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diff --git a/old/60883-0.txt b/old/60883-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 0322289..0000000 --- a/old/60883-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,5532 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sketches in Prison Camps, by Charles C. Nott - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - -Title: Sketches in Prison Camps - A Continuation of Sketches of the War - -Author: Charles C. Nott - -Release Date: December 8, 2019 [EBook #60883] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SKETCHES IN PRISON CAMPS *** - - - - -Produced by Richard Tonsing and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - SKETCHES IN PRISON CAMPS: - - A CONTINUATION OF - - Sketches of the War. - - - BY - - CHARLES C. NOTT, - LATE COLONEL OF THE 176TH NEW YORK VOLS. - - “On her bier, - Quiet lay the buried year; - I sat down where I could see, - Life without and sunshine free— - Death within!” - - - NEW YORK: - ANSON D. F. RANDOLPH, - 770 BROADWAY, CORNER OF 9TH ST. - - 1865. - - - - - ENTERED, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1865, by - - CHARLES C. NOTT, - - In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the United States for the - Southern District of New York. - - - JOHN J. REED, PRINTER AND STEREOTYPER, - 43 Centre Street, N. Y. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - To - - CLARKSON N. POTTER, - - FOR HIS GENEROSITY AND GREAT FAITHFULNESS TO ME, - - AND TO EVERY SOLDIER WITH WHOM HE HAS BEEN IN ANY WAY CONNECTED - - DURING THE PAST WAR, - - THIS WORK IS GRATEFULLY DEDICATED. - - - - - CONTENTS. - - - PAGE - I.— THE TRANSPORT 7 - - II.— THE PAY-MASTER 25 - - III.— THE WILD TEXANS 37 - - IV.— THE MARCH 57 - - V.— THE PRAIRIES 71 - - VI.— CAMP GROCE 94 - - VII.— TEA 119 - - VIII.— CAMP FORD 132 - - IX.— A DINNER 150 - - X.— ESCAPE 171 - - XI.— EXCHANGE 193 - - - - - PRISON CAMPS. - - - - - I. - THE TRANSPORT. - - -“There come the tug-boats, Colonel,” says an officer, as I stand on the -deck of the “Alice Counce,” waiting for my regiment. I am a stranger to -it, and only assume command to-day. From the East river come the boats, -laden as many other boats have been, with a dark swarm of men, who cover -the deck and hang upon the bulwarks. - -The boats come alongside and throw their lines to the ship, and then -rises a concord of those sounds that generally start with a new -regiment. - -“ATTENTION! Officers and men will remain on board the boats till ordered -aboard the ship. Captains of A and F will march their companies aboard -and conduct them to their quarters. The bunks of each are marked with -their Company letter.” - -The hubbub ends, and the companies climb successively aboard, and -stumble down into the dark hold, where, cold and clammy from recent -scrubbings, are certain rough bunks, each so contrived as thoroughly to -make four men unhappy. Unhappy! for the bunks are three tiers thick -between decks, leaving no room wherein to sit up and be sick—and four -men in one bed never did and never will lie still. Those who have never -been to sea before, dream not of what awaits them! - -Yet the men surprise me with the great good humor in which they seek out -and take possession of their dark quarters. On one side, beginning at -the sternmost bulkhead, Co. “A,” with the aid of dingy ship-lanterns, -stows away the baggage, and next to it is “F,” at the same work. This -order of the companies has a reason; for in line of battle, they are -assorted in pairs, called “divisions,” so that each division shall -contain one of the five senior and one of the five junior captains. In -camp too they occupy the same places as in line of battle, and hence -this is the proper guide for assigning quarters on ship board. Beginning -on one side at the extreme stern with “A,” we run round the ship until -at the extreme stern on the opposite side we finish with “B.” There is -some difference in the comfort of the bunks; somebody must have the -worst, and it is very desirable that this somebody shall blame for it -only his own bad luck. - -“Shall we weigh anchor soon, Captain?” - -“Can’t tell, sir. No wind now. Looks as though a fog were coming down. -Can’t sail till we’ve a wind.” - -“Colonel,” says one of the Captains, “my first-lieutenant has not been -out of camp for six weeks. If you will let him go ashore, I shall be -much obliged.” - -“I cannot, Captain; the ship is ordered to sail immediately. While this -is possible, no officer can leave.” - -“Colonel,” says another, “Lieutenant A., of my company, learnt last -evening that his mother is quite ill. “Will you approve this pass?” - -“I am sorry to say, Captain, that no officer can leave the ship. We are -under sailing orders—the pilot is on board—the tug within hail, and we -shall weigh anchor whenever the wind freshens.” - -“It is really very hard.” - -“Very!” - -“Colonel,” says a third, “my first-sergeant’s wife is very ill. I told -him that he could go back and see her, and get his things this morning. -If you will approve this pass, I shall be very much obliged.” - -“He must send for his things. We are under sailing orders. No one can -leave the ship.” - -“The poor fellow promised her that he would certainly be back to-day. It -was the only way he could make her consent to his coming. He is a most -faithful fellow.” - -“Mate, do you think we can possibly sail to-night?” - -“No, sir; fog won’t rise afore midnight. Pilot’s gone ashore.” - -“Then, Captain, let your sergeant take this dispatch to head-quarters, -and report on board at daylight.” - -The fog grows denser and denser—the rain comes down; such dreary -refusals and disappointments have filled the day. The cabin will not -hold half the officers. Nothing is settled—all is dirt, disorder and -confusion. Oh, what a wretched, moody, miserable day! - -A week of such days passes, but at last the fresh west wind blows keen -and cold. A little tug comes out from among the piers, and seizing the -great vessel, leads her towards the Narrows, and the regiment at last is -moving to New Orleans. - -“I shall be glad,” says a young lieutenant, flushed with the thought of -setting forth on his first campaign, “I shall be glad when we are out of -sight of New York.” - -“You’ll be gladder when you come in sight of it again.” - -“Perhaps I shall,” he says, with a laugh; “but after all our working and -waiting, it’s delightful to be off at last.” - -I stand on the deck watching the sinking city and the lessening shores, -as many have done before me, while gliding down the beautiful bay, until -they grow dim in the distance, and then turn away, to think of -inspections, rations, fires, and sea-sickness. - -The first night has passed without incident or accident, extinguishing -the excitement of our sailing and leaving us to wake up quietly for our -first day at sea. Not “quietly,” for twenty drummer boys, without the -faintest sign of sea-sickness, rattled out a reveille that frightened -the rats from their holes, and brought the sleeping watch from the -forecastle, and disturbed every sailor and sleeper in the ship. It left -us wide awake, and ready for the routine and duties of the day. - -BREAKFAST!—Breakfast is no easy thing to get in a transport ship. All -night long two gangs of cooks have been at work, and there are fears and -whispers that with all their efforts, the breakfast will run short. Very -aggravating is it to wait for breakfast in this cold sea air, with -nothing else to think of, and your thoughts quickened (if you are among -the last) by the fear that there is not enough to go round. A serious -business, too, it is to deal it out, requiring more than an hour of -hungry moments. The companies form in files, and on each side of the -ship approach the caboose. A mug and plate are thrust through a hole. In -a moment, filled with a junk of pork, three “hard-tack,” and a pint of -pale coffee, they are thrust back. The hungry owner seizes them and -hurries away to some quiet spot, where he can unclasp his knife and -fork, and cool his coffee to his liking. The long files of the unfed, -one by one, creep slowly up to the greasy dispensary. The first company -of the occasion ironically congratulates the last, the last ironically -condoles with the first. They take turn about. Company A is first at -breakfast to-day; second at lunch; third at supper; to-morrow it will be -fourth, and thus it will keep on until at length it reaches the -agonizing state of being _last_! - -WATER!—The water is the next annoyance of the morning. The men are -brought up on the upper deck. On the lower one is a pump connected by a -hose, with the water casks below. The mate, on behalf of the ship, and -an officer, on behalf of the regiment, deal out the water. Two men from -every squad, each with a load of canteens hung around his neck, come -forward and fill them from the tub—a slow and mussy piece of work. - -INSPECTION.—“The water is dealt out, Colonel,” says the Officer of the -Day. “Will you inspect the quarters?” - -The assembly beats, and the men again crowd the upper deck. Armed with a -lantern, I grasp a slippery ladder, and go down into the dark, “between -decks.” It is very still and almost empty there, much like a gloomy -cave. The companies have been divided into four squads, and a sergeant -and two corporals have charge of the quarters of each. - -I begin with the first and poke the lantern up into the upper tier, over -into the middle tier, down into the lower tier. Blankets out—knapsacks -at the head—nothing lying loose. No crumbs betraying hard-tack smuggled -in; the deck scrubbed clean. “Very good, Sergeant. Your quarters do you -credit.” The next, a blanket not out—half a hard-tack in the upper tier, -the crumbs scattered over the lower—the deck dingy with loathsome -tobacco. “Look at this, and this, and this, Sergeant. Yours are the only -dirty quarters in the ship.” - -“Don’t you think the quarters pretty good on the whole, Colonel?” asks -the Officer of the Day. - -“Very good, Captain. If we except that sergeant’s, there is really -nothing to find fault with.” And thus ends the first inspection. - -“If the rebels hadn’t ha’ destroyed the light-house,” remarks my friend -the first mate, as he looks with his glass toward Hampton Roads, “we -could ha’ run right straight in last night, but seeing that the ship is -light in ballast, and a good many souls aboard, why, it wasn’t safe.” - -“So they destroyed the Cape Henry light, did they?” - -“Yes indeed, they did, and it does seem to me that of all they’ve done -that ought to ha’ set the hull civilized world against them, it’s the -worst. Just think now how many a fine vessel must ha’ gone aground -there, and never be got off again, just for want of the light; why, it -does seem to me that it’s worse than a shooting women and children; at -any rate, it’s just the same.” - -“There comes the pilot-boat, and she has her signal set,” says some one. - -Far up the Chesapeake the pilot-boat is seen, a small flag fluttering -from her mast head. She comes straight as an arrow, like a greyhound -rushing down upon us in his play. How beautifully she bounds along, -looking as she mounts the waves as if she would leap from the water. The -yards are backed and the ship stops and waits for the little craft. The -pilot-boat circles round her, and coming into the wind, seems to settle -down like a dog resting from his sport. A little cockle shell of a boat -puts off, pulled by two black oarsmen, who buffet and dodge the waves, -and make their way slowly against the wind toward the ship. There is -much curiosity to see this Virginian pilot, and all hands crowd forward -as he comes up the side. The Captain alone has not moved to meet him. -_He_ stands dignifiedly on the poop deck, his glass beneath his arm. The -pilot does not ask for him, or pause or look around; he evidently knows -the very spot on which the Captain stands. He bows to the crowd around -him, pushes his way through, and mounts to the deck. He walks up to the -Captain, and they shake hands. The Captain hands him his glass: the -pilot takes it: it is the emblem of authority, and the Captain no longer -commands the ship. - -The pilot raises the glass and looks sharply in one direction; he takes -a turn or two up and down the deck, and looks attentively in another. I -am convinced that he knows as well where we are as I should, were I -standing on the steps of the City Hall. All this looking is evidently -done to impress beholders with the difficulty of being a pilot. “How -does she head?” says the pilot. “Due west,” says the man at the wheel. -“Keep her west by sou’ half sou’,” says the pilot. “Wes’ by sou’ half -sou’,” responds the man at the wheel. “Set your jib, sir,” says the -pilot to the Capt. “Set the jib, Mr. Small,” says the Captain to the -first mate. “Set the jib, Mr. Green,” says the first mate to the second -mate. “All hands man the jib halyards,” says the second mate. “Aye, aye, -sir,” respond the sailors, and the soldiers look quite sober at finding -themselves all of a sudden in so difficult and maybe dangerous a -channel. Meanwhile the black oarsmen pull back to where the pilot-boat -still lies at rest. The touch of the cockle shell upon her side startles -her again into life. She shakes her white wings, and turning, bounds off -toward another ship, whose sails are slowly rising from the waves far -off toward the east. - -What we have come to Fortress Monroe for no one can tell. In spite of a -decisive order to sail forthwith for New Orleans, the wind refuses to -blow. Another weary week of calm and fog intervenes. The Captain laments -and growls, and says if we had kept on with _that_ breeze, we could have -been at the Hole-in-the-wall, and maybe at Abicum-light; but now there’s -no telling when the wind will set in from the west—he’s known it set -this way at this season for three weeks. The officers and men repeat the -growls and lamentations, and fail not to ask me five hundred times a day -what we have come to Fortress Monroe for. - -The week of waiting ends, and a westerly wind assures us that we may -start. “We must have a tug to tow us down,” says the Captain. “And we -must have the water-boat along side,” says the mate. A boat load of -officers and soldiers go ashore to make their last purchases. I wait on -the dock and watch the water-boat as it puts off, and listen to the “yo -he yo” on the “Alice Counce” and “Emily Sturges,” which tells me that -their anchors are coming up. - -The tug took us down—the pilot left us much as before, and we are now -out at sea. The “Emily” led us by half an hour, and all day long was in -sight, sailing closer to the wind and standing closer on the coast. As -the evening closed in, we cast many jealous glances toward her, and -asked each other which ship would be ahead in the morning. - -The second day was a gloomy, wintry day, with a rising wind, and -constantly increasing sea; and the second night out I felt the motion -grow and grow, but thought it rather pleasant, and had no fears of evil -consequences. I rose with the reveille, which seemed fainter than usual, -steadied myself out of the cabin, and still knew no fear. I reached the -deck and found that but four drummer boys rub-a-dubbed, and but few men -had come up from below. I mounted to the poop deck, and there I found -three lieutenants. There was something unusual about them. Two sat very -still braced against a spar, while the third staggered violently up and -down with a pale, in fact a ghastly face, and kept saying in a jolly -manner to himself, “How are _you_, ship? how are _you_, o—oh—shun?” - -“This is very strange,” thought I. “But perhaps they’re ill. I’ll ask -them.” - -“Gentlemen, are you sick—sea-sick?” - -“Sick? oh no!” - -Nobody was sick, so I turned and looked down on the main deck. The -reveille had ended, yet the number on deck had not increased. A sergeant -with five or six men in line was calling his roll in a loud voice, at -which he and half his men repeatedly laughed, as though absence from -roll-call was a capital joke. - -It is usual for an officer from each company to come up to me -immediately after the morning roll-call, and report the state of his -company, “all present or accounted for,” or so many present and so many -absent and not accounted for. I am somewhat strict about it, yet on this -morning only one or two reported. I thought this negligence -strange—unaccountable—yet for some reason or other, I did not go down -and ascertain the cause of it. I turned toward the east. The sun was -near his rising, and the crimson light filled the sky and tinged the -white foam of the tossing waves. It was a splendid sight, and brought to -mind one of the finest sea pieces of the Dusseldorf. I stood watching -the wide expanse of heaving billows—the cloud-spotted sky under-lit with -rays of the coming sun—the unnumbered waves breaking in long rolls of -foam, silvered and gilded by the glowing east. I was lost in admiration, -when I suddenly felt—sick! I made brave attempts to keep myself up—to -weather it out—to stay on my legs—to stay on deck—to do something—to do -anything. In vain! - -That day the wind increased and blew a gale. Through the long hours of -the afternoon the vessel plunged and tossed. Furniture broke loose and -slid backward and forward across the cabin. The steward looked in, -seized the vagrant pieces, and lashed them fast. Stragglers steadied -themselves from door to table and from table to sofa, to say that all -the others were down—that they began to feel a little qualmish, and that -affairs were growing serious. Toward midnight there was a tremendous -shock—the ship staggered and stood still, as though she had struck upon -a rock; in an instant more the door of the forward cabin was burst open -with a crash, and in another the water broke through the sky-light over -my head, and poured, a torrent, on the cabin floor. To the men between -decks it seemed a shipwreck. Yet there were not wanting a few heartless -wretches, who, neither sea-sick nor frightened, made sport of all the -others. “The ship’s struck a breaker,” roared one of these from his -bunk. “All frightened men roll out and put on their boots to sink in.” -“Struck,” “breakers,” “sinking,” sounded around, and several hundred men -rolled out in the darkness, and frantically tried to put on their boots. -With the next roll, away all hands went. Some caught at the bunks—some -clutched each other—the penitent prayed—the wicked swore—the frightened -blubbered—the sick and philosophical lay still. In the midst of the -sliding, the scramble and the din, a voice rose from another bunk, -“Captains”—it thundered in the style of a Colonel on drill—“rectify the -alignment.” And the jokers added to the din their loud laughs of -derision. - -A little later the mate came in—a large, stalwart sailor, seeming a -giant in his oilskins and sou’wester. He carefully closed the door, -stepped lightly across the cabin floor, ceremoniously removed his hat, -and looking into the darkness of the captain’s state-room, said in the -most apologetic of tones, “Captain Singer, I’m really afraid the mast -will go, if we don’t ease her a point. It works very bad, and the wind’s -rising.” - -The Captain considered slowly and said, “Ease her.” - -The mate said politely, “Yes, sir,” and then backed across the cabin -lightly on tip toe, hat in hand, opened the door slowly and noiselessly, -and then, without replacing his hat, slipped out into the storm. - -The long night wore away and was followed by a longer day. The ship -tossed and plunged, rising as though she were mounting from the water to -the sky, and then sinking as though she would never stop. At last the -gale blew itself out, and then came a calm, when the ship lay like a log -on the water, rolling ceaselessly from side to side, and creaked and -groaned with every toss and roll. But now there is a cry of land, and -the sick drag themselves to the deck and look toward a rocky island of -the Bahama group, which is the “land.” How beautiful it seems, hung -there on the horizon between the shifting clouds and tossing sea! The -breeze is fair, the sea not rough, and we soon draw nearer to this land. -On the farther end rises the snowy tower of the light-house, and beside -it stands the house of the keeper. No other house, nor field, nor tree, -nor blade of grass adorns this huge bare rock. The waves have worn -grooves on the steep sides, and up these the water dashes, and runs down -in white moving columns. Abreast of us is a strange opening in the -wall-like rock, which has given to the island its name of -“Hole-in-the-wall.” The spy-glasses disclose a man, a woman, and some -children, looking toward the ship. Once in three months the supply ship -will visit them, bringing their food, their clothing, their water and -the oil: once or twice a year, when the sea is calm and the wind has -fallen, the keeper may row out to some ship to beg for newspapers; more -often they may gaze, as they are gazing now, at passing vessels; and -thus, with such rare intervals, they pass their lonely life, cut off and -isolated from all mankind. - -The warm temperature and rich blue color of the water tell us that we -are in the Gulf Stream. As I lie upon the deck looking upon the -mysterious current, a slender bird, eight or ten inches long, shining -like silver, flits through the air. “Did you see that bird?” asks more -than one voice. “Was it a bird?” “Yes, it flew like one.” “No, it came -out of the water and went back there.” - -“It’s a flying-fish, gentlemen,” says the mate; “you’ll see plenty of -them soon.” - -A more beautiful, fairy-like sight than these flying-fish present, I -have seldom seen. A delicate creature, bright and silvery, and often -beautifully tinged with blue, emerges from the water, and soars just -above the waves in a long, graceful, bird-like flight, until striking -against the summit of some wave that lifts its white cap higher than the -rest, it disappears. - -This is called a pleasant voyage from Hole-in-the-wall. We watch the -flying-fish, catch Portuguese men-of-war, and bathe in the warm water of -the stream, until there appears before us what some at first thought a -mud bank, but which now proves to be another ocean of muddy water. - -“It is the Mississippi,” says the Captain. “The river must be up, for -we’re a hundred miles good from the Sou’west Pass. There’ll be trouble -in crossing the bar; when the river’s up the water’s down.” - -As we draw nearer, the contrast between the two oceans grows more plain. -The line is as distinct as that between land and water on a map. Now the -bow of the vessel reaches it—now the line is a midship—now I look down -upon it, and now the ship floats wholly in the water of the Mississippi. - -The muddy sea has raised a ferment of excitement, and many, who have all -faith in the ship’s reckoning, still look forward as though they could -look through the hundred miles before us, and see the wished-for land. -Night closes, however, leaving us surrounded by the same muddy waves; -but we turn in, with the strong assurance that to-morrow we shall make -the Pass. - -Land! But hidden under low fogs, that, I am told, brood over this delta -of the Mississippi. From the crosstrees can be seen one or two -steam-tugs, vessels at anchor, and distant salt marshes; but from the -deck we peer about in all directions, and see nothing in the fog. A -pilot moves the ship up to her anchorage. We are to wait perhaps only -the moving of the tugs—perhaps the falling of the river; the river is -up, and as was foretold by the Captain, the water is down. - -The explanation of this paradox is simple. The water on the bar is ocean -water, though discolored by the river. Its height is always a tidal -height, that is, it rises with the tide, not with the river. The -freshets, while they do not add to the height of the water, nevertheless -bring down large quantities of mud, which settles on the bar, and thus -builds up the bottom without raising the surface of the water. The -pilots measure from the bottom, and finding it nearer the surface than -it was, say that the water has fallen, when in fact it is the bottom -that has risen. Then come the tides and wash away the loose mud upon the -bar, and thus the water deepens while the river falls. - -We are again at anchor; a tug is heard in the fog, and all turn -anxiously toward it. The Captain of the tug hails the Captain of the -ship, and demands what water she draws. - -“Sixteen feet and a half,” is the answer. “Will that do?” - -The Captain of the tug says it is doubtful—they are going down to tug -another ship that draws fifteen and a half, and if they get her over, -they will tug us at the next flood-tide. - -That ship is the transport “William Woodbury.” She comes down gallantly, -the soldiers crowding her bulwarks, two powerful tugs puffing at her -sides, and every sail set. We watch her with anxiety. She passes a buoy -that we think marks the bar, and all seems well. The mate says he “don’t -know but akind of believes she’s over.” As he speaks, she swings round, -stops, and sticks fast. The steam-tugs pull her backward and forward and -sidewise, and at last over the bar; she disappears in the fog beyond, -and we await with fresh anxiety the flood-tide of the afternoon. - -These tugs have one strange appendage in the form of a ladder as high as -the smoke-pipe; on the top of this is a chair, and in this chair is a -man. It is the pilot who thus looks over the low fogs of the Pass. From -this high place we hear the voice of one, toward evening, and soon two -tugs come down to try their strength in dragging our ship through two -feet of mud. The heaviest hawser is out on deck and an end run over -either side to the stubborn little tug that lies there. The anchor is -tripped, a sail or two set, and with good headway, we approach the bar. -Suddenly every one who is on his legs takes an unexpected step -forward—the hawser parts—the tugs break loose—and we are hard aground. -But the tugs do not give it up. They reattach themselves and drag us, -after many efforts, out of the mud and back to where we started. - -We approach the bar again cautiously; but again we feel the vessel -grounding, and again she stands still. The tugs tug away as though -striving to drag us through by main strength, and many declare that we -are moving slowly. A neighboring buoy, however, stays close beside us, -and after half an hour’s hard work, shows that we have not moved a foot. -Still the tugs tug as obstinately as ever. They drag us back and try -afresh—now to the right—now to the left—panting, puffing and blowing. -The pilots sit enveloped in clouds of black coal smoke, and shout, and -scream. At last, with the last rays of daylight, and the last swelling -of the tide, and the last strands of the hawser, and at the moment when -all efforts must cease, we are dragged across the bar, and enter the -Mississippi. - - - - - II. - THE PAY-MASTER. - - -Westward from New Orleans stretches the Opelousas railroad, and along -this road we are now doing guard duty. Guarding a railroad is the most -unwelcome task that can be thrust on the Colonel of a new -regiment—scattering the companies, demoralizing the men, destroying the -regiment, and therefore a Colonel, under such circumstances, has a right -to be a little discontented, and very cross. - -I _am_ a little discontented, and have wished a hundred times that I -were back, writing on the sunny hill-side of Camp Lowe, enduring all the -hardships of Tennessee. From an unsoldierly point of view, there is -nothing to complain of here. For the leaky tent, the muddy floor, the -pork and “hard-tack” of the West, my large new tent has a double-fly and -plank floor; and it is filled with tables, chairs, and other luxuries. -Up the neighboring bayou of La Fourche, too, come miniature canal-boats, -tugged along by little creole ponies, and laden with fish and oysters, -which the swarthy French fishermen catch in the not distant Gulf. The -surrounding woods are filled with game that finds its way constantly to -camp, and from every one of the large plantations that abound here, are -brought vegetables, eggs and poultry. Yet I do not relish this ease and -indolence—the rough cavalry service suits me better, and I wish a -hundred times a day that I were back in Tennessee. - -It is the spring-time of the year, yet there is but little of the -reality of spring to us. The grass has long been green, the flowers are -plentiful, the sun is hot and burning, but the leaves come leisurely -along, and for a fortnight have only moved. These flowers, too, have -generally no fragrance, though now and then there is one that overpowers -us with its sweet, sickening odor, and the birds that fill the trees are -songless, save the “merry mocking-bird,” who, like the perfume giving -flowers, has more than his share of noise and song. There is, therefore, -none of the glad bursting forth that makes so brief and beautiful our -northern spring. - -This is a muster-day in the army, and it is the forerunner of the -Pay-Master. I have been busy since daybreak calling the rolls of the -companies along the railroad, and I have now to ride twelve miles and -muster one that is doing Provost guard duty in the village of Houma. It -is not a pleasant ride to Houma; the road runs along a bayou, as -straight and stagnant as a canal. Occasionally there comes a boat, -freighted with a dozen barrels of molasses or a few hogsheads of sugar, -furrowing its way through the green scum that covers the water, and -breaking down the rank-growing weeds that choke the channel. The -vagabond-looking ponies that drag it along, travel on the “levee,” which -has the appearance of a tow-path, and makes the bayou look more than -ever like a canal. This bayou is a hideous frog-pond, long drawn out, -filled with black, slimy mud, and teeming with hideous reptiles. My -horse starts as I ride beside it, and snuffs the tainted air nervously, -for two turkey-buzzards fly up from the huge carcass of an alligator, -and alight close beside me on the fence. Two more remain on the -alligator, gorged so that they cannot rise. Their rough, dirty feathers -remind one of the uncombed locks of a city scavenger. No one ever shoots -them, but draws back and says, with unconcealed disgust, “What a foul -bird that is.” - -Yet on the other side of the road, spreading back to the poisonous -swamps in the rear, lie some of the rich plantations of Louisiana. There -are the sugar-houses, with their heavy brick chimneys, as large and -clumsy as those of a foundry; and near by stand the planter’s house, the -overseer’s house, the engineer’s house, and a little village of -contraband cabins. The vast fields are cut up into square blocks by -ditches, sometimes ten feet deep, reminding one of the graded lots in -the outskirts of a city. On one side of each range of these blocks is a -raised plantation road, which crosses the ditches on substantial -bridges, and runs, perhaps for miles, arrow-like, as a railroad. It is -probable that the plantation is surrounded by a levee, to keep the water -out. The large ditches then empty into a canal, and at the end of this -canal will be found a “pumping machine,” driven by a steam engine, which -pumps the plantation dry and keeps it above water. Such wealthful -agriculture we have nowhere in the North. - -The broad, dull thoroughfare on which I ride is an unpleasant contrast -to the shaded bridle-roads of Tennessee. Yet it furnishes our only ride, -and for twelve miles there is but one turn-off, or intersecting road, -and not one hill or hollow. So far as the eye can reach in all -directions—so far as one can ride on any road he may choose to take, is -one weary, continuing, unbroken flatness. I feel a constant longing to -mount a hill, and often have to repress an impulse to climb a tree, -where I can look around and breathe a little freer air. - -Houma looks somewhat like a deserted village. The shops are shut, many -of the houses empty, and the scowling people wear an idle, listless air. -There is no love lost between them and the troops. Some months ago a few -sick soldiers of the twenty-first Indiana were massacred not far from -the village, and it was done by some of the most “respectable” planters. -I believe all of the guilty parties escaped to the enemy’s lines, except -one, and he, poor wretch, lived for months in the gloomy swamps near us, -a frightened maniac. His body was lately found, showing that he had lain -down, worn out and sick, and died alone in the dreary solitude. - -In one of these deserted houses I find my officers established, and -after finishing the muster of their company, I spend with them a -pleasant evening and quiet night. Another dull and solitary ride carries -me back to my head-quarters, to await the wished-for coming