DANVILLE.--MACON.--SAVANNAH.
Belle Boyd, the Confederate spy.--National characteristics.--
Colonel Mosby.--Richmond to Danville.--Sleeping spoon-fashion.--
Glazier's "corrective point" suffers.--Saltatory entrance to a
railroad car.--Colonel Joselyn.--Sympathy of North Carolinians.--
Ingenious efforts to escape.--Augusta.--Macon.--Turner again!--
"Carelessness" with firearms.--Tunneling.--Religious revival.--
Order from Confederate War Department.--Murder!--Fourth of
July.--Macon to Savannah.--Camp Davidson.--More tunneling.
The celebrated Confederate spy, Belle Boyd, paid a visit to "Libby" in
the latter part of March, and her presence created much comment among
the prisoners. She was not that ideal of grace and gentleness which
"Untutored youth,
Unlearned in the world's false subtleties,"
enthrones within the temple of his heart, but was, notwithstanding, a
remarkable woman. With much of the enthusiasm that characterized "_La
Pucelle_," she appears to have combined a considerable allowance of
shrewdness, or common sense; a mixture of qualities, by the way, of more
common occurrence than is generally supposed, among the northern and
southern people of our continent. There is little difference between the
"peartness" of the one, and the "smartness" of the other; or the "high
tone" of the South, and the _nonchalance_ of the North. The common
_national_ characteristic of the people of both sections, however, is
the power of adapting themselves to every variety of circumstance. No
matter what the importance, or the insignificance of the occasion, or
event, upon which they perceive that their opportunity for the
attainment of a desired object depends, they are ready at the right
moment to seize and turn it to account; and while, to-day, the banks of
the Ganges or the Tigris are made to yield up to them the fruits of
their industry and produce, to-morrow, when a modification of the law of
demand and supply prevails, we find the same men following the tide of
fortune through humbler but equally useful channels. We are
pre-eminently a practical people, and that this characteristic to some
extent destroys the poetic aspect of American life, cannot be gainsaid.
The homes of our infancy, the graves of our kindred, the hills upon
whose summits we first felt the glory of the morning, the altar at which
we first knelt in prayer, the rustic nook where we listened for the one
step to which our boyish hearts beat sweetest time; have no power to
trammel our migratory proclivities, or to check our local inconstancy.
The sentiments with which such objects are indissolubly connected, are
but tendrils clinging round the parent nest, and the wings of the
new-fledged bird, bursting them asunder, it soars out into the world to
contend and battle with its storms.
One of the least attractive illustrations of this spirit of unrest, is
where it extends to our women, and Miss Belle Boyd's is in our
estimation a case in point.
"Unknown to her the rigid rule,
The dull restraint, the chiding frown,
The weary torture of the school;
The taming of wild nature down.
Her only lore, the legends told
Around the soldiers' fire; at night
Stars rose and set, and seasons rolled;
Flowers bloomed, and snowflakes fell,
Unquestioned, in her sight!"
Her career was full of adventure and intrepid daring, and she served the
disloyal cause she espoused faithfully and to the bitter end; and then,
like other wandering stars of the troubled sky, sank into oblivion. From
the time of Miss Boyd's visit until the seventh of May, Willard Glazier
continued to lead the same dull life at Libby Prison. The monotony of
the hours was unbroken by any circumstance more exciting than a visit
from the celebrated partisan chief, Mosby, who is described by Glazier
as a _preux chevalier_, at that time about twenty-eight years of age, in
figure slight, with straight fair hair and closely shaven face, except
that "a faded German moustache overshadowed his upper lip." It does not
appear that he was received as a welcome visitor, although he jocularly
remarked to some of the prisoners who had been captured by his own
troopers that he was "glad to see them there."
Time! what wonders dost thou work. But a few years have passed, and
Mosby, who was erst so malignant a rebel, that even the poor, but loyal,
prisoners, presented him the cold shoulder, is now a confidential friend
of the late Commander in chief of the Union Army! Longstreet, the rebel
General, again swears by the Star-Spangled Banner; and Beauregard, hero
of Sumter and Bull Run, is now an advocate of perfect equality between
the black and white races in his Southern State of Louisiana!
