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or, Part 2 of Sergt. Day's story.
Chicago Daily Tribune, August 30, 1891, p. 35
Given a Pass to Go and Come When He Pleased.
Sergt. Day was one of the few, perhaps the only one, of the Federal prisoners of a Confederate prison who was given a pass by the commander and who was permitted to go out of the stockade whenever he pleased with the understanding that he was to return by 4 o’clock. The way in which this confidence came to be reposed and an incident in connection therewith form one of the amusing experiences in the prison life of Sergt. Day. He is a mason of eminent degree, and at the time of the war he was proud of his attainments as a brother of the mystic tie. The commander of the stockade was also a Mason, and being a young man, was full of ardor for the work of the order. He had learned in a way which masons have for learning such things that the Fed was a particularly bright star in the Masonic galaxy, and one day he sent a message for the Fed. to call on him at his headquarters. On presenting himself Day was admitted after the military conventionalities which at that time and place are about as full of signs and countersigns as the order of Masonry. The commander, Maj. Whitt, a Texan, conducted the Fed. into the ante-room, and, according to Day, “He gave me as thorough examination on my Masonic knowledge as a Mason ever gets. After the examination he asked me how I was faring in the stockade and how my comrades were. He was one of the noblest specimens of men. He apologized to me for the food which we had, saying that he had no worse than they. He wrote me out a pass which admitted me to all the freedom of the stockade, and permitted me to go out whenever I wished, the understanding being that I was always to be in the stockade at 4’clock p.m. On my part I gave him my masonic word that I would never betray his confidence. If you know anything about Masonry you know that the masonic word is the most binding thing in this world.”
Taffy Was a Thief.
“He then invited me to remain and take dinner with him. Some duty called him away and he apologized, but insisted that I should proceed to the meal without him, at the same time giving his servant, an old colored man, orders to attend me. Did I say that he insisted on my taking the meal? He only had to hint such a desire. The human stomach overrides all conventionalities. I was shown to the messroom. I was the only one present beside the servant. What a meal I saw before me! Hog-jowl, greens, vinegar, and Lincoln biscuit. You know what a Lincoln biscuit is? It is made out of white flour. During the war anything that was genuine in the way of edibles was called Lincoln. Thus we had Lincoln coffee, Lincoln sugar, etc. It was not as bad a war after all as some people supposed. When I look back at the fellowship, the humorous incidents, the hundred and one things, I cannot help thinking to myself that it was not the cruelest war that was ever waged. Well, about the meal. The servant left me for a moment, and I took advantage of his absence by drinking the contents of the vinegar cruet. It was a tin cup. It was Lincoln vinegar. What a sensation to my famishing stomach! What pranks the imagination of a man will play under some circumstances. It would have been easy for me to have imagined at that moment that paradise was in sight. Then I fell to the greens and the jowl. What lusciousness they contained! Then I fell on the Lincoln biscuit. As I sat there alone munching them I had a quickening of conscience. I thought of my poor comrades in the stockade. They had not seen a biscuit in months. I got the negro out of the room a moment and made a rake-off of the biscuit, putting them in the inside pocket of my old blouse, which was nearly rotten from constant wear and the elements.
“How well I remember the stealing of those biscuit. I picked them up one by one, saying as I did so: ‘There is one for Maj. Boring, poor fellow. (He belonged to the Forty-eighth Ohio.) There is one for Lieut. Scarfe of the Forty-eighth Ohio. There is one for Lieut. Harkness of the Seventy-seventh Illinois. There is one for Lieut. Bradley and one for Lieut. Fraies (they were gunboat officers), and one for Maj. McCawley (of an Indian regiment).’ I named each biscuit. Those whose names I have just given you belonged to my mess. What brave, patient fellows they were. Billy McCoy of the Seventy-seventh Illinois had a box of sardines in his pocket the day he was put in the stockade, and he kept the box, unopened, until he was exchanged—414 days. I don’t know why, but he did.
“The servant returned and eyeing the tin-plate, said:
“’Biscuit g’wine putty rapid.’ Mus’ like ‘em putty well?’”
“I said I did and asked im to bring some more, which he did, so that I had a good meal after all and at the same time I had put away something for my starving comrades. I was just finishing the meal when Maj. Whitt returned and apologizing again for having left me he proceeded to eat what was left, at the same time asking me if I had enough. I have never been able to decide whether he meant that remark in a sarcastic or a masonic way.
