USA > Michigan > Biographical history of northern Michigan containing biographies of prominent citizens > Part 55
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JAMES GREACEN.
This brief note is all that my people knew of me or heard of me from the time of my capture until my release, fifteen months later. We were not permitted to say anything about the war or our treatment and must leave letters unsealed and, as they were not examined in our presence, we did not know whether they were forwarded through the lines or not; therefore, one thing that trou- bled me through all my prison life was to think that perhaps my people had not heard from me and did not know whether I was killed or was a prisoner. In all the time that I was a prisoner I did not hear from home. Early in November our cavalry made a raid, on Richmond for the purpose of liberating
the prisoners and really entered the edge of the city. Our joy knew no bounds when we saw the rushing of the rebel troops to and fro and as the Union shells fell in the James river and around our prison, cheer after cheer went up. But we were again disap- pointed and, for some of us at least, it was best that we should be, for that night the two rebel guards, before alluded to as our friends, told us that our building had been undermined with powder sufficient to have left not a brick where it stood; that every- thing was complete and orders given to the effect that the moment the Union cavalry entered the city the fuses were to be lighted. and the Rebel War Records, now in file at Washington, show conclusively that such orders were given.
One scene stands out distinct and vivid during all the years and which will remain until death with each one who was on floor No. 2. It was the night of November 2, 1863, Lieutenant Barrett and two hundred men with fixed bayonets came onto our floor about sundown and ordered us all into line on the south side of the building. We fell in, six ranks, while they arranged them- selves along the north side and facing us. Barrett then told us that they were there for business, that our lives were in his hands. that we ought to be killed anyway, and would be if we violated in a single instance any of his orders. He then ordered us to stand perfectly still until relieved, making no movement of the body, head or feet or hands, our hands reaching down by the seams of our trousers, eyes straight to the front. He then gave orders to his men that, if any one of us should move, either hand, foot, head, position of body, eyes or speak. they should instantly commence firing on us
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and continue firing as long as any of us re- mained, while they stood with their guns at a ready position with the hammers drawn back and ready in an instant to fire on us. There we stood, motionless, each one fearing that his fellow might disobey orders in some way, realizing that nature was fast becoming exhausted, which would be the signal for our destruction. Under the terrible mental and physical strain which we underwent that night, the hours passed like so many months, and it is not within my power to describe the physical and mental torture experienced. We had hoped that the end would soon come, as rebel guards were becoming wearied as well as we, but, to our sad disappointment, about midnight the guards were relieved and re- placed with fresh ones; then again we list- ened to the orders given those two hundred rebel soldiers by Barrett, as before. Dis- couragement and a keen sense of our condi- tion pervaded each one; we could not look at our comrade on the right hand or the left, as we had to look straight ahead. We knew it would be a matter of endurance or death. The terrible torture that we endured for the last few hours before daylight I cannot de- scribe ; I will simply leave it to your imagin- ation. We remained in that position until daylight. Some had fallen dead on the floor with a thud which caused our hearts to beat quicker and quicker and the guards to bring their guns to their shoulders. One poor fel- low fell beside me, but I dared not look to see who he was and did not know until we were relieved, although he lay at my feet. Barrett did not remain with his men that night, coming only when he placed them at sundown and again at midnight with their relief. Had the officer who had charge of the rebel infantry that night literally obeyed
the orders given by Lieutenant Barrett, none of us would have survived until morning, for I am satisfied that the orders were not strictly obeyed, especially as it was nearing daylight, as human endurance was becom- ing unbearable. We did not know that the morning would relieve us; we did not know when the end would come of all this torture. Why we were so tortured I never knew, ex- cept it was that we had been planning to es- cape and they had discovered our plans and deemed severe discipline necessary in order to control us. This Lieutenant Barrett, who caused that terrible suffering, was himself burned to death in a burning building in Richmond in 1866.
November 20th we were moved from Richmond to Danville, a town of about two thousand inhabitants in the southern part of Virginia, near the North Carolina line. The rebels told us we were now going to be exchanged. At Danville we were placed in another brick building similar to the one we were in at Richmond, except that there was no wall in the center and there were five windows on each side; three floors, on which there were four hundred men each, two hun- dred in the attic, where there was no ventila- tion except a window at each end. Our prison was known as No. 4; I was on the second floor.
