My Capture by the Confederates.
I was made a prisoner of war at the close of the battle of
Chickamauga, Ga., Sept. 20, 1863. Being a mounted orderly on Gen.
Palmer’s staff, my duties were to go where ordered, carrying messages
from one part of the army to another. Gen. Palmer’s division held its
position during the last day of the battle, and just about the time
that the battle closed, which was near the close of the day, it was
withdrawn. A short time before its withdrawal Gen. Palmer and staff,
including myself and two other members of Co. C, rode away from the
line of battle across the Kelly field toward the woods beyond. But
before reaching the woods we came to an old-fashioned rail fence, and
just as the fence was reached a heavy artillery fire was opened upon
us. As near as I could ascertain it came from the extreme left of our
army, some distance north of the Kelly field, beyond a patch of open
woods, where I saw the smoke roll up from some cannon about a quarter
of a mile away. The shots struck nearly lengthwise of the fence,
cutting and splintering the rails and throwing the pieces about us in
every direction, frightening our horses so that we were prevented from
crossing the fence as soon as we desired.
I had no objection to rails but preferred to have them remain in the
fence. The General and staff managed to cross the fence in advance
just about the time that the battery opened fire upon us, and rode
into the woods, where we lost sight of them. Two other comrades and
myself were yet at the fence, trying to cross and follow the rest of
the group, which was our duty to do. We finally succeeded, and also
rode into the woods in search of the General but he had gained some
distance on us and we failed to find him. We continued the search
until, becoming somewhat discouraged and night closing in upon us, we
stopped and held a council of war as it was called, trying to
determine in which direction to go in order to find the General or his
division, but we failed to agree. My proposition was to go in the
direction where our division (Palmer’s) was located during the day,
thinking that we would find it and by this means also find the
whereabouts of the General, I being unaware that the troops had been
withdrawn from their position. My two comrades started off in a
different direction from the one taken by myself, and reached the
Union lines in safety. I went in the direction in which I expected to
find Palmer’s division, thinking that I would be all right. After
riding through the woods a short distance I came to a deep ravine, and
after passing down into it I found many wounded soldiers, who called
to me asking for water, which I was unable to give them, as my canteen
was empty, I having been without water nearly all day myself, and did
not know where to find any. This was a trying time for me, as I heard
these poor wounded comrades groaning and calling to me for help, which
I was unable to give. I rode up the opposite bank of the ravine and
some distance beyond. It had now become quite dark, and I soon arrived
at the place where I expected to find Palmer’s troops, and suddenly
came to a long line of stacked guns, which could be seen by the aid of
some small camp-fires beyond, and on approaching them saw some men
between myself and the fire, near the guns. Some were standing, some
sitting and others lying on the ground.
[Illustration: Crossing the Rail Fence on the Kelly Field.]
These I thought might belong to Palmer’s division. Riding up close to
them I asked one of the men the number of his regiment. He replied “The
16th Mississippi.” He of course had not discovered that I was a
Federal. I was a little doubtful in regard to these troops. Thinking
that there might be some misunderstanding between us I rode down the
line a short distance and inquired again. The answer came “This is the
20th Louisiana.” I was then satisfied that they were Confederate
troops, but they had not yet identified me and perhaps thought that I
was a Confederate. As the fires beyond the line of guns were not
sufficient by which to distinguish my uniform, I still had hopes of
reaching our lines in safety. I saw some small fires in different
directions which apparently had just been started. As I subsequently
learned I was now inside the main line of the Confederate army.
My opinion was that the Federal troops had withdrawn from their
position during the evening and these Confederates had come in there
and stacked arms. The next thing for me to do was to contrive some
plan to make my escape from inside the enemy’s lines. The first thing
I thought of was to get away from these troops before some of them
would identify me. I immediately rode away, perhaps fifteen or twenty
rods, thinking that I might escape unnoticed. While riding through the
woods without a friend except my faithful horse (that had done good
service for Uncle Sam for two years), I thought of many things in a
few seconds. A difficult task was before me (that of reaching the
Union lines in safety). One great difficulty was that I did not know
in which direction to go. It being nighttime I was unable to see
distinctly what was before me and my reader can imagine my
predicament. As I proceeded on farther a voice near me called out
“Halt!” which I obeyed.
