LIBBY PRISON.
"All ye who enter here abandon hope."--Auld lang syne.--Major
Turner.--Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.--Stoicism.--Glazier
enters the prison-hospital.--A charnel-house.--Rebel
surgeons.--Prison correspondence.--Specimen of a regulation
letter.--The tailor's joke.--A Roland for an Oliver.--News of
death.--Schemes for escape.--The freemasonry of misfortune.--Plot
and counter-plot.--The pursuit of pleasure under difficulties.
It does not come within the scope of the present work to enter into a
detailed description of the sufferings of the Union prisoners in this
place of durance: those who have a taste for such gloomy themes may
gratify it by reading the first work by our young soldier-author,
entitled "The Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape," in which the horrors of
that house of misery are eloquently described. We may, however, say this
much, that if the testimony of eye-witnesses is to be credited, it was a
fearful place, and one over whose portals the words of Dante might have
been appropriately inscribed, "All ye who enter here abandon hope."
[Illustration: Libby Prison.]
Of some thousand Northern officers confined here, Glazier, of course,
met several from his own corps, who had been previously captured. He at
first felt his condition very acutely. His roving life amid the
magnificent scenery of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania was now
exchanged for the gloomy and monotonous routine of a prison; but he
writes under date of October twenty-eighth, in a more reconciled and
hopeful strain "I am gradually," he says, "becoming accustomed to this
dungeon life, and I presume I shall fall into the habit of enjoying
myself at times. 'How use doth breed a habit in a man.' Indeed he can
accommodate himself to almost any clime or any circumstance of life, a
gift of adaptation no other living thing possesses in any such degree."
Of one man, in the midst of all his philosophy, our hero speaks very
bitterly. We allude to Major Turner, military warden of the prison. He
describes him as possessed of a vindictive, depraved, and fiendish
nature, and moralizes over the man and his career in this wise:
"There is nothing more terrible than a human soul grown powerful in sin,
and left to the horrible machinations of the evil one, and its own evil
promptings. Demons developed from germs that might have produced
seraphs, become rank growths, drinking in the healthful stimulants of
life and reproducing them in hideous forms of vice and crime.
"'Souls made of fire, and children of the sun,
With whom revenge is virtue.'
"Thus we see a soul coming pure and plastic from its Maker's hand, yet
afterward standing before the world, stained and hardened."
Slowly and wearily the days and weeks passed on in "Libby," leaving its
drear monotony unbroken, except when the rumor of a prospect of being
exchanged came to flush the faces of the captives with a hope destined
not to be fulfilled while Willard Glazier was in Richmond. The result
was that he at length abandoned all hope of being exchanged, and for a
time tried hard to cultivate and "grow into the luxury of indifference."
His experience told him that "however reprehensible" it might be in
ordinary life, "stoicism, under the circumstances in which he then found
himself, was an actual necessity." His mind appears at this time to have
sustained him under many extreme bodily privations. But despite all his
philosophy and cultivated resignation of spirit, despite the mental
resources which he fortunately possessed in no small degree, and which
enabled him to occupy his time profitably, while others were pacing up
and down the room like caged beasts, feeding upon their own hearts, his
bodily health was materially impaired. The first winter month, with its
frosty atmosphere, and fierce northern blasts, instead of bringing
invigoration to his wasted frame, left him more debilitated; and upon
the eighth of December he succumbed to a disease which had been
encroaching upon him for some time, and requested to be sent to the
hospital. His sensations were far from pleasant when, for the first time
in his life, he found himself seriously ill among enemies, and in that
most dismal of all dismal places, a Prison Infirmary. "Once in the
hospital," he writes, "I found myself soon subjected to its peculiar
influences. There was the ominous stillness, broken only by the choking
cough, or labored groan; the chilling dread, as though one were in the
immediate presence of death, and under the ban of silence; and the
anxious yearning--the almost frantic yearning one feels in the
contemplation of suffering which he is powerless to alleviate. And worse
than all, at last came the hardened feeling which a familiarity with
such scenes produces. This is nothing but an immense charnel-house. We
are constantly in the midst of the dead and dying. Nearly every day some
of our comrades, and on some days several of them, are borne away
coffinless and unshrouded to their unmarked graves. Nor flower, nor
cross, nor hallowed token, gives grace to the dead, or beauty to the
grave. I am well aware that in time of war, on the field of carnage, in
camp, where the pestilential fever rages, or in the crowded prisons of
the enemy, human life is but little valued. Yet there are moments amidst
all these scenes, when the importance of life and the terrors of death,
seem to force themselves upon the mind of every man, with a power which
cannot be resisted."
