ANDERSONVILLE A STORY OF REBEL MILITARY PRISONS

 FIFTEEN MONTHS A GUEST OF THE SO-CALLED SOUTHERN CONFEDERACY

 A PRIVATE SOLDIERS EXPERIENCE IN RICHMOND, ANDERSONVILLE, SAVANNAH, MILLEN BLACKSHEAR AND FLORENCE

 BY JOHN McELROY Late of Co. L. 16th Ill Cav. 1879

VOLUME 4. 

CHAPTER LXII. 

SERGEANT LEROY L. KEY--HIS ADVENTURES SUBSEQUENT TO THE EXECUTIONS--HE GOES OUTSIDE AT ANDERSONVILLE ON PAROLE--LABORS IN THE COOK-HOUSE--ATTEMPTS TO ESCAPE--IS RECAPTURED AND TAKEN TO MACON--ESCAPES FROM THERE, BUT IS COMPELLED TO RETURN--IS FINALLY EXCHANGED AT SAVANNAH. 

Leroy L. Key, the heroic Sergeant of Company M, Sixteenth IllinoisCavalry, who organized and led the Regulators at Andersonville in theirsuccessful conflict with and defeat of the Raiders, and who presided atthe execution of the six condemned men on the 11th of July, furnishes, at the request of the author, the following story of his prison careersubsequent to that event:

On the 12th day of July, 1864, the day after the hanging of the sixRaiders, by the urgent request of my many friends (of whom you were one), I sought and obtained from Wirz a parole for myself and the six brave menwho assisted as executioners of those desperados. It seemed that youwere all fearful that we might, after what had been done, be assassinatedif we remained in the Stockade; and that we might be overpowered, perhaps, by the friends of the Raiders we had hanged, at a time possibly, when you would not be on hand to give us assistance, and thus lose ourlives for rendering the help we did in getting rid of the worstpestilence we had to contend with. 

On obtaining my parole I was very careful to have it so arranged andmutually understood, between Wirz and myself, that at any time that mysquad (meaning the survivors of my comrades, with whom I was originallycaptured) was sent away from Andersonville, either to be exchanged or togo to another prison, that I should be allowed to go with them. This wasagreed to, and so written in my parole which I carried until itabsolutely wore out. I took a position in the cook-house, and the otherboys either went to work there, or at the hospital or grave-yard asoccasion required. I worked here, and did the best I could for the manystarving wretches inside, in the way of preparing their food, until theeighth day of September, at which time, if you remember, quite a trainload of men were removed, as many of us thought, for the purpose ofexchange; but, as we afterwards discovered, to be taken to anotherprison. Among the crowd so removed was my squad, or, at least, a portionof them, being my intimate mess-mates while in the Stockade. As soon asI found this to be the case I waited on Wirz at his office, and askedpermission to go with them, which he refused, stating that he wascompelled to have men at the cookhouse to cook for those in the Stockadeuntil they were all gone or exchanged. I reminded him of the conditionin my parole, but this only had the effect of making him mad, and hethreatened me with the stocks if I did not go back and resume work. I then and there made up my mind to attempt my escape, considering thatthe parole had first been broken by the man that granted it. 

On inquiry after my return to the cook-house, I found four other boys whowere also planning an escape, and who were only too glad to get me tojoin them and take charge of the affair. Our plans were well laid andwell executed, as the sequel will prove, and in this particular my ownexperience in the endeavor to escape from Andersonville is not entirelydissimilar from yours, though it had different results. I very muchregret that in the attempt I lost my penciled memorandum, in which it wasmy habit to chronicle what went on around me daily, and where I had thenames of my brave comrades who made the effort to escape with me. Unfortunately, I cannot now recall to memory the name of one of them orremember to what commands they belonged. 

I knew that our greatest risk was run in eluding the guards, and that inthe morning we should be compelled to cheat the blood-hounds. The firstwe managed to do very well, not without many hairbreadth escapes, however; but we did succeed in getting through both lines of guards, and found ourselves in the densest pine forest I ever saw. We traveled, as nearly as we could judge, due north all night until daylight. Fromour fatigue and bruises, and the long hours that had elapsed since 8o'clock, the time of our starting, we thought we had come not less thantwelve or fifteen miles. Imagine our surprise and mortification, then, when we could plainly hear the reveille, and almost the Sergeant's voicecalling the roll, while the answers of "Here!" were perfectly distinct. We could not possibly have been more than a mile, or a mile-and-a-half atthe farthest, from the Stockade. 

Our anxiety and mortification were doubled when at the usual hour--as wesupposed--we heard the well-known and long-familiar sound of the hunter'shorn, calling his hounds to their accustomed task of making the circuitof the Stockade, for the purpose of ascertaining whether or not any"Yankee" had had the audacity to attempt an escape. The hounds, anticipating, no doubt, this usual daily work, gave forth glad barks ofjoy at being thus called forth to duty. We heard them start, as wasusual, from about the railroad depot (as we imagined), but the soundsgrowing fainter and fainter gave us a little hope that our trail had beenmissed. Only a short time, however, were we allowed this pleasantreflection, for ere long--it could not have been more than an hour--wecould plainly see that they were drawing nearer and nearer. They finallyappeared so close that I advised the boys to climb a tree or sapling inorder to keep the dogs from biting them, and to be ready to surrenderwhen the hunters came up, hoping thus to experience as little misery aspossible, and not dreaming but that we were caught. On, on came thehounds, nearer and nearer still, till we imagined that we could see theundergrowth in the forest shaking by coming in contact with their bodies. Plainer and plainer came the sound of the hunter's voice urging themforward. Our hearts were in our throats, and in the terrible excitementwe wondered if it could be possible for Providence to so arrange it thatthe dogs would pass us. This last thought, by some strange fancy, hadtaken possession of me, and I here frankly acknowledge that I believed itwould happen. Why I believed it, God only knows. My excitement was sogreat, indeed, that I almost lost sight of our danger, and felt likeshouting to the dogs myself, while I came near losing my hold on the treein which I was hidden. By chance I happened to look around at my nearestneighbor in distress. His expression was sufficient to quell anyenthusiasm I might have had, and I, too, became despondent. In a veryfew minutes our suspense was over. The dogs came within not less thanthree hundred yards of us, and we could even see one of them, God inHeaven can only imagine what great joy was then, brought to our achinghearts, for almost instantly upon coming into sight, the hounds struckoff on a different trail, and passed us. Their voices became fainter andfainter, until finally we could hear them no longer. About noon, however, they were called back and taken to camp, but until that time notone of us left our position in the trees. 

When we were satisfied that we were safe for the present, we descended tothe ground to get what rest we could, in order to be prepared for thenight's march, having previously agreed to travel at night and sleep inthe day time. "Our Father, who art in Heaven, " etc. , were the firstwords that escaped my lips, and the first thoughts that came to my mindas I landed on terra firma. Never before, or since, had I experiencedsuch a profound reverence for Almighty God, for I firmly believe thatonly through some mighty invisible power were we at that time deliveredfrom untold tortures. Had we been found, we might have been torn andmutilated by the dogs, or, taken back to Andersonville, have suffered fordays or perhaps weeks in the stocks or chain gang, as the humor of Wirzmight have dictated at the time--either of which would have been almostcertain death. 

It was very fortunate for us that before our escape from Andersonville wewere detailed at the cook-house, for by this means we were enabled tobring away enough food to live for several days without the necessity oftheft. Each one of us had our haversacks full of such small delicaciesas it was possible for us to get when we started, these consisting ofcorn bread and fat bacon--nothing less, nothing more. Yet we managed tosubsist comfortably until our fourth day out, when we happened to comeupon a sweet potato patch, the potatos in which had not been dug. In avery short space of time we were all well supplied with this article, andlived on them raw during that day and the next night. 

Just at evening, in going through a field, we suddenly came across threenegro men, who at first sight of us showed signs of running, thinking, asthey told us afterward, that we were the "patrols. " After explaining tothem who we were and our condition, they took us to a very quiet retreatin the woods, and two of them went off, stating that they would soon beback. In a very short time they returned laden with well cookedprovisions, which not only gave us a good supper, but supplied us for thenext day with all that we wanted. They then guided us on our way forseveral miles, and left us, after having refused compensation for whatthey had done. 

We continued to travel in this way for nine long weary nights, and on themorning of the tenth day, as we were going into the woods to hide asusual, a little before daylight, we came to a small pond at which therewas a negro boy watering two mules before hitching them to a cane mill, it then being cane grinding time in Georgia. He saw us at the same timewe did him, and being frightened put whip to the animals and ran off. We tried every way to stop him, but it was no use. He had the start ofus. We were very fearful of the consequences of this mishap, but had noremedy, and being very tired, could do nothing else but go into thewoods, go to sleep and trust to luck. 

The next thing I remembered was being punched in the ribs by my comradenearest to me, and aroused with the remark, "We are gone up. " On openingmy eyes, I saw four men, in citizens' dress, each of whom had a shot gunready for use. We were ordered to get up. The first question asked uswas:

"Who are you. "

This was spoken in so mild a tone as to lead me to believe that we mightpossibly be in the hands of gentlemen, if not indeed in those of friends. It was some time before any one answered. The boys, by their looks andthe expression of their countenances, seemed to appeal to me for a replyto get them out of their present dilemma, if possible. Before I had timeto collect my thoughts, we were startled by these words, coming from thesame man that had asked the original question:

"You had better not hesitate, for we have an idea who you are, and shouldit prove that we are correct, it will be the worse for you. "

"'Who do you think we are?' I inquired. "

"'Horse thieves and moss-backs, ' was the reply. "

I jumped at the conclusion instantly that in order to save our lives, wehad better at once own the truth. In a very few words I told them who wewere, where we were from, how long we had been on the road, etc. At thisthey withdrew a short distance from us for consultation, leaving us forthe time in terrible suspense as to what our fate might be. Soon, however, they returned and informed us that they would be compelled to takeus to the County Jail, to await further orders from the MilitaryCommander of the District. While they were talking together, I took ahasty inventory of what valuables we had on hand. I found in the crowdfour silver watches, about three hundred dollars in Confederate money, and possibly, about one hundred dollars in greenbacks. Before theirreturn, I told the boys to be sure not to refuse any request I shouldmake. Said I:

"'Gentlemen, we have here four silver watches and several hundred dollarsin Confederate money and greenbacks, all of which we now offer you, ifyou will but allow us to proceed on our journey, we taking our ownchances in the future. '"

This proposition, to my great surprise, was refused. I thought then thatpossibly I had been a little indiscreet in exposing our valuables, but inthis I was mistaken, for we had, indeed, fallen into the hands ofgentlemen, whose zeal for the Lost Cause was greater than that forobtaining worldly wealth, and who not only refused the bribe, but took usto a well-furnished and well-supplied farm house close by, gave us anexcellent breakfast, allowing us to sit at the table in a beautifuldining-room, with a lady at the head, filled our haversacks with good, wholesome food, and allowed us to keep our property, with an admonitionto be careful how we showed it again. We were then put into a wagon andtaken to Hamilton, a small town, the county seat of Hamilton County, Georgia, and placed in jail, where we remained for two days and nights--fearing, always, that the jail would be burned over our heads, as weheard frequent threats of that nature, by the mob on the streets. But the same kind Providence that had heretofore watched over us, seemednot to have deserted us in this trouble. 

One of the days we were confined at this place was Sunday, and somekind-hearted lady or ladies (I only wish I knew their names, as well asthose of the gentlemen who had us first in charge, so that I couldchronicle them with honor here) taking compassion upon our forlorncondition, sent us a splendid dinner on a very large china platter. Whether it was done intentionally or not, we never learned, but it was afact, however, that there was not a knife, fork or spoon upon the dish, and no table to set it upon. It was placed on the floor, around whichwe soon gathered, and, with grateful hearts, we "got away" with it all, in an incredibly short space of time, while many men and boys looked on, enjoying our ludicrous attitudes and manners. 

From here we were taken to Columbus, Ga. , and again placed in jail, andin the charge of Confederate soldiers. We could easily see that we weregradually getting into hot water again, and that, ere many days, we wouldhave to resume our old habits in prison. Our only hope now was that wewould not be returned to Andersonville, knowing well that if we got backinto the clutches of Wirz our chances for life would be slim indeed. From Columbus we were sent by rail to Macon, where we were placed in aprison somewhat similar to Andersonville, but of nothing like itspretensions to security. I soon learned that it was only used as a kindof reception place for the prisoners who were captured in small squads, and when they numbered two or three hundred, they would be shipped toAndersonville, or some other place of greater dimensions and strength. What became of the other boys who were with me, after we got to Macon, I do not know, for I lost sight of them there. The very next day afterour arrival, there were shipped to Andersonville from this prison betweentwo and three hundred men. I was called on to go with the crowd, buthaving had a sufficient experience of the hospitality of that hotel, I concluded to play "old soldier, " so I became too sick to travel. In this way I escaped being sent off four different times. 

Meanwhile, quite a large number of commissioned officers had been sent upfrom Charleston to be exchanged at Rough and Ready. With them were aboutforty more than the cartel called for, and they were left at Macon forten days or two weeks. Among these officers were several of myacquaintance, one being Lieut. Huntly of our regiment (I am not quitesure that I am right in the name of this officer, but I think I am), through whose influence I was allowed to go outside with them on parole. It was while enjoying this parole that I got more familiarly acquaintedwith Captain Hurtell, or Hurtrell, who was in command of the prison atMacon, and to his honor, I here assert, that he was the only gentlemanand the only officer that had the least humane feeling in his breast, who ever had charge of me while a prisoner of war after we were taken outof the hands of our original captors at Jonesville, Va. 

It now became very evident that the Rebels were moving the prisoners fromAndersonville and elsewhere, so as to place them beyond the reach ofSherman and Stoneman. At my present place of confinement the fear of ourrecapture had also taken possession of the Rebel authorities, so theprisoners were sent off in much smaller squads than formerly, frequentlynot more than ten or fifteen in a gang, whereas, before, they neverthought of dispatching less than two or three hundred together. I acknowledge that I began to get very uneasy, fearful that the "oldsoldier" dodge would not be much longer successful, and I would be forcedback to my old haunts. It so happened, however, that I managed to makeit serve me, by getting detailed in the prison hospital as nurse, so thatI was enabled to play another "dodge" upon the Rebel officers. At first, when the Sergeant would come around to find out who were able to walk, with assistance, to the depot, I was shaking with a chill, which, according to my representation, had not abated in the least for severalhours. My teeth were actually chattering at the time, for I had learnedhow to make them do so. I was passed. The next day the orders forremoval were more stringent than had yet been issued, stating that allwho could stand it to be removed on stretchers must go. I concluded atonce that I was gone, so as soon as I learned how matters were, I got outfrom under my dirty blanket, stood up and found I was able to walk, to mygreat astonishment, of course. An officer came early in the morning tomuster us into ranks preparatory for removal. I fell in with the rest. We were marched out and around to the gate of the prison. 

Now, it so happened that just as we neared the gate of the prison, theprisoners were being marched from the Stockade. The officer in charge ofus--we numbering possibly about ten--undertook to place us at the head ofthe column coming out, but the guard in charge of that squad refused tolet him do so. We were then ordered to stand at one side with no guardover us but the officer who had brought us from the Hospital. 

Taking this in at a glance, I concluded that now was my chance to make mysecond attempt to escape. I stepped behind the gate office (a smallframe building with only one room), which was not more than six feet fromme, and as luck (or Providence) would have it, the negro man whose dutyit was, as I knew, to wait on and take care of this office, and who hadtaken quite a liking for me, was standing at the back door. I winked athim and threw him my blanket and the cup, at the same time telling him ina whisper to hide them away for me until he heard from me again. With agrin and a nod, he accepted the trust, and I started down along the wallsof the Stockade alone. In order to make this more plain, and to showwhat a risk I was running at the time, I will state that between theStockade and a brick wall, fully as high as the Stockade fence that wasparallel with it, throughout its entire length on that side, there was aspace of not more than thirty feet. On the outside of this Stockade wasa platform, built for the guards to walk on, sufficiently clear the topto allow them to look inside with ease, and on this side, on theplatform, were three guards. I had traveled about fifty feet only, fromthe gate office, when I heard the command to "Halt!" I did so, of course. 

"Where are you going, you d---d Yank?" said the guard. 

"Going after my clothes, that are over there in the wash, " pointing to asmall cabin just beyond the Stockade, where I happened to know that theofficers had their washing done. 

"Oh, yes, " said he; "you are one of the Yank's that's been on, parole, are you?"

"Yes. "

"Well, hurry up, or you will get left. "

The other guards heard this conversation and thinking it all right I wasallowed to pass without further trouble. I went to the cabin inquestion--for I saw the last guard on the line watching me, and boldlyentered. I made a clear statement to the woman in charge of it about howI had made my escape, and asked her to secrete me in the house untilnight. I was soon convinced, however, from what she told me, as well asfrom my own knowledge of how things were managed in the Confederacy, thatit would not be right for me to stay there, for if the house was searchedand I found in it, it would be the worse for her. Therefore, not wishingto entail misery upon another, I begged her to give me something to eat, and going to the swamp near by, succeeded in getting well withoutdetection. 

I lay there all day, and during the time had a very severe chill andafterwards a burning fever, so that when night came, knowing I could nottravel, I resolved to return to the cabin and spend the night, and givemyself up the next morning. There was no trouble in returning. Ilearned that my fears of the morning had not been groundless, for theguards had actually searched the house for me. The woman told them thatI had got my clothes and left the house shortly after my entrance (whichwas the truth except the part about the clothes), I thanked her verykindlyand begged to be allowed to stay in the cabin till morning, when I wouldpresent myself at Captain H. 's office and suffer the consequences. Thisshe allowed me to do. I shall ever feel grateful to this woman for herprotection. She was white and her given name was "Sallie, " but the otherI have forgotten. 

About daylight I strolled over near the office and looked around thereuntil I saw the Captain take his seat at his desk. I stepped into thedoor as soon as I saw that he was not occupied and saluted him "a lamilitaire. "

"Who are you?" he asked; "you look like a Yank. "

"Yes, sir, " said I, "I am called by that name since I was captured in theFederal Army. "

"Well, what are you doing here, and what is your name?"

I told him. 

"Why didn't you answer to your name when it was called at the gateyesterday, sir?"

"I never heard anyone call my name. " Where were you?"

"I ran away down into the swamp. "

"Were you re-captured and brought back?"

"No, sir, I came back of my own accord. "

"What do you mean by this evasion?"

"I am not trying to evade, sir, or I might not have been here now. Thetruth is, Captain, I have been in many prisons since my capture, and havebeen treated very badly in all of them, until I came here. "

"I then explained to him freely my escape from Andersonville, and mysubsequent re-capture, how it was that I had played 'old soldier' etc. "

"Now, " said I, "Captain, as long as I am a prisoner of war, I wish tostay with you, or under your command. This is my reason for running awayyesterday, when I felt confident that if I did not do so I would bereturned under Wirz's command, and, if I had been so returned, I wouldhave killed myself rather than submit to the untold tortures which hewould have put me to, for having the audacity to attempt an escape fromhim. "

The Captain's attention was here called to some other matters in hand, and I was sent back into the Stockade with a command very pleasantlygiven, that I should stay there until ordered out, which I verygratefully promised to do, and did. This was the last chance I ever hadto talk to Captain Hurtrell, to my great sorrow, for I had really formeda liking for the man, notwithstanding the fact that he was a Rebel, and acommander of prisoners. 

The next day we all had to leave Macon. Whether we were able or not, theorder was imperative. Great was my joy when I learned that we were onthe way to Savannah and not to Andersonville. We traveled over the sameroad, so well described in one of your articles on Andersonville, andarrived in Savannah sometime in the afternoon of the 21st day ofNovember, 1864. Our squad was placed in some barracks and confined thereuntil the next day. I was sick at the time, so sick in fact, that Icould hardly hold my head up. Soon after, we were taken to the Floridadepot, as they told us, to be shipped to some prison in those dismalswamps. I came near fainting when this was told to us, for I wasconfident that I could not survive another siege of prison life, if itwas anything to compare to-what I had already suffered. When we arrivedat the depot, it was raining. The officer in charge of us wanted to knowwhat train to put us on, for there were two, if not three, trains waitingorders to start. He was told to march us on to a certain flat car, nearby, but before giving the order he demanded a receipt for us, which thetrain officer refused. We were accordingly taken back to our quarters, which proved to be a most fortunate circumstance. 

On the 23d day of November, to our great relief, we were called upon tosign a parole preparatory to being sent down the river on the flat-boatto our exchange ships, then lying in the harbor. When I say we, I meanthose of us that had recently come from Macon, and a few others, who hadalso been fortunate in reaching Savannah in small squads. The other poorfellows, who had already been loaded on the trains, were taken away toFlorida, and many of them never lived to return. On the 24th those of uswho had been paroled were taken on board our ships, and were once moresafely housed under that great, glorious and beautiful Star SpangledBanner. Long may she wave. 

CHAPTER LXIII. 

DREARY WEATHER--THE COLD RAINS DISTRESS ALL AND KILL HUNDREDS--EXCHANGEOF TEN THOUSAND SICK--CAPTAIN BOWES TURNS A PRETTY, BUT NOT VERY HONEST, PENNY. 

As November wore away long-continued, chill, searching rains desolatedour days and nights. The great, cold drops pelted down slowly, dismally, and incessantly. Each seemed to beat through our emaciatedframes against the very marrow of our bones, and to be battering its wayremorselessly into the citadel of life, like the cruel drops that fellfrom the basin of the inquisitors upon the firmly-fastened head of theirvictim, until his reason fled, and the death-agony cramped his heart tostillness. 

The lagging, leaden hours were inexpressibly dreary. Compared with manyothers, we were quite comfortable, as our hut protected us from theactual beating of the rain upon our bodies; but we were much moremiserable than under the sweltering heat of Andersonville, as we layalmost naked upon our bed of pine leaves, shivering in the raw, raspingair, and looked out over acres of wretches lying dumbly on the soddensand, receiving the benumbing drench of the sullen skies without a groanor a motion. 

It was enough to kill healthy, vigorous men, active and resolute, withbodies well-nourished and well clothed, and with minds vivacious andhopeful, to stand these day-and-night-long solid drenchings. No one canimagine how fatal it was to boys whose vitality was sapped by long monthsin Andersonville, by coarse, meager, changeless food, by groveling on thebare earth, and by hopelessness as to any improvement of condition. 

Fever, rheumatism, throat and lung diseases and despair now came tocomplete the work begun by scurvy, dysentery and gangrene, inAndersonville. 

Hundreds, weary of the long struggle, and of hoping against hope, laidthemselves down and yielded to their fate. In the six weeks that we wereat Millen, one man in every ten died. The ghostly pines there sigh overthe unnoted graves of seven hundred boys, for whom life's morning closedin the gloomiest shadows. As many as would form a splendid regiment--asmany as constitute the first born of a populous City--more than threetimes as many as were slain outright on our side in the bloody battle ofFranklin, succumbed to this new hardship. The country for which theydied does not even have a record of their names. They were simplyblotted out of existence; they became as though they had never been. 

About the middle of the month the Rebels yielded to the importunities ofour Government so far as to agree to exchange ten thousand sick. TheRebel Surgeons took praiseworthy care that our Government should profitas little as possible by this, by sending every hopeless case, every manwhose lease of life was not likely to extend much beyond his reaching theparole boat. If he once reached our receiving officers it was all thatwas necessary; he counted to them as much as if he had been a Goliath. A very large portion of those sent through died on the way to our lines, or within a few hours after their transports at being once more under theold Stars and Stripes had moderated. 

The sending of the sick through gave our commandant--Captain Bowes--afine opportunity to fill his pockets, by conniving at the passage of wellmen. There was still considerable money in the hands of a few prisoners. All this, and more, too, were they willing to give for their lives. In the first batch that went away were two of the leading sutlers atAndersonville, who had accumulated perhaps one thousand dollars each bytheir shrewd and successful bartering. It was generally believed thatthey gave every cent to Bowes for the privilege of leaving. I knownothing of the truth of this, but I am reasonably certain that they paidhim very handsomely. 

Soon we heard that one hundred and fifty dollars each had been sufficientto buy some men out; then one hundred, seventy-five, fifty, thirty, twenty, ten, and at last five dollars. Whether the upright Bowes drewthe line at the latter figure, and refused to sell his honor for lessthan the ruling rates of a street-walker's virtue, I know not. It wasthe lowest quotation that came to my knowledge, but he may have gonecheaper. I have always observed that when men or women begin to trafficin themselves, their price falls as rapidly as that of a piece of taintedmeat in hot weather. If one could buy them at the rate they wind upwith, and sell them at their first price, there would be room for anenormous profit. 

The cheapest I ever knew a Rebel officer to be bought was some weeksafter this at Florence. The sick exchange was still going on. I havebefore spoken of the Rebel passion for bright gilt buttons. It used tobe a proverbial comment upon the small treasons that were of dailyoccurrence on both sides, that you could buy the soul of a mean man inour crowd for a pint of corn meal, and the soul of a Rebel guard for ahalf dozen brass buttons. A boy of the Fifth-fourth Ohio, whose home wasat or near Lima, O. , wore a blue vest, with the gilt, bright-trimmedbuttons of a staff officer. The Rebel Surgeon who was examining the sickfor exchange saw the buttons and admired them very much. The boy steppedback, borrowed a knife from a comrade, cut the buttons off, and handedthem to the Doctor. 

"All right, sir, " said he as his itching palm closed over the covetedornaments; "you can pass, " and pass he did to home and friends. 

Captain Bowes's merchandizing in the matter of exchange was as open asthe issuing of rations. His agent in conducting the bargaining was aRaider--a New York gambler and stool-pigeon--whom we called "Mattie. "He dealt quite fairly, for several times when the exchange wasinterrupted, Bowes sent the money back to those who had paid him, and received it again when the exchange was renewed. 

Had it been possible to buy our way out for five cents each Andrews and Iwould have had to stay back, since we had not had that much money formonths, and all our friends were in an equally bad plight. Like almosteverybody else we had spent the few dollars we happened to have onentering prison, in a week or so, and since then we had been entirelypenniless. 

There was no hope left for us but to try to pass the Surgeons asdesperately sick, and we expended our energies in simulating thiscondition. Rheumatism was our forte, and I flatter myself we got up twocases that were apparently bad enough to serve as illustrations for apatent medicine advertisement. But it would not do. Bad as we made ourcondition appear, there were so many more who were infinitely worse, that we stood no show in the competitive examination. I doubt if wewould have been given an average of "50" in a report. We had to standback, and see about one quarter of our number march out and away home. We could not complain at this--much as we wanted to go ourselves, since there could be no question that these poor fellows deserved theprecedence. We did grumble savagely, however, at Captain Bowes'svenality, in selling out chances to moneyed men, since these wereinvariably those who were best prepared to withstand the hardships ofimprisonment, as they were mostly new men, and all had good clothes andblankets. We did not blame the men, however, since it was not in humannature to resist an opportunity to get away--at any cost-from thataccursed place. "All that a man hath he will give for his life, " and Ithink that if I had owned the City of New York in fee simple, I wouldhave given it away willingly, rather than stand in prison another month. 

The sutlers, to whom I have alluded above, had accumulated sufficient tosupply themselves with all the necessaries and some of the comforts oflife, during any probable term of imprisonment, and still have a snugamount left, but they, would rather give it all up and return to servicewith their regiments in the field, than take the chances of any longercontinuance in prison. 

I can only surmise how much Bowes realized out of the prisoners by hisvenality, but I feel sure that it could not have been less than threethousand dollars, and I would not be astonished to learn that it was tenthousand dollars in green. 

CHAPTER LXIV. 

ANOTHER REMOVAL--SHERMAN'S ADVANCE SCARES THE REBELS INTO RUNNING US AWAYFROM MILLEN--WE ARE TAKEN TO SAVANNAH, AND THENCE DOWN THE ATLANTIC &GULF ROAD TO BLACKSHEAR

One night, toward the last of November, there was a general alarm aroundthe prison. A gun was fired from the Fort, the long-roll was beaten inthe various camps of the guards, and the regiments answered by gettingunder arms in haste, and forming near the prison gates. 

The reason for this, which we did not learn until weeks later, was thatSherman, who had cut loose from Atlanta and started on his famous Marchto the Sea, had taken such a course as rendered it probable that Millenwas one of his objective points. It was, therefore, necessary that weshould be hurried away with all possible speed. As we had had no newsfrom Sherman since the end of the Atlanta campaign, and were ignorant ofhis having begun his great raid, we were at an utter loss to account forthe commotion among our keepers. 

About 3 o'clock in the morning the Rebel Sergeants, who called the roll, came in and ordered us to turn out immediately and get ready to move. 

The morning was one of the most cheerless I ever knew. A cold rainpoured relentlessly down upon us half-naked, shivering wretches, as wegroped around in the darkness for our pitiful little belongings of ragsand cooking utensils, and huddled together in groups, urged oncontinually by the curses and abuse of the Rebel officers sent in to getus ready to move. 

Though roused at 3 o'clock, the cars were not ready to receive us tillnearly noon. In the meantime we stood in ranks--numb, trembling, andheart-sick. The guards around us crouched over fires, and shieldedthemselves as best they could with blankets and bits of tent cloth. We had nothing to build fires with, and were not allowed to approachthose of the guards. 

Around us everywhere was the dull, cold, gray, hopeless desolation of theapproach of minter. The hard, wiry grass that thinly covered the onceand sand, the occasional stunted weeds, and the sparse foliage of thegnarled and dwarfish undergrowth, all were parched brown and sere by thefiery heat of the long Summer, and now rattled drearily under thepitiless, cold rain, streaming from lowering clouds that seemed to havefloated down to us from the cheerless summit of some great iceberg; thetall, naked pines moaned and shivered; dead, sapless leaves fell wearilyto the sodden earth, like withered hopes drifting down to deepen someSlough of Despond. 

Scores of our crowd found this the culmination of their misery. Theylaid down upon the ground and yielded to death as s welcome relief, and we left them lying there unburied when we moved to the cars. 

As we passed through the Rebel camp at dawn, on our way to the cars, Andrews and I noticed a nest of four large, bright, new tin pans--a rarething in the Confederacy at that time. We managed to snatch them withoutthe guard's attention being attracted, and in an instant had them wrappedup in our blanket. But the blanket was full of holes, and in spite ofall our efforts, it would slip at the most inconvenient times, so as toshow a broad glare of the bright metal, just when it seemed it could nothelp attracting the attention of the guards or their officers. A dozentimes at least we were on the imminent brink of detection, but we finallygot our treasures safely to the cars, and sat down upon them. 

The cars were open flats. The rain still beat down unrelentingly. Andrews and I huddled ourselves together so as to make our bodies affordas much heat as possible, pulled our faithful old overcoat around us asfar as it would go, and endured the inclemency as best we could. 

Our train headed back to Savannah, and again our hearts warmed up withhopes of exchange. It seemed as if there could be no other purpose oftaking us out of a prison so recently established and at such cost asMillen. 

As we approached the coast the rain ceased, but a piercing cold wind setin, that threatened to convert our soaked rags into icicles. 

Very many died on the way. When we arrived at Savannah almost, if notquite, every car had upon it one whom hunger no longer gnawed or diseasewasted; whom cold had pinched for the last time, and for whom the goldenportals of the Beyond had opened for an exchange that neither Davis norhis despicable tool, Winder, could control. 

We did not sentimentalize over these. We could not mourn; the thousandsthat we had seen pass away made that emotion hackneyed and wearisome;with the death of some friend and comrade as regularly an event of eachday as roll call and drawing rations, the sentiment of grief had becomenearly obsolete. We were not hardened; we had simply come to look upondeath as commonplace and ordinary. To have had no one dead or dyingaround us would have been regarded as singular. 

Besides, why should we feel any regret at the passing away of those whosecondition would probably be bettered thereby! It was difficult to seewhere we who still lived were any better off than they who were gonebefore and now "forever at peace, each in his windowless palace of rest. "If imprisonment was to continue only another month, we would rather bewith them. 

