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NARRATIVE ¦OF

Amos E. Stearns,
Member Co. A., 25th Regt., Mass. Vols.,

A PRISONER AT ANDERSONVILLE.

With an Introduction by -
SAMUEL H. PUTNAM.

WORCESTER, MASS. :
FRANKLIN P. RICE, Publisher.
MDCCCLXXXVII. H.

TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES PRINTED.

Copyright, iSSb,
By F. P. Rice.

Puni.isnER'8 Private Press.

To the
MASSACHUSETTS ASSOCIATION
Hilton IPrtsoners of VMav.

Introduction.

npHE NARRATIVE of Prison Life as told in the following
pages is the simple story of a private soldier, a member of
Company A, Twenty-fifth Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers.
That his tale is honestly told— that he narrates his own experience
truthfully, and describes what came under his observation faith
fully — there can be no question.
As he speaks only of his prison life it may be well to give here
his reasons for going to the war and enlisting in Company A, as
they show clearly the character of the man. I use his own words
as I heard them from his lips :
" I have often been asked how I. came to go to the war in Company A,
25th Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers. It was because I wanted to go
in a company and regiment whose officers had had some experience. And
as Captain Pickett had been out three months in the 3d Battalion of Rifles, I
thought him just the man to go with, and so I went with him. I had the war
fever from the time of the going of the first troops until I went myself. When
I went to the war I was in debt something over one hundred dollars, having
just lost my wife and infant child, they dying within three weeks of each
other; and that left me without a home, so I felt more free to go. I was out
of work most of the time that summer, and got in debt to the above amount.
"While I was in the service I paid this debt, and came home on a furlough
in August, 1863, which cost me four months' pay. I also bought grave-stones
for my wife and child, and at one time had ninety dollars on deposit in the
bank. But after I went into the stockade at Florence I sent home for a box
of things, as the Rebel officers said any box weighing less than one hundred

Introduction.
pounds would come to us by way of Charleston. I wanted clothing, stock
ings, shoes, a small camp kettle, dried beef and other articles, which cost me
nearly thirty dollars, so that when I came home in 1865 I had only about
sixty dollars in the bank. I received two hundred and sixty-two dollars on
my discharge, and about twenty dollars back clothing money. 1 would have
had more clothing money, but when I arrived at Camp Parole they made me
draw everything just as if I was going to join the regiment again, and these
things cost forty-one dollars. So you see the sutlers did not get very rich
out of me. I saved all this money on a private's pay of thirteen dollars a
month, except the last year, when it was sixteen dollars."
How plainly the above off-hand talk shows Mr. Stearns as he
was. and as he is to-day, his comrades can testify.
Mr. Stearns is of a tough and hardy make, possessed of a strong
constitution and a frame built for endurance. He is short in
stature, and belonged among the "ponies," on the left of Company
A. As a soldier he was ever "ready" for any duty assigned him,
and as a member of old Company A I honor him, while as an
honest, hard-working "bread-winner" I respect him.
Mr. Stearns is at present writing fifty-four years old, attending
to his daily task at the works of the Washburn & Moen Manu
facturing Company in Worcester, where he has been employed
for years. He is quiet, economical, and strictly temperate in his
habits-; and talks freely of his prison experience, with hardly a
thought that it is worth mentioning. He moves about among us,
a hero, though he knows it not.
This narrative should have found a place in the Story of Com
pany A, Twenty-fifth Regiment, Massachusetts Volunteers and
it was so intended, but circumstances prevented. It is now printed
in the same elegant style as that volume, and issued in the present
form, with the hope that it will prove to the reader as interesting
as it is truthful.
Samuel H. Putnam.

Narrative of Amos E. Stearns.

Narrative of Amos E. Stearns.

TT WAS my misfortune to be taken prisoner May 
1 6th, 1864, at the battle of Drewry's Bluff. As I l864-
now look back to those days it seems more like a Drewry's
dream than a reality ; but time cannot dim my recol- "¦"'
lection of the sufferings, privations and starvation I
witnessed and experienced during the nine months
and eleven days I passed in Rebel prisons. But as
it is not now my purpose to write a full and detailed
history of my prison life, but only to give some of
the many incidents which came under my observa
tion, I will, without further prelude, proceed to give
a short sketch of my experience, premising that the
events are not mentioned in strictly chronological
order. At the time I was captured I was with Private
Joseph Schusser of Company G in our own Regi
ment. He had received a wound, and I was assist
ing him to the rear. A dense fog overhung the

10 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
scene of conflict, and while we were endeavoring to

1864. find our way through it we came upon a company
Drewry's Qr Rebeis ancj were so near before seeing them that
Bluff. &
it would have been folly for us to have attempted a
retreat, for we would have drawn the fire of the
whole company ; but had it not been for leaving a
wounded comrade I think I should have taken the
risk, and endeavored to give the Rebs "leg bail."
Havinp- surrendered to one who was a little in
We &
surrender advance of the company, he marched us up to the
captain, who called for some sick and barefoot sol
dier to "take these men to the rear." Immediately
after this the Rebels marched for Richmond. I had
often thought that I would like to be present at the
capture of Richmond, but little dreamed that I should
go into the Rebel Capital in advance of General
Grant. The first thing I saw after starting that made me
want to fight, was that the Reb who was guarding
First
robbery, us at the rear had my tin cup full of dry coffee ; how
and when he took it off my haversack was more
than I could tell, but at any rate he acted as though
he had more pure coffee than he had seen in six
months previously. As they took us to the rear
we passed over the ground where their line of battle

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 1 1
had been that morning, and their dead and dying  1864.
lay all around. There was a light battery there,
most of whose horses were killed, so that there were
not enough left to take away the cannon and cais
sons. Every building we passed from the battle
ground to the landing above Fort Darling was being ^unj^
used for hospital purposes, and yet these were not
sufficient, for many wounded were lying on the
ground exposed to the rays of a burning sun.
Before reaching Fort Darling our squad was so
much increased that a lieutenant was placed in
command of us, and we were marched to the land
ing. Among our number was an Indian who had
acted as waiter for a captain in the TentlT Maine
regiment. The Rebel guard soon began to vent
their spite upon him, called him some pretty hard
names, and accused him of being a slave and be
longing to a plantation near Richmond. He denied An
this, and told them he came from Bangor in Maine,
and that he belonged to the Penobscot tribe of In
dians. They told him they would "soon fix him";
that he would "make good pot pie," etc. The
lieutenant said nothing to them for a while, but
shortly afterwards, ordering lis to halt, addressed
the guard as- follows : " I was a prisoner on Johnson

Indian
prisoner.

