People's Pilot, Volume 5, Number 27-25, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 January 1896 — CHRISTMAS IN LIBBY. [ARTICLE+ILLUSTRATION]

CHRISTMAS IN LIBBY.

MAJOR A. R. CALHOUN RECOUNTS HIS OWN EXPERIENCE. Christmas of tho Awful Battle Tear of 1863—A Touching Incident of the War. Tho Captain’s Death at Midnight—Momentous Times Recalled. [Copyright, 1895, by American Press Association.] The James river, at the back of the prison, was locked with ieo, and the snow, falling steadily outside and swept in by the cutting wind through the iron barred,glassloss windows, did not lighten the gloom in the six long, black rooms, where the ragged prisoners tramped to keep warm, and thought as they tramped of the dear ones in homes far beyond the battle lines—dear ones whose Christmas season would bo rendered joyless by thoughts of the imprisoned soldier. “We mustn't give way to despair,” said young Lieutenant Watson of tho Twentythird Wisconsin, as he took my arm and* led nio down tho crowded length of the upper Ghickamauga room, so called because most of the prisoners occupying It had been captured in that disastrous battle. “ Turner has agreed to let us have the cookroom for a show tonight, and Ed Maas, God bless the brave fellow, is getting up a troop in tho Potomac room, and they will sing the old homo songs and tho war songs, too, and so we’ll forget tho hunger and the cold. After all, old fellow, happiness is largely a matter of imagination, and if a man can’t get his imagination going on Christmas time—why he hasn’t any, that’s all.” Watson, lie is now colonel of tho Thirteenth Brooklyn, or Now York State guard, was, and still is, one of those brave, cheerful spirits that look ever on the bright side of things itail have the power to communicate their feelings to thoso of more somber cast, like myself. We had reached tho head of the broad damp steps loading to the lower middle room when, Instead of going back in tho sanio way, I led my friend across to tho other. “What for?” ho asked. “I want to see Bohannon, captain of tho Third Middle Tennessee cavalry. You remember he came in about ten days ago.” “Yes, yes. He's a quiet sort of a chap, but looks like a good soldier. What of him?”

“Well, he’s under the weather and in bad shape. Ho was captured in a cavalry fight near Knoxville and was pretty badly hurt by the fall of his horse. The horse was killed. You can bet on that. Then the captain got a severe cold, but he has a horror of the prison hospital and refuses to report himself on the sick list,” I said. Captain Bohannon was half reclining, with his back against the wall and his legs stretched out on the damp floor. Ho was a tall, slender man of five and thirty, with long brown hair and curly board of the same color. Tho strong face must have been handsomo before the sun had bronzed it to au Indian hue, and care had cut deep lines down the cheeks and between tho fearless gray eyes. Now, thero was a flush on tho cheeks and a light in tho eyes which experience had taught us wore due.to prison fever instead of to health. This impression was increased as Watson and myself knelt beside the captain and pressed tho strong brown hands and felt their abnormal heat. Before this I had again and again urgod tho captain to go to tho prison hospital. Dr. Sabal, tho Confederate surgeon in charge, was one of the best and kindliest men that over administered to the ailments of friend or foe, but the Tennesseean always shook liis head and said: “I know you’re my friend, old pard, and you aro dead right, but I’vo never been in a hospital, and I somehow feel that it would kill mo if I went there. No, if I’ve got to bo buried in a blanket, let them carry me away from here. What’s the difference?” Tho captain had evidently lost his grip on things was not that be was a prisoner tiiat depressed him; ho was too much of a man for that, but tliero aro heart Wounds more killing than those made by ’bullet or saber, and the captain was suffering from one of these. Bohannon’s father had been a well to do planter in middle Tennessee, but mistaken speculations impoverished him and ended in his death a few years before the war. George, the only child, with characteristic

pluck and energy, started for California to regain the lost fortune, but beforo doing so ho becaino betrothed to Edna Crawford, tho beautiful daughter of a neighbor. “Win or lose, Edna, I’ll bo back at the old home, and we’ll be married on Christmas day, 18(53.” That is what Goorge Bohannon said to his sweetheart when he kissed her goodby in the suinmor of 1869. Like the hero that ho was, tho young Tennesseean went to work in the Golden state, and never a mail passed that the dear girl in the old home did not hear of her lover’s brightening prospects. But “man proposes and God disposes.” In tho midst of his growing prosperity young Bohannon, in the mines of Calaveras, heard Lincoln’s call for men to come to the defense of the Union, and for the time the old spirit of patriotism boat the long roll in his heart. His forefathers had fought in every war for tho Union, and, thrilling with these memories, hoi dropped his pick, abandoned tho prospect of certain wealth and hastened back. Tennessee was in the hands of tho enemy, so that it was only by stealth that Bohannon could reach his homo near Murfreesboro. He found noarly all his old noighboVs oh the side of the south. Edna Crawford’s father and her two brothers were in the Confederate army, and all the sympathies of his betrothed woro on tho same side. 1 —But the changed relations Alid not

