yard and grounds of the Roper Hospital were laid out with care and
taste. Beautiful flowers bordered the well-kept walks; orange and lemon
trees perfumed the air; two large fig trees dropped their fruit at our
feet, and furnished magnificent shade from the fierce rays of the sun.
It was a very paradise of Confederate prisons. The officials, too, were
gentlemanly and courteous, and seemed really desirous of making our
condition as comfortable as was in their power.
Here, too, for the first time, we received mail from home, which came to
us by flag of truce. It is almost impossible to describe the longing all
felt for news from home: to hear from wives and families, and, not
least, to hear from friends in the army. We had written many letters,
which we were assured would by flag of truce be forwarded by our
captors, but we had as yet received nothing, and the "Stale fish" Libby
prisoners had received no mail since leaving Richmond in the previous
spring. Imagine, then, the commotion caused by a voice loudly bawling,
"Yankee mail! Turn out for letters."
Every man, regardless of rank, crowded to the front of the building.
There in the yard, were several mail sacks. Three or four of our number
were selected as temporary postmasters, and several others as temporary
policemen, authorized to keep the crowd back. Then the distribution
began.
The officers selected for this purpose, commenced calling out the
address on the letters. As a name was called, the eager "_Here!_" would
be heard, were the person present. Sometimes the response was heard,
"Sent to Columbia (or Salisbury)," as the case might be; and often,
after a mournful pause, would come the melancholy answer, "Dead!"
I shall never forget one poor fellow, a Second Lieutenant of a New York
regiment. As his name was called, he eagerly pressed forward to receive
the longed-for letter, and before it reached his hand, cried out: "Hurry
up! Hand it over! Hurrah! I knew mother would not forget me."
When it reached him he was so excited that he could scarcely hold the
envelope. Hastily opening it--there was no seal to break--he glanced at
the contents; and then, such a groan of concentrated disappointment and
misery I never heard before and hope never to hear again. No words were
spoken; no tear stained his cheek; quietly working his way back out of
the crowd, he sought his quarters and temporarily passed out of my mind,
and in a moment was forgotten by the eager, anxious crowd.
When the excitement was partly over and I had read the long-expected
letter from my wife, I sought him out. He was sitting upon a box with
his head resting on his hands, a picture of despair.
"You seem to have had bad news," I said.
His reply was to place the letter in my hands. It was evidently from a
stranger, and in a few words informed him that his mother had died
shortly after his capture, and when on her death bed had asked the
writer to convey her blessing to her boy.
"I am the only child," he cried; "and my mother was a widow."
Attempts at consolation were useless. I did not try. The poor fellow
never rallied from the blow. He was removed to the hospital and died a
month later. His capture had killed his mother, and her death killed
him. Only two of the thousands of victims offered up on the altar of the
country! One more family destroyed--a sacrifice to the unholy ambition
that drew the South into a rebellion whose brilliant commencement was
only equalled by its inglorious ending.
In the latter part of August or the first of September, yellow fever
made its appearance in Charleston. To a Northerner there was something
terrifying in the thought of being penned up there, to meet this
pestilence. We had endured famine, but this was worse. We knew that
there had been one or two cases in the prison, and all had been exposed,
or might have been. The patients had been removed under the care of the
Sisters of Charity, God bless them! Having been brought up a Protestant,
I had imbibed a prejudice against everything pertaining to Catholicism;
but since experiencing their gentle ministrations in Charleston, where
they literally obeyed the Scriptural injunction: "Sick they ministered
unto us, in prison they visited us, and naked they clothed us," I have
learned a broader charity. I have learned that neither creed nor sex
make the Christian or the hero. I never now see their distinctive
costume without a feeling of gratitude and respect.
