Was Captured By the Enemy June 12th, 1864
Had a hard fight and some of our train was cut off near Chancellorsville. Was captured while trying to make our escape to Blue Ridge. The Rebs used us very mean. Took everything we had, our boats, our “cup money” robbed us of everything.
We marched at daylight for New Canton. Citizens with shotguns following us. My feet were very sore as I was not used to marching on foot, being a Cavalryman. Next day we were stowed into old boats and started for Richmond like so many hogs. We traveled all night. We had nothing but raw meal and onions to eat. Arrived in Richmond at eleven in the night.
Next morning we were formed in line and counted and marched to the old Libby Prison. We drew small pieces of Indian bread, a piece of maggoty bacon and a few beans. The Union men were confined in the lower part of the Prison where it was so damp and unhealthy that mold actually accumulated on their beards. Many noble men closed their eyes forever to the scenes and sufferings that surrounded them. From this prison a tunnel was dug underneath the ground through which about sixty men escaped and some succeeded in reaching the Union Lines.
From this prison we were loaded into boxcars, closely crowded with but little to eat or drink. Our suffering was great, and the filthiness of the cars was beyond description. There were no physical facilities provided. Late one afternoon in June we arrived at our destination - Andersonville Prison.
The prison was made by setting logs in the ground side by side, running up some fourteen feet. Before entering the prison we were taken to the quarters of the commanding officer, where for the first time we saw the heartless wretch called Wirz. We were glad to get away from his profanity.
I shall never forget the gloominess of that afternoon when we were put inside the stockade (prison). I was surprised and horror stricken. Hope was gone and death seemed stamped on everything. The air was full of deathly odors rising from the filthy ground and the water was putrid from the wash of the prison. A long row of our boys who had died during the day lay on the right as we passed through the gate. The number would be added to until morning when the “Dead Wagon” would take them to the place of burial.
This stockade prison enclosed about twenty acres which in a short time was enlarged to thirty acres. Guards could be seen on top of the stockade at intervals of about five rods, all around the prison. There was a line staked out some twenty feet from the stockade that was called the “Dead Line, ” beyond which it was sure death to go.
The first night four of us laid down in the rain under our one blanket, weary, hungry, and sad, but in a short time were awakened by robbers that infested the prison. One of these fellows stood over me with a large club, another held a razor over the throat of the one next to me, while another looked over a roll containing writing material, needles, thread, etc. I held my gold pen under my tongue and the holder was in the seam of my pants. I got comfort in writing home and averaged writing three to five letters a month. I received no letters and how I longed for them. I learned six months later that none of my letters were sent home.
Days and weeks passed by and October found us hungry, cold, waiting and hoping for release. To walk about from point to point was not a pleasant mode of pastime. One needed a stout heart to walk down by the old prison gate in the morning and look at the long row of our dead comrades awaiting the “Dead Wagon.”
We had but little reading material and a newspaper hardly ever found its way inside the prison. We tried to sing but our hearts were too heavy for that. I had a Bible which was not taken from me in all the searching through which we passed. This was often called for and read carefully by the boys.
Rations were withheld three days from the whole prison because a few had been caught planning to escape, and this at a time when we were almost reduced to absolute starvation.
Wells were dug to a great depth in an effort to get pure water but not much could be obtained that way. The suffering for it was great until the “Providence Spring” broke out. This spring so named because it was looked upon by many as a direct gift from God. I have drunk from many a fountain of living water but I never found one so sweet and so pure. How eagerly we crowded up to get a draught from that pure fountain, and how we hastened with a cup of it to a helpless comrade racked with pain and burning with fever. How thankfully the sufferers received it. I have no doubt that many of us live today that would not have survived without it.
Finally, a detachment of a thousand men were sent into the stockades in Milan, Georgia. This was a much better place to be than the one we left at Andersonville.
