Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, June 1, 1864

Scalding heat during forenoon; heavy showers follow. Water is running through camp like a flood. Prisoners reported missing, rations suspended; Rebels are making a stir on the outside.

Finished "Paradise Lost"; called on Harriman. He supplied us with Pollock's "ourse of Time." We had read this, but it is now more acceptable. In our view it is a work of more natural thought and imbibes less of the unnatural. Milton has soulstirring passages, alive with truth, significant expression and beautiful simplicity. Then he goes deeply into themes beyond most conceptions; we don't wish to not, unless this is "Paradise Lost." Confederacy when he said:

follow him, or cannot, have Did he mean the Southern

"Devils with devils damned firm concord hold."

Did he mean the North when he wrote:

"Men only disagree of creatures rational,

Though under hope of heavenly grace"

how they should save the Union?

The following lines express a truth in human experience:

"God proclaiming peace,

Yet men live in hatred, enmity and strife

Among themselves, and levy cruel wars

Wasting the earth, each other to destroy,

As if man had not hellish foes enough besides,

That day and night for his destruction wait."

Milton seems to have designed to impress the thought that man had hellish foes distinct from his race, awaiting his destruction, which originated through rebellious war in heaven. I think the causes of our troubles lie in our lack of knowledge and misconception of our social relations, wicked ambition, foolish pride, and that these lines better fit an earthly than a heavenly realm.

The usual monotony except an unusual amount of firing by sentry. Prisoners arrive daily from both our great armies. Men crowd near them to get news and hardtack; occasionally old friends meet. About half the camp draw raw meal; we are of that half this week; have the trouble of cooking it without salt or seasoning or wood, half the time. We stir it in water, bake it on plates held over a splinter fire with a stiff stick, or boil it into mush or dumplings, baking or boiling as long as fuel lasts.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 70-1

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Thursday, June 2, 1864

Heavy showers all day to near evening. The ground is soaked; thousands walk or lay in mud without covering unless they are among those who have some frail shelter, the latter being but a small percentage of the whole. I feel fortunate to share the frail shelter of worthy comrades. It does much to ward off sun and storm; but our bed in the sand is exposed. We dig trenches to prevent water from running over it, still it soaks through. Water comes from the upper part in swift brooklets, sweeping every pool of foulness below. I will record, and hope I may not refer to it again, this fact: Men unable to go to the swamp sinks, have holes dug close by where they lay. The rains wash these away or overflow them, and the filthy contents are carried into our resting places. These violent storms render the condition of the sick more sad. I met J. B. Hawks of Michigan, and Peter Shaffer, 22nd N. Y. cavalry, who resides in Nelson, N. Y., today. Shaffer was taken May 8th on a cavalry raid, was robbed of everything except his clothes, including $50.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 71

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Friday, June 3, 1864

A cold rain continued during the night. What would the good folks at home say could they see this camp this cool, wet morning—men lying in the wet sand? Could they have heard the coughing of thousands as I heard it when I walked the camp to shake off the cold that chilled wet clothing, would they not say: Now that so much has been imperiled for the country, let us make it a glory and a blessing to ages, an honor to ourselves, our institutions the abode of liberty, a beacon that shall light the world and silence the wrath of treason? There are 20,000 within a space so small that a strangling cough can be heard from one side to the other.

Report that nine men tunneled out and one guard escaped with them. The tunnel is found and being filled. Col. Parsons was inside; he thinks exchange is agreed upon, but can't be effected for our forces cover the point in the cartel. Were that all we should soon be relieved. He is quite familiar with a few of us and expressed a feeling that he would resign his command were it possible. He was sent for duty here because the most of his command are prisoners. Earlier in the war he was twice a prisoner, captured by Burnside's men, and was well treated. He says men are sent here without any provision made for shelter, and he has no orders or means to furnish it; that it is not the fault of the local commissary that we are left to suffer. Wirz is the jailor, a morose, inclement tempered man. It requires but little to get him in a rage. He is called "the old Dutch Captain"; is generally hated. Men caught in attempting escape are unreasonably punished by wearing ball and chain, bucking and gagging, putting in stocks, hanging by thumbs, by lash and close confinement.

Prisoners in today report the two armies on to Richmond, Lee with his right, Grant with his left; Kilpatrick 25 miles in the rear of Atlanta tearing up roads.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 71-2

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, June 4, 1864

Wirz, Gen. John H. Winder, commissary general of prisoners, Howell Cobb and several minor personages came inside on horseback and rode partly through the prison and along the stockade over the dead line as far as possible. Winder is said to be invested with full authority over prison matters. Howell Cobb was the Secretary of the United States Treasury under Buchanan, just prior to the secession of Georgia, and was the provisional president of the so-called Confederacy, before Davis.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 72

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, June 6, 1864

The impression is growing that the situation is more and more unfavorable every day. Hospitals are overflowing with sick and no more admittance, though crowds throng at the gate daily; deaths are rapidly increasing. The numbers laying about, helpless and speechless, are growing daily. Thompson reported a particular case to the gate, asking help, and got the answer: "You Yanks help yourselves." Sergeants of detachments have reported so many cases of insane, helpless and entirely naked men, and got no satisfaction, that they ceased to do so.

