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 Private Daniel L. Ambrose: September 3, 1863

For the last month nothing but a dull monotony has reigned in camp, but things are now becoming more lively. The paymaster has made his appearance; green-backs and gray-backs are plentiful. The latter now and then dash from their hiding places in the brush upon the soldiers. Sergeant Leatherman and two men belonging to Company K, while out on a detail, were captured to-day. Companies B, C, E, and K, under the command of Captain Johnson, are now in pursuit of the guerrillas.

SOURCE: Daniel Leib Ambrose, History of the Seventh Regiment Illinois Volunteer Infantry, p. 188

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: July 2, 1863

This is Camp Tiffin. Our regiment was favored to-day with a large mail, and nothing could have been more acceptable. Letters from home were looked into first, and next, of course, came sweethearts. One letter was read aloud, describing the capture of a butternut camp, in Holmes county, Ohio. The fort was built on a hill, and manned with several cannon, to resist the draft. A few soldiers from Camp Chase, however, went over and soon put an end to that attempt at resistance. I regret to hear of such a disgraceful affair occurring in my native State. From other letters and papers it appears this thing occurs in many other Northern States, and of course it must give encouragement to the rebels.

The rumor now runs that the paymaster will be at hand tomorrow, but he is about as reliable as Johnston, for we have been something like a week looking for both these gentlemen. I confess I would rather meet greenbacks than graybacks.

This afternoon, with several others, I went blackberrying again, and in searching for something to eat, we paid a visit to a house where, to our happy surprise, we found a birthday party, brightened by the presence of no less than eleven young ladies. We asked, of course, where “the boys” were, and they replied, as we expected, “out hunting Yanks.” Well, we found it a treat to get a taste of sociality once more, after being so long famished. They were very nice rebel girls, though I think the color of the eyes of one of them was what I might call true blue. They asked us to lunch with them, which we did with pleasure. The eatables were good, and we had a splendid time—all the while, of course, keeping one eye on the girls and the other on the window. We told our experience at our last blackberrying excursion, when they assured as we had nothing to fear with them, for they were all “for the Union.” No doubt they will be whenever their “boys” come home.

This is a facsimile of a “hard-tack" issued to the author at Vicksburg.The scene upon it represents a soldier toasting his cracker, and the spots in the cracker were caused by the worms which inhabited it.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 72-3

Diary of 5th Sergeant Osborn H. Oldroyd: June 27, 1863

A number of our boys went a few miles, blackberrying, and picked quite a quantity to bring home, when we heard the sound of horses' hoofs, and suddenly concluding we had berries enough, we beat a hasty retreat for camp and got there safely.

The weather is not quite as hot here as it was in our close quarters at the front, but while we enjoy that change we would much prefer remaining at our post there, until the end of the siege.

Some of the boys have had to boil their pants—the only process which is sure death to an enemy lurking there which we find most troublesome. While our pants are boiling the owner leans over the kettle anxiously, for it is probably his only pair. Well, it is now summer time, and it will do to sun ourselves an hour or two. These little pests lurking in our pants become very annoying when they go foraging. These creatures are about the only war relics from which I have not gathered specimens to send home. I have, in fact, gathered enough of them, but with no view to a museum or cabinet. It is fun to see a fellow get into a pair of boiled pants. The boiling has shrunk them till they fail to reach the top of his brogans by some inches, and accordingly he bends over to try to pull them down to a junction, when the contrary things seem to recoil still further; and the only satisfaction left to him at last-and it is no mean one, either—is that they are at least clean, and he himself is once more their sole occupant. How long he will remain so, however, it is hard to say.

SOURCE: Osborn Hamiline Oldroyd, A Soldier's Story of the Siege of Vicksburg, p. 66

Captain Charles Wright Wills: June 13, 1864

June 13, 1864.

The rain continued until 5 p. m. Everything and everybody thoroughly soaked. Our division moved about one-half mile to the left this p. m. Strategy! We moved out into an open ploughed field. You can imagine the amount of comfort one could enjoy so situated, after two days' constant rain, and the water still coming down in sheets.

