Part 2

Manning was sent to Georgia for trial. By mistake he was carried with a party to Andersonville, and turned into that place of yet untold horrors; but thither, after seven days, he was tracked out by the authorities, and to them turned over by the brutal Capt. Wirz, who, at parting, shook his clenched fist in his face, and cursed him vehemently as "one of Butler's spies," disgracing that foul stockade by his temporary presence. Thence to Macon, he was shut in a felon's cell in the common jail. There the days dragged heavily, while he lacked air, exercise, fitting food, hope. He pined away until it seemed as if he could not live. "I heard it whispered around, many a time," he wrote afterwards, "'Poor Manning! What a pity that he must die in such a place as this. Poor boy! he's past recovery.'" It was while shut in there, anticipating trial, conviction, death, that Manning cast himself before the Lord, and cried mightily for help. On his knees, behind the grated door of his hope-barred cell, he pleaded that he might yet have life and again find liberty. Although in intense and agonized earnestness, he yet prayed in trustful submission to God's righteous will; and, in no mere selfish love of ease and safety, solemnly he promised there that if his life was spared, it should be given wholly and heartily to the service of Jesus. In relating this incident after his release, he added artlessly, "I told God that if my life was spared, I should know _He_ did it, for there was no other hope for me, then." That prayer and that vow seemed to be favorably heard of God. An alarm from an anticipated attack startled the authorities at Macon; the provost-marshal of the post was ordered on active duty; in the transfer of authorities, the charges against Manning were lost, and in consequence his court-martial trial did not take place. But his personal trials were by no means at an end. His tedious prison-life had barely commenced.

ESCAPE AND RECAPTURE.--TORN BY BLOOD-HOUNDS.

With some of his fellow-prisoners he made several attempts at escape: once he was actually outside the jail, but was soon retaken. From the jail he was removed to the Macon stockade. Digging out thence, he was making his way towards our lines at Atlanta,--travelling only nights, resting in the woods by day,--when he was caught by a rebel scout, and returned to his prison quarters. From Macon he was taken to Millen, to be guarded in the stockade at Camp Lawton. Returned to Macon, he was ordered thence again to Andersonville. Shrinking from the horrors of that well-remembered pen, he was willing to risk every thing in another attempt at escape on his way thither. Going by rail, he determined to jump from the moving train; and, as several who had thus jumped with the cars in slow motion had been shot down by the guard, he made up his mind to leap while the train was at highest speed. On a down grade, he made the fearful plunge, and, as though by a miracle, he rolled unharmed down the embankment and into the ditch below. Quick as thought he was up and off for the woods. How pure and free seemed the fresh air of heaven! God speed and shield the flying boy! At the next station, the guard of the train gave the alarm, and soon a pack of five blood-hounds, with their mounted brutal keepers, were on his track, and in full pursuit. Bravely but vainly Manning sought to retain the freedom he had won at such fearful risk. Plunging into the recesses of a dismal swamp, he had brief hope that he should evade his pursuers; but soon the baying of the hounds was in his strained ears, and about him were the ringing echoes of the on-spurring guard. His hiding-place was speedily surrounded, and his hope of escape cut off. Yet he clung to dear liberty to the last. Again and again came the blaspheming shouts of his pursuers, demanding his surrender, and threatening him with "no quarter" if he compelled them to push further through the entangling briers and slimy morasses. He waded out into the sluggish waters of the inner swamp depths, to turn if possible the trail of the keen-scented hounds; but with undeviating directness they bounded towards him through brake and fen: he heard their labored breathing; then caught a glimpse of their flashing eyes and foaming jaws, as, with a vindictive howl at their long-delayed triumph, they leaped ferociously out of the thicket into the water where he stood, firm in despair. "Oh! 'twas a horrid moment," he said, "when they caught me and made a spring for my throat. I sank in the mire: a gurgling sound filled my ears--" One hound clutched him by the shoulder as he fell in the water: another sent his sharp fangs through the flesh of his side. As he rolled in the deadly struggle, the keepers came up and choked off the dogs, although one of them was urgent to have him torn in pieces because of his temerity. Weak, bruised, bleeding, despondent, Manning was carried to the Andersonville stockade, there to have his only nursing at the hands of the keepers of that accursed den, amid its exposures, its privations, its gloom, and its loathsomeness.

ANDERSONVILLE HORRORS.

Oh, how wearily the hours dragged in Andersonville! Shivering, unsheltered, in the cold nights of rain; sweltering, all exposed, under the noonday's sun; cramped in the seething mass of the close-packed stockade, where half-naked men strove with each other for the last garment from the body of their latest dead comrade; weighed down with the poison-laden air of the malarial swamp; knowing no relief from the gnawings of hunger in the soul-straining processes of slow starvation; needing Christian courage to hold back from the relief of the dead-line; full of sad forebodings of evil to home loved ones who mourned him as dead, and from whom no comforting word could come; and chafing, most of all, in his overwrought and high-strung nervous powers, under enforced inaction at a time when every patriot's strength should tell for God and Government,--Manning's life wasted surely away, and his system imbibed fairly that disease which at length destroyed his firm and vigorous constitution, and brought him so early in life's day to the house appointed to all living.

