"We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree."
"We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree."
"We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree."
"We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree."
he came into the room and ordered us to stop singing; but we only sang the louder, telling him that our tongues were our own, and we should sing if we wanted to.
"Well," he replied, "sing, if you will, but you shan't eat, for I'll stop your rations."
This had the desired effect. Our sonorous chorus soon sank to a feeble quaver and faded away. Some of us consoled ourselves with the memory of one occasion when the Iron Brigade entered Warrenton, every man singing "John Brown," the column keeping time to the music. But we did not sing any more on this occasion.
For a time we kept up our courage by cheerful conversation or practical jokes. Sometimes an amusing incident would serve to break the monotony, and was eagerly seized upon and made the most of. Many obtained nick-names, such as "Lengthy," "Shorty," "Whitehead," etc. One, a Lieutenant Wetterville, obtained the nickname of "Rats" in this way: One night, after all had retired, and the cheerful snore began to enliven the sleepless hours of the restless, this youngofficer was roused from his slumbers by a huge rat gnawing his toes. He sprang to his feet in affright, and ran the length of the room, shouting: "Rats! Rats!" arousing all the sleepers, to the indignation of some and the mirth of others. The scene ended with three cheers and a tiger, for "Rats." This light-heartedness was but the foam on the surface, and only ill concealed the troubled under-current that was gradually mining away the better feelings of our natures.
The mind of man is so constituted that he cannot be deprived of his liberty for any considerable time, without there being generated an inordinate desire to be free. Actual physical ills become secondary to this acute desire:
"The wish which ages have not yet subdued,In man to have no master but his mood."
"The wish which ages have not yet subdued,In man to have no master but his mood."
"The wish which ages have not yet subdued,In man to have no master but his mood."
"The wish which ages have not yet subdued,
In man to have no master but his mood."
This feeling at length becomes morbid, the gay laugh becomes hollow and forced, the eye loses its fire, and a hopeless expression settles over the countenance like a pall.
The novelty of our situation had not yet worn away. We had been comparatively well treated, and, besides, we were planning an escape. Somenegroes had contrived to communicate with us, and through them we had concocted a scheme for crossing the river. We had started a tunnel out of the yard from a closet, and were to be harbored by a negro family until we could procure some Confederate clothing. Two of the prisoners had formed the acquaintance of some women by talking through the fence, and through them had secured a suit of Confederate clothes. Clad in these, they had boldly walked out past the guards in open daylight, escaped across the river, and never were recaptured.
Before we had perfected our tunnel, we were removed to Danville. There we were confined in a two-storied brick building that had been used as a prison for deserters, and was filthy beyond description. The floors were covered with dirt and grease, and literally swarmed with vermin. Our rations here, consisted of pea soup and corn bread. Such bread, and such soup! The very recollection is nauseating. Guards were stationed around the building, with orders to shootany person seen looking out of the windows. The first knowledge we had of the existence of such an order was, by a bullet whistling through the room, and grazing an officer's head. The official in charge of the prison apologized for this occurrence, telling us that he had forgotten to notify us of the standing order given the guard, a slight omission that might have proved fatal to some of us.
We remained here but a few days, when we were again packed in freight cars and started for Macon, Georgia. Every change in our place of imprisonment thus far had been for the worse, yet we hailed this news almost with rapture. We thought, poor fools! that anything was better than our present situation. Alas! We had not yet tasted the dregs of the bitter draught before us. We had not conceived the idea that such a brute as "Hog Winder" could exist, or that men wearing the human form could be so debased as to serve as the willing agents of such a demon. We had not even heard the names of Tabb and Wirz.We were then miserably dirty, covered with vermin, and half starved; but we had yet to learn the horrors of starvation.
Happily ignorant of the future, we gladly started for our new destination. A rumor of an exchange in progress filled us with new hope, and although standing room was scarce and a chance to sit down at a premium in our crowded cars—seventy-five men being packed into each small-sized freight car—once more the song and jest went round. We could even laugh, as we told and retold each other that we should certainly be exchanged now; the more sanguine being sure that we were even then on the way to a general rendezvous established on the coast for that purpose.
While the train halted at Augusta to take on wood, a crowd gathered around to see the show—among others a boy about twelve years old, who carried a large market basket filled with sandwiches. We looked longingly at the food and tried to purchase, but he refused to sell to "Yanks," and the guard seemed highly pleasedat his spirit, allowing him to approach near to the train.
Ours was the last car, and he lingered around the rear of it, talking with us, always in the most defiant manner; only it seemed to me that his countenance did not denote him to be the ferocious rebel his language seemed to indicate, and I could not help thinking it strange that he should refuse to sell to the guards, who tried to buy of him. At last the train began to move. He waited until we were fairly under way, then tossed the basket to us and ran back into the crowd.
In the basket was a note from his mother, a Union woman, filled with brave, hopeful words, saying that she trusted to the native shrewdness of her son to secure to us her offering. The note was handed round, and many a thankful heart blessed that woman, not so much for the timely offering of food, as for the words of sympathy and kindness that accompanied the gift.
After a long and exceedingly tiresome journey, we arrived at Macon. I can not even now repress a shudder as I pronounce that name. It isassociated in my mind with suffering, misery, starvation, death.
Near a beautiful grove of trees, about twenty rods from the railroad, was an enclosure of about five acres, nearly square in form, surrounded by a fence constructed of pine boards twelve feet long, fastened perpendicularly to rails in the same manner we sometimes see tight-board-fences made in the North. Four feet from the top, on the outside, a walk was constructed. On this sentinels were stationed at intervals of about fifty feet. Near the entrance, on the outside, was the office of the commander of the prison, a small wooden structure.
Upon our arrival we were passed into the office, one at a time, and from there into the prison yard. We could not imagine why so much caution should be used in passing us in. Some suspected that the Provost Marshal wanted to examine our passports. At length my turn came, and I passed in. Before me stood a thing in uniform. I cannot describe his personal appearance. Imagine, if you can, an excessively vicious baboon, dressedin gray, half drunk, and you have him—Captain Tabb!
Upon my entrance he looked me over and observed to a subordinate, "No pickin's here!" Then he walked up to me, and with the dexterity of an expert pickpocket inserted his hands in my pockets. He seemed intuitively to know the exact location of each one. If my life had depended on keeping silence, I could not have refrained from telling him, as I did, when he found nothing to reward his industry, that another thief had forestalled him.
