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 Illinois
Cavalry, who organized and led the Regulators at Andersonville in their
successful conflict with and defeat of the Raiders, and who presided at
the execution of the six condemned men on the 11th of July, furnishes,
at the request of the author, the following story of his prison career
subsequent to that event:
On the 12th day of July, 1864, the day after the hanging of the six
Raiders, 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 men who assisted as executioners of those desperados. It seemed
that you were all fearful that we might, after what had been done,
be assassinated if 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 our lives for rendering the help we did in getting rid of the
worst pestilence we had to contend with.
On obtaining my parole I was very careful to have it so arranged and
mutually understood, between Wirz and myself, that at any time that my
squad (meaning the survivors of my comrades, with whom I was originally
captured) was sent away from Andersonville, either to be exchanged or
to go to another prison, that I should be allowed to go with them.
This was agreed to, and so written in my parole which I carried until
it absolutely wore out. I took a position in the cook-house, and the
other boys either went to work there, or at the hospital or grave-yard
as occasion required. I worked here, and did the best I could for the
many starving wretches inside, in the way of preparing their food,
until the eighth day of September, at which time, if you remember,
quite a train load of men were removed, as many of us thought, for the
purpose of exchange; but, as we afterwards discovered, to be taken to
another prison. Among the crowd so removed was my squad, or, at least,
a portion of them, being my intimate mess-mates while in the Stockade.
As soon as I found this to be the case I waited on Wirz at his office,
and asked permission to go with them, which he refused, stating that
he was compelled to have men at the cookhouse to cook for those in the
Stockade until they were all gone or exchanged. I reminded him of the
condition in my parole, but this only had the effect of making him
mad, and he threatened 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 that the 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
who were also planning an escape, and who were only too glad to get me
to join them and take charge of the affair. Our plans were well laid
and well executed, as the sequel will prove, and in this particular
my own experience in the endeavor to escape from Andersonville is not
entirely dissimilar from yours, though it had different results. I very
much regret that in the attempt I lost my penciled memorandum, in which
it was my habit to chronicle what went on around me daily, and where I
had the names 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 or remember to what commands they belonged.
I knew that our greatest risk was run in eluding the guards, and that
in the morning we should be compelled to cheat the blood-hounds. The
first we 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. From
our fatigue and bruises, and the long hours that had elapsed since 8
o’clock, the time of our starting, we thought we had come not less than
twelve or fifteen miles. Imagine our surprise and mortification, then,
when we could plainly hear the reveille, and almost the Sergeant’s
voice calling 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 at the farthest, from the Stockade.
Our anxiety and mortification were doubled when at the usual hour--as
we supposed--we heard the well-known and long-familiar sound of the
hunter’s horn, calling his hounds to their accustomed task of making
the circuit of 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 of joy at being thus called forth to duty. We heard them start,
as was usual, from about the railroad depot (as we imagined), but the
sounds growing fainter and fainter gave us a little hope that our trail
had been missed. Only a short time, however, were we allowed this
pleasant reflection, for ere long--it could not have been more than an
hour--we could plainly see that they were drawing nearer and nearer.
They finally appeared so close that I advised the boys to climb a tree
or sapling in order to keep the dogs from biting them, and to be ready
to surrender when the hunters came up, hoping thus to experience as
little misery as possible, and not dreaming but that we were caught.
On, on came the hounds, nearer and nearer still, till we imagined
that we could see the undergrowth in the forest shaking by coming in
contact with their bodies. Plainer and plainer came the sound of the
hunter’s voice urging them forward. Our hearts were in our throats,
and in the terrible excitement we wondered if it could be possible for
Providence to so arrange it that the dogs would pass us. This last
thought, by some strange fancy, had taken possession of me, and I here
frankly acknowledge that I believed it would happen. Why I believed
it, God only knows. My excitement was so great, indeed, that I almost
lost sight of our danger, and felt like shouting to the dogs myself,
while I came near losing my hold on the tree in which I was hidden. By
chance I happened to look around at my nearest neighbor in distress.
