USA > Iowa > Story County > History of Story County, Iowa: A Record of Settlement, Organization. > Part 33
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"Some were half dead; but nearly all could say, 'God bless you, how glad I am to get something to wear again.' Some of their friends had met them at Vicksburg, some ladies were on board to give a helping hand, and all these but two or three are numbered among the missing.
"The exact number picked up is not yet ascertained; but it will fall short of five hundred. All is being done that can be done. (More definite reports made later concerning this disaster-probably the most pitiful of the whole war-showed that the exact number of survivors was 786. The number of lost was never exactly known; but it was approximately fifteen hundred .- Editor.)
"Oh, what a scene-their groans and sighs and 'thank yous,' 'God bless the Sanitary Commission,' still ring in my ears. Nothing of a disastrous nature has been so heartrending since the commencement of this destructive rebellion.
"Let us for a moment turn clairvoyant and take a view of those that have found a watery grave-some locked in each others arms, sometimes lying together in clusters seemingly holding on to one another, then strewed singly along for miles on the muddy bottom-or just down there lies a woman clinging to her infant babe with a mother's fondness. I will close. The picture is sorrowful-some of the fruits of this unholy rebellion."
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CHAPTER XXVII.
THE IMPRISONMENT OF ROBERT CAMPBELL.
By far the most interesting and remarkable story of adventure that be- longs to the history of Story County pertains to the escape of Captain Robert J. Campbell, of the Second Iowa Consolidated, and his especial com- panion, James C. Trotter, from the rebel prison at Florence, South Caro- lina, and their ultimate arrival together with a Connecticut soldier, Bryson Paddock, after several recaptures and new escapes, in the Union lines at Newbern, North Carolina. It is a story of a prison escape such as had few parallels in the war. Captain Campbell was one of the original mem- bers of Company E of the Third Iowa, enlisting from Story County, and he served through the war as one of the best Story County soldiers. He had become orderly sergeant of the company at Atlanta and had been ap- pointed second lieutenant. He was captured in the battle of Atlanta and when he rejoined his company after the adventures hereafter to be related it was as captain of Company A of the Second Iowa Consolidated in which regiment what was left of the Third Iowa had been merged. "Jim" Trot- ter never lived in Story County, but he was one of the Jasper County squad that were included in Company E at its organization in Nevada, and he was closely identified with the Story County members of that company through- out the war. Captain Campbell still lives, a wiry and very attractive old gentleman at Hollenberg, Kansas, and he yet visits occasionally his friends and relatives in Story County. "Jim" Trotter died, in 1905, at his home near Guthrie Center, Iowa, and both of them may fairly be said to have recovered completely from the effects of their experiences in the Caro- linas.
The story of the story itself has some interest. Captain Campbell wrote it soon after the war and very modestly and persistently, though not quite successfully, sought to make "Jim" Trotter the hero of his story. Pos- sibly, because of the incompleteness of his success in this respect, he laid away his manuscript and left it in hiding for some twenty years. After this period he rescued it sufficiently to give it to his particular friend and comrade, Senator J. A. Fitchpatrick, who in turn laid it away for another twenty years. Finally, the latter was moved to resurrect the manuscript once again and turned it over to the editor of this history who made of it
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such use as he was able and who now takes this opportunity to put it where those interested in tales of adventure and successful daring as related to Story County may readily find it.
However, before taking up the story, it is fitting to incorporate here a portion of a letter from Colonel G. W. Crossley, written shortly after the death of Trotter and while the story of Captain Campbell was still en- gaging his attention. Colonel Crossley said :
"I am grieved to learn of the death of our old comrades, Wood and Trotter. They were both good men and true soldiers. I am reading with as much interest as if I had not heard the story from the lips of the writer. Captain Campbell's story, and the death of his old comrade who shared with him that wonderful experience of hardship and privation, renews the wonder I have so often felt that either of them should have survived-not only to live long and useful lives, but that they could have survived at all. There may be those who will read the story and wonder if it can all be true. If they knew those men as you and I know them they would know that every word of it is true. You and I may well feel proud of our as- sociation with such men."
