ARRIVAL AT THE WORST OF ALL PRISONS—BEGINNING OF A SUMMER THAT
KILLED THIRTEEN THOUSAND MEN—BAD WATER, BAD FOOD, AND MOST INHUMAN
TREATMENT—IN THE CLUTCHES OF WIRTZ AND HIS PICKED OUT REBEL
AIDS—THE TRUTH AND NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH—A SEASON OF INTENSE
SUFFERING.
CAMP SUMPTER, Andersonville, Ga., March 14.—Arrived at our
destination at last and a dismal hole it is, too. We got off the
cars at two o’clock this morning in a cold rain, and were marched
into our pen between a strong guard carrying lighted pitch pine
knots to prevent our crawling off in the dark. I could hardly walk
have been cramped up so long, and feel as if I was a hundred years
old. Have stood up ever since we came from the cars, and shivering
with the cold. The rain has wet us to the skin and we are worn out
and miserable. Nothing to eat to-day, and another dismal night just
setting in.
March 15.—At about midnight I could stand up no longer, and lay
down in the mud and water. Could hardly get up. Shall get food this
morning, and after eating shall feel better. There is a good deal
to write about here, but I must postpone it until some future time,
for I can hardly hold a pencil now. LATER: Have drawn some rations
which consisted of nearly a quart of corn-meal, half a pound of beef,
and some salt. This is splendid. I have just partaken of a delicious
repast and feel like a different person. Dr. Lewis is discouraged and
thinks he cannot live long in such a place as this.
March 16.—The prison is not yet entirely completed. One side is yet
open, and through the opening two pieces of artillery are pointed.
About 1800 Yankees are here now. Col. Piersons commands the prison,
and rides in and talks with the men. Is quite sociable, and says
we are all to be exchanged in a few weeks. He was informed that
such talk would not go down any longer. We had been fooled enough,
and paid no attention to what they told us. Our mess is gradually
settling down. Have picked out our ground, rolled some big logs
together, and are trying to make ourselves comfortable. I am in the
best of spirits, and will live with them for some time to come if
they will only give me one-quarter enough to eat, and they are doing
it now, and am in my glory. Weather cleared up, and very cold nights.
We put on all our clothes nights and take them off day-times. The men
do most of their sleeping through the day, and shiver through the
long nights.
March 17.—Get almost enough to eat, such as it is, but don’t get it
regularly; sometimes in the morning, and sometimes in the afternoon.
Six hundred more prisoners came last night, and from Belle Isle, Va.,
our old home. Andersonville is situated on two hillsides, with a
small stream of swampy water running through the center, and on both
sides of the stream is a piece of swamp with two or three acres in
it. We have plenty of wood now, but it will not last long. They will
undoubtedly furnish us with wood from the outside, when it is burned
up on the inside. A very unhealthy climate. A good many are being
poisoned by poisonous roots, and there is a thick green scum on the
water. All who drink freely are made sick, and their faces swell up
so they cannot see.
March 18.—There are about fifteen acres of ground enclosed in the
stockade and we have the freedom of the whole ground. Plenty of
room, but they are filling it up. Six hundred new men coming each
day from Richmond. Guards are perched upon top of the stockade; are
very strict, and to-day one man was shot for approaching too near
the wall. A little warm to-day. Found W. B. Rowe, from Jackson,
Mich.; he is well and talks encouraging. We have no shelter of
any kind whatever. Eighteen or twenty die per day. Cold and damp
nights. The dews wet things through completely, and by morning all
nearly chilled. Wood getting scarce. On the outside it is a regular
wilderness of pines. Railroad a mile off and can just see the cars as
they go by, which is the only sign of civilization in sight. Rebels
all the while at work making the prison stronger. Very poor meal, and
not so much to-day as formerly. My young friend Billy Havens was
sent to the hospital about the time we left Richmond. Shall be glad
to hear of his recovery. Prevailing conversation is food and exchange.
March 19.—A good deal of fighting going on among us. A large
number of sailors and marines are confined with us, and they are a
quarrelsome set. I have a very sore hand, caused by cutting a hole
through the car trying to get out. I have to write with my left hand.
It is going to be an awful place during the summer months here, and
thousands will die no doubt.
March 21.—Prison gradually filling up with forlorn looking creatures.
Wood is being burned up gradually. Have taken in my old acquaintance
and a member of my own company “A” 9th Mich. Cavalry, Wm. B. Rowe.
Sergt. Rowe is a tall, straight, dark complexioned man, about
thirty-five years old. He was captured while carrying dispatches
from Knoxville to Gen. Burnside. Has been a prisoner two or three
months, and was in Pemerton Building until sent here. He is a tough,
able-bodied man. Every day I find new Michigan men, some of them old
acquaintances.
March 23.—Stockade all up, and we are penned in. Our mess is out of
filthy lucre—otherwise, busted. Sold my overcoat to a guard, and for
luxuries we are eating that up. My blanket keeps us all warm. There
are two more in our mess. Daytimes the large spread is stretched
three or four feet high on four sticks, and keeps off the sun, and at
night taken down for a cover.
March 24.—Digging a tunnel to get out of this place. Prison getting
filthy. Prisoners somewhat to blame for it. Good many dying, and they
are those who take no care of themselves, drink poor water, etc.
March 25.—Lieut. Piersons is no longer in command of the prison,
but instead a Capt. Wirtz. Came inside to-day and looked us over.
Is not a very prepossessing looking chap. Is about thirty-five or
forty years old, rather tall, and a little stoop shouldered; skin
has a pale, white livered look, with thin lips. Has a sneering sort
of cast of countenance. Makes a fellow feel as if he would like
to go up and boot him. Should judge he was a Swede, or some such
countryman. Hendryx thinks he could make it warm for him in short
order if he only had a chance. Wirtz wears considerable jewelry on
his person—long watch chain, something that looks like a diamond
for a pin in his shirt, and wears patent leather boots or shoes. I
asked him if he didn’t think we would be exchanged soon. He said: Oh,
yes, we would be exchanged soon. Somehow or other this assurance
don’t elate us much; perhaps it was his manner when saying it.
Andersonville is getting to be a rather bad place as it grows warmer.
Several sick with fevers and sores.
