A Sketch of the <emph rend="bold">Battle of Franklin, Tenn.; </emph> With <emph rend="bold">Reminiscences of Camp Douglas.:</emph> Electronic Edition.

]> A Sketch of the <emph rend="bold">Battle of Franklin, Tenn.; </emph> With <emph rend="bold">Reminiscences of Camp Douglas.:</emph> Electronic Edition. Copley, John M. Funding from the Library of Congress/Ameritech National Digital Library Competition supported the electronic publication of this title. Text scanned (OCR) by Ericka Patillo Text encoded by Jordan Davis and Natalia Smith First edition, 1998. ca. 300K Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1998.

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Call number E616 .D7 C7 (Wilson Annex/Storage, UNC-CH) A Sketch of the Battle of Franklin, Tenn.; With Reminiscences of Camp Douglas. Copley, John M.Austin, TexasEugene Von Boeckmann, Printer1893

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A SKETCH OF THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN, TENN.; WITH REMINISCENCES OF CAMP DOUGLAS. BY JOHN M. COPLEY. ILLUSTRATED. AUSTIN, TEXAS: EUGENE VON BOECKMANN, PRINTER. 1893. COPYRIGHTED, 1893.

I DEDICATE THIS BOOK TOMRS. CORRIE M. COPLEY, (NEE BILLINGSLEA), MY WIFE.

“Of earthly goods, the best is a good wife. Whate'er she does, where'er her steps she bends, Grace on each action silently attends.” PREFACE “So far as what we see with our minds, “Bears similitude to what we see with our eyes.”

It is my opinion that few persons who possess a liberal education, but what, if they make the effort, could write some sort of a book; but to write a book and make it interesting, at the same time have it contain truth and common sense, is no easy task; but to write one and let it contain nothing except plain facts, without any of the coloring which we would give to fiction, and which adds so much charm to the book and interest for the reader, is a greater and much more laborious task.

In writing this little book, I have endeavored to keep it clear of all fiction and romance, and to place only facts before the reader. I have not drawn upon my imagination for any incident contained in the following pages. Perhaps some of the incidents may appear unreasonable to those who have grown up within the last decade, and know but little, practically, of the war between the States, and nothing whatever of the life of a prisoner of war; nevertheless, they are all stubborn facts.

I have not been solicited by any one to write these reminiscences, but do so through a desire to give my boys, some idea of a few of the painful scenes and terrible consequences of that fearful war of 1861-1865.

I shall in this brief little history of prison-life passed in the military prison at Camp Douglas, Illinois, give the unwritten incidents which occurred within the inclosure of the prison walls, at least, the part in which myself, with a few others participated, and to describe minutely, as near as possible, all the inanimate objects and some of the animate, together with full particulars of all the occurrences which happened within my observation. I desire, as it were, to have the reader accompany me within the inclosure of the prison walls and paint the whole as nearly as possible as it transpired—let him view it with the mind's eye in its reality, without exaggeration or coloring.

It is my intention to give the reader a faithful and true account of all that passed before me while I was a prisoner of war, with which I was personally connected; also those of which I was an eye-witness, at the time and place of which I am writing. Not our meals only shall be fully and particularly described, but our table-ware, from the oyster-can to the tin plate.

I am not a gentleman of wealth or leisure; hence, I have been unable to devote a year or two in preparing the manuscript for the publisher, but have been compelled to scratch it off at odd times when I could do so, without encroaching upon my business.

My attempt has been to use the simplest language, to make my meaning clear, and the construction accurate. Whenever I have seen proper to quote anything from others, I have indicated the same by quotation points.

JOHN M. COPLEY. INDEX. CHAPTER I. Mustered into Service—Hospital Experience—The Federals Capture Nashville—Escape from the Federal Lines— Again Join the Army . . . . . 13 CHAPTER II. Hood's Advance on Nashville—Chasing Schofield's Corps, which is Allowed to Escape—In Hot Pursuit of the Enemy —Description of the Federal Position—The Battle of Franklin—Captured by the Enemy . . . . . 28 CHAPTER III. Prisoners of War—Marched to Nashville to the Accompaniment of Hood's Cannon—On Exhibition— Placed on Board the Cars for Louisville . . . . . 62 CHAPTER IV. Our Jocular Guards—Leave Louisville Packed in Box Cars, and Arrive at Camp Douglas—Stripped and Searched— Within Prison Walls . . . . . 73 CHAPTER V. A Description of the Prison Grounds—The Barracks and their Arrangement—The Bulletin Board, the Dungeon, and “Morgan's Mule.” . . . . . 81 CHAPTER VI. The Prison Officials—Capt. Webb Sponable, “Inspector of Rations”—The Guards and their Duties—The Bugler—The “Big Four” . . . . . 95 CHAPTER VII. Prison Life—Companions in Misery—Visitors to the Prison Camp—Called out of Barracks by a Ruse— Again Searched—An Angry Guard . . . . . 111 CHAPTER VIII. The Bill of Fare—Cooks and Cookery—Table-ware— Method of Serving Meals—Only Two Meals per Day —Rations in Kind Issued to Prisoners of War . . . . . 119 CHAPTER IX. Prison Rules and Regulations—Ingenious methods of Punishment—The most Trivial Offenses severely Punished—The Cruelty of the “Big Four”—Human Ghouls—The Dead Line—The Penalty for Cooking on the Stoves . . . . . 139 CHAPTER X. Favored Classes—Free Masons and “Loyal Men”— Applications to take the Oath of Allegiance— Probationary Period—“Loyal Row”—Feeling Against the “Loyal Men” . . . . . 147 CHAPTER XI. Strict Sanitary Regulations—Cleanliness of the Barracks Required—Wash Day—Penalties Imposed by the Prisoners for a Failure to Keep Person and Clothing Clean . . . . . 158 CHAPTIR XII. Improving the Time—Gambling Among the Prisoners —The Peculiar Currency used as Stakes—Hungry unfortunates— Letters from Home—Difficulty of Mailing Letters . . . . . 162 CHAPTER XIII. “Necessity the Mother of Invention”—The Trades and Professions—Musical Instrument Manufacturers and Music—Playing Ball—Standard Currency of the Camp— Fate of Lieut. Fife's Dog—Prison Cakes and Pies—The Magician of the Camp . . . . . 170 CHAPTER XIV. “Fighting Joe” Hooker Reviews the Prisoners—Governors Morton and Oglesby visit the Camp—Reckless Cruelty of the Guards—A Fatal Accident . . . . . 181 CHAPTER XV. “Way Down in Dixie”—The Origin of the Song— Sickness in Camp—The Prison Hospital—A Change of Quarters . . . . . 193 CHAPTER XVI. Gloomy News—The Triumph of the Federal Arms—Great rejoicing Among the Federal Troops—The Prisoners take the Oath of Allegiance, are Released, and Sent to their Homes . . . . . 201 THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN; WITH REMINISCENCES OF CAMP DOUGLAS. CHAPTER I. “Sometimes fair truth in fiction we disguise; Sometimes present her naked to men's eyes.” “But he who blends instruction with delight, Wins every reader, nor in vain shall write.”

“But what is history? An echo of the past in the future; a reflex from the future on the past. History is night. In history there is no second tier. That which is no longer on the stage immediately fades into obscurity. The scene is shifted, and all is at once forgotten. The past has a synonym, the unknown.”

In 1861, when the war broke out between the Northern and Southern States, I was then a boy and had just entered my fifteenth year; and being caught in the wave of enthusiasm which swept over the land joined a company of Volunteers, was mustered into the service of what was then called the Confederate States Government, in Company B, Forty-ninth Regiment of Tennessee Infantry. This regiment when first organized was commanded by Colonel James E. Bailey and Lieutenant Colonel Alford Robb, both of Clarksville, Tennessee, and numbered near one thousand strong. There were but few men in this regiment over thirty years of age. Company B was organized at Charlotte, Dickson county, Tennessee, and numbered near one hundred men, rank and file, and was commanded by Captain Thomas K. Grigsby. This company had more boys, whose ages ranged from fourteen to twenty years old, than any other in the regiment when first mustered into service.

My first service as a soldier was rendered at Fort Donelson, on Cumberland river, eighty miles below the city of Nashville, Tennessee. When Fort Donelson fell into the hands of the Federal troops, I was lying in the hospital at Nashville, sick from a severe attack of pneumonia. It was a large and commodious brick building, two stories high, situate near and fronting Cumberland river, and had but recently been converted into what was known as the Ensly Hospital.

My cot on which I was lying was near a window, which commanded a fine view of the river, as the transports crowded with troops came up the river, within sight of the city. As the transports approached the city, the troops wearing the blue uniform, with their banners flying, the Stars and Stripes proudly floating in the breeze from the mast-heads of all the vessels, the bands playing Yankee Doodle, and various national airs, presented quite an imposing appearance. As the steamers rounded in for the landing, all the bands on board struck up Dixie, and filled the air with music for several minutes.

As soon as the troops disembarked they took immediate possession of the city, with, of course, the hospitals and sick included. Everybody fled from the hospitals who were able to do so, before the Federal troops entered the city. Our army surgeons, prescriptionists, hospital stewards, nurses, and the attendants of all classes, fled at the approach of the Federal transports, and left us entirely alone to whatever fate might befall us. We were all too sick to make even an effort to escape, but contented ourselves the best we could under the circumstances, and remained.

Sentinels were immediately placed inside and around the hospital, one at the entrance of the stairway, at the foot of the stairs on the ground, another at the top of the stairway on the inside, near the entrance to my ward. These sentinels were relieved from guard duty every two hours. We were not left long without attention, for the ladies of Nashville came into the hospital at once, took full charge of the sick, and soon made us feel very comfortable and as though our own mothers had suddenly appeared in our midst; they soon materially improved our condition in many respects, and made strenuous efforts to have us removed to their private residences, but the Federal authorities would not allow it, and we had to remain in the hospital. That grand old city of Nashville could always boast of its noble southern women. The ladies of that city have always been particularly noted for their generosity, Christianity, culture and refinement; on no occasion, before the war or since, has this reputation been found to be only a noiseless fame. The author of the following lines must have been indebted to women of this character, when he expressed the beautiful sentiment that, “Woman is the sweetest present that God has given to man. Woman has a smile for every joy, a tear for every sorrow, a consolation for every grief, an excuse for every fault, a prayer for every misfortune, and an encouragement for every hope.”

I remained in the hospital at Nashville for several days after its capture, more dead than alive, and during all this time these noble women remained near us, doing everything in their power to alleviate our suffering. A Mrs. Cartwright and a young lady whom I understood to be a relative of hers, waited upon me continually, one or the other of them was in my ward day and night, and attended to all of my little peevish whims and wants; they bestowed upon me that motherly kindness which only a woman knows how to do.

The Federal army surgeons, after taking charge of the hospital, were very kind to the sick in the ward which I occupied. I never met with better treatment, or had more kindness shown me by our own army surgeons, than these disciples of Esculapius did during my stay there under their charge and care. One very nice little fellow closely attended upon me, and manifested considerable interest in my recovery. He was a gentleman, and I am sorry that I never learned his name. I admired him for his kindness and gentlemanly conduct.

