Cold Cheer in Camp Morton - Century Magazine, April 1891

The following article titled "Cold Cheer in Camp Morton," by Dr. John A Wyeth,
appeared in the April 1891 Century Monthly Magazine.

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	COLD CHEER AT CAMP MORTON


		WAS captured by a squadron of Ohio cavalry on Wal- den's Ridge, near Chatta- nooga, October 5, 1863, and was exchanged in front of Richmond, Va., March 1, 1865. When made a	securely guarded. It was so very dirty that I objected to spending a night in such an atmo- sphere, and asked him to allow us to sleep in the open air, notwithstanding we were with- out blankets. My objection was overruled by an argument which was unanswerable. "Young man," he said, "Jesus Christ was born in a stable, and I guess you can stand it for one night." As soon as it was dark one of the three guards detailed to watch us said, "Boys, if you will give us your word of honor that you won't try to get away, you can come out and sit around the fire with us." We did this, and spent the night chatting with these true soldiers until, overcome with fatigue, we fell asleep. Several years after the war, in Jack- sonville, Ill., I called upon one of these men to show my appreciation of his treatment of myself and comrades. They were then un- tried soldiers, having never been engaged in battle, but I was not surprised to hear of their splendid record achieved in the campaign from Missionary Ridge to Atlanta. It was the general verdict in prison that at the front, where the brave men were, a prisoner was treated with the consideration due one man from another. We did not often find such soldiers doing guard duty around a military prison. On October 7 we started for Stevenson, Ala., going by wagon down Sequatchie Val- ley. For the greater part of this day we trav- eled over the road where we had the running fight four days before. For ten or fifteen miles the way, here and there, was obstructed by wagons partly burned, some of them still smoldering. In places detours had to be made to get at a respectful distance from ammunition wagons whose places were readily revealed by the occasional explosion of shells or cartridges. The air was full of the sickening smell of dead animals. With this train of more than two hundred wagons we had captured about one thousand mules and horses, and, not being able to carry them away, had, by orders of our commander, destroyed them. On this day an amusing incident occurred. sympathy for a foe in distress. The Texan asserted his claim by saying, "Take off your boots." The pris- oner took the boot from the sound foot and gave it to him, but requested that on account of the wound in the other foot his captor would split the leather so that it might be removed without pain. The only reply was, " I'11 be —— if I spoil that boot"; and he pulled it off vi et armis.

prisoner I was a private soldier in Company I of the 4th Alabama Cavalry, known as "Russell's Regiment." As soon as I was disarmed my captors pro- ceeded to divest me of the slender stock of personal effects I possessed, such as knife, pocketbook, blanket, and oil-cloth. Two com- rades taken at the same time were put through a similar process, but as they had surrendered without resistance, they escaped some forcible epithets which were addressed to me by one of our captors, a sergeant. Under the excitement of the moment I think he was excusable, for I had come within an ace of shooting him only a minute before. Nor was there any surprise at being deprived of one's effects, because at this period of the war it was a pretty general prac- tice to consider everything your prisoner had as your property, even to an interchange of clothing when the best of the bargain was on the side of the captor.¹ On this occasion, however, we did not ex- change clothing, but kept our slim and ragged wardrobe of jacket and trousers, and one change of undergarments. We marched un- der guard into Sequatchie Valley, where at dusk we were turned over to the 10th Illinois Infantry. By a coincidence, almost strange, the soldiers who stood guard over us this first night of our captivity belonged to a company of which my own cousin Avas commander — Captain Thomas Smith, of Jacksonville, Ill. The men of this company treated us with great kindness. They were on very short ra- tions, for we had destroyed their train only three days before, yet they cheerfully and gen- erously divided their slender supply with us. An officer— I was informed that he was adju- tant of this regiment — ordered us to be placed in a stable near by where we could be more ¹ In one instance, which I shall never forget, this enforced swapping was carried to a cruel extreme. After one of our charges at the battle of Chickamauga, in which the Federal cavalry were driven from the field, a number of prisoners were taken, among these an officer who had on a splendid pair of Wellington boots. He had met with a double misfortune in being shot through the foot and captured by a man who had no



