Now, the truth was there was no such place as "Maconsburg" in Wisconsin, to my knowledge, nor was there any friend of mine by the name of John Crow, still that did not hinder the cashing of my order, and in a short time I was the possessor of eight hundred dollars in clean Confederate scrip. As "John Crow," of "Maconsburg," was never found by Mr. Holloway I did not lose anything on my investment. Those who made the "bills of exchange" profited to some extent, however, and the barrels that were delivered to the poor, weak, diseased and starving prisoners, were of great service to them and proved a boon in many instances. It was always a mystery to me why the officers took such chances as they did in letting us have the Confederate State's scrip, but I have often thought they had very little confidence in its real, ultimate value. I also noticed that not one of them ever lost an opportunity to grab Uncle Sam's money when it was within reach.
As soon as we moved out of the jail yard it was used for the Anderson men, but only for one day at a time; then they were marched out to the race course. They generally arrived there early in the morning, were taken out of the cars and held through the day, to be moved through the streets at night, as their clothing was so scant it was not considered decent for them to be seen by daylight.
My first investment with my Confederate scrip was to take one hundred dollars, tie it to a piece of brick and throw it over the wall, from the veranda of the second story, to one sergeant Stetzer, a member of my company and regiment; but the guard heard it strike the ground, drove the sergeant away and pocketed the rags himself. So much for my attempt to relieve the wants of a fellow prisoner. Now, while we lived high for us during the remainder of our stay in that building, the time was very short.
Sherman devastates Northern Georgia—Columbia "Camp Sorghum"—A "dug-out"—I get away—Free—An unexpected plunge—Trouble ahead—Recaptured—A meal—The "debtor's cell" at Abbeville—Back to "Sorghum."
It was now reported that Sherman was on our track, devastating Northern Georgia. Accordingly, on the first of October, the guard was marched in and we were surrounded in the yard behind the hospital. The parole which we had signed was then produced, torn to pieces before our eyes, and declared at an end. We were then marched out, taken to the depot, put into some old dirty cars and transported to Columbia. Here we were unloaded, marched across Broad River, over a long, covered bridge, to an old pasture of about three acres, around which had been ploughed two furrows. One of these was designated the line for the guards beat; the other (inside), the dead line. Into this pasture we were herded like so many sheep, without shade or shelter. Our rations were reduced, so that each of us received but a little over a pint of dirty old corn meal a day, and a little sorghum molasses. I had a quart cup and, after washing my meal, had just enough left to make one quart of mush with a sorghum dressing. Think of it, reader, you who have enough and to spare, and have no taste for sorghum molasses, how you would have relished this delightful fare; yet we were forced to accept it by the demands of hunger, and because we were captives to Southern chevaliers.
We named our quarters (the prison) "Camp Sorghum." The commandant, whose name I cannot now recall, was a colonel of the rebel army, and really a kind-hearted man; and I really believe that, had he been able, he would have made our circumstances comfortable; but he was a creature of circumstances and could not control his superiors. He was gentlemanly and courteous to us, and granted us privileges we had never been allowed before; he permitted us to go out to the woods under guard, and gather limbs and boughs from trees with which to make some kind of shelter to protect us from the cold, fall rains. A second lieutenant and myself dug a hole in the ground about three feet wide, seven long and two feet deep, covered it over with limbs and dirt, leaving a small hole at one end to serve as an entrance and exit. This was not original with us, as many similar ones had been made before, nor was it convenient to get in and out of, but by pulling our feet up under us we could manage to keep partially dry and warm.
I was not satisfied, however, and was continually watching for a chance to escape. Finally a long, drizzling rain came on and the colonel gave a number of paroles to some favored, to go out and get limbs, poles and boughs, with which to fix up their quarters, (if you could call their dug-outs quarters). This squad was only allowed to carry its luggage to the guards' beat, throw it over, then return to the woods for more. Then another party was permitted to go out over the dead line, get the truck and carry it back to quarters. I watched them for some time and noticed that the guard did not seem to be very particular about the mingling of those on the outside of the beat. The next time the squad came from the woods I walked out, gathered up an armful of the stuff, returned with the others, and carried the armful to their dug-out. I then waited until they came again, and deliberately walked out with those who went to the timber, the ones who had been paroled for the purpose. I was now outside of the prison in open woods, in plain sight of the pasture and only about three o'clock in the afternoon. This was to be the last trip of the paroled men, so I crawled under the top of a tree, which they had left partly trimmed, and got the men to cover me over with boughs and limbs sufficient to conceal my view from "Camp Sorghum," and there I had to lie on the cold, wet earth, without daring to move, until night.