Seraine Whitcomb’s examination of the rebel prisons and
     Henry Lyon’s release.-Man’s inhumanity.-Seraine Whitcomb
     visits the southern prison pens.-A sad tale of woe.-
     Graphic picture of suffering, wretchedness and death.

     “Oh war, thou son of hell,
     Whom angry heavens do make their ministers,
     Throw in the frozen bosoms of our past,
     Hot coals of vengeance.” 
     -Shakespeare.

Uncle Daniel Lyon resumed his story by giving us a history of the adventures of Miss Seraine Whitcomb, who, as had been discovered, was the sister of James Whitcomb, now Aide-de-Camp to Gen. Anderson.  He continued by saying: 

“Miss Seraine’s journey to Richmond was accomplished by overcoming the greatest of difficulties.  The President’s authority was good at every point in and through the Union lines.  But when she reached the rebel pickets at or near the Rapidan she was placed under arrest as a spy, and taken to the headquarters of the commander of the rebel army.  She then stated her case in a modest way, presenting the note given to her by our President.  Her story was so simple and reasonable that she was permitted to enter Richmond in order to lay her case before President Davis.  At the same time the authorities at the rebel army headquarters had a lurking suspicion of her on account of (as they thought) her pretended perilous undertaking.  Yet she was conducted to Richmond, and there took lodgings at the Virginia Hotel, where she was subjected to a constant watch over her every movement.  She was in much doubt for several days what course to pursue.  There was great activity going on in making preparations for some movement of the rebel army.  She was not permitted to leave her hotel.

“She finally wrote a note to President Davis, stating that she wished to be permitted to have an interview with him on a matter of grave import to her; that she was alone and under a vigilant watch; that she thought she could satisfy him of her harmless intentions.

“To this she received a very polite answer permitting her to see him at 11 o’clock the following day, and informing her that he would send an escort.

“The next day, promptly at the time, an officer appeared and inquired if Miss Seraine Whitcomb was in.  She readily responded, and directed that he be admitted.  Presenting himself, he said he was Capt.  T. P. Redingson.  The arrangements were soon agreed upon, and the two started for the Executive office.  The detention in the ante-room was-but slight, before they were ushered into the presence of Mr. Davis.  Seraine said he was seated in an arm-chair, rather oldish and common.  Mr. Davis rose and greeted her pleasantly.  He looked care-worn and haggard, and seemed thoughtful; but at no time during the interview did he forget his genial, polite manner toward her.  She hardly knew what to say.  After a short time he broke the ice by asking her if he could serve her in any way.  She gained courage enough to tell him her whole story.  She told him she would not give information of any kind to any one in reference to what she might see or hear while under his protection; that she wished to examine the prison records for the name of her friend, Henry Lyon, who she hoped, through his kindness, to find, and have exchanged.

“She seemed to touch a tender spot in his nature.  He gave her a letter of safe conduct through all the rebel lines, and authority to examine the prisons and hospitals, exacting at the same time a pledge from her that she would, when satisfied, return by way of Richmond and make a report to him of all she should see and hear that was of interest in connection with the prisons, the army, or other kindred subjects.  With this understanding and pledge on her part she gave him her thanks, with many good wishes for his health.  She then bade him good, good-by and returned to her hotel.

“Capt.  Redingson, her escort, was very polite to her, and promised that he would call the next day and make arrangements for her to visit the prisons and examine the records or rolls of prisoners in Richmond.  The next day at ten o’clock the Captain called and escorted her to Libby.  There she saw such suffering as made her almost frantic, but she indulged in no remarks.  As she passed along the pallets of rotten straw, the tears would roll down the sunken cheeks of their occupants as she uttered some kind word to them.  The rolls did not disclose the name of the one for whom she was in search, and she returned with the Captain to her hotel.  That night she could not sleep.  She had seen that day such sights as she had never expected to witness, and could not have believed had she not looked upon them with her own eyes.  Men eating rotten food; many, very many, sick, sore and distressed; quite a number without sufficient clothes to cover their persons; no blankets; no way to send word to friends; no privileges granted, their treatment harsh and brutal.  For the least delinquency inhuman punishment was inflicted.  No prospect of help or relief of any kind.  All kinds of stories were told them of disasters to the ‘Yanks,’ as the rebels called the Union soldiers.  It was really a sickening sight to behold.

