Andersonville (117 page)

Mag let her hand steal across her faded calico bosom. My, I wasn’t expecting no company. Would have tidied myself.

Lady, we ain’t company. Just a couple of old coffee coolers and blackberry pickers spreeing around for a couple hours!

Said the widow, I do believe you two are Yankees. You talk so queerlike.

Ain’t nothing else, lady. Fourth U.S. Cavalry.

What we want, missis—

They said that to put it baldly they were skirmishing for a bottle of liquor. They had been working hard and traveling far, and they didn’t have to report to Captain Noyes until five o’clock, and what about a bottle of mountain dew?

Hain’t no mountains hereabouts. Mag’s loose soft mouth was smiling, and a slow dream began to occupy her eyes.

Oh, call it bog juice, bug juice, bull juice, mule juice, white mule or brown mule or red-eye or forty-rod: it was all the same. But not like we got up in Macon, said the sharp rapid voice of Corporal Nevis, the man with the scar. I vow you could taste the feet of the boy that plowed the corn twas made from. Feet of the boy? repeated Private Ewing with emphasis. Goll, you could taste the feet of the mule that pulled the plow. . . . Nope, nothing like that; but just a little something to smooth the hair on their backs. They’d pay well for it, too. Tried to buy some from that old man down there near the depot, man who ran that little store down there, but great Scott, he gave them a regular Cold Water Army sermon for their pains.

The widow’s heart was weakening. I’m just plain sorry but I hain’t got ary drop of anything.

But they’d pay well.

But she didn’t have a drop of anything. She was mighty sorry. Times were hard, she’d been awful tight run.

They laughed sardonically. Tight run as the prisoners over in that stockade?

I never did know any of those. I heard tell they was mighty sickly. But I knowed some of the men a-guarding them.

Well, well, too bad, can’t even get our whiskers wet. Lady, is your respected husband to home?

Hain’t got no husband. He’s long dead.

Five minutes later the pea pot had been moved from the fire, and water began to heat in its place. From his haversack Private Ewing produced a small sack of coffee, and he offered it to the widow with gallantry; he could get more; what was a little coffee? In the bedroom Mag changed hastily into her wrapper, but she called animated pleasantries to her guests while she changed, while she loosened her hair and rearranged it and pinned it, while she hunted for red candy and moistened the candy and colored her round cheeks. I got a nicer place than this to entertain folks in, she cried. Just over yonder behind the house. Tis called The Crib; and I did have me a music box but it’s busted. And I got a real nice soft bed, she concluded with mischief, and felt a glowing pleasure through her flesh as she heard vigorous Yankee laughter which rang when she said that.

It was a good day for every member of the Tebbs clan. Had the others but known it, Laurel received the gift of an apron from Mrs. Dillard in Americus. Coral was engaged as an apprentice gardener by Ira Claffey, and there would be work for Floral as well, if he stood willing to perform it. There were other cavalrymen idling at Anderson Station. From these soldiers Flory was successful in begging more tobacco than he could chew in three days, and he traded some of it to Uncle Arch Yeoman for the last scraps of candy in the horehound jar. Corporal Nevis and Private Ewing matched quarters to see who should first enjoy the favors of the widow; Ewing won. Rain came but lightly, the tornado did not strike, it struck Macon County instead. Mag put not two but four greenbacks into her purse, and her body was blissful, and so was her shallow thin soul, and she planned to send Flory back to Uncle Arch’s for salt and pork and many other things as soon as Flory reappeared. Zoral found a freshly dead mole under the house.

 LX 

T
hese were enemies . . . Wirz felt in his pained bones that they had come to take him.

At first hand he had known no uniformed enemies except prisoners. In Paris, in 1863, he had sat alone in a small café, listening idly—then with curiosity, then with bewildered horror and disgust—to the conversation of three men in citizens’ dress who were at a table behind him. From their talk he recognized that they were officers of the Federal navy. Wirz’s dinner was spoiled, dyspepsia or no dyspepsia. His trembling hand spilled coffee from the cup. He paid hastily, left a gratuity out of all proportion to the cost of the meal, hurried away. From a darkened street he peered back through the smoky pane and saw Them, Them, Them; saw their faces, heard faintly their laughter. Enemies. But they were not in uniform. . . . Frogs imprisoned in his arm hopped desperately that night.

These men at his door in noontime were enemies, with all the gaud of cloth, buttons, belts.

Is your name Wirz?

Ja,
I am Henry Wirz.

You have been in command of this place, commanding Rebel troops?

Wirz tried to straighten his sagging shoulders. He lifted his voice, cords tense and visible at his throat.
Nein!
The troops I have not commanded. I have been superintendent of the stockade only.

The man with bars on his shoulder straps said, I am Captain Henry E. Noyes, Fourth United States Cavalry. Acting as aide-de-camp to General Wilson. I regret to inform you that you are under arrest. Will you please instruct me as to your rank, so that I may know how to address you?