March 26.—Well, well, my birthday came six days ago, and how old do
you think I am? Let me see. Appearances would seem to indicate that I
am thirty or thereabouts, but as I was born on the 20th day of March,
1843, I must now be just twenty-one years of age, this being the year
1864. Of age and six days over. I thought that when a man became of
age, he generally became free and his own master as well. If this
ain’t a burlesque on that old time-honored custom, then carry me
out—but not feet foremost.
March 27.—We have issued to us once each day about a pint of beans,
or more properly peas, (full of bugs), and three-quarters of a pint
of meal, and nearly every day a piece of bacon the size of your two
fingers, probably about three or four ounces. This is very good
rations taken in comparison to what I have received before. The pine
which we use in cooking is pitch pine, and a black smoke arises from
it; consequently we are black as negroes. Prison gradually filling
from day to day, and situation rather more unhealthy. Occasionally a
squad comes in who have been lately captured, and they tell of our
battles, sometimes victorious and sometimes otherwise. Sometimes we
are hopeful and sometimes the reverse. Take all the exercise we can,
drink no water, and try to get along. It is a sad sight to see the
men die so fast. New prisoners die the quickest and are buried in the
near vicinity, we are told in trenches without coffins. Sometimes we
have visitors of citizens and women who come to look at us. There is
sympathy in some of their faces and in some a lack of it. A dead line
composed of slats of boards runs around on the inside of the wall,
about twelve or fourteen feet from the wall, and we are not allowed
to go near it on pain of being shot by the guard.
March 28.—We are squadded over to-day, and rations about to come in.
It’s a sickly dirty place. Seems as if the sun was not over a mile
high, and has a particular grudge against us. Wirtz comes inside and
has began to be very insolent. Is constantly watching for tunnels.
He is a brute. We call him the “Flying Dutchman.” Came across Sergt.
Bullock, of my regiment, whom I last saw on Belle Isle. From a fat,
chubby young fellow, he is a perfect wreck. Lost his voice and can
hardly speak aloud; nothing but skin and bone, and black and ragged.
Never saw such a change in a human being. Cannot possibly live, I
don’t think; still he is plucky and hates to die. Goes all around
enquiring for news, and the least thing encouraging cheers him up.
Capt. Moseby, of the raiders, is in the same squad with me. He is
quite an intelligent fellow and often talks with us. We lend him our
boiling cup which he returns with thanks. Better to keep on the right
side of him, if we can without countenancing his murderous operations.
March 29.—Raiders getting more bold as the situation grows worse.
Often rob a man now of all he has, in public, making no attempt at
concealment. In sticking up for the weaker party, our mess gets into
trouble nearly every day, and particularly Hendryx, who will fight
any time.
March 30.—The gate opens every little while letting some poor victims
into this terrible place, which is already much worse than Belle
Isle. Seems as if our government is at fault in not providing some
way to get us out of here. The hot weather months must kill us all
outright. Feel myself at times sick and feverish with no strength
seemingly. Dr. Lewis worries, worries, all the day long, and it’s
all we can do to keep him from giving up entirely. Sergt. Rowe takes
things as they come in dogged silence. Looks like a caged lion.
Hendryx sputters around, scolding away, &c.
April 1.—This is an April Fool sure. Saw a fellow to-day from our
regiment, named Casey. Says I was reported dead at the regiment,
which is cheerful. Perhaps it is just as well though, for them to
anticipate the event a few months. It is said that Wirtz shot some
one this morning. Often hear the guards shoot and hear of men being
killed. Am not ambitious to go near them. Have completely lost my
desire to be on the outside working for extra rations. Prefer to
stick it out where I am than to have anything to do with them. They
are an ungodly crew, and should have the warmest corner in that place
we sometimes hear mentioned.
April 2—James Robins, an Indiana soldier, is in our close proximity.
Was wounded and taken prisoner not long since. Wound, which is in the
thigh, is in a terrible condition, and gangrene setting in. Although
he was carried to the gate to-day, was refused admission to the
hospital or medical attendance. Rebels say they have no medicine for
us. Robins has been telling me about himself and family at home, and
his case is only one of a great many good substantial men of families
who must die in Southern prisons, as victims to mismanagement. The
poorer the Confederacy, and the meaner they are, the more need
that our government should get us away from here, and not put
objectionable men at the head of exchange to prevent our being sent
home or back to our commands.
April 3—We have stopped wondering at suffering or being surprised at
anything. Can’t do the subject justice and so don’t try. Walk around
camp every morning looking for acquaintances, the sick, &c. Can see a
dozen most any morning laying around dead. A great many are terribly
afflicted with diarrhea and scurvy begins to take hold of some.
Scurvy is a bad disease, and taken in connection with the former is
sure death. Some have dropsy as well as scurvy, and the swollen limbs
and body are sad to see. To think that these victims have people at
home, mothers, wives and sisters, who are thinking of them and would
do much for them if they had the chance, little dreaming of their
condition.
April 4.—Same old story—coming in and being carried out; all have a
feeling of lassitude which prevents much exertion. Have been digging
in a tunnel for a day or two with a dozen others who are in the
secret. It’s hard work. A number of tunnels have been discovered. The
water now is very warm and sickening.
April 5.—Dr. Lewis talks about nothing except his family. Is the
bluest mortal here, and worries himself sick, let alone causes
sufficient for that purpose. Is poorly adapted for hardships. For
reading we have the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” donated to me by some one
when on Belle Isle. Guess I can repeat nearly all the book by heart.
Make new acquaintances every day. “Scotty,” a marine, just now is
edifying our mess with his salt water yarns, and they are tough ones.
I tell him he may die here; still he declares they are true.
April 6—John Smith is here and numerous of his family. So many
go by nick-names, that seldom any go by their real names. Its
“Minnesota,” “Big Charlie,” “Little Jim,” “Marine Jack,” “Indiana
Feller,” “Mopey,” “Skinny,” “Smarty,” &c. Hendryx is known by the
latter name, Sanders is called “Dad,” Rowe is called the “Michigan
Sergeant,” Lewis is called plain “Doc.” while I am called, for some
unknown reason, “Bugler.” I have heard it said that I looked just
like a Dutch bugler, and perhaps that is the reason of my cognomen.
