plainly enough to distinguish the old flag, it seemed nearly all the prisoners awoke like magic, and all that could began cheering for “Old Glory,” which was floating from the head of the United States ship; and, dear reader, you can imagine what the sight of the old flag brought forth. Continuous cheering came from all those who were able, but some, alas, were not, having been carried on board the boat by their comrades, and these could express their intense love for the Stars and Stripes only by extending their naked bony arms in its direction, and many were so overjoyed that they shed tears.
One of our number died on the way down the river. I never had been so elated in my life before as now, by the knowledge that we were released from a death sentence. We found ourselves under the protection of the old flag at last, and it appeared to me better, ten times more beautiful, with brighter colors and stars than it had ever appeared before, and I was overcome by an inspiring sensation which made me feel like singing the good old song: “Oh, wrap the flag around me boys.”
I suppose many of the boys felt as I did and wanted to sing, but did not have vitality enough to sing a song. We were then believers, because we saw “Old Glory” floating above us.
In God’s Country at Last.
Our release from prison may well be compared to the release of a person from a death sentence. Many of our number wept like children. The next thing we saw was some Confederates on board the United States ship. I walked up near enough to enter into conversation with one of them, and asked him how they had been treated in the North. He replied, “Very well.” I said, “Did you receive enough to eat?” (This thought appeared to be uppermost in our minds.) He said they did, and I was satisfied from their appearance that they had received good usage while they were held as prisoners of war in Uncle Sam’s hands. They appeared healthy, and some of them had received new clothing during their imprisonment, and as far as I could see were well clothed. But yet they had undoubtedly suffered great hardships, as that is a consequence in military prison life, which is torture at its best. Some of the Confederates who were confined in northern prisons complained of hardships, and I have no doubt but that it was hard to endure, but it was no comparison to our sufferings in southern prisons.
CHAPTER XIV.
Under the Protection of “Old Glory” Once More.
During the forenoon we were transferred from the Confederate steamer to Uncle Sam’s boat, and the Confederates were taken to the Confederate steamer. Now, as the boys termed it, we were once more in “God’s country.” Soon after our arrival on board the boat coffee was prepared for us. It was made in a large barrel, by steam. Oh, but that sweet odor from the coffee was delicious. It testified that we had passed from a land of starvation to a land of plenty. We had not smelled coffee for about six months until now, and were receiving our first meal from Uncle Sam since our exchange. It consisted of a tin-cup of good coffee, a slice of bread about as large as my hand, a slice of boiled pork about the size of one finger, a piece of onion, and two apples. We had fasted so long that in our debilitated condition the consequence would have been serious if we had been given a full meal. We were now safely on board of Uncle Sam’s ship, and were soon to move out of the harbor.
Late in the afternoon the boat started in the direction of Fortress Monroe. On the way down we passed a monitor. I was informed by one of the boat crew that it was the one that had defeated the Merrimac. We also passed a very large man-of-war which looked like a great fort, and I thought it was until informed differently. When we arrived near Fortress Monroe the boat halted for a short time, and then passed near the Fortress and out into Chesapeake Bay, and started on our journey toward Annapolis, Md.
Darkness soon came on, and also a tremendous gale began blowing from the northeast, which made things lively on the boat. In a short time it began to rock violently, and for some time the storm seemed to increase in fury. This made the ship rock to and fro so that we were unable to stand up. About four hundred of us paroled prisoners were lying on the floor of the ship. I made several attempts to stand up but could not, and then decided to remain down and keep quiet, but also failed in that. Then many buckets were placed on the floor in different parts of the boat. I was curious to learn why that was done, but had not long to wait until I learned more about it than I had any desire to know. The reader can guess the rest.
The night wore on slowly, the storm beating against the boat and tossing it first one way and then the other, and it seemed to move in a half dozen directions at once, which made things interesting. At one time the boat tipped to one side so much that I thought it would not straighten up again. The captain of the boat called for the deck hands, and they were soon at their posts of duty, and began turning a windlass which was attached to the side of the boat, to which was fastened one end of a large rope and the other end to a small iron car, which stood on a track extending crosswise of the boat. By this means they drew the heavy car to the high side, by winding the rope around the windlass. They also rolled barrels of sand from the lower to the high side. By these the ship was balanced again, and saved from overturning. Occasionally a wave would strike the side of the boat, causing a very loud report, and making the ship fairly tremble. At one time during the night I thought to myself, perhaps now we will be shipwrecked and drowned, after passing through all our hardships and troubles, when within a few hours’ ride of our destination.
