prison life in dixie sample

PRISON LIFEIN

D I X I E

GIVING A SHORT HISTORY OF THE INHUMAN

AND BARBAROUS TREATMENT OF OUR

SOLDIERS BY REBEL AUTHORITIES.

BY

SERGEANT OATS.

ILLUSTRATED WITH NUMEROUS FULL PAGEENGRAVINGS.

TO WHICH IS ADDED THE SPEECH OF GEN. J. A. GARFIELD,DELIVERED AT THE ANDERSONVILLE REUNION,

AT TOLEDO, OHIO, OCT. 3, 1879

CHICAGO:

CENTRAL BOOK CONCERN.

1880.

PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE

BY

SERGEANT OATS

As Published in 1880

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DEDICATION

TO THE SURVIVORS OF ANDERSONVILLE

PRISON, MY COMRADES IN SUFFERING,

THIS VOLUME IS DEDICATED.

P R E F A C E .

It is not claimed for this story that it gives a fulland perfect history of the sufferings of the

Union prisoners in the South during the war; but

the writer has endeavored to furnish such descrip-

tions and incidents as will give the reader a true

picture of Rebel Prisons, and the means and meth-

ods of living or dying in them.

In doing this, he has relied on his memory;

selecting those facts and trying to paint those pict-

ures which are clearest and plainest in his own

mind. He has not tried to color these descriptions

—they would not bear it; but has told them in

plain language, just as they seem to him after a

lapse of fifteen years.

ILLUSTRATIONS.

STORM AT NIGHT 3

PLAN OF STOCKADE

RESULT OF CROSSING THE DEAD-LINE 46

DISTRIBUTING RATIONS 52

BREAKING OF THE STOCKADE 6 4

CAPTURED BY BLOOD-HOUNDS 107

WANTED A SHIRT 114

39

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CONTENTS.

CHAPTER I.

Sherman in front of Atlanta.—The Raid.—Sleepy Guards.—Pontoon Boats.—Rebel Camp Surrenders.—In theEnemy’s Land.—Palmetto in Ashes.—A RunningFight . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 13

CHAPTER II.

A Southern Bridge.—Waiting for Stragglers.—Sharpshoot-ers.—Bombshell.—The Capture. . . . . . . . . . . . 22

CHAPTER III.

Robbed.—Traded Hats.—A Rebel Woman.—Stored in aCotton Warehouse.—Taken to Andersonville.—SumterPrison.— The Stockade. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 31

CHAPTER IV.

Arrival at Andersonville.—A Warning.—Hiding Valuables.—“Old Wirtz“.—Stripped, Searched, Robbed andTurned in.—The Dead Line.—How We ObtainedThread. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 40

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10 CONTENTS.

CHAPTER V.

Our New Quarters.—“Nigger Peas.”—Mode of DrawingRations.—Always Hungry.—Vermin.—Horrible.—Fear-

full Mortality . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 50

CHAPTER VI.

Cruelty of our Government.—Study of Human Nature.—Nothing to do.—Church Privileges.—A Catholic Priest.—August Storms.—A Water Spout.—Providence.—ABreak in the Stockade.—A Dash for Liberty. . . . . 59

CHAPTER VII.

Longing for News.—Nothing Reliable could be heardfrom the Rebels.—“Atlanta Gone to——.”—MovingPrisoners.—False Reports about Exchange.—Going outon a Dead Man’s Name.—Crowded into Cars like Stock.—Wrecked . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 68

CHAPTER VIII.

Taken Back to the Pen.—Plans of Escape.—Tunnels.—Bloodhounds.—Poor Drummer Boy.—Our Plan. . . . 77

CHAPTER IX.

A Leap for Freedom.—Our Wardrobe.—A Friendly Alli-gator.—Traveling by Night. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 85

CHAPTER X.

In the Swamps.—Discouraged.—A Fat Frog.—FlintRiver.—A Borrowed Canoe. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 92

CHAPTER XI.

A Provoking Dilemma.—A Chance for Tyndall.—Swim-ming Rivers by Night.—Concealed in a Pile of Rags.—

CONTENTS. 11

A New Trouble.—Almost Starved.—Starve or Steal.—Hopes Growing Brighter.—A Familiar Sound.—Caughtby Bloodhounds.—Rather Die than go back to Anderson-ville. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 98

CHAPTER XII.

Our Captors.—A Hospitality not before Encountered inthe South.—Wanted, A Shirt.—The Situation Discuss-ed.—Kindness . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 110

CHAPTER XIII.