12 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
Island five months. I was never used better in my

1864. ' life than when I was there. Now I want you to use
these men well for my sake if for nothing more ;
will you ? " " We will ! " said they all ; and so, after
the prisoners had given three cheers for the lieu
tenant, we marched in peace to the landing place.
I never learned what became of the poor Indian.
When we reached the landing above Fort Darling
I found that Schusser and myself were not the only
More ones taken prisoners from our regiment. I saw two
prisoners. Gr three of the boys, who told me that more than
fifty of our regiment had been sent up to Richmond
on a boat. After waiting an hour or so, we (some
eighty or more) were put on board a gunboat, and
started for Richmond. If ever I thought I was to
be roasted alive, it was on that trip up the river.
We were placed on deck without any shelter from
Up the r J
river, the burning sun, in proximity to the boilers of the
boat, and the combined heat was almost too great
for human endurance. The river from Fort Darling
to Richmond was obstructed by sunken vessels and
spiles driven nearly across from shore to shore.
Several pontoon bridges stretched across at different
places, and, as the boat proceeded up the river, one
of their signal corps stood in the bows and signaled

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 13
all the way. The officer in command of the boat 
was a beardless youth belonging to one of the F. F.
Vs., who strutted up and down the deck with all the
pride of a first-class swell. He said it was against
the orders of their government to take any of our
greenbacks or currency, yet he wanted some of the
prisoners to give him some of the scrip as "a keep
sake to remember the Yankee mudsills by ! "
When we arrived at Richmond a number of men Richmond
and women had collected on the wharf to see the
Yankee prisoners ; but I knew by their looks that
although they had gained a victory, it was a dearly
bought one. When we were marched from the boat
we were placed under guard and none ofthe citizens
allowed to speak to us. Shortly afterwards we were
conducted to the far famed Libby Prison. One of
the guard told me, while on the way, that he had
been in the Rebel service eighteen months, and had a
not fired a gun at the Yanks. He said he lived in Northern
renegade.
Worcester before the war, and had a brother who
was in Millbury when he last heard from him ; he
was an Irishman, but would not tell me his name.
He said he was sorry for us, as he thought they
would put us on Belle Island, and it was a hard
place.

14 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 When we arrived at Libby we were marched up
1864. to the third floor, which we found to be in a very
Llbby clean condition, the floors having been washed and
Prison.
the ceilings newly whitened. No instructions what
ever were given us, but we were not long in finding
out what we could not do, for we had been in the
room scarcely three minutes when Private Green of
my company was shot through the right arm by one
of the guard who was on duty in the street outside.
Green and myself were among the first to enter the
room, and the weather being extremely hot, Green
went and sat down on the window sill, with his back
towards the street, not thinking there was any harm
in doing so, and the first we knew of its being
Green agajnst the rules was the report of a musket outside,
wounded.
when Green jumped up and said to me : " I am
wounded ! " at the same time putting his hand upon
his arm. Upon examination I found that the bullet
had passed through his arm just above the elbow,
shattering the bone, and that a buckshot had grazed
his head just behind the ear and had lodged in the
ceiling, taking a lock of his hair with it. The wound
was very painful ; he said he had been wounded
twice before, but did not suffer as much from both
the wounds as he did from this one. He wanted

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 15
me to see what could be done about getting him to 
the hospital so that his wound might be dressed.
I made an attempt, but as there were guards on Libby
Prison*
each pair of stairs, I had to do some tall coaxing
before I could get to the first floor, where the officers
of the prison were. After some hesitation they told
me I might get him down there and they would have
him sent to the hospital. I had no trouble in getting
back to the third floor, but when I started down
again with Green, I had the same amount of talking
to do as at first. At last I got him down, when one
of the officers told me to put him on a rough table.
I did so, and thought I would remain with him till
he was taken to the hospital, but they would not
allow it and I was sent back.
By this time I found all the prisoners had been
sent to the third floor, and that the Rebs were about
to search them. One of the officers got upon a box prisoners
and told us that if we had any money or watches we searched
had "better come and give them up"; that' our robbed.
names, companies, regiments, etc., would be taken
and the property would be returned to us when we
were paroled or exchanged — a promise never ful
filled. "If you do not give them up, and we find
them on you," said the officer, "we shall take them,

1 6 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns, '
 and you will lose them anyhow." So most of the
prisoners gave up what greenbacks and watches
Libby fa possessed. I saw several hand in from ten to
Prison. , ...
one hundred and twenty-five dollars each, while
others hid what they had about their persons and
clothing ; but the keen-eyed Rebels found most of
this, some of which had been concealed in the lining
of caps, waistbands of trousers, etc. They made us
take off shoes, stockings, coats and blouses. As for
myself, I had only two dollars to lose. They allowed
us to keep what currency we had, and I possessed
about a dollar of that. I saw one prisoner take
twenty-eight dollars out of his mouth after he was
searched ; he had rolled it up in as small a ball as
he could, and placed it as far back in his throat as
possible, and stood, of course, speechless during the
period of his examination. They took our haver
sacks, canteens and cups. The Reb who searched
me allowed me to keep the pictures of my wife and
child, and a tin cup. I have always supposed him
Dick to have been the notorious Dick Turner, who, it will
' ' be remembered, was a deserter from the Union army,
and after having joined the Rebs, was made a ser
geant and placed on duty at Libby Prison, where he
treated the prisoners with inhuman barbarity.

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 1 7

1864.

Our rations at Libby were not of the kind and
quantity to make one grow fat very fast. The first
day we received — nothing ; and all we had to eat Ltbby
J & Prison.
that day was the little hard-tack we had when cap
tured. The second and third days we each got a
loaf of corn bread about six inches square and two
and a half inches thick. On the fourth day they
reduced it one half, and with the half-loaf gave us
half a pint of bean soup, which was made by boiling
beans in water in which side bacon had been cooked, Radons.
but we got none of the bacon, and there was about
one bean .to three waters. The reason they gave
for reducing our rations was, that some of the men
had thrown out bread to the guard, and they were
giving us more than we could eat. When the ra
tions were given out we were formed in companies
of fifty each ; and it so happened on the fourth day
of my being there that the company I was in was
the last to get their bread, of which .there was not
enough to go round by one loaf, and as I was at the One
extreme left, I had to go without my bread for that
day. Some of the boys said, after we had broken
ranks : "What are you going to do for rations to
day?" "Oh," said I, "I shall be provided in some
way." " Well," said they, "this is rather a hard place
3

*8 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
~ to look for rations, where there are so many hungry
1864. men." Certainly the prospect was not very brilliant,
„ '. y but still I had confidence that in some way I should
Prison.
get something to eat before rations came the next
day. Shortly after this conversation, I went to the
other side of the room and there found Mclntire, of
Company I, sick with the chills. He told me if I
would go and get him some water to drink he would
give me his ration of bread, as he was sick and could
not eat it. I brought him water then and afterwards
Provided during the day whenever he wanted it, so I was pro-
f°r- vided for after all.
On the 17th of May I wrote a letter to my father
to let him know of my whereabouts after the battle.
The officers of the prison said it would go down to
our lines the next day, but my letter did not reach
Worcester until July 3d.
On the Monday morning following my capture we
were called up at four o'clock, and told to get ready
to march ; where to we knew not. Soon after we
We leave were formed in line outside of the prison, and then
marched over the bridge across the James river to
Gloucester, where we were placed in box cars, and
after some delay, started on our long journey for
Andersonville. We reached Danville about three

