A PRISON AND A PRISONER.
“Is this your first visit to Charleston?” I asked General S——, one day
as we dined together.
“My first visit,” he replied, “occurred in the summer of 1864,
considerably against my inclination. I was lodged at the expense of the
Confederate Government in the Work-House,—not half as comfortable a
place as this hotel!”
Both visits were made in the service of the United States Government;
but under what different circumstances! Then, a helpless, insulted
prisoner; now, he came in a capacity which brought to him as humble
petitioners some of the most rebellious citizens of those days. When
sick and in prison, they did not minister unto him; but since he sat in
an office of public power, nothing could exceed their polite,
hat-in-hand attentions.
Dinner over, he proposed that we should go around and look at his old
quarters in the Work-House. I gladly assented, and, on the way, drew
from him the story of his capture.
He was taken prisoner at the battle of July 22d, before Atlanta, and
placed on a train, with a number of other prisoners, to be conveyed to
Macon.
“When we were about ten or a dozen miles from Macon, I went and sat on
the platform with the guard. To prevent his suspecting my design, I told
him I was disabled by rheumatism, and complained of pain and weakness in
my back. He presently leaned against the car, and closed his eyes; like
everybody else after the battles of July, he was pretty well used up,
and in a few minutes he appeared to be asleep. His gun was cocked, ready
to shoot any prisoner that attempted to escape; and I quietly took the
cap off, without disturbing him. Then I didn’t dare wait a minute for a
better opportunity, but jumped when I could. We were five or six miles
from Macon, and the train was running about ten miles an hour. As I took
my leap, I felt my hat flying from my head, and instinctively put up my
hand and caught it, knowing if it was lost it might give a clew that
would lead to my recapture. All this passed through my mind while I went
rolling down an embankment eighteen or twenty feet high. I thought I
never should strike the bottom. When I did, the concussion was so great
that I lay under a fence, nearly senseless, for I don’t know how long: I
couldn’t have moved, even if I had known a minute’s delay would cause me
to be retaken.
“After a while I recovered, got up, crossed the fields, and found a road
on the edge of some woods. It was then just at dusk. I walked all night,
and in the morning found myself where I started. I had been walking
around a hill, on a road made by woodmen.
“I was very tired, but I made up my mind I must leave that place. I got
the points of the compass by the light in the east, and started to walk
in a northerly direction, hoping to strike our lines somewhere near
Atlanta. I soon passed a field of squealing hogs. I ought to have taken
warning by their noise; but I kept on, and presently met a man with a
bag of corn on his shoulder, going to feed them. I was walking fast,
with my coat on my arm; and we passed each other without saying a word.
My whole appearance was calculated to excite suspicion. Besides, one
might know by my uniform that I was a Yankee officer. I suppose, by the
law of self-defence, I ought to have turned about and put him out of the
way of doing me any mischief. It would have been well for me if I had. I
was soon out of sight; but I could hear the hogs squealing still, so I
knew he had not stopped to give them the corn; I knew he had dropped his
bag and run, as well as if I had watched him.
“I crossed the fields to the road, where I saw somebody coming very fast
on a horse. I hid in some weeds, and presently saw this same man riding
by at a sharp gallop towards a neighboring plantation.
“Then I knew I had a hard time before me. I first sat down and rubbed
pine leaves and tobacco on the soles of my boots; then took once more to
the fields. It wasn’t an hour before I heard the bloodhounds on my
track. I can never tell what I suffered during the next three days. I
did not sleep at all; I travelled almost incessantly. Sometimes when I
stopped to rest the dogs would come in sight; and often I could hear
them when I did not see them. I baffled them continually by changing my
course, walking in streams, and rubbing tobacco and pine leaves on my
boot-soles.”
“What did you live on all this time?”
“I will tell you what I ate: three crackers, which I had with me when I
jumped from the cars, one water-melon, and some raw green corn I picked
in a field. The third day I got rid of the dogs entirely. I saw a lonely
looking house on a hill, and went to it. It was occupied by a widow. I
asked for something to eat, and she cooked me a dinner while I kept
watch for the dogs. Perhaps she was afraid to do differently; but she
appeared very kind. When the dinner was ready I was so sick from
excitement and exhaustion that I couldn’t eat. I managed to force down
an egg and a spoonful of peas, and that was all. The Rebels had taken my
money, and I could pay her only with thanks.
“I travelled nearly all that night again. Towards morning I lay by in a
canebrake, and slept a little. It was raining hard. The next day I
started on again. As I was crossing a road, suddenly a man came round a
steep bank, on horseback. I didn’t see him until he was right upon me. I
felt desperate. He asked me some question, and I gave him a surly
answer. I thought I wouldn’t leave the road until he had gone on; but he
checked his horse, and rode along by my side.