A much worn Atlantic Monthly of 1861, fell into my hands which I read with interest; "Concerning Veal," by the author of "Recreations of a Country Parson," and "Nat Turner, the Slave Insurrectionist of 1831," who aroused all Virginia to defend slavery. I noticed today a man with the whole lower part of his body buried in dirt as a remedy for scurvy.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 72-3

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, June 7, 1864

A week of rain. Five hundred more prisoners, twenty being marines, captured as late as May 27th. Since yesterday morning the number of deaths are put at 110 inside the prison. They are being carried out on wagons six at a time, for burial. They are thrown on as if they were logs of wood; the driver takes a stand between them and as he moves, the limpsy bodies bump and knock about.

A wreckless tempered man struck one of his companions with a club, inflicting a fatal wound on the back of his head, fracturing his skull. The quarrel arose over which should have the first right to the fire for cooking. The man is insensible. A crowd gathered around the assailant and gave him a course of buck and gag, the same club being used for the gag. Thirty of us go to the gate and ask permission to go out under guard to get poles and brush to build shelter for the sick laying on the streets and in the swamp in deplorable condition. We were refused, harshly cursed and ordered away by Capt. Wirz. The opinion is strong that it is the Confederate policy to destroy as many of us as possible, but in a way to evade the censure of the world. There seems to be a studied disregard of the rights of prisoners. It is said that Gen. Winder boasted exultingly that his prison policy would kill as many men as Joe Johnston would in his opposition to Sherman. The hot headed leadership of the South, the mad spirit with which they plunged into war, the unholy purpose for which it is waged, furnish precedents for such belief. The means is justified by the end, assuming that the end were justifiable. At best the better instincts of humanity, or fear of the power of civilization, seems to be all there is in our favor to save us from butchery or utter starvation. The foulness of this physical corruption and the fiendish conduct by which it is produced, fitly represent the animus of their cause. No men were ever more implicitly trusted by the masses than the leaders of the South; no people were ever more treacherously led to trouble. We can now see how foolish and infernal human nature can be, how perverted man's sense of right may be! We also see how men can be degraded, pressed to the very dust and filth with worms, and still retain a sense of justice! Our hearts are void of malice.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 73

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, June 12, 1864

Four days I have been ill. Among new men bloody flux and dysentery prevail; this is my trouble. I am better today; a fine breeze lifts me. From last date it has rained every day. We have news from my regiment. Adjutant Carpenter was killed in a charge, both Col. Grover and Lieut. Col. Cook are disabled; Capt. J. L. Goddard, of my company, in command. The movement of trains toward Americus is on account of wounded Confederates being taken to Americus from battlefields about Atlanta. All doctors absent; no sick call for a week. The dead are daily drawn out by wagon loads.

On the 8th a Catholic priest said to us he supposed we were badly treated, but there are as kind hearted people about here as anywhere; that officers have it their own way; thought our government unwilling to exchange, but if better provisions could not be made for us, something ought to be done. Priests, though frequently in, have little to say. They are said to be using their doctrinal influence to get men to swear allegiance to the Confederacy. I do not accept this as true, though one of Erin's sons frequently visited, who said to me that he refused to renounce Uncle Sam, yesterday went out with the priest and has not returned.

I am out of conceit with many reports which originate in camp. I have no faith in innocent liars who tell so much news. For instance: Lincoln is going to give two for one to get us out; "is going to throw the nigger overboard to please Rebels"; that Secretary Stanton has said that "none but dead beats and coffee boilers are taken prisoners, and the army is better off without them." Likely some Rebel started this story, but it had weight among some. Indignant crowds gather and vent their curses on Stanton. Grant is cursed by some, so is the President and the Cabinet; for these gossipers have but little depth of thought and are easily moved by groundless rumors. It is cheering to know many on whose eyes are no scales, logically rebutting these stories and laying the blame of our abuse on the Rebel authorities, where it belongs. A small ration of rice today.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 73-4

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, June 14, 1864

Northeast storm badly affects weak men. I know of twenty who since yesterday have sunk to utter helplessness; others have died within a few hours. Their clothes are besmeared with wet sand and soaked with water. The sand where we lay is wet as dough. Our rations are so insufficient that we are continually hungry. Got boiled rice again at night, totally unfit to eat. Several bushels are poured into large kettles, greasy and nasty, and cooked with less care than if it were hog feed. I believe hogs would loathe it. If it is merely economy to feed us so, it is crowding them down closely to the provision line. Rumors of the renomination of Lincoln and the nomination of Fremont on a side line. It is a Rebel lie or a Yankee blunder, much talked about. If it is so, the action of the Fremont wing is disapproved. I never strongly believed in Fremont, but the cause he essayed to represent, he will not see sacrificed for per

Northeast storm. Badly affects weak ultra anti-slavery men add themselves to the pro-slavery party North, and defeat the policy of the government? They cannot succeed; they can only defeat. The feeling here is for Lincoln. Twelve men escape; it is reported six guards are gone. Tunnels are found and being filled. Rice and meal rations.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 74-5