On the Road.—A Mob.—Red-Tape Fops.—Jailed . . . . 119

CHAPTER XIV.

The Columbus Jail.—Better Fare.—To Macon.—NewPlans for Escape.—Camp Lawton. . . . . . . . . . . . 126

CHAPTER XV.

False Promises of Exchange. —Searching for Acquaint-ances.—Presidential Election.—The Result. . . . . 132

CHAPTER XVI.

Attempt to Entice Prisoners to make Shoes for the RebelArmy.—The Temptation.—Enlistments.—Running theGauntlet.—Another Change. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 138

CHAPTER XVII.

Life on the Rail Road.—The Blues.—Great Excitement.—Sherman loose in Georgia.—Swamps.—A Country Resi-dence.—“Poor White Trash.”—A Citizen. . . . . . . 143

CHAPTER XVIII.

“Flanking.”—Exchange.—A Dash for Liberty.—Moved

12 CONTENTS.

Again.—A Square Meal.—Back to Andersonville. 150

CHAPTER XIX.

Andersonville in Winter.—The Weather.—How Fuel wasObtained.—Efforts to Keep Warm.—Good News.—Man-ufacturing Industries.—“Raising” Confed. Money. . . 157

CHAPTER XX.

Sheds.—Spring has come.—-Sighing for News.—Prospectfor Exchange.—Left Alone.—Ready to die. . . . 165

CHAPTER XXI.

The Exchange Stopped.—Wilson’s Raid.—New Hope.—Stocks.—A Hasty Move.—Another Plan to Escape.—Great Excitement Among the Rebs.—Rebel Lies.— Cor-ralled for the Last Time. . . . . . . . . . . . . 173

CHAPTER XXII.

Preparations for Another Move.—Anxiously Waiting.—Rebel Advice—Turned Loose.—A Pathetic Scene.—Tears and Curses.—Manifestations of Joy at Sight ofthe Old Flag.—God’s Country . . . . . . . . . . . 183

CHAPTER XXIII.

Homeward Bound.—A Feast.—Too Happy to Sleep.—Onthe Atlantic.—Ice for the Sick(?).—Home at Last. 192

Speech of Gen. Garfield at the Andersonville Reunion, atToledo, Ohio, Oct. 5, l879 . . . . . . . . . . 199

Andersonville in 1880. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 209

CHAPTER I.

THE RAID.

While Sherman’s army lay in front ofAtlanta, he determined to send his cavalryon a raid to the enemy’s rear, to destroytheir railroad communication. So, on July27th, l864, General Stoneman moved east-ward to pass around the flank of the rebelarmy, and General Ed. McCook, at the sametime, started to pass around the left.

McCook’s command numbered about2,000 men, well mounted and equipped, ofwhich the writer was one.

We all knew the nature of the missionon which we were sent, and felt that it was

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14 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE.

difficult. For it is not easy for two thou-sand men to go behind a hostile army ofsixty thousand, and do any damage, and—get back.

Early on that bright, hot July morning,the bugle called us into line—an inspec-tion was made, and all lame horses or sickmen ordered back to camp. We consoledthose who had to stay behind with thepromise that we would bring them a plugof tobacco when we came back. When wecame back? We shall see.

Thus relieved of all that would encum-ber us, we moved out on the road andstarted westward. We crossed the Chatta-hoochee at Sandtown, and passed down onthe west side about twenty miles to thevicinity of Campbelltown, when the com-mand was ordered to rest under cover ofthe woods, and scouts sent out to find aplace at which to cross the river. Thedifferent scouting parties returned withreports that all the fords and ferries werefortified and guarded by rebel infantry.

About midnight we again mounted, andunder cover of the darkness, with no sound

PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE. 15

but the tread of our horses on the sandyroad, we crept down the river about fivemiles farther, to an old, deserted ferry.Two companies were stationed at thispoint, and they had a picket-post on ourside of the river; four men and an officerwere on guard, but thinking the Yankswere far away they had set their gunsagainst a tree, built a little fire to smokeoff the mosquitoes, and were quietly snooz-ing when our scouts crept up, moved theguns from the tree, and then, with theirown guns cocked and ready, waked up thepickets and told them to keep very quiet,as we wished to cross the river withoutdisturbing any one.

We halted on the river bank, our pon-toon wagons were ordered up, and we hadtwo boats made and launched in a fewminutes.

