The Grande Souterrain—the great underground cellar or main dungeon—was a perfect pandemonium, filled with rough, savage sailors, desperate dare-devils, rendered utterly reckless by interminable confinement, untamable, ungovernable, a constant terror to their guardian, who dreaded comingin contact with them. There can be little doubt that if they could have seen their way to leave France finally they would have risen, overpowered the garrison and walked straight out of the fort into the country. They were ripe always for disturbance; the least thing offended them. One of their crowd was an Englishman who bore a colonel’s commission in the Russian service, but who had been arrested in France on suspicion of being a spy. He was a prime favourite with the sailors and when he was committed to thecachotfor some prison offence, they combined and rescued him from arrest. Upon this the garrison of veterans intervened, but their appearance on the scene was the signal for a general mutiny. The prisoners tore up the guard beds to provide weapons and armed themselves with great billets of fire wood, bidding defiance to the old soldiers. Their leader, however, cautioned them not to be the assailants. “Let us wait,” he cried, “till blood is drawn from any of us; then we will fall upon the Frenchmen and murder the whole lot.” Their attitude was so imposing, their determination so plain that the authorities practically gave in and on being promised by the prisoners that they would behave peaceably, withdrew their veterans.
Again, it was a standing order in the fort that all lights should be extinguished at eight o’clock, but on occasions when fresh inmates arrived, when drink was on tap and the spirit of rejoicing prevailed,this regulation was openly defied. If the gensdarmes after mildly protesting ventured down into the Souterrain they were met with a storm of missiles, hats, shoes, and logs of wood were thrown at the lantern as a target and then at the gensdarmes themselves, who were compelled to beat a hasty retreat.
Boxing matches and prize fights were of constant occurrence and at first the guards, not understanding them, desired to interfere, thinking the prisoners might injure one another; their interference was fiercely resented and the commandant decided to leave them alone, saying that if they would they might kill each other; that he, for his part, would listen to no more complaints, nor give the injured redress, and henceforth the prisoners must govern themselves. They took him at his word and disposed of all offences by a formal court-martial, chosen from their own body, when accused and accuser were brought face to face and the former, if found guilty, was forthwith flogged with a cat o’ nine tails, which after use was entrusted for safe keeping to the brigadier of gensdarmes. But no gendarme might raise his hand with impunity against a prisoner. One dared to strike a sailor with the scabbard of his sword, which the offended tar snatched out of his hand and threw over the ramparts, adding, “There, you may go and fetch it for yourself.”
All were determined prison breakers at Bitche;attempts at escape were frequent, and kept the poor commandant constantly on the rack to circumvent them. He was greatly blamed for the cruelty employed in enforcing safe custody. One story is told of a ship’s carpenter who had escaped from another depot but was caught and brought to Bitche, where he was lodged in the Grande Souterrain. With active mind and practised hands he contemplated breaking through from the underground into the ditch of the fort and worked steadily, assisted by two more, night after night until they had reached a last door. It was said that their progress had been watched and regularly reported to the commandant by his spies, and that when the final attempt was to be made the commandant was stationed with a party of gensdarmes outside the door to meet the fugitives as they came through. A cowardly attack was at once made on them; they were fired upon and slashed at with sabres, so that two were stabbed to death, but the third saved himself by jumping back into the prison. As a warning to others, the two dead bodies were publicly exposed next day, but so much disfigured by wounds that they were barely recognisable.
Another nearly successful escape ended disastrously. A naval lieutenant and five others, occupying a dungeon beneath the Grosse Tête, contrived to loosen one of the iron bars of the grating and get through. They had possessed themselves of a rope which they had made fast to another bar and partof its length was left lying across the passage. Unfortunately a sergeant with a relief of sentries, stumbled over the rope, and the prisoners who were already outside, descended the rope in great haste one after the other. It suddenly snapped; the lieutenant who was placed lowest on the rope fractured his skull and the others following were seriously injured. One strained both ankles; a second from concussion of the brain lost his reason, and the remaining two were more or less bruised.
On arrival at Bitche they were consigned to the Little Souterrain, only thirty-one steps down and occupied by the better class of prisoners. Our friends soon became habituated to their new quarters, which were less objectionable than they had expected. They were permitted to hire beds, bedding and linen from the town and purchase cooking utensils. Provisions cheap and plentiful were brought for sale at the gate, but all were marched down in turn under escort to do their shopping in the town. They had been deprived of their watches and money on their first arrival, but all valuables were presently restored to them. Trouble came with the warm weather and with it intermittent fever, when the sufferers were almost distracted with the noises around them,—dancing upon the benches, singing, carousing. One of the party, luckily for himself, had friends at court and was removed into a room upstairs, the inmates of which had matured a plan for escape and were on thepoint of putting it into execution. He was let into the secret, his coöperation accepted and in a few days more he was gone; it was one of the first of the successful escapes made.
Perpetual attempts to escape from Bitche—Brutal measures of oppression—Many casualties from accident and murderous assault by guards—Fresh attempt at escape by Captain Ellison and comrades—The majority of the party captured—All taken back to Bitche—Again committed to thecachot, then to the Grosse Tête—They escape through the floor above and descend to the outer ramparts—Painful pilgrimage to the Rhine, which they cross—They land in Baden and finally arrive at the Austrian frontier—They are passed on to Trieste where they take ship for Malta and England—Mr. Boys, a young naval officer, escapes with others from Valenciennes—Returns to the Dutch coast with a sloop of war to assist in bringing off other prisoners still waiting for rescue—Last words about Verdun—Reforms under a new governor of high character—The invasion of the Allies in 1813-14 breaks up the war depots—Prisoners are withdrawn into the interior to be finally released on the abdication of Napoleon.
Perpetual attempts to escape from Bitche—Brutal measures of oppression—Many casualties from accident and murderous assault by guards—Fresh attempt at escape by Captain Ellison and comrades—The majority of the party captured—All taken back to Bitche—Again committed to thecachot, then to the Grosse Tête—They escape through the floor above and descend to the outer ramparts—Painful pilgrimage to the Rhine, which they cross—They land in Baden and finally arrive at the Austrian frontier—They are passed on to Trieste where they take ship for Malta and England—Mr. Boys, a young naval officer, escapes with others from Valenciennes—Returns to the Dutch coast with a sloop of war to assist in bringing off other prisoners still waiting for rescue—Last words about Verdun—Reforms under a new governor of high character—The invasion of the Allies in 1813-14 breaks up the war depots—Prisoners are withdrawn into the interior to be finally released on the abdication of Napoleon.
ASthe winter approached, a fresh attempt at escape, this time from Bitche, was undertaken by Mr. Seacombe Ellison and his comrades. After a careful reconnaisance of the lay of the land, it was resolved to break through on the far side of the barracks they occupied. After collecting and secreting the usual materials—gimlets, pick-locks and ropes—they eventually got through a door of communicationleading on to the ramparts. It was the 8th of December, a dark night, blowing hard with sleet and snow. The door passed, they descended a flight of stairs into the yard and after cautiously ascertaining that the coast was clear, they crossed to the outer wall, where it overlooked the steep incline leading to the main gate. Their rope was affixed to a heavy stone brought on purpose; it was lowered on the far side, and crowding into the embrasure, the first to descend were on the point of climbing out when a couple of the French soldiers came up to the next embrasure and stood there talking for a time, but they presently disappeared, having discovered nothing. As soon as their backs were turned the drop was made by all, but in such haste that everyone’s hands were terribly lacerated by the rope. It seemed unlikely that any further descent was possible, but when all were lowered and the incline reached, it was seen that the drawbridge was down; all crossed it and proceeded on a dreary journey beset with enemies, the wind howling in their ears, the sleet beating their faces and the blood trickling from their finger ends.
