Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Friday, June 3, 1864

A cold rain continued during the night. What would the good folks at home say could they see this camp this cool, wet morning—men lying in the wet sand? Could they have heard the coughing of thousands as I heard it when I walked the camp to shake off the cold that chilled wet clothing, would they not say: Now that so much has been imperiled for the country, let us make it a glory and a blessing to ages, an honor to ourselves, our institutions the abode of liberty, a beacon that shall light the world and silence the wrath of treason? There are 20,000 within a space so small that a strangling cough can be heard from one side to the other.

Report that nine men tunneled out and one guard escaped with them. The tunnel is found and being filled. Col. Parsons was inside; he thinks exchange is agreed upon, but can't be effected for our forces cover the point in the cartel. Were that all we should soon be relieved. He is quite familiar with a few of us and expressed a feeling that he would resign his command were it possible. He was sent for duty here because the most of his command are prisoners. Earlier in the war he was twice a prisoner, captured by Burnside's men, and was well treated. He says men are sent here without any provision made for shelter, and he has no orders or means to furnish it; that it is not the fault of the local commissary that we are left to suffer. Wirz is the jailor, a morose, inclement tempered man. It requires but little to get him in a rage. He is called "the old Dutch Captain"; is generally hated. Men caught in attempting escape are unreasonably punished by wearing ball and chain, bucking and gagging, putting in stocks, hanging by thumbs, by lash and close confinement.

Prisoners in today report the two armies on to Richmond, Lee with his right, Grant with his left; Kilpatrick 25 miles in the rear of Atlanta tearing up roads.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 71-2

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Saturday, June 4, 1864

Wirz, Gen. John H. Winder, commissary general of prisoners, Howell Cobb and several minor personages came inside on horseback and rode partly through the prison and along the stockade over the dead line as far as possible. Winder is said to be invested with full authority over prison matters. Howell Cobb was the Secretary of the United States Treasury under Buchanan, just prior to the secession of Georgia, and was the provisional president of the so-called Confederacy, before Davis.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 72

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, June 7, 1864

A week of rain. Five hundred more prisoners, twenty being marines, captured as late as May 27th. Since yesterday morning the number of deaths are put at 110 inside the prison. They are being carried out on wagons six at a time, for burial. They are thrown on as if they were logs of wood; the driver takes a stand between them and as he moves, the limpsy bodies bump and knock about.

A wreckless tempered man struck one of his companions with a club, inflicting a fatal wound on the back of his head, fracturing his skull. The quarrel arose over which should have the first right to the fire for cooking. The man is insensible. A crowd gathered around the assailant and gave him a course of buck and gag, the same club being used for the gag. Thirty of us go to the gate and ask permission to go out under guard to get poles and brush to build shelter for the sick laying on the streets and in the swamp in deplorable condition. We were refused, harshly cursed and ordered away by Capt. Wirz. The opinion is strong that it is the Confederate policy to destroy as many of us as possible, but in a way to evade the censure of the world. There seems to be a studied disregard of the rights of prisoners. It is said that Gen. Winder boasted exultingly that his prison policy would kill as many men as Joe Johnston would in his opposition to Sherman. The hot headed leadership of the South, the mad spirit with which they plunged into war, the unholy purpose for which it is waged, furnish precedents for such belief. The means is justified by the end, assuming that the end were justifiable. At best the better instincts of humanity, or fear of the power of civilization, seems to be all there is in our favor to save us from butchery or utter starvation. The foulness of this physical corruption and the fiendish conduct by which it is produced, fitly represent the animus of their cause. No men were ever more implicitly trusted by the masses than the leaders of the South; no people were ever more treacherously led to trouble. We can now see how foolish and infernal human nature can be, how perverted man's sense of right may be! We also see how men can be degraded, pressed to the very dust and filth with worms, and still retain a sense of justice! Our hearts are void of malice.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 73

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, May 24, 1864

Another night cramped up on the cars; another night of painful nipping at napping amidst the roar, the heat and jogging of the train. Everybody wanted to lie down, but everybody was in the way; everybody wanted to straighten out, but no one could. Once in a while one lifts his aching legs over heads and bodies, or stands up to straighten them. Oh, the weary night, the sweat, the heated air of the car, wherein were jammed 80 men till no more could get in, with the doors closed. It is sickening to endure! Not a drop of water to cool thirst, not a moment of ease for weary bodies; no rest for aching heads; not an overdose of patience for one another. Morning came and we were still rolling on through the pine, the barren waste, the plantation, with its mansion aloof, and slave huts; the thatched roof shanty of poor white, and now and then halting at small stations "to feed the hoss."

Villages of any account are far apart. At all these places the negro is chief; Nig does the work, eats the poorest victuals, is an all around man. At every depot, every shed, wood pile and water tank, the darky "am de man." He engineers, fires, he brakes. This animal runs the Confederacy. Everything is very unlike our Northern routes, in wood, in field, in civilization. It appears to me like "Reducing the white man to the level of the negro “—indeed it does, Jeff!” These motley crowds, these black white faces, these white black faces, look like amalgamation, you conservators of an oligarchial, doomed institution upon which you seek to rear an oligarchy!

At 6 a. m. the whistle blows at Macon, Ga., and we stop. The doors open and a few slide to the ground to straighten out, to limber up and to try and get a drink; but few succeeded in getting out, however. A citizen told me the population of Macon was 20,500. It is located in a basin formed by sloping hills around it, near the Ocmulgee River. At 7:30 a. m. we start southward towards Americus about 70 miles south. The country is more thickly inhabited, is a richer region. Fort Valley is 30 miles south of Macon. Here were plenty of customers for anything we had to sell. Men came out with corn bread to exchange for wallets and it didn't take them long to "get shut on't"; both sexes, all colors, all grades. We were not the first load of "hyenas" that had gone down, so they did not come out to see the show, but wanted to know "Whar you'ns all from" and to traffic. It began to be hinted that we were not going to Americus, where the guard had told us our prisoners are; that it is a splendid camp, greensward, beautiful shade trees, nice tents and a right smart river, those that had "been thar a heep o' times with you'ns fellers." We had hoped that such might be our lot; but now everyone was wonderfully ignorant. When asked they would say, "can't tell you sar." At Oglethorpe I asked a citizen how far it was to Americus.

