MANNER OF TUNNELLING.
The manner of digging a tunnel was this: The place selected to commence a
tunnel would usually be in some shed nearest the stockade. In these sheds
we had built ourselves bunks, ten or twelve inches from the ground, which
would usually be movable, and, after the camp had become quiet, one of
these bunks would be removed and a well sunk five or six feet, first
taking the precaution to carefully lay aside the dirt that was just
shoveled off, because that would be dark and look old. Then a guard would
be stationed to prevent any one from seeing what was going on. Pickets
would be thrown out, who, if any one approached, would enter into
conversation with them, in a tone loud enough to be heard by the
tunnellers, and caution them to suspend operations until the danger was
over, when the work would be resumed.
[Illustration: TUNNELLING AT MACON, GA.]
In a camp of eighteen hundred, with always some sick, there would be no
time in the night when some were not going to or returning from the sinks;
so that seeing anyone moving about camp in the night attracted no
particular notice. One would dig and fill haversacks or bags, and
another, with an overcoat on, would carry it concealed beneath that
garment to some place that had been selected as a dumping ground and
deposit it, returning to the shed by a roundabout way so as not to attract
attention. After a well had been sunk about five feet, the tunnel proper
would be started horizontally, in the direction desired, always keeping as
accurate a measure of the distance tunnelled as possible. When it came
time to suspend operations for the night, boards that had been previously
prepared, would be fitted in the well, two feet below the surface, and
covered over with some of the earth that had been removed, always being
careful to put the old dirt that had been preserved on top, thus giving
the surface the same appearance as the rest of the ground; all would then
be carefully swept over, and all traces of new or fresh earth removed. The
bunk would then be replaced and everything resume the careless appearance
of everyday life.
So cautiously would this work be carried on that officers sleeping only a
few feet away would not be disturbed, and never suspect that anything
unusual had been going on. Thus, night after night, would the work be
prosecuted, the men spelling each other in digging and doing sentry duty,
until, by careful measurement, it was ascertained that the tunnel had
reached a sufficient distance beyond the stockade to insure an escape. No
one in the prison, except those engaged in the work, would be let into the
secret until the work was completed and the tunnel was to be opened. This
secrecy was necessary to prevent a curious crowd from hanging around,
which would attract the attention of the rebs, who, in blissful ignorance
of any plot, would sing out: "Post number fo, twelve o'clock, and a-l-l's
w-e-l-l. Post number six, twelve o'clock, and a-l-l's w-e-l-l!" When,
perhaps, some wakeful wag of a Yankee prisoner would answer: "Post number
fo, twelve o'clock, and the Confederacy has gone to h--l," in the same
sing-song way the reb guard had just given it. Sometimes the Johnnies
would take all of this good-naturedly, and at others would call out:
"Here, you Yanks, if youens don't keep still I'll shoot in thar," which
would have the effect of quieting them for a time.
On the 17th of May, we were moved into the stockade, and it was not long
before we commenced prospecting to find an opening for an escape.
A tunnel was commenced almost immediately, but after working ten nights
upon it, it was discovered and filled up. This did not discourage them,
however; they must have something to occupy their time; and although we
were busy all day building sheds, this did not prevent us from trying
nights to find a way out of our confinement. When the first tunnel was
discovered, that had just been started, all hands were fell into line, and
a general search was made for tunnels, but none were discovered. On the
next day, however, Captain Tabb succeeded in discovering another, and in
an altercation with Maj. Pasco, of the 16th Connecticut, who was claiming
that he had a right to escape whenever he could, slapped the Major in the
face for asserting his rights. This was a cowardly act, for Tabb was not
only armed, but surrounded by a guard, while, of course, Major Pasco was
an unarmed prisoner. It made a fellow's blood boil to witness and suffer
such indignities; but what could we do under such circumstances? To resist
was certain death, while to submit was a mortification and humiliation
that it was hard for a proud-spirited officer to submit to, in the
presence of his comrades. All we could do was to hoot and hiss him from a
safe distance, and chaff and exasperate him by sneering, deriding and
laughing at him; so that although he was the king, and we the subjects, we
managed to insert in the crown he wore, more thorns than laurels. On the
second day after the discovery of this second tunnel, Tabb had a platform
built on the northwest corner of the stockade, and another on the opposite
side, upon each of which he mounted a twelve-pounder brass-piece.
