ANOTHER CHANGE AND NOT A BAD ONE—ALMOST A HOSTAGE OF WAR—ELECTION
DAY AND A VOTE FOR LITTLE MAC—ONE YEAR A PRISONER OF WAR, ETC., ETC.
CAMP LAWTON, Millen, Ga., Nov. 1.—Arrived at our destination not far
from midnight, and it was a tedious journey. Two died in the car I
was in. Were taken from the cars to this prison in what they call
ambulances, but what I call lumber wagons. Are now congregated in the
south-east corner of the stockade under hastily put up tents. This
morning we have drawn rations, both the sick and the well, which are
good and enough. The stockade is similar to that at Andersonville,
but in a more settled country, the ground high and grassy, and
through the prison runs a stream of good pure water, with no swamp at
all. It is apparently a pleasant and healthy location. A portion of
the prison is timber land, and the timber has been cut down and lays
where it fell, and the men who arrived before us have been busily at
work making shanties and places to sleep in. There are about six
thousand prisoners here, and I should judge there was room for twelve
or fifteen thousand. Men say they are given food twice each day,
which consists of meal and fresh beef in rather small quantities,
but good and wholesome. The rebel officer in command is a sociable
and kindly disposed man, and the guards are not strict, that is, not
cruelly so. We are told that our stay here will be short. A number
of our men have been detailed to cook the food for the sick, and
their well being is looked to by the rebel surgeon as well as our own
men. The same surgeon who for the last ten days had charge of us in
Savannah has charge of us now. He does not know over and above much
but on the whole does very well. Barrels of molasses (nigger toe)
have been rolled inside and it is being issued to the men, about
one-fourth of a pint to each man, possibly a little more. Some of the
men, luxuriantly, put their allowances together and make molasses
candy of it. One serious drawback is the scarcity of dishes, and one
man I saw draw his portion in his two hands, which held it until his
comrade could find a receptacle for it.
Nov. 2.—Have seen many of my old comrades of Andersonville, among
whom is my tried friend Sergt. Wm. B. Rowe; were heartily glad to
see one another; also little Bullock who has improved wonderfully in
appearance. Everyone is pleased with this place and are cheerful,
hoping and expecting to be released before many weeks; they all
report as having been well treated in Savannah and have pleasant
recollections of that place; from what could be seen of the city by
us prisoners it seems the handsomest one in America. Should judge
it was a very wealthy place. My duties as nurse are hard, often too
much so for my strength, yet the enforced exercise does me good and
continue to improve all the time. A cane will be necessary to my
locomotion for a long time as am afraid myself permanently injured;
my cane is not a gold headed one; it is a round picket which has been
pulled off some fence. Very cheering accounts of the war doings. All
who want to can take the oath of allegiance to the confederacy and
be released; am happy to say though that out of all here, but two or
three has done so, and they are men who are a detriment to any army.
The weather now is beautiful, air refreshing, water ditto; all happy
and contented and await coming events with interest. Part of the
brook, the lower part, is planked and sides boarded up for sanitary
privileges; water has also been dammed up and a fall made which
carries off the filth with force. Plenty of wood to do cooking with
and the men putter around with their cooking utensils such as they
have. Sort of prize fight going on now.
Nov. 3.—About a hundred convalescents were taken outside to-day to
be sent away to our lines the officials told us. At a later hour the
commander came inside and said he wanted twelve men to fall into
line and they did so, myself being one of the twelve; he proceeded
to glance us over and on looking at me said: “Step back out of
the ranks, I want only able-bodied men.” I stepped down and out
considerably chagrinned, as the general impression was that they were
to go to our lines with the convalescents who had been taken outside
before. He marched off the twelve men and it then leaked out that
they were to be sent to some prison to be held as hostages until the
end of the war. Then I felt better. It is said all the sick will be
taken outside as soon as they get quarters fixed up to accommodate
them. Think that I shall resign my position as nurse. Would rather
stay with the “boys.” Land is no longer with the sick but has been
turned into the rank and file, also Dakin. Dakin, Rowe and Land are
all together, and if the sick are taken outside I shall join my old
comrades and mess with them. But few die now; quite a number died
from the removal, but now all seem to be on the mend. I am called,
contrary to my expectations, a good nurse; certainly have pity for
the poor unfortunates, but lack the strength to take care of them. It
needs good strong men to act as nurses.
