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Much of the experience of enlisted men in rebel prisons was also endured by officers in the hands of the enemy, and after what has already been written, need not be repeated. On reaching Libby Prison, May 16, 1864, they were required to register their names, rank, regiment and company. They were then subjected to examination for personal effects, as already described, with the statement: "If you surrender your valuables without search, they will be returned when you are exchanged, but failing to do this, they will be confiscated." The consequences to those who voluntarily surrendered their valuables to Turner were sad to contemplate, for they introduced themselves into captivity without any means to relieve its misfortunes.

After search, the officers were confined on the third floor of that famous gaol, Libby Prison. It was a large three-story building, containing nine rooms, each about forty by one hundred feet. The lower floor was used for hospital and guard purposes. The building was close to the Lynchburg Canal and the James River. In full view across the river was the village of Manchester, and beyond, magnificent plantations with mansions, groves, and waving fields, reaching far to the south and east. Looking from the opposite side was that charnel-house for enlisted men, Castle Thunder; the tents of our guards; and the uninviting rear walls of buildings facing another street.

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No rations were issued until the next day, under the economical plea, "prison rations were drawn but once a day," our arrival (nine A.M.) being too late to be included that day. It was a very convenient rule, and was found elastic enough to preclude the issuing of rations to all prisoners the day of their arrival. It must have been in recognition, if not in acknowledgment of the fact, that the surest means of destroying courage and fortitude, was to withhold the means of sustaining life. On the afternoon of the 17th a few old United States army blankets, -- discarded by former prisoners, -- with one cup, spoon, and plate for three, and some black bean soup, were issued to us. Hungry as we were, many declined the unpalatable dish.

When our funds were taken, Turner said we might draw against them at the rate of seven dollars in Confederate currency to one of greenbacks, not to exceed one hundred dollars per month. A few days later he appeared with a pen and requisitions, saying that if signed by us he would bring the funds the next morning. The third day he returned, claiming there was some informality in the first requisition, when a second was signed, and a few days later he sought signatures to a third, on the same pretext. This we refused, and it is hardly necessary to add we heard nothing farther from our funds. Fortunately, Col. Lee espied a familiar face upon the street, whom he recognized as formerly attached to the United States Armory at Springfield, and succeeded in getting a note to him, inducing him to call. As he left, he slipped one hundred dollars into Col. Lee's hands, and soon after sent in a basket containing knife, fork, spoons, cup, basin, and towel, all of which was contributed to the mess of the captured officers of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt.

Dick Turner, who was the animating spirit of this gaol, was a vindictive Baltimorean, and so close a counterpart of Gen'l Winder, his chief, was he, as to often be himself the instigator of acts of brutality. He so completely overawed

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all sense of humanity in subordinates as to impress a doubt as to its possession by any of them. One of them has remarked, since the war, "Turner is the greatest scoundrel that ever went unhung."

After remaining at Richmond until May 31st, we were aroused, at five A. M., and ordered to get ready to go south. As we filed out of Libby, half a loaf of corn bread, and a slice of bacon was given to each, and, after a slight delay, we were marched over the river to Manchester, the terminus of the Danville Railway. Here we were hustled into box-cars, and at 7.30 A. M. started for Danville, at which place we arrived about one o'clock the morning of June 1st. At seven A. M. we were transferred to the Greensboro road and to the care of a detachment of the Third Virginia Infantry, under a Lieut. Gay. We were favored with passenger coaches on this road to Greensboro, but at that place sixty-two-officers were crammed into a box-car at the point of the bayonet. At two A. M. June 2d we started for Salisbury, but the train moved with great difficulty, and with frequent delays to get up steam. A drenching rain -- by cooling the air -- made our overcrowded condition more endurable.

While waiting at Salisbury, a citizen recognized Col. White of the Fifty-Fifth Pennsylvania Regiment, and entered into conversation with him. A guard named Arnold ordered Col. White back, and away from the car door. From some cause the guard failed to attract Col. White's attention, which resulted in the latter being roughly seized by the guard and thrust back, with the exclamation, "Go in there you Yankee son of a ----!" Capt. Belger protested against such treatment, which the guard resented by levelling his musket at him saying, "I'll learn a Yankee how to talk to me!" He was checked from firing by a Capt. Carpenter--who was sitting upon the roof of the car, -- saying, "I see no cause for such treatment." The enraged Arnold struck Carpenter several times upon his feet and legs with his

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gun, when the latter withdrew from his reach, and supposed the affair ended. A few moments later the guard appeared upon the car behind Capt. Carpenter, and dealt him two stunning blows upon his head with his musket, and left him with the exclamation, "There! d--n you, take that!" While efforts were being made to resuscitate the injured man, Lieut. Gay happened along, and, hearing Arnold's story, called the guards around him and delivered the following tirade: "I've heard of Arnold's affair. He did just right! Don't you take a word from the d--n Yankees. If they don't mind at the first word, put a bullet through 'em, d--n 'em! Arnold did just right!" A citizen and one of the guard attempted to say, Capt. Carpenter was not at fault, but Gay stopped them with an oath, saying, "Arnold did right!" There were about seven hundred enlisted men upon the train as prisoners, and at one of our stops, liberty had been granted some of them to get off and fill their canteens. A sick man was attempting, by the aid of comrades, to get into the cars as the train started, which being noticed by Lieut. Gay, he gave orders to one of the guard to shoot him, and a moment later his body was being ground under the wheels of the train.

We arrived at Charlotte, N. C., at four P. M. June 2d and marched to a grove near by, where we remained in a drenching rain until morning. So profuse was the fall of rain, we began a serious inquiry what we should do, but it was so much better than being packed in close cars, we concluded to let it rain. At early morning two days' rations were issued, consisting of four hard-tack and one-fourth a pound of bacon, after which we were again crowded into box-cars, and moved for Columbia, S. C. We arrived at this place just before dark June 3d, disappointing a large crowd at the depot who had congregated with supplies of home luxuries, anticipating the arrival of a train loaded with Confederate wounded. Their disgust when they

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found it was "nothing but a load of Yankee ghouls" was beyond bounds. Here we again changed cars, this time to a train just cleared of cattle and as yet uncleaned. The morning of the 4th found us at Branchville, the junction of the South Carolina and Charleston railroads, and four o'clock P. M. of the same day at Augusta, Ga. After crossing the river we were confined in a cotton-pen for the night, with a brick pavement for a bed. Here we bade adieu to the inhuman Lieut. Gay and his cohorts, and passed into the keeping of Capt. Bradford (son of ex-Governor Bradford of Maryland), Provost Marshal of Augusta, Ga. Here supplies of hard-tack and bacon were ample, and of good quality, with which our needs were fully satisfied.

Sunday, June 5th, crowds flocked from the surrounding country to see the "Yanks," and many leading citizens were admitted into our enclosure, and conversed freely of the war. Among these was a former citizen of Massachusetts, but who was now a cotton manufacturer at this point. He provided us a good dinner, and gave us a considerable sum of money to relieve our future needs. It is stated on good authority that this gentleman contributed upwards of fifty thousand dollars to relieve the necessities of our prisoners. Soon after noon we were formed in line, and stood in the broiling sun until five o'clock, when we marched to the station in a heavy shower. After a comfortable night's ride we arrived at Macon, Ga., June 6th, at nine A.M.

Camp Oglethorpe of Macon, Ga., was a stockade containing a trifle less than three acres, and was intended for officers alone. It was supplied with all modern improvements, including heartless keepers, vindictive and ignorant guards, dead-lines and bloodhounds. All the peculiarities of Andersonville were to be found at this place, save its over-crowded condition and lack of shelter. These were important considerations, and saved us from much of the suffering and fatality incident to that Gehenna. Our shelter, however,

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was more a pretence than a reality, since at no time were there less than two hundred without it. The prisoners were divided into detachments of one hundred, the senior officer being placed in command, and for convenience in culinary matters, the detachments were subdivided into squads of twenty. Few articles were issued to aid in cooking, the rule being, borrow or lend. Rations for five days consisted of seven pints of corn meal, one-half a pint of sorghum, two ounces of bacon, two table-spoonfuls of beans or rice, and two of salt. Quality was of no consideration to them. After roll-call we were marched by squads into the enclosure, and were greeted, as we entered, by the cry, "Fresh fish! Fresh fish!!" For a time after entering the stockade, we were known as "fresh fish;" then as "suckers;" after six months, as "dried cod," those of longest term being known as "dried herring," the highest order in the fraternity. When any were enrolled for exchange, they were known as "pickled sardines."