Arriving at Savannah, we were ordered off the cars. A squad from eachcar carried the dead to a designated spot, and land them in a row, composing their limbs as well as possible, but giving no other funeralrites, not even making a record of their names and regiments. Negrolaborers came along afterwards, with carts, took the bodies to somevacant ground, and sunk them out of sight in the sand. 

We were given a few crackers each--the same rude imitation of "hard tack"that had been served out to us when we arrived at Savannah the firsttime, and then were marched over and put upon a train on the Atlantic &Gulf Railroad, running from Savannah along the sea coast towards Florida. What this meant we had little conception, but hope, which sprang eternalin the prisoner's breast, whispered that perhaps it was exchange; thatthere was some difficulty about our vessels coming to Savannah, and wewere being taken to some other more convenient sea port; probably toFlorida, to deliver us to our folks there. We satisfied ourselves thatwe were running along the sea coast by tasting the water in the streamswe crossed, whenever we could get an opportunity to dip up some. As longas the water tasted salty we knew we were near the sea, and hope burnedbrightly. 

The truth was--as we afterwards learned--the Rebels were terribly puzzledwhat to do with us. We were brought to Savannah, but that did not solvethe problem; and we were sent down the Atlantic & Gulf road as atemporary expedient. 

The railroad was the worst of the many bad ones which it was my fortuneto ride upon in my excursions while a guest of the Southern Confederacy. It had run down until it had nearly reached the worn-out condition ofthat Western road, of which an employee of a rival route once said, "thatall there was left of it now was two streaks of rust and the right ofway. " As it was one of the non-essential roads to the SouthernConfederacy, it was stripped of the best of its rolling-stock andmachinery to supply the other more important lines. 

I have before mentioned the scarcity of grease in the South, and thedifficulty of supplying the railroads with lubricants. Apparently therehad been no oil on the Atlantic & Gulf since the beginning of the war, and the screeches of the dry axles revolving in the worn-out boxes wereagonizing. Some thing would break on the cars or blow out on the engineevery few miles, necessitating a long stop for repairs. Then there wasno supply of fuel along the line. When the engine ran out of wood itwould halt, and a couple of negros riding on the tender would assail apanel of fence or a fallen tree with their axes, and after an hour orsuch matter of hard chopping, would pile sufficient wood upon the tenderto enable us to renew our journey. 

Frequently the engine stopped as if from sheer fatigue or inanition. The Rebel officers tried to get us to assist it up the grade bydismounting and pushing behind. We respectfully, but firmly, declined. We were gentlemen of leisure, we said, and decidedly averse to manuallabor; we had been invited on this excursion by Mr. Jeff. Davis and hisfriends, who set themselves up as our entertainers, and it would be agross breach of hospitality to reflect upon our hosts by working ourpassage. If this was insisted upon, we should certainly not visit themagain. Besides, it made no difference to us whether the train got alongor not. We were not losing anything by the delay; we were not anxious togo anywhere. One part of the Southern Confederacy was just as good asanother to us. So not a finger could they persuade any of us to raise tohelp along the journey. 

The country we were traversing was sterile and poor--worse even than thatin the neighborhood of Andersonville. Farms and farmhouses were scarce, and of towns there were none. Not even a collection of houses big enoughto justify a blacksmith shop or a store appeared along the whole route. But few fields of any kind were seen, and nowhere was there a farm whichgave evidence of a determined effort on the part of its occupants to tillthe soil and to improve their condition. 

When the train stopped for wood, or for repairs, or from exhaustion, we were allowed to descend from the cars and stretch our numbed limbs. It did us good in other ways, too. It seemed almost happiness to beoutside of those cursed Stockades, to rest our eyes by looking awaythrough the woods, and seeing birds and animals that were free. Theymust be happy, because to us to be free once more was the summit ofearthly happiness. 

There was a chance, too, to pick up something green to eat, and we werefamishing for this. The scurvy still lingered in our systems, and wewere hungry for an antidote. A plant grew rather plentifully along thetrack that looked very much as I imagine a palm leaf fan does in itsgreen state. The leaf was not so large as an ordinary palm leaf fan, and came directly out of the ground. The natives called it "bull-grass, "but anything more unlike grass I never saw, so we rejected thatnomenclature, and dubbed them "green fans. " They were very hard to pullup, it being usually as much as the strongest of us could do to draw themout of the ground. When pulled up there was found the smallest bit of astock--not as much as a joint of one's little finger--that was eatable. It had no particular taste, and probably little nutriment, still it wasfresh and green, and we strained our weak muscles and enfeebled sinews atevery opportunity, endeavoring to pull up a "green fan. "

At one place where we stopped there was a makeshift of a garden, one ofthose sorry "truck patches, " which do poor duty about Southern cabins forthe kitchen gardens of the Northern, farmers, and produce a few coarsecow peas, a scanty lot of collards (a coarse kind of cabbage, with astalk about a yard long) and some onions to vary the usual side-meat andcorn pone, diet of the Georgia "cracker. " Scanning the patch's ruins ofvine and stalk, Andrews espied a handful of onions, which had; remainedungathered. They tempted him as the apple did Eve. Without stopping tocommunicate his intention to me, he sprang from the car, snatched theonions from their bed, pulled up, half a dozen collard stalks and was onhis way back before the guard could make up his mind to fire upon him. The swiftness of his motions saved his life, for had he been moredeliberate the guard would have concluded he was trying to, escape, andshot him down. As it was he was returning back before the guard couldget his gun up. The onions he had, secured were to us more deliciousthan wine upon the lees. They seemed to find their way into every fiberof our bodies, and invigorate every organ. The collard stalks he hadsnatched up, in the expectation of finding in them something resemblingthe nutritious "heart" that we remembered as children, seeking and, finding in the stalks of cabbage. But we were disappointed. The stalkswere as dry and rotten as the bones of Southern, society. Even hungercould find no meat in them. 

After some days of this leisurely journeying toward the South, we haltedpermanently about eighty-six miles from Savannah. There was no reasonwhy we should stop there more than any place else where we had been orwere likely to go. It seemed as if the Rebels had simply tired ofhauling us, and dumped us, off. We had another lot of dead, accumulatedsince we left Savannah, and the scenes at that place were repeated. 

The train returned for another load of prisoners. 

CHAPTER LXV. 

BLACKSHEAR AND PIERCE COUNTRY--WE TAKE UP NEW QUARTERS, BUT ARE CALLEDOUT FOR EXCHANGE--EXCITEMENT OVER SIGNING THE PAROLE--A HAPPY JOURNEY TOSAVANNAH--GRIEVOUS DISAPPOINTMENT

We were informed that the place we were at was Blackshear, and that itwas the Court House, i. E. , the County seat of Pierce County. Where theykept the Court House, or County seat, is beyond conjecture to me, since Icould not see a half dozen houses in the whole clearing, and not one ofthem was a respectable dwelling, taking even so low a standard forrespectable dwellings as that afforded by the majority of Georgia houses. 

Pierce County, as I have since learned by the census report, is one ofthe poorest Counties of a poor section of a very poor State. A population of less than two thousand is thinly scattered over its fivehundred square miles of territory, and gain a meager subsistence by aweak simulation of cultivating patches of its sandy dunes and plains in"nubbin" corn and dropsical sweet potatos. A few "razor-back" hogs--a species so gaunt and thin that I heard a man once declare that he hadstopped a lot belonging to a neighbor from crawling through the cracks ofa tight board fence by simply tying a knot in their tails--roam thewoods, and supply all the meat used. 

Andrews used to insist that some of the hogs which we saw were so thinthat the connection between their fore and hindquarters was only a singlethickness of skin, with hair on both sides--but then Andrews sometimesseemed to me to have a tendency to exaggerate. 

The swine certainly did have proportions that strongly resembled those ofthe animals which children cut out of cardboard. They were like thegeometrical definition of a superfice--all length and breadth, and nothickness. A ham from them would look like a palm-leaf fan. 

I never ceased to marvel at the delicate adjustment of the development ofanimal life to the soil in these lean sections of Georgia. The poor landwould not maintain anything but lank, lazy men, with few wants, and nonebut lank, lazy men, with few wants, sought a maintenance from it. I mayhave tangled up cause and effect, in this proposition, but if so, thereader can disentangle them at his leisure. 

I was not astonished to learn that it took five hundred square miles ofPierce County land to maintain two thousand "crackers, " even as poorly asthey lived. I should want fully that much of it to support onefair-sized Northern family as it should be. 

After leaving the cars we were marched off into the pine woods, by theside of a considerable stream, and told that this was to be our camp. A heavy guard was placed around us, and a number of pieces of artillerymounted where they would command the camp. 

We started in to make ourselves comfortable, as at Millen, by buildingshanties. The prisoners we left behind followed us, and we soon had ourold crowd of five or six thousand, who had been our companions atSavannah and Millers, again with us. The place looked very favorable forescape. We knew we were still near the sea coast--really not more thanforty miles away--and we felt that if we could once get there we shouldbe safe. Andrews and I meditated plans of escape, and toiled away at ourcabin. 

About a week after our arrival we were startled by an order for the onethousand of us who had first arrived to get ready to move out. In a fewminutes we were taken outside the guard line, massed close together, andinformed in a few words by a Rebel officer that we were about to be takenback to Savannah for exchange. 

The announcement took away our breath. For an instant the rush ofemotion made us speechless, and when utterance returned, the first use wemade of it was to join in one simultaneous outburst of acclamation. Those inside the guard line, understanding what our cheer meant, answeredus with a loud shout of congratulation--the first real, genuine, heartycheering that had been done since receiving the announcement of theexchange at Andersonville, three months before. 

As soon as the excitement had subsided somewhat, the Rebel proceeded toexplain that we would all be required to sign a parole. This set us tothinking. After our scornful rejection of the proposition to enlist inthe Rebel army, the Rebels had felt around among us considerably as tohow we were disposed toward taking what was called the "Non-Combatant'sOath;" that is, the swearing not to take up arms against the SouthernConfederacy again during the war. To the most of us this seemed only alittle less dishonorable than joining the Rebel army. We held that ouroaths to our own Government placed us at its disposal until it chose todischarge us, and we could not make any engagements with its enemies thatmight come in contravention of that duty. In short, it looked very muchlike desertion, and this we did not feel at liberty to consider. 

There were still many among us, who, feeling certain that they could notsurvive imprisonment much longer, were disposed to look favorably uponthe Non-Combatant's Oath, thinking that the circumstances of the casewould justify their apparent dereliction from duty. Whether it would ornot I must leave to more skilled casuists than myself to decide. It wasa matter I believed every man must settle with his own conscience. Theopinion that I then held and expressed was, that if a boy, felt that hewas hopelessly sick, and that he could not live if he remained in prison, he was justified in taking the Oath. In the absence of our own Surgeonshe would have to decide for himself whether he was sick enough to bewarranted in resorting to this means of saving his life. If he was in asgood health as the majority of us were, with a reasonable prospect ofsurviving some weeks longer, there was no excuse for taking the Oath, for in that few weeks we might be exchanged, be recaptured, or make ourescape. I think this was the general opinion of the prisoners. 

While the Rebel was talking about our signing the parole, there flashedupon all of us at the same moment, a suspicion that this was a trap todelude us into signing the Non-Combatant's Oath. Instantly there went upa general shout:

"Read the parole to us. "

The Rebel was handed a blank parole by a companion, and he read over theprinted condition at the top, which was that those signing agreed not tobear arms against the Confederates in the field, or in garrison, not toman any works, assist in any expedition, do any sort of guard duty, servein any military constabulary, or perform any kind of military serviceuntil properly exchanged. 

For a minute this was satisfactory; then their ingrained distrust of anything a Rebel said or did returned, and they shouted:

"No, no; let some of us read it; let Ilinoy' read it--"

The Rebel looked around in a puzzled manner. 

"Who the h--l is 'Illinoy!' Where is he?" said he. 

I saluted and said:

"That's a nickname they give me. "

"Very well, " said he, "get up on this stump and read this parole to thesed---d fools that won't believe me. "

I mounted the stump, took the blank from his hand and read it overslowly, giving as much emphasis as possible to the all-important clauseat the end--"until properly exchanged. " I then said:

"Boys, this seems all right to me, " and they answered, with almost onevoice:

"Yes, that's all right. We'll sign that. "

I was never so proud of the American soldier-boy as at that moment. Theyall felt that signing that paper was to give them freedom and life. Theyknew too well from sad experience what the alternative was. Many feltthat unless released another week would see them in their graves. Allknew that every day's stay in Rebel hands greatly lessened their chancesof life. Yet in all that thousand there was not one voice in favor ofyielding a tittle of honor to save life. They would secure their freedomhonorably, or die faithfully. Remember that this was a miscellaneouscrowd of boys, gathered from all sections of the country, and from manyof whom no exalted conceptions of duty and honor were expected. I wishsome one would point out to me, on the brightest pages of knightlyrecord, some deed of fealty and truth that equals the simple fidelity ofthese unknown heros. I do not think that one of them felt that he wasdoing anything especially meritorious. He only obeyed the naturalpromptings of his loyal heart. 

The business of signing the paroles was then begun in earnest. We wereseparated into squads according to the first letters of our names, allthose whose name began with A being placed in one squad, those beginningwith B, in another, and so on. Blank paroles for each letter were spreadout on boxes and planks at different places, and the signing went onunder the superintendence of a Rebel Sergeant and one of the prisoners. The squad of M's selected me to superintend the signing for us, and Istood by to direct the boys, and sign for the very few who could notwrite. After this was done we fell into ranks again, called the roll ofthe signers, and carefully compared the number of men with the number ofsignatures so that nobody should pass unparoled. The oath was thenadministered to us, and two day's rations of corn meal and fresh beefwere issued. 

This formality removed the last lingering doubt that we had of theexchange being a reality, and we gave way to the happiest emotions. We cheered ourselves hoarse, and the fellows still inside followed ourexample, as they expected that they would share our good fortune in a dayor two. 

Our next performance was to set to work, cook our two days' rations atonce and eat them. This was not very difficult, as the whole supply fortwo days would hardly make one square meal. That done, many of the boyswent to the guard line and threw their blankets, clothing, cookingutensils, etc. , to their comrades who were still inside. No one thoughtthey would have any further use for such things. 

"To-morrow, at this time, thank Heaven, " said a boy near me, as he tossedhis blanket and overcoat back to some one inside, "we'll be in God'scountry, and then I wouldn't touch them d---d lousy old rags with aten-foot pole. "

One of the boys in the M squad was a Maine infantryman, who had been withme in the Pemberton building, in Richmond, and had fashioned himself alittle square pan out of a tin plate of a tobacco press, such as I havedescribed in an earlier chapter. He had carried it with him ever since, and it was his sole vessel for all purposes--for cooking, carrying water, drawing rations, etc. He had cherished it as if it were a farm or a goodsituation. But now, as he turned away from signing his name to theparole, he looked at his faithful servant for a minute in undisguisedcontempt; on the eve of restoration to happier, better things, it was areminder of all the petty, inglorious contemptible trials and sorrows hehad endured; he actually loathed it for its remembrances, and flinging itupon the ground he crushed it out of all shape and usefulness with hisfeet, trampling upon it as he would everything connected with his prisonlife. Months afterward I had to lend this man my little can to cook hisrations in. 

Andrews and I flung the bright new tin pans we had stolen at Milleninside the line, to be scrambled for. It was hard to tell who were themost surprised at their appearance--the Rebels or our own boys--for fewhad any idea that there were such things in the whole Confederacy, andcertainly none looked for them in the possession of two suchpoverty-stricken specimens as we were. We thought it best to retainpossession of our little can, spoon, chess-board, blanket, and overcoat. 

As we marched down and boarded the train, the Rebels confirmed theirprevious action by taking all the guards from around us. Only some eightor ten were sent to the train, and these quartered themselves in thecaboose, and paid us no further attention. 

The train rolled away amid cheering by ourselves and those we leftbehind. One thousand happier boys than we never started on a journey. We were going home. That was enough to wreathe the skies with glory, andfill the world with sweetness and light. The wintry sun had something ofgeniality and warmth, the landscape lost some of its repulsiveness, thedreary palmettos had less of that hideousness which made us regard themas very fitting emblems of treason. We even began to feel a littlegood-humored contempt for our hateful little Brats of guards, and toreflect how much vicious education and surroundings were to be heldresponsible for their misdeeds. 

We laughed and sang as we rolled along toward Savannah--going back muchfaster than the came. We re-told old stories, and repeated old jokes, that had become wearisome months and months ago, but were now freshenedup and given their olden pith by the joyousness of the occasion. Werevived and talked over old schemes gotten up in the earlier days ofprison life, of what "we would do when we got out, " but almost forgottensince, in the general uncertainty of ever getting out. We exchangedaddresses, and promised faithfully to write to each other and tell how wefound everything at home. 

So the afternoon and night passed. We were too excited to sleep, andpassed the hours watching the scenery, recalling the objects we hadpassed on the way to Blackshear, and guessing how near we were toSavannah. 

Though we were running along within fifteen or twenty miles of the coast, with all our guards asleep in the caboose, no one thought of escape. We could step off the cars and walk over to the seashore as easily as aman steps out of his door and walks to a neighboring town, but why shouldwe? Were we not going directly to our vessels in the harbor of Savannah, and was it not better to do this, than to take the chances of escaping, and encounter the difficulties of reaching our blockaders! We thoughtso, and we staid on the cars. 

A cold, gray Winter morning was just breaking as we reached Savannah. Our train ran down in the City, and then whistled sharply and ran back amile or so; it repeated this maneuver two or three times, the evidentdesign being to keep us on the cars until the people were ready toreceive us. Finally our engine ran with all the speed she was capableof, and as the train dashed into the street we found ourselves betweentwo heavy lines of guards with bayonets fixed. 

The whole sickening reality was made apparent by one glance at the guardline. Our parole was a mockery, its only object being to get us toSavannah as easily as possible, and to prevent benefit from our recaptureto any of Sherman's Raiders, who might make a dash for the railroad whilewe were in transit. There had been no intention of exchanging us. Therewas no exchange going on at Savannah. 

After all, I do not think we felt the disappointment as keenly as thefirst time we were brought to Savannah. Imprisonment had stupefied us;we were duller and more hopeless. 

Ordered down out of the cars, we were formed in line in the street. 

Said a Rebel officer:

"Now, any of you fellahs that ah too sick to go to Chahlston, stepfohwahd one pace. "

We looked at each other an instant, and then the whole line steppedforward. We all felt too sick to go to Charleston, or to do anythingelse in the world. 

CHAPTER LXVI. 

SPECIMEN CONVERSATION WITH AN AVERAGE NATIVE GEORGIAN--WE LEARN THATSHERMAN IS HEADING FOR SAVANNAH--THE RESERVES GET A LITTLE SETTLING DOWN. 

As the train left the northern suburbs of Savannah we came upon a sceneof busy activity, strongly contrasting with the somnolent lethargy thatseemed to be the normal condition of the City and its inhabitants. Longlines of earthworks were being constructed, gangs of negros were fellingtrees, building forts and batteries, making abatis, and toiling withnumbers of huge guns which were being moved out and placed in position. 

As we had had no new prisoners nor any papers for some weeks--the papersbeing doubtless designedly kept away from us--we were at a loss to knowwhat this meant. We could not understand this erection of fortificationson that side, because, knowing as we did how well the flanks of the Citywere protected by the Savannah and Ogeeche Rivers, we could not see how aforce from the coast--whence we supposed an attack must come, could hopeto reach the City's rear, especially as we had just come up on the rightflank of the City, and saw no sign of our folks in that direction. 

Our train stopped for a few minutes at the edge of this line of works, and an old citizen who had been surveying the scene with senile interest, tottered over to our car to take a look at us. He was a type of the oldman of the South of the scanty middle class, the small farmer. Longwhite hair and beard, spectacles with great round, staring glasses, a broad-brimmed hat of ante-Revolutionary pattern, clothes that hadapparently descended to him from some ancestor who had come over withOglethorpe, and a two-handed staff with a head of buckhorn, upon which heleaned as old peasants do in plays, formed such an image as recalled tome the picture of the old man in the illustrations in "The Dairyman'sDaughter. " He was as garrulous as a magpie, and as opinionated as aSouthern white always is. Halting in front of our car, he steadiedhimself by planting his staff, clasping it with both lean and skinnyhands, and leaning forward upon it, his jaws then addressed themselves tomotion thus:

"Boys, who mout these be that ye got?"

One of the Guards:--"O, these is some Yanks that we've bin hivin' downat Camp Sumter. "

"Yes?" (with an upward inflection of the voice, followed by a closescrutiny of us through the goggle-eyed glasses, ) "Wall, they're apowerful ornary lookin' lot, I'll declah. "

It will be seen that the old, gentleman's perceptive powers were muchmore highly developed than his politeness. 

"Well, they ain't what ye mout call purty, that's a fack, " said theguard. 

"So yer Yanks, air ye?" said the venerable Goober-Grabber, (the nick-namein the South for Georgians), directing his conversation to me. "Wall, I'm powerful glad to see ye, an' 'specially whar ye can't do no harm;I've wanted to see some Yankees ever sence the beginnin' of the wah, buthev never had no chance. Whah did ye cum from?"

I seemed called upon to answer, and said: "I came from Illinois; most ofthe boys in this car are from Illinois, Ohio, Indiana, Michigan andIowa. "

"'Deed! All Westerners, air ye? Wall, do ye know I alluz liked theWesterners a heap sight better than them blue-bellied New EnglandYankees. "

No discussion with a Rebel ever proceeded very far without his making anassertion like this. It was a favorite declaration of theirs, but itsabsurdity was comical, when one remembered that the majority of themcould not for their lives tell the names of the New England States, andcould no more distinguish a Downeaster from an Illinoisan than they couldtell a Saxon from a Bavarian. One day, while I was holding aconversation similar to the above with an old man on guard, anotherguard, who had been stationed near a squad made up of Germans, thattalked altogether in the language of the Fatherland, broke in with:

"Out there by post numbah foahteen, where I wuz yesterday, there's a lotof Yanks who jest jabbered away all the hull time, and I hope I may neversee the back of my neck ef I could understand ary word they said, Arethem the regular blue-belly kind?"

The old gentleman entered upon the next stage of the invariable routineof discussion with a Rebel:

"Wall, what air you'uns down heah, a-fightin' we'uns foh?"

As I had answered this question several hundred times, I had found themost extinguishing reply to be to ask in return:

"What are you'uns coming up into our country to fight we'uns for?"

Disdaining to notice this return in kind, the old man passed on to thenext stage:

"What are you'uns takin' ouah niggahs away from us foh?"

Now, if negros had been as cheap as oreoide watches, it is doubtfulwhether the speaker had ever had money enough in his possession at onetime to buy one, and yet he talked of taking away "ouah niggahs, " as ifthey were as plenty about his place as hills of corn. As a rule, themore abjectly poor a Southerner was, the more readily he worked himselfinto a rage over the idea of "takin' away ouah niggahs. "

I replied in burlesque of his assumption of ownership:

"What are you coming up North to burn my rolling mills and rob my comradehere's bank, and plunder my brother's store, and burn down my uncle'sfactories?"

No reply, to this counter thrust. The old man passed to the thirdinevitable proposition:

"What air you'uns puttin' ouah niggahs in the field to fight we'uns foh?"

Then the whole car-load shouted back at him at once:

"What are you'uns putting blood-hounds on our trails to hunt us down, for?"

Old Man--(savagely), "Waal, ye don't think ye kin ever lick us; leastwayssich fellers as ye air?"

Myself--"Well, we warmed it to you pretty lively until you caught us. There were none of us but what were doing about as good work as any stockyou fellows could turn out. No Rebels in our neighborhood had much tobrag on. We are not a drop in the bucket, either. There's millions morebetter men than we are where we came from, and they are all determined tostamp out your miserable Confederacy. You've got to come to it, sooneror later; you must knock under, sure as white blossoms make littleapples. You'd better make up your mind to it. "

Old Man--"No, sah, nevah. Ye nevah kin conquer us! We're the bravestpeople and the best fighters on airth. Ye nevah kin whip any peoplethat's a fightin' fur their liberty an' their right; an' ye nevah canwhip the South, sah, any way. We'll fight ye until all the men airkilled, and then the wimmen'll fight ye, sah. "

Myself--"Well, you may think so, or you may not. From the way our boysare snatching the Confederacy's real estate away, it begins to look as ifyou'd not have enough to fight anybody on pretty soon. What's themeaning of all this fortifying?"

Old Man--"Why, don't you know? Our folks are fixin' up a place foh BillSherman to butt his brains out gain'. "

"Bill Sherman!" we all shouted in surprise: "Why he ain't within twohundred miles of this place, is he?"

Old Man--"Yes, but he is, tho'. He thinks he's played a sharp Yankeetrick on Hood. He found out he couldn't lick him in a squar' fight, nohow; he'd tried that on too often; so he just sneaked 'round behindhim, and made a break for the center of the State, where he thought therewas lots of good stealin' to be done. But we'll show him. We'll soonhev him just whar we want him, an' we'll learn him how to go traipesin''round the country, stealin' nigahs, burnin' cotton, an' runnin' offfolkses' beef critters. He sees now the scrape he's got into, an' he'stryin' to get to the coast, whar the gun-boats'll help 'im out. Buthe'll nevah git thar, sah; no sah, nevah. He's mouty nigh the end of hisrope, sah, and we'll purty' soon hev him jist whar you fellows air, sah. "

Myself--"Well, if you fellows intended stopping him, why didn't you do itup about Atlanta? What did you let him come clear through the State, burning and stealing, as you say? It was money in your pockets to headhim off as soon as possible. "

Old Man--"Oh, we didn't set nothing afore him up thar except Joe Brown'sPets, these sorry little Reserves; they're powerful little account; nostand-up to'em at all; they'd break their necks runnin' away ef ye somuch as bust a cap near to 'em. "

Our guards, who belonged to these Reserves, instantly felt that theconversation had progressed farther than was profitable and one of themspoke up roughly:

"See heah, old man, you must go off; I can't hev ye talkin' to theseprisoners; hits agin my awdahs. Go 'way now!"

The old fellow moved off, but as he did he flung this Parthian arrow:

"When Sherman gits down deep, he'll find somethin' different from thelittle snots of Reserves he ran over up about Milledgeville; he'll findhe's got to fight real soldiers. "

We could not help enjoying the rage of the guards, over the low estimateplaced upon the fighting ability of themselves and comrades, and as theyraved, around about what they would do if they were only given anopportunity to go into a line of battle against Sherman, we added fuel tothe flames of their anger by confiding to each other that we always "knewthat little Brats whose highest ambition was to murder a defenselessprisoner, could be nothing else than cowards end skulkers in the field. "

"Yaas--sonnies, " said Charlie Burroughs, of the Third Michigan, in thatnasal Yankee drawl, that he always assumed, when he wanted to sayanything very cutting; "you--trundle--bed--soldiers--who've never--seen--a--real--wild--Yankee--don't--know--how--different--they--are--from--the kind--that--are--starved--down--to tameness. They're--jest--as--different--as--a--lion in--a--menagerie--is--from--his--brother--in--the woods--who--has--a--nigger--every day--for-dinner. You--fellows--will--go--into--a--circus--tent--and--throw--tobacco--quids in--the--face--of--the--lion--in--the--cage--when--you--haven't--spunk enough--to--look--a woodchuck--in--the--eye--if--you--met--him--alone. It's--lots--o'--fun--to you--to--shoot--down--a--sick--and--starving-man--in--the--Stockade, but--when--you--see--a--Yank with--a--gun--in--his--hand--your--livers get--so--white--that--chalk--would--make--a--black--mark--on--'em. "

A little later, a paper, which some one had gotten hold of, in somemysterious manner, was secretly passed to me. I read it as I could findopportunity, and communicated its contents to the rest of the boys. The most important of these was a flaming proclamation by Governor JoeBrown, setting forth that General Sherman was now traversing the State, committing all sorts of depredations; that he had prepared the way forhis own destruction, and the Governor called upon all good citizens torise en masse, and assist in crushing the audacious invader. Bridgesmust be burned before and behind him, roads obstructed, and every inch ofsoil resolutely disputed. 

We enjoyed this. It showed that the Rebels were terribly alarmed, and webegan to feel some of that confidence that "Sherman will come out allright, " which so marvelously animated all under his command. 

CHAPTER LXVII. 

OFF TO CHARLESTON--PASSING THROUGH THE RICE SWAMPS--TWO EXTREMES OFSOCIETY--ENTRY INTO CHARLESTON--LEISURELY WARFARE--SHELLING THE CITY ATREGULAR INTERVALS--WE CAMP IN A MASS OF RUINS--DEPARTURE FOR FLORENCE. 

The train started in a few minutes after the close of the conversationwith the old Georgian, and we soon came to and crossed the Savannah Riverinto South Carolina. The river was wide and apparently deep; the tidewas setting back in a swift, muddy current; the crazy old bridge creakedand shook, and the grinding axles shrieked in the dry journals, as wepulled across. It looked very much at times as if we were to all crashdown into the turbid flood--and we did not care very much if we did, ifwe were not going to be exchanged. 

The road lay through the tide swamp region of South Carolina, a peculiarand interesting country. Though swamps and fens stretched in alldirections as far as the eye could reach, the landscape was more gratefulto the eye than the famine-stricken, pine-barrens of Georgia, which hadbecome wearisome to the sight. The soil where it appeared, was rich, vegetation was luxuriant; great clumps of laurel showed glossy richnessin the greenness of its verdure, that reminded us of the fresh color ofthe vegetation of our Northern homes, so different from the parched andimpoverished look of Georgian foliage. Immense flocks of wild fowlfluttered around us; the Georgian woods were almost destitute of livingcreatures; the evergreen live-oak, with its queer festoons of Spanishmoss, and the ugly and useless palmettos gave novelty and interest to theview. 

The rice swamps through which we were passing were the princelypossessions of the few nabobs who before the war stood at the head ofSouth Carolina aristocracy--they were South Carolina, in fact, asabsolutely as Louis XIV. Was France. In their hands--but a few score innumber--was concentrated about all there was of South Carolina education, wealth, culture, and breeding. They represented a pinchbeck imitation ofthat regime in France which was happily swept out of existence by theRevolution, and the destruction of which more than compensated for everydrop of blood shed in those terrible days. Like the provincial 'grandesseigneurs' of Louis XVI's reign, they were gay, dissipated and turbulent;"accomplished" in the superficial acquirements that made the "gentleman"one hundred years ago, but are grotesquely out of place in this sensible, solid age, which demands that a man shall be of use, and not merely forshow. They ran horses and fought cocks, dawdled through society whenyoung, and intrigued in politics the rest of their lives, with frequentspice-work of duels. Esteeming personal courage as a supreme humanvirtue, and never wearying of prating their devotion to the higheststandard of intrepidity, they never produced a General who was evenmediocre; nor did any one ever hear of a South Carolina regiment gainingdistinction. Regarding politics and the art of government as, equallywith arms, their natural vocations, they have never given the Nation astatesman, and their greatest politicians achieved eminence by advocatingideas which only attracted attention by their balefulness. 

Still further resembling the French 'grandes seigneurs' of the eighteenthcentury, they rolled in wealth wrung from the laborer by reducing therewards of his toil to the last fraction that would support his life andstrength. The rice culture was immensely profitable, because they hadfound the secret for raising it more cheaply than even the pauper laborerof the of world could. Their lands had cost them nothing originally, theimprovements of dikes and ditches were comparatively, inexpensive, thetaxes were nominal, and their slaves were not so expensive to keep asgood horses in the North. 

Thousands of the acres along the road belonged to the Rhetts, thousandsto the Heywards, thousands to the Manigault the Lowndes, the Middletons, the Hugers, the Barnwells, and the Elliots--all names too well known inthe history of our country's sorrows. Occasionally one of their statelymansions could be seen on some distant elevation, surrounded by noble oldtrees, and superb grounds. Here they lived during the healthy part ofthe year, but fled thence to summer resort in the highlands as themiasmatic season approached. 