Nov. 4.—The fine weather still continues. Just warm enough, and
favorable for prisoners. Food now we get but once a day—not all we
want, but three times as much as issued at Andersonville and of good
quality. The officer in command, as I have said before, is a kind
hearted man, and on his appearance inside he was besieged by hundreds
of applications for favors and for the privilege of going outside
on parole of honor. He began granting such favors as he could, but
has been besieged too much and now stays outside. Has, however, put
up a letter box on the inside so that letters will reach him, and
every day it is filled half full. Occasionally he takes to a letter
and sends inside for the writer of it, and that one answered is the
occasion of a fresh batch, until it is said that the poor man is
harrassed about as much as the President of the United States is for
fat offices. As I have before remarked in my diary, the Yankee is a
queer animal.
Nov. 5.—Hostages taken out. Everything is bright and pleasant and I
see no cause to complain, therefore won’t. To-morrow is election day
at the North; wish I was there to vote—which I ain’t. Will here say
that I am a War Democrat to the backbone. Not a very stiff one, as my
backbone is weak.
Nov. 6.—One year ago to-day captured. Presidential election at the
North between Lincoln and McClellan. Some one fastened up a box,
and all requested to vote, for the fun of the thing. Old prisoners
haven’t life enough to go and vote; new prisoners vote for present
administration. I voted for McClellan with a hurrah, and another
hurrah, and still another. Had this election occurred while we were
at Andersonville, four-fifths would have voted for McClellan. We
think ourselves shamefully treated in being left so long as prisoners
of war. Abe Lincoln is a good man and a good president, but he is
controlled by others who rule the exchange business as well as most
other things. Of course our likes and dislikes make no difference to
him or any one else. Yes, one year ago to-day captured. A year is a
good while, even when pleasantly situated, but how much longer being
imprisoned as we have been. It seems a lifetime, and I am twenty
years older than a year ago. Little thought that I was to remain
all this time in durance vile. Improving in health, disposition and
everything else. If both breeches legs were of the same length should
be supremely happy. Should make a bon-fire to-night if I wasn’t
afraid of celebrating a defeat. Had lots of fun hurrahing for “Little
Mac.”
Nov. 7.—A rather cold rain wets all who have not shelter. Many ladies
come to see us; don’t come through the gate, but look at us through
that loophole. Any one with money can buy extras in the way of food,
but, alas, we have no money. Am now quite a trader—that is, I make
up a very thin dish of soup and sell it for ten cents, or trade it
for something. Am ravenously hungry now and can’t get enough to eat.
The disease has left my system, the body demands food, and I have to
exert my speculative genius to get it, am quite a hand at such things
and well calculated to take care of myself. A man belonging to the
Masonic order need not stay here an hour. It seems as if every rebel
officer was of that craft, and a prisoner has but to make himself
known to be taken care of. Pretty strong secret association that will
stand the fortunes of war. That is another thing I must do when I get
home—join the Masons. No end of things for me to do: visit all the
foreign countries that prisoners told me about, and not forgetting to
take in Boston by the way, wear silk under clothing, join the masons,
and above all educate myself to keep out of rebel prisons. A person
has plenty of time to think here, more so than in Andersonville;
there it was business to keep alive. Small alligator killed at lower
part of the stream.
Nov. 8.—All eager for news. Seems as if we were on the eve of
something. So quiet here that it must predict a storm. Once in a
while some pesky rebel takes it upon himself to tell us a lot of lies
to the effect that our armies are getting beaten; that England joins
the Confederacy to whip out the North; that there is no prospect of
ending the war; that we are not going to be exchanged at all, but
remain prisoners, etc., etc. If he is a good talker and tells his
story well it makes us all blue and down-hearted. Then, pretty soon,
we are told more joyful news which we are ready to believe, and
again take heart and think of the good times coming. Would like to
hear the election news. Wonder who is elected? Feel stronger every
day, and have a little flesh on my bones. As the weather gets cool,
we are made painfully aware of the fact that we are sadly deficient
in clothing. Will freeze if compelled to stay through the winter.
Coverlid still does duty although disabled by past experience, same
as all of us. We talk over the many good traits of Battese and others
who are separated from us by death and otherwise. The exploits of
Hendryx we will never tire of narrating. What a meeting when we
can get together in future years, and talk over the days we have
lived and suffered together. Exchange rumors fill the air. One good
sign—the rebels are making no more improvements about this prison;
they say we are not to stay here long. We hear that our troops are
marching all through the South. Guess that is the reason why they
think of moving us all the time. All right, Johnny Rebels, hope we
are an elephant on your hands. Jeff Davis denounced by the papers,
which is a good sign. Occasionally get one in camp, and read it all
up. No library here. Not a scrap of anything to read; principal
occupation looking for stray news.