While we were at Charleston, the Andersonville prisoners were moved to
a place near Charleston, passing through the city on their way to camp
on the race track. My pen falters when I attempt to describe the passage
through the streets of that sad column. Starvation, nostalgia, and
disease, together with brutal treatment, had reduced these gallant Union
soldiers to half naked savages. I saw many with not enough clothing to
cover their nakedness. Starvation was stamped on every face. Hundreds of
the poor fellows died after reaching our lines, and thousands more died
in prison. Why, in the name of common decency, our government has not
passed a law granting them pensions, I do not know. If pensions are ever
granted to discharged soldiers, it should be to them. Better lose a leg
or an arm in battle, than to have suffered the living death of
Confederate imprisonment. I sometimes wish a sleek, well-fed congressman
might experience a short term of this same imprisonment, that he might
realize precisely what it was.
To the credit of the people of Charleston, and especially to the Sisters
of Charity be it said, they obtained permission to aid these
Andersonville prisoners with donations of food and clothing, and helped
them to the best of their own limited means. Nourishing soups were
provided, and clothing enough to cover their nakedness. Although
Charleston was the scene of the inauguration of hostilities, there is a
warm spot for it in my heart, since my imprisonment there in 1864.
About the first of October the Confederates became anxious to rid the
city of us, for fear the fever should spread and become a pestilence
that might sweep them all off. It was therefore decided to remove us
again, this time to Columbia. Immediately upon hearing this news, some
of us began to look about us for means to facilitate an escape, and a
long march across the country.
Five months previous, an officer of General Sherman's staff had been
captured, who had in his possession, carefully preserved, topographical
maps of South Carolina and Georgia. These had been copied by Captain
John B. Vliet, Captain Henry, and Lieutenant Dahl, until there were
several duplicates of them. I had been fortunate enough to secure one of
these charts. I was also in possession of a small night and day
compass, presented to me by Commodore Pendergrast when he was
exchanged. A short time previously I had conversed with several of my
comrades, and found four ready to join me in attempting a trip across
South Carolina and Georgia, on the "underground railroad." The party
consisted of Captain John B. Vliet, Captain Henry Spencer, Lieutenant
and Adjutant Gough of the Tenth Wisconsin, Lieutenant Hatcher of the
Thirteenth Ohio, and myself.
At length dawned the morning of the fifth of October, 1864, a memorable
day for us. For several days there had been rumors of an exchange about
to take place, the old story that we had heard every time we were to
exchange prisons. Just where we were to be transported, was not stated;
we thought Savannah our destination, but Columbia was actually the place
to which they were taking us.
_A Second Escape_
No notice that we were to leave at any particular time was given, until
we were ordered to pack up and fall in line. This was to prevent any
special preparation or saving of rations, the intention being to
discourage any attempt of escape, by reason of lack of food. But they
did not by any means relax their vigilance in guarding us. An entire
regiment, the Thirtieth Georgia Infantry, was detailed to guard us, and
we filed out of prison between long lines of grey-coated soldiers warily
watching our every movement. Once more the long precession marched
through the streets of Charleston to the railroad station.
Our party managed to keep together, and were assigned to the same car,
located near the centre of the train. As usual, the transportation
furnished was freight cars, each car being crowded to its capacity. The
side doors were thrown open to furnish air, and we secured a place
between the open doors. Four guards were stationed on the inside, and
from five to six others on the roof of each car, with orders to shoot
any of the prisoners attempting to escape. The guards inside our car
took their station beside each corner of the open doors.
At length, everything being in readiness, the whistle sounded, the
wheels began slowly to revolve, and we were off.
Our plans were soon formed. We decided to wait patiently until night,
and then, selecting a time when the cars were running down grade, at
their maximum rate of speed, jump from the train. It was necessary that
the cars should be moving rapidly, for otherwise the guards would have
little difficulty in riddling us with bullets. As they passed
successively by, the guards on each car would have a chance for a shot
at us at unpleasantly short range: for the same reason, our chances
would be better in the dark. We easily calculated that at the usual rate
of progress, the train could not reach Columbia until after midnight; so
that these two very essential concomitants to success were not beyond
the bounds of probability. The route selected was to make the nearest
practicable point in the lines occupied by Sherman's command, between
Atlanta and Chattanooga.
