“Zult, zult.” said Dutchy.
“O, salt! The salt is all gone. All been divided. Salt ausgespiel,” says the Sergeant.
“Zult, zult!” says Duchy.
“Go to h—l” says the Sergeant.
“Var ish der hell?” And then we exploded.
I remained in Richmond until November 24th, when I, with 699 other prisoners was removed to Danville, Va.
We were called out before daylight in the morning. Each man taking with him his possessions. Mine consisted of an old oil-cloth blanket, and a haversack containing a knife and fork and tin plate, also one day’s rations. We formed line and marched down 15th street to Carey, and up Carey street a few blocks, then across the wagon bridge to the Danville depot. Here we were stowed in box cars at the rate of seventy prisoners and four guards in each car. A little arithmetical calculation will show the reader that each of us had a fraction over three square feet at our disposal. Stock buyers now-a-days allow sixty hogs for a car load, and with larger cars than we had. Don’t imagine, however, that I am instituting any comparison between a car load of hogs and a car load of prisoners:—it would be unjust to the hogs, so far as comfort and cleanliness go.
Our train pulled out from the depot, up the river, past the Tredegar Iron Works, and on toward Danville. Our “machine” was an old one and leaked steam in every seam and joint. Sometimes the track would spread apart, then we would stop and spike it down and go ahead. At other times the old engine would stop from sheer exhaustion, then we would get out and walk up the grade, then get on board and away again. Thus we spent twenty-four hours going about one hundred and fifty miles. During the night some of the prisoners jumped from the cars and made their escape, but I saw them two days afterward, bucked and gagged, in the guard-house at Danville.