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

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, May 28, 1864

In consequence of the damp nights I cough badly. Nights are cool, compared with the heat of the day, the sun being terrible, in consequence of which I have suffered with headache. Going about camp I find several wells 20 and 25 feet deep. In company with twenty others our mess have commenced digging today. Pinchen is whittling staves out of sticks of pine rations for a bucket with a small jack-knife, to use in pulling up the dirt. Prison managers are against this enterprise; but the jealousy is being overcome happily, through the influence of surgeons and military officers who occasionally come inside and we have shown them the condition of the stream. As yet no spades are allowed for this work, although these officers have kindly suggested that they could be trusted to us under restriction. So they have been dug with case knives, pieces of canteens, or any piece of iron or stick convertible for such use. As digging proceeds men go down on poles, where one can be obtained, bracing against the bank and ascending the same way. The earth is a red sand, packs hard, needs no stoning. After several feet a fine layer of clay is struck, smooth and soft which is a curiosity to some, who smooth it and whittle it into fancy articles, among which are pipes. Tin pails are attached to whatever we can create for ropes for drawing up dirt and water.

Yesterday I noticed a dead-line board laying on the ground inside, one end about three feet from the post, blown, I suppose, by the wind. We have been troubled about getting in and out of the well we are digging, and cannot find anything to put down to climb on: 'I conceived the idea of capturing it to obviate the trouble. It got pretty dark near midnight. I approached the place cautiously, and lay flat and crawled to the board and tied a string to the end farthest in and sitting on the ground 25 feet away, drew it cautiously until out of danger from being shot by sentinels, when I picked it up and brought it to our place. We covered it with sand when Rebel sergeants came in the morning, and after the well was finished, broke it up for wood to cook our rations of meal. The Rebels missed the board, but never found it. Thompson watched the guard while I pulled it away, to warn me if they were likely to shoot, but the other boys didn't know when I stole the "dead line."

Seven hundred men taken at Spottslvania come in; report Grant at Mechanicsville, Johnston falling back on Atlanta. Those who have razors shave for 5c., cut hair for 10c. Sweat boards or dice appear in camp where men can stake 5c. a throw, if he wishes to try his luck at gaming. I have known some to win quite often, but hear of more who lose. A few things have been worked into camp by men who get out on duty or by Rebel sergeants. A fair sized onion goes for $1, apples 10c to 40c, dry hog peas 40c. per pint, plug tobacco $1.50. There is one commodity never had in any market. It is ahead of any Dutch brewery extant; it is meal beer made by letting corn meal sour in water. Molasses can be had for 5c. a teaspoonful; a little is added to give it a twang and sassafras roots can be had by digging, the tea of which is often added to give it flavor. Those who have money, pay ten and fifteen cents for half a pint and drink it with a relish. Men crave something sour, and poor fellows with feverish lips and scabious tendency, without money, beg and whine for it childishly. The vender cries, "Here is your nice meal beer, right sour, well seasoned with sassafras."

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 65-6

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Sunday, May 29, 1864

The incident at the creek, where I nearly drew the fire of two sentries, led me to inquire as to methods prison authorities have for informing new arrivals, of their rules in reference to the dead line, especially where no line is visible, which is the case for 60 yards at the point mentioned, parallel with the crossing from south to north. I learned they never published their rules, every man learns at his peril, just as I did, or by hearsay. Old prisoners say there never has been a visible line at this creek crossing; that no man knows where it is except as he judges the distance from the stockade, or guesses where it would come by looking at the line where it stops north and south of the creek. The sentry is left to guess when a man gets over the line, that is not there and shoots according to his guess. It involves upon the prisoners to post new men, as much as possible, but comparatively few think to do so. It is a serious matter as new arrivals nearly every day are apt to transgress the rule ignorantly and innocently, and if shot they have been murdered in cold blood. During new arrivals this happens often, as guards are mostly young fellows whose chief education is to despise Yankees whom it is a Southern virtue to kill, and to perform this patriotic duty he has been trained to shoot well, and to watch for a chance. At this point he finds opportunity. Guards are composed of Alabama and Georgia youths reared under the fire-eating doctrines of Yancey, Cobb and Toombs, and to believe in the infallibility of the chivalric South, its institutions, peculiar rights, as superior to all else, whose leaders have led the Southern mass to engage in a bad war for a bad cause. Probably these shooting imps know nothing of this, are ignorant of the crime they every day commit. Not a single instance, so far, were men who were shot seeking to escape. They were ignorant of any rule and unhindered in their approach to the stockade by a visible dead line at this point. Hence the shooting has been unjustifiable by ordinnary prison discipline prescribed by treaties or laws of war.

