Sword and Pen Part 12

Kilpatrick's men met the a.s.sault manfully, retiring slowly, until at length, upon the brow of a small hill, they turned at bay, and for a time formed a living rampart between their retreating comrades and the enemy. Every attempt to approach and penetrate their line proved instant death to their a.s.sailants, and General Stuart, seeing no chance of otherwise dislodging them, determined to charge in person, and crush them with an entire division. Glazier, who had already emptied two saddles, sat coolly upon his horse, reloading as this formidable body came sweeping down. By this time, experience of the vicissitudes of a soldier's career, and possibly the fact that he had hitherto been very fortunate in the numerous conflicts in which his regiment had been engaged, left him quite composed under fire. Singling out one of Stuart's men, he covered that cavalier with his revolver, and probably, in another instant, would have ended his career; but, just as his finger gave the final pressure upon the trigger, his horse, riddled with bullets, fell dead under him, the shot flew wide of its mark, and he fell to the ground.

[Ill.u.s.tration: Cavalry-fight At New Baltimore--lieutenant Glazier Taken Prisoner.]

His first sensation was of a dense cloud between himself and the sky, and next of being crushed by tramping hoofs, whole squadrons of horse pa.s.sing over his body as he lay p.r.o.ne and helpless. A vague, dreamy sensation of being a ma.s.s of wounds and bruises was succeeded by utter darkness and oblivion. How long he continued in this comatose state he never knew. Raised from the ground, a terrible sense of acute bodily pain gradually crept over him, as he found himself hurried along at a rapid pace. Where he was going, who had him in charge, what he had done, whether he was in this or some other world, were matters of which he had no more conception than the dead charger he had ridden. Pain, pain, nothing but intense pain, absorbed the whole of his faculties. Gradually his full consciousness returned. He remembered the fierce onset of the enemy, his fall from his horse, and at once concluded that he was a prisoner in the hands of the enemy! Very soon after, he discovered that, in addition to being deprived of his arms, he had been stripped of his watch and other valuables.

One of the great annoyances to which a newly captured prisoner was subjected, arose from the fact that skulkers and sneaks, in order to secure safe positions, coveted and sought the privilege of quartering them. In his own words Glazier says:

"The woods in the vicinity were full of skulkers, and, in order to make a show of having something to do, they would make their appearance in the rear of the fighting column, and devote themselves sedulously to guarding the prisoners." He adds, that "privates, corporals and sergeants, in turn, had them in charge;" and that "each in succession would call them into line, count them in an officious manner, and issue orders according to their liking," until some sneak of higher rank came along, a.s.sumed the superior command, and in a tone of authority, would say to the other poltroons: "Gentlemen, your services are much needed at the front. Go, and do your duty like soldiers." The result would be an exchange of tyrants, but no diminution of the petty tyranny. At dusk the prisoners were marched to, and lodged in, the jail at Warrenton.

Like all Federal soldiers who fell into the enemy's hands, Glazier complains very bitterly of the small persecutions inflicted by the officers and men of the Home Guard, and unfortunately these mongrels--a cross between a civilian and a soldier--were their chief custodians during that night, and signalized themselves after their fas.h.i.+on. They deprived the prisoners of their clothing, and, in truth, everything of the slightest value in the eyes of a thief. One of these swashbucklers attempted to reduce our young hero's wardrobe to an Arkansas basis, namely, a straw-hat and a pair of spurs, with what success the following dialogue, taken mainly from "The Capture, Prison-Pen, and Escape," will indicate.

"Here, Yank," said the guard, "hand me that thar hat, and over-coat, and boots."

"No, sir, I won't; they are my property. You have no right to take them from me."

"I have," said the guard. "We have authority from General Stuart to take from you prisoners whatever we d----d choose."

"That I doubt," said the captive, "and if you are a gentleman you won't be guilty of stripping a defenceless prisoner."

"I'll show you my authority, you d----d blue-belly," said the ruffian, drawing his revolver. "Now, take off that coat, or I'll blow your brains out."

By this time Glazier's Northern blood was up, and he grew desperate, so he angrily answered:

"Blow away then! It is as well to be without brains as without clothing."

So the fellow, who was evidently a contemptible bl.u.s.terer, whom General Stuart, had he been aware of his conduct, would have drummed out of the army, not willing to risk the consequences of actual violence--sneaked away.

While this little incident was occurring at Warrenton jail, a very different event was transpiring at his father's house. His sister was dying. It was a peaceful, hopeful death--the death of a Christian--of one who in her young life had never by word or deed injured man or woman. Many weeks elapsed before her imprisoned brother heard of her death, and when the intelligence at length reached him, he was overwhelmed with grief at her loss.

