To begin my experience, will go back to Nov. 15th, 1863, at Loudon, East Tennessee, when Gen. Burnside's forces were engaged with Gen. Longstreet's forces. The Union forces were compelled to fall back, and during the night of the 15th, Co. B, 111th O.V.I. were detailed to go on picket duty. We were sent back toward the Rebel lines and on the morning of the 16th on Nov., 1863, Gen. Longstreet's forces advanced on our lines. As they gave the order to "forward, guide center", we could hear the command repeated until it entirely surrounded us. There was only one loop-hole left us by which we sought to escape, but we were doomed to disappoint-ment. The cause was this, that during the night Gen. Burnside had retreated and destroyed everything he could, and Gen. Longstreet occupied the ground we expected to escape by. As we got to this point we mixed up with the rebel soldiers who were nearly all dressed in our clothing. They paid no attention to us until we began to run, and then they realized we were Union soldiers. However we got out of reach of their guns, thinking we had accomplished our escape. But just at that moment we were ordered to halt by the 6th South Carolina Palmetto Sharpshooters, who were on the advance skirmish line, and we were compelled to surrender, as the whole regiment were holding aim on us, only waiting the word of command to fire. We were surrounded by a company from the regiment and our arms and cartridge boxes taken from us.

    We were then sent back to the rear of Longstreet's army where we followed it all day long, there being heavy fighting all day. When night came we were coralled in a piece of woods, surrounded by bright camp-fires and guards. The next morning an orderly came to camp and handed a note to the officer in charge. He read the note, and then called the prisoners up in line, and told us that Gen. Jenkins ordered him to strip the prisoners of all their clothing.

    This was a clincher on us, as the weather was quite cold and damp. We traded our good warm woolen clothing to the rebel soldiers for their lousey, ragged clothes. We had just drawn new clothing a few days before we were captured. Co. B, after the exchange of clothing, was rather a hard looking lot of Yanks.

    The following day we were started for Atlanta, Ga. There we were put in a stockade where we were kept 2 weeks, then we were forwarded to Richmond, Va., where we arrived the 1st day od Dec., 1863. We were confined in the Pemberton Building, just across the street from the famous Libby Prison. During our stay there we fared pretty well. The Sanitary Commission of the North furnished us with some clothing. I got a red flannel shirt and a pair of pants. Others got clothing also.

    I was sitting in the window when we got our first feed of bean soup, and as the boys carried it past, I remarked that we were going to have bean soup for dinner, and it was well peppered. But what I took to be pepper was nothing but little black pea bugs. At first we tried to strain them out, but when we had them strained out, we had scarcely any left, so the next batch we ate, pea bugs and all, and were glad to get that.

    We remained in this building until some time in January, 1864, when, for eating about a ton of bran that was in the basement, where the rate had played base ball, hide and go seek, perhaps for months, we were banished to Belle Island in the James river. We were placed on this  bleak island during that cold January in 1864 without fire or shelter. The only way to keep from freezing was to form in twos, and run around in a ring until we were warmed up some, and then another set would take the ring.

    While here the Commander's dog Fido came in the prison with his master, and some hungry Yank captured and killed Fido, and cooked and ate him. When the commander found out his little dog was killed, he sworn he would starve every Yankee Son of a B--- to death if the man who killed him was not brought forth. Two days we got nothing to eat, and the man who killed the dog, rather than punish the rest, gave himself up to the commander. The commander had a wooden horse built by putting two boards together and then putting long legs to these boards. The boards were sharpened to a thin edge. H then placed the man astride the wooden horse and staked his feet to posts but as far as his legs would reach, and left him to suffer unbearable punishment for one half a day, the man pleading for mercy all the time. But the heartless wretch only made light of his begging for mercy, saying, "D--n you, you'll not eat another dog". Finally he released him, and let about a dozen small boys whip him on his bare back with switches until they were tired. This commander's name was Lt. Basson, a drunken wretch who came to an ignominious death by falling off the bridge that led to the island. Oh, dear! I can't tell the half that happened on the island.

    March 12th, 1864, we started for Andersonville, Ga., and arrived there March 16th. There were then about five or six thousand in the prison. The stockade was only partly finished. The stockade comprised 16 acres at first, but was later enlarged to 25 acres, with a dead line 20 feet from the stockade. The stockade was composed of hewn timbers, 24 feet long, placed endways in the ground so close together you could scarcely see between them. The stream that furnished us with water ran from west to east. The rebel soldiers had their camp on it above the prison and the cook house threw their refuse all in the creek, and we had to drink the water or do without. And to do without eating and drinking generally got your goat!

    My Co. Boys were put in the 19th detachment, 3rd squad. We were in companies of 90 men. I was appointed a sergeant of the 3rd squad of the 19th detachment. My duty was to have my squad in line for roll call, see that we got our rations, and take the sick to the doctor every morning. The doctors were in booths just outside the main stockade but protected by a board fence and a guard pacing back and forth, while the men were there to get medicine.

    I had taken the sick of my squad to the doctor and while waiting for him to prescribe for them, I was leaning on the board fence with my arms resting on the top. The guard passed me several times and said nothing to me about leaning on the fence. My attention was called to a racket behind me and turning my heard, to learn the cause, tow men were quarreling. I immediately turned my head to the front, and as I did so saw the guard's gun within 2 feet of my breast. I saw the hole in the musket, the cap on the tube, and the hammer ready to pick it, and as I saw this, I jumped back away from the fence, and I used language that was not becoming for a Sunday school teacher. I asked him what he was going to do, shoot me down like a dog? He replied by saying it was against orders to lean on the fence. I said, "Why didn't you tell me so, and I would not have broken the orders?" He answered that he didn't have to tell us his orders. They generally shot first, and then said you had broken the orders. Well, I never leaned on that fence again, after my narrow escape that time.