	COLD CHEER AT CAMP MORTON.
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As our wagon stopped for the guard to speak with a group of Federal soldiers one of these addressed me, saying, "Hello, we 've got you this time!" I recognized in him a man I had captured three or four days before, under the following circumstances. Having been dis- mounted in the fight of October 2, and cut off from my command by a squadron of Federal cavalry, which came upon us unexpectedly, I, with three comrades, escaped capture by scram- bling up the cliffs of Walden's Ridge. Here we spent the remainder of that day and night, nearly famished for water, the desire for which was not made less extreme by hearing, every time we were awakened, the sound of water rushing over a mill-tail at the foot of the moun- tain. At daylight we concluded to descend to the mill to get water and try to find something to eat. From the mill I followed a footpath which led up to a double log cabin. It was near sunrise, and as I reached the open door a soldier in blue uniform appeared at another door opposite my position. Covering him with my army six-shooter I requested him to sur- render, which he did, seeing he could not reach his gun, which was standing against the fire- place, at one end of the room. After I had secured his Springfield and cartridges, he asked me what I was going to do with him, and informed me that he had taken refuge in this house during the capture of the train. I told him he was free to go where he pleased, said good-bye to him, and rejoined my comrades. On the day after this we were taken, and by		a strange coincidence my former prisoner and I again met. We were confined at Stevenson, Ala., for sev- eral days, meeting with kind treatment; thence we were taken to Nashville, where we spent several very weary days in the State peniten- tiary, being forced to associate with a miserable lot of Union deserters, bounty-jumpers, and criminals of various sorts, most of whom had a ball and chain attached to the leg. I was con- fined in a narrow stone cell which was damp and chilly, and, being without blankets, bed- ding, or heat, was uncomfortable enough. By way of Louisville we traveled to In- dianapolis, arriving in the prison grounds at Camp Morton about ten o'clock at night, where, no provision having been made for us, we slept, or tried to sleep, through the cold night, in the open air and upon the ground. During the night I was seized with a vio- lent chill, which lasted for several hours, the prelude to an attack of pneumonia, from the effects of which I did not recover for many years. As soon as it was day a comrade begged the officer in charge that I be taken to the hos- pital, or given shelter. The few tents used as hospitals were all full, and the answer came back that there was no room, but that I should have the first vacancy. The vacancy occurred, as the hospital steward afterward informed me, at 2 P. M., and I was in the dead man's bed an hour later. I found myself in kind hands, and under the direction of a physician to whom I shall ever be grateful. During my prison life,



	846 COLD CHEER AT CAMP MORTON.



		"HELLO, WE ' VE GOT YOU THIS TIME!"

broken down in health by exposure and hun- ger, and by this illness, I spent several months in the hospital at Camp Morion, and bear wit- ness to the conscientious attention and kindly treatment accorded to myself and comrades by the physicians and hospital authorities. It is true that in 1863, and as late as the summer of 1864, the facilities for treating the sick were wholly inadequate, and many deaths were doubtless due to this failure to provide the necessary quarters; but later on some wooden pavilions with plastered walls and ceilings were erected, and by the fall of 1864 these were increased to a number and capacity equal to all ordinary requirements. Camp Morton, the military prison, was, in 1863, a plot of ground formerly used as a fair-ground, in shape a parallelogram, con- taining, as well as I could estimate, about twenty acres of land, inclosed by a plank wall about twenty feet high. In its long axis this plot was bisected by a little rivulet, which the prisoners christened the "Potomac." On each side of this branch the barracks were situated. These barracks had been erected as cattle sheds and stables : they were about twenty feet wide, in height ten feet to the eaves, fifteen feet to the middle of the roof, and eighty feet long. The sides were of weather-boards ten to twelve inches wide, set on end and presumably touch- ing one another, and covered with strips when first put up. When they served as shelter for
			us, however, the planks had shrunk, and many of the strips had disappeared, leaving wide cracks, through which the winds whistled and the rain and snow beat in upon us. I have often seen my top blanket white with snow when we were hustled out for morning roll- call. The roof was of shingles and did not leak. Along the comb an open space about a foot wide extended the entire length of the shed. The earth served as floor, and the en- trance was through a large barn door at each end. Along each side of this shelter, extending seven feet towards the center, were constructed four tiers of bunks, the lowest about one foot from the ground, the second three feet above this, the third three feet higher, while the fourth tier was on a level with the eaves. Upon these long shelves, not partitioned off, the prisoners slept, or lay down, heads to the wall, feet to- wards the center or passageway. About two feet of space was allotted to each man, making about 320 men housed in each shed. As we had no straw for bedding, and as each man was allowed only one blanket, there was little com- fort to be had in our bunks until our miseries were forgotten in sleep. The scarcity of blankets forced us to huddle together in cold weather, usually three in a group, with one blanket be- tween us and the planks, and the other two to cover us with. The custom was to take turns in occupying the middle place; but, on account of rny small stature and boyish appearance, I