We were hardly within the enclosure, before most of us heard our names familiarly called from the motley crowd, and soon found ourselves surrounded by old-time associates from North Carolina. These included among others, Gen'l Wessell, Lieut. Col. Fellows of the Seventeenth Mass, Capt. Ira B. Sampson and Lieut. H. L. Clark of the Second Mass. Heavy Artillery, and Col. Swift, brother of Capt. Swift. It was a jovial meeting, in spite of its unfortunate associations. Our friends received us with all possible hospitality, and as we were conveniently late to excuse our captors from issuing rations to us that day, they generously divided their meagre pittance to relieve our necessities.

There were those here in confinement, who had been in captivity upwards of twenty months, and, amidst accumulating disappointments and poverty, had sunk into moral apathy and squalid personal neglect. This is hardly to be wondered at, for the impression had fixed itself upon their

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minds that their country was needlessly neglecting them to waste and die in captivity. While there was much to suggest former education and refinement, yet their spirits had become so broken, and their surroundings so repulsive, that they easily fell into low vulgarity and profanity, with the most complete neglect of person and appearance. "Fresh fish" when they arrived, would often manifest great disgust at what seemed to them, our needless squalor. These would determine to show "cod" and "herrings," how a gentleman could live, but after a few weeks' combat, they would yield to the inexorable, and often prove the most squalid of all. It is worthy of note, however, that none so far forgot their love for country as to falter in their loyalty.

Roll-call was effected each morning by deploying a company across the centre of the enclosure, then carefully driving all the prisoners to one side, and counting them as they filed through the line to the opposite side. But so many tricks were played upon the guards in doing this, that it often required three hours, and two or three counts to satisfy them. For amusements, clubs were formed in wicket, cricket, and base ball; while those seeking improvement sought it in the study of the languages, rhetoric and "Butler's Analogy."

June 10th, five generals, nine colonels, eleven lieutenant-colonels and twenty-five majors were removed from the stockade, and carried to Charleston, S. C., for the purpose of placing them under fire of our batteries, then engaged in bombarding that place. Gen'ls Wessell and Heckman, with Col. H. C. Lee and Lieut. Col. W. G. Bartholomew, were included in this number. For a time they were confined in Charleston Jail, but under a protest from Gen'l Seymour, the senior Union officer present, they were allowed the choice of any unoccupied house within the bombarded district. They selected a three-story house on Board Street near Ashley River, and secured commodious and healthful

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quarters. They were permitted to purchase extra supplies, and though under the fire of our batteries, and confined to prescribed limits, were more favorably situated than any equal number of Union prisoners elsewhere. That they did not suffer from the barbarous act of their captors, is due to a marked providence, rather than to a disposition on the part of their enemies. The act of placing our helpless prisoners under fire was protested against by our former commander, Maj. Gen'l John G. Foster, then commanding the Union forces before Charleston, and a requisition was made on our government for prisoners equal in number and rank, to place under the fire of their batteries in retaliation. The requisition was honored by our government, and an equal number of Confederate officers were placed under the fire of the rebel guns, until an exchange was effected Aug. 2, 1864. The exchange did not involve the abandonment of this inhuman policy, for six hundred more Union officers were brought to Charleston July 31st, and replaced those released. Included in this number were the remaining officers belonging to the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. As illustrating the ineffectiveness of our blockade, Col. Lee writes, an average of two blockaders per week arrived during his stay at Charleston, S. C.

The debilitating effect of intense heat and scanty rations, upon those retained at Macon, created extreme dissatisfaction, and reports favoring an exchange were magnified into a reality. "Exchange fevers" ran high, and usually arose from lies originating with our keepers, that they might enjoy and taunt our disappointed hopes. Tunnelling was as frequent and attended with equal disadvantages and disappointments as with our enlisted men; and deaths at the deadline -- in proportion to numbers present -- were as frequent and barbarous as at Andersonville. Foolish attempts were made to repress expressions of loyalty, and chaplains were threatened with dire vengeance if they persisted in invoking

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the Divine blessing upon our cause. The morning of July 4th was observed by patriotic songs and speeches, but an officer entered, threatening the orators with irons and solitary confinement, if they persisted in any farther notice of the day. When Capt. Tabb prohibited praying for the president of the United States, Chaplain Dixon of the Sixteenth Connecticut, at once stepped forward and warmly invoked God's blessing upon all in authority, especially the president, his cabinet, and our armies. Capt. Tabb withdrew in disgust, remarking, "---- smart prayer, but I don't believe it will amount to anything." Such petty tyranny was as ineffectual as it was puerile and vindictive.

July 27th, orders were received to move the camp. These orders meant more to us than to those who issued them, for they suggested opportunities for escape, and to obey them included such preparations as would enable us to avail ourselves of the first opportunity of getting free. The first detachment was removed to Charleston, S. C., July 28th. The remainder left Camp Oglethorpe the 29th inst. A number got under rather than in the cars, and while the train stopped for wood and water, made good their escape. Others busied themselves cutting through the floor of the cars, intending to attempt escape when near the coast. Our surprise was great when we found ourselves rushing past the Charleston Railroad junction, and before we could determine our course and perfect new plans, we were borne into Savannah. Our prison-pen at this place consisted of a portion of the Marine Hospital grounds, enclosed on three sides with an eight-foot brick wall, surmounted by a board fence, and upon the fourth side by a twelve-foot board fence. Several large trees were standing upon the field, and these, with a few "A" tents, furnished all the shelter we had. Our guard consisted of the First Georgia Regiment, Col. Wayne, sentry stations being constructed along the line of the wall, and overlooking the enclosure. The rations were a decided improvement

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in quantity and quality over those at Oglethorpe. To make escape doubly difficult, elevated fires were kept burning during the night between the dead-line and walls, and a line of sentries were posted without and at some distance from the enclosure, so as to detect the opening of tunnels outside the grounds. We remained here with usual prison experiences some six weeks, Col. Wayne being at times lenient and liberal, at others morose, fitful, and vindictive; so that it was impossible to predict a day's experience in advance.

Monday eve, Sept. 12, 1864, orders came to "pack up and be ready to move to-morrow morning at five o'clock." The night was spent in preparation and surmise, the wish expressed being that this move might be to "God's Country," another name for home. Morning found us crowded into coal cars, old, filthy, and dilapidated, and our train moving northward along the coast. In passing Pocotaligo, we were within eleven miles of the Union lines, and, had night favored us, an attempt would have been made to overpower the guard. Our journey, however, passed without incident, and we arrived at Charleston, S. C., September 13th, at two P. M. We were incarcerated in Charleston Jail, as filthy, verminous, and comfortless a place as could be imagined. Permanent gallows graced the enclosure, and everything indicated it as having been the abode of criminals of the worst character. Within this gaol we found portions of the Massachusetts Fifty-Fourth and Fifty-Fifth colored regiments, who had been captured in the assault on Fort Wagner. Nothing could exceed the loyalty of these brave men, their only wish expressed, being, that they might be released to renew their contest for their country in its hour of need.

It was wonderful to witness the fertility of resource shown by our jailers in inventing epithets to express their abhorrence of us. We were "mud-sills," "Abolitionists,"

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"black Republicans," "Yankee scabs," "ycleps" and "ghouls," while "anything was too good for us." Our rations were about as bad as could be, while the following effort at a parody on "When this cruel war is over" suggests how satisfying they were in quantity: --

"Weeping sad and lonely,
Oh, how bad I feel;
Down in Charleston, South Carolina,
Praying for a good square meal."

