Thursday, December 26, 2013

A look inside the stockade

The street into the town of Andersonville is directly across the road from Andersonville National Historic Site's exit. It's confusing to visitors because there are signs out on the highway that direct people to the Andersonville museum and visitor center, but it's the one in town, not the Historic Site, and they're left scratching their heads as to where the prison site and national cemetery are. 

The town is very small, with a tiny cafe or two, a post office that's open four hours a day, and a monument to Captain Henry Wirz, the prison commander during the war.
Henry Wirz photo.jpg
Thank you, Wikipedia.

 

Depending on what side you're on, he's either the Martyr of the South or the Butcher of Andersonville. After 150 years he's still a divisive character and the only person hanged for war crimes despite 1000 trials, which ended only when President Andrew Johnson called a halt to them in the interest of healing the country.

You have to understand that Andersonville is in the South. Not south; South, and here they still see him as a scapegoat, as he probably was in a way, and hold a memorial to him every year. For the rest of the year, residents and visitors remember him in a more mundane way.

I walked over to Andersonville a couple of weeks ago and visited the Drummer Boy Museum, a tiny place that has an astonishingly good diorama of the Andersonville stockade that made the $5 admission price worth every penny.

Here's an overview of the stockade, showing the creek running through what was more or less the middle of the original 16.5 acres. The creek was intended as the clean water source for the entire camp but proved overwhelmingly inadequate as the prison population surged. The prison opened in February 1864 and was seen as a solution to overcrowding, food and materials shortages, and an encroaching Union threat to Richmond, where most prisoners were held. Hundreds of prisoners arrived daily; by mid-summer 1864 the population had swelled to 33,000 men and the prison was increased to 26.5 acres.
 
Andersonville, officially known as Camp Sumter (not to be confused with Fort Sumter), was chosen for the site because it had lots of trees with which to build the 15-foot stockade walls, what was thought to be an adequate supply of clean water, was near a rail line, and was in the middle of nowhere. Prisoners were brought in to the train depot at Andersonville and walked about 1/4 mile to the stockade.

Not to scale, but a good representation according to what I've read.

The water supply was doomed from the start. The Confederate guards' camp and the bakehouse were upriver from the stockade and the water was fouled before it ever reached the prisoners. The prisoners used the same source of water for drinking, cooking, and washing. As the prisoner exchange system broke down and the prison population soared, the water became unspeakably filthy. 

The sinks, or latrines, were located at the extreme down river end of the supply, and I don't need to describe what happened to the water as the water flow became totally inadequate to flush away waste. More prisoners arrived, more became ill, rain washed filth into the stream, which all led to more men becoming, literally, deathly ill. What the diorama doesn't show is the disgusting condition of the water.

Prisoners erected whatever kind of shelter they could. They were often stripped of their belongings when they arrived at the prison, either by guards or other, tougher, prisoners, who called new arrivals "fresh fish." This diorama shows, I believe, much more organization to the camp and better health of the men compared to what I've read. The ultimate size of the prison was 26.5 acres but consider this: the stream and adjoining boggy land took away about 4 acres; the deadline, a board fence located anywhere from six to twelve feet inside the stockade walls, cost them another two acres. Imagine 33,000 men, at the peak of Andersonville's population, living on 20 acres. By the summer of 1864, Andersonville was the fifth largest city in the Confederacy.

Many had nothing left with which to build shelters and resorted to digging holes in the ground to act as some kind of protection. Many prisoners' diaries noted that it was common to see men with missing articles of clothing, or no clothing at all. Malnutrition lead to one of the three leading causes of death: dysentery, diarrhea, and scurvy. The death rate increased until August 1864, when the population was at its peak, and numbered an average of 100 a day.
  
Guards also contributed to prisoner deaths. As the battles wore on, trained soldiers were needed to fight, not guard the stockade. Boys as young as 10 or 11 and old men not fit to fight were brought in to climb into the pigeon roosts. Undisciplined, and mocked by prisoners, many became trigger-happy and shot without provocation. The deadline was a warning line and prisoners knew if they breached it they would be shot, but prisoners' diaries noted how many men died for being close to the deadline or for stumbling into it in their sickness.

It was reported that a prisoner was given permission from a guard to cross the line to retrieve something, only to be shot dead by another guard.
 
A gang of thugs called the Raiders took control of the prison, beating and robbing others for food, shelter, or whatever they wanted. There were so many of them and they were so vicious that their victims didn't dare to fight back, but finally some prisoners went to Captain Wirz and said they had to be stopped. The worst of the bunch, six of them, were judged by fellow prisoners to be guilty, and were hanged.

