Eckles’ Narrative
“Eckles’ Narrative” appeared 1885 in the New Castle, PA newspaper The Courant. This eighteen part narrative concerns the capture of Plymouth and the imprisonment that followed. This narrative originally appeared in our 2000 & 2001 issues of our former newsletter, Voices from Plymouth. I am missing an electronic version of the Volume 6, March 2001 issue, so parts 9 & 10 are currently not included. I will work on re-transcribing those parts.
Eckles’ Narrative should be important to all Plymouth Pilgrim descendants as well as researchers. This narrative covers the Battle of Plymouth, NC and his subsequent imprisonment at Andersonville, GA & Charleston & Florence, SC.
I do want to note that this narrative was written 20 years after the fact and in some cases I have added words or phrases to help clarify or correct the text. All of these comments will be in brackets. I want to thank Bob Porter for bringing this narrative to my attention. His ancestor, Samuel Porter, Co. H, 101st PA, had cut the article out of the newspaper at the time it was published and glued it into an old book. This book remains in the Porter family today. Thanks Bob & Sam!!
William Campbell Eckles, Sergeant, Co. C, 101st PA was born 12 June 1841 in Wampum, Lawrence County, PA, and was the son of Asa Eckles. He was a school teacher when both he & his brother, James (1st Sgt of Co. C), enlisted in September of 1861. James would later be wounded at the Battle of Fair Oaks/Seven Pines, VA. James went home after being discharged and died on the 1st of March 1863. William would continue with the 101st and was captured along with the rest of the regiment on April 20th, 1864 at Plymouth. He was held captive at Andersonville, GA and Charleston & Florence, SC then finally paroled. On June 9th, 1870 he married Nancy Sampson and later became a member of New Castle Post No. 100, GAR and was an excellent accountant in the 6th Auditor’s Office of the US Treasury Depot where he served throughout the rest of his life. He died September 18th, 1890 in Washington, DC and is buried in Greenwood Cemetery, New Castle, Lawrence Co., PA.
I
The Occupation and Capture of Plymouth.
Washington, D.C., March 13th, 1885.
Dear Courant: --
To write an article for the soldier column of your interesting paper that those who shared with us the hardships and privations of the camp, the battle and prison pen will pause long enough to read, now that over 20 years have elapsed, is a task. With this march of time the hair has grayed and fallen, the limbs have stiffened, the form has bowed, and the boy of the sixties is now the silvered veteran in middle age. But when the mind goes back over the scenes of war, the firs of youth are ablaze again, and in imagination we sit around the old camp fire and fight the battles over again.
Early in the spring of 1864, the 101st regiment, Penn's Volunteers, together with other troops of the Army of the Potomac, in all about 2,400 men, under command of Gen. Wessels, was sent to possess Plymouth, on the Roanoke [River], North Carolina, situated (60) miles from Goldsborough. I was at that time very closely connected with the General commanding and knew that this point was to be a new base of operations against the south of Petersburg and Richmond. Our object was to seize and destroy the Weldon [rail] road at Goldsborough, thus destroying the enemy's southern connection, but for some unexplained reason this idea was abandoned and Butler's army was sent up the James River to make for the railroads and Petersburgh. How the gallant Roundheads remember the bloody days and nights spent for the possession of these points during the summer and fall of 1864 and the winter and spring of 1864-5.
The movement from Plymouth being abandoned we were left to hold possession of that part of North Carolina. We were aware that at Williamston, thirty (30) miles up the river the enemy was building a terrible iron ram with the intention of cleaning out the forces at Plymouth, Washington, Roanoke Island and New Berne.
Not long had we to wait until their intentions were attempted and partially carried out. In addition to our land force we were supported by the gunboats "Miami," "Southfield," and "Bombshell" which were anchored in the river opposite the town.How well I remember that mild Sabbath morning of April 17th, 1864, and well will the boys of the old 101st regiment mind it. While seated at my desk in the Adjutant General's office arranging the detail for the duties of the different officers and commands for the day, a contraband brought the news that the whole country outside was full of men and guns. Scarcely had this information been received when a courier from the front dashed up with the intelligence that our outposts had been attacked and driven in and that the enemy was approaching in heavy force. Hoke, of the rebel army, was in our front with sixteen regiments of infantry, one regiment of cavalry and eight batteries of artillery. We were confronted with an overwhelming force and fight we had to, with defeat staring us in the face.
Their land force was reinforced on Monday [Tuesday] morning by the monster iron ram, the "Albemarle," a magnificently constructed vessel and one of the most powerful water fiends that ever confronted our navy. Sunday night was one of awful suspense. A picket boat had been sent up the river late in the afternoon of the same day to watch the movements of our expected visitor. It returned after nightfall and announced the cautious approach of the monster down the river. Commodore Flusser of the naval squadron was immediately apprised of the approach of his enemy and made ready for the fray. His vessels all being wooden, he arranged for the reception of his guests to the best advantage. The Commodore came on shore and up to headquarters as soon as his arrangements were complete, to confer with the commander of the land force, and how grandly he looked, all fight. In the presence of the General, how well I remember his last words. "Well, Commodore," said the old General, looking him over, "are you ready for the dance?" "Yes," he said with an oath, smilingly, "I have the Miami and the Southfield chained together at the stern and headed up stream in the channel; the night being dark she will glide in between my vessels and by G-d I will crowd her to the shore and sink her or go to h--l in the attempt!"
She came as was anticipated - right down the channel and between our two boats, ramming her long iron prow into the Southfield, which commenced to sink and would have taken the ram down with her, had not Captain French, then in command, ordered the chains cut, thus allowing his antagonist to back out; the Miami and Bombshell fleeing down the river.
I should mention that when the approach of the ram was signaled Flusser, soldier every inch of him, trained and fired the first gun. The shot exploded at the muzzle of the gun, killing him almost instantly.
We were now completely cooped, no chance of succor from the outside. It became now a matter of endurance with us.
Two o'clock Monday [Tuesday] morning Gen. Wessells said to me, "go down immediately to the lower landing and learn what you can." The morning was dark as could be. Getting myself into a comfortable position I had not long to wait until I heard coming slowly down stream on the west shore what I imagined to be our picket boat, but which proved to be our iron ribbed enemy. Cautiously she approached our fleet. I was near enough (the river being very narrow) to hear suppressed voices coming from aboard the nailed monster. The commander giving his directions such as, "There they are - steady - make a sure plunge," etc. The combat ended, the crew of the Southfield leaped into the water and made an effort to swim ashore. The guard aboard the ram commenced firing upon them while in the water. Clearly and distinctly above the din of the combat I could hear Capt. Cook of the Albemarle say, "For God's sake don't shoot those poor fellows in the water!"
Hastily returning I communicated to the General, "The ram is here and our fleet gone under."
Being thus so completely surrounded the surrender was only a question of time. Wednesday morning the 20th day of April 1864, we were made prisoners of war, and marched off to Andersonville Georgia, and enjoyed for a time the hospitalities of that long to be remembered Golgotha, until death or the termination of the war, brought our release.
Sometime in the future I may write concerning the life of a prisoner of war.
W. C. Eckles,
101st PA. Vols
II
From Plymouth to Andersonville.
Washington, D.C. April 13, 1885.
BY W. C. ECKLES.
Dear Courant: - The close of my last letter found me a prisoner of war. It was on Wednesday morning the 20th day of April 1864, just after the break of day when if under the protection of our flag, we would have been indulged in coffee and hardtack around our own camp-fire. Our line was broken on the left by the charging columns of Gen. Ransom aided by the slimy monster in the river below. I was captured by Gen. Ransom himself, and was immediately given in charge of Major Latham of the 17th, North Carolina Regiment, and by him conducted to the headquarters of Gen. Hoke who commanded the land force operating against our position. Hoke had established his headquarters at John Johnson's on the Coneby road and near the centre of his line. I was ushered into his presence and introduced as a Plymouth pilgrim, who had been caught sighting the position of the ram and of their forces. Hoke betook himself to plying me with the usual questions, such as the number of troops inside the position, location and strength of our works. I made answer to suit myself, when he became satisfied that I didn't know anything, he turned me over to my gallant rebel Major who promenaded me around among their soldiers as if I was a strange wild animal, or a being from some other world. I was again made the target for all kinds of questions, coming right and left from these confederate homespuns. Some of the more intelligent of their number said to me, certainly you are a "moon struck theorist" and would laugh at the idea of our whipping the South. What appeared most to trouble their souls was, what are you'ns going to do with we'ns n-----s when you'ns get them? My answer invariably was, Confiscate your lands, hang you'ns and give your lands, women and children to the n-----s. This would put them on their metal and all kinds of threats did they make against my life.
After my guard had exhibited me as long as he deemed prudent, we retired to the friendly and inviting shade of an apple tree in the garden, and there upon the green grass we had a social game of cards and a smoke. The cards I found had gotten into my pocket in some mysterious way, and the cigars were his. While thus killing time, from our position we could hear the rage of the combat around and within our works. About ten o'clock small squads of our boys were brought out as prisoners. From that time until 1 o'clock p.m. man by man and squad by squad was gobbled up, and at 2 o'clock our flag went down leaving our works in possession of the enemy.
Before surrendering, the color bearer of our regiment buried the old banner, all rent with shot and shell, near the works behind which they had so gallantly fought. The 85th New York Regiment [I believe he is talking about the 16th CT] rather than let their flag fall into the hands of the enemy, tore it into small fragments and divided it around among the boys, and on many occasions when in Andersonville, upon hearing good news from our armies, we would skirmish around and get enough pieces together to have the appearance of a United States flag and sing and yell and dance around it like boys and girls at a country frolic.
The night of the 20th we bivouacked outside our works, and what a time for meditation out from under the protection of our flag and the Government which we had sworn to protect and defend. What would be our doom in the face of the action of the rebel Congress toward troops captured in any district or department under command of Gen. Butler. The timid among our number feared an indiscriminate slaughter as at Fort Pillow. For we had enlisted and doing duty with us about 300 negroes formerly slaves, and any soldiers now living who was with us will well remember how the next morning after our capture, the rebel soldiers went gunning, as they termed it, through the woods and in the swamps for any of the negro soldiers who escaped our lines the night before (permission having been given them to do so.) When the crack of a rebel gun was heard in the woods or swamps, a yell would go up from their ranks. Theirs another d----d n----r Yankee gone to h--l. This I know, that of the 300 colored troops, not one ever found his way inside a rebel prison. The reader can judge in the face of this statement what became of them.
The morning of the 21st after having issued rations to us from our stores captured the day before, we were ordered into ranks and under command of their officers marched around the outside of our works, their bands playing "Dixie" and the girl we were leaving behind us etc., from the top of our breastworks, and how terribly humiliating. Little yet did we know of what we were destined to suffer for daring to do right. About 10 o'clock our column was set in motion, for a far off someplace, the wonder land - Andersonville, Georgia; pictured by those guarding us as the most inviting spot the sun ever shown on. With fine barracks, cool shady walks, pure running streams of water, crystal springs bubbling up, and plenty to eat. That appeared all fair, and we almost yearned to gambol amidst such beauties.
From Plymouth to Tarboro, the point at which we were to take the cars for our journey was 60 miles. The first days march carried us 20 miles. The one days rations issued to us gave out the first evening, and the next morning we commenced to realize what it meant to start into business without capital. I was so hungry that I willingly agreed with a Johnnie reb to exchange my pocket-knife and gold pen for a single hardtack. I was so eager to lay siege to it that I didn't stop to inquire the quality, as quantity was more to my liking - but if this was hunger - God spare the tale I can unfold.
The next day out on the march was Sunday. Our coming must have been "announced in meetin" for about 9 o'clock we commenced to see little knots of females and boys grouped near the road-side with quite a sprinkling of colored gemmen and ladies of all sizes ages and conditions. They appeared to look upon us as monsters from some far off land. As the day grew older and even into night fall the crowd increased; the fences, woods and roadsides were lined and the spectators were so interested and enthusiastic that you would have mistaken our march to death as the triumphial return of conquering armies. But when you consider that we were the first Yankee soldiers they had ever seen, no wonder their curiosity was aroused to the highest pitch. We succeeded in making creditable appearance and passed in review in fine style.
Two more hard days marching through woods and over fields brought us to Tarboro. We were hungry and footsore, weary and discouraged - Our boys were almost worn out after this long tiresome march - We, and when I say we I don't mean the whole crowd, I speak with respect to a certain few who resolved themselves into a committee of the whole in the State of the Confederacy, for we now considered ourselves outside the State of the Union - sat down to deliberate upon our fallen condition. What would we do? What could we do? Our squad was composed of Sergeants [Nathan E.] Cory and [DeWitt C.] Freeman, D. W. [Daniel W.] Ault and myself. We then and there resolved to fight it out true to the Union and the cause of right if in so doing perish our lives. Many of us might have escaped on the march to this point had we ever dreamed of the weary days, and weeks, and months of suffering and hardships that awaited us. We still hoped that the arrangement made for exchanging prisoners every 10 days would continue between the quarreling sections, and that in ten days after being reduced to the enemies possession we would be exchanged and ready for duty in the field again.
While at Plymouth a great number of rebels deserted their army and came inside our lines to home and friends. The 17th North Carolina Regiment had been recruted in Washington county, two companies being recruted in the town of Plymouth. Once inside our lines a great number of them without any solicitation whatever expressed a willingness and a desire to enlist with us in fighting for the Union and they were allowed to do so. When stripped of their dirty butternut rags, rigged out in a complete suit of shinning new Yankee clothing, you never seen such a proud set of fellows. They were unassigned to any regiment before our capture, but immediately upon our positive knowledge that the jig was going up with us they commenced having their long hair clipped close to the scalp and placed upon their caps the number of some of our regiments, thus appearing as genuine "Blue-bellies." I never before had seen such a sudden exodus from one State to another. Some were Pennsylvanians, some New Yorkers, others from down East, Massachusetts and Connecticut, but not a single Tarheel in the crowd.
Their strategy didn't stand them in good stead. The 17th N. C. was of the command that captured us and composed a part of our guard thus far, and it was from this regiment that most of the deserters came. Before counting us we were ordered into line and a committee of the 17th Regiment made an inspection of us to search out them d----d galvanized Yankees, as they named the parties before described, and it was wonderful how quickly they could pick them out. We laughingly remarked that it was by the smell that they knew how it was themselves. They succeeded in finding [almost] every one of them, and the poor fellows we understood all paid the deserters penalty - were shot to death. In large letters at the head lines of a column in the "Charleston Mercury" it read thus. "The galvanized Plymouth Yankees all shot by order of the Military Commander in North Carolina - General Beauregard."
Before being put on board the cars, we were carefully counted between two bayonets, our names, rank, regiment and State all noted down. Common box cars were provided for this excursion and we were packed 75 in a car, like so many hogs or sheep. After fastening the side entrance to the car securely, and placing sufficient guards around us to prevent our escape, and assuring us that if we would sit down and keep quiet we would not be fired into, but we would have a jolly fine ride and a good time generally. Think for a moment of 75 men of all characters, dispositions and temperaments, without anything to eat or drink, put into one car and starting out for a journey of over one thousand (1,000) miles and expect them to be quiet!
We finally succeeded in getting off from Tarboro, making our first stop at Wilmington, N. C., where we had to cross the Cape Fear river. Wilmington at that time was the principal port where the blockade runners came in and out. At this time the river was swarming with these water gray hounds, each awaiting in its turn a cargo of cotton and an opportunity to slip out. Here an incident happened, a hard blow to some speculator. The road from Wilmington to Charleston to which we were transferred, had its starting point on the south side of the river, and upon each side of the road at least for one-half mile, huge bales of cotton were piled on top of each other to the height of twenty or thirty feet, a single track running between. While awaiting transportation we scattered ourselves loosely around, some sitting in groups, talking over the probabilities of the future; others, worn out, were trying to catch a little sleep in the warm sunshine. In the crowd, as in all crowds of any considerable size, was an irrepressible Irishman belonging to a Massachusetts Battery. He was sitting perched on a bale of cotton smoking his pipe, and just as our train backed up, and "all aboard!" was called, he quietly dumped the fiery coals of his pipe among the cotton, remarking after the train started, "Niver yees mind, boys; ye'll hear from that," and sure enough we did. Before we had gone far, looking back could be seen huge volumes of smoke arising in the direction of Wilmington. The next morning in Charleston the papers gave an account of the loss of ten million dollars worth of cotton by fire at Wilmington the day before.
We reached Charleston late in the evening, marched into the heart of the city, and lay down to sleep in her dusty streets. All night long the scream and bursting of shells from Gilmore's guns and batteries on Morris Island could be heard. Some of them coming so near us as to make our situation uncomfortable. Gen. Beauregard, in command of the defences of Charleston, dispatched to Gilmore that he had on hand a number of Federal prisoners who were lying exposed to the fire from his batteries, and prayed him to silence his guns until they could be removed from danger.
Gilmore quick to comprehend Beauregard's intentions, replies: -- "If you do not immediately remove the prisoners in your position under the fire of my guns, I will lash sixty (60) confederate officers in my possession to the "Ironsides" and run them up under your fire from Fort Sumpter." This settled the matter and we were marched in haste to the outskirts of the city. Although away from danger of exploding shells, a great uneasiness was abroad among the "pilgrims." Things looked dark.
In our pilgrimage, thus far, not a single demonstration of loyalty had been manifested, no friendship, nothing but the most supreme hatred had been shown us. The rebel journals all characterized us as a mean, well-dressed set of Yankee vagabonds. We were looked upon as invaders, murderers and thieves.
From Charleston to Savannah nothing of any account happened, only we were nearing the end of our journey. From Savannah we tumbled along over a miserably tracked and illy ballasted railroad, making remarkably good speed as we could tell by counting the mile posts along the way. The next morning we arrived at the city of Macon, Ga. Having ridden for 48 hours as closely packed as sardines in a box, it was a treat to even get a chance to shake ourselves. The crowd gathered around the station was immense, all anxious to get a whack at us with their tongues, and the way they fired into us at short range was terrible. The ladies manifested their hatred towards us by turning up their noses at us, by pulling their home-spun dresses to the one side upon our too near approach, spitting at us, &c. We esteemed such bad behavior toward us pretty tough, coming from pretty girls as some of them were. We had always labored under the impression that our home training, schooling, etc., had made of us a gentleman, but in this crowd our admirers had quite a different opinion. In their minds it was everything mean and detestable to be a Yankee soldier. Speaking for myself, I knew I was not attired gaudily enough to attract any particular attention from them or enthusiastic outburst of affection. I was already shoeless and hatless and otherwise untidily arrayed. Feeling sorely the want of shoes, I accosted a well dressed gentleman with the question as to how much he would take for his patent leathers. Scornfully frowning upon my impudence, he replied $5 in confederate money. I proceeded to go down into my pantaloons for the money when he "squealed."
Howell Cobb's dandy confederate state officers were the lions of the day, and how galling to our proud young spirits to see how they lorded it over us. "You can never whip the South, a brave, honorable people, engaged in fighting for their rights," was their taunting boast. All we could answer was "wait a few months. Grant and Sherman will shake the life out of your rotten machine, and you will crawl at our feet as you will have us do at yours now. Time will change our condition and yours also. This is your day of joy; ours will come later on."
Addressing Colonel Iverson, commander of the Georgia State troops at this city, who thought he had me completely blowed up, I said to him: "Sherman will pound you to death this summer, Grant will bring you up with a jerk at Richmond, and in less than a year your old machine will be without fuel or engineer, and the managers of your ill-fated enterprise will be fleeing from the death they so richly deserve." Said he with a great oath, and with all the gusto and pomp of a king: "For your insolence in thus abusing our government, you young scamp, I have a notion to order you shot." He didn't do it however. The train backed up and again the packing process commenced, 75 in a car, and away we sped to that bourne from which so few ever returned.
So far on our journey certain privileges had been allowed us at the stopping places. We could get off the cars, look around and contemplate the greatness of the confederacy and hold intercourse with its citizens, but after leaving Macon, we noticed that a different spell had seized the guards and officers in command. Each took turns in abusing us and our Government, threatening to shoot if we even dared to put our hands through the cracks in the cars, or allow our feet to hang outside. The order would invariably be (with their guns directed toward us) "take in your hands and feet, G-d d-n you! Or we will blow your brains out." You could now see a devilish smile upon their faces, as much as to say, "we've got you now. Away with all your dreams of happy homes and peaceful scenes with comfort and plenty." Where was that Elysian field with the inviting shades, cool running streams and crystal springs, whispered in our ears when we left Plymouth?
At the rate which we are now going it will not be long until we reach our destination. Sixty (60) miles from Macon and we are at Andersonville. We were hustled off the train in great haste and drawn up into line. The command to the "rear open order" was given, when a mean, insignificant looking dwarfish confederate officer, with the insignia of a Captain, promenaded through the ranks. The inspection over, this same body of clay proclaimed himself as Captain Henry Wirz, the commandant of Andersonville prison. He first had us counted into hundreds, then advancing to the front, gave this command: "All who can read and write, step two paces to the front:" the first hundred, and then all the hundreds advanced the required paces. This obedience to orders appeared to stun the confederate. Duke and he got terribly out of sorts. Little did he know of us, and much less did we know of him. His object was to get some one who could read and write to keep account with each one hundred men, draw rations and distribute the same. We were not long inside until instead of requiring one man to look after the rations for one hundred men, it took one hundred men pretty lively scratching to get enough rations for one man.