Probably thirty die per day. The slightest news about exchange is
told from one to the other, and gains every time repeated, until
finally its grand good news and sure exchange immediately. The weak
ones feed upon these reports and struggle along from day to day. One
hour they are all hope and expectation and the next hour as bad the
other way. The worst looking scallawags perched upon the stockade as
guards, from boys just large enough to handle a gun, to old men who
ought to have been dead years ago for the good of their country. Some
prisoners nearly naked, the majority in rags and daily becoming more
destitute. My clothes are good and kept clean, health fair although
very poor in flesh. Man killed at the dead line.
April 7.—Capt. Wirtz prowls around the stockade with a rebel escort
of guards, looking for tunnels. Is very suspicious of amateur wells
which some have dug for water. It is useless to speak to him about
our condition, as he will give us no satisfaction whatever. Says it
is good enough for us —— yankees. I am deputized by half a dozen or
so to speak to him as to the probabilities of a change, and whether
we may not reasonably expect to be exchanged without passing the
summer here. In his position he must know something in relation
to our future. At the first favorable moment shall approach his
highness. Prison is all the time being made stronger, more guards
coming and artillery looking at us rather unpleasantly from many
directions. Think it impossible for any to get away here, so far
from our lines. The men too are not able to withstand the hardships
attendant upon an escape, still fully one-half of all here are
constantly on the alert for chances to get away. Foremost in all
schemes for freedom is Hendryx, and we are engaging in a new tunnel
enterprise. The yankee is a curious animal, never quiet until dead.
There are some here who pray and try to preach. Very many too who
have heretofore been religiously inclined, throw off all restraint
and are about the worst. Tried and found wanting it seems to me.
Those who find the least fault, make the best of things as they come
and grin and bear it, get along the best. Weather getting warmer,
water warmer and nastier, food worse and less in quantities, and more
prisoners coming nearly every day.
April 8.—We are digging with an old fire shovel at our tunnel. The
shovel is a prize; we also use half of canteens, pieces of boards,
&c. Its laborious work. A dozen are engaged in it. Like going into
a grave to go into a tunnel. Soil light and liable to cave in.
Take turns in digging. Waste dirt carried to the stream in small
quantities and thrown in. Not much faith in the enterprise, but
work with the rest as a sort of duty. Raiders acting fearful. Was
boiling my cup of meal to-day and one of the raiders ran against it
and over it went. Give him a whack side of the head that made him
see stars I should judge, and in return he made me see the whole
heavens. Battese, a big Indian, rather helped me out of the scrape.
All of our mess came to my rescue. Came near being a big fight with
dozens engaged. Battese is a large full blooded six foot Minnesota
Indian, has quarters near us, and is a noble fellow. He and other
Indians have been in our hundred for some weeks. They are quiet,
attend to their own business, and won’t stand much nonsense. Great
deal of fighting. One Duffy, a New York rough, claims the light
weight championship of Andersonville. Regular battles quite often.
Remarkable how men will stand up and be pummeled. Dr. Lewis daily
getting worse off. Is troubled with scurvy and dropsy. If he was at
home would be considered dangerously ill and in bed, but he walks
around slowly inquiring for news in a pitiful way. I have probably
fifty acquaintances here that visit us each day to talk the situation
over. Jimmy Devers, my Michigan friend whom I found on Belle Isle,
Sergt. Bullock, of my regiment; Tom McGill, also of Michigan;
Michael Hoare, a schoolmate of mine from earliest recollection, Dorr
Blakeman, also a resident of Jackson, Michigan, a little fellow
named Swan, who lived in Ypsylanti, Mich.; Burckhardt from near
Lansing; Hub Dakin, from Dansville, Mich., and many others, meet
often to compare notes, and we have many a hearty laugh in the midst
of misery. I dicker and trade and often make an extra ration. We
sometimes draw small cow peas for rations, and being a printer by
trade, I spread the peas out on a blanket and quickly pick them up
one at a time, after the manner of picking up type. One drawback is
the practice of unconsciously putting the beans into my mouth. In
this way I often eat up the whole printing office. I have trials of
skill with a fellow named Land, who is also a printer. There are no
other typos here that I know of.
April 9.—See here Mr. Confederacy, this is going a little too far.
You have no business to kill us off at this rate. About thirty or
forty die daily. They have rigged up an excuse for a hospital on the
outside, where the sick are taken. Admit none though who can walk
or help themselves in any way. Some of our men are detailed to help
as nurses, but in a majority of cases those who go out on parole of
honor are cut-throats and robbers, who abuse a sick prisoner. Still,
there are exceptions to this rule. We hear stories of Capt. Wirtz’s
cruelty in punishing the men, but I hardly credit all the stories.
More prisoners to-day. Some captured near Petersburg. Don’t know
anything about exchange. Scurvy and dropsy taking hold of the men.
Many are blind as soon as it becomes night, and it is called moon
blind. Caused, I suppose, by sleeping with the moon shining in the
face. Talked with Michael Hoare, an old school fellow of mine. Mike
was captured while we were in Pemerton Building, and was one of
Dahlgreen’s men. Was taken right in the suburbs of Richmond. Has told
me all the news of their failure on account of Kilpatrick failing to
make a junction at some point. Mike is a great tall, slim fellow, and
a good one. Said he heard my name called out in Richmond as having a
box of eatables from the North. He also saw a man named Shaw claim
the box with a written order from me, Shaw was one of our mess on
Belle Isle. He was sent to Richmond while sick, from the island, knew
of my expecting the box, and forged an order to get it. Well, that
was rough, still I probably wouldn’t have got it any way. Better him
than some rebel. Mike gave me a lot of black pepper which we put into
our soup, which is a luxury. He has no end of talk at his tongue’s
end, and it is good to hear. Recounts how once when I was about eight
or ten years old and he some older, I threw a base ball club and hit
him on the shins. Then ran and he couldn’t catch me. It was when we
were both going to school to A. A. Henderson, in Jackson, Mich. Think
I remember the incident, and am strongly under the impression that he
caught me. It is thus that old friends meet after many years. John
McGuire is also here, another Jackson man. He has a family at home
and is worried. Says he used to frequently see my brother George at
Hilton Head, before being captured.