The visit of Colonel Mosby was the last memorable incident of our
hero's sojourn in "Libby." Upon the seventh of May following, the
prisoners were removed thence to Danville, Virginia. Several, in the
course of this transit, effected their escape, but the great majority
were safely conveyed to their new place of imprisonment. The change made
no improvement in their unhappy condition. True, the rations furnished
at Danville were of somewhat better quality, and more liberal in
quantity, but the discipline was equally Draconian, and the penalty of
its slightest infraction--death! The chief source of misery among the
captives was want of room, the men being compelled to sleep
"spoon-fashion," and in detachments, many being compelled to stand up
awake while their comrades slept as best they could.
This condition of things, however, did not last long. Early upon the
morning of the twelfth, the prisoners were once more marched out and
started southward. After a journey of twenty-four hours in cattle cars,
exposed most of the time to a drenching rain, they were disembarked and
tramped another twelve miles to Greensboro. Here the mass of weary, wet,
and hopeless patriots were about to be driven, pell-mell, like a herd of
cattle, into a train of filthy cars, when young Glazier thought he
espied a chance of evading his captors. He waited until it appeared to
him that the guard was sufficiently occupied with other duties to
overlook his whereabouts, and then slipped behind a log, where in an
instant he lay upon the ground apparently fast asleep, trusting in the
confusion attendant upon the departure of the train to escape
observation. But fortune was against him. The only result was the
infliction upon that portion of his body which some mothers consider
the "corrective point" of their children, of sundry unceremonious kicks,
which, coming from such boots as the "C. S. A." at that time supplied to
their soldiers, were felt to be more persuasive than agreeable. Of
course it became necessary to awaken from his profound slumber slowly,
which made the _kicks_ still more persuasive, and by the time he was
erect, the cars were filled and the doors all closed. The guards
therefore insisted upon his effecting an entrance through the small
window, which he did with certain vigorous assistance from behind, and
landed upon the head and shoulders of Lieutenant-Colonel Joselyn, of the
Fifteenth Massachusetts Infantry, who passed him around in such a way
that the other occupants of the car were moved to sundry objurgations at
the expense of our young friend more forcible than polite, and partaking
little of the nature of a hospitable reception! However, this is a world
of compromises, and Glazier soon found his level among his
fellow-captives.
Their route took them through a portion of North Carolina, where for the
first time they met with unmistakable proofs of sympathy. At one city,
on learning there were "Yankee prisoners" in town, the citizens came out
in large numbers. Many attempted to converse with them, but were forced
back at the point of the bayonet. The prisoners then struck up the
"Star-Spangled Banner," and "Rally Round the Flag," and in each
interlude could see white handkerchiefs waving in the breeze,
demonstrations that so exasperated the Virginia guard that they sent a
detail to drive "the d----d tar-heels" from the field.
The contiguity of friends of course presented a strong temptation to
some to strike for liberty. Every device promising the least chance
of escape was therefore resorted to. Among the most ingenious of these
was one so graphically described by young Glazier that we make no
apology for again using his language:
[Illustration: Prison Pen, Macon, Georgia. Tunneling--the
Narrow Path To Freedom.]
"The night being very dark," he writes, "and the soil where we were
huddled together very sandy and light, many of the prisoners dug holes
in the ground and there buried themselves, hoping thus to escape the
observation of the guard when we should be marched from the field to the
cars. Unfortunately, however, the scheme was exposed by one of the guard
who accidentally stumbled into one of the holes, in the bottom of which
he beheld a 'live Yankee.' Struck with amazement, he shouted out: 'Oh,
my G--, Captain, here is a Yankee buried alive!' Great excitement was
the natural consequence. A general search ensued, torch-lights were
used, and the trees and ground thoroughly inspected. This investigation
brought to light several holes of a similar character, each having
deposited therein a Federal prisoner. The guards were very angry and
went about shouting, 'Run them through! Pick up the d----d hounds!' but
their captain, a good-natured sort of man, stopped all this. 'No,' said
he, 'the d----d Yankees have a right to escape if they can. Let them
alone. I'll risk their getting away from me!'"
