THE STORY OF THE SIX HUNDRED, BY JUDGE HENRY HOWE COOK, FRANKLIN, TENN.
I was a member of the First Tennessee Regiment, and was with Lee at Great Mountain, But at the time my story begins I was a member of the Reed and McEwen Company, Forty-fourth Tennessee Regiment, Bushrod Johnson's Brigade. In the spring of 1864 we left East Tennessee for Richmond. I shall never forget the day we marched through Richmond and in front of the Capitol of the Confederate States. Never before was seen such a ragged set of soldiers, many of them without-shoes and with their feet tied up in rags or in green cowhides. These were the men who held Butler's army at bay until an army could be gathered together. The battle of Drury's Bluff was then fought and won, and Butler and his army securely bottled up at the landing in Bermuda Hundreds. I was wounded and captured in this battle, placed in a boat, and anchored out in the James River. As I stood upon the deck I could see the Carter House—Shirley. A Federal officer told me that the daughters of Gen. R. E. Lee were in the house, and he appeared to be much pleased at the fact that Gen. Lee did not fear to leave his daughters within their lines. I thought, but did not tell him, what havoc his soldiers had wrought at Dr. Friend's house at the battle of Drury's Bluff. From this Carter House—Shirley, were descended R. E. Lee, Benjamin and Carter Harrison, and my old friends, Sandy Carter and Col. Moscow Carter. Down the river and across the mouth of the Appomattox once stood the Bland residence, Cowsons. From this. family descended John Randolph, of Roanoke, Chief Justice John Marshall, Light Horse Harry Lee, and many others of illustrious name.
Time would fail me to mention the colonial residences that could be seen from the James River, but mention these as being the homes of the ancestors of our great commander. The lonely grave of Henry Lee was on the distant shores of Georgia; upon this Georgia coast I, with six hundred comrades, was soon to endure horrors never before suffered by man, and many a one was there to find an untimely grave.
We reached Fortress Monroe in the evening, and stopped there two days. The Federal officers gave us quite a feast, causing me to think that prison life was. feasting on the fat of the land. How cruel to thus raise the hopes of a boy! We were at this time about twenty in number, but I recall the name of-only one: Capt. C. S. D. Jones, a son of Gov. Jones, of Iowa. He was on Gen. Johnson's staff, and was captured at Drury's Bluff on the morning of the battle, having ridden into the lines of the enemy in the darkness caused by the fog. Who can describe the darkness of a spring — morning on the bank of the lower James? The fog is — as thick and dense as a cloud, and rises from the © ground in a dense mass as the morning advances. I had not fully observed this until I fell over a wire
ih ' - stretched a few feet in front of Butler's breastworks, when I found that I could look up under the fog and
see some distance. Near this spot where I fell over the wire Maj. McCarver, George Collins, and many others were killed. It was at this moment that Bantam Hill, our color-bearer, planted the standard of the Forty-fourth upon the works and fell back, shot through the mouth. On this part of the line many were killed in hand-to-hand combat, a thing | had never seen before. But I am reminded that I have not even reached the beginning of my tale of sorrow, woe, and wretchedness.
I was taken to Point Lookout, at the mouth of the Potomac. 'This was the best prison that I was in during my prison life; but it was summer, and we lived in tents. It would not have been so comfortable in winter. I was next taken to Fort Delaware, where I found many of Bushrod Johnson's Brigade, who were captured near Petersburg, among them Col. Foulkerson, of the Sixty-third Tennessee; John Hooberry, of my company; Morgan, Fleming, Cameron, Johnson, Z. W. Ewing, Capt. Walker, and others. Here I met Capt. Thomas F. Perkins and Capt. John Nick, who were destined to prove friends in the time of greatest need. I was much rejoiced to meet again my young lieutenant, John Hooberry. [ little knew what a burden and source of anxiety he would be to me in the days of affliction soon to come, and how many long nights I should nurse him as a mother nurses a child.
It is not my purpose to speak of prison life at Fort Delaware, as the death roll tells the story. I have often been requested to tell the story of the six hundred. This no man can do, but I will give a faint idea of the scenes and sufferings through which we passed.
I think it was August 20, 1864, that six hundred Confederate officers were selected and placed on board the ship "Crescent" at Fort Delaware. Were we to be exchanged? or what was to be done with us? Tow hopeless and helpless the condition of a prisoner of war, packed like cattle in the hold of a ship, and no questions answered!
