CHAPTER XXIV.
The prisoners at Andersonville, amounting to many thousand, owing to their Government refusing to exchange them, preferring to let them die in their congested condition rather than to release those of ours, caused untold hardships on those unfortunate fellows. Their own Government even refused to furnish them with the requisite medical relief and medicine which became unobtainable on account of the close cordon of blockaders guarding our ports of entry. It must be remembered that while we on the Confederate side had only seven hundred thousand available men, in round numbers, in every branch of the service, our adversary had, according to statistics, two million, seven hundred thousand men in the field, and while we had exhausted all our resources they still had the whole world to draw from. Neither were they particular then, as now, as to what kind of emigrants landed in Castle Garden or Ellis Island, but they accepted the scum of the world, paying fifteen hundred dollars bounty as an incentive to enlist in their army. Such were the conditions in the latter part of 1864. General Wheeler's Cavalry was the only force that swung close to Sherman's flanks, thus keeping his columns more compact and preventing them from doing more depredations than they did. Even as it was, they lived on the fat of the land, and as stated, wantonly destroyed what they could not carry along, to the detriment of the defenceless women and children.
Dr. Crawford was ordered to remove his hospital to Montgomery, Alabama. I was out foraging; I was at Davisboro, Station No. 12, Central R. R. when a train load of the Andersonville prisoners stopped at the station. The train consisted of a long string of box cars. Davisboro was not then the prosperous little city it is now; it consisted of only one dwelling and outhouses usually attached to a prosperous plantation, and a store house; it was owned by Mrs. Hardwick, the great grandmother of our now Congressman, T. W. Hardwick, an elderly widow lady, who for the accommodation of the railroad kept an eating house where the train hands would get their meals as the trains passed on schedule time. Curiosity led me to approach the train, which was heavily guarded by sentinels stationed in the open doors and on top of the cars, with loaded muskets, to prevent escapes, when I heard the grand hailing words of distress from an inmate of the car. Being a Mason, I demanded what was wanted, when some one appealed to me, "For God's sake give me something to eat, I am starving to death; somebody stole my rations and I have not eaten anything for three days." Being meal time I at once run in the dining room of the Hardwick House, picked up a plate with ham and one with biscuits, and ran to the train, called on the man in Masonic terms, and handed him the provisions that I had wrapped up in a home made napkin, bordered with indigo blue. It was seven o'clock p. m. and one could not distinguish the features of an individual; it was a starless, foggy night. After the train left I entered the house and excused myself for the rudeness of taking the provisions as I did. Mrs. Hardwick not having been in the dining room at the time I explained to her that my obligations were such that I had to render assistance to any distressed Brother Mason; he applying to me as such; "I am now ready to pay you for all the damages I did," and this was her reply: "I don't charge you anything honey, I am glad you did it." But not so with her housekeeper, Miss Eliza Jackson, who berated me for everything she could think of, saying, "They had no right to come here and fight us; you are nothing but a Yankee yourself," etc., etc. Miss Jackson was a long ways beyond her teens, so I said, "Miss Liza, you are mad, because owing to the war your chances for marriage have greatly diminished, especially with the disposition you have." Those present enjoyed her discomfiture.
Usually when troops were about to be ordered in transit, they were issued three days rations, all of which were often walloped out of sight at one square meal on account of its meagerness; undoubtedly that is what happened to my Masonic Brother; he received his rations and someone stole them. I myself often ate at one meal what was intended to last me three days and trusted for the future. I never felt any remorse of conscience to get something to eat, if I could; I felt that the people for whom I devoted my services in those days owed me a living, and when the authorities failed to supply it, I took it where I could find it.
CHAPTER XXV.
I rejoined Dr. Crawford and he sent me out again. I took the train to Greenville, Alabama, and walked about eight miles to Col. Bowens', who was an uncle of Mrs. John George. Mrs. George was a niece of Mrs. Braswell, where I boarded. She came to spend many days with her Aunt while I was with the family; her home was only about three miles distant. She married Mr. George and moved to Butler County, Alabama. Mr. Bowen, her uncle, furnished me with a horse and I rode out to see them. Butler county is a sort of an out of the way place, and that country had not been overrun with soldiers, and provisions were plentiful. When I hollowed at the gate she recognized me at once and was overjoyed; she took me around the neck and kissed me. George ran out saying, "Mollie! Mollie! What are you doing." She said, "Never mind that is home folks." Poor woman, she was so overcome to see someone from home that she actually cried for joy. They were a happy family. I gave them all the news about their people, as I had just come from there. I stated my business and both of them set in the following day to assist me in my duty. Butler county, where they lived was a very hilly country, but tolerably thickly settled, and provisions came in by the quantities. I, with the assistance of my host and hostess, filled a single box of eggs six by three feet long and three feet high. We stood every one on its end with alternate layers of bran and sawdust and carried them over a very rough road to Greenville, together with a great many chickens and shipped them to the hospital, and we only lost three dozen eggs by breakage. One morning we heard the report that the enemy, in great force, was approaching. People were leaving the city. With the exception of a small garrison there was no defense. Dr. Crawford had to abandon the city, removed all that were in condition to get away, but there were about a half a dozen men who were too sick to be removed. The enemy came into the city soon after we left. Dr. Crawford remarked to me that evening, "Herman, I am going to send you back to take charge of the hospital and those poor fellows that I could not get away." I demurred, saying that I did not care to be taken prisoner. He said, "Listen; In all civilized warfare the medical department is exempt from molestation." I said, "From the way this war is waged it is not altogether civilized, but I am under your orders; I'll do what you want me to do." He said, "I'll take it as a great favor; I can't abandon those poor fellows, some one has to take care of them and administer to their wants." He said he did not know where he would locate but wherever he went I must come back to him. I was then about nine miles from Montgomery. It was late in the evening, and I took it afoot back. When passing through Macon on my way to Montgomery, I passed a night with my cousin, Mrs. Wurzbourg, whose husband was exempt from military duty on account of physical infirmity. My jacket which I wore was threadbare, and even (holy). He presented me with one of his blue flannel sack coats. I had previously been able, through Dr. Crawford, to get enough cloth for a pair of pants and vest. It was blockade goods which the Government had purchased, and it was of a coarse textile, and of a light blue cast, and thus I was fairly decently clothed. In those days the Confederate grey was very much lacking, and men, as well as women, had to wear anything, of any color they could get hold of. So after leaving Dr. Crawford, to return to the hospital at Montgomery, I stopped over at a cottage. The proprietor had a watch repair and jewelry shop in Montgomery, who owned a small plantation about six miles from the city. He had left the city for lack of business, and now lived at his country home. He was an Englishman, his wife was French. This book being written entirely from memory, after a lapse of about a half a century, I can't remember the names of those people, but they were very kind and hospitable. After supper we repaired to their little parlor. The house was well kept, and proved that the mistress of the same knew how to manage a home and make it comfortable. There was a piano, and I asked the lady, (talking French to her), if she would kindly play a little. So she asked me if I could sing some French songs; I said a few. She at once repaired to the instrument, and asked me what will you have. I of course called for the Marseillaise, which she performed to perfection. So she asked me to sing; I started the melody of
Adieu Patrie
France Cherie
Ou Chaque jour
Coulait si pure
Mon helvretie
Douce et jolie
Pays d'Amour
O ciel d azure
Adieu, Adieu!