  Title: A Soldier's Experience in Southern Prisons A Graphic Description of the Author's Experiences in Various Southern Prisons Author: Christian Miller Prutsman Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 E-text prepared by Graeme Mackreth | ||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||||
| Note: | Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/soldiersexperien00prut |
old bloke
C. M. PRUTSMAN.
A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE
IN SOUTHERN PRISONS
BY
C.M. PRUTSMAN
LIEUT. IN SEVENTH REGIMENT, WISCONSIN VOLUNTEERS
A Graphic
Description of the Author's Experiences
in Various Southern Prisons
thingo
NEW YORK
ANDREW H. KELLOGG
1901
Copyright, 1901,
By C.M. PRUTSMAN,
LEXINGTON, NEB.
CONTENTS.
| CHAPTER I. | |
| Events preceding my capture—The last day of freedom—A major's folly—My picket line captured—Warrenton—I lose a valuable pair of boots—Culpepper—Farewell to the boots—A disappointing test of good faith | 5 |
| CHAPTER II. | |
| Libby—Now I lose my money—"Fresh fish"—Quarters and rations—Boxes from home—Two majors escape—A general conspiracy—Bad news and new prisoners—General Butler saves two Union officers by threatening to hang Captains Fitzhugh Lee and Winder—Two female prisoners discovered in male attire in Belle Isle—We secure their release | 13 |
| CHAPTER III. | |
| Sick in the smallpox ward—A new plan of escape—Over a powder mine—The plan fails—Filling the roll, one hundred and nine men "short"—Shot at through windows—"Bread! bread!"—Hopes of exchange—May 1st—Boxes which had passed in the night—Brutes—More boxes—Danville, May 8th—Two weeks later, Macon | 20 |
| CHAPTER IV. | |
| A tunnel spoiled by the rain—Captain Tabb's cruelties—Corn pone bakers—July 4th squelched—Beyond the "dead line"—Caught—Sherman sixty miles away—Charleston—Negro regimental prisoners—In the gallows' shadow—Whipping-post—Paroles—Money exchange drafts—The Anderson men | 29 |
| CHAPTER V. | |
| Sherman devastates Northern Georgia—Columbia "Camp Sorghum"—A "dug-out"—I get away—Free—An unexpected plunge—Trouble ahead—Recaptured—A meal—The "debtor's cell" at Abbeville—Back to "Sorghum" | 41 |
| CHAPTER VI. | |
| An "underground railway"—More paroles—Bloodhounds—Bribing the guard—Bloodhound steaks—Two hundred and fifty prisoners "short"—Back to Columbia—Building barracks—A good tunnel started | 50 |
| CHAPTER VII. | |
| Five of us have a narrow escape from the train—Friendly negroes—A good old "shakedown" | 57 |
| CHAPTER VIII. | |
| Surrounded by rebel forces—Undiscovered—Skirmishing for food—Sambo—Sambo's schemes—Sambo brings succor—At headquarters—Sambo's reward | 65 |
| CHAPTER IX. | |
| General Logan—General Sherman—Clean at last—General Hobart's hospitality—Luxurious ease—A ghastly reminder of horrors escaped—Washington "short"—Ordered back to my regiment—An honorable discharge | 74 |
A SOLDIER'S EXPERIENCE IN SOUTHERN PRISONS.
Events preceding my capture—The last day of freedom—A major's folly—My picket line captured—Warrenton—I lose a valuable pair of boots—Culpepper—Farewell to the boots—A disappointing test of good faith.
My enlistment in the service of the United States as a soldier to aid in putting down the rebellion of 1861-5 bears the date, August 2, 1861. I was mustered into the service as a second sergeant of Co. I, 7th Regiment, Wisconsin Infantry, August 28, 1861, which regiment afterwards formed a part of the famous "Iron Brigade." I was afterwards promoted to the rank of orderly sergeant, serving as such until April 15, 1863, when I was commissioned second lieutenant, and finally on May 4, 1863, received my commission as first lieutenant, in which capacity I was serving at the time of the opening of my story.
On or about the first day of October, 1863, after an attack of sickness, I was discharged from the Seminary Hospital at Georgetown, D.C., and ordered to report for duty to my regiment which was then stationed near the Rapidan River, south of Culpepper, Virginia. A few days after I reached my regiment the whole army in great haste started north for Centerville, in order to head off the rebel army which was threatening to get between us and Washington City, via the Shenandoah Valley. We arrived at Centerville just in time to frustrate their well laid plans.
On the morning of October 19th, we started out, Kilpatrick's Cavalry in advance, in search of the rebs and found them in full retreat, via the Orange and Alexandria Railroad, Warrenton and Leesburg pike, and Thoroughfare Gap. We arrived near Gainesville, where, some months previous, we had fought our first battle. Here we halted a few moments, to mourn over the long mound of earth, which but partly covered the remains of our dead, who on this very ground with our brigade and Stewart's Battery ("B" of the 4th Regulars) had fought the whole of Stonewall Jackson's division for four hours, repeatedly repulsing every attack and holding our ground until, finally, Longstreet's column coming up in our rear, our position became too critical. With Jackson's Division between us and Washington, and Longstreet in our rear, discretion became the better part of valor and we were obliged to retreat, leaving our dead on the field, where this mound now made shift to cover them. History relates that Fitz John Porter had been ordered to check and repulse Longstreet at 4 P.M., and failing to do so was afterwards court martialed, but this is a digression and I must proceed with my story.
Resuming our march south, we arrived at the Manassas Gap Railroad, which we crossed, pursuing our course until we came to a little place called Haymarket, where our division was halted in the fields and a detail sent out for picket duty. Forty of this detail were from my regiment, and I was put in command of the quota furnished from the brigade. We advanced about one mile further south and then west, leaving the roads to be picketed by details furnished from the other brigades of the division.
Hardly had I established my line, and chosen a place for the support to bivouac, before the enemy slipped in at a place called Buckley's Mills, between the picket and the cavalry in our front, and after a short and sharp engagement they forced Kilpatrick's Cavalry to leave the pike and flee to the south-east, in order to pass around the enemy's flank and return to our lines. The corps was compelled to fall back about three miles in order to get north of the rebel army, which was endeavoring by advancing via the Bristo station from the east and Thoroughfare Gap road from the west, to get in its rear. The major in command of the lines covering both roads, Bristo station and Warrenton pike, gathered up all the men who could be conveniently reached, and following the corps, left me in ignorance of our dangerous position and entirely at the mercy of the enemy. (This major was afterwards court martialed for conduct unbecoming an officer in the face of the enemy, and dismissed from the service.)
