Chapter IV

A tunnel spoiled by the rain--Captain Tabb's cruelties--Corn pone bakers--July 4th squelched--Beyond the "dead line"--Caught--Sherman sixty miles away--Charleston--Negro regimental prisoners--In the gallows' shadow--Whipping-post--Paroles--Money exchange drafts--The Anderson men.

We had been there a few days when I discovered that something unusual was taking place. Every night I could faintly hear the whispering of men engaged in some secret enterprise, but concluded that the best thing for me was to remain quiet and watch. Then came a big rain, which so thoroughly wet the ground that it caused a strip of earth about two feet wide and ten feet long to drop below the surface about ten inches, into a tunnel which these men had been digging. No one _appeared_ to notice it, as it was outside of the dead line. The project was abandoned, but the hole under the shed remained intact. Some men who were digging in another part of the prison deposited the earth in this exposed hole, but the guards had "caught on" and were on the watch.

One night shortly after Captain Tabb, who was in charge of the prison, collected about twenty of his guard and, crawling up on the stockade, jumped over the fence and came down on us, swinging his sword, the guard following. They came through under the shed in single file and encircled my bunk and the one opposite, which covered the abandoned hole, and the captain said:

"Now, I have caught you! You will have to pay for this! This is a pretty scrape!"

He called for lanterns and shovels, and, seizing a lantern, held it down under the bunk, saw the hole, stuck the point of his sword down and it happened to hit some of the abandoned tools. He then rose to his feet, turned to Major Pasco, who was on a bunk just to his right, and ordered him to "get up and dig out that hole." The major flatly refused. This raised the ire of Captain Tabb, and he said:

"You refuse to obey my orders, do you?"

"I do," was the calm answer.

Captain Tabb then yelled:

"If you don't get up and dig out that hole you will be shot in less than one minute."

By this time there were not less than eight hundred or a thousand men crowding around so close that the guard could hardly stand. I raised myself so as not to be trampled under foot in case of a rush.

Major Pasco replied:

"I am a soldier of the United States army and a prisoner of war. You have no right to demand any manual labor from me."

Captain Tabb turned to a guard and gave the order:

"Shoot that man. Shoot that man, I say."

The guard brought up his gun, with the muzzle not over two feet from the major's head, and not over three feet from mine, when Tabb cried out again:

"Shoot that man. Shoot that man, I say."

But the guard seemed to know more, just at that time, than Tabb did; for, just so sure as the sun shines, had he obeyed the order not a man of the entire guard would have been left alive. A furious and surging mob were rushing to the front, and at that very instant every man on the guard was covered with some kind of deadly weapon. The guard did not pull the trigger and Tabb so far recovered himself as to not repeat the order.

The next morning while the roll was being called a few negroes came in with the proper tools and dug out the tunnel.

Captain Tabb was intent on revenge, however, and very shortly saw his opportunity. Major Pasco sent out a fine gold watch to be sold and all he received in return for it was eighty dollars in Confederate scrip, when it was easily worth seven hundred dollars at the rate that money was then valued at. When Major Pasco protested he was called out by Tabb, bucked and gagged and made to lie in a hot June sun for three long hours.

When we first arrived at this prison our rations consisted of raw corn meal, one quart each day, besides a very small piece of bacon and some cow peas. We were also furnished with cast iron kettles, which were low and flat, about fourteen inches diameter, and with cast iron covers. This style of kettle I had seen, when a small boy at home, used in a fireplace to bake in. It was then called a "Dutch oven," or "bay-kettle." In these kettles we did our baking by building a small fire both under and over the top. Corn bread now was a necessity of the past, and we all became bakers of corn "pone." I became so expert that by regulating the fire, and placing a slice or two of bacon on top for dressing, I could make and bake a very palatable corn "pone," and one that was pronounced even a luxury. But like all of our former experiences, as soon as we began to think we had mastered one difficulty we found another; in this case our wood gave out and it was a mighty poor "pone" that we could make without fire to cook it with.

Situated in the south-east corner of the prison was just one small spring of water which was good. A half barrel was set in the ground to act as a reservoir for this spring, and this small reservoir was to supply the entire camp of fifteen hundred men with water. As we had to use this water for both washing and cooking, it was insufficient, so we asked for tools and permission to dig a well, which was granted. In a very short time we had a well twelve feet deep, but the siphon that supplied the spring had been tapped, and when the water was used from the well the spring was dry. Then a second well was dug with the same effect as the first, but the two wells proved to be a great blessing to the poor, thirsty prisoners, because, after the exposure of the tunnel, no prisoner was allowed to be outside of the place called his quarters after taps. Consequently during the night both wells made a reservoir that filled up and held the surplus, which otherwise would have been lost.

