A CRACKER BEAUTY
A parole was made out for me to sign, but it was very difficult for me
to sign my name. I managed to keep on my feet for a few hours, and the
change and novelty seemed to give me strength. Early in the evening I
undressed and got into bed, and there I remained for six weeks. Surgeon
Thompson told me I had the "slow" typhoid fever, that I would have to be
very patient, and not to worry. Most of the time I was in a stupor, but
had a dim consciousness of what was passing around me. One of the
privates from the yard had the fever. He arrived a few days after
myself. Milk punch was given to him; within a week he died. My treatment
was different. The medicine tasted like turpentine and camphor. But no
milk punch was given me at any time. At last the fever broke and I
slowly recovered. Large bed-sores made their appearance on both hips. In
fact I was sore all over from lying in bed such a long time. At a
distance of twenty-five feet every object would quadruple to my vision.
If there was one man, I would see four. Any object hanging on the wall
especially strengthened the optical delusion.
When able to sit up on my bed I would talk to Peter Keefe. His cot was
just across the passage-way from my own. The amputation was skilfully
done, but it took a long time for the stump to heal up. He did not care
so much for the loss of the leg as he did for the failure of the plan to
escape.
Two "Cracker" girls swept the basement floor and brought us our food.
They may have been styled nurses on the pay-rolls for all I know.
However, I made a great mistake in not making love to both, comparing
them to angels, and trying to make them believe that they had saved me
from an early grave. Instead I would make critical remarks about their
lack of charms to Keefe, in their presence. The younger one was about
twenty years of age. She wore low calfskin shoes and white stockings
which needed a good washing. Many of my remarks referred to their soiled
condition. While manipulating the broom she displayed wonderful talent
for going to sleep. About every tenth movement she would stand still,
resting on the broom-handle, and take a short nap. Then would follow
another few strokes and more nap, the same routine continuing until the
job was finished.
The hospital steward was also of the "Cracker" type, and a most devout
Methodist. Somehow we were not bosom friends. He was very much afraid I
would say something to shock the "sweeping beauty." Finally I got tired
of his infernal canting and tersely told him to go to the devil,
advising him at the same time to marry the girl with the dirty
stockings, as I was very certain he was the right man for the husband.
Events were quiet for a couple of days. Hostilities soon broke out. The
doctor had ordered a soft-boiled egg to be given me. Beauty brought it
to me in a glass tumbler and skipped away in a hurry. There was more
salt than egg. Fortunately, she had not stirred it up, so I skimmed off
the egg carefully and ate it. Then I gazed at the tumbler. There was at
least one inch of solid salt in the bottom. Keefe had been watching me
and was highly amused. But Beauty discreetly kept out of my way for the
remainder of the day. I informed the surgeon that I was very dainty
about eating eggs and preferred them served in the shell; so that salt
racket was stopped. I will always believe that Beauty and her acting
husband put up a job on me.
A very angular woman with sanctimonious visage and a huge Bible in her
hand squatted herself by my bed. The way she read the Scriptures to me
would make a dead man turn over in his coffin. In about five minutes
there was war in earnest. The surgeon happened to come in just then and
ordered her out of the hospital. The next episode was through a friendly
German. He was a sailor, and, being in one of the Southern ports during
the early of the Rebellion, he, like many other sailors, was forced
into the rebel army. In one of the battles he had been wounded by a
piece of shell. As he was now convalescent, he was at leisure to go
where he pleased. He spoke about the large quantities of blackberries
that were to be found in the woods. I asked him to bring me some the
next time he gathered any. While taking a morning nap a plate of nice,
large blackberries had been left on the table at my bedside. When I
awoke I was perfectly delighted at the sight. I had been craving for
fruit for some days past. They seemed too nice to eat. Temptation was
strong, however, and I picked up a single berry and put it in my mouth.
My intention was to eat the whole plateful--one at a time. The surgeon
just then passed near me.
"Well, surgeon, this is a great treat," I said to him. He seemed quite
nervous when he saw the berries.
