Wirz could count beyond one hundred, and this determined his selection for the place.  His first move was a stupid change.  We had been grouped in the natural way into hundreds and thousands.  He re-arranged the men in “squads” of ninety, and three of these—­two hundred and seventy men —­into a “detachment.”  The detachments were numbered in order from the North Gate, and the squads were numbered “one, two, three.”  On the rolls this was stated after the man’s name.  For instance, a chum of mine, and in the same squad with me, was Charles L. Soule, of the Third Michigan Infantry.  His name appeared on the rolls: 

“Chas. L. Soule, priv.  Co.  E, 8d Mich.  Inf., 1-2.”

That is, he belonged to the Second Squad of the First Detachment.

Where Wirz got his, preposterous idea of organization from has always been a mystery to me.  It was awkward in every way—­in drawing rations, counting, dividing into messes, etc.

Wirz was not long in giving us a taste of his quality.  The next morning after his first appearance he came in when roll-call was sounded, and ordered all the squads and detachments to form, and remain standing in ranks until all were counted.  Any soldier will say that there is no duty more annoying and difficult than standing still in ranks for any considerable length of time, especially when there is nothing to do or to engage the attention.  It took Wirz between two and three hours to count the whole camp, and by that time we of the first detachments were almost all out of ranks.  Thereupon Wirz announced that no rations would be issued to the camp that day.  The orders to stand in ranks were repeated the next morning, with a warning that a failure to obey would be punished as that of the previous day had been.  Though we were so hungry, that, to use the words of a Thirty-Fifth Pennsylvanian standing next to me—­his “big intestines were eating his little ones up,” it was impossible to keep the rank formation during the long hours.  One man after another straggled away, and again we lost our rations.  That afternoon we became desperate.  Plots were considered for a daring assault to force the gates or scale the stockade.  The men were crazy enough to attempt anything rather than sit down and patiently starve.  Many offered themselves as leaders in any attempt that it might be thought best to make.  The hopelessness of any such venture was apparent, even to famished men, and the propositions went no farther than inflammatory talk.

The third morning the orders were again repeated.  This time we succeeded in remaining in ranks in such a manner as to satisfy Wirz, and we were given our rations for that day, but those of the other days were permanently withheld.

That afternoon Wirz ventured into camp alone.  He vas assailed with a storm of curses and execrations, and a shower of clubs.  He pulled out his revolver, as if to fire upon his assailants.  A yell was raised to take his pistol away from him and a crowd rushed forward to do this.  Without waiting to fire a shot, he turned and ran to the gate for dear life.  He did not come in again for a long while, and never afterward without a retinue of guards.