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Another southern poet was Major George McKnight who wrote under the nom-de-plume "Asa Hartz."
Finding information about McKnight is difficult - seems none has ever compiled a biography. As best I can tell, he was enumerated in the 1850 US Census in Columbia SC as a single 19 year old printer. He must have moved to Louisiana, because at the out breaking of the war, he enlisted in the Louisiana Militia and carded records for early in the war state that he was AAG for "Beauregard's regiment." By 1863, he was a Major, serving as AAG for Gen. William Loring, when he was captured and sent to Johnson's Island. It was during this time that humorous letters from "Asa Hartz" began appearing in the Richmond newspapers.
At some point during the war, McKnight met Belle Taylor of Richmond, VA who was then at Columbia, SC caring for the sick and wounded. After the war, the couple moved to New Orleans, where Mr. McKnight soon died. In the 1890's Mrs. McKnight attempted to gather subscriptions in order to publish The Poems of Asa Hartz, but evidently never did.
This particular poem was written by George McKnight (aka Asa Hartz) addressed to General Robert E. Lee and was published in the Richmond newspapers. [The version below is from a post-war reprint: The Sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.), September 17, 1887, page 1.]
BLOCK 1, ROOM 12
JOHNSON'S ISLAND, OHIO
APRIL 24, 1864
Dear Uncle Bob:
That ice and snow and doctor's arts
Has stopped the breath of "Asa Hartz."
I write this in poetic lingo,
To let you know I live, by jingo.
And ask if you can bring about
Some certain means to get me out?
Haven't you got a Fed'ral "maje"
Now resting in some Dixie cage?
Who longs to see his loving marm
Or visit again his farm
Or gaze upon his garden "sass,"
Or see once more his bright eyed lass?
Haven't you one of these, I say
Whom you would like to swap away
For me, a man of vim - of "parts" -
Swap him, in short, for "Asa Hartz?"
I've been here, now, almost a year
And sigh for liberty - so dear;
I've tried by every means I knew
To bid this Isle a fond adieu;
Dug holes, scaled walls, passed through the gate,
With Yankee cap upon my pate,
And when I went onto the ice,
And though I'd got away so nice,
I met a blue coat in my route,
Who quickly made me faceabout;
Marched me with a diabol ca grin,
Back to the gate and turned me in.
I've swallowed every rumor strange
That had a word about exchange;
Grew fat with joy and lean with sorrow,
Was "up" today and "down" to-morrow!
Implored with earnestness of soul,
to be released upon parole!
Wrote Ben F B a spicy letter
And told him he could not do better
Than let me out for thirty days--
I read his answer in amaze!
He said that things were mixed up now,
In such a way he knew not how.
The favor that I asked about
Could well be granted. Had no doubt
That "things" would soon be arranged
That all of us would be exchanged
That ended it. I wrote to Prentice
Who several times had kindly lent his
Purse and name to those whose chance
And "pomp and glorious circumstance"
Had sent to rusticate a while
Within the "prison on Johnson's Isle."
Well George D. wrote to Gen. Terry,
Commander here - a good man - very
And told him if he'd let me out
For thirty days or there about,
He'd take me down into Kentucky --
See that I didn't "cut my lucky;"
Would go my bail in any sum -
That when they wanted me back - I'd come!
Gen Terry wrote him back,
That he must walk the beaten track!
"I really thought," said he, "you knew it,
That Stanton and he alone can do it!"
Thus ended that plan. I've no doubt
That I'm almost "gone up the spout,"
Unless you can devise some means,
To give me change or air and scenes
By special swap.
Me of the hope- I fondly cherish-
Do not leave me here to perish!
I've shuffled, cut the cards and dealt;
Have played my bower, (its loss is felt,
More than the loss of filthy luere.)
Please play my hand - save me the euchre,
And when your latest breath departs
You'll die bewailed by "Asa Hartz!"
P.S. When you, in answering this, shall write
Address me, "Major Geo. McKnight
Pris. of War." Be cautious -- very
And add on -- "Care of Gen. Terry."
[Source: The Sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.), September 17, 1887, page 1.]