Here was a good chance to have some fun, and as we watched the progress of
the erection of the platforms and mounting of the guns, we indulged in all
sorts of comments and criticisms. Some one would sing out, "Say, Captain,
get a good, strong force behind that gun when you fire it, to catch it
when it goes over;" "Say, Johnny, that gun is like the Irishman's musket,
there'll be more danger behind it than in front;" "Tabb, when you fire
that gun, just stand plumb behind it, and we'll be satisfied;" "I'll let
you shoot that gun at me for a dollar a shot, and take Confederate money,
if you will pull the laniard yourself." "How is it that Lee never found
you out, and placed you in command of his engineer corps or artillery,
instead of keeping such a genius here, guarding Yankee prisoners, with no
chance of immortalizing yourself?" "Barnum would make a fortune out of
you. Why, he paid five thousand dollars once for a fellow that wasn't half
as big a humbug, and done well out of the speculation." "Oh! go soak your
head." "Don't shoot, Tabb; we won't tunnel any more." "We don't want to
get away; we just dig a little once in a while for exercise." "You can't
drive us out of the Confederacy with that gun; we have come to stay."
Such exasperating expressions were kept up from morning till night, for
the two days they were at work erecting these guns on the frail platforms,
to prevent tunnelling. But these precautions did not for a moment
interfere with our tunnelling, and while we were thus pestering Tabb,
others were busy preparing other avenues of escape. Two tunnels were
started simultaneously, one commencing in an old building on the east side
of the camp, and the other in what was called No. 7 Squad, which was on
the opposite side of the stockade. The one on the east side was already to
open, and the one on the west nearly ready, when they were both discovered
and filled up. There was strong evidence of treachery in the discovery of
these tunnels, as Captain Tabb went directly to both of them, and seemed
to know just where to find them.
There was at this time in the prison, one Hartswell Silver, who claimed to
be a Captain in the 16th Illinois Cavalry, but who was generally believed
to be a spy, placed in there to detect our efforts at escape, and to him
was attributed the disclosure of our plot. Had these two tunnels been
completed, at least half of the officers would have escaped, and as the
force guarding us was small at that time, there is no doubt but that the
majority of us would have succeeded in getting away. In fact the evening
before, two or three officers escaped, by crawling under the stockade,
where the branch or stream entered the camp. They were fired upon by the
guard, and one was brought back. The long roll was sounded and the whole
force turned out in expectation of a general break. All officers were
notified that any one leaving their quarters, even to go to the sink,
would be fired upon by the guard. A great excitement prevailed among the
rebs all night, which was aggravated by those in their bunks calling out
every little while--"Corporal of the guard post number fo." "Dry up there
will you." "Oh! give us a rest." "Louder old pudden head." "What's the
matter with you." "Put him out." "Shoot him." "Lie down." "Tabb try your
big gun on this fellow," and like expressions, making a perfect uproar in
camp all night long. After a moment's silence, some fellow would imitate
the plaintive caterwaling of a cat, another barking like a hound, and
another would answer from away off with the deep bark of the mastiff,
another would crow like a cock. Sleep was out of the question, you might
as well try to quiet a barroom full of drunken politicians who had elected
their favorite candidate as to keep those fellows still. Once in a while
the guard would call out, "keep still there you Yanks or I'll shoot in
there," when some one at a safe distance would sing out "Put him in the
guard house." "Buck and gag him." "Stone the loafer," etc., and so it kept
on during the whole night.
The next morning Tabb had two more field pieces planted in the woods to
the south of our camp, and horsemen appeared with hounds to track and
capture the fugitives, but for some reason they could not get on the right
trail and only succeeded in treeing a coon. There were several other
escapes about this time. One by Lieut. H. Lee Clark, 2d Massachusetts H.
A., who sought out Miss Frankie Richardson, who made arrangements to help
him out of the city, but this same Hartswell Silver, who was boarding
there, betrayed him and he was brought back again. This Silver was paroled
the day the tunnels were discovered and was never in camp afterwards, and
it is just as well for him that he was not, for, as the boys said, Silver
was at that time at a premium, and would have been higher, if he had put
in an appearance. Lieut. Frost, 85th New York, also escaped in a reb
uniform, as did several others, and Lieutenant Wilson of the regulars
was sent out in the sutler's vegetable box. This Lieutenant Wilson was
an Englishman, and I think belonged to the regular army.
