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 ■4^m¥^^^^^^w^^'W^ ^*^ 
 
 IN AND OUT OF 
 ANDERSONVILLE 
 PRISON 
 
 BY W. F. LYON 
 
In and Out 
 
 of 
 
 Andersonville Prison 
 
 by ,. 
 W. F. Lyon 
 
 Comp'y C, 9th Rea't Minn. Vol. Inf. 
 
 Seventeen years supervisor of penmanship 
 in?Detroit Public Schools 
 
 SECOND EDITION. 
 
 Copyright, 1905; by W. F. liyoii. 
 
 Detroit, Michigan 
 
 Geo. Harland Co., Publishers 
 
 91-93 Shelby Street 
 
 1907 
 
Hon 
 
 Lovingly dedicated to my Wife 
 4nd family. 
 
 fir; 
 
(ilAyu iAA/t^ 
 
Lovingly dedicaled to my Wife 
 4nd Family. 
 
 at 
 

■EQUEBTOF 
 WALTER R. STEINER 
 JAN. 20, IMS 
 
/ 67 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 Do you ask why I have written this story? 
 
 "Lest we forget." 
 
 There is danger that the young people of to- 
 day, while enjoying the comforts and bless- 
 ings of this great nation, may lose sight of 
 the conflict through which men passed that 
 their children and children's children might be 
 free. 
 
 I have attempted to present only facts and 
 to present them in such a way that children 
 as well as older people may understand them. 
 
 The Author. 
 
 /7i 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Frontispiece, opposite 4 
 
 The Camp 11 
 
 The Retreat 16 
 
 The Author on Entering Service, oposite. 16 
 
 The Capture 30 
 
 Captain Wirtz 29 
 
 Entering the Prison 33 
 
 Tunnelling Out 48 
 
 The Prison, opposite 48 
 
 An Incident 52 
 
 Providence Spring 5p 
 
 Clothing and Beds 67 
 
 Reminiscence 59 
 
 Morning Duties 63 
 
 Providence Spring as it Appears Today, 
 
 opposite 64 
 
 Morals QQ 
 
 Vigilance Committee 70 
 
 Diseases and Death 72 
 
 How Tom Helped Me Out When I Was 
 
 Released 75 
 
 A Backward Glance 77 
 
 In Prison at Savannah 79 
 
 Millen Prison 80 
 
The Author on Leaving Andersonville. ... 83 
 
 Leaving Millen Prison 84 
 
 First Sight of the Old Flag 89 
 
 Homeward Bound 93 
 
 Statistics 96 
 
 Homesickness 99 
 
 The Cemetery 102 
 
 Some Figures 104 
 
 The Contrast 106 
 
 Southern Testimony 110 
 
 The Hospital 115 
 
 After-Thoughts 120 
 
THE CAMP. 
 
 On the first day of June, 1864, Major- 
 General Sturgis left the- city of Memphis, 
 Tenn., with 10,000 men, artillery, cavalry and 
 infantry, with orders to intercept General For- 
 est, who was operating in northern Missis- 
 sippi. The writer was one of this company, 
 occupying the conspicuous position of "high 
 private" in the front rank. 
 
 We traveled twenty miles by rail to Fayette, 
 where we left the railroad and started on our 
 march. The first afternoon we marched about 
 five miles and then halted for the night. Camp- 
 ing out as the term applies to soldiering was 
 entirely a new experience to most of us. We 
 carried no tents, but each man carried his own 
 blanket, his gun, forty rounds of cartridges, 
 three days' rations in his haversack, his cook- 
 ing utensils, a canteen of water, etc. 
 
 Fires were kindled ; a spring was found, and 
 water secured; coffee ground and boiled; and 
 supper, consisting of coffee, hardtack and 
 bacon, was prepared. This eaten and the tin 
 cup put away (we didn't have plates — didn't 
 
need them), the beds were made in the fol- 
 lowing manner : Two men together found as 
 smooth a place as possible; one spread his 
 blanket on the ground; both put their cart- 
 ridge boxes down for pillows, then lay down 
 and covered themselves with the other blanket. 
 If the stars were shining nothing hindered 
 counting them until the "sandman" closed the 
 tired eyes, and the soldier sank into that other 
 world to dream of home and mother, wife or 
 sweetheart, whom, alas ! many of them were 
 never to see again save in those sweet dreams. 
 
 At three in the morning we were quietly 
 awakened and ordered to be ready to march 
 in an hour. Fires were quickly started, coffee 
 put on and in a very short time we were par- 
 taking of breakfast — bacon, hardtack, and cof- 
 fee, a slight change in the menu of the previous 
 evening. The bugle sounded and we were on 
 the move. We had not proceeded far when 
 black thunder clouds rolled up and soon the 
 rain came down in torrents, accompanied by 
 southern thunder and lightning. 
 
 This shower left us wet to the skin, and pro- 
 duced most affectionate results in the soil. It 
 clung to our shoes like a country lover to his 
 sweetheart on their first excursion. We halted 
 beside a high rail fence, which stretched along 
 
the road for miles. This fence was quickly 
 put into piles, matches applied, and a long line 
 of fires were soon burning, around which we 
 gathered to dry our clothing and toast our 
 bacon. 
 
 One word more about the soil. As we pro- 
 ceeded on the march we found that this red 
 clay soil had assumed the slipping qualities 
 of 'Tear's Soap," so that when we attempted 
 to move forward we seemed to move back- 
 ward, and after a few days of this kind of 
 travel many of us were inclined to go the other 
 
 way. 
 
 It is a notable fact that in this particular 
 neck o' the woods in that particular month of 
 June, it rained twenty-one days in succession. 
 
 Nothing out of the ordinary occurred until 
 the tenth day out. The heat was intense and 
 the rain abundant, coming in installments. We 
 did not halt that night until about 11 p. m. It 
 was dark, and when we halted it was raining 
 whole water. Some one had selected our 
 camping ground in a small wood near a beau- 
 tiful spring. We stacked our arms by fixing 
 bayonets and sticking the bayonets in the 
 ground to keep the guns from filling with 
 water. 
 
 13 
 
One thing we found there, which the 
 officers may or may not have known about, 
 was a lot of cotton in bales carefully stored 
 in an old log house. This was soon known 
 to "high privates," and we all made a rush 
 for it. The bands were stripped off the bales, 
 and the white, fluffy stuff was soon gathered 
 up by armfuls and borne away. I had two 
 comrades at that time. They were a little in 
 advance of me and got their arms full first, 
 so that when I got back to camp the bed was 
 made and I had a surplus of cotton. The cap- 
 tain was not far away, but of course he had 
 no cotton, and I stepped over and asked him 
 if he would like some. He said he didn't mind 
 if I had any to spare. So I handed it over to 
 him and went back to my doivny couch. Never 
 had I dreamed before what the land of cotton 
 really meant — "All things there am soon for- 
 gotten. Look away." 
 
 Yes, we were soon lost in that beautiful 
 dreamland; but when the morning dawned, 
 bright and clear, the first thing that we heard 
 was this order : "Every man who had any- 
 thing to do with that cotton will at once, with- 
 out delay, put it back where he found it." We 
 thought then it was a nightmare instead of a 
 dream. But, like good little boys, we went 
 
 14 
 
and put it back. I gathered up the captain's 
 and put that back. Then a second order, 
 "Every man who had anything to do with tha<- 
 cotton, will be put under guard and marched 
 in the rear of the regiment in disgrace." We 
 thought like the Irishman, that it was "ketchin' 
 before hangin','' so we decided not to go until 
 ordered. 
 
 The bugle sounded, "Fall in!" and we fell 
 in. I stood in the front rank. I was covered 
 with cotton from head to foot. It wouldn't 
 come off. The captain walked slowly down 
 the line, examining each one. When he came 
 to me he said in an undertone, "You look 
 pretty well." I took the compliment grace- 
 fully without a word, and he passed on. I 
 didn't go to the rear because he didn't tell me 
 to. Our regiment was rear-guard that day, 
 so we were the last to leave the ground. As we 
 moved off some one went to the spring to fill 
 his canteen, and as he passed the house, he 
 lighted a match, threw it into the house and 
 liurried into his place. As we passed over 
 the hill we saw the smoke. The speculating 
 officers who had hoped to get that cotton to 
 market were doubtless disappointed. 
 
 IS 
 
THE RETREAT. 
 
 That afternoon we met the enemy and he 
 was ours for a little while — i. e., he was our 
 enemy, and was a little too much for us. While 
 the fight was progressing, General Sturgis, 
 who was said to be drunk, ordered a retreat, 
 and we retreated. We didn't exactly run, but 
 we walked as fast as we could. Most of us 
 succeeded in getting back about fifty miles to- 
 ward Memphis before being overtaken by the 
 enemy. 
 
 If you have never witnessed a disorderly 
 retreat, there is a chapter in your life which 
 can never be filled by any three-ringed circus 
 on earth, with the animals all let loose. Imag- 
 ine if you can — and that is all you can do — 
 10,000 men with the artillery and cavalry- 
 horses rushing about like mad and 1,200 mules 
 cut loose from the wagon trains, all mixed in 
 one conglomerate mass and all trying to reach 
 Memphis, 100 miles away, and each wishing 
 to be first to tell the tale. 
 
 To show that General Sturgis either was 
 not in his right mind, or was exceedingly 
 stupid, I would call attention to the position 
 
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 As the author appeared on entering service. 
 
of his train of 200 wagons drawn by about 
 1,200 mules. About four miles from where 
 the engagement took place was a wide swamp 
 which the recent rains had made almost impas- 
 sable. Through this swamp the train had been 
 taken and corralled in an open field within half 
 a mile of the firing line. This field was en- 
 closed by a high rail fence, with an opening 
 of about fifty feet where the road entered the 
 field. To retreat, this long train must pass 
 through this narrow space, and if it succeeded 
 in getting to the swamp it would require a 
 long time and great effort to recross it. 
 
 Here in this open field, in plain view of the 
 enemy, lay this prize. Of course he trained 
 his guns to cover the retreat of the train and 
 poured shot and shell into it. 
 
 Some one, when it was too late, saw the 
 mistake. A group of officers rode up. One 
 of them said to the wagonmaster, "Get these 
 mules out of here; if you can't get them out 
 any other way, cut them loose and let them go." 
 Toward the gap they started. I stepped be- 
 hind a tree and watched the performance. The 
 mules came tearing and the drivers came 
 swearing. The air was full of circus language. 
 That is the kind of language they use when 
 they are tearing up, and things do not go just 
 
 17 
 
as everyone would like. When this was over, 
 the artillery came down the road, then the 
 cavalry, and lastly the mob of men. By this 
 time night was coming on, and so were the 
 rebels. We fell back into the woods; officers 
 were no better than men, and men weren't 
 so good as horses, because they couldn't go 
 as fast. 
 
 When the darkness really settled, the confu- 
 sion was like that which prevailed when the 
 people tried to build a tower and their plans 
 were frustrated. Every man was calling for 
 his regiment and company, and so many were 
 calling at the same time that a person couldn't 
 understand himself. 
 
 In this way we traveled all that night, reach- 
 ing Ripley, Miss., thirty miles from our inter- 
 ception performance, at ten o'clock the next 
 morning. 
 
 We stopped a few minutes for breakinst, 
 but didn't succeed in getting much. From what 
 I saw of it, I should judge that Ripley was a 
 pleasant place, or might be under other cir- 
 cumstances, but we did not have time to exam- 
 ine it, for the rebels were coming, and we hur- 
 ried on. I was partially sun-struck the day 
 before, and about noon, when the sun was 
 pouring down upon us, my head began to hurt, 
 
 18 
 
and I left the line and took to the woods. Find- 
 ing a quiet ravine about one hundred feet deep, 
 I went down into its shady depths, and spread 
 out my rubber blanket by a little spring of 
 water. After taking two or three good drinks 
 from the spring, I lay down and listened to 
 the rumble of the fleeing thousands and to the 
 pursuing rebels. When all was over and I 
 knew that I was cut off, I went to sleep, having 
 first planned what I would do at night. 
 
 Just before going into the ravine a lieuten- 
 ant from another company came along, and I 
 said to him : "Lieutenant, let us take to the 
 woods and wait until night." "No," he said, 
 "I can't stop here; I must go on." I was cap-, 
 tured that night, and the next rorning I saw 
 the lieutenant lying in the road, dead. He 
 was shot from behind while going up a hill. I 
 probably should have shared his fate if I had 
 stayed with him. 
 
THE CAPTURE. 
 
 About nine o'clock I awoke and realized that 
 I was alone in a strange wood in an enemy's 
 country, and must work out my own salvation, 
 which I proceeded to do with fear and trem- 
 bling. It was black darkness all around and 
 was raining. I rolled up my blanket and 
 started, struck the road as I had planned, and 
 was enabled to keep it by the tracks the horses 
 had made. At one time my trousers had col- 
 lected so much mud around the bottom that 
 they were burdensome, and I decided to lighten 
 them, so I took out my knife and began cut- 
 ting off one leg a few inches from the bottom. 
 I soon found that I was cutting too high, so 
 I cut down a way, then up and then down, 
 until the circle was completed. I proceeded 
 with the other in like manner, with about the 
 same result. When I looked at those legs in 
 the morning, I smiled, and I think you would 
 have smiled, too. But the load was gone and 
 I could travel better. I saw a light ahead, 
 found it was a camp fire, crept around it, and 
 went on. I had traveled in this way about 
 nine miles when I came to an opening in the 
 
 20 
 
woods. Tne ciouds just then seemed to sep- 
 arate a little, and I thought I saw something 
 gray lying beside the road. While I was look- 
 ing at it I walked up against something. Put- 
 ting out my hands, I found that I had run up 
 against a horse tied to a tree with the bridle. 
 I quietly untied him and mounted. He was 
 standing perfectly still, but shortly moved for- 
 ward a few steps, then stopped. All my work- 
 ing of the reins and prodding in the ribs with 
 my heels was of no avail. He simply wouldn't 
 go. I could see no reason why. In fact, I 
 could not see anything. I could not even see 
 this horse on which I sat, which was one of 
 the cream color sort. While I was making 
 desperate efforts in as quiet a way as possible 
 to make him go, I was surprised by hearing 
 some one say, in a sort of stage whisper, 
 "Who's dat?" Surprise is too mild a term. I 
 was scared, but didn't say a word. The voice 
 seemed to come from the ground and so near 
 to my horse that if the fellow had been sitting 
 up, I am sure I could have touched him with 
 my hand. 
 
 While untying the horse and mounting, 
 which didn't occupy more than a minute, I had 
 laid my plans. I said, "I'll ride him as far as 
 he will go before daylight, then let him go and 
 
 21 
 
take to the woods." Well planned, and I did 
 ride him as far as he would go, but what 
 spoiled my plans was that he wouldn't go at 
 all. 
 
