Secrets of the Late Rebellion

As proximity to danger is always exciting, and, after a time, becomes attractive, so in this case, what at first seemed alarming, after a time became so attractive that the Colonel had a longing desire to see and converse with his old friend, Andrew Johnson. He communicated this desire to his friend and co-associate in the blockade-running business, Ben Beveridge, and asked him what he thought of it. Ben, at first, thought it would not do at all; but, like the Colonel, after thinking over the matter some time, concluded that it would be a capital joke, and advised the Colonel to try it.

The Colonel was disguised – so disguised, indeed, that even his own sister would not have known him, had she met him in the street – and the arrangement was, that Ben should await in the entry, near the Senator's chamber-door, while the Colonel went in to talk with him; and that, if the Senator did not receive him kindly, or if he showed any disposition to arrest him, the Colonel should at once quit the room, and Ben would help him to escape.

Everything thus understood, the Colonel went to the Senator's door and knocked gently. A deep, stentorian voice replied, "Come in but the Colonel pretended not to hear this, and knocked again, as he wanted the Senator to come to and open the door, that he might at once step within the room, whether the Senator invited him to do so or not. The second knock brought the Senator to the door, which he opened far enough to face his visitor, when he said:

"How do you do, sir?"

The Colonel replied, and, while replying, stepped within the room, when the Senator shut the door, and invited his visitor to take a seat. The Colonel did not sit down, but, taking hold of the back of the chair offered him, he said to Mr. Johnson:

"You seem not to know me, Mr. Senator. When did you leave Greenville? and where is Mrs. Johnson and Bob?"

This confused the Senator more than ever, as the visitor seemed to be familiar with his wife and son, as well as with himself, and yet he could not recollect to have ever seen him before.

"Well, no," replied the Senator, "I really cannot place you, or call your name. By jingo! who are you, any way?"

"I guess you don't want to know me," replied the Colonel, "and I had better be going."

"Oh, no, sir; oh, no," replied Mr. Johnson; "sit down! sit down! When did you come from Greenville? But really, sir, I cannot recall your name – I cannot."

The Colonel observed the Senator's confusion, and so enjoyed the joke that it was some time before he would let himself be known. Then, suddenly tearing the false whiskers from his face and putting on a natural expression, he stood revealed before the Senator.

"My God! is this you, Ralph?" was all that Mr. Johnson could say for some moments; and then added, "Why, Ralph, ain't you in the rebel service?"

"Well, what if I am?" replied the Colonel; "you don't propose to arrest me, do you?"

"No, no; but, by jingo! what under heavens brought you here?" said the Senator; and, going to the door, locked it before the Colonel had time to reply. "Sit down! sit down!" he added, "and tell me all about it. What under heavens could have brought you here, or induced you to call upon me?"

The Colonel then took a seat and explained to Mr. Johnson why he was there, the nature of his business, and that he had only called upon him as a good joke, and to renew an old acquaintance; to all of which the Senator listened attentively, though trembling meanwhile from excitement. When the Colonel had finished, Mr. Johnson sprang from his chair, walked hurriedly across the room two or three times, went to the front windows and pulled down the shades, and then, turning to the Colonel, said:

"Does anybody know that you are here with me?" Just then Mr. Johnson heard a tittering in the entryway, and, turning to the Colonel, asked him if he had any companions waiting outside. The Colonel replied, that he thought it might be Ben, as he alone knew of his visit. Immediately Mr. Johnson stepped to the door, and, seeing Ben, asked him to step in. Ben did so, and now the Senator became more in a quandary than ever. He scolded both Ben and the Colonel pretty severely, and told them they did not appreciate the awkward position in which they were placing him; that, if the Colonel's visit to him were known, it would, under the circumstances, compromise him in a most serious manner. Ben tried to soothe the Senator by telling him that the Colonel's call upon him was only intended as a joke; that it could never be known outside of their three selves; and that it should never be repeated, if annoying to him. The Senator replied, that while he was glad, personally, to see Ralph, yet the fact that he was known to be an officer in the rebel army, and in his business of blockade-running might by some be regarded as a spy, made it doubly awkward for him, and, if it were known to the Senate, might cost him his seat, as well as his reputation as a consistent Union man; that nearly every one would say that he ought to have had the Colonel arrested and detained, at least as a prisoner-of-war, if not as a spy; and that, in holding communication with him without attempting his arrest, he made himself a party to his crime, whether as a rebel to the government or as a spy. The more the Senator talked about it, the graver he became over it, until the Colonel and Ben saw that what had been intended as a comedy might prove a serious tragedy with all concerned, and that the sooner they got out of the way the better. Before leaving, the Senator exacted from each a solemn promise that they would not repeat the joke under any possible circumstances.

