Andersonville

by MacKinlay Kantor

  That damn Ben Butler. It all started with him—

  How do you mean?

  You know what happened when he was commanding over in New Orleans: he hung a citizen, said he had been pulling down a National flag—

  The hell with the National flag! I’d like to pull the damn thing down myself.

  That’s treason!

  If this be treason, make the most of it.

  Yes. Give me liberty or give me death.

  Likely you’ll get death.

  You’ll get liberty when you die.

  Yep. Exchanged.

  Yep. Paroled!

  Get shot by that little snot up there on the fence.

  You can take all the Stantons and Jeff Davises you want, and hang them on a sour apple tree. Hang them any way you choose; but just give me Grant!

  That drunken worthless poop! Enoch, wouldn’t I just like to get my hands on him! At least before they rot off. . . .

  What’s Grant got to do with it?

  Twas in all the papers up North. Didn’t you see me talking to them fresh fish that came in yesterday? One of them was from the Thirty-first, same as me. He had it on good authority: Colonel Ould—that’s the Rebel agent—agreed to a man-for-man exchange a while back, and Grant positively refused. He wept a few crocodile tears; he said it was soooo hard on our men down here in Andersonville, not to exchange them; but it wouldn’t be fair to the rest of the dear boys who were left in the ranks still to fight. Just imagine that!

  It’s God’s own truth—or the Devil’s. Grant pointed out that every Johnny held by the North would become an active soldier against us, the moment he got exchanged.

  And us?

  We’re worthless, we’re dirt.

  That drunken skunk!

  You know he was drunk at Shiloh. That’s why the Rebs ran all over us.

  Grant said that if they exchanged the Rebs held by the North, it would probably defeat Bill Sherman.

  Bill Sherman! He couldn’t get us into a scrape that old Pap Thomas couldn’t get us out of. . . .

  As I just said, Joel, we’re not worth blowing up. Not worth the powder and shot to do it! Just look at you and me and the rest: sick, rotten, starved, hungry, bowels running loose, teeth falling out— Oh, wouldn’t we just make soldiers once again!

  Hell, I couldn’t carry a musket fifty foot, let alone my knapsack and forty rounds.

  Certain we’re worthless. We’re poison! Just let us set here in our own filth until we’re mildewed—

  I’m mildewed already, by God.

  If you boys will only stop—

  They felt the deadly justice of their universal opinion.

  It was to an encampment such as this that Henry Wirz had returned at the end of August. Wirz came thinner, more probed, more scraped and drained. The right arm burned and leaked as it had never burned and leaked before. The surgeon Greenaway was no miracle man.

  Wirz accepted records kept by Lieutenant Davis and the clerks, and tried to make sense out of them in his regular report.

  Consolidated Return for Confederate States Military Prison, Camp Sumter, Andersonville, Georgia, for the Month of August, 1864.

  PRISONERS ON HAND 1ST OF AUGUST, 1864:

  IN CAMP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  29,985

  IN HOSPITAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  1,693

  31,678

  RECEIVED FROM VARIOUS PLACES DURING AUGUST . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  3,078

  RECAPTURED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  4

  3,082

  TOTAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  34,760

  DIED DURING THE MONTH OF AUGUST . . . . . . .

  2,993

  SENT TO OTHER PARTS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  23

  EXCHANGED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  21

  ESCAPED . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  30

  3,067

  REMAINING ON HAND . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  31,693

  OF WHICH THERE ARE ON THE 31ST OF AUGUST:

  IN CAMP . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  29,473

  IN HOSPITAL . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

  2,220

  31,693

  The same complaint has been made again against the carelessness and insufficiency of the guard of the thirty prisoners. . . . Perhaps twenty-five more escaped during the month, but were taken up by the dogs before the daily return was made out, and for that reason they are not on the list of escaped nor recaptured.

  That only four were recaptured is owing to the fact that neither the guard nor the officers of the guard reported a man escaped. The roll-call in the morning showed the man missing, but he was too far gone to be tracked. As we have no general court-martial here, all such offenses go unpunished, or nearly so.

  The worthlessness of the guard forces is on the increase day by day.

  H. Wirz,

  Captain Commanding Prison.

  In Augusta, however, and during the journey south, Wirz had felt that his load might be lightened soon. It was this belief, expressed incautiously to subordinates, which caused the rumors to gush. For several days Henry Wirz had received no orders, no directive of any kind to support this opinion. Nothing in the world could have pleased him more than the withdrawal of the vast plaguing mass. After the fall of Atlanta he was hopelessly certain that a removal could not be accomplished. Yankee columns would go fanning out from the city and slice the railroads, surely. . . . But less than forty-eight hours after the Atlanta news came, Wirz was summoned to Winder’s headquarters.

  The old general lay on a sagging sofa which had been requisitioned for his purposes from somewhere or other. He lay there frequently nowadays. He did not lift his head from the cushion when Wirz came in and saluted with his left hand. He did not return the salute or invite the superintendent to sit down.

  Captain—

  Ja, mein General?