I expected that he would be very angry at hearing this, but he only laughed, remarking: "I kind o' reck'ned from your looks that you'd been cleaned out. You can git." Filled with indignation and disgust, I left his presence, and was ushered into the Macon prison pen.
What a sight! Who were these gaunt skeletons, clothed with rags, covered with dirt, who crowded up to the gate, yelling, "Fresh fish! Fresh fish!" Long skeleton fingers were alreadyinserted into our haversacks, eagerly searching for the crumbs at the bottom; wild, eager eyes were peering into our faces—eyes from which had departed all expression except that of hopeless misery.
One pressed through the crowd and called me by name, and listlessly held out his hand. I looked at him in astonishment. There was not a feature that I could recognize. His hair and beard were long and neglected, he was barefooted, a coarse blue shirt and a pair of overalls were his only clothing. The expression of his face, like that of his companions, was indescribable. It mirrored the soul of a man from whom hope had forever departed.
"I don't know you!" I cried in horror.
He laughed a bitter, mocking laugh. "I used to be Captain Rollins," he said.
"Can it be possible!" I exclaimed.
I thought of the last time I had seen him, on the first day of July, 1863, at the battle of Gettysburg, a man noble in appearance and in character, a lawyer by profession, who had formerly served on General Cutler's staff, and who had been myown intimate friend. He had been captured on that day, and this was the sequel.
"Who are these men around you? Who and what are they?" I asked.
"Old Libby prisoners," he replied. "Officers, all of them. We only arrived a few days since. No hope of exchange, I suppose?"
I told him of the rumor we had heard on starting from Danville. He laughed. "That's an old ruse," said he. "We are always told that when being moved, to prevent our trying to escape."
My heart sank within me. Hungry and tired, we began to look around for a place to sleep, or at all events to lie down and rest. There was a long frame building in the yard, that had formerly been used for a fair building. Three or four wooden sheds had been erected, open at the sides, but everything in the shape of a building was already crowded to its fullest capacity.
At length a few of us dug a hole under the structure first described, and burrowed there. We were fortunate, for the larger proportion of our comrades were compelled to camp in the open air,without either fire or blankets, subjected to the heavy dews at night and the scorching sun by day.
On the inside of the pen, about ten feet from the high fence already described, was a picket fence, about five feet high. This was the "Dead Line." All were forbidden to approach within three feet of it, under penalty of death, and the sentinels were judges as to distance.
A small stream ran through one corner of the pen. Over this were the sinks, and by the side of it the spring, from which we obtained water. This spring was about ten feet from the "Dead Line." There were two or three trees scattered through the yard, that, for a favored few, afforded shade from the sun's burning rays, and a partial protection from the dew.
There were about twelve hundred old Libby prisoners in this pen when we arrived, and with the accession of our squad it was crowded to its fullest capacity. It was easy by the expression of their faces alone, to distinguish the "Fresh fish" from the old prisoners. Those of the latter had a starved, hopeless look, that must have been seen to be realized. Long confinement andstarvation have the effect of deadening all the finer feelings. They are brutalizing. All the selfish propensities are developed. The mind becomes gangrened. Long brooding over the deplorable situation, with hunger constantly gnawing at the vitals, gradually saps away all that is noble and God-like, leaving active only the animal nature.
I saw two Lieutenants belonging to the regular army, snap, snarl, and actually fight over the distribution of a tablespoonful of corn meal; yet these men were educated gentlemen, and under ordinary circumstances would have resented as an insult the imputation that they could ever be guilty of such conduct. I looked at them, and wondered if we too would become like the pitiable objects around us.
With these thoughts came visions of the longing, waiting hearts at the North. These men represented homes, scattered through every loyal State, in which sat the patient wife or mother, anxiously watching for tidings of husband or son. In the reports she had read with sinking heart the fearful words, "missing in action," or "woundedand missing," and the cry had gone up from quivering lips, "Oh God, let me not be left a widow and my children fatherless!" Then had commenced the long agony of suspense, of waiting, waiting, waiting—how drear an ordeal, only those who have passed through it can tell.
I thought of a certain little cottage home, wherein was gathered my own little flock, and pictured to myself the anguish they were then enduring. I had been reported killed, as I had ascertained from an officer captured later. For the first time I realized the full horror of the situation.
Appetite was already clamorous, and we began to make inquiries about rations. We were told that these would be issued in the morning. That would be twenty-four hours without food.
Slowly the first long night in our new prison passed away. Early in the morning we were turned out for roll call. Captain Tabb had appeared with his guard, a line was formed across the centre of the yard, and we were all driven to one side of it, and then commenced the roll call, or rather the count. One by one we were passed through a particular part of the line and counted,Tabb making a practice of heaping upon us every insult his debased mind could invent. How our fingers itched to get hold of him as we passed!
The count over, came the issuing of rations. These consisted of a pint of corn meal and a teaspoonful of salt to each man, and once in two or three days a slice of bacon, or a handful of black peas in lieu of the bacon. This was to last us twenty-four hours. Ought we not to feel grateful to our Southern brethren for the sumptuous manner in which they entertained us? We no longer wondered at the starved, cadaverous look of the old prisoners; we only wondered that they were alive.
Our former prisons had been comfortable, in comparison with this. We realized that long confinement in this situation meant slow but certain death by starvation and exposure, and we began to cast about us to see if there were no hope of speedy release.
An exchange became the topic of conversation. It was last in our thoughts at night, and first in the morning. Every morsel of news with reference to it was eagerly discussed and repeated; but withus, as with the old Libby prisoners, came the conviction that a speedy exchange was not to be hoped for. We were tauntingly told by Tabb that our government would not exchange us unless their government would exchange the negro troops, and that we were thus placed on a level with the niggers by our own government, and that this was all that stood in the way of exchange.
I thank God that I can truthfully say, that not a corporal's guard of these starving men could be found, who did not say that if that were the case, and we could by our own votes determine the question, rather than that the government should abandon to their fate any of her soldiers who had worn the blue and fought under the stars and stripes, be they black or white, they would stay there and starve.
