USA > Indiana > The soldier of Indiana in the war for the union, Vol. I > Part 11
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After more than a week at Camp Gilham, the Forty-second Virginia Regiment was ordered to the front, and I was moved to the camp of the Fourteenth Tennessee, where I was happy to be once more in prison with Clark. We were in a tent by ourselves, very closely guarded, with orders not to speak to each other nor to any one else, except when permitted to do so by the officer of the guard. We found the Tennesseeans much kinder than the Virginians. Nothing of importance
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transpired here. The usual remarks and brag, so character- istic of Southerners, were gone through by almost every man. Some of the officers were gentlemen in their deportment, but the men were ignorant and sometimes unkind; although when our feet were to be tied at night, almost every man who had the duty to perform, apologized, saying he was sorry, but it had to be done, as he was obeying orders.
One Sunday, the chaplain of the regiment came in to talk with us in regard to our spiritual state. He asked us if we were " prepared to die." " As far as we knew, we had no further preparation to make."
" Did we think we were doing right to come down South to lead the Yankees to murder Southern innocence ?" We thought he was partly mistaken as to our purpose ; neverthe- less we thought we were doing right. " Did we know the end that awaited us?" " No, not exactly ; we didn't know just how cruel and barbarous it might be, but supposed that it would be all right, whatever it was." , In fact, we expected nothing good of any one, and didn't seem to object to being hung, either. So our chaplain left us.
I do not remember how long we were in this regiment. We were poorly fed, but had good water; no covering was given us, nor straw to lie upon. We were transferred to the safe-keeping of the Sixteenth Georgia Regiment; and a meaner, more cowardly, ignorant, and infernal set of heathen were never assembled together. My friend Clark had been sick for more than a week; I could see his health failing; he was so weak he could hardly walk; he had fever night and day ;- yet these villains tied him hand and foot at night, and caused us to lie upon the wet ground. They furnished us with rations unfit for dogs, and brought us water that the filthiest hog would shrink from wallowing in.
One night I said to the officer of the guard, " Please, do not tie this man to-night; he has been too ill to rise all day, and the surgeon refuses to come."
" He's a d-d traitor, and has said he could whip any two men in our camp; and d-d if he shall have any favors of me!"
" I know, sir, this is false: we are not allowed to speak;
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and I know he did not make boast or threat of any kind. I will ask to be doubly ironed and tied, and if Clark should move or do or say anything displeasing, just hang me in the morning."
" No more of your d-d nonsense," said he, coming in with the rope, and beginning to tie Clark."
" It is my opinion, sir, that the boast of manliness and generosity and noble feeling in the South is all humbug. There is not a man in the North so mean and cowardly as to do this act."
"D-you! Perhaps you think I won't tie you, too ? "- for as I was not considered physically dangerous, and as they supposed I knew nothing of the country, they often left me untied.
" I don't care what you do," said I, excitedly, losing my temper for the first time. " You are mean enough to do most anything." He did tie me, and that tightly, from head to foot, so that the marks were on me for two days.
Hundreds of Confederate soldiers died at Huntersville, of measles and camp-diarrhea. Clark and I suffered with the latter.
To add to our misery, two lousy Georgians, who had been found asleep on picket, were put in prison with us, where they cried and whimpered like sick girls, day and night, for fear of being shot. Thank heaven, the Sixteenth Georgia were ordered on, and we once more changed camp. We inquired what State our new regiment was from, and were delighted to learn it was the Sixteenth Tennessee, Colonel Savage commanding, and that it was now the only regiment in Huntersville. We were put into the guard-tent, along with three or four West Virginia men, who were charged with disloyalty.
Many unpleasant restrictions were removed. We could talk; we could stand outside the tent, and enjoy various other small liberties. But this state of things did not last long. A mean little lawyer came around and got the sup- posed Union men released. Having nothing further to do, he must hurry up Clark's case before the authorities. 'Squire Skeen was prosecuting attorney for the State.
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GENERAL DONELSON.
One evening, near sundown, I was taken under guard to General Donelson's quarters; for he had arrived, and was the commanding officer. His tent was pitched in a beautiful grove. The venerable old man, with his gray locks combed behind his ears, sat in the door, smoking his pipe. He was exceedingly polite. He talked with me a long time. He had been at Indianapolis, attending some Democratic convention. He knew that Indiana had a majority in favor of Southern Rights. Yes, he remembered a young man there, who was a remarkable man, too, -a genius; he met him at the Palmer House ; he knew he must be on the right side.