“I don’t know how it came about, but the Major had occasion as he thought to speak of his confidence in me. I was almost overloaded with them; and finally told him that I was not a convert or anything of that sort; that I was a man of the world; that I might take a trick in a game of cards, or something of that sort, but that I prided myself upon one thing, and that was that I had never stolen anything. He said he was confident of that. He said he was a pretty good judge of human nature and that he would bet his life that I wouldn’t steal. It was a compliment to pay any man during the war to say that he wouldn’t steal. I hope the observation won’t cause too many men in this country to blush. After this shower of bouquets he said he would have to leave me and that he would be glad to have me come over and see him often. I rose to return his salutation. Holy Moses! The threads in the pockets of my old blouse gave way under the weight of the Lincoln biscuit! They rolled out on the floor. What a catastrophe! There I stood with a pass in my pocket as a mark of the confidence of the man! As his guest! As the recipient of his compliments! As a brother Mason! I do not know what he thought of me at first. But I do know that I thought I should sink through the floor. I told him as soon as I could that I was no thief, but that my position proved to the contrary. I told him what had prompted me to take the bread. The tears came into his eyes, and advancing to me in a soldierly manner he took me by the hand and said: “Take them all. Say nothing about this. It is all right. You would not have been a Mason if you had done otherwise. You would not have been a comrade. A good Mason makes a good soldier, and a good soldier ought to make a good Mason.”
“He called his servant in and told him to get all the Lincoln biscuit he could find and carry them down to the stockade for me and leave them in my shebang. He apologized in the knightliest way for not having a napkin to put around the bread, and then took me by the hand and said: “Come again, comrade.”
The Dream of Peace—The Gospel of Life.
“Do you think that I dreamed of revenge that night as I lay on my bunk? Do you think that I believed the political buncombe I had heard? I was alive with vermin; I was ragged; I was barefooted; I was out at the knees and out at the elbows; I had on no shirt; I wore an old blouse that was rotten, and the crown was out of the hat I had on. My hair had grown until it reached my elbows. I looked like another Rip after the awakening up from the twenty years’ sleep. But after the treatment I had received that day all my afflictions faded from my mind and the bitterness went out of my heart, and it has never returned from that day to this. I believe in the gospel of love. That night when I lay down in my filth I fell asleep and it was the sweetest sleep I had had since I was a boy.
Finally the War Was Over.
“Not long before the war was over one of the Grand Masters from some State came our way and there was a grand lodge held in the field. I was invited to attend and did so. I filled the Junior Warden’s chair. What a Masonic gathering that was! Think of me in the role of Junior Warden, in my rags and tatters, to say nothing about other things which carried along with me! But it was the only lodge of the sort that I ever heard of. I think I am the only Mason who was ever placed where I was.
“Finally the war was over. When we were taken out the face of the world seemed to be changed. Lee had surrendered. Lincoln was assassinated. We seemed to have come down from some other world, or seemed to have left our own and gone elsewhere. I had some money. I hired a man for $10 to carry my blankets for me. He had been my guard. The Confederates had no money nor nothing else. They did not know what to do. We who had been their prisoners now turned to console them. They did not know the terms of the surrender, and some of them believed that they would all be shot. I started to Shreveport, as I heard that I could go from there to New Orleans, where my battery was getting itself together preparatory to coming home. On my way to Shreveport I met the Colonel of a Missouri regiment. He was a Confederate. He told me I had better not go to Shreveport, as the people there were not yet advised as to what was to be done, and he was afraid I would be handled roughly. On his invitation, I went to his camp and remained there for a day or so as his guest. The men of the regiment gathered about me when they learned I was coming North. Poor devils! They had heard nothing from their friends and families for two years, and some of them had not heard in that time. They asked me if I would carry letters to the North for them and see that they were mailed. You see, the Confederates at that time down South did not know what to do. I told them I would see that every letter was mailed. Off they went to write. What a mail it was they brought to me! Some of the letters were in envelopes, but most of them were not. Letter-writing had become so unusual a thing that the men had forgotten that it was necessary to have stamps. They hung their heads when I reminded them of the fact. They did not have money to buy stamps. I told them that I would see to it that the letters were mailed. And I did. I paid the postage out of my own pocket, and I never paid anything as cheerfully as I paid that.
