JULY--THE PRISON BECOMES MORE CROWDED, THE WEATHER HOTTER, NATIONS
POORER, AND MORTALITY GREATER--SOME OF THE PHENOMENA OF SUFFERING AND
DEATH.
All during July the prisoners came streaming in by hundreds and
thousands from every portion of the long line of battle, stretching
from the Eastern bank of the Mississippi to the shores of the Atlantic.
Over one thousand squandered by Sturgis at Guntown came in; two
thousand of those captured in the desperate blow dealt by Hood against
the Army of the Tennessee on the 22d of the month before Atlanta;
hundreds from Hunter’s luckless column in the Shenandoah Valley,
thousands from Grant’s lines in front of Petersburg. In all, seven
thousand one hundred and twenty-eight were, during the month, turned
into that seething mass of corrupting humanity to be polluted and
tainted by it, and to assist in turn to make it fouler and deadlier.
Over seventy hecatombs of chosen victims --of fair youths in the
first flush of hopeful manhood, at the threshold of a life of honor
to themselves and of usefulness to the community; beardless boys,
rich in the priceless affections of homes, fathers, mothers, sisters
and sweethearts, with minds thrilling with high aspirations for the
bright future, were sent in as the monthly sacrifice to this Minotaur
of the Rebellion, who, couched in his foul lair, slew them, not with
the merciful delivery of speedy death, as his Cretan prototype did the
annual tribute of Athenian youths and maidens, but, gloating over his
prey, doomed them to lingering destruction. He rotted their flesh with
the scurvy, racked their minds with intolerable suspense, burned their
bodies with the slow fire of famine, and delighted in each separate
pang, until they sank beneath the fearful accumulation. Theseus
[Sherman. D.W.]--the deliverer--was coming. His terrible sword could
be seen gleaming as it rose and fell on the banks of the James, and
in the mountains beyond Atlanta, where he was hewing his way towards
them and the heart of the Southern Confederacy. But he came too late
to save them. Strike as swiftly and as heavily as he would, he could
not strike so hard nor so sure at his foes with saber blow and musket
shot, as they could at the hapless youths with the dreadful armament of
starvation and disease.
Though the deaths were one thousand eight hundred and seventeen more
than were killed at the battle of Shiloh--this left the number in
the prison at the end of the month thirty-one thousand six hundred
and seventy-eight. Let me assist the reader’s comprehension of the
magnitude of this number by giving the population of a few important
Cities, according to the census of 1870:
Cambridge, Mass 89,639
Charleston, S. C. 48,958
Columbus, O. 31,274
Dayton, O. 30,473
Fall River, Mass 26,766
Kansas City, Mo 32,260
The number of prisoners exceeded the whole number of men between
the ages of eighteen and forty-five in several of the States and
Territories in the Union. Here, for instance, are the returns for 1870,
of men of military age in some portions of the country:
Arizona 5,157
Colorado 15,166
Dakota 5,301
Idaho 9,431
Montana 12,418
Nebraska 35,677
Nevada 24,762
New Hampshire 60,684
Oregon 23,959
Rhode Island 44,377
Vermont 62,450
West Virginia 6,832
It was more soldiers than could be raised to-day, under strong
pressure, in either Alabama, Arizona, Arkansas, California, Colorado,
Connecticut, Dakota, Delaware, District of Columbia, Florida, Idaho,
Louisiana, Maine, Minnesota, Montana, Nebraska, Nevada, New Hampshire,
New Medico, Oregon, Rhode Island, South Carolina, Utah, Vermont or West
Virginia.
These thirty-one thousand six hundred and seventy-eight active young
men, who were likely to find the confines of a State too narrow for
them, were cooped up on thirteen acres of ground--less than a farmer
gives for play-ground for a half dozen colts or a small flock of sheep.
There was hardly room for all to lie down at night, and to walk a few
hundred feet in any direction would require an hour’s patient threading
of the mass of men and tents.
