Awakened by the guard
at 4 a. m.; at daylight go on the street receiving a small day's ration, the
fourth issue since our capture. Rain is over; we are delighted to get out-door.
I shall not soon forget the morning. We are starting on a long, tedious journey
southward dependent on the mercies of enemies whom we had justly counted
barbarous in respect to the motives of the war they precipitated and are
needlessly waring. The fates of many seem desperate. How many of this long line
of Unionists will return to their Northern homes! How many and who of us will
sleep the last sleep in the far South!
We pass two large
buildings used as hospitals which appear filled. It was an hour and a half
before we reach the cars, a long train of flat and box. I take a seat on the
bottom of a flat. At 10 a. m. we start on a new road from Danville, Va., to
Greenboro, N. C., 48 miles. A guard near me, a man about 55 years old, ventured
to say that he believed the South missed it in going to war; it was not true
that they were forced to it. He believed President Lincoln just such a man as
Henry Clay in his principles, and he was a Clay man all his life.
"That is so,
the South can settle with Abraham Lincoln as easily as with any living
man," I replied. He said:
"I believe
it."
"Then why do we
find you with your gun in the Rebel service?"
"Because I had
to be somewhere; I enlisted in the militia, rather be here than fighting. Had I
not gone in they'd 'scripted me and sent me to the front; but being pretty old
and willing, they have me to do such duty as this."
"How do you
expect to come out with this war and how long will it last?"
"There's no
telling, not right away; there will be some right smart fights before you get
Richmond."
"Will they give
up then?"
"Well, no; I
reckon— it's the hardest place we've got; I reckon it can't be taken."
"Clinging to
Richmond will only continue the war until we completely besiege it; the
shortest way to end it, unless the whole South lay down their arms."
"You are
divided in the North; we think you will get sick of fighting. Heaps o' people
believe you to be a hard race; they want to get rid of you. This is what we
people are told."
"If the South
wants to settle as it is claimed they do, why don't they lay down their arms
and ask for terms?"
"That's it;
they no more want peace than they did when they commenced."
Looking about him,
he said: "Plenty of men have been put in prison and hung for saying what
they believed, they'd send me to the front sure for what I have said."
"We must have
Union and liberty as the ultimate result of this war, or there is no salvation
for North or South. The triumph of the South would be the greatest calamity
that could befall; our triumph the blessing of both."
"You're
right."
"Then as a
Union man whose election do you prefer this fall?” "I think Lincoln is a
good man."
This was an
interesting conversation; I am really in the Confederacy in conversation with a
Union man but a Rebel soldier. After going 25 miles we were ordered off the
train, there being a piece of road six miles not completed. We moved off across
the plantation till we came to a road. Long trains loaded with army supplies
driven by the raggedest negroes I ever saw, began to meet us as we went on the
road. It was amusing to hear their answers as to the distance to the railroad, which
the men were frequently asking. It was very hot several men died on this short
march. We reached the road about 4 p. m. and waited for the train. I was here
introduced to James B. Hawks of the 7th Michigan, by Thompson, which was the
beginning of a new friendship. Hawks had the advantage of a collegiate
education, and pleased us with several declamations still fresh in his memory
although he had endured the hardships of the peninsular campaign. A pile of
supplies lay beside the road. A group of ladies and men came to look at us
though there was few houses in sight. Just dark the train backed up with
several hundred soldiers for Lee's army. Here as at Charlotteville a few
contemplated escape if possible, should we remain after dark. But by dark we
were all driven on board. The order was "Shoot every man that tries to get
out," so Boodger and I were again flanked. It was midnight before we
started. As to the mode of our lodging we were like the Dutchman's hen that
stood up and set.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 49-50
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