“Beyond this wood was a camp of Federal prisoners, who had arrived some time before us, occupying long, frame barracks, crowded so as to afford no shelter for fresh arrivals. The appearance of these prisoners was wretched, and so filthy were their quarters our men declared that some of the vermin, or ‘graybacks’ as they were called, had inscribed upon their backs the words, ‘in for the war.’ These poor fellows had been quartered since their capture, some six months previous, at Camp Ford, Texas, but were marched to their present quarters a few weeks previous to our arrival, to await exchange. They were chiefly Indiana troops.
“The weather was extremely cold for this latitude, resembling more the rude, bleak winter of our Northern clime than the soft, genial atmosphere we had always associated in our minds when thinking of the sunny South, and was said to be the severest ever known in this region.
“For a few days after our arrival we were allowed to roam at will through the woods and vicinity without a guard, for the reason that in daily expectation of proceeding to our lines the men were not likely to attempt any escape. Days passed by in this partial state of freedom, until finally, as the days passed into weeks without any indications of a speedy release, our hopes again began to darken; the men grew restive, and numbers of them were daily missing at roll-call. Every man who attempted escape was recaptured before he got far away and brought back to be placed under guard.
“During our long captivity in Texas our hopes and expectations had so often been raised only to fall again, we got somewhat accustomed to disappointments of this nature, but never since our capture had we been quite so sure of immediate release, or felt the bitterness of ‘hope deferred,’ as we did then. In our prison days at Houston and Camp Groce we had regular quotations of exchange, and the stock was as fluctuating as any in the markets of Wall or State Streets; our days were made cheerful or gloomy according as the stock advanced or fell.
“One morning, at roll-call, we were all summoned to the headquarters of Colonel Théard, commanding the prison-guard, and informed that our Government refused to receive us as paroled prisoners, also refusing to negotiate for our exchange. The colonel made us a neat little speech, in which he expressed his sympathy for us in our deplorable condition, and informed us he had sent a letter to General Kirby Smith, commanding the Confederate Trans-Mississippi Department, asking him to issue clothing, and describing our destitution and sufferings. He also stated he had written to the general, that in case he could not comply with the request for clothing he should feel impelled, from an aversion to seeing so much distress continually before his eyes, to ask to be relieved of his duties as commander of the prison camp. As we never received any clothing from General Smith, or any other quarter, and as the Confederate soldiers were sadly in need of supplies, I was convinced that the Quartermaster Department of the Trans-Mississippi army was in a wofully depleted condition.
“In front of Colonel Théard’s headquarters was an extensive plateau, and here we were ordered to encamp, a guard again placed over us and the dead line traced out. This broad plain was perfectly barren of shrubbery or trees; not even a plot of grass could be found upon it. To make shelter for ourselves we were allowed to go into the woods in squads, under guard, and cut timber and gather leaves. In a few days there sprung into existence, upon this plateau, a village of huts and nondescript structures of the quaintest and most original designs imaginable. Many of these habitations consisted simply of a few bent twigs, arched so as to form a burrow just large enough to creep into head foremost, suitable only to sleep in. Those who from sickness or weakness were unable to erect a domicile depended upon the generosity of their more fortunate comrades, or slept in the open air. Our rations consisted chiefly of coarse corn meal, coarse salt, sugar, and occasionally beef. Having a limited number of cooking utensils, we were often obliged to wait for hours before we could cook our food. Our guards at this camp were a good-hearted set of fellows, and, with a few exceptions, inclined to favor us whenever they could.
“About the middle of January Colonel Théard was relieved of his command, much to our regret, for his treatment of us had been kind and considerate. His heart was evidently not much in sympathy with the rebellion, for we heard a short time after his removal he had left the Confederate army and taken the oath of allegiance to the Federal Government, in New Orleans. He was succeeded by Colonel Harrison, whose administration of affairs while not particularly harsh was lacking in the kindliness which we had always met with under Théard.
“Rumors of the opening of cartels for exchange were as rife here, and received almost as often, as in our former days at Houston and Camp Groce. ‘Exchange stock’ rose and fell with almost its former regularity; our daily advices from Shreveport caused a constantly-fluctuating stock board. Our own Government was universally condemned for its indifference or neglect of our welfare, and many an imprecation was hurled against those who had it in their power to exchange or parole us and would not. We frequently heard of the exchange of other Federal prisoners, and knew that the Confederates captured at Vicksburg and Port Hudson had all, long ago, been released, and therefore it was we complained so bitterly against our fate.
“About the middle of March rumors of General Banks’ advance towards Shreveport with a large army came thick and fast, greatly elating us with a hope they might soon encircle the place of our imprisonment. Suddenly, on the morning of March 26th, the prison camp was broken up and the prisoners, excepting Wentworth, Williams and I, were started on the road towards Texas, destined for Camp Ford.
“Upon our arrival at Four Mile Springs Wentworth and I discovered on the roadside, in the woods and beyond the place where the command had been halted, a log hut, in which we found quarters for the night. The hut was a small, dilapidated structure, like old log cabins of the early settlers, and evidently been standing for many years. We found it occupied by three Confederate soldiers, fitted up as a blacksmith shop for the cavalry forces in the vicinity. The exposed condition of the building rendered it only a partial shelter from the storm, for through chinks in the roof and walls the wind and sleet came in freely, and the smoke from the smouldering fire filled the space within almost to suffocation; however, it was a better refuge than the other prisoners could find. Upon lumps of coal and bits of iron on the rude forge I endeavored to find rest in vain; the wind blew through the log crevices in furious blasts, and that side of my clothing exposed to the hut walls was covered with a thin coating of ice, making sleep or comfort impossible. It was a terrible night for the half-clad, shivering wretches outside, and a most cheerless, uncomfortable one for those inside.