A CRY TO HEAVEN.
The bitter cry which arose from the suffering camp was changed on the lips
of a few to an appeal to heaven. Where else could men look in their dire
extremity? One evening early in August the sound of the old long metre
doxology was heard from the voices of a group of men gathered around the
solitary pine stump in the enclosure, which was situated at the end of the
north street of the prison where space was left for the ration wagon to
turn around. On this stump was seated an emaciated cavalry sergeant, Mr.
Shepard, of Columbus, Ohio, formerly an honored preacher of the gospel. In
days past he had frequently been called upon to offer prayer over the
remains of some deceased comrade, and now he led in the old and well-known
hymn to call like-minded souls together.
Some twenty-five unkempt, starving men gathered around him and joined in
the familiar strain. What memories of family worship and old-time services
in the meeting-house those words called up. Said Brother Shepard in
substance: "I have today read in the book of Numbers of Moses striking the
rock from which water gushed out for the ample supply of man and beast. I
tell you God must strike a rock in Andersonville or we shall all die of
thirst. And if there is no rock here, He can smite the ground and bring
forth water to supply our desperate needs. Of this I am sure; let us ask
Him to do this."
Pointing to an uncombed, unwashed, ragged comrade standing close by, he
said, "Will the brother from Chicago pray?" He then successively called on
other acquaintances, distinguishing them by their different localities at
home. All the prayers were poured out in the one desire for water.
For perhaps an hour the meeting continued and closed with the doxology.
The words of the leader were, "Boys, when you awake during the night
offer to God a little prayer for water. Do the same many times tomorrow,
and let us meet here in the evening to pray again for water."
If memory be not at fault, these individual and collective petitions were
steadfastly offered from Monday evening to Thursday evening.
For a month previous we had noticed that a number of the stockade timbers
near the north gate had been loosened by the percolating of the copious
rain and that they were sagging considerably and had settled out of line.
We wondered why they had been allowed to remain so long in this unsafe
condition. Was it a coincidence that after prayer began to be offered the
quartermaster of the prison notified Capt. Wirtz that stockade timbers
were out of line and should be set right? He was ordered to take a gang of
slaves and make the necessary repairs. About fifteen stalwart negroes were
marched through the main gate and turned into the twenty-foot space
between the dead-line and the wall. With pike poles the closely adjoining
posts were heaved into position and the earth was closely tamped.
Then the workers faced about and commenced digging a trench up the hill
nearly as wide as the space between the dead-line and the stockade. A part
of the gang swung their picks into the red clay which was shoveled against
the timbers. Another set followed with heavy rammers and pounded the whole
into a smooth, sloping surface which was tamped closely to the base of the
wooden wall, making a perfect watershed, and thus preventing the further
loosening of the earth at the base of the stockade. By Thursday evening
the broad trench with rounded bottom was completed from the swamp up the
dead line space to the north gate.
THE WOMANS RELIEF CORPS
"Today beneath our Nation's flag,
The old red, white and blue,
A band of noble women work
With a purpose just and true;
To aid and succor those who fought
To save our honored land,
For home and freedom, God and right,
Those earnest women stand."
[Illustration: PROVIDENCE SPRING AND WOMEN OF THE RELIEF CORPS]