Historic leaves, volume 8, April, 1909 - January, 1910

The men's stomachs soon rebelled at this food, and sickness and death followed. One day, while there, a small cur dog ran through the guard lines into our camp; he was instantly pursued by scores of men, caught and despatched, cooked, and the next morning his remains were sold for hot chicken soup at a high price. Many who had money eagerly bought and devoured it. And I saw a poor fellow walk up and eat some raw hog beans which a man had vomited up, after overloading his stomach with them. About this time poor Jud Oliver was taken very sick, being feverish and delirious and unable to walk. I assisted him to the boat, and bade him good-by, as I supposed for the last time on earth, and he was taken to the Richmond Hospital. About a month afterwards a special parade of 10,000 sick and wounded prisoners on both sides was agreed upon, and Jud was lucky enough to be one of them, and it seems as if he bore a charmed life, from the fact that he went to the parade camp, went home on a furlough, joined his regiment, in the first battle was taken prisoner again, but was soon released, rejoined the regiment again, came home at the close of the war. has been a member of the Somerville police force several years, and almost any pleasant night he can be seen meandering along his beat in the vicinity of the Elm House, Professors' Row, and Alewife Brook. About March 1 Belle Isle was overcrowded, and 500 of us were sent on box cars 500 miles to Andersonville. It took five days and nights to go there; one man died in our car the second day, but was not removed until we arrived. It was one mile from the railroad into the stockade, which was to be our future camp ground.

I can assure you, readers, that I feel very loath to undertake to describe this place, and the many horrid, thrice horrid scenes we witnessed there during our six-months' stay. When we left Belle Isle the rebels told us we were going to be paroled; they always told us that story when a move was to be made. Imagine our feelings, then, when, at two o'clock on that dark