"Oh, right smart, I reckon; you'ns not going thar though."

"Where are we going?" I asked another.

"Oh, just down thar where all o' you'ns fellers goes."

"How far?"

"Right smart bit, I reckon."

"Well, how many miles?"

"Good bit, fo' mile, reckon—you'ns got any rings?"

"What place?"

"Andersonville, they call it I reckon."

"How do they fare?"

"Right good—don't know; die mighty fast, I har."

A gentleman of leisure said, "You bet they do.”

"It is a hard place, is it?"

"You will see all you want to see before long"

"Have shelter, of course?"

"Guess so-you'll see, pretty soon.”

Heaving a long sigh we cursed their blasted Confederacy and black infamous cause, then took it cool. In 30 minutes the train halted again. There was a newly built storehouse consisting of pine slabs set up on end, and appearances of a hastlily constructed military station. Preparations were made to disimbark. I looked out, saw but one house in the place, country looked barren, uninviting. About half a mile east was a large pen filled with men. At a glance I caught a view of thousands of prisoners; ragged, rusty blankets put up in all conceivable modes to break the blistering sun rays. It was a great mass of grim visages, a multitude of untold miseries. It reminded me first of a lately seared fallow, then a foul ulcer on the face of nature, then of a vast ant hill alive with thousands of degraded insects. The degradation that pervades the lowest and meanest beings in nature struck me as beneficent compared with the desperately barbarous conditions imposed upon the inmates of those roofless walls. Not a shed or a sheltering tree was in the place. Some whose senses were not benumbed, exclaimed, "My God that is the place, see the prisoners; they will not put us in there, there is no room! By this time men were getting off and straggling along the sandy road to the prison. About half way we halted to form and an officer on horseback met us heading a new guard. "Git into fo's thar," was the order. We moved to the right near the south side of the prison near Captain Wirz's headquarters, and formed into detachments of 270 in charge of sergeants. We were suffering from thirst, heat, hunger, fatigue. Presently the commandant of the prison with a lieutenant and sergeant came down the line. I asked to go to the creek and fill some canteens, pleading our suffering condition. In a passion, pistol in hand, the officer turned with a ferocious oath, putting the pistol to my nose saying, “I'll shoot you if you say dot again." Stepping back he yelled:

"If another man ask for water I shoot him."

To the left a poor fellow had squat in the ranks. This officer whom I found to be Captain Wirz, rushed upon him with an oath, kicking him severely and yelled savagely, "Standt up in ter ranks!"

The ground was covered with small bushes. While waiting some worked industriously pulling and packing in bundles to carry in for shelter. After two hours we started, but all were forced by bayonets to drop the bushes. As the column was pouring through the gate, a comrade said "Take a long breath North; it is the last free air we shall breath soon." Oh, how many lingering looks and despondent sighs were cast, as we were driven like brutes into a worse than brutish pen!

We entered the south gate. A narrow street runs nearly through the prison from east to west, the narrowest way. I had reached nearly midway when the column halted. Old prisoners gathered frantically about, begging for hardtack, or something else. The air was suffocating, the sights beheld are not to be described. The outside view was appalling; contact a thousand times more horrible!

On my right, as we entered, I saw men without a thread of clothing upon their dirty skeletons, some panting under old rags, or blankets raised above them. One was trying to raise himself; getting upon his hands and feet, his joints gave way; he pitched like a lifeless thing in a heap, uttering the most wailful cry I ever heard. Such things are frequent. The simile strikes me that they are like beings scarce conscious of life, moved by a low instinct, wallowing in the filth and garbage where they happen to be. On the left the scene was equally sickening. The ground for several yards from the gate was wet with excrement, diarrhoea being the disease wasting the bodies of men scarce able to move. Need I speak of the odor? Then the wounds of eight months were visible and disgusting! We dare not look around! At a halt we asked where are we to go? Why do they not take us on?

"You can't get no further; as much room here as anywhere,” said an Ohio man.

"For God's sake," I said to the anxious gazers that thronged around asking to be given something—"Give me just one hardtack," begged starved creatures—"stand back and give us a chance! We have no hardtack."

Finding a spot eight of us deposited our luggage and claimed it by right of [“]squatter sovereignty." Eight of us are so fortunate as to have five woolen blankets, our party consisting of Orderly Sergeant G. W. Mattison, Second Sergeant O. W. Burton, W. Boodger, Stephen Axtel, Waldo Pinchen, H. B. Griffith, Lloyd G, Thompson and myself. Here we took up our abode together. I obtained three sticks split from pine, saved at the time the stockade was opened, four and six feet long, upon which we erected three of the blankets in the form of a tent. For these I paid 50c, each.

Nothing of the rules and regulations of the prison were announced by the authorities, in consequence of which, I learned after, many a man lost his life by being shot. Soon after arriving I went to the stream to drink and wash. Being ignorant of the supposed existence of a dead line, and, to escape the crowd, I stepped over where it was supposed to be. Immediately I was caught by a man who drew me back shouting: "Come out, they will shoot you!" Looking up I saw the sentries, one on each side with their pieces fixed upon me. I then learned that the order was to shoot any man, without a word, who steps beyond the line, or where it should be. I was partly forced, by the crowding, into that vacancy, and partly tempted by the clear water which was pouring through the stockade a few feet to the west, the water in the stream appearing very filthy. With feelings of thankfulness towards the strangers who frightened that rule into me, I shall ever remember. I thought of the maxim in Seneca, "Let every man make the best of his lot," and prepare for the worst. So I determined to do what I could to inform new men of the danger at this point, for I soon learned that nearly every day, since new prisoners had been coming in, men had been shot at this place under the same circumstances.