“The next day they visited Belle Isle, and there found the same condition of things.  After an examination of records they returned to the Virginia Hotel.  Miss Seraine then concluded to leave for Salisbury.  She asked the Captain if he would be kind enough to see to getting her tickets and placing her properly in charge of the conductor, with such instructions as might enable her to avoid annoyance on her route.  The next morning she was feeling dull and heavy on account of having passed a restless night.  The shadows of that which she had seen during the day were continually before her eyes.  She got ready, however, and was soon put on the train by Capt.  Redingson, who knew the conductor and explained to him her situation and desire to avoid annoyances.  Then bidding the Captain good-by, with many thanks for his kindness, she sat down in the car to pursue her weary journey, with many ill forebodings.  She looked out of the window over valley, hill and stream, and as she passed on through that picturesque country her eyes fairly feasted on the majestic scenery beautified by the pines that tower heavenward along the line of the railroad.

“In her loneliness she could not resist the floodtide of hopes and fears that swept through her mind-now hoping and then fearing that she would not find Henry.  If she should, would he be in the condition of the poor, starved skeletons she had seen at Libby and Belle Isle?  Could it be possible that her lovable and gentle Henry could be so starved and harshly treated by these people, who had been so polite and kind to her?  ‘No! no!’ she thought to herself; ‘it cannot be.’  The train sped along, and at night she was in Salisbury.  There she was taken to a hotel of limited accommodations and worse attendance, as it was of the character so common to that country in the days of slavery.  Quite a number of sick rebel officers, who had been sent there to recuperate, were in the hotel.

“The next morning it was discovered that a female ‘Yank’ was in the house, and, the gossips whispered ‘a spy!’ Miss Seraine was unsuspecting, and acted as if she had been a mere traveler in her own State.  But very soon an officer came and sat down by her and began a series of questions, all of which she answered frankly.  She told him her mission, and made inquiry about the prisoners there, wishing to look for her friend, Henry Lyon.  This officer left her and went to the authorities and had her put under arrest.  At this she was frightened almost out of her wits.  She wept and begged, but nothing would do but she must have her baggage (merely a satchel) examined.  This done, they sent a lady with her to her room and searched her person.  Being so much alarmed, she did not think of her letter from Mr. Davis.  This was found in her pocket and declared a forgery, as they thought if genuine she would have produced it sooner.  Finally the conductor who had brought the train through from Richmond returned, and finding how matters were, relieved her situation by-explaining it to the authorities.  The officers and Mayor then hastened to make apologies for their action and afterwards treated her very kindly, and offered her every facility for the examination desired.  Her search at the place was as fruitless as heretofore.  She found the condition of things here as elsewhere with our poor prisoners-nothing but extreme suffering and ill treatment.  It was hard for her to understand how any civilized people could find it in their hearts to treat human beings so barbarously.

“She left Salisbury the first moment it was-possible for her to do so, and made her way in great sadness to Pine Forest Prison, meeting with many perplexing things on the way.  As she neared Pine Forest she became nervous and almost sick with fear that her mission would be a failure.  Her strength and resolution all at once seemed to fail her.  But on she went, between hope and despair.  En route to this horrible place, all kinds of phantoms rose before her mind.  She would first see a starved human being, and then a wild beast pursuing him; then the butchery and murder of the victim; so that when she arrived at the village she was almost frantic and nearly insane.  A gentleman, seeing her lonely and peculiar situation, assisted her to a house, where she procured quarters.

“It was not until the next morning that she made known her desire to visit the prison.  The lady of the house seemed to take in the situation, and, instead of regarding her as a spy, felt a sympathy for her and willingly rendered her all the assistance she could.  Miss Seraine told her whole story to her, and sought her aid in making the proper investigation.  This lady, Mrs. Lawton, made all necessary arrangements for the two to visit the Superintendent at three o’clock that afternoon.  Promptly at that hour they started, and when they entered the Superintendent’s office outside the prison-pen they were received most courteously by Mr. Hibbard.  At the same time his face wore an expression that made Miss Seraine shudder.  His movements were sluggish, his manner uneasy.  She hastened to make known to him the cause of her visit, and at the same time presented Mr. Davis’s letter.  He scanned the paper very closely without making any remark.  The arrangement being made to come at twelve o’clock the next day, they returned to Mrs. Lawton’s house.