April 10.—Getting warmer and warmer. Can see the trees swaying back
and forth on the outside, but inside not a breath of fresh air. Our
wood is all gone, and we are now digging up stumps and roots for
fuel to cook with. Some of the first prisoners here have passable
huts made of logs, sticks, pieces of blankets, &c. Room about all
taken up in here now. Rations not so large. Talk that they intend to
make the meal into bread before sending it inside, which will be an
improvement. Rations have settled down to less than a pint of meal
per day, with occasionally a few peas, or an apology for a piece
of bacon, for each man. Should judge that they have hounds on the
outside to catch runaways, from the noise. Wirtz don’t come in as
much as formerly. The men make it uncomfortable for him. As Jimmy
Devers says, “He is a terror.” I have omitted to mention Jimmy’s name
of late, although he is with us all the time—not in our mess, but
close by. He has an old pack of cards with which we play to pass away
the time. Many of the men have testaments, and “house-wives” which
they have brought with them from home, and it is pitiful to see them
look at these things while thinking of their loved ones at home.
April 11.—Dr. Lewis is very bad off with the scurvy and diarrhea. We
don’t think he can stand it much longer, but make out to him that he
will stick it through. Our government must hear of our condition here
and get us away before long. If they don’t, its a poor government
to tie to. Hendryx and myself are poor, as also are all the mess.
Still in good health compared with the generality of the prisoners.
Jimmy Devers has evidently sort of dried up, and it don’t seem to
make any difference whether he gets anything to eat or not. He has
now been a prisoner of war nearly a year, and is in good health and
very hopeful of getting away in time. Sticks up for our government
and says there is some good reason for our continued imprisonment. I
can see none. As many as 12,000 men here now, and crowded for room.
Death rate is in the neighborhood of eighty per day. Hendryx prowls
around all over the prison, bringing us what good news he can, which
is not much. A very heavy dew nights, which is almost a rain. Rebels
very domineering. Many are tunneling to get out. Our tunnel has been
abandoned, as the location was not practicable. Yank shot to-day near
our quarters. Approached too near the dead line. Many of the men
have dug down through the sand and reached water, but it is poor; no
better than out of the creek.
April 12.—Another beautiful but warm day with no news. Insects of all
descriptions making their appearance, such as lizards, a worm four or
five inches long, fleas, maggots &c. There is so much filth about the
camp that it is terrible trying to live here. New prisoners are made
sick the first hours of their arrival by the stench which pervades
the prison. Old prisoners do not mind it so much, having become used
to it. No visitors come near us any more. Everybody sick, almost,
with scurvy—an awful disease. New cases every day. I am afraid some
contagious disease will get among us, and if so every man will die.
My blanket a perfect God-send. Is large and furnishes shelter from
the burning sun. Hendryx has a very sore arm which troubles him much.
Even he begins to look and feel bad. James Gordan, or Gordenian, (I
don’t know which) was killed to-day by the guard. In crossing the
creek on a small board crossway men are often shot. It runs very
near the dead line, and guards take the occasion to shoot parties
who put their hands on the dead line in going across. Some also
reach up under the dead line to get purer water, and are shot. Men
seemingly reckless of their lives. New prisoners coming in and are
shocked at the sights.
April 13.—Jack Shannon, from Ann Arbor, died this morning. The
raiders are the stronger party now, and do as they please; and we are
in nearly as much danger now from our own men as from the rebels.
Capt. Moseby, of my own hundred, figures conspicuously among the
robberies, and is a terrible villain. During the night some one stole
my jacket. Have traded off all superfluous clothes, and with the loss
of jacket have only pants, shirt, shoes, (no stockings,) and hat; yet
I am well dressed in comparison with some others. Many have nothing
but an old pair of pants which reach, perhaps, to the knees, and
perhaps not. Hendryx has two shirts, and should be mobbed. I do quite
a business trading rations, making soup for the sick ones, taking in
payment their raw food which they cannot eat. Get many a little snack
by so doing.
April 14.—At least twenty fights among our own men this forenoon. It
beats all what a snarling crowd we are getting to be. The men are
perfectly reckless, and had just as soon have their necks broken by
fighting as anything else. New onions in camp. Very small, and sell
for $2 a bunch of four or five. Van Tassel, a Pennsylvanian, is about
to die. Many give me parting injunctions relative to their families,
in case I should live through. Have half a dozen photographs of dead
men’s wives, with addresses on the back of them. Seems to be pretty
generally conceded that if any get through, I will. Not a man here
now is in good health. An utter impossibility to remain well. Signs
of scurvy about my person. Still adhere to our sanitary rules. Lewis
anxious to get to the hospital. Will die any way shortly, whether
there or here. Jimmy Devers, the old prisoner, coming down. Those who
have stood it bravely begin to weaken.
April 15.—The hospital is a tough place to be in, from all accounts.
The detailed Yankees as soon as they get a little authority are
certain to use it for all it is worth. In some cases before a man is
fairly dead, he is stripped of everything, coat, pants, shirt, finger
rings (if he has any), and everything of value taken away. These
the nurses trade to the guards. Does not seem possible but such is
the case, sad to relate. Not very pleasant for a man just breathing
his last, and perhaps thinking of loved ones at home who are all
so unconscious of the condition of their soldier father or brother,
to be suddenly jerked about and fought over, with the cursing and
blaspheming he is apt to hear. The sick now, or a portion of them,
are huddled up in one corner of the prison, to get as bad as they can
before being admitted to the outside hospital. Every day I visit it,
and come away sick at heart that human beings should be thus treated.
