HOW IT FEELS TO BE TAKEN A PRISONER OF WAR.

After being flushed with the most signal victory of more than half a day's fighting, and while gloating over the brilliant success and planning and scheming future glories, and after having captured a great number of Federal soldiers, together with a large number of field pieces, and then in turn to be captured yourself, especially after having boasted and affirmed oftentimes that you never would be taken a prisoner unless sick or wounded, is exceedingly humiliating, to say the least of it, and the feelings of such an one can better be imagined than described. Yet such was the exact condition of the writer on the evening of October 19th, 1864, at the battle of Strausburg, or as it is known at the present day among the veterans, "Early's Stampede."

It is proper to note here that the writer was a line officer belonging to Company H, Third Regiment South Carolina Volunteers, but several months previous had been assigned to command a company of "picked" men made from the various companies and regiments of the old brigade (Kershaw's), and this company was assigned to duty in the Third Battalion. This battalion was to do the skirmishing and sharpshooting for the brigade. This explanation is necessary in order that the reader may better understand my position and place when captured.

Late in the afternoon of this exciting day General Phil Sheridan succeeded in rallying his routed columns and led the attack on our line. Our skirmish line was in excellent condition. We had no trouble in effectually resisting and driving back the enemy's skirmish line. When within short range of our rifles we opened fire, and for nearly half an hour held them in check, while they fairly rained lead into our ranks. The command "retreat" was given, and we retired, firing. During the retreat brave Captain Whitener was killed. I rallied the remnant of my company in rear of the Third South Carolina. General Kershaw rode rapidly up to where I had rallied what few men I had left and enquired for Captain Whitener. I replied, "He is killed, General." [459] He then ordered me to take what few I had and could gather and double-quick to a point on the extreme left of his division. When I arrived at the point designated, which was in thick woods, to my horror I found the place literally alive with Yankees. I had double-quicked right into the midst of the "blue bellies." "Surrender," came in tones of thunder. I stood amazed, astonished beyond conception." Surrender," again came the command.

There was absolutely no alternative. There was no chance to fight and less chance to run. My brave boys and I were prisoners of war. This was one of the consequences of war that I had never figured upon, and was wholly unprepared for it. I said to the officer who demanded my sword that I would rather give him my right arm. He preferred the sword and got one—I had two, having captured one that morning. Just then an unusual incident occurred.

"Hello, Lieutenant Whites, my old friend, I am glad to see you."

I looked and recognized a Federal Sergeant, whom I had befriended while en route with him and many other Federal prisoners from East Tennessee to Richmond. I replied:

"My dear fellow, I know, under the circumstances, you will excuse me when I tell you that I am truly sorry that I cannot return the compliment."

I was ordered to the rear under guard of one soldier. I was turned over to the provost guard. My other sword was demanded. Of course I gave it up without a word. My emotions were too intense for utterance. I was a disarmed, helpless prisoner of war. My feelings can better be described by relating an incident which occurred later on. After Lee's surrender, a few uncompromising, unconquered Confederates attempted to make their way to Johnston's Army in North Carolina. The way was full of obstacles, and one of the party, nearly overcome, sat with his elbows on his knees and his face in his hands, when a comrade accosted him with—

"Hello, John, what is the matter with you?"

"O, I was just thinking," replied John.

"Well, what in the world were you thinking so deeply about that you were lost to every other environment?"

"Well, Jim, to tell you the truth, I was thinking I wished I was a woman."

[460]

"Wish you were a woman! Great Scotts, John, are you gone crazy? A brave soldier like you wishing to be a woman!"

"Now, Jim, I'll tell you the truth; if I were a woman I could just cry as much as I pleased, and no one would think that I was a fool."

I felt very much like John. I wished I was a woman, so that I could cry as much as I pleased.

That night all the prisoners were marched to General Sheridan's headquarters, where we went into camp without supper. Some said their prayers, while others cursed the Yankees inaudibly, of course. Next morning we were lined up and counted. Eleven hundred Confederates answered at Sheridan's roll call. It looked like Kershaw's whole Brigade was there, though there were many Georgians among us. Sheridan then inspected the prisoners, and at his personal instance—shame be it said to his memory—we were all robbed of our good blankets and dirty, worn out ones given in their stead.

After the inspection by Sheridan, we began the march (we knew not where to) under a heavy guard—a whole regiment of infantry to guard eleven hundred prisoners. This guard was old soldiers, who knew how to treat a prisoner. They were kind to us. Nothing of special interest occurred on this day. We arrived at Winchester about sundown. We got some rations, ate supper, lay down to sleep, when we were hurriedly aroused and ordered to "fall in line quickly," "fall in," "fall in."

"What is the trouble?" I ventured to ask.

"Mosby! Mosby is coming."