“Mrs. Lawton was kind, and readily engaged in conversation, giving the most horrible description and picture of the prison and the inhuman treatment the prisoners were receiving.  Seraine was silent, and refrained from expressing opinions or making any remarks save to say that she had been treated with great kindness and consideration by the officers she had met.  Mrs. Lawton gave her to understand that she had great sympathy for the prisoners, and that she was not entirely in harmony with the rebellion, although she had been a sufferer by the war, having lost her husband in the Confederate service.  She said she was living there merely to make what she could by selling things to the soldiers when she was permitted to do so.  She had a great contempt for Mr. Hibbard, then keeper of the prison.  It seems Hibbard was only there temporarily.

“Miss Seraine slept but little that night,-she was so eager to ascertain if Henry was, or if he had been, there.  Next morning she arose early and was ready for breakfast, though she ate but little.  When the hour of twelve o’clock arrived she and Mrs. Lawton repaired to the office of Mr. Hibbard as per appointment.  They were received in a very polite manner, and informed that a guard would be sent through the grounds with them.  They asked if he could not accompany them, as they were very timid about passing through without his presence.  He finally consented to attend them as guide and protector.

“’On first entering at the south gate they met a stench that almost stifled them.  As they passed along they saw the prisoners in groups, standing and gazing at them with a stare like that of maniacs.  Some were moderately well clad, others almost in a state of nudity.  The pen, for that was what it really was, was in the most filthy condition that human mind could imagine.  As they passed along they could see the blush of shame mantle the cheek of their escort.  They walked through the center of the grounds, being the dryest and most cleanly.  To describe accurately the suffering of the men, the filthy condition of this pen, and the ghastly looks of those poor creatures, was more than any tongue or pen could do.  They came to where a portion of the sick were lying under a very poor shelter, and there saw sick men with but little clothing and in all the conditions of human suffering possible.  Many were covered with ulcers from scurvy, some were sick with fever, some with their teeth dropping out, some dying with dysentery, some with old wounds not healed, some with fresh ones made by their brutal keepers, and nearly all were literally swarming with vermin.

“Miss Seraine became so sick at these sights that she was almost fainting, and asked to return to the house and be permitted to come earlier the next day, so as not to be in the pen during the midday heat.  Her request was granted, and they left the prison.  She was greatly alarmed for fear she would find Henry among this suffering class of sick men.  The next day they entered the prison at nine o’clock, and passing around on the north side of the grounds found many cooking and eating their meals.  There were no satisfactory conveniences for cooking.  A little fire and a few pans and cups were all.  The meat, what little they had, was broiled on coals.  Many took their meal and stirred it in a cup with the most disagreeable water ever used, and drank it down without cooking.  Hundreds had died within a few days-some from sheer starvation, as they could no longer take the food into their stomachs; some from scurvy, some from fever, and some were murdered by the guards for passing beyond where ordered.  How any one could live in that polluted and poisonous atmosphere was the wonder.  In the inclosure there was a dirty, swampy piece of ground, with water stinking with filth of a character sickening to behold.  When the rain fell all were subjected to the drenching cold bath.  On the ground and in the mud and the damp they lay.  Many were there who during the prior Winter had been so exposed as to have their feet frozen, until in many instances they were rotting off.

“These sights were so shocking in all respects that Miss Seraine was afraid to speak, (except to say a kind word, when permitted to do so,) to any of the unfortunate men.  It seemed to her that Hibbard knew where Henry was, but was avoiding bringing her into his presence.  So she said not a word, but looked well at all in view as she passed along.

“The punishments for any and every little breach of discipline were of the most outrageous character.  She saw many persons with their hands tied behind them, and others standing, with their thumbs run through loops of cords tied up to posts.  The guards were insolent and were constantly damning the prisoners.  Take it altogether-their dirty, filthy food, their mode of cooking, their scanty rations, their clothes, the stinking water they were forced to use, the treatment of the sick, the punishments they were compelled to bear, the dirty, vile pen they were in, and the poisonous atmosphere they were forced to breathe, there is no account anywhere in the barbarous ages that ever did or could equal Pine Forest Prison.

