Prison Life in Andersonville Part 4

CHAPTER VIII.

DELIVERANCE.

[3]At a point on the Cape Fear river, about ten miles from Wilmington, N.

C., a trainload of old Andersonville prisoners who had been confined also at Florence, S. C., and Salisbury, N. C., were delivered to General Terry.

They had just been paroled at Goldsboro, and were received by him about the middle of March, 1865. His headquarters was at a point on the Cape Fear river and recently taken from the enemy. It was now held by the Third New Hampshire, Sixteenth New York heavy artillery, and by a division of colored troops.

The freight cars halted in a pine forest about a mile from this position, which commanded a pontoon bridge. A squad of cavalry received the ex-prisoners, unfurling the Stars and Stripes in greeting. Many of the boys in blue wept, when they saw our plight. The released men tried to hurrah, but were too weak to raise much of a shout. Three ambulances were loaded with as many of the sick as could be taken on the first trip.

At the farther end of the pontoon bridge the road led through a deep cut in the bank up to the open s.p.a.ce of the camp where guns pointed over the river towards the forest through which the freight train had come from Goldsboro with the paroled men. Spanning this cut was an arch constructed of evergreen boughs and faced with the white cloth square of shelter tent, upon which was spelled in letters made of evergreen sprigs, "THE SIXTEENTH NEW YORK WELCOMES YOU HOME."

The march of a mile from the railroad to the pontoon bridge greatly exhausted the paroled prisoners. At first the excitement of once more gazing upon the flag they loved, and being received by the advanced squadron, stimulated them to walk with some show of vigor.

But soon their eyes shone with the unwonted brightness of fatigue in contrast with their pinched and grimy faces. Many sank by the wayside, to be picked up by the ambulance when the same could return for them.

The stronger ones worked up into the head of the column which crossed the pontoon bridge and the advance files of men undertook to walk up through the cut in the bank at the bridge end. But their feet sank in the sand and they were too weak to go further.

Meanwhile a company of colored soldiers were drawn up through the cut in two ranks facing. Between these lines and under the arch our ambulance pa.s.sed; the horses tugging with might and main up the steep grade and through the deep sand. The white officers and the black soldiers stood at "Present Arms." The eyes of the soldiers opened and their teeth gleamed with an aspect of astonishment, as they for the first time beheld seasoned graduates from a course of experiences in war-prisons. The living wrecks in the ambulances were still more pale and ghastly than were the stronger ones following slowly on foot, and as the latter emerged from the woods on to the floating bridge, the onlooking crowd of our men off duty began to be stirred with a great excitement.

As the ambulances lined up before headquarters, General Terry approached.

With him were the brigade surgeon and a representative of the United States Christian Commission. The General looked upon us with tear-dimmed eyes; and turning to the surgeon gave his pocket flask, saying, "Doctor, for G.o.d's sake, help these poor fellows."

This ambulance stopped on the crest of the hill, when the Christian Commission man stepped to its side and said to the writer, "My boy, you will get out here." Seeing I was too weak to rise from the seat, he said, "Just lie across my shoulder." This I did and he carried me into a near-by country church building which sheltered the sick until they could be conveyed by boat to Wilmington.

Meanwhile the straggling column of paroled prisoners had crossed the bridge. An officer undertook to form them into ranks so as to march in form under the arch and between the lines which stood at "Present arms."

Their feet sank in the soft sand of the cut, and after taking a few steps they were utterly exhausted. The officer in charge thus addressed the two lines: "Shoulder arms!" "Order arms!" "Stack arms!" "Break ranks and carry these men up the hill!" With a mighty cheer the athletic colored soldiers sprang forward and each picked up an emaciated, wilted prisoner, carried him up the hill, and tenderly placed him on the ground. In due time, the sick were taken by boat to the Wright House Hospital, Wilmington, and the stronger ones were placed in a camp waiting transportation by steamer to the north.

In the winter of 1875-76, the partially regained health of the writer collapsed, and he was advised to consult his former regimental surgeon, Dr. Wells B. Fox. The Doctor said, "You may live a good while, and you may not. Prepare to leave your family in as good shape as possible. If you have unsettled accounts fix them up."

Pursuant to this advice, and needing the benefit of a climate warmer than a Michigan winter, he went to Washington to close up some army matters.