The prisoners now broke up into parties and made for the town, on reaching the outskirts of which they heard the gun announcing their escape. They pressed on by any road that offered until they reached the first wood, where they lay down to rest and await daylight, which came about five o’clock, when they could examine their appearance and theeffect of the night’s adventures. The sight beggared description.
“I was the only one,” says Ellison, “who had the use of my fingers, having escaped with merely two large blisters, one on the inside of my fore-finger and the other on the inside of the middle one, both on the right hand: but my companions were in a dreadful state; some of their fingers were stripped to the bone and none of them had a sound finger on either hand. Here was a situation! No plasters, no bandages, no comforts of any sort, save a bladder of brandy that I had secured—exposed to the elements, with no covering but the leafless trees and the canopy of heaven. My task was an arduous one, for I had to do almost everything for them; and began by cutting off the laps of their shirts and binding up their fingers, which I did as well as my materials would permit, having neither needles, nor thread, nor pins, nor anything save the linen to keep the cold from their wounds; in fact, we were starving both within and without. K. had charge of a ham which he was carrying down the wall in his teeth, but unfortunately he lost it and we found ourselves with only a piece of a loaf and the brandy. I had a new pair of shoes and a pair of warm stockings in my pockets, which I put on, expecting that they would have warmed my feet; but in that I was sadly deceived, for they became much colder afterwards than they were before and were so benumbed that I was almost uncertain during the whole daywhether I had any feet at all. I never since suffered anything like it however wet or cold the weather. In the middle of the day the sun came out, which by melting the snow on the trees over our heads did not add to our comfort.
“At the edge of dark, when we were about quitting our retreat, a curious scene took place. Some of us found great difficulty in rising we were so benumbed; we stretched out first one limb and then another, until we were able to set our bodies in motion, and after we had so done, it was some time before the circulation of the blood was restored. Leaving the wood, we saw a cottage, and hunger being importunate we went up to it. A man was standing at the door, who told us he had nothing for himself but potatoes. We asked him the road to Strasburg, which he pointed out and telling us we had chosen bad weather for our journey, bade us good night. The road we were on was bad—in many places knee deep in mud—poor K. often crying out, ‘O Ellison, put up my shoe heel;’ and I exerting my patience as often put it up; until at last I inadvertently used one of my wounded fingers which tore off the blister, and then I could not help showing some of the infirmity of my disposition. We passed a number of foundries, which illuminated our way; and about eleven o’clock came to the small town of Niederbrun which we at first took for a straggling village. While considering how to proceed one of our companions was suddenlyseized with violent pain and lay motionless in the middle of the road. What was to be done? If we left him there the consequence would have been certain death; for it had then begun to freeze. It was agreed that two of us should go into the town to reconnoitre. Dacres and I volunteered and found all quiet; returning, we went up to a window in which was a light and where we saw a tailor at work; he came to us, but not understanding a word of French and we not much of his provincial dialect, we were not able to obtain any information. He pointed out to us a wine house. ‘Are there any gensdarmes?’ we asked. ‘Nicht the gensdarmes, nichts the gensdarmes,’ was his reply. We bade him good night but staid a little to watch his motions.
“After seeing him resume his work, we returned and found our companion something better. We promised if he would exert himself we would stop at the first lonely wine house we came to. He arose; and when we arrived opposite the house which the tailor had shown us we held a consultation if it would be safe to enter and concluded it would not. After walking about two miles farther we came to a solitary house and seeing a light still burning, went in and found the landlord a civil fellow, understanding French. He asked no questions, and at our request brought us some supper. When he observed me cutting the meat for the others, he asked, ‘What is the matter with your hands?’ We answered that we were conscripts,escaped from one of the Flemish fortresses and had maimed them descending the walls. Although we were nearly famished when we entered the house, the heat of the stove made the room so oppressively hot that it turned us all sick and destroyed our appetites. He was sorry for our situation and told us we were seven leagues from the Rhine. This surprised us, to find that after walking a night and a half we had only shortened our distance nine miles. He directed us to a neighbouring village, where, he said, we were sure to find a faithful guide. Seeing that he took such an interest in our welfare, we asked if he could not provide us one. He replied, ‘There is one belonging to the village; I will go and see if he be at home.’ He soon returned with a smart looking young man who said if we would walk at a quick pace he would have us across the Rhine before daylight. After making a bargain with him and paying our worthy landlord, we started. The idea of being so soon out of Napoleon’s grasp inspired us all with renewed vigour, especially the invalid, and we marched with spirit. In a short time we passed round the ramparts of Haguenau. Our guide then left the road, going through woods and across marshes. The moon now rose beautifully bright and the frost had been so intense that we walked, where the water was shallow, over the ice. Occasionally I served out a little brandy, and although heated with walking my hands became so benumbed during the operationthat I could scarcely tie the bladder up again. Proceeding onward we came to a small rivulet where K., miscalculating the width and losing sight of the French proverb, ‘Il faut retirer pour mieux sortir,’ made a spring and reached the opposite side; but the weight of his body being behind the perpendicular of his heels he could not keep his standing and leaped backwards up to the middle in water. He was soon in a dreadful state, his wounded hands smarting with cold and his pantaloons frozen stiff as boards.
“As the day approached, the sky became overcast; a cold easterly wind sprung up, and we felt as if it went straight through us; our guide discovered that he had missed his way; and the bleak dreary scene around us was altogether dispiriting. There was no wood in sight; and if there had been the cold was so intense that we could not have borne it. At a little distance was a village upon approaching which we came to a barn where two men were thrashing by candle light. We offered them a crown each, and they promised to conceal us until night. Then mounting upon the straw we covered ourselves all over and regained some little heat. Our guide became troublesome, wanting his pay. We told him he had not fulfilled his contract and therefore ought not to expect it. Finding we could not pacify him we promised to double the sum as soon as he should put us into a boat. With this he appeared contented and we lay unmolested untilabout half-past three, when we were discovered by a man and a woman who caught hold of us and said we were thieves. We replied that we were honest men. ‘Then,’ said they, ‘you shall not be molested; therefore make no resistance; it will be in vain as the whole village is aroused. Come with us into the adjoining house.’ We did so and there found the mayor and a posse of villagers. We went to the opposite side of the room and had no sooner faced about than the good woman pointed with her finger to another door. We took the hint and bolted.
