Col. George H. Moffett continues his description of life as a Confederate prisoner in the Union prison camp at Fort Delaware:
"When I first read it, I could scarcely believe my eyes. Was it possible that there was a civilized government on earth willing to place itself on record in practicing such an enormous barbarity? But there it was in legible characters posted up against the outside wall of the mess hall, near the entrance, in full view of all who cared to stop and read it. Probably the original of that order may be found today buried somewhere beneath the musty files of the War Department unless, possibly, some one merciful to civilization had the goodness of heart to destroy it. Yet it is a singular fact that in all the war histories I have read - and I have read many - I have seen no reference to it. Nor have I been able to find it in the so-called 'War Records' issued by the government. Perhaps it is better that is should have been buried with its author.
"There was just enough food to keep the appetite whetted without satisfying it, causing a gradual lowering of vitality, an ever increasing hunger - in short, a protracted starvation. It is a horribly excruciating form of suffering to be hungry, hungry, hungry all the time, just enough food to sharpen the appetite, but never enough to satisfy the everlasting gnawing sensation at the stomach. When a person dies of starvation caused from a total lack of food, there is a shorter limit to the suffering. But here the starvation process was long drawn out, all the more agonizing because of its protracted duration.
"We were hungry all the time, and the little food we got made us still more hungry. The slice of bread and the slice of meat were gulped down with a longing for more. But that was the limit to the supply, and as the days rolled into weeks and the weeks into months there was no cessation of that perpetual gnawing sensation, unless death or sickness intervened to relieve the torture. As the vitality lowered from insufficiency of food and the consequent nerve exhausting the brain sympathized with the empty stomach, until this hunger became a mania. It filled our thoughts by day and our dreams at night. The prisoner would turn over on his hard bunk to dream it over again and again. And this too, in a land of plenty.
"And, as if to intensify the tantalization of the situation, officers and guards would frequently come into the prison enclosure eating fruits, apples, oranges and then scatter the peelings around to see the famished prisoners scuffle for them. A favorite form of this malicious tantalizing process was to come in with a large slice of watermelon and eat it in the presence of the hungry prisoners. All eyes were riveted upon the luscious melon, jaws would droop and mouths water, but all they could get were the scattered fragments of the rind thrown out to them like bones to dogs.
"Out of the thousands and thousands of such instances, I will cite only one example. There was Bob Rankin. There was Bob before me just out there in the prison yard. There had been a heavy rain the night before, and the mud was nearly ankle deep. As Bob sauntered along slowly, barely dragging one leg after the other, there was a lean and hungry look on his face. The few clothes he had on were in tatters, and he was barefooted. Suddenly the toe struck something that was quickly prized up through the mud. Upon the discovery that it was something to eat, I saw the look of delight that flashed across Bob's face as he grabbed for it. It was a great big piece of watermelon rind. Without scarcely taking time to brush the mud away he fell to devouring it, and gulp after gulp it went down, until all had disappeared. A few days later Bob was taking his long sleep over in the bogs and quagmires of New Jersey. I missed him, yet somehow I derived a melancholy sort of comfort from the thought that Bob had died with a full stomach.
"There were bedbugs, 'graybacks,' and rats - all innumerable. Did we eat rats? I answer affirmatively, and will further say that in our opinion the Chinese are right when they class rat as a delicacy. A 'rat killing' was the only real amusement we had. Fresh meat, regardless of the species, was too much of a rarity among these hungry men to be discarded on account of an old prejudice. When properly dressed and fried in pork grease, a rat has the exact flavor of a squirrel. The uninitiated would never know the difference."
In the next column, Part 7, Col. Moffett continues his description of the starvation and sickness experienced by Confederate prisoners in Union prison camps. In the final installment of the series, the Colonel at last sees the bright light of freedom and returns home.
Bill Ward lives in Salisbury and is a historian, writer, and member of the Sons of Confederate Veterans. Contact him at wardwriters@bellsouth.net
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