USA > New York > History of the Tenth regiment of cavalry New York state volunteers, August, 1861, to August, 1865, pt 2 > Part 35
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At ten o'clock we took the up-train for Dublin. On leaving the train we were put in charge of the provost-marshal. There was a camp there, also the head- quarters of General John C. Breckenridge, commandant of the forces in that dis- trict, embracing a large territory. We were provided with a tent, and remained there some ten days, and were better treated than at any time during our cap- tivity. Every train was loaded with troops from Longstreet's army and with forage and rations for Lee's army. So great was their need of rolling-stock that no passenger was allowed transportation. We now knew that if we had taken a course directly west we should have exactly reached East Tennessee and avoided Longstreet's army, which we feared we might meet. Longstreet's corps was the hardest-looking set of men I ever saw, excepting, always, Yankee prison- ers. No two were dressed alike. These men had been using pitch-pine for fuel, and they were smoked black as negroes. April 22d we took our leave for Rich- mond, expecting a parole on reaching there. That night we spent in an old guard-house at Lynchburg. We met there two other recaptured prisoners. Next morning started on, and reached Libby Prison Sunday, April 24th, just seven
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weeks from the day we left. We were ushered into the presence of our quondam friend Major Dick Turner, who, upon learning that we were escaped prisoners, ordered us into the dark cell in the cellar of Libby. This cellar was about sev- enty-five feet square, and on the back side, next Carey Street, was a row of cells seven feet by twelve. The only light in each cell was a small pane of glass in the door opening into the dark cellar in front and through a small grating on the street. The cold and dampness chilled us completely the moment we entered, and the foul odor which we were obliged to inhale from that filthiest of cellars, and then the sewer-gas, resulting from defective sewerage, kept us vomiting, at first, almost constantly. We were all pushed into cell No. 7. We found one poor wretch already there; he had escaped directly from the prison, and was found in the city. Our hearts nearly failed us as he told of the horrors of that place at night ; for it was alive with starving rats, and they would gnaw our boots for food. We had not been in there long before we heard a gentle tap on the floor 'above, and Jack, our new comrade, said that meant to keep quiet; that the floor above was used as a hospital for the sick officers confined in Libby. Presently we heard a voice whispering, " Are there two Tenth New York Cavalry sergeants in that cell?" I answered, " Yes." . We then learned that there was a hole cut through the floor over the cell; that the officers kept it covered with bedding, so that the rebels might not know. Soon a note came to Guy and myself from our own officers, asking us to let them know where in the world we came from, as they supposed we left Richmond some months before. We sent back a report of ourselves. Then came word to get ready for a good square meal, which would be sent as soon as the coffee would boil. Then followed more taps, and we were told to fasten our pail on our broomstick, and they would pour coffee into it. We all had a good drink. Then came dried beef, crackers, and some cooked rice. After that, shaving-tools, a piece of a clean towel, shirts and drawers for Wynkoop and myself, and, lastly, a box of Brandreth's pills, with a note saying that a change of climate and air might make their use necessary. We were then requested to write up an account of our trip, which we gladly did in return for all their kind- ness. The parties sending the food had to send.it through three floors in order to reach us. The holes through the floors were so small that the underwear was sent with great difficulty. But each day during our stay there we were remem- bered by these kind friends. Our rations from the Confederacy were daily two loaves of corn-bread and a pail of water for seven of us. In the second cell was a prisoner named Hoban, a Union scout, who had been captured near Richmond and was held as a spy, and expected at any time to be taken to the gallows. We were kept from conversing with him by two guards who paced back and forth in front of our door day and night. The officers above suggested our digging & tunnel under Carey Street from our cell, coming out in a vacant lot opposite. We found, as they told us, upon removing some brick, that a small beginning had been made by some former occupants. They would furnish us rations, such tools as they could improvise, and take care of the dirt, as it was passed up to them, and, when all was completed, we should be the first to pass out. To all of this we gladly assented, and were only waiting tools to begin ; but on Thursday morning we were removed to Pemberton, across the way, and thus ended our hopes of tunneling. We learned that none but the sick were being paroled. We. became the heroes of the floor upon which we were placed, and it was proposed
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that one of the quartet should act as sergeant-major over the three hundred men on that floor. Rew was given the place at the suggestion of the other three. Rew drew five men's rations as pay for' his services, and these he shared with his old comrades, who formed his staff. Nothing of moment occurred during the month of May. Paroling had ceased on account of hostilities commenced by General Ben Butler, whose guns we heard for several days. We could observe a feeling of uneasiness at Richmond, arising from want of confidence in the South- ern cause. The York River Railroad was taken up; the rolling-stock was dragged through the city by mules, as were also the rails and all else movable.
