Our anticipations of worse treatment in consequence of our attempted escape were not realized. Colonel Lee thought the jail was no longer a safe place, and ordered us to be taken to the city barracks. Our apartment here was far more pleasant than our quarters in the jail had been. It was large, well lighted, and provided with a fire-place, which the chilliness of the days (it was now in October) made a great acquisition. It also commanded a view of one of the busiest public squares of Atlanta, and we would sit in the windows, which had no bars across them, and watch the tide of human life that flowed before us, for hours at a time, with an interest that only our long seclusion from the world could have given.
Jack Wells, the commander of the barracks, had been an old United States soldier. Being thus brought up under a more honorable system than obtains in the South at present, he did not consider it derogatory to his dignity to treat prisoners kindly. He would come around to our room and talk with us by the hour—telling us great stories of his adventures, and receiving as great in return. Most of the time he was half drunk, and very frequently did not stop at the half way point. In these cases, and when he was in a communicative mood, he would tell us that he did not care a cent which side whipped—that he only held his present position to avoid being conscripted. But his masters knew him to be such a faithful, vigilant officer, and he could so readily control the rude mass who occupied the rebel portion of the barracks, that they readily forgave these little slips of the tongue. We passed our time while here more pleasantly than at any other place in the Confederacy; yet even here, our path was not one of roses. The following incidents will prove this:
The Tennesseeans were confined with us, making twenty in all. Our provisions, which were still very scanty, were handed around in a tray. Mr. Pierce, who is mentioned before, one time conceived his allowance to be too small, and threw it back into the tray again. Not a word was spoken on either side; but in a few minutes the guards came up, and, seizing Pierce, took him out of the room into the cold hall, and tying his hands before his knees, with a stick inserted across under his knees and over his arms, in the way that soldiers call "bucking," they left him there all night. This indignity was perpetrated on an old man over sixty!
One of the guards was a malicious fellow, who delighted in teasing our men by asking them how they liked being shut up in a prison, "playing checkers with their noses on the windows," &c. One day, when he was talking as usual, a Tennesseean, named Barker, replied that he need not be so proud of it, for he would some time have to work like a slave, in the cotton-fields, to help pay the expenses of the war. The guard reported this treasonable remark to the commander. Poor Barker was seized and taken to the punishment-room up stairs, and there suspended by the heels till he fainted; then let down until he revived, then hung up again. This was continued till they were satisfied, when he was taken down, and put into a little, dark dungeon, only about four feet square, and there kept twenty-four hours with nothing to eat!
While in this prison, I had the heartfelt pleasure of helping one man to escape. The guards, and, indeed, all the poorer class of Southerners, were very illiterate. Out of twenty-six who guarded us, only two or three could write at all, and these not enough to be of any service. Wells wrote a hand that nobody but himself could read, and even he not always. Therefore he often came for the prisoners to write short articles for him. On one of these occasions I was in the office, which was just by our room, and equally guarded, writing a requisition for provisions. While thus engaged, a man, dressed in the uniform of a rebel officer, was brought in for confinement in the barracks. He appeared to be very drunk, but remonstrated so hard against being put into the room where the remainder of the prisoners were kept, that Wells consented to let him stay for a while in his office. His money was not taken from him, for Wells, not knowing the charge against him, believed he was arrested only for being drunk—an offence with which he had a good deal of sympathy. Wells had some business to attend to, and went out. A sergeant was with us, but he, too, soon took his departure, leaving us alone. I was busy writing, but, looking up, I saw the stranger approaching me. There was no trace of drunkenness about him. I watched his movements attentively. Soon he was standing by me.
"You are a prisoner?" he queried.
"Yes, sir."
"One they call engine-thieves?" he continued.
I again answered in the affirmative.
"I know you," said he; "I know all about you. I was here when your comrades were hung. Brave men they were, and the cruel deed will yet be avenged. I am not afraid to trust you. They don't yet know who I am, but they will learn to-morrow, and then, if I am still in their hands, I will die, for I am a spy from the Federal army. Can't you help me to escape?"