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I'm not sure where this should go--the primary sources folder doesn't seem to be used much. We've got a month's free trial with ProQuest's historic newspapers, and I found a brand new Camp Ford article. I'll cut this into pieces--first, "I Like Eggs."
Chicago Daily Tribune, August 30, 1891, p. 35
He Took the Biscuit
A Chicagoan’s Queer Experiences
in Battle and Prison Pen.
A Yankee Snake Charmer Who Made the
Reptiles Forage for His Benefit—Over
400 Days in a Southern Stockade—
Broiled Mice on Toast—Biscuit Stealing
as a Fine Art—A Masonic Grand Lodge
Under Difficulties—Dream of Peace and
Gospel of Love.
If you are about the Auditorium Hotel much you will notice a man who is elegantly and faultlessly dressed. He is a superb figure for the sort of attire in which you will always find him. His hair is always the proper cut; it is silver-gray in tone; his mustache has an artistic droop and slight curl; his eyeglasses are golden bowed, and if an artist had placed them on his nose they would not be more becoming. If you are in the dinner-room at the fashionable hour for dinner you will notice this same gentleman, always to dress appropriate for the occasion. Wherever there is an assemblage for the exhibition of fashion there you will find him. At first glance the man unaccustomed to faultless dress would say this one was a dandy. But he is nothing of the sort. A dandy is effeminate. The person here described is a man of the world and one with as strange and interesting a war history as was ever written. He talks without affectation and is free from the unpleasant personal pronoun. If this picture were presented to any down-town clubman of Chicago it would be instantly recognized. And those who do not know the man by sight will know of him when it is said he is Joseph L. Day, the tailor. There is no advertisement in the way that is put, for most people refer to “Joe Day the tailor.”
Seventeen years ago the writer called on Mr. Day at the Sherman House, where he was then a boarder, and asked him if he did not have a strange war history. Mr. Day replied that he had, but respectfully declined to tell it, for the reason that there were then more animosities than now. The Captains, Colonels, Generals, and Major-Generals were telling their experiences, and Mr. Day thought it would not be becoming in a Sergeant to rush into print with his story. Several times since he has promised that some day he would furnish for publication what he had told to a few of his friends at the table. He was in the proper mood the other day and consented.
The Enlistment in Chicago.
The old Mercantile Battery of Chicago was mustered into service in 1862. Joe Day was a Sergeant in that organization. Of the great battles which it fought he was in sixteen. At one stage of the strife he was in an encounter every day for forty-nine days, and at another period he was in one every day for nine days. For meritorious conduct at Vicksburg he was granted a furlough and came North, made a short visit, and returned to the front. He never saw the North again until after the war was over. April 8, 1864, there was a battle at Cape Sabine Cross-Roads, La. The Federals were in command of Gen. N. P. Banks; the Confederates were led by Kirby Smith. It was an all-day fight in which the Federals were twice defeated. As a result of the last defeat the old Mercantile Battery of Chicago, or a portion of it, fell into the hands of the enemy.
Then began the experience of Joe Day.
The prisoners were taken overland to Camp Ford Tyler in Texas, and at the end of a six-day march reached their destination. There they remained until June 16, 1865—414 days! The inclosure was a stockade, and it surrounded but eight acres. In this circumscribed space were crowded 6,800 prisoners of war. Among them were the crews of the Harriet Lane and Clifton, commanded respectively by Capt. Hammond and Capt. Crocker. There were also the fragments of the First Connecticut Infantry, the First Massachusetts, and the First New York. Of the Chicagoans who were there were Col. Leake, then of Iowa, afterwards United States District Attorney of this district; Paymaster Simmons, now of the City Treasurer’s office; Mr. Spiegel, now in business on State street; and scores of others whose names are lost to memory, “for that was twenty-six years ago,” said Mr. Day.