“They chased us for a little distance, but we soon lost sight of our pursuers. A little before dark we entered a wood which our fear caused us to penetrate so far that we had great difficulty to find our way out again. I had run with my shoes in my hand by which means I bruised one of my feet and scratched the ankle, which afterwards laid me up. Having regained the road, almost famishing for lack of food and perishing with cold, we proceeded at the best pace we were able and had not gone far ere we found ourselves so close to a man on horseback that we could not escape him. He passed us a few yards and returning, entered into conversation. K., seeing that he was armed, went up to him and said, ‘You are a gendarme.’ ‘No,’ said the man, ‘I am not; I am adouanier,’ (custom-house officer). K. said, ‘I do not believe it; you are a gendarme and I will tell you plainly that we areEnglishmen and if you attempt to obstruct or betray us we will murder you.’ The man again protested he was adouanier. ‘Then, can you get us across the Rhine?’ we asked. ‘Yes, if you will remunerate me according to the risk, for I am,’ said he, ‘a poor man, with a wife and a large family and a little ready money will be a great help.’ ‘What is your demand?’ ‘Fifteen louis.’ ‘That is too much, we will give you ten.’ ‘I will not undertake the business for anything less, seeing I run the risk of losing my situation, and being sent to the army. Give me only my price and I will brave the danger and have you over in half an hour.’ The man acted his part so well and made so hard a bargain that we began to waver. The proposal was almost irresistible in our painful state; we therefore held a parley and put it to the vote, when K., Dacres and B. were for it; and away they marched alongside of the man, some of them with their hands upon the horse. In a little time we crossed a bridge and coming to a house near it the fellow called out, ‘Tuez-moi ces coquins-ci’ (kill me these rascals)—and drawing his sword, made a cut at K. Then from behind the house started out twenty or thirty armed men, some mounted, some on foot, and told us to surrender.
“A-d-n and myself having been rather more suspicious than our companions, had kept a little behind and ran back in different directions. I passed the end of the bridge and heard my pursuers, horseand foot, scamper over it; by and by the horns were sounding in every direction. I kept on a narrow path that led me on to a common, upon which I rambled about for several hours and then found myself close to the place where we had been attacked. I again took the narrow path recollecting that I had seen a small bridge on my right. I went over it and soon found myself on the borders of the Rhine, the current making a tremendous noise. I proceeded along its banks until I came to a lone house with a light in the window; I was going softly up to observe who was inside, when I was set upon by two dogs; I ran and directly afterwards came to a place where two boats were chained and was in the act of stooping to cast one of them loose when two men who had been lying in ambush suddenly sprang up, collared me and asked where I was going. I replied, across the river, and if they would assist me I would give them three louis. They said it was too late that night, they would take me to my companions and we might cross together in the morning. Whilst this was passing, three gensdarmes came up who marched me off to a village where I found the male inhabitants armed with pitchforks, staves, etc., keeping guard over the prison in which were secured my unfortunate companions, all the gensdarmes having been away in search of A-d-n and myself. In about two hours the former was brought in; he had lain in a ditch upon the ice until he could scarcely move and wastaken as soon as he crawled out. Being all secured, we were left in charge of the jailer, the peasantry still keeping guard outside.”
Once more the disappointed prison-breakers were marched back in great physical suffering and still more sore at heart, trudging painfully along mile after mile and exposed to all the weathers, to reach their dismal night’s lodgings, drenched to the skin and starved from want of food. A rough reception met them at Bitche from the indignant commandant who bitterly upbraided them for abusing his lenity by breaking their parole, and laying him open to censure in attempting their escape. No parole had been given, as a matter of fact, but the commandant was pleased to say so, and thought it warranted his committing them to the undergroundcachotalthough all were better fitted to become patients in a hospital. While the hurts were still unhealed they were called upon to proceed to Metz to appear as witnesses at a court-martial, held upon a gendarme supposed to have connived at their escape. They chivalrously refused to incriminate him, and drew down a reproof from the president of the court, who declared that the English would say anything to screen a man who had rendered them a service. But the gendarme had a wife living at Bitche and when they returned to the fort she was their firm friend.
Now with undefeated perseverance they cast about to contrive some fresh means of escape. Confinementin thecachotwas ended, and all ten in number were lodged above ground in a small room in the Grosse Tête. After examination of their surroundings they found that in a room in an upper story a window projected and was constantly left open as the room was used to dry the linen from the laundry. If they could gain this room above they might lower themselves to the ground on the far side of the first rampart, but within the mortar battery mentioned. Of what lay beyond they could form no idea. The number of walls remaining, their weight, the nature of the ditches, whether wet or dry, their width, whether there was any egress, the number of sentries if any,—all this was a mystery. Nevertheless they meant to take all risks and trust to the unknown if they could but succeed in the first step,—that of breaking prison.
An essential preliminary was to provide rope to enable them to scale the walls. The usual well known devices were adopted. Everything that could serve was utilised. Sheets, blankets and shirts were torn into shreds and woven into a cord which was covered with linen to save the hands in slipping down it. Money was raised on bills given to an old lady in the town; Ellison, the leader of the enterprise, was in possession of a gimlet and a saw, invaluable instruments for penetrating doors and barriers. Food was laid in; bread and beefsteaks were brought up from the town below and three quarts of brandy carried in bladders. Whenall was prepared, the first dark stormy night was chosen for the attempt and the first step was to pile the mattresses on top of each other so as to give access to the ceiling in order to break into the room above. The floor was of oak battens so hard that the saw broke in two pieces, but the largest was fitted into a fresh handle by these resourceful sailors, the work proceeded, and after nine hours of toilsome labour, the passage through was completed. It was said that when the commandant entered the room the next morning, upon seeing the hole in the ceiling, he lifted up his hands and exclaimed, “The devil himself could not prevent the escape of an Englishman.”
Daylight was at hand, and when it broke they could see their way down, see also the sentry ensconced in his box thinking more of shelter than of keeping a good look out. In the course of a few minutes all of the party went down and were safely landed at the bottom of the second rampart where they thought themselves free of the fort. But alas, fifty yards distant was a third rampart apparently of a great height, part of the rope had been left behind at the second rampart, and there was not enough left to reach the bottom of this third obstacle in safety. All went down, however, dropping the last twelve feet without accident except to one who broke his leg and had to be left behind. They were now in the ditch and they ran along it until they reached a flight of steps which led up to theglacis. At the top they had a full view of the whole country and, pointing for the distant mountains, gained the shelter of a wood where they were securely ensconced when the signalling gun fired.
What followed was an exact repetition of the adventures encountered in previous attempts; lying by till nightfall, a weary tramp under pouring rain along roads knee deep in mud, skirting villages and single houses to take refuge and seek rest in some friendly wood. A more useful friend was met, a villager who, although he said,—“You are from Bitche, I heard the gun yesterday morning,”—gave them food and found them a guide. They were now in the mountains of the Voges, walking parallel to the river Rhine, ten or twelve miles distant. One of the party was taken exceedingly ill and they were detained to attend on him. A couple of woodsmen next came upon the scenes and brought them wine and hot soup, and the sick man was so far restored as to be able to continue the arduous climb across the steep mountain country. A succession of guides to whom they were obliged to trust, fearing treachery all the time, got them at last to the river bank where they made a last halt in a wood, while a guide went in search of a boat to ferry them across. The best he could find was a species of raft made of five boards, but even now he would not allow the fugitives to embark until they had met his peremptory demand for more money. With freedom so near at hand, theywould have given any sum to complete their escape and were soon half way across the river. When they landed it was on the territory of Baden, about fifteen miles below Strasburg and on neutral ground. This was the seventh day after their departure from Bitche, but the whole distance traversed was only forty miles.
Their situation was still precarious, for although they were out of the immediate grip of France, Napoleon’s authority was felt in neighbouring countries and the people of Baden were expected to arrest all vagabonds who carried no passports and could not satisfactorily account for themselves. Still the Duchy of Baden was safer than that of Wurtemburg where there was an officious police. Moreover, the French invasion of Austria was imminent and the French armies would soon traverse this country, calling to strict account any who had succoured the enemies of France. Still they held on, facing many dangers, till they crossed the Danube, not far from Ulm, and next the Iller which brought them to Bavarian territory; then by the road from Memmingen to Munich, enduring terrible fatigue and suffering many vicissitudes. The Bavarian police were very inquisitive and disbelieved their story. This was at the Austrian frontier and yet it seemed certain that they must be detained on the Bavarian side. Yet they were allowed to pass despite their improbable story and their suspicious appearance,—their worn and weather-beaten countenances;their ragged clothes, their whole aspect that of disreputable tramps and vagrants.