“Miss Seraine became sick and tired of the horrible sights, and at last said to Mr. Hibbard that she did not wish to go around any more to look upon the suffering prisoners, but desired to be taken where Mr. Lyon was, if in the prison.  He replied that he thought he was in the main hospital.  They directed their steps thither.  On entering it she beheld so many ghastly men at one view that she recoiled, and for a moment hesitated.  Recovering herself she proceeded.  While passing along she beheld a young man with sunken eyes, pale and ashy cheeks, lying on a board cot, so emaciated that she had no thought of who it could be.  But in a moment she heard her name whispered, and saw a lean, bony hand reaching out towards her.  She looked at him, took his cold, withered hand, and spoke to him, asking if she could do anything for him.  He said: 

“‘I am Henry Lyon, Seraine.  Do you not recognize me?’

“She fell into Mrs. Lawton’s arms, exclaiming:  ‘My God!’ When she revived she fell upon Henry’s neck and wept bitterly, exclaiming: 

“‘My Henry! my Henry!  Can it be possible, can it be possible?’

“After some little conversation between them, she telling him that all were well at home, etc., Hibbard informed her that the rules of the prison would not allow any further interview at present.”

“What a brute,” interrupted Dr. Adams.

“Miss Seraine asked to see Surgeon Jones.  She ascertained that Henry was just recovering from an attack of typhoid fever and was now out of danger.  She obtained permission from the Surgeon to visit him daily while she remained, and to bring him certain delicacies to eat.  She then returned to Henry and bade him an affectionate good-by, with a promise to see him again.  With a sad heart she retraced her steps to Mrs. Lawton’s.  Retiring to her room she gave way to her grief and spent the remainder of the day in tears.

“The following day Mrs. Lawton again accompanied Seraine to the prison-pen.  They took some wine and cake to Henry.  After being refreshed he and Seraine had a long and pleasant interview, in which Seraine told Henry all about her trip, etc.  She told him she had decided to leave soon for Richmond, and thence for home, but would try and arrange with the Surgeon, (who seemed to have some humanity left,) for Mrs. Lawton to visit and bring him some nourishment.  The prison and the sights beheld by her had quite affected her nerves.  On returning to Mrs. Lawton’s she was suffering with a violent headache, and, going to her room, she remained in bed for three days.

“Mrs. Lawton was very kind.  She sat by her bedside and gave her a detailed account of her own trials.  She was a daughter of a Union man, and had never lost her veneration for her country and the old flag.  Although her husband had lost his life in the Confederate army, she had not changed her smothered feelings for the Union.  She related to Seraine the many villainous outrages perpetrated upon the Union prisoners by the inhuman keepers and guards of this vile den.  She told graphically of seven fine-looking young men who were brought out of the prison for attempting to escape, and shot in the presence of a crowd of jeering devils.  Said she: 

“’If a man wishes to learn of “man’s inhumanity to man,” this is the place.’

“She expressed her great desire to leave the place, as it was like dwelling on the verge of the prison for the souls of the damned.  Seraine talked to her of her mission and what she desired to accomplish; also asked her to keep a watchful eye on Henry, and when the time should come for an exchange of prisoners to remind Hibbard of Henry as one to be sent away, provided she could arrange the matter.  Henry had been a prisoner now for more than a year, and was naturally near the time for his exchange if any one would look after the matter.  After quite a delay on account of her being taken sick again, the time came for her to leave for Richmond, and after thanking Hibbard for his courtesy, and tendering manifold thanks to Mrs. Lawton for her kindness and great care of her, as well as leaving some money with Mrs. Lawton for Henry’s benefit, and promising to write from Richmond if permitted to do so, she embraced Mrs. Lawton as if she were her mother, and with tearful eyes they separated.

“Soon Seraine was on her way to report to Mr. Davis, President of the C. S. A., as she had promised to do, and also to effect an early exchange of prisoners if possible.  Her trip was a dreary one.  She remained as quiet as possible, having no one to cheer her on her way.  On arriving at Richmond she again stopped at the Virginia Hotel, and there again met Capt.  Redingson.  He expressed pleasure at seeing her, and tendered his services as escort and protector while in the city.  After detailing some of her experiences on her journey, and thanking him for his former politeness, and also for his present proffered services, she requested him to bear her compliments to President Davis and ask for an early interview, as she had promised to return and report to him.  The Captain readily assented, and on returning that evening informed her that he would be pleased to accompany her to the Executive Office the next day at eleven a.m., at which hour President Davis would see her.  She was very anxious and quite nervous until the time arrived.  Exactly at eleven o’clock the next day the Captain came for her with a carriage, and very kindly attended her to the presence of the President.

