When a gangrenous wound needed washing, the limb was thrust out a

little from the blanket, or board, or rags upon which the patient

was laying, and water poured over it, and all the putrescent matter

allowed to soak into the ground floor of the tent. The supply of

rags for dressing wounds was said to be very scant, and I saw the

most filthy rags which had been applied several times, and

imperfectly washed, used in dressing wounds. Where hospital gangrene

was prevailing, it was impossible for any wound to escape contagion

under these circumstances. The result of the treatment of wounds in

the hospital were of the most unsatisfactory character, from this

neglect of cleanliness, in the dressings and wounds themselves, as

well as from various other causes which will be more fully

considered. I saw several gangrenous wounds filled with maggots. I

have frequently seen neglected wounds among Confederate soldiers

similarly affected; and as far as my experience extends these worms

destroy only the dead tissues and do not injure specially the well

parts. I have even heard surgeons affirm that a gangrenous wound

which had been thoroughly cleansed by maggots, healed more rapidly

than if it had been left to itself. This want of cleanliness on the

part of the nurses appeared to be the result of carelessness and

inattention, rather than of malignant design, and the whole trouble

can be traced to the want of proper police and sanitary regulations

and to the absence of intelligent organization and division of

labor.

The abuses were in large measure due to the almost total absence of

system, government, and rigid, but wholesome sanitary regulations.

In extenuation of these abuses it was alleged by the medical

officers that the Confederate troops were barely sufficient to guard

the prisoners, and that it was impossible to obtain any number of

experienced nurses from the Confederate forces. In fact the guard

appeared to be too small, even for the regulation of the internal

hygiene and police of the hospital.

The manner of disposing of the dead was also calculated to depress

the already desponding spirits of these men, many of whom have been

confined for months, and even for nearly two years in Richmond and

other places, and whose strength had been wasted by bad air, bad

food, and neglect of personal cleanliness.

The dead-house is merely a frame covered with old tent cloth and a

few brushes, situated in the south-western corner of the hospital

grounds. When a patient dies, he is simply laid in the narrow street

in front of his tent, until he is removed by Federal negroes

detailed to carry off the dead; if a patient dies during the night

he lies there until morning, and during the day, even the dead were

frequently allowed to remain for hours in these walks. In the

dead-house the corpses lie upon the bare ground, and were in most

cases covered with filth and vermin.

* * * * *

The cooking arrangements are of the most defective character. Five

large iron pots similar to those used for boiling sugar cane,

appeared to be the only cooking utensils furnished by the hospital

for the cooking of nearly two thousand men; and the patients were

dependent in great measure upon their own miserable utensils. They

were allowed to cook in the tent doors and in the lanes, and this

was another source of filth, and another favorable condition for the

generation and multiplication of flies and other vermin.

The air of the tents was foul and disagreeable in the extreme, and

in fact the entire grounds emitted a most nauseous and disgusting

smell. I entered nearly all the tents and carefully examined all the

cases of interest, and especially the cases of gangrene, upon

numerous occasions, during the prosecution of my pathological

inquiries at Andersonville, and therefore enjoyed every opportunity

to judge correctly of the hygiene and police of the hospital.

There appeared to be absolute indifference and neglect on the part

of the patients of personal cleanliness; their persons and clothing,

in most instances, and especially of those suffering with gangrene

and scorbutic ulcers, were filthy in the extreme and covered with

vermin. It was too often the case that patients were received from

the Stockade in a most deplorable condition. I have seen men brought

in from the stockade in a dying condition, begrimed from head to

foot with their own excrements, and so black from smoke and filth

that they resembled negroes rather than white men. That this

description of the stockade and hospital has not been overdrawn,

will appear from the reports of the surgeons in charge, appended to

this report.

* * * * *

CONCLUSIONS.

1st. The great mortality among the Federal prisoners confined in the

military prison at Andersonville was not referable to climatic

causes, or to the nature of the soil and waters.

2d. The chief causes of death were scurvy and its results and bowel

affections, chronic and acute diarrhea and dysentery. The bowel

affections appear to have been due to the diet, the habits of the

patients, the depressed, dejected state of the nervous system and

moral and intellectual powers, and to the effluvia arising from

decomposing animal and vegetable filth. The effects of salt meat,

and an unvarying diet of corn meal, with but few vegetables, and

imperfect supplies of vinegar and syrup, were manifested in the

great prevalence of scurvy. This disease, without doubt, was also

influenced to an important extent in its origin and course by the

foul animal emanations.

3d. From the sameness of the food and form, the action of the

poisonous gases in the densely crowded and filthy stockade and

hospital, the blood was altered in its constitution, even before the

manifestation, of actual disease. In both the well and the sick red

corpuscles were diminished; and in all diseases uncomplicated with

inflammation, the fibrous element was deficient. In cases of

ulceration of the mucous membrane of the intestinal canal the

fibrous element of the blood was increased; while in simple

diarrhea, uncomplicated with ulceration, it was either diminished or

else remained stationary. Heart clots were very common, if not

universally present, in cases of ulceration of the intestinal mucous

membrane, while in the uncomplicated cases of diarrhea and scurvy,

the blood was fluid and did not coagulate readily, and the heart

clots and fibrous concretions were almost universally absent. From

the watery condition of the blood, there resulted various serous

effusions into the pericardium, ventricles of the brain, and into

the abdomen. In almost all the cases which I examined after death,

even the more emaciated, there was more or less serous effusion into

the abdominal cavity. In cases of hospital gangrene of the

extremities, and in cases of gangrene of the intestines, heart clots

and fibrous coagulations were universally present. The presence of

those clots in the cases of hospital gangrene, while they were

absent in the cases in which there was no inflammatory symptoms,

sustains the conclusion that hospital gangrene is a species of

inflammation, imperfect and irregular though it may be in its

progress, in which the fibrous element and coagulation of the blood

are increased, even in those who are suffering from such a condition

of the blood, and from such diseases as are naturally accompanied

with a decrease in the fibrous constituent.

4th. The fact that hospital gangrene appeared in the stockade first;

and originated spontaneously without any previous contagion, and

occurred sporadically all over the stockade and prison hospital, was

proof positive that this disease will arise whenever the conditions

of crowding, filth, foul air and bad diet are present. The

exhalations from the hospital and stockade appeared to exert their

effects to a considerable distance outside of these localities. The

origin of hospital gangrene among these prisoners appeared clearly

to depend in great measure upon the state of the general system

induced by diet, and various external noxious influences. The

rapidity of the appearance and action of the gangrene depended upon

the powers and state of the constitution, as well as upon the

intensity of the poison in the atmosphere, or upon the direct

application of poisonous matter to the wounded surface. This was

further illustrated by the important fact that hospital gangrene, or

a disease resembling it in all essential respects, attacked the

intestinal canal of patients laboring under ulceration of the

bowels, although there was no local manifestations of gangrene upon

the surface of the body. This mode of termination in cases of

dysentery was quite common in the foul atmosphere of the Confederate

States Military Hospital in the depressed, depraved condition of the

system of these Federal prisoners.

5th. A scorbutic condition of the system appeared to favor the

origin of foul ulcers which frequently took on true hospital

gangrene. Scurvy and hospital gangrene frequently existed in the

same individual. In such cases, vegetable diet, with vegetable

acids, would remove the scorbutic condition without curing the

hospital gangrene. From the results of the existing war for the

establishment of the independence of the Confederate States, as well

as from the published observations of Dr. Trotter, Sir Gilbert

Blane, and others of the English navy and army, it is evident that

the scorbutic condition of the system, especially in crowded ships

and camps, is the most favorable to the origin and spread of foul

ulcers and hospital gangrene. As in the present case of

Andersonville, so also in past times when medical hygiene was almost

entirely neglected, those two diseases were almost universally

associated in crowded ships. In many cases is was very difficult to

decide at first whether the ulcer was a simple result of scurvy or

of the action of the prison or hospital gangrene, for there was

great similarity in the appearance of the ulcers in the two

diseases, so commonly have these two diseases been combined in their

origin and action, that the description of scorbutic ulcers, by many

authors evidently includes also many of the prominent

characteristics of hospital gangrene. This will be rendered evident

by an examination of the observations of Dr. Lind and Sir Gilbert

Blane upon scorbutic ulcers.

6th. Gangrenous spots followed by rapid destruction of tissue

appeared in some cases where there had been no known wound. Without

such well established facts, it might be assumed that the disease

was propagated from one patient to another. In such a filthy and

crowded hospital as that of the Confederate States Military Prison

at Andersonville, it was impossible to isolate the wounded from the

sources of actual contact of the gangrenous matter. The flies

swarming over the wounds and over filth of every kind. The filthy,

imperfectly washed and scanty supplies of rags, and the limited

supply of washing utensils, the same wash-bowl serving for scores of

patients, were sources of such constant circulation of the

gangrenous matter that the disease might rapidly spread from a

single gangrenous wound. The fact already stated, that a form of

moist gangrene, resembling hospital gangrene, was quite common in

this foul atmosphere, in cases of dysentery, both with and without

the existence of the disease upon the entire surface not only

demonstrates the dependence of the disease upon the state of the

constitution, but proves in the clearest manner that neither the

contact of the poisonous matter of gangrene, nor the direct action

of the poisonous atmosphere upon the ulcerated surface is necessary

to the developement of the disease.

7th. In this foul atmosphere amputation did not arrest hospital

gangrene, the disease almost invariably returned. Almost every

amputation was followed finally by death, either from the effects of

gangrene or from the prevailing diarrhea or dysentry. Nitric acid

and escharotics generally in this crowded atmosphere, loaded with

noxious effluvia, exerted only temporary effects; after their

application to the diseased surfaces, the gangrene would frequently

return with redoubled energy; and even after the gangrene had been

completely removed by local and constitutional treatment, it would

frequently return and destroy the patient. As far as my observation

extended, very few of the cases of amputation for gangrene

recovered. The progress of these cases was frequently very

deceptive. I have observed after death the most extensive

disorganization of the structures of the stump, when during life

there was but little swelling of the part, and the patient was

apparently doing well. I endeavored to impress upon the medical

officers the view that in this disease treatment was almost useless,

without an abundant supply of pure, fresh air, nutritious food, and

tonics and stimulants. Such changes, however, as would allow of the

isolation of the cases of hospital gangrene appeared to be out of

the power of the medical officers.

8th. The gangrenous mass was without true pus, and consisted chiefly

of broken-down, disorganized structures. The reaction of the

gangrenous matter in certain stages was alkaline.