In my position I could hear heavy trains moving on the pike, but could not see them on account of the woods. Finally a couple of rebels, chasing a few sheep, approached our lines, and naturally I undertook to capture them, but failed in the attempt. This revealed our position, and shortly after a long, heavy skirmish line appeared in sight, advancing upon us from the south. I concentrated my line by drawing in my right, which was the most exposed flank, dropped back a few yards in order to give my men the benefit of the timber for protection, and awaited the result.
As soon as the advancing line was within range we poured in a volley by file, confusing and staggering that section directly in our front, but as each flank of their line extended beyond ours and they continued to advance we were compelled to retreat, disputing the way from tree to tree until we reached a point where the Bristo road crossed the pike at nearly right angles; here I commanded my men to rally on the reserve by the left flank, but the men on the left, to my surprise, informed me that the road was full of rebels. I then directed another retreat by the left oblique, in order to get away from the road and make our way back to the fields, where we had left the brigade, but upon arriving there and jumping the fence we found ourselves in the midst of a rebel battery; the rebels had been massing there for more than an hour.
I had no alternative but to surrender. My casualty list was two men wounded, both in their legs. Ah! what a sorry plight we were in. My men were footsore and weary from their hard marching and maneuvering and our animals were completely fagged.
We were gathered in line; I was their first victim, without hat or sword, both of which had been taken away by the first rebel who had approached me.
All and each of the men had shared the same fate.
We heard a few volleys of musketry north and west of us; then spherical case shot from our own guns began to fly among us, which caused the rebs to beat a hasty retreat to protect themselves from the murderous fire of our artillery.
As soon as we reached the pike we turned south and, after marching a couple of miles, we were halted in the woods, and there put in charge of a guard, which was to take us to Warrenton.
It was now getting quite dark, and to add to our wretched condition it began to rain, notwithstanding which we resumed our march to Warrenton, eight miles distant. Upon our arrival there we were put into an old storeroom, which had been improvised as a prison, and in which we found a number of others prisoners who had been captured or picked up from our army on its retreat from the Rapidan.
Those prisoners were crowded into one end of the room, while we were confined in the opposite. The next step was to examine us for boots and shoes. Previous to this I had secretly taken three twenty-dollar bills from my wallet, dampened them in my mouth, flattened them out a little, then slipped them into my watch pocket. But it was not money they wanted; they were looking for footwear.
It was my misfortune to have on a new pair of shop made boots, which I had just received by express from northern Pennsylvania, having been made to order. The provost marshal came in with a small guard and a couple of lanterns and proceeded with his examination. I think I was the first man approached, the officer giving the order, "Examine that man's feet." The order was quickly obeyed. The guards rolled up my pant legs to observe the length of their boot tops and the quality thereof. Their report was "Good." Another of the guard carried an old sack filled with old shoes which had been cast off by men of our army. The officer politely told me "to pick out a pair of shoes from the sack, and get out of them boots." Having no option in the matter I very reluctantly surrendered my new boots, and replaced them with a pair of the cast-off shoes. Later we will hear from those boots. They examined every man's feet, made a number of good trades, then raised the blockade. After this we were allowed the privilege of the whole room, and laid ourselves down for a good night's rest.
Next morning (October 20th) we were marshaled out into the street, put under a mounted guard in command of a lieutenant, and started for Culpepper. This guard proved to be an exception to most guards; they were very gentlemanly, worthy of the responsibility they had undertaken and would frequently dismount and give some one of the poor fagged and footsore prisoners a seat in the saddle. We reached Culpepper about dark, and were ushered into another old storeroom, similar to that at Warrenton, for the night. Here we found the first infantry we had seen since our capture, and were turned over to their charge. The next morning, two other officers and myself were taken across the street to the provost marshal's office and were asked to give our parole not to leave the building, except to look after the welfare of our men when they wanted to report their grievances to the provost marshal, Major Richardson, whose office we were to be permitted to visit. We willingly gave the parole. Major Richardson assured us that our private property should and would be protected, and enjoined upon us to report, for the benefit of all the prisoners, any and all cases of extortion that came to our knowledge.
During the afternoon I observed a good-looking cavalryman stepping around the provost marshal's office, wearing a fine pair of long legged, newly blacked, boots. The thought struck me that those boots were private property and mine, and probably all that I would have to do to regain them would be to report to the major. I did so, and the following colloquy took place:
"Major, I beg pardon, but I believe you made us the promise that our private property would be respected, and asked that we should report all extortions to you."
"Yes, yes, certainly, lieutenant; have you lost anything?"
"Yes, major, I have."
"What?"
"A pair of new boots."
"Where?" was the major's query.
"While in prison," I replied.
"You don't think that I can find them, do you?" he questioned.
"No, sir, but I can."
"Where are they?" asked the major.
"Upon that soldier's feet," pointing to the man with the boots on.
"Ah, ah, that is one of General Stewart's men and I do not have anything to do with him."
This ended both the dialogue and all chance of ever recovering my treasured boots, so I bid a fond farewell to my late pedal coverings, and went back to my quarters a sadder but wiser man. I knew then just how much faith I could pin in the future upon the pledges of my captors.
Libby—Now I lose my money—"Fresh fish"—Quarters and rations—Boxes from home—Two majors escape—A general conspiracy—Bad news and new prisoners—General Butler saves two Union officers by threatening to hang Captains Fitzhugh Lee and Winder—Two female prisoners discovered in male attire in Belle Isle—We secure their release.
After remaining in this prison two nights, we were marched out and south across the Rapidan River, where we found a train of cars awaiting us. We embarked and were conveyed to Gordonsville, where we were taken to the court house for the night. Next day, (October 23d) we were again placed aboard the train and taken to Richmond, where we arrived about 3 P.M.
At the depot we were separated, the enlisted men being taken to Belle Isle, and we three officers placed in the now notorious Libby Prison. The prison was in command of Major Turner, whom I now saw for the first time. He was a very gentlemanly looking man, well dressed and a smooth talker, and assured us he was quite willing to make our short stay with him as pleasant as possible.
After taking our names, rank and regiment, he informed us that the Confederate Government would not allow us to use or even carry United States money; that we would have to deposit our wealth with him for a short time, and that we would be entertained by his brother Dick.
He demanded our pocketbooks, (how thankful I was to know that I had extracted the three twenty-dollar bills and that he was only to get about three dollars) and very deliberately opened them, counted out the money, gave us credit for it in his book, then told a sergeant that stood nearby to search us. Up stepped the sergeant like a man of business, thrust his thumb and finger into my watch pocket and fished out the three twenty-dollar bills. Alas! how soon was my joy converted to sadness! When I saw those bills vanish I knew that they would meet the fate of my custom-made boots.
