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CAPTURE AND ESCAPE
[Illustration: JOHN AZOR KELLOGG]
WISCONSIN HISTORY COMMISSION: ORIGINAL PAPERS, NO. 2
CAPTURE AND ESCAPE
A NARRATIVE OF ARMY AND PRISON LIFE
BY JOHN AZOR KELLOGG
COLONEL OF SIXTH WISCONSIN VOLUNTEER INFANTRY AND BREVET
BRIGADIER-GENERAL
WISCONSIN HISTORY COMMISSION
NOVEMBER, 1908
TWENTY-FIVE HUNDRED COPIES PRINTED
DEMOCRAT PRINTING CO., STATE PRINTER
Contents
PAGE
WISCONSIN HISTORY COMMISSION ix
PREFACE xi
CAPTURE AND ESCAPE: A NARRATIVE OF ARMY AND
PRISON LIFE. _John Azor Kellogg_
The Iron Brigade in camp 1
On the skirmish line 4
Captured 11
En route to Lynchburg 13
Arrival at Lynchburg 21
Treatment at Lynchburg 24
At Danville 28
Removed to Macon 29
Prison pen 33
Tunnelling 40
Betrayed 43
Prison life 49
Removed to Charleston 52
Escape from the train 58
Prisoners again 65
Confined at Charleston 71
Another tunnel 73
In the line of Union fire 81
Daily experiences 85
A second escape 92
Fugitives 97
Two of us missing 105
A friend in the dark 111
Novel foot-gear 116
Interrupting a revival 122
Negro sympathizers 126
Hunted with hounds 130
Friendly blacks 140
Difficulties, day by day 148
A cautious picket 157
The Home Guard 160
Among the Georgia Unionists 165
A mountain wedding 173
Diplomacy 179
A start for our lines 181
Among comrades 189
The mystery solved 195
Again in the field 198
A belated report 200
ILLUSTRATION
PORTRAIT OF AUTHOR, while Colonel of Sixth Wisconsin
Infantry _Frontispiece_
WISCONSIN HISTORY COMMISSION
(Organized under the provisions of Chapter 298, Laws of 1905, as
amended by Chapter 378, Laws of 1907)
JAMES O. DAVIDSON
_Governor of Wisconsin_
FREDERICK J. TURNER
_Professor of American History in the University of Wisconsin_
REUBEN G. THWAITES
_Secretary of the State Historical Society of Wisconsin_
HENRY E. LEGLER
_Secretary of the Wisconsin Library Commission_
CHARLES E. ESTABROOK
_Representing Department of Wisconsin, Grand Army of the Republic_
* * * * *
_Chairman_, COMMISSIONER ESTABROOK
_Secretary and Editor_, COMMISSIONER THWAITES
_Committee on Publications_, COMMISSIONERS LEGLER, THWAITES, AND
TURNER
PREFACE
John Azor Kellogg, author of the Commission's Original Narrative No. 2,
was born on the 16th of March, 1828, at Bethany, in Wayne County,
Pennsylvania, the son of Nathan and Sarah (Quidor) Kellogg. Nathan's
father was an American soldier in the Revolutionary War; he himself a
tavern-keeper, stage proprietor, and general contractor. The Kelloggs
moved to Wisconsin Territory about 1840, settling at Prairie du Chien.
John's early youth was spent in farm work, his education being confined
to three winters at a private school. When eighteen years of age, he
began reading law; at first taking a correspondence course with George
W. Woodward, later chief justice of Pennsylvania, but completing his
studies with S. S. Wilkinson of Prairie du Sac. Mr. Kellogg was one of
the founders of the Republican Party, being a member of the Madison
convention of September 5, 1855.
Admitted to the bar in 1857, in his twenty-ninth year, he opened an
office at Mauston. In November, 1860, he was elected district attorney
of Juneau County, but resigned in April, 1861, to enlist in the Union
Army. His earliest military experience was as First Lieutenant of the
Lemonweir Minute Men, an organization that became Company K of the Sixth
Wisconsin Volunteer Infantry--his commission being dated May 3. The
several companies composing this regiment were mustered into Federal
service at Camp Randall, in Madison, on the 16th of July, and twelve
days later left for the front. On December 18 following, Lieutenant
Kellogg was promoted to be Captain of Company I. He served actively with
his company until January, 1863; but was then appointed adjutant-general
of the famous Iron Brigade (of which the Sixth Wisconsin was a member),
holding that position until the following January, when he returned to
duty with his regiment.
Captain Kellogg participated in the battles of Gainesville, Second Bull
Run, South Mountain, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville,
Rappahannock Station, Mine Run, and Gettysburg. It was during the great
Fight in the Wilderness, while the Iron Brigade was of the Army of the
Potomac, that our author was captured (May 5, 1864) by Confederates,
while he was doing skirmish duty on special detail. Imprisoned
successively at Lynchburg and Danville (Virginia), Macon (Georgia), and
Charleston (South Carolina), he escaped on October 5 by jumping from a
rapidly-moving railroad train while he and his fellow prisoners were
being transported to Columbia.
