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Sergeant Oats, Prison Life in Dixie: giving a short history of the inhuman and barbarous treatment of our soldiers by rebel authorities, Chapter 7: wrecked. (search)
a. For two weeks, we Western troops had been full of feverish excitement. That long ago we had read in the Atlanta paper that Sherman had raised the siege, and had fallen back across the Chattahoochee. Every day we begged for more news. The Quartermaster told us that their picket's had been advanced to the river, and Sherman was certainly gone. Scouts had been across, and reported no large body of troops this side of the Kenesaw mountains, and Sherman was doubtless in full retreat on Chattanooga. What could it mean? The rebels evidently believed it, and were rejoicing; we didn't-we wouldn't. Still, we were excited; we felt sure that Old Billy was playing a deep game, but we wanted to see him rake the pot. Then came four or five days of oppressive silence — no news of any kind. We were sure something was being done. But what? How restless and eager we became! One night the nine o'clock call was started, and ran three posts as usual; but the next was called: P-o-
Sergeant Oats, Prison Life in Dixie: giving a short history of the inhuman and barbarous treatment of our soldiers by rebel authorities, Chapter 12: wanted-a shirt. (search)
the Johnnies in those days, sanguin. Tell the Temperance Reformer to go on with his crusade. May God speed him in his efforts. He is right — it was vile stuff. Our host knew it, but he apologized by saying that the accursed Yankee blockade had cut off his supply of old Kentucky Bourbon, and he offered us the best he had. He then led us and our guard out to breakfast. It had been a long, long time since Tom or I had sat at table with ladies. Even in our lines, in campaign from Chattanooga to Atlanta, we had no such privileges. As we entered the dining room the host gave us some sort of a general introduction to three ladies-his wife and daughters. It is fashionable for men to accuse the other sex of vanity; but we have our full share. When I looked across the table at those well-dressed ladies, and down at my tattered pants, and swollen, discolored feet, I felt bashful and awkward; and as I drew my blouse more closely about my neck and breast, the desire for giddy disp
Sergeant Oats, Prison Life in Dixie: giving a short history of the inhuman and barbarous treatment of our soldiers by rebel authorities, Chapter 14: camp Lawton. (search)
n exception. About two hundred prisoners, captured by Hood at Atlanta, Georgia, were being forwarded to prison by way of Columbus. When they arrived, our jailer was ordered to put us with them. We were taken out of jail in the evening, and put with the other prisoners, who were corralled on a vacant lot and closely guarded. The next morning we were loaded on a train of flat cars and taken to Macon. Tom was feeling well, and my feet were in a fair way to recover. Hood was about Chattanooga, so we decided that if we run that night we would jump off, and aim to go straight to Atlanta. The reader may try to imagine our disappoint when, instead of going on, they took us off the cars at Macon, and again put us in camp. We saw that they did not intend to travel by night, so we tried to think of some way to run the guard. We were put in a place that had a high, tight board fence on three sides of it; on the fourth ran the Ocmulgee river. The guards walked around inside of t