The field is trodden into a bed of mortar. No one has ventured a guess of the depth of the mud. It is cold enough for fires and overcoats. My finger nails are as blue as if I had the ague. There is one consolation to be drawn from the cold, it stops the “chigres” from biting us. I would rather have a bushel of fleas and a million of mosquitoes on me than a pint of “chigres,” — don't know the orthography — They are a little bit of a red thing, — just an atom bigger than nothing; they burrow into the skin and cause an itching that beats the regular “camp” all hollow. Some of the men have scars from “chigre” bites that they received at Big Black last summer, and will carry them across the Styx. The ants here also have an affinity for human flesh and are continually reconnoitering us. I kill about 200,000 per day. Also knock some 600 worms off of me. Great country this for small vermin. I pick enough entomological specimens off me every day to start a museum. I do manage to keep clear of greybacks, though.

Every time I commence talking about chigres I feel short of language. I am satisfied of one thing, if my finger nails don't wear out, there'll be no flesh left on my bones by autumn. The case stands finger nails vs. chigres, and skin is the sufferer. Notwithstanding rain, cold or chigres, we are in excellent spirits. Sherman don't tell us anything (in orders) good or bad, but every man feels that we have “a goodly thing” and is content to work and wait. I never heard less complaining, or saw troops in better spirits. If we get to Atlanta in a week all right; if it takes us two months you won't hear this army grumble. We know that “Pap” is running the machine and our confidence in him is unbounded.

We have so far had abundance of rations, but if it comes down to half, we will again say “all right.” Our army is stronger to-day than it ever was in numbers and efficiency. I am sure that there is not a demoralized company in the command. There has been considerable shooting along the front to-day, and the lines have been advanced some, but we are nearly a mile back, and being constantly ready to move. I have not been out, and don't know much about the exact situation. Its something new for our division to be in reserve. Time passes much more quickly in the front. The general opinion is that we are gradually working to the left, and will cross the Chattahoochie about east or northeast of Marietta. We are now 26 miles from Atlanta by railroad and something nearer by pike.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 259-60

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: October 7, 1864

Havn't time to write much; busy eating. Mouth getting better, cords in my legs loosening up. Battese has not gone; was here to day and got a square meal. Don't much think that I have heretofore mentioned the fact that I have two small gold rings, which has been treasured carefully all during my imprisonment. They were presents to me before leaving home; it is needless to say they were from lady friends. Have worn them part of the time and part of the time they have been secreted about my clothes. Yankee rings are in great demand by the guards; crave delicacies and vegetables so much that think I may be pardoned for letting them go now, and as Mike says he can get a bushel of sweet potatoes for them, have told him to make the trade, and he says will do it. Sweet potatoes sliced up and put in a dish and cooked with a piece of beef and seasoned, make a delicious soup. There are grayback lice in the hospital, just enough for company's sake — should feel lonesome without them. Great many visitors come to look at us and from my bunk can see them come through the gate; yankees are a curiosity in this southern port, as none were ever kept here before; I hear that the citizens donate bread and food to the prisoners.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 101

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: June 15, 1864

I am sick; just able to drag around. My teeth are loose, mouth sores, with gums grown down in some places lower than the teeth and bloody, legs swollen up with dropsy and on the road to the trenches. Where there is so much to write about, I can hardly write anything. It's the same old story and must necessarily be repetition. Raiders now do just as they please, kill, plunder and steal in broad day light, with no one to molest them. Have been trying to organize a police force, but cannot do it. Raiders are the stronger party. Ground covered with maggots. Lice by the fourteen hundred thousand million infest Andersonville. A favorite game among the boys is to play at odd or even, by putting their hand inside some part of their clothing, pull out what they can conveniently get hold of and say “odd or even?” and then count up to see who beats. Think this is an original game here, never saw it at the North. Some of the men claim to have pet lice which they have trained. Am gradually growing worse. Nothing but the good care I have taken of myself has saved me thus far. I hope to last some time yet, and in the mean time relief may come. My diary about written through. It may end about the same time I do, which would be a fit ending.

