USA > New York > History of the Tenth regiment of cavalry New York state volunteers, August, 1861, to August, 1865, pt 2 > Part 39
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619
PRISON LIFE AND ESCAPE OF R. H. FERGUSON.
capture by Mosby, and I also gave him the account of my capture of Mosby, as- sisted by Gallagher, of Company E, Second New York Cavalry, at Beaver Dam Station, Va., in July, 1862, just before the battle of Slaughter Mountain. Cor- bett was the inan who afterward killed J. Wilkes Booth, the assassin of President Lincoln. Corbett was celebrated as a Methodist enthusiast.
Thus things passed until August 3d, just one week after I entered the pen. I was standing beside the principal street, when I saw a cavalryman pass me. One could tell a cavalryman by the seat of his pants, if he had any pants on. I said to him, " What regiment do you belong to?" He answered, "The First New Jersey." " Why," I said, " that is my brigade. I belonged at headquarters to the Brigade Band." " Well," he replied, "there was another of your bandmen came down here, in the same car with me." With eagerness I asked who it was -" Describe him to me." He said: "He was a jolly fellow; sang songs; had a heavy, black mustache, and was a drummer." There, before me, was the descrip- tion of my tent-mate for the previous year, Burt Orser, of the Tenth New York Cavalry Band. When I was wounded and captured, the rebels reported they had killed me, and Burt Orser supposed I was dead.
I said to the cavalryman, " Where is he?" "Oh, I don't know; he is in here somewhere." (It was no easy matter to find one man among thirty-four thousand others if you did not know where to look for him.) Finally, I said, "Can't you take me to some one who will know ?" After thinking awhile, he said, "I guess one of the sergeants, up here, can tell about him." So we started; we soon found the Sergeant, and, after making our wants known, and describing Burt, the Sergeant looked around among the crowd, and, finally, pointing to a man stand- ing about fifty feet away, he said, "There he is." I looked in the direction indi- cated, and there, in his shirt-sleeves, with an old slouch hat on his head. stood Burt.' The dictionary has not adjectives enough for me to express my joyful feel- ings at seeing dear old Burt. Suppressing my joy, I made my way up to where he was standing, getting on his right side, up close to him, but with my face diverted from him. I awaited developments. (He was watching some commo- tion that was going on at that moment.) Soon I felt that his eyes were upon me, but not a muscle moved; soon he exploded with "My God ! Dick Ferguson, is that you ? I thought you were dead !" 'No, Burt, I am not dead; I'm worth a good many dead men yet ! I am mighty glad to meet you, but sorry to find you here."
Burt's first words and thought were for his dearly-beloved wife: "I wonder how Add is?" he said, speaking of his wife. I replied, " Never mind Add; she is all right. If you ever want to see her again, you must take care of yourself in here; those fellows over there," I said, pointing to the garrison, "intend to kill us off if they can, and we must live to spite them. Now cheer up, and let us pledge ourselves to take care of each other while here." By this time Burt had invited me to come to his shelter, and he would try and get the other boys to let me under the shelter of their blankets. His tent-mates consisted, as nearly as I can reccollect, of W. O. Carpenter, Seventh Michigan Cavalry; Elias Evans, Tenth New York Cavalry; Joseph McCreary, Tenth New York Cavalry ; a Mr. Stephen, of a Michigan cavalry regiment; and myself. With the generous soldierly spirit, these gallant boys divided the shadows of their blankets with me; and, should these lines ever meet their eyes, I desire to thank them at this late date, and
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HISTORY OF THE TENTH REGIMENT OF CAVALRY.
hope I may hear from them. With this digression we will now take up Anderson- ville where we left it.
