Andersonville (79 page)

We were lucky, Lennie. Think how our own kids all got through the diphtheria all right, and the Billingses lost two.

You know what I’d like, right here on this scrapple. Some of that sweet pepper hash. Well, I must be getting blind—didn’t see it on the table, and here it was right in front of me all the time. Try some, Lowell, do. It just spices up this good scrapple to perfection. Yes, yes, that’s Granny LeMay’s old receipt also. . . .

First complaint I ever had, Mr. Conrad, that my workmanship was unsound! Sure, I can see it’s broke, tore squarely in two. But it wouldn’t tear like that unless you’d put undue strain on it. Ain’t any journeyman harness-maker in the world could make a tug that bad out of such good leather. And I ain’t no journeyman—I’m a master, as any other person in this community will bear witness. Fact is, Mr. Conrad, I think these two busted ends parted company
during
the runaway, and not before. Couldn’t have been a busted whiffle-tree on that there ancient vehicle of yours that caused it, now could it? . . . Lennie, he looked like he could have gone through the floor. Don’t know when anything has struck me so funny. He just slid out of the shop—you know, kind of mumbled something—and then skedaddled. I just set there and laughed till I shook.

Tom Gusset’s vocal machinery was pulled apart by undue strain, as his good sound harness had been pulled. On the next day you would have had to bend close to his ghost’s face to hear him speak (except that no one would have wished to bend close to such crawling ugliness, and there was no one to bend close). Lennie, dearie, don’t turn your face away. Ain’t nothing to be ashamed about. Everybody does it—married folks—and now we’re married. Wasn’t it funny, way they tied all them old shoes and pots and things on behind the rig? My, what a racket that made until we’d outdistanced them all, and I could get down and pull that blame stuff off of there. Lennie, dearie, let me kiss you again. You know what? That’s a real pretty nightdress you got on. All that stuff around the top—what you call it? Yoke? Sounds like twas meant for oxen, now doesn’t it? Cept you ain’t no ox. You’re just the sweetest prettiest little thing that ever. . . .

Artie, said the wispy raw voice, do have some more beans. Best you ever tasted, I’ll be bound.

Tom spoke in this way until there was no mechanism left for speech, no germ to sustain the flower of life. Eventually mules took him away, he lay at the bottom of the load. Twas funny, said one of the black men who’d shoveled earth over him by indifferent spadefuls. They all smell pretty bad. Seem for a moment that this old one didn’t smell so bad. Seem like I smell a nice place, with good things cooking.

How you talk, Jeff. Ain’t no good things cooking round here.

 XLIV 

L
ucy cuddled upon an old cushion beside the gallery pillar. She gazed, not at Elkins and her father above and beyond her, but into dusk which seemed to flow and falter with a visible tide of sound and smell.

She asked, Have you spoken to any of your superiors about this matter?

I have made verbal suggestions to the Chief Surgeon.

From his own portion of dusk, Ira spoke. What did you tell him, Coz?

Asked him why the army didn’t send us all away!

Harry Elkins thudded his tired boots upon the porch. I said that it was useless for surgeons to exert effort, when the patients were starved down to begin with. If the prisoners were receiving the vegetables which they should have—and if the prisoners had more room—at least half of them could be saved. They need the right kind of diet, more than they need medicines.

Did you tell him about General Winder—?

Indeed I told him! I said that it would be possible to have a large supply of green things brought from this plantation alone. I know that I was not presuming on your generosity, Cousin Claffey: I said that things were spoiling in your garden, I said that you would send him vegetables without charge. They were going to waste, doing nobody any good. . . . If he would connive with me to have them admitted to the hospital, lives might be saved. He observed that he would like to have the garden stuff; then turned off and spoke no more about it.

He feared the wrath of Winder, Coz.

He did—and does.

Elkins got up, pulled from his chair by the extremity which overpowered him increasingly. I wrote a report, with recommendations. Entirely unsolicited. Should you like to hear it?

I’ll ring and have a light fetched, said Ira.

Sakes, I can fetch a light while we’re still striving to enlist the attention of Ninny or Pet! Lucy brought a shielded candle from a nearer room. By this small light Harrell Elkins knelt with papers spread upon his knee. His spectacles were silvered, his face looked like hardened leftover dough.

Lucy thought, It rules him. What chance will he ever have to own a softness? The thing is too big, too stern and vengeful. Harry must succumb beneath it, thus must I succumb. . . .

Elkins’s voice was grinding out the words: And to ascertain and report the causes of disease and mortality among the prisoners, and the means necessary to prevent the same, I respectfully submit the following. Causes of disease and mortality. One: The large number of prisoners crowded together. Two: Entire absence of vegetables as diet, so necessary in the prevention of scurvy. Three: The want of barracks to shelter prisoners from sun and rain. Four: Inadequate supply of wood and pure water. Five: Badly cooked food. Six: Filthy condition of prisoners and prison generally. Seven: Morbific emanations from the branch or ravine passing through the prison, the condition of which cannot be better explained than by naming it a morass of human excrement. . . .

There must be a fair place. . . . Again Lucy’s youth served her in struggling against resignation. She would not accept this ordeal as a mode of life—never, never. It was not for this that women carried babies in their bodies and endured the torment of expelling them. It was not for this that an orb was set in the sky, and pin-holes and studding of stars gave suggestion of great glories, layer on layer, in regions outside the system of planets. Not for this did a purple bud rise gently out of compression against its stalk, and spread to make the rippled foil of a violet. Not for this did water set stones to grinding, nor did owls call, nor did warm rain spread and soak the ground. Not for this did tiny creatures work within the soil. . . .