His expression was sufficient to quell any enthusiasm I might have had,
and I, too, became despondent. In a very few minutes our suspense was
over. The dogs came within not less than three hundred yards of us,
and we could even see one of them, God in Heaven can only imagine what
great joy was then, brought to our aching hearts, for almost instantly
upon coming into sight, the hounds struck off on a different trail, and
passed us. Their voices became fainter and fainter, until finally we
could hear them no longer. About noon, however, they were called back
and taken to camp, but until that time not one of us left our position
in the trees.
When we were satisfied that we were safe for the present, we descended
to the ground to get what rest we could, in order to be prepared for
the night’s march, having previously agreed to travel at night and
sleep in the day time. “Our Father, who art in Heaven,” etc., were the
first words that escaped my lips, and the first thoughts that came
to my mind as I landed on terra firma. Never before, or since, had I
experienced such a profound reverence for Almighty God, for I firmly
believe that only through some mighty invisible power were we at that
time delivered from untold tortures. Had we been found, we might have
been torn and mutilated by the dogs, or, taken back to Andersonville,
have suffered for days or perhaps weeks in the stocks or chain gang,
as the humor of Wirz might have dictated at the time--either of which
would have been almost certain death.
It was very fortunate for us that before our escape from Andersonville
we were detailed at the cook-house, for by this means we were enabled
to bring away enough food to live for several days without the
necessity of theft. Each one of us had our haversacks full of such
small delicacies as it was possible for us to get when we started,
these consisting of corn bread and fat bacon--nothing less, nothing
more. Yet we managed to subsist comfortably until our fourth day out,
when we happened to come upon a sweet potato patch, the potatos in
which had not been dug. In a very short space of time we were all well
supplied with this article, and lived on them raw during that day and
the next night.
Just at evening, in going through a field, we suddenly came across
three negro men, who at first sight of us showed signs of running,
thinking, as they told us afterward, that we were the “patrols.” After
explaining to them who we were and our condition, they took us to a
very quiet retreat in the woods, and two of them went off, stating
that they would soon be back. In a very short time they returned laden
with well cooked provisions, which not only gave us a good supper, but
supplied us for the next day with all that we wanted. They then guided
us on our way for several miles, and left us, after having refused
compensation for what they had done.
We continued to travel in this way for nine long weary nights, and on
the morning of the tenth day, as we were going into the woods to hide
as usual, a little before daylight, we came to a small pond at which
there was 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 time we 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 of us. We were very fearful of the consequences of this mishap,
but had no remedy, and being very tired, could do nothing else but go
into the woods, go to sleep and trust to luck.
The next thing I remembered was being punched in the ribs by my comrade
nearest to me, and aroused with the remark, “We are gone up.” On
opening my eyes, I saw four men, in citizens’ dress, each of whom had a
shot gun ready for use. We were ordered to get up. The first question
asked us was:
“Who are you.”
This was spoken in so mild a tone as to lead me to believe that we
might possibly 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 and the expression of their countenances, seemed to appeal to
me for a reply to get them out of their present dilemma, if possible.
Before I had time to collect my thoughts, we were startled by these
words, coming from the same man that had asked the original question:
“You had better not hesitate, for we have an idea who you are, and
should it 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,
we had better at once own the truth. In a very few words I told them
who we were, where we were from, how long we had been on the road,
etc. At this they withdrew a short distance from us for consultation,
leaving us for the time in terrible suspense as to what our fate might
be. Soon, how ever, they returned and informed us that they would
be compelled to take us to the County Jail, to await further orders
from the Military Commander of the District. While they were talking
together, I took a hasty inventory of what valuables we had on hand.
I found in the crowd four silver watches, about three hundred dollars
in Confederate money, and possibly, about one hundred dollars in
greenbacks. Before their return, I told the boys to be sure not to
refuse any request I should make. Said I:
“‘Gentlemen, we have here four silver watches and several hundred
dollars in Confederate money and greenbacks, all of which we now offer
you, if you will but allow us to proceed on our journey, we taking our
own chances in the future.’”