Ten days' rations consisted of three pints of flour, five of corn meal, four spoonfuls of rice, or two of beans, and two ounces of bacon, or in lieu of the last, one gill of sorghum. Those who had funds could buy milk at a dollar and a half per quart, flour at three dollars per pound, and sweet potatoes at thirty dollars per bushel. The sun beat like a smelting furnace on us; and the enclosing walls prevented any circulation of air. Fully one-half the prisoners were without shelter of any kind, and with clothes so ragged as to be of little use. None of them had more than the suits they wore when captured, and these had been economized by wearing only underclothes a part of the time. When both had failed they repaired one with the other, until it was considerable of a question to decide whether they had been outer or inner garments. No attempt was made to renovate the enclosure. So extreme became our destitution and so offensive the effluvia, that many subscribed to a parole not to attempt to escape, or hold converse with any one outside the guard line, if permitted to go to the Roper Hospital. This was a building designed as a city hospital, and was a paradise compared with the jail-yard.

Lack of sanitary regulations within the city, together with the large number confined in and around Charleston (thousands of our prisoners from Andersonville being now encamped on Charleston Race Course) engendered that fatal

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malady, "yellow fever." As the enemy were forced to remain with us, sheer self-preservation was sufficient to insure our removal. During our entire stay at Charleston, shells from our guns on Morris Island had been exploding over and around us, but by a wonderful providence only one of our Union prisoners was injured, and he but slightly. As we marched up King Street (the Broadway of Charleston), rank weeds and grass were growing untrodden upon it. The desolations of war had sought out this iniquitous centre of treason, and visited upon it in full, the measure it had prepared for others. As we reached the railroad station, a thirty-pound shell from a Union gun buried itself in the ground near by without exploding, and was greeted by us with vociferous cheers.

Our journey to Columbia was made in one night, our train arriving there at one A.M., October 6th. Here we were turned over to the care of a Capt. Semple, and remained without rations until the morning of the 7th. We were then marched across the Saluda River to the top of a hill two miles distant, where we found a field partially covered with second-growth pines, surrounded with a line of sentinels. This field was named by us "Camp Sorghum," from the fact that for one hundred and thirty-three days sorghum was issued here in lieu of meat. Into this field we were turned like cattle, without a piece of canvas or a board, without an axe or spade with which to construct a shelter, or a cooking utensil with which to cook the raw rations furnished to us. This was Andersonville, indeed. Pine-brush booths were made, but they were no defence against a two weeks' storm which then set in. Cold autumn winds swept the hill with a chill which pierced our shrivelled forms, while our petitions for shelter met the stereotype answer, "I'm expecting tents every day sufficient for all your wants." This continued for several weeks, until the frigid heart of our keeper, melted sufficient to allow us to

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buy a few axes and shovels (the former at forty-five dollars each), by the aid of which we succeeded in constructing quite a number of huts, before our next removal.

This was our first prison experience without either wall, fence, or stockade. About twenty feet within the line of sentinels was the dead-line, marked in the ordinary way. To enable us to pick up wood for cooking, a loop guard was thrown out into the woods; but when all their forces were needed to oppose Gen'l Sherman, a daily parole of prisoners was substituted for the purpose. If water was wanted, you must await your turn at the guard line, and there stand until the return of the one who preceded you. Escapes were of almost daily occurrence, and how to prevent them seemed more of a problem than the Johnnies could solve. If out with the "loop guard," a little shrewd wandering, loitering or dodging on the part of prisoners, would often secure opportunity for escape. When paroles were substituted, the papers were at first taken up by the officer of the day, and instructions given the guard to pass them at will during that day. Men not on parole would take advantage of this plan to convince the guard they too were on parole; that they had been out before and had given up their papers, and, if these succeeded in passing the guard, of course they never returned.

A new plan was then adopted, requiring each man to keep his parole paper until he had completed his day's work, when it was surrendered. The prisoners would then go out once or twice, and return their parole to the officer of the day with the statement they were through work. They would then collect food as if intended for those working outside, and the sentinel, ignorant that their parole had been surrendered, would then pass them, and their disappearance would not be known until roll-call the following morning. If the guard happened to demand to see their parole paper, any writing would answer, since the

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guards, as a rule, were too ignorant to read. As a last resort we were taken out under guard, and on reaching the woods, sentinels were placed around a piece of woods within which we might gather fuel. Bribing then became the order of the day; and as the rebel troops had not been paid for a long time, a little money would do wonders for us. Fifty dollars in Confederate scrip was sufficient to remove the scruples of any of the guards. Most of these were old men and boys, many of whom, it is alleged, were members of the Union League. However much truth there may have been in this, it is fact that we were often cautioned as to certain guards, to our great advantage.

Of the large number escaping from Camp Sorghum, the greater part succeeded in reaching our blockading squadron. Of this number were Capts. J. H. Nutting, P. W. McManus, and J. L. Skinner, and Lieut. W. G. Davis of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt.; and Capt. James Belger of Belger's Battery. Large as was the number of escapes, it would have been very much larger, but for the low condition of the prisoners' health, and their lack of shoes and clothing. Cold weather and the penuriousness and cold-heartedness or our keepers but added to the discontent, until Major Griswold, who had succeeded Capt. Semple and Col. Means as our commandant, posted the following notice:--

"I shall be very sorry to do it, but unless this running away is stopped, I shall be obliged to open my artillery on the camp."

This notice is in spirit so in keeping with what we have so often had to record, it seems hardly necessary to add that Major Griswold was also from Maryland. His threat had no perceptible effect. Several officers were shot fatally during our confinement here, and each on the most trivial pretext; and in every instance the guard was fully sustained without an investigation. Only one thing brightened our hours of imprisonment, and that was an occasional letter

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from home, assuring us we were not forgotten there. Late in the fall a considerable quantity of clothing was received through the Sanitary Commission, but the supply was so inadequate to our needs, that if a person drew a pair of drawers, he must dispense with pants, or if he secured a shirt or vest, he must do without a coat. Even at this the supply failed to go round.

There had been threats that if escapes continued to be made, we should be removed to a stockade, and, in keeping with the threat, we were removed, December 11th, to Asylum Prison near Columbia. This pen consisted of about two acres of the Columbia Insane Asylum grounds, from which it was separated by a twelve-foot board fence, high brick walls forming the other sides of the enclosure. Two small buildings and the frame of another comprised all the shelter afforded, and these were hardly sufficient for hospital purposes. During the two months following our arrival, we succeeded in constructing thirteen other buildings each capable of sheltering thirty-six persons. By the use of old tents and holes in the ground, and by crawling under the buildings, about one-half our number secured shelter. What the sufferings of the prisoners must have been during the months of December and January, with inadequate food, clothing and shelter, is more easily imagined than described. Our rations were less in quantity, and poorer in quality. Five days' rations consisted of five pints of corn and cob meal, two table-spoonfuls of rice, two of salt, and five gills of sorghum. Variety was insured by inversion, hot mush and sorghum for breakfast, cold mush and sorghum for dinner, and if anything happened to be left over (a rare occurrence), it was sorghum and cold mush for supper.

Money sent from home was held by the rebel quartermaster, and the envelope, with the amount received endorsed upon it, forwarded to the owner. This was credited to us at government rates, thirty-three dollars in Confederate money

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for one in gold, twenty-seven for silver, and three and a half for greenbacks. Had it been turned over to us, we could have secured about a third more as the current rate of exchange. When we needed anything we were permitted to draw on the quartermaster, payable to the order of the rebel sutler, and a due-bill from the sutler was given for any surplus not used. When short of funds, many of the prisoners drew bills of exchange upon parties at the North, and sold them at ruinous discount. These were forwarded by "blockade-runners," to England, and in about two months they would be presented to the prisoner's friends for payment.

To relieve the ennui of prison life, stringed instruments were obtained while at Charleston, and an orchestra formed, which not only proved of great benefit to our men, but drew considerable crowds of Secesh to hear the Yankee musicians.

