A GRADUAL IMPROVEMENT IN HEALTH—GOOD TREATMENT WHICH IS
OPPORTUNE—PARTING WITH RELICS TO BUY LUXURIES—DALY, THE TEAMSTER AT
ANDERSONVILLE, KILLED—A VISIT FROM BATTESE THE INDIAN, ETC., ETC.
Sept. 25—Can eat better—or drink rather; some rebel general dead and
buried with honors outside. Had another wash and general clean up;
ocean breezes severe for invalids. Am visited twice a day by the
rebel surgeon who instructs nurses about treatment. Food principally
arrow root; have a little whisky. Sleep great deal of the time.
Land, my acquaintance and mess-mate, is lame from scurvy, but is not
weak and sick as I am. When I think of anything, say: “Land, put her
down,” and he writes what I tell him. Everything clean here, but then
any place is clean after summering in Andersonville. Don’t improve
much and sometimes not at all; get blue sometimes; nature of the
beast suppose; other sick in the tent worry and make me nervous.
Sept. 26—Am really getting better and hopeful. Battese has the
two first books of my diary; would like to see him. Was mistaken
about Rowe being in the hospital; he is not, but I hear is in the
big stockade with bulk of prisoners. Say we were removed from
Andersonville for the reason that our troops were moving that way.
Well, thank heaven they moved that way. Mike Hoare, the irrepressible
Irishman, is hobbling around and in our tent about half the time;
is also getting well. Quite a number die here not having the
constitution to rally. This is the first hospital I was ever in. My
old coverlid was washed and fumigated the first day in hospital. Am
given very little to eat five or six times a day; washed with real
soap, an improvement on sand. Half a dozen rebel doctors prowling
around, occasionally one that needs dressing down, but as a general
thing are very kind. Can see from my bunk a large live oak tree
which is a curiosity to me. Although it is hot weather the evenings
are cool, in fact cold; ocean breezes. A discussion on the subject
has set me down as weighing about ninety-five; I think about one
hundred and five or ten pounds; weighed when captured one hundred and
seventy-eight; boarding with the confederacy does not agree with me.
The swelling about my body has all left me. Sergt. Winn belongs to
the 100th Ohio; he has charge of a ward in this hospital.
Sept. 27.—Getting so I can eat a little and like the gruel. Have
prided myself all during the imprisonment on keeping a stiff upper
lip while I saw big strong men crying like children; cruelty and
privations would never make me cry—always so mad, but now it is
different and weaken a little sometimes all to myself. Land, my sick
comrade, writes at my dictation.
Sept 28.—Sent word to Battese by a convalescent who is being sent to
the large prison, that I am getting well. Would like to see him. Am
feeling better. Good many union men in Savannah. Three hundred sick
here, with all kinds of diseases—gangrene, dropsy, scurvy, typhoid
and other fevers, diarrhea, &c. Good care taken of me. Have medicine
often, and gruel. Land does the writing.
Sept. 29.—Yes, I am better, but poor and weak. Feeling hungry more
now, and can take nourishment quite often. Mike Hoare calls to see
me. He is thinking of escape. Should think a person might escape from
here when able. I shall get well now. Sweet potatoes for sale. Like
to see such things, but cannot eat them. Rebel officer put his hand
on my head a few minutes ago and said something; don’t know what. It
is said the Yankees can throw shell into Savannah from their gunboats
down the river. Sergeant Winn comes to see me and cheers me up. Winn
is a sutler as well as nurse, that is, he buys eatables from the
guards and other rebels, and sells to our men. Number of marines and
sailors in the building adjoining our hospital; also some Yankee
officers sick. Winn makes quite a little money. They have soap here
to wash with. The encouraging talk of ending the war soon helps me to
get well.
Sept. 30.—Am decidedly better and getting quite an appetite but
can get nothing but broth, gruel, &c. Mouth very bad. Two or three
teeth have come out, and can’t eat any hard food any way. They give
me quinine, at least I think it is quinine. Good many visitors come
here to see the sick, and they look like union people. Savannah
is a fine place from all accounts of it. Mike is getting entirely
over his troubles and talks continually of getting away, there are
a great many Irish about here, and they are principally union men.
