The Dispatch Carrier and Memoirs of Andersonville Prison Part 1

The Dispatch Carrier and Memoirs of Andersonville Prison.

by William N. Tyler.

PREFACE.

Books, as a general rule, have prefaces. I write a preface to this book, not because I think it necessary, but because it is customary. I did not keep a diary, and it may be that I have not given the right date every time, but there is nothing in this book but what is strictly true, and the most of it is my own personal experience and that of my comrades who partic.i.p.ated in my adventures while a soldier. The reason I do not give the names of my comrades is because they are scattered to the four quarters of the globe, and I do not know where they are except a few who live neighbors to me, and I have no right to use their names without their consent.

I will give a thrilling description of my experience as a dispatch carrier and finally my capture and imprisonment, escape and recapture, and will also give a complete description of being chased by blood hounds and other incidents too numerous to mention.

Yours Truly, THE AUTHOR.

Rapids City, Ills., 1892.

CHAPTER I.

At the outbreak of the Great Civil War in 1861, I was 23 years of age, a stout, healthy young man, not knowing what it was to have a sick day; had always worked on a farm and worked hard, too. In the latter part of April, news was received that Fort Sumter had been fired upon; everybody acted as if they were crazy; all wanted to enlist. I was one of the first to enlist in a three months' regiment, but that failed to go on account of not having arms, so I was forced to go back to my home, which was four miles south of Belvidere, Ill. In September, 1861, they started to get up a company of cavalry at Belvidere. I was one of the first to enlist in that, after which I was appointed sergeant. We were sent to Camp Douglas, Chicago. It did not take long to fill up our regiment, neither did it take long to get our horses and saddles ready; then we commenced to drill. What a time some of our men had; some had never driven a horse in their lives and there is where the fun comes in, especially after we had drawn our spurs. The next move after we had drawn our spurs and saddles was when Col. Brackett ordered the bugle to sound the call to fall in for drill. The whole regiment was on hand with their horses all saddled and bridled for a drill. You must remember that our horses were well fed and in the best condition; full of life and spirit. It was all some of us could do to make them keep their place in the ranks.

"Now," said the Colonel, "When I tell you to mount you must put your left foot in the stirrup and grasp the reins and the mane with your left hand, and at the word 'mount,' all mount together." "Mount" was the command. Well, we did make the effort to all mount together but you should have seen them; the horses started off in every direction, pell-mell over the field; some were dragged along on the ground with their feet in the stirrups, while others were on their horses all right, but the harder the horses ran, the harder they stuck in their spurs; one poor fellow let go all hold and grabbed the head and mane; stirrups flew in every direction and he went straight for the barn. Now our stables were all three hundred feet long; away went horse and rider, straight for the center of the barn; just as the horse got within four feet of the stable, it came to a sudden halt, but the rider went on with a crash through the side of the barn; he could not have made a cleaner hole if he had been shot out of a cannon. I must say he came out pretty lucky; of course he was bruised and stiff legged for a day or two but that was all. Some of the men got hurt very severely but it did not take long for us to find out that we had to keep our toes in and our heels out. We had not drawn any arms yet and all we had to mount guard with was simply a stick whittled out in shape of a sword. Our officers would not allow any one out unless they had a pa.s.s from the Colonel. The guards were placed around the camp to keep the men from going out but many nights did the boys run the guard. If by chance one of the men was out after sundown, the guard was supposed to keep him out or arrest him and turn him over to the sergeant of the guard, but this was generally the way it was done around Camp Douglas: Now, here comes some one who has stayed out after roll call; he comes straight up to the sentinel; the sentinel speaks first: "Who comes there?" now if the man has been out on permission, of course he has the countersign; then he will answer back "A friend with the countersign," then the sentinel will say, "Advance, friend, and give the countersign," and after giving it the sentinel then pa.s.ses him in, but let me tell you, we did not always go according to discipline while we were at Chicago. This is the way we had among ourselves: Now here comes one who has been out too late. "Halt!

who comes there?" "A friend with a canteen." "Advance and draw the stopple." The next thing you will see the sentinel look toward heaven, and hear a gurgling sound as of something going down his throat, then finally a pair of lips would smack. "The countersign is correct, you may pa.s.s in."