9th. The best, and in truth the only means of protecting large

armies and navies, as well as prisoners, from the ravages of

hospital gangrene, is to furnish liberal supplies of well cured

meat, together with fresh beef and vegetables, and to enforce a

rigid system of hygiene.

10th. Finally, this gigantic mass of human misery calls loudly for

relief, not only for the sake of suffering humanity, but also on

account of our own brave soldiers now captives in the hands of the

Federal Government. Strict justice to the gallant men of the

Confederate Armies, who have been or who may be, so unfortunate as

to be compelled to surrender in battle, demands that the Confederate

Government should adopt that course which will best secure their

health and comfort in captivity; or at least, leave their enemies

without a shadow of an excuse for any violation of the rules of

civilized warfare in the treatment of prisoners.”

(End of witnesses’ testimony.)

This was the testimony of a scientific medical officer, who was so

thoroughly a rebel that he served as a private for six months in the

Confederate army, and yet so humane as to condemn the barbarous

treatment imposed on helpless men by such fiends as Winder and Wirz.

Let me call the readers particular attention to a few points in the

testimony of Dr. Jones.

First. As to his charge of filthiness. He states the truth, as any

ex-Andersonville prisoner too well knows, but he does not inform his

Government as to the cause. He does not say that these men were turned,

like so many swine, into the stockade, after being robbed of everything

of value. That no cooking utensils were furnished, that not an ounce of

soap was issued to the prisoners after May 1st, 1864. But he does tell

us that water was scarce, and filthy beyond the power of description, he

does tell how these men became dispirited by long confinement, by bad

diet and worse drink, and by their filthy surroundings, and by the

constant presence of death. What wonder that men under all these

discouraging circumstances soon fell to the level of brutes? And yet all

were not so filthy; all did not lose their instincts of manhood, but

through all these discouraging surroundings, observed, as well as

possible under the circumstances, the laws of health. Were it not so

this story would never have been written.

Second. He speaks of hearing some of the prisoners exonerate the

Confederate Government, and lay all the blame of their continued

imprisonment on the Federal Government. There is too much truth in this

statement to be pleasant to us as patriots, but let us see if these men

were wholly to blame in this matter.

We had heard all sorts of discouraging rumors for the last ten months.

The rebels had told us that Lincoln would not exchange prisoners unless

the negroes were put upon the same basis as whites. That was just and

honorable in the Government, but it was death to us. The fact is that of

all the forty-five thousand prisoners that I saw in Andersonville there

were not to exceed a half dozen negroes, and they were officers’

waiters. The rebels did not take negroes prisoners who were captured in

arms, they killed them on the spot, and we knew it, but perhaps our

Government did not.

For my own part I never exonerated Confederates for the part they took

in cases where they might have done better. It is true that they could

not furnish us such a quality of food as our Government furnished

Confederate prisoners, but the excuse that they had not enough for their

own soldiers is too flimsy as shown by the supplies that Sherman’s men

found in Georgia on that famous “March to the Sea” after we had been

removed from Andersonville. And even if they were short of food, they

had enough pure air and water, and enough land so that we need not have

been compelled to drink our own filth, nor breathe the foul effluvia

arising from the putrefaction of our excrements, nor be crowded at the

rate of thirty-three thousand men on twelve acres of ground, as we were

at Andersonville. There was wood enough so that men need not have been

compelled to eat corn meal raw. There was no valid excuse for robbing

men of their little all and then turning them into those prisons, to

live or die, as best they could.

When we come to the part our Government took in this matter it is simply

this; General Grant was of the opinion that we could perform our duty as

soldiers better in those prisons than we could if exchanged. Exchange

meant giving a fat rebel soldier, ready to take the field, for a yankee

skeleton ready for the hospital or the grave. Considered as a military

measure I admit it was right; but considered from a humanitarian point,

it was simply hellish.

Do you wonder that we thought our Government had forgotton, or did not

care for us? And yet when the crucial test came, when life and liberty,

food and clothing, were offered us at the price of our loyalty to our

Government, our reply was “no, we will let the lice carry us out through

the cracks, before we will take the oath of allegiance to the

Confederacy, we will accept death but not dishonor.”

Don’t blame us if we were discouraged and disheartened, if we did growl

at, and find fault with, a government which we imagined had deserted us

in the hour of our greatest need; we were true and loyal after all, and

if you had been placed in the same condition you would have done just

the same.

Third. Dr. Jones in speaking of those prisoners who were paroled and

were at work on the outside of the stockade says: “These men were well

clothed, and presented a stout and healthy appearance, and as a general

rule they presented a much more robust appearance than the Confederate

troops guarding them.”

Why not? they had plenty of exercise, good water, fresh air, and enough

food so that they could purchase their good clothes with the surplus

which accrued after their own wants had been satisfied. They were

naturally more robust men than those Home Guards, and their situation

had enabled them to keep in a normal condition. Had the prisoners in the

stockade received the same treatment as the paroled men who were at work

outside of the stockade, they would have presented the same robust

appearance, but that stockade and those guards could not have held us

and the rebels knew it.

I have introduced the report of Dr. Jones for the benefit of a class of

persons who are inclined to doubt the statements of ex-prisoners, and I

submit that he tells a more terrible story than any of us can tell.

CHAPTER XII.

PROGRESS OF THE WAR.

“The news has flown frae mouth to mouth,

The North for ance has bang’d the South”;

SCOTT.

While we were waiting, and hoping, and starving, and dying at

Andersonville our armies were fast solving the problem of the Rebellion.

Jeff Davis had tired of the policy of General Joseph E. Johnson, who was

in command of the army which confronted Sherman, and about the middle of

July relieved him of his command and appointed Hood to his place.

Johnson’s policy during the Atlanta campaign had been that of defense.

Davis was in favor of aggressive warfare. He believed in driving the

invaders from the sacred soil of the South. A grand idea surely, but

then, the invaders had a word to say in that matter; they had come to

stay, and Jeff Davis’ manifestoes had no terrifying effect upon them.

Hood immediately assumed the aggressive and on the 2lst of July came out

from behind his entrenchments and attacked Sherman.

On the 22d the battle of Atlanta was fought, in which General McPherson

was killed. The command of the army of the Tennessee then fell upon

General John A. Logan for a few days, when he was superseded by General

O. O. Howard. There has been much criticism upon this act of General

Sherman. Logan had assumed command of the army of the Tennessee upon the

death of McPherson, during a hotly contested battle, and he had fought

the battle to a successful termination. He had fought his way from

colonel of a regiment, to Major General commanding an Army Corps, and

temporarily commanding an army. He had shown the highest type of

military ability shown by any volunteer officer, and yet he was

compelled to give place to a transplanted officer from the army of the

Potomac.

Logan and his friends felt this deeply, but with true patriotic

instincts he, and they, continued to fight for the cause of Liberty and

Union. No satisfactory reason has ever been given for this act of

injustice on the part of General Sherman, but it is hinted that it was

because Logan was not a graduate of West Point. The action of General

Sherman in this matter is all the more inexplicable when we compare the

stupendous failure of Howard at Chancellorsville, but little more than a

year before, with the signal success of Logan at Atlanta on the 22d of

July. But time brings its revenge. Howard has passed into comparative

obscurity. We hear of him occasionally as a lecturer before a Chautauqua

Society in some small town or city, “only this and nothing more,” while

John A. Logan went down to his grave, loved and revered, as the highest

representative of the American Volunteer soldier. His name is inscribed

on the imperishable roll of fame by the side of the names of Sheridan,

Thomas, and Hancock.

But the victory of the Federals at the battle of Atlanta did not include

the surrender of the city. Sherman sent a cavalry corps under General

Stoneman to capture Macon, Ga. In this he failed, but he destroyed

considerable property, including railroad, rolling stock, bridges and

supplies and seriously threatened Macon, giving Winder, at

Andersonville, a terrible scare, which resulted in the General Order

which I have copied in a previous chapter. Sherman finding that Atlanta

was not to be captured without a fight more serious than he cared to

risk, moved by the flank to Jonesboro south of Atlanta, thus cutting off

the supplies for Atlanta. On the 1st of September he moved his army up

to within twenty miles of Atlanta, and on the 2d General Slocum moved

his forces into that city.

Great was the rejoicing all over the North when the news was flashed

over the wires that Sherman had captured the “Gate City” of the South,

and a corresponding feeling of gloom settled down upon the Southern

people when they found that Hood, with the assistance of the counsels of

Beauregard, could not cope with “Uncle Billy” and his veterans.

In the meantime the army under General Grant had not been idle. On May

3d and 4th the army of the Potomac moved from its camp on the north of

the Rapidan and commenced a campaign which was destined to result in the

downfall of the capital of the Confederacy, and ultimately of the

Confederacy itself. In the battles of the Wilderness, Spottsylvania,

North Anna and Cold Harbor, our forces showed the aggressive spirit

inspired by their great leader, ably seconded by Meade, Hancock, the

lamented Sedgwick, Warren, Wright and Burnside. While the Confederate

forces under their favorite leader Lee, with his Lieutenants, Anderson.

Early and Hill, resisted the inroads of the Federal forces with a

bravery born of a determination to die in the visionary “last ditch.”

But superior numbers, coupled with equal bravery and ability, are bound

to win in the end and on the 15th of June 1864 Grant’s army was before

Petersburg with a determination to pound the Rebels into submission.

If the battle of Atlanta caused fear and trembling among the rebs at

Andersonville, the fall of that city caused a perfect panic among them.

On the 3d of September a train load of one thousand men was shipped away

from the prison, and each day after that saw the exodus of a like

number, until all who were able to walk to the station had been shipped

to more secure points. Some were sent to Millen and Savannah, Ga., and

some to Charleston, and Columbia, South Carolina.

During the latter part of August long sheds with an upper and lower

floor, and open at the sides, had been built in the northern portion of

the stockade. The carpenters who performed the labor of building these

sheds or barracks, as they were called, were of our own numbers. They

received as compensation for their labor an extra ration of food, and

they thought themselves lucky to get a chance to work for their board,

as indeed, they were.

On the 5th Ole Gilbert, Rouse, and myself left our quarters near the

swamp, and moved into the sheds. We gave up our well with regret, as it

had proved to be a great blessing to us, but September had come, and

soon the storms of the autumnal equinox would be upon us, and our little

tent, made of a ragged blanket and pine boughs, would but poorly shelter

us from the storm.

