In and Out of Rebel Prisons Part 4

A., who sought out Miss Frankie Richardson, who made arrangements to help him out of the city, but this same Hartswell Silver, who was boarding there, betrayed him and he was brought back again. This Silver was paroled the day the tunnels were discovered and was never in camp afterwards, and it is just as well for him that he was not, for, as the boys said, Silver was at that time at a premium, and would have been higher, if he had put in an appearance. Lieut. Frost, 85th New York, also escaped in a reb uniform, as did several others, and Lieutenant Wilson of the regulars was sent out in the sutler's vegetable box. This Lieutenant Wilson was an Englishman, and I think belonged to the regular army.

[Ill.u.s.tration: MR. CASHMEYER'S SUTLER WAGON, MACON, GA.]

Mr. Cashmeyer came in one afternoon, as was his daily custom, with his cart, driven by a negro. Upon the cart was a dry goods box, filled with potatoes, onions, cabbage, turnips, bacon, beef, eggs, &c., which he usually disposed of to the Yankee sutler and others whose means justified them in purchasing, in what we call large quant.i.ties. He stopped as usual, at the shanty of the camp sutler, and there sold out his load. While he was in the shanty settling up, the crowd as usual gathered around his cart, and this Lieut. Wilson clambered into the box on the cart, while the crowd stood about the door of the shanty, the negro driver all the time maintaining that stolid look of innocence, so peculiar to the race, as he (the Lieutenant) was covered with empty sacks, that had contained the vegetables. And when Mr. Cashmeyer mounted the seat beside the driver, and left the camp, he was as innocent of helping a Yankee to escape, as the innocent looking negro seemed to be. The negro drove directly to the barn and unharnessed the mule, and as it was nearly dark, went to his quarters.

The Lieutenant finding himself alone clambered out of the box and started off. Taking the railroad, he walked about five miles, when, as he said, he met a man who looked very fierce and who asked him where he came from, and where he was going. And after giving an equivocal answer the man asked him if he was not a Yankee officer, which he was too scrupulous to deny, and gave himself up, and allowed himself to be brought back, although the man who brought him back was like himself unarmed. But as he said on his return, the man spoke so gruff like, and looked so stern, that he thought there was no use of remonstrating. We nicknamed him George Washington, and tried to find a little hatchet for him, as an emblem of his innocence and truthfulness. As he remained in prison for a long time thereafter however, I think he may have regretted before he was exchanged, the conscientious scruples that would not allow him to tell a lie, even for the sake of freeing himself from the jeers of his comrades, and the tortures of prison life, which he had to endure afterwards.

It was a long time before he heard the last about that daring attempt to escape and the heroic defence he made against that unarmed reb who had recaptured and brought him back, and the desperate and successful resistance he had made against the temptation to tell a lie.

There is not an officer living who witnessed it, but will remember the celebration we held on the 4th of July. I will here quote what I that day briefly wrote in my diary of this celebration.

The day dawned bright and beautiful. I was up before the sun and prepared breakfast for Captains Hock, Cady and myself, which consisted of corn bread and b.u.t.ter, fried eggs, fried potatoes and coffee.

Our thoughts, now more than ever, turned towards the loved ones at home, who we see in imagination, with cheerful faces and bright smiles, hailing another anniversary of the day upon which _our glorious republic was born_, and methinks I can sometimes detect a shade of sadness flitting over the joyous features of kind friends, as the memory of the loved and absent is briefly recalled.

As we were being fell in for roll call, an officer displayed a miniature flag bearing the stars and stripes, which was greeted with cheer after cheer, by eighteen hundred prisoners. All gathered around that little emblem of liberty, and while every heart seemed bursting with patriotic enthusiasm, a thousand voices joined in singing that old song, which never fails to fire the patriotic heart--_The Star Spangled Banner_. After roll call, the officers by a common impulse a.s.sembled in and about the main building, in the center of the camp, and the services were opened by singing "Rally 'Round the Flag," by the entire audience, after which Chaplain Dixon was called upon for prayer. He appealed in eloquent terms in behalf of our beloved but distracted country, for the success of our cause, for the President of the United States and all in authority, for universal freedom all over our land and the world, and for the speedy return of peace, when we could beat our swords into plow shares, and our spears into pruning hooks.

