USA > New York > History of the one hundred and twenty-eighth regiment : New York volunteers (U.S. infantry) ; in the late civil war > Part 18
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now covered six of us. On these cold days we closed our tent door the best we could, and huddled together. Some would cut the bark from the tent-pole to stay the pangs of hunger. Such expo- sure and suffering were telling rapidly upon the men. We had two dead some mornings within the tent. We would strip them of their clothing, divide it among the company, and carry the remains to the dead house. Mr. Richardson, with two companions, was in charge of the hospitals. He states that six weeks from the time of our entering the yard, there were not 500 well men among the 8,000. The hospitals, when crowded, would hold 600. Always there were more invalids than could be taken in. It soon became a common saying that a man never returned from the hospital alive. Men preferred to remain in their tents and die. The death rate was from twenty to forty-eight a day. Dr. Curry, a rebel refugee from Knox- ville, Tenn., was in charge of the sick. Mr. Richardson states that the doctor frequently would refrain from entering the prison for two or three days, reluctant to look upon the revolting scenes. Many who did not die lost their hearing, their sight, their memories and their minds.
PRISON MORALS.
The most revolting scenes of the yard were those connected with the burial of the dead. A rough lumber wagon, such as we would use for drawing stone, had a barrow placed upon it. Six or eight bodies, stripped of clothing, would be piled upon this. The wagon was drawn by four mules. Taken outside of the yard to a trench, the barrow was dumped, and the bodies thus thrown in the ditch, were covered.
What was the effect upon the morals of the men ? What could it be but debasing ? The one thought was to keep from freezing and starving. Suffering men do not always use mild means. Pail, haver- sack and shoes must be tied to our necks as we slept or be stolen by some hand run beneath the edge of the tent. I had two knives. the one was a small keepsake given to me by Colonel Pardee, the Provost Marshal of Baton Rouge, when I left his office. I had whiled away many hours in whittling, making relics, etc. This was borrowed by a man of our squad, He told me he had lost it. We hunted in vain for hours. I afterwards learned that he had sold it for bread. My other knife was a part of a soldier's set of knife, fork and spoon. This too was borrowed by another man and was sold for bread. Then we made up in our tent's company enough bits of
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bread to purchase a butcher-knife for the purpose of dividing our rations when they came in loaves. I had one of the greatest honors of my life conferred upon me at this time. Bread was worth its weight in gold. Every crumb was of life value. I was made " bread- divider " for the squad. But after a little while the bread-knife was gone. This too had gone the way of the other two. This one was traced, however, and re-purchased.
PRISON SERVICES.
It must be remembered that we had no Sabbath observance, no religious exercises. After the break we were not allowed to congre- gate in large groups. I would like to have some of the men who are so anxious to do away with our American Sabbath placed in the circumstances of this Salisbury prison for a few weeks. I am sure they would consent to the most Puritanical observance of the day rather than dispense with its hallowed influence. Yet in our tent, we were not without some sacred and ennobling influences and thought. I had with me a valued gift of a Sabbath school teacher presented when I enlisted and carefully preserved. My Testament was a consolation. There was one other in the tent's company. At the suggestion of the man who owned the other portion of God's word, a vote was passed requesting me to read a lesson in our tent each morning and evening. The ground upon which the action was taken, was the beauty of the writings and the absence of reading matter. Nevertheless, there was in every man's mind the desire for religious comfort in the hour of trial. I have this entry in my Journal for January 13th, 1865, " I have to-day finished the audible reading of the Psalms as our morning and evening lessons in the tent." A step farther was taken as our sorrows increased. By another vote of the tent's company, I was requested to read a chapter of the Scriptures over the remains of each man dying with- in the tent before these were carried out. Our comrades might be buried by the rebels as animals, but we would maintain the respect of a Christian ceremony over their remains.
PRISON PREACHERS.