One morning, as I lay on my cot unable to sit up, busy with all manner of sad and gloomy reflections concerning my present, as well as future condition, I was surprised by the appearance in my ward of a young man, tall, slender, and rather good looking, who looked to be about twenty-five years of age, dressed in a blue uniform, and inquired of the two ladies in attendance “If there was any one in that ward who belonged to the Forty-ninth Regiment of Tennessee Infantry?” Mrs. Cartwright, one of the ladies present, conducted him to the cot I occupied, and with the first flash of his eyes he recognized me, and exclaimed at once, “Is that you, John?” I answered, “yes,” as that was my name, but failed to recognize him, due, perhaps, to the fact that I was very sick at the time and able to pay but little attention to anything. After a brief conversation which soon refreshed my memory, I remembered him as having been an old acquaintance and friend of my earliest boyhood days, although he was several years my senior. He informed me that he would have me sent home. The reader can better imagine my delight than I can describe it.

He requested Mrs. Cartwright to obtain a citizen's suit of men's clothing and to have me dressed in them by 9 o'clock a. m. on the following morning; he enjoined perfect secrecy upon each of us, and then took his departure. Mrs. Cartwright brought me a full suit of black, including a hat, and at the time appointed she, with the assistance of another lady, had succeeded in making the disguise complete. I was now ready to leave, and lay covered up on my cot patiently waiting for the return of my friend. My military cap I left in the hospital, as a souvenir to the guard, but I specially avoided calling his attention to it. I do not know that he ever found it, as I failed to return and ask him.

Soon after nine o'clock a. m. the young man appeared at the head of the stairs, spoke a few words to the sentinel, then came to where I was lying on my cot, carefully examined to see if my disguise would stand the test; after satisfying himself that nothing more was necessary, and that all was in good shape, he picked me up in his arms, as though I were nothing more than a small boy, then started for the door. As we passed the sentinels at the top and bottom of the stairs, he spoke something to each in a low tone; they stood aside and let him pass with me. We soon reached the side-walk in front of the hospital. Cumberland river was very high, in fact, higher than it had been for several years; the water covered the street in our front, reaching within two feet of the side-walk. The Federal gunboats and transports were anchored in the river a short distance from the street, and there appeared to be nothing facing the hospital but a sea of muddy water and these fierce looking war vessels with their port-holes, ready to send forth death and destruction over the city. Near the hospital and a little south of it, a large brick building or block had but recently burned down; all the rubbish still remained. West of this burnt district, an alley ran east and west; this alley crossed a public street on the west, which ran north and south, continuing until it intersected an alley still farther west, which ran north and south. This part of Nashville, at this day and time, presents quite a different appearance, as compared with it then; any one to see it now would not recognize it as the Nashville of 1862. After landing on the side-walk, the hard rub presented itself in evading the patrol or police guards, who were patrolling the city. To enter the first alley without discovery, this burnt district had to be crossed, and if we could get into the rubbish without discovery, then we would be in no danger of coming in contact with any of the police guards until we reached the public street some distance from where it was intersected by the alley running north and south. He succeeded in safely landing us over the debris, and we entered the alley from the west side of the street.

We now traversed several back ways and alleys for some distance, carefully avoiding all public thoroughfares, when at length we came out into a public street in the main part of the city, and the first face that greeted us was a police guard, who belonged to the Federal army; he promptly ordered us to halt; fortunately, this guard was an intimate friend and acquaintance of the gentleman with me. He asked my friend where he was carrying that sick young man(?); his reply was, that I had been acting as clerk for a business firm in the city, and that I had been unable to be removed until now, that he was carrying me over to my home, which was only a few blocks off. This satisfied the guard, or at least appeared to; he stepped aside and permitted us to pass.

We made quite a circuit around and through the city, and avoided all public streets and places, when finally we came to a number of teams and wagons; the wagons were being loaded with farmers' supplies. My friend seemed to be very familiar with the owners of the teams and wagons, but I knew none of them. He, with the assistance of another gentleman, placed me in one of the wagon beds, covered me up closely and carefully with straw, blankets and sacks, until I was securely hid from view; all signs of daylight were completely obliterated, except just enough air for ventilation. After this was all finished, my friend shook my hand and whispered, “that I was now all right, to say nothing and I would be safe.” He then left me, and I saw no more of him. Within an hour or so, this small caravan of teams and wagons started out of the city.

I said nothing and could hear but little, as I was so completely covered up from the outer world. At the Federal picket lines, on the outskirts of Nashville, the teams were all stopped in the road and the wagons searched, but not very closely, and the picket guards failed to discover me; hence, my anxiety was considerably relieved, and I felt that my escape was an assured success. I now fully realized the fact that there are situations in life when the slightest agreeable sensation alleviates all our suffering and ills. We traveled until late that evening, and sometime after dark stopped at a road-side inn, or country tavern, as this class of stopping places on the public highways were generally called by the people of Middle Tennessee at that day and time.

Several travelers had already stopped at this place for the night, and a few of them worried me no little with their solicitude concerning my illness, and exposing myself to the bad weather, all of which I considered none of their business. I was well cared for here during the night, and was made to feel quite at home; being only a smooth-faced youth, of course, I was never questioned in regard to the army. I appreciated this part of the programme highly, for on this subject I adopted the better policy, which was to keep silent when anything concerning the war was mentioned. After an early breakfast the next morning, our wagons moved on again, and the same precaution was observed in keeping me closely covered up from view as in Nashville, when we started on the previous day. In the afternoon, the wagon I occupied stopped in front of a neat and cozy farmhouse on the roadside. The appearance of everything about the house and farm was indicative of neatness, comfort and refinement, and all seemed to be very inviting to a stranger, who was both sick and tired.

I now learned that this place was the home of the friend, in whose wagon I had been riding all the way from Nashville, and who had been so active and generous in facilitating my escape, had given me the benefit of his services during the entire trip from Nashville, and that his name was Gillum. A very genial looking matronly lady, whom I learned was Mr. Gillum's wife, came out to the wagon, and assisted me in getting into the house, and to a nice and comfortable feather bed. She immediately gave me her special attention, and could hardly do enough for me. Mr. Gillum informed her who I was, and how I had been taken out of the hospital at Nashville. This seemed to enlist her sympathetic motherly feelings, and as long as I remained with them, they acted towards and treated me as though I were their own son. They never, at any time during my visit, failed to bestow upon me an act of kindness, when it was necessary. I will say that these people were some of the kindest and best I ever met in my life.

I was near twenty miles from Nashville, and felt tolerably safe and secure, and had but little to fear from the hands of the Federal troops. My friend in Nashville, who carried me out of the hospital, wrote to my parents and informed them of my escape, also, as to my whereabouts. After remaining with this excellent family about fifteen days, my father came for me and carried me home, although, by this time, I had only recovered sufficiently to sit up a little each day and walk across my room. Mrs. Gillum had done all within her power to improve and better my health. I would be delighted to meet these good people now, and have an opportunity again of expressing to them my sincerest thanks and gratitude for the kindness they so voluntarily bestowed upon me while I was a boy-soldier, away from home, acquaintances and friends, sick, helpless and worst of all, absolutely penniless.

My regiment was captured at the fall of Fort Donelson, and sent off to a Northern prison, and I remained at home until it was exchanged and sent back South to Port Hudson, Louisiana, at which place I rejoined it soon after its arrival. I was never absent from duty again, but served with it in all the battles and skirmishes in which it was engaged, including that celebrated Georgia campaign, where we were under fire from the enemy's guns for four months continually day and night. Hood's advance into Tennessee to Franklin, terminated my fighing career with that battle on the 30th day of November, 1864, when, then and there: -

“Sad regrets from past experience, Came like gales of chilling breath; Shadow'd in the forward distance Lay the land of death.” CHAPTER II. THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN, TENNESSEE. “Louder than the bolts of heaven, Far flash'd the red artillery. And few shall part where many meet! The frost shall be their winding-sheet, And every turf beneath their feet Shall be a soldier's sepulchre.”

It is not my purpose to attempt to give a graphic description of, or to enter into the minute details of this battle, for the following reasons: First, my incompetency to undertake such an arduous task, as I have no access to war records, or to any plans of that battle for a guide; and second, the years intervening between that time and the present, have caused the bloody scene somewhat to fade from memory's view. It was one of those quick and sanguinary conflicts, into which armies are sometimes hurriedly precipitated, and which are of short duration. They are fought and terminated without any studied, or carefully matured plans. I shall only attempt to sketch that portion of it in which the command to which I belonged participated, as well as I can from memory, after the lapse of more than a quarter of a century.

When General J. B. Hood, at the head of the Confederate army, entered the State of Tennessee, with a view of taking the city of Nashville, the Federal troops under the command of General Schofield, were occupying the town of Columbia, where they attempted to check the further advance of Hood and his army, but after some sharp fighting and considerable skirmishing, they were driven out of the town and across Duck river, and forced to evacuate the place, falling back in the direction of the town of Franklin. Our corps (Stewart's) arrived in front of Columbia some time after dark on the 28th of November, 1864, and went into camp in a field. The company to which I belonged occupied that portion on which had been grown a crop of Irish potatoes, they still being in the ground.

After drawing our rations, which consisted of small pieces of pork, which had never been salted, we soon had a large camp-kettle full of potatoes and pork on a blazing fire we had made out of fence rails, and by the time the wee small hours were drawing near, we were enjoying a delightful supper consisting of Irish potatoes and fat pork, independent of salt. The ground on which we were camping furnished the potatoes, after hard work grabbling them in the dark. The rations of pork, which were intended to last us three days, were the most of any kind we had drawn for several days, for during our long and toilsome march from Lovejoy station in Georgia, we had but little to eat at any time, save and except the juice we could obtain by chewing sorghum stalks, whenever a crop of that could be found. Sometimes, we were able to secure a little corn; this we would parch during the night, after going into camp. Many of our soldiers were barefooted, and their clothing very ragged; added to this, what little money we possessed was worthless; yet, the soldiers were buoyant and hopeful.

When the sun rose on the following morning, throwing his gentle rays beneath a cloudless sky causing the cold and misty frost to vanish, our troops were ready for action, and in high spirits at the prospect of having a brush with Schofield's army, but in this, we were disappointed. The Federals, instead of giving us battle, simply tried to hold our advance in check until their wagons and ordnance stores could be removed to a safe distance from capture, while their columns of infantry kept falling back. The rear guard, who covered their retreat, was closely pressed by a corps of Hood's infantry, while another portion of his infantry and Forrest's cavalry crossed the river to the right of Columbia, and by a forced march on their flank, endeavored to intercept their advance guard, in order to cut off their retreat and capture Schofield and his army.

Our corps was also thrown across the river and hurried forward on a run, over hills and through the woods, to effect a junction with the troops who had been sent forward ahead of us. We moved forward over rocks, hills, down steep hollows, over stone and rail fences, through thick underbrush, as fast as possible; frequently the field officers had to dismount and lead their horses by the bridle through narrow defiles and over steep declivities. Orders were continually being given along our line to close up and double-quick; wherever the ground would permit, we went on a run. Very often news would be sent down the line, that the cavalry and infantry ahead of us had succeeded in establishing a line of battle across the road in front of the Federal army, and then orders were given again to close up, close up, and double-quick.