After being settled Thompson and I took a stroll to find, if possible, a better place, without avail. Passing down the older settled and thickly crowded part where there are small dirt huts which were early erected, I observed a man sitting under an old tent with a book. This was unexpected. "Here is a book of poems," I said to Thompson, halting.

"Yes, sir, Milton's 'Paradise Lost," said he, handing it to me. He was an old prisoner from Rosecrans army, having wintered at Danville, Va., a prisoner since Chickamauga. He told us freely all he knew about our new world, appeared a perfect gentleman, manifested very friendly feeling, urged us to accept his book and call often. The mellow beam of a genial nature shone in his face. Although we did not learn his name that day, we felt him to be a friend. I had a paper, purchased at Augusta, having accounts of Johnston's run before Sherman, how one of Johnston's men cried, "General, we are marching too fast; we don't want to retreat, had rather fight." "We are not retreating, boys, we are only falling back so Sherman won't get round our flank," said Johnston, which I gave him.

The stockade is made from pine trees cut, from the prison ground, into 25 feet lengthts, feet of which is set into the ground, and the timbers are strongly pinned together. Until last winter this was primeval forest, heavily timbered with pine. The sentry boxes are six to eight rods apart near the top of the wall, each box having a roof, the platform being reached by stairs. The ground is said to contain 13 acres, including the lagoon of about two acres, which cannot be occupied except a few islands

in the midst. A small stream runs through from west to east. The water is nearly as black as the mud of its mirey banks, and tastes of it, and nearly divides the camp equally, both the north and south parts sloping towards it. There are some log huts built by the first prisoners when the stockade was opened, from the waste timber left on the ground. Now even the stumps have been dug up for wood. Two large tall pines are left standing in the southeast corner; otherwise there is not a green thing in sight. The dead line is a board laid and nailed on tops of posts, four feet high, about six yards from the stockade. There are two gates on the west side, north and south of the brook. Sinks are dug on the bank near the swamp on the east side, but not sufficient to accommodate a tenth part of the persons on the south side to which it alone is accessible; so the north edge of the swamp, parallel with the stream, is used for the same purpose. Just at dark two mule teams were driven with rations, to be delivered to sergeants in charge of detachments for distribution to their men. We get two ounces of bacon, a piece of corn bread 2x4 inches for one day. There are over 14,000 men here, mostly old prisoners from Belle Isle, Libby and Danville prisons. The bacon is so stale, that a light stroke from the finger knocks it to pieces, leaving the rind in the hand.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 55-60

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Wednesday, May 25, 1864

The air is purified by rain during the night. At first dawn we go to the stream for a bath. Knowing the difficulty to keep clear of lice and dirt, we take the first precaution. Found plenty of the same opinion. Breakfast from our scanty lump of bread and lump of bacon. Roll call at 8 o'clock whereat Rebel sergeants attend. The purpose is to see if all are present. In the event of any being absent, the detachment is deprived of rations for the day whether the missing man appears or not. The bread is of course unsifted meal, mixed without leaven or seasoning, baked in creased cards two feet square. The cry of "raiders" awoke us last night. We were told by old prisoners yesterday, about gangs of thieves composed of brutal men who steal everything that they can use or sell to Rebels; and in some cases they brutally beat and kill. These organizations have grown rapidly since arrival of new prisoners, and act in concert in their nefarious practice. They boldly take blankets from over men's heads, pieces of clothing, anything that can be carried away, standing over men with clubs threatening to kill if they move. They are led by desperate characters said to have been bounty jumpers. They bear the name of raiders. Going among men of our company I found they had not realized their danger; some had lost boots, knapsack with contents, blankets, provisions and other things. In some parts, we hear of pocket picking, assaults with clubs, steel knuckles and knives. This happens every night; in some places at day, especially after new arrivals.

The rumor circulated last night that there was a plot to break out of prison on an extensive plan, has some weight and is the topic of the day. Near the gate an address is posted signed by Henri Wirz, captain commanding prison, saying the plot is discovered; he is fully apprised; warns all to abandon the design; that if any unusual movement is made, the camp will be immediately swept with grape and cannister from the artilery; that all must know what the effect will be on a field so thickly covered with men. Evidently the strictest vigilance is kept over us day and night as shown by the movements of the military posts from the outside.

Inquiring in reference to the matter, I learned that a large number of western men had formed a plan to undermine a section of the stockade from which point the artillery and other arms were most available, and had tunneled along the wall underground, having approached it from a tunnel from the interior with a view, at a given signal, when the wall is sufficiently weakened, to rush upon it with as much force as could be concentrated, push it down and sieze the guns while the Rebels are sleeping. It was a daring plot, easily discovered and defeated.

Thompson and I go in search of "Paradise Lost" to quaff from the Parnassian springs of Milton. After a long search, for we became bewildered in the crowds, we found our friend who welcomed us. After exchanging addresses and a glance with the mind's eye over his field of philosophy, we bore away the prize. Could that great author, Milton, have thought of a title more appropriate to the place into which the work of his genius has fallen? Foe without, foe within, robbery, murder, sickness, starvation, death, rottenness, brutality and degradation everywhere! Fumes of corruption greet our nostrils; the air is impregnated with morbific effluvium. It seems impossible that fearful epidemic can be stayed. A few weeks hence but few may be left to tell the tale of misery. The sacred realm of nature and its virgin purity have been invaded by the crushing power of tyranny and ravished by the cruel hand of false ambition. Where but lately the songs of happy birds rang from lofty pines through heavenly air, today we hear the groans of men in unrestrained agony. On the foul atmosphere is wafted the expiring breath of men wasted and wasting in their prime. Daily they sink as if their feet were planted on a thinly crusted marsh,

and, as they sink, there is nothing to which their hands can cling; no power can reach that would save, while around hisses the foe who madly thrust us into this worse than den of lions.

