CHAPTER VIII.

My Capture by the Confederates.

I was made a prisoner of war at the close of the battle of Chickamauga, Ga., Sept. 20, 1863. Being a mounted orderly on Gen. Palmer’s staff, my duties were to go where ordered, carrying messages from one part of the army to another. Gen. Palmer’s division held its position during the last day of the battle, and just about the time that the battle closed, which was near the close of the day, it was withdrawn. A short time before its withdrawal Gen. Palmer and staff, including myself and two other members of Co. C, rode away from the line of battle across the Kelly field toward the woods beyond. But before reaching the woods we came to an old-fashioned rail fence, and just as the fence was reached a heavy artillery fire was opened upon us. As near as I could ascertain it came from the extreme left of our army, some distance north of the Kelly field, beyond a patch of open woods, where I saw the smoke roll up from some cannon about a quarter of a mile away. The shots struck nearly lengthwise of the fence, cutting and splintering the rails and throwing the pieces about us in every direction, frightening our horses so that we were prevented from crossing the fence as soon as we desired.

I had no objection to rails but preferred to have them remain in the fence. The General and staff managed to cross the fence in advance just about the time that the battery opened fire upon us, and rode into the woods, where we lost sight of them. Two other comrades and myself were yet at the fence, trying to cross and follow the rest of the group, which was our duty to do. We finally succeeded, and also rode into the woods in search of the General but he had gained some distance on us and we failed to find him. We continued the search until, becoming somewhat discouraged and night closing in upon us, we stopped and held a council of war as it was called, trying to determine in which direction to go in order to find the General or his division, but we failed to agree. My proposition was to go in the direction where our division (Palmer’s) was located during the day, thinking that we would find it and by this means also find the whereabouts of the General, I being unaware that the troops had been withdrawn from their position. My two comrades started off in a different direction from the one taken by myself, and reached the Union lines in safety. I went in the direction in which I expected to find Palmer’s division, thinking that I would be all right. After riding through the woods a short distance I came to a deep ravine, and after passing down into it I found many wounded soldiers, who called to me asking for water, which I was unable to give them, as my canteen was empty, I having been without water nearly all day myself, and did not know where to find any. This was a trying time for me, as I heard these poor wounded comrades groaning and calling to me for help, which I was unable to give. I rode up the opposite bank of the ravine and some distance beyond. It had now become quite dark, and I soon arrived at the place where I expected to find Palmer’s troops, and suddenly came to a long line of stacked guns, which could be seen by the aid of some small camp-fires beyond, and on approaching them saw some men between myself and the fire, near the guns. Some were standing, some sitting and others lying on the ground.

These I thought might belong to Palmer’s division. Riding up close to them I asked one of the men the number of his regiment. He replied “The 16th Mississippi.” He of course had not discovered that I was a Federal. I was a little doubtful in regard to these troops. Thinking that there might be some misunderstanding between us I rode down the line a short distance and inquired again. The answer came “This is the 20th Louisiana.” I was then satisfied that they were Confederate troops, but they had not yet identified me and perhaps thought that I was a Confederate. As the fires beyond the line of guns were not sufficient by which to distinguish my uniform, I still had hopes of reaching our lines in safety. I saw some small fires in different directions which apparently had just been started. As I subsequently learned I was now inside the main line of the Confederate army.

My opinion was that the Federal troops had withdrawn from their position during the evening and these Confederates had come in there and stacked arms. The next thing for me to do was to contrive some plan to make my escape from inside the enemy’s lines. The first thing I thought of was to get away from these troops before some of them would identify me. I immediately rode away, perhaps fifteen or twenty rods, thinking that I might escape unnoticed. While riding through the woods without a friend except my faithful horse (that had done good service for Uncle Sam for two years), I thought of many things in a few seconds. A difficult task was before me (that of reaching the Union lines in safety). One great difficulty was that I did not know in which direction to go. It being nighttime I was unable to see distinctly what was before me and my reader can imagine my predicament. As I proceeded on farther a voice near me called out “Halt!” which I obeyed.

