A SEQUEL.
At the age of thirteen, the writer attended a series of religious meetings
and became profoundly convicted of his obligation to accept Jesus Christ
as his personal Savior. Lack of moral courage held him back from an open
confession. He compromised by secretly pledging to become a Christian
after he had entered upon his chosen profession of law. Thereupon his
convictions ceased and the matter was forgotten.
Now, in his illness in Andersonville prison, answer to prayer, as
evidenced in the instance of Providence Spring, turned his attention to
his own moral necessities. Well might this introspection occur; for, in
this month of August, 1864, his prospects of surviving the surrounding
conditions were swiftly diminishing. Blood poisoning, in the form of
scurvy, had settled in his face. He tottered from weakness. His long days
and weary nights were spent on his blanket, spread on the ground, just
within the little shelter tent that was wedged in among others. When eyes
were closed to awful sights, the ears must listen to dreadful sounds. As
vitality was ebbing away, and the things of time and sense were
withdrawing, the realities of eternity seemed to come to the front. Truly
it was time to "prepare to meet thy God." This must be done at once. The
reading of the little pocket testament began anew, and the thought was
awakened to pray for self; when suddenly there came to mind the forgotten
covenant of seven years ago, "I will be a Christian _after_ I become a
lawyer."
The obvious conclusion was, "Taken on your own terms, as you cannot be a
lawyer, you cannot be a Christian." Total physical and mental weakness
could not cope with this mental suggestion. The reflections that followed
led to feelings of utter despair. Thus he soliloquized, "In the day of my
strength I said 'No' to God; now, in the hour of my weakness, he will not
hear me. He knows that from fear and not from sincerity I now seek to
pray. Hypocritical prayer will but add insult to injury. I must not pray."
These confused reasonings were largely due to an anemic brain and mental
temptation. The weakened mind accepted a lie in place of the invigorating
truth that "now is the day of salvation." Eternity seemed to open its
portals to a realm of darkness into which the soul was being forced by the
stress of its own past decision, while high over these gates enthroned in
light appeared the radiant form of the Son of God. While this Personage
seemed unspeakably lovely and "chief among ten thousand," the soliloquizer
said, "He has been denied, he is lost to me." These cogitations filled the
waking and sleeping hours of several nights. With a sense of woe
unutterable the decision of doom was accepted. The sensations of a lost
soul seemed to be real. Words are entirely inadequate to express the sense
of eternal, irremediable loss by which the heart was oppressed. This
exhaustive strain could not long continue. The evening of a day of
unusually oppressive heat presaged the end. Vividly the thought stood
before the mind, "This is my last night on earth." To the comrade who was
blanket-mate the home address was given and a whispered good-bye. This was
the fully accepted close of life.
Sinking into an unrestful slumber, the small hours of the morning arrived,
and a forgotten incident of the long ago was revived in a dream. The scene
in vision occurred on a beautiful Sunday morning of spring, eleven years
before. The location was a village on the old Ridge road in Niagara
county, New York. The region was, and is, noted for its orchards of
deciduous fruits. On this date the blossoms were out in full. Banks of
pink and white embosomed the homesteads that lined the historic highway;
sweet odors filled the air, and bevies of bees with droning song were
industriously gathering the abundant nectar. Nothing could surpass the
beauty of that quiet Lord's Day morning as the family, consisting of
father, mother, older sister and younger brother, with the lad, wended its
way to the brick church of the village. They habitually passed, on the
outskirts of the same, the stone house of Col. N----, whose daughter's
husband was absent in the West.
The good lady taught in the Sunday school a class of boys who were from
seven to ten years of age, and although they were possessed of
irrepressible juvenile energy, and occasionally, to her distress, seemed
to be irreverent; yet they regarded her with sincere respect and gave
willing obedience.
On the Saturday night, preceding this Sunday morning, a great burden of
solicitude for the safety of her husband was suddenly pressed in upon her
mind. To her imagination he seemed to be in extreme peril; perhaps he was
unattended; he might be alone and facing a speedy and fatal termination.
Possessing a strong faith in God, and believing his readiness to hear and
answer prayer, at midnight she aroused from her bed and engaged in an
irrepressible travail of soul for the far-away loved one. For several
hours the burden of intercession continued. With the coming of the Sunday
morning dawn, the light which made all nature bright and beautiful was
suddenly duplicated in her heart. All at once the burden lifted.
Instantaneously her being was filled with the sweet assurance that all was
well with her husband; that whatever was his danger he was being saved
therefrom. A tender gratitude possessed her heart. A sense of union with
the mighty Jehovah suffused her being with a consciousness of strength and
resource. Like Deborah of old a song of triumph arose in her soul.