IN THE REBEL RANKS.--LOYAL STILL.

Finding himself still held as a suspected spy, although the special charges against him had been lost, and denied the treatment of an ordinary prisoner of war, Manning prayerfully determined on a course he would not have counselled for one captured in open battle. The special orders from his department commander clearly authorized such a proceeding in his case, and he sought to find a temporary place in the rebel ranks, that he might escape to the Union lines with the valuable information he had in various ways obtained. Circumstances providentially favored him, and he adroitly managed to pass out with a squad who had regularly enlisted; and, without taking any oath of allegiance to the "Confederate" powers, he was counted and equipped as a soldier in that army, and hurried towards the rebel front. However any might question the propriety or policy of this movement on his part, it cannot be denied that in it he acted conscientiously, and verily felt he was doing God service. He was acting for his government, to which he was loyal as ever, and was carrying out the very letter and spirit of his specific instructions. "I gained all the information I could, from every thing that passed," he wrote, "and laid it up in my memory. When I saw a big bridge, I studied how I might blow it up; when I passed a large city, I was planning how I might set it on fire; and when I saw a leading general, I was contriving some way how I might blow his brains out. I was in the enemy's country,--nothing but enemies around me; and the more harm I could do them, the greater service I should be doing my country." It was not long before the Union cavalry made a dash on the rebel lines in Manning's vicinity. At once he ran for the battle-line of the assailing force, facing its sharpest fire, while also fired at by his rebel comrades who divined the object of his move; and he reached the Union ranks unharmed.

A PRISONER AMONG FRIENDS.--GOOD NEWS FOR HOME.

Once more under the old flag, Manning told his strange story to the commander before whom he was taken; but it is not to be wondered at that it was discredited, in the absence of proof. He was deemed a rebel prisoner, and as such was sent to the military prison at Alton, Illinois. Sending forward his complaint to his regiment, he was, after a few weeks' delay, ordered released by direct command from the War Department. It was then--for he would not write to his dear ones while a prisoner at Alton--that he sent his first letter home. The simple message,--

"ST. LOUIS, MO. March 10, 1865.

"MY DEAR LOVED ONES,-- "I still live, and you shall hear from me soon.

"HENRY H. MANNING."

written on a sheet of "Christian Commission" paper, with the appropriate printed motto, "Let it hasten to those who wait for tidings,"--came as a voice from the grave to those who had mourned him, and gave to them glad and grateful hearts; for now their dead was alive again, and their lost was found.

AGAIN WITH HIS REGIMENT.--MERITED PROMOTION.

Subjected, on his way to his regiment, to those vexatious arrests and detentions to which an enlisted man absent from his command without a "descriptive list" was liable, in war time, Manning at length rejoined his comrades of the Twenty-fourth, at Richmond, Va., where the regiment was doing provost duty, about the middle of April, 1865. The ten months intervening since he left his command, not a dozen miles from where he now rejoined it, had been teeming ones to the gallant and war-worn battalion in its varied campaigning, as well as to himself within the enemy's lines. He missed many a comrade who had fallen in the fight while he suffered in the hands of the foe. But they were hearty greetings that passed between those who at last thus met in safety and dear-bought peace.

The following regimental order shows something of the estimate put on his services by his immediate commander:--

HEADQUARTERS 24th Mass. Vol. Inf. RICHMOND, VA., April 22, 1865.

SPECIAL ORDER No. 34.

Corporal H. H. Manning, Co. G, is hereby promoted to be sergeant in the same company, as a special commendation for the services rendered by him.

Captured within the lines of the enemy while on secret service, and arraigned for trial as a spy, Sergeant Manning passed through a series of dangerous adventures, sufficient to shake the firmest resolution. Throughout his captivity he displayed a courage and constancy to duty which deserve a greater reward than his commanding officer has power to bestow.

By order of ALBERT ORDWAY, Lieut.-Col. 24th Mass. Vol. Inf. Comd'g Regt.

BENJ. F. STODDARD, 1st Lieut. and Adj.

HOME AT LAST.

Manning was too far reduced by his prison life to be of further use in the army; moreover, active campaigning was at an end; and he was honorably discharged, June 16, 1865, after nearly four years of such service as few even of the Union soldiers in the late war were called to. Returning to his Massachusetts home, his first effort was to rebuild his health. A visit to the West refreshed him, and he hoped for ultimate recovery. Investing his army earnings for the benefit of his home loved ones, he looked about him for something to do. He had not forgotten his promise to God in Macon jail: his only doubt was how he could best redeem it.

