Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Tuesday, August 4, 1864

Several men of our regiment are failing fast. H. D. Merritt is an object of pity and getting worse. We have cut his hair close to keep the myriads of lice out. He has lost all disposition to try to save himself. About 400 of Gen. Stoneman's command captured in the vicinity of Macon, were turned in here today. They report Maj. Gen. Stoneman captured. His expedition to that point with the intention of coming here has proved disastrous. Rations suspended. Sick ordered to the gate at night; and ordered to be brought again in the morning. None to go who can walk.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 97

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, August 6, 1864

At daylight a man shot and instantly killed. He had no particular stopping place, had become partially crazed; in the night had crept beyond the dead line and fell asleep. As soon as seen, the guard shot him while yet asleep. He had just been seen by two of our men who were calling him to come out. He lay until "dead call" and was carried out. Those who have helpless friends are eager to get them out. So at an early hour this morning they are crowded forward. Regulators are clearing every passage to make room for the sick. The main street on which I stop from the gate to the east, is filled with prostrate men. There is a greater number than yesterday. The doctors are making special efforts and one said yesterday, "The sick must all come out. The condition of the prison will breed pestilence that will spread through the country." It is through their importunity that this movement is made. They appear frightened. I heard another say, "Conditions are shameful." Long have doctors complained that their government furnishes neither medicine nor decent quarters; that men can not be successfully treated on such fare and in these quarters. One told Steward Brown that men could not live long on the rations given us; that well men will soon be sick. They have 'some new tents up; some are being carried thither in army wagons. The Rebel sergeant who counted us today said:

"Captain don't care how many Yankees die; he says he has killed more men than Joe Johnston," then added: "What did you'ns come down heah for if you'ns didn't want tough fare? But we can't help it."

After two hours laying in a crowd, "no sick call," is announced. The sick are being returned to all parts of the prison. I am living on rice alone, draw some, trade meal for some.

Report is rife that our government has offered the Richmond dignitaries to accept a parole of all prisoners, especially sick, and take care of prisoners of both parties. Undoubtedly this is the disposition of our government. This evening I met an intelligent talker who knows what he sees more than most men. Having frequently met him, I inquired his name. "Buerila," he replied; "I am from Illinois, have been a prisoner ten months, came here from Florida; I will stay ten more, I will be eaten up by lice and maggots before I will ask our government to get on its marrow bones to these Rebels. I am glad to see Lincoln stand square on his feet. I was a Douglas man, not that he was a better man, but had had more experience. I knew both personally and now believe Lincoln the best man for the place. If I can get into God's country in time he will get my vote." I referred to the report; he said:

"I asked the old Dutch if that thing was true myself. The old bummer looked mad, but answered more than I expected: 'Py Cot ve vills to no such ting! Py Cot, ve vill starf every son of a pitch! Now, I tells you, you vills all tie pefore ve vills parole ye-an pefore exchange. Py Cot, your Covment is too tevilment. Ve cot you foul!' Turning his horse around to go away, he said: 'Py Cot, you as vell pe schoot as stay here, and ve no trust damn Yankees.'"

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 97-8

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop, Thursday, August 11, 1864

Recent improvements in camp are timbers laid across the swamp on the west side north of the stream for 20 rods, this will help escape the filth in passing from north to south. A flume and bridge has been made which improves washing facilities; also a road from the north to the stream in the east part. We have more variety of food but scanty allowance, to-wit: corn bread, rice, a curious kind of bean, old and wormy. For several days a small piece of poor beef has come with cooked rations, hardly a mouthful, and in lieu a little sorghum molasses. We have built bake ovens of sand and clay. When several of us have raw meal, we club together to bake it, it being sweeter baked than smoked on a small fire. It economizes fuel, encourages the hope it will not have to be eaten raw. There are five very sick men within a few feet, groaning day and night. It is remarkable with what tenacity life clings to emaciated, corrupted frames.

Williams of the 111th N. Y., of Lyons, N. Y., a boy of education, talent and refinement, a nephew of Hon. Alex. Williams, visited us. He is declining rapidly and engages our sympathy It is a joy to cheer such a sweet spirit. He showed us the likeness of a beautiful girl, remarking that he never expected to see her again, and wept bitterly. We all parted with him regretfully. (He died in September).

I was again struck today by one of the daily duties of men. Passing from north to south through camp I see them stripped, examining clothing for lice. Immediately after roll call they "have a louse," or a "skirmish" or a "peeling off" as they express it from head to heels to give the "gray backs" a cleaning out. These pestering varmints infest clothing, sticking along the seams. Where the torments come from, how they grow in a day, or an hour, is a mystery. Drawing our minds down to hunting lice is humiliating; but the man who don't isn't respectable; we feel disgraced in his company Once a day is tolerable, twice better, three times makes a man of the first order. Neglect this, and he is soon over run, pitied, loathed, hated, sneered and snarled at. Lice polute and sap his blood, he loathes himself and dies. They crawl in droves over the sick, herd in his ears, gnaw him, shade in his hair deep as the hair is long. Talk about "gophers" in the army, no name for this! They sap the life of the strongest. Men who fight their lice effectually every day are brave, meritorious. But wouldn't we be pretty guests for parlor bedrooms! Trousers under the pillow! What would the tidy chambermaid say at Hotel Eagle?, Charming guests for ladies, lousy, brown, yellowed bloated, dirt-eating, wallowing Yankees! And we do laugh though it is not a laughing matter. But I am the only bachelor in our notable family of eight; should we be wafted to Northland from Dixie tonight, no one would be obliged to submit to my embraces. Poor, indeed!

