When it became necessary to remove the Confederate prison from Richmond, a delegation of men which included Captain W.B. Winder, Howell Cobb, and Governor Brown was sent in November, 1863, to seek a new location. The site they chose was Andersonville near Americus, Georgia.

Captain Richard B. Winder was ordered there soon afterward to prepare the prison immediately for 10,000 prisoners, and, in spite of the many difficulties which faced him, he was able to set up a crude camp by the time that the first prisoners arrived. When first opened the prison consisted of 16-1/2 acres of land enclosed by a stockade constructed of pine logs closely set together. On top of the stockade sentry boxes were erected at intervals. A stream of pure water ran through the prison compound dividing it roughly in half. In June, because of the increasing number of prisoners sent there, the prison was enlarged by 10 acres. Even so the prison was overcrowded.

The name of Andersonville was to become synonymous with cruelty, bestiality, disease and death. This was not far from the truth; the extremely poor conditions found in the prison and its facilities brought death and disease to thousands of prisoners. This was not due entirely to the prison administrators, for the lack of food and supplies, tools and equipment, and poor transportation facilities were responsible, in large measure, for the unspeakable existence the prisoners were forced to lead.

In command of the interior of the prison was Captain Henry Wirz. It was to this man that the cruelties and hardships of the prison were accredited by the prisoners. Although he was intensely disliked by the inmates it is probable that he did not entirely deserve the notoriety of cruelty which accompanied his name. He was regarded highly by his superiors in the Confederate service and was commended on several occasions by the inspectors from Richmond.

Within the stockade at a distance of fifteen feet a line of posts joined by boards fastened to the tops marked the limits of the area allotted to the prisoners. This was the ''deadline.'' Those who crossed the deadline were warned to go back; if they did not comply, they were shot. The guards, who were relatively few in comparison to the number of prisoners, were understandably edgy and often opened fire without provocation.

In the compound conditions were almost unbearable. The first prisoners had used all the available timber for the construction of huts. As a result, there was little or no protection from the hot Georgia sun. In addition, the prisoners had been allowed to build the huts anywhere they chose, and this was to make policing of the compound difficult, it not impossible. And because of the constant milling about in the vicinity of the stream by the thousands of prisoners a swampy area was created. Here the defecation gradually settled due to improper removal facilities. It became the breeding ground for the disease which was to plague the prisoners. Some efforts were begun later to improve this condition, but they were never completed owing to the scarcity of tools and lumber and the continued arrival of more prisoners.

The food rations for the prisoners were usually issued uncooked and constituted an unsatisfactory diet. Initially, after the bakery had been completed, the same cooked rations were issued to the prisoners as were given to the Confederate soldiers guarding them. Later, however, due to the increasing number of inmates, the cooking facilities became inadequate. The cookhouse was located on the banks of the stream just outside of the stockade. Refuse was dumped into the stream, thus polluting the only water supply. This forced the prisoners to dig wells in order to get pure water.

The prison also lacked the much needed hospital facilities. Due to the shortage of lumber the early makeshift hospitals were placed in the corners of the stockade. They were later moved a few hundred yards outside. Supplies were always short, and the thirteen surgeons were unable to cope with the large number of sick and diseased prisoners. Only those who could not help themselves were admitted to the hospitals; even there they were likely to receive no attention at all. The lack of necessary hospital facilities and supplies, the small rations, and the polluted stream caused the high sickness and death rate. Most of the deaths were due to respiratory diseases, diarrhea, and dysentery complicated by scurvy. And the mental depression of the prisoners was a significant contributing factor to the ravages of the ever-present disease. Indeed, Andersonville was a Hell on earth.

Friday, June 3, 1864. Arrived at Macon in the morning. It was quite a place. After travelling until noon we arrived at Camp Winder, Andersonville, Ga., where we were driven in next to the swamp. But Asa [Rowe] and George [Handy] bought a little lot on the hill for $4.50. I was very much pleased, for it is so much healthier. The camp contains about 6 acres. Capt. Wirz commands. Wrote to Caroline for a box, as did most of our boys. Wrote to Dow also. I hope the letters will go through, but I am afraid it will be a long time ere we get an answer. 0 dear me!