Nov. 9.—This diary would seem to treat of two things principally,
that of food and exchange. Try to write of something else, but my
thoughts invariably turn to these two subjects. Prisoners of war will
know how to excuse me for thus writing. A dead line has also been
fixed up in Camp Lawton, but thus far no one has been shot. Rebel
doctors inside examining men who may be troubled with disease prison
life might aggravate. Those selected are taken outside and either put
in hospitals or sent to our lines. Yankee ingenuity is brought into
play to magnify diseases, and very often a thoroughly well man will
make believe that he is going to die in less than a week unless taken
away. Have laughed for an hour at the way a fellow by the name of
Sawyer fooled them. The _modus operandi_ will hardly bear writing in
these pages, but will do to tell. Have made a raise of another pair
of pants with both legs of the same length, and I discard the old
ones to a “poor” prisoner. An advantage in the new pair is that there
is plenty of room, too, from being three or four sizes too large, and
the legs as long as the others were short. My one suspender has a
partner now, and all runs smoothly. Although Bullock is fleshing up
and getting better in health, he is a wreck and always will be. Seems
to be a complete change in both body and mind. He was a favorite in
our regiment, well known and well liked. Rowe is the same stiff,
stern patrican as of old, calmly awaiting the next turn in the wheel
of fortune.
Nov. 10.—Pleasant and rather cool. My hair is playing me pranks.
It grows straight up in the air and only on the topmost part of my
head. Where a man is generally bald, it’s right the other way with
me. If there is anything else that can happen to make me any more
ridiculous, now is the time for it to appear. About all I lack now
is to have an eye gouged out. A friend says that the reason my hair
grows the way it does is because I have been scared so much, and
it has stuck up straight so much, that it naturally has a tendency
that way. Perhaps that is it. If I thought we were to stay here for
any length of time would open up a hair cutting shop; but should
hate to get nicely started in business and a trade worked up, then
have an exchange come along and knock the whole thing in the head.
We are not far from the railroad track, and can listen to the cars
going by. Very often Confederate troops occupy them and they give
the old familiar rebel yell. Once in a while the Yanks get up steam
enough to give a good hurrah back to them. Seems to be a good deal of
transferring troops now in the South. I watch all the movements of
the rebels and can draw conclusions, and am of the opinion that Mr.
Confederacy is about whipped and will soon surrender. It certainly
looks that way to me. Rumors that we are to be moved.
Nov. 11.—Very well fed. There it goes again. Had determined not to
say anything more about how we were fed, and now I have done it.
However, I was not grumbling about it any way. Will merely add that
I have an appetite larger than an elephant. Will also say that there
are rumors of exchange, for a change—a subject that has been spoken
of before. Cannot possibly refrain from saying that I am feeling
splendidly and worth a hundred dead men yet. Have two dollars in
Confederate money and if I can sell this half canteen of dish-water
soup shall have another dollar before dark. “Who takes it? Ah, here
ye are! Sold again; business closed for to-night, gentlemen. Early in
the morning shall have a fresh supply of this delicious soup, with
real grease floating on top.” Shutters put up and we settle down for
the night without depositing in the bank. Shan’t go to sleep until
ten or eleven o’clock, but lay and think, and build those air castles
that always fall with a crash and bury us in the debris. Often
hear the baying of hounds from a distance, through the night—and
such strange sounds to the Northern ear. Good night. In rather a
sentimental mood. Wonder if she is married?
Nov. 12.—Everything quiet and running smoothly. Waiting for
something. Have just heard the election news—Mr. Lincoln again
elected, and “Little Mac” nowhere. Just about as I expected. Returns
were rather slow in coming in, evidently waiting for the Camp Lawton
vote. Well, did what I could for George; hurrahed until my throat
was sore and stayed so for a week; know that I influenced twenty
or thirty votes, and now can get no office because the political
opponent was elected. ’Tis ever thus. Believe I would make a good
postmaster for this place. There is none here and should have
applied immediately, if my candidate had been elected. More sick
taken away on the cars; rebels say to be exchanged. Appears to be
a sort of mystery of late, and can’t make head nor tail of their
movements. Would not be surprised at any hour to receive news to get
ready for our lines. Don’t know that I have felt so before since my
imprisonment. Have lived rather high to-day on capital made yesterday
and early this morning. Just my way—make a fortune and then spend it.
Nov. 13.—To-day had an incident happen to me; hardly an incident,
but a sort of an adventure. When I was nurse on one or two occasions
I helped the hospital steward make out his report to his superiors,
and in that way got a sort of reputation for knowing how to do these
things a little better than the ordinary run of people, and rebels in
particular. A rebel sergeant came inside at just about nine o’clock
this morning and looked me up and said I was wanted outside, and so
went. Was taken to a house not far from the stockade, which proved
to be the officers head-quarters. There introduced to three or four
officers, whose names do not occur to me, and informed that they
were in need of some one to do writing and assist in making out
their army papers, and if I would undertake the job, they would see
that I had plenty to eat, and I should be sent North at the first
opportunity. I respectfully, gently and firmly declined the honor,
and after partaking of quite a substantial meal, which they gave me
thinking I would reconsider my decision, was escorted back inside.
Many thought me very foolish for not taking up with the offer. My
reasons for not doing so are these: I would be clearly working for
the Confederacy; can see no real difference in it from actually
entering their army. If I occupied that position it would relieve
some rebel of that duty, and he could stay in the ranks and fight our
men. That is one reason. Another is the fact that instead of their
letting me go to our lines with the first that went, I would be the
very last to go, as they would need me to do duty for them until the
last moment. Was always willing to do extra duty for our own men,
such as issuing clothing on Belle Isle, also my nursing the sick or
in any way doing for them, but when it comes to working in any way
for any rebel, I shall beg to be excused. Might have gone out and
worked in the printing offices in Savannah had I so wished, as they
were short of men all the time, in fact could hardly issue their
papers on account of the scarcity of printers. And so I am still
loyal to the Stars and Stripes and shall have no fears at looking my
friends in the face when I do go home.
Nov. 14.—The kaleidoscope has taken another turn. Six hundred taken
away this forenoon; don’t know where to. As I was about the last
to come to Millen, my turn will not come for some days if only six
hundred are taken out each day. Rebels say they go straight to our
lines, but their being heavily guarded and every possible precaution
taken to prevent their escape, it does not look like our lines to me.
Probably go to Charleston; that seems to be the jumping off place.
Charleston, for some reason or other, seems a bad place to go to. Any
city familiar with the war I want to avoid. Shall hang back as long
as I can, content to let well enough alone. Some of my friends, of
which Bullock is one, flanked out with those going off. What I mean
by “flanked out” is crowding in when it is not their turn and going
with the crowd. Hendryx and I did that when we left Belle Isle, and
we brought up in Andersonville. Will let those do the flanking who
want to, I don’t.
Nov. 15.—At about six or seven o’clock last night six hundred men
were taken away, making in all twelve hundred for the day; another
six hundred are ready to go at a moment’s notice. I don’t know what
to think. Can hardly believe they go to our lines. Seems almost like
a funeral procession to me, as they go through the gate. Rowe and
Hub Dakin talk of going to-day, if any go, having decided to flank.
I have concluded to wait until it is my turn to go. If it is an
exchange there is no danger but all will go, and if not an exchange
would rather be here than any place I know of now. LATER.—Eight
hundred have gone, with Rowe and Dakin in the crowd, and I am here
alone as regards personal friends. Could not be induced to go with
them. Have a sort of presentiment that all is not right. STILL
LATER.—Six hundred more have gone, making 2,600 all together that
have departed, all heavily guarded.
Nov. 16.—A decided thinness in our ranks this morning. Still house
keeping goes right along as usual. Rebels not knowing how to figure
give us just about the same for the whole prison as when all were
here. Had a talk with a rebel sergeant for about an hour. Tried to
find out our destination and could get no satisfaction, although he
said we were going to our lines. Told him I was a mason, odd-fellow,
had every kind of religion (in hopes to strike his), and flattered
him until I was ashamed of myself. In a desultory sort of way he
said he “reckoned we war goin’ nawth.” Well, I will write down the
solution I have at last come to, and we will see how near right I am
after a little. Our troops, Sherman or Kilpatrick or some of them,
are raiding through the South, and we are not safe in Millen, as we
were not safe in Andersonville, and as was plainly evident we were
not safe in Savannah. There is the whole thing in a nutshell, and we
will see. Six hundred gone to-day.
Nov. 17.—It is now said that the prisoners are being moved down on
the coast near Florida. That coincides with my own view, and I think
it very probable. Will try and go about to-morrow. Hardly think I
can go to-day. LATER.—The to-day’s batch are going out of the gate.
Makes me fairly crazy to wait, fearful I am missing it in not going.
This lottery way of living is painful on the nerves. There are all
kinds of rumors. Even have the story afloat that now the raid is
over that drove us away from Andersonville, we are going back there
to stay during the war. That would be a joke. However, I stick to
my resolution that the rebels don’t really know themselves where
we are going. They move us because we are not safe here. They are
bewildered. Believing this am in a comparatively easy state of mind.
Still I worry. Haven’t said a word in a week about my health. Well,
I am convalescing all the time. Still lame, and always expect to be;
can walk very well though, and feeling lively for an old man.
Nov. 18.—None being taken away to-day, I believe on account of
not getting transportation. Notice that rebel troops are passing
through on the railroad and immense activity among them. Am now well
satisfied of the correctness of my views as regards this movement.
Have decided now to stay here until the last. Am getting ready for
action however. Believe we are going to have a warm time of it in
the next few months. Thank fortune I am as well as I am. Can stand
considerable now. Food given us in smaller quantities, and hurriedly
so too. All appears to be in a hurry. Cloudy, and rather wet weather,
and getting decidedly cooler. My noble old coverlid is kept rolled
up and ready to accompany me on my travels at any moment. Have my
lame and stiff leg in training. Walk all over the prison until tired
out so as to strengthen myself. Recruiting officers among us trying
to induce prisoners to enter their army. Say it is no exchange for
during the war, and half a dozen desert and go with them. Even if
we are not exchanged during the war, don’t think we will remain
prisoners long.
Nov. 19.—A car load went at about noon, and are pretty well thinned
out. Over half gone—no one believes to our lines now; all hands
afraid of going to Charleston. Believe I shall try and escape on the
journey, although in no condition to rough it. Am going to engineer
this thing to suit myself and have a little fun. Would like to be
out from under rebel guard once more. When I can look around and
not see a prison wall and a gun ready to shoot me, I shall rejoice.
Have edged up to another comrade and we bunk together. Said comrade
is Corporal Smith, belonging to an Indiana regiment. While he is no
great guns, seems quite a sensible chap and a decided improvement
on many here to mess with. The nights are cool, and a covering of
great benefit. My being the owner of a good blanket makes me a very
desirable comrade to mess with. Two or three together can keep much
warmer than one alone. It is said that a number of outsiders have
escaped and taken to the woods. Another load goes to-night or early
in the morning. My turn will come pretty soon. Nothing new in our
situation or the prospects ahead. Food scarce, but of good quality.
More go and I go to-morrow.
Nov. 20.—None as yet gone to-day and it is already most night. My
turn would not come until to-morrow, and if none go at all to-day
I will probably not get away until about day after to-morrow.
Shan’t flank out, but await my turn and go where fate decrees. Had
a falling out with my companion Smith, and am again alone walking
about the prison with my coverlid on my shoulders. Am determined
that this covering protects none but thoroughly good and square
fellows. LATER.—Going to be a decidedly cold night, and have “made
up” with two fellows to sleep together. The going away is the all
absorbing topic of conversation. Received for rations this day a very
good allowance of hard-tack and bacon. This is the first hard-tack
received since the trip to Andersonville, and is quite a luxury. It
is so hard that I have to tack around and soak mine up before I am
able to eat it. There is a joke to this. Will again go to bed as I
have done the last week, thinking every night would be the last at
Camp Lawton.
Nov. 21.—Got up bright and early, went to the creek and had a good
wash, came back, after a good walk over the prison, and ate my two
large crackers and small piece of bacon left over from yesterday, and
again ready for whatever may turn up. Lost my diminutive cake of soap
in the water and must again take to sand to scrub with, until fortune
again favors me. Men are very restless and reckless, uncertainty
making them so. Try my very best not to have any words or trouble
with them, but occasionally get drawn into it, as I did this morning.
Came out solid however. Is pretty well understood that I can take
care of myself. NOON.—Five hundred getting ready to go; my turn comes
to-morrow, and then we will see what we will see. Decided rumors that
Sherman has taken Atlanta and is marching toward Savannah, the heart
of the Confederacy. All in good spirits for the first time in a week.
[Illustration: (decorative separator)]