Andersonville (62 page)

It was a handsome chest, carved—purchased in an old shop near the Seine, said to be of Italian origin. He was fetching it as a present to Elizabeth. It had not cost much, but his wife would think it beautiful.

Your chest’s got to go, Captain. That’s the order: every heavy object overboard that can be spared.

He did not protest for long, he saw the sense of the thing. They must lighten ship, so he must contribute his mite. He had no wish to be overhauled by a Federal cruiser. Only after the handsome old black cube (black as ebony, perhaps it was ebony) had gone tumbling into spray, heaved across the bulwark by two brawny sailors— Only after some small objects had scattered in the wind did Henry Wirz strike his right hand across his left and leap and sicken with the pain of it, and call himself a
Verfluchter Hund.
His chess set! The beautiful figures, the knights with ornate manes— How could he have done such a thing? Oh, old yellow ivory. He had left the chess set packed in the heavy carved chest. He could have taken pieces out and stowed them in his clothing one by one. He had loved chess when he was young; often he’d promised that he would teach Elizabeth to play; so when he saw this ivory set offered (the Jew who sold it declared upon his faith that it was stolen; thus he would let it go cheap, and to a foreigner, because he feared the police) Henry had envisioned contented hours when he sat beside his wife and taught her—first, the principle of the thing—later perhaps she might understand some fine points as well. Such relaxation it would be for him after a demanding day. Now the Atlantic had it.

Wind faltered, no rain came, magnolia leaves thrashed less noisily. Still Henry Wirz was not asleep: he ranged along that boundary which it seemed he could not pass.

A doll for Cora: that had been saved. It was in his big leather pouch (he was not requested to throw the leather pouch overboard). Also there were gloves for his stepdaughters, bottles of perfumery to be appreciated by Elizabeth, lockets for the older girls. Small things, old things, mostly secondhand, shopped for, bargained for with zeal. Henry Wirz had so little money, and the plantation he’d owned in Louisiana was gobbled by invading Federal troops during the Vicksburg campaign. He had managed to buy also a coral necklace for his small daughter: a coral necklace naturally, since her name was Coralie.

He passed into the haunted fen of sleep. He fastened the coral necklace around Cora’s miniature neck. But,
Gott,
he found that he was fastening instead a metallic collar; from it would depend an iron ball, Cora would have a struggle to lift the ponderous orb whenever she moved.

He told himself, Now will I employ the sulphate of morphia. He had only one dose left, he did not know how soon he should be able to obtain more. The situation as to drugs and medicines was growing worse and worse.

Elizabeth awakened and found his shadow brooding. She hoisted herself on her elbow with a moan of sympathy and alarm. Oh, poor husband! Henry, can you not sleep at all?

Now maybe I get some sleep, he said heavily. He stumbled back to the bed, forgetting to put out the candle; so his round-shouldered parched body shone like a shadowgraph against candlelight, a desiccated body draped in false folds of the voluminous nightshirt.

Elizabeth, tomorrow to Augusta I go. I get things put together, I leave that damn Davis in charge. Maybe I am gone a week, maybe more.

But, Henry, why up to Augusta?

It is for the sake of
mein
arm, Ilse. I hear this week there is that Surgeon Greenaway in Augusta, and better he is with bones, better nor that damn Bucheton. I talk with one colonel, and he show me where he was wounded, and a bad wound from the scars; it is that Surgeon Greenaway fix him, and now he is well. In the arm, like me, but with him it is the left arm. He show me: his fist he clinch—clanch— how you say?
Himmel,
he punch a bag of meal with his fist, he punch hard, this I could not do! So now I ask leave. I go—tomorrow, next day—I report sick—

Husband, you didn’t put out the candle.

Now I have my morphia I put him out. So.

No longer did the big bird flap his wings or crouch or move, there was only darkness, and wind growing.

 XXXVII 

T
he report which Colonel Chandler inscribed was conceived and projected with earnest intelligence and in contempt of human weakness, human blundering. Hatred he must put aside, hatred would render his pen insecure and detract from cogency. But he sat so astounded that he could not even write the dateline without error.
Andersonville, July
5, 1864.
It was August, and he wrote July; he did not realize his mistake, not even when he’d finished the report and sealed it. July had been a weary crowded month; in various tasks which he was ordered to perform, Chandler had written
July
a dozen times daily, thus he wrote the word of the wrong month now.
Having, in obedience to instructions of the 25th ultimo, carefully inspected the prison for Federal prisoners of war and post at this place, I respectfully submit the following report.
He went on to describe the dimensions of the pen, the deadline. He erred in his calculation as to the number of square feet available to each prisoner, and then discussed the stockade’s creek.
Excepting the edges of this stream, the soil is sandy and easily drained, but from 30
to 50
yards on each side of it the ground is a muddy marsh, totally unfit for occupation, and having been constantly used as a sink since the prison was first established, it is now in a shocking condition and cannot fail to breed pestilence.

