History of the Forty-second regiment infantry, Massachusetts volunteers, 1862, 1863, 1864

CHAPTER XVII. Adventures of Corporal Wentworth and Private Hersey. CHAPTER XVII. Adventures of Corporal Wentworth and Private Hersey. Corporal David L. Wentworth, Company G, Private Samuel R. Hersey, Company C, and Frank Veazie, officers’ cook, with about three hundred men (including Lieutenant Hamilton, Master Hannum, Engineers Plunkett and Stone, of the Harriet Lane ), left Camp Groce, December 9th, for Shreveport. Long captivity in restricted quarters left them in such a debilitated condition that a march of any duration completely prostrated them. The guard, some fifty men, under a good officer, was composed of a clever set of men, who made it easy for the prisoners so far as lay in their power, occasionally helping some poor fellows along by allowing them to ride their horses. Those too ill to walk (Hersey was among them, and towards the journey’s end Wentworth, sick with dysentery) were allowed to ride in the baggage wagons, five in number, an uncomfortable conveyance, none provided with springs, and the roads in poor condition. Cooking utensils were scarce. Living principally upon “mush,” each mess, when they arrived at camping places, would try all sorts of tricks to secure a “dodger-pan” from some other mess, in spite of orders, “first come, first served.” Some would have to wait until late at night for their turn to come, while others, too tired, would retire to their bed of leaves and go to sleep hungry. Every morning a start was made soon after daybreak, in order to reach each day’s destination as early as possible. On an average fifteen to twenty miles constituted a day’s march, and was done every day until December 22d, when a halt for several days was made, one mile beyond Tyler, to rest the weary prisoners. While here the officers left at Camp Groce passed them on their way to Camp Ford, without an opportunity being given to converse. Pleasant, cool weather was experienced the first four days, then came cold, windy weather for two days, then rain for one day, clearing off cold and windy and remaining so until the march ended, varied with a few rainy and many cloudy, damp and freezing cold days. It took six days to reach Trinity River, and several days more before arriving at Tyler. The march was resumed on Sunday, December 27th, crossing Sabine River during the morning, and continued each day until about sunset December 30th, when it ended, after an eighteen days’ tramp, and four days’ rest at Tyler, twenty-two days after leaving Camp Groce. Even the negro drivers, rollicking jolly as they appeared to be, singing and yelling all day long, could not enliven this small regiment of marching sufferers. A favorite song, because it was constantly sang, and in a manner impossible for any white man to imitate, “Rock me Julie, rock me,” rang in the prisoners’ ears long after they had parted company with their ebony-colored singers. The following account of what occurred while at Shreveport was written by Private Hersey, who claims that there is no exaggeration in his statements—facts alone are stated: STATEMENT OF PRIVATE HERSEY. “The last two days of the year 1863 will long be remembered by those members of our regiment who, with some three hundred other Federal prisoners, were wending their toilsome way over the rough, frozen roads leading from Marshall, Texas, to the Louisiana border, in expectation, when arriving there, of being exchanged or paroled. December 29th a fierce ‘Norther’ set in, which was soon accompanied by a severe storm of rain, hail, snow and sleet. Through this terrible storm we plodded on over a dreary region of woodland and prairie, with the icy hurricane piercing our tattered, scanty garments, the pelting rain and sleet drenching us to the skin. At night there was no shelter from the pitiless storm, excepting such as we could find under the wet, dripping branches of the forest trees, or form by twisting their limbs into arches and covering them with moss gathered from the cypress trees. Those who could creep in under the awnings of the army wagons, which the guard had appropriated for their own quarters, were fortunate indeed. Sleep or rest there was none, and for two days and nights our lives dragged on in utter misery. “A dozen or more of our number were shoeless, and many a footprint stained with the blood of these unfortunate ones could be traced along the snow-covered ground. A score at least had no clothing, except an improvised suit made by tieing their well-worn army blankets around their waists. The hope of release urged many a poor captive forward, who otherwise would have succumbed to the fatigues and hardships of the long marches. Even the Confederate soldiers who guarded us, although much better provided for than ourselves, were scantily and meanly clothed, and suffered severely. “On the thirtieth of the month, after a day of intense suffering from the severity of the weather and the length and fatigues of the march, we reached the end of our journey, or rather the place where we were to await the arrival of the agents of exchange or parole. We were halted in the depths of a snow-covered wood; there left to ourselves to find such shelter as leafless, dripping branches of the trees afforded. This locality was known as ‘Four Mile Springs.’ “Beyond this wood was a camp of Federal prisoners, who had arrived some time before us, occupying long, frame barracks, crowded so as to afford no shelter for fresh arrivals. The appearance of these prisoners was wretched, and so filthy were their quarters our men declared that some of the vermin, or ‘graybacks’ as they were called, had inscribed upon their backs the words, ‘in for the war.’ These poor fellows had been quartered since their capture, some six months previous, at Camp Ford, Texas, but were marched to their present quarters a few weeks previous to our arrival, to await exchange. They were chiefly Indiana troops. “The weather was extremely cold for this latitude, resembling more the rude, bleak winter of our Northern clime than the soft, genial atmosphere we had always associated in our minds when thinking of the sunny South, and was said to be the severest ever known in this region. “For a few days after our arrival we were allowed to roam at will through the woods and vicinity without a guard, for the reason that in daily expectation of proceeding to our lines the men were not likely to attempt any escape. Days passed by in this partial state of freedom, until finally, as the days passed into weeks without any indications of a speedy release, our hopes again began to darken; the men grew restive, and numbers of them were daily missing at roll-call. Every man who attempted escape was recaptured before he got far away and brought back to be placed under guard. “During our long captivity in Texas our hopes and expectations had so often been raised only to fall again, we got somewhat accustomed to disappointments of this nature, but never since our capture had we been quite so sure of immediate release, or felt the bitterness of ‘hope deferred,’ as we did then. In our prison days at Houston and Camp Groce we had regular quotations of exchange , and the stock was as fluctuating as any in the markets of Wall or State Streets; our days were made cheerful or gloomy according as the stock advanced or fell. “One morning, at roll-call, we were all summoned to the headquarters of Colonel Théard, commanding the prison-guard, and informed that our Government refused to receive us as paroled prisoners, also refusing to negotiate for our exchange. The colonel made us a neat little speech, in which he expressed his sympathy for us in our deplorable condition, and informed us he had sent a letter to General Kirby Smith, commanding the Confederate Trans-Mississippi Department, asking him to issue clothing, and describing our destitution and sufferings. He also stated he had written to the general, that in case he could not comply with the request for clothing he should feel impelled, from an aversion to seeing so much distress continually before his eyes, to ask to be relieved of his duties as commander of the prison camp. As we never received any clothing from General Smith, or any other quarter, and as the Confederate soldiers were sadly in need of supplies, I was convinced that the Quartermaster Department of the Trans-Mississippi army was in a wofully depleted condition. “In front of Colonel Théard’s headquarters was an extensive plateau, and here we were ordered to encamp, a guard again placed over us and the dead line traced out. This broad plain was perfectly barren of shrubbery or trees; not even a plot of grass could be found upon it. To make shelter for ourselves we were allowed