A careful inventory was taken, of stock belonging to the party. Shoes
were more essential than any other article of clothing. A man may travel
without hat or coat; he can dispense with undergarments; he may even
travel _sans culottes_, but he must have his feet protected.
With the exception of Lieutenant Hatcher, each of the party was provided
with something in the shape of boots or shoes. Hatcher had a pair of
boots, but they were nearly minus the soles, and it was evident that
they would last but a few days. Captain Vliet had a pair of long-legged
army boots that I made up my mind would furnish leather enough to make a
pair of moccasins for Hatcher, and still leave enough to serve a useful
(if not ornamental) purpose to their owner. Our other clothing was
nothing to boast of. We each had coat, shirt, and pantaloons, but
neither hat nor cap. There was but one blanket in the party, and a new
linen sack or bag. We had a kettle that I had made out of an old paint
keg, while in Roper Hospital. Spencer had about a quart of flour, in
addition to the one day's rations furnished us at starting, and I had
saved a small piece of salt pork. We had two maps and the compass.
There was yet to overcome one difficulty. Four armed men were present,
to prevent our escape. We knew that at the first movement we should be
fired upon. Even were we not hurt, the shot would give notice to guards
on the succeeding cars that something was wrong. This would result in
attracting vastly more attention to ourselves, personally, than we were
ambitious for just at that time. We must therefore either disarm the
guards or render their muskets temporarily useless.
This we accomplished. "Familiarity breeds contempt." At first our
jailors were on the alert every moment; not a movement of the prisoners
was made, that they did not narrowly watch; but after a while they
became interested in our conversation, and fell to laughing at our
jokes. At first perhaps a little nervous at being in such close
proximity to fifty or sixty "Yanks," even though the latter were
unarmed, this passed away, and we were soon conversing together like old
acquaintances. As it began to get dark, tired of standing on guard so
long without being relieved, they set their muskets on the floor of the
car and seated themselves at the ends of the open door, with their feet
hanging outside, their bayonets leaning against the top of the doorway.
One of our party was stationed near each sentinel, and getting into
conversation with him quietly raised the hammer of the lock from the
tube, with his thumb, while with the little finger the cap was worked
off the nipple. All this, without attracting attention. Within twenty
minutes of commencing operations, every musket was uncapped. Meanwhile
we were nearing Branchville. It was quite dark now, and we were only
waiting for the train to get under full headway.
At length we reached a thick wood. The train was moving through it at
the rate of twenty miles an hour. The pine forest through which we were
passing, added to the darkness. The time for action had arrived. Quietly
notifying my companions to be in readiness, I grasped the bag before
described, in which I had deposited the kettle and pork, gave the
signal, and sprang from the car out into the darkness.
_Fugitives_
It is difficult to describe one's sensation in jumping from a
rapidly-moving to a stationary object. It is very much as one might
imagine it would be in jumping from a stationary object upon a large
and very rapidly-revolving wheel. You do not fall, but the earth comes
up and hits you; and then, unless you hold fast to something, you roll
off. I struck first upon my feet, then upon the back of my neck, and
then, as it seemed to me, I rolled over several times. In fact, before I
had fairly settled in one position, the train had passed me. Some idea
of the rapidity with which the train was moving may be gained from the
fact that five of us jumped, one after another, as rapidly as possible,
and yet from where I landed to where the last man struck the earth was
at least twenty rods. Fortunately the ground was smooth, though very
hard. Although terribly jarred and shaken up, none of us were seriously
injured, and in a few moments we were standing together on the track. We
knew that an alarm would be given, and that we should probably be
pursued. Even while we were talking, a musket was discharged from the
train, and we heard the whistle sounded for "Down brakes."
We at once plunged into the forest in the direction of the coast,
exactly the opposite of our true direction. After traveling for about a
mile, we doubled on our track, crossed the railroad within a quarter of
a mile of the point where we had left it, and taking a northwesterly
course commenced our pilgrimage toward Sherman and Liberty.
Our object in apparently wasting precious time in making a false start,
was to puzzle the pursuers, whom we knew would be on our track in the
morning. We had hardly left the railroad when, in the thick brush ahead
of us, we heard men's voices, and the barking of dogs. Hist! Lie down!