But, thank the Lord, we landed at Annapolis the following day. The storm ceased some time during the morning, and we soon came in sight of the place of landing. They were now beginning to get us ready to be transferred from the boat to the shore, at Annapolis, Md., where we arrived March 16, 1864. All those who were able to do so got up and walked out on shore. After landing I stepped to one side of our group, and turning toward it I beheld the most sorrowful picture of human beings that I had ever seen, except when on the island. Those scenes seem to be permanently stamped upon my memory.
I again joined the group or crowd, as there were almost too many of us to be called a group. We were certainly awful-looking objects of humanity. We had not been barbered for six months, and some of the group for eight or ten months. Our faces were dirty and disfigured with prison grime, shaggy whiskers, shrunken cheeks and lips, long, matted hair on our heads, stooped shoulders, and long, bony hands and fingers, which made us appear like a lot of apes and monkeys. I am certain if Mr. Barnum, the noted showman, had caught sight of us, Uncle Sam would have been minus a few so-called soldiers, because we would undoubtedly have been corralled for his shows. The buzzard that feeds on carrion would have blushed and been offended, if we had been offered to him for food.
But many of us thanked Providence for our miraculous deliverance from almost certain death. From the best information that I could procure during recent years, I learned that our squad of 400 was the last one that was paroled during the spring and summer of 1864, and therefore if we had not been permitted to go out with these 400 the majority of us would now be numbered with the dead at the prison pen. I heard of a number of ex-prisoners returning to their homes so changed in appearance that their own parents were unable to recognize them. We were asked to get in line and march over to a large building, which was new and apparently constructed for the purpose for which it was used. It was divided into three large compartments.
In the first room we passed into they clipped our hair and whiskers closely. We were then ordered to strip off every rag from our bodies. If I remember rightly they handled our filthy, lousy garments with pitchforks, after taking them off, and I considered it an insult to the forks. We were then told to pass on into another very large room, in which were twenty or thirty bathtubs, containing plenty of warm water. Then each received a piece of soap and a towel, and was told to take a good bath, which we did and greatly enjoyed. Those who were not able to do so were bathed by assistants.
After being purified in this manner we were shown into a third large room, and given a new outfit of clothing, consisting of shirt, drawers, pants, socks, shoes, coat, hat and blanket. Imagine the change in our appearance, and also in our feelings. I did not weigh very heavy when we landed, but I imagined that I weighed several pounds less after taking my bath. Some of the boys intimated that Uncle Sam could sell fertilizer after we had all finished bathing.
After being dressed in our new suits we were transferred over to the new barracks, which were found to be very nice and clean. The day was now about gone, and a supper was prepared for us. After eating we retired to our bunks, and I am utterly unable to describe how well my rest was enjoyed that night. Oh, such a sweet rest as it was; knowing that we were once more clean, and that our clothing was not infested with graybacks who would dance about on our bodies and torment us during the night. To think that we were no longer under control of a cruel prison-keeper, and that those hideous prison days were a thing of the past was a blessed relief. Our transfer from the prison pens to the new and clean barracks, may well be compared to a release from the infernal regions, and a transfer to the land of everlasting bliss.
But yet we were reminded of our comrades left in prison, who were yet suffering and did not know how much longer they would remain there. We tarried in Annapolis about ten days. While there we were well cared for by Uncle Sam. There was such a contrast between this treatment and our treatment in prison that I kept thinking that it was too good to continue. Some of the boys remarked as follows: “How long is this thing going to last?” We had been tormented during such a long time that we could not make ourselves believe that we would henceforward have enough to eat, and that we were in a land of plenty. And it really seemed to us a strange thing to have humane treatment.