The people we saw at the stations along our route were melancholyillustrations of the evils of the rule of such an oligarchy. There wasno middle class visible anywhere--nothing but the two extremes. A manwas either a "gentleman, " and wore white shirt and city-made clothes, or he was a loutish hind, clad in mere apologies for garments. Wethought we had found in the Georgia "cracker" the lowest substratum ofhuman society, but he was bright intelligence compared to the SouthCarolina "clay-eater" and "sand-hiller. " The "cracker" always gave hopesto one that if he had the advantage of common schools, and could be madeto understand that laziness was dishonorable, he might develop intosomething. There was little foundation for such hope in the average lowSouth Carolinian. His mind was a shaking quagmire, which did not admitof the erection of any superstructure of education upon it. The SouthCarolina guards about us did not know the name of the next town, thoughthey had been raised in that section. They did not know how far it wasthere, or to any place else, and they did not care to learn. They had noconception of what the war was being waged for, and did not want to findout; they did not know where their regiment was going, and did notremember where it had been; they could not tell how long they had been inservice, nor the time they had enlisted for. They only remembered thatsometimes they had had "sorter good times, " and sometimes "they had beenpowerful bad, " and they hoped there would be plenty to eat wherever theywent, and not too much hard marching. Then they wondered "whar afeller'd be likely to make a raise of a canteen of good whisky?"

Bad as the whites were, the rice plantation negros were even worse, if that were possible. Brought to the country centuries ago, as brutalsavages from Africa, they had learned nothing of Christian civilization, except that it meant endless toil, in malarious swamps, under the lash ofthe taskmaster. They wore, possibly, a little more clothing than theirSenegambian ancestors did; they ate corn meal, yams and rice, instead ofbananas, yams and rice, as their forefathers did, and they had learned abastard, almost unintelligible, English. These were the sole blessingsacquired by a transfer from a life of freedom in the jungles of the GoldCoast, to one of slavery in the swamps of the Combahee. 

I could not then, nor can I now, regret the downfall of a system ofsociety which bore such fruits. 

Towards night a distressingly cold breeze, laden with a penetrating mist, set in from the sea, and put an end to future observations by making ustoo uncomfortable to care for scenery or social conditions. We wantedmost to devise a way to keep warm. Andrews and I pulled our overcoat andblanket closely about us, snuggled together so as to make each one'smeager body afford the other as much heat as possible--and endured. 

We became fearfully hungry. It will be recollected that we ate the wholeof the two days' rations issued to us at Blackshear at once, and we hadreceived nothing since. We reached the sullen, fainting stage of greathunger, and for hours nothing was said by any one, except an occasionalbitter execration on Rebels and Rebel practices. 

It was late at night when we reached Charleston. The lights of the City, and the apparent warmth and comfort there cheered us up somewhat with thehopes that we might have some share in them. Leaving the train, we weremarched some distance through well-lighted streets, in which were plentyof people walking to and fro. There were many stores, apparently stockedwith goods, and the citizens seemed to be going about their business verymuch as was the custom up North. 

At length our head of column made a "right turn, " and we marched awayfrom the lighted portion of the City, to a part which I could see throughthe shadows was filled with ruins. An almost insupportable odor of gas, escaping I suppose from the ruptured pipes, mingled with the cold, rasping air from the sea, to make every breath intensely disagreeable. 

As I saw the ruins, it flashed upon me that this was the burnt districtof the city, and they were putting us under the fire of our own guns. At first I felt much alarmed. Little relish as I had on generalprinciples, for being shot I had much less for being killed by our ownmen. Then I reflected that if they put me there--and kept me--a guardwould have to be placed around us, who would necessarily be in as muchclanger as we were, and I knew I could stand any fire that a Rebel could. 

We were halted in a vacant lot, and sat down, only to jump up the nextinstant, as some one shouted:

"There comes one of 'em!"

It was a great shell from the Swamp Angel Battery. Starting from a pointmiles away, where, seemingly, the sky came down to the sea, was a narrowribbon of fire, which slowly unrolled itself against the star-lit vaultover our heads. On, on it came, and was apparently following the skydown to the horizon behind us. As it reached the zenith, there came toour ears a prolonged, but not sharp, "Whish--ish-ish-ish-ish!"

We watched it breathlessly, and it seemed to be long minutes in runningits course; then a thump upon the ground, and a vibration, told that ithad struck. For a moment there was a dead silence. Then came a loudroar, and the crash of breaking timber and crushing walls. The shell hadbursted. 

Ten minutes later another shell followed, with like results. For awhilewe forgot all about hunger in the excitement of watching the messengersfrom "God's country. " What happiness to be where those shells came from. Soon a Rebel battery of heavy guns somewhere near and in front of us, waked up, and began answering with dull, slow thumps that made the groundshudder. This continued about an hour, when it quieted down again, butour shells kept coming over at regular intervals with the same slowdeliberation, the same prolonged warning, and the same dreadful crashwhen they struck. They had already gone on this way for over a year, and were to keep it up months longer until the City was captured. 

The routine was the same from day to day, month in, and month out, fromearly in August, 1863, to the middle of April, 1865. Every few minutesduring the day our folks would hurl a great shell into the beleagueredCity, and twice a day, for perhaps an hour each time, the Rebel batterieswould talk back. It must have been a lesson to the Charlestonians of thepersistent, methodical spirit of the North. They prided themselves onthe length of the time they were holding out against the enemy, and thepapers each day had a column headed:

 "390th DAY OF THE SIEGE, "

or 391st, 393d, etc. , as the number might be since our people opened fireupon the City. The part where we lay was a mass of ruins. Many largebuildings had been knocked down; very many more were riddled with shotholes and tottering to their fall. One night a shell passed through alarge building about a quarter of a mile from us. It had already beenstruck several times, and was shaky. The shell went through with adeafening crash. All was still for an instant; then it exploded with adull roar, followed by more crashing of timber and walls. The sound diedaway and was succeeded by a moment of silence. Finally the greatbuilding fell, a shapeless heap of ruins, with a noise like that of adozen field pieces. We wanted to cheer but restrained ourselves. Thiswas the nearest to us that any shell came. 

There was only one section of the City in reach of our guns and this wasnearly destroyed. Fires had come to complete the work begun by theshells. Outside of the boundaries of this region, the people feltthemselves as safe as in one of our northern Cities to-day. They had anabiding faith that they were clear out of reach of any artillery that wecould mount. I learned afterwards from some of the prisoners, who wentinto Charleston ahead of us, and were camped on the race course outsideof the City, that one day our fellows threw a shell clear over the Cityto this race course. There was an immediate and terrible panic among thecitizens. They thought we had mounted some new guns of increased range, and now the whole city must go. But the next shell fell inside theestablished limits, and those following were equally well behaved, sothat the panic abated. I have never heard any explanation of the matter. It may have been some freak of the gun-squad, trying the effect of anextra charge of powder. Had our people known of its signal effect, theycould have depopulated the place in a few hours. 

The whole matter impressed me queerly. The only artillery I had everseen in action were field pieces. They made an earsplitting crash whenthey were discharged, and there was likely to be oceans of trouble foreverybody in that neighborhood about that time. I reasoned from thisthat bigger guns made a proportionally greater amount of noise, and bredan infinitely larger quantity of trouble. Now I was hearing the giantsof the world's ordnance, and they were not so impressive as a livelybattery of three-inch rifles. Their reports did not threaten to shattereverything, but had a dull resonance, something like that produced bystriking an empty barrel with a wooden maul. Their shells did not comeat one in that wildly, ferocious way, with which a missile from asix-pounder convinces every fellow in a long line of battle that he isthe identical one it is meant for, but they meandered over in a lazy, leisurely manner, as if time was no object and no person would feel putout at having to wait for them. Then, the idea of firing every quarterof an hour for a year--fixing up a job for a lifetime, as Andrewsexpressed it, --and of being fired back at for an hour at 9 o'clock everymorning and evening; of fifty thousand people going on buying andselling, eating, drinking and sleeping, having dances, drives and balls, marrying and giving in marriage, all within a few hundred yards of wherethe shells were falling-struck me as a most singular method ofconducting warfare. 

We received no rations until the day after our arrival, and then theywere scanty, though fair in quality. We were by this time so hungry andfaint that we could hardly move. We did nothing for hours but lie aroundon the ground and try to forget how famished we were. At theannouncement of rations, many acted as if crazy, and it was all that theSergeants could do to restrain the impatient mob from tearing the foodaway and devouring it, when they were trying to divide it out. Verymany--perhaps thirty--died during the night and morning. No blame forthis is attached to the Charlestonians. They distinguished themselvesfrom the citizens of every other place in the Southern Confederacy wherewe had been, by making efforts to relieve our condition. They sent quitea quantity of food to us, and the Sisters of Charity came among us, seeking and ministering to the sick. I believe our experience was theusual one. The prisoners who passed through Charleston before us allspoke very highly of the kindness shown them by the citizens there. 

We remained in Charleston but a few days. One night we were marched downto a rickety depot, and put aboard a still more rickety train. Whenmorning came we found ourselves running northward through a pine barrencountry that resembled somewhat that in Georgia, except that the pine wasshort-leaved, there was more oak and other hard woods, and the vegetationgenerally assumed a more Northern look. We had been put into close boxcars, with guards at the doors and on top. During the night quite anumber of the boys, who had fabricated little saws out of case knives andfragments of hoop iron, cut holes through the bottoms of the cars, through which they dropped to the ground and escaped, but were mostlyrecaptured after several days. There was no hole cut in our car, and soAndrews and I staid in. 

Just at dusk we came to the insignificant village of Florence, thejunction of the road leading from Charleston to Cheraw with that runningfrom Wilmington to Kingsville. It was about one hundred and twenty milesfrom Charleston, and the same distance from Wilmington. As our train ranthrough a cut near the junction a darky stood by the track gazing at uscuriously. When the train had nearly passed him he started to run up thebank. In the imperfect light the guards mistook him for one of us whohad jumped from the train. They all fired, and the unlucky negro fell, pierced by a score of bullets. 

That night we camped in the open field. When morning came we saw, a fewhundred yards from us, a Stockade of rough logs, with guards stationedaround it. It was another prison pen. They were just bringing the deadout, and two men were tossing the bodies up into the four-horse wagonwhich hauled them away for burial. The men were going about theirbusiness as coolly as if loading slaughtered hogs. 'One of them wouldcatch the body by the feet, and the other by the arms. They would giveit a swing--"One, two, three, " and up it would go into the wagon. Thisfilled heaping full with corpses, a negro mounted the wheel horse, grasped the lines, and shouted to his animals:

"Now, walk off on your tails, boys. "

The horses strained, the wagon moved, and its load of what were oncegallant, devoted soldiers, was carted off to nameless graves. This was apart of the daily morning routine. 

As we stood looking at the sickeningly familiar architecture of theprison pen, a Seventh Indianian near me said, in tones of wearisomedisgust:

"Well, this Southern Confederacy is the d---dest country to stand logs onend on God Almighty's footstool. "

CHAPTER LXVIII. 

FIRST DAYS AT FLORENCE--INTRODUCTION TO LIEUTENANT BARRETT, THERED-HEADED KEEPER--A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF OUR NEW QUARTERS--WINDERS MALIGNINFLUENCE MANIFEST. 

It did not require a very acute comprehension to understand that theStockade at which we were gazing was likely to be our abiding place forsome indefinite period in the future. 

As usual, this discovery was the death-warrant of many whose lives hadonly been prolonged by the hoping against hope that the movement wouldterminate inside our lines. When the portentous palisades showed to afatal certainty that the word of promise had been broken to their hearts, they gave up the struggle wearily, lay back on the frozen ground, anddied. 

Andrews and I were not in the humor for dying just then. The longimprisonment, the privations of hunger, the scourging by the elements, the death of four out of every five of our number had indeed dulled andstupefied us--bred an indifference to our own suffering and a seemingcallosity to that of others, but there still burned in our hearts, and inthe hearts of every one about us, a dull, sullen, smoldering fire of hateand defiance toward everything Rebel, and a lust for revenge upon thosewho had showered woes upon our heads. There was little fear of death;even the King of Terrors loses most of his awful character upon tolerablyclose acquaintance, and we had been on very intimate terms with him for ayear now. He was a constant visitor, who dropped in upon us at all hoursof the day and night, and would not be denied to any one. 

Since my entry into prison fully fifteen thousand boys had died aroundme, and in no one of them had I seen the least, dread or reluctance togo. I believe this is generally true of death by disease, everywhere. Our ever kindly mother, Nature, only makes us dread death when shedesires us to preserve life. When she summons us hence she tenderlyprovides that we shall willingly obey the call. 

More than for anything else, we wanted to live now to triumph over theRebels. To simply die would be of little importance, but to dieunrevenged would be fearful. If we, the despised, the contemned, theinsulted, the starved and maltreated; could live to come back to ouroppressors as the armed ministers of retribution, terrible in theremembrance of the wrongs of ourselves and comrade's, irresistible as theagents of heavenly justice, and mete out to them that Biblical return ofseven-fold of what they had measured out to us, then we would be contentto go to death afterwards. Had the thrice-accursed Confederacy and ourmalignant gaolers millions of lives, our great revenge would have stomachfor them all. 

The December morning was gray and leaden; dull, somber, snow-laden cloudsswept across the sky before the soughing wind. 

The ground, frozen hard and stiff, cut and hurt our bare feet at everystep; an icy breeze drove in through the holes in our rags, and smote ourbodies like blows from sticks. The trees and shrubbery around were asnaked and forlorn as in the North in the days of early Winter before thesnow comes. 

Over and around us hung like a cold miasma the sickening odor peculiar toSouthern forests in Winter time. 

Out of the naked, repelling, unlovely earth rose the Stockade, in hideousugliness. At the gate the two men continued at their monotonous labor oftossing the dead of the previous day into the wagon-heaving into thatrude hearse the inanimate remains that had once tempted gallant, manlyhearts, glowing with patriotism and devotion to country--piling uplistlessly and wearily, in a mass of nameless, emaciated corpses, fluttering with rags, and swarming with vermin, the pride, the joy of ahundred fair Northern homes, whose light had now gone out forever. 

Around the prison walls shambled the guards, blanketed like Indians, and with faces and hearts of wolves. Other Rebels--also clad in dingybutternut--slouched around lazily, crouched over diminutive fires, and talked idle gossip in the broadest of "nigger" dialect. Officersswelled and strutted hither and thither, and negro servants loiteredaround, striving to spread the least amount of work over the greatestamount of time. 

While I stood gazing in gloomy silence at the depressing surroundingsAndrews, less speculative and more practical, saw a good-sized pine stumpnear by, which had so much of the earth washed away from it that itlooked as if it could be readily pulled up. We had had bitter experiencein other prisons as to the value of wood, and Andrews reasoned that as wewould be likely to have a repetition of this in the Stockade we wereabout to enter, we should make an effort to secure the stump. We bothattacked it, and after a great deal of hard work, succeeded in uprootingit. It was very lucky that we did, since it was the greatest help inpreserving our lives through the three long months that we remained atFlorence. 

While we were arranging our stump so as to carry it to the bestadvantage, a vulgar-faced man, with fiery red hair, and wearing on hiscollar the yellow bars of a Lieutenant, approached. This was LieutenantBarrett, commandant of the interior of the prison, and a more inhumanwretch even than Captain Wirz, because he had a little more brains thanthe commandant at Andersonville, and this extra intellect was whollydevoted to cruelty. As he came near he commanded, in loud, brutal tones:

"Attention, Prisoners!"

We all stood up and fell in in two ranks. Said he:

"By companies, right wheel, march!"

This was simply preposterous. As every soldier knows, wheeling bycompanies is one of the most difficult of manuvers, and requires somepreparation of a battalion before attempting to execute it. Our thousandwas made up of infantry, cavalry and artillery, representing, perhaps, one hundred different regiments. We had not been divided off intocompanies, and were encumbered with blankets, tents, cooking utensils, wood, etc. , which prevented our moving with such freedom as to make acompany wheel, even had we been divided up into companies and drilled forthe maneuver. The attempt to obey the command was, of course, aludicrous failure. The Rebel officers standing near Barrett laughedopenly at his stupidity in giving such an order, but he was furious. Hehurled at us a torrent of the vilest abuse the corrupt imagination of mancan conceive, and swore until he was fairly black in the face. He firedhis revolver off over our heads, and shrieked and shouted until he had tostop from sheer exhaustion. Another officer took command then, andmarched us into prison. 

We found this a small copy of Andersonville. There was a stream runningnorth and south, on either side of which was a swamp. A Stockade ofrough logs, with the bark still on, inclosed several acres. The front ofthe prison was toward the West. A piece of artillery stood before thegate, and a platform at each corner bore a gun, elevated high enough torake the whole inside of the prison. A man stood behind each of theseguns continually, so as to open with them at any moment. The earth wasthrown up against the outside of the palisades in a high embankment, along the top of which the guards on duty walked, it being high enough toelevate their head, shoulders and breasts above the tops of the logs. Inside the inevitable dead-line was traced by running a furrow around theprison-twenty feet from the Stockade--with a plow. In one respect it wasan improvement on Andersonville: regular streets were laid off, so thatmotion about the camp was possible, and cleanliness was promoted. Also, the crowd inside was not so dense as at Camp Sumter. 

The prisoners were divided into hundreds and thousands, with Sergeants atthe heads of the divisions. A very good police force-organized andofficered by the prisoners--maintained order and prevented crime. Theftsand other offenses were punished, as at Andersonville, by the Chief ofPolice sentencing the offenders to be spanked or tied up. 

We found very many of our Andersonville acquaintances inside, and forseveral days comparisons of experience were in order. They had leftAndersonville a few days after us, but were taken to Charleston insteadof Savannah. The same story of exchange was dinned into their ears untilthey arrived at Charleston, when the truth was told them, that noexchange was contemplated, and that they had been deceived for thepurpose of getting them safely out of reach of Sherman. 

Still they were treated well in Charleston--better than they had beenanywhere else. Intelligent physicians had visited the sick, prescribedfor them, furnished them with proper medicines, and admitted the worstcases to the hospital, where they were given something of the care thatone would expect in such an institution. Wheat bread, molasses and ricewere issued to them, and also a few spoonfuls of vinegar, daily, whichwere very grateful to them in their scorbutic condition. The citizenssent in clothing, food and vegetables. The Sisters of Charity wereindefatigable in ministering to the sick and dying. Altogether, theirrecollections of the place were quite pleasant. 

Despite the disagreeable prominence which the City had in the Secessionmovement, there was a very strong Union element there, and many men foundopportunity to do favors to the prisoners and reveal to them how muchthey abhorred Secession. 

After they had been in Charleston a fortnight or more, the yellow feverbroke out in the City, and soon extended its ravages to the prisoners, quite a number dying from it. 

Early in October they had been sent away from the City to their presentlocation, which was then a piece of forest land. There was no stockadeor other enclosure about them, and one night they forced the guard-line, about fifteen hundred escaping, under a pretty sharp fire from theguards. After getting out they scattered, each group taking a differentroute, some seeking Beaufort, and other places along the seaboard, andthe rest trying to gain the mountains. The whole State was thrown intothe greatest perturbation by the occurrence. The papers magnified theproportion of the outbreak, and lauded fulsomely the gallantry of theguards in endeavoring to withstand the desperate assaults of the frenziedYankees. The people were wrought up into the highest alarm as tooutrages and excesses that these flying desperados might be expected tocommit. One would think that another Grecian horse, introduced into theheart of the Confederate Troy, had let out its fatal band of armed men. All good citizens were enjoined to turn out and assist in arresting therunaways. The vigilance of all patrolling was redoubled, and such wasthe effectiveness of the measures taken that before a month nearly everyone of the fugitives had been retaken and sent back to Florence. Few ofthese complained of any special ill-treatment by their captors, whilemany reported frequent acts of kindness, especially when their captorsbelonged to the middle and upper classes. The low-down class--theclay-eaters--on the other hand, almost always abused their prisoners, and sometimes, it is pretty certain, murdered them in cold blood. 

About this time Winder came on from Andersonville, and then everythingchanged immediately to the complexion of that place. He began theerection of the Stockade, and made it very strong. The Dead Line wasestablished, but instead of being a strip of plank upon the top of lowposts, as at Andersonville, it was simply a shallow trench, which wassometimes plainly visible, and sometimes not. The guards always resolvedmatters of doubt against the prisoners, and fired on them when theysupposed them too near where the Dead Line ought to be. Fifteen acres ofground were enclosed by the palisades, of which five were taken up by thecreek and swamp, and three or four more by the Dead Line; main streets, etc. , leaving about seven or eight for the actual use of the prisoners, whose number swelled to fifteen thousand by the arrivals fromAndersonville. This made the crowding together nearly as bad as at thelatter place, and for awhile the same fatal results followed. Themortality, and the sending away of several thousand on the sick exchange, reduced the aggregate number at the time of our arrival to about eleventhousand, which gave more room to all, but was still not one-twentieth ofthe space which that number of men should have had. 

No shelter, nor material for constructing any, was furnished. The groundwas rather thickly wooded, and covered with undergrowth, when theStockade was built, and certainly no bit of soil was ever so thoroughlycleared as this was. The trees and brush were cut down and worked upinto hut building materials by the same slow and laborious process that Ihave described as employed in building our huts at Millen. 

Then the stumps were attacked for fuel, and with such persistentthoroughness that after some weeks there was certainly not enough woodymaterial left in that whole fifteen acres of ground to kindle a smallkitchen fire. The men would begin work on the stump of a good sizedtree, and chip and split it off painfully and slowly until they hadfollowed it to the extremity of the tap root ten or fifteen feet belowthe surface. The lateral roots would be followed with equaldetermination, and trenches thirty feet long, and two or three feet deepwere dug with case-knives and half-canteens, to get a root as thick asone's wrist. The roots of shrubs and vines were followed up and gatheredwith similar industry. The cold weather and the scanty issues of woodforced men to do this. 

The huts constructed were as various as the materials and the tastes ofthe builders. Those who were fortunate enough to get plenty of timberbuilt such cabins as I have described at Millen. Those who had less ekedout their materials in various ways. Most frequently all that a squad ofthree or four could get would be a few slender poles and some brush. They would dig a hole in the ground two feet deep and large enough forthem all to lie in. Then putting up a stick at each end and laying aridge pole across, they, would adjust the rest of their material so asto form sloping sides capable of supporting earth enough to make awater-tight roof. The great majority were not so well off as these, andhad absolutely, nothing of which to build. They had recourse to theclay of the swamp, from which they fashioned rude sun-dried bricks, andmade adobe houses, shaped like a bee hive, which lasted very well untila hard rain came, when they dissolved into red mire about the bodies oftheir miserable inmates. 

Remember that all these makeshifts were practiced within a half-a-mile ofan almost boundless forest, from which in a day's time the camp couldhave been supplied with material enough to give every man a comfortablehut. 

CHAPTER LXIX. 

BARRETT'S INSANE CRUELTY--HOW HE PUNISHED THOSE ALLEGED TO BE ENGAGED INTUNNELING--THE MISERY IN THE STOCKADE--MEN'S LIMBS ROTTING OFF WITH DRYGANGRENE. 

Winder had found in Barrett even a better tool for his cruel purposesthan Wirz. The two resembled each other in many respects. Both wereabsolutely destitute of any talent for commanding men, and could no morehandle even one thousand men properly than a cabin boy could navigate agreat ocean steamer. Both were given to the same senseless fits ofinsane rage, coming and going without apparent cause, during which theyfired revolvers and guns or threw clubs into crowds of prisoners, orknocked down such as were within reach of their fists. These exhibitionswere such as an overgrown child might be expected to make. They did notsecure any result except to increase the prisoners' wonder that suchill-tempered fools could be given any position of responsibility. 

A short time previous to our entry Barrett thought he had reason tosuspect a tunnel. He immediately announced that no more rations shouldbe issued until its whereabouts was revealed and the ringleaders in theattempt to escape delivered up to him. The rations at that time werevery scanty, so that the first day they were cut off the sufferings werefearful. The boys thought he would surely relent the next day, but theydid not know their man. He was not suffering any, why should he relaxhis severity? He strolled leisurely out from his dinner table, pickinghis teeth with his penknife in the comfortable, self-satisfied way of acoarse man who has just filled his stomach to his entire content--anattitude and an air that was simply maddening to the famishing wretches, of whom he inquired tantalizingly:

"Air ye're hungry enough to give up them G-d d d s--s of b----s yet?"

That night thirteen thousand men, crazy, fainting with hunger, walkedhither and thither, until exhaustion forced them to become quiet, sat onthe ground and pressed their bowels in by leaning against sticks of woodlaid across their thighs; trooped to the Creek and drank water untiltheir gorges rose and they could swallow no more--did everything in factthat imagination could suggest--to assuage the pangs of the deadlygnawing that was consuming their vitals. All the cruelties of theterrible Spanish Inquisition, if heaped together, would not sum up agreater aggregate of anguish than was endured by them. The third daycame, and still no signs of yielding by Barrett. The Sergeants counseledtogether. Something must be done. The fellow would starve the wholecamp to death with as little compunction as one drowns blind puppies. It was necessary to get up a tunnel to show Barrett, and to get boys whowould confess to being leaders in the work. A number of gallant fellowsvolunteered to brave his wrath, and save the rest of their comrades. It required high courage to do this, as there was no question but thatthe punishment meted out would be as fearful as the cruel mind of thefellow could conceive. The Sergeants decided that four would besufficient to answer the purpose; they selected these by lot, marchedthem to the gate and delivered them over to Barrett, who thereuponordered the rations to be sent in. He was considerate enough, too, tofeed the men he was going to torture. 

The starving men in the Stockade could not wait after the rations wereissued to cook them, but in many instances mixed the meal up with water, and swallowed it raw. Frequently their stomachs, irritated by the longfast, rejected the mess; any very many had reached the stage where theyloathed food; a burning fever was consuming them, and seething theirbrains with delirium. Hundreds died within a few days, and hundreds morewere so debilitated by the terrible strain that they did not linger longafterward. 

The boys who had offered themselves as a sacrifice for the rest were putinto a guard house, and kept over night that Barrett might make a day ofthe amusement of torturing them. After he had laid in a heartybreakfast, and doubtless fortified himself with some of the villainoussorgum whisky, which the Rebels were now reduced to drinking, he setabout his entertainment. 

The devoted four were brought out--one by one--and their hands tiedtogether behind their backs. Then a noose of a slender, strong hemp ropewas slipped over the first one's thumbs and drawn tight, after which therope was thrown over a log projecting from the roof of the guard house, and two or three Rebels hauled upon it until the miserable Yankee waslifted from the ground, and hung suspended by the thumbs, while hisweight seemed tearing his limbs from his shoulder blades. The otherthree were treated in the same manner. 

The agony was simply excruciating. The boys were brave, and had resolvedto stand their punishment without a groan, but this was too much forhuman endurance. Their will was strong, but Nature could not be denied, and they shrieked aloud so pitifully that a young Reserve standing nearfainted. Each one screamed:

"For God's sake, kill me! kill me! Shoot me if--you want to, but let medown from here!" The only effect of this upon Barrett was to light uphis brutal face with a leer of fiendish satisfaction. He said to theguards with a gleeful wink:

"By God, I'll learn these Yanks to be more afeard of me than of the olddevil himself. They'll soon understand that I'm not the man to foolwith. I'm old pizen, I am, when I git started. Jest hear 'em squeal, won't yer?"

Then walking from one prisoner to another, he said:

"D---n yer skins, ye'll dig tunnels, will ye? Ye'll try to git out, andrun through the country stealin' and carryin' off niggers, and makin'more trouble than yer d----d necks are worth. I'll learn ye all aboutthat. If I ketch ye at this sort of work again, d----d ef I don't killye ez soon ez I ketch ye. "

And so on, ad infinitum. How long the boys were kept up there undergoingthis torture can not be said. Perhaps it was an hour or more. To thelocker-on it seemed long hours, to the poor fellows themselves it wasages. When they were let down at last, all fainted, and were carriedaway to the hospital, where they were weeks in recovering from theeffects. Some of them were crippled for life. 

When we came into the prison there were about eleven thousand there. More uniformly wretched creatures I had never before seen. Up to thetime of our departure from Andersonville the constant influx of newprisoners had prevented the misery and wasting away of life from becomingfully realized. Though thousands were continually dying, thousands moreof healthy, clean, well-clothed men were as continually coming in fromthe front, so that a large portion of those inside looked in fairly goodcondition. Put now no new prisoners had come in for months; the moneywhich made such a show about the sutler shops of Andersonville had beenspent; and there was in every face the same look of ghastly emaciation, the same shrunken muscles and feeble limbs, the same lack-luster eyes andhopeless countenances. 

One of the commonest of sights was to see men whose hands and feet weresimply rotting off. The nights were frequently so cold that ice aquarter of an inch thick formed on the water. The naked frames ofstarving men were poorly calculated to withstand this frosty rigor, andthousands had their extremities so badly frozen as to destroy the life inthose parts, and induce a rotting of the tissues by a dry gangrene. The rotted flesh frequently remained in its place for a long time--a loathsome but painless mass, that gradually sloughed off, leaving thesinews that passed through it to stand out like shining, white cords. 

While this was in some respects less terrible than the hospital gangreneat Andersonville, it was more generally diffused, and dreadful to thelast degree. The Rebel Surgeons at Florence did not follow the habit ofthose at Andersonville, and try to check the disease by wholesaleamputation, but simply let it run its course, and thousands finallycarried their putrefied limbs through our lines, when the Confederacybroke up in the Spring, to be treated by our Surgeons. 

I had been in prison but a little while when a voice called out from ahole in the ground, as I was passing:

"S-a-y, Sergeant! Won't you please take these shears and cut my toesoff?"

"What?" said I, in amazement, stopping in front of the dugout. 

"Just take these shears, won't you, and cut my toes off?" answered theinmate, an Indiana infantryman--holding up a pair of dull shears in hishand, and elevating a foot for me to look at. 

I examined the latter carefully. All the flesh of the toes, exceptlittle pads at the ends, had rotted off, leaving the bones as clean as ifscraped. The little tendons still remained, and held the bones to theirplaces, but this seemed to hurt the rest of the feet and annoy the man. 

"You'd better let one of the Rebel doctors see this, " I said, afterfinishing my survey, "before you conclude to have them off. May be theycan be saved. "

"No; d----d if I'm going to have any of them Rebel butchers foolingaround me. I'd die first, and then I wouldn't, " was the reply. "You cando it better than they can. It's just a little snip. Just try it. "

"I don't like to, " I replied. "I might lame you for life, and make youlots of trouble. "

"O, bother! what business is that of yours? They're my toes, and I want'em off. They hurt me so I can't sleep. Come, now, take the shears andcut 'em off. "

I yielded, and taking the shears, snipped one tendon after another, closeto the feet, and in a few seconds had the whole ten toes lying in a heapat the bottom of the dug-out. I picked them up and handed them to theirowner, who gazed at them, complacently, and remarked:

"Well, I'm darned glad they're off. I won't be bothered with corns anymore, I flatter myself. "

CHAPTER LXX. 

HOUSE AND CLOTHES--EFFORTS TO ERECT A SUITABLE RESIDENCE--DIFFICULTIESATTENDING THIS--VARIETIES OF FLORENTINE ARCHITECTURE--WAITING FOR DEADMEN'S CLOTHES--CRAVING FOR TOBACCO. 

We were put into the old squads to fill the places of those who hadrecently died, being assigned to these vacancies according to theinitials of our surnames, the same rolls being used that we had signed asparoles. This separated Andrews and me, for the "A's" were taken to fillup the first hundreds of the First Thousand, while the "M's, " to which Ibelonged, went into the next Thousand. 

I was put into the Second Hundred of the Second Thousand, and itsSergeant dying shortly after, I was given his place, and commanded thehundred, drew its rations, made out its rolls, and looked out for itssick during the rest of our stay there. 

Andrews and I got together again, and began fixing up what little wecould to protect ourselves against the weather. Cold as this was wedecided that it was safer to endure it and risk frost-biting every nightthan to build one of the mud-walled and mud-covered holes that so many, lived in. These were much warmer than lying out on the frozen ground, but we believed that they were very unhealthy, and that no one lived longwho inhabited them. 

