Orleans County monitor. [volume] (Barton, Vt.) 1872-1953, 1900-04-02

"Andersonville, God help you;
Hunted by dogs, did you say?
HospitalI crazy, seven years, sir?
wonder you're living to-day"
At noon, Saturday, July 9th, the
train came to a stop. We alighted
from the cars more cheerfully than
we had done at any other time during
our long and tedious journey. While
we were being marched to Captain
VIRUS quarters, and after we got
there being counted off into thirties
and nineties preparatory to being as
signed to our detachment, we strained
our eyes to catch glimpses of the bar
racks and river the guard had told
us of; but none appeared in sight
then, or afterwards. In front of us,
a quarter of mile distant in a hollow,
two or three hundred feet lower than
we, was spread out the panorama of
the first Confederate military prison
ever seen or heard of. The picture
was an entirely new one. We stood
transixed, stupefied and bewildered
with amazement as we gazed at the
scene before and around us. A
stockade of logs fifteen feet high, sur
rounding twenty three and a half
acres, the inclosure filled with thirty
thousand men, moving to and fro like
auts in big ant hill; the black pitch
pine smoke of the thousands of lit
tie cooking fires, mingled with the
dust of the camp. the fog of the
sinks, hung like mantle over the
prison, through which the SUMS rays
streamed down upon the unprotected
heads of the men, the hum and roar
of whose voices came very plainly to
our ears, like the low murmur of the
sea waves. Beyond and on either side
was a dark, dense forest of hard pines
from whose tall, inbless trunks hung
a dark foliage of tree moss, as though
dressed in mourning for the cart loads
of the dead that were daily passing
from the camp to the burying ground.
Prancing around US like hen with
her head cut off, was that nervous,
irritable, Swedish Punch and Judy
jumping Jack, Captain Henry Wirz,
the commander of the interior of the
prison. At nearly every move he
made he uttered an oath. He left his
native country for the warmer climate
of the south; joined the rebel army,
was wounded at the battle of Seven
Pines, and lost all his property at the
capture of Vicksburg, for which he |
seemed anxious to wreak vengeance |
on every Yankee he met. He was
hung Nov. 10, 1865, and went to a still |
warmer climate. He cursed and |
cuffed the men about, if they didn't |
stand up straight and keep in line, |
and cursed them all the same if they /
did. In his belt he carried a formid
able looking, old fashioned revolver
with eight or ten barrels around a
cylinder which fired bullet from the |
center. With this he was frequently
known to strike men over the head,
and even shoot them down for little
or no offense.
Before they had us ready to enter
the pen, George Robbins of our squad,
who enlisted from Craftsbury, was SO
overcome with the heat that he was
taken to the hospital, where he died
Aug. Goth. At last a rebel sergeant
led the way, and we followed between
two lines of guards with loaded mus
kets and fixed bayonets. The outer
gate creaked on it's heavy iron hinges
and we passed into the ''ante- ROOM"
the outer gate closed and the massive
Jaws of the inner gate swung open,
and the little stream that had been
SO long to find its level
Joined the ocean of humanity inside.
The prisoners gathered in their rags
about the gate to recognize friend
Or acquaintance, or a comrade from
their own state. With matted and
hair, pitch-pine smoke
olackened faces, with skin drawn