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, June 15, 1864

Last night "raiders" attempted to profit by their vile practices. "Moseby's" (this name is given one of the chiefs) whistles blew and was responded to by the subleaders. Suspicious-looking chaps move through parts of the prison. Presently the cry of "thief," "raiders," and suppressed voices are heard, like men in a struggle. Again cries of "catch him," "murder," "Oh, God, they've killed me!" Now and then one is caught, and cries, and begs dolefully. Then a squad of twenty strong savage-looking men ran through the streets with clubs; soon there is a desperate fight. Blows are plainly heard, and savage oaths and cries of fright and distress. For a time the desperadoes vanish, then reappear. The disturbance kept up all night; we did not feel safe to lie down unless someone of our tent watched. I hear of two watches and other things being lost; have seen some men who got hit. Some Massachusetts boys near us had their blanket seized. Luckily one awoke as the last corner was drawn from him. He sprang up and so closely pursued the thief that he dropped it. This morning a fellow had his head shaved for stealing rations. Toward noon excitement attracted attention to the north side. Going thither we found a fellow had been seized and was being shorn of one-half of his hair and whiskers. He had been outside shoemaking and had been commissioned by the Confederates to come in and take the names of others, of the same trade, with the view that they might be induced or impressed into the service, for Rebels are in need of men of all trades; especially men are wanted to make "government shoes." I saw a man playing the same treasonable game yesterday and a group of us resolved he should not go unnoticed. Shame on those men who are willing to sell their birthright for a loathsome crust! Turn their hands against the cause for which they fought, and virtually balance the power of brothers in the field! The blood of our brothers would cry out against us. For a Southerner to do this is treason; for one of our own men to do it, what is it?

Twice, the first in two days, has the sun appeared today, but it is still rainy. Several hundred men arrive from our army in Virginia, the majority of whom are stripped of blankets and tents. The number of deaths within 24 hours ending at 9 a. m. today is stated at 160.

A hermit wrote of his situation in solitude as "a horrible place"; "Better dwell in the midst of alarms." But we have no choice; we both—

"Dwell in the midst of alarms,"

And "reign in this horrible place."

It was not poetical to call Nature's solitude horrible; nothing is so horrible as subverted, debased, cruelized, distorted, dying human nature.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 75-6

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, May 17, 1864

Wounded men are taken out from among us to be sent back. All windows are ordered closed. Owing to this order two of our fellows rigged up a skeleton dummy and dressed in blue and a cap which they stood at the window. Soon after it was fired upon, and an hour later it was poked up at another window and two guns banged at it. Soon after they swung it up at another window. Two more Rebel guns burned powder. Every time the glass was scattered over the room to the annoyance of men, but when they growled the fellows yelled out we have got to have air. This time a sergeant and several guards with bayonetted guns came up to look after the dead and wounded, but found none. The boys dissected their artificial Yankee and the event was a mystery to Rebels until in the afternoon at a later performance, the trick was discovered by a man posted on the stairway and an officer of the prison came up and vented his wrath very savagely, but did not find the fellows who had fooled them.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 47

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, May 18, 1864

"Grant defeated, sho'," exclaimed a lieutenant who appeared on our floor this morning. We draw no rations today. Tomorrow we expect to start for Georgia. Savannah, Americus and Macon are points named.

Buchanan sat in Federal chair

While Rebs purloined our cash and guns.

They stole our forts,—'twas all unfair,—

From office every Rebel runs,

With none to him succeed,

And took these guns and turned about,

While several States secede,

And boasted they were brave and stout

And sneered the North they'd bleed,

And "Yankee armies put to rout

For we've stole the stuff they need;"

And in the Northern face did flout

Insults their crimes did breed.

 

Buchanan turned with mien devout

A Nation's brittle reed!

Said: "North, I said, 'twould thus come out,

If their threats you failed to heed;

I begged these States not to go out,

But can't help it if they do secede.

Now, friends, if you would win 'em back,

Drop down upon your knees,

Like slaves who fear the lash's crack,

And try again to please;

For, if you fail this act to do

Secession stands-alack!

For if these States shall choose to go,

You can't coerce them back!"

 

So up they hoist a Rebel flag;

They shake it in the Nation's face

An insolent old slavery rag

To all the land disgrace!

Then Lincoln to the loyal said:

"What will my brothers do?

You as the people, I the head,

To Justice must be true!

Come forth to meet this traitorous horde;

Defeat them where they stand;

They'd wreck the Nation with the sword,

Come and redeem the land!

They challenge us; shall we be brave,

Or cowards shall we be?

From basest treason shall we save

What God proclaimed was free?"

 

"We're coming, honest Abraham,”

Replied the loyal North,

"The plea of tyranny we'll damn;

By thousands we come forth;

For slavery we much abhor,

We've borne its insults many years,

And though we mourn the woes of war,

Our honor knows no fear!"

Thus awoke the loyal host,

E'en where Treason claimed to reign;

And though they strive, and threat, and boast,

Their striving shall be vain.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 47-49

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Thursday, May 19, 1864

Awakened by the guard at 4 a. m.; at daylight go on the street receiving a small day's ration, the fourth issue since our capture. Rain is over; we are delighted to get out-door. I shall not soon forget the morning. We are starting on a long, tedious journey southward dependent on the mercies of enemies whom we had justly counted barbarous in respect to the motives of the war they precipitated and are needlessly waring. The fates of many seem desperate. How many of this long line of Unionists will return to their Northern homes! How many and who of us will sleep the last sleep in the far South!

We pass two large buildings used as hospitals which appear filled. It was an hour and a half before we reach the cars, a long train of flat and box. I take a seat on the bottom of a flat. At 10 a. m. we start on a new road from Danville, Va., to Greenboro, N. C., 48 miles. A guard near me, a man about 55 years old, ventured to say that he believed the South missed it in going to war; it was not true that they were forced to it. He believed President Lincoln just such a man as Henry Clay in his principles, and he was a Clay man all his life.

"That is so, the South can settle with Abraham Lincoln as easily as with any living man," I replied. He said:

"I believe it."

"Then why do we find you with your gun in the Rebel service?"