At the conclusion of the prayer, the entire congregation joined in singing "My Country 'Tis of Thee." Captain Henry Ives was then called for, and mounting the platform gave us a very eloquent and stirring address. He was followed by Lieut. Ogden, 1st Wisconsin Cavalry, Lieutenant Leigh, 132nd New York, Captain E. N. Lee, 5th Michigan Cavalry, Captain Kellog, Chaplain Whitney, Chaplain Dixon and Lieut. Col. Thorp, 1st New York dragoons. I have during my life partic.i.p.ated in a great many Fourth of July celebrations, but I never before--and I believe every officer at that time in Macon will say the same for himself--really and truly appreciated what a genuine celebration of the day meant.

If a stranger had come into camp Oglethorp at 3 o'clock that afternoon, he would have thought every man in prison was drunk, so intense was the enthusiasm, and yet there had not been a drop of anything of an intoxicating nature, to be had at any price for two months. Officers were drunk with excitement. The sight of that little flag that had been presented to Captain Todd by his sweetheart and smuggled into prison, sewed up in the lining of his vest, when shown in the morning, had created a degree of patriotic excitement that could not be kept down, and when some one said that Gibbs was coming in with a guard to take that flag, and suggested that it be secreted, a thousand voices shouted--stand by the flag boys--no traitor's hand shall touch that flag--keep her swinging--there's not rebs enough in Macon to take that flag to-day, &c.,--and I really and firmly believe that a terrible and b.l.o.o.d.y struggle would have ensued, had there been any attempt on the part of the authorities, to interfere with it or take it from us. I never saw men wrought up to such a pitch of excitement, and the rebs were afraid all day, that an attempt would be made to a.s.sault the stockade and break out.

From nine o'clock in the morning until three in the afternoon, the celebration was kept up, with speaking and singing, when finally the rebel commandant sent in his officer of the day, who said we had been permitted to have a good celebration, and now he wished us to quietly adjourn which we did; giving three hearty cheers for the flag, three for Lincoln, and three for the cause. No officer who partic.i.p.ated in this celebration can ever forget it while reason holds its sway.

Lieutenant Col. Thorp who had made a ringing speech, full of patriotic fire and enthusiastic confidence in the justice of our cause, and the ability of the Northern soldiers to maintain our national unity, restore the glorious old flag, with the stains of treason cleansed from its shining folds by the blood of loyal hearts, with not a star missing from its azure field, urged with the most impa.s.sioned eloquence, every officer in that prison pen to consecrate himself anew on this sacred day, to the cause of universal liberty, and the perpetuity of our national inst.i.tutions, and pledge himself anew beneath that beautiful little emblem of freedom, to never sheathe his sword, until every traitor in all this broad land had kneeled beneath its tattered and blood-stained folds, and humbly craved the pardon of an outraged people, for their dastardly attempt to trail it in the filthy slough of Secession. I cannot pretend to give his words, and cannot fitly portray the fierce impetuosity, with which his scathing sentences were hurled like red hot shot into the ranks of treason. It was one of the most masterly efforts of patriotic eloquence I ever listened to, and when he had finished his address, which had been heartily applauded throughout, his hearers were wrought up to such a pitch of patriotic frenzy, that I really believe that had he at its close, called upon that unarmed crowd to follow him in an a.s.sault against the wooden stockade that surrounded us, that few would have been found to lag behind. He was at that time senior officer in the camp, and as such had been a.s.signed by Col. Gibbs, the rebel commandant, to the command of the prison inside.

But shortly after this speech, a notice was posted on the side of the large building where this meeting had been held, removing him from the position, for making an inflammatory speech, and appointing another officer to the place. Col. Thorpe seemed to feel almost as much pride in this recognition of his effort at a Fourth of July speech, as in the applause he had received from his prison companions, or as he would had he been complimented on the field by his superior for a dashing cavalry charge, and the compliment was all the more appreciated because it had been paid to him so unconsciously by Col. Gibbs.

The stockade at Macon was built of inch pine boards, twelve feet long, put up endwise and made as tight as possible. On the outside of this fence, and about four feet from the top, was a platform for the sentry to walk on, where they could keep a lookout over the camp to see that we were not trying to escape. Upon this platform were posted sentinels at intervals of about thirty yards, with instructions to shoot any prisoner who touched or attempted to pa.s.s the _dead line_, which was a row of stakes, or sometimes a fence of light slats, such as a farmer would build to keep his chickens or ducks from roaming, and was about twenty-five feet from the stockade.