With the death to our hope of exchange, was born the hope of escape. Various plans were discussed and abandoned. An organization was attempted to revolt—overpower the guard, and fight our way through to our lines with such weaponsas we could capture from the guards. But when we came coolly to reflect upon the project, and considered the desperateness of the attempt on the part of fifteen hundred unarmed, unorganized men, to overpower about an equal number, well-armed and supported by a battery, we abandoned the project.
Then we planned to escape by tunneling out. We found that prior to our arrival a party had been organized for this very purpose, and that a tunnel had already been started. After considerable finesse, a few of us were admitted to the confidence of the conspirators, and permitted to participate in the digging.
The greatest secrecy was observed in this enterprise. Not more than twenty or thirty of the prisoners knew of the tunnel's existence, and they were by a solemn oath bound not to reveal their knowledge. One would suppose that there could have been no danger from the prisoners themselves; but subsequent events proved that these precautions were only too necessary.
This tunnel was started in one of the sheds, under a bank, about twenty feet from the Dead Line,and it had progressed about ten feet when I first transformed myself into a woodchuck.
Our mining tools consisted of a strap hinge, fastened to a stick about two feet long, a tin dipper, and some sacks. The manner of digging was to lie upon the side, and with the hinge work out the hard clay. This was loaded into the sacks by means of the cup. A confederate, holding a cord attached to the sack, would draw it back and empty it, and then crawl back to the digger, who by this time would have another sack of dirt ready.
After getting about thirty feet from the mouth of the tunnel, the air became so bad that a candle would not burn for a second, and the number of diggers who could endure this atmosphere was reduced to two or three. The sensation on first getting back to the mouth end of the tunnel, was that of suffocation; the perspiration would start from every pore; but after a few moments this would partially pass away. It was, however, nothing unusual for the digger, after his work in the tunnel, to faint away upon getting to fresh air.
The natural inquiry will arise: What became of the dirt? The negroes took care of it for us. Every morning the ground in the pen was nicely swept up, and the dirt hauled away by negroes. We piled up the dirt taken from the tunnel, and when the negroes came with their cart, they would take great pains to put the red dirt on the bottom of the cart, and cover it with the black. They knew what we were doing, by the appearance of this fresh earth; but when they came to one of our red piles, it was only by a wink of the eye or a broad grin that they indicated their knowledge.
We had progressed about ninety feet with our tunnel, and were outside the guards. We only needed to make thirty feet more to come out behind a brick wall across the street.
We had then been working on it for about a month but at this juncture we were betrayed by one of our own men, a Lieutenant of a cavalry regiment, by the name of Silver.
The first intimation we had of our betrayal, was one morning at roll call. I think it was on thefirst day of July, after we had been driven to one end of the pen, after the custom I have described. We saw the Confederate officer and a guard inspecting the ground in the vicinity of the tunnel. This they did by stabbing a bayonet into the ground, as no one could detect the existence of the tunnel by the eye, the mouth being covered and dirt swept over it, so as to make it resemble the surface.
Imagine our feelings as we saw them approach the mouth of the hole. That tunnel, to us, was the door to liberty. It was the telescope through which we could see wife, children, and friends. Men who never prayed before, prayed now that it might not be discovered.
But alas! these prayers were vain. All our labor and our suffering in this direction had been for naught, and I am not ashamed to say that some of us wept like children over our disappointment. We did not then know by what means the enemy had discovered our plan of escape, for we could not imagine that we had been betrayed. At first we were disposed to lay the blame upon ourselves,believing that in some way the guard had discovered something suspicious from the fact that a day or two before unusual excitement had, for the following reason been manifested by those interested in the scheme.
It had been agreed between the parties engaged in digging, that while engaged in work during the daytime, we would submit to the follow regulations: Each should perform an equal amount of labor in the tunnel, and in case the authorities came into the yard, or if from any cause there should be danger of discovery, the watchman should immediatelycover the mouth of the tunnel. The person digging should submit to this necessity, and take his chance for life. What that chance was, may readily be inferred, from the fact that with the mouth of the tunnel open, air of any kind was a scarce commodity, and the quality nothing to boast of.
It so happened that while I was busily engaged at work in the tunnel that day, the air was suddenly darkened, and a rattle at the mouth end notified me that the emergency had arrived, uponwhich we had agreed to risk life itself. I was buried alive.
To attempt to describe the sensations of a person at such a moment, is simply impossible. Within a minute from the time the mouth of the tunnel was closed, the air was exhausted. And here let me describe the manner of closing it: First, about four inches from the surface, a flange or offset received a covering of boards; over this an old shirt was spread, to prevent the dirt from sifting through the cracks, and over this about three inches of dirt were placed. Then a few whisks of the brush broom, and the eye could detect nothing to denote the existence of a cavity beneath.
It is said that necessity is the mother of invention. I was not ready to die just then; to live, I must have air. To attempt to get back to the mouth and open it, even could I succeed in doing so, would betray the existence of the tunnel, and forfeit a solemn pledge.
All this flashed through my mind with the rapidity of lightning. As by an inspiration, themeans of preserving my life was suggested to me. Rolling upon my back, I commenced boring for air. Inserting the point of the hinge in the roof of the tunnel, and turning and pushing it with the energy of despair, I worked at the hard clay two feet or more above my head. Slowly but gradually, inch by inch, the improvised drill worked its way to the air and life. Just as I thought my very last energy expended, and when the handle of the drill lacked an inch of being inserted its entire length, the end broke the surface of the ground over my head, and air, blessed air, came rushing into the aperture. Withdrawing the drill I placed my mouth to the hole, and breathed. Oh, the ecstacy, the supreme comfort of that moment is indescribable! I was saved.
In the meantime, on the outside, I had a friend—not in name only, but a friend in deed—one of the noblest men the sun ever shone upon: L. G. Billings, Paymaster in the United States Navy. Billings and I were among the very few who could bear the bad air in the tunnel. He knew I was in there when the mouth was closed, and it took the united efforts of the initiated tokeep him away from it. As soon as the investigating officer had left the yard, he tore open the mouth of the tunnel and plunged in.
I heard my name called, but I kept quiet, thinking I would see what he would do. Hearing no response, and believing me dead, I heard him groan, "My God, he is dead!" and then he commenced crawling to where I was. I waited until he had nearly reached me, but when I heard him sobbing like a child, I could hold out no longer.
