News From Fort Delaware

Greetings Cosmic Americans!

I posted this letter with the others in my collection of the Civil War letters of Henry A. Allen - a Confederate POW who was captured at Gettysburg and spent the rest of the war moving from prison to prison.

I thought I might as well go ahead and post this particular one in both places - putting it here gives me a chance to add a few of my own thoughts. This is among the most telling letters in the collection in terms of Confederate nationalism and loyalty. Written from Fort Delaware Prison on April 28, 1865 - the letter to his wife Sarah illustrates Allen's steadfast determination not to sign any loyalty oath to the United States so long as a Confederate government existed or any Confederate army was in the field. (I wonder if he knew his wife had already signed one?)

Allen was in the minority here. As he mentions, two-thirds of the officers imprisoned at Fort Delaware, and apparently all the private soldiers, had signed the oath and were returning home. Read on...and be sure to check out the rest of the collection HERE. You might get a little insight in to Allen's character and begin to understand why such a vociferous veterans' organization such as the Immortal 600 might have been appealing to him later in life.

Fort Delaware Friday April 28^th 1865

Dear Dear Sarah

Yours of the 24^th came to hand last evening and gave me much pleasure to again hear from those so dear to me. Your letters always come although detained for a long time but I mistake I always get your letters in three or four days after they are mailed but mine must be some time getting to you as it is always ten or twelve days before I receive an answer therefore the detention must be caused here but I suppose the authorities have so many to examine that it cannot be helped. I am still enjoying fine health and suppose have increased twelve or fifteen pounds since arriving here. Yesterday John Lewis, Weaver & John Vermillion arrived here from Point Lookout where they had been since Mch 24^th. My Col, Jim Robinson & Tobe Phillips I learn are at Johnsons Island. I expected Jim and Frances would go home I suppose all from P will do the same. I am sorry to say a large majority of our officers here are taking the oath or have consulted to do so as the rolls have been called and they have responded to the call the privates have all done the same numbering between three & five thousand. We have about twenty one hundred officers here and I suppose nearly two thirds will take the oath you will no doubt see some of our Portsmouth officers home soon as several have or will take it. I do not think the time has yet arrived for one to do so it is true I can do no good myself while in prison still we have yet the shadow of a government and while we have an army in the field I cannot think it right for me to do so. I know our course in hopeless and I expect to have to take the oath still I must wait I could not bear to be censured by my friends. I may be punished but I must abide this decision. I wrote to you a few days ago as I though you had not received my letter you could have sent the box although I do not know that I would have gotten it as none here have received since President Lincoln’s death. If you send if do not fail to send the permit on it. Kiss my dear little children for me my love to all home tell Jim to write to me I have a ring for you and one for Ida & Lucy. My love to all my friends & relatives good bye yours in love

Henry



Division 35

And there you have it. Allen sees the writing on the wall to be sure - I suppose he just wants to get the timing right.

Peace,

Keith

Prison Life at Johnson's Island

Greetings Cosmic Americans! And....HAPPY NEW YEAR!

You all probably know that I have been working with a collection of letters written by Confederate POW Henry A. Allen to his wife Sarah. I was looking through my files on Allen this morning and found this newspaper article from the Valley Virginian (Staunton, Va.) dated April 8, 1868. This article deals primarily with how Confederate prisoners of war occupied their time while interned at Johnson’s Island Prison in Sandusky, Ohio - one of the several stops on Allen's "tour of Yankee prisons" between July 1863 and May 1865. While the author expressly states that he is not attempting to dwell on the harshness of prison-camp life, suggesting that these memories should be swept aside, he nevertheless attacks Stanton’s policy on exchange and mentions repeatedly the multiple privations suffered by Confederate prisoners. Following the descriptive passages is a lengthy poem written by a former prisoner (later killed in action) who similarly condemns the conditions of Johnson’s Island through the sarcastic repetition of the sentinel’s call, “All is well.” The captive protagonist only finds true liberty and an escape from the spirit breaking prison life upon death. You can find this article and many others on the Valley of the Shadow website - I transcribed this article for the site back in 2007ish.

“Little Gate,” cried the soldier on the top of the wall, and the sergeant in charge opened the door seven feet by two, and one hundred Confederate officers filed into the “pen” of Johnson’s Island. just as sun was going down one Sabbath evening, august 2nd 1863. “Fresh fish” was the cry that greeted us on the inside, and we were instantly surrounded by eager enquirers to know where we were from what was the news &c. many of us found comrades who took us into their “messes,” others found bunks where they could. Some of us who were wounded were conducted to a building which by way of distinction from the rest was called a “hospital,” but which was provided with neither medicine doctors nor diet.

There are perhaps few of our readers, who, if they can transmit to their children the honor of having served their country in her time of peril, that had not at some time during the contest, the misfortune to become prisoners of war. While the cartels of exchange were on operation this did not amount to more than a short absence from your command, but when Stanton, the heartless wretch persisted in his advice to Lincoln that it was “cheaper to feed the Confederates than to fight them,” all cartels were broken, they stopped fighting us, and for our rations were cut down would sustain life, the sutlers were taken out of the prison yard and the exercised over them into the “pen,” lest they should be bribed to smuggle in something to us

Johnson’s Island is about one mile long and half a mile wide, is situated in the mouth of Sandusky Bay as it enters Lake Erie, and three miles out from the city of Sandusky – On the Eastern end of the Island was a lot of about ten acres enclosed by a wall fifteen feet high, which we styled the “pen.” Inside were thirteen buildings arranged in two rows about eighty yards apart, these were the prisoners quarters, and on the wall a line of our “guardians” kept eternal peace, and every half hour during the night they cried the time with “all’s well."