“Mr. Davis met her with cordiality.  He spoke to her about her perilous undertaking, and hoped she had been treated kindly by his people.  He also inquired as to her success in finding her friend, to all of which she responded that her treatment was kind, and her efforts were so far crowned with success.  She gave him an account of her journey and visits to the prisons; her examination of them, and finally her success in finding Henry at Pine Forest.  She told him the truth about the prisons, the food, raiment, and treatment of the prisoners.  He answered in a manner rather tender, and feelingly expressed his desire to have matters in this direction improved, but regretted the impossibility of doing all things as we might desire to have them done.  He spoke of the barbarism of war and its attendant cruelties.  But he soon changed the subject, after thanking her for her honesty and for having the nerve to tell him the truth.

“He then inquired what she desired in reference to her friend.  She asked for his release as the only means of saving his life.  He responded that he would order his exchange at once, and promised her that he should be on the first boat or train sent North with prisoners.  He also gave her permission to write to Mrs. Lawton on this subject, provided she did not use his name in connection with this promise.  He then gave her a letter of safe conduct through his lines and detailed Capt.  Redingson to go with her to our lines.  Having accomplished the object for which she had gone South, and reported fully and truthfully to Mr. Davis as she had promised to do, she took leave of him with her best wishes for his personal welfare.  He bade her farewell and God-speed in a very kind and tender manner, so much so that Seraine has ever spoken kindly of him as a man.

“She repaired to the hotel and told Capt.  Redingson that she desired to leave early the next morning for the Headquarters of the Union army.  He said he would call for her as requested, and they separated.  Seraine, after going to her room, wrote to Mrs. Lawton and inclosed a note to Henry, merely telling him that she was well and on her way home, encouraging him to bear up under his sufferings, etc.

“The next morning Capt.  Redingson called according to his promise, and they were off at once for the lines of the armies.  On arriving at the Headquarters of the Confederate army, they were nicely entertained by the commanding General.  They partook of a good meal and then rested for the night, Seraine being cared for at a farm house near by.  The next morning, on being provided with a pass through the lines, they were conducted under a flag of truce to the Headquarters of the Union army, some twenty miles away.

“Seraine was received by the commanding General and taken care of.  Capt.  Redingson, after having delivered his charge, returned with Seraine’s blessing for his kindness to her.  After she had taken a rest she conversed with Gen. Meador, who was then in command, and related to him her experiences, at the same time keeping her promise to speak of nothing pertaining to the Confederate army or any movements of the same.  After a night’s rest she was sent under charge of an escort to Washington city, where she stopped for several days, until she could see the President and Secretary of War.  She finally managed to have an interview with the Secretary, and, after explaining who she was and her mission South, he replied with some nervousness: 

“‘Henry Lyon’ Is he a son of Daniel Lyon, of Allentown, Ind.?’

“On being answered in the affirmative, he exclaimed: 

“’My God? what affliction that family has had!  His oldest son died recently, being the third son he has lost since this war began.’

“This was the first knowledge that Seraine had of the sad distress in the family.  She sighed and dropped a tear.  The Secretary at once understood the situation, and told her Henry Lyon should be looked after and properly cared for.  She asked if, when he was exchanged, he could not be discharged from the service.  She said that Mr. Lyon’s seven sons were all in the army, and three having lost their lives, she thought one ought to remain at home to comfort the parents during their terrible trials.  She struck a tender chord in the Secretary’s heart, and he replied:  ’Yes; when he returns, you write me and it shall be done, if he consents.’

“This brought joy to her very soul.  She bade the Secretary good-by, saying as she left that he would hear from her in due time.