The utmost care was used to prevent our obtaining current news, but by the favor of a colored man who had daily duty in the camp, we received frequent information from outside. Sherman's masterly advance was the great theme from which we drew sufficient inspiration and hope to sustain our waning strength. The press was under a close surveillance, and we were as often convinced of the success and progress of our arms, by what the papers did not contain, as by what they did. From the 10th to the 12th of February, 1865, our surmises were strengthened by the distant peal of guns and the hurried, anxious appearance and movements of our enemy.

The 13th the entire camp was ordered removed, and the morning of the 14th most of the prisoners were en route to Charlotte, N. C. So confident were we of Gen'l Sherman's nearness, that every imaginable way was contrived to secrete ourselves. Many buried themselves in holes in the ground, crawled under buildings, hid back of wainscoting, under floors and roofs, but most were found and hastened on to Charlotte, N. C. A cold, driving sleet fell during our journey,

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which benumbed the guard and forced them into the cars with the prisoners. The cars were old and rickety, two of them breaking down by the way, while six others broke loose and were not missed until the head of the train arrived at a station five miles distant. We arrived at Charlotte at four P.M. the 15th inst., and marched three-quarters of a mile to "Camp Necessity." Capt. Stewart, the commandant, told us, with seeming candor, that we had been brought here for exchange. We had unbounded confidence that we were to be liberated through Gen'l Sherman's forces, but the exchange story had become too stale for credence. February 19th the camp was again on the wing, this time to Greenboro, N. C., at which place Lieut. J. H. Judd made good his escape and secreted himself under care of a Union man until the arrival of Sherman's forces. He was with Sherman's army at the battle of Bentonville, reaching Goldsboro, N. C., March 22, 1865, the day after its occupation by our forces under Gen'l Schofield.

This escapade left of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. only Capt. Swift and Lieut. Justus Lyman in the hands of the enemy, five of the nine captured having escaped and two having been exchanged. Capt. Swift and Lieut. Lyman, with other prisoners, were moved through Raleigh to Goldsboro, from which place they went by railroad to Wilmington--then in Union hands--and were exchanged about the first of March.

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There was no end to plans of escape, but, owing to the vigilance of the guard, or the many miles of hostile country between us and a place of safety, few were carried out. A short time previous to the escape here narrated, we arranged with the guard to pass ten of us over his beat for three hundred dollars Confederate money. Our plan was to pass out singly, under cover of darkness, and to rendezvous at a dead tree in plain sight of our camp; a place easily found at night. We knew just when the guard went on, and where his beat was, to a foot. The night selected was fearfully dark and stormy, with considerable lightning; and just as the two who bore the money reached the "dead-line," a flash revealed them to the next guard, who fired, killing one and wounding the other.

A few days later, our second plan was perfected and put into successful operation. To enable us to get wood for cooking and warmth, it was at first customary to throw out a loop-guard into the timber; but when "Sherman's march to the sea" made it necessary to dispatch every available man to oppose him, they substituted a daily parole. By this, a certain number were permitted to go into the timber and bring to the guard line such fuel as was needed, which those within would receive and carry to our quarters. In this way the lines within and without were constantly meeting, and when the tired men outside would sit down on the wood to rest, the anxious ones within would sit down with them also. When rested, each would go their way, with occasional exceptions, when some one within would go out with the paroled and neglect to return.

In this way, on the 27th of November, 1864, a part of our ten escaped, and on the 29th inst. the remainder, including Capt. J. H. Nutting and Lieuts. J. L. Skinner and W. G. Davis walked out from the woodpile. In my anxiety for the inner man, I had gone back to my shanty to arrange with Lieut. Justus Lyman to have my overcoat sent out with some bread rolled in it. When I returned I found the paroled had left for the woods, and my chance gone, unless I put on a bold front and risked being detected. Dodging behind my shanty, I took off my coat and placed it on my shoulders as an apparent protection from bruising in carrying wood, and, picking my teeth as though just from dinner, walked one hundred yards to the guard line. As I crossed the line the guard approached (I supposed to stop me), and my heart sank to my shoes, but rose as the guard remarked, "It's warm weather now, an you uns don't need so much wood." I did not stop to discuss the matter, but simply said, "We are getting enough to last us two or three weeks," and continued my walk to the timber. This venture, with its possibilities, was not reassuring

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to one's nerves, and produced such a pallor as to lead Capt. Nutting, the first one I met, to inquire if I was sick. I made several trips with wood and rails, before my coat, which I had sent in with some fine large chips, was returned to me by Lieut. Lyman. I cannot say what became of those chips as I lost all interest in them when I discovered five loaves of bread in the coat. It was reported (with how much truth I cannot say) that some of the guard belonged to the "Union League," though they cautioned more than one of us whom to trust or shun. As I was leaving I overheard one of the guard exclaim, "Lord! just see them uns getting away! I'se don't care if dey don't get over my beat; dey has a right hard time of it."

A captain of the Seventh Conn., whose experience and information, obtained in a former attempt at escape, was considered valuable, was chosen leader, and we looked to him as our Moses to guide us through the wilderness. Before night, we came across Lieut. Davis, with a Lieut. J. B. Smith of the Fifth West Virginia Cavalry, whose boyish appearance and helplessness appealed to our sympathy, for he declared his purpose of returning to prison if he could not join our company. At dark, we gathered at the tree designated, where, to our surprise, we found Nutting, Skinner, "Seventh Conn.," and about twenty others. Our ten "was told off," and the others informed they must look out for themselves. Explanations were useless, and, seeing their determination to remain with us, I asked Capt. Nutting if we could not "paddle our own canoe," certain he would not require me to repeat the question. Nutting, Davis, Smith, and myself, consequently dropped out, and took our fortunes into our own hands.

Soon after separating, we were impressed, by the barking of dogs, with the necessity of avoiding all traces of civilization, and so we shunned roads and plantations, until twenty miles from Columbia. Our line of escape lay south of the Congaree River. The first night out was clear, and, guided by the "north star," we made some fifteen miles, keeping some two miles from the Charleston, or State road. About midnight the second night we made bold to take the road, keeping within the shade of the forests as much as possible. Desiring to eke out our supply of food, we entered a plantation towards morning, and, of course, made direct for the negroes' quarters. Seeing a light in one of the cabins, we cautiously crept to the window, and, to our surprise, saw Lieut. Skinner, with Major Jenkins and Capt. McDonald, of the Fortieth Mass., with one other, all of whom we had imagined drifting leisurely down the river. We entered without invitation or formality, seriously disturbing their serenity, with visions of blood-hounds, recapture, and prison-fare, before they so far recovered as to recognize us. After an hour's rest and interchange of experience, and the purchase by each party of a loaf of corn-bread from the darkey woman, we separated. We passed each other two or three times,--as we found after reaching our lines, -- at one time suspecting we

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were near them from the peculiar odor of the tobacco with which they were regaling themselves.

We now used the road constantly, except to hide during the day, or to forage. The darkeys were always kind, preferring to give us of their scanty stores, but they were so destitute that, with a little urgency, they would take money, as this was even more scarce than provisions. If the information given us was not always reliable, it was from their lack of comprehension and ignorance of distances. To a certain "cross-road" it was "two good looks, and a right smart chance," meaning it was some distance beyond a second curve in the road. Fortunately, before leaving Columbia, we had obtained a traced copy of a map of the surrounding country, with all important roads, which we studied thoroughly while resting each day. After travelling several nights, we became foot-sore and weak from exposure and insufficient food, and therefore determined to get to the river, and, if possible, secure a boat.

Reaching "Monk's Corner," and crossing the railroad, we turned towards the Santee River, and had gone about three miles beyond the McClellansville road, when we were advised by the negroes to change our course, as the road was bad, and we were already wet to the knees. Near morning, we were startled by the growl of a dog close to us, and more so by hearing some one saying to him "Keep still!" when we saw a man near by, sitting upon a fence. Capt. Nutting was in advance that night as leader, and he walked directly towards the "man and brother." The stranger suddenly keeled backwards over the fence, saying, "U uns don't hurt me; I'se no hurt you!" Both parties were soon assured of safety, when the negro told us there was a "picket-post" at the river near all crossings, and offered to secrete and feed us at the plantation, and at night start us on the direct road. He told us, also, that our gunboats were near McClellansville, on blockade-duty, and that he had helped a number to escape to them, and would be glad to aid us. At ten o'clock he brought us some buttermilk, and a nameless mixture of food, but which disappeared with as much relish as a Delmonico bill of fare before an epicure.