Finding information about McKnight is difficult - seems none has ever compiled a biography. As best I can tell, he was enumerated in the 1850 US Census in Columbia SC as a single 19 year old printer. He must have moved to Louisiana, because at the out breaking of the war, he enlisted in the Louisiana Militia and carded records for early in the war state that he was AAG for "Beauregard's regiment." By 1863, he was a Major, serving as AAG for Gen. William Loring, when he was captured and sent to Johnson's Island. It was during this time that humorous letters from "Asa Hartz" began appearing in the Richmond newspapers.
At some point during the war, McKnight met Belle Taylor of Richmond, VA who was then at Columbia, SC caring for the sick and wounded. After the war, the couple moved to New Orleans, where Mr. McKnight soon died. In the 1890's Mrs. McKnight attempted to gather subscriptions in order to publish The Poems of Asa Hartz, but evidently never did.
This particular poem was written by George McKnight (aka Asa Hartz) addressed to General Robert E. Lee and was published in the Richmond newspapers. [The version below is from a post-war reprint: The Sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.), September 17, 1887, page 1.]
BLOCK 1, ROOM 12
JOHNSON'S ISLAND, OHIO
APRIL 24, 1864
Dear Uncle Bob:
I fear your head
Has gone a-thinking I am dead,That ice and snow and doctor's arts
Has stopped the breath of "Asa Hartz."
I write this in poetic lingo,
To let you know I live, by jingo.
And ask if you can bring about
Some certain means to get me out?
Haven't you got a Fed'ral "maje"
Now resting in some Dixie cage?
Who longs to see his loving marm
Or visit again his farm
Or gaze upon his garden "sass,"
Or see once more his bright eyed lass?
Haven't you one of these, I say
Whom you would like to swap away
For me, a man of vim - of "parts" -
Swap him, in short, for "Asa Hartz?"
I've been here, now, almost a year
And sigh for liberty - so dear;
I've tried by every means I knew
To bid this Isle a fond adieu;
Dug holes, scaled walls, passed through the gate,
With Yankee cap upon my pate,
And when I went onto the ice,
And though I'd got away so nice,
I met a blue coat in my route,
Who quickly made me faceabout;
Marched me with a diabol ca grin,
Back to the gate and turned me in.
I've swallowed every rumor strange
That had a word about exchange;
Grew fat with joy and lean with sorrow,
Was "up" today and "down" to-morrow!
Implored with earnestness of soul,
to be released upon parole!
Wrote Ben F B a spicy letter
And told him he could not do better
Than let me out for thirty days--
I read his answer in amaze!
He said that things were mixed up now,
In such a way he knew not how.
The favor that I asked about
Could well be granted. Had no doubt
That "things" would soon be arranged
That all of us would be exchanged
That ended it. I wrote to Prentice
Who several times had kindly lent his
Purse and name to those whose chance
And "pomp and glorious circumstance"
Had sent to rusticate a while
Within the "prison on Johnson's Isle."
Well George D. wrote to Gen. Terry,
Commander here - a good man - very
And told him if he'd let me out
For thirty days or there about,
He'd take me down into Kentucky --
See that I didn't "cut my lucky;"
Would go my bail in any sum -
That when they wanted me back - I'd come!
Gen Terry wrote him back,
That he must walk the beaten track!
"I really thought," said he, "you knew it,
That Stanton and he alone can do it!"
Thus ended that plan. I've no doubt
That I'm almost "gone up the spout,"
Unless you can devise some means,
To give me change or air and scenes
By special swap.
Now Uncle Bob,
Be patient with me. Do not robMe of the hope- I fondly cherish-
Do not leave me here to perish!
I've shuffled, cut the cards and dealt;
Have played my bower, (its loss is felt,
More than the loss of filthy luere.)
Please play my hand - save me the euchre,
And when your latest breath departs
You'll die bewailed by "Asa Hartz!"
P.S. When you, in answering this, shall write
Address me, "Major Geo. McKnight
Pris. of War." Be cautious -- very
And add on -- "Care of Gen. Terry."
[Source: The Sunny South. (Atlanta, Ga.), September 17, 1887, page 1.]