Reminiscences of the Nineteenth Massachusetts regiment

The life in the jail yard began to tell on us. At Macon groups would get together, sing old army songs, and merry laughter would be heard as some wit told his story, but now we heard no songs; the men walked about sullen and silent; it required little provocation to bring on a fight, as all were nervous and irritable. Our quarters grew worse each day, as nothing was done to change the sanitary condition of the yard, and six hundred men, each doing his best, could not keep it clean unless assisted from the outside.

About the middle of August we were told by the rebel officer in charge that if we would give our parole not to escape they would provide better quarters for us. At first the feeling was general that we would not do it; but after a while they began to go out, those who had talked the loudest being the first to go. Our little mess reasoned together; we feared that we should die here, as we suffered as much for want of shelter as food; we saw that the chances for escape were very poor, and, as all the field officers had signed, concluded we would. This parole was an agreement that they should furnish us good quarters in the old United States Marine Hospital and we should have the liberty of the house and yard, in consideration of which we were not to escape. We were the last squad to leave the yard and as we went took an old “A” tent that the rebels had brought in a few days before for some sick men. Although we had been in prison but eight weeks we had learned the ropes and took anything we could lift.

We found on arriving at the Marine that we had made a mistake in not being first; then we might have had a parlor, now we must sleep on the upper balcony, but it was such a nice place, dry and clean, that we would have been contented to have slept on the roof. We arranged our captured tent to sleep on and proposed to cut it up for clothing at some future time. We slept soundly that night and were awakened the next morning by a rebel officer and two guards, who were searching for the tent. They took our names, saying we had violated our parole and must go back to jail. We did not spend a real happy day; every hour we expected the guard would come in and march us out, but night found us unmolested and we never heard from it again.

From our balcony we could look out over a part of the city. In our rear were only blackened ruins; nearly every house had been riddled with shot and shell and our own had not escaped; but in front the houses looked clean and each was surrounded with flowering trees and shrubs. It must have been a fine city before the ravages of war came. Our rations were about the same as in the jail yard, but were issued more regularly, and we had a better chance to cook. When we entered the Marine Hospital I saw an old two-gallon can and captured it. It had been used for spirits of turpentine. I unsoldered the top, cleaned it by boiling ashes, and made a bale out of an old piece of hoop. I now had quite an outfit, – my kettle, pitcher, spoon and a railroad spike to split my wood. I was a bloated capitalist.

In a few days a change could be seen in the appearance of the prisoners; those who had been blue and careless of their personal appearance began to brace up. We organized by electing Captain Belger of the Rhode Island Artillery as commander of the prison; he appointed a good staff and issued orders in regard to the cleanliness of the house and yard. A daily detail was made for fatigue duty, and any violation of the rules promptly reported. Glee clubs began to be formed, and we had a fine quartet besides an orchestra of four pieces. Lieutenant Rockwell was the owner of a flute, and in some way two violins and a double bass were procured, which proved of great assistance to all, as it helped to keep us from thinking of our condition.

Lieut. Frank Osborne and I had passed a unanimous vote that we would live through our confinement, and in order to carry it out must take extra care of ourselves. In the yard was a pump and every night we took a bath, one of us getting under the nose while the other worked the handle.

The shelling of the city by our batteries was constant. At night we could see the flash as the old “swamp angel” on Morris Island was discharged, then by the light of the fuse we could see the shells sailing through the air; when over the city they would explode and balls of fire would descend on the houses. At times four or five houses would be in flames at once, then our batteries would pass in the shells at the rate of twenty an hour. We could hear the rebels rallying their fire department, which was composed of negroes, and the engines would go rushing past the prison. These events were very pleasant to us and the more frequent the shells came the louder we would cheer. At times they would burst over us and pieces would fall in the yard. The guards were nearly frightened to death, as they were “new issue” and had never been under fire before; we would have felt a little easier if they had gone farther up town, but acted as though we liked it.