During the evening we were taken into a cabin, where our colored friends furnished us with a bountiful supply of corn-bread, and sent us forth with a guide, and their hearty "God bless you, massas." Our guide led us through the woods to the McClellansville road, and escorted us two or three miles thereon before leaving us, proving to be one of the most intelligent colored men I ever met. From this time until reaching McClellansville, we kept the main road, sometimes with little, often with nothing to eat; and such supplies as we had, were obtained at such risk, that Capt. Nutting declared, Davis' nose or my appetite would be the ruin of us. Lieut. Davis was suffering from a terrible catarrh, and were it not for my appetite which impelled me to run any risk to obtain provisions, we should have gone hungry much oftener than we did. Parties often passed on horseback so close that we might have touched them with sticks from our hiding-place.

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The night we were to pass through Pineville was very dark, and we were using extra care, but before we were aware of being near the town, we ran against a house, and in attempting to retrace our steps, found fences and barns in all directions. Trees, known as the "Needle Pines," were standing thickly around the houses, and these made the darkness very intense, while the soft leaves were so thick upon the ground as to render it impossible to discover the road. We succeeded in extricating ourselves, and in finding a hiding-place, just at daylight. A heavy, incessant rain lasted the entire day, and we gladly welcomed the darkness which permitted us to resume our journey.

We arrived at McClellansville at nine o'clock P.M., December 12th, tired, hungry, anxious and bewildered, and sought the hospitable shelter of the negro quarters, where all our wants were supplied, and the glad information given that one of our blockaders was just outside of Cape Romain lighthouse. After much trouble, one of the colored friends remembered seeing a boat under a building upon an island which could be reached by a foot bridge. On arrival there, we found two boats and a canoe, which we tested in the water, only to find them unreliable. Selecting a metallic lifeboat, we tore the linings from our clothes to stop the leaks, and over this calking rubbed some hard soap, a small piece of which we happened to have. This, in salt water, acts very much like tar, and answered the purpose admirably. The building had formerly been used as a hospital, and we fortunately found a piece of rope, a jug which would hold water, and part of an old bunk which answered for oars. With equal care in launching and boarding, we found by energetic bailing we could keep afloat.

The night was dark and cloudy, and the tide, now at full height, formed innumerable channels and islands among the reeds, which, without light or compass, soon bewildered us, and forced us to lay by, and to hold on to the reeds for anchor. The rain fell in torrents, making the bailing onerous, and success more doubtful. The clouds dispersed with the morning light, when we found ourselves in full view of McClellansville, with Romain lighthouse in the distance, for the latter of which we rowed as quickly as possible, and with a favorable tide, reached it in an hour and a half. Mounting the deserted lighthouse, we scanned the horizon to catch sight of some friendly vessel, but at most could discern what we imagined might be the "topmast" of a schooner. What must be its distance, even if our imagination was true? Between us was a long succession of surging, dashing "breakers," whose "white caps" warned us of a "dead-line" our frail craft must not venture to cross. Drenched to the skin, we built our first fire since leaving prison, in the fire-place of that deserted house and fully enjoyed its cheer. A few oysters, which we found near the landing, was all the addition we could make to our larder, though we chased a cat, which had been left here until wild, and which we would have roasted, had it not been too fleet-footed for us. For two days we enjoyed ourselves as well as the low condition of our supplies,

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and the disappointment at the non-appearance of our gunboats would permit.

At length, hungry and discouraged, we were forced to decide to return to the mainland for supplies, which we did after inscribing upon the walls our names and some doleful comments upon disappointed hopes. After considerable difficulty, we succeeded in landing near a plantation, and Smith and myself advanced as skirmishers to reconnoitre. A negro cutting wood was talking with a white man, who inquired if he had seen some men prowling around. Being answered affirmatively, we concluded our room was better than our company, and retired to enter the plantation from another direction. To our inquiries the negroes responded, "De ole man Dupree, him's at home," but we assured them we were not over-anxious for his acquaintance; we would like something to eat. Hearing foot-steps, we turned, and beheld the veritable "Dupree" with a double-barrel gun, close upon us. He advanced, and gave us the chilling salutation, "Who are you?" Smith pluckily replied, "None of your business!" To all his inquiries we returned evasive answers, I attempting, meanwhile, to get near enough to use my hickory stick, and get possession of his gun. It was evident, however, he was more frightened than we.

Informing him we were from Wilmington, en route to Charleston, he led us to the gate, and gave us explicit directions, for which we thanked him and gladly left, though we knew he must have known us by our uniform, and lack of southern brogue. We soon met a darkey, who said, "Ise know who you uns is! you's 'scaped prisoners!" and, as he was on his way to see "Dinah on de nex' plantation," he would see we got something to eat, and a guide. The omniprevalent Dupree (who, by the way, was a minister) again appeared, and ordered the darkey back, but the latter soon returned, and apprised us of his master's intention of informing the officials at McClellansville of our presence. At the next plantation our wants were fully supplied, and after an hour's rest, we started under two negro guides for the Santee. Both guides remained with us until we were well on our way to the ferry, where we arrived just before daylight.

With considerable effort, we found the colored ferryman, who gave us information that his master had received notice to look out for four escaped prisoners who had been in McClellansville, and coaxed off some slaves; and also, that there was a steamer at South Island, which place we could easily reach in one night. Our money was all gone. The only article of value remaining, was Capt. Nutting's watch, which was offered the negro if he would ferry us across both streams. The river here was divided into two channels by an island, a canal through the latter connecting the streams. We were suspicious of our man and watched him closely during the day, but whatever his inclination, he hid and fed us well, and at eight o'clock escorted us to the ferry. A second hand, who was to help, refused to move unless some settlement was made with him,

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as the watch could not be divided or sold without suspicion. I compromised with him by giving him my vest, which was new when captured, and we were soon across the streams, and piloted beyond the cabin of the opposite ferryman and his drove of dogs.

The guides informed us we were now on the direct road, eight miles distant from the island, with no pickets before us, and at low tide, could cross to the island, without wetting our feet, all of which proved incorrect. We were moving along listlessly about four o'clock in the morning, when, hearing a sound as of a horse chewing, we discovered three horses tethered near by, and a tent not fifty feet distant. We went back a short distance to cover, and concluded to flank the post, but finding a deep creek across our path, decided we must have got upon a wrong road, and hence returned to the timber land. During the afternoon of the next day, we found a negro at a deserted plantation, and learned we were right before we retraced our steps; that the picket station had been there for several months; and that to reach the desired island, we must swim. We made our way back to the causeway, and from our hiding-place, saw the pickets as they returned from watering their horses.

About midnight we started across the swamp, well to the right of the "picket-post," knowing they were awake, as we could hear them. When nearly opposite them, we heard them speak -- then a cap snapped -- and, as soon as it could be replaced, a ball went whizzing over our heads. We remained quiet half an hour, then moved on some distance, crossed the creek from which we turned back the night previous, soon reached the road, and shortly after, arrived at the creek separating us from the island. Securing some planks -- remnants of a former bridge which spanned the stream -- we sat down to get our courage up for a December bath, and to eat our last meal in "Secessia." My repast consisted of two table-spoonsful of dry rice, fresh picked to be sure, but of sufficient hardness to keep my jaws from rusting. Stripping ourselves for the fray, Nutting and Davis crossed first, with their clothes kept above water by their weight on the other end of the plank. When across, they pushed the planks back to us. Smith could not swim, and I took him on the plank with me, but no sooner had we gone beyond his depth, than he began floundering and shuddering, until he arrived at the forward end of the plank. The moment he touched bottom, he sprang from the plank, sending me back into the middle of the stream to ruminate over the pleasure of a midwinter bath.

