"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.
[Illustration: Seraine with Henry at Pine Forest Prison 258]
"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 ole 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."