Lights and Shadows in Confederate Prisons Part 2

Rally round the flag, boys, rally once again, Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom-- The Union forever! hurrah, boys, hurrah!

Down with the traitor! up with the star! etc.

till Captain Haslett of the provost guard came riding into the midst with savage oaths shouting, "_Silence!_ SILENCE! SILENCE!"

Twenty-seven miles, first through stifling dust and then through pelting rain, past Hawkinstown, Woodstock, Edenburg, Mount Jackson, brought us to New Market. On the march Colonel Brinton of a Pennsylvania regiment, a new arrival, planned with me an escape. He had campaigned through the valley, was familiar with the lay of the land, and said he had friends among the inhabitants. Our plan was to run past the guards in the darkness. As a preliminary step I cut off my shoulder-straps which were very bright. Within half an hour Sergeant Reed came up to me and asked, "Colonel, where's your shoulder-straps?" I replied, "I don't wear shoulder-straps now I'm a prisoner." "But, Colonel," he answered, "I've been lookin' at them shoulder-straps since we left Tom's Brook. I wanted to buy 'em of you for a present to one of my girls. I'll be hanged if I don't believe you're goin' to try to escape, and so you've cut off your bright shoulder-straps. But, Colonel, it's impossible. I'll be hanged if I hadn't rather lose any six of the others than to lose you." The fellow stuck closer to me than a brother all the rest of that night; so close that he lost sight of Colonel Brinton, who actually escaped about midnight at a place called Edenburg! Almost immediately Sergeant Reed came to me and asked, "Colonel, where's that other Colonel?" I answered: "You ought to know; _I_ don't!"--"I'll be hanged," said he, "if I haven't lost him, a-watchin' you!"

At New Market they put us into a dilapidated church building. "The wicked flea, when no man pursueth but the righteous, is bold as a lion,"

was repeatedly misquoted from the _Book of Proverbs_, and not without reason. We concluded if that interpretation was correct, we had reason enough for obeying the injunction in _Ecclesiastes_, "Be not righteous overmuch"; for the little jumpers were fearless and countless. They were reinforced by a Confederate deacon, who recommended two things: Confederate paper and "gospel piety"; the one would carry us safely through this world; the other through the next. He would be only too happy to furnish us the currency in exchange for our greenbacks.

"Confederate treasury bills and true religion" was the burden of his song, till one of our literary officers, it was said, squelched him: "Deacon, your recipe of happiness, rebel paper and G.o.dliness--Confederate money and a Christian spirit!--reminds me of what Byron says in one of his wicked poems:

'Beyond all doubt there's nought the spirit cheers Like rum and true religion!'"

He subsided.

We left New Market at noon, Sat.u.r.day, September 24th, and marched all the afternoon and all night, past Harrisonburg, Mount Crawford, Mount Sidney, and Willow Springs, reaching Staunton, Va., about nine in the morning. On the march, forty-three miles in twenty-one hours, we were hungry; for the morning ration at New Market was scanty, and they gave us nothing more, except a small loaf of wheat bread. Some of the guard were kind to us. One of them, private John Crew, Co. E, 11th Alabama Regiment, unsolicited by us, and, so far as I am aware, without hope of any reward, would endeavor to bring us apples or other food, whenever we halted. I was careful to write his name in my diary.

As we trudged along, a lively discussion of slavery ensued. Lieutenant Howard of the provost guard was a learned champion of the "peculiar inst.i.tution," and I was a p.r.o.nounced abolitionist. He was an ardent "fire-eater," to use the term then in vogue, and I, who had lost my position as princ.i.p.al of the Worcester High School by my defense of John Brown, was equally intense. Both were pretty well "posted" on the subject. He seemed to be familiar with the Bible and the proslavery arguments, including drunken Noah's "Cursed Canaan!" Moses Stuart's _Conscience and the Const.i.tution_, Nehemiah Adams's _Southside View of Slavery_, and Rev. Dr. ---- (the name is gone from me) of Baltimore's Sermons. I was fresh from reading the arguments of George B. Cheever, Horace Bushnell, Henry Ward Beecher, Garrison, Phillips, and the rest.

