I have long believed that Civil War prisoner of war facilities were the final frontier in Civil War scholarship. Under-explored and under-appreciated, it has only been relatively recently that POW camps began to be researched and monographs written.
A recent excellent addition to this discourse is Crossing the Deadlines: Civil War Prisons Reconsidered (Kent State University Press, 2018), edited by Michael P. Gray. Author of The Business of Captivity: Elmira and it’s Civil War Prison, Gray has become one of the leading voices in this dark corner of Civil War history.
This interesting tome is a collection of essays from a distinguished group of scholars, with nine entries running the gamit from environment to religion and even dark tourism. It is a compilation that would make William Hesseltine, the late pioneer of prison scholarship, proud.
In his essay, “Civil War Captives and a Captivated Home Front,” Gray opens with the observation that when it comes to Civil War POW camps Andersonville takes up all the oxygen in the room. Of course, it is the death rate – which approached 30% – which has riveted attention on the Georgia pen. Gray argues, “Given the varied nature of Civil War prisons, scholarship must not be limited to just studying death figures, no matter how significant; rather, it should advance to more innovative, eclectic, and profitable methodologies so the truest narrative of Civil War incarceration might be achieved.”
True to his word, Gray delivers the eclectic – a look at dark tourism during the war. In this excellent essay we learn of Victorian ladies ascending sentry ladders to get a look at the Rebel vermin incarcerated at Andersonville, tour boats on Lake Erie which advertised that guests could “see the rebel quarters if not the rebels themselves”, and observation towers built by enterprising men to look over the stockade walls at Camp Douglas and in Elmira for “just ten cents, children half price.”
Lorien Foote contributes a compelling essay about an unpleasant subject entitled “The Sternest Feature of War: Prisoners of War and the Practice of Retaliation.” More prevalent than supposed, “acts of retaliation using prisoners of war were common components of military campaigns and of policy negotiations between Union and Confederate officials.” Indeed, the practice was even codified in military law. “General Orders No. 100, issued on April 24, 1863. Article 27 proclaimed that “civilized nations acknowledge retaliation as the sternest feature of war.”
At the center of the practice of retaliation was conceptions of what civilized warfare meant. This had special significance when it came to keeping prisoners of war. Foote points out that “Because Union and Confederate officials agreed that those who did not conform to the standards of civilized warfare were not entitled to be treated as prisoners of war if captured, struggles over policy and conduct…inevitably spilled over into decisions about the status of captured prisoners.”
One of my favorite scholars of this genre is Benjamin G. Cloyd. A professor of history at Hinds Community College in Mississippi, Cloyd is the author of the path-breaking book Haunted by Atrocity: Civil War Prisons in American Memory. In keeping with this line of inquiry, professor Cloyd’s addition to the volume under consideration here is “Civil War Prisons, Memory and the Problem of Reconciliation.”
In his essay Cloyd suggests that the impulse toward reconciliation is a natural part of human nature, “The potential for forgiveness and restoration assigns purpose to the struggle to find meaning in profound suffering.” However, there are limits. In remembering the Civil War, there has been a strong tendency towards Americanizing the struggle – as is evident with the lingering influence of the Lost Cause mythology. “But as the subject of Civil War prisons in particular shows, reconciliation can also be an illusion,” Cloyd argues.
According to Cloyd “the ideal of reconciliation has harmed as much as it has healed over the years.” This inclination to push the healing became especially a concern after the centennial of the Civil War in 1961-1965, when plans for a national observation collapsed over racial concerns. This, among other things, has led Cloyd to wonder if reconciliation is really possible. “There is more than a whiff of arrogance to our premature expectations of reconciliation,” he observed, “The past evils that created the Civil War continue to endure: do we have the patience and humilty to face this uncomfortable reality?”
Perhaps as much philosopher as a historian, Cloyd’s though provoking essay is worth the price of the book alone. This and his book Haunted by Atrocity make for mandatory reading for all those interested in Civil War studies – and perhaps the human condition in general.
All told, this outstanding volume is a great read and engaging exploration of a field of Civil War study too often neglected. It will have an honored place on my bookshelf, within easy reach.