The weather became hotter and hotter; at midday the sand would burn
the hand. The thin skins of fair and auburn-haired men blistered under
the sun’s rays, and swelled up in great watery puffs, which soon
became the breeding grounds of the hideous maggots, or the still more
deadly gangrene. The loathsome swamp grew in rank offensiveness with
every burning hour. The pestilence literally stalked at noon-day, and
struck his victims down on every hand. One could not look a rod in any
direction without seeing at least a dozen men in the last frightful
stages of rotting Death.
Let me describe the scene immediately around my own tent during the
last two weeks of July, as a sample of the condition of the whole
prison: I will take a space not larger than a good sized parlor or
sitting room. On this were at least fifty of us. Directly in front of
me lay two brothers--named Sherwood--belonging to Company I, of my
battalion, who came originally from Missouri. They were now in the
last stages of scurvy and diarrhea. Every particle of muscle and fat
about their limbs and bodies had apparently wasted away, leaving the
skin clinging close to the bone of the face, arms, hands, ribs and
thighs--everywhere except the feet and legs, where it was swollen tense
and transparent, distended with gallons of purulent matter. Their livid
gums, from which most of their teeth had already fallen, protruded
far beyond their lips. To their left lay a Sergeant and two others
of their company, all three slowly dying from diarrhea, and beyond
was a fair-haired German, young and intelligent looking, whose life
was ebbing tediously away. To my right was a handsome young Sergeant
of an Illinois Infantry Regiment, captured at Kenesaw. His left arm
had been amputated between the shoulder and elbow, and he was turned
into the Stockade with the stump all undressed, save the ligating of
the arteries. Of course, he had not been inside an hour until the
maggot flies had laid eggs in the open wound, and before the day was
gone the worms were hatched out, and rioting amid the inflamed and
super-sensitive nerves, where their every motion was agony. Accustomed
as we were to misery, we found a still lower depth in his misfortune,
and I would be happier could I forget his pale, drawn face, as he
wandered uncomplainingly to and fro, holding his maimed limb with his
right hand, occasionally stopping to squeeze it, as one does a boil,
and press from it a stream of maggots and pus. I do not think he ate or
slept for a week before he died. Next to him staid an Irish Sergeant of
a New York Regiment, a fine soldierly man, who, with pardonable pride,
wore, conspicuously on his left breast, a medal gained by gallantry
while a British soldier in the Crimea. He was wasting away with
diarrhea, and died before the month was out.
This was what one could see on every square rod of the prison. Where I
was was not only no worse than the rest of the prison, but was probably
much better and healthier, as it was the highest ground inside,
farthest from the Swamp, and having the dead line on two sides, had a
ventilation that those nearer the center could not possibly have. Yet,
with all these conditions in our favor, the mortality was as I have
described.
Near us an exasperating idiot, who played the flute, had established
himself. Like all poor players, he affected the low, mournful notes, as
plaintive as the distant cooing of the dove in lowering, weather. He
played or rather tooted away in his “blues”-inducing strain hour after
hour, despite our energetic protests, and occasionally flinging a club
at him. There was no more stop to him than to a man with a hand-organ,
and to this day the low, sad notes of a flute are the swiftest reminder
to me of those sorrowful, death-laden days.
I had an illustration one morning of how far decomposition would
progress in a man’s body before he died. My chum and I found a
treasure-trove in the streets, in the shape of the body of a man who
died during the night. The value of this “find” was that if we took it
to the gate, we would be allowed to carry it outside to the deadhouse,
and on our way back have an opportunity to pick up a chunk of wood, to
use in cooking. While discussing our good luck another party came up
and claimed the body. A verbal dispute led to one of blows, in which
we came off victorious, and I hastily caught hold of the arm near the
elbow to help bear the body away. The skin gave way under my hand,
and slipped with it down to the wrist, like a torn sleeve. It was
sickening, but I clung to my prize, and secured a very good chunk of
wood while outside with it. The wood was very much needed by my mess,
as our squad had then had none for more than a week.