“She then called at the President’s and sent in his own letter which he had given her when she started South, that she might thereby be recalled to his memory.  He sent for her at once.  As she entered his office he arose and greeted her most affectionately, calling her ‘my child,’ and bidding her be seated.  He commenced plying her with questions, and she told him the whole story.  When she related what she had seen in the rebel prisons, his countenance saddened and tears fell from his eyes.  He said: 

“’This must be remedied somehow.  Humanity revolts at retaliation in kind, but in an instance like this it might be justified.’

“She told him what she desired, and what the Secretary had promised.  He replied: 

“’My dear child, it shall be done.  My old friend Lyon is making more sacrifices than should be demanded of any one.  I hope you will see him soon, and when you do, tell him that I often think of him and his family, as well as what they are doing for their country.’

“The President was a man of generous impulses.  He had a very kind heart, full of sympathy for humanity.

“She left the President with feelings of the deepest affection and gratitude, having every assurance that her wishes would be complied with.  As she left, he bade her good-by, calling her his ’little heroine.’  From Washington she went to Baltimore, learning that some prisoners who had been exchanged were to be landed there.  She remained at the Burnett House, most of the time in her room, not wishing to make any acquaintances, but watching the papers closely to ascertain the time for the arrival of the prisoners.  One evening she learned that a vessel had come into port with 200 prisoners.  She hastened to the dock; arriving all out of breath, and seeing the large crowd that was waiting she became very much excited, and observing an officer in uniform she ventured to speak to him.  It was Gen. Shunk, of Ohio.  She told him who she was, and also for whom she was looking.  He answered her very cordially, and said he knew Mr. Daniel Lyon, formerly of Ohio, and inquired if the person in question was one of his sons.  She said he was, and he told her to wait and he would see, as he was then in command at Baltimore.  In a few moments he came back with the glad tidings that Henry Lyon was among the prisoners.  She was going to rush on board the vessel, but the General detained her, informing her that it was not allowable under the orders, but he would bring Henry to her as soon as possible.  Soon she saw Henry coming from the vessel, leaning upon the arm of a comrade.  He seemed to be very weak, and still looked like a mere shadow.  He was brought where she stood, trembling and almost fearing to meet him lest his mind might have given way somewhat under the trying ordeal through which he had just passed.  She threw her arms around his neck and wept aloud.  A carriage was procured, and she accompanied him, by permission, to the hospital where he was ordered to go.  Reaching there, he was placed in a nice clean ward.  There they talked matters over, and Henry agreed to the discharge from the service.  Seraine left him with the nurses, saying that she would return as soon as possible; at the same time he was not to let his people know anything of his whereabouts.  She left that night for Washington.

“The next morning at the earliest hour that she could see the Secretary of War, she made her appearance.  On meeting the Secretary he recognized her, and asked if she was after the discharge about which she agreed to write to him.  She replied that Henry was now at Baltimore, having been exchanged.  Then she told him of his condition.  The Secretary at once ordered the discharge made out, and as soon as it had passed through the proper officers’ hands and was returned to him he handed it to her, saying: 

“‘You deserve this yourself, without any other consideration.’

“She again thanked the Secretary, and at once repaired to the President’s Mansion.  When she was admitted, on seeing her the President guessed from her bright countenance the whole story, and congratulated her most heartily.  She told him all, and showed him Henry’s discharge and thanked him for his kindness.  He said: 

“‘May God bless you, my child, and give you both a safe journey home!’

“Returning to Baltimore, she made arrangements to have Henry placed in a clean car and taken to Allentown.  After they were under way she told him about the discharge, and he was delighted.  She telegraphed me to mee her at the depot, but did not say one word about Henry.  I read the dispatch to the family, and many were the conjectures.  Peter said she had not found Henry, and a great variety of opinions were expressed.  My wife burst into tears, fell down on the sofa, and cried, saying she felt that Henry was dead.  Ham, hearing what was being said, concluded it was his turn to guess; so he began: 

“’You’s all off de track.  Ham sees it all frough de glass in he head, he do.’

“’Go ’long wid you, you olé fool:  since you’s free you ‘spec’ you is big and knows a heap.  You doesn’t know nuffin, you don’t,’ said Aunt Martha.

“’Well, alright, Marfa; ‘spec’ me not know bery much; but, sho’s you is born, dat boy all right; you see, you jes’ wait.  I say no mo’, but I see what is de matter.  You jes’ wait, dat’s all you got to do.’