April 26.—Ten days since I wrote in my diary, and in those ten days
was too much occupied in trying to dig a tunnel to escape out of,
to write any. On the 21st the tunnel was opened and two fellows
belonging to a Massachusetts regiment escaped to the outside. Hendryx
and myself next went out. The night was very dark. Came up out of
the ground away on the outside of the guard. We crawled along to
gain the woods, and get by some pickets, and when forty or fifty
rods from the stockade, a shot was fired at some one coming out of
the hole. We immediately jumped up and ran for dear life, seemingly
making more noise than a troop of cavalry. It was almost daylight and
away we went. Found I could not run far and we slowed up, knowing we
would be caught, but hoping to get to some house and get something
to eat first. Found I was all broke up for any exertion. In an hour
we had traveled perhaps three miles, were all covered with mud, and
scratched up. I had fell, too, in getting over some logs, and it
seemed to me broken all the ribs in my body. Just as it was coming
light in the east we heard dogs after us. We expected it, and so
armed ourselves with clubs and sat down on a log. In a few moments
the hounds came up with us and began smelling of us. Pretty soon
five mounted rebels arrived on the scene of action. They laughed to
think we expected to get away. Started us back towards our charnel
pen. Dogs did not offer to bite us, but guards told us that if we had
offered resistance or started to run they would have torn us. Arrived
at the prison and after waiting an hour Capt. Wirtz interviewed
us. After cussing us a few minutes we were put in the chain gang,
where we remained two days. This was not very fine, but contrary
to expectation not so bad after all. We had more to eat than when
inside, and we had shade to lay in, and although my ancles were made
very sore, do not regret my escapade. Am not permanently hurt any. We
had quite an allowance of bacon while out, and some spring water to
drink. Also from the surgeon I got some elder berries to steep into a
tea to drink for scurvy, which is beginning to take hold of me. Lewis
is sick and can hardly walk around. His days are few. Have taken
another into our mess, named Swan, from Ypsilanti, Michigan. Is a
fresh looking boy for this place and looks like a girl.
April 27.—Well, I was out from under rebel guard for an hour or so
any way. Hurt my side though, and caught a little cold. Am sore
somewhat. Have given up the idea of escaping. Think if Hendryx had
been alone he would have gotten away. Is tougher than I am. A man
caught stealing from one of his comrades and stabbed with a knife
and killed. To show how little such things are noticed here I will
give the particulars as near as I could get them. There were five
or six men stopping together in a sort of shanty. Two of them were
speculators, and had some money, corn bread, &c., and would not
divide with their comrades, who belonged to their own company and
regiment. Some time in the night one of them got up and was stealing
bread from a haversack belonging to his more prosperous neighbor,
and during the operation woke up the owner, who seized a knife and
stabbed the poor fellow dead. The one who did the murder spoke out
and said: “Harry, I believe Bill is dead; he was just stealing from
me and I run my knife into him.” “Good enough for him,” says Harry.
The two men then got up and straightened out “Bill,” and then both
lay down and went to sleep. An occupant of the hut told me these
particulars and they are true. This morning poor Bill lay in the
hut until eight or nine o’clock, and was then carried outside. The
man who did the killing made no secret of it, but told it to all
who wanted to know the particulars, who were only a few, as the
occurrence was not an unusual one.
April 28.—Dr. Lewis is still getting worse with scurvy and dropsy
combined. Limbs swollen to double their usual size—just like
puff-balls. Raiders do about as they please, and their crimes would
fill more paper than I have at my disposal.
April 30.—Very small rations given to us now. Not more than
one-quarter what we want to eat and that of the poorest quality.
Splendid weather, but too warm; occasional rains. The Flying Dutchman
(Wirtz) offers to give any two at a time twelve hours the start, and
if caught to take the punishment he has for runaways. The offer is
made to intimidate those thinking to escape. Half the men would take
the consequences with two hours start.
May 1.—Warm. Samuel Hutton, of the 9th Mich. Cavalry, died last
night; also Peter Christiancy and Joseph Sargent, of Co. D, 9th
Mich., have died within a few weeks. Last evening 700 of the 85th
New York arrived here. They were taken at Plymouth, N.C., with 1,400
others, making 2,100 in all. The balance are on the road to this
place. Wrote a letter home to-day. Have not heard from the North for
over six months. Dying off very fast.
May 2.—A crazy man was shot dead by the guard an hour ago. The guard
dropped a piece of bread on the inside of the stockade, and the
fellow went inside the dead line to get it and was killed. The bread
wagon was raided upon as soon as it drove inside to-day and all the
bread stolen, for which offense no more will be issued to-day. As I
write Wirtz is walking about the prison revolver in hand, cursing and
swearing. The men yell out “Hang him up!” “Kill the Dutch louse!”
“Buck and gag him!” “Stone him to death!” &c., and he all the time
trying to find out who it is insulting him so. “I vish I find out who
calls me such insulting vords, I kill the dam Yankee as soon I eat my
supper!” And every few minutes a handful of dirt is thrown by some
one. Wreaks his vengeance by keeping back rations from the whole camp.
May 3.—A rebel battery came to-day on the cars, and is being posted
around the stockade. Ever since my introduction to Andersonville they
have been constantly at work making their prison stronger, until now
I believe it is impossible for a person to get away. Notwithstanding,
there are men all the time at work in divers ways. Rebel officers now
say that we are not going to be exchanged during the war, and as they
can hold us now and no fear of escape, they had just as soon tell us
the truth as not, and we must take things just as they see fit to
give them to us. Tom McGill is well and hearty, and as black as any
negro. Over 19,000 confined here now, and the death rate ninety or
one hundred.
May 4.—Good weather. Gen. Howell Cobb and staff came among us to-day,
and inspected the prison. Wirtz accompanied them pointing out and
explaining matters. Gen. Winder, who has charge of all the prisoners
of war in the South, is here, but has not been inside. Gen. Cobb is a
very large and pompous looking man. None of the men dare address his
highness. Three men out of every hundred allowed to go out after wood
under a strong guard.
May 5.—Cold nights and warm days. Very unhealthy, such extremes.
Small-pox cases carried out, and much alarm felt lest it should
spread.
May 6.—Six months a prisoner to-day. Longer than any six years of
my previous life. It is wonderful how well I stand the hardships
here. At home I was not very robust, in fact had a tendency to poor
health; but there are not many in prison that stand it as well as I
do. There are about eighty-five or ninety dying now per day, as near
as I can find out. Of course there are stories to the effect that a
hundred and fifty and two hundred die each day, but such is not the
case. Have a code of reasoning that is pretty correct. Often wonder
if I shall get home again, and come to the conclusion that I shall.
My hopeful disposition does more for me than anything else. Sanders
trades and dickers around and makes extra eatables for our mess.
There is not a hog in the mess. Nearly every day some one is killed
for some trifling offense, by the guards. Rather better food to-day
than usual.