We met a Michigan man here. He was in the Rebel service because he had property in Richmond, Virginia. He was in sympathy with the North but dare not be seen talking with a Union soldier. Through his efforts we were relieved from prison to work for him in a Rebel eating house and bakery. During my first day out, General Winder of the Rebel army came for me and asked, (with oaths) what I was doing? He told me the tent I was putting up belonged to him and he didn’t want anything to happen to it. Shortly after this he was taken sick and I was requested to prepare and carry him some food. I told him I had prepared it the best I could with what I had to do with. It was not as good as my mother would do but I hoped it would taste good to him. At this time he had gotten beyond the swearing.
This heartless Gen. Winder was one of the men who helped to plan Andersonville Prison. He made the boast that they “would kill more men there than in battle.” He had cursed at me as I was putting up his tent and making his bunk, but while he was sick at Mahlon, I had fed him, and later I learned while we were at Savannah he was taken sick again and died under the tent I had staked and on the bunk I had made. “If thy enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.”
Our Michigan friend had received orders to leave Mahlon. Sherman was on his famous ride from Atlanta to the Sea and was very near Mahlon, so we were getting away, we didn’t know where. We loaded all supplies on the train and went with him. This time we located near Savannah. In the middle of the night our Michigan friend came to our tent and told me he thought he could work us through to our lines as a nurse for the sick soldiers who were leaving. We decided to go. We went to where the sick were and answered to our description papers. There were many leaving. We marched through the streets of Savannah to a large Rebel flat-boat and were carried down the Savannah River to our lines. We saw in the distance on one of our Union gunboats, our Flag, the grand old Stars and Stripes. It was the first time I had seen our flag since before I was taken prisoner, over six months previous. I shall never forget how blessed it looked to me. It seemed like being brought back to God’s Country.
We reached our lines where the gunboat was guarding between the North and South. We soon passed this line and came to one of our Government transports. We were transferred to this in the early evening and it took all night to unload. Some of the men were too weak to walk the plank. Early in the morning we were ordered out on deck to remove all our clothing, together with the “Graybacks” which might be crawling here and there. All this was thrown into the Atlantic. The sailors threw out long ropes with buckets to get water for their bathing. It surely seemed good to have some care for our welfare once again and to be treated like real men.
Had a hard fight and some of our train was cut off near Chancellorsville. Was captured while trying to make our escape to Blue Ridge. The Rebs used us very mean. Took everything we had, our boats, our “cup money” robbed us of everything.
We marched at daylight for New Canton. Citizens with shotguns following us. My feet were very sore as I was not used to marching on foot, being a Cavalryman. Next day we were stowed into old boats and started for Richmond like so many hogs. We traveled all night. We had nothing but raw meal and onions to eat. Arrived in Richmond at eleven in the night.
Next morning we were formed in line and counted and marched to the old Libby Prison. We drew small pieces of Indian bread, a piece of maggoty bacon and a few beans. The Union men were confined in the lower part of the Prison where it was so damp and unhealthy that mold actually accumulated on their beards. Many noble men closed their eyes forever to the scenes and sufferings that surrounded them. From this prison a tunnel was dug underneath the ground through which about sixty men escaped and some succeeded in reaching the Union Lines.
From this prison we were loaded into boxcars, closely crowded with but little to eat or drink. Our suffering was great, and the filthiness of the cars was beyond description. There were no physical facilities provided. Late one afternoon in June we arrived at our destination - Andersonville Prison.
The prison was made by setting logs in the ground side by side, running up some fourteen feet. Before entering the prison we were taken to the quarters of the commanding officer, where for the first time we saw the heartless wretch called Wirz. We were glad to get away from his profanity.
I shall never forget the gloominess of that afternoon when we were put inside the stockade (prison). I was surprised and horror stricken. Hope was gone and death seemed stamped on everything. The air was full of deathly odors rising from the filthy ground and the water was putrid from the wash of the prison. A long row of our boys who had died during the day lay on the right as we passed through the gate. The number would be added to until morning when the “Dead Wagon” would take them to the place of burial.
This stockade prison enclosed about twenty acres which in a short time was enlarged to thirty acres. Guards could be seen on top of the stockade at intervals of about five rods, all around the prison. There was a line staked out some twenty feet from the stockade that was called the “Dead Line, ” beyond which it was sure death to go.