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 19
o'clock the next morning, and it being a bright moon- — —
light night, we were marched to an old place which
had been used for a cotton mill, but the machinery Danmiu-
had all been removed excepting the frame of the
cloth press.
I should have stated that when we left Libby each
man received a loaf of corn bread the same size as
that of which I have spoken ; we were told that that
was a day's rations, but those who had charge of us
must have forgotten it, for we had nothing more to rations.
eat till Wednesday morning, when they gave each
of us part of a loaf of corn bread, a small piece of
meat, and some bean soup made the same as that
at Libby. In about three hours after, they gave out
a ration of bread which they told us was for that
day's allowance ; but alas ! they again forgot what
day it was, and we received no more food till Thurs
day night.
When they marched us from the old mill at Dan
ville to take the cars, we passed one of their hos
pitals. There was a large number of wounded
Rebels around there, some of whom wanted to know
where we were captured, and when I told them
Drewry's Bluff, one said : "Damn you ! That's where
we got wounded ! "

High
prices.

20 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 After some delay we were again on our way into
the heart of the Southern Confederacy. While at
the station some of the women and children came
down to see the Yanks, and to sell a'few biscuits;
which some of the boys bought, and paid ten cents
apiece for them. I saw one of our number pay ten
cents for three table spoonfuls of sorghum ; the boy
who was selling it had only about half a pint, and I
thought it was a pretty heavy stock in trade.
On our way from Danville to Charlotte we passed
through a place where our cavalry had torn up some
of the railroad track, and had burned the depot ; the
track had just been relaid when we got there. We
reached Greensboro' sometime during the night, and
remained there until morning ; soon after daylight
a company of Rebels came down to the depot, and
the officers in charge of the train ordered us all from
the cars, for what purpose we did not know, but we
heard soon afterwards that some of our forces were
only a few miles distant from that place. After
being off the cars for an hour or so we were ordered
back again.
There were sixty or more men in each car, and we
were so crowded that it was impossible for us to lie
down, and we had to sleep in a squatting position.

An alarm <

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 2 1
We left Greensboro* about nine in the morning, 
and arrived at Charlotte at sundown; here we
changed cars and received some more rations which
consisted of six large hard-tack, and about a pound Stronz
. bacon.
of side bacon to each man. The bacon was so ran
cid that it took the skin off my mouth.
We remained in the cars all night at Charlotte,
and about ten o'clock next morning were on our
way to Augusta, Georgia, at which place we arrived Augusta.
at noon Saturday. We were marched from the cars
to a large yard in which were long sheds ; this place
had been used for storing cotton. There was a high
board fence enclosing the yard so that we could see
little outside except through the gate, which was
kept well guarded. Here we again received rations
of hard-tack and side bacon which was almost strong
enough to "go it alone"; but men as hungry as we
were did not stop to consider the quality ; it was
quantity we wanted.
We were kept in this yard from Saturday noon
till Sunday forenoon without any water for drinking Nowater-
or washing purposes. Sometime in the forenoon of
Sunday an officer came to the gate and wanted to
know if there were any men inside who had been
firemen at home, - or knew anything about using

22 Narrative of Amos E. Sleartts,
hose, as he wanted to run a line of hose from a hy-

-Off . drant into the yard so that the Yanks might have1
Augusta. sorne Water. I told him I was acquainted with its
use, and as the work he wanted done was for the
benefit of the prisoners, I would go. He took three
or four more of us, and we went out. Some of the
citizens came up and asked me where I was captured ;
I told them, and they wanted to know under what
general I was serving. I said : " General Butler was
in command of us." " Well," said one, " any person
who would fight under such a man as Ben Butler
Questions ought to be made prisoner." Another wanted to
know what state I was from. "Massachusetts, and
I am not ashamed to own it ! " At this they all left
off talking, and watched the "Yanks" use the hose.
Having run enough water into the yard — some six
or eight barrels — we returned, and I made good use
of some of that water.
About one o'clock Sunday afternoon they formed
Off again. ... , , , .
us in line and we marched to the depot, which was
at some little distance. The street through which
we passed was very wide, and had a row of large
trees on each side of it ; the streets that ran out of
this were fine looking, and the place strongly re
minded me of some of our northern cities. After

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 23
a time we entered the cars and started for Macon, 
where we arrived at daylight the next morning, and
making a brief stop, departed for Andersonville,
reaching that place at noon. We marched at once Ander~
, . sonvitte.
to Captain Wirz's headquarters, where we were
counted' off by men taken from our own ranks, who
were to act as sergeants of the squads after we
should be turned into the stockade. While being
counted off some of the prisoners sat and lay down •
on the ground, but Wirz came along and ordered WirZm
all the "Gott dam Yanks" to stand up till they were
counted. While here we saw several of our drummer boys
around with large tin stars on their caps or coats, .
and we were told that they were on their parole of
honor, and that the star was to distinguish them
from the other prisoners.
I ought to have stated that during all our long
ride from Richmond to Andersonville we were not
allowed to get off the train to get a drink of water, Sufferins
en route.
although many times the train stopped at places
where we could have obtained it without going ten
feet from the cars. There were times while on the
way that I was so thirsty that my tongue became
very much swollen.

24 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,

1864.

While in front of Wirz's headquarters we could
look over into the stockade, and a heart-sickening
Ander- sjgnt jt was_ jjjg prisoners m there looked more
mite, like brown beavers than human beings. The shel
ters were of all shapes and sizes, and many of the
prisoners were destitute of any. ' But we were
not long allowed to view them from a distance, for
we were marched to the gate as soon as our name,
company, regiment, and place of capture were re
corded. The huge gate was opened and we passed in like
so many sheep, with only the blue heavens above
for shelter. The place assigned us was a low, marshy
stockade, piece of ground near the creek which ran through
the stockade, and was not fit for man or beast to lay
upon ; but we had to put up with it for a night or
two, until we got places elsewhere among the pris
oners. I had been but a short time within the stockade
. when I came across S. P. Champney, formerly of
Comrade *¦ J J
Champ- Company D, who had been transferred to the U. S.
ney' Signal Corps, and was captured the February pre
vious at Beach Grove, just outside of New Berne.
From him I learned how our prisoners were being
treated, and what the "dead line" was.

