Opening of 1865--Gloomy Outlook--Prison Pens--Return to South Carolina
of Kershaw's Brigade.
The opening of the year 1865 looked gloomy enough for the cause of
the Confederacy. The hopes of foreign intervention had long since
been looked upon as an ignis fatuus and a delusion, while our maritime
power had been swept from the seas. All the ports, with the exception
of Charleston, S.C., and Wilmington, N.C., were now in the hands of
the Federals. Fort Fisher, the Gibraltar of the South, that guarded
the inlet of Cape Fear River, was taken by land and naval forces,
under General Terry and Admiral Porter. Forts Sumter and Moultrie, at
the Charleston Harbor, continued to hold out for a while longer. The
year before the "Alabama," an ironclad of the Confederates, was
sunk off the coast of France. Then followed the "Albemarle" and the
"Florida." The ram "Tennessee" had to strike her colors on the 5th of
August, in Mobile Bay. Then all the forts that protected the bay were
either blown up or evacuated, leaving the Entrance to Mobile Bay open
to the fleet of the Federals.
Sherman was recuperating his army around Savannah, and was preparing
a farther advance now northward after his successful march to the sea.
At Savannah he was met by a formidable fleet of ironclads and men of
war, which were to accompany him by sailing along the coast in every
direction. These were to form a junction with another army at Newburn,
N.C.
Another matter that caused the South to despond of any other solution
of the war than the bloody end that soon followed, was the re-election
of Abraham Lincoln as President of the United States. The South
felt that as long as he was at the head of the nation nothing but
an unconditional surrender of our armies and the emancipation of the
slaves would suffice this great emancipator. To this the South could
not nor would not accede as long as there were rifles in the field
and men to wield them. A great problem now presented itself to the
Confederate authorities for solution, but who could cut the Gordion
knot? The South had taken during the war two hundred and seventy
thousand prisoners, as against two hundred and twenty-two thousand
taken by the Federals, leaving in excess to the credit of the South
near fifty thousand. For a time several feeble attempts had been made
for an equitable exchange of prisoners, but this did not suit the
policy of the North. Men at the North were no object, and to guard
this great swarm of prisoners in the South it took an army out of the
field, and the great number of Southern soldiers in Northern
prisons took quite another army from the service. In addition to the
difficulty of supplying our own army and people with the necessities
of life, we were put to the strain of feeding one hundred thousand or
more of Federal prisoners. Every inducement was offered the North to
grant some cortel of exchange or some method agreed upon to alienate
the sufferings of these unfortunates confined in the prison pens in
the North and South. The North was offered the privilege of feeding
and clothing their own prisoners, to furnish medical aid and
assistance to their sick. But this was rejected in the face of the
overwhelming sentiments of the fathers, mothers, sisters, and brothers
of those who were suffering and dying like flies in the Southern pens.
Thousands and thousands of petitions were circulated, with strings of
signatures from all classes in the Union, urging Congress to come in
some way to the relief of their people. But a deaf ear was turned to
all entreaties, this being a war measure, and no suffering could be
too great when the good of the service required it. Taking it from a
military point of view, this was the better policy, shocking as it was
to humanity.
At one time it was considered in the Confederate Congress the
propriety of turning loose and sending home as early as practicable
these thousands of prisoners, trusting alone to their honor the
observance of the parole. It was thought by the majority that the
indiscriminate mingling and mixing of these fanatical agitators with
the peaceable slaves in the country might incite insurrection and a
bloody social war break out should the prisoners be released at the
prison pens. Under all the varying circumstances the South was still
busily engaged in mobilizing these prisoners in certain quarters, to
protect them as far as possible from liberation by raiding parties.
