SCENES AMONG SICK.—RAIDERS
CONVICTED.
Strong these men had been;
In vast army camps had duty done;
Had useful service in field and fort
performed,
Some also on the sea and river fleets.
Strong on marches and in battles' strife;
Strong in perilous trenches behind belching
guns
On skirmish lines at opening frays,
And bravely stood the shock of charging lines
That brought the battle's final test.
—From The Vision
of North.
More than a week since a sick call. The Doctor came to the gate this
morning; and many sick go forward. Crowds are carried who cannot walk and are
laid over a large space. Still in a bad state and quite weak, I go, hoping to
get a prescription, for "camphor pills," which sergeants of
"nineties" draw, after the examination. Doctor comes in and looks
them over hastily, going among them some, touching a few as though he felt
squeamish. Two hours would be required, at least, to get along with the
"nasty job," the doctors think, and only wink at them at that. I
could not endure the hot sun, the awful stench, the sight of those sickening
objects. I soon lost faith, if I had any, that I should be healed by a slight
hem touch. I came to doubt, upon viewing the condition of so many others,
whether I needed anything. More curious than charitable charity is a cripple
here, begins and ends at home. I looked them over, and was not curious.
"Here pity doth most show herself alive
When she is dead." —Dante.
There were stronger forms and more robust constitutions than mine,
weaker than infants; more loathsome than if they were dead; so they soon must
be once a part of the bone and sinew of the Union army! What ten times worse
than ghastly expressions! What pitiful complaints! What peevish, unmanly cries,
calling for the doctor to "Come quick, for Christ's sake, quick!"
constantly begging for water! Aghast, I stepped hurriedly, shamblingly, but
carefully over those wasted, corrupted bodies, once beautiful caskets of
immortal spirits, and hastened here and sit down with the boys under the shade
of the blanket, my heart sinking, is it not hardening with gloom? I shudder
while I write lest my fate shall be like theirs.
"What did you get, North?" they asked.
"Nothing; didn't try."
"You ought to."
"It wouldn't amount to shucks."
"Perhaps it would; at any rate, get all you can out of the Confederacy."
"That would do."
"Then go back and try."
"That makes me think of a man standing all night in the cold to
freeze an ugly dog. The soundest man in the bull-pen would be sick to stand in
that dying crowd an hour."
"That's what's the matter."
Tonight some of the sick are still at the gate; no attention paid, but
ordered left till sent back. Many of the worst cases were admitted to hospital,
a large number carried back by friends. Out of those who remain, six have died
during the day; others on the verge of death. Doctors claim they have no means
to care for the sick, therefore neglect them, let them
rot rather than parole and send them to our lines. They are not admitted to the
hospital, which is little better than this den, until in a condition of death;
nor are we allowed to go out for brush and timber to build shelter here though
thousands would volunteer for that service and the timber is all about us.
SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a
War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864,
pp. 86-7
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