This prison was set apart for the confinement of officers, and usually its population numbered about three thousand. Once inside all that was left was to kill time, and to do this all kind of enjoyment was resorted to, such as the making of trinkets from gutta percha and shell, with which the yankees could be bribed to supply us, reading, card playing, debating, playing at various games that gave us exercise &c. In winter we had snow battles with a thousand fighting on each side all day long. Gen Tremble on his crutches, Jeff Thompson and old gray headed veterans joined in the contest with the same spirit as if they were school boys. And at night we all in turn watched beside our sick comrades. How hard it was to see a strong man yield up his spirit in so desolate a spot, so far from home and loved ones, with no soft hand to smoothe his dying spirit, no one shed a tear of regret over the soul that was gone to God who gave it.

we were allowed to bury our own dead and we marked each grave with the name, rank, command, age, and date of death, and some were the most beautifully and tastefully executed – The principle events of the day were the calling of the rolls in the morning, the issuing of our scanty rations and the bringing in of our mail, and what joy it carried in our hearts when the cry of “Dixie man” was raised, well do I remember how I forgot all my hunger, all my nakedness, and all the troubles which surrounded me, when I held and a letter from a loved one away my native land. And at night we gathers quarters and discussed the news of the armies, as the yankee paper the prospects of exchange, and we over our old battles, and marches, and triumphs.

I will not tell you now of our suffering from hunger, from cold, and from the wanton cruelty of our that is all past and the memory of our pleasant intercourse with the fellow prisoners and fellow sufferers who are scattered over the country rises uppermost as the prison life. Friends there whose association prevented prison from being a Hell must always hold a warm place in the heart.

No one can imagine, except by experience, the joy with which on the 14th of March 1865, I again heard the sentinel cry “Little Gate,” and two hundred of us marched forth and once again breathed the free open air and how proud and almost bursting with gladness was the heart when eight days afterwards we once more stood on Dixie soil, and once more under our noble old leader Gen. Lee confronted defiantly the yankees who had for so many long, weary months kept a cruel and tyrannous watch over us.

Here are some verses written by a fellow prisoner: Lieut Howard C. Wright, of the 30th Va. Regt, from New Orleans, he was a gallant soldier and fell in the last fighting of the war.

"ALL IS WELL"

Silence, deep, profound, mysterious,
Gains her sway with subtle power
O'er the mind She holds imperious
Court within this solemn hour,
And the sable sky is teeming
With her starry courtiers, gleaming,
And the vestal moon is beaming
There as well.

Silence over Erie's waters,
Restling in the ambient air:
Silence over prison quarters -
Melancholy silence there.
Hark! The spell at last is broken!
Shrill the cry by sentry spoken;
What may not those words betoken? -
"All is well."

In Half past ten o'clock! and calling
"All is well!" Ah, whence that sigh?
'Twas like grief in cadence falling
from some o'ercharged heart close by;
Like a weary zephyr dying
Yet the sentries are replying
"All is well!"

From you light house comes a glistening
Like a ray of hope it seems
Eager hearts to false hopes listening -
Hope that only comes in dreams.
Oh that hope of home returning!
Hoping on and with a burning,
Feverish fire of ceaseless yearning.
"All is well."

See - a bridge of silver glossing
Spans the lake from shore to shore;
Eager fancy o'er it crossing
Seeks to wander evermore -
Seeks to stroll 'midst childhood's flowers,
'Midst affection's changeless bowers,
Or with love in moonlight hours,
"All is well."

But the present still intruding,
With its harsh, repulsive truth,
Comes unbidden here, excluding
Sweetest dreams of buoyant youth;
Sweetest dreams forever fleeting,
Fancy's self forever cheating,
And the sentry still repeating
"All is well."

"All is well!" The prisoner sleeping
In his bunk so rude and bare
See an aged mother weeping,
Hear a young wife's whispered prayer.
"All is well!" While hopes forsaking
Leaves behind it only aching;
"All is well?" - While hearts are breaking,
"All is well?"



"All is well!" A spirit tiring
Of its chains will soon be free;
Yes, a captive now expiring
Soon shall find his liberty!
"All is well ! - A soul is fleeting -
Angels hover round with greeting;
And the sentinel's repeating,
"All is well!"

Peace and a happy and prosperous new year to you!
Keith

The Return of Henry A. Allen

Greetings Cosmic Americans!

A long time ago, I embarked on a little side project that concerned a Confederate Soldier named Henry A. Allen. I came across his papers at the Albert and Shirley Small Special Collections Library at the University of Virginia back in grad school - his wartime letters had no direct bearing on my research but I thought they were interesting so I made copies and tucked them away for a later date.

Allen was a captain in the 9th Virginia Infantry Regiment and was captured at the Battle of Gettysburg. He spent the remainder of the war in northern prisons - where he wrote his wife, Sarah, on a regular basis...explaining the goings on of prison life and sending her instructions as to how best conduct their household while he was away.  Long after the war Allen joined a veterans' organization called the Immortal 600. Now, the 600 were some angry ex-Rebs, which is what drew me to Allen in the first place. What happened to him during the war and behind enemy lines that brought out the animosities later in life?

My plan was to present the letters in unedited form online - to make them available to the public. I made a good start until the letters dated after June, 1864 went missing from my files. You can see the letters dated before that by clicking HERE. Well, after relocating Cosmic America HQ this last month, the 1864-65 letters have resurfaced. Thus the project continues! Stay tuned to find out what happens to Allen as the months turn in to years. You might just find a few surprises!

The next step is to edit this collection for publication, which means a few more trips to the archives. Allen was from Portsmouth, Virginia - and strangely...after years of living in the Old Dominion, I never made it there. I suppose a visit is in order.

Peace,

Keith