THE “PLYMOUTH PILGRIMS”--SAD TRANSITION FROM COMFORTABLE BARRACKS
TO ANDERSONVILLE--A CRAZED PENNSYLVANIAN--DEVELOPMENT OF THE BUTLER
BUSINESS.
We awoke one morning, in the last part of April, to find about two
thousand freshly arrived prisoners lying asleep in the main streets
running from the gates. They were attired in stylish new uniforms, with
fancy hats and shoes; the Sergeants and Corporals wore patent leather
or silk chevrons, and each man had a large, well-filled knapsack, of
the kind new recruits usually carried on coming first to the front, and
which the older soldiers spoke of humorously as “bureaus.” They were
the snuggest, nattiest lot of soldiers we had ever seen, outside of the
“paper collar” fellows forming the headquarter guard of some General in
a large City. As one of my companions surveyed them, he said:
“Hulloa! I’m blanked if the Johnnies haven’t caught a regiment of
Brigadier Generals, somewhere.”
By-and-by the “fresh fish,” as all new arrivals were termed, began to
wake up, and then we learned that they belonged to a brigade consisting
of the Eighty-Fifth New York, One Hundred and First and One Hundred
and Third Pennsylvania, Sixteenth Connecticut, Twenty-Fourth New York
Battery, two companies of Massachusetts heavy artillery, and a company
of the Twelfth New York Cavalry.
They had been garrisoning Plymouth, N. C., an important seaport on the
Roanoke River. Three small gunboats assisted them in their duty. The
Rebels constructed a powerful iron clad called the “Albemarle,” at a
point further up the Roanoke, and on the afternoon of the 17th, with
her and three brigades of infantry, made an attack upon the post. The
“Albemarle” ran past the forts unharmed, sank one of the gunboats, and
drove the others away. She then turned her attention to the garrison,
which she took in the rear, while the infantry attacked in front. Our
men held out until the 20th, when they capitulated. They were allowed
to retain their personal effects, of all kinds, and, as is the case
with all men in garrison, these were considerable.
The One Hundred and First and One Hundred and Third Pennsylvania and
Eighty-Fifth New York had just “veteranized,” and received their first
instalment of veteran bounty. Had they not been attacked they would
have sailed for home in a day or two, on their veteran furlough, and
this accounted for their fine raiment. They were made up of boys
from good New York and Pennsylvania families, and were, as a rule,
intelligent and fairly educated.
Their horror at the appearance of their place of incarceration was
beyond expression. At one moment they could not comprehend that we
dirty and haggard tatterdemalions had once been clean, self-respecting,
well-fed soldiers like themselves; at the next they would affirm that
they knew they could not stand it a month, in here we had then endured
it from four to nine months. They took it, in every way, the hardest of
any prisoners that came in, except some of the ‘Hundred-Days’ men, who
were brought in in August, from the Valley of Virginia. They had served
nearly all their time in various garrisons along the seacoast--from
Fortress Monroe to Beaufort--where they had had comparatively little of
the actual hardships of soldiering in the field. They had nearly always
had comfortable quarters, an abundance of food, few hard marches or
other severe service. Consequently they were not so well hardened for
Andersonville as the majority who came in. In other respects they were
better prepared, as they had an abundance of clothing, blankets and
cooking utensils, and each man had some of his veteran bounty still in
possession.
It was painful to see how rapidly many of them sank under the miseries
of the situation. They gave up the moment the gates were closed upon
them, and began pining away. We older prisoners buoyed ourselves up
continually with hopes of escape or exchange. We dug tunnels with the
persistence of beavers, and we watched every possible opportunity to
get outside the accursed walls of the pen. But we could not enlist the
interest of these discouraged ones in any of our schemes, or talk. They
resigned themselves to Death, and waited despondingly till he came.
A middle-aged One Hundred and First Pennsylvanian, who had taken up
his quarters near me, was an object of peculiar interest. Reasonably
intelligent and fairly read, I presume that he was a respectable
mechanic before entering the Army. He was evidently a very domestic
man, whose whole happiness centered in his family.
