In and Out of Rebel Prisons

by A. Cooper

While I was sitting there brooding over the affair, and feeling about as blue as though I was myself a prisoner, a Captain rode up and inquired if I was Lieut. Rogers and was in command of the guard, that brought the Yankee prisoners from Macon. I told him I was, and he told me I was ordered to report to the General’s headquarters under arrest. I went up to headquarters, not knowing whether I was to be shot or sent to prison, but concluded to make a clean breast of it, and tell all there was about it.

The General listened to my story, and after keeping me in suspense for what seemed to me to be a long time, released me from arrest, and told me to go back to Macon with the balance of my men, and be careful that I didn’t lose any on my way back.

The Lieutenant continued, I never afterwards heard from either the prisoners or my men. I didn’t care so much about the Yankee prisoners getting away, but would like to have got my guard back.

He did not know whether they were killed by the Yankee prisoners or had been induced by them to desert, the latter however, is the most probable, but as I have never heard from any of them since, I am equally in the dark concerning the affair, and, like the Lieutenant, can only guess at what took place.

The next day we were notified to be ready that evening, and that night we were counted out and placed on board the cars. Instead of taking us to Charleston, as we had been told they would, we were stopped at Savannah, and placed in the United States marine hospital yard, around which a stockade had been built, thus spoiling our plans of escape. “The best laid plans of mice and men aft gang aglee.” This was a yard of about two acres, quite well shaded with live oak trees, some of which grew to enormous dimensions, one on the south side, spreading over nearly or quite a hundred feet of ground. Here we drew rations of fresh beef, the first in many months, and our rations were generally better than we had heretofore received. We were strictly guarded, but, with few exceptions, were well treated. Colonel Wayne, of the 1st Georgia Regulars, was in command, who designated Colonel F. C. Miller, 147th New York, as senior officer of the camp, and all communications were forwarded through him.

Of course almost the first thing to do when we had got fairly settled in a new prison, was to commence a tunnel. Two were started, and had progressed nearly to completion, when as in Macon, these were both discovered and filled up. Another was soon started in a different direction, and was already to open, which would have given egress to half the camp, when, by a most unfortunate accident, it was discovered on the morning preceding the night we were to make the break. We had reached within a few inches of the surface, and ten minutes’ work would complete the opening, but it was so near daylight we thought we would be already that night, and get a good early start the next.

That morning, however, as the sentry was watching a cow cropping the grass just outside the camp, what was his surprise to see her suddenly break through and nearly disappear. Of course an investigation showed what had been done, and again had our toil been in vain—no, not in vain, for it had kept us employed, and diverted our minds from the misery of our situation.

While in Savannah, we built ourselves what is known as the old fashioned Dutch oven, in which we could bake our pomes. To the younger readers a description of this oven may be interesting. A flat stone was secured about two feet square, for the bottom, and around and over this stone was erected an oven of stone, brick and mortar, capable of holding about four good sized pomes. Wood was then split up fine, and a good rousing fire built, and kept up until the oven was thoroughly heated, when it would be filled to its capacity with pomes, the different messes taking turns to do their baking, and in half an hour after closing the oven up tight, they would be taken out nicely baked, and when properly made, afforded a very palatable meal. In order to have them light, we would mix up a quart or so of corn meal in cold water, and set in the sun to sour. The pome was then mixed in the same way, stirring in a little of this sour rising and adding a little soda. This sour meal was kept on hand, so as to have enough for three or four days ahead.

A corn dodger was made in the same way, but was made the size of a large biscuit, and was baked in a skillet with an iron cover, a fire being built both over and under the skillet, and when not made light by the use of this sour rising and soda, would make a dangerous missile to throw at a man or dog.

Having now served an apprenticeship of about four months as cook for the mess, I flattered myself that I was qualified to take charge of any first class restaurant as chief cook and bottle washer, and I would bring my corn pome on the table, with all the pride with which a young wife, would present her best efforts at cooking to a tea party. And when I had wheat flour, I would be just a little put out, if my biscuit did not receive the fulsome praise I thought they were entitled to. Our rations in Savannah, were more liberal than they had been during our captivity, and by buying such things as were not issued to us, we always had a little ahead.