Having no roads over which to march, only now and then, and the rough, rugged and broken country, most of the time made it very difficult for our columns of infantry to travel with anything like speed, and our progress would often be greatly retarded. Some time in the early afternoon, the sound of cannon and discharge of musketry informed us that our troops were near, if not quite in their front, and officers came down our line hurrying us forward, at the same time informing us that General Hood had succeeded in throwing Forrest's cavalry and a line of infantry across the pike in their front near Spring Hill, which was some twelve or eighteen miles from Columbia, and had checked their advance guard.

We arrived on the scene just after dark,—that is, General Walthall's Division of Stewart's Corps; this division was on the extreme right of the corps, and was the first infantry to arrive at Spring Hill that evening. We were halted in a cornfield, ordered to lie down under arms, be ready for action at a moment's notice, and not to speak above breath. We were informed that this was the field on which our troops, during the afternoon, had a short engagement with the Federal advance guard, that our columns were within about two hundred yards of the Federal army, which was near twenty thousand strong, and that they were lying on the turnpike in line of battle; that a line of battle of infantry and one of our cavalry were across the road in their front, and joined to our right wing. Schofield pushed his wagon trains out of Columbia in advance of his army, and had kept them all ahead of his infantry during his retreat. The wagon trains were supported by the advance guard of the Federal army.

We felt confident that on the following day the whole army would be captured, but during the night, from some cause which I am unable to explain, our lines of battle were withdrawn from their front, leaving the road clear for their entire army and ordnance to pass. As soon as they discovered no opposition from their front, they at once resumed their retreat, while we lay under arms all night.

When the dawn of the following morning appeared, and long before the sun had begun to shed his welcome rays o'er friend and foe alike, not a Federal soldier could be seen, except their rear guard, and that far beyond the range of our guns. When we discovered their successful escape on the morning of the 30th, our chagrin and disappointment can be better imagined than described. General Forrest was so enraged that his face turned almost to a chalky whiteness, and his lips quivered. He cursed out some of the commanding officers, and censured them for allowing the Federal army to escape. I looked at him, as he sat in his saddle pouring forth his volumes of wrath, and was almost thunderstruck to listen to him, and to see no one dare resent it.* Preparations for pursuit were rapidly made, and our corps of infantry was ordered forward on double-quick time, soon overtaking the Federal rear guard, who were covering the retreat of Schofield's army.

We were quickly engaged in a running skirmish fight, which continued until reaching a favorable eminence, they formed a line of battle supported by several pieces of cannon that glittered in the rays of the morning sun, all of which presented quite a formidable front. A few pieces of our light artillery were placed in position, and the infantry moved forward to charge them off the ridge, but when our line of battle began to advance, they fell back on a swift retreat, still keeping up a running skirmish fight, until closely pressed, they halted and formed another Some time before day, I was detailed for vidette-post guard duty, and with two other guards and a sergeant, heard the above. —C. line of battle to check us. These tactics were kept up until they reached the town of Franklin, some twelve miles from Spring Hill.

We pressed the rear of Schofield's army in hot pursuit; in fact, so hot and close was the pursuit that every now and then the road would be almost blockaded with horses and mules, which had been sabred, wagons cut down, caissons destroyed, and piles of camp equipage set on fire. They made good their escape by reaching Franklin and taking shelter behind their breastworks. Our corps passed to the right of the town, and on the north side of the Columbia and Franklin pike, halting in a cornfield, within plain view of their works.

The town of Franklin, rendered historic by the battle which was fought on the 30th day of November, 1864, is the county seat of Williamson county, Tennessee, and situate on the south side of Big Harpeth river. Prior to the war it was a beautiful little county town. The residences were constructed with that degree of taste and neatness which indicates a refined and cultured people. The surface of the surrounding country is dotted with high knolls, which present to view the finest of landscape scenery. The adjacent hills overlook the town, und from the crest of almost any of them a fine view can be obtained of the surrounding country. The valleys are rich, and most of them kept in a high state of cultivation and improvement, the fields generally being enclosed with good, substantial stone fences, although some few were hedged with bois d'arc. The river runs in a northwesterly direction along the north side of the town and affords delightful sport to those who are fond of fishing. A line of railroad and turnpike connected the city of Nashville with the towns of Franklin and Columbia, Franklin being about eighteen miles from Nashville, ten to twelve miles from Spring Hill, and some twenty-eight miles from Columbia.

After the fall of Nashville into the hands of the Federal troops, Franklin was continually occupied by soldiers, belonging to first one side and then the other. When Schofield's army arrived at Franklin from Columbia, the town was well fortified by the Federal troops who were already there, and by those sent from Nashville by General Thomas to reinforce the place.

The fortification consisted mainly of two lines of breastworks a short distance from the town, and from three to four hundred yards apart. Northeast of the town, on the north side of the river, on the summit of two elevated points, were two forts, one on each point. These forts were well mounted with several pieces of heavy cannon which could play on a line of men at long range, full half a mile off.

The main line of works extended from the river below and southeast, connecting with the river above and northwest of the town. It was constructed by cutting a broad and deep ditch, throwing the dirt within, forming a strong line of defense, which would force an attacking column to cross it before scaling the works, subjecting it to a murderous fire of musketry from the infantry behind the works, even after reaching the ditch; after gaining the ditch it would be almost impossible to climb over the works without short scaling ladders. The works were high enough to protect the whole body of a man standing erect, except the head and neck. Headlogs were placed on top of this line of fortifications to protect their heads from our minie balls. The logs were large and raised off the works, leaving a space of some three or four inches between them and the crest of the works to see well how and where to shoot. This line of breastworks, from its intersection with the river northeast of the town to the left of the Columbia and Franklin pike, was well mounted with several pieces of cannon bristling from their parapets, all of which were amply supplied with munition.

Situate on the south side of the river, northeast of the town and on the line of works, a battery of thirty-six pieces of cannon was planted, and so arranged that each gun could enfilade the whole space between the two lines of breastworks and completely clear it by a raking fire of grapeshot and canister from end to end of an advancing column of infantry or cavalry on the same side of the river. Some distance, perhaps two hundred yards further down the line, a battery of six cannon was planted, which showed their ugly mouths through the embrasures of the parapets; these guns were also arranged so as to enfilade the lines of a storming column which might succeed in reaching the edge of the ditch on the outside and before entering it.

A short distance south of the Columbia and Franklin pike, on the line, and to our left, another battery of twelve guns was planted and so arranged as to enfilade the space between both lines of works from that direction, thus exposing a line of men to raking fires of grape and canister from both directions. The grape and canister thrown from all these guns could rake the ground near the edge of the ditch within twenty feet of their mouths, the whole distance occupied by an attacking column, while their own men were perfectly secure on the inside and behind the line of works. The whole space in front of the main line of works to the second was exposed to a galling fire of all the batteries from each way, to say nothing of the exposure to the fire of musketry from the infantry behind the breastworks, which was as destructive, if not more so, than that from the grape and canister.

North of this line in our front a large cotton gin stood, some twenty or thirty feet from the works—it may have been a little farther or nearer; some ten feet northeast of the gin two oak trees were standing, the larger a few feet nearly due north of the smaller; west of the gin and on the south side of the Columbia and Franklin pike, a large two-story brick residence was standing, which was owned and occupied by a Mr. Carter and his family; south of this and near the line of works, a small one-story brick house with a frame building attached was standing. These buildings, at the commencement of the engagement, were occupied by Federal sharpshooters.

Behind this line of works the Federal troops were massed, and the ground seemed to be covered for a distance of fifty yards from the works with soldiers wearing the blue uniform, their guns and bayonets shining with a dazzling brightness in the sun. They appeared all the time to be in motion, forming lines of battle, one behind the other, as indicated by the positions of their blue banners and battle-flags; all their lines of men could not be seen from our position, while concentrating their forces. Their torn and perforated regimental colors, as they floated on the breeze, bespoke the story plainer than language can paint it, of the many fierce encounters they had met with during that long and bloody campaign through which they had just passed, and which was destined shortly to come to a final close. Courier after courier on their horses could be seen galloping to and fro, as if carrying orders from one part of the position to another; their sappers and miners, or fatigue parties, seemed to be hard at work completing the fortifications; their spades and picks could be seen swiftly going up and down, and the dirt thrown from their spades flying to the top of the parapets; they were as active and industrious as gopher rats and prairie dogs when they are trying to burrow into the earth. Their main forces of infantry and artillery were well arranged in lines of battle behind this line of works a short time before the engagement began.

A short distance in front of the works, a line of cheval-de-frise was placed, extending from near and opposite the battery of thirty-six cannon west, reaching very near, if not quite to the pike. This cheval-de-frise is a piece of timber, a long log, or several long logs, for instance, with one end of each placed together, the logs being traversed with wooden spikes, sometimes pointed with iron, five or six feet long, used to defend a passage, stop a breach, or make a retrenchment to check the advance of cavalry, but during the late war, was used against the advance of infantry as well. A few feet in front of this cheval-de-frise, a bois d'arc hedge had been cut down, the tops fronting us, they were trimmed and sharpened; this brush was very thick, and the points of the limbs being sharpened made it very difficult to pass over; this hedge formed an abatis— that is, a row of trees and their branches, and laid with the points outward, in front of a fortification or any other position, to obstruct the approach of assailants. The larger ends of the branches are secured to the ground by forked pickets. All of these obstructions would check an advancing column of infantry or cavalry, thus affording the enemy a good opportunity to destroy it. On the left of the pike a locust thicket had been cut down, their tops being trimmed and sharpened, and this, in connection with the cheval-de-frise, made a very effective and formidable obstruction in front of that position.

Their second, or front line of works, was from three hundred to four hundred yards in advance of the former which I have just described. It was simply a line of intrenchments hastily thrown up, or at least had that appearance, the ditch dug within and the dirt thrown outward, forming a temporary line, and had no head-logs to protect their heads; this line would only afford protection to the lower part of the body without lying down behind it. It had no cannon bristling from their embrasures. A line of battle, and also a skirmish line, had been thrown behind it,—their guns and bayonets, in a threatening attitude, pointed at our lines over the works. These two lines of earth works passed through an old field, which had been turned out and used as a commons. A dense beech grove had recently been standing at the edge of this commons on the right of the pike fronting this position and in our front, but had been cut down, making a thicket of brushwood which was almost impenetrable; considerable work had to be done in clearing a passage through it before a line of battle could pass through, or over it, in anything like order.

The cornfield, which we occupied, was directly behind this beech grove. The field had been cultivated that year, on which had been grown a crop of corn and little white soup beans. The corn had been gathered, but the beans were left hanging on the vines. We considered ourselves fortunate in being halted in this field on account of the crop of beans, and the majority of us were anxious to obtain a mess of them. We badly needed them to cook with the fresh, unsalted pork which we had drawn at Columbia. Many of us were filling our haversacks with these beans when Billy Mumford, one of General Quarles' aides, came riding down our line, and seeing us busily engaged in gathering the beans, as a smile went over his genial face, remarked, “Boys, you need not be gathering those beans, we have to storm those breast-works over there (he pointing in the direction of them) this afternoon.” We had no further interest in gathering beans, the charm of soup-making vanished as swiftly as did the beans we had gathered— were dashed to the ground. We remained under arms from the time we arrived within this field, which was ten or eleven o'clock in the forenoon, until near four in the afternoon, at which time hunger reminded us that we had tasted nothing since before daylight that morning, at Spring Hill, and we were not permitted to break ranks, in order to prepare our rations.