Saturday, June 4, 1864. It rained most all day and we fared rather tough... Handy bought a rubber blanket for $5, which added much to our comfort. It is sad to see them carry dead by into the dead house, a continual train of them all the time. How I hope that I shall live through it and be permitted to enjoy the true fruition of my life, which I have put so much confidence in and placed such bright anticipation upon! Still, if I die here I am sure that we shall die in a good cause, although in a brutal way.

Sunday, June 5, 1864. Here we are in the same old pen. We fixed our habitation some and made it somewhat better. But then, 0 Lord! Hasten our release! Only think, if we were at the forts just one short month from today we should be honorable discharged. But how I regret, how I sigh to think of our deplorable condition. Still, men have lived through rougher scenes than this... I have been a little ill; the beans gave me a very bad state of the stomach...

Monday, June 6, 1864. ... Stayed in our humble dwelling most of our time ... it is life, and that is all... There are millions of reports in camp relative to parole and exchange [Note 19]... I have come to the conclusion that we will be exchanged when the summer campaign is over, which I hope and trust will be in about three months after my time is out.

Tuesday, June 7, 1864. ... We are having good reports from our Army but can't believe any of them. There seem to be no signs for an exchange at all until the summer campaign is over, and I hope that will end with the downfall of Richmond...

Wednesday, June 8, 1864. Stopped as usual in our old shanty. The day was quite oppressive, but toward night it was more salubrious. We drew raw rations and no wood, but, by the kindness of Handy, we had a little wood... I made a grand raid and got a big plate of cooked rice which did us ''roots.'' While trying to make the first one we were fired upon by the quartermaster; no one hurt... All of us are convalescent, I believe...

Thursday, June 9, 1864. The first sound of humanity reached our ears this morning in an order allowing us to go for wood if we take the oath not to escape. The prelude was, ''Wishing to do all in our power to alleviate the sufferings of prisoner's life''... Learned from a reliable prisoner that Butler is relieved from the exchange commission and Smith is in his place [Note 20]. That is good, the first bright star we have seen since our imprisonment...

Friday, June 10, 1864. ... Our squad got raw rations and no wood. We sold our meat and got quite a fund. Molasses is $8 a gallon and butter $4 per pound. Little did I ever think I would pay such prices... My friend Dow will get killed or not be able to fulfill his promises with me.

Saturday, June 11, 1864. ... 0, how I would like to see some prisoners go home! It would bring such joy to us. Tongue nor pen can never describe our privations here, nor our joy when we arrive Wash[ington] free from our enemies. Oh, how bad it seems to be kept here after our time expires!

Sunday, June 12, 1864. With Nat's shirt made quite a good addition to our shanty, but there was need enough of it, for we had an awful night of rain. Handy had a rough time. It stormed all night. Had a ration of hot corn bread, and we finished our molasses, 8 spoonfuls apiece for $3. We can't stand that. Got $1 worth of butter; 1/4 of a pound. It went first rate, but at home we would not have looked at it. Great rumours in camp about our parole. Oh Lord, if they were only true, how joyful we would have been! But still we know that the time must come some time. How true, if not for hope the heart would break!

Monday, June 13, 1864. Came on cold and rainy today.

This is very applicable to our situation, for it rained all day, and cold it was indeed... Had some mush for breakfast, and bread for supper, and crouched down in our old blanket. It is very painful. Still all our happiness in this and in the other world, also, is comparative. We see those around wounded and without any shelter, and compared with them we are well off. Rumour says Gen. Winder took command here [Note 21]. Rumors afloat of exchange.

Tuesday, June 14, 1864. ... One of our mess passed to the ''Summer Land'' last night. They are dyinq very fast. Grand reports about exchange and parole. Would to God they were true! I do think that we will not have to stay in here long; it is not just treatment from our Gov.[ernment]. Since this cold weather I feel much better. Corn meal gives me the diarrhea again. Oh how glad I shall be when I see the little starry flag again!

Wednesday, June 15, 1864. 1100 prisoners arrived; Joe Learned and Sam Morrison from our Co. Oh how sad are the reports from our regiment! 53 from Co. K killed, wounded, and missing in the battle of the 19th when we were taken... Gen'l. Meade issued a congratulatory order to the artillery brigade on the fight of the 19th of May. Oh how glad I was to learn that Dow and Page were all right up to the 2nd of June. I was painfully grieved when they told me that Dow felt very badly when he learned [of] my fate. There is a TRUE friend, and if he will go home in July and wait until I come, it will be the happiest moment of my life, and I pray to God that such may be the case...

