ON THE MARCH.
After the rebels had paraded and counted us to their entire
satisfaction, the prisoners were started on a march to the Washita
river. The start was made late in the day, and we were marched fifty-two
miles before a halt was ordered on the bank of the river, at a one-wagon
ferry, about 4 o'clock the next afternoon. The commander of the forces
in charge of the prisoners was a genial, plausible colonel named Hill,
who was possessed of a red head and the ability to hold us together by
assuring us of our parole when we arrived at our destination. He and his
men were very friendly and treated us well; so we marched along, in high
hopes of a parole and with excuses for the lack of food during our
journey. The prisoners were ferried across the river that night, and we
burrowed in the sand on the river bank for sleeping accommodations until
morning, but were awakened about 11 o'clock by a call for dinner. We had
received nothing to eat up to this time, and had no objections to the
hour selected, but we were regaled with cornmeal mush, the quantity
apparently being determined upon with a due regard for the supposed
ill-effect of too much food in the case of men who were extremely
hungry. The negroes who accompanied us were more hungry than we, and the
rebels were so careful of them as to give them nothing to eat at this
halt.
I found out afterwards that their apparent fear of overloading hungry
stomachs developed in an exact proportion to the scarcity of food among
the rebels, and it is but justice to say that they exhibited the same
regard for their own health that they did for ours.
The next morning we breakfasted upon the memories of our meal of the
previous night, and at this time I noticed a pitiful scene. Several
negro children, scarcely old enough to talk, were going from fire to
fire and poking among the ashes with sticks, their great eyes rolling
around at us as if they were committing some depredation. On closer
observation, it was found that ears of corn had in some way gotten into
the possession of some of us, and that they had been roasted in some of
the fires. The children were hunting for the stray kernels of corn left
in the ashes, and were greedily eating them when found.
While waiting here for the wagon train to cross the river, several of us
went down to bathe. The lack of blankets and clothing among us had been
a hardship, and seeing the wagons crossing put an idea into my head.
Determining to test the scheme, I took one of my companions with me and
hunted around until we found Colonel Hill. He was as busy as a bee,
here, there and everywhere, and practically doing all the work himself.
Awaiting a favorable moment, we approached him, I assuming a
matter-of-fact manner, and, in a business-like way, saying:
"Colonel, our blankets and things are in one of those captured wagons
and we need them. Can you not send us under guard to look for them?"
"Certainly, certainly. Here, sergeant, send a couple of men with these
gentlemen, to help search the wagons and get their stuff for them," and
he was off in a rush to hurry up the crossing of the train.
Two men were detailed to accompany us, with instructions to help us to
get our things, and we started.
Going down the road into a strip of woods, and beyond a convenient
curve, we waited until a wagon reached us from the ferry boat.
Our guards halted the lumbering vehicle, which was heavily loaded with
captured goods of all kinds, and told me to get up and see if I could
find our stuff. The driver cursed and swore, but the leveled guns of our
escort brought him to terms, and he got down.
I entered the wagon, and found a miscellaneous assortment of personal
property, of which I appropriated all the blankets and clothing, as
well as a number of small articles, throwing them out in a heap at the
side of the road. In starting the thing my plan had been simply to get
some few blankets and a coat or two, but the ready permission and able
support had caused me to see the possibilities of the case, and I was
now prepared for a wholesale business.
Dismounting, I said to the guards:
"It isn't all here, boys; we had a big lot. These little things we don't
want as prisoners, so will just keep the blankets and clothes, and you
can have the rest. Here comes the next wagon; there may be more of our
stuff in it, so this fellow should be ordered to go on."
The two guards looked at me, then at the heap of plunder, then at each
other, and broke into broad grins of appreciation and delight. The
driver was ordered to move on, which he finally did, with many oaths and
threats, but our escort was now as much interested as we, and we took
our pick of the things in several wagons, until twenty blankets and
numerous articles of clothing lay piled up beside a heap of small
luxuries. We could have plundered the whole train so far as our guards
were concerned, but there was a blanket for each two of my men, and,
while the wagons were forced on ahead as fast as we finished inspecting
them, it was becoming more and more likely that some officer would ride
up from the ferry; so we desisted.