Which way are they heading? Straight for us. Shall we run? No, that will
not do, we should be heard and followed. Crouching upon the ground in a
thicket, scarcely breathing, we awaited their approach. Soon they were
near enough for us to understand their conversation.
"Wondah what dat shot foh?" said a voice.
"Do'no. Reck'n it war a geard on dat train. Hey, Cæsar, you rascal! Wat
de mattah now, ole boy? Dat dog smell somet'in'."
"Coon, I reck'n."
"Dat no coon. See de way he growl and show his teef. Heyar, Cæsar! Come,
Cæsar! Hunt 'em up, ole boy! Wat ye got, dat scars ye so?"
By this time we could distinguish two forms in the darkness, and could
see the dog smelling around our track. It was a perilous moment.
Evidently the men were negroes, probably out hunting for coon or
opossum. If they discovered us they might prove our betrayers. We
thought the best way was to keep still and await the dénouement.
"Wondah wat dat is," said one. "Don't act like coon. Reck'n we bettah
let dat alone."
"Reck'n so, too. Come on, Cæsar!" and whistling off the dog, the negroes
passed on, greatly to our relief.
As soon as they were fairly out of hearing we started on through the
woods, taking a northwesterly direction, occasionally stopping to
consult the compass and reassure ourselves as to direction. Through the
brush, over fallen trees, now in quagmire, now on the ridges, among the
pines, we made our way. At length we found a road running in the
direction of our march, and struck into it with an accelerated pace that
amounted almost to a double-quick, with hearts cheered by our successful
escape from the train, and with high hopes of final success. On and on
we traveled. No words were spoken above a breath, and only the whispers
were such as the leader thought actually necessary to guide those in the
rear.
With body half bent, the leader, listened intently to every sound, and
strained his powers of vision to their utmost capacity. When any unusual
sound attracted his attention, he halted those following, with a low
"Hist!" while he went forward, carefully reconnoitering the ground. At
the word "Again forward!" we flitted like spectres over the lonely road.
So eager were we to get on, that daylight found us somewhat unprepared
for a halt. We were in a cultivated country--cornfields on both sides of
us, a house in plain sight. On our left, in a field, was a thicket, with
a cornfield on one side running quite up to the thicket. Leaving the
road, we struck across the fields and gained the thicket, fortunately
without discovery save by a house-dog that barked furiously at us until
we were out of sight, and then, with a growl, regained his kennel.
Selecting the densest part of the thicket, we spread our coats on the
ground. After consulting our compass and map, and guessing at our
location, and finding that we had traveled, as far as we could judge,
about twenty-five miles, we drew our blanket over us and were soon sound
asleep, with the exception of the one detailed to stand guard.
Our slumber was of short duration. As the sun came up, the horns, on all
sides, calling the negroes to their labors, the crowing of the cocks,
and all the customary sounds on a Southern plantation, warned us that we
might accidentally be discovered at any moment. Our anxiety precluded
the possibility of sleep, until we had become somewhat accustomed to our
peril. It was only the knowledge that we must sleep to be able to keep
awake at night, when the friendly darkness should again shield us from
sight, that induced us to even try to secure this much-needed means to
recuperate our exhausted physical powers.
Thus, watching and dozing by turns, the long day at length came to an
end. As soon as it was dark, we were fortunate enough to find some corn
and beans, not yet hard. Building a small fire, shielded from
observation by surrounding it with a screen made of our coats and
blankets, we boiled this food in our kettle and ate heartily of the
nutritious succotash. Thus invigorated, we again started on the journey
towards our lines. Passing through the cornfield, we again reached the
road, our hearts light and courage redoubled. It was evident that we
were not pursued; if we had been, we would have been overtaken during
the day, and we intended before morning to put a good thirty miles more
between ourselves and our starting point.