While at the Marine I had a streak of good luck. We were American citizens and believed in the right of petitions. One day those who had their money taken from them at Richmond drew up a petition and forwarded it to the rebel commander, setting forth the fact that the money had been taken, and the promise that it should be returned, and praying him to interest himself in our behalf. We expected that we should never hear from it again, but in about a week fifteen received their money and I was one of the number. The rest they said would soon come, but it never did. I exchanged twenty dollars, receiving seven and a half confederate for one. My first purchase was a fine-tooth comb, – an article that could be used to advantage, – which cost me ten dollars, a quart of sweet potatoes for two dollars, and ten small onions for fifty cents each. We tried hard to be prudent and not forget that we had once been poor, but our wants were so many that in three days the one hundred and fifty dollars were all gone, and all we had to show was our comb and a darning needle. But our health was improved; we had eaten some of the potatoes raw, and those with the onions had helped our scurvy.

Prisoners were constantly coming into Charleston from various places, and exchange stock was often high. One day a squad of officers who had been in Savannah were marched into the jail yard. From our quarters on the upper balcony we could see them but were not allowed to talk. I recognized Lieutenant McGinnis, also Capt. C. W. Hastings of the 12th Massachusetts, Capt. G. W. Creasey of the 35th, Lieutenants Cross, Moody and Shute of the 59th, besides several others who had been comrades at Macon. They remained a few days, then were sent to other prisons. I wrote a note to McGinnis, tied it to a stone and threw it over the wall. This was in violation of my parole, but I could not help that.

One day about a thousand of our men came into the jail yard from Andersonville. It is impossible to describe their condition; they were nearly naked, their skins were as dark as Indians and dried to their bones. Sergt. Daniel Corrigan of Company E was with them. It was a long time before I could recognize him; he had no shirt and I could see that he was much emaciated, but he walked about, and I was sure that if any one got a ration Corrigan would, as he was the best forager in the regiment. I did not close my eyes to sleep that night, the coughing of the men in the yard preventing it. They remained but one day, then were taken to the fair ground.

Negroes passed the prison nearly every day on the way to Fort Sumter to restore the works which were being knocked to pieces by our batteries and gun-boats. They were collected from the plantations in the country and were a frightened looking set. They knew that their chances for life were small, and they sang mournful songs as they marched along.

The greatest trouble I had was cooking. I had no special qualification for that work, and could not boil dish-water without burning it on; but according to our rule, I must cook for our mess once in three days. My feet were bare, and the rice or mush would boil over on them, and as I jumped back I was sure to land in some other fellow’s fire. Frank was one of the best friends a man ever had and would often take my place, but McHugh was bound that I should learn the business.

October 1 the yellow fever broke out. Our guards were the first taken down, the captain and some of his men dying; then it struck the officers in the prison, and it was not thought safe to remain longer in Charleston, so October 5 we were ordered to pack up and informed that we were to be removed to Columbia. Our squad did not go until the 6th, but they started us so early that we had no time to cook our rice. As we left the prison I bought an apple dumpling of an old colored woman, and am ashamed to say that in my haste I forgot to return the spoon she loaned me to eat it with. If she will send me her address I will send her a dozen as good as the one she lost.

We were sorry to leave Charleston. While it was called the “hot-bed of secession,” we had received the best treatment there of any place in the south. Our guards were kind, and we were seldom taunted by the citizens. We marched through the city, taking our baggage, and, as no two were dressed alike, were a queer-looking procession. There were many Germans in the city, and as we had several officers in our party from that land, they were anxious to do them favors. One had a bottle of whiskey and gave it to one of his countrymen when the guard was not looking. Our comrade had on a rebel jacket, and as he indulged quite freely in the whiskey soon got returns and was fairly full, but the guard, thinking that he was a citizen, said, “You get out of the ranks,” and he got. Assisted by his friends he was soon passed through the lines, and we afterwards heard from him with Sheridan in the Shenandoah valley.