The rumors which prevailed in the camp were varied, and tended to keep the prisoner on a continual strain. To persons who have never been placed in such or a similar position, it is impossible to give any conception of the eagerness with which every scrap of news, bearing on exchange, was devoured. The one principal thought and topic of conversation, day and night, and night and day, was exchange ! To make matters worse, the rebel papers which were printed in Macon, Ga., would have accounts of negotiations being made, and that the ex- change would begin at such a time. This was only a ruse, to keep the men quiet. However, we used to think it was all right, and talked it all over among ourselves, canvassing the pen, to get all the desired information. One would come in and say, "Captain Wirtz told Sergeant So-and-so that the exchange would begin on such a day." Now, from the fact that it was a sergeant who said it, many would believe it. Others, more shrewd, would get together, and make up a yarn of great importance, like the following : Getting out in one of the most crowded streets, they would commence talking together about a certain bit of information they had obtained. The prisoners, who were passing by (and there would be a thou- sand of them in five minutes), would stop and listen, then go to their quarters and repeat it; so that in two hours the whole camp would be alive with the rumor that originated only in the lively brains of the jokers. This would be told over and over again by the jokers. It was sport for them, but it was a most cruel imposition upon the poor prisoners, who were thus filled with anxious and joy- ous anticipations of a speedy exchange. And when the time came, and no ex- change, they became more than ever discouraged, and would give up the whole fight. Thus many died from broken-heartedness.
About the only pleasant side to prison-life, were the many little stores estab- lished by the prisoners. The men sent there from Belle Isle, Va., who had been prisoners for a long time, knew how to economize and get along better than those who were but recently captured ; consequently they would sell part of their rations, and, when they had got a sufficient quantity of money together, they would send outside of the stockade and buy vegetables, apples, onions, potatoes, peaches, waterinelons; and, when these were brought into camp, they would sell at extravagant prices, as, for example, five dollars in greenbacks for one watermelon ; a dollar for a common-sized onion ; twenty-five cents for a peach ; three dollars for a dozen eggs, and half a dollar for a small-sized teacup full of flour, that would be stirred up as light as possible before being put into the cup, probably weighing two ounces, or at the rate of four dollars per pound for flour, or four hundred dollars, in greenbacks, for a bag containing one hundred pounds.
These men would establish stores up and down the principal streets, which were named Market Street and Broadway. Market Street was the one leading out of the stockade to the cook-house. It was on this street the rations were issued to the men ; this was the principal place of assembly for all venders of bean soup, rice soup, wood, and in fact, almost everything that could be thought of-thread, knives, pails, old clothes, etc. It reminded one of the Bowery, in New York, for the amount of babel and confusion, as well as the crowd, who stood around or crowded by : for it was next to impossible to get through there on any morning by sunrise, there were so many buyers and sellers. There one could
621
PRISON LIFE AND ESCAPE OF R. H. FERGUSON. .
hear such announcements as the following : "Only ten cents for this nice plate of bean soup!" "Only five cents for this mush and molasses !" "Who is the next man for a cup of this nice sour beer, only five cents a cup ? It is the best thing in the world to keep you from having the scurvy. Who'll have another glass ?" This sour beer was unique, a Yankee idea. It was made by taking the corn-meal, given out for rations, and putting it into a barrel or hogshead, which had been first sunk into the ground about half or three quarters of its length ; over the corn-meal were thrown a few pails of water, and it was left to sour; and then more meal and more water put in, until the barrel was full of this souring and fermenting mass of swill, for it was precisely like the mess the Northern farmers used to mix up for their swine. (The reader has doubtless smelled the odor of an old-fashioned swill-barrel at some time. If so he or she has had an exact counterpart of the smell of Andersonville sour beer.) After the beer was well soured they would put some molasses into it, to give it color, and the beer was then ready for the consumer. And I am bound to say that, when you put a little soda into it, it made a very palatable drink for the inhabitants of that thriving place. And it was believed that it did more to prevent scurvy than any- thing that we could get ; the knowledge of this fact made it sell better. But I believe that the discovery of its sanitary virtues was made by my friend Darby, of Sandy Hill, N. Y., who kept up the delusion with consummate tact. He kept a hogshead of it on tap. He was certainly bright enough to originate a theory that proved so profitable. However, it was acid, and acids are good for scurvy ; so let us hope that some one escaped that dread disease by drinking sour beer. " Here is where you get your nice, cool soda-water: the finest drink inside the stockade." So it went from morning till night; from one week's end to the other; from one month to another-until one became so tired of the monotonous routine that almost any change, even death, would have been welcome. Many would remark, as they saw a man dying . "Well, his trouble is almost over ; 1 wish mine was." Nothing but a determination to live to spite them, and the further determination that no rebel prisoners should ever be exchanged for me, kept me alive. This, with the added desire to live to return to my home, nerved me for the hardships which I there endured. Nothing but being so badly wounded that I could not walk would have got me to Andersonville. As it was I had determined to escape from there, and was patiently awaiting my chance. Suffering as I was with my wound, and my inability to walk five miles a night. I knew I must resort to strategy to get away. I determined to escape at the very first opportunity. This came at last, on the 9th day of September.