Austria was at the time the ally of England, and the fugitives fearlessly entered the guard house and claimed the protection of the Austrian government. They were politely but not too cordially received and passed on under escort and delivered up at the police office at Salzburg, having thus accomplished their escape after a toilsome and harassing march of twenty-two days through by-ways and hedges, beset by enemies on every side, exposed to the inclemency of a severe winter and all the painful consequences attendant on light purses. From Salzburg they eventually proceeded to Trieste where they found an Austrian brig on the point of sailing for Malta, which, after twenty days on the voyage, they reached, and stood once more on British soil.
I have thought the foregoing escapes sufficiently interesting to deserve a detailed account. They are typical of numbers attempted with various results and are inserted to show the undaunted spirit animating the breasts of prisoners of war, chafing at their long and seemingly hopeless captivity. Another which exhibits much the same features, if anything more strongly developed, may also be quoted here to complete the record. It is a narrative of about the same date, which has come down to us, giving the thrilling personal adventures of a young British naval officer in his escape from Valenciennes. This was Mr. Edward Boys, at thetime a master’s mate and afterwards commander, who was taken by the French off Toulon in a recaptured prize. With other prisoners, he made the painful pilgrimage across France from the Mediterranean to the north-eastern frontier, and in due course reached Verdun, having travelled a great part of the way on foot or pony back, and having spent five months on the road. His account of Verdun tallies almost exactly with that given in the preceding pages. He bears witness to the oppressive misgovernment of the military authorities, the extortions practised, the encouragement given to vice, the dissoluteness and depravity prevailing among prisoners and civiliandétenus, the public gaming tables, the general looseness of morals, the debauchery and drunkenness culminating too often in despair and suicide. It is unnecessary to recapitulate the many atrocities perpetuated in this remote corner of a great country where for a long time all restraints were withdrawn and a small gang of dishonourable villains were permitted to bring shame and disgrace upon France.
Mr. Boys ate out his heart in captivity for nearly five years without making any attempt to escape, although a few of his comrades and intimate friends succeeded in getting away. Meanwhile the question of a general exchange of prisoners had been mooted more than once, but without result. The British Government would not admit that thedétenuswere “prisoners of war” and refused to give up Frenchsoldiers and sailors as the equivalent of these unjustly detained civilians (albeit ill-used Englishmen). By this time the French forces were seriously depleted and Napoleon was experiencing increasing difficulty in filling his ranks, which the exchange of war prisoners would have appreciably assisted.
The future looked black and hopeless. Imprisonment threatened to be absolutely endless when a rift broke through the clouds and a change in the situation seemed to favour the chance of escape. General Wirion, who was still in the ascendant, was at enmity with the town of Verdun and out of spite strongly recommended that the depot of prisoners should be removed bodily to Metz. Napoleon, however, owed Metz a grudge for not supporting him when he sought the suffrages of the city to endorse his assumption of the Imperial Crown, and he refused to help it at the expense of Verdun. Wirion, foiled in this direction, decided to injure Verdun by reducing its numbers. He transferred new arrivals elsewhere; he banished all he could condemn as offenders to Bitche, and finally made a great sweep out of the midshipmen on the plea that they weretrés mauvais sujetsand that Verdun was too weak to hold them. All of these youngsters, including Mr. Boys, were put under orders to proceed to other prisons, Valenciennes, Givet and Sarrelouis, the two first on the northern, the third on the eastern frontier of France.
“The northern expedition being ready,” says Boys, “we were placed two and two upon bundles of straw in five wagons and set out escorted by the greater part of the horse gendarmerie of the district, aided by the infantry.... Four horse gensdarmes formed the van and four the rear guard, one on each side of every wagon, and twenty foot soldiers in files, with others in each carriage, made up the escort, the commander bringing up the rear on his charger. Whenever the road passed by a wood, which frequently occurred, we were halted to give the infantry time to occupy its skirts; two gensdarmes on each side were posted midway while the rest displayed their pistols somewhat ostentatiously by way of intimidation. I have been thus minute in detailing the strength and manner of the escort, not only to contrast it with similar detachments in England, where twice the number of prisoners with infinitely greater facilities of escape might be safely entrusted to the car of a sergeant’s guard, but also to show how fully persuaded Wirion was that some of us would make the attempt.”
All along the route the prisoners except when put upon their honour were on the alert to jump out of their wagons and run away, but no opportunity offered until they were safely lodged in the fortress of Valenciennes, which was reached on the 17th August, 1808. Thetrés mauvais sujetswere lodged apart in a small house within the citadel where fourteen hundred seamen also occupied barrackscrowded into the space of an acre, and no one was suffered to go beyond these limits. Escape from this citadel appeared quite impossible. It was enclosed by a wet ditch, merely one foot of water lying over six feet of mud, and to swim across was out of the question. The citadel had two gates, one to the south and one to the north, with a strong guard at both. There was another sally port in the western rampart leading into an outwork, thence into a garden, and opening at length into the country.
For months Mr. Boys waited, reconnoitering his ground and vainly seeking to persuade some of his comrades to join him in his bold adventure. It seemed too hazardous and difficult of execution and the officers to whom he opened his mind one and all declined to become concerned in the enterprise. His desire got wind and became common gossip, so much so that it reached the ears of the secret police, a very active and inquisitive agency in all the French prisons, and Boys was closely watched. To disarm suspicion he sent for all his heavy baggage and his greyhounds which had been left at Verdun, and seemed determined to make his home at Valenciennes. These hounds were of much assistance to him in planning his escape. The gensdarmes were sportsmen and borrowed the dogs but they would not work without their master, so Boys was suffered to take part in drawing the neighbourhood and thus learned much of the lay of the land outside the fortress.He decided now not to attempt departure by the northern sally port but resolved to climb into the upper citadel and scale the eastern fortifications. Companions still hesitated to join him, but he began his preparations notwithstanding. Tools, provisions, a map of the surrounding country,—all were laid in, secretly obtained through a friend living in the town. A rope was still wanting, but he bought up all the skipping lines of the French children who were much given to this diversion, and it attracted no suspicion, and he soon had length enough to lower him from the top of the breastwork to the drawbridge leading to the upper citadel. The number of courses of bricks in the wall had been counted and an approximate calculation made. The same good friend in the town arranged to have iron handles fixed to a pair of steel boat-hooks, which were to be used as picklocks. A second rope was required and secured by a stratagem. There was a draw-well in the midshipmen’s yard with a worn and nearly unserviceable rope which was rendered utterly useless by hacking at the straw. A subscription was opened and a new rope supplied which would be ready for use at the supreme moment.
At length fresh overtures made to other prisoners led to the grudging assent of two midshipmen to join in the expedition, a third after long hesitation also agreed, and a fourth youngster becoming possessed of the secret immediately proposed himself, thus making up a party of five. The projectedescape, although surrounded with difficulties, did not seem impracticable. It meant scaling the inner wall, ascending the parapet unseen by lynx-eyed sentinels and patrols ever on the alert, to chop down two ramparts each forty-five feet in height, to cross two drawbridges and force two or more doors with ponderous locks. The obstacles to be surmounted might well have daunted the stoutest hearts, yet these brave spirits chafing at their prolonged confinement, losing sea service, and precluded from taking part in the war, were willing to face them, resolved to surmount and persevere with unflinching constancy to the bitter end.