of the -Pay-Master. A regiment which has never been paid looks eagerly for that -admired and much respected functionary. It understands not why there -should be delays, and coins a rumor at least once a day, that he is on -his way to camp. After many disappointments, one of these rumors assumes -a substantial shape. A special train comes rushing up the railroad, -consisting of an engine and a single car. The train shrieks that it will -stop and does so: it bears only two passengers, and a heavy, mysterious, -iron-bound box. They are the Pay-Master, his clerk, and his money chest. - -The Pay-Master is smiling, and happy as a man who travels with a trunk -full of smiles should be. He walks through the excited throng to my -tent, and the mysterious box is borne by two soldiers in a reverent -manner behind him. He takes it from them at the tent in a careless sort -of way, and pulls and tumbles it about as if it were a common piece of -vulgar wood—he does not even glance at it as he twists and turns the -mysterious lock. From its depths he brings out our pay-rolls, and says -in a complimentary manner that they are correct—that indeed he never -paid a new regiment where they were more correct. He shakes his head -despondingly, and adds that there are some regiments in this department -that have never been paid—that have never got their rolls right, and he -fears never will. Our men are immensely relieved as these facts are -whispered around, and acquire fresh confidence in their -officers,—perhaps rather more than they ever had before. - -The rolls are sent back to the different companies, and the men assemble -round each Captain’s tent and sign them. The Pay-Master fortifies -himself against the coming excitement with a little luncheon. Meanwhile -a table has been placed at the opening of a tent, within which are the -mysterious box and clerk. - -“Now, Colonel,” says the Pay-Master, “if you will be so good as to give -the necessary orders, we will begin.” - -The Pay-Master takes his place behind the table which bars the entrance -to the tent and box; the first company falls in “by one rank,” faces -“without doubling,” and in single file approaches the Pay-Master. The -Pay-Master takes a pay-roll and calls a name; the clerk takes its -“duplicate” and checks the name; the owner steps forward and answers to -the name. The Pay-Master seizes a bundle of the precious paper and tears -off the wrapper. The notes dance through his flying fingers, and flutter -down before the owner of the first name. The Pay-Master carelessly -seizes them, says “sixty-three dollars, forty-five cents,” and tosses -them toward the owner, as though he wishes to be rid of the vulgar -trash. The owner, much discomposed, carefully picks them up and -hurriedly retires to the nearest bench, whereon he seats himself, and -slowly counts and recounts the notes, at least five times. It is labor -in vain; he cannot make them a dollar more, or a dime less than did the -Pay-Master. Those practised hands, though they count the money only -once, and move with the swiftness of a magician’s wand, never make -mistakes. - -There is another day’s work before the Pay-Master, and a somewhat -unusual one for him. Four companies remain to be paid, and the special -train has gone back to New Orleans. We must travel, therefore, by a -hand-car. The mysterious box is carried to the car, the clerk sits on -it, keeping a bright look-out toward the rear, lest any pursuing -locomotive should rush upon us ere we know it; the Pay-Master and I seat -ourselves in front upon the floor, and half a dozen soldiers, who are -both guard and engine, stow themselves away as best they can, and then -seizing the crank, put our little vehicle slowly in motion. - -It is very pleasant skimming along swiftly so close to the ground, with -so little noise or jarring, with such an absence of smoke and dust, and -with such a free, unrestrained view of everything around us. By far the -pleasantest ride upon the rail that any of us have ever had, is this. We -fly quickly across the wide plantation that adjoins the camp, and then -enter the wood or swamp, whichever you prefer to call it. - -“There will be no train coming along I hope,” said the Pay-Master, as he -glanced at the narrow roadway and black, slimy water that came close to -us on either side. “What should we do _now_, for instance?” - -“Tumble the hand-car into the swamp, and slide ourselves down the sides -of the road, and lie quiet till the train has passed.” - -“Ugh!” said the Pay-Master. “I do not like the idea of sliding myself -into that water. Look how black and slimy it is, and then that unhealthy -green scum upon it. I should not wonder if it were full of snakes and -alligators.” - -“Alligators! You may say that; look there!” - -An immense alligator is seen stretched on a fallen tree, and dozing in -the warmth of the April sun. - -“May I give him a shot?” asks the sergeant of our guard, drawing his -revolver. - -“Yes, if you can hit him.” - -The sergeant slowly raises his pistol—the hand-car stops—bang! and the -bullet strikes against the scaly side and glances off. The alligator -slides from the log, and disappears in the inky water. - -“I don’t care about making that gentleman’s acquaintance,” says the -Pay-Master. “Mr. Clerk, please keep a sharp look-out behind for any -stray locomotive that may be coming along, and the Colonel and I will -look out ahead. Seven miles you say it is to the next station? Well, I -shall feel a little easier when we get there.” - -The hand-car resumes its former speed, and we fly along through the deep -shades and deeper stillness of the swamp. The rumbling of the car that -we hardly heard in the open fields now echoes distinctly, and our voices -almost startle us, they sound so very clear and loud. There are no -fields or openings on either side, no firm ground to stand upon, and the -trees rise out of the green-coated water. - -“Stop! what’s that? There’s something ahead,” calls the Pay-Master; “is -it an engine?” - -“No, sir,” replies the sergeant, “it is the picket at Moccason bayou.” - -A mile or two ahead can be dimly seen something moving where the -railroad track is lost among the over-hanging trees. Then, as the car -lessens the distance, can be distinguished the figures of three or four -men, the gleam of their muskets and the blue uniform of the United -States. The picket has turned out and is watching us. Our engineer puts -on a full head of steam, and our little special train rushes along -faster than ever, until it is “braked-down” on the very bank of Moccason -bayou. - -“These are your men, are they?” asks the Pay-Master. - -“Yes, they are here guarding the bridge.” - -“Then I will take an order from them authorizing me to pay the money to -their Captain.” - -The Pay-Master writes the order, and looks around with curiosity at the -picket station. We peer into the bayou, which is supposed to swarm with -deadly moccason snakes, and then climbing on the car, resume our jaunt. -We pay the two companies stationed at Tigerville; we hearken to the -commanding officer’s advice to stay and dine with him, and then, with a -new hand-car and a fresh guard, we run twelve miles further up the road -and pay the last company. An hour or two after dark this is -accomplished, and we prepare to return. As we approach the car, one of -the men meets us with a rumor that a division of the army is coming up -the single track, and that doubtless we shall meet several trains where -the swamp is darkest and the roadway narrowest. We investigate the -rumor, and find that it is based on the fact that the trains _ought_ to -come, but no one really knows that they are coming. “What do you think, -Pay-Master? You and the money chest must be taken great care of.” The -Pay-Master thinks that if we had a lantern it would be safe. We procure -a lantern, and hold a consultation. One of our guard is an experienced -railroad builder; he knows the ways of hand-cars, and can tell afar off -the sound of advancing trains. He promises to “brake-down” the hand-car -in an instant, and to forewarn us of impending engines long before they -can run into us. - -We start, and the experienced man stands with his hand upon the brake, -and an officer who has joined us takes his place in front, holding the -lantern plainly in sight. Away we go into the darkness of the swamp—a -darkness so thick that you cannot see the man who sits beside you. For -several miles the road runs straight as an arrow, and I sit behind with -the Pay-Master, trusting those in front to keep a look-out. At length we -come out of the swamp and enter an open plantation country, through -which the road makes many turns. “Ease off and then brake-down,” and the -car lessens its speed and in a few moments stops. The experienced man -goes forward, puts one ear close to the track, and announces that there -is no train on the road within ten miles. We start again, and this time -I stand up and post myself where I can have a clear view of the front. - -“Oh, Colonel, sit down,” says the experienced man; “no use in your -standing up. I’ll tell you the moment any train comes in sight.” - -“I’m much obliged to you, but as the way is somewhat crooked from here -to Tigerville, I think I shall be quite as comfortable keeping a little -look-out of my own, as sitting down and trusting it all to you.” - -The hand-car runs merrily forward; the men, refreshed with our brief -halt, are sending it along with increased speed, when through the trees -and bushes, across a sharp curve of the road—a flash—a light, and the -thunder of a coming train. “An engine.” “The cars.” “Brake-down’ quick.” -“They’re at full speed.” “They’ll be on us if you don’t hurry.” The -experienced man tugs at the brake, the others start up and frantically -endeavor to extricate their legs and arms (which everybody else seems to -be sitting upon), the hand-car runs on as if it will never stop; the -heavy engine glares on us with its great, glowing eye, and comes rushing -forward in unabated haste. There is no time to waste in trifles; the -officer in front springs from the car and runs down the road, waving the -lantern with all his might; a couple of soldiers tumble themselves off, -and one adroitly falls across the track, and lies there stunned; the -experienced man strains away on his brake; the Pay-Master and I drop off -behind, and seizing hold of the car, succeed in stopping it. The train -seems but a few yards distant, crashing and thundering, and shaking the -very ground we stand on. The Pay-Master, who has been the most cautious -of the party, is now the most cool and decided. While two men push -against each other and the experienced man gives contradictory -directions, the Pay-Master seizes the car, capsizes it off the track, -and hurls it down the bank. The precious box and the stunned soldier are -dragged out of the way, and the train goes roaring past. When all is -over, we first berate the experienced man roundly, then haul the car -with much trouble up the bank and on to the track, and then feel our way -cautiously down to Tigerville. There we refresh ourselves with a cold -supper, tell over the tale of our escape, and abuse the engineer to our -heart’s content for not seeing our lantern, and stopping his train. The -Pay-Master announces his intention of writing the history of the last -twenty-four hours, and publishing it as the “Adventures of a -Pay-Master.” I am sorry to say he does not keep this promise. - - - - - III. - THE WILD TEXANS. - - -Some weeks after the pay-day, I found myself stretched upon a bed, in a -little shanty, at Tigerville. I had some hazy recollections of having -moved my quarters to Tigerville—of having left my tent one evening, -after dress-parade, for a ride—of having ridden to the hospital and -dismounted, with a dizzy head and aching frame—of the surgeon telling -me, that I was very ill and must not go back—and then of horrible -fever-visions. - -The long days travelled slowly, and the sultry nights wore away wearily, -but they rolled into weeks ere anything was gained. Then I was carried -to Brashear, and placed in a house which had been the mansion of an old -Louisiana family. In front was a strip of lawn shaded by large oaks -moss-hung and spreading. Beneath them the view opened on the waters of -the Atchafalaya, which here had widened into Berwick Bay, and beyond, on -the little village of Berwick. Around were the remains of the finest -garden of western Louisiana. There still lingered thickets of the fig -and orange, of lemon and banana; and there still flowered oleanders, and -catalpas, and jasmin, with many other specimens of tropical fruits and -flowers. As I sat observing these remnants of other times, an old New -York friend and his wife came in. The lady looked around on the -grass-grown walks, broken and effaced; on the long rows of fruit trees -to which horses were picketed; on the rare flowerbeds trampled out by -droves of mules; on the smooth grass-plots covered with heaps of -rubbish. - -“You have been here before,” I said, as I marked the careful looks that -travelled so closely over every part of the sad, disordered scene. - -“I have passed the most of my life here,” she replied. “This is my -mother’s house.” - -It was the story of another divided family. All of her own relations -were in the Confederate lines, and she had remained with her husband to -await the coming of the Union army. - -The enemy were gathering above us on the Teche. Those oath-taking -patriots, whose sons were in the enemy’s army and crops within our -lines; who, heretofore, had stood aloof and scowled sullenly at us when -we passed, now came into camp, and for once were communicative. They -asked us if we knew what was coming, and hinted at Southern -conscription, and the damage the Wild Texans would do the growing crop. -They feared the rough riders from the prairies, and told many tales of -their lawless cruelty. There came in, too, refugees and contrabands, all -speaking of the enemy’s increasing strength; of boats collecting for -some night attack, and of the reckless fierceness of those Wild Texans. -On the opposite side of the river, the Wild Texans began to move in open -day. They came down in little scouting parties, hiding behind houses and -bushes, but constantly on the alert. We must have presented tempting -marks for a long-range Enfield, yet they never fired, but flitted -silently about, always observing us, yet never responding to our many -shots. - -I watched these indications of the gathering storm, with the nervous -irritability inseparable from convalescence. But every slight exertion -brought on a slight relapse, and I was soon forced, so far as I could do -so, to abstract myself from these excitements, and try to gather back my -strength in time to be of service in the coming trouble. To this end, I -took up the contents of some captured mails. There were a few of the -ridiculous letters, that once found their way freely into our -newspapers, with bad spelling, and false syntax, and bombastic rhetoric, -but the most of them were sad. More woeful letters were never read than -these Wild Texans wrote. There were such mournful yearnings for home—for -peace—for those they had left behind, that, insensibly, the mind changed -from exultation into pity. There was a slight compunction, too, in -running the eye over the secrets of our enemies; a more than reluctance -to look upon these hidden words, which love and duty had written for -loving eyes, and coldly appropriate them as our own. There were tales of -want and tales of love—tidings of weddings and of deaths. Here was a -letter from a father in Port Hudson, to his “dear little daughters;” and -here one from a mother to her “own beloved son.” This is a family -letter, written by the parents and sisters, to their “two dear boys,” -who now are watching us from the other shore. And this one is the -reverse, for it is addressed to “father, mother, wife, and sisters.” The -rebel soldier has filled his “last sheet” with sad forebodings, with few -hopes, much love, and many prayers. A widow’s letter tells me, that her -only child fell at Iuka; and a father’s, that his eldest son died before -Dalton. “What wonder,” each letter asks, “that I wish to die and be at -rest?” Among so many, of course a love-letter can be found, breathing a -first avowal. It is written to some village beauty, and hints at rivals, -and her sometime smiles and sometime frowns. The village beauty is, I -judge, a slight coquette, who has led her lover along with little -encouragements and little rebuffs. His letter is written in a manly -strain, and tells her that he had hoped to gain an honorable name, and -come back to win her in an early peace. But the peace has not come. He -can bear this suspense no longer. He begs her to deal frankly and truly -with him, and, if she loves him, _to answer this letter_. The letter -will never be answered! I laid it away, and thought that I would send -it, by some flag of truce, to the unknown belle. But my papers were -captured, and this letter, on which so many hopes hung, was lost. - -The threatening trouble drew nearer. There were frequent alarms—the -cannon rung out their warnings often during the night—the long rolls -were beaten and the troops assembled and stood on their arms. One night -I awoke at the call of the cannon near my window, and heard the men -assembling and the ammunition wagons rolling past. To one accustomed to -act at such times, such forced inaction is the severest of trials. I -watched from habit, expecting the rattling small arms of an attack, but -the night wore away in unusual silence. The next morning I was told that -all our troops save the sick and a few on guard, had gone. The sick men -whispered each other that we were defenceless, and it was well that we -had the telegraph and railroad, and could call our troops back in case -of an attack from across the river. A few hours passed and then the -telegraph suddenly ceased its ticking—the railroad was cut and the enemy -was between us and our forces at La Fourche. - -No relief came, and after three days of suspense, Brashear was carried -by assault. Some of our sick men formed a line and behaved well, but -they were quickly overpowered. The red flag of our hospital was not -understood by the assaulting party, and for a little while it looked as -if no quarter would be given by the Wild Texans to our sick and wounded. -I had risen and mounted my horse after the attack commenced, and I now -dismounted at the hospital, and with Captain Noblet of the 1st Indiana -Artillery stood awaiting the result. The Captain was full of wrath, and -vowed that he would put the two or three charges, still in his revolver, -in places where two or three of the murdering villains would feel them. -A wild-looking squad, with broad hats and jangling spurs, rushed, -revolver in hand, upon the building. In no very decided mood at the -time, and acting chiefly from the military habit of looking to some one -in authority, I asked sharply if there was an officer among them. They -stopped, looked, a trifle disconcerted, and one answered that he was a -sergeant. - -“This is a hospital,” I said, authoritatively. “Sergeant, put two men on -guard at the door, and don’t let any but the wounded pass in.” - -“Well then, Bill,” said the sergeant, “you and John stand guard here. -And now see you don’t let nobody go in unless they be wounded.” - -This was the first and last order I ever gave to a Confederate soldier, -and it is due to the sergeant to say that he executed it promptly and -well. - -About the same instant another squad rushed to a side window and poked -their rifles through the sash. Dr. Willets, the surgeon of the 176th, at -the moment was operating on a wounded soldier. With professional -coolness he turned to the window, and in the decided manner that one -would speak to a crowd of small boys, said— - -“This is a hospital; you mustn’t come here. Go away from the window and -get out of my light.” - -The rifles were withdrawn; the party looked at the window a moment in a -somewhat awe-struck manner, and then saying to each other, “You mustn’t -go there,” they withdrew. - -The wounded of both sides were brought in, and our surgeons, with -scrupulous impartiality, treated all alike. From beside their operating -table I was moved to an upper room with Lieutenant Stevenson of the -176th. A minnie ball had torn through the entire length of his foot, -leaving a frightful wound that threatened lockjaw and amputation. On the -next cot lay a wounded Confederate named Lewis—a plain, simple-hearted -man, who, for the next week, proved a useful and trustworthy friend. As -we thus lay there, my regimental colors, by some strange chance, were -brought into the room. Our conversation stopped—the sick and wounded -raised themselves from their cots, and all eyes were fastened upon the -inanimate flag as though it were a being of intelligence and life. The -Texan soldier first broke the silence. - -“That,” he said, in a dreamy way—half to himself and half to us—“that -has been the proudest flag that ever floated.” - -“_And is still, sir_,” said my wounded lieutenant, proudly. - -The Texan said nothing. I expected an outbreak, for there had been no -little defiance in the lieutenant’s reply, but none came. Some old -emotion had evidently touched his heart and carried him back to earlier -and better days. - -As he turned away my color-sergeant whispered to me a plan for -destroying the colors, which, however, I did not approve. He pleaded -that he knew every thread of that flag, and that it would almost kill -him to see it borne away by rebel hands. “No, Sergeant,” I was obliged -to reply, “we must keep our colors by fighting for them, and not by a -dirty trick.” The answer satisfied neither the sergeant nor my fellow -officers. Yet before my own imprisonment was over, I had the great -happiness of learning that the undestroyed flag, honorably recaptured, -was restored to its regiment. - -An officer soon appeared charged with the duty of paroling our men. His -quiet and courteous manner said plainly that he was a gentleman, and he -introduced himself as Captain Watt, of Gen. Mouton’s staff. The Captain -and I looked at each other as men do who think they have met before. He -then informed me that formerly he had spent his summers at Saratoga and -Newport, and that he thought we must have known each other there. For -this slight reason—so slight that many men would have made it a good -excuse for dropping an acquaintance, if any had existed—Captain Watt -called on me repeatedly, procured an order for my being retained in the -Brashear hospital, and for several months carefully transmitted to me -such letters as found their way through the lines. His family had been -one of the wealthiest in New Orleans, and were now refugees in Europe. -He had entered the army under the belief that it was a duty to his -State, and on the capture of the city had beheld the ruin of all who -were dearest to him. Yet he made no ill-timed allusions to this, and in -our conversations always selected pleasant topics and spoke kindly of -the hours he had spent and the acquaintances he had made in the North. - -The chief Confederate surgeon (Dr. Hughes, of Victoria, Texas,) next -arrived, and assumed command at the hospital. It caused at first but -little change. Our own surgeons continued in charge of our wounded—our -steward continued to dispense the stores, and the stores continued to be -forthcoming. The Confederate surgeons were polite and kind, doing all -they could to make us comfortable, and expressing thanks for the -treatment previously bestowed on their own wounded. Thus, in a few -hours, our affairs had settled down in their new channels; and we, with -a strange, new feeling of restriction upon us, set ourselves to wait for -the bad news, and fresh reverses likely to come. From our window we -could see the Confederate forces crossing the river. They waited not for -tardy quarter-masters or proper transportation, but, in flat boats and -dug-outs, pressed steadily across. A little steamer dropped out of one -of the narrow bayous, and worked ceaselessly, bringing over artillery. -Ere sunset, we estimated that five thousand men and four batteries had -crossed, and were moving forward to break our communications on the -Mississippi, and compel us to raise the siege of Port Hudson. - -From this early day, there was a strong resolve in the minds of most of -us, to be cheerful before the enemy, and, whatever we felt, not to let -them see us down-cast. When the mind is really roused and in motion, a -little effort will turn it into almost any channel. We made the effort, -and succeeded. One individual who came in last, and ventured to say, -with solemn visage, that this calamity was awful, was immediately -frowned down, and warned that, if he talked such nonsense here, he -should be moved to some other ward. The effect was magical, and in ten -minutes he became rather a merry, careless kind of fellow. This -treatment, I believe, saved many lives; and I found that my own -convalescence, which had been slow and changeful in the previous quiet, -was now rapid and steady. - -There were sorrows enough to see, if one chose to look toward them. So -many causes never united to depress, and never produced so little -effect. Neither the shameful loss of the post, nor the presence of the -sick and wounded filling every room, nor our unburied dead who lay -around the building, nor the prospect of a long captivity, nor the -helplessness of disease, nor the suffering of wounds, were sufficient to -make us appear sad. I marvelled then, and cannot understand now, how the -mind was able to throw off these troubles, and how _real_ this enforced -cheerfulness became. A sense of duty dictated it at the beginning, and -redeemed it from heartlessness afterward. Once, indeed, my spirits -failed me, as I searched some private letters to find an address. They -were so light-hearted and happy, and dwelt on the belief, as on a -certainty, that he, to whom they were written, would return crowned with -honor. It was a happy and brief illusion. An only sister had given her -only brother to the war—the orphan pair had made this great sacrifice of -separation; and now I had to write to the young girl, and say that he -had been my most trusted officer, and had fallen for the honor of his -flag.[1] - -There was a class of captives who saw the loss of Brashear with heavier -hearts than those who possessed the rights and hopes of “prisoners of -war.” The unhappy contrabands were agitated before the blow fell, but -met it with the tearless apathy of their race. “The niggers don’t look -as if they wanted to see us,” I heard one Confederate soldier say to -another. - -“No,” said the other; “but you’ll see a herd of fat planters here -to-morrow after them. _They_ don’t fight any, but they are always on -hand for their niggers.” - -It was even so: for days, planter after planter appeared, and party -after party of men, women and children, laden with their beds and -baggage, tramped sorrowfully past our quarters. The hundreds that -remained went, I know not whither. - -There was one woman, a quadroon, who had been an attendant in our -hospital. With her there were an old mother, darker than herself, and a -little daughter so fair, that no one ever suspected her of being tainted -with the blood of the hapless race. This woman, through all the turmoil -and trial of that time, never lost the little marks of neatness and -propriety that tell so plainly in woman of innate dignity and -refinement. The tasteful simplicity of her frequently changed dress; the -neat collar and snowy cuffs; the pretty work-box, and more especially -her quiet reserve, indicated rather the lady than the slave. During the -fight she had been calm and brave, and when a couple of cowards had -rushed into the hospital and begged for a place where they could lie -down and hide themselves, this _woman_, while volleys were firing at the -hospital, and men and women falling in the passages, had shown these -_men_ to a room and closed the door on them, and walked away so quietly -that one might have thought her beyond the reach of the danger that -threatened them. An hour or two later, as she passed through the ward -where we lay, she stopped at the window and looked out on the scene of -the Confederates crossing the river. Of all the persons to whom the -capture of Brashear boded grief and wrong, there probably was not one to -whom it threatened so much as to her. With her mother and her child, she -had been preparing to seek the surer refuge of the North, and this -direful calamity had come when the place of safety appeared almost -within her reach. Yet she shed no tears, and uttered no complainings. -Her large, sad eyes fastened on the river, she stood beside the window -and heard the shouts and yells that told of the Confederate triumph. For -half an hour she never moved; her face retained its soft composure, and -only once the muscles of the lip fluttered and trembled, as though there -might be a troubled sea within. Then she turned and went back to her -work, as calmly as if she alone had suffered no change. She cheered -those men who were struggling for strength to go out on parole; she -worked for those officers who were to be sent forward into captivity. -For herself, she never invited aid or sympathy. We asked her if we might -not send for her former master to come and take her back to her old -home. But this, for some untold reason, she steadfastly refused. It was -urged that she and her child would be sent far into Texas or Arkansas; -and that they might be seized, as so much booty, by some of these -half-savage strangers. She answered quietly, that she had thought of -this. Ere we parted, we asked her what future help we could give, and -what plan she would pursue to regain her freedom, or secure some less -dangerous home. And she said briefly, that she did not know, and said no -more. - -Footnote 1: - - Captain John S. Cutter. - -The captured officers, able to march, were sent forward to Shreveport, -and the men were paroled and marched off to our lines. Three officers of -my regiment remained with me—two sick, and one severely wounded. Two -“citizen prisoners” were also added to our number. One of these, whom I -shall call Mr. Stratford, was held as lessee of a confiscated -plantation. His wife was permitted to remain with him, and she now -visited the hospital daily. The other civilian was Mr. Dwight Parce, of -Chenango County, New York, who had just begun business in Brashear. He -now witnessed the destruction of his property with undiminished -cheerfulness, and, although an invalid, fated to fill a prisoner’s grave -in Texas, met the discomforts that awaited him with a serenity and -hopefulness that nothing ever disturbed. - -We all effected some captures of baggage. Captain Watt sent me an order -for the delivery of mine if it could be found, and Dr. Hughes, with ever -ready kindness, advised me to take his ambulance and search for it at -the fort, where some captured property was stored. The guard consisted -of a young gentleman in his shirt-sleeves and no shoes, who, when -requested to go, whistled violently, and perched himself on the rear of -the ambulance, with his face toward the hospital and his back toward me. -I asked him, with some surprise, if he was not going to take his rifle; -at which he stopped whistling and said, he reckoned not. After whistling -a few minutes, he further defined his position by saying, that if I ran -away he reckoned he could run after me; and then, that he reckoned the -climate had been a heap too much for me. After another whistle his -stiffness wore away a trifle, and he manifestly tried to put me at my -ease by saying, “Dog gone the Lousanny climate, and the bayous, and the -beef, and dog gone the Lousanyans: they’re the meanest set of people -ever I see. I’d just as soon shoot one of ’em as a Yank.” This put me -quite at my ease, and we then had a very interesting conversation. The -etymology of “dog gone” my guard was ignorant of; he suggested that it -meant pretty much what something else did, but wasn’t quite so bad, in -which opinion I coincided. Since then I have learnt that this expressive -phrase is derived from the threat of putting a _dog on_ you, and that it -saves annually, in Texas, an immense amount of swearing, and is found to -answer just as well. - -On the morning of the third of July, the Officer of the Day appeared. He -was a Captain in Colonel Bates’ Texan Battalion, and he blandly begged -that we would prepare to move in the afternoon; the boat would be ready -at five, and we would be sent to the hospital at Franklin, where we -would be much more comfortable. The boat did not come, however, and we -remained to celebrate