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

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 17, 1864

Had a funny dream last night. Thought the rebels were so hard up for mules that they hitched up a couple of grayback lice to draw in the bread. Wirtz is watching out for Yankee tricks. Some one told him the other day that the Yankees were making a large balloon inside and some day would all rise up in the air and escape. He flew around as if mad, but could find no signs of a balloon. Says there is no telling what “te tam Yankee will do.” Some prisoners came to-day who were captured at Dalton, and report the place in our possession, and the rebels driven six miles this side. Kilpatrick and Stoneman are both with Sherman and there are expectations of starting out on some mission soon, supposed to be for this place. Nineteen thousand confined here now and dying at the rate of ninety per day, Philo Lewis, of the 5th Michigan Cav., can live but a day or two. Talks continually of his wife and family in Ypsilanti, Mich. Has pictures of the whole family, which he has given me to take home to them, also a long letter addressed to his wife and children. Mr. Lewis used to be a teacher of singing in Ypsilanti. He is a fine looking man naturally, and a smart man, but he must go the way of thousands of others, and perhaps myself One of his pupils is here confined. Philo Lewis must not be confounded with F. L. Lewis, the member of our mess. The latter, however, cannot live but a short time unless relief comes. Fine weather but very warm. The sandy soil fairly alive with vermin. If this place is so bad at this time of the year, what must it be in July, August and September? Every man will die, in my estimation, but perhaps we may be relieved before then. We'll try and think so anyway. New prisoners die off the fastest.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 58-9

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: May 13, 1864

Rainy morning. We are guarded by an Alabama regiment, who are about to leave for the front. Georgia militia to take their places. Making preparations for a grand picnic outside, given by the citizens of the vicinity to the troops about to leave. I must here tell a funny affair that has happened to me, which, although funny is very annoying. Two or three days before I was captured I bought a pair of cavalry boots of a teamster named Carpenter. The boots were too small for him and just fitted me. Promised to pay him on “pay day,” we not having been paid off in some time. We were both taken prisoners and have been in the same hundred ever since. Has dunned me now about 1,850 times, and has always been mad at not getting his pay Sold the boots stortly after being captured and gave him half the receipts, and since that have paid him in rations and money as I could get it, until about sixty cents remain unpaid, and that sum is a sticker He is my evil genius, and fairly haunts the life out of me. Whatever I may get trusted for in after life, it shall never be for a pair of boots. Carpenter is now sick with scurvy, and I am beginning to get the same disease hold of me again. Battese cut my hair which was about a foot long. Gay old cut. Many have long hair, which, being never combed, is matted together and full of vermin. With sunken eyes, blackened countenances from pitch pine smoke, rags and disease, the men look sickening The air reeks with nastiness, and it is wonder that we live at all. When will relief come to us?

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 57

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: March 13, 1864

Ran very slow through the night, and are in the vicininy of Macon, Ga. Will reach our prison to-night. Received a pone of corn bread apiece weighing about two pounds, which is liberal on their part Two more days such riding as this would kill me The lice are fairly eating us up alive, having had no chance to rid ourselves of them since leaving Richmond. One of the guards struck Hendryx during the night. We were talking on the all important subject, and the guard hearing us chatting away to ourselves struck over into the croud where the noise came from and hit George in the back part of the head. He didn't speak for a minute or two and I was afraid it had killed him, which happily proved to the contrary. As soon as it came daylight he showed the brute where he had struck him, and took the occasion to dress him down a little, whereupon the rebel threatened that if he said another word to him he would blow his head off. A drizzling rain has set in.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 39-40

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: February 24, 1864

Pemerton Building, Richmond, Va. — We are confined on the third floor of the building, which is a large tobacco warehouse. Was removed from the island yesterday. Was a warm day and it was a long walk. Came across the “long bridge,” and it is a long bridge. Was not sorry to bid adieu to Belle Isle. Were searched last night but our mess has lost nothing, owing to the following process we have of fooling them: One of the four manages to be in the front part of the crowd and is searched first, and is then put on the floor underneath and we let our traps down through a crack in the floor to him, and when our turn comes we have nothing about us worth taking away. The men so ravenous when the rations were brought in, that the boxes of bread and tubs of poor meat were raided upon before dividing, and consequently some had nothing to eat at all, while others had plenty. Our mess did not get a mouthful and have had nothing to eat since yesterday afternoon, and it is now nearly dark. The lice are very thick. You can see them all over the floors, walls, &C., in fact everything literally covered with them; they seem much larger than the stock on Belle Isle and a different species. We talk of escape night and day — and are nearly crazy on the subject. No more news about exchange. Papers state that Richmond is threatened, and that Kilpatrick's cavalry is making a raid on the place for the purpose of releasing us and burning the town. Unusual bustle among them.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 34