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 25
The first week I was in Andersonville I com

menced, with the assistance of Charley Rice of
Company H, and Private Plum of the Eleventh Ander-
Connecticut, to make a mud house similar to others viUe,
there ; but after two days' work upon it we gave it
up, partly for want of material, and partly on account
of the wet land on which we had to build, for when
it rained the water from the side of a hill near by
would pour down upon us and make one grand mud
hole. We then commenced looking around, en
deavoring to get in with some of the other prisoners
who had shelters or "shebangs," as they were called Shebangs.
in the stockade. Charley soon found some one to
take him in (it was Champney, of whom I have
spoken), and Plum was lucky enough to find a place
where he could stay for a few days. As for myself,
I had no shelter ; for a whole week I slept on the
bare ground without covering of any kind. I found
one good soul who gave me the privilege of laying
up next to his shebang, and I thought myself quite
fortunate in getting that place, even ; I slept well No
shelter.
except when the rain woke me up, for it rained more
or less every day for the first twenty-three days we
were there. I could, doubtless, have found some
one who would have taken me in with them if I had
4

26 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 only had a blanket ; for on inquiring, the first ques
tion asked me was: "Have you a blanket?" and
Ander- wnen I replied in the negative, they said they could
son-
ville_ accommodate no one unless he had a blanket.
After I had been in there a week I thought I
would just call on friend Champney, and find out if
there was any news ; so off I started to find his she
bang. The first words he said to me were : " Stearns,
I have good news for you ; one of the boys in my
a place sneDang has gone to the hospital to work, and I
for me. have been looking for you to have you come in with
us." You may believe that the "God bless you,
Champney!" was no hollow sound with which I
thanked him ; it had the true ring in it. It did not
take me long to move in ; I had all my traps with
me, for it was not safe to leave anything lying around
loose if you wanted to see it again.
Champney's shebang consisted of two army blan
kets fastened together with wooden pins, and put
shebang. UP ^e an A tent, which, with a rubber poncho for
the end, made a comfortable shelter compared with
what the majority of them had ; for at this time there
were so many prisoners in the stockade that hun
dreds of them had no shelter at all, but had to lie
out on the ground, in the paths and streets ; and

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 27

1864.

after they had laid down for the night it was im
possible to go about without picking your way very
carefully. Often one could hear loud talk as some Ander- son-
wanderer trod upon or stumbled over some sleeping „,//,.
form. At the time of our arrival at Andersonville a part
of the prisoners were getting raw rations, and a part
cooked. We were counted off in detachments of
two hundred and seventy ; these detachments were
divided into nineties, and the nineties into squads
of thirty. There was a sergeant for each detach- 00 e
t and raw
ment, each ninety, and each thirty ; these sergeants rations.
had extra rations for dealing out ours. Those of us
who received raw rations obtained corn meal, stock
beans, rice, and fresh beef; while those given cooked
provisions had corn bread, boiled rice, mush, and
cooked beef. I felt interested to know what mush
was ; at first I supposed it might be potatoes boiled Mush'
and mashed, but before the night of the first day I
found that it was made from corn meal, which was
ground corn cob. It was made in large kettles, and
when brought into the stockade was put into large
wooden boxes which held six or eight bushels each.
Rice and beans when cooked were furnished us in
the same way.

28. Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,

1864.
Ander son

When I saw what our rations were to be I thought
I could get along for a while if I only had enough ;
but I found when they gave out our rations that
vute- they did not deal them out with a liberal hand. The
first night we had raw rations, and I got less than a
quart of corn meal, part of a table-spoonful of salt,
and a piece of fresh beef not more than three inches
Short r
rations, square and two inches thick. This was to last me
for the next four and twenty hours. It was no won
der that as I was trying to make a little mush in a
pint cup over a small fire no bigger than my cup,
that my mind went back to old Camp Oliver, and to
,, . thoughts ofthe quantities of soft bread I had seen
JMemories £> T-
of Camp thrown away because it was a little dry, and to some
of those huge pieces of salt junk which I had dumped
into the swill holes ; but thinking did not bring any
of it to me. However, as long as they gave our
part of the stockade raw rations I got along very
well and did not go very hungry, for while I was
with Comrade Champney I would often change,
letting him- have some of my rations, which we
would cook, and I would take some of his cooked
rations. The food prepared by the Rebels was not
cooked in a proper manner ; the rice and beans were
either under-done or burnt, and were often as hard

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 29

1864.
Ander- son-

as on the day they were gathered from the fields.
We managed to exist, however ; but when a change
took place, and those who had been receiving raw,
received cooked rations, then it was that I knew vuu.
what it was to be hungry. Our rations were given
out in the afternoon about three o'clock, and per
haps the first in order would be mush or cooked
beans, of which, as a general thing, we would get a
quart cup nearly full ; then the bread, and lastly the
meat. Many a time I have eaten what I received as soon
as I got it, without waiting for the whole, or even
trying to save any until the next morning- and be
fore dark everything would be gone, and that, too, Hunser and
knowing that I should not receive any more till the. privation.
next afternoon. Once in a while I would think of
saving my bread, but whenever I did my empty
stomach would get the best of me, and before I
could go to sleep I would eat what little I had, fear
ing that some one might steal it from me, which was
no uncommon thing there.
I will say here that our rations of bread would be
a piece two by four inches square, and two inches
thick ; and our rations of beef would not, be as much
as there is in a piece two inches square.

1864.
Ander son
ville.

30 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
Trading rations was quite common. At almost
any time in the day men were heard about the stock
ade calling out : " Cooked beans for raw beans ! "
"Who has meal for beans ?" " Beans for tobacco ! "
" Bread for beans ! " "Who has a soup bone for
meal or tobacco ? " I have known men to trade
Trading
rations, every third day's rations for tobacco, saying that
they could get along without their rations, small as
they were, better than without their tobacco. I did
not use the weed, and so did not resort to that kind
of trading.
The Rebel sutler, who had a shebang on one
side, asked high for everything he offered. I saw
High flour sold for fifty cents a pint ; onions for twenty-
pnces. £ve anc| £fty cents apiece ; water melons, two to
three dollars each. Some of the prisoners who had
money would purchase flour and make it into biscuit,-
for which they would ask twenty-five cents each.
Sometimes they would have a little butter, and then
the price would be thirty cents. " Here's where
you get your nice hot biscuits with butter on them ! "
Luxuries. .
was their cry. Others would buy sweet potatoes
and make them into soup, and you would hear the
venders of that article calling out: "Here's your
nice potato soup, well seasoned with salt and pepper;

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 3 1
taste and try, if you don't like you needn't buy."
These and other cries were heard from all parts of

1864.
the stockade. Ander~ son-
At times, on some pretext, the Rebels would stop viiu.
the rations, and then there would be some hungry-
looking faces. I have known them stopped for two
days together, and only once did I know them to
give any back rations.
Comrade Schusser died about six weeks after we
reached Andersonville. Gangrene got in his wound, and
and neglect and exposure hastened his death. Green Green.
I never saw after I left him in Richmond. He died
three weeks later. On the 15 th of June Corporal Bugbee's
Bugbee and others of the Twenty-fifth captured at arrival.
Cold Harbor arrived at Andersonville.
When I first went into Andersonville prison I
supposed, seeing we were all Union prisoners, that,
amid such privation and suffering, all would strive
to do what good they could, with what means they
had, and be, as it were, members of one family. I
was not long in finding out my mistake ; I soon Tkteves and
found that stealing was no uncommon thing, even rMerSm
in broad daylight. It was not unusual for one of
the raiders (as they were called) if he saw a new
prisoner with a better hat than his own, to take it

3 2 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
1864

Ander son-

Paiders.

from him, and if the victim made any objections or
offered any resistance, the first he would know he
would get a blow on the head or a kick in the rear.
viiu. There was hardly a night during the first five
weeks I was there that I did not hear the cry of
" Murder ! " or " Stop that raider ! " and I could hear
them running about the stockade ; and if anybody
made an attempt to stop one he would get a blow
from some unexpected quarter, for the raiders were
scattered all over the stockade, and were ever ready
to help one another. There was an organized gang
of them, most of whom were bounty-jumpers, who,
rather than fight, had been taken prisoners. Their
raids became so numerous that the other prisoners
found it necessary to devise some plan to protect
themselves. They organized a police force, ap
pointed a chief, who also acted as judge of the jus
tice court ; and when anyone was caught in the act
Their 0f stealing he was taken before the chief, who would
hear the charges and evidence against him, and if
found guilty he would order him to be half-shaved,
which was done by shaving off half his hair and
half his beard, if he had any. A card was then hung
over his neck on which the word "Thief" was
written, and he was marched round the stockade

punish jnent.