" What was his name, General ? Perhaps I know him."
" I think," said the General, "his name is Ryan, - Richard Ryan."
" Yes, General, he is on the right side," said I. " I heard him make the hottest war-speech I ever listened to, the very night Fort Sumter fell."
" How uncertain men are!" said the General, thoughtfully.
Mr. Skeen then questioned and cross-questioned me in regard to Clark. There were two men, strangers, writing down my answers. Several men were examined who had known Clark at home, for years; and, with one voice, they said he was, at home, a steady, honest man, intelligent enough, but a strong Union man, and they had no doubt could do, and might have done, great harm to the Confederate cause. After this examination, I was taken over to the tent, accompanied ยท by General Donelson's adjutant, whose name I think was Elliott. He was formerly connected with one of the Nash- ville papers ; - I am not certain in regard to the name.
The moon was at its full, and had just rolled up over the eastern mountains, lighting up the valley with a pale glow, almost sufficient to read by. When I reached the tent, Clark asked me where I had been. I told him Skeen had brought some strangers there, and I had been examined as to my knowledge of him.
" They are going to kill us, Fletcher, - me, at any rate."
" Oh, no! don't get gloomy ; they will not dare to kill us."
While we were talking, General Donelson and staff, and Colonel Savage and his staff-officers, rode up to the tent and
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ordered a guard to conduct the prisoners out into the field, beyond the camp. We went out. A crowd of men were watching, and followed as far as the guard-lines permitted. Clark and I stood side by side. Oh, how brightly the bay- onets glitter in the cold moonlight; how heavily the soldiers tread ; and how cold and uncheering is every sound !
We were halted in the middle of a large field. The offi- cers stood, in consultation, fifty paces off. I looked up to the moon, that perhaps others, who had not forgotten us, might look at, too ; - all the rest of the scene was ours alone.
Colonel Savage came up and said, " Prisoners, if you have anything to say, you must say it now, as you will never have another opportunity. You must hold all conversation in the . presence of these officers."
I turned to Clark. " Well, Clark, I am sorry to part with one who became a prisoner to save my life. Your life as a prisoner, under all your trials and tortures, has shown you to be ever the same brave, unwavering, honorable man. Whatever may be our future, I respect and love you. We shall meet again, but till then good-bye. If you ever have a chance, let some of our men know where I am; and if I have a chance, I will do the same."
Mr. Clark said: "Fletcher, I am not sorry that I gave myself up to save you. I feel that you are a true man. If you ever get home, see my wife and children ; tell her to do for them as I intended to do. I am not afraid to die for my country. This is all I wish to say."
" Return these men to separate quarters, Colonel," said General Donelson; "and do not permit them to speak to each other."
Colonel Savage did not separate us, however, but ordered the guard doubled; and we promised to be quiet. Neither of us slept that night. Clark felt that we were going to be sent away to some other prison. I told him I thought the whole thing was foolery, to get us to say something which would condemn us.
But morning came, and just as we were getting our break- fast, four mounted men rode up, hurried Clark out without allowing one parting word, and I saw them bind him to the
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horse with chain and rope. While I stood there, my heart almost sank within me, but it roused up enough to heap a heavy and audible curse upon the proceeding, which caused me to be kept inside the tent and tied likewise. I now became cross and sick. I gave few kind words to any one who spoke to me. I made up my mind to escape. Twice before I might have done so, but for leaving Clark when he was sick ; now nothing kept me back but guns. I could get out, and I would. Next day, after making this resolve, our camp was moved up on higher ground on the mountain-side southwest of the town. Here I was so poorly fed, or so sick, that I began to think I would die of fever. All day long I lay at the door of the tent. Across the mountain-tops, wrapt in clouds and Indian-summer haze, was my dream-land. Oh, how I longed to cross the wilderness, to give Reynolds notice of the foe that was threatening his front and crawling in his rear; how I prayed in feverish dreams that some spiritual communica- tion might reveal to him his danger! I fixed in my own mind how Lee would draw Reynolds out for battle on the 'pike, near Cheat River or Greenbrier Bridge, and then fall with his larger force on the flank and rear. So, after days of waiting, I slipped my irons one stormy night, and making my way out of the tent by lifting the curtain at the back, I followed a little path down through the now almost deso- late camp, for all but one regiment had gone on. I was just making my way cautiously along, between two tall pines, when I ran against the sentinel, who was standing there to keep out of the rain. He was more frightened than I, but he was kind enough to keep still. He told me I was a fool for trying to get away; I would die before I could get to our lines. I gave it up for that night, got into my tent the way I got out, and no one was wiser in the morning.
