The returning soldier looked older than his 22 years. His face, though still boyish, was lined by pain and suffering. I threw open the front door and we all rushed out onto the front porch. Johnny managed a wan smile and hastened his step. We all surrounded and embraced him. As I did, I noted to my surprise that his face was still beardless.

It was clear to me that some burden was dampening his joy at returning to his home and loved ones. We removed his wet cloak and had him stand before the fire to dry off. He surveyed the four of us: his two sisters, his mother, and I and, with a wry smile, said "Well, to belabor the obvious, I'm back."

"You are, indeed", I replied, "to those whose tender loving care will restore you to good health and spirits. " I knew, of course, that his imprisonment in the prisoner-of-war camp at Andrewsville had been hard on him , but it was only now, upon beholding him, that I realized how hard it had been. "Are you hungry ?" I inquired. "Ravenous" Johnny replied with a wolfish grin. "Good. We're having supper shortly: New England pot roast, Boston baked beans, boiled asparagus, and mashed potatoes. No fatback, hawg jowl and chit'lins here."

"We didn't eat that well, father." said Johnny sadly. "I'd like to talk to you privately after supper." "Of course, son." A little of Johnny's old playfulness and wit returned during the meal, which he seemed to be enjoying very much, though I noticed that he refused second helpings, probably advisable for one who had long been on short commons. Mother's cherry pie seemed especially to delight him.

After supper was finished, I announced, "Hannah, John and I are retiring to the library for brandy and cigars." My wife's eyebrows rose for a moment. At 18, of course, John did not drink brandy or smoke cigars, though now, he was certainly old enough for both.

I poured a snifter of French cognac for each of us and Johnny swirled the spirit in his and inhaled the vapors, as one accustomed to good brandy. I gave him a Cuban Panatella of which he carefully cut off part of the butt end with his penknife. He then dipped the butt end of the cigar into his cognac for a moment and let it soak in. I wondered where he had learned that; not from me, certainly. Noticing my quizzical expression, he explained "Col. Reardon always did this. It makes for a wonderful smoke." I passed him the candle and he lit up.

Then he sat back in the chair and asked, "Father, what did we fight this war for ?" I answered, "Well, I didn't fight in it, so I'll return the question to you, as you doubtless know better than I. Why did you fight in this war ?" John raised his glass and quoted the famous rallying cry. "Our Federal Union. It must be preserved." I touched glasses with him and drank to the sentiment.

"That, at least, father, I still believe. I do not quarrel with secession in principle, but in practise its consequences could be disastrous. To carry the idea to a reductio ad absurdum, it could claimed that the individual states, being sovereign, could make war on each other. Had secession triumphed, the Confederacy, at least could have degenerated into a congeries of stubbornly independent individual states, like the Balkans.

It is surely true that 'In union there is strength.' The corollary is that in disunion, there is weakness. Had all of the states not collaborated, we could never have defeated the English in 1814. (I know, actually, we didn't.) nor the Mexicans in 1842. To be strong enough to survive, we need the resources and the men of ALL of the states.

The Abolitionists , of course, fought to free the slaves. Wherever and whenever it has existed in human history, slavery has been an evil institution, a canker that eats at the fabric of society. Treating human beings as property is treating them as other than human. It is morally wrong. Yet, I wonder how much good will be done by freeing the Southern slaves.

Do you realize, can you even imagine, that many of the guards at Andrewsville were black ?! Don't, even for a second, imagine that they were grateful to us as their liberators. They treated us far worse than the white guards, who, God knows, were bad enough. Don't ask me to explain this because I can't.

The Southrons, of course, claimed to be fighting, not for slavery, but for States' Rights. Well, the states have rights clearly guaranteed in the Constitution, but secession and individual states' sovereignty are not among them. So, there you have a brief survey of what we were fighting for. I still support the Federal Union. It is necessary if this nation is to survive.

Often, in the depths of my misery at Andrewsville, I asked myself, 'Why must we who are fighting the good fight suffer so ?' Why does God let these terrible things happen to us ? I will NOT accept the facile explanation that God allows evil to befall us in order to test our faith. Just how much testing does a man's faith need ?

God is alleged in the Bible to have joined forces with Satan to torment poor Job whose terrible transgression was that his religious observances were perfunctory ! What kind of a God would go to such extreme lengths to test a man's faith ?

God is taken to be omniscient. If so, He KNOWS my deeds and thoughts. He KNOWS the nature and strength of my faith. He has no NEED to test it. But if not to test a man's faith, then why does God allow a good man to suffer at the hands of the iniquitous ? The answer which inevitably occurs to an inquiring mind, though blasphemous, seems inescapable. God does not care !