I was able to see some object just ahead of my horse, but was unable to tell what it was. In a few seconds I discovered two men near my horse’s head. One called out, “Surrender, here, get off your horse”; which I proceeded to do, as they had the muzzles of their guns uncomfortably close to my face. And now my goose was cooked.

I never obeyed orders more promptly, and did not stop to argue the case with them nor ask whether their guns were loaded. By the light of a few fires which had been started in the vicinity, these Confederates were enabled to identify me by my uniform, and I could also distinguish them as we were now so near together. The Confederates could see me more distinctly than I could them on account of my being on a horse and they on the ground. There was not the smallest chance to escape, as I now found myself surrounded by quite a number of the enemy, about ten to one. The two Confederates who captured me quarreled, each claiming my sabre and revolver. My sabre was one we had captured from a Confederate lieutenant at the battle of Stone River, and was a beauty.

Little did I care which one got them, I was a prisoner of war under guard and obliged to comply with all orders, no matter what they were. I cannot describe the state of my mind just then, but guess I felt some like the boy, after getting a good whipping which he did not deserve, very despondent. In a few moments I was conducted under guard to some commissioned officer’s headquarters for inspection. Before starting I took my pup tent from my saddle, hung it over my shoulder, and bade good-bye to my faithful horse, rubbing my hand down over her honest face as we parted. But now at our final separation came over me a more piercing sense of the loss of my honest four-footed friend, that was always so willing and ready to do her duty. We had endured together the perils of the battle, the scout, the outpost picket, and the skirmish; also the hardships of the march through mud and slush, the courier service, and many gripings of hunger which we had shared together. Now at last our paths separated, I was retired from actual service to become a prisoner, and she bore her new rider away to battle against her old friends. It was a sad parting.

We immediately started and marched some distance through the woods to the headquarters of an officer. I judged him to be a colonel or a brigadier general, who asked a number of questions and called me such names as are not to be found in a dictionary, and caused me to think that he was not very polite in speech. One question I distinctly remember was, “What did you come down here for and what are you doing here?” I said, “To lick you folks into the Union.”He replied, “That is a h——l of a way,” and appeared as cross as a bear with a sore head. But I thought that he was excusable, because they had suffered severely along this part of their line which was in front of Palmer’s, Reynolds’, Baird’s and Johnson’s divisions. Judging by what I could see and hear during the evening after my capture, I was convinced that the Confederates were severely punished in front of our part of the army.

When this sauce-box had gotten through with me, I was conducted a short distance farther where five more of my comrades in misfortune were met, who had been captured during the day and were fellow prisoners with me. We were here allowed to rest but not to eat or drink, for good reasons. It was now between eight and nine o’clock in the evening of Sept. 20, and there was a little time for reflection. I felt a trifle hungry and very thirsty, having had neither dinner nor supper, and no water all day. The dust, smoke and heat, combined, made me feel as though I was about perishing. I turned my attention to my haversack and found it as flat as a pancake, containing only a few crumbs of hardtack which remained after a scanty breakfast. After eating those, which amounted to nothing in satisfying my hunger, I felt even more hungry than before. We soon lay down to rest and sleep, and I realized that I was about worn out from the effects of the two days’ battle. I slept but little, but thought more about what might be our fate in the near future. I probably felt like a criminal under death sentence on the night previous to execution, as we considered confinement in southern military prisons equivalent to a death sentence. I feared that I could send no letters to the folks at home, and if ever a person had the blues I had them that night of Sept. 20, 1863. Being made a prisoner of war was something that I had never thought to experience.