One of my appropriations was a very long linen coat, with a huge collar,
enormous cuffs, and large flaps over the pockets, a relic of former
days. This, and a large Confederate hat, I donned as we returned with
our captured goods, and my appearance was the source of much amusement
to the boys and wonderment to others. Until this attire was discarded I
passed for a citizen prisoner, and many questioning remarks of an
amusing character were overheard as I walked to and fro.
Late in the afternoon we were marched about three miles out in the
country, and there we camped for the night, being well fed for the first
time, but it being the first opportunity of the rebels to feed us well.
Our meal was of ash cakes, made of dough rolled in leaves and baked in
the ashes of the fires by the negroes. This was the first food given to
the negroes with us, and, during the march, I saw a colored woman
walking painfully along with a child in her arms and two small ones
holding to her skirts, the fear of being killed if they fell behind
having kept them up.
The next morning we were separated from the negroes and marched to
Camden, which place, in the meantime, had been evacuated by General
Steele, reaching there on Saturday morning.
Several days were spent here in arranging for a guard and in registering
the prisoners.
The soldiers were all sent to an old cotton press, and there were
robbed of what few things the admirable effort already made in this
direction had allowed to remain in their hands, or, rather, concealed in
their clothing.
Colonel Polk was provost marshal, and the officers and citizens were
taken before him for registration. He asked the names, regiment, etc.,
of each, entering the replies in a large book. At last he came to a
tall, fine-looking fellow, who stood on my right, and this young man
gave his name--"J. J. Jennings, 5th Kansas Cavalry."
Colonel Polk laid down his pen and looked up, with a flushed face and
swelling veins, blurting out:
"You're one of the d--d gang that burned my house and cleaned out my
plantation; I've a notion to hang--no, you're a prisoner. Next!"
He resumed his pen and returned to his writing, but one could see that
he harbored much resentment for a legitimate act of warfare which had
happened to come home to him.
After we had been duly examined and registered we were sent to the
cotton press, where the men were, and here we remained for several days,
our promised parole not being forthcoming.
Finally, a sufficient guard was secured, and we were started off for
Shreveport, the talk of the parole, having served its purpose, now being
forgotten.
The march to Shreveport occupied about a week, and attempts to escape
were numerous. Each night several men would get away by having comrades
cover them up with leaves so that they would be left behind in the
morning. I devised a scheme to capture our guards and liberate ourselves
in a body, but most of the men were fearful of failure, and sufficient
co-operation could not be secured.
One night, four men dug a hole beside the road and concealed themselves
in it, being covered over with leaves and brush. The guards had missed
so many by this time that they had resolved to investigate; so, when we
had marched just clear of our camp, we were halted, and a couple of
officers went back, with drawn swords, and commenced prodding all piles
of leaves and likely places of concealment. Soon the point of a sword
penetrated through the boughs and leaves over the hole and to the fleshy
portion of the anatomy of a man beneath them. A smothered yell and a
convulsive spring revealed the place of concealment, and the poor
fellows were hauled out and escorted with scant ceremony back to the
crowd. Not a man of us but who wished that they had escaped; but the
desire to forget our own misery was too great for our sympathy, and the
crestfallen men were greeted with shouts, yells, laughter and all sorts
of jokes. The guards viewed these attempts good-naturedly, but they had
their duty to perform, and their vigilance put a stop to further
attempts of this sort. Just before we reached the Red River a young
fellow suddenly made a magnificent leap, clearing the fence by the side
of the road, and ran like a deer toward a neighboring clump of timber
and underbrush. Several shots were fired at him, but he dashed on and
gained the timber, two guards following him into it. A short time after
the guards came back and said they had killed him, but I afterwards
learned of his escape and return to his home.
It is worthy of note that I had become rather popular with our rebel
guards, and that by an apparently strange method.