So we set about repairing our faithful old blanket--now full of greatholes. We watched the dead men to get pieces of cloth from theirgarments to make patches, which we sewed on with yarn raveled from otherfragments of woolen cloth. Some of our company, whom we found in theprison, donated us the three sticks necessary to make tent-poles--wonderful generosity when the preciousness of firewood is remembered. We hoisted our blanket upon these; built a wall of mud bricks at one end, and in it a little fireplace to economize our scanty fuel to the lastdegree, and were once more at home, and much better off than most of ourneighbors. 

One of these, the proprietor of a hole in the ground covered with an archof adobe bricks, had absolutely no bed-clothes except a couple of shortpieces of board--and very little other clothing. He dug a trench in thebottom of what was by courtesy called his tent, sufficiently large tocontain his body below his neck. At nightfall he would crawl into this, put his two bits of board so that they joined over his breast, and thensay: "Now, boys, cover me over;" whereupon his friends would cover him upwith dry sand from the sides of his domicile, in which he would slumberquietly till morning, when he would rise, shake the sand from hisgarments, and declare that he felt as well refreshed as if he had slepton a spring mattress. 

There has been much talk of earth baths of late years in scientific andmedical circles. I have been sorry that our Florence comrade if he stilllives--did not contribute the results of his experience. 

The pinching cold cured me of my repugnance to wearing dead men'sclothes, or rather it made my nakedness so painful that I was glad tocover it as best I could, and I began foraging among the corpses forgarments. For awhile my efforts to set myself up in the mortuarysecond-hand clothing business were not all successful. I found thatdying men with good clothes were as carefully watched over by sets offellows who constituted themselves their residuary legatees as if theywere men of fortune dying in the midst of a circle of expectant nephewsand nieces. Before one was fairly cold his clothes would be appropriatedand divided, and I have seen many sharp fights between contestingclaimants. 

I soon perceived that my best chance was to get up very early in themorning, and do my hunting. The nights were so cold that many could notsleep, and they would walk up and down the streets, trying to keep warmby exercise. Towards morning, becoming exhausted, they would lie down onthe ground almost anywhere, and die. I have frequently seen so many asfifty of these. My first "find" of any importance was a youngPennsylvania Zouave, who was lying dead near the bridge that crossed theCreek. His clothes were all badly worn, except his baggy, dark trousers, which were nearly new. I removed these, scraped out from each of thedozens of great folds in the legs about a half pint of lice, and drew thegarments over my own half-frozen limbs, the first real covering thosemembers had had for four or five months. The pantaloons only came downabout half-way between my knees and feet, but still they were wonderfullycomfortable to what I had been--or rather not been--wearing. I hadpicked up a pair of boot bottoms, which answered me for shoes, and now Ibegan a hunt for socks. This took several morning expeditions, but onone of them I was rewarded with finding a corpse with a good brown one--army make--and a few days later I got another, a good, thick genuine one, knit at home, of blue yarn, by some patient, careful housewife. Almostthe next morning I had the good fortune to find a dead man with a warm, whole, infantry dress-coat, a most serviceable garment. As I still hadfor a shirt the blouse Andrews had given me at Millen, I now consideredmy wardrobe complete, and left the rest of the clothes to those who weremore needy than I. 

Those who used tobacco seemed to suffer more from a deprivation of theweed than from lack of food. There were no sacrifices they would notmake to obtain it, and it was no uncommon thing for boys to trade offhalf their rations for a chew of "navy plug. " As long as one hadanything--especially buttons--to trade, tobacco could be procured fromthe guards, who were plentifully supplied with it. When means of barterwere gone, chewers frequently became so desperate as to beg the guards tothrow them a bit of the precious nicotine. Shortly after our arrival atFlorence, a prisoner on the East Side approached one of the Reserves withthe request:

"Say, Guard, can't you give a fellow a chew of tobacco?"

To which the guard replied:

"Yes; come right across the line there and I'll drop you down a bit. "

The unsuspecting prisoner stepped across the Dead Line, and the guard--aboy of sixteen--raised his gun and killed him. 

At the North Side of the prison, the path down to the Creek lay rightalong side of the Dead Line, which was a mere furrow in the ground. 

At night the guards, in their zeal to kill somebody, were very likely toimagine that any one going along the path for water was across the DeadLine, and fire upon him. It was as bad as going upon the skirmish lineto go for water after nightfall. Yet every night a group of boys wouldbe found standing at the head of the path crying out:

"Fill your buckets for a chew of tobacco. "

That is, they were willing to take all the risk of running that gauntletfor this moderate compensation. 

CHAPTER LXXI. 

DECEMBER--RATIONS OF WOOD AND FOOD GROW LESS DAILY--UNCERTAINTY AS TO THEMORTALITY AT FLORENCE--EVEN THE GOVERNMENT'S STATISTICS ARE VERYDEFICIENT--CARE FOB THE SICK. 

The rations of wood grew smaller as the weather grew colder, until atlast they settled down to a piece about the size of a kitchen rolling-pinper day for each man. This had to serve for all purposes--cooking, aswell as warming. We split the rations up into slips about the size of acarpenter's lead pencil, and used them parsimoniously, never building afire so big that it could not be covered with a half-peck measure. We hovered closely over this--covering it, in fact, with our hands andbodies, so that not a particle of heat was lost. Remembering theIndian's sage remark, "That the white man built a big fire and sat awayoff from it; the Indian made a little fire and got up close to it, " welet nothing in the way of caloric be wasted by distance. The pitch-pineproduced great quantities of soot, which, in cold and rainy days, when wehung over the fires all the time, blackened our faces until we werebeyond the recognition of intimate friends. 

There was the same economy of fuel in cooking. Less than half as much asis contained in a penny bunch of kindling was made to suffice inpreparing our daily meal. If we cooked mush we elevated our little canan inch from the ground upon a chunk of clay, and piled the little sticksaround it so carefully that none should burn without yielding all itsheat to the vessel, and not one more was burned than absolutelynecessary. If we baked bread we spread the dough upon our chessboard, and propped it up before the little fire-place, and used every particleof heat evolved. We had to pinch and starve ourselves thus, while withinfive minutes' walk from the prison-gate stood enough timber to build agreat city. 

The stump Andrews and I had the foresight to save now did us excellentservice. It was pitch pine, very fat with resin, and a little piecesplit off each day added much to our fires and our comfort. 

One morning, upon examining the pockets of an infantryman of my hundredwho had just died, I had the wonderful luck to find a silver quarter. I hurried off to tell Andrews of our unexpected good fortune. By aneffort he succeeded in calming himself to the point of receiving the newswith philosophic coolness, and we went into Committee of the Whole Uponthe State of Our Stomachs, to consider how the money could be spent tothe best advantage. At the south side of the Stockade on the outside ofthe timbers, was a sutler shop, kept by a Rebel, and communicating withthe prison by a hole two or three feet square, cut through the logs. TheDead Line was broken at this point, so as to permit prisoners to come upto the hole to trade. The articles for sale were corn meal and bread, flour and wheat bread, meat, beaus, molasses, honey, sweet potatos, etc. I went down to the place, carefully inspected the stock, pricedeverything there, and studied the relative food value of each. I cameback, reported my observations and conclusions to Andrews, and then staidat the tent while he went on a similar errand. The consideration of thematter was continued during the day and night, and the next morning wedetermined upon investing our twenty-five cents in sweet potatos, as wecould get nearly a half-bushel of them, which was "more fillin' at theprice, " to use the words of Dickens's Fat Boy, than anything else offeredus. We bought the potatos, carried them home in our blanket, buried themin the bottom of our tent, to keep them from being stolen, and restrictedourselves to two per day until we had eaten them all. 

The Rebels did something more towards properly caring for the sick thanat Andersonville. A hospital was established in the northwestern cornerof the Stockade, and separated from the rest of the camp by a line ofpolice, composed of our own men. In this space several large sheds wereerected, of that rude architecture common to the coarser sort ofbuildings in the South. There was not a nail or a bolt used in theirentire construction. Forked posts at the ends and sides supported polesupon which were laid the long "shakes, " or split shingles, forming theroofs, and which were held in place by other poles laid upon them. The sides and ends were enclosed by similar "shakes, " and altogether theyformed quite a fair protection against the weather. Beds of pine leaveswere provided for the sick, and some coverlets, which our SanitaryCommission had been allowed to send through. But nothing was done tobathe or cleanse them, or to exchange their lice-infested garments forothers less full of torture. The long tangled hair and whiskers were notcut, nor indeed were any of the commonest suggestions for the improvementof the condition of the sick put into execution. Men who had laid intheir mud hovels until they had become helpless and hopeless, wereadmitted to the hospital, usually only to die. 

The diseases were different in character from those which swept off theprisoners at Andersonville. There they were mostly of the digestiveorgans; here of the respiratory. The filthy, putrid, speedily fatalgangrene of Andersonville became here a dry, slow wasting away of theparts, which continued for weeks, even months, without being necessarilyfatal. Men's feet and legs, and less frequently their hands and arms, decayed and sloughed off. The parts became so dead that a knife could berun through them without causing a particle of pain. The dead flesh hungon to the bones and tendons long after the nerves and veins had ceased toperform their functions, and sometimes startled one by dropping off in alump, without causing pain or hemorrhage. 

The appearance of these was, of course, frightful, or would have been, had we not become accustomed to them. The spectacle of men with theirfeet and legs a mass of dry ulceration, which had reduced the flesh toputrescent deadness, and left the tendons standing out like cords, wastoo common to excite remark or even attention. Unless the victim was acomrade, no one specially heeded his condition. Lung diseases and lowfevers ravaged the camp, existing all the time in a more or less virulentcondition, according to the changes of the weather, and occasionallyragging in destructive epidemics. I am unable to speak with any degreeof definiteness as to the death rate, since I had ceased to interestmyself about the number dying each day. I had now been a prisoner ayear, and had become so torpid and stupefied, mentally and physically, that I cared comparatively little for anything save the rations of foodand of fuel. The difference of a few spoonfuls of meal, or a largesplinter of wood in the daily issues to me, were of more actualimportance than the increase or decrease of the death rate by a half ascore or more. At Andersonville I frequently took the trouble to countthe number of dead and living, but all curiosity of this kind had nowdied out. 

Nor can I find that anybody else is in possession of much more than myown information on the subject. Inquiry at the War Department haselicited the following letters:

I. 

The prison records of Florence, S. C. , have never come to light, andtherefore the number of prisoners confined there could not be ascertainedfrom the records on file in this office; nor do I think that anystatement purporting to show that number has ever been made. 

In the report to Congress of March 1, 1869, it was shown from records asfollows:

Escaped, fifty-eight; paroled, one; died, two thousand seven hundred andninety-three. Total, two thousand eight hundred and fifty-two. 

Since date of said report there have been added to the records asfollows:

Died, two hundred and twelve; enlisted in Rebel army, three hundred andtwenty-six. Total, five hundred and thirty-eight. 

Making a total disposed of from there, as shown by records on file, ofthree thousand three hundred and ninety. 

This, no doubt, is a small proportion of the number actually confinedthere. 

The hospital register on file contains that part only of the alphabetsubsequent to, and including part of the letter S, but from thisregister, it is shown that the prisoners were arranged in hundreds andthousands, and the hundred and thousand to which he belonged is recordedopposite each man's name on said register. Thus:

"John Jones, 11th thousand, 10th hundred. "

Eleven thousand being the highest number thus recorded, it is fair topresume that not less than that number were confined there on a certaindate, and that more than that number were confined there during the timeit was continued as a prison. 

II

Statement showing the whole number of Federals and Confederates captured, (less the number paroled on the field), the number who died whileprisoners, and the percentage of deaths, 1861-1865

 FEDERALSCaptured .................................................. 187, 818Died, (as shown by prison and hospital records on file).... 30, 674Percentage of deaths ...................................... 16. 375

 CONFEDERATESCaptured .................................................. 227, 570Died ...................................................... 26, 774Percentage of deaths ...................................... 11. 768

In the detailed statement prepared for Congress dated March 1, 1869, thewhole number of deaths given as shown by Prisoner of War records wastwenty-six thousand three hundred and twenty-eight, but since that dateevidence of three thousand six hundred and twenty-eight additional deathshas been obtained from the captured Confederate records, making a totalof twenty-nine thousand nine hundred and fifty-six as above shown. Thisis believed to be many thousands less than the actual number of Federalprisoners who died in Confederate prisons, as we have no records fromthose at Montgomery Ala. , Mobile, Ala. , Millen, Ga. , Marietta, Ga. , Atlanta, Ga. , Charleston, S. C. , and others. The records of Florence, S. C. , and Salisbury, N. C. , are very incomplete. It also appears fromConfederate inspection reports of Confederate prisons, that largepercentage of the deaths occurred in prison quarter without the care orknowledge of the Surgeon. For the month of December, 1864 alone, theConfederate "burial report"; Salisbury, N. C. , show that out, of elevenhundred and fifty deaths, two hundred and twenty-three, or twenty percent. , died in prison quarters and are not accounted for in the report ofthe Surgeon, and therefore not taken into consideration in the abovereport, as the only records of said prisons on file (with one exception)are the Hospital records. Calculating the percentage of deaths on thisbasis would give the number of deaths at thirty-seven thousand fourhundred and forty-five and percentage of deaths at 20. 023. 

 [End of the Letters from the War Department. ]

If we assume that the Government's records of Florence as correct, itwill be apparent that one man in every three die there, since, whilethere might have been as high as fifty thousand at one time in theprison, during the last three months of its existence I am quite surethat the number did not exceed seven thousand. This would make themortality much greater than at Andersonville, which it undoubtedly was, since the physical condition of the prisoners confined there had beengreatly depressed by their long confinement, while the bulk c theprisoners at Andersonville were those who had been brought thitherdirectly from the field. I think also that all who experiencedconfinement in the two places are united in pronouncing Florence to be, on the whole, much the worse place and more fatal to life. 

The medicines furnished the sick were quite simple in nature and mainlycomposed of indigenous substances. For diarrhea red pepper anddecoctions of blackberry root and of pine leave were given. For coughsand lung diseases, a decoction of wild cherry bark was administered. Chills and fever were treated with decoctions of dogwood bark, and feverpatients who craved something sour, were given a weak acid drink, made byfermenting a small quantity of meal in a barrel of water. All theseremedies were quite good in their way, and would have benefitted thepatients had they been accompanied by proper shelter, food and clothing. But it was idle to attempt to arrest with blackberry root the diarrhea, or with wild cherry bark the consumption of a man lying in a cold, damp, mud hovel, devoured by vermin, and struggling to maintain life upon lessthan a pint of unsalted corn meal per diem. 

Finding that the doctors issued red pepper for diarrhea, and an imitationof sweet oil made from peanuts, for the gangrenous sores above described, I reported to them an imaginary comrade in my tent, whose symptomsindicated those remedies, and succeeded in drawing a small quantity ofeach, two or three times a week. The red pepper I used to warm up ourbread and mush, and give some different taste to the corn meal, which hadnow become so loathsome to us. The peanut oil served to give a hint ofthe animal food we hungered for. It was greasy, and as we did not haveany meat for three months, even this flimsy substitute was inexpressiblygrateful to palate and stomach. But one morning the Hospital Stewardmade a mistake, and gave me castor oil instead, and the consequences wereunpleasant. 

A more agreeable remembrance is that of two small apples, about the sizeof walnuts, given me by a boy named Henry Clay Montague Porter, of theSixteenth Connecticut. He had relatives living in North Carolina, whosent him a small packs of eatables, out of which, in the fulness of hisgenerous heart he gave me this share--enough to make me always rememberhim with kindness. 

Speaking of eatables reminds me of an incident. Joe Darling, of theFirst Maine, our Chief of Police, had a sister living at Augusta, Ga. , who occasionally came to Florence with basket of food and othernecessaries for her brother. On one of these journeys, while sitting inColonel Iverson's tent, waiting for her brother to be brought out ofprison, she picked out of her basket a nicely browned doughnut and handedit to the guard pacing in front of the tent, with:

"Here, guard, wouldn't you like a genuine Yankee doughnut?"

The guard-a lank, loose-jointed Georgia cracker--who in all his life seenvery little more inviting food than the his hominy and molasses, uponwhich he had been raised, took the cake, turned it over and inspected itcuriously for some time without apparently getting the least idea of whatit was for, and then handed it back to the donor, saying:

"Really, mum, I don't believe I've got any use for it"

CHAPTER LXXII. 

DULL WINTER DAYS--TOO WEAK AND TOO STUPID To AMUSE OURSELVES--ATTEMPTS OFTHE REBELS TO RECRUIT US INTO THEIR ARMY--THE CLASS OF MEN THEY OBTAINED--VENGEANCE ON "THE GALVANIZED"--A SINGULAR EXPERIENCE--RARE GLIMPSESOF FUN--INABILITY OF THE REBELS TO COUNT. 

The Rebels continued their efforts to induce prisoners to enlist in theirarmy, and with much better success than at any previous time. Many menhad become so desperate that they were reckless as to what they did. Home, relatives, friends, happiness--all they had remembered or lookedforward to, all that had nerved them up to endure the present and bravethe future--now seemed separated from them forever by a yawning andimpassable chasm. For many weeks no new prisoners had come in to rousetheir drooping courage with news of the progress of our arms towardsfinal victory, or refresh their remembrances of home, and thegladsomeness of "God's Country. " Before them they saw nothing but weeksof slow and painful progress towards bitter death. The other alternativewas enlistment in the Rebel army. 

Another class went out and joined, with no other intention than to escapeat the first opportunity. They justified their bad faith to the Rebelsby recalling the numberless instances of the Rebels' bad faith to us, and usually closed their arguments in defense of their course with:

"No oath administered by a Rebel can have any binding obligation. Thesemen are outlaws who have not only broken their oaths to the Government, but who have deserted from its service, and turned its arms against it. They are perjurers and traitors, and in addition, the oath theyadminister to us is under compulsion and for that reason is of noaccount. "

Still another class, mostly made up from the old Raider crowd, enlistedfrom natural depravity. They went out more than for anything elsebecause their hearts were prone to evil and they did that which was wrongin preference to what was right. By far the largest portion of those theRebels obtained were of this class, and a more worthless crowd ofsoldiers has not been seen since Falstaff mustered his famous recruits. 

After all, however, the number who deserted their flag was astonishinglysmall, considering all the circumstances. The official report says threehundred and twenty-six, but I imaging this is under the truth, sincequite a number were turned back in after their utter uselessness had beendemonstrated. I suppose that five hundred "galvanized, " as we termed it, but this was very few when the hopelessness of exchange, the despair oflife, and the wretchedness of the condition of the eleven or twelvethousand inside the Stockade is remembered. 

The motives actuating men to desert were not closely analyzed by us, but we held all who did so as despicable scoundrels, too vile to beadequately described in words. It was not safe for a man to announce hisintention of "galvanizing, " for he incurred much danger of being beatenuntil he was physically unable to reach the gate. Those who went over tothe enemy had to use great discretion in letting the Rebel officer, knowso much of their wishes as would secure their being taker outside. Menwere frequently knocked down and dragged away while telling the officersthey wanted to go out. 

On one occasion one hundred or more of the raider crowd who hadgalvanized, were stopped for a few hours in some little Town, on theirway to the front. They lost no time in stealing everything they couldlay their hands upon, and the disgusted Rebel commander ordered them tobe returned to the Stockade. They came in in the evening, all wellrigged out in Rebel uniforms, and carrying blankets. We chose toconsider their good clothes and equipments an aggravation of theiroffense and an insult to ourselves. We had at that time quite a squad ofnegro soldiers inside with us. Among them was a gigantic fellow with afist like a wooden beetle. Some of the white boys resolved to use theseto wreak the camp's displeasure on the Galvanized. The plan was carriedout capitally. The big darky, followed by a crowd of smaller and nimbler"shades, " would approach one of the leaders among them with:

"Is you a Galvanized?"

The surly reply would be, "Yes, you ---- black ----. What the business is that of yours?"

At that instant the bony fist of the darky, descending like apile-driver, would catch the recreant under the ear, and lift him abouta rod. As he fell, the smaller darkies would pounce upon him, and in aninstant despoil him of his blanket and perhaps the larger portion of hiswarm clothing. The operation was repeated with a dozen or more. Thewhole camp enjoyed it as rare fun, and it was the only time that I sawnearly every body at Florence laugh. 

A few prisoners were brought in in December, who had been taken inFoster's attempt to cut the Charleston & Savannah Railroad at Pocataligo. Among them we were astonished to find Charley Hirsch, a member of CompanyI's of our battalion. He had had a strange experience. He wasoriginally a member of a Texas regiment and was captured at ArkansasPost. He then took the oath of allegiance and enlisted with us. Whilewe were at Savannah he approached a guard one day to trade for tobacco. The moment he spoke to the man he recognized him as a former comrade inthe Texas regiment. The latter knew him also, and sang out, "I know you; you're Charley Hirsch, that used to be in my company. "

Charley backed into the crowd as quickly as possible; to elude thefellow's eyes, but the latter called for the Corporal of the Guard, hadhimself relieved, and in a few minutes came in with an officer in searchof the deserter. He found him with little difficulty, and took him out. The luckless Charley was tried by court martial, found, guilty, sentencedto be shot, and while waiting execution was confined in the jail. Beforethe sentence could be carried into effect Sherman came so close to theCity that it was thought best to remove the prisoners. In the confusionCharley managed to make his escape, and at the moment the battle ofPocataligo opened, was lying concealed between the two lines of battle, without knowing, of course, that he was in such a dangerous locality. After the firing opened, he thought it better to lie still than run therisk from the fire of both sides, especially as he momentarily expectedour folks to advance and drive the Rebels away. But the reversehappened; the Johnnies drove our fellows, and, finding Charley in hisplace of concealment, took him for one of Foster's men, and sent him toFlorence, where he staid until we went through to our lines. 

Our days went by as stupidly and eventless as can be conceived. We had grown too spiritless and lethargic to dig tunnels or plan escapes. We had nothing to read, nothing to make or destroy, nothing to work with, nothing to play with, and even no desire to contrive anything foramusement. All the cards in the prison were worn out long ago. Some ofthe boys had made dominos from bones, and Andrews and I still had ourchessmen, but we were too listless to play. The mind, enfeebled by thelong disuse of it except in a few limited channels, was unfitted for evenso much effort as was involved in a game for pastime. 

Nor were there any physical exercises, such as that crowd of young menwould have delighted in under other circumstances. There was no running, boxing, jumping, wrestling, leaping, etc. All were too weak and hungryto make any exertion beyond that absolutely necessary. On cold dayseverybody seemed totally benumbed. The camp would be silent and still. Little groups everywhere hovered for hours, moody and sullen, overdiminutive, flickering fires, made with one poor handful of splinters. When the sun shone, more activity was visible. Boys wandered around, hunted up their friends, and saw what gaps death--always busiest duringthe cold spells--had made in the ranks of their acquaintances. Duringthe warmest part of the day everybody disrobed, and spent an hour or morekilling the lice that had waxed and multiplied to grievous proportionsduring the few days of comparative immunity. 

Besides the whipping of the Galvanized by the darkies, I remember but twoother bits of amusement we had while at Florence. One of these was inhearing the colored soldiers sing patriotic songs, which they did withgreat gusto when the weather became mild. The other was the antics of acircus clown--a member, I believe, of a Connecticut or a New Yorkregiment, who, on the rare occasions when we were feeling not exactlywell so much as simply better than we had been, would give us an hour ortwo of recitations of the drolleries with which he was wont to set thecrowded canvas in a roar. One of his happiest efforts, I remember, was astilted paraphrase of "Old Uncle Ned" a song very popular a quarter of acentury ago, and which ran something like this:

There was an old darky, an' his name was Uncle Ned, But he died long ago, long agoHe had no wool on de top of his head, De place whar de wool ought to grouw. 

 CHORUS Den lay down de shubel an' de hoe, Den hang up de fiddle an' de bow; For dere's no more hard work for poor Uncle Ned He's gone whar de good niggahs go. 

His fingers war long, like de cane in de brake, And his eyes war too dim for to see;He had no teeth to eat de corn cake, So he had to let de corn cake be. 

 CHORUS. 

His legs were so bowed dat he couldn't lie still. An' he had no nails on his toes;

His neck was so crooked dot he couldn't take a pill, So he had to take a pill through his nose. 

 CHORUS. 

One cold frosty morning old Uncle Ned died, An' de tears ran down massa's cheek like rain, For he knew when Uncle Ned was laid in de groun', He would never see poor Uncle Ned again, CHORUS. 

In the hands of this artist the song became--

There was an aged and indigent African whose cognomen was Uncle Edward, But he is deceased since a remote period, a very remote period;He possessed no capillary substance on the summit of his cranium, The place designated by kind Nature for the capillary substance tovegetate. 

CHORUS. Then let the agricultural implements rest recumbent upon the ground;And suspend the musical instruments in peace neon the wall, For there's no more physical energy to be displayed by our Indigent Uncle EdwardHe has departed to that place set apart by a beneficent Providence for the reception of the better class of Africans. 

And so on. These rare flashes of fun only served to throw the underlyingmisery out in greater relief. It was like lightning playing across thesurface of a dreary morass. 

I have before alluded several times to the general inability of Rebels tocount accurately, even in low numbers. One continually met phases ofthis that seemed simply incomprehensible to us, who had taken in themultiplication table almost with our mother's milk, and knew the Rule ofThree as well as a Presbyterian boy does the Shorter Catechism. A cadet--an undergraduate of the South Carolina Military Institute--called our roll at Florence, and though an inborn young aristocrat, whobelieved himself made of finer clay than most mortals, he was not a badfellow at all. He thought South Carolina aristocracy the finest gentry, and the South Carolina Military Institute the greatest institution oflearning in the world; but that is common with all South Carolinians. 

One day he came in so full of some matter of rare importance that webecame somewhat excited as to its nature. Dismissing our hundred afterroll-call, he unburdened his mind:

"Now you fellers are all so d---d peart on mathematics, and such things, that you want to snap me up on every opportunity, but I guess I've gotsomething this time that'll settle you. Its something that a fellow gaveout yesterday, and Colonel Iverson, and all the officers out there havebeen figuring on it ever since, and none have got the right answer, andI'm powerful sure that none of you, smart as you think you are, can doit. "

"Heavens, and earth, let's hear this wonderful problem, " said we all. 

"Well, " said he, "what is the length of a pole standing in a river, one-fifth of which is in the mud, two-thirds in the water, and one-eighthabove the water, while one foot and three inches of the top is brokenoff?"

In a minute a dozen answered, "One hundred and fifty feet. "

The cadet could only look his amazement at the possession of such anamount of learning by a crowd of mudsills, and one of our fellows saidcontemptuously:

"Why, if you South Carolina Institute fellows couldn't answer suchquestions as that they wouldn't allow you in the infant class up North. "

Lieutenant Barrett, our red-headed tormentor, could not, for the life ofhim, count those inside in hundreds and thousands in such a manner as tobe reasonably certain of correctness. As it would have cankered his soulto feel that he was being beaten out of a half-dozen rations by thesuperior cunning of the Yankees, he adopted a plan which he must havelearned at some period of his life when he was a hog or sheep drover. Every Sunday morning all in the camp were driven across the Creek to theEast Side, and then made to file slowly back--one at a time--between twoguards stationed on the little bridge that spanned the Creek. By thismeans, if he was able to count up to one hundred, he could get our numbercorrectly. 

The first time this was done after our arrival he gave us a display ofhis wanton malevolence. We were nearly all assembled on the East Side, and were standing in ranks, at the edge of the swamp, facing the west. Barrett was walking along the opposite edge of the swamp, and, coming toa little gully jumped, it. He was very awkward, and came near fallinginto the mud. We all yelled derisively. He turned toward us in a fury, shook his fist, and shouted curses and imprecations. We yelled stilllouder. He snatched out his revolver, and began firing at our line. Thedistance was considerable--say four or five hundred feet--and the bulletsstruck in the mud in advance of the line. We still yelled. Then hejerked a gun from a guard and fired, but his aim was still bad, and thebullet sang over our heads, striking in the bank above us. He posted ofto get another gun, but his fit subsided before he obtained it. 

CHAPTER LXXIII. 

CHRISTMAS--AND THE WAY THE WAS PASSED--THE DAILY ROUTINE OF RATIONDRAWING--SOME PECULIARITIES OF LIVING AND DYING. 

Christmas, with its swelling flood of happy memories, --memories nowbitter because they marked the high tide whence our fortunes had recededto this despicable state--came, but brought no change to mark its coming. It is true that we had expected no change; we had not looked forward tothe day, and hardly knew when it arrived, so indifferent were we to thelapse of time. 

When reminded that the day was one that in all Christendom was sacred togood cheer and joyful meetings; that wherever the upraised crossproclaimed followers of Him who preached "Peace on Earth and good will tomen, " parents and children, brothers and sisters, long-time friends, andall congenial spirits were gathering around hospitable boards to delightin each other's society, and strengthen the bonds of unity between them, we listened as to a tale told of some foreign land from which we hadparted forever more. 

It seemed years since we had known anything of the kind. The experiencewe had had of it belonged to the dim and irrevocable past. It could notcome to us again, nor we go to it. Squalor, hunger, cold and wastingdisease had become the ordinary conditions of existence, from which therewas little hope that we would ever be exempt. 

Perhaps it was well, to a certain degree, that we felt so. It softenedthe poignancy of our reflections over the difference in the condition ofourselves and our happier comrades who were elsewhere. 

The weather was in harmony with our feelings. The dull, gray, leaden skywas as sharp a contrast with the crisp, bracing sharpness of a NorthernChristmas morning, as our beggarly little ration of saltless corn mealwas to the sumptuous cheer that loaded the dinner-tables of our Northernhomes. 

We turned out languidly in the morning to roll-call, endured silently theraving abuse of the cowardly brute Barrett, hung stupidly over theflickering little fires, until the gates opened to admit the rations. For an hour there was bustle and animation. All stood around and countedeach sack of meal, to get an idea of the rations we were likely toreceive. 

This was a daily custom. The number intended for the day's issue wereall brought in and piled up in the street. Then there was a division ofthe sacks to the thousands, the Sergeant of each being called up in turn, and allowed to pick out and carry away one, until all were taken. Whenwe entered the prison each thousand received, on an average, ten oreleven sacks a day. Every week saw a reduction in the number, until bymidwinter the daily issue to a thousand averaged four sacks. Let us saythat one of these sacks held two bushels, or the four, eight bushels. As there are thirty-two quarts in a bushel, one thousand men received twohundred and fifty-six quarts, or less than a half pint each. 

We thought we had sounded the depths of misery at Andersonville, butFlorence showed us a much lower depth. Bad as was parching under theburning sun whose fiery rays bred miasma and putrefaction, it was stillnot so bad as having one's life chilled out by exposure in nakedness uponthe frozen ground to biting winds and freezing sleet. Wretched as therusty bacon and coarse, maggot-filled bread of Andersonville was, itwould still go much farther towards supporting life than the handful ofsaltless meal at Florence. 

While I believe it possible for any young man, with the forces of lifestrong within him, and healthy in every way, to survive, by taking dueprecautions, such treatment as we received in Andersonville, I cannotunderstand how anybody could live through a month of Florence. That manydid live is only an astonishing illustration of the tenacity of life insome individuals. 

Let the reader imagine--anywhere he likes--a fifteen-acre field, with astream running through the center. Let him imagine this inclosed by aStockade eighteen feet high, made by standing logs on end. Let himconceive of ten thousand feeble men, debilitated by months ofimprisonment, turned inside this inclosure, without a yard of coveringgiven them, and told to make their homes there. One quarter of them--twothousand five hundred--pick up brush, pieces of rail, splits from logs, etc. , sufficient to make huts that will turn the rain tolerably. Thehuts are in no case as good shelter as an ordinarily careful farmerprovides for his swine. Half of the prisoners--five thousand--who cannotdo so well, work the mud up into rude bricks, with which they buildshelters that wash down at every hard rain. The remaining two thousandfive hundred do not do even this, but lie around on the ground, on oldblankets and overcoats, and in day-time prop these up on sticks, asshelter from the rain and wind. Let them be given not to exceed a pintof corn meal a day, and a piece of wood about the size of an ordinarystick for a cooking stove to cook it with. Then let such weather prevailas we ordinarily have in the North in November--freezing cold rains, withfrequent days and nights when the ice forms as thick as a pane of glass. How long does he think men could live through that? He will probably saythat a week, or at most a fortnight, would see the last and strongest ofthese ten thousand lying dead in the frozen mire where he wallowed. Hewill be astonished to learn that probably not more than four or fivethousand of those who underwent this in Florence died there. How manydied after release--in Washington, on the vessels coming to Annapolis, inhospital and camp at Annapolis, or after they reached home, none but theRecording Angel can tell. All that I know is we left a trail of deadbehind us, wherever we moved, so long as I was with the doleful caravan. 