After serving all alike, we were handed each a chunk of corn bread about one inch thick and four inches square. We then followed the sergeant upstairs, and were ushered into the presence of the other prisoners, where we first heard the cry of "Fresh fish! fresh fish!! fresh fish!!!"
The words came back from every room in the building, of which there were six, and a rush of the prisoners followed the echo, all anxious to get the latest news from our army and the North. We were besieged with such questions as:
"What army are you from?"
"Army of the Potomac."
"Where were you captured?"
"At Haymarket."
"Are they having a big battle?"
"What corps engaged?"
"Have you any news from the Western armies?"
"Is there any hope or prospects of an exchange of prisoners?"
Every one showed the most intense interest and loyalty for Uncle Sam.
Finally the crowd began to scatter and one prisoner came to me saying that, as I was from the Potomac army, I had better go with him to the room occupied by the Potomac officers, which was the upper east room. He led the way and I, following, was shortly installed and assigned in his squad. After posting me in the rules and customs of the prison, my new friend showed me a place near the center of the room where he thought I might find room to lie down that night. He further told me that I would get my rations from him, which would consist of a hunk of corn bread, four inches square by one thick, every morning, and that once a week we would get a meat ration, which would be prepared by the squad cook before being issued.
Night came on and I found a place where I could lay my poor weary bones upon the bare floor, favoring my head a little by using my old shoes for a pillow.
After a couple of days I learned that I might write to my friends, and would be permitted to receive a box from them filled with eatables, bedding, clothing and books. I at once wrote a letter, and in a short time received a well filled box, and was then able to support a bed consisting of a blanket and a quilt. The prisoners also at that time were permitted to send out to the stores once a week and purchase such necessaries as they were able to buy, but like other promised favors this luxury was later denied.
We had among us two chaplains (non-combatants) who were expecting to take the next boat down the river and be put through the lines. When the boat got ready to start their names were called but, not responding to the call promptly, a couple of majors answered to their names and were given a few minutes to get ready, which they did with alacrity. They were soon marched out, went down on the truce boat, and were delivered over to the Union authorities. A few days after the chaplains made another demand for their liberty to the great astonishment of "Dick" Turner, who had to confess that he had "learned another Yankee trick."
After getting acquainted and having my loyalty to the Union thoroughly tested, I was sworn into an organization whose purpose was to overpower the guard, seize their weapons and effect an escape. We were also to receive more guns from loyal citizens, then go to the arsenal and get both guns and ammunition with which to arm the prisoners on Belle Isle, then capture and hold the city until our army from the peninsula could meet us at or near Bottoms Bridge, four miles from the city, and with their assistance, hold the prize.
At that time it was reported that there were nine thousand five hundred men on Belle Isle, two thousand five hundred in the Scott building, (just in sight) and between eight and nine hundred in "Castle Thunder," making in all an army of about twelve or fourteen thousand, though, of course, there were some non-effectives; and, too, at that time nearly ninety per cent. of the men could carry and shoot a gun.
The only difficulty in my mind was to secure arms and ammunition, but we had been informed that they were to be had if we could get possession of the armory. But our plan was soon frustrated, for it was not long before we heard from the negroes that the prison had been undermined.
The next bad news we heard was that Colonel Dahlgreen, who had come within four miles of the city, had been killed on his retreat and a portion of his command captured. The officers captured from his command were brought to Libby prison, and placed in a cell in the middle cellar on the north side, far from light or ventilation. Communication was had with them through a hole in the floor, through which they were also fed by their friends from above.
From this time our luck began to go against us. First the meat ration was stopped; next we were denied the privilege of sending out to make purchases at the stores; then the boxes which arrived for us from our Northern friends were stored away in an old warehouse and we were forbidden access to them. This warehouse was only thirty feet away from us, and, as the boxes continued to arrive, nearly every night, we could plainly hear the guards bursting them open and plundering them of their contents for their own use; another proof of the utter faithlessness of the promises made us by these self-styled "chivalrous southern gentlemen."
The only reason I ever heard given for this change of tactics on the part of our captors was, that they could not negotiate with that "Beast Butler." I learned afterwards that General Butler, who had superseded General Mulford, had, a short time previous to this, notified the rebel authorities at Richmond that he held, as prisoners, Captains Fitzhugh Lee and John S. Winder, and that if they dared as they had threatened, to execute Captains Sawyer and Flyn, he would retaliate by HANGING Lee and Winder. This order had effect in saving the lives of these officers.
At one time during the winter some sanitary goods in the shape of clothing, blankets and provisions, were received and issued to the enlisted men on Belle Isle. Six officers from the prison were taken over to the island to distribute these, and while engaged in that duty they were approached by two rather peculiar looking persons wearing the uniforms of the Union army. They proved to be regularly enlisted soldiers who had been captured with their comrades, as prisoners of war. Upon inquiry it was discovered, or, rather, they voluntarily gave the information, that they were of the gentler sex. This was a surprise that came very near taking away the breath of the officers. They explained how, imbued by a spirit of loyalty to the flag of their country, and being so situated that a disguise was feasible, they had donned the garb of the male sex, eluded the vigilance of the examining surgeon and succeeded in enlisting in the service of Uncle Sam. Up to this time they had kept their identity concealed and had taken part in several engagements as valiant soldiers, but by the fortune of war, were now lying as prisoners at Belle Isle. The treatment received in prison was more than they felt like submitting to, so now they confessed their deception and asked to be released. The officers told them that if they would consent to be released on the ground of being non-combatants, he would make the effort. Their consent was readily given. The next day he reported the case and demanded their release, which was immediately obtained, after which they were brought to Libby, where they remained until a purse could be raised with which to purchase suitable female wearing apparel. They were then taken aboard the truce boat at City Point, amid the "God bless yous" of those who had secured their release. I never heard what became of them, but they said their home was in West Virginia, and that they belonged to a regiment from that State. I have always had a curiosity to know what our Government did for these and other similar cases that were events of our Civil War.
Sick in the smallpox ward—A new plan of escape—Over a powder mine—The plan fails—Filling the roll, one hundred and nine men "short"—Shot at through windows—"Bread! bread!"—Hopes of exchange—May 1st—Boxes which had passed in the night—Brutes—More boxes—Danville, May 8th—Two weeks later, Macon.
By this time my health had become so poor that I was taken to the hospital, which was in the east room on the first floor of the prison. I remained there one night, when it was reported by the surgeon in charge that there were two cases of smallpox in the room and that if I preferred I might return upstairs, which you may be sure I immediately did. Then we were all vaccinated; it did not "take" on me, but there was many a groan for a while from the effects of sore arms.