Arriving at the depot, we were placed in box cars, and, as usual on the southern railroads, the train ran off the track in a half-hour after we started, which delayed us several hours. The night was dark and rainy, and several escaped, among them Lieutenant Parker of the 1st Vermont heavy artillery. He was pursued by bloodhounds, and when we arrived at Columbia was brought in so terribly torn and bitten by them that he died before night.

CHAPTER XIV

COLUMBIA. – PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION

We arrived at Columbia in a drenching rain, were taken out of the cars, and remained in a field near the depot until the next morning. We had no chance to make a fire, and were wet, cold and hungry. Along the tracks were cars filled with families who had fled from Charleston and Atlanta. We saw several very beautiful ladies among them, dressed well, and wearing jewelry, but they were silent and sullen.

We were guarded by the Columbia Cadets, a fine body of young men from the military school. The command was given to fall in, and we were informed that we must march about a mile to a camp ground, and should be made very comfortable. On the way we passed the Confederate money factory. As the girls employed there came to the windows we called to them to throw us out a bushel or two, as they could make plenty more. They laughed, threw kisses at us, and for a moment we forgot that we were prisoners, and felt that we were going out on a picnic. We marched about two miles, and arrived at our camp ground. This consisted of several acres, covered with a second growth of wood. A guard line was made around it, and sentries were posted. Twenty feet from the guard line was the dead line. This time it was a furrow ploughed around the camp. Our cadet guards were relieved by the militia, and we were turned in like so many hogs.

These were the comfortable quarters promised. The wood and water were outside the lines, and we had to wait our turn to go out. No sinks were provided, and only twelve men were allowed out at a time. It was terrible. Nearly every man in prison suffered from diarrhœa. It was no uncommon sight to see one hundred men standing in line; many were obliged to remain there nearly all the time.

We were in this condition for more than a week, then eight axes and ten shovels were given the fifteen hundred prisoners, and the guard line was extended an hour a day, to give us a chance to cut wood and gather brush for shelter. Our little mess located under a tree, and our rule was that one should always be at home; but for some cause one day all were absent for a few moments, and when we returned could not find where we lived, as our tree had been cut down.

We had heard much of the sunny south, and did not expect cold weather, but the night of October 9 was so cold that we could not sleep, and a white frost covered the ground in the morning. Our rations were in keeping with the place. A pint of corn-meal, bitter and half bran, a day, and a pint of sorghum molasses for five days. We named the prison Camp Sorghum. Many could not draw the molasses, having nothing to put it in, but my old pitcher worked in handy for that purpose.

As soon as possible we began to build huts. We increased our mess to five, one having a blanket. We dug a hole in the ground two feet deep, covered it with poles set up on ends, then with brush, and outside a coating of dirt. This was first rate when it did not rain, but as soon as the dirt became wet it would soak through the brush and drop on us as we tried to sleep. At night four would lie down, then the fifth would squeeze in, covering us with our only blanket. When we wanted to turn over some one would say, “About.” The odd man would get up, all turn over, then he would jam in again. So we lay, packed like sardines in a box, keeping alive from the warmth we received from each other.

After a while sinks were dug, and the lines extended so as to take in the brook that ran in the rear of the camp. Nearly all the men were barefoot, and it was laughable to see us wash. We stood in the water, which was very cold, and danced while we washed our faces and hands.

Besides our other troubles we were in constant fear of being shot by the guard. One evening, as we were gathered in little groups around the fires, we heard a shot and saw Lieutenant Young of the 4th Pennsylvania cavalry throw up his hands and fall dead. Upon investigation we learned that one of the guards had asked another if he supposed he could hit a man at that distance. A doubt being expressed he drew up his piece and fired, with the result as stated. Another time an officer was waiting with his axe on his shoulder to go out for wood. He was standing several feet from the dead line when the guard fired, – killing him instantly. We made every possible effort to have the rebel officers take some action that would prevent our comrades from being murdered. The guard who did the shooting was relieved one day, and the next appeared on duty on the front line of the camp. As far as we could learn he was never reprimanded.