Thursday, June 16, 1864. ... Rumor that 28 transports are on the way for us from Ft. Monroe to Savannah. Felt quite encouraged, but can't quite give it credence... Oh how I sigh for liberty!

Friday, June 17, 1864. The immortal 17th has arrived, memorable for the Battle of Bunker Hill, but it brings no joy for me. All is sadness and sorrow, but I live in hopes of better things, and when they come - Glory!... How I do want to see and hear from my friends... My thoughts in the day and my dreams in the night are nothing but my liberty, my liberty. Ten thousand times a day do I think of my engagement to go to England. If I can't enjoy life after this, I am not sentient.

Saturday, June 18, 1864. Another stormy day... Joe L[earned] went to the doctor. The doctor said it was a shame to keep us here so, and so it is truly. Pen nor tongue can never tell the agony of mind that I and some of my party endure. Here we are with no alternative but to crouch under a low blanket and think from morn till night of our deplorable condition, and from night till morn it occupies our dreaming hours. What a recreation any employment for the mind even would be, but all I can think of is ''Fly swifter round, ye wheels of time, and bring the welcome day.''

Sunday, June 19, 1864. Handy had his salt and bag taken from him by force by the raiders. There is the greatest set of robbers in here I ever imagined could be got together in one place [Note 22]. Another lot of Yanks came in from the Western Army. Handy is quite ill, and we all feel very weak and bad. Still we must try to keep up good spunk. I think one month more will take us to the land of the free... Our men divided into squads of 16 or 10? - much better way.

Monday, June 20, 1864. Asa Rowe renounced all friendship with me, and I told him it was agreeable to me. He offered to take his duds and leave, and, when asked to, he would not. After telling lies without number, we let it rest. But never did the weight of my price on Atheism appear so palpable. He has showed the meanest and most dishonorable dealings. I knew who my friends were, and thank God, I always did - I never was mistaken. But at his own request and agreeable to me, Rowe and I are strangers. The best report yet in the N.Y. Herald that we are to be paroled between the 7th & 17th of July. I place the most confidence in it of any. I felt the best of any yet; all of us are better...

Tuesday, June 21, 1864. Felt quite smart; stirred around some... One man shot because he accidentally got over the dead line... Report said that the Negro question is settled. Small squad of Yanks came in from the Occidental Army, Gen'l Sturgis. He is the one that had command of us on the Fairfax trot... [Note 23]

Wednesday, June 22, 1864. ... Oh it does seem rough, inhuman, and unjust to keep us here! If they would only take us back to the place where I first saw the light, the happiest souls on earth we would be!

Friday, June 24, 1864. Today my mind wanders back 3 years, when at 12 o'clock I left Lawrence [Massachusetts] for Ft. Warren. 3 years ago today I left my friends and kindred, mother and James and more especially my L[awrence] friends. My mind still clings to the shady streets of L[awrence], and the many fine times I have had there. But now all is different; no joy nor gladness is left. Perhaps, too, I might refer to my soldier comrades who now lie buried in the cold ground, some even without a covering. Now many, alas, have perished since 6 weeks next Sunday. Awful hot. Nothing of importance is going on, the same dull deplorable life. Diarrhea again. How good a word from friends would be!

Saturday, June 25, 1864. Very hot, no rain, rations very late. I lived on bread; could not sell my meat... The seeming joy is great that I have in thinking of the joy that I will have when I see the Stars & Stripes, for then I soon will see my friends. Orders came to give back the money taken from old prisoners. That is a good indication, but money nor anything can ever compensate us for one week's stay here.

Sunday, June 26, 1864. The best move yet, which was the removal of Asa Rowe with Sam Morrison. Joe Learned came up here making it much more pleasant for us all. A very small lot of Yanks came in from Sherman's Army... The letters stopped going. For what reason we know not. No arrivals from Grant's Army for a long time...

Monday, June 27, 1864. Saw a little of a piece entitled ''The Goal of Thought,'' by Joseph E. Peck, in the repository. Thought the little I saw was beautiful... We met with a great loss, it was our knife, and it is very inconvenient to get along cooking and cutting wood with our fingers... I have made my mind up on going home next month, so sure that I feel quite easy, but if next month does not release us, Oh God, I would I never had been born!