March 26 we received orders to go to St. Louis, Mo. We went by steamer from Annapolis to Baltimore. All the western boys were there transferred to the cars on the Baltimore and Ohio railroad and left Baltimore March 27, 1864, passing through Harper’s Ferry, the scene of John Brown’s insurrection. On this road we were taken as far as Cincinnati, Ohio, where we rested one day, and on March 30 were transferred to the cars of the Ohio and Mississippi railroad on which we were taken to St. Louis, Mo., arriving there on March 31. Nothing of any consequence transpired on the way, except that I was sick during the latter part of the journey. When our train crossed the Illinois Central railroad in southern Illinois, it was nighttime and the train halted for some time. It was not very dark, and I was able to look out and see some of the Illinois prairies, which made me feel homesick. I felt as though I wanted to get on the Illinois Central and go north to my home at Mendota, a distance of several hundred miles. But according to army regulations I was not allowed to go. I never received a furlough during my service of three years and four months. Our train rolled on toward St. Louis, arriving there, as stated before. We got off and were soon in our temporary home, the convalescent camp at Benton Barracks.
I among many others was placed under the doctor’s care for the treatment of scurvy and general disability. Our lodging place was in the barracks, and we reported to the doctor every morning. At times I felt quite sick and was under treatment several months. At the end of this time I had gained considerable strength, and was much better but not entirely well.
In the latter part of May we were transferred from here to Memphis, Tenn. We went by boat, steamed out from the landing, and started down the Mississippi. A short time after leaving the landing quite an exciting incident occurred. There were several hundred of us ex-prisoners of war on board. We had taken our places in a comfortable part of the boat. The lower part of it, where the boilers were located, was partly occupied by fat cattle en route for the army. A captain with a number of guards had charge of us, and was to conduct us to Memphis. The captain came to us and said, “Boys, you must go down to the next floor.” We refused to go, as we were more comfortable on the upper floor, and told him that we would like to remain above; that we had been dogged about long enough. He insisted on our going down, seemed to be of the aristocratic style, and finally drew his sabre and attempted to strike one of our number who stood at the stairway leading below, at the same time ordering him to go down, which he refused to do. He being a tall, active fellow, struck the captain with his fist, and sent him sprawling on the floor, his sabre flying out of his hand. He got up and called to his guards to come and assist him, which they did not do, as there were only five or six of them, and seeing fire in our eyes they concluded it was best not to interfere. The captain was very angry, and went to the captain of the boat and ordered him to land us on the Missouri side of the river. We disembarked and waited quite a long time, and finally another boat came along and took us on board, and we were soon again on our way down the river.
If it had been necessary for us to go down to the lower part of the boat we would have gone. But there was plenty of room on the second floor, where we could be comfortable, and we knew that; therefore we did not propose to be imposed upon by an aristocratic captain. Nothing of interest transpired during the remainder of the trip, and we landed at Memphis, Tenn., the following day, where the crowd was divided, some going to their company and regiment, and others again to some convalescent camp. I was transferred to a convalescent camp situated on a bluff of the Mississippi, not far from it. When I entered the place the weather was very hot, and the wind blowing almost a gale, which filled the air with dust and fine dry sand, covering the bunks and everything about us with it. This made it very unpleasant. I did not feel very well at this time, and the effects of the unpleasant surroundings did not improve my feelings any. Learning of the whereabouts of my company and regiment, the 7th Illinois Cavalry, I decided to make my way to it if possible. No one was allowed to leave this camp without a pass from the one in charge. It was enclosed by a tight board fence. After being confined here several days, I concluded that as long as I remained here my health would not improve, so I issued orders to the effect that Eby might return to his company and regiment, and made preparations to leave the place immediately. They would not give me a pass, but I looked about, and finally made my escape by a means which did not conform with military rules.
After being outside of the camp I immediately started in search of my regiment, which I learned was encamped only a few miles distant from the city. I made inquiries occasionally as I moved along in regard to the location of the regiment, which assisted me in finding it. I accomplished my task on the same day of starting out. I did not think it proper to remain in convalescent camp at Uncle Sam’s expense, when I could just as well be with the regiment and do a little service and get well.
CHAPTER XV.
My Return to My Company and Regiment on May 25, 1864.
I found the boys of my company, and a happy meeting it was. They surrounded me and treated me royally, asking many questions in regard to my capture and prison life. Oh, how glad I was to get back among them once more! But alas! some of the number were missing, never to return. Some had died, others been killed in battle since I had last been with them. Our camp was located in a pleasant grove of tall trees, with a well of good water near by. Our captain thought I was not yet well enough to do duty, and therefore did not issue any firearms to me.