For many of our readers, I will statethat the pontoons taken by the cavalry ontheir raids were light frames that couldbe put together or taken apart in a mo-ment. When the frame or skeleton was

put together, a cloth of thick canvas was


stretched over it, fastened at the corners,and it was ready to launch. The materialfor a boat twenty feet long, six wide, andtwo deep, could be carried in a very smallspace.

Four companies crossed, and deployedalong the east bank; the rest drew up inline on the west shore and waited for day.As soon as it was light enough, the troopson the east side surrounded the rebelcamp, and they surrendered without firinga gun.

crossing the river, but it was almost noonbefore the entire command was across.

Preparations were at once begun for

From here the pontoon wagons were sentback under a guard. Our prisoners wereturned loose because we had no way oftaking care of them, and we started rapid-ly across the country in search of theAtlanta & West Point railroad.

When we left the river, after seeing ourbridge taken out on the other side, werecognized that we were no longer a partof the great army before Atlanta, but adetached brigade in the enemy’s land, with


a powerful army between us and our camp-ground. The news of the raid wouldspread like a prairie fire; we would beheaded off, followed up, and harrassed.Our safety lay in rapid movement.

We traveled well that afternoon. Atabout eight o’clock, in the midst of a thun-der shower, we came upon the railroadnear the town of Palmetto.

We deployed a skirmish line and movedon the town. A company of rebel cavalryfired one volley and fled, and we posted aheavy picket to prevent surprise, and wentto work. The rain ceased by the time wewere fairly at work, and the stars cameout.

We tore down the telegraph wire, woundup a quarter of a mile of it, and sunk itin a pond. We tore up as much railroadtrack, made fires of the ties, and piled therails on them, so as to heat and bend them.

There were a half-dozen freight carson the side track, and a large quantity ofbacon in the depot, and four or five ware-houses filled with baled cotton near thetrack. These were fired—and what a ter-

2


rible fire they made! The whole town andsurrounding country were lit up by thered glare.

The clouds overhead reflected the lightand shone like red sunset. The fire be-came so hot that no one would pass alongthe street. It spread to adjacent build-ings. The citizens were seen scamperingin all directions. Even women—some ofthem in their night clothes, with white,scared faces—flitted from alley to streetand from street to alley. Palmetto at sun-set knew that there was war in the land,but she lay down secure in the feeling thatshe had a grand army in front of her todefend her from invasion. Before midnightshe realized that war—destructive, terri-ble, cruel—was in her midst. The nextmorning arose upon a blackened ruin. Itwas the track of war.

A little before midnight our work wasdone, and we swept out of town toward theeast. Just east of town we passed a planta-tion where two or three hundred negroes,of all ages and sexes, were sitting on thefence watching the red glare of the burning


village. The light was bright enough tomake everything distinct. As we rode by,one old “aunty” raised her hands towardheaven and cried aloud, “Bress de Lord!de jubilee hab come!”

At about three o’clock A. M., we cameupon a large park of army wagons; wewere told that there were eight hundredof them. Hood had sent them back thereto have them safe. We took the mules,burned the wagons, and turned the driversloose.

At about seven o’clock that morning westruck the Macon railroad near Lovejoystation, where we expected to form a junc-tion with Stoneman, who had startedaround the other way.

We treated this road like we did the

other; captured and destroyed a train ofcars, and sent out scouts in all directionsto feel for Stoneman.

Some of our scouts came back to tell usthat there was rebel cavalry near us. Somedid not come back at all. No word or signfrom Stoneman could we get. We feared

20 PRISON LIFE IN DIXIE

he was in trouble, or “gone up,” but wewanted some word.

But as evidence multiplied that theJohnnies were thickening around us, we allbecame impatient. Croxton and Brownlowwere chafing like caged tigers. They feltthat waiting was fatal. (I have alwaysbelieved that Croxton could have taken usout of the scrape.) But McCook was lothto leave without first learning the fate ofStoneman.

About two o’clock P.M. he gave it up. Bythis time the rebs had surrounded us, andwere just waiting to see how we wouldtry to get out. We skirmished with themfor an hour, feeling their line on the westand south, and losing five or six men killed.We then massed our forces, and chargingup a ravine, broke their line and fled; andall that afternoon, and the night following,we had a running fight, they crowding ourrear the whole time.

Whenever they would get too close, oneor two companies of our command wouldbe deployed to skirmish with them. Thiswould cause them to halt and form for


attack, and thus give us a little time.True, these companies were often captured,but they were sacrificed to save the restof the command.

CHAPTER II.

THE CAPTURE.