to go into the woods in squads, under guard, and cut timber and gather leaves. In a few days there sprung into existence, upon this plateau, a village of huts and nondescript structures of the quaintest and most original designs imaginable. Many of these habitations consisted simply of a few bent twigs, arched so as to form a burrow just large enough to creep into head foremost, suitable only to sleep in. Those who from sickness or weakness were unable to erect a domicile depended upon the generosity of their more fortunate comrades, or slept in the open air. Our rations consisted chiefly of coarse corn meal, coarse salt, sugar, and occasionally beef. Having a limited number of cooking utensils, we were often obliged to wait for hours before we could cook our food. Our guards at this camp were a good-hearted set of fellows, and, with a few exceptions, inclined to favor us whenever they could. “About the middle of January Colonel Théard was relieved of his command, much to our regret, for his treatment of us had been kind and considerate. His heart was evidently not much in sympathy with the rebellion, for we heard a short time after his removal he had left the Confederate army and taken the oath of allegiance to the Federal Government, in New Orleans. He was succeeded by Colonel Harrison, whose administration of affairs while not particularly harsh was lacking in the kindliness which we had always met with under Théard. “Rumors of the opening of cartels for exchange were as rife here, and received almost as often, as in our former days at Houston and Camp Groce. ‘Exchange stock’ rose and fell with almost its former regularity; our daily advices from Shreveport caused a constantly-fluctuating stock board. Our own Government was universally condemned for its indifference or neglect of our welfare, and many an imprecation was hurled against those who had it in their power to exchange or parole us and would not. We frequently heard of the exchange of other Federal prisoners, and knew that the Confederates captured at Vicksburg and Port Hudson had all, long ago, been released, and therefore it was we complained so bitterly against our fate. “About the middle of March rumors of General Banks’ advance towards Shreveport with a large army came thick and fast, greatly elating us with a hope they might soon encircle the place of our imprisonment. Suddenly, on the morning of March 26th, the prison camp was broken up and the prisoners, excepting Wentworth, Williams and I, were started on the road towards Texas, destined for Camp Ford. “Upon our arrival at Four Mile Springs Wentworth and I discovered on the roadside, in the woods and beyond the place where the command had been halted, a log hut, in which we found quarters for the night. The hut was a small, dilapidated structure, like old log cabins of the early settlers, and evidently been standing for many years. We found it occupied by three Confederate soldiers, fitted up as a blacksmith shop for the cavalry forces in the vicinity. The exposed condition of the building rendered it only a partial shelter from the storm, for through chinks in the roof and walls the wind and sleet came in freely, and the smoke from the smouldering fire filled the space within almost to suffocation; however, it was a better refuge than the other prisoners could find. Upon lumps of coal and bits of iron on the rude forge I endeavored to find rest in vain; the wind blew through the log crevices in furious blasts, and that side of my clothing exposed to the hut walls was covered with a thin coating of ice, making sleep or comfort impossible. It was a terrible night for the half-clad, shivering wretches outside, and a most cheerless, uncomfortable one for those inside. “The next morning broke clear, but cold and windy. A thin surface of sleety snow covered the ground, causing the landscape around us to look anything but Southern. The men were huddled around slowly burning camp fires, waiting patiently for the distribution of their meagre rations and trying to get warmth into their almost frozen limbs. “The three soldiers occupying the hut were no better off as to accommodations, and not a whit better provided with rations than ourselves. We lived with them during our stay at Four Mile Springs, and became in that time greatly attached to them. Their names were Ramsey, Dick Fickling, and Stanley. Mr. Ramsey, or ‘Pap’ Ramsey, as he was familiarly called, was an old man, about sixty years of age, a splendid specimen of our ideal western backwoodsman. His life had been passed on the wild borders of the Indian Territory and Western Louisiana, knowing little of life in cities and towns. He had never strayed beyond his native prairies and forests until the Southern Confederacy, in its distress for every able-bodied man, brought him forth from his peaceful cabin, compelled to enter its service. He was conscripted some few months previous to our arrival, but being too old for the routine duties of a soldier’s life was detailed to serve as blacksmith for the regiment in which he was placed. A tall, broad-shouldered, well-built man, with gray hair and beard, and an eye as bright and keen as any young person; he was simple-hearted, unskilled in the ways and observances of the world, but with a vast experience of the rough, free, adventurous life of a pioneer. Stanley, his assistant, was a young man, about twenty-five years old, large-hearted, good-natured, and always ready for sport, but with a natural aversion to work. His comrades gave him the name of ’Fox,’ on account of the cunning and shrewdness he displayed in stealing away from camp to visit his home, sixteen miles away, on every possible occasion. He seldom applied for a furlough, deeming such sort of discipline, as he said, entirely unnecessary and too much like slavery. When called to account by his officers for his absence from his regiment, he generally appeased their wrath by presenting them with a fine turkey or shote. A conscript, he managed to evade camp duty by getting detailed as assistant-blacksmith, though wherein his assistance was of any value or service to Mr. Ramsey would have been difficult for an observer to tell. The only labor he was ever known to perform was to occasionally wield the sledge, when the other assistant was absent. His ideas in regard to the cause or object of the war were vague and indefinite, but as far as he knew them they were altogether opposed to the Southern Confederacy. He was the owner of one slave, who took charge of his little farm while he was away. “Anxious to continue our abode with these kind-hearted soldiers, Wentworth and myself called upon Colonel Théard, when the prisoners were again placed under guard, prevailing upon him, after considerable pleading, to allow us a pass , granting the liberty of the camp until further orders; a phrase we construed to mean any distance within five miles of the hut. When Colonel Harrison succeeded Colonel Théard he was disposed to revoke this pass , condescending, after some persuasion, to let the order ‘remain for the present.’ He was a strict disciplinarian, severe and often harsh in his treatment of the prisoners and his own men; it was a surprise to all that we had won such favor. “Time wore on pleasantly; the weather grew mild and genial, and about the middle of January the short Southern winter was over. Our hut was romantically situated, and since our occupation of it we had closed up the chinks in the sides and patched the roof, so that the rain could no longer gain entrance. The road in front of us wound through a broad tract of beautiful woodland, and stretched on in one direction to Shreveport, in the other to the prison lines. Beyond this forest was a vast waste of swamp land, covered with a prolific growth of cypress and gum trees, and intersected in every direction by dark, coffee-colored bayous, in which the finest species of the ’Buffalo’ fish were found. Along the banks of these streams and scattered over the bottom-lands were clusters of impenetrable thickets, where countless numbers of bright-plumaged birds made their nests, and where the venomous mocassin and deadly scorpion found hiding places. All day long, in the deep recesses of these lonely wilds, the air was resonant with the music of feathery warblers. We caught many of them in traps, which Stanley was expert at making, but remembering our own prison experience we never kept them long ‘in durance.’ “The hut soon became a popular rendezvous for Confederate soldiers passing to and from their camp, and we became acquainted with most every one belonging to the regiment acting as prison-guard. With some we formed friendships that lasted long after the war closed. Political questions were seldom argued, but when they were it was always with good humor on their part at least, and we were invariably treated with courtesy and kindness, often with generosity. “Life at the hut was by no means monotonous; each day found us enjoying ourselves in a free and easy way. Mr. Ramsey was owner of a fine horse, and valued him highly. The old man gave me permission to ride the animal whenever I felt inclined, leaving the whole care of the horse to me. With Stanley, always ready for a drive, I took many an excursion through the woods and swamps and to the different plantations in the neighborhood; thus became acquainted with about every planter within a radius of five miles from camp. Amongst them was Mr. Elliot, owner of a plantation at Bayou Pierre, with whom I formed a most intimate and pleasant acquaintance. With him and his family I often passed a delightful hour, always entertained as a welcome guest. Mr. Elliot had formerly been in the Confederate army. While with his regiment in Tennessee, just after the battle of Perryville he purchased a furlough for a large amount of money, returning home, and had not again rejoined his command. In order to obtain exemption from conscription he purchased the position of superintendent of a Government planing-mill in Texas, but had not reported at his new field of service. He was a thorough Union man, and a bitter enemy of the Confederacy. His service in the army was compulsory, and although engaged in several battles said he had never fired a gun during the actions except in the direction of the sky. He was, like many others of the South, an owner of slaves, but not an advocate of slavery. Through him I became acquainted with many loyal men, and was surprised to find the Union sentiment so strong. Of the half-dozen or more planters living within four miles of the camp not one was an advocate of secession, but all were anxiously longing for the approach of our army to this portion of the State. Even amongst our prison-guard we found many a secret friend of the Union, who only waited for an opportunity to place themselves in the ranks of its army. The number of such was by no means small, although the great majority were loyal to the ‘Stars and Bars.’ “During the latter part of January I obtained of Colonel Harrison permission for two other prison comrades to live with us at the hut. They were Williams, whom we called ‘Transport,’ and the carpenter of the United States ship Morning Light , who went by the name of ‘Chips.’ Their arrival rendered it necessary for us to enlarge our dwelling. Through the soft persuasiveness of Wentworth, the quartermaster was prevailed upon to grant us a small supply of timber and nails, and in a short time we built a small addition to the hut, in which we erected sleeping bunks for the accommodation of us all. “My acquaintance with the quartermaster’s clerk, young Finney, enabled me to obtain a much larger supply of rations than I was lawfully entitled to, and, as I was usually allowed to attend to the weighing of them, I did not hesitate to take advantage of this privilege for the benefit of us all. By going a short distance into the woods we were sure to find a stray hog or pig wandering around, and our stock of pork was always well kept up. It being against orders to kill any of them, the undertaking was always attended with considerable difficulty, and we were obliged to hunt our game at night. As we never could get near enough to kill them by any other means than shooting, the report of our gun at midnight was frequently heard at camp, the officers invariably causing inquiries to be made concerning the reason of the untimely firing. To prevent discovery we concealed our game in a small cellar, dug under the floor of our hut annex, with the boards so arranged that they appeared nailed down to the uninitiated. Our cooking of this food was done when no prying eyes were upon us and the savory odor would not be likely to betray us. Besides this sort of fare, costing nothing, we had frequent opportunities of purchasing sweet potatoes, eggs and butter, with money obtained by the sale of our tricks and watches when leaving Camp Groce. Our table was unrivalled by any of the ‘messes,’ either of the prisoners or the guard. The ne plus ultra of cookery were the ‘corn-dodgers’ Wentworth made to perfection, and which were certainly worthy the skill of the finest French cook. Old ‘Pap’ Ramsey refused to indulge his appetite with this rich food, claiming that such delicacies would inevitably bring on gout or dyspepsia, and that his palate, accustomed to the coarse, homely fare of the backwoods, was unfitted for the luxurious compound which Wentworth made. Through the colonel’s orderly, George Cole, I was usually the recipient of some dainties from his table, after an entertainment had been given by that officer to visiting friends. “One day during February Wentworth obtained permission of Colonel Harrison to visit Shreveport on one of the army wagons, which made daily trips to that place. His stay there, for a few hours only, was quite long enough for him to get disgusted with the appearance of the city, and especially with the fabulous price they charged him for his dinner; a small piece of pork, with bread and butter, and a tiny cup of coffee cost him six dollars. “A few days after Wentworth’s return ‘Transport’ made the same trip without obtaining the requisite permission. The day previous, while strolling in the woods, he met in a quiet nook a few Confederate teamsters with a supply of Louisiana rum, which they invited him to drink. The temptation was too strong for his feeble powers of resistance, and the potations were so deep and frequent that he was soon exalted to a state of complete recklessness. In this condition he remained with his jovial friends over night, accompanying them the next morning to Shreveport. On reaching the city he was so muddled for awhile he was unable to clearly comprehend the state of affairs, and even in doubt as to his own identity, whether he was a Federal prisoner or a Confederate soldier. The following morning he was found at the entrance to a hospital, standing guard for a soldier whom he had succeeded in making even drunker than himself. An hour or so later he found himself on board the ram Webb (then lying in the river abreast of the city), in the presence of a recruiting officer, who endeavored to persuade him to join the vessel, by offering him tempting inducements in the shape of pay and bounty. ‘Transport,’ though very drunk, was not to be enticed by any proffers which they could make him to desert his flag. “Late that evening he returned in company with his convivial friends, reckless of consequences and unable to give a satisfactory account of his trip. That same night he was sent for, to explain his absence without leave, failing in which he was deprived of his liberty and placed under guard again. The next morning I met him in camp, and a more pitiful-looking object I could hardly have imagined; no wonder the poor fellow was disconsolate after his recent experience of partial freedom with us. He begged me to intercede with Colonel Harrison and obtain his release, swearing eternal gratitude if I would, and promising not to be overcome by such a temptation again. I found the colonel in good humor and had no difficulty in persuading him to grant ‘Transport’ a new lease of freedom; only he proposed, he said, to hold me personally responsible for my comrade’s good behavior in the future. His demonstrations of joy, when I carried him the good news, were unbounded, but his promises of good behavior were short-lived, for the same day he again fell in with his festive friends, and during his spree so far forgot himself as to make a visit to the colonel, at his headquarters, to request the loan of a horse. The utter ridiculousness of such a request, coupled with the jovial good nature with which he made it, so amused the colonel that he allowed him to return to the hut with a slight reprimand. A few days after this ‘Chips’ was remanded to the lines for drunkenness and insulting an officer of the guard while in that condition. “For several days during the latter part of March the prison camp was kept in a continuous state of excitement by a variety of conflicting rumors concerning the disposition to be made of us, on account of the approach of our army up the Red River, under General Banks. An occasional report would reach us that we were to be sent at once to our lines and transportation down the river was being prepared; but the gist of these rumors indicated a removal of all prisoners in this vicinity to Camp Ford, in Texas. We were on the alert for any news of a definite description; our only fear was that we would be suddenly ordered into camp with the other prisoners. “While standing