We had a great many ways of amusing ourselves, some played cards, some foot ball, some one thing and some another, but after all the time hung heavy on our hands for we were all anxious to get into active service.

The first of February, 1862, we got marching orders for St. Louis, Mo.

Our officers then gave us pa.s.ses to go home, it being our last chance before leaving for the field. I never shall forget that last visit: how my old mother, wife, and two little ones followed me to the train, how my blessed old mother put her arms around my neck and while the tears were running down those old wrinkled cheeks, called on G.o.d to bless her boy. Oh, that parting! how can we forget it, comrades? to pick up the little ones and give them one long last hug, good bye, wife, little ones, mother, and we were gone: yes, gone. The next thing was the shrill scream of the engine and we commenced to move slowly out of the depot.

The train was mostly loaded with soldiers, all leaving homes, going to fight for their country. There was no screaming or yelling, for they had just parted from their wives, mothers and homes, perhaps never to see them again.

Now just look over the coach of young soldiers in the first flush of manhood; can they all get back to their homes? No, reader, not three out of five.

On we went, every one of those young soldiers knew what they were going for; one could see by their sober, determined faces that they had weighed their chances and had given all for their country.

When we arrived at Chicago, we found everything in a great state of excitement. We were to embark our horses, equipments, and board the train for St. Louis. All was hurly burly; we had to blindfold our horses in order to get them on the train; finally, all was ready and away we went for St. Louis.

On the 16th of February, 1862, we started for Benton Barracks. At Alton, Ill., we boarded a steamboat for St. Louis; after arriving there we saddled our horses and took them off on the levee, mounted, and commenced our march through the city for Benton Barracks. The streets were lined with people and as the flag bearer unfurled our regimental flag, and as it floated out on the breeze, you could plainly read in large gold letters, "Ninth Illinois Cavalry." We could hear on every side, "What a splendid regiment!" I think I have every reason for being proud of my regiment; all were fine looking young men, fine horses, and as fine a Colonel as ever drew a saber. Col. Brackett was as true and brave an officer as ever wore soldier straps, as the reader will find out if he follows the pages of this true narrative.

As we marched through the streets of St. Louis some hurrahed for the Ninth Illinois Cavalry, while others cursed us to our faces and some yelled, "You won't sit so straight in those saddles when you get down South; you will find lots there that are only two by six." That meant we would find our graves. We paid no attention to their taunts but kept on up through the streets. While we were on Fourth street a woman thrust her head out of a window in the second story, and exclaimed, "Hurrah for the Ninth Illinois Cavalry and the girl I left behind me!" That set the boys all in good humor, and we arrived at Benton Barracks without any further adventure worthy of note.

The Barracks were somewhat in the shape of a square, only a good deal longer than it was wide. They were built to accommodate about fifty thousand troops. The parade ground covered one hundred acres, and the barracks were all around the parade grounds. I do not know just how many troops were there when we were, but should judge that there were about thirty thousand, all waiting for arms, as we had not drawn any as yet ourselves.

Our stables were just in the rear of our quarters, and about all we had to do was to take care of our horses and drill once a day. Sometimes some of our boys were a little quarrelsome, and if a man wanted to fight it did not take long for him to find someone who would accommodate him.

Our officers hardly ever interfered; they said it was better to let them fight it out than to be everlastingly quarreling, and it proved to be the best in the long run, for after we got into the field there was hardly ever any fighting among our own men.

Well, the 22d of February came around, Was.h.i.+ngton's birthday, and there was a grand parade of all the soldiers of Benton Barracks. Every soldier had to fall into line to march through the city of St. Louis. Now, reader, step out of the barracks and take a look up and down the long parade ground; first come the buglers, now the drummer and fifers, then the regimental bands, all playing at once; look at the soldiers coming out of the barracks; the parade ground is blue with them as far as the eye can reach, all taking their positions in the ranks. Bugles are sounding, drums, fifes and bands are playing. Then Col. Brackett comes up, "Prepare to Mount!" "Mount!" is the command, and the whole regiment is in saddles. "March," the regiment is in motion. Then Gen. Smith comes along in front of our regiment. "Well," said he, "I have seen some very fine looking regiments this morning but I must say that the 'Ninth Illinois Cavalry' takes the cake for fine appearance." Now, reader, do not blame us if we did straighten up a little more in our saddles and try to look more like soldiers.

