The Dispatch Carrier and Memoirs of Andersonville Prison Part 6

"c.o.o.ns, sir."

The old General drew his sword and stuck it into one of the skins that was close by. He held it up on the point of sword, with the little pig's tail hanging down, and said:

"That beats all the c.o.o.n skins I ever did see." He tried to keep from laughing and look stern, but couldn't; it was too much for him. As soon as the old General could control himself, he turned to me and said:

"Sergeant, don't catch any more of those kind of c.o.o.ns." He rode off laughing while the whole staff followed suit.

On the 27th of June a large force of rebels made an attack on one of our government trains near Stewart's plantation, and as we were going to the rescue of the train the rebels fired at us. I felt a burning sensation as if a bullet had pa.s.sed through my head. Everything got dark. I fell from my horse. The bullet came so close that the bridge of my nose was broken and made me totally blind for awhile. My comrades carried me back in an ambulance. The whole of Gen. Curtis' army was on the march for Helena. My head felt as big as a bushel basket, and fever set in; then I was in a very critical condition. On we went through swamps, over miles of corduroy. The burning sun was enough to kill a well man; there was no water only what we could get from the dirty swamps. No wonder the men died at a fearful rate. The enemy had chopped the timber down and filled up all the wells along the road. Some of the time I was delirious, calling for water all the time. Oh, that long, dreary march through those dirty swamps! We finally got to Helena and I was taken to the hospital, and from there was sent to Jefferson barracks, St. Louis, and lay there until Sept. 20th, when I was discharged and sent home. Just as soon as I got well and strong I re-enlisted in the Ninety-fifth Illinois Infantry. The reason I did not get back to my old regiment was that my brother had just enlisted in the Ninety-fifth, and my brother and I enlisted and joined our regiment at Vicksburg. Nothing happened of any consequence until the spring of '64, then we started from Vicksburg and went on the famous Red river expedition. I will not go into the particulars of this trip, but some time in the near future I will write on that subject. However, I will give you a few points on the incidents of March 9th, 1864.

The Ninety-fifth embarked on board a transfer at Vicksburg, and started for the mouth of Red river. Gen. Smith had command of our division and we proceeded up the river. The first place we took was Fort Russey. We captured that stronghold, with three thousand prisoners, arms and equipments. We then went on up the river. There was a good deal of skirmis.h.i.+ng all the way. At Pleasant Hill occurred the hardest fought battle of the expedition.

Then commenced the retreat to the Mississippi. We were under constant fire for nineteen days, and arrived at the mouth of Red river on the 21st day of May. This ended the expensive and fruitless attempt to reach the head waters of the Red river.

On the 22d day of May the Ninety-fifth embarked at the mouth of the river and sailed up the Mississippi as far as Memphis, where we arrived the latter part of May.

Now comes the hardest part of my experience as a soldier. I will give you my experience, also the experience of others as prisoners of war at Andersonville.

Memoirs of Andersonville.

CHAPTER I.

It is said that we should forgive and forget; but the man who invented that saying never was in Andersonville prison.

No, my readers, I purpose to tell you just as nearly as one man can tell another how the Union soldiers were treated at Andersonville. I shall begin by my capture, and then take you right along with me through the prison.

About the first of June, 1864, we were ordered out from Memphis to fight the rebel General Forrest, then operating near Guntown, Miss. We met him near that place on the tenth day of June, and here occurred one of the most desperate battles I ever witnessed.

A great many think to this day that we were sold out to the Johnnies; and I must say it looked very much like it, indeed.

Our horses, our ambulances, and our wagons were run up to the front. The field lay in the form of a horse-shoe, with heavy timber and dense brushwood on all sides. The rebels were ambushed on three sides of our regiment; consequently they had a cross-fire on us.

Our Colonel was killed in the first fire. I thought for awhile that the whole line of battle would fall. One after another of our captains fell, until all were dead or so badly wounded as to incapacitate them for duty.

Finally one of our lieutenants took charge of the regiment. He had no sooner done so than he was shot through the foot. As he went hobbling off he gave the command to fall back. Well, now, you can bet that we did fall back, and in double-quick time, too.