About June 1st large numbers of wounded prisoners were sent into Richmond, and the physician who visited our building asked Merrill to go to the Alabama Hospital as clerk, to keep a record of the sick and wounded. He went, promising to let us know if it was any object for us to follow. The next day I was sent for to act as sergeant over the police squad. Two nurses were wanted, and Rew and Wynkoop were offered the places. Both declined, but I promised to look out for them. I was sorry to leave Wynkoop, but I expected to see him in a day or two at longest. Merrill and I found a place for him as ward-master of the sick-ward, and sent for him by the physician. He did not come. We learned afterward that he was sent to Andersonville. Merrill and myself remained in the hospital until July 8th, when the rebs, needing the building for their own men, removed ours to another place, and sent us, who had been on duty with the convalescents, to Libby. While in the hospital the clothing of those who died was washed and given out to those in need. We both had good suits throughout. . On the morn- ing of July 14th the rebel officers came in for roll-call. Many thought that it meant paroling. Rew, who had been retained as clerk when Wynkoop was sent away, told us that we were going to Andersonville very soon, and that he should go with the rest. On the 16th we left old Libby, as we hoped, for the last time, and at 8 A. M. were aboard the train going via Danville and Greensboro. We were halted for the night near Danville, but did not leave the cars. At Dan- ville we were in an old guard-house. Rations were issued, and, to our surprise, Rew appeared in our midst. We at once began to plan another escape-as soon as we should reach North Carolina. We left Danville at 4 P. M .; at midnight reached Greensboro, where we remained until Monday evening the 18th. We drew five days' rations here, and were transferred to flat cars. Left Greensboro about 6 P. M. There was a slight shower before sunset. There were no seats for us in the cars. At each end of the car were four guards. Our men stood or squatted about. I was very lame from some cause and had to be helped on the car that day, so we took the side of the car, with our feet hanging below. We decided to jump soon after dark. Two men, who had no haversacks, put their rations into ours, and were to jump when we did. As I was lame I was to make the first break ; the others would follow-in fact, some twenty men had promised to go if we would lead.
About 8 P. M., when running on a high embankment, I placed one foot on the iron socket on the side of the car, straightened up, and threw myself off! Down the slope I rolled, landing in some underbrush. Merrill and Rew fol- lowed, though in better style. I soon regained my feet, and, with their help, we recrossed the track and took a course due west. I found it was almost impossible to walk. I was in no great pain, however, but there was a numbness about my
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lower limbs like paralysis. I would stumble over the smallest obstacle, and had to be helped over the fences and small streams like a child. Of course, we made little headway that night; but my comrades were so kind and patient that I was hopeful. The weather was warm, and we could hide anywhere in the woods, and could easily subsist on the berries and fruit which were abundant at that season. The next day we made a little progress under cover of the woods, flanking houses, and keeping out of sight. That night we made a few miles. We were bound to keep due west, this time, and get into East Tennessee as soon as possible. On Wednesday night I gave out entirely ; my limbs absolutely refused to carry me, and I begged the boys to go on and leave me, to die, perhaps. They objected strongly, but I insisted upon it. They offered to carry me to the house of some negro who would keep me until I should be able to start again. Finally, I told them I would do that myself the next day or night. I had food enough for some days. They went on their way, and I crawled back into the bushes, too worn out to realize my unhappy plight. In the morning it came to me in all of its reality. I was heart-sick and discouraged, expecting to be recaptured before night. After a little time this wore off, and I determined to find some friendly negroes that . night, and throw myself upon their charity. In the afternoon there was the most terrific thunderstorm that I ever witnessed. The rain fell in torrents. I kept partially dry by standing in a hollow tree, which I expected every moment would be struck by lightning or torn up by the roots; but neither happened, and when the storm had somewhat abated I dragged myself along out of the woods, know- ing that no one would be out at such a time. I came to a road that crossed a small stream swollen bank-full. I threw a large rail across, and was about half- way over when I fell into the water, which came to my waist. As I was pulling myself up on the bank I saw a man on horseback coming toward me from down the stream. As he approached I saw it was a negro mounted on a mule. I hur- ried to meet him. Stepping aside I briefly told my trouble. He promised to help me, and at once put me astride the mule. I was just seated when we heard some cattle coming down the hill followed by a man on horseback. My colored friend was terribly frightened as well as I, but he kept straight ahead, crossing the stream I had fallen into. Soon my new friend exclaimed : "De han' ob de Lo'd am in it ! He jes kep' dat ole Secesh's eyes straight afore him !"
