POW

During the first part of the Civil War, the Union and the Confederates exchanged prisoners of war unofficially at first and then officially.  But later in the war, as the North started taking far more prisoners than the South, and when the South refused to treat black prisoners the same as whites, the North stopped prisoner exchanges.  Thus, POW camps were hastily built to house all the prisoners.

Our next stop on our way to Florida was at Andersonville National Historic Site in Georgia,  home of perhaps the most infamous POW camp. Intended to hold 10,000 men in a 17 acre pen with a 15 foot stockade fence around it, it was quickly enlarged to 27 acres that at peak held close to 35,000 men.  A stream running through the center of the camp provided dirty drinking water at one side, and sewage disposal at the other.  Their were few buildings or formal tents within the walls, just whatever shelters the prisoners could build from the brush and trees present, and the blankets and tarps they may have brought in with them.  They were fed mostly uncooked starvation rations, and disease was rampant.  Confined solders suffered terribly from overcrowding, exposure, poor sanitation, inadequate food, contaminated water, lice, and other vermin.  The Confederate guards showed no mercy and shot prisoners for any reason.  On top of all this, gangs formed within the prison and they would prey on their fellow soldiers, stealing their food, blankets, and clothing.  Nearly 13,000 prisoners died in fourteen months in Andersonville of diseases, injuries, and starvation; over a hundred a day at the peak.  As soon as one died, others would strip off their clothes and take their belongings.  The death rate was so high and so many died each day, that they were laid in trenches side by side and covered with dirt; no coffins.  Twenty eight percent of Union soldiers confined at Andersonville died there.  Ten percent of all the Civil War fatalities were POW's.

The gate to the prison site.

The rebuilt stockade gates.

The stream still runs through the center of the camp site.  35,000 men got their drinking water from this stream, until one night after a violent thunderstorm, when a spring of fresh water started flowing out of a hillside.

We visited nearby Andersonville National Cemetery, where these men were buried.  It is still used as a military cemetery today.  It is sobering to see the rows of stones marking the graves of these poor men, many unknown.  Clara Barton spent the summer after the end of the Civil War identifying these men, properly marking the graves, and making sure all had a decent burial.

The monument that the State of Illinois erected after the war to commemorate the soldiers from Illinois that died at Andersonville.

The POW camps in the North were probably not much better, but because the North won and the South lost, the Confederate camps are the ones that became exposed.

   And say, Thus saith the king, Put this fellow in the prison, and feed him with bread of affliction and with water of affliction, until I return in peace.
II Chronicles 18:26

Chickamauga

The Battle of Chickamauga Park

We've fought no battle hard and hot

In no mans land a' dark,

The nearest to the front we got,

Was Chickamauga Park.

We did not have a chance to fight

And make our records famous,

Too soon the Huns were put to flight,

I hope you do not blame us.

The time of peace has come about,

but still in camp they hold us.

God only knows when we'll get out, 

and he has never told us.

It may be that they'll leave us here,

perhaps they will forget us.

But we should worry, weep, or fear, 

the prospect does not fret us.

We've all the grub that we can chew,

and lots of time to chew it.

And nothing in the world to do,

and all the day to do it.

Each day brings forth great strings of news,

from our Latrine Gazette,

You may believe them if you choose,

it's all the news you'll get.

Perhaps we'll all come marching home,

perhaps we'll go to Russia,

France or Belgium we may roam,

to Palestine or Prussia.

Although we have never fought,

we're boys of Uncle Sam.

So send us home or to Berlin,

We do not give a d**n.

We found this poem years ago in my Grandfather's trunk that contained his World War I era army souvenirs.  It was copied in his own handwriting, but I don't think he was the author. He was stationed at Camp Forrest which was a temporary camp on Chickamauga Battlefield National Military Park.  He was part of the First Provisional Regimental Battalion, Sapper Engineers.  Fortunately he did not have to go to Europe.

We made Chickamauga Battlefield our first stop on the way to Florida this winter.  It was a rainy, foggy day, but we learned a lot of Civil War history there.  The battle for Chattanooga was fought to keep the Union army from taking the "gateway to the South".  The Union was forced to retreat from the fields around Chickamauga creek, but they were able to retreat into Chattanooga and fortify the city until General Grant could arrive with reinforcements. Thus the loss actually became a turning point in the war.  It had the second highest casualties of the war, after Gettysburg.

We enjoyed visiting the battlefield, but the weather prevented us from any hiking or a picnic.  We toured the battlefield, walked through the museum, and watched the movie that explained the battle and its importance.

While my Grandfather was stationed there, they took a group picture of his battalion.  The old farmer and his wife were able to get our picture taken in the same spot he stood for the picture.  Excuse the glare on the glass of the old photo.

About forty thousand prepared for war passed over before the Lord unto battle, to the plains of Jericho.

Joshua 4:13

   

Road Time

One Friday night a couple of weeks ago, the phone woke me at 12:15 A.M.  We had lost power and the alarm company was calling to warn us of potential problems in the confinement buildings.  This happens at least once a year, so I left my flannel sheets and went out to make sure the generator was running and that everything was OK.  The power was back on when we woke up in the morning.

I spent a night in a recliner at OSF a couple weeks ago.  The oldest farmer was having some health issues one evening that concerned us.  He was finally checked into his room around midnight, and it was 2:00 AM before all the questions and standard procedures were finished.  Then with all the interruptions during the night, there wasn't much sleep.  Fortunately there appears to be nothing seriously wrong and he was able to come back home a day later.

Several of us have been taking turns picking up Chris in Decatur, bringing him up to Washington for church, and then taking him back after church.  I like the trip in the early morning because the roads have very little traffic on Sunday mornings.  It takes an early start, because it's a three hour round trip to be at church by 9:30, but I enjoy the trip and the conversation with Chris.  I let him drive part of the way this past Sunday; it's the first time he has driven in 19 years.  He said he felt like a 15 year old beginner again, and I definitely played backseat driver.  Hopefully in another six weeks he can move up to our area, find an apartment, get his license, and find a job.

And I will gather the remnant of my flock out of all countries whither I have driven them, and will bring them again to their folds; and they shall be fruitful and increase.
Jeremiah 23:3