At Burr’s Landing the prisoners went into bivouac in a pine grove about one-half a mile from the river. To make a shelter from the cold, northerly winds, some men made tents with rubber blankets; others built shanties made of bushes, pine boughs and such other material as they could gather, in a manner peculiar only to the “Yankee” soldier. All hands had washed their flannels during the fifth, leaving them out over night to dry, to find them frozen stiff the next morning, and a white frost covering the ground.
Private Henry C. Sellea, Company D, had been sick on board the boat for four days with intermittent fever, and, as his case seemed hopeless, arrangements were made by his comrades to remove him to a farm house owned and occupied by Mrs. Burr, who came from Springfield, Mass., where he would be sure to receive the best of care. This was accomplished at two o’clock on the afternoon of the sixth; but poor Sellea, only nineteen years old, died at five o’clock P.M. the next day.
As in the case of Private Chapin, a rough coffin was made by his comrades, the burial services taking place at eleven o’clock A.M. on the eighth, with Privates Charles G. Weymouth, Daniel L. Weymouth, R. P. Mosely and Henry Fisk acting as pall bearers. The grave was in Mrs. Burr’s private burying ground, where the boys sang “There will be no more sorrow there,” and the guard fired the customary volleys. A neat head-board, with name, age, company and regiment inscribed thereon, was placed on both graves.
Chapin and Sellea were delirious the last days of their life, not recognizing anybody. Every attention possible was paid to them by the members of their companies, and if the sympathy of their fellow soldiers could have saved them they would not have died. These two deaths were the only losses suffered on the trip, but several laid the foundation for diseases, which subsequently carried them to their graves.
Orders were issued on the eighth to be ready to commence the march for Alexandria at four o’clock A.M. on the ninth. Extra rations were given out to the cooks, who were at work all night attending to cooking. Mess kettles were few in number, and the practice on the entire trip, either on board boat or on the march, was to detail each night four men to cook until midnight, relieved by four men from that hour until daylight. The rations consisted of corn meal, pork, and fresh beef killed about every day, with such vegetables as the boys could forage, or buy from the few inhabitants living near the route of march.
The Confederate guard consisted of thirty men from the Fourth Texas Cavalry, commanded by Lieutenant W. J. Howerton, a pompous, overbearing individual, without military knowledge or manners. On the march the enlisted men were mounted upon Texas mustang ponies, tolerably well armed and equipped, but without drill or discipline. At any time they could have been overpowered by the prisoners. The guard were well disposed and well behaved towards their prisoners with a few exceptions; one private, a large, fat, red-headed man, whose looks was enough to condemn him to be a coward, was very bitter in speech and treatment of the men. In turn, the prisoners neglected no opportunity to work him up by badinage, partaking more of a sacrilegious tone than the chaplain thought was proper.
With the exception of a few fights among themselves to settle old scores, and retaliating in kind for any taunts made by members of the guard, the conduct of the prisoners was good. Lieutenant Howerton had his good and ill-natured days. At one place where a halt was made for the night some of the prisoners obtained permission to get food and lodging in a so-called tavern, neglecting in the morning to pay for the accommodation. This neglect put the lieutenant in a rage, when the landlord complained about it. Previous to this occurrence the men had been allowed to march in disorder, but on forming column that morning the lieutenant ordered column of fours, and made a speech from his saddle, the substance being, that a citizen of the Confederate States, whom one of his own men would not dare to wrong, had been grossly insulted by some “scabs” of Northern soldiers. He had given orders that the march that day would be in column of fours, and any man who straggled from that formation of column would be shot down or cut down, “by G—d.” One of the sailors slyly shouted S-H-O-W, when the enraged lieutenant rose in his stirrups and yelled: “I’ll show yer!” swinging his sabre over his head to suit action to his words. Several men did get struck for not obeying the orders, although none were seriously hurt. This did not help Howerton, in the estimation of the boys.
No tents were carried, and the men were obliged to sleep in the open air, through fair or foul weather. No rivers were in their path, but several swamps had to be passed, one of them while a heavy rain-storm was in progress. The train, in charge of a wagoner, consisted of four wagons, each drawn by six mule teams. The feed for horses and mules was chiefly wild sugar-cane.
Doctor Penrose acted as surgeon for everybody when he could obtain medicines, for the escort carried none. He attended Chapin and Sellea, doing the best in his power, travelling some miles to obtain a supply of medicine to treat their cases. The sick had to suffer and get along as best they could; those very sick were taken in the wagons, while the men who did not feel strong enough to be encumbered by the weight of a knapsack, but able to march when not encumbered, could purchase from the guard the privilege of stowing away what they wished in the wagons. Frequently a ride upon the ponies belonging to good-natured men of the guard was to be had by parting with some article of value to them, as the Texans were always ready to trade or steal when they could. A Sergeant Bradford is said by the boys to have been a “tip-top fellow.”
The story of the march cannot be described in a more interesting manner than is given by Sergeant Waterman, Company D, in his diary, and the same is presented here: