NATIONAL SOLDIERS’ HOME. }
DAYTON, Ohio, May 5th, 1881. }
_Comrade John L. Ransom_,
DEAR FRIEND:— * * * * The night I left the stockade, going within
twelve feet of a guard, I went down to the city. Had never been there
before and did not know where to go, but wandered about the streets,
dressed in an old suit of rebel clothes, until 12 o’clock that night.
It was Oct. 18th, 1864, and I had been captured March 5th, in Col.
Dahlgreen’s raid, the object of which was to release the officers
confined in Libby prison and the privates confined on Belle Island
and Pemberton prisons. * * * * My whole uniform was disposed of * * *
and I had to wear dirty rebel rags. They marched us to Stevensville.
We remained there but a short time when we were marched about two
miles and into the heart of a swamp. We did not know what the matter
was but found out that Kilpatrick had turned back to look for us, the
“forlorn hope,” as we were called. If he had been one hour sooner, he
would have released us; but fate would have it the other way. From
the swamp we were marched to Richmond, surrounded by the mounted
mob. They would not let us step out of the ranks even to quench our
thirst, and we had to drink the muddy water from the middle of the
road. Every little town we came to the rebels would assemble and yell
at us, the women the worst. * * * * When we reached the head-quarters
of rebeldom the whole rebel city was out to meet us * * * * and
the self-styled rebel ladies were the worst in their vim and foul
language. They made a rush for us, but the guard kept them off until
we were safely put in the third story of the Pemberton building,
where we were searched and stripped of everything we were not already
robbed of. * * * * The next morning the Richmond people cried out
for Jeff Davis to hang us, saying we were nothing but outlaws and
robbers, on an errand of plunder and rapine. The press tried to
excite hostility against us, and succeeded, in a measure. We were
kept by ourselves and not allowed to mix with the other prisoners. A
special guard was kept over us, and we were allowed but two-thirds
the small rations issued to the other men. The windows were all out
of the room we were in, and a cold March wind blowing and cutting
through our starving, naked bodies. * * * * In July we were going
to get hanged in Castle Thunder. We were told the same story every
day, and it was getting stale, so we paid no attention to it; but
sure enough, we were called out one morning and thought our time had
come. They marched us up Casey street toward Castle Thunder, and as
we approached it some fairly shivered at their promised doom; but
instead of stopping at that celebrated hotel, we were taken across
the river and put in cattle cars. Where we were going none knew; but
we started and the next day reached Dansville. We were removed from
the cars and put into a tobacco warehouse and were kept there until
the next morning, when we were put aboard the cars and started south
again until we came to the world renowned hell-hole, Andersonville.
When we arrived several men were dead in the cars, and the rebels
would not let us remove them. The cars were packed like herring
boxes, so you may imagine our situation. * * * * From there I was
transferred to Savannah, and from the latter place I made my escape,
as previously mentioned.
As I have said, I wandered about until 12 o’clock, and was then in
a worn out condition. Not knowing where to turn or lay my head, I
sat down under a tree to rest myself, and as I sat there, who should
come along but a watchman. “Hello!” says he, “what are you doing here
at this hour of the night?” I answered that I was one of the guards
guarding the Yankees at the stockade, and that I had been down to
Bryan street to see my sister. “All right,” said he, “You fellows
have a hard time guarding them d—d Yankees. Why don’t you shoot more
of ’em and get ’em out o’ the way?” I passed on until I came to a
place with a high board fence. I crawled over and looked around and
found a small shed divided by a board partition. In one end they kept
a cow and in the other some fodder. I went in where the fodder was
and threw myself down and went to sleep, intending to be up before
day; but what was my surprise when it proved to be broad daylight
before I awoke. I lay there thinking what to do, when I heard the
gate of the fence open. I jumped up and looked through a crack in the
boards and saw an old man enter with a pail in his hand. Presently
he came where I was in the fodder to get some for the cow. As he
opened the door he started back with fright, saying, “Who are you
and what brings you here?” I saw by his face and voice that he was
an Irishman, and I made up my mind to tell him the truth. * * * He
told me to remain where I was and he would try and get me something
to eat. He went away and presently returned with a tin pan full of
sweet potatoes and bacon. * * * * He told me the only way to get away
was by the Isle of Hope, ten miles from the city on the Skidaway
shell road. There was a picket post of twelve men right on the road,
