ADVENTURES OF CORPORAL WENTWORTH AND PRIVATE HERSEY.
Corporal David L. Wentworth, Company G, Private Samuel R. Hersey,
Company C, and Frank Veazie, officers’ cook, with about three hundred
men (including Lieutenant Hamilton, Master Hannum, Engineers Plunkett
and Stone, of the _Harriet Lane_), left Camp Groce, December 9th,
for Shreveport. Long captivity in restricted quarters left them in
such a debilitated condition that a march of any duration completely
prostrated them.
The guard, some fifty men, under a good officer, was composed of a
clever set of men, who made it easy for the prisoners so far as lay in
their power, occasionally helping some poor fellows along by allowing
them to ride their horses. Those too ill to walk (Hersey was among
them, and towards the journey’s end Wentworth, sick with dysentery)
were allowed to ride in the baggage wagons, five in number, an
uncomfortable conveyance, none provided with springs, and the roads in
poor condition.
Cooking utensils were scarce. Living principally upon “mush,” each
mess, when they arrived at camping places, would try all sorts of
tricks to secure a “dodger-pan” from some other mess, in spite of
orders, “first come, first served.” Some would have to wait until late
at night for their turn to come, while others, too tired, would retire
to their bed of leaves and go to sleep hungry.
Every morning a start was made soon after daybreak, in order to reach
each day’s destination as early as possible. On an average fifteen
to twenty miles constituted a day’s march, and was done every day
until December 22d, when a halt for several days was made, one mile
beyond Tyler, to rest the weary prisoners. While here the officers
left at Camp Groce passed them on their way to Camp Ford, without
an opportunity being given to converse. Pleasant, cool weather was
experienced the first four days, then came cold, windy weather for two
days, then rain for one day, clearing off cold and windy and remaining
so until the march ended, varied with a few rainy and many cloudy, damp
and freezing cold days. It took six days to reach Trinity River, and
several days more before arriving at Tyler. The march was resumed on
Sunday, December 27th, crossing Sabine River during the morning, and
continued each day until about sunset December 30th, when it ended,
after an eighteen days’ tramp, and four days’ rest at Tyler, twenty-two
days after leaving Camp Groce.
Even the negro drivers, rollicking jolly as they appeared to be,
singing and yelling all day long, could not enliven this small regiment
of marching sufferers. A favorite song, because it was constantly sang,
and in a manner impossible for any white man to imitate, “Rock me
Julie, rock me,” rang in the prisoners’ ears long after they had parted
company with their ebony-colored singers.
The following account of what occurred while at Shreveport was written
by Private Hersey, who claims that there is no exaggeration in his
statements--facts alone are stated:
STATEMENT OF PRIVATE HERSEY.
“The last two days of the year 1863 will long be remembered by those
members of our regiment who, with some three hundred other Federal
prisoners, were wending their toilsome way over the rough, frozen roads
leading from Marshall, Texas, to the Louisiana border, in expectation,
when arriving there, of being exchanged or paroled. December 29th
a fierce ‘Norther’ set in, which was soon accompanied by a severe
storm of rain, hail, snow and sleet. Through this terrible storm we
plodded on over a dreary region of woodland and prairie, with the icy
hurricane piercing our tattered, scanty garments, the pelting rain and
sleet drenching us to the skin. At night there was no shelter from the
pitiless storm, excepting such as we could find under the wet, dripping
branches of the forest trees, or form by twisting their limbs into
arches and covering them with moss gathered from the cypress trees.
Those who could creep in under the awnings of the army wagons, which
the guard had appropriated for their own quarters, were fortunate
indeed. Sleep or rest there was none, and for two days and nights our
lives dragged on in utter misery.
“A dozen or more of our number were shoeless, and many a footprint
stained with the blood of these unfortunate ones could be traced along
the snow-covered ground. A score at least had no clothing, except an
improvised suit made by tieing their well-worn army blankets around
their waists. The hope of release urged many a poor captive forward,
who otherwise would have succumbed to the fatigues and hardships of the
long marches. Even the Confederate soldiers who guarded us, although
much better provided for than ourselves, were scantily and meanly
clothed, and suffered severely.
“On the thirtieth of the month, after a day of intense suffering from
the severity of the weather and the length and fatigues of the march,
we reached the end of our journey, or rather the place where we were to
await the arrival of the agents of exchange or parole. We were halted
in the depths of a snow-covered wood; there left to ourselves to find
such shelter as leafless, dripping branches of the trees afforded. This
locality was known as ‘Four Mile Springs.’
“Beyond this wood was a camp of Federal prisoners, who had arrived some
time before us, occupying long, frame barracks, crowded so as to afford
no shelter for fresh arrivals. The appearance of these prisoners was
wretched, and so filthy were their quarters our men declared that some
of the vermin, or ‘graybacks’ as they were called, had inscribed upon
their backs the words, ‘in for the war.’ These poor fellows had been
quartered since their capture, some six months previous, at Camp Ford,
Texas, but were marched to their present quarters a few weeks previous
to our arrival, to await exchange. They were chiefly Indiana troops.
