The sick carried
early to the gates but not received; ordered to be brought at 2 p. m. Doctors
have got it into their heads that some system is necessary, and so much
crowding at the gate was unnecessary and detrimental; so they ordered all back
but the sick of eleven detachments and that none come tomorrow but those
designated. Many are taken out. It gives hope that they are going to try to
help us. Men persist in flattering themselves that we are soon to be relieved.
I guard against disappointment and defer hope while action is deferred. The
wolf at the door will not go away bloodthirsty until driven. They brought us to
Georgia according to a decision of powers that be, that no shelter should be
furnished Yankee prisoners. They will not release us for our sake, have
disregarded our rights and purposely wronged us. Their cause is desperate; they
fight for unprovoked revenge. They fiercely kill with bullets and designedly
and half disguisedly plot our lingering death, seeking to profit their cause by
our suffering. They began the war in hasty spite; it will end in hellish
revenge. If they believe in their cause, need we hope for mercy? Has the
government raised its hand to strike out one right the North claims for itself?
Have we not compromised our sense of justice to appease unreasoning wrath, and
have they not placed the dagger to our hearts? Now shall we be delivered by the
murderers from the hands of their agents? Not till the last pillar has been
broken and the hell-born spirit that incited this war shall rule no more, will
their nefarious plotting cease. Yet we have hope which all of this surmounts,
they must fail.
A PRISONER'S SONG.
Strident, yet more strident,
Sound the notes of war.
In our hearts confident
Behold the end afar.
Patient, yet more patient,
We'll bear the pains of fate.
Awake, oh, spirits latent,
And ward the blows of hate!
Higher,
and yet higher,
Raise
the hope of love;
Let
faith new strength inspire
And
make us stalwart prove.
Calmer,
and yet calmer,
Wait
we for the light,
Through
savage din and clamor,
The
passing of this night.
Freedom, on forever,
O, swiftly onward stride,
Enslaving bonds to sever,
And in this land abide!
Steady, and more steady,
Let our armies go;
They are strong and ready,
They move-it seems so slow!
Starving, we are starving!
We are sinking in distress;
Disease is gnawing-carving;
Our foes do sore oppress.
Help us to see the sunlight
Of victory and feel
Treason's bane has ceased to blight,
E'er death our eyes shall seal.
There is no danger
from robbers and Thompson and I walk in the cool of the evening and talk about
these things. A sensible companion in tribulation, is worth a thousand fools in
peace if one appreciates him. The happiest man I ever saw was a man happy under
miserable circumstances; the most miserable man is one wretched when surrounded
with the benefits of life, with a vacant heart, a volcanic head, an iceberg and
a fiery furnace freezing and burning his nature at the same time. To be
contented, to be happy here, in one sense, is a mysterious art, yet the
plainest fact.
"There is a Divinity that shapes our ends,
Rough hew them as we will."
We know now how to
appreciate a man who is a living statue, not a human straw, a weed, jostled by
every breeze, whipped about by adverse winds. We feel like him, believe in him;
we are encased in steel. He is one, at least, who appreciates us. He has not
only got the poetry of our best poets, but he has the heart, and the head; not
only the rhyme but the sentiment.
Recently an
interesting episode occurred, but it was not devoid of cruelties incident to
this place. It reveals qualities of noble patriotism and keen foresight with a
tinge of stern romance. A Georgian is a prisoner here.
Early in 1861 when
the war-spirit had become rampant and Georgia was swayed by men like Toombs a
man whose name is said to be Hirst, probably assumed, lived not many miles from
this prison, who resolved for the Union. He went North, leaving his wife at
home, and joined a Western regiment. In a battle between Sherman and Johnston's
armies he was captured. He was recognized by a Georgia Reserve, while carrying
a sick man out, who in peaceful days lived near him. The recognition was mutual
and friendly. From him he got some news of his wife, the first in three years.
It was arranged to get a note to her, telling of his imprisonment. In a few
days the guard was on duty and tossed the wife's letter over the dead-line in a
ball of clay. Two days later the woman came before Wirz and asked an interview.
It was granted, the lady to stand outside the gate thirty paces, the man at the
gate, neither to speak. At sight of each other they spoke each other's names
endearingly. The interview was abruptly ended, the woman ordered away, the man driven
into prison. The next day she came again bringing clothing and provisions which
she begged Wirz to send him. Wirz promptly ordered her away, warning her never
to come again, and sent soldiers to escort her off the ground. The husband was
then brought before him and an effort made to enlist him in the Rebel service.
This was resented, when he was bucked and gagged and locked in the dungeon,
being brought out and maliciously punished at intervals for several days.
Failing to impress him into the service, by advice of doctors he was turned
into the stockade. [Note.—After leaving Andersonville I, learn he escaped from
a train conveying prisoners from there, after Atlanta fell. He probably visited
his family and later joined Sherman's forces.]
STACK ARMS.
See, an officer in quest of men,
To do some work the Rebels need;
Invites us from this prison pen
To work for them while brothers bleed!
Foreswear our country, Southron? No!
For its cause is true and high!
Join the hosts of Freedom's foe?
Far better starve; in prison die!
We fight for section, Southron? No;
We fight that liberty may spread
O'er all the land that freemen know,
Where, too long, the slave had tread.
We fight for justice in the land
Where freeman's voice has been suppressed;
It shall be heard, from strand to strand,
And every wrong shall be redressed.
Patriotic to fight for wrong
Because 'tis in your section built?
To fight this evil to prolong
Does but enhance the master's guilt.
Patriotism knows no line
That shall Freedom's law restrain;
The die is cast, 'tis God's design
That slavery shall no more remain.
Ah, heed the call of destiny!
The black and white shall both be free;
And stack your arms, for liberty
O'er North and South alike shall be.
Stack arms, brave Southrons, and repent
You ever raised them 'gainst the right.
You know the force of brave dissent;
'Tis murder now to longer fight!
The "Stars and Bars" pull down, pull down;
They lead you wrong, in Slavery's ways,
More hateful than King George's crown
Our fathers spurned in other days.
SOURCE: John Worrell
Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville
and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 98-102