"How many have you eaten?"
"This is the first one," I replied.
"Well, that is lucky for you. Had you eaten twelve of them, you would
have been a dead man inside of twenty-four hours." He asked who gave
them to me. Well, that I knew nothing about, as I was asleep and
supposed that Beauty had left them for me. He took away the plate and
went after Beauty. My German sailor friend was not found out, but the
chasm between Dirty Stockings and myself was greatly widened.
I soon became convalescent. A reb with a loaded musket escorted me back
to my old quarters in the jail. My fellow-prisoners gave me a cordial
reception. It was at one time thought by them that I would remain
permanently in the South. All monotony in our prison life was now over.
Exciting news was heard every day. Sherman's army was marching through
Georgia. The rebs were drawing our troops away from their base of
supplies. All the "invading hirelings" were to be killed, gobbled up,
and other dire calamities were to befall them. Wheeler's cavalry went
howling through Columbia on their way to annihilate Sherman's "bummers."
The citizens cheered, and the ladies waved their handkerchiefs and
threw kisses at them. Those fellows were going to raise ---- sure
enough. We had a good view of the whole proceeding from our window. A
few cat-calls were given by us to help along the excitement. Not many
weeks afterward that same cavalry went through Columbia again, but their
noses were pointed in the opposite direction, with Sherman's cavalry not
many miles in the rear. Those gallant defenders of the South looted all
the stores on Main Street, and carried all they could conveniently get
away with. No ladies threw kisses at them that time.
The Yankee officers confined in Libby Prison were removed to Charleston
and placed under the fire of the Federal guns in hopes that the shelling
of the city would be stopped. Through some means, the locality in which
the prisoners were confined was made known to the Union troops,
consequently none were killed. Several changes of localities were made,
always with the same result. Finally the rebel provost-marshal and
several of his guards were killed by Yankee shells, and then the
prisoners were all sent to Columbia and confined in a stockade on the
other side of the river--"Camp Sorghum," as it was christened by the
Yankees. The prisoners at Andersonville were hastily sent to different
parts of the Confederacy to keep them out of reach of Sherman's troops.
"Gentlemen, there will arrive this evening one hundred and seventeen
Yankee officers, and arrangements will have to be made for them to share
your quarters," was Captain Sennes's announcement.
We made hasty preparations to receive the "fresh fish." They ranked from
second lieutenant up to colonel. Such a motley and reckless lot I never
met before. All had been captured inside the rebel forts when the mine
was exploded at Petersburg. We were uncomfortably crowded for room with
so many men, and Captain Sennes proposed to the old prisoners that we
should sign a parole and return to our quarters on the first floor. We
readily agreed to it. On our part, we were not to escape by tunnelling,
or from the yard; on their part, our door was to be left open, with
liberty to go into the yard when necessary, and also one hour in the
morning and afternoon for recreation.
Williams and Porter had been released from irons. The six officers
highest in rank among the new arrivals were assigned to the rooms which
they had vacated, and granted the same privileges as we. On Main Street
was the printing establishment of Ball & Keating. The building extended
across the rear of our yard. We were greatly surprised to see a number
of young ladies taking a good view of the prisoners from a second-story
window. The rebs had gotten scared, and had moved the Bureau of Printing
and Engraving from Richmond to Columbia. Ball & Keating's establishment
was selected for the printing of the Confederate currency. The money was
not worth stealing. An ordinary burglar could have taken away a
cart-load of the notes. At night the money was left loose in the
different rooms, the same as a lot of hand-bills in a common
printing-office. The lady employes, as a means of recreation, would gaze
at the Yankee hirelings in the prison-yard. A number of the privates had
no coats or shirts, and were barefoot. The sight must have been very
interesting.
When the officers were in the yard the privates had to remain in the
barracks. That was the time that those young ladies from Virginia showed
their good breeding. If one of us happened to get within spitting
distance of a window, up would go their noses and down would come the
saliva. At first we were inclined to be angry, but that was just what
those females liked, so we changed our tactics, and threw kisses back
when they spat. By that means the spitting was stopped. Every day we
would hear exciting news from different sources.