“’You look like you are in trouble,’ he said.
“’I am,’ I said.
“’Can I be of any service to you?’
“’Yes. I want to go to Crawford’s Station. How far is it?’
“He said it was three miles, and told me the way to go. Crawford’s is
only fifteen miles from Macon; so you see I had not got far whilst
running from the dogs.
“Suddenly a terrible impulse took me. I turned upon him; I felt fierce;
I could have murdered him, if necessary.
“’I told you a lie,’ said I. ‘I am not going to Crawford’s. I am a
Federal soldier trying to escape.’
“He turned pale. ‘I am the provost-marshal of this district,’ he said,
after we had looked each other full in the face for about a minute, ‘and
do you know it is my duty to arrest you?’
“Then a power came upon me such as I never felt before in my life; and I
talked to him. I laid open the whole question of the war with a
clearness and force which astonishes me now when I think of it. I
believe I convinced him. Then I told him that if _I_ had been doing _my_
duty, it was _his_ duty to help me escape, instead of arresting me. And
then I prophesied:—‘This war is going to end,’ I said; ‘and it is going
to end in only one way. As true as there is a heaven above us, your
Confederate Government is going to be wiped from the earth; and then
where will you be? then what will you think of the duty of one man to
arrest another whose only fault is that he has been fighting for his
country? The time is coming, sir, when it may make a mighty difference
with you, whether you help me now, or send me to a Rebel prison.’
“He looked at me in perfect amazement. He did not answer me a word; only
when I got through he said, ‘I’d give a thousand dollars if I had not
met you!’ I got down to drink from a ditch by the road. Then he said,
‘I’ve got a canteen at the house which you might have.’ That was the
first intimation I received that he would help me.
“He told me to stay where I was and he would bring me something better
to drink than ditch-water. I looked him through. ‘I’ll trust you,’ I
said; for no man ever looked as he did who wasn’t sincere. Yet there was
danger he might change his mind; and I waited with great anxiety to see
whether he would bring the canteen or a guard of soldiers. At last he
came—with the canteen! It was full of the most delicious spring water. I
can’t begin to tell you how good that water tasted! The nectar of the
gods was nothing to it.
“That night he hid me between two bales of cotton in his gin-house. He
brought me bacon and biscuits enough to last me two or three days. What
was more to the purpose, he gave me a suit of citizens’ clothes to put
on. While it was yet early, he brought me out, and went with me a mile
or so on my way. He gave me the names of several citizens of the
country, so that I could claim to be going to see them if anybody
questioned me. I carried my uniform with me tied up in a bundle, which I
intended to drop in the first piece of woods at a safe distance from his
house. I never parted with a man under more affecting circumstances. An
enemy, he had risked his life to save me,—for we both knew that if the
part he took in my escape was discovered, his reward would be the
halter.
“I had a valuable gold watch, which the Rebels had not taken from me,
and I urged him to accept it. ‘If I am recaptured,’ I said, ‘some
Confederate soldier will get it. If I escape, it will be the greatest
source of satisfaction I can have to know that you keep this token of my
gratitude.’ At last he consented to accept it, and we parted.
“I travelled due north all that day, and lay by at night in a canebrake.
How it rained again! The next day, in avoiding the main roads, as I had
been careful to do whenever I could, I got entangled among streams that
put into the Ocmulgee River. I came to a large one, and as I was turning
back from it, I saw a squad of soldiers going down to it to bathe. I was
in a complete _cul de sac_, and I must either run for the river or meet
them. I put on a bold face, and went out towards them. As it was an
extraordinary situation for a stranger to be in, they naturally
suspected everything was not right. They asked me where I was from, and
where I was going. I said I came from near Macon, and that I was going
to visit my uncle, Dr. Moore, in De Kalb County. I suppose my speech
betrayed me. They didn’t suspect me of being an escaped prisoner; but
their captain said, ‘I believe you’re a damned Yankee spy.’
“That sealed my fate. I was taken to Forsyth, on the Macon and Western
Railroad, where I was finally recognized by the guard I had escaped
from.
“While I was sitting in the depot, in my citizens’ clothes, a
half-drunken Confederate soldier came in, flourishing a loaded pistol,
and inquiring for the ‘damned Yankee.’ ‘What do you want of him?’ I
asked. ‘To shoot his heart out!’ said he. ‘What!’ said I, ‘would you
shoot a prisoner? I hope you are too chivalrous to do that.’ ‘It’s a
part of my chivalry to kill every Yankee I find,’ said he. ‘Just show
him to me, and you’ll see.’ ‘I’ll show him to you. I am the man. Now
let’s see you shoot him.’