As the time of going to church approached, the above mentioned family came
along, and, as was their custom, the teacher and her son, who was about
the age of the writer, joined them on the way to the sanctuary. As the
others were conversing by the way, the two boys ran on ahead and the one,
having observed on the face of his teacher the marks of suffering, said to
his chum, "Newton, what is the matter with your mamma?"
"O, Johnny," was the reply; "My mamma has been feeling awful bad about my
papa. I guess she thinks he is going to die, for in the night I heard her
talking and talking to God about saving him and making him well. Say,
Johnny, if God don't do what mamma asks I won't have any papa, will I?"
With their hands joined in a common sympathy, and with mutual tears, the
two lads sorrowed for a brief moment. But what parental anxiety could hold
their abounding life from immediate sympathy with nature smiling all
around? By the time the church was reached and cheery salutations had been
exchanged with arriving classmates, all impressions of grief were
forgotten.
The teacher, in a mood of chastened gladness and confidence, listened to
the sermon which the venerable pastor extended to an unusual length. This
delay absorbed the brief period of time usually given to an intermission,
during which the intermediates might straighten out the kinks which
seemed to form in their lithe limbs while perched on cushioned seats so
high that their feet dangled short of the carpet.
The good superintendent, whose gracious face and form are remembered as
but of yesterday, called the school to order immediately after the
benediction was pronounced. "We are late," he said, "and cannot have
intermission today; classes take their places at once."
These irrepressible youngsters combined the movement of filing into the
pew with motions not included in the regular order. One punched another.
The lad who had recently shared the mental distress of his mother now
inserted a bent pin under the descending form of his companion; resulting
in a response that did not improve the discipline of the occasion. The
boisterous impulse seized the entire class to the annoyance and
discomfiture of the teacher, who was seated at their front in the
adjoining pew. Several reproving glances directed towards the young
insurgents quieted them during the opening exercises.
After the vigil of prayer during much of the preceding night and the
answer of peace that had been given, we can readily understand the state
of mind which now possessed the teacher. The transient, sportive disorder
of the little boys was but a harmless ripple on the surface of her
thought. Her soul was in a continued attitude of prayer. Her victory in
intercession made easy a renewal of request at the throne of grace. Not
only her mother-heart but her Christian love yearned over the lads that
were committed to her care. Not the surface question of behavior, but the
issue of their conversion to Jesus Christ took possession of her mind. She
thought to herself, "Why not now? Why not now?" Attracting the attention
of the lads by tapping on the pew-top with her ivory-mounted fan, with
countenance expressing unwonted strength, she said, "My boys, I want you
to now be perfectly quiet, and to bow your heads and close your eyes
while I pray for you."
The spirit of quiet firmness which accompanied these words, the
outreaching of her soul as in the interceding exercise of the previous
night, profoundly impressed the lads. Instantly and willingly, they took
the attitude of reverence; motionless they listened to the tender voice
that pleaded in words like these: "O Lord, my heavenly Father, I ask Thee
to help my little boys to give their hearts to Thee. Wilt Thou not, by the
sacrifice of thy dear Son, cleanse their hearts from sin. Wilt Thou give
to them a new heart, a clean heart? Bestow upon them freely of Thy Holy
Spirit, and help them to live always for Thee. Amen."
Although eleven years had passed away, and the immature experiences of
boyhood had been replaced by the opening realities of manhood, the events
above described formed the subject-matter of the dream on that memorable
night in Andersonville. The panorama of what was largely forgotten
unfolded before the mind in what was supposed to be the sleep of
approaching death. These renewed impressions were so vivid that at the
instant of awaking the reality seemed to be with the old-time home; the
dream was the being in the prison pen.
But a few moments of consciousness were required for the recognition of
the actual circumstances of the present time and place.
But, within, all was changed. In the place of despair an inspiring hope
was in the ascendant. The forms and voices of loved ones had been seen and
heard. The intercession of the teacher for her little boys had restored
the right to pray. While yet in much physical weakness the day was mostly
passed in silent prayer.
During the second night a lessened impression of the dream was repeated.
By the second morning all the processes of thought were restored to the
normal condition. The mind and will were able to adopt the irreversible
determination to henceforth implicitly trust in the living God and to
live the life of faith and prayer. And up to the present hour that
determination has sought to be unfalteringly kept.
[Illustration: The Beloved Teacher in After Years.]
"The mystic chord of memory, stretching from every battlefield and patriot
grave to every living heart and hearthstone all over this broad land, will
yet swell the chorus of the Union, when again touched, as surely they will
be, by better angels of our nature."--Abraham Lincoln, Inaugural Address,
March 4, 1861.
APPENDIX A.
CONTRIBUTORY TESTIMONY.
Many narratives of experiences in the military prisons maintained by the
government of the Confederate States of America during the Civil War have
been written by Union officers and soldiers confined therein. With minor
differences of statement arising from personal diversities these
testimonies as a whole establish the fact of unprecedented suffering and
mortality.
