Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Saturday, August 1, 1864

Fresh calls for shoemakers. A few weak ones give their names but are not accepted. Negroes have begun additional fortifications working all night and Sundays, falling trees and making the night air ring. Last night my mind was filled with thoughts of the misery of this place; I could not sleep. One poor boy near cried all night and wished to die and suffer no longer; he is an awful object; his clothing is gone but a rag of a shirt; his body is a mere frame, his hair has fallen from his head; his scurvy ankles and feet are as large as his waist. I never saw a sight more appalling. Then the awful thought that he is a man, somebody's darling boy, dead and yet breathing. And he is but a sample of many. To think of it blunts one's faith in men as brothers.

This forenoon a priest came in saying he had great news; we are to be exchanged. He read his news; it stated nothing definite, a mere if-so-to-be-perhaps, and yet he tried to make us believe it did. Then he preached about the blessed apostles and dealt out hell-fire in big rations unless we accepted certain theories. It was not consoling. It is true Fremont and Lincoln are both nominated. I [visited] an Ohio 100-day man taken in Maryland since the nomination. He thinks the Fremont ticket will be withdrawn.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 94-5

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Sunday, August 2, 1864

The policy of enlisting negroes renders it harder for prisoners. So does the emancipation proclamation. The government having enlisted negroes, it is bound by laws of war and all honorable considerations to protect them as soldiers. To do otherwise would be dishonorable, cowardly, pernicious. Their enlistment more excited the unreasonable hatred of Southerners toward the North. The only way they can punish the North for what they deem insulting, is through their military prisons and they open their vials of wrath on "Lincoln hirelings," as they call us, who are wholly in their power. But the ever present fear of retaliation, man for man, men would be slain by hundreds, lined up and shot after being brought beyond the seat of war. As it is they come as near as they dare without displaying the black flag. Exchange was blocked last fall because Rebel authority disregards the negro as a man. That has long been a civil code of Slavedom. They adhere to it with a vengeance when he appears in arms against slavery. He is saved from slaughter if captured, on the theory that he is property, a theory in practice here for 100 years, or more. If any are escaped slaves they are to be returned to masters or used for war purposes indefinitely. If free they are appropriated as laborers, never exchanged, and if their war succeeds he can be sold. Hence the case of a white man is worse than that of a colored. He is deemed deserving of death because his government puts whites and blacks on an equality. The slave codes of the South, written and unwritten are in force, emphasized by the war power. This cruel and absurd animus of "Southern civilization," this unrighteous despotism, is of long standing. It is unquestioned by Southerners; woe be to him who disregarded it during the long arbitrary reign of Slave Kings. The mass accept it as right which is equivalent to thinking it right, and as men think so they are. Hence the critical situation of the white war prisoners at this time. We are wholly at the mercy of this cruel spirit which has transformed the South into a foe of everybody antagonistic to their customs and laws

Shall Lincoln recall his emancipation proclamation for the reason which as surely exists as we are at war? It makes it the deadliest war of any century. Nor should the policy of allowing negroes to fight for liberty be recalled. Shall free men cower and longer concede the injustices of this hell-born slave power? Indeed not. That is the issue-deadly issue to be fought to death. How well do I remember the word passed along the lines at Mine Run and other places last fall and winter: "No exchange of prisoners, men, remember." The same word sounded along the lines in the fiery ordeals in the Wilderness. The die was cast. We fought with it before our eyes. Who does not now realize its import? Davis seeks to supercede the laws of war with his old slave code. Soon after Lincoln's emancipation Davis notified his Congress that he proposed to turn commissioned officer's thereafter over to State authorities in States where captured to be punished under State laws providing for criminals engaged in inciting civil insurrection. That is his disposition, overlooking the fact that codes made to hang "abolition fanatics" can not be safely applied to war prisons in a state of war, where the States he represents are belligerents fighting for independence and asking for foreign recognition. Davis' blood-thirsty fanaticism for slavery, supercedes the intelligence he has been supposed to have and displays his savage inhumanity, thus seeking excuse to hang all U. S. officers.

