Part 3 (1/2)

After we had exercised sufficiently we would lay down in the shade and read or sleep during the hottest portion of the day. A number of us formed a literary a.s.sociation, each subscribing toward the purchase of a library that a citizen of Macon had to sell. He said he had a library of about one hundred books, that he would sell for $500, as he was dest.i.tute and was obliged to part with them to buy provisions for his family. So twenty of us chipped in $25 apiece around and started a circulating library, appointed one of our number librarian, and in this way we were well supplied with reading matter for a long time.

I do not remember all, or any considerable number of the t.i.tles of these books, but what interested me most were some old Harper's magazines, in the reading of which I found days and weeks of profitable enjoyment. I do not think I ever fully appreciated until then, how much real comfort it was possible to extract from those old literary productions. Our reading was usually done during the hottest part of the day while lying in our quarters, when out of door exercise was too uncomfortable, and when we got tired of reading we would take a nap or go visiting to some of our friends in other portions of the camp, and there sit and talk over affairs, discussing the prospects of exchange, spinning yarns, cracking jokes, or singing old war songs to cheer each other up and pa.s.s away the time.

Others would resort to the gambling tent, where there was always a game of cards going on; sometimes it was three card loo and sometimes poker; but they would sit there from early morning until dark and play for money, and, as is always the case, some would come away happy and some broke. But somehow or other the same gang would be there the next day, anxious to retrieve their broken fortunes of the previous day, or add to their gains.

Men would there as here, sell the last b.u.t.ton off their coat to raise money to continue the game, with a hope that luck would come their way.

Thus, some who came into prison with enough to subsist them for quite a long time, would soon be obliged to live on the rations they drew, while others, who were nearly dest.i.tute when they came in, would live like fighting c.o.c.ks. I could rehea.r.s.e incidents of this kind that came under my personal observation, but as I could not do so without giving names, as the boys say, I won't give it away.

All sorts of games were played, some for money, and some for pastime.

Cribbage, back gammon, euchre, seven up, and sometimes we would play poker for the beans we drew for our rations. When the bean ration was given out, each man would have perhaps a good tablespoonful, then five or six would sit down and play until one would have the whole, which would make him quite a respectable dinner, and the rest would have to go without. Thus it will be seen that our prison camp was a village, where all kinds of business was carried on, and all sorts of characters were to be found. We had our church, our prayer meetings, our social circles, our singing, our visiting, and our gambling houses, all in a s.p.a.ce of four or five acres of ground.

We had some excellent singers, and were frequently entertained during the long evenings with solos, quartettes, and choruses, patriotic, sentimental and pathetic.

Among the patriotic songs oftenest heard, were ”The Star Spangled Banner,”

”The Red, White and Blue,” ”The Sword of Bunker Hill,” and ”Rally 'Round the Flag;” but the one that touched a tender chord in every prisoner's heart, and that even the rebs used to call for, was this which I quote entire:

In the prison pen I sit, thinking mother most of you, And the bright and happy home so far away, While the tears they fill my eyes, spite of all that I can do, Though I try to cheer my comrades and be gay.

CHORUS.--Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching, Cheer up, comrades, they will come, And beneath the starry flag, we shall breathe the air again, Of the freeland, in our own beloved home.

In the battle front we stood, when their fiercest charge was made, And they swept us off, a hundred men or more, But before we reached their lines, they were driven back dismayed, And we heard the shout of victory o'er and o'er.

CHORUS.--Tramp, tramp, etc.

So within the prison pen, we are waiting for the day, That shall come and open wide the iron door, And the hollow eye grows bright, and the poor heart almost gay, As we think of seeing friends and home once more.

Then there was another, the chorus of which I can only remember, that the boys used to sing. The chorus was this:

Hurrah, boys, hurrah! Shout glory and sing; For the rebels look sad and forsaken.

Our glorious old eagle is still on the wing, And Vicksburg is taken, boys, taken.

Among the beautiful singers who were in the habit of entertaining us, I distinctly remember Capt. Palmer, who had a good voice, and to whose singing I was delighted to listen. I do not know to what regiment he belonged, but I do know that he afforded me a great amount of pleasure by his sweet songs.

Not being much of a singer myself, I nevertheless enjoy listening to others, and as I once heard a noted preacher say, it depends as much on a good listener as a good talker to have an enjoyable meeting, I thought that I contributed as much as any one towards the entertainments.

Whenever there was any singing going on, there was always a good audience of appreciative listeners, and among eighteen hundred officers, I need not say there was plenty of talent to select from, and these evening entertainments were a source of great enjoyment to all, even though the same songs were sung over and over again by the same persons.

CHAPTER IX.

FRESH FISH--ARRIVAL OF COL. MILLER--DEATH OF LIEUT. WOOD, 82ND INDIANA--MORE FRESH FISH.

Upon the arrival of new prisoners at the gate of the stockade, there would be a cry raised throughout the camp, commencing near the entrance, and spreading rapidly to the farthest extremity of the enclosure, of ”fresh fis.h.!.+ fresh fis.h.!.+” It was like the alarm of fire in a city, and quickly collected a crowd, and as the numbers increased, the din became more deafening, and to the new comer who did not know what it meant, perfectly appalling.

I have seen prisoners come in who looked perfectly bewildered as they gazed upon the mob of ragged, shoeless, hatless, unshaven, long-haired, howling beings who confronted them, looking more like escaped lunatics than officers; when some one back in the crowd would sing out, give the gentleman air, don't take his haversack, keep your hands out of his pocket, don't put that louse on him, why don't some of you fellows take the gentleman's baggage, and show him to his room, Johnny show the gentleman up to No. 13. I remember especially, the look of perfect bewilderment on the face of Col. Frank C. Miller, of the 147th New York, as he stood at the entrance of the enclosure, and the look of joyful relief as I called out, h.e.l.lo Frank, come over here, and he recognized an old and intimate friend. And he told me afterwards, that he never in his life was so pleased to see any one as he was to see me just at that moment, for, said he, I thought they were putting me into a lunatic asylum.