Away we went; now look back and see the boys in blue coming; first cavalry and artillery, then infantry, bands playing and flags flying.

Oh, what a sight! On we go through the city, which has taken on a holiday garb. Every window is full of flags; every place of business shows the stars and stripes, and taking it altogether it was a beautiful sight. The 23d of February we drew our sabers and revolvers. We received marching orders for Pilot k.n.o.b, Mo., whither we started to the lower end of the city, and camped out on the levee. I shall never forget that night; the first night we had ever camped out. The piercing cold wind from the river with no tents to help break it, chilled us through; no wonder no one slept that night. The next morning we put our horses on the train and started for Pilot k.n.o.b. After arriving we went to camp in and around the place. It was a very mountainous country, one mountain after another as far as you could see. We divided off into squads, and every squad had their cooks appointed; we then came down to government rations, hard tack and pork, and you can bet it was hard tack and no mistake; you could scarcely break it with a hammer. We pitched our tents and went into camp life in dead earnest. The citizens told us that the Johnnies had just vacated the place and everybody was on the lookout the first night for an attack from the enemy. Out on the picket could be heard shot after shot, it being the first night, it kept the camp in a state of excitement. I do not think there was a rebel within forty miles of us; the pickets simply got frightened at the hogs that were running around through the brush. The hogs felt somewhat ashamed of the excitement, and after the first night, our regiment came right up to time and every soldier did his duty like a man.

CHAPTER II.

Well, we were in the field at last, and when we were not drilling or on duty, we were either writing to our friends, or climbing the mountains to see what there was to be seen. Up on Pilot k.n.o.b mountain there runs two tracks for the purpose of running the iron ore from the top of the mountain to the bottom where it was melted. The full cars coming down, drew up the empty ones. The mountain is very steep, fully a mile high.

Some of the boys of our company would get in the car at the top of the mountain, and get one or two of them in at the bottom, and then take off the brakes; away they came, while the others that got in at the bottom would shoot up like a sky-rocket. We were doing this one day when the ropes broke. If we had been shot out of a cannon we could hardly have gone much faster. Some went one way and some another. I looked down the mountain, where there was a large pond and as soon as I got the mud and dirt out of my eyes so I could see, the first thing my eyes rested on was two fellows fis.h.i.+ng themselves out of the pond. They got off the easiest of any of us, for they simply got a ducking, while the rest of us were all bruised up. The car that we were in did not go over one hundred feet before it busted into ten thousand pieces. We hobbled back to camp to mend our clothes, and came to the conclusion that if any of the rest of them wanted to ride they were welcome to it, for we had all we wanted.

By this time we had grown somewhat used to camp life; every soldier found out what was required of him. We soon got orders to march south.

We reached Black river after going over lofty mountains and through many small towns. It being about the 15th of March when we struck the river, it was bank full and the ice was running at a very rapid rate. As we came up to the river we stopped for a few moments to arrange our blankets to keep them from getting wet and then we plunged in, with Col.

Brackett taking the lead. "Come on, boys," was his command. We all arrived safely, but somewhat wet; our horses had to swim for about two hundred yards. The stream was about three hundred yards wide at this point. There was a Dutchman by the name of Sands. He saw a large cake of ice coming straight to him, and, knowing if his horse was struck it would drown, he slid off behind and grabbed the horse by the tail and came out all right. We came very near losing a number of our horses; they were completely chilled, but by perseverance we finally got them safe to land.

As soon as we were all over three of our companies were ordered to mount. The wind blew cold from the north and of course our clothes were wet clear through, but we were young and did not mind this.

About twenty miles from the place where we crossed was a mill where they ground grain and made flour for the surrounding inhabitants. Now at this mill the rebels were stationed; there were about eight hundred, all armed with double-barreled shotguns. Away we went and when we got within two miles of the Johnnies' camp we stopped to give our horses a rest, and then on we went like the wind. We soon came in sight of the mill; close to it was a bridge where a rebel guard was walking back and forth, with an old double-barreled shotgun on his shoulder. He was a good specimen of the southern soldier. He was nearly six feet high. On his head he wore a slouch hat, was dressed in his b.u.t.ternut suit and did not look as if he had been shaved for six weeks. The tobacco juice was running down each side of his cheeks, and as we rode up to him he looked up, s.h.i.+fted his tobacco from one check to the other and said, "Who is you'ns?" Our captain replied, "We are Yanks. Give up your gun; you are a prisoner now." "I'll be darned! If that don't beat all." He gave up his gun and was taken back to the rear and placed under guard--the first prisoner the Ninth Illinois Cavalry had captured.

