I just found this thread yesterday but love it. Thank you for doing this malden.
Tonight the prisoners encamped near the landing learned that Private Sellea, their comrade who had been left at the farmhouse, expired at about 4:00 p.m. A few men are up late tonight constructing another rough coffin from whatever bits of wood are on hand. They plan to go to Mrs. Burr’s farmhouse in the morning.
At 11:00 a.m. on Sunday, the prisoners held a funeral and burial service for Private Sellea. Privates Charles G. Weymouth, Daniel L. Weymouth, R.P. Moseley, and Henry Fisk were pallbearers.
Private Sellea was buried at Mrs. Burr’s private burial ground. I’m not sure of the exact location, but there is a place called Burr Cemetery in the vicinity, and it is distinct from the Burrs Landing Cemetery in a different location. So I suspect this is the site. The men sang “There Will Be No More Sorrow There,” and the guards fired a volley in salute. The men marked the grave with Sellea’s name, age, company, and regiment.
Later that day, the prisoners were ordered to prepare to march the next day. Rations were distributed to the cooks, who stayed up all night in shifts preparing food. At dawn on Monday, February 9, the march began.
We are fortunate in that one of the men on the march, Sgt. Waterman of Company D, kept a diary during the march:
[QUOTE=the diary of Sergeant Waterman]
February 9.
Breakfast at five a.m. At six o’clock
formed line, and one half an hour later commenced the
march for the day from Burr’s Ferry. The first eight
miles were done without a halt, over a good road, through
a heavily-timbered country. Hard pine, very large and
tall, some one hundred feet high to the limbs. After we
started again from a rest, we went through a swamp about
three miles in length, timbered with beach, magnolia and
other trees, and at noon halted, after making eleven miles.
On this halt killed and dressed two beeves. Marched
again about two miles through swamps and then came to
higher ground with pine trees again, large and straight, as
before. At six o’clock p.m. arrived at a place called
Huddleston and went into bivouac for the night, with the
boys about played out after marching eighteen miles, and
after lying still about two months.
February 10.
Started at seven o’clock a.m. footsore
and weary, with the sky looking like rain. At noon had
marched seven miles. Dined on corn-dodger and beef ;
some of the boys felt as if they had eaten so much beef
they were ashamed to look a cow in the face. Weather
became warm and pleasant. At half-past live o’clock p.m.
halted for the night in a pine grove with a brook near by,
at a little place with two houses and one cotton press,
called Fifteen Mile Mill.
[/QUOTE]
Headed east or west or where?
“On this halt killed and dressed two beeves.”
I had to look this one up. Plural of beef. Thanks for doing this malden!
They are headed roughly eastward, away from the river and toward the Union lines. The whole thing seems a bit absurd to me, with the Confederate guards detailed to transport these men by rail, ship, and foot; the men being allowed to steal livestock and forage for supplies, and to interact with locals; the Confederate guards firing volleys in salute of “enemy” dead; and all with the objective of handing the prisoners over to the enemy with the understanding that they will not return to fight again.
More entries from the Waterman diary coming soon.
As far as I can tell from reading and such (not having experienced it first-hand), war seems absurd as often as it is horrible.
Some of the perceived absurdity, though, may just be “lost innocence” on our part. The idea of civilized and honorable warfare seem to have been taken quite seriously in this era. Nowadays, it would be inconceivable to release admitted Taliban operators back to their home after securing a solemn promise to never raise a weapon to us again. Neither side could believe it.
Modern war dehumanizes the enemy (and correspondingly, the friendly) more than history leads us to believe that older forms of warfare did, it seems.
As to the salute volley… don’t forget that the enemies on both sides of the war were Americans. Both understood this, and shared the same military customs and courtesies. This would probably have permitted rendering such a courtesy to a dead enemy acceptable, and honor would have encouraged it.
On the other hand, the dealings with the locals seems very odd, but maybe the guard detail knew they weren’t equipped to completely provide for their prisoners. If they also weren’t specifically empowered to deal with the locals themselves (these kinds of things were usually restricted to the quartermasters, I believe), simply allowing these dealings without participating allowed the guards to fulfill their function (deliver the prisoners alive and well) with their limited resources.
Likewise the theft of livestock. I’m sure the Confederate military was generally empowered to sieze whatever civilian goods necessary to carry out their military objectives. In practice, it would have been receipted and, if possible, paid for up front (the latter less often, I suspect). If the prison detail didn’t have anyone with specific authority to receipt commandeered goods, and no one felt like taking initiative to grant himself effective authority, then simply turning a blind eye to prisoner “foraging” would have been good enough.