After thinking a moment Mr. Day recalled some more Chicagoans who were with him—Maj. Anthony of the Stock Yards and John Arnold, now State Senator from one of the Illinois districts; there were also there as companions Ross, son of the chief of the Cherokee Nation; Col. Morgan of the First Cherokee Regiment; Capt. Defrees, one of Morgan’s men; and Capt. Jennison of the Kansas Jayhawkers; J. A. Bering of the Forty-eighth Ohio; Capt. McCallum, now a Judge in Illinois, of the Seventy-seventh Illinois; Billy McCoy of the same and now of Peoria; Capt. Pat White of Albany, N. Y.; Dick Taylor of the One Hundred and Thirtieth Illinois; and Maj. Mann of the Nineteenth Kentucky.
“I shall tell you something about Arnold a little later which is almost dramatic,” Day remarked as he twirled his mustache. “But mentioning the name of that Kansan reminds me that he used to catch mice in the stockade and broil them as dainty as did ever a Frenchman his frog. And he was as brave a man as I ever knew. He would fight anything that walked or run.”
Eggs for Breakfast
“Occasionally,” continued Mr. Day, “we had a delicacy for a meal, but how obtained I cannot now remember accurately,” with a smile when any old soldier would have interpreted. “I remember word came to me one morning that John Arnold and Sam Parker had some eggs for breakfast. Eggs cost at that time $5 apiece. No, not in Confederate money, but in greenbacks. Greenbacks at that time did not have much more value than Confederate shinplasters. The day before I had captured a chicken-snake while out of the stockade on a pass. I never was afraid of a snake in my life. I don’t know why. I will run at the sight of a rat as quickly as a woman, but a snake I can take and handle without any of the sensations which would creep up the backs of most people. The snake which I had captured I put in the inside pocket of my blouse, and with it I walked over to where Arnold and Parker were about to mess. They had put their eggs on the table. They asked me what I was doing over there, and I remarked that I had come over to take breakfast with them. They said they guessed I was mistaken. I repeated the invitation to myself. Arnold said he thought I had better go back to my mess. I said I liked eggs. Arnold said he was aware of my weakness in that respect, but that eggs were eggs, and that I could not have any of theirs. I insisted that I liked eggs and they insisted that I could not have any. Arnold went so far as to say that if I didn’t get away he would try some force to make me go. I said I liked eggs, and with that I reached in my pocket and pulled out the snake I told you about and threw it down on the table. Arnold and Parker fled in dismay, and I sat down and ate their eggs.
“As you might imagine, the fame of Sergt. Day as a snake charmer flew over the camp. It did not take much of a yarn, however, to do that. We were 6,800 in a pen of eight acres. The news traveled outside of the stockade and the guards came to look at me as the curious come to look at the mark on Katshaw’s arm. In a few days several of the Confederate privates, always out for fun, came down Fifth Avenue—that was the name of the street on which I lived in the stockade—and the leader of the crowd, who was the typical Johnny Reb, as he is pictured in the Northern papers, stopped in front of my shebang—that is what we called the huts in which we lived—and called out in the vernacular of the back settlements:
“’Whar’s that Yankee snake charmer? Fetch him out! Whar is he? Ef he’s here and can tame snakes we hev got one for him to try his hand on! Whar’s the Yankee snake charmer?”
“One of my men who had seen the snake said it was a black adder and told me not to touch it as it was dangerous. Capt. White said it had a mouth like a cow. However, as I had the reputation I did not like to lose it, and I walked out, and there was the ugly thing held down by a notched stick. It had its mouth open and seemed anxious to get at some one. The camp was present in force to see the Yankee charm the reptile. I caught the snake just back of its head and it made a strike at me. I caught it a little lower down, lifted it into the air, and with a mighty effort I threw it into the crowd that had come to see the Yankee, and of all the scattering you ever saw it was there. From that time on I was a sort of hero I suppose—and I may add at this distance from the scene that whenever any of the boys had any delicacies at their tables and I went to them and said I had come to dine with them they welcomed me to the mess.”
