Civil War Prison Poetry

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:
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 rob
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.]
 
That's got to be a reference to Beast. Too funny!
This one's not poetry, but it's funny - another humorous anecdote from Major George McKnight aka "Asa Hartz" originally published in the New York News and reprinted in the Alexandria Gazette. (Alexandria, DC), August 13, 1864, page 2.
1618021678394.png
 
This one's not poetry, but it's funny - another humorous anecdote from Major George McKnight aka "Asa Hartz" originally published in the New York News and reprinted in the Alexandria Gazette. (Alexandria, DC), August 13, 1864, page 2.
View attachment 397248

I don't want to get into or start trouble here, but one of the things I've always loved about Southerners is their sense of good nature and positive fun over the entire mess of the 1860s.

The Yankees have always struck me as incredibly dour about the whole thing.

Lighten up, folks!
 
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.
I found a bio of George McKnight (aka Asa Hartz) and his most "famous" poem. Poem first:

THE PRISON ON LAKE ERIE
The full, round moon, in God's blue bend,
Glides o'er her path so queenly --
Dark shadows creep, fade into light,
And stars look down serenely.
A captive looks out on the scene-
A scene so sad and dreary;
And thinks a weary captive's thoughts
In prison on Lake Erie.

The happy, happy days of youth,
Flit by him fast and faster;
The joys which gave no warning note
Of manhood's dire disaster;
The days of joy, and peaceful homes,
And firesides bright and cheery,
Come back to find him sad and worn,
In prison on Lake Erie.

A passing cloud flies o'er the scene,
The light, a moment banished,
Returns again, but now, alas!
The vision bright has vanished,
The happy view of childhood's throne
Leaves but a picture dreary,
To rest the aching eye upon,
In prison on Lake Erie.

How many moons will rise and wane;
How many months will languish --
Ere Peace, the white winged angel, comes
To soothe a nation's anguish?
God speed the long'd and pray'd for day,
When loved ones, bright and cheery,
Shall welcome us around the hearth,
From prison on Lake Erie.
~Asa Hartz
Johnson's Island, February, 1864.

[Source: Originally published in the Louisville Journal as reprinted in The Camden Confederate. (Camden, SC), April 06, 1864, page 2.]

And here's the bio which contains more information that what I posted above. I also found that George McKnight was the son of a printer, Robert McKnight. He had two brothers who were also printers.
1618116227931.png

[Source: The Sunny Land: Or, Prison Prose and Poetry, Containing the Production of the Ablest Writers in the South, and Prison Lays of Distinguished Confederate Officers. Compiled by Buehring H. Jones. United States: Innes, printers, 1868, page 310.]
 
Then there's this, reportedly found in Andersonville POW Alonzo Tuttle Decker of the 7 NY Artillery's diary

“The Prisoner’s Dream”

Oh, give me a breath of air
At the rose morning dawn
When dew drops like Jewels rare
Brightly Sparkle on the Lawn
To live on some mountain top
Where the Breeze sweeps from the Sea
In Rain I Cherish the Hope
For life has few Days for me
This form so wasted and so weak
Was lately robust and strong
And these Blue eyes cannot speak
Their mystic eloquence long
I am going with each breath
Despite my wishes and tears
Now the lone foot falls of Death
Are echoing in my ears
Toward home I turn my face
Where my wife and children Dear
Gather round the bright fireplace
Full of many a hope and fear
O that group do I behold
With tears in every eye
And me I am growing cold
It cannot be that I Die
This comrades is but a Dream
The last of a Soldiers life
Let Tears o’er my cold cheeks Stream
I’ve seen my children and wife
But no more shall each Sweet face
Look happily into mine
For Death will soon efface
Life’s every loving line.

I am happy to report that Alonzo made it back to his wife, Sarah and their children, having been exchanged on April 5, 1865.
 