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 33
by the police. Even this did not stop the raiders, 
though they were not quite as bold as before.
The raiding continued till July, when, one day, *JT"
the raiders made a desperate attempt to rob a pris- viiu.
oner of his watch and money ; he defended himself
for a time, when they overpowered him and took
his watch, but not till they had inflicted a severe
wound on his face which bled profusely. As soon ofthe
as he could get away he went to the south gate and raiders.
called for the Rebel officer of the guard, who came,
and to whom he told his story, and asked that he
might go to Wirz's headquarters, and see if some
thing could not be done to stop the raiding. The
officer sent two guards with him to Wirz, who, after
hearing his story, sent for the officer of the day,
and ordered him to take a squad of men, and go
inside the stockade and take out all who were known
to be raiders. Several were taken out, and those
not found guilty of murder (for it had come to light
that two men had been killed, robbed, and buried
under their shelters) were turned back into the
stockade, where they were obliged to run the gaunt
let between two rows of men. They had to duck
and dodge for dear life, for the prisoners were so
indignant that they would strike at them with sticks
5

34 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 or anything they could get hold of. Many of them
lost their hats and caps, but they cared little so long
Ander- as they escaped with whole heads.
son-
viiie. Six of the number taken out were found guilty of
murder after a fair trial by a jury taken from the
new prisoners just arrived, who, not having been
inside the stockade, could take sides with neither
party. An able lawyer, an officer in the Rebel army,
auers conducted the defence. The raiders were sentenced
tried and
con- to be hung, and it was said that a report of the trial
demned. was sent to Qenerai Sherman at Atlanta, and that
he approved the sentence. On the 12th of July a
gallows was erected near the south gate, close by
where the men were murdered. About two o'clock
in the afternoon Captain Wirz, accompanied by a
guard, brought the prisoners into the stockade, and
turned them over to the prison police. He made a
short speech, in which he said the men had been
tried and found guilty of atrocious murder, and that
he would leave them with us for punishment. He,
with the guard, then left the stockade. The police
then formed a hollow square around the gallows,
the ropes were arranged, the guilty men, who up to
this time had not viewed the affair in a serious light,
ascended the scaffold, and, leave being granted.

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 35
they protested their innocence, one or two calling 1864*
on their friends to do their duty, which was under
stood to mean to rescue them from the police. Ander- son-
The ropes were adjusted about the necks of the viiu.
condemned men, the bags drawn over their faces,
and their hands pinioned. The drop fell, and five
hung by their necks ; the sixth one nearest the gate
sprang at the time, or just before the drop fell broke tion ofthe
the rope from his neck, gained his feet, and made a raiders.
desperate attempt to escape. He was recaptured,
however, and was soon hanging in mid-air with his
companions. Thus ended the lesson of retribution
that put a stop to murders in prison, and broke up
a gang of bounty-jumping desperadoes.
While the gallows was building I desired not to see
them hanged, so when the murderers were brought
in I took my tin cup and started for the other side
of the stockade for my rations,^ yet, being anxious
to know if they had hanged them, I kept looking
back, and just as the prop was knocked out from •
under the trap, I happened to turn, and saw the
men drop. After that I think I could have seen
any number of men hanged.
Up to this time large numbers of prisoners had
been brought into the stockade, and we were much

36 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
crowded for room. I have seen while passing around

_ Off? .
the stockade in the morning, some of the number,
Ander- worn out Dy exhaustion and hope deferred, dead,
son- '
vUU_ the living lying by their side, unconscious of the
near approach of the grim visitor.
In consequence of the crowd the Rebels enlarged
the stockade, and for a time we had more room,
and wood was more plentiful ; for many of the boys
helped themselves to the timber, which, previous to
the enlargement had formed the north end of the
stockade. These men would trade the wood thus
Wood ODtaineci for rations, for the supply of wood received
from the Rebels was limited ; once in three days
each prisoner received a stick about a foot long and
three inches thick. The wood was brought in pieces
four feet long, and many times it was difficult to get
an axe or anything with which to split it, hence it
was not divided equally. If we obtained an axe or
a railroad spike to split the wood, we had to give
one ration of wood for the loan of the implement.
Comrade Champney was at one time sergeant of
a squad, and had to divide the wood for thirty men.
He had only a case-knife to do it with ; it was some
what bent when he got through with it, and when
he died (August nth) he gave it to me, as also a

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 37
meerschaum pipe, for which he paid eight dollars in  I004*
New Berne, and which I sold for thirty-five dollars
in Confederate money. The knife was stolen from Ander' son-
me while we were going from Andersonville to vuu.
Charleston, by some one who thought he had more
claim to it than I had.
I will relate my experience in the wood business
while at Andersonville. I bought a four-foot stick
of fat pine wood from Comrade McCue of Company
E for fifty cents. It was about five inches in diam
eter. I had no money, and he let me have it on
credit. I cut the stick into pieces about eight inches My spec'
ulation.
long, and about as big round as my thumb, and
made them into bundles about the size of our tin
cups. These I sold for ten cents a bundle, which
was cheap compared with ruling prices. I reserved
enough to last me for two weeks, and quickly dis
posed of the rest, which realized one dollar and ten
cents. I paid McCue, and wished to buy more wood
on a cash basis, but he positively refused, saying he
had no more to sell, though when he left the stock
ade two months later he left more than half a cord
behind him. He afterwards said that the reason he
did not sell me the wood was that he" thought there
would be a panic in the wood trade, and that I was