There is no kind of doubt that Senator Johnson felt greatly troubled at receiving such a visit from an officer in the Confederate service, and in learning that his landlady's son, Ben, was just as much of a rebel at heart as the Colonel himself. He knew, too, that his official duty as a United States Senator was to have both of these men arrested, tried, and, if possible, convicted, while his heart prompted to a course directly the contrary. He had long known, and had high regard for, the mothers of both; the men he had known from childhood upward, and always liked them, as boys, as young men, as men in active life, and he would as soon have thought of having his own son, "Bob," arrested as either of these, and yet his duty plainly pointed in that direction. It was a conflict between his head and his heart, in which his heart gained the mastery.

That the Senator did not hold any ill-will against the Colonel or against Ben for this wild prank of theirs against his Senatorial and official dignity is proven from the fact that he still continued to board with Ben's mother at the "Washington House," and within two years after he became President he appointed the Colonel as one of three commissioners to reopen and establish mail-routes throughout the late Confederate States.

CHAPTER VII. PRISONERS, HOW USED AND HOW ABUSED. CRAFT AND CRUELTY PROMPTING THE ACTORS

IN General L. C. Baker's "History of the United States Secret Service," four chapters are devoted to the subject of bounty-jumpers. In these chapters the startling facts are disclosed that on investigation, it was found that only one in four of the enlisted men reached the front that, in some instances, the entire quota of a township was filled with the names of bounty-jumpers, not one of whom ever really enlisted or went to the front; that desertions from the army became so common that to "even attempt to show, by actual figures, the number would be impossible;" that "to aid the soldier to desert was deemed to be as much the legitimate business and calling of the professional bounty broker as to enlist him;" that in one investigation it was shown, "out of 5,284 enlisted, only 2,083 actually entered the service;" that out of this number – less than one-half who really enlisted – not more than three-fourths ever reached the front, and of these probably one-fourth deserted and returned to the States, to reënlist and receive bounty again; that of one hundred and "eighty-three who enlisted in one day at Hoboken and were credited to the quota of Jersey City, every one was a bounty-jumper;" that case after case came to light where a single bounty-jumper had enlisted three times, and received three separate bounties, in one day, and that even gipsy-like gangs were organized, who travelled from city to city, enlisting such of their number as they could, assisting such as enlisted to escape, and then on to the next city or recruiting station to repeat the same thing. Of one such gang it is related that "in a trip of thirty-two days their total profits amounted to $32,000."

It is also a matter of record that while skirmishes and battles were in progress, Union soldiers in the front ranks, and especially if sent forward as skirmishers, would sometimes throw down their muskets and run over to the enemy; and it not unfrequently happened that sentinels on the outposts were missing and never heard of more, or, if heard of, it would be found they had gone within the Confederate lines and surrendered.

These matters have all been told, and well told, by other historians, but not until these "Secrets of the Rebellion" have been published will it be generally known what became of those who thus threw down their arms, and of those who thus abandoned their posts, to go over to the enemy, and that to encourage bounty-jumping in the North, and thereby promote desertions from the Union army, became, after August, 1863, a part of the masterly diplomacy or tactics adopted by the Confederate Government.

