Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Wednesday, July 29, 1864

Had Job greater patience? Here are men of true mettle or we might see them knocking at the gate to swear fidelity to foes. To lie down is to submit to be eaten by lice and rot. When strength fails, such is the lot of all. "All that a man hath will he give for his life." But what have we to give? A great deal of money will get a little flour from Rebels, such is their love of money. But their lack of love for humanity feeds us husks and loathsome things. We are in prison and they visit us with torments and reproaches; we are athirst and they give us to drink of water tainted with filth and excrement; sick and afflicted and they torture us; weak and weary and they give us to rest on the sand filthy and full of breeding vermin; shelterless and they give us no roof; lacking raiment and they take much that we have.

A man shot dead, the ball passing directly through his head back of the ears, while kneeling near the dead line innocently looking at something. He had just come in and was unwarned.

I bought an egg for 20 cents, a small biscuit for 25 cents for supper with proceeds from the tin kettle sold.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 94

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, July 30, 1864

Breakfasted on half of a small biscuit and an onion. Prisoners arrive; a crowd gathered when a cannon was fired over the camp.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 94

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: November 18, 1862

Orderly Holmes and myself have been on shore again. We went up the beach and found a soldiers' graveyard. We got breakfast at a darky hut, mutton chops and onions, hot biscuit and coffee, all for twenty-five cents. The boat that takes us to and from the Arago is a small affair that used to run up and down the James River. The Rebs have left their mark upon it in the shape of bullet holes most everywhere, but most often on the pilot-house.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 63

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, October 29, 1864

Near Petersburg, Va.,        

October 29, 1864.

I suppose you have heard how we whipped the Yankees on both this side and the north side of the James River. The killed and wounded fell into our hands here at Petersburg, and we have been attending to their wounded all day to-day. Our loss was very small. Wilcox's Division was occupying a part of our line that was not assaulted, and therefore it was not engaged. We now have strong hopes of being able to hold Petersburg and Richmond.

This war can never end until the fanatics, both North and South, are gotten rid of. They are influenced solely by their blind, senseless passions, and reason never enters their heads. It is always such discontented, worthless wretches who bring about revolutions. The North is still infested with such characters, and the South is not far behind. If we could get those hot-headed fools in South Carolina who composed that meeting at Columbia recently and put them in the army and get them all killed off, it would be much better for us. What a pity we cannot have them killed, but they cannot be made to fight. I do not believe that Boyce will fight a duel with such a man as Tradewell, for he must have more sense than to do that.

My box is not here yet. I will continue to keep on the lookout for it until it arrives. My dinner will soon be ready and I think it will be fine, for I shall have white cabbage, bacon, potatoes and biscuit.

As soon as I can I will send you one hundred and fifty dollars to pay your expenses in coming out. The Government owes me about five hundred dollars, which I hope to be able soon to collect. If you can come by the first of December you can remain at least three months, and I may be able to go back with you in March.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 112-3