PENCIL SKETCH OF AUTHOR, BY THOMAS, AT DANVILLE.

CHAPTER XXVI.

Soon we were all comfortably (?) seated in the sweetly perfumed cattle cars, and were flying towards Richmond at the rate of twelve miles an hour. On to Richmond, was shouted by the jubilant prisoners, as we started from Danville.

The next day we were ushered into that notorious prison hell of the South, Libby prison, presided over by the equally notorious Dick Turner. While at Danville one officer was shot in the hand, by the guard, who fired at random through the window, because one of the officers accidentally spilled some water on the window sill, and it ran down upon him. Major D. Colden Ruggles, died in the hospital, and Lieutenants Baily, Quigley, Harris, Helm and Davis, escaped by means of the oven heretofore described. How many of the nearly two thousand enlisted men in Danville died, I have no means of knowing, but the mortality was not as great there as in Salisbury. Libby prison, and the treatment of federal prisoners there, has been so frequently described that I will not attempt a description.

I was there but a short time, but was told by those who had been there before, that Dick Turner seemed to be on his good behavior, and was evidently thinking of the day of reckoning.

We found Libby prison nearly filled with our enlisted men, whose emaciated forms told more plainly than words could possibly do, the terrible sufferings they had endured. They were confined in separate rooms from us, but we managed to pass them provisions through the openings in the partition, and also to converse with them. We were shown where and how the wonderful tunnel that secured freedom to quite a number of officers, and came near setting the whole prison at liberty, was started and where it ended. We were shown Castle Thunder, which at one time contained a number of prisoners, and where I believe Dr. Mary Walker, of Oswego, was at one time confined.

While at Richmond, General Hayes came in to see us, and said he was detailed to distribute the clothing to our men, which our government had sent for them, and as we would be home before he would, he gave us, Lieut. Leyden and myself, the letters and checks we had given to the old reb at Danville, in exchange for fourteen hundred dollars in Confederate money. And, shall I confess it, in a fit of absent-mindedness (?) I tore them up and threw them into the stove, thus saving the bother of taking them to Riggs & Co., at Washington. I have forgotten the old gentleman’s name who so greatly befriended me by giving me such a liberal supply of money which, although worthless to him, served to supply myself and a number of my comrades, with the best the Confederacy afforded, for the balance of our stay in rebeldom.

Our stay in Richmond was of short duration, but we left it without regret.

On the twentieth of February, we were again ordered to “pack up,” and this time for home. I cannot describe the wild tumult of joy with which the order was received. Many of the enlisted men, who with us occupied the building, though in a separate appartment, and to whom we had managed to smuggle some of our rations, were too weak to walk alone, and were obliged to walk between two of their comrades, who supported them to the boat and tenderly cared for them. Their emaciated forms and lusterless eyes, told a painful story of the starvation and suffering they had endured for the preservation of their country, and for their loyalty to the flag.

And yet there are those even here in the North, who grew rich through their sufferings, who begrudge them the beggarly pittance of a pension of a few dollars a month, to keep them from the poor house; when, by their heroic fortitude, and their indescribable sufferings, they made it possible for the bonds of the government to be worth a hundred cents on the dollar in gold; made it possible for these very men to be to-day enjoying the luxury of wealth in a happy and prosperous land; to be citizens of a country whose treasury is overflowing to such an extent that the President of the United States has deemed it necessary to cry out in alarm, that the country is in danger from a too plethoric treasury. These same heroic souls who twenty-five years ago, by their loyalty to the old flag, and whose patriotic devotion to the principles of universal freedom, led them to offer themselves upon the altar of their country, if they escaped a horrible death by starvation and are still living, are looked upon by many who profited so largely by their sacrifices, as beggars, because they ask to be remunerated for their shattered health, by a small pittance of ten or twelve dollars a month, to assist them in their old age and decrepitude.

On the morning of the 20th of February, 1865, the last ration of corn bread was issued, and I determined to preserve mine and bring it home to show to my friends. This I did, and have kept it ever since. It was twenty-three years old the 20th of February, 1888, and is still in a fair state of preservation, and on every anniversary of its issue to me, that old Libby prison ration and I have a little celebration, and revive old memories.

We were placed on board river steamers, which were skillfully piloted around the numerous torpedoes that had been sunk for the destruction of our gun-boats, should they attempt to assist in the capture of Richmond, and past the iron-clad monsters that were stationed all along for the protection of that rebel stronghold, and were conveyed to Varina landing, where, as we disembarked, we were met by an equal number of rebs who had been prisoners in our hands, and who returned on the same boats that took us down.

The contrast in the looks and appearances of these gray-backs and our poor boys, was painfully apparent. They were in robust health, full of life and vitality, and fit to at once take the field again, while our boys were scarcely able, many of them, to climb up the bank at the landing, without assistance. While they showed the effects of rest and plenty of wholesome food, our poor comrades showed equally the terrible effects of starvation and disease. They were in excellent condition to again at once go into active service, while we would need months of careful nursing, before any of us could again endure the hardships of camp life; and a large proportion, were forever broken in health, and would never again be able to perform the duties of a soldier.