by the fire-place in the hut, early on the chilly morning of March 26th, I saw a squad of cavalry pass along the road in front, and a few of their number dismounted and entered, to warm themselves by the fire. I saw at once they were not Colonel Harrison’s men, and inquired where they were going so early in the morning. Not knowing I was a ‘Yankee’ prisoner, they replied that they had come from Shreveport for the purpose of taking the ‘Yanks’ to Camp Ford, and said the ‘Yankee’ army was booming along up the Red River and had already reached Natchitoches, and would soon reach Shreveport unless defeated. The prisoners were to start at nine o’clock, under orders to make forced marches until their destination was reached. I pretended to be much pleased at the idea of being relieved from guard duty, and gave utterance to a few other justifiable prevarications to conceal my identity, fearing all the while a guard or summons should come for us from the camp. “When they had gone I went to the bunk where Wentworth, who heard the conversation, was lying, and urged him to start immediately for the swamp in rear of Elliot’s Plantation. As he was undecided what to do, I started for the woods, meeting ‘Transport,’ who joined me, until a deep ravine near the swamps was reached. I left ‘Transport’ and started for the hut for my money I forgot to bring away. Meeting Mrs. Gupton, an acquaintance, she volunteered to procure my money while I awaited her return. She soon came back with it and the information that Wentworth was alone at the hut, still undecided what to do. I made my way to Elliot’s Plantation, and waking Elliot up, for it was yet early, I explained the situation of affairs and asked his advice. He told me to return to the ravine, secrete myself until I should hear from him, and that he would visit camp to obtain all the information he could. “Finding ‘Transport’ where I left him, we lay for hours expecting every moment to be discovered or trailed by hounds, which we could hear yelping in the distance. Late in the afternoon Mr. Elliot sought us, bringing a substantial supply of food, the more welcome because we had eaten nothing since the day previous. He reported that on his way to camp he found the prisoners already drawn up in the road, near the hut, answering to roll-call. He was unable to state whether our names had been called, but thought they had been omitted or some one had responded for us. He found Wentworth inside the hut, seated upon a log, smoking, and apparently in deep thought. He advised him to strike for liberty at once, and Wentworth jumped out of the window in the rear, hurrying to a thicket that bordered a small stream back of the hut. Shortly afterwards line was formed and the command given to start. We passed the night in a woody hollow between the trunks of two fallen trees, every now and then alarmed by a pack of hounds barking near by, who we feared were on our track, but we afterwards learned belonged to a neighboring planter, a Union man. “Early next morning Mr. Elliot sent a servant to us with breakfast, and shortly after appeared himself. We held a consultation as to the best mode of procedure, and concluded that the safest plan would be to remain concealed near or in the swamp-lands, until Banks’ army approached, which we then had no doubt would soon be in this vicinity. Mr. Elliot offered to supply us with food and to give us such information as he could obtain. The weather being now mild and pleasant, our open-air quarters were rather pleasant than otherwise.” The statement of Private Hersey ends here. The following account of wanderings and adventures in the attempt of Wentworth, Hersey and Williams to reach the Federal lines is compiled from Private Hersey’s diary, and verified by him: Hersey and Williams remained concealed in the swamp, at “Fort Hersey” (so named), until April 17th, their wants provided for by Mr. Elliot, when they found Wentworth, who had been kindly befriended by a Confederate soldier named Leeds, afterwards by a Mr. McGee, owner of a plantation. They knew of reënforcements for the Confederates arriving from Texas and Arkansas, and saw a portion of General Price’s Arkansas men marching along a road crossing the margin of the swamp, on their way towards Mansfield. They heard heavy firing in that direction April 8th, and the next day were informed by Mr. Elliot of the total defeat of the Federal troops at Sabine Cross-Roads and their retreat to Alexandria. At McGee’s Plantation a conference was held by Hersey, Wentworth, Williams and several Unionists, Mr. Elliot, Mr. Dickinson, Mr. Bell, and Mr. McGee, when it was decided the safest course was for them to make their way down the country by following the river until Alexandria was reached, and watch for an opportunity to cross into the Federal lines. This meeting was held April 17th, and the tramp was commenced April 20th (declining to allow a deserter from the Confederate army to join them), by Wentworth, Hersey and Williams, who crossed the Red River to the north bank at Bell’s Plantation, to follow the plan decided upon, viz., to cross the river, follow its course down, keeping in the swamps and woods as much as possible, claim to belong to Harrison’s regiment if questioned or suspected, and that they were on their way to rejoin from the hospital at Shreveport. Harrison’s regiment was then on the north bank operating against the Federal navy, under Admiral Porter. They felt confident their clothing would not betray them, as it was entirely of homespun material. The first day, while being entertained by Union people, Monsieur Lattier and his two granddaughters, Mrs. Scopenie and Miss Sophia Hall, they escaped capture by three cavalry-men, who rode up to the house, by hiding in one of the rooms until they had departed. The ladies thought it was a very romantic episode, but the prisoners did not. Travelling sometimes all night, or all day, or partly by day and night, in the swamps, with their course lying in a south-easterly direction, they were guided by the North Star when the nights were clear, occasionally losing the way when the sky was clouded. Food was obtained by going to houses and asking for it; water, by filling their canteens at rain-water cisterns; and sleep, in deserted cabins, corn cribs, or under trees. They were always enabled to trace the windings of the Red River by tall trees that grew along its banks and marked its course. Most of the planters’ residences were situated near the river road, facing the river; the plantations extending back to the swamp-lands or forests. The land in this region was as level as a prairie, and the soil of the farms a rich, black earth, with scarcely the smallest pebble to be found upon it. They crossed Loggy Bayou on the twenty-second, went through Springville Village at night on the twenty-fourth, reaching the pine woods on the twenty-fifth, where it was almost impossible to conceal themselves from the eyes of anybody they chanced to meet, on account of the absence of undergrowth or shrubbery. In passing through the town of Compti, on the twenty-sixth, recently burned by the Federals, Hersey says: “We stopped in a ravine on the edge of the town until after midnight, and then quietly and cautiously went forward. The few houses remaining look deserted, and the whole scene, as we viewed it in the darkness of the night, was the picture of desolation. The silence of death reigned over the place, except now and then when an owl would hoot in the woods that fringed the suburbs. We had just reached a bridge crossing a little stream in the centre of the town when we were terribly alarmed by the sudden sound of horses hoofs on the road behind us. On looking back we saw through the darkness a number of horses galloping towards the bridge at a terrific rate, so rapidly as to give us no chance to escape them. The scare was of short duration, for when they rushed by we saw that they were riderless, and probably had taken us for their masters. The shock produced a sense of timidity upon us we could not shake off with all the assumption of gayety and laughter that we outwardly manifested, and we felt greatly relieved when we reached the woods and left the desolate town far behind us.” They frequently saw officers and men, but managed to evade them, until on the night of April 27th they reached a bayou and were dismayed to find a soldier on guard at the only fording place they could discover. Hersey says: “This was the worst obstacle we had yet encountered, and we were at loss to find a way to overcome it. The banks of the stream were high and steep. We crept onward to get a better view of the situation, and could plainly see the sentry by the light of his bivouac fire. He was sitting or reclining upon an old log with