the “Fourth” at Brashear. We went round among our -sick men who remained, to cheer them with the certainty of their early -release; we read the Declaration, and we drank a bottle of wine, which -Mrs. Stratford, with patriotic devotion, smuggled in for us. Our friend, -the ex-officer of the day, re-appeared to apologize; the boat had been -detained—he knew he must have caused us much trouble—he had come to beg -us to forgive him—he deeply regretted that he had not known of the delay -in time to inform us. To-day he believed that there would be no delay, -and he had just requested the new Officer to order the boat up to the -hospital, so that we should not have the trouble of walking down to -where she lay. Nothing could have been more elegant, chivalric, and -delightful. If he were one of my own officers and I were the -Lieutenant-General, he could not have been more courteous and -respectful. - -We started on our “Fourth of July excursion” in the afternoon. While the -boat was lying at the wharf, an officer, with long white hair and of -imposing appearance, came slowly down the saloon. As he drew near I -observed a Colonel’s insignia on his collar, and one of the guard -whispered me, that it was Colonel Bates, the commanding officer at -Brashear. The Colonel marched up to me, extended his hand, and with -grand solemnity, in keeping with his dignified bearing, said: - -“Colonel, I have come down now to apologize for not having waited upon -you before. I ought to have done so, sir—I ought to have done so. But I -have been over-occupied. I pray you to excuse me, sir.” - -“When I consider our difference in years, and the different -circumstances that surrounded each, I do not know of any incident that -could have pleased me more than this stately courtesy of the old -Colonel. An interesting conversation followed, in which I learnt that he -was an Alabamian by birth. He spoke highly of the Texan character, -which, he said, excelled in bravery and simplicity; but he warned me -that the country could furnish few comforts, such, he said, as -Northerners have at home. Then, when the boat was ready to start, he -called up the officer of the guard, and said to him: - -“Captain, your orders are strict, I know; but these gentlemen are -invalids; they are too weak to escape, sir. You must construe your -orders liberally, sir, in favor of the sick. Do not let the guard -trouble these gentlemen, and make them as comfortable as you can.” - -There was another Colonel who succeeded Colonel Bates, at Brashear; he -was a citizen of a New England State, and had been an ice merchant in -New Orleans. When the war came, he went, not “with his State” but with -his property. All the indignities, ill-treatment, meanness and cruelty -that we met with at Brashear and Franklin, came directly from him. While -the _real_ Southern officers were showing us unsought kindness and -attention—while they were overlooking what they sincerely believed to be -the needless ruin of their homes, and the wanton destruction of their -property, this miserable Northern renegade was bullying Northern -ladies—“bucking and gagging” unfortunate prisoners, and sending sick and -wounded officers out of the hospital by orders as cowardly as they were -cruel. - -The Franklin Hospital had been the “Franklin House” before the war, and -stood close beside the bayou. Lieutenant Stevenson was placed in the -wounded ward, and the rest of us were assigned three pleasant rooms in a -wing of the building. Our guard consisted of a corporal, named Ingram, -and six men of Colonel Bates’ regiment. They bivouacked on the piazza, -and completed our confusion as to what Wild Texans are. They did not -drink; they did not swear; they did not gamble. They were watchful of -us, but did everything kindly and with a willingness that greatly -lessened our feeling of dependence. - -The surgeon in charge of the hospital, Dr. Marten, was polite and kind. -A stylish little French lieutenant of the 10th Louisiana, named Solomon, -was assiduous in his attentions. He detailed a contraband as our -especial servant; hourly sent us little presents, in the way of fruit -and refreshments, and paid us those easy, chatty visits, that Frenchmen -pay so much better than any other men. There was a sort of Dutch -Major-Domo, one Schneider, who took us under his special protection, -blowing up the cook and scolding the waiter, on our behalf, a dozen -times a day. There was also a sergeant of the Crescent regiment—a -soldier and disciplinarian, but easy and communicative toward us. -Lastly, there was our contraband, bearing the name of Ben, and very -sharp and shrewd was he, and never wanting in good humor or flourishing -obeisances. - -The ladies of Franklin flocked to the hospital, bringing fruit and -flowers, and knick-knacks of their own preparing. They differed -considerably with the doctors on questions of diet; and did about as -much damage, in their pretty way, as patriotic young ladies have done in -other than Confederate hospitals. They carefully avoided the cot of the -solitary Yankee prisoner in the wounded ward; the well-bred passing it -by as though the slight were casual, and the ill-bred, showing with -studied care, that it was intentional. The Wild Texans who had captured -us shared not in these patriotic manifestations. They, on the contrary, -divided with Lieutenant Stevenson whatever they received, looked after -him as though he were a brother soldier, and, once or twice, asked their -fair visitors rather angrily, why they didn’t give this or that to that -gentleman on the fourth cot. Yet it must not be supposed that this -conduct of the Franklin fair proceeded entirely from their own wicked -imaginings. The women, like the men of the South, are all slaves of -public opinion. After awhile one lady, giving way to the natural -kindness of her nature, stopped at the prisoner’s cot, and then the -others followed the example. The presents flowed in with a free hand, -and the sails once fairly round on this tack, the wind seemed to blow as -strongly from the chivalric quarter as it had previously blown from the -patriotic. - -This narrative would not be truthful if I omitted therefrom a statement -of the fare, during our fortnight in the Franklin hospital. It was so -much better than I had expected; so much better than I had supposed it -possible that prisoners could receive at rebel hands; so different from -the fare which we knew was to follow, that I carefully noted down the -bill on several days, and from these select a favorable specimen. - -“_Wednesday, July 15._ AT SUNRISE.—French Coffee and Biscuits. - -“BREAKFAST.—Beef Steak, Beef Stew, Cucumbers, Stewed Peaches, Melons, -French Bread, Biscuits, Toast and Tea. - -“DINNER.—Soup, Roast Beef, Beef _a la mode_, Cucumbers, Egg Plant, Lima -Beans, French Bread, Biscuits, Tea.” - -This easy prison-life, however, received a jog, in the shape of an -officer of Speight’s Battalion of Texas Cavalry. He was introduced to us -as Lieutenant Geo. C. Duncan, and he bore orders to carry us to -Niblett’s Bluff, on the Sabine. It appeared therefrom that we were to be -moved to the southern side of Texas, and not to follow the officers -captured with us. - -The orders were, to carry _all_ the prisoners at the hospital to -Niblett’s Bluff; but when the officer saw Lieutenant Stevenson, and -heard the surgeon’s statement, he sent down a special report from the -surgeon, and waited for further orders. In the meanwhile, our polite -French friend, Lieutenant Solomon, drove Mrs. Stratford to New Iberia, -and we awaited, with some anxiety, our departure, and discussed the -probabilities of marching through, or giving out by the way. - - - - - IV. - THE MARCH. - - -It was Sunday morning, about sunrise, when Lieutenant Duncan appeared at -the door, and informed us that we must start immediately. There was an -instantaneous springing up—a hurried toilet—a rapid rolling of blankets, -and a hastily-snatched breakfast of bread and coffee. I remarked, with -more unconcern in my manner than I really felt, that I supposed -Lieutenant Stevenson would remain. The lieutenant’s countenance fell, -and, looking another way, he said, nervously, “Orders have come to move -_all_ immediately, and I have no alternative.” It was my unpleasant -task, therefore, to go down and announce to the wounded officer that he -must go. In addition to his painful wound, he was suffering from an -attack of fever. His exhausted appearance frightened me, though I talked -quite boldly of the good effects of change of air, and the advantages of -continuing with us. - -A clumsy plantation wagon rumbled to the door, and the new guard, -mounted on wild-looking Texan horses, drew up around it. The old guard, -like good fellows, helped us quite cordially in carrying out our -baggage; and they shook hands and bade us good bye, with a warmth that -savored much less of rebel enemies than of countrymen and friends. Some -newly arrived prisoners were brought from the Court House, and we -started. As we moved off, one of them seized me by the hand with many -expressions of surprise. At first I did not recognize him, but, after a -moment, discovered that he was Captain Frederick Van Tine, of my former -regiment, and learnt that he, with two Massachusetts officers, was -captured on the Mississippi, and, for the last week, had been confined -in the jail at Thiboudeau. - -Up the main street of Franklin we marched two by two, the guard strung -along on each side, their rifles unslung and their eyes watching us, as -if they somewhat feared an immediate escape. The loafers of Franklin of -course turned out to stare at us, and made remarks rarely complimentary; -the women looked at us from the door-steps as we passed, some -triumphantly, and a few in pity. At the head of this inglorious -procession it was my place to walk; but the new prisoners revealed the -hitherto concealed news, and I felt proud and happy over the long -delayed result of Vicksburg and Port Hudson. - -Beside our own party, and the three officers from the Mississippi, were -a number of “citizen prisoners,” and an unfortunate deserter whom they -had caught at Brashear. Of these civilians, a dozen were Irishmen and -they immediately placed themselves at the head of the column, and -proceeded to walk and talk with a zeal that nobody attempted to equal. A -move is always animating, even when it is toward captivity; but our -excitement was short-lived. Hardly had we passed from the shadow of the -town, when the convalescents felt the effect of the burning, -fever-kindling sun. It was a serious business for some of us. One -hundred and eighty miles distant flowed the Sabine, and we were to march -there, over open prairies and in the middle of the Southern summer. - -Before a mile was travelled over, I could see the effect of the fearful -heat in others, and feel it on myself. Faces grew flushed; coats were -stripped off, and the perspiration poured in streams. Yet it was a -matter of honor not to give up. For my own part, I was smarting with -mortification at the disgrace of Brashear, and resolved, and -re-resolved, to walk till I fell dead, before one of these Southern -soldiers should say that a Yankee Colonel had given out. - -At the head of the guard rode a good-looking young fellow, tall and -sinewy, and with the merriest face I have ever seen in a Southerner. I -had some doubts, at first, whether he was a private or a Captain, but -found that he was a corporal. He was mounted on a compact little bay, -called, in Texas, a pony; a long revolver was stuck in his belt; a -lariat rope loosely coiled hung on the saddle-bow; his bright -Springfield rifle was balanced across the pommel, and with his broad hat -and heavy, jangling Spanish spurs, he formed a brilliant picture of a -Wild Texan. As some little changes and arrangements were wanting and the -lieutenant was not in sight, I addressed myself to the corporal, and -asked if he would order a halt for a moment. “Why to be sure I will,” -was his very ready reply, followed up with the order, “Now, halt here, -men, and let these prisoners put their little tricks on the wagon; there -is no need of their packing them.” - -“We took advantage of the halt to lash some sticks to the sides of the -wagon and to spread upon them our blankets, so as to form an awning over -Lieutenant Stevenson. But the sun beat down hotter and hotter. At the -next halt, one of us took a canteen from the end of the wagon—the water -was hot, so incredibly hot that the others were called up to feel it, -and all agreed that its heat was painful. My first impression was, that -this intense burning heat would blister us. But the damp Louisiana -atmosphere caused floods of perspiration, pouring over the exposed face -and hands, and soaking quickly through every garment. Faces grew more -and more flushed; conversation flagged and soon ceased. Those who, at -the beginning, rattled away cheerfully, walked in moody silence near -each other, occasionally exchanging distressed looks, but rarely, if -ever, speaking a word.” - -About mid-day the expected shower of the rainy season came down on us -furiously. We drew up under some trees, and stood close against the -leeward side of their trunks, until it blew over. The different -characteristics of the three parties who were gathered there immediately -developed. The Irishmen laughed, hullabaloed, pushed each other out in -the rain, and treated the affair as a capital joke. The Northerners -shifted their positions, and attempted improvements, while the rain was -at the worst—grumbled a great deal, and hurled fierce denunciations at, -what they called, their “luck.” The Southerners silently unrolled their -blankets, folded them around their shoulders, looked upward at the storm -with their usual sad indifference of expression, made no attempts to -better their condition, and waited apathetically till it was over. - -A prairie spread out for several miles immediately beyond our sheltering -trees, and the road curved around its outskirts. It was a prairie, but a -tame one; interspersed with fields; pastured by cattle; surrounded by -houses, and looking like any dull, uninteresting plain. Its grass, -however, was thick and wet, and its sticky black mud soon loaded our -boots and almost glued us fast. The coolness of the air quickly -vanished, and the sun, more burning than ever, re-appeared. We dragged -on wearily, very wearily, casting wistful glances at the grove on the -other side, which rose very slowly, and, for a long time, seemed as -distant as when we started. At last, however, we manifestly drew nearer; -the chimneys of a house could be distinguished in the foliage, and the -guard cheered us with the assurance that it was the house at which we -were to halt. Every one made a last effort, and after half an hour’s -exertion, we dragged ourselves out of the muddy prairie and into a -plantation yard, bordering on the Teche. - -We sat there waiting for the wagon, and watching a small drove of hogs -that had come down the bank of the bayou, and, half immersed, were -greedily eating the green scum that covered the water. The lieutenant -had bought provisions at the house, and hired the contrabands to cook -for us. The dinner finally appeared, consisting of a large kettle of -boiled beef, and a quantity of corn bread in the shape of little rolls. -It did not impress us favorably; but the guard seemed to think it -excellent—perhaps because _boiled_ beef was a rarity—perhaps because the -corn bread was a superior article, (I was not a judge of it then); and -one, with charming simplicity, said, “If we do as well as _this_, it -_will_ do!” To which rhapsody one of my disgusted friends was obliged to -respond, with a faint and sickly smile, “Yes, yes; it is very nice.” - -The place of bivouac that night was in the grass-covered yard, or rather -field, of one of the finest plantations on the Teche. The owner soon -appeared, accompanied by his son, his son-in-law, and a friend. He was -an old gentleman, dressed with the scrupulous taste and neatness of a -Frenchman, and treated us with as much politeness and as little kindness -as could very well be united. The son-in-law regaled us with a -description of the manner in which some of our troops had plundered his -house, and burnt his furniture; and the friend sat himself down, and -opened with the invariable remark, “We consider this a _most_ unnatural -war, sir;” which he followed up with the invariable question, “When do -you think there will be peace, sir?” To these I gave my invariable -replies, that we also thought it a most unnatural war, and that there -would be peace whenever the Southern soldiers chose to go home and take -care of their own affairs. The gentleman seemed very much disgusted at -the idea of having peace on such simple and easy terms, and said -solemnly, that he couldn’t allow himself to believe it. - -There was a large open shed beside us, but the ground was covered with -fleas, and we preferred the wet grass and heavy dew of a Louisiana -night, to these pests of a tropical climate. But few slept well. For a -long time I felt too tired to close my eyes, and awoke repeatedly, -aching in every part. When daylight dawned we rose so stiff and sore -that we could hardly move, and with renewed apprehensions made ready for -another day. Lieutenant Stevenson showed such increased exhaustion that -the Confederate officer took me aside and said, that he would not be -guilty of carrying him beyond New Iberia. - -We started, not at daylight, as was intended, but a long time after the -sun was up. With all such parties there are many petty causes of delay, -and it requires an iron-handed commander to bear them down, and carry -his party off at the appointed hour. Lieutenant Duncan was too -good-natured for this, and instead of coercing us, he, on the contrary, -told us to choose our own time, and not to start till we were ready. The -delay brought down the burning sun again upon us, and the pain and -weariness of this second day much exceeded those of the first. - -As we thus toiled along, the road, which was running between un-inclosed -fields, approached a tall rail fence. Three or four of us were walking a -few yards in advance of the guard, when we heard the corporal shout from -behind, “Take care of the bull! Take care of the bull!” I looked ahead -and saw nothing very alarming: a large red bull was drawing himself up, -and lashing his sides with his tail. After a moment or two, however, he -started toward us, shaking his head and breaking into a low, deep -bellow. He was a magnificent animal, with long, low, spreading horns, -and moved in a full, square trot that many a horse might envy. There was -a scramble at once for the fence which stood very nearly midway between -us and the bull. What the result might have been I think somewhat -doubtful, had not the gallant corporal, on his bright little bay, rushed -past us on a gallop. The pony was a herding pony and understood his -business. Like a spirited dog, he flew straight at the bull until they -nearly touched, then wheeling he kept alongside, watching him closely -and sheering off whenever the long horns made a lunge toward himself. -The pony did this of his own accord, for, as he wheeled, his rider held -the rifle in his left hand and was drawing the long revolver with his -right, and these Texan horses are rarely taught to wheel from the -pressure of the leg. A finer picture of intelligent instinct than this -pony presented could hardly be painted: his ears erect, his eyes -flashing, and his whole soul in the chase. The corporal was not slower -than his horse. He brought the long revolver up; a shot flashed, and the -poor beast received a heavy wound. This diverted his attention from us, -for, with a loud bellow, he wheeled toward the corporal. But the pony’s -eye was on him, and, quicker than spur or rein could make him, he also -wheeled, and scoured off, across the plain faster than any bull could -go. The corporal brought up the rifle, and there was a second flash—a -second wound, for the bull staggered, and then walked slowly and proudly -away. Occasionally he stopped, turned defiantly round, uttered deep -bellowings, and shook at us his splendid horns. - -The incident afforded us a little excitement, and led me into a -conversation with the corporal, who narrated anecdotes of the wonderful -intelligence of herding ponies. The heat, the dust, the glaring sun, and -increasing pain and weariness at length stopped even a conversation on -so interesting a topic as horses are and ever will be, and I was fain to -drag myself along without expending an ounce of strength on any object -beyond the dusty road. We entered upon the last two miles, and saw -Iberia in the distance. The road ran between hedges twenty feet high—it -was filled with a long column of dust—not a breath of outer air -disturbed it, and the sun shone directly down from his noon-day height. -I felt myself grow weaker and weaker as we advanced through this green -boiler. The perspiration poured into my eyes and blinded me—my head -whirled round—my feet stumbled and dragged, so that every step seemed -almost the last. While in this critical state, a couple of pretty -Louisiana “young ladies” stopped their carriage, and greatly refreshed -me by expressing the hope that we should be hung at the end of the lane, -and the opinion that hanging was quite as good treatment as -nigger-thieves deserved. Such was the power of this well-timed stimulus, -that I kept on for more than a mile, and at last found that I was in the -midst of the little town of New Iberia. - -We halted in the shade of some large trees. There seemed to be an -unusual number of vagabonds in New Iberia, who congregated closely round -us, and asked impudent questions (generally as to how we liked the war -_now_), until it occurred to our guards that this might be annoying to -us, and then they very promptly drove the Iberian loafers back. One -cowardly-looking, black-eyed little rascal, however, was very desirous -of finding an officer of the Twenty-first Indiana amongst us that he -might kill him, and repeatedly hinted that he had a great mind to kill -one of us anyhow. But one of the guard quieted him by the suggestion -that if he wanted to kill a Yank, he’d find plenty of them over on the -Mississippi, and that he’d better go there instead of skulking round in -the rear—anyhow, he’d better stop insulting prisoners, or he’d have a -right smart chance to kill a _Texan_—dog-goned if he wouldn’t. - -Soon after this, an officer of the Provost Guard appeared. The roll of -the “citizen prisoners” was called over, and all but six marched off to -the jail. We were put in motion, and marched to the outskirts of the -town, where we halted beside a saw-mill standing on the bank of the -Teche. The lieutenant then brought a surgeon, who speedily pronounced in -favor of receiving Lieutenant Stevenson, and directed that he should be -taken at once to his hospital. - -During the afternoon, our kind and courteous French friend, Lieutenant -Solomon, appeared, to take us to the hospital, and thence to his own -house. I asked Lieutenant Duncan for a guard, and he politely sent one -of his men with us. One of my officers walked with me to the hospital. -It was in a church, and at its extreme end we found Lieutenant -Stevenson. He looked wretched, and my hopes sank as I saw him. The -church was crowded with Confederate sick, and he was the only prisoner -there. Yet there was no alternative. We knew that if he were carried -along, a sadder parting would soon ensue. Faintly hoping that we should -again see him, and inwardly praying that he might find the friends he -sorely needed, we bade him farewell. - -The French lieutenant rejoined us in the street, and led the way to his -own house. He wished, he said, to present us to Madame, and offer us -some slight refreshment, which was not good, but was better than we -might enjoy again. We soon reached his house, and were presented to -Madame, who received us with the grace and politeness of a French lady. -The slight refreshment, doubtless, was preparing, and we were -comfortably waiting to enjoy it, when a patriot soldier of the -Confederacy, with the villainous look peculiar to those of Louisiana, -stuck his gun and then his head in the room, and said sulkily, that the -Provost Marshal wanted us. Our worthy lieutenant accompanied us, saying, -“Oh, surely it must be a mistake; somebody has told him you are making -an escape. He will let you return to my house, and you shall stay all -the afternoon.” Arrived at the Provost Marshal’s, the Louisiana patriot -left us on the sidewalk, and stepped in to inform the august official -that we were in waiting. That magnate immediately came forth—a youthful, -swarthy, small-sized, unwashed Louisianian, with a consequential air, -and a vagabond face. “Take these fellows back to your camp,” he said, -addressing our Texan guard. “I won’t have prisoners running about my -town.” As he said this, he honored us with a vicious stare, and then -banged back into his office. - -There was no resisting this eloquence, so back we went. Our guard, who -had been very silent, became very talkative. He swore pardonable oaths -at the Louisianians in general, and the Provost Marshal in particular. -As to the former, he said they were all a disgrace to the South; and as -to the latter, that if ever he got a chance, he’d scalp _him_—dog-gone -if he wouldn’t. In camp, his excitement extended to the rest. Our -gallant friend, the corporal, was especially indignant. - -“What,” he said, “he spoke so right before you, without your having -insulted him. The dog-gone little puppy. If I’d been there, I’d have -slapped his face, and then run for Texas. There’s just such ducks -everywhere, and most of all in Louisiana. Dog-gone them—I’d like to -shoot the whole of them.” - -Our wounded honor being soothed by these chivalric sentiments, and a -shower of rain coming up about the same time, we retired to the -saw-mill, where we selected soft planks, swept away the saw-dust, and -made ready for the night. About dark, Lieutenant Duncan returned, with -anger and mortification glowing in his face. He had not been able to get -fresh mules or a good wagon, or full rations, or even a wagon cover, -_for prisoners_, and he was vexed and wrathful at the refusals he had -met. “I tell you what it is, though, gentlemen,” he said, “you shall be -taken care of, and have the best this country can give you, if I take it -out of their houses with my revolver. It’s not so in Texas, gentlemen. -There our people haven’t got much, but they will give you what they -have.” In fact, the good lieutenant was so chagrined and mortified, that -I had to assure him that we were not children, and would rather undergo -a little extra hardship, than put him to further trouble. But while -affairs were gliding in this harmonious and humane channel within the -saw-mill, some wicked imp suggested to our friend, the Provost Marshal, -the feasibility of his bestowing on us another kick. Hardly had the -lieutenant wiped the perspiration from his brow, and looked around for a -dry plank on which to sleep, when a second Louisiana patriot, dirtier -even than the first, appeared. He delivered an order to the lieutenant. -It was to pack up and be off instantly—he, the Provost Marshal, wouldn’t -have prisoners camping in his town over night. - -We accordingly packed up and went off, not more than a hundred yards -(for the saw-mill was on the boundary of the town), and stopped at an -abandoned barn, just beyond the Provost Marshal’s jurisdiction. The barn -was dirty—the ground around it muddy—the fleas were hale and hearty—and -these little circumstances added a great deal of force to the thanks -which the guard lavished on the Provost Marshal. Yet we looked forward -with hopefulness to the morrow, for then we were to turn off from the -Teche, and leaving civilization and the hateful Louisianians behind us, -strike off, undisturbed, on the free prairies. - - - - - V. - THE PRAIRIES. - - -The road ran, for several miles, between hedges and among plantations, -and close to gardens and houses, with their fields and fences, until it -suddenly emerged on a broad, unbounded prairie. Our guards’ eyes -sparkled when they saw it, and they declared that this began to look -like Texas. We all felt better at the sight, and the fresh breeze that -swept over it almost swept away the weary weakness of the previous days. -There is a profound sense of loneliness and littleness on these great -seas of green far exceeding that which men feel in forests. There is -such an absence of _objects_—such long distances appearing to the eye, -and before which the feet grow feeble—such a want of all shelter and -protection, that one wishes for the woods, and acknowledges a -companionship in hills and trees beyond all that he has ever known -before. - -A long noon-day halt was made at a Frenchman’s, whose wretched shanty -stood environed by a beautiful grove of the deep-shading China tree; -and, during the afternoon, we found the prairie interspersed with small -plantations. These took away the sense of loneliness, and, in some -respects, added to the interest of the march. There was a good stiff -breeze, too, blowing directly from the west, (to which we travelled) and -all moved cheerfully along, shaking off fatigue and forgetting, for the -time, that we were prisoners. As the sun approached his setting, we -descended by a gently sloping plain toward a wood that marks and hides -Vermillion Bayou. While it was still a mile or two distant, we turned -from the wagon-trail and made our way across the prairie to a -plantation, whose large white house and numerous out-buildings peered -forth from a grove of over-hanging trees. - -The plantation was owned by a lady, who kindly allowed her servants to -cook our supper, and gave us her lawn to bivouac upon. She also invited -Mr. and Mrs. Stratford to occupy a room in her house, and showed the -rare good taste and delicacy of not coming out to stare at us. We found -ourselves still connected with civilized life; for supper was spread out -handsomely in the dining-room, and was accompanied by the luxury of real -French coffee, served in delicate china. - -We started earlier than usual the next morning, and soon crossed the -strip of prairie between us and the Vermillion. The belt of wood was not -more than half a mile in breadth, and near its farther edge we found a -narrow, sluggish stream, almost bridged by the ferry-scow, yet deep in -mud, and with miry banks that made it difficult to cross. As we waited -for the wagon that was slowly rumbling along, we discovered below the -ferry, closely drawn up against the bank and almost hidden by the trees, -a full rigged schooner, that had eluded the watchfulness of our -blockaders, and escaped the eyes of our cavalry, and now lay snugly -waiting for the proper time to glide down the bayou and escape on the -open sea. - -The wagon rolled up while we were scanning and discussing the little -blockade runner, and we began our crossing. It was not a labor of very -great importance, for when one end of the scow had been pushed a few -feet from the eastern bank, the other end ran into the western. We found -the latter much higher than the former, being, in Southern phrase, -“something of a bluff.” On mounting it, we saw a rolling prairie -spreading out like a lake of green, and enclosed by distant woods which -seemed its shore. The “timber,” (as forests in the West are called,) was -four or five miles distant on either side, and, to the front of us, sank -down behind the far-off horizon. Numerous herds were in sight; and -troops of young cattle would draw up and stare at us. They were not the -“fine stock” of our good breeders; yet, still were beautiful -creatures—straight-backed, fine-boned, and with heads gracefully carried -and erect. “When our shouts startled them into motion, they carried -themselves off with the same high horse-like trot I had been struck with -in our bull on the Teche, and then, breaking into an easy gallop, -bounded away like deer. The guards repeatedly warned us to keep near the -horsemen, and said, that these cattle of the prairies did not know what -a man a-foot was, and were so wild that they would attack us if we -ventured near them.” - -The guard had been improving daily since we left Franklin. No formal -parole was given by us, yet there was an informal one which we -respected, and in which they placed implicit confidence. They behaved, -too, with great kindness, constantly dismounting and making first one -and then another of us ride. Our column broke up into little parties of -twos and threes, the faster walkers opening gaps on those who took it -more leisurely, and each one travelling at whatever rate he best liked. -After