When we were first captured I had made up my mind to make the best of a
bad job, and had, therefore, lost no opportunity to be sociable with our
captors, while my natural tendencies led me into conversations of
raillery and criticism whenever a chance was offered. The desire to
forget unpleasant reflections increased both my desire to talk and my
ability to do so, and, during the march, I was constantly moving about
among the prisoners, interviewing the guards, finding out all I could
learn and discussing the situation of the country with every rebel who
would talk to me. It had soon become apparent to me that nearly all our
guards were not only sociably inclined, but rather disposed to enjoy my
comments upon the Confederacy, and the daily talks and discussions, in
which I freely gave vent to my ideas, were at once the cause of many
fears for my safety, among my comrades, and of increasing popularity
among the rebels. The boys held their breath on many occasions,
expecting me to be shot for my impudence and candor, reproving me for it
as they had a chance; but, whether because the rebels liked criticism,
or liked the way in which it was made, I was sought out by them and
encouraged in my talks, receiving many tokens of friendship.
One day, as we were wearily plodding along, a strange-looking figure
rode up beside me and opened up a conversation. The rider was an
ungainly, poorly-dressed, ugly specimen of a country doctor, and his
mount was one of the sorriest-looking steeds to be seen in a day's
journey among many poor specimens of horseflesh. This man rode along the
line, examining the prisoners with an air and look which were gall and
wormwood to us. For some reason best known to himself he selected me as
his intended victim, and, as he rode up beside me, I was saluted with
some remark about d----d Yankees, which brought forth a tirade of
raillery from me, in which I expatiated very fully upon stay-at-homes,
and negro equality as I knew it to exist in the South. The man was
furious, but the several guards within hearing nodded and grinned when I
looked toward them, and one of them got close enough to murmur:
"Go it, Yank! Give him h----l!"
The man finally rode off, and I forgot all about the matter, until at
noon, when we halted, and one of my fellow-captains came up to me, in a
flutter of excitement, and gave me the pleasant intelligence that he had
heard them talking of hanging me to the next tree. I did not believe it,
and, as the next tree was out of sight ahead, my reception of the
information was of a careless nature. It turned out later that the
doctor had demanded that I should be hung as one of the blackest-hearted
villains he had ever heard talk, and that an investigation had caused
him to be sent about his business. This is mentioned as an illustration
of the fact that our guards were not looking for chances to shoot
prisoners.
We finally reached the Red river, on the bank of which we stood in the
rain for over two hours before we were ferried across, and marched
through the main street of Shreveport on an old plank road. The whole
town turned out to see us, but we were a hard-looking crowd to put on
exhibition, yet they halted us for a much longer time than was
desirable, while the citizens satisfied their curiosity about Yankee
prisoners.
Here I met a rebel major, Lazwell, _from Iowa_.
After our inspection by the natives we were marched beyond the town to a
place called Four Mile Springs, where we camped for the night in the
rain, and rested as well as we could upon the soil of white clay, which
ornamented our persons and showed many evidences of attachment.
When we again started it was with the knowledge that our destination was
a stockade at Tyler, Texas, and all hopes vanished save those based upon
the prospect of a long imprisonment.
During the march all our boys were constantly regretting that we had
made no attempt to escape, and calling themselves idiots for being
hoodwinked by the clever Colonel Hill and his talk of parole.
To show the current ideas of Confederate money it will be appropriate to
relate an incident of this journey to Tyler:
One day, while we were halted for rest and water, two rebel officers
commenced to talk "hoss swap." After each had made a careful examination
of the other's horse, one said: "Well, Captain, you'll have to boot me."
"All right, Kunnel," said the captain; "how much do you want?" The
"kunnel's" answer made me gasp for breath. "Give me a thousand dollars,
Captain, and it's a go." "No, that's too much," said the captain; "I
will give you five hundred." "All right," said the "kunnel," who
evidently thought five hundred "dollars" a small matter of difference in
a "hoss swap," "strip your hoss." In the meantime I, with others, had
looked the horses over with considerable care and could see but little
difference in value between them; they were both very much alike--stout,
pony-built sorrels, and in Iowa would have sold for from $75 to $80 in
greenbacks.
Just at this time a rebel officer rode by on a beautiful little dapple
"dun" pony; he was pacing along at a fine rate, and called forth many
expressions of admiration. One of the officers remarked: "The kunnel got
a big bargain in that hoss; he done paid only $5000 for him." This horse
may have been worth $100 in greenbacks. I had never seen the relative
values of the two moneys so well illustrated before.
[Illustration: LIEUTENANT WALTER S. JOHNSON.]