W. H. Harriman, Zanesville, Ohio, 15th U. S. Infantry, our new acquaintance, is a finely organized man, possessing a calm, genial nature, of sterling intelligence. He has patience, faith, hope, and enjoys their blessed fruits. He has a fine sense of things, takes a comprehensive view of the crisis, how results one way or another, will affect the interests of mankind. The right is clear to him; he has faith it will triumph; regrets that any doubt. His knowledge of things common to schools and men of thought, proves him of a reflective mind; his candor, brotherly conduct, render him a noble companion.

We are camped in the midst of Ohio boys belonging to the 7th cavalry. Thirteen were taken, only seven alive. One has a malignant sore on his arm caused by vaccination. It has eaten to the bone, nearly around the arm; gangrene is spreading. He is very poor; soon must die. (Note—June 13th, he died. He had a wife and comfortable possesions in Ohio.)

A sergeant of the same company is afflicted with scurvy in the feet. They are terribly swollen, nearly black, give almost unendurable pain; still he is kind, cheerfully sings for our diversion in the inimitable tone the western country boys have in their songs, "The Battle of Mill Spring," "Putting on Airs," etc., accompanied by his brother whose limb is contracted from the same disease. (Note—He became helpless, was carried to the hospital in a hopeless condition in June.)

I speak of this as a few incidents among hundreds all over the camp, illustrative of patient suffering of as noble young men as grace family households, under circumstances that have no parallel in affliction.

At 8 o'clock this evening a sentinel fired. Going to the vicinity I learned a man who came in today, knowing nothing of the dead lines, lay down near it, was shot in the side and borne away by friends.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 60-2

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Friday, May 27, 1864

Water in the stream is very foul from so many using, and the refuse thrown in it from Rebel cook houses and camps that floats down, and drainage from offal that covers portions of the banks. Notwithstanding we practice bathing before sunrise, we always find the water foul. Men with blotches, putrid sores, gnawed by lice and worms, squalid from weakness, scurvy and wasting diseases go there to drink, wash clothing and bathe. They are obliged to step into the stream the banks being two to three feet high, slippery, nasty. Daily lice are seen floating while clothing is being washed.

Excitement this morning is about a fellow caught last night and cut loose by a fellow raider; retaken, knocked down three times, sopped in the filthy swamp, then marched about camp as a warning, after which he is given seven lashes on his bare back that brings blood. Mob law is our only recourse. Neither friends or foes outside protect us. He is an inferior looking man. A search follows among known thieves for articles lost. Several things have been found when a dozen savage fellows came with clubs. A few fought them with their hands, were badly beaten and forced to yield.

A rally was made to release one who had been knocked down, and one raider was captured, who was administered a course of punishment to exact promises of better conduct. Raiders are on the good side of our keepers. They sell articles they steal, or exchange them for food and things which help to keep them in strong physical condition. They are allowed favors not accorded others, are continually fawning to Wirz and his subordinates.

Some are excited over a report of the fall of Atlanta, Richmond and Charleston, which I see no reason to credit. Considerable excitement manifested in the Rebel garrison; troops being arrayed for a show, or a fight for two hours this afternoon. I learn that three tunnels have been found which led to the belief that an outbreak was contemplated. Every day squads of men explore the ground inside and outside of the stockade with feeling rods which they punch into the ground.

As a contrast to the scenes of the day Thompson and I have been reading Milton's description of Eden in the days of Adam and Eve's primal purity. No rations granted today. The stench from the lagoon is very disagreeable every night in the south part of the stockade.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 64

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Tuesday, May 31, 1864

A good work designed to remedy somewhat the unwholesomeness of the place, began today. A squad of men are furnished spades, hand barrows, which they themselves constructed, and carpenter tools, and voluntarily go to work burying the filth and sinks that have overflowed, and cover several yards and is in terrible ferment and alive with vermin. The plan is to cover a portion of the swamp near the east part each side of the stream, about five rods wide by 10 long, with dirt from the banks and erect a framework over the stream for a privy. This will partially supply the wants for the south side, but the north is separated by an impassable marsh. This project is set on foot by persistent pleading of our men with physicians and officers of the military post, as chances have been offered, to get the means for doing it. Through them Wirz has been induced to acquiesce, but like all internal improvements, humane influence has to be brought to bear upon Wirz. He was persuaded by the argument that prison insobordination was more likely to occur under unsanitary conditions, that there was great libality of epidemic that would sweep both the prison and military post. A colonel of the post was inside this morning and talked with some of us. His opinion is that we will soon be exchanged; but I do not indulge in hopes likely to be deferred, which "maketh the heart sick." A day ration was shown him. He said more was allowed; that there was no reason why rations are so small; that more is provided under the regulations; expressed a belief that someone is speculating to our injury and, though he had no authority, he would inquire into the matter.

Weather intensely hot, the sick badly affected and are multiplying. Every day men die, every morning are carried out. The average number of deaths now is said to be 40, although 70 have died some days, the principal disorder being diarrhoea, induced by the nature of the food; it has become chronic. Scurvy which affects mouths and limbs, sometimes back and bowels, is increasing. One doctor speaks of an affection of the spleen. In many homesickness may hasten disease and loss of strength. It seems as inevitable as bodily ailments under these conditions. When men fall hopeless and helpless, griping with pain, it is not unnatural that nostalgia be added to the scale of misery. When these compiaints unite, the days of victims are being numbered.

Prisoners come in from Florida captured on the 18th. They were engaged in collecting horses and cattle for the army. I spoke with a man, prisoner since Gettysburg, who attracts attention, though thin and yellow, he is remarkably smart. His clothing is all worn out. On the way from Richmond a woman gave him a petticoat which reaches just below his knees that whops about his legs as he strolls characteristically through the camp, a sailor's cap on his head, and not another rag on his person.