We took up our quarters on the upper floor, with no straw for bedding,

nothing between our skeleton like bodies and the floor but a piece of

ragged blanket. We suffered terribly for the lack of bedding, our

protruding hip bones could not possibly reconcile themselves to the hard

floor and we were rolling about continually trying to find some part of

our anatomy that would fit a pine board, but we never found it. But we

did find a little purer air than we found down by the excrement burdened

swamp, the foul gases arising from decomposing human excrements

fermenting in a hot sun were not quite so strong and nauseous and

besides we had a little more room. Day by day the thinning process went

on, there being two strong powers at work to accomplish the task, death

and the trains of cars.

I have never been quite satisfied with the tables of mortality published

with reference to Andersonville. Dr. Jones in his report, gives the

number who died between Feb. 24th and September 21st, 1864, as nine

thousand four hundred and seventy-nine. McElroy gives twelve thousand

nine hundred and twelve as the whole number that died during the time

Andersonville was used as a prison.

I think both statements are far below the truth although I have only

parole testimony to prove my position. While on the way from

Andersonville to Charleston, I overheard a private conversation between

two prisoners upon the subject of the number of deaths at Andersonville.

One of them claimed to be the Hospital Steward who kept the records at

that place, and he told his companion that he had a copy of the death

record and that twelve thousand six hundred and twenty odd had died up

to the date of leaving the prison, which was Sept. 11th. and that he

intended to carry the copy through the lines with him when he was

exchanged. One of the prisoners who was paroled in December following

did have a copy of the register and showed it at the office of the War

Department in Washington, it was not returned to him and he afterward

stole it from the office, was arrested and imprisoned for the theft and

was finally liberated through the intercession of Miss Clara Barton,

“the soldiers’ friend.” The man was a member of a Connecticut regiment,

whose name I cannot recall, but I think was Ingersoll, though I would

not pretend to be positive. I think the official records show a total of

nearly fourteen thousand deaths in Andersonville. All the evidence

attainable both from Federal and Confederate sources prove that about

one third of all the men who entered the gates of Andersonville died

there, and when we come to add to that number those who died in other

prisons, and on the way home, and whose death is directly traceable to

that prison, we will find that fully one-half of the forty-five thousand

Andersonville prisoners never reached home.

If the king of Denmark could exclaim, “O, my offense is rank, it smells

to heaven,” what shall we say of the men who are guilty of the

barbarities of Andersonville? How far will their offense smell? By a

fair computation more than twenty thousand men were,—

“Cut off even in the blossom of their sins,

Unhouseled, disappointed, unanel’d;

No reckoning made, but sent to their account

With all their imperfections on their heads:

O, horrible! O, horrible! most horrible!”

Rest comrades, rest in your graves on the sandy hillside of

Andersonville. The dank and the mould have consumed your bodies and they

have returned to the dust from whence they came; but a day of reckoning

will surely come. When the last trump shall sound and the dead shall

come forth from their graves, and stand before the Great White Throne,

where will your murderers be found? Surely they will call upon the rocks

and mountains to fall on them and hide them them from the face of Him

who sitteth upon the Throne and judgeth the Earth in righteousness.

It is impossible for any person endowed with the common feelings and

instincts of humanity to understand, much less to explain, the character

of Winder and Wirz. How any person in this enlightened age could be

guilty of the cruelties and barbarities practiced by those two ghouls

surpass all attempts at explanation. I am of the opinion that the

majority of the people of the South were ignorant of the full extent of

the horrors of the Southern Military Prisons. I am led to this

conclusion by the fact, that, except upon the questions of slavery and

war, they were a kind and generous hearted people, generally speaking,

as much so, at least, as any community of people of like extent. And for

the further reason that not many of them had access to the inside of

those prisons, and they would naturally believe the report of interested

Confederates, sooner than the reports of interested Federals,

particularly, as they had no intercourse with prisoners themselves,

except in isolated cases. And still further, all escaped prisoners, who

were recaptured and returned to prison spoke highly of the kind

treatment of the middle and upper classes, only complaining of the

treatment of the lower classes or “Clay Eaters.” But somebody knew of

these barbarities and cruelties and somebody was responsible for Winder

and Wirz holding their positions, and that after a full investigation

and report upon the subject by competent men. That SOMEBODY was Jeff

Davis and his cabinet.

The members of the Confederate Congress were aware of the treatment of

Federal prisoners and some of the members of that congress cried out

against it, in their places. But Jeff Davis ruled the South with a rod

of iron. He was the head and front, the great representative of the

doctrine of States Rights, which, interpreted by Southern Statesmen,

meant the right of a state to separate itself from the General

Government, peaceably if possible, by force of arms if need be. And yet

when Governor Brown, of Georgia, carried this doctrine to its logical

conclusion by withdrawing the Georgia troops from the Confederate

armies, to repel the invasion of Sherman and harvest a crop for the use

of his army, Davis, in public speeches, intimated that Governor Brown

was a traitor.

President Davis and his cabinet knew of the atrocities of Winder and

Wirz, and their ilk, and connived at them by keeping the perpetrators in

place and power. Winder was a renegade Baltimorean who had received a

military education at the expense of the United States government, but

being too cowardly to accept a position in the field where his precious

carcass would be exposed to danger, he accepted from his intimate

friend, Jeff Davis, the office of Provost Marshal General, in which

position he was a scourge and a curse to the rebels themselves. Becoming

too obnoxious to the people of Richmond, Davis, at last, appointed him

Commissary General of prisoners, in which capacity he had charge of all

the Federal prisoners east of the Mississippi river.

The antecedents of Wirz are not known. McElroy, who has investigated the

subject of Southern Prisons deeper than any man of my knowledge, has

arrived at the conclusion that he was probably a clerk in a store before

the war of the Rebellion. He arrives at his conclusion logically, for he

asserts that Wirz could count more than one hundred.

That Davis and his cabinet knew of the terrible treatment bestowed upon

the Federal prisoners at Andersonville, we have abundant proof. The

following extract from the report of Colonel D. T. Chandler, of the

Rebel War Department, who was sent to inspect Andersonville, was copied

from “Andersonville.” The report is of date August 5th, 1864, and is as

follows: “My duty requires me respectfully to recommend a change in the

officer in command of the post, Brigadier General John H. Winder, and

the substitution in his place of some one who unites both energy and

good judgment with some feelings of humanity and consideration for the

welfare and comfort as far as is consistent with their safe keeping of

the vast number of unfortunates placed under his control; some one who,

at least, will not advocate DELIBERATELY and in cold blood, the

propriety of leaving them in their present condition until their number

is sufficiently reduced by death to make the present arrangements

suffice for their accomodation, and who will not consider it a matter of

self laudation and boasting that he has never been inside of the

stockade—a place the horrors of which it is difficult to describe, and

which is a DISGRACE TO CIVILIZATION—the condition of which he might by

the exercise of a little energy and judgment, even with the limited

means at his command, have considerably improved.”

In his examination touching this report, Colonel Chandler says:

“I noticed that General Winder seemed very indifferent to the welfare of

the prisoners, indisposed to do anything, or to do as much as I thought

he ought to do, to alleviate their sufferings. I remonstrated with him

as well as I could, and he used that language which I reported to the

Department with reference to it—the language stated in the report. When

I spoke of the mortality existing among the prisoners, and pointed out

to him that the sickly season was coming on, and that it must

necessarily increase unless something was done for their relief—the

swamp, for instance, drained, proper food furnished, and in better

quality, and other sanitary suggestions which I made to him—he replied

to me that he thought it was better to see half of them die than to take

care of the men.”

This report proves two points. First that we had been living in

Andersonville during the HEALTHY season, God save the mark, and second

that Jeff Davis knew of the situation through his War Minister. But

Davis was in favor of having the prisoners receive the terrible

treatment to which they were subjected. He had, through his Commissary

General of Prisoners, made demands upon the Federal Government in the

matter of the exchange of prisoners, which no government possessing any

self respect could entertain. He demanded an exchange of prisoners in

bulk, that is, the Federal Government to give all the Confederate

prisoners it held in exchange for all the Federal prisoners the

Confederate Government held. The unfairness of such a proposition will

be readily seen when the reader is informed that at that time the

Federals held about twice as many prisoners as did the Confederates.

The Federal proposition was to exchange man for man and rank for rank.

To this the Davis Government would not accede. Then followed the terrors

of Andersonville and Florence of which hell itself in its palmiest days

could not furnish a duplicate.

I am well aware that I have not expressed the same opinion as other

authors, ex-prisoners, upon the subject of the complicity of the whole

people of the South in these prison horrors, but the most of these

authors wrote a short time subsequent to the close of the war, and while

their blood was still hot upon the subject; and I confess that it has

taken nearly a quarter of a century for my blood to cool sufficiently to

arrive at the conclusions I have expressed in this chapter and which I

candidly believe are correct.

To my comrades who were prisoners let me say, our present motto is:

“FIAT JUSTITIA, RUAT COELUM.”

CHAPTER XIII.

GOOD BYE ANDERSONVILLE.

As related in the preceding chapter the fall of Atlanta, and the fear of

rescue had obliged the Confederates to remove the prisoners from

Andersonville to a safer place.

On the 11th of September the detachment to which I belonged was ordered

out. We gladly left the pen and saw the ponderous gates close behind us.

No matter to us where we went, we believed we had nothing to lose and

much to gain. If we were to be exchanged, which we doubted, then good

bye to all these terrible scenes of want and suffering. If another

prison pen was our destination, then we hoped it would not be so foul

and disease laden as the one we left, and in any case we had left Winder

and Wirz and we knew that though we were to rake the infernal regions

with a fine comb, we could not find worse jailors. With thoughts like

these running through our minds we dragged our weak and spiritless

bodies to the station, where we got into a train of freight cars as best

we could. Our train was headed toward Macon and there was much

speculation as to our destination. Somehow a rumor had got into

circulation that a cartel of exchange had been agreed upon by the

commissioners of the two governments and that Savannah was to be the

point of exchange. But we had been deceived so many times that we had

taken a deep and solemn vow to not believe anything in exchange until we

were safely transferred to our own lines; and this vow we kept

inviolate.

Soon after passing Macon we entered the territory over which Stoneman’s

Cavalry had raided a few weeks before. Burned railroad trains and depots

marked the line of his march. At one place where our train stopped for

wood and water one of the guards was kind enough to allow some of the

men to get off the train and secure a lot of tin sheets which had

covered freight cars prior to Stoneman’s visit. These sheets of tin were

afterward made into pails and square pans by a tinner who was a member

of an Illinois regiment, with no other tools than a railroad spike and a

block of wood.