COLD CHEER AT CAMP MORTON.

847

was allowed to sleep in the middle all the time.
The only attempt at h eating this open shed (Bar-
racks No. 4) was by means of four stoves placed
at equal distances along the passageway, and
only the strong man who could push or fight
his way to the stove, and then have muscle
enough to maintain his position, enjoyed the
luxury of artificial warmth. Up to Christmas
of 1864 I had not felt the heat from the stove.
To men the greater number of whom had
never been in a cold climate the suffering was
intense when with such surroundings the mer-
cury was near zero. A number were frozen to
death, and many more perished from disease
brought on by exposure, added to their con-
dition of emaciation from lack of food. I
counted eighteen bodies carried into the dead-
house one morning after an intensely cold night.
During these very cold spells it was our habit
to sleep in larger groups or " squads," so that
by combining blankets and body heat the cold
could be better combated. Another practice
was, just at sundown, when we were forced
to " go to bed," to dip the top blanket in water,
wring it out fairly dry, so that, being thus made
more impermeable, it would regain the warmth
generated by the body. Lots were drawn for
position, and woe to the unfortunate end men,
who, although captains of the squad for the
night, paid dearly for their honors in having
to shiver through the weary hours. And yet
all this was not without a strong suggestion of
the grotesque. The squad or file of men slept
"spoon fashion."

gust of the other, whose back by the change
was once more turned on a cold world. Of
course it was only in the winter months
that we had such intense cold, but no one
can imagine how long these days and nights
seemed unless he has gone through this
experience. The two winters I passed in Camp
Morton were the worst I have experienced,
although I had no means of recording the
depths to which the mercury descended.

When the bugle sounded, between daylight
and sunrise, we gladly tumbled out for roll-
call, for we were tired of our hard berths, in
which we were compelled to remain from
sunset until daylight. Our toilet, which in
winter consisted of putting on our hats (we
slept in our shoes and clothes), was soon over,
and we were in line to answer to our names.
If all were " present, or accounted for," we
were soon dismissed, and each man's first move
was to get something to eat.

At no period of my imprisonment was the
ration issued sufficient to satisfy hunger. It
seemed strange that human beings were actu-
ally starving to death in a country rich in the
necessaries of life, yet I was reduced to such
straits that I gladly paid fifteen cents for a
single ear of corn, and this in sight of fields of
this grain, not worth,outside the prison walls,
one dollar a bushel. During the first four or
five months of our life at Camp Morton pris-
oners who could obtain money from friends
outside were allowed to purchase certain arti-

No one was al-
lowed to rest flat
on the back, for
this took up too
much room for
the width of the
blankets. The nar-
rower the bulk to
he covered, the
thicker the blanket
on top. At inter-
vals all through
these intensely
cold nights, above
the shivering
groans of the un-
happy prisoners
could be heard the
order of the end
men, " Boys,
spoon ! " and, as if
on parade, they
would flop over
upon the other
side, to the gratifi-

cation of one end
man and the dis-

SELLING BREAD.

COLD CHEER AT CAMP MORTON.

duty it was forcibly

to prevent these
men from mak-
ing hogs of them-
selves and bring-
ing shame unjustly
upon their com-
rades by such un-
manly practices.
We even went so
far as to inflict
bodily chastise-
ment upon several
who persisted in
feeding on this
filthy refuse, and
on one occasion
we ducked an
offender head fore-
most in the swill-
barrel.

