Reminiscences of the Nineteenth Massachusetts Regiment

by John G. B. Adams

We brought out some fine talent, and were the liveliest crowd in prison. Often we would go out and catch some fellow, who was despondent and nearly dead with the blues, bring him before the Grand Mogul and try him for some offence by court-martial. While he would get mad, kick and swear, it revived him, gave us lots of fun, and as we elected him a Mush Eater, it gave him a chance to enjoy the meetings. I remember one lieutenant of an Illinois regiment who had dug a hole in the ground and declared that he would not come out, but would die there. One night he came out, was tried and sentenced to be marched around the camp. The sentence was duly executed, the comb band playing the “Rogue’s March.” He began to improve after that, attended the meetings regularly, and, I believe, was elected to the office of Deputy High Grand M. E. We undertook to capture a captain of a Tennessee regiment, called “Puddinghead Hayes,” but, as he could whip any two of us, we let him alone.

One afternoon at three o’clock the order was given to “fall in.” It was an uncommon call at this hour, and “exchange” thoughts came to all. Soon the adjutant introduced us to a new commander, a Dutchman who had just come from the north, having been captured at Gettysburg. Said he: “Ghentlemens, I comes to take command of you. I have been in Fort Delaware fifteen months. You peoples teach me how to behave myself. I does for you all I can. You treats me like ghentleman, I treats you like ghentlemen. This place not fit for hogs. I sends in one hundred load of straw, right away, quick. Break ranks, march!” He went through our quarters and swore worse than we could at our treatment. He then went to the hospital, had a row with the surgeon because he had done nothing to make us comfortable, and kicked up a row generally in our behalf. We felt that “the morning light was breaking” for us, and that we should now be made comfortable. The major came in the next day with more suggestions, but in a day or two we saw him no more. He was not the man the rebels wanted, as they were not anxious for our comfort, and his official head was removed as soon as he made requisition for the straw.

On the 20th, two hundred of us left to be exchanged. We had quite a pleasant ride to Salisbury. Here I saw some of my men, the first I had seen since we left them at Macon, in July. I remember two, my first sergeant, James Smith, and Private Jerry Kelly. I dare not undertake to describe their condition; they were nearly starved to death and could only walk by the aid of sticks. They told me of the other boys captured,—that Lubin, a young recruit, had died three days after entering Andersonville; that Sergt. Geo. E. Morse and Levi Wooffindale of Company G, and many others, had died at Andersonville, Florence and other prisons; for, like us, they had been carted from one place to another, but their faces brightened as they said, “Not one of the boys went back on the old flag.” I had been proud of the 19th regiment from the first day I joined it, but never did I see the time when I loved and respected those boys more than that day.

More than thirty thousand were crowded into the pen at Andersonville. They had seen their comrades die at the rate of two hundred a day; they had been offered plenty of food and clothing, and no fighting, if they would renounce their allegiance to the old flag and join the southern Confederacy, but they said, “No! No! Death before dishonor!” and waited to join their comrades beneath the starry flag if they lived to be free, if not to join those who had been loyal and true in the camp on the other shore.

We went from Charlotte to Goldsboro, where we arrived the next morning. Here we saw the worst sight that the eyes of mortal ever gazed upon. Two long trains of platform cars, loaded with our men, came in. They had been three days on the road, expecting to be exchanged at Wilmington, but as the city was being bombarded, were turned back. As they were unloaded not one in fifty was able to stand. Many were left dead on the cars, the guards rolling them off as they would logs of wood; most of them were nearly naked, and their feet and hands were frozen; they had lost their reason; could not tell the State they came from, their regiment or company. We threw them what rations we had, and they would fight for them like dogs, rolling over each other in their eagerness to get the least morsel. I remember one poor fellow who had lost his teeth by scurvy; he would pick raw corn out of the dirt by the railroad track and try to eat it. We gave them everything we had. I took my only shirt from my back and threw it to them; others did the same. The rebels allowed us to mingle with them, and with tears streaming down our cheeks we did what we could.

Lieutenant McGinnis and I were looking for our men, when we found one named Thompson, of his company. He was a noble fellow, one of the largest men in the regiment; the only clothing he had on was part of a shirt and that was covered with vermin; he had lost his sight and was almost gone; he died while we were with him. I took a little fellow in my arms and carried him across the street; he could not have been over sixteen years old, and did not weigh more than fifty pounds; he died just as I laid him down.

The men were marched to a camp, and the route was strewn with dead and dying. The citizens gathered around, but I saw or heard no expressions of sympathy. One of our officers said, “My time is out, but all I ask is a chance to once more take the field; I would try and get square.” A rebel officer heard him, and replied, “You are just the man I would like to meet.” Our officer stepped out and said, “Here I am, I have been more than a year in prison, but I will whip you or any other rebel you can furnish.” The rebel sneaked away, and said he would not disgrace himself by fighting a Yankee except in battle. We wished he had given our man a chance.

We were again ordered on board the cars, and it was reported that we were going to Richmond for exchange. We went as far as Raleigh, where we halted, left the train and marched to an old camp. There were a few houses standing, but not enough to hold one-fourth of our number. The rain came down in torrents and we stood all night under the trees. I never passed a more uncomfortable night, for besides being wet and cold, I suffered with hunger.

On the 23d they loaded us on the cars again, and had just started, when the engine ran off the track. This time the cause was an open switch. We believed that the switch was intentionally left open, but the train ran so slowly that we were off the cars as soon as the engine left the track, and no one was hurt. We were then taken to Camp Holmes, some three miles out of the city, and paroles were made out and signed. This settled the question of escape and we began to feel happy. We remained here until the 26th, and began to think that the parole was another trap to keep us with a small guard. All were excited, and had they not moved three hundred at noon I don’t believe a man able to travel would have remained in camp that night.