The 15th November was chosen for the enterprise, a dark and stormy night, a fresh wind blowing and not a star to be seen; the leaves were falling in abundance, raising a rustling noise on the stones which deadened the sound of footsteps. The fugitives met in the common room to bid adieu to their comrades remaining behind, who seeing them equipped for the road, knapsack on back and rope slung on the shoulder of one of them, were disposed to jeer and laugh at their boast that they meant to be at home within ten days’ time. But they entered into the spirit of the thing and next morning at the regular muster when their comrades were missing answered for them, “Partis pour l’Angleterre” (started for England).
The start was made at 8P. M.Every fugitive carried a clasp knife and a small packet of fine pepper,the first for defence if attacked, the latter to be thrown into the eyes of their assailants to cover retreat. Boys and another were to go first to fix ropes and open doors, the rest to follow after an interval of a quarter of an hour; if the leaders were shot the rest could retire in safety; if they in their turn were detected, the others ahead might still gain the open country. All drew their stockings over their shoes to deaden the sound of their movements. Those ahead carried the rope and a couple of stakes on which to fasten it. They surmounted the first wall, passed through a garden, crossed a road and silently climbed the bank at the back of the north guardroom on their hands and feet. They were now at the highest point and in danger of being seen by some of the many sentries, but these for shelter from the bitter wind nestled close inside their boxes carefully crying aloud every quarter of an hour, “Sentinelle prenez garde à vous,” the French equivalent for “all’s well.”
The stakes, one of them a poker, were driven into the earth on the slant, one behind the other, and the eyelet hole of the draw-well rope slipped over, the other end being dropped into the giddy abyss till it touched the drawbridge below. Boys, who was the first to descend, was three parts down when a brick fell, struck against the side and rebounded on to his chest. This luckily he caught between his knees and carried along without noise. Then he crossed the bridge and waited for Hunter,who descended with equal care and silence. Opposite was the entrance to the ravelin, an arched passage ending in a massive door, securely bolted, against which the picklock was useless, and failure seemed imminent unless they reascended by the rope and tried elsewhere. They thought of dropping into the canal and floating along on their backs—an impossible feat, “there being too little water to swim and too much mud to ford it.” Then a bright idea came to them, to undermine a passage under the door and with their pocket knives they slowly and painfully effected this, being reinforced at the work by the arrival of their companions.
Creeping through the aperture, they followed the passage till they met the drawbridge at the end. It was raised but there was room to climb over and pass to the far side by thegarde-fousor bars serving as rails for the bridge. A second arched passage led under the ravelin and ended in another great door which, luckily for them, had been left unlocked by the gensdarmes. They were now in the upper citadel and all that remained was to lower themselves over the last rampart and so down to the crown of the glacis. Two narrow escapes ensued: the stake on the cope of the parapet holding the rope gave way, and Boys would have fallen fifty feet had he not caught and held himself by the long grass. One of the others nearly lost himself but Boys took his weight upon arm and shoulder and saved him. They were now free of the fort, havingaccomplished a perilous and laborious work in less than four hours.
It is needless and would be wearisome to follow their progress in detail. They crossed the glacis, gained the high road and were brought to a stop by the closed gates of a walled town; entering the ditch they discovered a subterranean passage and found a secure asylum among the rubbish of some old works. The map told them when daylight came that this was part of the fortifications of Tournay, and after a long rest, feeling they were quite safe for the time being, they fared forth at dusk making for Courtrai and reached it next morning, having now traversed twenty-five miles of the whole distance of sixty that had interposed between them and the sea coast on starting. But the river Lys was in front of them and could not be passed at this fortress town; it was necessary to follow its downward course by the right bank as far as Deynze where they lay in a wood until they mustered up courage to enter the town. Here they gave themselves out as conscripts marching to Ghent and found both food and shelter at a low public house. At four o’clock in the morning, rested and fortified with supplies, they crossed the river and took the direct road to Bruges, twenty miles distant, with only ten miles to the coast at Blankenberg, hard by Ostend.
They found a solitary public house on the third night close to Blankenberg, kept by a woman welldisposed to the English, who recognised and befriended them, sending them on after a good supper and unlimited gin. Their emotion was intense on reaching the sea which they had last left at the Mediterranean, and they rather hastily imagined their troubles at an end. But it was an impossible task to launch a boat from that flat beach, although many lay on the shore, and rather despairingly they returned to the kind soul at the cabaret with whom they soon bargained to be put across the channel. She agreed to find a boat and a crew to man it at the price of one hundred pounds. Meanwhile she gave them shelter while negotiations were opened with the local fishermen, which began on the 2nd January, 1809, and were continued in the teeth of innumerable contretemps and disappointments for nearly five months. The Flemish seafaring folk were afraid to act, deterred by the close watch set on all boats and the penalties that hung over all who ventured to assist fugitive prisoners. There was endless haggling about terms, great distrust of the methods of payment suggested, suspicion was always rife of treachery in the agents employed, and unexpected difficulties arose as to the choice of a place of embarkation, but at last the island of Cadsand opposite Flushing was chosen and the party made a last halt concealed in the ruins of the fortress of L’Ecluse. Patrols constantly on the alert must be eluded and all movements screened, but at last on the night of the 8th of May news came thatthe boat was close at hand. At ten o’clock with the weather fierce, the night dark, they marched down to the beach and as soon as the patrol passed, the private signal was made and answered. The boat glided silently inshore with muffled oars; they rushed in and in an instant were safe afloat; each seized an oar and vigorously applying his utmost strength they soon reached beyond the range of shot.
At daybreak the boat was under canvas going free, by three o’clock the white cliffs of England were in sight, and by five they landed at Ramsgate. The luck had turned for Mr. Boys. He was well received at the Admiralty, immediately passed, promoted lieutenant and appointed to H. M. S.Arachnewhich sailed soon afterwards for Flushing. The expedition to Walcheren was at that time in full swing, and although it was fruitless, the presence of the fleet in those waters was likely to benefit the escaped prisoners still detained on the Dutch coast. Mr. Boys was sent for the purpose of bringing them off. He was unfortunately called away to other duty, but the rescue was effected of several officers who had assisted Boys to escape from Valenciennes.
A few last words about Verdun. The scandals caused by the misgovernment of Wirion and Courcelles were summarily checked by the removal of the chief offenders. Any repetition of them was quite prevented by the appointment of an upright,honourable soldier, Col. Baron de Beauchène, to the chief command. He announced his firm intention of putting an end to all oppression in these words: “It will afford me real pleasure to render the prisoners under my care as happy as they have been miserable under others. I have served against the English in Spain, and am not ignorant of their generous conduct towards my countrymen. In return I ought to show all possible lenity,”—and he did. Captain Boys speaks of him as the fountain of “justice and equity.” He did not live long but died after a few days’ illness “respected and lamented by every one.” Nearly the whole body of the English in Verdun attired in full uniform attended the funeral. After Baron de Beauchène, a commandant of the Courcelles stamp was in power but was speedily superseded by Major de Meulan, a gallant soldier, honourable and just.