Since the close of the Civil War our government has unstintedly employed
ability and money in compiling and publishing an exhaustive exhibit of the
Union and Confederate records. These statistics and memoranda afford to
the later historian abundant and reliable data, and upon his calm verdict
we may rely for the substantial truth.
The holding of prisoners during our civil war was a matter of large
concern. The number of Union soldiers captured was 211,411; paroled
on the field, 16,669; died in captivity, 30,218. These last figures
are defective. Of twelve Confederate prisons the "death registers" of
five are only partial and thousands of the emaciated men passed away
soon after release.
The number of Confederate soldiers captured was 462,635; paroled on
the field 257,769; died in captivity 25,976. The percentage of deaths
among the imprisoned Confederates, it will be seen, was far less than
among the Union prisoners.
The number of enlistments in the Union army was 2,898,304; in the
Confederate army from 1,239,000 to 1,400,000. The estimated cost of
war to the North was $5,000,000,000, and to the South $3,000,000,000.
(The above figures are taken from a "History of the United States," by
James Ford Rhodes, LL.D., Litt.D., who quotes from General F. C.
Ainsworth, Chief of the Record and Pension Office.)
"We raise our father's banner that it may bring back better blessings than
those of old; ... that it may say to the sword, 'Return to thy sheath,'
and to the plow and sickle, 'Go forth.' That it may heal all jealousies,
unite all policies, inspire a new national life, com-pact our strength,
ennoble our national ambitions, and make this people great and strong, not
for aggression and quarrelsomeness, but for the peace of the world, giving
to us the glorious prerogative of leading all nations to juster laws, to
more humane policies, to sincerer friendship, to rational, instituted
civil liberty, and to universal Christian brotherhood."--Address of H. W.
Beecher at Fort Sumpter flag raising, April 15, 1865.
APPENDIX B.
RESPONSIBILITY FOR PRISON TREATMENT.
It is difficult, even after the lapse of years not a few, to consider
dispassionately the treatment accorded by the Confederacy to her
prisoners. War had fanned to a flame the fire of sectional animosity, and
a spirit of retaliation was awakened. It is true the South was
comparatively a poor country, and the hand of war had stripped her bare.
The mighty armies of both sides carried on their vast operations on
southern soil; the one as an army of defense, the other as an army of
invasion.
In the movements of strategy and battle, many combatants were taken
prisoners; these were sent to the rear for safe keeping and maintenance.
With practically unlimited resources this additional burden was scarcely
felt at the North.
At the South, the case was different. The extended territory occupied by
the armies was practically unproductive for the people. It was, therefore,
inevitable that the prisoners of war share the general limitation. As
their numbers increased, it was necessary that they be conveyed to
localities beyond the reach of rescue. Their increasing hosts could not
wait upon the size of the stockades built for their confinement, and the
limited forces that could be spared for their safe keeping must in some
way hold them closely in hand.
Moreover, unfriendly prejudices were increasing by the very fact of
invasion, and as the North was held responsible for the war, the prisoners
were the object of bitter hatred. In numerous minor particulars, such as
ample supply of water, of shelter and of food and fuel, the obligations of
the southern military authorities were criminally negligent; yet many of
the features of the prison circumstances were probably unavoidable.
The situation in the South is summed up in the following extract from "A
History of the American People," by Woodrow Wilson, Ph.D., Litt.D., Vol.
IV, pp. 306, 307:
"One of the most distressing evidences of the straits to which the
South had been brought was seen in the state of the prisons in which
she was forced to keep the thousands of prisoners who fell into the
hands of her armies.
"More than two hundred thousand, first and last, were taken, and only
some sixteen thousand of these were paroled upon the field....
"Not until the war seemed turning toward its end could an exchange of
prisoners be arranged. The Federal authorities knew their superiority
in fighting population and did not care to lose by returning fighting
men to the South. If her soldiers died in Southern prisons, they were
dying for their country there, General Grant said, as truly as if they
lost their lives in battle.
"In the south men could not be spared from the field to guard the
prisons; there were not guards enough; there was not food enough; and
many thousands were crowded together under a handful of men.
"Proper sanitary precautions were, in the circumstances, impossible.
The armies themselves lacked food and went without every comfort, and
the prisoners could fare no better--inevitably fared worse, because
they were penned within a narrow space and lacked the free air of the
camp. A subtle demoralization touched the government of the
Confederacy itself as the war went its desperate course, and those who
kept the prisons felt that demoralization with the rest."
One recollection has burned itself into memory. At Andersonville there was
a standing offer of immediate release to any prisoner of average strength
who would take the oath of allegiance to the Confederacy and engage in
non-combatant service. Officers who entered the prison with these
proposals were shunned by our men. I recall a recently naturalized Federal
prisoner who thus enlisted. When he re-entered the prison in Confederate
uniform as a recruiting officer, his reception was such that he fled to
the gate for his life; shouting to the guard to protect him. For flag and
country our boys could uncomplainingly die a lingering death, but they
could not turn traitor.