He proved that slavery among the Hebrews was a divine inst.i.tution. I answered they were commanded to "undo the heavy burdens, let the oppressed go free, and break every yoke." He said Paul sent back the fugitive slave Onesimus to his master Philemon; I rejoined, "Paul said, 'I send him back, not as a servant, but above a servant, a brother beloved; receive him as myself.'" He quoted the Const.i.tution of the United States, the article commanding that fugitive slaves should be delivered back to their masters; in reply I quoted from Deuteronomy the "Higher Law," "Thou shalt _not_ deliver unto his master the servant which is escaped from his master unto thee." He quoted from the great speech of the magnificent Webster in the Senate, March 7, 1850, in which he urged all good citizens to obey the Fugitive Slave Law "with alacrity." Waxing hot, I quoted from Beecher:

As to those provisions which concern aid to fugitive slaves, may G.o.d do so to us, yea and more also, if we do not spurn them as we would any other mandate of Satan! If in G.o.d's providence fugitives ask bread or shelter, raiment or conveyance at my hands, my own children shall lack bread ere they; my own flesh shall sting with cold ere they shall lack raiment. And whatsoever defense I would put forth for mine own children, that shall these poor, despised, persecuted creatures have at my hands and on the road. The man that would do otherwise, that would obey this law to the peril of his soul and the loss of his manhood, were he brother, son, or father, shall never pollute my hand with grasp of hideous friendship, nor cast his swarthy shadow athwart my threshold!

The lieutenant finally cited the examples of "those glorious southern patriots who led the rebellion against England during the first American Confederacy," Washington, Patrick Henry, Madison, Jefferson, "every one a slaveholder," he proudly exclaimed. I happened to be cognizant of their views, and responded with some vehemence: "But Washington's hands were tied so that he could not free slaves till his death. He said it was among his first wishes to see some plan adopted for putting an end to slavery. Patrick Henry declared, 'I will not, I cannot justify it.'

Madison expressed strongly his unwillingness to admit in the national Const.i.tution 'the idea that can hold property in man.'" In a rather loud voice I quoted Jefferson, who, in view of our inconsistency in violating the "self-evident truth" that "all men are created equal,"

solemnly affirmed, "_I tremble for my country, when I remember that G.o.d is just, and that his justice cannot sleep forever_!" I had some reputation as an elocutionist in those days, and Sergeant Reed, who was listening with open mouth, broke in with, "I'll be hanged, Colonel, if you warn't cut out for a preacher! By-- I should like to hear you preach." The best reply I could make was: "You'll undoubtedly be hanged sometime; and if I were a minister, nothing would give me more satisfaction than to be present at your execution and preach your funeral sermon." He replied: "Now, Colonel, you don't mean that. You don't think I'll ever be hanged!"--"Indeed I do, if you don't stop your profanity and general cussedness."--"I'll be hanged, if I will," was his last word to me.

CHAPTER III

At Staunton--Thence to Waynesboro, Meacham's, and Richmond.

At Staunton we got a little more light on the value of Confederate paper. A chivalrous surgeon who accompanied the provost guard (Fontleroy, I think, was his name[4]) politely invited Captain d.i.c.kerman of the 26th Ma.s.sachusetts and myself to take breakfast with him in a restaurant. We needed no urging. The Provost Marshal gave consent. The saloon was kept by a negro named Jackson. His entire stock of provisions consisted of nine eggs, the toughest kind of neck beef, bread and salt, coffee very weak, b.u.t.ter very strong. As we sat waiting, the doctor remarked with a lordly air that under ordinary circ.u.mstances he would not deign to eat with Yankees. I answered good-naturedly: "I'm as much ashamed as you can be; and if _you'll_ never tell of it, _I_ won't!" The food, notwithstanding its toughness, rapidly disappeared. Near the last mouthful the doctor said: "You two will have to pay for this breakfast, for I've no money." I had fifteen Confederate dollars remaining of twenty which I had received for a five-dollar greenback at Tom's Brook, and I answered: "Give yourself no anxiety; I'll foot the bill."--"Well, Jackson," said I to the sable proprietor, "what's the damage?" He replied, "I shan't charge you-ones full price. Let's see! Beef, seven; eggs, two--nine; coffee, three--twelve; bread and b.u.t.ter, three--fifteen; three of you--forty-five. I'll call it only thirty-six dollars!" I paid my fifteen; Captain d.i.c.kerman pleaded poverty; and the dignified doctor, who had so cordially invited us to partake of his hospitality, promised the disappointed Jackson that he would pay the balance at some future day ("the futurest kind of a day," was added in an undertone).

Rejoining the three or four hundred prisoners, we found, besides the Confederate guards, a great crowd of spectators swarming around us. One of them, a fine-looking young man, wearing the blue uniform of a United States captain, made his way through the group, and handed me a twenty-dollar Confederate bill! The following dialogue ensued:

"Here, Colonel, take that."

"I thank you much. Who are you, so kind to a stranger and an enemy?"

"I'm one whom you Yanks would hang, if you could catch me."

"Why so? Who are you?"

"I'm one of Morgan's guerrillas; wouldn't you hang me?"