(part 2 will follow)
Vicki Betts
vbetts@gower.net
Chicago Daily Tribune, August 30, 1891, p. 35
He Took the Biscuit
A Chicagoan’s Queer Experiences
in Battle and Prison Pen.
A Yankee Snake Charmer Who Made the
Reptiles Forage for His Benefit—Over
400 Days in a Southern Stockade—
Broiled Mice on Toast—Biscuit Stealing
as a Fine Art—A Masonic Grand Lodge
Under Difficulties—Dream of Peace and
Gospel of Love.
If you are about the Auditorium Hotel much you will notice a man who is elegantly and faultlessly dressed. He is a superb figure for the sort of attire in which you will always find him. His hair is always the proper cut; it is silver-gray in tone; his mustache has an artistic droop and slight curl; his eyeglasses are golden bowed, and if an artist had placed them on his nose they would not be more becoming. If you are in the dinner-room at the fashionable hour for dinner you will notice this same gentleman, always to dress appropriate for the occasion. Wherever there is an assemblage for the exhibition of fashion there you will find him. At first glance the man unaccustomed to faultless dress would say this one was a dandy. But he is nothing of the sort. A dandy is effeminate. The person here described is a man of the world and one with as strange and interesting a war history as was ever written. He talks without affectation and is free from the unpleasant personal pronoun. If this picture were presented to any down-town clubman of Chicago it would be instantly recognized. And those who do not know the man by sight will know of him when it is said he is Joseph L. Day, the tailor. There is no advertisement in the way that is put, for most people refer to “Joe Day the tailor.”
Seventeen years ago the writer called on Mr. Day at the Sherman House, where he was then a boarder, and asked him if he did not have a strange war history. Mr. Day replied that he had, but respectfully declined to tell it, for the reason that there were then more animosities than now. The Captains, Colonels, Generals, and Major-Generals were telling their experiences, and Mr. Day thought it would not be becoming in a Sergeant to rush into print with his story. Several times since he has promised that some day he would furnish for publication what he had told to a few of his friends at the table. He was in the proper mood the other day and consented.
The Enlistment in Chicago.
The old Mercantile Battery of Chicago was mustered into service in 1862. Joe Day was a Sergeant in that organization. Of the great battles which it fought he was in sixteen. At one stage of the strife he was in an encounter every day for forty-nine days, and at another period he was in one every day for nine days. For meritorious conduct at Vicksburg he was granted a furlough and came North, made a short visit, and returned to the front. He never saw the North again until after the war was over. April 8, 1864, there was a battle at Cape Sabine Cross-Roads, La. The Federals were in command of Gen. N. P. Banks; the Confederates were led by Kirby Smith. It was an all-day fight in which the Federals were twice defeated. As a result of the last defeat the old Mercantile Battery of Chicago, or a portion of it, fell into the hands of the enemy.
Then began the experience of Joe Day.
The prisoners were taken overland to Camp Ford Tyler in Texas, and at the end of a six-day march reached their destination. There they remained until June 16, 1865—414 days! The inclosure was a stockade, and it surrounded but eight acres. In this circumscribed space were crowded 6,800 prisoners of war. Among them were the crews of the Harriet Lane and Clifton, commanded respectively by Capt. Hammond and Capt. Crocker. There were also the fragments of the First Connecticut Infantry, the First Massachusetts, and the First New York. Of the Chicagoans who were there were Col. Leake, then of Iowa, afterwards United States District Attorney of this district; Paymaster Simmons, now of the City Treasurer’s office; Mr. Spiegel, now in business on State street; and scores of others whose names are lost to memory, “for that was twenty-six years ago,” said Mr. Day.