The story of his depressing experiences in Confederate prisons, and of
his curious adventures while a fugitive after the escape, is told in the
present volume. A man of acute intellect, resourceful, and courageous in
an unusual degree, Captain Kellogg's narrative is a document of great
human interest. His literary style is as vivid as his experiences were
thrilling, and the modest tale is certain to hold the attention of the
most jaded reader of war-time reminiscences. The Commission considers
itself fortunate in being able to include in this series so admirable a
paper.
While Captain Kellogg was absent in captivity, or before his safe
return to the Union lines at Calhoun, Georgia (October 26), he was twice
promoted--September 1, to be Major of his regiment; October 19, to be
its Lieutenant-Colonel. Soon after assuming the last-named office
(November), he was made Colonel of the regiment. Being assigned to the
command of the Iron Brigade in February, 1865, he led that redoubtable
organization in the battles of Hatcher's Run, Boydon Plank Road, Gravel
Run, Five Forks, High Bridge, and Appomattox. On the 9th of April he was
deservedly brevetted brigadier-general, "for highly meritorious service
during the campaign terminating with the surrender of the insurgent army
under General Robert E. Lee," and on July 14 following was mustered out.
Being appointed United States Pension Agent at La Crosse, General
Kellogg removed to that city in the spring of 1866, remaining there
until July, 1875, having resigned his position in April of that year. He
now settled in Wausau, successfully resuming the practice of his
profession, and in 1879-80 represented his district in the State Senate.
His death occurred at Wausau, February 10, 1883, in the fifty-fifth
year of his age. Married on October 5, 1852, to Miss Adelaide
Worthington of Prairie du Sac, he left three children of the five born
unto them.
General Kellogg published a narrative of the adventures herein related,
in a series of articles in the La Crosse _Leader_, between September 25,
1869, and January 15, 1870. In its present amplified and improved form,
the story appears, from internal evidence, to have been written in 1882,
a year before his death. We are indebted for our manuscript copy to his
widow, now living in Faribault, Minnesota. The portrait of the author,
given as our frontispiece, is from a photograph taken in Madison while
he was Colonel of his regiment--probably quite soon after his return
from captivity.
The purpose of the Commission is merely to select and publish such
material bearing upon Wisconsin's part in the War of Secession as, from
considerations of rarity or of general excellence, it is deemed
desirable to disseminate. Opinions or errors of fact on the part of the
respective authors have not been modified or corrected by the
Commission--save as members may choose to append thereto
individually-signed foot-notes. For all statements, of whatever
character, the author alone is responsible, whether the publication be
in the form of Original Narratives or of Reprints.
The Commission is indebted to Miss Annie A. Nunns, of the Wisconsin
Historical Library staff, for supervising the reading of the proof.
R. G. T.
WISCONSIN HISTORICAL LIBRARY
November, 1908
CAPTURE AND ESCAPE
_The Iron Brigade in Camp_
On the morning of the third of May, 1864, the Army of the Potomac
confronted the Confederates on the banks of the Rapidan.
The consolidated First and Fifth Army Corps was commanded by
Major-General George G. Warren.[1] To this corps was attached that part
of the Army of the Potomac known as the Iron Brigade, then under the
command of General Lysander Cutler, one of the ablest of our volunteer
generals. To this brigade was attached the Sixth Wisconsin, commanded by
Colonel (afterwards General) Edward S. Bragg. I commanded Company I in
this regiment.[2]
Fearing a repetition of the long, cold winter of 1863-64, the army,
under the immediate supervision of that thorough soldier, General George
G. Meade, had been re-organized, completely equipped, and fitted for the
stern duties of the next campaign.
The hills around Culpeper were dotted with the white tents and rude yet
more comfortable cabins of the patriot soldiers. All along the banks of
the Rapidan, at regular intervals, curled the smoke of the picket fires.
Beyond them trod the weary sentinels, whose watchful eyes and stalwart
arms had for twenty-four hours guarded their comrades in camp from
surprise and consequent disaster. But now the allotted time for relief
had come, and they stole an occasional impatient glance toward the long
blue column winding its way along the turnpike toward the reserve post,
knowing that it was the relief guard that was to take their place in
the tedious, irksome, and sometimes dangerous outpost duty.
In camp, here and there, might have been seen a regiment executing the
beautiful evolutions of battalion drill, and perhaps a camp guard being
mounted, the air meanwhile resounding with the martial music so
inspiring to the soldier. To the civilian all would have seemed
confusion; but to the soldier the scene simply represented an army at
rest; his eye could only see the monotonous details of camp life, the
every-day life of the soldier. Such had been the daily routine through
weary months of waiting, until all were eagerly anticipating the order
to move.
As the sun disappeared that night, behind the western hills, its last
beams shone upon an army whose banners floated from every hillside and
valley as far as the eye could reach; and as the camp fires came out in
the deepening twilight, they glimmered and sparkled like the lights of
some great city.