Our troops had maintained their excellent spirits up to this time, notwithstanding our sore disappointment in not being allowed to make the attempt to capture Schofield and his army at Spring Hill; but the cloud of disappointment which had so suddenly enveloped us at Spring Hill, now reappeared more ominous than ever, causing our patriotic enthusiasm and most sanguine hopes to wane, and ere the dawn of another day had given place to feelings of bitter despair.

Our division, General Walthall's, was placed on the extreme right of the Columbia and Franklin pike, and formed the right wing and constituted the front line of battle of that position; this was to be the assailing column of the Federal works in our front. After this front line was definitely located, the remainder of our infantry began to form in lines of battle one behind the other. While this was going on the Federal army, who lay behind their main line of works, mounted on top of it, and stood for several minutes viewing our lines. We had a good view of them standing on top of their breast-works, their fine blue uniforms shining in the soft and hazy rays of a beautiful November's afternoon. Our right wing was nearly in front of the battery of thirty-six cannon on the main line of the Federal works, and a little to the right of the battery of six pieces of cannon on same works. We thoroughly understood that this portion of the line of battle had to storm the works near the battery of thirty-six guns, and if possible, take it.

As soon as the lines of battle were formed, a number of our field officers rode out a little in front of the lines,—they were Walthall, Loring, Cheatham, Quarles, Cleburne, Granberry, and perhaps others; these officers appeared to hold a brief consultation, during which we could see them cast doubting glances in the direction of the formidable foe in our front; and judging from the appearance of their grave and serious looks, we all knew that our commanders in some degree realized the depth of that yawning gulf of destruction which awaited them and us, and which only too soon would engulf us all. These officers separated, each taking his respective place with his command. A profound silence pervaded the entire army; it was simply awful, reminding one of those sickening lulls which precede a tremendous thunderstorm. This was but momentary. Orders now rang down our line, shrill and clear, to forward march!

The guns from the redoubts northeast of the town opened on us at long range, but they were scarcely noticed by us. The artillerymen who were manning these guns had a fine opportunity

IN FRONT OF THE FEDERAL WORKS AT FRANKLIN.

of testing their skill at long range. Our progress at first was rather slow, on account of the obstructions just in our front, which consisted of the beech grove with the tops of the trees fronting us; but we surmounted this brush and fallen timber, and began to move a little faster. A light skirmish line from our lines of battle was thrown forward, which was soon met by a similar line from the Federals behind their advance line of intrenchments. These two lines quickly engaged in a lively skirmish fight, but as our lines of battle advanced, their line retired behind the line of works which they had recently left. Our line halted, lay down, and fired upon them in this position, until our lines of battle moved up close enough for them to join us, and become part of the front line.

We were now ordered to fix bayonets, fire, and charge the first line of works. They received us with a volley of musketry, but all opposition was inadequate to check our columns in the slightest degree, and with one prolonged and loud cheer we carried the first line of works at the very points of the Federal bayonets. They stood their ground until we mounted the top of their works, but as we went over, part of their line of battle broke and fled, while the remainder lay down flat on their faces in the ditch to save themselves, and were either killed or captured; but few of those who fled succeeded in reaching their main line. Our lines of infantry swept over their works, annihilating nearly everything before us. This partial victory was quickly won. It appeared as if our troops had received an electric shock, which aroused their enthusiasm to its highest pitch, and the air resounded with loud shouts from our whole army, whichalmost made the earth over which we were going quake and tremble.

After taking this line of works, we made a momentary halt in order to reform our front line, but this was only for an instant; we now pressed closely at the heels of their retiring line, to storm the second. Their batteries immediately opened upon us with a perfect hailstorm of grape and canister, and when within a short distance of their main line, we encountered the abatis, or bois d'arc hedge, and also the line of cheval-de-frise; here the battery of thirty-six guns a little to our right, and that of twelve guns on our left, all double charged with grape and canister, pointing down our lines from both directions, thus enfilading them both ways from end to end, sent a tremendous deluge of shot and shell through our ranks, and these seconded by a murderous sheet of fire and lead from the infantry behind the works, and also another battery of six guns directly in our front, made the scene of carnage and destruction fearful to behold.

This hurricane of combustibles now burst forth in its height of fury, leaving ruin and desolation in its pathway, and nothing could be heard above the din of musketry and the roar of cannon, which was incessant. They fired on friend and foe, for we so closely pressed the retreating line in our front that had they waited for their own men to enter the works we would have gone over with them, and carried all before us. Whenever the dense smoke, in some degree, was cleared away by the flash and blaze from the guns, great masses of our infantry could be seen struggling to get over those ingeniously wrought obstructions, who were being slain by hundreds and piled in almost countless numbers. In the confusion which here ensued, numbers of our forces were thrown farther to the left and near the pike, forming a confused body of soldiers who were totally oblivious to all sense of order, thus giving the battery of thirty-six cannon on our right, the one of six pieces in our front, and that of twelve to our left, full play upon them. The firing of these guns was so rapid that it was impossible to discover any interval between their discharges.

The slaughtering of human life could be seen down the line as far as the Columbia and Franklin pike, and where the works crossed the pike the destruction was indescribable. Along that portion of the works in front of the batteries on the right, our troops were killed by whole platoons; our front line of battle seemed to have been cut down by the first discharge, for in many places they were lying on their faces in almost as good order as if they had lain down on purpose; but no such order prevailed amongst the dead who fell in making the attempt to surmount the cheval-de-frise, for hanging on the long spikes of this obstruction could be seen the mangled and torn remains of many of our soldiers who had been pierced by hundreds of minie balls and grape shot, showing that they, beyond a possible doubt, had been killed simultaneously with the panic and consternation which happened upon their reaching this obstruction. The remnant of our lines succeeded in reaching the ditch on the outside of the works, and now became engaged in a hand to hand conflict across the top of the head-logs at the point of the bayonet. The smoke of battle belched forth from the hideous open mouth of this typical volcanic eruption cast a deep shade of gloom over that bright and lovely November eve, darkening the ether from earth to heaven, until a gentle breeze would lift and fan it away. The force and wind of the grape and canister, when fired from the fifty-four pieces of cannon on the Federal works, aided by that of the minie balls from their infantry behind the works, would lift us clear off the ground at every discharge. As the great clouds of smoke had to some extent vanished and I could look around me, I saw to my surprise I was left alone in the ditch, within a few feet and to the left of the battery of six guns on the Federal works, which was still pouring forth its messengers of death, and not a living man could be seen standing on my right; neither could one be seen for some distance on my left. They had all been swept away by that mighty tempest of grape and canister and rolling waves of fire and lead. A Federal, who was running in my front just before we entered the ditch, and a little beyond the reach of my bayonet, was shot dead from the works in front, and fell forward into the ditch; in his belt were two large army pistols, which were loaded and capped. I quickly removed them from his belt, and with one in each hand emptied them under the head-logs at the mass of men across the works in my front. The more our numbers became reduced the fiercer the conflict for life, simply too dreadful for pen to describe, and few who entered that portion of the ditch escaped death. When the pistols were emptied, having

THE BATTLE OF FRANKLIN.

nothing with which to reload them, I reloaded my gun, and turned towards the embrasure of the cannon, which was a few feet on my right, and tried my best to shoot the artillerymen who were so skillfully and effectively manning that destructive battery, and whose gun swabs would whirl in the air after every discharge, but each time I obtained a glimpse of any of them, and before I could shoot, a cannon would run out and fire, forcing me to take refuge away from it. After getting my face blistered and eyebrows burned off, I abandoned that dangerous place by getting back away from the blaze of these guns.

Streams of blood ran here and there over the entire battle ground, in little branches, and one could have walked upon dead and wounded men from one end of the column to the other; the ditch was full of dead men and we had to stand and sit upon them,—the bottom of it, from side to side, was covered with blood to the depth of the shoe soles.

At the ditch we had to encounter an enfilading fire of musketry from both directions, as well as that in our front across the works under the head-logs. The enemy directly in our front attempted to shoot us by turning their backs to the breast works, taking their guns by the breach and raising them above their heads over the head-logs, so as to point the muzzles downward, firing them at us this way, and having nothing exposed except their arms and hands. We had to watch this and knock their guns aside with our bayonets, which was done several times; many of their men had both hands shot off while making these attempts to kill us. While this fearful battle was raging, a Federal officer on his horse, at the head of a line of infantry, came dashing up to the works in our front, and one of our soldiers in the ditch about ten feet on my left, raised his gun and fired, shooting him off his horse. Among the first whom I saw in the ditch, upon their feet and unhurt, were General Geo. W. Gordon, Lieutenant Colonel Atkins, commander of our regiment, and Captain Williams, of an Alabama regiment; they were only a few feet on my left. These men appeared to be undaunted, and a look of stoic determination had settled upon their weather-beaten faces.

South of the Columbia and Franklin pike our troops were in some degree successful in capturing part of the line of works; the Federals who survived this onslaught took refuge behind the works on the north side of the pike, in our front. Our numbers were too weak on that portion of the line to charge the position in our front with any hope of success; however, they succeeded in reaching the brick houses I have described. At the residence and in the yard of Mr. Carter his son was killed dead. He had not been at home for two or three years, and as he passed through the yard and stopped at the door his sister ran and caught him by the hand and attempted to throw her arms around his neck, when a Federal soldier, who had taken refuge in the house, ran up and shot him through the body, killing him dead in the arms of his sister.

General Quarles and Adjutant General Cowley, of our brigade, fell near the main line of the Federal works, the former wounded and the latter killed. General Pat Cleburne and his horse were killed while attempting to cross the works, the horse falling on top of the breast works and General Cleburne on the outside of the ditch; both rider and horse seemed to have received a missile of death at one and the same instant.

The color-bearer and color-guard of our regiment were all killed near the edge of the ditch; the last man of the color-guard was shot while waving the regimental colors at the breast-works, and fell forward, the flag reaching over within the Federal works, the staff resting across the head-logs. Some brave soldier of our little remnant quickly seized the staff, recovered the flag and carried it off the field. I regret never having learned his name. This deadly strife was destined to be of short duration; as our attacking columns were destroyed and repulsed, the firing became less frequent, except from our batteries in the rear, which were kept active by the fearless and solitary few who survived this bloody encounter.

The carnage and destruction was so dreadful that the sun, as if loath to longer gaze on this terrific scene, slowly sunk behind the western horizon and hid from view his smiling face; but the stars, more pitying, came forth to keep vigil o'er the silent and sleeping dead.

As the firing from the enemy in our front began somewhat to abate, sixteen of our soldiers, who were in the ditch some twenty or thirty feet on my left, sprang up and ran out of the ditch, attempting to escape; a whole volley of musketry was fired at them, killing the last one to a man. When they started I raised in a stooping posture, thinking I would run also; but they being killed so quickly caused me to abandon the idea of escape. The few of us who were alive at the ditch were in considerable danger from our own batteries and stray minie balls. We tried to lie down in the ditch; it afforded scant protection, being almost full of dead men.

