“The next morning broke clear, but cold and windy. A thin surface of sleety snow covered the ground, causing the landscape around us to look anything but Southern. The men were huddled around slowly burning camp fires, waiting patiently for the distribution of their meagre rations and trying to get warmth into their almost frozen limbs.
“The three soldiers occupying the hut were no better off as to accommodations, and not a whit better provided with rations than ourselves. We lived with them during our stay at Four Mile Springs, and became in that time greatly attached to them. Their names were Ramsey, Dick Fickling, and Stanley. Mr. Ramsey, or ‘Pap’ Ramsey, as he was familiarly called, was an old man, about sixty years of age, a splendid specimen of our ideal western backwoodsman. His life had been passed on the wild borders of the Indian Territory and Western Louisiana, knowing little of life in cities and towns. He had never strayed beyond his native prairies and forests until the Southern Confederacy, in its distress for every able-bodied man, brought him forth from his peaceful cabin, compelled to enter its service. He was conscripted some few months previous to our arrival, but being too old for the routine duties of a soldier’s life was detailed to serve as blacksmith for the regiment in which he was placed. A tall, broad-shouldered, well-built man, with gray hair and beard, and an eye as bright and keen as any young person; he was simple-hearted, unskilled in the ways and observances of the world, but with a vast experience of the rough, free, adventurous life of a pioneer. Stanley, his assistant, was a young man, about twenty-five years old, large-hearted, good-natured, and always ready for sport, but with a natural aversion to work. His comrades gave him the name of ’Fox,’ on account of the cunning and shrewdness he displayed in stealing away from camp to visit his home, sixteen miles away, on every possible occasion. He seldom applied for a furlough, deeming such sort of discipline, as he said, entirely unnecessary and too much like slavery. When called to account by his officers for his absence from his regiment, he generally appeased their wrath by presenting them with a fine turkey or shote. A conscript, he managed to evade camp duty by getting detailed as assistant-blacksmith, though wherein his assistance was of any value or service to Mr. Ramsey would have been difficult for an observer to tell. The only labor he was ever known to perform was to occasionally wield the sledge, when the other assistant was absent. His ideas in regard to the cause or object of the war were vague and indefinite, but as far as he knew them they were altogether opposed to the Southern Confederacy. He was the owner of one slave, who took charge of his little farm while he was away.
“Anxious to continue our abode with these kind-hearted soldiers, Wentworth and myself called upon Colonel Théard, when the prisoners were again placed under guard, prevailing upon him, after considerable pleading, to allow us a pass, granting the liberty of the camp until further orders; a phrase we construed to mean any distance within five miles of the hut. When Colonel Harrison succeeded Colonel Théard he was disposed to revoke this pass, condescending, after some persuasion, to let the order ‘remain for the present.’ He was a strict disciplinarian, severe and often harsh in his treatment of the prisoners and his own men; it was a surprise to all that we had won such favor.
“Time wore on pleasantly; the weather grew mild and genial, and about the middle of January the short Southern winter was over. Our hut was romantically situated, and since our occupation of it we had closed up the chinks in the sides and patched the roof, so that the rain could no longer gain entrance. The road in front of us wound through a broad tract of beautiful woodland, and stretched on in one direction to Shreveport, in the other to the prison lines. Beyond this forest was a vast waste of swamp land, covered with a prolific growth of cypress and gum trees, and intersected in every direction by dark, coffee-colored bayous, in which the finest species of the ’Buffalo’ fish were found. Along the banks of these streams and scattered over the bottom-lands were clusters of impenetrable thickets, where countless numbers of bright-plumaged birds made their nests, and where the venomous mocassin and deadly scorpion found hiding places. All day long, in the deep recesses of these lonely wilds, the air was resonant with the music of feathery warblers. We caught many of them in traps, which Stanley was expert at making, but remembering our own prison experience we never kept them long ‘in durance.’
“The hut soon became a popular rendezvous for Confederate soldiers passing to and from their camp, and we became acquainted with most every one belonging to the regiment acting as prison-guard. With some we formed friendships that lasted long after the war closed. Political questions were seldom argued, but when they were it was always with good humor on their part at least, and we were invariably treated with courtesy and kindness, often with generosity.