“He swore I was joking. He wouldn’t believe I was the Yankee, even when
the guard told him I was; and he went blustering away again. I suspect
that he was a fellow of more talk than courage.
“Meanwhile Mr. T——, who gave me my citizens’ dress, heard of my
recapture, and came over to Forsyth, in great anxiety lest I should
betray him. I pretended not to recognize him, but gave him to understand
by a look that his secret was safe. He said it was very important to
ascertain how I came by my clothes, and questioned me. I said I obtained
them of a good and true man, whom I should never name to his injury; but
that I would tell where I left my uniform, because I wished to get it
again. When I described the spot, he said he believed he recognized it,
and, if so, that it was on one of his neighbors’ plantations. He sent to
search, and the next day I received my uniform. I forgot to state that
when I was retaken, my drawers were mildewed from my lying out in the
cane-brakes in the rain.
“From Forsyth I was sent to the stockade at Macon, where I found my
companions from whom I separated when I jumped from the car. I hadn’t
been there three days when I formed a new plan of escape. I got the
other prisoners enlisted in it, and we went to tunnelling the ground
under the stockade. Each man worked with a knife, or a piece of
hoop,—anything that he could scratch with,—and filled a haversack with
the dirt, which was brought out and scattered over the ground. As
prisoners exposed to the weather were always burrowing in caves, our
design was not suspected. It was exceedingly toilsome work, and it was
carried on principally by night. You would be astonished to see how much
a man will accomplish, with not much besides his finger-nails to do
with, when his liberty is at stake. We worked six tunnels, three feet
high, and extending well out beyond the stockade. The very night when we
were going to open them up on the outside, one of the prisoners, a
Kentuckian, betrayed us. If we had found out who he was, he wouldn’t
have lived a minute. Then, just as I was maturing another plan, I was
sent here.”
We were at the Work-House, a castle-like building, flanked by two tall
towers; built of brick, but covered with a cement in imitation of
freestone. Before the war it was used as a safe place of deposit for
that description of property known as slaves. Negroes for sale and
awaiting the auction-day, negroes who had or had not merited
chastisement not convenient for their city masters or mistresses to
administer at home, negroes who had run away, or were in danger of
running away, were sent here for safe-keeping or scientific flogging, as
the case might be. It was a mere jail, with cells and bolts and bars,
like any other. During the war, the negroes were transferred to another
building near by, and the “Work-House” became a Yankee prison, in which
officers were confined.
In the same block was the City Jail, likewise turned into a prison for
Federal officers. The Roper and Marine Hospitals, not far off, were put
to the same use.
It was a dungeon-like entrance, dark and low and damp, to which we
gained admittance through a heavy door that creaked harshly on its
hinges.
“When I first entered here,” said General S——, “a cold shudder ran over
me. I looked around for a chance to escape, and saw behind and on each
side of me two rows of bayonets, not encouraging to the most
enterprising man!”
We walked through the empty, foul, and dismal passages, up-stairs and
down-stairs; visited the various cells, the old negro whipping-room, the
room in which General Stoneman, the captured raider, was confined; and
at length came to a room in the second story of the west tower, which
was occupied by General S—— and a dozen more Federal officers. There
were several wooden bunks in it, on which they slept; from among which
the General singled out his own. “This is the old thing I lay on! Here
is my mark!”
He looked up: “Do you see that patched place in the roof? A shell came
in there one day, when we were lying on our bunks. It made these holes
in the floor. But it hurt no one.”
He took me to the window. “That other tower was knocked by a shell. It
was one of our amusements to watch the shells as they came up from
Morris Island, rose over the ruined Cathedral yonder, and passed
diagonally across these streets, until they fell. They were dropping all
the time; but the gunners knew where we were, and avoided us. At night
we could watch them from the time they rose, until, after describing a
beautiful curve, they fell and exploded. Our guard was much more afraid
of them than we were. Every day there was a fire set by them. This burnt
section near the Work-House was set by a shell while I was here.”
We went down into the yard. “I never got outside of this enclosure but
once. Then I went through that gate for a load of wood. I had a taste of
the pure air, and I can’t tell you how good it was! It exhilarated me
like wine.”
On the other side of the yard was the building to which the negroes were
transferred. “Every day we could hear the yells of those who were being
whipped.”
In the yard is a wooden tower of observation, which we climbed, and had
a view of the city. It was occupied as a lookout by the Rebel guard.