The entire ration
for one day was not
enough for a single
meal. The more
improvident de-
voured their scanty
loaf of bread as
soon as it was is-
sued, and usually
the bread came in
first. I have often

A BREAK FOR LIBERTY

seen great crowds of prisoners watch-
ing for the opening of the gate and the ar-
rival of the bread-wagon, shouting piteously,
"Bread, bread!" and when it came their
shouts would rend the air. The small piece
of meat was in like manner eaten when re-
ceived, and then there was nothing to do but
suffer and wait until the next day. The more
sensible men restrained their appetites until
the entire ration was received, and then di-
vided it into two portions, for a morning and
an afternoon meal. The mess to which I be-
longed was composed of seven men. A ration
of meat for the entire mess was received and
divided into seven portions, so equally distrib-
uted that each member expressed himself as
entirely satisfied before lots were drawn. Then,
in order to prevent partiality, one member
turned his back, and as the chief of the mess
touched one portion with, "Who gets this?"
the arbiter would call the name of the person
to whom it was allotted. There was no appeal
from this decision.

As a rule vegetables were not issued to the
men directly, a pint of vegetable soup being
given instead as soon as morning roll-call was
over.

For the last year in Camp Morton, although

cles from the prison sutler, tickets, worthless
except with this man, being issued to the pris-
oners in return for greenbacks placed to their
credit at headquarters. Although the prices
paid were outrageously high, we never ceased
to regret the order which closed this source
of supply.

I know from personal observation that many
of my comrades died from starvation. Day
after day it was easy to observe the progress
of emaciation, until they became so weak that
when attacked with an illness which a well-
nourished man would easily have resisted and
recovered from they rapidly succumbed. One
feature of this miserable process of starvation
by degrees, far sadder than death itself, was
the moral degradation to which many of the
prisoners sank. Beings who had proved them-
selves men in the trials of battle, who had
borne reputations for honesty and soldierly
conduct, not only practised stealing from their
comrades, but so far forgot their manhood as
to feed like hogs upon the refuse material
thrown into the swill-tubs from the hospital
kitchen, and even went farther in degradation
than I can describe on this page. I was
an active member of a committee whose