The first chapter closed with our flightafter we cut through the rebel’s line nearLovejoy station. Twice during the after-noon they pressed our rear so closely thatwe were obliged to deploy a skirmish lineand show fight, in order to gain time. Butafter dark, we rode on without hearing orseeing anything of our pursuers, and thehope that they had encamped for thenight was struggling for a place in ourminds; though, really, our knowledge ofour pursuers (Wheeler’s cavalry) gave ussmall room for hope.

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The night was warm; there was nowind, and a haze crept up, till the onlystars visible were those near the zenith.

About midnight we came to a littleriver. We approached it, coming down asloping hillside for perhaps two hundredyards, through a scrubby growth of oak,known as oak barrens, which is commonin many parts of the South. The road hadbeen changed about on this hillside tillthere were five or six parallel tracks andditches running among the brush.

A bridge of Southern style spanned thisriver. Let me describe it: Three cribs, orpens of logs, 6x16 feet, and ten feet high:are placed about twenty feet apart in theriver. These are connected with eachother and with the shore by four round“sleepers” to each span. The bridge isthen floored with split slabs, or puncheons.The banks of the river were about as highas the cribs.

After crossing this bridge the road runsacross a bottom of about fifty or sixtyyards, and then turns an oblique angle tothe right, and keeps along the foot of the


hill for awhile. A field fills up the bottomland between the road and the river,reaching down to the bridge.

When we came to this bridge, my com-pany (C) was ordered to remain behind andguard it for half an hour, in order to let ourstragglers get across, and then to burn it.

These stragglers were men whose horseshad failed in the run of the three daysand nights since we started, t i l l theycouldn’t keep up.

Our company flanked out, and as soon asthe rest of the command filed past, we dis-mounted. Number fours took our horsesup around the turn in the road, about aquarter of a mile, and held them.

This left us forty-six men to guard andburn the bridge. Tom B— was detailedto go to the top of the hill in the bar-rens, and stand picket. The rest of uspulled down ten or fifteen panels of rail-fence, and carried the rails onto the bridgefor kindling, and built up a good fire onthe ground to have plenty of brands tostick into it when the word should be

given.


The memory of that night forms a clear,distinct picture. As our fire burned in theroad, lighting up the bridge and shiningagainst the trees, and throwing dark shad-ows on the muddy waters in the river,forty-five men stood and looked each otherin the face. Not a solitary straggler hadcome to the bridge since we stopped.What did it mean? To the old soldier itmeant that the sleepless foe was near. Itmight be a good time to think of homeand friends, or we might—

“Who goes there?”“Who the — are you?”Bang! Bang!It was Tom’s challenge, and the answer

left no doubt as to who was challenged.One bullet went singing to the north, theother buried itself in the bridge at ourfeet. Tom came down the hill double-quick. He did not know whether he hithis man or not.

We stuck our fire among the rails andretreated to the bend in the road. Justaround the turn the road was washed outinto a kind of ditch, and by lying down


in it, we had a full sweep of the bridgethrough the bottom crack of the rail-fence. Here we halted to watch our firetill it would get beyond the possibilityof being put out.

For a few minutes all was still. Our firewas beginning to take hold of the bridge,and we were thinking of running for ourhorses, when suddenly a sheet of flameflashed out of the brush for a quarter of amile up the river, followed by a tremen-dous crash.

They had crept up and formed in silence,and were pouring a deadly fire into thethicket that lined the south bank. After afew rounds and no reply, we heard thecommand:

“Onto the bridge and throw off thatfire. Quick!”

About a hundred men came out of thebrush and crowded onto the bridge.

We lay in that ditch, and thrust themuzzles of our guns through the lowest,crack in the fence. They were in a stronglight. We waited until the bridge was


full, and the foremost man had reachedthe fire and began to throw off the rails.Then we let them have it. The range wasabout seventy-five yards. Some fell on thebridge, some went over it’s sides into theriver, and some retreated. We clearedthe bridge; nobody could stand our well-directed fire. We drew their fire towardus. A shower of balls battered against thefence, and as many passed over us, butwe were not hit. We never attempted toanswer their fire; but whenever a manshowed himself about the bridge, weplugged him.

The fire got under good headway, andwe slipped up that ditch and ran to ourhorses, mounted, and made our best speedto overtake our conmand. We caught upjust as morning began to dawn. As soonas it was light we halted to feed; but be-fore our horses were half done eating, therebels were upon us again. Knowing thecountry better than we did, they had cross-ed the river at another place, and dashedon to cut us off from Chattahoochee.