but I started off, and when I reached the picket put on a bold face
and told them I belonged to Maxwell’s battery, stationed at the Isle
of Hope, and they let me pass. * * * I passed officers and soldiers
on the road, but they never took any notice of me further than to
return my kindly greeting. I finally reached the outpost on the road,
about a mile from freedom. I had known, even before starting, that to
pass that post I should have to have a pass signed by the commanding
officer at Savannah; but there were swamps on both sides the road,
and I thought I could swim in the marsh and flank the post. I took
off my jacket and made the attempt, but had to return to the road. *
* * * I saw there was no use trying to escape by the Isle of Hope. I
could not pass the outpost, and besides, there was great danger that
I should be hung as a spy. So I put back to Savannah that night. I
had to wade the marsh to get by the post I first passed. I got safely
back to my cowshed and laid there till woke up the next morning by
my friend Gleason. When I told him where I had been he would hardly
believe me. * * * * He brought me something to eat and went away,
but returned at night with two other men. Their names were Wall and
Skelley and they belonged to the 3d Georgia artillery. They said they
were northern men, but were in Savannah when the war broke out and
had to join the rebel army. I told them the history of my adventure
by the Isle of Hope and they were astonished. They said the only
way was by the river to Fort Pulaski, fourteen miles from Savannah.
The question was, where to get a boat. They were known in Savannah
and their movements would be watched. They said they knew where
there was a boat, but it was a government boat. I said that made it
better, and if they would show me where the boat was, I would do
the headwork. So they showed me and left me the management. I went
when everything was ready, and muffled the oars and oarlocks, with a
sentinel within twenty feet of me. The boat lay in the river, near
the gas-house and a government store-house, and the river was guarded
by gunboats and the floating battery, and paved with torpedoes;
but there is what is called “the back river,” which flows into the
Savannah above Smith Island. The mouth of this stream was guarded by
a picket crew, sent from the battery every night; so when we left
we had to lay in a rice sluice, where we ran the boat in about an
eighth of a mile, and raised the grass as the boat passed along to
conceal our tracks. We heard them searching the next morning, after
the boat had been missed, but the search was at last given up. About
this time Skelley began talking about being recaptured, as the shore
was picketed all the way. He said there would be nothing done with
me, if I was recaptured but to put me back in the stockade, while
he and Wall would be shot as deserters. He proposed returning to
Savannah at once. * * * * He began to win the other fellow over and I
saw the game was up with me. Skelley was the only one of us who was
armed and he had a Colt’s revolver. * * * * I told him that his plan
was the best and that I didn’t want to be the means of getting him
into trouble. I gained his confidence, but the thought of returning
to Savannah never entered my head. I watched my chance, and at a
favorable opportunity, snatched his pistol. * * * I rose to my feet
with the pistol at full cock, pointed it at his breast and told him
that one move towards returning to Savannah would end his career by a
bullet from his own revolver. He turned all colors, but said nothing.
I kept my distance, and at four o’clock in the afternoon told them
to get into the boat. I then sat down in the stern and told them to
pull out, which they did with a vim. Just as we passed the mouth, we
heard the click of oars on the picket boat; but they were too late,
and all the danger we had to encounter was the pickets on the shore
which we had to hug on account of torpedoes in the channel. I don’t
know how we ever passed safely over the torpedoes and by the pickets,
which latter were within forty yards of us all the way along until
we reached Pulaski. All that saved us was that the pickets had fires
lighted and were looking at them, and our oars and oarlocks being
muffled, they did not hear or see us. It was very dark when we struck
the mouth of the Savannah, and whereabouts Fort Pulaski lay we knew
not; but we kept pulling until halted by a soldier of the 144th N.
Y. Infantry, who was guarding the place at that time. We were ordered
to pull in, which we did, and were taken up to the commanding officer
and questioned. He said it was the most daring escape ever made,
up to that time, considering the obstacles we had to encounter. We
were kept in the guard house until my statement was confirmed by the
war department, when I was released and sent to Washington, where I
reported to the Adjutant-General who gave me a furlough and sent me
to the hospital. I remained there until spring, when I rejoined my
regiment and was mustered out at the close of the war. * * * * *