One night as I lay sick upon the floor I noticed that one of my nearest bedfellows was missing. After a few days he returned early one morning, spoke to his next neighbor in bed and asked him to lie over and give him his warm place in the bed, as he had been on guard for the last four hours and was nearly frozen. His friend, who was Lieutenant Wise, complied with his wish. When he laid down his head nearly touched mine and I heard the man who had given up his warm place (Wise) ask him very secretly how near the end was, and heard the reply, "It is done now; we would have opened it to-night but thought it was too near morning."
Now I had a nut to crack; all thought of sleep was gone and I found myself constantly repeating the question, "Has the time arrived when we are to overpower the guard?"
In the morning I approached Lieutenant Wise for further information, but he was as "mum as an oyster" regarding any intended movement toward escape.
I told him what I had heard him say about the end and he assured me I had been dreaming. But I was not to be so easily evaded, and reasoning with myself that if it were a tunnel which had been prepared it must start from the middle room, the one we were allowed to use from 9 A.M. to 4 P.M. I took my station at the door and was the first to enter the room as it swung open. I could plainly see tracks on the floor coming from the east end and began an examination, but without result. It was plain that I was not in the secret. The day passed—taps were sounded and all retired. An instant later everybody was up, dressing and packing. An Illinois captain came over to me and said:
"Lieutenant, you are not able to make the effort, lie down again."
I mused to myself thus: "What can be the result; if I lie here I may be blown up, if I go and faint by the wayside I shall die, so I may as well be in one place as another." Accordingly I obeyed orders, laid down and in a few moments was entirely alone in that great, cold, desolate and deserted room. My heart fluttered as I thought of the three kegs of powder in the mine underneath me and I tried to keep my pulse still by holding my breath, but it would flutter on in spite of every effort, when, suddenly, even before I realized that any time had passed, there was a rushing of feet and my comrades poured in, one after another, pell mell, hastily unrolled their blankets and stretched themselves on the floor, every man in his place. A moment after, the rebel guard came pushing in with lanterns and scrutinized every man closely. All were apparently sound asleep but me, and most of them snoring loudly. The guard was completely deceived and retired, and then I also fell asleep; but when daylight came I noticed that both my neighbors were gone. I made no comment, though I knew I would have to be counted for them at roll call. I did this by falling in on the right, and being counted, slipped down to the rear of the line, when I was again counted—first time for Wise, then later for his companion.
The count being completed, the adjutant announced that "over a hundred men had answered roll call who were not on the floor."
We began to smell trouble.
The adjutant went downstairs and soon returned with "Dick" Turner and a guard, who drove all of the prisoners out of the room, and then passed them back one at a time, counting them as they filed through the door.
After completing the count they announced they were one hundred and nine men short, and started their patrols out in every direction to recapture the runaways. By noon they had begun to head them off, and in less than three days recaptured fifty-six. The remaining fifty-three were never heard of again as prisoners in Libby; the most of them succeeded in reaching the Union lines.
This escape was hard on the rest of us, however, our liberties being greatly curtailed and our dangers increased. Among other orders, the guard was instructed to shoot every man who showed his head at a window. The first man shot at was Lieutenant Burns, who happened to expose his head too close to an opening in the water closet, where a board had been torn off. Fortunately he only lost half of one ear.
Lieutenant Forsyth of Ohio was not so fortunate. He was sitting four or five feet from the window, reading, when he was observed by a guard patrolling on the opposite side of the street. He fired at Forsyth, killing him instantly, and many other brave officers afterwards shared the same fate as Lieutenant Forsyth, at the hands of those cowardly assassins.
Such was life in this prison, kept by people who prided themselves on their "chivalry." God save the mark!
The month of March dragged slowly along. The commissary boxes which had been sent to us from the north were in sight, but we were never allowed to touch their contents, our only ration still consisting of the one chunk of corn bread daily.
April came, and every day the cry was "Bread! bread! bread!" not only in the prison but also on the streets.
Bread riots were reported to us as having occurred even in the city.
Toward the last of April I was approached by an officer of high rank, who asked if I was "anxious to be exchanged?" Of course I was! I replied, my hopes going up.
He then told me they wanted to send a message north to headquarters at Washington, and I might carry it if they could effect my exchange. The message was that Longstreet's army from Knoxville, Tennessee, about forty thousand strong, had just passed through Lynchburg, going north to join Lee in Northern Virginia; and that Beauregard's army had passed through Petersburg, going north on the same mission, with about thirty thousand men. The message was to be enclosed in a brass button, and they were in hopes they might get me through the lines, as I was in poor health.
The application was made, but alas for the hopes of a prisoner in the hands of rebel captors! I never heard anything further of the proposition, and again settled down to wait some new disappointment.
The first of May came, that day of so many bright memories in my northern home. The city of Richmond was all excitement; old men and small boys could be seen going down Franklin Street with old muskets and clean new white haversacks; and the rebs commenced to issue to us our long-looked-for boxes. Once more hopes of a change for the better took possession of us, and it seemed as if they could not deliver us our boxes fast enough. Negroes would carry them over to the lower middle room and then the roll would be called.
When my name was finally reached I seized my blanket and quilt and got a couple of friends to go with me to the room, where a good large box was waiting to be receipted for. They opened the box, while I spread both blanket and quilt on the floor in great excitement and feverish expectation. They emptied the contents upon my receptacles; next a couple of rebs sat down, each armed with a marline spike made for the purpose, and began overhauling and searching the contents. The salt, sugar, coffee and pepper were scattered all over everything; they reached a roll of butter—think of it, a roll of butter!—and in that the spike struck something hard, upon examination of which they found to be a small glass vial in which had been placed a ten-dollar greenback. No sooner had they laid eyes upon that ten than they appropriated it to their own use. The despised Uncle Sam's money was a very Godsend to them, the cowardly robbers. It is needless to say that I never saw the ten-dollar greenback again. I was permitted to lug my blanket and quilt, with what motley stuff they contained, upstairs, and I studied for some time how to separate the sugar from the sausage, and the salt from the coffee, and I must confess it required some brainwork to so arrange my provender as to make any part of it palatable. Still I finally concluded that I was a lucky man to be even permitted to look upon the relics of the good things that my friends in the north had taken so much pains to send me, and I said again, "How grand it is to be among a chivalric people." On the morning of the fifth the old negro who distributed the morning papers down Franklin Street was heard to cry: "A Great Battle on the Rapidan! Great News from the Rapidan! Full Account of the Battle of the Rapidan!"
My! what an effect this had upon us captives. Our boxes came in thicker and faster until finally old Libby looked like a great storehouse or supply depot, and once more our expectations were raised to a fever heat, only to have them again dashed below the zero mark.