(Thanks for the replies, everyone.)
[QUOTE=the diary of Sergeant Waterman]
February 11, 1863. Started at half-past six a.m. and at
eight o’clock met the mail-- a man on horseback with a
mail bag. It is trying to rain, but cannot make out very
well. At noon it cleared off and a halt was made for
dinner in a pine forest. Has been nearly all pine woods
so far. Passed over a sandstone ledge this morning so
soft that it could easily be broken in the hand. At three
o’clock p. m. we were halted once more to rest and
remain over night, as the march has badly blistered the
feet of the boys.
[/QUOTE]
“At noon it cleared off and a halt was made for dinner in a pine forest.”
Interesting, the terms for meals by culture and era. These days, in my area at least, dinner refers to the main evening meal or a somewhat special one, such as Sunday Dinner. Growing up, we always called the evening meal supper and the mid day meal, lunch. Now, we almost never use supper.
From a Wiki article…
Dinner is usually the name of the main meal of the day. Depending upon culture, dinner may be the second, third or fourth meal of the day. Originally, though, it referred to the first meal of the day, eaten around noon, and is still occasionally used for a noontime meal, if it is a large or main meal.
[QUOTE=the diary of Sergeant Waterman]
February 12th — Rain commenced to fall at four
o’clock A.M., raining hard until seven o’clock, when,
slacking up some, we started again through a swamp
seven miles long, with the water knee deep all the way.
Had to stop in the rain for a bridge to be repaired, so
that the wagons could pass. PassedHineston, a village of
three shanties and a pig-stye, at quarter-past ten, and at
noon halted to cook a pot of mush for dinner, the rain
spoiling all of the corn bread and meat. The mush
tasted good, as we had very little breakfast. Are on high
pine land with wild flowers in bloom. Put up for the
night in a very pretty place with enough old shanties to
hold all the men. Had to sit up until eleven o’clock try-
ing to dry our clothes.
February 13th — Started at eight in the morning over
a very good road for about three miles, and then came
down on to what they call Red River bottom, composed
of a red sand, clay and glue. Such walking was never
seen. Passed by some very fine plantations, where the
negroes were as happy as clams at high water, lining the
fences and grinning like so many Cheshire cats*. Halted
near a bayou for dinner where, upon the opposite side,
the mocking birds were singing. Sun came out and it is
warm. The grass is green and looks like the last of May
at home. Plenty of sheep and lambs all around. Passed
through a hedge of rose bushes at least twenty feet high.
We are in sight of Alexandria, and at seven p. m. went
aboard the roomy steamer Falls City, in time to escape
the rain.
[/QUOTE]
- this turn of phrase caught me off guard because I thought the “Cheshire Cat” came from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland, which (I looked it up) won’t be published for two more years. But I learned that the grinning Cheshire Cat predates Alice by several decades.
Has this ever been Threadspotted?
Because I just stumbled onto it and I think it is awesome.
I sent it to tubadiva just in case.
I don’t remember how I found it, but I’m glad I did.
Perhaps a Google Maps pro could provide a trace of his journey…
Yes, It was on “threadspotting” in early December. The headline was something like “A Civil War story from someone who was there.”
And Oslo– I have thought about the Google Maps thing, and haven’t had time to teach myself how to do it. Would it best be done through Google Maps or the Google Earth app?
No idea - I just figured that it would be possible to lay a path on a map somehow.
[QUOTE=the diary of Sergeant Waterman]
February 14th. A pleasant day. Boys feel somewhat
sore. Heard yesterday that we might have to march two
hundred miles more, but I told Lieutenant Howerton*
to-day that we could not do it any way, and he says we
may not have to march more than twenty-five or thirty
miles, perhaps none at all. At three p.m. it looks like
a heavy shower; the clouds are black and threatening,
with heavy thunder. The river is high and roily ; as we
use it to cook with, the corn-dodger looks like a red sweet
cake.
[/QUOTE]
*Lieutenant in command of the Confederate guards, described in other accounts as a “pompous, overbearing individual, without military knowledge or manners.”