The first night four of us laid down in the rain under our one blanket, weary, hungry, and sad, but in a short time were awakened by robbers that infested the prison. One of these fellows stood over me with a large club, another held a razor over the throat of the one next to me, while another looked over a roll containing writing material, needles, thread, etc. I held my gold pen under my tongue and the holder was in the seam of my pants. I got comfort in writing home and averaged writing three to five letters a month. I received no letters and how I longed for them. I learned six months later that none of my letters were sent home.
Days and weeks passed by and October found us hungry, cold, waiting and hoping for release. To walk about from point to point was not a pleasant mode of pastime. One needed a stout heart to walk down by the old prison gate in the morning and look at the long row of our dead comrades awaiting the “Dead Wagon.”
We had but little reading material and a newspaper hardly ever found its way inside the prison. We tried to sing but our hearts were too heavy for that. I had a Bible which was not taken from me in all the searching through which we passed. This was often called for and read carefully by the boys.
Rations were withheld three days from the whole prison because a few had been caught planning to escape, and this at a time when we were almost reduced to absolute starvation.
Wells were dug to a great depth in an effort to get pure water but not much could be obtained that way. The suffering for it was great until the “Providence Spring” broke out. This spring so named because it was looked upon by many as a direct gift from God. I have drunk from many a fountain of living water but I never found one so sweet and so pure. How eagerly we crowded up to get a draught from that pure fountain, and how we hastened with a cup of it to a helpless comrade racked with pain and burning with fever. How thankfully the sufferers received it. I have no doubt that many of us live today that would not have survived without it.
Finally, a detachment of a thousand men were sent into the stockades in Milan, Georgia. This was a much better place to be than the one we left at Andersonville.
We met a Michigan man here. He was in the Rebel service because he had property in Richmond, Virginia. He was in sympathy with the North but dare not be seen talking with a Union soldier. Through his efforts we were relieved from prison to work for him in a Rebel eating house and bakery. During my first day out, General Winder of the Rebel army came for me and asked, (with oaths) what I was doing? He told me the tent I was putting up belonged to him and he didn’t want anything to happen to it. Shortly after this he was taken sick and I was requested to prepare and carry him some food. I told him I had prepared it the best I could with what I had to do with. It was not as good as my mother would do but I hoped it would taste good to him. At this time he had gotten beyond the swearing.
This heartless Gen. Winder was one of the men who helped to plan Andersonville Prison. He made the boast that they “would kill more men there than in battle.” He had cursed at me as I was putting up his tent and making his bunk, but while he was sick at Mahlon, I had fed him, and later I learned while we were at Savannah he was taken sick again and died under the tent I had staked and on the bunk I had made. “If thy enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.”
Our Michigan friend had received orders to leave Mahlon. Sherman was on his famous ride from Atlanta to the Sea and was very near Mahlon, so we were getting away, we didn’t know where. We loaded all supplies on the train and went with him. This time we located near Savannah. In the middle of the night our Michigan friend came to our tent and told me he thought he could work us through to our lines as a nurse for the sick soldiers who were leaving. We decided to go. We went to where the sick were and answered to our description papers. There were many leaving. We marched through the streets of Savannah to a large Rebel flat-boat and were carried down the Savannah River to our lines. We saw in the distance on one of our Union gunboats, our Flag, the grand old Stars and Stripes. It was the first time I had seen our flag since before I was taken prisoner, over six months previous. I shall never forget how blessed it looked to me. It seemed like being brought back to God’s Country.
We reached our lines where the gunboat was guarding between the North and South. We soon passed this line and came to one of our Government transports. We were transferred to this in the early evening and it took all night to unload. Some of the men were too weak to walk the plank. Early in the morning we were ordered out on deck to remove all our clothing, together with the “Graybacks” which might be crawling here and there. All this was thrown into the Atlantic. The sailors threw out long ropes with buckets to get water for their bathing. It surely seemed good to have some care for our welfare once again and to be treated like real men.