The name of Mosby was a holy terror to the Federals in that part of Virginia. Silently we prayed that Mosby might make a dash and rescue us. All night long we vainly listened for the clatter of the hoops of Mosby's troopers. But, alas! Mosby did not come. The rumor was false. We took up the night march under double guard. A line of cavalry was placed outside the already heavy infantry guard. The night was dark and drizzly—a good night to escape, had not the guard been so heavy. There were two infantry guards to every four prisoners, besides the outer cavalry guard. The hope of an escape was a forlorn one, but I made the attempt and succeeded in passing both guards, but in my [461]

ecstacy I foolishly ran in the dark, and ran right squarely against a plank fence with so much force as to attract the attention of a cavalryman, who was soon at my side and escorted me back with a "d——n you, stay in your place." Several prisoners more fortunate than myself did succeed in making their escape in the darkness.

The guards had kindly informed us that at Harper's Ferry we would be searched and relieved of all valuables, and if we had a knife or anything that we desired to retain, they would keep it for us until after the search. This promise they sacredly kept. The search, or robbery as I call it, was very rigid. Like vandals, they searched every pocket and relieved us of all money, pocket-books, knives, keys, and every other thing, except our tobacco. I beat them a little, notwithstanding their rigid search. I had a five-dollar greenback note inside of my sock at the bottom of my boot. This they failed to find.

From Harper's Ferry to Baltimore, the trip was by rail at night. The guard had now been greatly reduced, only eight to each coach. They had got plenty of whiskey for themselves and for all who wanted it. We were having a jolly good time. At this point, knowing that we were in a friendly part of Maryland, I conceived the idea of making a dash for the guns of the guard, uncoupling the rear coaches, put on the brakes, and make our escape across the Potomac. This plan was quietly communicated to all the prisoners in this the rear coach. All agreed to the plan, except Lieutenant Colonel McMichael, of the Twentieth South Carolina Regiment. He protested so strongly that the plan was abandoned. The trip from this on to Fort Delaware was without incident or special interest.

On our arrival at Fort Delaware we were again subjected to a rigid examination and search, and what few trinkets the kind guards saved for us at Harper's Ferry, were now taken away from us. I, however, saved my five-dollar greenback note, which was safely ensconced inside my sock at the bottom of my foot. Here officers and privates were separated and registered, each as to command, rank, and state. The heavy gates swung open with a doleful noise. We marched in amid the shouts of the old prisoners, "fresh fish," "fresh fish." I wanted to fight right then and there. I did not want to be guyed. I wanted [462]

sympathy, not guying. "Fresh fish" was the greeting all new arrivals received, and I being an apt scholar, soon learned to shout "fresh fish" as loud as a Texas cowboy.

The heavy prison gates closed around with a dull sepulchral sound, and prison life began in earnest, with Brigadier General Schoeff master of ceremonies. The prison was in the shape of an oblong square, with the "shacks" or "divisions" on the long side and at the short sides or ends. At the other long side was built a plank fence twelve or fifteen feet high. This fence separated the officers and privates. Near the top of this fence was erected a three-foot walk, from which the strictest guard was kept over both "pens" day and night. Fifteen feet from this plank fence on either side was the "dead line." Any prisoner crossing the "dead line" was shot without being halted. There was not an officer shot during my eight months' sojourn there, but it was a frequent occurrence to hear the sharp report of a guard's rifle, and we knew that some poor, unfortunate Confederate soldier had been murdered. The cowardly guards were always on the lookout for any semblance of an excuse to shoot a "d——n Rebel."

There was a rigid censorship placed over all mail matter being sent from or received at the "pen." All letters were read before being mailed, and all being received were subjected to the same vigilant censorship. They were all opened and read by an official to see that they contained nothing "contraband of war." Money was "contraband." Only such newspapers as suited the fastidious taste of General Schoeff were permitted to come inside the "pen." The officers and privates were supposed to be strictly "incommunicado," but even these found means of communication. The open, spacious courts on both sides of the separating fence, on fair days, were always thronged with men taking exercise. A short note—a small piece of coal was the "mail coach"—the route was the "air line"—the note securely tied to the piece of coal, and at an opportune moment, when the guard's face was in a favorable direction, the "mail" passed over the "air line" into the other pen, and vice versa. This line kept up a regular business, but was never detected.