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: January 26, 1864

Ninety-two squads of prisoners confined on less than six acres of ground — one hundred in a squad, making nine thousand and two hundred altogether. The lice are getting the upper hand of us. The ground is literally covered with them. Bean soup to-day and is made from the following recipe, (don't know from what cook book, some new edition): Beans are very wormy and musty. Hard work finding a bean without from one to three bugs in it. They are put into a large caldron kettle of river water and boiled for a couple of hours. No seasoning, not even salt put into them. It is then taken out and brought inside. Six pails full for each squad — about a pint per man, and not over a pint of beans in each bucket. The water is hardly colored and I could see clear through to the bottom and count every bean in the pail. The men drink it because it is warm. There in not enough strength or substance in it to do any good. We sometimes have very good bean soup when they have meat to boil with it.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 28

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: December 3, 1863

Rumors of exchange to be effected soon. Rebels say we will all be exchanged before many days. It cannot be possible our government will allow us to remain here all winter. Gen. Dow is still issuing clothing, but the rebels get more than our men do of it. Guards nearly all dressed in Yankee uniforms  In our mess we have established regulations, and any one not conforming with the rules is to be turned out of the tent. Must take plenty of exercise, keep clean, free as circumstances will permit of vermin, drink no water until it has been boiled, which process purifies and makes it more healthy, are not to allow ourselves to get despondent, and must talk, laugh and make as light of our affairs as possible. Sure death for a person to give up and lose all ambition  Received a spoonful of salt to-day for the first time since I came here.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 15

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: November 22, 1863

Belle Island, Richmond, Va. — I was captured near Rogersville, East Tennessee, on the 6th of this month, while acting as Brigade Quarter-Master Sergt. The Brigade was divided, two regiments twenty miles away, while Brigade Head-Quarters with 7th Ohio and 1st Tennessee Mounted Infantry were at Rogersville. The brigade quarter-master had a large quantity of clothing on hand, which we were about to issue to the brigade as soon as possible. The rebel citizens got up a dance at one of the public houses in the village, and invited all the union officers. This was the evening of Nov. 5th. Nearly all the officers attended and were away from the command nearly all eight and many were away all night. We were encamped in a bend of the Holston River. It was a dark rainy night and the river rose rapidly before morning. The dance was a ruse to get our officers away from their command. At break of day the pickets were drove in by rebel cavalry, and orders were immediately received from commanding officer to get wagon train out on the road in ten minutes. The quarter-master had been to the dance and had not returned, consequently it devolved upon me to see to wagon train, which I did, and in probably ten minutes the whole seventy six mule army wagons were in line out on the main road, while the companies were forming into line and getting ready for a fight. Rebels had us completely surrounded and soon began to fire volley after volley into our disorganized ranks. Not one officer in five was present; Gen. commanding and staff as soon as they realized our danger, started for the river, swam across and got away. We had a small company of artillery with us commanded by a lieutenant. The lieutenant in the absence of other officers, assumed command of the two regiments, and right gallantly did he do service. Kept forming his men for the better protection of his wagon train, while the rebels were shifting around from one point to another, and all the time sending volley after volley into our ranks. Our men did well, and had there been plenty of officers and ammunition, we might have gained the day. After ten hours fighting we were obliged to surrender after having lost in killed over a hundred, and three or four times that number in wounded. After surrendering we were drawn up into line, counted off and hurriedly marched away south. By eight o'clock at night had probably marched ten miles, and encamped until morning. We expected that our troops would intercept and release us, but they did not. An hour before daylight we were up and on the march toward Bristol, Va., that being the nearest railroad station. We were cavalrymen, and marching on foot made us very lame, and we could hardly hobble along. Were very well fed on corn bread and bacon. Reached Bristol, Va., Nov. 8th and were soon aboard of cattle cars en-route for the rebel capital. I must here tell how I came into possession of a very nice and large bed spread which is doing good service even now these cold nights. After we were captured everything was taken away from us, blankets, overcoats, and in many cases our boots and shoes. I had on a new pair of boots, which by muddying them over had escaped the rebel eyes thus far, as being a good pair. As our blankets had been taken away from us we suffered considerably from cold. I saw that if I was going to remain a prisoner of war it behooved me to get hold of a blanket. After a few hours march I became so lame walking with my new boots on that the rebels were compelled to put me on an old horse that was being lead along by one of the guard. This guard had the bed spread before spoken of. Told him I was going into prison at the beginning of a long winter, and should need a blanket, and could'nt he give me his. We had considerable talk, and were very good friends. said he rather liked me but wouldn't part with his bed spread. Didn't love me that much, treated me however with apple jack out of his canteen. I kept getting my wits together to arrange some plan to get the article in question. Finally told him I had a large sum of money on my person which I expected would be taken away from me anyway, and as he was a good fellow would rather he would have it than any one else. He was delighted and all attention, wanted me to be careful and not let any of the other rebels see the transfer. I had a lot of Michigan broken down wild cat money, and pulled it out of an inside pocket and handed him the roll. It was green paper and of course he supposed it greenbacks. Was very glad of the gift and wanted to know what he could do for me. My first proposition to him was to let me escape, but he couldn't do that, then I told him to give me the bed spread, as it might save my life. After some further parley, he consented and handed over the spread. He was afraid to look at his money for fear some one would see him, and so did not discover that it was worthless until we had become separated. Guards were changed that night and never saw him any more.