The Yorkville Enquirer (S.C) reported on Nov. 2, 1864: "Asa Hartz has returned fro[m] his visit to a Northern prison."
All I know is that Asa Hartz was released from Johnson's Island Prison sometime before Nov. 2, 1864. Does anyone have an exact date or know where such a list exists?
 
In the May 30, 1865 Lowell Courier (MA), there is an article explaining that Capt. James F. Huntington is at Lowell visiting "relatives and friends." The Capt. grew up in Lowell. He originally had served as Capt. of Battery H, 1st Ohio but had resigned due to a hernia. He then joined the Veterans Reserve Corps and had been stationed at Johnson's Island as the assistant to Col. Hill. The Courier would publish the following poems which I believe are all attributed to "ASA HARTZ" - Maj. George McKnight (C.S.A.).
No title given but starts "A captive on a lake girt isle" (Johnson's Island Sept. 13, 1864)
"My Love and I"
"Exchanged" (Johnson's Island Oct. 24, 1864)
"No One Writes To Me"
As shown, some of the poems have dates included afterwards. I don't know what those dates mean. Possibly when published in a prison. newsletter of some sort or published elsewhere. Notice that the date for "Exchanged" (Oct. 24, 1864) is after Asa Hartz had been "exchanged" on Oct. 11, 1864.
 
In the book "Lake Erie Islands Sketches and Stories" by Michael Gora it states that the poem, "The Captive on Lake Erie" which is the first poem listed in my previous post was "said to have been written by one Col. Frazier of Memphis, Tenn." p. 215. Anyone know anything about Col. Frazier? His full name and dates of imprisonment at Johnson's Island. My hunch is that "The Captive on Lake Erie" was actually written by Asa Hartz.
 
The Confederate Veteran:
"THE CAPTIVE ON LAKE ERIE The following lines written on the fly leaf of a book by Col C. W. Frazer of Memphis Tenn while he was prisoner on Johnson's Island have pathetic interest The book came into the possession of a young woman, who is now the wife of Col. William H Herbert, Collector of Customs of the at Sandusky Ohio and who was a Confederate officer."
The poem is then written. My hunch is that this is why it "is said" that the poem was written by C. W. Frazier, but I think that he had just copied it on the fly-leaf of his book. Actually I believe his name was "C. W. Frazer" and he was a Captain. If so his wife made an interesting plea for his release.
http://ohiosyesterdays.blogspot.com/2017/01/letitia-frazers-plea-for-parole-for-her.html
 
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His name was Charles Wesley Frazer. From findadgrave:
"CAPT COMP D
5TH CONFEDERATE INF
He attended the University of Mississippi and was admitted to the bar in Memphis at the age of nineteen. With the start of the Civil War, Frazer joined the Confederate army on June 14, 1861, and was commissioned the captain of Company I, 21st Tennessee Infantry. Frazer fought in the Battle of Belmont in Mississippi County, Missouri on November 7, 1861, the first combat for Union General Ulysses S. Grant. The Confederates claimed victory, as the Federals were forced to withdraw, but the outcome was inconclusive. Frazer also fought at Perryville, Kentucky, on October 8, 1862, the largest Civil War battle in Kentucky.
Captured in September 1863, Frazer was sent to Johnson’s Island, Ohio, a Union prison for Confederate officers located on Lake Erie. Frazer remained at Johnson’s Island until his release on June 11, 1865."
 