At Andersonville, Ga., there were twenty-two thousand; at Florence,
S.C., two thousand; Salisbury, N.C., ten thousand; several hundred in
Columbia, and detached numbers scattered along at various points
on the railroads, at such places where convenient quarters could be
secured and properly guarded. Quite a large number were at Bell Isle,
on the James River, as well as at the Liby Prison, in Richmond. These
prisoners were sometimes guarded by the State militia and disabled
veterans. Those at Florence were guarded by boy companies, under
command of Colonel Williams, the former commander of the Third South
Carolina. The stockades, as the prison pens were called, consisted of
tall pine trees set into the ground some six or eight feet, standing
upright and adjoining. The space thus enclosed covered several acres
or as much more as there were prisoners or troops to guard them. The
stockade fence was about fifteen feet above the level of the ground,
with a walk way three feet from the top, on which the guards watched.
There was a "dead line" some fifteen or twenty paces from the inside
of the wall, over which no prisoner was allowed to cross, on penalty
of being shot. And to prevent any collusion between the prisoners and
the guard, none were permitted to speak to the sentinels under any
circumstances. To better carry out these orders, the soldier Who
detected a prisoner speaking to a guard and shot him, a thirty days'
furlough was given as an acknowledgment of his faithful observance of
orders. On more occasions than one the prisoners in their attempt to
draw inexperienced guards into a conversation, and perhaps offer a
bribe, met their death instantly. Inside the enclosure some of the
prisoners huddled under little tents or blankets, but the greater
number burrowed under the ground like moles or prairie dogs. Numbers
made their escape by tunnelling under the wall.
When Sherman began his march through Georgia, the major portion at
Andersonville were removed to Salisbury, N.C., where a great national
cemetery was set apart after the war, and kept under the authority of
the war department, containing thousands of graves--monuments to the
sufferings and death of these unfortunate people--a sacrifice to what
their government called a "military necessity." Our prisoners were
scattered in like manner at Camp Chase, in Ohio; Fort Johnston, in
Lake Michigan; Fort Delaware, in the Delaware River; and many other
places, subject to greater sufferings and hardships than the Federal
prisoners in our hands.
The Government of the South had nothing to do but accept the
conditions imposed upon the sufferers by the authorities in
Washington.
In January, 1865, rumors were rife in camp of the transfer of some of
the South Carolina troops to their own State to help swell the
little band that was at that time fighting on the flanks and front of
Sherman. Of course it was not possible that all could be spared from
Lee, but it had become a certain fact, if judged from the rumors in
camp, that some at least were to be transferred. So when orders came
for Kershaw's Brigade to break camp and march to Richmond, all were
overjoyed. Outside of the fact that we were to be again on our
"native heath" and fight the invader on our own soil, the soldiers of
Kershaw's Brigade felt not a little complimented at being selected
as the brigade to be placed at such a post of honor. It is a settled
feeling among all troops and a pardonable pride, too, that their
organization, let it be company, regiment, brigade, or even division
or corps, is superior to any other like organization in bravery,
discipline, or any soldierly attainments. Troops of different States
claim superiority over those of their sister States, while the same
rivalry exists between organizations of the same State. So when it
was learned for a certainty that the old First Brigade was to be
transferred to South Carolina, all felt a keen pride in being thus
selected, and now stamped it as a settled fact, that which they had
always claimed, "the best troops from the State." The State furnished
the best to the Confederacy, and a logical conclusion would be
"Kershaw's Brigade was the best of the service." Thus our troops
prided themselves. Under such feelings and enthusiasm, it is little
wonder that they were anxious to meet Sherman, and had circumstances
permitted and a battle fought in South Carolina, these troops would
have come up to the expectations of their countrymen.
But here I will state a fact that all who read history of this war
will be compelled to admit, and that is, the department at Richmond
had no settled or determined policy in regard to the actions of the
army at the South. It would appear from reading contemporary history
that Mr. Davis and his cabinet acted like Micawber, and "waited for
something to turn up." His continual intermeddling with the plans of
the Generals in the field, the dogged tenacity with which he held to
his policies, his refusals to allow commanders to formulate their own
plans of campaigns, forced upon Congress the necessity of putting one
at the head of all the armies whom the Generals, soldiers, as well as
the country at large, had entire confidence. General Lee filled this
position to the perfect satisfaction of all, still his modesty or a
morbid dislike to appear dictatorial, his timidity in the presence of
his superiors, often permitted matters to go counter to his own
views. It appears, too, that when General Sherman allowed Hood to pass
unmolested to his right, and he began tearing up the railroads in his
rear, it was a move so different to all rules of war, that it took
the authorities with surprise. Then when he began his memorable march
through the very heart of Georgia--Hood with a great army in his rear,
in his front the sea--the South stood stupified and bewildered at this
stupendous undertaking. It was thought by the army and the people that
some direful blow would be struck Sherman when he was well under way
in Georgia, and when too far from his base in the rear, and not far
enough advanced to reach the fleet that was to meet him in his front.