There were three exceptions to my statement of having no religious exercises while I was in the prison. The first was on the 18th of December, 1864. An aged Catholic priest preached a dis- course preparatory to Christmas, and celebrated mass in the third story of the large building. I went in to see. On a rude desk was
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a large crimson cushion. On this lay a gilt edged book. Back of this stood the priest clothed in a white robe, while over his back and
in front on his chest hung a gilt cross. Back of the priest, on the smoked and blackened wall, hung a gilt cross. In front, on the platform and beside the altar, stood a silver chalice with the wine, and a silver plate containing the wafers. Beside these stood the acolite with
crowd of emaciated men whose faces and clothes were red with dirt, his white robes and bell. The large room was nearly filled with a
and whose hair was mostly uncombed. Their bodies were scarcely concealed by the rags which hung upon them, and which did not protect them from the chill blasts which came through the broken panes of glass. An old wood stove was sending out more smoke than heat. Every feature of these men was crying for bread. I did not doubt the sincerity of the priest. Throughout the south the Northern soldier was ever treated kindly by the catholic priests. At Jefferson City, when on provost duty, we had more frequently attended the French Catholic Church than any other. The Presby- terian Church always turned the coldest looks upon us. The mem-
bers never offered us a seat. With our equipments on, we com- pelled the minister to read the proclamation made by President Lincoln for a day of fasting and prayer. The Methodist Church had been given over to the colored people by the whites. The Catholic Churches always showed us kindness, and gave us a cordial invitation to come again. When on guard in other places, we had been shown kindness. by the priests. Often the sisters of charity had nursed and cared for our wounded soldiers. But now all seemed a horrid mockery. The tinkling of the bell appeared like a sound from the lost world. The Latin, which to me at that time was a jargon, sounded like the groans of lost souls. The contrast was too much. I turned away and left the room, not able to endure the sight of my own wretchedness as seen in this mirror of gilding and cleanliness. The other exceptions were on the two Sabbaths before we left the prison. On the 13th of February, a preacher from the Baptist Board of Missions came in the yard and called for a con- gregation. We assembled and listened as we had nothing else to occupy our minds. His text was " Choose ye this day whom ye will serve." The next Sabbath, Feb. 20th, the same man came again. and, whether from the actions manifest by the prisoners or for some other cause, he had a very appropriate handle for his discourse, for his text was : " And they made light of it." As soon as this Baptist preacher had finished, the Rev. Mr. Mangum, a methodist preacher
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from the village, began a short distance away, another service and preached from the words "And they called his name Jesus." I recorded these facts with the statement that the last was an excel- lent sermon. But what cared we for words coming from such lips ? During four months and more we had suffered. We had seen well dressed women come upon the platform of the guards, and look down upon us in our misery, as if we were so many wild beasts. We had heard their laughs and jeers at our wretchedness. We had returned their banter and laughs with patriotic songs. Our men had died by thousands without a word of consolation from any of the church members or ministers of the place. We regarded the religion and the preaching of the most hypocritical type, and turned away at the close of the services with more bitter feelings toward those who claimed to possess the spirit of the loving Master.
GRIT.
No place ever more thoroughly showed the effects of courage and will-power. The man who became discouraged drooped over the fire and soon died. A man of my company was of slightly a pugnacious disposition. We supposed him dying in the tent several times. One day. while almost too helpless to move, he overhead two men without the tent disputing as to which one of them should have his shoes when he was dead. He determined that both should be dis- appointed. He would live, and he began to get better from that time. He lived an active mechanic for thirty years. I never allowed the thought in my mind that I should not get out. Not seeing much prospect of the war closing, and knowing how rapidly men were dying, we were constantly planning methods of escape. This was what hundreds were also attempting. Mr. Richardson states that he knew of fifteen tunnels in operation at one time. The method of working a tunnel was to start from one of the under- ground houses, as near as possible to the dead line, and dig a trench. The digging was done with a case-knife or a stick, the ground being put into a blanket and carried out at night and spread on the ground where it would not attract attention. As digging new houses was constantly going on, this concealment was not difficult. It was not easy to dig in one of these places as a man must crawl in, dig in the dark, and then back out with his load. The air would become very oppressive and dangerous after being in a little while. As any tunnel, to be successful, must be at least one hundred feet in length, if not more, quite a company was needed to carry on this work. In
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nearly every instance, the attempt was betrayed by some man who would report to the officers or guards in order to get some extra food. I knew of only one such attempt being successful. Some few escaped. Then a double line of guards was stationed at night, the second line being without the fence and distant two or three hundred feet. This made a tunnel impossible.