Mike wishes I was able to go with him. Nurses are mostly marines
who have been sick and are convalescent. As a class they are good
fellows, but some are rough ones. Are very profane. The cords in my
legs loosening up a little. Whiskey and water given me to-day, also
weakened vinegar and salt. Am all the time getting better. LATER—My
faithful friend came to see me to-day. Was awful glad to see him. He
is well. A guard came with him. Battese is quite a curiosity among
the Savannah rebels. Is a very large, broad shouldered Indian, rather
ignorant, but full of common sense and very kind hearted. Is allowed
many favors.
Oct. 1.—A prisoner of war nearly a year. Have stood and went
through the very worst kind of treatment. Am getting ravenously
hungry, but they won’t give me much to eat. Even Mike won’t give me
anything. Says the doctors forbid it. Well, I suppose it is so. One
trouble with the men here who are sick, they are too indolent and
discouraged, which counteracts the effect of medicines. A dozen or
twenty die in the twenty-four hours. Have probably half tablespoonful
of whiskey daily, and it is enough. Land is a good fellow. (I
wrote this last sentence myself, and Land says he will scratch it
out.—Ransom). A high garden wall surrounds us. Wall is made of stone.
Mike dug around the corners of the walls, and in out-of-the-way
places, and got together a mess of greens out of pusley. Offered
me some and then wouldn’t let me have it. Meaner than pusley. Have
threatened to lick the whole crowd in a week.
Oct. 2.—Coming cool weather and it braces me right up. Sailors are
going away to be exchanged. Ate some sweet potato to-day, and it
beats everything how I am gaining. Drink lots of gruel, and the
more I drink the more I want. Have vinegar and salt and water mixed
together given me, also whiskey, and every little while I am taking
something, either food or medicine, and the more I take the more
I want. Am just crazy for anything, no matter what. Could eat a
mule’s ear. Eat rice and vegetable soup. All the talk that I hear is
to the effect that the war is most over. Don’t want to be disturbed
at all until I am well, which will not be very long now. All say
if I don’t eat too much will soon be well. Mike lives high. Is an
ingenious fellow and contrives to get many good things to eat. Gives
me anything that he thinks won’t hurt me. Setting up in my bunk.
Have washed all over and feel fifty per cent. better. Just a jumping
toward convalescence.
Oct 3.—The hospital is crowded now with sick; about thirty die now
each day. Men who walked away from Andersonville, and come to get
treatment, are too far gone to rally, and die. Heard Jeff. Davis’
speech read to-day. He spoke of an exchange soon. I am better where
I am for a few weeks yet. Number of sailors went to-day. Gnaw onion,
raw sweet potato. Battese here, will stay all day and go back
to-night. Says he is going with marines to be exchanged. Give him
food, which he is loth to eat although hungry. Says he will come to
see me after I get home to Michigan.
Oct. 4.—Am now living splendid; vegetable diet is driving off the
scurvy and dropsy, in fact the dropsy has dropped out but the effect
remains. Set up now part of the time and talk like a runaway horse
until tired out and then collapse. Heard that all the prisoners are
going to be sent to Millen, Ga. Wrote a few lines directed to my
father in Michigan. Am now given more food but not much at a time.
Two poor fellows in our tent do not get along as well as I do,
although Land is doing well and is going to be a nurse. The hospital
is not guarded very close and Mike Hoare cannot resist the temptation
to escape. Well, joy go with him. Dosed with quinine and beastly to
take. Battese on his last visit to me left the two first books of my
diary which he had in his possession. There is no doubt but he has
saved my life, although he will take no credit for it. It is said
all were moved from Andersonville to different points; ten thousand
went to Florence, ten thousand to Charleston and ten thousand to
Savannah; but the dead stay there and will for all time to come. What
a terrible place and what a narrow escape I had of it. Seems to me
that fifteen thousand died while I was there; an army almost and as
many men as inhabit a city of fifty thousand population.
Oct. 5.—All in Andersonville will remember Daly, who used to drive
the bread wagon into that place. He came to Savannah with us and was
in this hospital; a few days ago he went away with some sailors to
be exchanged. Soon after leaving Savannah he fell off the cars and
was killed, and a few hours after leaving here was brought back and
buried; it is said he had been drinking. Getting better every day,
eat right smart. Mike waiting for a favorable chance to escape and in
the meantime is getting well; heard that Battese has gone away with
sailors to our lines. Its wonderful the noticeable change of air here
from that at Andersonville—wonder that any lived a month inhaling the
poison. If some of those good fellows that died there, Jimmy Devers,
Dr. Lewis, Swain, McGuire and scores of others, had lived through it
to go home with me, should feel better. Have a disagreeable task to
perform—that of going to see the relatives of fifteen or twenty who
died and deliver messages. Rebel surgeons act as if the war was most
over, and not like very bad enemies. Fresh beef issued to those able
to eat it which is not me; can chew nothing hard, in fact cannot chew
at all. Am all tired out and will stop for to-day.