We tried to make a stand, but they out-


numbered us, and flanked us, and we wereforced to save ourselves by flight.

We came into the neighborhood of New-man, and found that eight thousand in-fantry were there prepared to receiveus. With these fresh troops before us andWheeler’s cavalry behind us, we foundourselves in a fix. But worn out as weand our horses were, we charged, andfought our way to the right, and wouldhave reached the Chattahoochee if wecould have found a road.

By this time we were demora1ized. Wehad all lost confidence in McCook. I don’tbelieve there was a man in the brigadethat would have paid any attention tohim after we passed Newman. But curses,bitter and deep, were heaped on him onall sides.

We broke up into squads, following ourown regimental or company commanders,or, still worse, two or three old comradesswearing to live or die together, and goingon their own hook.

A good many of us stuck to Lieut.-Col.

Kelley, and rode through the woods till we


got into a piece of swampy ground nearthe river, where our horses mired. Wedismounted. There I parted from Bomb-shell; a better mare never grew upon Ken-tucky bluegrass. We had fared togetherfor a thousand miles, had drank and bathedin a hundred rivers. She had never knownany other master, and I was more partnerthan master. I hope she died in thatswamp, and that no Johnnie ever had herto show as a trophy of that chase, or rodeher against that flag she had followed solong. Alas! poor Bombshell! She did notfully understand all the questions involvedin the war, but she was a true soldier.

Leaving our horses, we tried to get tothe river on foot, intending to swim it andescape, if possible. But as we came out ofthe jungle, we fronted a battalion of cav-alry. Their guns were aimed.

“Halt! ”

We threw up our hands, and they rodedown on us to receive our arms.

We had in Company A of our regimenta man who deserted the rebels at the bat-tle of Perryville, and enlisted with us. As


the rebs came down, he recognized his oldcomrades, and knowing he would be shot

anyway, he resolved to sell his life for allit would bring. So, as they came up, heshot the Major through the heart, killinghim at once. The next instant he fellamong us riddled with balls, and his rashdeed came near causing the death of everyone of us.

“Kil l every—— —— ——!” crieda rebel officer in excitement.

Just then we saw Wheeler and staff, andcalled to him. The Johnnies pointed totheir dead officer and claimed treachery.But the General ordered them to guard usas prisoners, and not to shoot any one whosurrendered.

They took charge of us.“Give me that gun.” I handed it up,

“Give me your cartridge-box.” “Here itis.” “Give me that poncho—give me thatblanket.”

I think the troop that captured us was abattalion of the Third Texas Cavalry.

CHAPTER III.

TAKEN TO ANDERSONVILLE

There were fifty or sixty of us togetherwhen captured in the edge of the swamp.After disarming us we were taken a short

distance to a road. Here we were haltedand guarded, while the rebs scoured thewoods and continued the pursuit. The re-port of firearms was heard far and near,and every little while a squad of prisonerswould be added to our company, till wenumbered over three hundred, when theystarted us toward Newman.

By talking together we learned muchof the extent of our disaster. We learned

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from some of Brownlow's men that hehad crossed the Chattahoochee, swimminghis horse; a few of his men got across withhim, a number were shot in the river, andthose who told me the story were cap-tured on the east bank. This Col. Brown-low was a son of the famous old Parson ofEast Tennessee. He had a good deal of theOld Parson in him, and owing to certaindeeds performed in former raids in his owncountry, he knew it was best for him tokeep out of rebel hands. I was glad tolearn afterwards that he succeeded inreaching our lines, much to their dis-appointment.

The troops who were guarding us wereTexans, and did not scruple to rob us ofany private property that caught their eye.Our ponchos were in demand. Then theyrobbed most of us of our canteens. Ofcourse we gave them up under protest.None but an old soldier can appreciateour loss in these. We also swapped hatsand boots with them, utterly destroyingour faith in the old maxim that “it takestwo to make a bargain.”


My boots were too small for any thattried them, and I was allowed to keep

them; but my neat, soft felt hat of theBurnside pattern, was lifted off my headby a long-haired fellow, who gave me inexchange his C. S. regulation tile. Everyold soldier remembers the old white hatsthat we found scattered over every battle-field and camp ground out of which wechased the Johnnies, from the Ohio Riverto the Gulf of Mexico.