On the evening of the 6th day of September a sergeant from the rebel garrison came running into camp and ordered every detachment from No. 1 to No. 16 to get ready to move at a moment's notice. He said there had been a general ex- change agreed upon, and on that evening some eight or ten trains would be down from Macon, and as soon as they came they would proceed to move us out. This caused a general rejoicing ; prisoners who had been talking and dreaming only of exchange for months were easily deceived ; they did not stop to reason that on the 1st of September General Sherman had captured Atlanta, and driven General Hood back, and that a camp of thirty-four thousand Union soldiers was a pretty good point for General Sherman to make for to release the prisoners. If they had thus reasoned, they would have seen that this so-called exchange was only a
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HISTORY OF THE TENTH REGIMENT OF CAVALRY.
ruse to keep them quiet while they were being taken to a place of safety. But they rejoiced ; many would go round and greet their friends with " What detach- ment do you belong to ?" If it was one of those ordered out, he would exclaim : " You are lucky ; I wish I was in your place. What will you sell your chance for ?" Others would write letters to their friends, and send them out with those who were fortunate enough to belong to the chosen squad. I wrote one, and sent it with Charles Marsailes, of the First New Jersey Cavalry. He went out among the first. I have never heard whether he got through or not; but, if living, I de- sire to extend to him my heart-felt thanks for his kindness to me while in Ander- sonville. He used to sell flour, and as he had formerly carried the mail for our brigade, I knew him before going to prison. He always gave me his prison ration of bread, and I, in turn, divided it with my friend Burt Orser. So poor Charley Marsailes did two prisoners good. The exchange proved to be a hoax, but of course the men did not know it then, and were on the alert to see that no other prisoner crowded them out of their place. Coupled with the fact also of the poor prisoners' great anxiety to get home, they may be pardoned if the rebels did succeed in deceiving them about the exchange. They did not fool so many of them as they thought, as my narrative will show. On the 7th a lot of detach- ments left, and were taken, as we afterward learned, to Savannah. On the night of the 7th, and all day of the 8th, some five thousand or more were taken out. The morning of the 9th dawned as clear and warm as could be. making the day very pleasant. In the afternoon some detachments were ordered out, and I de- termined to try and flank out if possible. I spoke to the Sergeant in charge of the detachment, and told him what I wanted to do, and he said that he had no objection to my falling in, in the rear of his detachment, and getting out if I could. I then hastened up to our quarters and told Burt Orser what I had deter- mined to do, and asked him if he would go with me. This he declined to do, but said, "Dick, if you get through, write to my wife and tell her all about me." This I agreed to do, and then, giving Burt my board that I slept on, I bade him good-by. Was it the last time I should look into the face of my dear friend ? Who could tell ? As the eighty-fourth detachment began to file out, I pressed in with them; where so many men are determined to get out, they resort to almost any means in order to accomplish their end. Therefore, every man who got crowded out of his detachment lost his chance of getting out. This made all persons belonging to the detachment that was going out keep a sharp lookout for intruders ; with the watching of the men, and of the police, as well as the rebel guards, it was almost impossible for a man to get out without being seen by some one. Notwithstanding their vigilance, I succeeded in making my way out. As I slowly approached the stockade gate my heart thumped almost audibly, as I thought ; when I entered the gate, and saw the stockade, first over my head, and then behind me, a silent "Thank God !" escaped from my lips, and, as I saw the gate close within five men after my passage, I was thankful that I was on the outside, for now I knew escape was sure whenever I was ready to make the effort. It was sundown when we reached the station; here we were loaded into freight- cars, with a sliding door in the center of the car on each side. Sixty men were put into each car, and, soon as loaded, corn-bread was issued for as many men. This occupied about one hour; so by the time we were ready to start, it was dark as it would be during the night, for the moon was shining bright, in all her
623
PRISON LIFE AND ESCAPE OF R. H. FERGUSON.
southern splendor, making the night almost as bright as day. One could see to ·
read a paper, it was so light. It was my good fortune to obtain a seat in the door of the car, and the guards were stationed over the door, on top of the car. There were five more in the door besides myself. We sat in the door, with our feet hanging out. Sixty men crowded into a car, with nothing to sit on, makes it pretty hard to sit, lie, or stand, and those who could sit in the door were con- sidered fortunate. But it became very tedious after a while, as it was almost impossible to change position. I came very near having my foot torn off, by hav- ing it caught between the car and a projection to a water-tank.