TELLING HIS STORY.--FULFILLING HIS VOW.

Visiting an army comrade in North Bridgewater, Manning met the Rev. S. H. Lee, now of Greenfield, who counselled him to attempt studying for the ministry; and, that he might procure funds to start with, Mr. Lee suggested his preparing a lecture on his army service and prison adventures, to deliver as opportunity offered, until the proceeds of it should amount to one hundred dollars, when he could hopefully commence school-life, and thenceforward work his way along through a course of study. The lecture was prepared, and, under Mr. Lee's auspices, brought out at North Bridgewater. It was repeated a score of times or so, during the winter of 1865-6, with good success. It is much to be regretted that no copy of this manuscript was retained; for Manning wrote with no little graphic power, and such a record of his eventful soldier-life would have proved of thrilling interest now.

STUDENT-LIFE AT ANDOVER.--LOVING SERVICE FOR JESUS.

In the spring of 1866, he was on his way to Phillips Academy, Andover, with the one hundred dollars in hand,--or rather with one hundred and one dollars; and, as he had been advised to start with one hundred, he gave the odd dollar to a poor man on the road. At Andover, while an earnest student, he was an untiring Christian worker. He taught in a mission-school, took part in prayer-meetings, and conversed on the subject of personal religion with many school-mates, winning thus friends to himself and souls to Jesus. His life really seemed--as he had promised it should be--wholly consecrate to Jesus. "Way down in the inmost recesses of my heart," he wrote, "the great all-absorbing purpose and desire is to do the will of God as it is made known to me by his providence.... I desire to be led by the hand of God.... I wish to do away with every selfish thought, and live only for Jesus." Yet he worked from no mere sense of stern duty, in the slavish performance of a binding vow: love prompted his service, out of a willing heart. "How much real enjoyment it gives me to work for Jesus!" he said. "All other pleasures fade away and are lost, by the side of it." And this enjoyment in work for Jesus was increased by the conviction that souls were benefited by it. He loved to work for others, because Jesus commanded it; and he loved to work for Jesus, because others were blessed by it. "You know," he said, "the words of our Saviour are, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the least of these my brethren, ye have done it unto me.' How soothing and encouraging these words are! I don't see how any one can help doing all the good they can.... I have an insatiable thirst after perishing souls, and hope and pray that God will lead me to do good wherever I am.... I am thankful for the hope that, perhaps ere long, I can throw aside all other things, and enter with my whole heart upon the work of saving souls.... My heart pants to be wholly engaged in my Master's service."

TOIL FOR BREAD.--UNFAILING TRUST.

One hundred dollars will not go far towards a young man's thorough education, nowadays; and Manning found himself before long pressed for means of support. Then he was driven to work hard for money, while toiling incessantly at study. He swept the school-rooms, and performed similar service at the academy, for fifteen cents an hour; he went out in the early mornings to do mowing and other farm labor, until the hour of school-time; and thus he kept along in every thing but health and rest. He had no odd hours unimproved. Writing of his mission-scholars, in whom he was deeply interested, he said, "I generally spend two evenings a week with them, and two evenings at literary societies for improvement of the mind, and there are not often but three evenings left, and those are our prayer-meeting nights."

Had Manning been in full health, he might have stood all this; but disease, fastened on him in the prison stockade, never relaxed its hold; and his strength failed steadily. Some of his friends advised him to abandon student-life and seek renewed vigor in active out-door occupation; but others, who were nearest him, with unaccountable blindness and persistency, uniformly urged his adherence to first-formed plans. Again and again his enfeebled frame gave way; and as often his unwavering determination enabled him to rally for another effort. It was hard for him to relinquish his purpose of _activity_ in Christ's service. He was far from wilful in this struggle. "I desire to be led by the hand of God," he said; "I am praying very earnestly, ... asking God to tell me what to do, and I know he will not tell me wrong.... Feeling that I am performing my mission here on earth, I take every step gladly;" but he wanted to take some step, not to stand still: it was easier for him to do any thing for Christ than to do nothing. "I will endeavor," he wrote, "to keep within bounds, and not try to strain my rope when I find I have arrived at the end of it;" but he was loath to believe there was any end to his rope. "God willing, I shall be able to do something by and by," he said, "and what shall it be?" He had the feeling that God, having accepted his consecration vow in prison, would somehow find work for him to do for Jesus, in accordance with its terms. No lesson concerning God's "kingly state" seemed so hard for him to learn as that--

"They also serve who only stand and wait."