Two brothers, members of an Indiana regiment, and coopers by trade, made

a large number of wooden buckets, or “piggins” while in Andersonville,

and their kit of tools consisted of a broken pocket knife and a table

knife, supplemented by borrowing our saw knife. With a table knife or a

railroad spike and a billet of wood, we would work up the toughest sour

gum, or knottiest pitch pine stick of wood which could be procured in

the Confederacy. Time was of no consequence, we had an overstocked

market in that commodity and anything that would serve to help rid

ourselves of the surplus was a blessing.

Time solved the question of our destination. We went to Augusta again so

that Savannah was out of the question. Then we crossed over into South

Carolina, after which the point was raised whether it was to be Columbia

or Charleston. Many of us were of the opinion that Charleston was the

point and that we were to be placed under fire of our own guns, as many

prisoners had been heretofore, the rebels hoping thereby to deter our

forces from firing into the city. Time passed and we arrived at

Branchville. Here is the junction of the Columbia road with the Augusta

and Charleston road, we took the Charleston track and arrived in

Charleston about eleven o’clock p. m. having been two days on the road.

After leaving the cars we were formed in line, and, as we were marching

away from the depot, a huge shell from one of Gilmore’s guns exploded in

an adjoining block. We were getting close to “God’s country,” only a

shell’s flight lying between us and the land of the Stars and Stripes.

We were marched just out of the city and camped on the old Charleston

race track.

In the morning we were allowed to go for water, accompanied by guards.

before night all the wells in the vicinity were exhausted, and we were

obliged to resort to well digging for a supply. Fortunately we found

water at a depth of only four feet. The water was slightly brackish, but

as we had been kept on short rations of salt it was rather agreeable

than otherwise. Before dark there were more than fifty wells dug in camp

and we had water in abundance.

Day after day brought train load after train load of prisoners from

Andersonville until there were about seven thousand prisoners in camp at

this place. There was no stockade, no fence, nothing but a living wall

of guards around us, and that living wall of infantrymen aided and

abetted by a healthy, full grown battery of artillery, that was all.

Our rations here were of fair quality but small in quantity, consisting

of a pint of corn meal, a little sorghum syrup and a teaspoonful of salt

once in two days. Meat of any kind was not issued, from this time on it

was relegated to the historic past. The weather was pleasant, the days

not too hot and the nights not too cool. About nine o’clock a sea breeze

would spring up which felt to us, after having lived in the furnace-like

atmosphere of Andersonville, like a breeze from the garden of the Gods.

About nine o’clock in the evening a land breeze would set in and would

blow until sunrise then die away to give place to the sea breeze. I used

to sit up till midnight drinking in the delightful air and watching the

track of the great shells thrown by the “Swamp Angel” battery. Gilmore

gave Charleston no rest day nor night. The “Hot bed of Secession” got a

most unmerciful pounding. The whole of the lower part of the city was a

mass of ruins, the upper part was then receiving the attention of our

batteries on James Island. It was a grand sight at night to watch the

little streak of fire from the fuse of those three hundred pound shells

as it rose higher and higher toward the zenith and having reached the

highest point of the arc, to watch it as it sped onward and downward

until suddenly a loud explosion told that its time was expired and the

sharp fragments were hurled with an increased velocity down into the

devoted city. Sometimes a shell would not explode until it had made its

full journey and landed among the buildings or in the streets and then

havoc and destruction ensued. The most of the people lived in bomb

proofs, which protected them from the fragments of the shells which

exploded in the air, but were not proof against those which exploded

after striking.

A little episode occurred one day that created quite a panic among both

prisoners and guards. Suddenly and without warning, a large solid shot

came rolling and tumbling through camp, from the north; this was

followed by another, and then another. This was getting serious. What

the Dickens was the matter? Where did these shots come from? were

questions that any and all of us, could and did ask, but none could

answer. But in this case, the rebel guard and officers, were in danger

as well as Yanks, and a courier was dispatched in hot haste to inquire

into the why and wherefore. It turned out that a rebel gunboat, on the

Cooper River, was practicing at a target and we were getting the benefit

of it.

Here at Charleston we were on historic ground. Just a few miles to the

east of us Colonel Moultrie defended a palmetto fort manned by five

hundred brave and loyal South Carolinans, against the combined land and

naval forces of Sir Henry Clinton, and Sir Peter Parker, on the 28th of

June 1776, and with his twenty-six cannons compelled the fleet to

retire. There upon the palmetto bastion of old Fort Moultrie, the brave

young Sergeant Jasper supported the Stars and Stripes under a terrible

fire, and earned for himself an undying fame. Here and in this vicinity,

Moultrie, Pickens, Pinckney, Lee, Green, Lincoln and Marion earned a

reputation which will last as long as American history shall endure.

But, alas, here too, is material for a history which does not reflect

much credit on the descendants of those brave and loyal men. South

Carolina was the first State to adopt an ordinance of Secession, Nov

20th, 1860.

Here in Charleston Harbor, on the 9th of January 1861, the descendants

of those revolutionary heroes, from the embrazures of fort Moultrie, and

Castle Pinckney, fired upon the Star of the West, a United States vessel

sent with supplies for the brave Anderson, who was cooped up within the

walls of Fort Sumter. From these same forts, on the 12th of April, was

fired the guns which compelled the surrender of Fort Sumter, and was the

beginning of hostilities in the War of the Rebellion. And all this

trouble had grown out of a political doctrine promulgated by an eminent

South Carolinan, John C. Calhoun.

But with all their bad reputation as Secessionists, the South Carolinans

treated us with more kindness than did the citizens of any other States.

I never heard a tantalizing or insulting word given by a South Carolina

citizen or soldier to a prisoner. In the matter of low meanness, the

Georgia Crackers and Clay Eaters earned the blue ribbon.

On the 1st of October the detachment to which I belonged, was marched to

the cars, and we were sent to Florence, one hundred miles north of

Charleston on the road to Columbia. On our route, we had passed over

ground made sacred by Revolutionary struggles. At Monk’s Corners, the

14th of April 1780, a British force defeated an American force. In the

swamps of the Santee and Pedee Rivers General Francis Marion hid his

men, and from them he made his fierce raids upon tories and British.

Marion is called a “partisan leader,” in the old histories, but I

suspect that in this year of grace, he would be called a “Bushwacker,”

or “Guerrilla” leader. It makes a good deal of difference which side men

are fighting on, about the name they are called. We arrived at the

Florence Stockade in the afternoon and were marched in and assigned our

position in the northeast corner, the entrance being on the west side.

The Florence Stockade was about two or three miles below Florence, and

half or three-quarters of a mile east of the railroad. It was built upon

two sides of a small stream which ran through it from north to south,

was nearly square in shape, and contained ten or twelve acres of land.

It was built of rough logs set in the ground and was sixteen or eighteen

feet high. There was no such dead line as at Andersonville, a shallow

ditch marking the limits. The greatest number of prisoners confined here

during the time of my imprisonment, was eleven thousand. In some

respects our situation was better than at Andersonville. We had new

ground upon which to live. We were rid of the terrible filth and stench,

we were not so badly crowded, and we had more wood with which to cook

our food.

The Post Commandant, Lieutenant Colonel Iverson, of the 5th Georgia, was

an easy going, but not altogether bad man, except that he was possessed

of an ungovernable temper, and when irritated, would commit acts of

which he was, no doubt, ashamed when his pulse assumed a normal

condition. Lieutenant Barrett, Adjutant of the 5th Georgia, was to

Florence what Wirz was to Andersonville. He was a red headed fiery

tempered, cruel, and vindictive specimen of the better educated class of

Southerners. It seemed to be his delight to to torture and maltreat the

prisoners. If there was a single redeeming trait in his character, the

unfortunate men who were under his care, never by any chance stumbled

onto it. His favorite punishment was to tie the offender up by the

thumbs so tightly that his toes barely touched the ground, and have him

in this condition for an hour or two at a time. The tortures of such a

punishment were indescribable. The victim would suffer the tortures of

the damned, and when let down would have to be carried to his quarters

by his comrades.

The prisoners were organized into squads of twenty, these into companies

of a hundred, and these into detachments of a thousand. As stated before

my detachment was assigned a position in the northeast corner of the

Stockade. When we arrived there was plenty of wood, small poles, and

brush in the Stockade, and our first work after selecting our ground,

was to secure an abundant supply.

My old “pard” Rouse, had died at Charleston, Ole Gilbert belonged to

another detachment and did not come in the same train load with me, so I

joined Joe Eaton, Wash. Hays and Roselle Hull, of my regiment, in

constructing a shelter, or house, if you please. We first set crotches

in the ground and laid a strong pole on them, then we leaned other poles

on each side against this pole in the form of a letter A. This was the

frame work of our house, which, as will be seen, consisted entirely of

roof. On this frame work we placed brush, covering the brush with

leaves, and the whole with a heavy layer of dirt. This was an

exceedingly laborious job on account of the lack of suitable tools. Our

poles were cut with a very dull hatchet and our digging done with tin

plates. After we had constructed a shelter, our next work was to wall up

the gables. This was done with clay made up into adobes. We could not

build more than a foot in a day as we were obliged to wait for our walls

to dry sufficiently to bear their own weight. We had taken great pains

to make a warm rain proof hut, as we had arrived at the conclusion that

we were destined to remain in prison until the close of the war.

Those prisoners who arrived later were not so fortunate in the matter of

wood. The early settlers had taken possession of all of that commodity

leaving others to look out for themselves. But the later arrivals made

haste to secure poles for the purpose of erecting their tents and huts,

that is, those who had blankets to spare for roofs; but many were

compelled to dig diminutive caves in the banks which marked the boundary

of the narrow valley through which ran the little stream of water.

Wood was procured from the immense pine forests in the vicinity. Details

of our own numbers, chopped the wood, and others carried it on their

shoulders a distance of half to three quarters of a mile, receiving as

compensation an extra ration of food. In the matter of wood Iverson was

more humane than was Winder, but in the matter of rations it was the

same old story, just enough to keep soul and body together, provided a

pint of corn meal, two spoonfuls of sorghum syrup and a half teaspoonful

of salt daily would furnish sufficient adhesive power to accomplish that

result.

There was rather better hospital accommodations here for the sick, than

at Andersonville, but at the best it was miserably poor and

insufficient. The worst cases had been left behind, but the stockade was

soon full of men so sick as to be unable to care for themselves. The

terrible treatment at Andersonville was telling on the men after they

had changed to a more healthy location, and into less filthy

surroundings.

