A tunnel spoiled by the rain--Captain Tabb's cruelties--Corn pone
bakers--July 4th squelched--Beyond the "dead line"--Caught--Sherman
sixty miles away--Charleston--Negro regimental prisoners--In the
gallows' shadow--Whipping-post--Paroles--Money exchange drafts--The
Anderson men.
We had been there a few days when I discovered that something unusual
was taking place. Every night I could faintly hear the whispering of
men engaged in some secret enterprise, but concluded that the best
thing for me was to remain quiet and watch. Then came a big rain, which
so thoroughly wet the ground that it caused a strip of earth about two
feet wide and ten feet long to drop below the surface about ten inches,
into a tunnel which these men had been digging. No one _appeared_
to notice it, as it was outside of the dead line. The project was
abandoned, but the hole under the shed remained intact. Some men who
were digging in another part of the prison deposited the earth in this
exposed hole, but the guards had "caught on" and were on the watch.
One night shortly after Captain Tabb, who was in charge of the prison,
collected about twenty of his guard and, crawling up on the stockade,
jumped over the fence and came down on us, swinging his sword, the
guard following. They came through under the shed in single file and
encircled my bunk and the one opposite, which covered the abandoned
hole, and the captain said:
"Now, I have caught you! You will have to pay for this! This is a
pretty scrape!"
He called for lanterns and shovels, and, seizing a lantern, held it
down under the bunk, saw the hole, stuck the point of his sword down
and it happened to hit some of the abandoned tools. He then rose to
his feet, turned to Major Pasco, who was on a bunk just to his right,
and ordered him to "get up and dig out that hole." The major flatly
refused. This raised the ire of Captain Tabb, and he said:
"You refuse to obey my orders, do you?"
"I do," was the calm answer.
Captain Tabb then yelled:
"If you don't get up and dig out that hole you will be shot in less
than one minute."
By this time there were not less than eight hundred or a thousand men
crowding around so close that the guard could hardly stand. I raised
myself so as not to be trampled under foot in case of a rush.
Major Pasco replied:
"I am a soldier of the United States army and a prisoner of war. You
have no right to demand any manual labor from me."
Captain Tabb turned to a guard and gave the order:
"Shoot that man. Shoot that man, I say."
The guard brought up his gun, with the muzzle not over two feet from
the major's head, and not over three feet from mine, when Tabb cried
out again:
"Shoot that man. Shoot that man, I say."
But the guard seemed to know more, just at that time, than Tabb did;
for, just so sure as the sun shines, had he obeyed the order not a man
of the entire guard would have been left alive. A furious and surging
mob were rushing to the front, and at that very instant every man on
the guard was covered with some kind of deadly weapon. The guard did
not pull the trigger and Tabb so far recovered himself as to not repeat
the order.
The next morning while the roll was being called a few negroes came in
with the proper tools and dug out the tunnel.
Captain Tabb was intent on revenge, however, and very shortly saw his
opportunity. Major Pasco sent out a fine gold watch to be sold and all
he received in return for it was eighty dollars in Confederate scrip,
when it was easily worth seven hundred dollars at the rate that money
was then valued at. When Major Pasco protested he was called out by
Tabb, bucked and gagged and made to lie in a hot June sun for three
long hours.
When we first arrived at this prison our rations consisted of raw corn
meal, one quart each day, besides a very small piece of bacon and
some cow peas. We were also furnished with cast iron kettles, which
were low and flat, about fourteen inches diameter, and with cast iron
covers. This style of kettle I had seen, when a small boy at home,
used in a fireplace to bake in. It was then called a "Dutch oven," or
"bay-kettle." In these kettles we did our baking by building a small
fire both under and over the top. Corn bread now was a necessity of
the past, and we all became bakers of corn "pone." I became so expert
that by regulating the fire, and placing a slice or two of bacon
on top for dressing, I could make and bake a very palatable corn
"pone," and one that was pronounced even a luxury. But like all of our
former experiences, as soon as we began to think we had mastered one
difficulty we found another; in this case our wood gave out and it was
a mighty poor "pone" that we could make without fire to cook it with.
Situated in the south-east corner of the prison was just one small
spring of water which was good. A half barrel was set in the ground to
act as a reservoir for this spring, and this small reservoir was to
supply the entire camp of fifteen hundred men with water. As we had to
use this water for both washing and cooking, it was insufficient, so
we asked for tools and permission to dig a well, which was granted. In
a very short time we had a well twelve feet deep, but the siphon that
supplied the spring had been tapped, and when the water was used from
the well the spring was dry. Then a second well was dug with the same
effect as the first, but the two wells proved to be a great blessing to
the poor, thirsty prisoners, because, after the exposure of the tunnel,
no prisoner was allowed to be outside of the place called his quarters
after taps. Consequently during the night both wells made a reservoir
that filled up and held the surplus, which otherwise would have been
lost.