Regaining the shore, and putting on my drenched clothing, we struck into a double-quick to start our chilled circulation, and left behind us the dangerous neighbors of yore. In half an hour, we found ourselves at the seaward side of the island, facing Winyaw Bay, and our eyes were regaled by the sight of one of our gunboats four miles distant, with the stars and stripes unfurled to the breeze. The island had been a sea-resort for wealthy planters, and several houses yet remained, on the top of one of

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which, we fastened a pole, and to it such rags as we could spare, to attract attention. Just at this time, a boat full of men emerged from a point across the bay, and bore directly for us. Who they were was a vital question, but at last our strained eyes detected a small flag at its stern, the nationality of which could never be mistaken. It was a man-of-war launch which had been on picket duty, and as they came near shore, hailed us with, "Who's there?" We did not wait to answer, but rushed into the water waist deep, from which we never knew nor cared how we were taken. I doubt if any one could describe the feelings of such an hour: suspense, enemies, dangers, privations and captivity, had given place to blissful security, civilization and comforts, with visions of home and friends.

Our famished look told its own story, and a bag of hard-tack put to flight all emotional feelings or restraints, the inner man asserting itself in a combined attack upon the hard-tack. At nine o'clock, the 15th of December, 1864, we were welcomed on board the United States steamer "Nipsic," cheerful, happy, and covered with "gray-backs." Here we found Lieut. Skinner and his party, who had drifted down the Santee, arriving only the day before us. On the arrival of the "Nipsic" at Charleston we were placed on board the steamer "Massachusetts" for Hilton Head, where we were trusted for new suits throughout, and had the pleasure of seeing those we had shed carried off with a pair of tongs. December 26th, we left on the steamer "Arago," and reached Norfolk, Jan. 1, 1865, where we received our pay to date. The morning I arrived upon the steamer "Nipsic" I weighed one hundred and thirty-five pounds, while two months later I weighed two hundred and three pounds, and at that was considered only "in fair flesh."

I cannot close this narrative without acknowledging the debt of gratitude we owe the colored people along our route, for food, information, and guides. They willingly gave what they had, asking for no return; but in simple faith plead with us to hasten the freedom for which they had so long been praying. Their self-sacrifice, deserves all the blessings which they have secured through the triumph of our arms.

Escape of Sergt. Bartholomew O'Connell, Corp. Levi Brizzee, and Private George W. Taylor.

This trio of comrades have all passed earth's trials and reached their reward. Sergt. O'Connell enlisted from Whately, Sept. 28, 1861, and re-enlisted Dec. 24, 1863. He was made corporal at the beginning of service, and received successive promotions until orderly sergeant of his company. At the battle of South-West Creek, March 8, 1865,

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he was in command of Company A, and fell mortally wounded while the regiment was singly, yet gallantly holding Hoke's Division at bay. Corp. Brizzee enlisted from Montague, Oct. 1, 1861, re-enlisted Dec. 24, 1863, and served creditably with his regiment until his capture at Drewry's Bluff. After his escape here narrated, he rejoined his company and was recaptured March 8, 1865, and held as a prisoner one month. He was a fearless soldier, with more than ordinary power of endurance, but survived his last imprisonment only a few days. He died at his home in Northfield, April 15, 1865. Private Taylor enlisted from Somerset, Feb. 25, 1864. Though his active service in the field covered less than two weeks, he had shown the courage and dash of a veteran. His fate, like that of thousands of noble men who fell, is the simple tale, "unknown." We have the following account of their escape from Corp. Brizzee, previous to his decease. After giving testimony to rough treatment and the filthiness of Libby Prison, Corp. Brizzee said:

At the close of a week the prisoners were taken through Danville, N. C., Columbia, S. C., and Augusta, towards Camp Sumter at Andersonville, Ga. Many had hoped to escape, while passing through North Carolina, but found it impossible. Lewis A. Drury, of Company C, jumped from the cars near Salisbury, but was fired upon by the guard and recaptured.

On starting from Augusta, Sunday, May 29th, O'Connell, with his jack-knife, set himself resolutely at work to cut a hole through the floor of the car. There were some fifty men crowded into the freight car and this, together with the care used by our comrades to shield us from the view of the three guards confined in the car, enabled us by dark that night to cut an opening sufficiently large to effect escape. The probabilities of success were small, even should we elude the vigilance of the train guard, so that but few were willing to risk the effort. We determined to make an attempt at all hazard. At nine P.M., when the train stopped for wood and water, Taylor crept out, and O'Connell and myself followed at the next stop, with the understanding we should meet Taylor near the place of his escape, and where he was to await us. No alarm was given at either place, and when the train moved on, we started back upon the track. On nearing the appointed place to meet Taylor, we saw persons

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congregated there, when we plunged into the woods far enough to feel secure from observation, and remained during the day. At night we wandered around the vicinity, but finding no traces of Taylor, moved into the woods, guided by the north star.

Our plan was to go North by way of Knoxville, Tenn., some three hundred and fifty miles distant, and although this, in an enemy's country, with regulation uniforms, and without rations, we knew to be almost impossible of accomplishment, it seemed to be our only hope. We travelled all that night, and concealed ourselves in the woods till late the following afternoon, when the gnawings of hunger led us into the indiscretion of applying to a neighboring plantation for food. The owner pretended to be a Union man and gave us a hearty meal, but must have betrayed us as soon as we left, for we discovered scouts guarding the roads in all directions. In following a stream that night to find some suitable place for crossing, we were fired upon, but by plunging back into the forest, made good our escape. We soon found the negroes reliable friends, and threw ourselves entirely upon their honor. They would share with us their last morsel, cook supplies with which to sustain us on the way, and furnish guides, who, on leaving us, would give specific directions with reference to our journey, and where it was safe to stop. For this they would receive no pay, but seemed only too glad to help us.

During the second day out, we were discovered in a swamp by a well-informed negro, who advised us to change our plans and attempt to reach the sea-coast near Savannah, only about one hundred miles distant. His advice and directions were so intelligently given, that we concluded to adopt his suggestions, and that night, with a liberal supply of provisions furnished by him, we turned our steps for Savannah. We were about ten days in travelling this distance, following railroad tracks or county roads as served our purpose best, but sometimes following the course of the streams, by advice of negroes. Only once during this time did we show ourselves to a white person, and then because our colored friends had nothing to give us. The negroes had informed us there were no men around, and supplied us with "butternut suits" with which we passed ourselves off as "secesh soldiers." By this means we succeeded in getting the best the house afforded, the darkies grinning to "see how missus hab ben fooled by dem ar Yanks!"

June 9th we reached a plantation near Fort Jackson, Savannah, and remained concealed by the negroes until Monday, June 13th. We were then piloted beyond the rebel pickets, by a darkey belonging to the commanding officer of the fort. We crossed over to Dutch and Skiddoway Islands, swimming many streams and inlets, and threading our way through tangled forests and deep marshes. In the midst of the latter, O'Connell lost his shoes. The remainder of the way was a terrible trial to the poor fellow, lacerating his feet unmercifully, and rendering our progress slow and painful. Two days had passed since leaving the rebel pickets, in

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which (being in salt water marshes and lowlands) we had not had a particle of water to drink, and our thirst was almost unendurable.

Late in the afternoon of the 15th of June, we discovered one of our gunboats, but could not draw its attention. During the night we constructed a raft from such materials as we could collect in the swamps, by binding them together with green withes, and on the morning of the 16th, worked our way out upon Assaband Sound, where, about the middle of the afternoon, we were picked up by a crew from the gunboat "Wiona." We met with a hearty reception on board from officers and crew, and everything possible was done for our comfort. On the afternoon of the 19th, we were carried by the "Unadilla" to Port Royal, and to the fleet off Charleston, where we were received by Admiral Dahlgren and warmly complimented for our successful escape. Transportation was here furnished to Philadelphia, where, through the kindness of friends, we were enabled to reach our homes July 1, 1864.

