Letters to The National Tribune
Washington, DC
James B. Kirk, 1st Lieutenant
101 PA Infantry
Company H
730 W. Wayne St. Lima, O.

November 5, 1891

Treatment or Prisoners

A Pennsylvania Officer Gives Some More Facts

Editor National Tribune:
This eternal quibble in regard to the treatment of the prisoners of both sides makes me so tired I can't rest. Why is it that in the face of the evidence produced at the Wirz trial, in the face of the fact that Gen. Grant had the exchange of prisoners stopped for the reason that the rebel prisoners were fit to put immediately into Lee's ranks, and that none of our men could be so used? Why is it, in the face also of the fact - and it is a fact coming under my own observation - that parents and wives failed to recognize their own children and husbands at Annapolis, in March 1865, by reason of their wretched condition. Why, in face of all this, and much more, will this useless, foolish argument be kept up, as to what the relative treatment was at Camp Morton and Andersonville; at Elmira and Camp Sorghum, etc? This matter is again opened up in The National Tribune of Aug. 6 by Comrade Gaston. No doubt this comrade has been exasperated by some assertion on the other side. Now, without any desire at all to engage in newspaper controversy, but simply to state a fact as called out by Comrade Gaston, I will say that I was a commissioned officer, and a prisoner of war from April 20, 1864 until March 1, 1865, and I mention this only because Maj. Griswold, commandant of our prison at Columbia, told me that "you are used a great deal better than your men are; not that we wish to treat your men cruelly, but we cannot use them any better, and if there is any difference, officers should have it".

Now let us imagine how the "men" were used. At Camp Sorghum, whichwas located a mile or two from Columbia, there were about 1,700 commissioned officers confined, ranging from Lieutenant to Colonel in rank. The sinks for our use were located immediately north of the camp, just outside the guard-line. Bear in mind, there was no fence of any kind to obstruct the view of the camp guards, and in addition to this there was a guard around the sinks. Yet in broad daylight only six prisoners were allowed at the sinks at a time. Look at your map, dear reader, and you will see what chance we had to escape. East Tennessee or Port Royal was our nearest chance to get to our lines. Six men in 1,700 allowed to go outside of one guard, or rather through the camp guard inside of another guard; and this while cornmeal and sorghum were our main -- I might almost say our only--food. I saw one morning one prisoner pay $20 in Confederate money to another man for his turn to go to the sinks. The same morning I thought for curiosity's sake I would count the line. I did so, and when I took my place I was the 84th man in line.

In Charleston, S.C. I was confined in the jail yard from Sept. 17 to Oct. 4, 1864. While there part of the time we had no wood; our rations (?) were furnished uncooked, and we were compelled to tear the door frames, floor and seats out of the brick water-closet in the yard, to serve us as fuel.

We put our water and cornmeal in whatever we could get to cook it in, lit the fire, but the stench from the burning wood was unendurable, and we had to retire while it cooked. Do you fellows want my affidavit to this? You can have it in a holy minute.

Rise up, old "sorghum suckers" and tell me if I am lying; and recollect, both of these were the officers' prisons. Get right up, boys, and speak out in meetin'; settle this thing up, and then drop it.

November 3, 1904

Two Prisoners at Large

Selling a Watch and Negotiating for Milk.

Editor National Tribune:
In the Spring of 1865, myself and other officers, prisoners of war, were temporarily detained at an old conscript camp in North Carolina, known as Camp Holmes (near Raleigh).

I had "procured" an antique silver watch that was somewhat out of repair, its most serious defect being a missing wheel. Not particularly needing a watch of that description, I was willing to exchange it for a reasonable sum of current Confederate money. After exhausting all my eloquence in commendation of the alleged time-piece, and making some Ananias-like representations, I succeeded in selling the watch to a Johnny for the satisfactory sum of $180. He failed to note the "internal vacancy", but suspiciously called my attention to the self-evident fact that the watch had "stopped". I explained by saying that it simply had "run down;" that all it needed was "winding up", but unfortunately I had lost the key. When the transfer was made and he withdrew from my presence, I hoped I would see that Johnny nevermore. I am glad to say I never saw him again.

Having now a plethoric purse, I suggested to my chum, Capt. (Bryant) Grafton, of the 64th Ohio, that we should go beyond the confines of the camp and "have a time". He was willing, but doubted that we could pass the guards. I thought, however, that we could overcome the suggested difficulty.

We sauntered down to the guard, who stood near the woods, and I gave him a $5 bill as an inducement for him to walk slowly to the other end of his beat. He was very accommodating, and the Captain and I passed over the line and through the woods that sheilded us from observation. Meeting a "reliable contraband", I stopped him and made inquiry:

"Uncle, does anybody live near here?"

"Yes, Sah; Missus Whitakuh lives down dat-a-way".

When we reached the Whitaker residence we rapped at the front door, which was opened by a rather good-looking girl, probably 20 years old.

"Will you kindly sell us some milk?"

"No, you are Yankees. We have nothing for Yankees".

The inhospitable maiden then very emphatically slammed the door in our faces.

"That settles it", said Grafton.

"I think not", said I; "when a front attack fails, we may succeed by making a flank movement".

Passing around the corner of the house, we saw an old lady and two colored girls busy at a dairy not far distant from the dwelling. We went down to the milk-house and made our best bow. Said I: -

"This is Mrs. Whitaker, I believe".

"Yes", said she, "that is my name".

"Mrs. Whitaker, we want to buy some milk".

Before the old lady had time to reply, two girls came running from the house, and one of them, the one who had rejected us at the front door, cried:

"Mother, those men are Yankees. Don't let them have one drop of milk".

"Is it true", asked the old lady; "are you Yankees?"

"Yes", said I, "it is true. We are Yankees; that is to say, we are what you people call Yankees, but in fact, neither of us is a Yankee. My friend, Capt. Grafton, is from Ohio, and I am from Pennsylvania. We belong, however, to what you call the 'Yankee Army.' We are prisoners of war -- defenseless strangers in a strange land, and we are hungry".

"I never sold any milk in my life", said she, "and I'm too old to begin now; but I will give you as much as you can drink".

"Mother, mother! Didn't I tell you not to let those Yankees have anything?"

"Yes, I heard you; but I am capable of attending to my own business. I intend to give these men all the milk they want. By so doing I will not materially aid the Yankee army, nor will I embarrass our own soldiers who are in the field".

I was greatly pleased with the old lady's speech, and told her that her reasoning was good. In reply she said she had a son with Lee, and she hoped some good Northern woman would treat him kindly if he should ever apply for so simple a favor as we were asking of her.

"Mother, mother! I tell you I don't want these Yankees to receive any favors from any member of our family".

The gentle old lady, ignoring the imperiousness and uncharitableness of the younger one, turned to the colored girls, and said:

"Hannah, skim a crock of that sweet milk and bring it over here".

"Then said I: "Mrs. Whitaker, I beg your pardon, but I think you need not impose additional work on Hannah for our sake. We are willing to drink the milk without removing the cream".

"Well", said she "you are a jolly fellow. Take the milk as it is. Just help yourselves to all you want. If there is not enough in that crock, call for another".

We called for another.


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