ANDERSONVILLE ON ITS METAL—LEADING RAIDERS ARRESTED, TRIED AND
HUNG—GREAT EXCITEMENT FOR A FEW DAYS, FOLLOWED BY GOOD ORDER—DEATH
RATE INCREASES, HOWEVER—THE ASTOR HOUSE MESS AS POLICEMEN.
July 3.—Three hundred and fifty new men from West Virginia were
turned into this summer resort this morning. They brought good news
as to successful termination of the war, and they also caused war
after coming among us. As usual the raiders proceeded to rob them of
their valuables and a fight occurred in which hundreds were engaged.
The cut-throats came out ahead. Complaints were made to Capt. Wirtz
that this thing would be tolerated no longer, that these raiders must
be put down or the men would rise in their might and break away if
assistance was not given with which to preserve order. Wirtz flew
around as if he had never thought of it before, issued an order to
the effect that no more food would be given us until the leaders
were arrested and taken outside for trial. The greatest possible
excitement. Hundreds that have before been neutral and non-commital
are now joining a police force. Captains are appointed to take charge
of the squads which have been furnished with clubs by Wirtz. As I
write, this middle of the afternoon, the battle rages. The police go
right to raider head-quarters knock right and left and make their
arrests. Sometimes the police are whipped and have to retreat, but
they rally their forces and again make a charge in which they are
successful. Can lay in our shade and see the trouble go on. Must be
killing some by the shouting. The raiders fight for their very life,
and are only taken after being thoroughly whipped. The stockade
is loaded with guards who are fearful of a break. I wish I could
describe the scene to-day. A number killed. After each arrest a great
cheering takes place. NIGHT.—Thirty or forty have been taken outside
of the worst characters in camp, and still the good work goes on.
No food to-day and don’t want any. A big strapping fellow called
Limber Jim heads the police. Grand old Michael Hoare is at the front
and goes for a raider as quick as he would a rebel. Patrol the camp
all the time and gradually quieting down. The orderly prisoners are
feeling jolly.
July 4.—The men taken outside yesterday are under rebel guard and
will be punished. The men are thoroughly aroused, and now that the
matter has been taken in hand, it will be followed up to the letter.
Other arrests are being made to-day, and occasionally a big fight.
Little Terry, whom they could not find yesterday, was to-day taken.
Had been hiding in an old well, or hole in the ground. Fought like
a little tiger, but had to go. “Limber Jim” is a brick, and should
be made a Major General if he ever reaches our lines. Mike Hoare
is right up in rank, and true blue. Wm. B. Rowe also makes a good
policeman, as does “Dad” Sanders. Battese says he “no time to fight,
must wash.” Jimmy Devers regrets that he cannot take a hand in, as he
likes to fight, and especially with a club. The writer hereof does
no fighting, being on the sick list. The excitement of looking on is
most too much for me. Can hardly arrest the big graybacks crawling
around. Capt. Moseby is one of the arrested ones. His right name is
Collins and he has been in our hundred all the time since leaving
Richmond. Has got a good long neck to stretch. Another man whom I
have seen a good deal of, one Curtiss, is also arrested. I haven’t
mentioned poor little Bullock for months, seems to me. He was most
dead when we first came to Andersonville, and is still alive and
tottering around. Has lost his voice entirely and is nothing but a
skeleton. Hardly enough of him for disease to get hold of. Would
be one of the surprising things on record if he lives through it,
and he seems no worse than months ago. It is said that a court
will be formed of our own men to try the raiders. Any way, so they
are punished. All have killed men, and they themselves should be
killed. When arrested, the police had hard work to prevent their
being lynched. Police more thoroughly organizing all the time. An
extra amount of food this P. M., and police get extra rations, and
three out of our mess is doing pretty well, as they are all willing
to divide. They tell us all the encounters they have, and much
interesting talk. Mike has some queer experiences. Rebel flags at
half mast for some of their great men. Just heard that the trial of
raiders will begin to-morrow.
July 5.—Court is in session outside and raiders being tried by our
own men. Wirtz has done one good thing, but it’s a question whether
he is entitled to any credit, as he had to be threatened with a break
before he would assist us. Rations again to-day. I am quite bad off
with my diseases, but still there are so many thousands so much worse
off that I do not complain much, or try not to however.
July 6.—Boiling hot, camp reeking with filth, and no sanitary
privileges; men dying off over a hundred and forty per day. Stockade
enlarged, taking in eight or ten more acres, giving us more room, and
stumps to dig up for wood to cook with. Mike Hoare is in good health;
not so Jimmy Devers. Jimmy has now been a prisoner over a year, and
poor boy, will probably die soon. Have more mementoes than I can
carry, from those who have died, to be given to their friends at
home. At least a dozen have given me letters, pictures &c., to take
North. Hope I shan’t have to turn them over to some one else.
July 7.—The court was gotten up by our own men and from our own men;
Judge, jury, counsel, &c. Had a fair trial, and were even defended,
but to no purpose. It is reported that six have been sentenced to be
hung, while a good many others are condemned to lighter punishment,
such as setting in the stocks, strung up by the thumbs, thumb screws,
head hanging, etc. The court has been severe, but just. Mike goes
out to-morrow to take some part in the court proceedings. The prison
seems a different place altogether; still, dread disease is here, and
mowing down good and true men. Would seem to me that three or four
hundred died each day, though officially but one hundred and forty
odd is told. About twenty-seven thousand, I believe, are here now in
all. No new ones for a few days. Rebel visitors, who look at us from
a distance. It is said the stench keeps all away who have no business
here and can keep away. Washing business good. Am negotiating for
a pair of pants. Dislike fearfully to wear dead men’s clothes, and
haven’t to any great extent.
July 8.—Oh, how hot, and oh, how miserable. The news that six have
been sentenced to be hanged is true, and one of them is Moseby. The
camp is thoroughly under control of the police now, and it is a
heavenly boon. Of course there is some stealing and robbery, but not
as before. Swan, of our mess, is sick with scurvy. I am gradually
swelling up and growing weaker. But a few more pages in my diary.
Over a hundred and fifty dying per day now, and twenty-six thousand
in camp. Guards shoot now very often. Boys, as guards, are the most
cruel. It is said that if they kill a Yankee, they are given a thirty
days furlough. Guess they need them as soldiers too much to allow
of this. The swamp now is fearful, water perfectly reeking with
prison offal and poison. Still men drink it and die. Rumors that
the six will be hung inside. Bread to-day and it is so coarse as to
do more hurt than good to a majority of the prisoners. The place
still gets worse. Tunneling is over with; no one engages in it now
that I know of. The prison is a success as regards safety; no escape
except by death, and very many take advantage of that way. A man who
has preached to us (or tried to) is dead. Was a good man I verily
believe, and from Pennsylvania. It’s almost impossible for me to
get correct names to note down; the last named man was called “the
preacher,” and I can find no other name for him. Our quartette of
singers a few rods away is disbanded. One died, one nearly dead, one
a policeman and the other cannot sing alone, and so where we used to
hear and enjoy good music evenings, there is nothing to attract us
from the groans of the dying. Having formed a habit of going to sleep
as soon as the air got cooled off and before fairly dark, I wake
up at two or three o’clock and stay awake. I then take in all the
horrors of the situation. Thousands are groaning, moaning and crying,
with no bustle of the day time to drown it. Guards every half hour
call out the time and post, and there is often a shot to make one
shiver as if with the ague. Must arrange my sleeping hours to miss
getting owly in the morning. Have taken to building air castles of
late, on being exchanged. Getting loony, I guess, same as all the
rest.
[Illustration: Michael Hoare.