"Billings, my friend," I said, "I am all right, thank God."
"Thank God!" he rejoined; "but how did you live?"
"Look here," I said, pointing to the hole I had drilled.
Therefore, when our tunnel was discovered we thought that the excitement caused by my imprisonment in the ground had led to our detection. But the following morning one of the negroes, while loading the dump cart, informed us that "Massa Lieutenant Silver told Massa Captain all about it." We immediately organized ourselves into a detective force for the purpose ofascertaining the facts, and in a short time became convinced of the truth of this statement. But while we were contriving ways and means to procure a rope, the Confederate authorities intervened and took Silver out of prison, and that is the last we ever saw or heard of him. What price was paid for his treachery we never knew. We realized only the fact that we were again hopeless prisoners.
By this time our clothing was ragged, and it was only by the greatest care that it could be kept even tolerably clean.
Our rations I have before described. Oh, ye epicures, think of it! A pint of corn meal to last you twenty-four hours! As you sit down to your tables, covered with substantial food, imagine it swept away, and in its place a pint of mush, or in lieu of that a corn dodger, but little larger than your two hands, to last you twenty-four hours. There were at this time about fifteen hundred officers confined in this pen, literally starving. It was only a question of time. The result was as certain death, eventually, as itwould have been had we been entirely deprived of food.
One day, by some means, a cat got into the yard, and caught a rat. When I saw the feline, she had the rat, and the idea immediately struck me that there was no great difference between a rat and a squirrel. I remembered also the customs of the antipodal Chinese, as related and illustrated in old school geographies, and immediately gave chase. As good fortune would have it, I succeeded in capturing the cat and the rat before my companions in misery had got the idea through their heads that rats were fresh meat. Like a fool, I let the cat go, and commenced skinning the rat.
A hungry officer, looking on, instantly caught the idea, and made for the cat. Good gracious, how foolish I felt! The cat was so much larger than the rat, and although poor and skinny was much the more valuable, for there was more meat there. But I was too late.
I felt fortunate in securing my share of the spoils, and immediately cast about for the best method of serving my dainty dish, so as to make itgo the furthest. After long consideration I determined to have a soup. I looked over my stock of peas and found I had about two-thirds of a cupful. Many of them, probably about a half, were wormy. If I threw these away, there would not be enough left, so I concluded that if the worms could stand it I could. I then recollected seeing a beef bone that had been thrown away by some officer who was so fortunate as to have enough money to purchase it and had used it once. I picked it up, and found, on close inspection, that the marrow was still left almost intact. I washed the bone and cracked it. I also found some dried onion peelings, and with these, the peas, the bone, and the rat, I made my soup. Oh, ye gods! How I feasted!
But rats were scarce. We were starving. We must be exchanged, escape, or die. We had lost all hopes of the first. The most of us did not feel prepared for the last, and so a few of us concluded to start another tunnel. This time we decided to limit the membership of the tunneling party to a select few, and these were sworn to secrecy. We started operations under the bunk ofColonel O. H. La Grange,[3]and succeeded in sinking a shaft to a depth of about five feet, whereupon we commenced tunneling.
FOOTNOTE:[3]Afterwards General. In after years General La Grange became the Superintendent of the San Francisco Mint, and died in California in 188-, universally mourned by the community in which he lived, and to which he had endeared himself by his high character and winning personality.
[3]Afterwards General. In after years General La Grange became the Superintendent of the San Francisco Mint, and died in California in 188-, universally mourned by the community in which he lived, and to which he had endeared himself by his high character and winning personality.
[3]Afterwards General. In after years General La Grange became the Superintendent of the San Francisco Mint, and died in California in 188-, universally mourned by the community in which he lived, and to which he had endeared himself by his high character and winning personality.
Before we had progressed more than six feet, we were informed that six hundred of our number were to be sent to Charleston, to be placed under the fire of our own guns. This news at once changed our plans of operations. A secret society was started, called the "Council of Ten," the object of which was to capture the train when we arrived at the Pocotaligo River, and to make our way to our lines at Port Royal.
Our leader was Captain David McKibbin, of the Fourteenth Wisconsin Infantry, a good, cool-headed man. Although the scheme was a failure, it was through no fault of his, as subsequent events demonstrated.
While we were perfecting our plans for the capture of the train, and awaiting the order for our removal, time, which waits for no man, again brought around the anniversary of our National Independence. The Fourth day of July, 1864, is a day that will never be forgotten by the inmates of that prison yard.
The sun rose that morning, clear and bright. The leaves on the forest trees that lined our prison were sparkling with bright dewdrops, which, shaken by the morning breeze and falling to earth, seemed weeping over our misfortunes. The air resounded with the musical voices of feathered songsters, vying with each other in chanting their morning hymns of praise to the Great Giver of all Good. In imagination we could hear the church bells pealing at the North, calling the people as of yore, to celebrate the Nation's natal day. Suddenly the prison gates were thrown open, and the voice of a Confederate officer rudely awakened us from our pleasing day dreams, with "Turn out, Yanks, for the roll call!"
As we passed through the line of our jailors, we discovered a group of officers, seemingly agood deal excited. Upon approaching them we discovered that one had constructed a miniature national flag. It was only about four by six inches, but it was the stars and stripes, the national emblem. How dear that old flag is to every man who deserves to be called an American, can only be appreciated by one deprived of its protection. How the eye of a traveler in a foreign land will sparkle and his bosom heave, when the stars and stripes unexpectedly meet his eye, flaunting proudly to the breeze! To the soldier and sailor, that flag is the representative of his and his country's honor. On the battle field he will defend it with his life. When defeated and flying, at the sight of his ragged colors he will rally, and under its folds do and dare all, and even die for its protection.
To us that little flag was the emblem of the cause for which we were then suffering imprisonment and facing death, and for which our comrades were then struggling on the field of battle; and for which so many poor fellows had already rendered up their lives. As one by one we gathered around it, manly tears were dropped fromeyes unused to the melting mood. With hands clasped we sang the "Star-spangled Banner," and then one of our number (a chaplain) raised his voice in prayer. A stillness, like that of the grave, settled down on the whole vast assemblage, broken only by the voice of the man of God, asking Heaven's blessing upon us and the flag.