I was able to see some object just ahead of my horse, but was unable
to tell what it was. In a few seconds I discovered two men near my
horse’s head. One called out, “Surrender, here, get off your horse”;
which I proceeded to do, as they had the muzzles of their guns
uncomfortably close to my face. And now my goose was cooked.
I never obeyed orders more promptly, and did not stop to argue the
case with them nor ask whether their guns were loaded. By the light of
a few fires which had been started in the vicinity, these Confederates
were enabled to identify me by my uniform, and I could also
distinguish them as we were now so near together. The Confederates
could see me more distinctly than I could them on account of my being
on a horse and they on the ground. There was not the smallest chance
to escape, as I now found myself surrounded by quite a number of the
enemy, about ten to one. The two Confederates who captured me
quarreled, each claiming my sabre and revolver. My sabre was one we
had captured from a Confederate lieutenant at the battle of Stone
River, and was a beauty.
[Illustration: My Capture.]
Little did I care which one got them, I was a prisoner of war under
guard and obliged to comply with all orders, no matter what they were.
I cannot describe the state of my mind just then, but guess I felt
some like the boy, after getting a good whipping which he did not
deserve, very despondent. In a few moments I was conducted under guard
to some commissioned officer’s headquarters for inspection. Before
starting I took my pup tent from my saddle, hung it over my shoulder,
and bade good-bye to my faithful horse, rubbing my hand down over her
honest face as we parted. But now at our final separation came over me
a more piercing sense of the loss of my honest four-footed friend,
that was always so willing and ready to do her duty. We had endured
together the perils of the battle, the scout, the outpost picket, and
the skirmish; also the hardships of the march through mud and slush,
the courier service, and many gripings of hunger which we had shared
together. Now at last our paths separated, I was retired from actual
service to become a prisoner, and she bore her new rider away to
battle against her old friends. It was a sad parting.
We immediately started and marched some distance through the woods to
the headquarters of an officer. I judged him to be a colonel or a
brigadier general, who asked a number of questions and called me such
names as are not to be found in a dictionary, and caused me to think
that he was not very polite in speech. One question I distinctly
remember was, “What did you come down here for and what are you doing
here?” I said, “To lick you folks into the Union.”He replied, “That is
a h——l of a way,” and appeared as cross as a bear with a sore head.
But I thought that he was excusable, because they had suffered
severely along this part of their line which was in front of Palmer’s,
Reynolds’, Baird’s and Johnson’s divisions. Judging by what I could
see and hear during the evening after my capture, I was convinced that
the Confederates were severely punished in front of our part of the
army.
When this sauce-box had gotten through with me, I was conducted a
short distance farther where five more of my comrades in misfortune
were met, who had been captured during the day and were fellow
prisoners with me. We were here allowed to rest but not to eat or
drink, for good reasons. It was now between eight and nine o’clock in
the evening of Sept. 20, and there was a little time for reflection. I
felt a trifle hungry and very thirsty, having had neither dinner nor
supper, and no water all day. The dust, smoke and heat, combined, made
me feel as though I was about perishing. I turned my attention to my
haversack and found it as flat as a pancake, containing only a few
crumbs of hardtack which remained after a scanty breakfast. After
eating those, which amounted to nothing in satisfying my hunger, I
felt even more hungry than before. We soon lay down to rest and sleep,
and I realized that I was about worn out from the effects of the two
days’ battle. I slept but little, but thought more about what might be
our fate in the near future. I probably felt like a criminal under
death sentence on the night previous to execution, as we considered
confinement in southern military prisons equivalent to a death
sentence. I feared that I could send no letters to the folks at home,
and if ever a person had the blues I had them that night of Sept. 20,
1863. Being made a prisoner of war was something that I had never
thought to experience.
