At daylight a man
shot and instantly killed. He had no particular stopping place, had become
partially crazed; in the night had crept beyond the dead line and fell asleep.
As soon as seen, the guard shot him while yet asleep. He had just been seen by
two of our men who were calling him to come out. He lay until "dead
call" and was carried out. Those who have helpless friends are eager to
get them out. So at an early hour this morning they are crowded forward.
Regulators are clearing every passage to make room for the sick. The main
street on which I stop from the gate to the east, is filled with prostrate men.
There is a greater number than yesterday. The doctors are making special
efforts and one said yesterday, "The sick must all come out. The condition
of the prison will breed pestilence that will spread through the country."
It is through their importunity that this movement is made. They appear
frightened. I heard another say, "Conditions are shameful." Long have
doctors complained that their government furnishes neither
medicine nor decent quarters; that men can not be successfully treated on such
fare and in these quarters. One told Steward Brown that men could not live long
on the rations given us; that well men will soon be sick. They have 'some new
tents up; some are being carried thither in army wagons. The Rebel sergeant who
counted us today said:
"Captain don't
care how many Yankees die; he says he has killed more men than Joe
Johnston," then added: "What did you'ns come down heah for if you'ns
didn't want tough fare? But we can't help it."
After two hours
laying in a crowd, "no sick call," is announced. The sick are being
returned to all parts of the prison. I am living on rice alone, draw some,
trade meal for some.
Report is rife that
our government has offered the Richmond dignitaries to accept a parole of all
prisoners, especially sick, and take care of prisoners of both parties.
Undoubtedly this is the disposition of our government. This evening I met an
intelligent talker who knows what he sees more than most men. Having frequently
met him, I inquired his name. "Buerila," he replied; "I am from
Illinois, have been a prisoner ten months, came here from Florida; I will stay
ten more, I will be eaten up by lice and maggots before I will ask our
government to get on its marrow bones to these Rebels. I am glad to see Lincoln
stand square on his feet. I was a Douglas man, not that he was a better man,
but had had more experience. I knew both personally and now believe Lincoln the
best man for the place. If I can get into God's country in time he will get my
vote." I referred to the report; he said:
"I asked the
old Dutch if that thing was true myself. The old bummer looked mad, but
answered more than I expected: 'Py Cot ve vills to no such ting! Py Cot, ve
vill starf every son of a pitch! Now, I tells you, you vills all tie pefore ve
vills parole ye-an pefore exchange. Py Cot, your Covment is too tevilment. Ve
cot you foul!' Turning his horse around to go away, he said: 'Py Cot, you as vell
pe schoot as stay here, and ve no trust damn Yankees.'"
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 97-8
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