Of the bounty-jumpers who first tried the game of going over to the enemy, under the belief that they would soon be exchanged or paroled, and thus have opportunities for procuring additional bounties, quite a number were shot as spies. The "dead-board," as it was called, of General Lee's army, had a summary way of dealing with all cases which they deemed of a questionable character. A statement from the person making the arrest; where found, and under what circumstances; a few questions to the accused; a consultation of ten minutes among the seven officers who composed the board; sentence; and on the day following, and sometimes on the same day, the accused would be seen sitting on an empty coffin, on his way to execution.

But in August, 1863, a new thought crossed the brain of the Confederate authorities. They then concluded that, instead of shooting bounty-jumpers as spies, they could make them serviceable to the Confederate cause by using them as stool-pigeons, and like as stool-pigeons are used to draw whole flocks into the net, so these could be used to corrupt, and bring thousands into the Confederate lines. In pursuance of this new idea, five large tobacco warehouses, on Carey Street, each three stories high, directly opposite "Castle Thunder," in Richmond, were converted into a prison, and called "Castle Lightning." In this prison, bounty-jumpers alone were put, and the rations furnished them were doubly as good as the rations furnished the prisoners in other prisons. Whenever an exchange of prisoners was possible, those in Castle Lightning were always given the preference, and, when about to leave, they were told that they should take from the Yankees as many bounties as they possibly could; that, if again sent to the front, they should desert, and bring as many others along with them as possible; that they would always be well treated, and given the best rations the Confederacy could afford; that they would be exchanged, or otherwise sent back to their homes, at the first opportunity; and that to secure safety and good treatment, when coming into the Confederate lines, they should cry out, "Bounty-jumper! Bounty-jumper!" This was told them not only when about to leave, but again, and again, and again during their stay, and the superior treatment they received while prisoners, assured them that the promises made would all be fulfilled.

Within a few weeks after the return of the first batch of these bounty-jumpers to the North, the effect of the new policy began to show itself, and it steadily increased from that time onward. Hardly a day, and sometimes several times in a day, squads of Union prisoners arrived in Richmond, and were marched to Castle Lightning, who had voluntarily come within the lines, and claimed to be bounty-jumpers. Nor was there scarcely a day in which squads of these same men might not be seen leaving the prison, on their way to be exchanged, or otherwise sent back to the Union army, or direct to their homes. Like leaven, its tendency was to leaven the whole lump, as the authorities of the Confederacy believed would be the case when they adopted the policy. One such man in a company would, in time, taint the whole company; ten such men in a regiment would, in time, taint the whole regiment. When a battle is progressing, a single regiment, yea, a single company, going over to the enemy will sometimes so change the tide of battle that what seemed an assured victory, will prove a most disastrous defeat.

Of course it is not known, never can be known, how many millions of dollars, nor how many thousands of lives the adoption of this policy by the South cost the North; nor can the South ever know the amount of advantage which they derived from adopting the policy; but that it was a new mode of warfare, and showed great shrewdness on the part of those who conceived and carried out the project, all will agree in admitting.

Having thus shown how the Confederate authorities used Union prisoners to benefit their own cause, we will next proceed to state some additional facts as to the abuse received by other Union prisoners. The facts which we now purpose to state are not from hearsay, not from one-sided newspapers, nor from partisan historians, but directly from the lips of one who had occasion to visit Confederate prisoners frequently during the war, whose whole soul was in, and with, the Confederate cause, and who could not be, and would not be, by any who knew him, accused of sympathy with the "Yankees," as he usually styles Union soldiers when speaking of them. We have not space to write of all, and will limit our remarks to only four of the many places throughout the Confederate States at which Union prisoners were confined.