Also, Senator J. A. Fitchpatrick, writing a little later, corroborated Cap- tain Campbell in the following language :
"I took intense interest in the narrative of Captain Robert J. Campbell concluded in the Representative last week and am reminded that it was just forty years ago this month that I first heard the story from Captain Camp- bell's lips. I rejoined the regiment at that time in Washington, D. C., and found Old Bob, who had rejoined about a month previous in North Caro- lina and who was then wearing a bright new uniform, indicating his rank as captain; but he proved to be the same generous, unselfish Bob, with whom I had served for four years in the ranks, under all the varied aspects of an active army life-not in the least puffed up by his promotion, but taking the same kindly interest in his old comrades in the ranks as was always his wont in times passed. The story he told then was just the same as that published, though it was amplified with many thrilling details that are omitted from the written statement, and that pictured the whole scene in such vivid and realistic lights as would make a lasting impression on the memory.
"It has been my privilege to know Captain Campbell, more intimately than I ever knew any other man, under all conditions and circumstances, common to a soldier and citizen, in joy and sorrow, victory and defeat and in prosperity and adversity, sleeping under the same blanket or without a blanket other than the clouded canopy, or starry decked heaven, and upon all occasions he proved to be the same unselfish comrade, taking more ac- count for the comfort of others than for himself. No one acquainted with him would even think of doubting his word upon any subject, and his ex- perience, as related in his story of escape, may be implicitly relied upon as containing the plain unvarnished truth in every particular."
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With these preliminaries we will permit Captain Campbell to tell his modest but wonderful story in his words of nearly half a century ago, as follows, beginning with the part thereof relating to his capture and prison experience :
THE BATTLE OF ATLANTA.
On the evening of July 21, 1864, in line of battle under the covert of a hill we had that day charged and captured, though at great cost of life, including that of our beloved Lieutenant Colonel Jacob Abernathy; the mail had come in and the boys were reading their letters from loved ones at home, heedless of the continuous shriek of shells and the whistling of grape and canister on every hand. Working all night throwing up rifle pits, we would think of the morrow, for we had the presentiment of a terrible battle before us. The morning of the 22d we procured a few hours' sleep, ate our breakfast of hardtack, bacon and coffee and became somewhat refreshed. There had been a lull in the firing, but about ten o'clock this forenoon desultory musketry firing began to be heard in our rear. At first we thought it our men firing off their guns and getting them in readiness for action. This kept up and finally about an hour later the gallant General McPherson came along our line in a gallop, going out to see what all this firing meant, and about the same time artillery firing was heard to the rear, and we instinctively knew that something was up. Not over two minutes after McPherson had ridden past his orderly came riding back on the run saying that the General had been killed.
The Third Iowa having no commissioned officers left, Captain Mat- thews of the Fifty-second Indiana had been sent over to take command and the companies having been consolidated into three designated as "A," "B" and "C," I had the privilege of commanding Company "A."
The long roll sounded, we formed in line, and the bursting of shell all over and all around us by this time became furious.
Captain H. H. Rood of General Smith's staff soon appeared, and led us through the woods about eighty rods and placed us on the extreme left of our line in the face of the enemy advancing over an open field not more than 100 yards away. We opened up and sent them back whirling. They reformed and came back on a charge. This was repeated five or six times during which they came up within a few feet, always to be driven back.
Between our left and the Sixteenth Corps commanded by General Dodge, was a space of about a mile with no troops to stem the tide of the approaching foe. While we kept busy attending to those in front a division or two of the enemy had passed through this open space and got directly in our new rear, of which we knew nothing until they began to pour volley after volley into our rear as then formed, and we then awoke to the fact that we were entirely surrounded. Captain Matthews, Bob Griffith, our banner bearer, and sixteen others of the 125 of our regiment had been killed and many wounded; the rebels were right among us on every side.
