Diary of Corporal John Worrell Northrop: Monday, June 6, 1864

The impression is growing that the situation is more and more unfavorable every day. Hospitals are overflowing with sick and no more admittance, though crowds throng at the gate daily; deaths are rapidly increasing. The numbers laying about, helpless and speechless, are growing daily. Thompson reported a particular case to the gate, asking help, and got the answer: "You Yanks help yourselves." Sergeants of detachments have reported so many cases of insane, helpless and entirely naked men, and got no satisfaction, that they ceased to do so.

A much worn Atlantic Monthly of 1861, fell into my hands which I read with interest; "Concerning Veal," by the author of "Recreations of a Country Parson," and "Nat Turner, the Slave Insurrectionist of 1831," who aroused all Virginia to defend slavery. I noticed today a man with the whole lower part of his body buried in dirt as a remedy for scurvy.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 72-3

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: Sunday, May 29, 1864

The incident at the creek, where I nearly drew the fire of two sentries, led me to inquire as to methods prison authorities have for informing new arrivals, of their rules in reference to the dead line, especially where no line is visible, which is the case for 60 yards at the point mentioned, parallel with the crossing from south to north. I learned they never published their rules, every man learns at his peril, just as I did, or by hearsay. Old prisoners say there never has been a visible line at this creek crossing; that no man knows where it is except as he judges the distance from the stockade, or guesses where it would come by looking at the line where it stops north and south of the creek. The sentry is left to guess when a man gets over the line, that is not there and shoots according to his guess. It involves upon the prisoners to post new men, as much as possible, but comparatively few think to do so. It is a serious matter as new arrivals nearly every day are apt to transgress the rule ignorantly and innocently, and if shot they have been murdered in cold blood. During new arrivals this happens often, as guards are mostly young fellows whose chief education is to despise Yankees whom it is a Southern virtue to kill, and to perform this patriotic duty he has been trained to shoot well, and to watch for a chance. At this point he finds opportunity. Guards are composed of Alabama and Georgia youths reared under the fire-eating doctrines of Yancey, Cobb and Toombs, and to believe in the infallibility of the chivalric South, its institutions, peculiar rights, as superior to all else, whose leaders have led the Southern mass to engage in a bad war for a bad cause. Probably these shooting imps know nothing of this, are ignorant of the crime they every day commit. Not a single instance, so far, were men who were shot seeking to escape. They were ignorant of any rule and unhindered in their approach to the stockade by a visible dead line at this point. Hence the shooting has been unjustifiable by ordinnary prison discipline prescribed by treaties or laws of war.

It is one continuous, irksome every day recurrence of unpleasant scenes. But one event is looked for with hopeful pleasure, that is the issuing of rations which never lacks serious, if not total disappointment. After roll call the sick are helped to the gates; those ready to die are put on stretchers and carried to the hospital outside near the south end of the stockade. Of all the grim and ghastly sights imagination ever depicted, those we see at this hour far excel in horror. Poor, squalid, yellow faces, eyes sunken and glassy, cheeks hollow or swollen with scurvy, fevered lips drawn tightly across the teeth, the mouth agape to breathe or let escape fetid breath, some borne by comrades, others tottering by the help of staffs or supported by friends; some without half a suit to cover them, some with terribly swollen limbs, putrid sores, dropsical distensions and bent forms. One holds his breath to look at them, nay turns away! Men walk about whom we would call bad corpses if seen in coffins anywhere else. Such a pitiful look as they give I never saw; their voices are as if the dead speak.