 As soon as I heard the fellow say, "Who's 
 dat?" I quietly slipped off the horse. As my 
 feet touched the ground I heard the click of a 
 rifle lock, and the command, "Halt!" from a 
 man not more than eight feet from me. Well, 
 I was halted all right, and I stood still. Again 
 came the command, "Halt!" so I just stayed 
 halted, and the third command, "Halt!" came. 
 I knew then that I must do something. I took 
 a couple of steps toward the man and said very 
 coolly, "I surrender." He said, "Who are 
 you?" "I am a Union soldier." "Have you 
 any arms?" "No, sir." "You may come here." 
 I walked right up. 
 
 He said, "Where is your hoss?" I said, "I 
 let him go; guess he's out here somewhere." 
 He said to the darkey, for he it was who 
 surprised me, "Sam, find that hoss and bring 
 him up here." Sam went out, got the hoss 
 and brought him up. Pretty soon he said, 
 "Massa, da's one of our bosses gone." The 
 man said to me, "Where did you get that 
 hoss?" "I found him out here." "You tryin' 
 to ride off one of our bosses?" "I didn't 
 
 22 
 
know whose it was. I found him and thought 
 I would use him." 
 
 I felt around on the ground and found a 
 saddle, and asked the man whether I might 
 use it for a pillow. He said I might. So I 
 stretched myself out and covered myself up 
 with my rubber blanket, and was very soon 
 sound asleep. 
 
 As nearly as I could judge it was about mid- 
 night when I was halted. I awoke at day- 
 light and heard someone talking. On get- 
 ting up I saw several guerillas talking to a 
 man whom they had just halted. He proved 
 to be one of my own company. They had 
 captured two before I came up. Very soon 
 they stood us in line and talked among them- 
 selves, then asked us if we had, any money. 
 I had about four dollars in greenbacks. They 
 took it, took my knife, my rubber blanket — all 
 but my testament. I showed that to the head 
 man and said to him, "I suppose you will let 
 me keep this." "Yes," he said, *'if you will 
 read it." Good idea, steal all a fellow has, 
 and then advise him to read the Bible. If that 
 fellow lived here he would be a politician. 
 
 I had on a good hat that I had purchased 
 in St. Louis for two dollars only a short time 
 before. A fellow came along and took it off 
 
 23 
 
my head and put it on his own, and put an 
 old one on mine that wasn't worth ten cents 
 Quick trade and no talking back, but I thought 
 some thmgs. ^ 
 
 After getting all they could from us, they 
 talked some more among themselves, and then 
 put us under two men on horseback and 
 marched us back about five miles over the road 
 I had traveled the night before, where we 
 found 600 of our men who had been captured 
 that night and morning. 
 
 Just before starting out a young fellow 
 espied my boots, a pair which my father had 
 made for me just before I went south Thev 
 were worth fifty dollars in greenbacks down 
 there. "Got on boots, eh?" -Yes, but thev 
 are too big for you." "What size are they.?'' 
 ''No, 9's." They were covered with mud so 
 the men couldn't see what they were. Noth- 
 ing more was said about them. I sold them 
 in Andersonville for four dollars. 
 
 But as Samantha Allen says, "To resume 
 backwards," I passed this same place the night 
 before and must have gone within twenty feet 
 of the guard. I heard the horses eating as I 
 passed, but did not run agamst any of them 
 
 Almost the first man I met that I recognized 
 was my captain. Instead of his fine uniform 
 
 24 
 
of the day before, he had on an old ragged 
 suit such as was worn by privates, an old 
 hat and he was barefoot. "Well," I said, 
 "captain, where are your boots?" "I set them 
 down by that plum tree and some fool stole 
 them," He was a dejected looking object. I 
 said to him, "I have on a pair of good woolen 
 socks. They are better than nothing. You 
 may have them." So I pulled off my boots 
 and gave him my socks and put on my boots 
 without them. He marched beside me all 
 that day in his stocking feet. For once I out- 
 ranked the captain. 
 
 It soon began to rain. About noon they 
 put us in line, as I remember, in the follow- 
 ing order (the guards were all mounted) ; four 
 guards on horseback, then eight prisoners on 
 foot, of course; then four more guards, etc., 
 etc., to the end of the line. We made quite an 
 imposing spectacle. We felt quite imposed 
 upon, to say the least. We marched fifteen 
 miles that day, which was Sunday, and thirty 
 miles the next day, which wasn't Sunday by 
 a long way. When we passed through Rip- 
 ley, I saw General Forest, who impressed me 
 as being a very bright officer. If he had been 
 on our side, I think I should have been quite 
 proud of him. 
 
 25 
 
Never shall I forget that march. The road 
 was strewn the whole length with guns, sa- 
 bres, clothing of all kinds, broken wagons, 
 dead mules, horses and men — everything that 
 belongs to and goes with an army. The people 
 had come out in many places and gathered up 
 the guns, a whole wagon load in a pile. It 
 looked like a wonderful waste. No wonder 
 General Sherman said that "war is hell," but 
 we haven't got there yet. I shall have to in- 
 troduce you to that later on, if you care to 
 visit it. 
 
 On reaching the battlefield at Guntown, 
 known in history as Brice's Cross Roads, we 
 were halted and given some hardtack taken 
 from our wagons, which they had captured — 
 two hardtack to a man. I had been out three 
 days and three nights, and had walked 100 
 miles, and in all that time had not eaten as 
 much as a fourteen-year-old boy will eat for 
 his dinner at a single sitting. The principal 
 thing that I remember eating during the three 
 days was a hardtack vvhich I begged from one 
 of the men who captured me. It was round 
 and about as thick as a soda cracker, about 
 the size of a small tea saucer, and fully as 
 hard. I am sure I could have broken a piece 
 out of a china saucer with my teeth easier than 
 
I could break that hardtack. I simply could 
 not bite it; I held it in my mouth and worked 
 at it the greater part of the forenoon. It was 
 the hardest tack I ever saw. It had staying 
 qualities. 
 
 That night we were hustled into box cars 
 and started south. What our destination was 
 we did not know and didn't care much if they 
 would only let us rest. 
 
 We arrived at Meridian, Miss., the next 
 morning, where we stayed until the following 
 morning. Then we started by rail across the 
 state of Alabama. At Montgomery, if I re- 
 member correctly, we were put on a boat and 
 taken up the river a few miles. While wait- 
 ing at Montgomery to take the boat, the citi- 
 zens came out to see the Yankees. An old man 
 right near me said,, 'Took at the poor devils. 
 I could lick any six of 'em." A guard stand- 
 ing near by who had seen service at the front, 
 overheard him. He turned quickly and said 
 to him, "Old man, if you think you can lick 
 six of 'em, you'd better take your gun and go 
 to the front. You'll soon find out how many 
 you can lick." 
 
 Without further adventure, except rain and 
 heat, and cold nights, hunger, sleeping in rain, 
 riding on flat cars, etc., we arrived on Sunday 
 
 27 
 
afternoon, June 19th, at Andersonville, where, 
 as we were looking over into the stockade in 
 which we were to spend so many hungry, tired, 
 lonely, desperate days, — we took leave of our 
 officers, who were to be taken to the officers' 
 prison at Charleston, S. C. The captain with 
 tears streaming down his cheeks, took us each 
 by the hand and we said farewell. 
 
 C I 
 
 28 
 
CAPTAIN WIRTZ. 
 
 Just about the time we bade our catain fare- 
 well, we were introduced to another captain, 
 the man who was to be our ruler for an indefi- 
 nite length of time. I will try to describe him : 
 Height about five feet ten inches; stoop shoul- 
 dered; complexion, dark; hair, black; mus- 
 tache, black; goatee, black; eyes, black, and a 
 heart as black as the fires of hades could burn 
 it. It was said that he was a Prussian by 
 birth and at one time served in the Prussian 
 army, but for some cause was banished. He 
 reached this country about the time of the be- 
 ginning of the Civil War and in time found 
 his way into the South, and when the prison 
 was opened at Andersonville he was made as- 
 sistant to General Winder, who was command- 
 ant of the prison. Upon the death of General 
 Winder, Henry Wirtz (for this was the cap- 
 tain's name) was promoted to succeed him. 
 
 If the Southern Confederacy had searched 
 the whole world they could not have found 
 a man more fiendishly qualified to fill this place 
 than this same Henry Wirtz. I doubt whether 
 the infernal regions could furnish a person of 
 
 29 
 
more diabolical tendencies than he, unless they 
 sent out old Beelzebub himself, and Henry 
 Wirtz would hold him a close second. I believe 
 he could sit and see his own father roasted over 
 a slow fire, or his mother eaten alive by ants 
 and never show the tremor of a muscle. This 
 brute said he would kill more men in prison 
 than the army did at the front, and I am. in- 
 clined to think that he did it proportionately 
 at least. He used to ride an old white mare — 
 what a contrast — a black soul on a white horse. 
 He kept a pack of the largest, fiercest, Cuban 
 blood-hounds to be found. If a man dared to 
 cross him, he would kill him. He kicked one 
 poor fellow to death. But enough of him for 
 the present. I will merely say that he was 
 hanged at Washington at the close of the war, 
 not because he was keeper of the prison, but 
 for his personal, brutal deeds perpetrated upon 
 helpless prisoners. 
 
 By this brute we were formed in columns of 
 four, numbered off into detachments of 270 
 men each. These detachments were subdi- 
 vided into squads of ninety men each. Over 
 each squad was placed one of our own ser- 
 geants and over the detachments a head ser- 
 geant. 
 
 30 
 
These divisions were made in order that ra- 
 tions might be properly distributed, and also 
 (which was the principal reason) that the 
 rebel sergeant might more easily keep count 
 of the men. These rebel sergeants visited the 
 prison every morning about nine o'clock, to 
 count the men. Each squad would stand in 
 two ranks and the sergeant would walk in 
 front and count off. The tricks we would 
 play on these fellows were amusing. Suppose 
 one or more had died during the night. As 
 the sergeant passed down the line a man who 
 had been counted would slip out of the rear 
 rank, run down and be counted again without 
 being detected. In this way we kept the dead 
 men's rations for some time. 
 
 After the line was completed and every 
 man's name, regiment and company had been 
 taken by the clerks, we were marched away 
 to the prison, which was in plain view, for 
 the headquarters of Wirtz, before which we 
 had been standing was located on a hill com- 
 manding a good view of a large portion of the 
 inside of the stockade. It was raining, and 
 as we looked we saw men by the hundreds en- 
 tirely nude, and wondered why they were in 
 that condition. We afterward learned that 
 
 31 
 
they were taking a shower-bath. It was the 
 only real clean water available for bathing pur- 
 poses inside the prison. 
 
 32 
 
ENTERING THE PRISON. 
 
 From the headquarters to the north gate was 
 a short quarter of a mile. As the gates swung 
 on their heavy hinges, they looked like the 
 jaws of some huge monster opening to gather 
 us in. Had we known then what we learned 
 afterward the illusion would have seemed a 
 reality, but the good Father has kindly hidden 
 our future from us. The motto, "All who enter 
 here leave hope behind" might very properly 
 have been placed over this old north gate. 
 
 We had been a week on the road since our 
 capture, and were hungry and tired, conse- 
 quently the thoughts uppermost in our minds 
 were of rest and something to eat. We passed 
 through the gate like "dumb driven cattle" — 
 and we were treated by our keepers very much 
 like cattle. No provision had been made for 
 our reception. No place had been assigned 
 for this body of 600 men, so each man must 
 look out for himself. 
 
 There were fifteen men beside myself from 
 Company C, 9th Regiment, Mmnesota Vol- 
 unteer Infantry. We were near the head of 
 the column and as we passed up the street 
 
 33 
 
leading directly east from the gate, across the 
 prison . grounds, we were surrounded on all 
 sides by thousands of hungry, ragged prison- 
 ers, all eager for news, and they informed us 
 that we should have to make ourselves at home 
 and look out for ourselves. Consequently, 
 when we had reached a point about half way 
 from the gate to the east side, finding a small 
 space apparently unoccupied, we stopped, and 
 it became our abode for some weeks. After- 
 ward, when the prison was enlarged we moved 
 farther north. 
 
 I read, not long ago, that our first parents 
 must have experienced a strange sensation, 
 when, on that first evening they saw the sun 
 go down out of sight, not knowing whether 
 they should ever see it again — so on this, our 
 first evening in Andersonville, when we saw 
 the sun set and the night draw her sable mantle 
 around us, and saw the stars here and there 
 push their tiny heads through he great curtain 
 above and around us, and we realized that this 
 was our only covering, and the bare, hard 
 sand our only resting place, we felt that we 
 had passed into a new creation. 
 
 I will now attempt to describe this new 
 world, created not by the Almighty, but by 
 rr.en whose sole ambition seems to have been 
 
 34 
 
to stamp out gradually all courage and loyalty 
 from the hearts of those who were so unfor- 
 tunate as to fall into their hands. 
 
 Anderson, before the war, was an insignifi- 
 cant cross-roads in Sumpter County, Georgia. 
 It was known as Anderson until several thou- 
 sand Yankees were transported there, since 
 which time it has been known as Anderson- 
 ville. 
 
 The country surrounding it was covered 
 with pine trees. The soil is of a reddish, sandy 
 clay. The little stream, which rises in a swamp 
 just east of the railroad, is about ten feet 
 wide in the widest place, and six inches deep. 
 This stream does not flow like most streams, 
 but just slides along very slowly over its bed 
 of yellow sand. It seems to partake of the 
 spirit of the inhabitants, too tired to die and 
 too lazy to live. 
 
 Back from this stream for a distance of 200 
 feet on the north side was a heavy swamp, a 
 veritable quagmire; at the northern edge of 
 this swamp rose abruptly a hill perhaps thirty 
 feet in height. The swamp extended but a short 
 distance from the south side of the stream 
 and the southern hill was not so high nor so 
 steep as that on the north. Around this swamp 
 and inclosing quite a tract of land beyond the 
 
 35 
 
north hill and a small portion of land south 
 of the swamp, a high stockade was built. 
 
