The day dawned bright and beautiful. I was up before the sun and prepared breakfast for Captains Hock, Cady and myself, which consisted of corn bread and butter, fried eggs, fried potatoes and coffee.
Our thoughts, now more than ever, turned towards the loved ones at home, who we see in imagination, with cheerful faces and bright smiles, hailing another anniversary of the day upon which our glorious republic was born, and methinks I can sometimes detect a shade of sadness flitting over the joyous features of kind friends, as the memory of the loved and absent is briefly recalled.
As we were being fell in for roll call, an officer displayed a miniature flag bearing the stars and stripes, which was greeted with cheer after cheer, by eighteen hundred prisoners. All gathered around that little emblem of liberty, and while every heart seemed bursting with patriotic enthusiasm, a thousand voices joined in singing that old song, which never fails to fire the patriotic heart—The Star Spangled Banner. After roll call, the officers by a common impulse assembled in and about the main building, in the center of the camp, and the services were opened by singing “Rally ’Round the Flag,” by the entire audience, after which Chaplain Dixon was called upon for prayer. He appealed in eloquent terms in behalf of our beloved but distracted country, for the success of our cause, for the President of the United States and all in authority, for universal freedom all over our land and the world, and for the speedy return of peace, when we could beat our swords into plow shares, and our spears into pruning hooks.
At the conclusion of the prayer, the entire congregation joined in singing “My Country ’Tis of Thee.” Captain Henry Ives was then called for, and mounting the platform gave us a very eloquent and stirring address. He was followed by Lieut. Ogden, 1st Wisconsin Cavalry, Lieutenant Leigh, 132nd New York, Captain E. N. Lee, 5th Michigan Cavalry, Captain Kellog, Chaplain Whitney, Chaplain Dixon and Lieut. Col. Thorp, 1st New York dragoons. I have during my life participated in a great many Fourth of July celebrations, but I never before—and I believe every officer at that time in Macon will say the same for himself—really and truly appreciated what a genuine celebration of the day meant.
If a stranger had come into camp Oglethorp at 3 o’clock that afternoon, he would have thought every man in prison was drunk, so intense was the enthusiasm, and yet there had not been a drop of anything of an intoxicating nature, to be had at any price for two months. Officers were drunk with excitement. The sight of that little flag that had been presented to Captain Todd by his sweetheart and smuggled into prison, sewed up in the lining of his vest, when shown in the morning, had created a degree of patriotic excitement that could not be kept down, and when some one said that Gibbs was coming in with a guard to take that flag, and suggested that it be secreted, a thousand voices shouted—stand by the flag boys—no traitor’s hand shall touch that flag—keep her swinging—there’s not rebs enough in Macon to take that flag to-day, &c.,—and I really and firmly believe that a terrible and bloody struggle would have ensued, had there been any attempt on the part of the authorities, to interfere with it or take it from us. I never saw men wrought up to such a pitch of excitement, and the rebs were afraid all day, that an attempt would be made to assault the stockade and break out. From nine o’clock in the morning until three in the afternoon, the celebration was kept up, with speaking and singing, when finally the rebel commandant sent in his officer of the day, who said we had been permitted to have a good celebration, and now he wished us to quietly adjourn which we did; giving three hearty cheers for the flag, three for Lincoln, and three for the cause. No officer who participated in this celebration can ever forget it while reason holds its sway.
Lieutenant Col. Thorp who had made a ringing speech, full of patriotic fire and enthusiastic confidence in the justice of our cause, and the ability of the Northern soldiers to maintain our national unity, restore the glorious old flag, with the stains of treason cleansed from its shining folds by the blood of loyal hearts, with not a star missing from its azure field, urged with the most impassioned eloquence, every officer in that prison pen to consecrate himself anew on this sacred day, to the cause of universal liberty, and the perpetuity of our national institutions, and pledge himself anew beneath that beautiful little emblem of freedom, to never sheathe his sword, until every traitor in all this broad land had kneeled beneath its tattered and blood-stained folds, and humbly craved the pardon of an outraged people, for their dastardly attempt to trail it in the filthy slough of Secession. I cannot pretend to give his words, and cannot fitly portray the fierce impetuosity, with which his scathing sentences were hurled like red hot shot into the ranks of treason. It was one of the most masterly efforts of patriotic eloquence I ever listened to, and when he had finished his address, which had been heartily applauded throughout, his hearers were wrought up to such a pitch of patriotic frenzy, that I really believe that had he at its close, called upon that unarmed crowd to follow him in an assault against the wooden stockade that surrounded us, that few would have been found to lag behind. He was at that time senior officer in the camp, and as such had been assigned by Col. Gibbs, the rebel commandant, to the command of the prison inside.
But shortly after this speech, a notice was posted on the side of the large building where this meeting had been held, removing him from the position, for making an inflammatory speech, and appointing another officer to the place. Col. Thorpe seemed to feel almost as much pride in this recognition of his effort at a Fourth of July speech, as in the applause he had received from his prison companions, or as he would had he been complimented on the field by his superior for a dashing cavalry charge, and the compliment was all the more appreciated because it had been paid to him so unconsciously by Col. Gibbs.
The stockade at Macon was built of inch pine boards, twelve feet long, put up endwise and made as tight as possible. On the outside of this fence, and about four feet from the top, was a platform for the sentry to walk on, where they could keep a lookout over the camp to see that we were not trying to escape. Upon this platform were posted sentinels at intervals of about thirty yards, with instructions to shoot any prisoner who touched or attempted to pass the dead line, which was a row of stakes, or sometimes a fence of light slats, such as a farmer would build to keep his chickens or ducks from roaming, and was about twenty-five feet from the stockade. The original object in establishing the dead line was a precaution against a sudden raid on the stockade, but it often afforded an excuse for some cowardly guard to shoot a Yankee prisoner, who inadvertantly came near enough to place his hand against it. We were not allowed to hang our clothes on this fence to dry, and on no account could a prisoner pass it with impunity.