When he had finished his prayer, all joined in singing "Rally 'round the Flag," ending with three times three cheers for the Union and the President of the United States. Speakers were called out and responded, and better speeches I never heard in my life.
The excitement became intense. The Confederates, alarmed by the unusual stir, doubled the guard, manned two pieces of artillery bearing upon the camp, and then advised us to desist from further demonstrations. But notwithstanding this order, we kept up our celebration until nearly dark, and as we composed ourselves to sleep that night, it was with intensified feelings of loyalty to our country.
A few days later six hundred of our number were selected to be sent to Charleston.Afterwards, all the Macon prisoners, myself included, were added to the number. It was amusing to see the anxiety displayed by the prisoners to go to Charleston, for the purpose for which we were sent was well understood. Any onlooker might have supposed from the eagerness exhibited by the prisoners, that they expected to be exchanged at once, rather than to become targets for our own gunners to shoot at. Yet in this anxiety I fully shared; not that I was particularly anxious to be shot, but because I had made up my mind that we would capture the train. I had full faith in our ability to do so; and still believe that we should have succeeded, had not our plans been suspected by or become positively known to our captors.
The plan was this: The means of transportation used, was common freight cars. From sixty to seventy of us were loaded into each. There were usually four guards stationed inside, and about five on the top of each car. We had it so arranged that from eight to ten of the Council of Ten should be apportioned to each car, under the command of an officer selected by ourselves. When the designated point should be reached, ata signal from Captain McKibbin, who was in the first car in the rear of the tender, we were to seize, gag, and bind the guard on the inside, while the party in the Captain's car would stave a hole through the end and uncouple it. When the train stopped, we were to rush from the train and overpower the guards on top of the cars, and with muskets force our way to the coast. But
"The best laid schemes o' mice an' menGang aft agley."
"The best laid schemes o' mice an' menGang aft agley."
"The best laid schemes o' mice an' menGang aft agley."
"The best laid schemes o' mice an' men
Gang aft agley."
Just before we reached the designated point, the guards were all withdrawn from inside the cars, and about thirty of them placed upon the top of the Captain's car, with instructions, at any unusual noise, to fire through the roof. By this arrangement we were deprived of the chance to capture four muskets inside each car, and besides incurred the certainty of having many men killed or wounded by the guards on top. Under these circumstances, our leader became convinced that the attempt would be a failure, and did not give the signal.
As soon as we became assured that our plan had failed, six of us determined to attempt to escape by leaping from the train. It required but a few moments to perfect our arrangements. The night was not quite so dark as we could have wished, there being a bright moon, only occasionally obscured by a passing cloud. But, waiting until the train was running on a down grade, at its maximum speed, we sprang from the car.
As good fortune would have it, we struck in a soft sand bank. The train passed on without our being observed by the guard, and none of us were injured. The place was near Adam's Run, about twelve or thirteen miles from Charleston. We were without compass or map. A council was called, and all the pros and cons of the situation discussed. We concluded that by traveling east, we would, at all events, strike the coast, and if we failed in finding our troops, we might possibly run across one of our vessels.
Calculating our direction by the moon and stars, as near as we could, we left the railroad andplunged into a South Carolina swamp. Of all the doleful places on the face of God's green earth, I do not think there is another so hideous. The timber is a species of cypress, from which hangs a gray moss, from three to twenty feet in length. When it is high tide, the water is from two to six feet deep. At low tide the surface has the appearance of solid earth; but in fact there are only a few inches of soil, supported by the cypress roots, which spread over, or rather just under the surface, and form a network, through which the unwary traveler is liable to break at any moment, and find himself unceremoniously seated on a root with his feet hanging either in water, or in space below, as the case may be. Every few rods there is a bayou, or slough, frequented by alligators. All kinds of vines and hanging plants interlace the spaces between the trees, and render it tiresome and difficult to penetrate. Several kinds of birds with mournful cries, and myriads of frogs, make night hideous, while the air is fairly alive with mosquitoes and gnats, and every tussock of grass seems tenanted by the poisonous moccasin snake. Occasionally a huge alligator will flop into aneighboring slough with a splash, and the snap of his hungry jaws can be heard for rods.
Altogether, the traveling is neither pleasant nor swift; but through it all we toiled on. Starvation and imprisonment were behind us, and liberty and the dear old home to the front. Our progress was necessarily slow, and before we were fairly started, the sun began to gild the east with his rosy beams. As nearly as we could calculate, we had traveled in the neighborhood of five miles since leaving the railroad. By the rise and the fall of the tide, we knew that we could not be far from the coast. We had no provisions; we must either reach the shore or starve. Safety dictated that we should seek a thicket and hide during the daytime, but necessity commanded us to travel while we had strength, and so we toiled on.
At length we came to a ridge running through the swamp, at about a right angle to our line of march. While crossing it we suddenly saw two horsemen moving leisurely along over what we discovered to be a well-traveled road. Fortunately seeing them before they saw us, we threw ourselves on the ground among the scrub pines.They proved to be a Confederate officer and his negro servant, and passed within perhaps three or four rods without discovering us. It was a narrow escape. We carefully reconnoitered the ground, crossed the road, and again plunged into the swamp.
After traveling a mile or two farther, we again met with an obstruction that compelled us to come to a halt. We had reached an outpost of the enemy. Peering through the underbrush we reconnoitered the ground. Before us, in a ridge running through the swamp, was a squadron of Confederate cavalry. There was but one thing for us to do, and that was to keep quiet until night.
Throughout the whole long summer afternoon we lay in a thicket, within a quarter of a mile of the enemy's cavalry. Occasionally the long-drawn-out note of a horn was heard, followed by the baying of hounds. We had read of the famous "negro dogs," and had been told by friends who had escaped and been recaptured, that they were used by our enemies to hunt down fugitives, so that these sounds did not serve tolessen our disquietude, or to render our situation more pleasant.
The sun at length disappeared, however, without our being discovered, and darkness almost immediately followed the setting of the sun. Unfortunately, the night was cloudy. The moon and stars, which had been our guides the night before, were obscured. We could only guess our course by the direction of the wind, and an occasional glance at the heavens through a break in the clouds. We were nearly exhausted by fatigue and want of food.