The camp guards paced their well-trodden beats. The confused murmur of
thousands of voices mingled together, conversing of home and friends;
occasionally a merry laugh would arise, as some wag related a droll
story, or, more frequently, perpetrated a practical joke upon a comrade,
until "taps" sounded, and the lights went out as if by magic. Gradually
all sounds died away, and the army was at rest. Dreams of wife,
children, and home blessed the sleeping hours of the patient, waiting
soldier, cheating him into a few minutes of bliss.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Although General Warren never did and probably never will be able to
arouse an army corps, in the middle of the night, from the deep sleep
that follows the exhaustion of a battle, build a bridge thirty feet long
over a brawling stream swollen by a twelve hours' rain, and march five
miles over muddy roads, in an hour from the time he receives the order,
it is quite doubtful whether more than one general officer could be
found in the United States who would require it or imagine it could be
done; and I assert that no more efficient and patriotic officer than
Warren ever wore a star.
[2] The Iron Brigade was at first composed of the Second, Sixth, and
Seventh Wisconsin, and the Nineteenth Indiana. In October, 1862, was
added the Twenty-fourth Michigan. The heaviest loss by brigades, in the
entire Union army, fell to this command.--EDITOR.
_On the Skirmish Line_
Hark! a horse comes galloping up to the Colonel's quarters, a few
hurried words are spoken, and then come the quick, sharp words of
command: "Adjutant, go to the commanding officers of companies; tell
them to have their commands under arms at once, and report them on the
parade ground in heavy marching order. Make no noise; no drums will be
beaten, nor alarms sounded."
Soon from out the darkness, upon the chill night, sounds again:
"Orderly, see that the company is at arms at once, in heavy marching
order!"
"Strike tents and pack knapsacks!" cries the orderly; and all along the
line is heard the busy stir and bustle of striking tents and packing
knapsacks, accompanied now and then by a suppressed yawn or muttered
curse from the sleepy soldier thus rudely aroused from pleasant dreams
and comfortable blankets to pack up his bed, tear down his house, and
travel he knows not, and in many cases cares not, where. The sun next
morning looked down upon a solitude where last evening a city stood. The
army is crossing the Rapidan.
Surprised at the celerity of the movement, the enemy made but feeble
resistance at the fords, and fell back to its retrenchments at Mine Run.
That night, weary and foot-sore, we lay waiting for the rising of the
morning sun, whose beams were to be obscured by the sulphurous battle
cloud.
Early on the morning of the 5th, we were aroused from our slumbers by
the command: "Turn out! Ten minutes to cook coffee and prepare for
marching!"
Staff officers and orderlies were galloping hither and thither, the
ammunition wagons were ordered to the front, general officers could be
seen inspecting the ground, and all those grim preparations were being
made that to the soldier were recognized as the precursor of battle.
Soon our line was formed, and the old soldiers scarcely waited for the
order to throw up breastworks. This done, we threw ourselves along the
ground, waiting for the enemy to show themselves. But, so far as I was
concerned, alas for human expectations! At this moment an excessively
polite orderly came up to me, and, touching his hat, said: "Captain,
Colonel Bragg directs that you report with your company to General
Cutler, for skirmish duty."
Around Colonel Bragg there was a group of officers, who were evidently
pleased that this unwelcome message should have come to some one besides
themselves. Concealing my distaste for the duty assigned me, I sent them
a cheerful "Good bye! I expect you fellows will all be wiped out before
I get back."
"Good-by!" was returned. "Better 'shake' before you go, for it's the
last we'll ever see of you."
"Shake them up lively, my boy!" said the Colonel.
"Never mind me," I replied. "Look out you don't get run over by the line
of battle, when they follow me in." And so the badinage went on. Major
Plummer and Captain Converse of that merry group were both destined to
fight their last battle that day.
Upon reporting to General Cutler, I found him pacing up and down before
his quarters, evidently laboring under some excitement. I had at one
time served on his staff, and we were familiarly acquainted. He invited
me into his tent, and extending his hand said: "Captain, your work this
morning will not be play. Out in front--I do not know exactly how far,
but probably within a mile--you will find the sharp-shooters deployed as
skirmishers. You will join them. Use your own company as you think best;
take command of the line, and advance until you raise the enemy and
bring on an engagement."
Just as I was leaving him, he added, "Take along plenty of orderlies,
and report frequently."
Those of my readers who have had actual experience in skirmishing, can
readily understand how distasteful it is to the soldier. It is a duty
that furnishes the best opportunity in the world for getting "wiped
out," with but slight chance of achieving military glory. It is a duty
that requires your best efforts, all of which are sure to be
overshadowed by the more momentous events to follow, and sure to be
forgotten in the official reports.
Somewhat reluctantly, I will confess, I obeyed the order, found the line
deployed, and immediately ordered an advance.
Our progress was necessarily slow, the ground being broken and heavily
timbered with a kind of scrub pine. After advancing about a mile, I
discovered a long line of "graybacks" moving slowly forward in line of
battle, without the precaution of throwing forward a skirmish line. My
men were immediately halted, and the command to commence firing given.
If ever a set of men were astonished, those Confederates were the men.
The nature of the ground was such that neither party saw the other until
within thirty-five or forty yards of each other. We had the advantage.
They were in line of battle, while my men were deployed and behind
trees, stumps, stones--anything that might afford concealment and
protection.
The rattling, scattered firing from my line told fearfully upon the
enemy, and they at once replied with a volley. Whew! How the bullets
sung and whistled around us! The only thing I feared was, that they
would discover our weakness and charge us, for my men were sheltered.
