May 11th, 1865.—I went to the picnic and if I was not entertaining nobody was so ill-mannered as to tell me so and I can assure you I was entertained. So many gray-coated soldiers; so much to listen to; so many questions to be asked and answered. A delicious dinner, boat rides in the cool of the evening and then the pleasant ride home “in the gloaming.” Cousin Henry was there and he told us of life in the prison on Johnson’s Island. He was captured in the battle of Missionary Ridge and was exchanged just in time to meet the returning soldiers from Virginia. He had a terrible stay in prison. In the midst of plenty, they were given only barely enough to sustain life; this in retaliation for Andersonville. But they ought to remember we would gladly have given those poor prisoners all they could want if we could have gotten it. Little food; no medicines, almost no clothing, we could not help ourselves and we should not be arraigned for that.
Cousin Henry said sometimes they got so hungry they caught the prison rats and ate them. The prisoners vied with each other in catching the rats, just as they had in shooting deer or quail in the days of yore. There was a dead line, just an imaginary line, but it must not be crossed under penalty of death. One morning a large rat ran out into the open space and several Confederates gave chase. In the excitement one of the men accidentally went over the “dead line.” Quick the guard raised his gun, flash, there was one prisoner the less on Johnson’s Island that night. War is cruel; men grow callous. Is the spirit of Christ dying out of the world?