As soon as Adams, for that was his name, was out of sight, he said it was a narrow escape for us both, for he would have been flogged if found helping a Yankee soldier. His mistress lived some three miles away. There were no whites, excepting her and her young children, on the plantation. He was the only grown male negro that she owned. I should be put in the barn, a little dis- tance from the house. He would carry the key, and I could be put up safely on a mow of wheat. Only two or three of the older colored women should know anything about it ; and they could be trusted. I remained here from Thursday night until Sunday night; then another colored man, whose mistress lived four miles from there, took me with him. So I parted with Henry. I never shall for- get him. A better friend no inan ever found, a true Christian man, who used to go into the little granary every morning and pray, in his simple, childlike. way for strength to do what was before him that day ; and in his prayers he always remembered the "poor white man" whom he was trying to help. My new friend was very kind to me, and his mistress-a Union woman at heart-owned some
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EXPERIENCE OF SERGEANT B. W. BONNELL.
fifty slaves. I never saw her to speak with her; but she assured Robert that she was perfectly willing to feed me, and allow me to remain in her barn, only I must be very careful and not do or say anything that would in any way compromise her, for it was generally supposed that she was a secessionist. I was to remain in the barn nights, but remove to the woods during the day. One rainy day I spent in the barn the negro boys were below thrashing wheat with the horses. Old Robert was very careful to go above for all the wheat. One day my dinner, which was usually brought to me a little later than the rest, was not forthcoming. I ventured near enough to the edge of the woods to see a squad of Confederate cav- alry at the house, their horses were being fed, and they ordered their dinners, after they were gone and safely out of sight, my dinner was brought. On August 3d I felt so much better that I determined to make another start, and Robert gave me very careful directions for the first night's travel, some twelve miles, so that I reached the place before morning with comparatively little fatigue. I felt much encouraged by this, and continued to make good progress. About a week after leaving Robert (it was August 9th, I think), while lying in the woods about noon, I saw a young man skulking about the woods. I watched him closely, and saw that he was unarmed, and that I was unnoticed by him. Finally, I gave a low whistle, upon which he jumped and screamed, much frightened. Soon he discov- ered me, and was about to run, when I called him, and, walking toward him, made him understand that I meant him no harm. I learned that he had been conscripted, and that his father, who had all the time been in sympathy with the Union cause, had already lost one son, another had lost a leg, a third had been forcibly taken from him, and he was determined at all hazards to protect this one, the fourth, a lad not yet eighteen. To do this he must be secreted in the woods. He was to meet his father that afternoon, and promised to return and bring his father with him.
About 5 P. M. they came. I found the father a loyal Unionist, and a kind old gentleman, too. His name was Cunningham. He was very anxious that his son should attempt to reach our lines with me. Of course, I was delighted at the prospect. I had supper at the house-the danghter standing picket at the road- side. I give these particulars to show what dangers, sufferings, and sacrifices were endured by those in the South who tried to be loyal to the dear old flag. It was decided that John should go with me. We slept in the woods. The father came to us at 4 A. M., to take us four miles on our way, to a Mr. May, who he thought would act as guide to the mountain. Poor John's heart failed him, and he would not go, but Mr. Cunningham took me near Mr. May's; went for him, and he came into the woods to meet me. This was Thursday. He at once prom- ised to go with me, but could not leave until Saturday night. I stayed in the woods, and at night visited the house.