The presidential election was drawing near, and was the subject for discussion in the prison. The rebels were much interested in it, and their papers were filled with complimentary words for General McClellan, the Democratic nominee. They were sure that his election would bring peace, and that the south would gain its independence. They tried to impress us with the idea that the election of McClellan meant liberty for us, but as much as we desired release from captivity, we had learned that what the rebels desired was just what they ought not to have.

The election was held October 17. Why that day was selected I do not remember, but it is possible because we could not wait longer. We were to vote by States, the senior officers of each having charge of the poll. It was an exciting day. General McClellan had many warm friends, who had followed him in battle and loved him as their first commander, but it was evident by the debates that “honest Abe Lincoln” was the favorite with the majority. The polls opened at nine a. m.; the ticket distributors were on hand as at home. I think the polls closed at twelve m. Then all rushed to the bulletin board, where the returns were posted, to learn the result. Lincoln received one thousand twenty-three, McClellan, one hundred forty-three, and two hundred four did not take interest enough to vote. We Republicans were delighted, and expressed our joy by giving three hearty cheers. It told us that a large majority believed in the wise administration of Abraham Lincoln, and although many of them had been in prison sixteen months their faith had not been shaken. The excitement did us all good. The vote of Massachusetts was Lincoln, forty-three; McClellan, five. The only States that went for McClellan were Kentucky and Tennessee. Kentucky gave McClellan fifteen, Lincoln, thirteen; Tennessee, McClellan, thirty-one; Lincoln, twenty-six.

We had another pleasant event. One day some boxes came in, sent by our sanitary commission. They contained drawers, shirts, handkerchiefs and a few dressing gowns. There was enough for one article to each officer, and we drew them by lots. McGinnis was lucky, as he drew a dressing gown, and his clothing being worn out he used it for a full suit. He had been sick, and his hair had fallen from his head; he looked like the “priest all shaven and shorn” as he walked about the prison. I was not so fortunate, as I drew only a handkerchief.

The wardrobes of all required replenishing. I wore the same shirt I had on when captured, and although it had not been washed oftener than was necessary it was too thin for comfort. My light blue pants were worn at the knees and fringed at the bottoms, so I cut off the skirts of my dark blue coat to repair them. My hat was open at the top and the rim was nearly separated from the crown. I found an old piece of tent and made a new crown, and with the thread raveled out of the canvas sewed on the rim. My boots were worn out, and my feet were bare.

No meat of any kind was issued to us at Columbia, but we drew some one day quite unexpectedly. A wild boar rushed out of the woods. It passed the guard and came into camp. Every one was after it, and Captain Brown of a Pennsylvania regiment threw himself on the back of the hog and with his knife cut its throat. Without waiting to dress it, he began cutting off pieces and throwing them to the crowd. The smell of fried pork soon pervaded the camp, and in fifteen minutes after the boar passed the guard every particle was devoured.

Once in a while an officer would trade for a little meat, and while they did not entertain company frequently they sometimes gave banquets. Captains Hastings and Creasey and Lieutenants Cross, Moody and Chute messed together. One day they obtained a shin bone with a little meat on it, and were going to have a grand dinner. I was invited as their special guest. They had some rice and made dumplings out of their corn-meal ration. Captain Hastings was cook, but we sat around to rake the fire and make suggestions. We would taste of it as it boiled, and could hardly wait for the captain to pronounce it cooked. The kettle rested on two sticks, and just as we were getting ready to take it from the fire the back stick burned in two and over went the soup. We looked at each other for five minutes without speaking, then I arose, said I guessed I would not stop to dinner, and went back to my quarters a hungry, broken-hearted man.

The officers were constantly escaping. Every night the guard would fire, and while no one was wounded we knew some one had passed out. The rebels called the roll or counted us every day. This was done by driving all to the dead line and counting from right to left. After the right had been counted we would skip down through the camp and fall in on the left. In that way we made our number good, but so many were recaptured and brought back that they mistrusted what we were doing, and made us stand in line until all were counted.