Elkins read on. Preventative measures are suggested as follows. One: The removal immediately from the prison of not less than fifteen thousand prisoners. Two: The detailing On Parole of a number of Yankees sufficient to cultivate the necessary supply of vegetables; until this can be carried into practical operation I suggest the appointment of agents along the railroad line, to purchase and forward a supply of vegetables. Three: Immediate erection of barracks within the stockade, for shelter. Four: Let squads of prisoners proceed with axes, under adequate guard, to secure sufficient wood for their purposes, in thick forests nearby; and let proper wells be dug to supply the deficiency of water. A single bubbling spring, pure though it may be, cannot serve properly thirty-three thousand men. Five: Divide prisoners into squads, place each squad under a sergeant, furnish the necessary quantity of soap—which can be manufactured by prisoners themselves, working, again, under guard—and hold these sergeants responsible for the personal cleanliness of each squad. Six: Supply the prisoners with clothing at the expense of the Confederate States’ Government; and if our Government be unable to do so, candidly admit our inability, and call upon the Federal Government to send clothing. Seven: There should be a daily inspection of bake houses and baking procedures. Eight: Cover over with sand the entire morass within the pen, not less than six inches deep. Board the stream or watercourse, and confine the men—also the Georgia Reserves outside the stockade—to the use of their sinks. Make the penalty for disobedience inescapable and severe.

...Why, my dear Harry, cried Lucy’s crippled appealing fancy, you are up betimes.

My dear, did you not know when I left our bed?

I was sleeping so soundly that I scarcely heard you go. Then later I moved my limb, and the place where you had lain was still warm. But you were gone from it.

And were you alarmed, love?

No, I felt that you must have gone to call on old Mr. Bile.

So I did. Ah, the fruition of a lengthy peaceful life! It is a rest which cometh after the three-quarter century mark. I tell you, dear, there is a saintliness about the old. I would best describe it as the imminence of heaven.

Harry
darling.
Surely you must have encountered some of the old who were unsaintly in the extreme! I knew one such woman: twas a great-aunt: a regular little witch she was.

Ha-ha. And so have I encountered such, dear Lucy. But what of the Reverend Mr. Cato Dillard? Is he not nigh to sainthood?

Oh yes, Harry, Uncle Dayto is, of course; and some of the young are sainted too; but just
listen
to our own younguns.

What are they screaming about?

Rapture, beloved Harry, pure rapture! Their mammy has them at breakfast out amongst the plum trees. She has set up the little blue table which Jonas made for them, and she’s lugged chairs. Ira and Suthy are having a fight, pelting each other with handfuls of plum blossoms; the girls are shrieking in protest. But come along with you, dear, you’ve been a mighty while without your breakfast.

To be frank, I could eat a horse.

No necessity for that. And certainly not one of
our
horses. . . . Naomi, you may bring the biscuits. Have you kept the sausages hot? And remember that the Doctor prefers his eggs basted over the top; but lightly, Naomi, very lightly, and peppered to a turn. . . . And—oh, Harry—I have a gift for you. Tis all your own; no one must touch it but you. The children have their own, but this is my dear Harry’s jar.
Gooseberry jam,
my love, and what fun I had a-making it for you. . . .

Sheets of paper crinkled on Elkins’s knee. A moth struck the candle flame, whirled, scorched. The candle sputtered lightly, flame resumed its small steady towering.

The dry voice kept growling. One: For the hospital I recommend that the tents be floored with planks; if planks cannot be had, with puncheons; and if this be impossible, then with pine straw, to be changed frequently. Two: There is an inadequate supply of stool boxes. It is recommended that the number be increased, and that the orderlies be required to remove them as soon as used; and before returning them, see that they are well washed and limed. Three: Diet for the sick is repulsive. They must be supplied with the necessary quantity of meat broth, with vegetables. Four: Surgeons should be required to visit hospital patients not less than twice a day.

Finally, I cannot too strongly recommend the necessity for the appointment of an efficient medical officer to the exclusive duty of inspecting daily the hospital and cooking facilities, requiring of him daily reports of their condition to headquarters.

I have the honor to remain, Sir, very respectfully. . . .

His words trailed away. Elkins rose, slapped the papers against his thigh, then smoothed them carefully.

Lucy drifted back from her private fairyland. Once again the prison smell was in her nostrils . . . and this was the present, it was 1864, they were upon the gallery, these things had happened, were happening, would happen.

Ira inquired, Coz, to whom did you make this report? To Chief Surgeon White?

I felt that it would be futile. Nor did I address Acting Assistant Surgeon Watkins. What power has he?

I thought that possibly you might have addressed Colonel Thurlow?

Merely does he command the Post, replacing your friend Lieutenant-Colonel Persons. What could he do? And as you know, Surgeon-General Moore is at Richmond, and has received many other reports heretofore.

Ira said dryly, I take it that there would be no point in addressing Brigadier-General John H. Winder.

No point whatsoever.

Then whom—?

This is not a copy, said Harrell Elkins, speaking not only to Ira and Lucy Claffey, but to swaddling stench and noise of the night—to the stockade’s denizens, to corpses in earth on the hill—speaking to all people within the Southern Confederacy, to all within the Northern States.

This is not a copy. It is the original report. I would not waste time, sir, in sending a hopeless plea to Mr. Seddon, or even to President Davis.

One after the other, he held sheets to the candle flame; let the blaze broaden, let paper burn down to his fingers, let the flakes fall. Almighty God, please to note and file, said Harry.

Lucy caught her breath, her face went down into her hands. She wept quietly until Ira was gone. Then there came a wonder. She found herself in Elkins’s arms; this was no dream; she found herself in his arms; but only for a moment. Firmly he said that he must go on duty.