Next day an old man was put in prison with me; he was one of the wealthiest farmers in Greenbrier County. He was seventy-two years old, and was imprisoned because, at the time the vote was cast for testing Virginia's choice as to Secession or Union, he voted for the old Union. The old man was very cold at night and had a terrible cough. I wrote several. notes to General Donelson, telling him that
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we had no clothing, little food, and no way to cook it. He answered, in the most polite manner, that he would order the evils remedied, but he never did. This old gentleman, Alex- ander Mann by name, was released a few weeks afterwards, upon his sons coming over and joining the Rebel Army. One of the young men came into the tent to see his father, and as a gift brought his pocket full of potatoes, which I think were the only vegetables I tasted in Western Vir- ginia.
Per aps it was two weeks before I made another attempt to escape. I succeeded in passing the Rebel guard-lines, and was well round the valley toward the place where I intended striking into the mountains, when I heard signal-guns firing, which were answered by. shots all along the outposts. I knew no pains would be spared to retake me, for they had often told me that any attempt to escape would be followed by a speedy hanging as a spy. They knew well the damage I could do.
On I went, through the tangled laurel-bushes, over broken ledges, up slippery steeps, down through tangled ravines, cold streams, and marshes, the rain pouring down in torrents, and only a dim ray of light through the midnight sky. At length I dragged my weary and chilled limbs up the mountain which so long had seemed to shut my view from the old flag waving on Cheat Mountain. Some pickets or patrols, who were kept out on these mountains to prevent negroes from running off, came down not far from me, and I think either saw or heard me, or perhaps their dogs scented me; at last, I heard them returning. 'Tis painful to write the tortures of that night, toiling up the ascent, which in the daytime, from a distance, seemed so smooth, like a sugar loaf, rising from a broad base, sloping gently to a round apex, but which I found to be as rough and wild as any other mountain. Till morning I toiled like one in a horrid nightmare, trying to get over the Summit, away from my pursuers, but always coming back to the same place. As daylight dawned, I stretched my wearied and torn limbs in a thick jungle of laurels, upon the moss-covered rocks; and there I lay all day. I could look southwest into the camp, across the little
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town. I could see convalescent soldiers crawling about in the sun, like flies after a frosty morning. But from head- quarters I could see mounted men dash off by every road, and scouts coming toward the very mountain I was on.
Looking northeast, the scene was one unbroken wilderness of wood and cloud-capped mountains. I formed my plans for the next night's march. I had saved enough fat pork (which I had tied round me with my shoe-strings) to keep me alive, with the help of wild fruit, for four days' travelling.
I was to descend the mountain northeast at its base. I was to follow up a brawling stream which had cut its bed through the rocks. I was to follow it for six miles; then strike across another mountain to Greenbrier River, which I expected to follow up for some twenty miles ; until I could strike north to Cheat Mountain.
When night came, dim but starlit, I made my way down the mountain, and keeping in the water of the little stream, had gone perhaps two miles when I heard " Halt, halt!" from the bank above, followed by two or three shots. This only in- creased my speed up the slippery rocks, fighting the dashing water. I climbed like a madman. Just as I turned under a
A shelving cliff, " Halt!" said a strong voice, -" Halt!" sentinel fired, - so near, I could have touched the end of his gun ; but on I went up the rocks as if up a stairway, the foam- ing current dashing against me, - the sentinel close behind me with fixed bayonet. I turned with a spring, threw myself down upon him, hoping to throw him down and get his arms. I was received on the point of his bayonet, which penetrated my left hip, striking to the bone. I fell to the water. He grasped me by the clothing and lifted me to one side, saying, in an excited manner, " Fletcher, are you hurt ?" " Yes." " Can you get up?" "No." My only thought was, What will become of our men at Cheat Mountain. What a fool was I for trying to get out of the valley that way! Why didn't I start out in some other direction ?