“The weather was extremely cold for this latitude, resembling more
the rude, bleak winter of our Northern clime than the soft, genial
atmosphere we had always associated in our minds when thinking of the
sunny South, and was said to be the severest ever known in this region.
“For a few days after our arrival we were allowed to roam at will
through the woods and vicinity without a guard, for the reason that in
daily expectation of proceeding to our lines the men were not likely to
attempt any escape. Days passed by in this partial state of freedom,
until finally, as the days passed into weeks without any indications
of a speedy release, our hopes again began to darken; the men grew
restive, and numbers of them were daily missing at roll-call. Every man
who attempted escape was recaptured before he got far away and brought
back to be placed under guard.
“During our long captivity in Texas our hopes and expectations had
so often been raised only to fall again, we got somewhat accustomed
to disappointments of this nature, but never since our capture had we
been quite so sure of immediate release, or felt the bitterness of
‘hope deferred,’ as we did then. In our prison days at Houston and Camp
Groce we had regular _quotations of exchange_, and the stock was as
fluctuating as any in the markets of Wall or State Streets; our days
were made cheerful or gloomy according as the stock advanced or fell.
“One morning, at roll-call, we were all summoned to the headquarters
of Colonel Théard, commanding the prison-guard, and informed that our
Government refused to receive us as paroled prisoners, also refusing
to negotiate for our exchange. The colonel made us a neat little
speech, in which he expressed his sympathy for us in our deplorable
condition, and informed us he had sent a letter to General Kirby Smith,
commanding the Confederate Trans-Mississippi Department, asking him
to issue clothing, and describing our destitution and sufferings. He
also stated he had written to the general, that in case he could not
comply with the request for clothing he should feel impelled, from an
aversion to seeing so much distress continually before his eyes, to ask
to be relieved of his duties as commander of the prison camp. As we
never received any clothing from General Smith, or any other quarter,
and as the Confederate soldiers were sadly in need of supplies, I was
convinced that the Quartermaster Department of the Trans-Mississippi
army was in a wofully depleted condition.
“In front of Colonel Théard’s headquarters was an extensive plateau,
and here we were ordered to encamp, a guard again placed over us and
the dead line traced out. This broad plain was perfectly barren of
shrubbery or trees; not even a plot of grass could be found upon it.
To make shelter for ourselves we were allowed to go into the woods
in squads, under guard, and cut timber and gather leaves. In a few
days there sprung into existence, upon this plateau, a village of
huts and nondescript structures of the quaintest and most original
designs imaginable. Many of these habitations consisted simply of a
few bent twigs, arched so as to form a burrow just large enough to
creep into head foremost, suitable only to sleep in. Those who from
sickness or weakness were unable to erect a domicile depended upon the
generosity of their more fortunate comrades, or slept in the open air.
Our rations consisted chiefly of coarse corn meal, coarse salt, sugar,
and occasionally beef. Having a limited number of cooking utensils, we
were often obliged to wait for hours before we could cook our food. Our
guards at this camp were a good-hearted set of fellows, and, with a few
exceptions, inclined to favor us whenever they could.
“About the middle of January Colonel Théard was relieved of his
command, much to our regret, for his treatment of us had been kind and
considerate. His heart was evidently not much in sympathy with the
rebellion, for we heard a short time after his removal he had left
the Confederate army and taken the oath of allegiance to the Federal
Government, in New Orleans. He was succeeded by Colonel Harrison, whose
administration of affairs while not particularly harsh was lacking in
the kindliness which we had always met with under Théard.
“Rumors of the opening of cartels for exchange were as rife here,
and received almost as often, as in our former days at Houston
and Camp Groce. ‘Exchange stock’ rose and fell with almost its
former regularity; our daily advices from Shreveport caused a
constantly-fluctuating stock board. Our own Government was universally
condemned for its indifference or neglect of our welfare, and many
an imprecation was hurled against those who had it in their power
to exchange or parole us and would not. We frequently heard of the
exchange of other Federal prisoners, and knew that the Confederates
captured at Vicksburg and Port Hudson had all, long ago, been released,
and therefore it was we complained so bitterly against our fate.
“About the middle of March rumors of General Banks’ advance towards
Shreveport with a large army came thick and fast, greatly elating us
with a hope they might soon encircle the place of our imprisonment.
Suddenly, on the morning of March 26th, the prison camp was broken up
and the prisoners, excepting Wentworth, Williams and I, were started on
the road towards Texas, destined for Camp Ford.
