COVID-19 Crisis Recalls Civil War Smallpox Island Story
by
John J. Dunphy
(Originally published in the 4/11/20 edition of The Telegraph of Alton, IL)
Social distancing brings home the truth of John Donne’s words, “No man is an island entire of itself; every man is a piece of the continent, a part of the main.” The social distancing that we must observe to thwart the spread of the coronavirus gnaws at our very core. In his “Politics,” Aristotle stated, “Man is by nature a social animal. Anyone who either cannot lead the common life or is so self-sufficient as not to need to, and therefore does not partake of society, is either a beast or a god.”
While I’m still making a few dollars here at the book shop by marketing the works I’ve written to people on line, the absence of walk-in customers has hit me hard financially. But it isn’t the mere absence of book sales that saddens me. It’s the absence of people — both first-time customers and the regulars who stop by to browse and chat. I’m almost at the point of wishing that I were a beast or god, so that I wouldn’t need anyone in my life.
Yes, a highly-contagious disease has forced me into a self-imposed isolation. When I feel myself slipping into self-pity, however, I recall an episode from our region’s history that helps to put things into perspective. Can any of us even begin to comprehend the horror of being a prisoner of war who is stricken with a disease and forced into a makeshift isolation hospital on a Mississippi River island?
The few limestone blocks and interpretive plaques that comprise the memorial to the old Alton prison can’t really convey the horror of the smallpox epidemic that broke out among its inmates during the Civil War. It began with one Henry Farmer, an infected inmate, who arrived at the prison on October 15, 1862. Exacerbated by overcrowding, lack of medical facilities and poor sanitation, the disease spread quickly among inmates and prison personnel alike.
Smallpox victims were initially buried in a pasture, which was located on what is now Rozier Street in North Alton. This pasture had been used as a burial ground for inmates who died at the facility when it was in use as Illinois’ first state prison. But when townspeople fell victim to the disease, the citizens of Alton demanded that the inmate dead be buried elsewhere. They also called for the ailing prisoners’ removal from the city boundaries.
The prison administration built a small isolation hospital for inmates on a Mississippi River island. This island had been known by a number of names over the years. During this period, it acquired a chilling new name: Smallpox Island. Sick inmates were sent to Smallpox Island. Inmates who died there were buried on the island.
U.S. government records indicate that 263 prisoners, a figure that includes a woman, died while patients at the island’s isolation hospital. Of that number, 247 were Confederate officers, enlisted men and conscripts. The remaining 16 were civilians.
Those of you who have read my books and columns know that I proudly claim abolitionist ancestry and possess no sympathy whatsoever for the Confederacy. It was a short-lived nation that rested on two equally-foul pillars: white supremacy and perpetual slavery for blacks. Yet, even I can summon up a measure of pity for the prisoners who were transported to Smallpox Island. Infected with a deadly disease and hundreds of miles from their families, they knew that death would consign them to an unmarked grave that would never be visited by loved ones and decorated with flowers.
My current isolation, I remind myself, is a walk in the park compared to what those men endured. Besides, the dearth of customers isn’t all bad. I’ve really been getting a lot of writing done.
John J. Dunphy is the author of Abolitionism and the Civil War in Southwestern Illinois and Unsung Heroes of the Dachau Trials: The Investigative Work of the U.S. Army 7708 War Crimes Group, 1945–1947.