Here he was received very kindly by Surgeon General Barnes, and by him ordered to have a thorough examination by experts of the medical department. The diagnosis was more favorable than was deemed possible, and its correctness has been verified by the subsequent years.

On the journey from Cheboygan to Washington, a stop was made at Greenville. With his host, a call was made on the Rev. James L. Patton, pastor of the Congregational Church of that place. As the evening pa.s.sed, conversation turned to army happenings. After reciting some experiences in the service of the United States Christian Commission, with an aroused manner, Dr. Patton said, "I must tell you of an occasion that I shall never forget. I was in the Christian Commission service outside Wilmington, North Carolina, near the close of the war, with General Terry, when he received the first installment of old Andersonville prisoners as they were sent into our lines. Terry was all broken up over their condition." "Could the prisoners walk?" asked the writer. "Yes," he replied; "some of them could, but many had to be brought in on ambulances." He was asked, "Where did you put those who were sick?" "We laid them on the floor of a little church that was close by," Dr. Patton replied. Extending his hand the writer said, "Dr. Patton, thank you."

"Why, why," he replied hesitatingly, "you need not thank me for the story; it is true and you are welcome to it." "Yes," was the response, "I have no doubt the story is true. I do not thank you for it, but for helping me out of the ambulance at that time." Need it be said that these two men found themselves comrades, indeed?

CHAPTER IX.

AN INCIDENT BY THE WAY.

A steamboat on the northeast branch of the Cape Fear river carried our paroled men from the station held by General Terry to the city of Wilmington.

One of the princ.i.p.al mansions was owned by a Dr. Wright who had fled with his family on the approach of the Union troops. His fine residence was converted into a hospital for the arrivals who were sick.

During the ride from Goldsboro on top of a freight car, the writer was taken ill and was barely able to walk the steamer plank at the point of transfer. After resting in the little country church he was taken to the Wright House Hospital and a.s.signed a straw bed on the floor of a room in the third story. Soldier nurses proceeded to take off his infested prison rags and to give him a sponge rub. He fainted under the process and had a run of fever during which he was delirious.

When the point of death was apparently reached his vitality took a turn for the better and he rapidly improved.

On the floor of his room were twelve narrow straw beds having a succession of occupants who, with a few exceptions, were soon transferred to their final resting places.

Many of the ex-prisoners having died from the effects of the too early use of solid food, the physicians became extremely cautious and limited the sick to small quant.i.ties of the most simple preparations.

During the writer's convalescence, his ravenous hunger was unsatisfied by the slender allowance. It happened that his bed ended up to a window, and his favorite occupation was to sit on his pillow and watch the proceedings in the yard below. Here was a servant's cottage occupied by two colored women who evidently had excused themselves from flight with their master.

The older one moved about with quiet dignity and doubtless had been the "mamma" of the family. With evident pleasure she watched the new life and movement around her, and held in restraint her young and vivacious companion.

In the yard soldier cooks prepared in large kettles great quant.i.ties of beef soup, which was ladled into pails, carried to the kitchen and served to the patients throughout the building.

A young artilleryman from Olean, New York, lay on a straw pallet alongside that of the writer. The one was called "Olean" and the other "Michigan."

From his post of observation at the window the latter, one morning, watched the handling of the soup below with an interest that could not be concealed. "Say, Michigan, what are you looking at?" inquired Olean. "I am looking at them pouring out the soup," was the reply, "and say, Olean, I wish I could have a good smell of it."

"_Smell_ of the soup," said Olean contemptuously; "if I was a wishing I'd wish I _had_ some and not just a smell." Upon this sagacious remark, a number of the occupants of the other beds pa.s.sed the wink or laugh with a feeble, hacking sound; their pinched faces brightening with a sense of mirth.

The practical wisdom of the suggestion was not lost upon "Michigan," who said, "If I was a little stronger I would take my cup, go down the stairs and into the yard and I would say, 'Boys, I'm awfully hungry; please give me some soup.'" Ah-ah-ah, laughed "Olean." "Say, Michigan, I'll bet you five cents you can't walk the length of your bed and touch the door k.n.o.b."

Upon this challenge, the other patients from their pillows exchanged glances, several braced up on the elbow and discussed the possibility of one of their number leaving his room without permission to forage for refreshments. The concensus of opinion was that he could not succeed.

