The prisoners at Andersonville, amounting to many thousand, owing to
their Government refusing to exchange them, preferring to let them die
in their congested condition rather than to release those of ours,
caused untold hardships on those unfortunate fellows. Their own
Government even refused to furnish them with the requisite medical
relief and medicine which became unobtainable on account of the close
cordon of blockaders guarding our ports of entry. It must be remembered
that while we on the Confederate side had only seven hundred thousand
available men, in round numbers, in every branch of the service, our
adversary had, according to statistics, two million, seven hundred
thousand men in the field, and while we had exhausted all our resources
they still had the whole world to draw from. Neither were they
particular then, as now, as to what kind of emigrants landed in Castle
Garden or Ellis Island, but they accepted the scum of the world, paying
fifteen hundred dollars bounty as an incentive to enlist in their army.
Such were the conditions in the latter part of 1864. General Wheeler's
Cavalry was the only force that swung close to Sherman's flanks, thus
keeping his columns more compact and preventing them from doing more
depredations than they did. Even as it was, they lived on the fat of the
land, and as stated, wantonly destroyed what they could not carry along,
to the detriment of the defenceless women and children.
Dr. Crawford was ordered to remove his hospital to Montgomery, Alabama.
I was out foraging; I was at Davisboro, Station No. 12, Central R. R.
when a train load of the Andersonville prisoners stopped at the station.
The train consisted of a long string of box cars. Davisboro was not then
the prosperous little city it is now; it consisted of only one dwelling
and outhouses usually attached to a prosperous plantation, and a store
house; it was owned by Mrs. Hardwick, the great grandmother of our now
Congressman, T. W. Hardwick, an elderly widow lady, who for the
accommodation of the railroad kept an eating house where the train hands
would get their meals as the trains passed on schedule time. Curiosity
led me to approach the train, which was heavily guarded by sentinels
stationed in the open doors and on top of the cars, with loaded muskets,
to prevent escapes, when I heard the grand hailing words of distress
from an inmate of the car. Being a Mason, I demanded what was wanted,
when some one appealed to me, "For God's sake give me something to eat,
I am starving to death; somebody stole my rations and I have not eaten
anything for three days." Being meal time I at once run in the dining
room of the Hardwick House, picked up a plate with ham and one with
biscuits, and ran to the train, called on the man in Masonic terms, and
handed him the provisions that I had wrapped up in a home made napkin,
bordered with indigo blue. It was seven o'clock p. m. and one could not
distinguish the features of an individual; it was a starless, foggy
night. After the train left I entered the house and excused myself for
the rudeness of taking the provisions as I did. Mrs. Hardwick not having
been in the dining room at the time I explained to her that my
obligations were such that I had to render assistance to any distressed
Brother Mason; he applying to me as such; "I am now ready to pay you for
all the damages I did," and this was her reply: "I don't charge you
anything honey, I am glad you did it." But not so with her housekeeper,
Miss Eliza Jackson, who berated me for everything she could think of,
saying, "They had no right to come here and fight us; you are nothing
but a Yankee yourself," etc., etc. Miss Jackson was a long ways beyond
her teens, so I said, "Miss Liza, you are mad, because owing to the war
your chances for marriage have greatly diminished, especially with the
disposition you have." Those present enjoyed her discomfiture.
Usually when troops were about to be ordered in transit, they were
issued three days rations, all of which were often walloped out of sight
at one square meal on account of its meagerness; undoubtedly that is
what happened to my Masonic Brother; he received his rations and someone
stole them. I myself often ate at one meal what was intended to last me
three days and trusted for the future. I never felt any remorse of
conscience to get something to eat, if I could; I felt that the people
for whom I devoted my services in those days owed me a living, and when
the authorities failed to supply it, I took it where I could find it.