May 7.—A squad of Yankees taken outside to-day on parole of honor,
for the purpose of baking meal into bread. George Hendryx is one of
the number, and he will have enough to eat after this, which I am
glad of. I could have gotten outside if I so chose, but curious to
write down I don’t want to go. George says he will try and send in
something for us to eat, and I know he will, for a truer hearted
fellow never lived.
May 8.—Awful warm and more sickly. About 3,500 have died since I came
here, which is a good many, come to think of it—cooked rations of
bread to-day. We get a quarter of a loaf of bread, weighing about six
ounces, and four or five ounces of pork. These are small allowances,
but being cooked it is better for us. Rebels are making promises of
feeding us better, which we hope they will keep. There is nothing
the matter with me now but lack of food. The scurvy symptoms which
appeared a few weeks ago have all gone.
May 9.—Many rebels riding about camp on horseback. I listened to an
animated conversation between an officer and two of our men. Mr.
Rebel got talked all to pieces and hushed up entirely. He took it
good naturedly, however, and for a wonder did not swear and curse
us. It is a great treat to see a decent rebel. Am lonesome since
Hendryx went outside. Men are continually going up to the dead line
and getting shot. They do not get much sympathy, as they should know
better.
May 10.—Capt. Wirtz very domineering and abusive. Is afraid to come
into camp any more. There are a thousand men in here who would
willingly die if they could kill him first. Certainly the worst man
I ever saw. New prisoners coming in every day with good clothes,
blankets, &c., and occasionally with considerable money. These are
victims for the raiders who pitch into them for plunder. Very
serious fights occur. Occasionally a party of new comers stick
together and whip the raiders, who afterward rally their forces and
the affair ends with the robbers victorious. Stones, clubs, knives,
sling shots, &c., are used on these occasions, and sometimes the camp
gets so stirred up that the rebels, thinking a break is intended,
fire into the crowds gathered, and many are killed before quiet is
again restored. Then Wirtz writes out an order and sends inside,
telling he is prepared for any break, etc., etc. No less than five
have died within a radius of thirty feet in the last twenty-four
hours. Hendryx has a sore arm and in turning over last night I hurt
it. He pitched in to me while I was in a sound sleep to pay me for
it. Woke up in short order and we had it, rough and tumble. Tore
down the tent poles—rolled around—scaring Lewis and all the rest. I
am the stoutest, and soon get on top and hold him down, and keep him
there until he quiets down, which is always in about five minutes.
We have squabbles of this sort often, which don’t do any particular
harm. Always laugh, shake and make up afterwards. The “Astor House
Mess,” or the heads rather, have gently requested that we do our
fighting by daylight, and Sanders very forcibly remarked that should
another scene occur as happened last night, he will take a hand in
the business and lick us both. Battese laughed, for about the first
time this summer. He has taken quite a shine to both Hendryx and
myself. In the fore part of to-day’s entry I should have stated that
Hendryx has been sent inside, they not being quite ready for him at
the cook-house. He is a baker by trade.
May 11.—Rainy weather and cold nights. Men shiver and cry all
night—groan and “holler.” I lay awake sometimes for hours, listening
to the guards yell out “Post number one; ten o’clock and all’s well!”
And then Post No. 2 takes up the refrain, and it goes all around the
camp, every one with a different sounding voice, squeaky, coarse, and
all sorts. Some of them drawl out “H-e-r-e-’s y-e-r m-u-l-e!” and
such like changes, instead of “All’s well.” Rumors of hard fighting
about Richmond, and the rebels getting whipped, which of course they
deny.
May 12.—Received a few lines from George Hendryx, who again went
out to work on the outside last night. Wirtz with a squad of guards
is about the camp looking for tunnels. Patrols also looking among
the prisoners for deserters. A lame man, for telling of a tunnel,
was pounded almost to death last night, and this morning they were
chasing him to administer more punishment, when he ran inside the
dead line claiming protection of the guard. The guard didn’t protect
worth a cent, but shot him through the head. A general hurrahing took
place, as the rebel had only saved our men the trouble of killing
him. More rumors of hard fighting about Richmond. Grant getting the
best of it I reckon. Richmond surrounded and rebels evacuating the
place. These are the rumors. Guards deny it.
May 13.—Rainy morning. We are guarded by an Alabama regiment, who
are about to leave for the front. Georgia militia to take their
places. Making preparations for a grand pic-nic outside, given by the
citizens of the vicinity to the troops about to leave. I must here
tell a funny affair that has happened to me, which, although funny
is very annoying. Two or three days before I was captured I bought a
pair of cavalry boots of a teamster named Carpenter. The boots were
too small for him and just fitted me. Promised to pay him on “pay
day,” we not having been paid off in some time. We were both taken
prisoners and have been in the same hundred ever since. Has dunned
me now about 1,850 times, and has always been mad at not getting his
pay. Sold the boots shortly after being captured and gave him half
the receipts, and since that have paid him in rations and money as
I could get it, until about sixty cents remain unpaid, and that sum
is a sticker. He is my evil genius, and fairly haunts the life out
of me. Whatever I may get trusted for in after life, it shall never
be for a pair of boots. Carpenter is now sick with scurvy, and I am
beginning to get the same disease hold of me again. Battese cut my
hair which was about a foot long. Gay old cut. Many have long hair,
which, being never combed, is matted together and full of vermin.
With sunken eyes, blackened countenances from pitch pine smoke, rags
and disease, the men look sickening. The air reeks with nastiness,
and it is wonder that we live at all. When will relief come to us?
May 14.—A band of music came from Macon yesterday to attend the
pic-nic. A large crowd of women were present to grace the occasion.
The grounds on which the festivities were held lay a mile off and in
sight of all. In the evening a Bowery dance was one of the pleasures
enjoyed. “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” was about all they could play,
and that very poorly.
May 15.—Sabbath day and hot. Would give anything for some shade
to lay in. Even this luxury is denied us, and we are obliged to
crawl around more dead than alive. Rumors that Sherman is marching
towards Atlanta, and that place threatened. Kilpatrick said to be
moving toward us for the purpose of effecting our release. Hope he
will be more successful than in his attack on Richmond. Rebels have
dug a deep ditch all around on the outside of the wall to prevent
tunneling, and a guard walks in the bottom of the ditch. Banghart, of
my Regiment, died to-day.