To the reader who was not in the army Iwill say, the hat that I received was madeof white wool, felted about a quarter of aninch thick, and when I got it, it was a lightgray color, and was about the size andshape of an old washpan. I wore it toprison, and for many long mouths it servedme for a shelter from the hot sun, for acushion to sit on when the sand was toohot to be comfortable, and for a pillow atnight. After sitting around in the rain allday, I think it would have weighed fivepounds.

When they got ready to start towardNewman, we were marched along the road

3


in four ranks, with Rebels to right of us,Rebels to left of us, Rebels in front of us—it spoils the poetry—Rebels behind us.

They rode. We walked. It was hot anddusty. Remember we had been in thesaddle both the preceding nights, and weretired and sleepy.

As we passed a house one of the rebelofficers called at the gate for a drink ofwater. A nice-looking lady came out, ac-companied by a black girl who bore thepitcher. She gave him and two or threeothers a drink, and they gave her a boast-ful account of how they had scooped us.She then turned toward us and our guard,and with a pleasant smile asked, “Wouldany of you soldiers like a drink?” One ofour boys said, “Madam, I would like adrink, please.” The smile faded out and a

look of contempt took its place, as sheanswered, “You low-flung, thieving Yank—would I give you a drink? Not unless ithad strychnine in it. You ought to be hung,every one of you!”

I write this incident because it helps to


show the feeling of the South toward theUnion army.

We got to Newman about the middle ofthe afternoon, and were put in an old cot-ton warehouse and closely guarded. Whenwe entered that warehouse we found fouror five hundred of our comrades alreadyin. Our greetings were not joyous, theusual form being, “What? You, too! I wasin hopes you had escaped.”

They kept adding to our numbers tillnight, and by that time a majority of thecommand that left Sherman’s lines fourdays before was in the hands of the enemy.And what added to the bitterness of ourcapture was that we felt that it was dueto the incompetence of our leader.

They kept us at Newman that night andthe next day while they mended the rail-road at Palmetto. As soon as they couldget a train through they moved us to EastPoint, a junction only six miles from At-lanta. Here we lay one night and day, inhearing of Sherman’s guns. From therewe were taken to Andersonville, arrivingthere about noon, August 26.


Andersonville is a small town on theMacon & S. W. R. R. At that time it did

not contain over a dozen houses, and mostof these were poor shanties. There wereonly two or three respectable residences.There was one store, kept in part of thedepot building, and a cotton warehouse.The cotton warehouse is to a Georgia rail-road station what the grain elevator is inIowa. The town was built in a pine forest,many of the stumps and a few of the treesstill remaining in the streets and yards,and the woods encroaching on it at almostevery point.

A little brook ran through the town, fur-nishing a natural sewer for its filth andoffal. Just east of the village was the rebelcamp of three or four thousand troops,mostly Georgia militia, composed of mentoo old and boys too young for field ser-vice. These were the prison guards.

Still farther to the east, about half amile from the station, was the pen, calledby the rebs “Sumter prison,” but knownall over the North as Andersonville PrisonPen. This pen was about fifty rods long


and thirty-six wide. It lay across the samebrook that ran through the village and therebel camp. The stream ran to the east.It divided the pen into two parts, knownto us as “North side” and “South side.”North side contained about seven and a halfacres, South side about three and a half.

The prison wall was of hewn timber,placed on end six feet in the ground, andextending twelve feet above ground—mak-ing a solid wall eight inches thick. Nearthe top of this wall, on the outside, wereplatforms, or sentry-boxes, with sheds builtover them to keep off the sun and rain, sothat the guard had a comfortable place inwhich to stand and watch what was go-ing on in the pen. There were about fiftyof these boxes around the stockade.

There were two gates, a “north” anda “south” gate, both on the west side ofthe pen. Here again north and south havereference to sides of the brook. Thesegates were small stockade pens, aboutthirty feet square, with heavy doors, open-ing into the prison on one side and out-

side on the other. If the inner door was


opened the outer door was always shut,and vice versa.

There was another wall outside the oneI have named, about two hundred feet fromit, running part way round. This outerwall was not continuous, but had largeopenings in it, in which artillery wasplaced in such position that they couldrake the prison with grape or shell if they

so desired.

From the north side, by looking overthe stockade where it crossed the hollow,we could see Wirtz’s headquarters above,and our hospital below. From the southside, in looking over the same way wecould see the quarters of a pack of bloodhounds, “the old Redfield,” and a partof the town.

EXPLANATION OF STOCKADE.(See next page.)

1. ST O C K A D E . 10 & 11. OUTER S TOCKADES.

2. “DEAD LINE,”12. EA R T H W O R K F ORTIFICATIONS .