They, too, are buried in the cemetery, but separately, and are not counted among the nearly 13,000 who died here in the sixteen months Andersonville was open.




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Quote of the day:

[The prisoners] still keep killing each other thay hung six yesterday thay fight all most every night in the stockade. (Joseph Williams, Confederate guard at Andersonville.)

Monday, December 23, 2013

Ghosts in the cemetery

Last week I talked to a visitor from Texas for a very long time. For one, we weren't very busy, and two, he said I had pretty eyes. There you have it; that's all it takes. When you're more than sixty and a half.... well, you can guess how rare those kinds of comments are.

He told me about his ghost-hunting exploits all over the world. Ancient ruins, cemeteries, old houses, battlefields - anywhere spirits might be hanging around, he's there with his camera and other recording equipment, documenting what he says is evidence of their presence. He showed me lots of them on his cell phone and they all seemed to manifest themselves as orbs. Circles of varying sizes and colors, and all totally or nearly opaque. I'm not smart enough to know if these things exist, so until there's some proof to the contrary I'm keeping an open mind.

Fast forward a couple of nights to a full moon and clear skies, when I had the idea of walking over to the cemetery to see what moonlight could do to the atmosphere of the place. My little camera doesn't let me keep the shutter open more than four seconds. This is one of those times I've really missed my Nikon, which let me keep the shutter open (and therefore let more light in) until the battery ran out, but it's gone and I make do with what I have.

What I got was a lot of meh photos, not nearly as impressive as I'd hoped. This one made me think I'd picked up the Milky Way behind the statue but I really doubt that's what it is.


Because I was limited to just four seconds' exposure, I was using a flashlight to add some light to the area  and all it did was make everything look fake. Too bright, too hard a light.
 

Now this one maybe had some potential, with the arc of light across the bottom...

...so I fiddled around with it and moved the moon to center over the highlighted area of graves, which was pretty good until I realized that the moon, shining behind the tombstones, wouldn't be casting light on their fronts. Duh.

I was about to delete the entire mess of them when I noticed a circle on the left side of one of the photos, almost covering two tombstones. I enlarged the image and there it was, looking like a penny. I moved the image around the screen, thinking it could be a reflection from outside. Maybe it was lens flare. Maybe it was this, maybe it was that. Maybe it was a ghost. But you're now saying, I don't see anything and you're right! I continued to process the rest of the pictures from that night and when I went back to the only interesting one, I could not find it. I looked in the recycle bin, in other folders, I re-imported every picture on the card, and the one with the ghost was nowhere to be found. I have a witness, someone who was sitting in the same room and saw the same thing; someone much more skeptical than I.

I guess you'll just have to take my word for it. All I know is I went back to the cemetery for a walk the other night and dark was seriously settling; I was hoping to see a copper disc shining over the tombstones. Then an owl hooted in the trees and I almost jumped out of my skin. Maybe it was an owl.

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Thought of the day:

The most beautiful thing we can experience is the mysterious. It is the source of all true art and science. (Albert Einstein)


Saturday, December 21, 2013

Where does bravery come from?


The Civil Air Patrol cadet who carried the wreath with the US and Army flags at the ceremony on December 14 placed it at the memorial marker for PFC Luther H. Story. 



I had seen his marker at Andersonville before and noted that he was just 19 when he died. Just a boy.

This week I drove to Columbus and back and even though it was at least my third trip, it was the first time I noticed that a bridge over the Kinchafoonee Creek on Highway 26 was named in his honor.





[A weird artifact has been coming and going on this page. I know not why, nor can I get rid of it.]

Today I found his remarkable story on Wikipedia. This is from his citation:

Pfc. Story distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty in action. A savage daylight attack by elements of 3 enemy divisions penetrated the thinly held lines of the 9th Infantry. Company A beat off several banzai attacks but was bypassed and in danger of being cut off and surrounded. Pfc. Story, a weapons squad leader, was heavily engaged in stopping the early attacks and had just moved his squad to a position overlooking the Naktong River when he observed a large group of the enemy crossing the river to attack Company A. Seizing a machine gun from his wounded gunner he placed deadly fire on the hostile column killing or wounding an estimated 100 enemy soldiers. Facing certain encirclement the company commander ordered a withdrawal. During the move Pfc. Story noticed the approach of an enemy truck loaded with troops and towing an ammunition trailer. Alerting his comrades to take cover he fearlessly stood in the middle of the road, throwing grenades into the truck. Out of grenades he crawled to his squad, gathered up additional grenades and again attacked the vehicle. During the withdrawal the company was attacked by such superior numbers that it was forced to deploy in a rice field. Pfc. Story was wounded in this action, but, disregarding his wounds, rallied the men about him and repelled the attack. Realizing that his wounds would hamper his comrades he refused to retire to the next position but remained to cover the company's withdrawal. When last seen he was firing every weapon available and fighting off another hostile assault. Private Story's extraordinary heroism, aggressive leadership, and supreme devotion to duty reflect the highest credit upon himself and were in keeping with the esteemed traditions of the military service.


His body was never found, so the marker at Andersonville is just a memorial. 

Where does courage come from? Is it simple action fueled from adrenaline? Does it come from a deeply held ideal or a firm belief in doing the right thing? Does one "just do it?" 

Many people have told me that what I've done so far this year is brave. I left my home with nothing more than what would fit in a van, went on the road alone, and rolled with what came my way. I never thought what I've done is brave; what else was I supposed to do? I don't consider it brave.

But Luther Story? What he did took uncommon courage and the willingness to lose, including losing his life, for the goal he believed in. I wonder what he was like in the rest of his short life, if anyone who knew him could predict his actions in Korea.

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Thought of the day:

One man with courage is a majority. (Thomas Jefferson)

Monday, December 16, 2013

Americus, Americus

Americus is about 10 miles from Andersonville, the closest thing to a city in just about all directions. It's actually a pretty place that's an architectural gold mine. I finally took the plunge the other day to go to Americus to get a haircut and while there did a little driving around to soak up the atmosphere. (Why take the plunge to get a haircut? I can't say how many times I've gone to a salon, spoken what to me is plain English about what I wanted done, and walked out with something entirely different. Different and wrong. I'd pretty much given up but caught a glimpse of the mop in a mirror and knew I had to act.)

The big hotel in Americus is a Best Western of vintage lineage, built in 1892. While not on the National Register, it is part of the National Trust for Historic Preservation.


It takes up nearly a city block and to my untrained eye has a mishmash of styles (called eclectic by finer minds than mine), but somehow they all seem to fit.

The staff must be used to gawkers because when I asked if I could wander around to take pictures they didn't bat an eye.

The woodwork is beautiful. The posts have delicate carving that you just don't see anymore.
 

 More carving on these posts.

 A part of the frieze on the outside of the building.

But the Windsor is just the start of the wonderful period architecture of Americus. Here's a Carnegie Library from 1908, now a catering company and available to rent for events.

A funeral home. I love eyebrow windows. They're the ones set into the roof on either side of the tower.
 
A classic, so pretty. If there's one must-have in my perfect house, it's a screened porch. Can you imagine sipping mint juleps there? Or just swilling down Margaritas? Yeah, me too. Frozen, with salt, please. This house was built in 1906.

A story-book doll house, built in 1890. The lattice work on the porch is the icing on the cake. It's on the historic homes driving tour, but I couldn't find details on any of the houses online.

The Lee Council House is next, and is available to rent. This is a description from the Americus Times-Recorder, 2007:

Mr. and Mrs. Lee George Council built this large Italianate mansion in 1902, two years after their marriage. The exterior features superb terracotta work, restored balustrade porch, beautiful stained glass window transoms throughout, and inlaid floors. The house is furnished with period antiques. An extraordinary architectural interior feature is the double staircase dominated by a panel of three stained glass panels on the stair landing that overlooks the grand hall.
Mr. and Mrs. Lee George Council of Americus built this large Italianate mansion in 1902, two years after their marriage. The exterior features superb terracotta work, restored balustrade porch, beautiful stained glass window transoms throughout and inlaid floors. The house is furnished with period antiques, and one of a kind items, along with Council family furnishings, memorabilia and a library that includes books by noted Sumter County authors such as President Jimmy Carter and Millard Fuller, founder of Habitat for Humanity International. An extraordinary architectural interior feature is the double staircase dominated by a panel of three stained glass panels on the stair landing that overlooks the grand hall. - See more at: http://www.americustimesrecorder.com/local/x489049444/Christmas-tour-of-historic-homes#sthash.vmx4nSv0.dpuf