First. – "Libby Prison." This was located in Richmond, and had been a tobacco warehouse previous to its use as a prison. It was an immense brick building, three stories high, rough floors, no plastering, a great number of windows, no fire-places, and no means for heating other than for the office on the first floor. In this, hundreds of Union prisoners were thrust and kept for weeks, months, years – some with scarcely enough clothing left to cover their nakedness, and with no chance for a change; many without a blanket, even in the coldest winter weather; all without beds, or mattress, or anything but the hard floor to lie upon. Their ordinary daily ration consisted of a loaf made from one pint of corn-meal and one pint of rice soup. Occasionally, though rarely, they would have bread made from wheat flour and soup made from meat and bones. Once in a great while they were served with meat, but the quantity served to each man was so small that it could be taken at a mouthful. Our informant says he knows of a certainty that some actually starved to death– that others actually froze to death– that many were wantonly shot while thoughtlessly looking out of the windows, by sentinels on the sidewalks, who had positive orders from Lieutenant Turner, the officer in command of Libby, to shoot any "d – d Yankee" whose head might be seen at the window-bars; and that hundreds, yea, thousands, died from sickness brought upon them by the privations from which they suffered. We could give other details, but they are too horrible to write, and would be too sickening to read.

Second. – "Castle Thunder." All that we have said of "Libby" will apply equally well to this prison, except that in some cases the cruelty of treatment might be multiplied by two, and in some instances by three. Here our informant saw prisoners with ball and chain to their legs, and handcuffed together; chanced to be in the room when the brains of one of the prisoners were spattered against the wall, by a ball from the musket in the hands of a sentinel on the pavement two stories below, and only because the prisoner had dared to look out at a window; learned of many like cases which occurred before and after that visit; nor has he any doubt that scores were there inhumanly shot, because of orders from the officer in command, Captain Alexander. At least one Union prisoner, a Captain Dayton, was hung on the charge of being a spy. In this prison, dogs that chanced to stray in were seized, killed, and eaten; and rat-meat was regarded as a dainty dish.

Third. – Salisbury, N. C., was a large enclosure within a high board fence, on the outside of which was a walk for sentinels, and within which was the "dead-line," about thirty feet from the fence, to cross which meant instant death to any prisoner. The "sinks" for the camp were located on this "dead-line," and at one of his visits our informant saw the dead body of a prisoner lying in one of the "sinks," who had been shot by a sentinel in the afternoon of the day before while sitting on the pole at the "sink." The sentinel, when asked why he had shot the prisoner, replied that he thought he was trying to come over the dead-line and therefore shot him. At this same visit our informant saw sentinels, with guns on their shoulders, pacing their rounds on the outside of this fence, who were not over twelve years of age, and the one who had shot the prisoner at the "sink" was scarcely over this age. The whole regiment on guard at that camp, at that time, was made up of boys from twelve to sixteen years of age, and of very old men – not one of all of whom was fit for a soldier. The officer in command, a Major Gee, was himself a brute, and no more fit to have the care of human beings than a hyena would be to be placed in charge of a sheepfold. Here, as at Libby and Castle Thunder, the usual ration was a loaf made from one pint of corn-meal, each day, and occasionally a small bit of meat. For shelter most of them had to burrow for themselves, like rabbits, in holes under ground; and so poorly were they off for clothing and shoes, that our informant saw scores of men standing about the doors of hospitals, waiting for the clothing and shoes of those who might die within. Every morning carts came around to gather up the dead, to take them without the camp and throw in trenches.

Fourth. – Andersonville, Georgia. This was an enclosure of about twenty-five acres, surrounded by a high stockade, and by earthworks mounted with cannon. One end of the enclosure was a swamp, through which crept a sluggish, muddy stream, and this was the only water to which the prisoners had access. To add to the filthiness and consequent unhealthfulness of this water, a Confederate camp was located upon it, above the point where the stream entered the stockade. The few buildings within the enclosure were scarcely enough for hospital purposes, and here, as at Salisbury, the prisoners had to burrow in the earth for shelter. Even in the coldest of weather thousands had no blankets, nor scarcely clothing enough to cover their nakedness. Their ordinary ration here, as at the other places named, was a loaf made from one pint of corn-meal each day, and when, as occasionally they did, receive anything beyond this, it was regarded as a rare treat. The shooting of men on the "dead-line" was almost of daily occurrence.