APPENDIX C.
WOMAN'S RELIEF CORPS MEMORIAL.
Among the heroisms of the great Civil War none surpassed the
self-sacrificing devotion manifested by the women of the North and of the
South. The latter are represented by an organization known as "The
Daughters of the Confederacy," within whose associations are kept alive
ardent memories of heroic days.
The former have wrought enduring deeds of patriotism and of mercy, chiefly
in co-operation with the Grand Army of the Republic. The work of the
Woman's Relief Corps in securing and improving the Andersonville prison
grounds constitutes an imperishable memorial to their patriotic devotion.
To the energy and executive ability of Mrs. Lizabeth A. Turner, Chairman
of the Andersonville Prison Board, is due in large measure the complete
success attending the movement to gain possession of and to beautify the
site and surroundings of the historic Andersonville prison.
The following letter written two years before the decease of Mrs. Turner
explains in her own vigorous expressions how these great results were
secured:
"Woman's Headquarters Relief Corps, (Auxiliary to the Grand Army of the
Republic.) 46 Camp Street, New Britain, Conn., October 14, 1905."
"Rev. John L. Maile.
Dear Comrade: Some fifteen years ago the Department of Georgia, G. A. R.,
considered the idea of buying the Andersonville prison pen and holding it
in memory of the men who there died for the preservation of the Union.
The committee bought all the land the owners would release and hoped to
raise through the Northern posts and their friends a permanent fund for
the care of the grounds.
The plan proved a failure. The G. A. R. in the South is very poor. Its
members are mostly colored men who are able to make little more than
their living.
On the property was a mortgage of about $750, which was paid by the
Woman's Relief Corps, but money for the care of the place was lacking. The
grounds were then offered to the United States Government on the condition
of providing perpetual care. As Andersonville is not a battlefield, the
authorities declined the proposition.
On two occasions a like proposal was made to the National G. A. R.
Encampment, but these veterans decided that the time is not far distant
when they can care only for themselves.
With better success the responsibility was tendered to the Woman's Relief
Corps, which felt that if there is a place on God's earth that should be
held sacred, it is that prison pen. The officials accepted the obligation,
trusting to woman's patriotism for support and care, and they have not
trusted in vain.
The adage that "God helps those who help themselves" has been true in our
case. When we accepted the sacred trust and looked the ground over, I
found a large corner of the original pen and three forts we did not own.
We bought the extra grounds and the forts, paying for them several hundred
dollars more than they were worth. We ventured for all or nothing--and
_all_ it was.
This occurred in 1895, and in that year I was elected President of the W.
R. C. At the convention we raised by personal contributions $700 as a
beginning.
During several years each member was asked to give from three to five
cents; some responding, others refusing. Now all bills are paid from the
general fund of the National organization.
We own eighty-eight and one-half acres of land, including the seven forts;
all the earthworks and rifle pits; also the wells dug by the men in trying
to reach water. These are in as perfect condition as when the war closed.
Not a well has caved in or a fort changed in shape. That hard, red clay
seems as unyielding as stone.
The grounds are inclosed with a high wire fence and suitable gates. Roads
are laid out and bridges built over the creek. Bermuda grass roots planted
on the north side will make an even lawn.
Grass seed for a sward will not germinate in that soil. We have built over
Providence Spring a stone pavilion, also a nine-room house, well
furnished, and after the northern home pattern.
We also have a barn, a henyard, a good mule and all kinds of work tools
for such a place.
We engage an old veteran and his wife as caretakers. From a pole 116 feet
high floats in the air every day the flag those heroes died to save. At
our last convention we voted to build a windmill the coming winter.
Last fall we set out 300 roses and this autumn will add 200 more. We have
also set out 150 four-year-old pecan trees that are from 10 to 15 feet
high. They do finely in that soil and when from ten to twelve years old
will bear a paying crop. A freeze does not affect them and they are
marketable without decaying.
Ohio, Massachusetts, Rhode Island and Michigan have put up beautiful
monuments in the prison pen. Wisconsin will have hers ready to dedicate on
next Memorial Day.
Pennsylvania, Iowa and Maine have placed monuments in the cemetery. All
this has been done through the work of the W. R. C.
While I believe the prison pen is the _only_ place for the monuments, I am
thankful to have any State remember their Andersonville men wherever they
think best.
"Death Before Dishonor" is the motto on all the monuments within the
prison grounds.
Last year we had markers put down on all the places of special interest;
also on the stockade and dead lines. Trees have grown up _through_ the
forts forty feet high and are more than two feet through.
The W. R. C. has started a fund for the perpetual care of the Prison Pen
Park. We began last year and have already $3,000 in the fund. The yearly
income is to be added to the principal, and none to be used until the
proceeds are sufficient to support the place.
