Part 5

The reader will recollect that the avowed object of the Confederate government in removing us from Macon to Charleston, was to place us under the fire of our own forces, which were bombarding the city, and thus force a cessation of the siege. The jail was situated in a portion of the city not yet visited by any messages from the "Swamp Angel," as the heavy advance battery located about five miles from the city was called. We discovered, however, that our new quarters, while more healthfully located so far as air, water, and agreeable surroundings were concerned, were unpleasantly near that portion of the city occasionally visited by Union shells. We were uncharitable enough to ascribe motives not altogether disinterested, in this assignment.

We had no more than got quietly settled, when a cry arose of, "Look out, boys, there she comes!"

On looking up, we saw a small white cloud suddenly make its appearance over our heads, followed by a dull, reverberating sound, and a piece of exploded shell came screaming over us. Strange as it may seem, the sound of that missile was inspiring. We realized that we were within shot of friends; that five minutes before, that piece of iron had been handled by "boys in blue," under the protecting folds of the stars and stripes. Such expressions as these, were heard from all parts of the house and yard: "Good for you, old fellows! Hurrah! Hurrah! Uncle Sam is feeling for us. Give us another!" As another burst in an adjoining street, scattering big pieces of iron in every direction, it was greeted with hearty cheers from the prisoners.

It must not be inferred from this that we were so foolhardy as to court danger, or that we really enjoyed being under fire; but we were under the influence of excitement, and zealous to impress upon the Confederates around us, that we should not aid them by making any request to our government to suspend operations on our account. We also took into consideration the fact that a city was a large thing to shoot at, and the chances of being hit or injured not alarming. We took the precaution, however, of establishing a watch for shells, and I have no doubt that every man had his place of refuge picked out, in case of actual danger.

From our point of view, the sight of the bombardment at night was exceedingly fine. A dull, heavy report would be heard, and almost simultaneously something that looked like a shooting star would be seen moving with great rapidity toward the zenith, until it reached its greatest altitude, when it would fall to the earth almost perpendicularly, usually bursting in the air at an elevation of from fifty to a hundred feet, scattering fragments in every direction.

Only once, during our stay of nearly a month, were we in real danger. One day, about noon, when the most of us were in the building, a fragment of shell came crashing through the roof and two floors, on its way down passing through a table surrounded by a party eating dinner. Fortunately, only one man was hurt, and he but slightly. From the jocular manner in which the strange visitor was greeted, one might have supposed it was a mere piece of pleasantry, arranged for our special benefit.

_Daily Experiences_

Our rations in this prison were good in quality, varied, and plentiful. Daily we drew corn meal, flour, salt, fresh meat, rice, sugar, molasses, and beans. Besides this, those having money were permitted to purchase milk, sweet potatoes, shrimps, and other luxuries from the hunters, who were principally negroes. In short, we were now treated humanely, as we were entitled to be by the laws of nations and the customs of civilized governments. This change in our treatment, we were informed, was due to the humanity of General Sam Jones, who commanded the department.

Our surroundings at this place were as pleasant as we could expect. The yard and grounds of the Roper Hospital were laid out with care and taste. Beautiful flowers bordered the well-kept walks; orange and lemon trees perfumed the air; two large fig trees dropped their fruit at our feet, and furnished magnificent shade from the fierce rays of the sun. It was a very paradise of Confederate prisons. The officials, too, were gentlemanly and courteous, and seemed really desirous of making our condition as comfortable as was in their power.

Here, too, for the first time, we received mail from home, which came to us by flag of truce. It is almost impossible to describe the longing all felt for news from home: to hear from wives and families, and, not least, to hear from friends in the army. We had written many letters, which we were assured would by flag of truce be forwarded by our captors, but we had as yet received nothing, and the "Stale fish" Libby prisoners had received no mail since leaving Richmond in the previous spring. Imagine, then, the commotion caused by a voice loudly bawling, "Yankee mail! Turn out for letters."

Every man, regardless of rank, crowded to the front of the building. There in the yard, were several mail sacks. Three or four of our number were selected as temporary postmasters, and several others as temporary policemen, authorized to keep the crowd back. Then the distribution began.

The officers selected for this purpose, commenced calling out the address on the letters. As a name was called, the eager "_Here!_" would be heard, were the person present. Sometimes the response was heard, "Sent to Columbia (or Salisbury)," as the case might be; and often, after a mournful pause, would come the melancholy answer, "Dead!"

I shall never forget one poor fellow, a Second Lieutenant of a New York regiment. As his name was called, he eagerly pressed forward to receive the longed-for letter, and before it reached his hand, cried out: "Hurry up! Hand it over! Hurrah! I knew mother would not forget me."