We still had a march of six miles to make, before we reached the Union lines. Ambulances were in waiting, to convey those who were too feeble to endure the march, and the rest of us who had strength enough left, trudged along on foot.

CHAPTER XXVII.

I never before realized how much I loved the dear old stars and stripes, or how much protection there was beneath its shining folds. How I longed to press it to my heart and lips. And not me alone, but of the nearly two thousand skeletons who that day saw it proudly waving high over their heads for the first time in many months; there were few indeed who would not have fervently kissed and caressed it had it been within their reach. As a mother’s love goes out to her first born that has come to her amid suffering and pain, so that old flag seemed a thousand fold more beautiful and precious to us, for the sufferings and privations we had passed through in its defence.

Cheer after cheer went up as the straggling column passed along, feeble hands were waived, and feeble voices joined in the huzzahs, with which we celebrated our return to “God’s country.”

Arriving at General Mulford’s headquarters, we were obliged to wait two or three hours for a boat to take us down the river. Once on board the steamer, our first thought was for a good square meal.

But, alas! a meal on board that steamer cost a dollar, and Confederate money was no good there.

A comrade whom I had befriended, however, invited me to take dinner with him, which invitation you may be sure I readily accepted; and for the first time in many months, sat down to a regular dinner of roast beef, Irish potatoes, bread and butter, and a genuine cup of coffee.

On the morning of Sunday, the 22d of February, we arrived at Annapolis. As the steamers were approaching the wharf, a band which had come down to welcome us, struck up “Home, Sweet Home.” Involuntarily every officer took off his hat and bowed his head, as though receiving a benediction, so impressively solemn sounded that sweet, familiar tune just then.

Arriving at parole camp, the first person I met whom I knew, was Captain Eastmond, who escaped with me at Columbia, and who was recaptured the next night.

He told me that a few days after my escape, my name was called for special exchange, and he answered to my name, signed my name to the parole, and had been out nearly three months.

As soon as he reached General Mulford’s headquarters he told him of the deception he had practiced, and the General told him it was all right and as soon as he could find out where I was he would send another special for me. But I, in blissful ignorance of what my friends were trying to accomplish in my behalf, was being shifted from one place to another, so that he did not get track of me again. The first thing I did upon my arrival at Annapolis, was to hunt up the store of the Ladies’ Sanitary Commission, and get a complete outfit from head to foot, for which they would take no pay, and then getting a room in a hotel, I stripped off my lousy rags, and after taking a good bath, dressed myself in my new suit, throwing my old prison garments out of a window into an alley, thus effectually ridding myself from the annoying companions that had so persistently stuck by me during my imprisonment. I parted with them without a sigh, and have never to this day had a desire to renew their acquaintance.

I then applied for a twenty day’s leave and wrote a long letter home, giving a brief synopsis of my experience in the prisons of rebeldom for the last ten months. This letter I directed to my wife, though I did not know whether she was dead or living, not having heard a word from her since parting with her at Plymouth, on the night of the first day’s fight. After waiting a week I received my leave of absence, and at once started for home. I found that my letters had nearly all been received and promptly answered, but they were never delivered to me. I can never be made to believe but that our letters were purposely destroyed by order of General Winder, as a part of his plan to discourage and dishearten us, well knowing how much this would do towards undermining our health and destroying our lives.

I was home for days before I could feel fully assured that I was really out of prison; fearing all the time that it was only one of those vivid dreams that had so often come to me while there, and fearing lest I should awake and find myself still surrounded by stockades and rebel guards, often I would stop and pinch myself to see if I were really awake, and at home among friends.

Upon the expiration of my twenty days’ leave, I returned to my regiment near Goldsboro, (having been exchanged) and was just in time to assist in taking in the North Carolina troops of Johnson’s army, and seeing the conquered rebels lay down their arms, dejected and subdued, and seemingly heartily rejoiced, that the fearful struggle was finally at an end.

I reached Albany on my way back to Annapolis, on the 3rd day of April, and there first learned of the evacuation of Richmond. The first person I met whom I knew, as I disembarked from the cars near the Delavan House, was Hon. Elias Root, then Member of Assembly from Oswego Co. He saluted me with, “hello Cooper, you here and sober? Haven’t you heard that Richmond has fallen? The orders are that any man found sober here after four o’clock will be arrested.” This coming as it did from a staunch temperance man, and an active and consistent christian, was a stunner; and I apologized by saying that I had just arrived in Albany and had not yet been able to comply with the order, but would attend to it immediately. I managed to avoid being arrested that day, for I had seen enough of prison life and did not care to be deprived of my liberty again so soon.

Proceeding to Washington and then back to Annapolis, and from there back to Newbern, via the Keretuck canal, I immediately joined my regiment at Mosley Hall, near Goldsboro, and reported for duty.