 Every tree within this inclosure, except two 
 tall pines which stood in the southeast corner 
 and which cast what little shade their meager 
 branches afforded outside of the stockade the 
 greater part of the day, were cut down and 
 their branches drawn outside before the stock- 
 ade was built, leaving a barren waste of stump 
 land. These stumps were afterwards worked 
 up to the very ends of the roots by the prison- 
 ers for fuel with which to cook their food. 
 The bodies of the trees were used in the build- 
 ing of the stockade. These bodies were cut 
 into logs twenty-five feet in length and were 
 hewn on four sides. A trench five feet deep 
 was dug and these logs were stood upright in 
 it, forming a solid wooden wall twenty feet 
 high. Not only did this wall fence in the pris- 
 ers, but it shut out the fresh air or prevented in 
 a large measure its free circulation. The free 
 circulation of the air was still further hin- 
 ' dered by the pine forest which surrounded the 
 prison on all sides. Ihis stockade or wall en- 
 closed about twenty acres of land; but from 
 the inside of the stockade a strip of land 
 twenty feet wide on all sides was marked off 
 by what was known as the "dead line." This 
 
 36 
 
"dead line" consisted of stakes three feet high 
 with a board three or four inches wide nailed 
 to the top, forming a continuous inner fence. 
 
 Imagine yourself in this pit when the sun 
 is at the zenith and the mercury above the 100 
 mark, and you will have some warm thoughts 
 at least. 
 
 At regular intervals of about one hundred 
 feet were placed sentry boxes. A platform five 
 or six feet square was built against the outside 
 of the stockade and near enough to the top 
 so that a boy of fourteen could stand upon it 
 and look over the stockade and see what was 
 going on inside. Over this platform was placed 
 a roof of boards to shelter the sentry from the 
 sun and rain. The sentry reached this box by 
 a ladder. 
 
 A part of the time the sentries were from 
 the 3000 regular troops who were stationed 
 there. At other times, when the regular troops 
 were called away, men too old and boys too 
 young to go to the front, did this duty. 
 
 When the latter were on guard, we were 
 extremely cautious about going near the dead 
 line. They seemed to feel that it was their 
 only opportunity for killing Yankees. They 
 gave no warning, but let an unsuspecting pris- 
 oner place his hand on the b'^ard which marked 
 
 37 
 
the dead line and the report of the old muskeL 
 rang out and some one was shot, it might bt 
 the supposed trespasser and it might be an 
 innocent person several feet away. When the 
 old soldiers occupied the boxes it was different. 
 The guard would often enter into conversa- 
 tion with the prisoners, always choosing a time 
 when the officer of the day was on the other 
 side of the prison. 
 
 Many a trade was made with these old sol- 
 diers. They were anxious to obtain our brass 
 buttons and would give tobacco in exchange 
 for them. (They used leather buttons on their 
 homespun uniforms). 
 
 When the officer was near, the guard would 
 not notice us, but when there was no danger 
 he would manifest it in some way. The Yan- 
 kee would step up to the dead line and strike 
 up a bargain and arrange for a meeting later. 
 At the appointed time the guard would tie a 
 plug of tobacco to a string, let it down, and 
 the Yankee would slip under the dead line 
 with his bunch of buttons, untie the string from 
 the tobacco and tie the buttons to it, slip back 
 under the dead line and the trade was made. 
 Of course the other guards were all looking 
 the other way at the time. 
 
 There was a bond of fellowship between 
 
 38 
 
these opposing armies; no matter how fiercely 
 they fought on the battlefield, when the fight 
 was over they could be good fellows. I have 
 long felt that if the old soldiers had been 
 allowed to reconstruct matters after the war 
 instead of putting them into the hands of the 
 politicians, things would have been much 
 sooner and much more satisfactorily adjusted. 
 
 The swamp heretofore described cov- 
 ered about three acres and was absolutely unfit 
 for camping purposes, and was used as a sink 
 for the prison. In walking over this, men 
 would often sink to their knees in mud and 
 filth. Deducting from the twenty acres of the 
 original enclosure, the land between the dead 
 line and the stockade and that occupied by the 
 swamp, we have about sixteen acres of land 
 left for the prisoners to occupy. 
 
 V/ell, I hear some one say, "That is a large 
 field." It would be quite a parade ground for a 
 regiment, but when you put into it an army of 
 33,000 men, the number actually present at 
 one time, it leaves very little room for even 
 the absolute necessities of cooking and sleep- 
 ing. 
 
 I have described rather carefully the location 
 of the prison, for the reason that I have been 
 told that within five miles of this location was 
 
 39 
 
a much better place, if the heakh of the prison- 
 ers had been considered. There was a clear 
 running stream of pure water for drinking and 
 bathing purposes at the latter place. 
 
 I have said that above the stockade the little 
 stream had its rise in a quagmire. Added to 
 this the railroad station was so situated that 
 all the drainage from that ran into it. On the 
 other side of the swamp on high land which 
 sloped down toward it, three thousand soldiers 
 forming the guard of the prison were en- 
 camped, and all the drainage from this camp 
 flowed into the swamp. Then on a slight ele- 
 vation near the stockade was placed the cook 
 house, where the food for one-half the prison 
 was cooked, and all the slops from this went 
 into the swamp, and in the course of events all 
 these slops were mingled in the little stream 
 which passed through the prison; and this 
 water was all the water that was ever provided 
 in any way by the authorities for the prisoners. 
 
 It has been said that the South did all it 
 could for the prisoners. This water is only 
 one example of their provision. Wood, which 
 was an absolute necessity, was withheld from 
 us. Wood was abundant. Thousands of cords 
 of dry pine lay just outside the gate, but we 
 were not permitted to gather it except in very 
 
 40 
 
meager quantities; and as one-half the prison- 
 ers were obliged to cook their food, we were 
 compelled to dig the roots out of the ground 
 and dry them in the sun and use them for fuel. 
 We were not even provided with cooking uten- 
 sils, and as nearly all of our cups and plates 
 had been taken from us before entering, we 
 were ill prepared for housekeeping. Every 
 available canteen was utilized. These were 
 held over the fire and unsoldered, thus mak- 
 ing two large tin saucers from each canteen. 
 
 The process of cooking was as follows : 
 Bricks were made of the clay soil ; two of these 
 bricks were placed on the ground about five 
 inches apart. The half canteen in which the 
 coarse cornmeal had been placed with suffi- 
 cient water to make a sort of mush, was placed 
 on the bricks. Then the cook would take a 
 small sliver of pine and go off and get a light, 
 put it under the dish, add a few root shavings, 
 get down on hands and knees and blow until it 
 kindled, then add more shavings, then blow 
 some more, repeating the process until he could 
 blow no more, or until his fuel was exhausted, 
 when he would call it done and eat it. 
 
 I have eaten many a dish of this stuff, half 
 cooked. It was simply chicken feed warmed 
 through. We never used salt because we could 
 
 41 
 
not get it I have used the term coaise corn- 
 meal. This was such as we feed our horses 
 and cattle, never sifted. The hull was all left 
 in it, and we thought many times that the cob 
 was ground up with it. You see. they gave 
 us the hull thing. 
 
 The plan was something like this : One-half 
 would get cooked rations for two weeks and 
 the other half would get uncooked, then we 
 changed about. The rations were brought in 
 about 4 o'clock in the afternoon if it did not 
 rain. If it rained, we would get nothing until 
 the next morning or night. I '-emember that 
 on the 4th of July we were forty-eight hours 
 without rations. I presume that is the way 
 they celebrated there at that time. Before de- 
 scribing the manner of distributing rations, I 
 will mention another matter which has a bear- 
 ing upon the subject. 
 
 The place for depositing the dead as they 
 were carried out was in a line with Captain 
 Wirtz's headquarters, and in full view from 
 the hill. About ten o'clock in the morning an 
 army wagon drawn by mules would be driven 
 up and the dead piled into it. They were 
 thrown in and piled on as a man piles cord- 
 wood into a wagon. When no more would 
 stay on, the load was driven to the cemetery 
 
 42 
 
and the team returned for another load. Now 
 for the point to the ration story. In the after- 
 noon, into this same wagon was thrown our 
 rations, meat, bread, cornmeal, etc., and it 
 was driven in through the north gate and was 
 guarded by eight men with g^ns with bayonets 
 fixed. This load was distributed to the detach- 
 ment sergeants. These distributed to the ser- 
 geants of 90's and these to the various messes 
 like our own, each of these having a sergeant 
 of its own. The last would divide up so that 
 each individual received his share. 
 
 When we drew cooked rations each man got 
 a piece of bread six inches long and three 
 inches square, and a piece of bacon about an 
 inch and a half cube. Only two things. Some- 
 times we had beef instead of bacon, and some- 
 times two tablespoonfuls of molasses — but only 
 two things at a time. When we drew uncooked 
 rations it was cornmeal, one pint instead of 
 bread, and raw beef or bacon. This bread 
 was a wonder. It was baked in large cards 
 about 15x20 inches and three inches thick. 
 No soda or salt was ever discovered in it. 
 They may have been of the invisible kind. 
 
 A ration of either kind must last at least 
 twenty-four hours. One could eat it all at 
 
 43 
 
once and then be hungry, but I made two 
 meals of mine, eating my supper or perhaps 
 it was dinner at 6 o'clock, and the other meal 
 at 9 A. M. When I got the bread I would 
 mark off as much as I thought I could spare 
 for supper, and stop when I came to the mark, 
 but it was mighty hard stopping sometimes. 
 What was left over we had to keep in litle 
 bags, but I had no bag, so I cut the pockets 
 out of my pants, putting my bread in one and 
 my meat in the other. This was my pantry. 
 A part of the time we received beans in place 
 of one of the articles already mentioned. These 
 beans were of a peculiar variety — small, speck- 
 led red ones — another feature was that they 
 were infested with bugs. I think it is not 
 exaggerating to say that one in every three 
 beans contained a small, black bug. When 
 we put these beans in water, some of the bugs 
 came to the surface and we skimmed them off. 
 Those that did not float we cooked and ate. 
 Nothing eatable was allowed to go to waste. 
 
 If a man was sick and unable to eat his meat, 
 a comrade would take it, stick it on a sliver 
 and walk up and down the street crying, 
 "Who's got bread to trade for meat?" Pres- 
 ently some one would call out "Here!" and 
 then they would banter. One would say, 
 
 44 
 
"Your oread is too small;" the other would 
 say, "Your meat isn't good!" Alter a wordv 
 discussion there would either be a trade or a 
 fight. It IS surprising to see how much hungry- 
 men think ol their honor and how quickly they 
 resort to blows i.o defend it. Fights were the 
 order of the day. Look in any direction ac 
 almost any time of day and you might witness 
 from one to a dozen fistic arguments in full 
 swing. It was a good place for a young man 
 to learn to mind his own business. 
 
 There were places in the prison where fooa 
 could be bought at exorbitant prices, as fol- 
 lows: 
 
 3 medium sized potatoes $1.0r' 
 
 3 biscuits 1.00 
 
 1 pint wheat flour 1.00 
 
 Etc., etc., etc.. When new recruits came in 
 with money they indulged in these luxuries 
 for a brief time. 
 
 One night I had a dream which had an ag- 
 gravating effect upon me. My mother was 
 noted in our home circle for her bread-making. 
 I never knew anyone who excelled her in mak 
 ing biscuits. They were always just right. 
 Her dinners, which were always good, were 
 a little better on Sunday than on any other 
 day. On this particular night I dreamed that 
 
 45 
 
I was at home. It was Sunday; we were 
 seated at the table; my brother sat opposite 
 me. and my father opposite my mother. In 
 the middle of the table, which was covered 
 with a clean, white cloth, sat a plate of mother's 
 biscuits. I couldn't wait for the blessing, but 
 reached over and took one from the plate. 
 Holding it up, I said, "In Andersonville, three 
 biscuits like this would have been worth a dol- 
 lar." Just as I was about to put it to my 
 mouth I awoke. Imagine my disappointment. 
 
 When we received fresh beef every bit of 
 •t was utilized. The bones were boiled and 
 then gnawed and the juice sucked out of them. 
 I never knew how much pleasure the dog gets 
 out of a bone until I followed his example 
 for an hour at a time. I have picked one of 
 these bones out of the dust after it had been 
 trodden on and kicked around, and gnawed at 
 it for half an hour to get the gristle. One 
 hoy boiled the eye from a beef's head, but he 
 couldn't cook it so that he could eat it — the 
 only part that I saw refused there. 
 
 It did not take many weeks tor this diet 
 to leave its mark. The languid step ; tlie tired 
 feeling; the drawn, sunken features; that far- 
 away look in the eye, told that it was only a 
 
 46 
 
matter of a short time when the poor fellow- 
 would follow his comrades to the cemetery. 
 
 I have said that the only water provided 
 was in this little sluggish stream. 
 
 About twelve feet below the dead line on the 
 west side of the prison, a small foot bridge 
 was built over the creek. Between this bridge 
 and the dead line was the place where we ob- 
 tained water for drinking and cooking pur- 
 poses. If we went there very early in the 
 morning the water was comparatively clear, 
 but after six o'clock there was a nasty, greasy 
 scum on it. When 30,000 men were supplying 
 themselves with water from that small place, 
 it was crowded constantly. One had to crowd 
 his way in and out. Often men would be 
 jostled against the dead line, and if too much 
 crowding were indulged in, the guard from 
 the nearest sentry box at the top of the stock- 
 ade would fire into the crowd, and one or more 
 would be killed. We were told that whenever 
 a guard killed a prisoner he was given a fur- 
 lough, consequently when a shot was fired, the 
 crowd would yell : "There goes another fur- 
 lough." 
 
 47 
 
TUNNELLING OUT. 
 
 Many wells were dug in different parts of 
 the grounds by the prisoners, some of them to 
 the depth of eighty feet. These wells were 
 about two and a half feet in diameter and 
 were scooped out with half canteens, one man 
 digging and others hauling up the earth in a 
 small pail. Instead of a rope attached to the 
 pail, several gur. straps, belts, etc., were fas- 
 tened together. The process was slow, but in 
 time good water was reached, but it was the 
 property of a few. 
 
 Owing to the peculiar construction of some 
 of these wells, they were always dry. One 
 of these was about forty feet from the dead 
 line on the east side. The diggers went down 
 some ten feet and then began digging at a 
 right angle with the hole already dug, and hi 
 the direction of the dead line, going on under 
 the dead line and under the stockade to a 
 point several feet outside of the stockade. Then 
 they dug upward gradually until near the sur- 
 face. 
 
 Those engaged in this enterprise formed a 
 secret organization before beginning opera 
 tions. To cover their designs no little tact 
 
 48 
 
CJl ii. c^ to " 
 
 I I I I I 
 
 o g ci^w 
 § ^ »? pi' <; 
 
 C -JD ex ^ CT) 
 I I I I I 
 
 T ^ C "> ■ 
 
 rt a: - » 53 
 
 s; 3 3 a- 
 
 -. :^ 
 
 I I I 
 
 (t < n^ 3 
 3 3- > 
 
was necessary. While sinking the well the 
 first ten feet the earth was simply thrown out 
 on the surface and left, but when they began 
 the horizontal movement, it was necessary to 
 remove that earth, as it would not do to have 
 more earth in sight than would fill the ten- 
 foot well ; so some would dig and others would 
 take the earth in blankets or bags and carry 
 it down to the swamp and deposit it. This 
 horizontal part was dug in the night. During 
 the day an old coat was hung over the open- 
 ing at the bottom of the well so that a person 
 looking into the well would not discover any- 
 thing out of the ordinary. 
 
