CHAPTER XXIV.
The prisoners at Andersonville, amounting to many thousand, owing to their Government refusing to exchange them, preferring to let them die in their congested condition rather than to release those of ours, caused untold hardships on those unfortunate fellows. Their own Government even refused to furnish them with the requisite medical relief and medicine which became unobtainable on account of the close cordon of blockaders guarding our ports of entry. It must be remembered that while we on the Confederate side had only seven hundred thousand available men, in round numbers, in every branch of the service, our adversary had, according to statistics, two million, seven hundred thousand men in the field, and while we had exhausted all our resources they still had the whole world to draw from. Neither were they particular then, as now, as to what kind of emigrants landed in Castle Garden or Ellis Island, but they accepted the scum of the world, paying fifteen hundred dollars bounty as an incentive to enlist in their army. Such were the conditions in the latter part of 1864. General Wheeler's Cavalry was the only force that swung close to Sherman's flanks, thus keeping his columns more compact and preventing them from doing more depredations than they did. Even as it was, they lived on the fat of the land, and as stated, wantonly destroyed what they could not carry along, to the detriment of the defenceless women and children.
Dr. Crawford was ordered to remove his hospital to Montgomery, Alabama. I was out foraging; I was at Davisboro, Station No. 12, Central R. R. when a train load of the Andersonville prisoners stopped at the station. The train consisted of a long string of box cars. Davisboro was not then the prosperous little city it is now; it consisted of only one dwelling and outhouses usually attached to a prosperous plantation, and a store house; it was owned by Mrs. Hardwick, the great grandmother of our now Congressman, T. W. Hardwick, an elderly widow lady, who for the accommodation of the railroad kept an eating house where the train hands would get their meals as the trains passed on schedule time. Curiosity led me to approach the train, which was heavily guarded by sentinels stationed in the open doors and on top of the cars, with loaded muskets, to prevent escapes, when I heard the grand hailing words of distress from an inmate of the car. Being a Mason, I demanded what was wanted, when some one appealed to me, "For God's sake give me something to eat, I am starving to death; somebody stole my rations and I have not eaten anything for three days." Being meal time I at once run in the dining room of the Hardwick House, picked up a plate with ham and one with biscuits, and ran to the train, called on the man in Masonic terms, and handed him the provisions that I had wrapped up in a home made napkin, bordered with indigo blue. It was seven o'clock p. m. and one could not distinguish the features of an individual; it was a starless, foggy night. After the train left I entered the house and excused myself for the rudeness of taking the provisions as I did. Mrs. Hardwick not having been in the dining room at the time I explained to her that my obligations were such that I had to render assistance to any distressed Brother Mason; he applying to me as such; "I am now ready to pay you for all the damages I did," and this was her reply: "I don't charge you anything honey, I am glad you did it." But not so with her housekeeper, Miss Eliza Jackson, who berated me for everything she could think of, saying, "They had no right to come here and fight us; you are nothing but a Yankee yourself," etc., etc. Miss Jackson was a long ways beyond her teens, so I said, "Miss Liza, you are mad, because owing to the war your chances for marriage have greatly diminished, especially with the disposition you have." Those present enjoyed her discomfiture.
Usually when troops were about to be ordered in transit, they were issued three days rations, all of which were often walloped out of sight at one square meal on account of its meagerness; undoubtedly that is what happened to my Masonic Brother; he received his rations and someone stole them. I myself often ate at one meal what was intended to last me three days and trusted for the future. I never felt any remorse of conscience to get something to eat, if I could; I felt that the people for whom I devoted my services in those days owed me a living, and when the authorities failed to supply it, I took it where I could find it.