Their statements, though coming from different prisons, all agree in this one fact: they were starved, without shelter, and wearing only the scantiest clothing—the rags which remained from the time they were captured;—when their coats, blankets, and valuables were all taken from them. Many, after conversing about it, will say: “You never could imagine such horrors.” In one room, I singled out the two most skeleton like, and asked the least emaciated one: “What prison did you come from?” He looked at me with a vacant stare, and answered: “Prison? ah—yes, I’m Anderson!” I gave him up, and his friend replied: “He thought they had been shown through all the prisons, though last from Anderson.” Another, that I asked the same question, replied: “He was from Florence; had been at Charleston once; didn’t know how long since; they were all bad alike.”
In another ward were five, all very low: two of the most fearfully emaciated men that we had yet seen; one from Iowa, the other from Michigan; they were too feeble to speak; we could only take the nurse’s account, which varied but little from the others; both died during the night.
In the next room was —— Andrews, from Ohio; at the commencement of the war, he was about finishing his college course—and wrote to his parents that “he must go, it was his duty to do so; that his life was no more precious than others which must be given.” His mother, repeating to me what I have just written, said: He was an only son, it was agony to think of parting with him; but they did not, could not object, and he went. In the same town was his very dear friend, also an only son; his parents would not consent to his going, and during that year he died at college. Now, her son had been spared through many battles and hardships, and through the sufferings of prison life; he was ill, when exchanged; had at one time escaped; but chased by dogs to the swamps, was concealed in them until he became so exhausted for food, that when he came out in search of it, was unable to run from his pursuers, and taken back to prison; where his only shelter was a narrow alley between two buildings, until a rebel, with some kindness of heart, picked him up and laid him upon a scrap of blanket, from which a dead man had just been carried out. At length, some Sanitary Commission blankets were given them—one for five men; as their companions died, they crept closer together; and at the time of leaving, he had half of one. When he arrived, he was among the bad cases; his mother heard he was in Annapolis, and came directly on; to her devoted care he owes his life; she never left him day or night, but gave him, by the spoonful, nourishing food and drink as ordered by his surgeon; at length, to her great joy, was pronounced some change for the better. When we saw him, he was sitting up for the first time: had he been anything but a “returned prisoner,” we would have said such an emaciated man could not live. His mother was sitting by him, bathing his skeleton-looking hands; and calling our attention to the shrunken arms, said they were looking so much better, that she was perfectly happy in the thought of soon taking him home.
In the same building is a man whose mind seems quite gone: he is always looking for his mother; unconscious as he is, they cannot tell where to write, or whether she is living. As I entered the door, he sprang up in an excited manner, calling out; “Yes, yes, there is my mother!” With a few soothing words, he was soon quieted; but when the nurse attempted to give him medicine, threw it from him, saying: “They are always trying to poison us in prison.”
On the second floor was —— Arnold, from Milesburg, Centre County, Penna.; his feet were frozen, and he was so starved that but little hope was entertained of his recovery. His mother was with him, doing all in her power for him.
A boy who had been very low, but then seemed rallying, was requested by the surgeon to show his emaciated arms; unfastening his collar, he said: “This is the color I was all over, when we landed; but it is not dirt, lady; I’m clean now.” The bony framework of the chest was plainly visible, giving painful evidence of what he had endured.
In the officers’ ward was a young man from the 121st New York, who looked feeble and emaciated, with but little hope of life; he had just picked out a tooth; thought all were loose. Another, with a fractured thigh when captured, but who now seemed apparently doing well, had been without any care while in rebel hands; they never did anything for him. As a general rule, the officers fared better than the men; but there were also many sad cases among them.
The food given to the men in those hospitals was the very best, and most nourishing that could be prepared. As one of their surgeons remarked: “Medical skill was often at a loss; their books never taught them how starved men should be treated.” They relied almost entirely upon good food for their cure.
Upon our return home, the work for the hospitals was resumed; with this added incentive, to urge upon those we met untiring efforts in behalf of our returned starved prisoners. There were but few families who had not some friend or relative among them, whose stories of patient endurance of suffering touched all hearts. While help was needed for them, there seemed no limit to the generous offerings of the people. Through the Sanitary Commission, an immense supply was forwarded for their use, beside what was sent through other sources. There was too much to be done at Annapolis, for the returned prisoners, to remain contentedly telling others what they could do; so that in a very short time we returned,—accompanied by a friend, Mrs. S., of Boston, who had with her a valuable contribution of articles from persons there; she remained a few weeks,—our stay was until July.
Directly after our return to Annapolis, while waiting in the Sanitary Commission Rooms, a train of ambulances, containing nineteen bodies, passed, the first and last of the number covered with the flag; we followed the procession to the cemetery, and saw them laid side by side in their quiet resting-place—Chaplain Sloan officiating. Upon the head-boards of all the prisoners should be inscribed “starved to death!” that in future years Southern “chivalry” might read and know the fact.