Two wells near us are finished which we assisted to dig; the water is excellent. Pinchen has finished his bucket whittled from rations of wood, and hooped with knapsack straps, and it is used to draw water. Griffith and I have sold four tin plates for $1 each. This money helps us live.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 69-70

John L. Ransom: The Finis

A BRIEF DESCRIPTION OF WHAT BECAME OF THE BOYS — REFUSED PERMISSION TO GO HOME — A REFERENCE TO CAPT. WIRTZ — RETURN HOME AT THE END OF THE WAR.

In may interest some one to know more of many who have been mentioned at different times in this book, and I will proceed to enlighten them.

George W. Hendryx came to the regiment in March, 1865, when we were near Goldsboro, N. C. He says that after running away from Andersonville at the time of the discovery of a break in which all intended to get away in the summer of 1864, he traveled over one hundred and fifty miles and was finally re-taken by bushwhackers. He represented himself as an officer of the 17th Michigan Infantry, escaped from Columbia, S. C., and was sent to that place and put with officers in the prison there, changing his name so as not to be found out as having escaped from Andersonville. In due time he was exchanged with a batch of other officers and went home North. After a short time he joined his regiment and company for duty. He was both delighted and surprised to see me, as he supposed of course I had died in Andersonville, it having been so reported to him at the North. He did valiant service until the war was over, which soon happened. He went home with the regiment and was mustered out of service, since when I have never seen or heard of him for a certainty. Think that he went to California.

Sergt. Wm. B. Rowe was exchanged in March, 1865, but never joined the regiment. His health was ruined to a certain extent from his long confinement. Is still alive, however, and resides at Dansville, Mich.

Sergt. Bullock was also exchanged at the same time, but never did service thereafter. He is now an inmate of a Michigan insane asylum, and has been for some years, whether from the effects of prison life I know not, but should presume it is due to his sufferings there. His was a particularly sad case. He was taken sick in the early days of Andersonville and was sick all the time while in that place, a mere walking and talking skeleton. There is no doubt in my mind l that his insanity resulted from his long imprisonment.

E. P. Sanders arrived home in Michigan in April, 1865, and made me a visit at Jackson that Summer. He was the only one of all my comrades in prison that I came in contact with, who fully regained health, or apparently was in good health. He was a particularly strong and healthy man, and is now engaged in farming near Lansing, Michigan.

Lieut. Wm. H. Robinson, who was removed from Belle Isle, from our mess, it having been discovered that he was an officer instead of an orderly sergeant, was exchanged early in 1864, from Richmond, and immediately joined his regiment, doing duty all the time thereafter. Soon after my escape and while with company "A," a note was handed me from Capt. Robinson, my old friend, he having been promoted to a captaincy. The note informed me that he was only a few miles away, and asked me to come and see him that day. You may rest assured I was soon on the road, and that day had the pleasure of taking my dinner with him. He was on his general's staff, and I dined at head-quarters, much to my discomfiture, not being up with such distinguished company. We had a good visit, I remember, and I went to camp at night well satisfied with my ride. Told me that a pipe which I engraved and presented to him on Belle Isle was still in his possession, and always should be. Was a favorite with every one, and a fine looking officer. He is now a resident of Sterling, Whiteside Co., Ill. Is a banker, hardware dealer, one of the City Fathers, and withal a prominent citizen. It was lucky he was an officer and taken away from us on Belle Isle, for he would undoubtedly have died at Andersonville, being of rather a delicate frame and constitution.

My good old friend Battese, I regret to say, I have never seen or heard of since he last visited me in the Marine Hospital at Savannah. Have written many letters and made many inquiries, but to no effect. He was so reticent while with us in the prison, that we did not learn enough of him to make inquiries since then effective. Although for many months I was in his immediate presence, he said nothing of where he lived, his circumstances, or anything else. I only know that his name was Battese, that he belonged to a Minnesota regiment and was a noble fellow. I don't know of a man in the world I would rather see to-day than him, and I hope some day when I have got rich out of this book (if that time should ever come,) to go to Minnesota and look him up. There are many Andersonville survivors who must remember the tall Indian, and certainly I shall, as long as life shall last.

Michael Hoare tells his own story farther along, in answer to a letter written him for information regarding his escape from the Savannah hospital. Mike, at the close of the war. re-enlisted in the regular army and went to the extreme west to fight Indians, and when his term of service expired again re-enlisted and remained in the service. In 1878 he was discharged on account of disability, and is now an inmate of the Disabled Soldier's Home, at Dayton, Ohio. From his letters to me he seems the same jolly, good natured hero as of old. I hope to see him before many months, for the first time since he shook me by the hand and passed in and out of his tunnel from the Marine Hospital and to freedom.

The two cousins Buck, David and Eli S., I last saw top of some corn in an army wagon I jumped from when I first encountered the 9th Mich. Cavalry. Little thought that would be the last time I should see them. Their command belonged to the Eastern Army in the region of the Potomac, and when communication was opened at Savannah they were sent there on transports. I afterward received letters from both of them, and David's picture; also his wife's whom he had just married. David's picture is reproduced in this book and I must say hardly does him justice as he was a good looking and active fellow. Presume Eli is a farmer if alive, and "Dave" probably preaching.

"Limber Jim," who was instrumental in putting down the raiders at Andersonville, was until recently a resident of Joliet, Illinois. He died last winter, in 1880, and it is said his health was always poor after his terrible summer of 1864. He was a hero in every sense of the word, and if our government did not amply repay him for valiant service done while a prisoner of war, then it is at fault.

Sergt. Winn of the 100th Ohio, who befriended me at Savannah, is, I think, a citizen of Cincinnati, Ohio, and a prosperous man. Any way, he was in 1870 or thereabouts. Was an upright man and good fellow.