We are to set aside annually _not less_ than $1,000 for the increase of
the fund, besides caring for current expenses.
You will, I am sure, be much interested in the situation. I have been
Chairman of the Board from the beginning and hope to live long enough to
see sufficient money set aside to care for the place _forever_.
Yours in F. C. and L.,
LIZABETH A. TURNER,
Chairman Andersonville Prison Board of Control."
Mrs. Turner served as President of the Woman's Relief Corps, Auxiliary to
the Grand Army of the Republic, and was appointed by her compeers as Life
Chairman of the Andersonville Prison Board. Her death occurred at
Andersonville on April 27, 1907.
A monument suitable to her memory, erected by the Woman's Relief Corps,
adorns the prison grounds for which she spared not her life to preserve
and beautify.
From the Annual Address of Mrs. Fanny E. Minot, President of the Woman's
National Relief Corps, at the Twenty-third Annual Convention, 1905:
"In March it was my privilege, in company with Mrs. Turner, Mrs. Winans
and Mrs. Kate E. Jones, to visit Prison Park at Andersonville. As I walked
through the grounds and read and pondered on the suffering there endured,
it seemed, indeed, a hallowed spot. Just beyond is the National Cemetery,
in whose broad trenches are interred more soldiers in one group than upon
any battlefield on the face of the globe. A whole army perished rather
than deny the country which gave them birth! The bravery of the men at
Thermopylae has been the theme of song and story; but they fought in the
shadows of their soul-inspiring mountains, while these men, removed from
the activities of war, the flash of arms, the long array of men eager for
the contest, dragged out a miserable existence till death came to their
relief. If ever men were loyal, true and brave, whose names should be
inscribed on honor's roll, it was these."
"Who tasted death at every breath
And bravely met their martyrdom."
"How fitting that the magic touch of woman should consecrate this prison
pen and make it a prison park! Only patient, persistent effort has made
the change possible; for the soil is unresponsive, and tangled vines and
underbrush had run riot for many years. But on this visit we found the
grounds suitably enclosed, the Bermuda grass taking root, the moats and
creek cleared of the vines and the conopy erected over that wonderful
Providence Spring. The house erected for the caretaker much exceeded my
expectations for comfort and convenience. Honeysuckles and roses clambered
over the porch, and the rose garden, planned by Mrs. Turner, gave promise
of beauty and fragrance where formerly had been barrenness and foul odors.
On these grounds Ohio has raised a beautiful granite shaft, Massachusetts
has placed a substantial monument near by, Rhode Island has honored her
dead in bronze and stone, and last Memorial Day the Governor of Michigan
came with friends to dedicate with appropriate ceremonies a monument to
the brave sons of that State. Wisconsin has selected a site near the spot
where some of her men encamped; and other States are planning to erect
monuments, but wish first to be assured that the park will have permanent
care."
PLANTING THE FLAG AT ANDERSONVILLE.
BY MRS. ANNIE WITTENMYER.
We lift up the banner of freedom today,
And let the world know that due honor we pay
To liberty's martyrs, who starved for the right,
And crown them with heroes who fell in the fight.
Their chalice of woe was filled up to the brim;
They drank to the dregs with high courage and vim,
Nor faltered, nor wavered, but loyal and true,
Stood firm by their colors, the red, white and blue.
The earth was their pillow, their covering the sky;
And thousands lay down on the bare ground to die;
No artist can paint, no pen tell the story
Of all they endured for love of "Old Glory."
The Lord, in compassion, took note of their grief,
And came, in His majesty, to their relief;
He rode on the wind, where swift lightnings played,
And hallowed the ground where the prisoners laid.
They panted with thirst, ere the Presence passed by,
But flashes of glory lit up the dark sky;
A thunderbolt fell, with omnipotent ring,
And opened the fountain of Providence Spring.
And peace came at last. Ah! for thousands too late;
We mourn, as a people, their pitiful fate,
And hold the ground sacred, our care and our pride,
And plant the flag over the place where they died.
But the Nation is saved! They died not in vain;
Our people are all reunited again.
From ocean to ocean--the lakes to the sea--
One country, one people, one flag of the free!
APPENDIX D.
A MEMORIAL DAY MEDITATION.
By Rev. H. H. Proctor, D.D., of Atlanta, Ga., in The Congregationalist of
May 2, 1905.
"The thirtieth of May is sacred to the nation. With its return the heart
of the country instinctively turns to those eighty-three national
cemeteries, mostly on Southern soil, where in 194,492 known and 151,710
unknown graves lie 346,202 men who fell fighting for the flag. And in all
the land, fittingly enough, there are no spots more beautiful than these.
For their care and improvement the national government spends $100,000 a
year.