While I thus reflected, the other men came down and, making a litter, carried me back in triumph to my old quarters. As I passed by the tent of a sneaking second lieu- tenant, he stood, with a torch in his hand, to have a look at
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THE SOLDIER OF INDIANA.
me. " Did you wound him ?" said he to the guard. " Yes." " Well, you might as well have killed him, for he knew, if he ever attempted to get away, he would be hung." This was too much for me to take from the insulting scoundrel, and for the second time I let fly at him, -" Hang and be d-d to your whole cowardly crew !"
Next morning I was visited by Colonel Savage, who ques- tioned me as to why and how I made my escape. The get- ting off my irons he could not understand,-thought some one did it for me, and wound up by saying, " If you don't tell the clean thing, I'll send you to the jail."
" Colonel, I have desired to go to jail ever since I came into this cursed community. I have had to sleep for two months, almost, without clothing or straw. I have never had water enough to wash hands or face. I have had to eat uncooked rations very often, -and only the meagerest and meanest rations at that."
" Take him to jail, Lieutenant. See how he likes' his change of quarters."
In half an hour I had an opportunity of examining one of those tight institutions which some men build to put other men in. In the centre of the two-story brick building was a heavy oak door. We walk into an entry or hall. At our right is an oak door filled with spikes, and furnished with a large hasp and padlock. The jailer is an old man, with long white hair, which he combs upward to cover the bald crown. He has on a dirty white shirt, a pair of jean breeches, and a pair of old shoes, cut down at the heel and out at the toes, which only half hide his stockingless feet; his face is as wrinkled as the crumply skims on boiled milk; and his nose and chin approach each other so closely, I venture to say, although he is evidently a shoemaker, he has no need of pincers. He is sitting at his bench when we come in, peg- ging an old boot; he looks up, lays down the boot, looks at me, wipes his nose on the back of his hand, and then per- ' forms the same motion on his leathern apron.
" Well, you got de Yankee, did you ?"
" Yes. Where shall I put him ?"
" Oh, I'll fix that. There is the debtors' room empty.
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JAILED.
Better put him in there. The cell's full already : got a run- away nig' and Moses in there. They expect the Yank' in there ; but he's so sick-looking-like, I hate to."
" Never mind," said the Lieutenant; * " that's just the kind he likes. Them Abolitionists don't mind sleeping with nig- gers ; and ' Mose' is as good as he."
The old jailer took down two keys from a nail in the wall, unlocked the padlock, threw back the oak door, and then a door, made of heavy iron cross-bars, presented itself. I tried to see into the cell, while he fumbled away at the lock, but it was too dark within. " I hardly ever unlock this door, and it's mighty rusty." Soon the door swung back, shrieking on its rusty hinges. Putting irons on was hard, but I shall never forget my repugnance at passing into that cell, and hearing the iron door slam, and the lock grind. And on this disgusting period it is painful to dwell. Hun- dreds came to look through at me, but I kept myself hid as much as possible.
By kindness I soon won the confidence of the negro " Jim," and the poor idiot " Mose."
Jim waited on me : he brushed my clothes with an old broom, and tried to black my rusty old shoes by using soot from the flue. When the jailer thrust the old wooden tray under the trap-door, Jim set it before me, and he made Mose wait till I had eaten. Mose was a poor idiot boy, nineteen years old, who had been in this filthy place for months.
The cell was about fourteen feet long and twelve feet wide ; two small double-grated windows let in the little light we en- joyed by day ; but early in the evening the heavy shutters were closed, and all was dark as pitch. At this time, I felt much like the fish that jumped from the frying-pan into the fire, for when I was in the tent, although I suffered from cold and rain, I could not complain of being stinted in the article of pure air ; but I now suffered for want of it. It was my custom to lie on the floor with my face as close to the very small crack under the trap-door as possible.
* This Lieutenant was shortly afterward captured by our men. He told them that I was well treated and on parole in Huntersville, for which infor- mation Lieutenant Delzell and all the boys in Bracken's Cavalry paid him every kind attention.