Indeed, many of the prisoners became so crazed from suffering that they sought death in this way. General Winder was commander of the camp, and under him was the Captain Wirz who was tried, convicted, and hung at Washington near the close of the war. Thousands at the South, as well as at the North, believed then, and believe still, that General Winder, instead of his subordinate officer, should have stood beneath the hangman's noose. Undoubtedly he could have corrected these terrible wrongs had he tried. That he did not try is proof positive that he did not care. The world at large always gives to commanders the chief credit of all done by their subordinates, and, on the same principle, holds them responsible for all that their subordinates fail to do or do wrongfully. Had General Winder desired his prisoners to have had better treatment, neither Captain Wirz, nor any other of his subordinates, would have treated them as they did. How much they suffered none will ever know. The horrible things related in the foregoing pages, and the thousands of other terrible things related by others who have written the history of the Rebellion, are but as drops to the ocean, as sands to the sea-shore, to all that occurred during the war. Dark deeds seek to hide themselves always, and while the "secrets" of this volume, and a few-others, have oozed out since the war, others doubtless quite as bad have never yet, and probably never will, see the light of day. And possibly it is best so. There are some deeds that so harrow up one's feelings that, if related, they would, as said by Hamlet's ghost:

"Freeze the young blood;Make the two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres;The knotted and combined locks to part,And each particular hair to stand on endLike quills upon the fretful porcupine."

Or, after hearing them, make us to cry out with Hamlet (slightly varied)

"O all you host of heaven! O earth! what else?And shall I couple hell? O fie! Hold, hold my heart;And you, my sinews, grow not instant old,But bear me stiffly up! – Remember them?Yea, from the table of my memory'I'll wipe away all trivial records,All saws of books, all forms, all pleasures past,That youth and observation copied there,And these base deeds alone, alone shall live'Within the book and volume of my brain'Unmixed with baser matter;And on my tablets I will set it downThat one may smile, and smile, and be a villain!"

We could ourself add more, much more, from what our informant told us; but our heart sickens over such recitals, and our readers, we are sure, have had quite enough of it.

The first question, and the most natural question for any one to ask, after reading the terrible atrocities just recited, would be, Who was or is accountable for all this suffering?

The gentleman from whose lips we gathered most of the foregoing facts had opportunities of learning the individual sentiments of President Davis upon this subject, as upon many others, quite as well, perhaps, as any man within the lines of the Confederacy, and he assured us that Mr. Davis regretted, as much as any man could regret, the sufferings of Union prisoners, and that, whenever reports of their ill-treatment came to his ears, he at once gave them attention. That, time and again, Mr. Davis appointed gentlemen of high character to visit the prison-places we have named, and report to him any and all abuses of which they might learn; that, again and again, he cautioned, reprimanded, and in some cases re moved, officers charged with cruelty to Union prisoners; and that he did whatever it was possible for him to do to mitigate their sufferings. In view of the high personal character which Mr. Davis bore before he became President of the Confederacy, and, of the consistent Christian character he has since borne, it is to be hoped that this is a correct interpretation of his sentiments with reference to Union prisoners. It would almost make one lose faith in humanity were it otherwise.

If President Davis was not responsible, the next most natural question would be, Who is? and to this answers would differ with almost every one who might attempt to make reply. While the outrages were being perpetrated, the people of the North generally held Mr. Davis responsible for all of them, on the principle heretofore stated; but towards the close of the war, and during the ten years following the war, public opinion greatly changed, until few, if any, held him longer responsible; and now there are not probably ten men in the whole United States, of such as know anything of the facts, who hold him personally responsible for these outrages.

Our informant thought the responsibility lay most, if not wholly, with the officers in immediate command of these prisons and camps. That, while food was undoubtedly scarce in the Confederacy, still he believed the prisoners did not get all that the government allowed and paid for; that while charged only with the safe-keeping of the prisoners, the officers in command went far beyond this, and made security a pretext for severity; that they were malicious, vindictive, devilish, and, while dressed in a "little brief authority," allowed these traits of their own characters to have full play in torturing those committed to their keeping. If this, or half of this, be true, God have pity on their souls when they stand, as all must, before Christ's judgment-seat!