The Potter journal. [volume] (Coudersport, Pa.) 1857-1872, 1864-07-13

Pm proud to say I'm from the North,
Where no one lacks for knowledge,
For every mile or two you 60,
| You'll find school or college.
They keep slave pens, and often sell
Their very blood and bone,
For crosses with the negro slave,
! There gentry never own.
They keep their slaves in ignorance,
They're never taught to read,
For knowledge and old slavery
Have never yet agreed.
They breed and sell the negro here,
| As Northern men would cattle,
The whittier they can get the skin,
The more Udtue in the chattle.
They buy our hats, caps, coats and rings
And trinkets we have wrought,
As keepsakes of those Yankee boys
They, in their battles caught.
The only way they have to live,
And save our precious lives,
Is to manufacture rings from bones,
And trade for cakes and pies.
If they should get to Heavens gate,
And find aH Union there,
They would secede at once to He'll,
And join their kindred there.
And now we've sung about the South,
And Of their doings there
Now let us step within the bars,
And learn the prisoners fare.
They give US rations twice each day,
Their coarsest negro's fare,
And this they think is generous,
Considering who we were.
Our morning rations are of bread,
The loaves are very small,
A little slice Of bacon,
From which the maggots fail
They take the liquor from this meat,
Stir in little rice,
And this we have for supper,
| Its favor very nice.
! Our rations here are always fresh,
| Because they have no salt,
| And if they hear man complain,
! He's told it's his own fault.
At night we sleep upon the floor,
We often lay in tiers,
| While body lice in whole battalions,
Charge upon our fronts and rears.
They turn US out while each day,
| Upon our prison hearth,
To pick the lice from off our clothes,
The maggotS from our teeth.
They keep bake house near our den,
To bake our daily bread,
You'd think some children had the dough,
To make some tom-cats heads.
The bakers take our flour and rice,
To make sweet cake and pie,
The half-starved Yanks think they must cal
| So to the bakers fly.
They give the prisoners scanty fare,
! To rob them of their money,
( They say our hungry boys must have,
| Some cakes as sweet as honey.
Our generous keeper says to us,
| Tells to US one and all,
I fear your daily rations
! May sometimes be too small.
| If any want more rations here,
To keep your souls alive,
Just step into my suffers shop,
And buy sweetmeats and pies.
If any lack the dime or scrip,
| Or think his fare is hard,
1 Just take him to the guard-house,
| Or "buck" him in the yard.
And now we've sung about our deh,
And how we live in there;
Now let us sing about our dead,
In ''Dixie's land so fair"
When any of the prisoners die,
No matter what their grades,
They get negro with his cart
To take him to the shades.
They'd get negro with his cart,
Drawn by stubborn mule
To show their height Of chivalry
If Southern power could rule.
The fifteenth of August, Carolina called,
And to the prisoners said,
Just jump aboard my cattle cars,
With some of my "nice bread"
Pm pledged to take you to your linesi
My pledges seldom fail,
You'll find my seats are rather hard,
But easier than my rail.
With bounding hearts we heard her through
Then through the gate did spring,
And when aboard her cattle cars,
We made the wekin ring.
In highest glee we started off,
No Joys our tongues could tell;
But instead of going to our lines,
Wewent to "1sland Belle"
Belle Island is sandy plain,
Without a tree or shade.