[Illustration: MR. CASHMEYER'S SUTLER WAGON, MACON, GA.]
Mr. Cashmeyer came in one afternoon, as was his daily custom, with his
cart, driven by a negro. Upon the cart was a dry goods box, filled with
potatoes, onions, cabbage, turnips, bacon, beef, eggs, &c., which he
usually disposed of to the Yankee sutler and others whose means justified
them in purchasing, in what we call large quantities. He stopped as usual,
at the shanty of the camp sutler, and there sold out his load. While he
was in the shanty settling up, the crowd as usual gathered around his
cart, and this Lieut. Wilson clambered into the box on the cart, while the
crowd stood about the door of the shanty, the negro driver all the time
maintaining that stolid look of innocence, so peculiar to the race, as he
(the Lieutenant) was covered with empty sacks, that had contained the
vegetables. And when Mr. Cashmeyer mounted the seat beside the driver, and
left the camp, he was as innocent of helping a Yankee to escape, as the
innocent looking negro seemed to be. The negro drove directly to the barn
and unharnessed the mule, and as it was nearly dark, went to his quarters.
The Lieutenant finding himself alone clambered out of the box and started
off. Taking the railroad, he walked about five miles, when, as he said, he
met a man who looked very fierce and who asked him where he came from, and
where he was going. And after giving an equivocal answer the man asked
him if he was not a Yankee officer, which he was too scrupulous to deny,
and gave himself up, and allowed himself to be brought back, although the
man who brought him back was like himself unarmed. But as he said on his
return, the man spoke so gruff like, and looked so stern, that he thought
there was no use of remonstrating. We nicknamed him George Washington, and
tried to find a little hatchet for him, as an emblem of his innocence and
truthfulness. As he remained in prison for a long time thereafter however,
I think he may have regretted before he was exchanged, the conscientious
scruples that would not allow him to tell a lie, even for the sake of
freeing himself from the jeers of his comrades, and the tortures of prison
life, which he had to endure afterwards.
It was a long time before he heard the last about that daring attempt to
escape and the heroic defence he made against that unarmed reb who had
recaptured and brought him back, and the desperate and successful
resistance he had made against the temptation to tell a lie.
There is not an officer living who witnessed it, but will remember the
celebration we held on the 4th of July. I will here quote what I that day
briefly wrote in my diary of this celebration.
The day dawned bright and beautiful. I was up before the sun and prepared
breakfast for Captains Hock, Cady and myself, which consisted of corn
bread and butter, fried eggs, fried potatoes and coffee.
Our thoughts, now more than ever, turned towards the loved ones at home,
who we see in imagination, with cheerful faces and bright smiles, hailing
another anniversary of the day upon which _our glorious republic was
born_, and methinks I can sometimes detect a shade of sadness flitting
over the joyous features of kind friends, as the memory of the loved and
absent is briefly recalled.
As we were being fell in for roll call, an officer displayed a miniature
flag bearing the stars and stripes, which was greeted with cheer after
cheer, by eighteen hundred prisoners. All gathered around that little
emblem of liberty, and while every heart seemed bursting with patriotic
enthusiasm, a thousand voices joined in singing that old song, which never
fails to fire the patriotic heart--_The Star Spangled Banner_. After roll
call, the officers by a common impulse assembled in and about the main
building, in the center of the camp, and the services were opened by
singing "Rally 'Round the Flag," by the entire audience, after which
Chaplain Dixon was called upon for prayer. He appealed in eloquent terms
in behalf of our beloved but distracted country, for the success of our
cause, for the President of the United States and all in authority, for
universal freedom all over our land and the world, and for the speedy
return of peace, when we could beat our swords into plow shares, and our
spears into pruning hooks.
At the conclusion of the prayer, the entire congregation joined in singing
"My Country 'Tis of Thee." Captain Henry Ives was then called for, and
mounting the platform gave us a very eloquent and stirring address. He was
followed by Lieut. Ogden, 1st Wisconsin Cavalry, Lieutenant Leigh, 132nd
New York, Captain E. N. Lee, 5th Michigan Cavalry, Captain Kellog,
Chaplain Whitney, Chaplain Dixon and Lieut. Col. Thorp, 1st New York
dragoons. I have during my life participated in a great many Fourth of
July celebrations, but I never before--and I believe every officer at that
time in Macon will say the same for himself--really and truly appreciated
what a genuine celebration of the day meant.