Some of the burrowers did escape, however, and several others hid
themselves in the foliage and were left behind.
After this nothing eventful occurred upon the way, and on the fifteenth
of the same month, the whole party arrived at Augusta, Georgia, and
found the home guards, to whose custody they were consigned, a bad lot.
From that city they were soon after removed to Macon. Up to this
period, amid all the mortifications of their condition, notwithstanding
their tiresome rides and weary marches; despite the chagrin they
naturally felt when well-laid plans of escape were frustrated by
accidents beyond the power of men to foresee, they still had one source
of consolation--there was at least one drop of balm in Gilead--_for had
they not gotten rid of--Turner!_
Judge, then, of their mingled horror and despair when they reached the
front gate of Camp Oglethorpe, their future prison, to find that monster
before them, lounging gracefully against the gate entrance, and
evidently delighted with the idea of being in a condition to shock his
former victims with his presence.
The laugh, however, was not entirely his, for, upon mustering them, he
discovered that forty-seven had escaped. Smothering his wrath for the
moment, he welcomed the remainder to their prison-house, with the
gratifying intelligence that _it had its dead-line_, and all who
approached it had better be ready to meet the contingencies of a future
state of rewards and punishments!
After horrifying them with his presence, he shortly took himself off,
and not long afterward, to their great relief, was ordered back to
Richmond.
Before the week had expired, Glazier had an opportunity of estimating
how _careless_(_?_) some of his custodians were in handling their
firearms, being an eye-witness of an attempt by a sentinel to shoot
Lieutenant Barker, of the First Rhode Island Cavalry. The bullet, kinder
than the boy who sped it on its errand (for this guard was not over
fourteen years of age), passed over the old man's head. As the latter
noted the direction of the lad's aim, and heard the whistle of the
bullet above him, he very temperately asked the somewhat unnecessary
question, "What are you shooting at?" "I am shooting at you, you d----d
old cuss." "What are you shooting at me for?" mildly inquired the
lieutenant. "Because you had your hands on the dead-line," answered the
boy. At this moment the sergeant of the guard came up, and taking the
precocious ruffian by the collar, shook him with considerable energy,
and demanded of him very fiercely, "What the devil are you shooting at
that prisoner for, you little scoundrel?" The boy replied that the
prisoner had his hands on the dead-line. Whereupon the sergeant shook
him again, told him he was a liar--that the lieutenant was not within
twenty feet of the dead-line, and consigned him to the custody of the
corporal of the guard, who marched the young monster away.
Captain Glazier states that he was within ten feet of the lieutenant
when the shot was fired, and that the latter _was not within thirty feet
of the fatal line_. The incident was not very exhilarating upon the
threshold of his new abode, and the prisoners naturally felt greatly
exasperated when they heard the particulars.
An order was promulgated next morning by the officer commanding, Captain
W. K. Tabb, directing that "any of their number not in ranks at
roll-call should be shot," which was not calculated to make them think
more kindly of their jailers. The fact is, that the prisoners, in
pursuance of a settled determination to lose no opportunity of escape
that seemed at all feasible, had been again making experiments in
_tunneling_, and this atrocious order was intended as a measure of
precaution against similar schemes in future.
Thus excluded from the relief afforded by such hopeful occupation, their
poor captives had to find other employment for their leisure hours, and
at this time a kind of religious revival took place among them, and if
human prayer could have effected the destruction of the Confederacy,
that organization would certainly have crumbled into dust forthwith. The
enthusiasm was so great that at times the exercises bordered upon
tumult, and greatly incensed their less fervent guards. At one time a
huge Western man poured forth such a rhapsody in favor of Grant and
Sherman, and garnished it with such pungent denunciations of Jefferson
Davis, and other Confederate magnates, that one of the jailers commented
thus: "D----d smart praying, but it won't do! It won't do!"