After being counted into hundreds, the confederate bugle sounded the advance, and headed by Captain Wirz on horseback, we succeeded in capturing the prison and gaining possession of an important position within the enemy's lines. As we marched from the depot to the stockade with its frowning walls, within which we were confined, we passed crowds of spectators who grinned Satan-like at us, of soldiers who hadn't enough respect for us to present arms; and they, too, laughed and chuckled at our abject appearance, knowing as they did, the inside workings of the prison in site. The fat, lubberly bloodhounds thus early made of our acquaintance by coming near enough to catch our fragrance, then walked lazily away, wagging their tails and smacking their jaws, would lie down in the shade, as much as to say "we've got you down fine enough." After having traveled over one thousand miles, being heart-sick, weary and famishing for want of bread and water, and being surrounded and confronted on all sides by enemies, we were not in a very happy state of mind, when we beheld the "Gates ajar," with the command from Wirz to those who were illy able to walk, "Get along there or I'll put a bullet in your d----d Yankee carcass!" Such were some of the outside scenes. If ever I should conclude to write of what I, with others suffered there, I will unfold a tale that will make the hearts of the bravest sick.
Standing shivering at the gates of this Golgotha, not with fear to do and die for our country, but dreading the manner in which our cruel persecutors had determined in their councils to put us to death, we cast a last longing look beyond, towards God's country, (and to how many did it prove the last look) toward that home and flag for which for long weary months and years in the field we had braved the privations and hardships incident to a soldier's life in camp, on the march, and in the heated battle's front. We could only say, "Good-bye! Country and flag, father, mother, sister, brother, sweetheart and friends - all a long good-bye! God only knows what will become of us. Many will cross the river with that boatman, cold and pale, to that shining shore, where sorrow and sin are strangers; where the streets are paved with purest gold; where the whistling of the gentle breezes in the tree-tops is music ten thousand times sweeter than the aeolian harps and where there is praising and thanksgiving, joy and peace forever."
ECKLES’ NARRATIVE.
Life in Rebel Prison.
III.
Now we were brought to face the cruelest of all enemies, death by starvation, and other barbarous methods conceived and devised by the Winders and Turners, aided by their trusted Lieutenant Wirz, who had been specially detailed to preside over the destines of forty-thousand as brave Patriots as ever mustered in war, and to aid them in their wicked design against our lives. Is it any wonder that we looked away off to that land of home and its comforts and delights. Soldiering was all right. The camp, the march, and battle with their joys, sorrows and sad memories was to be expected. Then we were in communication with the world of friends outside, were always within our own lines and under the protection of our own government. And to be thus suddenly cut off from all protection, and committed to the care of those who cared not for us, only that they might invent some means whereby we could be rendered useless to our government, was enough to make us heartsick, and pale with fear. I must confess, speaking for myself, that I had seen the time when I felt more at ease than under the circumstances surrounding us, as we gazed toward the open gates so invitingly near. My sainted mother had in my childhood sang to me of the "Gates ajar," but at the appearance of the ones in my part I was very poorly impressed. I found that all of my ideas of fine things were disappearing, for around and all about were the frowning walls of what was to be our home for months and months of torture, and suffering, and death. The reader can do nothing more than live with us during the time in dreamy imagination, and await our story as we go along. But a remnant of those who by their undaunted courage braved it all, and came away if only with their lives, live among you and will be willing witnesses to my tale of untold woe. There are yet hearts too bleeding to read this open page in history. There are yet mourning Rachaels who will not be comforted because theirs came not. But is it not right that the children of to-day should read and commit to memory the story of their father's sufferings, and what they endured that to them might be secured the blessings of a free government. But some will say, not so sentimental if you please. Give us that, which is more of interest.
Shall I draw the veil and enter the portals of our inviting camp? Yes we have passed the guard with his fixed bayonet at the gate. We have given up the proud name of a Yankee soldier. No! Never give up; but for the remainder of our enlistment, and long after it with many we are carried on the rolls of our army as prisoners with the enemy. Once fairly and securely inside and the doors closed, we look at each other in blank amasement, and Rip Vanwinkle like said to each other where are we, and who are we? And Gods what a place, mortal pen fails to discribe it. Nothing but blackness and darkness of despair and desperation on all sides. It was late in the evening upon our entry, and soon the shades of night were gathering around us. And being strangers in this strangest of all places, we commenced to skirmish around for some soft inviting spot to "now I lay me down to sleep" upon, for on the face of all God's green earth there was no where for us to rest, but on the cold damp ground.
The hundred to which I had the honor to belong separated immediately upon entering in the evening, and each one like myself was promenading around hunting for a good fat take; a bed of roses I expect whereupon to coil himself and camp for the night. I thought that the darkest night of my life. No lights of any kind, only here and there a pine knot burning where an unsuccessful attempt was being made by some epicurean to dish up a delicately prepared meal before going off to dreamland. The heaven was blackness above us, and I shuddered to think of a night out like this, without blanket or hat, shoes or overcoat, money, grub or friends. Surely, said I to myself, this is rough on a pilgrim, an innocent abroad, what will I do? If I had my blanket or my overcoat I could have made out, or if I had had my haversack. I felt so insignificant that I would have made the attempt to get into that. But confederate regulations as practiced by rebel authorities successfully policed us of all that would add to our comfort; make them comfortable and us miserable. This being the case we were in a rather disagreeable condition to undergo the hardships of the campaign upon which we were entering; a campaign fuller of daring and death than was ever made by the commanders of any of the world's great armies. A silent campaign where there was no crashing of artillery, no death grapples of the infantry forces, no dashing charges of cavalry, but a silent fight constantly day and night; death claiming its victims by the score, the hundreds, the thousands, the tens of thousands. No command was ever given, "Forward boys," but like men we fought, each one commanding his own part of the line. But I am off again, and I must now gather myself together for the night, for I am commencing to feel kind of scattered already, and fearing that night will be fully upon me, I feel as if I am about to get lost in the vastness and in the darkness.
Somehow I had got lost from my old trusty comrade Sergt. [Nathan] Cory, and whichever way I turned was hell. I was very hell myself in my lost condition. I knew Cory would turn up all right in the morning, but how would I turn up was the thought that was waltzing through my brain. When suddenly presenting himself before me was a something which presumably was a man, and a soldier of my country. He said to me; "you appear to be looking for something, or are you lost?" "Yes," I remarked, "a little of both. I may be lost, but you look to me as if you were a little out of the way yourself." "When you have been here, or a prisoner as long as I have," he said, "you'll know how it is yourself." I asked him how long he had been a prisoner. "Ever since old Rosy got whipped at Chattanooga, in September, in 1863," was his manly reply.
The little fellow kindly invited me to share with him his humble sleeping apartment, a comfortable little hole he had made in the hillside near by. He said he was lonesome, that his companion had died that morning, and that he would like some company. I kindly thanked him, for having heard such fearful stories of lice in prison I had resolved that as I had never been lousy I did not propose to commence cultivation of the filthy vermin now. I vacated that position and soon after found me a place where I thought would be security, if not from the winds and the dampness of the night, at least from the vermin before mentioned. I was soon living with the fairies, reveling in dreams and surrounded by friends, but when morning awoke me imagine my surprise to find that I was nothing but lice from head to foot - lice all over me. How indignant I was, and how my conceit vanished! It went away with the morning winds, never to return to me while I was in durance vile, and I was ever thereafter cognizant of the fact that I was never alone and that I need never be out of employment. This was my first morning's experience, but the greatest difficulty that I had was the inner man. My first thought was for something to eat, and my next thought was about my friend Cory. As far as getting anything to eat was concerned, I had to patiently await the coming of the rebel bread wagon which we were informed came in every morning about 9 o'clock. How eagerly we awaited the approach of that time, and how our stomachs were kicking up within us, for we were hungry enough by this time. Nine o'clock came; we waited, expecting each minute to see a huge wagon drive in, loaded with substantials, but imagine how surprised the pilgrims were when the sergeant (a Yankee) in charge of our hundred was sent for and twenty-five little corn loaves were given to him, to do one hundred hungry, famishing men for one day. The loaves were in size about one half as large as a common brick, and about as hard and indigestible; but uncomplainingly we commenced operations, cut or broke the little loaves into four pieces and passed it around. It was a merry feast we had that morning; no meat, no salt, no drink. But that which was given to us we ate uncomplainingly and managed to be content. It was cruelly unsatisfying, and left me wondering what next, although it is too soon to commence pining. Tomorrow may bring better things; but that tomorrow never came. Such a large crowd being cast upon them so suddenly they had not enough to go around, was their excuse, but the enough never came. We had all been raised in strict old Presbyterian families, and made believe in the doctrine of foreordination. But we commenced to think pretty soon of seceding from the foreordination racket. We thought better of the 2nd verse of 23 Psalm, and were constantly on the lookout for the furnishing of a table in the presence of our foes.
It was time now to commence making a reconnisance of our position; to take in the situation and surroundings, to become acquainted with the streets, parks and points of interest; in short to so arrange ourselves that we might at all times know where we were. As I mentioned above, my first thoughts in the morning were about Sergeant Cory, and I must now hasten about and find him.
Sauntering leisurely up Maine street, contemplating the future, I suddenly came upon Sergeants Cory and Freeman, and D. W. Ault the drummer boy of our company, whom I will now introduce to the reader as prominent personages in this tale. Others will be named from time to time as incidents occur, and I will not forget Max Cosel as I go along. I was anxious to know of my companions how they had fared the first night, and from what I gathered from them, about a like experience with my own. I didn't think from their appearance that they were very highly impressed with our surroundings.
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Life in Rebel Prison.
IV.
We are now completely cooped, shut off from all hopes of succor, without any means of defense, and left to the mercy of those in command. What a pitiable condition to be in! Andersonville! The very mention of that name makes me shudder yet. Do I dream, or is it a realty that I was an inmate of that den so long? That the reader may form some idea of the location of this black spot on God's fair earth, I will try and put it where it belongs. It is one of the few stations dignified with a name, most likely because it contained some half dozen or so of tumble-down houses. It is on a poorly constructed, snaggle-toothed make out of a railroad, running from Macon to Albany in the state of Georgia, the head of navigation on the Flint River, which is one hundred and six miles from Macon, and two hundred and fifty miles from the Gulf of Mexico. It is about sixty miles from Macon, and must be about two hundred miles from the Gulf. Andersonville Prison, called, no doubt, after the name of the station from which it was distant from one-half to three-quarters of a mile, was nothing but a hole cut in the wilderness of Georgia woods. It was about as far distant from our armies as any point within the limit of the Confederacy. The nearest was Sherman at Chattanooga, four hundred miles distant, with a range of mountains between us hundreds of miles in width.
The prisoners inside of it seemed beyond the last forlorn limit of civilization, and we felt completely at the mercy of our enemies. How else could we feel. We had nothing to hope from them only the treatment due a prisoner of war, to be fed and sheltered, and provided for when sickness overtook us, and at death to be decently buried in a soldier's grave. Instead, however, all sympathy was withdrawn from us, we were "alone on a wide, wide sea," to live as best we could, and die no matter to them how. All they wanted or cared for was that when coming in each morning they might find a goodly number of forms, cold and rigid in death. I can see their devilish, fiendish smile yet when upon their roll book the word dead would appear after the name of some gallant young soul whose candle of life had all gone out the night before. What a lonely, lonely place. So lonely it was that God himself scarcely seemed to be there.
It is estimated that the enclosure contained about sixteen acres, though if you will figure up the area of the ground occupied by the swamp, and the unoccupied space between the "dead Line" and the walls of the stockade, there would be left, I think, about twelve acres of camping ground. I much doubt if there was so much ground as that. It was surrounded by a high strong wall, formed of pine logs, twenty-five feet long and from two to three feet in diameter, set firmly and securely into the ground to the depth of five feet, and placed so close together as to leave no crack through which you could see outside. You couldn't even smell through the walls, but we had plenty of smell inside, although not of leaves, grasses and sweet-scented flowers. The wall or stockade was twenty feet high, and more difficult to scale than a wall of stone or brick, and in case of an assault from within or without, more difficult to undermine or batter down. Our city was longest north and south, and through its center and at the foot of the hills ran a little stream or creek from west to east, about a yard wide. On either side of this stream was a quaking bog of slimy ooze about two hundred feet wide. It was so soft and yeilding that if you attempted to walk upon it you would sink into your waist. From this little stream, and after leaving the swamp the hills sloped back north and south to the stockade. Every tree and shrub had been removed before the landing of the pilgrims, with the exception of a single huge pitch pine which stood in the south-west corner of the camp, and on this side of the deadline. Why it should have been left and every other tree removed, remains to this day a mystery. What a dear old tree it was. It was our refuge and our strength, and in our condition a present aid. Not that we could find refuge from the storm under its wide, shady branches, for it was one of those tall bare trees with only a small tuft of leaves and branches high on its top, but it was a kind of medicinal "Mecca". An incision had been made in its body, and out ran therefrom, turpentine and pitch, which the boys who had the dropsy and diarrhoea would go and sit and eat and come away benefited. They soon learned that it gave out something that was good for these two diseases, and I had experience with it myself for just such complaints, and never tasted of its fruits but that I felt better. Many a blessing was pronounced on the Doctor, as the boys learned to call this old Samaritan. Why, if the Johnnies ever knew of its healing properties, they let it stand I cannot answer, but there it stood, and stands to-day.
There were two entrances to the prison, one on each side of the stream, about half way between it and the east and west ends of the stockade. The one on the north of the stream was named the "North Gate," and the one on the south of the stream the "South Gate." These were doubly constructed by building smaller stockades around them on the outside, and these small stockades had gates. These smaller stockades were used as "ante rooms" or where the enemy attacked the resources of incoming prisoners. All surplus baggage, clothing, money, pen-knives, pocket combs, and photographs of mother, baby and sweetheart speedily found the route to their military storehouse or became possessed by them as personal property - the latter most presumably. After getting the prisoners into these calf pens as we called them, they would bolt the gates behind, and after making sure that they had them, the inner gates leading to the city would be thrown open and the prisoners marched in. After we had become somewhat accustomed to the manners and customs of the older inhabitants -- veterans, so to speak - when it was known that "fresh fish" were coming, all would make a break for the gate, to see our friends from the outside, who thought enough of us to make us a summer visit. It was laughable to see the looks of them. We soon learned to laugh at each other's miseries for we all were on a common level. No Dudes there, I want you to know; no putting on of airs; no matter how much your "dad" was worth or how much learning you had. Misery loves company, and our game was to make this fact stand out conspicuously.
At regular intervals along and built up outside the stockade were little perches or guard stands overlooking the inside of the "Bull-pen," as we called our possessions. On each of these stands was a guard ready to shoot upon the least provocation. If I am not mistaken there was one hundred and forty-eight such perches, where these animals of prey stood watch over us night and day. At 9 o'clock at night, post No. 1 would sing out: "Post No. 1, nine o'clock and all's well!" That would be taken up by post No. 2, and so on clear around to post 148. The prisoners inside would take up the song, and would commence singing two or three posts in advance of them, sometimes commencing at post 148 and sing around the other way. This would get the guard so mixed that many a time they would have to abandon the whole call. Then we would here them cuss the d---d Yanks. Of course the madder they got the more noise we would make - a regular pandemonium. After we would become satisfied with "guying" them, we would become quiet and guileless as sleeping infants.
Before I go further I will observe another point of interest to all prisoners, and tell how it was conducted, what was the object of it, &c [etc.]. Any person who has ever read or heard tell of Andersonville knows of that awful "dead line." What was this dead line? All around inside of the stockade and about seventeen feet distant from its walls, this line extended, beyond which none could go and live. Sticks or small posts of timber were driven firmly into the ground and extended upwards about four feet, on top the top of these posts was nailed narrow strips of boards, forming a complete line all around the inside. One object of this was to keep us away from the walls, and another was a pretext to murder any who perchance might come in contact with it. The order from Wirz was to shoot any prisoner who might get over, under, across or upon said line. The guards were so supremely ignorant of the English language that they seized upon the least infringement of this order, be it ever so trivial, to commit murder. If perchance a boy was walking near to and should slip and fall against this dead line - without any warning from the guard or mercy for him so offending, "crack!" would go his gun and the lifeless form of this boy would recommend him (the guard) favorably to the commanding officer for a thirty days' furlough. Fortunately for me the little fellow with whom I met the first evening, told me all about how this business on the dead line was conducted, and as "forewarned is forearmed," his admonitions may have saved my carcass. I communicated to any of my companions with whom I came in contact the danger of going too near this fell place and by that means may have saved some of them from Jeopardizing their lives, for to be shot, or shot at, when near or upon this line was an almost daily occurrence. "Shot at the dead line" soon ceased to be a new word. How many times a fiendish spirit seemed to seize upon the guards, and without any provocation whatever they would fire into the prisoners if only for pure cussedness, many times with fatal effect as all who were there can truthfully attest. As many as one hundred soldiers of the United States were thus shot to death by the chivalrous sons of the South acting under the directions of Capt. Wirz.
Can the reader form any idea from the description given of the hideousness of this place. No, I do not believe that any person possessing a reasonable soul can bring his mind into a condition to even contemplate that such a den of torture, with its sweat-box, its chain gange, its stocks, its gibbett, its bloodhounds, and all that, existed within the domain of this country. But follow along after me, and I will lead you to its belief by degrees. The thought that man could be so inhuman to man as they were to us is almost incredible, but the tale I am endeavoring to write is only too terribly true. Later on I will tell in my way something about the nature and quantity of food given us, the quality of the water we had to drink, and our manner of protection from the rains and sunshine.
There are no two persons who see the same circumstances alike; no two prisoners will tell the story in the same way. While all underwent the same brutal treatment, each one had to suffer and enjoy for himself. One may have suffered more for bread, another more for water. What would be an annoyance to one would not discommode another, and so the thing went. While one would be saying his prayers, another would be singing "Dandy Jim." I might be seated very industriously engaged quarrelling with the lice that had taken possession of my person and clothing (much against my will) sacrificing the vermin as I seized them, and at my side watching me plying my bloodthirsty purpose against these crawling innocents, would be seated a comrade with a leather lined stomach, gnawing away at his corn cake, smacking his lips and swearing that it was good. And so the days came in and went out, and when evening came and we commenced to think of embracing mother earth for the night, we would look at each other to see if we were really alive, or if only dreaming, and wonder what promise the morning would bring - whether death or exchange.
[TO BE CONTINUED]
Eckles' Narrative.
Andersonville Prison Reminescence.
V.
The second morning after our occupancy of this position and after being fully impressed with our awful surroundings, which were not pleasant to contemplate, our squad, composed as before mentioned of Sergeant Cory, D. W. Ault and myself, partook of the few morsels of corn cake which we had managed to save from the yesterday's rations. I can't say how well they relished this scanty meal, but my stomach raised a rumpus at being thus insulted. Soon the time came when even my delicate "bread Basket" was willing enough to be the receptacle of anything thrown in my way and ate it with an apparent relish somewhat in the manner that a dog relishes a bone. It gave me employment and kept my mind in from things of the world. Having gotten away with our first breakfast the first thing to do is cast about to see how the old thing was working around and about us.
There, upon the northern hillside we sat down and planned for our future. This was when we were yet manly and strong and bouyant with the fires of youth, tough and muscular, fresh from the tented field and used to hardships, battle and death. We determined to make a careful reconnoisance of our enclosure to examine all its points and then resolve upon our future line of action. We made a complete circuit of the ground within the limits prescribed by the famous "Dead Line," examined the walls carefully, noted the location and position of the sentinels upon the top of the stockade, then wandered around over the north and south hillsides, along the banks of the swamp at the foot of the hills, and after spending most of the day in making this tour of observation we returned to our starting point quite undone. Nothing had appeared that offered any solution to our present difficulties, or gave promise of any relief from this earthly hell, and we could do nothing to help ourselves to liberty and plenty. What did we do? What could we do but make our manly preparations to face the terrible doom of death by starvation? Death was around us on every side, for already the great conqueror was getting in his work and men were dying all around us. We forget to count the number of dead bodies that were lying around us through the prison that morning as we were on our travels. The yearning to be about and doing something, to turn these last golden hours to some good account for self and country pressed into our hearts and brains with a killing weight. To be thus compelled and at such a time in the history of our country when men were so much needed at the front, to lie around in idleness, to spend these long days, that should be crowded full of action and deeds of daring, in an objectless routine of lice gathering, day in and day out, was to us the greatest of tortures.
That evening, but I can't tell what evening it was, we held a council of war, although we were non-combatants. The first thing to be done was to ascertain what amount of stock we had on hand, and of what materials it consisted. This in our business was a very necessary precaution. I was the first of the company who made a report of the amount on hand. I was in my right mind so far, but had neither blanket, overcoat, hat, shoes or money, tin cup, plate, knife or fork, nothing but my winning ways, and that don't go very far in a crowd of desperate men. Cory, more fortunate, had managed to get keeping his blanket and had also some little amount of money with him. Ault had drummed up a blanket and had a quart tin cup. This constituted the all with which we had to make ourselves comfortable during our long, tiresome stay in this comfortless place.