Upon the morning following the day of his capture, in that dense darkness that precedes the dawn, the prisoners started on their tramp toward Culpepper, and as the day broke, and the sun mounted above the eastern hills, their march, which extended to full thirty miles, became a weary and exhausting journey. Themselves on foot, and compelled to keep up with the pace of mounted men, it was a tiresome task; but to do so under the burning rays of a Southern sun was nearly impossible. To make matters worse, in the present case, the Confederates having sustained a defeat at Bristoe and Rappahannock Station, the guard was not in the most amiable humor; in addition to which they were compelled to use haste in order to avoid capture by the victorious Federals.

Glazier gave no thought to his present discomfort, and to use his own words, "felt relieved when he heard of the successes of his comrades."

Still the annoyance of this compulsory tramp was felt keenly. The prisoners "being enc.u.mbered with heavy high-heeled cavalry boots," and their feet having become tender from contact with the mud and water through which they marched, soon became a ma.s.s of blisters, and their sufferings from this cause alone were intense. Six of the poor fellows succ.u.mbed, unable to proceed. After a journey attended with much mental depression, and bodily agony, the former increased by the barbarous contumely flung at them by men who emerged from roadside inns, to stare at them as they pa.s.sed, the prisoners, including the subject of our story, entered Richmond, and were at once introduced to the amenities of "Libby Prison."

CHAPTER XVI.

LIBBY PRISON.

"All ye who enter here abandon hope."--Auld lang syne.--Major Turner.--Hope deferred maketh the heart sick.--Stoicism.--Glazier enters the prison-hospital.--A charnel-house.--Rebel surgeons.--Prison correspondence.--Specimen of a regulation letter.--The tailor's joke.--A Roland for an Oliver.--News of death.--Schemes for escape.--The freemasonry of misfortune.--Plot and counter-plot.--The pursuit of pleasure under difficulties.

It does not come within the scope of the present work to enter into a detailed description of the sufferings of the Union prisoners in this place of durance: those who have a taste for such gloomy themes may gratify it by reading the first work by our young soldier-author, ent.i.tled "The Capture, Prison-Pen and Escape," in which the horrors of that house of misery are eloquently described. We may, however, say this much, that if the testimony of eye-witnesses is to be credited, it was a fearful place, and one over whose portals the words of Dante might have been appropriately inscribed, "All ye who enter here abandon hope."

[Ill.u.s.tration: Libby Prison.]

Of some thousand Northern officers confined here, Glazier, of course, met several from his own corps, who had been previously captured. He at first felt his condition very acutely. His roving life amid the magnificent scenery of Virginia, Maryland and Pennsylvania was now exchanged for the gloomy and monotonous routine of a prison; but he writes under date of October twenty-eighth, in a more reconciled and hopeful strain "I am gradually," he says, "becoming accustomed to this dungeon life, and I presume I shall fall into the habit of enjoying myself at times. 'How use doth breed a habit in a man.' Indeed he can accommodate himself to almost any clime or any circ.u.mstance of life, a gift of adaptation no other living thing possesses in any such degree."

Of one man, in the midst of all his philosophy, our hero speaks very bitterly. We allude to Major Turner, military warden of the prison. He describes him as possessed of a vindictive, depraved, and fiendish nature, and moralizes over the man and his career in this wise:

"There is nothing more terrible than a human soul grown powerful in sin, and left to the horrible machinations of the evil one, and its own evil promptings. Demons developed from germs that might have produced seraphs, become rank growths, drinking in the healthful stimulants of life and reproducing them in hideous forms of vice and crime.

"'Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom revenge is virtue.'

"Thus we see a soul coming pure and plastic from its Maker's hand, yet afterward standing before the world, stained and hardened."

Slowly and wearily the days and weeks pa.s.sed on in "Libby," leaving its drear monotony unbroken, except when the rumor of a prospect of being exchanged came to flush the faces of the captives with a hope destined not to be fulfilled while Willard Glazier was in Richmond. The result was that he at length abandoned all hope of being exchanged, and for a time tried hard to cultivate and "grow into the luxury of indifference."