“The next morning I went down to the depot with a carriage, and there found Seraine and Henry waiting for me.  I embraced my poor boy, overcome with grateful emotion.  My joy was complete in finding him alive.  He was a living skeleton.  We were not long in driving to the house.  All were out on the portico to see Seraine, no one but Ham expecting Henry with her.  As they all saw Henry the family leaped with joy, and rushing out to meet us, but seeing Henry’s ghastly appearance a sudden sadness came over all.  We helped him out of the carriage.  He was completely overcome when he saw his mother.  She clasped him in her arms and cried piteously.  He was assisted into the house and laid upon the sofa.  All seemed to have overlooked Seraine in their great joy over Henry’s return.  I introduced her to each one of the family including old Ham and Aunt Martha.

“’Didn’t I see dem in my glass, Marfa; didn’t I?  What you got to say now?’

“’I ‘spects you did, Ham; dey is heah, sho.’  Bress de Laud; he bring dis boy home.  I not see him afore dem pizen Sesh fix him dat way!  Dey starve him.  What did dey do to him to make him look like dat?’

“Soon we all got settled, and after breakfast we heard Seraine’s story.  She was our heroine, and no mistake.  No one of us could do too much for her.  My good wife wanted to have her for a daughter at once.  She could not let her go out of her sight for a moment.  She hugged her, kissed her, seemed almost to want to take her in her lap as a child; in fact, we all loved her.  She had gone through great perils to save our dear boy, and why not love her I For some days we did nothing but talk over her journey-ings and what she saw and did.  She was the idol of our household.  When Henry had gained strength enough to bear up under the double shock, we told him of the death of David and James, which painful news he had not heard before.  It took him many days to rally after this melancholy intelligence of the fate of his dear brothers.  After Henry was strong enough to walk about without help Seraine thought she must leave us for a time and return home.  This saddened our hearts, as we had grown much attached to her.  But she and Henry talked the matter over, making their own arrangements, and the next day Jackson escorted her to her home in Michigan.  When she left, no family ever wept more in sorrow at the departure of any one than did ours.

“There was a mystery connected with her periling her life in the way she did that I could not then solve, but I made no inquiry into her secret.

“Of the few left to us they were now once more nearly all together, and further plans were in order.”

At this point Dr. Adams said, “The horrors of those rebel prisons have ever been like a specter before me whenever I hear them mentioned.”

Judge Reed here interrupted, saying:  “I indorse every word of Miss Whitcomb’s description of these prisons.  I endured their horrors and inhumanity for nine months, and she does not tell the half that might be told.  To show that Seraine’s statement is not in the least exaggerated, I have saved an article from the Sumter (S.  C.) Watchman, published in reference to the Florence Prison at that time, which seems to have equaled the Pine Forest.”.

Being asked to do so, Dr. Adams read as follows: 

“The Camp we found full of what were once human beings, but who would scarcely now be recognized as such.  In an old field, with no inclosures but the living wall of sentinels who guard them night and day, are several thousand filthy, diseased, famished men, with no hope of relief, except by death.  A few dirty rags stretched on poles give some of them a poor protection from the hot sun and heavy dews.  All were in rags and barefoot, and crawling with vermin.  As we passed around the line of guards I saw one of them brought out of his miserable booth by two of his companions and laid upon the ground to die.  He was nearly naked.  His companions pulled his cap over his face and straightened out his limbs.  Before they turned to leave him he was dead.  A slight movement of the limbs and all was over-the captive was free!  The Commissary’s tent was close by one side of the square, and near it the beef was laid upon boards preparatory to its distribution.  This sight seemed to excite the prisoners as the smell of blood does the beasts of the menagerie.  They surged up as near the lines as they were allowed, and seemed, in their eagerness, about to break over.  While we were on the ground a heavy rain came up, and they seemed to greatly enjoy it, coming out a paris naturalibus, opening their mouths to catch the drops, while one would wash off another with his hands, and then receive from him the like kind of office.  Numbers get out at night and wander to the neighboring houses in quest of food.

“From the camp of the living we passed to the camp of the dead-the hospital-a transition which reminded me of Satan’s soliloquy-

“Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell, And in the lowest deeps, a lower deep, Still threatening to devour me, opens wide.”

