autumn was drawing to a close, the leaves had fallen from the trees, the grass was no longer green, and prairie and timber seemed alike bare and cold. still no exchange had come. we knew of the thirty-seven thousand prisoners taken at vicksburg, and the six thousand taken at port hudson, and therefore we listened hopefully to rumors of exchange, and coined a few of our own, and remained prisoners of war.
within the prison-camp, affairs had not grown brighter. there was increased sickness with despondency and (for so small a party) many deaths. two massachusetts officers had died early. then the consumptive lieutenant’s light had flickered, and with fitful changes grown more and more dim, until it softly expired. a week later, as some of us were awaiting impatiently the breakfast-whistle of our cook, an officer ran hurriedly past to the guard-line, and calling to the surgeon, said, “come quickly, doctor, lieutenant hayes is dead!” the merry-hearted irishman lay in his hammock in the composure of an easy sleep. his light had gone out in a single instant. later, our friend, mr. 133parce, grew weaker. an order came to send the “citizen prisoners” to mexico; it did not revive him. his strength waned, but his placid cheerfulness was still undisturbed. “it is a bad sign,” said one of his friends, “if he were only cross and fretful, we might hope.” the sign did not pass away; and with the prospect of home and liberty held before him he died. we knew that at this rate, another year would leave very few survivors to be carried from the camp.
one gloomy evening, as we sat pondering and talking over our affairs, rumor came in and told us a new tale. it said that the prisoners were to be paroled and sent forthwith to the federal lines. the rumor was confirmed within a day or two by major barnes; but when the paroling officer came, it appeared that it was not altogether true; the seamen and privates were to be paroled; the officers were to be sent to camp ford.
it behooved us now to find ways and means for carrying our remaining effects to their new abode. by the aid of major barnes we succeeded in chartering two wagons for fifteen hundred dollars. we also secured an old hack to carry mrs. stratford and four sick officers at fifty dollars apiece. some of us strove hard to purchase a poor horse or cheap pony that would carry us at any gait. in this race honor compels me to confess that the effrontery of the navy completely distanced the army. early one morning the camp rang with cries of “here’s yer mule.” through the admiring throng appeared an animal of that description towed in by captain dillingham. 134it was a peculiar animal—small, old, ugly, vicious, and one-eyed. the captain had bought him on our joint account, and had paid for him one hundred and fifty dollars in the currency of the confederate states of north america. this alarmingly low price was due to the recent loss of his left optic, causing a dangerous sore, which, the vendor thought, would not prove fatal before we reached camp ford. the example was speedily followed by captain crocker of the “clifton,” who bought another mule, and by captain johnson of the “sachem,” who bought a third, and by surgeon sherfy of the “morning light,” who bought an old “calico” horse that the sailors immediately named “quinine.” the army, either from excess of modesty or excess of poverty, did not succeed, i regret to say, in buying anything.
“can we ride there on a mule bare-back?” was the question. “decidedly not,” was the answer.
yet a good saddle in texas would cost as much as a good horse. in this state of doubt we were relieved by purchasing of a contraband an old wooden “tree” with a strap or two and a piece of raw-hide hanging to it. it bore about the same relation to a saddle that a pair of old wheels do to a cart. but we went to work. and here again the army was eclipsed by the navy. i had been a cavalry officer, and thought i knew a thing or two about broken saddles, and accounted myself fertile in such expedients, but the captain borrowed a sailor’s needle and palm-thimble; brought out an old marlin-spike and some rope, and stitched and spliced with a 135neatness and rapidity that threw me in the shade. trunk straps were speedily transferred and changed into girths, some rope was spliced and lashed around a wooden shoe till it became a stirrup, and pieces of raw-hide were bound to the “tree” till it fairly grew to be a saddle.
as the time of departure approached another subject engrossed our attention. eating continued to be the chief thought and passion of our lives. whatever could be bought to eat we bought. our stoves ran literally night and day in baking hard-tack; and we, duly instructed by a professional cracker-baker, pounded dough till our arms ached.
there was still another subject of interest to many. a large part of the officers belonged either to the navy or to new regiments. they were entirely innocent of having slept out a night in their lives, and knew nothing of marches and bivouacs. the fuss which they made about this expected movement was in the highest degree amusing to those who, by virtue of a year or two’s service, dubbed themselves veterans. they looked on with smiles as they saw the others making good blankets into poor shelter-tents, and winked to each other when they heard the new men confidently assure one another that they could stand it now, even if there should be a wet night upon the march.