But the Confederates simply held their ground, replying to our skirmish
fire from line of battle.
Soon word reached headquarters of the position of the enemy, and a
cracking and roar at the rear gave notice of the advance of our line of
battle. Hurrah! Here they come on, double quick! "Cold steel, boys! Give
'em the bayonet!" I heard General Cutler say; and over us they came.
My own men caught the inspiration, and gladly obeyed the order to move
forward with the line. At the first shock the enemy's line was broken.
Two miles we drove them, and then the programme changed.
In moving a long line over broken ground at double quick, intervals are
bound to occur; connections to be lost. The enemy, taking advantage of
this, had thrown a force into our rear, and bullets began to come from
behind us. At first this caused confusion, then panic. Our line,
vigorously pressed in front and rear at the same time, became
demoralized. Officers made desperate efforts to rally the men, but it
was of no use; they could not endure the bullets coming from the front
and rear at once, and away they went.
About this time I had a sensation akin to being struck by lightning.
Upon recovering consciousness, I found myself with a badly-swelled head
and great confusion of ideas, and I was bleeding profusely from ears and
nose. On all sides were the maimed, the dying, and the dead. There was
no enemy in sight save those killed and wounded. This was consoling; but
unfortunately, if I had no enemies to fear, I was equally destitute of
friends.
Which way was north, south, east, or west, I was wholly unable to
determine. I was equally at a loss to decide which was front and which
rear. Hearing firing in one direction, I came to the sage conclusion
that by going in the direction of the sound I should at least be able to
determine where our forces were.
But what was the matter with the trees? They were cutting up all sorts
of antics--advancing, retreating, bobbing up and down, actually waltzing
about me. Around and around they went, until they made me dizzy. In
trying to catch one of them, the ground suddenly flew up into my face,
and, not satisfied with that, tried to roll me off; but I held on like a
tick, grasping the twigs with all my might. The exertion was too much,
and I fainted outright. Upon recovering my senses, I concluded to make
my way to the rear. I found it difficult to travel, however, because of
the giddiness and partial blindness caused by my wound. When I had
progressed about a quarter of a mile, I found myself looking down the
barrel of a musket.
_Captured_
A Confederate regiment, the Thirteenth Georgia, had, in the mêlée,
become detached from its brigade, and was lost in the dense forest. The
commanding officer had ordered the men to lie down in a thicket, and
unfortunately I had surprised them. Not being in the humor just then to
"surround them," like the Irishman, I surrendered at discretion, and was
immediately disarmed and conducted to the commander, when the following
conversation took place:
_Confederate Officer._ Captain, were you in the skirmish line out
yonder?
_Yank._ I am a prisoner, sir, and must decline to answer any questions
touching our position or forces.
_Confederate._ That's all right, Captain, but I would like to know
whether you have any skirmishers in there. Do you know where Gordon's
brigade is?
_Yank._ Gordon's brigade! Why, I don't know where I am myself.
_Confederate._ Then there are two of us in the same fix. To tell the
truth, I am lost. I got through an interval in your lines, I think; at
all events, I found myself in your rear without knowing how I got there,
and was trying to get back when you uns run over us. We just lay still,
and the Yanks passed us.
_Yank._ In which direction did they go?
_Confederate._ Out yon.
_Yank._ Then it strikes me that your rear is in an opposite direction.
_Confederate._ Well, yes, I reckon so. Corporal, take this officer to
the rear and find the Provost Marshal and report him.
_En Route to Lynchburg_
I found myself traveling toward Richmond in quite different company and
under less favorable auspices than I had ever imagined would be my lot.
After running about an hour we at length found the Provost guard of the
Confederate army, and to my chagrin about twelve hundred of my
companions in misfortune. Some, like myself, were wounded. Some
expressed impatience and mortification. Others evidently accepted their
condition as inevitable and determined to make the best of it,
expressing more concern for the success of our arms than solicitude for
themselves.
At a little distance from the prison corral were the badly wounded,
awaiting the ministrations of a surgeon. There, under a large tree, on a
blanket, lay the gallant Captain Converse, a prisoner, wounded and
dying; by his side, with one leg already amputated, Corporal Frank Hare,
with cocked revolver, kept at bay a couple of the enemy's surgeons who
were desirous of experimenting upon the yet breathing body of his
leader. The heroism of those two men was sublime. The Captain had been
shot through the body and both thighs. It was utterly impossible for him
to recover. He knew that his moments were numbered, and the end was
nigh. He only asked to be permitted to die in peace, but the surgeons
were desirous of experimenting upon him by what is known as the "hip
amputation."
Converse had overheard their conversation, and directed Hare to put his
hand in a certain pocket and get his revolver, which had been overlooked
when his captors took his side-arms, and, armed with this, to prevent
them from torturing him. Hare did as his officer directed; and when they
attempted to remove his Captain he cocked the revolver, and in quiet,
yet firm tones, warned them that he would shoot the first man that laid
a hand on him. Weapons were pointed at him, with threats to kill him if
he did not surrender the pistol. Hare only laughed at them, asking them
what they supposed he cared for life, with one leg gone?
Struck with admiration for his bravery, the guard was withdrawn. A
Confederate officer, standing near, filled with admiration of his
heroism, said, "I would like a regiment of such men!"