A few days after my return to headquarters we received the joyful news of the surrender of General Lee, at Appomattox, on the 9th of April. This news was received with great demonstrations of joy by every one, and was celebrated with the wildest enthusiasm. About this time I was ordered to Camp Palmer, near Newbern, on some business, and saw an order posted, of which the following is substantially a copy:

I also found Capt. Judson at Camp Palmer to see that the order was properly enforced. I will only add that there were no arrests made under that order.

Upon joining my company I found Captain R. B. Hock, who had escaped with me at Columbia, and with whom I had parted from in the suburbs of Greenwood, S. C., when I started out to find the cabin of “Free Mitchell,” and whom I had not seen or heard from since that time.

The meeting was a joyful one to both, and Captain Hock related to me the experience of himself and Lieut. Winner after we separated.

They took a route more to the east, and after walking about three hundred and fifty miles, which took them, I think, about twenty-one days altogether, they came out at Marysville, Tenn., where they struck the Union lines, and were, after resting a few days, sent on to Washington, and from there to join their respective regiments.

Captain Hock afterwards participated in the battle of Wise’s Forks and was there again taken prisoner, but escaped the same night and walked through to Plymouth, N. C., the scene of the battle where we were both taken by General Hoke a year before.

Plymouth at this time was again in possession of the Union forces, and from there he again went to Newbern. He was subsequently made a prisoner again during another engagement near Goldsboro with Johnson’s army, and again succeeded in making his escape, and after a long and tedious march once more reached his regiment.

When he came back this time the regiment was just out for dress parade, and Colonel J. W. Savage had him accompany him out in front of the line, where he introduced him to the command as the Greasy Captain.

Company F., Captain R. B. Hock, of which I was 1st Lieutenant, was for a time thereafter stationed at Kinston, N. C., and after taking the paroled men of Johnson’s army, relieving them of their arms, but leaving them their “critters,” we joined the regiment again and were encamped for a while at Goldsboro, and then marched to Tarboro, which place I had not visited before since I passed through there in April, 1864, a prisoner of war. Here I was placed in command of Company D, Captain Turner of that company having been detailed for duty in the Freedman’s Bureau.

We remained in Tarboro until the middle or latter part of July, and while there I assisted in disinterring the remains of five of my comrades, of the 12th N. Y. Cavalry, who were killed in a charge near that place in July, 1863, and give them a christian burial.

The following letter, which was written at the time and was published in the city papers, gives a brief description of the funerals:

From Tarboro the 12th Cavalry were moved to Raleigh, N. C., where we made up our returns and turned over our horses, and were then mustered out of the service.

From Raleigh we made the march to Petersburgh, and from there to City Point, where we took steamers for New York. We were sent to Hart’s Island, where we were paid off and were soon at home again.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

This took all night and most of the next day, and during that time, Charleston jail yard was the most revolting place that civilized humanity ever occupied and lived.

As I have said, there were only fifty “A” tents to accommodate six hundred officers and, as not over two hundred and fifty could possibly be crowded into these, there were three hundred and fifty officers without shelter of any kind, and as the weather part of the time was rainy, the suffering among those was fearful and a frightful mortality must have ensued, had we been compelled to have remained there much longer. As it was, I have no doubt that the germs of disease were planted there that afterwards cropped out in some form, and perhaps in many cases resulted in broken constitutions, and even death.

Another prolific source of suffering was the lack of fuel with which to cook our scanty rations.

In our extremity we broke up the lumber of the old privy that had been torn down, and tried to cook with that; but as the pails we used to cook in were mostly without covers, and the old lumber was so thoroughly permeated with the filth it had so many years covered, that the rations thus cooked were too revolting to the stomach to be eaten.

The ground of the jail yard was a sandy loam, and the yard having been occupied by prisoners for a long time, was actually alive with vermin, with which we were soon supplied to an extent that was discouraging to those who had any ideas of cleanliness.

In the centre of the yard was a gallows, which had evidently been erected for a long time, and had probably done considerable service. This was a post about twenty-five feet high, with a horizontal arm extending out about eight feet; at the extreme end of this arm and also at the top of the post where the arm joined it, there were pulleys for a rope to run through. A weight at the end of the rope running down the posts, acted as a drop to elevate the body of the victim from the ground and lifted him towards the end of the extending arm. This gallows we cut down and used for fuel. Dr. Todd, as I have said was the prison physician, and was, I believe, a brother of Mrs. President Lincoln.

Reader, do you wonder that we were willing to give our parole not to escape, for the privilege of exchanging this loathsome and pest breeding jail yard, for good, healthy, clean quarters, where we could have all of the facilities for cleanliness, such as were offered to us?

About the 1st of October a fire broke out just after noon, about six or eight hundred yards to the north-east of where we were then confined, on Broad street, overlooking the bay.

As the alarm was sounded, we gathered upon the piazzas to watch its progress. We could see the firemen dragging their apparatus to the fire, and were watching their preparations to extinguish it, when suddenly, we heard the familiar boom of Gilmore’s “Swamp Angel,” and presently saw a shell explode among a group of firemen, who hastily scattered in every direction.