Two rods to the rear of us I witnessed the death of a Tennesseean, the last of three brothers who died on the same spot since March. All were Belle Isle victims. He had laid all day in the heat and will not be carried out till morning. He gradually wasted and died without a struggle. It is more remarkable than anything I ever read, how men lose their sense of life; imperceptibly degree by degree, it goes out leaving only a latent consciousness of what they have been, what they are, and a vague, unintelligent hope. Even that departs and his mind ranges in the narrowest sphere the human spirit can. For weeks he is robbed of himself; an infant is not more childish or weak; age not so whimsical or broken. He is a mere human worm! Another singular phase of these conditions: We frequently see men unable to arise from the sand, threatening to knock down strong men for trivial things they deem insulting. Men of skeleton forms lock in each others puny arms in a rage, falling on the ground unable to rise, they still boast of what they can do. So long bereft of comfort, so long have they only hoped for bread and liberty from day to day at the hands of merciless authorities, that reason is extinguished in many, and the lowest, blindest, selfish passion clings to the rotten thread of life. The phases which life assumes in this degraded condition, is inconceivable. Some retain the tenderest affection and the broadest faith, as long as consciousness remains.

I saw a man today in the last stages of starvation having sickened of his scanty food. His cry was bread, but when offered that given us, his stomach heaved; he turned his face with expressions of hopeless agony and exclaimed: "They can get me something else! could I be at home!" There are many cases which doctors might term chronic innutrition, where they eat with avidity all they get and still starve, the food doing no good. Doctors have been made acquainted with many of these cases, but will not admit to the hospital. Bell Isle boys tell me they have often dreamed of eating and woke up to go through the motions frothing at the mouth. In one instance they begged the guard to throw over pieces of a cow that had been delivered of a calf three days before, some of which they devoured, raw. They exhibit some rings claimed to have been made from the bones of a dog, eaten at Belle Isle, kept as a memento.

SOURCE: John Worrell Northrop, Chronicles from the Diary of a War Prisoner in Andersonville and Other Military Prisons of the South in 1864, p. 66-8

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

Diary of Captain Joseph Stockton, December 12, 1862

Was quite unwell for a day or so. Nothing of particular interest occurred. Foraging parties were sent out to gather all the provisions and vegetables they could, as scurvy was making its appearance in a slight form. Visited the University of Mississippi with Doctor Powell. Buildings were fine and well built, grounds handsome and I saw the finest astronomical apparatus, they say, that there is in the country; also a splendid collection of minerals purchased of a Mr. Budd in New York. Weather beautiful.

SOURCE: Joseph Stockton, War Diary (1862-5) of Brevet Brigadier General Joseph Stockton, p. 6

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, April 5, 1863

Camp near Rappahannock River, Va.,        

April 5, 1863.

The weather has been more disagreeable since the beginning of April than at any previous time this winter. The wind has blown almost incessantly and furiously at times. To-day is one of the windiest and most disagreeable that I ever saw. It is awful. I hope the wind will subside by night, or I am afraid it will blow my tent down. Yesterday when it was nearly night snow began falling, and with it there was a hurricane of wind, which continued through the night, and was terrific at times. I expected the tent to come down on Billie and me every moment, but it stood the gale finely, although it kept up a horrible flapping all night. The wind is still blowing to-day and the snow is several inches deep. Such weather as this will delay “Fighting Joe” Hooker's movements for some time, and it is so much the better for us.

There is now some scurvy in the army, which is caused by a lack of a vegetable diet. It is not serious yet and is easily cured if the men can get vegetables to eat.

We received orders from General Lee to be ready for an active campaign on the first of the month, by getting rid of all our surplus baggage. About one week ago I saw a Yankee balloon up on the other side of the river, and was told that General Lee had one up at the same time, but I did not see it. I do not believe we shall have so severe a campaign this spring and summer as we had last year, but I am more than willing to endure all the hardships again to be as victorious as we were then. You need have no apprehension that this army will ever meet with defeat while commanded by General Lee. General Jackson is a strict Presbyterian, but he is rather too much of a Napoleon Bonaparte in my estimation. Lee is the man, I assure you.

Dr. Kilgore and a great many others are extremely tired of this war, and he has succeeded in getting transferred to Macon, Ga. The surgeon who has taken his place is Dr. Tyler, a son of the former President of the United States. When the Thirteenth Regiment was formed there were six doctors and two bookkeepers in the medical department, and now every one of them has gone but myself.

I am glad that George is so bright and intelligent.

SOURCE: Dr. Spenser G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 46-8

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, Sunday Evening, January 18, 1863

January 18, Sunday evening.

