Diary of 1st Lieutenant Daniel L. Ambrose: December 13, 1864

With but short intervals, Slocum's guns have been heard all day. About three o'clock in the evening we hear to our right a sullen roar, a desperate crash, a whoop, and all is over; and soon we are told that Fort McAllister has fallen; that the immortal Hazen, Ohio's ideal son, has planted his battle-flag upon the ramparts there, making free our passage to the sea, and now we hope to receive supplies, as we have access to the fleet anchored in Ossabaw Sound. This evening Captain Ed. R. Roberts of Company C, makes his appearance in camp, after an imprisonment of seven months in the southern prison hells. The reader will remember that Captain Roberts, together with Captain McGuire, Lieutenant Fergus, and about thirty of the men, were captured on the seventh of May, 1864, in our encounter with Roddy and Johnson at Florence, Alabama. The captain has now a large crowd of the Seventh congregated around him, listening attentively to his heart-rending stories of rebel cruelty. We will now follow Captains Roberts and McGuire and Lieutenant Fergus during their wanderings in the land of their captivity. After their capture at Florence, Alabama, on the 7th of May 1864, they, in company with the men, were taken via Mobile and Montgomery, Alabama to Macon, Georgia, where they arrived May 28th. As soon as they entered the stockade Roberts washed his shirt, and after wringing it out, approached the picket fence immediately inside of the stockade to hang it thereon to dry, and just as he was about to touch the fence he was pulled back by a comrade who saved his life-saved him from being cruelly murdered; for it was the dead line he was about to touch, a line upon which many a noble patriot Union soldier poured out his life blood. At one time while here they were compelled to be two and a half days without anything to eat. After remaining in the Macon stockade for some time the officers were separated from the men, and transferred to the city work-house and jail at Charleston, South Carolina, and while here they were continually under the fire of Gilmore's guns. On the 5th of October they were all moved to Columbia, South Carolina, with the exception of those who were sick, among which number was the gallant Lieutenant Fergus, who was suffering with the yellow fever. After long weary months of suffering known only to those who were the sufferers, Captain Roberts and a number of other officers made their escape from those wicked men who sought their lives. The story of the Captain's march from bondage to liberty would alone fill a good sized volume. Guided by the trusty negroes they traveled one hundred and eighty miles in ten nights, (lying in the swamps by day) and reached Sherman's army, seventy miles above Savannah, Georgia, December 5th.

The Captain remained with Kilpatrick's cavalry until the 12th of November, when he joined his regiment and company. Brave, self-sacrificing soldier, the story of your trials, the longings that were yours, the revolting scenes that met your eyes, and the feeling of joy that came to your heart when your eyes fell upon the old flag, will never be known to any save those who experienced like trials, who witnessed like scenes and felt like joys. We now think of those of our number who are yet suffering in southern prison pens, and we are informed that some of them have been freed from their suffering, have been starved, have been murdered. It cannot be that these brave men's sufferings and sorrows which they endured in this land of cruel wrongs will not be righted in the world beyond the stars. We could not believe in a heaven if we should lose the faith that these men's wrongs will be made right above.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 284-6

Diary of Private Louis Leon: May 23, 1864

We are guarded by negro troops, who are as mean as hell. At each meal there is a guard placed over 500 prisoners, who go to their meals in ranks of four. We are not allowed to cross a certain line, called the "Dead Line," but as 500 men go at one time to meals, of course near the door there is always a rush. To-day one of our men accidentally crossed the line. He was pushed over by the crowd, when a black devil shot and killed him, and wounded two others.

SOURCE: Louis Leon, Diary of a Tar Heel Confederate Soldier, p. 64

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: November 9, 1864

This diary would seem to treat of two things principally, that of food and exchange. Try to write of something else, but my thoughts invariably turn to these two subjects. Prisoners of war will know how to excuse me for thus writing. A dead line has also been fixed up in Camp Lawton, but thus far no one has been shot. Rebel doctors inside examining men who may be troubled with disease prison life might aggravate. Those selected are taken outside and either put in hospitals or sent to our lines. Yankee ingenuity is brought into play to magnify diseases, and very often a thoroughly well man will make believe that he is going to die in less than a week unless taken away. Have laughed for an hour at the way a fellow by the name of Sawyer fooled them. The modus operandi will hardly bear writing in these pages, but will do to tell. Have made a raise of another pair of pants with both legs of the same length, and I discard the old ones to a “poor” prisoner. An advantage in the new pair is that there is plenty of room, too, from being three or four sizes too large, and the legs as long as the others were short. My one suspender has a partner now, and all runs smoothly. Although Bullock is fleshing up and getting better in health, he is a wreck and always will be. Seems to be a complete change in both body and mind. He was a favorite in our regiment, well known and well liked. Rowe is the same stiff, stern [patrician] as of old, calmly awaiting the next turn in the wheel of fortune.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 113-4

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 30, 1864

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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 62

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 12, 1864

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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 56-7

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 9, 1864

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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 55

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 2, 1864

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 today and all the bread stolen, for which offense no more will be issued today. 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 I” &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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 54

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: April 12, 1864

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 Godsend. 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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 50-1

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: April 11, 1864

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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 50

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: April 6, 1864

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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 46-7