It is pleasant to find that here, as generally in the world with members
of the learned professions, the surgeons were humane and kind; and
remonstrated with the authorities whenever remonstrance on behalf of the
poor sufferers was needed. Of course they could not "minister to a mind
diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow," or,
"With some sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse
The choked bosom of that perilous stuff
That weighs upon the heart;"
but gracious words and sympathizing looks, and the consciousness that he
was once more in the hands of _gentlemen_, were a source of great
comfort to the patient, after having been brought into daily and hourly
contact with the familiars of Major Turner. Another gratifying
circumstance was, that the Federal surgeons held as prisoners were
permitted to attend upon their sick comrades when they expressed a wish
to do so, and that, of course, was very frequently. Even an hospital has
its little events, which although they appear very trifling in the
retrospect, are of considerable importance at the time of their
occurrence. Here these little episodes were not infrequent. At one time
it was the destruction of a box of dainties sent by the Federal Sanitary
Commission for the prisoners; at another, it was the excitement incident
to an exchange of the surgeons held in captivity; and again, it was the
surreptitious acquisition by some of the patients of a daily newspaper,
and the guarded dissemination of such items as it might contain among
his fellow-sufferers; but greatest of all in importance was the receipt
of a letter from HOME. Even when surrounded by all the incidents of home
life, the postman is ever a welcome visitor; but in the midst of such a
dreary captivity as these men were undergoing, a letter from _home_ was
like a message from heaven.
Their correspondence had, however, its sad as well as its cheerful
aspect. The prisoners were restricted in writing their letters to six
lines, by an arbitrary order from Major Turner, and much ingenuity was
exercised in the effort to crowd into these six lines the thousand and
one messages which many of the writers desired to send to mothers,
wives, sisters and sweethearts. Here is a genuine specimen of a
"regulation" letter from a fond husband to the wife of his bosom:
My Dear Wife: Yours received--no hope of exchange--send
corn-starch--want socks--no money--rheumatism in left
shoulder--pickles very good--send sausages--God bless you--Kiss the
baby--Hail Columbia! Your devoted husband,
A. D. S.
But the "rule of six" was successfully evaded for a considerable time,
by the manufacture and use of invisible ink. The trick was however at
last discovered, and the way in which Glazier tells the story is so
amusing, that we are tempted to give it in his own words:
"A certain captain writing to a fair and undoubtedly dear friend, could
not brook the idea of being limited to six lines, when he had so much to
communicate; so resorting to the use of invisible ink, he comfortably
filled the sheet with 'soft and winning words,' and then fearing lest
his _inamorata_ would not discover the secret he added this postscript:
"'P.S.--Now, my dear, read this over, and then bake it in the oven and
read it again.'
"This was too much. The rebels thinking if the letter would improve by
baking it might be well to improve it at once, accordingly held it over
the fire. This brought to light four closely written pages of the
tenderest and most heart-rending sentiment."
Ever after all letters sent out by the prisoners were carefully
inspected and subjected to the "ordeal by fire," so that, to use the
expressive language of an old soldier, "that game was played."
Among Glazier's fellow-prisoners at this time was a certain Major
Halsted. He was one of those social anomalies that are not infrequently
met with in this country, a man of obscure origin, a member of a very
humble calling, prior to entering the army, and yet possessing the
personal appearance and manners of a man of distinction. He really
belonged to that terribly maligned craft of whose followers it is
popularly said, "It takes nine to make a man,"--he was a tailor. Upon
this fact some of the little wits of the prison, forgetting that one of
the bravest of Napoleon's generals, and one of the most intrepid of
America's sons, had each followed the same occupation, were in the habit
of jokingly asking him to repair their old and dilapidated clothes.