His experience told him that "however reprehensible" it might be in ordinary life, "stoicism, under the circ.u.mstances in which he then found himself, was an actual necessity." His mind appears at this time to have sustained him under many extreme bodily privations. But despite all his philosophy and cultivated resignation of spirit, despite the mental resources which he fortunately possessed in no small degree, and which enabled him to occupy his time profitably, while others were pacing up and down the room like caged beasts, feeding upon their own hearts, his bodily health was materially impaired. The first winter month, with its frosty atmosphere, and fierce northern blasts, instead of bringing invigoration to his wasted frame, left him more debilitated; and upon the eighth of December he succ.u.mbed to a disease which had been encroaching upon him for some time, and requested to be sent to the hospital. His sensations were far from pleasant when, for the first time in his life, he found himself seriously ill among enemies, and in that most dismal of all dismal places, a Prison Infirmary. "Once in the hospital," he writes, "I found myself soon subjected to its peculiar influences. There was the ominous stillness, broken only by the choking cough, or labored groan; the chilling dread, as though one were in the immediate presence of death, and under the ban of silence; and the anxious yearning--the almost frantic yearning one feels in the contemplation of suffering which he is powerless to alleviate. And worse than all, at last came the hardened feeling which a familiarity with such scenes produces. This is nothing but an immense charnel-house. We are constantly in the midst of the dead and dying. Nearly every day some of our comrades, and on some days several of them, are borne away coffinless and unshrouded to their unmarked graves. Nor flower, nor cross, nor hallowed token, gives grace to the dead, or beauty to the grave. I am well aware that in time of war, on the field of carnage, in camp, where the pestilential fever rages, or in the crowded prisons of the enemy, human life is but little valued. Yet there are moments amidst all these scenes, when the importance of life and the terrors of death, seem to force themselves upon the mind of every man, with a power which cannot be resisted."

It is pleasant to find that here, as generally in the world with members of the learned professions, the surgeons were humane and kind; and remonstrated with the authorities whenever remonstrance on behalf of the poor sufferers was needed. Of course they could not "minister to a mind diseased, pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow," or,

"With some sweet oblivious antidote, cleanse The choked bosom of that perilous stuff That weighs upon the heart;"

but gracious words and sympathizing looks, and the consciousness that he was once more in the hands of _gentlemen_, were a source of great comfort to the patient, after having been brought into daily and hourly contact with the familiars of Major Turner. Another gratifying circ.u.mstance was, that the Federal surgeons held as prisoners were permitted to attend upon their sick comrades when they expressed a wish to do so, and that, of course, was very frequently. Even an hospital has its little events, which although they appear very trifling in the retrospect, are of considerable importance at the time of their occurrence. Here these little episodes were not infrequent. At one time it was the destruction of a box of dainties sent by the Federal Sanitary Commission for the prisoners; at another, it was the excitement incident to an exchange of the surgeons held in captivity; and again, it was the surrept.i.tious acquisition by some of the patients of a daily newspaper, and the guarded dissemination of such items as it might contain among his fellow-sufferers; but greatest of all in importance was the receipt of a letter from HOME. Even when surrounded by all the incidents of home life, the postman is ever a welcome visitor; but in the midst of such a dreary captivity as these men were undergoing, a letter from _home_ was like a message from heaven.

Their correspondence had, however, its sad as well as its cheerful aspect. The prisoners were restricted in writing their letters to six lines, by an arbitrary order from Major Turner, and much ingenuity was exercised in the effort to crowd into these six lines the thousand and one messages which many of the writers desired to send to mothers, wives, sisters and sweethearts. Here is a genuine specimen of a "regulation" letter from a fond husband to the wife of his bosom:

My Dear Wife: Yours received--no hope of exchange--send corn-starch--want socks--no money--rheumatism in left shoulder--pickles very good--send sausages--G.o.d bless you--Kiss the baby--Hail Columbia! Your devoted husband,

A. D. S.

But the "rule of six" was successfully evaded for a considerable time, by the manufacture and use of invisible ink. The trick was however at last discovered, and the way in which Glazier tells the story is so amusing, that we are tempted to give it in his own words:

"A certain captain writing to a fair and undoubtedly dear friend, could not brook the idea of being limited to six lines, when he had so much to communicate; so resorting to the use of invisible ink, he comfortably filled the sheet with 'soft and winning words,' and then fearing lest his _inamorata_ would not discover the secret he added this postscript:

"'P.S.--Now, my dear, read this over, and then bake it in the oven and read it again.'

"This was too much. The rebels thinking if the letter would improve by baking it might be well to improve it at once, accordingly held it over the fire. This brought to light four closely written pages of the tenderest and most heart-rending sentiment."

Ever after all letters sent out by the prisoners were carefully inspected and subjected to the "ordeal by fire," so that, to use the expressive language of an old soldier, "that game was played."