Every one knows the fate of Capt. Wirtz, our prison commander at Andersonville, who was hung at Washington, D. C, in 1866, for his treatment of us Union prisoners of war. It was a righteous judgment, still I think there are others who deserved hanging fully as much. He was but the willing tool of those higher in command. Those who put him there knew his brutal disposition, and should have suffered the same disposition made of him. Although, I believe at this late day those who were in command and authority over Capt. Wirtz have successfully thrown the blame on his shoulders, it does not excuse them in the least so far as I am concerned. They are just as much to blame that thirteen thousand men died in a few months at that worst place the world has ever seen, as Capt. Wirtz, and should have suffered accordingly. I don't blame any of them for being rebels if they thought it right, but I do their inhuman treatment of prisoners of war.

Hub Dakin is now a resident of Dansville, Mich,, the same village in which lives Wm. B. Rowe. He has been more or less disabled since the war, and I believe is now trying to get a pension from the government for disability contracted while in prison. It is very difficult for ex-prisoners of war to get pensions, owing to the almost impossibility of getting sufficient evidence. The existing pension laws require that an officer of the service shall have knowledge of the origin of disease, or else two comrades who may be enlisted men. At this late day it is impossible to remember with accuracy sufficient to come up to the requirements of the law. There is no doubt that all were more or less disabled, and the mere fact of their having spent the summer in Andersonville, should be evidence enough to procure assistance from the government.

And now a closing chapter in regard to myself. As soon as Savannah was occupied by our troops and communications opened with the North, a furlough was made out by Capt. Johnson, of our company, and signed by Assistant Surgeon Young, and then by Col. Acker. I then took the furlough to Gen. Kilpatrick, which he signed, and also endorsed on the back to the effect that he hoped Gen. Sherman would also sign and send me North. From Gen. Kilpatrick's head quarters I went to see Gen. Sherman at Savannah and was ushered into his presence. The Gen. looked the paper over and then said no men were being sent home now and no furloughs granted for any cause. If I was permanently disabled I could be sent to Northern hospitals, or if I had been an exchanged prisoner of war, could be sent North, but there was no provision made for escaped prisoners of war. Encouraged me with the hope, however, that the war was nearly over and it could not be long before we Would all go home. Gave me a paper releasing me from all duty until such time as I saw fit to do duty, and said the first furlough granted should be mine, and he would retain it and send to me as soon as possible. Cannot say that I was very sadly disappointed, as I was having a good time with the company, and regaining my health and getting better every day, with the exception of my leg, which still troubled me. stayed with the company until Lee surrendered, Lincoln assassinated and all the fighting over and then leaving Chapel Hill, North Carolina, in April, went to my home in Michigan. In a few weeks was followed by the regiment, when we were all mustered out of the service. As had been reported to me at the regiment, I had been regarded as dead, and funeral sermon preached.

It was my sad duty to call upon the relatives of quite a number who died in Andersonville, among whom were those of Dr. Lewis, John McGuire and Jimmy Devers. The relics which had been entrusted to my keeping were all lost with two exceptions, and through no fault of mine. At the time of my severe sickness when first taken to Savannah, and when I was helpless as a child, the things drifted away from me some way, and were lost. But for the fact that Battese had two of my diary books and Sergt. Winn the other, they also would have been lost.

I hope that this Diary may prove successful in its mission of truly portraying the scenes at Andersonville and elsewhere during the time of my imprisonment, and if so, the object of its author shall have been accomplished.

Yours Very Respectfully,

JOHN L. RANSOM,

Late 1st Sergt. Co. A, 9th Mich. Cav.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 160-4

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: October 22, 1864

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.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 105

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: August 16, 1864

Still in the land of the living. Capt. Wirtz is sick and a Lieut. Davis acting in his stead.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 92

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: August 20, 1864

Some say three hundred now die each day No more new men coming. Reported that Wirtz is dead.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 92

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 22, 1864

A petition is gotten up signed by all the sergeants in the prison, to be sent to Washington, D. C., begging to be released. Capt. Wirtz has consented to let three representatives go for that purpose. Rough that it should be necessary for us to beg to be protected by our government.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 89