Mr. May had two sons in the rebel army. One had been taken prisoner at Gettysburg. Another son, seventeen years old, was at work some miles distant. He came home on Saturday night, and wanted to go with mne. His father con- sented, as he knew he was liable to be drafted any day. It would be impossible to get him ready before Monday night, so I tarried with these kind friends. On Monday night the boy bade good-by to his mother and sisters, and with me started for the mountain, the father acting as guide, it being some hundred miles distant. Once over the mountain, we would soon be within the Union lines. I
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felt much cheered by the prospect. The old man went ahead with his gun, keep- ing a few rods in advance. We kept the road and traveled after nine o'clock, halting at daylight, when the boy and I took to the woods, and the father would go to the house of some Union man that he knew, and get food for us and such information as he could. We made good headway until Friday night, when it was so dark and rainy that we were obliged to seek shelter in the woods. In the morning it was pleasant, and we found we were eight or ten miles from the mountain yet, and were very near a little village, which lay in the valley at our feet. About 8 A. M. we heard the blowing of horns, calling of dogs, and other preparations, which showed that a hunt was the order of the day. Mr. May was very uneasy and anxious, as he knew the neighborhood was strongly " secesh," from all accounts, and that the hunt was nothing less than a hunt for deserters, who were supposed to be lurking in the woods thereabout. The fashion was to start out from the little hamlet, making a circle around it; then, at a signal, they would commence the drive, just as our grandfathers hunted game. All day long we could hear the baying of the hounds. At first, it seemed miles away in the mountains, the air was so pure and sounds so few. Then they came nearer and nearer. It was a day of terrible suspense. We lay all day long under old fallen trees, scarcely stirring or speaking above a whisper. Near sunset we could tell by the sounds at the hamlet that the men had returned. What the day's work amounted to we did not know. We only knew that we had escaped detection, and when at last it was dark we moved rapidly on, flanking the town. This was Saturday night, and we hoped to reach the mountain at midnight. We heard singing away in front. We thought it must be a camp-meeting. So the boy and I stepped away from the roadside while the father reconnoitred. He soon re- turned, reporting a negro camp-meeting. No whites were there. We were near the mountain, but the pike leading from there to Tennessee was patroled daily, and five deserters had been captured the day before. After counseling some of the more intelligent, we found we had better take to the woods and strike a trail, if we in any way expected to cross the mountain.
Mr. May could be of no further service to us, and after securing the aid of a bright young negro, who promised to take us some ten miles along the foot of the mountain, he bade us good-by. I expected young Sam May would back out, the darkies told so many discouraging stories concerning our undertaking; but he did not. He felt badly to see his father turn back, and when I knew that the old man would scarcely halt before reaching home, nearly a hundred miles away, I sincerely pitied him. He feared no conscription, but his care-worn face, jaded appearance, and long, white, flowing beard, aroused my sympathy. About day- light we reached the home of our new guide. He put us in a safe place, and attended to our rations that day, and brought some of his friends. This was Sunday, August 22d. A negro directed us to a Union man, named Seymour, living two miles away, who escorted parties across the mountain by trail. We had some difficulty in finding the house ; found the man was away from home, and would not return for a week; but his invalid father directed us to a man named Clark. We found his place at sunrise. He was not at home-taught school-would return that night. We found his direction, and, secreted in the woods, we waited his coming. We had obtained a good description of the man- and at 7 P. M. we spied him, all alone. We stepped out and accosted him. I told
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him we were directed by Mr. Seymour to see him, and that we wanted him to act as guide across the mountain. He broke out with some large, rigid oaths, ealling Seymour an old traitor, and threatened to have him in Asheville jail in twenty-four hours; and as for us, we might just as well surrender-that he would have the Home Guards out that night, and we would be captured before morning. We were terribly surprised, and could not understand what it all meant. Finally, he wanted to know what we intended to do. I told him we would go with him as far as suited our convenience. He said he was going home. We started, and 1 insisted upon his proceeding ahead a few paces, and told him it would not be well for him to make any more threats, as there were two against one. He was obliged to cross the river ; and when he came to the ferry he whistled for his boys to bring a boat. We bade him good-night, and as soon as out of his hearing ran as fast as we could to a bridge some two miles distant, believing that he would mount a horse and try to meet us there. We were bound to be ahead of him. We beat in the race, and went back to the negro that had directed us to Seymour. Clark had already seen his master, who was orderly sergeant of the Home Guards. His company was being ordered out, and the plan was to patrol every road in that section. He gave us a little meat, some corn-bread, etc., and went to the foot of the mountain with us. As we passed a corn-field we took some green ears; also found a few apples. We bade him good-by again, and struck into the wilderness, keeping as nearly a direct west course as possible. We never halted until after midnight ; and by that time, thinking we were safe from our pursuers, slept some. At sunrise we took a good look, and saw no habitation nearer than those we had -left, and they were seven or eight miles away. We were in great danger from the swollen, rapidly flowing streams, or rather rivers, we were obliged to cross-no guide or compass save the sun-one step amiss or a slip, and we would be thrown headlong. The waters were white as milk, from the rapid tossing over the great rocks. It is a miracle that the swift current did not sweep us away. We took long poles to feel our way, and, stripping, would guide ourselves carefully at an angle, as we could not breast the full force. We would be so exhausted after every attempt of this kind that it was almost impossible to move, much less climb the steep bank. But we knew that every step made one less before we would reach a place where we could once more breathe God's free air, and that nerved us on. Once we reached a broad plateau, with a gentle slope, for at least a mile, with soft grass and seattering trees, looking like a grove, but this was a rare ex- ception. The way was mostly down steep, rocky gorges, across running streams, some large, more small, then up sharp peaks. At last, night found us near a ' small stream in which we bathed our swollen feet, ate one ear of corn each, and slept until sunrise without waking. Taking a drink of the cool mountain water, as an appetizer, we started out again. Reaching the top of the mountain, we halted for breakfast.