Oct. 7.—Havn’t time to write much; busy eating. Mouth getting better,
cords in my legs loosening up. Battese has not gone; was here to-day
and got a square meal. Don’t much think that I have heretofore
mentioned the fact that I have two small gold rings, which has been
treasured carefully all during my imprisonment. They were presents
to me before leaving home; it is needless to say they were from lady
friends. Have worn them part of the time and part of the time they
have been secreted about my clothes. Yankee rings are in great demand
by the guards; crave delicacies and vegetables so much that think I
may be pardoned for letting them go now, and as Mike says he can get
a bushel of sweet potatoes for them, have told him to make the trade,
and he says will do it. Sweet potatoes sliced up and put in a dish
and cooked with a piece of beef and seasoned, make a delicious soup.
There are grayback lice in the hospital, just enough for company’s
sake—should feel lonesome without them. Great many visitors come
to look at us and from my bunk can see them come through the gate;
yankees are a curiosity in this southern port, as none were ever kept
here before; I hear that the citizens donate bread and food to the
prisoners.
Oct. 8.—Talk of Millen, about ninety miles from here. Mike will
trade off the rings to-night. Owe Sergt. Winn $12 for onions and
sweet potatoes, confederate money however; a dollar confed. is only
ten cents in money. Hub Dakin, from Dansville, Mich., is in this
hospital. It is said Savannah will be in our hands in less than
two months. Some Irish citizens told Mike so. Union army victorious
everywhere. Going on twelve months a prisoner of war. Don’t want
to be exchanged now; could not stand the journey home; just want
to be let alone one month and then home and friends. Saw myself in
a looking glass for the first time in ten months and am the worst
looking specimen—don’t want to go home in twelve years unless I look
different from this; almost inclined to disown myself. Pitch pine
smoke is getting peeled off; need skinning. Eye sight improving with
other troubles. Can’t begin to read a newspaper and with difficulty
write a little at a time. Can hear big guns every morning from down
the river; it is said to be yankee gunboats bidding the city of
Savannah “good morning.”
Oct. 9.—The reason we have not been exchanged is because if the
exchange is made it will put all the men held by the union forces
right into the rebel army, while the union prisoners of war held by
the rebels are in no condition to do service; that would seem to me
to be a very poor reason. Rowe and Bullock are in the main prison
I hear, and well; it is one of the miracles that Bullock lived as
he was ailing all through Andersonville. Brass buttons with hens on
(eagles) are eagerly sought after by the guards. Mike still harping
on escape, but I attend right to the business of getting enough to
eat. Although can’t eat much have the appetite all the same. The
rebel M. D., by name Pendleton, or some such name, says if I am not
careful will have a relapse, and is rather inclined to scold; says
I get along all together too fast, and tells the nurse and Mike and
Land, that I must not eat but little at a time and then only such
food as he may direct, and if I don’t do as he says, will put me in
the main building away from my friends. Says it is suicide the way
some act after a long imprisonment. Well, suppose he is right and I
must go slow. Names of yankee officers marked on the tents that have
occupied them as prisoner of war before us.
Oct. 10.—Mike traded off the gold rings for three pecks of sweet
potatoes and half a dozen onions; am in clover. Make nice soup out of
beef, potatoe, bread, onion and salt; can trade a sweet potatoe for
most anything. Mike does the cooking and I do the eating; he won’t
eat my potatoes, some others do though and without my permission.
’Tis ever thus, wealth brings care and trouble. Battese came to-day
to see me and gave him some sweet potatoes. He is going away soon
the rebels having promised to send him with next batch of sailors;
is a favorite with rebels. Mike baking bread to take with him in his
flight. Set now at the door of the tent on a soap box; beautiful
shade trees all over the place. Am in the 5th Ward, tent No. 12;
coverlid still does me good service. Many die here but not from lack
of attention or medicine. They haven’t the vitality to rally after
their sufferings at Andersonville. Sisters of Charity go from tent
to tent looking after men of their own religion; also citizens come
among us. Wheat bread we have quite often and is donated by citizens.