Early on the morning of Sept. 21 found us on the march to some point
unknown to us, without anything to eat. About ten o’clock we were
joined by 1,500 of our boys who had met with a similar fate, and were
also on their way to some southern prison pen. About three o’clock in
the afternoon we arrived at Ringgold, Ga., where a brief halt was made
and the Confederates wrote a list of our names. When this was
accomplished the march was resumed in a southeasterly direction until
evening, when we halted and camped for the night. On the morning of
Sept. 22 we drew the first rations from “Uncle Jeff’s” commissary,
consisting of one pint of unsifted cornmeal for each man, which was
our day’s allowance, but was hardly sufficient for a half a meal. I
think the Confederates were short of rations themselves and had none
to spare for us. We had now fasted forty-eight hours, and a pint of
cornmeal appeared rather small to subsist on for the next twenty-four
hours. My cooking utensils consisted of one pint cup, and with it full
of meal how was I to cook my mush? I took part of the meal out of the
cup and put it in my haversack, mixed the balance with water, set it
on the fire for a short time, and named it mush. But now another
difficulty arose. How was I to eat the stuff without a spoon? Well, it
has been said that necessity is the mother of invention, which was
true in this case, as I combined a small stick with the mush, to
assist me in licking it out of the cup, in dog fashion. I then cooked
the balance of the meal and ate it also. After finishing our breakfast
of mush, we were called up in line by the Confederate officers in
charge, who searched us for firearms, but failed to find many, as
there were but few in the crowd.
When the search was finished we resumed our journey, and walked until
night, when Dalton, Ga., was reached, a small town on the Chattanooga
and Atlanta Railroad, where we camped until the morning of Sept. 23.
During the night rations were issued the second time by the
Confederates, which consisted of about a pound of flour or dough to
each man. I well remember that it tasted bitter, and appeared to me
like flour that had been wet in the sack, and formed into chunks,
which were mouldy and bitter. Something had to be done with the stuff,
to fix it up in some way that could be masticated, because I had eaten
nothing except a pint of very inferior mush during sixty-eight hours,
and to tell the truth I was beginning to feel a trifle hungry. I built
a fire, and determined to try and bake my lump of flour, which was
performed in a way. We were camped in the woods where some large trees
had been chopped, and there we found some clean chips. I took one of
them, pasted my ration of flour upon it, and set it near the fire to
bake, at an angle of about forty-five degrees. When I considered it
baked I took it off the chip and found it baked only a little on the
surface, and that it had not “raised”a bit. Some of the boys declared
that the “raising” had been put in upside down. It was about as tough
as a piece of rubber. I attempted to eat some of it but it was hard
work and it seemed to stretch and contract alternately. The more I
chewed the stuff the bigger and tougher it seemed to get, and it did
not want to go down. I viewed it and it appeared very sad, but my
condition was much sadder. It was a very serious affair indeed. I
thought of lockjaw, and many other misfortunes that might befall me in
my attempts to swallow some of the rubbery bread-stuff. It was swallow
or starve. It is natural for a person to think of remedies in a
strenuous case like this. I thought if the stuff did unfortunately
stick fast in my throat we might apply the leather whip-stock remedy,
which I remembered was applied to a cow when choked with a turnip. A
dog would have turned up his nose at the offer of some of the
above-mentioned bread.
It was now sunrise, Sept. 23, and we received orders to get on board
the cars, which were promptly obeyed. They were ordinary freight cars,
but we were thankful to ride on any kind of a car. The train moved
southward and we arrived at Atlanta, Ga., in the evening of the same
day, and were transferred to a pen inclosed by a high, tight, board
fence, where we remained until Sept. 25, when orders were again
received to get on the cars. They were common freight or box cars, and
they packed us in almost as thick as sardines in a box. This was the
worst experience that I ever had in railroad traveling. We were
obliged to stand up or sit on the floor, and fold up like a jack-knife
with our hands clasped around our knees to keep our backs from
breaking, and we suffered all the tortures imaginable. I felt as if
every joint in my body was coming apart. It was about as severe as
being fastened in the stocks. We were eight days on this journey by
rail from Dalton to Richmond, Va., but lay over in Atlanta one day and
two nights, and were unloaded two different nights after leaving
Atlanta, in order to allow us to straighten our weary limbs and sleep.
But the other three nights we spent on the cars, in torment. It was
hard to endure, but I suppose it was as well as the Confederacy could
do for us.