The enemy's pickets were in our front, and must be passed that night or never. Watching, crawling, now through quagmire and slime, now over fallen trees and through creeping vines, our eyes blinded by the stings of poisonous gnats and mosquitoes, we toiled on.
Hark! What is that? A human voice in our front! It must be the picket line. No chance to pass it here. The ground is dry, and the snapping of a twig might betray us. Back—silently, stealthily, and then by the left flank, to the swamp. Wading out into it, we found a slough. Gettinginto the middle of that, we waded down in the direction of the picket line. If we made an occasional splash, we knew it could do no harm; alligators were plenty, and the noise might be attributed to them.
Silently, scarcely breathing, we trudged through the water—stagnant and poisonous with malaria, among the alligators, lizards, frogs and snakes—and at last, thank God! past the pickets. Then working our way through a mass of tangled vines, we were again out on a dry ridge, with the enemy behind us, and Old Ocean and Liberty not far distant.
A few moments of rest and whispered congratulations, and then again on. On—yes, but in what direction? The wind had ceased to blow, thick clouds obscured the sky, we had no guide to direct us. A few moments' reflection convinced us that the attempt to travel farther that night would result in the useless expenditure of our little remaining strength. So, crawling into a thicket, we huddled together like swine, to save a little warmth to our bodies, while as patiently as we could, we waited for daylight.
Morning at last, and no clouds to obscure the sun. At our feet, all around us, glittering and sparkling in the dewdrops, kind Providence had provided us with a breakfast—whortleberries by the handsful. Eagerly gathering them, we satisfied the cravings of appetite.
Refreshed and invigorated by our breakfast, with our direction secured, and with renewed energy we again pushed on to the coast. It was past noon. We knew that we must be within a few miles of the ocean. Hark! What is that? Away back of us, at regular intervals, came the long-drawn-out yell of a pack of hounds. For several minutes we looked in each others' faces, and listened. Were they after us? The sound came from last night's camp. A short time sufficed to make our fears a certainty. The hounds were on our trail.
Now again for the bayou! A half-mile would take us to the swamp again. Can we reach it in time? Now, boys, keep together if you can! Like greyhounds, away we started. Our intelligence was matched against brute instinct. Which would succeed?
We had heard that water would baffle the keen scent of the dogs. The friendly bayou was at last reached, and into it we plunged, now unmindful of the lazy alligators, quite regardless of the dangerous moccasin snakes that infested it. We floundered along, now in mud and mire, now stumbling over logs, for perhaps a mile. Then, fainting and exhausted, we left this morass and started on our course. Ever and anon, however, we could hear the baying of the hounds, sometimes farther, sometimes nearer.
Would our ruse be successful? Could the beasts follow us through the water? At intervals we stopped and listened. We could easily tell when they struck the bayou. For a short time there was a cessation of their regular bay, and then it broke out again, accompanied by the sound of horses. Nearer and nearer they came. They were following our trail through the bayou.
Billings had that courage that never failed. He had been the life of the party. When it becameevident that we must be overtaken, he selected the feeblest of us, directed them to crawl through a thicket of willows, one after the other, himself bringing up the rear, leaving but a single track for the brutes to follow; and then, under his direction, we armed ourselves with clubs and awaited the attack. Imagine, if you can, the feelings of that group of officers.
We had all been reared at the North, in a land of schools and churches. We were men of ordinary intelligence, accustomed to mingling in the society of our fellows, men who at home or in the army were qualified by education and character to be called gentlemen, and possessed at least the ordinary feelings of manhood. Yet there we were, run down and standing like brutes at bay, to defend ourselves from a pack of hounds. One glance at the faces of my comrades revealed more of their feelings than could printed pages.
With noses to the ground, on came the dogs, at a slow gallop, once in a while lifting their heads to emit their infernal howls. Behind them were a few cavalry men. At last the thicket wasreached, and one after another the bloodhounds plunged in. Now could be seen the wisdom of Billings's plan. The dogs were compelled to follow each other in single file, for the track we made was but wide enough to admit one at a time.
With our clubs firmly grasped, standing on either side of the path, we awaited the appearance of the leader. Before his head appeared in sight, however, we were discovered by the hunters, who comprehended the situation at a glance. One or two sharp toots of the horn, and the dogs stopped.
Bringing his carbine to bear on us, the fellow called out: "Well, Yanks, do you surrender?"
We were unarmed, surrounded. "We can do nothing else," we replied.
"Throw down your clubs, then."
"But how about the dogs? We do not surrender to them. If they attack us we shall defend ourselves."
"I won't let the dogs bite you," he replied.
With this assurance we threw down our clubs, and were again prisoners. The dogs paid no further attention to us, except to smell about, acting very much like other hounds.
"Would those dogs have bitten us, if you had not called them off?" I asked.
The fellow grinned as he replied: "I reckon they might; right smart, too. I've seen them hounds eat niggers, and I reckon they wouldn't know the difference atween them and you uns. You uns wuz green to take to the bayou," he again remarked.
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, if you traveled there for fun, it wuz all right; but if you did it to throw the dogs off the scent it wuz d——d green, for dogs will follow the scent in stagnant water as well as on dry land."
"How would it be in a running stream?" I asked.
"Well, ef you are in a running stream, ef you travel up and the dogs are close on your trail, they kin foller; but ef you travel down, they can't. But," he added, "ef you go down, and the dogs is throwed off the scent, then I kin foller, fer then I know you've gone down."
"How about rain?" I asked.
"A rain gits us," he replied. "It kinder washes out all the scent."
"Are you a soldier?" I asked.
"I suppose so," he answered. "I draw pay as a soldier; but my business has allers been catching niggers, and that wuz the business of my father before me. Me an' the dogs has done nothin' but hunt niggers, deserters, an' sich, ever sence the war."
"What pay do you draw?" I asked.
"Oh, just common pay," he said. "Pay don't amount to much anyway; but I draw a ration for each of them dogs."
"What kind of a ration?"
"Just the same as a soldier's. But I sell the rations and feed the dogs mostly on alligator meat an' scrapin's. I tell you, stranger," exclaimed he, waxing enthusiastic, "them dogs has catched more niggers an' deserters than all the Provost Marshals in South Carolina."
"But," said I, "have you no compunctions about making a business of hunting down human beings this way?"