Tuesday, June 28, 1864. ... Only think, if we had stayed at the forts, only short week from today and our time would be out, and that long wished for period would have come, and I should have been the happiest of men. Now I might say I am quite the reverse. Only one week more, Oh how good it sounds! But now the future looks gloomy. Otherwise Dow and I would have been going home together. Now it will be otherwise, and perhaps one of us never will go home...

Wednesday, June 29, 1864. Quite an excitement about raiders. Took 14 of them out, and the Capt. Wirz says he will do what we say with them. But one thing is bad for us - we get no rations, and on as small rations as we get, it is no fun...

Thursday, June 30, 1864. Not as hot as usual, cloudy, no rain. Did not get anything but a little mush and meal for 2 days. It is rough, it is bad... How rough it is to serve our Country through so many privations... Got out lots of raiders and tried them by court martial.

Friday, July 1, 1864. July has come, and instead of bringing its anticipated joys, woes as intense have followed it... Moved in the new stockade and are some better situated because the pen is a little larger. From 49 to 98 detachments moved...

Sunday, July 3, 1864. Only think, tomorrow is the immortal 4th. If I were only in Boston my joy would be unspeakable... There is no difference here, one day from another... The guard killed a crazy man for getting over the dead line... What shall I write tomorrow, and the 5th?

Monday, July 4, 1864. This has been a curious 4th to me, and it has to us all, I guess. Not a sign of any celebration, but no rations. This is my 4th Fourth of July in the Army. 3 years ago today I was on guard for the first time at Fort Warren and saw the fireworks at Boston. One year ago today we had a good dinner and time in the tent at Fort Albany. I came out of the G.H. for seeing Dow 2 yrs. ago today... This time has passed with me. Oh dear I am discouraged!

Tuesday, July 5, 1864. Oh for the Promethean eloquence of Demosthenes or Cicero! Today is the day longed for by me so ardently for the two long years that's past, and indeed it would have been to me a second Advent. But now it brings us no consolation or joy, for it does not send us to our friends at home. How long must we stay here? None but the functionaries in Washington can tell. But why be forever sorrowing because I cannot find joy? My faith in rumors is played out, for they say that Richmond is taken. I felt very badly with the headache and diarrhea, but think I am better. Rowe is very sick with it. I went to see the doctor, but there was none...

Wednesday, July 6, 1864. ... This is the roughest pen that ever civilized man was put in. Here all is bestial, just like a hog pen, and hogs we must be, for like hogs we live, like hogs we act; once in a while a good soul shines like a beacon-light ahead...

Thursday, July 7, 1864. Today is the day for us to start home, and it was as I feared, no go [Note 24]. Can't place one bit of confidence in rumors and shall never again while in here. I have now made up my mind to stop until Richmond is captured and then I think something will be done for us. I have got a very bad cold and a touch of the dumb ague, making this prison life not very pleasant. I dreamed last night of being paroled and seeing Dow and the disappointment when I awoke and found myself still in Hell! - I have given up all hopes of hearing from home, likewise of their hearing from me. But while there is life there is hope, and that consoles me.

Friday, July 8, 1864. One year ago we were in first rate quarters in the tents at Albany, and we had a good living as we cared about. The blackberries and sugar never gave out, and we used to eat about a quart apiece. Morning, night, and at dinner we had a good meal from the cook house. Three times a week we had plum-duff. My tent had a nice cool cellar, and we had a large stone jar which we kept full of good butter. Then we had a pint of milk morning and evening in our coffee, making it like home, it seems now... A few prisoners came; no signs of any going out. I think now of staying until cool weather.

Saturday, July 9, 1864. Sad, sad news from our Co. & Regt. A list of prisoners came in, and with them that good man, Mr. M. Emery of Co. F. He is not well. I am glad and sorry to see him. He is the most congenial friend I have in here yet. I learn that Page is slightly wounded, but all right and safe. Bro. Dow slightly [wounded], in the foot. Dow still keeps the field. I wish he would go home... After hearing of the Co.'s fate I don't know but I am in luck...

Sunday, July 10, 1864. Today sad news indeed I must record. I learn by Bridges that Bro. Asa [Note 25] was shot through the heart while charging the breastworks at Petersburg, June 16, 1864. B[ridges] got to him just in season to stop some officers robbing his pockets... It is sad, it is sad, but I still have faith in my belief, and I find relief therein... I am mighty glad to learn that Dow has gone home...

