Chorus.—Tramp, tramp, tramp, the boys are marching,
Cheer up, comrades, they will come,
And beneath the starry flag, we shall breathe the air again,
Of the freeland, in our own beloved home.
In the battle front we stood, when their fiercest charge was made,
And they swept us off, a hundred men or more,
But before we reached their lines, they were driven back dismayed,
And we heard the shout of victory o’er and o’er.
Chorus.—Tramp, tramp, etc.
So within the prison pen, we are waiting for the day,
That shall come and open wide the iron door,
And the hollow eye grows bright, and the poor heart almost gay,
As we think of seeing friends and home once more.
Then there was another, the chorus of which I can only remember, that the boys used to sing. The chorus was this:
Hurrah, boys, hurrah! Shout glory and sing;
For the rebels look sad and forsaken.
Our glorious old eagle is still on the wing,
And Vicksburg is taken, boys, taken.
Among the beautiful singers who were in the habit of entertaining us, I distinctly remember Capt. Palmer, who had a good voice, and to whose singing I was delighted to listen. I do not know to what regiment he belonged, but I do know that he afforded me a great amount of pleasure by his sweet songs.
Not being much of a singer myself, I nevertheless enjoy listening to others, and as I once heard a noted preacher say, it depends as much on a good listener as a good talker to have an enjoyable meeting, I thought that I contributed as much as any one towards the entertainments.
Whenever there was any singing going on, there was always a good audience of appreciative listeners, and among eighteen hundred officers, I need not say there was plenty of talent to select from, and these evening entertainments were a source of great enjoyment to all, even though the same songs were sung over and over again by the same persons.
CHAPTER IX.
FRESH FISH—ARRIVAL OF COL. MILLER—DEATH OF LIEUT. WOOD, 82ND INDIANA—MORE FRESH FISH.
Upon the arrival of new prisoners at the gate of the stockade, there would be a cry raised throughout the camp, commencing near the entrance, and spreading rapidly to the farthest extremity of the enclosure, of “fresh fish! fresh fish!!” It was like the alarm of fire in a city, and quickly collected a crowd, and as the numbers increased, the din became more deafening, and to the new comer who did not know what it meant, perfectly appalling.
I have seen prisoners come in who looked perfectly bewildered as they gazed upon the mob of ragged, shoeless, hatless, unshaven, long-haired, howling beings who confronted them, looking more like escaped lunatics than officers; when some one back in the crowd would sing out, give the gentleman air, don’t take his haversack, keep your hands out of his pocket, don’t put that louse on him, why don’t some of you fellows take the gentleman’s baggage, and show him to his room, Johnny show the gentleman up to No. 13. I remember especially, the look of perfect bewilderment on the face of Col. Frank C. Miller, of the 147th New York, as he stood at the entrance of the enclosure, and the look of joyful relief as I called out, hello Frank, come over here, and he recognized an old and intimate friend. And he told me afterwards, that he never in his life was so pleased to see any one as he was to see me just at that moment, for, said he, I thought they were putting me into a lunatic asylum.
FRESH FISH.
A stinging rebuke was given by, I think it was Gen. Schaler, who said to his escort, loud enough to be heard by all: “I thought I was going to be put in an officer’s prison.” This practice was mostly confined to the old Libby prisoners, who had, some of them, been confined for more than a year, and had, in a measure, become demoralized; for I do not believe there can be anything more demoralizing than the sufferings, privations, and hardships endured by our prisoners; and I wish to say right here, that to Chaplain Dixon, of the 16th Connecticut, and Chaplain White of the 5th R. I. Heavy Artillery, the officers owe a debt of gratitude for the faithfulness with which they performed their christian duties. They were both earnest christian workers, zealous in the cause of the Master, anxious for the eternal welfare of the souls of those who were placed in their keeping, and fearless in the discharge of the duties devolving upon them as embassadors for Christ. While all did not profit by their earnest exhortations, there were few who were not benefitted by their presence and faithful counsels, and all held them in high respect and admiration for their christian qualities. Speaking of Col. Miller’s entrance into Macon, as soon as the crowd saw that he had found an old friend, they gave way and I escorted him to our quarters, where I went to work, and soon had the satisfaction of seeing him happy in the enjoyment of a good breakfast. I cooked a couple of eggs, with a small piece of bacon, and fried a few sliced potatoes, which, with a biscuit, made what we called an elegant meal. The Colonel was busy talking and eating when, looking up, he said, as he helped himself to the last egg and biscuit, “By George, Lon, they give you good rations here, don’t they?”
“Good rations!” said I, “good rations! why, Frank how much do you think this breakfast cost?”
“Why, I don’t know, I supposed you drew this for rations.”
“Well,” said I, “this meal cost just about eleven dollars. All the rations you draw for two days, wouldn’t make such a meal as this.”
Colonel Miller, who had been a near neighbor and associate of mine long before the war broke out, received a severe wound in the chest by a minnie ball, at the Battle of the Wilderness, and was reported dead and was mourned as such by his family for a long time, but was rescued from the flames that broke out, after the battle, and taken a prisoner to Salisbury, and placed in the hospital there, whence he was removed when convalescent, to Macon. He soon found the Adjutant of his regiment, Lieutenant H. H. Lyman, who gave him a place in his quarters, and they afterwards remained together.
On the 23d of May, Lieutenant Wood, 82nd Indiana, died in the hospital, just outside the stockade, and was buried the next day at 1.30 p. m. Chaplain White being allowed to hold the funeral service, a number of us offered to give our parole to attend the funeral, but our request was denied. On the same day one hundred and eleven fresh fish were brought in, among whom were Brigadier Generals Seymour and Schaler. That night about ten o’clock a tremendous storm came up, which drowned out all who had not built themselves sheds, and the main building, where were quartered the general officers, etc., was crowded with those driven from their quarters by the drenching rain. This main building as it was called, was a large hall, that had been built for the display of goods during the fair, which had heretofore been held on these grounds, and was the only building in the stockade that was clapboarded and shingled, and with the exception of an old tumble down affair on the opposite side, east, was the only building in the enclosure when we took possession.
Having built myself a shelter on the first day I entered the stockade, I was all right; but those who had burrowed for shelter were driven out like rats from a flooded cellar, and were obliged to seek shelter in the large hall from the pitiless storm. There was not room for all, and those who could not crowd in there had to rough it out as best they could. On the 25th of May, I first met Adjutant H. H. Lyman, of the 147th New York, from whom I learned that Col. Miller was wounded and a prisoner.
About this time, they brought us in lumber, pine poles and nails, to build ourselves some sheds, and all went to work on the construction. I belonged to No. 9 squad, and on the 27th of May, our lumber and other materials