On the morning of the eighth, after roll call, we were informed that an order had been issued for our immediate removal and that we would only be allowed to take one blanket or quilt, which was to be held open as we passed out of the door. We were to receive our rations outside. What a surprise this was to us after all the promises that had been made to us. A perfect bedlam ensued; men would grab up their best books, copies of Dickens, Shakespeare, law books, medical works, magazines, novels, tear out the leaves by the handful and throw the empty covers down on the floor. Next came the groceries, sugar, coffee, pepper, salt, soap, sardines, pineapples and cheese from New York; soused mackeral from Maine; pickled eels from Massachusetts; all sowed broadcast on the floor and mixed into a conglomerate mass a foot or two deep.
We started and at the head of the stairs I turned to take a last, farewell look. I could see many a short piece of candle that had been lighted and stuck fast to the plate which supported the roof, the blaze beginning to lap up the sheeting, but I did not stop to look back again, the outside was good enough for me. I passed down and out through the door, holding my blanket open, and received my hunk of corn bread as I passed out. We started up Franklin Street on the pavement, and, oh, how rough it was after seven months on the smooth floor of the prison. We had bid adieu to old Libby with all its horrors and terrors, yet it proved to be the best prison of my experience.
After marching awhile we turned to the left, then came thoughts of Belle Isle. But, no, we were not destined for that place, for we passed over the bridge, across the island and on to the depot, where we were put aboard some old freight cars. The bell rang, the wheels began to roll, and soon we were whirling over the iron rails. The cars were filthy with dirt, but the atmosphere was fresh, the meadows green and the air fragrant with the perfume of apple and peach trees in full bloom, and I assure you that it was a fragrance we all enjoyed for the time permitted; it was the free air of heaven.
It was the eighth of May and we were moving in a south-westerly course, our destiny being an enigma to us. Late in the afternoon we pulled into Danville, where we were unloaded and marched to a large brick building, which had just been evacuated by other prisoners. Around the outside of the building were a number of Union men, who were just convalescing from the smallpox; scabs were falling off and the men pitting nicely; however, we escaped contagion. We were only confined here about two weeks when we were again put aboard the cars and started south, passing through Charlotte, N.C., and Augusta, Ga., thence west to Macon. Here we left the train and were marched to the fair grounds, which covered about four acres. It was enclosed by a high board fence, with a platform and sentry boxes on the outside for the guard. When we got inside we found one large rustic building near the center, (floral hall) and in the north-west corner was an open shed, fourteen feet wide by over one hundred feet long, which had been built for our predecessors, who in turn had made cots or bunks by driving stakes into the ground about two feet apart, covering them over with boughs and limbs, and leaving just enough room between each one for a man to walk without inconvenience. I was fortunate enough to get one near the center, which was high and gave me a good shelter.
A tunnel spoiled by the rain—Captain Tabb's cruelties—Corn pone bakers—July 4th squelched—Beyond the "dead line"—Caught—Sherman sixty miles away—Charleston—Negro regimental prisoners—In the gallows' shadow—Whipping-post—Paroles—Money exchange drafts—The Anderson men.
We had been there a few days when I discovered that something unusual was taking place. Every night I could faintly hear the whispering of men engaged in some secret enterprise, but concluded that the best thing for me was to remain quiet and watch. Then came a big rain, which so thoroughly wet the ground that it caused a strip of earth about two feet wide and ten feet long to drop below the surface about ten inches, into a tunnel which these men had been digging. No one appeared to notice it, as it was outside of the dead line. The project was abandoned, but the hole under the shed remained intact. Some men who were digging in another part of the prison deposited the earth in this exposed hole, but the guards had "caught on" and were on the watch.
One night shortly after Captain Tabb, who was in charge of the prison, collected about twenty of his guard and, crawling up on the stockade, jumped over the fence and came down on us, swinging his sword, the guard following. They came through under the shed in single file and encircled my bunk and the one opposite, which covered the abandoned hole, and the captain said:
"Now, I have caught you! You will have to pay for this! This is a pretty scrape!"
He called for lanterns and shovels, and, seizing a lantern, held it down under the bunk, saw the hole, stuck the point of his sword down and it happened to hit some of the abandoned tools. He then rose to his feet, turned to Major Pasco, who was on a bunk just to his right, and ordered him to "get up and dig out that hole." The major flatly refused. This raised the ire of Captain Tabb, and he said:
"You refuse to obey my orders, do you?"
"I do," was the calm answer.
Captain Tabb then yelled:
"If you don't get up and dig out that hole you will be shot in less than one minute."
By this time there were not less than eight hundred or a thousand men crowding around so close that the guard could hardly stand. I raised myself so as not to be trampled under foot in case of a rush.
Major Pasco replied:
"I am a soldier of the United States army and a prisoner of war. You have no right to demand any manual labor from me."
Captain Tabb turned to a guard and gave the order:
"Shoot that man. Shoot that man, I say."
The guard brought up his gun, with the muzzle not over two feet from the major's head, and not over three feet from mine, when Tabb cried out again:
"Shoot that man. Shoot that man, I say."
But the guard seemed to know more, just at that time, than Tabb did; for, just so sure as the sun shines, had he obeyed the order not a man of the entire guard would have been left alive. A furious and surging mob were rushing to the front, and at that very instant every man on the guard was covered with some kind of deadly weapon. The guard did not pull the trigger and Tabb so far recovered himself as to not repeat the order.
The next morning while the roll was being called a few negroes came in with the proper tools and dug out the tunnel.
Captain Tabb was intent on revenge, however, and very shortly saw his opportunity. Major Pasco sent out a fine gold watch to be sold and all he received in return for it was eighty dollars in Confederate scrip, when it was easily worth seven hundred dollars at the rate that money was then valued at. When Major Pasco protested he was called out by Tabb, bucked and gagged and made to lie in a hot June sun for three long hours.
When we first arrived at this prison our rations consisted of raw corn meal, one quart each day, besides a very small piece of bacon and some cow peas. We were also furnished with cast iron kettles, which were low and flat, about fourteen inches diameter, and with cast iron covers. This style of kettle I had seen, when a small boy at home, used in a fireplace to bake in. It was then called a "Dutch oven," or "bay-kettle." In these kettles we did our baking by building a small fire both under and over the top. Corn bread now was a necessity of the past, and we all became bakers of corn "pone." I became so expert that by regulating the fire, and placing a slice or two of bacon on top for dressing, I could make and bake a very palatable corn "pone," and one that was pronounced even a luxury. But like all of our former experiences, as soon as we began to think we had mastered one difficulty we found another; in this case our wood gave out and it was a mighty poor "pone" that we could make without fire to cook it with.