The cemetery at Andersonville, Ga., gains additional interest in view of
the famous prison connected with it. Of these I wish to speak. No one can
spend a day there, as I did lately, without drinking deep of the patriotic
spirit. The very ground on which you stand seems holy, when you think how
brave men suffered and died there. The very air seems charged with their
spirit still.
Some disappointment is felt when over one hundred miles south of Atlanta
you get off at a little station, with a few straggling houses here and
there. But in the distance, a mile away, the national flag waving
invitingly bids reassurance. At length you stand at the entrance of the
cemetery, entering through the strong iron gates of the thick ivy-covered
brick wall, 12,782 known and 923 unknown men are buried within.
Many things at once interest you. Walks lead to every part of the grounds.
Trees, shrubbery and flowers enhance the natural beauty of the place.
Feathered songers of the South chant daily requiems. Each grave is marked
by a white marble headstone, on which is generally carved the number,
rank, name and state of the dead soldier. Here and there we read the sad
inscription, "Unknown." The white stones contrasting with the fine
greensward under the soft Southern sky make an impressive scene. This is
especially true in that part of the grounds where stands the splendid
monument of New Jersey, as shown by the accompanying illustration.
In a convenient place there is located an octagonal rostrum, where every
Memorial Day gathers a large concourse of people to pay homage to the
sacred dead. After the exercises the most impressive act of all follows.
Each grave, officers or private, white or black, known or unknown, is
decorated with a miniature flag. And what a transformation! Instead of the
monotonous rows of bare white stone a field of flags, by the magic of
loving remembrance, appears!
But as impressive as is this cemetery, more impressive still to me was the
prison. It is only a few rods away. Its notoriety is universal. Blaine, in
his memorable speech in Congress, immortalized its more than Siberian
horrors.
Some of the posts of the old stockade fence, survivors of that dread
prison will be interested to know, still stand. There, within a space of
thirteen acres, 52,345 men, the very flower of the Republic, were kept in
a pen. For thirteen months they were exposed in that rude stockade to the
heat in summer and the cold in winter, to blistering sun and chilling
blasts. From cruelty and exposure, hunger and thirst, disease and dirt,
they died like sheep. Every fourth man died!
The story of "Providence Spring" is universally familiar. It proves that
God is yet with men as of old. The water supply for these thousands in
that small space consisted of but one little brook which of course soon
became unspeakably foul. In their thirst they cried unto God for water. He
who hears the cry of the raven could not be dumb to the prayer of the
suffering soldier. It was night. Soon the sky was overcast with clouds,
the lightnings flashed, the thunders rolled, and a great rain came that
night. Next morning a fountain of living water sparkled in God's sunshine
near where the devout soldier had knelt in prayer the night before.
In recognition of God's providential gift they christened it "Providence
Spring." Today a pavilion of stone, erected by the Woman's National Relief
Corps, commemorates the spot. Two significant utterances are carved on
marble tablets in the pavilion. On one we read these words: "The
prisoner's cry of thirst rang up to heaven. God heard and with his
thunders cleft the earth, and poured forth his sweetest waters gushing
here." Over the fountain, which has never ceased from that day to this,
carved in Georgia marble are the great words of that great man in whose
big soul the nation was born again: "With charity to all and malice toward
none."
As I stood by this spot and looked up on the hill I felt a new love of
country stir within my heart. I could but say in my heart I would rather
be a plain American citizen, though black, than a knighted Roman under
Caesar.
As we think of that prison we are thankful for the cemetery. The prison
typifies suffering. The cemetery is the symbol of peace. Through that
gateway of suffering our martyrs entered into peace. How typical of the
nation! Through the crucible of suffering it entered into peace."
[Illustration: FLAG DAY: ANDERSONVILLE CEMETERY]
[Illustration: THE MICHIGAN MONUMENT IN ANDERSONVILLE CEMETERY]
APPENDIX E.
SHALL THE GOVERNMENT CONFER PERMANENT HONORS ON CONFEDERATE HEROES?
The magnanimity which dictated the terms of surrender at Appomattox was
typical of the treatment extended by the Government of the United States
to its defeated opponents. Well might this be so. The sinews of strength
of the mighty North had through the four years of desperate conflict grown
strong indeed.
A Confederate Major General declared that the veterans of General
Sherman's army, pushing their winter way through the swamps and rivers of
the South; foraging widely for subsistance and always ready to fight,
illustrated a type of soldier that the world had not seen since the days
of Julius Caesar.
The final parade of the Union army along Pennsylvania avenue before the
President, the Cabinet, prominent Generals and notables of other nations,
displayed a vast procession of seasoned veterans whose effectiveness had
never been surpassed. They were the choice, steel-tempered residue of more
than two millions of citizen soldiery who had enlisted to preserve the
union of States, "one and inseparable," against the folly of secession.