It is one continuous, irksome every day recurrence of unpleasant scenes. But one event is looked for with hopeful pleasure, that is the issuing of rations which never lacks serious, if not total disappointment. After roll call the sick are helped to the gates; those ready to die are put on stretchers and carried to the hospital outside near the south end of the stockade. Of all the grim and ghastly sights imagination ever depicted, those we see at this hour far excel in horror. Poor, squalid, yellow faces, eyes sunken and glassy, cheeks hollow or swollen with scurvy, fevered lips drawn tightly across the teeth, the mouth agape to breathe or let escape fetid breath, some borne by comrades, others tottering by the help of staffs or supported by friends; some without half a suit to cover them, some with terribly swollen limbs, putrid sores, dropsical distensions and bent forms. One holds his breath to look at them, nay turns away! Men walk about whom we would call bad corpses if seen in coffins anywhere else. Such a pitiful look as they give I never saw; their voices are as if the dead speak.

Two rods to the rear of us I witnessed the death of a Tennesseean, the last of three brothers who died on the same spot since March. All were Belle Isle victims. He had laid all day in the heat and will not be carried out till morning. He gradually wasted and died without a struggle. It is more remarkable than anything I ever read, how men lose their sense of life; imperceptibly degree by degree, it goes out leaving only a latent consciousness of what they have been, what they are, and a vague, unintelligent hope. Even that departs and his mind ranges in the narrowest sphere the human spirit can. For weeks he is robbed of himself; an infant is not more childish or weak; age not so whimsical or broken. He is a mere human worm! Another singular phase of these conditions: We frequently see men unable to arise from the sand, threatening to knock down strong men for trivial things they deem insulting. Men of skeleton forms lock in each others puny arms in a rage, falling on the ground unable to rise, they still boast of what they can do. So long bereft of comfort, so long have they only hoped for bread and liberty from day to day at the hands of merciless authorities, that reason is extinguished in many, and the lowest, blindest, selfish passion clings to the rotten thread of life. The phases which life assumes in this degraded condition, is inconceivable. Some retain the tenderest affection and the broadest faith, as long as consciousness remains.

I saw a man today in the last stages of starvation having sickened of his scanty food. His cry was bread, but when offered that given us, his stomach heaved; he turned his face with expressions of hopeless agony and exclaimed: "They can get me something else! could I be at home!" There are many cases which doctors might term chronic innutrition, where they eat with avidity all they get and still starve, the food doing no good. Doctors have been made acquainted with many of these cases, but will not admit to the hospital. Bell Isle boys tell me they have often dreamed of eating and woke up to go through the motions frothing at the mouth. In one instance they begged the guard to throw over pieces of a cow that had been delivered of a calf three days before, some of which they devoured, raw. They exhibit some rings claimed to have been made from the bones of a dog, eaten at Belle Isle, kept as a memento.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 66-8

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, May 30, 1864

What a night! In addition to scent from the fearful swamp, we had that of dead men in our rear. At our feet lay one begging for water groaning with pain. It was conjectured, because of his hoarse cough, that he had mumps, or measles or small pox, by some persons. Some dare venture but little here to aid suffering strangers when it is all one can do to keep alive. All the assistance we could offer was to give a cup of water. This I gave at arms length. He lay close at our feet but when we woke in the morning he was gone.

Prisoners from Butler report having helped tear up the Petersburg railroad. The stockade is to be enlarged. There has been a call for men to go outside to work on the timber. The old pen is so densely crowded that we are willing to help enlarge the prison. The Rebels are much hurried, being fearful of the reported raid from Kilpatrick. It is said some who went out in the squad to work are put on fortifications, refuse and are sent in. Some may be willing to do this for more grub, but we understand they were parolled on honor and then ordered to work by the commandant as he pleased. It is shameful if men assent to work on Rebel works, that they should be ordered to do so, is more shameful, and outside the laws of war.