“When I got to New Orleans I was in my prison uniform—that is to say, an old straw hat, no shoes, no shirt, no vest, and long hair. I wish you could have seen the trousers I wore! I had got them from a negro who had worn them until they were rotten. The boys of the battery hailed me with delight. Talk about reunions! They threw me up in the air. They put me on horseback and rode me about. Then they would toss me in the air and catch me in their arms. It was the most royal welcome any private citizen ever had. It was the happiest day of my life. I then shook my old clothes, and I must say that I parted with them with a sigh. I went to the St. Charles Hotel in New Orleans and got shaved and shampooed, and with new clothes on my back I walked forth a free man once more. I arrived home in this city June 25.
“The war is over. When I hear a man sitting around a hotel or on a curbstone talking about how he was abused in Southern prisons, proved he was there, I want to tell him my experience. I am not afraid of the destiny of my country. With the soldiers of the North and of the South we can whip the earth!”
Chicago Daily Tribune, September 6, 1891, p. 38
Another Incident of Prison Life During the War.
The story of the experience of Corporal Joe Day in Camp Ford Tyler, Texas, printed in THE TRIBUNE of last Sunday, recalled another. One of the comrades of the stockade was Mr. Arnold, now State Senator from the Lockport district in this State. Arnold was more accustomed to ennui than Day. In fact he almost became a victim of hysteria at times. He was of a temperament that could not brook restraint. He told Day that if he did not get out of the place he was fearful of the consequences. Day told him he could get him out if he would do as he told him. That was equivalent to Arnold’s compliance. Day was an expert penman. He already had in his pocket a pass from the commander, as was related in the story told last Sunday. With that for a copy, and with deft hand, Day forged a pass on which Arnold made his escape. Day was not unmindful of the risk he had taken. He also knew that he had been trusted by the commander of the stockade. He felt conscience-smitten to some extent, but this was balanced by the fact or the reflection that he was saving the life of a comrade. He told Arnold when he gave him the pass that after he had gone by the guard he must eat the pass. In order that Day might feel assured of that a sign was arranged between them by which Arnold was to let Day know that the pass was beyond inspection. Day posted himself where he could see the sign. Arnold presented his pass to the guard, who looked at it in a mechanical way. Arnold went out and in a few moments the signal was given that the forged document was where it could never be scrutinized. Day took a long breath. However, it soon became known that Arnold had one out on a forged pass, but no one ever suspected that Day was guilty. In twenty days poor Arnold was recaptured and returned.
Vicki Betts
vbetts@gower.net
Chicago Daily Tribune, August 30, 1891, p. 35
Given a Pass to Go and Come When He Pleased.
Sergt. Day was one of the few, perhaps the only one, of the Federal prisoners of a Confederate prison who was given a pass by the commander and who was permitted to go out of the stockade whenever he pleased with the understanding that he was to return by 4 o’clock. The way in which this confidence came to be reposed and an incident in connection therewith form one of the amusing experiences in the prison life of Sergt. Day. He is a mason of eminent degree, and at the time of the war he was proud of his attainments as a brother of the mystic tie. The commander of the stockade was also a Mason, and being a young man, was full of ardor for the work of the order. He had learned in a way which masons have for learning such things that the Fed was a particularly bright star in the Masonic galaxy, and one day he sent a message for the Fed. to call on him at his headquarters. On presenting himself Day was admitted after the military conventionalities which at that time and place are about as full of signs and countersigns as the order of Masonry. The commander, Maj. Whitt, a Texan, conducted the Fed. into the ante-room, and, according to Day, “He gave me as thorough examination on my Masonic knowledge as a Mason ever gets. After the examination he asked me how I was faring in the stockade and how my comrades were. He was one of the noblest specimens of men. He apologized to me for the food which we had, saying that he had no worse than they. He wrote me out a pass which admitted me to all the freedom of the stockade, and permitted me to go out whenever I wished, the understanding being that I was always to be in the stockade at 4’clock p.m. On my part I gave him my masonic word that I would never betray his confidence. If you know anything about Masonry you know that the masonic word is the most binding thing in this world.”
Taffy Was a Thief.