Shell after shell dropped into the burning building, or exploded among those who were endeavoring to extinguish the flames, and for a time it looked as though another terrible conflagration was inevitable.

When a well directed shell would drop in, and explode where the firemen were at work and scatter them, we would send up a cheer that must have been heard where the flames were raging.

Citizens gathered upon the flat roofs of their dwellings and watched the conflict, between the Charleston firemen on one side, and the crackling flames and General Gilmore’s batteries on Morris Island, on the other.

I saw a man and woman upon their roof near the burning building, and when the shells began to drop in pretty thick and fast, and some of them most uncomfortably near to where they stood, the gentleman seemed to suddenly think of some duty he was obliged to attend to below, while the lady pluckily staid it out. The wonderful accuracy with which General Gilmore sent those immense projectiles into any part of the city, from his batteries on Morris Island, five miles away, was simply astonishing. He seemed to be able to drop them just where he pleased and there was no time, day or night, when the citizens of that doomed city had not good reason to expect that they might receive one of Gilmore’s compliments, as we used to call them. While we were waiting in the Broad Street House for the order to start for Columbia, after we had got all packed up, the officers commenced writing their names on the wall near where they had slept, and being in rather a poetical mood just then, I took my pencil and wrote on the wall in the corner where my quarters had been, the following:

I have slept in this corner for many a night,
A prisoner of war in a pitiful plight,
I have ate my corn dodger, my bacon and rice,
And have skirmished my shirt and my drawers for lice.

Here’s health to Jeff Davis and bad may it be,
May mercy and pardon afar from him flee,
May he find, when too late, to his sorrow and cost,
That not only the Confederacy, but Heaven he’s lost.

CHAPTER XXIX.

If papers were not to be had they would stroll around the camp, stopping to talk with any one that could be induced to listen to them, about what they had heard on this subject, and try to hear something that they could console themselves with, and in their perambulations about the grounds, their whole and only theme was “Exchange.” Should those they met commence talking upon any other subject, they were uninterested and would, as soon as possible, change the subject to the prospects for exchange.

The first question they would ask upon meeting an acquaintance would be, “Do you hear anything about exchange?” Should they find two or three officers talking together, especially if they seemed to be talking rather earnestly, they would get up near enough to find out whether the subject under discussion was exchange.

It was the subject of all their thoughts and conversation by day, and of their dreams by night.

The most improbable rumors would be started in camp in regard to exchange, just to play upon the credulity of those who were afflicted with exchange on the brain, and they would believe them too, and would excitedly circulate the rumors.

One officer in Savannah, Captain Johnson, was afflicted badly with this malady, and could never see two or three officers together talking, without trying to ascertain if there was anything being said about exchange. We used to play upon his credulity to an extent that was really cruel.

While at Savannah, Col. F. C. Miller, 147th N. Y., was detailed as senior officer of the camp, and all communications to the commandant of the prison had to be forwarded through him, and all orders from the commandant to us were received through him.

Being very intimate with Col. Miller, I was supposed, next to him, to be the most probable one to know what was going on. The Colonel had made a backgammon board, and we used to sit in his tent and play a good deal of the time.

Captain Johnson and I both belonged to the same squad, which was designated as No. 9. One evening, I had been up to Colonel Miller’s tent until quite late, and when I returned, the squad had all retired. As I came to my tent, which was just opposite Capt. Johnson’s, I said to my tent-mates somewhat excitedly, and in a tone loud enough for Johnson to hear: “Well, boys, I have now got some news that is reliable. I just came from Col. Miller’s tent, and the Colonel told me that Col. Smith told him—” here I dropped my voice so that Johnson could not hear. In a second Johnson jumped out of bed and came across the street, minus everything but his night clothes, and asked excitedly: “What did Col. Miller tell you?” “Well,” said I, “Col. Miller told me that No. 9 squad would be detailed to police the camp to-morrow.”

Johnson, without saying a word, returned to his bunk amid the roars of laughter from the whole squad. I know it was cruel, to laugh at, and play jokes upon men who were half insane upon the subject. There were those who were clearly insane upon the subject of exchange, and were really to be pitied.

A Captain, whose name I have forgotten, became perfectly insane while we were at Savannah, and I think he died while in prison. At first those who noticed his peculiar actions thought he was playing a dodge to get paroled and sent North, but we were all soon convinced that the poor fellow had brooded over his imprisonment until his mind had completely lost its balance.

His mind seemed to be continually dwelling upon exchange, and for days and weeks he could not be induced to talk upon an other subject. He would tell the most improbable stories, that no one else had heard, about a general exchange of prisoners that was soon to take place, but as such stories were continually floating around the camp, not much attention was paid to him, and if any one thought upon them at all, they looked upon his stories as silly canards, gotten up to fool some one with.

His mind finally seemed to run to sumptuous dinners, and he would invite eight or ten of his prison companions to dine with him at a certain hour, and upon their arrival, they would find perhaps a half baked corn meal pome, that had been cooked in a dirty old wash basin, over a smoky fire, having been mixed up without salt or rising of any kind, to be the princely spread he had invited them to.