July Fourth came and we determined to celebrate it in true, loyal
fashion. We formed in line and marched around to the front door of
the only building on the ground, where we were to hear an oration,
to be delivered by an officer standing in the doorway. One of the men
resurrected an American flag of small dimensions, three inches by
four, but the Stars and Stripes all the same. He fastened it to an
old, crooked limb, and elevated it above the heads of the crowd in
front of the speaker's stand. We cheered the flag, the first Union
flag some of the men standing in that crowd had seen for over two
years. No words of mine are capable of portraying the effect the sight
of that little banner had upon the crowd. Cheer after cheer rent the
air. Hats, caps and arms were raised in the air, tears flowed down
the cheeks like rain, and men hugged each other for joy. Never to the
longest day of my existence will I forget the scene produced by that
little emblem of loyalty, no larger than my hand, as it was brought
out from its hiding in that prison. I realized then the full meaning
of the Stars and Stripes, and knew why the name "Old Glory" was so
appropriate. But, alas, to the utter shame of those in command, our
joy was soon cut short, and our intended celebration of the birth of
American Independence brought to a sudden and abrupt termination. The
rebel guard came in, ordered the small flag to be taken down, dispersed
our assembly, and gave the order that if we ever made a similar
attempt to show loyalty to the emblem of liberty, they would order
the artillery, in plain view to the south-east of us, to open fire
upon us and "send us to the kingdom come without ceremony," an order
that we well knew would be carried out. We therefore had but one thing
to do--to retire to our quarters, and there meditate again upon that
glorious, chivalric spirit which so long had been the boast of these
representatives of Southern aristocracy.
My health, which had been improving since I had the opportunity to
breathe air unconfined by roofs and side walls, as it had been in
Libby, was still improving and I made up my mind to attempt an escape
on the first opportunity that offered itself. I watched both night and
day for an opportunity to steal a boat ride down the Okmulgee River.
One morning I was one of the squad sent out after wood, which was
dumped in a disorderly pile near the gate. Seeing a hole several feet
deep and large enough for me to crawl into, I asked one of the detail
to cover the hole over with other sticks of wood after I had crawled
in. This was soon done and the detail left with their luggage. It was
now only eight o'clock in the morning and I was left outside of the
stockade, but still a prisoner in the woodpile near the gate. The day
was long and the sun's rays poured down with great heat, and how I
longed for a drink of water! Still I was braved to the self-denial,
owing to very anxiety to reach the boat undiscovered. But my liberty
was not to be obtained in that way. About six o'clock the guard came
after its wood and my concealment was at an end. They ordered me out,
marched me up to Captain Tabb's office, where I received some unasked
for advice, after which I was marched back to the gate and turned in.
However, I succeeded in getting a hasty drink of water from the spring,
and then had another chance to meditate upon the uncertainty of freedom
and the certainty of another long term under close surveillance,
before I would again have an opportunity to attempt another escape.
In the latter part of July the Union army, commanded by General
Sherman, took possession of Atlanta, only sixty miles north-west of us.
A cavalry raiding party came near enough to our prison for us to hear
the battle which resulted in their repulse. The cavalry was defeated,
some driven away and others captured, the officers taken being turned
into the prison with us. Then a new organization was effected to plan
another escape, though no definite time was set for the attempt, all
that being left to ten of the ranking officers, at whose command we
were ready to go and obey orders; but it all ended in such a complete
fizzle that I refrain from giving the details.
As soon as the nine days' armistice between the two armies was declared
off and Sherman's army, instead of turning and following Hood back
north, came rushing toward us, we were put aboard the cars and taken
to Charleston, S.C., and there confined in the Charleston jail yard,
right under the fire of our own guns. Now we were completely corralled
in a small, dirty old pen, without either shade or shelter, save a
solemn old gallows which cast a gloomy shadow over us, reminding
us of the last victim who had his neck broken by the order of the
self-constituted authorities now holding sway with such high hand.
The jail was a large octagonal brick structure, six stories high. In
the center of each square was a cell surrounding which was a hall of
good dimensions. The building also had an addition four stories high,
and in this addition were kept captives from the 54th Massachusetts
(colored) Infantry, who were treated with terrible brutality. They were
almost naked, and starving, and you could hear their cry of "_Bread!_
BREAD! BREAD!" all through the night and day. In the octagonal part
of the prison there was also a crowd of peculiar looking half-breeds
of both sexes. These were a mystery to me which I never cleared up.
All I know is they were turned out in the yard every morning, and
there remained until 4 P.M., when they were driven inside again by
the turnkey. It was a strange sight and one never explained to us.
My theory, however, is that this motley crowd was composed of local
prisoners, probably guilty of violating the laws of the community, with
perhaps some deserters and runaway slaves. At any rate we saw enough
in the conduct of this particular crowd to prove that their rules of
morality were away below par.