Henry said, of promotion I was informed, before I hear the news of surrender. So now I am a major.

Have you received your commission?

It has not come. It is somewhere. . . .

In that case I shall address you as Captain.

Wirz retreated into the small parlor ahead of Noyes. Noyes called over his shoulder, Where are Ewing and Nevis?

A cavalryman said, At the rear of the house, Captain. We were taking precautions.

It’s obvious that we don’t need to, Sergeant. . . . Then again, to Henry: Captain Wirz, may I trouble you for your sidearms?

Wirz’s glance flicked toward the window, back to the officer’s face. He lifted his left hand to tug at the beard around his lips.

Mein
arms, they hang in the entry yonder. Also a pepperbox revolver I got. Not truly a pepperbox—but from Europe he was—

I’m supposed to take your arms. Where is the revolver?

In the bed chamber I keep him.

Any other arms, or weapons of any sort?

...No, no, no, he had no other weapons.

Is any member of your family in the chamber at this time?

Henry Wirz shook his head violently. It seemed that this fierce shaking might rid him of veils gathering in his fogged weary brain, veils gathering before his eyes. My wife, my girls, they are in the garden. Back. They make the garden there. His voice broke in a hysterical titter.

Which chamber is yours?

It is above us. That revolver— I have hanging by the bed—

Sergeant Howe, go up and get the weapon and remove it with other sidearms to the verandah. Wait there until Nevis and Ewing join you. I trust these troops haven’t terrified your family, Captain Wirz.

They would not be afraid, said Wirz. We have so many troops here. I mean prisoners, of the Yankees. Some Paroles. They work for me about the place, they brought wood.
Ja
, very good I treat them: double rations.

His voice rose shriller. Why is it I should be under arrest?

The heavy tread of Sergeant Howe returned down the stair. He carried the revolver in its holster. Already he had unfastened the flap in order to draw the ammunition.

Better do that outside, Sergeant. . . . Captain Wirz, will you invite me to sit down?

Ja, ja. . . .
They sat, one at either end of the settee. Wirz was sitting chiefly upon his left buttock turned so far out of the seat that he was in a half-crouching position. Why am I under arrest, Captain Noyes? There has been the surrender. Troops you do not arrest after surrender!

I have my orders directly from General Wilson. There seems to be a feeling at Macon that you are subject to examination of your conduct as prison superintendent.

Henry said dryly, as if to himself: This I do not understand.

His thin face brightened for a moment as he looked up into Noyes’s solemn gaze. Captain, is it possible that you speak the German? My English is—

Sorry, no German. However we seem to be getting on tolerably well.

But I do not understand! Again Wirz’s voice went near a shriek, a cry which broke in two and seemed to leave a ruptured piece of the sound hanging in air before it fell.

See here, said Noyes. He tried to make his speech as smooth and reassuring as possible. The sum and substance of my conversation with the general can be reported. To begin with, about the first of this month, General Wilson sent me to Alabama on a task concerning our forces at Eufaula. On my way I passed through this village of Andersonville, and the train stopped to wood up. Some of our Federal sick were at the station. I observed you there also, Captain Wirz. Wasn’t there some business about trying to parole the Northerners? Some of your troops were there with you, and you were presenting little pieces of paper to those sick men, to sign. You should have known very well, sir, that it was unnecessary for them to sign anything! General Wilson’s orders had been that all the sick should be brought to Macon as rapidly as possible, and that was that. . . . I heard a voice, Captain Wirz. It was to this effect: Hurry up; sign these paroles or you’ll die here anyhow. I can’t swear that you made that remark, Captain. But today I have heard your voice, and I think it was your voice that I heard at the depot. What business had you paroling our sick men, after the surrender? Certainly it would have been impossible for you to hear that the armistice was repudiated!

Wirz was swallowing rapidly.
Nein,
nothing do I hear of that.

Matter of fact, said Noyes, I was on the point of going to remonstrate with you. Just then the train whistle blew, and I had to get on and travel. But when I returned to Macon I reported the circumstances immediately to my superior, and was ordered to proceed to this destination, and bring you back under arrest. That’s the story.

Wirz spoke in a coarse crawling whisper (certainly, mused Captain Noyes, he must be thinking of stocks and chain gangs). What— What should they do to me?

I presume that if General Wilson is satisfied that you have only been performing your duty, and acting in accordance with orders, you will probably be released.

Wirz lifted his china face with eagerness. He began to nod. That is true, Captain. That is what I do, all the times: I carry out orders! They tell me to be superintendent of the stockade, so I serve. I
am
superintendent. I do my duty, Captain. You are a soldier. That you should know.

For a minute or two it was very quiet in the small hot room, with little sound except the breathing of Henry Wirz.