He would do the honors in a courteous and dignified manner and seem to think he was at home entertaining some distinguished guests in a royal manner, to a regal feast.

Of course his comrades would excuse themselves on one pretext and another, and would leave him to enjoy his dinner alone.

He would eat his pome with all the apparent relish, with which he would have partaken of a dinner such as he seemed to imagine he was indulging in.

Of course, in its half-cooked condition, it would be not only perfectly unpalatable, but injurious to the health as well. When it is remembered that rumors of exchange were being almost weekly circulated through our camp, sometimes by the reb authorities in order to keep us from trying to escape, and sometimes I believe for very cussedness, the only wonder is that the majority of the prisoners were not driven to insanity. I have seen men sit moping for hours with a look of utter dejection, their elbow upon their knee, and their chin resting upon their hand, their eyes having a vacant far-away look, brooding over the cruel fate that placed them in the prison pen, and wondering why an exchange of prisoners was not made, and whether they would ever be released.

On the 21st of June, 1864, a Catholic priest came into the prison at Macon, and gave us such a harrowing picture of Andersonville, which place he had visited the day before, that it made our own sufferings seem insignificant.

He said that he passed up between two lines of Union dead, who had been laid there that morning by their comrades to be carted off to the burying ground, that must have numbered at least a hundred, and that he saw thousands there that were scarcely able to walk, or in many cases even to sit up.

Some to whom he administered the last rites of the Catholic church, showed by the glassy expression of their lusterless eyes, that the grim visitor already held them within his grasp.

The picture he drew of the sufferings, starvation and death he had witnessed there, sent a chill of horror to the heart of his listeners, and created a feeling of indignation that could scarcely find expression in words.

The next day, upon the advice and recommendation of the Confederate authorities, two from each squad met in the large hall that was used for the field officers, and also as a sort of hospital, and drew up a petition to the Rebel Secretary of War, for permission for Majors Marshal, Beatie and Owen of the army, and Lieutenant Alexander, of the navy, to go to Andersonville and examine into the condition of the enlisted men and then proceed to Washington and urge upon the United States government a speedy exchange of prisoners.

When it became known throughout the camp that such a scheme was on foot and that the petition had been signed by this self-constituted delegation and was about to be forwarded to Richmond, an indignation meeting was held from the steps of this building, and was addressed by Captain Ives and others, and the action of the Committee was denounced, as not being in accordance with the sentiment of the prison camp.

The almost unanimous sense of the meeting was, that we had faith in our government and believed it was doing all it could do, consistent with its dignity to relieve and release us, and that we would rather suffer the tortures of prison life, than to harass our government and thereby give aid and comfort to their enemy. The meeting closed by our asserting our confidence in the wisdom and ability of our friends at the North, to do what was for the best interests of the country, and that if we could do more or better service for the country in prison than in the field, as good soldiers and true patriots it was our duty to submit to all the indignities that were being heaped upon us, rather than even impliedly stigmatize the U. S. government as being unmindful of our sufferings, and screen the fiendish brutes who were heaping all of this suffering upon us.

While the meeting was in progress the petition was secretly taken out of camp by a rebel officer, who had instigated their preparation, and as we supposed, forwarded through to rebel Capt. Gibbs to Richmond. We never heard anything from the petition, and the belief was that the rebel authorities, seeing the indignation they had caused, concluded their interests would not be advanced by complying with its provisions.

To show how the large majority of officers confined in Macon felt about how the affairs of the government had been conducted under the administration of President Lincoln, I quote from my diary of June 7th, 1864:

“This being the day upon which the Convention is to meet at Baltimore to nominate a candidate for President, our camp went into convention and nominated Abraham Lincoln by a vote of 533 out of a total vote cast of 625.”

This was considered not only an endorsement of the policy pursued by the President in the prosecution of the war, but also our approval of his exchange policy.

We well understood that the cartel was suspended, because the South refused to exchange the negroes taken in arms, but proposed to return such soldiers to servitude, and we believed that as they were taken while bearing arms in defence of the government, that government was in duty bound to protect them in their rights and it was our duty as good soldiers to suffer and even die, if need be, in prison or in field, to maintain the dignity of the nation.

This is why such indignation was manifested when we were asked to lend ourselves to the scheme of Jeff. Davis, to even impliedly stigmatize the authorities at Washington, as being derelict in their duties towards us, by demanding an immediate resumption of the exchange cartel, unless all who wore the blue could be classed in the category of United States soldiers. We believed that all whose loyalty to the flag, had led them to risk their lives in its defence, whether their skin was white or black, were entitled to protection beneath its folds.

While on the tramp with Captain Alban through the Confederacy, after our escape, he told me an amusing story about his capture at Chicamauga. He belonged to the 21st Ohio, and that regiment was armed with the Henry rifle.

The portion of the line occupied by the 21st Ohio, was assaulted with determined gallantry six or seven times, and was every time repulsed with heavy loss.