Among the six who sat in the door were two brothers, both sergeants in some Western regiment of Sherman's army. I noticed they were continually watching the guards on the car before and behind us ; also those over our own door. These two brothers had played a sharp trick on the Johnnies, when they delivered the rations, before starting. They hid two of the big cakes of corn-bread, and then told the rebs that they had not given us enough. The Johnnies thought they had ; but, as they could not prove it, they gave us two more. With this extra sup- ply of bread the two brothers took a liberal supply for themselves. We passed through Fort Valley, and when within about fifteen miles of Macon, while passing through a deep cut in the hills, the brothers jumped out. So quiet was their departure, that I did not know they were gone until I saw the vacant place they had occupied. I then looked out to see what sort of a place they had selected, or if they would be likely to be seen by the guards on the rear car after we had passed. I saw, to my joy, that the cut was so deep that the banks cast a shadow from one side to the other, so that it was perfectly dark where they lay. We arrived in Macon about midnight. The train stopped until about 3 A. M., when we again started, whether for Savannah or Augusta we could not tell, but one or the other we felt sure. As we left Macon in our rear, evidences of Stoneman's cavalry raid began to show themselves. Burned ties, torn-up and bent rails, ruined stations-and many other signs to convince us that " Yanks had been dar." It was a beautiful morning, and it only required the assurance that we would soon be exchanged to make us happy. Once or twice we had to lie over for trains, and as they came up we would besiege them with questions in regard to an exchange, but we were invariably told that they had not read anything about it. I began to mistrust that all was not right, and made up my mind that if we were going to Savannah I would make my escape when near that city, if possible. About noon we came to the junction, one road going to Savannah and the other to Augusta, and thence to either Savannah, Charleston, Columbia, or any part of the South. But we were quite sure that if we went to Augusta we would not go to Savannah, because we were as near Savannah at the junction as we would be at Augusta. We took the Savannah road and went down it a dis- tance. Then my heart beat high with hopes, for I felt sure of getting away by floating down the Savannah River by the city. But I was doomed to disap- pointment. Suddenly stopping the train, they put back to the junction, and then started for Augusta. An old darky whom we saw at the station told us they had been building a bull-pen for the Yanks up the road a piece. Then I began upbraiding myself for not having made the attempt to escape before; but I resolved that if we traveled another night I would surely try to escape.
We reached Augusta at sundown. The cars stopped near the depot, and
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HISTORY OF THE TENTH REGIMENT OF CAVALRY.
there we remained in the cars until 9 P. M. The colored people gathered around us, and would bring us all that they could spare by way of edibles, and told us all about the wounded men from the fate battles in and around Atlanta. The guards kept so close a watch upon them that they could not say much. At 9 P. M. they moved us to another train and to another part of the city, and began to unload us, car by car. When they came to my car, and we had all got out, they counted us. The officer in charge counted us over once; then he said: "Form fo's here ; you Yanks stand in line." We would get five deep, some three deep and four deep, and mixed ourselves up generally as much as possible.