the light shining upon his face, his gun across his shoulder. We soon saw he was fast asleep, and decided to cross while he was wrapt in slumber. The distance from bank to bank was short, but the fording place was narrow and almost barred by the form of the guard. The undertaking was venturesome, but there was no other way out of the difficulty, so we determined to run the gauntlet. Arranging to go one at a time, Wentworth started first, passed the sentry safely, climbing the opposite bank. As I drew near I felt a strange fascination which almost deprived me of action, and when I reached him was compelled to stop and gaze into his face before the spell was dissolved. Williams, who came last, was also successful, but we could not resist our suppressed laughter at the comical figure he cut in his endeavors to deaden the sound of his footsteps. With a sense of relief we made haste to gain the woods, and travelled on until morning.” On the twenty-ninth of April, when within thirty miles of Alexandria, they accidentally stopped at the house of a Jayhawker (a name given to those secret bands of Southern Unionists who resisted by force the conscription acts and were the deadliest foes of the guerrillas), who provided them with food and excused himself from giving breakfast to a Confederate lieutenant of cavalry and three privates, who rode up while the three escaped prisoners were talking with their host upon the door-porch. By advice of this Jayhawker they endeavored to find a Madam Nowlan, who lived near the river, and who, he said, would find a way to assist them across the river into the Federal lines. The next day, April 30th, while proceeding in the direction given them how to find Madam Nowlan’s Plantation, they encountered an army wagon and learned from a soldier that Harrison’s cavalry was not far away, stationed on that side of the river. This fact decided them to represent Texans, knowing they were on the south side, and they were well acquainted with the history of many Texas regiments. About noon they called at a house to procure a dinner, introducing themselves as Texas soldiers attached to Captain Clipper’s company, of Elmore’s regiment, on their way from Shreveport hospitals to rejoin their company. While awaiting dinner, conversation was carried on with the host, under some shady trees, about army matters, until Williams asked the nearest way to reach Madam Nowlan, when a red-headed man came from the house and demanded in a rough tone: “What do you know about Madam Nowlan?” The question was so abruptly asked, Wentworth and Hersey were disconcerted for a moment. They were subjected to a series of questions and cross questions, which were answered as best they could; Hersey’s information, gathered while visiting Colonel Harrison’s headquarters, about the Confederate troops in Louisiana and reënforcements expected from Texas and Arkansas coming in very opportune. The red-headed man was a “courier,” named Harris, attached to the “courier line” carrying despatches between army headquarters and Shreveport, on the north bank of Red River. He suspected the three prisoners were spies, and was not to be duped. Disappearing for a short time, he returned followed by three soldiers, who apparently dropped in one at a time, as if by chance. Courier Harris laid his plans well. Offering no opposition to their departure, they started for the river road, when he followed them and began conversation, intimating a desire on his part to desert. They were not to be caught by this trick and resented such proposals, when he rode away, after directing them how to reach the river crossing. Feeling that the end was near, they kept on until a deserted log house built upon piles, beneath which was a little grass plot, tempted them to rest under its cool shelter. While resting a pack of hounds surrounded them, soon followed by a cavalry squad, headed by Harris, who levelled their guns and ordered a surrender. The prisoners were taken to the house of Mr. Swafford, said to be the headquarters of the courier line, and there kept until their case was reported to Brigadier-General Liddel, commanding Confederate forces. On Monday, May 2d, Captain Micot, chief of the courier line, arrived to take them to General Liddel, whose camp was about twenty-five miles distant, opposite Alexandria. Captain Micot was sociable and friendly, expressing his sympathy and promising to do what he could for them. He did so, returning from an interview with his general exclaiming: “Well, boys, I’ve got good tidings for you,” handing them a piece of paper, torn from the blank leaf of a printed book, upon which the following lines were written in pencil: “Guards and pickets will pass Samuel R. Hersey, David L. Wentworth and Charles Williams outside the Confederate lines. “BRIGADIER-GENERAL LIDDEL, “Per ——, A. A. A. G. ” A verbal provision was attached to the pass, that they must not attempt to reach the Federal lines on Red River, but return by way of Harrisonburg, thence to the Federal forces on the Mississippi River. This pass, Captain Micot informed them, would be respected by all regular Confederate soldiers, but probably not by the guerrillas, as they were not subject to the discipline of the army. Thus was Williams’ oft-repeated prediction, “Our journey is only a round-about road to Texas again, it would be better for us if we had gone with the crowd,” not likely to be realized. The three prisoners returned to Swafford’s house, accompanied by Captain Micot and a private named Meecum. Meecum, who found an opportunity to unbosom himself, advised them to call upon his father, a Baptist clergyman and member of a league of Jayhawkers, residing about seventeen miles from Swafford’s, directly on their way, who would mark out a course to pursue that would be of assistance. He had a brother serving in the Federal army, and his sympathies were with the Union cause; his service was compulsory with the Confederates. Wednesday, May 4th, Wentworth, Hersey and Williams again commenced a tramp of one hundred and seventy-five miles, after an adieu to their Confederate friends who had treated them very kindly; since their recapture it appeared to them as though they were friends upon a visit, so considerate had been the treatment they received from everybody with whom they came in contact. Mr. Swafford presented Wentworth with a blood-hound “pup” of fine breed, as a remembrancer of him, and also as a reward for those songs Wentworth sang at his house and the marvellous yarns he told, the like of which they never heard before and will probably never listen to again. They were hospitably entertained that night by Rev. Mr. Meecum, the next night by Mr. Paul, twenty miles beyond, and then travelled onward carefully in order to avoid guerrillas, especially a band known as “dog” Smith’s (a name given them on account of their use of bloodhounds in hunting victims), until May 8th, stopping each night with some friendly Unionist, to whom they were directed by the preceding host. It was on Sunday, May 8th, after remaining over night with a Mr. “Jack” Wharton, as he was called, they walked into a guerrilla camp, situated in the dense woods near Tensas River. The “pass” did not satisfy the motley crowd of ill-clad, villainous-looking men, who heaped the vilest epithets upon them, and several men threatened to shoot them down but were held back by their comrades. The guerrilla chief, Captain Smith, was absent, and the prisoners were taken before a Lieutenant Eddington, a young man about twenty-five years old, tall and well shaped, with features indicative of refinement and intelligence, whose parents lived in Missouri. The prisoners told their story and plead for their lives. After talking the matter over, Eddington was satisfied the “pass” was genuine, and told them the only thing he could do was to pass them out of his tent by the rear, while his men were ordered away, and advised them to “run for it” to the river bank, where they would find a regular company of Confederate cavalry, commanded by a Captain Gillespie. His men, so he said, were much exasperated over the loss of some of their comrades, captured in a recent skirmish with colored troops, and who had been shot. A Colonel Jones, an officer in the Confederate service, wounded at Shiloh, owner of some four thousand acres of cleared land along the Tensas River and vicinity, invited them to his house and provided supper and sleeping apartments. Colonel Jones knew they were paroled Federal prisoners on the way to Natchez, and the reason of his hospitality was unfolded when he called Hersey aside and requested him to inform General Tuttle at Natchez, with the utmost secresy, that three hundred bales of cotton were on the way down Black River, coming from Colonel Jones . The three men started shortly after sunrise, on Monday, May 9th, for Natchez, expecting to walk the distance that day. The danger of again encountering guerrilla bands was all they had to fear. By nightfall they were within hearing of the evening guns from the forts around Vidalia. While walking rapidly along the road three United States colored cavalry-men, in a menacing manner, ordered them to halt, and demanded to know who they were. No explanation would be believed by these wide-awake soldiers, who marched the prisoners into town to the provost-marshal’s office, where the mistake was rectified, and they received good treatment at the only hotel in the place. At Natchez, the following morning, their appearance in such ridiculous clothes as they wore created considerable commotion in the streets. Whenever they stopped a crowd of curious people gathered around, enabling Wentworth, with his fertile genius for story telling, to relate in a most thrilling manner the story of their escape, embellished with a few deeds of bloodshed and heroic action. A Mr. Marsh, in charge of the New England Aid Society store, offered to clothe them, but the offer was declined, as the Quartermaster Department provided for them. From Natchez the three escaped men were sent to Vicksburg, and from there got transportation to Washington, by way of Cairo. Williams parted company with Wentworth and Hersey at Cairo, not desirous to go on to Washington, and remained to seek employment upon the transport-steamers on the river; Wentworth and Hersey proceeded to Washington, obtained their pay without trouble, and reached Boston, home again, June 1st, 1864, having passed over sixteen months of their lives as prisoners of war. Charles Williams, “Transport,” was last heard from May 24th, 1864, when he was furnished transportation from Chicago to Utica, New York, by a United States quartermaster, as Williams claimed to be a private of Company D, Forty-Second Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers, on sick leave, granted by Brigadier-General Tuttle. CHAPTER XVIII. Officers in Confederate Prisons—Houston—State Prison—Camp Groce—Camp Ford—En-Route Home—At Home. Soon after the enlisted men (Galveston prisoners of war) were paroled and left for the Federal lines, the officers retained at Houston were joined (January 25th) by one hundred and nine prisoners taken at Sabine Pass, officers and crews of the U. S. sailing vessels Morning Light and Velocity . Among them were Acting Masters Dillingham, Fowler and Washburn, Masters-Mates Chambers and Rice, Acting Assistant-Surgeon J. W. Shrify, and Captain Hammond of the Velocity . These two successful ventures (Galveston and Sabine Pass) elated the Texans, giving them a confidence in their prowess that expressed itself in constant jubilations. “We Texans are whales,” remarked by one of them to a prisoner, was but an index of opinions they all entertained. The officers were allowed liberty of the city, on their parole-of-honor, for about a week or ten days after reaching Houston, when this privilege was withdrawn, and they were kept in close confinement. This freedom was not improved further than to purchase supplies. Union men had secretly cautioned them not to go out in the then excited state of feeling among the people, who thought hanging was good enough for Federal officers. A watch was upon every one who evinced a desire to show the Federals any attention. One man, who gave them a stove, was thrown into confinement. Another man, a storekeeper, had Colonel Burrell dine with him at home, but did not dare to visit the officers in their quarters. In conversation with the provost-marshal on this state of feeling, that official said they were safe from any trouble while under guard, for the army did not wish any harm to come to them, because there was no telling when they would find themselves in the same predicament; still the prisoners were chary of trust in either army or people, and at night barricaded their prison-apartment door with what chairs they had; each man armed himself with a stick of wood for defence, if an occasion arose. There were men in Houston who secretly passed into the officers’ hands a sufficient amount of Confederate bills to supply their needful wants. Prominent in this good work was a Mr. H. W. Benchley, who was lieutenant-governor of Massachusetts in 1855. The money thus obtained was of the greatest benefit at the time, enabling many necessaries to be procured. The names of all these men are not known. Many were former citizens of Massachusetts, whose hearts were not alienated from the old Bay State. There was a slumbering affection for the United States Government, kept in abeyance from fear of the Confederate authorities, who, it has been proved beyond a question, were wont to treat with severity every man suspected of sympathy with the Federal Government. The prisoners’ quarters would have been tolerable comfortable had any decent arrangements been made to take care of excrements, made by Confederate soldiers and Federal prisoners. The lower stories were occupied by troops, the upper story by prisoners, who had to stand all bad odor that ascended from below. Rations issued, while not what the prisoners would like, nor, in fact, such as Northern people would consider fit to eat, were quite as good as the authorities issued to their own troops, accustomed to that kind of food. To become accustomed to “corn-meal coffee” and coarse “corn-dodger” was hard work. Food was issued to last ten days at a time, and had to do so. Each man was expected to fare no better than his fellows. No trouble occurred until Stone and Dillingham helped themselves one day, out of meal hours, to ginger-bread laid aside. Some personal feeling was engendered when they were remonstrated with, and the Confederate provost-marshal issued an order that made Colonel Burrell commander of the Federal prisoners. An effort was made to draw up a code of regulations all would agree to be governed by, but no committee could be found to do this duty. Colonel Burrell was obliged to exercise a supervision over all matters material to their welfare until he left Houston. Ennui of confinement, in January, February and March, was somewhat abated by singing, card playing, drills in sword exercise, with sticks of wood for weapons, and gymnastic exercises. On and after February 12th they were allowed two hours a day, under guard, to stroll around the city and outskirts, generally to cross Buffalo Bayou and play ball upon the prairie land, free of annoyance from citizens. This privilege was granted on a medical certificate from Surgeon Cummings, stating such liberty was absolutely necessary, and consent obtained of General Magruder, through Surgeon Peples, medical director of the Department, with whom Cummings was on intimate terms. The Houston Telegraph was eagerly read every morning, and each item relating to exchange of prisoners or their parole was sought for and noted. They could get little satisfactory information from its columns concerning the situation of military affairs; according to its “pony express news,” victories were always with the Southern arms, and such victories! Bombastes Furioso could not have done better than did the publisher of this newspaper. Among the frequent visitors was Major Shannon, C. S. A., who did his best to make everything pleasant, also a Captain Chubb, formerly from Charlestown, Mass., then a resident of Texas. Chubb was captured early in the war by Federals, and confined in Fort Lafayette for over a year. He was much given to boasting, and could utter more oaths in one sentence than any man the prisoners ever heard. Notwithstanding his boasts, bluster, and intense fire-eating proclivities, he was always found to be pleasant, agreeable company, kind and generous at heart, ever ready to do the prisoners a favor. He did contribute money to the officers’ fund in a quiet way. Other visitors were a Mr. Whitcomb, formerly of Roxbury, Mass., and a Mr. Stearns, of Waltham, Mass., then an engineer on the Galveston and Houston Railroad. Acting-Master Munroe, wounded upon the Harriet Lane , died January 30th, and was buried next day, the funeral being attended by all of the naval officers present. Corporal McIntosh, Company D, died February 10th, in hospital, at six P.M ., and was buried next day in the afternoon. The officers made a neat head-board to mark his grave. March 26th Private O’Shaughnessy, Company D, made his first appearance, on crutches, since losing his leg at Galveston. April 6th Private Josselyn, Company D, wounded at Galveston, was discharged from hospital. On the twenty-ninth of April an order came from General Magruder to send all commissioned officers to the State Penitentiary at Huntsville, there to