He despised what he’d found here—disorganization, frailty, deliberate intent—because it reflected upon the Confederacy which he had embraced and which he had served with heart and body. He saw the Confederate lake which might have been pure (fed as it was by noble patriotic springs), muddied. He sat with ink upon his fingers, keen gaze turned against sheets of paper before him. He was aware of an awful truth while his pen scratched dutifully: the bravery of a Nation’s men may resist the attack of outsiders, but what defense can be managed against creeping diseases within? Guard your legs with leggings (snakes cannot bite through them), glove your hands, helmet your head, wrap your belly and vitals to keep out cold . . . or even put armor outside to withstand blades and bullets. But an unseen worm will find its way down your gullet and make nuisance inside you until you sicken and fail; what will you drink for purge or tonic?

As Alexander Persons had put his own good head upon the block, so Chandler was laying himself open to censure with every curl of script, every indited comma. There were too many people of grade superior to his who would not countenance implied criticism. Yet Colonel Chilton had instructed him to make this inspection; by the eternal God he would set down exactly what he had seen.

He mentioned the efforts of Henry Wirz, his attempts to construct sluice and sinks, he told why this had not been done successfully.
No shelter whatever, nor material for constructing any has been provided by the prison authorities, and the ground being entirely bare of trees, none is within reach of the prisoners, nor has it been possible, from the overcrowded state of the enclosure, to arrange the camp with any system. Each man has been permitted to protect himself as best he can, stretching his blanket, or whatever he may have, above him on such sticks as he can procure, thatches of pine or whatever his ingenuity may suggest and his cleverness supply. Of other shelter there is and has been none.

He discussed Nineties and Detachments.
But one Confederate States officer, Captain Wirz, is assigned to the supervision and control of the whole.
He spoke of the turmoil which had prevailed, and mentioned the sentencing and hanging of raiders as it had been described to him. He told of the absence of medical attendants within the stockade, and the parade which went creeping to the South Gate each morning, and the squeeze ensuing.
The
hospital accommodations are so limited that though the beds (so-called) have all or nearly all two occupants each, large numbers who would otherwise be received are necessarily sent back to the stockade. Many—twenty yesterday—are carted out daily, who have died from unknown causes, and whom the medical officers have never seen.

The face of John Winder seemed staring fixedly at Colonel Chandler across the field desk, the colonel’s hand began to quiver. Desperately he sought to master vibration, to control his pen as he recounted the final horror observed that day. It was strange to entertain the apparition of Winder now, since the old general could not have been directly responsible for this particular wickedness—only indirectly responsible, only indirectly.
The
dead are hauled out daily by the wagonload and buried without coffins, their hands in many instances being first mutilated with an axe in the removal of any finger rings they may have.

Control was vanished. Chandler let the pen slide, and arose and went to the tent’s door and lifted the rotten canvas and felt it tear bedraggledly under its own soiled weight as he held the folds. He peered out through stench and heard the faint voices of guards crying from the stockade’s rim. Low in the west a bent flake of moon was receding and would soon be gone.

The colonel mastered his nervousness after a while and returned to discuss the condition of the hospital, the sick, the utter confusion of the medical staff. Most of this latter knowledge had been gained necessarily from secondhand sources; he was wary of it. But he put down a statistical summary:
the rate of death has been steadily increased from
37
4-10 per mil. during the month of March last to 62 7-10 per mil. in July.

He wrote for nearly another hour, summing his recommendations and suggesting prisons in two additional localities which had been mentioned to him by General Winder before his exchange with Winder became acid.
In
conclusion I beg leave to recommend that no more prisoners be sent to this already overcrowded prison. . . . Since my inspection was made, over 1,300 prisoners have been added to the number specified in the reports herewith.

He felt his mind straying, it could not sustain him. He wanted to tell all, he had not told all. He began to worry about the uncertainty of his sources, especially with regard to hospital and surgeons. He must walk in the night and speak with someone—perhaps even have a glass of comfort, perform some selfish act in order to soothe the grating of his nerves. He thought of his assistant who had followed him to Andersonville, Major Hall; the mere fact that Hall was a direct subordinate ruled him out. There was another man whom he felt he could trust, this man he should seek.