This proposition, to my great surprise, was refused. I thought then
that possibly I had been a little indiscreet in exposing our valuables,
but in this I was mistaken, for we had, indeed, fallen into the hands
of gentlemen, whose zeal for the Lost Cause was greater than that for
obtaining worldly wealth, and who not only refused the bribe, but took
us to a well-furnished and well-supplied farm house close by, gave us
an excellent breakfast, allowing us to sit at the table in a beautiful
dining-room, with a lady at the head, filled our haversacks with good,
wholesome food, and allowed us to keep our property, with an admonition
to be careful how we showed it again. We were then put into a wagon and
taken 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 we
heard frequent threats of that nature, by the mob on the streets. But
the same kind Providence that had heretofore watched over us, seemed
not to have deserted us in this trouble.
One of the days we were confined at this place was Sunday, and some
kind-hearted lady or ladies (I only wish I knew their names, as well
as those of the gentlemen who had us first in charge, so that I could
chronicle them with honor here) taking compassion upon our forlorn
condition, sent us a splendid dinner on a very large china platter.
Whether it was done intentionally or not, we never learned, but it was
a fact, 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
which we 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,
and in the charge of Confederate soldiers. We could easily see that we
were gradually getting into hot water again, and that, ere many days,
we would have to resume our old habits in prison. Our only hope now
was that we would not be returned to Andersonville, knowing well that
if we got back into 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 a prison somewhat similar to Andersonville, but of nothing
like its pretensions to security. I soon learned that it was only used
as a kind of reception place for the prisoners who were captured in
small squads, and when they numbered two or three hundred, they would
be shipped to Andersonville, 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 after our arrival, there were shipped to Andersonville
from this prison between two and three hundred men. I was called on
to go with the crowd, but having 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 up from Charleston to be exchanged at Rough and Ready. With them
were about forty more than the cartel called for, and they were left
at Macon for ten days or two weeks. Among these officers were several
of my acquaintance, one being Lieut. Huntly of our regiment (I am not
quite sure 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
acquainted with Captain Hurtell, or Hurtrell, who was in command of the
prison at Macon, and to his honor, I here assert, that he was the only
gentleman and 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 out of the hands of our original captors at Jonesville, Va.
It now became very evident that the Rebels were moving the prisoners
from Andersonville and elsewhere, so as to place them beyond the reach
of Sherman and Stoneman. At my present place of confinement the fear
of our recapture had also taken possession of the Rebel authorities,
so the prisoners were sent off in much smaller squads than formerly,
frequently not more than ten or fifteen in a gang, whereas, before,
they never thought of dispatching less than two or three hundred
together. I acknowledge that I began to get very uneasy, fearful that
the “old soldier” dodge would not be much longer successful, and I
would be forced back to my old haunts. It so happened, however, that I
managed to make it serve me, by getting detailed in the prison hospital
as nurse, so that I 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 several hours. My teeth were actually chattering at the time,
for I had learned how to make them do so. I was passed. The next day
the orders for removal were more stringent than had yet been issued,
stating that all who could stand it to be removed on stretchers must
go. I concluded at once that I was gone, so as soon as I learned how
matters were, I got out from under my dirty blanket, stood up and found
I was able to walk, to my great astonishment, of course. An officer
came early in the morning to muster 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,
the prisoners were being marched from the Stockade. The officer in
charge of us--we numbering possibly about ten--undertook to place us
at the head of the column coming out, but the guard in charge of that
squad refused to let him do so. We were then ordered to stand at one
side with no guard over 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
my second attempt to escape. I stepped behind the gate office (a small
frame building with only one room), which was not more than six feet
from me, and as luck (or Providence) would have it, the negro man whose
duty it was, as I knew, to wait on and take care of this office, and
who had taken quite a liking for me, was standing at the back door. I
winked at him and threw him my blanket and the cup, at the same time
telling him in a whisper to hide them away for me until he heard from
me again. With a grin and a nod, he accepted the trust, and I started
down along the walls of the Stockade alone. In order to make this
more plain, and to show what a risk I was running at the time, I will
state that between the Stockade and a brick wall, fully as high as the
Stockade fence that was parallel with it, throughout its entire length
on that side, there was a space of not more than thirty feet. On the
outside of this Stockade was a platform, built for the guards to walk
on, sufficiently clear the top to allow them to look inside with ease,
and on this side, on the platform, were three guards. I had traveled
about fifty feet only, from the 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
a small cabin just beyond the Stockade, where I happened to know that
the officers 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
was allowed to pass without further trouble. I went to the cabin in
question--for I saw the last guard on the line watching me, and boldly
entered. I made a clear statement to the woman in charge of it about
how I had made my escape, and asked her to secrete me in the house
until night. I was soon convinced, however, from what she told me,
as well as from my own knowledge of how things were managed in the
Confederacy, that it would not be right for me to stay there, for if
the house was searched and I found in it, it would be the worse for
her. Therefore, not wishing to entail misery upon another, I begged her
to give me something to eat, and going to the swamp near by, succeeded
in getting well without detection.
