And another day of vicissitudes. We traveled last night
about four miles, piloted by a young negro. It was a terrible walk to me; slow
and painful. Were fed, and have food for to-day. Are now about three miles from
a canal which we must cross before another morning. Negroes say “Sherman most
here” and “Bress de Lord!” Mr. Kimball lives nine miles away and we must reach
him some way, but it seems an impossibility for me to go so far. Are now in a
high and fine country, but too open for us. Have to lay down all day in the
bushes. David is a thorough scout. Goes crawling around on his hands and knees
taking in his bearings. Troops are encamped on the main road. Every cross road
has its pickets, and it is slow business to escape running into them. Eli S.
Buck has a sore throat and is hoarse. Pretty good jaunt for him, tough as he
is. Shall have no guide to-night, as Dave thinks he can engineer us all right
in the right direction. Some thinks he will leave us both and reach Kimball's
to-night, and then come back and see us through. Guess I will be on hand to go
along however.
SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p.
144-5
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