Situated in the south-east corner of the prison was just one small spring of water which was good. A half barrel was set in the ground to act as a reservoir for this spring, and this small reservoir was to supply the entire camp of fifteen hundred men with water. As we had to use this water for both washing and cooking, it was insufficient, so we asked for tools and permission to dig a well, which was granted. In a very short time we had a well twelve feet deep, but the siphon that supplied the spring had been tapped, and when the water was used from the well the spring was dry. Then a second well was dug with the same effect as the first, but the two wells proved to be a great blessing to the poor, thirsty prisoners, because, after the exposure of the tunnel, no prisoner was allowed to be outside of the place called his quarters after taps. Consequently during the night both wells made a reservoir that filled up and held the surplus, which otherwise would have been lost.
July Fourth came and we determined to celebrate it in true, loyal fashion. We formed in line and marched around to the front door of the only building on the ground, where we were to hear an oration, to be delivered by an officer standing in the doorway. One of the men resurrected an American flag of small dimensions, three inches by four, but the Stars and Stripes all the same. He fastened it to an old, crooked limb, and elevated it above the heads of the crowd in front of the speaker's stand. We cheered the flag, the first Union flag some of the men standing in that crowd had seen for over two years. No words of mine are capable of portraying the effect the sight of that little banner had upon the crowd. Cheer after cheer rent the air. Hats, caps and arms were raised in the air, tears flowed down the cheeks like rain, and men hugged each other for joy. Never to the longest day of my existence will I forget the scene produced by that little emblem of loyalty, no larger than my hand, as it was brought out from its hiding in that prison. I realized then the full meaning of the Stars and Stripes, and knew why the name "Old Glory" was so appropriate. But, alas, to the utter shame of those in command, our joy was soon cut short, and our intended celebration of the birth of American Independence brought to a sudden and abrupt termination. The rebel guard came in, ordered the small flag to be taken down, dispersed our assembly, and gave the order that if we ever made a similar attempt to show loyalty to the emblem of liberty, they would order the artillery, in plain view to the south-east of us, to open fire upon us and "send us to the kingdom come without ceremony," an order that we well knew would be carried out. We therefore had but one thing to do—to retire to our quarters, and there meditate again upon that glorious, chivalric spirit which so long had been the boast of these representatives of Southern aristocracy.
My health, which had been improving since I had the opportunity to breathe air unconfined by roofs and side walls, as it had been in Libby, was still improving and I made up my mind to attempt an escape on the first opportunity that offered itself. I watched both night and day for an opportunity to steal a boat ride down the Okmulgee River. One morning I was one of the squad sent out after wood, which was dumped in a disorderly pile near the gate. Seeing a hole several feet deep and large enough for me to crawl into, I asked one of the detail to cover the hole over with other sticks of wood after I had crawled in. This was soon done and the detail left with their luggage. It was now only eight o'clock in the morning and I was left outside of the stockade, but still a prisoner in the woodpile near the gate. The day was long and the sun's rays poured down with great heat, and how I longed for a drink of water! Still I was braved to the self-denial, owing to very anxiety to reach the boat undiscovered. But my liberty was not to be obtained in that way. About six o'clock the guard came after its wood and my concealment was at an end. They ordered me out, marched me up to Captain Tabb's office, where I received some unasked for advice, after which I was marched back to the gate and turned in. However, I succeeded in getting a hasty drink of water from the spring, and then had another chance to meditate upon the uncertainty of freedom and the certainty of another long term under close surveillance, before I would again have an opportunity to attempt another escape.
In the latter part of July the Union army, commanded by General Sherman, took possession of Atlanta, only sixty miles north-west of us. A cavalry raiding party came near enough to our prison for us to hear the battle which resulted in their repulse. The cavalry was defeated, some driven away and others captured, the officers taken being turned into the prison with us. Then a new organization was effected to plan another escape, though no definite time was set for the attempt, all that being left to ten of the ranking officers, at whose command we were ready to go and obey orders; but it all ended in such a complete fizzle that I refrain from giving the details.
As soon as the nine days' armistice between the two armies was declared off and Sherman's army, instead of turning and following Hood back north, came rushing toward us, we were put aboard the cars and taken to Charleston, S.C., and there confined in the Charleston jail yard, right under the fire of our own guns. Now we were completely corralled in a small, dirty old pen, without either shade or shelter, save a solemn old gallows which cast a gloomy shadow over us, reminding us of the last victim who had his neck broken by the order of the self-constituted authorities now holding sway with such high hand.
The jail was a large octagonal brick structure, six stories high. In the center of each square was a cell surrounding which was a hall of good dimensions. The building also had an addition four stories high, and in this addition were kept captives from the 54th Massachusetts (colored) Infantry, who were treated with terrible brutality. They were almost naked, and starving, and you could hear their cry of "Bread! Bread! BREAD!" all through the night and day. In the octagonal part of the prison there was also a crowd of peculiar looking half-breeds of both sexes. These were a mystery to me which I never cleared up. All I know is they were turned out in the yard every morning, and there remained until 4 P.M., when they were driven inside again by the turnkey. It was a strange sight and one never explained to us. My theory, however, is that this motley crowd was composed of local prisoners, probably guilty of violating the laws of the community, with perhaps some deserters and runaway slaves. At any rate we saw enough in the conduct of this particular crowd to prove that their rules of morality were away below par.
In order to get out of the mud and free myself from the mosquitoes, I was permitted to occupy one of the old cells at night and sleep on the bare floor, awaiting the regular hour of the turnkey for egress and ingress, and now and then my gaze would be attracted toward the gloomy old gallows, the weight of which (used to swing the unfortunate victim into eternity) was half buried in the ground, where it had sunk after performing its last execution, an additional incentive to melancholy speculation. Upon the next corner north was another large building used for a workhouse; the back part was enclosed by a brick wall and stockade extending around another yard. In the center of this yard a post was set in the ground, and nearly every morning, between nine and ten o'clock, we could hear a whizzing sound, followed by yells. Then we understood; the post was a whipping-post, and the master of the cat o' nine tails was at work upon some victim, in all probability a negro who had been on the street after hours, or guilty of some trifling digression of the rules and regulations of the slave code, as a consequence had been sentenced by the police judge to receive so many lashes on his bare back. We often had to stop our ears, so frightful were the cries of some of the victims of this barbarous punishment, dealt out to human beings for simply exercising a God-given right to think and act for themselves.