five or six miles of this, three of us, with a like number of the -guard, reached a little house that stood alone in the prairie. The -guards showed their appreciation of our honor, by handing us their -horses and rifles to take care of while they went into the house. After -a while they returned, and showed their appreciation of our appetites by -bringing us a pail full of milk for a drink. - -We watched the different parties that dotted the prairie for a mile or -two behind us, until they severally came up, wiping the perspiration -from their faces and throwing themselves on the grass beside us. The -wagon overtook us last, and then we rose and resumed the march. The -prairie continued to present the same rich picture of beautiful -seclusion. Occasionally its timber-shores approached each other, and -sometimes they opened into successive lakes. Yet, with all this beauty, -we found ourselves becoming hot and weary. There were no way-side trees -to cast an occasional shade, and no brooks or springs at which to halt -and re-fill canteens. The usual morning breeze that sweeps across the -prairies, as across the sea, went down, and wistful eyes were thrown at -a distant plantation which we saw embowered in trees. Where the road to -this cool retreat branched off, Lieutenant Duncan ordered a halt, and -then, with his usual kindness, asked us to decide whether we would go to -the plantation and rest till evening, or push on and finish our day’s -work before we halted. There was some little difference of opinion. -Certain thirsty individuals, who kept up a constant sucking at their -canteens, declared that they were nearly choked, notwithstanding the -three pints of water each had swallowed; others, who had drunk nothing -since we started, were in favor of pushing on. It ended in the -lieutenant sending one of his men, laden with canteens, to the -plantation, and in our resuming the march. - -The Texan put his “pony” on the easy amble, which is the leading trait -of a Southern horse, and struck off in a straight line toward the -distant house. We could see the horse and rider gradually sinking in the -prairie as they receded from us, until not much could be discerned -beside the wide-brimmed Texan hat. There was a little interval, and then -horse and rider re-appeared, striking off at an angle which would -intercept our line of march, and travelling on the same easy amble. The -horses of the Texans, I must confess, had greatly disappointed me. Half -of them were miserable, ill-shaped ponies, which could never have made -or withstood a charge, and were unworthy of the name of cavalry horses. -And yet these mounted troops of the Confederates have shown a wonderful -readiness and swiftness of movement, which have often outwitted our -generals and eluded our strategy, and that too, in a country where our -horses would have starved. This great “mobility” I ascribe, in part, to -the ambling gait (forbidden in our service) which carries them along -some five miles an hour, without strain to the horse or fatigue to the -rider; and, in part, to the free use of the lariat, which enables the -horse to graze at every momentary halt. Man and horse understood this -latter principle, for the former never dismounted without twitching off -the bridle, and the latter never stopped without industriously picking -up his living. In one respect the Texans are careless of their horses, -tearing off the saddles the moment they halt, and never dreaming of cold -water either as a preventive or a cure of the sore back that tortures -nearly every horse. - -“While I was making these reflections, our column had stretched out in -its usual manner, and then broken into small groups: these separated -more and more as we advanced. The guards told us that Turtle-Tail Bayou -was to be our camping ground, and they pointed to the timber, which -looked like a low cloud along the horizon. How long this cloud was in -changing into trees, and how slowly these trees rose in view, no one can -imagine who has not travelled _a-foot_ upon the prairies. The sun sent -down his usual burning rays as he approached the meridian, and a damp -stifling heat rose from the grass. Yet it is a great thing to be first -in camp, and able thereby to choose your own tree, and label it “TAKEN,” -by pitching your haversack at its foot, and to lie down and rest ere the -slow walkers arrive. So the two or three of us who led pushed on. The -trees came slowly more and more into view; the branches imperceptibly -rose; the grass beneath them appeared. Then the corporal and his men -left us and rode on to select the camping ground. We followed slowlier -on their trail, keeping our eyes upon them until we saw them dismount -where timber and prairie met—unsaddle and turn loose their horses, the -welcome signs of our coming rest. The sight gave vigor to our halting -feet—on, on, without a stop, though it was two miles, as the bird flies, -to the nearest tree. On, on, until panting and streaming, I tear off my -hat and haversack and drop them, with myself, at the foot of a spreading -oak.” - -There is no rest like that which comes after such, exercise. I see again -the little groups drawing nearer across the prairie; coming in with -sun-tinted faces and dripping brows; speaking no words, unless a few -tired monosyllables; casting quick glances round for some smooth, shaded -spot of turf, then walking there and dropping down. And last of all, the -heavy, lumbering wagon rumbling up; its tired passengers jolted, and -jaded, and cross, and broiled, yet still willing to find, with -particular care, a spot that pleases them, whilst the teamster pulls the -clattering harness from the mules, turns them loose upon the prairie, -and, like the others, drops down to silence and repose. - -Hour upon hour thus passed, partly in sleep and partly in a dreamy -languor of delicious rest. Then came a little restlessness and glances -at the sun—then the blue smoke of a fresh-kindled camp-fire, and -assertions that A. and B. had risen, and were preparing (for themselves) -the one important meal. When such assertions had been repeated twice or -thrice around me, the ground, which at first was softer than down, began -to grow hard, and withal somewhat knobby. I arose, and went with -Lieutenant Sherman to find the bayou. It was a stagnant bed of -pollywogs, not ten feet wide nor ten inches deep. Crawling out on a log, -nevertheless, and skimming off the green, slimy scum, we dipped up the -water and enjoyed, as we had seldom enjoyed before, the luxury of a -bath. Returning to the camp-fire, we found that the guards, mindful of -their prisoners’ more tired condition, were baking “dodgers” for all -hands, and that the “dodgers” were nearly done. - -One of us quickly clambered into the wagon, and cut from the side of -bacon a couple of slices, while the other sharpened two slender sticks. -The bacon, skewered on these, was speedily toasted over the fire. A -slice of “dodger” took the place of plates and dishes; our pocket-knives -were also spoons and forks; and yet this Texan supper in the open air, -cooked by oneself, and eaten after a twenty mile march and a twelve hour -fast, is as delicious a meal as was ever served. The blankets were -spread ere the dew fell. We lay gazing on the stars, smoked lazily, and -talked of to-morrow’s march, till it grew dark. To me this camp brought -back all the interest of an old cavalry bivouac with some of its most -unpleasant parts left out. The sense of responsibility was now gone. I -had no anxiety or duty beyond that of taking care of myself. There were -no guards for me to post; no pickets to visit; no rounds to make, and no -prisoners to watch. - -Again the blankets were rolled—the bacon toasted—the dodger divided, and -a cup of tea made. Of tired nature’s sweet restorer, English breakfast -tea—so much perverted and abused in civilized life—we had a little -canister, and wondrous were the works which that little canister -performed. Its few ounces of simple-looking herb—so light—so portable—so -bulk-less, seemed to contain strength sufficient for an army. Those who -sipped it, though weary and faint, grew strong and cheerful: those who -disliked it at home, confessed that it tasted like nectar on the march. -Ere the last sip was taken, the corporal mounted the wagon and said, -“Now, gentlemen, please to pack along your little tricks.” The “little -tricks” were safely stowed by the gallant corporal, on top of the -rations; the sick and lame were stowed on top of them; Mrs. Stratford -took the seat reserved for her; the well “fell in,” and again we -started. - -The road crossed the timber-belt, and emerged on a lake-like prairie. It -was that hour when the soft light of the morning heightened the peculiar -beauty which this march revealed. The rising sun gilded the tree-tops -beside us, and tinged the soft expanse before. The herds were moving -slowly; some so near that we could hear the sullen bellow of the bulls; -and some so distant that we could see only their long horns moving above -the green, looking like wild fowl floating on the surface of the grassy -sea. The prairie rose and fell in occasional swells, the distant timber -swept around it in the graceful windings of a serpentine shore, and -islets of trees waved upon the bosom of this green and wood-bound lake. - -Before the morning passed, I had an illustration of a folly which -pervades our army. The guards had warned us that it was sixteen miles -across this prairie, and until it should be crossed, we should find no -water. Every canteen was therefore filled, as was a two-gallon keg that -had followed me through the lines. Several years ago, Lieutenant-Colonel -Frederick Townsend, of the Eighteenth United States Infantry, in -recounting to me his sufferings while crossing the Gila desert, had laid -great stress upon the fact, that during the journey he had made it a -rule to go without drinking till he halted for the night. Remembering -this when I entered the army, I subjected myself to like discipline, -drinking only when I ate. A single week made this a habit, and left me -comparatively comfortable and independent. On this morning, I -accordingly loaned my canteen to some one foolish enough to need it, and -walked along without the slightest feeling of thirst. It was not eleven -o’clock, and we had not marched six hours, when we came to a puddle of -water, filling the wagon-track. The water was apparently the result of -some local shower; it was clear, but the road was dirty, and on one -side, lying in the water, were the putrid remains of an ox. I was -turning out to go around the puddle, when I heard my friends behind -shout to me to stop. - -“What for?” I asked, in much amazement at the idea of halting in the -wettest spot we could find. - -“Why, for a drink.” - -“A drink! What, drink that filthy water?” - -Yes, they were thirsty enough to drink anything. They must drink -something; the canteens and keg had been empty two hours. With -accelerated speed, they hurried to the margin of the puddle. Some knelt -down and drank, others ladled it up in their mugs, and several actually -filled their canteens with the decoction. Thus had the little period of -six hours swept away the niceties of men who, in their own homes, would -have sickened at the thought of this loathsome draught; and thus did a -childish habit destroy the whole pleasure of their walk, hide all the -beauties of the landscape, divert their attention from objects of -interest, and subject them to a needless annoyance, sometimes little -less than torture. - -The following day passed much like the others—our road still leading us -across several wood-encircled prairies, separated from each other by -narrow timber-belts and trivial, dried-up bayous. Early in the -afternoon, after a march of twenty-three miles, we reached a bayou -possessed of two or three names. From these, I selected as the one -easiest to be remembered, “Indian,” and after crossing the place where -the water of Indian Bayou ought to have been, I found that we were to -encamp beyond the “timber,” and in a little grove. This word “grove” is -in constant use through western Louisiana and Texas, and when first -heard, it strikes the educated ear as a specimen of the fine talk so -common in all parts of our country. But when these natural _groves_ are -seen, the purest taste acknowledges that the word is not misapplied. The -one in which we now encamped was an oval clump of the live-oak, so clear -and clean below, so exact and regular in form, that one could hardly -believe nature had not been aided by the gardener’s art. - -The next morning our breakfast disclosed the fact, that the Confederate -bacon ration is not so large as the military appetite. The lieutenant -informed me that he had no intention of starving in the midst of plenty, -and had sent forward two men to shoot a yearling, near a certain bayou, -and there we would halt and “barbecue” the meat. From the time of -leaving the Teche, the prairies had been steadily growing drier. The -atmosphere, too, was clearer, the sky brighter, the air more bracing and -elastic, and though the sun was intensely hot, yet there was not the -damp, vaporous heat that is so oppressive in the lower prairies of -Louisiana. This day we were to cross a “dry-prairie,” and as we had at -last succeeded in an early start (4–45), we reached it before the heat -of the day had begun. A very dreary waste it was, unenlivened by the -usual herds, its scanty herbage dried and withered up, and its wide -expanse barren and desolate. It was, if I remember aright, nine miles -across, but seemed much farther, for the road was soft and sandy, and -with every breeze, a cloud of dust travelled down upon us. As the nine -miles lessened into one, and the stunted trees that bordered the -dry-prairie came in view, our two beef-hunters also could be seen -driving down their half-wild game toward the road. Being somewhat in -advance, I struck off to join them. Ere I accomplished this, a young -heifer broke from the herd and bounded away. Instantly one of the rifles -flashed and the heifer fell. The shot attracted the corporal, and in a -moment his little bay was coming pell-mell across the broken ground, -leaping some gullies and scrambling in and out of others, until he threw -himself back on his haunches beside us. The corporal looked with great -interest at what they called the “yuhlin,” inquired how far they had -driven it (some eight miles), and enlarged on our great luck in getting -so fat a “beef” on so poor a “range.” - -It was somewhat of a mystery to me how the “yuhlin” would be carried to -camp. When I asked whether the wagon, or perhaps the leading pair of -mules, would be brought round to tow it in, the corporal laughed, and -said in his merry way, that he would show us how they carried their game -home in Texas. Forthwith he took his ever-useful lariat, and making fast -one end to the “yuhlin’s” horns, wound the other round the horn of his -Mexican saddle. One of the men attached another in like manner, and thus -harnessed, the two horses dragged the heifer as they would a log. The -saddles, girthed for “roping” cattle, did not yield, and the horses -tugged away with as much unconcern as though they were pulling by the -ordinary collar and traces. - -The mile between us and the halting-place was soon passed over, and all -hands seemed to feel a deep, immediate interest in the “yuhlin.” -Although we had marched eighteen miles that morning, it was not eleven -o’clock; nevertheless there were suggestions of _fresh_ steaks, and the -deserter (who really seemed to try to eat all he could, so as to be in -some measure even with men who had less ripened chances of being shot) -proceeded to bake a dodger. The corporal had unsaddled his horse in a -trice, and was now elbow deep in breaking up the “yuhlin.” Another -corporal—a quiet, hardworking, unassuming German—prepared the frame for -barbecuing the meat. This consisted of poles placed horizontally, about -three feet from the ground. Beneath it a slow fire was made, and the -meat, cut up in thin slices, was spread on the poles. In three or four -hours it was partly dried and partly cooked into a half-hard state, and -was then said to be barbecued. Meanwhile an army of hogs came out of the -woods, lean and savage, and grunted impatiently for their share of the -“yuhlin.” A smaller but not less impatient party waited, with drawn -knives and sharpened sticks, till the steaks could be cut, and then -hurried with them to their several fires. A steak thus cooked upon -hard-wood embers retains a flavor that the best French _chef_, with -charcoal range, only approaches. And when this flavor is intensified by -the fresh breezes of the prairie, and the long miles of a day’s march, -it is not wonderful that men affirm that steaks cut from buffalo or -stag, or even from a poor little half-tamed “yuhlin,” are better than -the best butcher’s meat that can be bought at home. - -“When the meat was all barbecued, we pushed forward for the Calcasieu. -The river formed a dividing line between a forest and a prairie country. -At the foot of a slight bluff was a flat-boat and rope-ferry. I learnt -from the ferryman, with much surprise, that our “gun-boat boats” had -been up there, and captured a steamer and several schooners. I wished -most ardently as we stepped aboard the flat, that they might re-appear -at that particular moment, and enable us to return the good treatment of -our guards, by providing for their wants in New Orleans. The wish was -not realized, and the scow, like a gentler craft, wafted us to the other -shore. There an unexpected individual hailed our approach, in the person -of a bright-looking mule, who, solitary and sad, was travelling briskly -toward the ferry. The corporal, who, as usual, led, answered the mule in -his way, and quickly uncoiled the lariat. The mule tried a dodge, but -the lariat flew straight over his head and tight around his neck. The -mule was fairly “roped.” The corporal gave an inspiriting yell, and -examined the brand. It was an unknown brand—a Louisianian brand—and the -mule was therefore adjudged a lawful prize.” - -Our road now wound through the green woods and along the bank of the -winding river. The sun, which at first was behind us, moved round upon -our left, then swung in front, then passed beside us on our right, then -speedily changed back, and shone again before us. The foliage screened -the river, but frequent openings uncovered views of these river-bends, -and of the clear, dark water flowing beside us. Could a section of the -Calcasieu be cut out and transplanted to the environs of some great -city, the rich luxuriance of its banks, clad with verdure from the vines -that trail upon the water to the tops of the tall firs and deep-green -magnolias that overhang the stream—its constant windings and its -graceful curves, would be deemed a marvel of picturesque beauty. Yet -here the traveller finds in it only a dull monotony of never-ceasing -turnings, and sees in the beautiful foliage of its banks, only a dreary -loneliness. I listened to a Texan’s description, and doubted whether it -had ever received an admiring glance before my own. This wood, too, -through which we marched, was not the foul swamp of eastern Louisiana. -There was the cool, deep shade, the dreamy stillness, the sweet, wild -perfume of our northern forests. The trees aided, too, in the brief -delusion. We knew the rough branches of the oak and the needles of the -“fadeless pine.” Large gum-trees deceived us into the belief that they -were the maples of a “sugar-bush;” and dwarfed magnolias, at the first -glance, took the semblance of the hickory. There was also a delightful -refreshingness in the cool, shadeful river-bank, and our long march -through prairies, exposed and shelterless, helped us to realize “the -sweet retirement” of the woods. - -For four miles we marched with spirit and pleasure, although they made -up the sum of twenty-five for that day’s work. Then halting, on a sandy -bluff covered with pines, we encountered a legion of troubles. The gnats -were terrible—the mosquitoes fearful—the pine smoke spoilt our -steaks—the fresh breeze of the prairie did not reach us—and our longest -march was followed by a restless night. All the next day our road -continued in the “piny-woods.” There were occasional openings, and the -ground was clear of underbrush, yet most of the party wished themselves -back on the prairie, and thought the light shade of the pines a poor -return for the prairie breeze. As it was Sunday, we halted early, and -the lieutenant told us that one day more would bring us to Niblett’s -Bluff. - -For two days we lay idle at the Bluff, with no better recreation than -yawning and cooking. On the third, the Beaumont boat arrived. Some -Vicksburg paroled prisoners had, meanwhile, come in, and they spoke of -our soldiers in terms which were most cheering to us. They were as brave -as men could be—they had treated them like brothers—they had given them -all the rations they could carry with them, and they had behaved “a heap -better every way” than it was supposed Yankees could. They said this not -only to us, but to other soldiers and citizens, and spoke up boldly on -our behalf. The effect was agreeable, not in any material change, but in -good feeling and in the greater kindliness with which we were treated. -The boat started the next morning at daybreak. We descended the Sabine -and ascended the Neches, reaching Beaumont in the evening. At this place -there was a railway eating-house, that gave us a greasy breakfast, for a -dollar and a half; we also bought sugar for a dollar a pound, and -watermelons for a dollar apiece. These prices seemed enormous at the -time, but subsequent experience makes them appear quite reasonable. - -We left the little town of Beaumont on an open platform car of the -Houston train. Lieutenant Duncan made an effort to have us placed in the -passenger cars, but they were full. The news of Vicksburg had reached -here some time before us, and the coming of the Vicksburg prisoners was -expected. At every station were anxious faces, sometimes made glad and -sometimes going away more anxious than they came. At one of these, there -were two women, evidently a mother and her daughter. The train had -hardly stopped, when I heard a shriek, which sounded like one of agony, -but was instantly followed by the words, “O my son, I’m so glad, I’m so -glad, I’m so glad!” I looked and saw a fine young fellow, who had told -us many tales of the sufferings of the siege, running toward the woman, -and the next moment folded in her arms. Unconscious of the many eyes -upon them, the mother hung upon his neck, and the sister held his hand. -Some friends tossed him his roll of blankets, but it fell unnoticed. The -train started, but they did not look around, and when we were far out -upon the prairie, they still stood there exchanging their eager words, -and seemingly unconscious that we had left them. - -It was twilight when the train ran into Houston. A crowd was on the -platform, made up of families and friends, who had come there to welcome -their sons and brothers from the dreadful siege. There was a line of -young girls upon the edge of the platform, and as our car was the first -of the train, they of course saw us while looking for their friends. It -was interesting to observe the different expressions that passed over -the line of pretty faces as their eyes scanned us. At first a look of -anxious interest—a shade of disappointment—a start of surprise—a slight -shrinking back with side glances at each other and the whispered-word, -“_prisoners_”—and then, in most cases, a little glance of pity. But our -car ran past them, and the next moment were heard the usual sounds that -welcome long-absent soldiers to their homes—loud congratulations, eager -inquiries, laughter and kisses. A little shade of sorrow, and perhaps of -envy, fell on us. We stood apart, a small group unnoticed, as unknown. I -tried to repress the dangerous feeling, but insensibly my thoughts flew -far away to those who would thus have welcomed us. - -The kindness of Lieutenant Duncan continued unabated. We had shouldered -our knapsacks, but he sent for carts, and insisted on conveying them for -us. Before the Provost Marshal’s, a small crowd assembled, but it was -quiet and respectful. An officer of the provost guard came out. He took -the roll and called it, made sure that all were present, and informed -Lieutenant Duncan that he was relieved from the further charge of us. We -were faced, and marched to what had been the Court House. Our old guard -accompanied us. They attempted to carry in our things, but were stopped -at the door. There they shook hands warmly, and wished us a speedy -exchange. We turned down a dark stone passage and entered a room. There -were bars on the window, and the moonlight fell in little checkered -squares upon the dirty floor. The corporal of the guard, brought in our -baggage—sent out and bought us some bread—asked if we wanted anything -else—and then drew out a key. With the sight of that key, all -conversation ceased. It was a wand of silence. No one spoke or moved or -looked elsewhere. Every eye remained fixed on the key. The corporal -inserted it in the door. It went in slowly and grated horribly, unlike -the grating of a house key, or an office key, or a safe key, or a stable -key, or any kind of a key, SAVE ONE! The corporal looked around and -said, good night. No one had breath enough to respond. The corporal -stepped out and the door closed, not with a bang or a slam or a crash, -but with a heavy, ominous, awful sound. There was still an instant of -suspense, a small infinitesimal fraction of a faint hope, and then the -key turned, grating with an indescribable sound, such as none of us ever -heard key give forth before. With a great effort I withdrew my eyes from -the door-lock, and looked around the room. All were seated on their -blankets, and ranged round, with their backs against the walls. The -moonlight checkers still fell on the floor. I felt that somebody must -speak, that if somebody did not speak soon, some of us would never speak -again. I thought that I would speak—I made another great effort, and -said: - -“What a singular sound a key makes when somebody else turns it; did you -ever remark it before? I suppose _you_ have.” - -One man laughed—all laughed. Lieutenant Sherman came promptly to my aid, -and said: - -“How pretty that moonlight is on the floor! _Who_ cares for the bars.” - -And then we had (apparently) a very jolly evening, in the dark. - -As this military prison has not a very good name among prisoners, and -some who have been confined there have had to wait a day or two for -rations, and then a day or two more to get them cooked, I feel bound to -say that the guard brought us a very good breakfast the next morning, -which I took to be a part of their own. They brought us also word that -we should be sent by the morning cars to Camp Groce. - -With alacrity we shouldered our knapsacks, and lugged our remaining -“traps” to the cars; and with a sense akin to freedom, we hurried away -from those picturesque bars and that detestable lock. There was a little -detention at the depot, and then we were placed in a “first-class -passenger car” with first-class passengers, and rolled along toward the -prisoners’ camp. The conductor soon came upon his rounds, and as he -passed me, asked in a whisper, if there were any Massachusetts officers -among the prisoners. He was a tall, fine-looking man, with the tightness -and trimness of dress that no one ever finds in a Southerner. I asked -who he was, and learnt that he was Lieutenant-Governor B——, of -Massachusetts. The fact was even so—an ex-Lieutenant-Governor of -Massachusetts was a conductor on the South Western Railroad of Texas! - -“Here is your stopping-place, gentlemen,” said the sergeant of our -guard. We looked from the car windows, and saw long barracks of rough -boards, like an enclosed cow-shed. In front was a pretty grove, and in -the rear a sloping hill. At the doors of the barracks we saw clusters of -blue-jackets, and a few sauntered around the buildings. We toiled up a -sandy bank; the roll was called, and we were “turned over” to the -commanding officer. Captain Buster greeted us kindly, and said he was -sorry to see us; he had been a prisoner twenty-two months in the -dungeons of Mexico, and knew what it was. He marshalled us down to the -barracks, and formally presented us to Captain Dillingham, the senior -officer of the naval prisoners. We entered the barracks. They were like -most such buildings, long and narrow, with bunks around the sides, and -tables for the well and cots for the sick. The officers occupied the -first compartment. They crowded around us, with eager questions, and -showed us kindness and hospitality beyond our expectations. We selected -such bunks as were still empty, unpacked our knapsacks, and made our -arrangements for the night, and the many nights that were to follow. We -studied the faces of our new companions, and found that they were for -the most part sick and sad. We talked to them, and found that they were -unhappy and dejected. Half a year’s imprisonment had manifestly changed -them from energetic, active men, to listless, idle, irritable invalids. -We asked ourselves whether it could have a like effect on us, and -answered that it could not. - - - - - VI. - CAMP GROCE. - - -It is not a pleasant thing to be a prisoner; I never enjoyed it, and -never made the acquaintance of any prisoner who said that he did. True -is it that you have but few cares and responsibilities. In the -prisoners’ camp you take no heed of what you shall eat, or what you -shall drink, or wherewith you shall be clothed. If the rations come, you -can eat them; and if they do not, you can go without; in neither case -have your efforts any thing to do with the matter. Your raiment need not -trouble you; for there vanity has no place, and rags are quite as -honorable as any other style of dress. You are never dunned by -importunate creditors, and if, by possibility, you were, it would be a -sufficient bar in law and equity to say that you would not pay. There -you are not harassed by pressing engagements, or worried by clients or -customers. There you have no fear of failure, and may laugh at -bankruptcy. And yet, with all these advantages, no man ever seeks to -stay in this unresponsible paradise. - - “The dews of blessing heaviest fall - Where care falls too.” - -I found that there was a horrible sense of being a prisoner—of being in -somebody’s possession—of eating, drinking, sleeping, moving, living, by -somebody’s permission; and worst of all, _that_ somebody the very enemy -you had been striving to overcome. There was a feeling of dependence on -those who were the very last persons on whom you were willing to be -dependent. There was a dreary sense of constraint in your freest hours, -of being shut in from all the world, and having all the world shut out -from you. - -In the first days of imprisonment the novelty carried the new prisoners -along, and buoyed them up. Then came a season of work, when they built -cabins and made stools and tables; and then, a restless fit, when they -felt most keenly the irksomeness of the life, and made foolish plans to -escape, which (so the “old prisoners” said) had been tried before and -failed. Then the “new prisoners” would grow quiet and sad. The most of -them would become idle, inert, neglectful of their dress and quarters, -peevish and listless, despondent of exchange, yet indifferent to all -present improvement. A few (about one in ten) would struggle to make -matters better; they would take hopeful views of affairs and perform -active work on things around them. - -For a day or two after our arrival at Camp Groce we lay by, idle and -weary. As I thus looked on, and saw the listless despondency of the “old -prisoners,” I discovered quickly that those were happiest who were -busiest. Experience since has confirmed me in the value I early set on -_occupation_. Those labors which the rebels have imposed on our men—the -chopping of wood—the building of houses—the cooking of rations—have -been, I think, the prisoner’s greatest blessings. Our active northern -minds chafe at enforced idleness, and the freshly caught Yankee, or -Hoosier, after the work of cabin building is done, and the rough tables -and stools are made, becomes dejected and then sick; and yet while he -was doing the work at which he growled, both soul and body bore up -easily. It is no wonder then that I said to my lieutenant, “This will -never do for us, Sherman, we _must_ be busy.” - -We turned over a new leaf, therefore, for the following day. The Captain -of the “Morning Light” joined us and pledged himself to