July Fourth came and we determined to celebrate it in true, loyal fashion. We formed in line and marched around to the front door of the only building on the ground, where we were to hear an oration, to be delivered by an officer standing in the doorway. One of the men resurrected an American flag of small dimensions, three inches by four, but the Stars and Stripes all the same. He fastened it to an old, crooked limb, and elevated it above the heads of the crowd in front of the speaker's stand. We cheered the flag, the first Union flag some of the men standing in that crowd had seen for over two years. No words of mine are capable of portraying the effect the sight of that little banner had upon the crowd. Cheer after cheer rent the air. Hats, caps and arms were raised in the air, tears flowed down the cheeks like rain, and men hugged each other for joy. Never to the longest day of my existence will I forget the scene produced by that little emblem of loyalty, no larger than my hand, as it was brought out from its hiding in that prison. I realized then the full meaning of the Stars and Stripes, and knew why the name "Old Glory" was so appropriate. But, alas, to the utter shame of those in command, our joy was soon cut short, and our intended celebration of the birth of American Independence brought to a sudden and abrupt termination. The rebel guard came in, ordered the small flag to be taken down, dispersed our assembly, and gave the order that if we ever made a similar attempt to show loyalty to the emblem of liberty, they would order the artillery, in plain view to the south-east of us, to open fire upon us and "send us to the kingdom come without ceremony," an order that we well knew would be carried out. We therefore had but one thing to do--to retire to our quarters, and there meditate again upon that glorious, chivalric spirit which so long had been the boast of these representatives of Southern aristocracy.

My health, which had been improving since I had the opportunity to breathe air unconfined by roofs and side walls, as it had been in Libby, was still improving and I made up my mind to attempt an escape on the first opportunity that offered itself. I watched both night and day for an opportunity to steal a boat ride down the Okmulgee River. One morning I was one of the squad sent out after wood, which was dumped in a disorderly pile near the gate. Seeing a hole several feet deep and large enough for me to crawl into, I asked one of the detail to cover the hole over with other sticks of wood after I had crawled in. This was soon done and the detail left with their luggage. It was now only eight o'clock in the morning and I was left outside of the stockade, but still a prisoner in the woodpile near the gate. The day was long and the sun's rays poured down with great heat, and how I longed for a drink of water! Still I was braved to the self-denial, owing to very anxiety to reach the boat undiscovered. But my liberty was not to be obtained in that way. About six o'clock the guard came after its wood and my concealment was at an end. They ordered me out, marched me up to Captain Tabb's office, where I received some unasked for advice, after which I was marched back to the gate and turned in. However, I succeeded in getting a hasty drink of water from the spring, and then had another chance to meditate upon the uncertainty of freedom and the certainty of another long term under close surveillance, before I would again have an opportunity to attempt another escape.

In the latter part of July the Union army, commanded by General Sherman, took possession of Atlanta, only sixty miles north-west of us. A cavalry raiding party came near enough to our prison for us to hear the battle which resulted in their repulse. The cavalry was defeated, some driven away and others captured, the officers taken being turned into the prison with us. Then a new organization was effected to plan another escape, though no definite time was set for the attempt, all that being left to ten of the ranking officers, at whose command we were ready to go and obey orders; but it all ended in such a complete fizzle that I refrain from giving the details.

As soon as the nine days' armistice between the two armies was declared off and Sherman's army, instead of turning and following Hood back north, came rushing toward us, we were put aboard the cars and taken to Charleston, S.C., and there confined in the Charleston jail yard, right under the fire of our own guns. Now we were completely corralled in a small, dirty old pen, without either shade or shelter, save a solemn old gallows which cast a gloomy shadow over us, reminding us of the last victim who had his neck broken by the order of the self-constituted authorities now holding sway with such high hand.

The jail was a large octagonal brick structure, six stories high. In the center of each square was a cell surrounding which was a hall of good dimensions. The building also had an addition four stories high, and in this addition were kept captives from the 54th Massachusetts (colored) Infantry, who were treated with terrible brutality. They were almost naked, and starving, and you could hear their cry of "_Bread!_ BREAD! BREAD!" all through the night and day. In the octagonal part of the prison there was also a crowd of peculiar looking half-breeds of both sexes. These were a mystery to me which I never cleared up. All I know is they were turned out in the yard every morning, and there remained until 4 P.M., when they were driven inside again by the turnkey. It was a strange sight and one never explained to us. My theory, however, is that this motley crowd was composed of local prisoners, probably guilty of violating the laws of the community, with perhaps some deserters and runaway slaves. At any rate we saw enough in the conduct of this particular crowd to prove that their rules of morality were away below par.