Looking back, after these lapse of years, the most salient characteristicseems to be the ease with which men died. There, was little of theviolence of dissolution so common at Andersonville. The machinery oflife in all of us, was running slowly and feebly; it would simply growstill slower and feebler in some, and then stop without a jar, without asensation to manifest it. Nightly one of two or three comrades sleepingtogether would die. The survivors would not know it until they tried toget him to "spoon" over, when they would find him rigid and motionless. As they could not spare even so little heat as was still contained in hisbody, they would not remove this, but lie up the closer to it untilmorning. Such a thing as a boy making an outcry when he discovered hiscomrade dead, or manifesting any, desire to get away from the corpse, wasunknown. 

I remember one who, as Charles II. Said of himself, was--"an unconscionable long time in dying. " His name was Bickford; hebelonged to the Twenty-First Ohio Volunteer Infantry, lived, I think, near Findlay, O. , and was in my hundred. His partner and he were both ina very bad condition, and I was not surprised, on making my rounds, onemorning, to find them apparently quite dead. I called help, and took hispartner away to the gate. When we picked up Bickford we found he stilllived, and had strength enough to gasp out:

"You fellers had better let me alone. " We laid him back to die, as wesupposed, in an hour or so. 

When the Rebel Surgeon came in on his rounds, I showed him Bickford, lying there with his eyes closed, and limbs motionless. The Surgeonsaid:

"O, that man's dead; why don't you have him taken out?"

I replied: "No, he isn't. Just see. " Stooping, I shook the boysharply, and said:

"Bickford! Bickford!! How do you feel?"

The eyes did not unclose, but the lips opened slowly, and said with apainful effort:

"F-i-r-s-t R-a-t-e!"

This scene was repeated every morning for over a week. Every day theRebel Surgeon would insist that the man should betaken out, and everymorning Bickford would gasp out with troublesome exertion that he felt:

"F-i-r-s-t R-a-t-e!"

It ended one morning by his inability, to make his usual answer, and thenhe was carried out to join the two score others being loaded into thewagon. 

CHAPTER LXXIV. 

NEW YEAR'S DAY--DEATH OF JOHN H. WINDER--HE DIES ON HIS WAY TO A DINNER--SOMETHING AS TO CHARACTER AND CAREER--ONE OF THE WORST MEN THAT EVERLIVED. 

On New Year's Day we were startled by the information that our old-timeenemy--General John H. Winder--was dead. It seemed that the Rebel Sutlerof the Post had prepared in his tent a grand New Year's dinner to whichall the officers were invited. Just as Winder bent his head to enter thetent he fell, and expired shortly after. The boys said it was a clearcase of Death by Visitation of the Devil, and it was always insisted thathis last words were:

"My faith is in Christ; I expect to be saved. Be sure and cut down theprisoners' rations. "

Thus passed away the chief evil genius of the Prisoners-of-War. Americanhistory has no other character approaching his in vileness. I doubt ifthe history of the world can show another man, so insignificant inabilities and position, at whose door can be laid such a terrible load ofhuman misery. There have been many great conquerors and warriors whohave

 Waded through slaughter to a throne, And shut the gates of mercy on mankind, but they were great men, with great objects, with grand plans to carryout, whose benefits they thought would be more than an equivalent for thesuffering they caused. The misery they inflicted was not the motive oftheir schemes, but an unpleasant incident, and usually the sufferers weremen of other races and religions, for whom sympathy had been dulled bylong antagonism. 

But Winder was an obscure, dull old man--the commonplace descendant of apseudo-aristocrat whose cowardly incompetence had once cost us the lossof our National Capital. More prudent than his runaway father, he heldhimself aloof from the field; his father had lost reputation and almosthis commission, by coming into contact with the enemy; he would take nosuch foolish risks, and he did not. When false expectations of theultimate triumph of Secession led him to cast his lot with the SouthernConfederacy, he did not solicit a command in the field, but took up hisquarters in Richmond, to become a sort of Informer-General, High-Inquisitor and Chief Eavesdropper for his intimate friend, JeffersonDavis. He pried and spied around into every man's bedroom and familycircle, to discover traces of Union sentiment. The wildest tales maliceand vindictiveness could concoct found welcome reception in his ears. He was only too willing to believe, that he might find excuse forharrying and persecuting. He arrested, insulted, imprisoned, banished, and shot people, until the patience even of the citizens of Richmond gaveway, and pressure was brought upon Jefferson Davis to secure thesuppression of his satellite. For a long while Davis resisted, but atlast yielded, and transferred Winder to the office of Commissary Generalof Prisoners. The delight of the Richmond people was great. One of thepapers expressed it in an article, the key note of which was:

"Thank God that Richmond is at last rid of old Winder. God have mercyupon those to whom he has been sent. "

Remorseless and cruel as his conduct of the office of Provost MarshalGeneral was, it gave little hint of the extent to which he would go inthat of Commissary General of Prisoners. Before, he was restrainedsomewhat by public opinion and the laws of the land. These no longerdeterred him. From the time he assumed command of all the Prisons eastof the Mississippi--some time in the Fall of 1863--until death removedhim, January 1, 1865--certainly not less than twenty-five thousandincarcerated men died in the most horrible manner that the mind canconceive. He cannot be accused of exaggeration, when, surveying thethousands of new graves at Andersonville, he could say with a quietchuckle that he was "doing more to kill off the Yankees than twentyregiments at the front. " No twenty regiments in the Rebel Army eversucceeded in slaying anything like thirteen thousand Yankees in sixmonths, or any other time. His cold blooded cruelty was such as todisgust even the Rebel officers. Colonel D. T. Chandler, of the RebelWar Department, sent on a tour of inspection to Andersonville, reportedback, under date of August 5, 1864:

"My duty requires me respectfully to recommend a change in the officer incommand of the post, Brigadier General John H. Winder, and thesubstitution in his place of some one who unites both energy and goodjudgment with some feelings of humanity and consideration for the welfareand comfort, as far as is consistent with their safe keeping, of the vastnumber of unfortunates placed under his control; some one who, at least, will not advocate deliberately, and in cold blood, the propriety ofleaving them in their present condition until their number issufficiently reduced by death to make the present arrangements sufficefor their accommodation, and who will not consider it a matter ofself-laudation and boasting that he has never been inside of theStockade--a place the horrors of which it is difficult to describe, andwhich is a disgrace to civilization--the condition of which he might, bythe exercise of a little energy and judgment, even with the limitedmeans at his command, have considerably improved. "

In his examination touching this report, Colonel Chandler says:

"I noticed that General Winder seemed very indifferent to the welfare ofthe prisoners, indisposed to do anything, or to do as much as I thoughthe ought to do, to alleviate their sufferings. I remonstrated with himas well as I could, and he used that language which I reported to theDepartment with reference to it--the language stated in the report. WhenI spoke of the great mortality existing among the prisoners, and pointedout to him that the sickly season was coming on, and that it mustnecessarily increase unless something was done for their relief--theswamp, for instance, drained, proper food furnished, and in betterquantity, and other sanitary suggestions which I made to him--he repliedto me that he thought it was better to see half of them die than to takecare of the men. "

It was he who could issue such an order as this, when it was supposedthat General Stoneman was approaching Andersonville:

 HEADQUARTERS MILITARY PRISON, ANDERSONVILLE, Ga. , July 27, 1864. The officers on duty and in charge of the Battery of Florida Artillery atthe time will, upon receiving notice that the enemy has approached withinseven miles of this post, open upon the Stockade with grapeshot, withoutreference to the situation beyond these lines of defense. 

 JOHN H. WINDER, Brigadier General Commanding. 

This man was not only unpunished, but the Government is to-day supportinghis children in luxury by the rent it pays for the use of his property--the well-known Winder building, which is occupied by one of theDepartments at Washington. 

I confess that all my attempts to satisfactorily analyze Winder'scharacter and discover a sufficient motive for his monstrous conduct havebeen futile. Even if we imagine him inspired by a hatred of the peopleof the North that rose to fiendishness, we can not understand him. It seems impossible for the mind of any man to cherish so deep andinsatiable an enmity against his fellow-creatures that it could not bequenched and turned to pity by the sight of even one day's misery atAndersonville or Florence. No one man could possess such a grievoussense of private or national wrongs as to be proof against the dailyspectacle of thousands of his own fellow citizens, inhabitants of thesame country, associates in the same institutions, educated in the sameprinciples, speaking the same language--thousands of his brethren inrace, creed, and all that unite men into great communities, starving, rotting and freezing to death. 

There is many a man who has a hatred so intense that nothing but thedeath of the detested one will satisfy it. A still fewer number thirstfor a more comprehensive retribution; they would slay perhaps ahalf-dozen persons; and there may be such gluttons of revenge as wouldnot be satisfied with the sacrifice of less than a score or two, butsuch would be monsters of whom there have been very few, even infiction. How must they all bow their diminished heads before a manwho fed his animosity fat with tens of thousands of lives. 

But, what also militates greatly against the presumption that eitherrevenge or an abnormal predisposition to cruelty could have animatedWinder, is that the possession of any two such mental traits so stronglymarked would presuppose a corresponding activity of other intellectualfaculties, which was not true of him, as from all I can learn of him hismind was in no respect extraordinary. 

It does not seem possible that he had either the brain to conceive, orthe firmness of purpose to carry out so gigantic and long-enduring acareer of cruelty, because that would imply superhuman qualities in a manwho had previously held his own very poorly in the competition with othermen. 

The probability is that neither Winder nor his direct superiors--HowellCobb and Jefferson Davis--conceived in all its proportions the giganticengine of torture and death they were organizing; nor did they comprehendthe enormity of the crime they were committing. But they were willing todo much wrong to gain their end; and the smaller crimes of to-dayprepared them for greater ones to-morrow, and still greater ones the dayfollowing. Killing ten men a day on Belle Isle in January, by starvationand hardship, led very easily to killing one hundred men a day inAndersonville, in July, August and September. Probably at the beginningof the war they would have felt uneasy at slaying one man per day by suchmeans, but as retribution came not, and as their appetite for slaughtergrew with feeding, and as their sympathy with human misery atrophied fromlong suppression, they ventured upon ever widening ranges ofdestructiveness. Had the war lasted another year, and they lived, fivehundred deaths a day would doubtless have been insufficient to disturbthem. 

Winder doubtless went about his part of the task of slaughter coolly, leisurely, almost perfunctorily. His training in the Regular Army wasagainst the likelihood of his displaying zeal in anything. He institutedcertain measures, and let things take their course. That course was arapid transition from bad to worse, but it was still in the direction ofhis wishes, and, what little of his own energy was infused into it was inthe direction of impetus, -not of controlling or improving the course. To have done things better would have involved soma personal discomfort. He was not likely to incur personal discomfort to mitigate evils thatwere only afflicting someone else. By an effort of one hour a day fortwo weeks he could have had every man in Andersonville and Florence givengood shelter through his own exertions. He was not only too indifferentand too lazy to do this, but he was too malignant; and this neglect toallow--simply allow, remember--the prisoners to protect their lives byproviding their own shelter, gives the key to his whole disposition, and would stamp his memory with infamy, even if there were no othercharges against him. 

CHAPTER LXXV. 

ONE INSTANCE OF A SUCCESSFUL ESCAPE--THE ADVENTURES OF SERGEANT WALTERHARTSOUGH, OF COMPANY K, SIXTEENTH ILLINOIS CAVALRY--HE GETS AWAY FROMTHE REBELS AT THOMASVILLE, AND AFTER A TOILSOME AND DANGEROUS JOURNEYOF SEVERAL HUNDRED MILES, REACHES OUR LINES IN FLORIDA. 

While I was at Savannah I got hold of a primary geography in possessionof one of the prisoners, and securing a fragment of a lead pencil fromone comrade, and a sheet of note paper from another, I made a copy of theSouth Carolina and Georgia sea coast, for the use of Andrews and myselfin attempting to escape. The reader remembers the ill success of all ourefforts in that direction. When we were at Blackshear we still had themap, and intended to make another effort, "as soon as the sign gotright. " One day while we were waiting for this, Walter Hartsough, aSergeant of Company g, of our battalion, came to me and said:

"Mc. , I wish you'd lend me your map a little while. I want to make acopy. "

I handed it over to him, and never saw him more, as almost immediatelyafter we were taken out "on parole" and sent to Florence. I heard fromother comrades of the battalion that he had succeeded in getting past theguard line and into the Woods, which was the last they ever heard of him. Whether starved to death in some swamp, whether torn to pieces by dogs, or killed by the rifles of his pursuers, they knew not. The reader canjudge of my astonishment as well as pleasure, at receiving among thedozens of letters which came to me every day while this account wasappearing in the BLADE, one signed "Walter Hartsough, late of Co. K, Sixteenth Illinois Cavalry. " It was like one returned from the grave, and the next mail took a letter to him, inquiring eagerly of hisadventures after we separated. I take pleasure in presenting the readerwith his reply, which was only intended as a private communication tomyself. The first part of the letter I omit, as it contains only gossipabout our old comrades, which, however interesting to myself, wouldhardly be so to the general reader. 

 GENOA, WAYNE COUNTY, IA. , May 27, 1879. 

Dear Comrade Mc. : ..................... I have been living in this town for ten years, running a general store, under the firm name of Hartsough & Martin, and have been more successfulthan I anticipated. 

I made my escape from Thomasville, Ga. , Dec. 7, 1864, by running theguards, in company with Frank Hommat, of Company M, and a man by the nameof Clipson, of the Twenty-First Illinois Infantry. I had heard theofficers in charge of us say that they intended to march us across to theother road, and take us back to Andersonville. We concluded we wouldtake a heavy risk on our lives rather than return there. By stintingourselves we had got a little meal ahead, which we thought we would bakeup for the journey, but our appetites got the better of us, and we ate itall up before starting. We were camped in the woods then, with noStockade--only a line of guards around us. We thought that by a littlestrategy and boldness we could pass these. We determined to try. Clipson was to go to the right, Hommat in the center, and myself to theleft. We all slipped through, without a shot. Our rendezvous was to bethe center of a small swamp, through which flowed a small stream thatsupplied the prisoners with water. Hommat and I got together soon afterpassing the guard lines, and we began signaling for Clipson. We laiddown by a large log that lay across the stream, and submerged our limbsand part of our bodies in the water, the better to screen ourselves fromobservation. Pretty soon a Johnny came along with a bunch of turniptops, that he was taking up to the camp to trade to the prisoners. As hepassed over the log I could have caught him by the leg, which I intendedto do if he saw us, but he passed along, heedless of those concealedunder his very feet, which saved him a ducking at least, for we wereresolved to drown him if he discovered us. Waiting here a little longerwe left our lurking place and made a circuit of the edge of the swamp, still signaling for Clipson. But we could find nothing of him, and atlast had to give him up. 

We were now between Thomasville and the camp, and as Thomasville was theend of the railroad, the woods were full of Rebels waitingtransportation, and we approached the road carefully, supposing that itwas guarded to keep their own men from going to town. We crawled up tothe road, but seeing no one, started across it. At that moment a guardabout thirty yards to our left, who evidently supposed that we wereRebels, sang out:

"Whar ye gwine to thar boys?"

I answered:

"Jest a-gwine out here a little ways. "

Frank whispered me to run, but I said, "No; wait till he halts us, andthen run. " He walked up to where we had crossed his beat--looked afterus a few minutes, and then, to our great relief, walked back to his post. After much trouble we succeeded in getting through all the troops, andstarted fairly on our way. We tried to shape our course toward Florida. The country was very swampy, the night rainy and dark, no stars were outto guide us, and we made such poor progress that when daylight came wewere only eight miles from our starting place, and close to a roadleading from Thomasville to Monticello. Finding a large turnip patch, we filled our pockets, and then hunted a place to lie concealed in duringthe day. We selected a thicket in the center of a large pasture. Wecrawled into this and laid down. Some negros passed close to us, goingto their work in an adjoining field. They had a bucket of victuals withthem for dinner, which they hung on the fence in such a way that we couldhave easily stolen it without detection. The temptation to hungry menwas very great, but we concluded that it was best and safest to let italone. 

As the negros returned from work in the evening they separated, one oldman passing on the opposite side of the thicket from the rest. We haltedhim and told him that we were Rebs, who had taken a French leave ofThomasville; that we were tired of guarding Yanks, and were going home;and further, that we were hungry, and wanted something to eat. He toldus that he was the boss on the plantation. His master lived inThomasville. He, himself, did not have much to eat, but he would show uswhere to stay, and when the folks went to bed he would bring us somefood. Passing up close to the negro quarters we got over the fence andlay down behind it, to wait for our supper. 

We had been there but a short time when a young negro came out, andpassing close by us, went into a fence corner a few panels distant and, kneeling down, began praying aloud, and very, earnestly, and strangerstill, the burden of his supplication was for the success of our armies. I thought it the best prayer I ever listened to. Finishing his devotionshe returned to the house, and shortly after the old man came with a goodsupper of corn bread, molasses and milk. He said that he had no meat, and that he had done the best he could for us. After we had eaten, hesaid that as the young people had gone to bed, we had better come intohis cabin and rest awhile, which we did. 

Hommat had a full suit of Rebel clothes, and I had stolen sacks enough atAndersonville, when they were issuing rations, to make me a shirt andpantaloons, which a sailor fabricated for me. I wore these over what wasleft of my blue clothes. The old negro lady treated us very coolly. Ina few minutes a young negro came in, whom the old gentleman introduced ashis son, and whom I immediately recognized as our friend of the prayerfulproclivities. He said that he had been a body servant to his youngmaster, who was an officer in the Rebel army. 

"Golly!" says he, "if you 'uns had stood a little longer at Stone River, our men would have run. "

I turned to him sharply with the question of what he meant by calling us"You 'uns, " and asked him if he believed we were Yankees. He surveyed uscarefully for a few seconds, and then said:

"Yes; I bleav you is Yankees. "

He paused a second, and added:

"Yes, I know you is. "

I asked him how he knew it, and he said that we neither looked nor talkedlike their men. I then acknowledged that we were Yankee prisoners, trying to make our escape to our lines. This announcement put new lifeinto the old lady, and, after satisfying herself that we were reallyYankees, she got up from her seat, shook hands with us, and declared wemust have a better supper than we had had. She set immediately aboutpreparing it for us. Taking up a plank in the floor, she pulled out anice flitch of bacon, from which she cut as much as we could eat, andgave us some to carry with us. She got up a real substantial supper, to which we did full justice, in spite of the meal we had already eaten. 

They gave us a quantity of victuals to take with us, and instructed us aswell as possible as to our road. They warned us to keep away from theyoung negros, but trust the old ones implicitly. Thanking them over andover for their exceeding kindness, we bade them good-by, and startedagain on our journey. Our supplies lasted two days, during which time wemade good progress, keeping away from the roads, and flanking the towns, which were few and insignificant. We occasionally came across negros, of whom we cautiously inquired as to the route and towns, and by theassistance of our map and the stars, got along very well indeed, until wecame to the Suwanee River. We had intended to cross this at Columbus orAlligator. When within six miles of the river we stopped at some negrohuts to get some food. The lady who owned the negros was a widow, whowas born and raised in Massachusetts. Her husband had died before thewar began. An old negro woman told her mistress that we were at thequarters, and she sent for us to come to the house. She was a verynice-looking lady, about thirty-five years of age, and treated us withgreat kindness. Hommat being barefooted, she pulled off her own shoesand stockings and gave them to him, saying that she would go to Town thenext day and get herself another pair. She told us not to try to crossthe river near Columbus, as their troops had been deserting in greatnumbers, and the river was closely picketed to catch the runaways. Shegave us directions how to go so as to cross the river about fifty milesbelow Columbus. We struck the river again the next night, and I wantedto swim it, but Hommat was afraid of alligators, and I could not inducehim to venture into the water. 

We traveled down the river until we came to Moseley's Ferry, where westole an old boat about a third full of water, and paddled across. Therewas quite a little town at that place, but we walked right down the mainstreet without meeting any one. Six miles from the river we saw an oldnegro woman roasting sweet potatos in the back yard of a house. We werevery hungry, and thought we would risk something to get food. Hommatwent around near her, and asked her for something to eat. She told himto go and ask the white folks. This was the answer she made to everyquestion. He wound up by asking her how far it was to Mossley's Ferry, saying that he wanted to go there, and get something to eat. She at lastran into the house, and we ran away as fast as we could. We had gone buta short distance when we heard a horn, and soon-the-cursed hounds beganbellowing. We did our best running, but the hounds circled around thehouse a few times and then took our trail. For a little while it seemedall up with us, as the sound of the baying came closer and closer. Butour inquiry about the distance to Moseley's Ferry seems to have saved us. They soon called the hounds in, and started them on the track we hadcome, instead of that upon which we were going. The baying shortly diedaway in the distance. We did not waste any time congratulating ourselvesover our marvelous escape, but paced on as fast as we could for abouteight miles farther. On the way we passed over the battle ground ofOolustee, or Ocean Pond. 

Coming near to Lake City we fell in with some negros who had been broughtfrom Maryland. We stopped over one day with them, to rest, and two ofthem concluded to go with us. We were furnished with a lot of cookedprovisions, and starting one night made forty-two miles before morning. We kept the negros in advance. I told Hommat that it was a poor commandthat could not afford an advance guard. After traveling two nights withthe negros, we came near Baldwin. Here I was very much afraid ofrecapture, and I did not want the negros with us, if we were, lest weshould be shot for slave-stealing. About daylight of the second morningwe gave them the slip. 

We had to skirt Baldwin closely, to head the St. Mary's River, or crossit where that was easiest. After crossing the river we came to a verylarge swamp, in the edge of which we lay all day. Before nightfall westarted to go through it, as there was no fear of detection in theseswamps. We got through before it was very dark, and as we emerged fromit we discovered a dense cloud of smoke to our right and quite close. We decided this was a camp, and while we were talking the band began toplay. This made us think that probably our forces had come out fromFernandina, and taken the place. I proposed to Hommat that we go forwardand reconnoiter. He refused, and leaving him alone, I started forward. I had gone but a short distance when a soldier came out from the campwith a bucket. He began singing, and the song he sang convinced me thathe was a Rebel. Rejoining Hommat, we held a consultation and decided tostay where we were until it became darker, before trying to get out. It was the night of the 22d of December, and very cold for that country. The camp guard had small fires built, which we could see quite plainly. After starting we saw that the pickets also had fires, and that we werebetween the two lines. This discovery saved us from capture, and keepingabout an equal distance between the two, we undertook to work our wayout. 

We first crossed a line of breastworks, then in succession the FernandinaRailroad, the Jacksonville Railroad, and pike, moving all the time nearlyparallel with the picket line. Here we had to halt. Hommat wassuffering greatly with his feet. The shoes that had been given him bythe widow lady were worn out, and his feet were much torn and cut by theterribly rough road we had traveled through swamps, etc. We sat down ona log, and I, pulling off the remains of my army shirt, tore it intopieces, and Hommat wrapped his feet up in them. A part I reserved andtore into strips, to tie up the rents in our pantaloons. Going throughthe swamps and briers had torn them into tatters, from waistband to hem, leaving our skins bare to be served in the same way. 

We started again, moving slowly and bearing towards the picket fires, which we could see for a distance on our left. After traveling somelittle time the lights on our left ended, which puzzled us for a while, until we came to a fearful big swamp, that explained it all, as this, considered impassable, protected the right of the camp. We had an awfultime in getting through. In many places we had to lie down and crawllong distances through the paths made in the brakes by hogs and otheranimals. As we at length came out, Hommat turned to me and whisperedthat in the morning we would have some Lincoln coffee. He seemed tothink this must certainly end our troubles. 

We were now between the Jacksonville Railroad and the St. John's River. We kept about four miles from the railroad, for fear of running into theRebel outposts. We had traveled but a few miles when Hommat said hecould go no farther, as his feet and legs were so swelled and numb thathe could not tell when he set them upon the ground. I had some matchesthat a negro had given me, and gathering together a few pine knots wemade a fire--the first that we had lighted on the trip--and laid downwith it between us. We had slept but a few minutes when I awoke andfound Hommat's clothes on fire. Rousing him we put out the flames beforehe was badly burned, but the thing had excited him so as to give him newlife, and be proposed to start on again. 

By sunrise we were within eight miles of our lines, and concluding thatit would be safe to travel in the daytime, we went ahead, walking alongthe railroad. The excitement being over, Hommat began to move veryslowly again. His feet and legs were so swollen that he could scarcelywalk, and it took us a long while to pass over those eight miles. 

At last we came in sight of our pickets. They were negros. They haltedus, and Hommat went forward to speak to them. They called for theOfficer of the Guard, who came, passed us inside, and shook handscordially with us. His first inquiry was if we knew Charley Marseilles, whom you remember ran that little bakery at Andersonville. 

We were treated very kindly at Jacksonville. General Scammon was incommand of the post, and had only been released but a short time fromprison, so he knew how it was himself. I never expect to enjoy as happya moment on earth as I did when I again got under the protection of theold flag. Hommat went to the hospital a few days, and was then sentaround to New York by sea. 

Oh, it was a fearful trip through those Florida swamps. We would veryoften have to try a swamp in three or four different places before wecould get through. Some nights we could not travel on account of itsbeing cloudy and raining. There is not money enough in the United Statesto induce me to undertake the trip again under the same circumstances. Our friend Clipson, that made his escape when we did, got very nearlythrough to our lines, but was taken sick, and had to give himself up. He was taken back to Andersonville and kept until the next Spring, whenhe came through all right. There were sixty-one of Company K captured atJonesville, and I think there was only seventeen lived through thosehorrible prisons. 

You have given the best description of prison life that I have ever seenwritten. The only trouble is that it cannot be portrayed so that personscan realize the suffering and abuse that our soldiers endured in thoseprison hells. Your statements are all correct in regard to the treatmentthat we received, and all those scenes you have depicted are as vivid inmy mind today as if they had only occurred yesterday. Please let me hearfrom you again. Wishing you success in all your undertakings, I remainyour friend, WALTER, HARTSOUGH, Late of K Company, Sixteenth Illinois Volunteer of Infantry. 

CHAPTER LXXVI. 

THE PECULIAR TYPE OF INSANITY PREVALENT AT FLORENCE--BARRETT'S WANTONNESSOF CRUELTY--WE LEARN OF SHERMAN'S ADVANCE INTO SOUTH CAROLINA--THE REBELSBEGIN MOVING THE PRISONERS AWAY--ANDREWS AND I CHANGE OUR TACTICS, ANDSTAY BEHIND--ARRIVAL OF FIVE PRISONERS FROM SHERMAN'S COMMAND--THEIRUNBOUNDED CONFIDENCE IN SHERMAN'S SUCCESS, AND ITS BENEFICIAL EFFECT UPONUS. 

One terrible phase of existence at Florence was the vast increase ofinsanity. We had many insane men at Andersonville, but the type of thederangement was different, partaking more of what the doctors termmelancholia. Prisoners coming in from the front were struck aghast bythe horrors they saw everywhere. Men dying of painful and repulsivediseases lined every step of whatever path they trod; the rations giventhem were repugnant to taste and stomach; shelter from the fiery sunthere was none, and scarcely room enough for them to lie down upon. Under these discouraging circumstances, home-loving, kindly-hearted men, especially those who had passed out of the first flush of youth, and hadleft wife and children behind when they entered the service, werespeedily overcome with despair of surviving until released; theirhopelessness fed on the same germs which gave it birth, until it becamesenseless, vacant-eyed, unreasoning, incurable melancholy, when thevictim would lie for hours, without speaking a word, except to babble ofhome, or would wander aimlessly about the camp--frequently starknaked--until he died or was shot for coming too near the Dead Line. Soldiers must not suppose that this was the same class of weaklings whousually pine themselves into the Hospital within three months aftertheir regiment enters the field. They were as a rule, made up ofseasoned soldiery, who had become inured to the dangers and hardships ofactive service, and were not likely to sink down under any ordinarytrials. 

The insane of Florence were of a different class; they were the boys whohad laughed at such a yielding to adversity in Andersonville, and felt alofty pity for the misfortunes of those who succumbed so. But now thelong strain of hardship, privation and exposure had done for them whatdiscouragement had done for those of less fortitude in Andersonville. The faculties shrank under disuse and misfortune, until they forgot theirregiments, companies, places and date of capture, and finally, even theirnames. I should think that by the middle of January, at least one inevery ten had sunk to this imbecile condition. It was not insanity somuch as mental atrophy--not so much aberration of the mind, as aparalysis of mental action. The sufferers became apathetic idiots, withno desire or wish to do or be anything. If they walked around at allthey had to be watched closely, to prevent their straying over the DeadLine, and giving the young brats of guards the coveted opportunity ofkilling them. Very many of such were killed, and one of my Midwintermemories of Florence was that of seeing one of these unfortunateimbeciles wandering witlessly up to the Dead Line from the Swamp, whilethe guard--a boy of seventeen--stood with gun in hand, in the attitude ofa man expecting a covey to be flushed, waiting for the poor devil to comeso near the Dead Line as to afford an excuse for killing him. Two saneprisoners, comprehending the situation, rushed up to the lunatic, at therisk of their own lives, caught him by the arms, and drew him back tosafety. 

The brutal Barrett seemed to delight in maltreating these dementedunfortunates. He either could not be made to understand their condition, or willfully disregarded it, for it was one of the commonest sights tosee him knock down, beat, kick or otherwise abuse them for not instantlyobeying orders which their dazed senses could not comprehend, or theirfeeble limbs execute, even if comprehended. 

In my life I have seen many wantonly cruel men. I have known numbers ofmates of Mississippi river steamers--a class which seems carefullyselected from ruffians most proficient in profanity, obscenity andswift-handed violence; I have seen negro-drivers in the slave marts ofSt. Louis, Memphis and New Orleans, and overseers on the plantations ofMississippi and Louisiana; as a police reporter in one of the largestcities in America, I have come in contact with thousands of thebrutalized scoundrels--the thugs of the brothel, bar-room and alley--whoform the dangerous classes of a metropolis. I knew Captain Wirz. But inall this exceptionally extensive and varied experience, I never met a manwho seemed to love cruelty for its own sake as well as LieutenantBarrett. He took such pleasure in inflicting pain as those Indians whoslice off their prisoners' eyelids, ears, noses and hands, before burningthem at the stake. 

That a thing hurt some one else was always ample reason for his doing it. The starving, freezing prisoners used to collect in considerable numbersbefore the gate, and stand there for hours gazing vacantly at it. Therewas no special object in doing this, only that it was a central point, the rations came in there, and occasionally an officer would enter, andit was the only place where anything was likely to occur to vary thedreary monotony of the day, and the boys went there because there wasnothing else to offer any occupation to their minds. It became afavorite practical joke of Barrett's to slip up to the gate with anarmful of clubs, and suddenly opening the wicket, fling them one afteranother, into the crowd, with all the force he possessed. Many wereknocked down, and many received hurts which resulted in fatal gangrene. If he had left the clubs lying where thrown, there would have been somecompensation for his meanness, but he always came in and carefullygathered up such as he could get, as ammunition for another time. 

I have heard men speak of receiving justice--even favors from Wirz. I never heard any one saying that much of Barrett. Like Winder, if hehad a redeeming quality it was carefully obscured from the view of allthat I ever met who knew him. 