“Upon our arrival at Four Mile Springs Wentworth and I discovered on
the roadside, in the woods and beyond the place where the command had
been halted, a log hut, in which we found quarters for the night. The
hut was a small, dilapidated structure, like old log cabins of the
early settlers, and evidently been standing for many years. We found it
occupied by three Confederate soldiers, fitted up as a blacksmith shop
for the cavalry forces in the vicinity. The exposed condition of the
building rendered it only a partial shelter from the storm, for through
chinks in the roof and walls the wind and sleet came in freely, and
the smoke from the smouldering fire filled the space within almost to
suffocation; however, it was a better refuge than the other prisoners
could find. Upon lumps of coal and bits of iron on the rude forge I
endeavored to find rest in vain; the wind blew through the log crevices
in furious blasts, and that side of my clothing exposed to the hut
walls was covered with a thin coating of ice, making sleep or comfort
impossible. It was a terrible night for the half-clad, shivering
wretches outside, and a most cheerless, uncomfortable one for those
inside.
“The next morning broke clear, but cold and windy. A thin surface of
sleety snow covered the ground, causing the landscape around us to look
anything but Southern. The men were huddled around slowly burning camp
fires, waiting patiently for the distribution of their meagre rations
and trying to get warmth into their almost frozen limbs.
“The three soldiers occupying the hut were no better off as to
accommodations, and not a whit better provided with rations than
ourselves. We lived with them during our stay at Four Mile Springs, and
became in that time greatly attached to them. Their names were Ramsey,
Dick Fickling, and Stanley. Mr. Ramsey, or ‘Pap’ Ramsey, as he was
familiarly called, was an old man, about sixty years of age, a splendid
specimen of our ideal western backwoodsman. His life had been passed
on the wild borders of the Indian Territory and Western Louisiana,
knowing little of life in cities and towns. He had never strayed beyond
his native prairies and forests until the Southern Confederacy, in
its distress for every able-bodied man, brought him forth from his
peaceful cabin, compelled to enter its service. He was conscripted
some few months previous to our arrival, but being too old for the
routine duties of a soldier’s life was detailed to serve as blacksmith
for the regiment in which he was placed. A tall, broad-shouldered,
well-built man, with gray hair and beard, and an eye as bright and
keen as any young person; he was simple-hearted, unskilled in the ways
and observances of the world, but with a vast experience of the rough,
free, adventurous life of a pioneer. Stanley, his assistant, was a
young man, about twenty-five years old, large-hearted, good-natured,
and always ready for sport, but with a natural aversion to work. His
comrades gave him the name of ’Fox,’ on account of the cunning and
shrewdness he displayed in stealing away from camp to visit his home,
sixteen miles away, on every possible occasion. He seldom applied for
a furlough, deeming such sort of discipline, as he said, entirely
unnecessary and too much like slavery. When called to account by his
officers for his absence from his regiment, he generally appeased their
wrath by presenting them with a fine turkey or shote. A conscript, he
managed to evade camp duty by getting detailed as assistant-blacksmith,
though wherein his assistance was of any value or service to Mr. Ramsey
would have been difficult for an observer to tell. The only labor he
was ever known to perform was to occasionally wield the sledge, when
the other assistant was absent. His ideas in regard to the cause or
object of the war were vague and indefinite, but as far as he knew them
they were altogether opposed to the Southern Confederacy. He was the
owner of one slave, who took charge of his little farm while he was
away.
“Anxious to continue our abode with these kind-hearted soldiers,
Wentworth and myself called upon Colonel Théard, when the prisoners
were again placed under guard, prevailing upon him, after considerable
pleading, to allow us a _pass_, granting the liberty of the camp
until further orders; a phrase we construed to mean any distance
within five miles of the hut. When Colonel Harrison succeeded Colonel
Théard he was disposed to revoke this _pass_, condescending, after
some persuasion, to let the order ‘remain for the present.’ He was a
strict disciplinarian, severe and often harsh in his treatment of the
prisoners and his own men; it was a surprise to all that we had won
such favor.
“Time wore on pleasantly; the weather grew mild and genial, and about
the middle of January the short Southern winter was over. Our hut was
romantically situated, and since our occupation of it we had closed up
the chinks in the sides and patched the roof, so that the rain could
no longer gain entrance. The road in front of us wound through a broad
tract of beautiful woodland, and stretched on in one direction to
Shreveport, in the other to the prison lines. Beyond this forest was a
vast waste of swamp land, covered with a prolific growth of cypress and
gum trees, and intersected in every direction by dark, coffee-colored
bayous, in which the finest species of the ’Buffalo’ fish were found.
Along the banks of these streams and scattered over the bottom-lands
were clusters of impenetrable thickets, where countless numbers of
bright-plumaged birds made their nests, and where the venomous mocassin
and deadly scorpion found hiding places. All day long, in the deep
recesses of these lonely wilds, the air was resonant with the music of
feathery warblers. We caught many of them in traps, which Stanley was
expert at making, but remembering our own prison experience we never
kept them long ‘in durance.’
