of the side doors. These cars had been used for the transportation of
beef cattle and had not been cleansed in the least since thus used. It
was, therefore, like lying in a cow stable. We now began to realize what
short rations, or no rations, meant. I bought a pie when we arrived at
Goldsboro, for which I paid five dollars. At this rate a millionaire could
not long remain outside the poor house. At 5 a. m. on the 27th, we arrived
at Wilmington, where we disembarked and crossed the river on the ferry.
Rations of soft bread and spoiled bacon were here distributed, and we were
again put on board the cars, which were even more filthy than those we had
just left. We arrived at Florence at midnight, where we were allowed to
disembark and remain until the morning of the 28th. Here our guard was
again changed and the 19th Georgia took charge of us.

We passed through Charleston in the night, and reached Savannah at 3 p. m.
the 29th. While we stopped at Savannah, a large crowd congregated to see
the live Yankees. They all seemed pleased to see us, and some of our great
political aspirants would feel proud of such an ovation as we received
here, ladies waving their handkerchiefs and the men cheering us lustily,
hurrahing and swinging their hats. One lady actually threw a kiss at me on
the sly, and I believe she was in favor of the union--no pun. The next
morning, April 30th, we passed through Macon, making a stop of two hours,
then we started again, and at 4 o'clock we arrived at Andersonville.

CHAPTER VII.

ANDERSONVILLE--SEPARATED FROM THE ENLISTED MEN--AN INTERVIEW WITH THE
INHUMAN MONSTER "WIRZ"--PLACED IN A CHURCH--DIVINE SERVICE SUNDAY
MORNING--SENT BACK TO MACON--DRAWING RATIONS--A BLIND-FOLDED MAN DIVIDES
THEM--LADIES VISIT OUR CAMP AND SHOW THEIR SYMPATHY--UNION GIRLS
FOREVER--BOUQUETS AND NOTES SENT US--A DRUNKEN RIOT--RECKLESS SHOOTING OF
THE GUARDS--PRICES OF PROVISIONS IN MACON.

Andersonville, one year before, had never been heard of a hundred miles
away, but is now a place whose name is associated with all that is
revolting, a place whose name is synonymous with suffering, hunger,
starvation, despair and death. A place the recollection of which recalls,
with a chill of horror, the most terrible scenes of anguish that were ever
suffered or beheld. A place whose history can never be fully written. For
were all the survivors of that Confederate Hell, presided over by that
incarnate fiend, Wirz, capable of