[Note.—January 12, 1863, Davis, in a message to the Confederate Congress, said: "I shall, unless you, in your wisdom, deem some other course more expedient, deliver to the several State authorities all commissioned officers of the United States that may hereafter be captured by our forces in any of the States embraced in the proclamation, that they may be dealt within accordance with the laws of those States providing for the punishment of criminals engaged in inciting servile insurrection." Confederate War Records now at Washington. The same records show that in May, 1863, the Confederate Congress in its "wisdom," passed a law embodying the above suggestion, but confining its operation to commissioned officers of negro regiments. Negro soldiers, when captured, by its provisions were to be delivered to authorities of States where captured, to be disposed of according to the laws of those States. This law was never repealed, so that, as a legal proposition, any officer of a negro regiment who became a prisoner was liable to be hanged, as John Brown was at Harper's Ferry. The records also show that the prisoner problem was much discussed early in the war. A Yankee caught in slave States to "free niggers" prior to the war could be safely hanged under slave codes. Shallow minds, like Davis, assumed that it could still be done, others saw that having gone to war in the spirit that enacted the codes, they had barred themselves from exercising that sacred function. Some said make Uncle Sam feed them at his own expense though they be kept in the South. Others said starve them; others give them poor bread and water; others, break their legs and turn them loose. Some said make them build railroads or work in other ways to boost the Slave Confederacy.]

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 95-7

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Tuesday, August 4, 1864

Several men of our regiment are failing fast. H. D. Merritt is an object of pity and getting worse. We have cut his hair close to keep the myriads of lice out. He has lost all disposition to try to save himself. About 400 of Gen. Stoneman's command captured in the vicinity of Macon, were turned in here today. They report Maj. Gen. Stoneman captured. His expedition to that point with the intention of coming here has proved disastrous. Rations suspended. Sick ordered to the gate at night; and ordered to be brought again in the morning. None to go who can walk.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 97

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Wednesday, August 5, 1864

Sick come to the south gate in horrible crowds. Every inch of ground covered. What sights, what groans! Nine hundred admitted outside, the remainder carried groaning back about noon to be returned in the morning. Oh, for the Messiah, the hem of whose garment they might touch and be healed!

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 97

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, August 6, 1864

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

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, August 6, 1864

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

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Saturday, August 8, 1864

No sick call; the poor fellows are disappointed. Well dressed officers ride out the street and back. Passing near us they inquire of a fellow who is whittling a bone: "What State you from, young man?"

"Massachusetts."

"Do you rather live here than in Massachusetts?"

"No, sir."

"Well, you'll be apt to live out your days here, for there'll be no exchange till the war closes and that won't be in ten years if Lincoln is your next President."

"There'll not be a corporal's guard left of this crowd before that time, Colonel," remarked the other.

Before they reached the gate they halted to buy a watch, and a few of us followed up and I asked:

"Colonel, will you come back into the Union if Lincoln is not elected?"

"Ho, ho! You Yankees are not fighting for the Union; that's your mistake. It's the nigger you want."

"If McClellan is elected will the South come into the Union?" I repeated.

"Ah, the Union! The Union's gone up!"

By this time the Major had got the watch by paying $100 in "Confed" and they spurred up. We are often taunted by the slur that we are no better than niggers. They say:

"You fight with niggers; you think it's all right to fight us with niggers."

We retort by saying that it is no worse for a nigger to fight with us than to work for them, and that they would put a gun in his hands if they dared. It is not so bad for them to be hunted by niggers as it is for us to be hunted helpless and half starved, by blood hounds.