Such a transparent day and cool north winds make even South Carolina endurable, while it lasts, I mean. When General Hunter gets here we expect to nullify the State. . . . In our camp most curious problems present themselves, as how to keep people from scurvy without vegetables and fresh meat; how to have a good fire in tents without a fireplace, stove or ventilation; how to make bread without yeast and without oven. How to treat the sick without medicines,—how to amputate limbs without knives, — all these and many other similarly knotty questions the surgeon of the First Regiment of S. C. Vol's. has to consider, — sometimes when he ought to be sleeping. This is not said complainingly. Our men rarely complain and those jeering white soldiers who saw their firm tread in the streets of Beaufort, yesterday, must have discovered a reason for their patience, this silent waiting.

There was a Destiny in the silent, dignified bearing of our men, yesterday. I never in my life, felt so proud, so strong, so large. . . . Hurrah! Hurrah! — the Quartermaster just in with despatch from signal officer announcing arrival of the Arago, and a gun boat at Hilton head, and General Hunter has come.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 345-6

Captain Charles Wright Wills: August 8, 1864

August 8, 1864.

Never was army better cared for than this. No part of it has been on short rations during the campaign. Extra issues of dessicated potatoes, mixed vegetables, etc., have bundled the advance guard of General Scurvy neck and heels outside the pickets. Extraordinary dreams of green corn, blackberries, new potatoes, etc., have done very much towards keeping up the health and morale of the army, and as much towards reconciling us to this summer sun, that ripens said goodies.

We draw supplies of clothing monthly as regularly as when in garrison, and a ragged soldier is a scarcity. At least 30 days' rations are safely stored in our rear, making us entirely unmindful of railroad raids, for, if necessary, we could build the whole road in that time. The heat has not troubled us much, save during a few days' marching.

We have had hardly three days without a rain for a month. We have done a great amount of work since our last battle, have constructed nine lines of works, and it will take at least two more before we get the position that I think Howard wants. We keep those poor Johnnies in a stew all the time. Our artillery is any amount better than theirs, and it plays on them from morning until night. Nothing worries troops so much, though compared with musketry it is almost harmless. I guess their ammunition is short, for they don't fire one shot to our 40. I think we'll like Howard first rate. If he is as good as McPherson, he'll do.

Four divisions are on their way to reenforce us. I don't think we need them, but the more, the merrier.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 288-

Captain Charles Wright Wills: July 7, 1864

July 7, 1864.

The shooting still continues in our front, but hear no Rebel artillery. The water here is excellent, and everybody seems to get a few blackberries. We also stew grapes and green apples, and everything that ever was eaten by anti-cannibals. There is so much confounded fighting to be attended to that we can't forage any, and though fresh beef is furnished to the men regularly there is some scurvy. I have seen several black-mouthed, loose-toothed fellows, hankering after pickles. Teamsters and hangers-on who stay in the rear get potatoes, etc., quite regularly. I do not believe the Johnnies intend fighting again very strongly this side of the river. Our scouts say that between the river and Atlanta the works run line after line as thickly as they can be put in. Per contra, two women who came from Atlanta on the 6th say that after we get across the river we will have no fighting, that Johnston is sending his troops to Savannah, Charleston, Mobile and Richmond, except enough to fight us at different river crossings. Our scouts also say that the Rebels are deserting almost by thousands, and going around our flanks to their homes in Tennessee, Kentucky, etc. I have not been in a house in Georgia, but several citizens I have met in camp said they had heard many soldiers say they would never cross the river with Johnston since the charge of the 27th.

Harrow has kept our brigade in reserve, and I think he will continue to do so unless a general battle is fought. We have suffered more heavily than any other two brigades in the army, and when we started we were one of the smallest. I am willing to see some of the others go in a while, though I want to help if Johnston will stand a fair fight in open ground. The chigres are becoming terrific. They are as large as the blunt end of a No. 12 and as red as blood. They will crawl through any cloth and bite worse than a flea, and poison the flesh very badly. They affect some more than others. I get along with them comparatively well, that is, I don't scratch more than half the time. Many of the boys anoint their bodies with bacon rinds, which the chigres can't go. Salt-water bathing also bars chigres, but salt is too scarce to use on human meat. Some of the boys bathing now in a little creek in front of me; look like what I expect “Sut Lovegood's” father did after plowing through that hornet's nest. All done by chigres. I believe I pick off my neck and clothes 30 varieties of measuring worm every day. Our brigade quartermaster yesterday found, under his saddle in his tent, a rattlesnake, with six rattles and a button.

