During
the early stages of the American Civil War
the federal government refused to negotiate the exchange
of prisoners as it did not recognize the Confederacy as a nation.
In July, 1862, General John Dix of the
Union Army and General D. H. Hill met
and agreed an exchange. They decided that the rate of exchange was
one general for every 60 enlisted men, a colonel for 15, a lieutenant
for 4 and a sergeant for 2.
In 1863 General Henry Halleck became
the Union representative involved in the exchange of prisoners. Under
pressure from Edwin Stanton, the Secretary
of War, these exchanges became less frequent. When Ulysses
S. Grant became overall commander of the Union
Army he brought an end to exchanges. General Benjamin
F. Butler later said what Grant had told him: "He (Grant)
said that I would agree with him that by the exchange of prisoners
we get no men fit to go into our army, and every soldier we gave the
Confederates went immediately into theirs, so that the exchange was
virtually so much aid to them and none to us."
The decision of Ulysses S. Grant resulted
in a rapid increase in the number of prisoners and so it was decided
to build Andersonville Prison in Georgia. It was to be the Confederate's
largest prison for captured soldiers. In April, 1864, General John
Henry Winder, who was now in charge of all Union
Army prisoners east of the Mississippi, appointed Henry
Wirz as commandant of this new prison camp.
By August, 1864, there were 32,000 Union
Army prisoners in Andersonville. The Confederate authorities did
not provide enough food for the prison and men began to die of starvation.
The water became polluted and disease was a constant problem. Of the
49,485 prisoners who entered the camp, nearly 13,000 died from disease
and malnutrition.
When the Union Army arrived in Andersonville
in May, 1865, photographs of the prisoners were taken and the following
month they appeared in Harper's Weekly.
The photographs caused considerable anger and calls were made for
the people responsible to be punished for these crimes. It was eventually
decided to charge General Robert Lee, James
Seddon, the Secretary of War, and several other Confederate generals
and politicians with "conspiring to injure the health and destroy
the lives of United States soldiers held as prisoners by the Confederate
States".
In August, 1865 President Andrew Johnson
ordered that the charges against the Confederate generals and politicians
should be dropped. However, he did give his approval for Henry
Wirz to be charged with "wanton cruelty". Wirz appeared
before a military commission headed by Major General Lew
Wallace on 21st August, 1865. During the trial a letter from Wirz
was presented that showed that he had complained to his superiors
about the shortage of food being provided for the prisoners. However,
former inmates at Andersonville testified that Wirz inspected the
prison every day and often warned that if any man escaped he would
"starve every damn Yankee for it." When Wirz fell ill during
the trial Wallace forced to attend and was brought into court on a
stretcher.
Henry Wirz was found guilty on 6th November
and sentenced to death. He was taken to Washington
to be executed in the same yard where those involved in the assassination
of Abraham Lincoln had died. Alexander
Gardner, the famous photographer, was invited to record the event.
The execution took place on the 10th November. The gallows were surrounded
by Union Army soldiers who throughout
the procedure chanted "Wirz, remember, Andersonville." Accompanied
by a Catholic priest, Wirz refused to make a last minute confession,
claiming he was not guilty of committing any crime.
Major Russell read the death warrant and then told Henry
Wirz he "deplored this duty."Wirz replied that: "I
know what orders are, Major. And I am being hanged for obeying them."
After a black hood was placed over his head, and the noose adjusted,
a spring was touched and the trap door opened. However, the drop failed
to break his neck and it took him two minutes to die. During this
time the soldiers continued to chant: "Wirz, remember, Andersonville."
Union
Army soldier on his release
from Andersonville in May, 1865.
(1)
H. J. Winser, New York Times (26th
November, 1864)
The past few days have been fraught with a very painful interest
to everybody who has been connected in any way whatever with the exchange
of our sick and wounded prisoners now in progress on the Savannah
River. Colonel Mulford began to receive our poor fellows last Friday,
and the delivery is to continue at the rate of from eight hundred
to twelve hundred per day, until the aggregate number of the wretched
suffering creatures, estimated at ten thousand, return to our welcome
keeping. I shall attempt in this letter to give some idea of the outward
appearance, physical condition, animating spirit and expression of
opinion of these soldiers of the Republic who have escaped from unutterable
misery, with the sole object of presenting facts to the county which
must result in the release of their fifty thousand comrades who cannot
survive the coming Winter, under the conditions in which they are
kept through the unparalleled vindictiveness of the Southern authorities.