The depots on the north-eastern frontier were hurriedly broken up as the tide of invasion rolled forward, and the prisoners were hurried southward to Blois. There were more than twenty thousand, and they might have rendered some signal service by joining forces with the allies. But they were incapable of taking decided action. Most of them had grown gray in captivity, extending for many over eleven years, had lost all energy, and passed a mere animal existence indifferent to change and callous to the chances offered to regain freedom. Their minds no longer responded to any outsidestimulus, but were torpid and inactive. Many had grown so accustomed to prison life and were so broken by its hardships that any exertion seemed distasteful. They marched from prison to prison and, unlike the ardent souls whose adventures have been described, no one made an effort to escape.
War-prisoners in other countries—The worst in the United States—British prisoners during the Revolution—Prisoners during the Civil War—Important Confederate prisons, Libby, Belle Isle—Sufferings of Union prisoners—Attempts to tunnel out—Andersonville; situation, crowding, lack of food—Horrible suffering and high mortality—Conditions at Salisbury, North Carolina—Federal prisons—Suffering at Fort Delaware—Descriptions of prisoners held there—Johnson’s Island—Horrible suffering from cold—Dr. Wyeth’s experiences at Camp Morton—Point Lookout and Elmira—Mortality statistics—Responsibility for ill-treatment.
War-prisoners in other countries—The worst in the United States—British prisoners during the Revolution—Prisoners during the Civil War—Important Confederate prisons, Libby, Belle Isle—Sufferings of Union prisoners—Attempts to tunnel out—Andersonville; situation, crowding, lack of food—Horrible suffering and high mortality—Conditions at Salisbury, North Carolina—Federal prisons—Suffering at Fort Delaware—Descriptions of prisoners held there—Johnson’s Island—Horrible suffering from cold—Dr. Wyeth’s experiences at Camp Morton—Point Lookout and Elmira—Mortality statistics—Responsibility for ill-treatment.
ENGLANDand France are not the only countries in which prisoners of war, and other non-criminal prisoners have suffered. Indeed the story of those made captive by the fortune of war is so much worse in other countries, that the hardships mentioned in the preceding chapters seem trifling inconveniences in comparison. Strange to say the most horrible prison pens have not been in Europe, but across the Atlantic, in the latter half of the nineteenth century.
Imprisonment for debt was common in America during the colonial period, and persisted after the adoption of the Constitution, but in a thinly settled country, with no large cities, there was no greatprison which stands out like the Fleet or the King’s Bench.
During the Revolution, British prisoners were taken here and there, but the numbers except at Saratoga, where General Burgoyne surrendered, in 1777, and at Yorktown, were not large. Generally they were treated as well as circumstances allowed and besides were soon exchanged. The fact that they were in a hostile country, where their power to work harm was slight, made strict guarding unnecessary.
Burgoyne’s men under the convention signed by the British leader and General Gates were promised transportation to England on parole, and first were marched to the vicinity of Boston. The agreement was repudiated, however, and Congress ordered that they be taken to Charlottesville, Virginia. Madame Riedesel, the wife of the commander of the Hessians, has given in her sprightly diary an interesting account of their experiences, first at Charlottesville and then at Lancaster, Pennsylvania. Evidently there was little suffering. Many simply walked away and settled in the new country. Others joined the American army and by the time peace was declared the camp had practically melted away.
Some dark pages tell of the experiences of American prisoners in New York when the city was held by the British. Even worse were the experiences in the British prison ships in the harbour. There over-crowding, improper food and disease, took heavytoll of the prisoners, but the story is the same, in its essential features, as the account of the prison ships given in the preceding chapters. A prison ship was a prison ship whether anchored in British or in American waters.
With the great Civil War, we enter upon new ground. The contending parties were not different nations, but sharers of a common heritage joined both by tradition and by blood. War was waged upon an extraordinary scale. Never before were so many prisoners taken and held. While the figures are not entirely reliable, the best estimate places the number captured by both sides at 674,045, and the number held in prison for a longer or shorter time at 409,608, truly a stupendous army.
The proper care of such a number of men is task of surpassing difficulty, even where the authorities are accustomed to handling men in large masses. When they are not, the machinery must break down. Add to the inherent difficulty the fact that prejudice was strong, that war always brings out the petty and cruel as well as the nobler sentiments, and that one of the contending parties was hard pressed for food for its own soldiers, and you have the materials for tragedy.
Some prisoners were taken on both sides during 1861, and the number increased the next year. In 1862 Edwin M. Stanton, Secretary of War of the United States, stopped the exchanges because of a quarrel about terms. The differences were patchedup, however, and exchanges went on until July, 1863, when Major-General Halleck again ordered exchanges to stop. On the Federal side many negroes had been enlisted, a considerable proportion of whom were runaway slaves. The Confederate authorities declared that these were not subject to exchange but should be returned to their masters. Both sides were firm, and few prisoners were exchanged until near the close of the struggle.
An investigator has counted sixty-eight points where Confederate prisoners were kept for a longer or shorter time, counting each town or city as one even though several prisons were within the limits. The number of Federal prisons was not so large as seldom was it necessary to remove prisoners because of the approach of a Confederate army. Only a few are important, however, on either side.
The best known Confederate prisons were Libby and Belle Isle in Richmond, Va., Salisbury, N. C., Florence and Charleston, S. C., Andersonville and Millen, Ga., though at different times there were large numbers at Danville, Va., Raleigh, N. C., Columbia, S. C., and Savannah, Ga., but it is chiefly Libby and Belle Isle, Salisbury and Andersonville, that have filled the popular imagination.
Libby was an old three-story warehouse 140 by 105 feet, in the centre of Richmond. The building was divided by transverse brick walls into rooms each about 105 × 45 feet. This was preëminently a prison for officers. Few enlisted men were confinedhere, but it was so crowded at times that it was difficult to walk among the sleeping bodies. There were no bunks. Wrapped in the thin vermin-infested blankets the men lay upon the hard floors. There was an abundant supply of good water for drinking and cooking, limited bathing arrangements, and fair sanitary conveniences. The ceiling and walls were whitewashed at intervals and the floor was scrubbed every day. Lying upon the damp floor was, however, a cause of much sickness.
The food in the early months of use was fair, though the Northern stomach unaccustomed to corn meal revolted at times. Boxes from home were promptly delivered, and the sutlers furnished dainties of a sort. As the months went on supplies in the Confederacy grew scarcer and rations were cut down. The portion of bread was smaller and of poorer quality. Some prisoners declare that both cob and husk were ground with the corn. The meat was poorer in quality and smaller in quantity. As it was generally served raw, the prisoners cooked it badly. The supply of vegetables was scanty and sometimes for days none was issued. Boxes were no longer delivered promptly. Scurvy, dysentery, and severe stomach troubles were prevalent, and hundreds died.
Yet hope was not given up. The men had resources within themselves. Prisoners tell of dances, vaudeville performances, and attempts to give special dinners. The hope of escape did not die. Inthe fall of 1863 several unsuccessful attempts to tunnel out were made. Col. Thomas E. Rose of the 77th Pennsylvania regiment had conceived the plan of tunnelling from the cellar under the street east of the prison into a warehouse yard. The tunnel led through a fireplace in the cook room, where the prisoners were permitted to go, down into the cellar. The piles supporting the walls were cut through with pocket knives, and the earth was attacked. The only implement was a chisel. A wooden spittoon, to which strings were attached, brought the earth back into the cellar where it was spread on the floor and concealed by straw.
