Reminiscences of a Prisoner of War and His Escape

by Daniel Avery Langworthy

After the men began to tumble off, we stopped at the first telegraph station and a message was sent. The officers in that locality turned out promptly with their men and dogs, came up the railroad until they found a fresh trail, which one crew took, the rest going on until they were after them all.

We arrived at Charleston the next morning, being the first prisoners who had been brought there. We were brought there in the hope that we might help to protect the city from the continuous cannonading of our troops on Morris Island, which had driven the people from the lower part of the city. We, of course, were put in that part, first in the jail yard and from there to the workhouse, a large building in the same block used as a jail for the colored people. From there we went to Roper's Hospital in the same block, where we were given comfortable quarters. Those three buildings and the medical college occupied the block. The back yard of the hospital joined the back yard of the jail.

We put in our time evenings watching the shells from Morris Island; would see a bright light as they started at the horizon and as they went up and up until apparently nearly over our heads and would then come seemingly straight down and usually explode before they struck. Apparently the men on the island knew when we came and where we were, for while the cannonading was regular each night, never a shell or a piece of one came to our quarters, but plenty of harm was done in the city all the time.

After we had been there for quite a while, one day one of our comrades coming in, said to me: "I have a letter for you. I was in the back yard sitting on the ground when something dropped down by my side, apparently coming from the jail yard. I looked and there was a small stone with this tied to it." It was a small scrap of paper addressed to me, from one of my sergeants, saying that he, his brother and others of Company "E" were in the jail yard. That aroused me some. I went to the gate and asked the officer in charge of the guard if he would kindly send me, under guard, to go around to the jail yard. He said: "Why do you wish to go to the jail yard?" I told him some men of my company who had been in Andersonville since last April were there and that I wished very much to see them. After a little he told me to come again in a half hour. I did so, and accompanied by the guard, was sent to the jail yard, and of the first prisoners I met I inquired where the Eighty-fifth New York boys were and was told they had been removed that morning to the race course outside of the city. "Had they all gone?" I inquired. They thought they had. I told them I was very sorry as men of my company were with them. While we were talking, one of them said: "Why, there are two of the Eighty-fifth boys over there sitting on the ground." I went to them. Each had a raw Irish potato in his hand scraping it and eating it raw for the scurvy. I looked them over carefully, but could not recognize them. I said: "Boys, are you from the Eighty-fifth New York?" They looked up and said: "How are you, captain?" and jumped up, embraced me and said: "Captain, didn't you know us?" "I am sorry to say I did not," I replied. "Why, we are So-and-So of Company 'F,'" they said, which was by the side of my company. They were men whom I had known for nearly three years, yet were so changed that I could not recognize them.

I left much disappointed at not finding my men, and thought about it continually. The general in command of the Confederate forces at Charleston was a Roman Catholic, hence his church people, and especially the Sisters of Charity, had free access to the hospitals, prisons, etc., and did much good work.

Roper Hospital, Charleston, S. C.

A few days later I noticed some sisters in our building. I went to one of them and said: "Sister, have you been out to the race course?" "Yes," she said, "We have just come from there." "How are they?" I asked. "Very, very bad," she replied. "Sister, can't you tell me something more about them?" I continued. "That is about all," she said. "You poor men have suffered enough, but not what they have; they are very bad." "Sister," I continued, "there are some of my men there whom I have not seen since they went to Andersonville prison last April. I would like to learn all I can about them." "They are very bad," she said, "that is about all. We tried to minister to one poor fellow this morning. In giving him a bath we scraped quantities of maggots from under his arms and other parts of his body. They are very, very bad." "Sister," I persisted, "if they had some money would it be of any help to them?" "Yes, it would. They could not get with it what you would think they should, but they could get something and that would be a help to them." "Will you be going there again soon?" I asked. "Yes, we will go there every few days," she replied. "Could I ask you to take some money to one of my men?" "I would be pleased to do so," she said. "Is he a non-commissioned officer?" "Yes, a sergeant," I replied. "I will be here awhile longer," she said. "Write him a letter, tell him how much you send and what he is to do with it, put the money in the letter and seal it. On the envelope write his name in full, rank, company, regiment, brigade, corps, etc., your name, your lieutenant's name, your colonel's name and the commander of the brigade and corps—in fact write the envelope all over and I will try to find him." I did not ask any more questions, but thought her directions strange. I went and did as she told me to do and gave her the letter. A few days later I saw some sisters in the building, and going to them saw her to whom I had given my letter a few days before, and spoke to her. "Yes, captain," she said, "I was going to look you up. We just came from the race course. I feel quite sure I found your man and gave him your letter. While you did as I told you, wrote the envelope all over, you did not put too much on it." "How was that, sister?" I asked. "Well, when we got there inside the race course, they all came around us, hoping we would do something for them," she said. "I asked for Mr. Jones. Nearly all the men there were named Jones. I did not tell them any more, but began asking questions. A few less were George Jones, a few less George Washington Jones, a few less were sergeants and in Company 'E,' and in the Eighty-fifth New York, etc., until I got down to one man and am quite sure he was the right one." I thanked her and told her how greatly I was obliged to her, and said: "Sister, I certainly have no reason to doubt what you say, but cannot understand it." "How so?" she asked. "I know those men thoroughly," I said, "and know them not only to be good soldiers, but truly honest, truthful, upright, manly men." "That's all right, captain," she said, "but as I told you before, you have not suffered and passed through what they have. I believe that if you or I had been through with what they have we would not be one whit different from what they are and in my heart I cannot blame them." I said: "All right, sister, I am fully assured that you are a noble, genuine, upright Christian lady."

She found the right man. While the sergeant did not live to get to his home, his brother and some of the others did, and told me that he got the letter and the money and that it was a great help.