This is a hard charge, but I make it deliberately. The irrefragable
proof is lying before me not alone in the ex parte testimony and wasted
hungry aspect of the sufferers, whose filth and squalor and skeleton
frames appeal for justice to the God of justice, but in the official
papers of the rebel surgeons at Andersonville and the records of the
charnel-houses, miscalled hospitals, at that terrestrial hell - records
never meant to pass the limits of the Confederacy, but which a merciful
Providence has brought to light, that out of their own mouths these
barbarians,
with whom we are at war, should be convicted.
When the
rebel boat moves off and the men are huddled together on the decks
of our own vessels, all fully understand that the last link which
bound them to rebeldom has been severed, then rises hearty shouting
and cheering, which only can be given under these circumstances. There
is the music of intense gratefulness in it. Three cheers and a tiger
for the old flag; there more and a tiger for Colonel Mulford; then
comes a burst of song, most often the words being "Rally round
the flag, boys, from near and from far, down with the traitor and
up with the star," the rebels still within hearing, probably
gnashing their teeth at the pointed personal allusion, but everybody
else feeling that the bad taste of the happy fellow is excusable,
even though exhibited under the sacred folds of a flag of truce. Then
vermin infested rags, till now highly prized as the only cover for
nakedness, are rudely torn off and flung into the water or cast with
glee into the flaming furnaces of the steamers, and new clothes are
issued, and a general cleaning-time inaugurated. But the bathing has
long been needed and scarcely comes soon enough. Many of the men,
through illness or carelessness, are so begrimed with filth, that,
were it not for the dead color of the blackened epidermis, they might
be taken for the sons of Ham.
It is a
touching sight to see them, each with his quart can, file by the steaming
coffee barrels, and receive the
refreshing draught whose taste has long been unfamiliar. It seems
scarcely possible that men should feel such childish
joy as they express in once more receiving this common stimulant.
And then, the eager, hungry glare which their glassy eyes cast upon
the chunks of ham as they clutch and devour their allowance with a
wolf-like avidity.
Such is
the condition of the men whom we are now receiving out of chivalrous
Dixie. These the sons, brothers, husbands and fathers of the North.
Men reduced to living skeletons; men almost naked; shoeless men, shirtless
men, hatless men; men with no other garment than an overcoat; men
whose skins are blackened by dirt and hang on their protruding bones
loosely as bark on a tree; men whose very presence is simply disgusting,
exhaling an odor so fetid that it almost stops the breath of those
unaccustomed to it, and causes an involuntary brushing of the garments
if with them there is accidental contact.
(2)
Dr. John Bates was assistant surgeon at
Andersonville and gave evidence for Henry Wirz at his trial.
Upon going to the hospital I went immediately to the ward to which
I was assigned, and, although I am not an over-sensitive man, I must
confess I was rather shocked at the appearance of things. The men
were lying partially nude and dying, and lousy, a portion of them
in the sand and others upon boards which had been stuck up on little
props, pretty well crowded together, a majority of them in small tents
that were not very serviceable at best. I went around and examined
all that were placed in my charge. That was the condition of the men.
By and by, as I became familiarized with the condition of affairs,
the impressions which were at first produced upon me wore off, more
or less. I became familiar with scenes of misery and they did not
affect me so much. I inquired into the rations of the men; I felt
disposed to do my duty; and after the men found out that I was inclined
to aid them so far as I could in my sphere of action, the frequently
asked me for a teaspoonful of salt, or an order for a little siftings
that came out of the meal, I would ask them what they wanted the siftings
for; some of them wished them to make some bread. I would inquire
into the state of their disease, and if what they asked for would
injure them, I would not allow them to have it. I would give them
an order for sifted meal where I found that the condition of the patient
required something better than siftings. They would come at times
in considerable numbers to get these little orders for an extra ration,
or if not a ration, whatever portion they could get.
The meat ration was cooked at a different part of the hospital; and
when I would go up there, especially when I was a medical officer
of the day, the men would gather around me and ask me for a bone.