"Because I had to be somewhere; I enlisted in the militia, rather be here than fighting. Had I not gone in they'd 'scripted me and sent me to the front; but being pretty old and willing, they have me to do such duty as this."

"How do you expect to come out with this war and how long will it last?"

"There's no telling, not right away; there will be some right smart fights before you get Richmond."

"Will they give up then?"

"Well, no; I reckon— it's the hardest place we've got; I reckon it can't be taken."

"Clinging to Richmond will only continue the war until we completely besiege it; the shortest way to end it, unless the whole South lay down their arms."

"You are divided in the North; we think you will get sick of fighting. Heaps o' people believe you to be a hard race; they want to get rid of you. This is what we people are told."

"If the South wants to settle as it is claimed they do, why don't they lay down their arms and ask for terms?"

"That's it; they no more want peace than they did when they commenced."

Looking about him, he said: "Plenty of men have been put in prison and hung for saying what they believed, they'd send me to the front sure for what I have said."

"We must have Union and liberty as the ultimate result of this war, or there is no salvation for North or South. The triumph of the South would be the greatest calamity that could befall; our triumph the blessing of both."

"You're right."

"Then as a Union man whose election do you prefer this fall?” "I think Lincoln is a good man."

This was an interesting conversation; I am really in the Confederacy in conversation with a Union man but a Rebel soldier. After going 25 miles we were ordered off the train, there being a piece of road six miles not completed. We moved off across the plantation till we came to a road. Long trains loaded with army supplies driven by the raggedest negroes I ever saw, began to meet us as we went on the road. It was amusing to hear their answers as to the distance to the railroad, which the men were frequently asking. It was very hot several men died on this short march. We reached the road about 4 p. m. and waited for the train. I was here introduced to James B. Hawks of the 7th Michigan, by Thompson, which was the beginning of a new friendship. Hawks had the advantage of a collegiate education, and pleased us with several declamations still fresh in his memory although he had endured the hardships of the peninsular campaign. A pile of supplies lay beside the road. A group of ladies and men came to look at us though there was few houses in sight. Just dark the train backed up with several hundred soldiers for Lee's army. Here as at Charlotteville a few contemplated escape if possible, should we remain after dark. But by dark we were all driven on board. The order was "Shoot every man that tries to get out," so Boodger and I were again flanked. It was midnight before we started. As to the mode of our lodging we were like the Dutchman's hen that stood up and set.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 49-50

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Friday, May 20, 1864

As it grew daylight we arrived at Greenboro, N. C., a pleasant place, appropriately named, I judge, for the beauty of the scene cheered and made me forget I was not on a pleasure trip. The village is full of green trees and flower gardens, splendidly located in a slightly undulating, but not hilly region. Away to the west the Blue Ridge appeared like a panorama. We stopped near a large, thickly wooded park charming as the original forest. The wide streets, rows of green trees glistening with dew as the sun shone on them, the morning songs of birds, and the people on the street and those that came to look at us as though we were a caravan of strange animals again made us think of lost liberty. The people appeared anxious to talk but were prevented. The soldiers said a strong Union feeling existed. I judge they are tolerable compromisers. We left Greenboro at 8 p. m.; while there I traded by hat cord for three biscuits with a Rebel soldier going to the front. Thompson and I call it breakfast. From here to Salisbury we halted at three stations; the people appeared kindly disposed, mannerly, our folks like. At one station a citizen gave the boys a few cakes. I find human nature is the same everywhere. Men may differ widely in opinion, still they are alike. Today we can forgive or embrace what yesterday we fought. Whoever we meet and wherever we meet them, we see something of ourselves reflected. This is consoling in circumstances like these; so if we love ourselves we must love our enemies. Man is a curious compound of many animate beings with an additional quality higher and better.

"His nature none can o'errate, and none

Can under rate his merit."

At Salisbury we stopped two hours. Men and women came out to talk but were not freely allowed. One family inquired for Pennsylvanians, stated that they formerly lived in that State, and sent two little negro girls to bring us water, but were finally forbidden intercourse. Here is a prison where many Union officers and Union citizens and newspaper correspondents are confined. At 6:30 p. m. we reach Charlotte, 93 miles south of Greenboro and were marched a mile and camped. After dark we drew a day's ration of hard bread and bacon; had had nothing for 36 hours.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 50-1

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, May 21, 1864

We were awakened at 3 o'clock this morning to get ready to go, but remained until 4 p. m. During the day a train arrived with officers who were captured with us and elsewhere. Among the officers of my regiment were Major John W. Young, Captains Swan and Clyde, Lieutenants Buchanan, Homer Call and Cahill, also Lieutenant Cheeseman of General Rice's staff. Among the other officers were Brigadier Generals Shaler and Seymour who belonged to the 6th corp and were taken in the battle of May 6th with portions of their command in the Wilderness, when Longstreet's corp overlapped the Union lines in the crisis of that engagement that threatened decisive disaster to the Rebel army. General Shaler, speaking of the battle of the 6th, says the practical result of Longstreet's arrival simply prevented our victory and saved the Rebel army from decisive defeat, and will simply prolong the fighting before Lee can be forcd back on Richmond. Longstreet's arrival on the field was unanticipated and unprepared for so early in the day. Had it not been for this desperate attack the Rebel army would have found what Pickett got at Gettysburg and Lee's retreat to Richmond would have been hastened. "The battles of May 5th and 6th," said Gen. Shaler, "have put Lee on the defensive, but he is in shape to put up a hard fight. All the fields fought over are ours; success is simply postponed. Both armies are moving on Richmond, Lee because he has to, Grant because he wants to." This made us happy.

