“The Camp we found full of what were once human beings, but who would scarcely now be recognized as such. In an old field, with no inclosures but the living wall of sentinels who guard them night and day, are several thousand filthy, diseased, famished men, with no hope of relief, except by death. A few dirty rags stretched on poles give some of them a poor protection from the hot sun and heavy dews. All were in rags and barefoot, and crawling with vermin. As we passed around the line of guards I saw one of them brought out of his miserable booth by two of his companions and laid upon the ground to die. He was nearly naked. His companions pulled his cap over his face and straightened out his limbs. Before they turned to leave him he was dead. A slight movement of the limbs and all was over—the captive was free! The Commissary's tent was close by one side of the square, and near it the beef was laid upon boards preparatory to its distribution. This sight seemed to excite the prisoners as the smell of blood does the beasts of the menagerie. They surged up as near the lines as they were allowed, and seemed, in their eagerness, about to break over. While we were on the ground a heavy rain came up, and they seemed to greatly enjoy it, coming out a paris naturalibus, opening their mouths to catch the drops, while one would wash off another with his hands, and then receive from him the like kind of office. Numbers get out at night and wander to the neighboring houses in quest of food.
“From the camp of the living we passed to the camp of the dead—the hospital—a transition which reminded me of Satan's soliloquy—
“Which way I fly is hell; myself am hell, And in the lowest deeps, a lower deep, Still threatening to devour me, opens wide.”
“A few tents, covered with pine-tops, were crowded with the dying and the dead in every stage of corruption. Some lay in prostrate helplessness; some had crowded under the shelter of the bushes; some were rubbing their skeleton limbs. Twenty or thirty of them die daily; most of these, as I was informed, of the scurvy. The corpses laid by the roadside waiting for the dead-cart, their glaring eyes turned to heaven, the flies swarming in their mouths, their big-toes tied together with a cotton string, and their skeleton arms folded on their breasts. You would hardly know them to be men, so sadly do hunger, disease, and wretchedness change 'the human face divine.' Presently came the carts; they were carried a little distance to trenches dug for the purpose and tumbled in like so many dogs. A few pine-tops were thrown upon the bodies, a few shovelfuls of dirt, and then haste was made to open a new ditch for other victims. The burying party were Yankees detailed for the work, an appointment which, as the Sergeant told me, they consider a favor, for they get a little more to eat and enjoy fresh air.
“Thus we see at one glance the three great scourges of mankind—war, famine, and pestilence, and we turn from the spectacle sick at heart, as we remember that some of our loved ones may be undergoing a similar misery.”
“This publication,” said Col. Bush, “made in one of their own papers at the time, proves that all that has ever been said of their treatment of our prisoners is true.”
“Yes,” said Uncle Daniel, “and much more.”
“Uncle Daniel,” said Dr. Adams, “this Miss Seraine Whitcomb was, indeed, a true woman, and, as the President well said, a 'little heroine.' I take it she was rather small, from this expression of his.”
“Yes, she was rather small, but a pure jewel.”
“She was a woman of great determination, and loved purely and strongly. There are but few instances of such pure devotion and rare patriotism to be found in the annals of history. What feelings she must have had while traveling through the Confederacy in such anguish and suspense. She was a jewel, sure enough.”