Monday, July 11, 1864. Today I saw six victims hang for murdering their fellow prisoners. They are the first ones I ever saw hung. They call them raiders. One rope broke... How I want to get home and see my folks while I have some to see! Now that Asa is gone, if James has not survived, I am left alone...

Tuesday, July 12, 1864. ... Well, if things go right, and I don't fear much but they will, I shall consider myself very lucky. To have things go right I shall get out of here this month, or early next month, find Dow all right waiting for me, and then, after settling the things at home, I will start on our life's journey. I wait in hopes...

Wednesday, July 13, 1864. One more day has gone and brings us no relief. Still, if we live, Time must bring the Welcome day. It will bring us out of the miry pit and set our feet upon the rock, and then what happy mortals we will be! But we are waiting, patiently waiting, waiting for the prison gates to be opened and for Abraham to say, ''Come.'' Then we will bless our stars and return to our blessed friends at home...

Thursday, July 15, 1864. Saw a petition they are getting up to send to our Government. I hope they will send it, for it cannot do harm, and if it will do good, for the sake of humanity send it along. I am not very well and never shall be while they keep me in here. I do not think that this is not fair for us to be kept here: it is unjust for the sake of humanity, or Christianity, or anything that pretends to be civilized and much more Enlightened. Oh do not boast of your enlightened age! Away, away, while such suffering and misery are going on! This, this is shameful...

Saturday, July 16, 1864. ... Went to the Dr. and he did not see me... I am about discouraged. Oh dear, I am so sick of this corn meal! The sight of it makes me sick. Oh how I would prize some good bread and milk! What a thrill of feeling it would send through my whole being [Note 26].

Sunday, July 17, 1864. Went to the Dr. He prescribed some diarrhea and cough medicine, but the cough medicine got spilled, so it did me no good, no good ... it is too bad, too bad, but such is the case. 0 God! The man that will take me out of this I will call him ''Prince of Kings & Lord of Lords.'' He to me will be a true Redeemer, I think, in every sense of the word.

Monday, July 18, 1864. Lay on my back in the tent, in the dirt all day, pretty sick. This is hard, indeed, but I don't see but what we must stand it.

Tuesday, July 19, 1864. Felt quite blue. My stomach is no better... Good news from Sherman, and I am satisfied that Kilpatrick is on a raid for us and I put a great deal of confidence.

Wednesday, July 20, 1864. I felt some better, but not quite well. The Rebels are throwing up breastworks as fast as they...

Thursday, July 21, 1864. Felt some better, but nothing but water passes me yet.

Friday, July 22, 1864. Here we are still in the same place. I feel better - did get down to the rear and got a glass of beer and felt better. Did not eat much.

Saturday, July 23, 1864. ... I am feeling better and am therefore in some better spirits. It is rumored that Atlanta is taken [Note 27], and I guess it is... The weather is so cold that we come near freezing, but it makes us feel better...

Monday, July 25, 1864. Felt better and am encouraged. Think I shall stand it, but it is rough indeed... The weather is some warmer, and we did not freeze at night. A fellow in Co. G died at 8 this evening through mere discouragement. That heart-sickness, only known to the young men like us, can never be imagined until it has been endured... I got my turn for water today for the first time. We have drawn rice for 2 days and no salt. That is tough.

Tuesday, July 26, 1864. ... I consider that as my time is out and my contract fulfilled, it is the duty of the Government to release me, and if they don't do something for me, I must try and do something for myself. If I can get out on parole of honor, I shall do it, and shall think it no harm. I wish I could ask Dow's opinion on it. I would abide by that.

Wednesday, July 27, 1864. In the afternoon I had an old visitor in the shape of a chill... This is a rough place for such things, and they are bad enough anywhere... A man [was] shot dead for stepping over the dead line. I call that murder.

Thursday, July 28, 1864. I felt very well indeed, but a little weak... I wish I could do something outside [of the camp]. How quick I would go, and should do it conscientiously, too, for I have fulfilled my contract with the Government by serving them faithfully for 3 years.

Friday, July 29, 1864. Today, instead of having a chill, I had a curious disease. I was paralyzed and could not move, and in great agony for a while... I traded four rations of pork for molasses and got quite a supper.