When this jest was first indulged in, those who knew the undaunted
spirit and somewhat irascible temper of the major, expected to hear him
blaze out upon the perpetrator of the _mauvaise plaisantrie_, or
possibly knock him down. To their surprise, however, he did neither. For
a single moment a gleam of passionate wrath shot up in his eyes, but it
was instantly suppressed, and he joined in the laugh against himself.
Seeing, however, that the victim of the joke did not appear at all
disturbed or hurt, other, better-natured fellows followed in the wake,
and the jest of asking the major to patch a pair of breeches or mend a
coat, became somewhat threadbare by repetition.
It happened, however, that one day the rebel surgeon accidentally tore
his coat across the breast, and turning to Major H. said, he would give
him a bottle of wine if he would repair it. "Yes, sir," said the major,
"if you will furnish me with a needle, thread, and a few other
indispensables, I will take the whole suit and make it look very
different." He added, "the fact is, I would rather do anything than rust
in idleness in this d----d prison." Finding that he spoke seriously, and
as if it were an ordinary business, the Confederate sawbones, who had a
lively appreciation of Yankee handicraft, accepted the offer, and all
next day the major was hard at work clipping and scouring and pressing
the surgeon's uniform, every now and then the owner thereof passing by
and smiling approval; and it was remarked that his face wore that
complacent expression common to all good men when they have furnished
employment for idle hands--and it is not going to cost them anything.
The same evening, however, when the work, so neatly done, was finished,
the major very quietly slipped it upon his own dignified person, and
taking with him a fellow-prisoner as "hospital steward," coolly walked
past the guard, remarking, to the great consternation of that personage,
"My friend, there are unmistakable indications of _cerebro-spinal
meningitis_ in your eyes. Come over to the hospital as soon as you are
relieved, and I will see what can be done for you," walked out into the
street, and neither he nor the "hospital steward" was heard of again
until they reached the Federal lines.
The devices resorted to, to effect an escape, were as ingenious as they
were numerous, and for a short time the most popular and successful
_ruse_ was for the prisoners to get into the hospital, simulate death,
and, while left unguarded in the dead-house, to escape. The difference,
however, between the tally of the deaths and the burials ultimately
attracted the attention of the authorities, and that was stopped.
It will be remembered that while young Glazier was fighting his last
fight prior to his capture upon the nineteenth of October, the family at
home were gathered around his sister's dying bed, when her gentle spirit
winged its flight to Heaven. From that day until the twenty-ninth of
November, he had received no news of his family, and consequently, up
to that time, was ignorant of her decease. It had been his habit during
the weary hours of his prison life, to overcome the tendency to despair
from brooding over his misfortunes--which is common to all human beings
in trouble--to fix his thought upon the loved ones at home. His
imagination constantly conjured up pictures of his parents, his sisters
and brothers, and placed them amid the rustic surroundings of his
boyhood's home. Even while in the hospital, and tossing with fever upon
his bed, the visions which haunted him were not visions of red-handed
war, but of quiet country life, where his kindred filled their several
spheres of duty. He had never thought of them, except collectively.
Although he had, from time to time, felt apprehensive that "Elvi" was
somewhat delicate, he never had the slightest fear that her life was
thereby endangered. Hence, when the sad news arrived, it came as a
terrible surprise. His sisters had been the objects of his peculiar
care. The relation he had borne to them, young as he was, was that of a
father, as well as brother. He never wearied of devising plans for their
intellectual improvement. He made it his peculiar care that they should
be thoroughly educated, and that, while intellectually robust, none of
the soft down and bloom of true womanhood should be brushed away in the
process. They were his memory's "good angels" even in sleep; for what
must have been his dreams in the midst of such surroundings, if he had
not had them to think of!
The shock on thus learning of his sister's death was a very great one to
young Glazier, and his reflections for a time were bitter. He alludes
to the subject himself in this way: "In the very midst of death I am
permitted to drag out a weary life, while dear ones in a land of health,
freedom and plenty are struck down by the fatal shaft. Her death
occurred on the nineteenth of October, the very day of my capture. I was
thrust into prison, and doubly bound to the groveling discomforts of
earth, while _she_ was released from the prison-house of clay, and
received, I believe into the joyous, freedom of Heaven. Our lives are
all in the hands of Him who doeth all things well. He appoints us a
period of existence, and appoints a moment to depart. All other
influences are subordinate to His will. 'What can preserve our lives,
and what destroy!'"