'God doth note the sparrow's fall.' Yes, but the sparrow still falls, doesn't it ? God isn't moved to DO anything about it. I find myself forced into a deist position. God created the Universe and then left it to its own devices and is unconcerned with the deeds and sufferings of individual men.

Tens of thousands, probably more, of good pious men died on the battlefields of the Civil War . WHY ? And, don't tell me that God needed them in heaven. Heaven is over-crowded already. Why didn't God do something to reduce the bloodshed, the terrible toll in human lives ? Being omnipotent, God's ability to do something is unquestionable. Therefore, God must be indifferent to our sufferings.

Being perfect, God needs nothing, lacks nothing, wants nothing. Whatever we poor mortals do can neither benefit nor harm God. God doesn't NEED another pious man in Heaven. God is not affected whether we do good or evil. We must help ourselves and each other and not expect anything from God."

I have had to deal with the horrors which I and many others have experienced at Andrewsville without any help from God. Those who wore out their knees praying, fared no better than I. Now. let me rest for a moment and marshall my thoughts, for next, I must offend your sensibilities by telling you of my horrible, distressing, and disgusting experiences at Andrewsville."

I was shocked by John's words, and yet, the logic seemed inescapable. However, the logic of the limited human intellect is inadequate to account for the actions of God who is infinitely more profound than we can imagine.

I did not attempt to rebut anything which John had said, but merely waited for him to continue. When he did, it was in a soft, subdued tone.

"It was about a year ago, in the Spring of 1864, that I was captured in battle and brought to the Confederate prison camp at Andrewsville. Everything you have heard about Andrewsville is true, but quite inadequate to give you any idea of the filth, the utter bestiality of existence in that place. General Sherman said that 'War is Hell.' Well, Andrewsville is one of the outskirts of Hell.

We were ill-housed and ill-fed. I need not go into detail about that for you must have read about the conditions there in the newspapers. However, considerations of decency and delicacy make it impossible for the newspapers to tell the truth about our treatment there.

It is, of course, well-known to every man that the most delicate and sensitive parts of his body and those about whose safety he is most concerned are his testicles. No decent man would ever strike another man there intentionally. However, the guards at Andrewsville were, as far as I could observe, without exception, not decent men.

If a prisoner annoyed a guard in any way, he could expect to be struck, kneed, or kicked in the generative organs. This was an everyday occurence for all of us. A single attack of this sort, though excruciatingly painful, might do little damage, but the cumulative effects of countless such blows is inevitably disastrous.

No help was to be had from the medical staff at the infirmary. The surgeon, Col. Boucher, considered castration to be the panacea and employed it in the treatment of rupture, strain, retention of urine, low backache, and chronic constipation. I never saw his assistant, Lt. Marvin, sober. All he ever did was to prescribe laudanum, whatever the complaint. However, the infirmary's pharmacy was often out of laudanum.

One day, I dropped a box of supplies on which I did not have a good grip. The guard in charge of our detail, a huge Negro named Samsson flew into a rage. He had me held from behind by another guard while he rammed his knee into my genitories repeatedly until I lost consciousness, nowhere nearly soon enough. My pain was unimaginable.

When I regained consciousness, I soon realized that Samsson could never do that to me again. Col. Boucher had cured me of third-degree contusion of the testicles by removing the injured organs. I admit that, in this case, there was probably not much else he could have done.

I regret having had to break the news to you this way, father, but it would have to be said somehow. Our family name ends with me. I can never be a lover, a husband, or a father. I am no longer a man, but only a eunuch. At least, my sisters will be able to propagate our blood line via the distaff side.

This loss did not end my sufferings. The most depraved of the guards, of whom Samsson must be counted as one, were much given to sodomy.

Castration destroys a man's masculinity, assertiveness, and agressiveness. He becomes tractable, docile and submissive. The sodomites, therefore, tended to prefer eunuchs unless trying deliberately to humiliate an intact man.

Samsson found my emasculated body attractive and forced his loathsome attentions upon me daily. He violated my rectum with a virile member more appropriate to a donkey than a man. For over eight months, he continued to abuse my body in this fashion so that it has become difficult to avoid soiling my clothing because the sphincter will no longer close. I feel permanently defiled. What kind of a life I can have after these experiences, I cannot even guess."

I jumped to my feet, rushed over to my son and embraced him. In a voice broken by sorrow, I said " Johnny, you are my son. I love you and whatever I can do for you, I will." "I know, father, he replied, "but what can anyone do for me ?" "Only time will tell, son."