A little after noon a man shot and killed. I hastened and learned that he was dipping water from the brook. The sentinel had been observed to be closely watching. The ball passed through the forehead, tearing out his brains. The guard was immediately relieved by the officer of the day as they all are when they make a sure fire. It is a story never denied that for every Yankee killed a furlough is granted. In a few minutes a stretcher smeared with blood and brains bore another Yankee to the dead house.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 102

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Tuesday, August 9, 1864

Terrible rain; it swelled the stream to a river. The stockade fell in several places. On the east side through the swamp about eight rods fell. One place on the west a sentry box fell carrying the sentry in it. Soon as it occurred the sentinels fired and two cannon shots over the camp succeeded, to warn us to be quiet or shot would be rained on us. Meantime we were amused to see the Rebls get out of their quarters and double quick to the weak points. The camp was in a hurrah to see the Rebs getting drenched as well as ourselves. Some prisoners plunged into the flood to bring out floating timber or pieces of boards that came down as if they were a God-send, for we would not be allowed to pick them up if we were outside. At these places the Rebels stood in line of battle for more than an hour and when the rain ceased, they had only time to temporarily repair the damage before night; so fires were built and a strong guard kept out all night.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 103

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Wednesday, August 10, 1864

Soldiers and negroes are rebuilding the fallen wall. Prisoners stand at a distance often shouting: "That is good for you, Rebs"; "That's the way your Confederacy will fall; Grant and Sherman are making bigger holes than these." "Ho, Reb, what are you doing with dat nigger dar; 'pears to us you're reduced to the level of the nigger." "It's hard enough to starve on cob-meal and be hunted by dogs, but when you come to build bull-pens for us with niggers, working by your sides, you are hyenas, you are black abolitionists, you are barbarians." Plenty of other taunts are indulged till men get sick of it.

Two new walls are being built outside of the main one. The most hopeful believers in immediate exchange, are puzzled as to what it means. Tunnelling cannot be successfully done more than sixty or eighty feet horizontally, the air becoming insufferable. The vacuity is necessarily small, just admitting a man as he draws himself along. It cannot be larger for fear of exposure, besides the dirt is dug with hands, sticks, etc., and passed to the opening to be carried to the swamp, or whereever it can be concealed. It cannot be ventilated for that might be a key to discovery. Likely these new walls are to obstruct the digging of tunnels.

For several days barracks have been in course of erection in the north part, the work being done by our men on parole who bring the lumber in on their shoulders. They are allowed an extra ration and occasionally opportunities to trade for their benefit. What do these barracks mean? Are we to stay here all winter? men asked. At the rate they go up, I think we will, if we wait for them. Some say they are for hospitals.

Steward Brown, who is an Englishman and not a soldier, on parole, expresses the belief that it was fortunate for prisoners that Stoneman's expedition failed, for it was the intention of Gen. Winder to use the Florida battery on the prison had any considerable Union force approached Andersonville within seven miles, and had so ordered in the regular way in writing, on July 27th.

[Note-Here is the order. It was found on file among the records at the Confederate War Department at Richmond, and is with other records in possession of the government, so it is plain Steward Brown knew his statement was true. This is the diabolical order:

 

Order No 13.

 

Headquarters Military Prison, Andersonville, Ga., July 27, 1864.

 

The officers on duty and in charge of the Battery of Florida Artillery at the time will, upon receiving notice that the enemy has approached within seven miles of this post, open upon the stockade with grapeshot, without reference to the situation beyond these lines of defense.

 

JOHN H. WINDER, 

Brigadier  General Commanding.]

Five men sunstruck and reported dead; most of us are stupefied by heat. For more than a month it has been almost unbearable. The dazzling rays reflected by sand flash through us like flames of fire. The stench of the filthy earth rises hot and vapory to our nostrils. Oh, that I might feel the shade of the beautiful forest yonder, whose green trees look pityingly over upon us! How relieved we would be by an hour of repose on the fresh earth beneath them!

Go to the gate to help William Kline. A number of the sick are carried through the gate and laid in the yard by the stockade. A Rebel sergeant soon ordered us back, no doctors appearing. The sick had been notified at roll call to go for treatment, and their feeble spirits were animated with hope. Some wept bitterly and sank into despair at the disappointment. The Confederate sergeant, in answer to questions, remarked, "They might as well go to hell as to the hospital. It is a right hard place; the doctors can do nothing."

Naturally we believe the word hospital means something. In this horrid distress men long for its benign influence; many are consoled with the thought of being admitted, even when we know it is a cruel, wicked mockery.