That’s all I have from Sergeant Waterman’s diary. The Sergeant-major who chronicled the entire journey of the regiment wrote that the men admired the country they passed through on their journey from Galveston to Alexandria. It had seemed a wilderness to them, with long distances stretching between the small settlements they passed-- very different from home. The locals were described as “well-disposed, simple-minded, honest people.”
Last night-- February 14th-- the men camped by the banks of the Red River, somewhere near Alexandria, Louisiana. They know the Union forces are nearby, but no one is telling them where they will go next.
At four o’clock this morning, February 15, 1862, the prisoners were roused from their sleep and told to get ready to move out-- Union forces in some number were on their way up the river by steamship. At 6:30, after breakfast, the men were quickly moved onto the CSS General Quitman, which proceeded up the Red River about five miles, trailed by other river traffic trying to escape whatever enemy force was coming up behind them. By 4 o’clock in the afternoon, the panic had subsided, and the men learned that the Union vessel that had caused all the commotion-- the Queen of the West– had been captured by Confederate forces.
The General Quitman carried the prisoners down to Alexandria again, where they picked up mules and wagons. Perhaps there will be more marching ahead after all.
At daylight this morning, the prisoners continued their journey down the Red River on the CSS General Quitman. Around mid-morning they spotted the captured Queen of the West being towed up to Alexandria for repairs.
There was some trouble around two o’clock this afternoon. The Quitman missed a signal to stop and were fired upon by Confederate guns on the right bank of the river. The ship was delayed half an hour while the ship commander spoke to officers on shore. The ship continued downriver until dark.
Around midnight, Lieutenant Howerton ordered the prisoners to help load wood fuel onto the ship; but the men, perhaps fed up by the long journey and unable to bear the lieutenant’s overbearing attitude any longer, refused to help. No amount of threats and curses could motivate the men, and finally he gave up.
The prisoners are hungry this afternoon. While Lieutenant Howerton didn’t have the power to force the prisoners to load wood onto the ship last night, he did have the power to withhold rations today. The ship is heading upriver once again-- the reason for this is unclear-- and the men have nothing to do today. There has been some quiet talk of attempting to seize the ship and make a run to the Federal lines. Prisoners who had been taken from the ships in Galveston Harbor were confident that they could pilot the ship, but in their current circumstances no one knew where to go if the ship were successfully taken over. Having heard of the loss of the Queen of the West to Confederate forces, the prisoners had no knowledge of any Federal ships along the fifty or more miles of Red River between Alexandria and the Mississippi. So the plans for escape went nowhere.
Today the prisoners are eating again, and waiting on board their ship for the return of a courier who was sent to Alexandria for orders. At around noon today another ship came alongside their vessel and the prisoners were joined by a rather unusual contingent of prisoners from Texas. These were 278 men who had been surrendered to Rebel authorities by General David Twiggson May 9, 1861, as the war began. For nearly two years these men had been kept as prisoners. Five or six of the men had their wives with them; one even had children. This collection of prisoners joined the three companies and the sailors on board the General Quitman.
Soon after the courier returned, the men got official word of what they had long been speculating: they were to be paroled. A flag of truce was hoisted, and plans made to proceed to Vicksburg, Mississippi, a trip which would take them down the Red River to the Mississippi, then up the Mississippi about ninety miles.
The CSS General Quitman, now crowded with three hundred men captured at Galveston, the 278 men brought on board yesterday, a few women and children, and the Confederate guards, sat at anchor today, unable to make progress because there is no wood for the boiler. Thankfully, the mules and wagons have been moved to shore, providing a bit more space.
A word about the General Quitman– I am trying to reconcile my source, which gave that name for the ship transporting the prisoners, with numerous records online that say the Quitman was destroyed on April 24, 1862. Maybe a new ship was given the old name, or my main source got the name of his ship wrong.
Another day of waiting for a supply of wood.
There was some excitement today as a fight nearly broke out between a private from the Confederate guard and a private from the Texas troops that came onto the ship the day before yesterday. One of the women with the new prisoners got into an argument with the guard, and the guard said if she were a man he’d shoot her for her unruly behavior. Hearing this, one of the new prisoners stood up, called the confederate a “damned coward,” and offered to take on the guard in a duel on shore with a weapon of the guard’s choice. The guard demurred, saying he could not fight with a prisoner. The prisoner said “That need not interfere; I will fight you with pistols, ten paces apart, right here!” The guard and his comrades had no response to this, but the prisoner continued to taunt them with threats. Things soon calmed down, and the woman was not bothered any more by the guards.