A prison without hope

Published: Saturday, February 12, 2005 at 4:30 a.m.
Last Modified: Saturday, February 12, 2005 at 12:00 a.m.

This is part two of a three part column on freedom, America's POW memorial and the Civil War prison at Andersonville, Ga.


In last week's column, I described my visit to Andersonville and its powerful effect on people. I promised to give a brief history of the camp.

Shortly into the Civil War, authorities attempted to deal with the problem of prisoners. Various systems of release were tried. Ultimately the Union military banned prisoner exchange as General Grant realized it only prolonged war. Thus, captured soldiers were forced into long terms of imprisonment. In camp after camp, lonely men died without hope or succor. Died without dignity. Died far from home.

Confederate apologists blame this overcrowding and subsequent deaths on General U.S. Grant and President Lincoln in no longer honoring a prison-of-war exchange.

Were Grant and Lincoln accountable for the deaths of Union prisoners? Of course not. In no way conceivable does the ban on prisoner exchange relieve the burden of responsibility from the Confederacy's shoulders. The blame lies squarely and directly upon Confederate authorities.

If the South no longer had the means to maintain prisoners of war in a civilized, humane manner it was their honorable duty to free them and transport them to a northern encampment that could maintain them.

What was the game plan at Andersonville? Just keep all the prisoners locked up and starve them until they all die?

In early 1864 Confederate authorities decided to move the large number of Union prisoners away from Richmond, Va. to a place of greater security.

Andersonville Prison, or Fort Sumpter (old spelling) as it was called, was a pine built stockade 16 acres in area (later enlarged to 26 aces). If that sounds like a lot of space take my word for it, it wasn't. The stockade once held 33,000 men. Each man had a living space of less than five by seven feet.

The rations consisted of small portions of corn, either ground or whole. At irregular intervals bacon was issued raw.

Here is another specious defense of the prison and its methods. The Southern apologist points out the prisoners were given the same rations as the Confederate soldiers guarding the prisoners. Sounds fair and equal? No, because the guard could hunt, fish and forage for food to add to his daily ration. The Union prisoners could not.

The prisoners had absolutely no protection from the gnawing wet cold or the oven-like Georgia summer temperatures. The men made rough lean-to shelters from the blankets they had brought in with them. If they had no blankets they simply had to do without.

The camp's water supply, such as it was, was a small, sluggish, muddy 2-foot wide shallow stream. The rivulet still flows in the same spot.

In this small flow of water 33,000 men drew water to cook with, washed, bathed, drank... and defecated. Ironically it was called Sweetwater Branch. The wonder of it is that anyone survived at all.

And if this was not bad enough the devil reared his nasty, stinking head. In a situation like this it was a golden opportunity for him.

The evil came in the form of a group of ne'er-do-wells. Scum of the earth. These were the worthless dregs of the Union army. Bounty jumpers (men who enlisted for a $300 bounty, deserted and joined again in another state). Malcontents, inner city thieves and murderers.

They formed a group called "the Raiders" that bullied fellow prisoners, stole their rations, what little money other prisoners possessed and clothing.

Any prisoner resisting this motley mob was beaten and in some instances murdered.

As a group it was small. Only a few men were the mob leaders. The morally weak were their henchmen. If this mob was small, how did they hold so much power? The answer lies in the old photographs. Views of living men who looked like skeletons. Photos: men defecating in their only water supply. Photos: thousands of men crammed into a car-lot size space. Remember, each man had a living space of five by seven feet. Photos: no shelter from the sun, rain and snow.

Any wonder the prisoners lost hope and courage? And without hope and courage the next step is death.

And yet, there were a few good men and true who sickened of this bullydom and rebelled. In a pitched no-holds-barred brawl the good men and true soundly defeated the mob. The ring leaders were brought to trial by jury of other prisoners and found guilty. The camp commandant, Swiss-born Henry Wirz, gave prisoners permission to hang them. They were. Sometimes true justice does win out.


In the third and final column next week we will learn what remains of the prison site, cemetery and take a last look at how some historians fail their readers and the future. If anyone missed last week's column, please send me a self-addressed stamped envelope and I will gladly send you a copy. See you next week.

Times-News community columnist Stephen Black, a free-lance writer, lives in Henderson County.


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