Guards walk on the outside of the wall and only half a dozen or so on
the inside, two being at the gate; not necessary to guard the sick
very close. Should judge the place was some fine private residence
before being transformed into the Marine Hospital. Have good water.
What little hair I have is coming off; probably go home bald-headed.
Oct. 12.—Still getting better fast, and doctor says too fast. Now
do nearly all the diary writing. Hardly seems possible that our
own Yankee gunboats are so near us, so near that we can hear them
fire off their guns, but such is the case. Reports have it that the
Johnny Rebels are about worsted. Has been a hard war and cruel one.
Mike does all my cooking now, although an invalid. He trades a sweet
potato for vinegar, which tastes the best of anything, also have
other things suitable for the sick, and this morning had an egg. My
gold rings will put me in good health again. All the time medicine,
that is, three or four times a day; and sores on my body are healing
up now for the first time. Mouth, which was one mass of black bloody
swellings on the inside, is now white and inflamation gone, teeth
however, loose, and have lost four through scurvy, having come out
themselves. My eyes, which had been trying to get in out of sight,
are now coming out again and look more respectable. Battese was taken
prisoner with eighteen other Indians; they all died but one beside
himself.
Oct. 14.—Did not write any yesterday. A man named Hinton died in
our tent at about two o’clock this morning, and his bunk is already
filled by another sick man. None die through neglect here; all
is done that could reasonably be expected. The pants with those
buttons on to be taken North for a little boy whose father died
in Andersonville, were taken away from me when first taken to the
hospital. Have also lost nearly all the relics, pictures and letters
given me to take North. For a week or ten days could take care of
nothing. Winn took charge of the book that I am writing in now and
Battese had the other two books, and now they are all together safe
in my charge. Wonder if any one will ever have the patience or time
to read it all? Not less than a thousand pages of finely written crow
tracks, and some places blurred and unintelligable from being wet
and damp. As I set up in my bunk my legs are just fitted for hanging
down over the side, and have not been straightened for three or four
months. Rub the cords with an ointment furnished me by physician and
can see a change for the better. Legs are blue, red and shiny and in
some places the skin seems calloused to the bone.
Oct. 15.—Richard is getting to be himself again. A very little
satisfies me as regards the upward tendency to health and liberty.
Some would think to look at me almost helpless and a prisoner of war,
that I hadn’t much to feel glad about. Well, let them go through what
I have and then see. Citizens look on me with pity when I should be
congratulated. Am probably the happiest mortal any where hereabouts.
Shall appreciate life, health and enough to eat hereafter. Am anxious
for only one thing, and that is to get news home to Michigan of my
safety. Have no doubt but I am given up for dead, as I heard I was
so reported. Drizzling rain has set in. Birds chipper from among the
trees. Hear bells ring about the city of Savannah. Very different
from the city of Richmond; there it was all noise and bustle and
clatter, every man for himself and the devil take the hindmost, while
here it is quiet and pleasant and nice. Every one talks and treats
you with courtesy and kindness. Don’t seem as if they could both be
cities of the Confederacy. Savannah has probably seen as little of
real war or the consequence of war, as any city in the South.
Oct. 18.—Every day since last writing I have continued to improve,
and no end to my appetite. Now walk a trifle with the aid of
crutches. Coming cool, and agrees with me, have fresh beef issued
to us. Mike not yet gone. Battese went some days ago with others to
our lines, at least it was supposed to our lines. Hope to see him
sometime. Many have gangrene. Millen still talked of. See city papers
every day, and they have a discouraged tone as if their cause were on
its last legs. Mike goes to-night for sure, he says. Think if I was
in his place would not try to get away, we are so comfortable here.
Still liberty is everything, and none know what it is except those
deprived of it. It’s a duty, we think, to escape if possible, and it
seems possible to get away from here. Rebel guards that I sometimes
come in contact with are marines who belong to rebel gunboats
stationed in the mouth of Savannah River and are on duty here for a
change from boat life. They seem a kindly set, and I don’t believe
they would shoot a prisoner if they saw him trying to get away.
Oct. 19.—Last night I talked with a guard while Mike Hoare went
out of his tunnel and got away safely from the hospital. The guard
was on the inside and I hobbled to where he was and engaged him in
conversation and Mike crawled away. It seems that Mike learned of
some union Irish citizens in the city and his idea is to reach them
which he may do, as there are scarcely any troops about the city, all
being to the front. Now I am alone, best friends all gone one way or
the other. The only acquaintances here now are Land and Sergt. Winn,
with whom I became acquainted in Andersonville. Not like my other
friends though. It is said there are half a dozen hospitals similar
to this in Savannah which are filled with Andersonville wrecks. They
have need to do something to redeem themselves from past conduct.