I lay there all day, and during the time had a very severe chill and
afterwards a burning fever, so that when night came, knowing I could
not travel, I resolved to return to the cabin and spend the night, and
give myself up the next morning. There was no trouble in returning. I
learned that my fears of the morning had not been groundless, for the
guards had actually searched the house for me. The woman told them
that I had got my clothes and left the house shortly after my entrance
(which was the truth except the part about the clothes), I thanked
her very kindly and begged to be allowed to stay in the cabin till
morning, when I would present myself at Captain H.’s office and suffer
the consequences. This she allowed me to do. I shall ever feel grateful
to this woman for her protection. She was white and her given name was
“Sallie,” but the other I have forgotten.
About daylight I strolled over near the office and looked around there
until I saw the Captain take his seat at his desk. I stepped into the
door as soon as I saw that he was not occupied and saluted him “a la
militaire.”
“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
the Federal 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 gate
yesterday, 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. The
truth is, Captain, I have been in many prisons since my capture, and
have been treated very badly in all of them, until I came here.”
“I then explained to him freely my escape from Andersonville, and my
subsequent 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 to
stay with you, or under your command. This is my reason for running
away yesterday, when I felt confident that if I did not do so I would
be returned under Wirz’s command, and, if I had been so returned, I
would have killed myself rather than submit to the untold tortures
which he would have put me to, for having the audacity to attempt an
escape from him.”
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 pleasantly
given, that I should stay there until ordered out, which I very
gratefully promised to do, and did. This was the last chance I ever
had to talk to Captain Hurtrell, to my great sorrow, for I had really
formed a liking for the man, notwithstanding the fact that he was a
Rebel, and a commander of prisoners.
The next day we all had to leave Macon. Whether we were able or not,
the order was imperative. Great was my joy when I learned that we were
on the way to Savannah and not to Andersonville. We traveled over the
same road, so well described in one of your articles on Andersonville,
and arrived in Savannah sometime in the afternoon of the 21st day of
November, 1864. Our squad was placed in some barracks and confined
there until the next day. I was sick at the time, so sick in fact,
that I could hardly hold my head up. Soon after, we were taken to the
Florida depot, as they told us, to be shipped to some prison in those
dismal swamps. I came near fainting when this was told to us, for I was
confident that I could not survive another siege of prison life, if it
was anything to compare to-what I had already suffered. When we arrived
at the depot, it was raining. The officer in charge of us wanted to
know what train to put us on, for there were two, if not three, trains
waiting orders to start. He was told to march us on to a certain flat
car, near by, but before giving the order he demanded a receipt for us,
which the train 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 to
sign a parole preparatory to being sent down the river on the flat-boat
to our exchange ships, then lying in the harbor. When I say we, I mean
those of us that had recently come from Macon, and a few others, who
had also been fortunate in reaching Savannah in small squads. The other
poor fellows, who had already been loaded on the trains, were taken
away to Florida, and many of them never lived to return. On the 24th
those of us who had been paroled were taken on board our ships, and
were once more safely housed under that great, glorious and beautiful
Star Spangled Banner. Long may she wave.