This aroused the dying Captain, who, his eyes flashing with patriotic
fire, told him that he had the honor to lead a hundred just such men,
and added: "The North is full of them. Sooner or later we shall triumph,
and your rebel rag will be trampled beneath their feet."
With these brave, prophetic words he breathed out his young life, a
willing sacrifice upon the altar of his country. At the instant he
expired the sun broke through a rift in the battle cloud, and glancing
down through the shimmering foliage of the forest tree, illumined the
face of the dead. I thought it the pathway of the angel that bore aloft
the released spirit of my comrade and friend.
I have seen men in the mad excitement of a charge perform reckless deeds
of bravery, facing death with apparent nonchalance, and admired them for
their soldierly bearing and courage; but this was something different.
It will be difficult to find an instance in either ancient or modern
history, of greater fidelity, love, confidence, courage, and fearless
patriotism than was displayed by these two wounded heroes. High up on
the list of those made deathless by heroic deeds, should be inscribed
the names of Captain Rollin P. Converse and Corporal Frank Hare.
Before I witnessed the death of Converse, I had felt despondent, but now
the sight of his calm courage determined me to bear my own lot with
philosophy. As a matter of fact, I was no worse off than thousands of
others, and vastly better off than many. Even then, I began to plan some
way for escape.
A short time only was allowed us to rest and recuperate. All able to
march at all were soon en route for Orange Court House, under the escort
of a strong guard. There were several hundred of us. Among others I
recollect Colonel Grover, a gallant officer of the Seventh Indiana.
Although the distance could not have been more than eight or ten miles,
perhaps less, it was about 10 o'clock before we arrived at our
destination for the night. During the march in the darkness several of
the prisoners made their escape, but I believe that all these were
eventually recaptured.
No rations had been issued to us, and many were ready to faint from
hunger and fatigue, but the "bitter cud" of our disappointment was all
we then had to chew. So far, we had been in the hands of soldiers, and
our treatment had been as good as we had any reason to expect. But upon
our arrival at Orange Court House we were turned over to a squint-eyed,
knock-kneed Provost-Marshal and his home guard, and with the change of
guard came a most decided change in our treatment.
Cowards are always tyrants, and this redheaded commander of the home
guard was no exception to the rule. The enlisted men were separated from
the officers and driven into a dirty back yard, where they bivouacked
quite comfortably, for they had their rubber and woolen blankets and
could on ordinary occasions sleep as well without shelter. But they were
aroused at an early hour in the morning, and under the directions of the
squint-eyed Provost Marshal systematically robbed of their blankets,
both rubber and woolen, also their knapsacks. One poor fellow, indignant
at such robbery, tore his blanket into strips. This act being observed
by the delectable specimen of Confederate chivalry, he sprang upon him
with a club and knocked him down, striking him several blows while he
lay on the ground, senseless and bleeding. Some of our officers
remonstrated against such plain violation of civilized warfare, and were
coolly told they had better keep their sympathy to themselves, as they
would probably need it all for home consumption.
On inquiry we learned that no rations could be obtained, but were kindly
permitted to purchase from a sutler a corn-dodger and cup of coffee
each, for which we paid two dollars apiece, in greenbacks. Soon after
breakfast, we were formed in column for marching, and started for
Gordonsville.
If some of us had been with our commands, instead of being prisoners, we
probably would not have thought we could endure the march in the hot
sun. My head was badly swollen and pained me greatly; this, together
with the heat, insufficient food, and depression of spirits consequent
upon the situation, almost unmanned me. Keep up with the column I could
not. Finally, two or three of us cripples were permitted to fall behind
under the guard of one man, and never in my life did I feel the need of
money so badly, for if we could have raised only fifty dollars in
greenbacks we had reason to believe our guard's cupidity would have
easily overcome his sense of duty. But alas! The money was not to be
commanded; so, a few rods at a time, we continued our march.
Just as it was getting dark we reached Gordonsville. Although the
distance traversed was comparatively short, yet I venture to say the
day's march will be remembered by that little squad of cripples longer
than many another of double the distance. One of the things that
discouraged us was the reports concerning the battle of the day before,
received from Confederate sources. We were informed that our forces were
in full retreat to Washington, that our loss was about one-half our
effective force, and the like.
Immediately upon our arrival at Gordonsville we were corralled in a
railroad excavation and closely guarded. The next morning we were loaded
upon freight cars, and to our surprise found that Lynchburg, not
Richmond, was our destination.
Upon this slight foundation we immediately began to build great hopes.
If we had lost the battle, what was the reason we were not shipped to
Libby and Belle Isle? We had not then heard of a great man's famous
expression, "I propose to fight it out on this line if it takes all
summer." The celebrated flank movement that placed the army south of
Richmond and bottled up the Confederate army, existed only in the
prolific brain of the greatest soldier of the age.
The Army of the Potomac had so many times marched up the hill, only to
march down again, that we began to look upon this performance as the
regular thing. We did not realize that this army was then under the
guidance of a man who knew no such word as fail; who, if whipped on one
day, only fought harder the next.
Our trip to Lynchburg was relieved of its monotony by one circumstance.