3. BR O O K

13. LO C A T I O N O F H OSPITAL .

4. SWAP.

14. PLACE WHERE THE S UR-

5. RE B E L S U T T L E R S .

G E O N S P R E S C R I B E D F O R T H E

S I C K A N D A D M I T T E D T O T H E

6. BA K E H O U S E F O R C O R N - B R E A D

8. & 9. ENTRANCES .

H O S P I T A L .

CHAPTER IV.

STRIPPED AND TURNED IN.

In my last I gave you a general descrip-tion of the Andersonville pen. The guardwho took us from East Point to the prisonwere Tennessee soldiers—Ninth TennesseeInfantry, I think. They were old soldiers,and they treated us well.

I noticed while in the army, and havemarked it since, that soldiers who were, inthe front, on either side, respect each other;while the post guards and others who arealways in the rear of the real battle line,have a great contempt for the prowess ofthe enemy.

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When our train came to a stop at theAndersonville depot, we saw about twentymen, dressed in what had once passed forConfederate uniform, but so ragged anddirty as to be past recognition. They wereloading wagons, and occasionally one ofthem passed close to the train. Theynever looked at us, but as they passedclose by they were repeating over andover, as though they would forget it, thissong: “If you have any money, hide it.If you have any valuables, hide them.”

We took it as a sign and acted on it.Some ripped a small hole and slippedmoney in the hem and collars of blouses,some in boots—every safe place you couldthink of. I had one ten-dollar bill. I fold-ed it small, peeled off the outside leaf of aplug of “Ole Verginny,” wrapped it care-fully around my bill, and laid it in mycheek. I didn’t chew that quid very vigor-ously.

As the rebs had to detail a guard of mil-itia after we got there, we had ample timefor all this hiding, and our Tennesseeguards paid no attention to our efforts.


About two o’clock the guard came andtook us off the cars. They marched usthrough the rebel camp, and about halfway between it and the pen, on a slopingplain of bright yellow sand, they halted usand opened us into single ranks. Afterwaiting awhile here, the sun roasting ourheads and the sand stewing our feet, oldWirtz came out with a squad of men tosearch us. This was my first view of thatnotorious Switzer. He was dressed in asuit of white duck, with a Panama hat, andriding a white horse.

He rode down our lines and cursed usfor being raiders; then gave his commandsso that all could hear:

“If any man stoops down, or sits down,or tries to hide anything, shoot him!”

“Strip ’im! Take everything he got!I make ’im tink it is hell!”

I would not write this last sentence if Ithought there was anything profane aboutit; but after a few month’s suffering in thathorrid pen, I concluded the old Dutchmanhad not even used the hyperbole, but hadsimply stated a fact in strong language.


Two large boxes were brought to put theplunder in, and the search was begun.They made us take off all our clothes andlay them out in front of us, and stand therenaked while they searched them. Theyturned all the pocket’s, then felt all theseams and hems, and if they felt a lump,they would throw that garment on theirpile. They took and kept all watches,rings, knives, money, pipes, and even pic-tures of wives and sweethearts. One boytried to make out that he could not get hisring off.

“If the ring no come off, take te finger,”said Wirtz.

After they were satisfied with their ex-amination, they would throw back suchgarments as they allowed us to have. Ifwe had any extras about our clothes theykept them. I went through and retainedshirt, blouse and pants. My blouse andpants were pretty good, my shirt was wellworn. They kept my boots, but allowedme the hat I received from the Texan.

I learned afterwards that they did not al-ways strip prisoners quite so closely as they


did us. A whole brigade, captured at Ply-mouth, N. C., and called by the other pris-oners. “Plymouth pilgrims,” came into the

pen with their blankets and overcoats.Their good luck was exceptional. TheWestern troops were stripped worse thanthe Eastern, and cavalry worse than in-fantry. Their excuse for this was that theWestern cavalry was always raiding anddestroying their property.

After being searched, we were taken tothe north gate; a door was opened in thegate-pen (a kind of ante-room, thirty feetsquare), and ninety men were crowded intoit. The door was then closed, and anotherdoor was opened into the prison, and wewere counted again as we passed through.Then a new ninety were let in and countedthrough, and so on to the end. I neverknew why they kept us in nineties, butthey did. Each ninety was counted everyday, and we drew rations from that count.

Thus we entered Andersonville prison.

Remember it was about thirty-six by fifty

rods, containing about eleven acres, with a


wall twelve feet high around it, and a littlebrook running through it.

