Part 14 (2/2)

Leyden and myself, the letters and checks we had given to the old reb at Danville, in exchange for fourteen hundred dollars in Confederate money.

And, shall I confess it, in a fit of absent-mindedness (?) I tore them up and threw them into the stove, thus saving the bother of taking them to Riggs & Co., at Was.h.i.+ngton. I have forgotten the old gentleman's name who so greatly befriended me by giving me such a liberal supply of money which, although worthless to him, served to supply myself and a number of my comrades, with the best the Confederacy afforded, for the balance of our stay in rebeldom.

Our stay in Richmond was of short duration, but we left it without regret.

On the twentieth of February, we were again ordered to ”pack up,” and this time for home. I cannot describe the wild tumult of joy with which the order was received. Many of the enlisted men, who with us occupied the building, though in a separate appartment, and to whom we had managed to smuggle some of our rations, were too weak to walk alone, and were obliged to walk between two of their comrades, who supported them to the boat and tenderly cared for them. Their emaciated forms and l.u.s.terless eyes, told a painful story of the starvation and suffering they had endured for the preservation of their country, and for their loyalty to the flag.

And yet there are those even here in the North, who grew rich through THEIR sufferings, who begrudge them the beggarly pittance of a pension of a few dollars a month, to keep them from the poor house; when, by their heroic fort.i.tude, and their indescribable sufferings, they made it possible for the bonds of the government to be worth a _hundred cents on the dollar in gold_; made it possible for these very men to be to-day enjoying the luxury of wealth in a happy and prosperous land; to be citizens of a country whose treasury is overflowing to such an extent that the President of the United States has deemed it necessary to cry out in alarm, that the country is in danger from a too plethoric treasury. These same heroic souls who twenty-five years ago, by their loyalty to the old flag, and whose patriotic devotion to the principles of universal freedom, led them to offer themselves upon the altar of their country, if they escaped a horrible death by starvation and are still living, are looked upon by many who profited so largely by their sacrifices, as beggars, because they ask to be remunerated for their shattered health, by a small pittance of ten or twelve dollars a month, to a.s.sist them in their old age and decrepitude.

On the morning of the 20th of February, 1865, the last ration of corn bread was issued, and I determined to preserve mine and bring it home to show to my friends. This I did, and have kept it ever since. It was twenty-three years old the 20th of February, 1888, and is still in a fair state of preservation, and on every anniversary of its issue to me, that old Libby prison ration and I have a little celebration, and revive old memories.

We were placed on board river steamers, which were skillfully piloted around the numerous torpedoes that had been sunk for the destruction of our gun-boats, should they attempt to a.s.sist in the capture of Richmond, and past the iron-clad monsters that were stationed all along for the protection of that rebel stronghold, and were conveyed to Varina landing, where, as we disembarked, we were met by an equal number of rebs who had been prisoners in our hands, and who returned on the same boats that took us down.

The contrast in the looks and appearances of these gray-backs and our poor boys, was painfully apparent. They were in robust health, full of life and vitality, and fit to at once take the field again, while our boys were scarcely able, many of them, to climb up the bank at the landing, without a.s.sistance. While they showed the effects of rest and plenty of wholesome food, our poor comrades showed equally the terrible effects of starvation and disease. They were in excellent condition to again at once go into active service, while we would need months of careful nursing, before any of us could again endure the hards.h.i.+ps of camp life; and a large proportion, were forever broken in health, and would never again be able to perform the duties of a soldier.

We still had a march of six miles to make, before we reached the Union lines. Ambulances were in waiting, to convey those who were too feeble to endure the march, and the rest of us who had strength enough left, trudged along on foot.

CHAPTER XXVII.

The march from the landing to the headquarters of General John E. Mulford, was through a swampy piece of ground and the road was muddy, but, with freedom almost in sight, we tramped along cheerfully, with buoyant steps and hopeful hearts, singing s.n.a.t.c.hes of army songs, though we were still inside the lines of the enemy. After a march of about five miles we pa.s.sed the reb picket line, and about three hundred yards ahead, saw once more floating in the breeze, on a tall flag staff, the glorious old banner for whose defence we had suffered so long and so fearfully.

When the head of the column came under the shadow of ”OLD GLORY,” both our cheers and our old dilapidated hats went heavenward with all the velocity that we were able to impart to them. Some were too feeble to more than faintly whisper their greeting to the dear old flag they loved so dearly, while tears of joy attested the genuineness of their affection for that beautiful emblem of liberty, the sight of which had so long been denied them.

I never before realized how much I loved the dear old stars and stripes, or how much protection there was beneath its s.h.i.+ning folds. How I longed to press it to my heart and lips. And not me alone, but of the nearly two thousand skeletons who that day saw it proudly waving high over their heads for the first time in many months; there were few indeed who would not have fervently kissed and caressed it had it been within their reach.

As a mother's love goes out to her first born that has come to her amid suffering and pain, so that old flag seemed a thousand fold more beautiful and precious to us, for the sufferings and privations we had pa.s.sed through in its defence.

Cheer after cheer went up as the straggling column pa.s.sed along, feeble hands were waived, and feeble voices joined in the huzzahs, with which we celebrated our return to ”G.o.d's country.”

Arriving at General Mulford's headquarters, we were obliged to wait two or three hours for a boat to take us down the river. Once on board the steamer, our first thought was for a good square meal.

But, alas! a meal on board that steamer cost a dollar, and Confederate money was no good there.

A comrade whom I had befriended, however, invited me to take dinner with him, which invitation you may be sure I readily accepted; and for the first time in many months, sat down to a regular dinner of roast beef, Irish potatoes, bread and b.u.t.ter, and a genuine cup of coffee.

On the morning of Sunday, the 22d of February, we arrived at Annapolis. As the steamers were approaching the wharf, a band which had come down to welcome us, struck up ”Home, Sweet Home.” Involuntarily every officer took off his hat and bowed his head, as though receiving a benediction, so impressively solemn sounded that sweet, familiar tune just then.

Arriving at parole camp, the first person I met whom I knew, was Captain Eastmond, who escaped with me at Columbia, and who was recaptured the next night.

He told me that a few days after my escape, my name was called for special exchange, and he answered to my name, signed my name to the parole, and had been out nearly three months.

As soon as he reached General Mulford's headquarters he told him of the deception he had practiced, and the General told him it was all right and as soon as he could find out where I was he would send another special for me. But I, in blissful ignorance of what my friends were trying to accomplish in my behalf, was being s.h.i.+fted from one place to another, so that he did not get track of me again. The first thing I did upon my arrival at Annapolis, was to hunt up the store of the Ladies' Sanitary Commission, and get a complete outfit from head to foot, for which they would take no pay, and then getting a room in a hotel, I stripped off my lousy rags, and after taking a good bath, dressed myself in my new suit, throwing my old prison garments out of a window into an alley, thus effectually ridding myself from the annoying companions that had so persistently stuck by me during my imprisonment. I parted with them without a sigh, and have never to this day had a desire to renew their acquaintance.

I then applied for a twenty day's leave and wrote a long letter home, giving a brief synopsis of my experience in the prisons of rebeldom for the last ten months. This letter I directed to my wife, though I did not know whether she was dead or living, not having heard a word from her since parting with her at Plymouth, on the night of the first day's fight.

After waiting a week I received my leave of absence, and at once started for home. I found that my letters had nearly all been received and promptly answered, but they were never delivered to me. I can never be made to believe but that our letters were purposely destroyed by order of General Winder, as a part of his plan to discourage and dishearten us, well knowing how much this would do towards undermining our health and destroying our lives.

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