Rations are cut down one-half; barely enough for two meals a day. We could eat all at one. Steward Brown has been out to the hospital a day or two. He tells me that 31 died yesterday, 39 today in the so-called hospital, saying nothing of the prison. He says they are miserable mockeries of hospitals, a discredit to the medical profession; but that the doctors are seemingly power-less in the matter, being under orders and practically destitute of medicines. All medical supplies, he says, furnished by the Rebel commissaries at Richmond, are sent to the military posts and are very scant and held by the physicians having charge of that department for use among their own soldiers. Brown is lately from England, pretty well versed in medicine, having had 30 years' study and practice in British hospitals and in military service. He professes neutrality, but was taken while helping care for our wounded in the Battle of the Wilderness, May 5th.

He is allowed more liberty than a Yankee. He says a bunch, that is still quite sore on my forehead, was caused by a spent bullet.

Hiram Morse of Co. F, 76th regiment, admitted to the hospital today. He sickened on corn bread, lost appetite, became helpless from diarrhoea and attendant fever; has wasted rapidly to a skeleton, helpless in body, crazed in mind. He has been kept alive by crust coffee and a little black tea we happened to have, since he got here. Many are becoming so homesick and downhearted, that they believe any report, good or bad. It is no place to get sick; courage must be kept up though rations go down.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 68-9

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, May 31, 1864

A good work designed to remedy somewhat the unwholesomeness of the place, began today. A squad of men are furnished spades, hand barrows, which they themselves constructed, and carpenter tools, and voluntarily go to work burying the filth and sinks that have overflowed, and cover several yards and is in terrible ferment and alive with vermin. The plan is to cover a portion of the swamp near the east part each side of the stream, about five rods wide by 10 long, with dirt from the banks and erect a framework over the stream for a privy. This will partially supply the wants for the south side, but the north is separated by an impassable marsh. This project is set on foot by persistent pleading of our men with physicians and officers of the military post, as chances have been offered, to get the means for doing it. Through them Wirz has been induced to acquiesce, but like all internal improvements, humane influence has to be brought to bear upon Wirz. He was persuaded by the argument that prison insobordination was more likely to occur under unsanitary conditions, that there was great libality of epidemic that would sweep both the prison and military post. A colonel of the post was inside this morning and talked with some of us. His opinion is that we will soon be exchanged; but I do not indulge in hopes likely to be deferred, which "maketh the heart sick." A day ration was shown him. He said more was allowed; that there was no reason why rations are so small; that more is provided under the regulations; expressed a belief that someone is speculating to our injury and, though he had no authority, he would inquire into the matter.

Weather intensely hot, the sick badly affected and are multiplying. Every day men die, every morning are carried out. The average number of deaths now is said to be 40, although 70 have died some days, the principal disorder being diarrhoea, induced by the nature of the food; it has become chronic. Scurvy which affects mouths and limbs, sometimes back and bowels, is increasing. One doctor speaks of an affection of the spleen. In many homesickness may hasten disease and loss of strength. It seems as inevitable as bodily ailments under these conditions. When men fall hopeless and helpless, griping with pain, it is not unnatural that nostalgia be added to the scale of misery. When these compiaints unite, the days of victims are being numbered.

Prisoners come in from Florida captured on the 18th. They were engaged in collecting horses and cattle for the army. I spoke with a man, prisoner since Gettysburg, who attracts attention, though thin and yellow, he is remarkably smart. His clothing is all worn out. On the way from Richmond a woman gave him a petticoat which reaches just below his knees that whops about his legs as he strolls characteristically through the camp, a sailor's cap on his head, and not another rag on his person.

Two wells near us are finished which we assisted to dig; the water is excellent. Pinchen has finished his bucket whittled from rations of wood, and hooped with knapsack straps, and it is used to draw water. Griffith and I have sold four tin plates for $1 each. This money helps us live.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 69-70

Diary of John Wilkes Booth, April 14, 1865

Friday the Ides. Until to-day nothing was ever thought of sacrificing to our country's wrongs. For six months we had worked to capture. But, our cause being almost lost, something decisive and great must be done. But its failure was owing to others who did not strike for their country with a heart. I struck boldly, and not as the papers say. I walked with a firm step through a thousand of his friends, was stopped, but pushed on. A Colonel was at his side. I shouted “sic simper” before I fired. In jumping, broke my leg. I passed all his pickets, rode sixty miles that night with the bone of my leg tearing the flesh at every jump. I can never repent it. Though we hated to our country owed all her troubles to him, and God simply made me the instrument of his punishment. The country is not what I have loved. I care not what becomes of me. I have no desire to outlive my country. This night before the deed I wrote a long article and left it for the National Intelligencer in which I fully set forth our reasons for our proceedings. We of the south.

