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Through this the newly arrived prisoners were marched, and along the space between the two walls, to one of two gates which gave admission to the interior of the prison. How many thousands of brave and stalwart soldiers entered these infernal doors, from which only ghostly skeleton-men, or the corpses of skeleton-men, ever issued forth again!

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The prisoners were of course confined within the inner wall. And not only so, but they were prevented from approaching within twenty feet of it by the dead line. Or if not prevented, for much of the way this fatal boundary was marked only by posts set at intervals of six or seven yards, — he who, in blindness and sickness and despair, perhaps jostled out of his way by the blind, sick, despairing multitude crowded within, set his foot one inch beyond the strict limits, as some Rebel on guard chose to imagine them, crack went a musket, a light puff of smoke curled up from one of the birds'-nests, and the poor wretch lay in his blood, groaning out the last of many groans, which ended his long misery.

I learned that when the stockade was first built the ground it encloses was covered with forest-trees. Why were they not left at least a few of them-to bless with their cooling shade the unfortunate captives, in the heat of those terrible prison summers? Not a tree remained. Near by were forests of beautiful timber, to which they were not even permitted to go and cut wood for fuel and huts.

One can imagine nothing more dreary and disheartening than the interior view of the stockade as it is to-day, except the stockade as it was during the war. The holes in which the prisoners burrowed for protection from the weather, have been mostly destroyed by the washing rains. Nearly all the huts are in ruins. The barrack sheds, in which but a mere handful of the thirty thousand prisoners could find place, still remain, marked with sad relics, bunks with the names of the occupants cut upon them, or fragments of benches, knives, old pipes, and old shoes.

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Between the outer and inner walls were the bakehouse, the pen for sick-call, and the log-sheds in which the stocks were kept. The cookhouse was outside.

Besides the great stockade, there was a small stockade for officers, and a hospital stockade containing some eight acres, and surrounded by upright logs ten or twelve feet high.

In pleasant pine woods, about a hundred rods north of the stockade, is the original burying-ground of the Andersonville prison, enlarged and converted into a national cemetery since the war. A whitewashed picket-fence encloses a square space of near fifty acres, divided into four main sections by two avenues crossing it and cutting each other at right angles. Two of these sections those south of the east-and-west road-are subdivided by alleys into five smaller sections, where the dead lie in long, silent rows, by hundreds. Here are about seven thousand graves. The northeast quarter of the cemetery is undivided; and here, in a single vast encampment, sleep five thousand men. There are in all near thirteen thousand graves, each with its little white head-board commemorating the name, rank, company, regiment, and date of death, of its inmate. The records show that the first death occurred on February 27th, 1864, and the last on April 28th, 1865. From April 1st, 1864, to April 1st, 1865, the average rate of mortality was over a thousand a month. It sometimes reached a hundred a day.

Apart from the rest, in the northwestern corner of the cemetery, are the graves of the Georgia Reserves who died while on duty here, one hundred and fifteen out of four regiments. The mortality among them appears also to have been great; and indeed one cannot conceive how it should be otherwise, living as they did within the pestiferous influence of the prison atmosphere.

At the entrance to the cemetery, on the south side, appears the following inscription, the same I noticed above the graves at Spottsylvania, and which might with propriety be placed before every national soldiers' cemetery :

"On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,

And Glory guards with solemn round
The bivouac of the dead."

THE CEMETERY.

At the alley-crossings stand the following:·

"The hopes, the fears, the blood, the tears,
That marked the battle strife,

Are now all crowned by Victory
That saved the Nation's life."

"Whether in the prison drear,
Or in the battle's van,
The fittest place for man to die,
Is where he dies for man."

"A thousand battle-fields have drunk
The blood of warriors brave,

And countless homes are dark and drear
In the land they died to save."

"Then shall the dust

Return to the earth as it was;

And the spirit shall return

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At the intersection of the avenues rises the flag-staff planted here by Miss Clara Barton's party, who laid out the Cemetery Grounds in the summer of 1865. Here, on the soil of Georgia, above the graves of our dead, waves the broad symbol of the Nation's power and victory; while all round this sanctified ground stand the ancient pines, Nature's serene and solemn priesthood, waving their green arms, and murmuring softly, by day and all through the starry night, whilst thou, O mother! O wife! art mourning in thy desolated Northern home, the requiems of the weary ones at rest.

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The Rebel owner of the land occupied by the prison had been pardoned by the President; and I learned of the Freedmen's Bureau that he had asked for the restoration of his

property, demanding even that the cemetery grounds should be turned over to him.

In conclusion I may state that citizens of Georgia, living at a distance from Andersonville, said to me that they knew of the atrocities permitted there at the time of their occurrence, and that they did not think it possible for the Rebel leaders to have been ignorant of them.

ANECDOTES OF SHERMAN'S CAMPAIGN.

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CHAPTER LXVI.

SHERMAN IN MIDDLE GEORGIA.

ACCORDING to a tradition which I found current in Middle Georgia, General Sherman remarked, while on his grand march through the State, that he had his gloves on as yet, but that he should take them off in South Carolina. Afterwards, in North Carolina, I heard the counterpart of this story. As soon as he had crossed the State line, " Boys," said he to his soldiers, "remember we are in the old North State now; which was equivalent to putting his gloves on again.

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At the mere mention of these anecdotes, however, many good Georgians and North Carolinians blazed up with indignation: "If he had his gloves on here, I should like to know what he did with his gloves off!"-and it was not easy to convince them that they had suffered less than their neighbors in South Carolina.

A Confederate brigadier-general said to me:" One could track the line of Sherman's march all through Georgia and South Carolina by the fires on the horizon. He burned the ginhouses, cotton-presses, railroad depots, bridges, freight-houses, and unoccupied dwellings, with some that were occupied. He stripped our people of everything. He deserves to be called the Great Robber of the nineteenth century. He did a sort of retail business in North Carolina, but it was a wholesale business, and no mistake, in Georgia, though perhaps not quite so smashing as his South Carolina operations."

Confederate soldiers delight in criticisms and anecdotes of this famous campaign. Here are two or three samples.

"When we were retreating before old Sherman, he sent word to Johnston that he wished he would leave just a horseshoe, or something to show where he had been. Hood always

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