When it reached him he was so excited that he could scarcely hold the envelope. Hastily opening it--there was no seal to break--he glanced at the contents; and then, such a groan of concentrated disappointment and misery I never heard before and hope never to hear again. No words were spoken; no tear stained his cheek; quietly working his way back out of the crowd, he sought his quarters and temporarily passed out of my mind, and in a moment was forgotten by the eager, anxious crowd.

When the excitement was partly over and I had read the long-expected letter from my wife, I sought him out. He was sitting upon a box with his head resting on his hands, a picture of despair.

"You seem to have had bad news," I said.

His reply was to place the letter in my hands. It was evidently from a stranger, and in a few words informed him that his mother had died shortly after his capture, and when on her death bed had asked the writer to convey her blessing to her boy.

"I am the only child," he cried; "and my mother was a widow."

Attempts at consolation were useless. I did not try. The poor fellow never rallied from the blow. He was removed to the hospital and died a month later. His capture had killed his mother, and her death killed him. Only two of the thousands of victims offered up on the altar of the country! One more family destroyed--a sacrifice to the unholy ambition that drew the South into a rebellion whose brilliant commencement was only equalled by its inglorious ending.

In the latter part of August or the first of September, yellow fever made its appearance in Charleston. To a Northerner there was something terrifying in the thought of being penned up there, to meet this pestilence. We had endured famine, but this was worse. We knew that there had been one or two cases in the prison, and all had been exposed, or might have been. The patients had been removed under the care of the Sisters of Charity, God bless them! Having been brought up a Protestant, I had imbibed a prejudice against everything pertaining to Catholicism; but since experiencing their gentle ministrations in Charleston, where they literally obeyed the Scriptural injunction: "Sick they ministered unto us, in prison they visited us, and naked they clothed us," I have learned a broader charity. I have learned that neither creed nor sex make the Christian or the hero. I never now see their distinctive costume without a feeling of gratitude and respect.

While we were at Charleston, the Andersonville prisoners were moved to a place near Charleston, passing through the city on their way to camp on the race track. My pen falters when I attempt to describe the passage through the streets of that sad column. Starvation, nostalgia, and disease, together with brutal treatment, had reduced these gallant Union soldiers to half naked savages. I saw many with not enough clothing to cover their nakedness. Starvation was stamped on every face. Hundreds of the poor fellows died after reaching our lines, and thousands more died in prison. Why, in the name of common decency, our government has not passed a law granting them pensions, I do not know. If pensions are ever granted to discharged soldiers, it should be to them. Better lose a leg or an arm in battle, than to have suffered the living death of Confederate imprisonment. I sometimes wish a sleek, well-fed congressman might experience a short term of this same imprisonment, that he might realize precisely what it was.

To the credit of the people of Charleston, and especially to the Sisters of Charity be it said, they obtained permission to aid these Andersonville prisoners with donations of food and clothing, and helped them to the best of their own limited means. Nourishing soups were provided, and clothing enough to cover their nakedness. Although Charleston was the scene of the inauguration of hostilities, there is a warm spot for it in my heart, since my imprisonment there in 1864.

About the first of October the Confederates became anxious to rid the city of us, for fear the fever should spread and become a pestilence that might sweep them all off. It was therefore decided to remove us again, this time to Columbia. Immediately upon hearing this news, some of us began to look about us for means to facilitate an escape, and a long march across the country.

Five months previous, an officer of General Sherman's staff had been captured, who had in his possession, carefully preserved, topographical maps of South Carolina and Georgia. These had been copied by Captain John B. Vliet, Captain Henry, and Lieutenant Dahl, until there were several duplicates of them. I had been fortunate enough to secure one of these charts. I was also in possession of a small night and day compass, presented to me by Commodore Pendergrast when he was exchanged. A short time previously I had conversed with several of my comrades, and found four ready to join me in attempting a trip across South Carolina and Georgia, on the "underground railroad." The party consisted of Captain John B. Vliet, Captain Henry Spencer, Lieutenant and Adjutant Gough of the Tenth Wisconsin, Lieutenant Hatcher of the Thirteenth Ohio, and myself.

At length dawned the morning of the fifth of October, 1864, a memorable day for us. For several days there had been rumors of an exchange about to take place, the old story that we had heard every time we were to exchange prisons. Just where we were to be transported, was not stated; we thought Savannah our destination, but Columbia was actually the place to which they were taking us.

_A Second Escape_

No notice that we were to leave at any particular time was given, until we were ordered to pack up and fall in line. This was to prevent any special preparation or saving of rations, the intention being to discourage any attempt of escape, by reason of lack of food. But they did not by any means relax their vigilance in guarding us. An entire regiment, the Thirtieth Georgia Infantry, was detailed to guard us, and we filed out of prison between long lines of grey-coated soldiers warily watching our every movement. Once more the long precession marched through the streets of Charleston to the railroad station.