We concluded to pre-empt a spot of land on the northern hillside about five hundred feet from the gate on the east and up the hill about one-third the distance from the marsh to the northern boundary, this put us about 200 feet from the swamp. Our landed possessions consisted in a piece of territory about six feet square. It was near to the Maine [Main] avenue and upon a cross alley. This little spot was to be our home and may be our death bed. It was guarded with jealous care for squatters only had limited rights, and others might sieze upon it who were more powerful than we. But this never happened, and we remained possessed of our estate until liberated. It was a bare, sandy spot, but we went to work leveling it off as best we could, doing all the digging with our hands, like dogs digging for game. We succeeded in making it level enough that we could lie down and not be in danger of encroaching upon the domain of our neighbors, for recollect every spot was occupied, and they who were the fortunate possessors of even so small a lot as ours felt richer than Cleon with his million acres. We huddled down in our little bed that night and, mind you, we slept as closely as three mothers' sons could sleep; necessity compelled us to be friendly. An army blanket is not large enough to cover three men and have much to spare. I coaxed the other fellows to let me sleep in the middle as we all say. They assented, and after saying our prayers, and cursing our enemies and the lice upon our bodies for the privileges they were taking with us, we bid each other good-night and in the fancies only found in dream land we were soon at home with friends and plenty. A hungry man will always dream of roast turkey, rice pudding, doughnuts or pies and so we dreamed. We had been taught to reverence dreams because they came from the Lord, but ever invariably failed to see the good things coming around in the morning.
Our rest was disturbed in the night by the most hideous noise you ever heard. I think we all awoke about the same time, but each was afraid to speak for fear the other fellows were dreaming about his girl or something. I wanted to say to someone "What is it?" when all at once Ault jumped half up in bed, rubbing his eyes said to me, "Bill, do you hear the concert? All hell must have broken loose." We soon learned that for some reason the horde of bloodhounds outside had determined upon an entertainment that might be for the benefit of the "Pilgrims" - the first we had heard.
The noise soon ceased and we sought our bed again where we remained unmolested until morning. As is customary with a soldier, the dawn brought us out of bed not as much refreshed as was to be desired, but nevertheless we shook up our bones, arranged our toilet and I took upon myself then and ever after the making of the bed, the airing of it, as the women say. The blankets were shaken of the sand and piled up. Having nothing to eat we were not long in preparing our breakfast, and I believe we forgot to wash ourselves, we were so anxious to get to business. Cory looked rather out of sorts, and in every emphatic manner expressed his dislike to such accommodations. "Well," said I, "What are we going to do about it?" He went down in his pocket and found a ten dollar bill (Lincoln money, as we called it) and said for us to "hold the fort" and he would see if something couldn't be done. Ault and I obeyed orders and sure enough Cory's sheckels had done something, for approaching us through the crowd was our good standby with three pine poles almost as thick as your arm and eight feet long, on his shoulder. How we smiled! Throwing them down, "There's my ten dollars gone, and that's my last," said he. "Now you two fellows can do the rest." We were quick to conceive what to do with the poles. Anything for shelter at night to keep out, if only partially, the dampness, and a shield from the hot rays of the noontide sun. This we thought we could do with our poles and his blankets. We reasoned thus: Can we not be more comfortable if we make with our blanket a kind of a tent, than we would be by sleeping exposed to the elements with these for a covering? Not long did we discuss that matter, for we all agreed that a tent would be better protection. As I had no interest (that is money interest) in either the poles or blankets, it behooved me to be on my good behavior. I accordingly made myself agreeable, slashed in plenty of advice, which I considered so much stock placed in the business - my partners allowed it to be so considered - and I ever after that felt at home.
Neither Cory nor myself being possessed of any mechanical genius, the duty devolved upon Ault, he being a natural born mechanic, to devise a plan for the construction of our "wigwam." He was not long in getting this matter in shape, his plan was duly submitted and unanimously adopted and now all was bustle and confusion about the prisoners' ranch. Two poles were to be placed firmly in the ground and the third to reach from one to the other. This was the framework. The greatest difficulty we encountered was to get the poles planted firmly in the ground. How to accomplish the digging of the holes without tools was a stunner. We managed, however, with our hands to scrape out a hole deep enough for the purpose and the uprights were put into position without any accident happening and the third pole was placed across the top of these two uprights and served as a centre piece. The two blankets were attached together by pinning them with splints of wood and they were then thrown over the centre pole and stretched down on either side to the ground, where they were fastened as securely as could be with the material on hand. This completed we thought ourselves quite comfortably fixed, although we were only partially protected from the elements, still it was better than we had undertaken at first. We dug down the earth at the north end to the depth of about eighteen inches, throwing the dirt toward the direction of where our feet would lie, thus making it level. We arranged to sleep with our heads to the northward. Little holes were dug in the ground at our heads in the wall of clay and in these we deposited our valuables such as we had. I have given you a rough outline of our new home, the place where we done our eating and sleeping; it was our parlor, our bedroom and library. We sang and swore in turn, rehearsed all our life's doings, fought our battles all over again, devised plans for making our way out through a tunnel, talked of how the stockade might be scaled or battered down, soundly abused the rebels for so misusing us, took our government to task for not coming to our relief, and what all didn't we talk about. Long into the night we would continue our conversation, until finally one by one, we would give way to sleep and all would be quiet. We usually went to bed, that is, lay down on our couch of cold, damp earth as near as we could guess about ten o'clock at night, but rarely got to sleep for some hours afterward. The mosquitoes preyed upon us, the lice roamed at large over our bodies, and worse than all these, were the maggots which crept up the hillside from the mass of filth in the swamp and made their beds with us. They crept upon us, and under us and many times I have caught them trying to get into my ears. Mosquitoes, lice and maggots were our night companions, and then there was another kind of a worm, something the size and shape of an ordinary cut worm, only attached to its rear was a something (we called it a tail) like a hair about one inch long. I have never been able to demonstrate to what family it belonged, but it managed to get up the hill from the filthy deposits below and was quite friendly with us. Upon arising in the morning we could see the paths made, through the sand upon which we had lain, the night before by these midnight intruders. The facts I am now writing about are "cold steel," and will only go to show the deplorable condition we were in. Had we been comfortably provided for as brave men should have been, all these little manifestations of friendships by such unearthly, disgusting visitors could have been courted as so much fun. No part of the prison was clear of them, no man could say to his neighbor, "I am more holy than thou," for adversity had brought us to a common level. We used to boast of how many lice we had bred the night before, and what quality of stock they were. They even filled the hot sand under our feet, and voraciously they would climb up our bodies like streams of ants up a tree.
Along with other portions of scripture that I learned, when a boy, was something like this and I now have a full comprehension of it. I think it was the third plague with which the Lord visited the Egyptians: --
"And the Lord said unto Moses, say unto Aaron, stretch out thy rod and smite the dust of the land, that it may become lice through all the land of Egypt."
"And they did so, for Aaron stretched out his hand with his rod and smote the dust of the earth and it became lice in man and in beast; all the dust of the land became lice throughout the land of Egypt."
It looked very much to us as if Moses and Aaron had got off their belt; that they didn't understand the geography of the old country and had mistaken Andersonville for Egypt.
ECKLES' NARRATIVE
Andersonville Prison Reminiscenses.
VI.
When I compose myself to write of scenes and circumstances which occurred over twenty years ago, it is with the greatest difficulty that I recall incidents of which I would like to speak. So much was crowded into those momentous days, weeks and months of privation and woe, that it is almost impossible to describe the shifting scenes of day and night in a manner that will satisfy myself or the reader of the narative. If I could be surrounded by a company of those who with me saw the movements of the elephant, and permitted to rehearse the story in language both strong and impressive; describe things as we saw them in our rough way, it would sound quite differently to what it does in print, or when written. Thoughts present themselves in such rapid succession, and of such diverse natures that I stop and wonder what to say and how to say it.
In a former letter I undertook to give a discription of the kind of palace that I and my comrades occupied, and of its construction. It was not built with the expectation that it would forever resist the ravages of time, of sunshine and storm, nor did we miscalculate. The month of May wore away and so did we; the house built by hands soon began to exhibit symptoms of dissolution, much to our sorrow, for when it was gone what of us? But it soon became a question as to whether our wigwam or ourselves would wink out first. The very limited supply of stuff allowed us for one day's rations, it not being enough to satisfy the appetite of a rat, much less to appease the knawings of hunger constantly with us, soon commenced to tell upon our frames. Day by day we could notice the healthy flesh upon our bodies becoming disgusted and parting company with us, leaving us to build up and live as best we could on the meager pittance of stuff meted out to us by our chivalrous guardians. To our minds things looked shaky, nothing presenting itself to in any way better this awful condition that we were in; nothing but the blackest of despair rose up before us. We could not rend the veil that hid the terrible future from us. If this arrangement was to be kept up, we would not live always, nor ask long to stay.
Upon coming into prison we had managed to save a copy of the New Testament and a small hymn-book used in camp, and what a satisfaction they were. For in absence of other reading matter we would fly for our Testament and hymn-book, and read, if only to kill time, (for our religious sentiments at that time were not of the finest) taking turns. I would read until I tired then Cory would take up the story, but nowhere in its sacred pages could we find any information on the subject of escaping from a Rebel prison. The command stood out plain and easily to be read, "Love your enemies, and pray for those who despitefully use you and persecute you." This command, we thought, was not intended to apply to our case, and was gennerally, if not entirely, neglected. Ault being a natural born musician as well as a mechanic, was allowed to attend to the hymn business. We named him the sweet singer of "Bully Row". Our little books held out pretty well, but leaf by leaf they left us, and when those dreary, dreary, cheerless days set in, nothing whatever had we to read.
Think of intelligent men being doomed to sit in this worse than hell, months and months without ever seeing the open page of book or magazine, nothing to feast our minds upon; groping in darkness; nothing to do, no amusements whatever; how wearily the time dragged. Youth's harvest gone; golden moments to us forever lost.
Our hundreds were counted every morning by a very pompous Rebel sergeant, who would throw in more frills and assume as much importance as a country schoolmaster. This was done in order to ascertain how many had died during the night, or if anyone had been so ungentlemanly as to object to the manner of life herein and made his escape, for, upon the basis of this morning report the rations for the next day depended. Occasionally he would bring in with him a number of the Charleston Mercury, Atlanta Constitution or Richmond Enquirer, more particularly after some severe battle had been fought, in which it was always claimed that the Yankee army was badly punished, even sometimes wholly demolished; that the war was about over; that the Lincoln government was asking for terms of peace; that commissioners had been appointed to confer with the commissioners representing the Confederate government to arrange the final details of the surrender of the armies of the Union to the legal authorities of the Jeff Davis' government; that our government had deserted us, caring nothing whatever for our welfare; everything to discourage us poor, starving, defenseless patriots. It took almost more than manhood to keep up sometimes and not become despondent and desperate even when such things were only newspaper rumors, set afloat to impress us with the greatness of the strength of their armies, the righteousness of their cause, and the apparent indifference of our government toward us.
The two matters that furnished us with food for our thoughts by day and night was the subject of exchange and tunnelling out. These furnished material for a great amount of chinning. In the tunnelling schemes we always listened attentively to him who had engineering abilities. As to the matter of exchange we all chipped in and talked at once. Another familiar method of our enemies to make us feel good and then miserable was this: About the first of each month a rebel paper would be brought inside by a Johnnie Sergeant containing something like this: "Hope at last for the Yankee prisoners. The exchange boats are now off Charleston Harbor waiting to take the poor wretches home, etc., etc." The paper would be handed around among us that we might read for ourselves. An order would be issued by Wirz very soon after, telling us to get our things all ready to leave the next morning at daylight. In anticipation of cutting our acquaintance with this land mark we would be more or less buoyed up with sunny hopes of soon being in our own dear homes, and back in the field ready for duty again. This device of theirs was kept up every month as long as we remained imprisoned; our hopes would be built up and then dashed to the ground. Why did they practice this cruelty upon us wretched beings? We had enough to bear, God knows, I always thought it was done to create within us, if possible, a distrust in our government, or simply as a ruse to keep us quiet for a few days; for, let me tell you, it was a terrible undertaking to attempt to keep quiet twenty, thirty and sometimes forty thousand starving, famished men. What cared we for danger? and if we had not been wholly defenseless, we would have kicked up merryh-ll all the time. As it was, we remained as docile as our temperaments would permit.
I have stated in a former letter that the ground occupied by the prisoners was on two hillsides. The altitude was quite a considerable, but still not so high as the hills on the outside and surrounding the prison. The only view we had of the outside world during our long stay was that obtained by looking from the highest points of the north and south sides across the depression in the land where the stockade crossed the swamp. In this manner we could see about forty or fifty acres of land at a time, of the country adjoining, all heavily timbered with tall, bare pine trees, just the kind of wood for fuel. Altogether we could see by looking different directions across the stockade about one hundred and sixty acres, and with this diminutive landscape we had to rest content for eight months.
The high hills around us were used as points of observation by southern tourists, visiting the place. Almost any day sight-seers could be distinctly seen on high points with field glasses to their eyes sweeping our tidy surroundings, but more particularly was this the case on Sunday. We were not long in noticing that almost every seventh day large crowds of well-dressed ladies were driven in carriages to the shady woods outside, where they appeared to enjoy themselves laughing at our misery and destitution. Sometimes, and such I saw quite often, a party of frolicking young women would come to the gate, and watching a chance for it to open, would throw in chunks of bread to see us scramble for it like hogs in a pen when an ear of corn, would be thrown them, and he who was successful in the rush had procured the morsel would be set upon by the crowd like so many hungry wolves, coaxing if only for a smell if he couldn't get a bite. I succeeded, after Herculian efforts, in obtaining about half a bite. Didn't I eat that with satisfaction, and as the boys say, my teeth watered for more.
Was any reader of this ever hungry? I mean did he ever know what it is to be genuinely hungry? so hungry that the ropy water would come up from his stomach, burning like coals of fire as it came, with headaching and parched lips and a body racking with scurvy, pains and gangrenous sores? Of course any Andersonville inmate knows all about what I am telling for the pangs of hunger and thirst was common to all.
A man imagines himself hard-pressed when perchance he misses one meal, he says surely I never was so hungry in my life. True, but what does he know about a genuine old business hunger, such as we experienced every day? no let up, only a let up many times for days at a time when for some imagined breach of discipline, no rations whatever would be issued. Then was the time when your devotional expected to take place, praying for your enemies. I would go a great distance to see a man so desperately pious as to pray under such circumstances.
In speaking about women throwing in bread to see the Yankees jump for it as they said, reminds me that once upon a time a gaudy little miss ascended to a perch upon the stockade occupied by the Rebel guard and threw toward the crowd a crust of bread which, in the anxiety of one poor fellow to catch, he was pushed too near the dreaded dead-line; crack went the gun of the guard, and his youthful form was rigid in death.
By inquiring of the "punkey" little sergeant who came in every morning to count us, we learned that the day upon which the ladies came to visit the camp was Sunday, and by this we always knew what day of the week we were having.
We always wanted to appear well in the presence of our lady visitors, and to show out our manly proportions to the greatest advantage. If the gates should open wide enough to permit them to see any considerable number of us, they would be sure to offer some insolence and give vent to some insulting expression; and in a crowd of men such as we were some curious capers would be cut up. It was not an uncommon thing, appreciating the fact that they had come great distances, some of them, to see if a Yankee really had horns, that an exhibition would be given in the game of leap frog by a dozen or two fellows, nude as nature found them. This, generally, had the effect of dispelling the "faries" and gave us a rest for that day from being gaped at and tantalized by these southern beauties. Things were tough down there sure enough.
In the absence of an almanac or other means of counting time, we watched for the new moon and from it we made rough calculations. One of our comrades, Peter J. Sprinker, from Possum Hollow, a fine, noble, kind-hearted fellow he was, had a piece of hard wood about a foot long and one inch square, and for every sunrise he would make a mark on the stick with a needle he had, and by these means we could keep pretty close on to the time. Learning when Sunday came by the presence of the crowd outside, watching the moon, and counting the marks on Sprinker's stick, with what information we could get from freshly arrived prisoners enabled us to know pretty much every day how it was. Sprinker, poor fellow, could not stand up against such treatment as we received as well as those of more iron make, and he faded away and died. His toes were tied together and the dead wagon carried him out to fill a martyr's grave. "The little clock of his stopped short never to go again."
It is natural for any person who is confined within certain limits to make efforts to cut his acqaintance with the surroundings and make for liberty, and so it was with us. Uppermost in our minds at all times was the question of making our escape. There was only three ways by which this might be effected, viz; -- by tunnelling out under the walls; by making a mad and desperate attempt to scale the stockade, or by getting to carry a corpse outside and break away from the guard, all of which were desperate undertakings. In these matters councils of war, if you please, were always held, at which each one in attendance was looked to to hand in all the geographical information that he had gained of Georgia, or that he might remember from his school boy days, and also that gained by persistent questioning of guards and others of the enemy as he had conversed with. We had an idea that we were in the Southwestern part of the State. A member of the 140 Pa. Regiment had gotten hold of a remnant of a school atlas in which the map of Georgia was outlined. From all the information we could get we were satisfied that the Chattahooche river was near. That it emptied its waters in Appalachicola bay, and in this bay a lot of our gunboats were stationed. Our project was to get over the stockade, we didn't care how, follow down the little rivulet that ran through the prison until it reached the Flint river, where we would get upon a log or raft and float down stream to Appalachiola. With most councils this was pronounced the most favorite route, others would argue that the most feasible plan was to strike out boldly for the North, and if possible gain the mountains and make a break for East Tennessee. The main thing was to get way from inside the stockade; this as the French say of all first steps was what would cost.
I was a prominent member in a great number of desperate organizations, but I have this much to say, that at no time did I ever manage to smell the air of the outside, neither by going out through a tunnel, scaling the walls or floating down the river. I was willing but the scheme always failed. If I am not mistaken there never was but one member of our company that succeeded in making a clean cut escape from Andersonville. I speak now of Sergeant George H. Fonner of Wampum Pa. After the establishment of a make shift of a hospital outside (of which I will speak later on) our boys were requested by taking a parole of honor, to come outside and nurse the sick. Some thought this was right, some wrong, but it was certainly humanity to do it. Had our own fellows refused to care for their comrades, no attention whatever would have been given them. Sergeant Fonner volunteered to go out and do what he could to sweeten their dying hours. For all in that hospital died, none ever lived to tell the story of that charnel house on the South hillside. Fonner seeing that nothing he could do would in any way save any lives resolved to take himself away if possible, by bribing a guard he got out, and found a negro who was driving to Hood's lines at Atlanta with a load of corn ears in sacks. He agreed to take his Yankee friend as far as he went, and secreting his guest in the wagon under the bags of corn delivered him within striking distance of Sherman's lines north of Atlanta. This is the only instance in which any of our company succeeded in delivering himself of the yoke while we were in Andersonville.
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Andersonville Prison Reminiscences.
VII.
Tunnelling as a means of escape was more universal than any other method, for it was a business in which many could engage and served for exercise if nothing more; besides there was a vast amount of excitement connected with it. The engineer in charge of the tunnelling party would first select the point at which the opening was to be undertaken, as nearly as possible the distance to be worked and at what point the other end of the hole would be, calculate as to the obstacles to be met in the way, arrange for tools, etc. The tools consisted of old pieces of canteens, pieces of tin and sharpened sticks and a poke of some kind to carry away the dirt; most of the digging, however, was done with the hands. The point of opening would many times be immediately under where we slept, thus avoiding discovery, but was always as close up to the dead line as we dare venture, thus rendering the distance to be tunnelled quite short. Wirz was not long in spying out the short tunnel racket, and a force of slaves came in and dug a trench between the stockade and the dead line some eight or ten feet deep, thus causing the adventurous tunneller to burrow deeper into the earth, but the Yankee ingenuity and pluck was not so easily discouraged as he imagined, and work still went on though at a greater distance from the walls.
The most favorite tool used in tunelling was the indispensable half canteen. There was nothing ever produced for the comfort and effective use of the soldier equal to the humble canteen split in half, and you could make soup or coffee in it, or bake bread, rice and beans. Infantry regiments in the field with the half canteen have thrown up breastworks sufficiently strong to resist the charge of the enemy.
After being compelled to cease tunnelling near up to the deadline, back in the more thickly populated districts a well would be undertaken and put down say twenty or thirty feet; down in this hole about fifteen feet from the surface, a tunnel would be started. In order then to cover up our tracks, what dirt was removed in the night would be dropped to the bottom of the well, and the next morning under pretense of going deeper for water the dirt from the tunnel would be brought up and carried to the foot of the hill and scattered in the filthy swamp as a sanitary precaution. In this way some huge tunnels were pushed great distances through the hard clay earthy of Georgia, but I never knew of any person being fortunate enough to push out at the other end while I was there. Some may have succeeded in the early days of the prison in gaining their liberty in this way, but that was prior to the advent of General Winder. We always managed to screen the starting point of a tunnel from the old Dutch tyrant. A tunnel is nothing but a long rat-like hole, somewhat larger than a man's body. The fellow digging lay lengthwise on his stomach, dug in front of him, threw the dirt under himself and worked it back with his feet till the man lying behind him could reach it and push it back to the next man, and so on till it reached the man next to daylight. The longer a tunnel was the more men it took to successfully work it; if it was one hundred feet long it took about twelve men, one behind the other, to manage it. When by each man pushing back to his neighbor the dirt was at the mouth of the tunnel, it was hastily shoved into bags made for the occasion. Old pantaloon legs were tied at the bottom and when filled the messenger carrier would make all haste to empty it in the swamp. The work was extremely exhausting and the diggers were relieved by fresh men about every half hour. The greatest trouble in tunnelling came from the traitors and spies in our midst who would give away the location for a morsel of bread or a chew of tobacco. Sometimes only to carry favor with the rebels. Rebel spies were constantly in the enclosure watching over every movement.