“The hut soon became a popular rendezvous for Confederate soldiers
passing to and from their camp, and we became acquainted with most
every one belonging to the regiment acting as prison-guard. With some
we formed friendships that lasted long after the war closed. Political
questions were seldom argued, but when they were it was always with
good humor on their part at least, and we were invariably treated with
courtesy and kindness, often with generosity.
“Life at the hut was by no means monotonous; each day found us enjoying
ourselves in a free and easy way. Mr. Ramsey was owner of a fine horse,
and valued him highly. The old man gave me permission to ride the
animal whenever I felt inclined, leaving the whole care of the horse to
me. With Stanley, always ready for a drive, I took many an excursion
through the woods and swamps and to the different plantations in the
neighborhood; thus became acquainted with about every planter within
a radius of five miles from camp. Amongst them was Mr. Elliot, owner
of a plantation at Bayou Pierre, with whom I formed a most intimate
and pleasant acquaintance. With him and his family I often passed a
delightful hour, always entertained as a welcome guest. Mr. Elliot
had formerly been in the Confederate army. While with his regiment
in Tennessee, just after the battle of Perryville he purchased a
furlough for a large amount of money, returning home, and had not again
rejoined his command. In order to obtain exemption from conscription he
purchased the position of superintendent of a Government planing-mill
in Texas, but had not reported at his new field of service. He was
a thorough Union man, and a bitter enemy of the Confederacy. His
service in the army was compulsory, and although engaged in several
battles said he had never fired a gun during the actions except in
the direction of the sky. He was, like many others of the South, an
owner of slaves, but not an advocate of slavery. Through him I became
acquainted with many loyal men, and was surprised to find the Union
sentiment so strong. Of the half-dozen or more planters living within
four miles of the camp not one was an advocate of secession, but all
were anxiously longing for the approach of our army to this portion of
the State. Even amongst our prison-guard we found many a secret friend
of the Union, who only waited for an opportunity to place themselves
in the ranks of its army. The number of such was by no means small,
although the great majority were loyal to the ‘Stars and Bars.’
“During the latter part of January I obtained of Colonel Harrison
permission for two other prison comrades to live with us at the hut.
They were Williams, whom we called ‘Transport,’ and the carpenter
of the United States ship _Morning Light_, who went by the name
of ‘Chips.’ Their arrival rendered it necessary for us to enlarge
our dwelling. Through the soft persuasiveness of Wentworth, the
quartermaster was prevailed upon to grant us a small supply of timber
and nails, and in a short time we built a small addition to the hut, in
which we erected sleeping bunks for the accommodation of us all.
“My acquaintance with the quartermaster’s clerk, young Finney, enabled
me to obtain a much larger supply of rations than I was lawfully
entitled to, and, as I was usually allowed to attend to the weighing of
them, I did not hesitate to take advantage of this privilege for the
benefit of us all. By going a short distance into the woods we were
sure to find a stray hog or pig wandering around, and our stock of pork
was always well kept up. It being against orders to kill any of them,
the undertaking was always attended with considerable difficulty, and
we were obliged to hunt our game at night. As we never could get near
enough to kill them by any other means than shooting, the report of our
gun at midnight was frequently heard at camp, the officers invariably
causing inquiries to be made concerning the reason of the untimely
firing. To prevent discovery we concealed our game in a small cellar,
dug under the floor of our hut annex, with the boards so arranged that
they appeared nailed down to the uninitiated. Our cooking of this
food was done when no prying eyes were upon us and the savory odor
would not be likely to betray us. Besides this sort of fare, costing
nothing, we had frequent opportunities of purchasing sweet potatoes,
eggs and butter, with money obtained by the sale of our _tricks_ and
watches when leaving Camp Groce. Our table was unrivalled by any of the
‘messes,’ either of the prisoners or the guard. The _ne plus ultra_ of
cookery were the ‘corn-dodgers’ Wentworth made to perfection, and which
were certainly worthy the skill of the finest French cook. Old ‘Pap’
Ramsey refused to indulge his appetite with this rich food, claiming
that such delicacies would inevitably bring on gout or dyspepsia,
and that his palate, accustomed to the coarse, homely fare of the
backwoods, was unfitted for the luxurious compound which Wentworth
made. Through the colonel’s orderly, George Cole, I was usually the
recipient of some dainties from his table, after an entertainment had
been given by that officer to visiting friends.
“One day during February Wentworth obtained permission of Colonel
Harrison to visit Shreveport on one of the army wagons, which made
daily trips to that place. His stay there, for a few hours only, was
quite long enough for him to get disgusted with the appearance of the
city, and especially with the fabulous price they charged him for his
dinner; a small piece of pork, with bread and butter, and a tiny cup of
coffee cost him six dollars.