Early on the morning of Sept. 21 found us on the march to some point unknown to us, without anything to eat. About ten o’clock we were joined by 1,500 of our boys who had met with a similar fate, and were also on their way to some southern prison pen. About three o’clock in the afternoon we arrived at Ringgold, Ga., where a brief halt was made and the Confederates wrote a list of our names. When this was accomplished the march was resumed in a southeasterly direction until evening, when we halted and camped for the night. On the morning of Sept. 22 we drew the first rations from “Uncle Jeff’s” commissary, consisting of one pint of unsifted cornmeal for each man, which was our day’s allowance, but was hardly sufficient for a half a meal. I think the Confederates were short of rations themselves and had none to spare for us. We had now fasted forty-eight hours, and a pint of cornmeal appeared rather small to subsist on for the next twenty-four hours. My cooking utensils consisted of one pint cup, and with it full of meal how was I to cook my mush? I took part of the meal out of the cup and put it in my haversack, mixed the balance with water, set it on the fire for a short time, and named it mush. But now another difficulty arose. How was I to eat the stuff without a spoon? Well, it has been said that necessity is the mother of invention, which was true in this case, as I combined a small stick with the mush, to assist me in licking it out of the cup, in dog fashion. I then cooked the balance of the meal and ate it also. After finishing our breakfast of mush, we were called up in line by the Confederate officers in charge, who searched us for firearms, but failed to find many, as there were but few in the crowd.

When the search was finished we resumed our journey, and walked until night, when Dalton, Ga., was reached, a small town on the Chattanooga and Atlanta Railroad, where we camped until the morning of Sept. 23. During the night rations were issued the second time by the Confederates, which consisted of about a pound of flour or dough to each man. I well remember that it tasted bitter, and appeared to me like flour that had been wet in the sack, and formed into chunks, which were mouldy and bitter. Something had to be done with the stuff, to fix it up in some way that could be masticated, because I had eaten nothing except a pint of very inferior mush during sixty-eight hours, and to tell the truth I was beginning to feel a trifle hungry. I built a fire, and determined to try and bake my lump of flour, which was performed in a way. We were camped in the woods where some large trees had been chopped, and there we found some clean chips. I took one of them, pasted my ration of flour upon it, and set it near the fire to bake, at an angle of about forty-five degrees. When I considered it baked I took it off the chip and found it baked only a little on the surface, and that it had not “raised”a bit. Some of the boys declared that the “raising” had been put in upside down. It was about as tough as a piece of rubber. I attempted to eat some of it but it was hard work and it seemed to stretch and contract alternately. The more I chewed the stuff the bigger and tougher it seemed to get, and it did not want to go down. I viewed it and it appeared very sad, but my condition was much sadder. It was a very serious affair indeed. I thought of lockjaw, and many other misfortunes that might befall me in my attempts to swallow some of the rubbery bread-stuff. It was swallow or starve. It is natural for a person to think of remedies in a strenuous case like this. I thought if the stuff did unfortunately stick fast in my throat we might apply the leather whip-stock remedy, which I remembered was applied to a cow when choked with a turnip. A dog would have turned up his nose at the offer of some of the above-mentioned bread.

It was now sunrise, Sept. 23, and we received orders to get on board the cars, which were promptly obeyed. They were ordinary freight cars, but we were thankful to ride on any kind of a car. The train moved southward and we arrived at Atlanta, Ga., in the evening of the same day, and were transferred to a pen inclosed by a high, tight, board fence, where we remained until Sept. 25, when orders were again received to get on the cars. They were common freight or box cars, and they packed us in almost as thick as sardines in a box. This was the worst experience that I ever had in railroad traveling. We were obliged to stand up or sit on the floor, and fold up like a jack-knife with our hands clasped around our knees to keep our backs from breaking, and we suffered all the tortures imaginable. I felt as if every joint in my body was coming apart. It was about as severe as being fastened in the stocks. We were eight days on this journey by rail from Dalton to Richmond, Va., but lay over in Atlanta one day and two nights, and were unloaded two different nights after leaving Atlanta, in order to allow us to straighten our weary limbs and sleep. But the other three nights we spent on the cars, in torment. It was hard to endure, but I suppose it was as well as the Confederacy could do for us.