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Our record left a part of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. whose term of enlistment was yet unexpired, on the transport "United States," off Norfolk, Va. Two hundred and forty-seven of the regiment were still in captivity, -- four having been exchanged or escaped; while three hundred and four were reported for duty. Of those in captivity nothing definite could be learned, but vague and startling rumors were rife of their dire extremities and sufferings. Sept. 19, 1864, the steamer "United States," with the Twenty-Seventh Mass., steamed for Beaufort, N. C., the regiment going into camp at Carolina City the 21st inst. under command of Maj. John W. Moore. The Twenty-Third and Twenty-Fifth Mass., and Ninth New Jersey Regiments, as before stated, had preceded us to this State, and were stationed south of the Trent River, and along the railroad towards Beaufort; but the Star Brigade from this time ceased to exist. Only such of this brigade as had seen service in North Carolina were ordered to return, but these, though at times associated in action, held no future organic connection.

The lines of this Department had been considerably contracted by the capture of Plymouth and evacuation of Washington the previous spring, the troops being confined to places covered by the gunboats. The navy had been reinforced by the "Otsego" and "Chimera," and was the real reliance for defence. As left by us, our position in North Carolina

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was a constant menace to the enemy, requiring a large army to defend threatened points. As found on our return, it was simply a post of observation held by the feeblest tenure, and liable to fall before any determined assault. The elan of the garrison had departed, and rebel iron-clads seemed to be expected in every direction; even down the railroad, and sailing across lots. There was neither an adequate force to man the works in case of an attack, nor confidence sufficient to inspire determined resistance against assault.

June 1st, three torpedoes constructed from pork-barrels, containing two hundred pounds of powder each, were sent by car to Bachelor's Creek in charge of Lieut. Jones of the One Hundred and Thirty-Second New York, to be placed in the Neuse River to guard against iron-clads from Kinston. Desiring to communicate with Col. Claassen of the One Hundred and Thirty-Second New York, commanding this post, he carelessly left them without a guard, or warning any one of their character. The quartermaster-sergeant of the One Hundred and Thirty-Second New York Regt., supposing them to be supplies, ordered them removed, and personally rolled the first one to the platform safely. The second was pushed down the gangplank, followed closely by the third. As the second struck the first -- now stationary on the platform -- the blow broke a hair-spring, and the three torpedoes exploded with a concussion which startled the enemy at Kinston, over twenty miles distant. Thirty were killed and seventeen wounded of the One Hundred and Thirty-Second New York Regt., and ten killed and twenty-three wounded of citizens and contrabands. The log depot, twenty by thirty, with one hundred feet of platform and a signal tower ninety feet high, were shivered to splinters. The remains of the unfortunate victims were scattered in trees or upon the ground upwards of half a mile. A sight more awful or harrowing could not

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be imagined. All that was recognized of the quartermaster-sergeant was his little finger, known by his ring; while most of the remains were scraped together in infinitesimal bits and buried in "hard-tack boxes." A platform car covered with straw brought the forty wounded to New Berne, a sight of shrivelled, mangled humanity, impossible to describe.

During the spring and early summer of 1864, the regiments of this Department had been recruited by "conscripts" and "bounty men." Among the latter were "professional bounty-jumpers," who, having secured the bounty, availed themselves of every opportunity to escape. Many had been arrested, and on the morning of August 13th, seven were in Craven Street Jail under sentence of death. The most desperate one of these deserters was shot that morning before Fort Spinola.

The next morning (Sunday) the reveille awoke the camps at the first trace of dawn, and the Seventeenth Mass. Regt. gathered before the gaol. A "Special Order" required every enlisted man in the garrison, not on duty or excused by the surgeon, to be present, and hence the entire division was formed on three sides of a hollow square before Fort Totten. At four o'clock the funeral cortege moved down Craven and through Pollock Streets, headed by the provost marshal and a band with sepulchral dirge, followed by the commanding general and his staff in full-dress uniform. Each condemned man was preceded by a "drum corps" with muffled drums, a squad of cavalry, a platoon of infantry, followed by a cordon or hollow square of soldiers with reversed arms, in which an ambulance moved, containing a manacled victim sitting upon the end of a plain pine box, his coffin. Six times this mockery of funeral pageant and human woe repeated itself ere the column was complete. The dirge, the roll of muffled drums, the weeping, haggard, manacled victims, and the plain, narrow house, were combinations too aggravating for weak nerves, and the author for once disobeyed

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orders and declined to attend. When the cortege arrived at Fort Totten the condemned men were marched around the inside of the square, each one preceded by four soldiers bearing a coffin. At the open side of the square were six graves, and before each a box was deposited, upon the foot of which a victim was set with his heart bared for the fatal bullet. A company of the Seventeenth Mass. Regt., with loaded guns -- half ball and half blank cartridges, -- were brought forward, and as the first rays of the sun fell on the scene, the fatal word was given. Three fell lifeless, and three mortally wounded. Before another detail two more fell lifeless, and another in the pangs of death; and the provost marshal (shall I say humanely?) finished the work by a muzzle close to the breast of the writhing man.

Doubtless the fate of most of these men was just, but the facts stated regarding one of them deserve mention. He was a member of the Fifth Rhode Island Regt. who had rendered efficient service upward of a year and a half. In enlisting he had overstated his age to insure admission to the army, and was now but nineteen years old. His mother being sick, and not expecting to recover, had written, asking him to come and see her before she died. His application for a furlough was rejected, and, as the steamer "Dudley Buck" was leaving New Berne, he was found in the coal bunk, turned over to the authorities and was condemned to death. No friendly hand sought to save him, but his fate received the mute condemnation of every enlisted man. How unlike the noble Queen Victoria when the death sentence of a "royal guard" was handed her for signature. "Go and see if you can learn anything good of this man," said the merciful queen. Twice the officer returned and answered "No!" "Go once more," said the anxious queen, and this time the officer returned, saying, "I learn nothing except that he has a family and loves them;" upon which she took the sentence and wrote in large letters across its

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face, "PARDONED!" Whatever this boy's fault, over the door of his heart was inscribed, "Love for mother," and this should have entitled him to mercy. Had his case been submitted to the tender-hearted President Lincoln, doubtless death would have been averted. In any case death penalties should be subject to review by courts removed from the bias of local interests or prejudices, and if the findings admit of a reasonable doubt, the condemned man should be granted a hearing before another tribunal. So frequent became the abuse of extreme power by courts-martial during the last year of the war, that President Lincoln issued an order that all executions must be approved by him.

There was too much power assumed by many general officers, too many rights of our enlisted men infringed upon. Stern disciplinarians and martinets may deride and declare less restraint subversive of discipline; but in a country like this, we cannot afford to follow the effete methods of monarchial nations founded upon privileged aristocracies, with ignorant classes to obey their beck. In the rank and file of our volunteer force, were men equal in ability, education and fitness to command, to those whom wealth, influence or accident had placed in authority over them. In monarchies a commission in the army is an expression of the monarch's favor, often without regard to fitness and ability; but in republics the right to its possession should be demonstrated. Vacancies in office were filled from the ranks without loss of effectiveness, and the closing scenes of the war were enacted under men who had served as subalterns and privates.

It is but reasonable that officers and men should be held subject to the same regulations and penalties, the right to resign withdrawn, and discharges granted upon uniform terms. "Absence without leave" with officers should be designated by the clear, incisive word "desertion," as with enlisted men. If the death penalty is the only adequate remedy for

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desertion, cowardice, or sleeping on post with the rank and file, substitute it for dismissal and cashiering for similar offences with officers. If intoxicants were not good for men, they were tenfold more pernicious and injurious for those needing clear heads to command. If houses of prostitution should be forbidden resorts for enlisted men, it was damning to make them stand guard before them day and night, that none but officers might enter. A commission should insure implicit obedience, but not a single right or favor beyond.

September 5th, New Berne found itself attacked by a force more subtile and deadly than that of the Confederates; no less a foe than yellow fever in its most malignant character. The first victim was the stevedore of the harbor, and his disease was credibly traced to clothing forwarded from New York, for charitable distribution amongst the city poor and the hospitals. The unfortunate city was soon transformed to one vast hospital and morgue, the total number of victims exceeding seventeen hundred. Col. T. J. C. Amory of the Seventeenth Mass. Regt., Maj. H. T. Lawson, chief provost marshal, and Lieut. Fordyce A. Dyer, assistant provost marshal, both of the Second Mass. Heavy Artillery; Lieut. Col. H. M. Stone, Third N. Y. Artillery, and Lieut. H. C. Hathaway of Gen'l Palmer's staff, were among those who fell. Investigation led to the statement that these goods were obtained from Cuba, by a Dr. ---- Blackburn of New York City, and were forwarded ostensibly as a charity, but really for the work they accomplished.

