It was now near the middle of the month of March. The weather was beginning to grow mild. The frost seemingly was nearly all out of the ground, and there were small patches of green grass springing up outside the dead-line. One day while going down to the river after a drink I espied a small patch of green grass outside the line. I stood and looked at it, and longed to have some of it to eat, as my appetite seemed to crave some vegetable or something green.
The transfer of prisoners from the island to Andersonville still continued. Every alternate day they called for 600, who were taken to the city, put on board the cars, and shipped south. By this time the crowd on the island had been considerably reduced. On Saturday, March 12, the usual call was made for 600. Sunday morning, March 13, broke over us with a bright and beautiful sky. Soon after sunrise the officers in command of the prison called for 400 men, to go out and over to the city of Richmond. As this was a different number from their previous calls, and made on an odd day (as the former calls were made every alternate day), this caused me to believe that they were going to a different place than Andersonville. I was standing by a comrade of my company, Alonzo Fish, and we were looking out over the dead-line toward the cookhouse, which was located just a few rods from the dead-line. We saw some of our boys who were doing the baking of the corn-bread, and who had blankets, were rolling them up and seemed to be preparing to leave. I said to Fish, “Let us try and go out with this squad, I believe they are going to our lines, as the indications appear that way to me.” The gate soon opened, and the commander of the prison stood beside it and counted the men as they passed through. Fish and myself were soon ready, as all we had to do was take our places in line, and we marched out with the 400. As soon as the count was finished the gate was closed, and we were now really outside the prison pen, but yet under guard. As a consequence we were considerably excited over the prospect before us. We marched to the bridge leading from the island to the south bank of the James, and across it, and then down to the big bridge spanning the river and leading to the city.
We were soon across the river, and marched down the street past old Libby Prison and into a large brick building. All this time I felt a little nervous on account of the uncertainty of our destination, as I thought our lives depended on whether we were exchanged or sent to some other prison.
We were now inside the large building, discussing the prospects before us. Some time during the day some Confederates came in with paper, ink and pen, and told us we were going to be paroled, and asked us to sign our names on a large sheet of paper, telling us that it was a parole. This caused an intense anxiety among our men. We all signed it without any urging, and you may believe there was a great change in our spirits. Oh, what a happy hour was that, to think that we would once more see the glorious Stars and Stripes.
“The hollow eyes grew bright,
And the poor heart almost gay,
As we thought of seeing home
And friends once more.”
But yet it was almost too good to believe, as we had on several occasions been told by the Confederates that we would be paroled and sent to our lines, but were merely transferred from one prison to another, and sadly disappointed. Thus far we had signed a parole but were yet uncertain as to our fate.
We spent the night of March 13 in the building mentioned, and I well remember that many of us were so elated that we slept but little during the night, but spent the time in talking about what we would do when reaching our lines, and if we finally got home. The morning of March 14 came at last. There was no change in the news about going to our homes. During the day we heard that there was a Confederate steamer coming up the river, to take us to a place where the United States flag of truce boat would meet us. From the windows of our prison we could see down to the boat-landing on the river, the distance being fifteen or twenty rods. We could see that the boat had not yet arrived, but were anxiously watching all day for its arrival. About the middle of the afternoon the little steamer hove in sight, and soon made a landing at the wharf, and you can imagine the excitement ran high.