Fifteen Months in Dixie; Or, My Personal Experience in Rebel Prisons

by William W. Day

Here the prisoners would reach under the Dead-line to procure clean water, and the crack of a Georgian’s musket, was the prisoner’s death knell.

During the early part of August Providence furnished what Winder and Wirz refused to furnish. After a terrible rain storm, a spring broke out under the walls of the stockade about ten or fifteen rods north of this bridge. Boards were furnished, out of which a trough was made which carried the water into the prison. The water was of good quality, and of sufficient quantity to have supplied the prisoners, could it have been saved by means of a tank or reservoir. This was the historical “Providence Spring” known and worshiped by all ex-Andersonville prisoners.

The same rain storm which caused Providence Spring to break out, gullied and washed out the ground between our well and the stockade to a depth of four feet, and so saturated the ground that the well caved in. We were a sad squad of men, as we gathered around the hole where our hopes of life were buried, for without pure water, we knew we could not survive long in Andersonville.

Two days after the accident to our well, we held a legislative session, and resolved ourselves into a committee of the whole, on ways and means to restore our treasure. No one could think of any way to fix up the well, boards were out of the question, stones there were none, and barrels:—we had not seen a barrel since we left “God’s Country.” As chairman, ex-officio, of the committee, I proposed that we steal a board from the Dead-line. This was voted down by the committee as soon as proposed, the principle was all right, but the risk was too great; death would be the penalty for the act. The committee then rose and the session was adjourned. After considering the matter for a time, I resolved to steal a board from the Dead-line at any risk. I then proceeded to mature a plan which I soon put into execution. One of my “pards,” Rouse, had a good silver watch, I told him to go up to the Dead-line in front of the first guard north of our tent, and show his watch, and talk watch trade with the guard. I sent Ole Gilbert, my other pard, to the first guard south, with the same instructions, but minus a watch. I kept my eyes on the guards and watched results; soon I saw that my plan was working. I picked up a stick of wood and going to a post of the Dead-line, where one end of a board was nailed, I pried off the end of the board, but O horror! how it squealed, it was fastened to a pitch pine post with a twelve penny nail and when I pried it loose, it squeaked like a horse fiddle at a charivari party. I made a sudden dive for my tent, which was about sixteen feet away, and when I had got under cover I looked out to see the result. The guards were peering around to see what was up, their quick ears had caught the sound, but their dull brain could not account for the cause.

After waiting until the guards had become again interested in the mercantile transaction under consideration, I crawled out of my tent and as stealthily as a panther crawled to my board again. This time I caught it at the loose end, and with one mighty effort I wrenched it from the remaining posts, dropped it on the ground, and again dove into my tent.

The guards were aroused, but not soon enough to see what had been done, and I had secured a board twenty feet long by four inches wide, lumber enough to curb our well.

Another meeting of the mess was held, the saw-knife was brought out, the board, after great labor, was sawed up, and our well was restored to its usefulness.

This same storm, which occurred on the 12th of August, was the cause of a quite an episode in our otherwise dull life in prison. It was one of those terrible rains which occur sometimes in that region, and had the appearance of a cloud-burst. The rain fell in sheets, the ground in the prison was completely washed, and much good was done in the way of purifying this foul hole. The rapid rush of water down the opposing hills, filled the little stream, which I have called Dead-run, to overflowing, and as there was not sufficient outlet through the stockade, for the fast accumulating water, the pressure became so great that about twenty feet of the stockade toppled and fell over.

Thousands of prisoners were out looking at the downfall of our prison walls and when it went over we sent up such a shout and hurrah that we made old Andersonville ring.

But the rebel guard had witnessed the break as well as we. The guard near the creek called out “copeler of the gyaad! post numbah fo’teen! hurry up, the stockade is goin to h—l.” The guards, about 3,000 in number, came hurrying to the scene and formed line of battle to prevent a rush of prisoners, while the cannoneers in the forts sprang to their guns. We saw them ram home the charges in their guns, then we gave another shout, when BANG went one of the guns from the south-western fort, and we heard a solid shot go shrieking over our heads. It began to look as though the Johnies were going to get the most fun out of this thing after all. Just at this time Wirz came up to the gap and shrieked, “co pack to your quarters, you tammed Yanks, or I vill open de cuns of de forts on you.”