The original object in establishing the dead line was a precaution against a sudden raid on the stockade, but it often afforded an excuse for some cowardly guard to shoot a Yankee prisoner, who inadvertantly came near enough to place his hand against it. We were not allowed to hang our clothes on this fence to dry, and on no account could a prisoner pa.s.s it with impunity.

CHAPTER XI.

RECEIVING AND SENDING OFF THE MAIL--ATTEMPTS TO SMUGGLE THROUGH FORBIDDEN MATTER--SAMPLES OF LETTERS SENT HOME--BOXES OF LETTERS RECEIVED--MY FEELINGS AT NOT RECEIVING ANY.

We were allowed to write home, and by putting on a Confederate postage stamp costing 10 cents each, were promised that our letters would be forwarded to our friends, provided there was nothing objectionable in them.

We were obliged to leave them unsealed, so they could be examined by the postoffice department, and in order to ensure an examination they must be limited to fifty words. I wrote home a number of times, and my letters, as a general thing, came through all right. I wrote some that I did not expect they would forward, and was much surprised when I reached home to find they had been received all right, and in some cases published in the daily papers. I will give you a sample of one or two. The first was written to my cousin, H. M. Cooper, and read as follows:

C. S. MILITARY PRISON,

MACON, Ga., July 6, 1864.

MY DEAR HAL:--

Nearly four months have now elapsed since I took up my abode in this land of bacon and corn dodgers, and like the prodigal son, I often think of my father's house, where there is bread enough and to spare. I dream nightly of fatted calves, but awake daily to the sad reality that my veal cutlets have all been transformed into salt bacon, my wheaten loaves into corn dodgers, and my wine into bran coffee.

I had purposed to visit the North during the summer months, but the many friends I have found here are so anxious to have me remain, that I find it impossible to tear myself away. But I expect the General[1]

will soon be here, when I shall be obliged to say farewell to my Southern friends and with much reluctance leave their sunny clime for my cold, chilly, Northern home.

But their kindness and hospitality will ever be green in my memory and I shall improve every opportunity to show them the grat.i.tude I feel for the hospitality they have actually _forced_ me to accept.

[1] General exchange.

This letter, as I have said, was sent through all right, whether it was because they did not read it or because they failed to discover the satire--perhaps it should like Nasby's have been labelled a joke--I never knew. The next was written in the same vein, after I had escaped and been recaptured. Both had been published in the daily papers here, at the time, but the last one I have thus far failed to find. It was written after my escape and recapture, and detailed how, rather than risk the scene that would be sure to ensue, should I announce my intention of departing to my friend, the Confederate Colonel, and fearing I might be overcome by such an affecting leavetaking, that I concluded to start at three o'clock in the morning, while he was still sleeping, and thus spare not only him, but myself, an interview that would certainly be embarra.s.sing to one or both of us.

But that, after I had traveled three hundred miles, his couriers overtook me, and were so urgent in their appeals for me to return, that I could not deny them, and had concluded to stay and see a little more of this beautiful Southern country before my return. But just as soon as I could persuade my friends to consent to my departure, I should surely return, and would try and make my friends in the North a good long visit, at least, before making another journey.

My letters were generally received by my friends in due time, but although they were promptly answered I never received a line to tell me whether my wife, who left for Newbern on the night of the first day's fight, had got home or not, and when I was finally released, after nearly a year's confinement, I did not know whether she was living or dead until I telegraphed from Annapolis and received an answer. We resorted to all sorts of devices to get letters through to our friends in the North, that contained matter that we were aware the Confederate authorities would not permit. I once wrote a short note in ink on a page of foolscap, and then filled up the sheet with a long letter, written with soda, which would be invisible until heated. My short note was an acrostic, and taking the first word of each line and reading it down formed this sentence: "I write with soda."

But this letter never reached its destination. The reb authorities soon got onto these dodges, and were very careful in their examination of all correspondence of prisoners, and everything that looked at all suspicious was destroyed.

I only received one letter while I was in prison, and that was from Col.

James W. Savage, of my regiment, which, for brevity and news, I think I never saw equalled. I have the letter yet, soiled, faded and worn, but quote it entire:

HEADQUARTERS 12TH N. Y. VOL. CAVALRY,

CAMP PALMER, July 31st, 1864.

