The Sentinels of Andersonville (19 page)

“We have known very prosperous times in Americus, and now we have known war. And this war has broken our hearts. I do not believe any of us here has not suffered loss; if not a son, or a husband, or a father, then the sons, husbands, and fathers of those dear to us. No one untouched, and we are bound together in grief. Polly’s brother lost a son, and my daughter lost her fiancé.” He paused. “And then this war brought something else to the doorstep of Americus. Something deeply alarming.”

“We never wanted it!” someone called.

“Did we not refuse to help them clear the land, in protest?” A man stood up. It was Arvin Probity. He looked around. “I am not here to feed Yanks
 
—I’m here to protest it! And I’m missin’ a dance to do it!”

“Sit down, Arvin. Let the doc have his say, and then you can have yours.” It was Judge Tate, and Arvin sat down.

Dr. Stiles put up a hand. “I objected to the building of that prison right along with you, Arvin. You know I did. No one wanted that kind of danger so close to our families. It seemed to us, then, a grave potential threat and so it is today
 
—even more so, with the prison population at numbers we could not have imagined. Is not this threat with us when we go to sleep at night? Is it not there when we toil by day? Someday Andersonville Prison will be shut down, and we will all rest easy once more. For now I have fears about that place, though I keep them quiet and wrestle with them on my own terms, as does everyone else.”

“I reckon I had to teach my wife to shoot,” said Jackson Green, a
hostler for the hotels. “Any escaped Yankee comes by my place, he’ll eat lead for sure.”

“I had to learn as well,” said Dr. Stiles. “I taught Polly and my two oldest. Did we ever imagine such a day would come?” Then he smiled. “I bought a .38-caliber pepperbox, and my girl Lily says to me, ‘Papa, I do not know what a caliber is, let alone if .38 is enough that I should be impressed.’” A few smiles at that, and some looked about to see Lily.

“We defy our fears by ignoring them, in the grand tradition of the South. And we have all seen that General Winder certainly does his job to prevent a prison break. He is determined, and for this I am grateful. But I wonder if our determination to ignore our fears has not swept us into an ignorance we never meant. Something that went too far, perhaps upon the foundation of ‘All we ask is to be left alone.’” He fished inside his vest pocket and brought out a newspaper clipping. He glanced at the newspaperman.

“I have a clipping from the
Macon Telegraph
. It is dated May 7.” He read: “‘Mr. Fiddlerman informed me that the prisoners unanimously expressed themselves much better pleased with Andersonville than anyplace they have been since captured. They are now living bountiful on the very best that southwestern Georgia can afford. Their daily ration consists of one-third pound of good ham or bacon, and one and a half pounds of meal. They also get peas and sometimes fresh and pickled beef. The patients in the hospital, in addition to ham and meal, get rice flour, potatoes, chickens, and eggs.’”

“That’s a lie!” It was Dance Pickett, on his feet and red-faced.

“Which part of it, Mr. Pickett?” Dr. Stiles asked. “Incidentally, may I introduce Dance Pickett, a sentinel at Andersonville. You may have heard of his father, James Weld Pickett, from Augusta. He is second cousin to my wife. And no . . . not related to George. You were saying, son?”

“
All
lies!”

Dr. Stiles adjusted his glasses. “Why, Dance, do you mean to say that out of nearly thirty thousand men in that stockade
 
—yes, thirty thousand
 
—that not one of those men would agree with these printed words?”

“Not one!”

Dr. Stiles lifted his eyebrows in surprise at the clipping. He folded it and put it in his pocket.

“They are Yankees! What would you expect?” someone called. “You know they’re lyin’ if their mouths are open!”

“Howell Cobb toured the place!” said another. “Said all was fine!” His voice lowered. “He said those Yanks are getting as good as they deserve.”

Hettie Dixon waved a fan for attention. “Dr. Stiles, give us the facts, please. I do not wish to be hampered by speculation. Are those men starving to death or not?”

“That cannot be!” a woman said angrily. “The Confederate States of America would never allow such a thing
 
—Yankee brutes though they be!”

“Dr. Stiles?” said Hettie.

