CHAPTER XX.

DARK DAYS.

When Paul's wound had healed sufficiently to enable him to travel, he
was put into a freight car with his comrades and sent to the Rebel
prison at Andersonville. The ride was long and hard, but the prisoners
bore the jolting without a murmur, for they supposed they would soon be
exchanged and sent North. They were doomed to bitter disappointment.

The prison was a yard enclosed by a high fence. There was a platform on
the outside where the sentinels stood on guard, and ready to shoot any
one who approached nearer than what they called "the dead line." The
prisoners had no shelter from the scorching rays of the sun through the
long summer days, nor from the sleety rains and freezing nights of
winter. They dug holes in the ground with their hands, and made the
cold, damp earth their bed. A slimy brook ran through the grounds, foul
with filth from the camps of the Rebels. There was a marsh in the
centre of the yard, full of rottenness, where the water stood in green
and stagnant pools, breeding flies, mosquitos, and vermin, where all the
ooze and scum and slops of the camp came to the surface, and filled the
air with horrible smells. They had very little food,--nothing but a
half-pint of coarse corn-meal, a little molasses, and a mouthful of
tainted bacon and salt, during each twenty-four hours. They were herded
like sheep. The yard was packed with them. There were more than twenty
thousand in a place designed for half that number.

When Paul and his comrades reached the prison, they were examined by the
officer in command, a brutal fellow named Wirz, who robbed them of what
money they had. The gate opened, and they passed in. When Paul beheld
the scene, his heart sank within him. He had suffered many hardships,
but this was an experience beyond everything else. He was still weak. He
needed nourishing food, but he must eat the corn-meal or starve.
Everywhere he saw only sickening sights,--pale, woe-begone wretches,
clothed in filthy rags, covered with vermin. Some were picking up crumbs
of bread which had been swept out from the bakery. Others were sucking
the bones which had been thrown out from the cook-house. Some sat gazing
into vacancy, taking no notice of what was going on around
them,--dreaming of homes which they never were again to behold. Many
were stretched upon the ground, too weak to sit up, from whose hearts
hope had died out, and who were waiting calmly for death to come and