“Near the foot of this tower,” said General S——, “was a small mountain
of offal,—fragments of food, old bones, and the like, thrown out from
the prison; a horrible heap,—all a moving mass of maggots,—left to
engender disease. Luckily for us, the men on guard were made sick by it,
and it was finally removed.
“The officer who had control of the prison has been appointed United
States Marshal for the State of South Carolina, for his kindness to us,”
he continued. “It is strange I never heard of his kindness when I was
here. We were not whipped like the negroes; but in other respects our
treatment was no better than they received. Out of curiosity I once
measured my rations for ten days, and counted just fifty-five
spoonfuls,—five and a half spoonfuls a day!
“I believe the prisoners at the Roper Hospital were treated very well.
They had the run of the garden, and the privilege of trading with the
negroes through the fence. But those who went there took an oath not to
try to get away. I could have gone there, if I would have consented to
take such an oath. But I wouldn’t sell the hope of escaping at any
price.
“I hadn’t been here a week before we had three schemes on foot for
getting out. One was to cut through a board in the yard fence; but we
found we were watched too closely for that. Another was to make a tunnel
to the sewer in the street in front of the prison, as I will show you.”
Descending the tower, he took me to an iron grating that covered a dark
cavity in the ground under one of the prison passages.
“Here is a large cistern, which we had exhausted of its contents. One
day I pulled up this grate, dropped down into the hole, lighted a candle
which I had in my pocket, and made an exploration. On coming out I gave
a favorable report, and that night we went to digging. We tunnelled
first through the cistern wall, then through the foundation wall of the
prison, and got into the sand under the street. We half filled the old
cistern with the stones and dirt we dug out with sticks, old bones, and
any bits of iron we could lay our hands on. We worked like rats. Two or
three of us were constantly in the tunnel, while others kept watch
above. A friend outside had given us information with regard to the
position of the sewer; we had already struck it, and the next night we
should have got into it, and into the street beyond the prison guard,
when once more we were betrayed by the same Kentuckian who exposed our
scheme at Macon. This time we found him out, and he had to be removed
from the prison to save his life.
“We had our third and great plan in reserve.
“There were at that time six hundred prisoners in the Work-House, three
hundred in the City Jail adjoining, and one thousand in the Roper and
Marine Hospitals, within an arrow’s shot. These were officers. At the
Race-Course prison, on the outskirts of the town, there were four
thousand enlisted men. Our guard, here at the Work-House, consisted of
three reliefs of thirty-three men each. They were mere militia, that had
never seen service. Old soldiers like us were not afraid of such
fellows; and we knew that if we made a demonstration they would be
afraid of us. Our plan was, for two prisoners, at a given signal, to
leap on the back of each one of the guard in the prison, and disarm him.
Possibly some of us might get hurt, but we were pretty sure of success.
Then, with the arms thus secured, we could easily capture the second
relief guard as it marched in. Then we were to rush out immediately and
seize the third relief. This would give us ninety-nine guns. With these
we were to march directly upon the arsenal, capture it, and provide
ourselves with all the arms and ammunition we needed. Then to release
the thirteen hundred officers at the jail and hospitals, and the four
thousand privates at the Race-Course, would have been easy; and we
should have had a force of near six thousand men. With these, the city
would have been in our power.
“Our plan then was, to set fires clear across it, from river to river,
to make a barricade of burning buildings against the Rebel artillery
that would have been coming down to look after us. Of course the panic
and confusion of the citizens would have been extreme, and the military
would hardly have known what we were about; while our plans were laid
with mathematical precision. Our friend outside had smuggled in to us,
done up in balls of bread, a map of Charleston, with complete
explanations of every point about which we needed information; and
through him we had communicated with our friends on Morris Island. We
were to seize the shipping, capture the water-batteries, and hold the
lower part of the town until our friends, under cover of a furious
bombardment, could come to our assistance. My whole heart was in this
scheme, and the time was set for its execution. The very day before the
day appointed, I was exchanged, together with the principal leaders in
it. To be let out just on the eve of what promised to be such a
brilliant exploit, was almost a disappointment.”
“I am still interested to know-one thing,” I said. “Have you ever heard
from the Rebel who gave you the citizen’s dress?”
“After the breaking up of the rebellion I wrote to him, making inquiries
concerning his condition. He replied, saying that he had come out of the
war a poor man, and that he did not know how he was to relieve the
destitution of his family. I immediately made application in his behalf
to the War Department, and obtained for him a pardon, and a place under
the government, in his own county, which he now fills, and which yields
him a liberal income.”