"Who are you talking to?" vigorously responded "Michigan." "You think I can't do it; I'll show you what I can do." Grasping the projecting window moulding he helped himself to his feet, carefully balancing his trembling steps along the narrow s.p.a.ce between the beds on the floor, and triumphantly grasping the k.n.o.b of the door exclaimed, "There now, Olean; I've done it; I've done it. Where is your five cents?" "Oh, I haven't any five cents," replied Olean, "but say, Michigan, you would look mighty fine going down those stairs, wouldn't you?"

Thereupon the observing comrades laughed in great glee; in weakness, like little children, a very trifling incident amused them; they nodded their heads at each other and exchanged approving glances.

Our regulation costume was a gray army shirt, drawers of like material, and a pair of socks. Thus appareled "Michigan" opened the door into the hall, peered over the railing down the two flights of stairs and, seeing the coast clear, worked along to the newel post and carefully lowered himself one or two steps.

Thinking discretion might be the better part of valor, he tested his strength for the return by trying to retrace the steps down which he had come. He was quite unable to lift himself on the rising, so must needs continue down the two flights, resting his weight on the rail. Dizzy and breathless he stood by the stair post on the main floor. At this juncture the hospital steward suddenly entered and was amazed to find a very weak patient in a state of migration. "What are you doing here?" he hurriedly and angrily asked. "What room do you belong to and who said you might leave it?" "Oh, I'm just taking a little exercise," was the reply. The steward rang for an attendant, and with an oath said, "No more of this; I will order a man to help you to your room and there you stay."

But no helper appeared, so our hero summoned all his determination and walked through the hall to the back porch. Here a stack of plain coffins greeted his view; and he fancied that one of them belonged to him. Going down the veranda steps he held to the rail and coming into the full rays of the sun turned faint and for a few minutes was helpless. Again, he summoned all the powers of his will and started down the gravel walk towards the servant's cottage.

Reaching the porch of the same, he sank exhausted on the steps with head resting against the corner post. Just then the old "mamma" came out of her room and caught sight of the wasted form and pale face of the would-be soup hunter. Gazing pityingly upon his emaciation, and speaking to her a.s.sistant, she exclaimed, "Dinah, Dinah, come yeah, come yeah; look at dat ar' po' white chile; he bleached so white as linen!"

Then addressing him, she said, "Wah yo' come from? Wah yo' come from?"

"Oh, auntie," he gasped, "I came out of the hospital to get some soup and I can't get any further. Auntie, give me something to eat; I'm awfully hungry!" "Dinah, Dinah," she said. "Go to the cupboard and git a big slice ob de co'n pone; jes slip it undah you aprun and bring it yeah to me."

Pa.s.sing the generous slice under her own ap.r.o.n, the old mammy stood by the veranda post, looking the meanwhile intently at a distant object as if oblivious to all near concerns.

Thus she partially screened the invalid from observation, and reaching the portion down to his hand, tenderly said, "Dar now, honey, yo eat dat bread." No second invitation to indulge his famished appet.i.te was needed.

The slice of "co'n pone" speedily disappeared. Strange to say, no inconvenience resulted. The food aroused the dormant vitality and the young fellow eagerly exclaimed, "Auntie, Auntie, that was so good. Give me some more." "No, honey," she said decisively, "de doctah see me do dis yah, I done go, suah." Then the invalid began to cry hysterically. The sympathy of the kind old heart was still further aroused and, spreading her great hand on his head, she said softly, "Po chile, po chile, he want ta see he muddah."

"Mother, Mother!" How that word stirred his heart and aroused his memory so weakened by suffering. Physical vigor from the dark hand upon his head was surcharged with vitality that probably stimulated the depleted personality.

Again the young man asked, "Aunty, aunty, give me some more," and again came the reply, "No, honey, de doctah see me do dis, he send me off for suah." Meanwhile "Olean" was pressing his face against the third-story window to see how "Michigan" was prospering in his quest for soup.

A soldier nurse approached the cottage and "aunty," who seemed to be on good terms with all, interceded for her guest. "Dis ya chile done c.u.m down fo a wok; he done tiad out, yo' help him back, won't yo', ma.s.sa?" And he did.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "Dinah, Dinah, look at dat ar po' white chile; he bleached so white as linen."]