A few days later part of the company was sent out to reconnoiter, and I concluded to go with them for recreation, and thought it would be of more benefit to me than medicine. I procured a sabre and carbine from one of the boys who was not able to go with us. We went out quite a distance from camp, to see what we could ascertain in regard to the enemy, but failed to find any. We stopped at a farmhouse where we bought some milk and a few biscuits, which tasted delicious.
We returned to camp without any special excitement, and I felt quite refreshed. It was now the early part of July, 1864, and time passed away as usual, with the ordinary guard and picket duties, and occasionally going outside the lines on scouting expeditions. My health still continued to improve slowly. Nothing special occurred to create any great excitement until Aug. 21, 1864, when in the morning, about three o’clock, we heard firing on the picket line, which was more than ordinary skirmishing. The firing awoke some of us immediately, and in about a minute all was alive and bustle in our camp. The regimental bugle sounded “boots and saddles,” which meant get your boots on and saddle your horses. And then another call came to mount and fall in, which meant get in line, ready to march, and we proceeded to do this as quickly as possible. Before we were able to form in line we heard the enemy galloping toward the city on the main road, within thirty or forty rods of our camp. As it was not yet daylight we were unable to see them. They proved to be quite a large force of Gen. Forrest’s cavalry. They came to the picket line, fired a few volleys, and broke right through with their main column, and fired into a regiment of infantry which was camped a short distance inside the picket line, killing several of their number. As there were not many troops camped inside the city, the Confederate cavalry had almost a clear road to the center of the city. Their object was to capture the General in command, rob the postoffice, and any other mischief they could do. They nearly accomplished their object. The General in command of our troops here had his headquarters in a house, and the Confederates came to the front door so suddenly that he had only time to get out of bed, grab his clothes, and escape through a back door.
Some of the enemy got upon the steps of the postoffice, but were driven away by a squad of infantry who fired on them from across the street. While this was going on in the city, twenty-five of Co. C, I being of that number, were detailed to move out toward the picket line to ascertain what was there, and whether or not there was any considerable force of Confederates. Before reaching the place where the picket line was usually located, we discovered a long line of cavalry standing quietly, and at first were unable to tell whether they were friend or foe, on account of its not being quite light enough. We moved up within a short distance of them, and found them to be Confederate cavalry, which had been left there as a reserve, as we learned later. They did not fire upon us, as they no doubt supposed that we were some of their own men returning from the city. We immediately faced about and moved toward the city and our camp, and soon found ourselves in a bad predicament, with a long line of the enemy in front and another in our rear. As I stated before it was scarcely light enough to distinguish objects at a long distance, and we were within four or five rods of the enemy’s line, which was just returning from the city, before the discovery was made that we were enemies to each other. Then firing commenced and we immediately saw our dangerous position, being threatened in front and rear with a force of the enemy more than ten times our number, and we knew what our fate would be if we remained there a moment longer—that we would be made prisoners. Our only means of escape were some small spaces open on the flanks. We struck out for these, every man as fast as horse power could take him. In this little skirmish our force of twenty-five was nearly annihilated; one being killed, several made prisoners, some slightly wounded, and a number injured by their horses falling into washouts, which were plentiful in this section. The balance were scattered in different directions in order to make their escape. I escaped without injury, receiving only bullet-holes through my right trousers leg, but they did not cause me any pain. Two of the horses belonging to our party became unmanageable. The rider of one, William Orris, was carried through between two Confederates, who had their guns in position to shoot when they saw him approaching them. They both fired, just as he was within a few feet of them, and both missed him, but one fired so close to his head that his hair was singed. He was carried safely through the lines to our forces. The other one, Elmer Hunt, was carried by his horse through the Confederate forces, and also arrived in our lines in safety. The balance of our number that were left got through, some one way and some another. When the Confederates saw that we were determined to get away they started to follow us, and as I was riding up a hill along a fence I heard them coming toward me, shooting and yelling, “Halt, halt, you Yank!” but Yank wouldn’t halt worth a cent. I had other business just over the fence in a cottonfield. It seemed to me that I never was in such a big hurry to go somewhere in my life, as I was when riding up that hill, and I did not heed the Johnnies’ advice, who were trying so hard to persuade me to stop. As the saying is, a person could have played checkers on my coat tail if I had possessed one, but I had on a cavalry jacket. I was riding an extremely tall horse of several colors, an Arabian, spotted something like a giraffe. He was owned by Uncle Sam, and when riding up that hill he appeared to be about seventy-five hands high, especially when I fell off at the cottonfield. I must have presented a comical spectacle when going up that hill. I don’t wonder that the Confederates followed me so industriously.