Where the fellow came from, what State was entitled to the discredit ofproducing and raising him, what he was before the War, what became of himafter he left us, are matters of which I never heard even a rumor, excepta very vague one that he had been killed by our cavalry, some returnedprisoner having recognized and shot him. 

Colonel Iverson, of the Fifth Georgia, was the Post Commander. He was aman of some education, but had a violent, ungovernable temper, duringfits of which he did very brutal things. At other times he would show adisposition towards fairness and justice. The worst point in myindictment against him is that he suffered Barrett to do as he did. 

Let the reader understand that I have no personal reasons for my opinionof these men. They never did anything to me, save what they did to allof my companions. I held myself aloof from them, and shunned intercourseso effectually that during my whole imprisonment I did not speak as manywords to Rebel officers as are in this and the above paragraphs, and mostof those were spoken to the Surgeon who visited my hundred. I do notusually seek conversation with people I do not like, and certainly didnot with persons for whom I had so little love as I had for Turner, Ross, Winder, Wirz, Davis, Iverson, Barrett, et al. Possibly they felt badlyover my distance and reserve, but I must confess that they never showedit very palpably. 

As January dragged slowly away into February, rumors of the astonishingsuccess of Sherman began to be so definite and well authenticated as toinduce belief. We knew that the Western Chieftain had marched almostunresisted through Georgia, and captured Savannah with comparativelylittle difficulty. We did not understand it, nor did the Rebels aroundus, for neither of us comprehended the Confederacy's near approach todissolution, and we could not explain why a desperate attempt was notmade somewhere to arrest the onward sweep of the conquering armies of theWest. It seemed that if there was any vitality left in Rebeldom it woulddeal a blow that would at least cause the presumptuous invader to pause. As we knew nothing of the battles of Franklin and Nashville, we wereignorant of the destruction of Hood's army, and were at a loss to accountfor its failure to contest Sherman's progress. The last we had heard ofHood, he had been flanked out of Atlanta, but we did not understand thatthe strength or morale of his force had been seriously reduced inconsequence. 

Soon it drifted in to us that Sherman had cut loose from Savannah, asfrom Atlanta, and entered South Carolina, to repeat there the marchthrough her sister State. Our sources of information now were confinedto the gossip which our men--working outside on parole, --could overhearfrom the Rebels, and communicate to us as occasion served. Theseoccasions were not frequent, as the men outside were not allowed to comein except rarely, or stay long then. Still we managed to knowreasonably, soon that Sherman was sweeping resistlessly across the State, with Hardee, Dick Taylor, Beauregard, and others, vainly trying to makehead against him. It seemed impossible to us that they should not stophim soon, for if each of all these leaders had any command worthy thename the aggregate must make an army that, standing on the defensive, would give Sherman a great deal of trouble. That he would be able topenetrate into the State as far as we were never entered into our minds. 

By and by we were astonished at the number of the trains that we couldhear passing north on the Charleston & Cheraw Railroad. Day and nightfor two weeks there did not seem to be more than half an hour's intervalat any time between the rumble and whistles of the trains as they passedFlorence Junction, and sped away towards Cheraw, thirty-five miles northof us. We at length discovered that Sherman had reached Branchville, andwas singing around toward Columbia, and other important points to thenorth; that Charleston was being evacuated, and its garrison, munitionsand stores were being removed to Cheraw, which the Rebel Generalsintended to make their new base. As this news was so well confirmed asto leave no doubt of it, it began to wake up and encourage all the morehopeful of us. We thought we could see some premonitions of the gloriousend, and that we were getting vicarious satisfaction at the hands of ourfriends under the command of Uncle Billy. 

One morning orders came for one thousand men to get ready to move. Andrews and I held a council of war on the situation, the question beforethe house being whether we would go with that crowd, or stay behind. Theconclusion we came to was thus stated by Andrews:

"Now, Mc. , we've flanked ahead every time, and see how we've come out. We flanked into the first squad that left Richmond, and we wereconsequently in the first that got into Andersonville. May be if we'dstaid back we'd got into that squad that was exchanged. We were in thefirst squad that left Andersonville. We were the first to leave Savannahand enter Millen. May be if we'd staid back, we'd got exchanged with theten thousand sick. We were the first to leave Millen and the first toreach Blackshear. We were again the first to leave Blackshear. Perhapsthose fellows we left behind then are exchanged. Now, as we've playedahead every time, with such infernal luck, let's play backward this time, and try what that brings us. "

"But, Lale, " (Andrews's nickname--his proper name being Bezaleel), saidI, "we made something by going ahead every time--that is, if we were notgoing to be exchanged. By getting into those places first we picked outthe best spots to stay, and got tent-building stuff that those who cameafter us could not. And certainly we can never again get into as bad aplace as this is. The chances are that if this does not mean exchange, it means transfer to a better prison. "

But we concluded, as I said above, to reverse our usual order ofprocedure and flank back, in hopes that something would favor our escapeto Sherman. Accordingly, we let the first squad go off without us, andthe next, and the next, and so on, till there were only eleven hundred--mostly those sick in the Hospital--remaining behind. Those who wentaway--we afterwards learned, were run down on the cars to Wilmington, andafterwards up to Goldsboro, N. C. 

For a week or more we eleven hundred tenanted the Stockade, and byburning up the tents of those who had gone had the only decent, comfortable fires we had while in Florence. In hunting around throughthe tents for fuel we found many bodies of those who had died as theircomrades were leaving. As the larger portion of us could barely walk, the Rebels paroled us to remain inside of the Stockade or within a fewhundred yards of the front of it, and took the guards off. While thesewere marching down, a dozen or more of us, exulting in even so muchfreedom as we had obtained, climbed on the Hospital shed to see what theoutlook was, and perched ourselves on the ridgepole. Lieutenant Barrettcame along, at a distance of two hundred yards, with a squad of guards. Observing us, he halted his men, faced them toward us, and they leveledtheir guns as if to fire. He expected to see us tumble down in ludicrousalarm, to avoid the bullets. But we hated him and them so bad, that wecould not give them the poor satisfaction of scaring us. Only one of ourparty attempted to slide down, but the moment we swore at him he cameback and took his seat with folded arms alongside of us. Barrett gavethe order to fire, and the bullets shrieked aver our heads, fortunatelynot hitting anybody. We responded with yells of derision, and the worstabuse we could think of. 

Coming down after awhile, I walked to the now open gate, and loopedthrough it over the barren fields to the dense woods a mile away, and awild desire to run off took possession of me. It seemed as if I couldnot resist it. The woods appeared full of enticing shapes, beckoning meto come to them, and the winds whispered in my ears:

"Run! Run! Run!"

But the words of my parole were still fresh in my mind, and I stilled myfrenzy to escape by turning back into the Stockade and looking away fromthe tempting view. 

Once five new prisoners, the first we had seen in a long time, werebrought in from Sherman's army. They were plump, well-conditioned, well-dressed, healthy, devil-may-care young fellows, whose confidence inthemselves and in Sherman was simply limitless, and their contempt forall Rebels and especially those who terrorized over us, enormous. 

"Come up here to headquarters, " said one of the Rebel officers to them asthey stood talking to us; "and we'll parole you. "

"O go to h--- with your parole, " said the spokesman of the crowd, withnonchalant contempt; "we don't want none of your paroles. Old Billy'llparole us before Saturday. "

To us they said:

"Now, you boys want to cheer right up; keep a stiff upper lip. Thisthing's workin' all right. Their old Confederacy's goin' to pieces likea house afire. Sherman's promenadin' through it just as it suits him, and he's liable to pay a visit at any hour. We're expectin' him all thetime, because it was generally understood all through the Army that wewere to take the prison pen here in on our way. "

I mentioned my distrust of the concentration of Rebels at Cheraw, andtheir faces took on a look of supreme disdain. 

"Now, don't let that worry you a minute, " said the confident spokesman. "All the Rebels between here and Lee's Army can't prevent Sherman fromgoing just where he pleases. Why, we've quit fightin' 'em except withthe Bummers advance. We haven't had to go into regular line of battleagainst them for I don't know how long. Sherman would like anythingbetter than to have 'em make a stand somewhere so that he could get agood fair whack at 'em. "

No one can imagine the effect of all this upon us. It was better than acarload of medicines and a train load of provisions would have been. From the depths of despondency we sprang at once to tip-toe on themountain-tops of expectation. We did little day and night but listen forthe sound of Sherman's guns and discuss what we would do when he came. We planned schemes of terrible vengeance on Barrett and Iverson, butthese worthies had mysteriously disappeared--whither no one knew. Therewas hardly an hour of any night passed without some one of us fancyingthat he heard the welcome sound of distant firing. As everybody knows, by listening intently at night, one can hear just exactly what he isintent upon hearing, and so was with us. In the middle of the night boyslistening awake with strained ears, would say:

"Now, if ever I heard musketry firing in my life, that's a heavy skirmishline at work, and sharply too, and not more than three miles away, neither. "

Then another would say:

"I don't want to ever get out of here if that don't sound just as theskirmishing at Chancellorsville did the first day to us. We were lyingdown about four miles off, when it began pattering just as that is doingnow. "

And so on. 

One night about nine or ten, there came two short, sharp peals ofthunder, that sounded precisely like the reports of rifled field pieces. We sprang up in a frenzy of excitement, and shouted as if our throatswould split. But the next peal went off in the usual rumble, and ourexcitement had to subside. 

CHAPTER LXXVII. 

FRUITLESS WAITING FOR SHERMAN--WE LEAVE FLORENCE--INTELLIGENCE OF THEFALL OF WILMINGTON COMMUNICATED TO US BY A SLAVE--THE TURPENTINE REGIONOF NORTH CAROLINA--WE COME UPON A REBEL LINE OF BATTLE--YANKEES AT BOTHENDS OF THE ROAD. 

Things had gone on in the way described in the previous chapter untilpast the middle of February. For more than a week every waking hour wasspent in anxious expectancy of Sherman--listening for the far-off rattleof his guns--straining our ears to catch the sullen boom of hisartillery--scanning the distant woods to see the Rebels falling back inhopeless confusion before the pursuit of his dashing advance. Though webecame as impatient as those ancient sentinels who for ten long yearsstood upon the Grecian hills to catch the first glimpse of the flames ofburning Troy, Sherman came not. We afterwards learned that twoexpeditions were sent down towards us from Cheraw, but they met withunexpected resistance, and were turned back. 

It was now plain to us that the Confederacy was tottering to its fall, and we were only troubled by occasional misgivings that we might in someway be caught and crushed under the toppling ruins. It did not seempossible that with the cruel tenacity with which the Rebels had clung tous they would be willing to let us go free at last, but would be temptedin the rage of their final defeat to commit some unparalleled atrocityupon us. 

One day all of us who were able to walk were made to fall in and marchover to the railroad, where we were loaded into boxcars. The sick--except those who were manifestly dying--were loaded into wagons andhauled over. The dying were left to their fate, without any companionsor nurses. 

The train started off in a northeasterly direction, and as we wentthrough Florence the skies were crimson with great fires, burning in alldirections. We were told these were cotton and military stores beingdestroyed in anticipation of a visit from, a part of Sherman's forces. 

When morning came we were still running in the same direction that westarted. In the confusion of loading us upon the cars the previousevening, I had been allowed to approach too near a Rebel officer's stockof rations, and the result was his being the loser and myself the gainerof a canteen filled with fairly good molasses. Andrews and I had somecorn bread, and we, breakfasted sumptuously upon it and the molasses, which was certainly none-the-less sweet from having been stolen. 

Our meal over, we began reconnoitering, as much for employment asanything else. We were in the front end of a box car. With a saw madeon the back of a case-knife we cut a hole through the boards big enoughto permit us to pass out, and perhaps escape. We found that we were onthe foremost box car of the train--the next vehicle to us being apassenger coach, in which were the Rebel officers. On the rear platformof this car was seated one of their servants--a trusty old slave, welldressed, for a negro, and as respectful as his class usually was. Said Ito him:

"Well, uncle, where are they taking us?"

He replied:

"Well, sah, I couldn't rightly say. "

"But you could guess, if you tried, couldn't you?"

"Yes sah. "

He gave a quick look around to see if the door behind him was so securelyshut that he could not be overheard by the Rebels inside the car, hisdull, stolid face lighted up as a negro's always does in the excitementof doing something cunning, and he said in a loud whisper:

"Dey's a-gwine to take you to Wilmington--ef dey kin get you dar!"

"Can get us there!" said I in astonishment. "Is there anything toprevent them taking us there?"

The dark face filled with inexpressible meaning. I asked:

"It isn't possible that there are any Yankees down there to interfere, is it?"

The great eyes flamed up with intelligence to tell me that I guessedaright; again he glanced nervously around to assure himself that no onewas eavesdropping, and then he said in a whisper, just loud enough to beheard above the noise of the moving train:

"De Yankees took Wilmington yesterday mawning. "

The news startled me, but it was true, our troops having driven out theRebel troops, and entered Wilmington, on the preceding day--the 22d ofFebruary, 1865, as I learned afterwards. How this negro came to knowmore of what was going on than his masters puzzled me much. That he didknow more was beyond question, since if the Rebels in whose charge wewere had known of Wilmington's fall, they would not have gone to thetrouble of loading us upon the cars and hauling us one, hundred miles inthe direction of a City which had come into the hands of our men. 

It has been asserted by many writers that the negros had some occultmeans of diffusing important news among the mass of their people, probably by relays of swift runners who traveled at night, goingtwenty-five or thirty miles and back before morning. Very astonishingstories are told of things communicated in this way across the length orbreadth of the Confederacy. It is said that our officers in theblockading fleet in the Gulf heard from the negros in advance of thepublication in the Rebel papers of the issuance of the Proclamation ofEmancipation, and of several of our most important Victories. Theincident given above prepares me to believe all that has been told ofthe perfection to which the negros had brought their "grapevinetelegraph, " as it was jocularly termed. 

The Rebels believed something of it, too. In spite of their rigorouspatrol, an institution dating long before the war, and the severepunishments visited upon negros found off their master's premises withouta pass, none of them entertained a doubt that the young negro men were inthe habit of making long, mysterious journeys at night, which had othermotives than love-making or chicken-stealing. Occasionally a young manwould get caught fifty or seventy-five miles from his "quarters, " whileon some errand of his own, the nature of which no punishment could makehim divulge. His master would be satisfied that he did not intendrunning away, because he was likely going in the wrong direction, butbeyond this nothing could be ascertained. It was a common belief amongoverseers, when they saw an active, healthy young "buck" sleepy andlanguid about his work, that he had spent the night on one of theseexcursions. 

The country we were running through--if such straining, toilsome progressas our engine was making could be called running--was a rich turpentinedistrict. We passed by forests where all the trees were marked with longscores through the bark, and extended up to a hight of twenty feet ormore. Into these, the turpentine and rosin, running down, were caught, and conveyed by negros to stills near by, where it was prepared formarket. The stills were as rude as the mills we had seen in EasternTennessee and Kentucky, and were as liable to fiery destruction as apowder-house. Every few miles a wide space of ground, burned clean oftrees and underbrush, and yet marked by a portion of the stones which hadformed the furnace, showed where a turpentine still, managed by carelessand ignorant blacks, had been licked up by the breath of flame. Theynever seemed to re-build on these spots--whether from superstition orother reasons, I know not. 

Occasionally we came to great piles of barrels of turpentine, rosin andtar, some of which had laid there since the blockade had cut offcommunication with the outer world. Many of the barrels of rosin hadburst, and their contents melted in the heat of the sun, had run over theground like streams of lava, covering it to a depth of many inches. At the enormous price rosin, tar and turpentine were commanding in themarkets of the world, each of these piles represented a superb fortune. Any one of them, if lying upon the docks of New York, would have yieldedenough to make every one of us upon the train comfortable for life. But a few months after the blockade was raised, and they sank toone-thirtieth of their present value. 

These terebinthine stores were the property of the plantation lords ofthe lowlands of North Carolina, who correspond to the pinchbeck barons ofthe rice districts of South Carolina. As there, the whites and negros wesaw were of the lowest, most squalid type of humanity. The people of themiddle and upland districts of North Carolina are a much superior race tothe same class in South Carolina. They are mostly of Scotch-Irishdescent, with a strong infusion of English-Quaker blood, and resemblemuch the best of the Virginians. They make an effort to diffuseeducation, and have many of the virtues of a simple, non-progressive, tolerably industrious middle class. It was here that the strong Unionsentiment of North Carolina numbered most of its adherents. The peopleof the lowlands were as different as if belonging to another race. Theenormous mass of ignorance--the three hundred and fifty thousand men andwomen who could not read or write--were mostly black and white serfs ofthe great landholders, whose plantations lie within one hundred miles ofthe Atlantic coast. 

As we approached the coast the country became swampier, and our oldacquaintances, the cypress, with their malformed "knees, " became more andmore numerous. 

About the middle of the afternoon our train suddenly stopped. Lookingout to ascertain the cause, we were electrified to see a Rebel line ofbattle stretched across the track, about a half mile ahead of the engine, and with its rear toward us. It was as real a line as was ever seen onany field. The double ranks of "Butternuts, " with arms gleaming in theafternoon sun, stretched away out through the open pine woods, fartherthan we could see. Close behind the motionless line stood the companyofficers, leaning on their drawn swords. Behind these still, were theregimental officers on their horses. On a slight rise of the ground, agroup of horsemen, to whom other horsemen momentarily dashed up to orsped away from, showed the station of the General in command. On anotherknoll, at a little distance, were several-field pieces, standing "inbattery, " the cannoneers at the guns, the postillions dismounted andholding their horses by the bits, the caisson men standing in readinessto serve out ammunition. Our men were evidently close at hand in strongforce, and the engagement was likely to open at any instant. 

For a minute we were speechless with astonishment. Then came a surge ofexcitement. What should we do? What could we do? Obviously nothing. Eleven hundred, sick, enfeebled prisoners could not even overpower theirguards, let alone make such a diversion in the rear of a line-of-battleas would assist our folks to gain a victory. But while we debated theengine whistled sharply--a frightened shriek it sounded to us--and beganpushing our train rapidly backward over the rough and wretched track. Back, back we went, as fast as rosin and pine knots could force theengine to move us. The cars swayed continually back and forth, momentarily threatening to fly the crazy roadway, and roll over theembankment or into one of the adjacent swamps. We would have hailed sucha catastrophe, as it would have probably killed more of the guards thanof us, and the confusion would have given many of the survivorsopportunity to escape. But no such accident happened, and towardsmidnight we reached the bridge across the Great Pedee River, where ourtrain was stopped by a squad of Rebel cavalrymen, who brought theintelligence that as Kilpatrick was expected into Florence every hour, itwould not do to take us there. 

We were ordered off the cars, and laid down on the banks of the GreatPedee, our guards and the cavalry forming a line around us, and takingprecautions to defend the bridge against Kilpatrick, should he find outour whereabouts and come after us. 

"Well, Mc, " said Andrews, as we adjusted our old overcoat and blanket onthe ground for a bed; "I guess we needn't care whether school keeps ornot. Our fellows have evidently got both ends of the road, and arecoming towards us from each way. There's no road--not even a wagon road--for the Johnnies to run us off on, and I guess all we've got to do isto stand still and see the salvation of the Lord. Bad as these houndsare, I don't believe they will shoot us down rather than let our folksretake us. At least they won't since old Winder's dead. If he wasalive, he'd order our throats cut--one by one--with the guards' pocketknives, rather than give us up. I'm only afraid we'll be allowed tostarve before our folks reach us. "

I concurred in this view. 

CHAPTER LXXVIII. 

RETURN TO FLORENCE AND A SHORT SOJOURN THERE--OFF TOWARDS WILMINGTONAGAIN--CRUISING A REBEL OFFICER'S LUNCH--SIGNS OF APPROACHING OUR LINES--TERROR OF OUR RASCALLY GUARDS--ENTRANCE INTO GOD'S COUNTRY AT LAST. 

But Kilpatrick, like Sherman, came not. Perhaps he knew that all theprisoners had been removed from the Stockade; perhaps he had otherbusiness of more importance on hand; probably his movement was only afeint. At all events it was definitely known the next day that he hadwithdrawn so far as to render it wholly unlikely that he intendedattacking Florence, so we were brought back and returned to our oldquarters. For a week or more we loitered about the now nearly-abandonedprison; skulked and crawled around the dismal mud-tents like the ghostlydenizens of some Potter's Field, who, for some reason had been allowed toreturn to earth, and for awhile creep painfully around the littlehillocks beneath which they had been entombed. 

A few score, whose vital powers were strained to the last degree oftension, gave up the ghost, and sank to dreamless rest. It mattered nowlittle to these when Sherman came, or when Kilpatrick's guidons shouldflutter through the forest of sighing pines, heralds of life, happiness, and home--

 After life's fitful fever they slept well Treason had done its worst. Nor steel nor poison: Malice domestic, foreign levy, nothing Could touch them farther. 

One day another order came for us to be loaded on the cars, and over tothe railroad we went again in the same fashion as before. Thecomparatively few of us who were still able to walk at all well, loadedourselves down with the bundles and blankets of our less fortunatecompanions, who hobbled and limped--many even crawling on their hands andknees--over the hard, frozen ground, by our sides. 

Those not able to crawl even, were taken in wagons, for the orders wereimperative not to leave a living prisoner behind. 

At the railroad we found two trains awaiting us. On the front of eachengine were two rude white flags, made by fastening the halves of mealsacks to short sticks. The sight of these gave us some hope, but ourbelief that Rebels were constitutional liars and deceivers was so firmand fixed, that we persuaded ourselves that the flags meant nothing morethan some wilful delusion for us. 

Again we started off in the direction of Wilmington, and traversed thesame country described in the previous chapter. Again Andrews and Ifound ourselves in the next box car to the passenger coach containing theRebel officers. Again we cut a hole through the end, with our saw, andagain found a darky servant sitting on the rear platform. Andrews wentout and sat down alongside of him, and found that he was seated upon alarge gunny-bag sack containing the cooked rations of the Rebel officers. 

The intelligence that there was something there worth taking Andrewscommunicated to me by an expressive signal, of which soldiers campaigningtogether as long as he and I had, always have an extensive and wellunderstood code. 

I took a seat in the hole we had made in the end of the car, in reach ofAndrews. Andrews called the attention of the negro to some feature ofthe country near by, and asked him a question in regard to it. As helooked in the direction indicated, Andrews slipped his hand into themouth of the bag, and pulled out a small sack of wheat biscuits, which hepassed to me and I concealed. The darky turned and told Andrews allabout the matter in regard to which the interrogation had been made. Andrews became so much interested in what was being told him, that he satup closer and closer to the darky, who in turn moved farther away fromthe sack. 

Next we ran through a turpentine plantation, and as the darky waspointing out where the still, the master's place, the "quarters, " etc. , were, Andrews managed to fish out of that bag and pass to me threeroasted chickens. Then a great swamp called for description, and beforewe were through with it, I had about a peck of boiled sweet potatos. 

Andrews emptied the bag as the darky was showing him a great peanutplantation, taking from it a small frying-pan, a canteen of molasses, and a half-gallon tin bucket, which had been used to make coffee in. We divided up our wealth of eatables with the rest of the boys in thecar, not forgetting to keep enough to give ourselves a magnificent meal. 

As we ran along we searched carefully for the place where we had seen theline-of-battle, expecting that it would now be marked with signs of aterrible conflict, but we could see nothing. We could not even fix thelocality where the line stood. 

As it became apparent that we were going directly toward Wilmington, as fast as our engines could pull us, the excitement rose. We had manymisgivings as to whether our folks still retained possession ofWilmington, and whether, if they did, the Rebels could not stop at apoint outside of our lines, and transfer us to some other road. 

For hours we had seen nobody in the country through which we werepassing. What few houses were visible were apparently deserted, andthere were no Towns or stations anywhere. We were very anxious to seesome one, in hopes of getting a hint of what the state of affairs was inthe direction we were going. At length we saw a young man--apparently ascout--on horseback, but his clothes were equally divided between theblue and the butternut, as to give no clue to which side he belonged. 

An hour later we saw two infantrymen, who were evidently out foraging. They had sacks of something on their backs, and wore blue clothes. Thiswas a very hopeful sign of a near approach to our lines, but bitterexperience in the past warned us against being too sanguine. 

About 4 o'clock P. M. , the trains stopped and whistled long and loud. Looking out I could see--perhaps half-a-mile away--a line of rifle pitsrunning at right angles with the track. Guards, whose guns flashed asthey turned, were pacing up and down, but they were too far away for meto distinguish their uniforms. 

The suspense became fearful. 

But I received much encouragement from the singular conduct of ourguards. First I noticed a Captain, who had been especially mean to uswhile at Florence. 

He was walking on the ground by the train. His face was pale, his teethset, and his eyes shone with excitement. He called out in a strange, forced voice to his men and boys on the roof of the cars:

"Here, you fellers git down off'en thar and form a line. "

The fellows did so, in a slow, constrained, frightened ways and huddledtogether, in the most unsoldierly manner. 

The whole thing reminded me of a scene I once saw in our line, where aweak-kneed Captain was ordered to take a party of rather chicken-heartedrecruits out on the skirmish-line. 

We immediately divined what was the matter. The lines in front of uswere really those of our people, and the idiots of guards, not knowing oftheir entire safety when protected by a flag of truce, were scared halfout of their small wits at approaching so near to armed Yankees. 

We showered taunts and jeers upon them. An Irishman in my car yelledout:

"Och, ye dirty spalpeens; it's not shootin' prisoners ye are now; it'scumin' where the Yankee b'ys hev the gun; and the minnit ye say thim yerwhite livers show themselves in yer pale faces. Bad luck to theblatherin' bastards that yez are, and to the mothers that bore ye. "

At length our train moved up so near to the line that I could see it wasthe grand, old loyal blue that clothed the forms of the men who werepacing up and down. 

And certainly the world does not hold as superb looking men as theseappeared to me. Finely formed, stalwart, full-fed and well clothed, theyformed the most delightful contrast with the scrawny, shambling, villain-visaged little clay-eaters and white trash who had looked downupon us from the sentry boxes for many long months. 

I sprang out of the cars and began washing my face and hands in the ditchat the side of the road. The Rebel Captain, noticing me, said, in theold, hateful, brutal, imperious tone:

"Git back in dat cah, dah. "

An hour before I would have scrambled back as quickly as possible, knowing that an instant's hesitation would be followed by a bullet. Now, I looked him in the face, and said as irritatingly as possible:

"O, you go to ----, you Rebel. I'm going into Uncle Sam's lines with aslittle Rebel filth on me as possible. "

He passed me without replying. 

His day of shooting was past. 

Descending from the cars, we passed through the guards into our lines, a Rebel and a Union clerk checking us off as we passed. By the time itwas dark we were all under our flag again. 

The place where we came through was several miles west of Wilmington, where the railroad crossed a branch of the Cape Fear River. The pointwas held by a brigade of Schofield's army--the Twenty-Third Army Corps. 

The boys lavished unstinted kindness upon us. All of the brigade offduty crowded around, offering us blankets, shirts shoes, pantaloons andother articles of clothing and similar things that we were obviously inthe greatest need of. The sick were carried, by hundreds of willinghands, to a sheltered spot, and laid upon good, comfortable bedsimprovised with leaves and blankets. A great line of huge, generousfires was built, that every one of us could have plenty of place aroundthem. 

By and by a line of wagons came over from Wilmington laden with rations, and they were dispensed to us with what seemed reckless prodigality. The lid of a box of hard tack would be knocked off, and the contentshanded to us as we filed past, with absolute disregard as to quantity. If a prisoner looked wistful after receiving one handful of crackers, another was handed to him; if his long-famished eyes still lingered asif enchained by the rare display of food, the men who were issuing said:

"Here, old fellow, there's plenty of it: take just as much as you cancarry in your arms. "

So it was also with the pickled pork, the coffee, the sugar, etc. We hadbeen stinted and starved so long that we could not comprehend that therewas anywhere actually enough of anything. 

The kind-hearted boys who were acting as our hosts began preparing foodfor the sick, but the Surgeons, who had arrived in the meanwhile, werecompelled to repress them, as it was plain that while it was a dangerousexperiment to give any of us all we could or would eat, it would never doto give the sick such a temptation to kill themselves, and only a limitedamount of food was allowed to be given those who were unable to walk. 

Andrews and I hungered for coffee, the delightful fumes of which filledthe air and intoxicated our senses. We procured enough to make ourhalf-gallon bucket full and very strong. 

We drank so much of this that Andrews became positively drunk, and fellhelplessly into some brush. I pulled him out and dragged him away to aplace where we had made our rude bed. 

I was dazed. I could not comprehend that the long-looked for, often-despaired-of event had actually happened. I feared that it wasone of those tantalizing dreams that had so often haunted my sleep, onlyto be followed by a wretched awakening. Then I became seized with asudden fear lest the Rebel attempt to retake me. The line of guardsaround us seemed very slight. It might be forced in the night, and allof us recaptured. Shivering at this thought, absurd though it was, Iarose from our bed, and taking Andrews with me, crawled two or threehundred yards into a dense undergrowth, where in the event of our linesbeing forced, we would be overlooked. 

CHAPTER LXXIX. 

GETTING USED TO FREEDOM--DELIGHTS OF A LAND WHERE THERE IS ENOUGH OFEVERYTHING--FIRST GLIMPSE OF THE OLD FLAG--WILMINGTON AND ITS HISTORY--LIEUTENANT CUSHING--FIRST ACQUAINTANCE WITH THE COLORED TROOPS--LEAVINGFOR HOME--DESTRUCTION OF THE "THORN" BY A TORPEDO--THE MOCK MONITOR'SACHIEVEMENT. 

After a sound sleep, Andrews and I awoke to the enjoyment of our firstday of freedom and existence in God's country. The sun had alreadyrisen, bright and warm, consonant with the happiness of the new life nowopening up for us. 

But to nearly a score of our party his beams brought no awakeninggladness. They fell upon stony, staring eyes, from out of which thelight of life had now faded, as the light of hope had done long ago. The dead lay there upon the rude beds of fallen leaves, scraped togetherby thoughtful comrades the night before, their clenched teeth showingthrough parted lips, faces fleshless and pinched, long, unkempt andragged hair and whiskers just stirred by the lazy breeze, the rottingfeet and limbs drawn up, and skinny hands clenched in the last agonies. 

Their fate seemed harder than that of any who had died before them. It was doubtful if many of them knew that they were at last inside of ourown lines. 

Again the kind-hearted boys of the brigade crowded around us withproffers of service. Of an Ohio boy who directed his kind tenders toAndrews and me, we procured a chunk of coarse rosin soap about as big asa pack of cards, and a towel. Never was there as great a quantity ofsolid comfort got out of that much soap as we obtained. It was the firstthat we had since that which I stole in Wirz's headquarters, in June--nine months before. We felt that the dirt which had accumulated uponus since then would subject us to assessment as real estate if we werein the North. 

Hurrying off to a little creek we began our ablutions, and it was notlong until Andrews declared that there was a perceptible sand-bar formingin the stream, from what we washed off. Dirt deposits of the Plioceneera rolled off feet and legs. Eocene incrustations let loose reluctantlyfrom neck and ears; the hair was a mass of tangled locks matted with ninemonths' accumulation of pitch pine tar, rosin soot, and South Carolinasand, that we did not think we had better start in upon it until weeither had the shock cut off, or had a whole ocean and a vat of soap towash it out with. 

After scrubbing until we were exhausted we got off the first few outerlayers--the post tertiary formation, a geologist would term it--and thesmell of many breakfasts cooking, coming down over the hill, set ourstomachs in a mutiny against any longer fasting. 

We went back, rosy, panting, glowing, but happy, to get our selves somebreakfast. 

Should Providence, for some inscrutable reason, vouchsafe me the years ofMethuselah, one of the pleasantest recollections that will abide with meto the close of the nine hundredth and sixty-ninth year, will be of thatdelightful odor of cooking food which regaled our senses as we came back. From the boiling coffee and the meat frying in the pan rose an incensesweeter to the senses a thousand times than all the perfumes of farArabia. It differed from the loathsome odor of cooking corn meal as muchas it did from the effluvia of a sewer. 

