The Bright Side of Prison Life / Experience, In Prison and Out, of an Involuntary Soujouner in Rebellion

by S. A. Swiggett

We were two days about town, awaiting transportation, and saw that every horse that came within range was confiscated by soldiers, even to stopping wood wagons in the road and taking the animals away from them, the soldiers then leaving for home.

There was much expectation of seeing some of the Union fleet come up the river as transports, but they did not put in an appearance, and the citizens of the town were nearly frantic in consequence, on account of the plundering that was being done. During a conversation with several gentlemen, who were eager to ascertain what was known of the possible coming of the fleet, they told me that only the coming of the Federal army could save them from total financial ruin. The actions of these men were in accordance with their words, and, apparently, they voiced the sentiments of the entire business community.

The Confederate soldiers, realizing that the war was practically over, and being in need of nearly everything, made no apologies for the liberties taken, but, on the principle that "might makes right," appropriated everything in sight that was likely to be of use to them in solving the problem of how to live after peace had been declared. The situation, while full of excitement for all, had its amusing aspect, and I thought of it as another illustration of the fact that "those who dance must pay the fiddler."

Early in our march from the stockade I had had my sympathy greatly excited by the increasing illness of one of the sick men. His birthplace and residence had been in Pennsylvania, but he had gone over the State line and enlisted in the 3d Maryland. He had been sick for some time previous to our departure from the stockade, and had grown rapidly worse while on the road, despite the stimulation of being on his way to home and friends. He had been so brave and cheerful, notwithstanding his youthful age of only eighteen years, that I had become much interested in him. While prostrated on his bed of cotton, he had talked to me of his home and mother, and had spoken bravely of his chances of dying. With a bright look on his face, he had said:

"I may pull through, Captain, and I may not; but I won't give up till I have to, for mother needs me; only I want you to let her know if anything happens."

I had done what I could for the boy, and on several occasion had gotten him milk and other things. He had given me his mother's name and address, but the absence of writing material at the time had prevented the making of other than a mental memorandum, and the necessity for a better record had been overlooked in the confusion and excitement of the trip. When the main body of our command caught up with me at Shreveport I was shocked to learn that he was dead. I had had doubts as to his living to get home, but so early a death was a surprise and shock, which latter was turned to self-reproach and sorrow when I found that I could not recollect the name and address given to me.

Fifteen years afterward, during which time I frequently tried in vain to recollect the data necessary to identify him, the name, address and other knowledge suddenly came to me one day when I was not thinking about it. At once I sat down and wrote to the mother, and in due time received a beautiful letter in reply. My letter was the first word she had received of the boy since he had last written to her in good health and spirits, except that the books of his company bore his name, with an "absent without leave" score against it. I recollected that he had told me of his having slipped off to forage a little on his own account at the time of his capture. Making an affidavit of the facts as I knew them, I sent it to her, and the pension which she could not get upon the records as they stood was promptly allowed her on the affidavit furnished.

After waiting for the Federal transports until tired, our guards placed us on a couple of rebel boats, and we started down the river for the Yankee fleet.

I was on the boat with Colonel Samansky, a Pole. He had been an officer in his own country, had enlisted in the Confederate army, and had gained the rank of Colonel. He lived in Texas and expected to remain there. When he asked me how I had been treated, the only complaint that I could consistently make against those having me in charge was that I had not been exchanged with my regiment. I claimed to him that I had been of more service to the Union as a prisoner than I could have been if I had remained in the service, as I had kept, on an average, two men busy watching me ever since I had been captured. I showed him some samples of my work as exchange commissioner, and purposely magnified the matter. He only laughed and complimented me upon my enterprise, he being the rebel exchange commissioner.

At the mouth of the Red River we met some Federal boats coming up with prisoners. While exchanging boats, all who desired it had a chance to take a swim, and a number of us enjoyed the luxury. Possibly 500 men were in the water at one time.