“Then one morning about six months ago, I prepared a bit of breakfast to take up to Mother. Father had already gone to the field. I opened her bedroom door and called to her but she did not answer. I sat the breakfast tray on the nightstand, rattling the cup and saucer, but Mother was asleep. I pulled a chair over by the bed and sat down. I sat there and I sat there, and I waited and waited but . . .” Kate suddenly grabbed James by the arm as if she might draw strength from it. James put his other arm around her and pulled her close, muffling her sobs. He knew the rest. He could feel his heart pounding beneath his heavy wool jacket. Then in a broken voice Kate said, “Oh James . . . Mother wasn’t sleeping.”
At that point she broke down and James could not help from doing the same. His mother was gone; that sweet gentle woman, his first love. Guilt covered him like a shroud. How much had he contributed to her early decline? How had he not made it possible to see her in more than three years, especially when he was told that she was not well?
James guided Kate to the front stoop of a nearby house. They sat side by side and consoled each other. When Kate regained her composure she said, “I sat in that chair until Father came home. I heard him call to me when he came in but I couldn’t answer. He found me in the bedroom with Mother; as soon as he walked in, he knew. It broke him, James. It broke him completely. I got up and helped him into the chair. When I went in the next morning, he was still there. It was difficult to get him to understand that Mother needed to be taken care of. I didn’t think he was going to allow her to be buried. I sent for Dr. Mead and he came; along with Reverend Tobias, they helped me with Father. I wrote to Ashton but I never heard from her. With the war going on, I can’t be sure she ever received my letter.
“Father sat like a stone for days after the funeral. I wondered where you were. I wished you were there. Finally, he regained his senses. He told me that the war was heading for our front doorstep. He didn’t want me in harm’s way. I didn’t want to leave but he was so distraught that I didn’t want to argue with him. I don’t know if you remember Mrs. Melanie Hunter. She grew up with Mother in Macon then moved to Savannah after she got married. People still call her Mrs. Hunter even though her husband died many years ago when the ship he was working on was lost at sea.
“She would visit Mother once or twice a year; back then, you were usually away at school. She has a fine house and she lives alone. She didn’t have her husband long enough to have children and she never remarried. Father wrote to her and asked if I could stay with her for a while. A month later, Father received a letter from her. She said that I could come and stay as long as I wanted, so Father sent me here. Mrs. Hunter has been good to me, but when the war is over and Father sends word, I’ll go home . . . if home is still there.”
It was well after dark now. James told Kate that he would walk her home. As they made their way to Mrs. Hunter’s house, James told her about his life since leaving home. She was both surprised and sad when he told her about Polly and little James. She told James that she hoped to meet her sister-in-law and nephew someday. James promised her that the day would come. “I hope someday soon we will all be together again, Kate.”
“Before your hopes become too high, James, please understand that a reunion with Ashton may not be possible. After Jefferson told us about seeing you at Gettysburg, Ashton denounced you and she swore an oath that she would never speak to you again. She blames you for a great deal, even for the death of her husband. Her wounds may never heal.”
When they reached Mrs. Hunter’s home, James hugged his sister again.
“I can’t tell you how good it is to see you, Kate. I believe the army will be here for a couple of weeks. I will visit as often as I can while I’m here. I intend to speak to my commanding officer before we pull out and ask for a short furlough. I’d like to visit home before I leave Georgia. I must see Father and try to explain myself to him.”
“Maybe it would do him some good,” said Kate. “But I really don’t know.”
“I have to try,” he replied. “I’ll say goodnight now, Kate. I need to find a quiet place to think and to pray.”
TWENTY-SIX
The Best Laid Plans
The following weeks were very difficult for James as he did his duty and mourned his mother’s death. It did not help knowing that his oldest sister, Ashton, hated him, and quite likely, his father as well. The bright spot, of course was not only finding Kate in Savannah, but more importantly she did not hate him. In fact, each opportunity he had to spend time with her made the relationship seem more as it had been before the madness all began. He wrote Polly a long letter bringing her up to date about his family.
A week before the army was ready to leave Savannah, James requested permission to see General Kilpatrick’s Chief of Staff concerning a leave of absence. At first, Major Jennings was reluctant to acquiesce to his request. He explained that while he could appreciate the fact that James had been away from duty for over a year and a half because of a serious wound, still he had only been back on active duty for a short time. However, when James told the major about his mother’s death and that home was relatively close by, the major relented, granting him three days.
On January 21st, the army was prepared to move out and head north into South Carolina. For James, it was very hard to say goodbye to Kate. He promised he would write to her after he’d visited their father. He further promised that he would be in touch with her after the war. “I’ll bring my wife and son to Georgia. I am very anxious for them to meet you.”
“Please take care of yourself, James, and tell Father that I am well and ready to come home whenever he thinks best.”
“I’ll tell him, Kate, goodbye.”