The morning after leaving Fort Delaware we cast anchor inside the Delaware breakwater to await the arrival of our convoy, the man-of-war "Eutaw;" but the "Eutaw" did not come until the next day, when we at once got under. way. "Here Gen. McCook left us in charge of an officer, whose name, as I now remember, was Prentiss. McCook was a soldier and a gentleman, but I cannot say as much for Prentiss. About four o'clock on the morning of the third day we
_were all ordered on deck to assist in getting the ship afloat. She was aground near Cape Romain, off the South Carolina coast. By some miscalculation, the pilot had lost his reckoning, and we had run away from the convoy. The Federals were much frightened, while their prisoners were overjoyed. Discipline was forgotten, and confusion reigned throughout the _ ship. We at once made up our minds to capture the _ vessel before the return of her convoy. Col. Manning Was appointed to make the demand for her surrender, it too much time was lost, and the black hull of the Eutaw" loomed up in the horizon, and all hope sank hin us. Yn the morning of the 26th of August we were at nchor off Hilton Head. Here we first met Gen. John
G. Foster, who was in command of the Carolinas and Georgia, and who was thought to be responsible for the treatment we afterwards received.
Our condition at this time was horrible. I cannot describe it. For a week or more we had been penned in the hold of the ship, many were sick, and the stench arising from the filth was unbearable. We were almost famished, provisions and water having given out two days before we reached Hilton Head. On one of these days I caught some water in an oilcloth during a rain, and on the other a sailor gave me a cup of hot water. Lieut.-Col. Carmichael, of the One Hundred and Fifty-seventh New York Regiment, came aboard. He was horrified when he saw our condition, and, expressing much displeasure and regret, earnestly set to work to relieve our deplorable state. A steamer was brought alongside the prison ship and a detail made from the prisoners and from the One Hundred and Fifty-seventh Regiment to cleanse the ship, the prisoners having been transferred from it to the steamer. We were supplied with water and provisions, the soldiers gladly dividing their rations with us. We were now in the hands of soldiers, not guards.
For several days our ship rode at anchor in the bay. It was here that Capts. Thomas F. Perkins, Kent, and Ellison secured life-preservers and slipped overboard in the darkness of the night, taking the chances of floating to one of the numerous islands, and thence making their escape to the mainland. It appeared that the venture must necessarily result fatally to the whole party. There was a swarm of sharks around the ship. I myself at one time saw five, with dorsal fins above the wave, moving with the swiftness of an arrow. After being out three days Perkins and Kent were captured and returned to the ship. They had become separated from Ellison.
On September 4 we found ourselves in the midst of the blockading fleet off Charleston, and on the 7th we were landed on Morris Island. On reaching shore we were placed under the charge of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts Regiment. I do not know why it was called the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts, as its colonel, Hollowell, was from Philadelphia, while its privates and non-commissioned officers were negroes from the Southern States, though some of the commissioned officers were from Massachusetts. I often talked with a young lieutenant of this regiment, who thought that the war was being fought solely to free the negroes. He was of the class who thought that the Constitution was a league with the powers of evil. In charge of this regiment, we marched to our prison pen, situated midway between Forts Wagner and Gregg. Our prison home was a stockade made of palmetto logs driven into the sand, and was about one hundred and thirty yards square. In this were small tents, capable of holding four persons. Around the tents and ten feet from the wall of the pen was stretched a rope, known as the "dead-line."" Outside of the pen, and near the top of the wall, was a walk for the sentinels, so situated as to enable them to overlook the prisoners. About three miles distant, and in full view, was Charleston, into which the enemy was pouring heavy shells during the night while we remained on the island. Sumter lay a shapeless mass about twelve hundred yards to the west of us, and from it our sharpshooters kept up a constant fire upon the artilleryvmen
in Fort Gregg. Off to the right lay Sullivan's Island, and we could see the Confederate flag floating over Moultrie. The first evening remained quiet, not a shot being fired by Moultrie or Wagner. Late in the evening | watched the great bombshells sent from Gregg into the city of Charleston, and heard one loud report from the "Swamp Angel," situated about six hundred yards southeast of us. At sunset we were ordered into our tents, there to remain until sunrise the next day. In the morning we received our first meal upon the island. This consisted of two moldy crackers and two ounces of boiled pickled meat, while at four o'clock in the afternoon we were given two crackers and a gill of bean soup. Two negro soldiers carried the rations around to the tents, and the corporal dipped out the soup in a gill tin cup and poured it into our cups, giving each prisoner two crackers also. As to the ration formula, Col. Hollowell said that Gen. Foster was responsible for it. The formula was strictly carried out—never more, never less. At the end of forty days we were to learn that life could be sustained ona much smaller amount and a poorer quality of food. We received from the citizens of Charleston three plugs of tobacco each. This gave great relief. One can live on a small quantity of food when he uses tobacco freely. In the evening of the second day Wagner opened fire on Moultrie. Soon Gregg opened fire, and the two made the sand island quiver and shake as if it would melt from under us. For several hours this continued, Moultrie remaining silent. "knew that we were staked between Wagner and Gregg. A little after dark a boom from that direction gave notice that old Moultrie would remain silent no longer. I watched the fiery globe as it curved gracefully in the air and descended with frightful rapidity right upon me, as it seemed, but it passed over into the garrison of Wagner. I sat in the door of my tent and watched the battle. The whole heavens were illuminated and the mortar-shells were darting through the heavens in all directions as though the sky were full of meteors. Moultrie had opened with all her mortars, and for some time continued to throw her shells either into Wagner or Gregg. At last one came that looked as if it would surely fall upon me, It came closer and faster, and finally burst right over us, striking several tents, but injuring no one. About one o'clock the firing ceased, and we went to sleep. The firing continued at night during the entire six weeks of our stay on the island, but I think that the battle of the second night was much the fiercest of any of these artillery duels.
