The pilot was at once arrested and put in irons. We learned afterwards he was court-martialed and given a term at hard labor.
SHORT OF WATER
While on the Crescent the supply of water ran short; then the only water the prisoners had was sea water condensed in the ships, and issued out scalding hot in limited quantities. We would pour the hot water from one tin cup to another until cool enough to swallow without burning the throat.
Think of it! Nothing but hot water to drink in the month of August on shipboard on the southern coast. The Yankees had ice on board, but the prisoners got none of it.
The Crescent steamed on down the coast, passing Charleston Harbor—preparations to receive the prisoners not being completed—to Port Royal Sound, where we remained a few days on shipboard. Here two or three prisoners escaped from the ship in the night-time, by dropping in the water and swimming ashore. Only one, however, made good his escape.
While here we could see sharks swimming about the ship. It took pretty good nerve to get in the water and swim for the shore.
IN THE STOCKADE
When the stockade was ready, we went up to Charleston Harbor, landing on Morris Island, as before said, on the 7th of September, and marched between two lines of negro soldiers (big black, slick negro fellows they were) two miles up the island, and into a stockade made of pine logs set on end in the ground, about twenty feet high, enclosing an acre of ground. In the stockade were small fly-tents arranged in regular military order. Four men occupied each tent.
The negro soldiers guarded us—the sentries, on platforms on the outside of the stockade, about three feet from the top. These sentries would fire upon the slightest provocation, though I must say that the negro soldiers treated the prisoners better than the white officers who commanded them. For these officers the prisoners had a perfect contempt. They were a low-down, measly set. One Lieut.-Col. William Gurney was in command, and the most despisable in the lot was he.
While here the rations were scant and sorry. For breakfast, we had three crackers, sometimes two, and sometimes only one and a half, and a very small piece of bacon, about two ounces; towards the last, five crackers per day were issued. For dinner, we had soup made of some kind of dried peas, about one pint, very unpalatable—for supper, a pint of very thin mush or rice. The mush was made of stale cornmeal, full of worms. One prisoner picked out and counted 125 small, black-headed worms from a cup of this mush. I would pick out worms a while, and then eat the stuff a while, then pick out more worms until all were gone. Some just devoured worms and all, saying they could not afford to loose that much of their rations; that if the worms could stand it, they could. The detestable Yankee lieutenant-colonel would sometimes come into the camp while we were devouring the mush and worms and with a contemptible sneer and Yankee nasal twang, say: "You fellows need fresh meat to keep off scurvy, so I give it to you in your mush."