May 16.—Two men got away during the night and were brought back
before noon. (Was going to say before dinner.) The men are torn by
the dogs, and one of them full of buck shot. A funny way of escape
has just been discovered by Wirtz. A man pretends to be dead and is
carried out on a stretcher and left with the row of dead. As soon as
it gets dark, Mr. Dead-man jumps up and runs. Wirtz suspecting the
trick took to watching, and discovered a “dead man” running away. An
examination now takes place by the surgeon before being permitted out
from under guard. I hear a number of men have gotten away by this
method, and it seems very probable, as dead men are so plenty that
not much attention is paid to them.
May 17.—Had a funny dream last night. Thought the rebels were so
hard up for mules that they hitched up a couple of grayback lice to
draw in the bread. Wirtz is watching out for Yankee tricks. Some one
told him the other day that the Yankees were making a large balloon
inside and some day would all rise up in the air and escape. He flew
around as if mad, but could find no signs of a balloon. Says there is
no telling what “te tam Yankee will do.” Some prisoners came to-day
who were captured at Dalton, and report the place in our possession,
and the rebels driven six miles this side. Kilpatrick and Stoneman
are both with Sherman and there are expectations of starting out on
some mission soon, supposed to be for this place. Nineteen thousand
confined here now and dying at the rate of ninety per day. Philo
Lewis, of the 5th Michigan Cav., can live but a day or two. Talks
continually of his wife and family in Ypsilanti, Mich. Has pictures
of the whole family, which he has given me to take home to them,
also a long letter addressed to his wife and children. Mr. Lewis
used to be a teacher of singing in Ypsilanti. He is a fine looking
man naturally, and a smart man, but he must go the way of thousands
of others, and perhaps myself. One of his pupils is here confined.
Philo Lewis must not be confounded with F. L. Lewis, the member of
our mess. The latter, however, cannot live but a short time unless
relief comes. Fine weather but very warm. The sandy soil fairly alive
with vermin. If this place is so bad at this time of the year, what
must it be in July, August and September? Every man will die, in my
estimation, but perhaps we may be relieved before then. We’ll try and
think so anyway. New prisoners die off the fastest.
May 18.—We have some good singers in camp, and strange as it may
seem, a good deal of singing is indulged in. There are some men that
are happy as long as they can breathe, and such men smoothe over many
rough places here. God bless a man who can sing in this place. A
priest comes inside praying and chanting. A good man to come to such
a place. Performs his duty the same to small-pox patients as to any
other. Shall try and find out his name. Some of the wells dug by the
Yanks furnish passable water, an improvement anyway on swamp water.
Well water in great demand and sells readily for such trinkets as the
men have to dispose of. Rebels building forts on the outside. Rebel
officers inside trying to induce shoemakers, foundrymen, carpenters
and wood choppers, to go out and work for the Confederacy. A very
few accepted the offer. Well, life is sweet, and can hardly blame
men for accepting the offer; still, I don’t want to go, neither do
ninety-nine out of every hundred. The soldiers here are loyal to the
cause.
May 19.—Nearly twenty thousand men confined here now. New ones
coming every day. Rations _very_ small and _very_ poor. The meal
that the bread is made out of is ground, seemingly, cob and all, and
it scourges the men fearfully. Things getting continually worse.
Hundreds of cases of dropsy. Men puff out of human shape and are
perfectly horrible to look at. Philo Lewis died to-day. Could not
have weighed at the time of his death more than ninety pounds, and
was originally a large man, weighing not less than one hundred and
seventy. Jack Walker, of the 9th Mich. Cavalry, has received the
appointment to assist in carrying out the dead, for which service he
receives an extra ration of corn bread.
May 20.—Hendryx sent me in to-day from the outside a dozen small
onions and some green tea. No person, on suddenly being lifted from
the lowest depths of misery to peace and plenty, and all that money
could buy, could feel more joyous or grateful than myself for those
things. As the articles were handed in through the gate a crowd saw
the transaction, and it was soon known that I had a friend on the
outside who sent me in extras. I learn that a conspiracy is being
gotten up on the outside, in which Hendryx is at the head, and they
will try and overpower the guard and release the prisoners. If Capt.
Wirtz only knew it, he has a very dangerous man in George Hendryx.
Cram full of adventure, he will be heard from wherever he is.
May 21.—Still good weather and hot, with damp nights. Dr. Lewis
lingers along in a miserable state of existence, and scurvy
and dropsy doing their worst. His old mess-mates at the 9th
Michigan regimental head-quarters little think of their favorite,
story-telling, good fellows’ condition now. We take as good care of
him as possible under the circumstances. Two men shot to-day by the
barbarians, and one of them has lain all the afternoon where he fell.
May 22.—No news of importance. Same old story. Am now a gallant
washer-man. Battese, the Minnesota Indian, learn’t me in the way of
his occupation, made me a wash board by cutting creases in a piece of
board, and I am fully installed. We have a sign out, made by myself
on a piece of shingle: “WASHING.” We get small pieces of bread for
our labors. Some of the sick cannot eat their bread, and not being
able to keep clean, give us a job. Make probably a pound of bread two
or three days in the week. Battese says: “I work, do me good; you
do same.” Have many applications for admission to the firm, and may
enlarge the business.
May 23.—Rains very hard. Seems as if the windows of Heaven had opened
up, in fact the windows out all together. It’s a grand good thing for
the camp, as it washes away the filth and purifies the air.
May 24.—Sherman coming this way, so said, towards Atlanta. It is
thought the cavalry will make a break for us, but even if they do
they cannot get us north. We are equal to no exertion. Men busy
to-day killing swallows that fly low; partly for amusement, but more
particularly for food they furnish. Are eaten raw before hardly dead.
No, thank you, I will take no swallow.
May 25.—One thousand new prisoners came to-day from near Petersburg,
Va. They give us encouraging news as to the termination of the
spring campaign. Gen. Burnside said in a speech to his men that
Petersburg would be taken in less than a month or Mrs. Burnside
would be a widow. Every one hopeful. Getting warmer after the rain.
Our squad has a very good well, and about one-quarter water enough,
of something a trifle better than swamp water. Man killed by the
raiders near where we slept. Head all pounded to pieces with a club.