“Here are the facts, Mrs. Dixon. There is fearful overcrowding, insufficient food, appalling lack of medical supplies and personnel, no decent shelter, no system for sanitation
 
—and on a day with a strong breeze, you all know what I’m talking about. That we can smell a place from ten miles out should make the sanitary conditions plain. Thousands have died thus far, and yes, Mrs. Dixon, the main reason is starvation. It is not disease.

“No, hear me! I know what you’ve heard. Breakouts of smallpox or this or that to explain the thousands of deaths
 
—it is not true. I am a medical doctor. Most of the diseases in that stockade are either a direct result of unsanitary conditions, or a direct result of diet. And
it is a starvation diet, yes
 
—right here in Sumter County. These are the facts, and they are incontrovertible.”

The newspaperman stood as he raised his hand. He looked around. “Let it be known that the aforementioned editorial piece, of which I personally was not the author, was published almost three months ago. Since then, the
Macon Telegraph
has changed its position on the conditions of that prison. We are in accord with the newspapers in this area. They have issued appeals for help for those prisoners. I heard of this meeting and I’ve come down to see what you all are doing about it.”

“We don’t read the newspapers anymore! Full of routs and retreats, always retreats!”

“Let the gov’ment take care of that pen!” someone called. “Have we not put our trust in them?”

“We cannot look to the government to help these men,” said Dr. Stiles. “Our government has failed them. It rests on us to step in and do what we can.”

“That’s a mighty thin screen, Dr. Stiles,” said old Harmsen Jacob, standing at the edge of the group, arms folded. “I see a hint of treason through it.”

“Were you not arrested on just such suspicion?” another added.

“He was not arrested! He was questioned!” Polly had kept her peace until now, but this last accusation proved too much for her. “Judge Tate put an end to
that
nonsense immediately!” She nodded at Judge Tate.

“Those Yanks are trespassers, in every way the word can be used!”

“You doubt our government! That
is
treason!”

“Well, now, that is hasty,” said Harmsen Jacob. “It is certainly not treason to
doubt
our government, but we are lawbreakers if we take the reins into our own hands. That is where I see this heading.”

“Is not the cornerstone of our nation that we have seceded from
a government with whom we did not agree?” Dr. Stiles asked. “Did we not then take the reins?”

“Doctor, now that is going too far!”

“Mighty thin,” Harmsen agreed.

“Well, then, I have another paper, if you wish to know the mind of some of our
government-appointed
military, regarding Andersonville,” said Dr. Stiles. He took a paper from his other vest pocket. “Many of you know Colonel Alexander Persons, he who was formerly in charge of the prison. Some of you know his family from Fort Valley. Colonel Persons protested conditions at the prison early on.” He looked over his glasses at the people. “He protested structural and
logistical
things, very important
foundational
aspects of the prison. He took upon himself to address them by personally condemning Andersonville through a legal injunction he brought against it. But he was warned
 
—I will say that again
 
—he was
warned
that he would be subjected to
 
—” he raised the paper and read from it
 
—“‘a hurricane of wrath and even personal abuse from the people of the surrounding country if he did not drop his demand for an inquiry and hearing.’”

He looked over his glasses again. “This warning came from the Honorable Richard H. Clark of Albany. Colonel Persons, you remember, was removed from his post and reassigned elsewhere. Now in the confusion of duty assignment at Andersonville, at one point his duties overlapped with those of Captain Wirz; and when he left, Captain Wirz replaced him. A captain replaced a colonel. I will leave you to puzzle that out yourselves.”

He folded the paper and replaced it in his pocket, then folded his glasses and tucked them away. “There are many things I cannot answer of Andersonville Prison, and I do not propose to solve the larger problems of its government, for I am not equal to it. I am not a politician, nor even a community leader. My job is simple: to
alleviate suffering in whatever ways I can. I wish to give others an opportunity to help because the need is overwhelming, yet within that overwhelming need I do not suggest impossibilities. Though war is upon us, and we have suffered ourselves, we
can
augment what food the government supplies to the prison, enough to make a difference in whether a man lives or dies. Scurvy comes from lack of decent food, and the effects are hellish.”