Groups of ladies come to look at us but are kept at a distance. At 4:30 p. m. the train moves off and fourteen miles bring us into South Carolina.

IN SLAVEDOM.

 

If "Jove fixed it certain that whatever day

Makes man a slave takes half his worth away,"

'Tis no less certain that the galling cord

That binds the slave perverts his haughty lord.

Corroding links his better nature rive

From spiritual touch of his enslaving gyve.

'Tis plain as stars that in the heavens lie,

As plain as sun that burns through lofty sky,

That in a land where men their slaves do count,

That interest rises always paramount.

All else is smothered like flowers overrun

By poisonous weeds that thrive in rain and sun

While freest men are shackled to their grave;

And cannot rise where masters stern enslave.

Freest souls are but subaltern tools;

The truth is silenced wherever slavery rules.

Men's thoughts grow dormant, their passions turn to hate,

As waters in a silent pool stagnate;

Its merits, or demerits, none debate;

The mass may vote, but must not rule a State.

Public squares, feigned to adorn a town,

Where struts the driver like a Pagan clown,

Are where grave masters sell their slaves for cash;

The press and pulpit help them wield the lash.

The ruling spirit is a demon fraught

With hellish wrath, where men are sold and bought,

And raised like mules for service, and for gain,

For market like steers upon a Texas plain,

Or swine for bacon, that root in Southern wood;

So Sambo's bred sole for his master's good.

He must know but little, never much;

To teach him more no saint may touch;

His innate sense that he, too, is a man,

The breath of Freedom shall ne'er to action fan.

So it has grown a cancer on the heart

Of this Republic the master's sword would part—

Who knows no freedom but to enslave at will—

The North must yield or human blood shall spill!

They claimed for slavery, indeed, the foremost chance

In all the realm where Freedom's hosts advance;

But this denied, a raving spirit rash,

Now lifts the sword to supplant the lash,

And good men rush, enamored for a cause

Where wrong is foremost in their social laws!

And so I muse as on this way we wend

To be enslaved-in some damned prison penned!

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 51-3

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Sunday, May 22, 1864

Arrive at Columbia, S. C., at dawn. The night passed disagreeably. Although our destiny is prison, men are impatient at delays, growl at "such engineering" though the best we have had, a negro at that. I ate my last bread yesterday morning; hoped for rations here; none came. We picked up corn scattered in the cars which served some purpose. We are mingling freely with our officers, sitting beside the track some ways from the city. This is the capitol of South Carolina; population 8,000. A paper I saw today says of the armies in Georgia that Johnston had retreated from Dalton towards Rome, Hooker and Thomas pressing him. Details are given of skirmishes and glaring headlines of great disasters to Yankees; but in important movements they concede failure, then attempt to distort facts. Lincoln has issued a proclamation for thanksgiving. It looks as well for us as we ought to expect; we have had to contend against disadvantages; a hard struggle is before. Some gentlemen engaged in conversation with us. They evinced a spirit narrowed to mere State pride all for slavery. The bane of State right had been so profusely imbibed, that they had forgotten what Edmund Randolph termed the "rock of our salvation" which gave "safety, respectability and happiness to the American people," namely, "The Union of the States," and plunged into that which brings destruction. Particularly was this addressed to the South; nevertheless we are cursed for loving the Union. They ask us to give it up, to give up principles for which we would preserve the Union.

Gen. Seymour had his buttons cut off by Rebels while asleep. He has no hat, it having been lost in battle; he seems very disconsolate. General Shaler sits beside him with one arm about his waist trying to console him.

Rebel officers have been here and offer $5 to $15 Confederate for $1 in greenbacks. They have a curious faith in success. At noon we left the junction for the South. Kingsville is a junction of two roads, one for Charleston, the other north to Wilmington. Four or five miles below we cross the Santee River, or one of its branches, and an extensive swamp on a tressie, seemingly two miles long. Here I saw several live alligators. We reached Branchville at dark and switched to the west. Country is level, woody and in poor cultivation. On much of the cotton lands trees are standing dead. Fields look like vast swamps. Land is worked in this way wholly by slaves with little knowledge how to improve land, with neither facilities or encouragement to do so, and when exhausted, it is left. We could see the [slaves] toiling in "the cotton and the cane."

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 53-4

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, May 23, 1864

Arrived at Augusta, Ga., at daylight, one of the nicest towns of its size in the South; the home of Alexander H. Stephens, long celebrated as one of the ablest Southern men, now the Vice President of this so-colled Confederacy. Business appeared dull. Trains from Savannah had troops to reinforce Johnston beyond Atlanta. After an hour we run out of town and changed trains. We have had no rations since the 20th, resort to various means to obtain bread. Brass buttons, pocket books, knives, any Yankee trinket are in good demand; bread is scarce, prices enormous when we find it. They like Yankee notions emblazoned in brass and gutta percha, but they are too supercilious to adopt Northern principles. I succeeded in trading a silk necktie and an ink stand for a loaf of bread. These fellows are the queerest traffickers I ever saw. The Esquimaux and native Indians have no greater hankering for a ten-penny nail than these people have for brass ornaments. A good jack knife counted in their cash, is worth about $25; a wooden inkstand $3 to $15; brass buttons from $3 to $10 per dozen. The country around Augusta looks nice; it is on the Savannah River; population about 8,300. In the afternoon we drew rations for a day; moved on at 3 o'clock.

