Summary

John McElroy Andersonville: A Story of Rebel Military Prisons…

By nine o'clock in the morning his beams would begin to fairly singe everything in the crowded pen. The hot sand would glow as one sees it in the center of the unshaded highway some scorching noon in August. The high walls of the prison prevented the circulation inside of any breeze that might be in motion, while the foul stench rising from the putrid Swamp and the rotting ground seemed to reach the skies.
One can readily comprehend the horrors of death on the burning sands of a desert. But the desert sand is at least clean; there is nothing worse about it than heat and intense dryness.
Source: Gutenberg

John McElroy Andersonville: A Story of Rebel Military Prisons…

Only let us get back once, and there would be no more grumbling at rations or guard duty--we would willingly endure all the hardships and privations that soldier flesh is heir to.
There were two ways of getting back--escape and exchange. Exchange was like the ever receding mirage of the desert, that lures the thirsty traveler on over the parched sands, with illusions of refreshing springs, only to leave his bones at last to whiten by the side of those of his unremembered predecessors.
Source: Gutenberg

John McElroy Andersonville: A Story of Rebel Military Prisons…

Each man was armed with a small club, secured to his wrist by a string.
The Rebels--with their chronic fear of an outbreak animating them--had all the infantry in line of battle with loaded guns. The cannon in the works were shotted, the fuses thrust into the touch-holes and the men stood with lanyards in hand ready to mow down everybody, at any instant.
The sun rose rapidly through the clear sky, which soon glowed down on us like a brazen oven. The whole camp gathered where it could best view the encounter.
Source: Gutenberg

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