Reminiscences of the Nineteenth Massachusetts Regiment

by John G. B. Adams

COLUMBIA.—PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION.

We arrived at Columbia in a drenching rain, were taken out of the cars, and remained in a field near the depot until the next morning. We had no chance to make a fire, and were wet, cold and hungry. Along the tracks were cars filled with families who had fled from Charleston and Atlanta. We saw several very beautiful ladies among them, dressed well, and wearing jewelry, but they were silent and sullen.

We were guarded by the Columbia Cadets, a fine body of young men from the military school. The command was given to fall in, and we were informed that we must march about a mile to a camp ground, and should be made very comfortable. On the way we passed the Confederate money factory. As the girls employed there came to the windows we called to them to throw us out a bushel or two, as they could make plenty more. They laughed, threw kisses at us, and for a moment we forgot that we were prisoners, and felt that we were going out on a picnic. We marched about two miles, and arrived at our camp ground. This consisted of several acres, covered with a second growth of wood. A guard line was made around it, and sentries were posted. Twenty feet from the guard line was the dead line. This time it was a furrow ploughed around the camp. Our cadet guards were relieved by the militia, and we were turned in like so many hogs.

These were the comfortable quarters promised. The wood and water were outside the lines, and we had to wait our turn to go out. No sinks were provided, and only twelve men were allowed out at a time. It was terrible. Nearly every man in prison suffered from diarrhœa. It was no uncommon sight to see one hundred men standing in line; many were obliged to remain there nearly all the time.

We were in this condition for more than a week, then eight axes and ten shovels were given the fifteen hundred prisoners, and the guard line was extended an hour a day, to give us a chance to cut wood and gather brush for shelter. Our little mess located under a tree, and our rule was that one should always be at home; but for some cause one day all were absent for a few moments, and when we returned could not find where we lived, as our tree had been cut down.

We had heard much of the sunny south, and did not expect cold weather, but the night of October 9 was so cold that we could not sleep, and a white frost covered the ground in the morning. Our rations were in keeping with the place. A pint of corn-meal, bitter and half bran, a day, and a pint of sorghum molasses for five days. We named the prison Camp Sorghum. Many could not draw the molasses, having nothing to put it in, but my old pitcher worked in handy for that purpose.

As soon as possible we began to build huts. We increased our mess to five, one having a blanket. We dug a hole in the ground two feet deep, covered it with poles set up on ends, then with brush, and outside a coating of dirt. This was first rate when it did not rain, but as soon as the dirt became wet it would soak through the brush and drop on us as we tried to sleep. At night four would lie down, then the fifth would squeeze in, covering us with our only blanket. When we wanted to turn over some one would say, “About.” The odd man would get up, all turn over, then he would jam in again. So we lay, packed like sardines in a box, keeping alive from the warmth we received from each other.

After a while sinks were dug, and the lines extended so as to take in the brook that ran in the rear of the camp. Nearly all the men were barefoot, and it was laughable to see us wash. We stood in the water, which was very cold, and danced while we washed our faces and hands.

Besides our other troubles we were in constant fear of being shot by the guard. One evening, as we were gathered in little groups around the fires, we heard a shot and saw Lieutenant Young of the 4th Pennsylvania cavalry throw up his hands and fall dead. Upon investigation we learned that one of the guards had asked another if he supposed he could hit a man at that distance. A doubt being expressed he drew up his piece and fired, with the result as stated. Another time an officer was waiting with his axe on his shoulder to go out for wood. He was standing several feet from the dead line when the guard fired,—killing him instantly. We made every possible effort to have the rebel officers take some action that would prevent our comrades from being murdered. The guard who did the shooting was relieved one day, and the next appeared on duty on the front line of the camp. As far as we could learn he was never reprimanded.