 When they came near the surface on the 
 outside, they suspended work and waited for a 
 dark night. When the night came and the 
 sentries one after another called the hour an- 
 nouncing that the officer of the guard was 
 making his round, the little company gath- 
 ered at the mouth of the well. As soon as 
 they were assured that the officer had passed 
 the sentries nearest the point where they were 
 to make their exit, they climbed down into the 
 well, and one after another entered the hori- 
 zontal passage and began crawling through it. 
 The man at the head carefully dug through the 
 thin crust of earth and crawled out, listening 
 
cautiously. He was quickly followed by the 
 others, then they began their march for liberty. 
 Going directly to the creek they waded down 
 it for some distance to throw the bloodhounds 
 off the scent. The next morning, soon after 
 sunrise, Wirtz was out with his pack of hounds 
 making his daily round of the outside of the 
 prison. When the dogs struck the trail they 
 set up a howl and started off with Wirtz and 
 his men at their heels. They followed to the 
 stream and there lost the scent, but Wirtz 
 pushed them on until they again struck the 
 trail. On and on they went. By pursuing, 
 in the course of three or four days they over- 
 took the fugitives and marched them back. Re- 
 sistance was vain. They were again put in 
 the prison, somewhat the better for their few 
 hours of freedom and fresh air. A few were 
 fortunate enough to reach our lines. Out of 
 the 35,000 prisoners I understand that 25 men 
 got through. 
 
 A gentleman whose uncle I knew in Minne- 
 sota had a well within fifty feet of the creek. 
 It was only about ten feet deep, but the water, 
 having filtered through the sand from the 
 creek, was much improved. He invited me 
 to come and get water from his well. Now, 
 so 
 
we had a ten-quart wooden pail in our com- 
 pany which someone had borrowed on the 
 way to prison and had forgotten to return, 
 so one morning I took the pail to the well and 
 carried home a treat for the boys. In a day 
 or two I introduced one of my comrades, then 
 another and another until all had been intro- 
 duced. From that time on we were supplied 
 with well water. 
 
 I will pause here to relate an incident which 
 I feel sure led to my release. 
 
 51 
 
AN INCIDENT. 
 
 I had one comrade named Tom Van De- 
 grift. For some reason Tom had taken a 
 liking to me. One morning he came to me 
 and said: *'Lyon, I am sick; I wish you would 
 bring water for me." (I should have said 
 that each of us had a number, and when our 
 number was called we went for a pail of 
 water.) "All right, Tom, I'll do it," and I 
 went for the water. When I came back with 
 it, the other fellows, who had been with Tom 
 longer than I had before we were prisoners, 
 said, 'T thought it was Tom's turn." "Oh," 
 I said, "Tom is sick." "Sick! Tom sick! He 
 ain't any sicker than you are; he's playing off. 
 You don't know Tom." I didn't say much. 
 I thought he was sick and that I had a perfect 
 right to carry water for him if I wanted to. 
 
 In a few days he was sick again, and I car- 
 ried water for him. Then the other fellows 
 were furious. They swore at me, called me a 
 fool, etc. Farther on I will tell you how Tom 
 paid me for it. 
 
 52 
 
PROVIDENCE SPRING. 
 
 The water question was finally settled in 
 August. The morning was an exceedingly- 
 hot one. Everything seemed burning up. A 
 little after noon black clouds came up from 
 the west and soon the sun was darkened. Then 
 came the Southern thunder and lightning. It 
 was terrific. All at once the clouds seemed 
 to break open and the rain poured down in 
 torrents. Never before or since have I seen 
 so much rainfall in an hour in my life. Every- 
 thing was flooded. It is safe to say that the 
 water was two inches deep on the level ground. 
 The gradual descent of the table land toward 
 the hill caused it to flow that way, and when 
 it came to the hill it poured over it in a great 
 sheet. The little creek soon overflowed its 
 banks and spread out over the swamp. In 
 about an hour this stream, which was origi- 
 nally ten feet wide, had spread out until it was 
 three hundred feet wide and six feet deep, and 
 where there had seemed to be no current there 
 was now a rushing flood of maddened water. 
 Suddenly there came the report of a cannon, 
 then another. Then the cry went up: "The 
 
 53 
 
stockade is broken." Sure enough, the flood 
 had carried away a hundred feet of the west- 
 em stockade, and as the timbers rushed down 
 they carried with them about as much of the 
 eastern stockade. The cannon was a signal 
 for troops, and they rushed down to protect 
 the gaps. I beHeve some prisoners attempted 
 to escape by jumping into the water and float- 
 ing with the current. 
 
 The effect of the flood upon the appearance 
 of the prison grounds was marvelous. The 
 whole surface was washed, and the swamp, 
 which before was almost beyond endurance, 
 looked now as if it had been scrubbed. 
 We were indeed in a new world. When the 
 Almighty cleans house he puts housekeepers 
 to shame. Now we come to the greatest 
 marvel of all. After the rain had ceased and 
 the creek had assumed its normal condition, 
 out from under an old pine stump which stood 
 near the dead line just below the north gate, 
 we saw a stream of water as large as a man's 
 arm pour forth and run down the hill between 
 
 the deal line and the stockade. At first we 
 thought it would stop running after a time, 
 but that was forty years ago last August, and 
 it is still running as clear, cold, pure, spring 
 water as can be found anywhere. We named 
 
 54 
 
it Providence Spring. Over it the Woman's 
 Relief Corps has built a substantial stone build- 
 ing. Some claim it to have been a miraculous 
 creation. I cannot agree to that. That it 
 was purely providential cannot be questioned. 
 Long before the spring was thus opened I 
 saw little pools of water near the old stump 
 and between the dead line and the stockade, 
 and saw a man fish water out of these pockets 
 or pools by tying a cup to a string which was 
 attached to a pole. This showed us that there 
 was water there, and had it been on our side 
 of the dead line we should undoubtedly have 
 opened the spring long before it was opened 
 by the rush of water caused by that providen- 
 tial thunder shower. 
 
 The stream flowed from the old stump to 
 the creek between the dead line and the stock- 
 ade. We could not reach it, so it did us no 
 good. In a few days, however, to our great 
 surprise, the authorities sent men in, who 
 nailed two boards together, forming a leader 
 like an old-fashioned eaves trough. Then they 
 placed it so as to lead the stream to our side 
 of the dead line. There we could go and 
 get the pure, sweet water. No one who has 
 been deprived of good water for a long time 
 
 55 
 
can tell how we appreciated this act of kind- 
 ness from those from whom we had received 
 so little. How we drank of that water. It re- 
 vived our sinking spirits and filled us with 
 new hope. 
 
 56 
 
CLOTHING AND BEDS. 
 
 We were without clothing, without shel- 
 ter, exposed to the burning sun by day and to 
 the cold at night, for in that part of the South 
 the nights are very cool, while the heat dur- 
 ing the day is intense. My wardrobe con- 
 sisted of a woolen shirt, a pair of cotton flan- 
 nel drawers, a pair of army pantaloons, a pair 
 of boots and the old hat which I was compelled 
 to take in exchange for my good one when I 
 was captured. I had no blanket, no shelter of 
 any kind by night or day, save when I begged 
 the privilege of sitting in my friend's mud 
 shanty during the hottest part of the day. 
 
 When night came we would lie down to- 
 gether upon the ground, spoon fashion. I 
 would take off my boots and put them under 
 my head for a pillow. The nights were very 
 cool, and toward morning it was chilly, even 
 in August. The ground, which had been 
 tramped over by thousands of feet, and baked 
 in that torrid sun, was just about as hard as 
 an asphalt pavement. Sometimes as many as 
 a dozen men would spoon together, so that 
 those in the middle could not turn over, but 
 
when the bones next the ground ached too 
 hard the word would be passed to flop, and 
 the whole line flopped together. For weeks I 
 had no regular place to sleep, but lay down 
 wherever I could find a clear place and a bed- 
 fellow. 
 
 58 
 
REMINISCENCE. 
 
 Is it any wonder that men lost their reason ? 
 that they were homesick and childish? Rather 
 is it not marvelous that any lived, or if they 
 lived that they had mind enough left to think 
 at all? Many a poor fellow wandered around 
 through the grounds perfectly nude. I have 
 stopped these men and tried to talk with them, 
 and the only response was a vacant stare. 
 
 Men would gather in groups and talk of 
 home. They would tell how their mothers 
 cooked their favorite dishes; then when 
 thoughts of home came crowding in upon them 
 they would jump up and rush away to forget 
 them. No pen can write it; no tongue can tell 
 it. Even as I try to describe it, the old feeling 
 comes over me and it seems to me that it was 
 the power of the Almighty Father alone that 
 kept us. 
 
 When I was released and went home, my 
 mother would try to get me to talk about it, 
 but it seemed such a stupendous undertaking 
 that I could not do it. Not until quite recently 
 have I attemped to tell the story. This is my 
 
 59 
 
first attempt at writing it, and it is impossible 
 for me to do the subject justice. 
 
 When you consider that here were 30,000 
 men, men right from the front, hardy, stal- 
 wart, able-bodied men — penned up and starved 
 until they were as helpless as babes, and suf- 
 fering with disease — with no medical attend- 
 ance, and only such food as tended to make 
 them worse, is it any wonder that they be- 
 came desperate, that they thought at times 
 that even the great government which they 
 were serving had forgotten them. I have seen 
 men suffering with scurvy (brought on simply 
 from lack of vegetable diet) to such an extent 
 that their limbs swelled so that they could 
 not walk, and their teeth dropped out. I have 
 seen others with the skin worn off the hip 
 bones where they had lain on the ground, and 
 others with sores on their feet as large as the 
 palm of my hand ; these sores would gangrene 
 and then be filled with maggots, etc. If I were 
 to place one of these men in the public square 
 you would shun him as you would a leper. 
 
 Let me try to picture one: On a very hot 
 day, in the northern part of the grounds, I 
 found a man, his face so black and filthy that 
 I couldn't distinguish his natural color, with 
 maggots in his eyes and mouth and all over 
 
 60 
 
his body. He was just whispering, "Water, 
 water." I bent over him until I heard what 
 he wanted. Then I borrowed a quart pail and 
 went to a well close by and drew some water 
 (this well was eighty feet deep), brushed the 
 maggots out of his mouth, and gave him a 
 drink. This is only one case. Another was 
 down by the creek. A man who had stood 
 over six feet, lay stretched out on the wet 
 sand; he had crawled down there in the 
 evening to get water. I bent over him 
 and he whispered, "Water." I found in his 
 hand a peculiar kind of cup. He had found 
 an old boot leg and had cut out a piece about 
 six inches square and tied up the corners so 
 that it would hold about a gill. This I took, 
 went to the creek, filled it, put it to his lips, 
 filled it again and again until he was satis- 
 fied. He probably died before morning. 
 
 Our daily duties were simply the doing of 
 those things which would prolong life, for no 
 matter how miserable our surroundings may 
 be we cling to that thing called life with great 
 tenacity. We had within our reach the means 
 of self-destruction if we chose to use them. 
 All one had to do was to crawl under the board 
 which marked the dead line, and the guard, 
 who was ever on the alert, would quickly do 
 
 61 
 
the rest. I very well remember one case — that 
 of one of those nude men who had been wan- 
 dering around the grounds in the broiling sun 
 all day until late in the afternoon. When he 
 came up to the dead line on the west side near 
 the south gate, observing the shade of the 
 stockade, he deliberately cralwed under the 
 dead line and started for the shade. When 
 about half way, men who were trying to call 
 the poor fellow back saw the guard raise his 
 gun, and called out to him, "Don't shoot! 
 Don't shoot! The man is crazy." He gave no 
 heed to their entreaties, but fired. The man 
 fell mortally wounded. There he lay for hours 
 writhing in agony, but the authorities did noth- 
 ing to relieve him, and about sunset he 
 breathed his last. No comrade dared go to 
 his assistance. 
 
 62 
 
MORNING DUTIES. 
 
 The first duty of the morning was to go to 
 the creek and bathe the face and hands and 
 feet, then prepare and eat breakfast. After 
 breakfast we would select a spot where we 
 could sit on the ground, take off our clothes 
 and kill the lice which had been annoying us 
 more or less through the night. Pardon the 
 word. I might have called them vermin, but 
 that is not expressive enough. They were 
 just lice, great big ones with gray sides and 
 a dark line the entire length of the back. A 
 full-grown one was about as large as a flax 
 seed. A good kill for a morning was fifty. 
 They were very busy during the night, but 
 toward morning they would secrete themselves 
 in the seams of the garments, their preference 
 being woolen goods. The process of killing 
 was to take the shirt, turn it inside out, begin 
 at one end of the seam and kill one at a time 
 by crushing the "varmint" between the thumb 
 nails. The killing lasted about an hour every 
 morning, and woe be to the man who neglected 
 it for a single day. He would pay dearly for 
 it before the next morning. This was called 
 
 63 
 
"lousing." It may seem like exaggeration 
 when I say that I have seen the coat of a man 
 too lazy to "louse," so covered w^ith these creep- 
 ing, crawling things that there wasn't a square 
 inch of space on the outside where there was 
 not a louse. What the inside might have been 
 I had no desire to see. It was considered a 
 breach of etiquette to neglect this important 
 duty, and he who would not dp it v;as put 
 out of his mess. 
 
 I shall always remember with gratitude a 
 man from Pennsylvania who said to me the 
 first day, "You will soon have a tired, languid 
 feeling and want to lie around and sleep. Don't 
 do it, exercise; get up and walk and shake off 
 your drowsiness." I followed that advice, 
 and walked a great deal up and down the hill, 
 up to the north end and back to the south end. 
 
 Smoking was indulged in by those who 
 could afford it. The tobacco used was nearly 
 all plug. It was first chewed, then dried in 
 the sun and afterward smoked. I don't know 
 as to the quality of the smoke, as I did not 
 use the weed, but it seemed a source of com- 
 fort to those who did. 
 
