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present name, I am told, in honor of General Robert Anderson of Sumter fame.

Five minutes more and there flashed upon us through the trees the white line of the cemetery fence, and in another instant we caught a glimpse of the long rows of white headboards standing brightly in the noonday sunshine and within the retired circlet of lofty trees. It was but a glance, and then the high bank of the railroad-cut shut out the view. In a moment more, however, we rolled out to the level, and a score of persons rose to look through the windows and see the famous stockade of dreadful memory.

Before the war Anderson numbered the following houses: first, a small white church without steeple; second, Dyke's house, with its adjoining saw-mill and grist-mill; third, a small white depot building; fourth, a small, square, unpainted building of one room, in which the post-office was kept; and fifth, a two-room log-cabin. This is all there was of the village, though there were half a dozen houses not over a mile away, of which the Widow Turner's was in sight. These six buildings yet remain, but the old post-office and the Turner house are unoccupied.

The village now contains about fifty buildings, great and small; the great ones being two or three houses built for the chief officers of the post and prison, and the buildings put up for the commissary and quartermaster departments, and the small ones being those erected for the soldiers and minor officers of the guard. All were cheaply built, none are painted, and the general appearance of the place is squalid and forbidding. The various buildings are scattered about on a tract of over a hundred acres, which has a general slope from the northwest toward the southeast. The whole village lies west of the railroad.

The great stockade was the central feature of the famous Andersonville prison, technically known to the Rebels as Camp Sumter." Connected with this were the cook-house,

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the bake-house, the numerous forts, the officers' stockade, the hospital stockade, the dispensary, the vegetable garden, the Confederate hospital, the general cemetery, the pest-house, and the small-pox cemetery. The great cemetery is nearly north of the large stockade; and the hospital stockade, with its accessories of dispensary and vegetable garden, is nearly south thereof. The whole prison lies east of the railroad.

One hundred and twenty rods nearly due east of the little depot building is the southwest corner of the main stockade. It originally contained fifteen acres, about five acres of which were swamp. Eleven acres were afterward added to the northern end, so that it now exists as a parallelogram, rather less than twice as long north and south as it is wide east and west. Some seven or eight acres are south of the little stream which crosses it. The swamp is mostly in that part north of the brook. The extreme southern end is eighteen or twenty feet above the level of the water, and the slope down to it is quite gradual. The bank north of the stream is very steep, and the farther end of the stockade is at least forty-five or fifty feet above the water level.

The stockade has a double wall, the outer one being about one hundred and sixty feet from the inner one, and each being built of logs ten or twelve inches in diameter, set five feet in the earth, and standing twenty feet above the surface. The logs are mostly pine. Those of the outer wall retain the bark. Those of the inner wall are all peeled, and those of the original stockade are also hewn. As if this double wall were not sufficient to guard against escape, a deep ditch was dug along the southern and eastern sides, outside the outer wall of course; and for a part of the distance on the northern and eastern sides there is even a third wall of logs.

The sentry-boxes, built just below the top of the inner wall, are mere frames, covered with a board roof, and reached by rude ladders. The boxes were forty-four in number, thirteen on each side, seven on each end, and one at each

corner.

These all remain as though they were but yesterday occupied, except one on the western side near the northern end. Much use has broken some of the ladders, but the greater part still stand beneath the sentry-boxes.

There is but one gate in the outer wall. It is in the western side, not far from the southern end. In the inner wall are two gates, one on each side of the brook. They are strong and heavy, and turn harshly on their hinges. In the right-hand fold of each is cut a small door for single passage. The staples and bars remain, but some one has carried away the locks.

Within the stockade proper there is, as compared with Florence, scarcely nothing to see. In the days when it was packed with from thirty to thirty-five thousand men, the whole surface was covered with tents and mud-and-stick cabins. Of these not more than fifty remain, and they are all south of the brook.