In defiance, however, of all old Wirz's precautions and in utter disregard of all his murderous breathings and threats, the business of tunnelling was pursued with unabated vigor; his ditch between the walls and the dead line, nor his corps of spies with all their cunning, could put a check on Yankee pluck. The manner of things and our disregard of his orders were reported to General Winder. This devil incarnate was not long in getting up something new. He said: "I'll fix the s--s of b-----s! If they are so fond of digging we'll give them enough of it."
We soon noticed a force of slaves going to work, throwing up fortifications, one at each corner of the stockade. These were built of sufficient size each to accommodate eight pieces of artillery. When completed the guns were placed in position, all bearing upon our camp. From these earthen works deep trenches were dug from one to the other, all around and about thirty yards from the big stockade. I learned that these trenches were twelve feet deep - that was seven feet deeper than the trench in which the original stockade timbers were placed. Another wall of timber not so high, but much deeper in the ground, was built in these, and extended from fort to fort. Thus you see, if by any miscalculation in the distance to be traversed by a tunnel, we should break through between the two walls, we had not yet gained our liberty. The great object they had in view was that having so much greater distance to dig than at first, we would "give over," as Crusoe says, "and quit our foolishness," but the work went steadily on.
I will attempt a description of our prison commandant, Captain Henri Wirz, the miserable wretch who sported with our lives. He was small in stature, rather undersized, humpbacked and bow-legged. He was a nervous, fidgety little imp with the illest looking face you ever seen. He had a small mouth that stuck out like a musk-rat's which made him look more like an animal than a man. He was always dressed in gray pants, while the remainder of his miserable anatomy was covered with a garment made of calico which was fastened to his pants with buttons. His head was dressed with a dashing little gray cap, a belt was around his body and in this was stuck an old fashioned pepper-box revolver which was fastened to his waist by a strong leather strap. This amateur arsenal went strutting and sputtering about like an old turkey gobbler. He was contemptibly mean from any point you observed him; gnat-brained, feeble natured and cowardly, no one who ever knew him respected him. Such was the kind of man who had undisputed management of the soldiers of the United States and punished us without just cause.
Wirz had established his headquarters in a large log house which had been built in one of the forts, a short distance from the south-east corner of the prison. From this point he had a full view of the entire inside of the pen. All prisoners arriving would first be marched into the presence of this miserable cut-throat and allowed to look upon him and learn his wisdom.
The great clash of arms came early in May. The giant armies of Grant and Sherman grappled with those of Lee and Johnston. Grant with Lee in the Wilderness and Sherman with Johnson at Rocky Face Ridge and Tunnel Hill. Armies acting on the offensive generally suffer more from capture than those on the defensive, and consequently our rooms were in daily demand. Every day from about the middle of May and many times a day, from inside we could see squads of prisoners marched up to these headquarters. There they would be carefully searched and all things of any account demanded. A refusal was met with forcible means. Their names entered upon the records of the prison and away they were marched inside the stockade. As these squads were passing from the fort to the prison door, the infantry would all be in line of battle, the cavalry mounted with drawn sabres, and the artillerymen standing to their guns ready in an instant to open with grape and canister, either upon those in line or upon the mass of humanity inside. I suppose in their minds this was a necessary precaution to prepare against an outbreak when the gates were opened to receive new comers. As soon as we saw the approach of our prisoners a great stampede would be made toward the port of entry to learn from our friends how it was going on the outside and if there was any news of our being exchanged, where Grant was, where Sherman was and a thousand questions.
The cry "Fresh fish!" "Check your baggage for Petersburg!" "Throw lice on them!" &c. [etc.], would go up from thousands of throats until we made them feel as miserable as possible. I have played at this game myself but am almost ashamed to acknowledge it. One party would no sooner be in until we were on the lookout for another, and so it was all through the summer. By the end of May it was safe to presume there were about twenty thousand prisoners in the "bull-pen," as we called it. Just think a moment of the greatness of this number. You can find in but very few counties in the United States as many able bodied, active young men. General Taylor won the victory of Buena Vista with about one-fourth this number, and with one-half this many men General Scott took the city of Mexico.
These twenty thousand men were compelled to live and act on about twelve acres of ground, forced to nestle together like pigs in the woods of a cold night. Think of the filthy condition of the ground, and every day getting more so, and as the heat of the sun became more intense, the condition was simply indescribable, but if it was unbearable when occupied by twenty thousand men, how much more terrible when it is remembered that in a very few weeks forty thousand men were packed and crowded into this same space, then is when a fellow had to make himself small - almost into a ball. It was with the greatest difficulty sometimes that we managed in this crowded condition of our city to be able to pinch ourselves down through the bodies of men to the ground. How faithfully Cory and Ault and me guarded our precious domain. It appeared to be getting smaller every day, but if the squatters, as we called the "fresh fish," showed any signs of trying to dispossess us, the bands of Spartans went at them and we succeeded in maintaining our grip upon our original possessions.
An acre contains forty-three thousand five hundred and sixty square feet. The reader can readily calculate how many square feet twelve acres contain, and then the number of square feet occupied. After making this calculation, think a moment of the condition we must have lived in; for upon this small space we had to sleep, cook, eat and exercise; and think if a person could live any length of time in such a contracted place.
Had we been comfortably provided for, with good shelter, clothing and plenty to eat, with sufficient healthy water to drink, we would have been more respectable looking personages when the glad day of exchange came, but some of us, if only a few, managed to stand it out against all their merciless abuse and are with you to-day as monuments of God's amazing mercy. It hardly seems necessary to go over our bill of fare, the story has been told so often. If I were to tell of the long weeks during which our day's rations consisted of hard corn, head, cob and all; of other weeks when we were treated with a slop bucket full of mush, and many times it was musty and sour, this for one hundred men one day; of the same quantity of boiled rice, hull and all, for the same number of men; of cooked beans, hull and all; or raw rice, beans and raw meal, each in their turn, but no two items the same week or at one meal. If we got beans, we got beans, and so with the other articles of diet mentioned. To speak of how we managed to live on such rich food would take too long, and the tale is too harsh and awful to unfold, and in these days would not be credited. But go, inquire of any Andersonville hero, and he can tell you. How did we manage the raw beans, rice and meal you ask? Now, listen and I will speak about how we drew ourselves through that kind of campaign.
Fortunately, we had belonging to our mess a quart tin cup and a half canteen, both of which stood us in good stead. The quart cup we used for boiling our beans and rice, and the half canteen we used for roasting the same in at times when nature yelled for a change in the preparing of our victuals, and for roasting or parching the raw meal when its turn came as rations. Curious implements, the women will say, for cooking uses. If they were curious, our way of dishing things up was more of a curiosity. When we had decided that it was beans for dinner all hands went to work preparing for this event. First the wood had to be put in proper shape, and as it was always scarce, consisting of a few little roots, of which we almost always had a small supply in store, gathered from out the stinking swamp below, and packed in little bundles to dry. When about to build a fire the quantity of wood required was made into very small pieces, that every particle might be made useful. Our cook stove consisted of a little hole dug in the ground less than the bottom of our cup. The water in the cup was made to boil by building under it and up its sides a fire made by kindling these small roots, which we called wood, and adding to the flame just as we could spare material. The beans were examined to see if the inhabitant was off to the seashore, and then put into the water. Then we sat down and watched and waited. If the supply of wood gave out before the beans were half cooked, it was all the same to us, we ate them cooked or half cooked. If half cooked they would swell you up and make you look full anyhow, and make you feel full as well. At other times, we would roast them well and make coffee of them. Raw rice was prepared in much the same way, but the coffee made from it was more to our taste than that made from beans. We would take turns drinking the fluid, and the mushy substance served as food. The raw meal was used in two ways. The favorite way was to make it into little dumplings about the size of a hickory nut (of course we had no salt) and boil them in our cup until cooked, and dear! How good they tasted to a hungry fellow. Five or six of these little things would be our allowance for one day. Another way of eating our meal was to lick it from your hand as we used to do in the long ago when our mothers made mush for the boys. I was not inclined to get fat on this kind of diet, but I had to eat the feast prepared and ask no questions. We used many times when in this forlorn condition to yearn for our father's pig pen for shelter, and the good old swill barrel for a table.
Bear in mind that my story so far is confined to our early days within this prison enclosure, but I will try and give it all to you before finishing.
Right here let me tell another way somewhat of how a prisoner of war suffered; and recollect this is only from the pen of one of that vast number. As to our sufferings the half has never been nor ever can be told. Exposed to the rays of a burning sun in an unhealthy region; with not even the friendly shelter of a tree to protect our naked heads from wind and rain, compelled to burrow in the ground or endure the chilling dews of the night, fed on an unwholesome diet that made men sick, and which sick men loathed, bloated with dropsy, scourged with diarrhoea, consumed with dreadful fevers, our flesh rotten with scurvy, and limbs distorted out of all resemblance to humanity, in a space of sixteen acres one-fourth of which was a swamp reeking with human excrement from which came, night and day, odors more infernal than vapor from the region of hell. This horrible swamp was alive with maggots and wingless flies whose bite inflicted incurable gangrenous sores. The air was thick with most poisonous exhalations, and youths that were but yesterday embodiments of health, sickened, drooped and died in a night. The whole camp swarmed with vermin that preyed on our wasted bodies as we slept, and consumed the weak. Soap was an unknown article and water scarce. Many of the prisoners were stark naked, and unavoidably indecency was common. The sick voided their excrement where they lay, and prior to their death maggots invaded their entrails. Medicine was not to be had for love or money. The first notice the prison authorities have of their sickness was the appearance of their skeleton remains in the dead house. Wounds and death upon the battle field are the usual incidences of war, hardships and privations are inseparable from the lot of a soldier, but above and beyond the sepulcher canopy of the battle there shines the sun of peace, honor and renown. At the end of a toilsome march there is repose for the worn patriot, food for the hungry, medicine and nourishment for the sick, clean clothing, good quarters, careful nursing, healthy food, fresh air and every thing to woo back the bloom of health. But as it is appointed to all men once to die, these sometimes fail. Hush! Slippered attendants steal noislessly to the couch of the dying and press the cooling water to his parched lips; ministers of religion pray around his bedside, and fair angels of mercy bend over him to catch his last words and carry them to loved ones at home. But at Andersonville "there was lack of woman's nursing; there was dearth of woman's tears."
From the moment of captivity the personality of a prisoner of war was shrouded in the gloom of blackest, darkest night. For him there shone not a single ray of hope. Cut off from all communication with home and friends, temporarily abandoned by the Government that has as truly engaged to succor and protect him as he had sworn to support and defend it, he is left to die like a poisoned rat in its hole or condemned to months of torture, as an unwilling witness and participant in such squalor and wretchedness as made him envy the beasts of the field in their insensibility to human misery. Ambition died within him. His cherished hopes of glory and fame were balked by the very courage which led him too near the battle's front, or the soldierly rashness that induced him to too literally obey the orders of his commanders.
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Andersonville Prison Reminiscenses.
VIII.
When the warm weather of the summer came on, the condition of the swamp was simply horrible; located near the centre of population, we all shared equally in the poisonous matter which was constantly being given out from its filthy bowels. Recollect that the principal substance composing this poisonous mass was human excrement and imagine the effect of the scorching rays of a summer sun upon it. I will be safe in asserting that the matter thus deposited would average four feet in depth all over the four acres of swamp. It was a swamp sure enough, and would you believe that from the roots of trees cut down and the stumps entirely hid in this stinking bog we got the greater quantity of wood that we had for use? I was regularly engaged plodding around in this black sea, hunting for roots, many times up to my hips in filth. How is that for working in a bed of roses? The odor disconcerted me at first, but as we get used to all things, so we got used to this kind of perfumery. Sometimes yet I almost imagine that I can smell the same old business. After a shower of rain when old Sol came out it was horrible, the smell was choking. The whole area would appear like a boiling mass of lava. It would bubble and shoot up like boiling mush, crack and phiz like hot metal coming from a furnace. It was at such times we imagined that the devil must be on wheels, giving us an exhibition free of charge. If any person wants to know how we could make out with such surroundings, my only answer is, that we just toughed it out like men.
I used to go down to the foot of the hill in the evening or after nightfall, and sit down near the edge of this pool of filth and listen to the strange noises coming out therefrom. It was so full of life that the confusion made by the different kinds of maggots climbing over each other and drawing their bodies through the offensive mixture could be distinctly heard. It was not a very inviting place for reflection, but it was quieter than up in the bustling, jostling crowd on the hillside. My reflections were not such as you would enjoy in your parlor at home. They were confined to the awfulness of this sickening life amidst death. Nothing but misery, squalor and death on every hand. Men dying uncared for, and every day matters getting worse and more of it. I sometimes made rough estimates of how long my sand would hold out. If ever there were heroes in any land surely the men who braved the horrors of Andersonville; who looked death in its most hideous forms square between the eyes every day, and every day well knowing that there was no relief promised him - no exchange; nothing but to grit your teeth and grin and bear the cross and grapple with the monster when he attacked your fortifications, were heroes. Brave hearts sickened, hope died out, despondency seized upon you, and soon the rap came upon your door, and a voice warning you to prepare to cross the river to the "golden shore."
We hear so much these times about blood being poisoned by the foul gases from sewers and sinks, that we wonder how any person who inhaled this diseased air ever escaped to tell the story.
Now I will speak of the supply and kind of water we had to drink. You are aware that a small rivulet coursed its way through the prison from east to west, and at the foot of the hills were numerous small springs. The springs however, availed not, as they soon became covered over with excrement. From this small stream, flowing as it did through this putrid mass of corruption and receiving its drainings, we got all the water for cooking, washing and drinking. The water may have been pure when it entered the stockade, but from evidence of outsiders we doubted it. As the troops guarding us had their camps to the east and on this stream, it is reasonably safe to infer that it received drainage from their camps and cook-houses, and the guards and those in camp eased their bowels in its waters; of course the water would be in rather a mixed condition before we got a chance at it - almost thick enough to stir - but, nevertheless, such as it was, we had to be therewith content and make it serve for all purposes. We never discovered any medicinal qualities in it, nothing in it to make it taste palatable.
A narrow earthen path was made along the dead line and across the swamp at the west side, where this little stream first entered the pen, only across the stream was placed a hewed pine log, thus the connection was made between the north and south sides - a thing rendered necessary for their own advantage, not ours. The point where this log spanned the stream was the spot to which we made pilgrimages for water, and what a noisy, impatient crowd always was on hand, each waiting his turn. We thought by reaching as far up the steam as we could, the water would be less filthy, but the danger in this was that we might get too near the fatal line and be treated to a load of cold lead. Two guards standing one on either side of the stream and in close proximity to the watering place were always heroic Southerners, watching a chance to get a crack at us and obtain that promised furlough. Many of the guards were murderously inclined and if an anxious fellow should reach up too close to the dead line, the guard never hesitated to fire upon him. For weeks I am safe in saying that at least one man a day was heartlessly murdered at this place. You would here the crack of a musket and looking in the direction of the shot, we would see still smoking the muzzle of the gun of one of the guards on either side of the creek. A piercing shriek would come from the mans truck now floundering in the water in his death agony. All over the prison from thousands of throats would go up cries of shame upon the guard, with curses and denunciations loud and deep. There was no excuse whatever for these murders. Whatever defense there might be for firing upon men in other parts of the prison, there could be no excuse at this point. Had the men any intention of escaping or of trying to scale the stockade, then there might have been some excuse for their murders, but to be shot dead at the creek for only reaching out a little too far for water when dying with thirst was most damnable.
A constant and plentiful supply of pure, healthy water to the comfort and health of a large number of men cannot be overestimated. Its absence with us was one of the most fruitful sources of disease suffering and death. Such appalling effects as we have witnessed never existed in the annals of human affairs. All the fearful accounts you may have read of the terrible effects of thirst does not equal in the magnitude of its horrors of what we suffered in this God forsaken place. Georgia is a land of sparkling brooks, bubbling streams and clear bright-flowing rivers. There was no reason for the rebels to deprive us of a plentiful supply of water which cost them nothing. No conclusion can be drawn from the fact that they did not, other than that their action in this matter was intentional and willful. Within less than a half mile to the south-east of the prison ran a clear, sweet stream of water twenty-five feet wide and from four to five deep, which, if the inclosure had been built that distance away from its present site, would have furnished plenty of water and to spare. But this would have interfered with their plans for I heard old Winder say myself that this was the very spot where Jeff Davis wanted the prison put. Well might Winder, the gray-haired old traitor, exclaim when from an eminence he viewed our misery: "I have built a pen here where we can kill more Yankees than we can kill in the front!" and history records his utterance as too true.
The great body of gallant young men who made up Andersonville have passed forever beyond the sound of "recall." They endured famine, disease and death in all its most horrible forms, and repelled with patriotism all offers of release if they would take the oath to the Confederacy and desert their country. The treatment of Union prisoners by rebel authorities must, in the light of history, be considered the most cruel and inhuman known among civilized people in modern times. We do not complain of the necessary hardships of war. We accepted all the conditions of a soldier's life when we enlisted, but to be thus cruelly dealt with, without cause, and our Government, having full knowledge of all the facts, stood apart and mocked at our calamity and laughed when our fear came. These may be hard words to say of our Government, but I speak only of facts in regard to this whole matter and at another time will give my idea on the question of new exchange of prisoners.
During the summer the water in the creek became unbearable and a great many betook themselves to digging wells. The difficulty was the scarcity and inefficient kind of tools, nothing but the kindly half canteen, and sharpened sticks could be had to dig with. For getting the dirt up we used little buckets, which some of our mechanical fellows would make from their pieces of wood secured in different ways; to this would be attached a strap, plaited together from old pieces of blankets and knapsacks, some not hesitating to yield up what was left of their breeches and shirts in order to make the rope strong, for as well as being used to pull the dirt up, it had to serve the purpose of letting the digger down and bringing him up from the bottom of the well. These wells would sometimes reach wonderful depths and water was generally found, but it never served much of a purpose, as it was too difficult to get it out, we being without the means to get enough water from them to be of any particular relief to the famishing.
On our alley, leading to the swamp, a well was dug in which our mess was partners, that afforded quite enough water for us to drink, but not enough for cooking and washing purposes. Being as it was near the foot of the hill, it was not so deep as those up the hill.
At this well an incident occurred that had it not been for the timely arrival of comrade [Alfred] McFarland of our company, two men would have lost their lives. Both of our company and young men of the best families, highly educated and refined, but the disease prevalent in the camp seized hold upon them and their minds gave way, they raved around like mad men, one of them tearing and biting his flesh in a fearful manner. Mind you in this condition these fellows slept together nobody to care for them nobody to pity them. One day we were called to see them tussel or wrestle at the very verge of the well, something had prompted them in their crazy moments to seize each other, each one fully determined to throw the other one down into the hole. See the look of desperation in their faces, hear their oaths, etc. We succeeded in separating them, and they lived and died together in a few days near the place of that terrible struggle. I will not reveal their names as it would only make heartaches yet, but they represented as fine families as you can find in Lawrence or Beaver counties. Many things I might speak of as happening that would make good reading, but I will not give anybody away, I don't believe in killing sheep near home.
The question of escape was always next to our hearts. We nursed it petted it, and slept with it thought of nothing else, it was with us by day and the dreams of the night brought it fresh into our minds in the morning. We were always plotting and concocting schemes for a break, and sometimes the hopeful portions of our people were sure that at last we had struck it. This time we are going to undertake a big thing. It may win and give us our liberty, it may fail and give us a ball and chain for thirty or sixty days. A secret society was organized and bound together by the most stringent of oaths. The members were divided into squads each properly officered, great care was taken to admit no one in whom we had not the most unbounded confidence. The plan of the officers in charge was assented to. That was to dig large tunnels up to the stockade at various places, then dig a tunnel along under the timbers of the stockade, so that a rush made against it would open gaps that men could get through. This rush was to be made at all points the same time, and at a given signal we were to rush out and seize the guns at the forts. The Plymouth pilgrims was to turn the guns on the rebel reserves whom we imagined would throw their arms away, which we would gather up and go "marching through Georgia." But the best laid plans of men get very severly crippled many times and this was the case with our adventure. The tunnels leading to the stockade were progressing finely, when suddenly came the blight, and away went our hopes again; a traitor in our midst had gotten out on some pretext and given the whole thing away to old Wirz. The day after he had the following notice placed on the gates.
NOTICE.
"Not wishing to shed the blood of hundreds not connected with those who concocted a mad plan to fire the stockade and make in this way their escape, I hereby warn the leaders, and those who formed themselves into a band to carry out this, that I am in possession of all the facts, and have made my dispositions accordingly to frustrate it. No choice would be left me but to open with grape and canister on the stockade, and what effect this would have in this densly crowded place need not be told." H. WIRZ. May 25th, 1864.
The next day a line of poles with white flags were struck up all around inside and about 50 feet from the stockade, and a notice was read at roll call, that at any time other than when calling the roll anybody or bodies of men comprising more than a dozen was noticed between these poles and the stockade, the guns from the forts would open upon the camp with grape and canister without any warning. We didn't know but that at any time Wirz's poor weak nature might break down and a general slaughter be inaugurated. I never felt very well composed in my mind in regard to this order, but the guns never opened, his order was obeyed to the letter. With this failure ended my hopes of ever reaching liberty through a tunnel, or by scaling, or breaking down the walls surrounding us. But I was determined, if determination could aid me, to live to get out.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
IX & X Currently Missing
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Andersonville Prison Reminiscenses.
