Part 6
May 12.—Received a few lines from George Hendryx, who again went out to work on the outside last night. Wirtz with a squad of guards is about the camp looking for tunnels. Patrols also looking among the prisoners for deserters. A lame man, for telling of a tunnel, was pounded almost to death last night, and this morning they were chasing him to administer more punishment, when he ran inside the dead line claiming protection of the guard. The guard didn’t protect worth a cent, but shot him through the head. A general hurrahing took place, as the rebel had only saved our men the trouble of killing him. More rumors of hard fighting about Richmond. Grant getting the best of it I reckon. Richmond surrounded and rebels evacuating the place. These are the rumors. Guards deny it.
May 13.—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 pic-nic 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 shortly 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?
May 14.—A band of music came from Macon yesterday to attend the pic-nic. A large crowd of women were present to grace the occasion. The grounds on which the festivities were held lay a mile off and in sight of all. In the evening a Bowery dance was one of the pleasures enjoyed. “The Girl I Left Behind Me,” was about all they could play, and that very poorly.
May 15.—Sabbath day and hot. Would give anything for some shade to lay in. Even this luxury is denied us, and we are obliged to crawl around more dead than alive. Rumors that Sherman is marching towards Atlanta, and that place threatened. Kilpatrick said to be moving toward us for the purpose of effecting our release. Hope he will be more successful than in his attack on Richmond. Rebels have dug a deep ditch all around on the outside of the wall to prevent tunneling, and a guard walks in the bottom of the ditch. Banghart, of my Regiment, died to-day.
May 16.—Two men got away during the night and were brought back before noon. (Was going to say before dinner.) The men are torn by the dogs, and one of them full of buck shot. A funny way of escape has just been discovered by Wirtz. A man pretends to be dead and is carried out on a stretcher and left with the row of dead. As soon as it gets dark, Mr. Dead-man jumps up and runs. Wirtz suspecting the trick took to watching, and discovered a “dead man” running away. An examination now takes place by the surgeon before being permitted out from under guard. I hear a number of men have gotten away by this method, and it seems very probable, as dead men are so plenty that not much attention is paid to them.
May 17.—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.
May 18.—We have some good singers in camp, and strange as it may seem, a good deal of singing is indulged in. There are some men that are happy as long as they can breathe, and such men smoothe over many rough places here. God bless a man who can sing in this place. A priest comes inside praying and chanting. A good man to come to such a place. Performs his duty the same to small-pox patients as to any other. Shall try and find out his name. Some of the wells dug by the Yanks furnish passable water, an improvement anyway on swamp water. Well water in great demand and sells readily for such trinkets as the men have to dispose of. Rebels building forts on the outside. Rebel officers inside trying to induce shoemakers, foundrymen, carpenters and wood choppers, to go out and work for the Confederacy. A very few accepted the offer. Well, life is sweet, and can hardly blame men for accepting the offer; still, I don’t want to go, neither do ninety-nine out of every hundred. The soldiers here are loyal to the cause.
May 19.—Nearly twenty thousand men confined here now. New ones coming every day. Rations _very_ small and _very_ poor. The meal that the bread is made out of is ground, seemingly, cob and all, and it scourges the men fearfully. Things getting continually worse. Hundreds of cases of dropsy. Men puff out of human shape and are perfectly horrible to look at. Philo Lewis died to-day. Could not have weighed at the time of his death more than ninety pounds, and was originally a large man, weighing not less than one hundred and seventy. Jack Walker, of the 9th Mich. Cavalry, has received the appointment to assist in carrying out the dead, for which service he receives an extra ration of corn bread.
May 20.—Hendryx sent me in to-day from the outside a dozen small onions and some green tea. No person, on suddenly being lifted from the lowest depths of misery to peace and plenty, and all that money could buy, could feel more joyous or grateful than myself for those things. As the articles were handed in through the gate a crowd saw the transaction, and it was soon known that I had a friend on the outside who sent me in extras. I learn that a conspiracy is being gotten up on the outside, in which Hendryx is at the head, and they will try and overpower the guard and release the prisoners. If Capt. Wirtz only knew it, he has a very dangerous man in George Hendryx. Cram full of adventure, he will be heard from wherever he is.