after some delay there came in five or six impressed wagons and a squadron of stalwart men mounted on large, well-fed horses. they were chiefly stock breeders from the prairies, and boasted of being the best mounted 136troop in texas. all of these men owned the horses they rode, and many brought with them a led horse and servant. they were supposed to be men of unquestionable secession sentiments, and were employed chiefly in hunting down conscripts and guarding prisoners.
on the ninth of december our seamen and privates left us, and we were notified to be ready on the eleventh. our two wagons came down—a quantity of yapon was gathered and dried—a last baking of biscuit was made, and our stoves were duly incased in open boxes with beckets so as to be readily loaded and unloaded.
a move is always interesting; after months of dreary idleness it is exciting. happy did we seem, and happy did we feel as on the cold, foggy morning we marched down the “wood road,” crossed the little brook, and left camp groce at last behind us. the new captain—a tall, powerful texan, with a determined eye and stern, compressed lips—evidently understood his business. he kept us well together, managed his own men with few words and great judgment, and watched the column with close vigilance. the one-eyed mule behaved with gravity and decorum, never showing any unnecessary signs of life or unseemly gayety, except once when he slipped his bridle and ran away like a deer.
before three o’clock we went into camp on a little brook called “kane’s creek.” thanks to the autumn rains, there was some water in the “creek,” and thanks to the december frosts, it was clear and cold. the proceedings of our naval friends were a new chapter in my 137experience of bivouacs. notwithstanding the clear sky and roaring camp-fires, edifices called shelter-tents were erected, with an immense amount of consultation and anxiety. heavy mattresses were unpacked from the wagons and lugged to the tents. stoves were unloaded and put up under trees, where they soon smoked and steamed as did the excited cooks who hovered around them. so elaborate, indeed, was the dinner of our mess, that the short winter day closed ere lieutenant dane doffed his apron, and summoned us to our seats around the camp-fire. by its light i saw a sirloin of roast beef, a large piece of corned, sweet potatoes, corn bread and butter, flap-jacks and sauce, tea, coffee and cake.
“what are you doing?” asked somebody, as i drew out my pencil and note-book. “i thought you never took notes; it was only an hour ago you were telling me that a note-book spoils a good traveller.”
“i am noting down this bill of fare. after my rough experience in our army of the west, this dinner seems too ridiculous to be believed.”
“i suppose you will publish it in the newspapers when you get out?”
“yes, i rather think i shall.”
“well, it’s the last of the pepper,” said the caterer, “so mind and put it down.”
“yes, by all means.”
“and they say we can buy no sugar at tyler,” said another; “so mind and put it down.”
“certainly; anything else?”
138“there’s some salt, and there’s a hard-tack. perhaps you think they are luxuries. and here’s a candle, moulded in the neck of a bottle—hadn’t you better mention it?”
“i think i had—the mould was so ingenious. you remember i invented it myself.”
“you haven’t exposed the fact that it’s our last pound of coffee, treasured up for this journey?”
“certainly not.”
“nor that the tea grew in texas?”
“no.”
“don’t—a few such secrets exposed will destroy the whole effect of the bill. and now, if the dinner isn’t too much for you, let us box up the stove, while those delicate young gentlemen wash the dishes.”
so we boxed up the stove, and washed the dishes, and lit our pipes, and sat looking in the glowing camp-fire. and then our three naval captains crawled into a tight little shelter-tent, where they suffocated and perspired, and caught cold. the army part of the mess spread their blankets and lay down, with their feet against a smoking log, their heads resting on their knapsacks, and their eyes watching the stars, which twinkled them asleep.
the bugle called us long before daylight to prepare our breakfast and re-load the wagons. i cannot pay captain davis a better compliment, than by saying that for five successive mornings we moved off at precisely 6–45, and then for six successive mornings at precisely seven. this day the road ran over some fine rolling 139country, occasionally clean and park-like, with stately trees sprinkled here and there, and entirely free from young wood and underbrush. the weather was delightful, but we went into camp before two o’clock, after a march of only fourteen miles.
the next morning as we started, a cold gust of north wind struck us. it was not a “norther,” but a sudden change of weather from warm to cold. all the morning we breasted it, and it blew keener and keener as the day advanced. early in the afternoon we encamped in an open wood, which gave but poor shelter from the piercing gale. the little stream that formed our watering place was coated with ice, and the ice grew thicker with each hour. we set ourselves at the work of unloading the wagons and the heavier work of chopping wood for the large camp-fire that must burn all night. the stove went up and puffed and steamed as usual, and all endeavored to impress upon the mind of our amateur chef that this extreme cold was only an additional reason that we should eat.