And, doubtless, his energy, coupled with his faith, prolonged his useful life. In his condition, and with his temperament, he would have fallen sooner but for his indomitable will, his determination not yet to yield to the closing pressure of disease, and his conviction that God would still sustain him in his work; that so long as he did what he could and should, his Father would supply all lack. It is, unquestionably, every man's duty to consider his health, even in the prosecution of a religious enterprise, and no desire for high and holy attainment will justify reckless over-effort of body or mind. But not all are to be judged by the same standard of prudence in amount or kinds of effort or toil. What is rest for one man would prove torture to another. Not a few depend for very life upon tireless activity; like the traveller on the Alps, if in their exhaustion they sit down at the approach of night, they chill and sleep and die. They must keep moving or perish. So in the case of Henry Manning: while his example of unintermitted nervous endeavor may not be commended to ordinary men for imitation, it may be admired and approved in him, doomed as he was to an early death from the hour he entered the Petersburg dungeon, and kept alive through his resolute activity, his over-estimate of remaining strength, and his ever sanguine anticipations of returning health.

And with all his weakness of body, his faith never faltered. "If God wants me to stay at school," he said while at Andover, "I have no fear but that he will find a way for me to get along there." Then he told of his rising one morning without a cent of money in the world, and going earnestly to God in prayer for help, and of his finding, but a few minutes later, between the pages of the book he took up to study, fifteen dollars (which God had put it into the heart of some friend to give to him in that delicate way); and he added, in affirmation of his undoubting faith, "And God will do so again if it is best."

FAILING HEALTH.--A GRATEFUL HEART.

It was in the spring of 1867, that Manning finally left his studies. He struggled manfully with disease, but it gained on him steadily. He visited among friends, to try change of air and scene, and was under various medical treatment, but all to little purpose. His prison privations were working out in his shattered constitution their inevitable result. For all attention shown or aid rendered him, he was ever grateful, and he seemed to feel that none had better friends than he. Of a pleasant home where he had passed a brief time, he wrote, "It's a second paradise: isn't it? If Christ was on earth now, I do believe that he would make his home there--a part of the time at least: don't you?"

Those who were privileged to assist him from time to time may surely feel, as he felt, that their gifts were unto the Lord. "I want assistance," he wrote on this point, once, "only that I may be useful; and, strictly speaking, I want to be useful only for Jesus!" To God he gave glory for whatever help came to him from any direction. Returning thanks for a generous donation--which proved most timely--from one who sent it as "a cup of cold water to a disciple," he said, feelingly, "How very strange and mysterious are the Lord's dealings with this poor weak child of his! Every earthly prop is struck from under me, and I am just sinking in utter hopeless despair, when the Lord not only succors and relieves me, but catches me right up in his arms, and gives me such blessings as I had no thought of asking for."

IN HOSPITAL.--GENTLE MINISTRY THERE.

In his health-seeking, Manning visited Boston to secure the valued counsel of Dr. S. A. Green, his former regimental surgeon, who had on many occasions shown special interest in him, and expressed a readiness to aid him to the utmost. Soon there came a letter from him, dated in the Massachusetts General Hospital, saying, "My health has been growing frailer of late, and yesterday I came to this city, hoping to see Dr. Green, and perhaps get into some hospital; but on arriving here I found that Dr. G. was in Europe!... So, with an earnest prayer on my lips, I turned back, and, after much difficulty, found my way to this place,--found the head of the institution, and told my story--simple and short! Out of health, out of money, and disappointed about meeting friends.

"Well, I was told that this was just the place for folks in such a condition, and I was hustled into a warm bath, and into Ward 23, among a set of ghastly, half-in-the-grave looking fellows, some of whom lay, or sat up, in bed, like marble posts; some were cracking vulgar jokes, and one or two of the most deathly-looking ones were cursing and grumbling because they could not be allowed a pint of whiskey a day.... Perhaps I am wrong, but I can't help feeling grieved, mortified, and sad to come here so like a beggar! but what could I do? Here I've been on expense, more or less, ever since I left school, and no way of getting money. I have parted with my watch, and expect to receive ten or fifteen dollars for that shortly; so I shall get on nicely, only it galls me to have to be in this situation here! but I hope I shall not be here long.... And if I can get my health again, I shall know how to prize it; and shall be as thankful to God as I was when released from prison."

He was as unselfish in hospital as elsewhere. Having a little money left with him by friends, for the purchase of such comforts as he might crave, he at once set about ministering to the needs of those about him in the different wards, finding it ever "more blessed to give than to receive."

"Perhaps it may be gratifying to you," he wrote, in returning thanks for kindness shown to him by a slight gift, "to know of some of the effects of that kindness; of some of the good it has brought about, and some of the hearts it has cheered. That poor, deformed, ghastly-looking boy that I pointed out to you while we were conversing together in the hospital, wanted many things that were not furnished him. I expended a little of that money that you left with me upon him, ... and it would send a thrill of pleasure through and through you to have noted the effect. He was so unused to kindness that it quite overcame him. Poor, dear fellow! He is not long for this world. May the Lord watch over him, and prepare him for the future!