The Johnnies would charge with an impetuosity that was wonderful, and would advance until they received the sixth or seventh discharge from those repeating rifles, which shoot sixteen times without reloading, when they would break and fly in disorder; receiving as they went back two or three more shots, before they would be out of range. They would again be re-formed and make another gallant assault, only to again be broken and driven back with fearful slaughter.

After having charged, as I have said, six or seven times, and each time been repulsed with great loss, Captain Alban was taken prisoner and hurried to the Confederate rear. One of the privates was taken at the same time, and his rifle which he had just emptied, was examined with much curiosity by the reb who had taken him, who, after looking it over thoroughly, turned to Alban and said, “What kind of guns do youens use! You load up Saturday night and shoot all the week, don’t you?” After having learned how to handle it he thought it would be a good one for him, but as the soldier had exhausted his supply of ammunition, the piece would be useless until they could get some to fit it.

CHAPTER XXX.

I have mentioned two guides, Modlin and Wynn, who were in the habit of going with me on these raids, and who were both taken prisoners at Plymouth, and escaped into the woods while on the march, after being spotted by some of the North Carolina troops as “Buffaloes.”

These two guides, who were natives of North Carolina, and who knew every turpentine path through those immense pine forests, and who had friends outside our lines who kept them well posted on what was going on outside, while they in turn kept me posted as to the movements of the rebs.

One day Wynn came to me and said that he had positive information that five or six loads of bacon, for the Confederate army, would stop over night at a certain house about fifteen miles south of Plymouth, on the Washington road, and that the guard would consist of ten men besides the teamsters. I immediately rode up to General Wessel’s headquarters and told him that I was going to take thirty men and go out on the Washington road at five o’clock that afternoon, and would return the next morning. I, as usual, procured the countersign for that night, so as to be able to get inside the picket post if I should come back in the night, and selecting thirty men, started at five p. m., guided by Wynn for the South.

After getting out about five miles, we left the road and followed one of the turpentine paths through the woods in a parallel direction.

It had become quite dark by this time and we proceeded in single file, Wynn and myself riding at the head of the column.

Among the men under my command that night was Sergeant C——, a tall, powerful man, and an excellent soldier, whose pluck could always be relied upon, but who had a great weakness for following up any noise on the march, especially if it sounded anything like the crowing of a cock, and was therefore not always in the line while on the march.

We had proceeded about five miles through the woods when our path crossed a road at right angles, just at a school house.

As we crossed the road the guide said to me, there is a well on our left, keep to the right a little. We turned a little to the right and at the same time I ordered the word passed down to the rear that there was a well on the left, keep to the right. This word was passed from one to another until it had reached the rear of the column.

Now Sergeant C—— had stopped a little way back on some important business, probably connected with a chicken roost, and of course did not hear the cautionary word and after we had passed on about two hundred yards a cry came from the rear of the column, C—— is in the well.

I halted the column, and going back found, by the aid of a lantern we carried, that both C—— and his horse were in a dry well about ten or twelve feet deep, and about as wide as it was deep. There was nothing to do but to buckle our saddle straps together, which C—— placed under his horse, and lift it out bodily and then pull C—— out.

This took us half an hour, and I was fearful that we would not reach the house before the teams had got started, and we would be unable to capture the guard. It was just daylight when we came out on the road, about six hundred yards from the house, and I at once charged down and surrounded it.

I secured six yoke of oxen and six loads of bacon, but could find no guard or teamsters. After placing my pickets I had some of the boys bring in a ham, and that, with some eggs and sweet potatoes, and a hoe cake that the woman cooked for us, together with some coffee, which we always carried with us, made us a good breakfast.

To our enquiries about the teamsters and guard, the woman told us that about half an hour before we came a company of Cavalry came from the opposite direction and passed on towards Plymouth, and that at their approach, the guard and teamsters fled to the woods.

I took the teams and loads of bacon and, throwing out an advance and rear guard, proceeded back to Plymouth, not knowing what moment I might run onto this Cavalry troop, which I thought must be rebel Cavalry, as there were no Union Cavalry between Plymouth and Little Washington, which were about eighty miles apart, and knowing that no other troop had left Plymouth, and none would leave until my return.

I reached Plymouth without opposition and then learned that the troop that had passed the house just before we got there, was thirty of our Cavalry from Little Washington, with dispatches for Plymouth, and had already arrived.

When I learned this I was very thankful that C—— had got into the well, for otherwise, we would have reached the road half an hour sooner and would in all probability have met this troop, and mistaken them for the reb guard, have charged them; and as they were not expecting to meet any one but enemies, they would very likely have attempted to break through and a fight would have taken place between us, which must have resulted in loss of life before the mistake was found out.

Shortly after this, Modlin, our other guide, wanted to move his wife and household effects into Plymouth and asked Captain Roache, who was then in command of the detachment of Cavalry, to accompany him to his farm, which was about fourteen miles from our lines, as a protection against a company of rebs that were sometimes in the neighborhood.

Captain Roache took eighty-five men of Companies “A” and “F,” and with Captain Hock, Lieutenant Russel and myself, accompanied him home.