Soon the fall rains set in and the cold winds, which penetrated to our

very marrow through the rags with which we were but partly covered,

warned us that winter was approaching. We tried hard to keep up our

courage amidst all these discouraging circumstances, but it was a

sickly, weakly sort of courage. Cheerful, we could not be, even the most

religiously inclined were sad and despondent. I am convinced that

cheerfulness depends and must depend on outward circumstances as well as

on an inward state of mind. Why not? We were men not angels, material

beings, not spirits; we were subject to the same appetites and passions

to which we, and others are subject, under better circumstances.

Starvation, privation, misery and torture had not purged from us the

longings, the hungerings and thirstings after the necessaries, the

conveniences, yes, the luxuries of life, but on the contrary, had

increased them ten fold. How was this to terminate? Would our Government

set aside the military policy of the Commander of the army, and take a

more humane view of the question? Would the Confederates, already driven

to extremes to furnish supplies for their own men, at length yield and

give us up, to save expense? or, must we still remain to satisfy the

insatiate greed of the Moloch of war? were questions we could and did

ask ourselves and each other, but there was found no man so wise as to

be able to answer them. Time, swift-footed and fleeting, to the

fortunate, but laggard, and slow, to us, could alone solve these

questions, and after hours of discussion, to Time we referred them.

CHAPTER XIV.

NAKED AND COLD AND HUNGRY.—SHERMAN.

“‘Sherman’s dashing Yankee boys will never reach the coast!’

So the saucy rebels said, and ’twas a handsome boast,

Had they not forgot alas! to reckon with the host,

While we were marching through Georgia.

So we made a thoroughfare for Freedom and her train,

Sixty miles in latitude three hundred to the main;

Treason fled before us, for resistance was in vain,

While we were marching through Georgia.”

During the Summer, and up to the last of October, the condition of our

clothing had been more a matter of indecency than of actual sufferings.

But when the fall rains set in and the cold winds began to blow, then we

felt the need of good clothing. About this time a very limited supply of

clothing was issued to the more destitute. This was some of the clothing

which the United States Government furnished for the benefit of the

prisoners, but which was of more benefit to the rebels than to us. It is

very clear that our Government was a victim of misplaced confidence in

sending supplies of food and clothing through the rebel lines for our

benefit. These supplies were mostly used by the rebels for their own

benefit, and our Government aided the rebellion by that much.

My clothing was old when I was taken prisoner, having been worn through

the Chickamauga campaign, and while I was in the hospital at Danville

some one had, without my consent, traded me worse clothing, so that by

this time I was a spectacle for men perhaps, but hardly for angels and

women. Shirt, I had none, my coat was out at the elbows and was minus

buttons, my pants were worn to shreds, fore and aft, and looked like

bifurcated dish rags. My drawers had been burned at Andersonville with

their rich burden of lice, while my shoes looked like the breaking up of

a hard winter, and yet I was too much of a dude to get clothes from

Barrett. How the cold winds did play hide and seek through my rags; how

my skeleton frame did shiver, and my scurvy loosened teeth rattle and

clatter, as “gust followed gust more furiously” through the tattered

remains of what was once a splendid uniform. Evidently something had got

to be done or I should, like a ship in a storm, be scudding around with

bare poles. My first remedy was patching. With all my varied and useful

accomplishments, I had become quite expert with a needle, (a small sized

darning needle) and I felt perfectly competent to fix up my

unmentionables, provided I could find patches and thread. I was in the

condition of the Irishman who wanted to “borry tobaccy and a pipe, I

have a match of me own, sorr,” but those to whom I applied for patches

and thread, were like an Irishman of my company by the name of Mike

Callahan. I went to him one day as he sat smoking his “dhudeen.” Said I,

“Mike, can you give me a chew of tobacco?” “I cannot sorr,” puff-puff “I

don’t use it myself.” “Well have you got any smoking tobacco?” said I.

“I have sorr,” puff—puff—puff—“joost phat will do meself,” was his

reply. After looking around for a time, I found an old oil cloth

knapsack which I cut up into appropriate patches. Ole Gilbert had a

piece of home-made cotton cloth, this we raveled and used for thread

with which to patch my pants. This shift answered to keep out the wind,

but when I sat down, Oh my! it seemed like sitting on an iceberg and

holding the North Pole in my lap.

After the prisoners had all arrived at Florence, I changed my quarters

to those of five comrades of my own company, Gilbert, Berk, Gaffney,

Webster and Best. We had very fair quarters and were provided with two

blankets for the six. One day as we were talking over the subject of

exchange, we all came to the conclusion that we were in for it during

the war, and I was instructed to write to the Wisconsin Sanitary

Commission for clothing and other supplies. The letter was duly received

and was published in the Milwaukee Sentinel. The following is a copy of

the letter:

“Florence, S. C., Oct. 8th, 1864.

Secretary of Wis. State Sanitary Commission.

Sir:—There are six members of the 10th Wis. Infantry here together,

who were captured at the battle of Chickamauga. We are destitute of

clothing, and as defenders of our country, we apply to you for aid,

hoping you will be prompt in relieving, in a measure, our necessities.

Please send us a box containing blankets, underclothing, shirts and

socks in particular, and we stand very much in need of shoes; but I

don’t know as they are in your line of business.

“We would also like stationery, combs, knives, forks, spoons, tin

cups, plates and a small sized camp kettle, as our rations are issued

to us raw; also thread and needles. We all have the scurvy more or

less and I think dried fruit would help us very much by the acid it

contains,—you cannot send us medicine as that is contraband. We would

like some tobacco and reading matter. If there is anything more that

you can send, it will be very acceptable.

“We should not apply to you were we not compelled, and did we not know

that you are the destitute soldiers’ friend. You will please receive

this in the same spirit in which it is sent, and answer accordingly,

and you will have the satisfaction of feeling that you have done

something to relieve the wants of those who went out at the

commencement of the war, to vindicate the rights of our country.

Direct to Wm. W. Day and Joseph Eaton, prisoners of war, Florence, S.

C., via. Flag of Truce, Hilton Head.

Yours, &c.,

WM. W. DAY.

P. S. I forgot to mention soap—a very essential article.”

At the same time I wrote to my wife in Wisconsin and to my brother in

New York, for a box but instructed them that if there was any prospect

of an immediate exchange, they were not to send them. I believe some of

the other boys sent home for boxes also. We knew that the chances were

very much against our ever seeing the boxes if sent, as we knew that

many boxes sent to Andersonville were kept and their contents used by

the rebel guards, yet I hoped that out of the three I might possibly get

one. When the letters sent to my wife and brother reached their

destination, they commenced the preparation of boxes, but before they

were complete news of exchange reached them and the boxes were not sent.

But during the spring of 1865, after I had settled in Minnesota, and

after the capture of Richmond, I received a letter from the General in

command of our forces, at that place, informing me that there was a box

there directed to me and asking for instructions as to its disposal. I

replied to him that it was a box sent to me by the Wisconsin Sanitary

Commission, and was intended for me as a soldier, that I was now a

civilian, and had no claim on it, and directed him to turn it over to

the hospital.

Right here I wish to express my appreciation of the Sanitary Commission.

In all the loyal States they did a grand work of mercy and charity, ably

seconding the efforts of the Government in caring for sick and destitute

soldiers. In fact they performed a work which the Government could not

perform. They furnished lint and bandages, canned and dried fruits,

vegetables and luxuries of all descriptions for the wounded and sick

soldiers, thus giving them to feel that in all their hardships and

sufferings they were not forgotton by the kind loyal women of the North,

God bless them. It was the ladies of the Sanitary Commission of

Milwaukee who established the first Soldiers’ Home, on West Water

street, and which has grown into the National Soldiers’ Home near that

city. They were ably seconded by the Christian Commission, which sent

not only supplies but men and women to the field of war, to distribute

supplies and act in the capacity of nurses in the hospitals. The wife of

the Hon. John F. Potter, of the 1st Congressional District, of

Wisconsin, worked in the hospitals at Washington until she contracted a

fever and died, as much a martyr for her country as any soldier upon the

field of battle. Governor Harvey, of Wisconsin, lost his life at

Pittsburg Landing, where he had gone to aid the wounded soldiers. His

wife took up the work, thus rudely broken by her husband’s death, and

carried it on until peace came like a benison upon the land.

All over the North, loyal men and women gave of their time and money for

the relief of their Nation’s defenders, and to-day deserve, and receive,

the thanks of the “boys who wore the blue.”

Sometime in the month of November, a rumor was circulated that an

exchange had been agreed upon, between the two Governments, and that

Savannah was the point agreed upon for the exchange. But while we were

hopeful that this might be true, we were doubtful. That story had been

told so many times that it had become thin and gauzy from wear. In a few

days, however, a lot of prisoners came in who reported that an exchange

of sick had actually been in progress, but that the near approach of

Sherman’s army had discontinued it, until another point could be agreed

upon.

Here was news with a vengeance. We had been told that Sherman would be

annihilated, that he could never reach the coast, and here came the news

that his army was not only all right, but was almost to the coast. And

further that our Government was still making efforts for our relief.

“Hope springs eternal in the human breast,” and here for the first time,

we had reasonable grounds for hope.

On the 25th of September General Hood had got into General Sherman’s

rear and started north. But Sherman had anticipated just such a move and

had provided for it by sending one division to Chattanooga, and another

division to Rome, Ga. On the 29th Sherman sent Thomas back to

Chattanooga and afterward to Nashville.

General Sherman then divided his army into two wings. The right wing in

command of General O. O. Howard, and the left wing in command of General

Slocum. Hood had started out to return a Roland for an Oliver. Forrest

was operating in Tennessee and Kentucky, and menacing the States north

of the Ohio river. Hood’s plan was to join him and while Sherman was

living upon short commons in Georgia, his army would be reveling in the

rich spoils of Northern States. The idea was a good one, the point was

to carry it out.

On the fifth of October Hood destroyed a considerable length of railroad

north of Atlanta. Sherman, from a high point, saw the railroad burning

for miles. At Alatoona General Corse had a small force, among his troops

was the 4th Minnesota, which earned a record, in the defense of that

mountain pass which will go down to the ages yet to come, in the history

of the war. From the heights of Kenesaw, Sherman’s signal officer read a

dispatch, signaled from a hole in the block-house at Alatoona; “I am

short a cheek bone and part of an ear, but we can whip all hell yet.

CORSE,

Com’d’g.”

Tradition says that Sherman signaled “hold the fort, I am coming,” but I

believe Sherman denies this. At any rate, the fact that Corse did hold

the fort, and that he knew from the signal corps on Kenesaw that Sherman

was coming to his aid, gave rise to the thoughts that inspired the

writer of the little poem, “Hold the fort, for I am coming.”