As far as the eye could reach we saw no signs of life. I knew we were twenty miles from any human abode. This was Thursday. The traveling was easier than the day previous, and soon we struek an old road; we looked earefully, but saw no recent tracks. It seemed as if it would at any time be impossible for wagons, and so we thought it safe to keep. At 3 P. M. we met two women, who were eating as they walked. We were surprised at such a sight, and asked them where they were going. They said to Asheville Springs, for salt. We said we
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HISTORY OF THE TENTH REGIMENT OF CAVALRY.
were Tennessee soldiers, going home on a furlough. They asked if there were any Home Guards out ? We said no, and asked why ; and one of them said the other was very nervous. We said they ought not to fear being molested. At last we found out they were Union women, and we told them the truth. They directed us to the mother of one of them; and so luck seemed again to favor us. We came to a river, hailed a girl to row us across; found her to be the sister of one of the women. She took us to the house; we waited for supper-she first describing the women whom we had met, and proving to us that both were truth- ful. There were no men around. We left immediately after supper, in good spirits, knowing we were only about twenty miles from East Tennessee, where Union families were numerous and Union settlements very near. We made good time until near midnight, when a terrible thunderstorm came up, and we rushed into a deserted barn for shelter, thinking to start on the moment the storm abated. But oh, how sleepy we were! About 1 A. M. we were awakened by shouts of " Here is some one !" and we opened our sleepy eyes upon three guns pointed toward us, and as many men behind them, while two more were holding torches. We were at last captured, and so near our goal ; it seemed too hard, too hard to bear. Poor Sam was beside himself. I tried to encourage him. We felt better when we knew that no act of ours had brought it about, for our captors belonged to the iron-works. There were nearly one hundred of them there, smelting iron for the Confederate Government. At times, to prove their loyalty, they would form small scouting parties to look up deserters; one of these stumbled upon us. Such a dark, rainy night, they knew they would be forced to seek shelter, and possibly risk going to their homes to get something to eat, under cover of the darkness. We were at once taken back to Linval Forge. After breakfast, on Friday morning, we were started, under guard, to Morganton, county-seat of Burke County, North Carolina. It was thirty miles over and back down the mountain. We were allowed to taketurns in riding. When within seven or eight miles of Morganton the guards were re-enforced by two others. Then we mounted behind guards, some following. They watched us very closely. We reached the town at sunset, and as we halted in front of the large hotel, were much annoyed by the curiosity of the guests, who crowded the long veranda to see what the guards had captured. They were told that doubtless I was a spy, that the young man was a deserter from their army, and that, no doubt, some- thing great had been prevented by our capture-all of which the people were led to believe. We were soon hurried off to the brick jail, and were confined in the second story, Our " cage," as we called it, was about twelve by fifteen feet square, built lattice-work style, the lattice being of iron, about half an inch thick and two inches wide. The spaces were just large enough to admit the hand, for I remem- ber our food used to be placed on a bench outside, and it was with some difficulty that we ate the little that was placed upon it. The "cage " was all built inside of a larger room, about sixteen by eighteen feet square, with windows on three sides.
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