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			849

I could command all the money I wanted, I could not use it, since I was not allowed to purchase food; and when at last I was ex- changed I was so broken down that I could walk only a short distance without resting, and so emaciated that I was not recognized by my mother and sisters when I reached them in their refugee home in Georgia in March, 1865. Moreover we had no way of letting those ready and willing to send us food know of our wants. Every line written was scanned by the camp post-office department, and a letter containing any suggestion of lack of food, or of maltreatment, was destroyed. For a short time I acted as "camp messenger" at headquarters, and while there I witnessed the method of "going through the mail." The postman would come in from the prison bar- racks with a pile of unsealed letters collected from the various barracks. These would be placed upon a table in the headquarters building, and several attaches would imme- diately begin to search them. Many of the letters would contain little pieces of jewelry,— rings, breastpins, etc., made by the prisoners and sent by mail to friends,—and such of these as were suited to the tastes of the searchers were appropriated. On one occasion I saw a clerk take a ring from my own letter, addressed to my uncle, a major in the Union army. Of course men in such wretched surround- ings were always on the alert to escape, and many took desperate, and some fatal, chances to gain their liberty. The prison wall was so high, the sentries so close together, and the approach so well lighted, that an attempt to scale the parapet was virtually inviting death; and yet a number took this risk. In 1863 and early in 1864 there was no ditch between the prison yard and the wall. The wall was about twenty feet high and of smooth surface. The sentries were above and so concealed that only their heads and shoulders could be seen; and at night strong lights with reflectors were so placed that, while the yard was well illumi- nated, the sentries and walls could with diffi- culty be distinguished. Later on we were forced to dig a ditch sixteen feet wide and ten feet deep to prevent ourselves from escaping. The first attempt at escape I witnessed was, I think, in January, 1864. A daring young Texan about twenty years of age, who was captured when I was and had been brought to prison with me, quietly remarked, one evening after we had gone to bed, "Boys, I am going to go over the fence, or die in the attempt. If I am killed, write to my folks and let them know how I died." He took down from his berth, where it had been concealed, a slender ladder, made by tying fragments of planks together with twine and twisted cloth-		ing, and started towards the door of the shanty. Despite the snow which was falling, he was able to observe the movements of the sentries just opposite his position, and only about seventy yards distant. As these two guards, having approached each other in their beat, turned their backs and marched away until they were about a hundred and fifty feet apart, he rushed to the wall, placed his ladder against it, and in another moment was over the fence and free. The sentries did not see him, and the ladder was not discovered until daylight. In a few weeks we had a letter which, although not signed by his real name, informed us that he was in Kentucky making his way to "Dixie." Soon after, encouraged by this success, seven men, about nine o'clock at night, made a rush together to scale the wall. Two were killed, one wounded, and four captured. These four brave fellows were tied up, their backs to a tree, the rope lashed to the wrists and arms at full length above their heads, all through the remainder of the night. I saw them taken down the next morning in a most pitiable condition of exhaus- tion, their hands blue with stagnated blood, and showing deep furrows where the rope had buried itself in the skin of the arms and wrists. But this disaster did not deter other efforts, even after the great ditch was made. One of the most daring and successful attempts fol- lowed. Between thirty and forty picked men quietly organized themselves, selected their leaders, and agreed upon a plan. Ladders were hastily constructed by splicing bits of plank, taken from the berths, with strips of blankets and clothing. Armed with stones, pieces of wood, and bottles filled with water, just as the bugle sounded to bed, and before the patrol had reached the prison yard, they rushed in a solid body towards the fence, overturned a privy-shed into the ditch, which filled it and served as a bridge, over which they swarmed, and placed their ladders against the fence, while some pelted the sentries with stones. One gun was fired without effect, and one cap exploded without igniting the charge. The guards ran away, and the entire assaulting party gained the outside. Some few were recap- tured the next day, but the majority reached Canada or the South. Other methods of running the gantlet were tried by the detail composed of prisoners selected to accompany the garbage wagons to some distant point outside the walls, where they were unloaded. On one of these occa- sions five prisoners, at a preconcerted signal, seized the two guards, disarmed them, and es- caped. At another time one member of the detail broke away and was killed. On one occasion two men who did not attempt to es- cape were mortally wounded by a ball fired