"I think I should, if you had much of this stuff about you" (holding up the twenty-dollar bill); "I've just paid fifteen Confederate dollars for an imaginary breakfast."

"Good for you, Colonel. Here, take another twenty. Now you've forty.

That'll pay for an imaginary dinner. Good-bye, Colonel! I have an engagement--to meet some of your cavalry. Remember, Morgan's guerrillas are not rascals, but gentlemen. Good-bye!" He vanished.

About noon those of us who appeared unable to march farther were put on top of freight cars, and carried about a dozen miles east to Waynesboro.

Here the railway crosses a stream, which encircles a little island just north of the bridge. The majority had to walk. At dusk that Sunday evening all had come. They put us on the island carefully guarded on all sides. Never was I more thankful. I had had something good to eat at Staunton; had got rested riding on the roof of the car; and I had my overcoat. Davy Crockett preferred a heap of chestnut burs for a pillow; but I followed the patriarch's example and chose a flat stone. People never allowed me to sing; but I dropped asleep repeating the stanza in Mrs. Adams's exquisite hymn.

Though, like the wanderer, The sun gone down, Darkness be over me, My rest a stone, Yet in my dreams I'd be Nearer, my G.o.d, to thee!

Towards midnight the cold became so keen that I rose and went to the side of a flickering fire. Here excessive misery was for a moment hardening the hearts it should have softened. Several prisoners were quarreling for a position nearest the embers, each angrily claiming that he had brought the f.a.gots that were burning! Two or three hours later several of us attempted to slip past the sentries in the darkness, but were stopped before we reached the water.

At earliest streak of dawn we were marched away. About two miles brought us to the Blue Ridge where the railroad tunnel pierces its foundations.

We toiled up and on in time to see the sun rise. An ocean of fog lay around us. Never shall we forget how royally the King of Day scaled the great wall that seemed to hem in on every side the wide valley, and how the sea of mist and cloud visibly fled before the inrolling flood of light, unveiling green and yellow fields, flocks and herds, dark woodlands, dwellings yet asleep in peace and plenty, here and there the silver thread of a winding stream with lakes that mirrored the sky, and yonder the long stretches of those t.i.tanic fortifications encompa.s.sing all. We were reminded of Shakespeare's sunrise:

Full many a glorious morning have I seen Flatter the mountain tops with sovereign eye, Kissing with golden face the meadows green, Gilding pale streams with heavenly alchemy.

At that instant a train of cars from Charlottesville came sliding along, and shot

Into the tunnel, like a lightning wedge By great Thor hammers driven through the rock!

The scene startled us by its sublimity, and for a few minutes the hungry forgot their craving, the footsore their pain, the hopeless their despair.

That day's march, though not so long was as severe as any; we were exhausted. Private Dolan, Co. K, 159th N. Y., was barefoot. His feet were blistered and bleeding. I begged the commander of the provost guard, Captain Haslett, to allow him to get into an ambulance. My request was not granted. But we soon afterwards pa.s.sed a large mansion in front of which were several girls and women apparently making fun of the unwashed "Yank" and evidently enjoying the spectacle. We were halted just as Dolan came limping along supported on one side by a stronger comrade. They saw his miserable plight, his distress, his swollen feet, and they heard of the stern command to shoot any prisoner who fell out or lagged behind. Their faces changed. With tears one or two implored the Captain to let him ride in the ambulance. He yielded to their entreaties. Southern ladies almost always seemed handsome to us, but these in my memory have the fairest faces. I thought of Lady Clare in _Marmion_, and the words still recur:

O Woman! in our hours of ease, Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, And variable as the shade By the light quivering aspen made; When pain and anguish wring the brow, A ministering angel thou!

Two miles before we reached our temporary destination, Meacham's Station, my own strength utterly failed. I had borne up so long, partly to set an example of cheerful endurance, and partly from something like Mark Tapley's pride at coming out strong and jolly under the most depressing circ.u.mstances. I lay beside the road, remarking to Captain Haslett, who immediately came riding to the spot, "Captain, here's a fine chance to try your marksmanship; I can't march any further; shan't try to."--"Colonel," he replied with something of pity in his tone and manner, "I'm sorry to see you so used up. I'm sorry to be obliged to march you prisoners so hard. I have to keep out of the way of your d.a.m.ned cavalry. You may get into the ambulance." So into the ambulance I climbed with some difficulty, and immediately commenced my freemasonry on the driver. He responded to the signs. He proved to be an acquaintance of the Redwoods, a family in Mobile, one of whom had been a cla.s.smate of mine at Yale. He gave me some nice milk and some fine wheat bread. "As a Mason," said he, "I'll feed you; share the last crumb with you; but as a Confederate soldier I'll fight you till the last drop of blood and the last ditch."--"I hardly know which to admire most, your s.p.u.n.k or your milk," I replied. Thereupon he gave me another drink, and insisted on my imbibing a little of what he called "apple-jack." I was a "teetotaler"; but thinking the occasion warranted, I "smiled" upon it, "strictly as a medicine!" "Apple-jack" seemed to me the same thing as "Jersey lightning." He became quite friendly, but was horribly profane.