“while we were fresh from a sharp walk, with the blood stirred by the active labors of the camp, we were comfortable enough. when we first threw ourselves down before the fire all aglow, saying we were thankful that the work was done, we still felt indifferent to the cold north wind. but presently it crept in, and sent a shivering chill over the frame. then the nervous energy relaxed, and one felt great need of a warm room where he could hide himself from the blast, and fall 140asleep if only for an hour. the dinner and the hot tea that accompanied it braced us up somewhat, and fitted us for bed. our three naval friends again crawled into their shelter-tent, where (inasmuch as it was at a prudent distance from the fire) they nearly froze to death. the remainder of the mess used the shelter-tent, a large tree and the stove box as a wind-break, and put their feet almost in the fire. for some hours we all slept soundly, as men must who have marched and worked since long before day. but although the blankets were drawn over our heads and the wind-break seemed to afford ample protection, the cutting air pushed its way in. it crawled through the hair and curled itself round the neck, and sent the same shivery chills over the body. i rose and warmed myself by rolling a couple of large logs on the fire, and prizing them into their places. the scene around me was wild in the extreme, for every mess had built a large fire, and the flames of these leaped and roared in the blast, and sent large sparks flying through the tree-tops; while in the fiery light, picturesque figures could be seen crouching over the embers or throwing fresh wood into the flames.”
the bugle again called us up, while the stars were yet shining, to find the dodger we had baked over night, and the cold beef we had put by for breakfast, frozen harder than paving stones. close seated by the fire, we ate a moody breakfast, each one declaring that he had not slept one hour during the night, and that he wanted to turn in again. instead of doing so, we took the road, 141now solid as a rock. the horses had to stamp through the ice to drink, and the “sunny south” seemed frozen hard as the hills of the adirondack.
passing through huntsville, we found ourselves upon a sandy road, and travelling through dull woods, whose weary sameness lasted with hardly an interruption for one hundred and fifty miles. toward evening we encamped beside a deep ravine. the clouds gathered darkly overhead, and the rain began to fall. it bore all the appearances of one of our cold november storms, and we anticipated a tempestuous night. but then came one of the phenomena of the texan climate. with darkness the rain stopped; and the stars seemed to disperse the clouds. but with daylight the clouds returned, and as we re-commenced the march, the rain came down heavily. the matter was made worse by our immediately descending to the “trinity bottom,” a rich, alluvial plain, three miles in width, composed of the greasiest of mud. when we had dragged ourselves across this, we were suddenly stopped by the trinity, a narrow stream, deep channelled between precipitous clay banks. a road was cut down each bank, and the usual scow and rope-ferry appeared at the bottom. the prisoners who first arrived on foot were immediately carried over. they scrambled up the opposite bank and instantly made a fire, around which they closely huddled. as the wagons arrived, they were hurried aboard of the scow, for every moment made matters worse. a crowd of men surrounded each wagon as it 142landed, pushing, pulling, yelling, and in various ways “encouraging the mules.” those extraordinary animals pulled and strained and slipped; now down, now up again, exhausted, and then renewing their efforts, until slowly and inch by inch every wagon was carried to the top of the bank. the scow covered with mules and white-topped wagons, the struggling teams, the shouting men, the howling of the wind, the beating of the rain, all made up a romantic picture. but the toil we paid for it was extreme, and the crossing of this narrow river cost us two hours of time.
we stopped at two houses after crossing, to make some purchases. at the first, the lady of the house (a rather stout female, with a coarse voice and red face) had lost neither children nor relatives in the war, but nevertheless cherished a holy hatred of yankees. when she learnt that we were of that despised race, and had come into her house to buy something, her wrath became terrific. it even overpowered the irresistible effrontery of the navy. two of our captains, who between them had never failed to win the texan fair, assayed her, but the humor of the one and the blandishments of the other were sent spinning about their ears. “josiah,” she said to her abashed husband, while she quivered with rage, “don’t sell them anything, the nasty beasts, i didn’t know i hated them so. don’t sell the beasts a thing. corn-meal is too good for them.” he, poor man, said “no,” but when our two naval commissaries got him alone, they made mince-meat of his scruples in 143no time. he hurriedly shovelled a bushel of potatoes into their bag, received his five dollars, and begged them to leave by the side door, as most convenient and least exposed to observation.
