Staunton, Pete Obrey, and Hoover were the men of infamous notoriety, who did more lashing of our soldiers at Andersonville than any others. Staunton was chief of police: the few picks and spades within the stockade were under his control; Newman asked permission to use one, to repair his sleeping-pit; instead of a reply, was felled with it to the earth; when consciousness returned, he dare not complain; suffering with the blow, and ill as he was, could only crawl away to his ditch, thankful to escape with life. The two first named were at Annapolis while we were there; their lives had been so often threatened, if found outside the hospital, that they were glad to keep within its walls for safety. Pete disappeared one night, no one knew where. These men all wore the Federal uniform: while doing so, possessed the entire confidence of the rebels in command—proving that, though wearing the “army blue,” they were rebels in disguise.
A Massachusetts sergeant said when his regiment entered Anderson, one hundred and thirty-five men answered roll-call; after a captivity of eight months, nineteen only could be found. An Illinois man remarked that twenty of his company were taken prisoners with him; at the end of five months, five were living. A little Massachusetts fellow, wounded in the leg when captured, cut crutches from the woods, and by their aid marched, for sixty miles, with his comrades. He was afraid the rebels would do as they threatened, leave him to starve to death if he did not keep up with the party. When they reached prison, he was sent to the hospital. The ball is still in.
A fresh arrival of prisoners to-day, 27th of March; the most of them can walk; if these were the first we had seen, we would think them all bad. Among them was a young German who had lain for three days beside his dead comrade, that he might draw his rations; representing all the time that he was too ill to get up for them; and keeping him covered with their rags, when the “dead-cart” passed along. Many are suffering with frozen feet: some have lost all their toes, others only on one foot.
On the 28th, assisted in the distribution of Sanitary Commission articles—needles, thread, comb, paper, envelopes, and towel—to fourteen hundred of the late arrivals: these are presumed to be well men, at least they are well enough to keep out of the hospital for a time. They march up in line for their dinner, which consists of good soup, boiled cabbage, and half a loaf of bread, given to them from an open window; in the same order, they march on to the next building, where they receive the articles named. Their remarks, as they pass along, are amusing; many “thank you’s” were said heartily; they all looked, and I have no doubt were, pleased. “Boys, wouldn’t we like the rebs to see this,” “the folks do care for us at home,” etc., showed how gratifying it was to them to be thus remembered. In about two hours the fourteen hundred were all supplied, and the crowd scattered.
A Maryland infantry boy, belonging to the ninth corps, was a prisoner eight months; had had a furlough, and was now back ready for duty; had “asked to be sent front,” saying, “the rebels had boarded him eight months, and he was anxious to go back and settle his bill of fare!”
April 29th. A boat, with three hundred, just arrived: the drum calls the “stretcher-bearers” to fall in line; and all who can, rush to the landing. Following the crowd, we come to the wharf just in time to see the unsteady column begin to move. On board the vessel the hospital band is playing cheerful strains of welcome, and they come ashore to the music of familiar tunes.
“Back to the North, where the air is free;
Back from the land of pain.”
Tottering and feeble, bronzed and smoke-blackened, tangled hair and matted beards, some in rebel garb, many barefooted and bareheaded, the majority clothed in shirt and drawers furnished by the Sanitary Commission in Wilmington, a few fortunate possessors of a blanket,—such is the walking party. It was more than some of them could do to walk, so they gave it up, and, as the line of “stretcher-bearers” followed in their wake, were added to the number. Sorry plight for three hundred brave men to come from Southern care! Martyrs for the nation, patient and uncomplaining, they do not blame the government—they censure no one!
In all the precious lives lost to friends and home, and the wrecks of noble soldiers yet remaining, is not the hand of God seen? The costly offering was asked for, and given, that the nation might be saved, and that distant lands might learn to what refinements of cruelty SLAVERY had educated a people!