Then an attempt was made at bribing the guards. This succeeded with a part of a squad. The guards on both lines were supposed to be all right. It proved a moonlight night. Two of our men were allowed to pass, the others were refused. These two men were afterwards re-captured and brought back to the prison the day before our release. Then William B. Brown, of company "C." and I thought of running the water guard. Each day we would go after water. By means of sticks and stones, we would sometimes cross the stream and pick up pieces of rails to bring back to kindle fire. We thought we could try the dodge of going after rails a little further than usual and then make for a ravine a few rods distant, and which ran parallel with the stream. I had worked a month to get a box of matches and then paid one confederate dollar for it. This, we were told, was necessary in traveling through the country in order to cook food and keep warm when lying off during the day. I had a map with most of the stations of confederate guards on the road to our lines. We had also worked to keep up our strength. Each afternoon we would go out in the open square, after the market was over, and walk an hour. By this time there were not more than a half dozen of those left of our one hundred who could carry an eight foot stick of wood. We planned the day for running, but Brown said, " It will not do to start with the shoes I have, I must get them mended." There was a cobbler who took old shoes and tried to make new ones, and he succeeded tolerably well. We delayed for the mending of the shoes. Now came the rumors that we were to be exchanged and again we awaited the results.
TRYING TO ESCAPE.
It was easy to talk of escaping and trying to get to our lines. This was an immense undertaking. As I computed the route to Kentucky, over the mountains, it was ISo miles. Since reading of the journey of Mr. Richardson I am convinced that it was much harder than we ever supposed. Mr. Richardson was a press cor- respondent before the war broke out and in the South. When the question of seceding came up in Louisiana, he shrewdly entered
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their secret meetings and sent reports north. As a war corres- pondent he was captured. The Southerners were especially bitter against him. He was first in Libby, then at Castle Thunder, then Belle Isle, then Salisbury. When at Castle Thunder, he had re- ceived packages from the North. Concealed in butter, he had received a plentiful supply of greenbacks. These helped him much. He thoroughly understood southern men. He declared that all their officials were capable of being bribed. He often succeeded in getting help by bribery. He was taken to Salisbury Feb. 3d, 1863. At that time the prison was a confederate state penitentiary. He was treated tolerably well. Nearly all the prisoners were men of the South. "The rations of corn bread and beef were tolerable in quantity and quality." Mr. Luke Blaekman, of Salisbury Village, placed his library at his disposal. A colored boy would carry the books upon a request by a note. After the thousands of northern prisoners came in Mr. Richardson, with two companions, also press correspondents, was put in charge of the hospitals and ad- ministered medicine to the out-door sick. They had passes by which to pass the guards and go after medicine. They became acquainted with the officers and some citizens. They found out that there was a secret-oath-bound society to help Union men through the country to the North. Losing all hope of any interces- sion in their behalf on the part of our government, they determined to try for themselves. They started the night of December 17th, 1864. Passing the guards they concealed themselves until after dark. Then some friends took them to a hiding place for several days until the scouts looking after them had returned and the blood- hounds were called in. Now began a journey of 295 miles before they reached our lines at Knoxville, Tenn. This would seem a formidable distance to travel on foot in the daylight with no fear of danger. But to travel by night, through swamps and over the mountains in the depth of winter was a wonderful feat. It was ac- complished only by the help of this banded society of men and women favorable to the North and then when almost exhausted. Mr. Richardson tells us that he knew of seventy men escaping. The most were re-captured. Only five reached the North. It was facing this journey, known to us so poorly, that we were trying to escape. We preferred the risk of any hardships to those being endured. There would, at least, be an inspiration in our efforts. There was an inspiration in all our efforts. More than this, by this means we were keeping up our strength, our courage and our lives.