I had command of the advance going out, and after we reached the house, was sent with twenty-five men across a piece of woods to another road, and about a mile out on that road, to a house where he thought I might capture some prisoners. Modlin went along as my guide, and as we emerged from the woods, and came out on the road near a school house, I dismounted and went into the school house to see if there was anyone there. I found on the hearth the dying embers of a fire and quite a number of egg shells, showing that the school house had been occupied the previous night and assuring me that there were rebs in the vicinity.

I did not delay, but moved rapidly down upon the farm house and surrounded it, but after a thorough search of the premises failed to reveal the rebs I was in search of, I mounted again and returned to Modlin’s house, and found two carts loaded with his furniture, &c., and ready to start for Plymouth.

On our return trip Lieutenant Russel was placed in command of the advance, and I was given command of the rear guard of twelve men to protect the carts. The mule in the head cart was driven by one of my guards, who led his horse behind, and the other was driven by a darkey boy, and upon this cart was seated Mrs. Modlin, upon the top of a load of bedding, etc.

We had proceeded perhaps a mile, when we came to a small stream or run, where we stopped to water the horses. We were passing through a swampy piece of woods, called cedar swamp, and just up the road, perhaps six hundred yards from the stream, was a small wood-colored meeting house.

The advance and the main column had watered and started on, and I was watering the horses of the rear guard, when a brisk fire of musketry was opened upon the column now four hundred yards ahead, from the woods on our right.

The column pushed by, and then halted and dismounted, while I told the mule-driver to drive up past before they had time to reload; but the mules were frightened at the firing and were hard to manage, and while I was assuring Mrs. Modlin that she had nothing to fear, as they would not fire at a woman, my guard galloped past the firing up to the column, the one who was driving the mule deserting it, and mounting his horse, going with the rest. The mule thus left without a driver, ran away up towards the company, scattering the goods along the road. The darkey jumped off the other cart and ran into the woods, and as this mule started to run, Mrs. Modlin, turned a back somersault off the back end of the cart and followed the darkey; the mule running against a tree beside the road, demolished the cart and spilled the goods in a most promiscuous manner. My position behind them all, enabled me to take in the whole of this ludicrous scene and I should have laughed if they had all been killed.

Being deserted by my guard and left alone, I started towards the column, firing a small pistol that had been presented to me, into the woods, the rebs being within five or six rods of the road, but a cap got foul and it would not revolve, so I returned it to my belt and drew my navy revolver. As I passed them they gave me a volley, but all fired over my head, and neither myself or horse were touched.

As I rode up towards the column, I saw Captain Hock out in front five or six rods, firing his pistol into the woods, and every one seemed to be fighting on his own hook.

I called out and asked where Captain Roache was, and some one said he was hurt. I then called to the men to come out, where I was still sitting on my horse, and form, which they did with alacrity. Capt. Roache, soon recovering from a stun he had received in dismounting, took command and we soon had the Johnnies driven back. Our men were all dismounted and followed the rebs a short distance, but as they were in the swamp we remounted and started on towards Plymouth without further molestation, except that they came out into the road again, after we had gone eight hundred or a thousand yards, and fired one volley at my rear guard.

We had five horses wounded, but lost no men either in killed or wounded. Five or six months after, when I was taken prisoner at Plymouth, I saw the Lieutenant, who was in command of the ambushing party, and in talking about that skirmish he said, that when that volley was fired at me at such close quarters (not over fifteen rods) and I being such a splendid mark sitting on my horse, he thought I was gone sure.

Mrs. Modlin, the next day having recovered her mules, and picked up her household goods, came into Plymouth alone.

We had an Irish Lieutenant in the 12th Cavalry, whose quaint expressions gave us much merriment. When we first went to Camp Palmer, we had daily drills; he being 1st Lieutenant, drilled the first platoon of the company, and I the second. We used to take them out separately, and I used to be greatly amused at the orders he would give. We commenced by drilling the men in the sabre exercise, and I was watching him the first day. When he got his men into line, and after having them take the proper distance, he gave the command something like this: “Attention, min! Now I am going to larn yees how to draw sabre. Whin I say ‘draw!’ don’t you draw; but whin I say ‘sabre!’ out wid it.” Now those who do not understand the sabre drill may want a little explanation as to how this was to be done. At the command “draw” the sabre is loosened from the scabbard and drawn about six inches; and at the command “sabre” it is drawn out and describing a half circle to the front, carried to the shoulder.

Another favorite order of his when he wished to give the order, “fours right” and then form the squad on right into line, was this: “On ladin set of fours, form line of battle, faced to the rare, march!” Turning to the Major, who was watching him drill one day, after executing this manœuvre he said, “Major this is a bully movement on a retrate.” While we were near Camp Palmer, our advance picket post was about five miles from camp, at a place called Deep Gully; and it was usual for the officer of the day after guard mount, to march his guard under command of the Sergeant, to Deep Gully, in columns of fours. This Irish Lieutenant, being officer of the day one time, after the inspection of the guard was completed and the Adjutant had turned them over to him with the usual instructions, rode out in front and gave his orders thus: “Attention guard, draw sabre! carry, sabre! be twos or be fours, whichever yees like. Deep Gully, to the front! Away wid yees.”