Saturday, July 30, 1864. ... I traded Holt's canteen for a bucket that holds four quarts. I hope that we can manage not to suffer now, but suppose that it will be as hard as ever...

Sunday, July 31, 1864. I am sorry to find Emery in so bad a condition. If he does not get better soon he never will. Good news about an exchange - I am putting some confidence it it, too. I felt well in the morning, but in the afternoon I had another of those cursed shakes... Can't get medicine...

Monday, August 1, 1864. Did not feel very well in the morning, and was favored with a good shake in the afternoon... A rebel minister was preaching and said we would be paroled immediately.

Tuesday, August 2, 1864. ... One story says we are not to stop here long, and if the Devil will get me out of this I will worship him, for I am discouraged...

Wednesday, August 3, 1864. Did not have a chill or shake this afternoon and felt quite encouraged. I am afraid that I am ill with scurvy. Went to the Drs. but did not [see them]. What a crowd of sick - they take them to the depot, and where they take them is a mystery. They say they take them to Hilton Head, S.C... I am glad if it is so, but I fear for such good news...

Thursday, August 4, 1864. Made some...

Friday, August 5, 1864. [blank]

Saturday, August 6,1864. [blank]

Sunday, August 7, 1864. I have been very sick with diarrhea again all of a sudden. I was called up 30 times in 24 hours. No sick went out today. General Winder had telegraphic orders for an exchange of us. Only think, three years ago today at 9 o'clock we left Fort Warren.

Monday, August 8, 1864. ... 0, how I want to get out from here! Here I lie and wallow in the dirt from morning till night... 0 God, if I could only get inside our lines how happy I should be! Am afraid it will be long ere I see my home.

Tuesday, August 9, 1864. Had an awful shower in the afternoon [Note 28], and we all got very wet, and a rough night we had, too, in the mud and dirt. Oh dear, if such is life, I wish for it no more! Emery is very badly off and will not live out a short time, I am afraid. I do wish I could do something for him, but can't. My feet and face swell some. And what in the world is going to become of us is more than I know. Did not draw any ration. Some of the stockade fell in. How are you, Dow, Page, sisters, and my only brother?

Wednesday, August 10, 1864. Asa Rowe died this afternoon and was carried out and buried with the rest of the four prisoners. I am sorry that he must so end his life, but it was so ordered to be. I freely forgive him all injuries and insults done to me, and hope that all's for the best. I heard that Emery is dead and sorry if such is the case. I shall go in the morning to see him, and as I am feeling better I will try to take care of him soon. We have had showers every day for 3 days...

Thursday, August 11, 1864. Felt quite well for me here... Found Emery quite smart to what I expected, for I heard that he was dead. I concluded to try and take care of him... He was in good cheer, and I felt encouraged...

Friday, August 12, 1864. Made some rice soup for Emery, which he ate and liked, but he seemed to be worse for it, and he lay quiet until afternoon, when he was taken worse and pressed for breath... I asked him towards morning if he felt as though he could stand it long. He said, ''No,'' and I left him. Things go the same as ever, no parole yet, and all our comfort is in Hope...

Saturday, August 13, 1864. Found Emery worse. Laid him on his coat and saw he was dying. He passed to the Higher Life about 7 o'clock and was carried out and buried with the rest of the Union prisoners. I was sorry to see so good a man die in here. He was a firm friend, and would do anything for me, and I look for him in the bright Summer Land. I shall go to see his folks when I get home and tell them the story. I am better, but God send us out of this Hell!

Sunday, August 14, 1864. Things are very quiet. They say we are going to get out of this tomorrow. I can't see it. I made an agreement with Charles Mills, Co. C, that if we can get to the American House next month I will pay for the dinner, and if any time after, he will pay for it. How I long for that American House dinner! I will have it right straight through in style. Had some beans with no salt - rather rough. How I long for something but corn meal to eat!

Monday, August 15, 1864. Today is the day for us to be paroled, but no signs of it yet, and my faith is growing less. It does seem as though we could not stand it much longer, but I am bound to try my best to live until I can get out of this bull pen, for I want to see my folks at home. I have set out so much joy for me that I am sorry to die here, or stay here longer. Fairman died this morning. Last evening he was quite smart. I never saw men slip off as easy as they do here. They die as easy as can be.