provide and -devise quantities of work. With the first gleam of light one of us rose, -and from a little private hoard abstracted a small handful of coffee. -These sailor prisoners, I early found, had no idea of going without -while the Confederacy could supply them for either love or money (they -did not care much which); and they inspired the rest with a little of -their own easy impudence. - -Accordingly on the door-post hung one of the last coffee-mills that the -shops of Houston had held, and in the galley (as they called the -kitchen) stood a stove—the only one, probably, in any Texan camp. The -first riser then kindled a fire in the stove, if it was not already -there, and ground and made the coffee. Then bearing it to the sleepers’ -bunks, he quickly roused them with the cheerful salutation of “Here’s -your coffee—your fine hot coffee!” When a tin mug of coffee is the only -luxury of the day it rises in importance and becomes great. We sipped it -slowly and discussed it gravely. One thought that if it were strained a -fourth time it would be stronger—the maker, on the contrary, thought -that straining it again would take the strength out; a second insisted -that it ought to boil—but the maker maintained that boiling dispelled -the aroma and sent it flying through the air. The coffee ended before -the argument; and then after rinsing out our mugs and restoring them to -their private pegs, we took down our towels and started for the -“branch.” We descended the hill by a little path that was nearly hidden -in tall weeds and led to some thick bushes and trees that grew along the -“branch.” The chain of sentinels around the camp consisted of -broad-hatted Texans, sitting at irregular intervals on stumps and logs, -and generally engaged in balancing their rifles on their knees. One of -these, Captain Dillingham hailed in a patronizing way, in return for -which attention the sentry halted us. - -“I reckon,” he said, “you can’t go no further jist yit awhile.” - -“Halloo,” said the Captain, “what’s the matter now?” - -“Well, there be three down there now, and the orders is not to let no -more down to once.” - -“Orders?” said the Captain, indignantly: “who cares for orders! What -difference does it make to Jeff Davis whether there are three prisoners -or six washing themselves?” - -“Well, I reckon it don’t make an awful sight of difference,” the sentry -admitted. - -“Of course it doesn’t,” said the Captain, following up the concession. -“The idea of making us wait _here_ because there’s somebody down -_there_!” - -“Well, I reckon you might as well go on,” yielded the sentry: “I reckon -you won’t run off this morning;” and on we went. - -The “branch” was a little brook, sometimes running over sand-bars, -sometimes filtering through them, and occasionally settling into pools, -which were our bathing places. It was a happy relief to be out of sight -of the barracks and alone. We clung to this under all sorts of -difficulties and restrictions—sometimes going out with a -patrol—sometimes squeezing through on parole, and holding fast to it, -until we left Camp Groce in the cold weather of December. - -The bath being taken, we walked leisurely back, wondering that so few -sought this relief from the misery of prison. At the barracks our sailor -cook had prepared the breakfast, which was set out on the long table. He -blew his boatswain’s whistle, and all members of the mess hurried at the -call. I had felt poor when I arrived at Camp Groce. I had expected to -broil beef on sticks, and bake dodger in a dodger pot, and live on my -ration as the Texans did. I was amazed at the extravagance I beheld, and -when Captain Dillingham, with a sailor’s heartiness, invited me to join -the navy mess, I hinted to him that probably I should become insolvent -in a fortnight, if I did. The Captain laughed at the idea. He said there -was plenty of money in Texas—he had never seen a country that had so -much money—and it was the easiest thing to get it—anybody would lend you -all you wanted—the only fault he had to find was, that after he got it -he couldn’t spend it. Now, making reasonable allowances for nautical -exaggeration, this was true. Sometimes a secret Unionist—sometimes a -Confederate officer fairly forced his money upon us. They took no -obligation, save the implied one of our honor; and the manner of -payment, and the specie value of their Confederate funds, they left -entirely to ourselves. To spend this money was a harder task. To change -this easily gotten spoilt paper into something of real intrinsic worth -was to acquire wealth. - -When breakfast was finished, I took up a little French volume of ghost -stories (which I read over five times carefully in the course of the -next five months), and spent on it and some military works the next four -hours. “Prisoners have nothing to do but to eat;” so at the end of four -hours we had our breakfast over again. When “dinner,” as it was called, -was finished, the Captain stoutly asserted that a load of wood must be -got, and somebody must volunteer to get it. The Captain volunteered, so -did Lieutenant Sherman and myself, so did another officer cheerfully, -and two more tardily; but the mass of closely confined prisoners were -too weak and too dejected, and they shrunk back from the effort that -this work would cost them, preferring to stay idle and listless in their -horrid prison. Those of us who volunteered, seized a couple of dull old -axes, and proceeded to head-quarters. - -“We are going out for wood to cook with,” said the Captain to the -lieutenant that we found there, “and we must have an arbor to keep the -sun off those sick fellows, or they’ll all die, and you’ll have nobody -to exchange. Wake up one or two of your men, and send them out with us.” - -The lieutenant reckoned he could not, he hadn’t a man to spare, all were -on guard who hadn’t gone off to a race. The Captain pointed to the axes -and said, “we were all ready to go.” This struck the lieutenant as a -powerful reason, and he reckoned he would let a nigger hitch up the -mules, and then let us go without any guard, but we must not go across -the “branch.” The Captain replied that we would not go a great way -across the “branch;” but he was fond of liberty, he said, and would not -be circumscribed by “branches.” The lieutenant insisted on the “branch,” -there had been orders given to that effect, he reckoned. The Captain did -not care anything about orders—what difference could it make to Jeff -Davis, he asked, whether we cut wood on this side of the “branch” or the -other. The lieutenant could not answer this question, so he said, -coaxingly, “Well, you won’t go a great ways on the other side, will -you?” - -This little difference being thus compromised, we mounted an old rickety -“two-mule wagon,” and drove down the “wood road,” till a sentry, sitting -on a stump, reckoned we had better stop. _Stop!_ what should we stop -for? He reckoned he’d orders to let nobody out. _Orders!_ Why, we had -just been up to head-quarters, and got orders to go out, and also the -wagon; what more could he want. Then why had not the lieutenant sent -down a man to tell him; it was no way to do business. The Captain said -the wagon was pass enough as long as the mules would travel, and that we -were going out for wood, which he thought altered the case; if he, the -sentry, doubted it, there were the axes. The sentry looked at the axes, -and could not doubt the evidence of his eyes, so he let us out. - -The sun went down, and then began a long evening. There was nothing to -do but to sit in the dark and talk of nothing. Then there was a detail -made of two for the sick watch, and finding that I was “on,” I went to -bed. In the morning there had been several late sleepers who wondered -why people got up early and ran a coffee-mill. As a matter of course -these individuals now wondered why people went to bed early and wanted -to sleep. The topics, too, which they chose were exactly the topics that -always keep you awake; and if by chance you forgot them long enough to -fall asleep, then there would be a furious argument on some important -matter; and if that did not waken you, then some other man (who, like -yourself, turned in at taps,) would lose patience and roar out, “taps,” -“lights out,” “guard-house,” etc., etc. - -In small assemblages men may wake up and fall asleep when they please, -but in camps and barracks, where many men of different habits are -brought together, there must be some uniform rule for all. The -Confederates never enforced military usage upon us, much to the regret -of all who were accustomed to it, and a few very early and very late -individuals, some of whom sat up till after taps, and others of whom -turned out before reveille, were an endless annoyance to each other and -to all. I think no officer of experience ever ran this gauntlet without -inwardly resolving that, if ever he got back to his own command, -stillness and darkness should rule between taps and reveille; that with -daylight every blanket should go out, and every tent be put in order; -that every shaggy head should be clipped, and all the little regulations -which weak-minded recruits think to be “military tyranny,” should be -most rigorously enforced. - -But as I tossed around and made these resolves, the little sailor who -was acting as hospital steward came in with both hands full of -prescriptions. We had two excellent and faithful surgeons at Camp Groce, -Dr. Sherfy of the “Morning Light,” and Dr. Roberts of the Confederate -service. They kept their little office outside of the lines, came round -on their second visit in the afternoon, and during the evening made up -their prescriptions. This evening the first watch took the prescriptions -from the hospital steward, and received the directions. It was Lieut. -Hays, of the 175th N. Y., a happy, generous, warm-hearted Irishman, -youthful and with the humor and drollery of his race. He was always -making fun when others were dull, and making peace when they were angry. -Soon I heard him going round among the sick. “I will listen,” I thought, -“and find out what I have to do when my watch comes.” - -“Here’s your medicine now, Mr. Black,” I heard him say, “wake up and -take it.” - -“What is it?” asked the sick man. - -“Oh! it’s blue pills to touch your liver; come, take it, and don’t be -asking questions.” - -“How many of them are there?” inquired the patient after swallowing -several. - -“There are just seven of them, but what’s that to you? it won’t do you -any good to know it.” - -“Why, the doctor said he would send me six. Perhaps you are not giving -me mine.” - -“Just you take what’s sent to you. If you don’t take the whole seven, -they won’t touch your liver a bit; six would be of no use at all.” - -The man with the untouched liver swallowed the pills, and soon I heard -the first watch rousing another sick man with the same formula of -“Here’s your medicine now, wake up and take it—it’s blue pills to touch -your liver.” - -“How many of them are there?” asked this patient. - -“There are just six of them—what’s the use of your knowing?” - -“Why, the doctor said he would send me seven—perhaps these are not -mine.” - -“No matter, six are just as good as seven, and seven are just as good as -fifty. All you need do is to take what I give you, and it will touch -your liver all the same.” - -Much enlightened by this mode of distributing doses, and re-assuring -patients, I went to sleep, and slept till one A.M., when the first watch -called me, and I took my turn. It was rather dreary, sitting in the dark -and cold, occasionally giving a man his medicine or a drink, and wishing -for daylight. There was one poor fellow, also a lieutenant of the 175th, -fast going in consumption. His constant cough, his restless sleep, his -attenuated form, bright eye and hectic cheek, all told of the coming -end. Yet with him there was nothing to be done but wait and watch. - -Now this, of itself, was not such a bad sort of day; but there was a -month of such days; and then another month, and then a third, and then -many more. What wonder that the strongest resolutions failed! - -Then death came in among our little company, and came again and again. -Then sickness increased under the August sun. The long moss that hung -down from the trees and waved so gracefully on the breeze, had betokened -it long before it came, and the uncleaned camp and listless life made -the prediction sure. It went on until all but one had felt it in some -shape or other, and there were not enough well to watch the sick. It -never left us, and down to our last day at Camp Groce the chief part of -our company were frail and feeble and dispirited. - -Near to the barracks stood a little shanty of rough boards, divided by a -plank partition into two rooms. One of these had been assigned to Mr. -Stratford and his wife, and the other after several weeks came into the -possession of Col. Burrell of the 42d Mass., Dr. Sherfy, Capt. -Dillingham and myself. After living amid the sickness, the discord, and -the misery of the barracks, this room measuring ten feet by twelve, -promised to four of us a quiet and retirement that amounted almost to -happiness. We went to work upon our little house with all the zeal of -school-boys, and positively look back upon it with affection. It boasted -doors, but neither windows nor chimney. Its walls were without lath and -plaster, and through innumerable chinks let in the wind. The Captain and -I also messed with Mr. and Mrs. Stratford; so we had a double interest -in the shanty, and when we had built ourselves bunks and swung a shelf -or two, we went to work on our other half. - -“What shall I do for a blanket line?” was one of the first questions I -had asked after our arrival. - -“Let me lend you mine,” said an officer of the “Morning Light,” “we -sailors always hang on to our ropes.” - -“I will take it this morning, with thanks; but I want something of my -own. If there is anything I despise, it’s a soldier’s blanket in his -tent after reveille.” - -“We are not so particular here, I’m sorry to say,” said my friend; “and -unless you can find a line among the sailors, you won’t find one in -Texas.” - -“I am going out in the woods this afternoon, with Mr. Fowler,” I -answered, “and will try to get one there.” - -Now, Mr. Fowler, the acting Master of the “Morning Light,” was an old -sailor, who had hardly been on shore for forty years. But in his early -boyhood he had watched the Indians at their work, and caught from them, -as boys do, some of their simple medicines and arts. For years and years -these facts had slept undisturbed in his mind. If any one had asked him, -he would have said they were forgotten; but now, under the pressure of -our wants, they, one by one, came back. With this long-time worthless -knowledge, Mr. Fowler was now busily and usefully employed. He made -Indian baskets of all shapes and sizes, and even bent his ash-slips into -fantastic dishes. He made Indian brooms and fly-brushes, and wooden -bowls, and wove grape-vine and black-jack into high-backed, deep-seated, -sick-room chairs. Where others saw only weeds or firewood, he found -remedies for half our diseases; and when the surgeon’s physic gave out, -Mr. Fowler’s laboratory was rich in simples. - -We went out on parole that afternoon, Mr. Fowler carrying his basket, -and I, an axe. He called attention to the fact that these pecan nuts -would be ripe by-and-by, and that those persimmons would be worth coming -after when the frost should have sugared them, and he filled his basket -as he walked and talked. Before long, we saw some clean black-jack vines -hanging from the top-most branches of a tree. We tugged and strained a -few minutes, and then a splendid vine came down, not thicker than a -lady’s finger at the root, yet forty feet in length. It was flexible as -a rope, and as I coiled it up, I said to Mr. Fowler, “I have got my -blanket line.” - -Having cut an ash stick for a broom, and a pecan log for an axe handle, -we went back to camp, where, soon after, Mr. Fowler was busily engaged -in pounding his ash stick to loosen the splints, and I, at work on the -severest manual effort of my life, viz., whittling with a soft-bladed -penknife, out of flinty pecan wood, an orthodox American axe-helve. - -Some weeks passed, and then one of those events occurred which are -doubly mortifying if you are then on the wrong side of the enemy’s -lines. I was lying ill in my bunk when an excited individual rushed into -the barracks and made me better by the announcement, that the train had -brought up great news from Houston. Blunt was coming down through the -Indian Territory with his rough borderers, and all the troops in Texas -were to be hurried northward to repel the invasion. For several days and -nights trains ran by our camp loaded with soldiers who howled horribly -to our guards, who howled, horribly back to them. The _Houston -Telegraph_ came filled with orders of General Magruder, directing the -movement of his forces, and naming twenty-seven different battalions -that were to hurry forward immediately. The General did not _publish_ -such orders ordinarily, and this one looked like haste, excitement and -alarm. - -One night, about ten o’clock, an engine was heard hurrying up the road. -As usual it stopped at the water-tank near our camp. In ten minutes -important news had leaped from the engine to head-quarters; from -head-quarters to the guard-house, and from the guard-house straight -through the line of sentries into our bunks. The news was this: twelve -Yankee gun-boats, twenty-four large transports, and six thousand men lay -off Sabine. - -The next day the train confirmed the news. We learnt, too, that Union -men, in Houston, were bold and defiant, and talked openly of a change of -masters. Our guards were in a ferment. They talked with us freely, and -confessed that there were not three hundred troops between Houston and -Sabine. “Your folks will seize the railroad and march straight on to -Houston,” they said, “and then Galveston will have to go, and like as -not you’ll be guarding us within a week.” “What splendid strategy,” said -everybody. “Blunt has drawn all the forces in the State up to -Bonham—there is nothing to prevent our coming in below; Magruder is -completely out-generalled. We must forgive the two months of idleness -since Vicksburg and Port Hudson fell.” - -Another day came, and the excitement increased; another, and affairs -seemed in suspense; a third, and there was a rumor that two gun-boats -had been sunk, their crews captured, and that the “Great Expedition” was -“skedaddling” (such was the ignominious term applied) back to New -Orleans. There came yet another day, when we sat waiting for the train. - -“The cars are late,” said one. “It is past three o’clock, and they -should have been here at two.” - -“That’s a good sign,” said another; “it shows they have something to -keep them. When they come you will see Magruder is sending off his -ordnance stores.” - -“Then you don’t feel any fear about that rumor?” - -“That rumor, oh no! It is the best sign of all. They never fail to get -up such rumors when they are being beaten. Don’t you remember how, just -before Vicksburg surrendered, we used to hear that Breckenridge had -taken Baton Rouge, and Taylor was besieging New Orleans, and Lee had -burnt Philadelphia?” - -“Oh no,” said everybody, stoutly, “there is no danger. And how can there -be? We know that there is nothing down there but a little mud fort, with -fifty men in it, and six forty-two pounders. Our hundred-pound Parrots -will knock it to pieces, and a couple of companies can carry it by -assault. Oh no, all I am afraid of is, that _we_ shall be run off, -nobody knows where.” - -The whistle sounded and we waited for the news. The track ran through a -deep cutting, which at first hid the body of the cars from our sight, -but a man stood on the roof of the foremost baggage car and waved his -hat. Presently a howl was given by those of our guard who were waiting -at the station. - -“What can that mean?” said everybody. “Very strange! surely there can be -no bad news for us.” - -The next moment, some one exclaimed, “Good heavens, what a sight! Look -there!” I looked; the train was covered with the blue-jackets of our -navy. - -The officers of the “Clifton” and “Sachem” did not accompany their men. -We heard that they were guilty of spiking their cannon, flooding their -magazines, secreting their money, and other like offences, for which -they were kept at Houston; later, however, they unexpectedly came up. A -new Captain, who then commanded Camp Groce, ushered them in, and we -welcomed them. The youngest of us then had been prisoners more than -three months, and felt ourselves to be “old prisoners.” The Captain of -the “Clifton” supped with us, and as he surveyed our little shanty, -replete with black-jack lines, hat-racks of curiously twisted branches, -knives, and spoons, and salt-cellars, neatly carved from wood, and pipes -fashioned out of incomparable corn-cob, he said that these little -luxuries made him feel sorry for us, for they showed him what straits we -had been reduced to. I felt sorry for him as he said it, for the speech -reminded me of the lessons reserved for him to learn. Later than usual -we retired, excited with this unusual event. The barracks had just grown -quiet, when the Captain in command suddenly re-appeared, his guard at -his back. “The gentlemen who arrived to-day,” he said, in an agitated -voice, “will please to rise immediately.” The new-comers rose, groped -round for clothes and baggage in the dark; and as they dressed, asked -what all this meant. The Captain vouchsafed no reply, but in a still -more agitated voice, begged them to be as quick as possible. Whether -they were going to be searched, or executed, or sent back to Houston, -nobody could determine. They were marched off, and we, now wide awake, -discussed the matter for some hours. The next morning disclosed our -friends haplessly shivering around a small building, some three hundred -yards distant. It appeared that strict orders had been sent up with the -prisoners, directing that they should be confined separately, and hold -no communication with us. The now unhappy Captain had not thought it -worth while to read his orders until bed-time. Then he stumbled on the -fiat of the stern Provost Marshal General, whose chief delight was to -court-martial Confederate captains. Deeply dismayed, he had rushed to -the guard-house for his guard, to the barracks for his prisoners, and -executed the painful work of separation. - -The Provost Marshal General had not enclosed subsistence in his order. -In the absence of dodger-pots, the “old prisoners” had to take care of -these new ones. We were not allowed to write or talk, to send messages -or to receive them. The baskets, as they went and came, were searched, -the dodgers broken open, and everything was done in a very military and -terrible way. In a few days we received a present of pea-nuts from our -friends. We were not fond of pea-nuts, and did not appreciate the gift. -The basket travelled over as usual with their dinner, but carried no -acknowledgment of the pea-nuts. In the afternoon Lieutenant Dane, of the -signal corps, was seen approaching our lines with a prize—a prize that -had neither predecessor nor successor—a leg of mutton. The lieutenant -delivered the mutton across the line to one of us, and the notability of -the event warranted him in saying before the guard: - -“This is a present from Major Barnes. Did you get the pea-nuts we sent -you this morning?” - -“Yes, yes,” responded Captain Dillingham, on behalf of our mess; “yes, -they’re very nice. We are much obliged to you.” - -“Eat them,” said the lieutenant, “eat them. They won’t hurt you—eat them -all.” - -The Captain carried the leg of mutton in, and hurriedly took down the -pea-nuts. We looked sharply at them, but saw nothing unusual. Why eat -them _all_? “If they want us to do so, it must be done!” We proceeded to -break the shells. Presently there was a shell—a sound and healthy -shell—within which had grown a long, narrow slip of paper, rolled up -tightly. It contained a single message, viz., that the covered handle of -Mr. Fowler’s basket was in fact a mail-bag. From that time on, the -watchful patrols would lift out the plates, and inspect the beef, and -scrutinize the dodger, and then carry the mail-bag backward and forward -for us. - -With the increased number of prisoners, there had been a change in the -command of the camp. The company of volunteers were relieved by a -battalion of militia. To our surprise, the militia very far surpassed -the volunteers, and did their business in a very soldierly way. The -battalion was commanded by Lieutenant-Colonel John Sayles, a lawyer of -considerable distinction in Texas. The Lieutenant-Colonel was a man of -few words, very quiet, very kind, and rarely gave an order that did not -effect an improvement. - -On the Sunday after he assumed command, Colonel Sayles informed me in -his quiet way, that there would be Divine service in the grove, and -invited me and all the prisoners to accompany him. There had been a -reverend gentleman preaching at Camp Groce the Sunday before I arrived, -who had been seeking a chaplaincy, and had assumed what he supposed was -a popular train of argument; as for instance, warning his beloved -brethren that the chief horror of eternal punishment would be meeting -the President of the United States there. I do not care to hear -irreverent things said in the pulpit, nor do I think it the part of an -officer to listen voluntarily to denunciations of his government, yet I -felt assured that Colonel Sayles would not invite me to anything of that -kind, and I thought I could best acknowledge his civility by accepting. - -When the clergyman who officiated first caught sight of the prisoners, -forming one-half of his audience, he evinced a little embarrassment. He -alluded to this as he began his sermon, and spoke happily of the breadth -of the Christian faith, extending to all conditions of men, and enabling -enemies to stand together and worship at one altar. His prayer was -chiefly an affecting and beautiful petition on our behalf. He spoke of -the tender ties that were severed, and besought consolation for our -distant dear ones, who must be now in anxiety watching our fate. He -prayed, too, that “we their captors and keepers, may have grace to treat -them as becomes Christian soldiers, resisting the evil passions of our -hearts and the evil counsels of wicked and cruel men.” - -After the services were concluded, we were introduced to the clergyman, -Mr. McGown, of Huntsville. He visited us in our quarters, ministered to -our sick, and was always one of our most welcome visitors. He had been -with Houston in the war of Texan independence, and was one of the heroes -of San Jacinto. His acquaintance with the General had been intimate, and -he entertained us with many interesting anecdotes of him and tales of -the former war. - -These anecdotes of General Houston then possessed for us unusual -interest. When some of the older prisoners had been sent to the State -Prison at Huntsville, they were halted a few minutes on the outskirts of -the town. As they waited there, a tall, imposing old man approached and -asked, who was the United States officer highest in rank. Captain -Dillingham was pointed out to him as the senior naval officer. Walking -up to him and extending his hand, he said, in a deep, emphatic voice, -“My name is Houston, sir. I have come to say to you, gentlemen, that I -do not approve of such treatment for prisoners of war. No prisoner of -war shall ever be put in a jail with my consent.” - -The death of General Houston occurred just before I reached Texas. Many -stories were told of his great personal power, and strange incidents of -his wondrously romantic life. The forebodings of his celebrated letter -were all realized before he died, for his oldest son was in the -ranks—his warmest friends and supporters were scattered and slain, and -ruin and desolation brooded over the State which he had established and -so long directed and controlled. He was guarded in the expression of his -political sentiments, but occasionally addressed the troops, speaking -from the _Texan_ point of view. He never took the oath of allegiance to -the Confederate Government. A short time before his death travellers -were required to have a Provost Marshal’s pass, and to procure a pass -they must take the oath. The General had neither taken the oath nor -procured a pass. He set out, however, on a journey and proceeded till -one of the provost guard halted him and demanded his pass. - -“My pass through Texas,” said the old man, in his sternest tone, “is San -Jacinto.” - -The Texan soldier looked at him for a moment. “I reckon,” he said, -“_that_ pass will go as far in Texas as any a Provost Marshal ever -wrote. Pass an old San Jacinto.” - -Colonel Sayles was soon succeeded by Major James S. Barnes of the same -battalion. The Major was a Georgian by birth, an old Texan by residence, -and a man of great general information, and so far as we were concerned, -in every thought and word and deed a perfect Christian gentleman. He -told stories with a graphic simplicity I have never heard excelled, and -was so pleasantly reasonable and so enticingly good-natured that even -our wayward sailors consented to be led by a landsman, and allowed that -he was as good a man as a rebel could be. One day as the Major passed -through the barracks chatting with the well and cheering up the sick, he -hinted at the uncertainty of exchange and at coming “northers,” and -advised us to prepare for the worst by building ourselves chimneys and -fire-places. He promised to provide an old negro chimney-builder to -engineer the work and teams to haul the material. The dwellers in the -shanty quickly availed themselves of the offer. But nothing could induce -those in the barracks to go and do likewise. So weak and dispirited were -all that the difficulties appeared insurmountable. When the frost came -and found them still prisoners, they piled sand on the floor, and making -fire upon it sat there and shivered, while the smoke floated over them -and found its way out through the holes in the roof. - -We, who were wise betimes, cut our logs in the woods, dug up our clay on -the neighboring hill-side, and waited the arrival of “Uncle George.” -This uncle came in time, and led the work. A hole was cut in Mr. -Stratford’s room—the logs were notched and crossed, the chimney splints -were split and laid up, and the whole was properly cemented together, -and daubed over with rich clay mortar. - -Hardly was the chimney complete, when one of the guard announced that he -reckoned there’d be a norther; the beeves, he said, were making for the -timber. In Texas it is an established fact that nobody can tell anything -about the weather, so we gave little heed to the prediction. Early in -the afternoon, however, some one said that the norther was in sight. The -day was warm; the sun was bright; birds were singing, and the leaves -still were green. There was nothing to indicate a change save a black -cloud rapidly rising in the north. Our men were sitting round in their -shirt-sleeves, whittling and working as usual, and every thing continued -pleasant. The black cloud, however, bore swiftly down upon us. As it -drew near, we saw an immense flock of turkey-buzzards driven before it, -whirling in the air and screaming wildly. A moment later the breeze -struck us. It felt not unlike the gust that precedes a thunder-shower, -but as I watched the cloud I found that I had suddenly grown cold. I had -heard fearful stories of these northers, and read of a hardy Vermonter, -who, scorning a cold that merely skimmed the ponds with ice, had -ventured out in one; and how his blood congealed, and he was carried -back by his horse insensible. I saw that all the men had gone in, and -that the sentries had wrapped themselves in their blankets. Within the -shanty I found our little fire-place bright and its owners sitting in a -close circle around it. But the cold seemed to beat directly through the -walls, and the wind blew a steady blast. We passed all the long evening -closely crouched around the fire, warming first one side and then the -other, talking of home and pitying the poor wretches in the barracks. -When bed-time came we carried hot stones with us into our bunks and -hurried to bed before we should be chilled. I wrapped myself in my -double army blanket with which I had braved ice and snow and then rolled -myself in my buffalo. I thought it sufficient for an Arctic winter, but -ere morning the horrible cold crept in and penetrated to the very bones. -As I moved about to try and make my blood circulate, Colonel Burrill -spoke