 We had a great many breweries in the 
 prison — in fact, they were a sort of brewery 
 and saloon combined, for each one sold his 
 
 64 
 
own product. To start one of these establish- 
 ments one had first to secure a pail or tub into 
 which he would put a quantity of cornmeal, 
 fill up the tub with water and add some sassa- 
 fras bark. As soon as the meal soured and 
 the liquid fermented the proprietor would go 
 out on the street, find a stand, seat himself 
 behind his tub of beer and cry, "Who wants a 
 glass of this nice sassafras beer ; only ten cents 
 a glass?" I never knew of anyone becoming 
 intoxicated with this beer, perhaps because 
 he could not afford more than one glass at a 
 time. 
 
 65 
 
MORALS. 
 
 The feeling I had when I entered the prison 
 was that I should be among my friends, and 
 that as we were all in the same trouble there 
 would be a bond of sympathy — but alas! I 
 did not reckon with the frailties of human na- 
 ture. Instead of our common trouble making 
 us sympathetic, it tended to make us selfish, 
 desperately so. Many who at home and in 
 camp were cheerful and companionable, after 
 being in prison for a time, became morose and 
 irritable. Many who were generous at home, 
 as prisoners were penurious. Again, men who 
 never used an oath, especially in the company 
 of others, became profane. Men seemed to vie 
 with each other in making their profanity ter- 
 rible. 
 
 I remember one incident. A young fellow 
 was trying to cook his dinner. He couldn't 
 make the fuel burn, so he gave way to a fit of 
 swearing. The fire blazed up for a short time 
 and then went out. Then he had another fit. 
 He would jump up and down, pouring out 
 oaths like water. Finally he had a desperate 
 attack, and after dancing and swearing for a 
 
 66 
 
while, he kicked over his dish and jumped on 
 the fire. He cursed the fire, the fuel, the com- 
 meal, the Southern Confederacy and every- 
 thing he could think of. After a while he 
 cooled off. 
 
 Not only would men swear at trifles, but 
 they would steal. One man shocked me by 
 telling me he had stolen a tin cup. I had 
 known him for years and at home he was a 
 good Methodist. I never laid it up against 
 him, and I think, under the circumstances, the 
 good Lord forgave him. 
 
 If prison life had such an effect upon men 
 of good moral character, what did it do to 
 those who were inclined to be bad ? It simply 
 made them desperate. There were men in 
 there who had enlisted merely to get money 
 without working. It was "as natural for them 
 to steal as it is for a fish to swim. 
 
 After a while these men got together. The 
 toughest of them occupied the southwest cor- 
 ner of the prison, a space about 100 feet 
 square. This was known as the "raiders' cor- 
 ner." These men were called raiders for the 
 reason that when the rest of the prison was 
 asleep, they went forth under the cover of 
 night to pillage. They would creep over the 
 bridge, climb the hill, steal along through the 
 
 67 
 
narrow walks and when they saw anything 
 that they could get their hands upon would 
 grab it and run. They would often awaken 
 someone, who would jump up and cry "raid- 
 er," then all who heard would jump up and 
 run after him. If they caught him they would 
 keep him until morning, take him and shave 
 ofif one-half his hair and one-half his beard if 
 he had any, then buck and gag him and let 
 him sit in the sun and think about it. 
 
 Bucking is done by having the victim sit 
 on the ground, then put a stick back of both 
 knees and in front of both arms at the elbows, 
 then bring the hands together over the knees 
 and tie them securely. 
 
 To gag a person they put a stick a little 
 larger than a lead pencil in the mouth, tie a 
 string to each end of the stick and tie the 
 strings together back of the head. 
 
 These punishments sufficed for a while, but 
 in time the raiders got either too shrewd to 
 be caught or too bold to be scared by such 
 slight things. They finally became so bold 
 that they pursued their vocation in broad day- 
 light, and when a fresh lot of prisoners were 
 brought in they were on hand in the crowd to 
 receive them. When the unsuspecting displayed 
 their money they would crowd around them 
 
and in a short time money and raiders were 
 missing. They would sometimes follow one 
 who had money and for some pretense would 
 knock him down, and in the scuffle they would 
 get the money. 
 
 J^ 
 
 4^^^- 
 
VIGILANCE COMMITTEE. 
 
 In July matters were getting into such a 
 state that no one was safe. We then organ- 
 ized a vigilance committee of a hundred or 
 more members, who began an investigation 
 which brought to light a terrible state of af- 
 fairs. Men were being murdered and buried 
 in the tents of the raiders. 
 
 The raiders were hunted out and arrested 
 until about a hundred of them were in the 
 hands of the committee. They were taken 
 outside and six of the leaders were taken from 
 the group. A judge was appointed; attorneys 
 selected (we had many lawyers among us) ; 
 a court organized. These six were regularly 
 tried, convicted, and sentenced to be hanged. 
 The authorities provided material for a gal- 
 lows, which our men built and erected just in- 
 side the south gate, and upon it the six doomed 
 men paid the penalty of their crimes. Never 
 shall I forget the sight of those six men, stand- 
 ing there trembling when at the given signal 
 the drop fell and all dropped. One man broke 
 (be rope, but the platform was again adjusted, 
 
 70 
 
and he was hanged beside his fellows in spite 
 of his entreaties. 
 
 As these men were brought in under guard, 
 one big fellow broke away and ran to the 
 swamp and through it, but was caught as he 
 was coming out on the north side and hustled 
 back to the scaffold. He was taken past where 
 I was sitting. He had a desperate look on his 
 face. He dreaded to die, but there was no 
 escape. 
 
 The hanging brought about a better state of 
 affairs than had existed before. A record of 
 the court's proceedings was kept and was for- 
 warded to Washington, where it was approved 
 bv the Government. 
 
 %^# 
 
 n 
 
DISEASES AND DEATH. 
 
 The two diseases most prevalent were 
 chronic diarrhoea and scurvy; the first caused 
 largely by exposure, and by the diet of coarse, 
 half-cooked cornmeal; the latter by a lack 
 of vegetable food. No potatoes or vegetables 
 of any kind were ever issued in Andersonville 
 while I was there. 
 
 Tuberculosis carried off a great many. When 
 a person was attacked with any of these dis- 
 eases he was almost sure to go, or if he man- 
 aged to pull through until released, in nearly 
 all cases the disease remained with him until 
 death came to his rescue. 
 
 It is safe to say that there were 10,000 sick 
 men in the prison all through the months of 
 July, August and September, so that when in 
 September they took out most of those who 
 could walk to the station, which was a half 
 mile from the gate, it left thousands of men 
 absolutely unable to care for themselves. Then 
 the authorities brought in lumber and erected 
 five sheds, each one about fifty feet long and 
 twelve feet wide. These consisted of a frame 
 eight feet high, above which was a roof. There 
 
were two floors in each of these ; the first floor 
 eighteen inches from the ground and the sec- 
 ond three feet above the first. Into these we 
 carried these helpless fellows and laid them 
 close together. 
 
 These sheds were divided into wards, each 
 ward containing sixty men. I acted for a time 
 as ward-master in some of these until I was 
 taken sick and was obliged to go away and 
 stay in a mud shanty which had been deserted. 
 It was the duty of the ward master to direct 
 and assist the nurses in drawing rations and 
 distributing to the sick and to do all that 
 he could to relieve their suffering until death 
 came. 
 
 Every morning several dead would be taken 
 from each ward, and others quickly filled the 
 places made vacant. When a man was about 
 to die, his name, company and regiment were 
 written upon a small slip of paper — though 
 paper was very scarce — to be tied to one of his 
 toes when he was carried out. How many of 
 these papers remained with the bodies I am 
 unable to say, but I am sure that many were 
 lost in the rough handling which the bodies 
 received as they were thrown in and out of the 
 wagon. Just outside the gate a clerk was sta- 
 tioned, whose business it was to record the 
 
 73 
 
names of the unfortunates and their companies. 
 It was after passing him that the bodies re- 
 ceived the rough treatment. Hundreds of 
 them must have been buried under the wrong 
 names. How could it have been otherwise. 
 
 The bodies were buried in trenches, without 
 coffins and many times without clothing or 
 even a blanket to cover them. The trenches 
 were seven feet wide, from three to four feet 
 deep, and long enough to hold the deaths of 
 one day. (The greatest number of deaths in 
 one day was 137). At the head of each one 
 was a board bearing the name, rank, regiment 
 and company of the one supposed to be there. 
 These boards have since been replaced by mar- 
 ble slabs furnished by our government. 
 
 74 
 
HOW TOM HELPED ME OUT 
 WHEN I WAS RELEASED. 
 
 When I was taken sick, I found that all my 
 mess of fifteen had left the old place and had 
 either died or gone out. As I lay in the mud 
 shanty one evening about sunset, I was greatly 
 surprised at seeing Tom coming toward me. 
 He came near and spoke to me. "By George, 
 Lyon, I am sorry to see you in this fix!" We 
 talked a short time, and he said, *T know where 
 I can get you a cake if you have any money." 
 I gave him a quarter, and he went away. After 
 a while he came back, bringing a ginger cake 
 three or four inches square. The next day he 
 came over again. Presently he said : 
 "Lyon, Pm going out tomorrow night." 
 "I am glad you are so fortunate, Tom." He 
 looked at me in a peculiar way, and then said : 
 "I want you to go with me." 
 "Oh, I can't walk to the station." 
 "Well, I can help you. You be ready to- 
 morrow night just after dark, and Pll be here." 
 True to his word, just after dark he made 
 his appearance. He helped me to my feet, put 
 his arm around me and together we went down 
 
 75 
 
the old hill and crossed the bridge for the last 
 time. Tom helped me over to the station. We 
 were together in two other prisons for two 
 months after leaving Andersonville, and Tom 
 stood by me like a brother. When I could not 
 cook my food, he cooked it for me. I think I 
 owe my release to the kindness of Tom, the 
 boy for whom I carried water when he was 
 sick, and this is the way he paid me. It pays 
 sometimes to be a "fool." 
 
 76 
 
A BACKWARD GLANCE. 
 
 Let us pause here for one last look at this 
 place where we have spent so many terrible 
 days, days never to be forgotten, days which 
 tried men's souls. Is it possible that, after 
 having so many of our comrades carried out^ 
 dead, that we are going to be released? This 
 was the hope that was held out to us, but, 
 alas ! to how many it was only a false hope. 
 
 That picture remains with me to this day. 
 There stands the stockade with the sentries 
 looking over the top of it. I can hear them 
 calling in a clear, ringing voice, "Post No. 29 ; 
 nine o'clock and all's well !" I see those starv- 
 ing thousands. I see their sunken cheeks, their 
 staring, glassy eyes. I hear the death rattle. 
 I hear that boy, as he catches for breath, whis- 
 per, "I wish I could see my mother. Mother! 
 Mother! Will she not come soon?" The 
 whisper dies away, and he sinks to rest with 
 his last thought about his mother. I see filth 
 and rags and vermin; that hard ground, every 
 foot of which has been trampled and baked 
 until it is as hard as a rock. Some are left. 
 Will any of them get out? The one bright 
 
 77 
 
spot is Providence Spring. I can hear the 
 water as it flows trickling down the hillside 
 to be lost in the sluggish stream of the swamp. 
 Is it possible that we are really going out? 
 The huge gate opens, and that motley crowd 
 of crippled, starving, ragged men moves slowly 
 out. Then we think of that great army buried 
 there; how many there were we did not know 
 at the time. 
 
 With Tom's help I was enabled to reach the 
 station. As we were waiting for the train a 
 boy came along selling biscuits. I asked him 
 how he would trade his biscuits for buttons. 
 He would give a biscuit for a button, so I 
 gave him five buttons for five biscuits. These 
 served me as lunch for the journey. It's a 
 wonder they did not end my mortal existence, 
 for they were as solid as flour and water could 
 make them. We finally boarded the train, 
 which was made up of box cars. This was 
 the last day of September. We reached Sa- 
 vannah the next evening. As we pulled into 
 the city I remember passing a large brick resi- 
 dence where I could see a gentleman sitting 
 in a well lighted, well furnished room. I am 
 afraid I envied him; at least it was easy to 
 make comparisons by contrast. 
 
 78 
 
IN PRISON AT SAVANNAH. 
 
 The authorities had told us all along that 
 we were to be exchanged and sent home. Well, 
 we were exchanged, and many were sent home, 
 but it was to their long home, for we were 
 taken from the cars and hurried into another 
 stockade in the outer edge of the city. 
 
 We were quite well treated, compared with 
 what we had been at Andersonville; it was a 
 very comfortable place, clean and plenty of 
 good water, and much better food than we 
 had been having. It was rumored that the 
 loyal citizens (of whom I was told there were 
 many) used their influence in our behalf. It 
 may have been a stroke of policy, as Sherman 
 was at Atlanta on his march to the sea. 
 
 We were kept in Savannah but thirteen 
 days, when we were again hustled into the 
 cars and taken we knew not whither until we 
 arrived at Millen, another prison, seventy 
 miles northwest from Savannah. 
 
 79 
 
MILLEN PRISON. 
 
 A large field was here fenced in with a stock- 
 ade, but it was new and clean, and through it 
 flowed a beautiful stream of pure water. Much 
 timber had been left on the ground, so that we 
 had plenty of wood for cooking out* food. We 
 also received a few sweet potatoes each day. 
 These I ate without cooking. The scurvy had 
 so affected my jaws that I could with difficulty 
 open my mouth just enough to put the tip of 
 my index finger between my front teeth. 
 
 After a few days, Tom with two other com- 
 rades made a dug-out and covered it with an 
 old blanket which I had bought with a part 
 of the money received for my boots. This 
 dug-out was a square hole long enough for a 
 man to stretch himself in and wide enough for 
 four of us to lie side by side, and it was eigh- 
 teen inches deep. We covered the bottom with 
 pine needles. 
 
 The weather was getting cool. The nights, 
 which in that country are cool even in August, 
 were now cold. I remember getting up one 
 morning in October and seeing the ground 
 covered with a heavy white frost. I bought a 
 
 80 
 
coat just before leaving Andersonville, but 
 some one stole it from me at Savannah. I 
 felt the need of it at this time more than dur- 
 ing the warm weather. 
 
 We had become very much emaciated; my 
 weight, which varies from 150 to 180, was 
 then just about 100. I became so weak that I 
 had to try two or three times to get on my 
 feet, and then stand for some time to get my 
 balance before venturing to walk. I just shut 
 my teeth and vowed that I would not die there, 
 but many a less fortunate comrade chilled to 
 death in that land of the sunny South. I think 
 the most trying experience I ever had with 
 the weather was during a rainy day in Novem- 
 ber. My clothes were wet through. There 
 was no fire where I could warm myself; no 
 way to escape the wind, and I couldn't exercise 
 enough to keep warm. Since that day I have 
 had a great deal of sympathy for the poor 
 dumb animals who are without shelter in 
 stormy weather. 
 