Our noses were the first of our senses to bear testimony that we hadpassed from the land of starvation to that of plenty. Andrews and Ihastened off to get our own breakfast, and soon had a half-gallon ofstrong coffee, and a frying-pan full, of meat cooking over the fire--notone of the beggarly skimped little fires we had crouched over during ourmonths of imprisonment, but a royal, generous fire, fed with logs insteadof shavings and splinters, and giving out heat enough to warm a regiment. 

Having eaten positively all that we could swallow, those of us who couldwalk were ordered to fall in and march over to Wilmington. We crossedthe branch of the river on a pontoon bridge, and took the road that ledacross the narrow sandy island between the two branches, Wilmington beingsituated on the opposite bank of the farther one. 

When about half way a shout from some one in advance caused us to lookup, and then we saw, flying from a tall steeple in Wilmington, theglorious old Stars and Stripes, resplendent in the morning sun, and morebeautiful than the most gorgeous web from Tyrian looms. We stopped withone accord, and shouted and cheered and cried until every throat was soreand every eye red and blood-shot. It seemed as if our cup of happinesswould certainly run over if any more additions were made to it. 

When we arrived at the bank of the river opposite Wilmington, a wholeworld of new and interesting sights opened up before us. Wilmington, during the last year-and-a-half of the war, was, next to Richmond, themost important place in the Southern Confederacy. It was the only portto which blockade running was at all safe enough to be lucrative. TheRebels held the strong forts of Caswell and Fisher, at the mouth of CapeFear River, and outside, the Frying Pan Shoals, which extended along thecoast forty or fifty miles, kept our blockading fleet so far off, andmade the line so weak and scattered, that there was comparatively littlerisk to the small, swift-sailing vessels employed by the blockade runnersin running through it. The only way that blockade running could bestopped was by the reduction of Forts Caswell and Fisher, and it was notstopped until this was done. 

Before the war Wilmington was a dull, sleepy North Carolina Town, with aslittle animation of any kind as a Breton Pillage. The only business wasthe handling of the tar, turpentine, rosin, and peanuts produced in thesurrounding country, a business never lively enough to excite more than alazy ripple in the sluggish lagoons of trade. But very new wine was putinto this old bottle when blockade running began to develop inimportance. Then this Sleepy hollow of a place took on the appearance ofSan Francisco in the hight of the gold fever. The English houses engagedin blockade running established branches there conducted by young men wholived like princes. All the best houses in the City were leased by themand fitted up in the most gorgeous style. They literally clothedthemselves in purple and fine linen and fared sumptuously every day, withtheir fine wines and imported delicacies and retinue of servants to waitupon them. Fast young Rebel officers, eager for a season of dissipation, could imagine nothing better than a leave of absence to go to Wilmington. Money flowed like water. The common sailors--the scum of all foreignports--who manned the blockade runners, received as high as one hundreddollars in gold per month, and a bounty of fifty dollars for everysuccessful trip, which from Nassau could be easily made in seven days. Other people were paid in proportion, and as the old proverb says, "Whatcomes over the Devil's back is spent under his breast, " the money soobtained was squandered recklessly, and all sorts of debauchery ran riot. 

On the ground where we were standing had been erected several large steamcotton presses, built to compress cotton for the blockade runners. Around them were stored immense quantities of cotton, and near by werenearly as great stores of turpentine, rosin and tar. A little fartherdown the river was navy yard with docks, etc. , for the accommodation, building and repair of blockade runners. At the time our folks took FortFisher and advanced on Wilmington the docks were filled with vessels. The retreating Rebels set fire to everything--cotton, cotton presses, turpentine, rosin, tar, navy yard, naval stores, timber, docks, andvessels, and the fire made clean work. Our people arrived too late tosave anything, and when we came in the smoke from the burned cotton, turpentine, etc. , still filled the woods. It was a signal illustrationof the ravages of war. Here had been destroyed, in a few hours, moreproperty than a half-million industrious men would accumulate in theirlives. 

Almost as gratifying as the sight of the old flag flying in triumph, wasthe exhibition of our naval power in the river before us. The largerpart of the great North Atlantic squadron, which had done such excellentservice in the reduction of the defenses of Wilmington, was lying atanchor, with their hundreds of huge guns yawning as if ardent for moregreat forts to beat down, more vessels to sink, more heavy artillery tocrush, more Rebels to conquer. It seemed as if there were cannon enoughthere to blow the whole Confederacy into kingdom-come. All was life andanimation around the fleet. On the decks the officers were pacing up anddown. One on each vessel carried a long telescope, with which he almostconstantly swept the horizon. Numberless small boats, each rowed byneatly-uniformed men, and carrying a flag in the stern, darted hither andthither, carrying officers on errands of duty or pleasure. It was such ascene as enabled me to realize in a measure, the descriptions I had readof the pomp and circumstance of naval warfare. 

While we were standing, contemplating all the interesting sights withinview, a small steamer, about the size of a canal-boat, and carryingseveral bright brass guns, ran swiftly and noiselessly up to the docknear by, and a young, pale-faced officer, slender in build and nervous inmanner, stepped ashore. Some of the blue jackets who were talking to uslooked at him and the vessel with the greatest expression of interest, and said:

"Hello! there's the 'Monticello' and Lieutenant Cushing. "

This, then, was the naval boy hero, with whose exploits the whole countrywas ringing. Our sailor friends proceeded to tell us of hisachievements, of which they were justly proud. They told us of hisperilous scouts and his hairbreadth escapes, of his wonderful audacityand still more wonderful success--of his capture of Towns with a handfulof sailors, and the destruction of valuable stores, etc. I felt verysorry that the man was not a cavalry commander. There he would have hadfull scope for his peculiar genius. He had come prominently into noticein the preceding Autumn, when he had, by one of the most daringperformances narrated in naval history, destroyed the formidable ram"Albermarle. " This vessel had been constructed by the Rebels on theRoanoke River, and had done them very good service, first by assisting toreduce the forts and capture the garrison at Plymouth, N. C. , andafterward in some minor engagements. In October, 1864, she was lying atPlymouth. Around her was a boom of logs to prevent sudden approaches ofboats or vessels from our fleet. Cushing, who was then barelytwenty-one, resolved to attempt her destruction. He fitted up a steamlaunch with a long spar to which he attached a torpedo. On the night ofOctober 27th, with thirteen companions, he ran quietly up the Sound andwas not discovered until his boat struck the boom, when a terrific firewas opened upon him. Backing a short distance, he ran at the boom withsuch velocity that his boat leaped across it into the water beyond. Inan instant more his torpedo struck the side of the "Albemarle" andexploded, tearing a great hole in her hull, which sank her in a fewminutes. At the moment the torpedo went off the "Albermarle" fired oneof her great guns directly into the launch, tearing it completely topieces. Lieutenant Cushing and one comrade rose to the surface of theseething water and, swimming ashore, escaped. What became of the restis not known, but their fate can hardly be a matter of doubt. 

We were ferried across the river into Wilmington, and marched up thestreets to some vacant ground near the railroad depot, where we foundmost of our old Florence comrades already assembled. When they left usin the middle of February they were taken to Wilmington, and thence toGoldsboro, N. C. , where they were kept until the rapid closing in of ourArmies made it impracticable to hold them any longer, when they were sentback to Wilmington and given up to our forces as we had been. 

It was now nearly noon, and we were ordered to fall in and draw rations, a bewildering order to us, who had been so long in the habit of drawingfood but once a day. We fell in in single rank, and marched up, one at atime, past where a group of employees of the Commissary Department dealtout the food. One handed each prisoner as he passed a large slice ofmeat; another gave him a handful of ground coffee; a third a handful ofsugar; a fourth gave him a pickle, while a fifth and sixth handed him anonion and a loaf of fresh bread. This filled the horn of our plentyfull. To have all these in one day--meat, coffee, sugar, onions and softbread--was simply to riot in undreamed-of luxury. Many of the boys--poorfellows--could not yet realize that there was enough for all, or theycould not give up their old "flanking" tricks, and they stole around, and falling into the rear, came up again for' another share. We laughedat them, as did the Commissary men, who, nevertheless, duplicated therations already received, and sent them away happy and content. 

What a glorious dinner Andrews and I had, with our half gallon of strongcoffee, our soft bread, and a pan full of fried pork and onions! Such anenjoyable feast will never be, eaten again by us. 

Here we saw negro troops under arms for the first time--the most of theorganization of colored soldiers having been, done since our capture. It was startling at first to see a stalwart, coal-black negro stalkingalong with a Sergeant's chevrons on his arm, or to gaze on a regimentalline of dusky faces on dress parade, but we soon got used to it. Thefirst strong peculiarity of the negro soldier that impressed itself, uponus was his literal obedience of orders. A white soldier usually allowshimself considerable discretion in obeying orders--he aims more at thespirit, while the negro adheres to the strict letter of the command. 

For instance, the second day after our arrival a line of guards wereplaced around us, with orders not to allow any of us to go up townwithout a pass. The reason of this was that many weak--even dying-menwould persist in wandering about, and would be found exhausted, frequently dead, in various parts of the City. Andrews and I concludedto go up town. Approaching a negro sentinel he warned us back with, "Stand back, dah; don't come any furder; it's agin de awdahs; you can'tpass. "

He would not allow us to argue the case, but brought his gun to such athreatening position that we fell back. Going down the line a littlefarther, we came to a white sentinel, to whom I said:

"Comrade, what are your orders:"

He replied:

"My orders are not to let any of you fellows pass, but my beat onlyextends to that out-house there. "

Acting on this plain hint, we walked around the house and went up-town. The guard simply construed his orders in a liberal spirit. He reasonedthat they hardly applied to us, since we were evidently able to take careof ourselves. 

Later we had another illustration of this dog like fidelity of thecolored sentinel. A number of us were quartered in a large and emptywarehouse. On the same floor, and close to us, were a couple of veryfine horses belonging to some officer. We had not been in the warehousevery long until we concluded that the straw with which the horses werebedded would be better used in making couches for ourselves, and thissuggestion was instantly acted upon, and so thoroughly that there was nota straw left between the animals and the bare boards. Presently theowner of the horses came in, and he was greatly incensed at what had beendone. He relieved his mind of a few sulphurous oaths, and going out, came back soon with a man with more straw, and a colored soldier whom hestationed by the horses, saying:

"Now, look here. You musn't let anybody take anything sway from thesestalls; d'you understand me?--not a thing. "

He then went out. Andrews and I had just finished cooking dinner, andwere sitting down to eat it. Wishing to lend our frying-pan to anothermess, I looked around for something to lay our meat upon. Near thehorses I saw a book cover, which would answer the purpose admirably. Springing up, I skipped across to where it was, snatched it up, and ranback to my place. As I reached it a yell from the boys made me lookaround. The darky was coming at me "full tilt, " with his gun at a"charge bayonets. " As I turned he said:

"Put dat right back dah!"

I said:

"Why, this don't amount to anything, this is only an old book cover. It hasn't anything in the world to do with the horses. "

He only replied:

"Put dat right back dah!"

I tried another appeal:

"Now, you woolly-headed son of thunder, haven't you got sense enough toknow that the officer who posted you didn't mean such a thing as this!He only meant that we should not be allowed to take any of the horses'bedding or equipments; don't you see?"

I might as well have reasoned with a cigar store Indian. He set histeeth, his eyes showed a dangerous amount of white, and foreshorteninghis musket for a lunge, he hissed out again "Put dat right back dah, Itell you!"

I looked at the bayonet; it was very long, very bright, and very sharp. It gleamed cold and chilly like, as if it had not run through a man for along time, and yearned for another opportunity. Nothing but the whitesof the darky's eyes could now be seen. I did not want to perish there inthe fresh bloom of my youth and loveliness; it seemed to me as if it wasmy duty to reserve myself for fields of future usefulness, so I walkedback and laid the book cover precisely on the spot whence I had obtainedit, while the thousand boys in the house set up a yell of sarcasticlaughter. 

We staid in Wilmington a few days, days of almost purely animalenjoyment--the joy of having just as much to eat as we could possiblyswallow, and no one to molest or make us afraid in any way. How we dideat and fill up. The wrinkles in our skin smoothed out under thestretching, and we began to feel as if we were returning to our oldplumpness, though so far the plumpness was wholly abdominal. 

One morning we were told that the transports would begin going back withus that afternoon, the first that left taking the sick. Andrews and I, true to our old prison practices, resolved to be among those on the firstboat. We slipped through the guards and going up town, went straight toMajor General Schofield's headquarters and solicited a pass to go on thefirst boat--the steamer "Thorn. " General Schofield treated us verykindly; but declined to let anybody but the helplessly sick go on the"Thorn. " Defeated here we went down to where the vessel was lying at thedock, and tried to smuggle ourselves aboard, but the guard was too strongand too vigilant, and we were driven away. Going along the dock, angryand discouraged by our failure, we saw a Surgeon, at a little distance, who was examining and sending the sick who could walk aboard anothervessel--the "General Lyon. " We took our cue, and a little shammingsecured from him tickets which permitted us to take our passage in her. The larger portion of those on board were in the hold, and a few were ondeck. Andrews and I found a snug place under the forecastle, by theanchor chains. 

Both vessels speedily received their complement, and leaving their docks, started down the river. The "Thorn" steamed ahead of us, anddisappeared. Shortly after we got under way, the Colonel who was put incommand of the boat--himself a released prisoner--came around on a tourof inspection. He found about one thousand of us aboard, and singling meout made me the non-commissioned officer in command. I was put incharge, of issuing the rations and of a barrel of milk punch which theSanitary Commission had sent down to be dealt out on the voyage to suchas needed it. I went to work and arranged the boys in the best way Icould, and returned to the deck to view the scenery. 

Wilmington is thirty-four miles from the sea, and the river for thatdistance is a calm, broad estuary. At this time the resources of Rebelengineering were exhausted in defense against its passage by a hostilefleet, and undoubtedly the best work of the kind in the SouthernConfederacy was done upon it. At its mouth were Forts Fisher andCaswell, the strongest sea coast forts in the Confederacy. Fort Caswellwas an old United States fort, much enlarged and strengthened. FortFisher was a new work, begun immediately after the beginning of the war, and labored at incessantly until captured. Behind these every one of thethirty-four miles to Wilmington was covered with the fire of the bestguns the English arsenals could produce, mounted on forts built at everyadvantageous spot. Lines of piles running out into the water, forcedincoming vessels to wind back and forth across the stream under thepoint-blank range of massive Armstrong rifles. As if this were notsufficient, the channel was thickly studded with torpedoes that wouldexplode at the touch of the keel of a passing vessel. These abundantprecautions, and the telegram from General Lee, found in Fort Fisher, stating that unless that stronghold and Fort Caswell were held he couldnot hold Richmond, give some idea of the importance of the place to theRebels. 

We passed groups of hundreds of sailors fishing for torpedos, and sawmany of these dangerous monsters, which they had hauled up out of thewater. We caught up with the "Thorn, " when about half way to the sea, passed her, to our great delight, and soon left a gap between us ofnearly half-a-mile. We ran through an opening in the piling, holding upclose to the left side, and she apparently followed our course exactly. Suddenly there was a dull roar; a column of water, bearing with itfragments of timbers, planking and human bodies, rose up through one sideof the vessel, and, as it fell, she lurched forward and sank. She hadstruck a torpedo. I never learned the number lost, but it must have beenvery great. 

Some little time after this happened we approached Fort Anderson, themost powerful of the works between Wilmington and the forts at the mouthof the sea. It was built on the ruins of the little Town of Brunswick, destroyed by Cornwallis during the Revolutionary War. We saw a monitorlying near it, and sought good positions to view this specimen of theredoubtable ironclads of which we had heard and read so much. It lookedprecisely as it did in pictures, as black, as grim, and as uncompromisingas the impregnable floating fortress which had brought the "Merrimac" toterms. 

But as we approached closely we noticed a limpness about the smoke stackthat seemed very inconsistent with the customary rigidity of cylindricaliron. Then the escape pipe seemed scarcely able to maintain itselfupright. A few minutes later we discovered that our terrible Cyclops ofthe sea was a flimsy humbug, a theatrical imitation, made by stretchingblackened canvas over a wooden frame. 

One of the officers on board told us its story. After the fall of FortFisher the Rebels retired to Fort Anderson, and offered a desperateresistance to our army and fleet. Owing to the shallowness of the waterthe latter could not come into close enough range to do effective work. Then the happy idea of this sham monitor suggested itself to some one. It was prepared, and one morning before daybreak it was sent floating inon the tide. The other monitors opened up a heavy fire from theirposition. The Rebels manned their guns and replied vigorously, byconcentrating a terrible cannonade on the sham monitor, which sailedgrandly on, undisturbed by the heavy rifled bolts tearing through hercanvas turret. Almost frantic with apprehension of the result if shecould not be checked, every gun that would bear was turned upon her, andtorpedos were exploded in her pathway by electricity. All these shetreated with the silent contempt they merited from so invulnerable amonster. At length, as she reached a good easy range of the fort, herbow struck something, and she swung around as if to open fire. That wasenough for the Rebels. With Schofield's army reaching out to cut offtheir retreat, and this dreadful thing about to tear the insides out oftheir fort with four-hundred-pound shot at quarter-mile range, there wasnothing for them to do but consult their own safety, which they did withsuch haste that they did not spike a gun, or destroy a pound of stores. 

CHAPTER LXXX. 

VISIT TO FORT FISHER, AND INSPECTION OF THAT STRONGHOLD--THE WAY IT WASCAPTURED--OUT ON THE OCEAN SAILING--TERRIBLY SEASICK--RAPID RECOVERY--ARRIVAL AT ANNAPOLIS--WASHED, CLOTHED AND FED--UNBOUNDED LUXURY, ANDDAYS OF UNADULTERATED HAPPINESS. 

When we reached the mouth of Cape Fear River the wind was blowing so hardthat our Captain did not think it best to venture out, so he cast anchor. The cabin of the vessel was filled with officers who had been releasedfrom prison about the same time we were. I was also given a berth in thecabin, in consideration of my being the non-commissioned officer incharge of the men, and I found the associations quite pleasant. A partywas made up, which included me, to visit Fort Fisher, and we spent thelarger part of a day very agreeably in wandering over that greatstronghold. We found it wonderful in its strength, and were prepared toaccept the statement of those who had seen foreign defensive works, thatit was much more powerful than the famous Malakoff, which so long defiedthe besiegers of Sebastopol. 

The situation of the fort was on a narrow and low spit of ground betweenCape Fear River and the ocean. On this the Rebels had erected, withprodigious labor, an embankment over a mile in length, twenty-five feetthick and twenty feet high. About two-thirds of this bank faced the sea;the other third ran across the spit of land to protect the fort againstan attack from the land side. Still stronger than the bank forming thefront of the fort were the traverses, which prevented an enfilading fireThese were regular hills, twenty-five to forty feet high, and broad andlong in proportion. There were fifteen or twenty of them along the faceof the fort. Inside of them were capacious bomb proofs, sufficientlylarge to shelter the whole garrison. It seemed as if a whole Townshiphad been dug up, carted down there and set on edge. In front of theworks was a strong palisade. Between each pair of traverses were one ortwo enormous guns, none less than one-hundred-and-fifty pounders. Amongthese we saw a great Armstrong gun, which had been presented to theSouthern Confederacy by its manufacturer, Sir William Armstrong, who, like the majority of the English nobility, was a warm admirer of theJeff. Davis crowd. It was the finest piece of ordnance ever seen in thiscountry. The carriage was rosewood, and the mountings gilt brass. Thebreech of the gun had five reinforcements. 

To attack this place our Government assembled the most powerful fleetever sent on such an expedition. Over seventy-five men-of-war, includingsix monitors, and carrying six hundred guns, assailed it with a storm ofshot and shell that averaged four projectiles per second for severalhours; the parapet was battered, and the large guns crushed as onesmashes a bottle with a stone. The garrison fled into the bomb-proofsfor protection. The troops, who had landed above the fort, moved up toassail the land face, while a brigade of sailors and marines attacked thesea face. 

As the fleet had to cease firing to allow the charge, the Rebels ran outof their casemates and, manning the parapet, opened such a fire ofmusketry that the brigade from the fleet was driven back, but thesoldiers made a lodgment on the land face. Then began some beautifulcooperative tactics between the Army and Navy, communication being keptup with signal flags. Our men were on one side of the parapets and theRebels on the other, with the fighting almost hand-to-hand. The vesselsranged out to where their guns would rake the Rebel line, and as theirshot tore down its length, the Rebels gave way, and falling back to thenext traverse, renewed the conflict there. Guided by the signals ourvessels changed their positions, so as to rake this line also, and so thefight went on until twelve traverses had been carried, one after theother, when the rebels surrendered. 

The next day the Rebels abandoned Fort Caswell and other fortificationsin the immediate neighborhood, surrendered two gunboats, and fell back tothe lines at Fort Anderson. After Fort Fisher fell, severalblockade-runners were lured inside and captured. 

Never before had there been such a demonstration of the power of heavyartillery. Huge cannon were pounded into fragments, hills of sand rippedopen, deep crevasses blown in the ground by exploding shells, woodenbuildings reduced to kindling-wood, etc. The ground was literally pavedwith fragments of shot and shell, which, now red with rust from thecorroding salt air, made the interior of the fort resemble what one ofour party likened it to "an old brickyard. "

Whichever way we looked along the shores we saw abundant evidence of thegreatness of the business which gave the place its importance. In alldirections, as far as the eye could reach, the beach was dotted with thebleaching skeletons of blockade-runners--some run ashore by theirmistaking the channel, more beached to escape the hot pursuit of ourblockaders. 

Directly in front of the sea face of the fort, and not four hundred yardsfrom the savage mouths of the huge guns, the blackened timbers of aburned blockade-runner showed above the water at low tide. Coming infrom Nassau with a cargo of priceless value to the gasping Confederacy, she was observed and chased by one of our vessels, a swifter sailer, even, than herself. The war ship closed rapidly upon her. She soughtthe protection of the guns of Fort Fisher, which opened venomously on thechaser. They did not stop her, though they were less than half a mileaway. In another minute she would have sent the Rebel vessel to thebottom of the sea, by a broadside from her heavy guns, but the Captain ofthe latter turned her suddenly, and ran her high up on the beach, wrecking his vessel, but saving the much more valuable cargo. Our vesselthen hauled off, and as night fell, quiet was restored. At midnight twoboat-loads of determined men, rowing with muffled oars moved silently outfrom the blockader towards the beached vessel. In their boats they hadsome cans of turpentine, and several large shells. When they reached theblockade-runner they found all her crew gone ashore, save one watchman, whom they overpowered before he could give the alarm. They cautiouslyfelt their way around, with the aid of a dark lantern, secured the ship'schronometer, her papers and some other desired objects. They thensaturated with the turpentine piles of combustible material, placed aboutthe vessel to the best advantage, and finished by depositing the shellswhere their explosion would ruin the machinery. All this was done sonear to the fort that the sentinels on the parapets could be heard withthe greatest distinctness as they repeated their half-hourly cry of"All's well. " Their preparations completed, the daring fellows touchedmatches to the doomed vessel in a dozen places at once, and sprang intotheir boats. The flames instantly enveloped the ship, and showed thegunners the incendiaries rowing rapidly away. A hail of shot beat thewater into a foam around the boats, but their good fortune still attendedthem, and they got back without losing a man. 

The wind at length calmed sufficiently to encourage our Captain toventure out, and we were soon battling with the rolling waves, far out ofsight of land. For awhile the novelty of the scene fascinated me. I wasat last on the ocean, of which I had heard, read and imagined so much. The creaking cordage, the straining engine, the plunging ship, the wildwaste of tumbling billows, everyone apparently racing to where ourtossing bark was struggling to maintain herself, all had an entrancinginterest for me, and I tried to recall Byron's sublime apostrophe to theocean:

 Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form Classes itself in tempest: in all time, Calm or convulsed-in breeze, or gale, or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving--boundless, endless, and sublime-- The image of eternity--the throne Of the invisible; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made; each zone Obey thee: thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone, Just then, my reverie was broken by the strong hand of the gruff Captainof, the vessel descending upon my shoulder, and he said:

"See, here, youngster! Ain't you the fellow that was put in command ofthese men?"

I acknowledged such to be the case. 

"Well, " said the Captain; "I want you to 'tend to your business andstraighten them around, so that we can clean off the decks. "

I turned from the bulwark over which I had been contemplating the vastydeep, and saw the sorriest, most woe-begone lot that the imagination canconceive. Every mother's son was wretchedly sea-sick. They were payingthe penalty of their overfeeding in Wilmington; and every face looked asif its owner was discovering for the first time what the real lowerdepths of human misery was. They all seemed afraid they would not die;as if they were praying for death, but feeling certain that he was goingback on them in a most shameful way. 

We straightened them around a little, washed them and the decks off witha hose, and then I started down in the hold to see how matters were withthe six hundred down there. The boys there were much sicker than thoseon deck. As I lifted the hatch there rose an odor which appeared strongenough to raise the plank itself. Every onion that had been issued to usin Wilmington seemed to lie down there in the last stages ofdecomposition. All of the seventy distinct smells which Coleridgecounted at Cologne might have been counted in any given cubic foot ofatmosphere, while the next foot would have an entirely different andequally demonstrative "bouquet. "

I recoiled, and leaned against the bulwark, but soon summoned up courageenough to go half-way down the ladder, and shout out in as stern a toneas I could command:

"Here, now! I want you fellows to straighten around there, right off, and help clean up!"

They were as angry and cross as they were sick. They wanted nothing inthe world so much as the opportunity I had given them to swear at andabuse somebody. Every one of them raised on his elbow, and shaking hisfist at me yelled out:

"O, you go to ----, you ---- ---- ----. Just come down another step, and I'll knock the whole head off 'en you. "

I did not go down any farther. 

Coming back on the deck my stomach began to feel qualmish. Some wretchedidiot, whose grandfather's grave I hope the jackasses have defiled, asthe Turks would say, told me that the best preventive of sea-sickness wasto drink as much of the milk punch as I could swallow. 

Like another idiot, I did so. 

I went again to the side of the vessel, but now the fascination of thescene had all faded out. The restless billows were dreary, savage, hungry and dizzying; they seemed to claw at, and tear, and wrench thestruggling ship as a group of huge lions would tease and worry a captivedog. They distressed her and all on board by dealing a blow which wouldsend her reeling in one direction, but before she had swung the fulllength that impulse would have sent her, catching her on the oppositeside with a stunning shock that sent her another way, only to meetanother rude buffet from still another side. 

I thought we could all have stood it if the motion had been like that ofa swing-backward and forward--or even if the to and fro motion had beencomplicated with a side-wise swing, but to be put through every possiblebewildering motion in the briefest space of time was more than heads ofiron and stomachs of brass could stand. 

Mine were not made of such perdurable stuff. 

They commenced mutinous demonstrations in regard to the milk punch. 

I began wondering whether the milk was not the horrible beer swill, stump-tail kind of which I had heard so much. 

And the whisky in it; to use a vigorous Westernism, descriptive of meanwhisky, it seemed to me that I could smell the boy's feet who plowed thecorn from which it was distilled. 

Then the onions I had eaten in Wilmington began to rebel, and incite thebread, meat and coffee to gastric insurrection, and I became so utterlywretched that life had no farther attractions. 

While I was leaning over the bulwark, musing on the complete hollownessof all earthly things, the Captain of the vessel caught hold of meroughly, and said:

"Look here, you're just playin' the very devil a-commandin' these heremen. Why in ---- don't you stiffen up, and hump yourself around, andmake these men mind, or else belt them over the head with a capstan bar!Now I want you to 'tend to your business. D'you understand me?"

I turned a pair of weary and hopeless eyes upon him, and started to saythat a man who would talk to one in my forlorn condition of "stiffeningup, " and "belting other fellows over the head with a capstan bar, " wouldinsult a woman dying with consumption, but I suddenly became too full forutterance. 

The milk punch, the onions, the bread, and meat and coffee tired offighting it out in the narrow quarters where I had stowed them, hadstarted upwards tumultuously. 

I turned my head again to the sea, and looking down into its smaragdinedepths, let go of the victualistic store which I had been industriouslyaccumulating ever since I had come through the lines. 

I vomited until I felt as empty and hollow as a stove pipe. There was avacuum that extended clear to my toe-nails. I feared that every retchingstruggle would dent me in, all over, as one sees tin preserving canscrushed in by outside pressure, and I apprehended that if I kept on muchlonger my shoe-soles would come up after the rest. 

I will mention, parenthetically, that, to this day I abhor milk punch, and also onions. 

Unutterably miserable as I was I could not refrain from a ghost of asmile, when a poor country boy near me sang out in an interval betweenvomiting spells:

"O, Captain, for God's sake, stop the boat and lem'me go ashore, and Iswear I'll walk every step of the way home. "

He was like old Gonzalo in the 'Tempest:'

 Now world I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground; long heath; brown furze; anything. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death. 

After this misery had lasted about two days we got past Cape Hatteras, and out of reach of its malign influence, and recovered as rapidly as wehad been prostrated. 

We regained spirits and appetites with amazing swiftness; the sun cameout warm and cheerful, we cleaned up our quarters and ourselves as bestwe could, and during the remainder of the voyage were as blithe andcheerful as so many crickets. 

The fun in the cabin was rollicking. The officers had been as sick asthe men, but were wonderfully vivacious when the 'mal du mer' passed off. In the party was a fine glee club, which had been organized at "CampSorgum, " the officers' prison at Columbia. Its leader was a Major of theFifth Iowa Cavalry, who possessed a marvelously sweet tenor voice, andwell developed musical powers. While we were at Wilmington he sang "WhenSherman Marched Down to the Sea, " to an audience of soldiers that packedthe Opera House densely. 

The enthusiasm he aroused was simply indescribable; men shouted, and thetears ran down their faces. He was recalled time and again, each timewith an increase in the furore. The audience would have staid there allnight to listen to him sing that one song. Poor fellow, he only wenthome to die. An attack of pneumonia carried him off within a fortnightafter we separated at Annapolis. 

The Glee Club had several songs which they rendered in regular negrominstrel style, and in a way that was irresistibly ludicrous. One oftheir favorites was "Billy Patterson. " All standing up in a ring, thetenors would lead off:

 "I saw an old man go riding by, "

and the baritones, flinging themselves around with the looseness ofChristy's Minstrels, in a "break down, " would reply:

 "Don't tell me! Don't tell me!"

Then the tenors would resume:

 "Says I, Ole man, your horse'll die. "

Then the baritones, with an air of exaggerated interest;

 "A-ha-a-a, Billy Patterson!"

Tenors:

 "For. It he dies, I'll tan his skin; An' if he lives I'll ride him agin, "

All-together, with a furious "break down" at the close:

 "Then I'll lay five dollars down, And count them one by one; Then I'll lay five dollars down, If anybody will show me the man That struck Billy Patterson. "

And so on. It used to upset my gravity entirely to see a crowd of graveand dignified Captains, Majors and Colonels going through thisnonsensical drollery with all the abandon of professional burnt-corkartists. 

As we were nearing the entrance to Chesapeake Bay we passed a greatmonitor, who was exercising her crew at the guns. She fired directlyacross our course, the huge four hundred pound balls shipping along thewater, about a mile ahead of us, as we boys used to make the flat stonesskip in the play of "Ducks and Drakes. " One or two of the shots came so. Close that I feared she might be mistaking us for a Rebel ship intent onsome raid up the Bay, and I looked up anxiously to see that the flagshould float out so conspicuously that she could not help seeing it. 

The next day our vessel ran alongside of the dock at the Naval Academy atAnnapolis, that institution now being used as a hospital for paroledprisoners. The musicians of the Post band came down with stretchers tocarry the sick to the Hospital, while those of us who were able to walkwere ordered to fall in and march up. The distance was but a few hundredyards. On reaching the building we marched up on a little balcony, andas we did so each one of us was seized by a hospital attendant, who, withthe quick dexterity attained by long practice, snatched every one of ourfilthy, lousy rags off in the twinkling of an eye, and flung them overthe railing to the ground, where a man loaded them into a wagon with apitchfork. 