Colonel Chandler did not wish to leave his report and the attendant papers lying about. He did not yet wish to lock his field desk, he might have a use for it later tonight. He folded the sheets carefully and put them into the pocket of his threadbare linen shirt. He took hat and sidearms and walked toward the Claffey place. Three times he was challenged, three times he identified himself and went past pickets. He was in no way confident that Harrell Elkins would be at the Claffey house or that he would be awake. But Elkins had gone on duty at four o’clock that morning, had slaved for twelve hours, had enjoyed whatever broken naps his frayed weariness permitted. Now he sat upon the gallery with Lucy.

Elkins said something about their not being gods, but they would offer the guest nectar in any event.

I should be glad to taste nectar. Colonel Chandler saw a white pitcher in the gloom. Elkins had gone promptly to fetch another tumbler; Chandler did not know what they meant by nectar, he was too strained to speculate.

Lucy explained, Tis from the Toccoa apples. A relative brought us slips from Habersham County long ago; but Poppy declares they don’t flourish here as in those hills yonder.

I should think not. Colonel Chandler thought of ravines where the Chattahoochee rose.

But my father has a green thumb, so they do bear. The apples are just past ripe, and I direct Naomi to stew them with honey when honey can be had. We press out all the juice and express a kind of sauce, sir, and we’ve always called it nectar. I hope you’ll think it’s just the best. Tis mixed with cold spring water, so please to drink deeply and healthily. She added, when Harry came with the glass, I had some difficulty with Surgeon Elkins. She gave a little laugh which suggested a depth of other emotion.

Has the surgeon been ungallant, Ma’am? Has he been annoying you?

Truly he has. He refused to drink apple nectar at first; said he didn’t thirst for it.

Frankly, Miss Lucy, he has no good taste.

The girl’s voice shook. He would not drink it because the Yankee prisoners had none.

Elkins shifted his heavy feet and uttered a bleat of remonstrance.

Colonel Chandler lifted the glass in his hand and held it to vague light which came from inside the front room. My own victuals have choked me since I came here. Nevertheless I forced myself to eat them, and— To Elkins— Nevertheless you should force yourself to drink nectar.

Lucy thought that the visitor must have appeared for a purpose. If you gentlemen will excuse me, please. They arose, Lucy went rustling away.

So it stuck in your craw? Chandler felt an angry tendency to coarseness. The men seated themselves again.

You know how women are, Harry told him—Elkins, the man who knew so little about how women were. Perhaps I might mind the hospital less if it didn’t accompany me perforce when I’d left it. Can I be of service, sir?

I have intruded upon you and the young lady.

Scarcely the place or season for romantic chit-chat, Colonel. The surroundings are not conducive to romance.

Mr. Claffey has retired?

He is abed and with either Shakespeare or the Apostle Paul. He asserts that he finds a refuge of almost equal character in the historic plays or in the admonitions to the people of Corinth. Mr. Claffey goes so far as to say that this is damaging to his religious stability.

Since we are alone, Surgeon, may we have a candle?

The candle was brought and stood leaning under its flame, attacked by tiger moths. By this light Chandler examined his papers. If you will be so kind as to confirm certain details I’ll be in your debt. Let me see— I took my ratio of deaths directly from the report of the chief surgeon, Dr. White. We’ll not bother with that.

To be frank, said Harry, I assisted Surgeon White in the report’s preparation.

I’d guessed as much. Is it correct that such original hospital arrangements as were suggested were intended only for the accommodation of the supposed ratio of sick to a total population of ten thousand men?

That is correct.

Do you know how many prisoners were on hand, in camp and hospital, on the first of July?

Elkins’s voice scratched. I was not present at that time, as you know, but I recall seeing a return recently. Something over twenty-six thousand on hand on the first of July.

And how many new prisoners were received during the month?

Something over seven thousand.

Making a total above thirty-three thousand, then. How many died during July?

Above seventeen hundred.

Would you guess as to how many are sick within the stockade, untended?

Impossible to state.

Now then, of the medical officers: how many hold commissions?

But ten hold commissions, sir. Most of the others are detailed from the militia. As for myself, I sought this duty because I was driven by the need.

Elkins stood up nervously and struck his hands together. I might admit also to more personal and selfish reasons for wishing Andersonville duty, but let that pass. Since I am ticketed as unfit for service in the field, I felt justified in trying to manipulate myself into a sphere where my conscience would assure me that I was needed. As a former officer I should be reluctant to state that many of our surgeons have accepted positions here to avoid service in the ranks. But, by God, sir, I do say it!

I know the type, said Chandler. They’ll relinquish their contracts as soon as the present emergency exists no more and the militia is disbanded. Pray sit down, Elkins. You’ve been working long and hard—too long and too hard, I fear.

Harrell sank back into his chair. He said dryly, But little injury would result when those contracts are relinquished. The men who hold them are generally very inefficient. Many of them only visit the post once a day, at Sick Call. They bestow but little attention on those under their care.