I would grant their requests so far as I saw bones. I would give them
whatever I could find at my disposition without robbing others. I
well knew that an appropriation of one ration took it from the general
issue; that when I appropriated an extra ration to one man, some one
else would fall minus upon that ration. I then fell back upon the
distribution of bones. They did not presume to ask me for meat at
all. So far as rations are concerned, that is about the way matters
went along for some time after I went there.
Clothing we had none; they could not be furnished with any clothing,
except that the clothing of the dead was generally appropriated to
the living. We thus helped the living as well as we could. Of vermin
or lice there was a very prolific crop there. I got to understand
practically the meaning of the term "lousy"; I would generally
find some upon myself upon returning to my quarters; they were so
that it was impossible for a surgeon to enter the hospital without
having some upon him when he came out, if he touched anybody or anything
save the ground, and very often if he merely stood still any considerable
length of time he would get them upon him.
When I went to the hospital I found the men destitute of clothing
and bedding; there was a partial supply of fuel, but not sufficient
to keep the men warm and prolong their existence. Shortly after I
arrived there I was appointed office of the day. I learned that the
officer of the day was in supreme command of all pertaining to the
hospital, and that it was my duty as such to go into the various wards
and divisions of the hospital and rectify anything that needed to
be cared for. In visiting the hospital I made a pretty thorough examination.
As a general thing, the patients were destitute; they were filthy
and partly naked. There seemed to be a disposition only to get something
to eat. The clamor all the while was for something to eat. They asked
me for orders for this that and the other - peas or rice, or salt,
or beef tea, or a potato, or a biscuit, or a piece of corn bread,
or siftings, or meal.
Medicines were scarce ; we could not get what we wished. We drew upon
the indigenous remedies; they did not seem to answer. We gathered
up large quantities of them, but very few served for medicines as
we wished. We wanted the best powerful anti-scorbutics, as well as
something that was soothing and healing, especially to the lining
membrane of the alimentary canal, and such things as were calculated
to counteract a dropsical disposition and a gangrenous infection.
Those were prominent things in the hospital. We had not at all times
the proper remedies to administer, and the indigenous remedies did
not serve us, and could not serve us in those complaints. We were
obliged to do the best we could.
There was in my ward a boy of fifteen or sixteen years, in whom I
felt a particular interest. My attention was more immediately called
to him from his youth, and he appealed to me in such a way that I
could not well avoid heeding him. He would often ask me to bring him
a potato, a piece of bread, a biscuit, or something of that kind,
which I did; I would put them in my pocket and give them to him. I
would sometimes give him a raw potato, and as he had the scurvy, and
also gangrene, I would advise him not to cook the potato at all, but
to eat it raw, as an anti-scorbutic. I supplied him in that way for
some time, but I could not give him a sufficiency. He became bed-ridden
upon the hips and back, lying upon the ground; we afterwards got him
some straw. Those bed-ridden sores had become gangrenous. He became
more and more emaciated, until he died. The lice, the want of bed
and bedding, of fuel and food, were the cause of his death.
We had cases of chilblains or frost-bitten feet. Most generally, in
addition to what was said to be frost-bite, there was gangrene. I
did not see the sores I the original chilblains. I do not think I
can say if there were any amputations or any deaths resulting from
suffering of that character, not having charged my mind as to whether
the amputations were in consequence of chilblains, or because, from
accidental abrading of the surface, gangrene set in. But for a while
amputations were practiced in the hospital almost daily, arising from
a gangrenous and scorbutic condition, which, in many cases, threatened
the saturation of the whole system with gangrenous or offensive matter,
unless the limb was amputated. In cases of amputation of that sort,
it would sometimes became necessary to reamputate, from gangrene taking
hold of the stump again. Some few successful amputations were made.
I recollect two or three which were successful. I kept no statistics;
those were kept by the prescription clerks and forwarded to headquarters.
I did not think at the time that the surgeon-in-chief did all in his
power to relieve the condition of those men, and I made my report
accordingly.
In visiting the wards in the morning I would find persons lying dead;
sometimes I would find them lying among the living. I recollect on
one occasion telling my steward to go and wake up a certain one, and
when I went myself to wake him up he was taking his everlasting sleep.
That occurred in another man's ward, when I was officer of the day.
Upon several occasions, on going into my own wards, I found men whom
we did not expect to die, dead from the sensation of chilblains produced
during the night. This was in the hospital. I was not so well acquainted
with how it was in the stockade. I judge, though, from what I saw,
that numbers suffered in the same way there.