When we reached there, the first thing the rebels did was to again search us simi- lar to the way they had done at Tunnel Hill and Atlanta, but, before doing so, they in- formed us that any one having United States money would get it back on their re- lease from prison, they receipting to us for the same, but, if found on our person while being searched it would be appropriated by the Confederate government. They had
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learned by this time that we had ways of secreting it which was beyond their com- prehension. Very many poor fellows turned over their last dollar rather than take any chances of losing it, believing the promises made that we were soon to be parolled and that it would be returned to them. I, my- self, gave them forty dollars, all the money that I had, taking a receipt.
I do not believe that one dollar of this money was ever returned. Having made a good haul on this search, one week later they again searched us and took from us, under threats of severe punishment, by way of withholding food, the receipts that they had given us for our money, at the same time pledging the honor of the Confederacy to refund all money on our release. However, by this time our confidence in their honor had ran to a very low ebb. Major Nolan had charge of the prisoners at Danville and, to his credit. I will say that he was the most humane of any of our keepers and did many little acts of kindness. He would come into the prison alone and talk with us for an hour at a time; he treated us as men, not as brutes ; he sympathized with us and seemed sorry for our condition and seemed really sorry that it was not in his power to prevent it. He took prisoners out to the cook house to cook our rations for us, granted them the privilege of the town on their parole of honor ; he was always welcome when he en- tered the prison and needed no escort to pro- tect him. But our condition was anything but desirable. Our clothing, as before de- scribed, consisted of one shirt, blouse, trous- ers, shoes and cap. It had now become badly worn and was fast giving out. Having been at the front for months before our capture, we were not able to draw a new supply and,
to make our lot worse, winter was upon us ; no blanket or covering of any kind in the prison ; the windows became broken so that the wind and snow would blow through the building ; we slept in "spoon" fashion, the same as at Richmond, often snow covering us when we arose in the morning. No fire of any kind was in the prison during that winter and warmth could not be obtained except by going up into the foul air of the attic, where there was more warmth than elsewhere. We suffered extremely from the cold. Our bill-of-fare at Danville consisted of a pint of pea-soup and a small piece of corn bread once a day, which we ate all at a time. We could easily have eaten four times as much. We suffered extremely from hun- ger as well as cold. The soup that I speak of never saw meat of any kind, just pea- soup, pure and simple, made by boiling a black pea, which in every case contained a bug. When the water became warm those bugs rose to the top, forming a black sur- face, and the oil from those bugs was really nourishing. Many became homesick and discouraged. Sickness and death in our midst was an every-day occurrence and, to add to our misfortunes, the smallpox broke out in our prison and eight out of every ten were sick with it. Fully two-thirds of the entire prison were lying sick at one time with the smallpox and the stench from the disease was unbearable. We had no medical aid and without fire, care or attention of any kind, lying on a board floor with the snow frequently for a covering. Many died dur- ing this epidemic, but the mortality was less than would be expected under the circum- stances. The fact that we had no meat to eat proved a great benefit to us on this oc- casion.
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New Year's day, 1864, well remembered as the "Cold New Year's," found us here in the above condition and our suffering from cold that day was terrible and, to add to our condition, we were given no rations what- ever. In this terrible condition, we spent the time huddled together telling some friend how we and our friends had spent New Year's day at home and of dear ones at home whom we had but little hopes of ever see- ing again. During that winter we spent our time as best we could, either standing or sit- ting on the floor, as we had no seats or benches. Very many passed the hours in playing cards, checkers and twelve-men-mor- ris being the favorite ones, which we could mark out and play on the floor. I spent my time at those games and destroying grey- backs, which were extremely numerous, and in this way succeeded to a great extent in keeping my mind occupied other than dwell- ing on home and friends and present condi- tion. When the mind was allowed to dwell on home and friends, homesickness and death soon followed. May 20th we left Dan- ville, this time being in box cars strongly guarded, crowded to such an extent that all could not lie down at once. On the roof of the cars the guards were placed. In this condition very many died who were too feeble to stand up and were tramped on under foot both before and after death.