SOURCE: William Eleazar Barton, The Life of Abraham Lincoln, Vol. 2, p. 482

Diary of John Wilkes Booth, Friday, April 21, 1865

After being hunted like a dog through swamps, woods, and last night being chased by gunboats till I was forced to return, wet, cold and starving, with every man's hand against me, I am here in despair, and why?

For doing what Brutus was honored for—who made Tell a Hero. And yet I have stricken down a greater tyrant than they ever knew. I am looked upon as a common cut-throat. My action was purer than either of theirs. One hoped to be great himself, the other had not only his country's but his own wrongs to avenge. I hoped for no gain. I knew no private wrongs. I struck for my country, and for that alone. A country ground down under this tyranny, and prayed for this end and yet now behold the cold hand they extend to me. God cannot pardon me if I have done wrong. Yet I cannot see any wrong except in serving a degenerate people.

The little, the very little I left behind to clear my name, the Govmt will not permit to be printed. So ends all. For my country I have given all that makes life sweet and Holy, brought misery upon my family, and am sure there is no pardon in the Heavens for me, since Man condemns me so. I have not heard what has been done except what I did myself and it fills me with horror.

God! try and forgive me and bless my mother. To-night I will once more try the river with the intention to cross, though I have a greater desire and almost a mind to return to Washington, and in a measure clear my name which I feel I could do. I do not repent the blow I struck. I may before my God, but not to man. I think I have done well, though I am abandoned, with the curse of Cain upon me, when, if the world knew my heart, that one blow would have made me great, though I did not desire greatness.

To-night I try to escape the bloodhounds once more. Who, who can read his fate? God's will be done. I have too great a soul to die like a criminal.

Oh may He, may He spare me that, and let me die bravely! I bless the entire world. Have never hated or wronged any one. This was not wrong unless God deems it so, and it's with Him to damn or bless me. And for this brave boy Herold with me who often prays (yes, before and since) with a true and sincere heart. Was it a crime in him?

If so, why can he pray the same? I do not wish to shed a drop of blood, but I must fight the course. Tis all that's left me.

SOURCES: William Eleazar Barton, The Life of Abraham Lincoln, Vol. 2, p. 482-3; James Sawyer Jones, Life of Andrew Johnson: Seventeenth President of the United States, p. 145;  Lydia L. Gordon, From Lady Washington to Mrs. Cleveland, p. 338-9

Sarah F. Wakefield to Abraham Lincoln, March 23, 1863

St Paul March 23, '63

Dear Sir

I will introduce myself to your notice as one of the Prisoners in the late Indian War in Minnesota.

My Husband was Physician for the Sioux at Yellow Medicine and it was near there that I was overtaken by 2 Indians and saved from death by one called Chaskadan when [Hapan?] the murderer of George H Gleason endeavoured 3 times to shoot me, he not only saved me then but several times when I was in great danger.

When the Indians withdrew from “Little Crows” Band, he was with them and when Col H H Sibley arrived he was arrested and tried by Court Martial, no evidence appearing against him, his name was among others requesting that his Punishment should be commuted to imprisonment When you Hon Sir sent on the list of those that you wished Hanged, you named Chaskadan an Indian who murdered and cut open a Pregnant Woman. Then there was made a sad mistake in the number, whereby Chaskadan who saved me and my little family was executed in place of the guilty man this man is now at Mankato living, while a good honest man lies sleeping in death.

I am extremely sorry this thing happened as it injures me greatly in the community that I live. I exerted myself very much to save him and many have been so ungenrous as to say I was in love with him that I was his wife &c, all of which is absolutely false. He always treated me like a Brother and as such I respect his memory and curse his slanderers.