The work went on for several weeks, when owing to a miscalculation the tunnel came to the surface in the street. The hole was stopped, however, and was undiscovered by sentinels or pedestrians, while the work went on under the fence. On Feb. 8, 1864, one hundred and nine officers passed through and fifty-three succeeded in reaching the Federal lines. Some of the remainder died of exposure, and some preferred death to further imprisonment. Those recaptured, among whom was Colonel Rose, were brought back and all prisoners were more closely guarded thereafter.
Belle Isle, the prison for the enlisted men, was a wooded island in the James, once a place of resort for pleasure. On it was constructed a prison pen with few buildings. The supply of tents was insufficient, the water supply not good, and the foodworse than in Libby. During the summer months the mortality was not excessive, but when the sharp winter came on, the ill-fed, poorly-clothed, badly-sheltered prisoners suffered terribly. On January 5th, 1864, five are said to have been frozen to death. The general testimony seems to show that the officers were humane, but many acts of cruelty on the part of the guards undoubtedly occurred. Some of the prisoners were desperate characters, bounty jumpers and the like, and they did not scruple to rob and even murder their comrades. Many lost hope and observed no sanitary precautions. The report of the U. S. Surgeon who received late in the war one hundred and eighty-nine prisoners from this place, says: “Every case wore upon it the visage of hunger, the expression of despair.... Their hair was dishevelled, their beards long and matted with dirt, their skin blackened and caked with the most loathsome filth, their bodies and clothing covered with vermin.”
As the number of prisoners and the difficulty of feeding them in Virginia increased, arrangements were made to send them southward. Orders were given in November, 1863, to select a site for a prison in southern Georgia. The little hamlet of Andersonville, sixty-two miles south of Macon, was chosen and a log stockade fifteen feet high enclosing about sixteen and a half acres was constructed. A small stream about five feet wide and a foot deep divided the pen, and was expected to furnish waterand carry away the sewage. No shelters of any account were constructed, and the bake house was so constructed that the waste from it fouled the stream.
Prisoners began to arrive in February, 1864, before the work was completed, and during August the number was nearly 33,000. Though the stockade had been enlarged in June, to include twenty-six and a half acres, three and a half acres of the area were too marshy to be used. In addition a light railing fifteen feet from the wall indicated the “dead line” across which a prisoner passed at his peril. A simple calculation will show that only a few square feet were available for each of the poor wretches, and the crowding if nothing else was bound to produce sickness.
The regular Confederate ration was ordered issued at first, consisting of one-third of a pound of pork and one and one-fourth pounds of corn meal with beans, rice and molasses as often as practicable, but this was soon reduced. Gen. J. H. Winder, commandant of prisons, telegraphed to Richmond, July 25, 1864, that with 29,400 prisoners, 2,650 troops and 500 labourers, there was not a day’s ration on hand, and suggested that at least ten days’ supplies should be always kept in reserve. He was answered that Lee’s army could be furnished with only one day’s food at a time, and that it was impossible to grant his request.
The quality of the food was bad, the bread wasonly half cooked, there was insufficient wood for the prisoners to cook the meat, and some of the scanty supply was appropriated by the hungry guards who fared little, if any, better than the prisoners, so far as food was concerned. The prison also contained many desperate characters who robbed their fellow prisoners. These outrages became so frequent, that with the consent of Capt. Henry Wirz, the commander of the stockade, the prisoners themselves organised a court, tried, convicted and hanged six of these miscreants, after which, the “raiders,” as they were called, were more careful.
During the summer of 1864, the stockade was a hell on earth. Ten thousand men might have lived within the enclosure with some degree of decency. Thirty thousand could not. The stream could not carry away the filth, and heavy rains spread it over a large part of the enclosure.
The hospital, though moved to the outside of the stockade, could not care for the sick. Proper food, medicine, and appliances were lacking even if the medical staff had been larger and more skilful. The United States had made medicines contraband of war and many simple drugs could not be had at any price. Truly the hospital was a “gigantic mass of human misery.”
The rations issued grew smaller, and more uncertain. President Davis declares that they were the same issued to the soldiers in the field and thatmore could not be expected, particularly as the Confederacy was, in the face of rebuffs, constantly urging an exchange of prisoners. A visitor to the Executive Mansion in Richmond, who remained to dinner, relates that the meal consisted of fried bacon and corn bread. In the spring of 1864, General Lee had meat upon his table twice a week, but his usual fare was cabbage, sweet potatoes and corn bread, while sometimes the troops marched for days with no other food than parched corn, which they pounded into a coarse powder and mixed with water. Yet during all this time, there was food in some parts of the South, but poor transportation facilities made it unavailable.
The mortality at Andersonville was fearful. During July, 1864, it was 62.7 per thousand prisoners. In all, from first to last, 49,485 prisoners were confined here, of whom more than 12,800 died, a rate of twenty-six per cent. How many more died soon after exchange, or else dragged out a miserable existence with shattered health and broken spirits, can never be computed. That distinguished and impartial historian, Mr. James Ford Rhodes, well says: “Thus insufficiently nourished, exposed by day to the fierce Southern sun, by night to dews, drenched with torrential rains, languishing amidst filth and stench, breathing polluted air, homesick, depressed, desperate, these men were an easy prey to the diseases of diarrhœa, dysentery, scurvy and gangrene.”
In September, 1864, the near approach of General Sherman caused the temporary abandonment of the prison. The inmates were sent to Savannah, Ga., and Charleston, S. C., and thence to Florence, S. C., and Millen, Ga. This last named place was soon abandoned and the prisoners sent back to Andersonville. The place had been somewhat cleansed, by sun, wind and rain, and as it was not again so crowded, conditions were decidedly better.
At Florence, conditions were bad, but the officers in charge did all that could be done with the scanty means at hand, and can not be charged with neglect or cruelty. The same, perhaps, may be said of Salisbury, N. C., where some of the Andersonville prisoners were sent, but this prison deserves fuller mention.
The buildings of an abandoned cotton mill situated in a grove of sixteen acres were purchased by the Confederate government in the fall of 1861 and at first were used as a prison for deserters and disloyal persons. Gradually prisoners of war were sent and in March, 1862, there were about fifteen hundred. There was abundance of room, plenty of good water, and in spite of the coarse food there was little sickness. These prisoners were soon exchanged, but others followed them. Still, up to the latter part of 1864 conditions were endurable. In September of this year, the commandant, Major Gee, was notified to expect a large increase which arrived before he was ready for them. Early inOctober 5,000 came and 10,000 more before the end of the month. Some tents were furnished, the buildings already constructed sheltered a number, but the larger part were left to their own resources. Many burrowed into the hillside, built chimneys to their dugouts, and whittled shavings for a carpet. Others built rude shelters from boxes and planks. A train was kept running to bring fuel, but could not furnish an adequate supply. The wells were drained by constant use and prisoners under guard brought water from a neighbouring creek. Many of these escaped, and others broke through the rickety fence in spite of the “dead line” which existed here as it did at all enclosed prisons north and south.
The food was poor, the rough corn meal caused stomach trouble, and the hospital arrangements were entirely inadequate. Preparations to build more barracks were under way, when the officers were notified that the prison was to be abandoned. Meanwhile Sherman’s triumphant northward march threw everything into confusion, and conditions remained about the same until the prisoners were released. To-day the rows of graves in the Federal Cemetery, many of them containing unknown dead, show that here as elsewhere disease and hardship reaped a heavy harvest.
