RECEIVING AND SENDING OFF THE MAIL--ATTEMPTS TO SMUGGLE THROUGH FORBIDDEN
MATTER--SAMPLES OF LETTERS SENT HOME--BOXES OF LETTERS RECEIVED--MY
FEELINGS AT NOT RECEIVING ANY.
We were allowed to write home, and by putting on a Confederate postage
stamp costing 10 cents each, were promised that our letters would be
forwarded to our friends, provided there was nothing objectionable in
them.
We were obliged to leave them unsealed, so they could be examined by the
postoffice department, and in order to ensure an examination they must be
limited to fifty words. I wrote home a number of times, and my letters, as
a general thing, came through all right. I wrote some that I did not
expect they would forward, and was much surprised when I reached home to
find they had been received all right, and in some cases published in the
daily papers. I will give you a sample of one or two. The first was
written to my cousin, H. M. Cooper, and read as follows:
C. S. MILITARY PRISON,
MACON, Ga., July 6, 1864.
MY DEAR HAL:--
Nearly four months have now elapsed since I took up my abode in this
land of bacon and corn dodgers, and like the prodigal son, I often
think of my father's house, where there is bread enough and to
spare. I dream nightly of fatted calves, but awake daily to the sad
reality that my veal cutlets have all been transformed into salt
bacon, my wheaten loaves into corn dodgers, and my wine into bran
coffee.
I had purposed to visit the North during the summer months, but the
many friends I have found here are so anxious to have me remain, that
I find it impossible to tear myself away. But I expect the General[1]
will soon be here, when I shall be obliged to say farewell to my
Southern friends and with much reluctance leave their sunny clime for
my cold, chilly, Northern home.
But their kindness and hospitality will ever be green in my memory
and I shall improve every opportunity to show them the gratitude I
feel for the hospitality they have actually _forced_ me to accept.
[1] General exchange.
This letter, as I have said, was sent through all right, whether it was
because they did not read it or because they failed to discover the
satire--perhaps it should like Nasby's have been labelled a joke--I never
knew. The next was written in the same vein, after I had escaped and been
recaptured. Both had been published in the daily papers here, at the time,
but the last one I have thus far failed to find. It was written after my
escape and recapture, and detailed how, rather than risk the scene that
would be sure to ensue, should I announce my intention of departing to my
friend, the Confederate Colonel, and fearing I might be overcome by such
an affecting leavetaking, that I concluded to start at three o'clock in
the morning, while he was still sleeping, and thus spare not only him, but
myself, an interview that would certainly be embarrassing to one or both
of us.
But that, after I had traveled three hundred miles, his couriers overtook
me, and were so urgent in their appeals for me to return, that I could not
deny them, and had concluded to stay and see a little more of this
beautiful Southern country before my return. But just as soon as I could
persuade my friends to consent to my departure, I should surely return,
and would try and make my friends in the North a good long visit, at
least, before making another journey.
My letters were generally received by my friends in due time, but although
they were promptly answered I never received a line to tell me whether my
wife, who left for Newbern on the night of the first day's fight, had got
home or not, and when I was finally released, after nearly a year's
confinement, I did not know whether she was living or dead until I
telegraphed from Annapolis and received an answer. We resorted to all
sorts of devices to get letters through to our friends in the North, that
contained matter that we were aware the Confederate authorities would not
permit. I once wrote a short note in ink on a page of foolscap, and then
filled up the sheet with a long letter, written with soda, which would be
invisible until heated. My short note was an acrostic, and taking the
first word of each line and reading it down formed this sentence: "I write
with soda."
But this letter never reached its destination. The reb authorities soon
got onto these dodges, and were very careful in their examination of all
correspondence of prisoners, and everything that looked at all suspicious
was destroyed.
I only received one letter while I was in prison, and that was from Col.
James W. Savage, of my regiment, which, for brevity and news, I think I
never saw equalled. I have the letter yet, soiled, faded and worn, but
quote it entire:
HEADQUARTERS 12TH N. Y. VOL. CAVALRY,
CAMP PALMER, July 31st, 1864.
DEAR COOPER:--
Russell is in a Northern hospital, nearly well; Maj. Clarkson is
assistant inspector; Rocha temporarily in command of "I;" Ellison and
Mahon have resigned; Maj. Gasper also, though his resignation has not
been accepted. We have lost a few men in skirmishes since you were
taken. Prewster and Rice, of D, and June, of G, are dead. You and
Hock are constantly remembered by us all.