We had been on the road for about an hour, when ahead of us, apparently
in the road, a light was discovered. A halt was called, and this
phenomenon discussed in all its bearings. Why should a fire be kindled
in the road? Was it an outpost of the enemy's cavalry? Were the negroes
building a fire for fun? Was it a guerilla party out on a scout? Or was
it that the country had been notified of our escape, and that the
inhabitants were out looking for us?
Without arriving at any definite conclusion, we decided, at all events,
to flank the danger, whether real or imaginary. Acting upon this
decision, we left the road and took to the brush, in the following
order: myself, followed by Spencer, Hatcher, Vliet, and Gough, one
following the other in single file. We had thus progressed perhaps forty
rods, when our onward course was arrested by something moving through
the brush in our front.
I immediately halted, and by a low "s-sh!" notified those in the rear of
danger ahead. Throwing myself on the ground, I cautiously crawled
forward to reconnoiter. I soon discovered an object, apparently a man,
cautiously picking his way through the brush towards us. Occasionally he
would stop and apparently reconnoiter, and then cautiously advance. It
was just opposite the fire in the road, distant from it by perhaps
thirty rods. Could it be that there was a picket line here, so far away
from the contending forces? At all events, he was so near us that he
must have heard our movements. Was he watching to get a shot at us? I
could feel the hair rise on my head as I contemplated this probability,
for he was not more than a rod away. What was it best to do?
After thinking it all over, I decided upon the desperate plan of
suddenly attacking him, and trusting to Providence for the result.
Slowly and carefully, I raised to my feet, and with a silent prayer for
success, dashed upon--an overgrown hog, peacefully following his
legitimate business of gathering acorns. It is difficult to determine
whether the relief afforded by the discovery of his hogship was adequate
compensation for this sudden letting down from the feeling of
desperation to which we were wrought but a moment before. We were too
frightened to laugh, too relieved to be angry.
Only a moment was lost in contemplation of our situation. I gave the
signal to advance, and started. I heard my companions following. Safely
passing the fire that had at first alarmed us, we soon regained the
road. I may as well say here, that we never discovered what that fire
did mean, or for what purpose it was kindled. We only know that, be the
purpose what it may, it resulted disastrously for our little party, as
the sequel will show.
_Two of Us Missing_
Upon reaching the highway, it was discovered that two of the party were
missing. Vliet and Gough were gone. What could it mean? Had they been
intercepted and taken prisoners? Or had they voluntarily cut loose from
us, and taken this method of doing it?
There was one circumstance that pointed that way. Early in the evening,
Vliet had both compass and map. Just after we discovered the fire, he
had returned them to me, with the remark that should we get separated he
could get along better without the compass than I could. But, in justice
to my companions and myself, let me say that this thought found no
lasting place in our minds. We knew both Vliet and Gough too well to
believe that they would pursue such a course. If they had, for any
reason, concluded to divide the party they would have manfully told us
of their plan, and not have deserted us.
It was at once decided to institute a search. We dared not halloo, or
make any unusual noise to attract their attention. It was therefore a
still hunt. So two of us retraced our steps and searched the bushes and
thickets thoroughly, but could discover no trace of our missing
comrades.
After spending at least two hours of precious time, we were compelled to
abandon the search as hopeless, and returned to our companion in the
road. He too had watched closely, but had failed to discover anything,
and we were obliged to face the thought that our party was broken, that
we were separated. Shall we ever meet again? If we do, will it be under
the Stars and Stripes, or within the walls of a prison pen? With
saddened hearts, our party of three--Spencer, Hatcher and myself--again
started on our lonely journey, but doubly lonely now.
Ruminations upon our unfortunate separation so occupied our minds, that
we became less watchful of our own immediate surroundings than had been
our custom, or than safety required. The results of this might have
proved disastrous, had we not rudely been aroused from our useless
regrets by the sudden need to exercise all our faculties for our own
protection.
An abrupt angle in the road had concealed from us the approach of a man,
until suddenly, without warning, we were standing before him, face to
face. He immediately halted. So did we. There was no time for concert of
action, and for a moment I was at a loss what to do, when Spencer took
the initiative by asking: "Where are you going?"
"Ober to Miss Clemen's plantation," was the reply.