With them went our faithful little black can, our hoop-iron spoon, andour chessboard and men. 

Thus entirely denuded, each boy was given a shove which sent him into alittle room, where a barber pressed him down upon a stool, and almostbefore he understood what was being done, had his hair and beard cut offas close as shears would do it. Another tap on the back sent the shornlamb into a room furnished with great tubs of water and with about sixinches of soap suds on the zinc-covered floor. 

In another minute two men with sponges had removed every trace of prisongrime from his body, and passed him on to two more men, who wiped himdry, and moved him on to where a man handed him a new shirt, a pair ofdrawers, pair of socks, pair of pantaloons, pair of slippers, and ahospital gown, and motioned him to go on into the large room, and arrayhimself in his new garments. Like everything else about the Hospitalthis performance was reduced to a perfect system. Not a word was spokenby anybody, not a moment's time lost, and it seemed to me that it was notten minutes after I marched up on the balcony, covered with dirt, rags, vermin, and a matted shock of hair, until I marched out of the room, clean and well clothed. Now I began to feel as if I was really a managain. 

The next thing done was to register our names, rank, regiment, when andwhere captured, when and where released. After this we were shown to ourrooms. And such rooms as they were. All the old maids in the countrycould not have improved their spick-span neatness. The floors were aswhite as pine plank could be scoured; the sheets and bedding as clean ascotton and linen and woolen could be washed. Nothing in any home in theland was any more daintily, wholesomely, unqualifiedly clean than werethese little chambers, each containing two beds, one for each manassigned to their occupancy. 

Andrews doubted if we could stand all this radical change in our habits. He feared that it was rushing things too fast. We might have had ourhair cut one week, and taken a bath all over a week later, and soprogress down to sleeping between white sheets in the course of sixmonths, but to do it all in one day seemed like tempting fate. 

Every turn showed us some new feature of the marvelous order of thiswonderful institution. Shortly after we were sent to our rooms, a Surgeon entered with a Clerk. After answering the usual questions asto name, rank, company and regiment, the Surgeon examined our tongues, eyes, limbs and general appearance, and communicated his conclusions tothe Clerk, who filled out a blank card. This card was stuck into alittle tin holder at the head of my bed. Andrews's card was the same, except the name. The Surgeon was followed by a Sergeant, who was Chiefof the Dining-Room, and the Clerk, who made a minute of the diet orderedfor us, and moved off. Andrews and I immediately became very solicitousto know what species of diet No. 1 was. After the seasickness left usour appetites became as ravenous as a buzz-saw, and unless Diet No. 1 wasmore than No. 1 in name, it would not fill the bill. We had not long toremain in suspense, for soon another non-commissioned officer passedthrough at the head of a train of attendants, bearing trays. Consultingthe list in his hand, he said to one of his followers, "Two No. 1's, "and that satellite set down two large plates, upon each of which were acup of coffee, a shred of meat, two boiled eggs and a couple of rolls. 

"Well, " said Andrews, as the procession moved away, "I want to know wherethis thing's going to stop. I am trying hard to get used to wearing ashirt without any lice in it, and to sitting down on a chair, and tosleeping in a clean bed, but when it comes to having my meals sent to myroom, I'm afraid I'll degenerate into a pampered child of luxury. Theyare really piling it on too strong. Let us see, Mc. ; how long's it beensince we were sitting on the sand there in Florence, boiling our pint ofmeal in that old can?"

"It seems many years, Lale, " I said; "but for heaven's sake let us try toforget it as soon as possible. We will always remember too much of it. "

And we did try hard to make the miserable recollections fade out of ourminds. When we were stripped on the balcony we threw away every visibletoken that could remind us of the hateful experience we had passedthrough. We did not retain a scrap of paper or a relic to recall theunhappy past. We loathed everything connected with it. 

The days that followed were very happy ones. The Paymaster came aroundand paid us each two months' pay and twenty-five cents a day "rationmoney" for every day we had been in prison. This gave Andrews and Iabout one hundred and sixty-five dollars apiece--an abundance of spendingmoney. Uncle Sam was very kind and considerate to his soldier nephews, and the Hospital authorities neglected nothing that would add to ourcomfort. The superbly-kept grounds of the Naval Academy were renewingthe freshness of their loveliness under the tender wooing of theadvancing Spring, and every step one sauntered through them was a newdelight. A magnificent band gave us sweet music morning and evening. Every dispatch from the South told of the victorious progress of ourarms, and the rapid approach of the close of the struggle. All we had todo was to enjoy the goods the gods were showering upon us, and we did sowith appreciative, thankful hearts. After awhile all able to travel weregiven furloughs of thirty days to visit their homes, with instructions toreport at the expiration of their leaves of absence to the camps ofrendezvous nearest their homes, and we separated, nearly every man goingin a different direction. 

CHAPTER LXXXI. 

CAPTAIN WIRZ THE ONLY ONE OF THE PRISON-KEEPERS PUNISHED--HIS ARREST, TRIAL AND EXECUTION. 

Of all those more or less concerned in the barbarities practiced upon ourprisoners, but one--Captain Henry Wirz--was punished. The Turners, atRichmond; Lieutenant Boisseux, of Belle Isle; Major Gee, of Salisbury;Colonel Iverson and Lieutenant Barrett, of Florence; and the many brutalmiscreants about Andersonville, escaped scot free. What became of themno one knows; they were never heard of after the close of the war. Theyhad sense enough to retire into obscurity, and stay there, and this savedtheir lives, for each one of them had made deadly enemies among thosewhom they had maltreated, who, had they known where they were, would havewalked every step of the way thither to kill them. 

When the Confederacy went to pieces in April, 1865, Wirz was still atAndersonville. General Wilson, commanding our cavalry forces, and whohad established his headquarters at Macon, Ga. , learned of this, and sentone of his staff--Captain H. E. Noyes, of the Fourth Regular Cavalry--with a squad. Of men, to arrest him. This was done on the 7th of May. Wirz protested against his arrest, claiming that he was protected by theterms of Johnson's surrender, and, addressed the following letter toGeneral Wilson:

 ANDERSONVILLE, GA. , May 7, 1865. 

GENERAL:--It is with great reluctance that I address you these lines, being fully aware how little time is left you to attend to such mattersas I now have the honor to lay before you, and if I could see any otherway to accomplish my object I would not intrude upon you. I am a nativeof Switzerland, and was before the war a citizen of Louisiana, and byprofession a physician. Like hundreds and thousands of others, I wascarried away by the maelstrom of excitement and joined the Southern army. I was very severely wounded at the battle of "Seven Pines, " nearRichmond, Va. , and have nearly lost the use of my right arm. Unfit forfield duty, I was ordered to report to Brevet Major General John H. Winder, in charge of the Federal prisoners of war, who ordered me to takecharge of a prison in Tuscaloosa, Ala. My health failing me, I appliedfor a furlough and went to Europe, from whence I returned in February, 1864. I was then ordered to report to the commandant of the militaryprison at Andersonville, Ga. , who assigned me to the command of theinterior of the prison. The duties I had to perform were arduous andunpleasant, and I am satisfied that no man can or will justly blame mefor things that happened here, and which were beyond my power to control. I do not think that I ought to be held responsible for the shortness ofrations, for the overcrowded state of the prison, (which was of itself aprolific source of fearful mortality), for the inadequate supply ofclothing, want of shelter, etc. , etc. Still I now bear the odium, andmen who were prisoners have seemed disposed to wreak their vengeance uponme for what they have suffered--I, who was only the medium, or, I maybetter say, the tool in the hands of my superiors. This is my condition. I am a man with a family. I lost all my property when the Federal armybesieged Vicksburg. I have no money at present to go to any place, and, even if I had, I know of no place where I can go. My life is in danger, and I most respectfully ask of you help and relief. If you will be sogenerous as to give me some sort of a safe conduct, or, what I shouldgreatly prefer, a guard to protect myself and family against violence, I should be thankful to you, and you may rest assured that yourprotection will not be given to one who is unworthy of it. My intentionis to return with my family to Europe, as soon as I can make thearrangements. In the meantime I have the honor General, to remain, veryrespectfully, your obedient servant, Hy. WIRZ, Captain C. S. A. Major General T. H. WILSON, Commanding, Macon. Ga. 

He was kept at Macon, under guard, until May 20, when Captain Noyes wasordered to take him, and the hospital records of Andersonville, toWashington. Between Macon and Cincinnati the journey was a perfectgauntlet. 

Our men were stationed all along the road, and among them everywhere wereex-prisoners, who recognized Wirz, and made such determined efforts tokill him that it was all that Captain Noyes, backed by a strong guard, could do to frustrate them. At Chattanooga and Nashville the strugglebetween his guards and his would-be slayers, was quite sharp. 

At Louisville, Noyes had Wirz clean-shaved, and dressed in a completesuit of black, with a beaver hat, which so altered his appearance that noone recognized him after that, and the rest of the journey was madeunmolested. 

The authorities at Washington ordered that he be tried immediately, by acourt martial composed of Generals Lewis Wallace, Mott, Geary, L. Thomas, Fessenden, Bragg and Baller, Colonel Allcock, and Lieutenant-ColonelStibbs. Colonel Chipman was Judge Advocate, and the trial beganAugust 23. 

The prisoner was arraigned on a formidable list of charges andspecifications, which accused him of "combining, confederating, andconspiring together with John H. Winder, Richard B. Winder, Isaiah II. White, W. S. Winder, R. R. Stevenson and others unknown, to injure thehealth and destroy the lives of soldiers in the military service of theUnited States, there held, and being prisoners of war within the lines ofthe so-called Confederate States, and in the military prisons thereof, tothe end that the armies of the United States might be weakened andimpaired, in violation of the laws and customs of war. " The main factsof the dense over-crowding, the lack of sufficient shelter, the hideousmortality were cited, and to these added a long list of specific acts ofbrutality, such as hunting men down with hounds, tearing them with dogs, robbing them, confining them in the stocks, cruelly beating and murderingthem, of which Wirz was personally guilty. 

When the defendant was called upon to plead he claimed that his case wascovered by the terms of Johnston's surrender, and furthermore, that thecountry now being at peace, he could not be lawfully tried by acourt-martial. These objections being overruled, he entered a plea ofnot guilty to all the charges and specifications. He had two lawyersfor counsel. 

The prosecution called Captain Noyes first, who detailed thecircumstances of Wirz's arrest, and denied that he had given any promisesof protection. 

The next witness was Colonel George C. Gibbs, who commanded the troops ofthe post at Andersonville. He testified that Wirz was the commandant ofthe prison, and had sole authority under Winder over all the prisoners;that there was a Dead Line there, and orders to shoot any one who crossedit; that dogs were kept to hunt down escaping prisoners; the dogs werethe ordinary plantation dogs, mixture of hound and cur. 

Dr. J. C. Bates, who was a Surgeon of the Prison Hospital, (a Rebel), testified that the condition of things in his division was horrible. Nearly naked men, covered with lice, were dying on all sides. Many werelying in the filthy sand and mud. 

He went on and described the terrible condition of men--dying fromscurvy, diarrhea, gangrenous sores, and lice. He wanted to carry infresh vegetables for the sick, but did not dare, the orders being verystrict against such thing. He thought the prison authorities mighteasily have sent in enough green corn to have stopped the scurvy; themiasmatic effluvia from the prison was exceedingly offensive andpoisonous, so much so that when the surgeons received a slight scratch ontheir persons, they carefully covered it up with court plaster, beforeventuring near the prison. 

A number of other Rebel Surgeons testified to substantially the samefacts. Several residents of that section of the State testified to theplentifulness of the crops there in 1864. 

In addition to these, about one hundred and fifty Union prisoners wereexamined, who testified to all manner of barbarities which had come undertheir personal observation. They had all seen Wirz shoot men, had seenhim knock sick and crippled men down and stamp upon them, had been rundown by him with hounds, etc. Their testimony occupies about twothousand pages of manuscript, and is, without doubt, the most, terriblerecord of crime ever laid to the account of any man. 

The taking of this testimony occupied until October 18, when theGovernment decided to close the case, as any further evidence would besimply cumulative. 

The prisoner presented a statement in which he denied that there had beenan accomplice in a conspiracy of John H. Winder and others, to destroythe lives of United States soldiers; he also denied that there had beensuch a conspiracy, but made the pertinent inquiry why he alone, of allthose who were charged with the conspiracy, was brought to trial. Hesaid that Winder has gone to the great judgment seat, to answer for allhis thoughts, words and deeds, "and surely I am not to be held culpablefor them. General Howell Cobb has received the pardon of the Presidentof the United States. " He further claimed that there was no principle oflaw which would sanction the holding of him--a mere subordinate--guilty, for simply obeying, as literally as possible, the ordersof his superiors. 

He denied all the specific acts of cruelty alleged against him, such asmaltreating and killing prisoners with his own hands. The prisonerskilled for crossing the Dead Line, he claimed, should not be chargedagainst him, since they were simply punished for the violation of a knownorder which formed part of the discipline, he believed, of all militaryprisons. The statement that soldiers were given a furlough for killing aYankee prisoner, was declared to be "a mere idle, absurd camp rumor. "As to the lack of shelter, room and rations for so many prisoners, he claimed that the sole responsibility rested upon the ConfederateGovernment. There never were but two prisoners whipped by his order, and these were for sufficient cause. He asked the Court to considerfavorably two important items in his defense: first, that he had of hisown accord taken the drummer boys from the Stockade, and placed themwhere they could get purer air and better food. Second, that no propertytaken from prisoners was retained by him, but was turned over to thePrison Quartermaster. 

The Court, after due deliberation, declared the prisoner guilty on allthe charges and specifications save two unimportant ones, and sentencedhim to be hanged by the neck until dead, at such time and place as thePresident of the United States should direct. 

November 3 President Johnson approved of the sentence, and ordered MajorGeneral C. C. Augur to carry the same into effect on Friday, November 10, which was done. The prisoner made frantic appeals against the sentence;he wrote imploring letters to President Johnson, and lying ones to theNew York News, a Rebel paper. It is said that his wife attempted toconvey poison to him, that he might commit suicide and avoid the ignomyof being hanged. When all hope was gone he nerved himself up to meet hisfate, and died, as thousands of other scoundrels have, with calmness. His body was buried in the grounds of the Old Capitol Prison, alongsideof that of Azterodt, one of the accomplices in the assassination ofPresident Lincoln. 

CHAPTER LXXXII. 

THE RESPONSIBILITY--WHO WAS TO BLAME FOR ALL THE MISERY--AN EXAMINATIONOF THE FLIMSY EXCUSES MADE FOR THE REBELS--ONE DOCUMENT THAT CONVICTSTHEM--WHAT IS DESIRED. 

I have endeavored to tell the foregoing story as calmly, asdispassionately, as free from vituperation and prejudice as possible. How well I have succeeded the reader must judge. How difficult thismoderation has been at times only those know who, like myself, have seen, from day to day, the treason-sharpened fangs of Starvation and Diseasegnaw nearer and nearer to the hearts of well-beloved friends andcomrades. Of the sixty-three of my company comrades who entered prisonwith me, but eleven, or at most thirteen, emerged alive, and several ofthese have since died from the effects of what they suffered. Themortality in the other companies of our battalion was equally great, as it was also with the prisoners generally. Not less than twenty-fivethousand gallant, noble-hearted boys died around me between the dates ofmy capture and release. Nobler men than they never died for any cause. For the most part they were simple-minded, honest-hearted boys; thesterling products of our Northern home-life, and Northern Common Schools, and that grand stalwart Northern blood, the yeoman blood of sturdy middleclass freemen--the blood of the race which has conquered on every fieldsince the Roman Empire went down under its sinewy blows. They pratedlittle of honor, and knew nothing of "chivalry" except in its repulsivetravesty in the South. As citizens at home, no honest labor had beenregarded by them as too humble to be followed with manly pride in itssuccess; as soldiers in the field, they did their duty with a calmdefiance of danger and death, that the world has not seen equaled in thesix thousand years that men have followed the trade of war. In theprison their conduct was marked by the same unostentatious butunflinching heroism. Death stared them in the face constantly. Theycould read their own fate in that of the loathsome, unburied dead allaround them. Insolent enemies mocked their sufferings, and sneered attheir devotion to a Government which they asserted had abandoned them, but the simple faith, the ingrained honesty of these plain-mannered, plain-spoken boys rose superior to every trial. Brutus, the noblestRoman of them all, says in his grandest flight:

 Set honor in one eye and death in the other, And I will look on both indifferently. 

They did not say this: they did it. They never questioned their duty; norepinings, no murmurings against their Government escaped their lips, they took the dread fortunes brought to them as calmly, as unshrinkinglyas they had those in the field; they quailed not, nor wavered in theirfaith before the worst the Rebels could do. The finest epitaph everinscribed above a soldier's grave was that graven on the stone whichmarked the resting-place of the deathless three hundred who fell atThermopylae:

 Go, stranger, to Lacedaemon, -- And tell Sparta that we lie here in obedience to her laws. 

They who lie in the shallow graves of Andersonville, Belle Isle, Florenceand Salisbury, lie there in obedience to the precepts and maximsinculcated into their minds in the churches and Common Schools of theNorth; precepts which impressed upon them the duty of manliness and honorin all the relations and exigencies of life; not the "chivalric" prate oftheir enemies, but the calm steadfastness which endureth to the end. Thehighest tribute that can be paid them is to say they did full credit totheir teachings, and they died as every American should when duty bidshim. No richer heritage was ever bequeathed to posterity. 

It was in the year 1864, and the first three months of 1865 that thesetwenty-five thousand youths mere cruelly and needlessly done to death. In these fatal fifteen months more young men than to-day form the pride, the hope, and the vigor of any one of our leading Cities, more than atthe beginning of the war were found in either of several States in theNation, were sent to their graves, "unknelled, uncoffined, and unknown, "victims of the most barbarous and unnecessary cruelty recorded since theDark Ages. Barbarous, because the wit of man has not yet devised a moresavage method of destroying fellow-beings than by exposure andstarvation; unnecessary, because the destruction of these had not, andcould not have the slightest effect upon the result of the struggle. The Rebel leaders have acknowledged that they knew the fate of theConfederacy was sealed when the campaign of 1864 opened with the Northdisplaying an unflinching determination to prosecute the war to asuccessful conclusion. All that they could hope for after that was somefortuitous accident, or unexpected foreign recognition that would givethem peace with victory. The prisoners were non-important factors in themilitary problem. Had they all been turned loose as soon as captured, their efforts would not have hastened the Confederacy's fate a singleday. 

As to the responsibility for this monstrous cataclysm of human misery anddeath: That the great mass of the Southern people approved of theseoutrages, or even knew of them, I do not, for an instant, believe. Theyare as little capable of countenancing such a thing as any people in theworld. But the crowning blemish of Southern society has ever been thedumb acquiescence of the many respectable, well-disposed, right-thinkingpeople in the acts of the turbulent and unscrupulous few. From thisdireful spring has flowed an Iliad of unnumbered woes, not only to thatsection but to our common country. It was this that kept the Southvibrating between patriotism and treason during the revolution, so thatit cost more lives and treasure to maintain the struggle there than inall the rest of the country. It was this that threatened thedismemberment of the Union in 1832. It was this that aggravated andenvenomed every wrong growing out of Slavery; that outraged liberty, debauched citizenship, plundered the mails, gagged the press, stiffledspeech, made opinion a crime, polluted the free soil of God with theunwilling step of the bondman, and at last crowned three-quarters of acentury of this unparalleled iniquity by dragging eleven millions ofpeople into a war from which their souls revolted, and against which theyhad declared by overwhelming majorities in every State except SouthCarolina, where the people had no voice. It may puzzle some tounderstand how a relatively small band of political desperados in eachState could accomplish such a momentous wrong; that they did do it, noone conversant with our history will deny, and that they--insignificantas they were in numbers, in abilities, in character, in everything savecapacity and indomitable energy in mischief--could achieve such giganticwrongs in direct opposition to the better sense of their communities is afearful demonstration of the defects of the constitution of Southernsociety. 

Men capable of doing all that the Secession leaders were guilty of--bothbefore and during the war--were quite capable of revengefully destroyingtwenty-five thousand of their enemies by the most hideous means at theircommand. That they did so set about destroying their enemies, wilfully, maliciously, and with malice prepense and aforethought, is susceptible ofproof as conclusive as that which in a criminal court sends murderers tothe gallows. 

Let us examine some of these proofs:

1. The terrible mortality at Andersonville and elsewhere was a matter ofas much notoriety throughout the Southern Confederacy as the militaryoperations of Lee and Johnson. No intelligent man--much less the Rebelleaders--was ignorant of it nor of its calamitous proportions. 

2. Had the Rebel leaders within a reasonable time after this matterbecame notorious made some show of inquiring into and alleviating thedeadly misery, there might be some excuse for them on the ground of lackof information, and the plea that they did as well as they could wouldhave some validity. But this state of affairs was allowed to continueover a year--in fact until the downfall of the Confederacy--without ahand being raised to mitigate the horrors of those places--without evenan inquiry being made as to whether they were mitigable or not. Stillworse: every month saw the horrors thicken, and the condition of theprisoners become more wretched. 

The suffering in May, 1864, was more terrible than in April; June showeda frightful increase over May, while words fail to paint the horrors ofJuly and August, and so the wretchedness waxed until the end, in April, 1865. 

3. The main causes of suffering and death were so obviously preventiblethat the Rebel leaders could not have been ignorant of the ease withwhich a remedy could be applied. These main causes were three in number:

a. Improper and insufficient food. B. Unheard-of crowding together. C. Utter lack of shelter. 

It is difficult to say which of these three was the most deadly. Let usadmit, for the sake of argument, that it was impossible for the Rebels tosupply sufficient and proper food. This admission, I know, will notstand for an instant in the face of the revelations made by Sherman'sMarch to the Sea; and through the Carolinas, but let that pass, that wemay consider more easily demonstrable facts connected with the next twopropositions, the first of which is as to the crowding together. Wasland so scarce in the Southern Confederacy that no more than sixteenacres could be spared for the use of thirty-five thousand prisoners?The State of Georgia has a population of less than one-sixth that of NewYork, scattered over a territory one-quarter greater than that State's, and yet a pitiful little tract--less than the corn-patch "clearing" ofthe laziest "cracker" in the State--was all that could be allotted to theuse of three-and-a-half times ten thousand young men! The averagepopulation of the State does not exceed sixteen to the square mile, yetAndersonville was peopled at the rate of one million four hundredthousand to the square mile. With millions of acres of unsettled, useless, worthless pine barrens all around them, the prisoners werewedged together so closely that there was scarcely room to lie down atnight, and a few had space enough to have served as a grave. This, too, in a country where the land was of so little worth that much of it hadnever been entered from the Government. 

Then, as to shelter and fire: Each of the prisons was situated in theheart of a primeval forest, from which the first trees that had ever beencut were those used in building the pens. Within a gun-shot of theperishing men was an abundance of lumber and wood to have built every manin prison a warm, comfortable hut, and enough fuel to supply all hiswants. Supposing even, that the Rebels did not have the labor at hand toconvert these forests into building material and fuel, the prisonersthemselves would have gladly undertaken the work, as a means of promotingtheir own comfort, and for occupation and exercise. No tools would havebeen too poor and clumsy for them to work with. When logs wereoccasionally found or brought into prison, men tore them to pieces almostwith their naked fingers. Every prisoner will bear me out in theassertion that there was probably not a root as large as a bit ofclothes-line in all the ground covered by the prisons, that eluded thefaithfully eager search of freezing men for fuel. What else thandeliberate design can account for this systematic withholding from theprisoners of that which was so essential to their existence, and which itwas so easy to give them?

This much for the circumstantial evidence connecting the Rebelauthorities with the premeditated plan for destroying the prisoners. Let us examine the direct evidence:

The first feature is the assignment to the command of the prisons of"General" John H. Winder, the confidential friend of Mr. Jefferson Davis, and a man so unscrupulous, cruel and bloody-thirsty that at the time ofhis appointment he was the most hated and feared man in the SouthernConfederacy. His odious administration of the odious office of ProvostMarshal General showed him to be fittest of tools for their purpose. Their selection--considering the end in view, was eminently wise. BaronHaynau was made eternally infamous by a fraction of the wanton crueltieswhich load the memory of Winder. But it can be said in extenuation ofHaynau's offenses that he was a brave, skilful and energetic soldier, whooverthrew on the field the enemies he maltreated. If Winder, at any timeduring the war, was nearer the front than Richmond, history does notmention it. Haynau was the bastard son of a German Elector and of thedaughter of a village, druggist. Winder was the son of a shamaristocrat, whose cowardice and incompetence in the war of 1812 gaveWashington into the hands of the British ravagers. 

It is sufficient indication of this man's character that he could lookunmoved upon the terrible suffering that prevailed in Andersonville inJune, July, and August; that he could see three thousand men die eachmonth in the most horrible manner, without lifting a finger in any way toassist them; that he could call attention in a self-boastful way to thefact that "I am killing off more Yankees than twenty regiments in Lee'sArmy, " and that he could respond to the suggestions of the horror-struckvisiting Inspector that the prisoners be given at least more room, withthe assertion that he intended to leave matters just as they were--theoperations of death would soon thin out the crowd so that the survivorswould have sufficient room. 

It was Winder who issued this order to the Commander of the Artillery:

ORDER No. 13. 

 HEADQUARTERS MILITARY PRISON, ANDERSONVILLE, Ga. , July 27, 1864. 

The officers on duty and in charge of the Battery of Florida Artillery atthe time will, upon receiving notice that the enemy has approached withinseven miles of this post, open upon the Stockade with grapeshot, withoutreference to the situation beyond these lines of defense. 

 JOHN H. WINDER, Brigadier General Commanding. 

Diabolical is the only word that will come at all near fitlycharacterizing such an infamous order. What must have been the nature ofa man who would calmly order twenty-five guns to be opened with grape andcanister at two hundred yards range, upon a mass of thirty thousandprisoners, mostly sick and dying! All this, rather than suffer them tobe rescued by their friends. Can there be any terms of reprobationsufficiently strong to properly denounce so malignant a monster? Historyhas no parallel to him, save among the blood-reveling kings of Dahomey, or those sanguinary Asiatic chieftains who built pyramids of humanskulls, and paved roads with men's bones. How a man bred an Americancame to display such a Timour-like thirst for human life, such anOriental contempt for the sufferings of others, is one of the mysteriesthat perplexes me the more I study it. 

If the Rebel leaders who appointed this man, to whom he reported direct, without intervention of superior officers, and who were fully informed ofall his acts through other sources than himself, were not responsible forhim, who in Heaven's name was? How can there be a possibility that theywere not cognizant and approving of his acts?

The Rebels have attempted but one defense to the terrible charges againstthem, and that is, that our Government persistently refused to exchange, preferring to let its men rot in prison, to yielding up the Rebels itheld. This is so utterly false as to be absurd. Our Government madeoverture after overture for exchange to the Rebels, and offered to yieldmany of the points of difference. But it could not, with the leastconsideration for its own honor, yield up the negro soldiers and theirofficers to the unrestrained brutality of the Rebel authorities, norcould it, consistent with military prudence, parole the one hundredthousand well-fed, well-clothed, able-bodied Rebels held by it asprisoners, and let them appear inside of a week in front of Grant orSherman. Until it would agree to do this the Rebels would not agree toexchange, and the only motive--save revenge--which could have inspiredthe Rebel maltreatment of the prisoners, was the expectation of raisingsuch a clamor in the North as would force the Government to consent to adisadvantageous exchange, and to give back to the Confederacy, at itsmost critical period one hundred thousand fresh, able-bodied soldiers. It was for this purpose, probably, that our Government and the SanitaryCommission were refused all permission to send us food and clothing. For my part, and I know I echo the feelings of ninety-nine out of everyhundred of my comrades, I would rather have staid in prison till Irotted, than that our Government should have yielded to the degradingdemands of insolent Rebels. 

There is one document in the possession of the Government which seems tome to be unanswerable proof, both of the settled policy of the RichmondGovernment towards the Union prisoners, and of the relative merits ofNorthern and Southern treatment of captives. The document is a letterreading as follows:

 CITY POINT, Va. , March 17, 1863. 

SIR:--A flag-of-truce boat has arrived with three hundred and fiftypolitical prisoners, General Barrow and several other prominent men amongthem. 

I wish you to send me on four o'clock Wednesday morning, all the militaryprisoners (except officers), and all the political prisoners you have. If any of the political prisoners have on hand proof enough to convictthem of being spies, or of having committed other offenses which shouldsubject them to punishment, so state opposite their names. Also, statewhether you think, under all the circumstances, they should be released. The arrangement I have made works largely in our favor. WE GET RID OF ASET OF MISERABLE WRETCHES, AND RECEIVE SOME OF THE BEST MATERIAL I EVERSAW. 

Tell Captain Turner to put down on the list of political prisoners thenames of Edward P. Eggling, and Eugenia Hammermister. The President isanxious that they should get off. They are here now. This, of course, is between ourselves. If you have any political prisoners whom you cansend off safely to keep her company, I would like you to send her. 

Two hundred and odd more political prisoners are on their way. 

I would be more full in my communication if I had time. Yours truly, ROBERT OULD, Commissioner of Exchange. 

To Brigadier general John H. Winder. 

But, supposing that our Government, for good military reasons, or for noreason at all, declined to exchange prisoners, what possible excuse isthat for slaughtering them by exquisite tortures? Every Government hasap unquestioned right to decline exchanging when its military policysuggests such a course; and such declination conveys no right whatever tothe enemy to slay those prisoners, either outright with the edge of thesword, or more slowly by inhuman treatment. The Rebels' attempts tojustify their conduct, by the claim that our Government refused to accedeto their wishes in a certain respect, is too preposterous to be made orlistened to by intelligent men. 

The whole affair is simply inexcusable, and stands out a foul blot on thememory of every Rebel in high place in the Confederate Government. 

"Vengeance is mine, " saith the Lord, and by Him must this great crime beavenged, if it ever is avenged. It certainly transcends all human power. I have seen little indication of any Divine interposition to mete out, atleast on this earth, adequate punishment to those who were the principalagents in that iniquity. Howell Cobb died as peacefully in his bed asany Christian in the land, and with as few apparent twinges of remorse asif he had spent his life in good deeds and prayer. The arch-fiend Winderdied in equal tranquility, murmuring some cheerful hope as to his soul'sfuture. Not one of the ghosts of his hunger-slain hovered around toembitter his dying moments, as he had theirs. Jefferson Davis "stilllives, a prosperous gentleman, " the idol of a large circle of adherents, the recipient of real estate favors from elderly females of morbidsympathies, and a man whose mouth is full of plaints of his wrongs, and misappreciation. The rest of the leading conspirators have eitherdeparted this life in the odor of sanctity, surrounded by sorrowingfriends, or are gliding serenely down the mellow autumnal vale of abenign old age. 

Only Wirz--small, insignificant, miserable Wirz, the underling, the tool, the servile, brainless, little fetcher-and-carrier of these men, waspunished--was hanged, and upon the narrow shoulders of this pitifulscapegoat was packed the entire sin of Jefferson Davis and his crew. What a farce!

A petty little Captain made to expiate the crimes of Generals, CabinetOfficers, and a President. How absurd!

But I do not ask for vengeance. I do not ask for retribution for one ofthose thousands of dead comrades, the glitter of whose sightless eyeswill follow me through life. I do not desire even justice on the stillliving authors and accomplices in the deep damnation of their taking off. I simply ask that the great sacrifices of my dead comrades shall not besuffered to pass unregarded to irrevocable oblivion; that the example oftheir heroic self-abnegation shall not be lost, but the lesson it teachesbe preserved and inculcated into the minds of their fellow-countrymen, that future generations may profit by it, and others be as ready to diefor right and honor and good government as they were. And it seems to methat if we are to appreciate their virtues, we must loathe and hold up toopprobrium those evil men whose malignity made all their sacrificesnecessary. I cannot understand what good self-sacrifice and heroicexample are to serve in this world, if they are to be followed by such amaudlin confusion of ideas as now threatens to obliterate all distinctionbetween the men who fought and died for the Right and those who resistedthem for the Wrong.