The cars ran very slow, and being crowded for room the journey to Richmond was very tedious. Arrived on the morning of Nov. 13th, seven days after capture, at the south end of the “long bridge,” ordered out of the cars and into line, counted off and started for Belle Isle. Said island is in the James River, probably covers ten or twelve acres, and is right across from Richmond. The river between Richmond and the island is probably a third or half a mile .The "long bridge " is near the lower part of the island. It is a cold, bleak piece of ground and the winter winds have free sweep from up the river. Before noon we were turned into the pen which is merely enclosed by a ditch and the dirt taken from the ditch thrown up on the outside, making a sort of breastwork. The ditch serves as a dead line, and no prisoners must go near the ditch. The prison is in command of a Lieut. Bossieux, a rather young and gallant looking sort of fellow. Is a born Southerner, talking so much like a negro that you would think he was one, if you could hear him talk and not see him. He has two rebel sergeants to act as his assistants, Sergt. Hight and Sergt. Marks. These two men are very cruel, as is also the Lieut, when angered. Outside the prison pen is a bake house, made of boards, the rebel tents for the accommodation of the officers and guard, and a hospital also of tent cloth. Running from the pen is a lane enclosed by high boards going to the water's edge. At night this is closed up by a gate at the pen, and thrown open in the morning. About half of the six thousand prisoners here have tents while the rest sleep and live out of doors. After I had been on this island two or three days, I was standing near the gate eating some rice soup out of an old broken bottle, thoroughly disgusted with the Southern Confederacy, and this prison in particular A young man came up to me whom I immediately recognized as George W. Hendryx, a member of my own company “A” 9th Mich. Cavalry, who had been captured some time before myself. Was feeling so blue, cross and cold that I didn't, care whether it was him or not. He was on his way to the river to get some water. Found I wasn't going to notice him in any way, and so proceeded on his errand. When I say that George Hendryx was one of the most valued friends I had in the regiment, this action on my part will seem strange as indeed it is. Did not want to see him or any one else I had ever seen before. Well, George came back a few moments after, looked at me a short time and says: “I believe you are John L. Ransom, Q. M Sergt. of the same Co with me, although you don't seem to recognize me.” Told him “I was that same person, recognized him and there could be no mistake about it.” Wanted to know why in the old harry 1 didn't speak to him then. After telling him just how it was, freezing to death, half starved and gray backs crawling all over me, &c., we settled down into being glad to see one another.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 9-12

Diary of 2nd Lieutenant Lemuel A. Abbott: Sunday, May 15, 1864

Cloudy, with a bracing air; have thrown up a line of rifle pits along our front. The army is quiet to-day; very little cannonading heard. Divine services were held in nearly every regiment in the Brigade; wrote to Pert this forenoon. The Sixth Corps is encamped on as beautiful a plantation as I ever saw. It seems a pity to spoil such finely laid out grounds, but such is war. The whole Division got ready to move about 6 o'clock a. m. but as the enemy remained quiet we did. There's no picket firing to-night. I'm so tired and lousy I do wish we could stay somewhere long enough to wash and boil our underclothing. However, the general officers are as lousy as the rest of us for lice in war times know no caste. I saw a General lousing to-day. I hope this won't shock anyone when they read it after I have passed along. It's a part of the history of the civil war though, and should be recorded.