[Next eleven pages are blank.]

Friday, September 2, 1864. Today I have another sad duty to perform, and that is to record the death of Friend Jones Learned... He died very easy, said nothing of [to?] his friends, and was but a little out of his head during his whole sickness.

Saturday, September 3, 1864. We fixed our tent all over, and it is much better. I think we are going out this month sure, and joy to the world when we are released! If they get us out this month I am good for them his folks and friends, but if they keep us longer, I fear for myself...

Sunday, September 4, 1864. ... Today I did more trading than I have since I have been in the stockade...

Monday, September 5, 1864. I have not been so hungry since I have been in the bull pen. Nothing for breakfast but a paltry plate of beans... I was so hungry as to be faint and weak...

Tuesday, September 6, 1864. [blank]

Wednesday, September 7, 1864. Today I have felt quite elated, for 16 detachments have left this bull pen, and everybody says, and I expect, they are going for exchange. But I still can't realize it... Today I met with an accident that I was awful sorry for, I never felt so bad about anything. I lost my pocket book with my gold pen in it that I prized, for Dow, Page and I had used it for two years...

Thursday, September 8, 1864. [blank]

Friday, September 9, 1864. Not a great many detachments went out today, yet they are taking them as fast as they find cars. It does look good, and still I can't fully realize it... It will be such a transition from Hell to Heaven that it will take a long time to realize our situation... I have not felt very well for a day. Oh dear. I would not be left here for $500. Money could never tempt me ... in one week I hope to see the Stars and Stripes.

Saturday, September 10, 1864. Things are still very lively at night; they took out lots of Yanks. How I like to hear the old cars roll, for it portends a great deal... How I long for the Stars and Stripes! How I long to meet Dow!... My sisters and friends will not be forgotten either. I long for sister Mary, for the fruit, and wholesome living.

Sunday, September 11, 1864. Things went about so-so... We are going to move down on the brow of the hill tomorrow; it will be much better for us. Lots of Yanks still going out... I think the show is good for us to go soon. How encouraged I am to think the time is so near! If I ever get on free soil, I bet I will keep there forever!

Monday, September 12, 1864. Today, I have the saddest to record. Poor E.K. Holt's throat grew worse, and he could not eat anything... He died about dusk, very hard indeed, choked to death. About an hour before he died, he told me that if he did not live till morning to carry his Bible to his father and tell him that he had read it through once, the New Testament twice, and the whole most through again, and give his love to his sisters and mother. Got orders to be over to the gate immediately for an exchange [Note 29]. Went over double-quick, forgot all my things, and lay there till morning.

Tuesday, September 13, 1864. Lay all day in the bull pen, and at night the Sergt. got us off in the first squad. He took me ... to the depot [where we] started for, I suppose, our lines. Got about four miles when the train ran off [the track], and we had a bad smash-up. My car was badly broken, but the Powers that Be saved me. We stopped till morn on the bank, when after much fuss, we were taken to the bull pen. In the night I was taken very sick with the diarrhea, and weakened down to nothing so that -

Wednesday, September 14, 1864. This morn I could hardly stand. Wilder carried my things for me, and by the help of a cane I got along a few rods. Got down to the depot, and could not walk. Got an ambulance, and [it] took me to the hospital. It is an awful nasty, lousy place, and I am disgusted. My diar[rhea] is very bad and will soon carry me off if it is not checked, I am afraid. It is too bad, for I should hate to have my anticipation fail now, for they are so near their termination or beginning.

Thursday, September 15, 1864. Lay on my back all day. Eat not much - can't eat much; the corn bread I hate, and the rice I can't, for it goes directly through me. I have seen no doctors yet. The steward is a good fellow. I am lying in a tent on my rubber blanket with an old Irishman next to me. Can't make him hear anything. He is most dead with the diarrhea. The next is a Dutchman, most dead with scurvy. And then the tents and blankets are just as full of lice and fleas as ever can be. As things look now, I stand a good chance to lay my bones in old Ga., but I'd hate to as bad as one can, for I want to go home.

Although September 15 is the last entry in his diary, Samuel Melvin survived for ten more days. Upon his death on September 25, he was buried in grave number 9735. The Melvin Memorial in Sleepy Hollow Cemetery, Concord, Massachusetts stands as a lasting tribute to him and his two brothers.