XI.
We had some big days in July, stirring time so to speak. The first of which was the hanging of the six murderers. The next the day upon which General Stoneman made an effort to effect our release, and the other when two thousand prisoners came in from in front of Atlanta who had been gobbled up on the 22d, and belonged mostly to the Seventeenth Army Corps. The rebels claimed that they crushed Sherman and that there would be no "marching to the sea" in his; his goose was cooked. They rejoiced over the death of McPherson and assured us that the gates would soon open as the "wah" was about over. McPherson, the guiding mind in that campaign, out of the way, the intrepid Hood would make quick work of that unprincipled cut-throat, Gen. Sherman. We would laugh at them, while they were comforting themselves with the belief that, of course, everything was shining bright on their side. How blissful it is sometimes to be ignorant! They never tooted very loud about what they were going to do with Grant. They said they couldn't understand what he meant by pounding away, butting his brains out against their works and not hurting them any; that he had been licked many times during the summer but never appeared to know it. A rebel, more bold than his companions, would let it slip out very easy that he didn't believe Grant would ever get Richmond; that General Lee was too much for him. This never discouraged us much, although it was rather exasperating to hear them talk so in our presence.
This story of the hanging of the six men is old and I will only allude to it very briefly, as to give the whole particulars of the causes which led to their arrest, their trial and execution, would take too long and might not be read with interest. It was a Simon-pure hanging business, done up systematicall, and for the highest of known crimes. It was done in the clear light of day and witnessed by 35,000 people, more I imagine than ever stood and looked upon such an act on the face of the earth since man's creation "when the morning stars sang together and the sons of God shouted for joy."
We were a community of 35,000 men and boys, hard to control and entirely destitute of any kind of government. No effort was made by rebel authorities to preserve any kind of order. We were massed upon this space, each man his own boss; no one could issue orders that we would respect or obey. All the rebels tried to do was to keep us from taking "French leave;" little did they appear to care whether we killed and ate each other or not - they would only have been too well pleased had we done so. The highest military officer in the settlement was a Sergeant, and his dignity didn't create any awe within us.
Being thus without any government, it could not otherwise be than that bad men would be organized for evil purposes. Such bands were formed, composed of unscrupulous scoundrels, and we named them the "raiders." They consisted mainly of the older inhabitants who had been sent here from Belle Isle, Libby and other smaller prisons scattered throughout the South, and had been captured at Gettysburg, Chicamauga, &c., in the summer and autumn of 1863. There were several bands of these raiders known by different titles, such as Mosby's, Curtis' and Delaney's. They practiced all kinds of sneak thieving and robbery, for recollect some of the prisoners had watches and money in their possession. If they should find out the party so rich as this a dash would be made upon him at night, and he would soon be shorn of his valuables. The cry of "raiders!" would be raised, and they would be attacked by the near at hand, but with all possible speed they would retreat and be lost in the denseness of the mass of men. These depredations soon became an every day occurrence, and struggles were common between the people and these bandits, in which men were so badly beaten that they died from the effects of the injuries sustained in the line of duty. During these skirmishes all kinds of weapons were used - clubs, tent poles and fists. A great many of the raiders had slug-shots, brass knuckles and sometimes knives were used that they had succeeded in smuggling through the gates. These bullies always appeared to be on good terms with the rebels, and no doubt got encouragement from them in their nefarious vocation.
This condition of this continued until it could no longer be tolerated, but what to do was the question, when all at once a means of deliverance came. Sergeant Key, of Illinois, determined to make an effort to crush it out or die in the attempt. He organized a band known as the "Regulators," composed of strong, hearty, fearless fellows, and I think mostly of Western boys. Great secrecy was observed in organizing this force. Wirz was informed what was proposed to be done, so that if any undue commotion was observed at any time, near at hand, he must not fear an attack on the walls of the stockade and let into us with grape and canister. With all efforts at secrecy, some one gave the thing away to the raiders, and they made their dispositions accordingly. A committee composed of their most daring men called upon the leader of the Regulators to ascertain if he meant "business." His answer, "Yes!" was prompt and emphatic. The news that there was to be a fight between these two bodies of determined and desperate men soon spread through the camp, and for time everything was excitement and all were discussing the probable outcome when "Greek met Greek." That evening every person in the Regulator corps was notified to be ready to take the field next morning. When morning came everything was ready for the fray. By this time the rebels had the scare on bad. All their infantry was in line with loaded guns, the artillerists stood to their cannon with lanyards in hand. Inside how silent everything was; awful moments these. The raiders were massed under command of their big chief. When the two lines came together the fight commenced and was desperate; a few minutes and the raiders' defeat was complete. When the result was published what shouting went up from all over the prison you never heard. After the battle the work of arresting the raiders went on. Very little resistance did they make, and by the evening of the first day, something over 100 had been captured.
A court was duly organized for the purpose of trying those arrested. Thirteen men were chosen to try the cases, twelve as a jury and one for a judge. The trial was conducted in all manner the same as would be in a court of justice. Witnesses were summoned who testified against this one and that. The defense was ably conducted by one of their own number. The trial lasted several days and resulted in sentencing six of them to be hung by the neck until they were dead, and may God have mercy on their souls.
They were all kept under guard by Wirz outside the prison, until the day of the hanging. On the morning of the 11th of July it was noised about among the prisoners that these six who had been convicted by the jury (of our own men) of murder were to be hanged inside the prison sometime during the day. The idea of standing up and seeing six men swing off at once naturally was revolting, but everyone was at fever heat and longed to see them go. Mr. Wirz kindly sent in early in the morning some rough boards and scantling with which to build a scaffold. It was an unseemly looking structure, but answered the purpose. By noon the arrangement was finished, a ladder was made to go up and down on. All ready the "Regulators" formed in a hollow square around the scaffold. (I want Max Cosel to go back there when he reads this and occupy the same position he did on that day, just for once live that day over again.) There we packed about the scaffold at least one half the whole number of prisoners as close as sardines in a box. The remainder on the north side were all on foot with their eyes turned to the location of the instrument of death. What a wonderful sight! The whole area of the prison covered with human faces all intent on witnessing the tragedy about to be enacted. The rebels again were on their ear fearing a break would be made. The fellow who had charge of the hounds was out with his yelping troop in full force. The sun made it a particular business this day to get his rays down with terrific fierceness, and if ever you seen a "red hot" crowd you could have seen it here in this large surging mass of miserable humanity, on the 11th day of July 1864.
It was about one o'clock when we noticed the south gate swing open and General Wirz on his celebrated white horse, dressed in a suit of white drilling rode inside the prison. A Catholic priest walked behind, and the six murders crept along after between a line of rebel guards. When inside the square the regulators had formed around the scaffold, Wirz turning around faced the hanging party, and thus addressed them. I quote his speech as published in "Life and death in Rebel prison."
"Brizners I return to you dese men so goot as I got dem. You haf dried dem yourselves and found dem guilty. I haf had notting to do wit it, I vash my hands of everything connected wit dem. Do wit dem as you like, and may Gott haf mercy on you and on dem."
Finishing his speech, outside he and his guards went.
The men were ordered to mount the scaffold which they did by climbing up the little ladder from behind and arranging themselves under the ropes hanging from the beam above. The priest commenced his reading, but nobody - not even the condemned - appeared to take much interest in what he was saying. After he was through, the victims each wanted to deliver a farewell address to the audience. A short time was allowed for such as wished to give his experience. When the boss of the affair announced that "time was up!" his hand was raised as if in signal to let the thing go off. The hands and feet of the condemned men were securely tied with pieces of rope, a meal sack was pulled over their heads and the ropes drawn closely up around their necks. The planks were jerked out from under their feet, and five of the men were hurled into eternity in an instant. The other, a big, fat fellow that we had named Mosby, broke the rope and fell to the ground. He was soon picked up and carried upon the scaffold again. How he squealed for mercy! He thought that the rope breaking with him was a token of his innocence. This racket didn't work well in his case. The rope was soon fixed and being securely tied around his neck, the plank was pulled from under him, and Mosby passed away as the rest had done. When dead they were cut down and sent out to the dead-house.
This put an end forever to such conduct in Andersonville. After this there was organized a large force of men known as the police force, whose duty it was to preserve order the same as in large cities. If I am not mistaken, Sergeant Key held the office of chief of police, after him, I think, Sergeant Hill came next, as the chief. Of course it was impossible to preserve absolute order in such a crowd as was gathered here. There were little squabbles and fights, and stealing of rations of bread and sticks of kindling, but they never amounted to much, and always, if detected, the guilty party was punished. The punishment was in accordance with the crime always. If it was an aggravated offense the instrument of punishment that was used was made in the shape of an old fashioned paddle in the grand times when we boys played "town ball." The guilty man would be required to stand with his head down to his feet; this would bring his unmentionable part into prominence, which was spanked with the paddle from one to forty times, according to the degree of the crime. For a week or so afterwards he would generally take his meals standing.
I recollect one evening I was up near police headquarters, when two of the force brought to the chief a big, stout, strapping fellow - one of the "fresh fish" - who had expressed a desire to take the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy. The chief, very good naturedly, said: "Certainly sir. Just get down on your knees and bend your body over that log at your feet and you shall be satisfied." This put him in a position for a beautiful attack from behind. When comfortably fixed over the log, the chief, a powerfully built man, whipped out a stick at the end of which fastened quite a number of leather straps, and the way he served his hips and back was terrible, each lick an oath. "Take the oath, will you? You d----d dough-faced coward! This is the way we administer the oath!" How he cried and plead for mercy, but no use, law had its paw on him. When sufficiently punished for his offense, which was considered an infraction of military discipline, he was turned loose and requested to call again when he wanted to take the oath.
The first of this article speaks of an effort made by General Stoneman of Sherman's army to effect our release. The force, which consisted of several thousand cavalry under Stoneman, McCook and Garrard, was to push South around Atlanta, and make to capture Macon and from thence on in haste to Andersonville. The expedition was commendable in its intentions, and under a Sheridan or Kilpatrick, bold each in execution of his designs would have proved successful. Instead of pushing the whole force in one body it was separated into three commands, McCook going to the right, Garrard to the left, and Stoneman taking the direct road to Macon, all converging on that point, and reach there on a given day. McCook was driven from his intentions by Wheeler, and most of his troopers captured and killed. Garrard was misled and beat his way back to our army with considerable loss, and when Stoneman appeared in front of Macon he was without the assistance of either McCook or Garrard, and being pounced upon by General Iverson with the Georgia State troops, soon was a prisoner himself, and most of his command followed suit. Thus a good job was spoiled, many hundreds of prisoners taken, and Andersonville never reached. This was the first and only scheme that was originated by our friends to effect our release. If this had been a bold move with concerted action we might have been spared months of misery and thousands of lives been saved. What a sorry looking crowd these Yankee raiders were when they came in?
We, of course, knew nothing of this movement until it was all over, as we had no means of knowing anything that was going on outside. One morning in the latter part of July, ominous sounds reached our ears. What could it mean? It was apparently the grumble of heavy guns and the sound was toward the north. Was Sherman coming? or was the fiery Kilpatrick making for us! All with us was anxiety and awful suspense. Every man who could stand was up on his feet watching for the old flag to come over the hills with the blue coats behind it. The rebel troops were ordered out into the trenches. Couriers on horseback dashed to and fro in hot haste; the guards were doubled on the stockade and everything got into readiness for an attack, when suddenly the distant rumbling of the guns ceased, the troops drawn back to their positions, and we recognized in a moment by their movements that all was well with them - the invader was not coming our way. The hopes that were so suddenly revived in us, melted away like snow under the sun's rays, and not until the raiders came in did we know what it was.
That afternoon, being July 27th, the following order was issued to the artillery officers by General Winder, commanding: --
[Copy.]
H'D'QS MILITARY PRISON,
ANDERSONVILLE, GA., July 27th, `64.
Order No. 13.
"The officers in charge of the artillery at the time will, upon receiving notice that the enemy has approached within seven miles of this post, open upon the prison with grape and canister, without any reference to the situation beyond these lines of defense."
John H. Winder,
Brig. Gen, Commanding.
How could this fiend look upon the scenes presented in Andersonville during the three hot months of June, July and August, and upon the terrible suffering of the men unmoved, when three thousand were dying a month, but he could do it, and still in his boasting way declare that he was "killing more men than Lee's army." The order above is sufficient proof of what he would not hesitate to do when, if ever, the emergency presented itself. If the authorities at Richmond who must have known of his acts, were not responsible for this condition of things who in the name of Heaven was. With this ends July and August. Eight more of our boys have gone to their eternal rest, only to be awakened by the sound of Archangle's trump.
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Andersonville Prison Reminiscenses.
XII.
During the early part of August, I think it was on the afternoon of the 13th day, one of those terrific rain storms so common to the South accompanied by loud burst of thunder and sheets of lightning spring upon us. It appeared as if all the waters above the firmament were let loose upon us hapless mortals at once, that those who had not fallen prey to the hardships visited upon them by the enemy might be "knocked out" by drowning. The storm lasted for several hours affording us a fine opportunity to "wash off" as we termed it. Our little stream swelled to an immense size and swept down large portions of the stockade on the east side at the point where it entered the prison, and also at the west side where it left the prison. How intently did we stand and watch the effect the vast volumes of rushing water had upon the stationary timbers composing the walls surrounding the camp, thinking that the opportunity to escape might thus be brought to us by the action of the elements over which we had no control. Our friends outside were quick to discern the situation. From one of the forts two shots were fired across the camp, and the troops hastily gathered near the gaps made in the walls by the falling timbers. The artillery in the forts was shotted and ready for action. Everything was placed so as to combat any force that might attempt to strike for liberty, but no effort was made to get out, taken so by surprise the opportunity was lost, but anyhow we were in no condition to hazzard our lives in such an enterprise.
After this flood the camp seemed cleaner and purer than for months. A great quantity of filth and corruption which was so plentiful all through the grounds was swept outside, and even the air for a time seemed purer and more wholesome.
Some of the timbers got into the maddened little stream (now a mighty river,) and were taken with the current of water down and against the western wall. During their trip all kinds of efforts were made to snatch some of them ashore, as they would have made excellent wood. Many of the boys dashed into the water and mounting a piece made desperate efforts to swim it to shore. In a few instances success perched upon their efforts, but when the matter of repairing the broken down walls began, these were sought out and again placed in position.
Soon after this wonderful fall of water, I think it was on the 17th day of August a circumstance happened that enabled the Providential theorists to score a very immense point, and it did look as if there was a smiling providence around. We looked upon this happening as coming a little late to accomplish that whereunto it was sent, but better late than never. As you are already aware from what I have written the water we had to drink was indescribably bad, and every day getting fouler and more corrupt. What would be the condition of a city of forty thousand inhabitants that had an open sewer flowing through it which had received all the offensive excrement of such a population, and this under the burning rays of the sun 32 degrees of latitude. Can you who read this imagine without becoming sick, that us poor friendless fellows had to wash in and drink of this filthy flow for months. There is no exaggeration in this that I state. It is all in the line of exact truth, and can be demonstrated by the testimony of any person who was ever a prisoner of war within the stockade at Andersonville. No one will deny that there was at least thirty-five thousand prisoners in the stockade, and that the one little creek passing through the prison was the only sewer, and from which we got the water for bathing, drinking, and washing purposes. I will trust to the readers common sense to furnish the remainder of the details. As I have before mentioned there were a great number of wells throughout the prison, but water from these was very difficult to get out and not of sufficient quantity to satisfy all demands. So that the majority of the prisoners had to go to the creek to get water for all purposes.
Imagine our surprise on the morning above spoken of to know that sometime during the previous night a large spring had burst out on the northern hill side about half way between the swamp and the top of the hill. This wonderful spring was no small affair, it was a "gusher." How could we look otherwise than with wonder upon it. Were I to say that a pure clear healthy stream of water as thick as your arm came gushing up out of the dry earth would be no more than the truth. Had Moses been around with his enchanted rod smiting the parched places and bringing forth the living waters? This very miraculous interposition for our good was a "stunner." The ground from which this living fountain burst forth was dry and parched as the sands of Africa's desert, no signs of water had ever been seen there before. A body of earth say five or six feet square had slipped right out of the hill, and from the bottom bubbled up a beautiful stream clear as crystal, furnishing sufficient water for all the inhabitants of our city, the quantity seemed exhaustless. But in the midst of so many famishing men how was the matter of having all equally supplied to be arranged. Our police officers took the spring in charge. A trough was made by nailing two boards together, this manner the water was conveyed about ten feet away from the spring, and each one was compelled to await his turn in filling his vessel. Ever after this we had a plentiful supply of water, that is as long as we remained in Andersonville. From early morning until long after dark a waiting crowd stood there with cups and cans to be filled with precious liquid. I am told by people who have visited the prison recently, that the spring is still there as when we left it. It was a God send to us who were living at the time, but what a mercy it would have been to those who famished and died in June and July. Had it burst forth then the dying cry of water, water, give me a drink of pure water before I die would not have been heard so often.
Immediately after roll call each morning, thousands of fellows might be seen wending their way to the south gate in expectation that the doctors might be there and afford them some relief. Here upon the burning sands and under the sun's scorching rays, came little groups of sick, generally supported by stronger comrades, sometimes carried by two or more in a piece of an old blanket, and there laid down to await the coming of the earthly healer. Those who were unable to walk, and had no friends to help them, would manage to crawl painfully along on their hands and knees. What a sickening panorama these daily parades of sick and halt and lame presented, every form of physical suffering could be seen. If a doctor was upbraided for not giving medicine when it was needed he would get back on us in this shape:-
"We have no medicines and can't get any. Your Government has declared medical supplies contraband of war, and why blame us for not doing what humanity dictates when the fault lies at the door of your own house. We have asked that they send doctors, medicines and nurses of their own to attend to you properly, and as they have refused to do it, now don't blame us for not doing for you what your own Government refuses to do." An opportunity was never lost by them to try and make it appear that our friends at home had gone back on us entirely.
From the great mass of sick that went to the south gate each morning, a few of the worst cases were admitted to the pretended hospital. This always looked to me like signing a man's death warrant, as to my knowledge, no man ever returned. Their record shows that three out of every four admitted to the hospital died. As none ever came back well, we would like to know what became of the other fellow.
Since the days of the Inquisition, or since the punishments inflicted upon the insurgents by the Austrian nobles, nothing has been so cruel as the stocks and chain-gangs used by Wirz as means of punishment. We all knew that one time seven men in the stocks were kept there until all of them died. Can any person imagine what they endured during that time, sitting in the boiling hot sun all day, until at the end of two weeks all were dead, and what was the offense? Perhaps they had called Wirz a son of b---h, or some other such pet name, as we have many times seen the rations stopped on one whole half of the prison for just such cause.
The chain-gang was simply a number of men chained to one large ball; when one moved, all had to move. They were generally kept outside and from our location inside we could distinctly see them out near the Star fort, as they called it, tramping painfully to and fro, all through the hot, weary summer days. For cunning cruelties this man Wirz beat the devil himself. In this place it seemed as if pandemonium had adjourned to this earth of ours, and that his Satanic majesty was trembling in his boots for fear that in his realm there would be a change of administration and that he, after holding dominion in hell since he was kicked outside the heavenly gates millions of years ago, would have an earthly competitor in person of Capt. Henri Wirz.
It is now September and only think of being hungry ever since the 20th day of April! It is an awful time to think back over, and how much worse to have been there yourself. There never was a day during all this time but that we were hungry, and hungry for food! The changeless monotny of the miserable saltless bread, or mush, or beans, or rice, for weeks and months became unbearable. A person could sometimes forget the stench, and lice, and maggots, the dead and dying all around you and the insults of our keepers; but you could never banish the longing for something to eat from your mind, many becoming entirely bereft of reason from brooding over it. In all parts of the camp crazy men could be found, wandering around entirely naked always talking about something to eat, hundreds of men lost sight, hearing and speech.
I commenced to be somewhat solicitous about my clothing as the cold months were coming on and I dreaded the thought of attempting to go through the winter in a nude condition. Months of wear and tear, sleeping out in the weather, and on the sand, tunnelling and digging wells put our clothes in such a condition that a good second class tramp would have thought it a disgrace to wear them. When captured I had on a pair of very fine woolen pants and a boiled shirt. Some two months of imprisonment had gone when a special exchange was made of the sailors captured with the U. S. Gunboat "Waterwitch." Two of these sailors who belonged to our hundred were of this crowd. Before leaving, one of them by the name of Lodi, came to me and said, "Eckles, I am going home; let me take your woolen pants and boiled shirt and I will give you in their stead my duck pants and coarse shirt." I hesitated but he prevailed upon me to make the change. Had I not swapped with him, it would have not been long before I would have been "flickering" around in the condition of father Adam before he indulged in apple eating. But naval uniform and all soon went. By long and continuous contact with the sand that part of my pants when sitting down that was between my person and the earth, got the dropsy and gave me the slip; soon the lower extremity of my shirt followed suit and retired from the service. I was very much afraid of an exposure that would not have been in keeping with the usages of refined society. I cast about to get some material to fix the break; first I tried to steal a meal sack, and failing in that direction I happened to stumble upon a dead man who had on a pair of drawers, and as it was permitted in our society to steal clothing from the dead, his drawers came into my hands in double-quick time and from these I got enough material to patch the opening. Gradually little by little, my pants rotted off to the knees, the sleeves of my shirt deserted me; it cracked open in the back and rotted away from my breast. What was the matter with my pants was either stretching or my stomach contracting, as I had to tighten my garments every day in order to keep them from deserting me entirely.