About half a mile from the bridge was an open place in the timber, close to the river, and here the Johnnies were camped. They were just organizing and, of course, did not understand about discipline, consequently did not have any camp guard out. We formed a line of battle and charged right into their camp; some started for the timber, some jumped into the river and undertook to swim, and some few got away, but the most of them were captured. They were just in the act of getting supper; their camp kettles hung over the fires all along the camp. Well, now, let me tell you we were hungry and that supper just came in time, and of course we helped the Johnnies eat it. We captured six hundred prisoners, all their camp equipments, about four hundred double-barrelled shotguns and two hundred old muskets and rifles. We sent word back to camp for wagons and teams to haul what we had captured to camp; for the rebels only had two teams and they were as poor specimens as I ever saw.

The "Ninth" came out victorious, and I tell you we were proud; more than proud, for we had an idea that we could clean out the whole Confederacy, but we soon found out that the Johnnies could fight. We put a heavy guard around our prisoners that night and the next morning marched them back to camp.

This being early in the spring of 1862, of course we had not learned much discipline. We had not been in camp long before the camp-diarrhoea broke out; there were twenty-five or thirty deaths, but no wonder, for all we had to eat was hard tack, bacon and coffee. Most of the "ninth"

was made up of farmers, and they had been in the habit of having plenty of everything good to eat, and of course coming down to hard tack was pretty hard on us.

Our business while camping at this place was to forage for our horses, but to forage for ourselves was strictly forbidden. If our boys came in with chickens they had to give an account of how they got them and if they could make the officers believe they had bought them and paid good hard money, it was all right, but if they found out that the boys had stolen them, they would be severely punished. I remember one man who came in with a few potatoes, and as he could not give a straight account as to how he got them, he was forced to carry a rail that weighed 50 pounds for twenty-four hours; but this was in '62. They were not quite so strict in '63, '64 and '65; but you may depend that while the officers were watching us, we were always on the lookout for them.

One bright morning three companies of our regiment got orders to go on a foraging expedition, and I was one to go and I was very glad of it, for mounting guard and drilling began to grow old and anything new was hailed with delight. "Boots and saddles," was the call that rang out in silver notes from our bugles. Every man was in the saddle in an instant.

Finally the Major gave the command, "March," and we were in motion. The largest part of the command went in advance of the teams. I being a sergeant in my company, was ordered to take ten men to act as rear guards, and, of course, we were in the rear of the wagons, so we had a good opportunity to do a little foraging on our own hook. We wound around hills, forded creeks and finally came to a halt, about five miles from camp. The teams were still on the side hill and the main body of the men were in the valley below. Up to our right a short distance from the road was a small log cabin with a number of smaller buildings around it. Said I: "Boys, do you think there is any chance for getting anything to eat up there? Now, if someone will stay here and let me know when the command starts, we will go and see what's up there." The understanding between the soldier and teamster was that if the soldier got anything, and the teamster hid it for him in the wagons and took it to camp, they were to divide equally.

I took two men and up the side hill we went; rode up to the fences that surrounded the buildings and dismounted; one man held the horses while my comrade and I jumped over the fence and went up to the house. We rapped on the door, no answer; rapped again, no answer; pulled on the latch string and the door opened. There was no one there; everything lay in all sorts of confusion; chairs, pots and kettles all over the floor, just as if the people had been frightened away. We found nothing to eat there so we went out to the small buildings; opened one after another, but found them all empty except one, and that one had a large fat calf in it. Comrade Carlyle grabbed him by the neck, I got him by the tail and down the hill we went. We finally got him to the wagon, tied his feet together, and got him in just as the bugle sounded "boots and saddles." On we went, over hills and through valleys; for about five miles; nothing happened within this time only an occasional blat from our calf. We finally came to a large swamp through which our way led, and we forced one of the natives to pilot us through. Now, dear reader, understand that we were in Arkansas and it was not very thickly settled, so you see we had to go some distance from camp to forage.