The effect of scurvy upon the systems of the men as it developed itself
there was the next thing to rottenness. Their limbs would become drawn
up. It would manifest itself constitutionally. It would draw them
up. They would go on crutches sideways, or crawl upon their hands
and knees or on their haunches and feet as well as they could. Some
could not eat unless it was something that needed no mastication.
Sometimes they would be furnished beef tea or boiled rice, or such
things as that would be given them, but not to the extent which I
would like to see. In some cases they could not eat corn bread; their
teeth would be loose and their gums all bleeding. I have known cases
of that kind. I do not speak of it as a general thing. They would
ask me to interest myself and get them something which they could
swallow without subjecting them to so much pain in mastication. It
seemed to me I did express my professional opinion that men died because
they could not eat the rations they got.
I cannot state what proportion of the men in whose cases it became
necessary to amputate from gangrenous wounds, and also to reamputate
from the same cause, recovered. Never having charged my mind on the
subject, and not expecting to be called upon in such a capacity, I
cannot give an approximate opinion which I would deem reliable. In
1864, amputations from that cause occurred very frequently indeed;
during the short time in 1865 that I was there, amputations were not
frequent.
The prisoners in the stockade and the hospital were not very well
protected from the rain; only by their own meager means, their blankets,
holes in the earth, and such things. In the spring of 1865, when I
was in the stockade, I saw a shed thirty feet wide and sixty feet
long--the sick principally were in that. They were in about the same
condition as those in the hospital. As to the prisoners generally,
their only means of shelter from the sun and rain were their blankets,
if they carried any along with them. I regarded that lack of shelter
as a source of disease.
Rice, peas, and potatoes were the common issue from the Confederate
government; but as to turnips, carrots, tomatoes, and cabbage, of
that class of vegetables, I never saw any. There was no green corn
issued. Western Georgia is generally considered a pretty good corn-growing
country. Green corn could have been used as an anti-scorbutic and
as and antidote. A vegetable diet, so far as it contains any alterative
or medical qualities, serves as an anti-scorbutic.
The ration issued to the patients in the hospital was corn meal, beef,
bacon - pork occasionally but not much of it; at times, green corn,
peas, rice, salt, sugar, and potatoes. I enumerate those as the varieties
served out. Potatoes were not a constant ration; at times they were
sent in, perhaps a week or two weeks at a time, and then they would
drop off. The daily rations was less from the time I went there in
September, through October, November, and December, than it was from
January till March 26th, the time I left. I never made a calculation
as to the number of rations intended for each man; I was never called
to do that. So far as I saw, I believe I would feel safe in saying
that, while there might have been less, the amount was not over twenty
ounces for twenty-four hours.
(3)
John L. Ranson, Andersonville Diary
(July, 1864)
6th July: Boiling hot, camp reeking with filth, and no sanitary privileges;
men dying off over 140 per day. Stockade enlarged, taking in eight
or ten more acres, giving us more room, and stumps to dig up for wood
to cook with. Jimmy Devers has been a prisoner over a year and, poor
boy, will probably die soon. Have more mementos than I can carry,
from those who have died, to be given to their friends at home. At
least a dozen have given me letters, pictures, etc., to take North.
Hope I shan't have to turn them over to someone else.
7th July: Having formed a habit of going to sleep as soon as the air
got cooled off and before fairly dark. I wake up at 2 or 3 o'clock
and stay awake. I then take in all the horrors of the situation. Thousands
are groaning, moaning, and crying, with no bustle of the daytime to
drown it.
9th July: One-half the men here would get well if they only had something
in the vegetable line to eat. Scurvy is about the most loathsome disease,
and when dropsy takes hold with the scurvy, it is terrible. I have
both diseases but keep them in check, and it only grows worse slowly.
My legs are swollen, but the cords are not contracted much, and I
can still walk very well.
10th July: Have bought (from a new prisoner) a large blank book so
as to continue my diary. Although it is a tedious and tiresome task,
am determined to keep it up. Don't know of another man in prison who
is doing likewise. Wish I had the gift of description that I might
describe this place.