Among Glazier's fellow-prisoners at this time was a certain Major Halsted. He was one of those social anomalies that are not infrequently met with in this country, a man of obscure origin, a member of a very humble calling, prior to entering the army, and yet possessing the personal appearance and manners of a man of distinction. He really belonged to that terribly maligned craft of whose followers it is popularly said, "It takes nine to make a man,"--he was a tailor. Upon this fact some of the little wits of the prison, forgetting that one of the bravest of Napoleon's generals, and one of the most intrepid of America's sons, had each followed the same occupation, were in the habit of jokingly asking him to repair their old and dilapidated clothes.

When this jest was first indulged in, those who knew the undaunted spirit and somewhat irascible temper of the major, expected to hear him blaze out upon the perpetrator of the _mauvaise plaisantrie_, or possibly knock him down. To their surprise, however, he did neither. For a single moment a gleam of pa.s.sionate wrath shot up in his eyes, but it was instantly suppressed, and he joined in the laugh against himself.

Seeing, however, that the victim of the joke did not appear at all disturbed or hurt, other, better-natured fellows followed in the wake, and the jest of asking the major to patch a pair of breeches or mend a coat, became somewhat threadbare by repet.i.tion.

It happened, however, that one day the rebel surgeon accidentally tore his coat across the breast, and turning to Major H. said, he would give him a bottle of wine if he would repair it. "Yes, sir," said the major, "if you will furnish me with a needle, thread, and a few other indispensables, I will take the whole suit and make it look very different." He added, "the fact is, I would rather do anything than rust in idleness in this d----d prison." Finding that he spoke seriously, and as if it were an ordinary business, the Confederate sawbones, who had a lively appreciation of Yankee handicraft, accepted the offer, and all next day the major was hard at work clipping and scouring and pressing the surgeon's uniform, every now and then the owner thereof pa.s.sing by and smiling approval; and it was remarked that his face wore that complacent expression common to all good men when they have furnished employment for idle hands--and it is not going to cost them anything.

The same evening, however, when the work, so neatly done, was finished, the major very quietly slipped it upon his own dignified person, and taking with him a fellow-prisoner as "hospital steward," coolly walked past the guard, remarking, to the great consternation of that personage, "My friend, there are unmistakable indications of _cerebro-spinal meningitis_ in your eyes. Come over to the hospital as soon as you are relieved, and I will see what can be done for you," walked out into the street, and neither he nor the "hospital steward" was heard of again until they reached the Federal lines.

The devices resorted to, to effect an escape, were as ingenious as they were numerous, and for a short time the most popular and successful _ruse_ was for the prisoners to get into the hospital, simulate death, and, while left unguarded in the dead-house, to escape. The difference, however, between the tally of the deaths and the burials ultimately attracted the attention of the authorities, and that was stopped.

It will be remembered that while young Glazier was fighting his last fight prior to his capture upon the nineteenth of October, the family at home were gathered around his sister's dying bed, when her gentle spirit winged its flight to Heaven. From that day until the twenty-ninth of November, he had received no news of his family, and consequently, up to that time, was ignorant of her decease. It had been his habit during the weary hours of his prison life, to overcome the tendency to despair from brooding over his misfortunes--which is common to all human beings in trouble--to fix his thought upon the loved ones at home. His imagination constantly conjured up pictures of his parents, his sisters and brothers, and placed them amid the rustic surroundings of his boyhood's home. Even while in the hospital, and tossing with fever upon his bed, the visions which haunted him were not visions of red-handed war, but of quiet country life, where his kindred filled their several spheres of duty. He had never thought of them, except collectively.

Although he had, from time to time, felt apprehensive that "Elvi" was somewhat delicate, he never had the slightest fear that her life was thereby endangered. Hence, when the sad news arrived, it came as a terrible surprise. His sisters had been the objects of his peculiar care. The relation he had borne to them, young as he was, was that of a father, as well as brother. He never wearied of devising plans for their intellectual improvement. He made it his peculiar care that they should be thoroughly educated, and that, while intellectually robust, none of the soft down and bloom of true womanhood should be brushed away in the process. They were his memory's "good angels" even in sleep; for what must have been his dreams in the midst of such surroundings, if he had not had them to think of!

The shock on thus learning of his sister's death was a very great one to young Glazier, and his reflections for a time were bitter. He alludes to the subject himself in this way: "In the very midst of death I am permitted to drag out a weary life, while dear ones in a land of health, freedom and plenty are struck down by the fatal shaft. Her death occurred on the nineteenth of October, the very day of my capture. I was thrust into prison, and doubly bound to the groveling discomforts of earth, while _she_ was released from the prison-house of clay, and received, I believe into the joyous, freedom of Heaven. Our lives are all in the hands of Him who doeth all things well. He appoints us a period of existence, and appoints a moment to depart. All other influences are subordinate to His will. 'What can preserve our lives, and what destroy!'"