Sherman strengthened Thomas by sending Stanley with the 4th corps and

ordering Schofield with the Army of the Ohio to report to him. On the 2d

of November General Grant approved Sherman’s plan of the campaign to the

sea, and on the 10th he started back to Atlanta. The real march to the

sea commenced on the 15th. Howard with the right wing and cavalry, went

to Jonesboro and Milledgeville, then the capital of Georgia. Slocum with

the left wing went to Stone Mountain to threaten Augusta.

The people of the South became frantic when they found Sherman had cut

loose. They could not divine his movements. He threatened one point and

when the enemy had been drawn thither for its protection, he threatened

another point. Frantic appeals were made for the people to turn out and

drive the invader from the soil. They took the cadets from the Military

College and added them to the ranks of the Militia. They went so far as

to liberate the convicts from the State Prison, on promise that they

would join the army. But Sherman moved along leisurely, at the rate of

fifteen miles a day, burning railroad bridges and destroying miles upon

miles of track. The Southern papers, from which we had received the news

at Florence, pictured the army as in a most deplorable condition. Saying

the army was all broken up and disorganized, and was each man for

himself, making his way to the sea coast to seek the protection of the

navy. Some of these papers reached the North and the news was copied

into the Northern papers and spread like wildfire, creating a great deal

of uneasiness in the minds of those who had friends in that army.

General Grant, in his Memoirs, speaking of this matter, says: “Mr.

Lincoln seeing these accounts, had a letter written asking me if I could

give him anything that he could say to the loyal people that would

comfort them. I told him there was not the slightest occasion for alarm;

that with 60,000 such men as Sherman had with him, such a commanding

officer as he, could not be cut off in the open country. He might

possibly be prevented from reaching the point he had started out to

reach, but he would get through somewhere and would finally get to his

chosen destination; and even if worst came to worst he could return

north. I heard afterwards of Mr. Lincoln’s saying to those who would

inquire of him as to what he thought about the safety of Sherman’s army,

that Sherman was all right; ‘Grant says they are safe with such a

General, and that if they cannot get out where they want to they can

crawl back by the hole they went in at.’”

The right and left wings were to meet at Millen with the hope of

liberating the prisoners at that place, but they failed, the prisoners

having been previously removed, but Wheeler’s Rebel cavalry had a pretty

severe engagement with the Union cavalry at that place which resulted in

Wheeler’s being driven toward Augusta, thus convincing the people that

Augusta was the objective point. The army reached Savannah on the 9th of

December, and on the 10th the siege of that place commenced. On the

night of the 21st the rebels evacuated the city and it fell into

Sherman’s hands.

The whole march had been a pleasure excursion, when compared with the

Atlanta campaign. The rebels could never muster a sufficient force of a

quality to retard the march of the army. All their boasting of

annihilation was simply wind. The fact was they were completely

nonplussed, they did not know where he intended to go until he was

within striking distance of Savannah. Every morning a squad of men from

each command started out under command of an officer, and at night

returned with wagons loaded with the best in the land. Hams, hogs,

beeves, turkeys and chickens, sweet potatoes, corn meal and flour, rice

and honey were gathered for food, and the bummers usually captured teams

to haul the provisions in with.

My friend O. S. Crandall, of the 4th Minnesota, who was on this march,

tells a joke on himself which I will repeat. A brother bummer by the

name of Ben Sayers, had made a discovery of some honey while the two

were on a picket post. Sayers told Crandall that if he would stand guard

in his place he would fill his canteen with honey. To this Crandall

agreed and when the relief came around told the officer of the guard

that he would stand Sayers’ relief. Sayers filled his canteen full of

honey as agreed and all was lovely; honey on hard-tack, honey on dough

gods, honey on flapjacks, was in Oscar’s dreams that night as he lay

peacefully sleeping beneath the bright moon in southern Georgia. But the

next day the sun came out hot and the honey granulated and would not

come out. Oscar had evidently got a white elephant on his hands; that

honey could not be persuaded to come out, and he was choking with

thirst. Seeing a comrade with a canteen he thus accosted him: “Say pard,

give me a drink.”

Tother Feller.—“Why don’t you drink out of your own canteen?”

Oscar.—“I can’t. I’ve got it full of honey and it’s candied.”

T. F.—“Why, you poor, miserable, innocent, blankety blanked fool, if you

don’t know any better than that you may go thirsty. I won’t give you any

water.”

Oscar.—“Say pard, how will you trade canteens?”

T. F.—“Even.”

Oscar.—“It’s a whack.”

And Oscar never got his canteen filled with honey again during the

remainder of the war.

CHAPTER XV.

VALE DIXIE.

“Breathes there a man with soul so dead,

Who never to himself hath said,

This is my own, my native land!

Whose heart hath ne’er within him burned,

As home his footsteps he hath turned,

From wandering on a foreign strand!

If such there breathe, go, mark him well;

For him no Minstrel rapture swell;

High though his titles, proud his name,

Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;

Despite those titles, power and pelf,

The wretch, concentrated all in self,

Living, shall forfeit all renown,

And, doubly dying, shall go down

To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,

Unwept, unhonored and unsung.”

The Lay of the last Minstrel.

Scott.

During the time of our stay at Charleston, the rebel officers had made

great efforts to induce the prisoners to take the oath of allegiance to

the Confederacy, promising good treatment, good pay, good clothing, a

large bounty and service in a bomb proof position in return. If men had

stopped to think, these promises carried with them abundant proof of

their own falsity. Where was the evidence of good treatment, judging of

the future by the past? What did good pay and large bounties amount to

when it took two hundred dollars of that good pay and large bounty to

buy a pair of boots? And the good clothing, yes they could clothe them

with the uniforms stripped from their dead comrades upon the battlefield

or stolen from the supplies sent to the prisoners.

But, lured by these specious promises, about a hundred and twenty-five

prisoners went out one day and, as we supposed, took the oath. They were

marched away cityward in the morning, but before night they returned. We

saluted them on their return with groans and hisses and curses. They

reported that they were to be sent to James Island to throw up

earth-works in front of the rebel lines. This they refused to do, and

they were returned to prison.

At Florence another effort was made to recruit men. The rebels wanted

foreigners for the army, and artisans of all kinds particularly

blacksmiths, shoemakers, carpenters and machinists for their shops. Many

of our artisans went out thinking they would get a chance to work for

food and clothing by simply giving their parole of honor they would not

attempt to escape. But the rebs insisted that they must take the oath of

allegiance. A few took the required oath, but most of the boys returned

to prison, and most heartily anathematized the men who had the impudence

and presumption to suppose that they would be guilty of taking the oath

of allegiance to such a rotten, hell-born thing as the Southern

Confederacy.

There was a great deal of discussion among the prisoners at the time

about the question of the moral right of a man to take the oath of

allegiance to save his life. It was argued on one side that our

government had left us to rot like dogs, to shift for ourselves and that

as winter was coming on and there was no prospect of exchange, a man had

a perfect right to take the oath and save his life. On the other side it

was argued that we had taken a solemn oath to support the government of

the United States and not to give aid or comfort to any of its enemies;

that war was hard at best, and that when we took the oath we knew that

imprisonment was a probability just as much as a battle was a

probability; that we had just as much right to refuse to fight and to

turn traitor upon the battle field as we had in prison.

For my own part life was dear to me but it was dear on account of my

friends; and supposing I should take the oath and save my life; the war

would soon be over and when peace came and all my comrades had returned

to their homes, where would my place be? Could I ever return to my

friends with the brand of traitor upon me? Never. I would die, if die I

must; but die true to the flag I loved and honored, and for which I had

suffered so long. Right here we adopted the prisoners’ motto, “Death,

but not dishonor.”

Soon after changing my quarters I succeeded in securing a position on

the police force. Another of my tent mates was equally fortunate, so we

had a little extra food in our tent. My health had been slowly improving

ever since I left Andersonville, and with returning health came a

growing appetite. We resorted to all sorts of expedients to increase the

supplies of our commissariat. Ole Gilbert was a natural mechanic and he

made spoons from some of the tin which he had procured near Macon; these

were traded for food or sold for cash, and food purchased with the

money. One day he traded three spoons for a pocket knife with an ivory

faced handle. The ivory had been broken but I fished the remains of an

old ivory fine comb out of my pockets and he repaired the handle of the

knife with it. We sent it outside by one of the boys who had a job of

grave digging, and who sold it for ten dollars, Confederate money. With

this money we bought a bushel of sweet potatoes of the sutler at the

gate, and then we resolved to fill up once more before we died. We baked

each of us two large corn “flap jacks” eight inches across and half an

inch thick. We then boiled a six quart pail full of sweet potatoes and

after that made the pail full of coffee out of the bran sifted from our

meal, and then scorched. This was equal to three quarts of food and

drink to each one of us, but it only stopped the chinks.

I then proposed to double the dose which we did, eating and drinking six

quarts each within two hours. Of course it did not burst us but it

started the hoops pretty badly, and yet we were hungry after that. It

seemed impossible to hold enough to satisfy our hunger; every nerve, and

fiber and tissue in our whole system from head to foot, was crying out

for food, and our stomachs would not hold enough to supply the demand,

and it took months of time and untold quantities of food to get our

systems back to normal condition.

There are many ex-prisoners who claim that Florence was a worse prison

than Andersonville. I did not think so at the time I was there, but

those who remained there during the winter no doubt suffered more than

they did at Andersonville, on account of the cold weather; but at the

best it was a terrible place, worthy to be credited to the hellish

designs of Jeff Davis and Winder, aided by the fiend Barrett. At one

time Barrett, with some recruiting officers, came into prison

accompanied by a little dog. Some of the prisoners, it is supposed,

beguiled the dog away and killed him; for this act Barrett deprived the

whole of the prisoners of their rations for two days and a half.

About the 4th of December some surgeons came in and selected a thousand

men from the worst cases which were not in the hospital. It was said

they were to be sent through our lines on parole. Then commenced an

earnest discussion upon the situation. My comrades and I thought we were

getting too strong to pass muster. How we wished we had not improved so

much since leaving Andersonville. We were getting so fat we would

actually make a shadow, that is if we kept our clothes buttoned up.

After considering the question pro and con we came to the conclusion

that we had better not build up any hopes at present. If we were so

lucky as to get away, all right. If not we would have no shattered hopes

to mourn over.

On the 6th another thousand was selected and sent away. This looked like

business; this was no camp rumor started by nobody knew who, but here

were surgeons actually selecting feeble men and sending them through the

gates, and they did not return.