“He then invited me to remain and take dinner with him. Some duty called him away and he apologized, but insisted that I should proceed to the meal without him, at the same time giving his servant, an old colored man, orders to attend me. Did I say that he insisted on my taking the meal? He only had to hint such a desire. The human stomach overrides all conventionalities. I was shown to the messroom. I was the only one present beside the servant. What a meal I saw before me! Hog-jowl, greens, vinegar, and Lincoln biscuit. You know what a Lincoln biscuit is? It is made out of white flour. During the war anything that was genuine in the way of edibles was called Lincoln. Thus we had Lincoln coffee, Lincoln sugar, etc. It was not as bad a war after all as some people supposed. When I look back at the fellowship, the humorous incidents, the hundred and one things, I cannot help thinking to myself that it was not the cruelest war that was ever waged. Well, about the meal. The servant left me for a moment, and I took advantage of his absence by drinking the contents of the vinegar cruet. It was a tin cup. It was Lincoln vinegar. What a sensation to my famishing stomach! What pranks the imagination of a man will play under some circumstances. It would have been easy for me to have imagined at that moment that paradise was in sight. Then I fell to the greens and the jowl. What lusciousness they contained! Then I fell on the Lincoln biscuit. As I sat there alone munching them I had a quickening of conscience. I thought of my poor comrades in the stockade. They had not seen a biscuit in months. I got the negro out of the room a moment and made a rake-off of the biscuit, putting them in the inside pocket of my old blouse, which was nearly rotten from constant wear and the elements.
“How well I remember the stealing of those biscuit. I picked them up one by one, saying as I did so: ‘There is one for Maj. Boring, poor fellow. (He belonged to the Forty-eighth Ohio.) There is one for Lieut. Scarfe of the Forty-eighth Ohio. There is one for Lieut. Harkness of the Seventy-seventh Illinois. There is one for Lieut. Bradley and one for Lieut. Fraies (they were gunboat officers), and one for Maj. McCawley (of an Indian regiment).’ I named each biscuit. Those whose names I have just given you belonged to my mess. What brave, patient fellows they were. Billy McCoy of the Seventy-seventh Illinois had a box of sardines in his pocket the day he was put in the stockade, and he kept the box, unopened, until he was exchanged—414 days. I don’t know why, but he did.
“The servant returned and eyeing the tin-plate, said:
“’Biscuit g’wine putty rapid.’ Mus’ like ‘em putty well?’”
“I said I did and asked im to bring some more, which he did, so that I had a good meal after all and at the same time I had put away something for my starving comrades. I was just finishing the meal when Maj. Whitt returned and apologizing again for having left me he proceeded to eat what was left, at the same time asking me if I had enough. I have never been able to decide whether he meant that remark in a sarcastic or a masonic way.
“I don’t know how it came about, but the Major had occasion as he thought to speak of his confidence in me. I was almost overloaded with them; and finally told him that I was not a convert or anything of that sort; that I was a man of the world; that I might take a trick in a game of cards, or something of that sort, but that I prided myself upon one thing, and that was that I had never stolen anything. He said he was confident of that. He said he was a pretty good judge of human nature and that he would bet his life that I wouldn’t steal. It was a compliment to pay any man during the war to say that he wouldn’t steal. I hope the observation won’t cause too many men in this country to blush. After this shower of bouquets he said he would have to leave me and that he would be glad to have me come over and see him often. I rose to return his salutation. Holy Moses! The threads in the pockets of my old blouse gave way under the weight of the Lincoln biscuit! They rolled out on the floor. What a catastrophe! There I stood with a pass in my pocket as a mark of the confidence of the man! As his guest! As the recipient of his compliments! As a brother Mason! I do not know what he thought of me at first. But I do know that I thought I should sink through the floor. I told him as soon as I could that I was no thief, but that my position proved to the contrary. I told him what had prompted me to take the bread. The tears came into his eyes, and advancing to me in a soldierly manner he took me by the hand and said: “Take them all. Say nothing about this. It is all right. You would not have been a Mason if you had done otherwise. You would not have been a comrade. A good Mason makes a good soldier, and a good soldier ought to make a good Mason.”
“He called his servant in and told him to get all the Lincoln biscuit he could find and carry them down to the stockade for me and leave them in my shebang. He apologized in the knightliest way for not having a napkin to put around the bread, and then took me by the hand and said: “Come again, comrade.”
The Dream of Peace—The Gospel of Life.
“Do you think that I dreamed of revenge that night as I lay on my bunk? Do you think that I believed the political buncombe I had heard? I was alive with vermin; I was ragged; I was barefooted; I was out at the knees and out at the elbows; I had on no shirt; I wore an old blouse that was rotten, and the crown was out of the hat I had on. My hair had grown until it reached my elbows. I looked like another Rip after the awakening up from the twenty years’ sleep. But after the treatment I had received that day all my afflictions faded from my mind and the bitterness went out of my heart, and it has never returned from that day to this. I believe in the gospel of love. That night when I lay down in my filth I fell asleep and it was the sweetest sleep I had had since I was a boy.