change theii iove. “I would not have you fight against your convictions, ” said Edna. “But go to the side where your heart calls yon. It is yet two years, George; the war cannot last till Christmas, 1863. Come back to me then, and whether the Union fails or wins, our union can be staid only by death.” And so they parted again, Edna Crawford helping her lover to escape into Kentucky, where he met Buell’s army and secured a commission iu the Third Middle Tennessee cavalry. Then the young captain began to count the Christinas days. That of 1861 was spent on tho banks of the Ohio; that of 1862 was passed in the terrific series of battles that ended in Bragg’s defeat at Murfreesboro. Before the victorious Union legions, Edna Crawford and her mother, braving the inclemency of that most inclement weather, fled for safety to Chattanooga. They might have remained at home in security, for not only the captain, who at once sought them out, but every Union soldier worthy the uniform he wore, would have protected them, but in those days tho invading Yankee was regarded ns a cruel monster. The privation brought on a cold. Consumption followed, and a monster more inexorably cruel than the war god had an irredeemable lien on Edna Crawford’s life. Roseerans advanced on Chattanooga and Mrs. Crawford took up her dying daughter and fled to Knoxville. Burnside came down through east Tennessee and seized Knoxvillo, and Bohannon’s troop was tho first to enter tho city with the stars and stripes. Edna was dying when the captain found her and gave her every care. “Christmas, 1863, will soon bo hore, my darling,” he whispered at their last meeting. But she did not hear him. The little hand grew colder in his grasp, and with her life gone all life became indifferent to him. When George Bohannon left Edna Crawford’s grave a change camo over him. He who had been the life of the camp and the soul of hope became despondent and morose. There was no

change in the performance of his duties, but the men, who adored him, noticed that he had become reckless, and those who know his secret saw that he wanted to die. “It’s hero at last, boys! Tomorrow will bo Christmas day, 1803. It was a blamed long time to wait in tho mines and in tho war, but knowing she’d bo true has cheered mo up. You’ll all come to the wedding.” That is what the captain said as wo knelt beside him holding his hands. My companion and I exchanged glances. The fever was in tho brain “as well as in the hands. Ho had no idea of his position. Ho was a free man and not a prisoner of war. Men were talking about Christmas on all sides, and it was this that brought tho controlling impulse of his life into such prominence that it dominated all his thoughts. Christmas day, 1863, was at hand, and the yearning of years was to be consummated in his union to Edna Crawford. I saw the danger and rose to my feet. “Don’t leave me, old parcl,” said the captain, clinging to my hand. “Remember you aro to bo my best man.” “You can depend on me, captain,” I said soothingly. “I’ve often dreamed about tins wedding,” ho went on, “and for awhilo 1 did not think we could have music and flowers and lots of folks present. You can smell the clover and the magnolia blossoms. There! Hark! to the music! They’re rehearsing!” And ho raised a hot hand to command attention, while from tho Potomac room beyond tho wall there came the refrain of the old plantation melody: “In do mawnin, in do mawnin by de bright light— De Christmas bells’ll toll out in de mawnin!” We left him with a rapt expression on his face, while he swayed his head as if beating time to the singing in tho next room. “I’m afraid the captain’s called,” sighed Wat sou. “Called” was a form used when wo felt sure a comrado was about to dio. “But we must save him if we can. Come, let us get word to Dr. Sabal and havo the captain taken to tho hospital,” I urged, and my heart was in my throat, for I loved Bohannon like a brother. It was nearly dark when, after somo trouble, we succeeded in getting word to Dr. Sabal. He came, and after examining the captain shook his head. I had explained to him tho case, so that he was not surprised when tho captain invited him to tho wedding which was set for midnight, “wlion Christmas eve, ” as the expectant man expressed it, “gives place to Christmas day. ’ ’ “Yes. It is to prepare for tho wedding,” I said, whon, holding Bohannon’s hand, I led him to the head of tho stairs. Ho insisted that I should go with him, and tho kindly doctor consented. Tho hospital on tho ground floor and on the eastern side of tho prison was dimly lit with swinging lamps, but the light was dazzling compared with tho gloom in the rogular rooms. The captain was prevailed on to lie down on one of the cots. Tho doctor loft somo medicine, but there was that In his handsome face as he turned to go that convinced me he had no faith in the power of his drugs to help this case. “A marriage is a trying matter. Yes, I’ll fool the better for a rest, ” spoke the cimtain, whilo I sat beside him with my otfld fingers pressed to his hot loaping pulse. “There’s a great crowd gathered and the lights—l was always fond of light.” And so ho wandered on. To him the imprisonment and the death of Edna Crawford had become as a torturing dream, and tho joyous hallucination was a glowing reality. Ragged men on crutches, ghastly faced men with the fever marks on their cracked lips and In their hollow eyes were about the cot, but if the captain saw them his wild fancy transformed thorn into wedding guests, and their whisperings of pity for one more wretched than themselves Were tc him congratulations on thp great

event that was to unite him to Edna Crawford. It was a bitterly cold night, and the voices of the guards calling out the passing half hours about the prison were muffled and hoarse. The approaching Christmas day had no pleasures In reserve for them. A thin brick wall separated the hospital from the cookroom to the west, where Maas and his minstrels began to sing about 8 o’clock. The music was in honor of the approaching wedding. All the pain lines melted from the bronzed face. Once he tried'to join in the chorus when “My Old Kentucky Home, Good Night!” was sung, but the effort died out in a rattle in l»is throat. At length tho concert was over, and the lights in the dreary hospital were turned down. But the captain still heard music that was not for our ears, and lights burned before his closed eyes that were not for our vision. From Carey street on the west a hoarse voice shouted at length, “Twelve o’clock! Post No. 1, and all’s well!” “Twelve o’clock! Post No. 2, and all’s well!” and so from post to post about the prison went up the same cry, the last man adding, “And a merry Christmas to all!” The captain had been so still and his hands sO cold fer the past hour that I thought him dead, but like an echo he whispered, “All’s well!” From the Richmond ch arches the bells clanged out their salutation to the Christmas day just born, but the captain heard them not. True to his pledge he had joined Edna. “Christmas, 1863.”

ALFRED R. CALHOUN.

“WE WILL BE MARRIED ON CHRISTMAS DAY.”

HE WHISPERED, “ALL’S WELL.”