From the moment he realized that he was in the hands of the enemy, after
the battle of New Baltimore, Glazier had made up his mind to exercise
sleepless vigilance in seeking for opportunities of escape. He pondered
over the matter until he became a complete enthusiast in his efforts to
master the minute details of the construction and topography of the
place of his confinement, and, by the exercise of that natural
freemasonry which enables kindred spirits to recognize each other, soon
effected an understanding upon the subject with certain of the more
daring of his companions in misfortune. One of these gentlemen was a
Lieutenant Tresouthick, an officer of the Eighteenth Pennsylvania
Cavalry. In order to comprehend the plan which they finally determined
to carry out, it will be necessary to premise that Libby Prison was a
three-story structure, built over very ample cellarage; that the stories
were each divided into three compartments, as was the cellar; and that
these spaces were all of equal size in length and breadth. For the
purpose of conveying a clear conception of the _locus in quo_ of the
proposed effort, the reader should also be informed that the hospital
occupied the first floor; that Lieutenant Tresouthick was one of the
occupants of the room immediately above it; and that there were sinks
built against the exterior wall of the same height as each story, and
running the entire length of the building. The lieutenant's plan was,
that "he should feign sickness and get into the hospital," says our
hero, in describing the scheme; "and that I, in the meanwhile, should,
with a saw-backed knife, cut a board out of the sink large enough to let
us through." This looked feasible enough, and the two conspirators were
beginning to felicitate themselves upon their approaching freedom, when
they discovered that any such opening as they proposed, would let them
out "directly opposite the guard," so _that_ plan had to be dropped.
Glazier then proposed a plan of operations, promising better and safer
results. It was, that Tresouthick should still carry out his original
idea of a feigned sickness and consequent admission to the hospital;
that he (Glazier) should procure a piece of rope, eight or ten feet
long, and then, "some dark, rainy night," the pair should "steal down
into the basement"--the outer doors of which were "not locked until ten
o'clock"--and await their opportunity. That, when they once reached the
exterior of the building, and the sentry's back was turned, they should
rush past him on either side, and, with the rope, trip him up, in the
hope of being beyond the reach of his musket before he could fire. This
was approved by the lieutenant, and they made up their minds to try it.
Of course, it was necessary that Lieutenant Tresouthick's illness should
come on very gradually, and progress naturally from bad to worse, until
he became a fit subject for the hospital, so that some time was occupied
in preliminary preparations before any steps could be taken for the
execution of their plan.
Meanwhile, through the kindness of one of the surgeons, young Glazier
was furnished with some reading matter, a very great luxury to a man in
his situation and of his tastes. In his more serious hours he re-read
the Bible, and committed to memory daily a portion of "Saint Matthew's
Gospel;" and for relaxation read "Napoleon and his Marshals." This with
an occasional game at chess, checkers, or dominos, games in which the
invalids were permitted to indulge, made the hours pass much more
pleasantly than those spent in the convalescent department. It is true
their chess-board was made with chalk upon the floor, the "men" being
pieces wrought out of bone saved from their soup, and the "checkers" old
buttons ripped from their scanty wardrobe. But these rude implements
afforded as much real sport as if they had been constructed of ivory or
gold. The scene must at all times have been grimly grotesque in this
place, for all the trades and professions had their representatives
there, and the lawyers held mock courts, politicians formed caucuses,
gamblers started a square game of faro, and even some ministers of the
gospel gathered together a few of the prisoners each day, who listened
to words of hope and comfort from their lips.
On the eighth of December Glazier made this note in his diary: "Getting
into the hospital is no easy matter, but Tresouthick is becoming more
and more sick, and has good hopes." But
"The best o' plans o' mice and men
Gang aft aglee;"
and all hope of escape for our two worthies was interrupted by the
inconvenient fact that a couple of their comrades anticipated them in
point of time, and by so doing aroused the guards to such a state of
vigilance, that our over-sanguine boys saw there was no chance for them.
Consequently Lieutenant Tresouthick's illness vanished as it had come,
and he was soon pronounced convalescent.