A large majority of prisoners (officers) had some acquaintance, friend, or relative in Baltimore, New York, or other Northern cities, [463]

who would gladly furnish money or clothing to them. Provisions were not permissible under the rules and regulations of the prison authorities. Baltimore, especially, and New York did much toward relieving the burdens of prison life. Such inestimable ladies as Mrs. Mary Howard, of Baltimore, and Mrs. Anna Hoffman, of New York, deserve an everlasting monument of eternal gratitude for the great and good service rendered the unfortunate Confederate prisoners. These philanthropic ladies, with hundreds of other sympathizing men and women of the North, kept many of us furnished with money and clothing. The money itself we were not permitted to have. In its stead the prison officials issued the amounts of money on bits of parchment in denominations of five cents, ten cents, twenty-five cents, fifty cents, and one dollar pieces. This was the prison currency. The prison name for it was "sheepskin." The prison officials would not allow us to have the "cold cash," lest we should enter into a combination and bribe an important guard, thereby effecting an escape. The "sheepskin" answered every other purpose for trade. We had a suttler who was a suttler right. He was a real, genuine, down-east Yankee.

He loved money ("sheepskins" were money to him), and he would furnish us with anything we wanted for plenty "sheepskins." He would even furnish whiskey "on the sly," which was positively prohibited by the prison regulations. He had only to go to headquarters at the close of the day and have his "sheepskins" cashed in genuine greenbacks, and he went away happy and serene, to dream of more "sheepskins."

The amusements and diversions of prison life are wonderful to contemplate. They were numerous and varied. A man could find anything to suit his inclinations. Of all the many diversions, gaming was probably the most prominent, and stands at the head of the list. By common consent, it seemed that a certain part of the open court was set aside for gaming purposes. It made no difference how severe the weather was, these gaming tables were always in full blast. A man could amuse himself with any game at cards that he desired. There were "farrow bank," "chuck-a-luck," "brag," "eucher," "draw poker," "straight poker," "seven-up," "five-up," and most prominent of all, a French game, pronounced in Fort Delaware "vang-tu-aug," meaning [464]

twenty-one. All these were games for "sheepskins"—bets, five cents; limit, ten cents. All were conducted on a high plane of honor. If a dealer or player was detected in attempting anything that was unclean, he was tried in court, convicted, and punished.

There were courts and debating societies; classes in French, Spanish, and Greek. There were Bible students and students in the arts and sciences prosecuting their varied studies. The gutta-percha ring-makers were quite numerous, and it was really astonishing to see the quality of the work turned out, being handsomely engraved and inlaid with silver. There were diversion and amusement for everybody and every class of men, except croakers and grumblers. They had no lot, parcel, or place, and such characters were not permitted to indulge in their evil forebodings. They had to be men, and real live men, too. The reader may desire to know whence all the books, cards, materials, etc., came. I answer, from the Yankee suttler, for "sheepskins."

It must be said to the credit of the Federal prison officials, that the sanitary and hygienic arrangements were as near perfect as man could well make them. These officials were exceedingly jealous of the health of the place. In fact, it was often thought they were unnecessarily strict in enforcing their hygienic rules. Everything had to be thoroughly clean. Cleanliness was compulsory. A laundry machine was furnished, and a kind of laundrying was accomplished. Blankets were required to be dusted and sunned regularly. Every few weeks the whole army of prisoners were turned out into the cold, and there remained until the "shacks" were thoroughly white-washed, both inside and outside. This work was performed by "galvanized Yankees." A "galvanized Yankee" was a Confederate prisoner who had "swallowed the yellow pup," i.e., had taken the oath of allegiance to the United States Government. These men were looked upon even by the Federal officers as a contemptible set, and were required to do all kinds of menial service.

The water was good and plentiful. There could be no just criticism along this line. I am constrained to believe that it was owing to these stringent health laws that the percentage of sickness was so very small. Of course, I can only speak of the officers in Fort Delaware.

The prison fare is the most difficult, as well as unpleasant, part of [465]

prison life of which to treat. However, I will give the simple facts, and allow the reader to draw his own conclusions as to the justice and necessity for such treatment. To say that the fare was entirely insufficient, is putting it mildly, and would not be more than might be expected under similar circumstances and conditions; but the reader will more fully understand the situation when this insufficiency is exemplified by the facts which follow. Think of being compelled to live on two ounces of meat and six ounces of bread per day. Yet this was a prison ration for us towards the close of the war. This was totally inadequate to appease hunger. Men who had no other means of procuring something to eat were nearly starved to death. They stalked about listlessly, gaunt looking, with sunken cheeks and glaring eyes, which reminded one of a hungry ravenous beast. Hungry, hungry all the time. On lying down at night, many, instead of breathing prayers of thankfulness for bountiful supplies, would lie down invoking the most severe curses of God upon the heads of the whole Federal contingent, from President Lincoln down to the lowest private. Hunger makes men desperate and reckless.

The last six or eight months of the war the fare was much worse than at any time previous. It was at this period that the Federal administration was retaliating, as they claimed, for the treatment their prisoners were receiving at Andersonville, Ga.

This inhuman condition of affairs was absolutely brought about by the United States Government itself by positively refusing time and again an exchange of prisoners, and it can not escape the just odium and stigma of the inhuman treatment, the untold suffering, and agonies of both the Confederate and Union prisoners of war.