How exceedingly selfish men will become when hard pressed as we were for something to eat and wear. Let me tell you how mean and utterly hateful I became one time. I can scarcely think now that I could ever have ever done what I did. A small matter true, but it makes an example. One day by some hook or crook I came into possession of a small, raw sweet potato about the size of a hens egg. For fear of being discovered if I ate it in daylight I slipped it slyly into my pants pocket and walked around all day. How my mouth watered when thinking of the hidden treasure. I almost feared that death would deprive me of the rich treat in store before the night came on. My stomach was playing boyish pranks in the sweet anticipation of a feast. Night came at last and to a God forsaken spot I betook myself, and made merry gnawing the raw root where none of my comrades could see me and pitifully coax me if only for a bite. I made a complete job of it, but it got the better of me before morning and came up the same way it went down.
The churches of all denominations, except a solitary Catholic priest, Father Hamilton (who according to his own statement visited Andersonville three times) ignored us entirely as if we had been wild beasts. Body doctors were scarce, but here they did make some pretentions to work their profession, but those who pretend to administer the healing balm to sin sick souls and point out the way to the new Jerusalem, kept themselves at a respectful distance. And I have this much to say for God's ministers down there, and I say it with charity, that there was never one of them stuck his nose inside the walls at Andersonville during the months that we languished and died. I guess they were upon the presumption that when there is no law there is no sin. That in consequence we were a band of little angles and didn't need their ministrations. Perhaps they were tender hearted, and didn't want to hear the moans of the dying. They didn't want to look upon the trembling limbs and palled faces of these dying men, the burden of whose last cry is bread, a morsel of bread. They didn't want to hear that fearful cry growing fainter and fainter as the famished victim sinks down into the darkness, and the feeble echo vanishes as the turbid waves of death close over him forever.
The only interest manifest by any rebel in the welfare of any prisoner was by the Masonic brotherhood. A tent was built inside from material sent in by the brotherhood and all who made themselves known as one of the mystic brethren were comfortably cared for. I was not a Mason and never got any favors - No rebel living can say that he ever gave me a handful of meal, a spoonful of salt, an inch of thread or a stick or wood. To no man in the Southern Confederacy do I owe gratitude for anything, not even a kind word.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Getting Ready to Leave Andersonville.
XIII.
The time is near at hand when we must bid adieu to Andersonville. The Andersonville which will live in the history of cruelties through all coming time. We must leave all its associations, all its sufferings and hardships. When I think of quitting forever the place near to where lie the remains of so many of my comrades, how thickly come to my mind incidents which happened there during that dreadful summer and autumn of 1864. I have in my way endeavored to tell you of how we lived and how they died, but my reader the half has not been told, cannot be told. History is as silent as the grave on this the most remarkable story of patriotic devotion to the right ever known in the annals of the world's history. What is known to the world of the way we suffered and endured here, is only gathered from such narrations as this, or by hearing those who were there tell the story.
Most of us who were prisoners were only soldiers temporarily had at variance two distinct elements of feeling. One springing from our habitual, and the other from our temporary mode of life. One springing from peaceful associations with the seclusions of home, or the luxury of the business activity of city life, the other from the more recent influences of the camp and battlefield. These elements are in constant antagonism. One moment it is the soldier, improvident and careless of the future, reckless of the present, laughing at discomforts and privations, and making merry in the midst of the most intense suffering and death. Then it is the quiet citizen complaining of misfortune, sighing for home and his dear ones, dreaming of seclusion and peace, or yielding to despondency and sorrow. And this was perhaps fortunate for at least there is less danger the prisoner shall become improvident with the one element, or a miser dead to every feeling with the other. Most prisoners in such misfortunes are apt to indulge in a kind of post-mortem examination of their prison life to dissect that portion of their past history which is seldom anatomized without arriving at the conclusion that present misfortunes are in nearly all cases due to some radical error in their own lives. Misfortunes such as ours made some men reckless, others on the contrary became cautious and wise through misfortune, and such retracing in the leisure hours, for we had plenty of them, their paths of life question the sorrowful specters of perished hopes which haunt the crowded grave-yards of the past. They draw from the past naught but cold realities, they cut into the body of their blighted life and hopes, and seek to learn of what disease it died. This is rational it is instructive and courageous, but most unfortunately it is not very pleasant. Better to light anew the corpse of the dead past, to inwreath the torn hair with sweet blossoms, to tingle the livid cheek with the purple flush of health, to enkindle the glazed eyes with eloquent luster, to breath into the pale lips the echoes of a familiar voice which may discourse to us pleasantly of long departed joys and of happy old hours. There is a piteous consolation in it, like the mournful solace of those who having lost some one near and dear to them plant the living grave with flowers. It is this inward self which is all his own that the prison leisure leads the speculative captive to daily analyze. After a voyage of memory over the ocean of the past as we beheld it in Andersonville and other Southern prisons, we return to the present with a better heart and endeavors from the newly kindled stars which have arisen above the vapory horizon of our prison experiences, to cast the horoscope of a nobler future. I must desist from sermonizing and talk of something else. But I find it a hard matter to stop when I once open the valve, and I fear the patience of the reader will tire before I complete this disconnected tale.
To know about these prison pens you must have been there and been a sharer in common with those who lived them through. What an awful thing it is to know that you are starving and rotting to death and no help for it. Each day a little weaker grown, going one sand at a time, the stars pitied us in our agony. We braced every nerve against the encroaches of the monster, all the selfishness of our natures was called to our assistance; every man for himself was the motto with us, but in spite of all our depravity we did what little we could to ease each other down to the verge of the cold waters. A word to the dying, the closing of the eyes after death and folding of their hands was all we could do. No medicines to give nor victuals fit to eat, no shrouds, no coffin, no funeral.
After long months of weary waiting and hoping, one evening one of the rebel Sergeants who every morning came in to call the roll entered the stockade. Each of our men in charge of a hundred called the crowd together and Mr. Rebel made the following announcement, or address, if you please:
---"Prisoners: I am instructed by General Winder, commanding, to inform you that a general exchange of prisoners has been agreed upon by the Commissioners representing the two Governments. Twenty (20) thousand prisoners will be exchanged immediately at Savannah where your vessels are now waiting for you. Thousands from one to twenty will get ready to leave tomorrow morning."
Can any person imagine what great excitement this news would produce, to think of getting out of such an infernal place as this is almost more than we dare think of. Had the time really arrived when the gates would fly open and bid us go. We looked upon the announcement as a gay deceiver, but still one could not help but feel it might be possible that we were to be turned loose. Some men became excited and yelled with all the strength they had left, others reasoned with themselves all the while doubting the genuiness of Winders intentions. I came mighty near getting excited myself, but Cory would say don't you believe it Eckles, they have another d----d old "bull pen" to put us in. That old Billy Sherman is getting mighty close around here, and they want to hustle us out before he steals away. This presumption proved the correct one as you shall see.
Could it be that we were really going to "God's country" fairer than the promised land of Canaan. Had the glad day come at last, the day for which we had longed and prayed for, dreamed of, schemed and toiled and prayed for, and for which the dying wish of thousands went up for who knew no exchange save into that forever "God's country," the heavenly camp. All through that night we made preparations. We talked, we sang, we "rallied round the flag" in imagination, the lame tried to dance for joy. Our preparations for leaving were simple. What a big night we had of it? We were a hard looking crowd to go on an excursion through the heart of the Southern confederacy, but we had long since given over the idea of even trying to make a good appearance in public. Get ready, what had we to get ready? No tents to pull down and tie up, no baggage to have packed, sent to the depot and checked, no store bills to pay, no bank accounts to settle, nothing to do but to get ourselves together and the little quart tin cup, God save it! Our blankets had taken to themselves wings, our clothing was in shreds, and generally speaking we had not a very thrifty appearance.
The night wore on but we could not think of sleeping, morning at last dawned and for the last time on us at Andersonville. Shortly after sunrise the order came to move. They omitted the issues of rations, likely they forgot it. We gathered our earthly all together, looked about us cast a lingering look toward the field where twenty-six of our comrades had found graves, bade farewell to the little spot of earth that had been our home for seven long weary months. By detachments we were marched to the south gates, the same gate by which we entered the 28th day of the April previous. What an age it seemed. By the time our hundred got out it was 2 o'clock in the afternoon. They marched about one thousand of us out on the hill-side near the Star fort where we went into camp being informed that for lack of transportation we could not get off before the next morning. This announcement kind of "knocked us out" how we feared that they would return us to the inside again. Night came and with it came our old associates lice and fleas, they couldn't think of giving up as long as any meat was left on our bones. Never in my life did I pass such an awful night. A look back to our former home was sickening. It was all darkness save here and there the light from a pine-knot fire blazing up, and holy horrors what an offensive smell arose from that swamp. Another morning came, this time we were awakened by the reveille in the rebel camps, and again all was business. How patiently we awaited the order to fall in and move to the depot. A suspicion was abroad that they were "putting it on us" and that soon the order would come, no more prisoners to be exchanged until further orders. We had come to regard the rebels as such notorious liars that it was kind of natural to believe the reverse of what they would tell us. When they said, yes this is no humbug it is a sure enough exchange, I doubted it simply because a rebel said it.
About ten o'clock the whistle of an engine was heard in the distance, and looking in the direction of the station, some half mile distant, an engine drawing a long train of cattle-cars was seen pulling in on the side track. This looked as if the thing was going to work at last, and that after all we would get off sometime during the day.
At last the order came: --"Fall in Yanks! Forward march!" Nothing to eat this morning. What a sad procession this was that marched away in that bright autumn morning! How in contrast with the body of strong, healthy boys who came in through the gates between April and November. Instead of hearty, vigorous boys there was now a body of halt and lame and blind, with constitutions wrecked and all kinds of diseases preying upon us. How many fellows had to be carried or supported by stronger comrades to the station. Talk about your sorrowful processions, you should have seen this one and that would have lasted you a lifetime.
For fear that on our way to the cars some might be resolute enough to make an attempt to escape they had paraded out all their fighting force. The infantry fellows, dressed in butternut clothes, lined each side of the road. The artillery was stationed on the most prominent points. The cavalry moved near the Yankey desperadoes. The keeper of the hounds with his troops was on the alert, and the old tyrant Wirz was along on his white horse. The authorities held their breath while the corpses marched by. Should any complain or lag on the way Wirz would rip out something like this: -- Got d--n s--s of b-----s get along or I'll put a buck shot through you. When he would get too abusive we would give it back to him according to rule. Then you should have seen him tear and rave around.
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Getting Ready to Leave Andersonville.
XIV.
Before leaving Andersonville, I would like to mention some facts to disprove their assertion that the reason they fed us so poorly was on account of the scarcity of eating material. That we got the same rations as their soldiers in the field. If that was the case, how did it come that the rations issued them gave them strength to make long marches and fight hard fights, and at the same time we starved to death trying to eat it? This little job of theirs won't hold water. Now in regard to any scarcity of corn or beef, or sheep, or hogs, or cured meat. Hear what history tells; "sixty-five thousand men and ten thousand horses had lived sumptuously off a State wherein our boys in tens of thousands had died of starvation and kindred agencies, because their captors and keepers said they couldn't subsist them." Sherman reports having captured twenty-three thousand head of beeves, ten thousand head of sheep, used fifty thousand bushels of sweet potatoes, captured one hundred and sixty thousand bushels of corn and all other farm produce accordingly. This don't look much like as if they hadn't plenty upon which we could have lived, and nicely if it had been given us.
In our departure we leave behind the enticing chuck-a-luck board wheron fortunes in a small way were made and lost. The business men each and all closed up shop. Those who speculated in the currency of the "lost cause" closed the doors of their banking houses. Strange as it may appear to the reader yet it is a fact that considerable business was done in our settlement. In what way you ask? Well, in various ways, such as selling brass buttons to the Johnnies for fabulous prices. For if anything would bring a smile to the face of our enemy it was the sight of brass buttons, and in consequence the button business was brisk all seasons of the year. I know of an instance when a rebel Sergeant came in on the hunt of buttons, his own coat trimmed out with them in great style, and that while engaged in conversation with one prisoner another slipped up behind and cut the buttons off his coat, and actually sold them to him. How very easily they could be imposed upon. Here is an instance of how we played it on them. On a certain morning when the dead were being carried to the gate a prisoner feigned death, and was carried by comrades to the dead house, layed out for gone by them, counted as a part of that days job, but what was their surprise when piling the corpses into the wagon which was to carry them out to the trenches to find this one corpse gone. Wirz became very much exasperated, and the novel feature of placing a guard over the dead house to keep watch that none got away was adopted, and daily and nightly after that a dashing guard might be seen pacing his beat intent on his duty of watching that no dead Yankee's played them the slip. Again I return to tell of how money was made even here. One of the great businesses was the corn meal beer business. The beer was made in this way. Any one who was the fortunate possessor of a little wooden bucket such as I have before described, would save up some meal, perhaps of his own ration or the ration of a dead comrade, or of another whose stomach kicked when invited to the feast. When meal enough was got together it was placed in the bucket with water sufficient to make it ferment; this was let stand over night and in the morning the water would be sour like whey. Out into the thronged street the owner would go, and sitting down in the sand under the hot rays of the sun with his treasure between his knees, would sing out at the top of his voice: "Here's your fine excellent meal beer! Taste it and try it, and if you don't like it, don't buy it. It cures the scurvey and all other deseases, etc." In this manner he would sit and sing all day or until he had disposed of his stock. Back he would go and make ready for the next day. Hundreds of prisoners were engaged in this kind of trade. The beverage retailed at 25 cents per drink, and he was only fortunate who had the cash to whack up as the system of credit didn't exist with us - life was too uncertain. Where did the money come from? You must not imagine for a moment that ours was a bankrupt community, far from it. It is estimated that over one hundred thousand dollars came through the gates upon the persons of prisoners, but money there like every place else was not equally distributed. Hundreds of other matters I could speak of, but already enough has been told, and as we are about to go on a journey homeward our keepers say, I will give the opinion of an eminent Englishman on the treatment of prisoners.
"The treatment of Confederate prisoners by the North was in keeping with the general tone. Through the kindness of the Catholic Bishop of Chicago, I was allowed to go into the large prison camp at Chicago. The prisoners, of course, looked listless and unhappy as caged eagles always do, but they were suffering no other hardship, and the food given them was of the best quality and plenty of it. It happened to be on Thanksgiving Day, and as I stood in the entrance hall to the dining room, I could see the table spread with roast turkey and all of the good things of the season. I afterwards called on the commander, General Warren, who was so good as to take me down to the hospital and allow me to look through it. I looked over it thoroughly and came away convinced that the inmates were being treated with all possible humanity and kindness, and it was so in all the prisons in the North that I visited. It was said in England that Confederate prisoners were dying in heaps of maltreatment in the Northern prisons. I can oppose to such statements the evidence of my own senses with regard to the prisons which I saw."
"The humanity of the North was all the more creditable because it was the universal belief that thousands of Northern soldiers were all the time undergoing the most cruel ill treatment at the hands of their Southern captors in the prison camp at Andersonville. As to the hideous mortality and other horrors of Andersonville there can, unhappily, be no doubt whatever. After visiting the Northern prisons, I made application to the Confederate authorities at Richmond for the privilege of visiting the Southern prisons, but my request was politely refused. In order to see for myself the condition of the Federal prisoners when returned from Confederate prisons, I went on board the first ship that arrived at Annapolis with paroled prisoners, and more pittiable sight I never beheld. The men were absolutely skeletons. I should hardly have thought it possible that life could linger in such frames. The resources of the South were, no doubt, running low, though. Lee's soldiers didn't look to be ill fed. By the North, at the time, the alleged cruelties were generally coupled with the name of Jeff Davis, the only one among the Southern leaders who, when the wreck came, didn't stay by the ship."
This letter completes the story of Andersonville. It has been written hastily, but with great care, for after twenty years it is a task to remember all that happened during an unwilling stay there, many things I have forgotten, and many that I remember I should like to forget.
My next letter will contain an account of our trip to "God's Country."
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Getting Ready to Leave Andersonville.
XV.
We are at the station, the cars are on the sidetrack waiting for their cargo of humanity. They will carry away more than humanity. As we gazed backward toward country and friends in the early spring days when we entered yonder pen, so now gaze we back upon that place of torture and pain, and bid Good-by! to stocks, sweat-boxes, chain gangs, blood hounds, the fatal dead line, old Wirz and all that. Fourteen thousand of our comrades have been ferried over to the other side by that boatman cold and pale, and are tenting on those fields of living green beyond the swelling tide. Winder had made good his words, for he had promised when he opened his campaign to kill more men than Lee during the summer. Grants entire loss in killed from the Wilderness to the Appomatox, was near twelve thousand men. This period covering from May 6th, 1864 to April 9th, 1865, over eleven months. The forces operating against Richmond and under his command numbered at all times over two hundred thousand men. While our force numbered from thirty to forty thousand. We made our fight without either commander, ammunition, guns or provision, cut off from our base of supplies completely, and entirely surrounded by the enemy. Our loss was great, numbering fourteen thousand killed, about the one half of our force.
Everything being in readiness we were packed again into the cars. There is no telling how many they put into each car. If on our way here 75 well developed men constituted a car load, how many corpses could they manage to put in the same space? We entered the cars in right good spirits thinking possibly this might be the start on the homeward journey. It was however a crowd of doubting Thomas. Our engine was headed in the direction of Macon. All ready the train started off slowly. We thumped and pounded along at the rate of ten or twelve miles an hour. Macon was sixty miles to the north, and to our minds we were a long time getting there. As we approached the city we could see evidences of Stoneman's raid in July when he was making for our deliverance from Andersonville.
At Macon a short stop was made. One thing that was noticeable and that was the absence of the pretty girls who had so tantalized us when on our way to prison. Standing around in groups was the proverbial Georgia "cracker" while here and there could be seen a worn out specimen of Southern chivalry dressed in the sickly butternut uniform worn by their officers and soldiers. They didn't do so much blowing about whipping us as they did in the spring, having apparently came to the knowledge of the fact that Grant, Sherman and Sheridan had been too much for them during the summer campaign.
Again our train pulled out, this time taking a road leading to Augusta. This sudden change in direction didn't bode us any good. What was the use of going all the way up to Augusta if we were to be exchanged at Savannah. But toward Augusta we kept going and our hopes of exchange this trip commenced to vanish. Where in God's name were they taking us anyhow? We travelled all night and about eleven o'clock next day Augusta was reached. Here we were taken off the cars and remained some time. It looked as if our enemy was lost to know what to do with us. Here we witnessed the first demonstrations of anything that looked like friendship since we came within the bounds of the so called Southern confederacy. As we lay scattered around on the ground many women came with baskets filled with bread, meat, potatoes, etc., not to sell, but to give to us. The guards not appreciating their actions toward us sullenly refused them permission to even give a crumb. They were so persistent in their demands that finally the guards prohibited their coming near under a threat to shoot any one offering to give alms to the needy as we certainly were. This spoke grandly for the ladies of Augusta, but I cannot commend the act of the guards.
How long we remained here I have forgotten, but before leaving, a couple of crackers was given each man, the first rations we had given us since leaving Andersonville. After having partaken of our scanty allowance and made sure that we were alive, our thoughts naturally went homeward. Suddenly a train was shoved in on the side-track, and Col. Jones who was in charge of our party, gave the order to "fall in" and get ready to go aboard the cars. Promptly the order was obeyed, and in an incredibly short time we were crowding and jamming around in a car that from the smell must have been filled with hogs the night before. All in readiness again we were on the move this time in the direction of Charleston. What does this mean? The officers being questioned replied that in order to get us off quicker two points of exchange had been agreed upon, one at Savannah, Georgia, the other at Charleston, South Carolina, that we being among the last of the number to be exchanged had been sent for reasons only known to them to the latter place. This had a momentary soothing effect, but it soon lost its grip as the suspicion that we were going to another prison from all the indications was growing in each man's mind. We had been deceived so many times that we looked upon this pretended exchange as a delusion and a sham which it proved to be as you shall soon see. Crossing the Savannah river at this place a fine view was afforded of the extensive rice plantations on either side of this magnificent river for miles and miles toward the sea. During the whole of the day our train crept lazily along through swamps and over fields occasionally making short stops at what is in South Carolina denominated towns, to take on wood and water. At some of these little villages it looked as if the whole population consisted mostly of women folks and n-----s had turned out to give us welcome, or it may have been on account of their curiosity to see a real genuine Yankee, for as yet great numbers of the Southern people had never had the pleasure of a good square look at a live representative from the North. The guards gave them an opportunity to gaze upon the enemy of their people as they had been taught to believe us to be. They never failed to taunt us when in our presence, but by this time we had became used to such performances and gave them none of our attention.
Our minds were fixed on what would be the outcome of this trip when we arrived at Charleston. We thought of nothing else and talked of nothing else through the whole day's journey. The sick of our number, that is the worst cases, had to be looked after and pitied, for that was all we could do, as no medicine or doctors were aboard. We tried to cheer up the dying with the hopes of getting on our boats that night, but it was of no use. How many died on our trip we never knew, but enough was known to satisfy our minds that of the five hundred carried down to the sea on this trip full as many as forty died, and this is a light estimate considering their awful condition and the absence of food and water during the two days journey from Andersonville to Charleston.