Though much more has been written about prison horrors in the South than in the North, conditions in the latter section were also deplorable. Wherethe Federal soldier suffered from the Southern sun the Confederate suffered from the Northern winter, and other conditions were not so different as is generally supposed. James Ford Rhodes, quoted above on Andersonville, says of Federal war prisons generally:[10]
“Prisons at the North were overcrowded ... bathing facilities hardly existed, ventilation left much to be desired and the drainage was bad. The policing was imperfect, vermin abounded.... Some of the commandants were inefficient and others were intemperate.”
Some prisons were old forts and the prisoners occupied the barracks. Generally they were enclosures like those at Belle Isle, or Andersonville, though everywhere except at Point Lookout, there were rude barracks for shelter, and at Point Lookout tents were supplied. Conditions differed much at different places, depending somewhat upon the officers. At Fort Warren in Boston Harbour apparently there was no cause for complaint, while no former inmate speaks of Fort Delaware without curses.
This last mentioned prison was built upon a small island in Delaware Bay about two and a half miles from the mainland. Much of the island was below low water mark and a dyke kept out the water. Canals of polluted water crossed the prison enclosure, and poisoned any wound washed in them.There was little or no drainage, food was scanty and bad, the officers and guards were cruel, the mortality was high. Alexander Hunter in “Johnny Reb and Billy Yank” says, describing some prisoners released from that enclosure: “Scores seemed to be ill; many were suffering from scurvy, while all bore marks of severe treatment in their thin faces and wasted forms. They were in the dirtiest, filthiest condition imaginable, and not a face there looked as if it had been washed for weeks. Their clothes were torn and ragged; in fact some had not enough tatters to cover their nakedness. Take it all in all, it was the saddest sight that our eyes had ever looked upon and made the heart ache to witness it.” Of one particular friend he says further: “In short, a month’s residence in Fort Delaware had changed him from the very picture of health and strength into a lame halting invalid whose body and mind seemed to have received some great shock.”
Johnson’s Island in Lake Erie, near Sandusky, Ohio, was an officers’ prison, corresponding to Libby. The barracks were old wooden buildings with many cracks and the prisoners suffered intensely from cold. Many of them were from the far South and had never seen snow. To them, the sharp winds from the lake represented a torture unknown, and when in January, 1864, the temperature went down to 25° below zero, the suffering was intense. At first the food was good, but rations were cut down, sutlers were excluded from the enclosures,and the prisoners declare that they were always hungry. Some picked decaying food from the swill barrels, or ate rats when they could be caught.
Camp Morton, at Indianapolis, was an old fair ground, which had been turned first into a training camp for recruits and then into a prison. Some of the barracks were the old stalls once used for cattle. It was generally considered in the North one of the best managed of all the prisons. Yet Dr. John A. Wyeth, now a distinguished physician of New York City, who was captured when a boy of eighteen, in an article in theCentury Magazinein 1891, giving his own experience and that of his fellow-prisoners, says: “I had no disease. It was starvation pure and simple,” and again, “No bone was too filthy or swill tub too nauseating for a prisoner to devour. The eating of rats was common.” He further says that the one thin blanket allowed a prisoner was sometimes covered with snow which had sifted through the cracks, and some prisoners froze to death. The guards are described as harsh and a few as tyrannical, and even murderously inclined.
The prison at Point Lookout on the north shore of the Potomac River just above the mouth is described by a Virginia officer, A. M. Keiley, in his interesting book, “A Prisoner of War,” as consisting of two pens on land only a few inches above water at high tide. The prisoners taken at Gettysburg were the first to occupy these quarters. Heretents were supplied in place of barracks, but the supply of wood was scanty, and during the winter high winds drove water over the land, and converted the whole pen into a sheet of ice.
The same officer was then transferred to Elmira, New York, where nearly 10,000 prisoners were confined during August, 1864. The ground had been a receiving station for recruits. Both wooden barracks and tents were in use. The water was good and the commanding officer was efficient and humane, though some of his subordinates are charged with cruelty, as was also a part of the medical staff. Though an abundance of bread was supplied, little meat was issued, and after the sutlers were excluded, August 18, 1864, an epidemic of scurvy followed. Speaking of some of his fellow prisoners who were finally exchanged, he says: “On they came a ghastly tide with skeleton bodies and lustreless eyes, and brains bereft of but one thought, and hearts purged of all feelings but one—the thought of freedom, the love of home ... some with the seal of death stamped on their wasted cheeks and shrivelled limbs, yet fearing less death than the added agony of death in the hands of enemies.”
Who was responsible for all this misery? Was this horrible suffering deliberately inflicted by the authorities with a fixed purpose in view? Such was undoubtedly the general belief in the North regarding the Confederate government. Secretary Stanton as early as December, 1863, declared thatUnion soldiers held captive “were deprived of shelter, clothing and food and some have perished from exposure and famine.” After the war, Captain Wirz, the keeper of Andersonville, was tried and convicted by a military tribunal which returned a verdict that he had conspired with Jefferson Davis and others against the lives of Union soldiers. Wirz was hanged Nov. 10, 1865, and General Winder’s death probably saved him from a similar fate.
On the other hand President Davis in a message to the Confederate Congress in December, 1864, says the Union soldiers were given the same rations “in quantity and quality as those served out to our own gallant soldiers” while “the most revolting inhumanity has characterised the conduct of the United States toward the prisoners held by them.”
Many similar official or semi-official statements were made on both sides. Mr. Rhodes has weighed and sifted the evidence, perhaps more thoroughly than any other historian, and his verdict is as follows: “There was no intention on either side to maltreat the prisoners. A mass of men had to be cared for unexpectedly. Arrangements were made in a hurry, and as neither side expected a long duration of the war, they were only makeshifts devised with considerable regard for economy and expenditure. There was bad management at the North and worse at the South owing to less efficient organisationwith meagre resources. And it plainly appears from the mass of the evidence that the prisoner at the North was the better off of the two, as he always had food and shelter.”
Mr. Rhodes then compares the revised statistics which show that of 194,743 Union prisoners held by the Confederacy, 30,218 or fifteen and a half per cent. died, while of 214,865 Confederate prisoners 25,976 or twelve per cent. died. He then declares that considering all things the balance was nearly even and that the North has no cause to reproach the South.
In making up this judgment he undoubtedly takes into consideration the attitude of Secretary Stanton and General Grant. When the Confederate authorities, burdened with the great mass of prisoners whom they could not feed, finally and persistently besought exchange upon any terms, General Grant said in August, 1864: “It is hard on our men held in Southern prisons not to exchange them but it is humanity to those left in the ranks. Every man we hold when released on parole or otherwise becomes an active soldier against us, at once directly or indirectly. If we commence a system of exchange which liberates all prisoners, then we will have to fight on until the whole South is exterminated. If we hold those caught they amount to no more than dead men.” Therefore, with iron nerve he resisted all pressure brought to force an exchange, and was sustained by Secretary Stanton.Both these men must share with the Confederate authorities the responsibility for prison horrors.
Handling men in masses is always difficult. In the Crimea, just ten years before the awful winter of 1864, the English army was reduced by famine and disease to a mere skeleton. Here there was no animus, but only incompetence to meet the difficulties of the situation. During the Franco-Prussian War, in spite of the wonderful preparations on the part of Prussia, bitter complaints of the treatment of French prisoners were made. But the misfortunes or the failures of one nation do not excuse or justify those of another. The treatment of the Civil War prisoners fills some of the darkest pages of American history.