April 30.—Very small rations given to us now. Not more than one-quarter what we want to eat and that of the poorest quality. Splendid weather, but too warm; occasional rains. The Flying Dutchman (Wirtz) offers to give any two at a time twelve hours the start, and if caught to take the punishment he has for runaways. The offer is made to intimidate those thinking to escape. Half the men would take the consequences with two hours start.
May 1.—Warm. Samuel Hutton, of the 9th Mich. Cavalry, died last night; also Peter Christiancy and Joseph Sargent, of Co. D, 9th Mich., have died within a few weeks. Last evening 700 of the 85th New York arrived here. They were taken at Plymouth, N.C., with 1,400 others, making 2,100 in all. The balance are on the road to this place. Wrote a letter home to-day. Have not heard from the North for over six months. Dying off very fast.
May 2.—A crazy man was shot dead by the guard an hour ago. The guard dropped a piece of bread on the inside of the stockade, and the fellow went inside the dead line to get it and was killed. The bread wagon was raided upon as soon as it drove inside to-day and all the bread stolen, for which offense no more will be issued to-day. As I write Wirtz is walking about the prison revolver in hand, cursing and swearing. The men yell out “Hang him up!” “Kill the Dutch louse!” “Buck and gag him!” “Stone him to death!” &c., and he all the time trying to find out who it is insulting him so. “I vish I find out who calls me such insulting vords, I kill the dam Yankee as soon I eat my supper!” And every few minutes a handful of dirt is thrown by some one. Wreaks his vengeance by keeping back rations from the whole camp.
May 3.—A rebel battery came to-day on the cars, and is being posted around the stockade. Ever since my introduction to Andersonville they have been constantly at work making their prison stronger, until now I believe it is impossible for a person to get away. Notwithstanding, there are men all the time at work in divers ways. Rebel officers now say that we are not going to be exchanged during the war, and as they can hold us now and no fear of escape, they had just as soon tell us the truth as not, and we must take things just as they see fit to give them to us. Tom McGill is well and hearty, and as black as any negro. Over 19,000 confined here now, and the death rate ninety or one hundred.
May 4.—Good weather. Gen. Howell Cobb and staff came among us to-day, and inspected the prison. Wirtz accompanied them pointing out and explaining matters. Gen. Winder, who has charge of all the prisoners of war in the South, is here, but has not been inside. Gen. Cobb is a very large and pompous looking man. None of the men dare address his highness. Three men out of every hundred allowed to go out after wood under a strong guard.
May 5.—Cold nights and warm days. Very unhealthy, such extremes. Small-pox cases carried out, and much alarm felt lest it should spread.
May 6.—Six months a prisoner to-day. Longer than any six years of my previous life. It is wonderful how well I stand the hardships here. At home I was not very robust, in fact had a tendency to poor health; but there are not many in prison that stand it as well as I do. There are about eighty-five or ninety dying now per day, as near as I can find out. Of course there are stories to the effect that a hundred and fifty and two hundred die each day, but such is not the case. Have a code of reasoning that is pretty correct. Often wonder if I shall get home again, and come to the conclusion that I shall. My hopeful disposition does more for me than anything else. Sanders trades and dickers around and makes extra eatables for our mess. There is not a hog in the mess. Nearly every day some one is killed for some trifling offense, by the guards. Rather better food to-day than usual.
May 7.—A squad of Yankees taken outside to-day on parole of honor, for the purpose of baking meal into bread. George Hendryx is one of the number, and he will have enough to eat after this, which I am glad of. I could have gotten outside if I so chose, but curious to write down I don’t want to go. George says he will try and send in something for us to eat, and I know he will, for a truer hearted fellow never lived.
May 8.—Awful warm and more sickly. About 3,500 have died since I came here, which is a good many, come to think of it—cooked rations of bread to-day. We get a quarter of a loaf of bread, weighing about six ounces, and four or five ounces of pork. These are small allowances, but being cooked it is better for us. Rebels are making promises of feeding us better, which we hope they will keep. There is nothing the matter with me now but lack of food. The scurvy symptoms which appeared a few weeks ago have all gone.
May 9.—Many rebels riding about camp on horseback. I listened to an animated conversation between an officer and two of our men. Mr. Rebel got talked all to pieces and hushed up entirely. He took it good naturedly, however, and for a wonder did not swear and curse us. It is a great treat to see a decent rebel. Am lonesome since Hendryx went outside. Men are continually going up to the dead line and getting shot. They do not get much sympathy, as they should know better.