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CAPT. ROBERT J. CAMPBELL Hollenberg. Kansas. Member of Company E, Third Iowa Infantry, Captured at Atlanta. Made Very Notable Escape Through the Carolinas. Story Told in the History
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A comrade of Company "C" had his leg shattered by a shell and I started to drag him to a tree. He implored me not to leave him. Jim Trotter came up and we two got him to a place of safety and gave him water to drink. By this time we were entirely cut off and could find no avenue of escape. Hand to hand fighting, Ole Ward was standing up against a tree fighting with a clubbed musket until I saw him fall. The rebels piled right on top of me. I could not realize that I was a prisoner. Jim Trotter urged me to surrender to save my life. Dead rebels and Yanks were all around us, some piled across each other. In marching us out they took us across the field in our front where we had been fighting and we found it literally cov- ered with dead men, showing the terrible effect of our firing.
Before the fight when getting into line, I had told Gus Kendall to stay behind and guard our luggage. But he left it and went into the fight and I came across him among the prisoners. I had made up my mind I would make a break for liberty at the first opportunity, but the guards anticipated this, pointing to several lines of their reserves which had not been in action; so I saw it was all up with me.
Sherman had three separate armies at Atlanta, but this battle of July 22, 1864, was fought about one mile southeast of Atlanta, covering a line about two miles long, by the Army of the Tennessee unaided under the command of the brave and impetuous General John A. Logan, and for the space and time occupied, no battle of the war was more terrific, sanguinary and decisive.
PRISONERS TO THE REAR.
As we marched toward Atlanta our boys were hunting each other up and we found that thirty of the Third Iowa had been captured. They were not taken in a body, but picked up one or two at a time in their efforts to escape. Old Joe Fitchpatrick showed up, and I said: "Well, Joe, you had poor legs to get out of the way with."
Our artillery was sending the shells lively among us and the Johnnies had enough of that and had us move out lively. They started us not over one and one-half miles from the city, but they marched us nine miles be- fore we got there, our regimental flag and banner furled.
The rebs told us that Sherman's army had been wiped out and what was left was in full retreat across the Chattahoochie. The provost guards were continually riding up and insulting us. One of them drew a gun on me and would have fired, but I was guarded by a soldier who had been at the front, and who gave the dude soldier a swipe with his musket with such force as to retire him from action.
Our names and organizations were recorded and our minds teemed with thoughts as to where we would be taken to.
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A fine-haired Louisiana soldier came to the guard line and wanted to know if any of us Yanks had any fine boots to trade for shoes. I told him I could accommodate him and for him to pass over six plugs of tobacco and a bran new pair of shoes and I would send him back a pair of boots that cost me eight dollars in Yankee money or would be worth a few hun- dred in Confederate money. So he passed over his shoes and tobacco. I threw the boots as far as I could, divided the tobacco with our boys and skipped out among the prisoners. Johnny came back and wanted to find the Yank. My boots were fult of holes. The rebel shoes did me good service in months to come. Our regimental colors being left standing against the tent unguarded, we took the liberty of taking the banner, as it was dark, and ere the guard was aware, had it all torn up into ribbons and divided among the Third Iowa and lots of other soldiers and hid away in our clothes. The rebels didn't have any time to search; for our boys were worrying them up in the front. Joe Fitchpatrick stole one of the guard's tin pail with his day's rations, quite a sharp trick. Old Joe was always a good-natured fellow and divided up, of course. No one saw the reb's rations.
Remaining at Atlanta a few days, we were ordered to move out, and various were the rumors the rebs told us that Sherman was falling back and all of the Seventeenth Corps was taken and McPherson was killed and many more such reports. We moved out on the road that night and in marching six miles we reached Eastpoint about midnight. Remaining there next day and night and no rations being issued, we began to feel the pangs of hunger. By the morning of the 24th we were furnished three rotten crackers and a small piece of meat for three days' ration and started for some place, we didn't know where, but found out sooner than we wanted to. We marched to Griffin, Georgia, some forty-five miles, passing through several small towns, singing our national songs, giving them to understand although prisoners we were not going to forget our old flag. We drew small rations of corn bread and bacon on the morning of the 28th of July on board of cars. A West Virginia command guarded us and on conversing with them many appeared to have been conscripted into the army and to be very sick of the war, but all had to keep silent.