I was promised by the Court Martial that he should be saved from Death, and I was content and was much pleased when the list was published that you, Sir, declared guilty, and the nature of their crimes, you will imagine my astonishment! shortly after the Execution to see in print the Confession of Chaskadan who saved my life and Babes; I say there was a mistake in the number and as soon as convenient after reaching St Paul sent for Rev S. R. Riggs Missionary with the Sioux for many years, and he said it was a sad affair and it ought to be known. He was present at the trials of the Indians and at the Execution, and he says there was no testimony against the man of any kind and he considers it a horrible affair, where the fault lies I know not, but it would be extremely gratifying to me to have these heedless persons brought to justice I am abased already by the world as I am a Friend of the Indians. This family I had known for 8 years and they were Farmers and doing well. now this poor old Mother is left destitute, and broken hearted, for she has feeling if she is an Indian, surely we are Brothers all made by one God? we will all meet some day, and why not treat them as such here. I beg pardon for troubling you but there is much said in reference to his Execution. The world says he was not convicted of Murder then why was he Hanged? Then they draw their own conclusions: if this could be explained to the world a great stain would be lifted from my name. God knows I suffered enough with the Indians without suffering more now by white brethren & sisters.

My Husband is very anxious this thing should be made public, as he thinks the mistake was intentional on the part of a certain “Officer” at Mankato, who has many children in the Sioux tribe. I pray you deem me not bold in addressing you, and grant my pardon for troubling you.

I remain Yours Respectfully

Sarah. F. Wakefield.

P. S. it would be gratifying to me to have this guilty man executed although I am in favor of the majority of the poor fellows being pardoned. I can not deem them guilty as many persons, as they were so very kind and honorable to me while I was with them. God and you Sir, protect and save them as a people S. F. W.

SOURCE: Lincoln, Abraham. Abraham Lincoln papers: Series 2. General Correspondence. 1858 to 1864: Sarah F. Wakefield to Abraham Lincoln, Monday,Dakota War in Minnesota. 1863. Manuscript/Mixed Material. Retrieved from the Library of Congress, <www.loc.gov/item/mal4251100/>.

Senator John C. Calhoun to Thomas G. Clemson, May 13, 1848

Washington 13th May 1848

MY DEAR SIR, I have been disappointed in not having received, either from you or Anna, any letter by the last two Steamers. It is at all times a source of pleasure to hear from you; but it is especially so at the present, when Europe is the scene of such extraordinary events. I know not how they may appear to you, who are in the midest of them; but to me, who look on at so great a distance, they appear to be without a parallel in the history of the world. They are, indeed, so much out of the ordinary course of events, that it is difficult to form an opinion, as to the results they will lead. My apprehension is, that the old system of things have been overthrown, before Europe had become prepared to establish a new and better; and that a long period of confusion and disorder, if not anarchy, may intervene before order can be restored, especially in France, where the impulse was first given. With this apprehension, I regard it of vast importance, that Great Britain should resist the shock, that has overturned so many Governments; and, of course was gratified to learn that she had passed successfully the crisis caused by the movements of the Chartists. If they had ended in a revolution, it would have greatly increased the force and prolonged the period of the convulsion, through which Europe is now passing. But as it is, it will contribute, I hope, not only to shorten it, but to guard thereby against one of the greatest dangers to which she is at present exposed. I refer to that which may be apprehended from Russia, in case Europe should be thrown into a state of distraction and disorder for any considerable period. In that event, her power might prove irresistible and her sway be extended over the greater part of the Continent.

As to ourselves, We are going on much as we did for the last four years. Everything still remains in a state of uncertainty; the Mexican question, the Presidential election and all. It is just as uncertain, whether we shall have peace with Mexico, or not, and who will be nominated by the two conventions (although one meets in 9 days, and the other shortly after) and which of the two, who may be nominated, will be elected, as it was three months ago. In the meane time, another question has been started, which may involve us in as great difficulties, as the Mexican; I refer to the Yucatan. It is now under discussion. I expect to speak day after tomorrow, if I can get the floor, and shall discuss it fully.¹

I had a letter from home a few days since. All were well and the crop looking remarkable well. It has been remarkable cool for the season of the year for the last few days, but I hope not so much so, as to hurt the fruit, or crop materially. My love to Anna and the children. I fear the state of things in Europe may prevent your intended visit, which I would greatly regret on yours and our own account. We anticipated much pleasure in seeing you all, and still hope we shall not be disappointed.

_______________

¹ Calhoun spoke on the Yucatan question on May 15. Works, IV, 454–478.