How, when, or by whom this blow was to be struck, none even ventured
an opinion, but that the authorities had Sherman's overthrow in view,
all felt satisfied and convinced. But as events have shown since, it
seems that our authorities in Richmond and the commanders in the field
were as much at sea as the soldiers and people themselves. It was
the purpose of General Beauregard to collect out all the militia of
Governor Clark of Mississippi, of Governor Watts of Alabama, Governor
Brown of Georgia, and of Governor Bonham of South Carolina to the
southern part of Georgia, there, as Sherman approached, to reinforce
General Hardee with all these State troops and reserves, under General
Cobb, which numbered in all about eight thousand, and hold him in
check until Hood came upon Sherman's rear, or forced him to retire.
Of course it was expected, as a matter of fact, that Hood would
be successful against the hastily concentrated army of Thomas, and
Sherman would be forced to return for the protection of Kentucky and
Ohio. But in military matters, as in others, too much must not be
taken for granted, and where great events hinge on so many minor
details, it is not surprising that there should be miscarriages. Hood
was totally defeated and routed in Tennessee. The Governors of the
sister States, on false principles of safety and obsolete statutes,
refused to permit the State troops to leave the borders of their
respective States, leaving nothing before Sherman but the handful of
wornout veterans of Hardee and the few State troops of Georgia, to be
beaten in detail as Sherman passed through the State. The women and
children of our State were in the same frenzied condition at this time
as those of Georgia had been when the Federals commenced their march
from Atlanta. In fact, more so, for they had watched with bated breath
the march of the vandals across the Savannah--the smoke of the burning
homesteads, the wreck and ruin of their sister State--left little
hope of leniency or mercy at the hands of the enemy, while all their
strength and dependence in the way of manhood were either in the
trenches with Lee or with the reserves along the borders of the State.
Companies were formed everywhere of boys and old men to help beat back
the mighty annaconda that was now menacing with its coils our common
country. These were quite unique organizations, the State troops of
the South. The grandfathers and grandsons stood side by side in the
ranks; the fathers and sons had either fallen at the front or far away
in a distant State, fighting for the Southland.
The people of this day and generation and those who are to come
afterwards, will never understand how was it possible for the women of
the South to remain at their homes all alone, with the helpless
little children clustering around their knees, while all that had
the semblance of manhood had gone to the front. Yet with all this, a
merciless, heartless, and vengeful foe stood at their threshold,
with the sword in one hand and the torch in the other. Not only thus
confronted, they were at the mercy of four or five millions of
negro slaves, waiting for freedom, as only a people could after two
centuries of slavery. The enemy was ready and willing to excite these
otherwise harmless, peaceful, and contented negroes to insurrection
and wholesale butchery. But be it said to the everlasting credit
and honor of the brave women of the South, that they never uttered
a reproach, a murmur, or a regret at the conditions in which
circumstances had placed them. But the negro, faithful to his
instincts, remained true, and outside of an occasional outburst of
enthusiasm at their newly found freedom, continued loyal to the end to
these old masters, and looked with as much sorrow and abhorence upon
this wanton destruction of the old homestead, around which clustered
so many bright and happy memories, as if they had been of the
same bone and the same flesh of their masters. Notwithstanding the
numberless attempts by Federal soldiers now spread over an area of
fifty miles to excite the negro to such frenzy that they might insult
and outrage the delicate sensibilities of the women of the South,
still not a single instance of such acts has been recorded.