at the other of these houses, the woman had lost two sons in battle. when she learnt that some of her visitors were enemies and prisoners, she only hastened to express her pity. she spread her simple board with all that her larder contained, and made them sit down. of some little articles, such as milk and butter and eggs, she literally gave them all she had. other things that they wished to purchase, she sold—she offered to give, but they forced the money upon her. and when they rose to go, she expressed again her sympathy, and hoped that god would be with them, and comfort them, and send them deliverance.
when we were fairly across the river, and well drenched, the rain stopped, and the freezing north wind began to blow. colder and colder it grew; and when we passed from the woods to the last prairie we were to see, we had to face a gale. we struggled against this for miles, until, late in the afternoon, there appeared, on the other side of the plain, a little stage-house, and beyond it timber of scraggly trees, small and scattered. it was a poor place to bivouac, but the scarcity of water in this arid country leaves travellers little choice of camping grounds. we halted, therefore, in this bleak spot, and speedily came to the conclusion, that it would be “the coldest night yet.” the stove was unloaded as 144usual, and “put up;” its pipe, lashed to a sapling to keep it from blowing away, and some stove wood chopped. our indefatigable chef then assumed command, and, despite wind and cold, proceeded to roast a lovely loin of delicate pork, purchased of the good woman of the morning, and to serve it up at the proper time with delicious brown crackling and entrancing hot gravy. before that rapturous moment came there was much work to be done. the wood had to be dragged some distance, for the trees were sparse, and on such a night the fire must be fed with no sparing hand. the water had to be carried, and it was a half-mile distant and at the bottom of a well two hundred feet deep. a tedious job was this, and one that seemed as though it would never end. the pails, the tea-kettle and the iron-pot were all mustered and carried to the well, but others were there before us, and we had to wait our turn. very slowly the bucket came creeping up while we stood shivering in the wind, and when it appeared it was half empty, and a dozen pails were waiting to be filled before the first of ours. at last when tea-kettle, pot and pails were full, and we were nearly perished, we picked them up and navigated them through the thick brush-wood and against the bitter wind till the ungloved hands were nearly frozen to the iron handles, and the stiff arms ready to drop off. then, too, our chef, like all great artists in that most useful art, was cross, and asked indignantly why we had not come back sooner—if it was so pleasant down at that well that we must stay there 145all day—if we did not know that nothing could be done without water—if we could not understand that the lovely loin of pork was well-nigh spoilt already. we, who were hewers of wood and drawers of water, bore all this meekly and explained. our chef, though an amateur, was about as reasonable as an accomplished female of the same profession, and would hear no explanation. he knew that if he had gone he would have found a way to get it. we secretly expressed to each other sympathy for scullions, waiters, and other unfortunate persons having business relations with cooks—we crouched down by the fire and thawed our frozen fingers—and then the chef sent us back to the well for more water.
“now spread the night her spangled canopy,
and summon’d every restless eye to sleep.”
the stove was down and ready to be repacked—the water pails (refilled) stood close before the fire—the stove box, the mess-chest and the shelter-tent again were united for a wind-break—all our night work was done, and there was no reason why we should not sleep. no reason but this bitter north wind, before which the flames of all the surrounding fires leaned down and the sparks flew level along the ground. and those fires, too, seemed trivial and feeble; the logs that were piled upon them were as heavy as two men could lift, yet were not large enough for such a night as this. again and again we woke, aching with the cold; and again and again, after crouching over the fire, we returned wearily to our 146blankets and sought to steal, ere the reveille, a little rest.