“We are not barbarians! I read in the newspaper that those boys get the same rations our boys get!” someone shouted.

“If that is true, it would stand to reason that scurvy would present itself at the Confederate hospital in the town of Andersonville. Yet my colleague there reports he has not seen
one
case of scurvy.”

A man stood up, raising his hand. When Dr. Stiles nodded at him, he took off his hat. “I’m Timothy Bigelow, for those who don’t know. I’m an alderman. I’ve served on the town council for three years. Norton, I want you to know I am in full support of all you say. Back in May when Howell Cobb reported on the conditions, it was around the same time my wife had attended a picnic there; she brought back a report in direct contrast to his. Well, either my wife was wrong or General Cobb was. I let it bother me for a time, probably longer than I should, until I paid a visit to the prison myself.”

Bigelow shook his head. “No words. I looked into the hospital, too. No words! I tell you, conditions in those wards are something out of a deep reach of hell. There was no medicine and no medical supplies. Not even a pan to be sick in, and if they were sick on the ground, there it lay. Not even sawdust to cover it up. In most cases, those boys didn’t even have beds. They lay in such misery and filth as cannot be described. I said to the man in charge, ‘Where are the sick pans? Where are the beds?’ He said, ‘There is nothing to be had.’

“Now here is where things get awfully difficult. I certainly believe
that Americus can do something to help alleviate that suffering. But there is something else we need to consider. A few weeks back, General Johnston was relieved and replaced by Hood. Whether that will be a good thing, as far as stopping Sherman’s advance, well, we do not know. As your town councilman, I do know this: even now, we are preparing to receive heavy casualties. Yes,
we
are, right here. Some hospitals are being evacuated as I speak, and before the end of the week they will set up right here in Americus, right in town square. If Atlanta falls
 
—”

“God forbid!”

“Hood forbid!”

Bigelow held up his hands and said, “
If
Atlanta falls, then we need to prepare ourselves
 
—at the very least for receiving casualties, but far more than that, we’ll need to prepare a defense. The militia and Home Guard are already making plans.”

“Goodness gracious!” Constance Greer gasped.

“Oh, I wish General Lee stood before Sherman! He’d never have made it into Georgia!”

“Him and Grant are still arm wrasslin’ in Petersburg.”

Bigelow said, “Please
 
—let me finish this point and I am done. Much as I am in deep sympathy with the plight of those at Andersonville, for I have seen with my own eyes what they suffer, this very meeting comes at a precarious time, as does our possible intervention. Should we not prepare to expend what resources we have for what is coming? Our town is soon to be overrun. It may double in population.”

“Goodness gracious . . . he has a good point.”

“Well, you can see why he’s a councilman. That’s common sense talkin’.”

Hettie Dixon waved her fan. “But men are starving to
death
, daily. It seems to me we should take things a day at a time, as comes recommended by Jesus, for sufficient unto the
day
is the evil thereof;
if a man is starving
today
, ought we not help that man? Ought we not let tomorrow take care of itself?”

“Mrs. Dixon, I am a council member whose business is precisely concerned with that of tomorrow.”

“Oh, dear. Another good point.”

“Points, points,” Hettie said crossly. “All these points, and no one is fed.”

“Mr. Bigelow, I am in deep respect of your counsel and wisdom,” said Dr. Stiles. “I also think Mrs. Dixon has counsel we cannot ignore. I believe both of you are right, and I believe we can attend to both. We
must
attend to both! Now, I have a strategy in mind. The enormity of the prison is beyond my scope, and I have heard shocking reports of food actually turned away from the gates, for reasons I cannot fathom
 
—filthy bureaucracy comes to mind. Here is what I believe we should do. If we cannot feed the entire prison, let us focus on the sick at the Federal hospital. A steady, nourishing diet and gentle care will help those boys and
 
—I believe with all my heart
 
—save some. We can augment what the government does supply, we can gather supplies such as bandages and lint packing, and I have hope we can even provide better medical treatments. I read of a man in Columbia, a Joseph LeConte, who has produced medicines in his own laboratory for the Confederate army. I propose that we
 
—”