In the plentitude of their invincible strength, nursing no lust of power,
they disbanded to peaceful homes from whence they came; subsiding from
their regnant military life as the mighty storm-waves of the ocean sink
away into pacific calm.
Apart from wide-spread personal bereavement the North bore no serious
scars of war. The perfection of agricultural machinery enabled rich
harvests to be gathered in season notwithstanding the dearth of farm help
which had gone to the army. Factories of every kind were, with large
profits, turning out abundantly all sorts of goods. Our commerce with the
world was unhindered, save by the eccentric raids of the Alabama; the
muscle and brawn of an ample labor immigration supplied the manual force
necessary to national expansion; as illustrated in the building of the
trans-continental railroads. The huge war debt instead of being felt as an
incubus was but a process of turning into ready cash the prosperity of the
future.
Contrast with this picture the condition of the Southern States at the
close of the four dreadful years. Within a goodly portion of her borders
the country was war-swept and harried by the consuming necessities of vast
armies of both friend and foe; for hungry men and beasts on the march and
in the fight must subsist largely upon the supplies which the foragers
gather from the adjacent regions.
Manufacture, as compared with the North, was a neglected art south of
Mason's and Dixon's line.
The most extensive and effective naval blockade of history hermetically
sealed nearly every Southern port, thereby hopelessly shutting in untold
wealth of cotton, the returns of which were otherwise available to every
need.
No millions of stalwart immigrants reinforced Southern industry; on the
contrary her labor system and property tenure in human beings were
shattered in pieces.
The flower of her masculine youth perished; the prestige of ruling
intelligence, culture and wealth was dethroned and, to crown her
afflictions although she knew it not, the South lost her best and most
powerful friend in the assassination of Abraham Lincoln.
Then followed the agonies of political reconstruction and the ignoble
invasion of carpet-bag adventurers who, in many instances, were valiant
only for pelf.
Surviving this wide-spread chaos the South, for the most part, believed in
their lawful right of withdrawing from the Union. By many of their leading
minds this contention had been long held, and that conception of
government doubtless had filtered down through all classes of society so
far as thought was developed on the subject.
The defense of State rights probably was a more powerful incentive to
civil war than was at first the purpose to defend slavery.
The bravery of Southern soldiers has never been surpassed. The
self-sacrificing patriotism of Southern women reached the high-water mark.
The vitality and moral force of Southern chivalry was distinguished even
in the remarkable loyalty of the slaves.
If the foregoing briefly stated considerations form a truthful
presentation of the case, why, it may be asked, may not the National
Government expand the magninimity of President Lincoln and General Grant
by engaging with Congress to erect monuments and other memorials to heroes
of the army and navy of the Confederacy? The first step towards such
procedure has already been taken in the form of proposed legislation at
Washington.
We would not imply that the most eminent leaders of the Southern forces
were personally unworthy of posthumos honor.
On the contrary it is our privilege to bear testimony to the exalted
individual worth, the consecrated devotion to country as they understood
the duty, and the pre-eminent ability in action that characterized the
most noted leaders of the Confederacy.
Nevertheless their relation to national history is determined, not by
individual excellencies, but by the fact that they rebelled against the
Government they were sworn to defend. To the utmost they did all they
could to dismember the Union of which they were an integral part, to
dishonor the flag that emblazoned the glory of a common origin and
history.
In the interest of perpetuating a far-reaching sentiment of loyalty to
national life and well-being we would strenuously deny the moral right of
Congress to make appropriations for the erection of memorials that are
designed to crown Confederate valor with renown. If by private
subscriptions admirers wish to build monuments they undoubtedly will be
allowed to do so.
Our Government has wisely extended high courtesies to prominent Southern
Generals, and has on many occasions held out the olive branch of peace.
But we must not forget that brotherly kindness and neighborly good-will
cannot cancel the fact that the Southern conception of government by state
rights, as against National sovereignty, meant the destruction of the
Nation as such and was so intended.
Had the war for the Union been a failure this fair continent on which has
been nourished the hopes of the world would have been the arena of two
general governments separated by no natural dividing lines and probably at
last to be succeeded by contending states and communities.
Thus the last condition of free civilization in America would have been
more disgraceful than was the situation of the warring principalities of
ancient Greece, because we had sinned against a greater light than they
possessed.
If National monuments are dedicated to commemorate Southern gallantry will
not a subtle influence steadily flow out from these reminders of civil war
to the effect that assault upon the Nation's existence is an offense so
trivial as to be expiated by bravery on the field of battle?
Who can tell what crises of peril may in the future break in upon our
beloved land? And what if the youth of the North and of the South are,
from generation to generation, taught by the influence of public memorials
that there is no real distinction between those who fought to save the
Nation and those who did all they could "that the government of the
people, by the people, and for the people, shall (not) perish from the
earth."