After thinking a moment Mr. Day recalled some more Chicagoans who were with him—Maj. Anthony of the Stock Yards and John Arnold, now State Senator from one of the Illinois districts; there were also there as companions Ross, son of the chief of the Cherokee Nation; Col. Morgan of the First Cherokee Regiment; Capt. Defrees, one of Morgan’s men; and Capt. Jennison of the Kansas Jayhawkers; J. A. Bering of the Forty-eighth Ohio; Capt. McCallum, now a Judge in Illinois, of the Seventy-seventh Illinois; Billy McCoy of the same and now of Peoria; Capt. Pat White of Albany, N. Y.; Dick Taylor of the One Hundred and Thirtieth Illinois; and Maj. Mann of the Nineteenth Kentucky.
“I shall tell you something about Arnold a little later which is almost dramatic,” Day remarked as he twirled his mustache. “But mentioning the name of that Kansan reminds me that he used to catch mice in the stockade and broil them as dainty as did ever a Frenchman his frog. And he was as brave a man as I ever knew. He would fight anything that walked or run.”
Eggs for Breakfast
“Occasionally,” continued Mr. Day, “we had a delicacy for a meal, but how obtained I cannot now remember accurately,” with a smile when any old soldier would have interpreted. “I remember word came to me one morning that John Arnold and Sam Parker had some eggs for breakfast. Eggs cost at that time $5 apiece. No, not in Confederate money, but in greenbacks. Greenbacks at that time did not have much more value than Confederate shinplasters. The day before I had captured a chicken-snake while out of the stockade on a pass. I never was afraid of a snake in my life. I don’t know why. I will run at the sight of a rat as quickly as a woman, but a snake I can take and handle without any of the sensations which would creep up the backs of most people. The snake which I had captured I put in the inside pocket of my blouse, and with it I walked over to where Arnold and Parker were about to mess. They had put their eggs on the table. They asked me what I was doing over there, and I remarked that I had come over to take breakfast with them. They said they guessed I was mistaken. I repeated the invitation to myself. Arnold said he thought I had better go back to my mess. I said I liked eggs. Arnold said he was aware of my weakness in that respect, but that eggs were eggs, and that I could not have any of theirs. I insisted that I liked eggs and they insisted that I could not have any. Arnold went so far as to say that if I didn’t get away he would try some force to make me go. I said I liked eggs, and with that I reached in my pocket and pulled out the snake I told you about and threw it down on the table. Arnold and Parker fled in dismay, and I sat down and ate their eggs.
“As you might imagine, the fame of Sergt. Day as a snake charmer flew over the camp. It did not take much of a yarn, however, to do that. We were 6,800 in a pen of eight acres. The news traveled outside of the stockade and the guards came to look at me as the curious come to look at the mark on Katshaw’s arm. In a few days several of the Confederate privates, always out for fun, came down Fifth Avenue—that was the name of the street on which I lived in the stockade—and the leader of the crowd, who was the typical Johnny Reb, as he is pictured in the Northern papers, stopped in front of my shebang—that is what we called the huts in which we lived—and called out in the vernacular of the back settlements:
“’Whar’s that Yankee snake charmer? Fetch him out! Whar is he? Ef he’s here and can tame snakes we hev got one for him to try his hand on! Whar’s the Yankee snake charmer?”
“One of my men who had seen the snake said it was a black adder and told me not to touch it as it was dangerous. Capt. White said it had a mouth like a cow. However, as I had the reputation I did not like to lose it, and I walked out, and there was the ugly thing held down by a notched stick. It had its mouth open and seemed anxious to get at some one. The camp was present in force to see the Yankee charm the reptile. I caught the snake just back of its head and it made a strike at me. I caught it a little lower down, lifted it into the air, and with a mighty effort I threw it into the crowd that had come to see the Yankee, and of all the scattering you ever saw it was there. From that time on I was a sort of hero I suppose—and I may add at this distance from the scene that whenever any of the boys had any delicacies at their tables and I went to them and said I had come to dine with them they welcomed me to the mess.”
(part 2 will follow)
Vicki Betts
vbetts@gower.net