As I stated before, we were ordered to get on board of the cars at
Atlanta, Ga., Sept. 25, when we started on our journey toward Augusta,
Ga., located on the banks of the Savannah River, which was reached the
following evening. We were here unloaded and transferred to a
churchyard to rest during the night, which was found to be a very
pleasant resting place. We had drawn rations at Atlanta, which
consisted of about a pound and one-half of hardtack and a small
quantity of bacon. Two and one-half pounds of hardtack and bacon for
each man to subsist on for six days were small rations. From Augusta
we went by rail into South Carolina, running down within about twenty
miles of the city of Charleston to a small place named Branchville.
On our way we passed through some swampy country. The train stopped at
a place where a large ricefield extended close to the track. The rice
was out in head and I was anxious to get some of it, so the guards
permitted me to get off the car and procure a few heads.
I now discovered Captain Muhleman, of Gen. Palmer’s staff, on the
train, he being also a prisoner of war, captured about the same time
that I was taken. I was surprised to see him, not knowing previously
that he had been taken prisoner. I talked with him, and he appeared to
be very much discouraged in regard to our condition. At Branchville we
turned north, and soon arrived at Columbia, S. C. (the capital of the
State), where the train halted for a short time, but we were soon on
our way again northward, passing through some country which appeared
to me extremely poor. The soil had the appearance of red chalk, and
here I heard a good many remarks made by the men about the country.
One said, “The ground is so poor that they could raise nothing but a
rebellion and the d——l, and would be obliged to fertilize it before it
would make brick.”
I was of the opinion that birds flying over that country would be
obliged to carry haversacks, because they could find nothing there to
subsist on, and that the hogs we saw in the woods were so thin that
two of them were required to make a shadow. Many other similar remarks
were made by the boys. We passed on northward, finally reaching the
borders of North Carolina, the land of tar, pitch and turpentine.
Passing on, most of the country was found to be heavily timbered, but
of course we saw only a portion of it, as some of our journey was made
after night.
Our next stopping place of importance was Charlotte, N. C., where we
arrived Sept. 27, left the cars, and camped for the night in a nice,
grassy field. I rested well here. We began thinking about our rations,
which were getting low, and I proceeded to eat some of mine, and
relished them after fasting for some time. While eating some of the
bacon a peculiar flavor was noticeable, and I remarked to one of my
comrades that I thought the bacon had a peculiar taste, and he said it
tasted of the Southern Confederacy. We arose in the morning feeling
quite refreshed, and after eating a light breakfast were again put on
board the train and started eastward, arriving at Raleigh, the capital
of the State, some time during the day. The train stopped here for a
short time, but soon moved on through the city northward, toward
Virginia, nothing of importance transpiring on the way.
The next place of importance was Petersburg, Va., where the train
halted quite a long time. We were now not far from Richmond, Va. After
all was ready the train moved on toward Richmond and Belle Isle, where
we arrived Sept. 30, 1863. Between Augusta and Richmond we spent three
nights in the cars, which almost tormented the life out of us.
I had now been a prisoner of war ten days, and began to feel the
effects of it seriously, as during the journey from Atlanta to Belle
Isle, which was a period of six days, we had only a pound and a half
of hardtack and a small piece of bacon to subsist on. I have not
forgotten how carefully those scanty rations were guarded by me. I
prized them as highly as I would the same weight in gold, and perhaps
they were of more value to me than gold, for my life depended upon the
little morsel. Economy was practiced by me to the utmost degree as I
ate only a very small quantity at a time. Whenever hunger pinched me
hard, I could not keep my hand out of the haversack. It seemed as
though the little morsel was magnetized. I would take a few bites of
my bacon and hardtack (the bacon I was obliged to eat raw as I had no
way of cooking it), and after eating just enough to aggravate me,
would be obliged to stop or have none left for the following two or
three days.
During our journey from Atlanta to Belle Isle we saw many curious
crowds, that collected at the stations where our train halted. They
came to see the “Yanks,” and would ask some funny questions in regard
to the war. Some would ask, “What did you-all come down heah to fight
we-uns for?” “You-all were captured this time”; and many other curious
questions, too numerous to mention.