		COLD CHEER AT CAMP MORTON.
	850


by a guard from behind, the assassin doing his work so well that the same ball passed through both bodies. I staid by one of these men as he was dying and heard him solemnly assert, in the presence of death, that he had made no attempt to escape, and that he and his comrade had been deliberately murdered. On several occasions shots were fired into the barracks at night. In Barracks No. 7 a prisoner was severely wounded while asleep, and in the "Louisiana" barracks a Creole while sound asleep was shot through the pelvis. He died in the same ward in the hospital where I was ill. The depth of the ditch around the prison made tunneling exceedingly difficult and la- borious. I think only one successful escape was made in this manner, and this was followed by a cowardly murder. On the night of its com- pletion several prisoners escaped. The next night others, foolishly hoping the outlet had not been discovered, essayed the same route, and as the leader stuck his head out, the guard, standing at the hole, placed a gun against his head and blew the unfortunate man's brains out. Those behind him in the tunnel lost no time in crawfishing back into the prison. I was interested in two tunnels, one of which had to be abandoned on account of filling with water. The other was completed, but on the day preceding the night we were to cut it through on the outside an informer laid our scheme open to the guards, and received the usual reward for such conduct in being taken within the protection of headquarters and re- ceiving comfortable quarters and plenty of food. During the summer of 1864 the barracks became so crowded by the influx of new pris- oners ("fresh fish") that several rows of tents were placed between Barracks No. 4 and the fence. Our long tunnel was begun in one of these, about two hundred feet from the prison wall, the opening being covered over with blankets. There were sixteen men in the secret, and they worked in regular details. A shaft about ten feet deep was sunk, and two feet from the bottom of this the tunnel started, running level with the surface of the ground until the ditch was reached, where it dipped down to avoid opening into this. One man worked in the tunnel, cutting the loose earth with a case-knife and then using his hands to fill a sack at his side. This sack was attached to the middle of a cord, and when full a slight pull on the string was the signal for the man at the opening to haul the bag out. This was emptied, and the digger would pull in his end of the string until the sack was again at his side. On account of frequent inspection by the patrol, it was impossible to conceal any large quantity of fresh earth, and it became neces- sary to dispose of it every day. Whenever the
			picket on duty signaled that the patrol was approaching, blankets were thrown over the loose earth and the orifice of the tunnel, and the men would lie down upon these, either feigning to be asleep or innocently playing cards. Towards sunset, and just before we were corraled for the night, the earth was disposed of in the following manner. Each man would tuck his trousers into the legs of his socks, then fill the trousers from above with as much loose earth as he could waddle with, button his breeches up, and make for the "Potomac." Across this useful little branch planks were placed, over which we passed, to visit the various barracks on the other side. When a dirt-carrier reached the middle of the plank unobserved he would give his trousers legs a sudden pull upwards, thus disengaging these from the stockings, allowing the dirt to dump itself into the little stream, the rapid current of which soon obliterated all traces of his of- fense. Of course this was slow work. We be- gan in June and it was September before we were ready to cut through. On this day our Judas Iscariot was not wanting. Early in the morning we missed one of our party. Upon searching for him he was found within the guard lines at headquarters, where he remained to the end of the war. The experience of the other tunnel, which was so fatal to the poor fel- low who tried to escape, was not forgotten, for we knew they were ready for us on the outside. Fortunately for us we were not punished. But worse than death, or the dangers in- curred by efforts at escape, or even than the slow process of starvation, from which we were suffering, were the unnecessary and cruel in- dignities to which prisoners were often sub- jected. I speak only of those acts of which I was personally cognizant, and of course these form but a small proportion. The non-commissioned officers in charge of the prison patrol were chiefly to blame. I saw one Baker (every prisoner at Camp Morton., up to the time of this cruel man's death, will recall the name) shoot a prisoner for leaving the ranks—after roll-call was ended, but before "Break ranks" was commanded—to warm himself at a fire only a few feet distant from the line. He did not even order the man back to the ranks, but calmly drew his pistol, say- ing with profanity, "I'11 show you how to leave ranks before you are dismissed," and deliberately shot him. For no offense, other than his handsome and soldierly bearing, a prisoner (Scott) of the famous Black Horse Cavalry was by this same Baker and his patrol brutally maltreated and beaten, his hair forcibly clipped off, the tail of his coat cut or torn away, his hands tied be- hind his back, and himself kept at "marking



	COLD CHEER AT CAMP MORTON.
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			851