and said that he was so cold that he feared he was dying. The -Colonel had been quite ill, and this startled me; so I rose, threw a -coat or two upon him, and then drawing the blankets over his head, -tucked them tightly in and left him to take the chances of suffocation -or freezing. I went back to my own couch and shivered away till morning. -The cold drove us all out early, and we met again around our fire-place. -A sailor boy brought up a hot breakfast, for cooking over a hot stove -that morning was a high privilege which no one threw away. He told us -that one of his shipmates lay frozen in his bunk, and that they had just -found him there dead. During the morning we suspended our blankets from -the rafters so as to form a little tent immediately around the fire, and -there in darkness we sat the live-long day. Another dismal evening -followed and another bitter night. Then, after thirty-six hours of fury, -the norther went down and we ventured to crawl out and resume our work. - - - - - VII. - TEA. - - -There was some coffee in Camp Groce, when we arrived—not much—and a -little was bought afterward for “morning coffee,” with some tea for the -sick, at fifteen dollars per pound. It was poor stuff, and not worth the -price. - -The messes that I found there used corn; or, as they called it, corn -coffee. This was made from the meal. Burnt in a frying-pan upon the -stove, by a sailor-cook, some particles in charcoal and some not singed -at all, it formed a grayish compound, and made as horrible a beverage as -any one could be supposed willing to drink. I thought at first that I -would go back, for my own part, to an old habit of cold water; and if we -had possessed pure water I might have done so. But our well-water had a -sulphurous taste; and then, in this southern climate, there is an -insatiable appetite for nervine food. Thus those who never touched -pepper, nor cared a fig for seasoning, and spices at home (not because -they disliked them, but because they thought it wisest not to eat what -they did not want), have had a constant craving in the army for coffee, -tea, and spices, and for the bad catsups, and worse imitation sauces, -that sutlers sell and soldiers buy. So I drank these slops, and, like -the others, called them coffee. - -A little mess, indeed, as I have hinted, applied the Louisiana lesson we -had learnt, and made their “morning coffee.” Turning out with the first -glimmer of dawn, we ground and re-ground exactly twenty of the precious -berries, watchful that not one should be lost, nor a speck of the -priceless dust spilt. An old tin cylinder, with a piece of flannel bound -tightly round the end, formed the strainer, and a large-sized tin mug -our coffee-pot; and by keeping a week’s grounds, at least, in the -strainer, it was wonderful what strength this ingenious apparatus did -extract. - -But the enterprising Yankee mind, never long contented with any thing, -quarrelled with the corn-meal coffee and proposed a change. A hardy -sailor, of New England origin, objected to the _meal_, and insisted that -it would be better to make the coffee directly out of corn—we should, he -said, get all the flavor then. There was a furious debate over this, of -course, for the enterprising Yankee mind much prefers a theory to a -fact. It was argued on the one side, that the flavor was just what you -did not want; that corn was corn, and it made no difference if it was -also meal; and that it was much wiser to use the meal and thereby make -the enemy grind our coffee, than to burn the corn and grind it -ourselves. These arguments were met by others equally strong, and the -debate continued till some stupid person of Dutch descent, suggested -that the proof of the pudding is in the eating, and that if any one -wanted to try corn for coffee, he might. - -We traded some of our meal ration for corn; the corn was burnt and -ground and tried, and found far preferable to meal and all other -substitutes. Its opponents drank it, and our little coffee-mill creaked -and rattled at all hours under the load which the discovery threw upon -it. - -A further improvement was effected, for it was discovered one day, that -the outside of the kernel would be well parched, while the inside would -have a yellow, undone appearance. The fact is, it was impossible to -roast it through, and this gave to the coffee a raw, mealy taste. The -remedy was simple, and consisted merely in not grinding the corn, and -thus using only the outside of the kernel. - -“We thought then that we had reached the perfection of corn, and the -last of substitutes.” - -There was, however, a tea made by the Texans from the leaves of a half -bush, half tree, called _yapon_, which was said to taste wonderfully -like the real. They drank it three times a day, at Captain Buster’s -head-quarters, and many of the sailors followed the fashion. Yet it had -a bad name. It was said, that it caused certain unpleasant medical -effects, and one young gentleman, who had once taken a mug full, averred -that he shortly thereafter felt a burning sensation in that part of his -body where he supposed (erroneously) was his stomach. - -I never could find the men whom it was said to have made sick, and I had -little belief in the rumor. Yet, as I do not like tea except when ill, -there was little inducement to experiment with this unknown, untried -plant. Still I meant to test it, some time or other, as a matter of -scientific curiosity, and if it were like the Chinese plant, to carry a -handful home for the edification of tea drinkers there. - -This “some time or other” did not come, probably because the material -was always close at hand. The yapon grew thickly along the brook and up -to the borders of the camp. It was generally from ten to twenty feet -high, and as thick as a man’s arm; it had furnished us with nearly all -the poles for a rustic arbor, that ran along the sunny side of the -barracks, and helped to shade and cool the sick-bunks. Its branches, -too, had been used to fill up in roofing the arbor, and there were -leaves enough there to furnish an army with bohea. - -Thus time glided away under the influence of corn coffee, till one day -it was said, that the commanding officer had proclaimed corn coffee -unhealthy, nay, dangerous. There were then numerous medical symptoms, -all pointing forward to intermittent fever and backward to corn coffee. -When a dozen men compare notes, and find that they are all afflicted in -the same way, and never in their lives have been so before, it alarms -them. - -The surgeon was informed of this, and he thought there must be something -in it, the intermittent cases had increased so unaccountably. As we thus -deliberated, Colonel Sayles came up and we consulted him. The Colonel -gave his facts and recommended sweet potatoes as a substitute for corn -and coffee. - -“Let us look at the analysis,” said the surgeon, walking into his office -and taking down a big book. - -“‘Corn or maize, sometimes called Indian corn. This grain is cultivated -throughout the United States.’” “Yes, we know that.” “‘Its analysis -shows starch, sugar, _sulphate of lime_.’ That must be the agent (if -any) which is doing us all the damage. I really think you had better -follow the Colonel’s advice and take up the sweet potatoes.” - -“Let us see what the potato has in it. Doctor, who knows but that -there’s some other atom to be roasted into poison there?” - -“Batata, yes, ‘batata, or common potato,’ ‘seed poisonous,’ and so -forth. Analysis sugar, and so forth. It has the sulphate again and more -of it than there is in corn. That will never do, to say nothing of -costing ten dollars a bushel.” - -October was drawing toward its end when there came a “wet norther,” and -with it a sharp frost, ice thick as a pane of glass—much suffering—some -agues and countless colds. - -The “norther” found me ill with a periodical return of my Louisiana -malarial, and brought me a cold of the severest kind. It blew through -the cracks and crannies of the barracks, through my blankets and through -me. I felt as though my blood had ceased to circulate and I should never -be warm again. - -“Try some of Mr. Fowler’s sumach,” suggested some one; “it cured my -cold.” - -“I have tried everything,” I said, “and find the only thing is -prevention—nothing cures these colds with me when they have come.” - -“And I never got any help from medicine,” said my friend. “But this -stuff of Fowler’s cured mine in a night. I never knew any thing like -it.” - -I went to Mr. Fowler and got the sumach berries. A cluster or two thrown -in a quart mug of boiling water made the remedy. It was fearfully acid, -and it took fearful quantities of sugar to make it palatable, but it -then had quite a pleasant taste and worked (let me say for the benefit -of the victims of violent catarrh) a miraculous cure. - -I had not paid much attention to the Acting Master’s simples, having no -great faith in medicine and less in herbs—but this with the dread of -another bilious attack aroused me so far that I walked round the -barracks and asked after the livers of all the patients who had been -treated with his wild peach bark. These livers were found to be in a -highly improved condition, and thinking it fair that mine should have a -share in all the medical advantages afforded by a residence in Texas, I -determined to treat it also to wild peach bark. - -The “norther” broke on the second day, and in the after noon the weather -was much like the last part of one of our cold nor’-easters. The rain -had ceased, but the clouds floated gloomily overhead and the wind blew -coldly from the north. - -“Come, Stratford,” I said, “I am a convert to the Fowler treatment, and -shall feel the better for a little exercise. Let us go out and get some -bark.” - -“Oh, it’s too cold and the ground will be muddy; you had better wait -till to-morrow; it will be fine weather then.” - -“No, no, to-morrow you will be at work on the chimney, and this is a -broken day; let us go now.” - -“Well, if you will get the patrol we will go.” - -I walked down to the guard-house and represented to the sergeant of the -guard the importance of having wild peach bark and the necessity of -going out to get it. - -The sergeant first raised the usual difficulties and then gave the usual -order. A stout gentleman, who helped himself to a double-barrelled gun, -informed us that he would go as Pat Roll. He sketched briefly his life -for us by stating that he was born in South Carolina, raised in Alabama, -druv stage in Florida, and sogered it in Texas. He also expressed the -opinion that Texas was an easy country to live in, “because the hogs run -in the woods and the horses run out,” and he intimated that he looked -with great contempt on those parts of the world where the hogs eat corn, -and the horses live in the stable. - -As I was still weak I handed my axe over to one of the others. We -crossed the brook and near by found a wild peach. It was soon cut down, -and we proceeded as usual to shave off the bark from the trunk of the -tree, and then pull up such roots as would come. When this was done each -of my companions loaded himself with an unpeeled log, while I took the -axe and basket of bark. Thus laden, we started to return. - -“Since we are working for the Herb Department,” said I, “let us take up -some yapon and try the tea. I wonder if I can cut off this branch with -one hand?” - -A well-leaved branch of the yapon hung over the road, bright with red -berries, and against it I raised the axe. A couple of blows brought it -down. Mr. Stratford added it to his load, and with it we went back to -our quarters. - -A day or two passed, during which the weather moderated. It was Saturday -afternoon, and I was sitting in the sun, still languid, while Mr. -Stratford was trying to heat red-hot an old shovel he had found, in -order that he might cut off its rivets and fit in it a new handle, when -the thought of the yapon came into my head, I took up the branch and -began to pluck off the leaves. - -“Are you going to try the yapon?” said Lieutenant Sherman, who casually -came in. - -“Yes, and I want you to go up to the galley and dry the leaves.” - -“Oh, why don’t you take them green? That’s the way the sailors do.” - -“True! but the sailors are not remarkable for skill in scientific -cookery, and I think a decoction of any green plant must differ a good -deal from that of a dry one.” - -“Then why don’t you take some of the leaves from the arbor?” - -“They are all bleached and washed to pieces. A horse would not eat hay -that had been hung up in the rain and dew as they have. Go into the -doctor’s office and get his Dispensatory, and we will prepare them as -the Chinese do. The book must give the process for tea, for I was -looking at ‘sweet potatoes’ the other day, and found accidentally that -it is very full on the making of sugar.” - -The lieutenant brought the book, turned to the article, and read: - -“‘TEA.—The plant which furnishes tea. _Thea Chinensis_ is an evergreen -shrub, belonging to’”—— - -“Never mind the botany, we do not mean to grow tea, but cure it. Go over -to the manufacture.” - -He skipped over a page or two and proceeded: - -“‘It is propagated from the seeds. In three years the plant yields -leaves for collection, and in six attains the height of a man. When from -seven to ten years old, it is cut down, in order that the numerous -shoots which issue from the stumps may afford a large product of leaves. -These are picked separately by the hand. Three harvests, according to -Koempfer, are made during the year. As the youngest leaves are the best, -the product of the first collection is most valuable, while that of the -third, consisting of the oldest leaves, is comparatively little -esteemed. After having been gathered, the leaves are dried by artificial -heat in a shallow iron pan.’” - -“That’s a shovel,” said Mr. Stratford, who generally manufactured the -most of our small-wit, and who had just come in to take his shovel from -the fire. “That’s a shovel—a shovel is a shallow iron pan.” - -“‘From which,’” pursued Lieutenant Sherman, reading, “‘they are removed -while still hot, and rolled with the fingers on the palm of the hands, -to be brought into the form in which they are found in commerce.’” - -“All right,” said Mr. Stratford. “You have picked the leaves separately -by the hand. I’ll dry them artificially by heat in a shallow iron pan, -and Sherman can roll them with the finger or in the palm of his hand, to -bring them into the right shape.” - -He drew his shovel from the fire as he spoke, and after knocking off the -loose ashes, threw a handful of the yapon leaves upon it. - -“These leaves won’t roll up,” said Lieutenant Sherman, after they had -been drying a few minutes on the shovel. “They crack and unroll -themselves.” - -“Yes, but they are old leaves, see how thick they are, and the berries -are red and ripe. Here by chance is a young one; the book says, you -know, that they value the young leaves most. What better shape could you -have than that—just the roll of a tea-leaf.” - -“And now,” said Mr. Stratford, “that they are artificially dried in a -shallow iron pan, Sherman, put the coffee-pot on, and let’s all take -tea.” - -The turn affairs had taken roused in me rather more than usual -curiosity, and as my mug was filled, I examined the tea with rather more -than customary care. The aroma was that of poor tea, and the resemblance -was quite striking, making me more curious as to the taste. I cooled it -down as rapidly as possible and took a sip. There was a woody taste, but -through this came the unmistakable flavor of the tea. “Who knows but -this is a discovery?” I thought, and so I said emphatically: - -“_This is_ TEA.” - -“It is amazingly like it, though not very good.” - -“It is the tea-plant itself. Sherman, turn back to the article and read -the botany.” - -The lieutenant re-opened the book and again read. - -“‘The plant which furnishes tea, _Thea Chinensis_, is an evergreen -shrub.’” - -“This is an evergreen shrub. See how bright the leaves are, though we -are near November.” - -“‘Belonging to the class and order _Monadelphia Polyandria_, of the -sexual system, and to the natural order _Ternstromiaceæ_.’” - -“I think this is Poly—what do you call it?” said Mr. Stratford, -encouragingly; “and I’m sure it belongs to the natural order.” - -“‘It is usually from four to eight feet high, though capable, in a -favorable situation, of attaining the height of thirty feet.’” - -“Texas is a favorable situation,” said Lieutenant Sherman. “I can find -one that comes up to thirty feet.” - -“‘It has numerous alternate branches.’” - -“So has the yapon, alternate and plenty of them.” - -“‘Furnished with elliptical-oblong or lanceolate pointed leaves.’” - -“These are elliptical, oblong and pointed leaves.” - -“‘Which are serrate, except at the base.’” - -“These are serrate; and let me see, yes, ‘except at the base.’ Not a saw -tooth there.” - -“‘Smooth on both sides, green, shining, marked with one rib and many -transverse veins.’” - -“‘_Smooth on both sides, green, shining, marked with one rib and many -transverse veins_’—the exact description. Do look at them.” - -“‘And supported alternately upon short foot-stalks.’” - -“‘Supported alternately upon short foot-stalks’—so they are.” - -“‘They are two or three inches long and from half an inch to an inch in -breadth.’” - -“These are little more than half the size. But then the book is -describing the cultivated plant, and this is the wild one.” - -“‘The flowers are either solitary or supported two or three together at -the axils of the leaves.’” - -“What a pity we have not seen the flower!” - -“The berries, though, will help us to place them. Here they are -‘solitary,’ yes, and ‘two or three together,’ and at ‘the axils of the -leaves.’” - -“‘The fruit is a three-celled, three-seeded capsule.’” - -“This has four, but I think that is not material. The persimmons, for -instance, have seven seeds here and only two or three in New Jersey.” - -“That,” said Mr. Stratford, still encouragingly, “is because Texas is -such a seedy place. I’ve grown somewhat seedy myself since I’ve been -here.” - -“‘It is stated that the odor of the tea-leaves themselves is very -slight.’” - -“The odor of these is _very_ slight,” remarked Mr. Stratford, “so -slight, that I sometimes imagine I don’t smell it at all.” - -“‘And that it is customary to mix with them the leaves of certain -aromatic plants, such as _Olea Fragrans_.’” - -“When the war is over,” said Mr. Stratford, in conclusion, “we will get -some olea to mix with it, and then it will be all complete. And now let -us hurrah for the great American tea. You can stay here and take care of -the plant, and I will go home (so soon as I can) and get up a great -Texan Tea Company.” - - - - - VIII. - CAMP FORD. - - -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. Parce, 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. It 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 neatness 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 troop 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 experience 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?” - -“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 country, 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 asleep 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, now 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 landed, 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 no -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 usual, 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 all 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 blankets 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 from 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 -that 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 waiting 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.” - - - - - IX. - A DINNER. - - -The prisoners at Camp Ford were poor. They even thought themselves too -poor to borrow. They possessed no supplies to sell; and in manufactures -they had not risen above carved pipes and chessmen. They lived on their -rations and cooked those rations in the simplest manner. Half of them -had no tables, and more than half no table furniture. The plates and -spoons did treble duty, travelling about from “shebang” to “shebang” (as -they called the hovels they had built) in regular succession. - -We rated them soundly about their condition, and asked them why they had -lived thus; to which they responded by asking us how they could have -lived otherwise. We lectured them severely on their not having begged, -and above all, on their not having borrowed; and they answered, meekly, -that no one would lend them. We lent them money, but they received it -timidly, and expressed fears that they would not be able to re-pay it, -and doubts as to whether there was anything to buy. “Nobody ever had -anything to sell,” they said, “about Tyler.” - -A few days had passed in the work of improving our “shebang,” and we sat -one night around the fire moodily, talking over the state of our -affairs. We were in the midst of the Christmas holidays, and the -contrasted scenes of home pressed rather heavily upon us, and made the -present, perhaps, seem darker than it really was. - -“Something must be done,” said some one, “to raise these fellows up. -They are completely _down_, and if we don’t get them up, why they will -pull us down too.” - -“I never saw such fellows,” said a naval prisoner. “They could have got -clothing from the Confederates just as easily as we did. Here we come -in, thin and pale and weak, and find them healthy and hearty, and yet -all down in their boots. They don’t seem to have done anything to keep -themselves alive but cook, and not much of that.” - -“_That’s_ the remedy,” said a third. “You’ve hit it by accident. ‘COOK’ -is the word. Let us give a dinner-party and astonish them.” - -“A dinner-party! We _should_ astonish them, so that we’d never hear the -last of it.” - -“Well, why not? Didn’t some of us ‘celebrate’ the Fourth at Brashear? -and didn’t we have a Thanksgiving dinner at Camp Groce? I have great -faith in dinners. Why can’t we have a New Year’s dinner here?” - -“For the best of all reasons, because there’s nothing to eat. There we -had milk and eggs and potatoes and onions and a turkey, and——” - -“The turkey was a windfall, and didn’t come till we had determined to -observe the day, and Dillingham had issued his proclamation.” - -“And pumpkin and pecan nuts, and beef.” - -“Well, I’m sure we have beef.” - -“Yes, we have, look at the stuff, look at it,” and our friend pointed to -a dark, dry-looking, fatless lump, that hung from a rafter. “We have got -_beef_, and we have got flour, and sugar, and bacon, and those are all.” - -“Something may turn up if we resolve on it.” - -“‘Something may turn up!’ Yes, it may, and when it turns up, we’ll give -a party.” - -All agreed to this common sense conclusion, except two obstinate members -of the mess, and they were Lieutenant Dane, of the signal corps, and -myself. - -On the morrow (the thirtieth of December) we went to the gate, presented -our compliments to the sergeant of the guard, and informed him that -private business with Colonel Allen, commanding, etc., required a -personal interview. The sergeant communicated the fact to a gentleman in -butternut, who took his rifle and strolled leisurely over to -head-quarters with us. The Colonel smiled pleasantly, and as he wrote -out the pass, said in a well-bred way, that he never doubted the honor -of his prisoners, though he sometimes had a little fear of their -discretion, and that when he was applied to by gentlemen who would be -discreet in their intercourse with the country people, it afforded him -great pleasure to let them out on parole. - -The lieutenant and I returned to our quarters, and hung around our necks -a couple of canteens and three or four haversacks; we took a basket and -bag, received with gravity sundry bits of ironical advice, and then -presenting to the sergeant of the guard our pass, stepped out of Camp -Ford on parole. - -The road carried us into the woods. At the end of half a mile we -descended a hill, crossed a little brook, and found ourselves close upon -the white house and negro-cabins of a plantation. At the door we -encountered a sour-faced, respectable man, with whom we were soon -engaged in the following delightful dialogue: - -“Good day, sir.” - -“Good day.” - -“Have you any dried fruit to sell?” - -“No.” - -“No apples?” - -“No.” - -“Nor peaches?” - -“No.” - -“Any eggs?” - -“No.” - -“Any chickens?” - -“No.” - -“Couldn’t you spare some potatoes?” - -“No.” - -“Nothing to sell for cash, at the highest of prices?” - -“No.” - -“Good day, sir.” - -“Good day.” - -It was two miles of dull walking to the next house. A plain-looking old -woman appeared and invited us in. As ill-luck would have it, her two -sons had been captured at Arkansas Post. Still more unluckily, the two -sons, when ill, had been placed in different hospitals, and some surgeon -with petty tyranny had refused to let the one brother visit the other. -We explained that there were fools in both armies, who treated their own -soldiers in the same way. But the old lady said she would forgive -everything but that. _That_ was unnecessary cruelty. She then heaped -coals of fire upon our unoffending heads by presenting to us a pumpkin, -and by authorizing her chief contraband, who bore the fruitful name of -“Plenty,” to sell us from his own private stores a bushel of sweet -potatoes. Leaving these treasures till we should return, we went on. - -At the third house we had the same conversation over that we enjoyed at -the first, and as we turned back into the road it began to rain. “Shall -we go back or go on?” was the question. “How far did they say it was to -the next house, two miles?” “Yes, two miles. If we go on we shall be -wet, perhaps frozen. But no matter; that is better than going back and -acknowledging a failure. Come on.” - -Three miles more, and we came to another house, owned by another old -lady. Everything about it was rigidly in order and stiffly neat. There -was a startling combination of colors in her parlor; for the floors were -unpainted, the walls were white, the ceiling blue, the wainscoting red, -and the blinds green. Again we were told that there was nothing to sell. -But luckily, at the first item on our list, the old lady’s black -overseer came in, and being an intelligent contraband, pricked up his -ears and asked, what the gentlemen wanted to pay for dried peaches. We -inquired what price he asked for them. He reckoned that he had ’bout a -peck, and that a peck in these times ought to bring $5; and we thought -that $5 was precisely the sum we ought to pay for a peck of peaches. -This purchase being happily effected, we ran over the list, but to every -item our sable friend “reckoned not,” till we mentioned milk. At that -liquid name, a thought evidently struck him. He hadn’t no milk, but he -had vinegar—cider-vinegar—he made it his own self, and he reckoned that -in these times it ought to bring $1 a quart. We forthwith entrusted him -with every canteen, to be filled full of this precious, and indeed, -unrivalled fluid. We then re-applied to the old lady to know whether she -really couldn’t sell us _something_. But no, not even our free-handed -expenditures and the absence of all Yankee cuteness in us, could bring -forth the old lady’s stores. - -As we retraced our steps we noticed a small log-house near the road, and -a middle-aged woman barbecuing beef under a little shed. “Let us try -here,” one of us said; and we went up to the fence and asked for eggs. -The woman thought she had a few, and civilly invited us to come in out -of the rain. We went in, and found that the house consisted of but one -room, and all looked wretched and forlorn. Nearly a dozen eggs were -produced, and then the woman bethought herself of a certain fowl that -might as well be sold, and set her eldest boys to catch him. A great -cackling presently announced the fate of the fowl, and the boys, coming -in out of breath, informed us that they had run him down. He was a -vagabond-looking young cock, who, any one would swear, ought to come to -an untimely end, and I felt a moral pleasure as I tied his legs and -popped him into the basket. - -And now we had the task of walking six miles back in the rain. As we -mounted a rocky ridge we noticed near the road some sumach. The sumach -had been so scarce at Camp Groce that we thought this a prize. Setting -down our baskets, therefore, we went to work picking sumach, and as we -filled our haversacks, we talked of the dinner. - -“The last haul is a prize, Colonel,” said Lieutenant Dane. “The vinegar -is a treasure, and the peaches are worth their weight in Confederate -notes. How many shall we ask to dine with us?” - -“Yes, it settles the question of dinner. After such luck as this we must -go on. I think we can squeeze in six on a side, and one at each -end—fourteen in all.” - -“Fourteen! Well, now, the question is what shall we have? So far our -luck is of a very small pattern—a very small pattern indeed. Ten eggs -and one chicken of themselves won’t make much of a dinner for fourteen -men.” - -“The fact is, we must make this dinner chiefly out of our own brains. -Give it the whole weight of your mind; think intensely, and see if you -can’t hit on a way to make a dish or two out of chips.” - -“Here’s this sumach—what would you make of it?” - -“Look at it philosophically. Analyse it: TASTE—_acid_; COLOR—_red_. Now -what is there that is acid and red?” - -“There are currants for one thing, and there’s something else, I’m -sure—oh, cranberries.” - -“Then we must make currants and cranberries out of sumach. But for my -part I’m greatly distressed about this wretched fowl—what can we do with -him?” - -“We might boil him, though he is young and will do to roast.” - -“What are you thinking of?