be kept in close confinement until further orders. This order, so it was stated, came from Richmond, and was to place in confinement all captured officers that were in General Butler’s army, and was said to be in retaliation for a similar act of the Federal authorities. None of the officers came from Butler’s army; General Banks had superseded him, and the 42d Mass. was acting under Banks’ orders. Without any regular order from General Banks in his possession, Colonel Burrell was unable to make the authorities understand this fact, or more likely they chose not to understand it. All colored men in the captured crews of the Harriet Lane and Morning Light had previously been sent to this prison, to do convict duty. An intimation of some proceeding like this was given on the nineteenth. Under escort of a cavalry detachment the officers proceeded to the Texas Central Railroad depot to take a special freight car, at nine o’clock A.M. Dinner was eaten at Cypress City, twenty-five miles from Houston, and at half-past four P.M. they reached Navasota, where quarters were provided for nineteen officers in one room eighteen feet square, at the Morning Star Hotel. Supper and breakfast cost them two dollars each. After breakfast next morning, and a friendly shake of the hand by General Sam. Houston, who promised to call at their new quarters and see them, at quarter-past six o’clock they took four wagons, with mule teams, provided to make the journey to their destination, forty-five miles distant, and arrived at the prison about noon May 1st, where the information was imparted that they were to be confined in separate cells. A protest was drawn up, signed by all, and Surgeon Cummings, with Frank Veazie, non-combatants, returned with the same to Houston. This was not a May-day festival for the prisoners. In this old-fashioned prison, with none of the conveniences now in use, convicts were employed at the shop in manufacturing cotton cloth for the Confederate Government, a Mr. Chandler, from Massachusetts, acting as superintendent of the factory. Life was enjoyed somewhat after this routine: after the convicts had gone to work, the officers were released from their cells and allowed to do as they pleased in the yard until dinner hour, when they returned to their cells, to be released again after the convicts had eaten their dinner and returned to work. This rule was in force for nine days only, when Colonel Carruthers obtained a supply of lumber, had cots made in a room in the upper story of the prison building facing the street, and this room, on and after May 9th, was occupied by all of the officers for a sleeping apartment. Regular prison fare was provided on the first day, when Colonel Carruthers, in charge of the prison, a humane man, informed his military prisoners he would shoulder the responsibility and give them meals at his own table, although without authority to do so. After this no complaint could be made on that score. Confined a few nights in small, hot cells, afterwards in the large room, was the extent of their inconvenience until released from prison June 27th, nearly two months from the day they entered prison walls. General Houston, Mrs. Houston, their two daughters and son, Andrew Jackson Houston, frequently visited the officers and entertained them so far as lay in their power. Old Sam, seventy years old, straight as an arrow, was a very interesting entertainer, with enlivening conversation of his experience in the United States Senate. The officers subjected to the indignity of a prison confinement by the Confederate officials were: Colonel Burrell, Captains Sherive, Proctor and Savage, Lieutenants Cowdin, White, Eddy, Newcomb, Bartlett and Stowell, 42d Mass. Vols.; Masters Hamilton and Hannum, Engineers Plunkett and Stone, of the Harriet Lane ; Masters Dillingham, Fowler and Washburn, Masters-Mates Chambers and Rice, Purser’s Clerk Van Wycke, of the Morning Light ; Captain Hammond, of the Velocity . The three last-named were not brought to prison until May 14th. Engineers Plunkett and Stone were taken to court, held in Houston June 10th, to testify in the case of a man who was on trial for repairing the boilers of the Harriet Lane while she lay in front of Galveston. Plunkett refused to testify and was placed in jail for contempt of court, but soon after released. After Magruder sent these officers to Huntsville prison, with orders to have them treated as prisoners of war in confinement and not as felons, a controversy arose between the State and military authorities over the right of the latter to send prisoners of war to the penitentiary. The result was their transfer to a new camp established for war prisoners at Hempstead, called Camp Groce. Leaving behind Colonel Burrell, sick with rheumatism, under care of Captain Sherive, the other officers left Huntsville June 27th for Camp Groce, under escort of a cavalry guard commanded by Captain Cundiff. Transportation back to Navasota was in wagons, with three extra wagons, hired at ten dollars a day from each man, to carry their baggage. Twelve miles were made on the first day, and sleeping accommodations found at night in an old school-house, having dinner and supper from rations provided by kind Mrs. Carruthers. Twenty-one miles were travelled the second day, at night bivouacking under trees in a splendid moonlight, and Navasota was reached on the twenty-ninth, about noon. There they remained until the thirtieth, when cars were taken for Camp Groce, which place was reached at eleven o’clock in the forenoon. Until removed to Camp Groce the few enlisted men 42d Mass., left behind at Houston, were quartered in a large warehouse used for storage of general merchandise, in company with sailors composing the Morning Light crew. These sailors were a motley crowd, comprising men from nearly every nation: Irish, English, Dutch, Spanish, Greek, Italian, and two South Sea Islanders. They did not mind captivity, apparently thought of nothing beyond amusement. Occasionally they got put in irons for some misdemeanor or violation of rules, but no sooner were the irons riveted upon their ankles than off they were filed by comrades, to be again put on when an officer of the day came around to call the roll. One night three of these rollicking sailors broke away from the building and went on a spree, with some of Captain Clipper’s men. While on a raid through the city, mounted on horses, they all rode into a bar-room and were captured by the provost-guard, brought back to quarters, and placed in irons that had no terrors for them. Several prisoners recently captured in Louisiana were brought in June 1st, and three more June 9th, taken at Franklin, La. One of these new prisoners, Hugh Dolan, became a great favorite with the sailors immediately on arrival on account of his wonderful vocal abilities, so they thought, and light-hearted manner. One of his favorite songs was “Bowld Jack Donahoe,” and whenever he sang this song his nautical audience would listen with the most profound attention. What the “boys” considered an affliction was the removal of their kind-hearted and friendly “old guard,” Captain Clipper’s company, ordered to Galveston June 9th. Another company, commanded by Captain Buster, had for some time assisted Captain Clipper in guarding the prisoners, and remained to do that duty. The men of this company were not liked very much by any of their charge; none of that cordial feeling existed as had been the case with the “old guard.” They were a despicable set of fellows. Captain Buster, a mild, pleasant man, lacked energy and was too indolent to pay much attention to the discipline of his men. His first-lieutenant, Morgan, was a bombastic and disagreeable man, who paid little attention to his prisoners. This guard remained on duty until September 18th, when militia relieved them. Floating rumors in regard to removal up country were verified on the thirteenth of June, when all prisoners in Houston were taken by railroad to Camp Groce, enjoying an all-day ride upon platform freight cars, without shelter from a hot sun. Their new home was a long, narrow frame barrack, leaky in rainy weather, divided into three compartments, situated about three hundred yards from the railroad, in the centre of a dry, sandy clearing, with a few trees left for shade. This clearing was surrounded by a belt of woods on all sides but one, and near by was a sluggish body of swamp water bordered by cypress trees. The place was supplied with bad water from two deep wells. Another row of barracks, occupied by the guard, ran almost parallel to those occupied by prisoners, at about two hundred yards distance. A few frame buildings between these barracks and the railroad served as quarters for Confederate officers. The location of