Our party managed to keep together, and were assigned to the same car, located near the centre of the train. As usual, the transportation furnished was freight cars, each car being crowded to its capacity. The side doors were thrown open to furnish air, and we secured a place between the open doors. Four guards were stationed on the inside, and from five to six others on the roof of each car, with orders to shoot any of the prisoners attempting to escape. The guards inside our car took their station beside each corner of the open doors.

At length, everything being in readiness, the whistle sounded, the wheels began slowly to revolve, and we were off.

Our plans were soon formed. We decided to wait patiently until night, and then, selecting a time when the cars were running down grade, at their maximum rate of speed, jump from the train. It was necessary that the cars should be moving rapidly, for otherwise the guards would have little difficulty in riddling us with bullets. As they passed successively by, the guards on each car would have a chance for a shot at us at unpleasantly short range: for the same reason, our chances would be better in the dark. We easily calculated that at the usual rate of progress, the train could not reach Columbia until after midnight; so that these two very essential concomitants to success were not beyond the bounds of probability. The route selected was to make the nearest practicable point in the lines occupied by Sherman's command, between Atlanta and Chattanooga.

A careful inventory was taken, of stock belonging to the party. Shoes were more essential than any other article of clothing. A man may travel without hat or coat; he can dispense with undergarments; he may even travel _sans culottes_, but he must have his feet protected.

With the exception of Lieutenant Hatcher, each of the party was provided with something in the shape of boots or shoes. Hatcher had a pair of boots, but they were nearly minus the soles, and it was evident that they would last but a few days. Captain Vliet had a pair of long-legged army boots that I made up my mind would furnish leather enough to make a pair of moccasins for Hatcher, and still leave enough to serve a useful (if not ornamental) purpose to their owner. Our other clothing was nothing to boast of. We each had coat, shirt, and pantaloons, but neither hat nor cap. There was but one blanket in the party, and a new linen sack or bag. We had a kettle that I had made out of an old paint keg, while in Roper Hospital. Spencer had about a quart of flour, in addition to the one day's rations furnished us at starting, and I had saved a small piece of salt pork. We had two maps and the compass.

There was yet to overcome one difficulty. Four armed men were present, to prevent our escape. We knew that at the first movement we should be fired upon. Even were we not hurt, the shot would give notice to guards on the succeeding cars that something was wrong. This would result in attracting vastly more attention to ourselves, personally, than we were ambitious for just at that time. We must therefore either disarm the guards or render their muskets temporarily useless.

This we accomplished. "Familiarity breeds contempt." At first our jailors were on the alert every moment; not a movement of the prisoners was made, that they did not narrowly watch; but after a while they became interested in our conversation, and fell to laughing at our jokes. At first perhaps a little nervous at being in such close proximity to fifty or sixty "Yanks," even though the latter were unarmed, this passed away, and we were soon conversing together like old acquaintances. As it began to get dark, tired of standing on guard so long without being relieved, they set their muskets on the floor of the car and seated themselves at the ends of the open door, with their feet hanging outside, their bayonets leaning against the top of the doorway.

One of our party was stationed near each sentinel, and getting into conversation with him quietly raised the hammer of the lock from the tube, with his thumb, while with the little finger the cap was worked off the nipple. All this, without attracting attention. Within twenty minutes of commencing operations, every musket was uncapped. Meanwhile we were nearing Branchville. It was quite dark now, and we were only waiting for the train to get under full headway.

At length we reached a thick wood. The train was moving through it at the rate of twenty miles an hour. The pine forest through which we were passing, added to the darkness. The time for action had arrived. Quietly notifying my companions to be in readiness, I grasped the bag before described, in which I had deposited the kettle and pork, gave the signal, and sprang from the car out into the darkness.

_Fugitives_

It is difficult to describe one's sensation in jumping from a rapidly-moving to a stationary object. It is very much as one might imagine it would be in jumping from a stationary object upon a large and very rapidly-revolving wheel. You do not fall, but the earth comes up and hits you; and then, unless you hold fast to something, you roll off. I struck first upon my feet, then upon the back of my neck, and then, as it seemed to me, I rolled over several times. In fact, before I had fairly settled in one position, the train had passed me. Some idea of the rapidity with which the train was moving may be gained from the fact that five of us jumped, one after another, as rapidly as possible, and yet from where I landed to where the last man struck the earth was at least twenty rods. Fortunately the ground was smooth, though very hard. Although terribly jarred and shaken up, none of us were seriously injured, and in a few moments we were standing together on the track. We knew that an alarm would be given, and that we should probably be pursued. Even while we were talking, a musket was discharged from the train, and we heard the whistle sounded for "Down brakes."