time" for several hours to the great amuse- ment of his tormentors. I knew Scott well, and witnessed this attempt at his humiliation. On various occasions I saw prisoners beaten with sticks for no other provocation than that they would not move quickly to get out of the way, or cease talking when an officer or one of the patrol was passing. On one such occasion an officer seized a stick of fire-wood and knocked down two men, striking them on the head and leaving them unconscious. At night, whether winter or summer, no pris- oner, when obliged to go to the sink, which was more than one hundred yards distant, was permitted to wear a full suit of clothes. He must leave trousers or coat behind. Two men from my barracks on one intensely cold night infringed upon this rule, trying to protect themselves by putting on coat and trousers. They were detected, and while the patrol shel- tered themselves by the barracks, these poor fellows were compelled to mark time in the deep snow for more than an hour. One of these men was frost-bitten, and lost both feet from gangrene as the result of this exposure. He was one of the first draft of five hundred invalids sent for exchange in February, 1865, and died from the effects of this inhuman pun- ishment on the train just west of Cumberland, Maryland, on the way to Baltimore and Ai- ken's Landing. I helped to bury him at a point on the Baltimore and Ohio road where our train was delayed for several hours. It was a favorite sport to beat prisoners, going to and from the sinks at night, with their heavy rub- ber cloths rolled up like a club. Such cruelties practised upon helpless men go to prove that the true soldiers were mostly at the front, for none but a coward would mal- treat a prisoner, though an enemy. With little to do, except to try to get some- thing to eat, and keep from being eaten by vermin, the hours and days were necessarily long and weary. Men rarely talked of any sub- jects to the exclusion of a "square meal," and the hope of an exchange, which meant—home. All the rats which could be caught were eaten, and woe to the dog which ventured on our ¹ By an order dated June I, 1864, the daily ration for Northern prisons was fixed as follows: Pork or bacon, 10 ounces (or fresh beef, 14 ounces); flour or soft bread, 16 ounces (or 14 ounces of hard bread, or 16 ounces of corn meal). To every 100 rations : beans or peas, 12^l/2 pounds; rice or hominy, 8 pounds; soap, 4 pounds; vinegar, 3 quarts; salt, 3 3/4 pounds; potatoes, 15 pounds. Every other day the sick and wounded were to have 12 pounds of sugar, 5 pounds of ground or 7 pounds of green coffee (or one pound of tea) to every l00 rations. The difference be- tween the cost of the above rations and the regular rations of Union troops in the field was credited to a "prison fund" for the purchase of articles "necessary to the health and proper condition of the prisoners." The cost of the regular ration to prisoners was esti-
		territory. One fat canine was captured by my messmates and was considered a "feast." It was boiled and then baked. I was invited to the "dinner," and although the scent of the cooking meat was tempting I could not so far overcome my repugnance to this animal, as an article of diet, as to taste it. Those who ate it expressed themselves as delighted.¹ Work for each other, barter or trade, all meant a bit of bread or a piece of tobacco. The staples of prison commerce were bread, crackers, bones, and bone butter. The only currency was tobacco, which it is scarcely nec- essary to state was never issued to prisoners. Those of us who had money to our credit at headquarters got sutler's tickets for it, with which we bought little black plugs of tobacco and traded these for bits of bread and other food with those who preferred to go without something to eat for tobacco to chew and smoke. In fair weather there was a regular market-place where the dealers kept their stands. The unit of currency was a chew (pro- nounced "chaw") of tobacco, cut about one inch square and a quarter of an inch thick. A loaf of bread about three and a half inches wide and deep by seven inches long was known as a "duffer," a cracker as "hardtack." The oil and marrow of beef bones, which were carefully split into fine particles and boiled, formed a luxury called "bone butter." When the weather was inclement, and we were huddled in our crowded and miserable berths, the peddlers would stalk through the barracks with their small stock of groceries. "Who'11 give a cracker for a chaw of tobac- co?" A response would come, "I'11 give you half a cracker for a chaw." If a trade was struck the parties met, and while one measured the size of the "chaw" to see if it was of standard gage, the other devoted his attention to the inspection of the hardtack. "Twelve chaws for half a duffer," would be shouted by one tradesman;" Thirteen chaws," by a second; and so on until the highest bid- der would get the half-loaf of bread. The great prison luxury was bone butter, and it took a good many "chaws" to get the regu- mated at 13.63 cents ; to prisoners employed on public works, 20.31 cents; to Union troops, 26.24 cents. The above exhibits the cheapest ration, which was under the order of June I, 1864; between that date and April 20, 1864, the regular ration to prisoners had cost 16.48 cents; and on January 13, 1865, though the hard bread ration was reduced 4 ounces, the cost was raised to 16.81 cents.— EDITOR. It would be interesting to discover how many times the contract to feed the prisoners at Camp Morton was sublet. I have no doubt the government intended to issue to each prisoner the regulation prison ration above given as official, but I know it never was re- ceived. I believe (in fact I heard while there) that it dwindled away under the contract system.—J. A. W.