We now fully realized our critical situation, and saw that we had but one choice, if any, left, and that to surrender. Lieutenant Colonel Atkins was requested to surrender the little crowd, but declined, stating that he would rather die in the ditch than to surrender us. Some few of our soldiers, a little further on our left, raised their caps on ramrods, but they were fired upon and riddled with bullets, the Federals refusing to recognize this. Captain Williams then requested some one to hand him a white handkerchief, but not one could be found. One of our soldiers who was fortunate enough to have on a white shirt, tore off a large piece and handed it to him. The captain tied this on the end of a ramrod, and hoisted it over our heads so it could be seen by the Federals. A Federal officer ordered the troops in our front to cease firing, which they did. He came up to the works, looked over and said: “Throw down your arms, boys, and come over.” I threw my gun and the two pistols as far back toward our lines as I could send them, and as I passed over the works glanced around at my fallen comrades who lay on the ground wrapped in the winding sheet of death, and drew a sigh of regret as I gave them a last sad look, knowing they never again would be aroused by the sound of the reveille from their deep untroubled sleep, but would remain in death's cold embrace until the last great trump shall sound and call forth the dead from the armies of both friend and foe.

CHAPTER III. “The conflict o'er, many a valiant in his grave, The wretched remnant dwindled into worse than slaves Condemned in pestilential cells to pine.”

As this eventful day was slowly fading into twilight, and the booming of cannon and rattle of small arms ceased to silence the living, six hundred of us marched over the Federal breast-works, under a white flag waving over our heads, and were immediately surrounded by an escort of Federal troops, armed with Springfield rifles, upon the end of which was a long sharp-pointed bayonet. The ground on the inside of the works was strewn with dead and wounded Federals, most of whom had been shot in the neck and head. Near the oak tree which was standing close to the cotton gin, D. S. Majors, a member of our regiment, was wounded by a stray minie ball coming from the direction of our own men. He fell against the tree, and as he fell, called me to come to him. I turned and started, but a Federal soldier presented his cocked gun at my head, at the same time ordering me to march onward with the other prisoners.

Not an exulting shout went up from the Federal army after the battle terminated. On all former occasions, after an engagement, a victorious shout from the winning side would rend the air. We were marched back into the town, out of range of the cannon shot and shell which were still being fired at the Federal lines by the vanquished remnant of Gen. Hood's army. A double chain-guard of infantry was now thrown around us with orders to shoot any one who attempted an escape. I now, for the first time, discovered that my left arm, from the shoulder to the hand, was covered with the blood and brains of some one; my haversack and canteen had been shot away; my clothing well perforated with minie balls, but my body untouched.

Night now spread its sombre mantle over both friend and foe, and found fifty officers, with five hundred and fifty privates of our army, in the hands of and at the mercy of the Federal army. Many of us were very hungry and thirsty, as we had not eaten anything since early that morning at Spring Hill. But several of the Federals divided their rations with us. A friendly disposed old soldier gave me part of his rations, which consisted of pickled pork and crackers, and also a drink of water from his canteen, for which I kindly thanked him. Soon a conversation arose between the officers of both sides, relative to the length of time the engagement lasted. Some one of the Federal officers, who stated that he had timed it, informed us that from the time our front line of battle began to advance until the firing ceased, was one hour and forty minutes, but the destructive part of it—that is, from the time our infantry carried their advance line of intrenchments, lasted only forty minutes. This handful of prisoners presented a ghastly and powder-burnt appearance; the clothing was badly stained with blood, the faces blackened and blistered by the streams of fire from the enemy's guns during the engagement; the hair on many of their heads was somewhat singed and the eye-brows burned off. On this eve of sadness, this night of gloom, I found myself contemplating the utter folly of all those four long years of hardships and privations, which truly tried men's souls, and which to my mind, on this particular night, seemed as fruitless as if we had been scaling mountains of melting mist and traversing fields with weird apparitions. The classic hand of the poet never painted a sadder vision to human eye than passed before me at this particular time. There was, however, one thought more heart-rending than all these scenes combined, which filled our souls with greater misgivings than everything else we had been compelled to endure in the past. It framed itself in these words—What shall our fature be? In losing this battle we felt that our beautiful Sunny South, which was already dear to our boyish heart by the ties of home and kindred, and which had grown doubly dear during all these long years in which we had done our very best to serve her, had received a blow from which it never could recover; our armies had been cut down and destroyed, until they were overwhelmingly outnumbered, and we knew that the torn and shattered remnant would soon succumb to the inevitable. While we were pondering over our recent misfortune, our captors reminded us that we were prisoners of war, under their commands, and at the disposal of President Lincoln and the War Department; that we had no time for that refreshing rest and sleep which our tired and worn-out bodies so much needed.

We were now informed that we must take up our line of march to Nashville, Tennessee, it being the nearest place from which transportation could be obtained to any point in the North; hence, some time during the latter part of the night of the 30th, we started on quick time for the city of Nashville, surrounded by a guard, consisting of Schofield's army. On the road between Franklin and Nashville, while Gen. Schofield's army and the prisoners were splashing the mud and water in crossing a creek, I tried to effect my escape, but in this I made an utter failure, and with this attempt I was satisfied.

General Hood's cannon frequently hurried us on the road from quick time to a swift run; in fact, we were almost constantly under the necessity of running very fast to keep beyond their range. We knew the calibre of Hood's guns, for we had been supporting them, on active duty in the field, for nearly three years prior to this. Our escort manifested greater interest in keeping out of the reach of those big guns than we did; they had often been forced to feel the effects of them upon several battle-fields, and were anxious to place themselves at a safe distance out of the range of these guns.

We believed that Hood's remnant of our army would make an effort to recapture us before we could reach Nashville, but alas, we were doomed to bitter disappointment. We arrived at Nashville before noon on the first day of December, both hungry and tired. Many of the prisoners were barefooted and could have been easily tracked by the marks of blood behind them. We were ragged, dirty and blood-bespattered. The appearance of this little squad of prisoners told the sad tale of the terrible conflict from which they had just emerged, and to the casual observer it was an easy matter to distinguish the victors from the vanquished as we were paraded on the capitol grounds. We were kept on public exhibition for five or six hours, and near five thousand people came out to view us. Amongst the number of whom I should make mention, was the noted Andrew Johnson, afterwards President of the United States, who greeted this little handful of half-starved, unarmed and defenceless men with a volume of abuse and vituperation; of course, he could afford to do this and be in no danger while we were enclosed by a wall of fifty thousand bayonets. This was our birth-place and around which clustered the fondest recollections of our earliest boyhood days. A majority of the citizens who came to look at us were ladies, whose sympathetic countenances, so saddened by grief, sent a deeper thrill of sorrow through our hearts than all we had witnessed besides. They were not allowed to approach nearer than the bayonet's point of the double chain-guard of Federal troops who were between us and them, nor permitted to exchange any words with us. But we saw their looks of tenderness and affection as the wife sought a glimpse of her long absent husband, the mother her cherished brave

THE PRISONERS IN THE CAPITOL SQUARE AT NASHVILLE.

boy, the sister her ideal soldier-brother, the daughter her scarred and weather-beaten fond father,—which were returned with despairing looks and quivering lips upon faces coursed with tears and countenances pale with grief. We were now ordered away from this sorrowful and grief-stricken crowd, to take up our temporary abode within the inclosure of the outer dismal walls of the State penitentiary.

The Federal authorities now issued rations of pickled pork and crackers to us, the first we had drawn since the night before we left Columbia. While we were preparing our meals, the Federal army surgeons came in to examine those who had been slightly wounded in the battle at Franklin. One of our soldiers, a mere boy, had been shot in the right foot; the ball hitting him on the instep, passed through the foot and came out at the point of the heel. We were impressed with the heroic fortitude this young man displayed in hopping on this wounded foot all the way from Franklin to Nashville, a distance of eighteen miles, as we never heard one impatient murmur or complaint escape his lips. An army surgeon, while examining his foot, good-naturedly asked him, “if he had been shot while his back was fronting the enemy?” The soldier replied, “that during the entire campaign he had never turned his back to the - Yankees.” The surgeon, who appeared to be a gentleman, looked at him and remarked, “That is right; you are a brave boy and an American. Never disgrace the cause you espouse.” Several others had been slightly wounded in the conflict at Franklin and their wounds were promptly attended to.

Hood, with the surviving remnant of his army, pushed on for Nashville, and the occasional firing of his heavy artillery kept the Federal troops who were occupying the city continually moving, and the citizens in a strain of fear and doubt. Every discharge of Hood's cannon was greeted by us with loud shouts, which rent the air and made the earth tremble. Sleep was not to be thought of upon this eventful night. The great excitement through which we had just passed, our anxiety to learn who of our freinds were numbered with the dead and wounded, coupled with the cherished hope that our army might be successful in an attempt to take the city and recapture us, made the desire for sleep impossible. This state of feeling lasted until near the hour of three on the following morning, when we were ordered to march out to the Nashville and Louisville depot. The last frail hope which we had entertained of being recaptured, now vanished as completely as the dew before the rays of the morning sun.

We were ordered to board a train of box cars, at the same time being informed that the city of Louisville, Kentucky, was our next place of interest, at which place we arrived in due time, and marched into quarters which were regular soldiers' barracks. The officers were separated from the privates. It appeared that they were destined for a different place from that in store for us, and we were informed they were soon started for Johnson's Island. The soldiers who were our guards from Nashville, now turned us over to a very hilarious set of troops, who seemed to know very little by experience of the realities of the front, and from their levity we all knew they had smelt no gunpowder as our former guards had.

CHAPTER IV. “Mirth out of season is a grievous ill.”

In dress, manner and conversation, these guards presented a different appearance from any soldiers we had met during the war. They made the impression upon us that they had just popped out of a band-box, instead of having been on active duty facing gun-powder and lead at the front, bedecked as they were in their fine uniforms, white shirts and standing paper collars. This jocular set of dandies, as we called them then, but now would call them dudes, informed us in a sarcastic manner, that they held in their pockets a very pressing invitation from President Lincoln and the War Department for us to visit some place of special interest in the North for our health and recreation. That for a time, we would not be permitted to return to our different homes, as we so much desired to do. That we belonged to that particular class who were always furnished free transportation; that we would not be lonesome after our arrival, as there were a numerous lot of our particular sort of folk who were already partaking of the hospitalities of the Federal government.

That President Lincoln and the War Department had selected one of the most beautiful, romantic and delightful cities in the United States for our special benefit, at which place we were to spend a few weeks and perhaps months. That this city was located and built near one of the prettiest fresh-water lakes in this country, and named Chicago, which is of Indian origin, signifying “wild onion.” That this was the city of cities, to enjoy ourselves with sight-seeing, and at that time could boast of containing the grandest and most sublime objects and views to be met with in the whole United States, situated on the shores of Lake Michigan, where every day we could cast our eyes over the beautiful blue waters of the lake, and view its thousand fine large ocean steamers with their tall masts standing out on the deep blue sea, like dead trees in a forest. They also assured us that good, secure, and sufficient quarters, as well as ample provision of various kinds and descriptions, had already been prepared for our reception.