As it neared the setting of the sun we could see in the distance the church spires in Charleston, and we knew that we were nearing the cradle of the rebellion again where the question of our exchange or prolonged captivity would be settled. It was dark when our train brought up in the outskirts of the city on the banks of the Ashley river. The wind was blowing a gale, and how our poor unclad bodies hungered for a morsel of covering to protect them from the pinching cold. The cars we were in were open cattle-cars and to say the least we had a miserable night of it, our bones ached and our teeth chattered. When we cuddled down to sleep how affectionate we became. It was a good thing to have a companion who had warmth enough in him to make him a man sought after on such occasions. The poor sick fellows rotten with scurvey and gangrene, how they suffered, how during the night they cried with pain for water.
The next morning we left the train, and as we thought were going to be marched to where the exchange boats were awaiting us, but imagine our surprise when we were halted near that section of the city known as the "burnt district." We now hear nothing more about an exchange all hope has fled and the frowning walls of another prison is pictured upon our minds. Our camp was in a vacant lot and we sat down to get a little rest, when suddenly one of our boys shouted out "there comes one of them things again!" Gillmore was still at work the same as when we went through here in the spring. I asked a dashing looking officer how long the old man had been at work on the outside. His reply was this is the 390th day of the siege and no signs of surrender yet. This visitor that startled us was one of the great shells thrown from the Swamp Angle Battery which was located in one of the swamps some place near Morris Island. Starting from a point that we were told was seven miles away, where apparently the sky came to the sea, was a narrow ribbon of fire which slowly unrolled itself over our heads. A prolonged but not sharp Whish-ish-ish-ziz came to our ears, then a thump upon the ground and a vibration told that it had struck. For a moment there was a silence like the grave. Them came a loud roar and the crash of breaking timber and falling walls. The monster shell had bursted. Other shells followed with the same results. Hunger appeared to leave us in the excitement of watching these dangerous messengers from "God's country." How happy would we be if we were only where those shells came from. It almost made me frantic to think that I was so near and yet so far. For over a year this incessant shelling and pounding had been kept up, and would be kept up until the city was ours.
Sometime during the day we received a scanty supply of rations that were rather fair in quantity considering all things. How hungry and faint we were by this time, but this was nothing remarkable since we had hungered day by day for seven months. We tried sometimes to forget how awfully famished we were. As many as thirty died during our stay in Charleston. While we lay here, even in this cradle of secession, efforts were made to relieve our condition. The Sisters of Charity came among us hunting out and ministering to the sick. The citizens seemed more kindly disposed than that at any other place we had been during our journeyings through "Secessia."
When we marched out of Andersonville our minds were fixed upon an exchange as was promised by the rebel authorities. Now we are fully convinced of the deceit practiced upon us, and have no other idea but that another place of torture and death is being prepared for us in the interior of South Carolina. We are in such a condition now that only a short time more of prison life will be necessary to get away with the entire crowd. We are less able to endure now than when first we entered upon this wonderful campaign. Another wonderful campaign. Another night in Charleston and the last one for us. Morning came and with it an order to get in readiness to move by 10 o'clock. The question where are we going was in every mouth. No one knew and very few cared since all hopes of exchange had been given over. What was the use in our speculating as to the future. Content we to dwell any place until the grave would open to receive our poor carcasses. Another excursion to-day. We clambered aboard the train about one hundred in a car, sick and well together. No rations this morning, once in two days was considered sufficient for fine haired gentlemen like unto us. The old train pulled out and puffed and tugged along under its heavy load, occasionally stopping at stations for supplies of wood and water.
The people we saw at the little towns through which we passed, didn't show any middle class. Nothing but the two extremes, a man was either a gentleman and wore a boiled shirt or tailor made clothes, or a loutish rough covered with mere apologies for garments. We thought the worn out Georgia "cracker" stood on the lowest round of society, but he was intelligent when compared with the "clay-eater" and "sand-hiller" of the Palmetto State. His mind was a shaking quagmire which would not admit of the erection of any superstructure of education upon it. We could get no information from the guards of any kind useful to us. Ask of them where we were? They would answer I doesn't know. What is the name of the next town, or any town along the line of the railroad, and they couldn't tell us. They didn't know what the war was about, the name of the regiment to which they belonged, how long they had been in the service, or what they enlisted for. I was putting questions such as the above at one of the guards and failing to get any information from him asked him if he knew what State we were in and if he knew who he himself was. He thought we were in South Caraling, and he reckoned that he knew his own name. I told him it was doubtful if he did. Then he turned on me and gave me a blowing up. You'ens think your almighty sharp. You may have a little more larnen and books in your heads than we'ns have, but when it comes to fighting you'ns ain't no where. Throwing himself into a heroic attitude he announced that anyhow he reckoned one of their men could whip five of you'ens any day in the week.
Late in the evening we came to the town of Florence, South Carolina. It was located at the junction of the railroad leading from Charleston to Cheraw with that coming from Wilmington to Kingsville, about one hundred and twenty miles from Charleston and the same distance from Wilmington. This is to be our new stopping place they tell us.
[TO BE CONTINUED.]
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
Arrival at Florence.
XVI.
After all their promises of liberating us, here we are, and another prison is being prepared, where those living will find their death. What is going to become of us? Is there no deliverance from this horrible life? What have we ever done that our Government should thus desert us, or is our Government to blame for this, our long retention in rebel prisons? Is it because our times of enlistment have expired, and we could be of no service to our country? This surely is a cruel thought, but it comes into the minds of those who are disposed to be fretful and despondent, and prone to look upon the dark side of all questions. We all thought that our cups of suffering had been filled quite often enough, at least we argued that as we had been provided with plenty, let us out and give some of the rest of our more fortunate brothers in the field a chance. Give them a rest from marching, camping and fighting, and let us enjoy some of the outside glory. Give us an opportunity to win an eagle or a star.
It was in the evening when we arrived at Florence. Hastily debarking from the cars, what of us were able to walk went into camp in an old field near the railroad, and the sick were put into old tobacco houses and cotton sheds near the station. The sick outnumbered the well. A strong guard was placed all around the camp. The troops guarding us were mostly the home guards, and they were a homespun looking set of creatures, dressed in all imaginary kind of costumes, and armed with all kinds of weapons, from a bowie knife to a cavalry carbine. They were the lads that done the spouting. "By Gad, sah, you kin nevah whip the south, sah." It was disgusting as well as laughable to listen to their braggadocia, but they seemed to enjoy it, and as we were prisoners of war in South Carolina, we didn't know how far her chivalric sons would permit us to go with our game of "bluff." We took time to study the weak points of our enemy in this new and to us disagreeable situation. We have outlived the time of ever thinking of being exchanged until the war is over, and are making preparations to 'grin and bear' whatever presents itself. It was some time before the stockade was finished, and how faithfully they guarded the old field full of living skeletons. How the guards swelled up when they walked near us, as much as to say, "Keep away dar; don't you come too near my beat." I have no right to speak in disparaging terms of the kind of clothing these conscripts were rigged out in. Every man was dressed, I suppose, according to his standing at home, some in the long "Prince Albert," with a greased hat on his head that looked as though it had descended from the fathers; some dressed in sack coats, others in roundabouts, etc. Their hats varied in style and quality from the seductive plug to the humble rice straw. Clothed as they were in their native homespun, was far in advance of any kind of garments we had. A long campaign without a change of clothes had been very destructive of even what we had.
The stockade being at length completed, all who were able to move started in that direction in charge of Col. Iverson, whom we had met at Macon in April, when on our pilgrimage to Andersonville. While camping in the old field a great many of the prisoners had dug holes down in the ground to protect themselves from the chilling winds of Autumn, and when the order came to get ready for the "bull pen", as we persisted in designating the stockade, many thinking that they could elude the guards and thus make good their escape, managed in some way to cover over the top of the hole, thus completely hiding themselves. An indiscrete fellow, thinking that no one was near, stuck up his head to make a survey of how things were moving, when a guard who happened to be too near nabbed him and jerked him from his retreat. This was a dead giveaway of the whole arrangement, and put them on the scent for more game. Then commenced the search in earnest. Wherever they noticed any signs of fresh earth they would go probing around with their bayonets. Should a Yankee be holed, he would jump out when they would get uncomfortably close to him. The search was kept up until the whole field had been gone over thoroughly, several wild Yankees being caught.
The new stockade was now reached, and there it was, sure enough. It looked most sickeningly familiar to us. Don't you think it was enough to make our hearts faint? We too well knew the meaning of another "prison pen." This was likely to be our home for an indefinite period. Many whose lives had been prolonged by the hope that our movement from Andersonville would terminate within our lines, when they saw again the walls of timber, with the blood thirsty guards on duty, gave up the struggle for life, stretched out on the frozen ground and died.
How many boys had died since we first came into prison! Fully fourteen thousand, and we expect to leave many more thousand here. The mortality cannot help being greater than at Andersonville. When we went into the prison there, all were strong and hearty, fresh from the camp and the march, better able to endure than now. No person would expect a fellow to be very strong after being fed for seven months on the rations allowed, and of which I have spoken before. Necessarily the death roll will be greater.
The prison at Florence was in command of Col. Iverson, as cold blooded a wretch as God ever let live (and he is living yet.) It was a twin brother of Andersonville, only not so large. It had a little stream running through it, and an oozy swamp on either side. They were death on swamps. There was a stockade not so stylish as the one at the old settlement, as the logs had never been hued, and had the rough bark on them. On the outside the earth was thrown up against and to the top of the walls, and on the top of this embankment walked the guard day and night. Inside a "dead line" was established, but not like that at Andersonville, although it was intended for the same purpose, and was a success. Instead of posts with narrow boards on top, it was simply a furrow all around inside the stockade, and about twenty feet from the walls. At the swamp it was wholly imaginary. The sentinels were ordered to fire, so they informed us, without any warning, upon all prisoners who came too near this imaginary line. This being the case matters were always against the prisoners, and when the guard took it into his head that a certain prisoner had a notion of coming too near he would let loose on him. We never had any means of finding out how many lives were lost in this way.
As at Andersonville, nothing was furnished for shelter. The ground was covered with trees and underbrush when the stockade was built. The trees and brush were worked up into material for building huts. The stumps furnished fuel during the winter. A party would attack a stump and it was not an uncommon thing to see a root followed for ten or twelve feet under the ground. In this manner wood was procured to keep us even half warm during the cold weather, and I want you to remember that all around and in plain view was a boundless forest of pine timber.
Those who were first in the prison were able to get small poles and brush. A hole would be dug in the ground large enough to accommodate three or four fellows. This hole would be dug about three feet deep. Sticks would be put up at each end with a pole across the top. Other sticks and brush would be so fixed as to support the earth which was piled up along either side, and of sufficient thickness to make a water proof roof. A great many had no material to build with, and of the mud they would get from the swamp bricks were made and dried in the sun. With these little houses would be built in the shape resembling a bee hive. These houses behaved well enough in dry weather, but when a storm of rain would strike us, woe betide the little brick house on the hill side. Soon it would be a mass of red mud about the inmates. Why couldn't our enemy have given us logs with which to build huts? How willingly we would have undertaken the job. We could have made ourselves secure against the frosts and storms of winter, if nothing more, but with systematic cruelties they still pursued this "Spartan band." It appeared as though there never was to be any let up of their barbarous treatment of us.
We had thought at first that things were going to be better for us. Upon arriving here Maj. Wally [Warley], of a South Carolina regiment, who himself had been a prisoner in our hands, was in charge. The first thing he did after our arrival, seeing how badly we were off for something to eat, was to issue an order pressing every team within a certain bounds into the service, and directing that with a driver and guards, they go to the country round about and get meal and meat, onions and potatoes wherewith to feed us until their commissary department was gotten into working order. For a few days we fared rather well, and were persuading ourselves that maybe after all our change had brought us into pleasanter places, when suddenly the demon arrived and back we went into the old paths. The notorious Gen. John H. Winder had arrived, and from that time the clouds began to grow darker and the shadows longer. By this time about thirteen thousand prisoners had arrived, and were securely quartered within the walls of the stockade, within an area of about ten acres of ground.
Could Winder find a man here to do his bidding? It was not long until he spotted his man. Who didn't recollect that blood thirsty, red headed Captain Barrett, the keeper of the blood hounds. He was a better tool for Winder's purpose than Wirz, and still he went unpunished. His modes of punishment were more cruel and more inhuman than those of our old foe at Andersonville. He dispensed with the stock and ball and chain, and in punishment for tunneling would hang the offender up by the thumbs until his weight would almost tear his arms from his shoulder blades. Other infractions of his orders would put the whole population off rations until his anger was allayed. He was a pretty good match for Wirz. He would come into prison in a swaggering, insolent manner, with "By God, I'll learn these infernal Yanks to fear me worse than the devil. They must understand that I'm not an officer to be fooled with. When they once get me started, I'm lightning, I'm old pizen, I am."
From the account of our lives and what we suffered and endured at Andersonville, you cannot imagine that our sufferings could possibly have been greater at any other place. Here is just where you are wrong. If you will only pause a moment and consider our condition when entering these places you will readily understand why it was that the mortality was greater at this our last prison. From the day of our entering through the gates of Andersonville until our departure new prisoners were coming in almost every day. This kind of prevented us from realizing how much we had wasted away. If thousands were dying every day, thousands of fresh fellows were coming in in good fighting condition, hearty and fat, so that in the main our crowd looked tolerably fair all the time. Here no new fellows ever came in. It was the same old lousy crowd of rotten, emaciated subjects who had been fighting for their lives (what of them was now living) since July and September, 1863, when the general exchange of prisoners was suspended. Those who had toughed it through Libby, Belle Island, Danville, Salisbury, and Andersonville - how many of them came to this place to die! They had conquered all thus far, but here their light went out. "There was no balm in Gilead; there was no physician there." Here it was not an uncommon sight to see men's hands and feet rotting off. Dry gangrene got in its work here. In one kind of gangrene the flesh will drop out, leaving a loathesome looking sore something like a cancer sore from which a bad smell will emit all the time where medicine cannot be had. In the dry gangrene frequently the rotten flesh will remain for days a painless, loathesome mass; gradually it will slough off, and the sinews stand out like white cords. This last disease was general at Florence prison, and how dreadful it was! Their doctors here didn't make the least attempt to check the disease. It ran its course, and many poor fellows carried their rotten limbs home with them when they were exchanged.
We suffered for wood here more than at Andersonville. During the summer months if we could scratch around and get enough wood to make a blaze sufficient to cook our dumplings it was all that was required, but here we needed heat to make our poor unclad bodies comfortable. In this we failed. As the weather grew colder the allowance of wood became smaller until it dwindled down to a piece about the size of a common rolling pin. This had to do for warming and cooking purposes. To make this go as far as possible we split it into little pieces no larger than an ordinary lead pencil. The largest fire ever seen there could have been covered with a hat. You can easily imagine the amount of heat this would give out, and how we almost quarreled sometimes among ourselves to see who would get the nearest to it. As at Andersonville our fuel was mostly pitch pine roots, and in cold rainy days by hanging over this sooty fire our faces got blacker and blacker as the days wore on until we could scarcely be recognized by our most intimate friends.
Great economy was practical when we came to do our cooking. True we were never bothered with an over amount of the raw material, but great care was taken to make the wood go as far as possible, as our lives depended somewhat upon the condition our grub was in when eaten. As we used to half cook our beans and let them swell after planted in our stomachs would not do now. Our stomachs were so worn out and weak resulting from eating the corn cob diet during the summer that we feared the swelling beans would burst the old machine wide open. We would pound the raw beans as fine as possible between two bricks, which would make them more easily cooked, thus saving our wood which was surely needed for warming purposes.
We made mush and little dumplings out of the meal given us, and these in the absence of everything else was thought quite palatable, though the presence of neither sugar nor salt could be detected. Our little quart cup did us good service during the Florence campaign.
I do not esteem it necessary to go with you through our every day life here, as a great deal of it would be but a repetition of what has been told already of our life in the Daddy of all prisons.
Something more toward properly caring for the sick was done here than at Andersonville. In the northwestern corner of the stockade a kind of hospital was established. It was rudely constructed. Posts were set in the ground and poles laid from post to post, and over the top from pole to pole a kind of shingle, or as they called them, 'shakes,' completed the roof. The sides were fixed up with pine brush, and the ground was covered with pine straw. This was the kind of hospital provided for the defenders of our country. The sick would be brought in and laid in rows a short distance apart. All that kept their emaciated bodies off the ground was this pine straw. It was a sickening sight to go among them. No attention whatever was given to cleansing or bathing them, or to exchanging their vermin infested garments, long since in shreds. Men who were pronounced by their surgeons as subjects for hospital treatment were admitted only to die. None ever came away healed.
It might be interesting to the medical profession to have me give them some idea of the kind of medicine prescribed by the rebel surgeons for certain diseases: For consumption, wild cherry bark; for chills, dog wood bark; for fevers, whey from soured meal; gangrene, oil of peanuts; scurvey, nothing.
At the close of this letter let me say that at Andersonville those of us who were able kept up appearance of life and gayety, but here at Florence all ideas of fun and enjoyment have died out. It is a mighty struggle for life with everything against us. How many thousands of our comrades would have been living today had they been exchanged in the early autumn time! This Florence business "knocked them out." By the thousands they died.
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
XVII.
Well might General Winder say that the mortality at Florence exceeded that at Andersonville. Of the punishment inflicted upon the prisoners by bucking and gagging, spread eagle, wooden horse, tying up by the thumbs, etc., I will not write.
The days went stupidly by as eventless as if we had never been born. To spiritless had we grown to think of tunneling or making plans for escape. Like lazy dogs we lay around, snapping and growling at each other. Nothing to do, nothing to read, nothing to make or destroy, nothing to play with, nor any desire for any kind of amusement. Our cards had long ago worn out, and the chuck-a-luck board had been abandoned. Our minds by this time were unfitted to enjoy game, even for pass time. The physical exercises that under other circumstances would have been the delight of young men had no charms for us. All had been given over. There was no leaping, wrestling, boxing or jumping now. Any exertion beyond what was absolutely necessary to live was avoided. When one of those cold December days would come with its sleet and rain, how benumbed we felt. The whole camp on such days would be as still and silent as the grave. How we would hover in little groups for hours over our flickering fires. Death during such times was always the busiest. If a warm hour should strike during any time during the day, thousands of men could be sitting with what we termed their clothing off, killing the lice with which their garments and persons were always covered.
The old system of calling the roll each morning to ascertain the number of living was still adhered to. This was superintended by Barrett, the blood hound keeper, although the counting was done by sergeants, who understood numbers as high up as one hundred. After roll-call the gates would be open to let in the ration. This was always rough, course meal, in sacks which was brought in and piled up in the street. Each thousand got so many sacks, which if I remember right was four. This would give each thousand men about six and one half bushels per day, or about one third of a pint for each man. This was rather high living to give a set of Yankee aristocrats.
We thought that we got down to the bottom of the cup of misery at Andersonville, but the woes of Florence showed that the bottom had given way and was deeper down. The average life of an average man at Andersonville was ninety days. Had that obtained at Florence, every prisoner entering there would have come away alive. That any ever lived through its horrors is an illustration of the tenacity of life in some individuals. How any person ever lived a month there I cannot tell.
The shelter was not half as good as an ordinary careful farmer would provide for keeping his hogs comfortable. Those who were not fortunate to have huts and mud houses, lie around on the ground in pieces of old blankets if they have them. In this condition let such weather come upon them as we have in the north in November, and how well do you think a well man would live? Two or three weeks would lay him out at the farthest. History shows that four thousand men died here during our stay. So long as I was a member of this lonesome caravan wherever we moved we left an awful trail of dead behind us.
The graveyard at Florence was in an old worn out cotton field, as free from grass or vegetation as the public road. The burial party consisted of our own men. Long trenches extended across the field, and into this our boys were dumped and covered over as fast as they died. A dead wagon came into the prison every morning for its cargo, and it never went away empty. The unfeeling fellows who accompanied the wagon would seize the corpse, one by the head and the other by the heels, and slash them up into the wagon bed. When no more could be got aboard the driver would climb to his seat, and applying the whip to the mules, would go whistling off as merrily as if hauling a load of manure to the field.
The increase of insanity among the prisoners at Florence was very noticeable. The type of insanity at Andersonville was more like what doctors call melancholia. For hours the victim would sit or lie without uttering a word. Sometimes he would walk wanderingly through the camp, naked as when born, until death "snatched him from base," or he was shot for coming too near the "dead line." The insane here were the boys who had laughed at others at Andersonville for yielding to adversity. The long, hard pull since then had brought them to the same deplorable condition. How this fiend of a Barrett would laugh and chuckle at the condition of these poor suffering unfortunates! He was the most damnable hard hearted man we ever came in contact with. Wirz had some virtues; this madman had none; if he had they were so carefully obscured that no person ever knew of them.
None of God's ministers, if there were any in South Carolina, ever paid their respect to us. Even the Catholic priests had forsaken their followers.
Glorious news was brought in one morning; not to get ready for an exchange, but it was news of the death of Gen. Winder, the chief evil genious of the prisoners-of-war. His was a clear case of death by a visitation of the devil. Listen to his dying words: "My faith is in Christ; I expect to be saved. Barrett, be sure and cut down the prisoners' rations."
