At Staunton--Thence to Waynesboro, Meacham's, and Richmond.
At Staunton we got a little more light on the value of Confederate
paper. A chivalrous surgeon who accompanied the provost guard
(Fontleroy, I think, was his name[4]) politely invited Captain Dickerman
of the 26th Massachusetts and myself to take breakfast with him in a
restaurant. We needed no urging. The Provost Marshal gave consent. The
saloon was kept by a negro named Jackson. His entire stock of provisions
consisted of nine eggs, the toughest kind of neck beef, bread and salt,
coffee very weak, butter very strong. As we sat waiting, the doctor
remarked with a lordly air that under ordinary circumstances he would
not deign to eat with Yankees. I answered good-naturedly: "I'm as much
ashamed as you can be; and if _you'll_ never tell of it, _I_ won't!" The
food, notwithstanding its toughness, rapidly disappeared. Near the last
mouthful the doctor said: "You two will have to pay for this breakfast,
for I've no money." I had fifteen Confederate dollars remaining of
twenty which I had received for a five-dollar greenback at Tom's Brook,
and I answered: "Give yourself no anxiety; I'll foot the bill."--"Well,
Jackson," said I to the sable proprietor, "what's the damage?" He
replied, "I shan't charge you-ones full price. Let's see! Beef, seven;
eggs, two--nine; coffee, three--twelve; bread and butter,
three--fifteen; three of you--forty-five. I'll call it only thirty-six
dollars!" I paid my fifteen; Captain Dickerman pleaded poverty; and the
dignified doctor, who had so cordially invited us to partake of his
hospitality, promised the disappointed Jackson that he would pay the
balance at some future day ("the futurest kind of a day," was added in
an undertone).
Rejoining the three or four hundred prisoners, we found, besides the
Confederate guards, a great crowd of spectators swarming around us. One
of them, a fine-looking young man, wearing the blue uniform of a United
States captain, made his way through the group, and handed me a
twenty-dollar Confederate bill! The following dialogue ensued:
"Here, Colonel, take that."
"I thank you much. Who are you, so kind to a stranger and an enemy?"
"I'm one whom you Yanks would hang, if you could catch me."
"Why so? Who are you?"
"I'm one of Morgan's guerrillas; wouldn't you hang me?"
"I think I should, if you had much of this stuff about you" (holding up
the twenty-dollar bill); "I've just paid fifteen Confederate dollars for
an imaginary breakfast."
"Good for you, Colonel. Here, take another twenty. Now you've forty.
That'll pay for an imaginary dinner. Good-bye, Colonel! I have an
engagement--to meet some of your cavalry. Remember, Morgan's guerrillas
are not rascals, but gentlemen. Good-bye!" He vanished.
About noon those of us who appeared unable to march farther were put on
top of freight cars, and carried about a dozen miles east to Waynesboro.
Here the railway crosses a stream, which encircles a little island just
north of the bridge. The majority had to walk. At dusk that Sunday
evening all had come. They put us on the island carefully guarded on all
sides. Never was I more thankful. I had had something good to eat at
Staunton; had got rested riding on the roof of the car; and I had my
overcoat. Davy Crockett preferred a heap of chestnut burs for a pillow;
but I followed the patriarch's example and chose a flat stone. People
never allowed me to sing; but I dropped asleep repeating the stanza in
Mrs. Adams's exquisite hymn.
Though, like the wanderer,
The sun gone down,
Darkness be over me,
My rest a stone,
Yet in my dreams I'd be
Nearer, my God, to thee!
Towards midnight the cold became so keen that I rose and went to the
side of a flickering fire. Here excessive misery was for a moment
hardening the hearts it should have softened. Several prisoners were
quarreling for a position nearest the embers, each angrily claiming that
he had brought the fagots that were burning! Two or three hours later
several of us attempted to slip past the sentries in the darkness, but
were stopped before we reached the water.
At earliest streak of dawn we were marched away. About two miles brought
us to the Blue Ridge where the railroad tunnel pierces its foundations.
We toiled up and on in time to see the sun rise. An ocean of fog lay
around us. Never shall we forget how royally the King of Day scaled the
great wall that seemed to hem in on every side the wide valley, and how
the sea of mist and cloud visibly fled before the inrolling flood of
light, unveiling green and yellow fields, flocks and herds, dark
woodlands, dwellings yet asleep in peace and plenty, here and there the
silver thread of a winding stream with lakes that mirrored the sky, and
yonder the long stretches of those titanic fortifications encompassing
all. We were reminded of Shakespeare's sunrise:
Full many a glorious morning have I seen
Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye,
Kissing with golden face the meadows green,
Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.
At that instant a train of cars from Charlottesville came sliding along,
and shot
Into the tunnel, like a lightning wedge
By great Thor hammers driven through the rock!
The scene startled us by its sublimity, and for a few minutes the hungry
forgot their craving, the footsore their pain, the hopeless their
despair.
That day's march, though not so long was as severe as any; we were
exhausted. Private Dolan, Co. K, 159th N. Y., was barefoot. His feet
were blistered and bleeding. I begged the commander of the provost
guard, Captain Haslett, to allow him to get into an ambulance. My
request was not granted. But we soon afterwards passed a large mansion
in front of which were several girls and women apparently making fun of
the unwashed "Yank" and evidently enjoying the spectacle. We were halted
just as Dolan came limping along supported on one side by a stronger
comrade. They saw his miserable plight, his distress, his swollen feet,
and they heard of the stern command to shoot any prisoner who fell out
or lagged behind. Their faces changed. With tears one or two implored
the Captain to let him ride in the ambulance. He yielded to their
entreaties. Southern ladies almost always seemed handsome to us, but
these in my memory have the fairest faces. I thought of Lady Clare in
_Marmion_, and the words still recur:
O Woman! in our hours of ease,
Uncertain, coy, and hard to please,
And variable as the shade
By the light quivering aspen made;
When pain and anguish wring the brow,
A ministering angel thou!