38 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 likely to make more out of it than he. As it was, I
-Off . J
made two weeks' supply of wood, and sixty cents,
Ander. wnjch was quite a help to me in buying extra rations.
son-
viiu. Exchange on the brain was one of the most com
mon diseases in Andersonville, and the first ques-
Exchan <,ti°ns asked all new prisoners were : "What regiment
on the do you belong to ? " " Where were you captured ?"
brain' and the all-important " Did you hear anything about
parole or exchange before you were captured ? "
This "Exchange on the brain" had a bad influ
ence on many of the prisoners, who would catch at
every report that came into the stockade, and as the
time for the reported exchange passed by, they
hopes would presently give up all hope of ever getting
out of prison, and would lay down and die. I have
seen many a man full of hope at first, give up finally
and be carried out with the great throng of martyrs
who sacrificed their lives for their country.
When I first entered the stockade I used to attach
some credit to these reports, and all I heard I an
nounced to Champney, who would quietly remark :
"Well, Stearns, when you have been a prisoner as
long as I have, you will not believe all the reports
you hear about exchange ; for there are always such
rumors in camp." This I found to be true ; there

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 39 .
would be a report going around the stockade that 
a parole or exchange had been agreed upon by both
governments, to take effect in two or three weeks ; Anderm son-
hut before that time elapsed another rumor would vme_
spring up, and so on, till, at length, many would
abandon hope, become disheartened, and die.
I have often thought how animated Champney
was by a report of an exchange which was to take
place September ist, but, somehow, I had no faith
in it, and told him so ; but he said : " Of all the re
ports I have heard since I have been a prisoner,
this seems the most favorable." He was so con- Death °f
Chatnp-
fident that it would prove true that he wanted to ney_
shake hands on it. Alas ! poor fellow ! He died
before the time arrived. His bright hopes of re
turning home and seeing his friends once more
were never realized.
I often imagined I had seen it rain when in our
lines, but there was a shower about the ist of
August that beat anything I ever witnessed. The^ shower-
rain came down in streams ; the brook which ran
throuo-h the stockade became so swollen that the
outlet was not large enough to let the water pass
through, so that a portion of the stockade at that
point was carried off, and many a poor fellow's

40 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,

1864.
Ander son

shebang was washed away, with their tin cups, can
teens, and other little keepsakes. I saw one of the
guard have a narrow escape ; he did not attempt to
viUe- leave until the stream had so undermined the stock
ade that his sentry-box began to fall, when he had
to jump for dear life. Many of those who had holes
dug in the ground to live in found them filled with
water, and had to scramble out or be drowned. I
Effects was fortunate enough to be in a place where the
freshet, water did not trouble me, and I looked on and saw
what others did. As soon as the Rebs saw that the
. stockade was being washed away they fired their
artillery several times so as to frighten the prisoners
and prevent their escape, and very soon brought a
large force, which was kept there all night. It rained
hard all the time, so the Johnnies had a hard time
of it. There was, however, one good result from
the shower, for where the stockade was washed
away on the north side it opened a spring of pure
water, enough to supply nearly the whole of the
prisoners. For the first few days the water ran
along inside the dead-line, and the boys used to tie
their cups to the end of sticks and fish up the water
in that way ; but when the Rebel quartermaster saw
the spring was a success, and the boys entreated

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 41

him to fix up something to bring the water inside,
he finally arranged some troughs and some casks,

1864.

so that it would run where we could obtain it. I Ander' son-
ville.

Lice.

have seen the time when we would have to 'wait
nearly half an hour for a chance to get water, and
there were two lines at that. The rush for water
was greatest when the rations began to come in.
One day, while passing a shebang where the in
mates were engaged in their daily occupation of
killing lice, I heard one of them say to the others :
"Andersonville is a place where lice-killing is no
disgrace. I used to think if I did not kill more than
one hundred and fifty at one lousing I was not very
lousy!" The monotony of our life in prison was what
made it so hard to endure. The saddest of all sights
was to behold the poor, disconsolate ones, who
having given up all hope of ever getting out of that Despair
horrible place, would lay down by the creek where and
r J _ J death.
the ground was covered with vermin, and unless
some friend would take them by force back to their
quarters, they soon died. I saw one poor fellow
who had a sore on his thigh nearly four inches in
diameter, filled with maggots, and gangrene was
making sad havoc with it. At last, tired of life, he
6

42 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
went and laid down inside of the dead-line, was shot

by the guard, and after lingering several hours, died
in great agony.
At length, after repeated rumors, about the mid
dle of September orders came for certain detach-
We leave mentS) or nineties as they were termed, to be ready
Ander son, to leave the prison. We were told that there was
viiu. a Federal transport fleet at Savannah waiting for
us. To all in prison this seemed the dawn of
freedom ; the most incredulous believed. Every
one clamored for a chance, and feared to be left out
of the exchange. Ninety after ninety went out of
prison rejoicing and faintly cheering, the hollow eye
growing bright, and the poor heart almost gay.
Many were so anxious that they would not wait
for their ninety to go, but would try and flank out,
thereby cheating some other poor fellow out of his
honest chance ; some of these were detected and
sent back, but many succeeded. After the nineties
Cheaiing.ha.d passed out you could see men crying because
they had been cheated out of their chance to go.
The ninety to which I belonged was almost the last
to go out, and as I passed a squad of Rebs at the
gate, I said : " Homeward bound !" Some of them
smiled, and we passed on. I had hard work to keep

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 43
up with the squad in consequence of scurvy in my 
right leg, and had to walk on my toes because the
cords were contracted ; but as I thought I was on Charl"-
my way to our hnes, and would soon be at home, I
made one grand effort to get to the train. But,
alas ! how deceptive all things were in Dixie ; for
instead of being taken to Savannah, we were taken
to Charleston, and there placed in the Fair Grounds
outside the city. Here we had a change in our
rations — a little of everything and not much of any
thing. The change, however, was quite beneficial
to me, for by it I got rid of the scurvy in my leg.
While we were on the Fair Grounds we heard
the reports of our guns down the harbor, and could
see some of the shells burst over the city, several "Swamp
exploding near the Fair Grounds, at which our ngl ''
boys would shout out: "Bully for the Swamp
Angel ! "
At Charleston we obtained a kind of brackish
water by digging shallow wells from three to five
feet deep, and in a short time there were so many
of them that they became a nuisance, for it was
almost impossible to go about the camp at night
without falling into them. During the first week
of our confinement at Charleston our old enemy the

44 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 dead-line was introduced. A negro, superintended
by the "irrepressible" white man, was sent around
Charles- camp turning a furrow with a plow and mule attach
ment ; this was the line, to overstep which was death
to the prisoner.
Most of those sent here from Andersonville were
supposed to be in good health ; and, yet, out of the
seven thousand nearly one thousand died during the
three weeks we remained in Charleston. It was
here that some of my regiment passed away ; and
Martyrs. as \ write, the face of Comrade Brady of Company
E comes up before me, and I think I see him as he
lay on the ground, without blanket or shelter, ask
ing for a cup of cold water, and how he could only
look the "Thank you" when I carried it to him;
and in less than three short hours he had gone to
answer the great roll-call above.
After remaining at Charleston three weeks the
Rebels commenced to take us to Florence, in South
Carolina. I was among the last to leave, and after
they had marched us off on one side from the camp,
they made an attempt to count us, but could not
get the number right ; they found they had been
giving out more rations than they had men. At
last they marched us off to the railway, and put us