About twenty feet from the wall, ran arow of stakes with a slender rail tacked onthem; this was the “dead line.” In someplaces the rail had been knocked off, andonly the stakes marked the boundary be-tween life and death; for if any one crossedthe line, he was shot without warning.

This leads me to make a remark on the“dead-lines,” which were common to allSouthern prisons. Sometimes this line wasas at Andersonville, within a stockade, andthe guard were stationed upon the wall up-on the alert to pick off any unfortunate whowas so incautious as to step over. In somecases the prisons were temporary, and hadnot even a stockade. A rope was drawn;and if any prisoner, for the sake of wood,water, or any other cause, stepped beyondit, an instantaneous shot warned all othersto beware of his untimely fate.

When our command got in, there werethirty-three thousand men in that pen! Canyou realize that fact? Take the entire pop-

ulation of two average counties in Iowa


or Illinois, and crowd them onto elevenacres, and you have not enough then. Re-duce it, and you find that you have abouteighteen men to the square rod, Some ofthese men had a little shelter of their ownproviding. Some took two sticks aboutfour feet long, stuck them in the groundabout six feet apart, fixed a little pole fromone to the other, fastened one edge of ablanket to the pole, and, drawing the otheredge back till it was straight, piled sandenough on it to hold it, or took wooden pinsand pinned it to the ground.

Such a tent, or shade, answered for fourmen. I have known six to occupy one. Ofcourse they could not all lie down under it,but they could all squat under it to keepoff the sunshine. If a party had no blanket,they could sometimes make a substitute byripping up pants, shirts, jackets, etc., andsewing them together. These garmentswere obtained by stripping the dead.

If a man had money, he could buy sacks(made of strong, coarse cotton cloth) of thequartermaster who issued our rations. Atthe time of our capture, sacks two feet


wide and three feet long cost two dollarseach in greenbacks, or eight in confed.Thread to sew with was obtained by ravel-ing out a piece of sack. Sometimes wedrew rations in these sacks, and could keepthem until ration time the next day. Whenthis was the case, we were bound to returnthe sack or lose our next ration; but wecould cut off the bottom of it two or threeinches and not be detected, if we sewed itup as it had been. These strips furnishedthread for the ninety.

About two hundred prisoners were tailed outside, on parole, to help handlerations, to cook, and to dig trenches tobury in, etc. It was they who warned usto hide our money at the depot. They sleptin the gate, or ante-room, of nights—atleast part of them did. Through them weobtained the stakes and poles to put up ourmeager tents. When the inside door wouldbe opened of a morning, they would pitchthem in beyond the dead-line to theirfriends. If you had no friend out on parole,the set, two stakes four feet long, and a polesix feet long, would cost you fifty cents.


The “Plymouth pilgrims” nearly all hadblanket tents, such as I have described, and

a good many others had something thatwould at least partly keep the sun off; butthe majority of that vast crowd had noshelter of any kind. They entered therestripped and robbed. The dew beaded theirhair and beard at night, and they swelteredunder that burning sun, and groveled inthat roasting sand by day. What had theydone? Answered their country’s call, and fol-lowed its flag.

4

CHAPTER V.

HORRIBLE.

All the space was claimed and occupiedbefore we got there. Just imagine one ortwo of those half-faced tents on everysquare rod, and ten or twelve men withoutshelter claiming room on the same.

Some one claimed every foot. The firstfew nights we just dropped down whereverwe could find room enough, and refused tomove for threats, curses, or lice, and wecertainly had full rations of each.

Four of us determined to stick together,and after hunting two or three days wefound a place six feet square, about the

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middle of the south side. Five men hadowned it, but three were dead, and theother two were willing to vacate for a smallconsideration. We bought three sacks andmade us a shelter. It took a week to getused to the horrid place.

During this crowded period we drewcooked rations. Our bread was made of un-sifted meal and water, without salt, or any-thing to lighten it; baked in large sheetsabout two inches thick. When cut up intosingle rations, each man received a pieceabout two by three inches, and as thick asthe sheet or loaf. In addition to this, wereceived about half a pint of cooked beansor peas. They were raised in the South tofeed slaves, and were called the “nigger

peas,” but I think they are really a speciesof coarse black bean. There is one thing infavor of the “Pea” theory, however. Theywere almost invariably full of bugs, and asissued to us, the bugs were the only season-ing they had. Once in a while a smallration of rice was given in place of thebeans. About twice a week we received asmall ration of meat. If pork, about one

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