Near the sinks a sentry fired tonight, the ball grazing a man's thigh, near where I walked, and whizzed by into the swamp. No rations today; nothing to eat. Men have loitered near the gate since noon hoping for something but in vain. We lay down to-night hungry, sick and sad. Not a crumb of anything all night, all day and all night again, with no certainty of anything to-morrow.

ODE TO WIRZ.

 

Cheating them who truly trust

Is a coward's villainy;

But when we yield to whom we must,

We suffer viler tyranny:

If venom doth full license wield

To feed the vengeance and the hates

No virtue has for years concealed,

And which a misled South elates.

A brutal knave were he who slay

A child that slumbered on his knee;

But we are thrown within his sway

Who lacks sense and magnanimity,

And glories in a brutal way

Toward men who fight 'gainst slavery.

Looking at the swamp with its deposit of ordure, intensely alive with billions of flies and maggots, today, it came to me that not only the early but the late bird can catch worms and catch them continually, if fool enough to visit the place. But no bird have I yet seen in this foul realm. Mingled with a sense of disgust, I am prone to wonder. Out of this mass I see a new creation, an emerging of animate life of low order. The flies that feed on the excreta, deposit germs from which, in connection with the deposit, when operated on by solar energy, the sun being the battery, these lives germinate in form of maggots totally unlike the fly, unlike any worm I ever noticed. These millions of loathsome things, squirming in roasting sun, in a few days develop into winged insects larger and darker than maggots, an inch long. From among a cloud of flies and acres of worms I see them rise and fly from the filthy bed of their inception, seemingly seeking existence elsewhere. Interest was first incited in these low fledglings, when they appeared on ground bordering the swamp, where they fell in the mush when men were at repast. Indeed there is life, or principles of life in matter dead. Here is a low order of exhibition of Nature's power to evolve and produce phases of animation degrees above their physical source.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 103-5

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, August 11, 1864

Recent improvements in camp are timbers laid across the swamp on the west side north of the stream for 20 rods, this will help escape the filth in passing from north to south. A flume and bridge has been made which improves washing facilities; also a road from the north to the stream in the east part. We have more variety of food but scanty allowance, to-wit: corn bread, rice, a curious kind of bean, old and wormy. For several days a small piece of poor beef has come with cooked rations, hardly a mouthful, and in lieu a little sorghum molasses. We have built bake ovens of sand and clay. When several of us have raw meal, we club together to bake it, it being sweeter baked than smoked on a small fire. It economizes fuel, encourages the hope it will not have to be eaten raw. There are five very sick men within a few feet, groaning day and night. It is remarkable with what tenacity life clings to emaciated, corrupted frames.

Williams of the 111th N. Y., of Lyons, N. Y., a boy of education, talent and refinement, a nephew of Hon. Alex. Williams, visited us. He is declining rapidly and engages our sympathy It is a joy to cheer such a sweet spirit. He showed us the likeness of a beautiful girl, remarking that he never expected to see her again, and wept bitterly. We all parted with him regretfully. (He died in September).

I was again struck today by one of the daily duties of men. Passing from north to south through camp I see them stripped, examining clothing for lice. Immediately after roll call they "have a louse," or a "skirmish" or a "peeling off" as they express it from head to heels to give the "gray backs" a cleaning out. These pestering varmints infest clothing, sticking along the seams. Where the torments come from, how they grow in a day, or an hour, is a mystery. Drawing our minds down to hunting lice is humiliating; but the man who don't isn't respectable; we feel disgraced in his company Once a day is tolerable, twice better, three times makes a man of the first order. Neglect this, and he is soon over run, pitied, loathed, hated, sneered and snarled at. Lice polute and sap his blood, he loathes himself and dies. They crawl in droves over the sick, herd in his ears, gnaw him, shade in his hair deep as the hair is long. Talk about "gophers" in the army, no name for this! They sap the life of the strongest. Men who fight their lice effectually every day are brave, meritorious. But wouldn't we be pretty guests for parlor bedrooms! Trousers under the pillow! What would the tidy chambermaid say at Hotel Eagle?, Charming guests for ladies, lousy, brown, yellowed bloated, dirt-eating, wallowing Yankees! And we do laugh though it is not a laughing matter. But I am the only bachelor in our notable family of eight; should we be wafted to Northland from Dixie tonight, no one would be obliged to submit to my embraces. Poor, indeed!

