Page:Southern Historical Society Papers volume 23.djvu/168

 162 Southern Historical Society Papers.

HE WAS KIND.

Captain Patterson, of the Third or Fifth New Hampshire regi- ment, had charge of our camp, and was as kind as he was allowed to be, so we became warmly attached to him. I have always be- lieved that it was his kindness that caused him to be removed and sent to the front, and Major Brady to be put in his place. To us he was the impersonation of cruelty and meanness, and soon earned the title of " Brute Brady." I have seen this man have a guard at the gate, call for a detail, and when the men came crowding around the gate to get out, which all were eager to do poor fellows, because they would get extra rations for their work he would have the gate thrown open, put spurs to his horse, charge in upon them, calling them d d rebels, and ride right over them before they could get out of the way. This is only one instance of our usual treatment while under this man. He had command of two negro regiments, and if I were to tell half of the suffering and indignities to which we were subjected they would fill a good-sized volume. We all suffered for any misdemeanor on the part of one, so glad were they of any excuse to deprive us of our morsel of meat and cup of soup and put us on hard-tack and water.

Ladies would visit the prison and call out so that we could hear them, " Major, how are Jeff Davis's cattle getting on ? " How any woman could deride such abject misery, even in an enemy, has al- ways been a mystery to me.

No blankets were given us and we had only two well-worn ones for three two good friends beside myself, who kindly let me "sleep in the middle," and with one blanket under and one over us we shivered the long nights through.

We had been here fifteen months before we got any clothing. My jacket and trousers were in strings. I had had no shirt for months, and was barefooted. When we were called out to get some clothes I had to stand two hours on the frozen ground before my turn came, and I am sure I never felt so comfortable in my life as I did when I first put on the coarse blouse, pantaloons, shoes, and socks. I often wonder how we lived to tell of the cold and hun- ger of our prison life.

I had been in prison twenty months, three and a half at Fort Delaware, and seventeen at Point Lookout.

We were paroled in March, and a pitiful set of men we were. I weighed barely ninety pounds, was almost a skeleton, and so weak