Their intended sarcasm was promptly answered with very expressive sarcastic language, highly seasoned with a few pointed oaths, which readily gave them to understand that plenty of fight was left in us yet.

After spending one night in the city of Louisville, we were marched to the proper depot and ordered on board a train of box cars, and were packed in them like beef cattle for shipment, after which, two large engines pulled us out of the city. We were soon carried far beyond the reach of Hood, or the sound of his cannon, steaming away for the place of our destination, where about daylight on the morning of the 5th of December, 1864, we found ourselves landed on the shores of Lake Michigan, and near a place called “Camp Douglas.” “As we came on the borders of the lake, its waves lay dark and voiceless; only at intervals the surf fretting along the pebbles, made a low and dreary sound.” “Then all became

“An atmosphere without a breath, A silent sleeping there.”

The beach and grounds were covered with snow and ice nearly twenty inches deep. The beautiful white snow, the pure azure-colored waters of the lake, and the appearance and feelings of this little handful of ragged, half-starved, wornout prisoners, presented a sorrowful and pitiable contrast. We were now placed in charge of a different set of guards, who were United States regulars, many of whom were of foreign extraction, Our jocular dandies now bid us a final adieu. The guards now ordered us to march out of the box cars upon the deep snow and ice, form in open ranks, take off our outside clothing, including our shoes and boots—in other words, undress. But few of this little crowd wore shoes or boots, the majority of them being barefooted, and had been for some time previous, and not many of us wore anything except outside clothing. In the warm climate of the South,

PRISONERS STRIPPED AND SEARCHED IN THE SNOW AT CAMP DOUGLAS.

some two years prior to this, the army of Tennessee had dispensed with such unnecessary luxuries, for the reason that the Confederate States Government was financially unable to furnish that class of clothing to its soldiers. We were required to stand upon this deep snow and ice, facing an icy breeze of mist, which was flying from the lake propelled by a strong gale of wind, for several hours, without fire or anything to eat, for the purpose of undergoing an examination, a close and rigorous search for all arms of offense or defense, which might be found on our persons or in our possession.

I shall use the term “arms” in this connection, as it was practically used at Chicago, which is altogether different from that applied to it at the present day. This word arms, among these guards, meant all articles of value, such as gold and silver watches, lockets, rings, pocket knives; in fact, all trinkets of any value whatever, but of course, our little gold and silver pocket change was not overlooked. The most of our wealth consisted in what little Confederate money we possessed, but this they returned to us. They failed to return anything of value. We subsequently learned that many of the guards could be easily bribed with these articles to turn a prisoner out, and several prisoners by this means had succeeded in making their escape. Guards were on the market for sale cheap.

When the search was finished, we donned our clothing, were ordered to form in two ranks and face to the front. We can see a plank wall in which there is a large gate, on the inside of which, we understand, our quarters are located. The gate is called “a prison-gate,” over which our imaginations can see plainly written in bold type, these words:

“Through me you pass into the City of Woe; Through me you pass into eternal pain.”

This gate is closely guarded by a soldier wearing the uniform of a private of the Federal army. He stands on the outside near the gate, armed with a Springfield rifle loaded with a cartridge containing powder and a fifty-four calibre minie ball, upon the end of his gun is a long sharp spear or bayonet, from his looks and appearance one would judge him to be an old regular who had seen considerable active sevice at the front, and would shoot any one attempting to pass through this gate-way from either side without the proper authority; that the orders and instructions he has will be executed to the strictest letter in every particular. He also knows what military law is, in regard to his duties and obligations as a soldier, and he will take no risk of being court-martialed by his superiors, as he knows that a court-martial means nothing more nor less than punishment to the one brought before it.

We are now ordered forward in two ranks toward this big gate, and as we approach, a military officer steps forward and shows the guard an instrument of writing, which we suppose to be an order from the commander of the post to admit us within the inclosure of the prison walls. The gate is now thrown open, swinging back on its creaking hinges, and we march through to the inside, and,

“When we had passed the threshold of the gate, We heard its closing sound.”

We now bid a sad adieu to the outside world, for we fully realized the fact that we had landed within the frightful inclosure of the prison walls of Camp Douglas. We were informed that this place derived its name from a man, and was first used as a camp of instruction for troops, but later was converted into a military prison, in which to keep prisoners of war confined. We were divided into squads, each containing a certain number of men and were assigned to different barracks. The squad to which I belonged was sent to barrack No. 53, where I drew the first rations since leaving the city of Nashville, Tennessee.

CHAPTER V. “How fleet is a glance of the mind; Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind, And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But alas! recollection at hand Soon hurries me back to despair.”

After taking in all the surroundings of this prison, and judging from the appearance of everything, the methods of security adopted to make the prison secure, and our safe-keeping a certainty, this compulsory visit of state bid fair to last indefinitely; hence, we settled ourselves down as contentedly as the nature of things would permit, with a determination to make the best of life we could under the surrounding circumstances. I fully realized the scope of this visit. In my imagination, could plainly see the realities connected with it. I well remembered the dismal sound of that ponderous prison gate, as it grated on my ears, when it opened back on its creaking hinges for us to pass inside. I felt that it revealed a story which was unmistakable, and with which we would soon become familiar.

We will now take a bird's-eye view of all within this inclosure, and see if we can find anything to admire, or strike the fancy, and note that which is most novel and interesting. Well, if our admiration of everything is to be judged by our silence and sullen looks, we admire everything. First, let's see of what this institution consists, or rather, what constitutes the prison. Here are near twenty acres of ground inclosed by a plank wall sixteen feet high, upon the top of which a walk or parapet has been constructed four feet wide for the chain-guard, or sentinels, to walk.

Near the ground, within ten feet of the plank wall, a strip of plank one inch thick by three inches wide, has been tacked upon the top of little posts about one foot high, the entire circumference of the prison grounds; this line is named and called the “Dead Line;” it means and signifies death to every living prisoner who attempts to cross it.

There is only one place of egress or ingress to this inclosure, and that through the aperture of the big gate, through which we have just entered. This gateway is large enough to admit easily a line of soldiers four ranks deep—that is, four abreast. Two guards are kept at this gate, one on the inside of the inclosure, the other outside.

The ground is nearly level, perhaps it sloped towards the lake just enough to discover it with the natural eye and to make it drain very well. Our quarters consist of barracks, one story high and four feet off the ground upon posts. They were originally flat on the ground. While they were flat on the ground, every few days, one or more of the prisoners would escape from the prison, and after an examination it was discovered that the prisoners tunneled out under the barracks; this caused the Federal authorities to raise them off the ground, so that no one could tunnel out without being caught in the act, and before any success had been obtained. They were built of boxing plank, one inch thick by twelve inches wide, and twelve feet long. The barracks were not ceiled overhead; the cracks were stripped with pieces of plank one inch thick by three broad. There are fifteen rows of barracks with four to each row, and number from one to sixty. Two hundred men are assigned to each barrack. The reader can see at once, that although there were so few barracks, they could afford quarters for quite a little army. Each barrack had a kitchen attached to one end, generally the north end, in which our beef and other meats were cooked. The main door or place of entrance to the barrack was near the center in one side, and so arranged that any one could enter or leave at any time during the day or night, and never be heard, and after night without being seen. The barracks had but one place of entrance to each, except that from the kitchens, which were not passable for the men. This entrance to the barracks had no shutter, and remained open; there were no windows in the barracks through which light could enter; sometimes the prisoners whittled out small light-holes between the planks of the walls large enough to admit some light, which enabled them to read such literature and books as could be obtained. These little apertures, or light-holes, sometimes were dangerous places to sit by, as when discovered by the Federal guards on the parapets, they possessed an attraction for minie balls. A frame structure was erected on the inside, from the floor to the roof, in tiers or rows above each other the entire circumference of the barrack, divided by narrow strips of plank; on these structures we slept; they were called “bunks.” Each bunk would contain two men comfortably; upon these we spread our bedclothing, and also kept many little trinkets of small value hid under our blankets. Everything here was not in season, but we dreamed at large and woke in prison. The barracks were supplied with heating stoves, two to each barrack, one placed at each end; that is, one stove to every hundred men.

The kitchen was separated from the sleeping apartment of the barrack by a partition wall, which extended from one side of the barrack to the other. The main entrance to the kitchen was at the rear or north end, which had a door with a shutter. The entrance into the barrack was through a square hole made in the partition wall, which cut off the kitchen from the barrack. This opening was about the size of the cashier's window in the National banks of the present day, perhaps it may have been a trifle larger, and was named and called the “Crumb Hole,” from this fact, nothing except our rations ever passed through it, which were handed by the cooks through this for distribution, and we could obtain them through no other.

This crumb hole was closed by a slide door. When it slid back and left the aperture open, there would be a general rush to it by all the men in the barrack. After our rations were handed through from the kitchen to the inside of the barrack, this door would be closed and remain closed until the next meal. Stepping up to the cashier's window in a National bank to cash a check very forcibly reminds one of going up to these crumb holes at Camp Douglas, to receive our kitchen hash or slop; the cashier when he counts out the cash and pushes it through from the inside, reminds one of the head cook when he shoved our rations through the crumb hole to the sergeant of the barrack.

I have a perfect horror for these openings or windows, and I dislike the very thought of stepping up in front of these seeming crumb holes in National banks, they so forcibly recall the recollections of the crumb holes in our barracks at Camp Douglas, and to see them in the banks makes me feel like I am back within that prison barrack every time I enter a bank. I have a suspicion that the pattern and model for making these particular windows in the National banks at this day had their origin at Camp Douglas, were patterned after, and modeled from the crumb holes in our barracks at that place, they bear such a close resemblance to, and have such a similarity in workmanship. If I am correct in my surmises, the ingenious Yankee who invented those at Camp Douglas could make a fortune, if living, by prosecuting the National banks for an infringement of his patent. The kitchens were supplied with large pots or kettles for cooking purposes. They held from forty to sixty gallons of water each.

There were streets, between the rows of barracks, which were near twenty feet wide, and thrown up in the middle from each side to make them drain.

At the north end of the streets, the waterclosets, more familiarly known to soldiers by the name of sinks, were located. The water was conveyed within the prison square by pipes leading from the lake to the reservoir, and from that to the prison. A sewer conveyed the filth from the sinks to the outside of the prison walls, the water being conveyed by hydrants into the sewers to wash off the filth from the prison. Wash-houses were conveniently located on different parts of the prison grounds. They were box houses, the cracks being stripped same as the barracks, and one story high. These were supplied with hydrants, which conveyed the water to the inside, and also with tubs, buckets and soap, but minus towels.