"Look here," said he, "you seem to be a sort of Christian; cuss me if you don't! What in h--l are you Yanks all comin' down here for?"--"You have a gift at swearing," I said; "did you, among your other oaths, ever swear to support the Const.i.tution of the United States?"--"Well, yes."--"That's what's the matter with us," I said, "we're keeping our oaths and you are breaking yours."--"To h--l with the Const.i.tution of the United States! Our first duty is to our own State. We've a right to be an independent nation, and we will. I'm a guerrilla. If our armies are defeated, I'll fight you on my own hook. I'll fire on you from behind every tree and every rock. I'll a.s.sa.s.sinate every invader. I want you to remember that I'm a guerrilla."--"I like your _spirits_," I said.

"They are worthy of a better cause."--"Take another swallow of 'em," he replied, handing me the canteen. I toasted him: "Here's hoping you gorillas will outlive the Southern Confederacy!"--"A d--d equivocal sentiment," observed my fire-eating, fire-drinking Masonic brother; "but here we are at Meacham's Station. Good-bye, Yank!"

After our nineteen miles' march it was a most welcome relief to be placed on platform cars, though packed so closely that we could hardly stir. We objected that the cars had no tops. "All the better opportunity to study astronomy," they replied.--"The cars have no sides to keep off the wind."--"The scenery is magnificent," they rejoined, "and they'll answer for 'observation cars'; you have an un.o.bstructed view."--"But the nights are growing cold."--"You'll keep warm by contact with each other." Mad at this mockery, hungry, half-frozen, squeezed like fish in a basket, we took little note of scenery or stars; but it was a comfort to believe that our discomfort was caused by the rapid advance of Sheridan's cavalry.

More dead than alive, though hardly dead enough to bury, having been jolted along all the afternoon and all night, we reached Richmond about sunrise, Tuesday, September 27th. Numbering now nearly four hundred we were escorted through the streets to the notorious Libby prison and halted in front. The Union officers inside thronged the windows to see us come. On every face was a sad, despondent, pitying look, the most discouraging sight I ever saw. No smiles there nor among us. Conspicuous among them was the sorrowful countenance of Lieut.-Col. Charles H.

Hooper of the 24th Ma.s.sachusetts Infantry, with his long handsome auburn beard. Some one inside whispered loud enough for several of our "Four Hundred" to hear, "Hide your greenbacks!" We pa.s.sed the word down the column, "Hide your greenbacks!"

A few minutes revealed its significance. We were taken in a body in upon the lower floor. There Major Nat. Turner, prison inspector, cousin of the celebrated d.i.c.k Turner of unlovely reputation, made us a speech.

You will empty your pockets of all valuables. Such as are not contraband of war, you will be allowed to retain. You will deliver up all your Federal money. An equivalent amount in Confederate money will be given you in instalments from time to time, or the whole will be returned to you when you are exchanged. You will turn pockets inside out. If you attempt to conceal anything, it will be confiscated.

We were made to step forward singly, and were searched. Our coats and vests were taken off, also our boots and shoes; and a Confederate officer felt very carefully of all our clothing to make sure that nothing was hidden. I "remembered to forget" that I had two ten-dollar greenbacks compressed into a little wad in one corner of my watch fob; and that corner escaped inspection. d.i.c.k Turpin never was the richer for that money. They examined suspiciously a pocket edition of the New Testament in the original Greek; but I a.s.sured them it was not some diabolical Yankee cipher, and they allowed me to keep it. I made the most of my freemasonry, and they permitted me to retain my overcoat. One of our prisoners, it was whispered, had secretly stuffed $1300 in greenbacks into his canteen, but all canteens were taken from us as contraband of war, and n.o.body but "Uncle Sam" profited by the concealment.

Having "gone through" us, they incarcerated the officers in one room, the enlisted men in another.

FOOTNOTES:

[4] Dr. Fontleroy was a brother of Mrs. Major Whittlesey, one of my fellow professors, instructor in military tactics, at Cornell University. Whittlesey was a graduate of West Point, and, while there, had had cadet U. S. Grant under his command!