“the purple morning left her crimson bed,
and donn’d her robe of pure vermilion hue,
her amber locks she crowned with roses red
in eden’s flowery gardens gathered new.”
and we resumed the march with blue noses and frosted beards. the wagons rumbled over the frozen ground as upon a rock; the horses shivered and shook more pitiably than their riders. there was unwonted courtesy amongst us. “do try my mule a little while.” “no, i thank you; i could not think of depriving you of him this morning.” and then the owner, not to be outdone, would dismount, and run along behind his mule with much stamping of the feet and beating of the hands. comparatively happy then were those wealthy individuals who owned gloves, or who wore something thicker than a summer blouse. yet the biting air wrought its own cure among the foot passengers and gave them an exhilaration that beat down its benumbing pain; the thread-bare, ragged and half-naked crowd, shivering in summer clothing, uttered no whinings, but bravely pushed along, rejoicing that broken boots and tattered garments still held together, and wishing only that they could keep on against the north wind, till they reached the north. less happy were the few who, seated in the old hack, rode glum and testy with upheaved shoulders and stiff necks, and mile after mile spoke never a word.
thus, after seven hours’ steady marching, we turned 147from the road and went down into a little hollow where a small rill furnished us with water, and good large trees with firewood. here the members of our mess, partly to make up for the previous night, and partly in the hope of attaining comfort, built a fire, which (among themselves) gave to the place the name of the “camp of the big fire.”
we were first on the camping ground, and chose our tree, a dry oak more than two feet across the stump. giving due notice to all that they had better stand from under, the commander of the “sachem” swung a strong axe against it till it fell. the two largest logs were chopped off, each twelve or fourteen feet long. skids were cut and laid, and every man, provided with a stiff handspike, lifted and strained till the largest log was raised, “cut round,” rolled, re-rolled and placed against its own stump as a brace. the skids were then hauled out and relaid; and the second log was brought opposite to the first. the skids were next made into an inclined plane, and we, by stout pushing, rolled the second log up this bridge until it rested on top of the first. we then had a solid wooden wall nearly five feet high. in front we placed huge andirons of logs as thick as a man’s body. on these we rolled smaller logs, and piled limbs and small wood until the whole sloped down from the top of the wall to a line six or seven feet distant from its base. we worked until the whole tree was in the pile. then we set fire to it. it kindled slowly, but burnt gloriously. there was no rolling out of our blankets 148that night to put wood on the fire. we could feel our wooden wall throwing its rays down upon us as we lay before it on the frozen ground. it let no heat pass through, for while one side was a mass of red-hot embers the ice had not melted from the other. we slept until the bugle called us in the morning, and then found that a little rolling together of half-burnt logs and a slight shaking up of unfinished brands gave us a splendid fire to breakfast by.
thus we went on, until upon the twelfth day of our march we passed through the little town of tyler and approached camp ford. we felt some curiosity as to the appearance and comfort of this new abode. the question put to travellers whom we met always brought the reply that the prisoners were in houses quite comfortable. in houses prisoners might well be comfortable—much better to have houses than the dismal barracks of camp groce. at last the road wound round a little knoll, covered with pine and scraggly oak and disclosed the camp. we saw on a side-hill a barn-yard of a place, encompassed by a stockade fence fifteen feet high. within, partly burrowed and partly built, was an irregular group of log shanties, small, dark and dirty. a naval friend stood at my side, who had been confident that we should find everything to our liking, and whose motto was “nothing is too good for prisoners.” i glanced at him and saw that, since i last looked, his countenance had grown immeasurably longer. a lieutenant of my regiment was on the outside of the stockade 149waiting to welcome me. he was a young and neat new-yorker when i last saw him, but his dress now consisted of a pair of ragged trowsers and an old woolen shirt without arms.
“what kind of times have you fallen upon, mr. l?” i asked.
“not very good, colonel,” he replied, rather dolefully, and then brightening added, “but we have very good quarters—at least for prisoners!”
my naval friend looked at the lieutenant sternly and with disgust. he never forgave that speech.
the roll was called. we were marched forward. the gate opened and admitted us to seven months more of imprisonment. within every thing looked gloomy and squalid. my own officers i hardly recognized; the others bore in their dress and mien the unmistakable marks of hardship and destitution. a captain in my regiment came up, and after the usual greetings invited me into his “shebang” and to dinner. i walked in and looked around, i fear with some disgust. a dodger had just been turned out of its pan and cut up.
“i can’t stay to dinner, captain,” i said; “we have a wagon to unload; but i’ll try a piece of the dodger.”
i took a piece and walked out. the gentlemen of the “shebang” said nothing. but afterward there was a story told of the affair. it was this:
“the dodger was the whole of the dinner.”