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

This morning lumber was brought into the prison by the rebels, and near the gate a gallows erected for the purpose of executing the six condemned Yankees. At about ten o'clock they were brought inside by Capt. Wirtz and some guards, and delivered over to the police force. Capt. Wirtz then said a few words about their having been tried by our own men and for us to do as we choose with them, that he washed his hands of the whole matter, or words to that effect. I could not catch the exact language, being some little distance away I have learned by enquiry, their names, which are as follows: John Sarsfield, 144th New York; William Collins, alias "Moseby," Co. D, 88th Pennsylvania; Charles Curtiss, Battery A, 5th Rhode Island Artillery; Pat Delaney, Co. E, 83d Pennsylvania; A. Munn, U. S. Navy, and W. R. Rickson of the U. S Navy. After Wirtz made his speech he withdrew his guards, leaving the condemned at the mercy of 28,000 enraged prisoners who had all been more or less wronged by these men. Their hands were tied behind them, and one by one they mounted the scaffold Curtiss, who was last, a big stout fellow, managed to get his hands loose and broke away and ran through the crowd and down toward the swamp. It was yelled out that he had a knife in his hand, and so a path was made for him. He reached the swamp and plunged in, trying to get over on the other side, presumably among his friends. It being very warm he over exerted himself, and when in the middle or thereabonts, collapsed and could go no farther. The police started after him, waded in and helped him out. He pleaded for water and it was given him. Then led back to the scaffold and helped to mount up. All were given a chance to talk. Munn, a good looking fellow in marine dress, said he came into the prison four months before perfectly honest, and as innocent of crime as any fellow in it starvation, with evil companions, had made him what he was. He spoke of his mother and sisters in New York, that he cared nothing as far as he himself was concerned, but the news that would be carried home to his people made him want to curse God he had ever been born. Delaney said he would rather be hung than live here as the most of them lived, on their allowance of rations. If allowed to steal could get enough to eat, but as that was stopped had rather hang. Bid all good bye Said his name was not Delaney and that no one knew who he really was, therefore his friends would never know his fate, his Andersonville history dying with him. Curtiss said he didnt care a ——, only hurry up and not be talking about it all day; making too much fuss over a very small matter. William Collins, alias Moseby, said he was innocent of murder and ought not to be hung; he had stolen blankets and rations to preserve his own life, and begged the crowd not to see him hung as he had a wife and child at home, and for their sake, to let him live. The excited crowd began to be impatient for the “show” to commence as they termed it. Sarsfield made quite a speech; he had studied for a lawyer; at the outbreak of the rebellion he had enlisted and served three years in the army, been wounded in battle, furloughed home, wound healed up, promoted to first sergeant and also commissioned; his commission as a lieutenant had arrived but had not been mustered in when he was taken prisoner; began by stealing parts of rations, gradually becoming hardened as he became familiar with the crimes practiced; evil associates had helped him to go down hill and here he was. The other did not care to say anything. While the men were talking they were interrupted by all kinds of questions and charges made by the crowd, such as “don't lay it on too thick, you villain,” “get ready to jump off,” “cut it short,” “you was the cause of so and so's death,” “less talk and more hinging,” &c., &c. At about eleven o'clock they were all blindfolded, hands and feet tied, told to get ready, nooses adjusted and the plank knocked from under. Moseby's rope broke and he fell to the ground, with blood spurting from his ears, mouth and nose, As they was lifting him back to the swinging off place he revived and begged for his life, but no use, was soon dangling with the rest, and died very hard. Munn died easily, as also did Delaney, all the rest died hard and particularly Sarsfield who drew his knees nearly to his chin and then straightened them out with a jerk, the veins in his neck swelling out as if they would burst. It was an awful sight to see, still a necessity. Moseby, although he said he had never killed any one, and I don't believe he ever did deliberately kill a man, such as stabbing or pounding a victim to death, yet he has walked up to a poor sick prisoner on a cold night and robbed him of blanket, or perhaps his rations and if neccessary using all the force necessary to do it. These things were the same as life to the sick man, for he would invariably die. The result has been that many have died from his robbing propensities. It was right that he should  hang, and he did hang most beautifully and Andersonville is the better off for it. None of the rest denied that they had killed men, and probably some had murdered dozens. It has been a good lesson; there are still bad ones in camp but we have the strong arm of the law to keep them in check. All during the hanging scene the stockade was covered with rebels, who were fearful a break would be made if the raiders should try and rescue them. Many citizens too were congregated on the outside in favorable positions for seeing. Artillery was pointed at us from all directions ready to blow us all into eternity in short order; Wirtz stood on a high platform in plain sight of the execution and says we are a hard crowd to kill our own men. After hanging for half an hour or so the six bodies were taken down and carried outside. In noting down the speeches made by the condemned men, have used my own language; in substance it is the same as told by them. I occupied a near position to the hanging and saw it all from first to last, and stood there until they were taken down and carried away. Was a strange sight to see and the first hanging I ever witnessed. The raiders had many friends who crowded around and denounced the whole affair and but for the police there would have been a riot; many both for and against the execution were knocked down. Some will talk and get into trouble thereby; as long as it does no good there is no use in loud talk and exciting arguments; is dangerous to advance any argument, men are so ready to quarrel. Have got back to my quarters thoroughly prostrated and worn out with fatigue and excitement, and only hope that today's lesson will right matters as regards raiding. Battese suspended washing long enough to look on and see them hang and grunted his approval. Have omitted to say that the good Catholic priest attended the condemned. Rebel negroes came inside and began to take down the scaffold; prisoners took hold to help them and resulted in its all being carried off to different parts of the prison to be used for kindling wood, and the rebels get none of it back and are mad. The ropes even have been gobbled up, and I suppose sometime may be exhibited at the north as mementoes of to-day's proceedings. Mike Hoare assisted at the hanging. Some fears are entertained that those who officiated will get killed by the friends of those hanged. The person who manipulated the “drop,” has been taken outside on parole of honor, as his life would be in danger in here. Jimmy thanks God that he has lived to see justice done the raiders; he is about gone — nothing but skin and bone and can hardly move hand or foot; rest of the mess moderately well. The extra rations derived from our three mess-mates as policemen, helps wonderfully to prolong life. Once in a while some of them gets a chance to go outside on some duty and buy onions or sweet potatoes which is a great luxury.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 81-4

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 5, 1864

Court is in session outside and raiders being tried by our own men. Wirtz has done one good thing, but it's a question whether he is entitled to any credit, as he had to be threatened with a break before he would assist us. Rations again today. I am quite bad off with my diseases, but still there are so many thousands so much worse off that I do not complain much, or try not to however

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 77

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 3, 1864

Three hundred and fifty new men from West Virginia were turned into this summer resort this morning. They brought good news as to successful termination of the war, and they also caused war after coming among us. As usual the raiders proceeded to rob them of their valuables and a fight occurred in which hundreds were engaged. The cut throats came out ahead. Complaints were made to Capt. Wirtz that this thing would be tolera[ted] no longer, that these raiders must be put down or the men would rise in their might and break away if assistance was not given with which to preserve order. Wirtz flew around as if he had never thought of it before, issued an order to the effect that no more food would be given us until the leaders were arrested and taken outside for trial. The greatest possible excitement. Hundreds that have before been neutral and non-commital are now joining a police force. Captains are appointed to take charge of the squads which have been furnished with clubs by Wirtz. As I write, this middle of the afternoon, the battle rages. The police go right to raider headquarters knock right and left and make their arrests. Sometimes the police are whipped and have to retreat, but they rally their forces and again make a charge in which they are successful. Can lay in our shade and see the trouble go on. Must be killing some by the shouting. The raiders fight for their very life, and are only taken after being thoroughly whipped. The stockade is loaded with guards who are fearful of a break. I wish I could describe the scene to-day. A number killed. After each arrest a great cheering takes place. Night. — Thirty or forty have been taken outside of the worst characters in camp, and still the good work goes on. No food to-day and don't want any. A big strapping fellow called Limber Jim heads the police. Grand old Michael Hoare is at the front and goes for a raider as quick as he would a rebel. Patrol the camp all the time and gradually quieting down. The orderly prisoners are feeling jolly.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 75-6