As already observed, there were not a great number of officers who suffered so intensely, but there were some, who, like nearly all the privates, had no friends or acquaintances in the North to render any assistance, and they suffered greatly. Of course, we endeavored to relieve one another as far as we could. Often have I and others given our entire day's ration from the mess hall to some brother officer less fortunate than ourselves. I have seen an officer peal an apple, throw the pealing upon the ground, and immediately an unfortunate one would pick it up and ravenously devour it. There were a great many [466]

wharf rats burrowing under the plank walks which traversed the open court of the prison. These rodents are much larger than our common barn rats, and they were eagerly sought by the starving officers. There was a general warfare declared on the wharf rat in prison. When these rats were taken and being prepared, the odor arising therefrom was certainly tempting to a hungry man, and when ready they were eaten with a keen relish. The rats did not require any of Lee's and Perin's Worcester sauce to make them palatable, or to give them zest. This will give the reader some idea of the straits to which some of the Confederate officers, and nearly all the privates, in prison at Fort Delaware were reduced to by gaunt hunger.

I must here chronicle an event which I desire to go down in history. After being in prison and being hungry for about two months, I received a letter, addressed in a lady's handwriting, to "Lieut. U. B. White, Division 28, Fort Delaware," and postmarked "Baltimore, Md." My surprise was great, but on opening it and finding the writer's name to be "Mrs. Mary Howard, of Lexington Avenue, Baltimore," my surprise was unbounded. I knew no such person as Mrs. Mary Howard, and, in fact, at that time I did not know a soul in Baltimore. I felt sure that there must be some mistake about it. I read and re-read that letter. I scrutinized and examined the address again and again. It was plain, except that the final "s" in my name was wanting, which was and is, to my mind, a very natural and correct omission. Mrs. Howard said in her letter that she had been informed that I was a prisoner of war and that I was in Division Twenty-eight, Fort Delaware, and that I was in need of both money and clothing, and that if this was true she would be glad to relieve my wants. I immediately answered that letter. I said to Mrs. Howard that her information was only too true, which I very much regretted.

From that time my hunger was appeased and my nakedness clad. Thirty-five years have elapsed since Mrs. Mary Howard wrote that letter, and to-day it is as much of a mystery to me as it was on the day I received it—by whom or by what means or device Mrs. Howard ever found out who I was, or what my condition and circumstances were, I will never know. She and I corresponded regularly during the balance of my prison life, and for sometime after [467]

the war when I returned to South Carolina, and yet that mystery was never explained. Mrs. Mary Howard! Grand, noble, heroic, Christian woman! "She hath done what she could." Through her agency and her means and her efforts she not only assisted and relieved me, but hundreds of other poor, helpless Confederate prisoners. To-day she is reaping her sublime reward, where there are no suffering hungry, starving prisoners to relieve. God bless her descendants!

When General Lee surrendered we refused to believe it, notwithstanding the prison was flooded with various newspapers announcing the fact, and the nearby cities were illuminated, the big guns were belching forth their terrific thunder in joy of the event. However, the truth gradually dawned upon us, and we were forced to realize what we at first thought impossible—that Lee would be forced to surrender. A few days later we were all ordered into line, and officially notified of General Lee's surrender. The futility of further resistence was emphasized, and we were urgently requested to take the oath of Allegiance to the United States Government. This was "a bitter pill," "the yellow pup," to swallow, and a very few solemnly complied. The great majority still had a forlorn hope. Generals Johnston, Kirby Smith, Mosby, and others were still in the field, and it seemed to be a tacit understanding, that we would never take the oath of allegiance as long as one Confederate officer contended in the field.

Finally, when there was no disguising the fact that General Johnston and all others had honorably surrendered—that all was lost—on the 19th day of June, 1865, the last batch of officers in prison took the oath of allegiance to the United States Government, bade farewell to Fort Delaware, and inscribed on its walls, on its fences, in books, and divisions the French quotation, "Font est perdeu l'honeur"—All is lost but honor.

"A prison! Heavens, I loath the hated name,

Famine's metropolis, the sink of shame,

A nauseous sepulchre, whose craving womb

Hourly inters poor mortals in its tomb;

By ev'ry plague and ev'ry ill possessed,

Ev'n purgatory itself to thee's a jest;

Emblem of hell, nursery of vice,

Thou crawling university of lice;

When wretches numberless to ease their pains,

[468] With smoke and all delude their pensive chains.

How shall I avoid thee? or with what spell

Dissolve the enchantment of thy magic cell?

Ev'n Fox himself can't boast so many martyrs,

As yearly fall within thy wretched quarters.

Money I've none, and debts I cannot pay,

Unless my vermin, will those debts defray.

Not scolding wife, nor inquisition's worse;

Thou'rt ev'ry mischief crammed into one curse."