This is the 68th day of the campaign. We hope to end it by August 1st, though if we can end the war by continuing this until January 1st, '65, I am in. Reinforcements are coming in every day, and I don't suppose we are any weaker than when we left Chattanooga. The Rebels undoubtedly are, besides the natural demoralization due to falling back so much must be awful. My health is excellent. Remember me to all the wounded boys of the 103d you see.

SOURCE: Charles Wright Wills, Army Life of an Illinois Soldier, p. 274-6

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

Got up bright and early. Never slept better. Getting rested up. We talk continually. Both Bucks are great talkers, especially David. Cooked and ate our breakfast, and would you believe it the ham is all gone. incredible, the amount of food we eat. Wonder it don't make us all sick. Sweet potatoes getting low. Dave fixing up his dead fall for hogs. Has rolled some heavy logs together forty rods away from our house, and fixed up a figure four spring trap, with the logs for weight to hold down the animal which may be enticed into it. Has scattered corn in and around the trap, and we wait for developments. Hogs are very shy of us and surroundings. Are apparently fat and in good order. Plenty of roots and shack which they eat, and thrive thereon. Buzzards are very curious in regard to us. They light on the limbs in the trees, and if their support is a dead limb it breaks and makes a great noise in the still woods. Two or three hundred all together make a terrible racket, and scare us sometimes. The weather is very fine, and this must be a healthy climate. Dave is going out to-day to look around. As I have said before, he is a scout and understands spying around, and won't get caught. If we had a fish hook and line or a net of some sort could catch fish to eat. That would be a grand sport as we can see nice large fish in the water. The main road is away about one and a half miles we think by the sound of the teams which occasionally rumble along. Often hear shouting on the road as if cattie were being driven along toward Savannah. Once in a while we hear guns fired off, but it is no doubt hogs being killed. We also hear folks going up and down the river, but cannot see them. After dark we have no fire as that would expose us, it is so much plainer to be seen in the night. The river is wide; should think a third of a mile, as we can view it from away up the stream. The cane that grows in the river is the same as we have for fish poles at the North, and are shipped from the South. Have added some repairs to the house and it is now water tight, we think. Made a bed of soft boughs, and with our three blankets have a good sleeping place. Dave got a tall cane and fastened up on the house, and for a flag fastened on a piece or black cloth—the best we could do. That means no quarter; and it is just about what we mean, too. Don't believe we would be taken very easy now. I am getting fat every day, yet lame, and have come to the conclusion that it will be a long time before I get over it. The cords have contracted so in my right leg that they don't seem to stretch out again to their original length. That scurvy business came very near killing me. Later. — I also went out of our hiding place, and saw away out in a field what I took to be a mound where sweet potatoes were buried. Came back and got a pair of drawers, tied the bottom of the legs together, and sallied forth. The mound of potatoes was a good way back from the house, although in plain sight. I crawled up, and began digging into it with a piece of canteen. Very soon had a hole in, and found some of the nicest potatoes that you can imagine, of the red variety, which I believe are the genuine Southern yam. Filled the drawers cram full, filled my pockets and got all I could possibly carry, then closed up the hole and worked my way back to camp. Eli was alone, Dave not having returned from his scouting trip. Had a war dance around those potatoes. Believe there is a bushel of them, and like to have killed myself getting them here. After I got into the woods and out of the field, straightened up and got the drawers on my shoulders and picked the way to head-quarters. We don't any of us call any such thing as that stealing. It's one of the necessities of our lives that we should have food, and if we have not got it, must do the best we can. Now if we can catch a porker will be fixed all right for some days to come. Think it is about the time of year for butchering. We don't expect to be here more than two or three days at fartherest, although I shall hate to leave this beautiful spot, our nice house and all. Listen all the time for the expected battle at the bridge, and at any unusual sound of commotion in that direction we are all excitement. Later.—Dave has returned. He went to the main road and saw a negro. Was lucky enough to get a Savannah paper three days old in which there was nothing we did not know in regard to Sherman's coming. The negro said yankee scouts had been seen just across the river near the bridge, and the main army is expected every day. The rebels will fall back across the river and contest the crossing. Fortifications are built all along clear to Savannah, and it may be reasonably expected that some hard fighting will take place. Savannah is the pride of the South and they will not easily give it up. Dave did not tell the negro that he was a yankee, but represented himself as a conscript hiding in the woods to keep from fighting in the rebel army. Was glad to see supply of potatoes and says I will do. Has freshly baited his trap for hogs and thinks before night we will have fresh pork to go with the potatoes. Later. — We went around a drove of hogs and gradually and carefully worked them up to the trap. Pretty soon they began to pick up the corn and one of them went under the figure four, sprung it and down came the logs and such a squealing and scrambling of those not caught. The axe had been left near the trap standing up against a tree, and Dave ran up and grabbed it and struck the animal on the head and cut his throat. How we did laugh and dance around that defunct porker. Exciting sport this trapping for fresh pork. In half an hour Dave and Eli had the pig skinned and dressed. Is not a large one probably weighs ninety pounds or so, and is fat and nice. Have sliced up enough for about a dozen men and are now cooking it on sticks held up before the fire. Also frying some in a skillet which we are the possessor of. When the hogs run wild and eat acorns, roots and the like, the meat is tough and curly but is sweet and good. We fry out the grease and then slice up the potatoes and cook in it. Thanks to Mr. Kimball we have plenty of salt to season our meat with. The buzzards are after their share which will be small. And now it is most night again and the “Astor House” larder is full. Seems too bad to go to bed with anything to eat on hand, but must. That is the feeling with men who have been starved so long, cannot rest in peace with food laying around. My two comrades are not so bad about that as I am, having been well fed for a longer period. Have sat up three or four hours after dark, talking over what we will do when we get home, and will now turn in for a sound sleep. It's a clear moonlight night, and we can hear very plain a long distance. Can also see the light shining from camp fires in many directions, or what we take to be such.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 149-52

,Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: October 4, 1864

Am now living splendid; vegetable diet is driving off the scurvy and dropsy, in fact the dropsy has dropped out but the effect remains. Set up now part of the time and talk like a runaway horse until tired out and then collapse. Heard that all the prisoners are going to be sent to Millen, Ga. Wrote a few lines directed to my father in Michigan. Am now given more food but not much at a time. Two poor fellows in our tent do not get along as well as I do, although Land is doing well and is going to be a nurse. The hospital is not guarded very close and Mike Hoare cannot resist the temptation to escape. Well, joy go with him. Dosed with quinine and beastly to take. Battese on his last visit to me left the two first books of my diary which he had in his possession. There is no doubt but he has saved my life, although he will take no credit for it. It is said all were moved from Andersonville to different points; ten thousand went to Florence, ten thousand to Charleston and ten thousand to Savannah; but the dead stay there and will for all time to come. What a terrible place and what a narrow escape I had of it Seems to me that fifteen thousand died while I was there; an army almost and as many men as inhabit a city of fifty thousand population.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 100

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: September 28, 1864

Sent word to Battese by a convalescent who is being sent to the large prison, that I am getting well. Would like to see him. Am feeling better. Good many union men in Savannah. Three hundred sick here, with all kinds of diseases — gangrene, dropsy, scurvy, typhoid and other fevers, diarrhea, &c. Good care taken of me. Have medicine often, and gruel. Land does the writing.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 98