The 8th came and in the afternoon the 9th thousand was called up for

inspection. I went out to the dead line where the inspection was going

on to see what my chances probably were. The surgeons were sending out

about every third or fourth man. The 9th and 10th thousand were

inspected and then came the 11th, to which I belonged. I went to my tent

and told the boys I was going to try my chances, “but,” I added, “keep

supper waiting.” I took my haversack with me, leaving my blanket, which

had fallen to me as heir of Rouse, and went to the dead line and fell in

with my hundred, the 8th. After waiting impatiently for a while I told

Harry Lowell, the Sergeant of my hundred, that I was going down the line

to see what our chances were. It was getting almost dark, the surgeons

were getting in a hurry to complete their task and were taking every

other man. I went back and told Harry I was going out, I felt it in my

bones. This was the first time I had entertained a good healthy, well

developed hope, since I arrived in Richmond, more than a year previous.

The 6th hundred was called, then the 7th and at last the 8th. We marched

down to our allotted position with limbs trembling with excitement. That

surgeon standing there so unconcernedly, held my fate in his hands. He

was soon to say the word that would restore me to “God’s Country,” to

home and friends, or send me back to weary months of imprisonment.

My turn came. “What ails you?” the surgeon asked.

“I have had diarrhea and scurvy for eight months,” was my reply, and I

pulled up the legs of my pants to show him my limbs, which were almost

as black as a stove. He passed his hands over the emaciated remains of

what had once been my arms and asked, “When is your time of service

out?” “It was out the 10th of last October,” said I.

“You can go out.”

That surgeon was a stranger to me. I never saw him before that day nor

have I seen him since, but upon the tablet of my memory I have written

him down as FRIEND.

I did not wait for a second permission but started for the gate.

Just as I was going out some of my comrades saw me and shouted, “Bully

for you Bill; you’re a lucky boy!” and I believed I was. After passing

outside I went to a tent where two or three clerks were busy upon rolls

and signed the parole. Before I left Harry Lowell joined me and together

we went into camp where rations of flour were issued to us. After dark

Harry and I stole past the guard and went down to the gravediggers’

quarters where we were provided with a supper of rice, sweet potatoes

and biscuits. I have no doubt that to-day I should turn up my nose at

the cooking of that dish, for the sweet potatoes and rice were stewed

and baked together, but I did not then. After supper John Burk baked our

flour into biscuits, using cob ashes in the place of soda; after which

we stole back into camp.

Not a wink of sleep did we get that night. We had eaten too much supper

for one thing, and besides our prison day seemed to be almost ended. We

were marched to the railroad next morning, but the wind was blowing so

hard that we were not sent away, as the vessels could not run in the

harbor at Charleston.

Just before night a ration of corn meal was issued to us and I have that

ration yet. About ten o’clock that night we were ordered on board the

cars and away we went to Charleston, where we arrived soon after

daylight. We debarked from the cars and were marched into a vacant

warehouse on the dock, where we remained until two o’clock p. m. when we

were marched on board a ferry boat. The bells jingled, the wheels began

to revolve and churn up the water and we are speeding down the harbor.

All seems lovely as a June morning, when lo, we are ordered to heave to

and tie up to the dock. We were marched off from the boat and up a

street. It looked as though the Charleston jail was our destination,

instead of that long wished for God’s Country.

It seemed that the last train load had not been delivered on account of

the high winds, and that we were to wait our turn. But we were soon

countermarched to the boat and this time we left Charleston for good and

all.

My thoughts were busy as our boat was steadily plowing her way down the

harbor to the New York, our exchange commissioner’s Flag Ship, which lay

at anchor about a mile outside of Fort Sumter. To my left and rear Fort

Moultrie and Castle Pinkney stood in grim silence. Away to the front and

left, upon that low, sandy beach, are some innocent looking mounds, but

those mounds are the celebrated “Battery Bee” on Sullivans Island. To my

right are the ruins of the lower part of Charleston. Away out to the

front and right stands Fort Sumter in “dim and lone magnificence.” To

the right of Fort Sumter is Morris Island and still farther out to sea

is James Island. What a scene to one who has had a deep interest in the

history of his country from the time of its organization up to and

including the war of the rebellion. Here the revolutionary fathers stood

by their guns to maintain the independence of the Colonies. Here their

descendants had fired the first gun in a rebellion inaugurated to

destroy the Union established by the valor, and sealed with the blood of

their sires. Misguided, traitorous sons of brave, loyal fathers. Such

thoughts as these passed through my mind as we steamed down the harbor

to the New York, but it never occurred to me that the waters through

which our boat was picking her way, was filled with deadly torpedoes,

and that the least deviation from the right course would bring her in

contact with one of these devilish engines and we would be blown out of

water.

But look! what is that which is floating so proudly in the breeze at the

peak of that vessel?

“’Tis the Star Spangled Banner, oh! long may it wave,

O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.”

Yes it is the old Stars and Stripes, and just underneath them on the

deck of that vessel is “GOD’S COUNTRY,” that we have dreamed of and

wished for so many long weary months.

My friends, do you wonder that the tears ran unbidden down our wan and

ghastly cheeks? That with our weak lungs and feeble voices we tried to

send a welcome of cheers and a tiger to that dear old flag? It was not a

loud, strong cheer, such as strong men send up in the hour of victory

and triumph; no the rebels had done their work too well for that, but it

was from away down in the bottom of our hearts, and from the same depths

came an unuttered thanks-giving to the Great Being who had preserved our

lives to behold this glorious sight.

Our vessel steamed up along side the New York and made fast. A gang

plank was laid to connect the two vessels, and at 4 o’clock, December

10th, 1864, I stepped under the protection of our flag and bade a long

and glad farewell to Dixie.

After we had been delivered on board the New York we were registered by

name, company and regiment, and then a new uniform was given us and

then—can it be possible, a whole plate full of pork and hard-tack, and a

quart cup of coffee. And all this luxury for one man! Surely our stomach

will be surprised at such princely treatment. After receiving our supper

and clothing we were sent on board another vessel, a receiving ship,

which was lashed to the New York. Here we sat down on our bundle of

clothes and ate our supper. If I was to undertake to tell how good that

greasy boiled pork and that dry hard-tack and that muddy black coffee

tasted, I am afraid my readers would laugh, but try it yourself and see

where the laugh comes in. After supper we exchanged our dirty, lousy

rags for the new, clean, soft uniform donated to us by Uncle Sam.

This was Saturday night. Monday morning we are on the good ship United

States as she turns her prow out of Charleston harbor. We pass out over

the bars and we are upon the broad Atlantic. Wednesday morning about 4

o’clock we heave to under the guns of the Rip Raps, at the entrance of

Chespeake Bay, and reported to the commandant. The vessel is pronounced

all right, and away we go up the bay. We reach Annapolis at 10 p. m. and

are marched to Cottage Grove Barracks. Here we get a good bath, well

rubbed in by a muscular fellow, detailed for the purpose. I began to

think he would take the grime and dirt off from me if he had to take the

cuticle with it. We exchanged clothing here and were then marched to

Camp Parole, four miles from Annapolis. Here we were paid one month’s

pay together with the commutation money for clothing and rations which

we had not drawn during the period of our imprisonment. On the 24th I

received a furlough and started for the home of my brother in western

New York, where I arrived on the 26th, and here ends my story.

CONCLUSION.

Of all the men who had charge of of prisoners and who are responsible

for their barbarous treatment, only one was ever brought to punishment.

“Majah” Ross was burned in a hotel at Lynchburg, Va., in the spring of

1866. General Winder dropped dead while entering his tent at Florence,

S. C., on the 1st of January, 1865.

“Majah” Dick Turner, Lieutenant Colonel Iverson and Lieutenant Barret

have passed into obscurity, while Wirz was hanged for his crimes. That

Wirz richly deserved his fate, no man who knows the full extent of his

barbarities, has any doubt, and yet it seems hard that the vengeance of

our Government should have been visited upon him alone. The quality of

his guilt was not much different from that of many of prison commandants

but the fact that he had a greater number of men under his charge

brought him more into notice. Why should Wirz, the tool, be punished

more severely than Jeff Davis and Howell Cobb? They were responsible,

and yet Wirz hung while they went scot free.

I have frequently noticed that if a man wanted to escape punishment for

murder he must needs be a wholesale murderer, your retail fellows fare

hard when they get into the clutches of the law. If a man steals a sack

of flour to keep his family from starvation, he goes to jail; but if he

robs a bank of thousands of dollars in money and spends it in riotous

living, or in an aggressive war against what is known as the “Tiger,”

whether that Tiger reclines upon the green cloth, or roams at will among

the members of Boards of Trade or Stock Exchange, or is denominated a

“Bull” or a “Bear” in the wheat ring, why he simply goes to Canada.

Surely Justice is appropriately represented as being blindfolded, and I

would suggest that she be represented as carrying an ear trumpet, for if

she is not both blind and deaf she must be extremely partial.

Reader, if I have succeeded in amusing or instructing you, I have partly

accomplished my purpose in writing this story. Partly I say, for I have

still another object in view.

The description I have given of the prisons in which I was confined is

but a poor picture of the actual condition of things. It is impossible

for the most talented writer to give an adequate description. But I have

told the truth as best I could. I defy any man to disprove one material

statement, and I fall back upon the testimony of the rebels themselves,

to prove that I have not exaggerated. These men suffered in those

prisons through no fault of their own. The fortunes of war threw them

into the hands of their enemies, and they were treated as no civilized

nation ever treated prisoners before. They were left by their Government

to suffer because that Government believed they would best subserve its

interests by remaining there, rather than to agree to such terms as the

enemy insisted upon.

General Grant said that one of us was keeping two fat rebels out of the

field. Now if this is true why are not the ex-prisoners recognized by

proper legislation? All other classes of men who went to the war and

many men and women who did not go, are recognized and I believe that

justice demands the recognition of the ex-prisoners. I make no special

plea in my own behalf. I suffered no more than any other of the

thousands who were with me, and not as much as some, but I make the plea

in behalf of my comrades who I know suffered untold miseries for the

cause of the Union, and yet who amidst all this suffering and privation,

spurned with contempt the offers made by the enemy of food, clothing and

life itself almost, at the cost of loyalty. Their motto then was, “Death

but not dishonor.” But their motto now is, “Fiat justicia, ruat coelum.”

Let justice be done though the heavens fall.

Since writing a description of the prison life in Andersonville, I came

across the following account of a late visit to the old pen, by a member

of the 2d Ohio, of my brigade. It is copied from the National Tribune,

and I take the liberty to use it to show the readers of these articles

how much the place has changed in twenty-five years.

