Thursday, July 28, 2005

Point Lookout

At every turn... the South is slapped in the face with Andersonville. I'm sure you know what happened at Andersonville... as any percieved attrocity of the South is required knowledge for every American school aged child. One wonders how many of you know about Point Lookout?

Point Lookout is one of the many Yankee Andersonvilles, that they don't tell you about in school.

Because of the topography, drainage was poor, and the area was subject to extreme heat in the summer and cold in the winter. This exacerbated the problems created by inadequate food, clothing, fuel, housing, and medical care. As a result, approximately 3,000 prisoners died there over 22 months.

It is estimated that a total of 52,264 (WOR) prisoners, both military and civilian, were held there. Although it was designed for 10,000 prisoners, during most of its existence it held 12,600 to 20,000 inmates.

The camp's Provost Marchall was Mjr. Brady assisted by Mjr. Gen. Benjamin Butler.

Benjamin Butler... Name sound familiar? How about Ben "The Butcher" Butler? That ring any bells?

Probably not...

See.. when yankees burn crops... destroy livestock... and starve entire populations... they make movies about the poor yankee prisoners who unfortunately died as a result.

But when yankees who have plenty of food available, starve southron prisoners out of sheer damned meaness... well that gets swept out to sea.. along with the graves of the dead. And them that done it get promoted... and eventually are given Governorship over whole states.

Piss on Ben Butler. He's rotting in Hell right now... and I for one sleep better knowing that.

O I'm a good old rebel, Now that's just what I am,
And for this Yankee nation, I do not give a damn'
I'm glad I fought against her, I only wish we'd won,
I ain't asked any pardon, for anything I've done...

I rode patroll with Healy, For four years, near about,
Got wounded in three places, And starved at Point Lookout,
I cought the rheumatism, A camping in the snow,
But I killed a chance of Yankees, and I'd like to kill some more...

Three hundred thousand Yankees, Lie stiff in Southern dust,
We got three hundred thousand, Before they conquered us,
They died of Southern fever, And Southern steel and shot,
And I wish it was three million, Instead of what we got...

I can't take up my musket, And fight 'em now no more,
But I ain't gonna love 'em, Now that is sartin sho,
And I don't want no pardon, For what I was and am,
I won't be reconstructed, And I do not give a damn...


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