Such were the feelings and condition of the country when Kershaw's
Brigade, now under General Kennedy, boarded the train in Richmond,
in January, 1865. We came by way of Charlotte and landed in Columbia
about nightfall. The strictest orders were given not to allow any
of the troops to leave or stop over, however near their homes they
passed, or how long they had been absent. In fact, most of the younger
men did not relish the idea of being seen by our lovely women just
at that time, for our disastrous valley campaign and the close
investiture of Richmond by Grant--the still closer blockade of our
ports--left them almost destitute in the way of shoes and clothing.
The single railroad leading from our State to the capital had about
all it could do to haul provisions and forage for the army, so it
was difficult to get clothing from home. We were a rather ragged lot,
while the uniforms of the officers looked shabby from the dust and mud
of the valley and the trenches around Richmond. Our few brief months
in winter quarters had not added much, if any, to our appearance.
By some "underground" road, Captain Jno. K. Nance, of the Third, had
procured a spick and span new uniform, and when this dashing young
officer was clad in his Confederate gray, he stood second to none in
the army in the way of "fine looking." New officers did not always
"throw off the old and on with the new" as soon as a new uniform
was bought, but kept the new one, for a while at least, for "State
occasions." These "occasions" consisted in visiting the towns and
cities near camp or in transit from one army to another. An officer
clad in a new uniform on ordinary occasions, when other soldiers were
only in their "fighting garments," looked as much out of place as the
stranger did at the wedding feast "without the wedding garments." But
the day of our departure from Richmond Captain Nance rigged himself
out in the pomp and regulations of war, his bright new buttons
flashing in the sunlight, his crimson sash tied naughtily around his
waist, his sword dangling at his side, he looked the "beheld of all
beholders" as the troops marched with a light and steady step along
the stone-paved streets of Richmond. He had married a year or so
before the beautiful and accomplished sister of our lamented Colonel,
and had telegraphed her to meet him at Columbia on our arrival. He
dared not trust these innoculate garments to the dirty and besmeared
walls of a box car so he discarded the new on our entrance to the
train and dressed in his old as a traveling suit. All the way during
our trip he teased his brother officers and twitted them with being so
"shabbily dressed," while he would be such a "beaw ideal" in his new
uniform when he met his wife. He had never met his wife since his
honeymoon a year before, and then only with a twenty-one days'
furlough, so it can be well imagined with what anticipations he
looked forward to the meeting of his wife. He was so happy in
his expectations that all seemed to take on some of his pleasant
surroundings, and shared with him his delight in the expected meeting
of his young wife. He would look out of the car door and hail a
comrade in the next car with, "Watch me when we reach Columbia, will
you," while the comrade would send back a lot of good-natured railery.
It was an undisputed fact, that Captain Nance was a great favorite
among officers and men, and while all were giving him a friendly
badgering, everyone was glad to see him in such a happy mood. He had
given his new suit in charge of his body servant, Jess, with special
injunction to guard it with his life. Now Jess was devoted to his
master, and was as proud of him as the "squires" of old were of the
knights. Jess, to doubly secure this "cloth of gold" so dear to the
heart of his master, folded the suit nicely and put it in his knapsack
and the knapsack under his head, while he slept the sleep of the just
in the far corner of the box car. When we reached Charlotte Captain
Nance concluded to rig himself out, as this was to be our last place
of stoppage until Columbia was reached, and should his wife meet
him there, then he would be ready. So he orders water and towel,
and behind the car he began preparations for dressing, all the while
bantering the boys about his suit.
At last he was ready to receive the treasured gray. He called out to
his man Jess, "Bring out the uniform."
Jess goes into the car. He fumbles, he hunts--knapsacks thrown aside,
guns and accoutrements dashed in every direction--the knapsack
is found, hastily opened, and searched, but no uniform! The more
impatient and more determined to find the missing clothes, the idea
began more forcibly to impress Jess that he might have slept on the
way. So engrossed was he in the search for the missing suit, that he
failed to hear the orders from his master to--
"Hurry up! If you don't soon bring on that coat I'll frail you out.
You think I can wait out here naked and freeze?"