Don’t believe that it is the Confederacy that is taking such good
care of us, but it is the city of Savannah; that is about the way it
is as near as I can find out.
Oct. 22.—Lieut. Davis commands the prison in Savannah. Is the same
individual who officiated at Andersonville during Wirtz’s sickness
last summer. He is a rough but not a bad man. Probably does as well
as he can. Papers state that they will commence to move the prisoners
soon to Millen, to a Stockade similar to the one at Andersonville. I
am hobbling about the hospital with the help of two crutches. Have
not heard a word from old Mike, or Battese or any one that ever
heard of before, for some days. Sweet potatoes building me up with
the luxuries they are traded for. Had some rice in my soup. Terrible
appetite, but for all that don’t eat a great deal. Have three sticks
propped up at the mouth of our tent, with a little fire under it,
cooking food. Men in tent swear because smoke goes inside. Make it
all straight by giving them some soup. Rebel surgeons all smoke, at
least do while among us. Have seen prisoners who craved tobacco more
than food, and said of the two would prefer tobacco. I never have
used tobacco in any form.
Oct. 24.—Did not write yesterday. Jumping right along toward health
if not wealth. Discarded crutches and have now two canes. Get around
considerable, a little at a time. It is said that they want Yankee
printers who are prisoners of war to go and work in the printing
offices in the city on parole of honor(?). Will not do it. Am all
right where I am for a month yet, and by that time expect to go to
our lines. Hub Dakin in hospital now. Priests still come and go.
Convalescent shot and wounded by the guards, the first I have heard
of being hurt since I came to this place. A small-pox case discovered
in hospital and created great excitement. Was removed. Was loitering
near the gate, when an Irish woman came through it with her arms full
of wheat bread. All those able to rushed up to get some of it and
forty hands were pleading for her favors. After picking her men and
giving away half a dozen loaves her eyes lighted on me and I secured
a large loaf. She was a jolly, good natured woman, and it is said
that she keeps a bake shop. My bad looks stood me in well this time.
As beautiful bread as I ever saw.
Oct. 25.—Am feeling splendid and legs doing nobly, and even taking on
fat. Am to be a gallant nurse as soon as able, so Sergt. Winn says.
Most of the men as soon as convalescent are sent to big prison, but
Winn has spoken a good word for me. Papers say the prison at Millen,
Ga., is about ready for occupancy, and soon all will be sent there,
sick and all. Nights cool and need more covering than we have. I am
congratulated occasionally by prisoners who saw me in Andersonville.
They wonder at my being alive. Rains.
Oct. 26.—Time passes now fast; most a year since captured. When the
Rebs once get hold of a fellow they hang on for dear life. Talk that
all are to be vaccinated any way, whether they want to or not. Don’t
suppose it will do any harm if good matter is used. Vaccinate me if
they want to. Walk better every day. Sometimes I overdo a little and
feel bad in consequence. Land is “right smart,” in fact, so smart
that he will have to go to the big stockade pretty soon.
Oct. 27.—A rebel physician (not a regular one), told me that it
looked very dark for the Confederacy just now; that we need have no
fears but we would get home very soon now, which is grand good news.
I have no fears now but all will turn out well. Everything points to
a not far away ending of the war, and all will rejoice, rebels and
all.
Oct. 28.—Am feeling splendid, and legs most straight. Getting fat
fast. Am to be a nurse soon. Reported that they are moving prisoners
to Millen. Over a thousand went yesterday. About ten thousand of
the Andersonville prisoners came to Savannah, ten thousand went to
Florence and ten to Charleston, S. C. Only the sick were left behind
there, and it is said they died like sheep after the well ones went
away. Great excitement among the Gray-coats. Some bad army news for
them, I reckon. Negroes at work fortifying about the city.
Oct. 29.—I suppose we must be moved again, from all reports. Savannah
is threatened by Union troops, and we are to be sent to Millen, Ga.