When he first came in he was thoroughly dazed by the greatness of his
misfortune. He would sit for hours with his face in his hands and
his elbows on his knees, gazing out upon the mass of men and huts,
with vacant, lack-luster eyes. We could not interest him in anything.
We tried to show him how to fix his blanket up to give him some
shelter, but he went at the work in a disheartened way, and finally
smiled feebly and stopped. He had some letters from his family and a
melaineotype of a plain-faced woman--his wife--and her children, and
spent much time in looking at them. At first he ate his rations when
he drew them, but finally began to reject, them. In a few days he was
delirious with hunger and homesick ness. He would sit on the sand for
hours imagining that he was at his family table, dispensing his frugal
hospitalities to his wife and children.
Making a motion, as if presenting a dish, he would say:
“Janie, have another biscuit, do!”
Or,
“Eddie, son, won’t you have another piece of this nice steak?”
Or,
“Maggie, have some more potatos,” and so on, through a whole family of
six, or more. It was a relief to us when he died in about a month after
he came in.
As stated above, the Plymouth men brought in a large amount of
money --variously estimated at from ten thousand to one hundred
thousand dollars. The presence of this quantity of circulating medium
immediately started a lively commerce. All sorts of devices were
resorted to by the other prisoners to get a little of this wealth.
Rude chuck-a-luck boards were constructed out of such material as was
attainable, and put in operation. Dice and cards were brought out by
those skilled in such matters. As those of us already in the Stockade
occupied all the ground, there was no disposition on the part of many
to surrender a portion of their space without exacting a pecuniary
compensation. Messes having ground in a good location would frequently
demand and get ten dollars for permission for two or three to quarter
with them. Then there was a great demand for poles to stretch blankets
over to make tents; the Rebels, with their usual stupid cruelty, would
not supply these, nor allow the prisoners to go out and get them
themselves. Many of the older prisoners had poles to spare which they
were saying up for fuel. They sold these to the Plymouth folks at the
rate of ten dollars for three--enough to put up a blanket.
The most considerable trading was done through the gates. The Rebel
guards were found quite as keen to barter as they had been in Richmond.
Though the laws against their dealing in the money of the enemy were
still as stringent as ever, their thirst for greenbacks was not abated
one whit, and they were ready to sell anything they had for the
coveted currency. The rate of exchange was seven or eight dollars in
Confederate money for one dollar in greenbacks. Wood, tobacco, meat,
flour, beans, molasses, onions and a villainous kind of whisky made
from sorghum, were the staple articles of trade. A whole race of little
traffickers in these articles sprang up, and finally Selden, the Rebel
Quartermaster, established a sutler shop in the center of the North
Side, which he put in charge of Ira Beverly, of the One Hundredth
Ohio, and Charlie Huckleby, of the Eighth Tennessee. It was a fine
illustration of the development of the commercial instinct in some men.
No more unlikely place for making money could be imagined, yet starting
in without a cent, they contrived to turn and twist and trade, until
they had transferred to their pockets a portion of the funds which were
in some one else’s. The Rebels, of course, got nine out of every ten
dollars there was in the prison, but these middle men contrived to have
a little of it stick to their fingers.
It was only the very few who were able to do this. Nine hundred and
ninety-nine out of every thousand were, like myself, either wholly
destitute of money and unable to get it from anybody else, or they paid
out what money they had to the middlemen, in exorbitant prices for
articles of food.
The N’Yaarkers had still another method for getting food, money,
blankets and clothing. They formed little bands called “Raiders,”
under the leadership of a chief villain. One of these bands would
select as their victim a man who had good blankets, clothes, a watch,
or greenbacks. Frequently he would be one of the little traders, with
a sack of beans, a piece of meat, or something of that kind. Pouncing
upon him at night they would snatch away his possessions, knock down
his friends who came to his assistance, and scurry away into the
darkness.