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: September 25, 1864

Can eat better — or drink rather; Some rebel general dead and buried with honors outside. Had another wash and general clean up; ocean breezes severe for invalids. Am visited twice a day by the rebel surgeon who instructs nurses about treatment. Food principally arrow root; have a little whisky. Sleep great deal of the time. Land, my acquaintance and mess-mate, is lame from scurvy, but is not weak and sick as I am. When I think of anything, say: “Land, put her down,” and he writes what I tell him. Everything clean here, but then any place is clean after summering in Andersonville. Don't improve much and sometimes not at all; get blue sometimes; nature of the beast suppose; other sick in the tent worry and make me nervous.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 97

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

Am troubled with poor sight together with scurvy and dropsy. My teeth are all loose and it is with difficulty I can eat. Jimmy Devers was taken out to die to-day. I hear that McGill is also dead. John McGuire died last night, both were Jackson men and old acquaintances Mike Hoare is still policeman and is sorry for me. Does what he can. And so we have seen the last of Jimmy. A prisoner of war one year and eighteen days. struggled hard to live through it, if ever any one did. Ever since I can remember have known him. John Maguire also, I have always known. Everybody in Jackson, Mich., will remember him, as living on the east side of the river near the wintergreen patch, and his father before him. They were one of the first families who settled that country. His people are well to do, with much property. Leaves a wife and one boy. Tom McGill is also a Jackson boy and a member of my own company. Thus you will see that three of my acquaintances died the same day, for Jimmy cannot live until night I don't think Not a person in the world but would have thought either one of them would kill me a dozen times enduring hardships. Pretty hard to tell about such things. Small squad of poor deluded Yanks turned inside with us, captured at Petersburg. It is said they talk of winning recent battles. Battese has traded for an old watch and Mike will try to procure vegetables for it from the guard. That is what will save us if anything

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 88-9

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

Cords contracting in my legs and very difficult for me to walk — after going a little ways have to stop and rest and am faint, Am urged by some to go to the hospital but don't like to do it; mess say had better stay where I am, and Battese says shall not go and that settles it. Jimmy Devers anxious to be taken to the hospital but is pursuaded to give it up. Tom McGill, another Irish friend, is past all recovery; is in another part of the prison. Many old prisoners are dropping off now this fearful hot weather; knew that July and August would thin us out; cannot keep track of them in my disabled condition. A fellow named Hubbard with whom I have conversed a good deal, is dead; a few days ago was in very good health, and its only a question of a few days now with any of us. Succeeded in getting four small onions about as large as hickory nuts, tops and all for two dollars Confederate money. Battese furnished the money but won't eat an onion; ask him if he is afraid it will make his breath smell? It is said that two or three onions or a sweet potato eaten raw daily will cure the scurvy. What a shame that such things are denied us, being so plenty the world over. Never appreciated such things before but shall hereafter. Am talking as if I expected to get home again. I do.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 87-8

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 9, 1864

Battese brought me some onions, and if they ain't good then no matter; also a sweet potato. One half the men here would get well if they only had something in the vegetable line to eat, or acids. Scurvy is about the most loathsome disease, and when dropsy takes hold with the scurvy, it is terrible. I have both diseases but keep them in check, and it only grows worse slowly. My legs are swollen, but the cords are not contracted much, and I can still walk very well. Our mess all keep clean, in fact are obliged to or else turned adrift. We want none of the dirty sort in our mess. Sanders and Rowe enforce the rules, which is not much work, as all hands are composed of men who prefer to keep clean. I still do a little washing, but more particularly hair cutting, which is easier work. You should see one of my hair cuts. Nobby! Old prisoners have hair a foot long or more, and my business is to cut it off, which I do without regards to anything except to get it off. I should judge that there are one thousand rebel soldiers guarding us, and perhaps a few more, with the usual number of officers. A guard told me to-day that the yanks were “gittin licked,” and they didn't want us exchanged; just as soon we should die here as not; a yank asked him if he knew what exchange meant; said he knew what shootin' meant, and as he began to swing around his old shooting iron we retreated in among the crowd. heard that there were some new men belonging to my regiment in another part of the prison; have just returned from looking after them and am all tired out. Instead of belonging to the 9th Michigan Cavalry, they belong to the 9th Michigan Infantry. Had a good visit and quite cheered with their accounts of the war news. Some one stole Battese's wash board and he is mad; is looking for it — may bust up the business. Think Hub Dakin will give me a board to make another one. Sanders owns the jack-knife, of this mess, and he don't like to lend it either; borrow it to carve on roots for pipes, Actually take solid comfort “building castles in the air,” a thing I have never been addicted to before. Better than getting blue and worrying myself to death. After all, we may get out of this dod-rotted hole Always an end of some sort to such things.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 80

