H. Clay Trumbull, The Captured Scout of the Army of the James
“ Oh, how wearily the hours dragged in Andersonville! Shivering, unsheltered, in the cold nights of rain; sweltering, all exposed, under the noonday's sun; cramped in the seething mass of the close-packed stockade, where half-naked men strove with each other for the last garment from the body of their latest dead comrade; weighed down with the poison-laden air of the malarial swamp; knowing no relief from the gnawings of hunger in the soul-straining processes of slow starvation; needing Christian courage to hold back from the relief of the dead-line ”