On, on, on we go down to the Rebel jail;

I reckon this is rather rough a riding on a rail.

Oh, here are boys from many a hearth,

Dear to many a breast,

Many a mothers heart is dearth,

Many a wife with woe is press'd;

And many a kin and many a friend

Will long to know their fate;

[But] many a precious life will end

Within that prison gate;

And many a day ere we can see

That dear old home again,

And rest beneath that banner free

That traitors now disdain.

Many a long, long weary day,

Many a dismal night,

Our hope and strength may waste away

By hunger, pain and blight;

And many a vow may be forgot,

But we shall not forget

The glorious truths for which we fought.

The cause that triumphs yet.

But we hear their vauntings everywhere;

They never can prove true;

And yet what devils ever dare

These Rebels dare to do;

And matters look a little rough,

Things look a little blue,

You bet it is a little tough,

Going down to Rebel jail;

'Tis not so very pleasant, though,

This riding on a rail!

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 54-5

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, May 24, 1864

Another night cramped up on the cars; another night of painful nipping at napping amidst the roar, the heat and jogging of the train. Everybody wanted to lie down, but everybody was in the way; everybody wanted to straighten out, but no one could. Once in a while one lifts his aching legs over heads and bodies, or stands up to straighten them. Oh, the weary night, the sweat, the heated air of the car, wherein were jammed 80 men till no more could get in, with the doors closed. It is sickening to endure! Not a drop of water to cool thirst, not a moment of ease for weary bodies; no rest for aching heads; not an overdose of patience for one another. Morning came and we were still rolling on through the pine, the barren waste, the plantation, with its mansion aloof, and slave huts; the thatched roof shanty of poor white, and now and then halting at small stations "to feed the hoss."

Villages of any account are far apart. At all these places the negro is chief; Nig does the work, eats the poorest victuals, is an all around man. At every depot, every shed, wood pile and water tank, the darky "am de man." He engineers, fires, he brakes. This animal runs the Confederacy. Everything is very unlike our Northern routes, in wood, in field, in civilization. It appears to me like "Reducing the white man to the level of the negro “—indeed it does, Jeff!” These motley crowds, these black white faces, these white black faces, look like amalgamation, you conservators of an oligarchial, doomed institution upon which you seek to rear an oligarchy!

At 6 a. m. the whistle blows at Macon, Ga., and we stop. The doors open and a few slide to the ground to straighten out, to limber up and to try and get a drink; but few succeeded in getting out, however. A citizen told me the population of Macon was 20,500. It is located in a basin formed by sloping hills around it, near the Ocmulgee River. At 7:30 a. m. we start southward towards Americus about 70 miles south. The country is more thickly inhabited, is a richer region. Fort Valley is 30 miles south of Macon. Here were plenty of customers for anything we had to sell. Men came out with corn bread to exchange for wallets and it didn't take them long to "get shut on't"; both sexes, all colors, all grades. We were not the first load of "hyenas" that had gone down, so they did not come out to see the show, but wanted to know "Whar you'ns all from" and to traffic. It began to be hinted that we were not going to Americus, where the guard had told us our prisoners are; that it is a splendid camp, greensward, beautiful shade trees, nice tents and a right smart river, those that had "been thar a heep o' times with you'ns fellers." We had hoped that such might be our lot; but now everyone was wonderfully ignorant. When asked they would say, "can't tell you sar." At Oglethorpe I asked a citizen how far it was to Americus.

"Oh, right smart, I reckon; you'ns not going thar though."

"Where are we going?" I asked another.

"Oh, just down thar where all o' you'ns fellers goes."

"How far?"

"Right smart bit, I reckon."

"Well, how many miles?"

"Good bit, fo' mile, reckon—you'ns got any rings?"

"What place?"

"Andersonville, they call it I reckon."

"How do they fare?"

"Right good—don't know; die mighty fast, I har."

A gentleman of leisure said, "You bet they do.”

"It is a hard place, is it?"

"You will see all you want to see before long"

"Have shelter, of course?"

"Guess so-you'll see, pretty soon.”

Heaving a long sigh we cursed their blasted Confederacy and black infamous cause, then took it cool. In 30 minutes the train halted again. There was a newly built storehouse consisting of pine slabs set up on end, and appearances of a hastlily constructed military station. Preparations were made to disimbark. I looked out, saw but one house in the place, country looked barren, uninviting. About half a mile east was a large pen filled with men. At a glance I caught a view of thousands of prisoners; ragged, rusty blankets put up in all conceivable modes to break the blistering sun rays. It was a great mass of grim visages, a multitude of untold miseries. It reminded me first of a lately seared fallow, then a foul ulcer on the face of nature, then of a vast ant hill alive with thousands of degraded insects. The degradation that pervades the lowest and meanest beings in nature struck me as beneficent compared with the desperately barbarous conditions imposed upon the inmates of those roofless walls. Not a shed or a sheltering tree was in the place. Some whose senses were not benumbed, exclaimed, "My God that is the place, see the prisoners; they will not put us in there, there is no room! By this time men were getting off and straggling along the sandy road to the prison. About half way we halted to form and an officer on horseback met us heading a new guard. "Git into fo's thar," was the order. We moved to the right near the south side of the prison near Captain Wirz's headquarters, and formed into detachments of 270 in charge of sergeants. We were suffering from thirst, heat, hunger, fatigue. Presently the commandant of the prison with a lieutenant and sergeant came down the line. I asked to go to the creek and fill some canteens, pleading our suffering condition. In a passion, pistol in hand, the officer turned with a ferocious oath, putting the pistol to my nose saying, “I'll shoot you if you say dot again." Stepping back he yelled:

"If another man ask for water I shoot him."

