The National tribune., 1882-11-23
EX-PRISONERS OF WAR.
Reunion of the Iowa ex-PriSOnerS Of
War Association.
KEEP TIE BALL ROLLING.
Rev. J. B. Vawter Gives a Pic
ture of Prison Life.

| Mr.. PRESIDENT, HONORABLE MAYOR, COM
RADEs There must be some mistake. Some
thing is wrong. l was told that your Honor
able Mayor would deliver an address of welcome
to the Association of Prisoners of War, and
was asked to respond on behalf OF the Assoca-
ton. [ fear, bir. President and Honorable
Mayor, that you have been imposed upon
These well-dressed and well-fed gentlemen are
not old prisoners. 1t wont do, gentlemen. I've
seen prisoners. know how they look, and how
they act. If | should offer a chew of tobacco
for soup-bone, could | trade in this assembly?
| think not. If l should go through this hall
with a half pint of miserable bean-soup in n
blackened haIf-canteen, trying to swap it for
two spOonfuls of rice, could | find market?
Not without skimming of the bugs; and that
would take half the soup.
Do you think, Mr.. President, that these gen.
tlemen have carefully pressed all the seams in
their shirts this morning with their thumb
nails? / don't believe it.
No! comrades, we neither look nor act, nor
feel like prisoners of war.
Memory, by the word Andersonville," calls
mp pictures of wretchedness, horror and Woe
that seem to us now, in our comfortable sur
roundings, like frightful dreams Of disordcred
brain
When 1 entered that pen, late in July, 1864,
it contained thirty thousand men. Think of
it! The railroads centering in this city have
been loaded down for three or four days bring
ing people to the State Fair, and the papers
tell us that yesterday there were thirty thou
sand on the grounds. Some of you saw that
vast multitude in that park of nearly one
hundred acres. Can you imagine such multi
tude crowded into pen containing only eleven
acres-not to swelter and smother for an hour
or two but to live Thereon die-till the weary
days and slecplcss nights dragged into weeks,
and the weeks into months. BY computation
of the number of men and the available space
in the pen, you will find that there were about
twenty men to every square rod of surface;
when they all lay down at night you could
not walk many steps in any part Of the pen
without treading ON some one and getting into
trouble.
ANDERsONVTLLE PRISON.
The pen was field of yellow sand. 1t was
all alive with leas. Lice crawled everywhere.
Myriads of flies buzzcd about US all day and
clouds Of mosquitoes destroyed our rest at night.
4 few had blankets, and were able to provide
themselves with meagre tents that partly shell
tered them. But the vast majority had no
shelter or covering of any kind. They entered
that pen of horror stripped and robbed They
groveed in that hot sand, beneath that burn
ing sun, and fought fcas and lice by day and
at night the white fog of the swamps, laden
with the foul stencil of our own valley of death,
crept up through the stockadc, wrapped US
about with its damp vapors, and saturated US
with its malariOus poison. When at last, weary
with fighting mosquitoes, we stretched ourselves
on the sand to sleep, the dew beaded our tenn
pies and boards.
About half of these men were sick with diar-
rhma fever, scurvy and other diseases. At
least five thousand were helpless. They needed
careful nursing, and got nothing. They lay OH
that vermin- reeking sand, in their rags and
filth, the fog chilling them by night and the
sun blistering them by day and died at the
rate of three thousand per month. We could
not help them, poor boys. We had no means.
One mercy amid this woe was that when man
became helpless, he generally soon became de-
liri0us and did not realize his surroundings.
He would name over his dear ones, and prattIe
Of love and home, while misery and wretched-
ness lay round about him. Yea, in his wild
rawlings you would hear snatches of heavenly
songs though sung in the bowels of hell.
Such was Andersonville in the summer and
fall of 1864. Comrades, appeal to you, have
drawn the picture To stroug2 You know !
have not. Many of you remember how the
strong struggled for life aud the weak died.
and were piled up at the south gate, with none
to help us, to sympathize with us to care for
us, till the God Of Heaven and Of Nature, in
pity for his wretched children, sent his storm
cloud to wash our sandy beds, and re-afffrmed
the strange story of Moses, about the Rock in
the wilderness, that watered the f;mished sons
of Jacob by calling forth for us the bubbliug
fountain of pure water, that we might drink
and live.
l belonged to the last squad Of prisoners to
reach our lines those taken from Anderson
vile to Lake City, Florida, in the spring of
1865, and turned loose the last Of April, to find
our lines by way of Jacksonville.
Some of you belonged to that camp. You can
never forget it. The last Of April thirtv-thrae |
hundred Of us were encampcd in that cypress I
swamp. In the evening they issued TO us an
extra ration of meal. The next morning wo /
were taken down the road few miles, and the .
commander of the guard made us a speech and .
turned us loose He told us that they were
tired of guarding Us our time was out
They were going to the front to fight and he /
advised US to go home and stay there. lie told /
us we could never conquer them in the world |
His whole speech was a lie. They were then
included in Johnstons surrender to Sherman.
and were ordered to Tallahassee to turn their
arms over to the U. S. Government. We were
told to follow the railroad bed, which would
lead us to jacksonville or we might go to,
and he named a country still farther south than
Florida.
GOODBYE JOHNNY.
The speech was closed, the guard opened
ranks, and we marched through. Goodbye
Johnny. Goodbye, Yank.
What a strange feeling! Were we really free?
After all the suffering, disappointment and
despair, were we really going home at last?
We asked ourselves over and over-what can ii
mean? Many of the boys were sick and feeble
not able to walk. But in the wild excite
ment of that hour they struggled to their feet,
and started with us. Some staggered along Il
mile and fell by the roadside. Some went