  Shut the door!

  Wirz closed the door and returned to stand beside the sofa, while Winder rambled hoarsely. The general seemed to be excruciatingly tired; he had been traveling; probably now he dwelt in dread of capture by Sherman’s cavalry.

  We’ve got to get these God damn prisoners out of here.

  Where, sir, do you take them?

  Savannah, Charleston—maybe even up to Florence. I had another stockade built at Millen. Designation: Camp Lawton. Not ready for them yet, no facilities—

  Wirz wondered drearily what facilities had ever been provided at Andersonville.

  Can’t bother with the sick; take the well ones. God damn sick can die here as easily as anywhere else. We’ll fill up detachments with only those able to walk. Get them out of here as fast as cars are available to carry them out. Use open cars, flat cars—any type—just so they’ve got wheels on them. Trouble is, half the God damn bastards will go leaping off the cars and running wild all over the countryside. They’ll try to join Sherman; and that’s just what we don’
t want. That’s where you come in, Captain Wirz. I want you to impress upon these prisoners that they are to be exchanged immediately. A good share of them have their time expired anyway, and won’t try to join Sherman if they think they’re going to be exchanged and sent to the North.

  But, mein General— Where do they get exchange?

  God damn it, I didn’t say that they were to be exchanged! I said that you were to tell them that they would be exchanged! Can’t you get that through your thick Swiss skull? You are to tell them that there is to be a general exchange. Tell them that vessels are waiting in the harbor. Instruct your subordinates to talk exchange, exchange, exchange, where the prisoners will hear it. Drop rumors where they’ll do the most good. I don’t want these black-hearted Federal sons of bitches to cut for it. I don’t want them loose. At least there are some thousands of them over there in the pines that aren’t going to trouble anybody further!

  Wirz repeated: Ja. So I am to tell them they get exchange. But truly they do not get exchange. Then they do not run away.

  That’s the ticket, Captain. Transportation officer thinks he can get me two or three trains by tomorrow—day after tomorrow at the latest. How many would you say are able to travel?

  Upwards from two thousand prisoners we have already by the hospital. In camp maybe thirty thousand we have. Wirz considered slowly. Maybe half from those— No, maybe twenty thousand from those. They could walk—they could walk to the cars.

  Then publish that information immediately!

  A laugh like a growl sounded deep below the seamed bulging face, deep within old tissues.

  I’d like to see their faces when they walk into Camp Lawton, instead of aboard a ship! By God, maybe I will be there to see their faces! Twould be worth the journey.

  He dreamed aloud: I am considering removing my headquarters as far as Florence. . . . God damn Sherman. God damn all the Yankees; but God damn Cump Sherman the most. I wish I’d had him in my class at the Point. I’d have made him sweat! But of course he was there years after my time. . . .

  Winder hoisted himself suddenly into a sitting position and glared at Wirz as if he had just discovered him in the room. Well, what are you fingering for? Get out, and to the business! Carry out my orders to the letter. I’ve got to see to it that Sherman isn’t reinforced by any prisoners that might be halfway considered as able-bodied. Get along with you. . . .

  Ja, mein General. Wirz got along.

  Faithfully he drew up an order, and copies were passed along to Wry-necked Smith and the other Roll Call sergeants. On the evening of the sixth of September, squads were assembled within the stockade. Wirz’s order was read aloud.

  Prisoners: I am instructed by General Winder to inform you that a general exchange has been agreed upon. Twenty thousand men will be exchanged immediately at Savannah, where your vessels are now waiting for you. Detachments from One to Ten will prepare to leave early tomorrow morning.

  It can’t be true.

  God. Can’t be true.

  And will I go back, and will I find a pale blue sky in spring—the spring day which meant the most to me, though this is next to autumn now, the heat is cooling. And will I go back into that day, or go ahead to it? . . . Somehow be exchanged, get home, make my way to the day again, and springtime clinging around the day. When that ribbon-blue sky is covered by thin motionless film: more a suggestion of clouds than clouds in fact . . . my shadow elongated, when the sun hangs low, to five times its normal length. I know—I’ve paced it off. I’m little, I’m but five feet tall; but my shadow was twenty-five feet long on all that fresh grass . . . fresh grass tender as fine minced salad under old weeds. And larks talkative beyond us; frogs in Garnett’s marsh trying to talk comfort; a solitary crow reiterating some annoyance a hundred times. And peach blooms, breath-taking in their cream and candied pinkish flesh: fluffy, close-packed, strung out along the twigs and thinner branches . . . broom straw blazing, polished tan like tin, letting the low sun burn it up . . . haze like Indian smoke, a springtime haze, all over the horizon.

  God, God, it isn’t true.

  Through all the raw yelling.