Fifteen members of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. went to New Berne as nurses and assistants during the epidemic, of which number Thomas Frary, Company D, Hatfield, Alonzo Jockett, Company D, Northampton, George H. Benedict, Company E, Lee, and Joseph Twenkler, Company I, Wilbraham, fell victims to the scourge. Men who will take their lives in hand and go into such a plaguestricken

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city to rescue their unfortunate comrades, are worthy of a lasting monument. We gladly record their noble act as reflecting honor upon themselves, the regiment, and the State, and only wish it were possible to mention all by name who offered themselves for this humane work.

Patrols were organized, districts assigned, every house visited twice a day, new cases reported, and bodies removed to the morgue. Tar was kept burning on every street corner; and the only travellers upon the streets were the patrols and the funeral cortege, followed by Chaplain J. Hill Rouse, a former rector of the Episcopal Church of Rochdale, Mass. The untiring work of this good old man in affording the consolations of religion to this stricken city, was a silver lining on the murky cloud. The death-rate increased to a maximum of thirty-five per day, and exceeded in percentage of mortality the scourge of Norfolk, Va., or the more recent one at Memphis, Tenn. The only fatal case at the camp of the Twenty-Seventh Regiment was that of Egbert B. Strong, Company G, of Northampton.

Comrade Lafayette Clapp of Company A, Easthampton, who had been on hospital service at New Berne during the absence of the regiment in Virginia, declined to avail himself of the expiration of his term of service September 20th, and magnanimously remained during the ravages of the pestilence. At the height of the scourge he was detailed to assist Dr. J. W. Page of the Sanitary Commission, where his large experience and good judgment were soon brought into use, in the entire management of the Commission during Dr. Page's illness. Later on, Comrade Clapp suffered a severe attack of the plague, but, aided by a good constitution, abstemious habits, and by the watchful care of his numerous friends, he recovered. This self-sacrifice on the part of one with a home and family to which he longed to return, deserves honorable mention. Comrade Clapp has twice filled the office of president of our Veteran Association, and still enjoys the high esteem of his comrades.

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The evening of October 27th, Lieut. W. B. Cushing, U. S. Navy, and a crew of thirteen, ascended the Roanoke River on "Launch No. 1," to destroy the ram "Albemarle" at Plymouth. A mile below the town they found the channel obstructed by the wreck of the steamer "Southfield" and by sunken schooners. A guard of twenty rebels was captured at this point, without the firing of a gun. About two A.M., the morning of the 28th, Lieut. Cushing reached a position opposite the ram, which he discovered to be fastened to the wharf, surrounded by a line of logs, chained together thirty feet from its side. Keeping close under the shade of the opposite banks, until he had gained a point above, which gave him the favoring current of the river, he turned, and was bearing bow-on to the ram, when the enemy sprung their rattle, rang their bell, and commenced firing upon the launch. Lieut. Cushing gave them two charges of canister, and with full steam, bore down with such speed as to break the log obstructions surrounding the "Albemarle." Lowering the boom of the launch, with a suspended torpedo attached, by a vigorous and dexterous push, he forced it under the ram and exploded it.

With the concussion from the torpedo came a dense flood of water engulfing the deck of his boat; and also a plunging shot from the "Albemarle, which crashed through the launch. A vigorous musketry fire was now opened upon Lieut. Cushing and crew, the former twice refusing to surrender. Finding the launch fast sinking, the brave lieutenant ordered every man to look out for himself, threw off his coat and shoes, jumped overboard, and swam for the opposite shore. The launch sank within fifteen feet of the wharf, Lieut. Cushing and a colored sailor only escaping; the rest of the crew were either killed, drowned or captured. Lieut. Cushing succeeded in reaching the swamp opposite, where he secreted himself until the afternoon. The enemy were several times within a few feet of him; but

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being buried to the neck in water, and surrounded by swamp grass, he escaped detection. During the afternoon, he approached the river near enough to satisfy himself that he had sunk the "Albemarle," when he made his way to Middle River, found a skiff, and reached the "Valley City" at eleven o'clock P.M.

The next day, Commander Macomb made an attempt to occupy Plymouth, but was prevented by the shore batteries. The 30th, he decided to try Middle River channel, but on account of the difficulties of the way, he failed to reach the head of the islands until about four P.M. After shelling the place with one-hundred-pound Parrotts for an hour, the fleet anchored until the morning of the 31st. After a reconnoissance and considerable firing, the fleet was signalled, at 9.30 A. M., "Go ahead fast!" and was soon abreast the forts and batteries. For half an hour a fire of grape, canister and shell fell on the hostile works, when our marines landed and drove the enemy from the place. Col. D. W. Wardrop, commandant at Roanoke, knowing the purpose of the navy, and anticipating the need of a co-operating land force, fortunately appeared with one hundred and sixty men from the One Hundred and Seventy-Sixth Pennsylvania Regiment, and occupied the town. Our forces captured twenty-two pieces of heavy ordance in position, thirty-two prisoners with a large number of arms, and quantities of supplies. The Union garrison was soon after strengthened by a battalion of the Second Mass. Heavy Artillery.

With the Twenty-Seventh Mass. back amid former experiences, their longings for the flesh-pots of North Carolina were revived, and any deficiency of food was speedily made good by our foragers. Soon after pitching camp at Carolina City, a number of men started upon a scout, and discovered a fine two-acre watermelon patch; but neither money nor persuasion could induce the owner to part with any of them for their use. It was a crushing disappointment

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to leave such luscious melons untouched; too much of a trial for weak humanity to submit to gracefully; hence it was determined to try other tactics to relieve their distress. About ten o'clock that night, the disappointed ones were again upon the ground, and were revelling among the watery viands, when their attention was arrested by a man approaching with a lantern and a large dog. Unfortunately, the lantern served the purpose of our men better than that of its owner, for they could see his every movement. When at close range the crack of a revolver laid the dog to rest, and a second later a ball pierced the lantern and extinguished the light. To the demand, "Lay down that gun, and leave, or you'll go next!" the owner left a few tracks, with the heels towards our men, and a loaded shot-gun on the ground. It is as useless to attempt to say how many melons were taken, or how such a quantity were brought to camp, as to gauge the capacity of boys in a like adventure. On reaching the outpost, the challenge of the pickets was answered by a twenty-five-pound watermelon, and this countersign was declared "correct."

Early the next morning, the surly owner appeared at our camp, dismounted from his horse, and sought aid of Lieut. Briggs to discover the melons and the culprits. Not a melon or rind was discovered, the occupants of each tent scornfully cursing the man who dared suspect any of the Twenty-Seventh Mass. Regt. capable of such an act. As, at the end of a useless search, he turned in disgust to go home, he found his horse missing, and no clue could be found of it, until a darkey, employed in camp, "disremembered seein a horse wid a camp-kettle tied to his tail, runnin dat ar way as tho de debbil was arter him." Such a look of reprobation; such futile anger and disgust; such a realizing sense of human depravity, never centred more fully in the face of one man, than in that of our visitor, as he turned to trudge home. A few moments later, a large

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melon rolled unceremoniously into Lieut. Briggs' tent -- it never came out whole -- and the occupants of our camp sat down to a good, square treat on watermelon.

November 21st, Lieut. Col. W. G. Bartholumew, now senior officer of the Twenty-Seventh Mass., rejoined his regiment at Carolina City, and was received with unbounded enthusiasm. The 28th inst., we removed to Beaufort, and performed provost and picket duty until December 4th, when orders arrived: "Report at once at New Berne, in light marching order." With nothing but overcoats to encumber us, we reached New Berne that night, boarded the steamer "Massasoit," and arrived at Plymouth December 7th.