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The rumor of a release was followed on the ISth of February by some clothing being issued to a few of the men. This had been sent by our government. On the 20th, a part of the sick were taken to the cars and shipped for Richmond. The 21st saw the rest of the sick taken away. During this night we were kept up and had four days' rations issued to us, which consisted of two loaves or twenty- four ounces of corn bread. Of course these were largely eaten at once. Sherman was moving North after his great march to the sea. Columbia, S. C., was occupied on the 17th. The prisoners must now be taken out of the reach of this moving army, or they would be re-captured, without any chance of exchanging for their own men.
February 22d, Washington's Birthday came. We were formed in line about 10 A. M., I said we, but how a small portion of those who came in this prison yard ! Fifteen thousand in all are said to have been incarcerated here. Eleven thousand and seven hundred , were in the trenches. Two thousand had entered the confederate service. A few hundreds had been carried to the cars too weak to walk and many never to see their homes. Between seven and eight hundred now remained. Of the eighty-two men of the 128th twenty- three had died, and four left for the rebel service. When I talk with men in these later years and learn how some squads had scarce a man left, and when I compute the figures as they are given in govern- ment reports, I am the more astonished that of that small number of survivors there were fifty-five of our regiment. This speaks volumes for the hardihood and the grit of the material of which the 12Sth was composed.
LEAVING PRISON.
At half-past twelve, the gate was opened and we marched out of this place of torture where we had been confined during four months. A young Scotchman near me and who had been in our squad, soon after passing the gate, turned with uplifted hands to- ward the mountains of North Carolina which were in view, and exclaimed in the language of William Tell : "I hold to you these hands to show they still are free." Free from a confederate oath. Free from the dead-line of torture. Free from the trenches which had for months stared us in the face. Sacrifice had only imbued this adopted citizen with the more enthusiastic love for the stars and stripes. We marched through the village and out into the country accompanied by a few old guards to guide and protect us. After making eight miles on that afternoon, we halted in a dense
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wood. There were plenty of fallen trees. We soon had huge fires built, and, sitting by these, we were happy men. The next day the rain poured down, and we had heavy marching. We made thirteen miles and again encamped in a woods. By the third day all our rations were exhausted and our stomachs also. With two com- panions, I left the guards and started for food. We found many of the people strong sympathizers with the North. The men were concealed in the mountains to escape conscription in the rebel army. The women felt deeply for us and had heard much about our sufferings. They were ready to supply us with any or all the food they had in the house. This was, with some of them, a scanty allowance. Often it would be sweet potatoes and eggs; often potatoes and beans with a little corn-meal. In several places they asked us to wait until they could cook us a meal. Three times that fore- noon we accepted the invitation. In one home a woman made us some hot buscuit. At several other doors we received a lunch and tramped on. Again we camped in the woods at night. The column had made seventeen miles. We three scouts had gone more than twenty-five and had a good time. . The fourth day, I, with one com- rade, made a similar detour for provisions. We came into Greensboro in the middie of the afternoon an hour after the column arrived. Two of us had six large sweet potatoes and a dozen eggs. We asked an old colored woman, who kept a restaurant for confederate officers, to boil our eggs and potatoes. She did this and put in the gizzard of a turkey. We two sat down and each of us ate six hard boiled eggs and three big potatoes and the half of the turkey gizzard. The only thing that kept us from sickness after much eat- ing was our exercise.
HOMEWARD BOUND.
From Greensboro we were taken by rail to Goldsboro. The track was out of repair, as was much of the railroad stock of the south. The rails were flat and bolted to wooden sleepers. Several times we were obliged to get fence rails and work a car back on the track, and then proceed slowly onward. We remained at Goldsboro over night. The next morning sixteen men were called for to act as writers in making out the parole lists. I volunteered as one of these secretaries. For this labor we each received an extra quart of beans. About 9 p. M. we started again on open platform cars. It was a misty, rainy, chilly night. We could travel only at a very slow rate. One poor man fell off a car and was killed. At 9 A. M.