"To be honest," said he, "it does go agen the grain to hunt white men, but I do as I'm ordered."
"Then the Confederate government recognizes the use of hounds for this purpose as legitimate warfare, does it?"
"Certainly it does, or how could I draw rations for the dogs?"
I looked the brutes over—sixteen four-legged Confederate soldiers, regularly mustered into the service.
"Well," said I, "you Southerners need not say anything more against the North employing negroes for soldiers, when you use dogs. I had rather fight by the side of a negro than a bloodhound."
"That's jest as a feller is raised," said he. "I think niggers is more ornery than dogs."
A year or two since this negro hunter, Davis, exhibited his pack of bloodhounds in New York City, and among those who attended the exhibition was my friend L. G. Billings. I should have supposed his curiosity would have been gratified in South Carolina. For my own part, although I am fond of dogs and of hunting, I confess that it makes all the difference in the world to me, whichend of the dog is toward me when the hunting is being done.
We were taken by the negro hunter back to the camp of the Second South Carolina Cavalry, which was on outpost duty, and were placed in an inclosure that had evidently at one time been a hog pen. There a guard was thrown around us, and we were kept on exhibition until nearly dark. Some spicy, italicised conversation here took place between the prisoners and their captors, which finally resulted in our being removed to a log building used as a medical dispensary. By giving our parole not to attempt to escape during the night, we were relieved from the surveillance of a guard, and furnished with a good supper. Next morning, on extending our parole to our arrival at Charleston, we were escorted to the cars by the First Lieutenant, in whose charge we had been placed, and who finally accompanied us to Charleston.
Upon our arrival in this latter place, we were confined in the Charleston jail and yard. Themembers of our party were placed in the jail for a few days, as a punishment for attempting to escape, although our right to do so if possible was not seriously questioned. On our release from close confinement we found our old companions in misery, in the jail yard.
This jail was a stone structure, two stories in height, situated very nearly in the centre of the city. On one side was the workhouse, wherein were confined a large number of the prisoners; on the other was the Marine Hospital. The jail yard was in the rear of the building; the fence surrounding it was about sixteen feet in height, and its top bristled with iron spikes. Both outside and inside the walls was stationed a line of sentinels, although for several days after our first introduction to the interior I did not discover the fact that there was a guard outside. Inside the walls was a well, a cistern, and a sink. Six hundred of us were confined here and within the building.
Our situation was not as comfortable as at Macon. The height of the wall prevented a free circulation of air, which circumstance, together withthe atmosphere generated by the sink, did not precisely furnish us with the air of Araby the Blest. The water was brackish, and unfit for anything but washing and culinary purposes. The cistern furnished a limited supply to quench our thirst. Taking it altogether, it was neither pleasant nor salubrious.
While a change from the everlasting corn meal, our rations were light, and not the most palatable to Northern stomachs. They consisted of rice and lard. Just what use we were expected to make of the lard, we never found out.
Here again another tunnel was projected. Our shelter consisted of wall tents. The one assigned to Lieutenant Brooks and myself was located near one of the walls. The soil was loose sand, easy to dig. The walk of the sentry was between the tent and the wall of the yard. An officer whose name has escaped me, possessed an air bed that could be inflated. We took him into the scheme, on condition that he would allow the party to usethe bed to float down the river. Our plan was to mine out under the wall, and make either Cooper or Ashley River, and float out to our shipping in the harbor. It will be recollected that at this time the Union forces were in possession of the coast, had erected batteries that commanded the city, and were engaged in shelling it.
As before, the naval officers were taken into the secret of the mine, especially my friend Billings and Lieutenant Commodore Austin Pendergrast. These officers had been captured at the time the "Water Witch" was surprised and taken by the enemy in Ossabaw Sound, Georgia, June 3, 1864. Better nor braver men never lived. Billings, in particular, although strictly a non-combatant, was said by the Confederates to be the bravest man they ever fell in with. He was one of the first officers who succeeded in getting on deck when the vessel was surprised. Twice knocked on the head, and afterward being cut down on the deck, he refused to surrender until he had emptied his revolver, killing and wounding several of the enemy. Pendergrast—"the old man," as the sailors called him—was a large man, weighing, I should judge, in the neighborhood of three hundred pounds, and he stipulated with us to dig the hole large enough for him to crawl through.
The shaft was started in the tent. It was sunk for about six feet, then deviated until we struck the wall; then it ran almost perpendicularly beneath the wall, and rose again at an acute angle towards the surface. According to the best observations we could make from the inside of the yard, the building situated on the grounds adjoining the prison wall had the appearance of a private residence, and we did not imagine that the outside of the wall was guarded. So one night, all things being ready for our leave-taking, we concluded to set out on our journey.
I went ahead and broke a hole through the surface of the ground, and stuck my head through to reconnoitre. The first view I obtained was somewhat limited, for I discovered the muzzle of a musket about two feet from my face. I did not delay for any further investigations, but made the very quickest time on record, back through thetunnel under the wall and into my tent, and from there across the yard to the quarters of Commodore Pendergrast.
The Commodore was fastidious, and possessed all the hauteur and exclusiveness of old naval officers. But covered with dirt as I was, I crawled in beside him.
"Cover me up quick!" I cried.
"Ugh! D—— it! You are all sand!" he protested.
"Never mind the sand. Keep still! They are after me," I answered.
Just then there was a commotion in the yard. The reserve guard was called in, and the tents were inspected. Of course our tent was vacant, and the hole in plain sight, but both occupants had completely vanished. Brooks had concealed himself somewhere, and I was under the protection of Commodore Pendergrast, for by this time the "old man" had taken in the situation and had taken pains to turn upon his side, telling me to snuggle up to him as close as I could.
Soon the searchers entered the tent and commenced.
"Hello there!"
"Who in hell are you?" responded the "old man."
"Beg pardon, Commodore, but there has been an attempt to escape here, and we want the parties."
"Well, what do you want here? Do you think I can fly?"
"No. But this attempt was by mining under the wall."
"Well, do you suppose I am a woodchuck? It is bad enough to sleep here on the ground, without being disturbed in my first sleep. Get out of this!"
And with a grunt the "old man" settled himself again as if for sleep.
"See here," said the inquisitive official, "this won't do; we must search the tent for form's sake, if for nothing more."