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 45
into box cars as they always did. Before we arrived 
, 1864.
at Florence it began to rain ; we reached there about
dark, and were marched into an old cornfield to stay Flo"n"-
over night ; for the stockade was nearly a mile from '
the railroad. Those who had blankets made them
selves tolerably comfortable. I had the soft side of
a cornhill for my pillow, and got some sticks so as
to make a tent out of my blanket, and let one poor
fellow share it with me.
In the morning I saw a sight I never shall forget.
There was a father and son who had been prisoners
for some time together ; the son had been com
plaining during the day, and that night died while
lying under the same blanket with his father. The ,•„„-<&»/¦.
morning dawned, and the unhappy parent found
his son lifeless by his side. Smitten with grief the
father sat by his dead boy, who had shared with
him the perils of the battle-field and the miseries of
the prison pen, and his agony was terrible to wit
ness. Some of the prisoners went to the officer of
the guard, and requested permission to bury the
body, but this poor boon was refused. They then
asked that the father might see him buried. This
was also denied. Their ears were deaf to the father's
pleading, their eyes blind to his tearful sorrow. He

stockade.

46 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 spread the remnant of his handkerchief lovingly over
the face of his dead son, folded the hands tenderly,
Florence. ancj ^fa a heart bursting with grief, turned and left
him forever, not daring to cast a backward glance,
lest he should behold cruel hands ruthlessly strip
ping the body.
When we arrived at. the prison we found it to be
a stockade similar to that of Andersonville, with the
difference that there was a large ditch dug around
the stockade, and the dirt was thrown up against
The the palisade, so that the guard could walk around,
it being high enough to enable them to overlook
the enclosure, through which ran a creek that fur
nished water for the prisoners. More than ten
thousand were confined here, and to keep an ac
count of their numbers they would send them all to
one side of the stockade, across the creek, and then
have them go back, two by two, count them, and
issue rations accordingly.
We were better supplied with wood here that at
any other prison ; for they allowed some of the men
to go out on parole and cut wood for the prisoners,
for which they got extra rations, besides having the
privilege pf bringing in extra wood for themselves,
which they would trade off to those inside. I have

Wood.

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 47
seen them bring in wood, and out of some sticks 
they would take two or three quarts of beans which
they had traded for with the guard, but this was Floren"-
done on the sly, as it was strictly forbidden. These
sticks of wood, which were so productive, were hol
low, and after the beans were put in, the end was
plugged up and the plug cut off, so that it was hard
to distinguish them from any other sticks.
Life at Florence was pretty much the same as at
Andersonville, with the difference that it was cold
weather, and there was nearly as much suffering
here from the cold as at Andersonville from the
heat. Many a poor fellow's feet were frozen ; and
as many had no shoes, rags — and he was lucky who Great
had even these — were wound around the feet. Those suffering.
who had no rags suffered terribly, the frozen ground
cutting their feet at nearly every step, and you could
trace the path of many of them in blood across the
stockade. At this place Comrade J. H. Fuller passed away
to answer the roll-call of that great army who suf- comrade
fered and died in Rebel prisons. I shall ever re- Fuller-
member how Jerry looked the last time I saw him.
It was a cold, raw day, and as I went up to the hos
pital to see him I found him nearly naked, for the

48 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
hospital attendants had taken his clothes to be

4' washed. "He had only a shirt and blanket over his
Florence. persori) and looked more like a skeleton than a
living being. With a faint attempt to smile, he
said: "I am glad that one of the old Twenty-fifth
has come to see me. I wish you would go to the
Comrade
Fuller, hospital headquarters and get my clothes, for I don't
want to lie all night, without them." I got them,
but they had not been washed. "Never mind,"
said he, " I am so cold, even with all my clothes
on." I put them on ro him and fixed his blanket
for the night. While doing it he said to me : "Why
does not our Government exchange us, and not let
us die by inches here in this miserable place?" I
told him I supposed they had some good reason for
it. "Yes," he said, "but it is very hard to die in
this manner." He again thanked me for coming,
and as I turned to go, said : "Tell Benson to come
, and see me in the morning." But when the morn-
His death. &
ing came Benson found no Jerry, for Jerry was
gone, and his last thought was of Benson.
On one occasion at Florence I saw a cruel deed
that made me want to fight. One of the prisoners
started to go towards the dead-line, and when with
in about ten feet of it, asked the guard for a chew

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 49
of tobacco. The Reb drew up his gun, fired, and 
wounded the poor fellow in the leg. Such acts
Were COWardly. Florence.
When the time for the presidential election came,
in November, 1864, the Rebel officers at Florence
desired the prisoners to vote that they might get
their opinion in regard to the candidates, Lincoln „ r
10 ' Vote for
and McClellan. They made us fall in by hundreds, President.
and marched us up to the main gate to vote. Those
in favor of Lincoln cast black beans, and those for
McClellan, white ones. The result was that Lincoln
received, in round numbers, six thousand votes
and McClellan fifteen hundred. Of course all the
prisoners did not vote. I had some conversation
about this time with a Rebel sergeant of the Fifth
Georgia regiment in regard to the election. He
said the South would much rather have McClellan ARebel's
idea.
elected than Abe Lincoln ; "for," said he, "the war
will end in six months if McClellan is chosen, but if
Lincoln gets it, there will be four years of hard fight
ing." "But" said I, "do you expect to hold out
four years longer?" "No," he replied, "but we do
hope to hold on long enough to worry Uncle Sam
out, so that he will let us alone. The North will
get short of men and rations." "Not much," said

50 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,

1864.

I, "Uncle Sam is not so easily worried out. I was
home on a furlough last year, and by the numbers
I saw in the streets of Worcester, I would not have
thought we had sent a man to the war." This was
hard for him to believe, for he thought the North
was depopulated and reduced to the same condition
as the South.
Before leaving Andersonville I had traded jackets
with a Rebel sergeant and got six plugs of tobacco
to boot. One day Comrade Snow, of Company I,
Comrade Twenty-fifth Regiment, came to me and begged me
to let him have a plug of tobacco. The poor fellow
was in a pitiful condition, with nothing but a cotton-
flannel shirt and a pair of drawers to cover his na
kedness. He had neither shoes, stockings nor hat.
He said he could offer me nothing in return for the
tobacco, but would give me his note for two dollars,
which he would pay if he lived to get out ; if not,
his parents would give me the money after I re
turned home. I gave him the tobacco, and told
him I would trust him without any note. A few '
days later he was found dead from exposure ; for
at this time water froze an eighth of an inch thick
under the shelters. I have always felt glad that I
gave him the tobacco, although it was quite a serious