May 21.—Still good weather and hot, with damp nights. Dr. Lewis lingers along in a miserable state of existence, and scurvy and dropsy doing their worst. His old mess-mates at the 9th Michigan regimental head-quarters little think of their favorite, story-telling, good fellows’ condition now. We take as good care of him as possible under the circumstances. Two men shot to-day by the barbarians, and one of them has lain all the afternoon where he fell.
May 22.—No news of importance. Same old story. Am now a gallant washer-man. Battese, the Minnesota Indian, learn’t me in the way of his occupation, made me a wash board by cutting creases in a piece of board, and I am fully installed. We have a sign out, made by myself on a piece of shingle: “WASHING.” We get small pieces of bread for our labors. Some of the sick cannot eat their bread, and not being able to keep clean, give us a job. Make probably a pound of bread two or three days in the week. Battese says: “I work, do me good; you do same.” Have many applications for admission to the firm, and may enlarge the business.
May 23.—Rains very hard. Seems as if the windows of Heaven had opened up, in fact the windows out all together. It’s a grand good thing for the camp, as it washes away the filth and purifies the air.
May 24.—Sherman coming this way, so said, towards Atlanta. It is thought the cavalry will make a break for us, but even if they do they cannot get us north. We are equal to no exertion. Men busy to-day killing swallows that fly low; partly for amusement, but more particularly for food they furnish. Are eaten raw before hardly dead. No, thank you, I will take no swallow.
May 25.—One thousand new prisoners came to-day from near Petersburg, Va. They give us encouraging news as to the termination of the spring campaign. Gen. Burnside said in a speech to his men that Petersburg would be taken in less than a month or Mrs. Burnside would be a widow. Every one hopeful. Getting warmer after the rain. Our squad has a very good well, and about one-quarter water enough, of something a trifle better than swamp water. Man killed by the raiders near where we slept. Head all pounded to pieces with a club. Murders an every day occurrence.
May 26.—For the last three days I have had nearly enough to eat such as it is. My washing business gives me extra food. Have taken in a partner, and the firm now is Battese, Ransom & Co. Think of taking in more partners, making Battese president, appointing vice presidents, secretaries, &c. We charge a ration of bread for admittance. Sand makes a very good soap. If we could get hold of a razor and open a barber shop in connection, our fortunes would be made. We are prolonging Lewis’ life by trading for luxuries to give him. Occasionally a little real meat soup, with a piece of onion in it, etc. Am saving up capital to buy a pair of shears I know of. Molasses given us to-day, from two to four spoonfuls apiece, which is indeed a treat. Anything sweet or sour, or in the vegetable line, is the making of us. We have taken to mixing a little meal with water, putting in a little molasses and setting it in the sun to sour. Great trouble in the lack of vessels in which to keep it, and then too, after getting a dish partly well soured, some poor prisoner will deliberately walk up and before we can see him drink it all up. Men are fairly crazy for such things.
May 27.—We twist up pieces of tin, stovepipe, &c., for dishes. A favorite and common dish is half of a canteen. Our spoons are made of wood. Hardly one man in ten has a dish of any kind to put his rations of soup or molasses in, and often old shoes, dirty caps and the like are brought into requisition. Notwithstanding my prosperity in business the scurvy is taking right hold of me. All my old acquaintances visit us daily and we condole with one another. Fresh beef given us to-day, but in very small quantities with no wood or salt to put it into proper shape. No one can very well object to raw beef, however. Great trouble is in getting it to us before being tainted, I persistently let alone meat with even a suspicion of rottenness; makes no difference with nearly all here. We occasionally hear of the conspiracy of outside paroled Yankees. Time will tell if it amounts to anything.
May 28.—No more news. It really seems as if we’re all to die here. My mouth getting sore from scurvy and teeth loose. New prisoners coming in every day and death rate increasing. I don’t seem to get hardened to the situation and am shuddering all the time at the sights. Rainy weather.