In order to get out of the mud and free myself from the mosquitoes, I was permitted to occupy one of the old cells at night and sleep on the bare floor, awaiting the regular hour of the turnkey for egress and ingress, and now and then my gaze would be attracted toward the gloomy old gallows, the weight of which (used to swing the unfortunate victim into eternity) was half buried in the ground, where it had sunk after performing its last execution, an additional incentive to melancholy speculation. Upon the next corner north was another large building used for a workhouse; the back part was enclosed by a brick wall and stockade extending around another yard. In the center of this yard a post was set in the ground, and nearly every morning, between nine and ten o'clock, we could hear a whizzing sound, followed by yells. Then we understood; the post was a whipping-post, and the master of the cat o' nine tails was at work upon some victim, in all probability a negro who had been on the street after hours, or guilty of some trifling digression of the rules and regulations of the slave code, as a consequence had been sentenced by the police judge to receive so many lashes on his bare back. We often had to stop our ears, so frightful were the cries of some of the victims of this barbarous punishment, dealt out to human beings for simply exercising a God-given right to think and act for themselves.

After we had been confined in the jail yard for about two weeks, we gave our parole that we would not talk to the guard (which was kept around us only to keep the citizens away), and that we would not leave or go outside of the Marine Hospital or its enclosure. In return for this we were permitted to trade and talk with the hucksters through the palings in front of the building. The hospital was a large three-story brick structure, with basement and the necessary outhouses, including a workshop in the rear. It was entirely devoid of furniture, but clean and comfortable, with plenty of room and good shelter. Wide verandas ran the whole length, both in the front and rear, and shade trees were around the whole building. Our rations too, were improved and we could borrow all the "C.S.S." (Confederate State's scrip) we were willing to carry, if we would give in exchange a power of attorney, properly made out and directed to our paymaster, north. I did not care to do this but many did, and in a short time our yard was full of Confederate money, much to the hucksters' profit. Here are a few of the prices men paid for edibles: Apple dumplings, $3.00 each; yams, $3.00 a quart (one yam made a quart); flour, $4.00 a quart. Eight dollars in Confederate money was given for the promise of one dollar in gold. By this you will readily see that money flew like the wind and it was not long before the supply was exhausted.

The powers of attorney were run through the lines, either by an "underground railway" or by slipping through the blockade. They were presented at Washington, but our Government did not see fit to recognize and pay claims that had been obtained in such manner as had these from the prisoners in rebellious States. The lenders came back, and it is hardly necessary to add that they took no more "powers of attorney." Instead they would and did accept drafts on some bank or "best friend" that had your money for safe keeping. This scheme was worse for the fellows in authority than the powers of attorney, for in many instances the bills were drawn on fictitious banks, located in imaginary places, or on "best friends" who had no existence save in the brain of the man drawing the same.

I, as I said, had taken no hand in the power of attorney fraud, for I was a little afraid it might come to a head and I would be a loser, but when the bill of exchange plan came up I concluded to take a hand. I drew one, of which the following is a copy:

"Charleston, S.C., August 3, 1864.

"To John Crow, Maconsburg, Wisconsin.

"Please pay to Henry Holloway, or order, one hundred dollars, in cash, and charge the same to my account.

"C.M. Prutsman."

Now, the truth was there was no such place as "Maconsburg" in Wisconsin, to my knowledge, nor was there any friend of mine by the name of John Crow, still that did not hinder the cashing of my order, and in a short time I was the possessor of eight hundred dollars in clean Confederate scrip. As "John Crow," of "Maconsburg," was never found by Mr. Holloway I did not lose anything on my investment. Those who made the "bills of exchange" profited to some extent, however, and the barrels that were delivered to the poor, weak, diseased and starving prisoners, were of great service to them and proved a boon in many instances. It was always a mystery to me why the officers took such chances as they did in letting us have the Confederate State's scrip, but I have often thought they had very little confidence in its real, ultimate value. I also noticed that not one of them ever lost an opportunity to grab Uncle Sam's money when it was within reach.

As soon as we moved out of the jail yard it was used for the Anderson men, but only for one day at a time; then they were marched out to the race course. They generally arrived there early in the morning, were taken out of the cars and held through the day, to be moved through the streets at night, as their clothing was so scant it was not considered decent for them to be seen by daylight.

My first investment with my Confederate scrip was to take one hundred dollars, tie it to a piece of brick and throw it over the wall, from the veranda of the second story, to one sergeant Stetzer, a member of my company and regiment; but the guard heard it strike the ground, drove the sergeant away and pocketed the rags himself. So much for my attempt to relieve the wants of a fellow prisoner. Now, while we lived high for us during the remainder of our stay in that building, the time was very short.