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of the 27th of February, we reached a burnt bridge on the railroad. where we were met by four United States Officers. General Scho- field's forces had taken Wilmington on the 21st of February, and then pushed up the Cape Fear River. The confederate officers could go no further, as they now had reached our Union lines. Here we left the cars and the rebel guards with great joy. We now marched two miles over a very muddy road, and in a drizzling rain. Often in the prison we had talked of how we would raise a shout when we again saw the "Stars and Stripes." But now all moved in silence. My first view of the flag was in turning a short bend in the road, when I caught sight of the colors on the top of a tall pole on the bank of the river. I stopped, put my foot upon a log lying beside the road, and gazed at our emblem of Liberty in silence until a ยท comrade came along, touched me on the shoulder, and we moved on together without saying a word. We came to the bridge, and, after crossing, passed between two lines of Union soldiers who stood looking at us. They asked no questions, neither did we. In this quiet expression of our thankfulness, we moved on until we came to two small steamboats on the Cape Fear River. We were placed on these, and by 5 P. M. were at Wilmington. Here we were treated with milk-punch and rations of hard bread and pork. I crawled in an old wood-house that night for shelter from the rain. This was the only fit place. My clothes were in rags and covered with ver- min. Long had we contended with these pests in the prison by searching, and by scorching over the fire, only to be defeated, and find them multiplying by thousands, and we covered with sores because of their persistent attacks. On the 2d of March, we were put on a small coaster and started for the North. We arrived at Annapolis on the roth, being delayed at Fort Fisher on account of the fog and head winds. Now we were placed in the parole camp, where were congregating many prisoners from the various southern pens. The next day, for the first time after near five months, we took a bath and put on new clothes.
PAROLE CONSIDERED ..
The question will suggest itself at once why we were not paroled before? In this way much hardship would have been avoided and many lives saved. Our government did parole the southern prisoners in the early part of the war, as was done at Port Hudson. But it was found that these men returned almost im- mediately into the army and fought. They did not keep this oath
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of honor, or the confederate government would not allow them to keep it, but compelled them back into the ranks. The North there- fore refused to parole the southern soldiers. In retaliation the South refuse to parole the Union captive. Then our government acted up- on the cold blooded theory of Edwin M. Stanton, the Secretary of War, that they could not exchange well-fed, rugged men for invalids and skeletons. The treatment of the Southern men by the Union government was all that could be asked by honorable men. The quarters were comfortable, more so than they would have had in their army, except the exposure to a northern climate, to which they were not accustomed. The rations were far better than they re- ceived in their service. Many of these men did not desire to return south after being released from the prisons and did take up their abodes in northern cities. They had little sickness and few died. It was very different with our men in the southern prisons. In November, 1864, nearly 40,000 prisoners were held by the con- federates. These died at the rate of 13 per cent. a month. About as many more enlisted in the southern army as a means of escape from death. Few men after being a short time in a southern prison were fit to return at once to active service. General Grant gives his theory in his Memoirs of the only means of ending the Civil War. On both sides were Americans, equal in courage and in the spirit of self-sacrifice. Success would be with the side that had the most men. The North had the most men. Every man kept out of the active rebel service even by pairing-off with a northern soldier would help end the strife. It was better, therefore, to allow the northern soldier to endure and to die in the South rather than return the con- federate man to his ranks. The policy was far from wise because of the many enlisting and obliged to serve in the rebel army. It was inhuman to allow men to suffer under these circumstances. The only comparison to illustrate it would be for our northern men to have been sent on the field of battle after a victory and to have slain all the wounded confederate soldiers in order that they might not recover and re-enforce the southern ranks. The suffering and death of northern men in southern prisons can be viewed from the standpoint of the northern government only as a sacrifice by which alone to gain the supremacy over the South and the only means to maintain the Union. Viewed from this point it was the desperate emergency of the nation to sustain its life. From this view we can easily see the discouraged feeling of those in authority at the time. The powers at Washington, who controlled all the exchanging of
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