Have bought of a new prisoner quite a large (thick I mean,)
blank book so as to continue my diary. Although it's a tedious and tiresome
task, am determined to keep it up. Don't know of another man in prison who is
doing likewise. Wish I had the gift of description that I might describe this place. Know that I am not good at
such things, and have more particularly kept track of the mess which was the “Astor
House Mess” on Belle Isle, and is still called so here. Thought that Belle Isle
was a very bad place, and used about the worst language I knew how to use in
describing it, and so find myself at fault in depicting matters here as they
are. At Belle Isle we had good water and plenty of it, and I believe it depends
more upon water than food as regards health. We also had good pure air from up
the James River. Here we have the very worst kind of water. Nothing can be
worse or nastier than the stream drizzling its way through this camp. And for
air to breathe, it is what arises from this foul place. On all four sides of us
are high walls and tall trees, and there is apparently no wind or breeze to
blow away the stench, and we are obliged to breathe and live in it. Dead bodies
lay around all day in the broiling sun, by the dozen and even hundreds, and we
must suffer and live in this atmosphere. It's too horrible for me to describe
in fitting language. There was once a very profane man driving a team of horses
attached to a wagon in which there were forty or fifty bushels of potatoes It
was a big load and there was a long hill to go up. The very profane man got off
the load of potatoes to lighten the weight, and started the team up the hill.
It was hard work, but they finally reached the top and stopped to rest. The
profane man looked behind him and saw that the end board of the wagon had
slipped out just as he had started, and there the potatoes were, scattered all
the way along up the hill. Did the man make the very air blue with profanity?
No, he sat down on a log feeling that he couldn't do the subject justice and so
he remarked: “No! it's no use, I can't do it justice” While I have no reason or
desire to swear, I certainly cannot do this prison justice. It's too stupendous
an undertaking. Only those who are here will ever know what Andersonville is.
SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p.
81
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