VIII.
It has been the custom, among European nations, to treat prisoners of war liberally, and the expenses of maintaining them are paid by both sides at the close of the war.
The British Parliament voted, in 1780, to pay forty thousand pounds sterling to disinfect and improve the prison where the Spanish prisoners were confined, and where a fatal fever had declared itself. And there are many instances where European powers have acted kindly and humanely towards those who had fallen into their power from hazard of battle. War was declared against states, and not against the individual subjects of those states.
At all times, kindness to the unfortunate, and hospitality to strangers, has always been considered as a virtue of the first rank among people whose manners are simple, and who, uncontaminated by vices of a false and frivolous civilization, exhibit the natural qualities of the human race. Even among the darkness of the middle ages kindness was compulsory, and hospitality enforced by statute, and whoever denied succor to misery was liable to punishment. “Quicunque hospiti venienti lectum aut focum negaverit trium solidorum in latione mulctetur.” (Leg. Burgund., tit. 38, § I.)
The laws of the Slavi ordained that the movables of an inhospitable person should be confiscated, and his house burned.
IX.
In comparison with these humane provisions, how terribly contrasted are the modes of treatment as practised by the rebel authorities upon the Federal soldiers! “Let us hoist the black flag, and kill every prisoner,” said one of the cabinet officers. “I will sell my wheat,” said another cabinet officer, “to my fellow-citizens, at exorbitant prices.” “My God,” said a poor woman, “how can I pay such prices! I have seven children? What shall I do?” “I do not know, madam,” was the brutal answer, “unless you eat them.”
When such sentiments prevailed at Richmond, what could be expected in kindness by those who were looked upon with hatred and as worthy of death?