We went south. Some of the guards told us they were going to take us to Georgia where they would give each of us a piece of ground two by six feet, which proved too true to most of us. Nothing important oc- curred on this trip except that our train col- lided with a construction train while cross- ing a bridge near Charlotte, North Caro- lina, which badly demoralized the bridge and
engine, but both trains kept the track. Had our train left the track it would have plunged into the river, sixty feet below, and this would have ended our prison life and hun- dreds of poor fellows would have been spared a long and tedious death. Four days after starting we reached a little berg in Georgia called Andersonville, where we dis- embarked from the cars, for which we were very thankful, and were marched to the stockade, about three-quarters of a mile away.
The sight of this stockade struck terror to every heart. It was that terror which is not shown by expression, but rather by the reverse, for little was said, while much thinking was kept up. We were heavily guarded with infantry and cavalry. Soon we were nearing the big gate which was soon to shut on us, the rebel guards in- creased, and as I now look back at the scene, I conclude that it was a precaution taken, thinking that when the advance of the pris- oners entered the stockade and seeing the wretched condition of its inmates they would revolt and refuse to enter. Soon we were inside. It was raining and the ground was muddy. It already seemed to be crowded; there was no shelter, not even trees. Had the timber been left standing in Andersonville what a blessing it would have proved during that fearful summer of 1864.
Soon we were earnestly conversing with those whom we found there. We inquired where we could sleep and they told us any where but, when night came and we en- deavored to lie down on the dryest ground we could find, keeping out of the mud as best we could, we were ordered off by those who had pre-empted it before our coming. There
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being no shelter of any description in An- to a slow and starving one, would deliber- dersonville, we were constantly out in the ately go to it, rest his hands on the dead line and wait the result, which was sure and speedy. Many who lost their reason met the same fate. open air, day and night. Not desiring to lie down in the mud, we remained standing the first night, being wet with a drizzling rain. Morning brought relief, but we now saw that our condition was desperate and at once determined to make the best of it. Hard as we thought our condition to be in Richmond and Danville, we now found it worse and wished ourselves back again. There we had a roof over our heads which protected us from the mud and rain. The first twenty- one days of June it rained more or less each day so that our clothing scarcely became dry during that time.
Frequently we saw a group trying to sleep standing, by having one man for a cen- terpiece, the rest huddling around and lean- ing towards the center. Finally we took to the ground and slept as best we could. The moving multitude in that crowded pen kept the ground, when wet, very muddy. I shall now briefly describe the stockade and its surroundings. It consisted of about ten acres of ground, surrounded by a stockade fourteen feet high, built with pine timbers cut twenty feet long and hewn square so that each was about twelve by twelve inches. A trench was dug six feet deep and the timbers were placed therein, in an upright position. Twenty feet from the stockade, on the in- side, was the dead line, which consisted simply of crotched sticks stuck into the ground and a pole laid in them about three feet from the ground. This twenty feet be- tween the dead line and stockade was for- bidden ground for us; no prisoner could set foot there, neither place his hand on the dead line as it was sure and instant death and many a poor fellow, preferring speedy death
On top of the stockade there were small sentry stations about fifty feet apart, with a roof to protect the guards from the sun and rain. Each sentry had his number, No. I being on the right of the main gate, No. 2 next, and so on. The stockade was enlarged about July 15th, adding about five acres more, making in all about fifteen acres. The clean ground of the new part was eagerly sought by all, I being one of the fortunate ones to change my position to the new part. This addition gave us more room and, for a few days, we did not seem to be so over- crowded.
At this time there were about thirty-five thousand prisoners in Andersonville. Through the center ran a sluggish stream, say four inches deep and perhaps five feet wice, entering the stockade from the west side. On each side of the stream it was swampy and composed of a mixture of mud and clay, so soft that it could not be crossed for about five rods on each side of the creek. The lay of the ground was such that the rebel batteries, which were constantly trained on the stock- ade opposite each of the outer corners, could rake every foot of the enclosure. Besides those batteries, a large body of troops, both infantry and cavalry, were constantly en- camped outside and reinforced by several packs of bloodhounds, each pack being in charge of a man on horseback, whose duty it was to go round the stockade each morn- ing, the dogs catching the scent of the fresh tracks of any one who might have escaped
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by means of a tunnel during the night. As soon as the dogs caught a fresh scent, they set up, what seemed to us, an unearthly yell and away they would go with their keeper, and the poor fellow, unless he found a friendly tree which he could climb, would be torn to pieces.