James climbed up on Goliath and headed out of the city toward Macon. It was true that he was shadowed by trepidation at the thought of confronting his father. He was also filled with some queer sort of anticipation, helplessly hoping that the visit would turn out better than he expected. The day before leaving Savannah, he purchased some civilian clothes that he intended to wear for the visit. He would not insult his father by wearing the uniform of whom he thought of as the enemy. He could hardly believe that he was finally on his way.
In spite of James’s preoccupation with his family problems, there was still a war going on and a soldier must never forget that, especially in enemy territory. So absorbed was James in his preparation for the visit, that he did not realize he was being followed. When the first bullet whistled past him, the Confederates were just a few hundred yards behind and bearing down fast. Quickly assessing the situation, he could see that there was no cover anywhere close. Even if there had been, the odds were just too great. Accepting the fact that he had made a costly mistake, he did the only thing he could do. Reining Goliath to a stop, he dismounted, dropped his weapons and put his hands high in the air.
In about a minute he was encircled by a dozen gray-clad riders. A tall, rough hewn sergeant got off his horse and checked to be sure that James had completely disarmed himself then he said, “One a Sherman’s boys ain’t ya? You get lost from the herd?”
“No. I was heading home.”
“Where’s home?”
“Macon.”
“Macon? In that Yank uniform? You tryin to be funny?”
“No. My home is near there.” James immediately regretted his blunder. What could have been worse than admitting to the likes of these men that he was a Southerner, especially since he was learning to disguise his accent so that it was not as recognizable? If only he had changed into the civilian clothing he’d purchased, before leaving Savannah. Ever since hearing of his mother’s death, his ability to think clearly had suffered. Two serious mistakes in a row equaled the unfortunate result.
“So you’re a traitor,” said the tall sergeant. “That’s twice as bad as a regular Yankee. Least they’s fightin for their side. You is fightin agin your’n. You is a dirty son of a bitch.” One of the other soldiers, a private with dirty yellow hair and a nose lik
e an eagle’s beak said, “Let’s shoot this turncoat scum.”
“I got me a better notion,” said the sergeant. “We’ll take this bastard to Andersonville. Captn Wirz jes loves traitors. He’ll see to it that this prick suffers proper fore he dies. You wouldn’t wanna cheat this boy outta some Andersonville hospitality would ya?”
“I reckon not,” said the private.
“But Andersonville is for enlisted men, Sarge,” said a third captor. “This back stabber is a lieutenant.”
The sergeant took a knife from his pocket and carelessly slashed James clean of all insignia. “Now he looks just like a private.”
The rest of the Rebels enjoyed the laugh and added their agreement to the whole idea. Once again, fate had dealt him a cruel blow. There wasn’t a soldier in the entire Union army who didn’t shudder at the name Andersonville.
James knew that the guards at the prison would go much harder on him if they found out that he was from the South.
The sergeant stripped Goliath of his saddle, then with the help of another man, hoisted James across the back of the horse face down on his stomach. Then they passed a rope underneath and tied his hands and feet together.
“Jake,” the sergeant said to the big nosed private. “You and Ladge deliver this garbage to Andersonville. Then head to Macon. We’ll catch up with you there.” Then to James the sergeant said, “Have a nice ride, traitor. We’ll say howdy to everyone in Macon for ya.”
Camp Sumpter, as it was officially called, was located on a rail line that connected Macon and Albany, about sixty miles southeast of Macon. It was twenty-seven acres of bare ground enclosed by a stockade of squared tree trunks. At the prison’s inception, it was the intention of the authorities to build a barracks. However, by February 1864, the flood of prisoners was so overwhelming that the shelters never materialized.
When James reached the prison with his captors he was in agony. His insides ached from miles of bouncing on his stomach and his wrists were raw and bleeding from the rope that bound them. He had not been given as much as a mouthful of water during the entire trip. Twice he was plagued by the need to relieve himself and did so, which increased his discomfort.
When big nose Private Jake cut the rope and shoved him off Goliath’s back, James laid on the ground too stiff and sore to get up. Undeterred by James’s condition, Private Jake and his comrade Ladge, each grabbed an arm and dragged him to the commandant’s office, letting him drop on the front porch. The door opened and a Confederate captain came out to investigate the noise.
“What have we here?” inquired the captain in a voice heavily laden with a Swiss accent. The two troopers saluted and Private Jake said, “Beggin your pardon, Capm. This here is a present from General Sherman that we ketched outside a Savannah. He’s a Yankee traitor from Macon. Some a the boys wanted to shoot him but then we figured he’d a might rather spend some time in your stockade, sir.” Captain Wirz looked at James lying in a heap on the porch.
“Stand him up. I want him to show me some respect. Stand him up.”
Like lifting a sack of grain, they hauled James to his feet and threatened to beat him if he didn’t stand up straight. “You are from Georgia but you fight for the Union?” said Wirz. James did not answer so Private Jake stomped on his right foot almost hard enough to break bones. “Can you answer now?” said Wirz.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you turn your back on your country?”
“I didn’t, sir, the Confederacy did.”
“That is a good answer. I don’t like it, but technically it is a good answer. We did pull out of the Union; we felt we had the right. Do you believe in human rights?”
“I believe in the rights of all humans.”
“All humans?”