“A few days after Wentworth’s return ‘Transport’ made the same trip
without obtaining the requisite permission. The day previous, while
strolling in the woods, he met in a quiet nook a few Confederate
teamsters with a supply of Louisiana rum, which they invited him
to drink. The temptation was too strong for his feeble powers of
resistance, and the potations were so deep and frequent that he was
soon exalted to a state of complete recklessness. In this condition
he remained with his jovial friends over night, accompanying them the
next morning to Shreveport. On reaching the city he was so muddled
for awhile he was unable to clearly comprehend the state of affairs,
and even in doubt as to his own identity, whether he was a Federal
prisoner or a Confederate soldier. The following morning he was found
at the entrance to a hospital, standing guard for a soldier whom he
had succeeded in making even drunker than himself. An hour or so later
he found himself on board the ram _Webb_ (then lying in the river
abreast of the city), in the presence of a recruiting officer, who
endeavored to persuade him to join the vessel, by offering him tempting
inducements in the shape of pay and bounty. ‘Transport,’ though very
drunk, was not to be enticed by any proffers which they could make him
to desert his flag.
“Late that evening he returned in company with his convivial friends,
reckless of consequences and unable to give a satisfactory account
of his trip. That same night he was sent for, to explain his absence
without leave, failing in which he was deprived of his liberty and
placed under guard again. The next morning I met him in camp, and a
more pitiful-looking object I could hardly have imagined; no wonder the
poor fellow was disconsolate after his recent experience of partial
freedom with us. He begged me to intercede with Colonel Harrison
and obtain his release, swearing eternal gratitude if I would, and
promising not to be overcome by such a temptation again. I found the
colonel in good humor and had no difficulty in persuading him to grant
‘Transport’ a new lease of freedom; only he proposed, he said, to
hold me personally responsible for my comrade’s good behavior in the
future. His demonstrations of joy, when I carried him the good news,
were unbounded, but his promises of good behavior were short-lived, for
the same day he again fell in with his festive friends, and during his
spree so far forgot himself as to make a visit to the colonel, at his
headquarters, to request the loan of a horse. The utter ridiculousness
of such a request, coupled with the jovial good nature with which he
made it, so amused the colonel that he allowed him to return to the hut
with a slight reprimand. A few days after this ‘Chips’ was remanded to
the lines for drunkenness and insulting an officer of the guard while
in that condition.
“For several days during the latter part of March the prison camp was
kept in a continuous state of excitement by a variety of conflicting
rumors concerning the disposition to be made of us, on account of
the approach of our army up the Red River, under General Banks. An
occasional report would reach us that we were to be sent at once to
our lines and transportation down the river was being prepared; but
the gist of these rumors indicated a removal of all prisoners in this
vicinity to Camp Ford, in Texas. We were on the alert for any news of
a definite description; our only fear was that we would be suddenly
ordered into camp with the other prisoners.
“While standing by the fire-place in the hut, early on the chilly
morning of March 26th, I saw a squad of cavalry pass along the road
in front, and a few of their number dismounted and entered, to warm
themselves by the fire. I saw at once they were not Colonel Harrison’s
men, and inquired where they were going so early in the morning. Not
knowing I was a ‘Yankee’ prisoner, they replied that they had come from
Shreveport for the purpose of taking the ‘Yanks’ to Camp Ford, and
said the ‘Yankee’ army was _booming_ along up the Red River and had
already reached Natchitoches, and would soon reach Shreveport unless
defeated. The prisoners were to start at nine o’clock, under orders to
make forced marches until their destination was reached. I pretended
to be much pleased at the idea of being relieved from guard duty, and
gave utterance to a few other justifiable prevarications to conceal my
identity, fearing all the while a guard or summons should come for us
from the camp.
“When they had gone I went to the bunk where Wentworth, who heard the
conversation, was lying, and urged him to start immediately for the
swamp in rear of Elliot’s Plantation. As he was undecided what to do, I
started for the woods, meeting ‘Transport,’ who joined me, until a deep
ravine near the swamps was reached. I left ‘Transport’ and started for
the hut for my money I forgot to bring away. Meeting Mrs. Gupton, an
acquaintance, she volunteered to procure my money while I awaited her
return. She soon came back with it and the information that Wentworth
was alone at the hut, still undecided what to do. I made my way to
Elliot’s Plantation, and waking Elliot up, for it was yet early, I
explained the situation of affairs and asked his advice. He told me to
return to the ravine, secrete myself until I should hear from him, and
that he would visit camp to obtain all the information he could.
“Finding ‘Transport’ where I left him, we lay for hours expecting
every moment to be discovered or trailed by hounds, which we could
hear yelping in the distance. Late in the afternoon Mr. Elliot sought
us, bringing a substantial supply of food, the more welcome because we
had eaten nothing since the day previous. He reported that on his way
to camp he found the prisoners already drawn up in the road, near the
hut, answering to roll-call. He was unable to state whether our names
had been called, but thought they had been omitted or some one had
responded for us. He found Wentworth inside the hut, seated upon a log,
smoking, and apparently in deep thought. He advised him to strike for
liberty at once, and Wentworth jumped out of the window in the rear,
hurrying to a thicket that bordered a small stream back of the hut.