May 29.—Sabbath day but not a pleasant one. Nearly a thousand just came in. Would seem to me that the rebels are victorious in their battles. New men are perfectly thunderstruck at the hole they have got into. A great many give right up and die in a few weeks, and some in a week. My limbs are badly swollen with scurvy and dropsy combined. Mouth also very sore. Battese digs for roots which he steeps up and I drink. Could give up and die in a short time but won’t. Have got living reduced to a science.
May 30.—Another thousand came to-day and from the eastern army. Prison crowded. Men who came are from Siegel’s corps in the Shenandoah Valley. The poor deluded mortals never heard of Andersonville before. Well, they hear of it now. Charlie Hudson, from some part of Ohio, took his canteen an hour ago and went to the swamp for water. He has not returned for the very good reason that he was shot while reaching up under the dead line to get the freshest water. Some one has pulled the body out of the water on to dry land where it will stay until to-morrow, when it will be piled with perhaps forty others on the dead wagon, carted off and buried like a dog. And this is the last of poor Charlie, who has enlivened us many an evening with his songs and stories. The Astor House Mess is very sad to-night.
May 31.—A rebel came inside to-day and enquired for me, in the tenth squad, first mess. I responded, wondering and fearful as to what they should want with me. Was happily surprised on going to the gate to see Hendryx with something in his hand for me. Seemed thunderstruck at my appearance and said I was looking bad. He was looking better than when he went out. Had brought me luxuries in the shape of ginger bread, onions and tea, and am happy. Geo. is a brick. Says it is against orders to send anything inside but he talked them over. Was afraid the raiders would waylay me before reaching the mess but they did not.
June 1.—Reported that the 51st Virginia Regt. is here for the purpose of conducting us north for exchange. Believe nothing of the kind. Prisoners come daily. E. P. Sanders, Rowe and myself carried our old friend Dr. Lewis to the hospital. He was immediately admitted and we came away feeling very sad, knowing he would live but a short time. The sick are not admitted until they are near death, and then there is no hope for them. Rainy day.
June 2.—Another dark, stormy day. Raiders playing the very devil. Muddy and sticky.
June 3.—New prisoners say that an armistice has been agreed upon for the purpose of effecting an exchange, and negotiating for peace. It may be so, and the authorities had good reasons for allowing us to stay here, but how can they pay for all the suffering? And now some negro prisoners brought inside. They belong to the 54th Massachusetts. Came with white prisoners. Many of the negroes wounded, as, indeed, there are wounded among all who come here now. No news from Hendryx or Lewis. Quite a number going out after wood to cook with. Hot and wet.
June 4.—Have not been dry for many days. Raining continually. Some men took occasion while out after wood, to overpower the guard and take to the pines. Not yet been brought back. _Very_ small rations of poor molasses, corn bread and bug soup.
June 5.—Exchange rumors to the effect that transports are en-route for Savannah for the purpose of taking us home. Stick right to my washing however. A number of men taken out to be kept as hostages—so said. Raiders rule the prison. Am myself cross and feel like licking somebody, but Hendryx is gone and don’t want to try to lick anybody else, fearing I might get licked myself. Some fun fighting him as it didn’t make any difference which licked.
June 6.—Eight months a prisoner to-day. A lifetime has been crowded into these eight months. No rations at all. Am now a hair cutter. Have _hired_ the shears. Enough to eat but not the right kind. Scurvy putting in its work, and symptoms of dropsy. Saw Hendryx at the bake house up stairs window, looking over the camp. Probably looking to see if he can locate his old comrades among the sea of human beings. Wirtz comes inside no more, in fact, does very few rebels. The place is too bad for them.
June 7.—Heard to-day that Hendryx had been arrested and in irons for inciting a conspiracy. Not much alarmed for him. He will come out all right. Still rainy. Have hard work keeping my diary dry. Nearly all the old prisoners who were captured with me are dead. Don’t know of over 50 or 60 alive out of 800.
FROM BAD TO WORSE.