You spoke of giving double rations to men who were paroled to work for you, said Noyes. What about the prisoners who remained in the stockade? Did they receive double rations? Did they receive
any
adequate rations?

Wirz shook his head briskly, put his left hand over his face, pressed his face down toward his knee. Captain—

His voice was forced out between spread fingers.

—I tell you, only my duty I have done! That General Winder, he give me nothing, nothing. I do what I can. That Sid Winder: adjutant, he was. That Dick Winder: quartermaster. He is bad. I think he steal much from the food. I think maybe they steal money, those Winders! No help do I receive from them. I am a poor man.

His face came up again, his hollow eyes tried to implore Captain Noyes, to tell him of woes, to make the captain believe how very poor Henry Wirz was indeed.

In the campaign west, Captain, they take my place. I have a small plantation, I have a house in Louisiana. All is gone. I am ruined. Now we are in defeat! What do I
do
? I ask you that. How feed I
mein
wife and children? Three children I have by this house. I mean, one is ours, the two elder girls are of my wife. . . . See you this arm?

He shook the relic within its sling, and made a face, and squealed again in the shaking.

This I get at Fair Oaks, what you call Seven Pines. It is very bad. The surgeons, they are no good, nothing can they do. So much pain I have. Always, always—

Sorry about your wound, said Noyes. Sorry about the whole blame business, the whole blame war. Who isn’t? Thank God it’s over now.

Wirz said softly, Is it not odd? I was thinking. My name, it is Henry; and now you come to put me in arrest. And you too—your name is Henry. Is it not odd?

Very odd, said Henry Noyes, and again there was silence. Silence gave way before the racket of a door being opened and closed at the rear of the house . . . spasm of high-pitched voices all a-whisper, the rapid treading of light feet. Pale and glassy of eye, Elizabeth Wirz rushed into the room. She stopped short when she saw the Federal captain with her husband.

Noyes arose quickly, Wirz got up with labor.

Elizabeth’s three daughters were behind her; they pushed together, staring with terrified gaze. Susie had a hat of plaited straw (she had plaited it herself) tied on her head. The bonnets of Cornelia and Coralie were hanging on their shoulders. The two elder girls wore old gloves for gardening, but the child’s hands were grubby. Elizabeth Wirz herself held a wooden trowel, and somehow to Captain Henry Noyes that whittled implement spoke volumes. He thought of manufactories at the North. The wife of this Southern officer had no trowel such as his own wife might have used in her garden. There it was: cumbersome, stained, the edge worn blunt, a split up the middle; what slave had fashioned it? Or perhaps even Henry Wirz? No, no, certainly not Wirz, with his arm in a sling, and a pyramid of prisoners atop his shoulders.

Husband— Is it true—what those Yankee soldiers told me?

This captain, said Wirz. He has told me that with him now I must go.

But husband— Henry, you’ve done nothing wrong!

This captain, said Wirz. His name also it is Henry. In the Old Country, Heinrich it would be. Again his weak giggle crept out.

The plump woman came closer, confronting the Union officer. He looked down to observe and identify and contend against the defiance in her gaze.

Have you arrested my husband? Pray on what grounds?

Madam, I’m merely obeying orders! As, no doubt, your husband obeyed orders given to him. As I have just told Captain Wirz: I presume that he will be released, if he but make it clear to General Wilson that he was proceeding according to orders. I mean to say—fulfilling the duties of command.

Where must you take him?

The general is at Macon. I was instructed to fetch your husband there.

Tomorrow night I should be home, said Wirz hopefully.

Little Cora had thrown her arms around his thin body. She cried distinctly over her shoulder, Don’t you hurt my Pa!

I shan’t hurt your Papa the least bit, Noyes told her. He must soothe these people, he must avoid a display of hysteria. What is your name, my dear?

They chorused her name. Wirz and his wife said Coralie, the girls said Cora.

Noyes reached out with strong tanned fingers. There is something very pretty around your neck. Is it a locket?

No, tis a Bible. . . .

Wirz addressed the child in a stuttering whisper.

No,
sir,
tis a Bible. . . .

Never before did I see a Bible worn around the neck!

Cora murmured, although she feared to look at the man. Made out of bone. A prisoner gave it to me, and he made it his own self, and he said to my Papa, Give it to your baby.

Noyes drew gently on the creased ribbon from which the ornament depended. There was nothing else to do: he wanted no yells when he marched Wirz out of the house. It was a tiny thing:
Bible
carved on one side, a diamond-shaped hole on the other side filled with red sealing-wax. A hole had been drilled in one end to admit the ribbon. What piece of bone? thought Noyes. Recollection of that putrid tenantless stockade was still cold and strong in him. What bone? A piece from a brute, or a piece from a human?
They are neither man nor woman, they are neither brute nor human, they are Ghouls. . . .