The rebel rag being placed on top of the cars as we started for our prison, the citizens would ask us how we liked those colors over us. In some of the people I discovered a spark of sympathy. They soon under- stood that we weren't sick of it, for this was our second enlistment and Old Abe had many more to follow. We aimed to give them back as good as they sent us and were at times quite saucy; that afternoon two of the cars ran off the track. In fact, the track had been torn up some by some of our cavalry boys. Some of the guards were hurt severely. We marched up to a field till the road was fixed. Some tried to escape, but no go. Soon we were jumbled into a train from Macon like so many hogs, filthy cattle
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cars, and at noon on the 29th of July reached the station at Andersonville, Georgia.
ARRIVED AT ANDERSONVILLE.
Here we marched up to outside the stockade, counted off in squads of ninety men and were searched again. I was hiding a case knife in the sand, Captain Wirz came around and jerked me by the collar. Old Joe recog- nized him as an old rebel friend when he was prisoner at Shiloh, a friend he didn't want to see very often. We marched into the stockade. Such a sight-the boys asking us if there was any talk of being exchanged and hollering out to us "fresh fish," and no shelter from the hot July sun, men dying right before us; wounded men with their wounds full of maggots- such a sight, and we thought we knew all about soldiering! There was a crowd in that prison pen of seventeen acres (exclusive of swamp and dead line there seemed to be no more than thirteen acres) and caged in that small space was some thirty-two thousand human beings, all for their de- votion to their government, and some had been prisoners for over a year. The majority were, you might say, nearly naked; some were so tanned that it was almost impossible to tell whether they were whites or negroes; a great many were lying down unable to arise, lots were picking lice from their bodies and looking upon us as if they were bereft of reason; many would inquire what corps, what battle, how it had gone, but all wanted something about exchange. We would tell the poor boys we hadn't heard anything about prisoners or exchange, as we had never dreamed about us being at this place. Pen and ink can't depict the dismay that was pictured upon their countenance; and well they might feel so discouraged, as my own personal experience taught me ere I made my escape. Oh, chilling horrors ! When I look back my heart becomes sickened and I must say, on no battle field have I seen such a sight; and although life is sweet, yet sooner than remain in that southern bastile month after month, I would prefer death.
Being marched into an open place called main street, we were all left in a huddle with the assurance that if we were not at roll-call next morn- ing our detachment would be minus one day's rations. We were divided, ninety in a mess with a sergeant. Also the stocks were pointed out to us, which was a frame-work. The unfortunate would be placed standing against it and a collar put around his neck and screwed to the frame, hands being extended at full length and fastened by ropes, remaining in that po- sition all day in the sun and rain-for most every afternoon we would have a shower, making the ground wet for us to lie down on. I hadn't been in an hour when I laid my hand on a rail to step over and get a good place against the stockade, wondering why the boys didn't lay over-in a place better than where they were lying. I had no more than got ready to get over, when one of the old prisoners yanked me back and pointed to one of the guards who had drawn his gun. It stood the old prisoners in hand to look out for the new prisoners, for if the guard missed the one they in-
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tended, they couldn't miss all of them. It was said they got thirty days' furlough for every Yank that got over the dead line. During our stay I saw several get over the dead line to be shot.
GETTING SETTLED.