The bottom of one of the cars was mined, a plank was cut out, and when a
halt was made to take on wood and water, one or two adventurous fellows
crawled through and dug the dirt from between two of the ties, so as to
allow them room to escape collision with the bottom of the cars, lying
there while the train passed over them. The ruse was successful, so far
as escaping from the train was concerned; but unfortunately the
fugitives were discovered as soon as the train passed by, and
recaptured. The attempt was a foolish one, but indicative of the general
disposition to attempt any manner of escape that had the slightest
chance for success.
_Arrival at Lynchburg_
The next morning we arrived at Lynchburg, and were taken from the cars.
Here occurred a ludicrous scene, that, notwithstanding their situation,
furnished our boys a hearty laugh. Some philosopher has said, "Man is an
animal that laughs." Man is the only animal that laughs. This, as
distinctly as speech, marks the distinction between reasoning beings and
brute instinct. Show me a man who never laughs, and I will show you one
whose instincts are brutish and cruel. These thousands or more
prisoners, surrounded by enemies, cut off from all that makes life
endurable, deprived of liberty, laughed heartily, and it did them good.
A militia company had been improvised to act as our guard and escort us
from the cars to the prison. They were not uniformed, being dressed in
everything from swallow-tailed coats and slippers to home-spun
butternut, and armed with everything that could shoot, from a carbine to
a flint-lock musket. The members were of all ages, from school boys to
decrepit old men. They were commanded by a young fellow in a nondescript
uniform. His sword and scabbard were the only really soldierly things
about him, and were handled about as awkwardly as we had handled ours,
when first transformed from citizens into officers, two or three years
before.
This amateur officer wanted the prisoners formed into four ranks, faced
in the proper direction, but how to do it was a problem to him. After
several abortive attempts, our folks obeying every order strictly, which
only demonstrated the fact that his orders failed to convey his meaning,
he at last lost patience and roared out: "G---- d---- it! I want you
Yanks to git in four ranks, faced yon way!"
This direction, though not in strict accordance with military parlance,
was at least intelligible; and after much pulling and hauling, the
desired result was accomplished, every man merrily repeating the order,
and pushing and pulling his fellows. Then he attempted to form his guard
on either flank of the column. He had great difficulty in bringing this
about, for our boys insisted on obeying every order given to the guard.
At last, out of patience with us, he exclaimed: "See here! I want you
Yanks to stand still, when I give orders! I'm speaking to the company,
not you uns!"
When at length he had formed the order of march, he commanded,
"Forward, march!" The guard started, and we stood still. This was not
observed until about half of the guard had passed us. This necessitated
a halt, and he then explained that now he wanted us to "git up along
with the balance."
Thus, laughing and jesting, we passed up the street and into our first
prison pen, an old tobacco warehouse situated on the principal street,
but rather small for the company it was expected to entertain. Here we
commenced our prison life.
Attached to the building was a small yard, which at certain hours we
were permitted to visit, for the purpose of supplying ourselves with
water, washing clothes, exercise, etc. Our prison proper was a room
about twenty by fifty feet. Into this space were crowded nearly two
hundred officers; for prior to this time the enlisted men had been
separated from us, while additions of officers from other sources had
been added to our squad.
_Treatment at Lynchburg_
The floors of the building were filthy, and the ceilings swarmed with
vermin. The only ventilation was from two windows at one end of the
room. The building was only a fit habitation for the rats that infested
it. Very few of us had blankets, and none were issued to us. At night we
were obliged to lie on the floor, so closely packed that every inch of
space was occupied; and if necessity required one to leave the room
during the night, he was compelled to travel over his comrades to
accomplish his purpose. Before morning the air would become almost
poisonous, through lack of ventilation.
Our rations here consisted of bread and a small quantity of meat. They
were good in quality, although rather limited in quantity; but our
experience as soldiers, sometimes on short rations, would have
accustomed us to such hardships, if we could only have divested
ourselves of the intense longing for liberty. Compared with other
Southern prisons, our condition here was quite tolerable.
The officer in command of this prison was humane. Only once did he show
any temper, and that was one night when we all began to sing patriotic
songs, ending with "Old John Brown." When we got to
"We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree."
he came into the room and ordered us to stop singing; but we only sang
the louder, telling him that our tongues were our own, and we should
sing if we wanted to.
"Well," he replied, "_sing_, if you will, but you shan't eat, for I'll
stop your rations."
This had the desired effect. Our sonorous chorus soon sank to a feeble
quaver and faded away. Some of us consoled ourselves with the memory of
one occasion when the Iron Brigade entered Warrenton, every man singing
"John Brown," the column keeping time to the music. But we did not sing
any more on this occasion.
For a time we kept up our courage by cheerful conversation or practical
jokes. Sometimes an amusing incident would serve to break the monotony,
and was eagerly seized upon and made the most of. Many obtained
nick-names, such as "Lengthy," "Shorty," "Whitehead," etc. One, a
Lieutenant Wetterville, obtained the nickname of "Rats" in this way: One
night, after all had retired, and the cheerful snore began to enliven
the sleepless hours of the restless, this young officer was roused from
his slumbers by a huge rat gnawing his toes. He sprang to his feet in
affright, and ran the length of the room, shouting: "Rats! Rats!"
arousing all the sleepers, to the indignation of some and the mirth of
others. The scene ended with three cheers and a tiger, for "Rats." This
light-heartedness was but the foam on the surface, and only ill
concealed the troubled under-current that was gradually mining away the
better feelings of our natures.