Nothing can be worse kind of water. Nothing can be worse or nastier
than the stream drizzling its way through this camp. And for air to
breathe, it is what arises from this foul place. On al four sides
of us are high walls and tall tress, and there is apparently no wind
or breeze to blow away the stench, and we are obliged to breathe and
live in it. Dead bodies lay around all day in the broiling sun, by
the dozen and even hundreds, and we must suffer and live in this atmosphere.
12th July: I keep thinking our situation can get no worse, but it
does get worse every day, and not less than 160 die each twenty-four
hours. Probably one-forth or one-third of these die inside the stockade,
the balance in the hospital outside. All day and up to 4 o'clock p.m.,
the dead are being gathered up and carried to the south gate and placed
in a row inside the dead line. As the bodies are stripped of their
clothing, in most cases as soon as the breath leaves and in some cases
before, the row of dead presents a sickening appearance.
At 4 o'clock, a four or six mule wagon comes up to the gate, and twenty
or thirty bodies are loaded onto the wagon and they are carried off
to be put in trenches, one hundred in each trench, in the cemetery.
It is the orders to attach the name, company, and regiment to each
body, but it is not always done. My digging days are over. It is with
difficulty now that I can walk, and only with the help of two canes.
(4)
Some captured Union Army prisoners in
Andersonville began stealing
from fellow inmates. Henry Wirz gave instructions
for the men to be arrested and tried. John L. Ranson recorded in his
diary how six of the men were executed.
This morning, lumber was brought into the prison by the Rebels, and
near the gate a gallows erected for the purpose of executing the six
condemned Yankees. At about 10 o'clock they were brought inside by
Captain Wirtz and some guards. Wirtz then said a few words about their
having been tried by our own men and for us to do as we choose with
them. I have learned by inquiry their names, which are as follows:
John Sarsfield, 144th New York; William Collins, 88th Pennsylvania;
Charles Curtiss, 5th Rhode Island Artillery; Pat Delaney, 83rd Pennsylvania;
A. Munn, U.S. Navy and W.R. Rickson of the U.S. Navy.
All were given a chance to talk. Munn, a good-looking fellow in Marine
dress, said he came into the prison four months before, perfectly
honest and as innocent of crime as any fellow in it. Starvation, with
evil companions, had made him what he was. He spoke of his mother
and sisters in New York, that he cared nothing as far as he himself
was concerned, but the news that would be carried home to his people
made him want to curse God he had ever been born.
Delaney said he would rather be hung than live here as the most of
them lived on the allowance of rations. If allowed to steal could
get enough to eat, but as that was stopped had rather hang. He said
his name was not Delaney and that no one knew who he really was, therefore
his friends would never know his fate, his Andersonville history dying
with him.
Curtiss said he didn't care a damn only hurry up and not be talking
about it all day; making too much fuss over a very small matter. William
Collins said he was innocent of murder and ought not be hung; he had
stolen blankets and rations to preserve his own life, and begged the
crowd not to see him hung as he had a wife and child at home.
Collins, although he said he had never killed anyone, and I don't
believe he ever did deliberately kill a man, such as stabbing or pounding
a victim to death, yet he has walked up to a poor sick prisoner on
a cold night and robbed him of blanket, or perhaps his rations, and
if necessary using all the force necessary to do it. These things
were the same as life to the sick man, for he would invariably die.
Sarsfield made quite a speech; he had studied for a lawyer; at the
outbreak of the rebellion he had enlisted and served three years in
the army, being wounded in battle. Promoted to first sergeant and
also commissioned as a lieutenant. He began by stealing parts of rations,
gradually becoming hardened as he became familiar with the crimes
practised; evil associates had helped him to go downhill.
At about 11 o'clock, they were all blindfolded, hands and feet tied,
told to get ready, nooses adjusted, and the plank knocked from under.
Munn died easily, as also did Delaney; all the rest died hard, and
particularly Sarsfield, who drew his knees nearly to his chin and
then straightened them out with a jerk, the veins in his neck swelling
out as if they would burst.
Collins' rope broke and he fell to the ground, with blood spurting
from his ears, mouth and nose. As they was lifting him back to the
swinging-off place, he revived and begged for his life, but no use,
was soon dangling with the rest, and died hard.
(5) Edward Kellogg, of the 20th New York Regiment, arrived in Andersonville
on 1st March, 1864. He gave evidence at Henry Wirz's trial.
