The air is purified
by rain during the night. At first dawn we go to the stream for a bath. Knowing
the difficulty to keep clear of lice and dirt, we take the first precaution.
Found plenty of the same opinion. Breakfast from our scanty lump of bread and
lump of bacon. Roll call at 8 o'clock whereat Rebel sergeants attend. The
purpose is to see if all are present. In the event of any being absent, the
detachment is deprived of rations for the day whether the missing man appears
or not. The bread is of course unsifted meal, mixed without leaven or
seasoning, baked in creased cards two feet square. The cry of
"raiders" awoke us last night. We were told by old prisoners
yesterday, about gangs of thieves composed of brutal men who steal everything
that they can use or sell to Rebels; and in some cases they brutally beat and
kill. These organizations have grown rapidly since arrival of new prisoners,
and act in concert in their nefarious practice. They boldly take blankets from
over men's heads, pieces of clothing, anything that can be carried away,
standing over men with clubs threatening to kill if they move. They are led by
desperate characters said to have been bounty jumpers. They bear the name of
raiders. Going among men of our company I found they had not realized their
danger; some had lost boots, knapsack with contents, blankets, provisions and
other things. In some parts, we hear of pocket picking, assaults with clubs,
steel knuckles and knives. This happens every night; in some places at day,
especially after new arrivals.
The rumor circulated
last night that there was a plot to break out of prison on an extensive plan,
has some weight and is the topic of the day. Near the gate an address is posted
signed by Henri Wirz, captain commanding prison, saying the plot is discovered;
he is fully apprised; warns all to abandon the design; that if any unusual
movement is made, the camp will be immediately swept with grape and cannister
from the artilery; that all must know what the effect will be on a field so
thickly covered with men. Evidently the strictest vigilance is kept over us day
and night as shown by the movements of the military posts from the outside.
Inquiring in
reference to the matter, I learned that a large number of western men had
formed a plan to undermine a section of the stockade from which point the
artillery and other arms were most available, and had tunneled along the wall
underground, having approached it from a tunnel from the interior with a view,
at a given signal, when the wall is sufficiently weakened, to rush upon it with
as much force as could be concentrated, push it down and sieze the guns while
the Rebels are sleeping. It was a daring plot, easily discovered and defeated.
Thompson and I go in
search of "Paradise Lost" to quaff from the Parnassian springs of
Milton. After a long search, for we became bewildered in the crowds, we found
our friend who welcomed us. After exchanging addresses and a glance with the
mind's eye over his field of philosophy, we bore away the prize. Could that
great author, Milton, have thought of a title more appropriate to the place
into which the work of his genius has fallen? Foe without, foe within, robbery,
murder, sickness, starvation, death, rottenness, brutality and degradation
everywhere! Fumes of corruption greet our nostrils; the air is impregnated with
morbific effluvium. It seems impossible that fearful epidemic can be stayed. A
few weeks hence but few may be left to tell the tale of misery. The sacred
realm of nature and its virgin purity have been invaded by the crushing power
of tyranny and ravished by the cruel hand of false ambition. Where but lately
the songs of happy birds rang from lofty pines through heavenly air, today we
hear the groans of men in unrestrained agony. On the foul atmosphere is wafted
the expiring breath of men wasted and wasting in their prime. Daily they sink
as if their feet were planted on a thinly crusted marsh,
and, as they sink,
there is nothing to which their hands can cling; no power can reach that would
save, while around hisses the foe who madly thrust us into this worse than den
of lions.
W. H. Harriman,
Zanesville, Ohio, 15th U. S. Infantry, our new acquaintance, is a finely
organized man, possessing a calm, genial nature, of sterling intelligence. He
has patience, faith, hope, and enjoys their blessed fruits. He has a fine sense
of things, takes a comprehensive view of the crisis, how results one way or
another, will affect the interests of mankind. The right is clear to him; he
has faith it will triumph; regrets that any doubt. His knowledge of things
common to schools and men of thought, proves him of a reflective mind; his
candor, brotherly conduct, render him a noble companion.
We are camped in the
midst of Ohio boys belonging to the 7th cavalry. Thirteen were taken, only
seven alive. One has a malignant sore on his arm caused by vaccination. It has
eaten to the bone, nearly around the arm; gangrene is spreading. He is very
poor; soon must die. (Note—June 13th, he died. He had a wife and comfortable
possesions in Ohio.)
A sergeant of the
same company is afflicted with scurvy in the feet. They are terribly swollen,
nearly black, give almost unendurable pain; still he is kind, cheerfully sings
for our diversion in the inimitable tone the western country boys have in their
songs, "The Battle of Mill Spring," "Putting on Airs,"
etc., accompanied by his brother whose limb is contracted from the same
disease. (Note—He became helpless, was carried to the hospital in a hopeless
condition in June.)
I speak of this as a
few incidents among hundreds all over the camp, illustrative of patient
suffering of as noble young men as grace family households, under circumstances
that have no parallel in affliction.
At 8 o'clock this
evening a sentinel fired. Going to the vicinity I learned a man who came in
today, knowing nothing of the dead lines, lay down near it, was shot in the
side and borne away by friends.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 60-2
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