We boys soon found we would have to fix up some abode or headquar- ters, which was indeed a severe task; for the place was so crowded and the old prisoners were so discouraged and alienated from all principles of hu- manity that it was impossible to receive an answer to any question, only when you would talk about exchange; then all would crowd around us. We boys agreed to stay by and help each other, let come what would. I began to look around, thinking perhaps we might find some of our unaccounted boys. Lew Harris and Tom Davis, who were missing on the Meridian raid. When Lew Harris came up, such a change as had come over him! The strong hearty athletic soldier; a poor enfeebled being who could hardly walk, and sunburned so black that I should not have known him, only by his voice. I inquired about Tom Davis, but poor Tom died on the 7th of the month (July) ; his last words were about his mother. Tom was a fine specimen of a man, large, well built and very powerful-as much so as any- one in the Third Iowa. Others of the regiment coming who were prisoners on that raid presented the same downcast picture that Lew did. A few had died and some of the boys couldn't stand up to talk to us. My comrades were, like myself, unable to form a positive opinion what was best to do, yet soon began to think and feel sensibly that we might remain there all night, and as it was the same to the rebels, Company E went into an or- ganization of mess, J. A. Fitchpatrick, Jess Dunn, Gus Kendall, C. K. 'Aldridge, Jim Trotter and myself, and in a few days John Fitchpatrick ยท of the Eighth Iowa Cavalry (Stoneman's raiders) came in with a haversack full of coffee. I saw him first as he came into the stockade and informed him as soon as possible that Joe was here. As he met his brother, he re- marked: "What a h-1 of a place to meet a brother in this southern bas- tile !"
That evening we drew a small piece of corn bread about two inches square. The meal hadn't been half ground and the bread was most all crust and burnt. We also drew a piece of bacon and it was very rotten, but as we were almost starved ere we reached the prison, we were eager to eat the ration that was given us, and soon lying down on mother earth, for we hadn't any blanket, the mantle shades of night wrapped its cloak around us. I think we all thought of home and the events of the past week, and but little sleep I procured that night. Hunger stared me in the face, and an occasional shot from the sentinel along the dead line sending some unfortunate to his long home made the night long and dismal.
Day at last dawned, and taking a walk along the dead line I witnessed sights which will never be forgotten. A Union soldier fell across the line
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who was so weak he couldn't stand-unintentionally fell over-and the cowardly home guards shot him down. The dead line was of stakes driven in the ground thirty feet from an inner stockade, running parallel, the stakes about three feet out of the ground and scantling laid on top and spiked. Such sights as I witnessed on the first morning were of frequent occurrence. We became used to it in time and became seemingly as hard- ened as the old prisoners. At times soldiers would tunnel out but there were several packs of bloodhounds, and the fiends incarnate as from the lower regions would follow after and soon overtake the poor boys and they would come back all torn and mangled by the dogs and then be placed in the stocks for twenty-four hours in sight of the prisoners and perhaps their mess of ninety men would lose a day's ration. So the boys were thinking about their rations and some would inform on the tunnelers. One who had been informing was branded on his forehead with a hot iron a big T for traitor. Several of the boys climbed up trees and preferred being shot to death than come down to be torn by dogs and sent back.
The mortality was so great that it was impossible to carry the dead sol- diers out fast enough; so the rebels gave every two Yanks the privilege of carrying out a dead soldier and coming in with a few sticks of wood. The little it was would only warm our ration. Our mess put some corn bread in water and made coffee after we used up the real coffee that John Fitch- patrick brought in. I have seen boys fuss, quarrel and fight over a dead soldier, all wanting to carry him out. While I was there I carried out one of our sergeants, Chapman, of Company G, who had been taken prisoner a year before. He had been vaccinated by rebel doctors who came in order- ing us to bare our arm. It killed the most of them, and the poor boys would go and bathe their arms and wounds in the small branch that we used water . from which was bad enough with the slime and offal from the rebel camps and cook houses above us.
GETTING SUPPLIES AT ANDERSONVILLE.
Some of the old prisoners had a little extra wood which they would sell. Joe sold his watch to a Johnnie for $20 in Confederate money, which helped our mess out; and Gus Kendall was good on trafficking and bought some extra rice from the rebel sergeants. Gus told me to try my hand. So one morning I started out with a few tablespoonfuls of cooked rice either to get some tobacco, wood or money; but I ran across a starving, wounded soldier who couldn't stand up and gave it to him. Of course, Gus didn't send me out any more. As soon as a soldier would die, any clothes that could be used would be stripped off him, and men would fight over the dead soldier's clothes. The first of such sights horrified us, but being in there for a year and nearly naked, it seemed useless to bury the dead soldier
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