SOURCE: Lemuel Abijah Abbott, Personal Recollections and Civil War Diary, 1864, p. 60-1

Diary of Sarah Morgan: June 3, 1862

Baton Rouge. Well! Day before yesterday, I almost vowed I would not return, and last evening I reached here. Verily, consistency, thou art a jewel! I determined to get to town to lay both sides of the question before mother; saving home and property, by remaining, thereby cutting ourselves off forever from the boys and dying of yellow fever; or flying to Mississippi, losing all save our lives. So as Mrs. Brunot was pani c-stricken and determined to die in town rather than be starved at Greenwell, and was going in on the same wagon that came out the night before, I got up with her and Nettie, and left Greenwell at ten yesterday morning, bringing nothing except this old book, which I would rather not lose, as it has been an old and kind friend during these days of trouble. At first, I avoided all mention of political affairs, but now there is nothing else to be thought of; if it is not burnt for treason, I will like to look it over some day — if I live. I left Greenwell, without ever looking around it, beyond one walk to the hotel, so I may say I hardly know what it looks like. Miriam stayed, much against her will, I fear, to bring in our trunks, if I could send a wagon.

A guerrilla picket stopped us before we had gone a mile, and seemed disposed to turn us back. We said we must pass; our all was at stake. They then entreated us not to enter, saying it was not safe. I asked if they meant to burn it; “We will help try it,” was the answer. I begged them to delay the experiment until we could get away. One waved his hat to me and said he would fight for me. Hope he will — at a distance. They asked if we had no protectors; “None,” we said. “Don't go, then”; and they all looked so sorry for us. We said we must; starvation, and another panic awaited us out there, our brothers were fighting, our fathers dead; we had only our own judgment to rely on, and that told us home was the best place for us; if the town must burn, let us burn in our houses, rather than be murdered in the woods. They looked still more sorry, but still begged us not to remain. We would, though, and one young boy called out as we drove off, “What's the name of that young lady who refused the escort?” I told him, and they too expressed the greatest regret that she had not accepted. We met many on the road, nearly all of whom talked to us, and as they were most respectful in their manner (though they saw us in a mule team!), we gave them all the information we could, which was all news to them, though very little. Such a ride in the hot sun, perched up in the air! One of the servants remarked, “Miss Sarah ain't ashamed to ride in a wagon!” With truth I replied, “No, I was never so high before.”

Two miles from home we met the first Federal pickets, and then they grew more numerous, until we came on a large camp near our graveyard, filled with soldiers and cannon. From first to last none refrained from laughing at us; not aloud, but they would grin and be inwardly convulsed with laughter as we passed. One laughed so comically that I dropped my veil hastily for fear he would see me smile. I could not help it; if any one smiled at me while I was dying, I believe I would return it. We passed crowds, for it was now five o'clock, and all seemed to be promenading. There were several officers standing at the corner, near our house, who were very much amused at our vehicle. I did not feel like smiling then. After reducing us to riding in a mule team, they were heartless enough to laugh! I forgot them presently, and gave my whole attention to getting out respectably. Now getting in a wagon is bad enough; but getting out —! I hardly know how I managed it. I had fully three feet to step down before reaching the wheel; once there, the driver picked me up and set me on the pavement. The net I had gathered my hair in, fell in my descent, and my hair swept down halfway between my knee and ankle in one stream. As I turned to get my little bundle, the officers had moved their position to one directly opposite to me, where they could examine me at leisure. Queens used to ride drawn by oxen hundreds of years ago, so I played this was old times, the mules were oxen, I a queen, and stalked off in a style I am satisfied would have imposed on June herself. When I saw them as I turned, they were perfectly quiet; but Nettie says up to that moment they had been in convulsions of laughter, with their handkerchiefs to their faces. It was not polite!

I found mother safe, but the house was in the most horrible confusion. Jimmy's empty cage stood by the door; it had the same effect on me that empty coffins produce on others. Oh, my birdie! At six, I could no longer stand my hunger. I had fasted for twelve hours, with the exception of a mouthful of hoecake at eleven; I that never fasted in my life! — except last Ash Wednesday when Lydia and I tried it for breakfast, and got so sick we were glad to atone for it at dinner. So I got a little piece of bread and corn beef from Mrs. Daigre's servant, for there was not a morsel here, and I did not know where or what to buy. Presently some kind friend sent me a great short-cake, a dish of strawberry preserves, and some butter, which I was grateful for, for the fact that the old negro was giving me part of her supper made me rather sparing, though she cried, “Eat it all, honey! I get plenty more!”