When I reached the cottonfield my horse made a short turn at a fence corner, and the saddle girth being quite loose allowed the saddle to turn and I found myself on the ground, in a second, badly scared. As the saying is, “I might as well have been shot as to have been scared to death.” I was determined that they should not again make me a prisoner. So I jumped up, and as quickly as possible ran through under the fence into the cottonfield, and up between two rows of cotton, which were about four feet in height and quite bushy, and by stooping down I was enabled to keep out of sight. After running some distance I lay down in the row and remained there, awaiting results. The enemy did not follow me into the cottonfield, but after remaining there perhaps fifteen or twenty minutes I heard horsemen coming up through the field, and in a few moments a large number of the Confederate cavalry rode past me, in the second or third row from where I was lying and expected every moment that they would call me to get up, and I would be their prisoner. But they passed by without discovering me. If they had but stopped and listened, they might have heard my heart beat, but they would undoubtedly have mistaken it for a bass drum. All sorts of visions of the horrid prison pens passed through my mind in these few moments. Soon after the Confederates passed out of my hearing I quietly arose to see what could be discovered. The enemy had now all disappeared, and I looked around and saw one of my squad, Giles Hodge, who was in a similar predicament as myself, and had just risen out of the cotton about twenty-five or thirty feet from me. We looked at each other and exchanged congratulations on our good fortune in escaping capture by the enemy.
It was at once discovered that the Confederates had all passed out of our immediate vicinity and that our troops were preparing to follow. Hodge and myself then walked back to camp, where we found our horses, to our surprise and joy. Comrade Hodge is now living in Lee Center, Ill., and Comrade Orris in Triumph, Ill. Comrade Hunt I believe lives in Davenport, Iowa.
During the morning engagement, James Coss, of Co. C, who remained with the main portion of the 7th, chased and captured a Confederate lieutenant. During the chase Jim’s hat fell to the ground, which he could not pick up, as he was obliged to keep his eyes upon his prisoner, and therefore escorted his captive nearly two miles, to the General’s headquarters, bareheaded. The General congratulated Jim and presented him with a hat.
After procuring our horses, we readjusted the saddles, mounted, and also went in pursuit of Gen. Forrest’s forces. After catching up with our company and regiment the boys began laughing at us, on account of our peculiar way of making our escape. While Hodge and I were lying in the cottonfield the ground appeared to be as attractive as a magnet, and we were about as flat as a hardtack. And about the time that the Confederate cavalry was passing by us I imagined that the old Confederate prisons were almost in sight. It did seem as though I thought of a thousand things in one moment of time. I was almost certain that if I was captured then and taken back to prison it would end my days, as I was yet in rather a poor condition of health from the effects of my former imprisonment.
We followed the Confederates some time, when we met Gen. Forrest with several of his command carrying a flag of truce, and of course, according to the rules of war, we were obliged to halt until the party returned to its command. I never learned the object of the truce party, but I had a good view of Gen. Forrest on this occasion, and well remember his form. He was a large man, and wore a broad-brimmed hat, but I did not see his face. After their return we again resumed the pursuit, and continued until late in the day, and then returned to camp. Everything remained quiet about the camp until I think some time in August, or the early part of September, when we received orders to move our camp a short distance east of Memphis to a place called White Station, located on the Memphis and Charleston Railroad.