Shortly afterwards line was formed and the command given to start. We
passed the night in a woody hollow between the trunks of two fallen
trees, every now and then alarmed by a pack of hounds barking near by,
who we feared were on our track, but we afterwards learned belonged to
a neighboring planter, a Union man.
“Early next morning Mr. Elliot sent a servant to us with breakfast,
and shortly after appeared himself. We held a consultation as to the
best mode of procedure, and concluded that the safest plan would
be to remain concealed near or in the swamp-lands, until Banks’
army approached, which we then had no doubt would soon be in this
vicinity. Mr. Elliot offered to supply us with food and to give us
such information as he could obtain. The weather being now mild and
pleasant, our open-air quarters were rather pleasant than otherwise.”
The statement of Private Hersey ends here. The following account of
wanderings and adventures in the attempt of Wentworth, Hersey and
Williams to reach the Federal lines is compiled from Private Hersey’s
diary, and verified by him:
Hersey and Williams remained concealed in the swamp, at “Fort Hersey”
(so named), until April 17th, their wants provided for by Mr. Elliot,
when they found Wentworth, who had been kindly befriended by a
Confederate soldier named Leeds, afterwards by a Mr. McGee, owner of a
plantation. They knew of reënforcements for the Confederates arriving
from Texas and Arkansas, and saw a portion of General Price’s Arkansas
men marching along a road crossing the margin of the swamp, on their
way towards Mansfield. They heard heavy firing in that direction April
8th, and the next day were informed by Mr. Elliot of the total defeat
of the Federal troops at _Sabine Cross-Roads_ and their retreat to
Alexandria.
At McGee’s Plantation a conference was held by Hersey, Wentworth,
Williams and several Unionists, Mr. Elliot, Mr. Dickinson, Mr. Bell,
and Mr. McGee, when it was decided the safest course was for them to
make their way down the country by following the river until Alexandria
was reached, and watch for an opportunity to cross into the Federal
lines. This meeting was held April 17th, and the _tramp_ was commenced
April 20th (declining to allow a deserter from the Confederate army
to join them), by Wentworth, Hersey and Williams, who crossed the
Red River to the north bank at Bell’s Plantation, to follow the plan
decided upon, viz., to cross the river, follow its course down,
keeping in the swamps and woods as much as possible, claim to belong
to Harrison’s regiment if questioned or suspected, and that they were
on their way to rejoin from the hospital at Shreveport. Harrison’s
regiment was then on the north bank operating against the Federal navy,
under Admiral Porter. They felt confident their clothing would not
betray them, as it was entirely of homespun material.
The first day, while being entertained by Union people, Monsieur
Lattier and his two granddaughters, Mrs. Scopenie and Miss Sophia Hall,
they escaped capture by three cavalry-men, who rode up to the house, by
hiding in one of the rooms until they had departed. The ladies thought
it was a very romantic episode, but the prisoners did not. Travelling
sometimes all night, or all day, or partly by day and night, in the
swamps, with their course lying in a south-easterly direction, they
were guided by the North Star when the nights were clear, occasionally
losing the way when the sky was clouded. Food was obtained by going
to houses and asking for it; water, by filling their canteens at
rain-water cisterns; and sleep, in deserted cabins, corn cribs, or
under trees.
They were always enabled to trace the windings of the Red River by
tall trees that grew along its banks and marked its course. Most of
the planters’ residences were situated near the river road, facing the
river; the plantations extending back to the swamp-lands or forests.
The land in this region was as level as a prairie, and the soil of
the farms a rich, black earth, with scarcely the smallest pebble to
be found upon it. They crossed Loggy Bayou on the twenty-second, went
through Springville Village at night on the twenty-fourth, reaching
the pine woods on the twenty-fifth, where it was almost impossible
to conceal themselves from the eyes of anybody they chanced to meet,
on account of the absence of undergrowth or shrubbery. In passing
through the town of Compti, on the twenty-sixth, recently burned by the
Federals, Hersey says: “We stopped in a ravine on the edge of the town
until after midnight, and then quietly and cautiously went forward.
The few houses remaining look deserted, and the whole scene, as we
viewed it in the darkness of the night, was the picture of desolation.
The silence of death reigned over the place, except now and then when
an owl would hoot in the woods that fringed the suburbs. We had just
reached a bridge crossing a little stream in the centre of the town
when we were terribly alarmed by the sudden sound of horses hoofs on
the road behind us. On looking back we saw through the darkness a
number of horses galloping towards the bridge at a terrific rate, so
rapidly as to give us no chance to escape them. The scare was of short
duration, for when they rushed by we saw that they were riderless, and
probably had taken us for their masters. The shock produced a sense
of timidity upon us we could not shake off with all the assumption of
gayety and laughter that we outwardly manifested, and we felt greatly
relieved when we reached the woods and left the desolate town far
behind us.”