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-
In the morning, the guard came and opened the shutters, and life was tolerable till evening.
Many citizens - men, women, and children - came to see me. On Sunday I was more than crowded with visitors, who stood at the iron door, gaping like so many moon-struck toads. Very seldom would I talk with them; and I asked the guard, who were detailed from the militia, not to allow so many fools in the hall. Jim used to take his stand at the door and do all the talking, as the keeper of wild animals stands by their cage and explains where they were caught, how trained, and their habits. So Jim told about the Yankee, often spreading on to the story, which he manufactured, some of the most wonderful traits that a man ever had.
Jim was anxious to get out: so was I; and we began to work on the east window. When people came about, Jim talked to them, and whistled and sung, to deaden the noise of cutting and sawing with my knife, which I was using as cold-chisel and file on a bar of iron. We worked some every day, but the knife was worn out before the bar was half off.
Part of my time I spent in teaching Jim and Moses their letters, by drawing them on the floor with bits of charcoal. Jim learned very quickly, but Moses made no progress. The jailer's daughter let me have a few books. " Paul and Vir- ginia," " Elizabeth; or the Exiles of Siberia," "John Wes- ley's Sermons," "A History of Marion and his Men," etc., etc., were all eagerly devoured, for they were more than com- panions to me now. Every book was a friend.
During all this time I was growing thinner and weaker every day. I could not sleep at night, for the foul air was poison to me. My head ached and my heart burned. In one of these sad midnight hours, dark to me but bright moonlight outside, I heard the guard, who were off duty, sing out, in full, rich strains, an old Methodist tune which I had heard years ago at camp-meeting, commencing with -
" There is a place where my hopes are stayed ; My heart and my treasure are there."
With this song the flood-gates of pent-up feeling burst, and
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for the first time tears washed down my fevered cheeks. Thoughts of home and friends occupied the rest of the night.
At length, my days at Huntersville came to an end. One Sunday afternoon I heard that a big battle was going on at Cheat Mountain, and that thousands of Yankees had been killed and captured the day before. The prisoners were to arrive at Huntersville that afternoon. Crowds of people occupied the court-house yard and the streets, waiting to see the " Yanks." I stood with my feet on the back of a chair, and my hands holding to the iron bar above me, peering out, trembling with excitement. Just at sunset I could see men coming through the mountain-pass, and, as they came nearer, I beheld the blue uniforms of the Union soldiers. On they came, and were drawn up in line, about two hundred yards from the jail. Would they be sent on without my having a chance to speak with them, to find the truth? Would I be sent on with them ?
I walked back and forth. I pounded on the door till the jailer came.
" Who is the officer in command of this town, this jail ? What am I left here for ?"
" I don't know anything about it. I was told to keep you till called for."
" I wish you would send the commandant of this post this note," - and I handed him a scrap upon which I had asked to see the commandant.
In an hour a captain, in the Confederate service, who had once been in the regular army as lieutenant, came in, asked my name, rank, and regiment, and some other questions ; then he ordered me to be put in a better place, the debtors' room, and said I should be sent on to Richmond the next morning, with the other prisoners. I did not sleep that night. I wanted to move - anywhere, anywhere, so that I was not lying still. I prayed that wherever Clark was, I might be sent, for since the day he was sent off, I had had that one de- sire above all others, to know where he was and be with him.
Next morning I was taken out to the table, breakfasted with the jailer's family, and then was returned to my quar- ters. How long that day seemed. At four P. M., a guard
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came. The door was thrown open. I walked across the hall, and shook hands with Jim and Moses. Both, with tears in their eyes, wished me good luck, and I was off. Oh, how soft and balmy seemed the air; how quiet and free every- thing seemed! I was surprised to find that I could hardly move my limbs : a walk of two hundred yards seemed like as many miles. I said nothing, for I was bound to leave Huntersville. We came to an orchard, where the Yankees were drawn up in line. They were ready to march. I dragged myself along as fast as possible. I looked each man in the face, in hopes to get one glance of recognition. One or two of the Sixth Ohio boys I recognized, but they didn't know me. Every one of them looked at me with wondering eyes. The end of the column was reached, where I was to march, when a young man stepped up to me, looking me in the face. " My God," said he, " is this Dr. Fletcher ? " " Yes," said I: " it is what remains of him."
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