But still the hunt goes on, haversacks once again thrown aside,
knapsacks overhauled for the third time, while beads of perspiration
begin to drop from the brow of Jess. The real facts began to dawn more
surely upon him. Then Jess spoke, or I might say gave a wail--
"Marse John, 'fore God in heaven, if some grand rascal ain't done
stole your clothes." His great white eyes shone out from the dark
recesses of the car like moons in a bright sky.
Nance was speechless. Raising himself in a more erect position, he
only managed to say: "Jess, don't tell me that uniform is gone. Don't!
Go dig your grave, nigger, for if you black imp of Satan has gone to
sleep and let some scoundrel steal my clothes, then you die."
Such a laugh, such a shout as was set up from one end of the train
to the other was never heard before or since of the "Lone Pine Tree
State." All of us thought at first, and very naturally, too, that it
was only a practical joke being played upon the Captain, and that all
would be right in the end. But not so. What became of that uniform
forever remained a mystery. If the party who committed the theft
had seen or knew the anguish of the victim for one-half hour, his
conscience would have smote him to his grave.
But all is well that ends well. His wife failed to reach him in
time, so he wore the faded and tattered garments, as momentous of
the Valley, through all the tangled swamps and morasses of the
Saltkahatchie, the Edisto, and the Santee with as much pride as if
clothed in the finest robes of a king.
We remained at Branchville for several days, and from thence we were
transported by rail to Charleston and took up quarters on the "Mall."
The citizens hailed us with delight and treated us with the greatest
hospitality. The greater number of the best-to-do citizens had left
the city, and all that lived on the bay and in reach of the enemies
guns had moved to safer quarters in the city or refugeed in the up
country. But every house stood open to us. Flags and handkerchiefs
waved from the windows and housetops, and all was bustle and
commotion, notwithstanding the continual booming of cannon at Sumter
and on Sullivan's Island. Every minute or two a shell would go
whizzing overhead or crashing through the brick walls of the
buildings. Soldiers were parading the streets, citizens going about
their business, while all the little stores and shops were in full
blast, the same as if the "Swamp Angel" was not sending continually
shells into the city. The people had become accustomed to it and paid
little attention to the flying shells.
On one occasion, while a bridal ceremony was being performed in one
of the palatial residences in the city, the room filled with happy
guests, a shell came crashing into the apartment, bursting among the
happy bridal party, killing one of the principals and wounding several
of the guests.
While I and several other officers were eating breakfast at one of the
hotels, a great noise was heard in the upper portion of the building,
giving quite a shock to all. Someone asked the colored waiter, "What
was that noise?" "Only a shell bursting in one of the upper rooms,"
was the reply.
Women and children walked leisurely to market or about their daily
vocations, the shells roaring overhead, with no more excitement or
concern than had it only been a fourth of July celebration.
Even the negroes, usually so timid and excitable, paid but momentary
attention to the dangers.
[Illustration: Lieut. Col. F.S. Lewie, Co. H, 8th S.C. Regiment.]
[Illustration: Capt. Duncan McIntyre, 15th S.C. Regiment.]
[Illustration: Robert W. Shand, Private 2d S.C. Regiment.]
[Illustration: D.H. Crawford, First Sargeant and afterwards Lieut. 2d
S.C. Regiment.]
The Confederates had abandoned the greater part of Morris' Island, and
great batteries had been erected on it by General Gillmore, with the
avowed purpose of burning the city. Some weeks before this he had
erected a battery in the marshes of the island and a special gun cast
that could throw shells five miles, the greatest range of a cannon in
that day. The gun was named the "Swamp Angel" and much was expected of
it, but it did no other execution than the killing of a few civilians
and destroying a few dwellings. The citizens were too brave and
patriotic to desert their homes as long as a soldier remained on the
islands or in the forts. The gallant defenders of Sumter, after a
month of the most terrific connonading the world had ever seen, were
still at their guns, while the fort itself was one mass of ruins,
the whole now being a huge pile of stone, brick, and masonry. Fort
Moultrie, made famous by its heroic defense of Charleston in the days
of the Revolution, and by Jasper leaping the sides of the fort and
replacing the flag over its ramparts, still floated the stars and
bars from its battlements. All around the water front of Charleston
bristled great guns, with ready and willing hands to man them. These
"worthy sons of noble sires," who had, by their unflinching courage,
sent back the British fleet, sinking and colors lowered, were now
ready to emulate their daring example--either to send the fleet of
Gillmore to the bottom, or die at their post. No wonder the people
of South Carolina felt so secure and determined when such soldiers
defended her borders.