Signed, J. W. SAVAGE, Col. 12th N. Y. V. Cavalry.
My regards. J. A. JUDSON, Capt. and A. A. Gen'l.
On the 14th of June the first box of letters were received in camp, and as
the adjutant mounted a table and called off the names, eager hands were
held out to receive a missive from home; and to show my feelings I quote
from my diary of that date:
"I listened with bated breath to hear my name called, but the last letter
was called off, and I was obliged to turn away disappointed, as were a
good many others. It seems too bad that even this comfort must be denied
me. I feel as though I was dead to the outer world, and only for hope, of
which I always possessed a good share, I believe I should die.
"If I could only get a letter from home, and know that my wife had arrived
safely and knew of my safety, I could better bear this imprisonment; but
this uncertainty and suspense is enough to drive one _mad_."
I quote this to show how blue it made us feel, after having waited so
long, hoping that a mail would come, and then find that it contained
nothing for us; it made us envious of those who had been more fortunate.
Not getting any letters, made us doubt whether the ones we had written
home, had ever reached their destination. Here is a modest order I had
sent in my last. Please send me two pounds of dried peaches, five of
coffee, five of corn starch, ten of sugar, two of tea, one bar of castile
soap, four cans condensed milk, one codfish, five of dried beef, one of
cheese, two cotton shirts, two pair drawers, thread, etc. Oh, what visions
of good living were mine, while I waited for the arrival of the box
containing all of these good things, but that box never came. I was not
starving, far from it, I had plenty to eat such as it was, and in this
respect was much better off than the most of my comrades, but I so longed
for something from home, something to remind me that I was remembered. It
was the subject of my thoughts through the day, and of my dreams at night;
and I used to have such vivid dreams of home, that after I had been
paroled and returned, I have stood and looked around and pinched myself,
to be sure that I was really out of prison, and not merely dreaming again,
fearful lest I should wake up, as I so frequently had, to find myself
still a prisoner.
I had so frequently had such vivid dreams of home, and as frequently awoke
with such a feeling of despair and anguish, when I found I was still a
prisoner, that even in my dreams, I would doubt the truth of what seemed
so evident to me, and would look about for some familiar object, and say
as I saw something I recognized, I know now that this cannot be a dream.
The first place I would make for when I arrived at Oswego, in my dreams,
was the old Fitzhugh House, which at that time was THE first class house
of the city, and order a dinner, determined to have a good square meal the
first thing, even before visiting my family. These dreams had become so
frequent, and seemed so real, and the reaction so great when I awoke to
the consciousness that it was only a dream, that I could scarcely suppress
a wail of despair, as the truth was forced upon me, that I was still in
that rebel pen, surrounded by an armed guard, with no prospect of release,
and little chance of escape, I can scarcely command language to fitly
describe my feelings at such times.
On the 10th of June the following officers were called out, it was
understood, to be sent to Charleston, to be placed under fire of our
batteries on Morris Island: Generals Wessels, Seymour, Shaler, Scammon and
Hickman; Colonels Grove, Hawkins, Harrison, Lehman, LaGrange, Lee, White,
Bollinger, Brown, Dana, Fordella; Lieutenant Colonels Burnham, Baldwin,
Bartholomew, Cook, Dickinson, Fellows, Fairbanks, Glenn, Hays, Hunter,
Higginbotham, Joslyn, Mackin, Mills, Maxwell, Mahew, Moffit, Alcott,
Postley, Rodgers, Hepford, Stuart, Swift, Taylor, Lascella, and Majors
Beers, Baker, Bates, Clark, Carpenter, Crandall, Grant, Hall and Johnson.
We were quite in hopes that these officers were to be exchanged. I again
quote from my diary of this date: "Exchange stock in this market has been
very dull, but is advancing a little to-day. I do not take any stock yet."
In a few days, forty-four fresh fish came in from Grant's army, which gave
us nearly our full number again, and as every few days brought us fresh
additions, we soon had considerable more than when they were sent away.
These officers all brought us cheering news from the seat of war, and
strengthened our confidence in the ultimate triumph of our cause, but
could give us but little encouragement in regard to exchange. In fact
those in the field seemed to be too actively engaged in breaking up the
Confederacy, to give much thought to their comrades in prison, or what
provisions were being made for their release.