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