—one small fowl on a table before fourteen -hungry men; ridiculous!” - -“Yes, and these healthy fellows have got fearful appetites. They eat -like alligators. When they draw three days’ beef they devour it in one, -for fear (as they say) that somebody might steal it. Can’t you make a -salad of him such as you used to send over to us at Camp Groce? Do you -know when we first came there we all thought the dressing was real?” - -“Let us see—we have vinegar, to be sure, and some red peppers. But there -is not time now to _manufacture_ the mustard, and then we have no milk -or butter to make the oil from. No! it’s very sad, but we can’t have -chicken salad!” - -“Well, the haversacks are full, so we may as well go on. It rains harder -than ever, and that low piece of road will be over our boots in mud and -water. I wonder if we shall find the potatoes and pumpkin all safe?” - -Our friend “Plenty” duly delivered to us those vegetables when we -reached his cabin. Now, a couple of officers trudging along in the mud -on a rainy day, laden with a bag of potatoes, a big pumpkin, a couple of -overloaded baskets, and several haversacks and canteens, cannot present -a very elegant or dignified appearance; nevertheless, a tall man mounted -on a ragged-looking steed, and wearing his head stuck through a hole in -the middle of his blanket, after the fashion of a Mexican poncha, -accosted us as “gentlemen,” and in most courteous terms desired to know -whether this was the road to Marshall. He gave just one quick, keen -glance that travelled all over us, and rested for a single instant on -our shoulder straps. - -“I perceive, gentlemen,” said he, without the slightest diminution of -courtesy, “that you belong to the other side.” - -I nodded an assent. - -“And that you are officers?” - -I nodded again. - -“I presume you are prisoners then, and here on parole?” - -Now, wearing a United States uniform at that time in Texas by no means -proved that a man was in the United States service; it only indicated -that he was a soldier. So many prisoners were in _their_ butternut, and -so many Confederates in _our_ uniform that a Texan eye rarely looked -behind the coat to distinguish the kind of soldier it covered. When, -therefore, our tall friend said, “You are on the other side,” and added, -“you are officers,” it was plain to us that he had made the close -acquaintance of our troops in some other way than through the -newspapers. - -“I perceive that you are an old soldier,” I said in reply. “And I do not -think you are a Texan. Allow me to ask where you are from?” - -“I belong to the 1st Missouri Cavalry,” said he, “and I am from -Missouri.” - -“From Missouri!” I exclaimed. “Why, I was in service there myself during -the first year of the war.” - -The tall man and I looked steadily at each other in mutual astonishment. -The same thoughts were passing through our minds, and he expressed them -first and best by saying: - -“You know, sir, that if you and I had met this way in Missouri, that -first year of the war, only one of us would have walked away, and maybe -neither.” - -“Yes,” I said, “the war was very bitter there.” - -“It was that. No man could have made me believe then that I could ever -meet an enemy with the same friendly feelings I have for you, -gentlemen.” - -Here our friend began to unbuckle his saddle-bags, and after much -trouble produced a flat bottle. “A friend,” he said, “gave me this, and -I mean to carry it through to Arkansas, if I can, but I must take a -drink with a gentleman that was on the other side in Missouri, the first -year of the war, if I never drink again as long as I live.” - -We touched our lips to the detestable poison, and thanked our friend for -his courtesy. The “border ruffian” then expressed his great satisfaction -at finding we were treated as gentlemen and prisoners of war should be, -and said he doubted if he didn’t respect the soldiers on “the other -side” rather more than he did a good many folks on his own. Finally he -asked our names—gave us his own, which was Woodland—shook hands warmly, -and rode off. We shouldered our loads and plodded on, wondering whether -the barbarous and brutal trade of war does not of itself inspire men at -last with some noble and chivalric sentiments. - -These meditations lasted us till we reached the gate. We were somewhat -apprehensive that our appearance would produce a sensation in camp, and -excite anticipations of the coming festivities, but luckily the rain and -cold had driven all within their hovels. We walked rapidly past the -closed doors of the “shebangs” till we hastily kicked open our own, and -threw down our loads before the eyes of our astonished messmates. Then -after a savage attack on cold beef and hot dodger, and after brewing a -hot decoction of sumach to keep the cold out, we hung our wet clothes -before the fire, and rolled ourselves in our warm blankets for the rest -of the evening. Ere we fell asleep some one came in and said that it was -freezing, and that the ground was white with snow. - -The ground was white with snow, and so were our blankets the next -morning. The north wind blew a gale—a goodly sized snow-drift stretched -across the floor of the “shebang”—the water pail was frozen nearly -solid, and a cup of sumach tea that stood upon the table directly in -front of the fire was coated with ice. Daylight stole in through many -chinks and crevices to find us still shivering in our bunks. One -gentleman suggested that another gentleman rise and cook the breakfast; -but the other gentleman thought the day would be long enough if we had -breakfast any time before sunset. A humorous man from another “shebang” -poked his head in the door, and inquired whether we would like to be dug -out in the course of the day. We took no notice of his humor, and -shivered in silence. At length the most uncomfortable one rolled out, -threw a pile of logs upon the fire, and swept away the snow. As a matter -of course the others followed. Breakfast was first disposed of, and then -Lieutenant Dane began his great work. All of that day we were engaged, -like Count Rumford, on a series of scientific experiments closely allied -to the art of cookery. When night came we had fought our way over all -obstacles, and were able to announce that the dinner should come off and -should be a success. - -The two junior members of the mess had at the outset agreed (in bad -faith) that if we would cook the dinner, they would wait upon the table. -We now held them to this agreement, and, as a righteous punishment for -their contempt, determined to cut the dinner up into as many courses as -we decently could, and make them wash the plates at the end of every -course. The rest of the mess who had been abashed by our foraging and -overawed by our experiments, became gradually interested, and joined in -the work by inviting the guests, manufacturing a table, and chopping an -immense pile of wood for the evening. - -“Happy New Year’s” came to us bright and clear, and the prisoners -followed the old Dutch custom by wandering around and wishing each other -happier returns of the day. At our “shebang” we were compelled to inform -visitors that we received on the other side of the way. We were, in -fact, busy beyond powers of description, scolding, as I have observed -good cooks always scold, and ordering in the style that really talented -artists always order. We had three fires in full blast—one in our -fire-place, one in our stove, and one under an independent pot. I -observed, I regret to say, that one or two of the invited strolled up -with a suspicious air, as if they really feared the invitation might be -what the vulgar term “a sell,” and the dinner so much moonshine. It was -plain that they were not used to being invited out. As the appointed -hour approached, the remarks of passers-by gradually called our -attention to the fact that this was the coldest day ever known in Texas. -(4° Fahr.) Some extra work was therefore necessary. We placed the table -across the “shebang” directly in front of the fire-place, and close -behind the table, hung blankets from the roof to the floor, thus -curtaining out the cold after our Camp Groce plan. There were actually -found crockery plates in camp just sufficient to go round, and also two -naval table-cloths, which spliced, exactly covered the table. We devoted -our last three candles to illume the festal board; and we built a fire -over a backlog as large as a barrel. - -As the hour of six o’clock approached our guests were adroitly -intercepted at the door, and carried into a neighboring cabin, where -they were entertained till wanted. When every thing was ready, the last -finishing touches given, and the two waiters fully instructed with -respect to some strategic movements to be executed behind a curtain, the -door was opened, and our guests triumphantly marshalled in. As these -misguided men, who for half a year had been devouring rations off of tin -plates, and had not so much as heard the word table-cloth spoken—as they -descended into the “shebang,” they seemed to be fairly dazed with the -splendors of the apartment. They sank into their designated seats, too -much appalled to speak, and only talked in subdued tones after three or -four courses. The first course was on the table. It consisted of soup -and wheaten bread—flour bread, as it was vulgarly called in camp. I -observed—at least I had a sort of suspicion—that one or two of the -guests had an habitual idea that soup was all the dinner; for they -looked nervously over their shoulders when an adroit waiter (with an eye -to the morrow,) whisked the soup off the table immediately after -everybody had been helped _once_. - -The _soup_ plates were removed by one waiter: he disappeared with them -behind the curtain, and re-appeared with the dinner-set in about the -time the other waiter had placed the second course upon the table. It -might have been remarked that our soup plates were rather shallow, and -our dinner plates, by contrast, rather deep; but the eyes of our guests -were too dazzled to perceive such slight peculiarities. We knew that it -was a wise maneuvre to show great profusion at the beginning of a -dinner. The guests then have their anxiety allayed, and carry with them -an overpowering idea of plenty, which of itself allays the appetite. -Accordingly we double shotted this gun. At the head of the table -appeared a dish not generally known or appreciated. Sweet potatoes and -beef entered largely into its composition. A hungry naval officer had -introduced it into the mess, and he called it _scouse_. Yet it served a -certain purpose well, and was skilfully slipped in at this point to -attract the attention of gentlemen with vigorous appetites. At the other -end appeared a broiled spare-rib, and the lines of communication between -these right and left wings were kept open by detachments of squash, -turnips, boiled potatoes, and _cranberry_ sauce. With secret pleasure we -saw our friends lay in heavily of the scouse, and deceive themselves -into the foolish belief that we had thrown two courses together, and -that this was the dinner. - -But the next course came on, with clean plates, in the imposing form and -substance of a CHICKEN PIE. A magnificent chicken pie it was, filling an -immense pan, and richly crowned with brown crust heaving up above the -brim. It had no accompaniments save baked potatoes, and constituted of -itself an entire army corps. No one associated with it the idea of -anything little, or niggardly, or economical. On the contrary, all -applauded it enthusiastically, and declared that it alone would have -made a dinner. - -From the gravity of this heavy dish we passed to the gayety of mince and -pumpkin pies. These were the only common-place things in the dinner. -They were followed by a course of tarts—small, refined-looking tarts, -elegantly covered with currant jelly and beautiful pear preserves. This -course was surprisingly showy and genteel, impressing beholders with the -idea that there must be a pastry-cook shop concealed somewhere in the -camp. Our grand climax was one of those efforts of genius sometimes -called “jelly-cake,” sometimes “Lafayette cake,” sometimes “Washington -pie.” It was some eighteen inches in diameter, and four or five inches -thick, (the exact size of our dodger pot), a beautiful brown on the -outside, and a rich golden yellow within, and when cut was seen to be -divided by strata of tempting jelly. Finally, we closed with coffee (not -corn, but Java) and tea (not Thea Chinensis, but Thea Texana), and -tobacco inhaled through pipes, instead of through the original leaf. We -broke up, after the usual four hours’ sitting of a respectable party, -with the usual courtesies and ceremonies. One of two late men stayed, as -they always do, to tell their best stories; and one or two early men -slipped off, as they always do, on the plea of domestic engagements. -There was one or two small mishaps, such as a slight infusion of red -pepper in the coffee (occasioned by one of the cooks grinding the pepper -first), and the house getting a-fire (caused by the stoker piling the -wood as high as the log mantel), but the affair, as a whole, was a -grand, noble, philanthropic success. - -For the benefit of those persons who (allured by the brightness of this -report) desire to become prisoners, I will minutely narrate how this -wonderful result was obtained. - -The soup was _real_, and probably the strongest thing of the kind ever -made, for a choice assortment of beef-bones were boiled for thirty-six -hours. The turnips and spare-rib were a present from the Confederate -Commissary, Lieutenant Ross, and came in the very nick of time. That -solitary fowl we had discussed for a mile or two of our walk back, and -had finally determined to put him in a pie. But the only pie-dish we -could procure was a large tin milk-pan. To have a dish half full of pie -would never do. It was necessary both to have pie enough and to fill the -dish. From Confederate beef we selected pieces free from fat and -grizzle, and then took the fowl and chopped him up bones and all. The -beef was also chopped, and the two mixed thoroughly together. The -fragments of bone, to which some prejudiced housewives would have -objected, were of great value to us in establishing the authenticity of -the pie; for a man who, with every mouthful he took, pricked his tongue -on a splinter of chicken bone, could not doubt (if he were a reasoning -creature) that he was eating chicken pie. - -The next, and perhaps the greatest achievement of our art, was in the -currant and cranberry line. We made, after many experiments, a strong -decoction of sumach. Into this we stirred flour, slightly browned to -reduce its color and take off the raw taste. When this mixture was -properly sweetened and cooled it made a dark, pasty substance, looking -and tasting precisely like poor currant jelly. The cranberry sauce was -more difficult, and involved repeated experiments. Finally a handful of -dried peaches was chopped up, so that when cooked the pieces would -appear about the size of cranberries. To get rid of their peach flavor, -we soaked them and boiled them and drained the water off, and then -cooked them slightly in a decoction of sumach, and added sugar in the -usual way. Although every one must have known that there were no -cranberries in Texas, yet no one dared to question the reality of this -dish. It was not cranberry, but it was so like cranberry that they could -not imagine what else it could be, and feared to betray their ignorance. - -A shrewd observer will have noticed the fact that our invaluable peaches -nowhere appeared on the bill of fare. Indeed they were very carefully -kept out of sight, and did duty in the secret service. Those mince pies! -They were made of peaches—of peaches and mince-meat, well flavored, and -moistened with cider-vinegar. I cannot assert that they were poor, for -we had no other mincepies wherewith to compare them; I cannot deny that -they were good, because they were all eaten up. The proof was in their -favor. - -The big pumpkin that we carried under one arm till benumbed, and on one -shoulder till a stiff neck for life threatened us, was a very useful -vegetable. In one course it appeared as squash; in another as pumpkin, -and in a third as pear. The chief cook recollected having seen or heard -of pumpkin preserves, and our early experiments pointed to ultimate -success. To succeed, however, the simplest common sense told us we must -have a name for our invention. To call it _pumpkin sweatmeats_ would -ruin it. We knew that guava jelly and preserved ginger must become -bankrupt under such a label. Accordingly we cut the pumpkin in pieces, -like those of a quartered pear; we stewed it till it was not quite done -(a little tough where the core ought to be); we spiced it with -sassafras, prickly-ash, a few cloves, and the last half of a nutmeg, and -we called it pear-preserve. - -It will be remembered that I alluded to a gigantic cake, beautifully -brown without and richly yellow within. This magnificent work of art, -truth compels me to say, was a failure. Its golden richness was not due -to eggs but to corn-meal. We mixed a dodger with some flour, to give -consistence, and some sugar, to give sweetness. We baked it at the right -time and in the right manner. We sliced it up, and daubed the slices -over with artificial currant jelly. We went a step farther, and called -it cake. We even varied the name of the cake, to meet the prejudice or -fancy of the particular guest about to be helped. But vulgarly speaking, -“it was not a go.” We could cheat our guests through the medium of their -eyes and ears in many things, but we couldn’t cheat them on dodger. When -they tasted dodger, they recognized dodger. Dodger for breakfast, dodger -for dinner, and dodger for supper, in the course of half a year, makes a -deep impression on the human mind. A little sugar and jelly were wholly -inadequate to smooth it away. Here, then, in the very flush of victory, -we were in danger of suffering a shameful defeat. Earlier in the dinner -we could have brought up fresh forces, but now, in the hope of making -the affair overwhelming, we had thrown our last reserve into action. A -retreat was ruin, and an instant of hesitation would have acknowledged a -defeat. In less than an instant we turned the retreat into a flank -movement. Captain Dillingham, with naval effrontery, gave the cake a new -name, and called it a JOKE! - -Thus ended this great dinner. Our guests retired from it wiser and -better men. A profound sensation was followed by a healthy excitement. -Manufactures sprang up and trade began. Some gentlemen made caps from -rags, and hats from straw. Others built a gymnasium for amusement, and -others engaged in gardening for recreation. A few musicians manufactured -banjoes, tanning the parchment and preparing the strings in camp. One -officer, possessed of a worn-out file, a large screw, and a couple of -old horse-shoes, ground the file into a chisel, and turned the screw and -worn-out horse-shoes into a good turning lathe. Another changed this -lathe from half-action to full-action. A third made for it a crank and -foot-treadle. A fourth built an entirely new lathe, better than the -first. And thus affairs went on until we numbered more than forty -articles of camp manufacture made, chiefly, like our dinner, out of -nothing.[2] - -Footnote 2: - - Among these fabrics manufactured and sold by the prisoners in Texas, - were: - - Axe helves, Baskets, Blacking, Brooms, Candles (mould and dip), Chairs - (arm and rocking), Chessmen, Checkermen, Crockery-ware, Caps - (military), Cigars, Door mats, Hats (straw); Musical instruments, - viz., banjoes, castanets and triangles; Pails, Pepperboxes, Pipes, - Potash, Kings, Shirt-studs, Sleeve-buttons, Soap, Shoes, Tables, - Toy-boxes; Wooden-ware, viz., knives, forks, spoons, plates, dishes, - bowls, salt-cellars, wash-boards. - - - - - X. - ESCAPE. - - -Through illness, changes, toil and trouble, the subject of escape never -left our minds. At Camp Groce, weakness and ill-health constantly -postponed intended attempts. Moreover, the open prairie country around -the camp, the nearness of the coast-guard, and, above all, the absence -of any point or outlet to which to run, were disheartening obstacles. At -Camp Ford, it was somewhat different; for the woods came down nearly to -the stockade, and the country was one vast forest. - -The troubles that beset the path of an escaping prisoner in Texas were -entirely different from those which would attend him in the Northern -States. The difficulty of passing the stockade and guard was trivial; -the difficulties of crossing the surrounding country were not -insurmountable; but after hundreds of miles were traversed, and weary -days and nights had exhausted the body and dulled the mind, then the -chief obstacles began. Two hundred miles to the south was the Texan -coast-guard. One hundred and fifty miles to the east were the carefully -watched lines of the Red River and Atchafalaya. To the north were the -rebel Cherokees and the open Indian country. Five hundred miles west of -us stretched desolate prairies, and beyond them were the scouts that -watched and guarded the Rio Grande. In short, when we studied the map, -we saw no city of refuge to which we might flee; when the stockade was -scaled and the pursuit evaded, there was still no outlet of escape. -Further than this, the chances of re-capture were many. To look over the -wide extent of country with its sparse population, its scattered -plantations, its remote towns, and talk of pursuing prisoners would seem -as idle as searching for needles in a haystack. But every road was -watched, every river was guarded. Every man or woman or boy who was not -a secret Unionist was in effect a Confederate patrol; the entire State -was one great detective police, constantly pursuing prisoners, refugees -and slaves. - -Yet, after calmly contemplating these difficulties, the greater part of -the prisoners at Camp Ford determined to escape. Perhaps the -determination was quickened and extended by annoyances which began soon -after our arrival, and which steadily increased. There are said to be -“bad streaks” in all countries, and Tyler is situated in a very bad -streak of Texas. The inhabitants were poor, ignorant and narrow-minded, -and viewed, with angry ill-will, the liberality of Colonel Allen. They -poured in complaints at head-quarters, and the result was, that one fine -morning, the poor Colonel received a reprimand for his liberality, and -strict orders not to let us out of the stockade. - -The kindness of Colonel Allen and his amiable wife was not lessened by -its unpopularity. Regularly, every afternoon, Mrs. Allen came within the -stockade, accompanied by a little black girl bearing a basket. Sometimes -she brought in visitors, partly to amuse us and partly to soften them. -She was tireless in every work that could add to our comfort. She -cheered the despondent and comforted the weak, and for the sick, showed -that beautiful solicitude that no one save a Christian woman can evince. - -There was a little paper then in camp, printed with the pen by Captain -May, of the 23d Connecticut, which was read successively in the -“shebangs,” and shortened the hours and occupied the mind. It had much -_local_ wit and humor, but so blended with the inner life of Camp Ford, -that the outside world can never understand its hits and jests. Yet -frequently the _Old Flag_ rose above satire and humor, and it enabled -Lieutenant-Colonel Duganne to pay to Mrs. Allen the following graceful -tribute: - - “All kindly acts are for the dear Lord’s sake, - And His sweet love and recompense they claim: - ‘I was in prison’—thus our Saviour spake, - ‘And unto me ye came!’ - - “So, lady! while thy heart with mother’s love - And sister’s pity cheers the captive’s lot, - Truth keeps her record in the courts above, - And thou art not forgot. - - “Though nations war, and rulers match their might, - Our human bosoms must be kindred yet, - And eyes that blazed with battle’s lurid light, - Soft pity’s tears may wet. - - “Were all like thee, kind lady, void of hates, - And swayed by gentle wish and peaceful thought, - No gulf would yawn between contending States, - No rain would be wrought. - - “May all thy matron’s heart, with joy run o’er - For children spared to bless thy lengthened years— - Peace in thy home, and plenty at thy door, - And smiles, to dry all tears. - - “And may each cheering hope and soothing word - That thou to us sad prisoners hast given, - Recalled by Him, who all our prayers hath heard, - Bring the reward in Heaven.” - -When the minds of many men are given wholly to one subject, it is -incredible how many expedients they can devise. Yet no expedient could -be devised to comply with one condition which the calmer judgments -imposed, and which was thus allegorically expressed by one of our -friends in the guard, “When General Green spreads his tents, there will -be plenty of good recruits join him;” which meant, “You had better wait -till the leaves are out.” - -At length, in the latter part of March, ere the buds were fully blown, -the impatience of fifteen officers broke through their discretion. They -divided into three parties, and made their preparations carefully. Old -haversacks were mended, and new ones made. Suspicious articles of dress -were exchanged. Some beef was saved and dried; hard-tack was baked, and -panola made. This last article was recommended by the Texans. It -consists of corn-meal browned to about the color of ground coffee, with -a liberal allowance of sugar stirred in. Its advantages are that it -requires no cooking, and contains a large amount of nutriment in -proportion to its bulk and weight. - -The parties were soon ready to start. But the Texan atmosphere is dry -and clear, with cloudless nights. One evening, while the colors of -sunset were still glowing upon the western sky, an officer came to me, -and pointing to a black cloud that was rising from the horizon, said, -“If that cloud comes up overhead, we will make the attempt.” It was a -bad hour, in every way; for darkness had not yet succeeded day, and the -moon was already throwing her pale light upon the eastern clouds. Yet -this cloud might not come again for weeks, and its dark shadow was too -precious to be lost. - -A gay party assembled in the “shebang” nearest to the southern side of -the stockade. They had a fiddle and banjoes and castanets, and all the -vocal minstrelsy of the camp. They roared Irish songs, and danced negro -break-downs, and the little cabin shook with the tumult of their glee. -Down at the farther corner of the enclosure, where all was gloom and -quiet, two men crawled on the ground to the stockade. They were about -thirty feet apart, and a rope lay between them. The sentry on the -outside heard the merriment in the “shebang,” and as all was quiet on -his beat, he walked up to look at the Yankee’s fun. He passed the two -men. The second twitched the rope; the first quickly rose, and dug with -all his might. A few minutes, and the hole was deep enough to allow a -post of the stockade to be canted over, so as to leave a narrow aperture -between it and its neighbor. The man laid down his spade, signalled to -some one behind him, and began to squeeze himself through the opening. -Fourteen others rose from the ground, and one by one, trembling with -impatient eagerness, pressed through and followed him. They crossed the -sentries’ path, ran up a little hill that fronted the stockade, and -disappeared beneath the trees beyond. The second of the two men still -lay upon the ground. The last of the fifteen was to have twitched the -rope, and this man was to have replaced the post. But who, at such a -time, ever looked behind to see if he were last? The signal was not -given! Within the “shebang” still rose the racket, and still the sentry -stood grinning at the Yankee antics. But from the other direction came -the tramp of the next guard-relief! - -Among those who waited and listened, and saw nothing, there was intense -suppressed excitement. In vain one or two moved round, begging the -little groups to break up—to stifle their earnest whispers—to resume the -ordinary hubbub of the evening—to laugh—to sing—to do anything. In vain -a young lieutenant, who was both a wit and vocalist, burst forth with— - - “Roll on, silver moon! - Light the traveller on his way.” - -The groups broke up, but re-formed; the whispers stopped for a moment, -and then went on. - -The corporal of the guard halted his relief, and could be seen observing -the opening of the leaning post. There was a little pause, and then a -light came down to the suspicious opening. There was a little longer -pause—a slight stir through the guards’ quarters, and then a squadron of -cavalry rode out, and an officer, with four or five men, went at a -gallop down the Tyler road. - -The black cloud seemed to be the fugitives’ friend; for at this moment -of discovery it poured down a heavy shower. We retired to our cabins, -and felt some little relief in the hope that the friendly cloud had -washed away the trail. Some time passed—perhaps two hours, and our hope -had well-nigh turned into belief; when, from the Tyler road, a low, -wailing, ominous cry smote upon our ears. “Did you hear that?” each -asked of the other, in startled whispers. “Yes; the _bloodhounds_!” - -The hounds came down to the stockade. They snuffed and moaned for a -moment around the opening, and then ran straight up the bank and under -the trees. There lay the trail. We listened until their faint baying -could be heard no longer. Of all the dismal sounds that mortal senses -were ever laden with, none more melancholy than the baying of these -hounds was ever heard. We passed the uneasy night in speculating upon -the chances of the three parties, and in trying to imagine the feelings -of our friends when they should first hear the foreboding wail behind -them, and surmise that the bloodhounds were upon their track. - -Yet the next morning the prospect appeared brighter. Three showers of -rain had fallen during the night; twelve hours had passed since the -escape, and we felt confident that the hounds must have lost the scent. -The day passed in growing cheerfulness, and at taps no tidings had come. -We went to our quarters, sure that all had been successful. About nine -o’clock that evening, the door of my “shebang” opened, and -Lieutenant-Colonel Leake, of the 20th Iowa, entering, presented, with -mock formality, Lieutenant Lyon, of the 176th New York. He and his party -had been recaptured. - -There were still eleven officers out, who, we knew, were divided into -two parties. Twenty-four hours must have passed before the hounds could -have taken their trail, and every hour dissipated the scent. The second -day passed without news. So did the third evening, and the morning of -the third day. Then, about noon, word was passed in from the guard-house -that nine more were caught. - -In an hour or two, they came, close packed on the bottom of a wagon. We -waited with some anxiety the reception they would meet with at -head-quarters. Colonel Allen came out, shook hands with one or two, -laughed, and manifestly treated the affair as a joke. The wagon started -for the gate. Its way lay through the quarters of the guard, who had, of -course, turned out to look at the runaway Yanks. We waited in the -painful expectation of hearing a Texan yell over the misfortune of our -friends. To their honor be it known, the Texan’s showed no ill-mannered -exultation. But the instant it was settled that no shout of triumph was -to be raised by the victorious rebs, there was a revulsion of feeling in -the prison community. As the gate opened, a slight, restless stir ran -through the crowd. As the wagon drove in, a loud shout arose (couched in -expressive Texan slang) of, “Here’s your mule! Here’s your mule!” The -runaways smiled feebly, as men do who are the victims of a joke. The -crowd laughed boisterously, and gave excellent imitations of the baying -of hounds. About the same time, a little three-year-old, the child of a -commissary-sergeant, came out on the bank opposite to us, and in shrill -tones piped out, “Yankee ran away! Yankee ran away!” And all the -afternoon, the little wretch would come, at short intervals, and re-sing -his refrain, “Yankee ran away! Yankee ran away! Yankee ran away!” - -When we came to collate the stories of the three parties, and of their -captors, we gathered the following account: each party had kept secret -its intended movements; yet all had selected substantially the same -route. Unluckily for them, their trails crossed, and, still more -unluckily, there rode with the Confederates an old western trapper, whom -the men called Chillicothe. When the first party was captured, the -pursuers merely returned to the crossing of the second trail, and -followed it up. In like manner, when they had captured the second party, -they only came back to the third trail. At these crossings, the -prisoners could see nothing; but to the eyes of Chillicothe and the -instinct of the dogs, the two trails were as plain as the crossings of -two streets. The trapper told the prisoners where they had been, and -nearly everything they had done. He showed them where (unknowingly) they -entered a swamp by the same opening, and crossed a stream on the same -tree. He pointed out to them the spot where they sat down to rest, and -the hill up which one climbed to reconnoitre. He described to them a log -where one pulled off his boots, and another lit his pipe. A secret -history of their movements seemed to be written upon the ground. - -The story of the last party captured was this: they marched rapidly all -of the first night, and hid themselves through the first day. At dark, -they resumed their march, and continued to travel rapidly through the -woods. On the second morning, they selected, as a hiding-place, a narrow -gully, roofed over and completely hidden by a fallen tree. The barking -of dogs and crowing of cocks told that a plantation was near. In the -afternoon, two restless members of the party insisted on going there to -buy eggs. Hardly had they gone, when, in the opposite direction, was -heard the baying of hounds. Yet there were no fears of being tracked, -for forty-four hours had passed since the party left camp. The baying -came nearer. Still it was thought that a party of hunters were -accidentally coming that way. A number of horsemen rode down to the -little brook at the foot of the hill, and paused there to water their -steeds. The dogs, at the same time, started, and came directly up the -hill. A beautiful dark hound led the pack, and when he reached the tree, -he mounted it with his fore-feet, and looked intelligently down on the -prisoners. They remained quiet, fearing that some growl or bark might -betray them, yet hoping the hounds would pass on. The leader turned, and -quietly trotted down the hill. He went, not to his owner, but to the -lieutenant who commanded the party; he looked a moment at him, and then -turning looked toward the fallen tree. The lieutenant instantly shouted, -“Here they are!” All of his men drew their pistols, and spurred their -horses up the hill. The tree was surrounded, and the fugitives -recaptured. - -What became of the two remaining officers was a question with us for -many weeks. The unerring hounds had started on their trail, but the -lieutenant who commanded, had ordered that they should be called off. He -did not know how many prisoners had escaped, and moreover, he had -already caught two parties of four each. Therefore, when he found five -prisoners in the