 My clothing was very much worn. The 
 woolen shirt which had served me so long was 
 nearly gone, the sleeves having worn off to the 
 elbows. My boots were gone, leaving my feet 
 exposed to the cold. My old hat was gone; I 
 had gotten a cap from a dead comrade, which 
 
 81 
 
was too small. One comforting thought re- 
 mained. My clothing harmonized with my 
 surroundings. 
 
 
 82 
 
As the Author looked on leaving Andersonville. 
 
LEAVING MILLEN PRISON. 
 
 One Sunday morning in November a Con- 
 federate officer came into the prison and said 
 that he would take the names of the sick and 
 wounded preparatory to an exchange. Sev- 
 eral of my comrades came to me and urged 
 me to go and have my name taken, but I told 
 them I didn't believe it would amount to any- 
 thing. They had lied to us so many times that 
 we couldn't believe them. However, after a 
 while I consented and went out where the 
 officer was. I waited near by, and when he 
 came along I was standing leaning on a 
 stick which I used as a cane. He looked 
 at me and said, "Young man, what is the 
 matter with you?" "Scurvy, I suppose." 
 Turning to his clerk, he said, "Put his name 
 down." I went back to my comrades, 
 thinking that it was only a farce to make us 
 feel good; but in about a week we were all 
 called over to the gate, formed in line and 
 marched out. They even had old wagons for 
 some of us. I rode. We got over to the rail- 
 road about noon and waited for the train until 
 
 84 
 
five o'clock. When it came in they said that 
 there had been a storm on the ocean and our 
 fleet had been wrecked, so they gave us some- 
 thing to eat and we stayed there until the morn- 
 ing, when we were all taken back to the prison. 
 This had a bad effect upon many of the pris- 
 oners, and they gave up and died. 
 
 In a day or two we were called out again. 
 The train came in as before, this time bringing 
 a lot of their men who had been prisoners in 
 the north. They looked well and hearty, and 
 ready to go to the front. They filled up the 
 cars from our ranks, but about twenty of us 
 were unable to get in. The officers told us if 
 we would promise to stay near the station they 
 would not take us back to prison, and would 
 put us on the cars the next day. We promised. 
 There were some beautiful trees there, and we 
 walked around and enjoyed the fresh air until 
 dark, then lay down under the trees and slept 
 until morning. 
 
 Just before dark a young fellow came 
 around, and I asked him if he could get me 
 some sweet potatoes. He said he would try. 
 I had some fancy link buttons in my shirt 
 which I offered him if he would bring me the 
 potatoes. He brought me a quart of little 
 ones, and I gave him the buttons. The next 
 
 85 
 
day the train came in, bringing more of their 
 men, and we succeeded in getting aboard. 
 
 Before we leave Millen I wish to say that 
 as we were going from the prison to the train 
 I saw piles of boxes filled with blankets and 
 clothing. Upon inquiry I found that these 
 had been sent there by our Sanitary Commis- 
 sion to make us comfortable, but they were not 
 delivered to us, notwithstanding men were 
 chilled to death while these comforts were just 
 outside the prison stockade. 
 
 Just before dark the train moved out and 
 the rain began to fall at the same time, and it 
 followed us all night. We were crowded into 
 cattle cars, open all round, with no roof, so 
 that as we pulled into Savannah the next 
 morning, which was Sunday, we were wet 
 through and so chilled that we could hardly 
 move. We were taken from the cars and 
 marched through the city to the river. All 
 along this route we saw baskets of rolls and 
 sandwiches which the loyal people had sent to 
 us, but the guards kept them from us. When 
 we reached the river, there at the dock lay an 
 old boat which had been used before the war 
 for carrying cotton. Upon the dock stood a 
 table upon which lay a large sheet of paper. 
 We were each required to write our name upon 
 
 86 
 
this paper. What the paper signified I did not 
 know, and cared less. After signing the paper 
 we passed on to the boat. When all were on 
 board the old hulk swung out into the stream, 
 the engine began its work, and we moved 
 slowly down the stream. At intervals we 
 passed the huge iron monsters that guarded 
 the mouth of the river and the bay. 
 
 It was a dark, cloudy, chilly morning, and 
 the mist was blown through the open sides of 
 the boat. We huddled together and crowded 
 around close to the boilers to keep warm. 
 
 The sergeant-major of our regiment was 
 one of our number. He had been outside at 
 Andersonville on parole of honor. The parole 
 of honor was granted those prisoners who 
 went out to work in the hospitals and ceme- 
 tery. They took an oath that they would not 
 go beyond a certain limit, and they were pro- 
 vided with extra rations and a comfortable 
 place to sleep. 
 
 I was asked by the surgeon to go out and 
 number the graves, but I was taking care of a 
 sick comrade, who pleaded with me so pite- 
 ously to remain with him that I refused to go. 
 
 While the sergeant-major was out on parole 
 he managed to get some extra clothing from 
 the sanitary commission boxes, and when he 
 
 87 
 
saw me on the boat, and that I was chilled 
 through, he gave me a new shirt, which I put 
 on under my old one. 
 
 
FIRST SIGHT OF THE OLD FLAG. 
 
 About noon there was quite a stir forward; 
 every one was looking out to sea; some one 
 had made a discovery. Away in the distance 
 was a vessel, and above the vessel floated a 
 flag. At first we could not make it out. Soon 
 some one said, "It's the old Hag!" Yes, sure 
 enough, there, like the morning star after a 
 stormy night, stood the old flag. As we drew 
 nearer, and could see "its broad stripes and 
 bright stars," it was like a glorious sunburst 
 after a storm. Never before did that emblem 
 mean so much to us. Never did it have a more 
 soulful greeting. Owing to our weakened 
 condition our demonstrations were not very 
 loud, but if we could have cheered as we felt 
 the shout would have been heard around the 
 world. Some shouted, some laughed, some 
 even tried to dance. One poor fellow over six 
 feet tall sat down and cried like a child. Some 
 one said to him, "Sam, what are you crying 
 for?" "Oh," he said, "they'll cheat us out 
 of it yet." For my part, I felt a good deal as 
 Som did. It was too good to be true. All I 
 could do was to stand and look at the stars 
 
and stripes. No flag ever looked as that 
 did. It meant everything to me. I knew if 
 I could just get under its folds I should 
 be safe. I could write to my mother, 
 and perhaps I might go to see her. The 
 thoughts that filled our minds and hearts dur- 
 ing those three or four hours we lay there in 
 sight of freedom would fill a large volume. 
 
 When we reached a point about a quarter 
 of a mile from the flagship, we dropped anchor. 
 A small boat carrying a white flag was low- 
 ered; three or four officers got in and were 
 rowed over, and at 4 o'clock in the afternoon 
 the anchor was lifted and we pulled up along- 
 side of that great vessel. As soon as we began 
 to move toward the flag our hopes began to 
 rise, and when the plank was thrown across 
 to us, and a rope stretched to which we might 
 cling, our hearts were full to overflowing. 
 When it came my turn to walk that plank I 
 stepped very cautiously, for the plank was wet 
 and slippery, and I was barefoot. I clung to 
 the rope with both hands, slipping one foot 
 along and then bringing the other up to it, 
 until both feet touched the dry plank of the 
 deck of that vessel which carried the flag. 
 There I stopped for an instant, and my whole 
 soul went out in thankfulness to the great, 
 
 90 
 
kind Father, who had kept me to that hour. 
 It thrilled my whole being. I said to myself, 
 "Thank God, we are safe!" My whole soul 
 went out in a song of praise. My thoughts 
 and feelings were beyond the power of the 
 human tongue to express. If I am so un- 
 speakably happy as to reach heaven when this 
 life of toil and care and disappointment is past, 
 I am sure I shall feel no greater joy than I did 
 at that moment. Once on God's boat (for so 
 we felt it to be), our next thought was for 
 something to eat. We were formed in lines 
 along the lower deck, and, though we had to 
 sit flat on the hard deck, we were happy, for 
 we were warm, and we knew we should get 
 something to eat. After waiting for some time 
 (it seemed hours), we were served with 
 fresh hardtack and boiled pork, and great tin 
 cups of delicious chocolate. Never was a feast 
 more heartily enjoyed. The feeling would 
 come over me, "I must be careful and not eat 
 too much," and the next instant, "I'll eat what 
 I want of it, if it kills me." I ate eleven hard- 
 tack and half a pound of pork, and drank all 
 the chocolate I wanted. After supper we 
 stretched ourselves on the deck and slept, 
 lying on our sides until the aching of 
 our bones would arouse us. When Ave 
 
 91 
 
awoke we thought we were again in prison, 
 but when we heard the engine and the splash 
 of the great wheels we realized that we were 
 free. 
 
 Then I said, "Thank God, we're safe!" and 
 turned on the other side and went to sleep. 
 
 The next day we were taken below, where 
 there were mattresses filled with straw and 
 covered with blankets. There we could lie 
 and rest. What a wonderful change — plenty 
 to eat and good beds. Before going below 
 we were stripped of our rags — which were 
 thrown overboard — put into large bath-tubs 
 with plenty of soap and scrubbed. I had my 
 hair clipped and was shaved. Then we were 
 given new clothes. What a transformation — 
 from ragged, filthy, despairing creatures to 
 well clothed men. 
 
 92 
 
HOMEWARD BOUND. 
 
 The exhilarating breeze that swept over the 
 broad old ocean was like a tonic. This, to- 
 gether with the all-absorbing thought that we 
 were really homeward bound, revived us, and 
 we felt that we might once more be men. 
 
 When I looked at the sailors and the officers 
 of the vessel, it seemed to me that I had never 
 before seen such noble specimens of manhood. 
 I felt like a child beside those great, strong 
 fellows. 
 
 In just a week from the day we left Savan- 
 nah we steamed into the harbor at Annapolis, 
 Maryland. It was a bright, beautiful Sunday 
 morning. We were taken from the ship to 
 the hospital. There my clothes were taken 
 off again and I was put to bed. Everything 
 was very clean, and to be put into a real bed 
 with clean, white sheets was beyond my high- 
 est hopes. How restful! It seemed like a 
 dream. I had been in bed but a short time 
 when a lady came in carrying a tray upon 
 which was a bowl of chicken broth and other 
 delicacies. It almost took away what little 
 sense I had, and I hardly knew whether to 
 
 93 
 
embrace that angel or take the broth, but I did 
 the latter. The vision of the lady remains till 
 this day — it had been so long since I had seen 
 one. Truly I had reached God's country. 
 
 We stayed in Annapolis but a short time, 
 when we were put on board a boat and taken 
 to Baltimore and put in Jarvis Hospital. From 
 here I wrote my mother in Minnesota and my 
 brother in Columbus, Ohio. 
 
 After remaining in Jarvis Hospital about 
 three weeks, I secured a furlough and came 
 on to Columbus to see my brother. I arrived 
 at his house in the morning while he was out, 
 but soon made myself known to his wife, 
 whom I had never before seen. It was eight 
 in the morning. She said, "We have had 
 breakfast, but I'll soon have some ready for 
 you," Such a breakfast — porterhouse steak 
 cooked to the queen's taste, buckwheat cakes 
 and honey, coffee with cream and sugar, etc. 
 Well, I took everything in sight. As she put 
 the last cake on the griddle, she said to me, 
 "Will you have some more?" I looked up in 
 a peculiar way, she says, and replied very slow- 
 ly, "I guess this will do." This was the first 
 meal I had eaten at a family table in about ten 
 months. Then followed days of feasting. I 
 could not stand the journey to Minnesota to 
 
 94 
 
see my mother, but I visited her sister in 
 northern Ohio, and spent a few days in her 
 home. She gave me the freedom of the house, 
 and I used the privilege to its utmost. I went 
 to the pantry for the good things, to the cellar 
 for apples and cider, and to the garret for 
 hickory nuts, all of which I despatched with 
 alacrity. 
 
 Eating occupied my waking hours and 
 crowded my sleep with dreams. I would sit 
 at the table and eat until my stomach could 
 take no more; but when I stopped eating I 
 was just as hungry as when I began. This 
 ravenous appetite remained with me for 
 months. 
 
 • I afterward became surgeon's clerk in Sem- 
 inary Hospital at Columbus, Ohio, and I re- 
 member that when released prisoners were 
 brought to the hospital many of their cases 
 were diagnosed as typhus hunger. 
 
 9S 
 
STATISTICS. 
 
 Andersonville prison was opened in Feb- 
 ruary, 1864, and was in active operation until 
 December, 1864. In these ten months more 
 than 35,000 Union soldiers were confined 
 there. The actual number present at one time 
 was 33,114, on Aug. 8, 1864. 
 
 The total number of deaths in Andersonville 
 according to the records of the cemetery was 
 13,710. 
 
 The number of deaths in five months was 
 as follows : 
 
 June 1,202 
 
 July 1,742 
 
 August 3,076 
 
 September 2,790 
 
 October 1,595 
 
 Total 10,405 
 
 An average of nearly sixty-eight daily for 153 
 days. The largest number of deaths reported 
 in one day was 137. 
 
 In the month of October one out of every 
 two died. By comparing this last statement 
 with the number of deaths for October, it will 
 
 96 
 
be seen that there were only 3,190 prisoners 
 in the stockade in that month, the others hav- 
 ing died or been removed to other prisons or 
 exchanged. 
 
 Many of those who were moved died before 
 reaching home, and thousands more died 
 shortly after arriving home. 
 
 A conservative estimate is that two-thirds 
 of the 35,000 men confined in Andersonville 
 prison died within two years from the day the 
 prison was opened, as a result of exposure and 
 disease consequent upon a lack of food and the 
 very poor quality of the food furnished, and 
 lack of fuel with which to cook what little food 
 was received. 
 
 I do not wish to be understood as saying or 
 intimating that one-third of this great army of 
 men recovered from the effects of this hard 
 life; far from it. In my opinion, no man ever 
 stayed three months in one of those Southern 
 prisons, especially the one at Andersonville, 
 who afterwards ever became so good a man 
 physically as when he went in. 
 
 It is true that homesickness was the cause 
 of many deaths in Andersonville. Many peo- 
 ple seem to treat this lightly, as if it were 
 lack of courage or loyalty. If it were the lat- 
 ter, they could have saved themselves, for the 
 Confederate officers came into the prison and 
 
 97 
 
offered us plenty to eat, good clothes and many 
 other good things if we would go out and en- 
 list in the Southern army. A few, I must con- 
 fess, accepted, but they were not of the home- 
 sick kind. The great majority said, "No. We 
 will stay here and rot. We will stay until the 
 maggots eat the flesh from our bones before 
 we will be disloyal to the old flag." 
 