Now, right here occurred an incident that was laughable, notwithstanding the serious position we were all in. We had a large negro to do our cooking. For some reason or other he had got up toward the front. In his hand he held a camp-kettle, and when the Johnnies first fired he stood paralyzed with fear. Finally he got his right mind, and then you ought to have seen him run. He turned, and giving an unearthly yell, skipped across the battle-field. He did not let go of his kettle, and at every jump he yelled, "I'se going home!"

We all gave leg-bail for security, and got across the field in a lively manner, I tell you.

I made a straight line for a creek, and when I got there I saw a tree had fallen across it, and twelve of our men crossed on it. In the meantime the rebels had captured one of our guns, and turned it on our men who were crossing, and swept every man off into the creek. About this time I made a big jump and landed up to my cartridge box in the water. Again, another shot came booming along and cut a nice path through the canebrake. It did not take me long to take advantage of these paths made by the cannon, and get out of that. The first men that I met were of my own company. We formed a line and held the rebels in check until our cartridges gave out; then commenced one of the most shameful stampedes I ever witnessed. We set fire to the wagons that were near us, and retreated. By this time the sun was very nearly down, so we did not get far before dark.

We traveled all night, and in the morning came to a little town called Ripley. Here we made a halt to allow the stragglers to catch up; and while waiting here the rebel cavalry got ahead of us.

The little squad that I was with stood right in front of a large white house with a bay window in front. A woman stepped to the window with a revolver in her hand and fired into our crowd, killing one of our lieutenants. Some of our men still having their guns loaded turned, and without orders, fired and killed the woman.

Just as we got to the town we found the rebel cavalry waiting for us. We formed and charged. The cavalry opened and let us through, we only losing three men.

By this time I was getting tired. I told my brother I could stand it no longer. He told me to try to keep up, but I knew I could not go much further.

About the middle of the afternoon we stopped to rest. We had been resting only a few minutes when bang! bang! went the rebel guns. My brother and I jumped to our feet, took hold of hands started down a steep hill.

"Now," said I, "go on, for I cannot go any farther; I am played out. You go and try to get through to Memphis, and I will hide here and get away if I can."

So he went on and I went down the hill and crawled under a large tree that had probably blown down. It was not five minutes before the Johnnies were jumping over the very tree I was under. While lying there I saw a big black negro jump up out of the brush with a navy revolver in his hand. He saw that the Johnnies were all around him, and that his only chance was to fight. So he jumped upon a large rock. The rebels told him to surrender, and at the same time began firing at him. The negro was plucky; he raised his revolver, took steady aim, and fired. He killed a Johnnie, and fetched three more before they fetched him. Having killed the poor fellow, they went up to him and ran their bayonets through him time and again.

While this was going on you had better believe I was hugging the ground.

I lay so flat and close that had I been a case-knife I could not have been much thinner. Well, I lay there until it was getting dark, then crawled from under the tree and went back up the hill. Right in the middle of the road I found a gun, which, upon examination, proved to be loaded. I bent my own gun around a tree, took up the loaded gun and left the road. I made up my mind that I would go about four miles south and then strike west; by doing this I was bound to strike the Mississippi somewhere south of Memphis. The country between Guntown and Memphis is all timber land.

Well, I went stumbling over logs, tearing through briar-bushes, and finally struck a swamp. Yes, I struck it suddenly and unexpectedly. I struck my toe against a log and went head-foremost, casouse into the mud and water. I floundered around in there until I got completely covered with mud and filth. I finally got clear of the swamp and came to a densely wooded place upon ground a little higher. Here I curled up under a tree and went to sleep. The first thing I heard in the morning was the whip-poor-will. I saw by the light in the east that it was getting well on towards daylight.

Knowing which direction was east, I knew that the opposite direction would take me to the Mississippi, and in that direction I took my course. I hadn't gone more than a mile when I struck one of our men. He belonged to the cavalry. As he came up to me I asked him which way he was going. He told me he was going to Memphis. "No," said I; "you are going directly east." After talking the matter over we started off together. We had not gone fifty yards when we heard the click of guns and "Halt! you Yanks; throw down your guns!" "Come up here!" "Give me that hat!" "Here, I want them boots!" I had a pocket knife and seven dollars and thirty cents in my pockets. My boots were new, and I had made up my mind to wear them if anybody wore them. So when I took them off, I stuck the point of my knife into the toe and ripped them up to the top of the leg. "Now you d----d Yank, I'll fix you for that." He dropped on his knee, took deliberate aim, and just as his finger pressed the trigger, the rebel captain raised the muzzle of his gun and it went off over my head. The captain said, "That man is a prisoner, and whatever you do don't shoot him."