"Search away, then," said Prendergrast; "but be quick about it."
"All right, Com.," said the man. "We'll not disturb you more than we can help."
Entering the tent he looked it carefully over. I was on the opposite side from the searching party, and if ever a man shrank into small compass, I did then. I crept as close as I could to the huge mountain of flesh that overshadowed me. Even then I shook with laughter, for the Commodore fairly shuddered at feeling me, covered with dirt as I was, in close contact with his spotless undress uniform.
At last, with an apology, the Confederate left the tent. Nothing was said for about an hour, but Pendergrast was actually suffering. At last he whispered:
"Say!"
"Umph?" I responded.
"I've stood this as long as I can. I'm grit from head to foot."
"Never mind, Commodore. I dug that hole large for your especial benefit."
"Yes, I suppose so. But what has become of it?"
"I left it right there, and a fellow looking into it with a musket. Am glad it was crooked," I said reflectively.
"Why?" he asked.
"Because if it had been straight, he might have sent a bullet after me," I replied. And then I told him all about it.
As soon as daylight made its appearance, I decamped. The old fellow generously divided his blankets with me, however. But I was homeless, for neither Brooks nor myself dared to claim the tent for several days, and then we applied for it on the score that the tent where we were located was overcrowded. Our request was granted, but we were ever after regarded with suspicion. It may be asked how we concealed the dirt and obtained tools to dig with. The dirt we dumped into the sink, or packed on the bottom of the tent. We dug with clam shells, the soil being soft sand. The most serious mistake we made was in taking the Marine Hospital for a private residence; for, unknown to us, it was crowded with prisoners at the time, and more closely guarded than the jail yard, and I had broken ground almost under the feet of a sentinel. If he had realized the truth, no doubt he would have put an effective stop to all further mining operations as far as I was concerned; butvery likely his surprise at seeing the ground yawn at his feet and a queer looking animal show its head, saved me.
Some few days after this occurrence, when the yard had resumed its tiresome monotony, our captors proposed to us that if we would give our parole not to attempt to escape while we were held in the city of Charleston, they would provide us with comfortable quarters in the city.
This offer caused a good deal of discussion among us. At first many were disposed to reject it. But we reflected upon the almost utter hopelessness of the task of attempting to escape from Charleston. It is a city built upon a point of land lying between the Cooper and Ashley rivers; the land side was securely guarded, and the only chance for escape was by the sea, with not more than one chance in a hundred of getting past the picket boats constantly patrolling the harbor. Added to this was our miserable condition, and our longing for restoration to a more civilized manner of living; so the offer was a greater temptation than the most of us could withstand. All but two of the prisoners accepted theproposition—Colonel La Grange of the First Wisconsin Cavalry, and the Colonel of a Pennsylvania regiment, whose name I have forgotten. These gentlemen refused the offer, not so much because they thought there was a chance to escape, as because they believed it their duty to hold themselves in readiness to do so if an opportunity occurred. We appreciated their motives, although we felt that they were mistaken in their ideas of duty.
Shortly after this compact was entered into, we were removed from the pestilential atmosphere of the jail to comfortable quarters in the Roper Hospital buildings and grounds, and relieved from the immediate surveillance of the guard. Because now, at every turn, we failed to meet the watchful eye of a grey-coated sentinel, we were none the less prisoners. We were bound by invisible bonds, stronger than the combined forces of Lee and Johnson—a breath of air; a mere sound that ceased to vibrate almost as soon as spoken: We had pledged our honor that during the time wewere confined in Charleston we would not attempt to escape, and that we would not pass certain defined limits. That pledge stood instead of bolts and bars. Our honor stood guard over us, and from its requirements we could only be relieved by ourselves; a part of the stipulation being that the parole might be dissolved at any time, by giving reasonable notice to that effect.
The reader will recollect that the avowed object of the Confederate government in removing us from Macon to Charleston, was to place us under the fire of our own forces, which were bombarding the city, and thus force a cessation of the siege. The jail was situated in a portion of the city not yet visited by any messages from the "Swamp Angel," as the heavy advance battery located about five miles from the city was called. We discovered, however, that our new quarters, while more healthfully located so far as air, water, and agreeable surroundings were concerned, were unpleasantly near that portion of the city occasionally visited by Union shells. We were uncharitable enough to ascribe motives not altogether disinterested, in this assignment.
We had no more than got quietly settled, when a cry arose of, "Look out, boys, there she comes!"
On looking up, we saw a small white cloud suddenly make its appearance over our heads, followed by a dull, reverberating sound, and a piece of exploded shell came screaming over us. Strange as it may seem, the sound of that missile was inspiring. We realized that we were within shot of friends; that five minutes before, that piece of iron had been handled by "boys in blue," under the protecting folds of the stars and stripes. Such expressions as these, were heard from all parts of the house and yard: "Good for you, old fellows! Hurrah! Hurrah! Uncle Sam is feeling for us. Give us another!" As another burst in an adjoining street, scattering big pieces of iron in every direction, it was greeted with hearty cheers from the prisoners.
It must not be inferred from this that we were so foolhardy as to court danger, or that we really enjoyed being under fire; but we were under the influence of excitement, and zealous to impress upon the Confederates around us, that we should not aid them by making any request to ourgovernment to suspend operations on our account. We also took into consideration the fact that a city was a large thing to shoot at, and the chances of being hit or injured not alarming. We took the precaution, however, of establishing a watch for shells, and I have no doubt that every man had his place of refuge picked out, in case of actual danger.
From our point of view, the sight of the bombardment at night was exceedingly fine. A dull, heavy report would be heard, and almost simultaneously something that looked like a shooting star would be seen moving with great rapidity toward the zenith, until it reached its greatest altitude, when it would fall to the earth almost perpendicularly, usually bursting in the air at an elevation of from fifty to a hundred feet, scattering fragments in every direction.
Only once, during our stay of nearly a month, were we in real danger. One day, about noon, when the most of us were in the building, a fragment of shell came crashing through the roof and two floors, on its way down passing through a table surrounded by a party eating dinner.Fortunately, only one man was hurt, and he but slightly. From the jocular manner in which the strange visitor was greeted, one might have supposed it was a mere piece of pleasantry, arranged for our special benefit.