What interested us most came direct from the Secretary of the
Confederate navy. He authorized some gentlemen to make arrangements for
a special exchange of prisoners. They called upon us and made the
proposition that two naval officers should be paroled and sent to
Washington to see if an exchange of naval prisoners, regardless of rank
or numbers, could be effected. Lieutenant-Commanders Williams and
Prendergast were given the mission. Both were given paroles for thirty
days. If our Government consented to the proposition, they were to
remain North; if not, they were to return to Richmond within a specified
time. All the necessary documents were given to them, and they were
started for Richmond the next day and taken to our lines on a
flag-of-truce boat. Inside the thirty days we were notified that the
exchange would be made. Great was the joy among our party at the
prospect of soon returning home. It was soon known in Columbia that we
were to be exchanged. Then I became mixed up in a mysterious affair
which I have never been able to solve. Captain Sennes came to our room
with a woman.
"Mr. Thompson, this lady has an order from the commandant to see you."
He then went out. The lady introduced herself as Mrs. Hall, of
Washington, D. C. She had been South during the war; her husband was in
Washington, and she had not been able to hear from him, and "would I be
kind enough to deliver a letter to him?"
"Certainly." I was willing to help her in any way possible. We conversed
a short time on ordinary topics.
"Do you know Colonel Dent?"
"No, I have never heard of such a person."
"Why, he is General Grant's brother-in-law, and is confined in this
jail."
"Well, that is news to me. No one ever knew of his being here."
"It is a fact. He is confined on the top floor with the criminals, and I
see him very often. He gave me a number of letters which he wishes taken
to General Grant. Will you take them?"
"Yes, provided you answer a few questions. How did you know my name?"
"Through a lady who knew you while you were in the hospital."
"Why do you select me to carry letters for a man about whom I know
nothing?"
"Because you were recommended to me."
"Very well, I will take them, provided I am allowed to know their
contents. It seems strange to me that Colonel Dent should be confined in
this jail as a criminal and not one of us Yankee prisoners know anything
about it."
She assured me that he was Grant's brother-in-law, and had been arrested
for some transaction about a plantation near New Orleans. There were
several letters in the package, a petition to the Governor of Wisconsin,
and a long letter written in short-hand. "He was a good Democrat, a
loyal citizen.--See that my land in Wisconsin is not sold for
non-payment of taxes," are some of the extracts. The others related to
family affairs. The short-hand notes I could not read. What the petition
was for I have forgotten. Mrs. Hall then presented me with a finely
embroidered silk tobacco-pouch. Thanking me for my kindness, she bade me
good-bye. When, afterward, I thought the affair over, I came to the
conclusion that the letters were only a subterfuge to draw my suspicions
from the short-hand notes. Not a word had been said in the letters
about the cause of his arrest or about his being confined as a criminal.
As I had promised to deliver the packet, I concluded to take the risk of
getting myself in trouble with the Confederate authorities. They had a
habit of searching the prisoners before crossing the line.[E]
[E] A number of years afterward, I was confined in the prison in
Jefferson City, Mo. At that place guards were kept on the walls
night and day. Convicts were selected as night watchmen for the
different shops. It was my good fortune to be watchman in the
saddle-tree shop. At that time Colonel John A. Joyce and
General Williams--members of the Whisky Ring during Grant's
administration--were serving a sentence of two years each.
Joyce was cell-housekeeper in the negroes' building during the
daytime, and Williams was storekeeper. Every evening they would
come to my shop, and a pot of good coffee would be cooked on
the stove. A couple of hours would be pleasantly passed in
talking over past events. Generals Grant and Babcock were
frequently mentioned in connection with the Whisky Ring. I told
them all about Colonel Dent's being confined in the Columbia
jail, and asked if they knew anything about the circumstances.
Both of them commenced laughing; then the subject was dropped.