“Yes, sir, all humans white and black.”
“Again a good answer. Again, an answer I do not like, but technically good. But we are the Confederate States and we are at war. You are not only the enemy, but as you like technicalities, we also see you as a traitor. I have the authority to hang you if I wish but I believe that punishment would be insufficient so I will let you rot in my stockade. Should you make any trouble for me I will hang you straight away. Take him to the front gate, soldiers, and have him admitted.”
TWENTY-SEVEN
The Deadliest Battlefield
The gigantic main gate swung open and before James was the living hell that all referred to as Andersonville. For as much as he had heard about the place, even from men who had spent time there, it was still far worse than words could describe. It was a huge open mud pit covered by thousands of tents constructed from sticks and scraps of canvas or blankets. Beneath many of the tents, the ground was dug out, resembling something like a gopher hole. The stockade held an enormous collection of withered, emaciated creatures covered with long hair, beards, and the tattered remains of a uniform.
Most of the inmates seemed to be milling around aimlessly as if they had no earthly purpose. But even if they had the strength, what was there to do? The only true activity was waiting; waiting for liberation or waiting to die. It was a fact that more men died of disease than of battle wounds.
James felt a pang of anger toward General Sherman; he had been so close. The army had marched two hundred and seventy-five miles from Atlanta to Savannah with no real opposition except for Joe Wheeler’s cavalry. Why didn’t they swing a little further south and open the gates for these poor forgotten souls? Was Sherman too busy hunting glory? Would he have looked upon these helpless, starving men as a burden like the thousands of slaves that followed after him? Certainly it would not have been difficult to overpower the small Confederate force that guarded the prison.
For a time, James simply stood and stared at the inmates as a man might stare at any tragic scene. The awfulness of it grabbed his attention making it difficult to pull away. The men could have been categorized by stage of health and appearance, ranging from those recently captured to those who had been there for many months.
Eventually he was approached by an inquisitive corporal who, from the looks of him, had been there for some time. “Welcome, friend. I’m sorry to see you here,” said the corporal.
“No sorrier than I am to be here,” James replied.
“You think you’re sorry now, just wait til you’ve been here for a couple months. This ain’t no prison. It’s a death camp. Ever since they stopped the prisoner exchange, the Rebs just lock you up in here and take bets on how long you’ll last. It would be more humane to shoot us than take us prisoner. If the war doesn’t end soon, we’ll all die in here. I guess it really comes down to the individual; some will just naturally last longer than others. There’s no safe water to drink except rain water, when it rains. There’s no proper medical care and no decent food. Unsifted corn meal filled with husks and eaten raw is every man’s daily portion. Every single day we carry out the dead. Most die of disease and malnutrition, some give up hope and cross the dead line.”
“Dead line?”
“Yeah. See that single rail fence running the whole way around, a few feet from the wall?”
“I see it.”
“That’s the dead line. Cross it and they’ll shoot you down.”
“How long have you been here, Corporal?”
“Name’s Tim Fallon. Been here four months now. I got here just before they hanged the raiders.”
“My name is James Langdon. Who were the raiders?”
“A bunch of scum who banded together and survived by robbin and killin the new boys when they got captured. There was about a thousand of them; mostly misfits and bounty jumpers. When new boys came in, they usually had full haversacks. The raiders would attack em, steal their food, clothing, blankets, everything. They ate good while the rest of us starved. Anything they stole and didn’t need they would trade to the Rebs for things they wanted, like whiskey. They killed quite a few men in the doing. One day the boys decided they’d had enough. They attacked the raiders and rounded up the leaders. That
bastard Wirz actually agreed to let us put them on trial. We had a prosecution and a defense; we had witnesses and a jury, just like in a regular courtroom. We found them guilty and hanged the six ring leaders. After that, things got more peaceful in here if nothing else.”
“What are the chances of escape? I know that some have managed it.”
“Now and then a lucky few are able to tunnel their way out but it ain’t easy. The digging’s hard and if you do get outside the wall you better be sure you can give yourself a good head start. The Rebs got themselves a pen full of bloodhounds and they will track you down if you don’t have a lot of distance on them. Besides that, the son of a bitch in charge of trackin escaped prisoners is a real crackerjack at his work. They say he used to be an overseer on a big plantation and he’s got a lot of experience runnin down escaped slaves. He’s not only good at his job, but if he catches you, he don’t bring you back until he’s enjoyed dealing out his own brand of punishment. Sometimes he don’t bring back the men he catches at all. As long as no one gets away, Wirz don’t ask for explanations.”
“Yes,” said James. “I’ve heard terrible things about this place. It has quite a reputation. Now that the Confederacy is so near to collapse, I suppose that our suffering is all they have to look forward to each day.”
“You really think it will be over soon?”
“Yes, Tim, I do. I was with Sherman before I was caught. I saw what he did to Georgia, now he is headed for the Carolinas. Grant is closing on Richmond and when Sherman gets to southern Virginia they’ll have the Confederates in a vise. It can only be a matter of months.”
A Deeper Sense of Loyalty Page 25