Owing to our condition, treated like brutes, almost naked, starving, covered with lice and maggots, as we lay on the ground ; pain, agony, misery and death on every hand, coupled with the belief that our gov- ernment and friends had forgotten us and left us to perish under those conditions, the humane part of man seemed to diminish and the brute or animal part to gain ascendancy. In August, six thousand, nine hundred and eighty died of scurvy, diarrhoea and de- pair. Hope was now gone, and yet there is no spot on earth that can show greater loy- alty to its country's flag than that sacred spot inside the stockade at Andersonville.
Many, very many times, the rebels told us that our government had deserted us and, if we would go out and work on the forts and fortifications that they were building, that we could have food and clothing, and as many times this offer was met with a stern refusal and many a brave boy said in reply, "What, help to built forts to help kill our own men? Never, no never; we will die here first." This not having a desired effect, the rebels then sought to enlist us in the Confederate service, we swearing allegiance to the Confederate government, they offer- ing to feed, clothe and pay us the same as other troops and allow us to occupy forts. This offer, like the other, was promptly re- fused except by a very few. Perhaps one regiment was recruited and organized and sent to the defenses at Charleston, their in-
tention being to desert to our own troops; but they never had an opportunity and in about six weeks they were returned to the prison. Feeling that our government had forgotten or rather neglected us, consent was obtained from the rebel authorities to send a delegation of three of our own men to Washington to be presented to President Lincoln with a petition signed by about twenty-four thousand brave fellows, who were now almost naked and starving. This renewed hope within us as we felt that our government possibly had not known of our true condition and that on the arrival of the delegation at Washington, steps would be taken for our release or parole. But no; by the influence of Stanton, the delegation was not permitted to see Mr. Lincoln. Every act of Stanton's proved that he preferred to let every Union soldier die in prison rather then exchange them for able-bodied and well-fed rebels. This was a crowning shame to our government and which we believe the secretary of war alone responsible for.
Religious meetings were frequently held, led by Sergeant Miller, of my own regiment, and Boston Corbett, who afterwards shot John Wilkes Booth. Contrast those meet- ings, if you will, and their surroundings with meetings held at home, and yet all were worshiping the same God. August and Sep- tember were the worst months. Scurvy had now gained such headway that it was the most fatal disease. It first showed its symptoms in the gums, which would swell to the end of the teeth ; then the whole sys- tem became affected; soon the limbs com- menced swelling ; a few days and the suffer- ing was over. And yet there were veget- ables in that vicinity, which if given to the prisoners would have prevented scurvy.
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Much has been said about a certain spring which broke out in Andersonville. Such was the case and it occurred under the following conditions : It occurred on the 15th of August, after a few days of ex- tremely hot, sultry weather. A great storm was approaching ; soon it broke upon us with such fury that no one who was there will ever forget it. It became dark; lightning flashed, thunder rolled and the rain fell in sheets and, to add to the intensity of this terrible scene, the rebels commenced firing solid shot over us, which they kept up seem- ingly for the purpose of intimidating us, ow- ing to the fact that some twenty feet of the stockade, where the creek entered the stock- ade, washed down on account of the great volume of water that was by this time forc- ing its way down the shallow and sluggish stream.
When this scene was over, we found a pure stream of spring water running from out the ground on the hillside. Boards were obtained from Captain Wertz, a trough was made, and, in order to obtain water from the spring, we fell in line and awaited our turn; usually we remained in line from one-half to three-quarters of an hour. At any hour, day or night, a line could be seen awaiting their turn to reach the spring. I am told that this spring is running yet, and rightly it was named "Providential Spring," for before that we obtained water only from the stream and it was very impure owing to the fact that the rebels camped on it above the stock- ade ; the cook house, too, was built over this stream and all debris was thrown therein and, to be sure that there was no mistake made, an occasional dead horse or mule was dumped into it below the rebel camp and before it entered the stockade.