Mr. and Mrs. Lee George Council of Americus built this large Italianate mansion in 1902, two years after their marriage. The exterior features superb terracotta work, restored balustrade porch, beautiful stained glass window transoms throughout and inlaid floors. The house is furnished with period antiques, and one of a kind items, along with Council family furnishings, memorabilia and a library that includes books by noted Sumter County authors such as President Jimmy Carter and Millard Fuller, founder of Habitat for Humanity International. An extraordinary architectural interior feature is the double staircase dominated by a panel of three stained glass panels on the stair landing that overlooks the grand hall.
- See more at: http://www.americustimesrecorder.com/local/x489049444/Christmas-tour-of-historic-homes#sthash.vmx4nSv0.dpuf

Back toward downtown and near the Carnegie Library is Americus Presbyterian Church, built in 1884. It was locked so I couldn't go in, but I hope to get in this week. Isn't it lovely?


The Thornton Wheatley Building. This description is also from the Americus Times Recorder, 2009:
Israel Thornton Wheatley, a Pennsylvania transplant who moved to Americus in the early 1850s and fought with the "Sumter Light Guards" throughout the Civil War, was a clothier by trade until his retirement in 1905. In November 1892, he completed on the southwest corner of Forsyth and Windsor what is also known as the Pythian Castle because the third floor was utilized by the Knights of Pythias, a fraternal organization. He had constructed the building adjoining on the west (now Forsyth Bar & Grill) in 1889.

This window is on the second floor of the Thornton Wheatley Building.



I've always admired the optimism of builders/owners who literally cast their names in stone on their buildings. The Byne Block, 1887, beautifully preserved.


This facade is so simple but so appealing. Note the turquoise just peeking out from the white triangles over the windows.

Contrast the above with this dramatic presentation. Very nice.

Here are two final details. Look Better Feel Better is on a defunct barber shop, abandoned with chairs, capes, and tools still in place. 

The filigree circle is not fronting a blue background, as I first thought. The blue is open air behind it.














There's a lot more to discover in Americus. According to Wikipedia, the city center was listed on the National Register of Historic Places in 1976 as the Americus Historic District. The district boundaries were extended in 1979.

And I got a decent - no, good - haircut for $14. I'm not kidding.

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Thought of the day:

A real building is one on which the eye can light and stay lit. (Ezra Pound)

Saturday, December 14, 2013

Wreaths Across America

Today was National Wreaths Across America day, when Christmas wreaths are laid on graves in national cemeteries. I was lucky enough to be spelled in the Visitor Center so I could go to the ceremony. We had a bit of bad news first thing today when we learned that the 250 wreaths that were to be delivered are stuck in Maine or New York or Virginia someplace because of the weather. We somehow had a few on hand, however, so it wasn't a total disaster.

I've seen photos of Arlington on wreath day and it always looked like grave after grave was decorated, but that's Arlington. The smaller, lesser-known national cemeteries don't have the donations that Arlington has, and consequently the number of wreaths is much lower. 

Today the ceremony was carried out by cadets from a local Civil Air Patrol unit. Each one carried a wreath dedicated to a different branch of the military.


The second cadet carries the US and Marine flags on his wreath. Semper fi!!


Families have been allowed to place decorations for the holidays since December 1. I took some time before the ceremony began to look for these individual tributes.

 


Husband and wife are on the same marker, one's name and dates inscribed on the front, the other's on the back. The family brought a wreath for each side.






The color that breaks up the sea of white, though, only calls attention to the thousands of graves that remain unadorned. A $10 $15 donation to Wreaths Across America will put one on the grave of your choosing next year. Choose one at a small cemetery.


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Thought of the day:
To be killed in war is not the worst that can happen. To be lost is not the worst that can happen... to be forgotten is the worst." -Pierre Claeyssens (1909-2003) - See more at: http://www.wreathsacrossamerica.org/#sthash.u9vfLKyk.dpuf

"To be killed in war is not the worst that can happen. To be lost is not the worst that can happen... to be forgotten is the worst." -Pierre Claeyssens (1909-2003) - See more at: http://www.wreathsacrossamerica.org/#sthash.2Uqomtnb.dpuf
To be killed in war is not the worst that can happen. To be lost is not the worst that can happen... to be forgotten is the worst." -Pierre Claeyssens (1909-2003) - See more at: http://www.wreathsacrossamerica.org/#sthash.u9vfLKyk.dpuf
To be killed in war is not the worst that can happen. To be lost is not the worst... to be forgotten is the worst. (Pierre Claeyssens, 1909-2003)