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CIVIL WAR PRISON INCIDENT RECALLED
Henry B. Kendall's Death Recalls Interesting Incident of the Civil War on the Part of Robert McCully, Who Was Kendall's Companion in the Florence (N.C.) Stockade - The Two Companions Earned the Nick-name of "Plymouth Pilgrims" —Kendall's Ruse Succeeded and He was Exchanged —McCully was Returned to His Hole in the Ground.
New York, January 26, 1912.
Editor Times: Following the announcement of the death of William Gore, comes the sad news of the sudden death of Henry B. Kendall, who passed away on the afternoon of the
twenty fourth Inst. This is the man who in the fall of 1864 lived with me in a hole dug in the side hill and covered with brush in the Florence stockade prison. Henry and I were
of the same age, born in 1844. I first found him in the old white school house in Fulton when we were six years of age. We were together until the war. He went in the 12th Cavalry, I in the 81st Infantry. On the 20th of April, 1864, he, with several hundred others, were captured at Plymouth, N.C., and in Andersonville and Florence we were known as the "Plymouth Pilgrims". On the second of September, General Sherman took Atlanta and the rebels began preparations at once to remove the prisoners from Andersonville, fearing their re-capture by Sherman's cavalry. Orders came into the prison to prepare to move: that we were to be exchanged, and that some of the detachments (composed of 270 men each) would go out the next night.
The "Plymouth Pilgrims" were among the first that entered the prison and were in the first detachments. I went in the first day of June and was away up in the sixties. On the afternoon of the third or fourth of September, Kendall came to me and said:
"Bob, our detachment is going out tonight and one of our boys has just died and he won't be reported until the dead are carried out tomorrow morning. I'll get his name and number and make it all right with the Sergeant of the detachment and you can'go out with us."
I did. We were among the first to enter the Florence prison and had the advantage of locating a spot in the side hill near the creek which we called our home.
In this prison we were in hundreds instead of detachments of 270 as in Andersonville. In selecting the sick or wounded for parole we were lined up in hundreds and examined by two
physician who passed, along the the line.
The day our hundred was to be examined Kendall said to me,
"Bob, I'm going out to morrow; you see if I don't. I am going to fool them Johnnies and play sick."
When our turn came and we were in line, I stood by his side. He was a sorry looking sight— for that matter we all were— with our matted hair, smoked faces, some bare heads, some bare footed, while others were nearly bare naked. When the
doctors reached Kendall he was prepared. His head and body were bent, his right shoulder elevated, his left arm dropped at his side as though something was out of joint; his eyes
half closed and staring at the ground. He certainly looked as though he had lost his mind. It was with great effort that I kept from laughing. Then the doctors passed. Kendall was moaning when the doctors reached him. One of them said, "What is the matter with you?" Kendall stared at them but made no reply.
Then came the question, "What ails you?" Kendall in a feeble voice said, "I don't know." With that one of the doctors took him by the arm and gave him a jerk to indicate that he was to go. To complete the ruse Kendall fell to the ground, then slowly arose and started for the gate and when near it looked back and I imagined he was saying "Good bye", Bob." I watched him till he passed through the gate and out of sight. The doctors barely looked at me and passed on.
I went back to my hole in the ground and lived a lonely life till I was taken sick and carried out several days later.
R.B. McCully
Source: The Fulton Times, Jan 31, 1912