CHAPTER XV

THE ESCAPE

Frank and I had escape on the brain. We thought of nothing else, and were constantly watching our chances. One day I passed the guard and went out to the hospital, but my feet were bare, and I was advised by a sick man who had been out not to try it. I had kept my old boots, although they were worn out, so Captain McHugh cut off the tops, sewed them to the bottoms, making a kind of moccasins, and I was ready for the road.

Our old mess of three were to go together. On the afternoon of November 23 Frank and I were walking around the camp. Directly in front of our hut we saw three prisoners, with their guards, come to the guard line and throw over the wood they had brought in. The sentinels on the beats had been talking together, and, having finished, marched directly from each other, leaving a space between them uncovered. The prisoners with their guards started to return to the woods. “Now is our chance, John,” said Frank, and without waiting for McHugh, with our hearts beating like trip hammers, we passed over the dead line, and were outside following the others before the sentries faced about. We kept with the other prisoners until we reached the woods, then pretending that we saw our party over a little hill started to join them, and entering a place where the bushes were thick, dropped and waited. There were several details out for wood, and that was no doubt the reason why the guard did not stop us when we went to join our imaginary squad. They soon marched in and passed very near us, but we were not noticed, and waited for darkness before we moved.

We had a small map of the country and knew the route we wanted to take, but how to strike it was the question, as the night was dark and we did not have the stars to guide us. We struck out at random and soon came to a road; this we followed until we arrived at a plantation. Frank stood guard while I went forward to reconnoitre. I crept up to the house and was looking around the corner when a negro girl came out, and, in a way peculiar to the race, called, “Joe! Oh, Joe!” I spoke to her; she turned her head, screamed, and started on the run, but I followed. For about five minutes we had as pretty a “go as you please” race as one could wish to see. She was soon reinforced by a man with a club. I halted and he came to me. He said, “I know you; you are a Yankee, and have escaped from the camp.” I informed him that he was right, and that I wanted to be directed to the main road. “All right,” he said, “I will help you, but the first thing you want is something to eat,” and, joining the girl, went into the house and brought out meat, bread and a dish of butter-milk. Frank came up, and we ate the first square meal we had seen for months. We then formed in single file, the negro in the advance, and had gone but a short distance when we heard voices, so we went into the woods while he kept the road. It proved to be some of our old guard. They asked the negro who went into the woods. He answered, “Only some of the boys.” They called us to come out, but we did not come, so they came in after us. We ran into the woods, but turned and came out again into the road.

We had lost our guide before we had found our road, but continued on until we came to a broad avenue, and taking that walked as fast as possible for several hours, finally coming to a steep bank at the end. We afterwards learned that this was an abandoned railroad. We struck across the country and near daylight came upon a plantation. The negro quarters were some distance from the mansion, were about twenty in number and located in a square. We flanked the mansion and made our way cautiously to the negro quarters. Seeing a light in one of the cabins we crawled up, and looking through the cracks between the logs saw an old colored woman cooking. We rapped on the door and called, “Auntie!” She started, asking, “Who’s thar?” We answered that we were Yankees escaped from the prison. She opened the door, looked at us, then to the right and left, and said, “Come in.” Going back to the fire she gave a bundle of rags that was lying before it a kick and out rolled a negro boy. She ordered him to tell her brother that two Yankees were at the house, and that he must come and take care of them. As soon as the boy had gone she invited us to eat. A hot corn dodger was on the hearth and she fried us a slice of bacon. We were tired and hungry, and appreciated her kindness. We must have walked thirty miles since leaving the prison, but found we were only five miles away and in the wrong direction.

Very soon the boy returned with the brother. He was pleased to see us, shook hands and requested us to follow him. He took us to his house, which was outside the square and better than the rest, but we remained at a safe distance until he went in and sent the children away, “because,” said he, “children got heap of mouths, and would tell that you were here.” We entered the house, and retired with our clothes on, in the bed just vacated by the man and wife.