THE ASTOR HOUSE MESS STILL HOLDS TOGETHER, ALTHOUGH DEPLETED—ALL MORE OR LESS DISEASED—AS THE WEATHER GETS WARMER THE DEATH RATE INCREASES—DYING OFF LIKE SHEEP—THE END IS NOT YET.
June 8.—More new prisoners. There are now over 23,000 confined here, and the death rate 100 to 130 per day, and I believe more than that. Rations worse.
June 9.—It is said that a grand break will occur soon, and nearly the whole prison engaged in the plot. Spies inform the rebels of our intentions. Rains yet.
June 10.—The whole camp in a blaze of excitement. Plans for the outbreak known to Capt. Wirtz. Some traitor unfolded the plans to him. Thirty or forty pieces of artillery pointed at us from the outside, and stockade covered with guards who shoot right and left. Thirty or forty outsiders sent inside, and they tell us how the affair was found out. A number of the ringleaders are undergoing punishment. Hendryx has made his escape, and not been heard of since yesterday. It is said he went away in full Confederate dress, armed, and furnished with a guide to conduct him. Dr. Lewis died to-day. Jack Walker told us about his death. Capt. Wirtz has posted up on the inside a notice for us to read. The following is the notice:
“NOTICE.
Not wishing to shed the blood of hundreds not connected with those who concocted a plan to force the stockade, and make in this way their escape. I hereby warn the leaders and those who formed themselves into a band to carry out this, that I am in possession of all the facts, and have made my arrangements accordingly, so to frustrate it. No choice would be left me but to open with grape and cannister on the stockade, and what effect this would have in this densely crowded place need not be told. Signed,
June 10, 1864. H. WIRTZ.”
June 11.—And so has ended a really colossal attempt at escape. George Hendryx was one of the originators of the plan. He took advantage of the excitement consequent upon its discovery and made good his escape, and I hope will succeed in getting to our lines. It is the same old situation here only worse, and getting worse all the time. I am not very good at description, and find myself at fault in writing down the horrible condition we are in.
June 12.—Rained every day so far this month. A portion of the camp is a mud hole, and the men are obliged to lay down in it. Fort Pillow prisoners tell some hard stories against the Confederacy at the treatment they received after their capture. They came here nearly _starved to death_, and a good many were wounded after their surrender. They are mostly Tennesseeans, and a “right smart sorry set.” Battese has taken quite a fatherly interest in me. Keeps right on at the head of the washing and hair cutting business, paying no attention to anything outside of his work. Says: “We get out all right!”
June 13.—It is now as hot and sultry as it was ever my lot to witness. The cloudy weather and recent rains make everything damp and sticky. We don’t any of us sweat though, particularly, as we are pretty well dried up. Laying on the ground so much has made sores on nearly every one here, and in many cases gangrene sets in and they are very bad off. Have many sores on my body, but am careful to keep away the poison. To-day saw a man with a bullet hole in his head over an inch deep, and you could look down in it and see maggots squirming around at the bottom. Such things are terrible, but of common occurrence. Andersonville seems to be head-quarters for all the little pests that ever originated—flies by the thousand millions. I have got into one bad scrape, and the one thing now is to get out of it. Can do nothing but take as good care of myself as possible, which I do. Battese works all the time at something. Has scrubbed his hands sore, using sand for soap.
June 14.—Mike Hoare stalks around, cheerful, black and hungry. We have long talks about our school days when little boys together. Mike is a mason by trade, and was solicited to go out and work for the rebels. Told them he would work on nothing but vaults to bury them in. Is a loyal soldier and had rather die here than help them, as, indeed, would a majority of the prisoners. To tell the truth, we are so near death and see so much of it, that it is not dreaded as much as a person would suppose. We stay here day after day, week after week, and month after month, seemingly forgotten by all our friends at the North, and then our sufferings are such that death is a relief in the view of a great many, and not dreaded to any extent. By four o’clock each day the row of dead at the gate would scare the life out of me before coming here, while now it is nothing at all, but the same thing over and over.
June 15.—I am sick; just able to drag around. My teeth are loose, mouth sore, 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 daylight, 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 meantime relief may come. My diary about written through. It may end about the same time I do, which would be a fit ending.