Well, the Johnnies did not want my boots then, but they took my pocket knife and money. I told them I had been in quite a number of battles, and seen a great many men captured, but that I had never known one of our men to take a single thing from them; that if their men were captured without blankets we gave them some. "Keep your d.a.m.n mouth shut, or I'll plug you yet," said the Johnnie. So I kept it shut, you bet.

The rebel Captain had his son with him, a boy about sixteen years old.

He came up to me and said, "I'se sorry for you." Well, to tell the truth, I was a sorrowful looking object, covered with mud from head to foot, hungry, tired and in the hands of what I knew to be a cruel enemy.

You will perhaps say that I was not much of a soldier when I tell you that I cried. I could not help it. The Captain's boy said, "Don't cry, and I will give you a piece of corn bread." I could not help laughing at the simplicity of the child, and it made me feel better.

Well, they started us for the main road, and you can imagine my astonishment when we came at last to the road, and found that the rebels had 1,800 of our men prisoners. They then started us toward the battle ground. We marched till sundown and then went into camp.

CHAPTER II.

I thought about my brother, but was too tired and worn out to look him up, so lay down on the ground, without blanket or covering of any sort (for the rebels had taken everything and anything that they could make use of) and went to sleep, and I did not waken until I was aroused by the call to fall in. I had had nothing to eat since I left the battle-field, except the piece of corn bread the Captain's boy gave me, and this was the third day.

I was so sore and stiff that it was hard for me to move, and in the march if I did not move fast enough, the Johnnies would prod me with their bayonets. We finally reached the battle-field, and when we got there, the rebels gave each of us a hard tack. Then they got us on a train of cars and started us for Meriden, Miss. Arriving at Meriden, we got off the cars for the evening. You can bet I was glad to stop. When we finally got fixed for what I supposed the evening, we were ordered to form in line, and then the Johnnies went through us again; and what they did not take the first time, they did not leave this time. When they got through with us I went and lay down. I will never forget how good it did feel to stretch out at full length on the ground and rest.

The next morning one of our men asked the guard if he was going to get any rations. "Yes," he answered, "I will give you your rations, you d----d Yank," and deliberately shot the man dead on the spot. In a short time they took us down to the Tombigbee river. From there we went straight through to Andersonville.

When we got within a short distance of that place, we smelt something rather strong. I asked one of the guards what it was. He said, "You will soon find out what it is," and you bet we did.

We were, as I said before, in flat-cars. As we came up to the little station, we could look right over the stockade into the pen. The pen looked then as if it would hold no more. I looked back over the whole train, which carried 1800 men, and wondered how in the world we could all get in there. At this time there were only sixteen acres inclosed by the pen, and it contained about 35,000 men. I little thought that I would get out of Andersonville alive; and oh! how many that marched through the prison gates that day came out on the dead-cart!

The stockade was in the form of a square, and made by placing logs in the ground and forming a fence eighteen feet high. Inside of the main fence was a line of posts set twelve feet from the stockade proper, and joined together with slats about as wide as the hand, thus forming a second fence four feet high which ran parallel to the stockade and all around the pen. This was the dead line. A prisoner that came anywhere near the line was shot by the guards. The guards had little sentry boxes built to the outside, and well up to the side of the stockade; were just high enough to allow the guard's head and shoulders to come above the stockade; these were reached from the outside by means of a ladder.

They took us from the cars and marched us up before Captain Wirz's headquarters. We were formed into line and counted off; were divided into hundreds, and again into squads of twenty-five.

A sergeant was appointed over each department. Captain Wirz came out in front of us and said: "You are a fine looking lot of men. I will fix so you will not want to fight any more."

I will leave the readers to say whether he kept his word. The big gates were now swung back and we marched in. The old prisoners crowded around us and were eager to find out what was going on on the outside, and if there was any chance for an exchange.