Doctor Theodore Dargan, of Darlington, South Carolina, one of the visiting surgeons, informed me that Col. Iverson, Commandant of the camp, had prepared a feast and bidden the officers, including Gen. Winder, to come and make merry; that just as Winder entered the door of the tent, he staggered and fell forward dead. So much turkey saved that day, but we got none of it. When the news of his death reached the inside all who had enough strength to do so yelled out with delight. The expression "Bully for God," could be heard all around.
Winder gone, we can soon look for brighter skies. There must be an end to this thing some time, and as we reasoned thus a little ray of light sprang out through the darkness. It was too early to hope. We built no air castles. We simply sat down and waited and watched the moving of the waters. At last we saw signs of the coming day of deliverance from this miserable bondage. While always expecting it, the news of our coming release was a surprise. Long and patiently had we waited and longed, hungered and hoped for liberty, home and friends. One morning, when least expecting it, an order was issued for one thousand men to get ready to move. An exchange of ten thousand prisoners had been agreed upon. I was fortunate enough to be in the second thousand. We watched the first thousand off, with which went some of our comrades. All with them seemed to work well. It looked as if it was a go this time, sure enough. What a night of anxiety after the first one thousand had gone! We were ordered to be ready the next morning. During that night we were engaged in getting ourselves together, arranging our toilet, etc., awaiting the breaking of the bright light in the morning. What a glad morning it was to us of the living. The rations were issued early, our little pokes being filled pretty well. We thought that this extra issue of meal meant something; that they wanted to make our people believe that they gave us plenty to subsist on. Lieut. Davis came in about ten o'clock and ordered our thousand into ranks, Taking command, "Forward march" was given, and we limped and hobbled along toward the gate as best we could. Those who were unable to make along themselves were assisted by their stronger companions. The gate was reached and the officer in charge opened wide the doors, and soon we were outside the prison walls. Being now on the outside and the doors closed behind us, we wonderingly asked of each other "what next?" Our experience on leaving Andersonville was much the same as this so far, and how terribly had we been deceived. Will this result in another prison, some place more distant from Sherman's path, or is it honest?
We were drawn up in line in front of Col. Iverson's tent. It was a damp dismal morning; the clouds hung low and the wind sighed and moaned through the tall pines. It was a dreary morning; too dreary to beget feelings of gladness within us. We watched every movement of the officers around headquarters as they flitted to and fro from tent to tent with their hands full of papers that looked something like blank muster rolls. After going through with a large amount of "red tape," and being satisfied that they could manage the matter in hand, two dashing young bloods, rigged out in gray, and gold braid, with glittering swords hanging at the sides, who evidently had never been much at the front, advanced very pompously to the right of our line. A table made of rough boards was brought out and upon it was laid two large sheets of paper. Guards were stationed around the table, and at the end next us stood two with crossed bayonets. We were counted into their possession through crossed bayonets, and it looked very much as if we were to be counted out the same way, and so it proved. We were ordered through this arsenal by twos, one going on each side of the table. This would bring us out by twos at the other end. These papers proved to be the ones which by our signing made us paroled prisoners of war. They were signed in duplicate and witnessed by these two dashing Confederate youths, one copy to be retained by them, and the other to be forwarded to the home Government. The oath of parole read something like this: "You do solemnly swear that you will do no military or constabulary duty whatever until you are declared lawfully exchanged. So help you God." Being satisfied that we had done our share of duty faithfully, and that our Government could ask nothing more of us, we had no hesitancy in signing all such agreements as this, the most of our times having expired long months before this.
It took some time for one thousand men to write their names twice; to us it seemed like an age. At last the job was completed and nothing remained for us to do but to march to the station and get aboard the train which was to carry us to the point of exchange.
Before leaving these abodes of misery and death let me look around for the familiar faces and forms of those comrades who long ago commenced the campaign with us. Alas! how few the number that stand with us to-day - this glad day of our deliverance. If I have counted correctly, thirty-one have gone down to their graves. Starved to death! Of our mess, Corry, Ault and myself beat it out, but it was too much for poor brave Sergeant Freeman. He died an awful death, but no worse than thousands of others.
Arriving at the station we were soon aboard the cars and off for country and home. Reaching the place of exchange we had not long to wait until we were again under the protection of our flag. Did we yell and cheer and dance did you ask? Yes, we did everything to give expression to our joy that we could think of. How we looked upon that dear old "red, white and blue!" It never looked so beautiful before. It was so full of meaning. It meant protection and plenty to eat. It meant no more rebel prisons; it meant rest for the weary pilgrim. As we gazed upon it the tears filled our eyes in spite of all that we could do. We sang:
And then beneath the starry flag we shall breathe the air again
Of the free land in our own beloved home.
I will not attempt to describe the delight we experienced at being once more free men. Let the reader imagine if he can the feelings that came welling up in our bosoms as this new situation was forced upon us. We were a rather tough looking set to be presented to the king. Once upon our boats several things were to be looked after. Our clothing was awfully filthy and filled with lice. We were stripped to the buff and willing hands with plenty of soap and water went to work to see if a living person could be found under the layers of dirt surrounding what was suppose to be a man. Success always crowned their labors. After being completely cleansed of all filth and vermin and our heads shorn of the mass of long, tangled locks, which were matted together with accumulations of pitch pine tar, resin, soot, and Georgia and South Carolina sand, we were dressed up in a complete suit of Yankee blue. Our minds were not upon what we should be clothed in as much as upon something to eat. It had been such a long time since we had had a square meal that it was hard to wait when such good things, and in such abundance, was so temptingly near. The boat appeared to be laden down with provisions - plenty of everything. We could smell the meat and coffee cooking, which set our stomachs in mutiny against any longer fasting. From the cooking meat and boiling coffee rose an incense sweeter ten thousand times than all the perfumes of the land of flowers. We had passed from the land of starvation to the land of peace and plenty. When it was announced that dinner was ready you should have seen the smile that overspread our long faces. We straightened up and marched as proudly to the feast as ever you saw soldiers march when passing in review. There was the white bread, the coffee, the meat - to each of these we paid our respects. When satisfied we went and laid down to rest, and what a comfort it was to know that the day of jubilee had come. No rebel horde could dismay us now.
Before saying good-bye forever to the Southern Confederacy, now shaking and tottering on its last legs, let me give an extract from the Sumter Watchman, published at Sumter, S. C., near Florence. The reader can note how well it agrees with what I have said. The editor of the paper came over to see for himself. Hear what he says:
"The camp at Florence was found full of what was once human beings, but who would now scarcely be recognized as such. A few dirty rags stretched on poles was a poor protection from the chilling blasts of winter. All were in rags and barefooted and crawling with vermin. I stood a moment and seen a few men die. All their companions could do was to close their eyes and straighten out their limbs. From the camp of the living I passed over to the camp of the dead - the hospital.
A few rude structures covered with pine tops were crowded with the dying and the dead in every stage of corruption. Some lay in prostrate helplessness; some had crowded under the shelter of the bushes; some were rubbing their skeleton limbs. Twenty or thirty of them die daily - most of them from scurvey and gangrene. The corpses lay inside waiting for the "dead cart;" their glassy eyes turned to heaven; the flies swarming down their throats and the worms creeping into their mouths; their toes tied together and their skeleton arms folded over their hearts. You would hardly know them to be men, so sadly do hunger, disease and wretchedness change the "human face divine." Presently came the dead carts. They were carried a short distance outside to trenches dug for the purpose, and tumbled in like so many dogs. A little pine straw was thrown over the bodies, a few shovelfuls of dirt, and then haste was made to dig new ditches for other victims.
Thus I saw at one glance the three great scourges of mankind - war, pestilence and famine, and I turned from the awful spectacle, sick at heart, as I remembered that some of our own loved ones may be undergoing a similar misery."
At the conclusion of this poorly written and illy connected narrative taken from memory's leaves after twenty years have receded, I can scarcely believe that I was an unwilling actor in the great play; that when in the prime of young manhood I underwent and was witness to all the horrid cruelties described in the story.
[CONCLUDED NEXT ISSUE.]
ECKLES' NARRATIVE.
XVIII.
At the conclusion of my last article, we were aboard the boat which was to convey us within our lines. After having filled up on good Lincoln rations all went merrily aboard the vessel. Great smiles of satisfaction overspread every face. We were an anxious crowd, waiting the moment of the hoisting of the anchor, and the movement of the engines. Soon the vessel cut loose, when our enthusiasm burst forth in cheers. The thought of seeing home and friends once more, was uppermost in each ones mind. Very many died on the journey. It was wonderfully sad to see boys who had never lowered their flag have to surrender when within sight almost of home. We do not sentimentalize over those who thus passed away; we did not mean the thousands that we had seen pass over the channel made that emotion wearisome. Each day had brought the death of some comrade as regularly as day fades into night. The sentiment of grief had become nearly obsolete. We were not hardened in my opinion, but we had learned to look upon death as very ordinary and commonplace. It would have appeared very singular to us to not have the dead and dying around. It was yet difficult to see why we, who still lived, were any better off than those who had gone before, now forever at rest, each in his windowless palace.
Our trip was a pleasant one. The second day our vessel ran alongside the dock at Annapolis, Maryland. A camp for paroled prisoners having been established there. We were marched from the wharf to the camp, (as many as could walk,) the sick were carried on stretchers or hauled in ambulances. Here we found comfortable barracks, and plenty to eat. As rapidly as it could be done, we were given a thirty days furlough home. How well I remember the morning we took passage on the train for the home of our childhood. One night out on the road, the next evening found me safely in the old house at home. There was joy in that home over the one that had went astray, and who was supposed to have been lost in the mountains. The wanderer had returned to receive his father's blessing.
Over the question of the causes which led to the interruption of the exchange of prisoners as agreed upon July, 22, 1862, between John A. Dix, Major General U. S. Army, for the Government of the United States, and D. H. Hill, Major General C. S. Army for the Confederate Government, which provided that all prisoners should be exchanged ten days after being captured, there has been waged a war of words, which has as yet, led to no decision. Each party maintaining the same opinion as that held by them when the controversy began.
For a long time after the beginning of the war our Government did refuse to exchange prisoners with the Rebels for fear that it would give the European powers a pretext for acknowledging the Confederacy as a de fact nation. The trouble was surmounted by the realization of the Rebels as belligerents only.
As soon as our Government announced the organization of negro troops, the Rebels issued an order that neither these troops nor their officers should be held as amenable to the laws of civilized warfare. That the negroes should be returned to slavery, and the officers be turned over to the Governors of the states in which they were captured, to be punished for inciting insurrection. This our Government couldn't stand, as it was bound to protect all its soldiers, irrespective of color, class, or condition. The Rebel authorities were notified promptly, that for each officer and soldier so detained and punished, Rebel officers and soldiers would be held as hostages. During this discussion, exchanging went regularly on every ten days, the while Vicksburg was captured, and Gettysburg fought and won. At Gettysburg, Lee captured several thousand militia. He asked Meade to exchange them on the field of battle. Meade, refused, on the ground that the cartel required that prisoners must be reduced to possession. Lee then sent a communication to Gen. Couch, commanding the militia, asking him to reserve these prisoners on parole. Couch, not being apprised of Meade's action, complied with Lee's request. Our Government instantly discovered Couch's actions, and ordered that the paroles so made, be treated as not binding. This action of our Government brought the Rebel authorities to their feet immediately. All the prisoners captured by Grant, at Vicksburg, then on parole, were ordered back into the field for duty.
Right here all paroling and exchanging stopped short, never to be resumed again, only in a few special cases, until the winter of 1864 - 65. At this time our Government had of their men almost twenty five thousand, and the Rebels had of our men about fifteen thousand. The Rebels asked an exchange of man for man, the excess to be paroled; our Government refused. About this time Gen. Butler was assigned to the command of the military district of Virginia, and North Carolina, which made him ex-officio Commissioner of exchange. This action exasperated the Rebels because he had been declared an outlaw by the proclamation of Jeff Davis, and then and there they declared that they would not treat with him, and they never did. This threw all who were their prisoners of war, and those afterwards captured, upon the mercy of our foes. The black flag was hoisted over all the Southern prisons, and no quarter was given. ""own with the Yankee'', and up with the bars," was the cry from Cahaba to Andersonville; from Belle Isle to Savannah.
Before closing these articles which cover the blackest period in our nation's history, of which so much has been said, and so little written that is authentic, I should like to allude to the three prevailing diseases, and tell of how those who were victims of these diseases suffered, endured and died.
Before me stands a victim of vaccination. Remove, if you please the filthy rag that he has bound around his arm, or covers the ugly hole in his side, occasioned by the sore spot made by the vaccination coming in contact with his body, and what a sickening sight is disclosed. The impure virus with which he was vaccinated (of which I have previously spoken) has done its terrible work, and we see the result. The cut has been infected with gangrene, and the whole upper portion of his arm is one mass of stinking flesh, which hangs in lumps in the running sore. When the flesh on his arm is not all gone it has a fiery red appearance, his arm is nearly eaten in half, and unless something is done to stop this eating disease at once, the main artery will be destroyed, and the patient bleed to death. No relief was ever attempted. I don't believe such a thing was ever thought of. The poor fellow suffered on and on until the monster claimed him - Death closes the scene.
Next you come in contact with a victim suffering with gangrene (there were thousands of them with us all the time). The kind of food, the exposure to the elements, the poisoned air constantly inhaled, the blood rendered impure, and the slightest scratch of skin would become a putrid sore. Let me describe one case, that of a comrade I well knew, and it will answer for all. This is gangrene - The fellow hobbles painfully as best he can. Lift the foul rags that are bound around his foot, or limb, and see the wound. The rotten flesh has fallen piece by piece from his bones, and the maggots are rolling, tumbling, and crawling riotously among the naked cords and ligaments, wantonly holding a premature feast upon their unburied food. Terrible as it may appear to the reader he may say it is impossible, yet, nevertheless it is the unvarnished truth, and hundreds of thousands of cases equally as awful could be seen in the prison and hospital every day.
A person so afflicted soon becomes so weakened in intellect by exposure and starvation that he was unable to take care of himself; to protect his naked feet and limbs from the blistering sun, and the insects, he had torn the sleeve from his blouse or shirt, and wrapped it around the sore gangrene had found - a scratch and this was the result. The gangrene was a most fearful enemy, searching every pore of the skin for a wound, or a scratch, or even the wound produced by the bite of the mosquito. Here the disease would fasten itself remorselessly and cling with a tenacity whose grip could not be loosened. Sometimes the cut in which the vaccine had been placed, when it had to all appearance healed, would break out anew and the gangrene finding it out, would commence sporting with it again. In some cases great kernels under the arm would swell up, and like boils, burst open; the monster, poison, soon shows himself, and reveled in this sore until death came to the relief of the suffering victim. Men in this condition were decaying, rotting, and dropping piecemeal into the grave.
A victim of scurvy next appears. This foul disease generally appears in the mouth, the gums become spongy and soft, the teeth become loose, and fall out, the breath became fetid, the patient becomes pale and languid, the flesh swollen and livid in spots. This disease is caused by confinement; to a limited range of food for a long time, and usually winds up with dropsy; the muscles are drawn up, and the limbs become twisted and useless; the body swells to about twice its natural size; the skin is puffed out as if inflated with air; the flesh loses its elasticity, and being pressed upon by the finger, retains the indentation for a long time. At times, and in some cases the skin would burst open when a wound would be made, and gangrene with its maggots, tormenting vermin and flies; the disease and its auxiliaries working in conjunction would soon put an end to its victim.
Diarrhea and disentary must not be overlooked in the catalouge of diseases, they got in their work - gaunt and grim they attacked the prisoners, and in a few days the strong man would be as weak and helpless as an infant. His skin would become livid and cling tightly to the bones, from which all his flesh had vanished; his eyes would sink back deep beneath his forehead, and his poor thin lips would be blue and trembling as if with cold.
I have thus briefly mentioned the principle diseases with which we had to contend, and with which so many sickened and died. The limbs and bodies of the prisoners became infected with putrid offensive sores, the flesh decayed and sloughed from off the bones of the arms, legs and sides of the sufferers; worms entered and crawled through these sores, and became a source of great torment. Hundreds died whose skins were so diseased that great pieces of it would slip from the flesh, and adhere to the wagon on which their bodies were hauled to the grave, and to the comrades who had humanely volunteered to bury them.
I was informed by one of the members of this graveyard corps, that it was not an uncommon thing to see arms and legs in the "Dead-wagon" that had become detached at the joints and fallen off. That many times arms and legs were sent for burial that had separated from the body while lying in the "dead-house," and had been missed when filling the wagon with corpses ready for the grave.
To sum up finally the causes of so much suffering from the effects of the diseases described, I will add that the crowded condition of prisons and prisoners; the impure air; the filthy and scant supply of water; the continual exposure to the burning sun by day, and the chilling winds and dew by night; with little or no clothing; insufficient shelter; the scarcity of wood for cooking and warming purposes; the miserable quality of food, together with cruel personal treatment, all these combined to induce and aggravate these diseases.
It is not enough to say that thousands sickened and died in Rebel prisons. These thousands who, when entering these abodes of misery were able bodied boys and men, whose habits were good; whose minds were well cultivated, and whose patriotism was pure, were by a pre-arranged, and zealously executed plan deliberately sacrificed by the introduction and carrying out of a system of privations, hardships and cruelties without parallel in the history of civilized nations.
Perhaps the well fed children who have read this tale of suffering; the fathers, and sons who have never known what it is to be hungry, would be interested in knowing the quality and quantity of rations issued by our Government, and by the "recognized belligerent" to the visitors known as prisoners of war.
Rations issued by our Government to Confederate prisoners of war:-
18 oz. Soft bread or 20 oz meal per man per day.
1 lb beef or 3/4 lb bacon " " "
8 qts beans per 100 men " " "
14 lbs sugar " " " " "
9 lbs coffee " " " " "
4 lbs soup " " " " "
2 qts salt " " " " "
4 qts molasses (twice per week) per 100 Men.
1 qt potatoes (three times per week) per man.
All soldiers know that when a full ration of everything as above was issued that a surplus would soon accumulate. At Northern prisons this surplus was carefully watched and sold and the revenue derived from the sale was applied to the purchase of vegetables and delicacies to add additional comfort to the prisoners.
Compare with the allowances by our Government to Confederate prisoners with the scantiness of the rations issued by the confederate Government to Federal prisoners:-
Bread......................................................................00
Meal (unbolted) 6 oz per man per day (when we got it).
Beef.........................................................................00
Bacon......................................................................00
Sugar.......................................................................00
Coffee......................................................................00
Soup........................................................................00
Salt..........................................................................00
Potatoes...................................................................00
Cow beans one-sixth qt per man per day (when we got them).
Rice 1 oz per man per day (when got it).
Bear in mind, however, that no two articles of food was issued the same day, and we often went for weeks without a change.
You cannot but observe the striking contrast between the quantity and quality of food issued by the Confederate authorities and that issued by our Government, and you should remember in this connection that the rations issued by the United States were supplied to prisoners in warm, comfortable, well sheltered quarters, who were well clothed and plentifully supplied with blankets and fuel. While the Confederate authorities dealt out to we who were prisoners in their hands, the above meagre pittance, when we were totally destitute of shelter, fuel, blankets or clothing.
Our loss from the time of the stoppage of exchange was as follows, i.e:-
Andersonville..............14,714
Salisbury.....................12,126
Florence............. ..........3,998
Danville.........................1,327
Richmond......................6,542
______
Total..38,707
In this I have not counted the thousands of dead prisoners buried at Charleston, Millen, Savannah, Columbia, Macon, Cahaba, Mobile, Blackshear, Jacksonville, Camp Ford and other smaller prisons, to say nothing of the number who died during their passage to and from prisons, &c.
In April, 1864, one in every 16 died
" May, " " " 26 "
" June, " " " 22 "
" July, " " " 18 "
" August, " " " 11 "
" Sept., " " " 3 "
" Oct., " " " 2 "
" Nov., " " " 3 "
And so it went from month to month, growing worse as the days and months went by. Who ever read of an epidemic so dreadful that one-third of those attacked died in one month, one-half of the remainder the next month, &c?
Enough is known to establish the fact beyond dispute that of 125,000 prisoners, who were taken from the time of the battle of Gettysburg, when the exchange was interrupted, to the close of the war, at least 60,000 died in prison or immediately after passing through our lines.
The records show that the whole number killed in action during the war was 44,238. Those who died of wounds during the same time was 33,993, making a total of killed and died of wounds of 78,241, against 60,000 who died in Rebel prisons or soon after coming out.
As to the responsibility of this monstrous cataclysm of human misery and death, I will leave the reader to fix it to suit himself.
The noble youths who fill the shallow graves at Andersonville, Belle Isle, Florence and Salisbury sleep there in obedience to the maxims taught in the common schools of the North, the duty of manliness and honor, the calm determination which endures to the end. They did full credit to their teachings and did as every true American should do when duty bids him. No richer heritage was ever handed down to posterity.
During that fatal period from Gettysburg to the close of the war, (21 months) more young men than to-day form the pride, the hope and vigor of any of our leading cities were sent to their graves "unknelled, uncoffined and unknown," victims of the most barbarous unnecessary cruelties recorded since the "dark ages."
W. C. ECKLES.
[THE END.]
Editor’s Note - Sergeant William Campbell Eckles, Company C, 101st PA, died on Sept. 18, 1890 in Washington, DC and is buried in Greenwood Cemetery, New Castle, Lawrence County, PA.