“A few tents, covered with pine-tops, were crowded with the dying and the dead in every stage of corruption.  Some lay in prostrate helplessness; some had crowded under the shelter of the bushes; some were rubbing their skeleton limbs.  Twenty or thirty of them die daily; most of these, as I was informed, of the scurvy.  The corpses laid by the roadside waiting for the dead-cart, their glaring eyes turned to heaven, the flies swarming in their mouths, their big-toes tied together with a cotton string, and their skeleton arms folded on their breasts.  You would hardly know them to be men, so sadly do hunger, disease, and wretchedness change ‘the human face divine.’  Presently came the carts; they were carried a little distance to trenches dug for the purpose and tumbled in like so many dogs.  A few pine-tops were thrown upon the bodies, a few shovelfuls of dirt, and then haste was made to open a new ditch for other victims.  The burying party were Yankees detailed for the work, an appointment which, as the Sergeant told me, they consider a favor, for they get a little more to eat and enjoy fresh air.

“Thus we see at one glance the three great scourges of mankind-war, famine, and pestilence, and we turn from the spectacle sick at heart, as we remember that some of our loved ones may be undergoing a similar misery.”

“This publication,” said Col.  Bush, “made in one of their own papers at the time, proves that all that has ever been said of their treatment of our prisoners is true.”

“Yes,” said Uncle Daniel, “and much more.”

“Uncle Daniel,” said Dr. Adams, “this Miss Seraine Whitcomb was, indeed, a true woman, and, as the President well said, a ‘little heroine.’  I take it she was rather small, from this expression of his.”

“Yes, she was rather small, but a pure jewel.”

“She was a woman of great determination, and loved purely and strongly.  There are but few instances of such pure devotion and rare patriotism to be found in the annals of history.  What feelings she must have had while traveling through the Confederacy in such anguish and suspense.  She was a jewel, sure enough.”

Col.  Bush here interrupted, saying:  “The condition of our poor soldiers in the prisons she visited must have driven her almost insane.  It certainly drove many of the poor sufferers into a state or condition of insanity, in which numbers died in their ravings and delirium.”

“Is it not wonderful,” said Dr. Adams, “how soon these barbarities and inhumanities are forgotten by our people?”

“Yes,” said Col.  Bush; “but you must remember that our people are moving too rapidly to look back upon scenes of distress.  Money and power are now the watchwords-throw patriotism to the dogs.  It is not needed now to save their property and their rights.  You must remember that a man like Hibbard, the deputy at Pine Forest Prison, who allowed men to be shot down like dogs and starved like wild beasts, is now looked upon with more consideration and favor than Uncle Daniel, who gave his whole family as a sacrifice for his country.  Did not this same Hibbard travel all through our country last Fall making speeches?  Was he not received with shouts by our very neighbors, within a stone’s throw of this dear old man, whose son was starved near unto death in Pine Forest Prison by this man?  Has he not held high positions in his State since?  And I would not be surprised to hear that he had been appointed to some Foreign Mission, in order that he may represent our country abroad in the true Christian spirit of our advanced civilization!”

“Yes,” said Uncle Daniel; “when he was North on his stumping tour I mentioned the fact of his inhumanity, and only received jeers from those who heard me-some young students who were not old enough to be in the war, and now feel that it must never be mentioned except in a whisper.  It seems that all the treason, infamy, and the barbarities and cruelties practiced during that bloody period are now condoned, and the persons who practiced the greater wrongs are made thereby the more respectable.  Oh, that I had not lived to see these things!  It makes me almost doubt my own existence.  Sometimes I feel that it is all a dream.”

Maj.  Clymer, in order to draw the aged man’s mind away from this unpleasant theme, inquired if he knew what became of Mrs. Lawton.

“I cannot tell,” said Uncle Daniel; “she and Seraine corresponded for a number of years after the termination of the war.  The last we ever heard of her she had married with an Englishman and located in Canada.  God knows, I hope she may yet be living and happy.  She was a noble woman.  I fear, however, that she, too, has passed away, as we have had no tidings of her for many years.”

Uncle Daniel at this time becoming weary and very melancholy, we excused him for the present, and asked permission to return again, when he promised that he would continue his narrative, and, bidding him good-night, we left, with an increased desire to hear more from his honest and truthful lips.