We present a quotation from the judgment of the Supreme Court, as given by
General N. P. Chipman on page 503 of his recent and informing book on
Andersonville:
"The rebellion out of which the war grew was without any legal
sanction. In the eye of the law it had the same properties as if it
had been the insurrection of a country or smaller municipal territory
as against the State to which it belonged. The proportion and duration
of the struggle did not affect its character. Nor was there a rebel
government de facto in such a sense as to give any legal efficiency to
its acts.... The Union of the States, for all the purposes of the
constitution, is as perfect and indissoluble as the union of the
integral parts of the States themselves; and nothing but revolutionary
violence can in either case destroy the ties which hold the parties
together.
"For the sake of humanity certain belligerant rights were conceded to
the insurgents in arms. But the recognition did not extend to the
pretended government of the Confederacy.... The Rebellion was simply
an armed resistence of the rightful authority of the sovereign. Such
was its character, its rise, progress and downfall."
The legal aspects of the case as thus expressed have their great value as
indicating facts fundamental to organic National existence and they
demonstrate the inherent inconsistency of devoting Federal appropriations
to the erection of monuments to the honor of opponents of the Union. This
can be but a transient purpose which should and, we believe will be,
relinquished.
We close this narrative with the words of a departed soldier who was a
devoted friend of General Lee and afterwards a trusted counsellor of
General Grant, as recorded in the Memoirs of Gen. John B. Gordon, pp. 464,
465:
"American youth in all sections should be taught to hold in perpetual
remembrance all that was great and good on both sides; to comprehend the
inherited convictions for which saintly women suffered and patriotic men
died; to recognize the unparalleled carnage as proof of unrivalled
courage; to appreciate the singular absence of personal animosity and the
frequent manifestation between those brave antagonists of a
good-fellowship such as had never before been witnessed between hostile
armies. It will be a glorious day for our country when all the children
within its borders shall learn that the four years of fratricidal war
between the North and the South was waged by neither with criminal or
unworthy intent, but by both to protect what they conceived to be
threatened rights and imperiled liberty; that the issues which divided the
sections _were born when the Republic was born_, and were forever buried
in an ocean of fraternal blood. We shall then see that, under God's
providence, every sheet of flame from the blazing rifles of the contending
armies, every whizzing shell that tore through the forests at Shiloh and
Chancellorsville, every cannon-shot that shook Chickamauga's hills or
thundered around the heights of Gettysburg, and all the blood and the
tears that were shed are yet to become contributions for the upbuilding of
American manhood and for the future defense of American freedom. The
Christian Church received its baptism of pentecostal power as it emerged
from the shadows of Calvary, and went forth to its world-wide work with
greater unity and a diviner purpose. So the Republic, rising from its
baptism of blood with a national life more robust, a national union more
complete, and a national influence ever widening, shall go forever
forward in its benign mission to humanity."
From the oldest to the youngest, let us all unite in the patriotic
salutation, "I pledge my allegiance to my flag and to the Republic for
which it stands. One Nation indivisible, with Liberty and Justice for
all."
THE FINISH
FOOTNOTES:
[1] Toward the close of the war great bounties were paid for recruits in
northern cities. Many desperate characters enlisted for this money,
intending to desert at the first opportunity. The vigilence of Genl. Grant
forced them into battle. Many were captured and landed in Andersonville.
Here they conspired to rob and murder fellow prisoners. Capt. Wirtz
convened a trial court composed of prisoners who observed all the forms of
law in the trial of these desperadoes. Six of them were found guilty of
murder and were hung.
[2] Market Square was a piece of made ground on the edge of the swamp in
the center of the prison. Here men came together to barter trinkets they
had made to while away the time, to exchange parts of rations, and to
indulge generally, so far as they could, in the Yankee instinct for trade.
[3] On February 20th, 1912, the writer received a call from an old friend,
Rev. M. L. Holt, of Neligh, Nebraska. He gives this confirmatory statement
to Mr. Maile: "As Sergeant Major of the Third New Hampshire Veteran
Volunteer Infantry I can certify to the military surroundings at the place
of your release. Two days before your arrival from Goldsboro, General
Terry ordered our Third New Hampshire to make a forced march to a point
ten miles distant from Wilmington on the Northeast branch of the Cape Fear
river and take from the enemy a pontoon bridge at that point.
"We skirmished with the foe nearly the entire distance and came up to them
just as they had cut the near end of the bridge from the bank. With our
machine guns we drove them off and moored the bridge back to its place. On
the second day after we received the old Andersonville prisoners and had
the satisfaction of knowing we had prepared their way by having the bridge
in readiness for them to cross the river into our lines. I shall never
forget the impression made upon us by the condition of these survivors of
Confederate prisons. These events occurred in March, 1861."
Transcriber's Notes:
Passages in italics are indicated by _italics_.
Passages in bold are indicated by =bold=.
End of Project Gutenberg's Prison Life in Andersonville, by John L. Maile