While camped there I had a slight experience with bushwhackers, while on outpost picket duty. On a bright moonlight night in September, as I was sitting on my horse in the shade of a large forest tree, in the woods and close to the road, keeping watch of things in front, my attention was suddenly attracted by something glistening in the moonlight, a short distance beyond a patch of underbrush and apparently very near the road. I kept my eye peeled, as the saying is, and soon saw some object quietly and slowly moving about in the vicinity where the glistening object had been seen. I immediately held a consultation with myself and very soon rendered a decision, as follows: I decided that if what I saw was a person or a number of persons with good intent, who wanted to come into camp, they would come along the road without hesitation or trying to keep so quiet, nor would they be prowling about in the brush so near the picket post. And I further decided that what I saw was one or more bushwhackers, trying to discover the man on outpost and shoot him, as they did sometimes when opportunity afforded. But they did not see me because I was hid behind and in the shade of a large tree. I finally fired at what I supposed to be bushwhackers, and the report of my gun brought the men composing the reserve picket out to ascertain the trouble. They rode outside the picket line some distance, but could find no bushwhackers, but found fresh tracks of three men in the dusty road in the vicinity of where the moving object had been seen. In a short time all was quiet again and I resumed my watch.
We remained at White Station until some time in October, when a number of us whose three years’ service had expired were sent to Springfield to receive our discharge, which we received Oct. 15, 1864, and were now free citizens, and immediately returned to our homes. I had now served Uncle Sam three years and four months. The war was fast drawing to a close. When I arrived at home the majority of my boy companions were yet in the army, many of them never to return, having been killed in battle or died in hospital or prison.
CHAPTER XVI.
Reminiscences of George W. Westgate.
In the fall of 1862, while camped at Nashville, Tenn., Company C went out on a scouting expedition, with Lieut. Shaw in command. John Houston, Giles Hodge, Frank Fuller, and George W. Westgate were advance guard. They were traveling on a piked road, covered with a gray dust, and their uniforms became covered with it. So much so, that on approaching two Confederates, who were on outpost picket, they allowed our boys to ride very near to them, thinking they were their own men; and the two Confederates were made prisoners, and were left with the company.
The boys again advanced, across to another pike which led back toward Nashville. They saw ten Confederates in front of them, pursued them and captured one, and left him in charge of Houston. They followed the other nine men until they were cornered in a pasture, surrounded by a high board fence. Hodge was left at the gate, while Fuller and Westgate with excited horses, uncontrollable, advanced into the pasture in close proximity to the Confederates, who were busily engaged in tearing down the fence, in order to make their escape. Westgate was unable to stop or guide his horse, which was carrying him in the direction of the enemy. To save himself from becoming a prisoner or being killed, he jumped from his horse, throwing all his weight on the left rein, which caused the horse to whirl half way around. Just at that moment one of the enemy fired at Westgate, two buckshot striking him in the hip. His horse ran to the gate, where Hodge caught it. In the meantime Fuller opened fire with his carbine. It seems that the buckshot riled Westgate’s temper; because, after his horse left him he retreated backwards, loading and firing his carbine as fast as possible at the enemy, until they got the fence down and escaped. What undoubtedly saved the boys from capture was that the Confederates momentarily expected Westgate, Fuller, and Hodge to be reinforced by the company.
When camped near Memphis, Tenn., in 1864, a portion of our regiment went out on a scouting expedition and was out all night. In the morning, Albert Scudder, Rube Lewis, Daniel Towner, and George W. Westgate, received permission to take a little scout of their own to get a square meal. They were only partly successful. Each got a ham and decided to go back to camp. As they were riding on a pike across some bottom land, at the edge of which was a large bridge between them and camp, Scudder and Lewis being about ten rods in advance of Westgate and Towner, without warning eight or ten Confederates rose up out of the brush with their guns pointed at Scudder and Lewis, and within a few yards of them, demanding their surrender, to which they reluctantly assented. Westgate and Towner immediately realized their critical situation and started for the bridge; but when nearing the Confeds, and seeing almost certain death staring them in the face, they wheeled so quickly that they imagined they could hear their horses’ tails snap like a whip, and retreated with such tremendous speed, that they were almost unable to distinguish objects along the wayside. They were obliged to retreat through a country infested with bushwhackers, encountering several squads of them before reaching camp. They finally reached camp, themselves and horses thoroughly exhausted, and I believe that the report came that the boys through all their narrow escapes, clung to the hams which they had purchased, until they arrived safely in camp. It was also reported that they intimated their willingness to avoid looking after square meals in the enemy’s country for some time to come. Scudder and Lewis were taken to the prison pen, poor fellows. Scudder returned from prison with health ruined, did not enjoy a day’s good health afterward, and died in the winter of 1905. Lewis returned with broken health also.