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 5 1
matter to me at the time, for I was able thereby to 
render more comfortable the last days of a suffering
fellow-soldier. The Rebel guard had a great desire to trade with
the Yanks. They had a great fancy for brass but
tons ; they did not want "turkey buttons," as they Button
termed the army buttons, but those of the different trade-
states. Tricks were played on those fellows some
times. One Reb, by good luck, had procured seven
of these state buttons, which he had put on the
skirts of his coat. He came into the stockade one
day for four more to put on the breast of the same
coat ; a crowd collected around him, and while he
was making his desires known, one of the prisoners
cut off the buttons on his skirts, and then went up
in front of him and asked him what he wanted to
trade for. He said he wanted four more buttons
like those on his skirts. "All right," said the Yank,
"I have some." "How much do you want for
J - Sharp
them?" said Johnny Reb. "Five dollars." I'll take Yankees.
em" ; and he paid the money. When he reached the
gate he met another Johnny. "Look here," said
Reb number one, " I have got four more buttons to
put on the breasts of my coat like those on the
tails." Reb number two made the discovery that

5 2 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 there was "nary" a button on the rear of the coat.
-Off- J
"Well! I'll be dogoned if them ar Yanks aint stole
Florence. -em> and j bought 'em over again ! " and he left
the stockade in disgust.
While at Florence I was sick for more- than three
sickness weeks, and during that time I have but a faint recol
lection of what happened. About the middle of
February, or soon after Sherman marched from At
lanta to Savannah, the Rebs commenced to move
us away from Florence, first to Wilmington, then to
Goldsboro', back again to Wilmington, and from
there to a place about thirteen miles out in the

move.

woods, where we remained a day and a night, then
back to Goldsboro'; and on the 27th of February
we were sent to Camp Parole, at Annapolis in Mary
land. I did not believe we would be paroled until within
an hour of the time we were, although we had been
running all night under a flag of truce. After sign
ing the parole papers they gave us our rations, and
had I known that they were the last we would re
ceive in the Confederacy, I should have saved a few
of the beans, as a sample of what we had to live on ;
but we had been deceived so many times that I had
no faith in regard to it, even after we signed parole

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 53
papers. What made me believe it at last was see-

1865.
ing a colored soldier on picket by the side of the
railroad, with Uncle Sam's uniform on. About an
hour afterwards the .train stopped, and we were
ordered to get off. As I looked towards the for
ward end of the train, I saw that the boys were
passing between a Union and Rebel officer, and in
a short time it was my turn, and I found myself in R Ua5e
our lines, and under the old flag once more. After at last.
passing the officers I felt so happy that I ran and
jumped the best I could, and tried to shout, but no
sound would come, I was so overjoyed. That is
what I call joy unspeakable.
One incident I remember, which occurred at the
time we were signing parole papers at Goldsboro'.
There were some of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts
among those who went to sign, and the Rebel offi
cer made them turn back, saying: "We don't pa
role niggers ! " fust behind them, but ahead" of
&& J ~ Sergeant
Sergeant Bugbee and myself, was Sergeant Jeffs of Jeffs.
the Fifty-fourth, who was as white as many of the
Yankees — a mulatto ; and when he saw the others
turned back, he stepped out of the line to go with
them. Bugbee said to him: "Stay in line; they
never will suspect you." But Jeffs replied : "These

54 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
 are my people, and I am going with them" ; and he
did go. I heard soon after I came home that Ser
geant Jeffs was in Boston, so he did not have long
to stay ; but this incident shows how strong an at
tachment the soldiers had for each other, even
among the colored troops.
After getting inside our lines we were marched
Paroled, to General Terry's headquarters, and as soon as
possible we fell into line and received rations, which
consisted of four hard-tack, a piece of fresh boiled
beef, and a pint of coffee. They could not cook
meat and boil coffee for all of us at one time, so a
part had to wait ; and as I was one of the first to
get my rations, I sat down near where they gave
them out, and when the second squad fell in they
lacked one of having even files, so one of the men
said to me : " Come, fall in ! " I told him I had had
my rations. " It will not hurt you to have some
Double more," said he ; so I fell in and got my second al
lowance, and did not feel any ill effect from it. This
was what the Rebs called flanking, and they never
could prevent the Yankees doing it.
After we received our rations we were started on
the march for Wilmington, and if we could not keep
up we could take our time and go as we pleased

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 55
that day ; but the next day we had to keep in line, 1865.
and under guard. It was a great treat to march
along, and not be driven at the point of the bayonet,
as we often had been in the Confederacy when we
were changed from one place to another. When
we arrived at Wilmington we were placed in the
freight house of the Wilmington and Raleigh rail
road, where we remained two or three days, when
we were put on board the steamer, Escort,- and taken
down the river and over the bar to the transport
steamer, Charles Edward, which started for Camp r Camp
Parole at Annapolis, where we arrived in due time. Parole.
While at Wilmington we used to draw rations
three or four times a day, as the officers in charge
did not dare to give them all at once on account of
our physical weakness and debility. One day while
down on the wharf getting rations, I saw one of the
quartermasters giving out soft bread to some of the
sick prisoners ; and Comrade Bugbee said to me :
"You go, and he will give you some." I did not Bread.
think he would, for I did not pretend to be sick ;
but I thought I would go. When I got there the
quartermaster was having a little spat with one of
the boys who claimed to be sick, and had asked for
bread. "You are not sick," said the quartermaster,

56 Narrative of Amos E. Stearns,
"for I saw you drawing your rations this morning,
1865. J ° (
and you took all you could get." When he dis
missed the man I said: "Lieutenant, give me a
piece of bread." He at once gave me a whole loaf,
although he had been giving but half a loaf to each
of the others ; and when I went back Bugbee said :
"I told you your face would get you the bread."
I began to think then that I must be looking pretty
bad, for before that I had supposed I looked as well
as the best of them.
The Christian Commission had one of its agents
Milk at this place, who gave out milk punch to the pris-
"' ' oners. I could not drink all they gave me, as I was
too weak, but what I could not drink Bugbee would,
so none of it was wasted. We frequently " flanked,"
and drew rations twice ; and what I could not eat
Bugbee disposed of without any ceremony.
nome. After waiting at Annapolis more than three weeks
ward 1 Was ordered to report in Boston for my discharge,
and started for home, reaching Worcester March
25th. One little act of kindness on the way made
an impression on my mind. Railroad conductors
as a rule were not very kind or courteous to the
soldiers traveling to and from the front, but I found
one exception while returning home. When I

A Prisoner at Andersonville. 57
arrived at Springfield I thought I would have a lunch, 
so I went into the refreshment room and called for
a cup of coffee and a plate of baked beans. Before
I had time to finish them, I heard the cry: "All
aboard !" and was about to rush for the train, when Akind
1 act.
the conductor, Calvin Farnsworth, said : " Finish
your lunch," which I did, and he waited until I had
time to reach my car — for soldiers had to ride by
themselves — and get aboard. I always think of this
whenever I see Mr. Farnsworth,
When I reached home I weighed not quite ninety
pounds ; and although during my term of service of
three and a half years I did not receive a wound, I
carry more scars than many of my old comrades of
Company A, who did their duty so nobly. My term Farewell.
of enlistment expired the day I went into Florence
stockade, but Uncle Sam paid me up to the day of
my discharge, and twenty-five cents a day for rations
for the nine months and eleven days I was a
prisoner. Amos E. Stearns.

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