Coal sheds had been erected on the inside of the inclosure of the prison walls, and under these the coal we used for fuel was deposited. It was hauled from the outside by the Federals; sometimes a detail of prisoners would be sent out under guard to assist in hauling it. Near, and a little east of the entrance gate to the prison, a small barrack or office was located. This was comfortably arranged on the inside, and used by the officers of the guard, and occupied by them day and night. It was the headquarters of Lieutenant Fife, commandant of the police guard on the inside of the prison square. Not far from the officers' quarters a store-house had been erected, which was called a “Sutler's store,” from the fact that the man who conducted and carried on the business there was a sutler. A sutler is one who follows an army, but keeps himself far in the rear whenever there is a prospect for a battle. He never shows himself near the front unless the enemy is known to be two or three hundred miles off. He sells provisions and various flashy and trashy articles of merchandise, which will generally catch all the small change soldiers carry in their pockets. Whenever he can do so on the sly, he will slip a soldier a little bust-head whisky, and at the same time swear it is a genuine article of old rye or bourbon, and charge one dollar for about two teaspoonfuls. Here he was far in the rear, and had no fears of the enemy on the front. He sold us some provisions and various articles of clothing, but no whisky or intoxicating drinks of any kind; at least, I never knew of him doing it.

A short distance from the sutler's store, a post about four feet high was firmly set in the ground, on which were written little notices, advertisements and such general news as were allowed to come within the prison square. This post was called the bulletin board, and the news posted on it, grape-vine dispatches or grape-vine telegrams. News in our favor, or which they thought we would appreciate, never appeared on this bulletin board. Within a short distance of the entrance gate, across the street and west of the officers' quarters, there was still another institution, which was one of the horrors of the prison, and more interesting than all the other institutions within the inclosure of the prison walls. It was an underground room or place about ten feet deep, covered with plank and dirt, the top just above the surface of the ground. This institution was named and known as the dungeon, which meant and signified midnight darkness. It had the right name. We dreaded this underground abode equally as bad as some so-called Christians do a cyclone. Nothing within this gloomy cell could ever feel the gentle rays of the sun. It was all darkness,—black-darkness to both soul and body of the poor victim who was so unfortunate as to be doomed to it. There was but one door or place of entrance, and it rather small. The furniture of this institution was very scarce, consisting mostly of a chain and two cannon balls chained together. The inhabitant of this room had to wear the chain and balls to his ankles while an inmate thereof. We often called this the doghouse.

Before completing the description of all of the inanimate objects of interest on the inside of the prison grounds, I met with another, entirely different from anything within the inclosure of the prison walls. This was a perfect monstrosity, and called by the name of a familiarly known animal. Wherever I may have occasion to refer to it I shall designate it as one. History furnishes no record of this peculiarly constructed animal, although there has always existed from the very earliest times to the present, an animal bearing the same name, and with which we are all very familiar. The nobility of ancient kings used them as beasts of burden, in preference to all other animals. This particular animal at Camp Douglas had become one of the most remarkable in use at this place, and of all, the most dreaded by the prisoners. Not that it was at all ferocious, or possessed teeth with which to bite, or claws with which to scratch; but there was associated with it a nameless horror, which caused those who had ever come in contact with it, to do their very best to shun it, and made us all anxious to give it as wide a berth as possible.

In this little world of ours this wonderful animal had gained so much notoriety among the prisoners, and was of so much importance to, and held in such high esteem by the officers and prison guards, that we believed it ought to go down in the long channel and stream of history like the mastodon, and be placed among the most noted of the animals in the national museums of different nations, to remain a perpetual monument to the ingenuity of the past ages. It was perfectly blind and deaf. Either end could be used for its head, so it mattered not which you faced while riding. The sweat of this animal was inclined to be sticky, possessing many medicinal properties, and had a suspicious smell of turpentine and rosin. During a very warm day it would perspire freely, and the quantity of its perspiration was equal to the sweat of blood of the great Behemoth of the Bible. It was destitute of hair, and its skin was the color of that often seen on the inside of a large pine tree. I was never able to obtain the exact dimensions of this animal, as the penalty for being near it was a two hours ride on its razor back.

This so-called animal was composed of backbone, ribs and legs, all constructed from pure pine lumber. The backbone was a piece about four inches thick by eight inches wide, and near thirty feet long; the top of this was planed off to a sharp edge the whole length; upon this the prisoners sat man-fashion, and rode without saddles or blankets. The ribs were numerous and so arranged as to be used the same way and for the same purpose, as the backbone—that is, to be rode upon. It had from six to twelve legs, all securely nailed and fastened to the backbone and ribs; they were sixteen feet long, so this animal was thirty feet long and sixteen feet high. It remained stationary and stood a little east of the entrance gate and on the inside of the prison square, not far from Lieutenant Fife's office. It was peculiar only to John Morgan, from whom it derived the name, “Morgan's Mule.” I believe this completes the description of all the inanimate objects within the inclosure of the prison walls.

CHAPTER VI. “Men and their manners I describe.”

Brevet Brigadier General B. J. Sweet commanded the troops at Camp Douglas while I was there. There were two regiments, the 8th and 15th United States regulars, under his command. It was on very rare occasions that he favored the prisoners with a visit. With the limited acquaintance the prisoners had with him, he impressed them as being an affable and courteous officer. I will not attempt to give a minute description of him. In stature he was a little over the average, and possessed rather a commanding appearance. His headquarters were on the outside of the prison square.

The second officer who was interested in the safe-keeping of the prisoners, was Lieut. Fife. He had charge of the prison guards on the inside of the prison square. Fife appeared to be very distant and reserved, and avoided all familiarity with the prisoners. We kept aloof from his quarters. I saw him but very few times during my entire stay in prison, and then only at a considerable distance. Judging from what I was able to see of him, he appeared to be rather good looking and pleasant. Morgan's Mule was in such close proximity to his quarters that there was but little incentive for us to frequent that place; hence, we kept as far away as possible.

There was a third officer, who formed the keystone to the arch of this trio, one so-called Captain Webb Sponable, Inspector of Prisons, but more particularly Inspector of Rations, especially when he became a little short of cash. His name really should not be associated with the former officers whom I have described, but it cannot well be avoided. He was of medium stature: figure grotesque and ugly in the extreme; features coarse; face resembling a well-grown artichoke, covered over as it was with large bumps; hair stood straight up, when not kept saturated with grease or oil; forehead very low, with the eye-brows joined together above the bridge of the nose; eyes set far back in the head; nose very large and always carried upon it a strawberry hue; ears of ordinary size, very thin and lay close to the head; jaws and chin very large and unsightly; neck short and bullish; teeth stood out prominently and never presented a neat or clean appearance and seemed to be coated with a yellow substance of some kind; his expression and countenance appeared to be dark and cloudy most of the time; the legs were so frightened at each other that no amount of persuasion could induce them to come close together; suspended at the extremities of the legs were a pair of large feet, like those of a negro. The swift and irregular step, the unmeasured and harsh cadence of his accentuation, the wandering and far away look which took about ten times as long as another's to arrive at its object; all this was in admirable keeping with his unsightly person, big nose, ugly chin and knotty skin, which betrayed not the slightest symptoms that any principles inclined to be humane and generous circulated or passed through or beneath its cellular texture; these gave him quite a ludicrous appearance, whenever he perambulated the prison square, trying to favorably impress every one with his peacock looks. This Captain Webb Sponable will be long remembered by all the inmates of Camp Douglas.

The troops stationed at Camp Douglas were used for provost-guards of the city, and also as prison guards, more particularly for the prison. A portion of them were kept outside of the enclosure of the prison walls, and used mostly for sentinels on the parapet on top of the plank wall which inclosed the prison; they were scarcely ever used as police guards within the prison square. Those upon the parapet were stationed at intervals from fifty to one hundred feet apart the entire circumference of the prison wall, forming what is well known to soldiers, a chain-guard, around the prison. The distance on the parapet the sentinels had to walk, from one to the other, was called their “beat.” This is a familiar term to soldiers. The sentinels were armed with Springfield rifles loaded, and upon the end of each gun was a long sharp spear or bayonet. Each sentinel also wore in his belt a large army pistol.

They were relieved from guard duty every two hours by another relief, consisting of the same number of men—that is, one guard for each post or beat. In extreme cold weather, such as it was the latter part of 1864 and beginning of 1865, they were relieved every half hour and frequently oftener. While on guard duty on the parapet they were compelled to walk their beats from end to end continually, not being allowed to sit down or stand still and rest on their arms; they were required, during all hours of the night, to halloo loud enough to be heard by the officers of the guard, “All is well,” or “All is right.” This would be repeated by each guard around the line on the parapet. The object of this was to inform the officers that each sentinel was at his post and wide awake, and that nothing had gone wrong on the line. We could distinctly hear them repeat this at all hours of the night, which often caused sad and gloomy thoughts to pass through our brains.

Guard-mounting—that is, relieving the old guard, who had been on duty eight hours out of twenty-four, with another detailed guard, occurred every morning at 8 o'clock. Then we had music, but it was all on the outside of our prison wall. The bands on the parade ground made the air ring with music, reminding us of the melodious sounds of our bands in our far away Sunny South. One set of guards, composing the entire chain-guard upon the parapet, were kept on guard duty eight hours out of twenty-four. Their orders and instructions were to shoot every prisoner who attempted an escape from the prison, or crossed the dead line; to shoot out all lights which might be seen in the barracks at night; to fire upon all squads of three or four prisoners who might congregate on the streets in a group during the day. At least, the parapet guards claimed to have such instructions, and the manner in which they acted, indicated it. They rarely, if ever, entered the prison square on guard duty, as their duties were confined more particularly to the parapet and on the outside of the prison walls. The police guards within the inclosure of the prison were armed with large army pistols, loaded. The authority of each was absolute, and from it there was no appeal, at least, an appeal made by any of us would not have been heard by higher authority. Their duties were to patrol the prison grounds and barracks at all hours during the day and night; to see that all the rules and regulations of the prison were strictly carried out; that no plots or conspiracies were planned or organized among the prisoners to escape, and that the sanitary rules and regulations were rigidly executed. Quite a number of them were within the inclosure of the prison walls day and night. The sergeants of the guard called the roll every morning at 7 o'clock. Sometimes there would be one to each barrack, but generally one to each row, As a rule they were very gentlemanly men.

The next person of importance was the bugler. This personage is generally designated and called “the little bugler,” but I shall simply call him “the bugler.” He made his appearance inside the prison square, at the headquarters of the prison guard, twice each day, at 6:30 a. m. and at 6 p. m., for the purpose of giving the signals for roll call and to retire to bunk. At 6:30 a. m., when he sounded that bugle, we had to fall into line, fronting our barrack, and remain in line until the roll was called; and at 6 p. m. when we heard its shrill blast, every living prisoner within the prison square had to immediately retire to bunk. I only knew the bugler from the sound of his instrument—that is, I knew there was one on hand, as we rarely ever saw him, for his bugle would ring out before we thought of his presence at headquarters, then we had no time to look at him, our bunks being of much more importance. This was the only duty we knew of his having to perform on the inside of the prison square.