Sickness soon began to prevail to an alarming extent, in consequence of the treatment received on board the ship and on the island. The guards became more exacting and cruel, and often shot into the pen. Two sick and helpless prisoners were wounded. One day Hollowell came into the pen very drunk and ordered us to get ready to move. He stated that a truce-boat was on the way from Charleston, and made the impression that we were to be exchanged. Those who could walk marched to the landing, a distance of more than a mile, while the others were carried in carts. On reaching the landing we were placed on board two small sailboats, with barely standing-room. But we could stand that to Charleston, a distance of five or six miles. But the truce-boat left and night came on, and
we did not move in the direction of Charleston.
Our friends -
Piri...
The next day we were again landed, and moved back to our prison pen. It is a matter of conjecture why this was done. Why were we moved out and kept upon these small boats so long? Did Foster wish to inspect the prison pen to see if we were digging tunnels through the sand, or was it a wanton act of cruelty? Two or three miles was a long march in our condition, and many a one fainted on the road. Think of starving upon that sandy island, under fire of Moultrie, for forty-two days! In my feverish, fitful dreams I saw all the cool, sparkling springs that my childhood knew, but fate refused me the power to kneel and slake my thirst as of yore. I saw tables loaded with the luxuries of Tennessee, but had not the strength to'reach forth my hand and appease my hunger. How both pleasant and frightful visions appear to the dreams of a starying man! Death was in our midst. Almost every day one of our members was taken from rs. I do not remember to have seen a doctor in the pen, though a priest came several times and held services.
Life upon the island consisted of starving and watching the mortar shells from Moultrie. But one night I saw something out of the usual routine. Looking to the east, in the midst of the darkness of the cloudy night, could be seen a long line of lights upon the blockading fleet. A boom of cannon was heard from the fleet, and two gunboats were seen moving swiftly in our direction. They passed between us and Sullivan's Island, and Moultrie opened fire. In front could be seen the dark hull of a ship moving with the swiftness of the wind in the direction of Charleston. Has it run aground or has it sunk upon a sand-bar? — For several days we could see the boats from Charleston unloading the disabled blockade-runner.
On October 26 we were informed that we were to be taken to Fort Pulaski, at the mouth of the Savannah River. We were in the hands of Foster, and no mercy was expected or hoped for. We staggered or were hauled to the wharf and were placed upon the little schooners to be towed to Fort Pulaski. The horrors of Morris Island were not to be compared with what awaited us on the coast of Georgia. 'The little funeral ships were on their way to establish a graveyard upon Cockspur Island.
' (To be continued.)
J. K. P. Blackburn, of Waco, Tex., writes that June 21 has been selected by the committee as the day for the reunion of Terry's Texas Rangers in Nashville. The meeting will be held at the Auditorium, on the Centennial grounds. This will be the thirty-first reunion of the survivors of this grand brigade, which served under Hood, A. S. and Joe Johnston, and Bragg, shedding its blood on every field of carnage from Woodsonville, Ky., to Hawk River, N. C., making the first and last fights of the Army of Tennessee.
In calling a meeting of the Palestine (Tex.) Camp, United Confederate Veterans No. 4, Commander R. M. Jackson states:
By the aid of the ladies—ever ready and essential in every good cause—we raised and have in the bank $100, promised by our camp for Jeff Davis monument.