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 8, 1864

Oh, how hot, and oh, how miserable. The news that six have been sentenced to be hanged is true, and one of them is Moseby. The camp is thoroughly under control of the police now, and it is a heavenly boon. Of course there is some stealing and robbery, but not as before. Swan, of our mess, is sick with scurvy. I am gradually swelling up and growing weaker. But a few more pages in my diary. Over a hundred and fifty dying per day now, and twenty six thousand in camp. Guards shoot now very often. Boys, as guards, are the most cruel. It is said that if they kill a Yankee, they are given a thirty days furlough. Guess they need them as soldiers too much to allow of this. The swamp now is fearful, water perfectly reeking with prison offal and poison, still men drink it and die. Rumors that the six will be hung inside. Bread to-day and it is so coarse as to do more hurt than good to a majority of the prisoners. The place still gets worse. Tunneling is over with; no one engages in it now that I know of. The prison is a success as regards safety; no escape except by death, and very many take advantage of that way. A man who has preached to us (or tried to) is dead. Was a good man I verily believe, and from Pennsylvania. It's almost impossible for me to get correct names to note down; the last named man was called “the preacher,” and I can find no other name for him. Our quartette of singers a few rods away is disbanded. One died, one nearly dead, one a policeman and the other cannot sing alone, and so where we used to hear and enjoy good music evenings, there is nothing to attract us from the groans of the dying. Having formed a habit of going to sleep as soon as the air got cooled off and before fairly dark, I wake up at two or three o'clock and stay awake. I then take in all the horrors of the situation. Thousands are groaning, moaning and crying, with no bustle of the daytime to drown it. Guards every half hour call out the time and post, and there is often a shot to make one shiver as if with the ague. Must arrange my sleeping hours to miss getting owly in the morning. Have taken to building air castles of late, on being exchanged. Getting loony, I guess, same as all the rest.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 78-80

Diary of 1st Sergeant John L. Ransom: July 2, 1864

Almost the Glorious Fourth of July. How shall we celebrate? Know of no way except to pound on the bake tin, which I shall do. Have taken to rubbing my limbs, which are gradually becoming more dropsical. Badly swollen. One of my teeth came out a few days ago, and all are loose. Mouth very sore. Battese says: “We get away yet.” Works around and always busy. If any news, he merely listens and don't say a word. Even he is in poor health, but never mentions it. An acquaintance of his, says he owns a good farm in Minnesota. Asked him if he was married — says: “Oh, yes.” Any children? “Oh, yes.” This is as far as we have got his history. Is very different from Indians in general. Some of them here are despisable cowards — worse than the negro. Probably one hundred negroes are here. Not so tough as the whites. Dead line being fixed up by the rebels. Got down in some places. Bought a piece of soap, first I have seen in many months. Swamp now in frightful condition from the filth of camp. Vermin and raiders have the best of it. Capt. Moseby still leads the villains.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 74-5

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 26, 1864

The same old story, only worse, worse. It seems all the time it was as bad as could be, but is not. They die now like sheep — fully a hundred each day. New prisoners come inside in squads of hundreds, and in a few weeks are all dead The change is too great and sudden for them. Old prisoners stand it the best. Found a Jackson, Michigan man, who says I am reported dead there. Am not, however, and may appear to them yet. Jimmy Devers is very bad with the scurvy and dropsy and will probably die if relief does not come. Sergt. Rowe also is afflicted; in fact all the mess except Battese He does all the cooking now. He has made me a cane to walk with, brings water from the well, and performs nearly all the manual labor for us. He is a jewel, but a rough one.

SOURCE: John L. Ransom, Andersonville Diary, p. 71-2