While at Plymouth, the two Captains and four Lieutenants, of our two Cavalry companies, formed a mess, each officer contributing his share towards the expenses. After a while, however, one of the Captains offered to run the mess, for so much a head per week, agreeing to give us good board. Well, for a week or two, every thing went smoothly and all seemed satisfied with the fare. One day we had chicken for dinner, made up into a sort of soup, or more properly speaking, gruel. This, by breaking some hardtack into it, though rather thin, was rendered quite palatable by judicious seasoning, and there being plenty left it was warmed up for dinner again. The third day as we sat down to dinner, we found another dish of this gruel on our plates, somewhat diluted, and looking rather feeble.

When this Irish Lieutenant sat down to dinner he took a look at the soup, and recognizing in it some infinitesimal portions of the old friend of the two previous days, shoved back his plate and with flushed face ejaculated: “Be jabers I like soup; I’m fond of soup, I like soup for forty or fifty meals, but by jabers as a gineral diet I don’t think much of it.”

We had good quarters in Plymouth. Our quarters were in a two-story white house, built as most of the houses in the South are, with a wide hall running through the centre and instead of a cellar, the house was set upon posts, so as to give free access to the air underneath. Our Irish Lieutenant occupied one large room up stairs, and I occupied one just across the hall from him. One Sunday morning I heard a noise in his room, and stepping across the hall, opened his door, and at first thought by his language that he was engaged in his Sunday morning devotions, as he was a strict Catholic. When I opened the door and took a look at him, I was startled at the sight which met my gaze. He was standing in the middle of the room, with a new white flannel shirt about half on, his head protruding, and his face of apoplectic hue, his arms extending upward, and he seemed incapable of either getting out of or into the shirt. It was one of those heavy white flannel shirts such as we all took with us at the commencement of the service, which would shrink in washing to about one-half their original size.

As I entered the room there was a look of discouragement upon his face, which from a liberal use of commissary and natural swarthiness, was always somewhat flushed, and now looked like a boiled lobster, which gave it a frightful appearance. The first sentence I heard sounded like a prayer; he said, “Oh! may the Lord take particular pains to damn the nagur that washed this shurret.” Taking in the situation at a glance, I discreetly withdrew and allowed him to conclude his devotions.

Making Yankees out of the Contrabands, was a pleasing pastime for our boys after the war had ended; and hundreds of these dusky “innocent causes” flocked into Tarboro, N. C., after we occupied that Secesh town, to be transformed into “Lincum Yankees.” Instead of going to headquarters, they would generally go directly to the company quarters, where the boys would heartily welcome them. To the question, “well boy, do you want to be made a Yankee?” They would say “yes massa, I spects I does.” A good strong blanket would be brought out and six stalwart fellows would hold it on either side and the candidate would be gently placed upon it.

The question would then be asked, “Do you promise to support the Constitution of the United States?” to which they would usually respond, “I ’spects I does, massa.” The order would then be given, attention! one, two, three, go; and he would go. At first they would toss him gently, but at every successive toss he would go higher and higher, until he could almost, as one expressed it, see the “gates ajar;” some would almost turn white when they were tossed up to such a fearful height, but as soon as one was pronounced reconstructed and entitled as such to all the rights and privileges of an American citizen, another would step forward and signify his desire to become a Yankee. There was very seldom any accident in these initiating exercises, but I remember of one, in which some of the boys became too weak, from excessive laughter, to hold onto the blanket, and a strapping young negro came near being killed; as I think he surely would have been, had he not fortunately struck the ground head first.

CONCLUSION.

Reader, while I do not claim for this volume any rare literary merit, I trust a perusal of its pages may have afforded you some little pleasure, and instruction. I can cheerfully place it in the hands of my old prison associates, confident that they will testify to its truthfulness and fairness.

While the language is my own, I can confidently claim that it conveys no imaginary sufferings and privations. I have endeavored to speak of the Southern prisons and of the treatment meted out to those whom the fortunes of war compelled to endure and suffer the hardships, tortures and privations of a lingering confinement in those loathsome pens of starvation, provided by the self-styled Southern Confederacy, as a punishment for loyalty to country and the flag, just as I found them. Not to the people of the South do I lay the blame of the frightful mortality among prisoners, in those pens of starvation, but to Jeff. Davis and the infamous Winder; who boasted that they were doing more execution among the prisoners, than Lee’s whole army was doing in the field; to them I say that the blood of thirty-five thousand loyal hearted patriots, cry from the ground of Andersonville, Salisbury, Florence and Belle Island, unto a just God, for vengeance upon those who so cruelly, heartlessly and fiendishly murdered them.

To them I say that should they flee to the uttermost parts of the earth, they cannot escape the contempt of an outraged world, nor the curse of the thousands of mothers, widows, and fatherless children, whom they have in their fiendish hatred, robbed of their beloved sons, husbands and fathers.