Two miles before we reached our temporary destination, Meacham's
Station, my own strength utterly failed. I had borne up so long, partly
to set an example of cheerful endurance, and partly from something like
Mark Tapley's pride at coming out strong and jolly under the most
depressing circumstances. I lay beside the road, remarking to Captain
Haslett, who immediately came riding to the spot, "Captain, here's a
fine chance to try your marksmanship; I can't march any further; shan't
try to."--"Colonel," he replied with something of pity in his tone and
manner, "I'm sorry to see you so used up. I'm sorry to be obliged to
march you prisoners so hard. I have to keep out of the way of your
damned cavalry. You may get into the ambulance." So into the ambulance I
climbed with some difficulty, and immediately commenced my freemasonry
on the driver. He responded to the signs. He proved to be an
acquaintance of the Redwoods, a family in Mobile, one of whom had been a
classmate of mine at Yale. He gave me some nice milk and some fine wheat
bread. "As a Mason," said he, "I'll feed you; share the last crumb with
you; but as a Confederate soldier I'll fight you till the last drop of
blood and the last ditch."--"I hardly know which to admire most, your
spunk or your milk," I replied. Thereupon he gave me another drink, and
insisted on my imbibing a little of what he called "apple-jack." I was a
"teetotaler"; but thinking the occasion warranted, I "smiled" upon it,
"strictly as a medicine!" "Apple-jack" seemed to me the same thing as
"Jersey lightning." He became quite friendly, but was horribly profane.
"Look here," said he, "you seem to be a sort of Christian; cuss me if
you don't! What in h--l are you Yanks all comin' down here for?"--"You
have a gift at swearing," I said; "did you, among your other oaths, ever
swear to support the Constitution of the United States?"--"Well,
yes."--"That's what's the matter with us," I said, "we're keeping our
oaths and you are breaking yours."--"To h--l with the Constitution of
the United States! Our first duty is to our own State. We've a right to
be an independent nation, and we will. I'm a guerrilla. If our armies
are defeated, I'll fight you on my own hook. I'll fire on you from
behind every tree and every rock. I'll assassinate every invader. I want
you to remember that I'm a guerrilla."--"I like your _spirits_," I said.
"They are worthy of a better cause."--"Take another swallow of 'em," he
replied, handing me the canteen. I toasted him: "Here's hoping you
gorillas will outlive the Southern Confederacy!"--"A d--d equivocal
sentiment," observed my fire-eating, fire-drinking Masonic brother; "but
here we are at Meacham's Station. Good-bye, Yank!"
After our nineteen miles' march it was a most welcome relief to be
placed on platform cars, though packed so closely that we could hardly
stir. We objected that the cars had no tops. "All the better opportunity
to study astronomy," they replied.--"The cars have no sides to keep off
the wind."--"The scenery is magnificent," they rejoined, "and they'll
answer for 'observation cars'; you have an unobstructed view."--"But the
nights are growing cold."--"You'll keep warm by contact with each
other." Mad at this mockery, hungry, half-frozen, squeezed like fish in
a basket, we took little note of scenery or stars; but it was a comfort
to believe that our discomfort was caused by the rapid advance of
Sheridan's cavalry.
More dead than alive, though hardly dead enough to bury, having been
jolted along all the afternoon and all night, we reached Richmond about
sunrise, Tuesday, September 27th. Numbering now nearly four hundred we
were escorted through the streets to the notorious Libby prison and
halted in front. The Union officers inside thronged the windows to see
us come. On every face was a sad, despondent, pitying look, the most
discouraging sight I ever saw. No smiles there nor among us. Conspicuous
among them was the sorrowful countenance of Lieut.-Col. Charles H.
Hooper of the 24th Massachusetts Infantry, with his long handsome auburn
beard. Some one inside whispered loud enough for several of our "Four
Hundred" to hear, "Hide your greenbacks!" We passed the word down the
column, "Hide your greenbacks!"
A few minutes revealed its significance. We were taken in a body in upon
the lower floor. There Major Nat. Turner, prison inspector, cousin of
the celebrated Dick Turner of unlovely reputation, made us a speech.
You will empty your pockets of all valuables. Such as are not
contraband of war, you will be allowed to retain. You will deliver
up all your Federal money. An equivalent amount in Confederate money
will be given you in instalments from time to time, or the whole
will be returned to you when you are exchanged. You will turn
pockets inside out. If you attempt to conceal anything, it will be
confiscated.
We were made to step forward singly, and were searched. Our coats and
vests were taken off, also our boots and shoes; and a Confederate
officer felt very carefully of all our clothing to make sure that
nothing was hidden. I "remembered to forget" that I had two ten-dollar
greenbacks compressed into a little wad in one corner of my watch fob;
and that corner escaped inspection. Dick Turpin never was the richer for
that money. They examined suspiciously a pocket edition of the New
Testament in the original Greek; but I assured them it was not some
diabolical Yankee cipher, and they allowed me to keep it. I made the
most of my freemasonry, and they permitted me to retain my overcoat. One
of our prisoners, it was whispered, had secretly stuffed $1300 in
greenbacks into his canteen, but all canteens were taken from us as
contraband of war, and nobody but "Uncle Sam" profited by the
concealment.
Having "gone through" us, they incarcerated the officers in one room,
the enlisted men in another.
FOOTNOTES:
[4] Dr. Fontleroy was a brother of Mrs. Major Whittlesey, one of my
fellow professors, instructor in military tactics, at Cornell
University. Whittlesey was a graduate of West Point, and, while there,
had had cadet U. S. Grant under his command!