After we had been confined in the jail yard for about two weeks, we gave our parole that we would not talk to the guard (which was kept around us only to keep the citizens away), and that we would not leave or go outside of the Marine Hospital or its enclosure. In return for this we were permitted to trade and talk with the hucksters through the palings in front of the building. The hospital was a large three-story brick structure, with basement and the necessary outhouses, including a workshop in the rear. It was entirely devoid of furniture, but clean and comfortable, with plenty of room and good shelter. Wide verandas ran the whole length, both in the front and rear, and shade trees were around the whole building. Our rations too, were improved and we could borrow all the "C.S.S." (Confederate State's scrip) we were willing to carry, if we would give in exchange a power of attorney, properly made out and directed to our paymaster, north. I did not care to do this but many did, and in a short time our yard was full of Confederate money, much to the hucksters' profit. Here are a few of the prices men paid for edibles: Apple dumplings, $3.00 each; yams, $3.00 a quart (one yam made a quart); flour, $4.00 a quart. Eight dollars in Confederate money was given for the promise of one dollar in gold. By this you will readily see that money flew like the wind and it was not long before the supply was exhausted.
The powers of attorney were run through the lines, either by an "underground railway" or by slipping through the blockade. They were presented at Washington, but our Government did not see fit to recognize and pay claims that had been obtained in such manner as had these from the prisoners in rebellious States. The lenders came back, and it is hardly necessary to add that they took no more "powers of attorney." Instead they would and did accept drafts on some bank or "best friend" that had your money for safe keeping. This scheme was worse for the fellows in authority than the powers of attorney, for in many instances the bills were drawn on fictitious banks, located in imaginary places, or on "best friends" who had no existence save in the brain of the man drawing the same.
I, as I said, had taken no hand in the power of attorney fraud, for I was a little afraid it might come to a head and I would be a loser, but when the bill of exchange plan came up I concluded to take a hand. I drew one, of which the following is a copy:
"Charleston, S.C., August 3, 1864.
"To John Crow, Maconsburg, Wisconsin.
"Please pay to Henry Holloway, or order, one hundred dollars, in cash, and charge the same to my account.
"C.M. Prutsman."
Now, the truth was there was no such place as "Maconsburg" in Wisconsin, to my knowledge, nor was there any friend of mine by the name of John Crow, still that did not hinder the cashing of my order, and in a short time I was the possessor of eight hundred dollars in clean Confederate scrip. As "John Crow," of "Maconsburg," was never found by Mr. Holloway I did not lose anything on my investment. Those who made the "bills of exchange" profited to some extent, however, and the barrels that were delivered to the poor, weak, diseased and starving prisoners, were of great service to them and proved a boon in many instances. It was always a mystery to me why the officers took such chances as they did in letting us have the Confederate State's scrip, but I have often thought they had very little confidence in its real, ultimate value. I also noticed that not one of them ever lost an opportunity to grab Uncle Sam's money when it was within reach.
As soon as we moved out of the jail yard it was used for the Anderson men, but only for one day at a time; then they were marched out to the race course. They generally arrived there early in the morning, were taken out of the cars and held through the day, to be moved through the streets at night, as their clothing was so scant it was not considered decent for them to be seen by daylight.
My first investment with my Confederate scrip was to take one hundred dollars, tie it to a piece of brick and throw it over the wall, from the veranda of the second story, to one sergeant Stetzer, a member of my company and regiment; but the guard heard it strike the ground, drove the sergeant away and pocketed the rags himself. So much for my attempt to relieve the wants of a fellow prisoner. Now, while we lived high for us during the remainder of our stay in that building, the time was very short.
Sherman devastates Northern Georgia—Columbia "Camp Sorghum"—A "dug-out"—I get away—Free—An unexpected plunge—Trouble ahead—Recaptured—A meal—The "debtor's cell" at Abbeville—Back to "Sorghum."
It was now reported that Sherman was on our track, devastating Northern Georgia. Accordingly, on the first of October, the guard was marched in and we were surrounded in the yard behind the hospital. The parole which we had signed was then produced, torn to pieces before our eyes, and declared at an end. We were then marched out, taken to the depot, put into some old dirty cars and transported to Columbia. Here we were unloaded, marched across Broad River, over a long, covered bridge, to an old pasture of about three acres, around which had been ploughed two furrows. One of these was designated the line for the guards beat; the other (inside), the dead line. Into this pasture we were herded like so many sheep, without shade or shelter. Our rations were reduced, so that each of us received but a little over a pint of dirty old corn meal a day, and a little sorghum molasses. I had a quart cup and, after washing my meal, had just enough left to make one quart of mush with a sorghum dressing. Think of it, reader, you who have enough and to spare, and have no taste for sorghum molasses, how you would have relished this delightful fare; yet we were forced to accept it by the demands of hunger, and because we were captives to Southern chevaliers.
We named our quarters (the prison) "Camp Sorghum." The commandant, whose name I cannot now recall, was a colonel of the rebel army, and really a kind-hearted man; and I really believe that, had he been able, he would have made our circumstances comfortable; but he was a creature of circumstances and could not control his superiors. He was gentlemanly and courteous to us, and granted us privileges we had never been allowed before; he permitted us to go out to the woods under guard, and gather limbs and boughs from trees with which to make some kind of shelter to protect us from the cold, fall rains. A second lieutenant and myself dug a hole in the ground about three feet wide, seven long and two feet deep, covered it over with limbs and dirt, leaving a small hole at one end to serve as an entrance and exit. This was not original with us, as many similar ones had been made before, nor was it convenient to get in and out of, but by pulling our feet up under us we could manage to keep partially dry and warm.
I was not satisfied, however, and was continually watching for a chance to escape. Finally a long, drizzling rain came on and the colonel gave a number of paroles to some favored, to go out and get limbs, poles and boughs, with which to fix up their quarters, (if you could call their dug-outs quarters). This squad was only allowed to carry its luggage to the guards' beat, throw it over, then return to the woods for more. Then another party was permitted to go out over the dead line, get the truck and carry it back to quarters. I watched them for some time and noticed that the guard did not seem to be very particular about the mingling of those on the outside of the beat. The next time the squad came from the woods I walked out, gathered up an armful of the stuff, returned with the others, and carried the armful to their dug-out. I then waited until they came again, and deliberately walked out with those who went to the timber, the ones who had been paroled for the purpose. I was now outside of the prison in open woods, in plain sight of the pasture and only about three o'clock in the afternoon. This was to be the last trip of the paroled men, so I crawled under the top of a tree, which they had left partly trimmed, and got the men to cover me over with boughs and limbs sufficient to conceal my view from "Camp Sorghum," and there I had to lie on the cold, wet earth, without daring to move, until night.
Night came and the rain still poured down in torrents. I could easily see what few lights were visible in camp and, as I crawled out, turned my back upon these. It was so dark that I had to feel my way, and as I had my back to the camp I had nothing but the sense of feeling to guide my footsteps; but as I supposed the long looked for time had come and I was on my way to liberty, my way seemed easy, and my hopes beat high with a desire to reach the Union lines, somewhere in East Tennessee. In the course of a couple of hours I found an old road which I could follow by means of the small puddles of water that were lying at intervals all along. Then I began to lengthen the distance between myself and camp as fast as my poor, weak limbs and empty stomach would permit.