In the May 30, 1865 Lowell Courier (MA), there is an article explaining that Capt. James F. Huntington is at Lowell visiting "relatives and friends." The Capt. grew up in Lowell. He originally had served as Capt. of Battery H, 1st Ohio but had resigned due to a hernia. He then joined the Veterans Reserve Corps and had been stationed at Johnson's Island as the assistant to Col. Hill. The Courier would publish the following poems which I believe are all attributed to "ASA HARTZ" - Maj. George McKnight (C.S.A.).
No title given but starts "A captive on a lake girt isle" (Johnson's Island Sept. 13, 1864)
"My Love and I"
"Exchanged" (Johnson's Island Oct. 24, 1864)
"No One Writes To Me"
As shown, some of the poems have dates included afterwards. I don't know what those dates mean. Possibly when published in a prison. newsletter of some sort or published elsewhere. Notice that the date for "Exchanged" (Oct. 24, 1864) is after Asa Hartz had been "exchanged" on Oct. 11, 1864.
Lowell, Massachusetts is and was a rough, working class city, and is particularly noted for the textile mills that were located there. Mill workers had to live in mill owned dorm and their lives were ruled by the company bells, which dictated when they got up, where they ate, when they worked, and when they had to be in bed by. I have occasionally taken kids there on field trips to see the mills.

I think the dates might also represent the dates the poems were completed. And the title of "Exchanged is past tense, which fits if he wrote it after his Oct 11th release.
 
I don't think "Exchanged" relates to the date of Oct.11 as the poem is about the prisoners being buried and thus gaining their freedom or "exchanged" in that manner.
As to Lowell, it was a place of wealth and working-class. Lowell was one of America's great birthplaces of manufacturing. It had a vibrant upper-class and attracted such people as Pres. Tyler, Charles Dickens, and Congressman Abe Lincoln to visit.
 
" EXCHANGED."

From his dim prison-house by Lake Erie's bleak
shore,
He is borne to his last resting place;
The glance of affection and friendship no more
Shall rest on the captive's wan face;
The terms of his "cartel" his God has arranged,
And the victim of war has at length been ".ex-
changed."

His comrades consign his remains to the earth,
With a tear and a sigh of regret,
He died far away from the land of his birth,
From a land he could never forget.
Mid the scenes of his boyhood his fancy last ranged,
Ere the sorrows, of life and its cares were "ex-
changed."

The clods of the Island now rest on the head
That the fierce storm of battle had spared,
On the Field that was strewn with the dying and
dead,
Whose perils and dangers he shared.
From home and from all that he loved, long es-
tranged,
Death pitied his fate and the captive "exchanged."
Johnson's Island, Oct. 24th, 1864.
 
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Lowell, Massachusetts is and was a rough, working class city
Maybe a bit harsh :smile:. Capt. Huntington has nothing to be ashamed of. Lowell--named for Francis Cabot Lowell (of the Lowells that speak only to God)--is home to 2 universities and numerous museums (including the New England Quilt Museum). It is the chosen burial spot of brevit Brig. Gen. Henry Abbott (of the "Harvard Regiment"), a close friend of Oliver Wendell Holmes, Jr.; Abbott was killed at the Battle of Wilderness and chose to be buried here, with other ACW soldiers, rather than with his Brahmin family in Boston. Lowell was the first place of production of Moxie (Maine's official soft drink).
 
I'm not sure I would consider the production of Moxie as a good thing....

But point taken. The mills were also powered by the Merrimac River, which was quite an innovation in its day. But it's still not a place I would want to live. When I taught in Westford, we had a few school choice kids from Lowell, who came to go to a "good" school system. They would tell stories about living there. And my dad used to judge prize fights there. But, hey, I grew up in Brockton ("Home of the Brave," my father called it), so what do I know?
 
Lowell, Massachusetts is and was a rough, working class city, and is particularly noted for the textile mills that were located there. Mill workers had to live in mill owned dorm and their lives were ruled by the company bells, which dictated when they got up, where they ate, when they worked, and when they had to be in bed by. I have occasionally taken kids there on field trips to see the mills.

I think the dates might also represent the dates the poems were completed. And the title of "Exchanged is past tense, which fits if he wrote it after his Oct 11th release.

Yep, and this sounds much like the "work force" in the South during the same era. Northern textile manufacturers desperately wanted Southern cotton, on their own terms, and treated their workers in a way that nearly brought another Civil War in the early 20th century.

They fought union organizers with incredible violence and eventually lost. I'll bet there's poetry about that, too.
 
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