He counted again, but it did not come out right. All this time we were having a quiet laugh to ourselves, for right well we knew what was the trouble. At last the Lieutenant asked, "Do you know if any one got out of this car since we started ?" No one answered. "Well," he says, "you can do as you please about answering; we don't care anything abont it, only we would like to know, because we can't make out the proper number by counting." Some one spoke up and said, " Yes, there were two who got out." "Where did they get out ?" One said at Andersonville, another at Fort Valley, and yet another at Macon. So, between us all, he could not learn where they got out. This so enraged his royal highness that, upon placing us in the next car we were to occupy, which was a very small one, he shut the door and would not allow us to have a breath of air. This was almost unbearable. Fifty or sixty wounded and disabled prisoners crowded into one small car, packed them so close together that they were compelled to sit in a cramped position all the time. Then take into consideration the air in a small, closed-tight car, with sixty men breathing it over all the time on a summer night in Georgia, and one can have but a feeble conception of our condition that night. Then, to ride two or three days and nights in this condition, a man be- comes so stiff and lame that he would give all he possesses to be allowed to stretch out and have a moment's sleep. We managed to pass the night in some manner, however. When morning dawned on Sunday, the 11th of September, we were making preparation for our unknown destination. As the sun began to tip the western hill-tops with its golden light, we crossed the Savannah River and entered the State which planted the seed of rebellion. My thoughts were anything but pleasant, for now I was sure that the exchange was all a canard ; and I had left my boon companion in Andersonville with the expectation that we would both soon be exchanged. I now would have gladly been back with him. But, no; I must meet my fate. Another prison-pen awaited me in South Carolina, but where, was the question. We could not decide until we came to Branchville Junction ; then we would know if it was Charleston or Columbia. The day was very warm, such a one as is only seen in South Carolina or Georgia, and the condi- tion of the prisoners was wretched in the extreme, many begging for water, being almost famished for the want of it. At every station where we stopped. several men were detailed to go and bring water. Every darky we could see was called into requisition to bring us a canteen of water, and so little could we obtain that a man was appointed to divide it out, giving each man an equal share. This was about four swallows of water, and when a man's throat is parched and dry with the dust and heat that amount goes but a very little way toward quenching thirst. We reached Branchville about noon. The train ahead of us had run off the track, and we were delayed some four hours. This was a fortunate delay for me,
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PRISON LIFE AND ESCAPE OF R. H. FERGUSON.
for, had we continued, we would have reached Charleston before dark; but now we would not get there until midnight, so I began to form my plans for escape. I determined to ride down as near Charleston as possible-within four or five miles; then, by jumping off, try and reach the coast before daylight the next morning. I felt sure I could walk five miles before daylight ; but I was very lame from the effects of my wound and weak from confinement, so that I feared my physical condition would not prove equal to my will-power. With this plan I sat down to await with patience the shades of night as they slowly approached, seeming now to move with threefold tardiness, the result of my great anxiety, of course.
At last the welcome darkness came, and we, with martyr-like patience, awaited our time. I say we, because I was not the only one whose mind was made up to escape. In the end of our car was a small door about large enough to enable a man to crawl through, which had escaped the notice of the guards. Two soldiers who sat near enough to it told us of their determination to get out the next time the cars stopped to wood up. As the guards were over the center of the car and this small door was in the end, the guards could not see them unless their atten- tion should be attracted by some noise made by the prisoners in crawling out, or by the guards going from one car to the other. To prevent any noise leading to their discovery the rest of the prisoners agreed to sing songs and pound on the car while the boys were getting out. Having thus formed our plans we waited for the next stop, which soon came. The train stopped for wood and water. As soon as the cars came to a standstill the boys began to get out, and we began to sing "Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching," "Rally 'round the flag, boys," etc, pounding on the sides of the cars in the mean time, until our boys got out and hid away, when the guards commanded us to stop our noise. The train soon moved on. I never learned whether the boys reached our lines or not. It was their intention to make for Beaufort, S. C., via the Edisto River, they being then about fifty miles from Beaufort.
I now began to prepare for my exit-to bid good-by to the escort of the Southern soldiery. I sat down as best I could and waited for the mile-posts to tell me when to leap. It was now about twelve, midnight, of the 11th of Sep- tember. The moon shone with a brilliancy almost equal to daylight. The fig- ures on the mile-posts could be easily made out. When I thought I had gone far enough, I looked for the next post. On passing it, I thought it read "six miles to C.". Just then the cars began to halt for more wood, and I decided to get out when they stopped. This I found was impracticable, for the guards be- fore and behind watched me so closely I could not move without getting shot in the attempt. Very soon the cars started, and then, as if to ruin all chances of success at escape, they rushed the train along at twice the velocity they had run at any time before. They had up steam, a good road-bed, and the train was run- ning, I thought, about thirty miles an hour. I went to the door and asked a prisoner who was sitting there to let me sit down in his place for a moment. This he at first refused, but, when I told him I wanted to jump out, he immediately arose and gave me his place. I sat down in the door, with my feet hanging out ; then I paused to reconnoitre. I saw that the guard on the car in front of me was watching my door very closely. The guard over my immediate door could not see me unless he leaned away over and looked right down. My only chance was 40
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