They frequently saw officers and men, but managed to evade them, until
on the night of April 27th they reached a bayou and were dismayed to
find a soldier on guard at the only fording place they could discover.
Hersey says: “This was the worst obstacle we had yet encountered,
and we were at loss to find a way to overcome it. The banks of the
stream were high and steep. We crept onward to get a better view of
the situation, and could plainly see the sentry by the light of his
bivouac fire. He was sitting or reclining upon an old log with the
light shining upon his face, his gun across his shoulder. We soon saw
he was fast asleep, and decided to cross while he was wrapt in slumber.
The distance from bank to bank was short, but the fording place was
narrow and almost barred by the form of the guard. The undertaking
was venturesome, but there was no other way out of the difficulty,
so we determined to run the gauntlet. Arranging to go one at a time,
Wentworth started first, passed the sentry safely, climbing the
opposite bank. As I drew near I felt a strange fascination which almost
deprived me of action, and when I reached him was compelled to stop
and gaze into his face before the spell was dissolved. Williams, who
came last, was also successful, but we could not resist our suppressed
laughter at the comical figure he cut in his endeavors to deaden the
sound of his footsteps. With a sense of relief we made haste to gain
the woods, and travelled on until morning.”
On the twenty-ninth of April, when within thirty miles of Alexandria,
they accidentally stopped at the house of a Jayhawker (a name given
to those secret bands of Southern Unionists who resisted by force the
conscription acts and were the deadliest foes of the guerrillas), who
provided _them_ with food and excused himself from giving breakfast to
a Confederate lieutenant of cavalry and three privates, who rode up
while the three escaped prisoners were talking with their host upon the
door-porch. By advice of this Jayhawker they endeavored to find a Madam
Nowlan, who lived near the river, and who, he said, would find a way to
assist them across the river into the Federal lines.
The next day, April 30th, while proceeding in the direction given
them how to find Madam Nowlan’s Plantation, they encountered an army
wagon and learned from a soldier that Harrison’s cavalry was not far
away, stationed on that side of the river. This fact decided them to
represent Texans, knowing they were on the south side, and they were
well acquainted with the history of many Texas regiments. About noon
they called at a house to procure a dinner, introducing themselves
as Texas soldiers attached to Captain Clipper’s company, of Elmore’s
regiment, on their way from Shreveport hospitals to rejoin their
company. While awaiting dinner, conversation was carried on with the
host, under some shady trees, about army matters, until Williams asked
the nearest way to reach Madam Nowlan, when a red-headed man came from
the house and demanded in a rough tone: “What do you know about Madam
Nowlan?” The question was so abruptly asked, Wentworth and Hersey were
disconcerted for a moment. They were subjected to a series of questions
and cross questions, which were answered as best they could; Hersey’s
information, gathered while visiting Colonel Harrison’s headquarters,
about the Confederate troops in Louisiana and reënforcements expected
from Texas and Arkansas coming in very opportune.
The red-headed man was a “courier,” named Harris, attached to the
“courier line” carrying despatches between army headquarters and
Shreveport, on the north bank of Red River. He suspected the three
prisoners were spies, and was not to be duped. Disappearing for a short
time, he returned followed by three soldiers, who apparently dropped
in one at a time, as if by chance. Courier Harris laid his plans well.
Offering no opposition to their departure, they started for the river
road, when he followed them and began conversation, intimating a desire
on his part to desert. They were not to be caught by this trick and
resented such proposals, when he rode away, after directing them how to
reach the river crossing. Feeling that the end was near, they kept on
until a deserted log house built upon piles, beneath which was a little
grass plot, tempted them to rest under its cool shelter.
While resting a pack of hounds surrounded them, soon followed by a
cavalry squad, headed by Harris, who levelled their guns and ordered a
surrender. The prisoners were taken to the house of Mr. Swafford, said
to be the headquarters of the courier line, and there kept until their
case was reported to Brigadier-General Liddel, commanding Confederate
forces.
On Monday, May 2d, Captain Micot, chief of the courier line, arrived
to take them to General Liddel, whose camp was about twenty-five miles
distant, opposite Alexandria. Captain Micot was sociable and friendly,
expressing his sympathy and promising to do what he could for them. He
did so, returning from an interview with his general exclaiming: “Well,
boys, I’ve got good tidings for you,” handing them a piece of paper,
torn from the blank leaf of a printed book, upon which the following
lines were written in pencil:
* * * * *
“Guards and pickets will pass Samuel R. Hersey, David L. Wentworth and
Charles Williams outside the Confederate lines.
“BRIGADIER-GENERAL LIDDEL,
“Per ----, _A. A. A. G._”
A verbal provision was attached to the pass, that they must not
attempt to reach the Federal lines on Red River, but return by way of
Harrisonburg, thence to the Federal forces on the Mississippi River.