THE AUTHOR.

ANDERSONVILLE, GA.

The Celebrated Prison and Cemetery Revisited.

EDITOR NATIONAL TRIBUNE:

Having recently made a trip to Andersonville, Ga., I thought a brief

discription of the old prison and cemetery might be of interest to the

readers of your paper. I left the land of ice, sleet and snow March

26, 1888, taking Pullman car over Monon route via Louisville and

Nashville, arriving at Bowling Green, Ky., 100 miles south of

Louisville, at noon on March 27. Peach trees were in bloom and wild

flowers were to be seen along the route. Nearing Nashville we passed

through the National Cemetery. The grounds are laid out nicely and

neatly kept and looked quite beautiful as we passed swiftly by.

Leaving Nashville, I called a halt, took a brief look over the once

bloody battlefield of Stone River. I then passed through Murfreesboro

and Tullahoma. At Cowen’s Station I stopped for supper. This is the

place where the dog leg-of mutton soup was dished up in 1863.

At Chattanooga I visited Lookout Mountain; then went to the graves of

my comrades, the Mitchel raiders, that captured the locomotive and

were hanged at Atlanta. The graves are in a circle in the National

Cemetery. For the information of their friends I will give the number

of their graves as marked on headstones:

J. J. Andrews. 12992. Citizen of Kentucky.

William Campbell. 11,180. Citizen of Kentucky.

Samuel Slaven. 11176. Co. G, 33d Ohio.

S. Robinson. 11177. Co. G, 33d Ohio.

G. D. Wilson. 11178. Co. B, 2d Ohio.

Marion Ross. 11179. Co. A, 2d Ohio.

Perry G. Shadrack. 11181. Co. K, 2d Ohio.

John Scott. 11182. Co. K, 21st Ohio.

Leaving here, I passed over a continuous battle field to Atlanta.

Official records show that from Chattanooga to Atlanta, inclusive,

more than 85,000 men were killed and wounded and more than 30,000

captured from Sept. 15, 1863, to Sept. 15, 1864. Arriving at

Andersonville, I found the same depot agent in charge that was here in

war times. His name is M. P. Suber; he is 76 years old, and has been

agent here 31 years. Geo. Disher, who was a conductor, and handled the

prisoners to and from the stockade, is still connected with the road.

I arrived at 2 o’clock, and after eating my first square meal in this

place (although I had been a boarder here 12 months), I started out to

hunt up my old stamping-ground. The stockade is about half a mile east

of depot. Here it was the 40,000 Northern soldiers were confined like

cattle in a pen. This prison was used from February, 1864, to April

1865—14 months.

The stockade was formed of strong pine logs, firmly planted in the

ground and about 20 feet high. The main stockade was surrounded by two

other rows of logs, the middle one 16 feet high, the outer one 12

feet. It was so arranged that if the inner stockade was forced by the

prisoners, the second would form another line of defense, inclosing 27

acres. The great stockade has almost entirely disappeared. It is only

here and there that a post or little group of posts are to be seen.

These have not all rotted away, but have been split into rails to

fence the grounds. The ground is owned by G. W. Kennedy, a colored

man. Only a small portion of the ground can be farmed. The swamp, in

which a man would sink to his waist, still occupies considerable

space. In crossing the little brackish stream I knelt down and took a

drink, without skimming off the graybacks, as of old. Passing on, not

far from the north gate I came to Providence Spring, that broke forth

on the 12th or 13th of August, 1864. The spring is surrounded by a

neat wood curbing, with a small opening on the lower side, through

which the water constantly flows. Not the slightest trace is left of

the dead-line.

The holes which the prisoners dug with spoons and tin cups for water

and to shelter from sun and rain are still to be seen, almost as

perfect as when dug. Also the tunnels that were made with a view to

escape are plain to be seen. Relics of prison life are still being

found—bits of pots, kettles, spoons, canteen-covers, and the like. I

had no trouble in locating my headquarters on the north slope. You can

imagine my feelings as I walked this ground over again after 24 years,

thinking of the suffering and sorrow of those dark days. Visions of

those living skeletons would come up before me with their haggard,

distressed countenances, and will follow me through life.

A half mile from the prison-pen is the cemetery. Here are buried the

13,714 that died a wretched death from starvation and disease. The

appearance of the cemetery has been entirely changed since war days.

Then it was an old field. The trenches for the dead were dug about

seven feet wide and 100 yards long. No coffins were used. The twisted,

emaciated forms of the dead prisoners were laid side by side, at the

head of each was driven a little stake on which was marked a number

corresponding with the number of the body on the death register. The

register was kept by one of the prisoners, and 12,793 names are

registered, with State, regiment, company, rank, date of death and

number of grave. Only 921 graves lack identification. I found 35 of my

regiment numbered, and quite a number whom I knew had died there lie

with the unknown. The head boards have been taken away, and

substantial white marble slabs have been erected in their places. The

stones are of two kinds. For the identified soldiers the stones are

flat, polished slabs, three feet long, (one-half being under ground),

four inches thick and 12 inches wide. On the stone is a raised shield,

and on this is recorded the name, rank, state and number. For the

unknown the stone is four inches square and projects only five inches

above the ground. The rows of graves are about 10 or 12 feet apart.

There are a few stones that have been furnished by the family or

friends of the dead. Aside from the few, so many stones alike are

symbolic of a similar cause and an equal fate. The cemetery covers 25

acres, inclosed by a brick wall five feet high. The main entrance is

in the center of the west side. In the center of a diamond-shaped plot

rises a flagstaff, where the Stars and Stripes are floating from

sunrise to sunset. The cemetery presents a beautiful appearance. The

grounds are nicely laid out and neatly kept, under the supervision of

J. M. Bryant, who lives in a nice brick cottage inside the grounds.

I will close by quoting one inscription from a stone erected by a

sister to the memory of a brother.

“They shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more; neither shall the

sun light on them, nor any heat.

“For the Lamb which is in the midst of the throne shall feed them, and

shall lead them unto living fountains of water; and God shall wipe

away all tears from their eyes.”

—Rev., VII: 16, 17.

The writer of the above article was a prisoner of war over 19 months,

was captured at the battle of Chickamauga Sept. 20, 1863; delivered to

the Union lines April, 1865, and was aboard the ill-fated steamer

Sultana.

Would like to know if any comrade living was imprisoned this long.—A. C.

BROWN, Co. I, 2d Ohio, Albert Lea, Minn.

[Illustration: American Flag]

------------------------------------------------------------------------

Transcriber’s Notes

Printed Corrected Page

PRINCIPLE PRINCIPLE. iii of a PRINCIPLE.

Tennesse Tennessee 2 from the Tennessee

or of 2 the command of Gen.

evacution evacuation 2 evacuation of that

Aid Aide 2 an Aide came dashing

throught through 2 went through brush

and and which had 3 which had knocked the

the the the 4 Starkweather’s on the

side side, 5 canteen by his side,

discription description 8 reader a description

heterogenous heterogeneous 8 in a heterogeneous

sorgum sorghum 10 gallon of sorghum

heavey heavy 10 wheezing like a heavy

Appomatox Appomattox 11 across the Appomattox

Said said 15 “What?” said the

Novvember November 15 until November

on an 15 was an old one and

we me 17 farther let me say,

returing returning 18 returning to prison

maching marching 18 we go marching on.

bole hole 19 hole through the

innoculated inoculated 19 We were inoculated

innoculation inoculation 20 inoculation of a few

K. K., 21 Squires, of Co. K.,

his his his 22 In his concluding

Yanks.” “Yanks.” 22 to see the “Yanks.”

V V. 22 F. F. V.’s. We were

cattle, cattle. 23 conveyance of cattle.

kind kind, 24 kind, quantity

coutrary contrary 25 contrary to orders,

way way. 25 see it that way. But

laws law’s 26 the law’s delay,

have. have, 26 those ills we have,

Petersberg Petersburg 26 leaving Petersburg

animals animals. 26 wild animals. The

Deadline Dead-line 27 the Dead-line and

the the the 27 the form as written,

Inf Inf. 27 10th Wisconsin Inf.

subivided subdivided 28 we subdivided these

pine pine. 28 leaved pitch pine.

Parrott Parrott. 31 “Poll Parrott.” He

Georia Georgia 32 5th Georgia regulars.

qualiity quality 33 the same quality as

Mead’s Meade’s 33 from Meade’s army

cannoniers cannoneers 36 while the cannoneers

Connecticut Connecticut, 36 16th Connecticut,

preemted preempted 37 had preempted

law,and law, and 40 law, and without

particuular particular 42 want some particular

sea. sea.” 42 down to the sea.”

succumed succumbed 45 had also succumbed

war, war. 45 the time of the war.

alke alike 46 were alike to him

is, is 46 your condition is

examination, extended examination extended, 48 examination extended

sattered scattered 49 were scattered

his his his 50 destroy his life

petechiae petechiae, 51 petechiae,

survy scurvy 52 scurvy was contagious

ulsers ulcers 52 Many ulcers which

gangreneous gangrenous 52 truly gangrenous

orginally originally 52 were originally built

hight height 53 height, swarming with

maggots, maggots. 54 with maggots. I

poissonous poisonous 55 of the poisonous

inflamatory inflammatory 55 inflammatory symptoms

dysentry dysentery 56 in cases of dysentery

dysentry dysentery 56 diarrhea or dysentry

Savaunah Savannah 64 and that Savannah

allowed allow 64 kind enough to allow

p. m p. m. 65 eleven o’clock p. m.

tea spoonful teaspoonful 65 a teaspoonful of salt

Andersonsville Andersonville 66 as at Andersonville

letdown would have let down would have 67 let down would have

sorgham sorghum 67 sorghum syrup and a

t’was ’twas 68 and ’twas a handsome

conpetent competent 69 perfectly competent

joost “joost 69 puff—puff—puff—“joost

Richmond. Richmond, 70 capture of Richmond,

haman human 70 eternal in the human

Tennesee Tennessee 71 in Tennessee

provisons provisions 72 the provisions in

wont won’t 72 I won’t give you

offiers officers 73 the rebel officers

they they they 73 thinking they would

grim grime 77 the grime and dirt

Febuary February 79 was used from Febuary

mames names 79 names are registered

rank; rank, 80 the name, rank, state

thrist thirst 80 thirst any more;

A number of spelling irregularities have been retained from the printed

edition.

The form of quotations has been retained from the printed edtition.

The corrections in the Errata have been applied.

End of Project Gutenberg's Fifteen Months in Dixie, by William W. Day