In order to get out of the mud and free myself from the mosquitoes, I
was permitted to occupy one of the old cells at night and sleep on the
bare floor, awaiting the regular hour of the turnkey for egress and
ingress, and now and then my gaze would be attracted toward the gloomy
old gallows, the weight of which (used to swing the unfortunate victim
into eternity) was half buried in the ground, where it had sunk after
performing its last execution, an additional incentive to melancholy
speculation. Upon the next corner north was another large building
used for a workhouse; the back part was enclosed by a brick wall and
stockade extending around another yard. In the center of this yard a
post was set in the ground, and nearly every morning, between nine
and ten o'clock, we could hear a whizzing sound, followed by yells.
Then we understood; the post was a whipping-post, and the master of
the cat o' nine tails was at work upon some victim, in all probability
a negro who had been on the street after hours, or guilty of some
trifling digression of the rules and regulations of the slave code, as
a consequence had been sentenced by the police judge to receive so many
lashes on his bare back. We often had to stop our ears, so frightful
were the cries of some of the victims of this barbarous punishment,
dealt out to human beings for simply exercising a God-given right to
think and act for themselves.
After we had been confined in the jail yard for about two weeks, we
gave our parole that we would not talk to the guard (which was kept
around us only to keep the citizens away), and that we would not leave
or go outside of the Marine Hospital or its enclosure. In return for
this we were permitted to trade and talk with the hucksters through the
palings in front of the building. The hospital was a large three-story
brick structure, with basement and the necessary outhouses, including
a workshop in the rear. It was entirely devoid of furniture, but clean
and comfortable, with plenty of room and good shelter. Wide verandas
ran the whole length, both in the front and rear, and shade trees were
around the whole building. Our rations too, were improved and we could
borrow all the "C.S.S." (Confederate State's scrip) we were willing
to carry, if we would give in exchange a power of attorney, properly
made out and directed to our paymaster, north. I did not care to do
this but many did, and in a short time our yard was full of Confederate
money, much to the hucksters' profit. Here are a few of the prices men
paid for edibles: Apple dumplings, $3.00 each; yams, $3.00 a quart (one
yam made a quart); flour, $4.00 a quart. Eight dollars in Confederate
money was given for the promise of one dollar in gold. By this you will
readily see that money flew like the wind and it was not long before
the supply was exhausted.
The powers of attorney were run through the lines, either by an
"underground railway" or by slipping through the blockade. They
were presented at Washington, but our Government did not see fit to
recognize and pay claims that had been obtained in such manner as had
these from the prisoners in rebellious States. The lenders came back,
and it is hardly necessary to add that they took no more "powers of
attorney." Instead they would and did accept drafts on some bank or
"best friend" that had your money for safe keeping. This scheme was
worse for the fellows in authority than the powers of attorney, for in
many instances the bills were drawn on fictitious banks, located in
imaginary places, or on "best friends" who had no existence save in the
brain of the man drawing the same.
I, as I said, had taken no hand in the power of attorney fraud, for I
was a little afraid it might come to a head and I would be a loser, but
when the bill of exchange plan came up I concluded to take a hand. I
drew one, of which the following is a copy:
"Charleston, S.C., August 3, 1864.
"To John Crow, Maconsburg, Wisconsin.
"Please pay to Henry Holloway, or order, one hundred dollars, in cash,
and charge the same to my account.
"C.M. Prutsman."
Now, the truth was there was no such place as "Maconsburg" in
Wisconsin, to my knowledge, nor was there any friend of mine by the
name of John Crow, still that did not hinder the cashing of my order,
and in a short time I was the possessor of eight hundred dollars in
clean Confederate scrip. As "John Crow," of "Maconsburg," was never
found by Mr. Holloway I did not lose anything on my investment. Those
who made the "bills of exchange" profited to some extent, however,
and the barrels that were delivered to the poor, weak, diseased and
starving prisoners, were of great service to them and proved a boon in
many instances. It was always a mystery to me why the officers took
such chances as they did in letting us have the Confederate State's
scrip, but I have often thought they had very little confidence in its
real, ultimate value. I also noticed that not one of them ever lost an
opportunity to grab Uncle Sam's money when it was within reach.
As soon as we moved out of the jail yard it was used for the Anderson
men, but only for one day at a time; then they were marched out to the
race course. They generally arrived there early in the morning, were
taken out of the cars and held through the day, to be moved through the
streets at night, as their clothing was so scant it was not considered
decent for them to be seen by daylight.
My first investment with my Confederate scrip was to take one hundred
dollars, tie it to a piece of brick and throw it over the wall, from
the veranda of the second story, to one sergeant Stetzer, a member of
my company and regiment; but the guard heard it strike the ground,
drove the sergeant away and pocketed the rags himself. So much for my
attempt to relieve the wants of a fellow prisoner. Now, while we lived
high for us during the remainder of our stay in that building, the time
was very short.