“Life at the hut was by no means monotonous; each day found us enjoying ourselves in a free and easy way. Mr. Ramsey was owner of a fine horse, and valued him highly. The old man gave me permission to ride the animal whenever I felt inclined, leaving the whole care of the horse to me. With Stanley, always ready for a drive, I took many an excursion through the woods and swamps and to the different plantations in the neighborhood; thus became acquainted with about every planter within a radius of five miles from camp. Amongst them was Mr. Elliot, owner of a plantation at Bayou Pierre, with whom I formed a most intimate and pleasant acquaintance. With him and his family I often passed a delightful hour, always entertained as a welcome guest. Mr. Elliot had formerly been in the Confederate army. While with his regiment in Tennessee, just after the battle of Perryville he purchased a furlough for a large amount of money, returning home, and had not again rejoined his command. In order to obtain exemption from conscription he purchased the position of superintendent of a Government planing-mill in Texas, but had not reported at his new field of service. He was a thorough Union man, and a bitter enemy of the Confederacy. His service in the army was compulsory, and although engaged in several battles said he had never fired a gun during the actions except in the direction of the sky. He was, like many others of the South, an owner of slaves, but not an advocate of slavery. Through him I became acquainted with many loyal men, and was surprised to find the Union sentiment so strong. Of the half-dozen or more planters living within four miles of the camp not one was an advocate of secession, but all were anxiously longing for the approach of our army to this portion of the State. Even amongst our prison-guard we found many a secret friend of the Union, who only waited for an opportunity to place themselves in the ranks of its army. The number of such was by no means small, although the great majority were loyal to the ‘Stars and Bars.’
“During the latter part of January I obtained of Colonel Harrison permission for two other prison comrades to live with us at the hut. They were Williams, whom we called ‘Transport,’ and the carpenter of the United States ship Morning Light, who went by the name of ‘Chips.’ Their arrival rendered it necessary for us to enlarge our dwelling. Through the soft persuasiveness of Wentworth, the quartermaster was prevailed upon to grant us a small supply of timber and nails, and in a short time we built a small addition to the hut, in which we erected sleeping bunks for the accommodation of us all.
“My acquaintance with the quartermaster’s clerk, young Finney, enabled me to obtain a much larger supply of rations than I was lawfully entitled to, and, as I was usually allowed to attend to the weighing of them, I did not hesitate to take advantage of this privilege for the benefit of us all. By going a short distance into the woods we were sure to find a stray hog or pig wandering around, and our stock of pork was always well kept up. It being against orders to kill any of them, the undertaking was always attended with considerable difficulty, and we were obliged to hunt our game at night. As we never could get near enough to kill them by any other means than shooting, the report of our gun at midnight was frequently heard at camp, the officers invariably causing inquiries to be made concerning the reason of the untimely firing. To prevent discovery we concealed our game in a small cellar, dug under the floor of our hut annex, with the boards so arranged that they appeared nailed down to the uninitiated. Our cooking of this food was done when no prying eyes were upon us and the savory odor would not be likely to betray us. Besides this sort of fare, costing nothing, we had frequent opportunities of purchasing sweet potatoes, eggs and butter, with money obtained by the sale of our tricks and watches when leaving Camp Groce. Our table was unrivalled by any of the ‘messes,’ either of the prisoners or the guard. The ne plus ultra of cookery were the ‘corn-dodgers’ Wentworth made to perfection, and which were certainly worthy the skill of the finest French cook. Old ‘Pap’ Ramsey refused to indulge his appetite with this rich food, claiming that such delicacies would inevitably bring on gout or dyspepsia, and that his palate, accustomed to the coarse, homely fare of the backwoods, was unfitted for the luxurious compound which Wentworth made. Through the colonel’s orderly, George Cole, I was usually the recipient of some dainties from his table, after an entertainment had been given by that officer to visiting friends.
“One day during February Wentworth obtained permission of Colonel Harrison to visit Shreveport on one of the army wagons, which made daily trips to that place. His stay there, for a few hours only, was quite long enough for him to get disgusted with the appearance of the city, and especially with the fabulous price they charged him for his dinner; a small piece of pork, with bread and butter, and a tiny cup of coffee cost him six dollars.
“A few days after Wentworth’s return ‘Transport’ made the same trip without obtaining the requisite permission. The day previous, while strolling in the woods, he met in a quiet nook a few Confederate teamsters with a supply of Louisiana rum, which they invited him to drink. The temptation was too strong for his feeble powers of resistance, and the potations were so deep and frequent that he was soon exalted to a state of complete recklessness. In this condition he remained with his jovial friends over night, accompanying them the next morning to Shreveport. On reaching the city he was so muddled for awhile he was unable to clearly comprehend the state of affairs, and even in doubt as to his own identity, whether he was a Federal prisoner or a Confederate soldier. The following morning he was found at the entrance to a hospital, standing guard for a soldier whom he had succeeded in making even drunker than himself. An hour or so later he found himself on board the ram Webb (then lying in the river abreast of the city), in the presence of a recruiting officer, who endeavored to persuade him to join the vessel, by offering him tempting inducements in the shape of pay and bounty. ‘Transport,’ though very drunk, was not to be enticed by any proffers which they could make him to desert his flag.