    During the month of June, 1864, the stockade contained 26,367 prisoners. These prisoners had no shelter from the boiling hot sun or from the rain which in June continued for 22 days without cessation. This flooded the camp and destroyed a few wells that had been dug to the depth of 35 or 40 feet with no other tools but half canteens and case knives, and the ground drawn out by drawer legs and boots. After the June flodds we had to go back to the little creek that flowed through the stockade, until August 7th, (I think), a spring broke out inside of the dead-line, on the north side of the prison, which spring furnished plenty of good cold water for the prison. The rebs made a trough to run the water out in the camp, so the prisoners could get it. This I think was the only human thing they ever did to benefit the prisoners. We called this spring "Providential Spring", and it is running to this day, now 60 years.

    Capt. Henry Wirz, who commanded the prison, was the most inhuman person the rebel authorities could get, and for his cruelty was hung at Washington, D.C., in November, 1865.

    At Andersonville, our daily rations consisted of 100 pounds of raw corn meal, ground cob and all, for 90 men. this with some meat, such as the lower legs of a beef and the paunch, was about all we got to keep us alive. In the forenoon the wagons would haul the dead to the grave yard, taking at a load from 30 to 40 at a time, In the afternoon, the same wagons were used to haul in our corn meal and such other food as we ocassionally got, cow peas cooked with shucks and all, bugs included. This we did not get till about 4 o'clock P.M. no wonder so many died. In August 3,076 died, and in October, 4,500. Out of 39 of my company who went to Andersonville, only ten of us lived to get out and those only shadows of their former selves.

    I must here mention that robbers and cut-throats, (perhaps such before their capture), began to rob in the prison. They became so bold that they would rob in day light. We stood their depredations as long as we could, and we then went after them. We got about 150 of the gang, Wors agreeing to take care of them as we caught them. When all were taken that we could find, the prisoners organized a court, appointing a judge, selected 12 jurymen, appointed a lawyer on each side, and began the trial of each one separately. And out of the lot 6 were found guilty of murder in the first degree, and the judge pronounced sentence on them, that on the 11th day of July, 1864, between the hours of 11 A. M. and 1 o'clock P. M., they should be hanged by the neck until dead. This sentence was duly executed as directed, all 6 at one drop. They entered the scaffold as follows: 1st, Collins: 2nd, Rickenson; 3rd, Saecefield; 4th, Munn; 5th, Delaney; and 6th, Curtis. This ended the raiding in camp.

    On Sept. 4th, The rebel authorities began removing the prisoners. I went with the first company that left Andersonville. We landed after a day and night at Savannah, Ga., where we were camped for about one month. We were then loaded on cars and sent to Millen, Ga., where we stayed about one month. We were then informed that we were going to be sent to Savannah, Ga., to be exchanged. But they had lied to us so often we did not believe them, and they lied to us again. At Savannah they selected the sick that were with our company, some 14 or 16. The doctors came to camp and I selected the on I thot was the most plyable to talk to. I asked him what he was going to do, and he said pick out the sick and parole them. I said, "Let me take down the names as you selct them", and he said, "all right". All the time I asked him to let me put my name down, but he refused saying there were lots worse off than I, (and I knew it), but wanted to go so much. They finally got done, and started to go to town, when I called to them. He said, "What do you want?" I said, "You haven't a well man to wait on the sick". He said, "That's so", and came back and asked me my name, and when I told him he put it down. He then asked me if I had any friend there. I only knew one man and I got him. He put his name down and 8 others and we all reported to a hospital up town.

    Next day they paroled us all and then placed us on one of their boats and took us to the mouth of the Savannah river where we met one of our boats loaded with rebel soldiers.  As the gang-plank was laid, we, with clapping of hands and songs of joy, mingled with tears of gladness, we passed from captivity to freedom, to full of joy for utterance. We were sent to the Annapolis, Md., parole camp, where we got our pay for the rations we didn't eat while prisoners. My share was $92.25. Then they furloughed us home, where I arrived on Christmas Eve, full of joy and gladness, that I , one out of 10 was spared to meet my friends once more.

    February 12, 1865, all paroled prisoners were declared exchanged, and I was ordered to return to my regiment, which at that time was at Nashville, Tenn. I got back as far as Louisville, Ky., where my captain was acting as Provost Marshall, and when my name was called he asked me where I was going. I told him to my regiment. He asked me if I didn't want to stay there with him, and of course I did. He soon got me a clerkship in the Paymaster's office, where I remained until May 3rd. I was then ordered to report to my company, which was then at Greensborough, N.C., where I arrived in due course of timeabout 4 P. M. the next morning before breakfast, an orderly came and told me to report at Division Headquarters. I did so, and was appointed clerk in the Second Division, Second Brigade Headquarters, where I remained until three days before we were mustared out, June 27th, 1865, at Salisbury, N. C. I was finally discharged from service July 13th, 1865 and returned to my home. And on Dec. 28th, 1865, married the girl who had proved faithful to me for three long years. We have pulled in the same harness ever since. She was 77 years old on January 7, 1924, and I will be 80, if I live to July 7th, 1924.

    Thus ends a brief description of my prison life during the Civil war. Good bye. John L. Richard. Co. B ., 111th O. V. I.

April 10th, 1924