On the morning of the tenth of August, an order from the Confederate War
Department was read before the entire garrison of Camp Oglethorpe, and
caused much excitement. This order directed that a detachment of fifty
prisoners, selected from officers of the highest rank, should be
forwarded to Charleston, in order that they might be placed under the
fire of the siege guns with which the beleaguering Union forces were
attempting the reduction of that city. The order further directed that
Generals Scammon, Wessels, Seymour, Schuyler and Heckman should be
included in the number. The mandate was of course at once executed, and
the departure of the devoted band was the signal for a wild burst of
indignant reprobation of the Confederate authorities. It happened also,
at this time, that one of the sentinels shot and mortally wounded a
prisoner. The victim's name was Otto Grierson, and he had been a general
favorite. The excuse assigned for the murder was that he was
endeavoring to escape, but his comrades declared that at the time the
shot was fired, he was fully sixteen feet from the dead-line, and had
made no attempt to escape. Young Glazier and others joined in a formal
report of the facts to the officer in command, but the only result was
that the murderer received promotion, and was granted a furlough!
If the statements of Captain Glazier regarding this and other
contemporaneous outrages are to be relied upon (and he is very strongly
corroborated), the officers commanding this military prison sadly abused
their trust. Even the highest of those officials indulged in such petty
exhibitions of puerile spite as to be altogether unworthy of his
station, or even the name of an American.
On the arrival of the Fourth of July, the prisoners very naturally
determined, as far as their limited resources would permit, to celebrate
the occasion. Accordingly, in true American fashion, a meeting was
called, at which speeches of a patriotic character were made, songs
sung, and a miniature flag, containing the full number of stars and
stripes, which one of their number had concealed about his person, was
produced, and became an object of much interest. Instead of
magnanimously ignoring all this harmless enthusiasm, the commander of
the prison marched in a company of guards and violently dispersed the
meeting!
On the twenty-seventh of July, six hundred prisoners were counted out,
as they supposed to be added to the others under fire at Charleston, but
really for removal to Camp Davidson, at Savannah, Georgia.
This change proved for the better. In the first place, in lieu of the
Sahara of shadeless sand and clay of their former prison grounds, they
found at "Davidson" a number of fine oaks, beneath the shade of which
they were permitted to recline in peace. In addition to this, and a
matter of infinitely greater importance, their guards were officered by
_gentlemen_. Captain Glazier states that the authorities here issued
tents, cooking utensils, and decent rations, and adds this tribute to
their generally manly conduct toward the prisoners: "The troops here
have seen service, and there is nothing like the battle-field and the
suffering there experienced to teach soldiers humanity toward each
other. Whenever attempts are made to escape, they give us to understand
that they would do the same themselves, under like circumstances, but
are still compelled to punish such infractions of discipline. They
politely ask our pardon for inspecting our quarters, and in a manner as
gentlemanly as possible, remove our blankets from the floor of our tents
in their search for incipient _tunnels_. All this is very gratifying and
tends to assuage the bitter hatred which former brutality has
engendered. These Georgia boys will be long remembered, and may look for
the utmost kindness and consideration from us if the chances of war ever
reverse our situations."
This is a record for Georgia nobler far than any she ever gained upon
the battle-field, albeit her sons were always in the van. All honor to
them! Such victories are well worth the winning.
But pleasant as their Georgia quarters were by comparison with former
experiences, the captives were afflicted with the _malade du pays_--the
home-sickness that tugged at their hearts, and bade them again and
again risk death for the chance of freedom. Tunnel after tunnel was
attempted, and one, constructed by a select band (sworn to secrecy), was
upon the eve of completion, when a straggling cow blundered upon the
frail covering of turf, and became so securely imbedded in the falling
earth that she could not extricate herself. Her bellowing attracted the
attention of the sentinel, the plot was discovered, and, of course,
frustrated.
Despite such disappointments, however, when the time came, as it soon
did, for the prisoners to leave Savannah, they did so with sentiments of
gratitude for the comparatively humane treatment they had received at
the hands of the Georgians, not unmingled, however, with apprehensions
concerning their future, for it was openly rumored that they were
destined to join their former fellow-prisoners now under fire of
Gilmore's siege guns at Charleston.