To the left a poor fellow had squat in the ranks. This officer whom I found to be Captain Wirz, rushed upon him with an oath, kicking him severely and yelled savagely, "Standt up in ter ranks!"

The ground was covered with small bushes. While waiting some worked industriously pulling and packing in bundles to carry in for shelter. After two hours we started, but all were forced by bayonets to drop the bushes. As the column was pouring through the gate, a comrade said "Take a long breath North; it is the last free air we shall breath soon." Oh, how many lingering looks and despondent sighs were cast, as we were driven like brutes into a worse than brutish pen!

We entered the south gate. A narrow street runs nearly through the prison from east to west, the narrowest way. I had reached nearly midway when the column halted. Old prisoners gathered frantically about, begging for hardtack, or something else. The air was suffocating, the sights beheld are not to be described. The outside view was appalling; contact a thousand times more horrible!

On my right, as we entered, I saw men without a thread of clothing upon their dirty skeletons, some panting under old rags, or blankets raised above them. One was trying to raise himself; getting upon his hands and feet, his joints gave way; he pitched like a lifeless thing in a heap, uttering the most wailful cry I ever heard. Such things are frequent. The simile strikes me that they are like beings scarce conscious of life, moved by a low instinct, wallowing in the filth and garbage where they happen to be. On the left the scene was equally sickening. The ground for several yards from the gate was wet with excrement, diarrhoea being the disease wasting the bodies of men scarce able to move. Need I speak of the odor? Then the wounds of eight months were visible and disgusting! We dare not look around! At a halt we asked where are we to go? Why do they not take us on?

"You can't get no further; as much room here as anywhere,” said an Ohio man.

"For God's sake," I said to the anxious gazers that thronged around asking to be given something—"Give me just one hardtack," begged starved creatures—"stand back and give us a chance! We have no hardtack."

Finding a spot eight of us deposited our luggage and claimed it by right of [“]squatter sovereignty." Eight of us are so fortunate as to have five woolen blankets, our party consisting of Orderly Sergeant G. W. Mattison, Second Sergeant O. W. Burton, W. Boodger, Stephen Axtel, Waldo Pinchen, H. B. Griffith, Lloyd G, Thompson and myself. Here we took up our abode together. I obtained three sticks split from pine, saved at the time the stockade was opened, four and six feet long, upon which we erected three of the blankets in the form of a tent. For these I paid 50c, each.

Nothing of the rules and regulations of the prison were announced by the authorities, in consequence of which, I learned after, many a man lost his life by being shot. Soon after arriving I went to the stream to drink and wash. Being ignorant of the supposed existence of a dead line, and, to escape the crowd, I stepped over where it was supposed to be. Immediately I was caught by a man who drew me back shouting: "Come out, they will shoot you!" Looking up I saw the sentries, one on each side with their pieces fixed upon me. I then learned that the order was to shoot any man, without a word, who steps beyond the line, or where it should be. I was partly forced, by the crowding, into that vacancy, and partly tempted by the clear water which was pouring through the stockade a few feet to the west, the water in the stream appearing very filthy. With feelings of thankfulness towards the strangers who frightened that rule into me, I shall ever remember. I thought of the maxim in Seneca, "Let every man make the best of his lot," and prepare for the worst. So I determined to do what I could to inform new men of the danger at this point, for I soon learned that nearly every day, since new prisoners had been coming in, men had been shot at this place under the same circumstances.

After being settled Thompson and I took a stroll to find, if possible, a better place, without avail. Passing down the older settled and thickly crowded part where there are small dirt huts which were early erected, I observed a man sitting under an old tent with a book. This was unexpected. "Here is a book of poems," I said to Thompson, halting.

"Yes, sir, Milton's 'Paradise Lost," said he, handing it to me. He was an old prisoner from Rosecrans army, having wintered at Danville, Va., a prisoner since Chickamauga. He told us freely all he knew about our new world, appeared a perfect gentleman, manifested very friendly feeling, urged us to accept his book and call often. The mellow beam of a genial nature shone in his face. Although we did not learn his name that day, we felt him to be a friend. I had a paper, purchased at Augusta, having accounts of Johnston's run before Sherman, how one of Johnston's men cried, "General, we are marching too fast; we don't want to retreat, had rather fight." "We are not retreating, boys, we are only falling back so Sherman won't get round our flank," said Johnston, which I gave him.

The stockade is made from pine trees cut, from the prison ground, into 25 feet lengthts, feet of which is set into the ground, and the timbers are strongly pinned together. Until last winter this was primeval forest, heavily timbered with pine. The sentry boxes are six to eight rods apart near the top of the wall, each box having a roof, the platform being reached by stairs. The ground is said to contain 13 acres, including the lagoon of about two acres, which cannot be occupied except a few islands

in the midst. A small stream runs through from west to east. The water is nearly as black as the mud of its mirey banks, and tastes of it, and nearly divides the camp equally, both the north and south parts sloping towards it. There are some log huts built by the first prisoners when the stockade was opened, from the waste timber left on the ground. Now even the stumps have been dug up for wood. Two large tall pines are left standing in the southeast corner; otherwise there is not a green thing in sight. The dead line is a board laid and nailed on tops of posts, four feet high, about six yards from the stockade. There are two gates on the west side, north and south of the brook. Sinks are dug on the bank near the swamp on the east side, but not sufficient to accommodate a tenth part of the persons on the south side to which it alone is accessible; so the north edge of the swamp, parallel with the stream, is used for the same purpose. Just at dark two mule teams were driven with rations, to be delivered to sergeants in charge of detachments for distribution to their men. We get two ounces of bacon, a piece of corn bread 2x4 inches for one day. There are over 14,000 men here, mostly old prisoners from Belle Isle, Libby and Danville prisons. The bacon is so stale, that a light stroke from the finger knocks it to pieces, leaving the rind in the hand.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 55-60