Finally the War Was Over.
“Not long before the war was over one of the Grand Masters from some State came our way and there was a grand lodge held in the field. I was invited to attend and did so. I filled the Junior Warden’s chair. What a Masonic gathering that was! Think of me in the role of Junior Warden, in my rags and tatters, to say nothing about other things which carried along with me! But it was the only lodge of the sort that I ever heard of. I think I am the only Mason who was ever placed where I was.
“Finally the war was over. When we were taken out the face of the world seemed to be changed. Lee had surrendered. Lincoln was assassinated. We seemed to have come down from some other world, or seemed to have left our own and gone elsewhere. I had some money. I hired a man for $10 to carry my blankets for me. He had been my guard. The Confederates had no money nor nothing else. They did not know what to do. We who had been their prisoners now turned to console them. They did not know the terms of the surrender, and some of them believed that they would all be shot. I started to Shreveport, as I heard that I could go from there to New Orleans, where my battery was getting itself together preparatory to coming home. On my way to Shreveport I met the Colonel of a Missouri regiment. He was a Confederate. He told me I had better not go to Shreveport, as the people there were not yet advised as to what was to be done, and he was afraid I would be handled roughly. On his invitation, I went to his camp and remained there for a day or so as his guest. The men of the regiment gathered about me when they learned I was coming North. Poor devils! They had heard nothing from their friends and families for two years, and some of them had not heard in that time. They asked me if I would carry letters to the North for them and see that they were mailed. You see, the Confederates at that time down South did not know what to do. I told them I would see that every letter was mailed. Off they went to write. What a mail it was they brought to me! Some of the letters were in envelopes, but most of them were not. Letter-writing had become so unusual a thing that the men had forgotten that it was necessary to have stamps. They hung their heads when I reminded them of the fact. They did not have money to buy stamps. I told them that I would see to it that the letters were mailed. And I did. I paid the postage out of my own pocket, and I never paid anything as cheerfully as I paid that.
“When I got to New Orleans I was in my prison uniform—that is to say, an old straw hat, no shoes, no shirt, no vest, and long hair. I wish you could have seen the trousers I wore! I had got them from a negro who had worn them until they were rotten. The boys of the battery hailed me with delight. Talk about reunions! They threw me up in the air. They put me on horseback and rode me about. Then they would toss me in the air and catch me in their arms. It was the most royal welcome any private citizen ever had. It was the happiest day of my life. I then shook my old clothes, and I must say that I parted with them with a sigh. I went to the St. Charles Hotel in New Orleans and got shaved and shampooed, and with new clothes on my back I walked forth a free man once more. I arrived home in this city June 25.
“The war is over. When I hear a man sitting around a hotel or on a curbstone talking about how he was abused in Southern prisons, proved he was there, I want to tell him my experience. I am not afraid of the destiny of my country. With the soldiers of the North and of the South we can whip the earth!”
Chicago Daily Tribune, September 6, 1891, p. 38
Another Incident of Prison Life During the War.
The story of the experience of Corporal Joe Day in Camp Ford Tyler, Texas, printed in THE TRIBUNE of last Sunday, recalled another. One of the comrades of the stockade was Mr. Arnold, now State Senator from the Lockport district in this State. Arnold was more accustomed to ennui than Day. In fact he almost became a victim of hysteria at times. He was of a temperament that could not brook restraint. He told Day that if he did not get out of the place he was fearful of the consequences. Day told him he could get him out if he would do as he told him. That was equivalent to Arnold’s compliance. Day was an expert penman. He already had in his pocket a pass from the commander, as was related in the story told last Sunday. With that for a copy, and with deft hand, Day forged a pass on which Arnold made his escape. Day was not unmindful of the risk he had taken. He also knew that he had been trusted by the commander of the stockade. He felt conscience-smitten to some extent, but this was balanced by the fact or the reflection that he was saving the life of a comrade. He told Arnold when he gave him the pass that after he had gone by the guard he must eat the pass. In order that Day might feel assured of that a sign was arranged between them by which Arnold was to let Day know that the pass was beyond inspection. Day posted himself where he could see the sign. Arnold presented his pass to the guard, who looked at it in a mechanical way. Arnold went out and in a few moments the signal was given that the forged document was where it could never be scrutinized. Day took a long breath. However, it soon became known that Arnold had one out on a forged pass, but no one ever suspected that Day was guilty. In twenty days poor Arnold was recaptured and returned.
Vicki Betts
vbetts@gower.net