Just before we went into camp one night a citizen walked beside us for a short distance and I saw him exchange glances with Captain Hume. After he passed on Captain Hume said, “We will have something to eat to-night. That man is a mason; he says we are going into camp soon and he will come down and bring me some food.” We soon after filed out of the road and into a field. The captain’s brother-mason came and walked around until he saw Hume, then passed near and dropped a package containing bread and meat. Although not a mason at that time I shared the refreshments furnished by the craftsman.
We continued the march until July 4, when we arrived at Danville. Here we were turned over to the provost guard and placed in an old warehouse. Our humane commander left us, and our best wishes followed him. We were brought back to the realization that we were prisoners by the brute in command. We were very hungry, but that did not trouble them, and we waited until afternoon for rations. At night we were taken out and marched to the depot. Although it was the anniversary of our nation’s birth we saw no demonstrations of any kind, and I do not believe that a citizen of the town knew it was a national holiday; but we remembered it, and while waiting for the train to be made up sung “Star Spangled Banner” and other patriotic songs. We collected quite a crowd, but they manifested no interest, only stood and looked at us.
The train ready, we were ordered on board and packed in close box cars,—fifty-six in a car. Only one door was allowed to be opened, and that was filled with rebel guards. We had no room to lie down, but were forced to stand or sit cramped up on the floor. We lay our heads on each other’s shoulders and tried to sleep, but it was too hot. We had no water, but one of the officers had an old two-quart pail, and by coaxing, the guard filled it twice out of the tank of the locomotive. I never passed a more uncomfortable night, and when we arrived at Greensborough, N. C., in the morning, and were allowed to get out of the cars, we were happy. Here we were reinforced by some of Wilson’s cavalry officers, captured on the raid. They had been shamefully treated,—some were bleeding from wounds received from the guard. When they loaded us again some were allowed on top of the car, and I was one. Our guards were a lot of home guards, and, like all such, were making a war record by abusing us.
On our car was a loud-mouthed fellow who was constantly insulting us. After a while he became quiet and was nearly asleep. One of the officers near touched me, and motioning to keep still, drew up his feet, straightened out, and the fellow went flying off the top of the car. Turning to me he said, “Jack, didn’t something drop?” I said I thought so, but guessed it wasn’t best to stop the train to find out, and we never learned whether he landed or not.
We arrived at Augusta, Ga., on Sunday, and were marched to the park. Here citizens visited us and we had a chance to talk with them. The questions were about the same as at Petersburg. “What do you uns come down to fight we uns for?” etc. Talk about Yankees being anxious to trade! There was not a man, woman or child but wanted to barter with us. I sold a hat cord to a woman for twenty dollars, bought a dozen eggs for ten dollars, and invested the rest in a blackberry pie. I shall never forget that pie. The crust was ironclad, and I had to bombard it before I could get at the berries. I ate the inside, but left the crust for the woman to fill again.
We took the cars at night, and next morning arrived at Macon, where we left the train, and our men went on to Andersonville.
CHAPTER XIII.
MACON CONTINUED; CHARLESTON.—UNDER FIRE OF OUR BATTERIES ON MORRIS ISLAND.