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, May 25, 1864

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

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Thursday, May 26, 1864

At 7 o'clock, another man had been shot, lay near the creek. Brisk showers in the night; the day is steadily hot. Rumor that 4,000 are to be sent to Cahawba, Ala. Some of Siegel's men arrived reporting a fight with Breckenridge, in the Shenandoah Valley, in which we got the worst. Another sentinel fires into camp this morning with what effect I do not learn.

About 125 negroes are here who were taken in the battle of Oolustee, Fla. When brought here there were 200, 75 of whom have died since March. Five hundred white Union soldiers were taken at the same time. The white officers commanding the negroes were not allowed the usual courtesies of war and were turned in here. The most prominent of these was Albert Bogle, a major in the 8th U. S. colored regiment to which they belonged. He was severely wounded. No attention was paid to the wound by Confederate surgeons who claimed to be acting under military orders. While on his way, between here and Macon in a box car, suffering from his wound, at one of the stations a Confederate officer fired two shots into the car seemingly designed for him. He is an intelligent young man and bears these abuses with a dignified composure; is still suffering from his wound, but is now improving. He regards their attitude towards him as a fair exhibition of the insane vindicativeness of some Southerners and their extreme rashness on the negro question. These 200 colored men were put into squads and put under charge of white Unionists taken at the same time and had been doing Rebel work outside, which, it is claimed, was to keep up the prison, but some of which is said to be on fortifications. Major Oberly says that none of the negroes who were wounded when taken, received medical attention, and died rapidly after being put in. The Confederates boast a fine rifle battery planted on the ridge commanding this prison, captured at the same time. A few days ago a white sergeant, while waiting at the gate to go out with a squad of negroes on Rebel detail, was shot by the guard, and immediately killed, the guard pressing his gun against his victim's breast, there being no apparent provocation for the outrage.

This Southern insanity on the color question is their sole reason for refusing exchange of prisoners. These negroes appear to have an intelligent understanding of the issues involved in this contest, often more so than some of our own people; for I must confess that here are men of every type of ignorance, vicious and innocent, that can exist under Northern civilization, as well as the better class; some of the meanest outlaws found in our cities, renegades from Canada, a plenty who are fit tools in the hands of scoundrels at the head of raiding gangs who seek to perpetuate damnable careers; some who are naturally good but are easily duped, under existing conditions, to join in evil pursuits. In an assemblage like this, promiscuously drawn from a large country, if all were honest men it would be strange indeed. But as I have thus spoken I will say that in no community of like number is there more patriotic zeal, manhood, virtue and intelligence than exist here.

The raiders are out tonight before dark; assaulted a man near the gate and robbed him, it is said, of a $100. Others interfere in his behalf and a desperate fight ensues which is checked by the guard who threatened to fire into the crowd and the thieves got away with the cash. Another hub-bub soon occurs.

A fellow is caught stealing a pair of shoes and after a squabble, is tied up. No rations today.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 62-4

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Friday, May 27, 1864

Water in the stream is very foul from so many using, and the refuse thrown in it from Rebel cook houses and camps that floats down, and drainage from offal that covers portions of the banks. Notwithstanding we practice bathing before sunrise, we always find the water foul. Men with blotches, putrid sores, gnawed by lice and worms, squalid from weakness, scurvy and wasting diseases go there to drink, wash clothing and bathe. They are obliged to step into the stream the banks being two to three feet high, slippery, nasty. Daily lice are seen floating while clothing is being washed.

Excitement this morning is about a fellow caught last night and cut loose by a fellow raider; retaken, knocked down three times, sopped in the filthy swamp, then marched about camp as a warning, after which he is given seven lashes on his bare back that brings blood. Mob law is our only recourse. Neither friends or foes outside protect us. He is an inferior looking man. A search follows among known thieves for articles lost. Several things have been found when a dozen savage fellows came with clubs. A few fought them with their hands, were badly beaten and forced to yield.

A rally was made to release one who had been knocked down, and one raider was captured, who was administered a course of punishment to exact promises of better conduct. Raiders are on the good side of our keepers. They sell articles they steal, or exchange them for food and things which help to keep them in strong physical condition. They are allowed favors not accorded others, are continually fawning to Wirz and his subordinates.

Some are excited over a report of the fall of Atlanta, Richmond and Charleston, which I see no reason to credit. Considerable excitement manifested in the Rebel garrison; troops being arrayed for a show, or a fight for two hours this afternoon. I learn that three tunnels have been found which led to the belief that an outbreak was contemplated. Every day squads of men explore the ground inside and outside of the stockade with feeling rods which they punch into the ground.

As a contrast to the scenes of the day Thompson and I have been reading Milton's description of Eden in the days of Adam and Eve's primal purity. No rations granted today. The stench from the lagoon is very disagreeable every night in the south part of the stockade.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 64