 To the representations of the Southern offi- 
 cers that our government had forsaken us, 
 that our officers were making no efforts to re- 
 lease us, we turned a deaf ear. We knew that 
 time would reveal the cause for the seeming 
 slowness on the part of our government to aid 
 us. And so thousands of men who had been 
 reared in good homes, who had been educated 
 in our best colleges and universities, stayed 
 and dragged out a miserable existence until 
 the last ray of hope left them and they lay 
 down upon the hard ground and their spirits 
 passed into the presence of the unerring Judge 
 of all the earth. 
 
 I often think what a wonderfully delightful 
 change it must have been to go out of that 
 place of misery into the beautiful world where 
 they never say "I am sick," and where "they 
 shall hunger no more, neither thirst any more, 
 and God shall wipe away all tears from their 
 eyes." 
 
 98 
 
HOMESICKNESS. 
 
 Yes, these men were homesick. Is it any 
 wonder ? 
 
 Suppose you try living as they did. If you 
 can organize a party of twenty young men, 
 find some place where there is no one but your- 
 selves, dress in the worst old clothes you can 
 find, each take a tin cup and a tin plate, allow 
 a pint of coarse cornmeal and a piece of bacon 
 two inches long and an inch square to each 
 one for a day's ration, and poor wood enough 
 to half cook this food ; you must have no shel- 
 ter from sun or rain, no blankets for covering 
 at night, no chairs, no lights at night but the 
 moon and stars, no good, clear water to drink, 
 no coffee, tea or substitutes for these. You 
 must not in any way communicate with others. 
 There must not be a blade of grass or a flower. 
 Try this for one month. Then, if you could 
 add to these things the thought that there is 
 no chance for release at the end of the month, 
 don't you think you would be homesick ? Why, 
 everyone would be a raving maniac. 
 
 It was that these men had sworn to defend 
 their country and to be loyal and true which 
 
 99 
 
kept them from going mad. Had they been 
 doing it simply to make money they could not 
 have endured it, but it was that loyal fire burn- 
 ing in their souls which kept up their spirits. 
 
 At one time a Yankee deserter, who was an 
 overseer in a shoe shop which furnished shoes 
 for the Southern army, came into Anderson- 
 ville and undertook to persuade some of the 
 prisoners to go and work in his shop. As soon 
 as it was generally known what he was doing 
 he was treated to a prison hair cut and shave. 
 Several men took him and shaved off one-half 
 his hair and beard and kicked him outside. 
 
 l^Iany a time I have stood on the brow of 
 the hill overlooking the swamp, and looked 
 down into that valley of death, and as I saw 
 the dead and dying along the banks of that 
 little stream, and saw the sick and the lame 
 crawling up the hill, and heard the cries of the 
 dying and the curses of the great crowd of 
 starving, restless men, I said no man who has 
 any humanity left in him could stand and see 
 this state of things and not lift his hand to 
 stay the ravages of death and misery. One 
 day some men came in who I was told were 
 doctors, and as they crossed the swamp they 
 put their hands over their mouths and noses 
 to keep out the stench. I thought what if they 
 
 100 
 
had to live in it! I went up to one of them 
 and asked him for medicine for a sick com- 
 rade. His answer was, "The medicine is all 
 locked up and we can't get it." My thoughts 
 may not always have been such as a Christian 
 should entertain, but I thought if there is no 
 hell there should be one for the men who 
 might relieve this sufifering and yet refuse. 
 
 To me there is no grander sight than an 
 army of well-fed, well-uniformed, well-drilled 
 men, and no more pitiable one than these same 
 men starved into mere walking skeletons, with 
 the ever accompanying hopeless, longing, 
 yearning look, which tells more than words 
 how they are thinking of the loved ones so 
 far away, whom they may never see. But I 
 can't tell it. There are no words which ex- 
 press it. It will never be known until the 
 books are opened in that other world. 
 
 101 
 
THE CEMETERY. 
 
 The cemetery was located about half a mile 
 northeast of the stockade. Men were kept 
 busy digging trenches in which to bury the 
 dead. These trenches were seven feet wide, 
 from three to four feet deep and long enough 
 to receive those who died in a day. 
 
 At first the bodies were covered with boards, 
 but when men were dying at the rate of a hun- 
 dred or more every day the boards were dis- 
 pensed with and the bodies were laid in close 
 together and covered with earth. At the head 
 of each body a board was driven into the 
 ground upon which was placed the name of 
 the person, together with his company and 
 regiment. 
 
 After the war closed the government re- 
 placed these boards with marble slabs. Then 
 it purchased the grounds, covering about 
 twenty-five acres. 
 
 *"These grounds are now surrounded by a 
 substantial ivy-covered brick wall ; the grounds 
 
 *I here quote from a booklet, entitled, "Anderson- 
 ville and How to Reach It," published by the Geor- 
 gia Central Railroad. 
 
 102 
 
are shaded with beautiful oaks and ornamental 
 trees, transforming it into an ideal city of the 
 dead. 
 
 "On every Memorial Day impressive cere- 
 monies are conducted here under the auspices 
 of the Posts of the Department of Georgia, G. 
 A. R., attended by a large concourse of peo- 
 ple." 
 
 It is very fitting that those for whom these 
 brave fellows gave up their lives under such 
 terrible circumstances should make their last 
 resting place beautiful. 
 
 I have often thought that I should like to 
 be there when those graves open and the dead 
 come forth. I should like to look into their 
 faces and grasp their hands. 
 
 Sleep on, brave comrades, sleep. 
 Where Southern pines their vigils keep 
 
 Above your graves. 
 This sacred soil which holds your clay 
 Shall tremble in the judgment day 
 
 With peans loud; 
 That mighty voice which wakes the dead 
 Will call you from your lowly bed, 
 
 And say, "Well done!" 
 
 103 
 
SOME FIGURES. 
 
 Let us look at some figures taken from the 
 
 official records. 
 
 Number of Union men confined in Con- 
 federate prisons 94,073 
 
 Number of deaths in Confederate pris- 
 ons during the war 36,401 
 
 57,672 
 Number of prisoners who died shortly 
 after being exchanged 23,599 
 
 Number of prisoners who finally reached 
 
 home and lived 34,073 
 
 Making a total of those who either died in 
 these prisons or shortly after their release of 
 60,000. 
 
 Of the 23,599 mentioned, 11,599 died be- 
 fore reaching home after having been ex- 
 changed, and 12,000 soon after reaching home. 
 We see here that the number of men whose 
 deaths were traceable directly to the barbarous 
 treatment which they received in Confederate 
 prisons reaches the appalling figures of 60,000, 
 an army two and one-third tim.es as large as 
 
 104 
 
General Lee surrendered to General Grant at 
 the close of the war. 
 
 Let us compare the above figures with those 
 covering the number of deaths in Northern 
 prisons. 
 
 Number confined in Federal or North- 
 ern prisons 227,570 
 
 Number of deaths in Federal or North- 
 ern prisons 30,152 
 
 Comparing these two sets of figures, we see 
 that the mortality was nearly seven times as 
 great in the Confederate as in the Federal 
 prisons. 
 
 The universal testimony of men who saw 
 the Confederate prisoner after his release from 
 the Northern prison is that he was in as good 
 condition to take his place in the army as be- 
 fore his capture, and in many instances better. 
 Very few of our men who had spent any time 
 in Confederate prisons ever went back to their 
 regiments. 
 
 1C5 
 
THE CONTRAST. 
 
 When men go into battle it is with high 
 hopes of victory. Everything which can be 
 done to inspire and encourage loyalty and 
 bravery is used to the best advantage. The 
 flag is unfurled, the bands play their most 
 stirring music, the commanding officers speak 
 encouraging words. 
 
 Lord Nelson, in a short speech to his men 
 just before the battle of Trafalgar, said, "Eng- 
 land expects every man to do his duty." And 
 so the patriot feels, "My country is looking 
 at me and expects me to do my best." No one 
 but cowards and traitors will falter at such a 
 time as this. Men often halt and tremble when 
 going into battle, until the first volley has been 
 fired, then they lose sight of everything but 
 the flag and the enemy, and rush forward into 
 the thickest of the fight. 
 
 The roar of the cannon, the rattle of the 
 musketry and the clashing of the sabres all fire 
 these men with the fury of demons. 
 
 To be overcome at such a time and com- 
 pelled to surrender is humiliating. It is exas- 
 perating. The fury of the battle is over for 
 
 106 
 
them, and the depressing sense of defeat takes 
 possession of them. Sometimes, as they are 
 marched away under the enemy's flag to be 
 penned up like cattle, they hear the shouts of 
 victory from those who a short time before 
 were their comrades, but it is not for them. 
 
 The enemy is exultant. He laughs at these 
 brave fellows, who cannot answer. "It is not 
 theirs to make reply." 
 
 Many of them are like caged lions. They 
 walk up and down their narrow quarters. They 
 grow restive and spend their energy in berat- 
 ing their keepers, and in time become maniacs. 
 
 The prisoner has nothing to inspire or en- 
 courage him. The music is gone. There are 
 no words from his officers to help him, nothing 
 but the long, monotonous days and dreary, 
 sleepless nights. His thoughts are of the loved 
 ones far away. He dreams of home and its 
 comforts only to awake to scenes of misery 
 and hunger. He goes over and over again the 
 scenes of his boyhood days. He thinks of his 
 father and his mother, of his wife and his 
 children, or of that one to whom he pledged 
 his troth. These thoughts crowd thick and 
 fast upon one another, until his brain is on 
 fire; he grows faint and rushes away to other 
 
 107 
 
scenes to forget. If he could only stop think- 
 ing! 
 
 I well remember one comrade who had lived 
 in our family at home. He was married and 
 had one child, a beautiful girl of five years. 
 To see the anguish written on that man's face 
 was most pathetic. It would not do for me 
 to sympathize with him. I must divert his 
 mind, if possible; but my efforts were vain. 
 His poor heart was breaking, and one morn- 
 ing we closed his weary eyes. 
 
 Another comrade by the name of Knapp, 
 who had been a merchant, said to me one day 
 that he thought he could sell some stuff if he 
 only had some money to start on. I had a 
 little money, and I bought some beans and 
 had them cooked, and Knapp set up his stand. 
 It was not long before he had a customer. A 
 young fellow came up, ordered a plate of beans, 
 ate them, and then said he had no money to 
 pay for them. Knapp was very much cha- 
 grined at being taken in, but we had a good 
 laugh over it, which perhaps did us as much 
 good as the money would have done. 
 
 I felt very sorry for Knapp. He had plenty 
 of money at home. It was not necessary for 
 him to enlist. He had always lived well, had 
 always made money, and was accustomed to 
 
 108 
 
having what money would buy. In September 
 he went out with a company who the authori- 
 ties said were to be taken to Savannah to be 
 exchanged, but instead they were taken to 
 Florence, a prison near Charleston, S. C, 
 where he died. 
 
 Many of our fiercest battles were fought in 
 a very short time, no one body of men being 
 under fire more than an hour at one time. Not 
 so with the battle at Andersonville. When 
 once the battle opened it was on for life with 
 many. No dropping out for rest. No flank- 
 ing movements to get into better position. 
 Every morning the sun came up blazing like 
 a ball of fife. There was no escaping the sharp 
 thrusts of his dagger-like rays, which pene- 
 trated every nook and corner of our prison 
 pen. The stench from the swamp was ever 
 present. The groans of the sick and wounded 
 and the death rattle of the dying were to be 
 heard on every hand. 
 
 109 
 
SOUTHERN TESTIMONY. 
 
 I will here quote from Smith's Knapsack^ 
 published in Toledo, O., in 1884: "Dr. Jo- 
 seph Jones, Professor of Medical Chemistry 
 in the Medical College of Georgia, at Augusta, 
 who made a thorough inspection of Anderson- 
 ville under instructions from the Surgeon-Gen- 
 eral of the so-called Confederate States, re- 
 ported that the prisoners were so affected with 
 scurvy, caused by want of vegetables, or of 
 nutritious food, that their limbs were ready to 
 drop from their bodies. I have often seen 
 maggots scooped out by the handful from the 
 sores of those thus afflicted. Upon first attack 
 of scurvy, an enervating weakness creeps over 
 the body, which is followed by a disinclination 
 to exercise ; the legs become swollen and weak, 
 and often the cords contract, drawing the legs 
 out of shape; the color of the skin becomes 
 black and blue, and retains pressure from the 
 fingers as putty will. This is frequently fol- 
 lowed by dropsical symptoms, swelling of the 
 feet and legs. If the patient was subject to 
 trouble with the throat, the scurvy would at- 
 tack that part; if afflicted with or predisposed 
 
 110 
 
to any disease, there it would seize and de- 
 velop, or aggravate it in the system. In cases 
 of this character, persons ignorant of their 
 condition would often try to do something for 
 a disease which in reality should have been 
 treated as scurvy, and could have been pre- 
 vented or cured by proper food. A common 
 form of scurvy was in the mouth ; this was the 
 most horrible in its final results of any that 
 afflicted the prisoners. The teeth would be- 
 come loosened, the gums rot away, and swal- 
 lowing the saliva thus tainted with the poison 
 of scurvy would produce scurvy in the bowels, 
 which often took the form of chronic diarrhoea. 
 Sometimes bloating of the bowels would take 
 place, followed by terrible suffering and death. 
 Often scurvy sores would gangrene, and mag- 
 gots would crawl from the flesh, and pass 
 from the bowels, and, under the tortures of a 
 slow death, the body would become, in part, 
 putrid before death. Persons wasted to mere 
 skeletons by starvation and disease, unable to 
 help themselves, died by inches, the most ter- 
 rible of deaths. 
 
 "There was a portion of the camp, forming 
 a kind of swamp, on the north side of the 
 branch, as it was termed, which ran through 
 the center of the camp. This swamp was 
 
 lU 
 
used as a sink by the prisoners, and was putrid 
 with the corruption of human offal. The 
 stench polluted and pervaded the whole at- 
 mosphere of the prison. When the prisoner 
 was fortunate enough to get a breath of air 
 outside the prison, it seemed like a new devel- 
 opment of creation, so different was it from 
 the poisonous vapors inhaled from this cess- 
 pool with which the prison air was reeking. 
 During the day the sun drank up the most 
 noxious of these vapors, but in the night the 
 terrible miasma and stench pervaded the at- 
 mosphere almost to suffocation. In the month 
 of July it became apparent that unless some- 
 thing was done to abate the nuisance the 
 whole camp would be swept away by some ter- 
 rible disease engendered by it. Impelled by 
 apprehension for the safety of themselves and 
 the troops stationed around the camp on guard, 
 the authorities of the prison furnished the nec- 
 essary implements to the prisoners, who filled 
 about half an acre of the worst of the sink 
 with earth excavated from the hillside. The 
 space thus filled in was occupied, almost to 
 the verge of the sink, by the prisoners, gath- 
 ered here for the conveniences of the place, 
 and for obtaining water. Men reduced by 
 starvation and disease would drag themselves 
 
 112 
 
to this locality to lie down and die uncared 
 for, almost unnoticed. I have seen forty and 
 fifty men in a dying condition, who, with their 
 little remaining strength, had dragged them- 
 selves to this place for its conveniences, and, 
 unable to get back again, were exposed in the 
 sun, often without food, until death relieved 
 them of the burden of life. 
 