gully, he naturally concluded that they were all. -Several weeks after this, a quotation from a New Orleans paper assured -us of their safe arrival within our lines. - -The first fact impressed upon us by these adventures was the wonderful -power and sagacity of the bloodhounds. During the next three months, a -long list of experiences re-taught this lesson. The Confederates -possessed in them “pursuing angels,” whose powers exceeded those of men. -If you buried yourself in the earth, they dug you out. If you climbed a -tree, they came and stood at the foot. If you plunged into trackless -wilds, they followed you. If you threw yourself into a stream, and -threaded its windings for miles, they passed tirelessly up and down its -bank, until they came to the spot where you had left it. As every means -that ingenuity could devise failed, and as prisoner after prisoner who -tried them was recaptured, there gradually grew up, in our minds, a -feeling that to be hunted by these brutes was like being pursued by -dreadful phantoms, such as we read of in old stories, which no mortal -power could outstrip or elude, if their insatiate chase once began. - -At the time of the escape of the fifteen, a number of officers were -secretly engaged in “tunnelling out.” There were two plans connected -with this tunnel. The first was that all who wished to escape should -pass out on the same night and then scatter in small parties. We knew -that some of these parties would be caught—we also thought that some -would escape, and every man hoped that he would be in a lucky party. The -second plan rested in the breasts of but three or four officers, and -they hardly ventured to speak of it to each other. It was that on some -dark night we would pass all able-bodied men out, form them in the -neighboring woods, march boldly down the road, and surprise the guard in -their quarters; then after burning the Confederate arsenal and workshops -at Tyler, we would seize upon horses sufficient to mount the party, and -push without ceasing for the Sabine and our lines beyond. - -About one hundred feet beyond the north side of our enclosed camp stood -two large trees. The spot was known as the “Quartermaster’s Grave,” for -there slept Lieutenant John F. Kimball, Quartermaster of the 176th New -York. The grave, carefully enclosed by a wicker fence, was between the -two trees. The sentries’ walk was close to the stockade and parallel to -the grave. Within our enclosure the “shebangs,” though not built upon -any plan, had nevertheless sprung up with somewhat of the regularity of -streets. One, however, called from its Indiana owners, the Hawk-eye, -stood detached, and only about sixteen feet from the stockade. This -cabin was taken for our starting point. In one corner a shaft was sunk -eight feet in depth and length by four in width. From the bottom of this -shaft the tunnel started. It was just high enough for a man to sit erect -and work, and just wide enough for two men to meet and pass by each -other. Two men worked in it at the same time, the one excavating and the -other removing the earth. Their tools consisted of an old sword-bayonet, -a broken shovel and a small box. - -The first difficulty met was in establishing the grade and direction of -the tunnel. The top of it at the shaft was less than five feet below the -surface, while the posts of the stockade stood four and a half feet -deep. It was necessary to go well below them, and therefore necessary to -start with a descending grade. Beside the Quartermaster’s grave were -three others. They projected over a line drawn from the shaft to the -largest tree, and we designed that the tunnel should come out through -the roots of this tree like a fox-earth. The wicker fence with the trunk -and shadow of the tree, formed so perfect a screen from the sentries -that a hundred men could have passed out on a stormy night with only -remote chances of detection. Yet as the graves projected over the line I -have mentioned, it was necessary for us to deflect from our true course -until we should pass them, and then turn and work toward the tree. To -bore under ground in the dark, and hit such a mark as the tree could not -be done by chance or guess-work. We also must know the exact distance of -the point where we should turn from our deflecting course; for if we -turned too soon we should run into the graves, and if we turned too late -we should shoot beyond the tree. - -The difficulty of grade and direction was speedily disposed of. A -pocket-compass and a small vial were soon procured, and Mr. Johnson, -engineer of the gun-boat “Diana,” with admirable skill combined them -into a good surveyor’s compass and level. The direction of the tree was -taken, the amount of our deflection estimated, and the compass-level -handed to the workmen with orders to keep on a certain grade and course. - -To ascertain the exact distance of the tree was a harder task. For this -three methods were suggested. It was first proposed that an officer -should go out for wood, and as he passed this part of the stockade, some -one should request him to copy the inscription on a head-board. He would -then come up to the stockade for a pencil, and thence walk directly to -the tree, counting his steps as he went. The objection to this was that -it might excite suspicion, and draw attention to the tree. - -The second method was to form an interior triangle, which should be -equal to an imaginary exterior triangle. To do this it was indispensable -that we should have “a given angle” and a “given side” of each. Our -pocket-compass was too small to take angles, and moreover this had to be -done literally within a few inches of the sentries and before their -eyes. It was advisable, therefore, to measure and establish our given -angle without instruments, and in the most artless manner. - -Now every body possessed of a smattering of geometry knows that in a -right-angled triangle the square of the hypothenuse is equal to the sum -of the squares of the other sides. Yet very few people can turn that -knowledge to any practical account. This theorem, however, enabled us -readily and accurately to establish a right-angle, and to use it as our -“given angle.” It was done in this way: we took a cord and measured off -and marked with pins, ten feet, eight feet, and six feet. By squaring -these numbers it will be seen that 10^2 = 8^2 + 6^2. Hence by bringing -our line into the shape of a triangle (the pins designating the angles), -we formed of it a right-angled triangle. - -[Illustration] - -It was not to be supposed that a Texan sentry, seeing us measuring with -a cord on the inside of the stockade, would ever dream that we were -measuring distances on the outside. Yet it was desirable that our -measurements should be few and quickly done. After thus marking the -line, and also measuring upon it twenty feet, Captain Torrey, of the -20th Iowa and myself, carried it up to the Hawk-eye cabin, dropped it on -the ground, and quickly drew it into the form of the little triangle—A J -K. As soon as the side A J came on a line with the tree, one of us -glanced along the other side A K and noted the point B where its -projection struck the stockade. He then quickly measured twenty feet in -this direction, and stuck a peg in the ground at C. He measured twenty -feet more and placed another peg at D. Here we re-set the triangle, -which gave us the new direction D E. One of us then walked down this -course till he found himself on a line with the peg C and the tree. Here -we placed another peg, F. We then picked up the cord and came away. When -the guard was relieved, and a new set of sentries stood around the -stockade, we went back and measured the distance from F to D. It was -equal to the distance from the cabin to the tree. - -[Illustration] - -The third method was suggested by Captain Torrey. It was to take the -altitude of a triangle by trigonometry. A table of logarithms remaining -in the possession of a naval officer, enabled us to do this. Captain -Torrey laid off the base of his triangle well down in the camp, out of -sight of the sentries. To measure the angle at A he described a circle -on the back of a large chess-board, and divided it as accurately as he -could into degrees. When the altitude B T was thus obtained, all that -remained necessary to be done was to measure the distance from the base -to the corner of the “shebang” (B C), and subtract it from the altitude -B T. The results obtained by these two methods were substantially the -same. - -A great deal of earth comes out of such a hole. It was estimated that we -brought out two cart loads a day. For the first day or two our plan was -simply to carry it from the cabin after dark. Now this might escape -notice, but if it once attracted observation, and that observation -should continue from night to night, detection was certain. The boldest -course is always the safest, and therefore it was determined that all -the earth should be carried out in broad daylight. Accordingly a number -of officers were detailed for this work. They never went for a bucket of -water without filling the bucket with earth; none carried out a bag or -basket empty. Little by little, the contents of the tunnel were -distributed around the camp. Some was thrown in the paths and trampled -down—some in the ravine, and covered with ashes, and some was used to -bank up “shebangs.” It was scattered so perfectly that many of our own -number were at a loss to know what had become of it. - -A sentinel constantly watched the gate. When any Confederate visitor -entered, a signal was given, the work stopped within the tunnel, and a -blanket was spread over the shaft. Yet all these precautions did not -satisfy our anxiety. The ingenious engineer of the “Diana” was again -called in. He skilfully arched over the shaft, leaving a hole at one -end, over which he placed the meal-box of the Hawk-eye. The bottom of -this box was movable. When work was suspended in the tunnel the bag of -meal and cooking utensils were thrown into the box, and it became as -honest a looking box as a man could have. When work was to begin again -the box was emptied, the bottom was lifted out, and there appeared a -dark hole, through which a man could drop down into the shaft below. - -Yet still our anxiety grew with the work. We knew that if suspicion ever -fell on any “shebang” it would fall on this one. We, therefore, -determined to push a sap to an inner cabin, and pass all the earth -through to the less suspicious building. A wet morning gave us a pretext -for digging a trench. The trench was speedily roofed and covered with -earth. When fully completed, one end of it entered the shaft, and the -other opened in the second “shebang.” The operation then was this: a -workman in the tunnel filled a small box with earth; a second one in the -shaft drew out the box, and lifted it into the “baby-jumper” (as the sap -was called); a third drew it through, and emptied it in the second -“shebang.” - -Yet all this precaution was deemed insufficient. The “baby-jumper” was -enlarged so that a man could crawl through; the box was removed, and the -shaft was covered over entirely. On the very day that this was -completed, the gate suddenly opened, and Colonel Allen came in. He -walked rapidly to the Hawk-eye (whither he had never gone before), and -contrary to his invariable custom, entered it unasked and unannounced. -He saw only a bare earth floor. - -It was plainly desirable that information of the projected movement -should be sent to our army, and accordingly a message to that effect was -duly forwarded to our lines by the Confederate authorities in the -following letter: - - CAMP FORD, _March 19, 1864_, - - DEAR N—— - - “Letters came yesterday for some of• us•, and it will please J—— to - know that hers did not _escape_ this time. About a dozen of us have - had letters containing news to 15th ult. There were two from mother, - and one dated April 7th from C—— for me. On the whole _we_ will not - complain of our luck. I am even willing to scatter them more equally - amongst the prisoners, and indeed to let others have a few of mine. - - “We feel certain the blockaders at• Sabine• and Galveston keep ours. - Maj. Hyllested assures us, he sent a flag off with them at least - three times. Let F—— look out• for them. Some were sent in - September, others in October, November and December, I think, but - will not be sure as to all of these months. Those which go _by - Shreveport_ and Red River seem to get through and reach their - destination in _some_ cases. - - “Stevenson (as I wrote to you) whom we left sick at Iberia, is here - nearly well. Let his family know this.” - -The key to this letter had been previously sent out by an exchanged -prisoner. It early became apparent that secret correspondence might be -useful to us and of advantage to the government. But it was necessary -that it should be both secret and unsuspected. An ordinary cipher would -have been as worthless as any contraband letter. My first idea was to -take a certain word of every line to convey the hidden message. But this -I found lengthened the letter too much, and I therefore added to these -every blotted and underscored word. If a person were sure that his -correspondent knew the key, and if he were allowed to coin facts and -write nonsense, this correspondence would be easy enough. But it became -somewhat difficult when written under the following conditions; viz., 1. -To write briefly; 2. To use such words and subjects as a prisoner in -that camp would naturally use; 3. To state in the body of the letter the -personal information I wished to communicate; for I was never sure my -key had reached my correspondent. Yet a very little practice removed -much of the difficulty, and for six months, every letter carried out its -twofold intelligence. If now the reader will collate the fifth word of -every line, the words marked thus• and those in _italics_, the inner -meaning of the foregoing letter will become apparent. - -News now arrived of the advance of our army up the Red River. The leaves -were coming out, and the time was slowly approaching when we expected to -use the tunnel. The officer who had been selected to direct the work, -well know that when this time should arrive it would be absolutely -impossible to prevent the whole camp from talking of it, and that one -careless word might ruin everything. He therefore sought to conceal the -real situation of the affair, by concealing the real distance to the -tree, and under-rating the amount of work actually performed. Every -precaution was taken to divert attention from the progress of the work; -for the inspection of the shrewd Colonel betokened that some foolish -word had been overheard by the sentries, or else that we had a secret -spy in camp. There were then a few straggling privates within the -stockade, and suspicion pointed at two of these. A constant watch was -kept upon them; and orders were given that all conversation on the -subject should cease. - -The night of the fifteenth of April would be the first on which the moon -would rise late enough for a sufficient number of men to pass out; and -on the fifteenth of April it was designed that the tunnel should be -finished and the sally made. On the ninth, news arrived that a great -battle had begun at Mansfield. On the tenth, rumors came, saying that -the Confederate General had possessed sufficient courage to move forward -and strike our invading army. On the eleventh, we heard that he had -struck it in detail, routing it and driving it back toward Alexandria. -On the thirteenth, Colonel Allen received orders to prepare for four -thousand new prisoners. On the fifteenth, the stockade was moved back -six hundred feet, and our unfortunate tunnel left high and dry in the -middle of this new enclosure. - - - - - XI. - EXCHANGE. - - -The work upon the tunnel was interrupted for a day by an event, which I -think must be without a parallel in any other prison-camp. At the -breaking out of the rebellion, Miss Mollie Moore was a school girl of -sixteen. After Galveston was re-taken by the Confederates, the “Houston -Telegraph” was adorned with several heroic ballads, written by the young -lady, whom the editor sometimes called “our pet,” and sometimes the -“unrivalled star of Texan literature.” The 42d Massachusetts had been -quartered in a warehouse on the wharf of Galveston, and had passed the -night previous to their capture in fighting, all of which the ballad -described thus: - - “Beneath the Texan groves the haughty foemen slept.” - -The literary taste of a simple, half-educated people is never very high, -and it is not surprising that this childish composition so nicely -equalled the taste of its readers, as to be deemed a marvel of genius, -and actually to be published with General Magruder’s official report. -Miss Mollie became the literary genius of Texas, and her effusions were -poured forth through the “Houston Telegraph” and the “Tyler Reporter” -and the “Crocket Quid Nunc” in most lavish streams. This strong -incentive to write, and these ready opportunities to publish were not -altogether abused by the young authoress, who rapidly improved. Judging -her by the other poems that adorned those papers, she indeed appeared to -be the “unrivalled star of Texan literature.” I am fortunate in being -able to introduce her to northern readers by an extract from: - - - AN INVITATION. - - TO MISS LIZZIE IRVINE, OF TYLER. - - The autumn sunset’s fairy dyes - Have faded from the bonding skies - Grey twilight (she with down-cast eyes - And trailing garments) passeth by; - And thro’ the cloud-rifts shine the stars, - As sunbeams burst thro’ prison bars; - And on the soft wind, faintly heard, - The warbling of some twilight bird - Comes floating sylph-like, clad with power, - To whisper, “This is love’s own hour!” - - · · · · · - - ’Tis autumn—and with summer fell - The climbing vines of Sylvan Dell; - Our flowers too withered when the pall - Crept over summer; and the fall - Of dry leaves, eddying thro’ the air, - Has left the tall trees brown and bare: - And more—at winter’s high behest, - The crisp fern waves a tattered crest - Above the stream, whose crystal pride - The river-screen was wont to hide. - But think not all are faithless! no, - Not all doth Summer yield her foe, - Tho’ Winter grasp each flower and vine— - He cannot claim the fadeless pine, - And high upon our rough hill-steeps, - His watch the crested holly keeps. - Ah would that Love could thus defy - The storms that sweep our wintry sky! - - · · · · · - - Come wander with me where the hill - Slopes downward to the waters still, - Where bright among the curling vines - The sevres berry scarlet shines. - And on yon brown hill’s bosky side, - Where flames the sumach’s crimson pride, - The steeps and tangled thickets glow - With rude persimmons golden show; - And down the dell, where daylight’s beams - Make golden pathways by the streams, - Where whispering winds are never mute, - The hawthorn hangs her ebon fruit. - - Come wander with me! near the spring - The partridge whirs on mottled wing, - And where the oozy marshes rest - The wild duck heaves her royal breast, - And when the winds are faintly stirred, - The “sound of dropping nuts” is heard. - - · · · · · - - Come thou! a bright and golden bar - Comes quivering from yon yellow star, - And sweeps away as spirits flee, - To bear my vesper thought to thee. - Come thou! a zephyr sweet and mild - Comes whispering where the starlight smiled, - And floats as Love’s own spirits flee, - To bear my vesper wish to thee. - Come thou! a spirit wanders by, - With gentle brow and tender eye, - And flies as Love alone can flee, - To bear my vesper prayer to thee. - Come thou! and when the hour as now - Hangs heavy shades on day’s cold brow, - When stars are glowing in the skies, - The blessed stars, Love’s radiant eyes, - When faintly on the breeze is heard, - The hymning of some brooding bird— - Ah how the twilight hour will be - Love’s dearest hour to thee and me! - -It seems impossible that a young lady able to write such correct and -pleasing verse could be brought down by a bad subject to the following -inflated nonsense, which is a stanza from a terrific piece called “The -Black Flag,” “Dedicated to the Southern Army:” - - - · · · · · - - Let our flag kiss the breeze! let it float o’er the field, - Not a heart will grow faint, not a bay’net will yield; - Let the foe _drive_ his hosts o’er our land and the sea, - To the banquet of Death prepared by the free! - Unfurl our dark banner! be steady each breast, - Till the red light of Victory hath lit on its crest! - Let it hang as the vulture hangs, heavy with woe, - O’er the field where our blades drink the blood of the foe! - - _Chorus_—It shall never be lowered, the black flag we bear, - It shall never, never, never, no never, etc., etc., etc. - -There was a young lieutenant among the prisoners given to collecting all -sorts of scraps and curiosities, and so he addressed a note to Miss -Mollie, begging for her autograph and copies of any poems she might be -able to spare. Within a reasonable time there came a copy of the -“Invitation” and an autograph of the “Black Flag,” and a reproachful -letter to Lieutenant Pearson. There was also a letter to Colonel Allen, -not intended for Yankee reading. It expressed a little repentance for -writing so cruelly to an unfortunate prisoner—avowed a wish to treat -even invaders with politeness, and wound up with the Eve-like -conclusion, “But I could not resist the temptation. Yours truly, MOLLIE -E. MOORE.” - -One or two other causes at the same time combined to induce Miss Mollie -to visit Camp Ford, and one lucky morning Mrs. Allen escorted her in. -She was one of those girls that men are a little afraid of, and that -other girls do not like; she had a slender figure, a thin face, light -hair, light blue, dreamy eyes, and she was accompanied by the object of -the “Invitation.” There was not much of the poetess in her bearing, for -she was very neatly dressed, a ready talker, and quite sharp at -repartee. Yet when Colonel Burrill was presented to her as one of the -“haughty foemen,” she colored, and showed a little pretty embarrassment. -The friend was her exact opposite, with dark hair, dark eyes, very shy -and silent and reserved, and much the prettiest Texan it was ever my -luck to see. - -About the same time a second notable incident occurred, being no less -than a literary contest between prisoners and the outside world. One of -our number had received some attention from the Houston editor, in -return for which he sent him a few verses, entitled, “Pax Vobiscum.” -These lines so exactly accorded with the yearning for peace, that they -awakened great interest, and after a while were re-published, with the -editorial avowal that they were written by a Yankee prisoner. Another -literary lady, middle-aged, married, and rather stout (so I was -informed), but who called herself by the infantile name of “Maggie of -Marshall,” thereupon came out with a poem, addressed to “the noble -prisoner,” in which she styled him, “The northern by birth but the -southern in soul,” and urged him to come straight over and fight on -their side. The “noble prisoner” had no earthly intention of deserting, -so he wrote a second poem for the “Tyler Reporter,” in which he defined -his position. “When Mistress Maggie of Marshall found that her -blandishments were all thrown away, she became deeply indignant, and -immediately wrote her second poem for the “Reporter,” wherein the “noble -prisoner” was turned into a puritan and a murderer and a son of Cain, -and finally turned adrift with the contemptuous pity: - - “Behold this Ephraim to his idols joined— - Let him alone.” - -I cannot speak very explicitly of our last three months. In telling this -story, I have tried to picture only the better side of everything, and -to make it imprisonment with the unpleasant parts left out. The story is -“the truth,” but not “the whole truth,” and does not deny or conflict -with the narratives of others. A sense of honor forbids that the better -actions of our late enemies should be hidden, or that the good and the -bad should be condemned together. Yet I may as well add here, for the -benefit of certain persons, that the respect yielded to a southern -soldier standing by his State, and heroically fighting for that false -belief (in which he was bred), does not extend to those cowards who, -“_sympathizing_ with the South,” have skulked through the war behind the -generous protection of the United States. - -The Red River prisoners arrived, and were followed by numbers from -Arkansas. Our soldiers and sailors of Camp Groce, who, four months -before, left us hopefully sure of their release, came back—I need not -say how sad and disappointed. Our number swelled from a hundred -officers, to forty-seven hundred and twenty-five, officers, soldiers and -sailors. Then followed a quarter of a year of loathsome wretchedness, -beside which, the squallor and vice of a great city’s worst haunts -appeared—and still appear, too bright and pure to yield a comparison. - -The healthy character of our camp changed in a single week. Disease and -death followed each other quickly in. The friendless sick lay -shelterless on the ground around us, the sun scorching and blighting -them by day, and the cold Texan night-wind smiting them by night. We -walked over the dying and the dead, whenever we moved, and saw and heard -their miseries through every hour. Beside the gate stood a pile of -coffins, reminding all who went out and came in, of their probable -impending fate. The vice and lawlessness that live in the vile haunts of -cities sprang up and flourished here. The Confederate troops (idle after -their victories on the Red River) came back to scour the country for -deserters; and our unhappy conscript friends whispered that escape was -hopeless now, and sought to comfort us by lamenting that no dim prospect -of exchange cheered them. Our kind friends, the Allens, had gone, and -the English Lieutenant-Colonel, who commanded, treated a few with surly -civility, but the great mass with brutal cruelty. The horrors of these -great prison camps are not yet told—will never be. - -It is darkest before the dawn. We sat at dinner, one day, and a sailor, -whose nick-name was Wax, came to the door, and said to his Captain, “The -paroling officer, sir, who was here three months ago, has come back, and -the guards say, there are some of us to be exchanged.” The Captain -thanked the man, and we went on with our dinner. “I suppose,” some one -remarked, “that if exchange ever does come, the news will come through -Wax;” and then we dropped the subject; for a hundred times just such -stories had been told, and a hundred times they had proved false. -Captain Dillingham finished his dinner, and said he would go out and see -that officer; perhaps the fellow had brought us some letters. The -Captain came back in a few minutes, and said, as cheerily as though he -were telling good news for himself, “You are to go, and I am to -stay—none of us navy fellows to be exchanged.” Our rose had its thorn. - -Three days of anxious waiting passed, and we bade our naval friends -farewell. Some of them had been tried then six months longer than we had -been. The trial of all went on for seven months more. They suffered, -again and again, the sorest pain that can be inflicted on prisoners of -war—the sight of those marching out who were captured long subsequent to -themselves, and the fear that the injustice comes from the neglect of -their own government. There was thrown upon them also a strong -temptation; for there were desertions, I am sorry to say, from the army. -The deserters were chiefly foreign born, but not all. The first, indeed, -was a young man in the 2d Rhode Island Cavalry, a native of another New -England State. Yet these sailors never faltered. If men who have fought -bravely in battle, and who have been faithful through suffering, ever -deserved to be welcomed home with honors and ovations, then did these -sailors of the “Morning Light,” “Clifton,” and “Sachem.” - -One thousand of us marched out of the crowded camp, We inhaled long -breaths of the pure untainted air, yet dared not believe that this would -end in exchange. It was the sixth time that some had marched over the -same road, and we might well be incredulous. There was weary marching -over burning sand, and the long-confined men grew weak and foot-sore, -before they had marched an hour. The Confederate officers acted kindly, -but the prisoners had seen chances of exchange lost by a single day’s -delay, and they dragged themselves forward with a rigor that would have -been cruelty had it been enforced on them. The white sand glaring under -their feet, and the burning sun beating down through the breathless air, -made a fiery ordeal. Shoeless men, with feet seared and blistered so -that the hot sand felt like coals of fire, tottered along, not faster -than a mile an hour, yet moving steadily. A few wagons, pressed from the -harvest-fields, were covered with the sick and dying, and thus -appearing, on the fifth day, we marched through the streets of -Shreveport. - -Here three days of insupportable longness awaited us; for Shreveport had -been the dam that had always stopped prisoners and turned them back. On -the fourth morning we marched on board of the steamboats that were to -carry us down the Red River; and then, when Shreveport was fairly behind -us, we breathed freer, and for the first time allowed ourselves to hope. -At Alexandria we were stopped and landed, and made to endure two other -days of suspense, but at last we re-embarked for the point of exchange. - -The mouth of Red River was the place where our flag-of-truce boat was to -meet us. We reached it before sunrise, and saw again the muddy current -of the Mississippi. No flag-of-truce boat was in sight. But we saw two -gun-boats that sentinelled the river, and our eyes rested on the flag -that streamed over their decks, and silently proclaimed to us the still -sovereign power of the United States. A shot from the gun-boats bade us -stop. A small boat was lowered; we saw its crew enter it, and an officer -come over the side; and then it pulled toward us. The officer inquired -the object of the Confederate flag-of-truce, and told us the -disheartening fact that he had heard nothing of this exchange. Then -followed nine hours; that seemed as though they would never move away. A -crowd of prisoners stood on the upper deck, their eyes strained on the -river. The morning passed, the afternoon began, and still nothing could -be seen. At two o’clock, a little puff of black smoke appeared far down -the Mississippi, and a murmur ran through the crowd. An hour crawled -away, and a large, white steamer pushed around a headland of the river, -and came rapidly up against the muddy current. The strained eyes thought -they saw a white flag, but it was hard to distinguish it on the white -back-ground of the boat. Suddenly the steamer turned and ran in to the -bank below us—the white flag streamed out plainly in view, and the decks -were covered with Confederate prisoners. - - * * * * * - -It was on the last day of thirteen months of captivity that I re-entered -our lines. All that I had seen and learnt was contained in about thirty -days. Could these thirty days have been brought together, they would -have formed an interesting and instructive month. But beside this one -were twelve other months, that were a dreary, idle waste. They formed a -year that had brought no pleasure, profit or instruction. Some who -entered it young, came out with broken health and shortened lives; some -who had entered it in middle age, came out with grey hair, impaired -memory, and the decrepitude of premature old age. It was a year that had -taken much from us and given to us little in return. A year of -ever-disappointed hopes, of barren promises, of a blank and dreary -retrospect. Contemplating it, we might almost reverse the meaning of our -gently-chiding poet: - - “Rich gift of God! A year of time! - What pomp of rise and shut of day— - What hues wherewith our northern clime - Makes autumn’s drooping woodlands gay— - What airs outblown from ferny dells, - And clover bloom, and sweet-brier smells— - What songs of brooks and birds—what fruits and flowers, - Green woods and moon-lit snows have in its round been ours.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES - - - 1. Silently corrected typographical errors and variations in spelling. - 2. Anachronistic, non-standard, and uncertain spellings retained as - printed. - 3. Enclosed italics font in _underscores_. - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Sketches in Prison Camps, by Charles C. 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