June 26.—The same old story, only worse, worse. It seems all the time it was as bad as could be, but is not. They die now like sheep—fully a hundred each day. New prisoners come inside in squads of hundreds, and in a few weeks are all dead. The change is too great and sudden for them. Old prisoners stand it the best. Found a Jackson, Michigan man, who says I am reported dead there. Am not, however, and may appear to them yet. Jimmy Devers is very bad with the scurvy and dropsy and will probably die if relief does not come. Sergt. Rowe also is afflicted; in fact all the mess except Battese. He does all the cooking now. He has made me a cane to walk with, brings water from the well, and performs nearly all the manual labor for us. He is a jewel, but a rough one.
June 27.—Raiders going on worse than ever before. A perfect pandemonium. Something must be done, and that quickly. There is danger enough from disease, without being killed by raiders. Any moment fifty or a hundred of them are liable to pounce upon our mess, knock right and left and take the very clothing off our backs. No one is safe from them. It is hoped that the more peaceable sort will rise in their might and put them down. Our misery is certainly complete without this trouble added to it. We should die in peace anyway. Battese has called his Indian friends all together, and probably a hundred of us are banded together for self protection. The animal predominates. All restraint is thrown off and the very Old Harry is to pay. The farther advanced the summer, the death rate increases, until they die off by scores. I walk around to see friends of a few days ago and am told “dead.” Men stand it nobly and are apparently ordinarily well, when all at once they go. Like a horse, that will stand up until he drops dead. Some of the most horrible sights that can possibly be, are common every day occurrances. See men laying all around in the last struggles.
June 28.—It seems to me as if three times as many as ever before are now going off, still I am told that about one hundred and thirty die per day. The reason it seems worse, is because no sick are being taken out now, and they all die here instead of at the hospital. Can see the dead wagon loaded up with twenty or thirty bodies at a time, two lengths, just like four foot wood is loaded on to a wagon at the North, and away they go to the grave yard on a trot. Perhaps one or two will fall off and get run over. No attention paid to that; they are picked up on the road back after more. Was ever before in this world anything so terrible happening? Many entirely naked.
June 29.—Capt. Wirtz sent inside a guard of fifteen or twenty to arrest and take out quite a number of prisoners. They had the names and would go right to their quarters and take them. Some tell-tale traitor has been informing on them, for attempting to escape or something. Wirtz punishes very hard now; so much worse than a few months ago. Has numerous instruments of torture just outside the gate. Sores afflict us now, and the Lord only knows what next. Scurvy and scurvy sores, dropsy, not the least thing to eat that can be called fit for any one, much less a sick man, water that to drink is poison, no shelter, and surrounded by raiders liable to cut our throats any time. Surely, this is a go. Have been reading over the diary, and find nothing but grumbling and growlings. Had best enumerate some of the better things of this life. I am able to walk around the prison, although quite lame. Have black pepper to put in our soups. Am as clean perhaps as any here, with good friends to talk cheerful to. Then, too, the raiders will let us alone until about the last, for some of them will get killed when they attack the “Astor House Mess.” Am probably as well off as any here who are not raiders, and I should be thankful, and am thankful. Will live probably two or three months yet. “If t’weren’t for hope the heart would break,” and I am hopeful yet. A Pennsylvanian of German descent, named Van Tassel, and who has “sorter identified himself with us” for two or three months, died a few moments ago. The worst cases of the sick are again taken to the hospital—that is, a few of the worst cases. Many prefer to die among their friends inside. Henry Clayton also died to-day. Was at one time in charge of our Division, and an old prisoner. Mike Hoare still hangs on nobly, as also do many other of my friends and acquaintances. Dorr Blakeman stands it unusually well. Have had no meat now for ten days; nothing but one-third of a loaf of corn bread and half a pint of cow peas for each man, each day. Wood is entirely gone, and occasionally squads allowed to go and get some under guard. Rowe went out to-day, was not able to carry much, and that had to be divided between a hundred men. One of the most annoying things is being squadded over every few days, sick and all. It’s an all day job, and have to stand out until we are all tired out, never getting any food on these days.
June 30.—A new prisoner fainted away on his entrance to Andersonville and is now crazy, a raving maniac. That is how our condition affected him. My pants are the worse for wear from repeated washings, my shirt sleeveless and feet stockingless; have a red cap without any front piece; shoes by some hocus-pocus are not mates, one considerable larger than the other. Wonder what they would think if I should suddenly appear on the streets in Jackson in this garb. Would be a circus; side show and all. But nights I have a grand old coverlid to keep off the wet. Raiders steal blankets and sell to the guards, which leaves all nearly destitute of that very necessary article. Often tell how I got my coverlid, to visitors. Have been peddling pea soup on the streets: “Ten cents in money or a dollar Confed for this rich soup! Who takes it?” And some wretch buys it. Anything in the way of food will sell, or water, if different from swamp water. Rebs making a pretense of fixing up sanitary privileges at the swamp, which amount to nothing. Strong talk of forming a police force to put down raiders and to enforce order. If successful it will prove of great benefit. Sanders, Rowe, Blakeman, Dakin and myself are among those who will take an active part, although the part I take cannot be very active. Half a dozen letters sent inside to prisoners, but no news in them that I can hear of. More hot and sultry, with occasional rains. The crazy man says nothing but “prayer” will save us. He has been sucking a bone now for about two weeks and pays more attention to that than to prayer.
July 1.—Matters must approach a crisis pretty soon with the raiders. It is said that even the rebels are scared and think they will have no prisoners, should an exchange ever occur. John Bowen, a Corp. Christency, Hemmingway, Byron Goodsell and Pete Smith, old acquaintances, have all died within a few days. Jimmy Devers still lives, with wonderful tenacity to life. To-morrow he will have been a prisoner of war a year. Mike Hoare still keeps very well, but the most comical looking genius in the whole prison. Could make a fortune out of him on exhibition at the North. He says I look worse however. That may be, but not so comical. It’s tragedy with the most of us. New guards are taking the place of the old ones, and it is said that Wirtz is going away. Hope so. Never have heard one word from Hendryx since his getting away. Sanders is trying to get outside as a butcher. He understands the business. “Dad” has been to Australia, and has told us all about that country. Have also heard all about Ireland and Scotland. Should judge they were fine countries. Rowe has been telling me of the advantage of silk under clothing, and in addition to visiting all the foreign countries, we shall have silk under wear. Rowe once lived in Boston, and I shall likewise go there.
July 2.—Almost the Glorious Fourth of July. How shall we celebrate? Know of no way except to pound on the bake tin, which I shall do. Have taken to rubbing my limbs, which are gradually becoming more dropsical. Badly swollen. One of my teeth came out a few days ago, and all are loose. Mouth very sore. Battese says: “We get away yet.” Works around and always busy. If any news, he merely listens and don’t say a word. Even he is in poor health, but never mentions it. An acquaintance of his says he owns a good farm in Minnesota. Asked him if he was married—says: “Oh, yes.” Any children? “Oh, yes.” This is as far as we have got his history. Is very different from Indians in general. Some of them here are despisable cowards—worse than the negro. Probably one hundred negroes are here. Not so tough as the whites. Dead line being fixed up by the rebels. Got down in some places. Bought a piece of soap, first I have seen in many months. Swamp now in frightful condition from the filth of camp. Vermin and raiders have the best of it. Capt. Moseby still leads the villains.
THE RAIDERS PUT DOWN.
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.