Mother went to Cousin Will's, and I went to Mrs. Brunot's to sleep, and so ended my first day's ride on a mule team. Bah! A lady can make anything respectable by the way she does it! What do I care if I had been driving mules? Better that than walk seventeen miles.

I met Dr. DuChêne and Dr. Castleton twice each, this morning. They were as kind to me as they were to the girls the other day. The latter saved them a disagreeable visit, while here. He and those three were packing some things in the hall, when two officers passed, and prepared to come in, seeing three good-looking girls seemingly alone, for Miriam's dress hid Dr. Castleton as he leaned over the box. Just then she moved, the Doctor raised his head, and the officers started back with an “Ah!” of surprise. The Doctor called them as they turned away, and asked for a pass for the young ladies. They came back bowing and smiling, said they would write one in the house, but they were told very dryly that there were no writing accommodations there. They tried the fascinating, and were much mortified by the coldness they met. Dear me! “Why wasn't I born old and ugly?” Suppose I should unconsciously entrap some magnificent Yankee! What an awful thing it would be!!

Sentinels are stationed at every corner; Dr. Castleton piloted me safely through one expedition; but on the next, we had to part company, and I passed through a crowd of at least fifty, alone. They were playing cards in the ditch, and swearing dreadfully, these pious Yankees; many were marching up and down, some sleeping on the pavement, others — picking odious bugs out of each other's heads! I thought of the guerrillas, yellow fever, and all, and wished they were all safe at home with their mothers and sisters, and we at peace again.

What a day I have had! Here mother and I are alone, not a servant on the lot. We will sleep here to-night, and I know she will be too nervous to let me sleep. The dirt and confusion were extraordinary in the house. I could not stand it, so I applied myself to making it better. I actually swept two whole rooms! I ruined my hands at gardening, so it made no difference. I replaced piles of books, crockery, china, that Miriam had left packed for Greenwell; I discovered I could empty a dirty hearth, dust, move heavy weights, make myself generally useful and dirty, and all this is thanks to the Yankees! Poor me! This time last year I thought I would never walk again! If I am not laid up forever after the fatigue of this last week, I shall always maintain I have a Constitution. But it all seems nothing in this confusion; everything is almost as bad as ever. Besides that, I have been flying around to get Miriam a wagon. I know she is half distracted at being there alone. Mother chose staying with all its evils. Charlie's life would pay the penalty of a cotton burner if he returned, so Lilly remains at Greenwell with him. We three will get on as best we can here. I wrote to the country to get a wagon, sent a pass from Headquarters, but I will never know if it reached her until I see her in town. I hope it will; I would be better satisfied with Miriam.

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 57-62

Diary of Private Alexander G. Downing: Monday, December 7, 1863

I was relieved from patrol this morning. Thus far we have not succeeded in locating any of the reported spies. This patrol duty is quite hard, since when we have a few moments for rest the only place is a vacant room over a store, without fire; furthermore, lying down on the floor is not very inviting because of the graybacks running over the floor.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 156

Colonel Thomas Kilby Smith to Eliza Walter Smith, February 4, 1863

Headquarters Second Brigade, Second Division,

Fifteenth Army Corps,

“young's Point,” Before Vicksburg, Feb. 4, 1863.

My Dear Mother:

I could write much on these army matters and the course of events here if it were proper for me to do so; but, of course, my lips are sealed and my pen tabooed. You must rest assured that all the newspaper accounts you have seen of the late battles, and the movements of the Army of the Mississippi, are basely, utterly false. So much has been admitted by the correspondent of the New York . . .  in my presence to General Sherman. Courts martial will develop strange facts. All that you read in the newspapers will only serve to mislead you and confuse your mind. Great plans cannot be revealed. Few of the generals themselves know them. The newspaper men, dangerous to the army as spies giving information to the enemy, closely restricted and carefully watched, nevertheless manage to mingle undetected with the residue of the horde of base camp followers who are always at the heels of the army. Provoked at the restrictions placed upon them, by common agreement they hound down with infamous slander the generals from whom the orders against them emanate. Thus the scoundrel . . . the correspondent of the New York . . . has admitted by letter to General Sherman, as well as verbally in my presence, not only that his article was false, and malicious, and based upon false information received from parties interested in defaming General Sherman and his command, but that he renewed the old story of his insanity for the purpose of gratifying private revenge. . . .  Our country is in an awful condition ; we are verging rapidly upon anarchy. Government has almost ceased to exist save in name. An immense army will be demoralized and crumble by its internal opposing forces. A united people have only to fold their arms and calmly bide the event. God help us, and forgive that political party which sowed the wind, the fruits of which we now reap. This much and this alone I have to say. A soldier has naught to do with politics; the nearer he approaches a machine, an animal without volition, the more valuable he becomes to the service, and perhaps the greater part of our present difficulties grow out of the fact that our soldiers are too intelligent, for they will talk and they will write, and read the papers. Our Army of the Mississippi, and particularly our gallant “Old Division,” have the firmest faith and the most implicit reliance upon Sherman and Grant. Sherman is a splendid soldier, a most honorable gentleman, a pure patriot. Would to God we had more like him to battle for the right. I earnestly pray God he may not be sacrificed. This new infusion I know nothing about. McClernand has been sent off; he is out of place here. Brigadiers have come and are coming. I shall soon be superseded by some one of them, or General Stuart will be compelled to give way and I to him. No change of this kind will be cheerfully submitted to by my command. I have the most substantial evidence that I possess their affection and confidence. You speak about my resigning; it would be utterly impossible for me to resign, if I desired to do so, and an effort on my part to have my resignation accepted would ensure my lasting disgrace. An officer cannot resign in the face of the enemy. But I do not want to resign. With all its terrible hardships and privations, greater than tongue can tell, or pen describe, the life of a soldier is dear to me. I love its dangers and excitements. I am proud of, and delighted with the applause which even a temporary success meets. I am relieved of the miserable, wretched chicanery that surrounds the civilian. I rejoice in the free air. I take kindly to the nomadic life that a field service compels. The romance of chivalry is realized, the ideality of my youth and early manhood brought into actual being. The war horse and the sabre, the glitter of the soldier's trappings, the stirring strains of martial music, the flashing eye, the proud, high bearing, the bivouac fire, the canteen, the song and jest, the perilous scout, the wary picket, the night march, all familiar — this is my life. What I read of, till my cheeks tingled and my eyes suffused, I now do and my comrades do, and like Harry Percy, feel able to “pluck bright honor from the pale-faced moon.”

How long we shall stay here, God knows; it is a horrid place now, what it will be in the spring, none can tell; a long fiat swamp a foot above or below — I can't tell which —  the level of the Mississippi, which we are fighting to keep out. That portion not covered with a growth of brake and timber is completely so by cockle burr, that grows to an enormous height and presents an almost impenetrable mass of those little prickly burrs that get into the manes and horsetails, the same kind we have at home, but fearfully exaggerated in size and numbers. It is not quite the season, but after a very little while we shall be enlivened by the pleasant society of alligators and mocassin snakes, mud turtles and their coadjutors. Meanwhile we have every conceivable variety of lice and small-pox, measles and mumps, and other diseases incident to women and children. There is a species of moss you have often heard of and which abounds in this climate — a long hanging and beautiful moss when seen close at hand, but which waving in the forests presents a dreary funereal aspect. It is an article of commerce, and when properly prepared is a material for the stuffing of mattresses. Of course the men, when we camped near where it grew, eagerly sought it to make their beds, and were much disgusted to find it filled with lice. It has to be boiled and bottled to clean it from vermin. So, with the moss, and the transport boats filthy in the extreme, many of which had been hospital boats, the troops were pretty thoroughly infected with the plagues of Egypt, all but the frogs; and the first sun, I reckon, will make them tune their pipes.

SOURCE: Walter George Smith, Life and letters of Thomas Kilby Smith, p. 268-71

Diary of Alexander G. Downing: Friday, January 16, 1863

The snow continued today with a high wind. I loaned Lieutenant Spencer $15.00.¹ I went to the city today to purchase some supplies, spending in all $1.00. This evening we received our long-looked-for knapsacks with our extra underwear, which was quite welcome. Those of us who were not fortunate enough to secure extra underclothes when at Holly Springs, as some did, were obliged to wear one undersuit for forty-nine days without changing. When we now cast them aside, some of the boys declared that there was almost enough life in their clothes to walk.

__________

¹ Mr. Downing informs me that, as was the common practice, this loan was evidenced only by a verbal contract. — Ed.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 94-5