SOURCE: J. Franklin Jameson, Editor, Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1899, Volume II, Calhoun’s Correspondence: Fourth Annual Report of the Historical Manuscripts Commission, Correspondence of John C. Calhoun, p. 754-5

Senator John C. Calhoun to James Edward Calhoun, May 22, 1848

Washington 22d May 1848

MY DEAR JAMES, I am happy to have your approval of my remarks in reference to the French Revolution. I see they have attracted much attention in England, and drawn forth high compliments. I regard the failure of the Chartists in England as you do. It was the turning point of affairs in Europe. Had they succeeded, it would been long—very long, before order and authority would be restored in Europe; but as it is, the revolutionary movements have gone, probably as far as it is destined to go, at least for the present. . .

As to politicks, every thing still remains in a state of uncertainty. Although the Baltimore Convention is now in Session, no one pretends to form an opinion, as to who will be the nominee. Report from Baltimore just received, says that Cass and Buchanan will unite their forces, each being agreed to rally on the other, if the strongest. If such should be the case, the former will probably be nominated; but I put little faith in the union. I have no confidence in either.

It is now more doubtful than it has been, whether the Government of Mexico will ratify the treaty. The prospect would seem to be against it. Should it not be ratified, there will be a great effort made to take the Whole, but, I trust I shall be able to defeat it, by taking my stand on a defensive line that of the treaty.

The Yucatan question is dropt for the present. Whether it will be revived will depend on circumstances. My speech against it appeared in the Inteligencer this morning. I will send you a copy, as soon as I can get some extra copies of the paper. It is thought it made a strong impression, and contributed principally to the dropping of the question for the present.

It was one of the wildest and most absurd measures ever proposed by the Executive. Congress will not adjourn probably before August.

My health continues good. I am sorry to learn by your sister's letter to me that yours was delicate when you were at Fort Hill. I hope it is better.

SOURCE: J. Franklin Jameson, Editor, Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1899, Volume II, Calhoun’s Correspondence: Fourth Annual Report of the Historical Manuscripts Commission, Correspondence of John C. Calhoun, p. 755-6

Senator John C. Calhoun to Thomas G. Clemson, May 26, 1848

Washington 26th May 1848

MY DEAR SIR, Since my last I have received your's of the 26th April, with letters from Anna for her Mother and Cornelia.

I see by our last arrival, that France and Germany are begining the work of reconstruction. That is the task; not but that they may form new Governments for that is not difficult; but can they form such, as will stand and put an end to revolution? Germany, if wise, may; for she has the materials, but, I fear, that in France it will, at least for the present, prove impossible. She has it is evidently made great progress, since her first revolution, in political knowledge, which has thus far guarded her against those scenes of violence and blood shed which marked the first, but there are great difficulties before her. She is entering on an untrodden path; to reconstruct Society, as well as Government; with materials not well suited to either purpose. I shall watch the attempt with profound interest, but with little expectation of its success. I hope she will be permitted to have a fair opportunity, so that if she fails, it will be attributed to the intrinsic difficulty of the task, and not to interference and difficulties from without. If, under such circumstances, she should fail, I see no alternative for her, but an imperial Government.

Since I last wrote you, the prospect of the ratification of the treaty by Mexico is more doubtful. The impression now is, that it will not be. In the meane time, we are threatened with a very troublesome question about Yucatan. I enclose herewith my remarks on the subject. It is not satisfactorily reported, although it passed under my revision.' I simply corrected the report of the Stenographer, without writing out my speech. It will, however, give you a pretty correct and full view of my argument.

The Baltimore convention is now in session, but has not yet made a nomination. I will keep my letter open until I hear the result. Among its proceedings, it has admitted a man of the name of Commander, to cast the 9 votes of S. Carolina, although his authority to act was derived solely from a small meeting in Georgetown of 54 persons, of whom the greater part were Yankee merchants and Jews doing business there, without having permanent residence. What a farce! And yet, as far as the party is concerned, the nomination of the body is the election of the President. . .

28th May

The Baltimore convention nominated Gen' Cass for the Presidency and Gen' Butler of Kentucky for the V Presidency, after much distraction and difficulty. I do not think the ticket will succeed. . . .

SOURCE: J. Franklin Jameson, Editor, Annual Report of the American Historical Association for the Year 1899, Volume II, Calhoun’s Correspondence: Fourth Annual Report of the Historical Manuscripts Commission, Correspondence of John C. Calhoun, p. 756-7

Diary of Private Lewis C. Paxson: Thursday, October 16, 1862

I copied music in the evening for Private Norton. Slept in office. Indian summer.

SOURCE: Lewis C. Paxson, Diary of Lewis C. Paxson: Stockton, N.J., 1862-1865, p. 7