In June an organization known as the "Raiders," composed of our own men, were bound together by an oath of secrecy and lo- cated in the southwest corner of the stock- ade. They were about three thousand strong and made up mostly of men from the lower resorts of our great cities. They soon be- came the terror of the prison to such an ex- tent that we were afraid to even speak of their doings from fear that we might be speaking to or in the presence of one of the gang and, if so, that night we would pay the penalty with our life. This brought a new affliction onto us. If a prisoner was seen to have money, a ration of cornmeal or any- thing, he was spotted and that night he would be robbed and, if he resisted or at- tempted to give an alarm, he would be choked to death. We were afraid to sleep and I saw them choke to death a poor fellow about ten feet away.
Our rations consisted of cornmeal mush, and these "Raiders" would take possession of the wagons bringing it in to the prisoners, keeping it all to themselves, allowing the rest of us to starve frequently for two days at a time. If new prisoners came in with cloth- ing, they would rob them of it at night in a quiet way and no one must say anything about it. Soon the prisoners organized what was known as the "Regulators," with a man by the name of Keys at the head, better known as "Limber Jim." He organized us into companies and a desperate encounter took place for supremacy. It was a strug- gle for life, but with the timely aid of one hundred men with guns and fixed bayonets. which Captain Wertz placed in Key's hands and subject to his orders, the raiders were successfully ran down and the leaders taken outside, where they were tried by a court
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martial, composed of twelve of our own officers, who were brought from the Macon prison for that purpose, resulting in three hundred being compelled to run the gauntlet and six to be hung. A scaffold was built in- side the prison and the six men hung on July IIth. Those who had to run the guantlet re- ceived cruel treatment indeed. This effect- ually stopped the "Raiders" and we had no more trouble with them. It was an extreme act, yet, as I look back upon that scene now, I view it as an act of justice and humanity. Spies were sent into the stockade, dressed in our clothing, who reported all attempts at tunneling or plans of escape. My position in the new stockade was next to the dead line . on the south side. I was then chumming with Sergeant John Morris, of the Eigh- teenth United States Regulars. We prefer- red to be next to the dead line, because of purer air and the ground not being so much affected with vermin. One night Morris, who, like the rest of us, was troubled with the camp dysentery, got up about midnight and, as he again lay down beside me, I woke up. Immediately, on the stillness of the night rang out a report from the gun of the guard on the stockade some twenty-five feet away, which startled me, at the same time feeling something warm and wet all over my face. Immediately Morris commenced to quiver. I turned towards him and spoke, but he did not answer. I placed my hand on his head and found it was wet; the ball had entered his head and it was his brains I felt warm and wet over my face. I got up and told my neighbors that Morris was killed. The guards refused to let any of us come near Morris and told us that if we gathered to- gether and talked about the circumstance they would shoot as long as they had ammu- nition.
Our food, as before stated, consisted of mush made out of cornmeal with no salt, and which was made in the great cook house just outside of camp on the stream, the corn being ground cob and all. Huge wagon-boxes, made tight, received the mush at the cook house and a four-mule team drew it to the stockade. For the pur- pose of drawing our rations, we were divided into squads of ninety men each. Each squad had a sergeant, whose duty it was to draw the rations of mush for his ninety. He also had a board and on that board he carefully divided the mush into as many lumps as there were men in his squad and one more, because the rule was that the sergeant was entitled to two rations. Then, having care- fully taken from the larger and placing on the smaller piles until he became satisfied that the piles were all about one size, with the hungry men standing around, he would then direct some one to turn his back, hand- ing him a slip, not of each man's name but of his number in the squad. The sergeant would then point with a stick to a certain pile of mush saying, "Whose is this?" while the fellow with his back turned would speak a certain number, the comrade bearing that number would rush up and carefully take his ration. The sergeant would then continue through the entire list, pointing his stick, at the same time using the words, "And this?" This was repeated until each man in the squad had received his rations; there would then be two rations left which belonged to the sergeant. No other way could be satisfac- tory, so jealous was each man for fear he would not receive as much as his fellow. The ration of mush would fill about an ordinary tea-cup, which we received once a day ; we received nothing else. After delivering the mush, the wagon was again driven to the
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