As I stated before, we were ordered to get on board of the cars at Atlanta, Ga., Sept. 25, when we started on our journey toward Augusta, Ga., located on the banks of the Savannah River, which was reached the following evening. We were here unloaded and transferred to a churchyard to rest during the night, which was found to be a very pleasant resting place. We had drawn rations at Atlanta, which consisted of about a pound and one-half of hardtack and a small quantity of bacon. Two and one-half pounds of hardtack and bacon for each man to subsist on for six days were small rations. From Augusta we went by rail into South Carolina, running down within about twenty miles of the city of Charleston to a small place named Branchville.

On our way we passed through some swampy country. The train stopped at a place where a large ricefield extended close to the track. The rice was out in head and I was anxious to get some of it, so the guards permitted me to get off the car and procure a few heads.

I now discovered Captain Muhleman, of Gen. Palmer’s staff, on the train, he being also a prisoner of war, captured about the same time that I was taken. I was surprised to see him, not knowing previously that he had been taken prisoner. I talked with him, and he appeared to be very much discouraged in regard to our condition. At Branchville we turned north, and soon arrived at Columbia, S. C. (the capital of the State), where the train halted for a short time, but we were soon on our way again northward, passing through some country which appeared to me extremely poor. The soil had the appearance of red chalk, and here I heard a good many remarks made by the men about the country. One said, “The ground is so poor that they could raise nothing but a rebellion and the d——l, and would be obliged to fertilize it before it would make brick.”

I was of the opinion that birds flying over that country would be obliged to carry haversacks, because they could find nothing there to subsist on, and that the hogs we saw in the woods were so thin that two of them were required to make a shadow. Many other similar remarks were made by the boys. We passed on northward, finally reaching the borders of North Carolina, the land of tar, pitch and turpentine. Passing on, most of the country was found to be heavily timbered, but of course we saw only a portion of it, as some of our journey was made after night.

Our next stopping place of importance was Charlotte, N. C., where we arrived Sept. 27, left the cars, and camped for the night in a nice, grassy field. I rested well here. We began thinking about our rations, which were getting low, and I proceeded to eat some of mine, and relished them after fasting for some time. While eating some of the bacon a peculiar flavor was noticeable, and I remarked to one of my comrades that I thought the bacon had a peculiar taste, and he said it tasted of the Southern Confederacy. We arose in the morning feeling quite refreshed, and after eating a light breakfast were again put on board the train and started eastward, arriving at Raleigh, the capital of the State, some time during the day. The train stopped here for a short time, but soon moved on through the city northward, toward Virginia, nothing of importance transpiring on the way.

The next place of importance was Petersburg, Va., where the train halted quite a long time. We were now not far from Richmond, Va. After all was ready the train moved on toward Richmond and Belle Isle, where we arrived Sept. 30, 1863. Between Augusta and Richmond we spent three nights in the cars, which almost tormented the life out of us.

I had now been a prisoner of war ten days, and began to feel the effects of it seriously, as during the journey from Atlanta to Belle Isle, which was a period of six days, we had only a pound and a half of hardtack and a small piece of bacon to subsist on. I have not forgotten how carefully those scanty rations were guarded by me. I prized them as highly as I would the same weight in gold, and perhaps they were of more value to me than gold, for my life depended upon the little morsel. Economy was practiced by me to the utmost degree as I ate only a very small quantity at a time. Whenever hunger pinched me hard, I could not keep my hand out of the haversack. It seemed as though the little morsel was magnetized. I would take a few bites of my bacon and hardtack (the bacon I was obliged to eat raw as I had no way of cooking it), and after eating just enough to aggravate me, would be obliged to stop or have none left for the following two or three days.

During our journey from Atlanta to Belle Isle we saw many curious crowds, that collected at the stations where our train halted. They came to see the “Yanks,” and would ask some funny questions in regard to the war. Some would ask, “What did you-all come down heah to fight we-uns for?” “You-all were captured this time”; and many other curious questions, too numerous to mention.