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 105-6

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, July 21, 1864

A weak and disagreeable state of body since last date has waived my practice of noting; but everything has been as now—"hell upon earth." We have a few dottings of this kind: the Rebel quartermaster is from Baltimore, and to counteract some suspicions of his speculating in rations, makes lots of promises when he comes in of late. One of our fellows got thick with him and told him where to find a tunnel, for a plug of tobacco. Soon after he came with a squad of negroes armed with feeling rods and spades, found and filled it. It had baffled their scrutiny for three days. The man who revealed the secret betrayed himself and that evening was hunted out, given a clean shave of his head and on his forehead was tattooed the word. "Traitor." Next day rations were ordered withheld till those who did the job reported at the gate. I don't know that anyone reported but rations came the day after leaving us a vacuum of one day.

Petitions have been circulating praying our government for relief. I did not sign. They are sanctioned by Rebel authority, intended to produce political effect and to leave the impression in the North that the prisoners condemn government policy in reference to exchange, therefore to serve a purpose of its enemies. It abounds in dictation and censure, suppressing facts.

Reports of movements in north Virginia are true. Sherman is up to Atlanta; Johnston relieved by Hood. They think Johnston, fights on the principle that "He who fights and runs away will live to fight another day." Federal cavalry at Montgomery and Taladega, Ala., and at Macon, Ga., only 60 miles away, which causes great excitement here. The Rebels are fortifying. Droves of negroes are brought here from plantations and put to work. Troops and citizens, all sexes and sizes, flock in and quarters are being built, making a ville of the place. We look over to it from high ground and reflect that it is one of the new born of Secessia. A man near the stream cut his own throat today. Several hundred Rebel soldiers are shipped by rail for Macon. Three men brought in whom the Rebels suspect were scouts. They were put in the stocks several hours, but gave no information. James English of our company, of New York City, died July 17th.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 92

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Wednesday, July 23, 1864

Weather severely hot as it has been learned that a break by the prisoners is planned, and warns them for three weeks. A supply of sumach buds must have arrived and are given out freely to be steeped and drank for scurvy. A sergeant belonging to a work squad outside was shot by a guard, wounding him in the arm and hip and wounding another man, He took hold of the guard's gun. Some on parole get too intimate with Rebels; value principles less than extra rations. That such men have to be shot to remind them that they are dealing with traitors does not so much matter. While washing my shirt at the creek this afternoon the centry [sic] fired, the shot whizzing by my head as I stooped, striking in the bank and spattering mud in the faces of four of us. Lots of shooting has been done by guards for over a week and several men have been killed and wounded. Limbs are amputated at the hospital for slight injuries, The arm of one of our men hit by a sentry a few days ago was promptly sawed off. Another tunnel found; dogs are seeking a trail. New forts are plainly to be seen. Negroes work all night. Reported fighting at Atlanta and that some of our forces are expected at Macon.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 92-3

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, July 24, 1864

Before day the dog horn and the yelping of hounds was heard. Men on parole about the depot had attempted to escape. Two trains of wounded from Hood's army passed here. Rebels report a victory, then admit a loss. Frederick, of my Company, died this afternoon. He has been ailing but we did not think him dangerously ill. He was carried out at 5 o'clock and is the 51st man who has died since 7 a. m. in prison.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 93

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Sunday, July 26, 1864

Attended meeting this morning near the big pine trees in the southeast part of the pen, preaching by Sergeant B. N. Waddle, of 126th Ohio. Some of those active in carrying on the meetings are Rev. T. J. Sheppard, B. N. Waddle, M. H. Miller, 22nd Mich. Cavalry, and Robert H. Kellogg, of 16th Connecticut Regt., Thomas A. Cord, U. S. Infantry, also Boston Corbett. Some who show extraordinary talent as singers, are J. O. Turner, David Atherton, 65th N. Y., John W. Kerr, L. H. Cummings, Massachusetts; G. W. Pomeroy and others. There is often a chorus of nearly a hundred voices, some evenings, of fine singers.