The mind of man is so constituted that he cannot be deprived of his
liberty for any considerable time, without there being generated an
inordinate desire to be free. Actual physical ills become secondary to
this acute desire:
"The wish which ages have not yet subdued,
In man to have no master but his mood."
This feeling at length becomes morbid, the gay laugh becomes hollow and
forced, the eye loses its fire, and a hopeless expression settles over
the countenance like a pall.
The novelty of our situation had not yet worn away. We had been
comparatively well treated, and, besides, we were planning an escape.
Some negroes had contrived to communicate with us, and through them we
had concocted a scheme for crossing the river. We had started a tunnel
out of the yard from a closet, and were to be harbored by a negro family
until we could procure some Confederate clothing. Two of the prisoners
had formed the acquaintance of some women by talking through the fence,
and through them had secured a suit of Confederate clothes. Clad in
these, they had boldly walked out past the guards in open daylight,
escaped across the river, and never were recaptured.
_At Danville_
Before we had perfected our tunnel, we were removed to Danville. There
we were confined in a two-storied brick building that had been used as a
prison for deserters, and was filthy beyond description. The floors were
covered with dirt and grease, and literally swarmed with vermin. Our
rations here, consisted of pea soup and corn bread. Such bread, and such
soup! The very recollection is nauseating. Guards were stationed around
the building, with orders to shoot any person seen looking out of the
windows. The first knowledge we had of the existence of such an order
was, by a bullet whistling through the room, and grazing an officer's
head. The official in charge of the prison apologized for this
occurrence, telling us that he had forgotten to notify us of the
standing order given the guard, a slight omission that might have proved
fatal to some of us.
_Removed to Macon_
We remained here but a few days, when we were again packed in freight
cars and started for Macon, Georgia. Every change in our place of
imprisonment thus far had been for the worse, yet we hailed this news
almost with rapture. We thought, poor fools! that anything was better
than our present situation. Alas! We had not yet tasted the dregs of the
bitter draught before us. We had not conceived the idea that such a
brute as "Hog Winder" could exist, or that men wearing the human form
could be so debased as to serve as the willing agents of such a demon.
We had not even heard the names of Tabb and Wirz. We were then
miserably dirty, covered with vermin, and half starved; but we had yet
to learn the horrors of starvation.
Happily ignorant of the future, we gladly started for our new
destination. A rumor of an exchange in progress filled us with new hope,
and although standing room was scarce and a chance to sit down at a
premium in our crowded cars--seventy-five men being packed into each
small-sized freight car--once more the song and jest went round. We
could even laugh, as we told and retold each other that we should
certainly be exchanged now; the more sanguine being sure that we were
even then on the way to a general rendezvous established on the coast
for that purpose.
While the train halted at Augusta to take on wood, a crowd gathered
around to see the show--among others a boy about twelve years old, who
carried a large market basket filled with sandwiches. We looked
longingly at the food and tried to purchase, but he refused to sell to
"Yanks," and the guard seemed highly pleased at his spirit, allowing
him to approach near to the train.
Ours was the last car, and he lingered around the rear of it, talking
with us, always in the most defiant manner; only it seemed to me that
his countenance did not denote him to be the ferocious rebel his
language seemed to indicate, and I could not help thinking it strange
that he should refuse to sell to the guards, who tried to buy of him. At
last the train began to move. He waited until we were fairly under way,
then tossed the basket to us and ran back into the crowd.
In the basket was a note from his mother, a Union woman, filled with
brave, hopeful words, saying that she trusted to the native shrewdness
of her son to secure to us her offering. The note was handed round, and
many a thankful heart blessed that woman, not so much for the timely
offering of food, as for the words of sympathy and kindness that
accompanied the gift.
After a long and exceedingly tiresome journey, we arrived at Macon. I
can not even now repress a shudder as I pronounce that name. It is
associated in my mind with suffering, misery, starvation, death.
Near a beautiful grove of trees, about twenty rods from the railroad,
was an enclosure of about five acres, nearly square in form, surrounded
by a fence constructed of pine boards twelve feet long, fastened
perpendicularly to rails in the same manner we sometimes see
tight-board-fences made in the North. Four feet from the top, on the
outside, a walk was constructed. On this sentinels were stationed at
intervals of about fifty feet. Near the entrance, on the outside, was
the office of the commander of the prison, a small wooden structure.
Upon our arrival we were passed into the office, one at a time, and from
there into the prison yard. We could not imagine why so much caution
should be used in passing us in. Some suspected that the Provost Marshal
wanted to examine our passports. At length my turn came, and I passed
in. Before me stood a thing in uniform. I cannot describe his personal
appearance. Imagine, if you can, an excessively vicious baboon, dressed
in gray, half drunk, and you have him--Captain Tabb!