If a stranger had come into camp Oglethorp at 3 o'clock that afternoon, he
would have thought every man in prison was drunk, so intense was the
enthusiasm, and yet there had not been a drop of anything of an
intoxicating nature, to be had at any price for two months. Officers were
drunk with excitement. The sight of that little flag that had been
presented to Captain Todd by his sweetheart and smuggled into prison,
sewed up in the lining of his vest, when shown in the morning, had created
a degree of patriotic excitement that could not be kept down, and when
some one said that Gibbs was coming in with a guard to take that flag, and
suggested that it be secreted, a thousand voices shouted--stand by the
flag boys--no traitor's hand shall touch that flag--keep her
swinging--there's not rebs enough in Macon to take that flag to-day,
&c.,--and I really and firmly believe that a terrible and bloody struggle
would have ensued, had there been any attempt on the part of the
authorities, to interfere with it or take it from us. I never saw men
wrought up to such a pitch of excitement, and the rebs were afraid all
day, that an attempt would be made to assault the stockade and break out.
From nine o'clock in the morning until three in the afternoon, the
celebration was kept up, with speaking and singing, when finally the rebel
commandant sent in his officer of the day, who said we had been permitted
to have a good celebration, and now he wished us to quietly adjourn which
we did; giving three hearty cheers for the flag, three for Lincoln, and
three for the cause. No officer who participated in this celebration can
ever forget it while reason holds its sway.
Lieutenant Col. Thorp who had made a ringing speech, full of patriotic
fire and enthusiastic confidence in the justice of our cause, and the
ability of the Northern soldiers to maintain our national unity, restore
the glorious old flag, with the stains of treason cleansed from its
shining folds by the blood of loyal hearts, with not a star missing from
its azure field, urged with the most impassioned eloquence, every officer
in that prison pen to consecrate himself anew on this sacred day, to the
cause of universal liberty, and the perpetuity of our national
institutions, and pledge himself anew beneath that beautiful little emblem
of freedom, to never sheathe his sword, until every traitor in all this
broad land had kneeled beneath its tattered and blood-stained folds, and
humbly craved the pardon of an outraged people, for their dastardly
attempt to trail it in the filthy slough of Secession. I cannot pretend to
give his words, and cannot fitly portray the fierce impetuosity, with
which his scathing sentences were hurled like red hot shot into the ranks
of treason. It was one of the most masterly efforts of patriotic eloquence
I ever listened to, and when he had finished his address, which had been
heartily applauded throughout, his hearers were wrought up to such a pitch
of patriotic frenzy, that I really believe that had he at its close,
called upon that unarmed crowd to follow him in an assault against the
wooden stockade that surrounded us, that few would have been found to lag
behind. He was at that time senior officer in the camp, and as such had
been assigned by Col. Gibbs, the rebel commandant, to the command of the
prison inside.
But shortly after this speech, a notice was posted on the side of the
large building where this meeting had been held, removing him from the
position, for making an inflammatory speech, and appointing another
officer to the place. Col. Thorpe seemed to feel almost as much pride in
this recognition of his effort at a Fourth of July speech, as in the
applause he had received from his prison companions, or as he would had he
been complimented on the field by his superior for a dashing cavalry
charge, and the compliment was all the more appreciated because it had
been paid to him so unconsciously by Col. Gibbs.
The stockade at Macon was built of inch pine boards, twelve feet long, put
up endwise and made as tight as possible. On the outside of this fence,
and about four feet from the top, was a platform for the sentry to walk
on, where they could keep a lookout over the camp to see that we were not
trying to escape. Upon this platform were posted sentinels at intervals of
about thirty yards, with instructions to shoot any prisoner who touched or
attempted to pass the _dead line_, which was a row of stakes, or sometimes
a fence of light slats, such as a farmer would build to keep his chickens
or ducks from roaming, and was about twenty-five feet from the stockade.
The original object in establishing the dead line was a precaution against
a sudden raid on the stockade, but it often afforded an excuse for some
cowardly guard to shoot a Yankee prisoner, who inadvertantly came near
enough to place his hand against it. We were not allowed to hang our
clothes on this fence to dry, and on no account could a prisoner pass it
with impunity.