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, pp. 105-6

Diary of 5th Sergeant Lawrence Van Alstyne, January 1, 1863

The Arago did call for our mail and the body of Lieutenant Sterling was put on board to go to his family in Poughkeepsie. We gave the old ship three cheers, and then some one sang out three cheers for the lice you gave us. John Van Hoovenburg died last night. We made a box for him out of such boards as we could find. Though we did our best, his bare feet showed through the cracks. But that made no difference to poor Johnnie. The chaplain was with him to the end, says he was happy and ready to go. This is how we spend our New Year's day. We wish each other a happy New Year though just as if we were home and had a good prospect of one. After the funeral Walter Loucks and I went up the river quite a distance, so far it seemed as if our legs would not carry us back. Negro huts are scattered along. I suppose white people cannot live here and so the darkeys have it all. Some cultivate patches of ground and in one garden we saw peas in bloom. We bought a loaf of bread and a bottle of molasses of an old woman, and though the bread was not what it might have been, it tasted good. There are some orange trees, but no oranges. The darkies say they will blossom in about a month. A man in Company E, a sort of poet, who was always writing songs for the boys to sing, was cutting wood to-day and the axe flew off the handle and cut the whole four fingers from the right hand. There were no witnesses and some there are who say he did it so as to get a discharge. The doctor has dressed the hand and he is going about in great pain just now.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 78

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

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

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

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

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

Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Friday, July 8, 1864

Prisoners arrive, 300, taken at James Island, S. C., the 3rd, belonging to the 52nd Pennsylvania, also a squad from Virginia. Fierce lightning and thunder in the middle of the day, the sun shining brightly, and scarce a cloud in the sky. A Rebel paper admits the country open to Grant, and Lee in a strait. "All we want is to be left alone," said Jeff Davis at his inaugural. His wants will grow, like "bull pen" lice.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 85

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: December 16, 1862

The U. S. surgeon from the Marine Hospital has been on board looking us over. Found only four diseases, measles, scurvy, typhoid fever and jaundice. He did not put down the graybacks that keep us scratching all the time. For a long time after they appeared they left me alone, but one morning as I lay on my back in bed writing in my diary one came crawling up over my knee and looked me straight in the face; from that on they have seemed to like me as well as anyone.

Towards night the Arago swung up to the bank near the big brick building and we went ashore and piled into it. It was built for storing cotton, and is fireproof. The lower floor is of brick and the upper one of iron and so cannot well burn. The bricks seem hard and cold and are water-soaked. Still we spread our blankets and got some sleep and woke up hungry. The cooks have established themselves between us and the river so as to be near water. We have room to stir about at any rate and some went in bathing, but the water is cold. The only good quality the body lice possess is a habit of letting go of us when we move and grabbing hold of our clothes. Taking advantage of this we took the camp kettles as soon as breakfast was cooked and boiled our clothes. Those that had no change and that was the most of us-ran about to keep warm until our garments were cooked and then after a wring out put them on and let them dry as fast as the wind and sun would do it. By night we were dry and slept without a scratch, and strange to say none of us took cold. But not all would try this heroic remedy and consequently we expect to have to repeat the operation.

A negro came across the river with his boat loaded with oranges. We bought the whole of them as fast as he could count them out, fifty cents for 100, and the doctor says eat all you want. The sick are in the wooden buildings outside, except in one, which the officers have taken. We acted like colts just turned loose and already are forgetting the close quarters we were in so long. Along the river is a narrow strip of hard ground and beyond that is a swamp which so far as I can see has no end. Sluggish streams flow with the tide back and forth from the river to the gulf, and between these the ground is covered with what is here called wild rice. Birds of all sorts are plenty; ducks and geese all feed upon the seeds that abound everywhere.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, pp. 72-3

Diary of Corporal Lawrence Van Alstyne: November 19, 1862

Have been paid off; $24.70 I got, and we all went ashore and washed up. The bunks on the Arago have been used so long by so many that they are lousy and most everyone has them. I, however, have found none as yet. We are kept on shore as much as possible, as a guard against disease, which would surely come when so many are crowded in so small a space. As there is no way to spend money here except for oysters, a great many gamble it away, then borrow again from those that win and pay any interest asked for. There is more and more sickness every day. Many are taken to a hospital at Fortress Monroe, which I am told is not far away.

SOURCE:  Lawrence Van Alstyne, Diary of an Enlisted Man, p. 63-4

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