  ...But if it were true— What a soldier I would be! Oh, what a cavalryman I would be again! Just take me back, up in that Tennessee valley, and see how fast I travel when the bugle starts to blat Assembly! The orderlies wouldn’t have to wear out their patience, trying to get the laggards to fall in for Roll Call. Gad, how glad I’d be for stable duty! And when they blew the Water Call, how glad I’d be to mount my horse and ride him! Let them sound a million Guards or Drills when I get back! Why, great damnation, there’d be music in the Surgeon’s Call! Come—get—your—q-u-i-n-i-n-e. Come, get your quinine; it’ll make you sad; it’ll make you sick. Come, come. Let them play Reveille, then Assembly, then Boots and Saddles; let the gunners go to hitching up, let the buglers signal Forward. Let the wheels roll, let me hear Right Turn, Left Turn, as batteries roll away. I’ll never be a lazy coffee-cooler again. What a soldier I will be!

  Oh, God, I don’t believe it.

  You mean to tell me—God, or Holy Ghost, or Somebody—that all those rumors have come to life and built a thing we can believe? Why, I see Alice now— I’d forgotten her for so long. And Mother comes back in my mind, and Etta is standing here, and Sister Kate has come to have a meaning. Father does mean something now, and so does Brother Rufus. So does Shep; I can even tolerate Muggins the cat! I can taste the ginger cake and cucumber pickles—taste them on my tongue, and I can hear that fire gong a-thudding, and I can hear the laughter of a certain child. . . .

  You mean to say there’s a world within the world?

  There’s cider to drink?

  There’s Chicago smoke to smell, instead of these pine smudgings?

  You mean to say I can stand with Ma in front of St.-Mark’s-In-The-Bouwerie once more, and look up at that facade with its trees and animals a-feeding, and feel good holy thoughts? That I can run my fingernail through moss above old Peter Stuyvesant, and think all sorts of grave and holy thoughts about the past? That now there can be a past, because there is a future?

  God, God, oh God Almighty!

  Slap me on my sore back, Willie.

  Punch me in my sore belly, Herbert.

  Swat me on my sore arm, Augustus.

  We’re a-going home.

  You mean to tell me there can be that slough beside the Mississippi, and great big channel cats a-waiting there? That I can walk to Hazel Green, that I can work the dasher churn for Auntie? Mean to say there’s hazel nuts in Wilder’s brush? You mean to say there’s that cold clear good driving honest clean wind coming in across Lake Huron? You mean to tell me there’s fresh respectable snow atop the Alleghenies, and we can go a-sledding? Oh, how glad I’ll be to cut the wood, to clean the old cow’s stable. How glad I’ll be to wrench the flinty dry corn ears and thud them up against the bang-board. . . .

  How glad I’ll be to climb the stairs to Sweet’s. And let’s see— What’ll I have? Why, Uncle Amos—thank you kindly, Unk. I’ll take a glass of ale—maybe two glasses, or more, if you give the word. And let’s see now: well, these are Long Island oysters, but— Yes, that’ll be fine. Thank you, Uncle Amos. And I wouldn’t be surprised but what I could eat a dozen, right along with you. . . . Here’s the nice fresh lemon juice, and there’s pepper sauce in the flask. Yes, thank you. And I’d like to grind off just a few flakes of this good black pepper. A dozen of the oysters, then! No—don’t think I’d fancy flounder; but I’ll take the broiled halibut, if you don’t mind. Broiled halibut? That’s good: just the way I like it, in that little crockery baking dish; and kind of sputtering and talking as the darkey brings it to us. And boiled potatoes, too. Yes, I’ll take some slaw along with it. And all the good fish market smells coming through the window, and sounds of wheels a-rumbling, and masts a-sticking up along the waterfront like great big weeds, and beer barrels being rolled across th
e sidewalk, and—

  But tis true, by jumping Jesus Christ!

  Well, let me tell you first: twill be good to be back with the boys! If you know anything about the Army of the Cumberland, you remember that we’ve got just about as good a record as any regiment that trains around Pap Thomas. And you know him: he don’t allow no slouches near him! You can bet five hundred dollars to a cent on that. And then offer to give back the cent if you win! Ours is Jim Steedman’s old regiment. You know him: you’ve all heard of old Chickamauga Jim. You remember how he throwed his division—seven thousand fresh men—into the Rebel flank on that second day at Chickamauga. Hell’s bells! he made Longstreet wish he’d stayed on the Rappahannock. Hell’s bells! he made Longstreet wish he’d never tried to get up any little sociable with a gang of Westerners! If I do say it myself: we’ve got as good a crowd of boys as ever ate a chunk of sow belly. We got all the grunters and weak sisters fanned out the first year; and since then we’ve been on a real business basis. . . . No, no, we weren’t licked, we never were licked! The way I got caught was when we left camp one night and went out about five miles to an old cotton press. A nigger told us there were a lot of nice smoked hams hidden there, and we found them all right, and hitched up a team to take them into camp. Hadn’t seen no Johnny signs anywhere, so we set our guns down to help load the meat. And right then a company of Reb cavalry popped up out of the woods and flung themselves on top of us before we could say Scat. You see, they’d heard about the hams, too.

  Tis true.

  We’re going.

  That’s official!

  You heard the Rebel’s reading of the orders.