Some few of the prison guards made themselves very conspicuous and vigilant all the time while within the prison square, whether on duty or off. There were four of whom I desire particularly to note, as they are special exceptions. During my school-boy days, when I studied at English grammar, the exceptions to the general rules gave me more trouble than all the remainder of the book, and since then I have been very particular to note the exceptions to everything. With these four guards we came in direct contact nearly every day and night, or with one or more of them anyhow. The first of them was nicknamed “Old Red.” His proper name was O'Hara. From his name and dialect he would be pronounced a native of and an inhabitant of the Emerald Isle. He derived the name “Old Red” from being red-headed, the hair being a fiery red. In stature he was larger than the average man, and possessed an enormous parallelogram-shaped head, which presented a low forehead, and which indicated the opposite of all culture and refinement. This oblong head was surmounted with a forest of coarse, red and bushy hair; a nose fashioned more for use than ornament, and the centre of attraction between two prominent cheek bones; across this and below the nose nature had placed a tremendous horizontal aperture, which his two large ears prevented from making the entire tour of the head, and contained a score or more of ugly, ill-shaped teeth, which must have been very useful in devouring large quantities of pickled beef and hard-tack. His body, arms, legs and feet were large, though his general make-up and form were by no means symmetrical. His complexion was red, face ornamented with large red pimples or bumps to such an extent that it constantly reminded one of the chicken-pox or big red measles; in fact, his entire oily skin appeared to be infected with vermin. His rough, brawny hand were better fitted for the plow-handles than for anything else, and certainly an artist would never have selected his long bony fingers for models of beauty. The large, ill-shaped nose, the two dull gray eyes placed in the midst of a pair of unsightly cheeks, gave to his countenance a most hideous and semi-comic appearance and expression. Two ponderous ears stood out in bold relief, one on each side of his head, somewhat resembling the side lamps of a carriage. In addition to all this came the comical arrangement of his hair, which stood out in bold defiance of all efforts of discipline of the hand or comb; every hair stood out straight, separate and alone, and seemed to be afraid each of the other. I am confident that this head of hair never succumbed to the arts of civilization. He wore a number twelve shoe or boot, and sometimes wore socks; whenever he wore shoes, which was most of the time, he could often be seen without socks on those monstrous feet. The legs of his pants were large and always too short, lacking about an inch of reaching to and making close connection with the top of his socks—that is, whenever he wore socks. It appeared to the boys in prison that when his measure was taken for clothing, he certainly stood in the water ankle deep at least. The skin of his ankles very much, in color, resembled the rind of a pumpkin at ripening time. The pale blue pants and his skin, as shown on his ankles, presented quite a contrast. His address was repulsive in the extreme. When in his presence, one would know it without seeing him, for the cold chills would at once run up and down the back. One would feel that he was in the presence of or near some monstrous, hideous and slimy serpent. Such were the feelings the atmosphere would inspire one with when he was near at hand. His sense was that of the meanest type, and his composition contained nothing save that of the blackest and worst character. In appearance, he resembled one of those terrible and frightful beings whom Pollock describes that he saw writhing in the Lake of Fire, while he stood near the brink of the abyss of eternity sketching its inmates.

The second specimen of these was called “Little Red.” I had his full name but cannot at present recall it, although time can never erase his personal description from memory's tablet. He differed materially in his personal physique from the former I have described. In stature he was smaller, head a little above medium size, very irregular in shape and covered with sandy-colored hair, and many of the prisoners called him red-headed; hence, the origin of the name, “Little Red.” His eyes were of a steel-gray color, giving to his countenance a cold and hard expression; the nose, of medium size and a little inclined to be sharp at the point, was almost hid from view by two round and bloated cheeks; the mouth large and filled with a set of unsightly and disgusting teeth; it was a perfect harbinger of filth, the stench emitted therefrom when it opened, would permeate the atmosphere for a distance of several feet. The most striking attribute of his chin was length. He was stoutly built and possessed large feet, which were minus an instep, the heels of which were straight like those of a negro. His countenance and expression sadly lacked all which indicates anything amiable or intelligent. He somewhat resembled the “Fool's Pope,” described by Victor Hugo. He appeared to occupy about the same relation to the others which a general roustabout on a steamboat does to the officers who command it.

A third prominent personage and important factor was in the shape and person of Billy McDermott. He was better and more familiarly known to the prisoners, as “Old Billy Hell.” Old Billy was rather small in stature, as well as in every thing else. An oval-shaped, rough, hard and knotty cornfield cymling would make a fine photograph and an excellent representation of his head, which was covered with thick, dark hair; shaggy eyebrows hung over two small, squint eyes, which resembled those of a hog; the nose was small and long, the end always pointing to the left; his mouth large, but kept somewhat in the background by a pair of large, thick lips; a short neck, which appeared to be swallowed up by the shoulders; the knees were perfect strangers to each other, and no sort of enticement could bring them together; the feet were large and flat; his expression was anything to look upon but pleasant.

The finishing touch and crowning capstone of this quartette, presented itself in the person of “Prairie Bull.” He was indebted to the Texas troops for this beautiful sobriquet. His head was straight from the back of the neck to the crown, and covered with very thick, dark hair, which he parted in the middle at the back of the head, and in front, like a woman parts hers; the ears were large and thin, but not the kind which indicate generosity; his eyes were small and of a cold lead color, and shaded with heavy eye-brows, which embraced each other above the bridge of the nose; the nose was large, and the nostrils always expanded; his big mouth contained a set of long teeth very much resembling the incisors; the lips were thick, and continually kept in such a strain of fear and terror of each other that they could never be induced to touch; his jaws were those of a monster in size; the neck short and thick; his arms, legs and feet were patterned after those of a gorilla more than from any other animal; the skin was the color of that often seen when yellow jaundice makes its first appearance—that is, when in its first stage; he was tall, and a little hump-shouldered, and possessed the frame of a giant, and generally went in a stooping posture, and very fast, so much so that the tail of his blue blouse was constantly trying to play leap-frog with the back of his neck. Nature, it seems, had stamped the atrocity of his character on his countenance. His hideous features, coupled with a demoniacal expression, revolted every living thing near him. He carried the expression of a demon wherever he went, and the photographed impressions made upon one's brain will forever stand out on memory's wall in bold relief. This gives the finishing touch to the most important of the guards within the inclosure of the prison walls. There were many others, but none so interesting and conspicuous as the special “big four,” as we called these whom I have just described. The majority of the others, if not all, were much better men in every respect than these favorites. We never had to avoid and shun the presence of the others, like we did these; in fact, when these four were on the inside of the prison square, we felt like we were in the midst of and at the mercy of a lot of wild animals which had just made their escape from some menagerie.

CHAPTER VII. “Endure the hardships of your present state, Live and reserve yourselves for better fate.”

We now began to realize the full extent and meaning of the term “prisoner of war,” and are being thoroughly initiated into prison life. There are near twelve thousand of us within the inclosure of the prison walls, and one would suppose that owing to there being so many men confined within so small a space, there would exist the greatest amount of sociability. In a general way, we were very sociable with each other, but we had our rings and cliques like other people in the great world outside. Those who had been associated together in arms as soldiers, of course, were more intimately acquainted with and entertained a more friendly feeling for each other than with others of a different command; consequently, this caused them to form little associations of their own, and as near together as possible. For instance, members of the Forty-ninth Tennessee infantry felt more attachment for each other than for others belonging to a different regiment, hence the reason for our rings and cliques.

I was fortunate enough to be assigned to the same barrack with three old comrades, viz., Archie Sainsing, Buck Forsythe and Polk Goodrich. A brief sketch of each of these three, perhaps, will not be out of place here. In stature, Archie was taller than either of us, and red-headed. His nose, in length and size, was considerably over the average; in fact, he was not as handsome as some few persons I have met, but was one of those quiet, good natured young men who, I do not suppose, ever made use of an ugly word in his life; at least, during my intimacy with him for nearly four years, I never heard such fall from his lips.

Buck Forsythe was small in stature, but could use the biggest language of any one in prison. The king's English suffered whenever Buck strung out in the use of it. My friend Polk Goodrich was one of the strangest and most singular personages and specimens of humanity that could have been found. There has never been but one Polk Goodrich of his exact makeup and composition. He was perhaps older than either of us, and of medium height. He had black hair, eyes and whiskers; features finer than are usually seen on a person with jet black hair and fair skin; mouth was very small, and hid from view by his mustache and whiskers; the eyes were as small as buck-shot, and performed vidette guard duty on each side of a nasal appendage which was noted for its length, the end of which looked closely after the extremity of the chin. When we were down South with the army and the bomb-shells were flying in the air, the boys frequently advised him to place this ornament in his pocket. He was a splendid soldier, and always on hand for duty, no matter how dangerous the performance of duty might be. While at Camp Douglas, he reminded us of one of those unlucky men who appeared to have been born on Friday, or on some other unlucky day, for he was almost continually having some trouble with our nocturnal visitors. His first experience with them occurred with Old Billy, within three or four days after our admittance inside the prison, and in the shape of a two hours ride on Morgan's Mule during a real cold night. Polk had an idea that he could get up and warm by the stove, but Old Billy came in the barracks at once, and marched him off to the Mule. He never could be induced after night to make another attempt to warm.

While occupying this barrack we had but little to occupy our time and attention, except to look at and study the people who came in from the city in great crowds to take a view of the last arrival of Confederate prisoners. These crowds were generally composed of women, who were sometimes escorted by plug hats and swallow-tail coats. Some few of the women greeted us with such epithets as “vile rebels,” “who should have been hung instead of being brought there, and they were sorry we were not all killed at Franklin.” They generally spent an hour or two promenading the prison square. After entering the inclosure, an officer would sometimes accompany them over the prison grounds. These inquisitive and silly visitors would look at us with as much amazement as the average country people do at a first class menagerie when it enters a town. A few of the women would take up handfuls of snow, and ask the prisoners “if they had ever seen anything like that down South.” We were not subject to such close scrutiny every day, as the better class sometimes visited the prison, and from them we never had to reply to any such unkind or disrespectful expressions.

One morning just after breakfast, the police guards came up the street and shouted in loud, clear, shrill tones which pealed over the entire prison, “All who desire to go South to be exchanged fall into line in front of your barracks, with all your baggage.” The Franklin prisoners were all “fresh fish,” as the others, who had been there for sone time, called us. Had a ton of dynamite suddenly been thrown into our midst, the excitement, bustle and stir would not have been greater. Many of our associates, who had been in prison for a long time, understood the programme, and tried to remain on their bunks engaged in a game at cards. We thought strange of them appearing so cool and not caring to go with us, preferring to remain in prison. Several of them good humoredly remarked to us “that our trip would soon be over, as we had but a very short distance to go.” Our guards failed to excuse them, but came into the barracks and marched every one of them out in line with the balance of us. We then had the laugh on them. With all the “fresh fish” it was a general rush and push to see who could be the first to get in line. Each seemed to feel that if he was not the first to get in line, he would be left. Soon we were all in line fronting our barracks, many of us having everything with us which we possessed—that is, all little valuables. We were at once surrounded by the police guards, who began rigidly to search us. This time we were not required to undress. They searched us closely, and spared nothing of value which could be found on our person or about our clothing. The Confederate money failed to escape this search, at least, all which could be found. Many of the prisoners dropped little trinkets and articles of small value on the ground, covered them up in the sand with their feet, and stood upon them. My soldier friend, Polk Goodrich, saved a great many little trinkets by placing them under his nose. After completing the search, we were ordered to break ranks, return to our quarters and wait for further instructions and orders.

We learned that the cause of this search was on account of some of the prisoners, who had bribed one of the guards on the parapet, and he had allowed two or three of them to escape. Their o