Camp Groce was decidedly unhealthy, and had been abandoned by Confederate troops as a camp of instruction for this reason. Arrangement of sinks was bad, not at all conducive to health. Sickness prevailed to such an extent there were not enough men able to watch and properly attend their sick companions. When a person stops to think of what has to be done in cases where patients are too weak to move themselves, with primitive utensils at hand to perform necessary acts, it is a wonder how prisoners in this hospital camp managed to exist. Each sick man remained with his mess for care and attention. Hospital accommodations were not provided, except what was in the town reserved for exclusive use of Confederates. All through August, September, October and part of November, the dull monotony of prison life wore on unattended by any hopeful news or enlivening sensations. Communications were forwarded to General Banks, the Secretary of War, and General Meredith, Federal Commissioner for the exchange of prisoners, on the subject of being paroled or exchanged. None of the prisoners then understood why the Federal Government did not do something in their behalf. They were informed by Colonel Sayles, who formerly commanded at Camp Groce, that repeated efforts had been made by the Confederate authorities to induce the Federal Government to exchange them, but the Federal authorities repeatedly refused to listen to any propositions towards that end, also stating that the Confederates were as anxious to get rid of their prisoners as they were to go, and placed the responsibility for their continued captivity on the Federal Government. This misstatement of facts naturally caused some animosity of feeling among the prisoners towards their own Government, losing strength each day, with sickness and death constantly staring them in the face. They were not aware of the obstruction existing to interrupt an exchange of prisoners; that the Government was fighting with the enemy for a principle, the placing of negro soldiers on a par with white troops, entitled to the common usages of war when taken prisoners. On the eighteenth of October a strict search was made through the barracks, for what purpose the prisoners were not informed, but surmised it was to ascertain if any parties in the State, Houston in particular, had compromised themselves by writing them. News of the arrest of Union men, especially in Houston, was often heard. In this search all money was taken away under a promise of return, and a receipt given. Writings, diaries and letters were seized, never to be seen again. A stockade was built in October completely encircling the camp, made so high escape by climbing would be impossible, and the prisoners became down-hearted at this indication of a possible lengthy stay, when, on the sixteenth of November, after most of the men had retired for the night, Colonel Burrell entered the barracks with news that all were to be paroled as soon as the papers could be made out. Wild excitement prevailed on the announcement of these joyous tidings, and the night was passed without sleep, amid cheers, yells, and frantic demonstrations of delight. All hands commenced to get ready, by disposing of “traps” they could spare to purchasers easily found among the guard and citizens. Parole papers were signed by the enlisted men November 20th, and the march for three hundred miles to Shreveport, La., commenced December 9th. On December 11th the officers were removed to Camp Ford, Tyler, Smith County, Texas, well understanding they must keep up courage until the new year came in, and manage in some way to get through approaching winter, ill-prepared as they were to stand cold weather, from having disposed of many necessary articles of clothing to obtain money to purchase food while on their way to the Federal lines, when they expected to go with the enlisted men. The following record of sundry events at Camp Groce was culled from several diaries: “July 4th—Celebrated in the best manner possible under the circumstances, and was dull enough. The day was not recognized by the Confederates. July 11th—A battalion of conscripts arrived in camp; most of them Germans and Mexicans. July 30th—Barracks look like a hospital. Six officers sick abed, and out of one hundred men sixty are in the same condition. Not a man is in good health; all are ailing, though those not in bed have to keep up and about to attend the others. Impossible to procure suitable medicines even with money collected among the prisoners to obtain medical supplies; none furnished by the authorities. August 1st—Colonel Nott, Lieutenant-Colonel Duganne and Lieutenant Sherman, 176th N. Y.; Captain Van Tyne, 131st N. Y.; Lieutenants Bassett and Wilson, 48th Mass.; Lieutenant Humble, 4th Mass.; and seven civilians, captured at Brashear City and on the La-Fourche, arrived in camp. After these arrivals Sunday services were held, Colonels Nott or Duganne officiating. August 6th—Colonel Burrell and Captain Sherive arrived from Huntsville State Prison. September 14th—Two hundred and twenty prisoners arrived in camp, taken at Sabine Pass on the tenth instant. The wounded arrived September 30th. Particulars of this engagement, furnished by the captives, caused everybody to feel sorrowful and chagrined. September 26th—A sailor was fired on while playing ball, because he went too near the picket line; he was not hit. October 5th—Twenty officers attached to the U. S. gunboats Clifton and Sachem arrived in camp from Sabine Pass and were confined in separate quarters, not allowed to hold any conversation or communication with other prisoners for some time. October 27th—Four prisoners arrived, captured in Louisiana. A total of four officers and eighteen men died at Camp Groce; ten or twelve were sailors. Ship Carpenter Morris, of the Harriet Lane , sixty years old, died July 19th. Lieutenant Ramsey, 175th N. Y., died October 11th; he was sick with consumption, but dysentery was the immediate cause of death. Lieutenant Hayes, 175th N. Y., was found dead in his bunk October 16th. The following officers and men of the 42d died at Camp Groce, viz.: August 1st—Private Dennis Dailey, Company D. He was a great favorite with sailors of the Morning Light , with whom he generally associated. August 22d—Lieutenant Bartlett, Company I, at one o’clock A.M. , of dysentery, after a short illness. September 3d—Private E. F. Josselyn, Company D, in the afternoon, of dysentery, after a long illness. September 9th—Surgeon Cummings, in the afternoon. He was in failing health for a month, and was unconscious for some days previous to his death. The burial took place next day with Masonic rites, attended by Federal and Confederate Freemasons. Lieutenant-Colonel Duganne conducted the ceremonies. Private Parker, Company G, was left sick in Hempstead Hospital. He died December 14th, 1863. The guard over the officers who marched from Camp Groce to Camp Ford was commanded by Captain Davis, who marched them sixteen to seventeen miles a day over the sandy and hilly roads. The march usually commenced at seven A.M. and ended for the day between two and three o’clock P.M. The weather was pleasant and cool nearly every day, but cold at night. They got caught in two rain-storms, and wet through. The officers arrived at Camp Ford about two o’clock P.M. , December 22d, after a twelve days’ tramp. At Camp Ford the prisoners already there, mostly Western men, had built log cabins and were quite comfortable under the circumstances. The so-called 42d mansion was built in a few days, with help and aid from two officers of the 19th Iowa who understood the way to construct log cabins. Within this cabin, before a roaring log fire, while rain, snow and hail reigned without, were passed the closing days of 1863. Snow blew into the cabin, wetting blankets through, and fell an inch deep upon the ground outside. The first three months of 1864 were wearisome, with constant and conflicting rumors of parole or exchange, and occasional news of officers who had been exchanged, a subject of all-absorbing interest to everybody. No description of the life they led can afford an adequate idea of the torments to mind and body, their hopes and fears for the future, and constant struggle to make the best of their situation until a change came. Northern papers frequently found their way inside the stockade to be greedily devoured for news, as they were passed around from one to another. A newspaper from home was like a visiting angel. Southern papers were in camp every week. A tolerable correct idea of what was going on in the outside world, political and military, was sifted from these papers, aided by information obtained from Confederate officers.

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