Murders an every day occurrence.
May 26.—For the last three days I have had nearly enough to eat
such as it is. My washing business gives me extra food. Have taken
in a partner, and the firm now is Battese, Ransom & Co. Think of
taking in more partners, making Battese president, appointing
vice presidents, secretaries, &c. We charge a ration of bread for
admittance. Sand makes a very good soap. If we could get hold of a
razor and open a barber shop in connection, our fortunes would be
made. We are prolonging Lewis’ life by trading for luxuries to give
him. Occasionally a little real meat soup, with a piece of onion in
it, etc. Am saving up capital to buy a pair of shears I know of.
Molasses given us to-day, from two to four spoonfuls apiece, which is
indeed a treat. Anything sweet or sour, or in the vegetable line, is
the making of us. We have taken to mixing a little meal with water,
putting in a little molasses and setting it in the sun to sour. Great
trouble in the lack of vessels in which to keep it, and then too,
after getting a dish partly well soured, some poor prisoner will
deliberately walk up and before we can see him drink it all up. Men
are fairly crazy for such things.
May 27.—We twist up pieces of tin, stovepipe, &c., for dishes. A
favorite and common dish is half of a canteen. Our spoons are made
of wood. Hardly one man in ten has a dish of any kind to put his
rations of soup or molasses in, and often old shoes, dirty caps and
the like are brought into requisition. Notwithstanding my prosperity
in business the scurvy is taking right hold of me. All my old
acquaintances visit us daily and we condole with one another. Fresh
beef given us to-day, but in very small quantities with no wood or
salt to put it into proper shape. No one can very well object to raw
beef, however. Great trouble is in getting it to us before being
tainted, I persistently let alone meat with even a suspicion of
rottenness; makes no difference with nearly all here. We occasionally
hear of the conspiracy of outside paroled Yankees. Time will tell if
it amounts to anything.
May 28.—No more news. It really seems as if we’re all to die here. My
mouth getting sore from scurvy and teeth loose. New prisoners coming
in every day and death rate increasing. I don’t seem to get hardened
to the situation and am shuddering all the time at the sights. Rainy
weather.
May 29.—Sabbath day but not a pleasant one. Nearly a thousand just
came in. Would seem to me that the rebels are victorious in their
battles. New men are perfectly thunderstruck at the hole they have
got into. A great many give right up and die in a few weeks, and
some in a week. My limbs are badly swollen with scurvy and dropsy
combined. Mouth also very sore. Battese digs for roots which he
steeps up and I drink. Could give up and die in a short time but
won’t. Have got living reduced to a science.
May 30.—Another thousand came to-day and from the eastern army.
Prison crowded. Men who came are from Siegel’s corps in the
Shenandoah Valley. The poor deluded mortals never heard of
Andersonville before. Well, they hear of it now. Charlie Hudson, from
some part of Ohio, took his canteen an hour ago and went to the swamp
for water. He has not returned for the very good reason that he was
shot while reaching up under the dead line to get the freshest water.
Some one has pulled the body out of the water on to dry land where it
will stay until to-morrow, when it will be piled with perhaps forty
others on the dead wagon, carted off and buried like a dog. And this
is the last of poor Charlie, who has enlivened us many an evening
with his songs and stories. The Astor House Mess is very sad to-night.
May 31.—A rebel came inside to-day and enquired for me, in the tenth
squad, first mess. I responded, wondering and fearful as to what they
should want with me. Was happily surprised on going to the gate to
see Hendryx with something in his hand for me. Seemed thunderstruck
at my appearance and said I was looking bad. He was looking better
than when he went out. Had brought me luxuries in the shape of ginger
bread, onions and tea, and am happy. Geo. is a brick. Says it is
against orders to send anything inside but he talked them over. Was
afraid the raiders would waylay me before reaching the mess but they
did not.
June 1.—Reported that the 51st Virginia Regt. is here for the purpose
of conducting us north for exchange. Believe nothing of the kind.
Prisoners come daily. E. P. Sanders, Rowe and myself carried our old
friend Dr. Lewis to the hospital. He was immediately admitted and we
came away feeling very sad, knowing he would live but a short time.
The sick are not admitted until they are near death, and then there
is no hope for them. Rainy day.
June 2.—Another dark, stormy day. Raiders playing the very devil.
Muddy and sticky.
[Illustration: Battese, the Minnesota Indian.]
June 3.—New prisoners say that an armistice has been agreed upon for
the purpose of effecting an exchange, and negotiating for peace.
It may be so, and the authorities had good reasons for allowing
us to stay here, but how can they pay for all the suffering? And
now some negro prisoners brought inside. They belong to the 54th
Massachusetts. Came with white prisoners. Many of the negroes
wounded, as, indeed, there are wounded among all who come here now.
No news from Hendryx or Lewis. Quite a number going out after wood to
cook with. Hot and wet.
June 4.—Have not been dry for many days. Raining continually. Some
men took occasion while out after wood, to overpower the guard and
take to the pines. Not yet been brought back. _Very_ small rations of
poor molasses, corn bread and bug soup.
June 5.—Exchange rumors to the effect that transports are en-route
for Savannah for the purpose of taking us home. Stick right to my
washing however. A number of men taken out to be kept as hostages—so
said. Raiders rule the prison. Am myself cross and feel like licking
somebody, but Hendryx is gone and don’t want to try to lick anybody
else, fearing I might get licked myself. Some fun fighting him as it
didn’t make any difference which licked.
June 6.—Eight months a prisoner to-day. A lifetime has been crowded
into these eight months. No rations at all. Am now a hair cutter.
Have _hired_ the shears. Enough to eat but not the right kind. Scurvy
putting in its work, and symptoms of dropsy. Saw Hendryx at the bake
house up stairs window, looking over the camp. Probably looking to
see if he can locate his old comrades among the sea of human beings.
Wirtz comes inside no more, in fact, does very few rebels. The place
is too bad for them.
June 7.—Heard to-day that Hendryx had been arrested and in irons for
inciting a conspiracy. Not much alarmed for him. He will come out all
right. Still rainy. Have hard work keeping my diary dry. Nearly all
the old prisoners who were captured with me are dead. Don’t know of
over 50 or 60 alive out of 800.