852		COLD CHEER AT CAMP MORTON.

			to Aiken's Landing on the James River, thence on foot to Richmond. With what a yell did we welcome liberty when our guards in blue turned back and we rushed over the breast- works and were once more among our own "boys." I reentered the army early in April, and was with the command surrendered to General J. H. Wilson at the capture of Macon, Georgia, but succeeded in escaping. Two days later, while trudging on foot over the South- western Railroad, I met a man who inquired of me if it was true that the Yankees were in Macon. I at once recognized by his ac- cent that he was a Northerner, and upon my inquiry as to his command he became con- fused and evidently agitated. As Anderson- ville was only a few miles off, I was convinced that he was an escaped Union prisoner, and upon so expressing myself he broke down com- pletely, saying, "For God's sake don't take me back to that place." I had taken my life in my own hands just two days before rather than go back to Camp Morton, and I could appreciate this poor fellow's agony. He went with me to a house near by where he signed a parole and made oath on a Bible that he would not "take up arms against the South- ern Confederacy until regularly exchanged as a prisoner of war." I shared my slender stock of rations and Confederate money (more money than rations) with him, told him Wilson was in Macon, and if suspected and arrested to show his parole for protection. He was by turns the most scared, most surprised, and most grateful human being I ever met. I have waited to publish this unhappy ex- perience until a quarter of a century has elapsed since it happened. The Southern side of prison life has not yet been fully written. The repu- tation of the South has suffered not only be- cause the terrible trials of Northern prisoners in Southern prisons have been so fully exploited, but because the truth of the Confederates' prison experience has not been given to the world. My comrades died by the hundreds amid healthful surroundings, almost all of these from the ef- fects of starvation, and this in the midst of plenty. The official records show that at Camp Morton 12,082 prisoners were confined, of which number 1763, or 14.6 per cent., perished. Excepting the few shot by the guards, the deaths from wounds were rare. The conditions were not malarial, for Indian- apolis was not unhealthy. There were no epi- demics during my imprisonment of about fifteen months, and little cause for death had humane and reasonable care of the prisoners been exer- cised. ¹ John A. Wyeth, M. D. 267 MADISON AVENUE, NEW YORK.
	lation slice of this delicacy. When beef was issued the men who fell heir to the large joint bones were deemed lucky, although there was only a small quantity of meat attached. The flesh was usually scraped off, cooked, and eaten. The bone was then split into very small pieces, put into a kettle, and boiled until all the fat was driven out and the water evapo- rated. The residue was filtered through a piece of cloth to separate the fragments of bone, poured into a plate, and allowed to harden. It was then ready to be eaten. I would not care to try Camp Morton bone butter now, but twenty-five years ago it had a taste more delicious than the best Berkshire butter found in our New York markets. The chief struggle, as I have said, was for subsistence. The second in order was to keep fairly rid of vermin. Crowded as we were, in close personal contact with all sorts and condi- tions of men, many of whom did not have a change of clothing, with no place to bathe in except the open air, and this for months in a very cold atmosphere, and with slim accom- modations for boiling our apparel, it is not to be wondered at that all were infested with par- asites. On a number of occasions our com- mittee forced those who were negligent in cleanliness to strip and boil their clothes, and would clip the hair from the heads of others who would not keep themselves clean of head- lice. After a few weeks of prison life many of the better class of prisoners in our barracks (I answered to roll-call in No. 7, but slept in No. 4) banded together and bought the upper berths of one side of the shanty, but even with this precaution we were not wholly rid of vermin. Our association soon excited comment, not always free from envy, and we were known as the "top-bunk aristocracy." One of our "top- bunkers" is now a United States senator. In February, 1865, our hearts were glad- dened with the assurance that a cartel had been agreed upon and a draft of five hundred prisoners was ordered for exchange. The selec- tion was chiefly from those disabled by wounds or sickness, and I fell in with this number. We came by rail to Baltimore, and by steamer 1 According to the latest estimates of the War Records Office the prisoners, North and South, who died in captivity are estimated as follows: U. S. prisoners confined by the Confederacy. ...196,713 " " died in " " . . 30,212 Percentage of deaths..........................................15.3 Confederate prisoners confined by the U. S..... .227,570 " " died in " " ...............26,774 Percentage of deaths................................... 11.7 The above figures represent the number of prisoners captured and confined on each side. The total num- ber of Federal prisoners captured was 213,381, of whom 16,668 were paroled on the field; the total number of Confederates captured was 476,169, of whom 248,599 were paroled on the field.— EDITOR.

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