DEAR COOPER:--

Russell is in a Northern hospital, nearly well; Maj. Clarkson is a.s.sistant inspector; Rocha temporarily in command of "I;" Ellison and Mahon have resigned; Maj. Gasper also, though his resignation has not been accepted. We have lost a few men in skirmishes since you were taken. Prewster and Rice, of D, and June, of G, are dead. You and Hock are constantly remembered by us all.

Signed, J. W. SAVAGE, Col. 12th N. Y. V. Cavalry.

My regards. J. A. JUDSON, Capt. and A. A. Gen'l.

On the 14th of June the first box of letters were received in camp, and as the adjutant mounted a table and called off the names, eager hands were held out to receive a missive from home; and to show my feelings I quote from my diary of that date:

"I listened with bated breath to hear my name called, but the last letter was called off, and I was obliged to turn away disappointed, as were a good many others. It seems too bad that even this comfort must be denied me. I feel as though I was dead to the outer world, and only for hope, of which I always possessed a good share, I believe I should die.

"If I could only get a letter from home, and know that my wife had arrived safely and knew of my safety, I could better bear this imprisonment; but this uncertainty and suspense is enough to drive one _mad_."

I quote this to show how blue it made us feel, after having waited so long, hoping that a mail would come, and then find that it contained nothing for us; it made us envious of those who had been more fortunate.

Not getting any letters, made us doubt whether the ones we had written home, had ever reached their destination. Here is a modest order I had sent in my last. Please send me two pounds of dried peaches, five of coffee, five of corn starch, ten of sugar, two of tea, one bar of castile soap, four cans condensed milk, one codfish, five of dried beef, one of cheese, two cotton shirts, two pair drawers, thread, etc. Oh, what visions of good living were mine, while I waited for the arrival of the box containing all of these good things, but that box never came. I was not starving, far from it, I had plenty to eat such as it was, and in this respect was much better off than the most of my comrades, but I so longed for something from home, something to remind me that I was remembered. It was the subject of my thoughts through the day, and of my dreams at night; and I used to have such vivid dreams of home, that after I had been paroled and returned, I have stood and looked around and pinched myself, to be sure that I was really out of prison, and not merely dreaming again, fearful lest I should wake up, as I so frequently had, to find myself still a prisoner.

I had so frequently had such vivid dreams of home, and as frequently awoke with such a feeling of despair and anguish, when I found I was still a prisoner, that even in my dreams, I would doubt the truth of what seemed so evident to me, and would look about for some familiar object, and say as I saw something I recognized, I know now that this cannot be a dream.

The first place I would make for when I arrived at Oswego, in my dreams, was the old Fitzhugh House, which at that time was THE first cla.s.s house of the city, and order a dinner, determined to have a good square meal the first thing, even before visiting my family. These dreams had become so frequent, and seemed so real, and the reaction so great when I awoke to the consciousness that it was only a dream, that I could scarcely suppress a wail of despair, as the truth was forced upon me, that I was still in that rebel pen, surrounded by an armed guard, with no prospect of release, and little chance of escape, I can scarcely command language to fitly describe my feelings at such times.

On the 10th of June the following officers were called out, it was understood, to be sent to Charleston, to be placed under fire of our batteries on Morris Island: Generals Wessels, Seymour, Shaler, Scammon and Hickman; Colonels Grove, Hawkins, Harrison, Lehman, LaGrange, Lee, White, Bollinger, Brown, Dana, Fordella; Lieutenant Colonels Burnham, Baldwin, Bartholomew, Cook, d.i.c.kinson, Fellows, Fairbanks, Glenn, Hays, Hunter, Higginbotham, Joslyn, Mackin, Mills, Maxwell, Mahew, Moffit, Alcott, Postley, Rodgers, Hepford, Stuart, Swift, Taylor, Lascella, and Majors Beers, Baker, Bates, Clark, Carpenter, Crandall, Grant, Hall and Johnson.

We were quite in hopes that these officers were to be exchanged. I again quote from my diary of this date: "Exchange stock in this market has been very dull, but is advancing a little to-day. I do not take any stock yet."

In a few days, forty-four fresh fish came in from Grant's army, which gave us nearly our full number again, and as every few days brought us fresh additions, we soon had considerable more than when they were sent away.

These officers all brought us cheering news from the seat of war, and strengthened our confidence in the ultimate triumph of our cause, but could give us but little encouragement in regard to exchange. In fact those in the field seemed to be too actively engaged in breaking up the Confederacy, to give much thought to their comrades in prison, or what provisions were being made for their release.