CHAPTER X.
Camp Chase—Fort Delaware—I Change My Name for the First Time and Am Finally Exchanged.
After remaining in this prison about a month, a roll was called and the prisoners whose names were called, were ordered to get ready for exchange. We started next morning for City Point, as we were told, but when we reached Columbus, Ohio, we were ordered to march to Camp Chase, where we were quartered in barracks, partitioned into mess rooms of twenty-four in a mess. While here I was very uneasy, expecting to be called for at any time, to be returned to Louisville, as several of the prisoners had been so returned, to meet charges against them, hence concluded perhaps my name appeared on the roll through mistake, but I was fortunate enough to escape this fate and got along fine until I was taken sick with flux. While confined in this prison I was furnished a New York paper, I think it was the Tribune, giving an account of the hanging of one of our comrades of the regiment by the name of Dodd, who was captured near Knoxville, Tennessee, having had his horse killed in an engagement near there, and was ordered to make his way out as best he could. He was raised in Sevier County, and decided to visit his home, while there, and when captured, was taken to Knoxville, there tried as a spy by a court martial, convicted and sentenced to be hung. His conviction was secured on a pocket diary, which he had kept, recording his every-day work.
A correspondent of the New York Tribune, who visited him in the jail just before his execution, claimed he found him a very intelligent, educated gentleman, in fact, believed him to be a grand character, and his execution, which he witnessed, proved such a horrible affair that it elicited the following expression from him: “In the name of humanity and all that is decent, if the terrible exigencies of war require the deliberate taking of human life, let the prisoner be shot or give us the merciful guillotine.”
Satisfied if the members of the regiment heard of Dodd’s execution they would certainly retaliate, and in return the Federal Army would also retaliate, and as I was the only member of the Eighth Texas, their prisoner, they would certainly call for me for such purpose.
After remaining in this prison for a month I agreed with one of Morgan’s men to tunnel out under the fence, and prepared to go to work that night. The fence was only about twenty yards from our mess room, the identical place where one of Morgan’s officers had dug out a few months before and effected his escape. During this day we were suddenly called on to move and were again promised that we should be sent to City Point for exchange. All the sick in the hospital were furnished conveyances to carry them to Columbus, where we took train. As stated heretofore, I had a severe case of flux, which weakened me a great deal, and I was rendered unable to walk soon after we started on our march to Columbus, a distance of about four miles. We were marched by fours with a heavy advance and rear guard and a single file guard on each side of our column. After having marched about a mile I gave out completely, and my comrades reported my case to a lieutenant, marching by the side of us, who instructed me to sit down by the roadside and wait until the rear guard came up; then to tell them to make a detail to stay with me until I reached Columbus. Very soon after the main body had passed, one of the rear guards called out: “Hike out, you d—— Rebel,” which, of course, made me resentful and I refused to hike out, telling him that I had orders to stop and tell some of the rear guard to bring me up to Columbus. By this time he had got pretty close to me and I happening to look around found him charging on me with a bayonet, which made me jump, and proved the best medicine I could have taken for flux. It simply infused new strength and enabled me to hike to Columbus.
At Erie, Pennsylvania, we were put in coal cars with the bottoms pretty thickly covered with coal dust, in which we were carried to Philadelphia, being marched through Chestnut Street to a boat landing.
Their object in moving us in these coal cars we construed to be a policy to make us look as dirty as possible. Many of our men, of course, were somewhat ragged, and, altogether, we appeared a motley crowd, in striking contrast to the heroes that had been cherished by our Northern sympathizers, called “copper-heads” by the fanatics of the North. In our march to the boat landing we were greeted by many intelligent ladies, who were standing on the streets watching our passing, and quite a number of them had their hands full of postage money, which was bills of denominations of less than a dollar, which they threw and scattered among us. After we reached the boat, on which we were ordered up on the second deck, a dray-load of cheese and crackers was sent down to us by some of the ladies, but the guards on the lower deck appropriated it, and, after eating as much as they wanted, sold the balance of it to all that had money. Then, adding insult to injury, they sent word to the ladies to send more—to be treated in the same manner. The boat then moved out down the river where our journey to City Point for exchange terminated at Fort Delaware, where we were unloaded and were roughly treated.
Fort Delaware proved to be the worst prison we had been in; dirty, with no water fit to drink. Our drinking water had to be taken from the canal inside of the levee, which had a green scum floating on top, and, on the lower part of the island, was used for bathing. After about two or three weeks, an arrangement was made with a boat called the “Osceola” to bring us water from the Brandywine River, which proved to be palatable and a great treat.
On our arrival at Fort Delaware we found about twenty thousand prisoners, a large part of them captured at the battle of Gettysburg; among whom were four or five hundred of Hood’s Brigade, and also some from Granbury’s Brigade, who were captured at Vicksburg. This created a sad impression on me and made me wish I was back in the saddle again more than I ever did, but there was nothing to do but submit. While here we also heard of the battle of Chickamauga, the first report of which was most encouraging, as it stated their army was annihilated and Thomas had fled to the mountains. This started the Rebel yell in the prison, and made us feel that we would soon be exchanged, but the next day’s report put a damper on our enthusiasm, and made us feel sad indeed, as the report in this New York paper was that their army had rallied and were holding on to Chattanooga, with our army retreating, and, while their loss was very heavy in killed and wounded, ours was double. It made us realize that fate was against us, and we would never be able to gain a decisive victory, which would unquestionably secure our recognition by foreign governments.
As already stated, Fort Delaware proved the worst prison we had been in; smallpox broke out among us and nearly every other disease known. A large number died. Every morning they called at the big gate, “Bring out your dead!” and the dead were buried on the Jersey shore by a detail of prisoners.