After an hour or so I began to warm up, but the storm seemed to be increasing as well as the darkness, and finally I lost the road, though still in the woods. I turned and tried to find the road and in the search I soon heard water roaring and tumbling. A few feet ahead I could see a white sheet of water and decided that it was the road. I felt my way carefully along to the edge of the white sheet; there seemed to be a black space between me and the streak of white, which I took to be a ditch that I could jump, when I should find myself in the road again. I made the jump, but alas, the white sheet proved to be a mill pond, which had no bottom at the place where I struck the water, yet I had enough presence of mind to swim for a ledge near the bank. When I reached the ledge, the rocks proved so steep I could not climb them, and I was forced to make my way by clinging to the rocks as best I could along the edge of the water, until I came to a place where some of the stone and earth had been taken away to build a dam. There I crawled out, went up the bank and into the woods again. Then I saw a light streak which I went to and, remembering my former experience, merely followed along its edge until I came to what appeared to be a bridge; this I crossed, and I soon found myself outside of the woods and again in a road. On examination I found the road was fenced and on each side were cultivated fields. The storm was clearing, and I could begin to see. Presently I came to a cornfield; I entered, plucked a few ears of corn and, by cracking a kernel at a time with my teeth, managed to eat some of it; this in a measure appeased my intense hunger. During the remainder of the night I passed a number of houses but for obvious reasons did not seek admission. When daylight came I saw an old log house near the center of a field, which on going to I found to be well filled with unthreshed cow pease. I climbed up to the gable, entered the hovel, dug a hole in the peas, crawled in, covered myself up and there remained through the day, cracking corn and cow peas with my teeth. About an hour after dark I resumed my way. The stars were shining brightly, the road was good and I was leaving "Camp Sorghum" far in the rear, all of which circumstances made me very hopeful indeed. I continued my march through the night, and as soon as daylight approached found a covey in a hedge near a small creek, where I remained through the day with plenty of water to drink. The sun came out quite warm and dried my clothing, and I washed my face and hands in the clear water of the brook, and passed the day without any untoward incident. As soon as it was dark enough I again ventured out and continued my long anticipated journey, passing through what I called a very good farming country.
But trouble was now ahead of me, in spite of all my hopes. As soon as I could see signs of daylight I began to look about for a safe resting place for the day. Seeing a piece of woods not far away I went to it, but upon my arrival I found it to be surrounded by three houses, and very open. Roosters began to crow, dogs to bark, pigs to squeal, and my chances of hiding there without discovery were absolutely worthless. Looking ahead I saw another piece of timber, which looked larger, thicker and more secluded, so I made for it, when to my astonishment I saw a boy approaching on a mule. I stepped behind a tree until he passed, then I continued my way, crossed a road, but had only gone on a few steps when a couple of men stepped out from behind a tree, armed with shot guns, which were immediately stuck into my face, accompanied with the command to "Halt!" Of course I obeyed. They took me in charge and I found myself again a prisoner in the hands of the enemy. One of my captors was a young man, a soldier home on a furlough; the other, an old, nervous, gray-haired citizen, perhaps a neighbor. The soldier walked by my side, was very pleasant and communicative, and the old man walked in the rear with his old shot gun continually leveled at my head, and a determined look, which meant that he would not hesitate to shoot if I made any effort to escape. They conducted me to the soldier's house, and, on reaching it, the young man told the old gentleman that he could go, as he would see that I was taken care of. This seemed to be satisfactory and the old man departed.
The soldier then led the way into the house and I followed. Everything indicated a comfortable farmer's home. I was given a chair in front of the fireplace, in which was burning a good, hot fire. The family seemed to be a large one, and as one after another appeared, he or she would extend a hand, which was grasped by mine in return, much as if we had been old friends just meeting after a long absence. After getting warmed, I asked for a chance to get washed, which was soon furnished, after which I again took my seat by the warm, comfortable fire, but with such a craving appetite that I began to fear I should have to tell my hostess that if she would hold prisoners she must needs feed them, but they had been so hospitable thus far I refrained and waited. Soon after a negro woman brought in a large server on which was a bountiful breakfast, which was placed on the table and I was invited to help myself. You may be sure that I was not long accepting the invitation. I took a chair at the table, the first table I had sat down to in over a year, and enjoyed a clean, wholesome meal.
The lady of the house was a great talker, and while I was eating she entertained me with her views. She told me that before the State of South Carolina seceded they were all a happy, prosperous people; that if they wished to go anywhere all they had to do was to pack their trunks and go. But now they were in the Confederacy, ruled by old "Jeff" Davis, and all the laws they had were laws to impress their property and conscript the men; that all of the best men were being killed off, the only ones left being either deserters or cripples, and that God only knew what would become of them. Her ideas of the future of the Confederacy were anything but flattering or optimistic.
After I had finished my breakfast the soldier told me he would have to take me to Abbeville, and there deliver me over to the provost marshal, the distance being about four miles; but he said that he would not start until four o'clock in the afternoon; in the meantime I could have the freedom of the house and yard by giving him my parole verbally, which I readily did. This soldier and this family were true representatives of Southern chivalry, and had I received the same treatment at the hands of my other captors, all that I have heretofore said in this little story against the false chivalry that prevailed would have been left unsaid. But to proceed: Through the day the ladies of the house repaired my torn clothing as far as they dared, and when the hour of departure came, I was taken in a buggy and delivered over to the custody of the provost marshal at Abbeville jail. Here I was taken to a room called a "debtor's cell," and told to enter. I obeyed the order. Imagine my astonishment on so doing, to behold six other escaped prisoners from "Camp Sorghum." In figuring up the distance which I had traveled in the three nights of my journey, I found that I was sixty miles from Columbia and had traveled on foot and alone, living on corn on the ear and raw cow peas, fifty-six miles, had rode in a buggy four, and had had two good square meals. After remaining in the debtors' room two nights and one day, we were taken out, loaded into an old carry-all and taken to Lexington County court house, where we were confined over night, then started out again next morning, with an entirely different outfit, for Columbia, and there delivered to the provost marshal, who conveyed us in a stylish rig to "Camp Sorghum." The gate was thrown open and I found myself back again in the old quarters, in spite of my ducking in the mill pond, my hard rations of cow peas and raw corn and sixty miles travel. But such is the lot of the soldier and I had to submit. When we entered the camp we were greeted with the old familiar cry of "Fresh fish! Fresh fish!! Fresh fish!!!" but our identity was soon discovered, and, after giving them an account of our experiences, we retired to our various quarters. I found my old dug-out just as I had left it, crawled in and got a good night's rest and sleep, with a good prospect of another long captivity—how long only the future would reveal.