In the northern end there are only the five long sheds originally built as barracks for men not sick enough to be sent to hospital. They are simply roofed frames, without either siding or flooring. Each is thirty by one hundred and twenty feet in size. There is nothing about them to indicate their latter-day use. The famous caves were in the bank north of the brook and swamp, but the rains have so cut away the bank that not more than a dozen of them can be found, and of these only small sections remain. Here, too, were the equally famous springs, but the washing down of the bank has also ruined them. Little brooklets find their way out from the red earth and mottled clay; but where "Love's Delight" and "Jacob's Well" and "IIeart's Ease,” and all the other comforting springs were, can never more be shown. Just in the brow of the bank were the wells; one can find a dozen or more of them, cut trimly down into the firm red earth for thirty or thirty-five feet, but now waterless and liable to engulf unwary wanderers.

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In the southern end were gathered the last prisoners, and here, accordingly, are abundant evidences of life. Though not more than fifty of the huts remain, there are fragments and ruins of at least a couple of hundred more. The gate on this side the brook was the main gate. the left, is a small, square log-cabin, whose use is suggested by the counters and platform scales within. On the right of the gate are five open sheds, running north and south. Each is twenty by one hundred feet in size, and the slope of the ground makes them about four feet high in the eaves in the end toward the wall, and about nine feet in the end toward the brook. The rear of each is scarcely four feet distant from the dead-line. Far down in front of the gate, almost over to the eastern wall, is another shed of the same general character as those nearer the gate. Under these six sheds is the record of an heroic struggle for existence. Here is gathered everything all these prisoners had for house-building, three or four wagon-loads of bits of board and split slabs. As the number in prison decreased, those who remained brought hither what the departed had left, choosing to build their rough bunks under a roof out of sun and rain. Nothing in the whole prison is more touching than this palpable evidence that these sons of the nation were so eager to get even the covering of these miserable roofs. Some of their bunks and benches remain intact; but, generally, the little all that constituted everything is scattered at random. Complete as is the general destruction, the ruins are of wonderful suggestiveness. You find half a stool, a broken knife, the handle of a huge wooden spoon, a split checker-board, an old pipe, a wooden hook, a bit of cunning carving on a beam, and, finally,—is it a barber's chair? —for, improbable as the presence of such a luxury seems, this combination of a seat and legs and braces and sloping back could hardly have been anything else than a veritable barber's chair.

In the whole stockade there is not a single tree. The

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ground was originally well-wooded, but Winder cut away everything. In the northwestern corner, near the outer wall, he left a single tall pine, whose grateful shade could never fall within the stockade proper, left it as if to tantalize the weary and fevered prisoners through the blazing summer days.

How dared any one ever deny the existence of a dead-line here? It is twenty feet inside the inner wall. For a part of the distance it was a palpable thing,-four inch strips of twenty feet siding, nailed on the top of posts three feet high. For another portion of the distance it was, however, marked only by these little posts twenty feet apart. That men in such a packed prison should not crowd beyond this undefined line between these posts was simply an impossibility. Hellish malignity could not have devised a surer way to lead half-crazed men to swift destruction than was found in thus establishing this unmarked line. A small portion of the finished line remains intact; elsewhere the posts still stand, but the strips of board have been torn off. That much of the line has disappeared for a memorial of the place scarcely needs to be said.

The stocks was an institution much in use during the earlier days of the prison, but discontinued after some months. The instruments were in the extreme southwestern corner, between the inner and the outer walls of the stockade. Nothing now remains of it but a couple of log sheds in a tumble-down condition.

The bake-house stands on the south bank of the brook, between the inner and the outer walls of the stockade. It is thirty by eighty feet in size, with two rooms below and a garret above. It contained two ovens, each twelve feet square. One of them remains in pretty fair condition, but the other is ruined. Some of the shelves and cases can still be seen. The bunks in the loft yet retain the straw on which the workmen lay. The well at the corner of the

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