se every word of Miss
Whitcomb's description of these prisons. I endured their horrors and
inhumanity for nine months, and she does not tell the half that might be
told. To show that Seraine's statement is not in the least exaggerated,
I have saved an article from the Sumter (S. C.) _Watchman_, published
in reference to the Florence Prison at that time, which seems to have
equaled the Pine Forest.".

Being asked to do so, Dr. Adams read as follows:

"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. Tw