This pass, Captain Micot informed them, would be respected by all
regular Confederate soldiers, but probably not by the guerrillas, as
they were not subject to the discipline of the army. Thus was Williams’
oft-repeated prediction, “Our journey is only a round-about road to
Texas again, it would be better for us if we had gone with the crowd,”
not likely to be realized.
The three prisoners returned to Swafford’s house, accompanied by
Captain Micot and a private named Meecum. Meecum, who found an
opportunity to unbosom himself, advised them to call upon his father, a
Baptist clergyman and member of a league of Jayhawkers, residing about
seventeen miles from Swafford’s, directly on their way, who would mark
out a course to pursue that would be of assistance. He had a brother
serving in the Federal army, and his sympathies were with the Union
cause; his service was compulsory with the Confederates.
Wednesday, May 4th, Wentworth, Hersey and Williams again commenced a
tramp of one hundred and seventy-five miles, after an adieu to their
Confederate friends who had treated them very kindly; since their
recapture it appeared to them as though they were friends upon a visit,
so considerate had been the treatment they received from everybody with
whom they came in contact. Mr. Swafford presented Wentworth with a
blood-hound “pup” of fine breed, as a remembrancer of him, and also as
a reward for those songs Wentworth sang at his house and the marvellous
yarns he told, the like of which they never heard before and will
probably never listen to again.
They were hospitably entertained that night by Rev. Mr. Meecum, the
next night by Mr. Paul, twenty miles beyond, and then travelled onward
carefully in order to avoid guerrillas, especially a band known as
“dog” Smith’s (a name given them on account of their use of bloodhounds
in hunting victims), until May 8th, stopping each night with some
friendly Unionist, to whom they were directed by the preceding host.
It was on Sunday, May 8th, after remaining over night with a Mr. “Jack”
Wharton, as he was called, they walked into a guerrilla camp, situated
in the dense woods near Tensas River. The “pass” did not satisfy the
motley crowd of ill-clad, villainous-looking men, who heaped the vilest
epithets upon them, and several men threatened to shoot them down but
were held back by their comrades.
The guerrilla chief, Captain Smith, was absent, and the prisoners were
taken before a Lieutenant Eddington, a young man about twenty-five
years old, tall and well shaped, with features indicative of refinement
and intelligence, whose parents lived in Missouri. The prisoners told
their story and plead for their lives. After talking the matter over,
Eddington was satisfied the “pass” was genuine, and told them the only
thing he could do was to pass them out of his tent by the rear, while
his men were ordered away, and advised them to “run for it” to the
river bank, where they would find a regular company of Confederate
cavalry, commanded by a Captain Gillespie. His men, so he said, were
much exasperated over the loss of some of their comrades, captured in a
recent skirmish with colored troops, and who had been shot.
A Colonel Jones, an officer in the Confederate service, wounded at
Shiloh, owner of some four thousand acres of cleared land along the
Tensas River and vicinity, invited them to his house and provided
supper and sleeping apartments. Colonel Jones knew they were paroled
Federal prisoners on the way to Natchez, and the reason of his
hospitality was unfolded when he called Hersey aside and requested him
to inform General Tuttle at Natchez, with the utmost secresy, _that
three hundred bales of cotton were on the way down Black River, coming
from Colonel Jones_.
The three men started shortly after sunrise, on Monday, May 9th, for
Natchez, expecting to walk the distance that day. The danger of again
encountering guerrilla bands was all they had to fear. By nightfall
they were within hearing of the evening guns from the forts around
Vidalia. While walking rapidly along the road three United States
colored cavalry-men, in a menacing manner, ordered them to halt, and
demanded to know who they were. No explanation would be believed by
these wide-awake soldiers, who marched the prisoners into town to the
provost-marshal’s office, where the mistake was rectified, and they
received good treatment at the only hotel in the place. At Natchez,
the following morning, their appearance in such ridiculous clothes
as they wore created considerable commotion in the streets. Whenever
they stopped a crowd of curious people gathered around, enabling
Wentworth, with his fertile genius for story telling, to relate in a
most thrilling manner the story of their escape, embellished with a few
deeds of bloodshed and heroic action. A Mr. Marsh, in charge of the New
England Aid Society store, offered to clothe them, but the offer was
declined, as the Quartermaster Department provided for them.
From Natchez the three escaped men were sent to Vicksburg, and from
there got transportation to Washington, by way of Cairo. Williams
parted company with Wentworth and Hersey at Cairo, not desirous
to go on to Washington, and remained to seek employment upon the
transport-steamers on the river; Wentworth and Hersey proceeded to
Washington, obtained their pay without trouble, and reached Boston,
home again, June 1st, 1864, having passed over sixteen months of their
lives as prisoners of war.
Charles Williams, “Transport,” was last heard from May 24th, 1864,
when he was furnished transportation from Chicago to Utica, New York,
by a United States quartermaster, as Williams claimed to be a private
of Company D, Forty-Second Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers, on sick
leave, granted by Brigadier-General Tuttle.