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

Matters must approach a crisis pretty soon with the raiders. It is said that even the rebels are scared and think they will have no prisoners, should an exchange ever occur. John Bowen, a Corp. Christency, Hemmingway, Byron Goodsell and Pete Smith, old acquaintances, have all died within a few days. Jimmy Devers still lives, with wonderful tenacity to life Tomorrow he will have been a prisoner of war a year. Mike Hoare still keeps very well, but the most comical looking genius in the whole prison. Could make a fortune out of him on exhibition at the North. He says I look worse however. That may be, but not so comical. It's tragedy with the most of us. New guards are taking the place of the old ones, and it is said that Wirtz is going away. Hope so. Never have heard one word from Hendryx since his getting away. Sanders is trying to get outside as a butcher. He understands the business. "Dad" has been to Australia, and has told us all about that country. Have also heard all about Ireland and Scotland. Should judge they were fine countries. Rowe has been telling me of the advantage of silk under clothing, and in addition to visiting all the foreign countries, we shall have silk under wear. Rowe once lived in Boston, and I shall likewise go there.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 74

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: June 29, 1864

Capt. Wirtz sent inside a guard of fifteen or twenty to arrest and take out quite a number of prisoners. They had the names and would go right to their quarters and take them. Some tell-tale traitor has been informing on them, for attempting to escape or something Wirtz punishes very hard now; so much worse than a few months ago. Has numerous instruments of torture just outside the gate. Sores afflict us now, and the Lord only knows what next. Scurvy and scurvy sores, dropsy, not the least thing to eat that can be called fit for any one, much less a sick man, water that to drink is poison, no shelter, and surrounded by raiders liable to cut our throats any time Surely, this is a go. Have been reading over the diary, and find nothing but grumbling and growlings. Had best enumerate some of the better things of this life. I am able to walk around the prison, although quite lame. Have black pepper to put in our soups. Am as clean perhaps as any here, with good friends to talk cheerful to. Then, too, the raiders will let us alone until about the last, for some of them will get killed when they attack the “Astor House Mess,” Am probably as well off as any here who are not raiders, and I should be thankful, and am thankful. Will live probably two or three months yet. “If t'weren't for hope the heart would break,” and I am hopeful yet. A Pennsylvanian of German descent, named Van Tassel, and who has “sorter identified himself with us” for two or three months, died a few moments ago The worst cases of the sick are again taken to the hospital — that is, a few of the worst cases. Many prefer to die among their friends inside. Henry Clayton also died to-day. Was at one time in charge of our Division, and an old prisoner. Mike Hoare still hangs on nobly, as also do many other of my friends and acquaintances. Dorr Blakeman stands it unusually well. Have had no meat now for ten days; nothing but one-third of a loaf of corn bread and half a pint of cow peas for each man, each day. Wood is entirely gone, and occasionally squads allowed to go and get some under guard. Rowe went out to-day, was not able to carry much, and that had to be divided between a hundred men. One of the most annoying things is being squadded over every few days, sick and all. It's an all day job, and have to stand out until we are all tired out, never getting any food on these days.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 72-3

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: June 22, 1864

The washing business progresses and is prosperous. One great trouble is, it is run too loose and we often get no pay. Battese, while a good worker, is no business man, and will do anybody's washing on promises, which don't amount to much. Am not able to do much myself, principally hanging out the clothes; that is. laying the shirt on one of the tent poles and then watching it till dry. All day yesterday I lay under the “covered” in the shade, hanging on to a string which was tied to the washing. If I saw a suspicious looking chap hanging around with his eyes on the washed goods, then gave a quick jerk and in she comes out of harm's way. Battese has paid for three or four shirts lost in this way, and one pair of pants. Pays in bread. A great many Irish here, and as a class, they stand hardships well. Jimmy Devers losing heart and thinks he will die. Capt. Wirtz has issued another order, but don't know what it is — to the effect that raiding and killing must be stopped, I believe. Being unable to get around as I used to, do not hear the particulars of what is going on, only in a general way. New men coming in, and bodies carried out. Is there no end but dying?

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 69-70

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: June 21, 1864

I am a fair writer, and am besieged by men to write letters to the rebel officers praying for release, and I do it, knowing it will do no good, but to please the sufferers. Some of these letters are directed to Capt Wirtz, some to Gen. Winder, Jeff Davis and other officers. As dictated by them some would bring tears from a stone. One goes on to say he has been a prisoner of war over a year, has a wife and three children destitute, how much he thinks of them, is dying with disease, etc., etc. All kinds of stories are narrated, and handed to the first rebel who comes within reach. Of course they are never heard from. It's pitiful to see the poor wretches who think their letters will get them out, watch the gate from day to day, and always disappointed. Some one has much to answer for.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 69

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: June 16, 1864

Old prisoners (some of them) will not credit the fact that there is plenty to eat at the North They think because we are starved here, that it is so all over. They are crazy (as you may say) on the subject of food, and no wonder. In our dreams we see and eat bountiful repasts, and awake to the other extreme. Never could get a chance to talk with Capt. Wirtz, as he comes inside no more Probably just as well. Is a thoroughly bad man, without an atom of humanity about him. He will get killed, should we ever be released, as there are a great many here who would consider it a christian duty to rid the earth of his presence. Disease is taking right hold of me now. Battese is an angel; takes better care of me than of himself. Although not in our mess or tent, he is nearly all the time with us. It is wonderful the powers of endurance he has. I have always been blessed with friends, and friends, too, of the right sort. Had quite a talk with Dorr Blakeman, a Jackson, Mich., boy Was not much acquainted with him at home but knew his people. Is a thoroughly good fellow, and a sensible one. It is a relief to see any one who does not lose his head.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 67-8