We at once plunged into the forest in the direction of the coast, exactly the opposite of our true direction. After traveling for about a mile, we doubled on our track, crossed the railroad within a quarter of a mile of the point where we had left it, and taking a northwesterly course commenced our pilgrimage toward Sherman and Liberty.

Our object in apparently wasting precious time in making a false start, was to puzzle the pursuers, whom we knew would be on our track in the morning. We had hardly left the railroad when, in the thick brush ahead of us, we heard men's voices, and the barking of dogs. Hist! Lie down! Which way are they heading? Straight for us. Shall we run? No, that will not do, we should be heard and followed. Crouching upon the ground in a thicket, scarcely breathing, we awaited their approach. Soon they were near enough for us to understand their conversation.

"Wondah what dat shot foh?" said a voice.

"Do'no. Reck'n it war a geard on dat train. Hey, Cæsar, you rascal! Wat de mattah now, ole boy? Dat dog smell somet'in'."

"Coon, I reck'n."

"Dat no coon. See de way he growl and show his teef. Heyar, Cæsar! Come, Cæsar! Hunt 'em up, ole boy! Wat ye got, dat scars ye so?"

By this time we could distinguish two forms in the darkness, and could see the dog smelling around our track. It was a perilous moment. Evidently the men were negroes, probably out hunting for coon or opossum. If they discovered us they might prove our betrayers. We thought the best way was to keep still and await the dénouement.

"Wondah wat dat is," said one. "Don't act like coon. Reck'n we bettah let dat alone."

"Reck'n so, too. Come on, Cæsar!" and whistling off the dog, the negroes passed on, greatly to our relief.

As soon as they were fairly out of hearing we started on through the woods, taking a northwesterly direction, occasionally stopping to consult the compass and reassure ourselves as to direction. Through the brush, over fallen trees, now in quagmire, now on the ridges, among the pines, we made our way. At length we found a road running in the direction of our march, and struck into it with an accelerated pace that amounted almost to a double-quick, with hearts cheered by our successful escape from the train, and with high hopes of final success. On and on we traveled. No words were spoken above a breath, and only the whispers were such as the leader thought actually necessary to guide those in the rear.

With body half bent, the leader, listened intently to every sound, and strained his powers of vision to their utmost capacity. When any unusual sound attracted his attention, he halted those following, with a low "Hist!" while he went forward, carefully reconnoitering the ground. At the word "Again forward!" we flitted like spectres over the lonely road. So eager were we to get on, that daylight found us somewhat unprepared for a halt. We were in a cultivated country--cornfields on both sides of us, a house in plain sight. On our left, in a field, was a thicket, with a cornfield on one side running quite up to the thicket. Leaving the road, we struck across the fields and gained the thicket, fortunately without discovery save by a house-dog that barked furiously at us until we were out of sight, and then, with a growl, regained his kennel.

Selecting the densest part of the thicket, we spread our coats on the ground. After consulting our compass and map, and guessing at our location, and finding that we had traveled, as far as we could judge, about twenty-five miles, we drew our blanket over us and were soon sound asleep, with the exception of the one detailed to stand guard.

Our slumber was of short duration. As the sun came up, the horns, on all sides, calling the negroes to their labors, the crowing of the cocks, and all the customary sounds on a Southern plantation, warned us that we might accidentally be discovered at any moment. Our anxiety precluded the possibility of sleep, until we had become somewhat accustomed to our peril. It was only the knowledge that we must sleep to be able to keep awake at night, when the friendly darkness should again shield us from sight, that induced us to even try to secure this much-needed means to recuperate our exhausted physical powers.

Thus, watching and dozing by turns, the long day at length came to an end. As soon as it was dark, we were fortunate enough to find some corn and beans, not yet hard. Building a small fire, shielded from observation by surrounding it with a screen made of our coats and blankets, we boiled this food in our kettle and ate heartily of the nutritious succotash. Thus invigorated, we again started on the journey towards our lines. Passing through the cornfield, we again reached the road, our hearts light and courage redoubled. It was evident that we were not pursued; if we had been, we would have been overtaken during the day, and we intended before morning to put a good thirty miles more between ourselves and our starting point.

We had been on the road for about an hour, when ahead of us, apparently in the road, a light was discovered. A halt was called, and this phenomenon discussed in all its bearings. Why should a fire be kindled in the road? Was it an outpost of the enemy's cavalry? Were the negroes building a fire for fun? Was it a guerilla party out on a scout? Or was it that the country had been notified of our escape, and that the inhabitants were out looking for us?

Without arriving at any definite conclusion, we decided, at all events, to flank the danger, whether real or imaginary. Acting upon this decision, we left the road and took to the brush, in the following order: myself, followed by Spencer, Hatcher, Vliet, and Gough, one following the other in single file. We had thus progressed perhaps forty rods, when our onward course was arrested by something moving through the brush in our front.