Upon my entrance he looked me over and observed to a subordinate, "No
pickin's here!" Then he walked up to me, and with the dexterity of an
expert pickpocket inserted his hands in my pockets. He seemed
intuitively to know the exact location of each one. If my life had
depended on keeping silence, I could not have refrained from telling
him, as I did, when he found nothing to reward his industry, that
another thief had forestalled him.
I expected that he would be very angry at hearing this, but he only
laughed, remarking: "I kind o' reck'ned from your looks that you'd been
cleaned out. You can git." Filled with indignation and disgust, I left
his presence, and was ushered into the Macon prison pen.
_The Prison Pen_
What a sight! Who were these gaunt skeletons, clothed with rags, covered
with dirt, who crowded up to the gate, yelling, "Fresh fish! Fresh
fish!" Long skeleton fingers were already inserted into our haversacks,
eagerly searching for the crumbs at the bottom; wild, eager eyes were
peering into our faces--eyes from which had departed all expression
except that of hopeless misery.
One pressed through the crowd and called me by name, and listlessly held
out his hand. I looked at him in astonishment. There was not a feature
that I could recognize. His hair and beard were long and neglected, he
was barefooted, a coarse blue shirt and a pair of overalls were his only
clothing. The expression of his face, like that of his companions, was
indescribable. It mirrored the soul of a man from whom hope had forever
departed.
"I don't know you!" I cried in horror.
He laughed a bitter, mocking laugh. "I used to be Captain Rollins," he
said.
"Can it be possible!" I exclaimed.
I thought of the last time I had seen him, on the first day of July,
1863, at the battle of Gettysburg, a man noble in appearance and in
character, a lawyer by profession, who had formerly served on General
Cutler's staff, and who had been my own intimate friend. He had been
captured on that day, and this was the sequel.
"Who are these men around you? Who and what are they?" I asked.
"Old Libby prisoners," he replied. "Officers, all of them. We only
arrived a few days since. No hope of exchange, I suppose?"
I told him of the rumor we had heard on starting from Danville. He
laughed. "That's an old ruse," said he. "We are always told that when
being moved, to prevent our trying to escape."
My heart sank within me. Hungry and tired, we began to look around for a
place to sleep, or at all events to lie down and rest. There was a long
frame building in the yard, that had formerly been used for a fair
building. Three or four wooden sheds had been erected, open at the
sides, but everything in the shape of a building was already crowded to
its fullest capacity.
At length a few of us dug a hole under the structure first described,
and burrowed there. We were fortunate, for the larger proportion of our
comrades were compelled to camp in the open air, without either fire or
blankets, subjected to the heavy dews at night and the scorching sun by
day.
On the inside of the pen, about ten feet from the high fence already
described, was a picket fence, about five feet high. This was the "Dead
Line." All were forbidden to approach within three feet of it, under
penalty of death, and the sentinels were judges as to distance.
A small stream ran through one corner of the pen. Over this were the
sinks, and by the side of it the spring, from which we obtained water.
This spring was about ten feet from the "Dead Line." There were two or
three trees scattered through the yard, that, for a favored few,
afforded shade from the sun's burning rays, and a partial protection
from the dew.
There were about twelve hundred old Libby prisoners in this pen when we
arrived, and with the accession of our squad it was crowded to its
fullest capacity. It was easy by the expression of their faces alone, to
distinguish the "Fresh fish" from the old prisoners. Those of the latter
had a starved, hopeless look, that must have been seen to be realized.
Long confinement and starvation have the effect of deadening all the
finer feelings. They are brutalizing. All the selfish propensities are
developed. The mind becomes gangrened. Long brooding over the deplorable
situation, with hunger constantly gnawing at the vitals, gradually saps
away all that is noble and God-like, leaving active only the animal
nature.
I saw two Lieutenants belonging to the regular army, snap, snarl, and
actually fight over the distribution of a tablespoonful of corn meal;
yet these men were educated gentlemen, and under ordinary circumstances
would have resented as an insult the imputation that they could ever be
guilty of such conduct. I looked at them, and wondered if we too would
become like the pitiable objects around us.
With these thoughts came visions of the longing, waiting hearts at the
North. These men represented homes, scattered through every loyal State,
in which sat the patient wife or mother, anxiously watching for tidings
of husband or son. In the reports she had read with sinking heart the
fearful words, "missing in action," or "wounded and missing," and the
cry had gone up from quivering lips, "Oh God, let me not be left a widow
and my children fatherless!" Then had commenced the long agony of
suspense, of waiting, waiting, waiting--how drear an ordeal, only those
who have passed through it can tell.
I thought of a certain little cottage home, wherein was gathered my own
little flock, and pictured to myself the anguish they were then
enduring. I had been reported killed, as I had ascertained from an
officer captured later. For the first time I realized the full horror of
the situation.
Appetite was already clamorous, and we began to make inquiries about
rations. We were told that these would be issued in the morning. That
would be twenty-four hours without food.
Slowly the first long night in our new prison passed away. Early in the
morning we were turned out for roll call. Captain Tabb had appeared with
his guard, a line was formed across the centre of the yard, and we were
all driven to one side of it, and then commenced the roll call, or
rather the count. One by one we were passed through a particular part of
the line and counted, Tabb making a practice of heaping upon us every
insult his debased mind could invent. How our fingers itched to get hold
of him as we passed!