 "Frequently, on passing them, some were 
 reduced to idiocy, and many, unable to articu- 
 late, would stretch forth their wasted hands in 
 piteous supplication for food or water, or 
 point to their lips, their glazed eyes presenting 
 that staring fixedness which immediately pre- 
 cedes death. On some the flesh would be drop- 
 ping from their bones with scurvy; in others 
 little of humanity remained in the wasted 
 forms but skin drawn over bones. Nothing 
 ever before seen in a civilized country could 
 give one an adequate idea of the physical con- 
 dition to which disease, starvation and expos- 
 ure reduced these men. It was only strange 
 that men should retain life so long as to be re- 
 duced to the skeleton condition of the great 
 mass who died in prison." 
 
 This from a man appointed by the Southern 
 Confederacy to inspect the prison. Can any 
 one doubt the truth of his statement? He 
 
 113 
 
has told it so well that I can add nothing ex- 
 cept to verify his statement in every particu- 
 lar. He has drawn it mildly. I have seen all 
 these things which he described. They were 
 common occurrences, even the worst cases de- 
 scribed. 
 
 
 114 
 
THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 The hospital — a hospital only in name — was 
 located just outside the stockade near the south- 
 east corner. There were a few shelters, con- 
 sisting of old blankets and pieces of tent cloth 
 stretched upon posts. Others were made by 
 setting up posts, connecting them at the top 
 with poles and covering the whole with the 
 branches of trees. These served as a partial 
 protection from the sun, but did not keep out 
 the rain. No beds or cots were furnished, and 
 the inmates, no matter how sick they were, 
 were obliged to lie on the ground with a block 
 of wood or nothing for a pillow, and no blan- 
 ket for a covering. When a comrade was 
 taken to the hospital we said farewell, as we 
 never expected to see him again, for no one 
 was admitted until it was a pretty sure case 
 of death. I do not remember a single case 
 where one came back to the prison. 
 
 I quote from Hiram Buckingham, of the 
 Sixteenth Connecticut, who was hospital stew- 
 ard : "When I first went into the prison," says 
 Mr. Buckingham, "on the first of May, 1864, 
 the hospital was inside the stockade, half of it 
 
 115 
 
on one side of the stream that ran in our midst 
 and half on the other side. The condition of 
 things was horrible in the extreme. A single 
 glimpse of things was enough to make a man 
 sick. There were comparatively few patients 
 then, scarcely over two hundred, a circum- 
 stance accounted for in two ways. In the first 
 place, a man never went in and came out alive. 
 The utter want of cleanliness, the pestilential 
 air, the improper and miserable food and scanty 
 medicines all combined to render the swift 
 coming of death sure. Pieces of canvas only 
 sheltered these poor sick and dying men from 
 the rain and sun of a climate that would have 
 been none too favorable for them under the 
 best of circumstances. Their emaciated, pain- 
 racked frames had no place to rest but upon 
 the cold, hard ground, and in numberless in- 
 stances their heads were pillowed upon noth- 
 ing softer than a stick of wood. 
 
 "Added to these things, the sink was dug 
 within a single rod of these men, which, of 
 course, did not add to the purity of the air 
 about them. It was enough of itself to make 
 a man sick," 
 
 The time when we could see the doctors was 
 from 10 to 12 o'clock a. m. Early in the morn- 
 ing men would crawl and some would be car- 
 ried over to the south gate, where the doctors 
 
 116 
 
were supposed to come. They would be laid 
 on the ground beside the path leading up from 
 the bridge across the stream to the south gate ; 
 there they would lie in the hot sun for hours 
 waiting for a chance, but many, like the one 
 at the pool of Siloam, were pushed aside when 
 the waters were troubled, and were obliged 
 finally to crawl back to their place on the hill. 
 
 It was a most pitiful sight to see those poor 
 fellows stretched upon the ground for hours 
 without food or drink. 
 
 Let one of the Confederate surgeons who 
 was on duty at the hospital speak. Surely he 
 will not overdraw the picture. 
 
 Surgeon Reeves reported as follows : "I find 
 the tents in bad condition, a great many leak- 
 ing, and a great many of the patients lying 
 on the ground and getting very wet when it 
 rains ; would most respectfully recommend that 
 straw of some kind be secured for bedding, 
 also some arrangement to raise them from the 
 ground. Without a change in this respect, it 
 will be impossible for me to practice with suc- 
 cess." 
 
 No response was made to this, and still later 
 another. Surgeon Pelot, uttered his protest 
 with regard to diet: "The cornbread," he 
 says, "received from the bakery, being made 
 up without sifting, is wholly unfit for the sick, 
 
 117 
 
and often, upon examination, the inner por- 
 tion is found to be perfectly raw. The beef 
 received by the patients does not amount to 
 over two ounces per day; and for the past 
 three or four days no flour has been issued to 
 the sick. The bread cannot be eaten by many, 
 for to do so would be to increase the disease 
 of the bowels, from which a large majority 
 are suffering, and it is therefore thrown away," 
 
 About the middle of August, Dr. Thornburg 
 reported his patients in a "deplorable condi- 
 tion," some of them being without clothing 
 of any kind. "In the first, second and third 
 wards," he wrote, "we have no bunks, the pa- 
 tients being compelled to lie on the ground, 
 many of them vv'ithout blankets or any cover- 
 ing whatsoever. If there are any beds in 
 'Dixie,' it is hoped that they will be procured. 
 We need straw badly, especially for the fifth 
 ward. We have men in this ward who are a 
 living mass of putrefaction, and cannot pos- 
 sibly be cured of their wounds unless we can 
 make them more comfortable." 
 
 These words from their own surgeons, who 
 were on the ground and who were comfort- 
 ably clothed and well fed, and could form their 
 opinions better than we who were in such sad 
 plight, must convince the most skeptical that 
 we were in a most pitiable condition. 
 
 118 
 
AFTER-THOUGHTS. 
 
 When I was released, and finally reached 
 God's country, I had many strange impressions. 
 One was that every one walked so fast and 
 looked so very strong and robust. If I at- 
 tempted to walk fast I would fall headlong. 
 I found myself constantly contrasting these 
 strong men with those with whom I had so 
 recently been associated, and even now, when 
 I see a large gathering of people, I find myself 
 again standing on the hill in Andersonville, 
 surrounded by that immense crowd of ragged, 
 naked, starving, dying men. The old scenes 
 come back to me, and when I look over the 
 figures showing how many were buried there, 
 and when I see so many who are unable 
 to perform the common duties of life, I 
 feel like quoting a line from an old Methodist 
 hymn, *T am a miracle of grace." Some say 
 that we should forget it. There are some 
 scenes which we can easily forget, but when a 
 thing is burned into the brain and into every 
 fibre of one's being, it is impossible to forget it. 
 When I overwork, as we all do sometimes, my 
 head feels as it did then, and that picture comes 
 
 U9 
 
before me like the painting of Dante's Inferno, 
 and I am lost in wonder. I sometimes stop 
 and think perhaps I have been dreaming all 
 these years. Out of this furnace, "heated 
 seven times hotter than it was wont to be 
 heated," two factions of the American people 
 were welded together in a Union which the 
 whole world cannot again break asunder. 
 
 I do not cherish toward our Southern breth- 
 ren any spirit of hatred. They did not know 
 what they were doing. Their eyes were not 
 opened. They saw men like trees walking, but 
 they did not give the Northern men credit for 
 having brains and nerves and sensibilities. 
 They had all their lives been accustomed to 
 treating the black man as if he were not 
 human, and because the Northern man sympa- 
 thized with him in his slavery and distress the 
 leaders of the South looked upon the Northern 
 soldiers with the same haughty contempt, and 
 those under them partook of their spirit. Were 
 we to go to war with the South today, there 
 would be no Andersonville or Libby prisons. 
 The people have seen a great light. They 
 were simply mistaken and misguided. 
 
 In what I have written I have simply tried 
 to show what men will do for the country they 
 love; and to impress upon the minds of any 
 
 120 
 
young person who may read this short story 
 the thought that the great blessings of a free 
 country, of the greatest country upon which 
 the sun shines, and the greatest prosperity 
 which any country ever experienced, was pur- 
 chased with a great price. Mr. Lincoln, in 
 his Gettysburg address, said, "The world will 
 little note nor long remember what we say 
 here, but it can never forget what they did 
 here." 
 
 If I have said something in this book which 
 will help the young to remember what was 
 done for them in the great conflict from 1861 
 to 1865, I shall have succeeded in what I set 
 out to do. 
 
 121 
 
REMINISCENCE IN VERSE. 
 
 Read Before the Veterans and Sons on Jan. 13, 1907. 
 Detroit, Mich. 
 
 Away in the mists of the dim distant past 
 
 I see an army of boys coming afar. 
 They come as the leaves when swept by the blast, 
 
 Some riding, some walking, all ready for war. 
 
 They come from the hills of the old granite state, 
 From the plains where the father of waters sweeps by ; 
 
 Some come from the city, the trade and the mart 
 And some from the country of which they're a part. 
 
 They have heard the call of the great Abraham, 
 Leaving fathers and mothers and sisters to weep, 
 
 They're going to war to help Uncle Sam 
 Put the great demon of slavery to sleep. 
 
 On and still on by thousands they come, 
 The bugle has sounded, their hearts are on fire, 
 
 They're ready to fight for country and home, 
 Though their bodies are weary their souls never tire. 
 
 They sweep through the city and hamlet and town, 
 To the front is their watchword by day and by night; 
 
 Though friends may look doubtful and traitors may 
 frown 
 They are still pressing forward to join in the fight. 
 
 The smoke of the battle rises high o'er the plain. 
 The roar of the cannon makes the earth tremble and 
 quake, 
 
 But nothing disturbs this onrushing train 
 Of boys who've sworn all fetters to break. 
 
 123 
 
Their bayonets gleam in the bright morning sun, 
 Their sabers flash out like stars on the sea; 
 
 The look in their eyes shows they're not out for fun, 
 But what is their purpose the world shall soon see. 
 
 They meet the gray line which comes up from the South, 
 A line of their brothers as fearless as they; 
 
 The world stops to see this clashing of youth, 
 This greatest of conflicts 'twixt the blue and the gray. 
 
 Vicksburg is taken, the South is unlocked, 
 
 And the man of the hour has found his right place. 
 
 The gray line has halted, their leaders are shocked, 
 Lee and Grant must hereafter stand face to face. 
 
 From beyond the great river which flows to the sea, 
 To the ocean the Mayflower traversed so well, 
 
 Stretch these lines commanded by Ulvses and Lee 
 And they struggle and fight like the demons of hell. 
 
 The blood of the North and the blood of the South 
 Flow freely as water in one crimson stream; 
 
 The quickly dug grave with wide open mouth 
 Hides all traces so quickly it seems like a dream. 
 
 The thinned ranks are filled by others as brave 
 As those who have fallen with face to the foe ; 
 
 They fear not the battle, they fear not the grave, 
 Where'er they are ordered they fearlessly go. 
 
 Sherman sweeps to Atlanta and then to the sea. 
 Leaving cities and hamlets lying low in the dust. 
 
 His watchword to all is : Follow thou me. 
 We've burned all our bridges and conquer we must. 
 
 The conflict is ended, the victory won, 
 The blue line comes back, but all are not there. 
 
 There's a regiment missing. It's leader is gone, 
 The graves of the Wilderness have their full share. 
 124 
 
Gettysburg swallowed up thousands of men, 
 Who fought at the angle with bayonet and gun. 
 
 Until it looked like a great slaughter pen, 
 
 Each striving to conquer and neither would run. 
 
 In the shade of the trees of his own native state, 
 Lee, the great leader, surrendered his men. 
 
 He had fought like a hero but at last met his fate 
 And he signed the decree with a sweep of his pen. 
 
 And Grant, the commander who never was whipped. 
 Would not now exult o'er his fallen foe, 
 
 But bade him and his men, with horses equipped. 
 With a hearty Good speed, all homeward to go. 
 
 Sherman came up with his men from the sea. 
 Their faces were sunburned, their uniforms torn. 
 
 But they joined with the rest in the great jubilee 
 When the troops were reviewed at our Washington. 
 
 Our Lincoln, the mighty, beloved by us all, 
 
 Had fallen before the bright sun arose 
 To shine on his glory. And alas, on his pall 
 
 Fell the tears of the victors with the tears of his foes.. 
 
 ' t last it is over, peace reigns o'er the land; 
 This great army of boys have grown to be men. 
 braver, a truer or more daring band 
 Shall never be mustered in this country again. 
 
 Time slips by so softly we note not its flight, 
 To-day the ranks of this army are thinning 
 
 And these men who boasted of courage and might 
 See now the destroyer the battle is winning. 
 
 Their mantles are falling like leaves in the fall. 
 They have kept them unsullied from traitorous deed, 
 
 And soon their children must answer the call 
 For men to come forward and water the se.ed 
 
 125 
 
Which they planted in that bloody sea, 
 
 With malice toward none and God's love for all, 
 
 The doom of all traitors forever shall be 
 The bullet, the hangman, the coffin, the pall. 
 
 We ask you, dear boys, to run up the old flag, 
 The brightest, the greatest the sun shines upon, 
 
 And swear that you'll never once let it drag 
 In the footsteps of treason nor let it go down. 
 
 This flag which we wrung from the traitorous hand 
 
 Is enshrined in a halo of peace. 
 And we entrust it now to this noble band, 
 
 May its brightness and glory never cease. 
 
 You may not be asked to fight for the right 
 
 On the fields of carnage and blood, 
 But there's always a place for each one to fight 
 
 For that which is noble and good. 
 
 To stand for the right in everyday life. 
 
 When oppression is showing its head. 
 And take a hand in the world's busy strife 
 
 Where men are fighting for bread 
 
 Needs heads that are clear and hands that are strong 
 
 And courage that never gives way. 
 And hearts that are set like a flint against wrong 
 
 And a voice that rings out for fair play. 
 
 If your purpose be strong, your politics pure, 
 
 And duty your first aim in life. 
 Your step firm and steady, your aim and fire sure, 
 
 You will certainly win in the fight. 
 
 — TV. F. Lyon. 
 
 126 
 

 
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