Am sorry, for while I remain a prisoner would like to stay here,
am getting along so nicely and recovering my health. It is said,
however, that Millen is a good place to go to, and we will have to
take the consequences whatever they may be. Can eat now anything I
can get hold of, provided it can be cooked up and made into the shape
of soup. Mouth will not admit of hard food. This hospital is not far
from the Savannah jail, and when the gate is open we can see it. It
is said that some one was hung there not long ago. Papers referred to
it and I asked a guard and he nodded “Yes.” Have seen one “hanging
bee,” and never want to see another one. Last of my three pecks of
sweet potatoes almost gone. For a dollar, Confed., bought two quarts
of guber peas (pea-nuts), and now I have got them can’t eat them.
Sell them for a dollar per quart—two dollars for the lot. It is thus
that the Yankee getteth wealth. Have loaned one cane to another
convalescent and go around with the aid of one only. Every day a
marked improvement. Ain’t so tall as I “used to was.” Some ladies
visited the hospital to-day to see live Yankees, who crowded around.
They were as much of a curiosity to us as we were to them.
Oct. 30.—It is said prisoners from main prison are being removed
every day, and the sick will go last. Quite a batch of the nearest
well ones were sent from here to-day to go with the others. Am to
be a nurse pretty soon. Don’t think I could nurse a sick cat, still
it’s policy to be one. Winn tells me that he has made money dickering
at trade with the rebels and prisoners. He has trusted me to twelve
dollars worth of things and says he don’t expect or want pay. The
twelve dollars amounts to only one dollar and twenty cents in our
money. The surgeon who has had charge of us has been sent away to
the front. It seems he had been wounded in battle and was doing home
duty until able to again go to his command. Shall always remember
him for his kind and skillful treatment. Came round and bid us all
good bye, and sick sorry to lose him. Are now in charge of a hospital
steward, who does very well. The atmosphere here makes gentlemen of
everybody. Papers say that the city must be fortified, and it is
being done. Considerable activity about the place. Trains run through
at all hours of the night, evidently shifting their troops to other
localities. LATER—Since the surgeon went away the rebels are drinking
up our whiskey, and to-night are having a sort of carnival, with some
of the favorite nurses joining in; singing songs, telling stories,
and a good time generally. They are welcome to my share.
Oct. 31.—Reported that the well prisoners have all left this city
for Millen and we go to-night or to-morrow. I am duly installed as
nurse, and walk with only one cane. Legs still slightly drawn up. Hub
Dakin, Land and myself now mess together. Am feeling very well. Will
describe my appearance. Will interest me to read in after years, if
no one else. Am writing this diary to please myself, now. I weigh one
hundred and seventeen pounds, am dressed in rebel jacket, blue pants
with one leg torn off and fringed about half way between my knee and
good sized foot, the same old pair of miss matched shoes I wore in
Andersonville, very good pair of stockings, a “biled” white shirt,
and a hat which is a compromise between a clown’s and the rebel white
partially stiff hat; am poor as a tad-pole, in fact look just about
like an East Tennesseean, of the poor white trash order. You might
say that I am an “honery looking cuss” and not be far out of the way.
My cheeks are sunken, eyes sunken, sores and blotches both outside
and inside my mouth, and my right leg the whole length of it, red,
black and blue and tender of touch. My eyes, too, are very weak,
and in a bright sun I have to draw the slouch hat away down over
them. Bad as this picture is, I am a beauty and picture of health in
comparison to my appearance two months ago. When taken prisoner was
fleshy, weighing about one hundred and seventy or seventy-five, round
faced, in fact an overgrown, ordinary, green looking chap of twenty.
Had never endured any hardships at all and was a spring chicken. As
has been proven however, I had an iron constitution that has carried
me through and above all a disposition to make the best of everything
no matter how bad, and considerable will power with the rest. When I
think of the thousands and thousands of thorough-bred soldiers, tough
and hearty and capable of marching thirty, forty, and even fifty
miles in twenty-four hours and think nothing of it, I wonder and keep
wondering that it can be so, that I am alive and gaining rapidly in
health and strength. Believe now that no matter where we are moved
to, I shall continue to improve, and get well. Succumbed only at the
last in Andersonville, when no one could possibly keep well. With
this general inventory of myself and the remark that I haven’t a red
cent, or even a Confederate shin-plaster, will put up my diary and
get ready to go where ever they see fit to send us, as orders have
come to get ready. LATER—We are on the Georgia Central Railroad,
en-route for Millen, Ga., which is ninety miles from Savannah, and I
believe north. Are in box cars and very crowded with sick prisoners.
Two nurses, myself being one of them, have charge of about a hundred
sick. There are, however, over six hundred on the train.
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