I saw the cripple they called "Chickamauga" shot; he was
shot at the south gate. He was in the habit of going off, I believe,
to the outside of the gate to talk to officers and the guard, and
he wanted to go off this day for something or other. I believe that
he was afraid of some of our own men. He went inside the dead-line
and asked to be let out. The refused to let him out, and he refused
to go outside the dead-line. Captain Wirz came in on his horse and
told the man to go outside the dead-line, and went off. After Captain
Wirz rode out of the gate the man went inside the dead-line, and Captain
Wirz ordered the guard to shoot him, and he shot him. The man lost
his right leg, I believe, just above the knee. They called him "Chickamauga."
I think he belonged to the Western army and was captured at Chickamauga.
I think that was in May. I will not be certain as to the time.
I saw other men shot while I was there. I do not know their names.
They were Federal prisoners. The first man I saw shot was shortly
after the dead-line was established. I think it was in May. He was
shot near the brook, on the east side of the stockade. At that time
there was no railing; there was simply posts struck along where they
were going to put the dead-line, and this man, in crossing, simply
stepped inside one of the posts, and the sentry shot him. He failed
to kill him, but wounded him. I don't know his name. I saw a man shot
at the brook; he had just come in. He belonged to some regiment in
Grant's army. I think this was about the first part of July or the
latter part of June. He had just come in and knew nothing about the
dead-line. There was no railing across the brook, and nothing to show
that there was any such thing as a dead-line there. He came into the
stockade, and after he had been shown his place where he was to sleep
he went along to the brook to get some water. It was very dark, and
a number of men were there, and he went above the rest so as to get
better water. He went beyond the dead-line, and two men fired at him
and both hit him. He was killed and fell right into the brook. I do
not know the man's name. I saw other men shot. I do not know exactly
how many. I saw several. It was a common occurrence.
(6)
Ole Steensland recalled
what it was like when he was released from Andersonville Prison in
Georgia (1865)
We were a hard looking bunch. Some of us almost naked, unshaved,
with our louse eaten hair hanging down to our shoulders. My ankles
were so stiff and my feet so swollen that I could hardly hobble around.
(7)
A. G. Blair, who was captured at the battle of the Wilderness
gave evidence at Henry Wirz's trial.
Captain Wirz planted a range of flags inside the stockade, and gave
the order, just inside the gate, "that if a crowd of two hundred
(that was the number) should gather in any one spot beyond those flags
and near the gate, he would fire grape and canister into them. I think
that the number of men shot during my imprisonment ranged from twenty-five
to forty. I do not know that I can give any of their names. I did
know them at the time, because they had tented right around me, or
messed with me, but their names have slipped my mind. Two of them
belonged to the 40th New York Regiment. Those two men were shot just
after I got there, in the latter part of June, 1864.
I saw the sentry raise his gun. I shouted to the man. I and several
of the rest gave the alarm, but it was to late. Both of these men
did not die; one was shot through the arm; the other died; he was
shot in the right breast. I did not see Captain Wirz present at the
time. I did not hear any orders given to the sentinels, or any words
from the sentinels when they fired; nothing more than they often said
that it was done by orders from the commandant of the camp, and that
they were to receive so many days furlough for every Yankee devil
they killed. Those twenty-five or forty men were shot from the middle
of June, 1864, until the 1st of September. There were men shot every
month. I cannot say that I ever saw Captain Wirz present when any
of these men were shot. The majority of those whom I saw shot were
killed outright; expired in a few moments.
(8)
Robert E. Lee was cross-examined by
Jacob Howard, the senator from Michigan, as a Congressional committee
held on 17th February, 1866. Howard questioned Lee about what happened
at Andersonville Prison Camp.
I suppose
they suffered from want of ability on the part of the Confederate
States to supply them with their wants. At the very beginning of the
war there was suffering of prisoners on both sides, but as far as
I could I did everything in my power to establish the cartel (of prisoner
exchange) as agreed upon. I made several efforts to exchange the prisons
after the cartel was suspended. I offered to General Grant, around
Richmond, that we should ourselves exchange all the prisoners in our
hands. I offered to send to City Point all the prisoners in Virginia
and North Carolina over which my command extended, provided they returned
an equal number of mine, man for man. I reported this to the War Department,
and received an answer that they could place at my command all the
prisoners at the South if the proposition was accepted. I heard nothing
more on the subject.
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