Arkansas is almost an unbroken forest; hills and swamps, with no bridges to cross on. Understand that I am speaking of war times. After we got through the swamp we came to a beautiful island and here were two large plantations on which was plenty of corn. It was getting late so we went into camp for the night close to one of the farms. Now there were lots of hogs running around, and let me tell you everybody had fresh pork for supper. Some had chicken, and some turkeys; some had potatoes, and I saw one man that had a piece of corn bread with b.u.t.ter to put on it; let me tell you he was getting too high-toned for a soldier. The Major put out a strong guard that night but we were not disturbed. The next morning we loaded our wagons and after doing so, we started for camp. Every little while our calf would give an unearthly blat, and the Major would run back to look under the wagon and on both sides; finally he got back to the rear guard, and said he, "Sergeant, I have heard several times something like a calf bawling." "Well, Major, I'll be darned if I haven't heard it, too." The Major gave me one look and went back again.

Now for the benefit of the reader that does not understand our army wagons, I will explain them. They were all covered and we had part.i.tioned the back part of the wagon off to make room for our calf, so when the Major came back examining the wagon, all he could see was the front part of it and of course that was all full of corn. To say that he was mystified does not describe it, but when he got back to the front he told the Captain that some blasted fool of a soldier could blat like a calf. We got back to camp all right and as we had no place to put our corn we left it in the wagon and when it got dark we moved our hams to our mess tent and butchered our calf the next morning. Everybody had a good breakfast and the Major ate some of that calf and asked no questions.

CHAPTER III.

We stayed some two or three weeks at this place, then got orders to go further south. We arrived at Jacksonport, on White river, and went in camp again. The inhabitants, I might say the whole surrounding country, were the strongest kind of rebels; the town contained about five hundred inhabitants. Just above the town, probably half a mile, the Black and the White rivers came together and formed a junction, so the White river was navigable from Jacksonport to the Mississippi, which was 150 miles by river. About five miles back of Jacksonport is a swamp that commences at Black river and runs across the country for fifteen miles and empties into White river below the town, so Jacksonport and quite a strip of country was on an island. The reason I give this place such a thorough description is because some very interesting incidents happened here.

About fifteen miles above Jacksonport is a small town called St.

Charles, and in order to reach the place by the wagon road we had to cross an old rickety bridge, which was a good half mile in length. We got most of our forage in and around St. Charles. This part of Arkansas is more level but covered by a dense growth of timber. Our regiment had been thinned out some by sickness. We had about 800 fit for duty. Every morning you would see a long string going to the hospital tent to get their quinine. A great many of our boys when they got sick would give up. They did not find mother, sister or wife; no, they did not find home care, and were exposed to storms with nothing but a thin canvas to protect them. Then the sick soldier had no delicacies such as mother would have prepared him. He would hear nothing but rough words. Of course, the boys that waited on the sick did all they could for them, but at the best it was not home. As I said before, some would get sick and home-sick, too, and that kind of a soldier was almost sure to die.

When our boys went out foraging they would always bring back something for the sick comrades.

We had one young man in our regiment whom we called Jim. Now this young man does not live far from me to-day. The reason I do not give his name in full is because his wife does not wish to draw public attention to their family affairs. This young man Jim was always foraging for the sick boys. He would slip around the guards and be gone two or three days at one time. The next thing you knew some one would say, "Here comes Jim." Sure enough, here he comes loaded down with chickens, hams, sweet potatoes, b.u.t.ter, or anything that one could get in the country. Of course they would punish him severely, but that made no difference with Jim; as soon as he got loose he would give the guard the slip and away he would go again for something good to eat, which he generally found, and gave his sick comrades the lion's share of it. Jim started out one fine morning and as he got to the bridge told the sergeant of the guard that he had a pa.s.s to cross the bridge. He had written it himself, but the guard knew no difference so he let him go and on he went till he came to St. Charles. He rode up to a large plantation house, dismounted and tied his horse. Now, Jim was as fine a specimen of a man as one would wish to see; only eighteen years of age, blue eyes, light curly hair and a smile always on his face. As he went up the walk he saw a young lady sitting out on the porch sewing.