Called on W. H. Harriman in the afternoon. He is so affected with scurvy that he cannot stand. The doctor tells him that they have no medicine that will cure; he is expecting to go to the hospital tomorrow; bade us good-bye, grasping our hands, in tears. He said: "Ever hoping for the best I shall not forget you and Thompson. We shall not meet again; I hope I shall have better treatment, at least better fare. If I am exchanged I will write your people, you do the same." (I heard nothing definite from Harriman until July, 1865, when his sister, Anna E. Harriman, wrote me from Zanesville, Ohio, that he died in October, 1864).

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 93

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Monday, July 27, 1864

Prostrated with severe pains, chills and fever which lasted most of the night. Getting a small piece of beef and rice in lieu of meal we have a fine dish. Griffith has sold a three quart tin pail, given us in Virginia by Wesley Norwood, for $5 U. S. currency.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 94

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Tuesday, July 28, 1864

News from Atlanta conflicting; papers, so far as we know, admit the repulse of Hood, then claim a victory. Later statements rather choke victorious editors. Hood feels compelled to fight and not leave the town. Sherman intends to give him the whipping Johnston has all summer been running away from, if he makes the stand.

My complaints are unabated; are attended with weakening pains which at times prostrate me. Rations irregular; often missing a day or two.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 94 

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Wednesday, July 29, 1864

Had Job greater patience? Here are men of true mettle or we might see them knocking at the gate to swear fidelity to foes. To lie down is to submit to be eaten by lice and rot. When strength fails, such is the lot of all. "All that a man hath will he give for his life." But what have we to give? A great deal of money will get a little flour from Rebels, such is their love of money. But their lack of love for humanity feeds us husks and loathsome things. We are in prison and they visit us with torments and reproaches; we are athirst and they give us to drink of water tainted with filth and excrement; sick and afflicted and they torture us; weak and weary and they give us to rest on the sand filthy and full of breeding vermin; shelterless and they give us no roof; lacking raiment and they take much that we have.

A man shot dead, the ball passing directly through his head back of the ears, while kneeling near the dead line innocently looking at something. He had just come in and was unwarned.

I bought an egg for 20 cents, a small biscuit for 25 cents for supper with proceeds from the tin kettle sold.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 94

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, July 30, 1864

Breakfasted on half of a small biscuit and an onion. Prisoners arrive; a crowd gathered when a cannon was fired over the camp.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 94

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Friday, July 31, 1864

Several shots fired during the night, one from a cannon, the shot screaming overhead. Yesterday and today's arrival of prisoners is about 1,200. White flags are put in the center of the prison to designate ground on which crowds must not assemble. If they do they will be fired upon. Accordingly men are constantly at the guns.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 94

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Friday, July 1, 1864

MOVE TO PRISON ANNEX—HOW WE CELEBRATE.

The addition to the stockade is finished. An aperture, ten feet wide, is left in the old wall at the north of the old ground. Thirteen thousand are ordered to move through (my detachment is one designated) in three hours. The weather is very hot and that mass of men moving without order over ground already crowded with those who are to remain, is horribly fatiguing. This time is given us to get on the ground or no rations will be given these detachments; so we strove at the walls like a crowded flock of sheep escaping through a hole in a fence, being obliged to jump a trench five feet deep, three wide with a bank of dirt on the opposite side. Never did men work more earnestly for a prize than we for a little course Indian meal to appease our terrible hunger. But it smelt so good, the green stuff that had been growing, that we felt rejoiced and thrilled at the sight of Nature's face yet undefiled, but soon to be desecrated by the foulness of disease and decay. A score of men fell into the trench in clambering through the stockade, and had to be helped. Fragments of trees lay about over which men strove to obtain fuel and shelter. The average number of deaths per day is estimated at 70.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 82-3