The city guards patrolled the streets of Charleston to prevent the
soldiers from leaving their camps without permits, and between these
two branches of the service a bitter feud always existed. The
first night we were in the city some of the soldiers, on the Verbal
permission of their Captains, were taking in the city. Leaving their
arms at camp, they were caught "hors de combat," as it were, and
locked up in the city guardhouse over night. The next morning I went
to look for my absentees, and away up in the top story of the lower
station house I saw them, their heads reaching out of the "ten of
diamonds" and begging to be released. After much red tape, I had them
turned out, and this incident only added to the ill will of the two
parties. After the soldiers began to congregate and recount their
grievances as they thought, they used the city guards pretty roughly
the remainder of our stay. But the most of all these differences were
in the nature of "fun," as the soldiers termed it, and only to give
spice to the soldier's life.
There were two young Captains in the Third, who, both together, would
only make one good man, physically. So small in stature were they that
on some previous occasion they had agreed to "whip the first man they
ever met that they thought small enough to tackle." This personage
they had never as yet met, but walking down King street they entered
a little saloon kept by a Jew. The Jew could scarcely see over the
counter, so low was he, but otherwise well developed. On seeing
the little Jew, the two young officers eyed each other and said one
gleefully:
"John, here's our man."
"Yes, yes," said D, "You tackle him in front and I'll leg him in rear.
By all that's sacred, we can say we whipped one man, at least."
So telling the little Jew of their agreement, and that they thought
he was the man they were looking for, ordered him out to take his
medicine like a little man. The Jew took it good humoredly and told
the officers he was their friend and did not care to fight them, etc.
But the officers persisted so, to "humor them and to show friendship
for the young men," said he would "accommodate them." At that the Jew
struck out with his right on John's jaw, hitting the ceiling with
the little officer. Then with his left he put one in the pit of D.'s
stomach, lifting him clear of the floor and dropping him across a lot
of barrels. Then John was ready by this time to receive a "header"
under the chin, piling him on top of D. The boys crawled out as he was
preparing to finish up the two in fine style, but--
"Hold on! hold on! young man," cried both in a breath, "we are not
mad; we are only in fun; don't strike any more."
"All right," said the Jew, "if you are satisfied I am. Come let's have
a drink."
So all three took a friendly sip, and as the two wiser, if not
stronger, young men left the shop, one said to the other:
"We'll have to get a smaller man yet before we can say we whipped
anybody."
"You are right," said the other; "I was never worse mistaken in all my
life in the size of the man, or he grew faster after he began to fight
than anything I ever saw. He stretched out all over, like a bladder
being blown up."
They found out afterwards that the Jew was a professional boxer, and
was giving lessons to the young men of the city.
The soldiers seemed to be getting rather demoralized by the influences
of the city, and were moved over the Ashley River and encamped about
four miles of the city, in a great pine forest, near the sea. This was
a great sight for many, for as much travelling as the troops had done
during the last four years, this was their first close quarters to the
ocean, and many had never before witnessed the great rolling waters of
the sea. Oysters were plentiful, and negroes on the plantation brought
out boat loads for the soldiers, and gave them out for a little
tobacco or a small amount of Confederate "shin-plasters." These were
about the only articles they had seen in a long time that they could
buy with a "shin-plaster" (fractional currency), as almost every other
commodity was worth from one dollar up. Great fires were built at
night, and eight or ten bushels of the sweet, juicy bivalves were
poured over the heap, to be eaten as the shells would pop by the heat.
From this place, after a week's sojourn, we were carried by rail
to the Saltkahatchie River, at the crossing of the Charleston and
Savannah Railroad.
* * * * *